#missing moment

[ginevra11]

It's not like he was stalking her. His eyes just happened to follow the scribble of her name to the astronomy tower. The glorious summer days at the burrow seemed a lifetime away; he had completely forgotten that Ginny was a year behind him. Back at Hogwarts, it was hard for them to spend time together, since she always seemed to be so busy with the OWLs, her friends, and, well, Dean.

The sun had just begun to set, the drowning rays pooled in a coral halo around her head as she tried to assemble a… kite?

Ginny suddenly squeaked and startled, causing him to snap out of his daze and haphazardly shove the map in the back pocket of his pants.

“Ha-Harry?!”

He belatedly realised that he may have stupidly babbled his musings. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to ignore the violent heat wave flooding his face as he quickly made his way to sit beside her.

“Hi!” He breathed out, giving her a small smile.

She goggled at him for a few seconds and let out a surprised giggle, causing the chaotic frenzy from moments ago to settle into comfortable silence and content smiles.

Two patterned kites littered beside a reel of black string, some chocolate frogs, and a few tattered and crunched-up kites. A dusty-looking instruction manual was splayed on the geometric floor.

‘Tie a loop in the flying line, make a larkshead knot (double loop), pass the tow point through the knot, and pull tight—you're ready to fly.’

Ginny sat with her head resting on her folded knees, her eyes lazily drifting across the pamphlet while her fingers aimlessly twirled the string. She tilted her head towards him, slightly pouting.

Harry was suddenly overcome with this absurd urge to squish her cheeks together. He gave his head a little shake and wordlessly reached for the thread, his fingers brushing hers as he tugged the string out of her hands.

He worked silently. Trying to mimic the diagrammatic figures and instructions. His heart beat in a now-familiar rhythm as he felt Ginny scoot towards him and peer over his shoulders. Somehow steady, his fingers managed to loop the string into a decent knot that matched the diagram.

As he turned to Ginny with the project in his hands, he noticed the stupor on her face. He waved his hand in front of her face; her eyes languidly followed his fingers.

“Ginny?”

Her eyes instantly came into focus, and her face was suddenly awash in a rosy glow. She quickly took the kite out of his hands and turned it over as if to inspect it. She turned to him with a disdainful look and sneered.

“200 points from Slytherin,” she mocked.

He let out a startled laugh. Ginny had a way of making him crack up at the most inane words. Soon, they were both breathless, convulsing with laughter. He felt a smug grin involuntarily stretch across his face. They both were just catching their breaths when Ginny let out an exhilarated cheer and rose to her feet. She tossed a chocolate frog at him and grabbed the now-assembled kites and the reel. Ginny dragged him by his arm, and soon they were rushing towards the Quidditch pitch, with barely stifled giggles.

The Hufflepuffs had already scheduled the pitch for the evening practice, while Gryffindor practice was usually scheduled for the early mornings. The looming pressure of the fourth match of the season had both the houses fully occupied in rather intense Quidditch schedules.

Ginny was often left exhausted, continuously switching between the demanding studies of a fifth year and the rigorous Quidditch practices. The only time he could actually be with her was the morning practice, which became a religiously anticipated event of his day. Harry was still grateful for any glitch in the time that may have brought Ginny and him together on that late February evening.

They quietly sneaked into the broom shed and picked out two sturdy Cleansweeps. With the air occupied, they hovered around the edge of the pitch, brainstorming the potential airspace that could be utilised for their amusement. An idea sparked, and Harry spun his broom, Ginny following suit.

He made a quick detour around the Quidditch pitch, piloting towards the great lake. A limitless expanse of sky stretched out ahead of them, the sun spilling into pools of mauve and rouge.

A soft breeze danced around them, fragrant with something floral, something distinctly Ginny. The wind was definitely blowing in his favour.

“Here,” said Ginny, holding the kite out to him.

With a hand steadying the broom, he took the kite from her and handed her the reel. He turned with his back to the wind, facing Ginny, and held the kite as Ginny slowly spun the reel and let out the line. They both swiftly moved away from each other. Once the string between them slackened, Harry let go of the kite and flew to her.

The kite gently swayed with the breeze. Ginny gently pulled the string, and the kite rose higher.

They took turns, working in synchrony. Holding the reel, letting loose the line, and tugging the string occasionally. They watched in silent wonder as the kite soared with the wind, with only the slightest effort on their part.

Here, at a few thousand feet above the ground, Harry, for the first time, experiences the beauty of silence. He fleetingly recalls the decaying silences of the past, filled with unending loneliness and longing. He also reminisces of the other silences with Ginny, when she used to be a stuttering, blushing mess around him. A pale crescent moon now shares the dusky lavender sky with the drowning sun. A strange twinge gnaws at his heart as he looks at Ginny. Her eyes are lit up in wonder, her smile is radiant, and her hair is twirling with the wind. She is bliss, beauty, and unattainable. But as their eyes meet and her smile brightens, his heart soars somewhere higher than the nearly invisible kite.

[sophie-hatter-jenkins]

Auburn

A microfic written for Day 1 of Jily Week 2024, run by the very lovely @sunshinemarauder and @kay-elle-cee, and inspired by the theme Love is in the Hair - one of those iconic 'wow' moments!

647 words

Rated G

A flash of red catches James Potter’s eye for the very first time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

James Potter was twelve years old the first time he really noticed Lily Evans’s hair. Obviously, he’d seen it plenty of times before, just like he’d seen Sirius’s hair or his Mum’s hair. The difference was that he hadn’t ever looked at it properly before. 

The day it happened, he and Sirius were in their usual seats in the Potions classroom, at the bench in the back right corner; the one that was least visible from Slughorn’s desk and therefore offered the most potential for messing about. 

Sluggie had finished his opening lecture on the topic of Swelling Solution - or at least that was what James assumed he’d been talking about, since that was what was written on the board, but he honestly hadn’t heard a word; he’d been too busy scribbling notes to Sirius. In fairness, Swelling Solutions did sound like they could be quite entertaining, and the idea of slipping some into the pumpkin juice at the Slytherin table convinced him that it might be worth actually putting a bit of effort in for once.  

He and Sirius played Spell, Shield, Serpent to decide who had to go and get their ingredients from the supply cupboard. Sirius lost, and made a rude gesture at James as he scraped his stool back along the stone floor. James smirked at him, then started to flick through his textbook looking for the right page, when a flash of red caught his attention; Evans, sitting next to that greasy loser Snape at the bench immediately in front of him, had flipped her hair back over her shoulders.

Her hair, he noticed, was remarkably thick and shiny, and James idly considered asking what Sleekeazy products she used. It was a very unusual colour, too. Auburn, he thought it was called; not an obnoxiously bright red, like the Prewett twins, but a darker, richer shade altogether. It seemed to change as she moved her head, the lamplight creating rose gold highlights and purple-plum shadows amidst the rich chestnut. 

As he watched, she picked up three sections from near the front, and began to weave them together, nimble fingers dancing a fascinating waltz down her head. She deftly pulled more and more strands into the pattern as she went, and the repetitive movement was oddly hypnotic. It left James entranced.

She’d just reached the nape of her neck when Sirius returned.

“How the hell is she doing that?” he muttered. 

“How is who doing what?” asked Sirius, dismissively.

