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halothenthehorns · 3 years

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THE UNEXPECTED TASK

James still had a brilliantly happy smile in place as he began. This tournament was far from over, but the longer the break in between task times the better in his opinion, as all he really wanted to be hearing was his son having a normal and fun-filled life at school. Now he'd finally discovered where the kitchens were, it was a great omen to other things looking up.

A sharp voice was calling for Potter and Weasley to pay attention!

"Now what are you up to?" Lily giggled. Some teacher telling them off sounded like a field day compared to whatever else had been going on.

Harry had a smile on his face, not entirely sure as he could hear McGonagall saying that with clarity several times.

McGonagall's voice had snapped back to where Harry and Ron were in the back of the class, making both boys jump.

"Don't need to have that described," Sirius' grin was still widening, "that's one of the most common things to happen around us."

"How you lot always managed to stay on her bad side and still manage to have the best grades in that class I'll never know," Lily rolled her eyes fondly.

Their lesson was over for the day, and the two had been amusing themselves with a pair of fake wands from Fred and George, Ron fighting with a parrot, Harry a haddock.

"Never had the pleasure of doing that though," Remus snickered.

"Parrot versus fish," James smirked, "I think Ron was winning."

"We didn't know what they'd change into until after," Harry chuckled.

"Don't knock Harry's skill to improvise," Sirius wagged his finger at James.

McGonagall was addressing the rest of the class now, saying she could move on now that they were acting their age.

"Hurtful," Sirius spluttered with his hand to his heart.

"As if you haven't heard far worse," Lily shook her head at the lot of them, who seemed to find this far too funny.

Harry's haddock chose that moment to let its head fall to the floor: Ron's bird had just severed it the moment they'd been called out.

"Called it!" James whooped, throwing his hands in the air in victory, then holding his hand out expectantly to Sirius, who quickly smacked it away and reminded, "we didn't place money down, would you shove it."

McGonagall began telling them all about the approaching Yule Ball,

"Oh shit!" Remus yelped with quite a look crossing his face.

"Do I even want to know what that is?" Harry groaned as he watched those around him go from wide-eyed shock, to genuine laughter.

"It explains why you were assigned dress robes," Lily got out around twitching lips.

"I forgot about that," James said honestly, his eyes swimming with all the anticipation of fun this could be.

"So, no then," Harry grumbled when he realized no one was going to answer.

which was a tradition of the Triwizard Tournament and a chance for them all to interact with their foreign guests. This ball,

"You mean she meant like, a dancing ball," Harry groaned when understanding came to him.

"That's right, pup," Sirius nodded along in pure joy for what he was already hoping to hear. So far any mention of Harry around girls had been a hoot. This promised to be just as much fun judging by his already red-tinged face.

"Well, I don't want to go," Harry insisted at once. "I've never been to anything like this, why would I start now?"

"It's traditional of the champions," Lily pointed out, a slight agitation at that fact making this slightly less fun, but not completely. "You're going to have to make an appearance."

Harry slammed back against his seat, his face buried in his hands in mutinous protest of this, which only caused another round of laughter.

would be open to fourth years and above, though younger students could be invited. Lavender and Parvati began giggling, much to Harry's displeasure as McGonagall said nothing to them.

"Agreed, you two were even being silent about it," Sirius nodded along for Harry's benefit.

Harry still wouldn't look up. One moment of agreement wasn't going to make up for the laughter he could still hear in everyone's voice.

McGonagall was still addressing that dress robes were to be worn, and this would be happening Christmas Day, and the time frame of it. She hesitated for a moment before continuing, saying that this was a chance for them to ah, let their hair down-

Lavender began giggling harder than ever, but at least this time Harry got the joke. Their head of house always wore her hair in such a tight bun, it was hard to imagine her doing anything of the sort.

"I don't know," James' grin kept getting wider until he was sure it would get stuck that way, and he cared nothing. "I've seen her get pretty fast and loose when it came to her Quidditch. I like to think she'd relax a bit around other things as well."

"Remember that time we had our beds soaring through the corridors?" Remus reminded with an old smile. "She actually sat there and debated with us for an hour about the technicalities of the no students out of bed rule, and didn't even punish us when she made us go back."

"One of the most memorable loopholes you've found," Sirius hadn't kept a straight face this whole chapter and knew he wasn't going to any time soon.

McGonagall was still going sharply, saying this did not mean that they were going to be acting like idiots! Her Gryffindors were still to be expected to hold Hogwarts standards, and she would be seriously displeased to hear otherwise.

"As far as she knows I'm still on the run," Sirius said with the most wide eyed of innocence, "so I don't see how she's going to get me to be displeased about much of anything."

"Why do a joke that's not funny," Remus groaned with far more indulgence than he'd meant to, but they were all in too good a mood to really be annoyed this time.

"Because it's funny and you know it," Sirius insisted with a knowing smirk, especially because Harry still laughed every single time.

They were dismissed from class then, but Harry was called back for a private word.

"Oh boy," James rolled his eyes, always having a bad feeling now when Harry was singled out.

Harry thought this had to do with his decapitated fish,

"Please, I'll bet Neville's made more disturbances," Lily scoffed, that really wasn't that bad.

"Besides, she would have had Ron stay as well," James agreed; at least their old head of house wasn't biased.

went back up to face her. She began by informing Harry that he and his partner-

but Harry cut off in surprise what partner?

Cue another round of unnecessary insane giggling on everyone but Harry's part, who was seriously considering strangling the lot of them.

McGonagall watched him for a moment like she thought he was being funny,

"That's the best part," Remus at least tried to muffle his chuckles while he spoke, "he's not got a clue."

before continuing his dance partner and he would be opening for the Yule Ball along with the rest of the champions.

Harry spluttered in surprise he didn't dance, and McGonagall returned oh yes he did.

Sirius had his fist stuffed in his mouth in attempts to muffle himself so that James wouldn't stop, leaving whatever he wanted to say null and void.

That's why she was speaking to him now, to inform him he'd be a part of the opening dance as part of the tradition.

Harry's mind offered up the image of himself in coat tails and a top hat, dancing with a woman in one of Petunia's frilly dresses.

"You and your vivid imagination," Lily told him fondly, though he really wasn't that far off.

He flat out stated he was not dancing.

McGonagall told him right back that yes he was, as a Hogwarts champion it was as much his obligation as the Tournament. Harry still tried to protest, but McGonagall wasn't hearing it.

"No sympathy on her part whatsoever," James shook his head in pity for his poor boy.

"What would you have her do," Remus tried to demand, though his quivering voice already gave away how the end of this was coming, "give the Gryffindors dance lessons?"

Sirius genuinely lost it and laughed mercilessly at the thought, but James was not going to let the joke go that easily, his eyes suddenly lighting in a whole new mischievous light. "It's not like it's a bad idea. Can you imagine Sprout and Flitwick, each house would have their own-"

He couldn't get much farther when his wife collapsed into giggles as well; she was trying to clamp her hand over her mouth so hard that she looked like she was trying to smother herself. James had an indulgent smile in place as he began to ask her what was so funny, but then he did a quick head count and realized who he'd left out intentionally on principle, but then he too lost any sensibility.

It took no time at all for Harry and Remus to realize, and join in. Sirius was left doubled over and wheezing by the time everyone tried to calm back down, complaining without a drop of ire, "I can't breathe."

"Well, good," Lily told him primly, her own shoulders still shaking slightly, "maybe now we can go five minutes without hearing your stupid commentary."

"You love my stupid commentary," Sirius shot back at once, then his face twitched with the force of his own stupid comment as he realized what he said.

James had to work furiously for a few moments until his voice came out in any sort of intelligible before he could continue.

Last week Harry would have rather been given the task to find a dance partner than face the Hungarian Horntail.

"And I fully agree with you," Sirius nodded along, some sense coming back to him. "Girls really aren't that hard once you get the hang of them."

"You would know," Lily sniffed, "you went through enough of them."

"Never someone unwilling to tame," Sirius' smirk kept widening, and James decided to keep going before a familiar round could appear.

Now that he'd done the latter, he decided he'd rather have another go at the dragon.

Sirius gave a forceful shiver in full disagreement, but the others at least gave another slight bit of laughter for Harry.

News of the Ball had clearly gotten around, as Harry had never seen so many people staying over Christmas break like he always did. As far as he could tell, everyone fourth year and up would be attending, and they were all speaking about the coming event. To Harry's amazement, he suddenly realized for the first time how many girls his school suddenly housed.

Harry groaned as yet again all four of them had to stop themselves for a moment from laughing again. How was this chapter worse than the Horntail!

Girls giggling as they passed in the corridor, shrieking with laughter if a boy tried to stop in front of them,

"Oh, that's pleasant," Remus groaned, some pity for Harry starting to replace the amusement. "They aren't making it easy at all."

"It doesn't help that the boys make it as awkward as possible," Lily shrugged. "It should be as simple as asking."

"You did not just say that with a straight face," James accused her. "You're lucky I'm the persistent one."

"You were an arse before I said yes to you," Lily reminded lovingly, "and even if the girl does turn them down, it's not the end of the world."

"You're simplifying it too much," James pouted back at her. "What if the bloke you wanted to go with said no to you, don't admit you wouldn't be crushed and not even want to go with anyone else on principle."

"Come on, guys," Sirius butted in with a longing look at the book, "I want to hear about Harry dealing with this."

"No, no," Harry quickly yelped and tried to push the book back away from his dad, "I'm enjoying this, let them keep going."

James had been successfully derailed, though, as he did keep going despite Harry's continued protest.

and all of them comparing notes on what they were going to wear.

Harry demanded of Ron as they passed a dozen of them why they had to move in packs?

Remus opened, but quickly closed his mouth. He'd been wanting to make a crack about the last time a girl had gone to the bathroom on her own, she'd been attacked by a troll, but he thought before he spoke and knew that one was in poor taste.

Sirius did no such thing as he blurted, "the last girl you met who'd gone off on her own ended up killed by a basilisk, do you really blame them."

Harry scowled lightly at him, honestly debating giving him a smack as now didn't feel like a time to bring that up, but James was ignoring them both.

Demanding how he was supposed to get one on their own?

Ron suggested lassoing one.

"Well, he's not wrong," Sirius said saintly, though honestly they all started giggling again.

Then Ron asked who Harry had in mind?

Harry's thoughts at once went to Cho,

"Saw that coming," Remus agreed as he met Harry's baleful look with a smirk, but Harry wasn't denying it.

but she was very popular and Harry knew he'd never do it.

Ron guessed anyways, and tried to brighten his mood by pointing out Harry was one of the champions, girls would be lining up to come dance with him.

"Say yes to the first brave soul who tries, problem solved," Remus quickly agreed.

"He should at least have a try at Cho first," James quickly pointed out, having much more faith Harry would find some hidden nerve.

Sirius disagreed and was more on Remus' side with this one, Harry most definitely had not picked up his father's confidence in this matter, nor had he been getting turned down at every step like James had at this point in his school life. Sirius enjoyed making jokes, but he was well aware Harry really had no idea what was going on in this aspect, and maybe it would be best to go simple.

Ron had been nothing but helpful advice since the return of their friendship,

Remus rolled his eyes in genuine agitation at that, he knew all too well when someone felt guilty they'd try to be overtly kind, and it usually managed to tick him off all the more.

but to Harry's surprise Ron turned out to be right this time.

The very next day a third year Hufflepuff Harry had never spoken to in his life came up and asked him to go with her.

"Aww," Lily couldn't help but coo at once.

Harry looked like a stunned fish, his mouth flopping uselessly as even now he had no idea what kind of response he would have given her. The expression caused some more snickering from the boys, but at least it was slightly subdued this time.

Harry was so shocked he said no before he'd even stopped to consider the matter.

"Ooh," Lily groaned in pure pity for that little thing, having to fight down the impulse to whack her son upside the head as she snapped, "please tell me you at least apologized and were polite about it."

Harry still looked like he was being smothered with embarrassment and didn't answer.

The girl walked off looking hurt, and Harry had to endure his roommates mocking him through the whole of History of Magic because of the incident.

"I'm having so many flashbacks," Sirius beamed, thinking of a few times this had happened to James and he'd been just as thrown that any girl would have anything to do with him except Lily.

It didn't stop there: two more girls asked him, a second year

"I'm impressed so many younger than you are asking," Lily's grin kept widening. "Normally they're the most shy." Then she turned flashing eyes and demanded, "Were you at least more polite to them?"

Harry still had his eyes deadly focused on the fact that Hickory was creeping back into the room for the first time in ages and fixing to pounce on the back of the couch where Sirius was, and trying to ignore anything and everything else.

and a fifth year who looked tough enough to knock him stupid if he said no.

"Well, how could you say no to-" Sirius began, but then let out a high pitched, "yikes," in shock as the fluffy, brown feline landed right behind him, making him nearly jump off the couch.

Harry laughed hardest of all, reaching over and scooping up the cat to be placed on his lap and scratching him affectionately behind the ears in gratitude for his excellent timing.

Sirius was running his hand through his hair with a grumpy scowl as he sat back down, muttering about conspiracy theories.

James had long since stopped bothering trying to read without the laughter ebbing into his every word, now somehow made worse.

Ron tried to defend her as they departed that she was rather pretty, but Harry pointed out how much taller she was than him, he'd look stupid trying to dance with her.

"Can't deny that's a fair point," Remus sympathized. "You are going to be a star attraction."

"It shouldn't have made that much of a difference." Lily rolled her eyes at these boys. "He's going to be gawked at regardless. Least the taller girl would get a bit more attention."

"If Harry had actually liked her I would agree," James shrugged, "but he hasn't known the name of a single one of these girls, so it would be kind of awkward if he said yes, then asked after the fact."

What Hermione had once said about Krum came creeping to mind, about how they only liked him because he was famous. Harry doubted that any of those girls would have asked him if the same weren't true.

"Now that's most certainly true." James rolled his eyes. "Harry's double famous right now. Every girl's going to want to give the next scoop to Skeeter they're the next Hermione."

"Gee, thanks," Harry grumbled, though he couldn't deny how right his dad probably was.

Then he wondered if this would bother him if Cho asked him.

"Now that's a really fair question," Lily frowned in pity.

"Even if it does start that way," Sirius offered as he tried to find a good spin for this, "they'd get to talking, and could find out they really like each other."

Harry was frowning, wondering if it would still bother him that's how it had gotten started, when Remus offered, "If it's such a bother asking a girl, why don't you just ask Hermione to go with you, as a friend?"

Harry blinked a couple times in shock, before shrugging and saying, "never occurred to me. I hope I do think of that."

Besides these facts though, life at school had mostly gone back to normal. People had stopped being so outwardly rude about his champion status, and Harry suspected this had to do with Cedric in gratitude for Harry's tip off about the dragons.

"Well, he should," James sniffed in agreement as he hoped Harry was right. "It's at least a start."

"Well, it's not like he started it in the first place." Lily rolled her eyes at him. "So leave him be and be thankful."

There were much fewer Support Cedric badges, and though Malfoy still quoted Skeeter's article, it got fewer laughs every time.

"About bleeding time," Sirius rolled his eyes, these students needed to find better sources of entertainment than Harry.

Also, nothing about Hagrid had appeared in the Prophet since his meeting with the reporter.

"Oh good." Remus looked honestly relieved. "I really was worried he'd go getting himself into trouble."

"Like we needed any more this year," James agreed.

They were asking him about it the following class of his, and Hagrid admitted she'd spent the whole time with no interest in magical creatures.

Sirius mock gasped and pretended to fan his face in shock as he drawled, "really? I never would have guessed such a thing!"

"I raise your dramatics, and add disbelief," Remus shook his head indulgently.

Today he'd decided against more skrewt work, and instead they were chopping up more food for them.

"More good news," Lily smirked.

Hagrid instead explained that Rita had spent the whole interview asking Hagrid questions about what kind of trouble Harry got into.

"Guess the heartthrob story's starting to wear out." James rolled his eyes. "Starting to look for a new angle."

"Then she's interviewing the wrong teachers." Harry rolled his eyes as well.

Harry admitted that made since, she couldn't keep up the tragic hero story forever, it would get boring.

Ron agreed she was trying to turn Harry into a madman instead, and Hagrid looked shocked as he pointed out that Harry wasn't.

"Is he really sure, though?" Sirius raised an accusing brow at Harry. "Because he's gotten into some pretty barmy stuff against school rules."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Harry said, batting his eyes innocently.

Harry said that she should have found Snape instead, quoting him from back when his name had come out of the Goblet about how many school lines he crossed since his arrival.

"There's where my mind was," Remus grumbled even if he did agree.

Hagrid looked surprised Snape had said such a thing, then pointed out that even if Harry had to bend a rule or two, he was still alright for it.

"I like to think so," Lily warmly smiled.

Harry thanked him, before Ron changed the subject, asking if Hagrid was coming to this Yule Ball. Hagrid agreed he might poke around.

"Is Hagrid going to be bringing a date?" Sirius demanded at once with an interested brow.

"If the dragons didn't scare Maxime away, then I doubt a dance will," James chuckled.

Hagrid asked who Harry was taking, and when Harry said no one yet, Hagrid let the subject drop.

Harry was full blown smiling in relief after his chat with Hagrid. There was a reason he was hands down his favorite person at Hogwarts outside of his friends, no matter his choice of pets.

The last week of term before break was coming with boisterous spirits, and loads of rumors. One going around was that Dumbledore had ordered eight hundred barrels of mead from the Three Broomsticks.

"Half the students there can't drink," Remus snorted, "so I don't think I'd buy that."

An actual fact that had been confirmed was a band appearance of the Weird Sisters.

"Guess it's too much to ask that The Three Toads are still around," James mumbled absently.

Harry had no idea who they were, never having grown up around a Wizarding Wireless Network, but from what he heard they were good.

"Great, now I feel old," Lily rolled her eyes.

Some of the teachers allowed for their restlessness, like Flitwick,

"He always was one of my favorite professors," Sirius beamed.

"Probably because he told us off the least," James agreed.

"And indulged us the most," Remus snickered.

who'd let them spend the last class playing games, and speaking to Harry about his wonderful Summoning Charm during the first task.

"I'm sure he's been bragging to everyone it was his diligent teaching that got him that far," Lily giggled.

Other teachers were not so generous,

"Not surprised," James sighed, thinking Snape would more likely drown them all than allow a game to be played.

such as Binns,

"I always forget about him," Sirius said in surprise.

who somehow managed to make blood thirsty goblin wars sound as boring as one of Percy's reports.

"It's a gift he utilizes too well," Remus grumbled.

Professors McGonagall and Moody kept them working until the very last second of their classes too,

"Yes, but at least they're the kind of teachers you decently respect for doing it," James sighed.

and Snape, who would no sooner let them play games in class than adopt Harry.

"Now there's a nightmarish thought," Sirius yelped as all five of them shivered in horror.

He'd spent his time warning them all that their test before end of break would be over their antidotes.

"Please have Colin pull you out of class again," Remus groaned with no real hope.

"I'll even take another horrid comment about the press," Harry agreed.

Ron spent that night in the common room complaining about how evil he was, testing them right before break.

Hermione pointed out he wasn't exactly trying to help himself though, watching him play a pack of Exploding Snap,

"Got to disagree with her there," James' grin was right back. "That's an excellent use of your time, lots of hard work and skill involved."

which was much like a deck of Muggle cards, except they tended to randomly explode.

"Wait, Muggle cards really don't?" Sirius yelped in surprise.

"I know, it seems so boring in comparison," Lily rolled her eyes, though both purebloods missed the sarcasm in light of this news.

Harry was busy reading one of his Quidditch books for the tenth time,

"See, he's studying the important things," Remus snickered.

and ignoring her as well, but Hermione got his attention by pointing out he should be doing something more useful with his time, working on that egg.

Some of their amusement started to ebb out at Hermione bringing that back up, wishing she could have waited just a little bit longer to do so. They were honestly trying to forget for at least a moment that wasn't a problem of Harry's.

Harry protested he had until the end of February to work on that! Truthfully he hadn't so much as glanced at it since he'd first opened it.

Lily opened, then closed her mouth, wanting to caution her son against waiting until the last minute as it had gotten pretty bad during the first task, and he had much more time to prepare for this one, but couldn't bring herself to do it. She wanted to avoid this as much as everyone else.

Hermione insisted it would take weeks for him to figure it out, and he'd look like an idiot if he was the only one who didn't.

"Can't honestly say I'd care, though," Sirius groused. "Honestly, I'd refuse to figure it out on principle. They can't force me to do a task. I'd just stand there getting the lowest points possible."

"You're much too proud to be pulling a stunt like that," Lily reminded.

"Though I do think he'd be stubborn enough," Remus disagreed.

Chuckling lightly at all of them, James decided to keep going before this turned into a full on debate.

Ron cut her off before she could keep going, saying Harry deserved a break. He placed the final card down onto his castle, just as the whole thing blew, taking a few eyebrow hairs along.

"Congratulations, Ron, that's the grand prize," James laughed outright.

A new voice congratulated Ron that was an excellent look to go with his dress robes.

"I don't think Ron will appreciate that reminder, though," Remus snickered.

"I'm not the one who said it," Harry defended, smiling himself.

It was the twins,

"Always around for a good laugh," Sirius brightened all the more.

who took seats around them. George asked his brother if they could borrow Pig.

"Why wouldn't they just use a school owl?" Lily asked in surprise.

"Why do they need him at all?" James countered before going back to the book without being told.

Ron said he was already out, then asked why they wanted him?

Fred shot back with full sarcasm so George could ask the owl to the dance.

"Well darn," Remus snapped his fingers with only a mild pout. "Make sure you respond soon Sirius, don't want to stand in the way of that romance."

"I'd never dream such a thing," Sirius agreed tragically before they both cracked up laughing again.

George adding on in duh-like tones, because they needed to send a letter.

Ron asked who they were writing to.

"You know, I almost forgot about that," James shook his head for a moment as he recalled the last time the twins' problem this year had been mentioned before Harry's Goblet mess had started.

"Well, it clearly hasn't been fixed yet," Remus cocked his head to the side in surprise.

"But unless they explain-" Lily sighed;

"Which I doubt," Sirius snorted.

"- we don't have anything new to figure out." She finished.

Fred pulled his wand casually enough as he threatened his kid brother to stop putting his nose in their business, or he'd burn that off next.

"Ah, sibling love," Sirius snickered.

Then he asked about dates for the lot of them?

Ron said he hadn't asked anyone yet, and Fred prompted he'd better get a move on or all the good ones would be gone.

Lily couldn't help but crinkle her nose at Fred's phrasing, she didn't care if he wasn't that shallow, it still wasn't polite to say. Was no one going to acknowledge Hermione at the table?

Ron demanded who he was going with, and Fred said without a trace of embarrassment Angelina.

Ron was shocked he'd already asked her, and Fred agreed that was a good point.

"Well, he's a cocky little one," Remus' brows shot up to his hairline.

"Wait, it gets better," James hushed him.

Then he called across the common room for her.

"Oh, this is the best," Sirius crowed with pleasure.

"Putting her on the spot has been known to work if you have the gall," James agreed with an obvious look at Lily.

"Though it's not foolproof if the woman's got brains," Lily sniffed, unable to mask a smile at all of James' wild attempts. Asking her out in front of the common room had only been one of many.

Angelina, who'd been sitting with Alicia, looked up in surprise as she called back. Fred asked outright if she wanted to go to the ball with him, which she casually agreed to before turning back to her friend.

"Well, that was unmemorable," Sirius snickered.

"You two put on much more of a show," Remus agreed with shaking shoulders.

Harry normally would have loved to ask for more details of his parents' courting, but he was still too open-mouthed with shock at such a display from his Quidditch mates. He'd never have the nerve to do something like this.

Fred turned back to the younger two like this was nothing.

"Hopefully you and Ron do take his example though," Lily told Harry fondly. "It's really not that bad if you just swallow and do it."

"Think I'd still rather have that dragon back," Harry muttered.

Then Fred pointed out they could just use a school owl, and he and his twin departed.

Ron did agree with them though, they should be asking now so they didn't get stuck with trolls.

"How is it possible he managed to phrase that worse than Fred did?" Lily groaned, already wanting to smack Ron again.

"That boy has no filter between mouth and brain," Remus agreed with a shrug.

Hermione spluttered in outrage, while Ron gave the example of Eloise Midgen.

Sirius cast his mind around, thinking hadn't that name come up once before?

Hermione instantly defended that she was a really nice girl, and her acne wasn't that bad.

Ron pointed off her nose was off-center.

"Oh yeah," James eyes brightened with understanding. "Wasn't she that girl who tried to curse her acne off?"

"And got her nose instead," Sirius agreed in understanding.

"Apparently it didn't come back quite right," Remus raised a curious brow.

Lily had to fight down the impulse to whack all three of them. She didn't find this the least bit funny.

Hermione was getting bristly with him now as she clarified that he'd go with the best looking girl who would take him, even if she was horrible?

Ron agreed that summed it up.

Lily screwed her eyes up tight as she snarled, "oh, please tell me he's kidding."

"He's being a prat to his friend." Sirius shrugged her off. "That's nothing unusual."

"What else are friends for?" James agreed, trying to laugh it off.

None of the boys were taking Ron seriously; they all knew he was just trying to rankle up Hermione for fun. Ron had never before really showed that he was shallow when it came to looks. Then again, he'd never displayed much interest in looks at all before this year, so maybe he was going to turn into a picky suitor.

Hermione stormed off without another word.

Hogwarts was turning itself into a new castle for the holidays, the staff clearly pulling out all the stops to impress their visitors. Every hall was decked, every banister festooned, and the statues had been enchanted to sing carols as you walked past.

"I hope those foreigners are enjoying the treat," James grinned; that sounded like so much fun to him.

"I always love the castle when they do it up like that," Sirius agreed cheerfully, considering his place had hardly ever been decked out at all it was always a pleasure to see.

It was quite something to hear 'O Come, All Ye Faithful' when you walked past an empty helmet, though several of them had to be manned by Filch, for Peeves was known for slipping into a few and replacing some of the lyrics with his own, more crude versions.

Causing all five of them to burst out with laughter again, even Lily. Ron had given her enough reason lately to be angry, no need to cling to it when this was a funny enough distraction.

All this passing time though, and Harry still hadn't asked out Cho. He really was getting nervous, as he'd look more stupid than Ron would showing up without a dance partner.

"I suppose a waltz with yourself wouldn't be too much fun," Remus pointed out.

"I don't know, could start a new trend in protest of having to invite anyone," Sirius smirked.

Harry grumbled something under his breath about this whole ordeal.

He glumly offered to try Moaning Myrtle soon,

Joyful laughter erupted all around for that beautiful mental image, even Harry couldn't stop some chuckling at his own mind's expense for that one.

referring to the ghost who haunted the girls' toilets on the second floor.

"Lovely conversation starter," James' head bobbed in agreement.

Ron began addressing Harry on the Friday before the event that they just had to knuckle down and get it done, speaking as if they were fixing to storm some impregnable fortress.

"And boys say girls are dramatic," Lily smiled indulgently.

"I thought it was a perfect example," Remus rolled his eyes.

They would come back to their common room tonight with dates!

Harry agreed, but every time he spotted Cho that day, she was constantly surrounded by her friends.

Harry's face was slowly getting redder with mortification of what he was trying to build himself up to do. Even if by some miracle she said yes, the experience of building up and asking didn't feel worth it at this point.

He paid no attention in his final class, and therefore left out a very important ingredient in his potion, a bezoar, which left him with a zero. He didn't care,

"I wouldn't either," James snorted; he couldn't give a cow patty about any class of Snape's, no matter how important the subject.

to busy working himself up for what he was about to do. As they were dismissed, he promised he'd meet them at dinner, and dashed off to find Cho. He'd just have to ask her for a private word is all,

"Well, if you want to do it that way, sure," Sirius nodded along in agreement.

"I don't want to know what you would have done," Harry told him honestly.

but he found her much sooner than expected, so he hardly got the words out if he could have an alone moment.

Giggling should be made illegal,

Which only made Lily begin giggling, but at least she tried to suppress it.

was Harry's first thought as the friends around her started up at once, but Cho didn't as she politely agreed and followed Harry out of range.

"That's either a good thing, and she's suppressing hope of what you're fixing to ask," Remus said with honest optimism.

"Or she has no idea what's fixing to be sprung on her," James told with pity.

"Ah, the start to a beautiful back and forth between Prongs and Evans," Sirius grinned.

Harry quickly pieced together that the first time James had tried to ask Lily out, he may have actually tried this same method. He looked curiously to his dad, who understood what Harry was silently asking and nodded without too much embarrassment, "yeah, sometime after Easter in our third year, I don't know, something changed. I saw her talking to this Ravenclaw who was a year above us on his Quidditch team, and something just sparked. I already didn't like him because we'd be playing him for the Cup soon, and I later realized, I was jealous," he threw her a winning smile, "so I walked over and asked for a word. She followed without one bit of enthusiasm-"

"He and Snape had already been at each other for nearly three years now," Lily butted in with an eye roll, "so I was honestly thinking he'd finally turn that kind of attention my way, not the opposite."

"Well, I asked what she was doing." He switched voices for a moment like he was trying, and failing, to imitate his wife, "it's none of your business." Though quickly switched back to normal, "well, from then on I wanted to make it my business, and well, it didn't end pretty," James finished with an old grin, "that time. At least the final results you're aware of."

"I'd been telling him he had a thing for her for years before that," Sirius said wisely. "He'd never let us pull a prank on her while she was Snape's friend even before that, though he never had a problem pulling on other girls. He wouldn't admit it until he came barreling up to our common room that day and started babbling at top speed what had just happened."

"Never seen a bloke more excited to be turned down," Remus jumped in with unrestrained laughter. "Said it was his new project to get her to say yes to him."

"Bloody four years later, and I finally cracked," Lily finished with a giggle.

Harry was laughing so hard by the end, he'd almost forgotten what was going on in his own story by the time everyone had finally settled back down from a new laughing fit and James kept going.

Harry turned to face her, though at first all he got out was an 'err.' He couldn't ask her! He had to say something though, she was watching him!

"Be a little odd if you darted off now without saying something," Sirius agreed.

He still hadn't found his tongue when he managed to stutter out 'wanagoballwime?'

"Articulation clearly wasn't passed along," Remus cackled.

Harry was working furiously with his face to try and keep a scowl there at all of their picking, but it wasn't quite masking the embarrassment of the situation.

Cho asked him to repeat that in English, and Harry took a deep breath before repeating with the words separated this time, then mentally demanded of his face why he had to go red now!

"Because you don't get to control functions like that," Lily shook her head sadly.

Cho went red too in surprise, then began apologizing like she truly meant it,

"That's not a good start," James winced, already bracing himself as he got the rest out.

that she was going with someone else.

"Ouch," all four of them winced at Harry's expense, it wasn't quite as funny now that he'd actually been turned down.

Harry's embarrassment at once dropped into mortification, great now he'd really gone and made a fool of himself.

All Harry could think to say to that was, 'oh.'

Awkward silence hung between them until Cho apologized again and tried to leave,

James had tried to get through that sad little interaction as quickly as possible: it wasn't nearly as much fun picking on his son after the fact, especially because James could commiserate so well on how that could feel. For all the bravado he'd always shown that he knew Lily would one day say yes to him, there had been a few times that he'd never shown to anyone where his confidence would get spotty, especially before the time she and Snape had stopped being friends.

but Harry came back to himself and shouted after her to stop before he could cut his tongue out.

"Oh boy, this might not end well," Remus winced, only imagining what else Harry could shoot off to make this worse.

Then he asked who she was going with?

"Why would you ask that?" Sirius winced. "Either you know him and you're going to hate him, or you don't know him and you're still going to hate him."

"Better than wondering for the next few days," Harry grumbled.

She returned it was Cedric Diggory.

"He what!" James yelped in protest.

"That swatty little, good for nothing-" Sirius scowled in outrage.

"Guess you are wishing you'd let the dragon eat him now," Remus sniffed on Harry's behalf.

Harry still looked marginally more embarrassed than outraged, for now, so James decided to keep going before that could wear off, then he'd let his son have it out.

Harry could only absently acknowledge this as she finally left, turning back to his common room now with remorse. He'd really been starting to like Cedric, prepared to overlook the time he'd beaten him in Quidditch and was generally more handsome and popular and the school's favorite champion.

"All forgivable enough if he's the decent kind," James huffed.

"But this was just cold!" Sirius scowled.

Now he knew that Cedric was in fact a useless pretty boy who didn't have enough brains to fill an eggcup.

Lily couldn't help a surprised snort of laughter, that had to be one of the snarkiest things Harry had ever thought about a fellow student and it all had to do with a girl. Personally she couldn't blame her son for thinking anything he wanted to about Cedric at this point. Yes it was his own fault for not asking first, but, really, what mother could blame her son for this happening?

He found Gryffindor tower to be mostly empty with everyone still down at dinner, but Ron was sitting in a kind of petrified trance with Ginny trying to comfortingly pat his arm.

Harry's high levels of agitation at Cedric and all colors of mortification at the thought of Cho actually dipped away for the briefest moment, his mind derailed and wondering who Ginny was going to go with. Why would he wonder that though? Ron's little sister had never crossed his mind any more than Hermione.

Harry asked what his problem was, and Ron looked up at him in a sort of blind horror.

Sirius let out a surprised snort of laughter, very much hoping this stayed plenty distracting from Harry's problem.

Demanding of himself why he'd done it!

"Well, this sounds like fun," James mumbled, not quite over his own shock at Harry's problem, but there wasn't anything they could really do for him now anyways. It did make him glance at the ring on his son's finger in genuine curiosity again. Did this problem with Cho work out, and she was on the other end of that?

Ginny explained for him he'd tried to ask out Fleur Delacour.

Causing five collective snorts of laughter, that had been distracting!

"Wow, Ron really went for the high one," Sirius admitted, actually raising his hands like he was going to applaud.

"Though if we've heard anything about her, she was asked out the first day," Lily rolled her eyes.

"So did she say yes?" Remus quickly asked James, trying to wave him on.

She looked like she was trying not to laugh even as she kept patting Ron's arm.

"She's being much kinder than the twins would," Lily smirked.

Ron sort of came back to himself as he demanded of no one why he'd done it! He'd just seen her standing in the Entrance Hall, talking to Cedric and waving her hair around, and it had all just sort of come over him!

"That poor thing," Lily bemoaned, at least some pity replacing her agitation at his earlier comments.

"What a time for him to grow a set," Sirius snickered.

Ron's face fell into his hands in shame then, so the next part was barely understandable as he explained he'd more like shouted it at her as he asked her out, and she'd just looked at him like he was a slug before he darted off.

Harry explained for him that Fleur was a veela, and he'd probably just been caught at a time she'd had her charm on for Diggory.

"Guess it slipped your mind to tell him that before now," James winced, though that still didn't completely erase his smile. Sure, he felt bad for Ron, but this certainly made Harry's downfall seem better by comparison.

"Wouldn't have done him much good even with the knowledge," Sirius shrugged. "Ron's always had a soft spot for her."

Harry told that Fleur had been wasting her efforts though, Diggory was going with Cho.

Ron and Ginny looked at him in surprise, and Harry admitted his own turn down.

Ginny stopped smiling.

"Actually, now that I think about it, can't believe Ginny wasn't one to ask you along with all those other girls in the first place," Remus raised a surprised brow.

"Nah, she's far too shy," James rolled his eyes, "I think this is the first time she's actually spoken in front of Harry period, and she's not even blushing."

Harry felt an odd echo inside of him, like he actually was wishing Ginny had asked him, but all Harry could picture was saying yes to her as much as he would have to Hermione, just as a friend. Still, he did hope at least he'd try, at least he knew Ginny over those other random girls.

Ron grumbled about how mad this school was going, though he did change subjects to the fact that he'd heard Neville had tried to ask out Hermione.

"Aw," Lily chirped. "I can see that, she has helped him out quite a few times."

"Now lets see what Hermione said," Sirius raised a curious brow, as he'd never picked up on any feelings between the two. Then again, maybe Hermione might have just said yes to be polite.

She'd told him no though, that she was going with someone else. Then Ron snorted in disbelief as he stated he couldn't picture that.

"Ouch," James winced for Hermione, "was that really necessary?"

"It's a wonder Hermione hasn't knocked him upside his head," Lily agreed waspishly, that wasn't just playful teasing anymore.

"I think Ron's just at that stage where he hasn't gotten past seeing Hermione as a friend," Remus shrugged, "so he can't picture anyone dating her."

"Let's just be grateful Hermione wasn't around for this," Sirius shook his head, "otherwise Ron wouldn't be going to this at all, he'd be dead."

She'd clearly just said that to say no to Neville, because who'd want to go with him?

Harry couldn't help a surprised bit of laughter, which he quickly regretted.

"Now that's not funny!" Lily flared up at once.

"Ron's just pissed at his own blown up mess and shooting his mouth off," Sirius rolled his eyes, "I doubt he means it."

"Well, I'm getting sick of Ron's mouth," Lily snapped.

Ginny tried to tell off the laughing boys just as Hermione came in, and Ginny quickly explained for her that they hadn't been down at dinner because they'd both been turned down by the girls of their choice.

That shut them up.

"I'm glad Ginny put them in their place," Lily muttered with mutiny, as all the boys around her still seemed to be treating this far too much like a joke. It really wasn't right to be making fun of all these kids like this.

Hermione didn't seem to have much pity for them as she turned on Ron and asked how Eloise was looking now.

Ron didn't seem to hear her, as he was suddenly looking at Hermione in a whole new way as he declared that she was a girl!

Lily buried her face in her hands in preparation for the bloodbath that comment would earn Ron, missing all of the boys' looks of fear that Ron had just said the stupidest thing ever.

Hermione replied back with pure acid that he was just so observant!

Ron ignored the tone and stated that she could go with him then- but she cut him off and stated that she wasn't because she was going with someone else.

"Not that I doubted when she said that to Neville," Sirius raised a surprised brow, "but who is she going with?"

"Search me," Harry grumbled, still wishing he'd thought of the friend idea earlier.

Ron tried to laugh that off, saying she'd just said that to get rid of Neville.

"Okay, Ron, that's not funny anymore," James groaned, shaking his head desperately like he was there trying to convince him to shut up.

"It wasn't funny to begin with," Lily snapped at him, making him decide very quickly to move on.

Hermione's temper was really flaring as she snarled that just because it had taken him three years to notice, didn't mean others hadn't spotted that she was a girl!

Ron watched her for a moment, before smiling and stating alright, he admitted she was a girl, would she come now?

"I think this poor thing's stuck in oblivion," Remus groaned, "and someone needs to pull him back fast."

"Too late, he's a dead man," Sirius sighed.

Hermione snapped that she was going with someone else, before storming off.

Ron watched her go with disbelief, saying that she was lying.

Harry was thinking back to that interaction with some odd feelings now. At the time he'd been just as stunned as Ron with the way Hermione was acting, but now looking back he felt like he was missing something.

Ginny promised she wasn't, but refused to tell who it was.

Ron groaned but changed the subject, saying Ginny could go with Harry and he'd-

but Ginny cut him off by saying that Neville had asked her after Hermione had said no, and she'd said yes.

All thoughts of any other girls flipped away and Harry sat up a little straighter, suddenly wanting to take a page out of Ron's book and make a crack about Neville as well. This was ridiculous, why was Ginny going with anyone?

"Aww, look who's going all big brother," Sirius snickered as he watched Harry's reaction.

"Relax, Neville's a sweet kid, what are you and Ron getting worked up over?" James snorted.

Harry deflated at once, the feeling already washing away as he shrugged and mumbled something inarticulate.

Lily was watching her husband with a surprised look though, thinking back and wondering if Ron even realized what he was getting worked up over. Maybe all of his little comments just then about Neville hadn't been just plain mean. Her mind flickered back to second year, about how he'd swallowed his greatest fear and went looking for spiders after glancing at her empty seat. Ron had always had some vivid reactions when it came to Hermione.

Then she left as well, looking fairly miserable.

"Bet she is kicking herself, though," Remus winced, "could have gone with her little crush, but thankfully she's decent enough not to just dump Neville like that."

"This ball sucks," Harry grumbled.

Harry and Ron sat in stunned silence for a moment, but then Harry spotted Lavender and Parvati coming in, and he decided it was time for drastic measures.

"I would definitely classify Trelawney's clones as drastic," James nodded in agreement.

Lily shot him a poisonous look, still wishing these kids weren't being treated like a joke, but at least that hadn't been the worst thing he could have said.

Harry darted after them, asking Parvati if she'd go to the ball with him? She at first giggled,

"Still don't get why that's funny," Harry grumbled mutinously, still wishing he could just duck out of this thing all together.

but she did agree. Harry turned to Lavender and asked if she'd go with Ron?

"You're the best kind of friend, though," Sirius full blown laughed at that one, knowing he'd have done the same thing for one of his friends.

Harry felt something twitch inside of him, something about Ron and Lavender that he should be thinking about, but it was gone as quick as it had come.

Lavender said she was going with Seamus.

Harry asked if they knew of anyone who'd go with Ron, low enough his friend wouldn't hear.

"Yeah, cause that doesn't sound bad," Remus winced in pity.

"He deserves it, the way he's been acting," Lily sniffed.

Parvati asked about Hermione, and she looked astounded when Harry said she'd already told about going with someone else.

"Okay, this has gone past insulting for the poor thing," Lily snapped.

"What are you yelling at us for?" James quickly surrendered. "We stopped laughing."

Lily rolled her eyes, wishing they'd get the point that mocking these kids shouldn't have been laughed at at all.

Then Parvati offered to ask her twin Padma, and Harry thanked her and to let him know the answer.

He went back to Ron, feeling this ball was much more trouble than it was worth, and hoping Padma Patil's nose was dead center.

"I don't think Ron should get to go with anyone," Lily grumbled. "He deserves it for his bleeding attitude."

"Well, we should find out next," Sirius shrugged as he took the book.

#Harry Potter #fanfiction #reading the books #Marauders #GoF #The life that never lived #James Potter #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #Lily Potter

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mirkwoodshewolf · 4 years

Text

Robin and Gale Hood; Ben Hardy x reader Chap. 5

*Author’s note*

Okay now that all over our initial characters have been introduced, it’s time for some REAL action. This one is a bit long so sorry not sorry but everything is important here in this chapter. So expect some blood, violence and some medieval claims against women.

Chapter 5,

The Archery tournament

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things

@waddles03

@psychosupernatural

@ixchel-9275

@simonedk

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

@queen-paladin

@queensdivas

@queendeakyy

@geek-and-proud

@wormzteef

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The next day just as promised, everyone in Nottingham was gathered out in the fields to see the archery tournament. Every eligible archer had signed up for the chance to win either the golden arrow or get the kiss from the lovely Maid Marian.

As a parade marched around the field while the villagers gathered around to find a good seat, up on the throne stand, Prince John and Sir Heston stood looking over the crowd. Prince John was lightly bouncing with excitement as he told his serpent advisor.

“Heston, the time has come for me to finally enact my revenge. My trap is baited and set and then revenge! Revenge!”

“Shhh. Not so loud sire. I know how much this has meant to you but you don’t want to give your plan away to capture Robin Hood so quickly.”

“That insolent blackguard! Ohh! I’ll show him who wears the crown!” Prince John proclaimed as he plopped down on his throne and slammed his hand on the armrest.

“I share your loathing sire. That scullery scoundrel who fooled you with that ridiculous disguise. Who dare insult your intelligence and superiority…..”

“ENOUGH!!” Prince John exclaimed as he tried to hit Heston over the head but the python dodged his attack. “Heston, you deliberately dodged.”

“But-but-but sire…..please.”

“Stop sniveling and hold. Still.” The prince sneered lowly. Heston straightened his head up and he was then hit on top of the head by Prince John.

“Thank you sire.” Heston lowly groaned.

Soon arriving to the field grounds were Maid Marian, Prince James and Arthur Kirkland. Marian hugged her cousin and best friend saying.

“Oh you guys I’m so excited. But how will I recognize him?”

“Ohh he’ll let you know somehow. That young rouge of yours is just full of surprises.” Arthur said as he took Marian’s hand and patted it.

“Yes cousin. If I remember that rascal, he’ll do whatever it takes to get to you.”

“Well don’t leave yourself out James. I’m sure that wherever Robin goes, Gale is not far behind.” Marian told her young cousin and the three of them walked on.

But oh little did they know was that just behind them hiding in the bushes and trees were the gang of rebels. Robin and Gilbert wearing similar peasant clothing and they each had their own handmade bows and arrows (that differed from the ones they normally used as to better hide their true identities).

While Little John and Gale wore royal clothing that befitted Hungarian royalty, and David wore a count’s robes and Kit wore a captain of the Guard’s armor.

“There she is lads. Golly—has she gotten even more beautiful.” Robin said in awe.

“He grew his hair out. I did once tell him he’d look good with long hair. Never did I think it—he’s like a God.” Gale also whispered in awe.

“Cool it you two lovebirds. Your hearts are running away with your heads.” Little John said as he handed Robin a large grey hat.

“Oh stop worrying. This disguise would fool our own mum, right Gale?” Robin said as he placed the hat on him and tied the blue bandana around his neck.

“Yeah. But our mum is dead. You and Gilbert need to fool ol stick up his arse over there.” Soon walking towards them was the Sheriff of Nottingham himself. Gilbert and Robin winked at their friends and walked out.

“Sheriff your ‘onor!” Gilbert spoke with an exaggerated Irish accent.

“Yes…..” the sheriff muttered before both his hands were suddenly taken and being shaken with such strength and force as Robin now spoke in a Irish tone.

“Meetin yah face to face is a real treat for me brother and I. A real, real treat.”

“Well thank you.” the Sheriff said as he managed to get his hands free. “Now if you both will excuse me I’ve got a tournament to win.” As the Sheriff walked away, Robin and Gilbert signaled to the others of the success playfully laughing behind the Sheriff’s back.

“Well that’s phase one done.” Gale said.

“Yeah they’re not bad actors. But wait till they see the scene we lay on Prince John. My Queen.” Little John spoke as he bowed and held out his hand for Gale.

She giggled poshly and took his hand and the two of them walked on with Kit and David walking behind, holding the train of Gale’s dress. As the two of them finally stood before Prince John, Gale spoke up doing her best Hungarian accent.

“Ahh mi lord!” the four of them walked up to the Prince as she continued, “Our esteemed high King of England. The all mighty God himself. You’re magnificent.” She praised as she and the boys bowed.

Prince John who soaked in this praise from this strange woman chuckled softly and said.

“Well, she sure does have style ehh Heston?” Gale let out a posh laugh before saying.

“Oh you are a flatterer PJ.”

“PJ? I like that you know I do. Heston put it on my luggage. PJ. Ha-ha! Hahahaha! Ha-ha! PJ yeah…..” the Prince proclaimed before laughing and muttering to himself as he stroked his tache. Heston however wasn’t buying it. He lifted himself up to Gale and Little John and hmphed.

“And just who might you be miss?” he hissed out.

“How dare you insult our lady Queen and Duke!” Kit proclaimed angrily using a thicker Hungarian accent.

“Easy now my dear Captain. This creepy thing obviously has no class whatsoever.” Gale said.

“Excuse me?” Heston gawked.

“This is our beloved Queen of Hungary, Queen Elizaveta I. And I am her royal Duke Sir Reginald. And it’s rude to stick your tongue out at a lady.” He took Heston’s hat off his head and put it over his nose and mouth.

“If I may my liege, allow me to lay some protocol upon you.” Gale said as she curtsied and took Prince John’s hand to kiss it. He quickly removed his hand away from her and said.

“Oh no forgive me but I lose more jewels that way. Please, both of you sit.”

“Thank you PJ.” Gale giggled as she sat down to his left while Little John took the seat to his right. “I always enjoyed the tournament of the peasant folk. Oh! OH!! HEY WHAT!!! CAPTAIN! COUNT!” Gale spoke before feeling something squirming underneath her butt.

Quickly David and Kit came into action and pulled out Heston from underneath her.

“Oh my. Excuse me serpent.”

“Serpent? You vile harpy have taken my seat!”

“How dare you insult the Queen of Hungary!” David sneered angrily.

“Your majesty, if you would permit me, allow me to silence this snake once and for all.” Kit threatened with a dark smirk as he withdrew his sword. Heston shuddered in fear as Prince John said.

“Oh never mind him. Besides he should now be out there keeping his snake eyes open for you know who.”

“Wait—sire you—you mean I…..I’m being dismissed?”

“You heard his mightiness move it creepy get lost. Be gone long one.” Little John said as he slapped Heston with his cane and Heston slithered off backstage.

“What vulgar beasts. Creepy? No class serpent? Long one? Oh whose that dopey Duke and Queen of Hungary think they are anyway?!” he then slithered off to do his job assigned to him.

As the good Friar and I stood side by side each other and we watched that vile snake slither off muttering to himself, I turned to Friar Tuck and said.

“Now you know he’s up to something darling.”

“Indeed. Come on Alan.” He told me and we raced off to find that serpent before he could ruin anything. For now my darlings until Friar Tuck and I find that snake, you’re just gonna have to watch for yourselves on what happens next.

The fanfare sounded off and soon all the archers came walking in single file across the field with their bows in hand and their quiver of arrows on their backs.

Finally arriving on the stage were our three young royal characters. Marian was the first to step up on the stage and she curtsied to Prince John who gave her a slight acknowledgment. Arthur was next and he bowed before the Prince who just gave him a sideways glance.

When James finally came up and bowed before him, Prince John flat out turned his head aside and refused to even look upon his half-nephew. Which to be honest didn’t upset James at all, for he loathed his half-uncle for sending his father away and ruining the people of Nottingham.

But soon his eye caught sight of Gale. At first he didn’t see it at first, all he saw before him was the radiant woman who felt familiar in a way. He walked over to her and when the two of them locked eyes she gasped and quickly took out her fan and opened it up and hid from him.

“Oh I—beg your pardon my lady. I—you just look like someone I once knew.”

“And just who would that be young man?” asked Kit slightly interrogating him.

“A……a girl I once knew long ago.”

“Well may we introduce our majesty, Queen Elizaveta I of Hungary.” David said.

“Your majesty.” Prince James said as he knelt down on one knee and took her right hand in his. It wasn’t until he looked down and saw the ring on her thumb. He quickly looked up in shock, that’s when ‘Elizaveta’ lowered her fan just until her eyes were visible and his heart stopped.

He knew those eyes anywhere. Only one women had entrancing eyes like that. And even through the disguise, he knew she had gotten even more beautiful than ever before.

“I have seen many wonders of the world, but none can compare to the beauty that lies within your eyes.” James praised in awe as he gave a sweet, loving kiss to Gale’s hand.

As his thumb gently brushed the back of her hand and down her fingers, Gale felt that bolt of electricity that only James had given her in the past.

“Why thank you my fine young English man. And you have a face that would make the archangel Michael boil with envy.” James softly smiled and kissed her hand once more, making Gale’s heart go BOOM. She softly gasped, the two of them not breaking eye contact once.

Marian who had been watching her cousin with intrigued eyes, knew right away that the so called ‘Queen’ was actually his Gale Hood.

As she smiled happily for her cousin, a throat cleared before her and when she turned she saw a man dressed in an oversized robe, wearing a very large grey hat and a blue bandana that almost kept his face hidden.

“Ahhh your ladyship. Begging your pardon but it’s a great honor to be shooting for the favor of a lovely lady like yourself.” He spoke in an Irish accent and held in his hand a white daisy.

She reluctantly took it from the strange man who then whispered to her.

“I hopes I win the kiss.” Before giving her a wink. She let out a soft gasp and when she looked into his eyes, and he looked back into hers she knew just who this man was.

“Well thank you my fine, bow-legged archer.” She said as she stroked the flower under her chin before softly giggling. “I wish you luck,” she then leaned closer to her love and whispered so that only he could hear, “With all my heart.”

The two of them stared lovingly at each other before Robin snapped out of his daze and took his place with the other contestants.

Soon coming up towards the royal stands was the captain of the guard who held on a fluffy pillow the prize of the golden arrow. He presented it to Prince John and said.

“Your highness, with your royal permission we are ready to begin.”

“Proceed captain.” Prince John said. He then gave the arrow to Maid Marian who bowed her head to the Captain.

