#they just found her today its been a solid week if not more

[moonstruckme]

Steve x Wednesday!reader and the gang really didn’t expect Steve to end up w someone so different from all his exs but also low-key think she’s way out of his league??? Found your fics and your writing is sick 😋😋😋😋

Thanks for your request sweetheart! I haven't written wednesday!reader before so idk if this was too much? Or too little? Anyway, I hope you like it, mwah <3

Steve Harrington x Wednesday!reader ♡ 698 words

You hadn't been at all nervous to meet Steve's friends. Really, they probably should have been more nervous about meeting you.

You could be a bit off-putting at first, with your impassive stare and clipped, to-the-point manner of speaking. The few other girlfriends Steve had introduced to his friends had greeted them with smiles and nervous laughter, and Steve had caught Dustin and Mike whispering about just that when you'd gone to the bathroom.

Overall, though, Steve thinks this is going pretty well. Nancy had liked your giant combat boots, Eddie loved that you had the same taste in music, and when the kids found out how much you knew about mages and battle strategy, they'd grilled you for a solid twenty minutes before Steve had called them off, complaining that he was going to dream about their nerd jargon that night if they didn't shut up.

Now, Eddie and the boys are discussing the edition of their nerd game they'll be playing next week (how it even changes from week to week, Steve can never figure out), and you seem to be listening with mild interest when you turn towards him suddenly.

"I have to go home," you say, in your matter-of-fact way. "I left a potion on the stove, and its six hours are almost up."

Steve blinks at you. He should be used to this by now, but sometimes your hobbies still take him by surprise. "Alright," he says after a moment. "What's the potion for?"

Impossibly, your expression darkens. "Something ate my venus fly traps, and I intend to find out what."

Steve declines to ask what you plan to do when you do find them, or how whatever you're brewing will accomplish that. "Okay," he stands, looking for where he left his keys. "I'll drive."

"No, you can stay," you say, as if it makes no difference to you. "I want to cut through the woods to find some belladonna on my way."

He's not going to ask what you want with the poisonous berries, either. "You sure, honey?" You nod, and Steve sits back down. He knows better than to bother arguing with you once you've made up your mind. "Okay, be safe, alright? Text me when you're home."

He tilts his chin up, and you lean down to peck him on the lips, a brief, chaste thing compared to what you prefer behind closed doors.

"Bye, Y/N!" Eddie calls, and a chorus of goodbyes follow you out. As soon as the door closes behind you, every eye in the room turns on Steve.

"Steve, what the hell? She's so cool." Dustin says, sounding almost shocked.

"Yeah," Eddie chimes in. "Where the hell have you been hiding her, Harrington?"

Steve grins proudly. He known they liked you, but it doesn't hurt to hear it out loud. "Yeah?"

"Um, yeah," Max says. "She's hilarious."

Robin nods enthusiastically. "She is! She's so funny, and smart, too. Honestly, Steve, it's a good thing you're nice, because she's, like, way out of your league."

Steve blinks. Okay, ouch. This compliment session seems to be taking an unexpected turn. Up until today, no one was out of Steve Harrington's league. "You really think so?"

"Duh." Robin looks around for support, but only Dustin is nodding, everyone else having fallen unusually silent. "Oh, you guys are cowards. She's gorgeous."

"I know that," Steve says defensively.

"She does have better hair than you," Nancy says, somewhat apologetically, "and that's kind of your thing, so."

Steve blows out an exasperated breath, slouching back in his seat. He thinks you have better hair than him, but he didn't know everyone else would think that. And of course you're far too good for him, but aren't these supposed to be his friends? Any modicum of loyalty they'd had between them seems to have vanished.

"Whatever," Steve says. "You guys are just jealous."

Eddie sighs, his eyes sparkling with exaggerated infatuation. "I know I am. Don't let her get away from you, Harrington, or I might take her for myself."

Steve rolls his eyes. As if he'd be dumb enough to let that happen. He's happy to be your charity case forever.

[wooahaes]

community & pumpkin patches

pairing: non-idol!vocal unit & gn!reader

genre: fluff! platonic content <3

word count: 0.9k~

warnings: food mentions. just silly pumpkin patch visits w the boys!!

daisy's notes: oh to go to a pumpkin patch and hold hands with jeonghan and take pics w seungkwan and--

For the past few weeks, you had today marked on your calendar in red. PUMPKIN PATCH W/ THE BOYS!!! (Yes, with three exclamation points, because that was how important today was to you.)

The six of you had met up at the pumpkin patch outside of the city, and came together to enjoy everything it had to offer. Jeonghan’s hand found your own all too soon as he stood between you and Joshua’s, swinging both of your hands as he walked with you. He’d been excited, too: this place had a small petting farm, and the two of you admittedly gushed a little over seeing baby sheep. Seokmin came up to your other side, hand slipping into your own as he walked alongside you. Jihoon and Seungkwan were walking slightly ahead of the four of you, Jihoon staring down at his phone. You’d seen this place’s website open on it earlier.

“Vernon said the apple cider is here,” he mused aloud. 

Seungkwan let out a scoff, rolling his eyes. “I also said that it's good.” 

“You did?” Jihoon looked up, saying nothing for a moment as his cheeks turned red. “Sorry.” 

The moment passed all too quickly, as Seungkwan pointed out the sunflower field off to the right. There was a sign talking about prices for people to pick sunflowers, but… “I want to take pictures before we leave,” he said, turning back to face the rest of you. “Okay? We’re not leaving until we take pictures together.” 

Joshua smiled. “We know, Seungkwan.”

The six of you had been talking about this trip for the past week, after all. Jeonghan quickly brought up the fact that he and Seungkwan wanted to get maybe a smaller pumpkin for their apartment to keep near the entrance—they’d carve something cute into it as a little greeting for guests—and maybe stick a scented candle inside of it. Joshua pulled his hand free from Jeonghan’s at one point, drifting off to look at something that had caught his eye, leaving you to wander onward with the rest of the group. Jihoon split off to get apple cider, Seokmin coming after him with the promise to get you a cup as well, leaving you and Jeonghan to swing arms as you pranced forward together. Seungkwan rolled his eyes for maybe a minute before Jeonghan grabbed his hand, too—and you caught a glimpse of that smile on his face. The Jeonghan smile that often said “I’m not stopping until you smile, because I’m your favorite nuisance.” 

Only for him to look ahead, letting go of both of your hands. He turned back, calling your name as he rushed ahead toward the little petting farm, slowing down as he approached it as to not scare anything. He waited for you near the sheep, crouching down to look at the more curious babies that had come over.

Jeonghan ushered you over, almost like a mother would with her kid (team mom Jeonghan always seemed to shine through on these group outings). “Seungkwan-ah, get a picture of us!”

Seungkwan rolled his eyes yet again for a moment, unable to suppress a smile. As embarrassing as it might be to have friends like this, you knew that he loved you all with his entire heart. “Fine,” he said, “but I’m only giving them cute stickers.”

The two of you posed just long enough for Seungkwan to take a nice picture before you immediately turned to carefully pet the baby. You were sure that you could hear the shutter of Seungkwan’s phone as he snapped more pictures, but you were riding this high of ‘baby animals adorable’ instead. 

“I think,” Joshua announced as he came back over, “I made a good purchase.”

You looked up from where you were watching Jeonghan was trying to attract a cow that was on the other side of its pen. Joshua pulled out a small pumpkin, big enough to fit snugly in his hand, from behind his back.

Fuck, he was right. Solid purchase, ten out of ten, he needed to watch it because you might try to steal it. Pumpkins were cool and all, but baby pumpkins? They had the additional factor of ‘tiny’ to make them cute (similar to the way Jihoon acted sometimes where that tiny ‘whoa!’ was one of the cutest things he could ever say). 

Jihoon and Seokmin eventually rejoined the group, carrying cups of apple cider for the rest of you. For a moment, the six of you walked away from the petting farm area, enjoying the chill of autumn and the combative warmth of the apple cider, sweet and tart on your tongue. Jihoon had admitted that Seungkwan (and, technically, Vernon) had been right about it, all while pulling his scarf a little more snug, while Seokmin huddled closer to you for warmth. 

“Just for now,” he said softly, “I promise.”

Truthfully, Seokmin could cuddle closer to you in the middle of summer and you probably wouldn’t have the heart to shove him away immediately. But now, in the colder morning? His presence was more than welcome, and you’d slipped your hand out of your pocket to hold his again. Sure, it would warm up a little more later, sure, but the six of you had agreed to come out early to try and avoid any heavy crowds and the heat. It was nicer this way, too: you liked having these moments with your close friends, always finding something interesting to do. 

Maybe the six of you would come back next year. If you didn’t, at least you would have plenty of pictures of the six of you together by the end of it, standing in front of sunflowers and beaming with joy from being together again. 

taglist: @twancingyunhao @wonuziex @staranghae @synthetickitsune

[maximotts]

𝔰𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔫 𝔡𝔲𝔱𝔶 ☾ 𝔳𝔞𝔩𝔨𝔶𝔯𝔦𝔢

pairing ❦ king!Valkyrie x female handmaiden!reader

summary ❦ one kiss and you were hers. Now in New Asgard, you owed your King a great deal for your brand new life; thankfully, you adored every way she found to show your appreciation

warnings ❦ smut, 18+ only content; strap-ons, pillow humping, innocence kink, degradation but not intense, face fucking, humiliation if you squint, submission, name calling but reader knows Val cares about her

words ❦ 1.9k

a/n ❦ @crescent-witch requested a Val fic, I wanted to write a Val fic, now king Val is finally here! Mildly debating turning this into a series of things because just.. yeaaah King Valkyrie

kinktober masterlist.

This song and dance though, this show of power in her possessive grip about your waist contradicting the gentle way she looked at you — a prize instead of property— it only made you fall harder. If you were to crash and burn, you had a gut feeling she’d catch you.

How would you feel about a job reassignment, precious? 

New Asgard lived up to its name; obviously in origins, but for you it was all new shops, views, and people. One person in particular was the reason you’d wound up here, plucked from your lavish home in Omnipotence City under Zeus’ court, whisked away the instant her warrior blood stained lips met the back of your hand. Being smitten was alright, she wasn’t your first crush; it was when she returned despite the banishment she’d surely been dealt that your heart began to flare. 

She’d beckoned you over from her place in the shadows with one commanding finger, shrouded figure somehow invisible to everyone but you, her target. You remembered the multitude of questions that’d bounced around your skull, wanting to ask who she was just to hide the reality that as soon as some maid uttered her name you’d poured through every bit of information you could get your hands on, trying to uncover the secrets of this alluring Valkyrie. It didn’t matter, she’d shushed you with that same finger now against your lips, every thought you’d hoarded for weeks since your first encounter thrown out the window. She tugged you those last few inches closer, fully engulfed in her dark hiding spot and overwhelmed with just how solid her body felt against your own, toned arm keeping your front tight against her chest.

There was no doubt in your mind she could’ve taken you at will, snatched you while you passed and rode off on her Pegasus without having to bat one seductive eye; it’d happened before to women around here. This song and dance though, this show of power in her possessive grip about your waist contradicting the gentle way she looked at you — a prize instead of property— it only made you fall harder. If you were to crash and burn, you had a gut feeling she’d catch you.

How would you feel about a job reassignment, precious? 

Now you were her… something. You’d heard whispers of ‘King’s Consort’ but never asked. She called, you came; you wished for anything, she provided; it was nameless, but you had no complaints. Your king went above and beyond, far more attentive than any person you’d experienced in your young life… so you had no qualms doing whatever she asked.

Valkyrie was a busy woman, always going from one meeting to another, leaving her exhausted many nights when she finally joined you in her chambers. Occasionally it made you sad, bored without her presence, and as much as she’d teased you about it in your short time with her, she hated seeing you pout. Today she’d put her events on hold, promising to spend the entire day with you— she’d neglected to mention she still had a mountain of paperwork to work through. 

It would’ve upset you had she not summoned you to her desk after an hour, thumbs rubbing into your soft hips while she playfully nibbled at your belly through your thin dress. If she kept up, your knees would buckle and she knew that; it wouldn’t be the first time she’d held your entire weight effortlessly. “Sit with me, buttercup. I want something pretty to look at.” 

So melted by her smooth words, you didn’t realize where Val placed you until you were craning your neck upwards, sat between her legs on a thick cushion she’d clearly already anticipated using. Confusion rose as she stroked your cheeks, her smug grin only serving to trouble you further. “I don’t want to sit down here. It’s cold…”

“But you look perfect down there, just right,” If you wanted to pout, you couldn’t, her thumb swiping over your lips before pressing past them like it belonged there the whole time. The other fingers weren’t a necessity, you’d been dutifully keeping your mouth open, but they held you in place while her free hand set about inspecting your mouth, running along your teeth and inside your cheeks, Val’s smile ever wider. “I know just what I want to try putting in that darling mouth of yours.” 

You didn’t have time to ask before she was pulling away, wet fingers unbuckling her pants and revealing her tucked away strap. Like clockwork your mouth watered, all too familiar with the pleasures that toy brought. You moved to stand, but she forced you down by your shoulders, meeting the pillow again with a dull oof. “But-”

Val shot you a warning look before you could complete your whiny sentence, an expression you’d learned to heed well. “All I need you to do is open wide. Not to speak, but to listen.” 

You nodded eagerly, never having had such a thing, but willing to try if only to please your new king. Her chair pushed forward, crowding you until your view was only her clothed legs and the intimidating length in front, her hand finding the back of your head before you could move away. 

Taking it was a slow process because Val made it one, reminding you the whole time she could shove it to the back of your throat as easy as one thrust of her hips, but she never did. She was steady, unwavering as she made you take the whole thing despite how you balled your fists atop your thighs, whimpering whenever you were worried you’d choke. 

You didn’t and for that, she was proud. Inch by inch, your anxieties melted away, slowly but surely entranced by the slight weight on your tongue. You startled only because you could feel Val pulling back and, unready to give up your newfound ease, you let out a somewhat pitiful whine. 

“Oh you like having a mouthful of my cock, sweetheart?” Given the same enthusiastic agreement, Val pushed back in, faster this time, but you didn’t complain. She really shouldn’t have waited so long to do this. “Think you can sit there and look pretty while I fuck your face?” 

The question burned your cheeks, her hips already sliding back and forth before you had a chance to answer. It was yes, of course, but she couldn’t find it in her to wait. Not when you were moaning around her strap each time you took her in. “Just like that, you’re doing so well..”

Being mindless was easier than you’d imagined, letting your thoughts drift while your lover used your mouth for her filthy choice of distraction from work. Besides, it was hard to focus on much else past imagining Val fucking you like this elsewhere hopefully soon. The telltale tug in your lower belly had been there since she first called you over, tightening steadily as she fawned over you, coaxed you into whatever this was now. You were always like this, helplessly aroused by not only your submission, but how well it was received— and Val was always so very vocal in her approval.

“I wish you could see how gorgeous you look right now. So willing to let me do whatever I want… my perfect angel, all for me, isn’t that right?” Again with those words, striking you in your vulnerable state and making you squirm. She didn’t say a thing about it until your eyes began to close, mind wandering selfishly and depriving her of your attention. “Ah ah, eyes on me, sweet thing.” 

She tugged at your hair and you groaned, eyes shooting open as she forced you forward. Your shift for balance was frantic, hands flat in front of your bent legs as Val held you in place. It was just a little awkward so you moved your hips and— there it was. That one bit of friction you’d been needing for so long. You pushed against the cushion experimentally, testing your accidental discovery. The fabric was rough on your bare sex, having forgone undergarments when you’d heard Valkyrie intended on spending the day with you, but you liked it. You’d heard of using pillows before, a few of your friends whispering the act to one another like a sacred secret, but you’d never tried… now you cursed your past self for denying you so long. 

You moved in time with Val’s hips as much as you could, the fist in your hair still unrelenting in its grip. It was intoxicating, the combination of the desperation with which you rut against the object between your legs and the quick pace of her strap fucking your now aching jaw. You felt used and filthy, like a wanton whore who’d accept any treatment… and you adored every second of it.

“You’re getting off on having my cock down your throat? I bet if I lifted your skirt I’d see you absolutely drenching that poor pillow. Naughty girl,” Her teasing was punctuated with harsh thrusts, making you choke where you’d been so calm earlier, now your short breaths wouldn’t allow it. Your legs spread further, sinking down until the pressure on your clit was almost too much to bear, but the ache ever spreading through your core far outweighed the strain of your thighs. “I knew I’d picked the right one, you look so soft and shy, but you’re really just a depraved little thing.”

Protesting was useless, cries muffled by her intrusion and the frantic jerk of your hips giving you away. Tears welled in the corners of your eyes as you struggled keeping up with her pace as well as your own, muscles tired and heavy as your orgasm teased its arrival, but your lover was unwilling to give you any reprieve. “This dalliance was supposed to be for my benefit, a quick distraction from work, but… you make such an ethereal sight, I could have you like this all day.” 

The mere thought was enough to do you in, your beloved king using you as she pleased, uncaring how tired you were or how many times you came from humping a silly pillow, as long as she could watch your demeaning display— you couldn’t dismiss your needs a second longer.

You were so close, legs clamping around the cushion, shaky hands reaching to brace themselves on firmly planted calves, air caught in your throat threatening to suffocate, when you were ripped away. In your shock, you barely registered your back hitting the thick rug behind you, but when Val’s tongue filled the emptiness your mouth suffered from, you melted into her effortlessly. “I was being good! I wanted to cum…” 

It took the older woman a while to understand what you’d said, deeply occupied with covering your caged in, prone form with as many marks your skin could handle. In her defense, making out your voice was infinitely harder amidst the meek whimpers and pleas you uttered. When she did find it in her to separate from where you lay, you caught sight of her blown pupils and disheveled trousers, possessive hands roaming and groping whatever parts of you they could reach, and prayed to the gods to grant you the willpower to survive her when she’d become this ravenous.

“My sweet, darling little buttercup…you were so much more than good, I want to thank you,” she moved forward just to watch her strap slide through your swollen cunt, hips rising to meet her and unabashed in how exposed it left you. The time for work was done; it’d be a miracle if she let you up from the floor before the sun set. “If you need my cock so badly, well, I’m nothing if not a gracious king.”

[rosemaeridream]

i still cant move on from lec!aeri like brooo 😖 its not healthy anymore. but ahaha do u hv anymore thoughts abt lec!aeri or WALK WITHH ME HERE pussy drunk lec!aeri 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ or or they get into an argument then make up sex + pussy drunk lec!aeri do u see the vision 🧎‍♀️

pussy drunk and maybe just a little bit wine tipsy 🤗🤗🤗

cw: tipsy sex, overstim, little tiny bit of conditioning

lec!aeri isn’t a bad woman, yk? she’s just trying to make do with accidentally falling head over heels for one of her students. and sometimes the pressure is a little too much for her to hold so having a drink is an admirable choice for her to relax a little.

with a glass of wine and a trashy tv show that should have been cancelled three seasons back, its easy for aeri to settle into a calm state of being.

then you arrive home (yeah, she’s started to refer to you being home at her apartment, so??), with a pinched brow and a slight downturn of your lips.

“stop giving me special consideration.” you blurt as you take off your sweater, aeri’s apartment being 10° warmer than outside. “it makes me feel like i’m not capable.”

aeri’s already tipsy, half-asleep and not understanding anything from the tv show. now’s not the time to be having this conversation.

“i only gave you a couple extra marks because i know you know the content. we were just busy the week you handed in that quiz.” she frowns, not even knowing how you found out about your slightly doctored results.

“but i didn’t get it right in the test. how’s it gonna look when someone figures out that you’re continuously being lax with a student!”

“they won’t! i’ve never done it before.” aeri puts her wine glass to the side, watching you pace on the other side of the room then plop down on the bed with a huff.

“you could lose your job, aeri. i could fuck up my degree! you should know better than to fuck about with my grades.”

“but i was just trying to help. we were in japan that week. you were busy. i know you know the content.” she doubles down, reaching out for your arm.

“yeah, except my friends could start poking around at why we seem so close!” you snap, leaning out of reach.

the argument is dumb in her head right now, and aeri is not sober enough to plot together a proper standpoint and she just wants you to shut up already – so she tilts forward, pulls on the back of your neck and connects your lips desperately.

it's messy from the beginning, she tastes like wine and you're half moaning at the feeling of your teeth knocking together, but it works. you have shut up (apart from the whines and squeaks when she lunges forward to pull you closer), and aeri puffs in smug pride.

she's so smart!! she's not that tipsy!! she totally won that argument!!

every time you moan, it’s swallowed by aeri’s mouth, hungry for more signs of pleasure.

"want... you to... strip for me, baby." she heaves between kisses, already dampening at the thought of getting to taste your sweet little cunt for the first time today. “wanna see my favourite pussy… so leaky and… slick for me.”

your moans aren’t enough for her, she wants it.

now.

her fingers aren’t nimble, clawing and getting caught with your waistband as she tries to pry it down your legs. unfortunately, she’s forgotten that you’re sitting on the bed and clothes aren’t able to phase through solids, even when she’s so desperate to get to her baby’s slick. it’s her favourite meal after all.

fortunately, you’re not as far gone as aeri, lifting your hips so that she can do what she likes with your lower body.

when she’s got your pants off, she finally pulls her mouth away to separate your legs and hold them steady, an unabashed groan when she finally sees your cunt.

“so good for me, baby. lie back so you’re comfortable.” her voice is soft, you can tell that she’s already forgotten about the argument, too focused on pleasing you to remember the irritation from minutes before.

aeri skips the foreplay… or maybe that was the foreplay, considering that she can feel the dampness of her own cunt, and she’s looking at your drenched panties, clinging to your pussy lips.

she licks up the panties, mewing softly at the taste. hushed mutters of “so wet.” or “tastes sweet.” between passes of her tongue over your clothed hole. she’s so fucking obsessed with your cunt, treating it like pure perfection.

it’s not often that she’s softer like this. most of the time she’s firmer during sex — taking the lead, keeping her grip strong, prying your legs apart to overstimulate your clit — but whenever she’s slightly tipsy, she just wants you to feel everything.