“Evans.” He nodded towards her. “Doing that with her hair, behind her head, without a mirror or a charm or anything.”

“Oh. I dunno. Oi, Evans!” called Sirius. “James wants to know what you’re doing?”

Quite unexpectedly, James felt his skin heat with embarrassment at the thought that Evans might know he’d been looking at her. It was the strangest feeling, one that was completely unfamiliar. James decided that he didn’t like it, not at all. 

Lily shot them a disdainful look as she secured the tail of her hair with a band. “I’m plaiting my hair, obviously. You know, so it doesn’t get in the way while I’m brewing.” She looked pointedly at Sirius’s collar length locks. “Maybe I should teach you?”

Sirius looked horrified. “What? Like a girl? No way!”

Evans rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the ingredients on the bench in front of her. 

“Why are you so interested in Evan’s hair all of a sudden?” asked Sirius, curiously.

“I’m not,” huffed James.

And he wasn’t. He had far more important things to think about after all, like Quidditch trials, for instance, and how he and Sirius were going to sneak their Swelling Solution out of the classroom without Sluggie noticing. Resolute, he started measuring out dried nettles to add to his mortar. He wasn’t going to think about Evans’s hair ever again; he was sure of it.

[merrymagicalmenagerie]

Oh look, I actually wrote something! Harry/Ginny Incognito Elf Exchange 2024 for Macknificent101

More under the cut, or check out the link to my AO3

Like Her Paper Chains 

It’s Christmastime at the Burrow and Harry can’t sleep as usual. The cozy home was quiet, despite the many guests filling the rooms. Harry stared up at the violently orange ceiling for yet another night. His mind still raced over the comings and goings of Snape and Malfoy. The previous night’s dream of a particular ginger-haired girl didn’t help much either. Resigning himself to make something to drink, Harry quietly slipped out of bed. Moving around in Ron’s room wasn’t a difficult task, but he did worry about the landing and that one odd step that needed to be skipped.

As Harry quietly descended the stairs toward the kitchen, he heard an odd shuffling and crinkling sound coming from the living room. Ever the detective, he put his back against the wall and silently moved toward the sound, wand at the ready just in case. What greeted him was quite a sight–the room was covered in cut-up strips of paper of every color. Harry had never seen such a vast amount of paper in one place, let alone so many different varieties of color and patterns. He scanned the room for a moment before he spotted her.

Ginny was sitting in the middle of the vast crafting project, her back to him. He was awestruck by the way her hair glittered under the candlelight. He watched as she reached to the left and, without looking, snatched up a small handful of colorful strips. She let out an exasperated sigh and mumbled something that he couldn’t quite make out. Harry knew, of course, that Ginny liked making paper chains. But he always assumed it was something she did over time, like a quiet task to wind down for the night. But this—this was insanity.

He tempted fate and quietly called to her. “Ginny?” She jerked her head similar to a cat caught being naughty, eyes wide. Harry couldn’t help but smile softly at the sight. “How come you’re up so late doing…this?” he gestured to the paper forest on the floor.

“What? You expect Father Christmas had House Elves decorate every home before Christmas morning?” Her nose scrunched up as she giggled at him causing his heart to skip a beat. “You’re up late too, you know. Come help.” She shoved a small pile of multi-colored striped cuts on her left further aside and patted the floor.

Caught like a mouse, he obliged. Grabbing a pillow from the sofa on his way, he sat down next to her—too closely, but it was the amount of space she allowed him. Ginny looked at him expectantly. “Can’t sleep, pretty normal for me. You don’t need to worry; ’m fine.” He felt his face growing warm as he struggled to look directly in her eyes, but something told him that it was important to do so.

“If you say so,” she hummed. She finished her current link of the paper chain and bumped his shoulder with hers. “Help me get through this then. I’d be up for ages if you didn’t. Phlegm has totally taken over my room; otherwise, I’d normally be already done.” She handed him a Pritt Stick from her box of supplies and grinned widely.

“Hadn’t used this in a while. Didn’t think wizards would have glue sticks like Muggles do,” Harry replied as he reached for some strips of paper in front of him, returning her smile.

“Oh no! Daddy actually just got me a bunch of these for my birthday and some other muggle stationery. Before, I’d just use a sticky paste that I had to make myself. This is so much more handy!” Harry took a mental note to buy her crafting supplies for any upcoming gift-giving. By the way she smiled, he would spend all his gold in Gringotts getting her every paint, paper, glue, and glitter known to wizard and muggle alike.

Waving a few strips in the air between them, Harry spoke earnestly, “Well, Ms. Paper Chain Queen, you will have to show me how you do these ‘cause I have no clue.”

In response, Ginny brought her hand to her upper chest and gasped, “Nonsense! How can you not know how?” She dramatically sighed as she leaned over Harry’s lap to grab a glittery green strip, tucking a few loose strands of hair behind her ear as she went. “Let me show you…”

He didn’t dare move an inch, didn’t dare breathe until she was upright again.

He tried, honestly. He tried to pay attention as she twisted the strip of paper through the existing red link and glued it together. But her hands…her soft hands that held remarkably few calluses despite playing Quidditch with such fervor. Small, delicate fingers weaving paper as if it were nothing. Were they warm or a little cold? How would they feel—

"See? Easy! Surely you can manage,” she interrupted his thoughts, holding her addition in the air proudly.

He couldn’t recall if she did anything in particular. Harry was far too preoccupied with staring at her hands to watch what she was doing with them. Certainly nothing that wouldn’t haunt his dreams later. “I think so? Does color matter...?” He looked away, shuffling through the nearest strips of paper to hide the red that he knew was spreading across his face. “...this deep blue is my favorite…” he mumbled, hoping to escape the hell he was creating for himself.

“I’ve got you. I’m always here for you, Harry.” Ginny spoke solemnly as she squeezed his upper thigh. Alarms rang in his ears. Before he could fully turn his head, the moment passed as quickly as it appeared. Harry couldn't help but stare as she pulled her silky tresses through a hair band with ease as if she said nothing remarkable at all.

After a beat, Harry quietly said, “You look pretty good with your hair up like that.” Realizing what he said, he hastily went back to trying to glue up the blue bit of paper he was holding in his hands to a mustard yellow one.

“Didn’t know you were so into fashion. Maybe we should set up a meeting with Witch Weekly?” Ginny teased, bumping his shoulder again, seemingly oblivious to his heart beating out of his chest.

“Ha! You’d love to take the mickey out of me on that one.” Harry chuckled as he bumped her shoulder back, silently hoping to transfer the energy of his pounding heart to her. “Let’s get these done. I’ll make some hot chocolate when we’ve finished.”

“What a gent!” Ginny flicked her hair, long even in a ponytail, dramatically over her shoulder.

She had to know what she was doing to him, surely. How much more could he take before he said or did something stupid? He was certain that she could hear the frantic beating of his heart. Perhaps this is the moment to say something, he thought before reminding himself but she's still with Dean. At this moment though, it didn’t matter really. Nothing but sitting next to her did. Harry shook his head and smirked before returning to his feeble chain.