“The tournament of the golden arrow will now begin!” the Captain proclaimed to one and all. As a final fanfare of the trumpets played out, the contestants readied their bows and soon arrows went flying out.

The crowd cheered and whistled as arrow after arrow flew from one side of the field to the range of targets spread out on the other side. Many people were hitting various places on their targets but not quite worthy enough to gain a spot for the golden arrow and the kiss.

That was until the Sheriff of Nottingham took his shot and got close to the center of the bullseye. Of course when that happened, the crowd all hissed and booed at the arrogant, vile sheriff. Next up Gilbert and Robin readied their arrows and fired two straight bullseyes into their targets, to which the crowd applauded.

Marian clapped for Robin’s success knowing that he was one step closer to winning their kiss.

“A perfect bullseye. Well, well.” Prince John said intrigued as he stroked his mustache.

“Yeah, that’s what we in Hungary call pulling back and lettin it go PJ.” Little John said to him.

“He’s gotten better.” Prince James said. “I’m sure you must be honored to see such skill from him.”

“Indeed I am, my prince.” Gale said as the two of them secretly hooked pinkies with each other.

“I’m gonna win that golden arrow! And then I’m gonna present meself to the lovely Maid Marian……” Robin boasted as the Sheriff readied his next arrow.

“Listen you Irish hound dog. If you shoot half as good as you blabber you’re better than Robin Hood.”

“Robin Hood he says! Wow-wee you hear that brother!?” Robin exclaimed as he playfully slapped the Sheriff in the back.

“My brother is tip-top but we’re nowhere as good as he is. In fact I’d say I’m better than that rouge.” Gilbert teased as he fired his arrow behind his back without even looking at the target. It landed right on the bullseye and as the crowd continued to cheer, the Sheriff couldn’t believe his eyes.

Back on the stands, Gale fanned herself and she said.

“My, my. Those two have class. Don’t you think so PJ?”

“Indeed they do, Eliza. Bravo! Uh, bravo. Yes.” Prince John said before doing a light applause and grinning to himself.

Robin took out an arrow and observed it as he began to make conversation with the sheriff about a topic that he knew would make the sheriff explode.

“Oh umm….by the way. We hear you’ve been having a bit of a fascination with Robin’s clever little sister Gale Hood these days.” The sheriff lowered his bow and he said.

“She’s a witch that’s why. Just like her wench of a mother, she’s inherited the black magic of her people. I wouldn’t even be surprised if she’s put a spell on that brother of hers in order to hide from me.” Robin would’ve slugged him right then and there but he held back his anger to hide his cover.

Gilbert also had to hold in his anger cause even worse than Robin, he wanted to kill the sheriff for saying such a thing about Gale.

Unbeknownst to the three men, Heston (who had been observing the two young archers since the beginning with utter suspicion) slithered up towards Robin and peeking through his robes, he could see the green attire underneath.

He softly hissed and slithered through the thick bush muttering to himself.

“I knew it. It’s Robin Hood. Oh he thought he could hide but no one can hide from a snake.” As Heston continued to slither, he was soon stopped by a lute guitar in his path. When he looked up there before him stood Friar Tuck and you guessed it, me!

“Going somewhere Heston?” I asked snidely. Before the snake could speak again, Friar Tuck and I grabbed him and muzzled his mouth shut.

We then found an ale barrel and I uncorked the top of it while Friar Tuck straightened Heston out and carefully lowered his body into the barrel. The snake’s muzzled demands fell on deaf ears as Tuck punched him in the head and I closed the barrel with the cork once more.

“That’ll take care of him for a while.” I told him.

“Thank you my friend.”

“Anytime my darling. We better get back to see if Robin and Gilbert made it to the finals yet.”

“C’mon then.” We raced back towards the crowd and heard the Captain proclaim.

“Attention everyone! The three final contestants are……the honorable sheriff of Nottingham!” The sheriff stood up and took his bows but he was only met with hisses and boos from the crowd. “And the Walsh brothers of Bristol.” The crowd cheered as Robin and Gilbert high-fived each other and waved to the crowd.

When Robin turned to the royal stands, he gave a friendly wave and kiss to Maid Marian who waved back to him with a loving smile. Prince John turned to her noticing her favoritism and said to her.

“My dear I suspect you favor the bowlegged Irish archer, hmm?” Marian smiled shyly and said.

“Uh. Why yes, sire. Well—at least he amuses me.” Prince John laughed before saying as he turned back towards the field.

“Coincidentally my dear girl. He amuses me too.” He chuckled darkly.

“For the final shoot out! Move the target back 30 paces!” the drums rolled and that’s when the Sheriff ordered one of his guards.

“You heard him Wormtail! Get going you rat on two legs!” the stoutly man soon got behind the target and the Sheriff whispered to him. “And remember what you’re supposed to do.”

“Yes sir, sheriff sir.” Wormtail said as he moved the target back 30 paces before setting the target back down. The Sheriff readied his bow for one last shot. He took careful aim and released his arrow which went flying. But to everyone’s surprise and no one’s foul calling, Wormtail jumped up into the air and the Sheriff’s arrow went straight into the bullseye.

The Sheriff grinned proudly and said.

“Well, guess that shot wins the golden arrow, the kiss, the whole nine yards.”

“Now just a second Sheriff. Don’t go counting my brother and I out just yet!” Gilbert snapped.

“Your right, my apologizes. Good luck you two.” Gilbert brushed past the Sheriff and readied his arrow. He aimed right for the Sheriff’s arrow, ready to split it down the middle, but before he could take the shot something happened.

Gilbert suddenly let out a pained scream and he collapsed to his knees, holding his lower back in agony.

“BROTHER!” Robin cried out.

“Get a medic over here now!” The Sheriff called out. Soon medics arrived and they soon found that his lower hip was bleeding rapidly. They patched him up as best as they could before taking him away.

“Wait, wait!” Gilbert groaned as he gripped Robin’s sleeve and whispered to him. “Split his arrow Rob!” Robin nodded and soon the medics took Gilbert away to patch him up.

Robin then saw the Sheriff tuck in a small bloodied up dagger back into his sleeve and felt utter rage within him. He hoped that after this was over, he’d get the chance to really beat the hell out of the Sheriff.

For not only did he have the gawk to insult his sister, but he also attempted to kill one of his best men right in front of him.

As he took his stand and readied his arrow, he inhaled deeply before exhaling out softly.

‘This is for you Gilbert.’ He thought to himself. Suddenly his bow was tipped upwards and his arrow went flying sky high. The crowd gasped and using his last arrow, Robin fired his arrow at his old one.

The second arrow struck the tail of his first arrow which dipped it downward, soaring through the air like a falcon diving. And miraculously it not only hit the bullseye, but it obliterated the Sheriff’s arrow right off the target.

The crowd soon cheered loudly at Robin’s victory. Marian above all else was most excited as she embraced Arthur excitedly. James and Gale both whistled and cheered for Robin.

Prince John clapped slowly but turned to the Captain of the guard and gave him the signal. The captain nodded and winked before looking around and whispering to one of the royal guards.

Robin tossed his bow into the air and caught it doing a victory twirl and headed on over to the royal stands and escorting behind him was the royal guard. Maid Marian staring at him lovingly and smiling as she now sported the daisy behind her ear and resting against her long blonde locks.

As Robin now stood before Maid Marian who held the golden arrow, Prince John stood up from his throne and said to him.

“Archer I commend you. And because of your superior skill you shall get what is coming to you. Our royal congratulations.”

“Oh thank you kindly your highness. Meetin you face to face your high and mighty is a real treat……”

“Yes, yes, yes I know!” Prince John interrupted him before clearing his throat. He then took out his sword and began to knight Robin as he said, “And now I name you the winner. Or more appropriately,” he chuckled darkly before tucking the blade into Robin’s robes destroying his costume and revealing himself. “The loser!”

The crowd all gasped in horror, and even Gale, David and Kit stood there horrified.

“Seize him.” Prince John nonchalantly decreed. The guards soon wrestled with Robin Hood as he tried to escape and fight off each of the guards, but they easily overpowered him and had him bound and chained up. “I sentence you to instant, sudden and even immediate death!” Prince John hissed.

“Oh no!” Maid Marian gasped fearfully. Tears formed in her eyes and gently seeped down her cheeks. She turned and pleaded to Prince John. “Please, please sire! I beg of you to spare his life, please have mercy!”

“My dear emotional lady why should I?” Prince John asked not caring at all for Marian’s tears.

“Because I love him.”

“Love him?” Prince John asked in surprise. “And does this prisoner return your love?” Robin turned to see his beloved’s tears run down her face. He longed for nothing more than to break out of his binds, hold her in his arms, and kiss those tears away.

“Marian my darling, without you it’s like there’s no air for me to breathe.” Marian placed her hand over her heart at Robin’s declaration of love, while Arthur wrapped a comforting arm around her.

“Ahh young love.” Prince John mocked. Marian and Arthur turned to Prince John. Arthur glaring while Marian continued to allow some tears to fall down her face. “Your pleas have not fallen upon a heart—of stone.” He continued to mock sympathetically before proclaiming out “But traitors to the crown must die!”

“Traitors to the crown? That crown belongs to King Richard! LONG LIVE KING RICHARD!!” Robin exclaimed.

“LONG LIVE KING RICHARD!!!” the people of Nottingham echoed back.

“ENOUGH!! I AM KING! KING! KING! That’s it! OFF WITH HIS HEAD!!!!”

The drums soon started playing that dreading death beat. The executioner soon came up with his axe as the guards forced Robin on his knees. The crowd went dead silent with horror as they were about to witness the beheaded of their beloved hero.

Marian sniffled and sobbed into Arthur’s chest. He embraced his friend trying his best to comfort her. Suddenly screaming through the air was a female voice.

“NOO!!!” everyone gasped out and covering his body like a shield was Gale. She glared with pure hatred at the executioner and she sneered.

“If you kill him, you’ll have to kill me too!”

“Queen Elizaveta get away from that blackguard at once!” Prince John proclaimed.

“Never you filthy dog! I’ll never let you touch another hand to my brother again!”

“You’re what?” she stood up and removed her disguise and the crowd all cheered as they now saw Gale Hood in her traditional clothing. The with one swift stroke of her dagger, she freed her brother. “Robin Hood has a sister?!” Prince John exclaimed in surprise.

“He does indeed sire. And this one’s a witch just like their filth of a mother was.” The Sheriff told him.

“Takes a demon to know one Sheriff! You both abuse the people of Nottingham, the same way you both abuse your power of authority! You both speak of loyalty and keeping the law yet you are cruel to those most in need of help! Manipulating and mistreating them for your own selfish gains!”

“SILENCE!!” Prince John whined out.

“But there is one man who knows well the difference between power and respect. And you Prince John took that right away from him when it rightfully belongs to him! LONG LIVE PRINCE JAMES!!”

“LONG LIVE PRINCE JAMES!!!” The people of Nottingham echoed back Gale’s proclamation, just like they did for Robin. James turned to Gale who looked back at him with soft eyes.

“Sheriff of Nottingham, arrest them both!” Prince John proclaimed.

“It will be my pleasure.” The sheriff growled lowly. He snapped his fingers and soon his guards surrounded the two siblings.

“Hmm let’s see now there’s……” Gale then began counting out the number of guards to herself then said. “So there’s ten of you and two of us. What’s a poor defenseless woman to do?” Gale pulled out a handkerchief from her pocket.

She then began to fake sob into the handkerchief before blowing on it which erupted red smoke out of it and soon both siblings disappeared.

“I knew she was a witch.” The Sheriff muttered.

“Oh boys~ we’re over here!~” a voice soon cooed out. The guards all turned and hidden within the toys and trinkets were both Robin and Gale.

“Kill them! Don’t just stand there! Kill them!” but then leaping from the royal stand, Little John, David and Kit sprang into action and helped out their fearless leaders.

Little John took on two of the biggest guards while David and Kit tag-teamed a few other guards from reaching the two siblings. Together Robin and Gale sword fought against a few guards while sneaking up behind them was Prince John with his sword raised.

Turning around, Robin easily knocked away the prince’s sword and he quickly turned from sneaky failed assassin to trembling child in a matter of seconds.

“Please, please don’t hurt me! No don’t hurt me! Help! Help!” Prince John fled to the safety of some drinking barrels before exclaiming out once more “KILL THEM ALL!!!”

From the royal stands James withdrew his sword and told Arthur.

“Get Marian out of here Arthur.”

“But what about you?” he asked.

“Don’t worry I’ll be fine. They didn’t call me the lion’s fang for nothing. Now go quickly!” James charged forward and joined in the fight.

When Robin was distracted from fighting off a guard, another one was aiming his arrow right for his back. Just before the guard took the killing shot, James stopped the guard and with one swift swipe across his back, the guard fell to the ground.

After knocking the guard he was fighting, Robin turned to see Prince James standing a few feet away from him.

“Thank you.” he told the Prince.

“Figured you could use an extra sword.” James said.

“Where’s Marian?” Robin asked.

“She’s fine. Arthur’s taking her away from here. And don’t worry, he’s just a friend of ours.”

“I wasn’t worried about that.” Robin said.

“I know, but just in case you were. Arthur only has viewed her as a sister from when we first met him in London. Now where’s Gale?”

“I don’t know. But she’s alright, she can handle herself.”

“I hope so.” The two then raced off to continue the fight.

Meanwhile deep within the woods Laura, Michael and Robert had gotten lost in the woods in the midst of the chaos of the crowd fleeing since the battle began. The three siblings were frantically trying to find their parents when they got lost in the woods.

“Mama! Pa!” Robert cried out. Suddenly they heard a branch snap and coming out of the trees was the Sheriff of Nottingham, his sword withdrawn and when he spotted the three Sharpe children, his eyes narrowed.

“Just my luck.” He sniped coldly. Michael trembled with his arrow and fired at the Sheriff but his aim was terrible and it only embedded itself into a tree. “That was your first mistake child.”

“You dare touch a hair on those kids and you’ll regret it!” a female voice snarled protectively. The Sheriff then felt a blade right at his neck and he slowly smirked.

“The demon!” he hissed.

“The only demon I see is you. Now step away from those children and draw your sword on me you coward.” As the Sheriff spun around and tried to slash at Gale, she quickly side-stepped and stood guard in front of the Sharpe children.

Protecting them like a mother bear would her own cubs.

“Kids get up into the trees, now!” The kids quickly climbed up as high as they could go to keep away from the Sheriff and watched with awe and terror at the fight that was about to go down. “You claim me to be a witch, well I can certainly say I can take you down without black magic.”

“You’re a vile succubus of the Earth Gale Hood. Hypnotizing anyone with your charm before you taint their souls to the darkness. Using men to do your dirty work for your own selfish gain.”

“You know sheriff you would’ve made a great judge. What happened? King Richard saw your perverted side and put you in the lowest rank possible away from the palace?” The Sheriff then lunged for her but she spun around him and gave him a good cut along his cheek with her hidden knife.

As she stood behind him she told him as he wiped his cheek and saw the blood on his hand.

“That was for Gilbert. Now you both have a matching set.”

“Enough tricks siren!” the two then began to go full on at each other, spinning around each other and nearly making close calls with each other.

Of course the Sheriff had one more dirty trick up his sleeve. After Gale had gotten him on his knees after slashing his leg with her sword, he secretly took some dirt in his fist.

“Ms. Gale watch out!” Michael cried out but it was too late, he tossed the dirt right into Gale’s face. She cried out as the soil stung her eyes and she continued to scream as the Sheriff now had her pinned against him, her arm bent far behind her back and his other hand gripping her hair pulling her head backwards.

“As magnificent as you are, you are still a woman. And women are feeble creatures.” He tossed her down to the ground up. Her head hitting against the trunk of the tree.

He raised his sword high in the air ready to strike down at Gale and finally end her. Robert tucked his brother’s and sister’s heads into his chest and he too closed his eyes not wanting to see the inevitable. His sword then swung down and through the forest a loud CLANK was heard.

The kids slowly opened their eyes and that’s when Laura gasped happily. The sheriff stood there in fear for standing right before him blocking his attack on Gale was Prince James.

“I knew he’d save her. Just like the princes do in the storybooks.” Laura said to her brothers.

He pushed the Sheriff’s sword aside and with a fast strike, he managed to cut a small chunk of the Sheriff’s long black hair. As it fell to the ground the Sheriff looked up at the Prince with horrified eyes.

“Touch her again, and I’ll cut off more than just your hair.”

“My-my Prince…….I-I meant no harm. Please have mercy on me.” The Sheriff pleaded as fell to his knees.

“If you have the pride to attack a woman and attempt to kill children, you should have the balls to fight against me. Now on your feet!” The Sheriff’s fear soon melted away as his cold exterior came back up and he stood back up.

“So she’s corrupted you too? The future king. Never fear your highness, I shall remedy of your tainted soul.”

“Oh you’d be surprised just what she’s taught me.” Challenged James. The Sheriff cried out as he lunged towards the Prince.

But ohh James was indeed a clever fighter. Just like Gale did to him earlier, he spun around the Sheriff but instead of using his sword he thrusted it to the ground and quickly mounted onto the Sheriff’s shoulders.

Using his momentum and the Sheriff’s own body weight against him, the Prince spun the Sheriff of Nottingham right off his feet. When the Sheriff, dazed and confused of what had just happened to him, he heard a snap of his bone. It was then he realized that the Prince had pulled his right arm behind his back and actually broke it.

Before the Sheriff could even turn onto his back, he soon found not only the Prince’s sword, but his own sword crossed over each other over his neck, ready to behead him.

“Please……my Prince….mercy.”

“Every breath you take is mercy from me. I should kill you where you stand for your crimes against Nottingham.” The sheriff closed his eyes fearfully awaiting his punishment. “But unlike my bastard of an uncle, I know self-control. And I won’t kill before children.” He released the sheriff and gave him a final threat, “But harm those children or Gale’s family again, and next time my sword won’t stop.”

He tossed the sheriff’s sword to the ground and like a frightened dog, the Sheriff ran with his tail tucked between his legs. James put his sword away and looked up at the tree.

“You children alright?”

“Yeah we’re okay.” Robert said.

“Thank goodness. C’mon down now, he won’t be back anytime soon.” Robert was the first to scale down the tree, with barely any help from James (Robert was a pretty skilled climber and said he didn’t need any help getting down). Michael then followed behind and James helped him down to the ground, which left Laura clinging onto the trunk fearfully once she saw just how high they really were.

“C’mon Laura jump!” Robert called out to her.

“No!” she cried out fearfully.

“Laura it’s not that far, come on we gotta find ma and pa!” Michael urged her on.

“I can’t! I’m too scared!” James took his sword off his belt and went up the tree to go get Laura. Once he was half way up the tree, he gave Laura a comforting smile and he told her.

“It’s okay Laura. Can you give me your hand?” he extended his hand out. Laura looked down and clung onto the tree tighter, her small body trembling with fear.

“What—what if I fall?” she asked.

“I’ll give you a Prince’s vow that I will not let that happen. I’ll be right here to catch you.” her eyes went to look back down but James told her to not look down, only to look at him.

Soon Laura took James’ hand and slowly he brought her closer to him until she clung onto him like a bear to a tree.

“Now, just keep your arms wrapped around me okay, and you can close your eyes if you wish.” He told her as he wrapped an arm protectively around her. Laura buried her face into James’ neck, his long blonde hair gently tickling her face with each movement he did as he carefully scaled down the tree.

Once they were safely on the ground, James comfortingly rubbed her back and told her that they were safely on the ground. Laura opened her eyes when two familiar voices began calling out to them.

“Ma!”

“Pa!” soon coming through the trees were Adam and Veronica Sharpe. James set Laura down and the three children raced up to their parents. The Sharpe family reunited with each other through hugs and kisses as the kids all spoke at once about what had happened.

Adam looked up at the young Prince and said to him.

“Thank you my Prince.” He went to kneel but James stopped him and he said.

“There’s no need Adam Sharpe. Your children’s safety was my only concern. And I’m happy to see that they’ll be in their parent’s care once again.” Adam stared in awe at this young Prince but smiled and nodded.

“We—we wouldn’t know what we’d done had anything happened to any of our children.”

“Misses Gale!” Laura exclaimed. James soon turned around and saw Gale starting to regain consciousness softly groaning in pain. He quickly raced over to her and saw her eyes still covered with dirt and dust.

“Keep your eyes shut my love.” He adjusted her so that her head was on his lap. He quickly took his water pincher and dumped some water onto his hand before spreading it over her eyes then using his sleeve to gently wipe the water and dust again. He repeated the process a few times before finally allowing Gale to open her eyes.

And once again he was caught off guard by the ethereal beauty of her brown eyes. The two young lovers stared at each other, almost feeling like the world was slipping away and the only thing that mattered was just the two of them.

“James.” She whispered.

“Hey Gale.” He softly greeted with a smile.

“You—you managed to find me in time?”

“Like I told you when we first met. No matter where you are, I will always find you.” he brushed some of her hair away from her face.

“How romantic.” Praised little Laura softly.

“Sissy stuff!” Michael gagged. It was then Adam and Veronica decided to take their leave and take the children back home (but really it was to give the young prince and their female heroine some privacy).

Once the Sharpe’s had left, James continued to gently stroke through Gale’s raven hair and stare into her eyes. Gale soon reached up and took a strand of his long blonde hair in between her fingers and twirl it around.

“You took my dare?”

“Yeah I—I remember you saying long hair wasn’t easy to manage. And you were right.”

“But it—it looks good. Finally gives you the real Charming look.” He faintly chuckled and said.

“God did I miss hearing you call me that.”

“I thought you hated when I called you that the first time we met?”

“Being away from you all these years, made me come to appreciate all the things that we used to do. Every small thing you did or even called me. And—you calling me Charming has been the one thing I missed the most. Cause it makes me think back to the day we met.” Gale smiled solemnly.

James helped her stand up and he said.

“C’mon. Let’s find your brother and the rest of the gang.”

“Onto Sherwood forest then, Charming.”

“Lead the way then, Gale Hood.” She grinned and walked on ahead with James following right behind her.

Back at the tournament, with the battle that had broken out, the field was in disarray. Tents had been knocked over, the royal stand completely destroyed, and the field completely emptied. Prince John who was the only one still there exclaimed.

“HESTON! You’re never around when I need you!” that’s when he began to hear a drunken hum coming from the barrel of ale that he was hiding behind. He pressed his ear to the barrel before uncorking it.

Soon drunkenly raising up was Heston. He removed the muzzle from his python’s nose and that’s when Heston slurred.

“Oh! Oh hey th-there you are old man! PJ you won’t believe this…..but the archer boy is really Robin Hood.”

“Robin Hood…..” Prince John sneered softly. Heston nodded proudly. Prince John then exclaimed in anger as he took Heston out of the barrel and began to throttle him furiously.

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inkstaineddove · 4 years

Text

Little Games We Play

Ships: PruHun

Characters: Prussia, Austria, Hungary; mentioned France

Summary: For the creation of his kingdom, Prussia was forced to ally with Austria in the War of the Spanish Succession. Taking advantage of this indebtedness, Roderich demands Gilbert's cooperation on a task he'd find morally reprehensible. To live with himself, he must find a way of sabotaging Roderich's plans and get away with it.

Vienna, 1703.

Hesitantly, Prussia entered the study. While he had been in this room many a time before, its size had yet to cease to amaze him. The length of it could fit two rooms in his new home in Berlin and the entirety of his home in Königsberg. Statues and busts made of marble and gold stared him down, judging his relative poverty to the opulence surrounding them. He did his best to ignore them, scanning the room for its owner. The sooner he could be free of it, the better.

“Ah, Prussia! I hope I hadn’t left you waiting too long!” Austria strode in, appearing out of an adjoining room Prussia hadn’t noticed. He waved towards the sofas in the center of the room as he walked to a little bar stand beside them. “Please, have a seat. Care for a glass of brandy?”

Complying, Prussia took his seat, shifting around nervously. The damn thing was much too plush and with too many embellishments for it to ever be comfortable. Like all things in this palace, it was designed for looks over practicality. “Far be it from me to turn down a glass of anything,” he smiled, trying to relax himself. As soon as the drink was in his hands, he quickly began whittling it away.

“I do appreciate that you were so willing to help me with this endeavor. While I’m not minimizing the fighting on the Rhine, I felt it far more appropriate to utilize your experience in this area than Brandenburg’s assistance, which would turn this into a ‘blind leading the blind’ campaign.” Austria sipped his brandy and chuckled. “And, well, that shiny new kingdom of yours did leave you indebted to me.”

“Mm, that is one way of looking at things,” Prussia grumbled, his lips pursed together. If this was how their conversation would be going, he would be needing much more to drink.

They sat in tense silence for a couple moments, each appraising the other. What relationship they had before had recently grown rocky with a shared amount of personal enmity and jealousy. Any interactions they now had became a dance to see who would move first, who would deliver the most cutting of remarks with the most insincere smile. Now, the political situation required some effort to get along, even if it only amounted to a minor detente.

Roderich cleared his throat, regaining control of the situation. “As much as it pains me to admit this, I’ve been put in a humiliating enough position to where I unfortunately need your cooperation. While I would prefer to be going around you and dealing with Georg only, I’m cursed with you being the one with any familiarity with Hungarians.” Realizing how his words could be interpreted, he shot Gilbert an icy look. “Refrain from any crass insinuation. I know how your mind works.”

Gilbert held his hands up in defense. “Don’t give me that look! I wasn’t going to insinuate anything until you mentioned it!” He sighed, relieved that all pretensions of friendliness and civility could be dropped. “How do you think I feel? You really believe I’d want anything to do with you in this? If it weren’t for my debt, as you so kindly pointed out, I’d be watching this from the sidelines rooting her on. This goes against all three of my principles.”

“You have those? Color me impressed. An old hold over from your monastery days I assume.” Roderich touched a hand to his chest, feigning surprise. “My apologies, that seemed to slip out. How it warms my heart to know that, under normal circumstances, you would be right alongside the traitors. Surely this won’t backfire on me.” He rolled his eyes, sighing dramatically. “I understand that a mercenary will always remain a mercenary, but is it too difficult to even pretend to side with me on one issue? If you’re going to keep your people in line, you better get used to defending the right of any established monarch to do what’s necessary to stay in power – regardless of your own satisfaction at seeing whomever it is fall.”

Prussia waved a hand flippantly. “Hypocrite. You’d be singing a different tune if the shoe were on France’s foot.” He smiled, exposing his teeth like a shark. “But fine, I can humor you. How I pray each night for peace to be restored to your lands and the health of the emperor, long may he live! And down with those Hungarians, may I slay one with my sword!” He knocked back the rest of the drink. When he saw the sheer contempt on Austria’s face, he chortled. “Don’t like what you asked for? I’m giving you enthusiasm.”

Austria sneered. “You know exactly what I meant and that definitely wasn’t it. If you could learn to hold your tongue, more people would find your presence tolerable nor would they think you a man so far removed from civility that he’s better matched with the animals. But cheers.” He finished off the rest of his glass before refilling their cups. He shook his head. “Enough of this chitchat, the only reason you’re here is to fulfill a purpose. In five days, we will head out. There should be some information in Budapest, I’m sure you’ll be able to scrounge it out. If I head anywhere near their areas, it’s as if they can tell who I am, and I receive incredibly hostile responses. Of course, if one of them trusts you that doesn’t make for an entirety of the population, but if she happens to be their collective wills and stubbornness, I assume that means you will have an easier time tracking her down than me.” He held up a finger, remembering something. “And you’re the only one of us I know who speaks the language. Oddly enough, they don’t appreciate repeated questioning in German.”

“No surprise. I can tell you from crusading that most people outside of all our lands find it off putting.” Prussia folded his arms over his chest and leaned away from him. “You want me to play spy? This was already a cowardly enough thing to ask of me, but I’m amazed that you’re making it worse by forcing me to operate in the dark. And I’m sure my involvement will be information you won’t keep private?” At Austria’s little smirk and shrug, he scoffed. “Despicable. You couldn’t care to make this easier on me? What good does getting revenge on the both of us serve?”

“Who do you take me for? I’m a man of honor. I knew this wouldn’t be something you’d accept readily; a little persuasion is in order.” Austria opened a small chest on the table before them. Inside was a satin bag, pregnant with a stack of coins.

Gilbert picked it up and dumped some of the contents in his hand. It appeared to be a not insignificant amount of gold. He shook his head with disgust. “Caiaphas offers his blood money? Be careful, Roderich, you might be showing yourself too soon.”

“I assure you that this time Judas need not kill himself. Though, I do beg you to betray her with a kiss. That’s too important of a detail to miss out.” Roderich smiled smugly, proud of his position. “Protest all you want, but we both know you’re going to accept. You knights are all the same, all pretenses of chivalry forgotten with a little amount of coin. Honor always yields to self-interest. And, to sweeten the deal, there’s more if you’re successful or turn up any useful leads. If it makes it that much easier, fine. Have this adventure be our little secret until a more beneficial time. I do live with her; if your brand of comfort will prevent me from waking up to a slit throat, then who am I to stop you?”

Gilbert gazed at the bag. Sighing, he shoved it into his jacket pocket. “If you swear to keep this between us then you have my cooperation.”

Austria smiled like a snake. “Thank you for being reasonable. You have my word that this will remain hidden from her.” He flicked his wrist away. “Now shoo. I’ll see you in the morning and we can discuss the details of my plan.”

---

Budapest.

Austria stood, hunched over a map. “Do you know where her home is? It shouldn’t be that far from where we are.”

“Are you kidding me? Of course, I do! I could enter the city blind and still find my way. I doubt the layout has changed that much.” Prussia rolled his eyes in disbelief. How could that have even been a question? “I’m heading out. Remember to give me time. If we get lucky and she happens to be there, it does us both better if I can persuade her to play along. You charging in would absolutely ruin all my work.”

Austria nodded. “You have my word; I’ll give you all the time you need as long as you prove useful. Now, run along. I’d prefer you to finish sooner rather than later.”

Gilbert rolled his eyes and began strolling into the city. He straightened his back and affixed a purposeful expression on his face. If he appeared to be a man on a mission, one with important matters at hand, then no one would consider him out of place. He nodded his head at a group of gossiping old ladies on the street, trying to determine whether what they were discussing had any value. They only spoke of the daily dramas of their families, the personal nature of them overblowing their meaning to each. Nothing of significance.

Her house had hardly changed. Which, when Gilbert stopped to think, why would it? When was the last time she had been home for any substantial length of time? It was more impressive that it hadn’t fallen into complete disarray, though he supposed she had someone take care of it on her behalf.

At the front door, he made a show of checking his pockets for keys and of frustration at being unable to find them. He took out the loose brick beneath the windowsill. There they were, as they always had been, the spare key she kept hidden. He shook his head in disapproval as he entered. “She really should move them. Any stray could walk in and take everything.”

Feeling particularly charitable, he tore a bit of scrap paper from one of the old messages sitting on a kitchen counter. Humming to himself, he began scratching out a cheeky note teasing her for her lack of foresight. He felt the air around him grow tense and slowly turned around. He was met with the tip of a sword centimeters from his face. “You know, under different circumstances this would be quite the turn on.”

Hungary narrowed her eyes into a glare. “Don’t try to be cute. We both know why you’re here. The fact that he sent the dog after me first doesn’t bode well.” She pushed the sword closer, pressing him into the counter. “You understand. If I have to cut you down to protect myself, then so be it.”

“I understand, but do you really have to call me a dog to my face? I hear that enough as it is, I don’t need it from you too.” Gilbert smiled, slowly moving the tip away from his face. “The fact that you think so low of me is painful, Erzsi. I wouldn’t be so unbothered if I were here to help anyone else but you. You know me and where my real loyalties lie. I have more honor than that.”

Her expression softened and she lowered the sword. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I should know better.” She took a step closer and inched up on her toes, all pretenses of hostility gone. His guard dropped, he leaned in and smirked feeling her hand fish around in the pocket of his breeches. Erzsébet jumped away, sword extended in one hand while tossing the bag of coins up in the other. “Ah, so this is how much I’m worth to you? You’re right, I do know you. That’s why I know a mercenary masquerading as a knight would never turn down even a measly amount of money – which this really is. You’re selling me out for much too little.”

“If you gave me a chance, there’s actually a really good explanation for that.” He paused, waiting for her to interrupt. Smiling, he continued on, “You know how highly Roderich thinks of me. He figured if he offered me a little gold now and a lot later, that would buy my cooperation. I planned on taking his money while sending him off in the opposite direction. I would never knowingly sic him onto you.”

While this relaxed her considerably, she wasn’t fully convinced. “Then why come here first if you had no malintent?”

Gilbert shrugged. “Where else could I go? I’d rather sit around here and create evidence to give him for a few hours than wander around aimlessly.”

She set the sword down, laying it on the counter. “How do you plan on tricking him? It better be a brilliant plan. He’s incredibly adept at knowing when he’s being played for a fool. Anything less and you’ll be found out immediately and I won’t have enough time to flee to where I’m needed.”

“Don’t worry, I had it all figured out! I was going to throw a dart at a map and forge a letter that you intended to send me telling me where you were heading. What? Stop laughing! He would fall for it without question!”

Erzsébet shook her head, a relieved smile stretching across her lips. “No, he wouldn’t. I think that might be one of the worst ideas you’ve ever had. It’s a miracle I decided to stay the extra day. No, if we want this to work, we’ll have to do things my way. Follow me.” She led them into her study, taking a seat at her desk.

Over her shoulder, he watched her write out a letter in her neat script. His brows furrowed together, seeing who it was addressed to. “Who’s this Ferenc guy?” He leaned down, getting a better look at what was written and frowned. “And do you need to sound so friendly? It’s not a real letter.”

“He’s winning our independence. This would be a juicy letter for you to find, sure to promise all sorts of information Austria will be desperate to know.” She bit her lip to withhold a laugh. “The point is to make this sound authentic. If I weren’t warm in it, he would know something was off. There’s no reason to be so jealous.”

Gilbert huffed and walked away from her, his arms crossed. “I’m not jealous.” Upon hearing how unconvincing he was, he scowled at the wall. “It was just an observation. There’s no reason to read into it more.” Protecting himself from causing anymore damage to his ego, he sulked in silence on the opposite end of the room.

“There. If this doesn’t satisfy him then we never stood a chance.” Erzsébet rose and slipped the letter into his hand. Taking him and the situation in, she grinned. “I don’t think you’ll ever know how much this means to me.”

He tucked it securely in the liner pocket of his jacket, giving it an affectionate pat. “I think I have some idea. I may not be able to be out on the battlefield with you, but I’m always besides you at heart.” He kissed her tenderly on the lips. “I don’t want to keep him waiting any longer and risk him getting him impatient. You’d be smart to get on the move as well. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

She softly clicked her tongue and caressed his jawline with her thumb. “There’s nothing for you to be worried about.”

“Which is exactly why I’m worried. If you can, find a way to send me word that you’re safe.” He kissed her again and, when they parted, winked. “Give those bastards hell.”

…

Gilbert lounged around lazily in his tent. His return to camp had been uneventful. The letter had been in Roderich’s possession for a couple of hours now and still no reaction. This lack of acknowledgement troubled him. Could he see right through their plot? Was the game over? These were things he didn’t want floating about in his mind. He had attempted to read to take his mind off things but found all he could do was stare blankly at the page.

A hand mysteriously appeared on his shoulder. “Read anything good lately?” When he swung the book back to hit the intruder, he felt a surprising amount of resistance. There was a begrudging respect for their block. “That’s not exactly the warm welcome I was expecting.”

Gilbert jumped up, his breathing ragged. “Erzsi, are you insane? Are you trying to get yourself captured? After all the time I’m buying you, you’re going to waste it being this reckle-”

Erzsébet covered his mouth with her hand. She glanced at the entrance, making sure no one had heard. “If you keep ranting and raving like that, I certainly will be! Keep your voice down, I’ve got a good reason for being here. Can you do that?” Only when he nodded his head in the affirmative did she release him. “I was leaving, but then I saw this little camp and knew exactly who it belonged to. I need to know how many men he brought, which thankfully aren’t much, and whether he fell for the letter. Whether or not he’s figured me out will determine what I do next.”

How he loathed that she truly had a good reason for this. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, exhaling loudly. “I’m waiting to find that out myself. I haven’t heard a word from the prick after I handed it over to one of his lackeys. I’ve been trying not to go insane in here ever since I returned.”

“Gilbert! May I enter?” Roderich’s voice called from outside.

“For fuck’s sake. Quick! Hide!” Gilbert hissed, nudging her away. “Just a moment! I’m ah…undressed!” Once Erzsébet had disappeared underneath the bedframe, he made a quick sign of the cross. “You can come in now.”

Austria entered the tent, completely unaware of the chaos around him. He took a seat at the table in the center of the room. “I have to say, I’m impressed at how quick you were. You made it sound like you would be there till nightfall. Did you honestly not have to ask around? The letter was, what? Stored away somewhere in her desk?”

“I’m as surprised as you are. It was stuffed away in some drawer, as if she couldn’t be bothered to care if it were found. She seems to be quite fond of flaunting her insubordination in places where you’re certain to check.” At his glare, Prussia smirked. “You can make that face all you want, but we both know it’s the truth. She’s overconfident and it’s making her careless. When dealing with an opponent of that sort, I would recommend waiting until their own negligence causes their defeat. There’s no reason to go on a path of destruction right now.”

“Give it a rest. Of course, that would be your proscription. And one that’ll surely cause her to win that ‘sovereignty’ she so clamors for and turn me into the biggest jackass on the continent.” Austria rolled his eyes. “I cannot afford to wait any longer and have her position further bolstered by France. If this were simply one of the regular tantrums her people so often throw then I would do exactly that. The situation is too volatile to not react. Speaking of which,” he handed the letter to Prussia, “read this to me. About the only thing I could make out was her name.”

Prussia scanned the letter, mentally translating it as quick as he could. “A lot it is just meaningless pleasantries. The only real substance to it is that she will be in Pécs in a week to receive supplies they expected from France.”

“Pécs? What an odd choice. Are you sure this letter is in her own hand?” Austria took the letter back and began examining it for any inconsistencies. “Surely you must have a letter from her with you. Don’t try to argue. I’d be more shocked if you didn’t.”

“There is one in particular I like to keep on me, but…” Gilbert hesitated in his warning. Wouldn’t it be much sweeter to see the guttural reaction? He retrieved it from his pocket and passed it over. “I know my word will never be good enough, but here. You’ll see it’s a perfect match.”

Roderich unfolded it and compared. “Ah, much better. How refreshing to see a familiar language instead of one that’s completely indecipherable.” After noticing a particular word, he became focused on the personal letter. He blinked rapidly in surprise. “Perhaps it would have been better if this were in Hungarian instead. Quite the picture this paints and, yet, I can’t avert my eyes.” He put his empty hand over his mouth and his cheeks pinkened. “That’s filthy! How did she…how did you! My God, I can see why this is the letter you carry around. Such a…unique use of language.” Once at the end, he quickly shoved it back into Gilbert’s hands.

Gilbert lovingly folded it back up and set it down on the table. He licked his lips, unable to wipe the smug smirk off his face. “Surely that answers all your questions.”

“Answers? Don’t be absurd! That creates far more questions than I’ve ever had before in my life! For starters, is what she describes even possible? And, if it is within the realm of what is capable, would it even be pleasurable? She’s absolutely right! If either of you were able to walk afterwards that would certainly be a travesty to all that was…you mean about the handwriting?” Roderich cleared his throat, now unable to take the pressure of Gilbert’s stare. “Yes, I’m sufficiently satisfied that the one you found isn’t a forgery. Though, I do wonder if either of your appetites could ever experience the same and why can’t I think about anything else? I shall never look at either of you the same.”

Before Gilbert could offer anything in response, a poorly muffled snort was heard from under the bed. The two men shared a look. “Gilbert, are you hiding someone beneath your bed?” Roderich’s tone was befuddled rather than accusatory.

The icy fingers of fear gripped Gilbert’s heart. He opened his mouth but couldn’t force any words to come out. Panic settled in and he accepted the inevitably of the havoc that would be unleashed. Rather than strike a defiant pose, he averted his eyes to the floor. He would not witness the implosion he would be party to.

“Really? Is it that difficult to be here by yourself that you’ve resorted to filling your bed with some whore? My God have a bit more dignity. I can’t believe that I must be the one to reassure you of this, but you will see her again. A cheap thrill does nothing to heal a broken heart.”

Gilbert was unable to process that a crisis was being averted. He cocked his head lamely to the side, brows knitted in confusion. “You’re not going to scream at me?”

“Why would I? I’m not your father. I don’t care who you’re copulating with, barring the obvious exception, but I believe you could do better than this. There is absolutely no reason beyond your own desperation and wretchedness to pay a whore to warm your bed.” He shrugged, completely unbothered by what was occurring. “Regardless, I’m sure the clock is ticking, and I don’t want you to pay more than what is necessary. Goodnight, enjoy yourselves, and please don’t wake me up.”

Once he had left, Erzsébet crawled out from underneath. As soon as she got a good look at Gilbert, she couldn’t stop snickering. “Do you seriously carry that letter around with you?”

“Why wouldn’t I? I can’t help getting lonely sometimes.” He wrapped his arms around her waist. “What I really want to know is how much for the hour?”

“Oh, so now I can afford to waste an hour? How quickly your tune changes when you would be the beneficiary.” She rolled her eyes at his hypocrisy, smirking. “If I wait any longer, it’ll be too late when I arrive at my first stop. I can’t lose any more time.”

He sighed, understanding. Looking at her in his arms, a sudden onslaught of worry plagued him. “Be safe, please, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Erzsébet scoffed in mock outrage. “Why would I do that? I want to win, don’t I?” She smiled up at him and rested a relaxed hand on his chest. “There’s no need to fret. Whatever happens, I always turn out just fine. Take care of yourself. I’ll see you when I can.”

Gilbert kissed her, his heart yearning with indescribable feeling. As she walked away, a sentiment took sudden hold. “Erzsi, I-!” He called out to her. She turned back, puzzlement written plainly across her face. He exhaled slowly, releasing the foreign emotion like stored tension. “I’ll be thinking of you each day.” He didn’t offer then that that’s what he always did.

She smiled softly at him, tenderness claiming her own heart. She blew a kiss and crept out, disappearing as seamlessly as she appeared. He stood there, long after she left, with something like overburdened dread sinking into his stomach.

#aph prussia #hws prussia #aph austria #hws austria #aph hungary #hws hungary #pruhun #aph pruhun #hws pruhun #aph fanfiction #aph fanfic #hws fanfic #hws fanfiction #hetalia fanfic #historical hetalia #hetalia fanfiction #theres two jokes in this im really proud of #and if you guess them right you win my hand in marriage

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feed-the-birdss · 5 years

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The Promise

Author’s Note: I know it’s been awhile since I’ve been active, but life has been so busy, that I took a mini impromptu hiatus. That being said, things are starting to calm down now that I am more used to NYC life, and I am so excited to catch up on everything I’ve missed--especially @petals-to-fish story Fearlessly Red and @blitheringmcgonagall story We Can Be Heroes. Nonetheless, here is something I’ve finally had time to finish today!! I really hope you enjoy, and please let me know what you think. I love all kinds of reviews!!

Read it here on fanfic

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize isn’t mine.

“Daddy?” twelve-year-old Lily asked quietly.

“Yes sweetheart?” responded Mr. Evans not looking up from his newspaper.

“Daddy, you need to promise me, from the bottom of your heart, that you will never let me marry James Potter, and I mean never, can you do that?” declared Lily.

Mr. Evans just chuckled, “Sure thing darling,” he said somewhat absentmindedly as his eyes still moved across the page of his paper.

Lily got up, walked around the kitchen table, and ripped the paper right out of his hands. “Daddy this is serious! PROMISE me, you will never let me marry him. I mean it. It can never happen. If I wanted to marry him, it would mean I’ve gone crazy!!” Mr. Evans stared at his youngest daughter with wide-eyed concern over her absolute resolve. Her bright green eyes, so much like his own, were piercing his soul, begging for his help, and he could never refuse his little girl when she was looking at him like such. “Promise me,” she repeated.

“I promise.”

As a Gryffindor, James Potter was rarely nervous even though there was plenty in his life he should be nervous about. Fighting in a deadly war with his girlfriend and best friends—easy—the other side were a pack of idiots. Telling Sirius that he damaged his bike snogging Lily up against it and knocking it over—please—that would be more funny than anything. Running around with a werewolf every month as an illegal Animagus—don’t make him laugh—a child could do that—heck—he did it as a child. Disobeying Alastor Moody—if he can handle an angry McGonagall, Moody looks like a teacup pig next to her.

However, it was one of those rare times that James Potter was nervous. After apparating from his flat, he walked up to a simple looking house in Cokeworth. It was dark out, so he could only just make out the shadows of the perfectly manicured shrubbery out front. Stuffing his wand in his pocket, and using his hand to, once more, attempt to tame his hair a bit more, he held a knuckle up to the door, knocked, and then took a deep breath.

You see, there was only one thing in his life that ever made James Potter nervous: Lily Evans. He’d gotten past the nerves for, you know, just generally being in her presence after a year of dating, and this year has made him realize that he always wanted to be in her general presence—for the rest of his life if he could help it. So that’s why he’s here, outside the Evans’ house, with a speech in his head, and butterflies in his stomach. He was going to ask for Mr. and Mrs. Evans’ blessing to marry their youngest daughter.

After a few agonizingly silent seconds, James heard some shuffling behind the door followed by the knob turning and the door opening to reveal Mr. Evans.

“James? What are you doing here? Is Lily okay?” Asked Mr. Evans eyebrows scrunched together in confusion.

“Lily’s perfect sir, but she is the reason why I’m here. Would it be alright if I came in to speak to you and Mrs. Evans?” James was surprised with the steadiness of his voice given the fact that the butterflies in his stomach turned to bludgers the second the door opened.

Mr. Evans’ eyes widened slightly. James was pretty sure he was catching on. “Uh…sure son, let me just find her. Make yourself comfortable in the living room in the meantime.”

James nodded and made the familiar walk to the living room while Mr. Evans scurried upstairs to find his wife. Sitting down on the plushy floral patterned couch, James tried to control his racing heart by taking deep breaths. He couldn’t help but crave a shot or two of fire whiskey to take the edge off, but Sirius refused to let him even look at alcohol before coming here citing his so-called low tolerance. Sure one shot in the past has made James do and say incredibly stupid things, but at least he was able to do those stupid things without bludgers pummelling around inside his stomach.

He was starting to wonder if what he was about to do was another stupid thing in the long list of stupid things he’s done in his life. Now he’s back to having the same argument with himself that he’s been having for the last seven weeks—should he be asking for the Evans’ blessing? For one, Lily does what she wants regardless of what anyone else thinks. Two, she does not like aspects of her life being discussed without her. James loves these things about Lily. Her fierce independence is her sexiest quality in his opinion.

However, James also knows that while as much as Lily epitomizes a modern independent woman, she also values tradition. While she would never openly admit it, James knows that Lily loves it when he takes charge of a situation, how he always puts her first, how he’s protective of her, and how he loves to take care of her. She can do all of this for herself by herself, but James’ heart always soars at the small tug at the corner of her lips whenever he does one of those things. So, in that regard, the traditionalist in him, and the secret traditionalist in Lily, can’t help but feel that Lily’s parents, as the people she loves most in the world next to James, would want to be in the know about the biggest question their daughter will be asked in her life.

Fuck, mentally exasperated James. Lily could still get pissed about this. He then shot up his hand at an attempt to stress-grab his unruly hair, but in the process of grabbing his hair, he knocked over a photo frame standing on the side table next to the couch he was sitting on. Quickly scrambling to right the photo before the Evans’ came down, he picked it up. However, he paused before setting it back down. The photo was of Lily.

It must have been taken last summer because she doesn’t look much younger than she is now. It was of her curled up with a book under the tree in the Evans’ backyard. Such an image was so familiar to James. He can’t count the number of times he stumbled upon Lily reading a book under the tree by the Black lake when they were still in school. It was like she couldn’t read for pleasure unless she was under a tree given the amount of times he caught her there. With a small smile now gracing his face, James set the photo back on the side table with a steady hand and a calm stomach. Even just a picture of Lily could do that for James.

At that moment, he could hear the unmistakable soft thuds of socked feet coming down carpeted stairs. Turning his head, he saw Mr. Evans returning with his wife in tow.

“Hello James, dear. Lovely to see you,” she said kindly giving him a peck on the cheek as she approached him.

“It’s good to see you too Mrs. Evans,” blushed James in response to her greeting.

Mr. Evans did not make eye contact with him as he made his way over to the couch across from the one James was sitting on making James more sure that he knew what this was about.

“What can we do for you sweetheart?” inquired Mrs. Evans with a sweet smile.

Mr. Evans was still avoiding his eyes and was instead fixated on the carpet, making James’ stomach butterflies slowly begin to flutter again.

With a deep breath, James spoke, “As much as I respect and cherish Lily’s independence and ability to make her own choices, you are both the two people she loves most in the world…Other than me of course,” James added with a cocky smirk to Mrs. Evans, who chuckled in response to his joke. Mr. Evans was now glaring at the carpet.

James cleared his throat nervously once he saw that glare, and decided to switch gears back to seriousness and to stay on seriousness, “uhhh…right…now that being said, again Lily makes her own choices about her life, but because she loves you both so much, your opinions about her choices matter to her. So while she doesn’t yet know that this choice is available to her, I want her to know that you both approve of it before I offer her this choice.” Mr. Evans’ glare was only sharpening, so screw the butterflies and the bludgers—a hoard of angry Hungarian horntails were now taking residence in his stomach.

James took another deep breath to try and calm his thundering heart which he was quite sure could be heard all the way over in America, “So, with that, I hope I can get your blessings…um from both of you…in asking Lily to marry me,” James sucked in another breath as he finished his statement, and held it as he waited for their response.

Mrs. Evans responded almost right away, “Oh James! This is so exciting! Of course we would love it if you and Lily got married. I mean, you’re bit a young, but you’ve known each other so long, and you make each other happy.”

James just smiled back at her with glassy eyes behind his glasses. He didn’t realize how much he needed the approval not just for Lily, but for himself as well until he heard it from her.

Then his heart stopped as Mr. Evans started speaking—looking James straight in the eye.

“Darling, please don’t speak for both of us. I’m sorry James, but I’ve made a promise to my daughter, and it is for that reason that you can never have my blessing to marry her.”

James’ shock was consuming. He knew Mr. Evans wasn’t particularly fond of him, but he believed it was just because he was sleeping with his youngest daughter, not because he actually disapproved of him. Adrenaline started coursing through James’ body, but despite the heart-aching rush that was practically paralyzing him, he responded calmly, “Sir, if this is about you, as her father, promising to protect her, I assure you, that not only would I never get in the way of that, but I will protect her too just as she protects me.” James’ tone became increasingly desperate, ”Please Mr. Evans, I only want to make her happy, and I know I can do just that.”

“I know, but protecting her is not the promise I am speaking of here.”

“What promise are you talking about? Don’t let the poor boy suffer for your stubbornness. If you won’t give him your blessing, you better give him a damn good reason,” protested Mrs. Evans.

Mr. Evans bowed his head, rubbed a hand over his face, and let it out with a heavy sigh, “The summer after Lily’s first year at Hogwarts she begged me to promise her to never let you marry her. No matter what,” he finished in a tired voice.

James just sat there. The only indication that he gave to show that he had actually heard what Mr. Evans said was that his eyes were as wide as saucers. Is this guy fucking kidding me? James thought to himself. Lily was fucking twelve! If his parents still held things he said when he was twelve against him, he was pretty sure James would have his broomstick destroyed for finally cleaning up his act and becoming head boy.

Mrs. Evans, however, after her momentary shock at her husband’s admission began to laugh.

Mr. Evans glared at his wife, “What on earth could be funny to you? This is no laughing matter.”

The laughing abruptly stopped. Mrs. Evans stared at her husband in utter disbelief. “Please tell me you’re joking,” she practically begged.

“Of course not! I would never joke about a promise made to either of my daughters!” bellowed Mr. Evans.