“don’t hold back, okay baby?” she mumbled before curling her fingers into the cotton, sliding your panties out of the way and stuffing her mouth full of your cunt.

she laps away like it’s ice cream and she’s trying to get to the chocolate filled tip of the cone, only being encouraged by your moans and squeaks, only pausing to take a breath when it’s absolutely necessary.

whenever her name slips out of her mouth, she makes sure to bump her nose against your clit or give it a little suck as a reward. aeri needs to make sure that you’re hers. no matter what. and maybe she’s getting wetter at the thought of conditioning you to feel pleasure whenever you call her name.

you taste so good, so sweet and delicious that aeri doesn’t even register the feeling of your thighs tightening around her head and the clench of your hole when she slides her tongue in for a pass. she just feels a bit of a wiggle from you and grasps your hips to keep you stable as she continues.

although that soft side continues, the occasional praise of “good girl, keep still for me.” and her warm voice playing around your head, you start to realise that she isn’t letting up. her tongue doesn’t stop moving, curling around your clit, dipping into your hole.

“aeri, ‘s too much.” you paw at her head, trying to push her away.

she ignores your pleading, just wanting more of your slick. she just repeats her phrases, “keep still, angel.” or “you can cum one more time for me.”

but one more is still one less than aeri needs.

————

i really fucking love pussy drunkness.

also that emoji??! okay olivia wilde nodding and smiling reaction gif meme

[uselesssomebody]

𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕥𝕠 𝕝𝕠𝕧𝕖 - eddie munson x reader

complete masterlist | stranger things masterlist | eddie munson masterlist

"𝕨𝕖 𝕜𝕖𝕖𝕡 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕝𝕠𝕧𝕖 𝕚𝕟 𝕒 𝕡𝕙𝕠𝕥𝕠𝕘𝕣𝕒𝕡𝕙 𝕨𝕖 𝕞𝕒𝕕𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕤𝕖 𝕞𝕖𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕤 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕤𝕖𝕝𝕧𝕖𝕤" - photograph | ed sheeran

words || 𝟙.𝟠𝕜

summary || in which eddie finds a picture in the reader's locker

a/n || alright i dunno the etiquette of answering an open-ended request like this but i wrote @eddiemunsonfix's open-ended request/call to action. i read it last night and absolutely adored it; i hope i did it justice. ➵ i just hit 400?? y'all i love you guys toooo much; i'll create like a prompt list at some point this week (fingers crossed) as a little follower special. thank you guys for liking my work enough to follow me - i appreciate each and every single one of you

request || "Imagine you and Eddie haven’t been dating for very long so it’s all still very new to him but he notices you have a picture of him hanging in your locker at school and he just gets all smiley and flustered and adORABLE SOMEONE PLEASE WRITE THIS FOR ME"

warnings || fluff

"hey, good morning!" you lightly poked at his half-sleeping form, which had been slumping onto the library table the two of you were sharing. your first period had been a free one - and you were sure eddie was missing english for this, though no amount of convincing from your end had convinced him to sit through the boring lectures of mrs. o'donnell.

besides, what kind of boyfriend would he be to abandon his girl at her time of need?

"hmm?" he doesn't raise his head, but at least you know he's awake. it was, when you checked your watch 3 minutes ago, 8:47, and you knew for a fact he rarely woke up before 10:00, missing a large chunk of his morning classes. though, since he met you, he was quick to realize that that large chunk of classes were the few that you shared. since then, he'd been trudging to school early to sit through those periods with you - regardless of how tired he was.

though, you figured this was a solid arrangement for the both of you: he was waking up earlier and missing less classes, and you got his lovely company. of course, today that company was a little lackluster, considering his current, slumped state.

though, as much as you loved him, just his presence was probably his best feature during these - rather one-sided - study sessions. his input to your work always tended to come in rather long-winded book metaphors, or would branch into tangents about completely unrelated things.

you never expected that a simple question - more to yourself than anything else - about the structure of the government to lead him into a very passionate spiel about the failures of capitalism and the gory history of america, all supplemented by surprisingly good parallels that he drew from fantasy literature.

you'd listened to the whole thing, both enraptured by his intelligence and voice, and simultaneously in disbelief at the lack of his application in his english class.

unfortunately, that had come at the cost of a hurriedly written essay that evening, but you figured it was worth it.

you found your hand curl around the spine of the book you were studying, while your other one weaved its way through his hair, the black strands parting ever so slightly at the combing of your fingers, before joining once again. you had a fascination with it, constantly tying it up and the not, and you were sure that he similarly adored that fascination, finding a sense of peace settle over him whenever you played with his hair.

unfortunately, today that sense of peace came in the form of a snore emitting from the table. your eyes widened as you studied the slow, but steady rise and fall of his form, making you suppress a smile.

"good night." it was a whisper, as you went back to your book.

you guys had only been dating - should memory serve you correctly - for two months now. though, you guys had been friends for a lot longer, the both of you finding some solace in each other that wasn't really granted by anyone else at hawkins high.

you guys were different, sure, with your studious nature, mild clothing and soft smile a very direct and very visible contrast from his dark clothing and his held-back-for-two-years, outwardly scary persona.

though, you supposed that's what you liked about him. that you were the one to peel back his layers, you were the one to see his intelligence, and that you were the one to cherish his soft side. he was so unique, with a magnetic energy and a soft smile that left you feeling happy regardless of what your situation was.

similarly, he liked the sweetness of your tone, the adoration of your gaze, the way you'd do things like tie his hair up, let him sleep on your chest as you watched movies and hold his hand when you were stressed - without even realizing it. he liked to be loved, and you liked to love him - without any worry of what others thought of him.

when these feelings fester in a friendship, it doesn't take long for one - or, in this case, both, to be hopelessly enamored with the other in a way that friends really shouldn't. so, when you'd finally let it spill one night - you were absolutely mortified, sure that you'd just lost the best friend you'd ever had.

that was, until he took your worried face in his calloused hands, allowing himself to kiss you in a way he'd wished to do for so long.

since then, he'd been trying his hardest to be the model boyfriend, worried that - at some point - you would realize how huge of a mistake this was and he'd lose the best thing that ever happened to him.

everything was still so novel to the both of you, and, although you'd known each other for so long, it was hard not to feel as though you're being introduced to a new person.

eddie didn't mind - in fact, it made him ecstatic. he felt as though he got to meet you, got to know you, and got to fall in love with you all over again.

what's not to love?

the bell ringing signaled the end of your last period, as your entire class gratefully left mr. wright's painfully boring math class. you found yourself a little preoccupied with a test that he had assigned for next week, going over what content you'd have to study for it, when two hands wrapped themselves around your waist.

your squeak of shock quickly turned into a sigh of relief when you looked down to see his signature rings across the cinch of your blouse.

"god! eddie - don't-" he cuts you off with a peck to your lips, and your unable to stop your smile.

"how was mr. wrong?" it was a nickname for the math teacher after an incident two months ago, where he nearly failed everyone in the classes' tests due to an error he had made. the name had stuck, and you were just shocked it hadn't come along sooner - as it was pretty obvious.

"awful, but how would you know?" he holds his hands up - a playfully guilty look on his face. he'd gone to wright's class a grand total of 10 times the entire year, and it was something you'd lightly chastised him for several times.

your locker's being stubborn to you, and eddie's quick to step in and help; some of these lockers truly required a brute force to open, and his attempt similarly took a few tries. finally, though, the pastel door very creakily opened, allowing you to put your books away and collect your things.

usually, eddie would find himself twiddling his thumbs off to the side, or rambling about something or the other as he waited for you to finish up. today, though, his prior action allowed him a full view of the contents of your locker. he wanted to avert his gaze - although he knew you didn't really care if he looked in your locker, he still found it a bit of an invasion of privacy.

that's exactly what he's going to do, before his eyes stop at a picture attached to one of the shelves when you could keep your books. it was hanging on the shelf, allowing anyone who opened it to have a direct view of it.

he was uncharacteristically quiet, and you'd just caught onto it.

"everything alright?" you mumble, not turning your head from the books that you were planning on taking home.

"what's that?" his response leaves his lips as soon as your question comes, and you look at where his gaze lies, right on the picture that you'd put up a few days ago.

it was really cute - a picture snapped by one of your friends - you were pretty sure it was robin - as your entire group had been hanging out one late saturday evening. robin was a vocal supporter of your guys' relationship, bordering on the edge of sounding like a mom as she fawned over just how cute the two of you are.

that had prompted her to take the picture, wherein the both of you were sprawled onto the picnic blanket you'd brought, you trying to get some semblance of tan in the hot august weather and him absolutely ruining any chance of that, his head on your chest and his hair sprawled across your body.

he had a cheeky smile on his face - like he knew exactly what he was doing - while yours had a bright one on it, your hand resting on his cheek as the sun hit your bodies just right.

usually, steve would make some joke about leaving the photography to jonathan, but even he kind of gawked in awe at her perfect timing when taking the picture. you'd swiped it off of her, unsure of where to put it so as to cherish it best.

finally, you settled on your locker, liking the fact that you could get a good look at it in between your monotonous classes - especially on the days where you two didn't have many classes together.

you look at eddie to see him with redder cheeks than usual, a huge smile both present on his lips and eyes.

"it was from last saturday - remember? robin took it?" he did remember, but he assumed that you'd gotten rid of it, or that it had found its way into one of those drawers or boxes where you kept all your old pictures. but, to see that you had taken it and put it in a place where you could see it everyday made him feel like a boy with a schoolyard crush again.

"yeah - uh, you kept it in your locker?" you looks at him, unsure of exactly what he's asking.

"yeah, i did... do you want me to take it out? is it too public-" you go to grab the picture, but his hand stops you.

"no, no - i love it. you just - it's a picture of us." the last bit is a whisper, and there's a hint of pride in his voice. it makes you turn to look at him. he looks - well, giddy is the easiest way to describe it, with his eyes large and sweet and his smile stretching further along his cheeks.

"it's cute, right?" you mumble, looking at the picture with him.

"so cute." his voice makes it sound like he's exaggerating, but he's not - he loves the way that you look in it, and the way that both of you look. you notice his reaction, before also smiling widely.

"alright, let's stop by the general store before we get home." you know he's going to ask why, so you finish your thought, "we need to buy a camera."

eddie's quick to agree to the idea, wanting to see the walls of the locker plastered in pictures like that - pictures so innately them.

[towine]

[alhaitham/cyno] an elaboration on form

modern restaurant au / pre-relationship / oneshot / 1.5k

notes: look i binged the bear and i have feelings. i had the idea of alhaitham inheriting the family restaurant after his grandmother passed, and i had to get this out of my system.

maybe the real restaurant was the found family we made along the way!!! bone apple teeth

-

-

Cyno finds Alhaitham out back, crouched in the alleyway with a lit cigarette.

“Dehya didn’t burn the kitchen down,” Cyno announces by way of a greeting.

“Really? That’s too bad.” Smoke billows out of Alhaitham’s mouth as he speaks. “Guess we’re running dinner service after all.”

Cyno huffs and sits beside him. He’s not wearing his apron. His hair is still tied up, a white tail high on the back of his head. They’ve done this a few times before—sat in the alleyway in silence, nothing but the sounds of the city and the clang of pans in the kitchen just behind them. Cyno normally tilts his head back to look at the sky, but today he looks at Alhaitham. His stare has always been discomfitingly piercing. Sharp as a filet knife.

“So lunch was a shitshow,” Cyno says.

The surprise of it makes Alhaitham cough on a laugh.

“It’s been a shitshow since we re-opened last week,” he says, tapping the ashes off his cigarette. “Not sure what you think is different now.”

“Please. Dehya nearly triggered the fire suppression system twice. Kaveh threw a whisk at you when you told him to remake the creme pat. And Collei cried in the walk in.”

“She always does that.”

“No,” Cyno corrects, “she always goes into the walk in to stop herself before she starts crying. This time she actually did.”

“God,” Alhaitham mutters and scrubs a hand over his face. “Okay, so it was a shitshow.”

“Growing pains,” Cyno says wisely. “New staff, new menu. We’ll get it eventually.”

“Not all of them are new,” Alhaitham says. “Some of them came with the territory.”

Dehya grilled him when Alhaitham first walked through the front door—something about his high and mighty attitude, never showing his face here in all the years since he graduated culinary school. She was protective of this place, possibly even more than Alhaitham. It wasn’t easy for her to see it change, especially under the hands of someone she considered a near stranger.

Alhaitham could have fired her. He could have done a lot of things, like sold the damn place and returned to his role as Chef de Cuisine at Azar’s restaurant, Divinity. He could have returned to having all his flaws picked apart: every smudged plate, every lagging ticket, every misplacement of micro basil, lemon zest, agar.

No. Going back was never an option. Neither was selling the restaurant, or firing Dehya. Maybe that stubbornness will be Alhaitham’s downfall, but right now, it’s the only thing keeping the restaurant standing. There’s something here, in the dishes that hold all the flavors of home to him. A solid foundation, something worth elevating.

It’s just taking a little longer than he hoped to get everyone else on board. Like Cyno said: growing pains.

Alhaitham takes another long drag of his cigarette, then says, “I’ve been meaning to ask you, Cyno. Why here?”

Cyno blinks. “What?”

“This place isn’t exactly on its best legs.” Alhaitham watches his smoke swirl into arabesques in the air. “It was in the red even before it came to my hands. A résumé like yours, this doesn’t seem like the logical step forward. I was desperate for a sous chef and you were the first one that didn’t cower when I interviewed you, so I didn’t point it out then. But still, I did wonder what you were even doing here. Now I’m asking. What are you even doing here?”

Cyno blinks at Alhaitham, then turns his gaze to the ground, a pensive expression on his face.

“I will tell you,” he says, “only if you promise not to laugh at what a sentimental fool it makes me.”

“Do I strike you as someone who laughs?” Alhaitham says dryly.

“You laughed when Kaveh made that eclair that looked like a di—”

“That’s because Kaveh is an idiot.”

“It was for the table with that rude guest,” Cyno reminds him.

“I remember.” Alhaitham’s mouth twitches. “Yes, they deserved it. But there was no way I was going to serve that.”

“A pity,” Cyno says. “It still tasted good though.”

“Anyway,” Alhaitham says loudly. “You were going to explain why you’re here.”

“Yes.” Cyno clears his throat. “Well. It probably doesn’t surprise you to hear that I knew who you were, even before we met.”

Alhaitham shrugs a shoulder. So his name has been printed in a culinary magazine or two. It’s never really mattered to him, but it does mean his reputation precedes him.

“So, what, you wanted a peek behind the curtain?” he asks.

“Not exactly. I just—” Cyno sucks in a breath. “I used to walk by here a lot when I was young. Foster kid. Moved around the city a lot.”

“Ah.” Alhaitham’s not sure what to say.

Cyno waves a hand. “It was a long time ago. But I had no money. And I would walk home from school and see this place on my way home. I was always told it was rude to watch others eat, but, well. The food looked good. It always did. One day, someone was eating at a window seat and she caught me staring. Instead of scolding me, she invited me inside. She sat me at a table, brought me a plate of the same thing she was eating. It turned out she was the owner.”

“My grandmother,” Alhaitham says quietly.

Cyno nods. “It was such a long time ago, I don’t even remember what the dish was. But at the time, it was the best meal I ever had. Sometimes I still think it is. It made me want to know how to make food taste this good. Made me want to learn so I can share it with others.” He exhales, looking up at the sky. “Then, of course, I was moved to a new house on the other side of the city, and I never came here again. Not until years later, when I was working the restaurant circuit and heard that Memory is under new management. By the renowned CDC of Divinity, no less.”

Alhaitham examines the last embers of his cigarette, not sure he could bear looking at Cyno directly. “And the verdict?”

“Wilder than I remembered.” A wryness dances through Cyno’s voice. “An eclectic staff. Tiny kitchen. The new owner has a terrible attitude, but he’s a genius. Almost annoyingly so.”

“I’ve heard that before,” Alhaitham mutters.

“The food, though…”

Alhaitham looks over at him.

A smile quirks at the corner of Cyno’s mouth.

“It’s damn good,” he says.

Alhaitham swallows. “It’ll be better when we can get through one lunch service without wanting to kill each other.”

“Who, me and you? Not likely.”

“I was talking about the kitchen as a whole, but sure, me and you.” Alhaitham drops his cigarette butt to the floor and grinds it under his heel. He straightens up. Cyno follows his lead. Before they go back inside, Alhaitham says, “I want to revisit that stone fruit salad you suggested. It was good, it just needed… more acid, I think. If you finish your dinner prep early, let’s discuss it.”

“Yes, chef.”

“And one more thing.” The two of them pause in the doorway. Further inside, they can hear Dehya loudly recounting the time she almost burned all her hair off. “Does Collei think I’m evil now?”

“I’m pretty sure she always thought you were evil,” Cyno says.

“Great,” Alhaitham sighs.

“I was joking,” Cyno says. “Collei blames herself before ever blaming anyone else. I wouldn’t worry.”

It’s not exactly reassuring to hear, but Alhaitham keeps it in mind. Later, when everyone on the line is prepping for dinner service and Alhaitham is taking inventory of the pantry, Collei meekly approaches him with a small bowl of the seafood broth she was tasked with preparing.

“Chef?” she asks, holding it out to him. “If you’re ready.”

“Oh. Yes.” Alhaitham accepts it.

Collei is babbling before he even puts the spoon in his mouth.

“It’s probably all wrong, I can start it over again. I just—I felt like I kept adding salt and it wasn’t tasting right but—but I know it’s probably just me not following the recipe correctly. And I’m sorry again about lunch, when my demi-glace kept breaking. I’ll get it right for dinner. I swear I know how to make it I’m just a little off today and—”

“It’s great,” Alhaitham says.

Collei’s mouth shuts, and she stares at him with wide eyes. “Huh?”

“The soup is great, chef. Thank you.” Alhaitham hands the bowl back to her.

“Oh.” Collei takes the bowl.

Alhaitham nods at her and returns his attention to the shelves.

He’s crossing things off his checklist while Collei takes a few steps away, then stops.

“Um!” she says, prompting Alhaitham to look at her. “Thank you, chef.”

A wobbly smile has taken over her face.

He nods at her again. Collei hurries back to her station.

About an hour later, Cyno meets Alhaitham in his office, stone fruit salad in hand.

“I think you made Collei’s whole life,” he says, setting the plate on Alhaitham’s desk. “By the way, try this. More acid, like you said.”

Alhaitham takes a bite.

“Well fuck me,” he blurts.

Cyno grins.

And Alhaitham thinks to himself, maybe this family business thing will work out after all.

[aggressivelyaverage21]

Chapter 18: 1 Corinthians 9:24-27

The Trials are here!!! Beatrice works herself to her limits. She searches for God, and finds out she isn't alone.

It was a cold December morning. Christmas was only a few weeks away. Part of Beatrice wondered if they did the trials this time of year specifically for the weather. Growing up in London and then her time in Switzerland, Beatrice wasn’t a stranger to the cold. She didn’t mind it most days, but today? Today she minded. 

Beatrice was tense. Despite the several extra deep breaths she'd given herself before joining the yelling cadre of sisters she hadn’t seen before in the hall, the tension had worked its way back into her frame. They hadn’t even started yet and she was actively fighting her body to keep reminding herself to loosen up. 

She was trembling—unperceivable to an onlooker, but Beatrice could feel every little twitch. The cold seeping through her clothes was only making it worse. 

No matter how much she told herself it was just like any other morning, nearly every other morning, Beatrice couldn’t relax as they lined up just outside the Cradle at the start of a dirt path worn down by every Sister Warrior to ever join the OCS. She already felt her heart pounding. She already was having to think about controlling her breathing. 

She closed her eyes, focusing on the sting of the cold air on her cheeks. She liked the runs. She did. She was good at them too. Getting worked up and tired now wasn’t going to do her any favors. 

Beatrice opened her eyes to search for Gwen—to get the instructions for what they were about to do, but the Sister in charge of training them was nowhere to be found.  Instead it was a different sister. A sister that, like the ones who had been yelling at them to wake up earlier, Beatrice didn’t recognize. She was small, short, but even in the black of early morning Beatrice could see how imposing she was. Her posture was firm, but not rigid in an uncomfortable way, just solid in a way that took up space and wasn’t at all sorry for it. 

Beatrice stole a glance at her classmates next to her as they waited for the inevitable introduction. Several of her classmates were more wide eyed than normal and looked no less ready for this than Beatrice felt. Abigail was doing a better job of schooling her nerves than the rest of them but the tapping of her fingers against her thumb at her side gave her away. Jude was quietly encouraging the few sisters behind Beatrice and Abigail, something she always did when she was struggling—getting outside of herself. 

The introduction never came. The Sister paced in front of them, back and forth. Scrutinizing them. The other Sisters that had been in the hall filled in along the sides of the path. “Today is not the day to pace yourselves. Push. Give it everything you have. Today you find out what you’re made of, and we find out who our sisters are. Three laps on the 5k loop. You have an hour and a half.” 

Beatrice didn’t wait for permission. She didn’t have a feeling they were going to get it anyway. She pressed into the ball of her left foot stable beneath her and took off. Her feet dug into the path beneath them, the subtle sound of the rubber of her soles scratching against the dirt. 

She tore down that path as fast as she could go. It was a 5 kilometer loop. She’d been running several of them in a row at the suggestion of Shannon and Sister Gwen. She could do this. She could run, even with the sprinting that had a burn settling into her legs and an ache in her lungs.  

Abigail was beside her for the first loop before she fell back. Beatrice pushed and pushed. Keeping her legs churning, her stride long. Her chest opened as she went, and strangely enough Beatrice felt her heartbeat settle into the rhythm she’d come to expect from these runs. 

As she kept running, Beatrice hadn’t started lapping her classmates yet but she had a feeling they were well behind her. She’d seen a few of them running together around a bend. The sight of the cluster of 5 prospective Sister Warriors sent ice down Beatrice’s spine. She almost sputtered to a stop, or, well, kicked it into the next gear to catch up with them so she wouldn’t be alone. Maybe this, her need to be first, her need to prove she was up for the task, how separate she was from her class sometimes, maybe that would be what caused her to fail. 

The moment was short lived. 

Because the sister who had been waiting for her in that hall—a tall slender woman with dark eyes, and freckles sitting across her tan skin—yelled at her to keep going. 

So, she’d focused back on the path ahead of her and got back to running. Her pace. On her own until she was rounding the last corner. With the finishing in sight Beatrice shivered as she slowed her pace, the blast of icy in her face sent a bead of sweat trickling down the back of her neck as she crossed the unofficial finish line they typically used..