A few hours passed in glorious small talk. They made crude jokes about Ron and Lavender, gossiped about Hermione’s scandalous date with McLaggen (he would most definitely need to talk to her when they return to Hogwarts), talked shop about Quidditch strategies—anything and everything that came to their minds. It was as if no one else existed; Harry’s whole world was in the living room with Ginny alone. He could stay in this moment forever and be content.

The dark sky was giving way to an inky blue when all of the colorful paper chains were put together and the pair was finishing draping them across every surface in the room. Ginny was standing next to Harry, hands on her hips, as he secured the last link over the entryway to the kitchen. “How about that hot chocolate then?”

The next evening, the Weasley's and their guests were sitting in the living room, which everyone assumed Ginny had decorated so lavishly in a paper chain explosion alone as she always did. No one knew that Harry helped into the dawn hours. She discreetly winked at him when he came down the stairs for dinner, and he smiled in return. It was their little secret.

Despite his misgivings about his feelings toward Ginny and the eternal debate in his mind, Harry felt as if they grew a little closer the previous night. Something seems to have shifted between them, moving them forward toward some unknown goal, as if they were linked together like her paper chains.

[hellodean21]

1.

"Te la vieni a fare una passeggiata con me in riva al mare?"

Mimì aveva sentito una fitta allo stomaco quando Salvo gliel'aveva chiesto. Il tono caldo della sua voce, la stretta ferma sul braccio, il tenero sorriso che gli aveva rivolto. Tutto questo era fuori dall'ordinario per il vice Augello, il quale era abituato ad un Salvo Montalbano più schivo, scorbutico. E ogni volta che il suo superiore l'aveva invitato a Marinella durante il suo primo anno a Vigàta, era solo ed esclusivamente per lavoro. Doveva essere questo il motivo, il lavoro! pinsò certo. Ma c'era qualcosa che non lo convinceva, un che di sospetto: erano stati quei modi premurosi che avevano attivato i suoi sensi da poliziotto, e quei pinseri non gli avìano dato pace per tutto il tragitto.

Ad un tratto però Salvo li interruppe quei pinseri.

"Chi cc'è, Mimì? Di solito mi elenchi macari tutte le fimmine con cui sei stato in base al numero civico. Ora nun ti sentu pipitiari."

Mimì lo guardò. Avrebbe voluto sorridere a quei ricordi, ma ora come ora proprio non ci riusciva. Tirava una strana aria dentro quell'abitacolo e forse nessuno dei due avrebbe avuto il coraggio di ammetterlo.

"Allora mi ascolti quando parlo." disse, lisciandosi la cravatta.

Salvo si girò di scatto verso l'amico, accigliato.

"Certo, che ti ascolto. Ma chi domandi sunu?"

Il cuore di Mimì perse 'n battito; non tanto per il fatto che finalmente aveva avuto la conferma che Salvo lo ascoltasse davvero, quanto per il tono infastidito che aveva assunto, pensando che Mimì avesse una considerazione sbagliata di lui. Un moto di piacere, di soddisfazione si fece largo in lui, perché era raro che il commissario Montalbano facesse trasparire i suoi sentimenti verso qualcuno che non fosse Livia Burlando.

"Comunque non rigirare la frittata." Salvo riprese a parlare, "Chi c'hai?"

Rispondere alla domanda non era poi così difficile, doveva solo dirgli la verità, trasformare i suoi pinseri a parole.

"Nun c'ho nenti, Salvo, chi c'ho? Mi chiedevo solo cosa ti sta firriannu per la testa."

"Non posso voler trascorrere una serata col mio migliore amico?" gli rispose con un sorriso siddijatu.

Nonsi, nun è sulu chistu, pensò Mimì.

"Scusami, Salvo, ma non ti credo. Te lo si legge negli occhi, dalla fronte corrucciata, dalla postura tesa. Dalle mani sudate che ti continuano a sciddicari dal volante. Comu vidi nun mi sfugge nenti."

Salvo lo guardò per un attimo, pinsoso, per poi riportare lo sguardo sulla strada. Non disse niente in un primo momento, ma poi Mimì lo sentì sbuffare rassegnato una volta spenta l'auto e inserito il freno a mano. Erano giunti a Marinella.

"Da quannu si accussì perspicace?" gli domandò sardonico, subito dopo, lasciandosi andare sullo schienale.

"Sì nu libbru aperto pi mia, Salvo."

Quella frase così spontanea gli uscì labbra senza neanche rendersene conto. Si malidì, giurando a sé stesso di cucirsi la bocca non appena avrebbe sparato n'altra minchiata davanti al suo superiore. Però così tanto una minchiata macari non era: lui capiva Salvo più di chiunque altro - forse pure più di Livia - ma era un pinsèro che aveva sempre tenuto per sé, da quando lo conosceva. In un anno non si era mai sentito così scoperto come in quel momento perché l'amico ora – grazie alla sua uscita geniale - lo stava guardando in modo particolare: lo scrutava coi suoi occhi verdi, voleva leggergli la mente attraverso le sue microespressioni e a Mimì questo faciva scantari, non voleva che lui scoprisse quello che aveva taciuto sin dalla loro prima stretta di mano. Era 'n joco chi nun potìa perdiri.

"E questo è un male, Mimì." sentenziò abbassando ora lo sguardo sul mazzo di chiavi che aveva in mano.

Augello si limitò a squadrare il suo profilo, cercando di capire cosa avesse voluto dire, ma Salvo lo batté sul tempo, avvertendo il suo silenzio interrogativo.

"Perché accussì perdo tutto il mio fascino."

Il commissario si voltò di nuovo verso il suo vice, per vedere la sua reazione prima di sorridere definitivamente. Mimì stava sorridendo, gli occhi gli luccicavano come sempre.

"Ah, tipo misterioso si... secondo te Livia si è innamorata di te per questi misteri che si celano dietro il nostro Salvo Montalbano?"

La domanda risultò alle orecchie di Salvo come uno sfottò ed era macari proprio quella l'intenzione. Sapeva che a Mimì piaceva stuzzicarlo con questi argomenti assolutamente privati - a cui non avrebbe risposto neanche sotto tortura perché oltrepassava quel limite immaginario che si era fissato nel loro rapporto di amicizia -, ma c'era qualcosa di diverso adesso nella sua espressione. Si rabbuiò tutto ad un tratto, il sorriso abbandonò le sue labbra. Mimì, a quel cambio repentino, si diede mentalmente del minchione, e prima che potesse scusarsi, l'altro riprese a risponniri.

"Chi dumanna è chidda, Mimì? Mai l'affari to', eh?" sbuffò, per poi continuare ,"Nemmeno lo so perché s'è innamurata di mia, sinceramente."

Mimì si limitò a roteare gli occhi, sprofondando col fianco sul sedile, dopo quello che aveva sentito uscire dalla sua bocca.

"Io lo so perché..." sputò rapido, sorprendendo Montalbano che si girò verso di lui, con gli occhi pieni di aspettativa.

Ebbe un brivido lungo la schiena quando le sue iridi scure incrociarono quelle chiare di Salvo.

"E perché? Sentiamo."

