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all-things-fic · 4 years

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Quarantine Begins At Home

A/N: Hi everyone, its been a long time since I’ve done one of these authors note thingys.

I know it may sound silly but I wanted to put a bit of a disclaimer in my authors note. This piece of writing is by no means encouraging people to start getting close to each other, please make sure you are social distancing and please wash your bloody hands. This is purely a way to give some of you who are in quarantine (which by now seems to be all of us) some light relief. Everyone stay safe and look after yourselves!

Please enjoy for simple entertainment and of course let me know what you think. Looking forward to hearing what you have to say for yourselves! I’m not going to hide my phone so I don’t obsess over notifications because I’m rubbish at releasing any of my writing into the wild.

P.S. praise Beauty Papers for bringing out that one picture of Harry where he’s in his undies and socks and TPWK tee. You fed this fic. .x

***

The niggly cough that you’d been showcasing over the last three days was nothing more than annoying. Topping itself off with a fever that had you sweating unattractively the night before, had left you thinking only one thing.

Quarantine was on the horizon.

When you’d sat up straight in bed, 3am that morning, sporting a clammy, tackiness to your skin you didn’t even think twice about stripping off your pyjama top before dropping back down into bed.

It had been hard to push away your husband, his own bare chest finding your back as he pulled you towards him. Hands only stilling their actions when you whined into the darkness about how you were ‘too hot for that’.

Harry had chuckled into the back of your head and softly shushed you as you’d let yourself doze back to sleep.

Two nights after, Harry had not so elegantly shook the bed as he kicked the duvet off his body to stop himself from sweating.

“‘S bloody hot in ‘ere, ‘m sweating,” he grumbled, flipping over his pillow so that the cold side could greet his flushed face and offer some sort of relief.

He turned to face you, causing you to ask him to flip back to his previous position because you didn’t want him to breathe on you.

“It’s not you, it’s the carona,” you responded, burrowing down and pulling your blanket over your mouth.

You knew if it wasn’t so dark in the room he would appreciate the cheeky glint in your eye as you stared back at him.

“Yeah, that’s what they all say,” he groaned, rolling over and pushing his face against the pillow. You rolled your lips into your mouth, suppressing your laughter at how miserable he had become, while he huffed and puffed into his fresh bed-linen.

Lifting your hands from under the confines of your blankets you reached up to gently rub Harry’s back, wanting to provide some form of comfort if you could.

The two of you lay silent and awake in the dark that night. Both sprightly and in your twenties, you knew you didn’t have much to worry about anything, but you had to do your bit.

Isolating yourself was going to be interesting.

***

If you had never felt like you were comfortable around your husband before now - the kind of comfortable that meant you’d leave the bathroom door open as you used the toilet - Harry was doing everything in his power during quarantine to reassure you otherwise.

It was in the comments he made, the way he moved. The kind that should have you wrinkling your nose at him and shaking your head, to tell him to stop. However, now you found yourself taking it all in your stride, often clapping back with a comment that had him chuckling to himself.

“I’ve not changed my pants since Monday,” his deep morning voice broke the sleep filled silence as you both lay in bed.

“Makes a change that you’re actually wearing them,” you mumbled back, weirdly not bothered at the filthy habit your husband had just revealled while you entered another day of being cooped up.

“It’s not usually a problem,” he spoke, dropping his eyes down to look at you, as you pressed your head closer to his lips accepting the fleeting kiss he left in you hair.

“Surprised you even know what day it is-“

“Been crossing the days off the kitchen calendar.”

He was proud of himself for that one. For helping the two of you not enter that weird period that was usually only experienced during Christmas and New Year. Where no one knows what day of the week it is; AM and PM blending together.

Naps became scheduled parts of the day, and arguably the most important part to aid avoiding grouchy backbiting comments bubbling simply from being around each other for a little more than was bearable. Everyday was becoming more and more like a Sunday.

“Wondered why the calendar was a day out?”

“What’d you mean?”

The offence lacing his question caused you to bite away your smile as you continued to aimlessly scroll through Instagram. “Dates have been crossed off one day out, you crossed out Wednesday yesterday when it’s in fact Wednesday today.”

There was a small amount of silence in the room as your words resonated with Harry.

“Bollocks.”

You muffled your chuckle by pressing your lips into Harry’s forearm that was nestled securely around your shoulder and across your chest.

“The thought was there, darling. It is appreciated. Thank you,” you whispered after leaving a chaste kiss against his skin once more. You took great delight in feeling the downy hair of his arm pressed to your lips.

As your eyes remained on the screen of your phone, you watched the 45836 quarantine meme on your timeline cut away from Instagram to an incoming FaceTime from your mother-in-law.

“Harry,” you hummed, hearing him barely respond with his own steady grunt of acknowledgment. “Why’s your Mum FaceTiming me?”

“I dunno-“ he cut off, pressing his face to uncomfortably rest into your hair. “Quick, answer before it cuts off-“

“We’re in bed-“

Moving the fastest he had all day, you couldn’t even comprehend that Harry had accepted the call before a crackle of sound and another environment was heard through your phone speaker.

“He’s alive then,” Anne immediately spoke the minute her FaceTime screen had cleared from a blurry pixelated mess. “Yes, you young man. Trying to hide your face into your wife’s hair, like you know she’ll take your flack for you.”

You found yourself sinking further underneath your duvet as you watched Anne address Harry through the phone. Her tone was clearly abrasive but more so out of worry.

“You know I’ve been calling you,” she continued, pausing. “You needn’t look at me like that from the corner of your eye, Harry. Have you got food in your house?“

“We’re okay for food, Anne,” you acknowledged her, watching the way her eyes looked to your left, her stare holding on her youngest. As she blinked she turned to face you, her face softening.

“Even better for loo roll,” Harry sarcastically quipped.

Again, Anne’s eyes hardened as she skimmed them over her son’s less than impressed expression.

“Put your face straight,” she sharply spoke. “What about protection?”

“‘Fucksake pass me tha’ phone ‘ere,” he groaned, rolling around to sit up in bed and take the phone away from you. You did nothing to fight him, slightly embarrassed at the insinuation and the current place in your house where Anne had caught you both.

Pulling at his joggers that sat low against his hips, Harry held the phone up so that his mother was no longer seeing the sweaty palm of his hand and then a quick glimpse of an unmade bed.

When her image graced his vision he noticed the way she was smiling, her face almost split in two before she sipped at her cup of tea. His eyes took in the garden behind her, one that he knew well and he knew she’d be enjoying her brunch on the nice spring day that awaited those who needed to do a quick top-up shop at their local supermarket, feel brave enough to pop outside.

Shaking his head, he raised his eyebrows at his Mum who seemed awfully pleased with herself.

“Had yer fun now, I’m up. You’ve succeeded.”

“It’s bloody midday,” she chastised.

“Had a late night, didn’t we?,” he glanced over at you, watching the way your eyes almost popped out at his suggestive comment.

“Tell you what, this quarantine‘s gonna have a lot to answer for,” Anne started, her voice light. “Isn’t that right, Evie?” She spoke, the visual that greeted Harry being one of his mother softly showering his cat with love and affection. “‘S Daddy forgetting about you already? You made him a Daddy first isn’t that right?”

“Mum,” Harry’s tone was set as he stressed how he addressed Anne, willing her to stop her playful jibing at his expense.

“‘M telling you, sweetheart. Baby boom is impending,” again Anne raised her eyebrows. All Harry could do was chuckle at how invested his Mum appeared to be in wanting to become a Grandmother.

“Anyway,” she grabbed Harry’s attention again, as he bounced his way down the stairs of his home and padded his socked feet along his wooden floors. “Are you showering?”

“‘M not a bloody sloth-“

“It’s midday and you’ve only just left your pit.”

He didn’t have a leg to stand on. You smiled as you heard their interaction, having been hot on Harry’s tails. As you relaxed against the doorframe of your kitchen, you heard Anne’s chuckling to herself before she next spoke.

“Could do with a shave.”

“Anything else I’m not doing right?”

Pushing up off the doorframe, you found yourself drawn to Harry. Hand rubbing up his clothed back and shoulders, you rubbed at them gently and pushed your face into the frame.

“No, the beard can stay,” you turned to Harry, jokingly squeezing at his jaw and cheeks with your right hand solely, before you mischievously tapped his cheek and turned your attention to putting on your kitchen stove.

“The wife says no,” he jutted out his bottom lip in a challenge to his Mum.

“Not just the cat he’s replacing, Anne-“

Anne’s boisterous laugh filled your kitchen at your comment and it warmed you as you caught the way it had Harry softly laughing to. His body relaxing and bending down so his elbow rested against the kitchen counter, chin leaning against his palm.

“There’s enough of me to go around,” he breathed out, cheekily looking at you from the corner of his eye. You loved the way his cheeks had started to softly glow with an endearing blush.

“You do look healthy, love,”

Just like that, gone was the cheeky smile, the glowing eyes. They were quick to be replaced by a light frown and slightly offended expression, “‘s tha’ s’pose to mean?”

“It’s only quarantine weight, nothing he can’t get rid of,” you said, leaning back into the frame and goadingly patting against Harry's little pot-belly that slightly stuck out against his t-shirt. “Can’t be having anyone else fancying him now, can I Anne?”

Again Anne laughed, eyes glittering through the screen as she watched the way the two of you interacted. It was clear that this conversation was something she definitely needed having been holed up in her abode by herself.

Harry squinted his eyes suspiciously at you, before sharply looking at his Mum. “Oh, I see how it is,” he started with a soft nod. “The two of you ganging up on me, ‘s fine I’m a big boy.”

“The stretch waistband on your joggers agrees,” you hummed, raising your eyebrows before addressing Anne off screen. “We call this his quarantine outfit.”

“I tell you what, ‘s a good job you haven’t got to pour yourself into those skinny jeans anymore cause that would be a-“

You feel him staring at you, causing your voice to trail off. “No carry on, dares ya,” he drawled. He saw the way you opened your mouth to continue, nostrils flaring as you took a deep breath and looked at him with an amused expression.

“I-“

Harry darted at you as your voice caught in your throat, the loudest squeal leaving your lips as your phone clattered face down to the marble of you kitchen counter and gave Anne nothing more than the visual of a black screen framed by gleeful noises of a blissfully newlywed couple.

***

Quarantine is all fun and games until your husband of sixty-seven days decides he wants to put together the coffee table that you’d been gifted from a member of your wedding party.

You knew Harry was becoming ansty as you entered day nine of your self-isolation. His fingers and thumbs too twitchy for his own good. You felt the same but by giving yourself a little list of tasks such as changing your bedding every couple of days, you’d managed to find a way to keep yourself busy enough. Between that, reading and scrolling mindlessly through social media, you were doing okay. Or so you thought.

There was something about men and DIY. They all liked to think they were good at it. Especially when they’re looking for something to do. And while they groan when asked about doing the jobs around the house, there was surely an element of pleasure found in the most menial of tasks (more so in the current climate) and a smugness in being needed.

Everything had started out well. Harry had made you snort your laughter at how he’d flamboyantly pulled open the box of the flat-pack furniture in the middle of your living room.

Everything had been neatly wrapped in plastic, and while not ideal for the planet it was ideal for your pleasure of having everything organised.

Sat cross-legged on the floor, in nothing more than a pair of underpants, socks and a t-shirt, Harry eagerly flipped through the white paper instructions.

You smiled to yourself when you saw him trying to decipher the Italian instructions, knowing just how adamant he was about ensuring he kept his mind active during quarantine and that he made it so he had used the time wisely and learned a new skill.