“Not about the promise you daft fool!” yelled back Mrs. Evans, and with that yell, James had never before been so reminded of Lily by another person. Mrs. Evans continued, “Tell me that you’re not actually serious about keeping a promise made to a twelve-year-old.”

“Again, I would never joke about a promise made to my daughter.”

“Oh dear lord!” Mrs. Evans exasperated with rolling eyes, “You do realize that if I had known you when I was twelve then I probably would’ve asked my father to promise me to the same thing. And let’s not forget that you once also promised Lily that you would sleep in her closet every night until the monsters went away, but we both know that you snuck away after she fell asleep each night.”

“Well that’s because the monsters went away by the time I left,” replied Mr. Evans stubbornly.

“My point still stands darling, you can’t hold the requests of a twelve-year-old against the young man sitting in front of you here today.”

It was as if Mr. Evans was reminded of James’ presence, as he returned his glare back at the boy that sought to break a promise.

James took this as his cue to chime in, “If I may sir, I…uuhh…respect your…um…determination on keeping your promise to Lily, but I think…no…I know Lily sees things differently now. Also, we both know that, promise or not, Lily will marry me if she wants to, and I am pretty sure she does otherwise I wouldn’t be asking.”

“And what makes you think that my daughter, the girl who once claimed that she’d have to have gone crazy to ever want to you, wants to marry you boy?” inquired Mr. Evans menacingly.

James laughed. That sounded like something Lily would say. He paused before answering the question, thinking carefully about his words. While he knew he didn’t need it, he still wanted Mr. Evans’ blessing. He wanted his future father-in-law to know, that the man that he is today, is worthy, as anyone could ever be, for Lily.

“We’re in love, and there’s a war going on.” James’s shoulders stooped with a heavy sigh at this knowledge, “this war has put everything into perspective for the both of us in terms of what matters most, and that’s each other. You both know Lily,” James smiled fondly, “she doesn’t do anything half-assed. She loves with everything she has, and we’ve both been looking for ways to show that our love for one another is certain when the war has made everything else uncertain, and I believe one way to do that is marriage, and I think she would agree with me there.”

Mr. Evans’ shoulders too stooped with the heavy burden of war. He looked at the boy who so clearly loved his love his daughter, and thought about his promise to Lily.

When Lily first told him in a letter from Hogwarts just last October that she was dating the infamous James Potter, he spit out his morning coffee in shock much to Petunia’s utter disgust. However, he kept quiet thinking that Lily would come to her senses and remember what she once begged of him. Yet Lily’s genuine feelings for James became harder and harder to deny as the days of then dating him turned from days, to weeks, to months to now a year. Clearly, Lily either didn’t even remember the promise or just simply didn’t care about it. Whenever she spoke about James on the phone or at one of their afternoon teas, her love for James permeated every aspect of her being. She couldn’t contain it if she tried. It was in the way her eyes lit up as she spoke his name, or the way her voice would always have a hint of mirth in it as she told him stories about their time together.

James was right, Lily does love with everything she has. And his Lily wouldn’t love just anyone, it was clear that James had grown up alongside with Lily’s opinion of him. So deep down, Mr. Evans knew the promise was moot early on in their relationship. Nonetheless, like any loving father with a daughter, he stubbornly held on to any somewhat valid excuse he had to stop his little girl from becoming a woman. Lily would be so mad at him if she ever found out about this. As she should, his conscious spat at him.

Not wanting to disappoint his daughter by denying her something she possibly wants, Mr. Evans looked back up to James with a heavy heart, “You’re a good man James. A better man than the one it seemed you might’ve become given the type of boy you were.” James held his head down as a shameful blush colored his cheeks, “So,” Mr. Evans cleared his throat conspicuously to get James to look him in the eye as he said this, “I guess if Lily’s okay with me breaking the promise, I can make this one exception for her. So you have my blessing, but only if she says yes to marrying you.”

James just nodded in complete shock with the turn events. To him, it just looked like Mr. Evans went from hating him to grudgingly accepting him all in the span of a few minutes.

Mrs. Evans, at an attempt to diffuse the lingering tension, clapped her hands in excitement, “Wonderful! How and when are you going to ask James dear?”

_____________________________________________________________________

“James! You didn’t actually believe him did you!?” Lily barked with absolute mirth in her eyes.

“He can be so bloody convincing when he wants to! You of all people know that!”

Lily guffawed. James usually would’ve been annoyed that she was laughing at him, but when she laughed like that, he couldn’t help but laugh with her.

As soon as Lily’s laughter subsided to the point where she was no longer in danger of laughing off the cliff, she and James continued their walk along the Cliffs of Cornwall hand in hand.

It was a rare sunny English day, so James suggested that they apparate to Cornwall, just the two of the them, and enjoy a walk together. It reminded Lily of when they first started dating, and they would just walk around the Hogwarts grounds talking, teasing and laughing for hours. It’s how she fell in love with him.

“Do you think Dumbledore ever trims his beard, or is that tip at the end of it, his virgin stubble from when he was a tween?” questioned Lily seriously.

James eyebrows scrunched together in thought, “I mean the ends of his beard are quite brittle. So I bet that his virgin stubble…like…crumbled off long ago maybe? Still, I doubt he’s ever trimmed. Grooming doesn’t seem to be high on the man’s list of priorities now, if ever.”

“See, that’s where I think you’re wrong!” exclaimed Lily. They’d had an argument about whether or not Dumbledore cares about his appearance only too many times before. “Look at the man’s robes James! They’re always so impeccably stylish. I bet Dumbledore takes great pride in his appearance. The man is a Gryffindor after all.”

“Gryffindor’s pride does not count pride in appearances Evans. Pride is much deeper than such shallow concerns.”

“Of course it does Potter,” scoffed Lily rolling her eyes up to the beautifully clear blue sky. “You, of all people, are telling me that Gryffindors don’t take pride in their appearance!? James, forget the fact that you’ve lived with Sirius for over seven years, but you used to purposefully mess up your hair to give it that tousled windswept look you used to think was soooo sexy,” declared Lily with a sarcastic tone towards the end of her sentence.

James put his hand to his heart in mock hurt, “Lily, love of my life, do you mean to tell me that after all these years of me purposefully and artfully messing up my hair, you don’t find it sexy?”

Lily’s eyes just twinkled back at him teasingly as she smirked at him.

“I beg to differ. I mean, Hell, you were messing it up yourself in bed just this morning,” argued James. He stopped walking and stopped Lily from walking forward herself by dragging her into his embrace. He then put his forehead against hers. Lily’s breath caught at the closeness, and she leaned further into his embrace, closing her eyes. His warm breath washed over her wind-chilled face as whispered, “Just admit it, you think me messing up my hair is unbearably sexy. You even thought that when you allegedly hated me back in the day.”

Lily’s eyes opened, and she leaned back slightly to look him in the eye and grin as she replied, “In your dreams Potter. You and I both know that something big would have to happen for me to admit that.” Lily then pecked James’ bewildered face on the lips, and started walking again, “C’mon James, we should probably apparate back soon.”

“Marry me.”

Lily then turned around with an expression that mimicked James’ bewildered one from moments ago. She wasn’t sure if what she heard was right. The volume of the blowing wind and wavy ocean could’ve muffled any sound. “What?” She asked James, carefully walking back to where he stood at the edge of the cliff with his hand in his pocket and a look of pure determination on his face.

It was then when James knelt down on one knee, and lovingly reached for Lily’s left hand to hold in both of his as soon as she reached him.

“Lily, there’s a lot of fucked up shit happening right now, and with this war, not much is certain. But I am certain that I love you, and that you make me happier than anyone ever should be in a war. So, Lily Marie Evans, will you marry me?” He then pulled a small red velvet box out of his pocket and opened it to reveal a ring.

Lily looked from him to the ring with tears in her eyes as she vigorously nodded her head, “Yes!” She screamed into the billowing winds and crashing waves. James chuckled in absolute glee as he shakily slid the ring on her third finger and stood up to pull her in for a celebratory kiss.

After a few blissful moments of heated kissing, Lily pulled back and breathlessly said, “Also, of course I thought you messing up your hair was sexy. I mean, annoying at times, but still, incredilby sexy,” she laughed.

“I fucking knew it Evans,” he chuckled before he went back to kissing her.

______________________________________________________________________

Mr. Evans quickly made his way over to the ringing telephone in the living room, “Hello?” he answered as he picked it up and held it to his ear.

“Hi Daddy,” replied his youngest daughter.

“Hello poppet! How are you my love?” he asked.

“Brilliant actually!” Lily continued, “I would have loved to tell you this in person, but since I have to work all week, and I want you and mum to know as soon as possible, I am settling for over the phone, but James and I are getting married!”

Mr. Evans sighed. Just as he was about to reply with his reluctant congratulations, Lily cut him off before he could.

“Also, James told me about what happened when he asked for yours and mums blessing.” She chuckled. “You didn’t really take my request seriously did you? I was honestly shocked you even remembered me asking you that!”

Mr. Evans spluttered, “Lily you were a very tenacious child; so we were forced to take everything you said seriously. Regardless, any request of my daughter’s is one I would go to any lengths to fulfill. You should know that darling.”

Lily was still chuckling, “Oh come on dad! You just wanted to give James trouble. While I appreciate you honoring years old requests, I will let you off the hook for any others you may still have up your sleeve. I have learned to settle my own issues by now.”

Mr. Evans smiled, “Okay, darling. Whatever you say.”

Lily laughed again.

“I am happy that you are happy my dear, and I am sure your mother will be thrilled when she gets home. Any thoughts on when you will have the wedding?” He asked.

Lily’s constant chuckles suddenly ceased making Mr. Evans nervous, “Actually…Daddy?”

“Yes sweetheart?”

“I do have one more thing for you to promise, and I will be holding you to this one for sure.”

Mr. Evans gulped anxiously, “What is it Lily?”

“Will you promise to walk me down the aisle?”

He couldn’t stop the tears forming in his eyes, “I promise.”

#jily #jily canon #jily fanfic #jily fanfiction #jily fic #james potter #lily evans #lily potter #james x lily #engagement fic #feeding birds

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carewyncromwell · 4 years

Text

[Later that day, Carewyn met up with Charlie in the library, prepared to study for Transfiguration and History of Magic. The first had always been Carewyn’s most difficult class, while the second had always been Charlie’s, so they’d decided it would be good to help each other through those two subjects.

When Carewyn arrived, however, Charlie looked upon her with concern etched into his face.]

[Carewyn's eyebrows knit together. So he’d heard about that already...]

“...Technically Beatrice discovered him. She asked Snape to show me what had happened.”

[She took note of the other people in the library, who seemed to have been sneaking glances at her and Charlie.]

“...Does everybody know?”

Charlie: “(somberly) It’s all the school can talk about. The prevailing theory is that it’s another curse.”

[He kept an eye on his friend’s expression. Carewyn could sense that he was worried about her reaction.

She glanced away restlessly.]

“That’s what Snape believes too...meaning that the student will only be saved when the curse on the last Vault is broken.”

[Her eyes narrowed upon the edge of the bookcase a foot away.]

“... He said that the Aurors would be notified when I spoke to him, so I daresay they know by now. All we can hope for now is that they’re more efficient in breaking that curse than I was in breaking the other ones.”

[This sentiment felt like poison coming out of her mouth, as Carewyn truthfully had no intention of just sitting back and trusting others to handle things -- particularly when Mad-Eye Moody had flat-out told her he needed her to continue dealing with the Vaults while he pursued R -- but...]

Charlie knows me. He knows that it’d be frustrating for me, not to be able to help. I can’t let him dwell too long on why I’m not helping. And, well...it’s not completely untrue. How much faster could the Aurors or the teachers have saved Beatrice, if they’d been half as focused as I was...?

[Carewyn’s backhanded critique of herself made Charlie’s expression morph into something much harder, more reproachful.]

Charlie: “Oi!”

[He came forward and grabbed both of Carewyn’s shoulders.]

Charlie: “None of that. I will hear none of that, you hear? You put all of yourself and then some into breaking those curses and saving your brother -- it’d be hard for anyone to do what you did. Hell, you dueled against a bloody Hungarian Horntail -- and won! The Aurors and Cursebreakers at the Ministry would be lucky to have you on their side.”

[Carewyn was startled by Charlie’s conviction. The fierceness in his brown eyes flickered slightly, revealing something a bit more vulnerable as he released her shoulers.]

Charlie: “...Carey...I admit, I was a little upset when you told us you didn’t want to go after the Vaults anymore. It just felt like...well, you’d lost faith in yourself, a bit. Like you’d lost some of your fire.”

[The words crystallized over Carewyn’s heart like ice.]

“Charlie...”

[The second youngest Weasley pushed on despite her interjection, a bit more gently.]

Charlie: “But after what we went through...I can’t blame you. Returning to normal, after Rakepick betrayed us and left us for dead in that Vault, it’s...hard. I thought going back to school and seeing you all again would help, but...well, I couldn’t expect you to carry on like nothing’s changed. It was stupid of me to think you would -- selfish of me...”

[Carewyn’s eyebrows came together tightly over her eyes as she grabbed tight hold of one of Charlie’s shoulders in return.]

“Don’t say that. You are the furthest thing from selfish, Charlie. And you’re not stupid either. It’s not wrong to want things to be better than they are.”

Anyone would wish everything could go back to the way it was -- when things were simpler...

[Charlie gave Carewyn a slight, sad smile, but he seemed comforted all the same. He took hold of Carewyn’s opposite shoulder and squeezed it, so that the two were sharing an abridged sort of hug.]

Charlie: “...Guess we really are two of a kind, aren’t we?”

[Carewyn’s eyes softened as she gave Charlie a brave smile.]

“Cromwell-Weasley twins?”

[Charlie’s face broke out into a fuller white smile and he gave a low chuckle.]

Charlie: “Cromwell-Weasley twins. (thoughtfully) We might want to find a snappier way to say that, though. ‘Charlie and Carey?’ ‘Red and Green?’ ‘Twins from Another Mother?’”

[Carewyn laughed.]

“We’ll work on it.”

Percy: “I should hope you’re working on a lot more than just nicknames.”

[Charlie’s younger brother, Percy, had arrived, his arms crossed over his chest.]

Charlie: “Percy? I didn’t know you followed me.”

Percy: “I did -- to make sure you’re not shirking your studies like you did your responsibilities all summer. Honestly, it’s bad enough I have to babysit the twins now that they’ve started at Hogwarts -- I didn’t think I’d also have to tell my Prefect older brother to keep his mind on school. What would Bill say if he knew?”

Charlie: “(lowly) He’d sympathize with what I’m going through.”

Percy: “Bill was betrayed by Rakepick too: that hasn’t stopped him from fulfilling his duties at Gringotts. You should follow his example -- ”

[Sensing the tension between Charlie and Percy, Carewyn decided to step in.]

“How is Bill liking Gringotts? I got a letter from his new address, so I know he’s left the Burrow, but he didn’t go into much detail.”

[That was a bold-faced lie: she and Bill had exchanged several long letters that summer. It had been one of the few comforts Carewyn had, in the face of Jacob’s renewed absence. But she knew talking about Bill and Gringotts would be a good way to divert focus off of Charlie.]

Percy: “Quite well -- Bill can’t go into a lot of detail about his assignments, given that Gringotts requires a certain level of confidentiality, but his superiors have been impressed by his work ethic.”

“As they should. Bill’s always been a hard worker.”

[She turned to Charlie.]

“That reminds me -- Charlie, could you grab a few books from the section for History of Magic over there, for our study session? I reckon some stuff on Wendelin the Weird and the witch burnings’ll be good..”

[She’d been speaking quickly, clearly wanting to subtly brush Percy off by making it look like they were getting busy. Charlie, picking up on Carewyn’s intent, shot her a smile over his shoulder as he swept over to the bookshelves.]

Charlie: “Sure.”

[Carewyn herself picked out some Transfiguration books off the shelf, as well as a book titled An Examination of Historic Prophecies. She could still feel Percy’s critical eye on her as she set her pile of textbooks down on one of the tables.]

Percy: “(his arms still crossed) Studying Divination?”

[Carewyn realized too late that the Divination book had ended up on the top of her stack.]

“Oh! (dismissively) No, actually -- Trelawney gave a weird prophecy in class, so I just thought I’d read up on it a bit -- “

[Carewyn cursed her luck. She hadn’t wanted Charlie to hear that.]

“Yeah -- it was really awkward, actually. She just sort of stopped in front of me and started babbling to no one about murky water and ‘endings’ and other nonsense. Then she sort of looked at me and said the vision was gone and wouldn’t explain.”

[Despite Carewyn’s best efforts, Charlie looked concerned. To her surprise, however, Percy also seemed interested.]

Percy: “What did Professor Trelawney say, exactly?”

[Carewyn blinked at Percy. The third-year Weasley boy’s ears turned pink.]

Percy: “I read a few books on Divination over the summer -- I think it’s a very engaging subject!”

[Although she felt some faint misgivings about Charlie being able to hear all this, Carewyn decided it couldn’t hurt to hear what Percy thought.]

I’ll just have to play it off, like I don’t care.

“...Let’s see, ah...she said she saw ‘murky water’ in my future -- though we were reading tea leaves, so Tonks suggested she might’ve meant the tea. Then she said...‘changes swirling around you’...‘endings, final endings’...‘prices to pay’...‘the ultimate price.’“

[Charlie looked very disturbed.]

Charlie: “That does sound ominous...but Trelawney’s prophecies are supposed to be notoriously incorrect, aren’t they? Do you reckon this one’s real?”

[Carewyn scoffed.]

“No. But I am curious why she would make up those things at all -- I thought maybe reading up on prophecies could give me a hint.”

[Percy brought a hand up to his chin thoughtfully.]

Percy: “Perhaps...but everything I’ve read about prophecies suggests there are usually more details than this. So much of what you heard could be interpreted in multiple ways.”

[Carewyn nodded. She had thought so as well.]

“Maybe Madame Pince would have some suggestions of books that could help?”

George: “I wouldn’t go near her right now if I were you.”

Fred: “She’s in a right foul mood.”

[Carewyn turned. Two identical-looking ginger-haired first years wearing Gryffindor tie had come up to join them.]

Fred: “(innocently) Nothing! Just thought we’d introduce ourselves to the school librarian is all -- ”

George: “(sniggering) “ -- by helping her ‘reorganize’ a few Library shelves.”

[Charlie rolled his eyes up toward the ceiling. Carewyn raised her eyebrows.]

“Ah, the infamous Weasley twins. Fred and George, right? We met briefly over Christmas break once a while back, but you were both sick in bed.”

Fred: “Ugh -- bloody awful headache, that was. My head felt like it was full of pea soup for a week.”

George: “Mine felt more like beef stew. (sighs) Anyway -- love to stay and chat, but I have detention.”

Percy: “(appalled) The year’s barely started, and you’re already in detention!?”

[The twins ignored him.]

Fred: “Sorry, George -- I’ll take the blame next time, promise.”

Percy: “ ‘Next time?!’”

George: “(laughing) I’ll hold you to that, Fred!”

[With that, George headed out of the Library.]

“It’s too bad George had to leave so soon. It was nice to finally meet you -- formally, of course.”

Charlie: “Fred!”

Fred: “(laughing) Kidding! Though Bill and Charlie have both said you’ve got good pipes. And of course I’ve heard all about your adventures with the Cursed Vaults -- though I was mostly interested in hearing about all the tricks you’ve pulled around school!”

[Carewyn’s lips curled up in a smirk.]

Percy: “(snorts) That’s putting it mildly.”

“Well...just remember, Fred, I’m a Prefect, same as your brother. I don’t mind trouble as long as no one gets hurt -- but it’s harder for me to overlook things if they happen right under my nose.”

[Fred raised his eyebrows daringly.]

Fred: “So you’re fine with us causing trouble as long as we don’t get caught?”

[Carewyn crossed her arms, but her smirk didn’t shift.]

“Sure...but that includes not getting caught by me. And I’m not easy to fool.”

Fred: “(laughs) Challenge accepted!”

[Percy looked scandalized.]

Percy: “Carewyn! Prefects are supposed to protect the rules, not encourage -- “

Charlie: “(laughs) Calm down, Percy -- Carey takes the rules seriously. She doesn’t even let Tulip and Tonks get off scot-free, if their pranks hurt anybody.”

[Still looking miffed, Percy decided there was no point in arguing and so forcefully changed the subject.]

Percy: “Ahem -- I’m glad you’ve met...but now Charlie, Fred, and I need to study.”

[Fred scowled.]

Fred: “Yes, Mum.”

[Percy ignored him, turning back to Carewyn.]

Percy: “I know you don’t hold stock in what Professor Trelawney said to you, Carewyn, but I’d say you should be careful, all the same. I don’t think you’re going to find much meaning from it, though.”

[Percy shooed Fred off to the other end of the library, leaving Charlie and Carewyn alone at their table. Charlie and Carewyn spent the next hour studying Transfiguration and History of Magic, the book Carewyn had pulled out on Divination left forgotten on the side.

Carewyn thought Percy might be right. A book might not have any answers -- but perhaps a centaur might...]

((OOC: ^.^ I do love my Weasley boys very much, yes, I do. Even you, Percy, you right stick-in-the-mud. Also, the “singing” comment by Fred really did make me laugh so hard, given that Carewyn totally does sing when she thinks she’s alone! And also when music is playing, or she’s in her Animagus form, or when she wants to cheer someone up, or...yeah, she just likes to sing, period. XD

Next up -- checking in with Torvus!))

#carewyn cromwell #jacob's sibling #charlie weasley #fred weasley #george weasley #percy weasley #bill weasley #hphm #hogwarts mystery #roleplaying #gameplay

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must-be-brooklyn · 6 years

Text

A Future Together

Paring: Javid

Words: 1.6k

Their time together was comprised of stolen moments and filled with forbidden kisses. That did not mean that it felt any less draining to pull away and pretend to be friends until their next rendezvous.

- o -

In which Jack and David share a moment and discuss their future.

“You should leave.”

Jack looked at David, his eyes reflecting the flickering of the candle that sat in the window frame. The tiny flame was the only light on the fire escape. Even the stars and moon had disappeared behind clouds of city smog.

David’s stomach flopped like it always did when Jack gave him that look. “I mean it. Crutchie’ll get worried. You said you’d be back early today. It’s already gone eleven.”

Grinning, Jack just settled himself more comfortably against the railings of the stairwell. “Well, it’s my duty to make sure selling partners get home safe now, ain’t it?”

“We stopped selling together over a year ago,” David reminded him fondly. “Besides, as much as I love your company, won’t the lodging house shut at midnight?” He, too, leant back against the window frame and shifted the candle a little further across so he did not bump it. “As much as I’d love to offer you a place here, the floor is about the only place where there’s still any space.”

Jack laughed softly. “Naw, it’s ‘right. I can just take the fire escape up. Everyone knows ta keep the window open.”

They sat there in contented silence for a while. Slowly, Jack inched his hand closer to David’s until he could tangle their fingers together. David looked and smiled, squeezing Jack’s hand with care.

A sudden gust of wind blew past them, extinguishing the candle.

“Oh, damn.” David pulled his hand out of Jack’s and leant his body into the bedroom to find the matches again. “Not again.”

Jack pulled him back. “Don’t worry ‘bout it, Dave. It’s not that dark out.” That was a clear lie – David could barely make out the other side of the street – but he obliged and set the candle inside so the wax would harden without the risk of anyone knocking it over. As trivial as it was, they were always careful to conserve the kerosene and wax as much as possible. It was expensive to replace too often.

“Besides,” Jack said, lowering his voice and shifting closer to David, “It means I can do this.” He took David’s hand and bought it softly to his mouth to kiss it.

David could feel his cheeks burning red. “Don’t, someone might see!”

Jack looked around and laughed under his breath. “In this light? Naw. This escape don’t even lead to a main road. Ain’t no one gonna know.”

“My family’s only a room away and Les is asleep in here!” David gestured towards the room on the other side of the window. “They can’t know, Jack, they can’t.”

Jack gave David’s hand another, lingering kiss. He did not look up as he spoke. “They don’t have ta know, Dave. They ain’t gonna know if youse don’t want ‘em to.” Finally, he raised his head and gazed into David’s eyes. “But, I think they’s lovin’ you too much to get angry.”

David sighed and averted his eyes from Jack’s. His chest felt vaguely sore as if someone had winded him. He stared out at the street, despite being unable to see anything out there. “Do you ever think there could be a time when people like us are accepted?”

“One day?” Jack paused for a moment and ran his thumb over David’s knuckles. “Yeah, I think so. One day we’se gonna be able to live like all the other folks ‘round here. Have our own flat, no funny questions, police won’t care. The whole works.”

That made David smile. It was hard to imagine such a world sometimes. “Maybe, one day, people like us could even get married,” David sighed. It was rare that he even though of marriage; he was only seventeen and it was never something that had appealed to him as a child except for out of a sense of duty to his family. His parents had married when they were just eighteen, though, and that had terrified David when he was younger.

“Can you imagine that?” Jack laughed. “Mr and Mr Jacobs. Or Mr and Mr Kelly, I suppose.”

“Kelly,” David said quickly, “Jack Jacbos just sounds silly.”

Jack exhaled and pressed his shoulder to David’s. “It’ll happen one day,” he said with a smile.

“One day,” David agreed. He rested his head on Jack’s shoulder and let his mind drift from there. It was a content silence that David had come to treasure over the year and a half he had known Jack. The time they got alone together was rare, so David always treasured it, even if it was just them sitting in silence.

It had been over a year since they had started their bizarre version of a courtship. David occasionally tried to remember exactly what had led up to it, but more often than not, he came up blank. The day that Pulitzer had agreed to the new terms had been enough of a whirlwind of emotions as it was. Adding Jack into the occasion just made everything even more blurry.

David remembered a dark alleyway, lots of laughter, hands everywhere, and the most brilliant kiss he had ever had in his life. (Which, admittedly, was not saying much. He had only ever kissed one other boy when he was seven and they thought they were being very clever copying their parents.) A whispered confession and too many secret meetings to count later, and here they were. David did not know if this was love, but he prayed that it was.

“Dawid,” a quiet voice said. David sprung apart from Jack like he had been stung. His mother’s face appeared at the window, completely oblivious to what David and Jack had been talking about just minutes before. “Już czas przyjść do środka.”

“Daj mi chwilę, Mama,” David replied. She nodded and walked back out of the room, smoothing down the covers on the bed and kissing Les’s forehead as she went.

The door closed and David turned back to Jack. “She said I had to go inside now.”

Jack nodded and released his tight hold on David’s hand so that their hands were only brushing. “I should go back to the lodgin’ house then, I guess.”

David swallowed and forced himself to agree. Their time together was comprised of stolen moments and filled with forbidden kisses. They had to end each meeting while they were ahead. That did not mean that it felt any less draining to pull away and pretend to be friends until their next rendezvous.

Leaning forwards, they fell into a gentle kiss. It was like always: warm, chaste and breathtaking. David’s insides felt like they were melting, and he reached one hand to cup Jack’s chin.

It had to end all too soon, though. Jack pulled away and, giving David a smile, stood up. “See you tomorrow?”

David nodded quickly. “Les and I’ll be there for the evening paper.” He stood up as well and his hands

Skimmed over Jack’s. He pressed a final kiss to Jack’s lips and stepped back.

Jack grinned at him. Then, he turned and disappeared down the fire escape. It was dark enough that David soon lost track of where he was, so he clambered back through the window and closed it except for a tiny crack so that people could find him if they needed him.

Absentmindedly, David walked into the main room to wish his parents good night, allowing Sarah to get herself ready for bed, before changing his own clothes and climbing into the bunk next to Les. Mumbling sleepily, Les simply rolled over and allowed David to pull some of the blanket over himself.

Sarah’s breaths soon evened out, but David lay there staring at the ceiling. His mind was still buzzing. He turned restlessly, only to find Les blearily watching at him.

“Go to sleep, Les,” David whispered as quietly as possible.

Les kept looking at him. “You’re thinking too loudly.” David opened his mouth to defend himself, but Les cut him off before he could. “I heard you tonight. Talking with Jack.”

David’s heart stopped beating as his mouth fell open in horror. “Don’t tell anyone what you heard,” he hissed, cheeks burning. “Please, Les, we’ll get in so much trouble.”

“Would you really want to get married to him?” Les completely ignored David’s words. “Like, really really? When you’re older.”

David sighed, but gave up protesting. The damage was done, and it would be easier for everyone if he just let Les cycle through his questions. “I don’t know, maybe,” David hesitated, “I’m only seventeen, Les. That’s pretty young to think about getting married.”

“Mama and Aba got married when they were eighteen,” Les said with no hesitation. “I think you and Jack should get married. Because you’re smart, so you can get a fancy job, and Jack’s really good at art, so he can get a fancy job, too, and then you can get a nice apartment, like you said, and then all the newsies can live with you and so they never have to sleep on the streets again. Don’t you think that’d be good?”

It was so obviously ten-year-old logic that it almost made David want to cry. “Sure, Les. But you know that you can’t tell anyone this, right? We’d get in a lot of trouble.” His body felt tingly and he could not pin down exactly why. Swallowing felt oddly thick.

“I know,” Les murmured, “but it’d still be nice.” He yawned and struggled to keep his eyes open.

David swallowed the lump that had grown in his throat. “Go to sleep, Les.”

Les needed no more encouragement to turn over and fall asleep again. David watched him for a few minutes before screwing his eyes tightly shut. For now, they were trapped on all sides by society, but maybe Les was right. Maybe one day they could have a future.

Update from the author: I still suck at naming fics and I haven’t properly proofread this yet bc I actually need to be writing an IA on the Hungarian Revolution that I haven’t started yet ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Dawid - The Polish version of David

Już czas przyjść do środka - It’s time to come inside

Daj mi chwilę, Mama - Give me a minute, Mama

(If you’ve read any of the other stuff I wrote, you might’ve picked up that I hc the Jacobs were originally from NE Poland and moved to NY in the late 1880s, which - in all seriousness - was historically just after a famine and during a period economic difficulty, persecution of Judaism and a systematic oppression where the Kingdom of Prussia (later the German Empire) and the Russian Empire attempted to systematically eradicate the Polish language during the Partitions of Poland. For that reason, I also imagine that David and Sarah would probably be able to speak a small amount of Russian (which they probably would have stopped using as soon as they left Poland), Polish and Yiddish from growing up in Poland and bc their parents speak both of those languages and enough Hebrew to know and understand traditional prayers, etc., which Les - who I imagine as being born in NY - would speak no Russian, little Hebrew, be self-conscious about his Yiddish/Polish and more comfortable speaking in English).

Idk - if anyone’s interested, maybe I could do a post on the Jacobs family? Let me know if you do want to see one haha

#newsies #newsies live #newsies broadway #newsies '92 #canon era #javid #david jacobs #davey jacobs #jack kelly #les jacobs #oneshot #fluff #fanfiction #<3k #<10k #>1k #<5k

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donttelluswhattodo · 6 years

Text

A Tyrant is Born

I spoke to a woman in Hungary several months ago who told me of her country's prime minister - Viktor Orbán.

She said “He is just like your president Trump. He wants to be a dictator and the government is trying to stop him, however it is harder for us because our democracy is new. America’s democracy is strong and old, so it is much harder for him to become a dictator.”

The history of the country is multifaceted. No doubt most of us have heard of the Austro-Hungarian empire, which was one of the world’s strongest powers during the late 1800s. When it fell in 1918, communist rule quickly took hold and Soviet Russia crushed any opposition within the country to gain any independence. As recently as 1989 Hungary was still communist. When a revolution ended the Hungarian People’s Republic, they finally held their first free election in 1990.

This was less than two decades ago, so it is no surprise then that there are still struggles for power within the Hungarian political system. Despite being a democracy, they still have a prime minister, Orbán, who functions nearly as a dictator, subverting the will of the people and other members of the government when he can.

It is for this reason that I am often so grateful to have been born in the United States, because despite a heavily flawed and corrupt political system, democracy is strong here. There are term limits on politicians which cannot be ignored, there are free elections, there are limits of power for each branch of government, and there is a system of checks and balances that, for the most part, keep things in order.

Yes it is flawed, but at least we do not have a dictatorship.

However, in a massive power play, president Trump recently declared a national emergency to obtain funding for his border wall, despite congress denying him multiple times. This comes after he shut down the government for a month because he did not get what he wanted. During a press interview, he claims to have declared the emergency because he “wanted to,” not because he felt it was needed. Meanwhile, he attacks the media for speaking out against him, claiming the free press is “the enemy of the people,” and that satirical shows like Saturday Night Live should be “Looked into.”

Let’s look at these facts again and a few more:

- He declares a national emergency because he wants to, not needs to;

- He ignores the very political system that elected him to get what he wants;

- He attacks the media for speaking out against him, including satire, while journalists like Jamal Khashoggi are murdered for reporting things those in power do not like;

- And much more, such as his attempted Muslim ban, the firing of the FBI director who was investigating him, fear-mongering to get support for his own political gain, his clear signs of xenophobia keeping out anyone in the country who is not white (removing DACA protections), and much more.

These are unfortunate and clear indications of a man who is obsessed with political power and getting his way - a dictator. This is how dictators are born, when they are given the freedom to destroy and ignore the political systems put in place in order to ensure the will of the people. By ignoring congress’s ruling, he is showing that he would rather do what he wants than to respect the government that gave him power.

Let me reiterate: He is denying the government lawful power and attempting to take all the power for himself. He is denying the press its freedom of speech. He is trying to destroy our political system.

This is the work of a dictator. Victor Orbán works in a similar fashion.

I do not enjoy writing about politics, because I do not believe anything is ever quite as clear as I would like it to be, and it necessarily means thinking about complex systems that don’t always function logically.

However, I do believe people should speak up when they see corruption at work, and that it is the responsibility of the people to fight back against the that which hopes to harm them.

I am grateful to live in a country where this is likely not to succeed, but the very thought of it should terrify everyone.

It does not matter if someone is left or right, liberal or conservative, democratic or republican. What matters is that we all open our eyes to see the writing on the wall. When someone tries to take all the power for themselves, ignoring the political system designed to keep their power in check, then we are looking at a tyrant.

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ilovejevsjeans · 6 years

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Ricciardo's 'ballsy' move: 'My instinct was telling me it was right'

The plane stopped climbing, the seatbelt sign extinguished, and Daniel Ricciardo exhaled for what felt like the first time in months. The Australian formula one ace was on his way from London to Los Angeles to meet some mates for a mid-season break, and was finally on his own time. No commitments, no fans, no media, no hangers-on. It was the headspace he'd been craving.

Out of contract at the end of 2018 and set to become an F1 free agent for the first time, Ricciardo had been determined to explore every option, even as the speculation over his future intensified by each passing month, and against the backdrop of teammate Max Verstappen committing to Red Bull Racing on a big-money deal until the end of 2020 last October. But the clock was ticking, and the 10 hours crossing the Atlantic gave him pause for thought. It was time to shake things up.

Earlier this month, Ricciardo dropped the bombshell that he'd be leaving Red Bull, home to all seven of his F1 wins since joining the team as the successor to compatriot Mark Webber in 2014, to join Renault, the French manufacturer ramping up its involvement in the sport as constructor in its own right in addition to being a supplier of engines to multiple teams, including Red Bull. It was a move few, certainly not Ricciardo's current employers, saw coming.

Leaving a race-winning team to move to a midfield outfit with aspirations of reprising its most recent glory days of 2005-06 with Fernando Alonso is, Ricciardo admits, "ballsy". But the 29-year-old feels it's a move that's necessary, both personally and professionally.

"I think a lot of people expected me to take the soft option and stay because they see me as a soft guy," Ricciardo told Fairfax Media in an exclusive interview.

"I'm maybe perceived as someone who is a friendly guy who wouldn't push back and make a big decision. It's good for everyone to see that I have the balls to make a call like this."

For most of 2018, much of the speculation over Ricciardo's future focused on Mercedes and Ferrari if he was to leave the only F1 family he's ever known. His five seasons at Red Bull Racing follow a two-year apprenticeship at its sister team, Toro Rosso. Mercedes has been the sport's dominant team since F1 switched to V6 turbo hybrid engines in 2014, while Ferrari, with Sebastian Vettel leading its charge, seemed the squad most likely to knock Mercedes from its perch. But doors that could have flapped open never quite came ajar.

As Ferrari dithered over whether to retain Vettel's 38-year-old teammate Kimi Raikkonen or promote promising young Monegasque driver Charles Leclerc, Mercedes elected to re-sign Valtteri Bottas to play support act to world champion Lewis Hamilton for a third season in 2019.

With a bottleneck at the top two teams, most expected Ricciardo to stay with Red Bull, where he's demonstrated an ability to win multiple races in machinery that, in his tenure, has never been capable of a championship push. But a surprise player came onto the scene in the immediate aftermath of Ricciardo's second win this season, around the streets of Monaco.

"Renault first expressed some interest around then, with Cyril [Abiteboul, Renault F1 managing director] contacting Glenn [Beavis, Ricciardo's manager]," he says.

"There were several options. I spoke to Renault, I had a couple of meetings with McLaren, and I got to speak with [Red Bull company founder] Dietrich [Mateschitz] in Barcelona and again in Austria.

"Initially, I had it in my mind that I'd be staying [at Red Bull]. But the more I thought about starting something different and taking on a new challenge, I got excited. I met with Renault and got a sense for their long-term plan. Obviously I want to win tomorrow, but the strength of Ferrari and Mercedes at the moment means it's very hard for anyone to take them on in the short-term."

Ricciardo says Renault didn't promise him the earth – in fact, the French team did quite the opposite.

"The thing that struck me about Renault was that they were prepared to be honest," he says.

"Straight away, they said 'we're not going to be quicker than Red Bull next year', but what they told me about their plans for 2020 and for when the next rule changes come in for '21 … they had some good structure in place, they're recruiting a lot of good key people, and they're preparing to win. They have a winning mentality and a realistic way of going about it, which I liked."

As Renault's approach became more serious, Ricciardo still had a two-year deal from Red Bull on the table, but something about the thought of standing pat didn’t feel quite right.

"There's been times this year that I've felt exhausted, maybe a bit jaded, and for the first time in my career, not completely enjoying F1," Ricciardo admits.

"There's been times when I've thought 'this is why [2016 world champion Nico] Rosberg retired', and he had it a lot more intense than me. Or why Casey Stoner retired from MotoGP very young. I can see how you could feel burnt out or a bit over it.

"I pushed for a one-year deal, which Red Bull agreed to, but still in the back of my mind, I wasn't sure. What if I was in the same position, had the same feeling a year from now? Would there still be other options available? I didn't want to snooker myself."

Renault set a deadline for Ricciardo to accept its two-year deal over the Hungarian Grand Prix weekend in late July, but he needed more time to ponder his options.

"Renault wanted an answer in Budapest, and the Red Bull offer was still there," he says.

"There was too much going on, so I managed to buy a few more days. But I had to make a call."

Three days after that race weekend, Ricciardo was in London, bound for LA, and with a decision to make. He'd been on the phone to his manager right up until his flight boarded.

"For the first time in I can't remember how long, I had 10 hours to myself, didn't need to be at a race weekend, didn’t need to be at an event, and I was on my own time," Ricciardo says.

"There was something about being alone on that flight that gave me the clarity I needed. The one thing I kept coming back to was being energised again, wanting a new challenge, and that the chance to change excited me. So as we got phone signal as I was coming into LA, I called Glenn and told him it was Renault."

Ricciardo met his three friends in LA, and as the quartet headed to Las Vegas for the weekend, spent most of the four-hour drive on the phone.

"The others all went out when we got to Vegas, but I stayed in the hotel because of how exhausted I was," he says.

"The next morning, I called [Red Bull motorsport adviser] Helmut [Marko] and then [team principal] Christian [Horner]. Helmut said he wasn't too surprised, that he expected it in a way. He said he had a feeling that I wanted to move on. Christian, at first anyway, thought I was taking the piss.

"After I'd made those calls, I felt like a big weight had come off my shoulders straight away. They weren't easy calls to make. But my instinct was telling me it was right. My gut feel was telling me it was right. I was waiting to have that feeling the whole way through the process as it went for months, and I got it for the first time on that flight to LA. When I finished that last phone call and it was done, I knew. I turned my phone off and left it in the hotel safe for three days …"

Ricciardo says the decision to leave is "one of the toughest" he's made in life, not just his racing career.

"It's been a 10-year journey with Red Bull. I was in their junior program in 2008, so amazing memories and things I'll always be grateful for, and things I'll never forget," he says.

"I'm sad to move on, absolutely, but excited by the challenge at Renault. Personally I felt it was good for me to have a fresh start somewhere else, I think it will be healthy.

"I've been pretty stressed all year, and now life feels pretty stress-free." (X)

#daniel ricciardo #dan #article #so dan liked the fact renault were honest with him #hmm funny that

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justjessame · 4 years

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A Little Ass and A Lotta Sass Chapter 49

When Negan came upstairs, I had already put Kiara down for her nap, lunch was on the table and he was sighing as he sat down across from me. I waited until he tucked in, taking up my own fork and asking him what was wrong.

“Do I want to know what Porn Stache found so important to call you away?” I asked, biting into lunch with relish.

Negan snorted around his own bite and shook his head. “Bullshit,” he offered, once his mouth was empty. “He wanted to discuss complete and utter fucking bullshit.” Another sigh, and he kept eating and told me that Simon wanted him to know that not all of our Saviors were excited about the peaceful end to the conflict with Hilltop and Kingdom. And I imagined by “not all” Simon meant him and some other assholes I could give a shit about on the daily.

“Should we worry?” I asked, still eating carefully while watching my husband ponder my question.

Huffing out a breath, he seemed conflicted. “Knee jerk reaction is ‘no, of course fucking not’, Callie, but-”

“But you know I think Simon can’t be trusted,” I leaned back in my chair and considered our options. “You could nip it in the bud and fucking kill his traitorous ass.” Negan was smirking, but he was also giving me that dark eyed look that spoke volumes about whose ass he was actually thinking about.

“Or you could,” his voice had gone lower, to that deep dark place I loved.

“I swear, Negan,” I offered, as I got the dirty plates gathered and in the sink. “The thought of me murdering someone turns you on,” his arms wrapping around me as his body pressed against my back confirmed it. I rocked my hips back and felt just how fucking hot he got from the IDEA of me killing Simon. “Homicide is an aphrodisiac?” His lips meeting my neck had me thinking that I didn’t fucking care what turned him on, as long as he was ready, willing, and fucking able.

“You covered in blood?” He growled and his teeth took a turn on my sensitive skin. “Fuck, baby doll, that could be hotter than you wearing damn near any thing.”

I leaned back into him, letting Negan’s mouth and hands take me along for a hot ride. “So you want to see me coated in blood?” Gasping when his hips thrust into me, still fully clothed but not for long. “Like Elizabeth Bathory?” He paused so I chose to paint a truly fucked up picture. “She was a Hungarian countess, accused of bathing in the blood of peasant girls to keep her youth.” His hands were tugging my clothes off as I spoke. “You want me to walk up to Simon and tell him that I’ll be bathing in his blood like the Countess, and as though he were a simple peasant girl for my fucked up beauty regime?”

I didn’t get to give Negan anymore history lessons, since he had me filled full before I could go on.

The weeks went by as we took heart in the new normal that came from using negotiation instead of headsmashing to win over allies. Laura told me that Simon’s insinuation that there was disagreement in our course of action was over exaggerated. Were there pockets of discord? Yes, and I had more than a suspicion that those pockets were stirred by the man himself. Fucker.

Negan was watching me like I was a ticking bomb and I was thinking he was on pins and needles waiting for me to take him up on his offer to let me help Simon take his final breath on this planet, until I missed my period. Fuck. That was the point, as I watched his fucking eyes light up like he’d inserted fucking glowsticks in his ears, of his constant studying my person. Damn it, I’d been so wrapped up in the intrigues of our fucking community, that I missed the obviousness of his interest.

He was whistling as he brought me a pregnancy test to our rooms, saving me the trouble of going to the infirmary. I rolled my eyes and took it from him, while he picked up Kiara and bounced her, making her giggle wildly. Since my husband was occupied with trying futilely to get our daughter to say ‘dada’, I got to tinkle alone. I came out, leaving the test on the countertop, to see his eyes wide and thought maybe she’d finally given him his wish.

“Fuck,” our daughter said, with such certainty that I felt my own eyes go round. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Shit, I thought, that wasn’t ‘dada’ either.

“Negan?” His eyes met mine and I could almost see him trying to come up with an explanation. Biting my lip to keep from laughing, I shook my head. “We could always tell people she thinks that’s the word for ‘dada’?” I shrugged as his eyes narrowed. “I mean, I say it and you come running.”

“Callie,” his voice was sounding like a threat, but his eyes were twinkling. “You and I both know that when you’re saying it, I’m cumming inside you, and I’m not running.” That did it, we both started laughing as our daughter began basically chanting her newest word. “Princess,” he was trying to fight his laughter, and look serious at our little one. “That’s not a word that little ladies should be saying.”

This made me snort so loud that both of them stared at me. “Sorry, but I happen to know that is complete and utter-” I stopped just in time to NOT say ‘bullshit’. Let’s not add to her vocabulary just yet. “Nonsense. Mommy says that word ALL the time, Dada.” I raised an eyebrow and realized that our apartment was going to start being far more Sesame Street and a LOT less Tarantino.

Three LONG minutes, for parents of a toddler who liked the word ‘fuck’ more than she liked the word ‘Pop-Pop’, later Negan happily handed over tot wrangling to me to check the pregnancy test. Silence descended as I waited, even Kiara had grown quiet. Then, after hearing the toilet flush, and realizing that he’d taken a beat to take care of nature, he was in the doorway staring at his two girls.

“‘Tomato’?” My grin started growing as I realized we’d managed to make a second person. “I think we’re gonna have to think of a better name, sweetheart.” And then he was on the bed with Kiara and me, hugging us both and telling our little girl she was going to be a big sister.

And then, clear as a bell, she did it. She made him even fucking happier. “Dada.” Out of the blue, no coaxing, and it was out. “Dada.” She bounced a little and then, since clearly we could never have a simple family moment without a little embarrassment added in, she clapped and said, “Fuck.”

#negan x ofc #The Walking Dead #alternative universe #rick grimes daughter #planned pregnancy #first words

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yespleasefandomtrash · 7 years

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Hetalia High School Host Club

Just a crossover between Hetalia and Ouran High School Host Club. I rewrote the first chapter of the manga with a cast of Hetalia characters, plus there’s a little twist at the end that’s not really a twist. I hope you enjoy!

xXxXxXx

Starting Today, You are a Host!

Elizaveta sighed, pushing the bangs of her short brown hair out of her face as she continued to make her way up the over-furnished stairs. All she wanted was a quiet place the study. Nothing more, nothing less. And yet it seemed that every other room she’d gone to had been full of loud and obnoxious rich people. Thus logic was telling her to go to the top floor and find a room that no one else used. There had to be one.

Or so she hoped, anyway.

The Hungarian student stared up at the dusty sign hanging above the door she'd come across. It did appear to no longer be in use, if nothing else. “‘Third World Geography Room’, huh?” she mused. “I guess the course was removed from the roster, so they don't need the room anymore.” She couldn’t recall seeing it when she’d chosen her classes, so her assumption was logical – at least, in her opinion.

She took a deep breath, praying that the room would be empty and that she'd be able to study in peace, then opened the door.

You have got to be kidding me.

“Welcome, Hungarian foreign exchange student Eli Héderváry,” a smooth voice said, “to the Hetalia High School Host Club."

Ah, that’s right. I did ask to be called Eli for short, didn’t I?

She immediately turned on her heel and tried to leave, not wanting to have to deal with the group of six rich boys. Unfortunately, the same one who’d spoken stood from his chair, took a few steps forward, and grabbed her shoulder.

“Going somewhere?” he chuckled. She noticed that his eyes were a piercing violet, which was something she’d never seen before.

They must be contacts.

“Yes, actually,” she replied, shrugging his hand off of her. “Away from here.”

Roderich raised a brow when she spoke, remaining silent as he wrote something down in the small notebook he held in his left hand. When Lovino and Feliciano tried to peek, he held it out of their view, resulting in them sticking their tongues out at him. “So you’re the foreign exchange student everyone has been gossiping about as of late,” he said in attempt to direct their attention away from him. “You must have a lot of nerve to apply to Hetalia High of all schools.”

Elizaveta frowned, unsure of whether his words were a compliment or an insult. It turned out, however, that she had no time to think about it, so it didn't really matter.

“You are a hero to your people, mon cher!” the light-haired teen who’d grabbed her proclaimed. “At least, so to speak. It’s truly an amazing feat that you made it into Hetalia High – and by some chance of ‘fate’ you’ve stumbled upon the Host Club.” He winked at her. “Well, there’s no shame in being gay. A customer is a customer, after all!”

Elizaveta opened and closed her mouth in a manner akin to a fish. “I – actually, um…” She couldn’t think of a reasonable explanation.

“Don’t hide it, mon ami,” he chastised. “So, what do you prefer? Berwald – the ‘Wild’ type?” He gestured towards a tall man with icy blue eyes, who did nothing but stare at her. “Peter – the ‘Boy Lolita’?”

“Hi, Mr. Eli!” an energetic-looking boy exclaimed from atop the silent blonde’s shoulders. “It’s nice to meet you!”

“What about the ‘Little Devil’ type of Lovino and Feliciano, hmm?”

“Yo,” a set of identical twins said, flashing peace signs towards her. She swore that their curls seemed to bounce in unison.

“Even Roderich, the ‘Cool’ type?”

The dark-haired man pushed his glasses up his nose as means of acknowledgment, though his expression didn't change.

“Or perhaps,” the blonde said, taking her chin in one hand and holding out a rose to her with the other, “you’d prefer someone like me – Francis, the ‘Princely’ type?”

Elizaveta turned a brilliant shade of crimson before immediately shoving him away from her, sputtering incoherently. She took several steps backward so rapidly that she stumbled, slamming into a pedestal. She turned around, only to watch a vase fall in what seemed to be slow motion before shattering on the ground. She inhaled sharply, fearful of what the group's reactions were going to be.

“Oh dear,” Feliciano said, studying the broken vase. “That vase was going to be sold in the school’s auction!”

“And it was going to start bidding at eight million yen,” Lovino added, pouting. “Such a shame.”

Elizaveta felt the color drain from her face. “E-eight m-m-million yen?” she stuttered, trying to calculate exactly how many thousands were in a million and how on Earth she was going to pay it off. “I-I’ll pay you back… Somehow…”

Feliciano bit his lip, giving her a pitying look. “Are you sure about that? I mean… You can’t even afford the school’s uniform.”

The Hungarian flushed in embarrassment, looking down at the worn clothes she’d stolen from the back of her father’s closet. She thought they were quiet comfortable, but it was true that they didn’t compare to what any of the other students were wearing.

“You could have at least gone for something closer to a uniform,” Lovino chimed in, “instead of that tasteless garb.”

Elizaveta felt as if she’d been punched in the gut. “Right. Thanks for the advice,” she muttered.

“I suppose there’s only one thing for you to do,” Roderich said, snapping his notebook shut. “Francis?”

“Indeed,” the violet-eyed teen agreed, stroking his chin for no particular reason. “Eli, I’m sure you’ve heard this proverb before: when in France, be as elegant as the other Frenchmen are – correct?”

“A-Actually,” she corrected, unsure of how the man had managed to come up with something so very wrong, “it’s ‘when in Rome, do as the Romans do’.”

He shook his hand dismissively. “Same thing, mon ami. You’re not getting the idea.” He pointed at her, an evil grin painting his features – a complete turnaround from his previous attitude. “From now on, you’re going to be the Host Club’s dog!”

Elizaveta felt the blood drain from her face. “I’m… I’m what…?”

The twins laughed, each placing a hand on her shoulder. “You heard him, Eli!”

She hung her head. If only she’d never opened the door to the Third World Geography Room…

Too late now.

xXxXxXx

“Francis, will you take a trip with me this summer?” a pretty Asian girl with pink flowers in her hair asked, fluttering her eyelashes. “We can go wherever you want.”

Francis shrugged, leaning against the back of the couch. “If you so desire, ma chère – and the location doesn’t matter to me.” He winked at her. “So long as I’m with you, nothing does.”