Il vice Augello rispose prontamente all'ordine del suo superiore, avvicinandosi con estrema lentezza, sotto il verde ipnotico di Salvo, il quale sentì la necessità di non muoversi neanche di un millimetro. Ci parìa la cosa cchiù naturali du munnu essere lì, ad un palmo dal naso dal suo migliore amico. Lui, che non sopportava gli abbracci e il contatto fisico in generale, adesso non sapìa perché tutta quella vicinanza non lo guastava. Era perfettamente a suo agio anche se gli occhi scuri di Mimì lo stavano fissando come mai prima d'ora. Ci inciampò all'interno di quelle sabbie mobili, tanto da non accorgersi che gli stava indicando i suoi incisivi non perfettamente dritti.

"Per questi due bei signorini qui davanti." aggiunse scherzosamente poi al suo gesto, risvegliando il commissario da quello strano incantesimo. Spiazzato da quella minchiata magistrale, Salvo spalancò gli occhi e cominciò a ridere come non faciva da qualche tempo... .

Mimì, d'altro canto, si sentì avvampare al suono della sua risata e sapere che gliel'aveva causata lui gli fici scurdari per un attimo perché fossero lì, in quel luogo, a parlare di qualsiasi cosa che non fosse quello per cui erano davvero venuti a Marinella.

"Si nu cretino, si" pronunciò ad un tratto Salvo, ancora col sorriso sulle labbra.

"Il cretino ti fici rìdiri però."

"Alzo le mani!" esclamò, eseguendo il gesto con le braccia, per poi aprire lo sportello.

L'aria fredda di quella sera entrò nell'abitacolo facendo ritornare Mimì alla realtà all'istante. Imitò il suo superiore uscendo dalla Fiat Tipo, chiudendo a sua volta lo sportello con delicatezza.

Quando rivolse lo sguardo verso l'amico, lo trovò appoggiato al tettuccio dell'auto con entrambe le braccia incrociate, i suoi capelli ricci spinti dal leggero vento, la fronte pensierosa, il sorriso nuovamente sparito dal suo volto. Pensò fosse difficile appiccicargli un'espressione felice per più di due minuti, ma, d'altronde, Salvo Montalbano era fatto così e nun si potìa fari nenti.

"Comunque..." riprese a parlare per poi fare una piccola pausa, sospirando. "E' successa 'na cosa e te ne vorrei parlare."

Lo sapìa, pensò Mimì abbassando lo sguardo. Era palese che qualcosa non andasse e, a giudicare dall'umore altalenante che continuava ad avere, non era nemmeno una cosa positiva. Fu impulsivo da parte sua chiedere di cosa si trattasse a quel punto, ma Montalbano subito lo frenò: "Nun vogghiu parrari di nenti adesso. Godiamoci la serata."

***

Godiamoci la serata non era proprio l'espressione che Mimì Augello avrebbe scelto di usare per l'occasione. Sopravviviamo alla serata, macari sì, quella la trovava più calzante. In primisi, perché non era un grande amante dell'umidità, gli arruffava i capelli e il baffo perdeva la sua perfezione; in secundisi, perché nun lu sapìa cosa lo avrebbe atteso e avìa 'na paura fottuta. Paura che andava man mano avanzando perché Salvo aveva deciso davvero di portarlo supra la plaia, nta lu so postu, nta lu so munnu. C'andava spesso per pensare e stari sulu e quindi, come già preannunciato, buon segno non lo era pi nenti. Il vento e il mare agitato rispecchiavano totalmente l'animo del giovane Montalbano quella sera e Mimì si limitò semplicemente a galleggiargli intorno.

Dopo un minuto di interminabile silenzio, il commissario riprese parola affondando il suo peso sulla sabbia.

"Chi furtuna... nun cc'è nuddu ddà!" disse, guardandosi intorno per poi aumentare il passo.

Mimì invece lo vide allontanarsi senza neanche accorgersi che era rimasto impalato a guardarlo, avvolto nei suoi pinseri.

"Chi fai? Vieni!" lo richiamò Salvo da lontano.

Mimì scosse la testa e continuò a camminare verso l'amico, finché non lo raggiunse vicino la riva. Si stava sfilando le scarpe.

"Chi ti ci vulìa nu mandato pi venire fino a qua? E togli 'sti scarpi!" ordinò voltandosi verso di lui mentre era accalatu.

"Perché?" domandò il vice interrogativo.

Montalbano si ricompose piazzandosi davanti l'amico, guardandolo sfrontatamente negli occhi.

"Amunì, Mimì, ti fidi di me?" sorrise dolcemente, con un tono quasi implorante.

Mimì annuì deciso senza pensarci due volte, ma al tempo stesso fu pervaso da un brivido lungo tutto il corpo... e non era colpa du vientu.

"Allora toglile."

Sì, signore. Pensò.

"Anche i calzini?"

"Se vuoi... io li tolgo."

Fece come detto, Mimì. Tolse prima una, poi l'altra scarpa. Le mise vicine, perfettamente allineate. Le ripulì inutilmente dai residui di sabbia e solo allora alzò lo sguardo, per poi scoprire che Salvo si era completamente svestito, avìa solo le mutande addosso.

Il suo corpo era illuminato da quella poca fonte di luce che emanavano i lampioni in lontananza, quel tanto che bastava per provocare in Mimì un arresto cardiaco metaforico. Non erano molte le volte che l'avìa ammirato in costume, ma così era puri peggiu!

"Salvo, ti si nisciuto di testa?!"

Salvo non poteva vedere perfettamente il volto dell'amico in controluce ma era sicuro che si stesse perdendo un momento epico. Era raro mettere Domenico Augello in difficoltà: lui, sfacciato, sempre con la risposta pronta, ora era stato messo con le spalle al muro, con tanto di imbarazzo, e ci era riuscito senza neanche volerlo! Montalbano la segnò come una rivincita per tutte le volte che Mimì l'aveva fatto sentire così, cu i spaddi o muro, e quindi rise, rise di gusto.

Gli si avvicinò ancora di più, mettendosi una mano nei capiddi ricci, mossi dal vento.

"Ma lo vidi chi si propriu anziano?"

"No, si' tu chi si pazzu!" esclamò teatralmente. "Se ti viene qualcosa io come ce lo spiego a Livia?"

Non seppe dirlo, Mimì, ma appena nominò il nome della ragazza, in Montalbano si scatenò qualcosa e corse in acqua senza guardarsi indietro. Si tuffò completamente, scomparendo per un attimo in quel mondo a lui ancora sconosciuto. Certo, si definiva il più esperto a capirlo, però c'erano quelle volte che nun sapìa che pesci pigliare e questa era una di quelle.

Quando riemerse, si buttò i capelli all'indietro, facendo scivolare l'acqua rimasta. I muscoli delle braccia vennero messi in risalto grazie ai giochi di luce con l'oscurità della notte e a Mimì venne solo da sospirare.

"Dai, Mimì, quante cammurrie pi nu bagno!"

Anche il vice si mise le mani nei capelli, però a differenza sua avìa quasi perso la pazienza.

"Eh, no, Salvo. Avevi detto una passeggiata!" disse, avvicinandosi istintivamente verso la riva.

"Haju canciato idea. Nun si pò?"

"Per carità di Dio!" esclamò, alzando le mani.

"Amunì, Mimì! Livia non vuole mai farlo, almeno tu fammi contento."