“Think an awful lot of yourself, don’t you?” you teased, watching his gaze slowly lift and look at you through the hair that had fallen into his eyes. “Just read the English instructions, Harry.”

He smirked, dropping his eyes back down to the Italian instructions and ignoring your plea.

“Thought you were supportive of my challenge of becoming a bilingual king,” he spoke sarcastically, tone set as he set his brow and really tried to concentrate on the drawings.

“But then that means I have to become a bilingual queen, and we all know that wouldn’t be a pretty sight.”

Harry laughed, reaching forward for one of the items he was looking for, scrutinising it by moving it around in his hands before placing it back down onto the floor.

“Could always just look at the pictures, love?”

“Pardon,” you spoke, rolling your head to look at him from where you lay along the couch, with eyes wider than usual at his brazen cheek. He didn’t reply, instead he shook his head while wearing the most amused expression you’d seen since the start of your quarantine.

Before you could stop yourself, you reached for a throw cushion from the sofa and threw it at him, the item hitting Harry not so elegantly against the shoulder as he leaned over to check he had the other parts required to complete the furniture assembly.

He, of course, took it in his stride, grabbing at the cushion and sitting on it. “Thanks for that, darling. Arse would go numb otherwise.”

“You’re squishing my favourite throw pillow-“

“Took the name quite literally then,” he spoke with a tight voice as he raised himself up onto his knees and crawled across the rug underneath him. “If you don’t mind, I’m doing manly things over ‘ere.”

Instead of responding you turned on your side and buried your left cheek into another cushion. Seeing Harry so concentrated but messy had been one of the things you’d enjoyed the most about your time being holed up together.

He had absolutely let himself go but loved every minute of doing so. His hair hadn’t been styled once since the two of you had shut up shop to recuperate. His clothes, of which he appeared to be wearing less and less as the days went by, were more high street special than couture runway.

He’d never looked more attractive. Honestly.

“Are you going to lie there and watch me, or are yer gonna help?”

Again his question was concentrated, his hands and eyes preoccupied.

“Thought you liked being in control, doin’ all the work-“

He side-eyed you, his lips twitching up into a sly smile. “Need reminding, ‘s tha’ it?”

“What I need is,” you paused, watching the way he kept his eyes on you. “What I need is for you to put up our coffee table.”

“What’s it look like I’m doing?”

“Like you’re staring at a bunch of parts-“

“‘S the instructions, not me!”

You stared at him as he laughed around his exclaimed words. Swinging your legs, you forced yourself to sit up and saw the way Harry moved slightly back to give you more space. “That’s it, gimme the bloody instructions, let’s have a look at these pictures.”

Somewhere amongst the friendly bickering you managed to help him sort out all the parts and count out all the screws just to make sure he had everything he needed.

When you’d seen that he had laid everything out that he required, you pushed yourself up from the floor where you had placed yourself opposite Harry.

“Fancy a cuppa for your efforts?”

Scratching at the back of his head, he looked at you. “Not done much,” he scrunched his nose. “Could you grab me a water?”

You nodded, leaning down to press your lips to his. He hummed, happy, as you pulled away and offered him a series of soft pecks. “‘S nice,” he whispered.

“I am nice,” you confirmed. “I’ll grab a screwdriver or two from the garage, in case the allen keys don’t cut it.”

His laugh was a knowing one as you walked away and heard the first expletive leave Harry’s lips when he reached for the first part of the furniture to piece together. “‘S not lining up wi’the hole,” he shouted through from the lounge to the kitchen at you.

You chuckled under your breath shaking your head before he shouted again, “‘s not what it sounds like!”

That caused you to bark a laugh. It was going to be a long afternoon.

***

You weren’t quite sure where it had all gone wrong. From laughing about awful innuendo, to aggravatedly sighing at each other. Yet, you were there in the thick of it and seemingly very happy to ride the wave.

“This is your fault,” he muttered under his breath, the crackle of the paper as he snatched up the instructions to flick through them one more time bringing nothing more than frustration. You saw the way he slowly retraced his steps and try and figure out where it had gone wrong.

“All I’ve done is pass you things,” you snapped back. “And if you’re gonna blame me at least put some conviction behind it and say it with your whole chest. Don’t be a wuss.”

He grunted at that and if you hadn’t got your head buried into your phone, looking at work emails this time via the Outlook app, you would’ve seen the way he was mocking you and mouthing the words you had just said to him with a less than pleased look on his face.

Harry sat with one coffee table leg to complete, however if his counting was correct he was a screw missing. Probably in more ways than one after this quarantine was over; the same going for you.

“Wanted the coffee table up, continues to sit around and not help,” he spoke his words louder than he had envisaged them in his head, seeing the way your figure shifted on the couch as you heard him loud and clear.

“Thought I told you to stop mumbling under your breath,” you cut your eyes over to him, watching the way he waggled the screwdriver he was using in between his thumb and forefinger lightly.

The item shook and you were about to tell him off like he was your son, rather than your partner, if that screwdriver so much as softly scratched, never mind dented, the oak top of your coffee table.

What was annoying you more was how he was just sitting there. Not so much as moving a muscle and letting his eyes frantically move along the wooden flooring and lounge rugs, just expecting a screw to shine up at him like he was a magpie.

With irrational anger bubbling inside of you, that wouldn’t have existed if you’d decided to sit outside in the garden to do your work rather than watching Harry, you sighed.

“Shift your fat arse,” you said with more bite than you intended.

Harry glared at you, his sharp stare meeting yours dead on in a silent question of ‘what did you just say to me?’

“You heard me,” you answered. “Move yourself!”

The torment in his features as to whether he should remain stubborn and not move, or see where you were going with your harsh vagueness, played across his face.

Ultimately however, he wanted to finish this fucking thing. The one thing he wished he hadn’t started.

Annoyed, he shuffled around so he found himself on his knees. He watched as you pushed yourself off the couch, and peered around his body to take in the space which he had just freed up.

“There. You’re sitting on it!”

Harry’s eyes dropped down at the space behind him, green gaze spotting the tiny silver, bane of his existence, almost instantly. He snatched up the tiny screw that has been underneath his thigh and looked at you with a pointed glare.

“Don’t know why you’re looking at me like that, mate.”

“Don’t ‘mate’ me,” he growled, snatching up the last coffee table leg this time and using the recently found screw to secure it to the table.

Part of you wanted to laugh at the scene in front of you, the two of you facing off but neither of you able to look at the other.

“I’m waiting for my apology,” you said, soft smile hurting your lips, as he continued to fix into place the last piece. You thought your tone was light, as you found humour at how the two of you were easily beginning to get sick of each other now.

“Well, you’re gonna be waiting a long fucking time.”

And just like that he’d sucked away all the humour you’d felt towards the argument, faster than a vacuum cleaner.

“There’s no need to be an arsehole, I was joking-“

“Could’ve fucking fooled me,” he looked up at you, while you watched the way his arm began to tense as he got closer to the end of the screw becoming tight enough.

He was just as tight; a coil ready to spring and pop.

“I can’t reason with you when you’re like this,” you stared at him, as you watched him chuckle with a shake of his head. He didn’t respond, happy to shoulder the blame if it meant he would get you out of his hair and give him a moment of peace.

Instead his eyes were trained on your feet as he watched you walk away. A sense of freedom washing over you both as you did so.

***

You frowned down at the hob of your cooker and watched the way it sparkled up at you. Snatching up the cleaning detergent, you squeezed at the pump and watched the white foamy spray squirt unnecessarily against the already very clean surface.

This was your distraction, while Harry’s was continuing to push his nose into the novel of his choosing as he lay along your couch. You never were really much of a cleaner but quarantine meant that you were living in the same four walls for so long than you’d found even more of a sense of pride over your abode.

Pressing your hands into the kitchen counter, you felt the front of your hair fall messily into your eyes as you took deep breaths. You were more sad than angry now. This weird feeling sitting in your chest that was overriding your sense of thinking rationally.

Why should you apologise? Really. Why?

Why shouldn’t he apologise? Be the bigger person in this whole thing?

Breathing deeply in through your nose, you lifted your eyes up to look at the kettle that sat to you right. Before you even thought about it you flicked your wrist and pressed at the lever of the kettle.

The amber light signified that it was about to boil, the usual crackle following not too long after.

Raising up, you rolled your neck and shoulders, feeling the tension beneath them that would only be alleviated by a massage of some sort. Foot steps heavy as they trudged over to the opposite side of your kitchen to the sink draining rack, your preferred mug was easy to grab.

You hand stilled as you reached for his mug, the sound of a dry cough pushing its way through the tense air from the other room. From the sound of it you knew he hadn’t approached and that he was still in his own brooding state, having taken root along the couch.

Medical professionals had told both you and Harry via telephone that while you were experiencing symptoms of the virus, you were leaning more so to a common cold given the bout of sneezing that had so gracefully taken over you both on day five of being cooped up.

Regardless of not being considered vulnerable the time was still a scary one, and the thought of losing loved ones very much at the front of your mind.

Which is why you should apologise.

You huffed at your conscience, snatching up Harry’s mug and sitting it next to yours. Two tea bags later,steaming hot water and a dash of milk, you took solace in the tinker of the spoon against the ceramic.

Cleaning products tossed aside, hands washed for at least the thirtieth time that day, you curled your fingers around the handles and tip-toed carefully towards your living room

Halting at the edge of the room, you took in Harry’s figure as he lay along the couch. Dressed in nothing more than a t-shirt that read the infamous slogan he was known for, a pair of y-front pants that should be nothing more than repulsive to you and sports socks; he looked comforting even though sulky.

Soft frown etched in between his brows, Harry’s eyes were frantically moving over the pages of the book that had him incredibly engrossed. You watched the way he licked at the middle finger of his right hand and turned the page.

Before you could stop yourself, a tut escaped your lips. He shouldn’t be putting his hands anywhere near his face. When was the last time he’d washed them?

The noise caused Harry to sharply cut his eyes to you, abruptly pulling them from the pages of the paperback and onto your figure. You stood, awkward under his gaze, watching his eyes drop to the two mugs you held.

“Shouldn’t be doing that,” you lazily commented on him licking his fingers. “When did you last sanitise?”

“Please get off my arse,” he deadpanned.

You swallowed harshly, continuing to feel heavier from your previous bicker. You didn’t want this unnecessary animosity to continue at all. He must’ve known that from the way his face softened slightly as he dropped his eyes, that were now not as harsh with their gaze as when he previously looked at you, to the steaming mugs.

“‘S all this,” he hummed. “‘S my mug.”

“It is,” you croaked, acknowledging his obvious statement. “‘S me bringing you a peace offering.”

“Brought any biscuits wi’yer?”

Your lips twitched at his question, offering nothing more than a shake of your head in response.

“‘S no good,” he hummed, eyes turning back to his book as he nudged his body over slightly to create a bigger gap next to him. A gap that looked awfully big enough to hold you.

Feeling brave from his light conversation, you walked closer. The dull thud of the heavy, tea-filled mugs hitting the coffee table that had just three hours earlier caused world war three in the four walls of your home, nervously brought you attention back to the sole reason you weren’t talking.

Over an inanimate object.

Not wanting to push your luck, you slowly let the remaining part of the large couch above Harry’s head swallow you. Mind now no longer engulfed by the worry of confrontation, your senses tuned in to the soft hum of a record playing in the top corner of your lounge and the partially agitated sigh that left Harry’s lips.