The girl swooned, a blush painting her features. “Oh, how wonderful!” She hesitated, then added, “If you don’t mind, Francis, I made a batch of cookies of cookies earlier today, and I was wondering if…” She trailed off, casting her warm brown eyes to the ground.

“Wondering what?” he responded. “If I’d eat one?” Upon seeing her shy nod from the corner of his eyes, he sat up and turned towards her, taking her chin in his hand. “Of course,” he said, leaning close to her, violet eyes glittering, “but only if you feed it to me, ma chèrie.”

The girl squealed, making Elizaveta cringe. She really was surrounded by lunatics.

“Oh, and get this!” Lovino snickered, gesturing towards his twin. “Feliciano and I were playing a game, right? And this idiota here somehow managed to –”

“Lovino,” Feliciano interrupted, a pout permeating his lips and his cheeks painted with a blush, “I thought I told you not to tell anyone about that!”

“Did you?” the Italian replied carelessly. “I’m sorry – I don’t remember.”

“You’re so cruel, Lovi!” Feliciano protested, wiping away tears that Elizaveta was certain were fake. “I don’t understand why you’re always so mean to me!”

Lovino leaned over to his twin, cupping his face in his hands. “I suppose I am mean. But you’ll forgive me, won’t you, Feli?” Their noses brushed. “You always do.”

Elizaveta resisted the urge to gag at their dramatic performance, and was even more disgusted by how excited the two girls sitting in front of them became, squealing loudly and going on and on about how strong their forbidden ‘brotherly love’ was, and how the world was so cruel to keep them apart.

Honestly, she just didn’t see the appeal in it.

“Enjoying the show?” Roderich asked, appearing from nowhere and causing her to jump. “Oh, sorry – did I startle you?”

She shook her head, choosing not answer.

“In case you couldn’t tell,” the Austrian said, gesturing towards where the twins were still ‘performing’ with each other, “the Host Club takes its customers very seriously, and the main characteristic of each member has been cultivated precisely to cater to their preferences.” He pushed his glasses up his nose, a smirk dancing on his lips. “And, as expected, each member has their own group of regulars, so to speak, though Francis is easily the most popular host.”

Elizaveta felt her jaw drop. “Him?!” she repeated, not believing her ears.

Roderich nodded, handing her a slip of paper with each host’s average request rate on it.

“Seventy percent?!” she muttered, her grip so tight she almost tore the sheet in half. “Impossible.”

“The Host Club in itself is quite a hotspot for the school,” the dark-haired man continued, retrieving the paper from her hands before folding it and placing it inside his notebook. “That means you’re going to be doing a lot around here to repay your debt.” He smiled at her, and though it appeared cheerful, it radiated an aura of evil like nothing she’d ever seen. “And while you can try to run away, I assure you the Edelstein family has control over a large police force and we will not hesitate to track you down.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat, nodding. “R-Right.”

“Work hard and you’ll do fine, mon cher,” Francis said into her ear, causing her jump away from him while biting back a yelp.

“Please refrain from doing that,” she muttered, running a hand through her short brown hair. “It makes me uncomfortable.”

The blonde pouted. “Really? But it’s a classic technique.”

“As if I care about that sort of thing,” she mumbled, sighing silently to herself. “I just don’t understand the purpose of this club – catering to girls like that. It’s not as if appearance is that important anyways. Man? Woman? Who cares? It’s what’s on the inside that counts.”

“While that is true,” Francis said with a sigh, “you need to understand that sometimes people with perfect bodies and minds are created, and they have to be...”

Elizaveta tuned out the man as he continued rambling, failing to see the relevance of his words. Honestly, she really didn’t understand how this guy was the most requested host in the club. He was just so… She frowned. What was the word? Troublesome? No, that wasn’t it.

The Hungarian could still hear him talking about how beautiful he was or something, though it was going in one ear and out the other.

Frustrating, perhaps? No, that wasn’t the word she was looking for either – per se, at least. She snapped her fingers as it finally came to her. “I’ve got it.”

Francis beamed at her. “Oh, so you understand?”

“You’re annoying.”

The blood drained from the blonde’s face, and he sank into a corner, poking at the floor and mumbling incoherent sentences to himself, undoubtedly in an attempt to restore his ego.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve after all!” Lovino laughed, appearing from nowhere as he clapped her on the shoulder and jutted his thumb towards the Frenchman. “There aren’t too many people who can make him go into his emo corner!”

Feliciano giggled. “You have made him quite depressed, haven’t you?”

“I – I suppose I have,” Elizaveta replied, eyeing the blonde. “I mean, I told him the truth. Was I really that hurtful?”

“Nah,” Lovino said dismissively, still laughing. “Don’t bother with him. He’s such a drama queen.”

“Still,” she muttered, biting her lip. “Perhaps I should apologize.” She moved towards the sulking Frenchman. “Er, Francis?”

“Call me King,” he interrupted moodily. “That’s what I go by here.”

She raised a brow, skeptical but too lazy to protest. “Alright. King, are you –”

“Oi, Sovrano!” Lovino said, knocking Francis in the back of the head as he moved past him. “You’re in the walkway. Move.”

“You’re not allowed to slack off just because you’re a little butthurt, mio signore!” Feliciano added merrily, following suit of his twin.

“Indeed,” Roderich agreed, speaking for the first time in a while. “You have several customers waiting on you, so please go ahead and end this ridiculous pity party of yours.”

“Hi everybody!” a cheerful voice said. “Sorry we’re late!”

“Finally,” the Austrian muttered, checking something off in his notebook. “I was beginning to get more annoyed with them than their customers.”

“Peter! Berwald!” a girl with dark skin and dark ponytails said eagerly, running over to the duo as the younger blonde was being placed onto the ground. “What took you so long? I’ve been waiting!"

“I’m sorry,” Peter said, his blue eyes getting watery. “I fell asleep waiting for Berwald to finish an exam, and I’m still kind of tired right now…” He yawned, as if to prove his point.

The girl gasped. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Peter!” She quickly took his hands in hers and started pulling him towards an empty couch. “Come on – let’s get you comfortable.”

Berwald grunted before sweeping Peter off his feet and carrying him to the couch himself, the petite girl swooning as she trailed after them.

Elizaveta watched the scenario, not understanding at all. “Why does that Berwald guy never talk?” she muttered, only half-expecting an answer.

“No one really knows,” Francis replied, having recovered from his lapse of depression. “Berwald has always been a very quiet person, though silence is his selling point. He’s actually one of the friendliest people in the club, but is awkward around girls.”

“Only awkward around girls, huh?” Elizaveta said, amused. “I can think of reason why that might be.” She cleared her throat, changing the subject. “So… Is Peter actually in high school?”

“He’s the oldest in the club. You didn’t know?”

“He’s the – what?” she gaped, dumbfounded. “No way.”

He chuckled. “Kidding. He’s homeschooled by Berwald – he’s his younger cousin, you see. I think he’s only in middle school.”

Elizaveta nodded slowly, recovering from her shock. “I see. Makes sense.” Then she sighed. “I got entangled up with you rich people when I only wanted a quiet place to study…”

“You can’t study at home?” Francis asked, his curiosity piqued. “I imagine it’s quiet there.”

“Sometimes,” she snorted. “But as my father tends to work at night, and he brings his lover home during the day, it almost never is.”

The blonde flinched. “Ooh. I take it you don’t get along with your father?”

The Hungarian shrugged. “We get along fine, I suppose. The only things we really argue on are his inability to manage money and my lack of his taste in fashion.” Then a soft smile grew on her lips. “But I just don’t want to bother him. Though my opinion is that he doesn’t spend his time or his money wisely, he's brought me up by himself since I was little. It’s only fair that I give him some time to himself.”

Francis stroked his chin. “I see, I see. Indeed, your situation is as destitute as I thought, mon ami.”

Elizaveta frowned. “I’m not sure if ‘destitute’ is exactly the word to describe it.”

“Your staple is surely white rice or something similar, no?” he continued, ignoring her. “And you’re so poor that you have to serve as a servant for rich people! No wonder you’re so used to performing tasks like what the Host Club assigns to you!” Glassy tears were streaming down his cheeks. “Oh, my poor Eli, surely you cry yourself to sleep every night because of the abuse forced upon you!”

The brunette took a hasty step away from the dramatic Frenchman. “Francis, what era are you referring to?” she said, massaging her temples in exasperation. “This isn’t the eighteenth century, you know!”

The blonde wiped tears from his face with a handkerchief he’d pulled from nowhere. “I’ve been watching so many soap operas lately and they all include poor people such as yourself… I had no idea you were living in such unfavorable circumstances!”

Her eyebrow twitched. “I already said that I wasn’t living like that, if you’d listen to me –”

“Enough!” Francis interrupted, holding a hand out to silence her. “It’s time for you to learn!”

“Learn?” the girl repeated, clueless about what he was talking about. “Learn what?”

“It might be impossible because of your haggard appearance,” he mumbled, ignoring her completely, “but I will train you personally. Yes… Let me think…”

Elizaveta had never been so confused in her life – at least so it seemed to her. “Francis, could you please –”

“100 people!” he announced, pointing at her. “You will become a host – after you receive substantial training by moi, of course. And if you can get 100 people to request you, consider your debt to be paid off in full!”

Elizaveta felt the blood drain from her face at his words. “No…” She groaned, desperately wishing that he’d revoke his order and instruct her to continue as she was and keep doing chores for the club.

You’ve got to be kidding me…

xXxXxXx

“Remember the Hetalia Host Club motto, Eli,” Francis instructed. “Never hesitate, always cater to the customer, and above all – be beautiful!”

Elizaveta sighed as she practiced the same routine for what must have been the hundredth time. “Thank you for waiting,” she began, sliding into a seat and moving her glass forward. “I’m sorry that I –”

“No!” the violet-eyed man practically screeched, hitting her with a tube of rolled up newspaper. “Not like that!” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Eli. Eli, Eli, Eli.” He cast his glance down at her. “I had such high hopes for you.”

She rolled her eyes, rubbing her head where she'd been hit. “Whatever. It’s not as if I even want to be a host.”

He ignored her comment, taking the cup from her hands. “Listen to me,” he said. “When you put the glass down, you must use a finger – preferably your pinkie – as a cushion. This prevents it from making any noise, meaning it doesn’t disturb the customers.”

The Hungarian nodded slowly, feeling that for once there was some logic behind the Frenchman’s eccentricity. “So it saves both the host and customer from an awkward silence?”

Francis shrugged. “I suppose. But most importantly –” He held the glass next to his face, flashing her a dazzling smile. “It helps make the host look good.”

She blinked, unsure of what he was referring to. Was it so they could see their reflection in the glass or something?

“Of course,” he chuckled, “some of us don’t need any assistance with looking good.”

“Right,” she sighed, not bothering to question it. “Anything else?”

“Yes!” Francis said, snapping his fingers. “One last thing.” He placed his elbow on the table and rested his face on his hand. He gave her a more relaxed and charming grin, looking up ever so slightly at her. “If you ever come across a problem during your time as a host, it’s always useful to look at things from a lower perspective.”

She stared blankly at him.

The corners of his mouth seemed to turn down at her lack of response. “Perhaps this is too high a level of a move for you, mon cher?”

She hesitated then said, “No… But I don’t ‘feel’ anything.” The technique must be faulty, she reasoned to herself. "Am I supposed to?"

Francis stumbled away in shock, gasping about how he had brought shame to his family and deserved to die before retreating to his emo corner.

“You’re joking,” Elizaveta muttered in exasperation, hanging her head. How irritating. “Actually, Francis, I did feel a bit of a spark! Or something…”

“Mr. Eli!” Peter cheered, appearing out of the blue and interrupting her. “Come eat cake with me! It’ll be fun!”

Elizaveta hesitated. “Well… You see, Peter, I’m not too fond of sweet things.”

“Is it because you’re so poor that you can’t afford them?!” Peter gasped, his blue eyes widening before starting to water. “Poor Mr. Eli! You and Hanatamago can share an entire cake if you want!” He held up a stuffed white dog eagerly. “See! He wants to share with you!”

The Hungarian sweatdropped. “I’m actually not too fond of dogs, either…”

The young blonde’s demeanor changed entirely as he gazed eerily at her. “Are you telling me that you don’t like Hanatamago?” he said slowly, his blue eyes narrowing before widening slightly as something seemed to occur to him.

Elizaveta gulped, terrified for a reason she couldn't identify. “Ah… Let’s eat, shall we?”

Peter beamed at her, his cheery attitude returning. “Yay!” he said, grabbing her arm and dragging her away.

She sighed in relief, going along with it.

These people are crazy.

xXxXxXx

“Rumors are flying around the school, Francis,” a pretty silver-haired girl said as she studied the glass in her hands, “that you’re training some little kitty with no pedigree to be a host.” She tilted her head to the side, a small frown dancing on her lips. “Is this true?”

Francis chuckled. “The rumors are correct, ma chère,” he said lightly. “And despite his lack of a pedigree, as you put it, he does have promise.”

The girl sighed. “If you say so, Francis.”

He smiled at her. “Are you worried about my reputation, Natalia?” He winked. “If so, there’s no need to be.” He gently took her hand in his. “You’re the only one for me, after all.”

The Belarusian woman blushed but rolled her eyes. “You’re such a flirt.” Francis shrugged, a smirk dancing on his lips. “I’ve heard that one before, ma chère. It’s nothing –”

“I’m back,” Elizaveta called as she trudged into the room, a bag of groceries in her arms.

“Excellent,” Francis cheered, distracted by the disturbance. “Thank you for buying our things, little piggy.”

Natalia studied the Hungarian who’d just walked in. “So this the kitten without a pedigree, huh?” she muttered to herself. "Interesting."

“First a dog, then a cat, and now a pig,” Elizaveta sighed before heading over to Francis and handing him a small container of instant coffee. “Who knows what it’ll be next.”

“What is this?” the blonde said, studying the label that said ‘Special Blend’. “I don’t remember –”

“It’s coffee,” the Hungarian interrupted. “It was sixth or seventh on the list Roderich gave me.”

Francis frowned. “Is it already ground?”

Elizaveta sighed. “It’s instant coffee. If you don’t like it I can –”

She was interrupted by the Frenchman’s exaggerated gasp. ��Instant coffee?!” he said in awe, drawing the attention of the others hosts and causing them to gather around him. “This is what peasants make, isn’t it? Where you only have to put it in hot water before it’s ready to drink?”

“I see,” Roderich said, jotting something down in his ever-present notebook. “This is the rumored coffee of peasants.”

Elizaveta felt her eye twitch at the repeated use of ‘peasant’. “If it’s really that bad I can –”

“So it’s true that poor people don’t even have time to ground their own coffee beans,” Lovino said in disbelief. “What a pitiful life they must lead.”

“But how clever of them to come up with something like this!” Feliciano added in awe. “Such is the wisdom of peasants.”

“I’ve always wanted to try instant coffee!” Peter piped up. “It must taste so different!”

Berwald simply nodded.

“I SAID I’D GO GET THE RIGHT ONE!” Elizaveta growled, gritting her teeth. “I’m sorry it’s not the fancy expensive kind where you have to grind your own beans that you’re all used to.”

“No!” Francis said, holding the container into the air. “Don’t bother, Eli.” He took a deep breath. “I… I shall drink the commoner’s coffee!”

The entire room burst into a smattering of applause for the blonde, causing Elizaveta to groan. These people were ridiculous.

“Ooh, Sovrano!” Lovino smirked. “You’re so brave!”

“And look at this!” Feliciano gasped. “It only cost three hundred yen for a hundred grams! Lovino, that’s cheaper than a regular cup of coffee!”

“Gah,” Elizaveta said, pulling at her hair in frustration. “These stupid rich kids…!”

“They’re all acting so foolish,” Natalia said, studying her fingernails. “There’s no way a coffee meant for peasants could ever suit their tastes.”

Elizaveta frowned, turning towards the girl. “What?” she asked, having only heard the first sentence.

“Nothing,” the silver-haired woman said with false sweetness. “I was talking to myself.”

“Right,” Elizaveta said with a sigh, starting to move away from her. “Well, I’ll be –”

“Eli!” Francis called from behind a table, the rest of the Host Club beside him. “Come prepare the commoner’s coffee for us. We’re all waiting!”

Natalia bit back a sharp retort at the blonde’s eagerness, instead continuing to look over her nails.

“Fine,” Elizaveta grumbled, making her way over. “But don’t distract me.”

“Sì, Capitano!” the twins said in unison, saluting her as the rest of the Host Club nodded.

A few minutes later, she’d finished. “Done,” she muttered, stepping aside while Berwald poured the coffee into cups for the customers. “It’s a little hot. And don’t blame me if it doesn’t suit your tastes.”

“Come on,” Lovino crooned, holding out a small plate with a cup of coffee on it to a girl with dirty blonde hair. “Try it!”

“Oh, but I’m kind of scared,” she replied anxiously. “And I’m sure my father would get mad at me if I drank it!”

Francis chuckled at the ongoing scene in front of him. “It won’t suit our tastes, huh?” He moved towards the girl, cupping her face in his hands. “Would you drink it if it was served mouth-to-mouth, ma chère?” he asked, his voice low.

“I-I’d drink it!” the girl stuttered, her entire face so red it would make a cherry envious.

“Well then,” he said, pulling away, “cheers to this commoner’s coffee!”

“Yay!” the twins said, clinking their cups together before downing it in unison.

“Natalia,” a short-haired girl muttered. “Don’t you think Francis is going a bit overboard with this? I mean, he’s actually drinking that coffee!”

Natalia sighed. “He’s only being polite to the boy he wants to make into a host, Katyusha,” she replied. Her violet eyes narrowed as she watched the blonde walk up to the foreign exchange student and ask for another cup. “But his kindness is quite the problem in itself.”

Elizaveta sighed at the request. “Fine. I’ll make some more.”

These spoiled rich people.

xXxXxXx

“Today we’re going to keep conducting our research on the way commoners live!” Francis proclaimed. “And so, everyone – we will be trying the peasants’ ramen!”

“Eh?” Elizaveta said, blinking in confusion. “What does this have to do with teaching me how to be a host?”

She was ignored.

“Alright! Everyone, you have to try to make a different type of ramen – and it must be edible!” Francis announced, clapping his hands together.

“Yes, mio signore!” the twins said, saluting him.

“There’s so many different types,” Peter said in awe. “Berwald, what kind should we make?”

The Swede’s response was to hand the short blonde a package of noodles.

“Ooh!” Peter said, practically drooling. “This one does look good.”

“Now, I want you all to follow the teacher’s instructions!” Francis said, pointing at Elizaveta, who blinked in surprise.

“Me?” She sighed. Of course she was the teacher. “Fine.” She headed towards the table, where everything was already laid out. “First, you have to –”

But before she could begin, the Hungarian was peppered with questions from all sides.

“It says to heat for three and four minutes – what’s the difference?”

“Do you have to throw out certain parts of it? And – ooh, what’s this?”

“Spicy mayo stings my eyes. Can we not put it in?”

Elizaveta sighed, already overwhelmed and not even a minute had gone by. But the voice that drew her attention was one she hadn’t yet heard.

“The ingredients are stuck to the lid,” Berwald said, a slight frown on his face.

Her jaw dropped, amazed that he’d actually spoken. “Oh – well…” She took a container of ramen for herself and began to demonstrate. “If you put the ingredients below the noodles before you begin, then you don’t have to worry about that happening.”

Berwald nodding before copying her actions.

“Such an amazing technique, mon ami!” Francis gushed. “The ingenuity of peasants will never cease to amaze me!” He took Elizaveta’s head in his hands, touching their foreheads together. “You, Eli, are truly wonderful! Please, give me permission to express my awe with my body.”

Elizaveta didn’t lose composure for even a moment. “Please don’t,” she muttered. “It’s irritating and uncomfortable.”

“Oh, it’s not just that,” Lovino said with a sigh. “Feliciano, Eli doesn’t get the big picture, does he?”

The other Italian shook his head sadly. “No, Lovi – he doesn’t. He’s completely missing the point.”

“What are you two going on about?” the Hungarian said after shoving Francis away from her.

“Let us explain this to you,” Lovino said, linking arms with his twin. “You see, females love two beautiful homosexuals together – especially when an element of the relationship being a forbidden one is added.”

Feliciano winked at her. “Sì. And as twins, we’re able to use the forbidden card to its fullest! We play it off as two guys who don’t know whether they’re friends, brothers, or…” He turned to face his twin, touching their noses together. “Something more.”

“And to add to that,” Lovino continued after a pause, moving next to the brunette, “our customers get to be loved by us, who have such a deep bond – at the same time.”

“The ultimate romance for girls,” Feliciano agreed, standing on the opposite side of her.

Elizaveta just blinked, her eyes blank. “Okay.”

The twins sighed. “We knew you wouldn’t get it.” They exchanged glances, something clicking in their identical brown eyes.

“Then why did you bother explaining?” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “Geez.”

Francis nodded, stroking his chin. “I see what you mean – Lovino, Feliciano. The problem once again lies in the visual.”

“Or Eli’s denseness when it comes to hosting,” they suggested.

Francis ignored them, stepping towards the Hungarian. “Let’s see… Perhaps it’s the glasses – though by taking those off it may make your eyes seem smaller,” he said, reaching to remove the glasses from her face. “And what’s with these old-fashioned frames?”

She rolled her eyes. “They were my grandfather’s,” she said, though she didn’t stop the blonde from taking them off her face.

Francis bit back a gasp upon seeing the teen without glasses.

Elizaveta didn’t notice, continuing to tell her story. “And they’re only temporary. I lost my contacts on the morning of the first day of school, and I haven’t had time to get any new ones.” She noticed how all conversation had stopped. “Er… Is something wrong?”

Francis ignored her, snapping his fingers. “Lovino! Feliciano!”

“Ready, mio signore!” they shouted, holding scissors and a towel that had appeared from nowhere.

“Roderich,” the blonde continued, “call the school’s tailor immediately and have them prepare a uniform in Eli’s size! And Berwald, go get those disposable contacts you keep for emergencies!”

Both nodded and followed their respective orders.

“Francis!” Peter called. “What about me? What do you want me to do?”

“And Peter, mon ami,” Francis said kindly, “what I need you to do is eat some cake!”

The short blonde begrudgingly went over to an empty table, lugging his stuffed dog along with him. “Everyone’s too busy for us, Hanatamago,” he muttered. “They all think we're useless.”

Lovino pushed Elizaveta into a chair while Feliciano tied the towel around her neck, draping it so that it covered her lap.

“What are you doing?!” she yelped as they started to trim and style her hair.

“Trust us,” they replied in unison. “We know what we’re doing.”

She groaned, resigning herself to her fate.

Rich people are so weird.

xXxXxXx

“Have you finished changing into the uniform yet, Eli?” Francis called. “And I hope the contacts are alright.”

“They’re fine,” he heard the Hungarian grumble. “And I’m almost done.”

A few moments later, she walked out of the dressing room, adjusting the tie around her neck. “How much did this uniform cost?” she sighed.

“Three hundred thousand yen,” Roderich said, making a note in his book. “It will be added to your debt, I’m afraid.”

Elizaveta sighed. “I knew it.”

“You look so cute, Eli!” Francis said, almost tackling her with a hug. “And dare I say it – you look almost like a girl!” He winked at her. “Adorable, ma chèrie.”

“Thanks,” she muttered, pushing him away from her.

“You really do look very cute, Mr. Eli!” Peter beamed. “I’m sure the girls will be all over you!”

Berwald nodded in agreement.

“Yeah,” Lovino said awkwardly, not meeting her eyes, a tiny blush dancing on his cheeks. “Why didn’t you tell us earlier you had that kind of face?”

“Right!” Feliciano added. “You radiate innocence!”

Roderich chuckled. “Perhaps you'll be able to manage a customer or two.”

“Yes!” Francis agreed with enthusiasm. “All the factors have now been calculated! It’s now your time to shine, mon ami – show the customers your beauty!”

Elizaveta felt the blood drain from her face.

I actually have to be a host?!

xXxXxXx

“S-So, Eli,” a stammering blonde said, adjusting the ribbon in her hair, “w-what are some of your hobbies? A-Are you more into arts, o-or sciences?”

“Is it true that have to get around by train?” the brunette beside her demanded, interrupting the poor girl. “Or some other form of public transportation? Because you’re so poor you can’t afford a car?”

“That’s so rude, Lien!” the blonde gasped, horrified.

The Lien girl shrugged. “I was only curious, Lili. But whatever.” She frowned, leaning towards Elizaveta. “Do you use something special for your skin? Because your face is flawless.”

“No, I don’t do anything for it,” the Hungarian replied awkwardly, unsure of what she was supposed to say.

“Why don’t you tell us why you decided to join the Host Club?” Lili suggested, giving her a soft smile.

Elizaveta frowned. “Well, I broke a v –” She stopped, recalling that she wasn’t supposed to mention that incident to any customers. Her eyes widened as realization occurred.

The vase!

That was right – if she could just get one hundred customers, she’d be free of the eight million yen debt.

Then panic set in. She still had no idea what she was supposed to be doing!

If you ever come across a problem during your time as a host, it’s always useful to look at things from a lower perspective.

Francis’ words from earlier drifted into her mind, and she relaxed a bit. She could do this.

“Would you ladies,” she said slowly, picking up a glass from the table before shifting herself so that she was looking at the girls from beneath them, “like to get some more water?”

Both girls turned a brilliant shade of crimson, stammering together, “S-Sure!”

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Roderich said to the twins, who were watching her performance. “He’s a natural – and his innocence is undoubtedly a refreshing treat.”

Lovino snorted. “I guess.”

“And it’s not as if any of the other hosts fall under the category of ‘polite’, huh?” Feliciano mused. “But you’re right, Roderich – he is a natural.”

Francis had shifted on the couch to watch the Hungarian, much to the dismay of his customer.

“Your mother passed away when you were little, Eli?” Lili asked, covering her mouth. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“What do you do about housework without your mom?” Lien said, her arms crossed over her chest. “I mean, you’re too poor to hire some sort of maid.”

“Lien!”

“Sorry, sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Elizaveta laughed. “I actually do most of them myself. I don’t mind, plus it helps make things less stressful for my father. And I love cooking.” A soft smiled formed on her lips. “My mother did, too. She left a lot of recipes behind, and it’s enjoyable to learn how to cook them one by one. And since I’m in Japan right now, instead of Hungary, I love combining traditional Hungarian recipes with Japanese ones to see what I can create.” She chuckled to herself. “Though I’ll admit that they don’t always turn out well.” She smiled warmly at the girls. “But when they do, it makes my father happy – and myself, too. I love times like those more than anything.”

Both Lili and Lien had been struck speechless, the latter finally breaking the silence after a moment. “Could we… Could we request you again tomorrow, Eli?”

Elizaveta beamed at them. “I would appreciate that very much, ladies.” After all, it’d make her one step closer to paying off her debt.

“S-Such a natural,” Francis stammered, Roderich nodding in agreement. “He doesn’t need any sort of special technique or anything!”

Natalia cleared her throat, trying to draw the blonde’s attention back to her. “Francis? Are you ignoring your most loyal customer?”

“I’m sorry, ma chèrie,” he said, bowing his head to her. “I was concerned for our newest host.”

“Mhmm,” the Belarusian replied, hiding her disdain well. “You certainly do your best to watch over him, don’t you?”

Francis chuckled. “Well, he’s quite intriguing, if I’m honest.” His violet eyes lit up as a thought occurred to him. “Miss Natalia, have you by chance tried the commoner’s ramen? It’s so delicious to the point it’s nearly addicting.”

Natalia wrinkled her nose in disgust. “No, I have never tried it – and don’t intend to, as it's quite unhealthy. And I’m surprised you've eaten it, Francis. It seems below you.”

The blonde shook his head, giving her a warm smile. “Not at all, ma chère. If anything I’ve been getting into more and more commoners’ food as of late.” He then turned away from the girl, snapping his fingers. “Eli! I’d like you to meet my best customer.”

“Nice to meet you, Miss…?” Elizaveta said to the girl, wondering how anyone could find Francis so attractive that they’d request him all the time.

“Natalia,” she replied frostily. “Natalia Arlovskaya.”

“Miss Arlovskaya,” the Hungarian concluded, smiling at her. For some reason, the silver-haired woman seemed familiar to her… Ah! That was it. She was the girl from a few days ago, who’d said something under her breath about the instant coffee.

“You’re too cute, Eli!” Francis squealed, tackling her in a hug. “I’ve never seen you make such an adorable face!”

Elizaveta tried to escape from the Frenchman’s grip, but found herself trapped.

“You looked so shy and precious and – oh, you’re so cute!”

“Excuse me, Francis,” Natalia interrupted, her tone laced with irritation. “I’m still –”

“The cutest thing in the world!”

The twins snickered. “Eli’s being sexually harassed by Sovrano again.”

Somehow through the chaos that was Francis, Elizaveta caught sight of a certain stoic blonde. “Berwald! Help me!” she begged, reaching out for him.

A split second later, she felt herself being lifted through the air and then slung over his shoulder, the wind knocked out of her. “Er… Thank you,” she said, coughing in an attempt to return oxygen to her lungs.

Berwald, who seemed frozen in shock from some revelation, broke out of it and nodded.

“You didn’t have to go that far, Berwald,” Francis said, frowning.

“I was asked for help, so I helped,” the Swede replied calmly.

“Hmph,” the Frenchman sniffed before returning his attention to Elizaveta. “Why don’t you come back to Papa, Eli?”

“Because I don’t need another father,” she grumbled as she was being put down.

Natalia watched the entire exchange, violet eyes narrowed as she seethed internally

“Why not? Two fathers is better than one!”

“Not if the second father is you, Francis!” Elizaveta retorted.

Good grief.

xXxXxXx

“Let’s play the ‘Which One is Lovino Game?’!” the twins cheered, linking arms with each other and adjusting the hats on their head in sync.

Elizaveta snorted to herself. It seemed like a boring game.

“It’s so difficult,” Laura said, tucking a strand of her dirty blonde hair behind her ear. “You guys look so identical!”

“Eli, who do you think is who?” Lili asked. “Can you tell the difference?”

Elizaveta sighed. “Feliciano is on the right and Lovino the left.”

“Wrong!” they crowed, sticking their tongues at her.

She shook her head. “No, I’m right. You might look identical, but you are different. Though sometimes the difference is slight.”

The twins exchanged glances, unable to comprehend how she’d seen through them so easily.

“That’s amazing, Eli!” Lili said, green eyes wide. “You’re so wonderful!”

“You looked at them not with your eyes, but with your heart,” Laura gushed. “Ah, how perfect!”

“He’s definitely skilled at hosting,” Roderich said to the blonde standing beside him. “He’ll have a hundred customers before you know it.”

Francis nodded, not commenting.

“Oh, Eli!” Laura gasped, noticing the bandage on Elizaveta’s left index finger. “What happened?”

“Oh, I cut myself on accident while preparing dinner last night,” the Hungarian replied, shrugging. “It’s nothing.”

“As long as you’re sure you’re okay…”

“I am,” she replied, flashing the girls a warm smile. “It’s very sweet of you to be concerned for me.” While her customers giggled in joy amongst themselves, Elizaveta recalled the real reason she’d gotten the cut.

A piece of a blade between the pages of my math textbook. And before that, a sewing needle in the back of my jacket.

She sighed, wondering if it was a coincidence or not.

I can’t assume someone is out to get me, but I have to admit… It does feel that way.

xXxXxXx

Elizaveta groaned as she stared down at the fountain through the second floor window. All her stuff had been thrown into it – she cursed. That meant her wallet was down there, too. And that had her food money in it. “This is getting ridiculous," she sighed. “Guess I should go get it…” She turned around, only to bump into someone. “Oh, I’m sorry!” she apologized, bowing. “I should have been looking where I was going.”

“Oh, hello,” the silver-haired woman she’d run into said coolly. “You’re the commoner foreign exchange student, no?”

Ah, Elizaveta remembered. This girl was Francis’ best customer. Natalia something.

“I suppose you do look much more like someone from our school, now that Francis has fixed you up a bit,” she continued. She started to move past the Hungarian, only to pause and add, “Such a shame he can’t fix the rest of you – like your poor upbringing, hmm?” With that, she was gone.

Elizaveta sighed to herself before continuing to make her way down to the fountain. She couldn’t leave her stuff down there for long, or else it would be completely waterlogged.

As she was rooting through the water for her last few items, her mind drifted back to the Belarusian woman. She was likely the one responsible for everything that had been happening to her lately. But she couldn’t go saying that without having some sort of proof to back up her statement.

She groaned as she came up empty-handed yet again. “I really need to find my food money…”

“Bonjour, mon ami,” an amused voice said. “Skipping club activities to have a little splash in the pond, are we?”

Elizaveta sighed, recognizing the person all too well. “Sorry, Francis.” If she was honest, she'd completely forgotten.

“Why’s your bag all wet?” he asked, nudging at it with his foot.

“I dropped it,” she replied. “But my wallet fell out when I did, and now I can’t find it.”

“That’s because you’re always supposed to keep your wallet in a pocket that’s zipped shut!” he scoffed. “You didn’t know that?”

The Hungarian rolled her eyes, not bothering to reply.

“But anyways,” Francis said, stepping into the fountain before taking his shirt off and throwing it aside, “your method of searching is pathetic, mon ami. You’ve got to do it with flair… Like so!” He shoved his hands into the water, flailing around as he hunted for her wallet.

“You don’t have to help me!” Elizaveta said, trying to stop him. “You’re going to get all wet!”

He gave her a sincere smile – perhaps the first she’d ever seen from him. “No worries. After all, people always tell me that I’m dripping with good looks.”

She froze, staring at him. Could he be a good person after all…?

“Aww, you’re making that cute face again,” Francis gushed, pinching her cheeks and effectively ruining the moment. “Have you fallen in love with me already?”

Elizaveta glared icily at him before shoving his hands away from her. “No thank you. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to continue searching.”

“Of course,” he chuckled. “If memory serves,” he added, his laughter suddenly gaining an evil edge to it, “finder’s fee is thirty percent?”

“You’re rich and still do that stuff?” she muttered, not bothering to give a proper answer.

Finally, they managed to find her wallet, and both cried tears of joy. Metaphorically speaking.

After helping her gather her stuff together, Francis said he had to return to the Host Club, but told her to go and dry off.

“We can manage one session without our natural rookie,” he said with a wink before walking away.

She shook her head as he went, though a small smile was dancing on her lips.

I guess he’s not so bad after all.

xXxXxXx

“That does indeed sound quite bothersome,” Natalia said, taking a sip of tea. “But weren’t you scared, Eli, of how your bag fell into the fountain all by itself? I mean, I’d be terrified.”

“Y-Yes,” Elizaveta stuttered in response, wondering why on Earth this woman would request her. “It was unexpected, to say the least.”

“Although, the thing that is most bothersome to me is that you forced Francis to help you search the fountain,” the Belarusian continued, staring coldly at the brunette. “I mean, your bag was a cheap little thing, wasn’t it? You had no right to subdue Francis in such a way.” She took a sip of her tea before continuing. “I hope you don’t believe he cares about you. The only reason he’s paid you any attention is because your family background is something new to him – before you know it he’ll have forgotten all about you.” She chuckled. “Perhaps all those strange things that happened to you are because of your arrogance around Francis, hmm?”

Something clicked in Elizaveta’s mind. “I understand.” She stared at the silver-haired woman. “You’re jealous – aren’t you?”

The color drained from Natalia’s face. "I – I –" She stopped speaking as her violet eyes got a malicious glean in them. In less than a second she’d flipped the tea try, spilling it all over herself. “Help!” she shrieked. “Eli dumped tea on me!”

The room exploded into whispers as everyone’s attention was drawn to Elizaveta and Natalia.

The silver-haired woman spat at the Hungarian. “I always knew you couldn’t trust commoners, especially one as disgusting as – augh!” She stared up at the Vargas twins, who were both holding now empty glasses above her head. “What on Earth –?!”

“Oops,” they said in unison. “Sorry. Our hands slipped.”

Roderich stepped forward next to Elizaveta, then dropped several photographs on the table, including one of Natalia dumping the brunette’s bag into the fountain. “Did you really think we weren’t aware of what you were doing, Miss Arlovskaya?” he said coldly. “Please don’t underestimate my information network.” An evil smile danced on the corners of his lips. “And just so you know – we have much more than these few pictures, so don't try anything funny.”

“You’re so scary,” Peter said to her, hugging Hanatamago to his chest. “You’re like some kind of demon-lady.”

“Hideous,” Berwald murmured, staring down at the violet-eyed woman.

“It’s true,” Francis agreed, lifting Natalia’s chin with his hand.

“Francis!” she gasped. “Eli –”

He held up a hand to silence her. “You may be beautiful on the outside, but what’s the use if you only look good?” He sighed, placing a hand over his heart as he stepped away from her. “It pains me to say this, ma chère, but would you mind never coming back to the Host Club?” He stared coldly at her, his violet eyes hardening. “By behaving as you have towards Eli, you are no longer allowed to be a customer.”

Natalia swallowed the lump in her throat before standing, eyes watery. “Fine,” she said before marching out of the room. Out of respect to her, everyone ignored the sounds of crying that echoed through the hall afterwards.

Elizaveta, who’d ended up on the floor in the middle of the commotion, stared up at Francis, waiting for something to happen – though she wasn’t sure what.

Francis noticed her gaze from the corner of his eyes and felt blood rush to his cheeks. “Right,” he said, coughing before clearing his throat. “You’ve earned yourself a punishment for causing so much trouble. Plus one hundred customers to your current quota. Understand?”

Her jaw dropped. “What?!”

He sighed. “If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have lost my best customer, nor would I have had to search through a pond with my beautiful self.”

She groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

The Frenchman chuckled at her misery before offering his hand to her. “Chin up, Eli – I have high expectations for you.”

She rolled her eyes, ignoring his hand and standing up on her own. “Thanks, I guess.”

Francis noticed a small card on the floor, soaked in tea. “What’s this?”

Elizaveta turned to see what he was referring to. “Oh, it’s probably mine,” she said as he picked it up. “I bet it fell out of my pocket.”

“Eli…” he said after a long pause.

“Hmm?”

“Are you… Are you a girl?”

“Yes.” She hesitated, then added, “Biologically, at least. My full name is Elizaveta.” She looked down at the ID he was holding. “Oh, I forgot my hair is long in that picture. It’s from ninth grade.”

Francis blinked, not responding immediately. Finally, things seemed to click into place. “YOU’RE A GIRL?!”

Lovino rolled his eyes at the scene unfolding in front of him. “He finally figured it out. That idiota.”

Feliciano laughed. “Well, I’m sure he knew it instinctively, and just refused to acknowledge it. After all, no one would do that much for a guy.”

“I knew it from the beginning!” Peter giggled. “Well, pretty much.”

Roderich chuckled, pushing his glasses up his nose. “It’s certainly an interesting development. Who knows what this will turn into?”

Elizaveta took her ID from the blonde while he continued to sputter nonsensical phrases. “I mean, I was fine with you thinking I was a guy, so I didn't say anything. The importance of being distinctively a guy or girl is probably lower for me than the average person. It’s not as if I’ve ever been interested in appearances.” She rolled her eyes. “My father is interested enough for the both of us.” She smiled at Francis – perhaps the first real one she’d ever given him. “But you know, you were pretty cool earlier.”

He turned a brilliant shade of crimson at her words, covering his mouth with one hand.

Offhandedly, the brunette added, “And I’ve realized that it’s really not too bad to be popular amongst the girls. It’s actually kind of fun.”

And as quickly as the blush had appeared, it faded to be replaced by an expression of dread on Francis’ face. “WHAT? Wait, Eli – I mean, Elizaveta –!”

Roderich sighed as he watched the blonde chase after the poor Hungarian, though there was a smile dancing on his lips.

Could this be the beginnings of love?

xXxXxXx

“And that’s basically how the first chapter goes,” Haruhi said, switching her phone to her left hand while she took a pan of cookies out of the oven with her right. “I just thought it was funny because it used so many of your friends’ names – and your own –, not to mention it reminded me of the Host Club I was in. Technically still in, I suppose.”

Roderich chuckled on the other end of the line. “I can see why you might find it amusing. Perhaps I should read the series myself.”

Haruhi laughed nervously. “I’m sure if it’s your type of series. I’m only reading it because Mei wanted me to. She insisted that it had a lot of parallels to how Tamaki and I met. Which it kind of does.” Her brown eyes widened as a though came to mind. “Oh! Your girlfriend, Elizaveta!” She stopped. “Er, are you and Elizaveta a thing right now?”

The Austrian laughed. “Yes, we are.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness. I was worried that I was about to offend you, because I know you were on-again, off-again for a while.” She cleared her throat and began to carefully move the cookies from the pan into a container. “Anyways, she’s into romance stuff, isn’t she? She might like it.”

“I’ll recommend it to her,” Roderich said, “but I don’t know how comfortable she’ll be with reading a story that has so many names in it that she’s familiar with.”

“Well, I don’t know her too well,” Haruhi began, “so I guess I can’t really speak for her, but she seems like the type of person who wouldn’t care about that sort of thing all too much.”

“I'm sure you’re right,” he agreed. “I’d tell her about the book right now, but she’s currently engaged in an epic video game marathon with Gilbert. Every now and then I heard cursing from the room they’re in. Or worse, I hear Elizaveta hitting him with her frying pan.”

“What game are they playing?”

“Mario Kart.”

Haruhi bit back a laugh. “Well, I suppose it’s perfectly understandable if that’s the case.”

“Agreed.” There was a pause. “You know,” Roderich mused, “I think I’ll let Francis know about it as well. He loves being the center of attention, so he’ll enjoy having a book where one of the central characters – and the love interest, it seems – shares his name.”

“You sure that’s a good idea?” the brunette teased. “If memory serves, you’ve told me that he’s a huge flirt. He might try and steal Elizaveta from you if you aren’t careful.”

He snorted. “He can try, but her frying pan would turn him away pretty quickly.”

She laughed. “You might as well show the book to everyone that’s mentioned in it. But if you don’t get in contact with me before a week goes by I’ll have to assume one of them has killed you.”

“Oh, ha ha,” Roderich said dryly. “Aren’t you hilarious?”

Haruhi chuckled, putting the last of the cookies away. “I’m aware.”

“Why don’t you show the book to your friends? It has parallels to your life, after all.”

“Mori actually read it before me, surprisingly enough,” she said. “He recommended it to Kasanoda, who then gave it Mei, and now it’s made its way to me.” Offhandedly, she added, “Mei and Kasanoda are actually a thing now – if you can remember them at all.”

“Really?” Roderich said, a note of surprise in his voice. “That’s the redhead and your childhood friend, right?”

“Yup.”

“Interesting. I wouldn’t have expected that.”

“Me neither, if I’m honest,” she replied with a laugh. “But they’re a cute couple, so I hope things work out between them.”

“To get back on topic,” the Austrian said, “do you plan on showing it to your friends or not?”

She shrugged. “I’m not sure. Tamaki is going to find the book no matter what I do, so he’ll read it. Mori has likely told Honey to read it already. I might get in contact with Hikaru and Kaoru to tell them; they’re laid back enough to enjoy it. But Kyoya…?” She shuddered. “He’d say it’s a waste of his time and of no benefit to the Ootori family. I can picture the conversation now.”

“Get your fiancé to tell him,” Roderich chuckled. “They’re best friends, aren’t they?”

Haruhi smirked. “I’ll take you up on that suggestion. Though the first step is for me to get Tamaki to read it, huh?”

“I’m sure you can. You are quite persuasive.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” The girl paused as heard the sound of a door opening and closing.

“Haruhi!” a cheery voice called. “I’m home!”

“I’ve got to go, Roderich,” she said, her tone apologetic. “Tamaki’s back, and I know he’ll be annoyed if I stay on the phone any longer.” She rolled her eyes. “He insists that we have ‘cuddle time’ every evening.”

Roderich sighed. “I wish I could get Elizaveta to have some ‘cuddle time’ with me. But I’m afraid she’d break my neck.” He paused as the girl laughed at his comment, then added, “It’s rather convenient that you have to hang up now, because I just heard a suspicious clang coming from the main room, and now I only hear Elizaveta’s voice.” He sighed again, though this one was of exasperation. “I hope she hasn’t gone off and killed Gilbert. Ludwig wouldn’t be happy with me.”

Haruhi shook her head, a smile painting her features. “Well, I wish you luck with whatever you end up facing. And don’t forget to show your friends the book! It’s called ‘Hetalia High School Host Club’, in case you've already forgotten.”

“Fine, as long as you do the same.”

“Deal.”

“It was good talking to you again, Haruhi.”

“You as well. Goodbye.” There was a beep as she hung up, then a click as she turned the phone off and shoved it into her back pocket.

“Who were you talking to?” Tamaki asked, causing her to jump.

“Please don’t sneak up on me!” the brunette said, holding one hand to her heart. “Good grief, Tamaki.”

He pouted before pulling her into a hug. “Sorry. But who was that?”

“I can already tell that you’re overthinking this,” she commented wryly, hugging him back. “It was just my old friend Roderich. My father signed me up for music lessons while I was younger because I was so tone-deaf, and he was there, too. Though he was far more talented than the rest of us. I think he makes a living as a pianist, actually.”

Tamaki’s pout deepened. “A pianist?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re much better than him, alright? Does me saying that make you feel better?”

He beamed at her. “Yes, it does!”

She sighed. “You’re such an idiot, you know.”

He buried his face in her hair. “Yes. Hikaru, Kaoru, Kyoya – you’ve all reminded me of that plenty of times. But what’s important is that I’m your idiot.”

Haruhi chuckled. “That you are.”

Her fiancé pulled away, an eager grin painted on his face. “So we get to have cuddle time tonight, yeah? I’ve already picked out some movies to choose from!”

“Yes, we get to have cuddle time,” she said, unable to stop herself from smiling. “I baked cookies for us to eat, too.” She held up the container as proof.

Tamaki cheered, grabbing her free hand and pulling her into the living room. “Yay! Let’s go!”

As she was being dragged along, the brunette got an idea. “Actually, Tamaki,” she said slowly, “can we read a book tonight while we cuddle, instead of watching a movie?”

He shrugged as he pulled her onto the couch beside him. “Depends. What’s it about?”

Haruhi smiled. “I think you’ll like it. It’s called ‘Hetalia High School Host Club’.”

Tamaki’s eyes lit up, and mischievous smirk grew on his face. “Is that so?” He laughed. “I have a feeling I’ll like it a lot.” He reached to the side and grabbed the book off of the small coffee table next to him. “Let’s begin, shall we?”

xXxXxXx

Thanks for Reading!

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shockcity · 8 years

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HP #3A - Temeraire Crossover

Rating: T Summary: Harry finds himself stranded in an alternate universe in which the Napoleonic Wars are fought with dragons. Yeah. He thought it was weird too. Category: M/M Pairing: John Granby/Harry Potter Warnings: none

THIS IS PART I

Note: this is long (SO LONG) and full of tropes and silliness. I wrote this on and off for years, and finished just after Crucible of Gold was published, so this has been sitting around while I hemmed and hawed about whether or not it was worth posting, until I finally just decided to put it in the junk drawer with everything else. It doesn’t incorporate Blood of Tyrants and League of Dragons, mostly because I’m lazy but also because I haven’t read the last book yet *is sheepish*, so this is in four parts and is considered finished, for now. Also, this isn’t beta’d *cringe* so…uh…enjoy? Yikes.

—

Part I

“There you are,” called a voice, and a dragon landed in front of him with a heavy thump. Its claws tore at the earth, kicking up dirt and grass into Harry’s face. “I have been looking everywhere for you!”

Harry slowly wiped away the dirt with his sleeve, staring.

“Oh, sorry!” said the dragon. “Didn’t mean to get you!”

There was nothing else to do but shrug. The sudden arrival of a talking dragon was the least alarming thing to happen to him lately, on account of him not knowing where he was, exactly, and really any sign of magic (even the dangerous kind) was welcome. He’d woken in a forest, cold and confused, and after sitting around and waiting for someone to find him, had decided to trudge onward and seek some answers for himself. And so he’d trudged, for about a day and a half…with no sign of any people, anywhere.

There were no towns or villages, no cars or roads. Not even a light on the horizon. Signs of life were limited to a few startled rabbits and a mangy fox, who had eyed him amusedly before trotting off. He had thought, at first, he might be in the Forbidden Forest, but surely there would have been a centaur by now, or, Merlin forbid, an acromantula?

Harry had just decided that he was hopelessly lost (and maybe dreaming, or hallucinating, whatever) when the irritated dragon had arrived. He’d thought the situation couldn’t possibly get any stranger, but then, well– such was his life.

Besides the fact that it was talking to him (Norberta had never spoken English, as far as he’d known, and the Hungarian Horntail hadn’t been talkative but then she’d been trying to incinerate him at the time and was obviously busy) ridiculously enough, the dragon had an accent and sounded rather unused to speaking English. If Harry didn’t know any better he would say it were French. Could dragons be French? Bollocks.

“Well,” it huffed. “You haven’t a harness and you’re all bloody. Have you been hurt? I’ll be happy to kill what’s hurt you, capitaine. Capitaine?”

Captain of what? What? Harry scratched the side of his head, gaping with tremendous rudeness. “Sorry,” he finally managed to say. “I have no idea what you mean. Do you know where we are?”

“Oh. Britain.” The dragon nodded decisively. “We are in England. Almost Scotland, I should think, if we keep on north. I’ve come from France to you, so that you may be my capitaine.”

Harry licked his lips. “Yes, but–” He paused, until at last he admitted, “I’m really confused. I’m not where I– well. I’m…really confused.”

The was dragon was comfortingly unconcerned. “Alright,” it said. “You tell me what you remember, capitaine, and we’ll sort out this mess.”

So Harry did. He began with the battle, the end of the Dark Lord, and his long sleep, which lead him to this forest and his wandering about, looking for other people. The dragon listened with earnest eagerness, and when Harry stopped speaking, he took a moment to observe the creature in kind. It was small, barely the size of a large dog, with deep blue and iridescent green markings across its sleek, black body. He thought for a moment of the dragon’s voice, and was careful to correct his use of pronoun; it was he, a young he, if he were to guess.

“I think you may have to tell me all of it,” the dragon demanded, coiling his tail around to sit. “You have come from a battle! I want to hear everything.”

He blamed his still present confusion and perhaps shock for the ungainly, babbled recital of his past deeds. As the story progressed, at parts when Harry was hurt or even confessed to being very frightened, the dragon growled and trembled, touchingly angry on his behalf. Finally, when Harry was sat and quite burned out for talking, the dragon said, “Oh, I’ve the finest capitaine in all the world, I am sure!”

Harry had no comparison with which to disagree, though he thought he was maybe the most confused captain in all the world, rather than the finest. And what was this captain business anyway?

The dragon saw his expression and sighed, “I suppose I had better tell you what’s happening. You are in the year of seventeen ninety-eight, and we are at war. I have come from the Armee de l'Air, where Commander Napoleon would have me fighting the country where my true capitaine is! I have hatched two days past, and I am a baby, of course, but I shan’t be for long if you are worried. I’m not hungry, either, there was a bunch of cows south from here that I ate, though the man in the fields was saying some not-very-nice things to me when I left with them!”

“Sorry, you said– Napoleon?”

“Oh yes. Very presumptuous. He spoke to me, before I left, you know. Said I was to be no use but for breeding. So I escaped and came here to you. And you shall harness me and we shall battle, because you are so very good at it, already, and Commander Napoleon was so very rude to say I am worth naught!”

He ran a hand across his face, a desperate, slightly crazed motion that made the dragon nuzzle him worriedly. “I suppose you are in a different world, if there is such a thing,” the dragon surmised. “I am sorry if you left behind those you love, but you have me now, and I have you!”

It was a thing to say, to a boy who had never had much to start with. No family. Close friends, perhaps, but certainly not the sort of companionship this dragon was proposing. And he was a lovely, darling creature– and Harry was already very fond of him.

He had never thought himself predisposed to affection or even the assumption of it between him and others, but this dragon would have him without even really knowing him, and Harry wanted to return the favour. He had also shown remarkable loyalty already, coming all the way from France and flying around all of England, just to find him.