Mimì, tutto ad un tratto, fu lui a canciari idea. E sotto quel ghigno soddisfatto di Montalbano, si tolse dapprima la giacca facendola scivolare a terra, poi allentò la cravatta fino a sfilarsela, sbottonò la camicia più in fretta che poté, si disfò anche della cintura, e infine toccò ai pantaloni che lasciò cadere sulla sabbia, insieme agli altri indumenti ammassati. In quel momento non gli importava più dei vestiti sporchi di sabbia, del vento freddo e dell'umidità che gli tràsia rintra i ùossa: voleva solo farlo contento. Così si lanciò in acqua e quando rispuntò in superficie fu colto dalla consapevolezza che per Salvo Montalbano avrebbe fatto qualsiasi cosa, anche morire di ipotermia.

"Bravo, Mimì, hai visto? Nun si anziano come credevo." asserì, nuotando verso di lui.

Mimì fece lo stesso, poiché le onde stavano cercando di allontanarli.

"P-per t-tua informazione caro Salvo..." balbettò leggermente avvicinandosi e alzando l'indice. "...i-io vado a correre tutte le mattine, mi alleno in palestra quattro volte a simana, e tutte le sere ho compagnia per attività extracurriculari, se capisci che intendo."

A Salvo gli si spense il sorriso prima di abbassare lo sguardo. Forse l'acqua era tanticchia cchiù fridda adesso.

"Ma nun fai troppe cosi?" domandò, facendosi ancora più vicino.

"Mi devo mantenere giovane, no?" rispose subito l'altro, distanziandosi leggermente.

Salvo fece una smorfia annuendo. Lo guardò senza dire niente. I suoi occhi a volte erano come gli artigli di un gatto, affilati, e in quel momento Mimì si sentì come graffiare in varie parti del corpo. Il commissario sembrava così siddijatu che preferì sprofondare nto scùru, così forse almeno lì le sue vere emozioni potevano affiorare liberamente senza che l'altro se ne accorgesse.

Non vedendolo risalire subito dopo, il vice gli si affiancò, preoccupato.

"Salvo?"

Nenti. Salvo non risalì.

"Oh, Salvo?!" urlò, afferrando per un braccio sott'acqua.

Quando Mimì lo tirò fuori, si ritrovarono ad una distanza chiaramente imbarazzante, che quasi si scantò di nuovo per quanto erano vicini. Nonostante tutto però Mimì non lasciò ancora la presa.

"Chi cc'è, Mimì?!" domandò passandosi una mano sugli occhi, facendo scivolare via l'acqua che gli ostruiva la vista.

"E tu non risalivi cchiù! Mi facisti scantari!"

"E quantu si esaggiratu!" esclamò, tirandosi malamente il braccio.

Salvo prese le distanze da lui, dandogli le spalle. Il suo cuore stìa correndo all'impazzata per quel gesto e non sapìa perché lo faceva stare così. Forse aveva esagerato davvero questa volta col contatto fisico, la vicinanza. Cercò, allora, di mascherare quella sua sensazione come meglio sapìa fare: lamentandosi.

"Comunque non mi devo più fidare di te." disse, spingendo l'altro a voltarsi verso di lui. "In primisi, perché questo..." indicò loro due e il mare, "...non è una passeggiata; in secundisi, quest'acqua è gelata, nun c'ha fazzo cchiù."

"Ti devi solo abituare." disse, nuotandogli accanto.

"Alla tua follia? Sissì, ci dovrò fare i conti per tutta la vita!"

Di colpo, Mimì si ritrovò coinvolto in un incessante guerra di schizzi d'acqua. Secondo il suo manuale di Salvo Montalbano, il commissario si era offeso per la risposta che gli aveva dato e quindi, come un picciriddu qualsiasi, doveva fargliela assolutamente pagare.

"Prendimi se ci riesci, Augello!" intimò l'altro, sferrando un nuovo attacco.

Una nuova fitta allo stomaco lo colse in flagrante sentendosi chiamare per cognome come la prima volta, proprio quando aveva varcato la soglia dell'ufficio del suo superiore. Salvo l'avìa centrato in pieno, in tutti i sensi, da quando aveva messo piede a Vigàta.

Fituso! pensò con un sorriso sulle labbra, e ricambiò l'attacco per la sua 'difesa personale'. Ma non sempre lo faceva... stava al gioco più che altro per darsi del sollievo prima di quella tempesta che aleggiava nell'aria e poi perché vedere Salvo sorridere era la cosa che più desiderava in quel momento (o per tutta la vita). Erano come due picciriddi spensierati, che facivano finta di non avere una conversazione pericolosa in sospeso.

Tutti quei pinseri lo fecero distrarre a tal punto che non si accorse della presenza dell'amico proprio a due passi da lui. Così, l'altro, ne approfittò, raccogliendo ancora più acqua nel palmo delle mani e colpendolo assai più forte delle volte precedenti.

L'impatto non fu indolore: infatti per Mimì fu come ricevere un pugno dritto in un occhio e si lasciò cadere nell'acqua più bassa con entrambe le mani sul viso.

La guerra degli schizzi dunque si era conclusa con la vittoria del giovane Montalbano - almeno così si fece persuaso - e, esultando come un bambino, non si rese subito conto della minchiata che in realtà avìa combinato. Ci mise un po' prima di accorgersi che Mimì stava avendo una certa difficoltà nel rialzarsi, in balìa delle onde che volevano trascinarlo insistentemente a riva. E quando finalmente gli mise gli occhi addosso, fu perché l'altro lo stava chiamando.

"Avà, Salvo! Vèni cca!"

Salvo s'accigliò fermandosi di colpo.

"Ma chi ti pigliò?" domandò, nuotando ora verso di lui.

"Non lo so, ho fastidio all'occhio." gli rispose Mimì, tastando la parte dolorante e cercando ancora l'equilibrio.

"Mi stai babbiando, Mimì? Pi dui gocce d'acqua?"

"Nonsì! Sono serio." disse, seccato. "E poi nun furu dui gocci d'acqua, Salvo. Mi vùlisti ammazzari!"

"A finisci cu chistu teatrino r'i to'?"

Mimì fece un profondo sospiro, rimanendo in silenzio. A volte nun si potìa controbattere con Salvo Montalbano, questo è quanto.

"Sùsiti, fammi vedere" incitò offrendogli la sua mano per tirarlo su.

Il vice gli porse la sua, ma Salvo non aveva controllato così bene la forza come credeva e inaspettatamente se lo ritrovò addosso, petto contro petto.

Entrambi si guardarono dritto negli occhi: Mimì perse l'uso della parola, mentre Salvo si scostò da lui alla velocità della luce.

"Scusami." disse subito, frizionandosi timidamente i capelli e guardando in basso.

"N-Non è successo niente, Salvo. Non ti preoccupare."

Mentì. Per Mimì era stato molto più di uno semplice niente. Un tocco fugace, certo, ma tanto era bastato per mandarlo in tilt. Era abituato a toccare Salvo magari sulla spalla o con un abbraccio, ma c'erano sempre quei vestiti ingombranti di mezzo. Ora era diverso. Il contatto con la sua pelle gli avìa fatto provare una sensazione di incredibile piacere, brividi. Ed era... sbagliato.

"Non mi scandalizzo per così poco."