You didn’t acknowledge it, choosing to instead blow gently at the warm mug held securely between both your hands. You knew it would be too hot for you to even consider drinking just yet.

Legs curled up underneath and to the side of you, you dropped your neck back slightly to rest against the marshmallow-like cushions and relax.

Finding comfort wasn’t easy, as your space had gotten smaller and smaller as the day went by. Part of you didn’t want it to get bigger though. Being in a bubble could be very pleasing, very pleasing.

Lips twitched up at your thoughts, only deepening when you felt the soft grip of fingertips gently pinching at your calves. The same fingertips then flattened out, smoothing down and around your muscle to lightly tug.

Heavy head slowly lifting up, you took in the sight beneath you. Harry had reached behind him, his right elbow lifted awkwardly into the air as his left arm held his book above his head. His eyes remained trained to his book, as he flipped it slightly in his grip to read onto the next page.

You sighed as you watched the way his index and middle finger gently rubbed the soft fabric of your fluffy socks between his fingers, like some self soothing mechanism.

The blissful noise alerted your husband, his head tilted back so he was looking at you from upside down. “Why’re all the way over there?” He asked softly.

You chuckled against your mug. “You’re touching me, I’m hardly in safe social distance according to advice.”

“Not touching you enough,” he spoke deeply. “Come an’ love me.”

Nose scrunching up at his tone, you reached forward as you rolled your lips into your mouth.

“Have I got to?” You playfully questioned, feeling the tug of his hand become more forceful.

“If yer know what’s good for yer, yer will,” he groused.

Fighting your smile, you ran your tongue against your teeth and tried to remember if you’d brushed them that morning. As disgusting as it sounded, everything was beginning to blur. Days into nights into days.

You slipped off the couch and felt Harry watching you as he manoeuvred to his side. Laying down next to him in such a small space was in some silly way, exhilarating. The idea of being able to feel him against you; the shudder of his stomach as he laughed and the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, was everything you needed to get you through quarantine.

The softest smile hit your face as you watched the way he wordlessly lifted his arm to welcome you to him. Sinking into the couch, while it was easy before, definitely felt easier this second time around.

You nestled into his strong chest, feeling his shuffle underneath you and immediately begin to play with the hem of your short sleeve, his fingers lightly grazing against your skin.

Nudging your nose underneath his jawline, you enjoyed the way his stubbled gently tickled you. Harry was always warm and comforting, the right kind of strong and equally the right kind of soft. He had this way of making you feel small but in the tallest of ways.

“Thank you,” you gently whispered when you felt him draw you close to him and saw the way he lifted his book up even high above the two of you so you could see the pages too.

Your hand sat resting just above his belly, and you felt the way it slightly jiggled as he cleared his throat.

He read to you, parts of a book that were realistically intimate that you found now more than anything that making up was the only option.

“Talking to me properly now,” you mouthed against his skin after he stopped reading aloud.

“‘S not me, it’s Bethan Roberts,” he replied, turning the book slightly in his hands so you could see the cover.

“Well tell her I said thanks, managed to get my sulky hubby to produce more than a grunt-“

You heard him groan at your words, “Please don’t call me that.”

“What? Sulky?”

Harry turned his head slightly as he looked down his nose at you, the softest double chin forming. “No. I mean, hubby.”

You gigged. Yes, giggled. Unattractively too. “How about my favourite handy man?”

“Darling,” he warned, not wanting you to pick the scab off a barely healing wound from the much earlier interaction.

Lifting up, you nudged your nose against his cheek, softly sweeping against his facial hair before you located the corner of his mouth. “Not the only one who is good with their hands, you know?”

“‘S tha’ right,” he replied, fighting the laughter itching at his throat. “Think you’re talking shit.”

“But you know I’m not,” you softly rasped, free hand bunching up at the front of Harry’s t-shirt, nails catching against the hairy trail on his stomach. “‘M trying to say I’m sorry.”

“‘M listening, keep going,” he hummed, eyes closed and face blissfully aware he had gotten his own way. You scrunched your nose at his interjection, knowing how much he was thriving at the way you were skirting around your apology.

“You’re such a wanker-“

The breathy laugh that left his mouth had you melting into him, the softest nudge of your lips to his accompanied by a gasped intake of breath as Harry opened his mouth wider.

Hand pressed against his face, you enjoyed feeling the way his jaw extended as he gave you more of him. A satisfied hum lulled your kissing to an erotic stroking of tongues that had him chasing you when you lips parted.

You tilted your head back as he tried to catch your lips with his again, body jostling in the close confinement when he fallen short of his prize.

“Darling,” he drawled, nosing along the center of your neck, your fingers clawing through the hair on the back of his head. You enjoyed the feeling of his face squashed against your skin as he muffled his protests at you not letting him have your lips and have his way.

His playful growl when he broke free of your vice grip to his hair caused you to gleefully squeal, still thrashing to create a cat and mouse game over the sharing of kisses.

By pressing his feet against the arm of the couch, Harry managed to create a leverage over your body. He rolled slightly, face pressed heavily into your cheek as he caught his breath.

“Darling, why’re you being like tha’? I’m trying to show I’m sorry too,” he heavily breathed. “Put it back.”

“Ask nicely,” you panted in return, hand toying above his aching buldge.

“‘M always nice-“ you shook your head at his words. “No? ‘M sorry, sorry darlin’-“

His apology fell away from his lips as you grazed at his heavy bulge, a breathy chuckle bouncing against your already wet and messy lips.

“Can a bloke not read a book while in quarantine in peace?”

“He can if he wants,” you spoke light, hands playing at the waistband of his underwear before sliding down and gently gripping at his bum cheek.

“Wha’ ya doin’?”

“‘S it look like?”

“Like you’re gonna give me a handy.”

“Harry,” you stressed his name as he chucked at his pathetic attempt at a joke.

“Jus’ go with it,” he smiled, eyes closed and content, as he rested his head back slightly.

“Only if you help,” you started, you hand stroking gently back around to his lower abdomen. “Look at me.”

“Look at you, takin’ charge. Want me to wank in front of yer?”

“Do you want me to play with you or not?”

Harry cupped the back of your neck, letting the question die against his lips as he eagerly coaxed your mouth to open up again. Yes, he would like that very much.

Your hand fell still at the top of his underpants as the two of you necked on, lying along the sofa like teens that had their parents house free for a whole weekend; all choked groans and light sighs as neither of you wanted to part.

When you finally came to your senses, you dropped your hand and slid it over the cotton of Harry’s underwear. He felt heavy and warm, his arousal present but you still had enough of a chance to toy with him.

Massaging him through the cotton of his briefs, the sinful groans leaving his lips had you eager to get started. Your hand, ahead of your brain, pushed underneath the waistband as Harry choked at you to slow down.

“‘M too dry,” he mumbled, looking down at you, all soft double chin and stubble. He seemed conflicted, knowing it was a necessary step but just as eager. “Hang on-“

The shuffle of his body caused you to frown as you tried to anchor yourself to him and not fall off the side of the couch. The two of you chuckled as he felt the way you almost slid out from underneath his grip, his whispered “I‘ve got yer” almost lost against the sound of your creaking couch.

His hand slid down against the top of yours and gently squeezed against both his aching cock and your much more nimble fingers.

“You always feel so heavy in my hand, H,” you whispered sultrily. “Let me have it.”

Harry breathed deeply through his nose as you felt the way he circled his hand around your wrist and gently tugged upwards.

You couldn’t take your eyes off him as he pressed the softest of wet kisses to the inside of your palm, his tongue, as pink as his lips, gently licked at your skin. His eyes were closed, a dip to his brows as he embodied a high level of erotic passion.

Lips puckered and skimming up against your fingers, you felt the way Harry opened his mouth wider, soft tongue now lapping gently at the fingertips of your middle and third finger.

With half a smirk gracing your lips, you slowly lifted your eyes from his mouth, vision tracing up his features before you found his awaiting hazy stare, strong on yours.

You were enjoying the lewd gesture and his commitment to holding your gaze, as you felty yourself flush with unnecessary embarrassment at the visual of your sodden fingers softly slipping from his lips.

The string of saliva left behind by his ardent sucking, coupled with the soft bounce of his bottom lips as you playfully pull at it with the tips of your fingers, had you incessantly mesmerised and craving to kiss.

Harry less than gracefully pushed down at your hand, as the digits of his right palm loosely became woven into the hair on the back of your head.

Jolting forward and breathing heavily against each other’s mouths, Harry licked gently into your mouth and pushed down at his underwear using your fingers.

You giggled at his desperate movements and enjoyed the way his mouth went slack against yours as you grasped at his cock, with ease this time. Trembling breath bouncing against your lips, so satisfying for you.

Harry was always vocal, but there was something about him as he lay squashed against you in the dimming evening light that brought out a wildness unmatched.

The slide of your hand along his shaft eased a coiled tension within Harry as he heavily breathed against the corner of your mouth incoherent praise and subconsciously raised his hips upwards into your enclosed grip as you dared to loosen your fingers around him.

He was greedy for it. His hand once more pulling against the back of your shirt, so the hem now no longer covered your backside but instead sat awkwardly against your lower back.

His moans became muffled as he rolled his lips into his mouth, and caused your vision to blur from the way he heavily pressed his face into yours.

“Fuck me, ‘m gonna come,” he spoke, voice deeper than before, his words lazier as they omitted from him before he gulped. “Unugh, pull me out.”’

Left hand free, Harry beat you to his request. With briefs now bunched against his thighs he tried his hardest to get them down his body, with a rub of his thighs as he gripped firmly at your thigh.

His hand slid up your smooth skin, fingers finding your bare arse cheek and slapping against your taught skin as he encouraged you to wrap your thigh over his hip.

“Gonna leave some cracking marks all over this body by the time I’m done with you,” he spoke firmly into the column of your throat. “Leaning back from me wi’out me ‘aving to tell you an’all- giving me the space I need to shag you just right.”

He took his time to see the way you’d arched for him, head somewhat hanging over the side of the couch as he tried to figure out how to line himself up and please you the only way he knew how.

“Where’d you want me?” he groused, eyes looking down to the pull of your hips towards each other, “Hm? Here okay? With your fingers or mine?”

You wetly whimpered at him, scratching your nails against the skin of his naval before you pressed the palm he had previously licked flat against your centre. Grinding down against your skin, the heel of your palm bumped salaciously against your clit.

“Dirty girl, knows what she wants,” he reached between you, the heat of your core attracting his aching cock that easily as it aligned itself to you. “Sit back on me, gently… Gentle.”

Your fingers could feel the way his cock sunk into you, disappearing inch by inch until your hand was awkwardly squashed between the both of your pelvises.

Somehow you managed to slide your hand around to Harry’s soft hips where you dipped your fingertips into his skin. His mouth sucked at your sternum, revelling in the feel of you having taken him all.

“Giving me your belly,” he confirmed, “Took me all the way, doll. Want all of me, all of my apology eh.”

“God, Harry,” you keened. “Do something.”

He rocked his hips, pressing his feet into the arm of the couch to create a nice leverage and force that tensed his thighs and started a rustling sound against the couch material.

“I am,” he stressed, softly gritting his teeth and seeing you watch him through hooded eyelids. “Don’t just lay there and take me,” he mouthed against your lips. “Give me as good as you get, yeah,” he chuckled as he felt the pressure of your pushing into him, stepping up to his request.

“You’re my favourite lover,” he gasped.

“I better be your only lover,” you breathlessly threatened, tilting your head back. He hummed as he burrowed his head deeper into your jaw.