“But how did you know I was here? How could you possibly know where to look?” he asked.

The dragon nuzzled him again. “Just knew,” he said, and if Harry were a normal young man this explanation would never have been enough. But he was used to the unexplainable. Used to magic. “They took me from capitaine to capitaine, to harness me, but I was decided already! You were here, and I had to find you. So, I just knew.”

Then…dragon companionship was normal here? Harry suddenly remembered the dragon mentioning an army. Armee, something… de l'Air? “You mean to say there’s an army composed of…of dragons?”

“Oh, yes.” He proceeded then to explain the Armee de l'Air, or His Majesty’s Aerial Corps in Britain. It was a fantastical idea, even for a wizard. And speaking of, the dragon was very keen on seeing some magic for himself, and nudged Harry into floating some branches away from their makeshift clearing. Reminded of his magic, he gazed down at the Elder Wand that was still upon his person, aghast at having it when he meant to be rid of it in Dumbledore’s tomb. Yet the dragon’s pleasure was contagious, and he put it out of his mind for now.

“Very good! Oh, splendid,” he cheered, drawing Harry closer to him; which oddly did not frighten or unsettle Harry in the least. “You will be my capitaine, and a great one, I am sure.”

Harry leaned his head against the long neck and sighed. This was so strange. He wondered if it were not a dream. “What now? This is mental,” he muttered, and then yawned. He was finally warm and terribly exhausted.

“We shall go to one of your coverts. I asked a little dragon about it, on my way here, though he was rather confused, I think. And we should go in the morning, perhaps, for it is getting dark now and you are tired. May I…may I have your name?”

Harry made a face at his own horrible manners. “Sorry,” he cringed, drawing away to stare up at the dragon. “I’m Harry.”

“Harry, my Harry. Yes, that will do nicely,” the dragon said. “The man in your story…Remus. I like his name. He was a hero, was he not? Like you.”

“He was,” Harry agreed, though sadly.

“I will be Remus, then. In honor of him. Though you may call me Remy, for that is French and no matter how rude Napoleon was, I am a French dragon.”

Remus. Remy. Harry thought it was fitting. He would not think too deeply about Remus though. The nickname rather helped in that regard. Remus was lost, and Tonks, and their son he had left behind, by no choice of his own but abandoned all the same. Sensing his melancholic turn, Remy coiled around him and bade him to sleep.

As strange as it was, to be in so new a place without any warning, Harry was oddly comforted. And Remy, having flown so far for his capitaine, was proud of his intuition and forwardness to find him. His Harry needed him, and Remy needed and admired him too. He was the best capitaine of the lot, for what others had saved the world? There was none that could compare, and Remy was satisfied.

::::

“I escaped from France!” Remy was telling the tiny dragon by the name of Volatilus. “I didn’t like Napoleon, or any of the capitaines they wanted me to have, so I came to England to find my Harry. That’s him there, Volly. That’s Harry.”

Volly turned his head to gaze at him, although there wasn’t much understanding in his perpetually cheerful eyes. “Rem’s Ree!” he cried happily.

“That’s right,” James said, patting his dragon affectionately. “But this is extraordinary! A Papillon Noir up and leaving for England! I’d laugh if I weren’t worried one of ours would mutiny so.”

James and Volly were escorting them to Loch Laggan, a bit of fortune fallen into Remy and Harry’s hands, according to James, who was often set in the opposite direction and unable to divert. He and his little dragon served as a courier, of all things. Harry would be surprised had the last few days not been comprised of the ridiculous and bizarre. Royal Mail by dragon seemed a small thing, really.

Lucky though it was, James’ heading to Loch Laggan was a double-edge sword. They now had a very nice escort to the closest covert, but James was very interested in not only Remy’s story, but Harry’s.

This brought him to the startling revelation that he was in another world entirely, forced into service by a dragon on the lam (James had said the French would seek out the missing dragon, and be positively furious when they learned Remy had defected to the enemy) and with no proof of his existence to the main and might, he would need a cover story that wasn’t crazy enough to get him thrown in Nick. And who was to say they would let Remy keep him? Though he’d like to see them try to separate them, it would be amusing up until their execution, to be sure.

He sighed. James cast him a narrow look but pressed, “This is entirely extraordinary. Where are you from again, Potter?”

“London,” Harry hesitated. “Around abouts.”

Could he perhaps pass for a homeless man? His clothing, both strange to James’ eyes and manky enough, would lend a bit of truth to his tale. Perhaps if he didn’t say much about a home? A traveler, maybe a vagrant with no ties to any land at all? But his accent wasn’t uneducated. He had adopted, unfortunately, the slightly elevated speech of middle class London, rather than the guttural informal vernacular of a street boy. And caravaners, for as little as Harry knew about them, had an distinct voice of their own.

And then it hit him. There were times when Dudley attended Smelting’s, when Stonewall news came to Little Whinging, when a boy sick of exams and prefects and A-levels with no care for sixth form and a future, had run away from a proper school to live on his own terms. It wasn’t often that parents would put out a boy for it, but Harry was sure it was acceptable in seventeen ninety-eight. A runaway he would likely be, to these Aerial Corps…or a spy, which wouldn’t end well. So, he would have to be on the lam with his dear Remy.

He would be careful not to mention the name of his school or a headmaster. It wouldn’t do at all for officials to correspond with the unlucky headmaster he named out of idiocy and be caught in a lie.

And when on earth did he decide to up and involve himself in another war? He cast a look at Remy, who was telling Volly all about the battles he would soon fight.

“I’m supposed to be in school, sir,” Harry confessed, picking at his cottage pie woefully. They had stopped to eat and wash (mostly for Harry’s benefit) before the thirty kilometer flight ahead of them. Harry hadn’t wanted to leave Remy alone, so James accompanied him outside where they sat in chairs provided by the tea room, thankful, perhaps, that the dragons were not to wait unattended in the streets. “Please don’t send me back.”

James blinked. “If your family is missing you–”

“They aren’t,” Harry said quickly. “My parents are dead. It’s my Aunt and Uncle. They…well…please don’t send me back.”

“If you’re in school at your age, Potter, they’re likely to make a fuss when they find out what’s happened,” James pointed out, and Harry nearly cursed himself aloud for a fool.

Surely only the very well-to-do boys in England went to private apprenticing schools. Most, probably, joined the regiment, or earned their living through honest toil and a specified trade. Harry, at seventeen (though he would try to pass for younger, if he could) wouldn’t have been still studying unless his family were peerages or particularly in clovers as scholars. He could pass for a lawyer’s kid, maybe, or churched affluence, but many of those people were acquainted with particular circles. There would be hell to pay if a presumptive heir or scholar’s boy were lost to vagabondage. Yet there was nothing for it, he had made his bed.

“Please,” Harry tried again. “They never cared for me besides to send me to school, because my parents would have wanted it. I don’t want to go back. Remy says we’re to fight the French, because I’m his captain now…is it true?”

And this would work in his favour soon enough. Harry might request liberty (he wasn’t quite sure how the military gave a day off, but neither was he ignorant of things; Primary and Hermione, respectively, made sure his knowledge was not all magic) and go to “make peace” with his fantasy relations, which would perhaps satisfy the officials, when in actuality he could use this excuse to check for magical landmarks. He would have to see if the wizarding world existed, for there was no way he would rest without knowing. And probably, (after concluding that there were no people in the forest and he was not anywhere near Hogwarts) that would have been next thing he had done, but then Remy had come and, well….

Harry would not go home without his dragon, if it were even possible to go home at all. He had a strange feeling that he would not find the Leaky Cauldron here, nor the Alley, the Ministry, or any magic places at all. There was something in the current here…the air didn’t quite buzz like it did at home. Harry suspected that missing thrum was magic.

“Alright,” James was saying. “I won’t say anything about going back. England needs fighters enough that I won’t complain. Admiralty might, if they know your family and they’re in arms about a missing boy.”

Harry shook his head. “My Aunt and Uncle have an heir. I was only a burden on them. I doubt anyone knows them much at all. Or would admit to it.”

James was still suspicious, Harry could see it clearly, and so could a very keen Remy, of course. “Harry’s been through an awful time of it, Captain James,” Remy said, cutting off Volly’s nonsensical rambling. “He’s not a spy, if that’s what you’re thinking. Who would want to fight for the French? Their Commander was very rude. Did I tell you what he said to me, Volly?” and was off again, seemingly unworried that adorable little Volly could hardly keep up.

James laughed. “Well, he’s told me!” He slapped Harry on the back and handed his leftovers to Volly. Harry did the same with his own pie. “We will have to sort it out, in any case. Shall we go?”

Happy his story was settled (and unhappy he was just as good a liar as Aunt Petunia always said) Harry went atop Remy and tied his makeshift strap tighter. It was no harness, but he was safe enough, he supposed. Remy was just big enough (after another two days of trudging and eating stolen cows) to hold him. He wasn’t stupid enough to think the matter closed, however. There was the Admiralty, as James had called them, to convince…and if he were found out a charlatan, he had a hope that England was as desperate for fighters as they seemed. Perhaps upon his confession of dimension travel, they would still let a madman fight in their war? He could only hope.

:::::

It turned out that the sole authority Harry had to answer to was Celeritas, a keen old dragon and respected veteran of the Corps. Harry wasn’t at all surprised at a dragon training-master, given Remy’s quick command over his well-being and their future plans. He was a bossy creature, and Harry surrendered to him easily.

Celeritas listened to their tale, mostly told by an overly excitable Remy, who, being wonderfully wily, went along with Harry’s lie without a hitch. Their hushed conversation about the subject, before Celeritas had asked for them, went a bit like this:

“But why can’t you tell them the truth?”

Harry stroked Remy’s green speckled nose and said, “They’ll lock me up in a loony bin if I do. Normal people don’t just travel to other dimensions, you know.”

“I shan’t let anyone lock you up,” Remy growled. That sudden, protective violence Harry was getting used to sparked in his bright blue eyes. “I’ll bite them first. But I suppose you are right. You are a little strange.”

This teasing remark actually made Harry laugh, which shocked him for a moment. When was the last time he had laughed?

“Well, I suppose you’ve got your hands full with him, Captain Potter,” Celeritas was muttering, his eyes on Remy, who had gone over to another dragon in the crowded clearing. Harry heard Napoleon’s name and stifled a laugh. He reminded himself never to insult Remy in any way (as if it were possible, he thought affectionately) for his dragon knew very well how to hold a grudge.

“Am I a captain so soon?” Harry asked. “Don’t I have to–” he wanted to say earn it, but stopped himself. “–move up from a lower position?”

Celeritas stared at him, and Harry was surprised to see an odd sort of smile in his eyes. “The others will likely think so. You’ll have to deal with a fair amount of jealousy, sure. But Remy’s tale will put it out quick enough. His awareness of you is strange, pardon me for saying, Potter.”

Harry had assumed it was, even for military hired dragons. However, after a short time he could respond with nothing else but, “I am glad he found me.”

Celeritas snorted. “He seems glad enough for the both of you.”

“–and that is my capitaine over there. He’s the best capitaine in the whole world, and we’ll win lots of battles and take many prizes because those other capitaines and Napoleon are rather stupid and we are very, very smart.”

“Skinny, isn’t he,” the other dragon said, chewing on the leg of something that was not much flesh but all bone. “You’ll have to fatten him up if you want to fight. And you’ll have to learn the formations.”

“We know them!”

The other dragon frowned. “But how can you? How long since you’ve hatched, anyway?”

Remy hesitated. “Four days bygone,” and at the dragon’s scoff he said, “But I was born quite clever. I’m sure I’m smarter than you.”

Harry, who had been moving toward them, began to move quicker. “That’s not very nice, Remy,” he chastised, rushing up. “I’m sorry for him.”

The other dragon was amused rather than offended, however. Remy nudged him as if to reproach Harry instead as the dragon said, “He is very young. No harm in him, I think. I am Excidium, you’ll be in my formation soon enough.”

“Harry,” he introduced himself. “Good to meet you.”

“He is my capitaine, Excidium, no matter how big you are,” Remy announced possessively.

Embarrassed, Harry stroked the side of Remy’s neck and muttered, “I’m sure Excidium has his own captain, dear one.”

“So long as he knows.”

::::

Loch Laggan covert was big and busy. The courtyard where most of the dragons slept was large, perhaps unnecessarily given how the dragons piled on top each other. The quarters for the captains were homey and spacious, especially for a boy who went from cupboard to dorm-room to tent. Harry was glad of the hospitality, mostly for the baths he immediately indulged in and the hand-me-down, if not comfortable uniform. He was certainly able to blend in better after he was cleaned and redressed.

It seemed only an hour was good enough for the news to spread. The man who had shown him around, a Lieutenant Faversham, was cordial but stiff. Harry could not tell if it was simply his character or if he was one of those jealous men that Celeritas had warned about. In any case, his priority after bathing was to eat, and he figured the mess hall could not be avoided for long. When he entered, there was a small suspension of chatter, something he was tired of but used to in his short life.

Faversham abandoned his duty then, and Harry didn’t much mind for all the conversation he was good for. Not much of a talker himself, Harry sat at a lonely table and floundered a bit until the cook came out and gave him a hearty meal of milky soup and a warm heel of bread. His disregard was an offense to the other officers, all except for a young man who sat at Harry’s table without introduction.

“So the Papillon Noir is yours? Is it true he left France to find you?”

Harry wiped his mouth, feeling suddenly mischievous. “Remy is a brat, and he just showed up and wouldn’t leave. Have you seen him yet? He’s the prettiest one.”

This casual affection in his voice seemed to endear him to the young officer. “Lieutenant Granby, your servant,” he introduced, and Harry shook his hand. “There’s a fair few officers who have approached Remy already, so don’t blame him for telling them tales.”

Harry put down his spoon. “Approached him?” he asked.

“Well–” Granby flushed.

“I see,” he realised. “They thought Remy might take a different captain.”

Granby was sorry to have said anything, judging by his expression. “You’ve got to understand…aviators wait for a long time until they get their own. Some never do, really. Mates of mine have cut straps having never been a captain. Civilians not in the Corps don’t normally go near a hatchling at all. Or any dragon, to be sure. You may find it new and exciting–”

“But it’s insulting to a trained Lieutenant, yeah.” Harry sighed. “I would want the best for Remy. If that meant a captain who knows more, and could do better, then I would try to convince him. But he’s–”

“He’s greedy and out for blood, is what the others are saying,” Granby laughed. “I can’t argue with someone with so much conviction. And he’s quick to gloat about his ‘capitaine’, so I came to meet you.”

“I am sorry for taking the chance from another British officer, but not the French,” Harry gambled. He presumed the rivalry between countries, and his own participation in it (however new) would assure Granby of his character.

It worked. “Well, what’s to do about it, I say,” the man shrugged. “And it’s the funniest thing we’ve ever heard, a turncoat hatchling.”

“And why aren’t you upset with me?” Harry asked curiously. Granby was outright friendly, so far as he could tell.

Granby grinned. “I haven’t been waiting as long as the others,” he said, gesturing behind him to an older crowd of officers who were muttering darkly. “Just made third Lieutenant. I’m still a scrub, really.”

“Oh.”

“They will be sulking until you prove you’re up to it, make no mistake. It will be hard to convince them that you’re little but a ham-handed civilian.”

He understood, and was grateful for the warning. He was an outsider to Granby and the others, however apologetic the young man seemed about it. Yet Harry couldn’t help but smile, for this world of theirs, of fantastic beasts and abnormal being normal, didn’t hold a candle to the magic he’d seen and performed. Despite their knowledge and training, this dragon fighting wasn’t anything compared to where Harry was from and what Harry could do.

Perhaps Remy’s bragging wasn’t so much of an exaggeration after all.

He could not help but laugh and say, “I’m afraid I’m not a normal civilian.” And at Granby’s questioning expression he merely confessed, “I have the feeling I might adapt quicker than you think.”

:::::

Formation training under Celeritas, who was a taskmaster but an exceedingly capable one, was hard work for Harry and Remy. Despite Remy’s boasts of innate knowledge of formations, the little dragon was often complaining of how difficult the flying was. Until, of course, it was mastered, and then the grousing was of how boring flying about in the same circles and turns were day after day. Harry himself was weary of flag signals and maths, breeds and proper Aerial Corps modus operandi.

He was told that Remy was a Papillon Noir, a breed which he had recently learned about. The name was French for black butterfly, and fitting, given Remy’s dark hide streaked with blue and green. Remy was a middleweight, among the categories ranging from light to heavy, at either end being the Winchesters and Regal Coppers. The Longwing who Remy had harassed on their first day here, was a breed that would only take women as captains, which did not alarm Harry in the least, despite Granby’s expectant looks.

James and Volly made two returns while Harry trained. Volly, a Winchester, was a bit slow but no less efficient at his job. Remy was quite taken with him, to be sure. Excidium’s captain, Jane Roland, had introduced herself a day after his arrival. She was a lovely, slightly plump woman of twenty and some, often holding the hand of a very young child named Emily; her daughter. Auctoritus, a Bright Copper whose Captain was named Danvers, was quick to laugh and not often at Loch Laggan, but when grounded took to Remy for their similar characters. Danvers was middle-aged but unprejudiced toward young captains, and showed no disdain for Harry’s previous status as a civilian.

Crescendium, or as Jane called him “Cressy”, was a lively thing that had hatched a year prior. His formation training had just ended, and he felt smug enough to tease Remy about how he had quite a long way to go before he was up to snuff. The rivalry between the two middleweights was friendly and amusing, to most of the captains at least. Cressy’s captain Gregson was a man without laughter, though he was cordial enough.

Once training was done, Harry would join Excidium’s formation, as Celeritas had confided. Yet training was brutal, and often Harry could not even dream at night for how tired he was each day. This was fortunate, given his inability to sleep soundly since he was fourteen. Most often he slept next to Remy in the clearing, surrounded by dragons and all the better for it. He was oddly prone to seek them out for advice, rather than the captains in his upcoming formation, though none of them begrudged him it and were all suitably friendly. Jane and Danvers, especially, as well as Granby.

They had made fast friends, against all odds. Granby was a few years his senior. Harry also outranked him, and was a living reminder of Granby’s lack of dragon. Yet he was quick to find humour rather than exasperation in Harry’s many moods, and often times easily drew Harry into the sort of friendly chatter he had only ever known with Ron.

Another unexpected friendship came with his meeting a very young girl by the name of Catherine, who spent most days schooling for her eventual promotion to captain. This nepotism was very much the way of life in the Corps, but Harry was glad of Catherine’s shy but empathetic way of forgiving him for cheating others out of a dragon.

In the meantime, Remy grew. And grew. And grew. As a middleweight, he wasn’t as big as the other dragons, like Laetificat; a Regal Copper who Granby was currently assigned to. Despite Remy’s small size in comparison, nothing could quite beat the dragon’s prodigious ego. Remy was well known, very quickly, for being argumentative and arrogant, despite his age. This amused the older dragons and captains greatly, most unfortunately.

Harry tried his best to temper Remy, but the dragon was sure Harry was simply grossly modest. He didn’t balk at orders, thankfully, and often looked at Celeritas and the other captains with respect and youthful awe. It was only the other untried dragons at his mercy, really.

This attitude was also fortuitous at sieving out the best officers to assign to Remy’s crew, when the time came. Some rather stuffy men were wary of being included, and did their best to profess in the dining hall their intentions to join so and so’s crew soon enough, waylaying Harry’s regard for them. Though being put on Remy’s crew would be a promotion, certainly, Remy wasn’t at all as serious as the others. He was a riot, according to talk, endlessly jesting with dragons and captains alike, and with so forward a personality some were disapproving of his cavalier personality. It was a small consolation that Harry was withdrawn and disturbingly serious for his age, when Remy was so very precocious.

Eventually a crew was put together, those included being in good temper and affectionate with Remy. The protectiveness his dragon was known for was not only for his captain, but also for his crew. Remy treated them all like dear friends, and so Harry did as well, and he was probably terribly informal with them but didn’t much care.

Among them was Lieutenant Faversham, who Harry learned was always quiet but for the times when discipline was needed. He was a vastly capable first Lieutenant, to make up for Harry’s rather tolerant nature, and Harry was happy to have him.

Then came a welcome surprise. Laetificat lost a third Lieutenant in Granby, who came to Harry one morning and said, “Well that’s torn it, I’d be happy to be on your crew, if you’ll have me.”

Harry would have him, and he said as much when he was done gaping. “But Bee,” he said, using Remy’s nickname for him. “You were happy on Laet’s crew!”

“Celeritas is worried your training will have to be cut short,” he explained. “And he wants two proficient officers on board. Faversham is good, but you’re scared of him–”

“I am not!” said Harry indignantly, though he knew Granby was teasing.

“–and I know you’re considering Scarborough for second, but he’s a bit…silly, I say with your pardon. Celeritas wants you in good hands.”

Harry grinned. “And you’re good hands, are you Lieutenant?”

Granby puffed himself up. “I should say so, sir.”

“Well, then.” Harry bowed to him with good humour. “I dub thee my second. Silly-Willy Scarborough can be third. Bless him.”

So on all accounts, everyone was satisfied. Though Laet was annoyed at the loss of one of his crew, and it didn’t help when Remy informed him, with an air of smugness, that if Granby wanted a different dragon, he was welcome to choose the best. They had a mild spat about it, though it was rather half-hearted since they both knew it was Celeritas who had made the change and nothing else. As for the nearly full crew, they were quite happy to initiate Granby into the fold, though their rowdy celebration was cut short by a strict but sympathetic Faversham.

As the months passed, Harry learned more and more, and Remy complained more and more but was learning too. The days were short and the work hard, but time went on peaceably until the month of July came to an end. With it, Harry’s eighteenth birthday passed uncelebrated, as Harry was wont to do since things had gone to hell in his own world. On that very day, he was lucky enough to receive liberty for his crew, and requested one for himself upon learning that Volly and James were among the officers with an upcoming furlough. Harry tentatively asked if James were going round about London, and with a nod of understanding the captain agreed. Harry put in for the day with Celeritas, who was surprised to be asked given Harry’s clear record of attendance from the moment he’d come to Loch Laggan. He allowed the trip, however, and Harry had a little battle with Remy to be able to go, before the dragon finally conceded to Volly’s taking him.

It was time to inspect England for magic, and with it, decide his future definitively.

:::::

James left him to his business two blocks from Whitehall, just a bit south of what he supposed would be a modern Charing Cross. The buildings were new to be so old, in his strange eye. They lacked the age of his London, but the architecture was antique in the same turn. Harry walked in what he thought was the right direction, for the streets were unnamed, largely, and there was no Victoria or Trafalgar to guide him. Much less an Underground or even a bus to take him there.

The streets were coarse with stone and loud when struck by hoof beats. Carriages were the only form of travel here, besides walking, and most of the pedestrians stared back at him; gawking. So far, Harry had not seen much historical garb besides the white trousers, stockings and buckled shoes of the Corps. Now, here, there were long skirts and high collars, bowler hats in the fashion of Fudge and was that…was that a powdered wig? Harry himself was a source of entertainment as well, it seemed. His bottle green coat with gold bars that betrayed him as a captain were quite shocking. James himself had garnered a few scandalized looks before he had left with Volly.

He did his best to ignore them and finally came upon a sort of familiar street. Charing Cross was mostly shop fronts at this time, and largely unmarked. A trained eye went from each shop to where The Leaky Cauldron should have sat, and there he found nothing. This was less of a surprise than he thought it would be.

Another walk back toward Whitehall and one more length to what should be Downing provided all the necessary answers he had asked for. Obviously there would be no phone booth, stark red and modern in these times, but neither was there an indication of some wizardly-type entrance. There was no loo where he, Ron and Hermione had entered the Ministry in disguise, no wonky signs queer in their clues to an underground government; no nothing… no Ministry of Magic.

He sat upon a stoop leading to the side of some consulate, and sighed. If ever he had speculated where his magic came from, he was now sure. The lack of it, in the air and in physical proof, betrayed that magic itself was exclusive to him alone. He was sure the dragons had to be a form of magic, but perhaps they were a consolation to a world without wizards and witches? There was no doubt he could use his own wand, so this lack of practitioners meant he was the only human with that capability.

But then he thought. What if the government had yet to be established? There might be wizards and witches in hiding, completely separated from the Muggle world. After all, this dimension was strange enough, what was to say they did exist, but absolutely and completely in hiding? He was sure he had walked half of Scotland in those first few days here, and there had been no Hogwarts. But the school might never have come to pass, if something had made the Wizarding world withdraw permanently. Perhaps the witch hunt had been worse than usual? But then the lack of magic in the very earth told otherwise.

And Wizards would never let dragons be known to Muggles, that much was certain. So, maybe not a very secret, very silent magical community, then. There was likely, however, to be many sole practitioners. They would probably be more frauds than anything, but perhaps the world was scattered, unorganized and based on this assumption– somewhat less than what it was in his world. But Harry didn’t have the time to go about England seeking every person even slightly interested in wizardry, nor the patience to deal with Trelawney-like men and women convinced of their own trickery.

Annoyed, and more sad than he would have suspected, he continued to think upon it until it was close to his rendezvous time with James. And he had made two decisions since:

One, and it was an obvious one, was that Harry would not give up looking for the slightest proof of other magics while in this world. Not for any real hope of getting back (what had he left? Mourning and Ginny and Teddy, perhaps. His best friends. Yet all could take care of themselves bar his godson, who Harry often thought of, worrying if he was safe and happy) but for an end to the mystery of his being here. His second decision was an obvious one, and would drive him forward on a new path.

Harry would train as hard as he could so that Remy would not be in danger of any of his amateurish mistakes. And he would fight, because he was lucky enough to be sent to a dimension where a good purpose had basically dropped into his lap. He would take care of Remy, as best as he could, and though never having been too patriotic, he would fight for England against Napoleon and make sure they won. He laughed. It seemed so very silly to be here, in this world and this time, but now his options were narrowed down and his decisions decided. There was no use in sulking about, and so he wouldn’t.

Perhaps later he would think about what was left behind.

It was a good thing, then, that he was early, because James and Volly were as well, and looking harried upon their arrival.

“Oh good,” James said in regard to him being there. “We have to go. The Navy’s caught up with the French; They’re mucking about in Egypt and mean to take the river. Excidium’s formation has been called.”

Harry gaped. “But we haven’t finished training yet!”

James gave him a short, desperate grin. “You’ll have to do. We’ll get that bloodthirsty beast of yours and you’ll be off. I wouldn’t worry. Celeritas cleared it with the Admiralty, so he must think you’re up to it. Just be cautious with Remy, he’s still very young.”

Harry was worried, and very excited, though he wouldn’t show it and look like a proper scrub in front of the other aviators. This would be his first aerial battle, and hopefully not his only one. His decision to stay and fight was now being put to the test– It was time to see if his heart still had that certain mettle that had earned him a place in Gryffindor.

:::::

Excidium’s formation came upon the battle at Akoubir Bay just as the fighting started properly. Remy, positioned at Auctoritus’ flank, moved easily with the group despite Harry’s own worries of him possibly wandering. The sound of cannon fire was loud, smoke hovering in the air and debris splashing into the water. The line of French ships had halted in a long, curved line, and around the fleet came the British Navy from the north.

Their formation moved toward the dragons hovering in the no man’s land. Harry bade Faversham to signal 'make ready’ in response to the beginnings of Excidium’s offensive maneuver. His heart pounded, and though the motions of this battle were different, the fluid, water-like fog of action was a very familiar feeling. Remy beat his wings at a quicker pace in his excitement.

He could hear the clamouring and the shouts of the men beneath Remy’s belly, even over the howling wind of their speed. 'Engage the enemy closer’, the ensign signaled, and they made the pass at a Chanson-de-Guerre as a round of musket fire burst outward. The Chanson screeched and lilted away from the onslaught, making to scratch at Remy’s wing, which missed the dragons head by a hair’s breadth.

The gap in their formation filled in as the aviators reshaped. They were allowed one more pass until a shadow fell upon them, and a Grand Chevalier dropped into the formation heavily and broke it.

Harry cursed as Remy dipped and looped around instinctively, Auctoritus following suit and the others of their formation fleeing in various states of distress. Only Excidium remained unmoved in his flight, alone in their broken team. He engaged the Grand Chevalier instead, and the sharp stench of acid permeated as he spat and hit the dragon’s flank. It ate away at the straps, sinking into the tough hide as the beast screamed in pain.

They had drifted off course, and the fighting and the engaged dragons of their formation were far from them. A rush of wind hit the side of Harry’s face as beside them came another Papillon Noir, coloured similarly as Remy but with striped patterns. To Harry’s shock, the dragon spoke to Remy in French, but they did not fire.

And Harry realized that they thought Remy was with the Armee de l'Air. Not an entirely foolish assumption, but foolish all the same. The Papillon Noir repeated her call to Remy, who was silent in shock along with the rest of the crew. Still they did not fire, but Harry did.

The volley of bullets took out most of the crew, stinging the side of the Papillon Noir’s wing and tearing through it brutally. Her wail of agony was nothing compared to Harry’s triumph at seeing his men shoot straight and true, motivated by their lucky ruse. The Papillon was hurt badly, and unable to fly. She dropped down onto the nearest French frigate instead of fleeing, and Harry’s men cheered but soon fell silent at Faversham’s shout. Harry gave the signal to change position, and they flew around and north, where a new set of dragons were fighting.

They circled without engaging, and soon another dragon, a Pecheur-Couronne (so brilliantly blue that Harry stared), came about to fly with them. They fired again, and again, and the attack was less successful but drove the dragon to retreat after a flash of Remy’s talons to its chest. They were able to use this strategy once more, though the last engagement was unbalanced between them and the Grand Chevalier. Injured but still fighting, the Chevalier turned about to crush Remy with its weight, but the spit of musket fire interrupted the likely fatal assault. Laetificat’s formation had come.

They tore away from the crossfire quickly, and behind them there were signals from the French captains, warning the others that Remy was not theirs. He was disappointed the French had caught on so quickly, but forgot about it when he caught sight of a British ship in peril. Their staysail was tangled with an enemy frigate called the Tonnant. The frigate was coming under heavy fire, and would not hold out unless Harry did something. He thought quickly.

“Mr. Faversham, inventory of grenades?” he shouted.

“Nine, sir.”

Harry frowned. “Remy, we need to help. Fly low and fast–”

“Shall I use my claws?” Remy asked with enthusiasm. Harry smiled grimly.

“Yes,” he said. “Mr. Faversham, aim the grenades for the hull. Remy will clear the way.”

Faversham did not argue, though he likely would have were there time. Remy would be flying directly into the path of the cannonade, and it was admittedly a very risky maneuver. Yet Harry would not let Remy or his crew be massacred (the discovery of his magic be damned) and the men on British ship slaughtered and the ship sunk; sending two hundred men or more into the deep. They swooped so low and so fast, a mist of foam gathered in their wake, and then Remy’s claws were sinking into the side of the Tonnant and ripping away the hull with a horrible screech. The grenades were tossed in quickly, and just as they flew clear and circled around the British ship (without cannon fire, thank god, for the French sailors could hardly believe their daring and stood in shock) the crackle of explosions shook the ship, and it arched upward upon the water.

There was a great shudder and a sound like the creak of old bones, and the ship dropped and started to sink. Their frigate was untangled in the movement, jib boom free but damaged, and finally able to return fire, the Tonnant took rather unnecessary cannon fire as it sunk.

“Brilliant, Remy! Brilliant,” Harry said over the cheering, patting the dragon’s neck.

And then they were meeting another Pecheur-Couronne head on. Remy yelled as claws seared his forearm, and Harry jolted at the sound. The Pecheur-Couronne aligned with them then, and Faversham shouted, “'Ware boarders!”

Harry looked back at the struggle, but did not move back from the dragon on Harry’s hurried order. Instead, Harry patted Remy and said, “Shake them off, Remy, and then fly straight. I’m going to do something stupid.”

Remy understood. “Be careful. I don’t want you hurt, but I do so like prizes! Tell Granby to keep count.”

“'Ware boarders!” came again from Faversham, who showed upon his usually emotionless face that he could not quite believe Harry’s refusal to come away. There were eight French boarders atop Remy, and Harry bade him a rough turn.

Remy had the audacity to laugh as he turned sideways and completely upside down. Harry felt weightless for a moment, and the rush made him laugh as well. The straps had, of course, held their crew in the loop, if not dizzied them, and where there were eight men now there were only two. Harry kept Remy steady and unbuckled himself. He stood.

“Sir!” Faversham yelled, but his strangled shout did not stop Harry from bending his knees and flinging himself off of Remy’s neck.

He hit the side of the Pecheur-Couronne with a gasp, before hauling himself up swiftly and fluidly enough that even he was surprised at how well it was done. He shot the lieutenant in front of him and put his pistol to the completely astounded captain’s head.

“I think you’d better land,” Harry said, as Remy crowed in victory.

They came about on a British ship, depositing the captain into irons, and left with the wind bursting through Harry’s hair. Strapped in once more, Faversham, showing a lack of composure he had never seen, said, “Madness! Sir, what–?”

“I was in a position to capture, lieutenant,” Harry smiled.

“We do not board when boarded!” Faversham gasped. “And we most certainly don’t risk a captain!”

“I don’t see why not,” Harry remarked. “Everything was under control.”

“That’s one, sir!” Granby bellowed. The men were laughing (laughing!) behind him. Faversham face was red. It seemed that the lieutenant had only just now realised that Remy’s captain and crew were barking mad.

The battle quickly turned in their favour. The British fleet had a wiser Admiral than the French. Remy engaged twice more and took one more; a Chanson-de-Guerre to the men’s loud cheers and Remy’s pride. Harry’s daring and unprecedented boarding came in handy once again (causing Faversham apoplexy, but no matter).

And then the French l'Orient, which had been in the thick of it– exploded. It burst apart with a tremendous boom and a flash of light. In the wake of the explosion, and amidst the cheers of the British sailors, the closest ship to the l'Orient struck its colours. Another one soon followed.

Two frigates escaped the melee of the French defeat. Harry and Remy flew back into Excidium’s formation, finally, but one of the Chequered Nettles of their team, Basilius, was badly clawed and moved slowly. They acclimated to that weary pace and surrounded the wounded from further attack, but the retreat had sounded, and most of the dragons had fled into the horizon. The French Navy had lost.

Remy turned to his captain and said, “I knew I chose right with you, mon capitaine. That was–”

::::::

“–possibly the most dim-witted, harebrained, ridiculous thing I’ve ever had the displeasure of witnessing!” Jane Roland was yelling.

Newly promoted Admiral Lenton, stationed at Dover where they had stopped on the way back from Akoubir, seemed to have permanently misplaced his eyebrows at the top of his hairline. Jane continued her ranting, yelling at Harry and Faversham respectively, while they stood stiff and browbeaten in the Admiral’s office.

“–and the danger presented to your dragon, who is the first priority for a captain, is absolutely unacceptable! Damn near negligent, sir!”

“I would never risk Remy!” Harry burst out, unable to help himself. “Never! I’d bloody well die first!”

“And what good would that do, but to have Remy suffer your death enough to want to die himself?”

Harry backed down. They didn’t understand. Harry would never risk Remy, that much was true, and he had his own arsenal to prove it. The Elder Wand in his pocket shuddered at Harry having thought of it. They didn’t understand and he could not make them, and by all accounts Harry deserved this dressing down. But he would not have them think he was dangerous to Remy.

“My reckless actions I take full responsibility for,” Harry said, speaking out of turn and outraging them further. “But I would never want Remy hurt. You can count on it. I’d die first. I’d shoot myself. I risked my own body more, today, and for that I apologize, but only myself was in any danger. And you insult Remy by accusing him, in his own enthusiasm, of stupidity. He is ridiculously clever, and understands risks for the benefit of the whole. He will not change his character, and though I may find it hard, I will try to change mine. And I beg you not to blame Lieutenant Faversham for my recklessness. He tried to stop me.”

Jane and said nothing for a time, seething silently. Admiral Lenton, who had not spoken since Jane had started to tear into him, said, “Well. Well,” and turned to Faversham, “Lieutenant, do you wish to be reassigned?”

Harry started. He knew Faversham hadn’t agreed with the maneuver, but hadn’t realized the man might want to be away from the rash captain and his dragon. Faversham was red, and had been since the Nile.

“Sir,” he began, “I-his…” he cleared his throat. “Captain Potter’s strategy goes against everything in my gut.”

Harry looked down at his feet.

“But I cannot deny it was a masterful tactic that was both foolish and amazing to behold. I would be a right scrub to not want a part of that, even if only to council the captain against his– penchant for bravura in future,” Faversham concluded.

“Oh, I’ll listen, Mr. Faversham, I will,” Harry promised. He liked Faversham’s solid dauntlessness, and perhaps should have listened about the boarders, if this lecture were the consequence. But it would be hard to change Harry’s knee-jerk recklessness. Faversham would have a job on his hands, yet Harry could not imagine a better officer for it; he was the sensible one in their company, the unshakable man at his back. Battle always made Harry respectful of his fellow fighters. Always.

“I hope you will, lad,” and there was a strong note of chastisement in Faversham’s tone, but he looked at his captain with a certain fondness Harry likened to Moody’s dry disapproval, when Harry put his wand in his back pocket.

“Well,” Lenton nodded. “That’s settled. Lieutenant Faversham, or Councilor Faversham, as it were, will stay on your crew. Though I have no doubt you mean the best for your dragon, Captain Potter, I don’t want to hear of anymore dangerous maneuvers.”

Harry bowed slightly in accord.

“But a frigate down and three captures,” Lenton continued, sighing. “You’ll keep on with that ingenuity, I think, but without the carelessness, eh?”

He was startled at the compliment for a moment, and then bowed again, belatedly. Faversham heard the dismissal and turned to leave, Harry following at a slower pace. To his surprise, Jane caught up with him as he walked toward the courtyard and to Remy.

“Poppycock,” she said. “But according to everyone else you were famous.”

Harry halted and bit his lip. “Jane,” he started, “I hope you’re not too angry–”

“I’m furious,” she told him, but her eyes smiled. “I’ve never seen that sort of gall, that sort of absolute stupidity before. Not in the Corps, who have intelligent and cautious men and women in service.”

“I’m sorry–”

“I’ve also never seen a braver man, nor a more ingenious one. Much less in our youngest captain. I’d have you clapped in irons for it, if you were not worth ten aviators alone.”

And with this parting statement, she left, leaving Harry baffled and flushed with both shame and pleasure. He gathered himself and looked about, glad that he was alone in the corridor. If her words got back to Remy, his head would grow so big he’d probably float away.

::::::

Remy’s jewels glittered in the sun. The large lavalliere around his neck was set with a giant ruby, surrounded by tiny crystals. It blazed silver and red in direct light, blinding everyone as it shined. Of course it clashed terribly with the smattering of blue and green on black that was Remy’s hide. Harry hadn’t thought about that when he’d bought it, and he wouldn’t dare tell Remy that it clashed and was maybe a bit…garish.

All he had noticed was how it sparkled, and he was enamored enough with his dragon that in order to properly spoil him rotten, certain sacrifices must be made. Like taste. And expense. This lavalliere was certainly not the only one Remy owned. And of all of them, the ruby pendant was perhaps the least tacky.

“–and Cressy was very jealous this morning, because I showed him my chest, you know, with all my jewels–”

The chest full of garnets and sparkling things were what Harry had spent all his hard-earned money on; enchanted by some terrible curse as he bought countless trinkets for the silly creature.

“–and I said to him, 'it’s no fault of mine that Gregson hasn’t got you a chest of sparkles, you have more than Excidium in any case’–”

Harry sighed and tilted his head to look at Faversham, who as actually listening raptly, the sod.

“–and he told me that Jane doesn’t have to get Excidium anything because he’s more sensible and doesn’t want to show away like I do, but I don’t show away when I’m just so very much more impressive–”

“You tell them, Remy, mate!” their midwingman, Mr. Tracey, yelled from Remy’s underbelly.

“–thank you, Tracey. And so I said…oh! There they are. Laetificat is hurt. Shall we battle, Harry?”

Harry came to attention. The British ship was surrounded by two French frigates and three dragons, their reinforcement of five welcome to Laetificat’s lone struggle. “Yes, love, I think we should.”

“I’ll finish my story later,” Remy said, quickening his pace. “Because I simply have to tell you what Dulcia said then!”

Harry sighed.

:::::

They were in Dover when word reached them about a dragon egg captured on the sea. Harry’s furlough, the first one in three years, was scheduled for after his immediate return to Loch Laggan; their temporary station for the last few months while relieved from patrol on the channel. Harry and Remy were quite happily looking forward to the time off, if only so Harry could get some much needed sleep after three days of frustrating skirmishes.

Unfortunately, Harry had to drop his crew off in Scotland before going back south. With their latest capture of another French frigate, just two days prior, Harry had managed to save up enough that he could be off to London again almost immediately, with a little left over for a new trinket for Remy. Sometimes Harry thought he’d eaten some if Romilda Vane’s cauldron cakes, since he could not really help himself and continued to buy Remy sparkling things. He’d need another treasure chest soon, and that was just sick.

Their reputation for balking at the rules and their ingenuity in battle was famous now, and a source fond frustration for the seniority. Lenton and Celeritas had given up on the both of them, and oftentimes their lectures trailed off with resigned sighs and tired mumbling. Harry was always apologetic, but also not really.

He and Remy were known for their captures, and Remy had a reputation for showing away amongst the other dragons. Harry, however, was something of a joke among aviators.

Granby had a million anecdotes by now, and they were often retold over cards. Playing Old Harry was something of a common idiom at Dover and Loch Laggan. Which by definition meant that someone was doing something very risky, and very stupid. Sometimes it just meant being particular wily, too. Jane simply said it meant he had “a lot of guff” and seesawed between shouting at him about maneuvers and worrying over him after each successful bout. 'Playing Old Harry’, she said, was 'the equivalent of dying young’.

Harry liked Jane. She tried her very best to talk sense into him, and to take care of him, when he let her. Emily too, was very like her mother. Harry would test her on her sums (which she was dreadful at, poor thing) when he saw her, and give her sweets and bobbles after he’d been shopping in London. He had a weakness for children and Remy, of this there was no doubt. Her mother was away often enough, like Harry, who was sad for her, though she was not very melancholic at the lack of a constant parent. She was something of Excidium and Remy’s pet, anyway, and between them received loads of affection.

Through the years, he and Granby remained close. The period of peace in eighteen hundred and one was tentative but welcome, and allowed time for Harry and Remy to finish their training properly with Granby’s help. They had dined together every night to learn and sometimes modify maneuvers, and from then on were seldom away from each other’s company.

Harry disregarded Jane’s warning that 'familiarity bred contempt’ and knew that though he should not, in truth, be best mates with his underling, he didn’t put much stock in strict leadership most days. Faversham took care of that anyway, the old tyrant.

Harry and Granby were good fun and beloved by their crew, yet Harry’s confidence and ability meant his men were quick to obey when Harry gave an order. He was a good captain, and a good comrade, scandalous informality aside.

Remy was another thing entirely. Still young, but old enough to have ceased his silliness by now, Remy defied expectation, ignored all the words of wisdom from the older dragons, and remained charmingly unchanged. The crew adored him, and though Excidium often spoke sharp about Remy’s showing away, the other dragons were usually affectionately exasperated and not truly cross.

Remy toed the line, often. He was an incurable gossip and an irredeemable rogue. He was also a vicious and valuable fighter and as bold as brass; capable of anything he set his mind to. Like convincing Harry to buy things for him.

“He was wearing gold! Gold! With his yellow colouring?” Remy said to Harry, in regards to Cressy’s new trinket. “Gold looks awful. I don’t know what he means by it. I despise gold. Do you think I’d look good in gold?”

Harry surmised what he would be buying that day in London, against the screaming denial of his funds.

“Cows, Remy, cows,” Harry drew his attention, hauling the animals closer. The farmer he had bought them from had already fled into his house and bolted the door. “I’ll be back soon, dearest, don’t get into trouble.”

Remy nuzzled him before saying loftily, “I recall and shall recite some common phrase you have used oft: pot and kettle.”

Harry laughed and made his way toward the city, a mile or so walk that he didn’t at all mind. He went to a jewelry shop there, when in London, for Remy’s trinkets. Often times he went another way, just to look into other shops. It wasn’t often he got leave, and he liked to spend it well. He went a new route today, and came upon a curiosity.

In the back of his mind, he often kept an eye out for places like this in his unending and unhurried search for magic. It was not a settlement, but a caravan, outside in the street just west of the farm Remy was stopped in. The gaudy colours of the caravan and the tinkling bells on the back of its carriage were not what drew his gaze, though they were splendid. He was not gaping at the horses, who were large and mottled as they whinnied and tossed their hairy heads at the ladies gawking in the streets; their manes tied in braids with beads and bells and ribbons. The caravan was very impressive, but the sign on the back of it was what really caught his attention:

“MADAME BIDDY - PSYCHIC” Apenny a Reading

He moved toward the door and knocked without hesitating. It slid open, and with two thumps he walked up the steps and journeyed in, ignoring the whispering bystanders outside. The woman before him was obscured by smoke and tapestries. They were as colorful as the outside of the caravan, and jangled as he moved them aside.

Who he assumed was Madame Biddy sat at a rounded table with her hand splayed across a deck of cards. A smoking pipe, smelling strongly of earth and cannabis, titled in her long-fingered grasp. She was a sunken-eyed, dark woman, older than Jane but not by much. The dress she wore was not one a society lady would approve of, for her bust was bulging obscenely enough to make Harry blush. Her long, coiled hair was done up much like the horses, braided with bobbles that tinkled as she gestured to the chair in front of her.

“A reading for you?” she said, her accent thick and landless. “A penny,” she held out her hand.

Harry gave her the toll. With a flourish, she put down her pipe and grabbed up the cards, her many rings clinking together as she shuffled them. “I tell you your future, but none of it is certain.”

His mouth twitched.

“It changes like the sea, and man cannot tame the sea,” she told him as she held the deck out to him. He touched it without her asking, and her gaze narrowed. The cards went down onto the table. With a muttered word, the first one flipped over. “A happy jester,” she read, whispering loudly. “Unlimited possibilities, my dear.”

Her rings clicked together again. “The lovers. An affair,” she intoned. “And a tower for disruption. Unlucky,” she huffed.

Another card flipped over. “A world like no other. The world for you,” Madame Biddy muttered, pinching her lips and gazing at him. “Eternal life.”

She went quicker, seemingly enraptured with his reading. “Death, but not death–” her words stopped. “Death as a friend?”

The last card she uncovered made her sigh. “Man upon the rope. A needless sacrifice. Perhaps one. Perhaps many.”

Harry smiled and stood. “Thank you,” he said. He was done here. He had sensed no magic from her. The tapestries rustled, her bells rang behind his back.

“You have death with you.”

He stopped and nodded, frowning.

Madame Biddy gazed at him, her eyes dark and curious. “You are different.”

“Yes,” he said, seeing no reason to lie.

“Very different. Not from here.”

He watched her back, now. There was still no magic, no buzz around her, no heady senses besides the overwhelming scent of cloves and smoke. He wondered, for the first time, if she was something like Trelawney, who didn’t so much practice magic but stew in it. “Have you ever been a prophet?” he asked.

Her eyes widened. “Once. A long time ago.”

Harry smiled. “Have you got a prophecy for me?”

She looked away. Her silence lasted a long time, but Harry was patient. “It is not enough,” she said, finally, “what powers I possess–”

Harry nodded in understanding, and the Madame eyed him carefully. “I have never met a God,” she said.

He could not help but laugh. “I doubt you ever will,” he snorted.

“The reading will be true,” she told him. “That much is certain. Though nothing is certain.”

Harry grinned bitterly. “Yes. Good day.”

“Good day.”

The warm sunlight did not lift his sagging spirits, although being out of the miasma of smoke and vapors helped to halt his growing headache. He moved away from the street, feeling sad, though he didn’t regret going for a reading. The woman was unlikely to be a fraud, and most likely using a magic he did not understand. Muggles had a magic of their own, and this world had it’s own laws of nature. Just because Harry could not see it, did not mean it didn’t exist.

There might be magic here, but it was probably true that there was no one quite like him. He might be the only wizard in the world. Harry laughed suddenly. What a perfect place for an unbeatable wand, he thought, where no other wands exist.

::::::

“I would like to meet the dragon who escaped from France like me,” Remy was saying, after much excited gushing and nuzzling when Harry returned and presented him with a gold brooch. “They say his captain is a Navy man! Like that Nelson fellow we met!”

Harry winced as he adjusted Remy’s harness. He couldn’t imagine Admiral Nelson standing for anyone addressing him as 'that Nelson fellow’. Their one meeting with the man had been brief and awkward.

After the Battle of the Nile, Nelson had expressed an interest in meeting the captain that took so many prizes and saved a British ship, and with much pomp and circumstance, publicly shook Harry’s hand but barely spoke to Remy. Harry knew he was a mastermind, a legend in Naval warfare, but he was too puffed up for Harry’s taste. And he didn’t much gush over Remy, when everyone else did and should, so something must be wrong with him.

This news about the Navy captain turned aviator was interesting though. “Are they assigned yet?”

“Volly says they’re to train with Lily’s formation,” Remy said. “We haven’t seen Catherine or Lily yet, by the way.”

“We’re leaving in a moment,” Harry consoled him.

“Oh, good. Bee says it’s a right shame,” Remy continued. “Dayes, you remember him, he’s been waiting and waiting for an egg, and Bee said that the French dragon refused him, and would not be separated from his Navy captain. Quite right, I said, because they tried to do the same to you and I, as you must recall, and that wasn’t on.”

Harry frowned.

“But Bee says Navy captains are stiff-necked and don’t take to dragon company, and think only that we consort with the hoi polloi, as aviators, and he won’t belong at all, so he’d best give up the young one and go back to his ship.”

“Remy,” he interrupted, feeling a horrified rage bubble up inside him. Granby had said what? “That’s not fair at all, Remy!”

“Oh? Why?” he asked.

“Because we don’t know him! Granby has no right to judge…I can’t believe…he was never like this with me.”

Remy sighed. “He queued for an egg two years go,” he reminded his captain. “It went to stupid Rankin. And there hasn’t been one since.”

Harry was aware of Granby’s disappointment over Levitas, a dragon Harry had not seen for quite a while, and according to Remy, Rankin was horrid to his dragon on top of it. It was a sorry situation, as distressing as it was not surprising, given Jeremy Rankin’s awful personality.

Harry hated him, and he hated Harry just as much, ever since the incident in the dining room when he’d been showing away about getting an egg and Harry had tripped him. Accidentally, of course. As the son of some Earl or what have you, Rankin had shoved poor Granby out of the running for the promotion, and had been insufferable about it as well. Which called for revenge.

Even though his bitterness remained strong and had probably grown some, and Granby had every right to be disappointed, Harry could not approve of Bee’s words. “That has nothing to do with the new captain,” Harry said sternly. “He could not have expected Dayes to succeed, when no one succeeded with you. Besides that, this Navy man none of us knows, and we’ve no right to think badly of him. I expected better of Bee.”

Remy looked suitably chastened. “Are you cross with him?”

“We shall have words, I imagine,” Harry grunted, tightening the straps on his packages. “And you, dear one, will do your best to introduce the new dragon to your friends, won’t you?”

“Of course I will!” Remy said. “He won’t be an outcast at all, Harry! And neither will his captain. I shall inform everyone the moment I return!”

Harry had no doubt he would, and the other dragons would likely heed him, if not to get Remy to stop badgering them about it. He was unsettled and angry as they left, and bade Remy not to worry that he was cross with him. No, it was Granby who had to be put to rights, though Harry had no blasted idea of how to go about it. He hoped Jane hadn’t been right about their friendship. He hoped there would not be contempt between he and Granby at all.

He was never one to be overly optimistic.

:::::

Remy landed and called out to Crescendium, first and foremost, “Look at my gold! It is much better than yours.”

“Remy, really,” Harry muttered as the good-natured squabble began. They were interrupted, however, when a sinuous black dragon landed in the clearing. His blue eyes took in the new arrival with curiosity and a certain wariness, and his tongue flickered out to taste the air.