Falso, bugiardo. Era così che si sentiva, ma cosa poteva fari? Continuare a tenersi tutto per sé era l'unica via d'uscita da qualcosa che era destinato a morire.

Salvo spalancò gli occhi, ma fece finta di nenti, "Dai, fammi dare 'na taliata."

Con molta calma, si riavvicinò al collega, tenendo fisso lo sguardo su di lui. Mimì, che non reggeva per più di due minuti quegli occhi dentro ai suoi, arrossì, ma nel buio della notte non si potìa vìdiri. E, combinazione micidiale, Montalbano gli posò tutte e due le mani sul viso, un gesto completamente non necessario secondo il vice commissario. Che bisogno avìa Salvo di accarezzarlo asciugando le goccioline d'acqua che continuavano a cadergli dai capiddi? Nisciuno! Mimì deglutì a fatica col cuore in folle, mentre l'altro si avvicinò ancora di più all'occhio che faciva male con una tale spavalderia in cui non ci si rivedeva. Da quando era così? E soprattutto con... Mimì? Cercò di allontanare quei pinseri e nasconderli sotto la sabbia con l'unica arma che aveva a disposizione: babbiarlo.

"Fimmine di qua, fimmine di là, e poi chiànci pi tanticchia d'acqua." enfatizzò, guardandolo.

"Quarchi vota si propriu nu strunzu." gli rispose riducendo gli occhi a due fessure.

Sul volto di Salvo invece si palesò un sorriso molto divertito che fu quasi una risata, "Peggio di 'n picciriddu si."

Salvo però non era l'unico a sorridere in quel momento.

"Tà stari fermu però, ché nun vìju 'na minchia."

Il vice eseguì il nuovo ordine del suo superiore e s'impegnò davvero a restare fermo, ma a dirla tutta quella distanza ravvicinata che c'era tra lui e quell'uomo dannatamente bello non lo aiutava di certo a mantenere la calma. Da lì poteva ammirare le ciglia lunghissime, le rughette ai lati degli occhi e quel delizioso neo sullo zigomo sinistro. Però la cosa che più lo faciva impazzire era la tonalità indefinita delle sue iridi. Perché, a pensarci bene, da così vicino, non erano semplicemente verdi come si poteva pensare. Erano diversi, avìano qualcosa di più. Erano verdi come riolite adornati da un tocco di marrone, che lo fissavano come se ci si volesse appigliare per un motivo a lui sconosciuto.

Poi Salvo prese dolcemente ad accarezzarlo col pollice sulla guancia e d'improvviso Mimì si scurdò di lu friddu. Rabbrividì sotto a quel gesto delicato, ma allo stesso tempo si sentì così cullato da quella carezza inaspettata che c'avrebbe potuto davvero morire in quel mare gelido e scuro macari senza neanche conoscere la verità.

Tuttavia, gli era chiaro come il sole invece che quello lì di fronte a lui fosse un Salvo diverso; uno che non gli avìa mai voluto mostrare e questo lo faceva agitare.

"Talìa là!" ordinò subito dopo il commissario indicando con la testa verso la sinistra.

Mimì fece come detto, distogliendo il suo sguardo dal viso di Salvo. Lo percepì avvicinarsi ancora di più, tanto da sfiorarlo con la punta del naso. Trattenne il respiro, ma non i battiti accelerati del suo cuore.

"No, Mimì, nun vìju nenti." affermò, staccandosi leggermente.

Macari normale vista l'oscurità che li avvolgeva sempre più, ciononostante lo vide rabbrividire sotto i suoi occhi.

"Mimì..." pronunciò dolcemente.

Gli venne spontaneo posargli la mano sulla spalla per poi spostarla lungo il braccio tastandola. Era freddissimo, ma Salvo non poteva sapere che dentro di sé, Mimì, stava andando a fuoco.

"...ma tu stai congelando!" esclamò il commissario portandoselo tra le braccia.

Mimì non ricambiò, restò immobile, col volto nell'incavo del suo collo. E ora che poteva toccarlo col suo petto constatò che nun era u sulu a trimari.

"S-Sissì, e nun sugnu l'unico..." gli rispose flebile, rimanendo ancorato nell'abbraccio.

Fu Salvo il primo a sciogliere quell'unione a metà. Lo guardò per poi mettergli di nuovo un braccio attorno al collo, girandosi e sfoggiando un sorriso a trentadue denti, colto completamente in flagrante.

"Ahhh, trasimu, và!"

[kay-elle-cee]

*cough* um.....willabeth angst anyone?

(Happy 17th birthday to At World's End! I wish I had a picture of the Will Turner shirt I made and wore to the premiere!)

She had killed a man. The guilt, oddly enough, came not from taking the life itself. Elizabeth’s hands gripped the wood of the railing as the nausea threatened to overwhelm her again. She’d been making nightly excursions to this gangway, out of sight of the skeleton crew Captain Barbossa kept for the overnights as they sailed towards Singapore. Sleep was not a luxury that came easy to her since her day of reckoning; a clear mind and settled conscience even less so. Soft footsteps approached, then stopped. She made an effort to conceal her face, turning it away from the sound. “Elizabeth…”

[builder051]

NaNo 2024 day 8: A hairbrained scheme

Avengers Infinity Saga canon/missing moment

Right before they put the time through the Scott

Humor without plot

————————

Bruce sits behind the control panel in his lab. Scott’s van is backed into place in front of him, and many wires and cords run from its trunk to his computer.

That’s not his focus at the moment, though. A video chat window dominates his screen.

“You sure you don’t want to come?” Bruce implores.

“Nope.” Tony replies succinctly. “I already told you. And I haven’t changed my mind.”

“It’s still not too late. We can delay launch until you get here,” Bruce offers. “Come on. The team’s back. We need you to help save the world.”

“I need to be in the backyard,” Tony says. “Got to blaze the fire pit. Morgan already has the tent. We’re camping out tonight. You know, play a little banjo, melt some marshmallows. Way more important than your hairbrained scheme.”

“Can I get your blessing at least? If it works, I’m taking all the credit.” Bruce tries for a light, friendly tone. He doesn’t want to be angry with Tony. He doesn’t want to be angry at all. “If it fails… Well, it was Scott’s idea.”

Both men laugh, but they quickly sober when they make eye contact again. Tony’s hand comes into the camera view, and the feed cuts off.

“Hey!” Scott calls from across the lab. “Why were you laughing at me. This is a great idea.” He gestures at the van. “I’m the only one with an idea.”

“I didn’t mean to make you feel bad,” Bruce says. “It’s just…Tony. He’s spent too much time alone. I think it’s an entrepreneur thing.”

“So he’s really a no go?” Scott asks. “For sure?”

“Yeah,” Bruce sighs. He closes the tab for the video chat and returns his attention to the time machine’s programming. “At this point, he may as well be on another planet.”

“He still covers the insurance, right?” Scott squirms in his vermillion hazmat suit. “If I die on the job, somebody’s got to get the payout to Cassie. I, uh, haven’t been great at that college fund thing. Do a cashier’s check. And delivery receipt.”

“You’re not gonna die,” Bruce reassures. “It worked last time.” He taps a few keys, finishing up the last line of his equation. “You survived the dust after all.”