“You’re the only one I shag like this,” he replied, hand sliding down when he felt your thighs start to give way. “Thighs up or ‘m stopping.”

You whined feeling a burning sensation forming in the crease of your thigh as you tried to keep yourself as closely connected to Harry as possible. “You wouldn’t,” you goaded him, the heel of your foot running against the back of his hairy thigh.

“Wouldn’t I?” He questioned, brushing back your hair that was starting to get sweaty. When you thought about it, the whole of your body was.

The warmth radiating from each tilt and rock of your hips a little easier with formed sweat and arousal, while the feel of Harry’s hand splayed out against arse cheek, made you feel owned.

He held you tight as he slowly moved against you, rocking back and forth as you self-soothed egos and bruised hearts. Heavy breaths mingled between kisses as he admitted his love for you and you for him.

“Missed you today,” he murmured against your cheekbone.

“I’ve been here-“

He nudged his nose against you now, as he shook his head. “Been different, sick of me and these four walls. Beginning to climb ‘em, ain’t we? Have’ta tell me, so I can ‘ave a go at fixing it.”

“Isn’t that why we are argued to begin with, cause of your fixing-“

His lips quirked at your quickness, “Smart arse.”

Humming, you brushed his hair away, scratching by his ear and hearing his pleased purrs at your shower of affections.

“We’re good, show me we’re good-“ you dipped your head back as he pulled you tighter against him, thrusting and creating the first clapping sound of your skin that evening. “Yes, show me we’re better than good.”

Harry felt the way your skin was tacky against his, his hand peeling away from your bum to your thigh. A weird humidity had clouded the lounge not usually felt in the British Spring Time, woven with the heady smell of your sex and unadulterated love.

All space was eliminated between both of your bodies as he knocked up into you, skin rubbing from the force.

“Why didn’t you take off this bloody shirt?” You groaned, scratching your nails against the fabric, as you clung to him.

“Cause someone could wait to have her way wi’me,” he chimed, voice light and singing. “God you want it don’t you?”

He could feel the way you were squeezing at him, releasing a guttural gasp at his questioning of you. You pulled him deeper than anyone has ever been able to do and that made him proud. Proud to call you his. His lover, his wife. His lifetime.

“Harry, I’m gonna come,” you panted, high-pitched and positively annoying to anyone outside your shared lust. Nails again irritatingly scratched against his back, this time he was thankful he kept his t-shirt on, not wanting to deal with any stinging skin in the shower later on.

With each forceful thrust, he pressed at your arse forcing your hips into his as he pulled you into him. He knew you were fast approaching your release, a change in the way you writhed against him and produced keening whines that pulled a smugness like no other from his chest.

Hair falling against his forehead, sweaty and unforgiving, Harry rested his forehead against yours and sucked passionately at your bruise lips and lapped at your saltiness. His focus zoned in on only you, your hitching breath on his face and tired body heavier in arms.

He knew you were spent but he was grateful for your trying. Eyes halfway shut but lips managing to entice him by forming his name faintly and loud enough for him to hear. The erotic murmur easily made a mess of him faster than your loudest moans only moments earlier.

This was yours. This was his.

No one saw you like this but him. No one saw him like this but you.

“‘M so in love wi’you,” he admitted, watching your eyes roll back into your head, body trembling as you got closer to your peak. “Giving me a good one, tha’ I don’t deserve.”

He smiled as he watched the way you rubbed against him, as he felt you squeeze around him, pulling a choked moan from him as he squeezed at the back of your neck with his right hand, and quickened the motion of his hips.

“Don’t stop,” you panted heavily, body tightening as your mouth fell open, silently. Eyes fluttering shut as you babbled his name and he changed the roll of his hips to deep nudges to get him what he wanted from your sensitivity.

Your body went slack against him as he bottomed out inside of you, he mouthed into your skin, “Know you're tired but don’t go still on me. Love me back.”

Mewling at his breathy request, you tried to match his deep thrusts as best you could, feeling his hand against your clit. “Harry,” you whispered in a warning.

“Okay, okay, I won’t- had enough?”

“Want some more,” you hummed, even though you knew you shouldn’t, already feeling faintly sore.

He growled, through his closed mouth, bum cheeks clenched as he felt the way you took him. Selfless and affectionate. In that moment, he knew he would never find another like you.

And that was enough for him to give you everything he had.

And you took it all. Fingers woven through the back of his head, clinging to his head as he burrowed down into your neck. Fierce grunts muffled and chest tight, gasping for air.

Your come down was bittersweet. The feel of Harry softening between your legs, before resting between them in a way that was wet and spent. A familiar moment.

Harry took his time admiring you, gaze looking at your flushed out cheeks and sparkling eyes.

The two of you lay in silence, Harry brushing back your hair before pushing himself up and leaning on his hand. Looking up at him, you swore you’d never seen anyone more handsome and comfortable within themselves.

The crack of an elastic waistband caused you to look down your bodies as you watched the way he fidgeted with his underpants that he had just pulled back on.

“Why’ve you done that. Take ‘em back off,” you poured, looking up at him wide eyed. He chuckled down at you and your demanding words.

“‘S gone cold, y’know,” he hummed. “Won’t do so much for my ego, if you see wha’ it’s like down there when ‘m cold.”

“Does the job alright for me,” you said, pulling him down to you.

With a chuckle, he pecked you’re lips to try and satiate you, before he pulled away. Eyes falling onto your two mugs of tea that sat within arms reach on your coffee table.

“‘M fuckin’ parched,” he said. “Hold onto me a sec.”

Before you could think, Harry was rolling his body over yours, doing his best to keep his weight off you completely. You clenched your fingers into his shirt, watching him with wide eyes as he scooped up his mug and took a sip.

“‘S gone cold,” he murmured, before he swigged at the drink again. You looked up at him in all your double chin glory.

“No change there then. Gonna have to start rationing the tea bags cause you’re taking the piss not drinking the teas I make you.”

He dropped his gaze, eyes looking at yours. “D’ya need some tissue to clean up?”

You hummed, not wanting to make a move.

“Gonna have to start rationing the toilet roll cause you're taking the piss-“ he didn’t get to finish his sentence before you covered his mouth with your hand.

And if he knew what was good for him he wouldn’t finish it either.

***

Shout out to my usual suspects who always put up with my bullshit @waitingfortwilight, @harryfeatgaga, @huccimermaidshirts, @haute-romance-quotidienne, @majorharry and @for-fucks-sake-h. Also, @harrysonlyangelsss and @sweetcreatureinthedark, because why not?

Big up @waitingfortwilight for the title <3

#harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles one shot #harry smut #harry fluff #harry styles fan fic #Harry Styles Fan Fiction #my writing

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xerrey · 5 years

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• Animal: dog - pies, cat - kot, fish - ryba, bird - ptak, cow - krowa, pig - świnia, mouse - mysz, horse - koń, animal - zwierzę

• Transportation: train - pociąg, plane - samolot, car - samochód, truck - ciężarówka, bicycle - rower, bus - autobus, boat - łódź, łódka, ship - statek, tire - opona, gasoline - benzyna, engine - silnik, ticket - bilet, transportation - transport, tram/streetcar - tramwaj

• Location: city - miasto, house - dom, apartment - apartament, flat - mieszkanie, street/road - ulica, airport - lotnisko, train station - stacja kolejowa, bridge - most, hotel - hotel, restaurant - restauracja, farm - farma, court, school - szkoła, office - biuro, room - pokój, town - miasteczko, university - uniwersytet, club - klub, bar - bar, park - park, camp - obóz, store/shop - sklep, theater - teatr, library - biblioteka, hospital - szpital, church - kościół, market - supermarket, country (USA, France, etc.) - państwo, building - budynek, ground - ziemia, space (outer space) - przestrzeń kosmiczna, kosmos, bank - bank, location - położenie, police - policja, army - armia

• Clothing: hat - czapka, dress - sukienka, suit - garnitur, skirt - spódnica, shirt - koszula, T-shirt - t-shirt, koszulka, pants - majtki, trousers - spodnie, shoes - buty, pocket - kieszeń, coat - płaszcz, stain - plama, clothing - ubrania

• Color: red - czerwony/czerwona, green - zielony/zielona, blue - niebieski/niebieska, yellow - żółty/żółta, brown - brązowy/brązowa, pink - różowy/różowa, orange - pomarańczowy/pomarańczowa, black - czarny/czarna, white - biały/biała, gray - szary.szara, color - kolor

• People: son - syn, daughter - córka, mother - matka, father - ojciec, parent (= mother/father) - rodzic, baby - niemowlę, man - mężczyzna, woman - kobieta, brother - brat, sister - siostra, family - rodzina, grandfather - dziadek, grandmother - babcia, husband - mąż, wife - żona, king - król, queen - królowa, president - prezydent, neighbor - sąsiad/sąsiadka, boy - chłopiec/chłopak, girl - dziewczynka/dziewczyna, child (= boy/girl) - dziecko, adult (= man/woman) - dorosły, human (≠ animal) - człowiek, friend - przyjaciel/przyjaciółka, victim - ofiara, player - zawodnik/zawodniczka, fan - fan/fanka, crowd - tłum, person - osoba

• Job: Teacher - nauczyciel/nauczycielka, student - uczeń/uczennica, lawyer - prawnik/prawniczka, doctor - lekarz/lekarka, patient - pacjent/pacjentka, waiter - kelner/kelnerka, secretary - sekretarz/sekretarka, priest - ksiądz, policeman/policewoman - policjant/policjantka, soldier - żółnierz/żółnierka, artist - artysta/artystka, author - pisarz/pisarka, manager - menadżer/menadżerka, reporter - reporter/reporterka, actor - aktor/aktorka, job - praca

• Society: religion - religia, heaven - niebo, hell - piekło, death - śmierć, medicine - medycyna, money - pieniądze, bill - rachunek, marriage - małżeństwo, wedding - ślub, team - zespół, race (ethnicity) - rasa (etniczność), sex (the act) - seks, sex (gender) - płeć, murder - morderstwo, prison - więzienie, technology - technologia, energy - energia, war - wojna, peace - pokój, attack - atak, napaść, election - wybory, magazine - magazyn, newspaper - gazeta, poison - trucizna, gun - broń, sport - sport, race (sport) - wyscig, exercise - ćwiczenia, ball - piłka, game - gra, mecz, price - cena, contract - umowa/kontrakt, drug - lekarstwo, narkotyk, sign - znak, science - nauka,

• Art: band - zespół, song - piosenka, instrument (musical) - instrument, music - muzyka, movie - film, art - sztuka

• Beverages: coffee - kawa, tea - herbata, wine - wino, beer - piwo, juice - sok, water - woda, milk - mleko, beverage - napój

• Food: egg - jajko, cheese - ser, bread - chleb, soup - zupa, cake - ciasto, chicken - kurczak, pork - wieprzowina, beef - wołowina, apple - jabłko, banana - banan, orange - pomarańcz, lemon - cytryna, corn - kukurydza, rice - ryż, oil - olej, seed - ziarno, knife - nóż, spoon - łyżka, fork - widelec, plate - talerz, cup - filiżanka, mug - kubek, breakfast - śniadanie, lunch - lunch, dinner - kolacja, sugar - cukier, salt - sól, bottle - butelka, food - jedzenie