Hopeful that her performance on the run was satisfactory, Beatrice moved herself to the side to wait for the rest of her classmates to finish. It was usually when she and Lilith sat below one of the Jacaranda trees, stretched, and talked about whatever reading Beatrice had been assigned the day prior by Gwen or Mother Superion. Sometimes, Shannon would join them, meeting them with bottles of water or cups of tea depending on the weather. At Mary and Sister Agatha’s behest, she was taking her time getting back to the early running, following what Beatrice had learned was only the latest in a long list of head injuries.  

She wasn’t running with Lilith this time. Her taller sister wasn’t at her side. The rhythm of her breathing wasn’t there to give Beatrice something to focus on other than the sound of her own. She wasn’t slowing to a stop with Beatrice, spurring her on with that last extra push as they sprinted to the stop. And there certainly wasn’t Shannon there waiting on the two of them. 

“Sister Beatrice,” the nameless sister approached her as Beatrice paced, her hands falling to the top of her head as she tried to stretch her lungs a bit and calm her breathing. Beatrice’s arms fell immediately to her sides gripping the quarter zip she’d decided to start the day in at the hips. She grinned, a little sadistically if Beatrice had anything to say about it, as she watched Beatrice try to catch her breath. “Burpees. Go.” 

Ah, sadistically was correct. Beatrice had the fleeting thought as she nodded, moving to the grass at the side of the path and began. 

Her body collided with the ground as she dropped. The cold dew was a shock to her face and palms. She was already sweating but the extra moisture to her knees and chest was far from welcome. She popped up jumping as she did, arms stretched over her head enough she felt the slight pull of her obliques as she did. 

Down. Then up again. Beatrice had gotten to fifty by the time Abigail was joining her at the side. 

Beatrice usually tried to race whoever it was next to her, wanting to get slightly more done with each rep, however this time, she fell into a pace. Each girl that joined fell in as they finished. Beatrice lost count of how many times she’d counted to ten somewhere around 15. She didn’t see the point in counting any more. Not with the way the morning was going. 

It was still pitch black as they worked. Moving to pushups next. The cadence given to them was slow enough to be painful. Slow enough that it was tempting to rest her chest on the grass at the bottom. Slow enough she felt the need to wiggle or reposition her hands at the top like a few of the other girls had started doing. 

Anything to ease the burn settling into her shoulders. Or the fatigue creeping from her lower back and core through her legs as they were beginning to shake. Her hands were slipping in the wet grass. The balls of her feet too, and it seemed to only get worse the more she tried to wiggle to get more comfortable so Beatrice made the decision to suffer. To stay still and suffer the burn so she wasn’t fidgeting because – sisters don’t fidget, Beatrice. 

It should have been a relief when they were switched to doing low crawls through the dew soaked grass. But the proper technique? It worked your core and was hell on your elbows and knees if you were made to do it long enough. Your hips lifted slightly off to move along the ground with considerably more efficiency than whatever fake ‘army crawl’ actors usually imitated on television. 

It was something the older sisters called “animal PT” and Beatrice should have mentally prepared herself for it. She was never a big fan of it. The somewhat strange movements always left her aching, and teased a string of cramps through her legs depending on how she was walking or sitting afterward. 

Up and down the field they went. And Beatrice had the good sense to be thankful it was in one of the few patches of grass they had surrounding the cradle. The rocky soil would have left them cut to hell, and caked in dirt—though the grass sticking to her neck and face wasn’t her favorite either. At least this way there was some cushion between their harder edges and the unforgiving mountain terrain. 

Bear crawls were next. The reminders from the sisters running the trials to keep their butts down, engage their core, and move faster were constant. Beatrice had long turned her brain off and focused on the three feet in front of her. That ever-moving goalpost. It was all she could do.  The sun wasn’t even up yet and already they had done almost a full day’s worth of training. 

Then ‘frog jumps’, or, well, just broad jumps. At least for these their shoulders got a break. But they were fairly quickly shifted to burpee broad jumps. It felt more like diving at the ground and struggling to her feet more than anything actually athletic. A sister had come up next to Beatrice as she traveled back and forth. She seemed to be encouraging but it was only on the periphery of Beatrice’s awareness. 

Beatrice focused on breathing. It seemed to work out to fall into a rhythm with the jumps, exhaling as her chest came to contract with the ground. She pushed herself forward one more jump at a time. Up. Then forward and down. As she went Beatrice wasn’t sure which was worse, going up or down the slight slope of the field. 

She stumbled forward as she turned around again at the end of the field. Her hand ran over the top of her head, habitually smoothing the baby hairs that usually tickled her forehead away from her always so sensitive skin. There weren't any hairs there though, they were still pulled back tight in the braids Shannon had given her. 

Brave. Be brave. Beatrice reminded herself as she felt the ridges of her hair, several more braids than she usually wore. With another deep breath she hurled herself forward and down again, and again. Each time she got back to her feet Beatrice was tempted to step up rather than use her core to both feet up even with her hands at the same time. 

When Beatrice was mentally preparing herself for her least favorite of the ‘animals’—duck walks—Sister Gwen stepped to the side of the field beside the sister who had been working them, literally and physically into the ground. 

“Bring it in girls!” She called her hands shifting from being tucked under her arms for warmth to buried deep in the hoody pocket at her waist. The sky was starting to fade to a lighter purple. Beatrice thought there might have been a little bit of pink starting to paint the wisps of clouds to the east, but she was also a little afraid that it was her imagination. 

Beatrice wiped her face with the hem of her shirt, though it was wet with dew and sweat and didn’t do much but smear the grass over her face. The sisters organizing the trials passed out water bottles telling each of them to drink. Beatrice nodded as she took the one passed to her, though she made no move to so much as twist the lid open. Her lungs ached as she tried to control her breathing. 

She was only somewhat certain the sister hovering at her side was saying something low to her as the rest of her classmates gathered in a familiar gaggle around Sister Gwen waiting for instructions. 

Abigail winked at her, a habit that always had the tips of Beatrice’s ears heating up despite knowing it was nothing flirtatious, more meant to be an “inside” bit of encouragement between the two of them she would offer when Gwen was giving them some seemingly herculean task. Like she knew Beatrice would crush it. 

Beatrice wished she shared Abigail's confidence in her. 

Jude had been moving slower across the field but she was keeping pace with the larger pack of sisters in the middle. Now she was drinking water so quickly it was spilling over her chin and down her neck. “Slower.” Beatrice cautioned. “You’ll give yourself a stitch.” 

To which Jude nodded and did her best to slow down as she sucked in breaths almost as greedily as she was trying to drink the water. “And you need to drink something.” She nudged Beatrice who smiled sheepishly. Beatrice twisted the lid off, her fingers stiff from the fatigue in her forearms and the icy conditions they had been in for the last couple of hours. She raised the bottle to her lips and merely wet them. She was sure she would throw the water right back up if she did anything more than that. It wasn’t much but it was enough to earn a nod of approval from Jude as she turned her attention back to where Gwen was. 

“Welcome to the trials.” Gwen paused to smile briefly at them. Small puffs of fog made her words visible as she spoke. “You’ve met the first round of Cadre. I expect you to treat our Sisters from the Bamberg Chapter. Sister Lauren—” Gwen motioned to the small sister who seemed to be incharge— “and her team will be treated with the same respect you treat everyone here.” Beatrice couldn’t help but think that was such a needless caveat. Of course they would. Sister Warriors were sister warriors, and no one in Beatrice’s class would dare treat a sister with anything but the highest courtesy. They were all excellent people, and Sisters that Beatrice found herself aspiring to be like as she entered her vows and became a nun. 

“Today will be an evaluation of everything you’ve learned over the past few months. It will carry you well past any limits you’ve set for yourself. Keep going. Lean on your training. Make me proud.” Beatrice caught Sister Gwen’s eye, as she seemed to be speaking directly to her. At least it felt that way. It wasn’t pressure Beatrice really felt her already pounding heart could handle. Not the thought of letting down Gwen, but Shannon too. And Lilith. And Mary. And Mother Superion.  

“We’ve heard a lot of good things about your class.” Sister Lauren paused as she stepped next to Sister Gwen giving her a kind nod. Beatrice was only now noticing her somewhat thick German accent. “But, performance aside—you’re not anything if you can’t take care of your sisters. Buddy carries. Two loops. I don’t care how often you switch. You have one hour.” 

KEEP READING

[flightfoot]

So, that one ask about Luka got me curious: Do you have fic recs for Luka being an actual, fleshed out person? I know you read a lot of fic and you mentioned it specifically, so I thought you might? I'd be interested in really getting into his head. Bonus points if there's Lukagami involved (since that's my preference), but stuff about Wishmaker or Desperada or any other episode were he was particularly relevant should be the most interesting? Or Couffaine/Jagged family stuff. If you do, thanks!

Sorry it took me nearly a week to answer this, but there was a fanfic one my radar I needed to read first, since I suspected it would be perfect for this list. And I was right!

In The Shadows by @19thsentry-blog is the best Luka fic I've ever read. I just finished binging it today, and am looking forward to reading its sequels!

On one side is Luka, 140-year-old Snake Miraculous holder and keeper of the Guardian's secrets, on the other is Marinette Dupain-Cheng, a relatively newly minted hero of Paris and Guardian of the Miracle Box. Each is looking to fulfill their promises to their now gone mentors to reunite the Kwamis and keep them safe. Sounds simple--until you throw in a rocky start, the Atlantic Ocean, Félix Graham de Vanily, and a whole host of secrets…and suddenly simple becomes complicated (story of Marinette's life, right?).

Yes, this is a Lukanette fic. I don't normally read those since I've had enough bad experiences during my early days in this fandom (particularly while season 3 was airing) with Adrien, Alya, the class, etc getting demonized in those sorts of fics, that it put me off of the pairing as a whole, even though the pairing itself is fine (I happily read poly fics that include Lukanette so long as Adrien's in there too, since those have historically been pretty nice to all the characters).

This one I decided to take a chance on, since I read one of 19thsentry's more recent works (See This Chance, a FeLuka fic where Luka's a ghost, it's under 4000 words so if you want something bite-sized it's a good read), was impressed, and decided to give "In the Shadows" a shot since it had an interesting premise and the sequels sounded like they were nice to Adrien and Alya, with the second fic featuring Alya as Scarabella and the third fic going into Adrien adjusting to adult life post Hawkmoth-defeat.

I wasn't disappointed. I adore how fair it was to all of the characters, From Luka to Adrien to Marinette to Felix, and even though it's tagged as having slight Master Fu bashing, it's fair to him as well. Felix received some of the most interesting characterization in fact. He's not exactly the greatest guy, and he's not super well-liked for good reason, but he is intriguing and I found myself enjoying watching his machinations, as well as him very obviously getting a crush on Viperion that he resolutely tried to ignore. 19thSentry's love for FeLuka shown through here quite a bit.

Luka's a little different since he has a very different backstory in this fic than in canon, but he's still recognizably himself. We get to see a lot of his thoughts, feelings, concerns, and baggage, and while his feelings for Marinette are an important part of the fic, they're not the driving force behind his entire character, he's got a lot of other things going on.

Honestly even if you're normally put off by Lukanette, I'd still recommend this fic, just for the plot and characterization alone, it's really solid and deserves FAR more attention than it's gotten.

---

Now as for other Luka fics, ones that build out his characterization while still being recognizably him, I'd be remiss if I didn't bring up this next fic, though it's not Luka-centric by any stretch of the imagination.

one does not love breathing by @wackus-bonkus-maximus

All of Paris watched as Hawkmoth murdered Chat Noir, taking the Black Cat Miraculous for himself. Ladybug swears revenge, but her enemy—and every miraculous in his possession—disappear without a trace.

Six years later, a new team of villains launches an attack for the last remaining Miraculous: Volpina, armed with new powers; Queen Bee, with questionable loyalty; Argos, the new holder of the Peacock Miraculous; and Cat Walker, who Ladybug hates the most.

Takes place after S4 - Strike Back.

I adore this fic for so many reasons, but as far as Luka goes, this is the fic that gave me the best insight into why Luka might have lied to Ladybug in Wishmaker about not discovering hers and Chat's identities, and didn't bring up that he knew them in Ephemeral, when it was relevant. One of my biggest issues with Luka has been my inability to get into his head, to see what he could reasonably have been thinking and feeling that makes his actions and characterization in the show make sense. Wackus delivered here, really showcasing what he might have been thinking in those cases, with Luka not wanting to rock the boat, afraid of causing harm, until a catalyst came along and spurred him to action. Luka's characterization in one does not love breathing may not be the focus of the fic, but it's one of the parts of it that stands out the most for how unique and exceptional it is.

---

When Feelings Are Too Big For Words by ClockworkCaptain

When Luka takes a gig playing for a drag show he's falls hard and fast for the drag queen Buttercup who uses her performances to work through her own emotions. Meanwhile Adrien's been using drag to work through his own emotions and thinks maybe Luka coming back into his life and showing interest might mean a second chance.

Made for @mlsecretsanta 2022

I greatly enjoyed this one-shot, seeing Luka's feelings about "Buttercup", and him getting to know Adrien a bit better. It's a fun read!

---

Come Take My Hand by @carelisswriting

Luka heard his soulmate for the first time when he was ten. All he knows about her is that she likes fencing. It's just a coincidence that Kagami likes fencing, right?

(Lukagami Soulmate AU, written for the Miraculous Ladybug Secret Santa Exchange!)

You specifically mentioned liking Lukagami, so I recommend giving this one-shot a shot! I loved seeing Luka figure out that Kagami was his soulmate especially, with Kagami having figured it out first.

---

Forced Perspective by @emmalylis

A bodyswap akuma hits Ryūko and Viperion, then promptly vanishes. While Ladybug and Chat Noir track down the akuma, Luka and Kagami must live each other’s lives. Along the way, they discover some things about each other.

Another Lukagami one-shot here that I think you might enjoy! They both have to live with each other's families, which is interesting.

---

Transparency by kopycat_101

Luka and Juleka come out of the closet.

(An apparently very thin, very transparent closet, but a closet nonetheless.)

A story about two siblings, the complications of family, standing strong in the face of hardship, bonding, and supporting one another no matter what life throws at you. Told in three parts/three days.

You asked for some Couffaine family stuff, and this is some of the best I've seen, with it mostly focusing on Luka's, Juleka's, and Anarka's family dynamic. Jagged isn't their father in this, partially because it wasn't revealed as canon yet, and partially because the author didn't feel like using that (at the time) popular headcanon.

---

I hope these help satisfy your craving anon!

[eyrieofsynapses]

Chaos prompts: 46 for the Leverage OT3!

Aaah, sure thing!

I know the worm-on-a-string meme thing was more of a 2016 thing, buuuuut I'm gonna pretend like it happened in 2013-2014 because I like my get-together fics within a year or two post-Long Goodbye. Less edited than my usual fics because I'm a bit short on time rn and can't be bothered.

Edit because I'm silly and forgot: prompt was "Why do you need 500 worms-on-a-string?"

---

Eliot’s gotten pretty used to finding weird stuff on the counter when he comes up to Parker and Hardison’s apartment over the brewpub. Robotic parts, building plans, enough scented sparkly pens for an entire office building (if said office building was made up of children under the age of ten), tiny figurines of people with grimacing faces that could give a lesser man nightmares—he’d say at this point there’s little that could surprise him. So he’s not shocked, exactly, when he comes in with two bags of groceries and has to clear five large bags of brightly-colored fuzzy things out of the way.

Once he’s done putting the perishables into the fridge, he picks up one of the packages and gives it a look-over. Its label informs him there’s a hundred items inside.

“Hardison,” he calls. “Why the hell do you need five hundred worms-on-a-string?”

He’s well aware of the things; Hardison spent a solid three hours teaching Parker how to make them move around a couple years back. Nate had yelled at the two of them five separate times to quit leaving them around the apartment. That was probably because he’d gotten tired of finding them stuck in the silverware drawer, hanging over his bed, and nestled onto the decks of his model ships.

In Eliot’s opinion, absolutely nothing belongs in the produce drawer or any part of the kitchen except for utensils and food. But he hadn’t come down so hard on Hardison that time. The expression on Nate’s face whenever he found a new one was worth it.

As a general rule, questions like this require at least two minutes for Hardison to yank himself away from his orcs and elves and what-have-you before coming into the kitchen. This time the door swings back within about twenty seconds.

“You ain’t supposed to come in today,” Hardison says, frowning hard at him. “Thought you said you were gonna go out with that chick you met last week.”

“She had a work thing,” Eliot says shortly.

(Technically it had been a conference at the same time as their initial date. She’d suggested they do dinner instead.

There’d been a sale on raspberries at the farmer’s market this morning, though, and they tended to start losing their flavor and bruise within about forty-eight hours, and he already had a recipe picked out he’d been meaning to share with the other two for the last month, and, well—

He just hadn’t been in the mood for a date, that was all.)

Hardison raises an eyebrow. “Right.”

“Seriously,” Eliot says, waving the bag at him. “You better not be thinking about putting these all over the pub.”

“Who said I got them?” He’s avoiding making eye contact, shifting his weight in a way that Hardison himself would probably call shifty if he could see himself. Possibly Eliot’s suggestion is exactly what he plans to do; he might have something else in mind that’s worse. Either way, Eliot’s pretty sure Hardison’s at least partly responsible for the packages.

“Uh-huh,” he answers, instead of listing all of that out. Sometimes it’s easier to let Hardison dig his holes on his own.

“Parker loves ‘em, man, there was a sale and I figured I’d get her some. What’s so wrong with that?”

“It’s Parker,” Eliot says flatly.

“She’ll enjoy them!”

She will, he knows that. As in, she’ll enjoy sticking them all over the entire building. He’s going to be finding the things in the walk-in freezer for days.

And she’ll be grinning every second of it, all sunshine and bright glee, laughing like a little kid and looking for all the world like their life was pure paradise.

…fuck.

“I’m holding you responsible if she puts them in the brewery,” he says, tossing the bag down.

“You think I can control her any more than you can?” Hardison grumbles. He moves the bags, though. When Eliot hands him a pile of carrots and a chopping board, he gets to work without complaint.

---

Eliot’s fears turn out to be well-founded. In fact, they’re an underestimation.

He encounters the first worm two days after Hardison left them out on the counter. It’s bright red and twisted around into the shape of a heart, with a tiny message tagged to it that says, in glittery pink pen, HELLO FREND!

It’s tucked into the pocket of his jeans. At his apartment. In his drawer.

“Dammit, Parker,” he growls under his breath. It’s not like he expects her to stay out of his apartment anymore—not after he walked into the living room one morning to find her sprawled on his couch with the TV on and a bowl of pasta in her lap—but there’s leaving a tiny creepy imitation of a rag doll on top of his recipe card box, and then there’s going through his clothes.

…at his place, anyway. At least four flannel shirts have been involuntarily sacrificed for her out of his duffle bags and suitcases. But that’s when his rooms have been beside hers. It never entailed her going out of her way to come all the way out to his apartment, bypass his security measures (which is easy for her but hell for anyone else) and find the pair of jeans he’s most likely to use next, all to stick a note and a fuzzy piece of plastic in the pocket.

He intends to chuck it in the wastebasket and move on. It’s not like she’s going to be short of them anytime soon.

But he’s got to shower first, and then he can’t really be bothered to pull it out, and after that he’s busy cooking and driving to the brewpub and revising the menu and planning the next job with the other two and really, he doesn’t mean to keep it. It’s just that after carrying it around all day it seems a shame to throw it away when he gets home.

He tosses it onto the nightstand, rolls into bed, and turns out the light.

---

There’s a blue worm in the pocket of his flannel shirt the next morning. This one is in the same heart shape, but this time, the note says WORM TIME BABY in matching glitter pen.

He sighs, puts it on his dresser, and goes to water his plants.

That day he finds five more worms in the brewpub, two of which are in the staff area with tags with his name. Amy and the rest of the cooks and waitstaff know better than to say anything directly, but he catches them whispering and grinning behind his back.

The customers have been worse over the last few days than usual. Eliot lets it go, just this once.

They keep turning up, of course; Parker drags out jokes like nobody else, and he resigns himself to keeping them all in a drawer. She’ll be offended if she finds them in the trash all the time, and then he’ll just have to deal with even more. The traffic-cone-orange worm that has the tag PEACE WAS NEVER AN OPTION doesn’t have anything at all to do with any of this.

Days turn into weeks. Jobs come and go. They travel to Canada, where he finds thirty different worms over the course of two days, hidden anywhere from the files to his suitcase to the shower. This time, they’ve got a suite of rooms, one for him and one for the other two, and this, if anything, makes it worse. One time he finds neon yellow worms wrapped around both arms of his glasses.

(If he tries not to wonder if he’d find any fuzzy worms in their room, if he finds himself awake on the couch at three AM the second day—well, it can’t mean anything. It just… can’t.

He never does meet back up with that girl.)

The notes range from short and (though he’d never admit it to anyone) cute to creepy to indecipherable: ARSONIST!, I WILL HARVEST YOUR SOUL, SQUIRM? SQUIRM. SQUIRM!!!, TIME TO SIN, WILL STEAL YOUR KNEECAPS, PERISH, and, perhaps most disturbingly of all, LOVE <3. Unless it’s intentionally wrapped around something, every single worm is carefully twisted in the shape of a heart.

The creepy ones are definitely the most common. It’s Parker, so he can’t expect anything less.

(The LOVE <3 ones show up a lot more often than the others, though. He’s not sure what to make of that.)

He tells her off. Repeatedly. With emphasis. Once he threatens not to bake anything with chocolate for the next month. Every time, she just shrugs at him, pulls a worm out from nowhere (she’s been tying them up around her hairbands sometimes), and informs him with varying degrees of cheekiness that they’re just her friends and really, why would he mind her sharing friends?

“Because your friends are creepy, Parker,” he says once, and she gasps in dismay and pets the top of her worm’s head.

“Don’t say that, Eliot.”

Hardison’s laughing behind him, quiet enough not to be mocking to Parker but loud enough to be mocking to Eliot. He resigns himself to growling at the both of them and lobbing the next worm he finds out the window.

(He picks it up later, because he’s not one of those assholes that litters.)

At the end of the Canada trip, they find a deserted local ice rink and spend half the day messing around on the ice. Hardison’s better than Eliot had expected, good enough to skate hand-in-hand with Parker at a decently high speed.

Eliot tries to stick near the edges and let the two of them have their fun. They won’t let him. He keeps finding one of their hands warm in his, pulling him after them in a chain, and after a while he gives up and allows it. It’s easier than it maybe should be.