“Mm.” Scott nods. “Will it be like jet lag, do you think? If I come back all woozy, wave some horseradish under my nose. That’ll kick me out of any kind of time coma.” He takes in Bruce’s blank look. “You have condiments here?” He tilts his head toward the fridge in the back of the lab.

“I don’t know,” Bruce says. “Natasha does the groceries. I usually eat out.” He hovers his finger over the power switch. “It’ll go fine. You ready?”

“Wait!” Scott stalls. “We should get something tonight. To celebrate, you know? After this thing works? Your treat. You have Doordash?”

“We have to actually do it first.” Bruce flicks the switch. The equipment in the back of the van lights up. “Then tonight we’re eating on Tony’s ticket.” He grins at Scott. “Do you like s’mores?”

[honeydukesheroine]

Stones 🪷

For @hinnymicrofic and @ginnyw-potter - your peer pressure worked! Sorry it's not fluffy though, I promise a fluffy one for you soon 🥰

Read below the cut or on Ao3

A missing moment from my WIP, The In-Between's (6th Year) - Honesty Shots

Ginny followed closely behind Harry as they exited the backdoor of the Burrow. 

He walked as far away from the house as possible, headed for the low stone bridge they knew to be the boundary of the Burrow’s protective enchantments. 

When they got there, Ginny sat on the low stone wall that flanked her parents’ driveway. It was all poorly maintained now as there was rarely a reason to come over here after the Ford Anglia went wild. 

“Did you know?” Harry asked, turning towards her. “That Hermione hasn’t told her parents anything?”

“No,” Ginny said, shaking her head.

No wonder Hermione had been so nervous to bring her parents to the Burrow. Ginny figured it was just because of her feelings for Ron. 

If Hermione had only told her, Ginny might’ve been able to help change the subject back in the kitchen. Even if the Grangers really should’ve known, Ginny was well coached in the honorable duty of covering for one’s siblings. 

“Why do you think…?” Harry asked.

“This may come as a shock to you, Harry,” Ginny said, she wasn’t about to lie to him. “But you lot have been involved in some dangerous shit.”

Harry breathed out in a kind of acknowledgement before shoving his hands into his pockets. He began to lightly kick at the base stones of the wall.

“They all seemed to be getting along before that, though,” Ginny added, trying to lift his mood. “Could’ve sworn they were about to discuss wedding dates.”

Harry said nothing. He continued to scrape at the padding of grimy moss with the point of his shoe.

Before thinking twice about the ramifications of the statement, she chanced saying, “They seemed confused that you’d never been to one of them before, a - a tooth Healer.”

“Dentist,” Harry said, kicking the rock over. “Yeah, usually that’s the sort of thing Muggle parents take their kids to.”

Ginny thought back to her Muggle Studies class in second year when they’d learned about different types of Muggle health services. It’d been during her second year, when all she could think about at the time were sharp fangs jutting out of a monstrous snake head.

“Are they the ones that put tiny spears in your mouth?” 

Harry nodded.

“Sounds like you got lucky then,” she said.

Harry made a face and Ginny wondered if she’d gone too far. Maybe she should’ve just kept her mouth shut.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” Harry said eventually, still kicking the ground. “Sometimes they even pull your teeth out.”

“That’s a profession?” Ginny asked, encouraged that he had at least responded. “Why not just give people Hagrid’s rock cakes?”

He finally gave her a small smile, which made her glad she’d said it. 

Harry reached down to pick up a handful of stones. Taking one in his right hand, he tossed it up and down a few times before taking a step back and chucking it down the driveway. It sailed several meters before coming in contact with the invisible shield, evaporating with a sizzle. 

“Do you ever think about what things would be like if Tom Riddle never existed?”

“All the time,” she said.

Harry looked at her for a long moment, no doubt recalling their conversation from when he came to sit with her in Myrtle’s bathroom. They’d both had yet to acknowledge their talk there since then.

“Your parents wouldn’t need these protective charms,” he said, turning away and throwing another stone. “I’d have grown up in Godric’s Hollow… Maybe it’d be my parents in there too.”

Harry bent down to pick up several more. He seemed frustrated more than angry, like Ginny remembered feeling after taking one too many hexes from the twins in D.A. practice. 

Before now, she never would’ve pegged Harry as someone who preoccupied his time with what if’s and could have been’s. He always seemed so stoic and focused on what was directly ahead. 

She supposed he had to be like that, Tom made sure of it.

Harry threw several more rocks, each throw with a little less effort. She watched them lob and disappear with a satisfying hiss. 

Ginny shifted on the stone wall to get more comfortable and said into the silence, “But still no dentists.”

“Yeah,” Harry laughed, letting the rocks fall. He walked over to lean against the wall close beside her. “Still no dentists.”

“You don’t need one anyway. You should keep all your teeth, I think they’re nice,” she said, and her face burned.

“Thanks,” he said, looking down at his feet.

“Give me one of those, will you?” She said, indicating a one of the rocks he’d dropped. When he did so, she clambered up on the unsteady wall and turned in the direction of the pond which lay just a few paces from the Granger’s Volvo. 

She and her brothers used to play a game where they aimed for the lily pads in the pond. When Harry stood up beside her, she told him the scoring system, and they spent the next twenty minutes plonking stones in the pond.

One poor throw slipped from Ginny’s hand, ricocheted off the stone wall, and hit the side of the Granger’s car just above the tire.

“Oh shit,” Ginny laughed and hopped down from the rock wall in a mild panic, pulling Harry down into a duck behind it as they heard raised voices coming from the Burrow’s kitchen. The next moment, Mr. and Mrs. Granger were marching toward their car, Hermione at their heels. 

Harry and Ginny listened to the confrontation between Hermione and her parents. When the car revved to life, they hurried out of the driveway, heading instead for the garden. 

It wasn’t until Ron came by about a half hour later that Harry said anything again. But until then, Ginny stayed with Harry as they paced the garden rows of bright green leaves bursting to life, and a patch of purple flowers that were waiting for their chance to reach full bloom.

[seriouslysam8]

Brumous Missing Moment

Missing Moment One: Late September 1996

You guys can give a big thanks to @bellmel for legit getting this less than 24 hours ago and editing it like a fucking champ. She's amazing! Another special thanks can be given to @myrtlewarren for the idea!

If there's a missing moment from Brumous you would like to see, send me an ask. I don't guarantee I will write it, but inspire me enough and I just may. Please no prompts that heavily involve Hermione though.

Also, I made a new banner for the Missing Moments series that's similar to the original one. I had to have a different banner, right???

Brumous

Petrichor Series

Also on ff.net

[adenei]

Sparks Fly

Written for Microfic Mayhem! A good old GOF AU/Missing Moment (ish?)

Thank you @cruelsummer-ficfest for helping me find my writing groove again and hosting a FABULOUS fest

Song: Sparks Fly

Ship: Romione

Read on AO3

The way you move is like a full on rainstorm

And I'm a house of cards

You're the kind of reckless that should send me running

But I kinda know that I won't get far

“‘Next time there’s a ball, ask me before someone else does, and not as a last resort!’” 

Hermione brushes past Ron, heat rising in her cheeks and tears stinging her eyes. She only makes it a couple of steps before he grabs her by the arm and pulls her back. The room is starkly empty all of a sudden.