• Home: table - stół, chair - krzesło, bed - łóżko, dream - marzenie, window - okno, door - drzwi, bedroom - sypialnia, kitchen - kuchnia, bathroom - łazienka, pencil - ołówek, pen - długopis, photograph - zdjęcie/fotografia, soap - mydło, book - książka, page - strona, key - klucz, paint - farba, letter - list, note - notatka, wall - ściana, paper - papier, floor - podłoga, ceiling - sufit, roof - dach, pool - basen, lock - zamek, telephone - telefon, garden - ogród, needle - igła, bag - torba, box - pudełko, gift - prezent, card - karta, ring - pierścionek, tool - narzędzie

• Electronics: clock - zegar, lamp - lampa, fan - wentylator, cell phone - telefon komórkowy, komórka, network - sieć, computer - komputer, program (computer) - program komputerowy, laptop - laptop, screen - ekran, camera - aparat fotograficzny, kamera, television - telewizja, radio - radio, tablet - tablet

• Body: head - głowa, neck - szyja, face - twarz, beard - broda, hair - włosy, eye - oko, mouth - usta, lip - warga, nose - nos, tooth - ząb, ear - ucho, tear (drop) - łza, tongue - język, back - plecak, toe - palec, finger - palec, foot - stopa, hand - ręka, leg - noga, arm - ramię, shoulder - bark, heart - serce, blood - krew, brain - mózg, knee - kolano, sweat - pot, disease - choroba, bone - kość, voice - głos, skin - skóra, body - ciało, wrist - nadgarstek

• Nature: sea - morze, ocean - ocean, river - rzeka, mountain - góra, rain - deszcz, snow - śnieg, tree - drzewo, sun - słońce, moon - księżyc, world - świat, Earth - Ziemia, forest - las, sky - niebo, plant - roślina, wind - wiatr, soil/earth - gleba/ziemia, flower - kwiat, valley - dolina, root - korzeń, lake - jezioro, star - gwiazda, grass - trawa, leaf - liść, air - powietrze, sand - piasek, beach - plaża, wave - fala, fire - ogień, ice - lód, island - wyspa, hill - wzgórze, heat - ciepło, nature - natura

• Materials: glass - szkło, metal - metal, plastic - plastik, wood - drewno, stone - kamień, diamond - diament, clay - glina, dust - kurz, gold - złoto, copper - miedź, silver - srebro, material - materiał

• Math/Measurements: meter - metr, centimeter - centrymetr, kilogram - kilogram, inch - cal, foot - stopa, pound - funt, half - pół, circle - koło, square - kwadrat, temperature - temperatura, weight - waga, edge - próg, corner - kąt

• Misc Nouns: map - mapa, dot - kropka, consonant - spółgłoska, vowel - samogłoska, light - światło, sound - dźwięk, yes - tak, no - nie, piece - kawałek, pain - bół, injury - rana, hole - dziura, image - obraz, pattern - schemat/wzór, noun - rzeczownik, verb - czasownik, adjective - przymiotnik

• Directions: top - góra, bottom - dół, side - bok/strona, front - przód, back - tył, outside na zewnątrz, inside wewnątrz, up - w góre, down - w dół, left - lewa/lewy, right - prawa/prawy, straight - na wprost, north - północ, south - południe, east - wschód, west - zachód, direction - kierunek

• Seasons: Summer - lato, Spring - wiosna, Winter - ziemia, Fall - jesień, season - pora roku

• Numbers: 0 - zero, 1 - jeden, 2 - dwa, 3 - trzy, 4 - cztery, 5 - pięć, 6 - sześć, 7 - siedem, 8 - osiem, 9 - dziewięć, 10 - dziesięć, 11 - jedenaście, 12 - dwanaście, 13 - trzynaście, 14 - czternaście, 15 - piętnaście, 16 - szesnaście, 17 - siedemnaście, 18 - osiemnaście, 19 - dziewiętnaście, 20 - dwadzieścia, 21 - dwadzieścia jeden, 22 - dwadzieścia dwa, 30 - trzydzieści, 31 - trzydzieści jeden , 32 trzydzieści dwa, 40 - czterdzieści, 41 - czterdzieści jeden, 42 - czterdzieści dwa, 50 - pięćdziesiąt, 51 - pięćdziesiąt jeden, 52 pięćdziesiąt dwa, 60 sześćdziesiąt, 61 - sześćdziesiąt jeden, 62 - sześćdziesiąt dwa, 70 - siedemdziesiąt, 71 - siedemdziesiąt jeden, 72 - siedemdziesiąt dwa, 80 osiemdziesiąt, 81 - osiemdziesiąt jeden, 82 - osiemdziesiąt dwa, 90 - dziewięćdziesiąt, 91 - dziewięćdziesiąt jeden, 92 - dziewięćdziesiąt dwa, 100 - sto, 101 - sto jeden,, 102 sto dwa, 110 sto dziesięć, 111 sto jedenaście, 1000 - tysiąc, 1001 tysiąc jeden, 10000 - dziesięć tysięcy, 100000 - sto tysięcy, million - milion, billion - miliard, 1st,- pierwszy 2nd,- drugi 3rd,trzeci 4th,czwarty 5th,- piąty number - numer

• Months: January - Styczeń, February - Luty, March - Marzec, April - Kwiecień, May - Maj, June - Czerwiec, July - Lipiec, August - Sierpień, September - Wrzesień, October - Październik, November - Listopad, December - Grudzień

• Days of the week: Monday - Poniedziałek, Tuesday - Wtorek, Wednesday - Środa, Thursday - Czwartek, Friday - Piątek, Saturday - Sobota, Sunday - Niedziela, week - tydzień,

• Time: year - rok, month - miesiąc, week - tydzień, day - dzień, hour - godzina, minute - minuta, second - sekunda , morning - poranek/rano, afternoon - popołudnie, evening - wieczór, night - noc, time - czas, midnight - północ, midday - południe

• Verbs: work - pracować, play - grać, walk - spacerować/chodzić, run - biegać, drive - jechać (samochodem), fly - latać, swim - pływać, go - iść, stop - zatrzymywać, follow - śledzić, podążać za kimś/za czymś, think - myśleć, speak - mówić, say - powiedzieć, eat - jeść, drink - pić, kill - zabić, die - umierać, smile - uśmiechać się, laugh - śmiać się, cry - płakać, buy - kupować, pay - płacić, sell - sprzedawać, shoot(a gun) - strzelać (z pistoletu), learn - uczyć się, jump - skakać, smell - wąhać, hear (a sound) - słyszeć, listen (music) - słuchać, taste - próbować/smakować, touch - dotykać, see (a bird) - widzieć, watch (TV) - oglądać, kiss - całować, burn - palić, melt - roztapiać, dig - kopać, explode - wybuchnąć/eksplodować, sit - siedzieć, stand - stać, love - kochać, pass by - mijać, cut - ciąć, fight - bić się/walczyć, lie down - leżeć, dance - tańczyć, sleep - spać, wake up - budzić się, sing - śpiewać, count - liczyć, marry - żenić się/wychodzić za mąż/brać ślub, pray - modlić się, win - wygrywać/wygrać, lose - przegrywać/przegrać, mix/stir - mieszać, bend - schylać się/schylić się, wash - myć, cook - gotować, open - otwierać, close - zamykać, write - pisać, call - dzwonić, turn - obrócić/obracać się, build - budować, teach - uczyć, nauczać, grow - rosnąć, draw - rysować, feed - karmić, catch - łapać/złapać, throw - rzucać/rzucić, clean - czyścić, find - znajdować, fall - upadać, push - pchać/popychać, pull - ciągnąć, carry - nieść, break - zbić/rozbijać, wear - ubierać, hang - wisieć, shake - potrząsać/wstrząsać, sign - podpisywać, beat - bić, lift - podnosić,

• Adjectives: long - długi/długa/długie, short (vs long) - krótki/krótka/krótkie, tall - wysoki/wysoka/wysokie, short (vs tall) - niski/niska/niskie, wide - szeroki/szeroka/szerokie, narrow - wąski/wąska/wąskie, big/large - duży/duża/duże, small/little - mały/mała/małe, slow - wolny/wolna/wolne, fast - szybki/szybka/szybkie, hot - gorący/gorąca/gorące, cold - zimny/zimna/zimne, warm - ciepły/ciepła/ciepłe, cool - fajny/fajna/fajne, new - nowy/nowa/nowe, old (new) - stary/stara/stare, young - młody/młoda/młode, old (young) - stary/stara/stare, good - dobry/dobra/dobre, bad - zły/zła/złe, wet - mokry/mokra/mokre, dry - suchy/sucha/suche, sick - chory/chora/chore, healthy - zdrowy/zdrowa/zdrowe, loud - głośny/głośna/głośne, quiet - cichy/cicha/ciche, happy - szczęśliwy/szczęśliwa/szczęśliwe, sad - smutny/smutna/smutne, beautiful - piękny/piękna/piękne, ugly - brzydki/brzydka/brzydkie, deaf - głuchy/głucha/głuche, blind - ślepy/ślepa/ślepe, nice - miły/miła/miłe, mean - wredny/wredna/wredne, rich - bogaty/bogata/bogate, poor - biedny/biedna/biedne, thick - gruby/gruba/grube, thin - chudy/chuda/chude, expensive - drogi/droga/drogie, cheap - tani/tania/tanie, flat - płaski/płaska/płaskie, curved - krzywy/krzywa/krzywe, male - męski/męska/męskie, female - damski/damska/damskie, tight ciasny/ciasna/ciasne or obcisły/obcisła/obcisłe, loose - luźny/luźna/luźni, high - wysoki/wysoka/wysokie, low - niski/niska/niskie, soft - miękki/miękka/miękkie or delikatny/delikatna/delikatne, hard - twardy/twarda/twarde or trudny/trudna/trudne, deep - głęboki/głęboka/głębokie, shallow - płytki/płytka/płytkie, clean - czysty/czysta/czyste, dirty - brudny/brudna/brudne, strong - silny/silna/silne, weak - słaby/słaba/słabe, dead - martwy/martwa/martwe, alive - żywy/żywa/żywe, heavy - ciężki/ciężka/ciężkie, light (vs heavy) - lekki/lekka/lekkie, dark - ciemny/ciemna/ciemne, light (dark) - jasny/jasna/jasne, famous - sławny/sławna/sławne

• Pronouns: I - ja, you (singular) - ty, he - on, she - ona, it - ono/to, we - my, you (plural, as in “y’all”) - wy, they. - oni, one

#langblr #langblrgang #polish #vocabulary list #vocab list #common words #languageambassadorproject #polishjune

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lobsters-on-their-heads · 6 years

Text

Cont. Travels of Cophine, Part 2.3

Tunisia.

Link for the entire work here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/13525500

They arrived in Sousse in the afternoon, their last stop in Tunisia and the end of their Francophone African experience. If everything went well here, they would be in Libya in a few days, and Egypt after that. Cosima's energy level was partially recovered and the sinus headaches were gone, but she still had frequent coughing fits, and her voice cracked every couple of words. She now spent her time propping up Delphine, who insisted that she wasn't really all that sick.

“Delphine, I love you,” Cosima said, “but your eyes haven't opened completely for, like, two days. Your voice is an octave lower, and your sneezes have woken the dead. You are fucking sick.”

Delphine fell back on her bed beside Cosima. In Tunis they'd gotten a queen sized bed in their room, which was great at first, but a lot less appealing when both of them tossed and turned the whole night. Here in Sousse, they were back to separate twins, and neither of them had the energy to even comment on it.

“Okay,” Delphine said, “I'm sick. Are you happy now?”

“No. I just want you to stop pretending that you're fine. I want you to take care of yourself. I mean, I'm happy taking care of you, but you're not letting me do that, and you're pushing yourself too hard.”