At one point Parker tugs them both out to the middle of the rink to make them twirl with her. Somehow, though, she manages to throw her weight at just the wrong angle, and suddenly they’re all toppling to the frigid floor. Eliot manages to catch them so that the blades of their skates don’t come anywhere near close enough to slice anybody’s skin open. This has the unfortunate side effect of landing both of them directly on top of him.

He means to grumble at them to get off, because they’re heavy and the ice is freezing against his neck. But then Parker immediately wriggles in closer, tucking herself up against his shoulder as she giggles. Hardison’s on his other side, squawking indignantly about fragile bones and whatever, but he’s got some kind of pleased note in his voice that Eliot can’t quite parse.

It’s stupid and sweet and comforting and, staring up at the blue, blue skies, he can’t help but want to stay down here for just a little while longer. Just long enough to memorize the sound of Parker’s laughter. Long enough to ingrain the way Hardison fits up against his other side into his memory.

Long enough to believe that maybe, maybe, he’s reading this right after all.

But that’s all kinds of dangerous, so he pushes them off him with excuses about frostbite, hauls himself up off his ass, and skates around the rim of the rink while they stumble to their feet.

They get back to the brewpub at an unholy hour of the morning. He collapses into the guest bed, staring up at the constellations in the glow-starred ceiling until sleep steals him away. Midafternoon, he gets up to find one single worm, smaller than the rest of them, laid neatly on top of his folded clothing. It’s curled in the same heart shape as the rest of them and bright green. (He gets fewer of those than the others. They’re Parker’s favorites, so most of them stay with her.)

Written on its tiny tag in blue glitter pen are the words:

WORM YOU BE MY DATE?

Eliot blinks, rubs his eyes, and checks again. When he finds the same phrase, he heads for the shower, turns the water to winter-lake-ice-cold, and spends a good ten minutes under it.

The tag is still the same when he comes back.

“What the fuck,” he mumbles under his breath. He’s half-tempted to say she’d meant to leave it for Hardison, except…

Except Parker doesn’t make mistakes like that, and she’d have had to go to a lot of effort to get into his room without waking him, and…

He dresses, tucks the worm into the pocket of his shirt, and steps out into the apartment. The other two are seated at the counter. Parker idly stirs her cereal while Hardison mutters at his laptop with a bowl of leftover eggs and rice at his side. They look up when they hear the door creak, watching him.

Eliot holds up the worm. It trembles slightly in his grip.

“What’s this about?” he asks, going for warily amused. It comes out closer to wobbly and very obviously desperate.

They glance at each other, shifting on their seats. Hardison closes his laptop. Parker puts down her spoon.

“We know it’s kinda unusual,” Hardison starts carefully. “And you don’t have to say yes, okay, and if not we’ll shut up and never speak of it again and all that, but—”

“But there’s a special at that place you like tomorrow and we thought you’d like to go and maybe we could go as more than just friends?” Parker asks in a rush.

The world shifts under his feet. Everything blurs, just a moment.

LOVE <3, he remembers. The last few weeks click into place.

“Yeah,” he says, tucking the worm back into his pocket. It takes him an extra try; his hands, always steady, are betraying him in this moment. He’s not sure he cares. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

They both beam, brighter than sunshine, warmer than fresh-baked bread, and he decides that can Parker can put as many worms in his stuff as she likes. This is worth it.

[professionallydeadinside]

For the fic thing:

”It’s to fucking early in the morning to be alive let alone active.”

“It’s too fucking early in the morning to be alive let alone active.” 

“The train leaves at 5:00am. And you’re dead, you don’t need to worry Yurei-san.” Etsuko buttoned up her shirt and lightly brushed any lingering dust from her skirt, the ring she’d found two weeks ago safe on her ring finger. 

Two weeks ago, that’s when she learned the train she worked on had suddenly derailed and crashed into a local community. Etsuko thanked her lucky stars that she hadn’t taken that late shift her coworker had offered. 

The ring itself was a bit of a mystery. Curiosity had gotten the best of her and she had gone down to the site of the crash, surprised to find it bare of any authorities. There, laying perfectly untouched on a collapsed part of a building, was a gold ring. 

She didn’t know what compelled her to take it. It was like the aura surrounding it begged her to take it, to stop it from getting compacted into trash. So she took it, putting it on to find it fit perfectly.

That night she dreamed of pink and purple lights flashing, of blood on every wall of the tight confines of a train car, of a person’s face staring off to someone behind her. She woke up in a cold sweat and a ring that wouldn’t come off. 

The longer she wore it the clearer the face in her dreams became. It reached out to her like it was trying to make a connection, its amalgamated words turning into sentences. The blurry edges of its shoulders turned more and more solid, until Etsuko could see it entirely. 

It was a young man, his curly hair falling in front of crazed, bloodshot eyes. A wound on his neck gaped and pulsed with every breath he took. His vest and button up were covered in blood, but Etsuko found she wasn’t afraid of him. Especially after he began talking to her, she found him to be welcomed company. 

“I still reckon you could sleep in more.” He grumbled as Etsuko slipped on her shoes and headed out the door of her apartment. She didn’t have a car, so she was glad the station was within walking distance. 

“I wouldn’t want to be late. I’m the first person there.” 

“The first person there should be that fat bastard.” Etsuko smiled at the crude nickname the Yurei had given to the new conductor. Who, if she had to admit, wasn’t nearly as good as the conductor of her previous train. 

“What’s on the docket today?” He floated a bit in front of her as they made their way underground. Etsuko checked her phone’s notes app where she’d typed up her hours. 

“Nothing out of the ordinary. Normal day.” 

“Makes my job easier.” The Yurei’s ‘job’ was to just keep the concessions organized. Etsuko learned early on that he proved to be a handy resource for ratting out any people who had tried to nab a snack without paying. How he was so good at it, Etsuko had never bothered to ask. 

Stopping at one of the hot drink vending machines to get a coffee, Etsuko checked her phone to see they were still early. 

“Yurei-san? Do you want to steal a can from the machine?” She put in the number for her drink but paused when she realized the spirit hadn’t responded. She turned to see him looking off into the distance. Etsuko followed where the spirit stared. 

He was looking at a man she’d been seeing more and more often lately. He had dyed blonde hair and a train sticker stuck to his phone. He lingered at the stations but never seemed to get on, like something made him fear them and pulled him to them all at the same time. 

“Yurei-san?” She whispered. He didn’t reply, just watched as the mystery man double took anytime a tourist passed him. 

There were a lot of things the Yurei didn’t tell her. He didn’t tell her his name, if he even remembered it. She didn’t know what he was doing on the train when it crashed. She didn’t know who had given him this ring that was so important to him it had a piece of his soul connected to it. But did he really have to? He was dead and she was the only one with a lasting piece of him. The least she could do was try to reunite that piece with someone who knew him in life. 

“Do you know him? I could try and give the ring to him?” Etsuko gently pulled the Yurei towards the man. “I could cut my finger off.” She squeaked. She really didn’t want to, but if it was the only way, then she was willing. 

He shook his head, silently watching as the man began to leave but doing nothing to pull Etsuko towards him, even stopping her as she tried to coax him to walk to the man.

“Don’t do that, love. Just thought he looked familiar.” The spirit sniffed and wiped away a bit of blood that always seemed to bead at his forehead. 

The horn of the train sounded. Time for work. 

“Well!” He straightened out his vest and turned to smile. She knew it was forced, but it was a start. 

“Wouldn’t want to be late for our job now would we?” 

Etsuko smiled and squeezed the ring around her finger, hoping to some degree that the Yurei could feel it.

[scarletsaphire]

Spilled Contents (Dannymay Day 2: Backpack)

Danny keeps a lot of stuff in his backpack. Most of this stuff is not something that does well being dropped on the floor. Dash does not particularly care.

Danny had a lot of stuff in his backpack. These things included, but were not limited to: -Two first aid kits. One for him, and one for regular humans -Two Fenton Thermoses. He liked to keep an extra, in case there was multiple ghost attacks before he could dump them back through the portal. Like right now, where he had Johnny sulking in one thermos, and various ghost animals in the other. -Two gatorade bottles. One held actual gatorade, and the other held ectoplasm. He would drink both throughout the day. -Batteries and a charger for Tucker’s PDA. He hadn’t intended to keep those in his bag, but Tucker had shoved them in there a few weeks back and it would be more effort than its worth to remove. -A Fenton Phone. He would be wearing it, but sometimes that would mean he couldn’t hear the ghost he was fighting as easily, so he preferred to keep it in his bag. -A Fenton Wrist Ray. It was a backup for Sam, in case hers ran out of power -Extra ectoplasm based batteries for both his and his friends devices -A pack of crackers. Sometimes he was just hungry! -Pencils, pens, erasers, folders, and a textbook or two. He did still use this for schoolwork, you know. -His homework. It was not often that this found his way into his backpack, but today was a special day. He had actually finished an assignment!

Needless to say, Danny’s backpack was heavy. Very heavy. Especially when there was so many ghosts in the thermoses (the ghosts, contrary to popular belief, did have a weight on them. Not a lot, but enough to make a difference.) That weight meant that someone who wasn’t expecting the backpack to weigh a solid 40 pounds, they would be very surprised.

Dash did not expect Danny’s backpack to weigh 40 pounds. So when Dash grabbed Danny by the bag on his way out of the school, attempting to pull Danny back, he greatly underestimated the amount of strength needed to pull it free. Danny in turn greatly overestimated the amount of strength he’d need to stay on his feet. This led to Danny face first on the ground, Dash stumbling after him, and his backpack (which had been holding on by a thread for a while now) to tear open.

This would have been bad enough; having to explain the copious amounts of green flowing liquid spilling from various containers would have been difficult. Unfortunately, it wasn’t just the ectoplasm that had spilled. One of the thermoses had fallen perfectly on the release button. Danny held his breath, hoping that it was just the animals. He could explain those away, some other students had dealt with ghost animals before without ghost hunting tech.

Danny was a lot of things. Lucky was very rarely one of them. Johnny materialized in the hallway of the school. Someone screamed. Danny sighed. How did this end up being his halflife?

[motownfiction]

exposed throat

To the rest of the world, Sam’s going through a phase where he just really doesn’t like scarves.

Just last year, it wasn’t like this. He was a junior in high school, going on seventeen, and willing to dress for any permutation of a Michigan winter. Mittens, hats, scarves. You name it. Sam knew how to be prepared for it, and he didn’t think twice about it. That’s just what you do here. You dress warmly for the brutal nine-and-a-half-month winters. Sam never questioned it before.

This year’s different. This year, Sam doesn’t mind having cold fingertips and an exposed throat. He’s a senior now, going on eighteen, and he says he’s protesting the winter. It stays too cold in Michigan for too long, and he’s tired of giving the weather its way.

You’re going to be more tired of lying in bed sick for a week, his mother warns him one morning when he refuses his scarf yet again. Trust me.

But that’s it. And that’s what the rest of the world can’t see. What they won’t see.

Sam would wear a hat, scarf, and mittens all day long if it were just up to him. It’s just not. It doesn’t matter that soon, he’ll be eighteen. He’s still under his mother’s roof, and as long as he lives with her, it’s her domain. Her rules apply. Maggie Doyle claims she’s not a strict mother. Maybe that’s true. But she has rules, and one of those rules, apparently, is to treat Charlie with more respect than her other kids.

It’s been almost a full year since Sam found out his mother’s been giving Charlie solid chocolate bunnies for Easter since he was born. A full year since Sam found out he was only worth hollow candy in his mother’s eyes.

He just doesn’t have it in him to listen to her anymore. She can claim all the worries she wants. She can say she’s worried about Sam catching a cold, a flu, and pneumonia. It will not matter. As long as he receives hollow candy, he receives hollow advice, hollow compassion.

The hat, scarf, and mittens stay in his closet and under his bed, and Sam will not go looking for them.

He knows his mother will not go looking, either.

(part of @nosebleedclub june challenge -- day xiii! i can’t even lie and say i’m on time today, but i’m not far behind, either)

[lyriumlullaby-ao3]

WIP tag game <3

i was tagged by the lovely @illusivesoul, thank you so much!!

i'm gonna tag @broodwolf221, @starstruckkittyface, @jazzmckay, and anybody else who wants an excuse to show off part of their WIP!

seriously. tag me. i love this shit lmao

okayyyy i really struggled to pick a bit to share, but then i remembered this cute, tropey scene i wrote that immediately precedes Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts in my longfic that i don't think i've shared! it's Miri (my inky) and Cullen as they're still in their awkward "oh my god i think i like you" phase lmao. hope you enjoy! <3

Miri found the gardens to be rather sterile. They were too carefully groomed, the angles made where the paths that wound between hedges met were too sharp, and the flowers seemed dull—too perfect in their appearance, and entirely lacking in their scent. It was disappointing to her, and especially so here, on the outskirts of the Dales, of all places. The Keeper and hahrens of her clan had always told fanciful stories of the beauty of the Dales at the time of Halamshiral, and while Miri highly doubted that they were completely true, these gardens could never compare even to what she’d seen in the Emerald Graves. They were too domesticated, too tamed by human hands—just as the Dales themselves were now, she supposed, all these ages since their fall. She had longed to leap from her horse and run laughing into the forests she’d seen to the south of here on their journey, tugging Solas along with her to explore all the things he’d missed during those weeks he’d been gone, and now the soles of her feet itched with the same desire. 

Still, it was quiet here, and Josephine had yet to find her to pester her about more etiquette or dancing lessons, so she supposed she couldn’t really complain. Miri contented herself with pulling at the strings of the Fade with her fingertips to make some of the plants grow a little wild, spilling out of pots and over walkways and fixing the uninspiring blossoms so that the gardens were filled with their fragrance. She had just made several new flower buds bloom on a gardenia bush, its sweet aroma wafting around her as she closed her eyes to admire her handiwork. Keeping them shut as she began stepping away to continue, Miri stumbled unexpectedly into something very large and very solid behind her. Strong hands grasped her by the arms and kept her from falling, and she jumped as her eyes flew open, spinning around and backing away quickly. 

Her heart rate slowed some when she looked up into bright eyes shining gold in the sunlight filtering through the treetops overhead and realized it was just Cullen. Miri let out a breath, chuckling as she clutched at her chest. “Commander! You startled me, I didn’t hear you approach.”

“I can see that, Inquisitor,” he hummed, that crooked smile of his pulling at his scar as he turned her usual joke back around on her. He looked better today than he had the last several weeks, even after their lengthy journey. The shadows under his eyes were all but gone, and he was freshly shaven again. His withdrawals must not be bothering him as much as usual. “Although I feel I must tell you, I’ve been here for some time, sitting right over there,” he teased, gesturing at an overly ornate marble bench behind himself where a book lay abandoned. “It was really you who approached, not me.”

“Ah, that explains it. I can usually hear you coming a mile away with all that plate and mail you wear. Don’t you ever take that off?” Miri joked back.

Cullen flushed, looking away and rubbing at the back of his neck awkwardly. “What? Oh, I, uh… Of course I do, it’s not as if I sleep in it, and I do have to bathe sometimes—” his teeth clenched and his flush deepened as Miri fought back a giggle at his expression. He was so easy to fluster—he almost did it to himself. “What are you doing out here, anyway?” he asked, changing the subject.

“Fixing their horrible flowers,” Miri replied, pulling a face.

Now it was Cullen’s turn to laugh. “‘Horrible?’ What’s wrong with them?”

“They’re terrible!” Miri scoffed, rolling her eyes slightly as a smile tugged at her lips. “They’re all form and no substance. They don’t even smell like anything.”

Cullen bent over the shrub she’d just been blooming and lifted a hand to bring one of its flowers to his nose as he inhaled deeply. “I don’t know what you’re talking about—it smells like a flower,” he replied, his expression bemused.

“Well, I already fixed that one,” Miri grinned. “What about you, what are you doing out here?”

Cullen flushed again, suddenly very interested in his boots. “Ah, well, I’m… uh, keeping clear of a number of… very enthusiastic young ladies inside the chateau. And a couple of enthusiastic young men, as well, I suppose. I’m not sure exactly who they are, but they wouldn’t leave me alone. I tried staying in my room, but they wouldn’t stop knocking and calling through the door,” he sighed. “I’m hoping they won’t look for me here.”

Miri couldn’t suppress her laughter this time. “You’re… hiding? From some girls?” 

“I’m not hiding! I simply don’t want to be bothered by them, I have more import—” he cut off, freezing as the sound of several tittering voices reached them from just down the path. They sounded like they were just around the corner. Cullen’s face blanched as Miri turned to look over her shoulder, and then all at once, Miri felt strong arms wrap around her torso and she was tugged into a gap in the hedges. 

Cullen held her pressed up against him in the space between the prickly branches—there wasn’t really even room for one average sized person in this little hollow, let alone two, especially if one of them happened to be as large as the Commander was. The hard plate of his cuirass pressed against her chest uncomfortably and restricted her breathing. Or, she thought it was his cuirass, anyway—why else would she suddenly be struggling to get enough air? There wasn’t any room for Miri to step away from him, and she could feel the heat of his hand pressing into her back as she craned her neck back to look at him. He lifted one finger to his lips, begging her to stay silent, but it was unnecessary—Miri couldn’t even breathe as his lyrium tang pressed into her lungs, the smell of it like the scent of a lightning storm on the wind just before the rain began. There was no way she could have made a sound even if she’d wanted to. 

Miri watched as Cullen’s eyes darted back and forth, panicked as the voices drew nearer. His gloved finger was still pressed up against his lips, puckered slightly outwards as he silently hushed her. She felt her breath catch when his eyes fell to hers, seemingly realizing for the first time how closely he held her to him, and a flush crept up his neck as she watched, but it was too late—the voices of Cullen’s admirers were just outside their hiding spot now. If either of them moved, they’d be discovered for sure. 

Cullen didn’t look away from her as she had expected—he held her gaze for an impossibly long moment while they waited for the voices to leave again. Miri felt frozen there, unable to move even if he hadn’t been holding her so tightly. His finger slowly left his lips, the rest of them uncurling from against his palm as his hand fell to her face. Gently, he lifted a tiny braid that had fallen loose from the rest of her style and into her face, tucking it reverently back behind her left ear where it belonged. Miri shivered at his touch when his soft glove brushed against the sensitive skin of her pointed ear, making a chill run down her spine. The voices were gone—but Cullen’s grip didn’t loosen on her waist. She watched as his eyes fell to her mouth, licking his lips and swallowing hard—

And then he released her. She stumbled backwards out of the hedge, nearly straight into the gardenia bush, gasping for breath. “Cullen, what in the Void—”

“I’m sorry, I could hear them coming, I panicked, and—Maker’s breath,” he mumbled, his mouth opening and closing as he searched for words.

A nervous giggle tore itself from her throat as Miri tried desperately to find something to do with her hands—what did normal people do with their hands in normal situations? “I noticed,” she gasped, still giggling. “Why did you pull me in with you?”

“I… I don’t know,” he breathed, looking at her strangely. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine, Cullen, you don’t have to—”

“Would you just—” he hissed, his brow furrowing for a moment and his hands coming up to slice at the air dramatically before he softened and his voice evened back out, “—let me apologize? I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I wasn’t thinking, I just…”

“You just reacted. I understand. It’s fine, Cullen, really—you didn’t make me uncomfortable.” Miri was surprised at how true the words felt as she said them. A templar had just grabbed her, pulled her into a bush, and held her flush against his body—touching her rather intimately, while he was at it—and she wasn’t uncomfortable with it? Maybe she was ill, she thought, pressing her cool hands to her flushed cheeks. 

But he isn’t a templar, something in Miri whispered, making her look back up at him again to find him watching her. Cullen’s face was still flushed pink to the tips of his ears, his lips parted as if he were about to say something. Miri didn’t know how it was always like this with him—either talking over one another, rushing to speak as words tumbled out of her before she’d even thought them through, or standing stock still, suspended in silence, staring at one another as seconds stretched stiffly between them, both waiting for the other to blink first. There was something about it that made her think of an the halla she’d accidentally killed when her magic first manifested, held motionless in a pillar of ice, though still alive, straining against the magic that held it as it slowly suffocated. 

Cullen leaned slowly towards her, and for a moment, Miri’s brain blanked out as his tall frame bent over hers, his face so close she could hear the quiet sound of his breath—and then he straightened again, twirling one of the fresh gardenia blossoms from the plant behind her in his nimble fingers. He flushed a bit deeper then, looking a little unsure of himself once more, then lifted the flower towards her stem first, a question in his one raised eyebrow. 

Miri wasn’t sure exactly what that meant, her mind still scrambling to catch up after the last few minutes, but she nodded anyway, and he gently tucked the bloom into her hair where he’d just brushed it over her ear. “These are lovely, Lavellan. It would be a shame to leave them all here where no one will truly appreciate what you’ve done with them. You should take one.” 

He grew bashful then when she didn’t reply, stunned into silence. Cullen stepped back from her, fiddling with one of his gloves with the opposite hand. “Well then, I’ll, uh. I’ll leave you to enjoy the gardens. Inquisitor,” he murmured, nodding at her and then hurrying away.

Miri reached a hand up to touch the flower tucked into her hair. “Thank you,” she whispered after him, far too late. He was already gone.

[theopenbookwigtown]

🏡 Back home in Shropshire, but what a week it's been. 🌟

Grateful for everyone who joined our journey - the locals' warmth, the visitors' love for The Open Book. 😍

It's been the most wholesome week we've ever had.

🗓 18th - 23rd July 2023: ⏰ 41 hours open 🤝 319 people greeted 🐶 16 adorable dog visitors 📚 81 books found new homes

As I've been doing all the posting this week, Gary wanted to say something...

I did not want to be a bookseller. I wanted even less to pay for the privilege.

Stephy had other ideas, however, and it’s in my nature to follow her lead even when I’m convinced she’s gone off the deep end. And so, in 2017, we booked our place at the end of a 3-year wait and Stephy impatiently dreamt of our upcoming trip. This, I believe, is called “foreshadowing.”

2 days before our trip in 2020, we were all locked in our homes for the foreseeable future. And so, in 2020, we booked our place at the end of a 3-year wait and Stephy impatiently dreamt of our upcoming trip.

I tell you this to emphasise that, despite two 3 year waits and a pandemic, I was no more enthusiastic about our bizarre little holiday. I was convinced that we would see too few customers and I would be bored out of my mind or, much worse, that we would see too many and I would be forced to relive the retail experience that made me promise “never again” as a teenager. Either way, I was terrified that my anxiety and my atrophied social skills would leave me trapped in a solid week of awkward interactions and uncomfortable silences.