“Let me go, Ron,” she warns, but he doesn’t.

“You weren’t a last resort.” The words are barely audible. She wouldn’t have believed he actually spoke if she hadn’t seen his lips move.

“Oh, really?” She yanks her arm out of his grasp and steps forward so that they’re nose to nose again. “So, what? You just needed to ensure I was, in fact, a girl first?”

“I’m well aware you’re a girl,” he responds through gritted teeth.

And at that exact moment his eyes drift down, settling on the tiny bit of cleavage heaving up and down from her breathing before snapping back up to her face. Flattered as Hermione is, her nostrils flare and her cheeks flush with anger. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“What? No, I—” His ears are scarlet now and he steps back to shed the outer layer of his robes. “C’mon, Hermione. Trust me, I noticed.”

“Yes, well, don’t seem so shocked. I’m fully capable of wearing form-fitting clothes or undoing an extra button on my shirt. I just choose not to.”

“Why?” Ron’s eyes widen slightly, giving away that he didn’t mean to ask the question out loud.

Hermione sighs. “Because I’ll never be as desirable as Fleur or Lavender, so why bother trying?”

She’s not sure where the honesty comes from. It must be all the Butterbeer she’s had tonight that’s finally catching up to her.

“You’re clearly desirable. Viktor fucking Krum took you to the Yule Ball.”

“If only he were the one I wanted to go with,” she admits in a whisper.

Ron scoffs. “Yeah, right. Sure didn’t look like that in the Great Hall.”

“I’m not saying I had a horrible time,” Hermione snaps. “It’s just—” 

“Just what?”

I'm on my guard for the rest of the world

But with you, I know it's no good

She shudders, but doesn’t know if she can tell Ron. Sure, he’s her best friend, but admitting this would be a step too far. But he gives her that look and her heart melts a little more before the words come tumbling out. 

“I was having a good time until the end of the night. He tried to kiss me and I—I turned away.”

Ron balls his fists at his side. “He what?”

“No, no! He tried, but he didn’t. Being his date to the ball was one thing, but—I don’t know, I just couldn’t…he’s not who I wanted to share a first kiss with.”

Silence hangs thick and clouds the space between them until Ron finally speaks. His hands are no longer clenched and his jaw is more relaxed.

“You’ve thought about who you want to share a first kiss with?”

Hermione lets out a derisive laugh. “Of course I have! I am fifteen, you know. Even if I don’t always act like it…I would like the experience of kissing a boy at some point.”

“But you didn’t kiss Viktor.”

“I did not.”

“So who then?”

“I can’t say.”

“Can’t? Or won’t?”

“Can’t.” Her lip turns up into the slightest smirk, and perhaps it’s still the Butterbeer coursing through her veins, but she’s pretty sure the proximity to Ron is getting to her. That’s the reason she’s brave enough to say, “Rumor has it, he thinks I’m a nightmare.”

Their fingers brush and she hears a slight hitch in his throat and—did he just move closer? She’s so busy contemplating it that she almost misses his lips brush hers. It may not be a true kiss, but it’s pure heaven. Hermione closes her eyes and sparks fly, but before she can bask in the moment, it’s already gone.

“He definitely doesn’t.”

They remain frozen like that for a beat, and Hermione wishes he’d move back in and truly kiss her this time. Now that she’s had the smallest taste, she wants more.

But Ron pulls away instead. Running a hand through his hair, he grabs the discarded robe, and backs toward the boys’ staircase. Hermione is left reeling in the common room, frozen in place as she watches him leave. She leans on the back of the sofa for support, almost missing when Ron flashes a lopsided grin at her before disappearing up the staircase, and she’s left wondering if all of this is real.

Regardless of whether it did or didn’t, the question still remains:  Now what?

Gimme something that'll haunt me when you're not around

'Cause I see sparks fly, whenever you smile

[thisbluespirit]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Doctor Who (2005) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Twelfth Doctor/River Song Characters: Twelfth Doctor, Data Ghost River Song Additional Tags: Ficlet, Flash Fic, Prompt Fill, Missing Scene, Episode: s10e12 The Doctor Falls, Regeneration (Doctor Who), Death, Ghosts, Kissing, Vignette Summary:

River Song/Twelfth Doctor, kiss on a falling tear.

[sisterclaire]

A new Missing Moment is up!

• • •  You can also check out • • • ❤️ Our Patreon for many monthly goods! 💛 Our Hivemill store for prints and merch! 💚 Yamino’s Twitch for watercolor streams! 💙 Our YouTube channel / Livewrite archive for extra content

[lippskinn]

The Spy

"Remus, what is your problem?!" It had been a decade since Sirius last called Remus by his name, "Frank almost risked his neck for you!"

Sirius charged at Remus and pointed his wand directly at his throat. He was so close Remus could feel his breath on his face, and had to tilt his head slightly to avoid being spat at.

"You better have a brilliant excuse for this," Sirius forced eye contact like a dog staring down his opponent.

He panted and grabbed Remus shirt with his free hand. The tip of his wand began to leave a red mark on Remus'  neck. "What do you want from me Sirius? I said I was sorry," he spoke calmly.

"I WANT TO TRUST YOU !" Sirius yelled, spit flying, vains protruding.

Remus wiped his face with his sleeve and lifted his head to finally make eye contact. Now, Sirius could see every bit of the beast in Remus' eyes.

"Get out of my face," Remus hissed and leaned into the wand that began to cut off his airways. Sirius released his grip at once without lowering his wand or losing eye contact. "You've made up your mind a long time ago."

"If I find out you're the spy, Remus," Sirius threatened.

"Then what? Tell me! WHAT WILL YOU DO!?" Remus raised his voice. He towered over Sirius by a few inches, their chests touching. Remus didn't need a wand to defend himself as he was built much sturdier than Sirius who was rather lean.

"If I find out you're the spy, I'll find you wherever you are and you'll wish they'd put a Fidelius Charm on you too."

"I see you've made up your mind about me then. Is that why you won't tell me where James and Lily are hiding?"

Sirius didn't reply.

"There you said it."

[sporesigil]

heartless?

[egophiliac]

back from break and catching up on stuff! (belated) congrats Eng on getting dog sensei :D :D :D

[walkerrenee]

sometimes i randomly remember how insane maggie stiefvater was for making ronan lynch—a man that can create reality—a man of god, when he himself is a god of a man. then to take this man and have him be not only in love with, but a literal soulmate of a man named adam. parrish. adam parrish. who, mind you, lives above ronan's very own place of worship. and is the namesake of the first of mankind that the bible says god made from the literal dust of the ground (adam parrish: comes from nothing, hair "dusty" in color) and appoints him to care for the garden of eden (adam parrish: sacrifices himself to ronan's sentient forest). then has adam viewing ronan as a god and ronan saying "maybe he dreamt (created)" adam???? like who just fucking writes that and goes about their life?

[nothatsmi]

The foxhole court, chapter five

First books monsters were something really.

On an aftg reread, which is very useful to survive school these days. Currently into the raven king, i'll make more fanart cause this brings me so much joy (which - idk what it tells about my mental state). If you have suggestions on what I should draw next I'm taking em.