As if to prove Cosima's point, Delphine rolled over to check the little beep her phone just made. “Dr. N'Jikam wants to postpone our meeting until Wednesday.” She pinched the bridge of her nose.

“And you don't have to be at the clinic until Wednesday morning, either, so tomorrow we can focus on getting rest, yeah? Maybe check out that sauna they're supposed to have.” With the chilly weather outside and the lack of heat in the hotel room, spending the day at a nice 180 degrees fahrenheit had a certain appeal.

“Mmm... maybe. We still have a lot of arrangements to make.”

Cosima rubbed her back through her sweater. “We do. But we're not going to help anybody if you're not healthy. So you need to rest. That's what you told me the other day!”

“I can't sleep, I've told you.”

The night before, Delphine had apparently been awake for five hours while Cosima slept like a log. She'd drifted off for an hour or so on the ride into Sousse, but good sleep still aluded her. “Take some more NyQuil,” Cosima said. “Or I'll get the bar downstairs to make you a nice hot toddy.”

She shook her head. “Then I'll be hung over all morning. Is there any tea?”

Cosima checked the little complimentary beverage station near the ironing board. “Um... yes, but it all looks caffeinated.”

“Then no.”

Another coughing fit hit Cosima then, doubling her over as she pounded on her chest. The pounding never helped, but it was better than doing nothing. Once it subsided, she straightened back up and fumbled around for some more water. Delphine stayed on her bed, watching her.

“Have you tried the throat spray again?”

“Um, no.”

“Maybe you should. It would numb your throat and...”

“It would make me vomit again. No thanks.”

“You might've done it wrong.”

Naturally, Delphine was able to use the throat spray with no problems at all. Cosima added it to the list of things Delphine did effortlessly.

Cosima picked up her purse and wrapped her scarf around her neck again. “If I did, I'm not willing to risk doing it wrong again. But I will get some more cough syrup. And some more tea.”

Delphine propped herself up on her elbows to return Cosima's kiss. “Can you get some soup, too?”

“Yup. Soup, syrup, and tea. I'll be back soon, love.”

Delphine nodded and sank back down.

* * *

They tried the sauna the next day, but found it packed with Scandinavian women who all knew each other and laughed too loudly at everything each of them said. Cosima got some tea loaded with valerian root and lemon balm, and Delphine drank mug after mug of it while Cosima did their laundry in the hotel's facilities and brought containers of brik and fricassé from the vendors across the street. In the evening, they drank more tea and watched the Arabic dubbing of Downton Abbey on the hotel television.

On Wednesday it rained, the first time since they'd arrived in North Africa. Cosima sat at the bar in the hotel's restaurant and watched it fall in sheets over the cars and cyclists and old men in traditional burnouses hustling around with newspapers over their heads. It was just after noon, almost time for midday prayers, when the locals on the street would clear off for a moment but the tourists in the restaurant would stay. She knew these things now. She was also starting to forget that she hadn't always dropped the “h” sound in “hotel.”

The restaurant was packed. Most of these tourists were here for the promise of a sunny beach-side vacation in a relatively progressive Arab country, the lone gunman attack of a few years ago now a distant memory. The rain, however, put the beach off limits. The business men were here too, but in fewer numbers than in Tunis or Algiers. Cosima wondered how many tourists would be in Tripoli.

Delphine was supposed to be back by now. The clone here in Sousse had been easy to find, unlike the one in Tunis who'd gotten married and changed her name since the Leda List was compiled. Cosima double checked the time and confirmed that this clone's appointment had been for 10:30, and then she texted Delphine.

Everything okay?

While she waited for a reply, she scrolled through her Facebook feed, finding very little that was new since that morning. Alison posted pictures of a black forest cheesecake from all angles; Cosima's mother posted memes that she thought were hilarious and Cosima had seen ten years ago; Scott cracked science jokes; her father ranted about Republicans. Same old, same old. She thought about reading the news, but she'd done that earlier and had no desire to repeat the experience. She was nervous enough about going to Libya without reading that the country was “mired in chaos” and ruled by “men with guns.” She wanted to keep her worries confined to the language barrier.

“Anything else?” The bartender gestured to her empty tea cup.

“Yeah. Another one. Thank you. Merci. Shukraan (شكرا.)”

He gave her an indulgent smile and got her more hot water and some fresh tea.

Instagram yielded no new results, either. Five of the Ledas were hyper active there, posting so many photos of their personal lives that Cosima felt closer to them than to most of her own cousins at this point, and was becoming personally invested in the little drama that was brewing in the love life of one of the Austrian sisters. All total, Cosima tracked 33 Ledas through Instagram and 34 on Twitter, 11 of which were on both. None so far had symptoms of clone disease that they were sharing on social media, though the Leda in Cape Town, South Africa, did seem to have a worrying rash on her torso that had nothing to do with being a clone, but probably with a swimming in the ocean.

Her phone buzzed. Difficult patient. Delphine said.

Cosima arched an eyebrow. That could mean many things. And?

A reply wasn't immediately forthcoming, and Cosima rubbed her face to keep from swearing. The restaurant was loud enough that she might've gotten away with it, but it was better not to risk it, even surrounded by foreigners. She tried to look out the window but a man pushed up to the bar and blocked the view. He was tall and broad, wearing what Cosima called the “I yell at my family in public” uniform.

“Hey!” he shouted. “Can we get a table, please? We've been waiting fifteen minutes!”

Cosima rolled her eyes and went back to her phone. No reply from Delphine, but another cake picture from Alison on Facebook – red velvet this time.

She pulled up Twitter and perked up again. A clone from southern California they hadn't made contact with yet finally posted something. She was in Cambodia, it turned out, and she had a long thread about politics and southeast Asian history that was actually quite fascinating. And then Delphine replied to her text.

Still trying.

“Still trying? That doesn't help, Delphine.” She tapped out her response. Do you need anything? Can I help?

She'd been at the bar for over an hour. She could have been up in their room, working on her thesis, or napping, or masturbating, or catching up on her reading. But Delphine had asked her to be here, to meet her after her 10:30 appointment at the clinic, because she was bringing one of her contacts from MSF, and this was an Important Contact. Cosima was wearing her nice shirt, for fuck's sake, and she'd ironed her pants. They were going to eat lunch together, their treat for this Important Contact, so Cosima had not eaten since 8:30 that morning.

She typed some more. Do you have an ETA?

Three minutes later, as she watched the loud man yell at his son for touching the floral arrangement on the table they'd finally gotten, her phone buzzed. Her excitement faded when she saw it was just an email from her mother.

Cosima,

Here's that dress company I told you about, based out of the City, very social-justice and queer oriented and I think right up your alley. It's pricey but we'd be happy to help you out if....

She closed the message without finishing it. “I am not dress shopping online, goddamn it,” she muttered. “How many times do I have to f.... ugh. Mother.” She rubbed her face again and checked the time.

12:40 pm. Five minutes since her last message to Delphine, and more than two hours since the appointment at the clinic started.

A bearded man in a West Virginia University sweatshirt sat down beside her, apologized when he brushed against her knee, and placed his order with the bar tender in Arabic. Once the bartender left, he laced his fingers together and turned to Cosima. “Heckuva weather we're having, yeah?”

“Yup. Sure is.”

“You know, I been coming here for ten years, and I swear this is the first time I've seen it rain.”

“Hm.”

He tapped the bar top. “Are those dreads you've got?”

“Yes.”

“I thought so! They look good!” He turned a little on his stool to face her more. “Usually white girls can't pull those off, but yours look really good!”

“Thank you.” She checked her phone again. 12:45, and no new messages.

“Can I ask, if you don't mind, what you did to make 'em stay so well? Like, my cousin tried dreads, and she's as white as me, and her hair stank!” He laughed and bumped into her knee again. “Like, it was just straight up matted and shit. What's your secret?”

She drained her tea and looked him in the eye. “I've been genetically engineered.”

He chortled. “Okay. Fair enough. I shouldn't have asked; I'm sorry.”

Cosima raised her eyebrows and did not respond. The bartender came with his order then – a steaming bowl of stew with a side of bread and a bottle of beer. The stew smelled amazing, and she still hadn't gotten any messages from Delphine, so she called the bartender back over and ordered a bowl for herself. While she waited, the cups of tea crept up on her and she slid off to the ladies' room, leaving her coat on the stool, pockets empty.

While she peed, she texted Delphine again. Is everything okay over there?

The clinic was on the same block as their hotel, and Cosima would have gone there herself an hour ago if they weren't terrified of accidental clone meet ups.

She also finished her mother's email about that dress shop in San Fransisco, which, Sally was keen to point out, also did tailoring for suits. Great.

Back at the bar, Cosima's coat was still there, along with her food and a fresh cup of tea. The WVU man was wrapped up in conversation with a guy to his left, thankfully, and now there was a different customer to Cosima's right – a woman with short wavy black hair, wearing a collared white shirt. As she walked towards her own seat, Cosima glanced down at the woman's shoes. Sure enough, Keens, or Keens equivalents. Cosima's phone buzzed.

Yes was all Delphine had to say. No ETA, no other information. Cosima put her phone back in her purse.

“Excuse me,” she said as she squeezed in between the two other customers to sit down.

“Sure, no problem,” the woman said, smiling at her. The WVU man did not seem to notice her return. “I hope no one was sitting here?”

“Oh, no,” Cosima assured her. “You're fine.”

The soup was delicious, but spicier than she'd anticipated, so she got a glass of water and another serving of bread to help it go down. In minutes her sinuses opened up and she needed extra napkins, as well. The woman beside her got a salad and a glass of wine, and smiled at Cosima when she drained her water glass.

“A bit spicy, is it?” She was British, or Irish, judging by her accent.

Cosima nodded. The water helped, but her eyes watered and her nose ran, and it was a damn good thing she wasn't trying to look good right now. She thought of Delphine's MSF contact and checked her phone again. It was 1:10. No new messages. “Whatever.” She dropped it back in her purse and gave the rest of her soup her full attention. When she'd finished, she wiped the bowl with some more bread and finished her third glass of water. Beside her, the dark haired British woman watched her, sideways.

“I guess it was good,” the woman said.

“Yeah. Delicious.” She pointed to the half-full salad plate in front of her bar neighbor. “Yours wasn't?”

The other woman shrugged. “I keep forgetting that I don't like tomatoes. I order them every so often, thinking that some dish looks rather good, and then I eat one, and remember.”

Cosima smiled. “I'm like that with oysters and clams. Someone will rave about how good they are, and swear they've got a good recipe, but it's always like eating a snot ball out of a shell.”

The other woman laughed at that, throwing her head back and showing off her neck in the process. “That is such an apt way to put it! They really are nature's little snot balls, aren't they? Tell me, have you read Tipping the Velvet?”

If she hadn't suspected this woman was queer before, she sure did now. More than suspected. Cosima blushed a little and grinned. “I read it when I was, like, twenty. So yeah, but it's been a while.��

“Well, I've read it several times, and every single time, when she's going on and on about oysters and how she prepares them and all that, I just have to shake my head, because I find oysters absolutely disgusting, just as you do.”

“Are they better or worse than tomatoes?”

“Worse. A thousand times worse.” She picked around the tomatoes on her plate, eating pieces of cheese and lettuce speared on her fork. “If I may ask, what brings you to Tunisia?”

“Oh, it's a, uh, a medical trip, of sorts.”

“Hm, I see. Like, medical tourism sort of thing? I've heard of that, and you're American, I take it?”

“I am, yeah. No, it's not for me. I mean, I'm not getting treated for anything.” She twisted her napkin between her fingers, trying hard to look nonchalant.