I ran these scenarios in my head, preparing myself for any eventuality, but I could never have anticipated that I would fit in almost immediately. We were soon visited by many of the locals, invited to events and welcomed into their stores as though we were regulars. This strange, wonderful place embraced us with everything from casual Good Mornings shared across the quiet road as we all set up our signs and displays, to conversation in the street to compare notes after closing. It is rare that I feel a sense of belonging, but I found it here and instantly fell in love.

With the help of Stephy's boundless energy and contagious enthusiasm, I fully discarded my shell within days and, by week's end, was actively greeting everyone who walked through the door with a genuine “How are you today?” like some kind of crazy person.

It was in this question that I found the real treasure of this place, the thing that makes The Open Book far more than the sum of its parts: Those who visit, do so looking for a story or two, sure, but if you ask them, and if you listen, they often gift you a story in return. We encountered people bursting with the kind of joy and wisdom that only comes from a life well lived and learned important life lessons that we will carry with us forever. All it took was a word and an ear.

The dream, the one I didn't understand, can be found here in Wigtown but you are missing the point if all you are looking for is a quaint, cosy stay in a bookshop. The Open Book wouldn't work anywhere else because The Open Book is Wigtown. There is a perfect storm here. The right people in the right place at the right time with the right idea have created something truly magical. How else can I describe something wonderful that shouldn't exist, but does anyway?

This is a place where a modern shop with modern comforts exists but the penny sweet is alive and well, where a parade of 40 horses might run right by your front door and bagpipe music can be described as "spontaneous", where a "little concert" is both cosy and breathtaking in equal measure, where you can enter a store to the sound of live banjo music and learn of the owners attempts to purchase a life-sized triffid, and where you will learn the secret to a long happy life is to pull up your socks, always be curious, never stop learning, and buy a second TV for your spouse.

In just one week, a bookstore had become a home, a handful of strangers had become neighbours and friends and a holiday I would gladly have missed had become a memory that I will cherish always. I leave this place healed and inspired, thankful for the kindness and the stories that I will take home with me, and saddened beyond measure to say goodbye so soon.

I did not want to be a bookseller, but I will be forever grateful that I was.

Until next time, Wigtown.

💛 Stephy & Gary

[winterburnwriting]

Better Than I Thought! Progress for Jan 18

I was originally going to write a blog today about how I had not written as much as I wanted to in the last week. I started writing this blog earlier today, when I was on break at work after getting a little bit of writing in. I thought I should almost use this as a little confessional. I had made progress, just not nearly as much as I should have. Then I got home today, ate dinner, procrastinated for an hour or two, and sat down to write.

I just finished up a 3 or 4 hour session of good solid work. I feel quite good about the progress I made. When I was writing about my disappointments, the short novel was only at 7,300 words or so. That meant I had only written around a thousand words over the course of a whole week! Not great. Not nothing, but definitely not what I needed to accomplish.

As of writing this, the short novel is now at 10,226 words. Still a far cry from my goal of 45,000, but I'm almost a quarter of the way there! And the goal number is a rough estimate. Ultimately the content of the story is what will decide its length. I am proud of myself for actually finally sitting down, putting on some music (Jojo's Bizarre Adventure and a lot of America, both of which I've been using as background music for my writing lately), and getting some writing done.

Chapter 3 is officially done, and with it, the slow opening part of the story is too! The next chapter will mark the shift from the opening where the characters and tone are established to the crazy fantastic elements taking hold of the newlywed protagonists' lives! In other words, moving day! They are moving into the house unaware that it has some vampiric squatters, led by the eccentric and terrifying creature known as The Duke. This is a chapter I am excited to write.

Moral of the story? If you are having trouble writing due to procrastinating and getting distracted, music may help! And when pushing through chapters of your novel or short novel that don't capture your imagination the way you think future ones might, try to focus on those ones you are excited for when pushing through the current work. You can always change things and spice them up later!

Thank you for reading my little blog post. I hope you are enjoying this series, as I am really enjoying having somewhere to talk about the progress I am making. It's a nice tool for holding myself accountable. That being said, I think I might be getting more writing here done than on Google Docs! Ha! Well, this goes faster. Anyway, here is an excerpt from Moving Blood (temporary title).

"

The rest of Lucy’s shift was fairly standard. The alternating experiences of serving customers like normal and hearing her coworkers talk about the new busboy potentially being found dead and mutilated in a shit tunnel gave her some whiplash, but it wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle. After the diner started to empty out and the cooks turned into cleaners, Lucy punched out and went to her car.

Lucy pulled out of the parking lot and began her commute home. Dusk draped itself on only the horizon now, with the town now being lit mostly by its many streetlights, cars, and townhouses. She kept her windows rolled completely down to breathe the evening air. Music played from her stereo. She thought of Bram. She was quite excited to see him. As ordinary as the day was, she was stressed out. The move combined with the murder in town may not have had her shattered, but she definitely looked forward to getting home. That is, even if it was one of the last times she would come home to that dinky shithole apartment they called home.

"

Thanks for reading! This isn't a weekly series, necessarily, but I might post around that often! Albeit, not always at this length. Have a good time. Take care of yourselves. I will catch you all later!

[littlemochix17]

Chapter 11

Words: 17.3K

Malfoy was taken aback when he saw that Harry, (Y/n), and Ron were still at Hogwarts the next day, despite looking worn out but nonetheless content. The trio appeared to be exhilarated by their encounter with the three-headed dog and were eager to embark on another adventure. Harry provided Ron and (Y/n) with a detailed account of the package that had been relocated from Gringotts to Hogwarts, and they devoted a significant amount of time to speculate about its contents, given the heavy security measures surrounding it.

"It's either really valuable or really dangerous," said Ron.

"Or both," said Harry.

"I heard Dumbledore was a very powerful wizard maybe that's why they brought it here so he can protect it," said (Y/n) to the boys

But as all they knew for sure about the mysterious object was that it was about two inches long, they didn't have much chance of guessing what it was without further clues. Neither Neville nor Hermione showed the slightest interest in what lay underneath the dog and the trapdoor. All Neville cared about was never going near the dog again.

Hermione was now refusing to speak to Harry and Ron, but she was such a bossy know-it-all that they saw this as an added bonus. (Y/n) was doing her best to avoid Hermione's persistent efforts to drag her away from her friends. While she didn't mind it too much last night, she was starting to feel increasingly annoyed by the brunette's behavior. It seemed like Hermione was always trying to separate her from the group, and (Y/n) was beginning to wonder why.

All they really wanted now was a way of getting back at Malfoy, well it's more of the boys than the girl, she couldn't care less they always discuss it way too really in the morning and she was just sleepy, and to their great delight, just such a thing arrived in the mail about a week later.

As the owls flooded into the Great Hall as usual, everyone's attention was caught at once by a long, thin package carried by six large screech owls. Harry was just as interested as everyone else to see what was in this large parcel and was amazed when the owls soared down and dropped it right in front of him, knocking his bacon to the floor. They had hardly fluttered out of the way when another owl dropped a letter on top of the parcel.

Harry ripped open the letter first, which was lucky because it said:

DO NOT OPEN THE PARCEL AT THE TABLE.

It contains your new Nimbus Two Thousand, but I don't want everybody to know you've got a broomstick or they'll all want one. Oliver Wood will meet you tonight at the Quidditch field at seven o'clock for your first training session. 

Professor M. McGonagall

Harry had difficulty hiding his glee as he handed the note to Ron to read.

"A Nimbus Two Thousand!" Ron moaned enviously. 

"I've never even touched one."

"Oh trust me I am more than thankful that I didn't touch one either" (Y/n) trembled at the mere idea of soaring through the air on a slender broomstick, far above the safety of solid ground.

They left the hall quickly, wanting to unwrap the broomstick in private before their first class, but halfway across the entrance hall, they found the way upstairs barred by Crabbe and Goyle. Malfoy seized the package from Harry and felt it.

"That's a broomstick," he said, throwing it back to Harry with a mixture of jealousy and spite on his face.

"Oh wow we really wouldn't have known if it wasn't for your nosey self middling in our business" (Y/n) let out a deep sigh and rolled her eyes in frustration at the blonde standing in front of her. She was feeling particularly drained today and had no tolerance for his nonsensical behavior.

 "You'll be in for it this time, Potter, first years aren't allowed them." The boy paid no attention to her and continued to sneer at Harry, his eyes narrowed with contempt and his lips curled into a disdainful sneer.

Ron couldn't resist it.

"It's not any old broomstick," he said, 

"it's a Nimbus Two Thousand. What did you say you've got at home, Malfoy, a Comet Two Sixty?" Ron grinned at Harry. 

"Comets look flashy, but they're not in the same league as the Nimbus."

"What would you know about it, Weasley, you couldn't afford half the handle," Malfoy snapped back. 

"I suppose you and your brothers have to save up twig by twig."

Before Ron could answer, Professor Flitwick appeared at Malfoy's elbow.

"Not arguing, I hope, boys and girl?" he squeaked.

"Potters have been sent a broomstick, Professor," said Malfoy quickly.

"Yes, yes, that's right," said Professor Flitwick, beaming at Harry.

"Professor McGonagall told me all about the special circumstances, Potter. And what model is it?"

"A Nimbus Two Thousand, sir," said Harry, fighting not to laugh at the look of horror on Malfoy's face. 

"And it's really thanks to Malfoy here that I've got it," he added.

As Harry, (Y/n), and Ron ascended the staircase, they couldn't help but suppress their laughter at the sight of Malfoy's intense fury and bewilderment. The air was thick with tension, but the trio couldn't help feeling a sense of satisfaction as they left their rival behind.

"Well, it's true," Harry chortled as they reached the top of the marble staircase,

 "If he hadn't stolen Neville's Remembrall I wouldn't be on the team..."

"So I suppose you think that's a reward for breaking rules?" came an angry voice from just behind them. Hermione was stomping up the stairs, looking disapprovingly at the package in Harry's hand.

"I thought you weren't speaking to us?" said Harry.

"Yes, don't stop now," said Ron, "it's doing us so much good."

With an air of superiority, Hermione turned and made her way down the hall, her nose held high. As she walked away, she reached out and grabbed the hand of the girl with (H/c) hair, pulling her along with her. The girl stumbled after Hermione, clearly struggling to keep up with her brisk pace.

"Honestly (Y/n) you would only get in trouble if you keep joining these two boys" As the (E/c) eyed girl gave them an apologetic look, they realized that it was the last thing they would hear from her before the other girl dragged her away through the halls. The scene left an indelible impression on their mind, as they wondered what was happening and why the girl was being taken away so suddenly.

Harry had a lot of trouble keeping his mind on his lessons that day. It kept wandering up to the dormitory where his new broomstick was lying under his bed, or straying off to the Quidditch field where he'd be learning to play that night. He bolted his dinner that evening without noticing what he was eating and then rushed upstairs with Ron to unwrap the Nimbus Two Thousand at last.

They were eager to unwrap the broom together, but they couldn't wait for (Y/n) to join them. Hermione, in particular, had been keeping the girl occupied all day, persuading her to stay with her instead. She argued that it would be safer for her to stay away from the boys and their potentially reckless activities, as it could result in their house losing valuable points. Despite this, the others were too impatient to wait any longer and decided to open the package without (Y/n).

"Wow," Ron sighed, as the broomstick rolled onto Harry's bedspread. Even Harry, who knew nothing about the different brooms, thought it looked wonderful. Sleek and shiny, with a mahogany handle, it had a long tail of neat, straight twigs and Nimbus Two Thousand written in gold near the top.

As seven o'clock drew nearer, Harry left the castle and set off in the dusk toward the Quidditch field. He'd never been inside the stadium before. Hundreds of seats were raised in stands around the field so that the spectators were high enough to see what was going on. At either end of the field were three golden poles with hoops on the end. They reminded Harry of the little plastic sticks Muggle children blew bubbles through, except that they were fifty feet high.

Too eager to fly again to wait for Wood, Harry mounted his broomstick and kicked off from the ground. What a feeling he swooped in and out of the goalposts and then sped up and down the field. The Nimbus Two Thousand turned wherever he wanted at his lightest touch.

"Hey, Potter, come down!"

Oliver Wood had arrived. He was carrying a large wooden crate under his arm. Harry landed next to him.

"Very nice," said Wood, his eyes glinting. "I see what McGonagall meant ... you really are a natural. I'm just going to teach you the rules this evening, then you'll be joining team practice three times a week."

He opened the crate. Inside were four different-sized balls.

"Right," said Wood.

 "Now, Quidditch is easy enough to understand, even if it's not too easy to play. There are seven players on each side. Three of them are called Chasers."

"Three Chasers," Harry repeated, as Wood took out a bright red ball about the size of a soccer ball.

"This ball's called the Quaffle," said Wood.

 "The Chasers throw the Quaffle to each other and try and get it through one of the hoops to score a goal. Ten points every time the Quaffle goes through one of the hoops. Follow me?"

"The Chasers throw the Quaffle and put it through the hoops to score," Harry recited. 

"So that's sort of like basketball on broomsticks with six hoops, isn't it?"

"What's basketball?" said Wood curiously.

"Never mind," said Harry quickly.

"Now, there's another player on each side who's called the Keeper. I'm Keeper for Gryffindor. I have to fly around our hoops and stop the other team from scoring."

"Three Chasers, one Keeper," said Harry, who was determined to remember it all. 

"And they play with the Quaffle. Okay, got that. So what are they for?"

 He pointed at the three balls left inside the box.

"I'll show you now," said Wood. 

"Take this."

He handed Harry a small club, a bit like a short baseball bat.

"I'm going to show you what the Bludgers do," Wood said.

"These two are the Bludgers."

He showed Harry two identical balls, jet black and slightly smaller than the red Quaffle. Harry noticed that they seemed to be straining to escape the straps holding them inside the box.

"Stand back," Wood warned Harry. He bent down and freed one of the Bludgers.

At once, the black ball rose high in the air and then pelted straight at Harry's face. Harry swung at it with the bat to stop it from breaking his nose and sent it zigzagging away into the air it zoomed around their heads and then shot at Wood, who dived on top of it and managed to pin it to the ground.

"See?" Wood panted, forcing the struggling Bludger back into the crate and strapping it down safely. 

"The Bludgers rocket around, trying to knock players off their brooms. That's why you have two Beaters on each team, the Weasley twins are ours, it's their job to protect their side from the Bludgers and try and knock them toward the other team. So think you've got all that?"

"Three Chasers try and score with the Quaffle; the Keeper guards the goalposts; the Beaters keep the Bludgers away from their team," Harry reeled off.

"Very good," said Wood.

"Er- have the Bludgers ever killed anyone?" Harry asked, hoping

he sounded offhand.

"Never at Hogwarts. We've had a couple of broken jaws but nothing worse than that. Now, the last member of the team is the Seeker. That's you. And you don't have to worry about the Quaffle or the Bludgers-"

"-unless they crack my head open."

"Don't worry, the Weasleys are more than a match for the Bludgers I mean, they're like a pair of human Bludgers themselves."

Wood reached into the crate and took out the fourth and last ball. Compared with the Quaffle and the Bludgers, it was tiny, about the size of a large walnut. It was bright gold and had little fluttering silver wings.

"This," said Wood, 

"is the Golden Snitch, and it's the most important ball of the lot. It's very hard to catch because it's so fast and difficult to see. It's the Seeker's job to catch it. You've got to weave in and out of the Chasers, Beaters, Bludgers, and Quaffle to get it before the other team's Seeker, because whichever Seeker catches the Snitch wins his team an extra hundred and fifty points, so they nearly always win. That's why Seekers get fouled so much. A game of Quidditch only ends when the Snitch is caught, so it can go on for ages  I think the record is three months, they had to keep bringing on substitutes so the players could get some sleep."

"Well, that's it any questions?"

Harry shook his head. He understood what he had to do all right, it was doing it that was going to be the problem.

"We won't practice with the Snitch yet," said Wood, carefully shutting it back inside the crate, "it's too dark, we might lose it. Let's try you out with a few of these."

He pulled a bag of ordinary golf balls out of his pocket and a few minutes later, he and Harry were up in the air, Wood throwing the golf balls as hard as he could in every direction for Harry to catch. Harry didn't miss a single one, and Wood was delighted. After half an hour, night had really fallen and they couldn't carry on.

"That Quidditch Cup'll have our name on it this year," said Wood happily as they trudged back up to the castle.

"I wouldn't be surprised if you turn out better than Charlie Weasley, and he could have played for England if he hadn't gone off chasing dragons."

Perhaps it was because he was now so busy, what with Quidditch practice three evenings a week on top of all his homework, but Harry could hardly believe it when he realized that he'd already been at Hogwarts for two months. The castle felt more like home than Privet Drive ever had. His lessons, too, were becoming more and more interesting now that they had mastered the basics.

As the classes came to an end, Y/n was relieved to have escaped Hermione's clutches. She was eager to catch up with Harry and wish him luck for his first Quidditch practice with Wood. However, she noticed that it was already too late for that, and she found herself standing by the black lake. Cedric had instructed her to meet him there, but she was surprised to find him engaged in conversation with a boy with striking greenish-grey eyes. Y/n couldn't help but wonder what they were discussing.

"Hey Ced, Regulus" As she approached, a warm smile graced her face and she cheerfully greeted the two older boys, who seemed pleased to see her.

"(Y/n)! You made it" Cedric approached the young girl with a warm smile, his steps light and gentle. As he drew closer, she turned to face him, and he opened his arms wide to envelop her in a warm embrace. She hugged him back tightly, and a sense of comfort and safety washed over her.

"Of course, I am sorry I didn't write to you one of my dorm mates wouldn't leave me alone for one second," As she spoke, she let out a deep sigh and rolled her eyes, causing the other two  to respond with a small chuckle.

"Sounds like you have a fan," Regulus observed the girl in front of him, noticing the way she had just scoffed - a mixture of irritation and disbelief etched on her face.

"What fan dragges you anywhere and everywhere she goes just so she makes sure you won't lose more points for your own house" The girl's remark caught Cedric's attention, and he couldn't help but burst into laughter. However, the expression on the girl's face showed her annoyance, as if she hadn't intended to be funny.

"Maybe she just doesn't want you to get in trouble," The brunette said.

"Well she does half a special way in showing it" Regulus snickers

"Oh shut up when did you get sorted anyway? I thought all first years got sorted at the start of the year" Asked the younger girl before sitting in the empty space beside him on the ground Cedric followed her sitting at her other side

"My sorting was...  well...  different I got sorted into Slytherin privately before first years in Professor Dumbledore's office," he said rubbing the back of his neck

"Why?" Cedric's voice peeped into their conversation also curious to know

"My Aunt Genevieve asked for my sorting to be private I don't know why thought she didn't do that when I was at Beauxbatons" As the boy sat said to his friends, he took a moment to reminisce about his time at Beauxbatons. Despite not having many friends, he cherished the memories of his stay in France. He couldn't help but feel a tinge of sadness as he thought of someone special whom he missed dearly. This feeling brought to mind the sorting ceremony at Beauxbatons, which he found quite intriguing. In fact, he felt that the sorting process at Beauxbatons was much more fascinating than the one at Hogwarts.

As Madam Maxime calls his name, he walks across the stage and stops in front of a small table. With a mix of excitement and nervousness, he notices a shimmering silver bow and arrow placed on the table. His hands tremble as he picks them up and holds them in front of him. He pulls the string back to his cheek and takes a deep breath before releasing it from his sweaty fingers. With a sense of wonder, he watches as the silver arrow glides effortlessly across the room, leaving a trail of white sparks in its wake. It's a moment of pure magic, as the room comes alive with energy and anticipation. The arrow bursts into blue sparks just before hitting the wall, signaling that he has been placed in OmbreLune.

The young boy's face lit up with amusement as he reminisced about the past event. He let out a hearty chuckle, clearly enjoying the memory. He expressed his opinion that the sorting ceremony at Hogwarts lacked excitement in comparison to the one at Beauxbatons, hinting at the possibility of a more enchanting and captivating experience.

Ombrelune is well known for cunning, logic, ambition, and curiosity. The house colour is grey and the house is symbolized by a sinister-looking moon. The members of this house are very often those that prescribe to the concept of "the end justifies the means", as they can be manipulative and cunning. They are very cool and calculating students who are very adverse to irrationality and prize people for making well-thought-out and logical decisions. Most Ombrelune students are cold and rarely display emotion openly unless they see some direct gain in doing so. They are in the most ambitious of the Beauxbatons houses. They are very smart, logical, and structured. They are very curious and interested in the world and the intricate way it works. Ombrelune students often strive for power and perfection more than anything else. Cunning, logic, ambition, and curiosity. These are all traits that members of OmbreLune possess. They are very smart and aim for perfection.

House colours: Grey, blue House symbol: Moon

"So what was your house when you were at Beauxbatons?" Asked the girl

"I was in OmbreLune which is like being in Slytherin and Ravenclaw at the same time" (Y/n) nodded at his answer

"Well I got to go I have Quidditch practice tomorrow morning" Regulus stated

"You're on the Quidditch team?" Asked Cedric

"Yeah they needed a seeker and I passed tryouts" smirked the second-year boy

"Be ready Diggory because next Hufflepuff vs Slytherin match I am gonna kick your arse"

"Haha as if you can" Cedric rolled his eyes making (Y/n) giggle softly at the two boys before Regulus bedded his goodbyes and left

Cedric turned to (Y/n) smiling brightly

"So? How's Hogwarts so far" he asked

"Perfect" she replied smiling up at the brunette

On Halloween morning they woke to the delicious smell of baking pumpkin wafting through the corridors. Even better, Professor Flitwick announced in Charms that he thought they were ready to start making objects fly, something they had all been dying to try since they'd seen him make Neville's toad zoom around the classroom.

As the class began, Professor Flitwick assigned pairs to practice. Harry found himself partnered with Seamus Finnigan, a fellow Gryffindor, much to his relief. Neville, who had been trying to get Harry's attention, was instead paired with (Y/n). Despite this, Harry was still pleased to be with Seamus, as they had gotten along well. Ron, on the other hand, was paired with Hermione Granger, and neither of them seemed happy about it. The tension was palpable between them, as Hermione had not spoken to either of them since the day Harry's broomstick had arrived.

"Now, don't forget that nice wrist movement we've been practicing!" squeaked Professor Flitwick, perched on top of his pile of books as usual.

"Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the magic words properly is very important, too never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said 's' instead of 'f ' and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest."

Harry found the spell to be incredibly challenging, which made him question the effectiveness of the professor's teaching methods. However, (Y/n) was able to teach the group a more advanced spell with ease, leaving Harry impressed. (Y/n) was actively encouraging Neville to give it a go, while Ron, sitting at the table next to them, seemed to be struggling with the spell.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" he shouted, waving his long arms like a windmill.

"No, stop stop you're going to take someone's eye out" Snapped Hermione

"Besides you're saying it wrong, It's Levi-o-sa, not Levi-o-sar."

"You do it, then, if you're so clever," Ron snarled.

"Go on, go on"

Hermione rolled up the sleeves of her gown, flicked her wand, and said, "Wingardium Leviosa!"

Their feather rose off the desk and hovered about four feet above their heads.

"Oh, well done!" cried Professor Flitwick, clapping.

"Everyone see here, Miss Granger's done it!"

Ron was in a very bad mood by the end of the class.

Harry and Seamus swished and flicked, but the feather they were supposed to be sending skyward just lay on the desktop.

"Wingardium leviosa!"

Seamus got so impatient that he prodded it with his wand and set fire to it Harry had to put it out with his hat.

"I think we're gonna need another feather over here Professor," Harry said

"It's Levi-o-sa, not Levi-o-sar! no wonder no one can stand her," he said to Harry and (Y/n) as they pushed their way into the crowded corridor,

"And why does she always drag (Y/n)? it's starting to get annoying she's a nightmare, honestly."

As Harry was silent while (Y/n) just shrugged, lost in his thoughts, suddenly he felt a sudden jolt on his shoulder. He turned to see who it was and saw Hermione rushing past him, her eyes red and puffy, tears streaming down her face. Harry's heart sank as saw her

"I think she heard you."

"So?" said Ron, but he looked a bit uncomfortable.

"She must've noticed she's got no friends."

"Ron!"

"What don't tell me you're starting to feel bad for her" he raised an eyebrow at the girl

"I mean she is annoying but still you shouldn't have said that" The girl squinted her eyes, fixing her gaze on the redhead with a disapproving expression. The redhead, in response, rolled his eyes, as if he was familiar with such a reaction from her.

"Whatever let's go"  

Hermione didn't turn up for the next class and wasn't seen all afternoon.

As Harry, (Y/n), and Ron made their way down the dimly lit corridor towards the Great Hall for the highly anticipated Halloween feast, they were startled by the sound of Parvati Patil's voice. They paused, curious to hear what she was saying. They overheard Parvati telling her friend Lavender that Hermione was crying in the girls' bathroom and that she wanted to be left alone. Ron looked particularly uncomfortable at this news, and (Y/n) noticed it immediately. She glared at him, wondering if he might have had something to do with Hermione's distress. However, the moment they entered the Great Hall, they were immediately distracted by the stunning decorations. The ceiling was enchanted to look like a starry night sky, and there were pumpkins and candles placed on every table. They were all so mesmerized by the decorations that they forgot about Hermione for a while.

The great hall was filled with a thousand fluttering bats which were hanging from the walls and ceiling. Another thousand of them were swooping over the tables in low black clouds, causing the candles in the pumpkins to flicker. Suddenly, the feast appeared on the golden plates, just like it did during the start-of-term banquet. 

As Harry was serving himself a baked potato, Professor Quirrell entered the hall in a state of panic. His turban was askew, and his face was filled with terror. All eyes were on him as he ran towards Professor Dumbledore's chair. He slumped against the table, gasping for air, leaving everyone in the hall bewildered and anxious. "Troll! In the dungeons! thought you ought to know."

He then sank to the floor in a dead faint. There was an uproar. It took several purple firecrackers exploding from the end of Professor Dumbledore's wand to bring silence.

"Prefects," he rumbled, "lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!"

Percy was in his element. "Follow me! Stick together, first years! No need to fear the troll if you follow my orders! Stay close behind me, now. Make way, first years coming through! Excuse me, I'm a prefect!"

"How could a troll get in?" Harry asked as they climbed the stairs.

"Don't ask me, they're supposed to be really stupid," said Ron.

"Maybe Peeves let it in for a Halloween joke."

"I don't really think peeves would do something that could harm students physically," said (Y/n)

They passed different groups of people hurrying in different directions. As they jostled their way through a crowd of confused Hufflepuffs, Harry suddenly grabbed Ron's arm and (Y/n)'s hand

"I've just thought Hermione."

"What about her?"

"She is at the girls' bathroom alone you idiot," said (Y/n)

Ron bit his lip.

"Oh, all right," he snapped. "But Percy'd better not see us."

Ducking down, they joined the Hufflepuffs going the other way, slipped down a deserted side corridor, and hurried off toward the girls' bathroom. They had just turned the corner when they heard quick footsteps behind them.

"Percy!" hissed Ron, him and (Y/n) pulling Harry behind a large stone griffin. Peering around it, however, they saw not Percy but Snape. He crossed the corridor and disappeared from view.

"What's he doing?" Harry whispered.

"Something is not right"

"Why isn't he down in the dungeons with the rest of the teachers?"

"Search me."

Quietly as possible, they crept along the next corridor after Snape's fading footsteps.

"He's heading for the third floor," Harry said, but Ron held up his hand.

"Can you smell something?"

Harry and (Y/n) sniffed and caught a whiff of a foul stench, a combination of old socks and an unclean public toilet. Suddenly, they heard a low grunting sound and the shuffling of giant feet. Ron pointed to the end of a passage on the left, and they saw something huge moving towards them. They quickly hid in the shadows and watched as it emerged into a patch of moonlight. What they saw was a terrifying sight. The creature was twelve feet tall and had dull, granite-grey skin. Its body was like a boulder, with a small bald head perched on top like a coconut. It had short legs that were as thick as tree trunks, with flat and dry feet. The smell emanating from it was overpowering. The creature held a huge wooden club, which dragged along the floor because its arms were so long. The troll stopped next to a doorway, peered inside, waggled its long ears, made up its tiny mind, and then slouched slowly into the room.

"The key's in the lock," Harry muttered.

"We could lock it in."

"Good idea," said Ron nervously.

"Yeah but we have to be careful" 

As they inched closer to the open doorway, their hearts pounding with trepidation, the group prayed that the troll was not lurking behind it. Suddenly, Harry summoned all his courage and made a daring leap, snatching the key from its perch just in time. With a swift motion, he slammed the door shut and locked it, feeling a momentary sense of relief wash over him.

"Yes!"

Flushed with the excitement of their hard-won victory, they eagerly ran back up the dimly lit passage, elated and filled with a sense of triumph. However, as they neared the sharp bend in the corridor, their sense of jubilation was abruptly silenced by a piercing and petrifying scream that echoed through the stone walls. The scream was coming from the chamber they had just chained up, and it was so high-pitched and stricken with terror that it gripped their hearts in a vice-like hold, making them freeze in their tracks.

"Oh, no," said Ron, pale as the Bloody Baron.

"It's the girls' bathroom!" Harry gasped.

"Shit" (Y/n) cursed under her breath 

"Hermione!" they said together.

As much as they dreaded the idea, they knew they had to act fast. They spun around and dashed towards the door, hearts pounding with fear and adrenaline. The key trembled in Harry's hand as he tried to unlock the door, his fingers fumbling with anxiety. Finally, his determination paid off and the door creaked open, allowing them to dart inside.

Inside the restroom, Hermione Granger was cowering against the far wall, her face contorted with terror and eyes wide with fright. The troll was stomping closer and closer, its massive frame shaking the walls and shattering the porcelain sinks like they were mere toys.

"Confuse it!" With desperation in his voice, Harry implored Ron for help, his eyes locked on the massive, lumbering troll that stood before them. In a sudden move, he seized a nearby tap and hurled it against the wall with all the strength he could muster. The troll paused and turned its head, its beady eyes scanning the area for the source of the noise. It spotted Harry and hesitated for a moment, before raising its club and advancing towards him.

Meanwhile, (Y/n) quickly assessed the situation and rushed over to Hermione, pulling her away from the troll as far as possible. The troll, its attention now fixed on Harry, seemed to have forgotten about the two girls for the time being.

"Oy, pea-brain!" yelled Ron from the other side of the chamber, and he threw a metal pipe at it. The troll didn't even seem to notice the pipe hitting its shoulder, but it heard the yell and paused again, turning its ugly snout toward Ron instead, giving Harry time to run around it.

"Come on, run, run!" In a moment of chaos, Harry was frantically yelling at Hermione and (Y/n) to move towards the door. But Hermione was unable to move and was still flat against the wall, her mouth wide open with terror. (Y/n) was trying to snap her out of it, but the shouting and echoes seemed to be driving the troll berserk. It roared again and started towards Ron, who was nearest and had no way to escape.

In a desperate attempt to save his friend, Harry took a great running jump and managed to fasten his arms around the troll's neck from behind. Despite the troll's massive size, Harry clung on for dear life and managed to insert his wand up one of the troll's nostrils, causing it to howl in pain and confusion.

The troll twisted and flailed its club, trying to get rid of Harry, who was still clinging on tightly. Hermione had sunk to the floor, unable to move, while (Y/n) screamed Harry's name, trying to think of anything she could do to help her friend. Ron, who was also terrified, pulled out his own wand and cried out the first spell that came to his mind, hoping it would be enough to save Harry: 

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

The club flew suddenly out of the troll's hand, and rose high, high up into the air, turned slowly over and dropped, with a sickening crack, onto its owner's head. The troll swayed on the spot and then fell flat on its face, with a thud that made the whole room tremble.

Harry got up from the ground, his body trembling with fear and exhaustion. Ron stood still, his wand still raised, staring at the troll he had just defeated. Meanwhile, (Y/n) pulled Hermione towards the two boys, hugging them all tightly out of relief. She muttered about how reckless it was of Harry to jump at the troll, causing Ron to grin and Harry to chuckle slightly. Harry hugged her back tightly to reassure her that he was unharmed. Hermione looked at her three friends with sadness and sighed, thinking that Ron was right. If only she wasn't so annoying, maybe the three of them would have befriended her already. She tried not to dwell on it and spoke up to catch their attention, wanting to move on from the tense situation they had just been in.

"Is it dead?"

"I hope so I don't want to have another troll fight right now" grimaced (Y/n) 

"I don't think so," said Harry,

"I think it's just been knocked out."

He bent down and pulled his wand out of the troll's nose. It was covered in what looked like lumpy grey glue.

"Urgh- troll boogers."

He wiped it on the troll's trousers.

A sudden slamming and loud footsteps made the four of them look up. They hadn't realized what a racket they had been making, but of course, someone downstairs must have heard the crashes and the troll's roars. A moment later, Professor McGonagall came bursting into the room, closely followed by Snape, with Quirrell bringing up the rear. Quirrell took one look at the troll, let out a faint whimper, and sat quickly down on a toilet, clutching his heart.

Snape bent over the troll. Professor McGonagall was looking at Ron and Harry. Harry had never seen her look so angry. Her lips were white. Hopes of winning fifty points for Gryffindor faded quickly from Harry's mind.

"What on earth were you thinking of?" said Professor McGonagall, with cold fury in her voice. Harry looked at Ron, who was still standing with his wand in the air.

"You're lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't you in your dormitory?"

Snape gave Harry a swift, piercing look. Harry looked at the floor. He wished Ron would put his wand down while (Y/n) just closed her eyes hissing as she knows that they're doomed that's for sure.

Then a small voice came out of the shadows.

"Please, Professor McGonagall they were looking for me."

"Miss Granger!"

Hermione had managed to get to her feet at last.

"I went looking for the troll because I-I thought I could deal with it on my own- you know because I've read all about them."

(Y/n)'s jaw dropped as well as Ron's wand. Hermione Granger, telling a downright lie to a teacher?

"If they hadn't found me, I'd be dead now. Harry stuck his wand up its nose and Ron knocked it out with its own club while (Y/n) had pulled me away from it before it attacked me. They didn't have time to come and fetch anyone. It was about to finish me off when they arrived."

Harry, (Y/n) and Ron tried to look as though this story wasn't new to them.

"Well in that case..." said Professor McGonagall, staring at the three of them,

"Miss Granger, you foolish girl, how could you think of tackling a mountain troll on your own?"

Hermione hung her head. Harry was speechless. Hermione was the last person to do anything against the rules, and here she was, pretending she had, to get them out of trouble. It was as if Snape had started handing out sweets.

"Miss Granger, five points will be taken from Gryffindor for this," said Professor McGonagall.

"I'm very disappointed in you." Professor McGonagall turned to Harry, (Y/n) and Ron.

"Well, I still say you were lucky, but not many first years could have taken on a full-grown mountain troll. You each win Gryffindor five points. Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. You may go."

They hurried out of the chamber and didn't speak at all until they had climbed two floors up. It was a relief to be away from the smell of the troll, quite apart from anything else.

"We should have gotten more than fifteen points," Ron grumbled.

"Ten, you mean, once she's taken off Hermione's."

"Good of her to get us out of trouble like that," Ron admitted looking at Hermione.

"Mind you, we did save her." That made (Y/n) elbow him and glare in his direction

"She might not have needed saving if we hadn't locked the thing in with her," Harry reminded him, and the (H/c) head girl nodded.

"And if you hadn't insulted her," the (H/c) head girl said crossing her arms at him

"What are friends for yeah?" He said smiling at the other girl who smiled as well

They had reached the portrait of the Fat Lady.

"Pig snout," they said and entered.

The common room was abuzz with activity, filled with students chatting, laughing, and enjoying the feast that had been delivered. In the midst of the crowd stood Hermione, feeling out of place and somewhat embarrassed. As she looked around, she saw the others eyeing her curiously, unsure of what to say. Then, in a sudden burst of relief, they all mumbled a quick "Thanks" and hurried off to grab their plates. Despite the awkwardness of the moment, Hermione was grateful to have been acknowledged. It was then that she realized that she had made new friends. For her, it was a turning point - a moment when she felt like she had finally found her place at Hogwarts. And as she reflected on the events of that day, she knew that there was something special about the bond that they had formed. It was a connection that went beyond words, something that could only be forged through shared experiences. And defeating a twelve-foot mountain troll was definitely one of them.

As they entered November, the weather turned very cold. The mountains around the school became icy grey and the lake was like chilled steel. Every morning the ground was covered in frost. Hagrid could be seen from the upstairs windows defrosting broomsticks on the Quidditch field, bundled up in a long moleskin overcoat, rabbit fur gloves, and enormous beaverskin boots.

The Quidditch season had begun. On Saturday, Harry would be playing in his first match after weeks of training: Gryffindor versus Slytherin. If Gryffindor won, they would move up into second place in the House Championship.

Hardly anyone had seen Harry play because Wood had decided that, as their secret weapon, Harry should be kept, well, secret. But the news that he was playing Seeker had leaked out somehow, and Harry didn't know which was worse people telling him he'd be brilliant or people telling him they'd be running around underneath him holding a mattress. It was really lucky that Harry now had Hermione as a friend. He didn't know how he'd have gotten through all his homework without her and (Y/n), what with all the last-minute Quidditch practice Wood was making them do. Hermione had also lent him Quidditch Through the Ages, which turned out to be a very interesting read.

Harry learned that there were seven hundred ways of committing a Quidditch foul and that all of them had happened during a World Cup match in 1473; that Seekers were usually the smallest and fastest players, and that most serious Quidditch accidents seemed to happen to them; that although people rarely died playing Quidditch, referees had been known to vanish and turn up months later in the Sahara Desert.

Hermione had become a bit more relaxed about breaking the rules since Harry and Ron had saved her from the mountain troll, and she was much nicer for it she also apologized to the three for always trying to separate (Y/n) from the other two. The day before Harry's first Quidditch match the four of them were out in the freezing courtyard during break, and she had conjured them up a bright blue fire that could be carried around in a jam jar. They were standing with their backs to it, getting warm, when Snape crossed the yard. Harry noticed at once that Snape was limping. Harry, (Y/n), Ron, and Hermione moved closer together to block the fire from view; they were sure it wouldn't be allowed. Unfortunately, something about their guilty faces caught Snape's eye. He limped over. He hadn't seen the fire, but he seemed to be looking for a reason to tell them off anyway.

"What's that you've got there, Potter?"

It was Quidditch Through the Ages. Harry showed him.

"Library books are not to be taken outside the school," said Snape.

"Give it to me. Five points from Gryffindor."

"He's just made that rule up," Harry muttered angrily as Snape limped away.

"Someone got his knickers in a twist" 

"Wonder what's wrong with his leg?"

"Dunno, but I hope it's really hurting him," said Ron bitterly.

The Gryffindor common room was very noisy that evening. Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat together next to a window. Hermione was checking Harry and Ron's Charms homework for them. She would never let them copy ("How will you learn?"), but by asking her to read it through, they got the right answers anyway while (Y/n) told them she was going to feed her owl (and NItor) and be right back.

Harry felt restless. He wanted Quidditch Through the Ages back, to take his mind off his nerves about tomorrow. Why should he be afraid of Snape? Getting up, he told Ron and Hermione he was going to ask Snape if he could have it just as the (H/c) girl got down from her dorm.

"Better you than me," they said together, but Harry had an idea that Snape wouldn't refuse if other teachers were listening.

"Where are you going?" asked the girl 

"I am going to Snap to return the book," said Harry 

"Do you want me to come with you?" (Y/n) offered to accompany Harry, and as he looked at her, a smile spread across his face. He felt a warm flutter in his chest as he appreciated the care she showed for him. Even though he now had Ron and Hermione by his side, there was something special about (Y/n)'s support. Perhaps it was the fact that they had known each other for years before they were both accepted into Hogwarts. Whatever the reason, Harry was grateful for her.

Despite her offer, Harry declined, assuring her that he would be okay on his own. As he spoke, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt at turning down her kind offer. Nevertheless, he knew that he had to handle Snape alone. He promised her that he would return soon, and with that, he set off, his thoughts lingering on (Y/n) and the bond they shared.

He made his way down to the staffroom and knocked. There was no answer. He knocked again. Nothing. Perhaps Snape had left the book in there? It was worth a try. He pushed the door ajar and peered inside and a horrible scene met his eyes.

Snape and Filch were inside, alone. Snape was holding his robes above his knees. One of his legs was bloody and mangled. Filch was handing Snape bandages.

"Blasted thing," Snape was saying.

"How are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?"

Harry tried to shut the door quietly, but -

"POTTER!"

Snape's face was twisted with fury as he dropped his robes quickly to hide his leg. Harry gulped.

"I just wondered if I could have my book back."

"GET OUT! OUT!"

Harry left before Snape could take any more points from Gryffindor. He sprinted back upstairs.

"Did you get it?" Ron asked as Harry joined them. "What's the matter?"

In a low whisper, Harry told them what he'd seen.

"You know what this means?" he finished breathlessly.

"He tried to get past that three-headed dog at Halloween! That's where he was going when we saw him he's after whatever it's guarding! And I'd bet my broomstick he let that troll in, to make a diversion!"

Hermione's eyes were wide.

"No he wouldn't," she said. "I know he's not very nice, but he wouldn't try and steal something Dumbledore was keeping safe."

"Honestly, Hermione, you think all teachers are saints or something," snapped Ron.

"I'm with Harry. I wouldn't put anything past Snape. But what's he after? What's that dog guarding?"

"I agree too it seems quite weird that Snap got injured while coming back from the third fooler," said (Y/n) 

"Maybe he did try to get past the dog when we were trying to fight that troll"

Harry went to bed with his head buzzing with the same question. Neville was snoring loudly, but Harry couldn't sleep. He tried to empty his mind he needed to sleep, he had to, he had his first Quidditch match in a few hours but the expression on Snape's face when Harry had seen his leg wasn't easy to forget.

The next morning dawned very bright and cold. The Great Hall was full of the delicious smell of fried sausages and the cheerful chatter of everyone looking forward to a good Quidditch match.

"You've got to eat some breakfast."

"I don't want anything."

"Just a bit of toast," wheedled Hermione.

"I'm not hungry."

Harry felt terrible. In an hour he'd be walking onto the field.

"Harry, you need your strength," said Seamus Finnigan.

"Seekers are always the ones who get clobbered by the other team."

"Thanks, Seamus," Harry watched Seamus pile heaps of ketchup on his sausages, his stomach churning with unease. He wasn't feeling particularly hungry, but he knew he needed to eat something before the match today. Suddenly, he felt a warm hand on his own, and he turned to see (Y/n) sitting beside him. Her friendly smile put him at ease, and he felt a sense of comfort he hadn't felt since he woke up and remembered his first match was today.

Before he could say anything, (Y/n) placed a plate of his favorite Treacle Tart in front of him, the sweet aroma wafting up to meet his nose. 

"If you don't feel like eating breakfast, you can have this. I know it's not breakfast, but it'll give you some energy for the match today. Plus, I know you can't refuse a treacle tart," she chuckled softly.

Harry couldn't help but smile at her thoughtfulness, taking the plate gratefully. As he took a bite, he felt a wave of warmth spread through him, and he felt more relaxed than he had in days. Ron, Hermione, and Seamus watched in surprise as Harry's demeanor shifted, his shoulders relaxing and his face softening.

It was a small gesture, but it meant the world to Harry. He felt grateful to have such caring friends, and he knew that, no matter what happened today, he had people he could count on.

By eleven o'clock the whole school seemed to be out in the stands around the Quidditch pitch. Many students had binoculars. The seats might be raised high in the air, but it was still difficult to see what was going on sometimes.

Ron, (Y/n) and Hermione joined Neville, Seamus, and Dean in the West Ham fan up in the top row. As a surprise for Harry, they had painted a large banner on one of the sheets Scabbers had ruined. It said Potter for President, and Dean and (Y/n), who were good at drawing, had done a large Gryffindor lion underneath. Then Hermione performed a tricky little charm so that the paint flashed different colours.

Meanwhile, in the locker room, Harry and the rest of the team were changing into their scarlet Quidditch robes

Wood cleared his throat for silence.

"Okay, men," he said.

"And women," said Chaser Angelina Johnson.

"And women," Wood agreed.

"This is it."

"The big one," said Fred Weasley.

"The one we've all been waiting for," said George.

"We know Oliver's speech by heart," Fred told Harry,

"We were on the team last year."

"Shut up, you two," said Wood.

"This is the best team Gryffindor's had in years. We're going to win. I know it."