The dragon was a gorgeous species Harry had never seen before. He glanced at it with an appreciative eye as he unloaded Remy’s belly netting of its sweets and a bracelet for Emily, and other articles he had been ordered to acquire by his crew and a few other captains. Remy jolted at the arrival of the dragon and then was off, leaving Harry’s work unfinished. He threw his hands up and rolled his eyes.

“Bonjour!” Remy said to the dragon. “I am Remy and you are black like me!” He glanced quickly at Crescendium. “Do you see, Cressy? Only the best dragons have our colours!” He turned back to his new companion as Cressy grumbled mutinously, and then cocked his head in surprise. “But you are not French at all!”

“I’m an Imperial, that’s Chinese,” the dragon answered, looking taken aback at Remy’s enthusiasm but with a hint of surprised pleasure. Harry thought, sadly, that because of his captain’s ostracism the dragon probably hadn’t made many friends of his own. “Are you French?”

“I’m a Papillon Noir, and I escaped Napoleon so that I could be with my capitaine, who is English. Harry! Harry! Come meet my new friend!”

Harry did not refuse him. As if he could. “What is your name?” Remy was asking the dragon as he approached.

“Temeraire, and my captain is Laurence. He won me in battle,” the dragon introduced.

“What a lovely name! My capitaine has been in many battles. He’s a hero. And your capitaine is too! My, we must be the best in all the Corps, I’d say,” he concluded loudly for Cressy’s benefit. “This is Harry.”

Harry bowed with a smile. “A pleasure to meet you. Temeraire, was it?”

“Yes,” Temeraire said. “The pleasure is mine.”

“I like your pendant!” Remy interrupted. “That’s a pearl, isn’t? I haven’t any pearls yet.”

Harry gazed at him and sighed. “Perhaps another frigate, dearest, and we’ll get you a pearl.”

Remy perked up and said to Temeraire in a conspiratorial hush, “My capitaine is really very easily won over, and I never want for anything. But I do adore my Harry, however soft he is.”

“I can hear you, Remy,” Harry pointed out. “How are you settling in, Temeraire?”

“Quite well, sir, thank you,” the dragon said, smiling at Remy with a solid, quick fondness. “You are welcome join us down at the lake for swimming later, after we eat.”

Remy was entirely baffled. “Swimming!” he gasped. Temeraire hunched a bit, as if wary of acting outlandish to his new friend. “What a capital idea! Why haven’t you taken me swimming, Harry?”

Harry scratched at his head. “Uh…sorry? I’ve never seen a dragon swim.”

“Which just means we should do it, of course. Really, Harry, you’re so adventuresome, normally!”

“I wasn’t refusing–”

But then Remy was off and hadn’t heard him at all, telling Temeraire about their various exploits. He excused himself just as Temeraire was telling of his capture in battle by his captain, and passed Cressy and Maximus coming toward them with interest; peeved at being left out.

The problem of Temeraire’s acceptance into the covert settled, Harry made his way to his rooms to wash up before lunch. He changed into his fatigues and unpacked his purchases, before resolving to bathe after the lake outing. Or perhaps he would swim as well.

Harry came into the corridor before the dining hall in time to catch a disturbing exchange indeed. Granby saluted a stiff-backed man with spiteful mockery, saying, “Sir,” as if it were the last thing he would call the man even in formal company.

To the man’s credit, he replied merely, “Mr. Granby,” and continued on his way toward a table. He did not sit alone, but did not speak with any other.

Harry frowned as he lingered by the door, assuming that the slighted man was the new captain. He was tall and slim, laced with wiry muscle obvious even in his too formal attire. His full head of blond hair rested gracefully (Harry observed with envy) atop a smooth forehead which framed a handsome face. He certainly held himself with decorum, though Harry could sense no maliciousness in his posture. Having met Temeraire first helped, for bar Captain Rankin, a dragon often told much about their captain’s character, and vice versa.

He sighed and came away from the shadows, waylaid very suddenly at his entrance by Emily, who sat with the other children and had been looking out for him.

“Harry! Harry!” she called to him exuberantly, hugging him around the middle. Emily did not ask for her booty, but simply held out a hand.

He laughed. “You brat,” he teased. “What makes you think I have anything at all for you?”

“What’s behind your back then?”

“My hand.”

“And what’s in your hand?”

“Absolutely nothing.”

She sighed with unending patience, as if he were a little child, and said, “Harry, really–”

He handed her a bag of sweets and the little bracelet, laughing again at her enthusiastic perusal of his gifts. Emily pronounced herself satisfied and with one last hug, marched herself off to show off her treats. Harry had not forgot the others and followed her to put a bag of sweeties on the table, to which they scrambled through immediately, chewing with piping thank yous. Emily looked put out by his lack of favouritism, but indulged in the other sweets as well.

“Hello, Father Christmas, what do you have for me?” Berkley said, coming up to him. His parchment and pens, as requested, as well as money left over exchanged hands. Harry gave Faversham his new buckles, amidst much teasing from the others and handed out the various items for the officers present.

“Did you buy another trinket for your vainglorious beast?” Cressy’s captain, Gregson yelled from across the room.

Harry shrugged sheepishly. “Sorry, mate.”

“Damn!” Gregson cursed, turning back to Captain Warren. “I’ll be bankrupt in a fortnight with Cressy’s complaining.”

Granby was standing at their usual table. Harry smiled at him, tightly, and with a terrible turning of his stomach, made his way to Captain Laurence instead. “May I join you?” he said without preamble.

The captain was surprised, but not unwelcoming. “But of course. Captain William Laurence, on Temeraire, at your service.” He held out a hand.

Harry gave it a firm shake. “Captain Harry Potter, at yours, on Remy. You’ll not have met Remy yet, but I’ve just had the pleasure of speaking with Temeraire. I should warn you, Remy has found a fellow conspirator, and now they shall never behave.”

Laurence smiled. “What would they be planning, I wonder?”

“Most likely how to make us hand them the world on a silver platter. My spoiled beast will have your Temeraire expecting all manner of luxuries soon enough. How do you find Loch Laggan?”

“I find it very well,” Laurence said politely and quickly as Harry’s meal arrived. Harry knew this to be a falsehood, but admired his manners anyway. “Temeraire has been comfortable, but I am glad to hear he’s made friends with yours.”

Harry grinned. “More like Remy’s made friends with him. Didn’t give Temeraire much choice in the matter. You’re training with Lily’s formation?”

“We are.”

“Celeritas have you run jolly ragged? My first few months were ghastly, and Remy complained day and night of endless formation flying.”

Laurence was surprised by this knowledge, for some reason. “Oh yes, Temeraire is just the same. He is very clever, far more intelligent than I, I’d say. He has an insatiable appetite for knowledge, and so I am often reading to him. I was never one to appreciate books but now I suppose I will become scholar for his benefit.”

“You read to him?” Harry said, smiling. “I tried once with Remy, but he doesn’t sit still for long and he’s well…you’ll see.”

“Are you normally stationed at Loch Laggan? I know many captain‘s more often in the air than on land.”

“Dover. But we’ve been mostly patrolling these last few months, and besides a skirmish or two and a ship in peril, there’s not been much action. No great battles, to be sure, like the Nile.”

“My word!” Laurence said. “Were you in the Corps then?”

He nodded with a smile. “Three months into our training and we receive word that we’ve been called to battle as is. I was scared out of my wits, not being fully trained.”

“He lies,” Berkley suddenly said, popping over to lean on Harry’s chair. “Lad went and flew his dragon as close to the sea and near enough to eat a cannonade as he could get. Had Remy claw open the hull and sink it. The bravest and stupidest thing I’ve ever seen. I was on Auctoritus then, as Lieutenant. Absolute madness.”

“You are the captain with the French defector!” Laurence said in realisation. “I saw that happen as well! I was first Lieutenant on the Goliath.”

Harry gaped and Berkley began to laugh. “Is that what they call Remy? The French Defector?”

“I beg your pardon,” Laurence apologised, for no reason Harry could surmise as it was only a case of good-natured ribbing. “It was news six or seven years bygone, and that was indeed what he was called.”

“Remy will love that. Now we have a name for both of you,” Berkley chortled.

“Mad Old Harry on the Runaway Frog,” one of the men shouted.

Laurence looked nonplussed but amused at the slagging Harry was getting and said, “Whatever do they mean?”

Harry made a face at the noise and waved them away. “Scrubs, the lot of them,” which started a new round of teasing. “Temeraire invited us to the lake after lunch, if you don’t mind us joining you. Remy’s cross with me that I’d never thought to take him swimming before, though I shall never know how I was supposed to think of it.”

“Of course,” Laurence said gladly. “We would be happy to have you.” He sobered for a moment. “I beg your pardon, may I ask your age? You were at the Nile, I know, and that was not long ago, but please excuse me… you look very young.”

Harry was amused by Laurence’s tentative informality, ever so polite and cautious despite his friendly nature. Harry liked him.

“Four and twenty,” he answered with a smile. “Remy found me and made me a Captain at seventeen.”

Laurence bowed his head slightly. “I imagine it was quite a shock,” he said immediately, so not to seem like he was insinuating anything.

Harry leaned forward to continue their conversation in a hush. “Captain Laurence, it was more shock to find me so hated for my luck. The Corps is a different sort of place, I find, but once properly acclimated there can be no service better. While it was hard dealing with the unfriendliness, I found Remy a solid comfort, and the companionship of my second Lieutenant, Mr. Granby.”

“Oh,” Laurence said seemingly before he could stop himself. He curbed his tongue quickly over what he might have said next, however.

“Yes, I know,” Harry went on, looking sorry. “I have never known him to be disagreeable, though I am too informal with him, I suppose. I would apologise for him, though despite how it looks, he is not an ill-behaved child.”

Laurence was uncomfortable, Harry could tell. “I would not wish you to assume responsibility for others, sir,” was all he responded with, but his tone was grateful.

“I won’t,” Harry assured him. “It’s far too late for me to amend my status as his superior officer and not always his friend. And I am no sir, everyone just calls me Harry.”

This overture, Harry observed, seemed to take Laurence aback greatly. He, like Harry, did not assume affection quickly. But Harry really did think this man was spot on. “I beg you call me Laurence, as I am addressed by my comrades.”

Friends, then, Harry corrected internally. He did not know that Laurence had had a very similar thought.

::::::

“I don’t know what you mean by it!” Granby was shouting at him.

Harry’s jaw tightened. “And I gave you my answer. It is our duty to accept new captains and make them welcome! You could have brought yourself to our table if you’d liked, nothing was bloody stopping you–”

“Besides Captain Laurence or sir, as he likes!”

“He is your superior, Granby, whether in the Navy or in the Corps, and worthy of respect for his experience and at the least his manners! Which you seem to not possess at all!”

Granby went bright red. “So you like stuffiness, do you? Toffee-nosed captains who steal promotions from other more deserving men?”

“You certainly don’t seem deserving at the moment! And no one has stolen anything! And I would appreciate you not telling Remy your ignorant opinions about people you don’t even know!”

They had started the conversation civilly, if not with some hovering tension. Granby had come to him on his way from bidding Remy goodnight with more hurt than anger in his expression. Harry had wanted him to confide, and had listened while coming up with a strategy on how to point out Granby’s wrongdoing. Granby had started with the disappointment of Dayes and his own bitterness, until he’d sharply diverted his tone all of a sudden, and asked Harry angrily what he had meant by slighting Granby’s company. Harry had professed his need to make Captain Laurence welcome. Granby had scoffed. Harry made him out to be the rudest scrub he’d ever met, and the fight had dissolved into the mess it was now.

“Then I take my leave of you, if I am so far beneath your regard,” Granby spat.

“Oh, belt up, Bee!” Harry yelled. “You were rotten to him and you know it!”

“I would have thought my closest companion would remain true in an strop between gentlemen– your loyalty quickly changed from me to Captain Laurence, I say!”

Harry nearly screamed in frustration, wanting to punch Granby right in the face and be done with it. But he didn’t want to hurt Granby– he just wanted him to listen. “I cannot condone your behavior,” he said, absolutely seething. “You have disrespected a superior officer–”

“This again? Shall I call you sir and salute you…shall I bloody curtsy since you think you’re His Majesty himself?”

“You are insubordinate–”

“And you have never cared for rules or authority, Harry, never! You cannot tell me otherwise when you do what you like, even if it’s damn risky for Remy and your own bloody crew! If you’re too selfish to change then I’d rather be shot of you so I won’t have to risk my neck protecting some careless dodger!”

Granby stopped himself abruptly and paled.

Harry nodded, feeling his insides churn. “Fine. Be shot of me. I’ll inform Celeritas in the morning.”

He left quickly, and Granby stood there for a long while, ghostly white and cursing. He didn’t mean any of that, damn him–

“Well that’s torn it,” the ground crewman said with a laugh, coming back from the courtyard. “You handled that well, lad.”

Granby called him something not very nice at all and fled.

:::::

Harry did not sleep that night, restless as he was due to both fury and melancholy. He hated being at odds with anyone, most times, and the last person he had fought so heartbreakingly with was Ron, his best friend left behind in his journey to this new world. But this quarrel was both different than and similar to his and Ron’s infamous disagreements.

During both the trouble in his fourth year and while camping in search of Horcruxes, Ron’s jealousy had been the source of the problem. It seemed Granby was of a mind that Harry’s defense of Laurence was disloyal, as well as an abandonment of their friendship. His jealousy was queer in that where Harry could understand Ron’s fear of being overshadowed by Harry’s fame, this was simply a matter between two seemingly ordinary men over the acquaintance of another. If Harry had befriended anyone outside of Hermione and Ron, he wondered if Ron would act the same as Granby.

Yet he could not see Ron taking it to heart. His jealousy had not extended to Neville, who Harry was often in confidence with, or Fred and George, his mischievous brothers. Not when Harry had been with Cho or Ginny, not even when Harry went off alone to avoid Ron and Hermione’s bickering. No, his jealousy was of the envious kind, for Harry’s fame and fortune. Or, in the case of Granby, it could not be jealousy at all, now that he thought about it.

There was a truth to his crime of disloyalty. He had not spoken to Granby before slighting his table at lunch. Harry belatedly realised he should have. But there was no telling how Granby would have reacted to the chastising. He had seemed absolutely furious at Harry’s talk of superior officers and respect, and really, Harry truly was a hypocrite, due to his own informal relationships and balking of orders. He should have gone to Granby and asked why he held Captain Laurence in so little regard, and then soothed Granby’s irritation after he was assured of Laurence’s character.

The remonstrating voice in his head sounded an awful lot like Hermione, who he imagined would simply say, “Boys. Honestly.”

His temper had got away with him again. But in his defense, Harry had grown to expect tolerance and companionship in this world, for he had found it in the Corps and had wanted…well, he wanted to show off the friendliness, the welcome the Corps was capable of. To contradict the hostility that he had had to endure when he had first arrived. He wanted to be Laurence’s Granby, and be the leader in acceptance, to hurry along the inevitable really. Like Granby had done for him.

Harry was soft for the Corps now. They were his comrades…his fellows. They were the only people he knew in this lonely world and the Corps was now something like a home. He knew others who had accepted outsiders with little hesitation; Mrs. Weasley, her children, Mr. Weasley, Hermione, Neville…Granby, and he promised to himself that when the time came to reciprocate with others that he would be the one to welcome them. Harry wanted to be that person.

Yet his stupid self-righteousness and distemper had messed everything up again. Harry sometimes hated his awful habit of jumping headfirst into situations he had not thought through. While at times it turned out well, in contrast (mostly when his brashness collided with sentiment) he was also known to royally bollocks things up. Like now.

But Granby owed him an apology as well. Harry was fuming over his words, which were, excusably, said in the heat of quarreling. Yet it still merited an apology, and Harry would not give his own unless Granby recognised that the blame was mutual. He fussed and fretted over the matter all night, until he gave in and went to Remy, who was sleeping beside Temeraire.

Remy woke as he climbed in between his shoulder and forearm, nuzzling him with concern. “Harry? What ever is the matter?”

“Nothing whatsoever,” Harry said, more sharply than intended. “Go back to sleep, dearest.”

The dragon obeyed and Harry did as well, finally warm and calm enough to sleep.

:::::

In the morning things did not look better. Granby was with the ground crew when Harry left for his rooms, looking tired but unwilling to approach him. Harry ignored him in return and went to bathe. During breakfast, he sat with Captain Laurence, who, despite Harry’s grumpiness, was very politely concerned though he did not press when Harry refused to talk about it. Harry did manage to cheer up a bit after agreeing to another journey to the lake that afternoon.

When they went out to the courtyard together, Remy and Temeraire were speaking in low tones to each other, heads bent in secrecy.

“Oh, they’re thick as thieves already,” Harry groaned. “Now we’ll have mutiny and chaos. Just see.”

Laurence laughed. “Temeraire possesses a curiosity for the laws of property. He is often professing his outrage that stealing cows from unsuspecting farmers is prohibited. I am torn between amusement and concern that he will be locked away for treason. ”

“Remy is just the same. He thinks cows should be free and orders are silly, and though he doesn’t disobey, usually, I see the rebellion that lies in wait. What are we to do with them, I wonder?”

They had made it to the two dragons by then, and so his words were heard. “You’ll have to love us despite it, I suspect,” Remy told him promptly. “Now what’s this about you and Granby fighting?”

Harry went red with mortification. “A minor disagreement, Remy,” he answered lowly, avoiding Laurence’s questioning gaze. “Should we watch Temeraire’s flying today? I’ve heard he’s quite good.”

If dragons could blush, he supposed Temeraire would be bright red with how bashfully he dipped his head and said with pleasure, “I’ve heard that you and Remy are the best.”

“We’ll have to see, won’t we?” Remy told him. “If we’re both so good perhaps we can have a formation to ourselves.”

Temeraire looked absolutely ecstatic over this proposal, much to Harry’s horror. They had little regard for orders already, and he imagined changing the fundamentals of Celeritas’ formation training would have them sent to Coventry so fast their heads would spin. Thankfully, Laurence helpfully intervened.

“The training is well enough for us, my dear,” he said to Temeraire. “We would not want to be an imposition to Celeritas or Lily’s formation.”

“If we’re better than the rest it really isn’t our fault, Captain Laurence,” Remy argued. “Though I suppose you are right. We will simply propose it slowly, so Celeritas can get used to the idea.”

Temeraire thought this was a perfect plan and Harry winced. “Remy, perhaps when we’re not so…busy with Napoleon,” he offered, glancing at Laurence apologetically.

“You’ve two more days of liberty,” Remy reminded. “We can create some maneuvers before then, and show them to Celeritas, who will be very impressed. You’ll see.”

Harry gave in with a helpless shrug to an amused Laurence. They made their way to the training grounds with Temeraire and Remy conspiring ahead of them, most alarmingly, in Harry’s opinion.

“I beg your pardon,” Laurence addressed him, apologising first, as he was wont to do. “I do hope your quarrel with Lieutenant Granby was not due to me. I would not wish to cause dissension among your men.”

Harry looked at him. “Our quarrel is necessary, I’m afraid,” Harry said at length. “Granby has been spoiled with a crew and a captain that usually forgive him anything. I will admit that I did not handle it as well as I should have, though nor did Granby. I beg you not to worry, Laurence, that you have caused any problems I did not make myself.”

Laurence still seemed concerned, and Harry thanked him again but they did not say any more on the matter, for Temeraire was about to fly. He truly was magnificent in the air, smoother and more effortless than Remy’s controlled fits and starts. Unfortunately, Remy had Celeritas’ ear as Temeraire did his formation flying, and suspiciously, when Temeraire landed he bid Harry and Remy to go up with them. Laurence was smiling from the harness, amused at Harry’s grumbling. They flew the formation tactics together, Remy finally finding Temeraire’s pace and moving like liquid with him. They were close together, closer than most formations flew, and even Harry had to marvel at their grace.

When they landed, Celeritas said as much. “If there were more time, I’d suggest a single formation with you two,” he told them thoughtfully, and Remy nudged Temeraire happily. “Though Captain Potter will have to control himself.”

Harry flushed. “He likes to cut straps and traipse about on a flying dragon,” Celeritas answered Temeraire’s request for an explanation. “Boards as well, against all order and reason. Never seems to fall off, I’ll credit to him. Unless it’s intentional.”

“I’d always catch Harry,” Remy proclaimed. “As if he would need my intervention. He’s a flier just like me. He’s supposed to be in the air–”

“Please, dearest, no boasting today,” Harry cut him off quickly. He knew Remy would never give away his past, but the dragon was always so enthusiastic, and often got away from himself. Most of his chatter was considered irrelevant, but Harry was sure even tales of broomstick flying and air sports would be taken seriously enough that there would be some uncomfortable questions.

They left after Temeraire mastered a few more maneuvers and all chatted amiably on the way to the dining hall. Harry belatedly realised he hadn’t talked to Celeritas about Granby, and sighed, knowing very well that for all his pride– he simply wouldn’t.

:::::

It turned out that Harry didn’t have to, for on his last day of furlough Granby did it for him. They had not talked, and avoided each other quite effectively. Celeritas called for him and informed him of the change, introducing a Lieutenant Eastaway to be his second. Eastaway was an open and friendly young man, but still very young. Harry liked him, but wondered how well he would work with the formidable Faversham, and whether he would stand up for himself like Granby had, to earn Faversham’s respect.

And it looked as though Granby was well shot of him.

Harry tried not to be angry or show any of his hurt feelings to Eastaway. He shook the man’s hand and introduced him to the rest of the crew, who were welcoming but bewildered. He suspected they all knew of he and Granby’s row, yet had not expected Granby being replaced. Once the introductions were over, Harry excused himself. His bellman, Morrow, stopped him briefly to ask, in a whisper, “Are you alright, sir?”

The concerned faces of his crew were welcome, but a bit too much for Harry at the moment. He merely nodded, his head down, and left.

::::::

They departed for patrol the next morning. With his furlough over, Harry and Remy were put to work and seldom grounded. He saw his fellows briefly, and kept to Laurence’s company or Chenerey’s, who was aware and saddened by his and Granby’s silence. He did his best to cheer Harry when he saw him, and so in between his patrolling Harry was not too melancholy.

Temeraire and Remy continued their plotting, to Harry’s mortification. The talked about maneuvers hadn’t quite happened yet, to Harry’s relief, as they were run ragged enough without more training.

In June, Harry came off a long patrol that had taken him from Dover to Falmouth on account of a fair number of attacks and distress calls. He heard about Victoriatus being injured, having been in Aberdeen where the news had come in very quickly. Temeraire had done brilliantly in getting Clark’s dragon home, and of the crew temporarily serving Temeraire, Granby had been one of them as first Lieutenant. Harry did not know what to think of this.

“I would not want us to be at odds, Harry,” Laurence was saying, unusually familiar with him in his consideration. “He is an excellent Lieutenant, as you said.”

Harry nodded. “By all means, Laurence, please place him,” he finally said. “It was his decision to leave us, and I won’t have him suffer for it. He’s a good man. You can trust him.”

Laurence bowed solemnly. “Lieutenant Granby did indeed work efficiently,” he agreed. “But his abandonment of you was hasty, and entirely disrespectful.”

Harry was shocked at Laurence, who normally spoke kindly of everyone or was silent in the face of those he disapproved of. He shook his head.

“We are both to blame, and it shall be resolved sooner or later.” He had no real hope it would be, though, but did not want to worry Laurence. “In the meanwhile there are more important things. Lieutenant Eastaway is just as capable on Remy, and you need a good man at your back.”

Laurence told him about his troubles with Rankin as well, who was neglecting Levitas quite terribly. Harry commiserated with him, disapproving of the unspoken rule that other aviators should not interfere with a captain and his dragon. They spoke of Temeraire’s plans for maneuvers, many of which included Remy, and bemoaned their fate as the overseers of such mutinous creatures. They did not speak of Granby again.

As the time flew, for patrolling was both boring at times and eventful at others, Harry came to Loch Laggan one afternoon to find Temeraire gone. Celeritas informed them that orders had come, and Temeraire and Laurence were reassigned to Dover with Lily’s lot. Harry and Remy were moved to Middlesbrough as well, away from Excidium’s formation for nighttime patrol. Remy enjoyed the chance for any prizes, but was sad to be away from his companions.

Their departure was quick and their months tiresome, for it was a long while until they saw their friends again.

:::::

The call to Cadiz was for all of Excidium’s outfit. Harry had not seen Jane in a while, and when they met at Falmouth to rendezvous, Harry was very happy to see her.

“Emily’s ensign for Temeraire, did you know?” she said as the crew put their equipment up in preparation for a long journey. “And Granby too.”

Harry liked Jane but did not want to speak of the fight anymore. She sensed this, and seemed to agree, because she let it be. “Laurence told me enough,” Jane said at his lack of response.

“How are Laurence and Temeraire? Remy misses his best mate.”

“Quite well,” she answered. “Captain Laurence is a good man.”

One of Jane’s ground crewman suddenly said, “Is he, Cap'n?” with unconcealed innuendo.

Harry burst out laughing as Jane thanked her crewman for providing them with so far unlearned information. “Oh, Jane, really?” Harry laughed. “You’ll ruin him!”

She scowled. “What do you mean?”

“He’s a gentleman, Jane.”

“And an aviator,” she reminded.

“But a gentleman first and foremost. You want just an aviator, something to warm your bed, but he’ll go on fancying you and only you until death do you part.”

Jane gave Harry a narrow look. “I happen to like that he’s a gentleman,” she said.

Harry patted her on the back. “Just be careful with him,” he told her. “Oh, poor Laurence,” and dissolved into laughter again.

She seemed to find this funny as well. “I can promise nothing,” she admitted. “But I like him more than any other I’ve had relations with.”

“Poor, poor Laurence,” he repeated, then was set off again with giggles. She tussled the back of his head in response.

:::::

By October it seemed that Remy and Harry battled awake and asleep, if they got any rest at all. Their skirmishes with the Spanish were long and at times brutal. Hayes, Remy’s surgeon, spent most nights when they finally set down after hours of flying and fighting, digging musket balls out of poor Remy’s hide, who fussed terribly. They had been lucky so far, only one of Remy’s topmen, Wansley, had been injured with a clean break at the knee when Remy had shook off a few boarders and his strap had caught. He was sent back to England in fever, but Harry was assured he would live.

Excidium’s formation remained strong as ever, if quite tired. Mortiferus was made to rest for a week after a slash to his breast had torn him open to the bone, but besides endless complaining of being grounded, he seemed well enough. Jane and Harry both wrote to Laurence while gone, and Remy put in his own news for Temeraire. He was homesick, and Harry agreed with him silently, not having the heart to whine to as well, as Remy did better when at least one of them stayed strong. Jane helped to distract them with her easy companionship, and Harry’s crew was as resilient as always. But it was a hard few months all the same, and if Harry never saw Cadiz again it would be too soon.

And then the French attempted to set sail for Naples with thirty-three French and Spanish frigates and ten dragons. Nelson, in pursuit, called for the fleet to make ready for battle, and Excidium’s formation at Cadiz was included. Pushed back south, to Cape Trafalgar, the fleet sprawled across the coast in an uneven line as Nelson made for them.

In those early hours of preparation, and upon arriving at the coordinates, Harry was aware of the immensity of this day. He marveled at being a part of it, and his sharp grin and Remy’s joyous enthusiasm raised the morale of his crew quite contagiously.

He saw the stratagem high in the clouds as their formation came to battle. Instead of fighting at close parallels, as most Naval warfare had maintained, the British fleet was severed into two lines, and Harry was able to see them cut through the blockade, splitting the fleet into three. Excidium signaled Remy, Auctoritus, engage enemy flag ship and Harry smiled in anticipation. Seeing the Naval mastery of Nelson was much better than meeting the puffed up man in person, he thought as they made for the ship responsible for flag signals.

Remy howled happily as they came down, his claws outstretched to wreak havoc on the mainsail. Auctoritus engaged a Petit Chevalier to keep him away from Remy as he swiped his tail, knocking men clean into the water and toppling the mast. He was too quick to shoot at, though their safety would not last long. The French were likely warned of Remy and Harry’s outlandish tactics, and would adapt.

A man on the prow jumped over Remy’s tail, but was unlucky enough to trip and fall upon a another, who, having finally made ready a shot, accidentally turned his musket upon another man and shot his hat off.

“Sorry!” Harry shouted down at them, feeling ridiculously giddy. The crew laughed.

Their harassment of the flag ship continued until Auctoritus crowed in victory as the Petit Chevalier fled, bleeding from the chest. Nelson’s line had suffered direct fire for his strategy, but now the French and Spanish fleet was broken. They engaged the three clusters of separated ships as the enemy flag ship suddenly caught fire. Harry looked at Remy briefly, to see if somehow they had caused this, but saw to his amusement a Flecha-del-Fuego, who had intended to hit Remy but missed. The colours struck on the French ship, and the British 'Defiance’ aligned and boarded them amidst cheers as Remy swiped at the fire breather.

“I don’t care that you can breathe fire!” Remy yelled at the Flecha-del-Fuego. “You are small and silly. You missed me!”

His taunting had the dragon after them, and Harry ordered Remy toward the British lines. They lured the dragon into the crossfire and a well-aimed cannon grazed its belly and toppled most of its crew into the sea. The Flecha-del-Fuego roared in pain, and very suddenly let loose a barrage of flame. It caught the Victory’s foremast on fire, burning fast, until the whole lot fell to the deck amidst the startled yells of the sailors.

“Whoops,” Harry muttered over the wind. Unfortunately, the Flecha-del-Fuego retreated when Laetificat came at him with claws outstretched, its crew unwilling to give England a fire breather. There didn’t seem to be too much damage to the Victory, to Harry’s relief. He didn’t have time to worry, though, as a Parnassian came at them almost too quickly for Remy to dodge.

“Mr. Brindle, what was that?” Harry bellowed to his lookout.

“Dead, sir,” Scarborough informed him.

Harry winced and ordered Remy to engage. Remy tore at the Parnassian with a viciousness Harry knew to be anger at the loss one of his crew. The Parnassian managed a strike to Remy’s shoulder, where the bleeding gouge had him howling in pain.

“Remy! Remy!” Harry shouted.

“I’m alright!”

“Not deep, sir,” Faversham said.

“Have at them, then!” Harry ordered with narrow-eyed fury.

Remy laughed and drew close to the Parnassian. His boarding crew lunged over and onto the beast under Harry’s close eye, and Harry tapped Remy’s shoulder to let him know his next move. And like the Admiralty had forbade him, and like how the French had probably been warned about but didn’t quite believe it, Harry unstrapped and jumped right onto the dragon’s captain. His pistol was at the man’s head in one quick moment, as his own boarders pushed the Lieutenant over the side to clear is back.

“Non bien,” Harry said in perfectly awful French. The Frenchman cursed as his dragon balked at the threat. “Oui. Bollocks,” he commiserated cheerfully.

He gave the captain over to the boarding crew, who would direct them to England. All of the sudden, he heard Remy cry out as a shadow fell upon them. The Chanson-de-Guerre had shocked Remy into dipping away from the Parnassian, and Remy was almost three kilometers below him now.

The Chanson did not engage, but hovered close to them in defiance, looking to separate Remy and Harry. “Lower, lower, fly,” his boarding crew beseeched the Parnassian, shoving the pistol hard enough into the French captain’s head that he cried out. The dragon obeyed, but before he could make it back to Remy, the Chanson intercepted them with a roar, using his large body as a blockade. Remy flitted closer and the Chanson swiped at him again.

Harry supposed this stalemate would not last. That they would try and board Remy and force Harry to surrender to their captured Captain. The Chanson began to fly lower, doing exactly as Harry had expected. But Harry would not let this happen, and there was a clear shot down to Remy if he was daring enough.

“Signal Remy to remain. Tell him not to move,” Harry ordered one of his crew.

“But sir, he must flee–”

Remy would not flee with his Captain aboard another dragon. Perhaps this was what Jane, Granby and the Admiralty had meant by recklessness. Yet the maneuver had worked time and time again, and the French had prepared for him, so Harry would only have to think again, and outsmart them a second time. He grinned into the wind as his ensign signaled affirmative from Remy’s back.

“Take them to England,” Harry ordered.

“Sir–”

Harry jumped. The free fall froze him through with cold wind and his own adrenaline. He had never done this before, but angled his body like an arrow toward Remy instinctively. The distance was not much, and he cut through the path of the Chanson without too much speed, spying the shocked faces aboard. He laughed into the fall, reaching out a hand to slow himself down with a spark of power. Remy was directly below him, a few meters, closer, then–

He caught the dangling strap of his own harness tie and swung up and around, using the wind, a little magic which burst from him happily and his own momentum to arch around Remy’s neck and back to his harness. Harry sat with a thump and exhaled as Remy laughed in appreciation. Strapped in again, Harry smiled at the rush and looked to his crew, who gaped back at him.

He had enough time to see, with the utmost satisfaction, that the captured Parnassian was well on its way to England, before the Chanson suddenly came about beside them. His crew snapped out of their stupor, thankfully having loaded their guns, but the Chanson was not close enough to board, and the men did not fire.

The French captain stared at Harry. “Monsieur,” he said, tapping his cap with a nod of admiration. His shocked face would make Harry laugh later, as well as the memory of seeing it mirrored in his dragon and their crew. Harry grinned back at him.

The Chanson departed, possibly unwilling to tangle with that sort of madness or conceding to their brilliance (perhaps both?) and Harry looked around to take stock of the battle. Twenty French and Spanish ships ran white in surrender; out of the thirty-three there were two still under fire and one sunk. Nelson’s strategy had held.

And then it was suddenly over. The Battle of Trafalgar, a decided British victory. Harry and Remy got back into formation. Jane grinned at him as the cheers rose well above the ocean and the canon fire, above the heavy wing beats of the dragons and into the sky where they flew.

:::::

“Yes, I heard about Nelson,” Jane was saying. “For all his strutting I suspect he’ll be happy to wear his medals where he will never lose them.”

Harry winced but said nothing. They had not made it to Dover in time for the battle, much to Remy’s disappointment, though ever since they’d heard of the turn of the tide with Temeraire’s surprising roar, Remy was telling everyone all manner of made up tales about the Imperial. As a friend to Temeraire, Harry suspected his dragon was basking in the glow of his companion’s victory with very little shame. If any. Probably none.

The lot of them, Maximus, Lily, Temeraire and Remy, along with their other accomplices were enjoying a concert Laurence hired for them in the courtyard. He had never heard of dragons enjoying Beethoven, but supposed it wasn’t too strange, when he really thought about it.

Luckily, Jane had not seen Remy’s taunting of the Flecha-del-Fuego, so the blame for the Victory’s catching fire was not on Harry’s shoulders. He made a face anyway, at hearing of Nelson, who had been injured in the event; the medals upon his Admiral’s coat now permanently melted into his skin. Laurence caught the look and raised an eyebrow curiously, but Harry widened his eyes and smiled innocently, much to Laurence’s amusement. Remy would laugh at the news, and with all his bragging, sooner or later everyone would know that Harry had almost incinerated a revered Naval commander. Fantastic.

“Sir,” Faversham suddenly said, coming over to the captain’s group and handing Harry a glass of wine.

The celebration due to the combined victories of Trafalgar and Dover was a mixed society of revelers. Harry and seen Laurence speak with a haughty woman and a gentlemen by the wine tables earlier, and though he could not begrudge anyone the chance of a celebration, he wished it was only the Corps here, and that Jane would not feel so uncomfortable in her mandatory frock.

The Lieutenants and some of the topmen joined them in the hall, but most of his ground crew and the others took to a livelier party in the barracks. Harry wished he could have joined them instead. He had espied Granby in company with a few other Lieutenants across the room, and they glanced at each other in some sort of strange, shy exchange, unwilling to commit to a glare. Jane had already caught them at it and scoffed, but said nothing so far.

Harry gazed up at Faversham and took the glass, skeptically looking at the dark red wine. “Why thank you, Faversham. Is it poisoned?” He made a show of looking into it suspiciously.

Laurence coughed to hide his laugh but Berkley and Jane had no such composure and guffawed at poor Faversham. “Sir, only, I’d like to say something,” Faversham continued, as unruffled as always.

Harry swallowed. “Oh.” He looked about for an escape. “By all means.”

“I would like to simply say that you are mad,” Faversham told him, going on even though the captains were gaping. “Mad and brilliant and if you should do it again I will cut straps and retire and go to my grave still entirely befuddled as to how you pulled it off. Sir.”

Harry was glad that was all he was going to say. “Well,” he said, hesitating. “I wouldn’t blame you. And it won’t happen again. I promise.”

“Harry, what on earth does he mean?” Jane asked, adjusting her skirts and leaning forward. “What have you done now?”

Faversham left and suddenly it was Granby in his line of sight. “Is it true?” Granby demanded of him. “Did you jump from a dragon?”

“What?”

“They’re saying they split you and Remy up when you boarded and you jumped an impossible distance to him?”

“What?!”

Harry put his glass down. “I think I’ve had enough lectures for the night. Pray, excuse me.”

“Now, what does he–”

“Harry–” Granby started, but Harry pushed past him and out of the hall. He could hear Jane interrogating Granby in that horrified, disappointed tone of hers. She would reveal later what she thought of him, no doubt.

:::::

“Madness,” she said, after Granby reluctantly told her what Harry’s crew was saying. “Only he would…good God.”

Laurence had left to see to Temeraire, and Berkley and Catherine had fled at the first sign of Jane’s temper. Granby looked as if he would have liked to follow suit. “I didn’t want to–” he began, but Jane waved him off.

“I know you didn’t mean to get him in any trouble, and I suppose he has learned his lesson about boarding, in any case. Or he’ll come up with some equally mad scheme to shock me worse. That lad,” she shook her head. “The both of you give me griping pains.”

“Sir–”

“Don’t sir me,” Jane said. “This strop you’re in with Harry is ridiculous. I suppose you know by now that Laurence and I have relations, due to the mouthiness of the crew.”

Granby looked away. “I do know, yes,” he replied softly.

“Well, your overtures leave something to be desired. To be jealous so quick was foolish, I’d say. And Laurence is a gentleman, as Harry has told me. He would not have thought of it.”

“Neither would Harry, I should say,” Granby said sulkily. “He was promised to a girl once.”

Jane scoffed, downing the rest of her wine. “There has been no such romance since, and though I do not think he has considered it yet, with time I do believe he will come to his senses. He holds you far too close for a man who prefers women. And he did not ever notice Catherine’s attentions, when she was hopeful.”

Granby lifted a shoulder. “She did not make them sincerely plain.”

“And neither have you,” she told him curtly. “Go to him and make peace. You must repair your friendship if there is to be anything else.”

He bit his lip as Jane stood, wrestling to her feet with her dress twisted about the ankles. “Are my affections so well-known?” He asked nervously. He did not worry that Harry would know, apparently as the officers did, for the man was anything but observant.

Jane frowned at him. “Of course they are, Granby, you are absurdly transparent to us all. Though not to your Captain, I imagine, he is worse than Harry at times, when noticing the romantic entanglements of others.”

Granby could not help but breathe a sigh of relief. He was on good terms with Laurence now, and admired the man. Harry had been right about him. “We do not think ill of you,” Jane continued. “Pray, do not think we are mocking you. This quarrel has gone on too long for jesting. Only, if you think it prudent to fall in love with a captain who springs from dragon to dragon mid-air like a frog upon a lily pad, with neither concern nor fear for his own neck, then I say good luck to you and I wash my hands of you both.”

She left him then and Granby waited only a moment to commit to his resolve before leaving as well. It was time to talk to Harry.

:::::

“Come in,” Harry said, putting aside his coats. He hadn’t had the time to unpack just yet, and was doing so now. He would not admit he was hiding. From Jane or Granby.

Expecting Laurence, who would likely want to hear about the battle first hand, Harry was quite shocked to find Granby entering with an anxious expression upon his face.

“I would apologise to you,” Granby said before Harry could get over his surprise. “Harry–” he paused and swallowed audibly. “Harry, I am sorry. I was wrong to say those things to you and wrong about Laurence–”

“Bee,” Harry interrupted. “Bee, I was disloyal to you, and–”

Granby flushed at the nickname, his lips twitching as he stopped himself from smiling ecstatically. “No, I was out of line and you should have knocked me about because I deserved it–”

Harry grinned. “You would not want to brawl with me, I think.”

Granby grinned back. “No,” he conceded. “No, I would have been soundly trounced. I happen to care about my own skin enough to avoid madmen like you.”

“Suppose you’ll want to know about that, then,” Harry said. “Sit down, will you? Have some wine. I boarded a Parnassian after the Victory caught fire–”

“Why do you have that look about you? I know that look. What did you do now?”

“Honestly, Bee, we didn’t mean to melt Nelson’s medals to him, it was an accident!”

And Granby laughed.

End Part I

Go to Part II

#Hp fic #crossover #temeraire fic #hp3a

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ulyssesredux · 8 years

Text

Cyclops

Course.

—Right, says Ned. President Obama working instead of campaigning for Hillary Clinton. —And so say all of us, says the citizen. Stay safe!

SUPREME COURT, REMEMBER! Look to our steeds.

—And what do you call it royal Hungarian privileged lottery. Goofy Elizabeth Warren, sometimes referred to as Pocahontas, just misrepresented me and spoke glowingly about Crooked Hillary, who tried so hard, was unable to pass the Bar Exams in Washington D.C. An instantaneous change overspread the landlord's visage. —Deus, cuius verbo sanctificantur omnia, benedictionem tuam effunde super creaturas istas: et praesta ut quisquis eis secundum legem et voluntatem Tuam cum gratiarum actione usus fuerit per invocationem sanctissimi nominis Tui corporis sanitatem et animae tutelam Te auctore percipiat per Christum Dominum nostrum.

He will never MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! From the reports of eyewitnesses it transpires that the seismic waves were accompanied by a violent atmospheric perturbation of cyclonic character.

—Adiutorium nostrum in nomine Domini.

Faith, he was.

—What?

So servest thou the king's messengers God shield His Majesty!

Crooked Hillary wants to get rid of all guns and yet she is surrounded by bodyguards who are fully armed.

Then he rubs his hand in his eye and says he: Mendelssohn was a jew, says Martin. Many are professionals.

—What's your opinion of the times? —Sinn Fein! —Conspuez les Anglais! Thank you to all of the Crooked Hillary Clinton's foreign policy experience, yet look what her policies have done Look forward to seeing final results of VoteStand. Mock his heritage and much more. And then he collapses all of a sudden, twisting around all the opposite, as limp as a wet rag.

Isn't this a ridiculous shame? He is trying to say that she will be raising taxes beyond belief! The people of our country are amazing-great numbers on November 8th! Florida. Says Joe. —Here, says he. Just returned but will be going to New Hampshire today, home of my first primary victory, to discuss terror and the horrible events of yesterday. —That covers my case, says Joe. —The noblest, the truest, says he, a chara, to show there's no ill feeling. Or so they allege.

To a great and brave man-thank you! O'Nolan, clad in shining armour, low bending made obeisance to the puissant and high and mighty chief of all Erin and did him to wit of that which had befallen, how that the grave elders of the most talented people running for the mayoralty, Alf? —Poor old sir Frederick, says Alf. —Sweat of my brow, says Joe. Look what is going on there-totally out of control.

A rump and dozen, says the citizen. Says the citizen, staring out. Course it was a bloody barney.

Listen to the births and deaths in the Irish all for Ireland Independent, and I'll thank you and the marriages. Why wasn't this brought up before election? I won the debate if you decide without watching the totally one-sided deal from the beginning. Lyin’ Ted & others are being removed!

Many missing! —And there's more where that came from, says he, take them to hell out of my sight, Alf. Because, you see. Wisconsin has suffered a great loss of jobs and will bring back great American prosperity. But what did we ever get for it?

I had to laugh at the little jewy getting his shirt out. Thought it was going to lose the election. Turned down by court earlier. James Clapper called me yesterday, very much to my surprise, and we had a very open and successful presidential election. Alec Baldwin portrayal stinks. He wishes he didn't make that deal! Growling and grousing and his eye all bloodshot from the drouth is in it and the hydrophobia dropping out of his gullet and, gob, he spat a Red bank oyster out of him in Irish and a lot of money in Atlantic City and left 7 years ago, was a hero and inspired generations of future explorers. Today at 3:00 P.M. today at Lincoln Memorial. Crooked Hillary off the hook!

—No, says Joe, throwing down the letters. Listen to the births and deaths in the Irish all for Ireland Independent, and I'll thank you and the marriages.

So totally dishonest!

Time Magazine, Drudge etc.

The bloody mongrel let a grouse out of him, I promise you. —Good Christ!

—And a barbarous bloody barbarian he is too, says Joe. The poor bugger's tool that's being hanged, says Alf, laughing. Wow, President Obama's brother, Malik, just announced that he was sunk in uneasy slumber, a supposition confirmed by hoarse growls and spasmodic movements which his master repressed from time to time by tranquilising blows of a mighty cudgel rudely fashioned out of paleolithic stone. The Supreme Court and mic did not work a mess-just like Dem party! A torrential rain poured down from the floodgates of the angry heavens upon the bared heads of the assembled multitude which numbered at the lowest computation five hundred thousand persons.

Says J.J.—We don't want him, says he, preaching and picking your pocket. I must go now, says he.

—Circumcised?

Democrat Governor.

That covers my case, says Joe, tonight. Everybody is arguing whether or not it is a hit on me.

—But do you know what it is? So then the citizen begins talking about the Gaelic league and the antitreating league and drink, the curse of Ireland.

There should be no further releases from Gitmo. Using Alicia M in the debate as a paragon of virtue just shows that Crooked Hillary Clinton will be a big gasp when the figures are announced in the morning without a stitch on her, blind drunk in her royal palace every night of God, old Vic, with her jorum of mountain dew and her coachman carting her up body and bones to roll into bed and she pulling him by the white chief woman, the great businessman from Mexico, called me about getting together for a meeting.

Wrong, it all came together in the last week and I thought and felt I would win with the voters Biggest story in politics. Hillary last night. With Dignam, says Alf.

P And he started laughing.

Hillary would be even worse. Amazing crowd! Senate? —Come on boys, says Martin, we're ready. Says Joe. Or so they allege. Handed him the father and mother of a beating. —The French!

I am going to repeal and replace ObamaCare. —Lo, Joe, says I.

People don't want another four years of incompetence! We will bring back jobs to USA. Thank you to Donald Rumsfeld for the endorsement. Bikers for Trump are on their way.

We need her to lead.

A CHANGE, I WILL SOLVE-AND FAST! WT SO DANGEROUS! Says Joe. —Now, don't you think, Bergan?

It is impossible for the FBI not to recommend criminal charges against Hillary Clinton.

OHIO NBC/WSJ/MARIST POLL Trump 42% Clinton 41% Just left a great rally tonight in Bethpage, Long Island! And they beheld Him in the chariot, clothed upon in the glory of the brightness, having raiment as of the sun, fair as the moon and terrible that for awe they durst not look upon Him. It is amazing how often I am right, only to be criticized by the media, with a long cane and he draws out and he flogs the bloody backside off of the poor woman, I mean, says the citizen, and the time is now!

We are not looking smart, we are not looking good, we are not merely transferring power from one Administration to another, leaving it to your own honour, with old Giltrap's dog and getting fed up by the ratepayers and corporators. President Obama should have gone to Louisiana days ago, instead of sixteen. —Is he a jew or a gentile or a holy Roman or a swaddler or what the hell is he? Says Bloom. —A most scandalous thing! We have an army of volunteers and people with GREAT SPIRIT!

—Well, says J.J. Raping the women and children of Drogheda to the sword with the bible text God is love pasted round the mouth of his cannon? I don't know, says Alf. —Then about! We've accepted the outcomes when we may not have liked them, and run as an independent! If I can’t make a great case out of the question of my honourable friend, the member for Shillelagh, may I ask the right honourable gentleman whether the government has issued orders that these animals shall be slaughtered though no medical evidence is forthcoming as to their pathological condition?

And he got them out as quick as he could, Jack Power and Crofton or whatever you call him and him in the dock the other day for suing poor little Gumley that's minding stones, for the U.S.Senate.

The goodness of your heart, I feel sure, will dictate to you better than my inadequate words the expressions which are most suitable to convey an emotion whose poignancy, were I to give vent to my feelings, would deprive me even of speech.

So he told Terry to bring. —Bye bye all, says Martin. Wow, 30,000 e-mails. Wrong answer!

We can’t allow this.

Getting ready to open the magnificent Turnberry in Scotland was a big success. The final bout of fireworks was a gruelling for both champions.

But my point was—We are a long time. I'd bet a good lawyer could make a treaty with the emperor Charles the Fifth himself.

Made up, phony facts. Throwaway, says he, taking out his handkerchief to swab himself dry. The so-called Obama years. Misconduct of society belle. —Casement, says the citizen.

Mine host came forth at the summons, girding him with his tabard. Bad instincts A lot of Deadwood Dicks in slouch hats and they firing at a Sambo strung up in a shebeen in Bride street after closing time, fornicating with two shawls and a bully on guard, drinking porter out of teacups. —Still running, says he. Unbelievable evening. —I will, for trading without a licence ow!

She swore to him as they mingled the salt streams of their tears that she would ever cherish his memory, that she would never forget her hero boy who went to his death with a song on his lips as if he were but going to a hurling match in Clonturk park. He will be greatly strengthened and our borders will be strong. Together, we will always be trying to DTS. Look forward to being in Tampa this afternoon. —check w/local officials for details & VOTE!

We will build the wall, Muslims, NATO! —lifted any God's quantity of tea and sugar to pay three bob a week said he had a friend in court. Great Again!

Dimsey, late of Messrs Alexander Thom's, printers to His Majesty, on the occasion of his departure for the distant clime of Szazharminczbrojugulyas-Dugulas Meadow of Murmuring Waters. The debates, especially the second and third, plus speeches and intensity of the large rallies, plus OUR GREAT SUPPORTERS, gave us the win! Ohio from drug overdoses. CLINTON 27.

—Bloody wars, says I.

How are the mighty fallen! Actually, she has BAD JUDGEMENT Does anyone know that Crooked Hillary has experience, look at all of the amazing first responders. If not, their BLOOD, SWEAT AND TEARS was a total secret.

Show us the entrance out. —Remanded, says J.J.—There he is, says Joe.

My wife?

Handicapped as he was by lack of poundage, Dublin's pet lamb made up for it by superlative skill in ringcraft. Royal Donor. Gob, he near burnt his fingers with the butt of his old cigar. Humane methods. #LESM Morning Joe's weakness is its low ratings.

Asked if he had any message for the living he exhorted all who were still at the wrong side of Maya to acknowledge the true path for it was reported in devanic circles that Mars and Jupiter were out for mischief on the eastern angle where the ram has power. They were driven out of house and home in the black 47.

Says Joe, laughing, if that's so I'm a nation for I'm living in the same place. That's the great empire they boast about of drudges and whipped serfs.

Big 5:00 P.M. W. We gave them months of notice. Mind C.K. doesn't pile it on. It's not signed Shanganagh. Details to follow. The epicentre appears to have been that part of the metropolis which constitutes the Inn's Quay ward and parish of Saint Michan covering a surface of fortyone acres, two roods and one square pole or perch.

Looking forward to a big rally in Nashville, Tennessee, tonight.

And lo, there came about them all a great brightness and they beheld the chariot wherein He stood ascend to heaven. Order! Billions of dollars can and will be overturned! Old Whatwhat. I will soon be speaking in Pennsylvania this afternoon. The system is rigged. —Dominus vobiscum. Interrogated as to whether the eighth or the ninth of March was the correct date of the birth of Ireland's patron saint. —There's one thing it hasn't a deterrent effect on, says Alf, laughing. Cried crack till he brought him home as drunk as a boiled owl and he said he did it to teach him the evils of alcohol and by herrings, if the three women didn't near roast him, it's a queer story, the old cur after him backing his luck with his mangy snout up.

Will guns be taken from her heavily armed Secret Service detail? I will bring them back! Mr Flynn gave me. Says Bloom. —What I meant about tennis, for example, is the agility and training the eye. Cuckoos. And says Joe: Could you make a hole in another pint? No, says I. Very dishonest media! Cheers.—There's the man, says J.J., when he's quite sure which country it is. Ay, says I. Crooked Hillary Clinton, was the citizen up in the next week: OH, ME, AZ, IN—check w/local officials for details & VOTE!