“You're doing the treating, then, perhaps?”

“Something like that.”

“Cosima?”

She spun around to find Delphine three feet behind her, frowning. “Oh, hey! When did you get here?”

“I got here a few minutes ago, as I said in my message. Did you get my message?”

Cosima dug in her purse for her phone. “The last message I got just said...” She looked at her phone. Sure enough, two new messages from Delphine, at 1:12 and 1:20. It was now 1:27. “Shit.”

“You haven't reserved a table, then, I take it.”

“They wouldn't let me unless I could give a more specific time!”

“Well, if you'd checked your messages, you would have had one. But now we have to wait.” She gestured over to the hostess stand, where a West African man in a linen suit waved and headed in their direction through the other diners. “He has a busy schedule, you know. He is a doing us a favor.”

Cosima gathered her coat and purse. The bartender had their room number to charge for the meal, thankfully. Fussing over credit card payments wouldn't improve either of their moods. “I do know that, and actually, Delphine, I've been checking my messages all day, and you weren't sending any, so maybe you should lay off a little bit?”

It was not the right thing to say, and it was not the right time to say it, but it came out of Cosima's mouth anyway. Delphine's eyebrows went up. She glanced over at the woman to Cosima's right, who was smart enough to pretend she wasn't listening. “Well,” Delphine said, “at least you made a new friend.”

The man in the linen suit reached them and gave Cosima a broad smile.

“Dr. N'Jikam,” Delphine said, “this is Cosima Niehaus, my research partner.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Miss Niehaus. Dr. Simplice N'Jikam, from Médecins Sans Frontières. Dr. Cormier and I used to work together. Perhaps she's mentioned me.”

She put her best smile on for him and shook his hand. “Yes, she has. It's a pleasure to meet you, too.”

As dramatic as Delphine was about waiting for a table, they only had to wait five minutes to get one. Cosima sat across from Delphine, with Dr. N'Jikam to her left. Predictably, Cosima wasn't very hungry any more, but she ordered a carrot salad with hard boiled eggs and another cup of tea. Delphine ordered a lamb platter with couscous and vegetables. She must not have eaten since that morning, either. At least she seemed healthier than she had the day before.

Dr. N'Jikam started off the conversation as soon as they'd ordered. “So, you are going to Yemen.”

Delphine nodded. “That's correct.”

“When do you plan to be there, and for how long?”

“We're not sure exactly,” Cosima said. “It depends on how successful we are there. Right now, we have five days scheduled in early March, but that could change.”

The waiter brought their drinks – water for Delphine, coffee for Dr. N'Jikam, and mint tea for Cosima.

“And what exactly,” Dr. N'Jikam asked Delphine, “is your measure of success for this trip? What is your objective?”

“We've identified three women with a specific phenotype that puts them at risk for a terminal condition, and we plan to inoculate them against it, or cure them if they've already developed symptoms.”

His eyebrows rose. “What condition is that?”

“It's only recently been discovered, so there's not an agreed-upon name for it yet.”

“I see. And you've already identified patients already? How?”

“It's a long story. Some of our connections back in Canada gave us the information.”

The answer satisfied him, and he sipped on his coffee. For Cosima, though, the effects of her earlier bowl of soup and all the accompanying water became pressing, so she excused herself, meeting Delphine's “wtf” look with a wide eyes. Whatever. It would be worse to sit there bouncing and in pain, unable to focus. Waiting in line for the ladies room for the second time, she rummaged in her purse for her bottle of TUMS, and took two.

Back at the table, the food had once again arrived in her absence. Squeezed onto the table between the plates, glasses, silverware, decorative flower arrangement, and complimentary flatbread, Dr. N'Jikam had his tablet and a pad of line-free paper, which he and Delphine crouched over between bites. Delphine glanced at her when she sat down, and continued her conversation with Dr. N'Jikam in French.

Cosima ate her salad and listened, picking out about half of what Delphine said and less than a quarter of what Dr. N'Jikam said. She'd read that Cameroonian French was a little different than Canadian or Parisian French, but she hadn't expected such a great difference. But then, Delphine wasn't having any such difficulties. From what Cosima understood, they talked about the Yemeni refugee crisis, camps, transportation options, and money, and then Dr. N'Jikam said something that made Delphine laugh. Cosima raised her eyebrows at her, hoping for a translation, but none came.

At the end of the meal, Delphine excused herself to use the restroom, letting Cosima handle paying for the meal.

“How was it?” she asked Dr. N'Jikam.

“Pardon? Oh, it was excellent,” he said. He dabbed at his lips with the napkin and smiled at her. “Thank you.”

“You're very welcome,” Cosima said. The food and the rain made her sleepy, but she needed to keep up appearances. “So, uh, how long have you been with MSF?”

“A long time. Twenty years, almost. And I've been, oh, I've been everywhere.” He laughed at that, so she smiled along. “But we've been talking the whole time, and you've said very little. Tell me, Miss Nyehouse, is it Nyehouse or Neuhaus? I can't remember.”

“Uh, Niehaus, actually, but that's not important.”

“It's important to me.” Another grin. “So tell me, Miss Niehaus, how long are you working for Dr. Cormier?”

“Well, I've been working with her for about three years now.”

“Three years, okay. I've known her for almost five years, since right after her doctorate. I wasn't aware before that she had any students.”

“She doesn't.”

He paused, hand midair on its way to adjust his glasses. “No? I thought that...”

“Wait, did she tell you that I'm her student?”

Dr. N'Jikam did not miss the way Cosima leaned over the table as she spoke, and he leaned back to compensate. “Oh,” he laughed, “I don't remember! You know, as we age, ours minds are not so good.”

“Right. Okay.”

He left as soon as Delphine got back, shaking their hands again and repeating his best wishes and his pleasure at having met them both. Delphine promised to keep in touch throughout their travels.

At the elevators, Cosima told Delphine, “You know, if you didn't need me to be there, you could have just said so.”

Delphine rolled her head around on her shoulders. “What are you talking about?”

“You know I understood like, less than half of that entire conversation. You made it pretty obvious you didn't need my contribution.”

Delphine sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose. An elevator at the end of the row dinged, and they hustled to get on it along with a gaggle of rain soaked tourists. They flattened themselves against the back wall. “He prefers speaking in French,” Delphine said.

“Does he really. English didn't seem to be much an issue for him when we first sat down, or after you'd gone to the bathroom.”

The elevator stopped to let some people off at the third floor, and replace them with a Japanese couple in bath robes, fresh from the third floor sauna. Cosima could have been at the sauna during that entire lunch, and it wouldn't have mattered. Whatever.

“How about our patient?” she asked. “You said she was difficult.”

“She refused the vaccination. Nothing I said, nothing her doctor said, convinced her, and she left without it. After talking my ears off about every medical problem she's ever had, and how doctors are responsible for every single one of them.”

“Oh sh... shoot, really?” That had never happened before. Usually, once the doctor explained it, the patient accepted the vaccine. The trick was often just getting them into the doctor's office to begin with.

“Really. She claims that vaccines made her infertile.”

The elevator stopped at the eighth floor and let out everyone else, then moved on up to the tenth, where Cosima and Delphine got off.

“The doctor is trying to bring her back the day after tomorrow,” Delphine said. “If she still refuses, though...”

“She won't. We'll think of something.” Cosima reached for her arm, but Delphine moved away to unlocked the door and push it open.

Inside the room, Delphine set up her papers on her bed, and sat in the armchair next to it with her laptop. “Dr. N'Jikam sent us both a list of other contacts we should talk to. Some are in Libya, which he doesn't know as much about, but cautions us against visiting.”

Cosima opened her laptop on the desk. She had had other ideas for the afternoon, especially since it seemed they'd be staying in Sousse longer than originally planned. Delphine was buried in her work, though, chewing on a thumbnail, so Cosima might as well follow suit.

“Great. Sounds like a perfect afternoon.”

* * *

That night, after pouring over Dr. N'Jikam's information, calling and emailing his contacts in Yemen, Libya, and a Jordanian refugee camp, and a last minute phone call with one of Art's Arabic translators, the walls of their little hotel room were pressing in against both of them. Cosima's eyes hurt from differentiating tiny Arabic words from other tiny Arabic words and staring at screens, but there was one more email to write.

Dear Dr. Lacrabére,

I was directed to you by Dr. Simplice N'Jikam of Médecins Sans Frontières because

“It goes the other way.”

“Huh?”

Delphine stood behind her, one hand in her damp hair. “It's Dr. Lacrabère, not Lacrabére. You need the accent grave, not aigu.”

“Oh. Shit. Thank you.”

Delphine walked on towards their suitcase and said, “It's not Spanish.”

“Yeah, I'm aware of that, thanks.” She finished the email, watching Delphine's eyebrows do that sarcastic little wiggle in her peripheral vision. “By the way, did you tell Dr. N'Jikam that I'm your student?”

“What?”

“He thought I was your student. Like, your graduate student or something.”

Delphine dug around her suitcase for a bottle of lotion. “I don't know why. I introduced you as my research partner. You were there when I introduced you, yes?”

“Well, yeah, but...”

“But what?”

“I dunno. It was just weird, that's all.”

“Okay.” She sat on the edge of her bed and rubbed lotion into feet. “You should take your shower now, so you're not up too late. I'm going to talk to the doctor at the clinic again tomorrow.”

Cosima refrained from replying with “yes, Dr. Cormier,” but she got up and gathered her shower things. At the bathroom door she turned back and saw Delphine massaging lotion into her left calf, her eyes closed.

The hotel bathroom was nice, with a bathtub and strong water pressure from the shower head. She let the water beat against her back, her head bowed. When she got out of the shower later, Delphine would probably be in bed. A different bed, because of course no one could know they were lovers, so they had separate twin beds. Again. Delphine's eyes would be covered, and she'd be turned away from Cosima because the light was on Cosima's side of the room. She would not want to talk, either about important topics or trivial ones. And then she would get up early in the morning to try convincing their sister here in Sousse that she needed a vaccine. And Cosima would.... what?

Maybe she'd stay in tomorrow. The forecast called for more rain, after all. She could work on her dissertation, enter more data and run some preliminary stats on them. She could go back to the restaurant and drink a couple more gallons of mint tea. She could stay in bed all day, and it wouldn't make much of a difference.

She turned off the shower and leaned against the tile wall. How long would it take for Delphine to wonder what she was doing in here, or what was taking her so long? Or was Delphine still so annoyed with her that she was happy to have Cosima out of the bedroom for a while?

The steam from the shower swirling around her, she slid down in the bathtub, her face in her hands. Tears pushed out of her eyes before she could stop them, and then she was sobbing.

A minute or so later, the door opened, and Cosima took some deep breaths to try to gain some control, hands still over her face.

“Cosima? Hey, hey, hey....” And then Delphine's hands were on her neck, and her arm was around her shoulders. “Shh... come here.”

She leaned onto Delphine's shoulder and cried some more, soaking her T-shirt and clinging to her arms with wet fingers. “I'm sorry,” she managed. “I'm sorry.”

“For what?”

“For not seeing your messages, for not knowing French better, for not helping you cure the Ledas, for everything.”

Delphine stroked her arms and her back and kissed her head. “Chérie, it's okay. I don't expect you to know French very well, and you cannot help me with the Ledas any more than you already are. You know that. You already do so much for them, anyway. And the thing with the messages was just a mistake, a misunderstanding. It's okay.”

“It didn't seem that okay earlier.”