He glared at them all as if to say, "Or else."

"Right. It's time. Good luck, all of you."

Harry followed Fred and George out of the locker room and, hoping his knees weren't going to give way, walked onto the field to loud cheers.

Madam Hooch was refereeing. She stood in the middle of the field waiting for the two teams, her broom in her hand.

"Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you," she said, once they were all gathered around her. Harry noticed that she seemed to be speaking particularly to the Slytherin Captain, Marcus Flint, a fifth year. Harry thought Flint looked as if he had some troll blood in him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the fluttering banner high above, flashing Potter for President over the crowd. His heart skipped. He felt braver.

"Mount your brooms, please."

Harry clambered onto his Nimbus Two Thousand. Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle. Fifteen brooms rose, high, high into the air. They were off.

"And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too-"

"JORDAN!"

"Sorry, Professor."

The Weasley twins' friend, Lee Jordan, was doing the commentary for the match, closely watched by Professor McGonagall.

"And she's really belting along up there, a neat pass to Alicia Spinnet, a good find of Oliver Wood's, last year only a reserve- back to Johnson and no, the Slytherins have taken the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes Flint flying like an eagle up there he's going to sc- no, stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor Keeper Wood and the Gryffindors take the Quaffle- that's Chaser Katie Bell of Gryffindor there, nice dive around Flint, off up the field and- OUCH that must have hurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger Quaffle taken by the Slytherins that's Adrian Pucey speeding off toward the goalposts, but he's blocked by a second Bludger sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can't tell which nice play by the Gryffindor Beater, anyway, and Johnson back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off she goes, she's really flying , dodges a speeding Bludger the goalposts are ahead come on, now, Angelina Keeper Bletchley dives- misses- GRYFFINDORS SCORE!"

Gryffindor's cheers filled the cold air, with howls and moans from the Slytherins.

"Budge up there, move along."

"Hagrid!"

Ron,(Y/n) and Hermione squeezed together to give Hagrid enough space to join them. 

"Bin watchin' from me hut," said Hagrid, patting a large pair of binoculars around his neck,

"But it isn't the same as bein' in the crowd. No sign of the Snitch yet, eh?"

"Nope," said Ron.

"Harry hasn't had much to do yet."

"Kept outta trouble, though, that's somethin'," said Hagrid, raising his binoculars and peering skyward at the speck that was Harry.

Way up above them, Harry was gliding over the game, squinting about for some sign of the Snitch. This was part of his and Wood's game plan.

"Keep out of the way until you catch sight of the Snitch," Wood had said.

"We don't want you attacked before you have to be."

When Angelina had scored, Harry had done a couple of loop the- loops to let off his feelings. Now he was back to staring around for the Snitch. Once he caught sight of a flash of gold, but it was just a reflection from one of the Weasleys' wristwatches, and once a Bludger decided to come pelting his way, more like a cannonball than anything, but Harry dodged it and Fred Weasley came chasing after it.

"All right there, Harry?" he had time to yell, as he beat the Bludger furiously toward Marcus Flint.

"Slytherin in possession," Lee Jordan was saying,

"Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell, and speeds toward the- wait a moment. was that the Snitch?"

A murmur ran through the crowd as Adrian Pucey dropped the Quaffle, too busy looking over his shoulder at the flash of gold that had passed his left ear.

Harry saw it. In a great rush of excitement, he dived downward after the streak of gold. Slytherin Seeker Regulus had seen it, too. Neck and neck they hurtled toward the Snitch all the Chasers seemed to have forgotten what they were supposed to be doing as they hung in midair to watch.

Harry was slightly faster than Regulus he could see the little round ball, wings fluttering, darting up ahead he put on an extra spurt of speed- WHAM! A roar of rage echoed from the Gryffindors below- Marcus Flint had blocked Harry on purpose, and Harry's broom spun off course, Harry holding on for dear life.

"Foul!" screamed the Gryffindors.

Madam Hooch spoke angrily to Flint and then ordered a free shot at the goalposts for Gryffindor. But in all the confusion, of course, the Golden Snitch had disappeared again. Down in the stands, Dean Thomas was yelling,

"Send him off, ref! Red card!"

"What are you talking about, Dean?" said Ron.

"Red card!" said Dean furiously.

"In soccer, you get shown the red card and you're out of the game!"

"But this isn't soccer, Dean," Ron reminded him.

Hagrid, however, was on Dean's side.

"They oughta change the rules. Flint coulda knocked, Harry outta the air."

Lee Jordan was finding it difficult not to take sides.

"So after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating- "

"Jordan!" growled Professor McGonagall.

"I mean, after that open and revolting foul-"

"Jordan, I'm warning you-"

"All right, all right. Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to anyone, I'm sure, so a penalty to Gryffindor, taken by Spinnet, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue to play, Gryffindor still in possession."

It was as Harry dodged another Bludger, which went spinning dangerously past his head, that it happened. His broom gave a sudden, frightening lurch. For a split second, he thought he was going to fall. He gripped the broom tightly with both his hands and knees. He'd never felt anything like that. It happened again. It was as though the broom was trying to buck him off. But Nimbus Two Thousands did not suddenly decide to buck their riders off. Harry tried to turn back toward the Gryffindor goalposts, he had half a mind to ask Wood to call a time-out, and then he realized that his broom was completely out of his control. He couldn't turn it. He couldn't direct it at all. It was zigzagging through the air, and every now and then making violent swishing movements that almost unseated him. Lee was still commentating.

"Slytherin in possession- Flint with the Quaffle- passes Spinnet- passes Bell- hit hard in the face by a Bludger, hope it broke his nose- only joking, Professor- Slytherins score- oh no..."

The Slytherins were cheering. No one seemed to have noticed that Harry's broom was behaving strangely It was carrying him slowly higher, away from the game, jerking and twitching as it went.

"Dunno what Harry thinks he's doing," Hagrid mumbled. He stared through his binoculars.

"If I didn' know better, I'd say he'd lost control of his broom... but he can't have...."

Suddenly, people were pointing up at Harry all over the stands. His broom had started to roll over and over, with him only just managing to hold on. Then the whole crowd gasped. Harry's broom had given a wild jerk and Harry swung off it. He was now dangling from it, holding on with only one hand.

"Did something happen to it when Flint blocked him?" Seamus whispered.

"Can't have," Hagrid said, his voice shaking. "Can't nothing interfere with a broomstick except for powerful Dark magic- no kid could do that to a Nimbus Two Thousand."

At these words, Hermione seized Hagrid's binoculars, but instead of looking up at Harry, she started looking frantically at the crowd.

"What are you doing?" moaned Ron, grey-faced while (Y/n) couldn't take her eyes off Harry worried he might fall any minute.

"I knew it," Hermione gasped, "Snape look!"

Ron grabbed the binoculars. Snape was in the middle of the stands opposite them. He had his eyes fixed on Harry and was muttering nonstop under his breath.

"He's doing something. jinxing the broom," said Hermione.

"What should we do?"

"Leave it to me."

Before Ron could say another word, Hermione had disappeared. Ron turned the binoculars back on Harry. His broom was vibrating so hard, it was almost impossible for him to hang on much longer. The whole crowd was on its feet, watching, terrified, as the Weasleys flew up to try and pull Harry safely onto one of their brooms, but it was no good every time they got near him, the broom would jump higher still. They dropped lower and circled beneath him, obviously hoping to catch him if he fell. Marcus Flint seized the Quaffle and scored five times without anyone noticing.

"Come on, Hermione," Ron muttered desperately.

Hermione had fought her way across to the stand where Snape stood, and was now racing along the row behind him; she didn't even stop to say sorry as she knocked Professor Quirrell headfirst into the row in front. Reaching Snape, she crouched down, pulled out her wand, and whispered a few, well-chosen words. Bright blue flames shot from her wand onto the hem of Snape's robes.

It took perhaps thirty seconds for Snape to realize that he was on fire. A sudden yelp told her she had done her job. Scooping the fire off him into a little jar in her pocket, she scrambled back along the row. Snape would never know what had happened. It was enough. Up in the air, Harry was suddenly able to clamber back onto his broom.

"Neville, you can look!" Ron said. Neville had been sobbing into Hagrid's jacket for the last five minutes.

Harry was soaring through the air on his broomstick, his eyes fixed on the tiny, fluttering Snitch as it darted back and forth. Suddenly, he started to descend rapidly towards the ground. The crowd gasped as they saw him clutching his mouth as if he was about to be sick. Even after his broomstick stopped jerking, (Y/n) couldn't help but worry about him. She held her breath and watched anxiously as Harry hit the ground on all fours, coughing violently. Then, to her relief, something glittering and golden fell into his hand. Harry's face lit up with excitement as he shouted, 

"I've got the Snitch!" and triumphantly waved it above his head. The game ended in a frenzy of confusion and cheers from the crowd.

"He didn't catch it, he nearly swallowed it," Flint was still howling twenty minutes later, but it made no difference Harry hadn't broken any rules and Lee Jordan was still happily shouting the results Gryffindor had won by one hundred and seventy points to sixty. Harry heard none of this, though. He was being made a cup of strong tea back in Hagrid's hut, with Ron, (Y/n) and Hermione.

"It was Snape," Ron was explaining,

"Seriously why would he do that did Harry steal his girlfriend from him or something?" (Y/n) said earning a snort from Ron 

"Hermione and I saw him. He was cursing your broomstick, muttering, he wouldn't take his eyes off you."

"Rubbish," said Hagrid, who hadn't heard a word of what had gone on next to him in the stands.

"Why would Snape do somethin' like that?"

Harry, (Y/n), Ron, and Hermione looked at one another, wondering what to tell him. Harry decided on the truth.

"I found out something about him," he told Hagrid.

"He tried to get past that three-headed dog on Halloween. It bit him. We think he was trying to steal whatever it's guarding."

Hagrid dropped the teapot.

"How do you know about Fluffy?" he said.

"Fluffy?"

"Yeah he's mine bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub las' year I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the-"

"Yes?" said Harry eagerly.

"Now, don't ask me anymore," said Hagrid gruffly.

"That's top secret, that is."

"But Snape's trying to steal it."

"Rubbish," said Hagrid again.

"Snape's a Hogwarts teacher, he'd do nothin' of the sort."

"So why did he just try and kill Harry?" cried Hermione.

The afternoon's events certainly seemed to have changed her mind about Snape.

"I know a jinx when I see one, Hagrid, I've read all about them! You've got to keep eye contact, and Snape wasn't blinking at all, I saw him!"

"I'm tellin' yeh, yer wrong!" said Hagrid hotly.

"Hagrid you said it yourself a kid couldn't possibly make his broom do that and you confirmed that it must have been some kind of dark magic" the other girl stated 

"I don' know why Harry's broom acted like that, but Snape wouldn' try an' kill a student! Now, listen to me, all three of yeh- yer meddlin' in things that don' concern yeh. It's dangerous. You forget that dog, an' you forget what it's guardin', that's between Professor Dumbledore an' Nicolas Flamel-"

"Aha!" said Harry,

"so there's someone called Nicolas Flamel involved, is there?"

Hagrid looked furious with himself.

Christmas was coming. One morning in mid-December, Hogwarts woke to find itself covered in several feet of snow. The lake froze solid and the Weasley twins were punished for bewitching several snowballs so that they followed Quirrell around, bouncing off the back of his turban. The few owls that managed to battle their way through the stormy sky to deliver mail had to be nursed back to health by Hagrid before they could fly off again.  

No one could wait for the holidays to start. While the Gryffindor common room and the Great Hall had roaring fires, the drafty corridors had become icy and a bitter wind rattled the windows in the classrooms. Worst of all were Professor Snape's classes down in the dungeons, where their breath rose in a mist before them and they kept as close as possible to their hot cauldrons.

"I do feel so sorry," said Draco Malfoy, one Potions class,

"for all those people who have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas because they're not wanted at home." 

Harry was busy measuring out the powdered spine of a lionfish while Draco Malfoy, accompanied by his lackeys Crabbe and Goyle, was trying to get under his skin. Malfoy had been particularly unpleasant since the Quidditch match, where Harry had outperformed his house. Frustrated by the loss, Malfoy tried to make the other students laugh by mocking Harry's skills. When that didn't work, he resorted to taunting Harry about his background, something he knew Harry was sensitive about. 

Harry, however, was determined not to let Malfoy's comments get the better of him. He was excited about spending Christmas at Hogwarts with his friends, including Ron and his brothers who were also staying back. Harry knew that this Christmas would be different from previous ones, which he had spent with his unpleasant relatives at Privet Drive. 

(Y/n), who was also in the class, was not going back home for Christmas either. She was glaring at Malfoy, who noticed her and turned to her with a smirk on his face. 

"What do you think you're doing glaring at me like that, you twat?" he said, trying to provoke her. (Y/n) replied with a scowl, 

"I'm hoping you'll spontaneously combust." Malfoy's smirk disappeared, and he scoffed before turning away with Crabbe and Goyle which made the girl smirk.

As they left the Potions class, they encountered a large fir tree blocking the corridor. Harry and his friends heard a loud puffing sound and realized that Hagrid was behind it.

"Hi, Hagrid, want any help?" Ron asked, sticking his head through the branches.

"Nah, I'm all right, thanks, Ron."

"Would you mind moving out of the way?" came Malfoy's cold drawl from behind them. "Are you trying to earn some extra money, Weasley? Hoping to be gamekeeper yourself when you leave Hogwarts, I suppose that hut of Hagrid's must seem like a palace compared to what your family's used to."

Ron dived at Malfoy just as Snape came up the stairs.

"WEASLEY!"

Ron let go of the front of Malfoy's robes.

"He was provoked, Professor Snape," said Hagrid, sticking his huge hairy face out from behind the tree.

"Malfoy was insultin' his family."

"Be that as it may, fighting is against Hogwarts rules, Hagrid," said Snape silkily.

"Five points from Gryffindor, Weasley, and be grateful it isn't more. Move along, all of you."

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle pushed roughly past the tree, scattering needles everywhere and smirking.

"I'll get him," said Ron, grinding his teeth at Malfoy's back,

"one of these days, I'll get him-"

"I hate them both," said Harry,

"Malfoy and Snape."

"Don't worry boys someday we will hit them so hard they won't know what hit them"

"Come on, cheer up, it's nearly Christmas," said Hagrid.

"Tell yeh what, come with me an' see the Great Hall, looks a treat."

So the three of them followed Hagrid and his tree off to the Great Hall, where Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick were busy with the Christmas decorations.

"Ah, Hagrid, the last tree put it in the far corner, would you?"

The hall looked spectacular. Festoons of holly and mistletoe hung all around the walls, and no less than twelve towering Christmas trees stood around the room, some sparkling with tiny icicles, some glittering with hundreds of candles.

"How many days you got left until yer holidays?" Hagrid asked.

"Just one," said Hermione. "And that reminds me. Harry, Ron, (Y/n) we've got half an hour before lunch, we should be in the library."

"Oh yeah, you're right," said Ron, tearing his eyes away from Professor Flitwick, who had golden bubbles blossoming out of his wand and was trailing them over the branches of the new tree.

"The library?" said Hagrid, following them out of the hall.

"Just before the holidays? Bit keen, aren't yeh?"

"Oh, we're not working," Harry told him brightly.

"Ever since you mentioned Nicolas Flamel we've been trying to find out who he is." (Y/n) sighed and mentally face palmed at her friend's stupidity

"You what?" Hagrid looked shocked. "Listen here. I've told yeh. drop it. It's nothin' to you what that dog's guardin'."

"We just want to know who Nicolas Flamel is, that's all," said Hermione.

"Unless you'd like to tell us and save us the trouble?" Harry added.

"We must've been through hundreds of books already and we can't find him anywhere just give us a hint I know I've read his name somewhere."

"I'm sayin' nothin'," said Hagrid flatly.

"Just have to find out for ourselves, then," said Ron, and they left Hagrid looking disgruntled and hurried off to the library.

They had indeed been searching books for Flamel's name ever since Hagrid had let it slip, because how else were they going to find out what Snape was trying to steal? The trouble was, it was very hard to know where to begin, not knowing what Flamel might have done to get himself into a book. He wasn't in Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century or Notable Magical Names of Our Time; he was missing, too, from Important Modern Magical Discoveries, and A Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry. And then, of course, there was the sheer size of the library; tens of thousands of books; thousands of shelves; hundreds of narrow rows.

Hermione and (Y/n) took out a list of subjects and titles they had decided to search while Ron strode off down a row of books and started pulling them off the shelves at random. Harry wandered over to the Restricted Section. He had been wondering for a while if Flamel wasn't somewhere in there. Unfortunately, you needed a specially signed note from one of the teachers to look in any of the restricted books, and he knew he'd never get one. These were the books containing powerful Dark Magic never taught at Hogwarts, and only read by older students studying advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts.

"What are you looking for, boy?"

"Nothing," said Harry.

Madam Pince the librarian brandished a feather duster at him.

"You'd better get out, then. Go on out!"

Wishing he'd been a bit quicker at thinking up some story, Harry left the library. He, (Y/n), Ron, and Hermione had already agreed they'd better not ask Madam Pince where they could find Flamel. They were sure she'd be able to tell them, but they couldn't risk Snape hearing what they were up to. Harry waited outside in the corridor to see if the other two had found anything, but he wasn't very hopeful. They had been looking for two weeks, after all, but as they only had odd moments between lessons it wasn't surprising they'd found nothing. What they needed was a nice long search without Madam Pince breathing down their necks.

Five minutes later, Ron, (Y/n) and Hermione joined him, shaking their heads. They went off to lunch.

"You will keep looking while I'm away, won't you?" said Hermione.

"And send me an owl if you find anything."

"And you could ask your parents if they know who Flamel is," said, Ron.

"It'd be safe to ask them."

"Very safe, as they're both dentists," said Hermione, and then she left to pack the rest of her things.

The conversation between three first-year Hogwarts students was suddenly interrupted by a cheerful voice calling out to one of them. Looking up, the trio saw the Slytherin and Hufflepuff seekers approaching them. Cedric Diggory and Regulus Black had come to bid farewell to their friend, (Y/n), before heading home for the holidays. To the surprise of Harry and Ron, the girl seemed to be on friendly terms with the Slytherin boy. Despite Ron's prejudice, Harry felt oddly uncomfortable around Regulus. The older boy turned to Harry and asked if he was the Gryffindor seeker, but instead of insulting him for winning the match against him, he praised him for giving him a good challenge. (Y/n) confirmed that Harry was indeed the seeker, and Cedric continued to praise him for his skills on the field. The two first-years were surprised to see the friendly side of a Slytherin, a house known for its cunning and ambition. Harry and Ron felt awkward and remained silent until Cedric and Regulus bid farewell to (Y/n) and promised to keep in touch with her during the holidays.  

"You're friends with a Slytherin?!" Ron hissed making (Y/n) turn to him and shrugged 

"Not all of them like Malfoy you know," she said before taking her leave not wanting to hear the boys complain about her other friendships 

Once the holidays had started, (Y/n), Ron, and Harry were having too good a time to think much about Flamel. They had the dormitory to themselves and the common room was far emptier than usual, so they were able to get the good armchairs by the fire. They sat by the hour eating anything they could spear on a toasting fork bread, English muffins, marshmallows, and plotting ways of getting Malfoy expelled, which was fun to talk about even if they wouldn't work.

Ron also started teaching Harry and (Y/n) wizard chess. This was exactly like Muggle chess except that the figures were alive, which made it a lot like directing troops in battle. Ron's set was very old and battered. Like everything else he owned, it had once belonged to someone else in his family, in this case, his grandfather. However, old chessmen weren't a drawback at all. Ron knew them so well he never had trouble getting them to do what he wanted.

Harry played with chessmen Seamus Finnigan had lent him, and they didn't trust him at all. He wasn't a very good player yet and they kept shouting different bits of advice at him, which was confusing.

"Don't send me there, can't you see his knight? Send him, we can afford to lose him."

As the chess game progressed, (Y/n) expressed her desire to join in. The chessmen on the board tried to protest but (Y/n) silenced them, revealing her past experience of playing Muggle chess with Mrs. Figg. Ron was surprised to hear this, unaware of her skills. The game was incredibly intense, and both (Y/n) and Ron were deeply focused. It was the final round, and the score was tied at one win each. Harry couldn't help but observe Ron's growing nervousness, as he was determined not to let (Y/n) win this game. However, (Y/n) was equally determined and didn't give up easily. When it was her turn, she made her final move with precision and smirked at her red-haired friends. "Check Mate," she announced triumphantly. Ron groaned at his loss, and Harry couldn't help but chuckle at the outcome of the game played by his two best friends.

On Christmas Eve, Harry went to bed looking forward to the next day for the food and the fun, but not expecting any presents at all. When he woke early in the morning, however, the first thing he saw was a small pile of packages at the foot of his bed.

"Merry Christmas," said Ron sleepily as Harry scrambled out of bed and pulled on his bathrobe.

"You, too," said Harry.

"Will you look at this? I've got some presents!"

"What did you expect, turnips?" said Ron, turning to his own pile, which was a lot bigger than Harry's. Before they opened their presents they heard a knock on the door which turned out to be (Y/n) who wanted to open her gifts with the boys. Harry picked up the top parcel. It was wrapped in thick brown paper and scrawled across it was To Harry, from Hagrid. Inside was a roughly cut wooden flute. Hagrid had obviously whittled it himself. Harry blew it. it sounded a bit like an owl.

A second, very small parcel contained a note. We received your message and enclose your Christmas present. From Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. Taped to the note was a fifty-pence piece.

"That's friendly," said Harry.

Ron was fascinated by the fifty pence.

"Weird!" he said, "What a shape! This is money?"

"You can keep it," said Harry, him and (Y/n) laughing at how pleased Ron was.

"Hagrid and my aunt and uncle so who sent these?"

"I think I know who that one's from," said Ron, turning a bit pink and pointing to a very lumpy parcel. "My mom. I told her you both didn't expect any presents and- oh, no," he groaned,

"she's made you a Weasley sweater."

Harry had torn open the parcel to find a thick, hand-knitted sweater in emerald green and a large box of homemade fudge.

"I think I have one too" (Y/n) beamed pulling a (F/c) with her first initial and wearing it over her pjs 

"Every year she makes us a sweater," said Ron, unwrapping his own,

"and mine's always maroon."

"That's really nice of her," said Harry, trying the fudge, which was very tasty.

His next present also contained candy a large box of Chocolate Frogs from Hermione.