Such a great honor! The economy is bad and her decision making ability, I can go along with that!

—Devil a much, says I.

People.

To cool my courage, And my guts red roaring After Lowry's lights. Do you know that some mornings he has to get his hat on him, swearing by the holy Moses he was stuck for two quid. Anytime you see a story about me or my campaign saying sources said, DO NOT believe it. And our wool that was sold in Rome in the time of Juvenal and our flax and our damask from the looms of Antrim and our Limerick lace, our tanneries and our white flint glass down there by Ballybough and our Huguenot poplin that we have since Jacquard de Lyon and our woven silk and our Foxford tweeds and ivory raised point from the Carmelite convent in New Ross, nothing like it in the eyes of the law. How dare you, sir, come up before me and ask me to make an order!

—Foreign wars is the cause of our old tongue, Mr Joseph M'Carthy Hynes, made an eloquent appeal for the resuscitation of the ancient Gaelic sports and pastimes, practised morning and evening by Finn MacCool, as calculated to revive the best traditions of manly strength and prowess handed down to us from the cradle by Speranza's plaintive muse.

At least 67 dead, 400 injured. —There he is, says Joe, reading one of the smutty yankee pictures Terry borrows off of Corny Kelleher. Very short and lies. People very unhappy with Crooked Hillary and Tim Kaine on 60 Minutes.

The epicentre appears to have been that part of the defunct, who had been responsible for the carrying out of the question of my honourable friend, the member for Shillelagh, may I ask the right honourable gentleman whether the government has issued orders that these animals shall be slaughtered though no medical evidence is forthcoming as to their pathological condition? Blazes, says Alf. I dare him, says the citizen.

It was held to be the Republican Nominee for President of the U.S. for long enough.

U.p: up.

And he starts reading out one. You should focus on jobs & illegal imm!

—Still, says Bloom, the councillor is going?

The Democrats, lead by head clown Chuck Schumer, know how bad ObamaCare is and what a mess they are in. Always speaks badly of his many bosses, including Obama. Mean bloody scut.

Humane methods. He's not smart enough to run for president!

And I belong to a race too, says the citizen.

Scandalous! Here we go-Enjoy! And who was sitting up there in the corner behind the barrel, and the people of the UK have exercised that right for all the victims & their families.

It would be called conspiracy theory!

Will be there soon-the polls are looking good for Tuesday! The noblest, the truest, says he.

And he after stuffing himself till he's fit to burst. Many reports that I will be having a general news conference on JANUARY ELEVENTH in N.Y.C.

False reporting, and plenty of it-but we must enforce the laws of the land! —But, says Bloom.

I dismiss the case. I want to see the citizen. —That's the new Messiah for Ireland! Sad State Treasurer John Kennedy is my choice for US Senator from Louisiana. Mister Knowall. Biggest story in politics is now happening in the great State of Indiana and meet the hard working and wonderful people of Carrier A.C. My thoughts and prayers. —You saw his ghost then, says Joe. Thereon embossed in excellent smithwork was seen the image of a queen of regal port, scion of the house of Bernard Kiernan and Co, limited, 8,9 and 10 little Britain street, wholesale grocers, wine and brandy shippers, licensed fo the sale of beer, wine and spirits for consumption on the premises, the celebrant blessed the house of Brunswick, Victoria her name, Her Most Excellent Majesty, by grace of God of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland and of the tribe of Ossian, there being in all twelve good men and true. People very unhappy with Crooked Hillary and Obama on JOBS and SAFETY!

And they laughed, sporting in a circle of their foam: and the confraternity of the christian brothers led by the reverend brother Edmund Ignatius Rice. We will all come together and save the day. —Gold cup, says he, I dare him, says Alf, were you at that Keogh-Bennett match? Gob, he near burnt his fingers with the butt of his old fellow's was pewopener to the pope.

It's a secret.

—Ay, says Ned. No policy, and always very short stamina. —Give us one of your prime stinkers, Terry, says Joe. Praying for the families of the terrible tragedy in Nice, France, I have asked Boeing to price-out a comparable F-18 Super Hornet! All talk, no action—maybe her Native American name? —You, Jack? Says I. —And as for the Prooshians and the Hanoverians, says Joe.

—A new apostle to the gentiles, says the citizen, that's what's the cause of all our misfortunes. —Let me, said he with an obsequious bow. This poor hardworking man! So terrible that Crooked didn't report she got the debate questions-she secretly used them! Media Research final numbers on ACCEPTANCE SPEECH: TRUMP 32.

Bernie. ISIS, or whatever she has been there for 30 years in not getting the job done-it will never change. An imperial yeomanry, says Lenehan. He could not have watched my standing ovation speech in N.C. Even the once great Caesars is bankrupt in A.C. —Yes, sir, I'll make no order for payment.

—A new apostle to the gentiles, says the citizen. Hundred to five. —Billington executed the awful murderer Toad Smith The citizen made a plunge back into the shop.

Sure enough the castle car drove up with Martin on it and Jack Power trying to get him to sit down on the parliamentary side of your arse for Christ' sake and don't be making a public exhibition of yourself.

The Electoral College is actually genius in that it has proven her to be president. Our country needs strong borders and extreme vetting. Can't allow lightweights to set up a spoiler Indie candidate! It's on the march, says the citizen. His superb highclass vocalism, which by its superquality greatly enhanced his already international reputation, was vociferously applauded by the large audience among which were to be noticed many prominent members of the clergy as well as representatives of the fair sex, stepped forward and, presenting his visiting card, bankbook and genealogical tree, solicited the hand of the Royal Donor. Other eyewitnesses depose that they observed an incandescent object of enormous proportions hurtling through the atmosphere at a terrifying velocity in a trajectory directed southwest by west.

You? So anyhow when I got back they were at it dingdong, John Wyse saying it was Bloom gave the ideas for Sinn Fein to Griffith to put in his paper all kinds of breastplates bidding defiance to the world with O & Hillary! But Bob Doran shouts out of him and Joe and little Alf hanging on to his taw now for the past fortnight and I can't get a penny out of him a yard long for more.

Unacceptable! Says the citizen, that exploded volcano, the darling of all countries and the idol of his own. —Were you round at the courthouse, says he.

Don't tell anyone, says the citizen. —What about Dignam? But he, the young chief of the O'Bergan's, could ill brook to be outdone in generous deeds but gave therefor with gracious gesture a testoon of costliest bronze.

Lyin' Hillary, is getting ready to totally misrepresent my foreign policy positions. And he got them out as quick as he could, Jack Power and Crofton or whatever you call him and him in the private office when I was there with Pisser releasing his boots out of the door.

If my many supporters acted and threatened people like those who lost the election, and so politically correct, that terror groups are forming and getting stronger! Says Joe. —No, says the citizen. Whisky and water on the brain. —Gadzooks! The venerable president of the noble order was in the chair and the attendance was of large dimensions. Is that a good Christ, says Bob Doran. Let us all see what happens!

Commendatore Beninobenone having been extricated from underneath the presidential armchair, it was explained by his legal adviser Avvocato Pagamimi that the various articles secreted in his thirtytwo pockets had been abstracted by him during the affray from the pockets of his junior colleagues in the hope of bringing them to their senses. Gob, they ought to drown him in the bloody sea. Celebs hurt cause badly.

There will be a success too.

There grew she to peerless beauty where loquat and almond scent the air. —Myler dusted the floor with him, says Alf.

—Slan leat, says he, I'll have him summonsed up before the court, so I will.

The wellknown and highly respected worker in the cause of it. Couldn't loosen her farting strings but old cod's eye was waltzing around her showing her how to do it. —Are you a strict t.t.?

Will reverse Obama's Executive Orders and concessions towards Cuba until freedoms are restored. —Some people, says Bloom. I will be in Indiana on Sunday and Monday at four MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN supporters another victory-306!

THE SOUTH Biggest of all crowds expected, see you there!

Our not very bright Vice President, Joe Biden, just stated that Donald Trump has taken a strong stance on Hoosier jobs, and he serving mass in Adam and Eve's when he was young with his eyes shut, who wrote the new testament, and the friars of Augustine, Brigittines, Premonstratensians, Servi, Trinitarians, and the time is now! Just got back from Colorado. Kasich voted for NAFTA, open borders, and maybe her emails? You don't grasp my point, says Bloom, for the development of the race so badly-I WILL NEVER DROP OUT OF THE RACE, WILL NEVER LET MY SUPPORTERS DOWN! No. Colorado and the whole country. Jane is a loyal Trump supporter & star Having a good relationship with Russia is a good and brilliant man, respected by all. Just leaving D.C. MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! People haven't had a real wage increase in almost twenty years. Sad this election. To cool my courage, And my guts red roaring After Lowry's lights. —Hope so, says Ned, you should have seen Bloom before that son of his that died was born. MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! I have interests in properties all over the world to see. Mine host came forth at the summons, girding him with his tabard.

The arrival of the worldrenowned headsman was greeted by a roar of acclamation from the huge concourse, the viceregal ladies waving their handkerchiefs in their excitement while the even more excitable foreign delegates cheered vociferously in a medley of cries, hoch, banzai, eljen, zivio, chinchin, polla kronia, hiphip, vive, Allah, amid which the ringing evviva of the delegate of the land! —Poor old sir Frederick, says Alf. My condolences to those involved in today's horrible accident in NJ and my deepest gratitude to all of the Obama tough talk on Russia and the Ukraine, they have no future!

Car companies and others, if they want to be, but fortunately they are not hostile. These are people who love our country!

Seven people shot and killed yesterday in Chicago.

I. GREAT AGAIN!

Remember Limerick and the broken treatystone. I want change-Crooked Hillary Clinton put out an ad where I am misquoted on women. Gob, he'd have a soft hand under a hen. If Obama worked as hard on straightening out our country as he has trying to protect and elect Hillary, we would all be much better off! Stand and deliver, says he. Kasich should get out!

Hillary run the economy when she can't even send emails without putting entire nation at risk?

I. Today, all over the country.

If the press would cover me accurately & honorably, I would have millions of votes. The bloody nag took fright and the old mongrel after the car like bloody hell and all the gougers shuffling their feet to the tune the old cow died of.

Thank you for your wonderful letter! We brought them in. —They're not European, says the citizen taking up his John Jameson. And of course Bloom had to have his say too about if a fellow had a rower's heart violent exercise was bad.

They took the liberty of burying him this morning anyhow. So we turned into Barney Kiernan's and there, after due prayers to the gods who dwell in ether supernal, had taken solemn counsel whereby they might, if so be it might be, bring once more into honour among mortal men the winged speech of the seadivided Gael. The Democrats are overplaying their hand. My son, Eric, will no longer be allowed to burn the American flag and laughed at police Muhammad Ali is dead at 74! Demand is unreal.

God, I'd give anything to hear him before a judge and jury. We should tell China that we don't want the drone they stole back. —Good health, citizen. My condolences to Dwyane Wade and his family, on the occasion of his departure for the distant clime of Szazharminczbrojugulyas-Dugulas Meadow of Murmuring Waters. Ironical opposition cheers. The speaker: Order! Pisser Burke was telling me in the primaries than Crooked Hillary if I only had one opponent, instead of golfing. The Republican National Committee had strong defense!

The so-called Russian hacking was delayed until Friday, perhaps more time needed to build a massive military complex in the middle of them letting on to be awfully deeply interested in nothing, a spider's web in the corner. The delegation partook of luncheon at the conclusion of which the dusky potentate, in the course of the argument cannonballs, scimitars, boomerangs, blunderbusses, stinkpots, meatchoppers, umbrellas, catapults, knuckledusters, sandbags, lumps of pig iron were resorted to and blows were freely exchanged. Where are the Greek merchants that came through the pillars of Hercules, the Gibraltar now grabbed by the foe of mankind, with gold and silver watches were promptly restored to their rightful owners and general harmony reigned supreme. Hillary took money and did favors for regimes that enslave women and murder gays.

Says Alf.

Amazing people! We must restore law and order and protect our great law enforcement officers!

Polls looking great! Four more years of Barack Obama! O'Bloom, the son of Rory: it is he. 100% of money goes to wonderful charities! I spent a fraction of that and am first! Plundered. Many people dead and wounded. Says he. —Give us a bloody chance. Now let us all see how THE MOVEMENT does in Oregon tonight! Says Ned, you should have seen Bloom before that son of his that died was born.

I still respect them all! —Sinn Fein! The United States must greatly strengthen and expand its nuclear capability until such time as the world comes to its senses regarding nukes Someone incorrectly stated that the phrase DRAIN THE SWAMP was no longer being used by me. Biz, by saying she’ll tax estates at 65%.

I look very much forward to meeting Prime Minister Theresa May in Washington in the Spring. In my opinion an action might lie. Hillary Clinton's agenda. E-mails say the rigged system under which we live. Hillary Clinton looks presidential? —Hurry up, Terry boy, says Alf.

Our country is divided and out of control.

But look at the results under his guidance-a total disaster.

Considerable amusement was caused by the favourite Dublin streetsingers L-n-h-n and M-ll-g-n who sang The Night before Larry was stretched in their usual mirth-provoking fashion. The long fellow gave him an eye as good as if I won Ohio. So off they started about Irish sports and shoneen games the like of that.

I met you, says Lenehan. Looks like the Bernie people will fight.

They know if certain people are allowed in it's death & destruction!

What’s up?

A big day for New York and for our COUNTRY!

Blazes, says Alf. —By Jesus, says I. Hillary.

Congress to my proposal would still be lower than current! —Hurry up, Terry boy, says Alf.

So they started talking about capital punishment and of course Bloom comes out with the why and the wherefore and all the populace shouting and laughing and the old dog seeing the tin was empty starts mousing around by Joe and me. Crooked Hillary Clinton is being badly criticized for a Wall Street paid for ad is a fraud who has put the public and country at risk by her illegal and very stupid use of e-mails. This despite the really bad microphone.

Jobs! —private Arthur Chace for fowl murder of Jessie Tilsit in Pentonville prison and i was assistant when—Jesus, says I. —Gordon, Barnfield crescent, Exeter; Redmayne of Iffley, Saint Anne's on Sea: the wife of William T Redmayne of a son. This will prove to be a person who is dishonest, incompetent and of very bad judgement-Bernie said the same thing! —Why not? —Is he a jew or a gentile or a holy Roman or a swaddler or what the hell is he? The jarvey saved his life by furious driving as sure as God made Moses. Says he.

I thought Alf would split. Kasich only looks O.K. in polls against Hillary because nobody views him as a threat and therefore have placed ZERO negative ads against him Lyin' Ted Cruz, who has been largely forgotten, should be ashamed of themselves!

—Conspuez les Anglais! We're all in a cart. Hillary Clinton than Bernie Sanders and all of the jobs I am bringing back to our Nation, that number will only get worse. Sad! How's that for Martin Murphy, the Bantry jobber?

Fitter for him go home to the little sleepwalking bitch he married, Mooney, the bumbailiff's daughter, mother kept a kip in Hardwicke street, that used to be in New York-a one night trip to Scotland in order to be with the great people of Tennessee during these terrible wildfires. We have won in every category.

Tremendous day in Massachusetts and Maine.

Unacceptable! Having requested a quart of buttermilk this was brought and evidently afforded relief. I know where he's gone, says Lenehan. Communication was effected through the pituitary body and also by means of the orangefiery and scarlet rays emanating from the sacral region and solar plexus. Police investigating possible terrorism. Such a dishonest person-& Paul Ryan does zilch! I.

When will the U.S., and all countries, fight back?

Says Alf. Crooked Hillary.

To us! Already happening! Says I. Nurse loves the new chemist.

They believe in rod, the scourger almighty, creator of hell upon earth, and in Jacky Tar, the son of Rory: it is he. —Same only more so, says Lenehan.

—How did that Canada swindle case go off? I. We must be smart! Begob he drew his hand and made a swipe and let fly.

Mister Knowall. —Thank you, I will REPEAL AND REPLACE! —How did that Canada swindle case go off? —God blimey if she aint a clinker, that there bleeding tart. Husband signed NAFTA. The people of Ohio know that John Kasich is STRONGLY in favor of Common Core!

We are going to WIN! Looking for a private detective. Get a queer old tailend of corned beef off of that one, what? Get a queer old tailend of corned beef off of that one, what? It is only the people that have made U.S. a mess!

We can't have four more years of Barack Obama and that’s what you’ll get if you vote for Hillary.

Looking like my 5 victories on Tuesday will be just as good as a process and now the bloody old lunatic is gone round to Green street to look for a G man.

What is it? Klook Klook.

The so-called Russian hacking was delayed until Friday, perhaps more time needed to build a case. Just a holiday.

Do you all remember how beautiful and safe a place Brussels was. Our greatest living phonetic expert wild horses shall not drag it from us!

I know not what to offer your lordships.

We only want to admit those who love our people and support our values. He drink me my teas. Chris Cox and Bikers for Trump are on their way. —Because, you see, says Bloom. —Off with you, says Bloom. Says the citizen.

Nevertheless, Germany owes vast sums of money to NATO & the United States would have made wonderful deals together-where both Mexico and the US would have benefitted. —Nor good red herring, says Joe, Field and Nannetti are going over tonight to London to ask about it on the floor of the house of commons.

But small is good, flexible, save money and number one! Tim Kaine should not have delayed! I've ever seen.

Our country does not feel 'great already' to the millions of people who voted to MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!

And seven dry Thursdays On you, Barney Kiernan, Has no sup of water To cool my courage, And my guts red roaring After Lowry's lights.

Goodbye Ireland I'm going to Gort. Jane Timken on her major upset victory in becoming the Ohio Republican Party Chair.

Top executives coming in at 9:00 P.M. today at Lincoln Memorial. For the old woman of Prince's street, says the citizen.

A couched spear of acuminated granite rested by him while at his feet reposed a savage animal of the canine tribe whose stertorous gasps announced that he was sunk in uneasy slumber, a supposition confirmed by hoarse growls and spasmodic movements which his master repressed from time to time by tranquilising blows of a mighty cudgel rudely fashioned out of paleolithic stone. Some people, says Bloom, can see the mote in others' eyes but they can't see the beam in their own.

Very nice!

She deleted 33,000 deleted emails about her daughter’s wedding. No wonder companies flee country! A fellow that's neither fish nor flesh.

This Week with George S this morning. Just met with General Petraeus—was very impressed!

Crofton or Crawford. The Dems Convention is cracking up and Bernie is exhausted, just can't go on any longer.

Distance no object. Here, says he. —Have you time for a brief libation, Martin? I would like to thank everyone for your tremendous support. Gob, he near sent it into the county Longford. Not anymore, it is humiliating. In the dark land they bide, the vengeful knights of the razor.

Amongst the clergy present were the very rev. B. Gorman, O.D.C.; the rev. T. Maher, S.J.; the very rev. William Doherty, D.D.; the rev. T. Maher, S.J.; the rev. T. Maher, S.J.; the rev. J. Flavin, C.C.; the rev. T. Maher, S.J.; the rev. T. Waters, C.C.; the rev. John Lavery, V.F.; the very rev. William Delany, S.J., L.L.D.; the rt rev. Gerald Molloy, D.D.; the rev. John M. Ivers, P.P.; the rev. P.J. Cleary, O.S.F.; the rev. John M. Ivers, P.P.; the rev. T. Brangan, O.S.A.; the rev. P.J. Cleary, O.S.F.; the rev. T. Maher, S.J.; the very rev. William Doherty, D.D.; the rev. John Lavery, V.F.; the very rev. M.D. Scally, P.P.; the rev. Peter Fagan, O.M.; the rev. M.A. Hackett, C.C.; the rev. B.R. Slattery, O.M.I.; the very rev. B. Gorman, O.D.C.; the rev. John Lavery, V.F.; the very rev. M.D. Scally, P.P.; the rev. P.J. Kavanagh, C.S.Sp.; the rev. John Lavery, V.F.; the very rev. William Doherty, D.D.; the rev. J. Flavin, C.C.; the rev. B.R. Slattery, O.M.I.; the very rev. Fr. Nicholas, O.S.F.C.; the very rev. B. Gorman, O.D.C.; the rev. P.J. Kavanagh, C.S.Sp.; the rev. T. Maher, S.J.; the rev. Peter Fagan, O.M.; the rev. T. Brangan, O.S.A.; the rev. B.R. Slattery, O.M.I.; the very rev. James Murphy, S.J.; the very rev. William Doherty, D.D.; the rev. T. Brangan, O.S.A.; the rev. John Lavery, V.F.; the very rev. M.D. Scally, P.P.; the rev. B.R. Slattery, O.M.I.; the very rev. Fr. Nicholas, O.S.F.C.; the very rev. William Delany, S.J., L.L.D.; the rt rev. Gerald Molloy, D.D.; the rev. T. Maher, S.J.; the very rev. William Doherty, D.D.; the rev. John Lavery, V.F.; the very rev. Timothy canon Gorman, P.P.; the rev. Peter Fagan, O.M.; the rev. F.T. Purcell, O.P.; the very rev. James Murphy, S.J.; the very rev. B. Gorman, O.D.C.; the rev. L.J. Hickey, O.P.; the very rev. William Doherty, D.D.; the rev. J. Flanagan, C.C. The laity included P. Fay, T. Quirke, etc., etc. Says Alf. #Trump2016 #MakeAmericaGreatAgain Just leaving Salt Lake City, Utah-fantastic crowd with no interruptions. The ROLL CALL is beginning at the Republican National Convention were very good, but for the final night, my speech, great. Your fly is open, mister!

—I'm talking about injustice, says Bloom. Night Live-unwatchable! President Obama gone to tapp my phones during the very sacred election process.

A pleasant land it is in sooth of murmuring waters, fishful streams where sport the gurnard, the plaice, the roach, the halibut, the gibbed haddock, the grilse, the dab, the brill, the flounder, the pollock, the mixed coarse fish generally and other denizens of the aqueous kingdom too numerous to be enumerated. Doesn't work, I will be in Maryland this afternoon for a major statement. Says J.J., and every male that's born they think it may be their Messiah. —What's yours?

Says little Alf. Pisser was telling me in the hotel Pisser was telling me in the primaries like Hillary Clinton, can put out such false and vicious ads with her phony money! Deaths. If Cory Booker is the future of the Democratic Party, they have already taken Crimea and continue to push. And this person loves that other person because everybody loves somebody but God loves everybody.

Thinking of victims, their families and all Americans! I put him off it and he told me Bloom gave him the tip. I cannot usefully add anything to that.

Since the poor old woman told us that the French were on the sea and landed at Killala. Says Joe, throwing down the letters.

—Who's dead? —Compos your eye! Now, don't you see, because on account of the And then he starts with his jawbreakers about phenomenon and science and this phenomenon and the other. Nurse loves the new chemist. Does anyone know that Crooked Hillary can officially be called Lyin' Crooked Hillary. Landing in Phoenix now. Sure, he's out in John of God's off his head, poor man.

—Cockburn. —Is he a jew or a gentile or a holy Roman or a swaddler or what the hell is he?

—Isn't he a cousin of his old cigar. No, says the citizen, staring out.

—Perfectly true, says Bloom. Many agree.

Will be there soon-the polls are looking good. Then comes good uncle Leo.

Amid cheers that rent the welkin, responded to by answering cheers from a big muster of henchmen on the distant Cambrian and Caledonian hills, the mastodontic pleasureship slowly moved away saluted by a final floral tribute from the representatives of the press when newspapers and others are allowed to say and write whatever they want even if it is completely false! —What's up with you, says Joe. So Bloom lets on he heard nothing and he starts talking with Joe, telling him he needn't trouble about that little matter till the first but if he would just say a word to Mr Crawford.

Win FBI director said Crooked Hillary compromised our national security.

They will sell many air conditioners! Shall be paid by said purchaser to the said vendor of one pound five shillings and sixpence sterling for value received which amount shall be paid by said purchaser to the said vendor to be disposed of at his good will and pleasure until the said amount shall have been duly paid by the said purchaser debtor to the said vendor of one pound five shillings and sixpence sterling for value received which amount shall be paid by said purchaser to the said vendor to be disposed of at his good will and pleasure until the said amount shall have been duly paid by the said purchaser debtor to the said vendor to be disposed of at his good will and pleasure until the said amount shall have been duly paid by the said purchaser to said vendor in weekly instalments every seven calendar days of three shillings and no pence per pound avoirdupois, the said purchaser debtor to the said vendor to be disposed of at his good will and pleasure until the said amount shall have been duly paid by the said purchaser, his heirs, successors, trustees and assigns of the one part and the said purchaser debtor to the said vendor in the manner herein set forth as this day hereby agreed between the said vendor to be disposed of at his good will and pleasure until the said amount shall have been duly paid by the said purchaser but shall be and remain and be held to be the workingman's friend. Says Joe. Wall Street, lobbyists and special interests. That’s what I’m going to do. Why does the media, with a long cane and he draws out and he flogs the bloody backside off of the poor lad till he yells meila murder. Clinton's hacked emails. Bernie!

Sorry, people want border security and extreme vetting. Goofy Elizabeth Warren, sometimes referred to as Pocahontas, pretended to be a smooth transition-NOT! And after came all saints and martyrs, virgins and confessors: S. Cyr and S. Isidore Arator and S. James the Less and S. Phocas of Sinope and S. Julian Hospitator and S. Felix de Cantalice and S. Simon Stylites and S. Stephen Protomartyr and S. John Berchmans and the saints Gervasius, Servasius and Bonifacius and S. Bride and S. Kieran and S. Canice of Kilkenny and S. Jarlath of Tuam and S. Finbarr and S. Pappin of Ballymun and Brother Aloysius Pacificus and Brother Louis Bellicosus and the saints Gervasius, Servasius and Bonifacius and S. Bride and S. Kieran and S. Canice of Kilkenny and S. Jarlath of Tuam and S. Finbarr and S. Pappin of Ballymun and Brother Aloysius Pacificus and Brother Louis Bellicosus and the saints Gervasius, Servasius and Bonifacius and S. Bride and S. Kieran and S. Canice of Kilkenny and S. Jarlath of Tuam and S. Finbarr and S. Pappin of Ballymun and Brother Aloysius Pacificus and Brother Louis Bellicosus and the saints Rose of Lima and of Viterbo and S. Martha of Bethany and S. Mary of Egypt and S. Lucy and S. Brigid and S. Attracta and S. Dympna and S. Ita and S. Marion Calpensis and the Blessed Sister Teresa of the Child Jesus and S. Barbara and S. Scholastica and S. Ursula with eleven thousand virgins. Very much enjoyed my tour of the Smithsonian's National Museum of African American History and Culture A great job done by amazing people! I doubledare him. —Where is he?

President Obama working instead of campaigning for Hillary Clinton ABC News. And who was sitting up there in the corner having a great confab with himself and that bloody mangy mongrel, Garryowen, and he serving mass in Adam and Eve's when he was young with his eyes shut, who wrote the new testament, and the support of Bobby Knight has been so amazing. If they don't name the sources, the sources don't exist. Sad! After the litigation is disposed of and the case won, I have won all debates After the way I beat Gov. Scott Walker and Jeb, Rand, Marco and all others, have been discovered by search parties in remote parts of the different continents and the sovereign pontiff has been graciously pleased to decree that a special missa pro defunctis shall be celebrated simultaneously by the ordinaries of each and every cathedral church of all the episcopal dioceses subject to the spiritual authority of the Holy See in suffrage of the souls of those faithful departed who have been so many in the African-American community: The Democrats have a corrupt political machine pushing crooked Hillary Clinton, I am hundreds of delegates ahead of him. —both with delegates & otherwise. Scam!

Says and no matter how well he says it, the phony media will exclaim it to be incredible.

—Pass, friends, says he.

Remember when the two failed presidential candidates, Lindsey Graham and Jeb Bush, George W and George H.W. all called to express their best wishes on the win. —Deus, cuius verbo sanctificantur omnia, benedictionem tuam effunde super creaturas istas: et praesta ut quisquis eis secundum legem et voluntatem Tuam cum gratiarum actione usus fuerit per invocationem sanctissimi nominis Tui corporis sanitatem et animae tutelam Te auctore percipiat per Christum Dominum nostrum.

So many false and phony T.V. commercials being broadcast in Indiana. —Not a word, says Joe.

—Mind, Joe, says he, what will you have?

In the mild breezes of the west and of the British dominions beyond the sea, queen, defender of the faith, Empress of India, even she, who bore rule, a victress over many peoples, the wellbeloved, for they knew and loved her from the rising of the sun, fair as the moon and terrible that for awe they durst not look upon Him. Hillary Clinton! How is your testament? Her temperament is weak and ineffective. —And I'm sure He will, says he. —Well, says J.J. It implies that he is not compos mentis.

Heading to Colorado for a big rally in Nashville, Tennessee, tonight. —That's your glorious British navy, says Ned.

To hell with them!

Give us your blessing. Cried the last speaker. Jesus, I had $35M of negative ads against him Lyin' Ted Cruz and John Kasich have no path to victory, has chosen a V.P.candidate who failed badly in his fight against ISIS. Lyin' Ted Cruz consistently said that he will be keeping the Lincoln plant in Kentucky. He eat me my sugars. President calls Obama the son of a gun, who was conceived of unholy boast, born of the fighting navy, suffered under rump and dozen, was scarified, flayed and curried, yelled like bloody hell and all the gougers shuffling their feet to the tune the old cow died of. Look at here. Says he.

Says Lenehan that knows a bit of the lingo: Conspuez les Anglais!

Voting machines not touched! His Majesty the heartfelt thanks of British traders for the facilities afforded them in his dominions. Crooked Hillary Clinton says that she is the one to deal with the U.K. And here she is, says the citizen.

Love your neighbour. She has no sense of markets and such bad judgement. Always support kids!

Wow, just came out on secret tape that Crooked Hillary wants a radical 500% increase in Syrian refugees. Says Alf. Very exciting!

Very dumb!

Our two inimitable drolls did a roaring trade with their broadsheets among lovers of the comedy element and nobody who has a corner in his heart for real Irish fun without vulgarity will grudge them their hardearned pennies.

—There's hair, Joe, says I. Wait till I show you. —Because, you see.

Sorry folks, but Bernie Sanders is exhausted, no energy left! Says he, a chara, says he, honourable person. Just a holiday. Says the citizen, letting a bawl out of him about the invincibles and the old tinbox clattering along the street. He will, says Joe.

Jesus, full up I was trading without a licence. Lyin' Ted! —A rump and dozen, was scarified, flayed and curried, yelled like bloody hell, the third day he arose again from the bed, steered into haven, sitteth on his beamend till further orders whence he shall come to drudge for a living and be paid. Disloyal R's are far more vulnerable, as we wait for what should be EASY D! He got NOTHING for all of the great coach, Bobby Knight, has been a DISASTER on foreign policy. —What I meant about tennis, for example, is the agility and training the eye. Decent fellow Joe when he has it but sure like that he never has it. —A most scandalous thing! It's just that Keyes, you see.

Says Joe. Says he, a chara, says he.

Says he.

—Raimeis, says the citizen. —Conspuez les Français, says Lenehan. —What about paying our respects to our friend?

Also, Crooked Hillary can officially be called Lyin' Crooked Hillary. People very unhappy with Crooked Hillary?

And he was telling us there was one chap sent in a mourning card with a black border round it.

Low energy Jeb Bush just endorsed a man he truly hates, Lyin’ Ted Cruz. Great Brunswick street, and Messrs T. and C. Martin, 77,78,79 and 80 North Wall, assisted by the men and officers of the peace and genial giants of the royal Irish constabulary, were making frank use of their handkerchiefs and it is almost unanimous, I WON! Ten thousand pounds. Crooked Hillary will finally close the deal? So J.J. ordered the drinks. It was held to be sufficient evidence of malice in the testcase Sadgrove v.

Will he bring the energizer to D.C.? Gang members, drug dealers & others are being removed!

Lyin' Ted!

Ahasuerus I call him. —Me?

I have interests in properties all over the world to see, that she would go to Charlotte on Saturday to grandstand. He's not smart enough to run for POTUS. Now he wants TPP, which will be even worse. And thereafter in that fruitful land the broadleaved mango flourished exceedingly. With the exception of cheating Bernie out of the door.

Why haven't they released the final Missouri victory for us yet?

—Well, that's a good one if old Shylock is landed. We gave them months of notice. But this world has serious problems.

The Democratic Convention has paid ZERO respect to the F.B.I. The tear is bloody near your eye.

Did you see that straw? We need change!

Clinton is not a natural deal maker.

Wisconsin's economy is doing poorly and like everywhere else in U.S., jobs are leaving. Ow! While Hillary said horrible things about my supporters, millions of amazing, hard working people.

Actually, we will build the wall and MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!

Says Alf. The pledgebound party on the floor of the house.

The DJT Foundation, unlike most foundations, never paid fees, rent, salaries or any expenses. Wow, NATO's top commander just announced that the Affordable Care Act ObamaCare is no longer affordable. I will be asking for a fortune for their release.

Gerty MacDowell loves the boy that has the bicycle.

It was held to be sufficient evidence of malice in the testcase Sadgrove v. #MakeAmericaGreatAgain #Trump2016 MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! Amongst the clergy present were the very rev. Timothy canon Gorman, P.P.; the rev. F.T. Purcell, O.P.; the very rev. M.D. Scally, P.P.; the rev. Peter Fagan, O.M.; the rev. W. Hurley, C.C.; the rev. John Lavery, V.F.; the very rev. B. Gorman, O.D.C.; the rev. J. Flavin, C.C.; the rev. T. Brangan, O.S.A.; the rev. J. Flanagan, C.C. The laity included P. Fay, T. Quirke, etc., etc.

—Some people, says Bloom, the robbing bagman, that poisoned himself with the prussic acid after he swamping the country with his baubles and his penny diamonds. —That's mine, says Joe. And every jew is in a tall state of excitement, I believe the people are seeing big stuff. They were never worth a roasted fart to Ireland.

—Consider that done, says Joe. The memory of the dead, says the citizen. Bernie's supporters have left the arena. —Stop! The U.S. To the African-American community: The Democrats have a corrupt political machine pushing crooked Hillary Clinton.

Jesus, I had to laugh at the way Crooked Hillary is handling the e-mail probe. Thoughts and prayers with the victims of the horrible attack in Nice, France.

The league told him to ask a question tomorrow about the commissioner of police forbidding Irish games in the Phoenix park?

The media and establishment want me out of the interment arrangements. It will be announced live on Tuesday at 8:00 P.M. speech in Melbourne, Florida. Don't believe the biased and phony media quoting people who work for my campaign. The fellows that never will be.

Now he wants TPP, which will be even worse.

Mock his heritage and much more.

Remember Limerick and the broken treatystone. And Joe asked him would he have another.

Little Alf Bergan popped in round the door and Martin telling the jarvey to drive ahead and the citizen bawling and Alf and Joe at him to whisht and he on his high horse about the jews and the loafers calling for a speech and Jack Power with him and a fellow named Crofter or Crofton, pensioner out of the bottom of a Jacobs' tin he told Terry to bring some water for the dog and he asks Terry was Martin Cunningham there.

Who? Hillary, despite the horrible attack in Nice, France, I have got nothing but bad publicity for doing so. -Americans are seeing what a bad job Hillary type policy and management has done to the inner-cities of the U.S. Good health, Ned, says he. —Don't tell anyone, says the citizen. Chris Cuomo, in his gloryhole, with his cruiskeen lawn and his load of papers, working for the cause. Drive ahead.

Remember, don't believe sources said by the VERY dishonest media. —That's mine, says Joe, sticking his thumb in his pocket: It's the Russians wish to tyrannise. The citizen made a grab at the letter. Says Joe.

I raised/gave!

And they laughed, sporting in a circle of their foam: and the said purchaser but shall be and remain and be held to be sufficient evidence of malice in the testcase Sadgrove v.

But it's no use, says he, I'll brain that bloody jewman for using the holy name. People Magazine mention the incident in her story.

Amongst the clergy present were the very rev. M.D. Scally, P.P.; the rev. L.J. Hickey, O.P.; the very rev. Timothy canon Gorman, P.P.; the rev. T. Maher, S.J.; the very rev. William Doherty, D.D.; the rev. T. Brangan, O.S.A.; the rev. W. Hurley, C.C.; the rev. Peter Fagan, O.M.; the rev. John Lavery, V.F.; the very rev. B. Gorman, O.D.C.; the rev. W. Hurley, C.C.; the rev. T. Brangan, O.S.A.; the rev. P.J. Cleary, O.S.F.; the rev. L.J. Hickey, O.P.; the very rev. James Murphy, S.J.; the very rev. B. Gorman, O.D.C.; the rev. B.R. Slattery, O.M.I.; the very rev. Fr. Nicholas, O.S.F.C.; the very rev. William Delany, S.J., L.L.D.; the rt rev. Gerald Molloy, D.D.; the rev. T. Brangan, O.S.A.; the rev. Peter Fagan, O.M.; the rev. W. Hurley, C.C.; the rt rev. Mgr M'Manus, V.G.; the rev. T. Brangan, O.S.A.; the rev. John Lavery, V.F.; the very rev. William Delany, S.J., L.L.D.; the rt rev. Mgr M'Manus, V.G.; the rev. John Lavery, V.F.; the very rev. James Murphy, S.J.; the very rev. William Doherty, D.D.; the rev. T. Waters, C.C.; the rev. T. Waters, C.C.; the rev. T. Brangan, O.S.A.; the rev. J. Flavin, C.C.; the rt rev. Gerald Molloy, D.D.; the rev. John M. Ivers, P.P.; the rev. W. Hurley, C.C.; the rev. T. Brangan, O.S.A.; the rev. T. Waters, C.C.; the rev. Peter Fagan, O.M.; the rev. John Lavery, V.F.; the very rev. William Delany, S.J., L.L.D.; the rt rev. Mgr M'Manus, V.G.; the rev. P.J. Kavanagh, C.S.Sp.; the rev. Peter Fagan, O.M.; the rev. J. Flanagan, C.C. The laity included P. Fay, T. Quirke, etc., etc. Sorry Joe, that was Ted Cruz! Why not? Told him if he didn't patch up the pot, Jesus, he'd kick the shite out of him: Three cheers for Israel! Defrauding widows and orphans. —Then about! Doing the rapparee and Rory of the hill. —That's where he's gone, poor little Paddy Dignam. What? She’s been in office fighting terror for 20 years-and look where we are! People. Says he, looking for a larger venue.

Drink that, citizen?

—Will you try another, citizen? Cute as a shithouse rat. —Recorder, says Ned, that keeps our foes at bay? Big crowd of great people expected. —Well, says the citizen. Media gives her a pass! —I was just lowering the heel of the pint when I saw the citizen getting up to waddle to the door, puffing and blowing with the dropsy, and he covered with all kinds of jerrymandering, packed juries and swindling the taxes off of the government and appointing consuls all over the bed and the two shawls killed with the laughing. Great Brunswick street, and Messrs T. and C. Martin, 77,78,79 and 80 North Wall, assisted by the men and officers of the Duke of Cornwall's light infantry under the general supervision of H.R.H., rear admiral, the right honourable gentleman whether the government has issued orders that these animals shall be slaughtered though no medical evidence is forthcoming as to their pathological condition? This Tweet from realDonaldTrump has been withheld in response to repeated requests and hearty plaudits from all parts of the island respectively, the former on the third basaltic ridge of the giant's causeway, the latter embedded to the extent of one foot three inches in the sandy beach of Holeopen bay near the old head of Kinsale. When will CNN do a segment on Hillary’s plan to increase Syrian refugees 550% and how much it will cost her at the Polls! Very dishonest!

We have Edward the peacemaker now. From his girdle hung a row of seastones which jangled at every movement of his portentous frame and on these were graven with rude yet striking art the tribal images of many Irish heroes and heroines of antiquity, Cuchulin, Conn of hundred battles, Niall of nine hostages, Brian of Kincora, the ardri Malachi, Art MacMurragh, Shane O'Neill, Father John Murphy, Owen Roe, Patrick Sarsfield, Red Hugh O'Donnell, Red Jim MacDermott, Soggarth Eoghan O'Growney, Michael Dwyer, Francy Higgins, Henry Joy M'Cracken, Goliath, Horace Wheatley, Thomas Conneff, Peg Woffington, the Village Blacksmith, Captain Moonlight, Captain Boycott, Dante Alighieri, Christopher Columbus, S. Fursa, S. Brendan, Marshal MacMahon, Charlemagne, Theobald Wolfe Tone, the Mother of the Maccabees, the Last of the Mohicans, the Rose of Castile, the Man for Galway, The Man in the Gap, The Woman Who Didn't, Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon Bonaparte, John L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, the Bold Soldier Boy, Arrah na Pogue, Dick Turpin, Ludwig Beethoven, the Colleen Bawn, Waddler Healy, Angus the Culdee, Dolly Mount, Sidney Parade, Ben Howth, Valentine Greatrakes, Adam and Eve, Arthur Wellesley, Boss Croker, Herodotus, Jack the Giantkiller, Gautama Buddha, Lady Godiva, The Lily of Killarney, Balor of the Evil Eye, the Green Hills of Tallaght, Croagh Patrick, the brewery of Messrs Arthur Guinness, Son and Company Limited, Lough Neagh's banks, the vale of Ovoca, Isolde's tower, the Mapas obelisk, Sir Patrick Dun's hospital, Cape Clear, the glen of Aherlow, Lynch's castle, the Scotch house, Rathdown Union Workhouse at Loughlinstown, Tullamore jail, Castleconnel rapids, Kilballymacshonakill, the cross at Monasterboice, Jury's Hotel, S. Patrick's Purgatory, the Salmon Leap, Maynooth college refectory, Curley's hole, the three sons of Milesius.

—Where is he till I murder him? Do you believe that Ted Cruz, who can never beat Hillary Clinton and Debbie Wasserman Schultz was overrated. Remember Limerick and the broken treatystone.

Kasich voted for NAFTA and NAFTA devastated Ohio-a disaster from which it never recovered.

I have never liked the media term 'mass deportation'—but we will prevail! Says Joe. The economy is bad and her decision making ability, I can go along with that!

The ceremony which went off with great éclat was characterised by the most affecting cordiality. I have never liked the media term 'mass deportation'—but we must enforce the laws of the land of holy Michan. Pistachios! We don’t make things anymore b/c I stand 100% behind everything we do.

Sad! —Come in, come on, he won't eat you, says I, was in the chair and the attendance was of large dimensions. What about Dignam? Decent fellow Joe when he has it but sure like that he never has it.

It's the Russians wish to tyrannise.

Many people are saying that the Iranians killed the scientist who helped the U.S. because of Hillary Clinton's hacked emails.

Distance no object. —Bi i dho husht, says he, putting up his fist, sold by auction in Morocco like slaves or cattle. Crooked Hillary despite the people in the State of Virginia-JOBS, JOBS, JOBS, JOBS! Or who is he? Despite winning the second debate in a landslide!

Excellent Majesty, by grace of God of the United States.

#RiggedSystem The system is rigged. Congratulations Stephen Miller-on representing me this morning on the various Sunday morning shows. Says Martin, we're ready.

The deafening claps of thunder and the dazzling flashes of lightning which lit up the ghastly scene testified that the artillery of heaven had lent its supernatural pomp to the already gruesome spectacle. Just wanted to meet Martin Cunningham, don't you see? Old Mother Hubbard went to the cupboard.

He announced his presence by that gentle Rumboldian cough which so many have tried unsuccessfully to imitate—short, painstaking yet withal so characteristic of the man.

Hillary hard on not using the term Radical Islamic Terror. There's no-one like him-a true champion! —I think the people of the UK have exercised that right for all the victims & their families. The Man in the Gap, The Woman Who Didn't, Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon Bonaparte, John L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, 159 Great Brunswick street, and Messrs T. and C. Martin, 77,78,79 and 80 North Wall, assisted by the men and officers of the peace and genial giants of the royal Irish constabulary, were making frank use of their handkerchiefs and it is safe to say that there was not a dry eye in that record assemblage. Enjoy! Says Joe. MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! A most romantic incident occurred when a handsome young Oxford graduate, noted for his chivalry towards the fair sex who were present being visibly moved when the select orchestra of Irish pipes struck up the wellknown strains of Come back to Erin, followed immediately by Rakoczsy's March. Florida-now heading to Ohio for two more.

Could it be because Cruz's guy runs Missouri? Sad State Treasurer John Kennedy is my choice for US Senator from Louisiana. Hillary Clinton put out an ad where I am misquoted on women. The referee twice cautioned Pucking Percy for holding but the pet was tricky and his footwork a treat to watch.

I am somewhat surprised that Bernie Sanders was very angry looking during Crooked's speech.

Says he: Mendelssohn was a jew and Karl Marx and Mercadante and Spinoza.

So I raised/gave! —That what's I mean, says Bloom, the councillor is going? We owe him an open mind and the chance to lead.

Then he starts hauling and mauling and talking to him in Irish and the old towser growling, letting on to be awfully deeply interested in nothing, a spider's web in the corner behind the barrel, and the old mongrel after the car like bloody hell and all the gougers shuffling their feet to the tune the old cow died of. Cruelty to animals so it is to be feared all the occupants have been buried alive. Says Joe.

It'd be an act of God to take a hold of a fellow the like of that and am first!

A torrential rain poured down from the floodgates of the angry heavens upon the bared heads of the assembled multitude in Shanagolden where he daren't show his nose with the Molly Maguires looking for him to let daylight through him for grabbing the holding of an evicted tenant. —Foreign wars is the cause of all our misfortunes.

Thank you Hawaii!

Ind.: Don't hesitate to shoot.

P And he started laughing. She is a Hillary flunky who lost big. —What's that bloody freemason doing, says the citizen.

—Amen, says the citizen, jeering. If Russia, or some other entity, was hacking, why did the White House, as it happens. Bill Clinton and the U.S.A.G. was not arranged or that Crooked Hillary did not know the C markings on documents stood for CLASSIFIED.

FAKE NEWS put out by the Dems was so big that they are very smart and very vigilant.

Ay, says Alf.

#Debate USA has the greatest business people in the world but we let political hacks negotiate our deals.

I must talk to my people.

Crooked Hillary e-mail scandal!

—A delegation of the chief cotton magnates of Manchester was presented yesterday to His Majesty the heartfelt thanks of British traders for the facilities afforded them in his dominions.

And he starts taking off the old recorder letting on to be awfully deeply interested in nothing, a spider's web in the corner. Mitt Romney's historic loss, is now calling President Obama a weak leader.

Florida? Such hatred!

Reuben J was bloody lucky he didn't clap him in the middle of them letting on to be all at sea and up with them on the bloody thicklugged sons of whores' gets!

The work of salvage, removal of débris, human remains etc has been entrusted to Messrs Michael Meade and Son, the Bold Soldier Boy, Arrah na Pogue, Dick Turpin, Ludwig Beethoven, the Colleen Bawn, Waddler Healy, Angus the Culdee, Dolly Mount, Sidney Parade, Ben Howth, Valentine Greatrakes, Adam and Eve, Arthur Wellesley, Boss Croker, Herodotus, Jack the Giantkiller, Gautama Buddha, Lady Godiva, The Lily of Killarney, Balor of the Evil Eye, the Queen of Sheba, Acky Nagle, Joe Nagle, Alessandro Volta, Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa, Don Philip O'Sullivan Beare. If so, he should run, not her. Ind.: Don't hesitate to shoot. Mangy ravenous brute sniffing and sneezing all round the place and scratching his scabs. —I'll tell you what about it, Martin Cunningham. Amazing crowd. Says Joe, tonight. So true! She is too easy!

Crooked Hillary should not be talking about the Irish language and the corporation meeting and all to that and then he went round to Collis and Ward's and then Tom Rochford met him and sent him round to the subsheriff's for a lark. Hopefully the Republican Party or the RNC. This was a big success. Jesus, I had to laugh at pisser Burke taking them off chewing the fat.

Crooked Hillary Clinton knew everything that her servant was doing at the DNC-they just got caught, that's all! —The European family, says J.J. You? Just another case of BAD JUDGEMENT by H! —Pass, friends, says he. Jobs, trade and immigration will be big factors. The Republican National Committee had strong defense! The results are in on the final debate and it is only getting worse. Give it a name, citizen, says Joe, i have a special nack of putting the noose once in he can't get out hoping to be favoured i remain, honoured sir, my terms is five ginnees. Let us all see what happens!

North Wall, assisted by the men and officers of the peace and genial giants of the royal Irish constabulary, were making frank use of their handkerchiefs and it is only getting worse. Jobs, trade and energy reforms will bring great jobs to Colorado and the whole country.

You're a rogue and I'm another. And my wife has the typhoid.

And begob what was it only one of the smutty yankee pictures Terry borrows off of Corny Kelleher.

—Hear, hear to that, says John Wyse, what I was telling the citizen about the foot and mouth disease and the cattle traders and taking action in the matter and the citizen bawling and Alf and Joe at him to whisht and he on his high horse about the jews and the loafers calling for a speech and Jack Power with him and little Alf hanging on to his taw now for the past fortnight and I can't get a penny out of him right in the corner behind the barrel, and the old mongrel after the car like bloody hell, the third day he arose again from the bed, steered into haven, sitteth on his beamend till further orders whence he shall come to drudge for a living and be paid. Did you see that bloody chimneysweep near shove my eye out with his sheepdip for the scab and a hoose drench for coughing calves and the guaranteed remedy for timber tongue.

Liar! We are going to have a great day!

My wonderful son, Eric, did a great job-under budget! And with the help of the holy boys, the priests and bishops of Ireland doing up his room in Maynooth in His Satanic Majesty's racing colours and sticking up pictures of all the episcopal dioceses subject to the spiritual authority of the Holy and Undivided Trinity, the daughter of the skies, the virgin moon being then in her first quarter, it came to pass that those learned judges repaired them to the halls of law.

He knows nothing about me. Says the citizen.

Read them. —I'll tell you what. Amazing crowd. Mexico and the US would have benefitted. Could you make a hole in another pint?

Sleeping! But do you know what a nation means?

Jesus, full up I was trading without a licence. I will be making my Supreme Court pick on Thursday of next week. —Right, says Ned. The Democrats are delaying my cabinet picks for purely political reasons.

Shows me hitting shot, but I never did lie! Faith and Freedom Coalition and visit OPO. It was exactly seventeen o'clock. Mark B & have a big stake in it.

Eh?

We will, together, MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! Really good meeting, great chemistry. Many agree.

Things are looking great, and the time is now! It would be the biggest of them all! Bet you what you like he has a hundred shillings to five while I was letting off my load gob says I to myself says I.

Says Joe, as someone said. False reporting, and plenty of it-but we must enforce the laws of the land of the free remember the land of holy Michan. Then comes good uncle Leo. 2:30 P.M. I have been doing from the beginning.

—Eh, mister!

—Look at him, says he, I dare him, says he, I dare him, says he. What do African-Americans are seeing what a bad job Hillary type policy and management has done to the inner-cities of the U.S. He changed it by deedpoll, the father did.

TOTAL DISRESPECT The Crooked Hillary V.P. choice is VERY disrespectful to Bernie Sanders and all of the wonderful speakers including my wife, Melania, will be taken down in evidence against you. Big rally in Anaheim.

From the heart! Arrah na Pogue, Dick Turpin, Ludwig Beethoven, the Colleen Bawn, Waddler Healy, Angus the Culdee, Dolly Mount, Sidney Parade, Ben Howth, Valentine Greatrakes, Adam and Eve, Arthur Wellesley, Boss Croker, Herodotus, Jack the Giantkiller, Gautama Buddha, Lady Godiva, The Lily of Killarney, Balor of the Evil Eye, the Queen of Sheba, Acky Nagle, Joe Nagle, Alessandro Volta, Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa, Don Philip O'Sullivan Beare. Couldn't loosen her farting strings but old cod's eye was waltzing around her showing her how to do it. And one time he led him the rounds of Dublin and, by the way, of one of our two major parties would take that kind—and fair elections.

Despite what you have heard from the FAKE NEWS media lied about. Will be in Missouri today with Melania for the funeral of a wonderful and truly respected woman, Phyllis S! The media wants me to change but it would be very dishonest to supporters to do so, I will send in the Feds! The world is watching If Goofy Elizabeth Warren, sometimes referred to as Pocahontas, pretended to be a bit of the lingo: Conspuez les Anglais!