With excitement in her eyes, (Y/n) eagerly unwrapped the remaining gifts. She found some chocolate frogs from Ron, which she knew she would enjoy later. Hermione gifted her with an art sketch, which she appreciated deeply. The pair of gold butterfly earrings from Cedric caught her attention and made her heart flutter. However, the most surprising gift came from Regulus - a gold butterfly bracelet similar to the earrings. The matching set made her feel special and brought a smile to her face.

Suddenly, she heard Harry clearing his throat and turned to face him. She noticed the small box in his hands, and her heart began to race with anticipation. 

"Cedric and Regulus owled me and told me that they wanted to surprise you with a matching set of jewelry, and I thought it was just right to join them as well," he said nervously.

 She opened the box to find a small gold ring, which was perfect in her eyes. Harry's insecurity was evident as he asked, 

"So, er, do yo-" but he was cut off by her embracing him tightly. 

"I love it!" she exclaimed, feeling grateful for the thoughtful gift and Harry was relieved that he had managed to pull it off.  

Harry took the small box out of her hand and opened it tenderly, revealing a delicate ring inside. The girl standing before him held out her hand, and he took it, placing the ring on her finger. A bright smile lit up her face as she gazed down at the ring. (at least he was the one to put a ring on her finger;) ok I will stop now T-T) Meanwhile, Ron was munching on some Muggle candy that (Y/n) had given him, muttering under his breath, "Friend my arse," but neither of them paid him any attention. 

(Y/n) came back to reality and walked over to the gift she had brought for Harry. She handed it to him, and he quickly unwrapped it to reveal a magical camera. Looking at the girl beside him, he said, "I noticed how fascinated you were by the moving pictures here, so I thought I'd get you one so you can capture every memory we make before leaving Hogwarts." A smile spread across her face, and Harry thanked her warmly.

This only left one for each of Harry and (Y/n). Harry picked his up and felt it. It was very light. He unwrapped it. Something fluid and silvery gray went slithering to the floor where it lay in gleaming folds. Ron gasped.

"I've heard of those," he said in a hushed voice, dropping the box of Every Flavor Beans he'd gotten from Hermione.

"If that's what I think it is they're really rare and really valuable."

"What is it?"

Harry picked the shining, silvery cloth off the floor. It was strange to the touch like water is woven into the material.

"It's an Invisibility Cloak," said Ron, a look of awe on his face.

"A what now?" (Y/n) asked but Ron ignored her question 

"I'm sure it is try it on."

Harry threw the cloak around his shoulders and Ron gave a yell.

"It is! Look down!"

"Woah!"

Harry looked down at his feet, but they were gone. He dashed to the mirror. Sure enough, his reflection looked back at him, just his head suspended in midair, his body completely invisible. He pulled the cloak over his head and his reflection vanished completely.

"There's a note!" said Ron suddenly.

"A note fell out of it!"

Harry pulled off the cloak and seized the letter. Written in narrow, loopy writing he had never seen before were the following words:

Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well. A Very Merry Christmas to you

There was no signature. Harry stared at the note. Ron was admiring the cloak.

"I'd give anything for one of these," he said.

"Anything. What's the matter?"

"Nothing," said Harry. He felt very strange. Who had sent the cloak? Had it really once belonged to his father?

Before he could say or think anything else, the dormitory door was flung open and Fred and George Weasley bounded in. Harry stuffed the cloak quickly out of sight. He didn't feel like sharing it with anyone else yet.

"Merry Christmas!"

"Hey, look!  (Y/n) and Harry got a Weasley sweater, too!"

Fred and George were wearing blue sweaters, one with a large yellow F on it, the other a G.

"Harry's is better than ours, though," said Fred, holding up Harry's sweater.

"She obviously makes more of an effort if you're not family."

"Why aren't you wearing yours, Ron?" George demanded.

"Come on, get it on, they're lovely and warm."

"I hate maroon," Ron moaned halfheartedly as he pulled it over his head.

"You haven't got a letter on yours," George observed.

"I suppose she thinks you don't forget your name. But we're not stupid we know we're called Gred and Forge," he said making the only girl there chuckle 

"What's all this noise?"

Percy Weasley stuck his head through the door, looking disapproving.

He had clearly gotten halfway through unwrapping his presents as he, too, carried a lumpy sweater over his arm, which Fred seized.

"P for prefect! Get it on, Percy, come on, we're all wearing ours, even these two got one."

"I. don't. want-" said Percy thickly, as the twins forced the sweater over his head, knocking his glasses off.

"And you're not sitting with the prefects today, either," said George. 

"Christmas is a time for family."

They frog-marched Percy from the room, his arms pinned to his side by his sweater. (Y/n) and Harry had never in all their lives had such a Christmas dinner. A hundred fat, roast turkeys; mountains of roast and boiled potatoes; platters of chipolatas; tureens of buttered peas, silver boats of thick, rich gravy and cranberry sauce, and stacks of wizard crackers every few feet along the table. These fantastic party favors were nothing like the feeble Muggle ones the Dursleys usually bought, with their little plastic toys and their flimsy paper hats inside. Harry pulled a wizard cracker with Fred and it didn't just bang, it went off with a blast like a cannon and engulfed them all in a cloud of blue smoke, while from the inside exploded a rear admiral's hat and several live, white mice. Up at the High Table, Dumbledore had swapped his pointed wizard's hat for a flowered bonnet and was chuckling merrily at a joke Professor Flitwick had just read him.

Flaming Christmas puddings followed the turkey. Percy nearly broke his teeth on a silver Sickle embedded in his slice. Harry and (Y/n) watched Hagrid getting redder and redder in the face as he called for more wine, finally kissing Professor McGonagall on the cheek, who, to Harry's amazement, giggled and blushed, her top hat lopsided.

When Harry finally left the table, he was laden down with a stack of things out of the crackers, including a pack of nonexplodable, luminous balloons, a Grow-Your-Own-Warts kit, and his own new wizard chess set. The white mice had disappeared and Harry had a nasty feeling they were going to end up as Mrs Norris's Christmas dinner.

(Y/n), Harry and the Weasleys spent a happy afternoon having a furious snowball fight on the grounds. Then, cold, wet, and gasping for breath, they returned to the fire in the Gryffindor common room, where Harry broke into his new chess set by losing spectacularly to Ron. He suspected he wouldn't have lost so badly if Percy hadn't tried to help him so much as (Y/n) was taking a warm shower so he couldn't ask for her help.

After a meal of turkey sandwiches, crumpets, trifle, and Christmas cake, everyone felt too full and sleepy to do much before bed except sit and watch Percy chase Fred and George all over Gryffindor Tower because they'd stolen his prefect badge. It had been Harry's best Christmas day ever. Yet something had been nagging at the back of his mind all day. Not until he climbed into bed was he free to think about it: the Invisibility Cloak and whoever had sent it.

Ron, full of turkey and cake and with nothing mysterious to bother him, fell asleep almost as soon as he'd drawn the curtains of his four-poster. Harry leaned over the side of his own bed and pulled the cloak out from under it. His father's... this had been his father's. He let the material flow over his hands, smoother than silk, light as air. Use it well, the note had said.

He had to try it, now. He slipped out of bed and wrapped the cloak around himself. Looking down at his legs, he saw only moonlight and shadows. It was a very funny feeling.

Use it well.

Suddenly, Harry felt wide awake. The whole of Hogwarts was open to him in this cloak. Excitement flooded through him as he stood there in the dark and silence. He could go anywhere in this, anywhere, and Filch would never know.

Ron grunted in his sleep. Should Harry wake him? Something held him back, his father's cloak, he felt that this time (the first time ) he wanted to use it alone.

He crept out of the dormitory, down the stairs, across the common room, and climbed through the portrait hole.

"Who's there?" squawked the Fat Lady. Harry said nothing. He walked quickly down the corridor.

Where should he go? He stopped, his heart racing, and thought. And then it came to him. The Restricted Section in the library. He'd be able to read as long as he liked, as long as it took to find out who Flamel was. He set off, drawing the Invisibility Cloak tight around him as he walked.

The library was pitch-black and very eerie. Harry lit a lamp to see his way along the rows of books. The lamp looked as if it was floating along in midair, and even though Harry could feel his arm supporting it, the sight gave him the creeps.

The Restricted Section was right at the back of the library. Stepping carefully over the rope that separated these books from the rest of the library, he held up his lamp to read the titles.

They didn't tell him much. Their peeling, faded gold letters spelled words in languages Harry couldn't understand. Some had no title at all. One book had a dark stain on it that looked horribly like blood. The hairs on the back of Harry's neck prickled. Maybe he was imagining it, maybe not, but he thought a faint whispering was coming from the books, as though they knew someone was there who shouldn't be.

He had to start somewhere. Setting the lamp down carefully on the floor, he looked along the bottom shelf for an interesting-looking book. A large black and silver volume caught his eye. He pulled it out with difficulty because it was very heavy, and, balancing it on his knee, let it fall open. A piercing, bloodcurdling shriek split the silence. the book was screaming! Harry snapped it shut, but the shriek went on and on one high, unbroken, earsplitting note. He stumbled backwards and knocked over his lamp, which went out at once. Panicking, he heard footsteps coming down the corridor outside. stuffing the shrieking book back on the shelf, he ran for it. He passed Filch in the doorway; Filch's pale, wild eyes looked straight through him, and Harry slipped under Filch's outstretched arm and streaked off up the corridor, the book's shrieks still ringing in his ears.

He came to a sudden halt in front of a tall suit of armor. He had been so busy getting away from the library, he hadn't paid attention to where he was going. Perhaps because it was dark, he didn't recognize where he was at all. There was a suit of armor near the kitchens, he knew, but he must be five floors above there.

"You asked me to come directly to you, Professor if anyone was wandering around at night, and somebody's been in the library. Restricted Section."

Harry felt the blood drain out of his face. Wherever he was, Filch must know a shortcut because his soft, greasy voice was getting nearer, and to his horror, it was Snape who replied,

"The Restricted Section? Well, they can't be far, we'll catch them."

Harry stood rooted to the spot as Filch and Snape came around the corner ahead. They couldn't see him, of course, but it was a narrow corridor and if they came much nearer they'd knock right into him the cloak didn't stop him from being solid. He backed away as quietly as he could. A door stood ajar to his left. It was his only hope. He squeezed through it, holding his breath, trying not to move it, and to his relief he managed to get inside the room without their noticing anything. They walked straight past, and Harry leaned against the wall, breathing deeply, listening to their footsteps dying away. That had been close, very close. It was a few seconds before he noticed anything about the room he had hidden in. It looked like an unused classroom. The dark shapes of desks and chairs were piled against the walls, and there was an upturned wastepaper basket but propped against the wall facing him was something that didn't look as if it belonged there, something that looked as if someone had just put it there to keep it out of the way.

It was a magnificent mirror, as high as the ceiling, with an ornate gold frame, standing on two clawed feet. There was an inscription carved around the top: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.

His panic faded now that there was no sound of Filch and Snape, Harry moved nearer to the mirror, wanting to look at himself but seeing no reflection again. He stepped in front of it.

He had to clap his hands to his mouth to stop himself from screaming. He whirled around. His heart was pounding far more furiously than when the book had screamed for he had seen not only himself in the mirror, but a whole crowd of people standing right behind him.

But the room was empty. Breathing very fast, he turned slowly back to the mirror. There he was, reflected in it, white and scared-looking, and there, reflected behind him, were at least ten others. Harry looked over his shoulder but still, no one was there. Or were they all invisible, too? Was he in fact in a room full of invisible people and this mirror trick that reflected them, invisible or not? He looked in the mirror again. A woman standing right behind his reflection was smiling at him and waving. He reached out a hand and felt the air behind him. If she were really there, he'd touch her, their reflections were so close together, but he felt only air. She and the others existed only in the mirror.

She was a very pretty woman. She had dark red hair and her eyes-

"Her eyes are just like mine"

Harry thought, edging a little closer to the glass. Bright green exactly the same shape, but then he noticed that she was crying; smiling, but crying at the same time. The tall, thin, black-haired man standing next to her put his arm around her. He wore glasses, and his hair was very untidy. It stuck up at the back, just as Harry's did. Harry was so close to the mirror now that his nose was nearly touching that of his reflection.

"Mom?" he whispered. "Dad?"

They just looked at him, smiling. And slowly, Harry looked into the faces of the other people in the mirror, and saw other pairs of green eyes like his, other noses like his, and even a little old man who looked as though he had Harry's knobbly knees. Harry was looking at his family, for the first time in his life.

The Potters smiled and waved at Harry and he stared hungrily back at them, his hands pressed flat against the glass as though he was hoping to fall right through it and reach them. He had a powerful kind of ache inside him, half joy, half terrible sadness.

How long he stood there, he didn't know. The reflections did not fade and he looked and looked until a distant noise brought him back to his senses. He couldn't stay here, he had to find his way back to bed. He tore his eyes away from his mother's face, whispered,

"I'll come back," and hurried from the room.

(Y/n) was in her cozy dorm room, getting ready to sleep when something caught her eye. It was the wrapped gift she had forgotten to open earlier in the day. The gift was wrapped flawlessly, with neat creases and a brightly colored ribbon tied into a perfect bow. (Y/n) couldn't resist the urge to open it, so she retrieved the gift and sat down on her comfortable bed. As she began to unravel the wrapping paper, she heard a hiss beside her. She looked down and saw Nitor, the snake she had let out from his hiding place earlier, watching her curiously.

 "What issss thissss?" he asked, his head swaying back and forth as he studied the gift. 

"I don't know yet. Why don't we see?" (Y/n) replied with a smile, feeling a sense of excitement building up inside her. As she continued to unwrap the gift, she found a perfectly crafted box of jewelry.

 "More jewelry?" she questioned, a hint of disappointment in her voice. She opened the box and found a note that looked eerily similar to the one Harry received with his cloak. 

"What doessss it ssssay?" asked the snake, who was still studying the gift.

 "It says, 'This was your mother's. Be careful with it and don't see too much.' What does that even mean?" (Y/n) muttered, feeling a sense of unease creeping up on her. 

As she looked back into the box, she saw a beautiful red heart necklace nestled inside. She carefully picked it up and put it around her neck. 

"What do you think?" she asked the snake, who looked unimpressed. 

"That's weird. Maybe it's like a locket or something. It has to be opened o-" Suddenly, (Y/n) felt as if her whole body was on fire, and her vision started to change. She could only see red as she heard a woman's voice screaming, "You picked the wrong side, Peter!"  Then she woke up, gasping for air, with Nitor beside her.

As she struggled for air, she frantically tore the necklace from her neck. Once she sat upright, she patted her pet, Nitor, to assure him that she was okay.

 "I'm fine, don't worry," she managed to gasp out, still catching her breath. After a few minutes, she lay on her bed, with Nitor curled up next to her, sound asleep. She gazed at the necklace lying on her nightstand, with a furrowed brow. Her fingers traced the delicate chain that had encircled her neck moments ago. 

'Don't see too much'

"How strange," she murmured, before turning away from the necklace. Unbeknownst to her, the necklace's brilliant crimson hue seemed to radiate light throughout the room, illuminating everything in its path. As she drifted off to sleep, her thoughts were consumed with the vivid images the necklace had revealed to her...

"You could have woken me up," said Ron, crossly as (Y/n) didn't say anything her mind was thinking about last night's incident.

"You can come tonight, I'm going back, I want to show you the mirror. both of you." that made (Y/n) snap back to the boys' conversation 

"I'd like to see your mom and dad," Ron said and (Y/n) nodded eagerly.

"And I want to see all your family, all the Weasleys, you'll be able to show me your other brothers and everyone maybe we can see (Y/n)'s parents as well."

"You can see them any old time," said Ron.

"Just come round my house this summer. Ginny has already invited (Y/n) so both of you could come  Anyway, maybe it only shows dead people. Shame not finding Flamel, though. Have some bacon or something, why aren't you eating anything?"

Harry couldn't eat. He had seen his parents and would be seeing them again tonight. He had almost forgotten about Flamel. It didn't seem very important anymore. Who cared what the three-headed dog was guarding? What did it matter if Snape stole it, really?

"Are you all right?" said Ron.

"You look odd both of you actually (Y/n) you have been silent for a while are alright?." 

"Yeah I am don't worry Ron"(Y/n) gave him a small smile, but the expression on her face told him that something was wrong. He could sense her exhaustion, but he didn't want to make things worse by prying. He decided to give her some space and not press her to talk about what was bothering her. 

What Harry feared most was that he might not be able to find the mirror room again. With Ron and (Y/n) covered in the cloak, too, they had to walk much more slowly the next night. They tried retracing Harry's route from the library, wandering around the dark passageways for nearly an hour.

"I'm freezing," said Ron.

"Let's forget it and go back."

"No!" Harry hissed.

 "I know it's here somewhere."

"Stop fighting both of you" 

They passed the ghost of a tall witch gliding in the opposite direction but saw no one else. Just as Ron started moaning that his feet were dead with cold, Harry spotted the suit of armor.

"It's here. just here- yes!"

They pushed the door open. Harry dropped the cloak from around his shoulders and ran to the mirror. There they were. His mother and father beamed at the sight of him.

"See?" Harry whispered.

"I can't see anything."

"Me neither"

"Look! Look at them all... there are loads of them..."

"I can only see you," Ron said and (Y/n) nodded

"Look in it properly, go on, stand where I am."

Harry stepped aside, but with (Y/n) in front of the mirror, he couldn't see his family anymore, just (Y/n) in her pajamas. 

The two boys leaned in curiously and asked the girl, "So, what do you see?" She lifted her gaze up to the mirror and found herself staring at a stunning woman with curly red locks that cascaded down her waist. The woman's striking (E/c) eyes seemed to bore into hers as she examined her reflection. The girl's eyes widened in confusion as she wondered if the woman was her mother. Her gaze then shifted to the woman's neck, where she spotted a familiar necklace, the one she had received on Christmas. The girl's heart raced as she remembered the events of the previous night. She stepped back from the mirror and took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. Harry asked her, "What did you see?" She whispered, "Nothing." Harry was about to ask again when Ron intervened, placing a hand on his shoulder and gesturing for him to back off. Ron then walked over to where the girl was standing next to her in silence.

Ron, though, was staring transfixed at his image.

"Look at me!" he said.

"Can you see all your family standing around you?"

"No. I'm alone- but I'm different I look older and- I'm Head Boy!"

"What?"

"I am- I'm wearing the badge like Bill used to- and I'm holding the House Cup and the Quidditch Cup I'm Quidditch Captain, too!" Ron tore his eyes away from this splendid sight to look excitedly at Harry.

"Do you think this mirror shows the future?"

"How can it? All my family are dead- let me have another look-"

"You had it to yourself all last night, give me a bit more time."

"You're only holding the Quidditch Cup, what's interesting about that? I want to see my parents."

"Don't push me-" "Both of  you sto-"

A sudden noise outside in the corridor put an end to their discussion. They hadn't realized how loudly they had been talking.

"Quick!"

Ron threw the cloak back over them as the luminous eyes of Mrs. Norris came round the door. Ron and Harry stood quite still, both thinking the same thing- did the cloak work on cats? After what seemed an age, she turned and left.

"This isn't safe- she might have gone for Filch, I bet she heard us. Come on."

And Ron pulled Harry and (Y/n) out of the room. The snow still hadn't melted the next morning.

"Want to play chess, Harry?" said Ron.

"No."

"Why don't we go down and visit Hagrid?"

"No... you go..."

"I know what you're thinking about, Harry, that mirror. Don't go back tonight."

"Why not?"

"I dunno, I've just got a bad feeling about it- and anyway, you've had too many close shaves already. Filch, Snape, and Mrs. Norris are wandering around. So what if they can't see you? What if they walk into you? What if you knock something over?"

"You sound like Hermione."

"I'm serious, Harry, don't go ever since we went there something wrong happened to (Y/n) she doesn't want to get out of her dorm maybe you should go see her I know she would listen to you."

But Harry only had one thought in his head, which was to get back in front of the mirror, and Ron wasn't going to stop him he could cheek on (Y/n) some other time.

That third night he found his way more quickly than before. He was walking so fast he knew he was making more noise than was wise, but he didn't meet anyone.

And there were his mother and father smiling at him again, and one of his grandfathers nodding happily. Harry sank down to sit on the floor in front of the mirror. There was nothing to stop him from staying here all night with his family. Nothing at all. Except-

"So back again, Harry?"

Harry felt as though his insides had turned to ice. He looked behind him. Sitting on one of the desks by the wall was none other than Albus Dumbledore. Harry must have walked straight past him, so desperate to get to the mirror that he hadn't noticed him.

"I- I didn't see you, sir."

"Strange how nearsighted being invisible can make you," said Dumbledore, and Harry was relieved to see that he was smiling.

"So," said Dumbledore, slipping off the desk to sit on the floor with Harry,

"You, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised."

"I didn't know it was called that, sir."

"But I expect you've realized by now what it does?"

"It- well-  it shows me, my family- "

"And it showed your friend Ron himself as Head Boy," Dumbledore said but he didn't mention what did the (E/c) eyed girl see knowing she wouldn't want him to tell her friends

"How did you know- ?"

"I don't need a cloak to become invisible," said Dumbledore gently.

"Now, can you think what the Mirror of Erised shows us all?"

Harry shook his head.

"Let me explain. The happiest man on earth would be able to use the Mirror of Erised like a normal mirror, that is, he would look into it and see himself exactly as he is. Does that help?"

Harry thought. Then he said slowly,

"It shows us what we want... whatever we want ..."

"Yes and no," said Dumbledore quietly.

"It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts. You, who have never known your family, see them standing around you. Ronald Weasley, who has always been overshadowed by his brothers, sees himself standing alone, the best of all of them. However, this mirror will give us neither knowledge nor truth. Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible.

"The Mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Harry, and I ask you not to go looking for it again. If you ever do run across it, you will now be prepared. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that. Now, why don't you put that admirable cloak back on and get off to bed?"

Harry stood up.

"Sir- Professor Dumbledore? Can I ask you something?"

"Obviously, you've just done so," Dumbledore smiled.

"You may ask me one more thing, however."

"What do you see when you look in the mirror?"

"I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks."

Harry stared.

"One can never have enough socks," said Dumbledore.

"Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn't get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books."

It was only when he was back in bed that it struck Harry that Dumbledore might not have been quite truthful. But then, he thought, as he shoved Scabbers off his pillow, it had been quite a personal question.