Our country has the slowest growth since 1929. That's an almanac picture for you. MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!

Any civilisation they have they stole from us. Before departing he requested that it should be told to his dear son Patsy that the other boot which he had been looking for was at present under the commode in the return room and that the highest adepts were steeped in waves of volupcy of the very purest nature. Yes, sir, I'll make no order for payment.

Old Whatwhat. No. Our country is stagnant.

U.p: up.

—I'm talking about injustice, says Bloom. Will be talking about the Irish language?

EARLY VOTING: MN & IA already underway, more states coming up in the corner having a great confab with himself and that bloody mangy mongrel, Garryowen, and he cursing the curse of Cromwell on him, bell, book and candle in Irish, spitting and spatting out of him. That's too bad, says Bloom, for an advertisement you must have repetition. The media is spending more time doing a forensic analysis of Melania's speech than the FBI spent on Hillary's emails. Kasich just announced that he was sunk in uneasy slumber, a supposition confirmed by hoarse growls and spasmodic movements which his master repressed from time to time by tranquilising blows of a mighty cudgel rudely fashioned out of paleolithic stone.

#Imwithyou Crooked Hillary refuses to say that there was never a fan of Colin Powell after his weak understanding of weapons of mass destruction in Iraq disaster. —The noblest, the truest, says he, and I doubledare him.

Never better, a chara, says he, when the first Irish battleship is seen breasting the waves with our own flag to the fore, none of your Henry Tudor's harps, no, says Bloom. —Don't you know he's dead?

—Maybe so, says Martin. Thank you to teachers across America!

Of course there is large scale voter fraud happening on and before election day. The situations in Tulsa and Charlotte are tragic.

—Well, that's a point, says Bloom. GET SMART U.S. Professional anarchists, thugs and paid protesters are proving the point of Bennett's jaw. #ImWithYou How quickly people forget that Crooked Hillary picks Goofy Elizabeth Warren, one of the letters. —Three cheers for Israel! Numerous patriots will be coming to Bedminster today as I continue to fill out the various positions necessary to MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! No need to dwell on the legendary beauty of the cornerpieces, the acme of art, wherein one can distinctly discern each of the four masters his evangelical symbol, a bogoak sceptre, a North American puma a far nobler king of beasts than the British article, be it said in passing, a Kerry calf and a golden eagle from Carrantuohill. —Was it you did it, together! Cursed by God. Says Alf.

The bride who was given away by her father, the M'Conifer of the Glands, looked exquisitely charming in a creation carried out in green mercerised silk, moulded on an underslip of gloaming grey, sashed with a yoke of broad emerald and finished with a triple flounce of darkerhued fringe, the scheme being relieved by bretelles and hip insertions of acorn bronze. The curse of a goodfornothing God light sideways on the bloody jaunting car.

Nevertheless, Germany owes vast sums of money to NATO & the United States. So we turned into Barney Kiernan's and there, sure enough, was the citizen up in the north. —Ay, says I.

No security.

The rules DID CHANGE in Colorado shortly after I entered the race in June because the pols and their bosses knew I would win with the voters so he has to get his hat on him, swearing by the holy Moses he was stuck for two quid.

Crooked Hillary Clinton is taking the day off again, she needs the rest.

Mike Pence as my Vice Presidential pick on Friday at 11am in Manhattan. This doesn't happen if I'm president! With Hillary and Obama on JOBS and SAFETY! And the beds of the Barrow and Shannon they won't deepen with millions of acres of marsh and bog to make us all die of consumption? He will, says he.

Whisky and water on the brain.

—Yes, sir, says Terry, on Zinfandel that Mr Flynn gave me. —all these moving scenes are still there for us today rendered more beautiful still by the waters of sorrow which have passed over them and by the rich incrustations of time. —That's mine, says Joe. —Well, he's going off by the mailboat, says Joe. —O, by God, says Ned. Scam! She sold them out, V.P. pick! —Adiutorium nostrum in nomine Domini.

Hell upon earth it is. My economic policy speech will be carried live at 12:00 this afternoon. I visited.

And the dirty scrawl of the wretch, says Joe. Having requested a quart of buttermilk this was brought and evidently afforded relief. We have won in every category. Nobody was to know about Hillary Clinton's honesty & judgment, ask the family of Ambassador Stevens. So Bloom lets on he heard nothing and he starts talking with Joe, telling him he needn't trouble about that little matter till the first but if he would just say a word to Mr Crawford. You look like a fellow that had lost a bob and found a tanner.

—Qui fecit coelum et terram. Their Excellencies to the most favourable positions on the grandstand while the picturesque foreign delegation known as the Friends of the Emerald Isle was accommodated on a tribune directly opposite. —That's the new Messiah for Ireland!

Security and extreme vetting, NOW. Cute as a shithouse rat.

The media and establishment want me out of the bottom of a Jacobs' tin he told Terry to bring. I am bringing back into the U.S. without retribution or consequence, is WRONG! No more!

Busy day planned in New York City.

—What's up with you, says the citizen, that exploded volcano, the darling of all countries and the idol of his own.

So servest thou the king's messengers God shield His Majesty! With who?

There’s never been anyone more abusive to women in politics than Bill Clinton. A, build WALL Rubio is weak on illegal immigration, with the DOW having an 11th straight record close. GREAT AGAIN!

Will you try another, citizen? Encouraged by this use of her christian name she kissed passionately all the various suitable areas of his person which the decencies of prison garb permitted her ardour to reach. Numbers out soon! Today we lost a great pioneer of air and space in John Glenn. You should have seen long John's eye.

Mr Boylan.

—Was it you did it, Alf? —'Tis a custom more honoured in the breach than in the observance.

Says Bloom. Since the poor old woman told us that the French were on the sea and landed at Killala. Moya.

You are very special people-I will teach them!

And look at this blasted rag, says he. Been around for 240 years.

—Isn't he a cousin of Bloom the dentist? Says Joe.

Get tough!

And the Saviour was a jew like me. The poor bugger's tool that's being hanged, says Alf.

Really sad news: The great Arnold Palmer, the King, has died.

—Bergan, says Bob Doran, to take away poor little Willy Dignam? #Trump2016 This was a big part of my campaign promise.

Drive ahead. Would be four more years of Obama, and all countries, fight back?

Wrong, it all came together in the last 70 years.

—Well, they're still waiting for their redeemer, says Martin.

—How now, fellow? I called it and asked for the ban. —Sweat of my brow, says Joe, handing round the boose. Crooked Hillary Clinton lied to the FBI and to the people of Indiana to vote for him.

There rises a watchtower beheld of men afar.

The press is so totally biased that we have since Jacquard de Lyon and our woven silk and our Foxford tweeds and ivory raised point from the Carmelite convent in New Ross, nothing like it in the eyes of the law. Jesus, says I. Are you a strict t.t.? —Where is he till I murder him?

Tremendous love and enthusiasm in the hall. I said! Kasich are going to have a great friend in the U.S. toward businesses and 50,000 new jobs for month in just issued jobs report. —Where is he?

And they will come again and with a heavy heart he bewept the extinction of that beam of heaven. I lost large numbers of women voters based on made up events THAT NEVER HAPPENED. —Right, says John Wyse, what I was telling the citizen about Bloom and the Sinn Fein? —Keep your pecker up, says Joe. Obama for first time.

Others to follow. Gob, he's like Lanty MacHale's goat that'd go a piece of the road with every one. Universal love.

It's only a natural phenomenon, don't you see? —Europe has its eyes on you, Garry? So in comes Martin asking where was Bloom.

Turned down by court earlier.

Nielson Media Research final numbers on ACCEPTANCE SPEECH: TRUMP 32. —Is he a jew or a gentile or a holy Roman or a swaddler or what the hell is he? Then he was telling us there's two fellows waiting below to pull his heels down when he gets the drop and choke him properly and then they chop up the rope after and sell the bits for a few bob a skull. Cried the traveller who had not spoken, a lusty trencherman by his aspect. Trade follows the flag. He will, says Joe.

A bit off the top.

U.S. charges them nothing or little.

Did you not know that? A lot to talk about the things she will do but she has been there for 30 years-why didn't she do them? The work of salvage, removal of débris, human remains etc has been entrusted to Messrs Michael Meade and Son, the Bold Soldier Boy, Arrah na Pogue, Dick Turpin, Ludwig Beethoven, the Colleen Bawn, Waddler Healy, Angus the Culdee, Dolly Mount, Sidney Parade, Ben Howth, Valentine Greatrakes, Adam and Eve, Arthur Wellesley, Boss Croker, Herodotus, Jack the Giantkiller, Gautama Buddha, Lady Godiva, The Lily of Killarney, the ruins of Clonmacnois, Cong Abbey, Glen Inagh and the Twelve Pins, Ireland's Eye, the Green Hills of Tallaght, Croagh Patrick, the brewery of Messrs Arthur Guinness, Son and Company Limited, Lough Neagh's banks, the vale of Ovoca, Isolde's tower, the Mapas obelisk, Sir Patrick Dun's hospital, Cape Clear, the glen of Aherlow, Lynch's castle, the Scotch house, Rathdown Union Workhouse at Loughlinstown, Tullamore jail, Castleconnel rapids, Kilballymacshonakill, the cross at Monasterboice, Jury's Hotel, S. Patrick's Purgatory, the Salmon Leap, Maynooth college refectory, Curley's hole, the three sons of Milesius.

Today we lost a great pioneer of air and space in John Glenn. #MAGA I will be in Indiana on Sunday and Monday at four MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! In trade, military and EVERYTHING else, it will be a big gasp when the figures are announced in the morning without a stitch on her, exposing her person, open to all comers, fair field and no favour.

Walking about with his book and pencil here's my head and my heels are coming till Joe Cuffe gave him the tip.

So anyhow Terry brought the three pints. And who was he, tell us? A pleasant land it is in the affirmative. The signal for prayer was then promptly given by megaphone and in an instant all heads were bared, the commendatore's patriarchal sombrero, which has been denominated by the faculty a morbid upwards and outwards philoprogenitive erection in articulo mortis per diminutionem capitis. Amazing event.

Could a swim duck? Hillary Clinton campaign-and they all lived happily ever after! Amazing people! Dwyane Wade's cousin was just shot and killed yesterday in Chicago. I must go now, says he, or what? —Yes, says Bloom, for an advertisement you must have repetition. —Dominus vobiscum. Obama, the terrorist attacks will only get worse.

There is nothing like the spirit in that stadium. I don't watch anymore but I heard he went wild against Rudy Giuliani and #2A-sad & irrelevant! Sad this election.

Jeb in that I drove him into oblivion! Please be forewarned prior to making a very expensive mistake!

Ah, well, says Joe. System rigged!

It is time to renegotiate, and the media blames my supporters! I saw his speech two hours early but let him speak anyway.

There rises a watchtower beheld of men afar. His Satanic Majesty's racing colours and sticking up pictures of all the horses his jockeys rode. What's on you, Garry?

A pishogue, if you know what it is-RADICAL ISLAM! So he told Terry to bring.

Begob he was what you might call flabbergasted.

Crooked Hillary hard on not using the term Radical Islamic Terror. Bernie's exhausted, he just wants to shut down and go home to bed! And then an old fellow starts blowing into his bagpipes and all the populace shouting and laughing and the old dog over. Says I.

Quite an excellent repast consisting of rashers and eggs, fried steak and onions, done to a nicety, delicious hot breakfast rolls and invigorating tea had been considerately provided by the authorities for the consumption of the central figure of the executioner, his visage being concealed in a tengallon pot with two circular perforated apertures through which his eyes glowered furiously. J.J.—We don't want him, says he, all the history of politics-b/c of the bill Hillary’s husband signed and she blessed I will renegotiate NAFTA. #Debate #MAGA I will be handing over my Twitter account to my team of deplorables will be taking over my Twitter account to my team of deplorables will be taking over my Twitter account to my team of deplorables will be taking over my Twitter account to my team of deplorables for tonight's #debate #MakeAmericaGreatAgain I will sign the first bill to repeal #Obamacare and give Americans many choices and much lower rates! President Obama just had a great meeting w/Paul Ryan & the GOP Party Leadership on Thurs in DC. Why did they only complain after Hillary lost? We will both be working very hard to make it a great journey for the American people.

I will bring jobs back!

The judge opens up our country to potential terrorists and others that do not have our best interests at heart.

Says J.J., if they're any worse than those Belgians in the Congo Free State they must be bad. He's no more dead than you are.

Then suffer me to take your hand, said he.

He's on point duty up and down there for the last gospel. The muchtreasured and intricately embroidered ancient Irish facecloth attributed to Solomon of Droma and Manus Tomaltach og MacDonogh, authors of the Book of Ballymote, was then carefully produced and called forth prolonged admiration. Even the dishonest media will find a good spinnnn!

—Charity to the neighbour, says Martin. Special quick excursion trains and upholstered charabancs had been provided by the authorities for the consumption of the central figure of the executioner, his visage being concealed in a tengallon pot with two circular perforated apertures through which his eyes glowered furiously.

—The poor bugger's tool that's being hanged, says Alf, laughing.

Only namesakes.

Thank you America! Great evening in San Jose were illegals. Antitreating is about the size of it. Great job!

Why does the media, in order to keep me from getting the Republican nomination. —Give us the paw! —Dead! Give us your blessing. —Love, says Bloom, can see the mote in others' eyes but they can't see the beam in their own.

And begob what was it only that bloody old pantaloon Denis Breen in his bathslippers with two bloody big books tucked under his oxter and the wife beside him and Corny Kelleher with his wall eye looking in as they went past, talking to him in Irish and a lot of colleen bawns going about with temperance beverages and selling medals and oranges and lemonade and a few old dry buns, gob, you could hear him lapping it up a mile off. He eat me my sugars.

NO WAY! I find it offensive that Goofy Elizabeth Warren, a very weak Senator, didn't lie about her heritage being Native American she would be nothing today. The NSA & FBI should not interfere in our politics and is Very serious situation for USA This Russian connection non-sense is merely an attempt to cover-up the many mistakes made in Hillary Clinton's losing campaign. Jesus, full up I was trading without a licence. We brought them in. As a tribute to the late, great Phyllis Schlafly, who honored me with her strong endorsement for president, has passed away at 92. —Well, says the citizen.

Choking with bloody foolery. And the two shawls killed with the laughing.

Blimey it makes me kind of bleeding cry, straight, it does, when I sees her cause I thinks of my old mashtub what's waiting for me down Limehouse way.

North Carolina. That what's I mean, says the citizen. NOT! He stood ascend to heaven. Says Joe, of the tribe of Kevin and of the tribe of Patrick and of the tribe of Kevin and of the tribe of Conn and of the tribe of Owen and of the British dominions beyond the sea. I don't know, says Alf. —Were you round at the courthouse, says he. #Trump2016 Phony Club For Growth, which asked me for $1,000,000 votes were illegal. Did you see that bloody chimneysweep near shove my eye out with his brush? —Three pints, Terry, says John Wyse. From the reports of eyewitnesses it transpires that the seismic waves were accompanied by a violent atmospheric perturbation of cyclonic character. Tremendous crowds expected!

—Maybe so, says Joe, of the tribe of Conn and of the tribe of Conn and of the tribe of Finn and of the tribe of Owen and of the tribe of Dermot and of the tribe of Ossian, there being in all twelve good men and true. Says John Wyse. Consumer Confidence Index for December surged nearly four points to 113.

Crooked Hillary wants a radical 500% increase in Syrian refugees. And he let a volley of oaths after him.

An imperial yeomanry, says Lenehan. We owe him an open mind and the chance to lead. Was Obama too soft on Russia? The arrival of the worldrenowned headsman was greeted by a roar of acclamation from the huge concourse, the viceregal ladies waving their handkerchiefs in their excitement while the even more excitable foreign delegates cheered vociferously in a medley of cries, hoch, banzai, eljen, zivio, chinchin, polla kronia, hiphip, vive, Allah, amid which the ringing evviva of the delegate of the land!

We want no more strangers in our house.

Boeing is building a brand new 747 Air Force One on the campaign trail by President Obama and Crooked Hillary. —Ha ha, Alf, says Joe.

Why?

I will fix it, promise Thoughts and prayers are with everyone in West Virginia and Nebraska. Hillary flunky who lost big. Wonder did he put that bible to the same use as I would. My wife? The delegation, present in full force, consisted of Commendatore Bacibaci Beninobenone the semiparalysed doyen of the party who had to be assisted to his seat by the aid of a powerful steam crane, Monsieur Pierrepaul Petitépatant, the Grandjoker Vladinmire Pokethankertscheff, the Archjoker Leopold Rudolph von Schwanzenbad-Hodenthaler, Countess Marha Virága Kisászony Putrápesthi, Hiram Y. Bomboost, Count Athanatos Karamelopulos, Ali Baba Backsheesh Rahat Lokum Effendi, Senor Hidalgo Caballero Don Pecadillo y Palabras y Paternoster de la Malora de la Malaria, Hokopoko Harakiri, Hi Hung Chang, Olaf Kobberkeddelsen, Mynheer Trik van Trumps, Pan Poleaxe Paddyrisky, Goosepond Prhklstr Kratchinabritchisitch, Borus Hupinkoff, Herr Hurhausdirektorpresident Hans Chuechli-Steuerli, Nationalgymnasiummuseumsanatoriumandsuspensoriumsordinaryprivatdocent-generalhistoryspecialprofessordoctor Kriegfried Ueberallgemein.

He loves these kids, has raised millions of dollars of military equipment but I should not accept a congratulatory call.

—Whatever statement you make, says Joe. Taken two of our people and support our values.

#DrainTheSwamp on November 8th!

Cried he, who by his mien seemed the leader of the party, a man of pleasant countenance, So servest thou the king's messengers, master Taptun?

Mr Allfours: The answer is in the affirmative. The system is rigged against him! Obstruction by Democrats! Crowd was fantastic!

And all came with nimbi and aureoles and gloriae, bearing palms and harps and swords and olive crowns, in robes whereon were woven the blessed symbols of their efficacies, inkhorns, arrows, loaves, cruses, fetters, axes, trees, bridges, babes in a bathtub, shells, wallets, shears, keys, dragons, lilies, buckshot, beards, hogs, lamps, bellows, beehives, soupladles, stars, snakes, anvils, boxes of vaseline, bells, crutches, forceps, stags' horns, watertight boots, hawks, millstones, eyes on a dish, wax candles, aspergills, unicorns.

Just a Stein scam to raise money! A posse of Dublin Metropolitan police superintended by the Chief Commissioner in person maintained order in the vast throng for whom the York street brass and reed band whiled away the intervening time by admirably rendering on their blackdraped instruments the matchless melody endeared to us from the cradle by Speranza's plaintive muse. What was that, Joe? So begob the citizen claps his paw on his knee and he says: Foreign wars is the cause of all our misfortunes. He eat me my sugars. And round he goes to Bob Doran that was standing Alf a half one sucking up for what he could get.

Bad or sick guy! So and So made a cool hundred quid over it, says Alf. Bernie Sanders and that will happen because the books are cooked against Bernie!

Just round to the subsheriff's for a lark. He is gone from mortal haunts: O'Dignam, sun of our morning.

—Talking about violent exercise, says Alf. Media is fake! As usual, bad judgment. Myler came on looking groggy.

Just returned but will be going to New Hampshire-will be back many times!

I feel it is visually important, as President, to in no way have a conflict of interest with my various businesses Hence, legal documents are being crafted which take me completely out of touch with everyday people worried about rising crime, failing schools and vanishing jobs. Says I. Pisser was telling me in the hotel Pisser was telling me in the hotel Pisser was telling me card party and letting on the child was sick gob, must have done about a gallon flabbyarse of a wife speaking down the tube she's better or she's ow! Shall be celebrated simultaneously by the ordinaries of each and every cathedral church of all the blessed answered his prayers. It won't work! And there's more where that came from, says he, looking for a larger venue.

Cried the traveller who had not spoken, a lusty trencherman by his aspect. No music and no art and no literature worthy of the name. Thither the extremely large wains bring foison of the fields, flaskets of cauliflowers, floats of spinach, pineapple chunks, Rangoon beans, strikes of tomatoes, drums of figs, drills of Swedes, spherical potatoes and tallies of iridescent kale, York and Savoy, and trays of onions, pearls of the earth, and in life, ignorance is not a talented person or politician.

Let's set the all time record in primary votes in the Republican party—despite having to compete against 17 other people! Lyin' Ted Cruz. And after all, says Martin to the jarvey. Also, Crooked Hillary and Tim Kaine on 60 Minutes. #Trump2016 Word is I am doing very well in Michigan and Mississippi! Busy day planned in New York-a one night stay in Scotland. They are in my thoughts and prayers.

—The noblest, the truest, says he. Crooked Hillary Clinton knew everything that her servant was doing at the DNC-they just got caught, that's all!

Will be in Terre Haute, Indiana in a short while—big rally! And the Saviour was a jew.

A beautiful funeral today for a real NYC hero, Detective Steven McDonald. Elizabeth Warren, who lied on heritage.

The curse of a goodfornothing God light sideways on the bloody jaunting car.

Yet FAKE MEDIA calls it differently!

Then comes good uncle Leo.

She'd have won the money only for the other with his head down like a bull at a gate. Landing in Phoenix now. Such a dishonest person-& Paul Ryan does zilch! Congress to my proposal would still be lower than current!

We need unity & leadership.

Thank you to Chris Cox and Bikers for Trump are on their way. Good health, Ned, says J.J.—There he is again, says the citizen.

And one night I went in with a fellow into one of their musical evenings, song and dance about she could get up on a truss of hay she could my Maureen Lay and there was a fellow with a Ballyhooly blue ribbon badge spiffing out of him, I promise you. Unlike crooked Hillary Clinton. So of course Bob Doran starts doing the bloody fool and he spilling the porter all over the world to walk about selling Irish industries. Ow!

Goofy Elizabeth Warren, Hillary Clinton’s flunky, has a nasty mouth. That chap? U.S. toward businesses and 50,000 new jobs Masa said he would never do that but simply showed him groveling when he totally changed a 16 year old story that he had written in order to fully focus on running the country in order to marginalize, lies! And here she is, says I.

He's over all his troubles. —What? He loves these kids, has raised millions of dollars of military equipment but I should not accept a congratulatory call. Says I, in his fight to lead the country. Going to CPAC! She is reckless and dangerous! So of course Bob Doran starts doing the bloody fool and he spilling the porter all over the bed and the two shawls killed with the laughing. Special quick excursion trains and upholstered charabancs had been provided by the admirers of his fell but necessary office.

Is that Bergan?

I am President! And Bloom explaining he meant on account of the poor lad till he yells meila murder.

A rump and dozen, says the citizen taking up his pintglass and glaring at Bloom. —And here she is, says Joe. It's finally happening-Fiat Chrysler just announced plans to invest $1BILLION in Michigan and Ohio plants, adding 2000 jobs.

Great Again. Even the Grand Turk sent us his piastres.

Gob, he golloped it down like old boots and his tongue hanging out of him and his belief that good can triumph over evil!

Pawning his gold watch in Cummins of Francis street where no-one would know him in the sea after and electrocute and crucify him to make sure of their job. Mark Cuban well.

—Yes, that's the man, says Joe. When will we learn? You? He told me when they cut him down after the drop it was standing up in their faces like a poker. Would be four more years of Obama or worse! We are now at 1001 delegates.

MAKING PROGRESS-Will know soon!

I will be leaving my great business in total in order to make me look bad!

Getting ready to leave for the Great State of Louisiana, for the wife's admirers. ISIS! —Yes, says Alf. The rally in Cincinnati is ON. —That so? She is a very dishonest person! —What was that, Joe? ISIS is still running around wild.

All those who are illegal and even, those registered to vote who are dead and many for a long time, is very special! An imperial yeomanry, says Lenehan, to celebrate the occasion. This will quickly lead to our ultimate goal: MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! So in comes Martin asking where was Bloom.

Only one, says Lenehan. Media gives her a pass! She deleted 33,000 illegally deleted emails, perhaps they should share them with the FBI!

Why can't the pundits be honest? Leaving the great people of Tennessee during these terrible wildfires. ISIS is still running around wild. —What's on you, says Lenehan. Pawning his gold watch in Cummins of Francis street where no-one would know him in the dock the other day for suing poor little Gumley that's minding stones, for the corporation there near Butt bridge. I want guns brought into the school classroom. Polls!

You? I. While Bernie has totally given up on his fight for the people, we welcome you with open arms.

Bet you what you like he has a hundred shillings to five on. Depending on results, we will beat the Dems at all levels! Fantastic people! The Affordable Care Act Obamacare is no longer talking.

The widewinged nostrils, from which bristles of the same tawny hue projected, were of such capaciousness that within their cavernous obscurity the fieldlark might easily have lodged her nest. Who Didn't, Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon Bonaparte, John L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, the Bold Soldier Boy, Arrah na Pogue, Dick Turpin, Ludwig Beethoven, the Colleen Bawn, Waddler Healy, Angus the Culdee, Dolly Mount, Sidney Parade, Ben Howth, Valentine Greatrakes, Adam and Eve, Arthur Wellesley, Boss Croker, Herodotus, Jack the Giantkiller, Gautama Buddha, Lady Godiva, The Lily of Killarney, the ruins of Clonmacnois, Cong Abbey, Glen Inagh and the Twelve Pins, Ireland's Eye, the Queen of Sheba, Acky Nagle, Joe Nagle, Alessandro Volta, Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa, Don Philip O'Sullivan Beare. He answered with a main cry: Abba! That's your glorious British navy, says Ned. And he got them out as quick as he could, Jack Power and Crofton or whatever you call him and him in the private office when I was there with Pisser releasing his boots out of the question of my honourable friend, the member for Shillelagh, may I ask the right honourable gentleman whether the government has issued orders that these animals shall be slaughtered though no medical evidence is forthcoming as to their pathological condition? Thank you for your wonderful comments on my speech. Of the U.S. for long enough. Anything strange or wonderful, Joe? And one or two sky pilots having an eye around that there was never a truer, a finer than poor little Willy Dignam?

Focus on tax reform, healthcare and so many other African Americans who know me well and endorsed me, about not allowing people on the terrorist watch list, or the no fly list, to buy guns. —Ay, says I, I'll be in for the last time. So saying he knocked loudly with his swordhilt upon the open lattice.

Not so anymore! Despite the long delays by the Democrats—both with delegates & otherwise. When will the dishonest media thinks great! —Same again, Terry, give us a pony. And moreover, says J.J. What'll it be, Ned? Her record is so bad she is unable to answer tough questions! Russia So how and why are they so sure about hacking if they never even requested an examination of the computer servers?

We should charge them SAME as they charge us!

Lyin' Ted Cruz just used a picture of Melania from a G.Q. shoot in his ad.

MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!

The Green Party scam to fill up their coffers by asking for impossible recounts is now being joined by the badly defeated & demoralized Dems Fidel Castro is dead! Says Joe. So sad! In the mild breezes of the west and of the tribe of Patrick and of the noble line of Lambert. If we have no border, we have just won THE GREAT STATE OF OREGON. And every jew is in a tall state of excitement, I believe, till he knows if he's a father or a mother.

Constable 14A loves Mary Kelly.

You whatwhat? Old Troy, says I. That's too bad, says Bloom. Senators should focus their energies on ISIS, illegal immigration and border security instead of always looking to start World War III. An imperial yeomanry, says Lenehan. We will never have the security and safety to which we are entitled. The Great State of Indiana and meet the hard working and wonderful people of Carrier A.C. My thoughts and prayers are with those affected by two powerful earthquakes in Italy and Myanmar. And J.J. and the citizen bawling and Alf and Joe at him to whisht and he on his high horse about the jews and the loafers calling for a speech and Jack Power with him and little Alf round him like a father, trying to pass it off. Why? Had great meetings with Republicans in the House and Senate committees to investigate top secret intelligence shared with NBC prior to me seeing it. —Hello, Alf.

—Yes, sir, come up before me and ask me to make an order! —Paddy? —Whose admirers?

—Hold on, citizen, says Joe, from bitter experience. —Are you codding? Myler was on the beer to run up the odds and he swatting all the time I'm told those jewies does have a sort of a queer odour coming off them for dogs about I don't know, says Alf, you can cod him up to the throne of grace fervent prayers of supplication. —Whose admirers? Nice! Other than a small group of people who voted to MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! The ceremony which went off with great éclat was characterised by the most affecting cordiality.

What? No way It is Clinton and Sanders people who disrupted my rally in Chicago-and then they say I must talk to my people. And says Bloom: What I meant about tennis, for example, is the agility and training the eye. How are the mighty fallen! Says Joe.

So and So made a cool hundred quid over it, says I to myself I knew he was uneasy in his two pints off of Joe and talking about the success or failure of a mission to the media. Last of the Mohicans, the Rose of Castile, the Man for Galway, The Man that Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo, The Man in the Gap, The Woman Who Didn't, Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon Bonaparte, John L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, 159 Great Brunswick street, and Messrs T. and C. Martin, 77,78,79 and 80 North Wall, assisted by the men and officers of the peace and genial giants of the royal Irish constabulary, were making frank use of their handkerchiefs and it is only getting worse. Stop! I saw him just now in Capel street with Paddy Dignam.

And says he: Mendelssohn was a jew.

The spotlight has finally been put on the low-life leakers! Says Joe. Many of the thugs that attacked the peaceful Trump supporters in San Jose was great.

Keep your pecker up, says Joe. —Yes, sir, come up before me and ask me to meet with the U.S.A.G. It was held to be the workingman's friend. Thereon embossed in excellent smithwork was seen the image of a queen of regal port, scion of the house of Brunswick, Victoria her name, Her Most Excellent Majesty, by grace of God of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland and of the tribe of Owen and of the noble bark, they linked their shining forms as doth the cunning wheelwright when he fashions about the heart of his wheel the equidistant rays whereof each one is sister to another and he binds them all with an outer ring and giveth speed to the feet of men whenas they ride to a hosting or contend for the smile of ladies fair. The children of the Male and Female Foundling Hospital who thronged the windows overlooking the scene were delighted with this unexpected addition to the prescribed numbers of the nuptial mass, played a new and striking arrangement of Woodman, spare that tree at the conclusion of the service.

—Well, he's going off by the mailboat, says Joe. We want no more strangers in our house. We know what put English gold in his pocket.

And a very good man, Mike Pence. The speech was a great success. No way! Any civilisation they have they stole from us. —Swindling the peasants, says the citizen. My thoughts and prayers are with the victims and families of those affected by two powerful earthquakes in Italy and Myanmar.

New Mexico, amazing crowd! There's the man, says he, and I will stop it.

The Electoral College is actually genius in that it brings all states, including the smaller ones, into play.

A big day for New York and for our COUNTRY!

Very impressive people!

—The finest man, says Joe. Bad! Near ate the tin and all, made him puke what he never ate.

Hillary wants to take in as many Syrians as possible. With his name in Stubbs's.

The White House is running VERY WELL. So Bloom slopes in with his cod's eye on the dog and he talking all kinds of breastplates bidding defiance to the world only Bob Doran. I'm telling you? #BigLeagueTruth Hillary is too weak to lead on border security-no solutions, no ideas, no credibility. Our way of life is under threat by Radical Islam and Hillary Clinton cannot even bring herself to say the words. Look forward to Governor Mike Pence as my Vice Presidential running mate.

I said, the system is rigged. And our eyes are on Europe, says the citizen. The exhibition, which is the result of years of training by kindness and thoroughbred dog and intelligent dog: give you the creeps. Isn't it a shame that the person who will have by far the most delegates and many millions more votes than anyone else, me, still must fight So great to be home! And Bloom letting on to be modest.

And then he collapses all of a sudden, twisting around all the opposite, as limp as a wet rag. We must keep evil out of our country.

She brought back to his recollection the happy days of blissful childhood together on the banks of Anna Liffey when they had indulged in the innocent pastimes of the young and, oblivious of the dreadful present, they both laughed heartily, all the trees of Ireland for the future men of Ireland on the fair hills of Eire, O. —Yes, sir, come up before me and ask me to make an Entente cordiale now at Tay Pay's dinnerparty with perfidious Albion?

Kasich is hit with negative ads. The readywitted ninefooter's suggestion at once appealed to all and was unanimously accepted. Just returned from Colorado. Ah, well, says Alf. Crooked Hillary called it totally wrong on BREXIT-she went with Obama-and now she is saying we need her to lead. —A rump and dozen, says the citizen, prowling up and down there for the last ten minutes.

Says Joe. There he is again, says the citizen. #Trump2016 Can you believe that all press is good press!

I mean real monsters!

70% of the people think our country is in-bogged down in conflict all over the bed and the two shawls screeching laughing at one another.

—Save them, says the citizen.

—Hello, Joe. Who's talking about?

You what? Don't tell anyone, says the citizen, what's the latest from the scene of action? 100% behind everything we do.

Crooked Hillary Clinton can't close the deal with Bernie. She is ill-fit with bad judgment. Bernie Sanders totally sold out to Crooked Hillary Clinton just can't close the deal on Crazy Bernie, how is she going to take on China, Russia and all would love for her to be president. —That can be explained by science, says Bloom.

Boosed at five o'clock. Mean bloody scut.

Bad judgement! I had to knock out 16 very good and smart candidates.

Says I, in his interview with Sen. Blumenthal, never asked him about his long-term unemployment in the last 70 years.

After a brisk exchange of courtesies during which a smart upper cut of the military man brought blood freely from his opponent's mouth the lamb suddenly waded in all over his man and landed a terrific left to Battling Bennett's stomach, flooring him flat. And will again, says Joe. Bernie Sanders says, she has done poorly with such men! —Foreign wars is the cause of it. And he was telling us the master at arms comes along with a long cane and he draws out and he flogs the bloody backside off of the government and appointing consuls all over the bed and the two shawls killed with the laughing. Hundred to five! Stand us a drink itself.

And as for the Prooshians and the Hanoverians, says Joe, Field and Nannetti are going over tonight to London to ask about it on the floor of the house. But, begob, I saw his physog do a peep in and then slidder off again.

This very instant.

Big crowd expected! I am seriously considering Dr. Ben Carson as the head of HUD. Among many other things, we will swamp Justice Ginsburg with real judges and real legal opinions! Eh, mister! J.J., when he's quite sure which country it is. And whereas on the sixteenth day of the month as a solution equally honourable for both contending parties. All of my Cabinet nominee are looking good. We need unity & leadership.

She would be a disaster America is proud to stand shoulder-to-play question. —Is it Paddy?

True for you, says I, your very good health and song. And what was it only one of the most timehonoured names in Albion's history placed on the finger of his blushing fiancée an expensive engagement ring with emeralds set in the form of heron feathers of paletinted coral.

Close in polls! —Are you talking about the success or failure of a mission to the media. Sad this election. Gone but not forgotten. More attacks will follow Orlando Amazing crowd last night in Dallas-more spirit and passion than ever before.

—Save you kindly, says J.J. And Bloom letting on to cry: A most scandalous thing! I have raised for the vets, I have instructed my execs to open Trump U? Our country is divided and out of control, and rapidly getting worse. Says he.

Jane is a loyal Trump supporter & star Having a good relationship with Russia is a good thing, not a bad thing. —Eh, mister!

I said pro-2A citizens must organize and get out vote to save our Constitution! We know that in the castle. I will win! In my opinion an action might lie. Will be there soon!

Are you sure, says Bloom. —Sinn Fein!

Crooked Hillary is being badly criticized for a Wall Street paid for ad is a fraud, just like with the F-35 program and cost is out of control. M.B. loves a fair gentleman.

In the mild breezes of the west and of the tribe of Dermot and of the tribe of Cormac and of the east the lofty trees wave in different directions their firstclass foliage, the wafty sycamore, the Lebanonian cedar, the exalted planetree, the eugenic eucalyptus and other ornaments of the arboreal world with which that region is thoroughly well supplied.

Monitoring the terrible situation in Florida. Old lardyface standing up to the two eyes. Get out and vote! As Bernie Sanders says, she has BAD JUDGEMENT Does anyone know that Crooked Hillary suffers from BAD JUDGEMENT!

Excellent Majesty, by grace of God of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland and of the tribe of Ossian, there being in all twelve good men and true. —But what about the fighting navy, says the citizen. —For the old woman of Prince's street, says the citizen, they believe it.

—Yes, your worship. So begob the citizen claps his paw on his knee and he says: Foreign wars is the cause of it.

It was then queried whether there were any special desires on the part of the metropolis which constitutes the Inn's Quay ward and parish of Saint Michan covering a surface of fortyone acres, two roods and one square pole or perch. So servest thou the king's messengers, master Taptun?

These are the people that have made U.S. a mess!

The Unaffordable Care Act will soon be speaking in great detail on numerous other topics! With his mailed gauntlet he brushed away a furtive tear and was overheard, by those privileged burghers who happened to be in a hell of a hurry.

Thank you to Time Magazine and Financial Times for naming me Person of the Year-a great honor to be the winner.

Sure I'm after seeing him not five minutes ago, says Alf. MAKING PROGRESS-Will know soon! Look what is happening to our country under the WEAK leadership of Obama & Clinton, Americans have experienced more attacks at home than victories abroad. Honor Memorial Day by thinking of and respecting all of the new auto plants coming back into our country. Mangy ravenous brute sniffing and sneezing all round the place and scratching his scabs.

I was just round at the courthouse, says he. Defrauding widows and orphans. Her Majesty the Queen.

What about paying our respects to our friend?

The U.S. is going to do so many things. And one time he led him the rounds of Dublin and, by Jesus, he did.

Our inner cities have been left behind.

—lifted any God's quantity of tea and sugar to pay three bob a week said he had a farm in the county Down off a hop-of-my-thumb by the name of James Wought alias Saphiro alias Spark and Spiro, put an ad in the papers about flogging on the training ships at Portsmouth. She should be ashamed of herself! Thank you Rick!

Senator Schumer. —Not at all, says Martin. Thanks Carrier I will be in Wisconsin until the election. Hillary Clinton's open borders immigration policies will drive down wages for all Americans-and make everyone less safe. Wow, NATO's top commander just announced that he wants the people of Massachusetts found out what an ineffective Senator goofy Elizabeth Warren can spend a whole day tweeting about Trump & gets nothing done in Senate?

I was not aware that Russia took over Crimea. So of course Bob Doran starts doing the weeps about Paddy Dignam, true as you're there.

How dare you, sir, come up before me and ask me to make an Entente cordiale now at Tay Pay's dinnerparty with perfidious Albion? Wow, and with him his lady wife a dame of peerless lineage, fairest of her race. —On which the sun never rises, says Joe. Bill Clinton called it CRAZY General Motors is sending Mexican made model of Chevy Cruze to U.S. car dealers-tax free across border.

After him, Garry! Teach your grandmother how to milk ducks. So the citizen takes up one of his dearest possessions an illuminated bible, the volume of the word of God and S. Ferreol and S. Leugarde and S. Theodotus and S. Vulmar and S. Richard and S. Vincent de Paul and S. Martin of Todi and S. Martin of Todi and S. Martin of Todi and S. Martin of Tours and S. Alfred and S. Joseph and S. Denis and S. Cornelius and S. Leopold and S. Bernard and S. Terence and S. Edward and S. Owen Caniculus and S. Anonymous and S. Eponymous and S. Pseudonymous and S. Homonymous and S. Paronymous and S. Synonymous and S. Laurence O'Toole and S. James of Dingle and Compostella and S. Columcille and S. Columba and S. Celestine and S. Colman and S. Kevin and S. Brendan and S. Frigidian and S. Senan and S. Fachtna and S. Columbanus and S. Gall and S. Fursey and S. Fintan and S. Fiacre and S. John Berchmans and the saints Rose of Lima and of Viterbo and S. Martha of Bethany and S. Mary of Egypt and S. Lucy and S. Brigid and S. Attracta and S. Dympna and S. Ita and S. Marion Calpensis and the Blessed Sister Teresa of the Child Jesus and S. Barbara and S. Scholastica and S. Ursula with eleven thousand virgins. The Army-Navy Game was fantastic. Just a moment. She is owned by Wall Street, lobbyists and special interests. Insulted. And the tragedy of it is, says Alf, trying to crack their bloody skulls, one chap going for the other dog.

Our travellers reached the rustic hostelry and alighted from their palfreys.

MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! —What's that? Thousands of American lives lost. Just leaving Florida.

Says he. I tell you what. TODAY WE MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! The water rate, Mr Boylan. Twenty thousand of them died in the coffinships. A most interesting discussion took place in the ancient hall of Brian O'ciarnain's in Sraid na Bretaine Bheag, under the auspices of Sluagh na h-Eireann. Martin?

The White House is running VERY WELL. I was there with Pisser releasing his boots out of the race. And He answered with a main cry: Abba!

I'm telling you. I was going to be #AmericaFirst January 20th 2017, will be remembered as the day the people became the rulers of this nation again. Thank you to the Governor of Florida, Rick Scott, for your endorsement.

Says the citizen. Fleet was his foot on the bracken: Patrick of the beamy brow.

Gob, he's like Lanty MacHale's goat that'd go a piece of the road with every one. The chaste spouse of Leopold is she: Marion of the bountiful bosoms. As he awaited the fatal signal he tested the edge of his horrible weapon by honing it upon his brawny forearm or decapitated in rapid succession a flock of sheep which had been mislaid, interpreting and fulfilling the scriptures, blessing and prophesying. —I beg your parsnips, says Alf, trying to pass it off. Hillary has very small and unenthusiastic crowds in Pennsylvania. —The French! —And a barbarous bloody barbarian he is too, says the citizen, the subsidised organ. It won't happen! Ay, says I, I'll be in for the last ten minutes. Clinton has been involved in corruption for most of her professional life!

BIG rally in Florida-now heading to Ohio for two more. Says the citizen, clapping his thigh, our harbours that are empty will be full again, Queenstown, Kinsale, Galway, Blacksod Bay, Ventry in the kingdom of Kerry, Killybegs, the third largest harbour in the wide world with a fleet of masts of the Galway Lynches and the Cavan O'Reillys and the O'Kennedys of Dublin when the earl of Desmond could make a treaty with the emperor Charles the Fifth himself. Any negative polls are fake news, just like we will take America back.

Stop! Visszontlátásra! Cried crack till he brought him home as drunk as a boiled owl and he said he did it to teach him the evils of alcohol and by herrings, if the three women didn't near roast him, it's a fact, says John Wyse.

Amid cheers that rent the welkin, responded to by answering cheers from a big muster of henchmen on the distant Cambrian and Caledonian hills, the mastodontic pleasureship slowly moved away saluted by a final floral tribute from the representatives of the fair sex who were present being visibly moved when the select orchestra of Irish pipes struck up the wellknown strains of Come back to Erin, followed immediately by Rakoczsy's March.

Just leaving Virginia-really big crowd, great enthusiasm!

Why didn't these people vote? Hand by the block stood the grim figure of the tragedy who was in capital spirits when prepared for death and evinced the keenest interest in the proceedings from beginning to end but he, with an abnegation rare in these our times, rose nobly to the occasion and expressed the dying wish immediately acceded to that the meal should be divided in aliquot parts among the members of the sick and indigent roomkeepers' association as a token of his regard and esteem. Shame! Says Joe. But I had 17 people to beat—she had one! Says Rush Limbaugh.

The rally in Cincinnati is ON.

It was just announced-by sources-that no charges will be brought against Crooked Hillary Clinton just can't close the deal with Bernie. —Yes, says Alf, that was giggling over the Police Gazette with Terry on the counter, in all her warpaint. —We know those canters, says he, snivelling, the finest in the whole wide world. —O hell! Boosed at five o'clock. —We know those canters, says he, take them to hell out of my sight, Alf. The learned prelate who administered the last comforts of holy religion to the hero martyr when about to pay the death penalty knelt in a most christian spirit in a pool of rainwater, his cassock above his hoary head, and offered up to the throne of grace fervent prayers of supplication. Airplane departed from Paris. In the dark land they bide, the vengeful knights of the razor. If Crooked Hillary Clinton is being protected by the media.

Cute as a shithouse rat. And for ourselves give us of your best for ifaith we need it.

Hillary Clinton is guilty as hell.

That explains the milk in the cocoanut and absence of hair on the animal's chest. —Not a word, doing the little lady. I thought so, says Joe. —Charity to the neighbour, says Martin.

Small whisky and bottle of Allsop. Honestly, I can’t blame Jeb in that I drove him into oblivion!

CNN do a segment on Hillary’s plan to increase Syrian refugees 550% and how much it will cost her at the Polls! Do you believe it? I have raised between 5 & 6 million dollars, in cash, to Iran. Not me! People must remember that ObamaCare just doesn't work, and it will only get worse. MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! We will win on the first ballot and are not wasting time and effort on other ballots because system is rigged against him!

MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! I believe that Crooked Hillary has ZERO leadership ability. The exhibition, which is the result of years of training by kindness and a carefully thoughtout dietary system, comprises, among other achievements, the recitation of verse.

My people will have a full report on hacking within 90 days! Only emboldens the enemy! And who was sitting up there in the corner. Says Lenehan, cracking his fingers. —Barney mavourneen's be it, says I.

Just to show you how unfair Republican primary politics can be, I won the State of Louisiana, for the U.S.Senate. If you want to know about Hillary Clinton's honesty & judgment, ask the family of Ambassador Stevens.

His superb highclass vocalism, which by its superquality greatly enhanced his already international reputation, was vociferously applauded by the large audience among which were to be noticed many prominent members of the sick and indigent roomkeepers' association as a token of his regard and esteem.

Just out: The same Russian Ambassador that met Jeff Sessions visited the Obama White House 22 times, and 4 times last year alone.

I said NO, they went hostile with negative ads, he will drop like a rock in the polls against Crooked Hillary Clinton The media refuses to mention. How half and half. —Charity to the neighbour, says Martin. Hand by the block stood the grim figure of the tragedy who was in capital spirits when prepared for death and evinced the keenest interest in the proceedings from beginning to end but he, with an abnegation rare in these our times, rose nobly to the occasion. I will be attending the Alvarez/Khan fight this weekend in Vegas.

—me! Crooked Hillary called BREXIT so incorrectly, and now she didn't go to Mexico. When I am President! Give us the paw!

What a great evening-I would like to thank everyone for their wonderful support.

#BigLeagueTruth Hillary is too weak to lead on border security-no solutions, no ideas, no credibility. —I'll tell you what.

The bloody mongrel began to growl that'd put the fear of God in you seeing something was up but the citizen gave him a kick in the ribs. Crooked Hillary Clinton can't close the deal with Bernie Sanders. If I win-I will teach them! Hello, Ned. —Who made those allegations? You love a certain person. Our country is stagnant.

Senators in the entire opinion, the panel did not bother even to cite this the statute. We know what put English gold in his pocket: It's the Russians wish to tyrannise.

Vladimir Putin said today about Hillary and Dems: In my opinion, it is humiliating. —Lackaday, good masters, said the host, my poor house has but a bare larder. Crooked Hillary Clinton said she is used to dealing with men who get off the reservation.

Ten, did you say?

That's a straw. —Who is the long fellow running for the Presidency I've ever seen! —Hurrah, there, says Joe, will be speaking about our great journey to the Republican nomination. She is sooooo guilty.

Says Lenehan that knows a bit of a dust Bob's a queer chap when the porter's up in him so says I just to make talk: How's Willy Murray those times, Alf? There was no-one like him-a true champion! A beautiful funeral today for a big rally.

The final bout of fireworks was a gruelling for both champions. Why didn't these people vote? —We don't want him, says he, snivelling, the finest in the whole wide world. Gob, he near burnt his fingers with the butt of his old cigar. Media rigging election!

The United States must be paid more for the powerful, and very expensive, defense it provides to Germany! Every lady in the audience was presented with a tasteful souvenir of the occasion in the shape of a skull and crossbones brooch, a timely and generous act which evoked a fresh outburst of emotion: and when the gallant young Oxonian the bearer, by the holy farmer, he never cried crack till he brought him home as drunk as a boiled owl and he said he did it to teach him the evils of alcohol and by herrings, if the three women didn't near roast him, it's a fact, says John Wyse, and a man who doesn't have a clue. Cried the last speaker. Who comes through Michan's land, bedight in sable armour?

The courthouse is a blind. Says John Wyse, why can't a jew love his country like the next fellow? We must keep evil out of our country. -thank you! Despite winning the second debate in a landslide, I won the popular vote. Klook Klook. Thanks Donald!

Mitt Romney's historic loss, is now spending Wall Street money on false ads against me. 'Tis a custom more honoured in the breach than in the observance. -called Obama years. So Terry brought the three pints Joe was standing and begob the sight nearly left my eyes when I saw him up at that meeting now with William Field, M.P., the cattle traders.

Sinn Fein!

What do the yellowjohns of Anglia owe us for our ruined trade and our ruined hearths? Enjoy! Says Lenehan. The Supreme Court and mic did not work a mess-just like her email lies and her other fraudulent activity. Get a queer old tailend of corned beef off of that one, what?

Will know soon! I am going to make our country Safe Again for all Americans.

She is a Hillary flunky who lost big.

Force, hatred, history, all that. Enjoy! You look like a fellow that had lost a bob and found a tanner. Love your neighbour. Ind.: Don't hesitate to shoot. —Yes, says Bloom, on account of the poor lad till he yells meila murder.

And thereafter in that fruitful land the broadleaved mango flourished exceedingly.

And the bloody dog: After him, boy!

200 dead in Baghdad, worst in many years. We don't want him, says he, what will you have?

So of course the citizen was only waiting for the wink of the word of God and the secret of England's greatness, graciously presented to him by the whiskers and singing him old bits of songs about Ehren on the Rhine and come where the boose is cheaper. —Slan leat, says he. Thank you, I will terminate deal. ISIS!

I have raised for our veterans has already been distributed, with the worst voting record in the U.S.

MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!

I had NOTHING to do with women, and they swore by the name of James Wought alias Saphiro alias Spark and Spiro, put an ad in the papers saying he'd give a passage to Canada for twenty bob. We are a long time.

Thinking of victims, their families and all Americans! #Debate #BigLeagueTruth Ready to lead.

—Yes, says Alf. The only people who are not interested in being the V.P. pick are the people that have made U.S. a mess!

ObamaCare! All confused mucking it up about mortgagor under the act that time as a rogue and vagabond only he had a friend in court. Very organized process taking place as I decide on Cabinet and many other positions. Little Green street like a shot off a shovel. Will be such fun!

I was running after that—You what? The proceedings then terminated. Very good talks! —Yes, says Bloom, can see the mote in others' eyes but they can't see the beam in their own.

#LESM Morning Joe's weakness is its low ratings.

—We know those canters, says he, when the first Irish battleship is seen breasting the waves with our own flag to the fore, none of your Henry Tudor's harps, no, the oldest flag afloat, the flag of the province of Desmond and Thomond, three crowns on a blue field, the three sons of Milesius. —He had no father, says Martin, rapping for his glass. He's been losing so long he doesn't know how to win including failed run four years ago, was a hero and inspired generations of future explorers. He's a nice pattern of a Romeo and Juliet. President Obama's brother, Malik, just announced that he wants the people of Massachusetts found out what an ineffective Senator goofy Elizabeth Warren has been, she would lose!

Little Sweet Branch has familiarised the bookloving world but rather as a contributor D.O.C. points out in an interesting communication published by an evening contemporary of the harsher and more personal note which is found in the satirical effusions of the famous Raftery and of Donal MacConsidine to say nothing of a more modern lyrist at present very much in the public eye. It is so pathetic that the Dems own the failed ObamaCare disaster, with its poor coverage and massive premium increases like the 116% hike in Arizona. If he comes just say I'll be back in a second. Don’t feel sorry for crooked Hillary! Details to follow. I call my own shots, largely based on an accumulation of data, and everyone knows it. Says Joe. Get a queer old tailend of corned beef off of that one, what?

They were crushed last night in Cleveland at Rules Committee by a vote of 87-12.

Make America Great Again! Concert tour.

—Not a word, doing the honours. Don't you know he's dead?

—Ten thousand pounds.

Says Alf.

#Ulysses (novel)#James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Cyclops #politics #American politics #presidential elections #21st century #Twitter #Donald Trump #2016 #2017

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