Delphine's chest rose and fell as she sighed. “I was just... irritated earlier. That's all. I'm sorry I took it out on you.”

Cosima held on to her, nose in the crook of her neck. Delphine had some new jasmine-scented body wash that smelled okay, but didn't smell like Delphine. Cosima wanted her to smell liked Delphine again, goddammit. “I love you,” she whispered.

“I know. Je t'aime aussi.” She kissed her eyes, her lips, and the tip of her nose. “We should get you out of this tub, though.”

“Yeah, this isn't very comfortable.” She let Delphine help her out of the tub and into a towel. “Are you still mad at me?”

“No,” Delphine said. “I was, but I'm not anymore.”

She nodded. “Yeah, I was a little bit pissed at you, too.”

“Are you still?”

She shook her head and finished drying herself off. “No, not anymore. I... I can see why you were upset. I should've just kept my phone out the whole time so I'd see your messages, and...”

Delphine folded the towel in half and hung it up on the rod next to hers. “Maybe. I don't think I would've been quite so upset with you if you hadn't been talking to that girl, though, if we're being completely honest.”

“That girl?” Cosima smiled now as she pulled on her shorts. “She's, like, our age or older.”

“Oh? Is she?”

There was an edge in Delphine's voice, so Cosima put her hands on Delphine's waist. “I didn't ask, and she didn't tell me. There is nothing for you to worry about. I'm engaged to you, and nobody else.” She kissed her, but pulled back after a moment. “I mean, we are still engaged, aren't we?”

Delphine's laugh turned into a cough. “Yes, we are still engaged! Just because we can't tell everyone doesn't change that fact. Now come on, let's go to bed.”

Cosima tucked herself into bed and watched Delphine tweeze her eyebrows with the help of a pocket mirror. Delphine did that most nights, and some mornings, sometimes also yanking hairs from her nostrils in ways that made Cosima's eyes water just watching her do it. “What would your eyebrows look like if you didn't do that?” she asked.

“Euhh... let's not find out, okay?” She got one more hair from her left eyebrow and closed the mirror, then turned off the overhead light and sat on the edge of Cosima's bed, looking down at her. “I want to stay attractive for you as long as possible.”

“Yeah, same here. I mean, for myself. For you.” She wasn't terribly attractive at the moment, of course, but she wasn't going to bring that up.

Delphine rubbed Cosima's abdomen through the blankets. “I'm sorry the beds are so small.”

“It's not your fault. And it's not forever. Here.” She scooted all the way to one side and pulled the blanket back. “You can climb in for a minute if you want.”

“A minute.” Delphine stretched herself out under the heavy blankets and faced Cosima. “I think we're both very tired.”

“Yeah, and you're still sick, even if you're moving around better.” She linked her fingers with Delphine's. “I don't want you to think that I don't appreciate everything you do. For us, I mean. For all of us.”

Delphine kissed her eyes, damp again with tears. “I don't think that. I know that you do.”

“Good.”

“And I don't do any of it by myself. I couldn't do any of it by myself, and I would never want to.”

Cosima thought of Delphine earlier that day, spending hours trying to convince a clone that she had a condition that would kill her one day. “Do you want me to go to the clinic with you? To try convincing our skeptical Tunisian sister?”

Delphine gave an amused little huff. “I would like that very much, but I'm not sure it's a good idea.”

“Right. Probably not.” She tucked herself as close to Delphine as possible, angling her face so that Delphine wasn't breathing directly into her eyes. Delphine wiggled her arm so she could hold Cosima's hand between their faces.

“Of course she's allowed to refuse, but I have some ideas that might convince her.”

“Ideas that don't involve clone disclosure.”

“Of course.”

“Are we still doing our five day rule if she keeps refusing?”

Delphine groaned. “No. I think, if she refuses a second time, we let her refuse, and we move on. She'll have our information, we'll have hers, and we can always come back. I am not arguing with her for five days.”

“Fair enough. That sounds like a plan, then. We really do need to come up with a decent name for this disease, though. Maybe not tonight, but some time before we've cured everybody.”

“I've been thinking of one, actually. I thought of it today, when Inès was questioning everything I said.”

“Yeah?” Cosima propped herself up a few inches. “Can I hear it?”

“I was thinking we could call it Fitzsimmon's Carcinoma.”

Cosima remembered the chipper swim coach whose body had taught them so much about what their disease was and the ways that it couldn't be treated, and she smiled. “I like it.”

“I hoped you would.” She pulled Cosima closer and snuggled against her body. “I didn't want to name it without your permission.”

“Well, you have my enthusiastic permission to use it. I'll tell the sestras tomorrow.” She yawned into Delphine's chest and kissed her her collarbone. “Je t'aime,” she whispered.

Delphine giggled. “I love you, too. Very much.”

And with one hand tucked into Delphine's, and the fingers on her other hand hooked on the waist of Delphine's shorts, Cosima drifted off to sleep.

#my writing #continuing travels of cophine #cophine fanfiction

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thepensiverambler · 7 years

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PAMUKKALE

The night before arriving at Imece for the first time I had spent the night at Izmir bus station so it was fitting that on the day that I left I should return to spend another night there. I felt like a local as I strode into the vast station, unrolled my roll mat and spent the night in surprising comfort. We (Sophie, Davide, Matilda and I) woke the next morning to catch the ‘5 30’ bus to Denizli. Apparently ‘5 30’ really means 6 but soon we were on the bus for around 4 hours. During those 4 hours I snoozed a little and wrote my previous post on Sophie's phone. Having had wifi for only a couple of hours a week for my time at the village, I've grown accustomed to not using my phone a great deal. Upon leaving the village I took the opportunity to take my technological abstinence one step further by leaving my charger behind. (Edit from swood -if this makes it sound like freddie decided to challenge both himself and modern convention by deliberately leaving it behind, let me make it clear that all that happened was he forgot it because he’s a melt). With such powerful smartphones as we have today the hindrance is greater than simply not being able to contact people. I rely on my phone to track my location, take photos and most importantly to write my blog. I refuse to buy a charger as I'll be home in a few days and will be surrounded by a plethora of chargers. I shall instead rely on the kindness of locals to lend me a charger when and where they can. Upon arrival in Denizli we were loaded onto a minibus bound for Pamukkale. By the time our minibus left it was already full yet we kept picking more people up. First a mother and her 3 children stood patiently, then a boy around my age with an ear ring, then another mother and her 2 children. As the bus filled up I started to wonder at what point the driver would have to refuse people. I suppose everyone could have someone on their lap if they had to. Before it got to that stage the four of us were bundled off the bus and into another. This time we were alone. Instead of going to the bus station the driver took us straight to the office of the bus company he worked for. They told us to book a bus today or we probably wouldn't be able to catch one the next day. Unsure about our plans for the coming days we made our excuses and backed out of the office, had breakfast and checked into a hostel. At around 12 30 fatigue hit me. I don't mean to melodramatic but I was so tired I thought I might drop down at any moment. Was the labour of the village catching up to me? I decided there was no 2 ways about it and that if I wanted to be a functioning member of society in the afternoon I'd have to take a quick nap. A brief 2 hours later I rose to Sophie telling me that the Italians were waiting for me downstairs to go up to the salt flats. I dragged my leaden body from my heavenly mattress. We headed to Pamukkale’s main attraction; the salt flats. They were remarkable. I've never seen anything of the like, from a distance you would mistake it as for snow. When one walks on it barefoot, (and one has to walk it barefoot or the police would blow their whistles and shout) it was coarse to touch, like a gigantic roll of white sandpaper with water flowing over the top. The view from the top was absolutely incredible. We walked up to the top in the midday heat, all the while I was longing for the bed I had so rudely been dragged from instead of sweating buckets without enough water. Upon arrival we discovered there were more ruins to explore, so explore them we did. It was difficult to gain much information about the history of the ruins so we either had to use our imagination or just accept that we were simply admiring large old stones. Again, the main question on my lips was simply “how did they move all these stones around”. We watched to sunset over the salt flats whilst Davide and Matilda paddled about in the stream of warm water and then headed into town for a beer. 3 of us ordered draft beer which was as flat and watery as you could imagine. Safe to say the second round was bottled. We had an extremely late supper where I asked the waiter if I could use his phone charger. Despite our hostel being opposite a fantastically tin foil covered club after dinner we called it a night. I was in a bed with WiFi. What luxury. Such privilege had been the stuff of dreams during my days in the the tent but now it was a reality. The day before our hostel owner had she could give us a discount on her brothers Paragliding company. After little more gentle haggling and looking worried it would be too much she agreed on a price of 100 lira (25 euros). It was dirt cheap and we couldn't say no to such an offer. We rose, sho wered, breakfasted, paid the man got in a minibus and a few minutes later ran of the side of a cliff. We flew over the ruins, the salt flats and landed in a rocky car park, shouted and waved at the people below us. It was, in a word, amazing. Afterwards, the experience was soured a little by our pilots trying to convince us to buy the photos of our experience. It would have been another 100 lira therefore doubling the price of the flight. It was not a hard decision for me. Afterwards we had lunch with Davide and Matilda before saying goodbye to them as they will fly home on Wednesday night. Sophie and I had decided we were going to try and see how far along toward Istanbul we could get tonight. We didn't have much of a plan it has to be said. We asked shop owner after shop owner if they had any scrap cardboard we might use to make a sign. It took 45 minutes before we found a kind roadside shop owner with a fantastic beard that gave us Çay and cardboard. So with our sign and our thumbs out we sat and waited. We waited for a while and then decided that we were on the wrong side of the road. We crossed the road and waited some more until a car full of people stopped and told us to go on the other side of the road. We crossed the road again. Maybe our sign wasn't big enough? We wrote Istanbul much larger on our sign. Still no one stopped. Perhaps people weren't getting the idea that we weren't expecting them to take us the whole way. We wrote Denizli, on our sign. About 10 minutes later a man in a white car stopped and picked us up. He dropped us in Denizli saying that if we crossed the road we would surely get a lift to Istanbul. We were full of hope and wonder but before we could set up shop by the side of the motorway and man came to talk to us. He spoke no English. I speak next to no Turkish. Regardless we were able to understand that he was advising Sophie should wear more clothes as with the clothes she was in it would be very dangerous. ‘Ok’ we said and I passed Sophie a hoodie despite the sweltering heat. He then explained to us that there would be no direct way to Istanbul and that most of the cars on the road would be headed to Ankarra that night. He kept asking where we would sleep that night. We didn't know. The plan hadn't been that coherent. After a long while on the grass beside the motorway this kind man offered to take us on his motorbike to the bus station. We accepted as he painted a pretty dim picture of our chances of getting a ride to Istanbul today. So on the bike we got. All three of us and our bags. It turns out we were with the most careful man in Turkey. He'd stopped to make sure we were safe and the he drove slowly and without any sharp movement. It's was 3 kilometres to the bus station but we had to pull over for 2 breaks. As I believe our drive was struggling a little with the weight pressing upon him. When we arrived at the bus station our dutiful tour guide took us in and made sure we were looked after by an English speaking bus company employee. We had two choices; we could get a bus to Izmir, stay the night there and try and hitchhike from Izmir the next day, or we could catch a night bus. We flipped a coin. Izmir. Sophie decided she wanted to go to Istanbul. Istanbul it was.

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brisbanemusic · 7 years

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March 15-21

Don’t forget you can get the whole Guide a day early and you can choose our feature gigs if you support us on PATREON! We’re powered by coffee and your encouragement on Facebook, twitter and instagram. And you can submit gigs through any of those places or though our FORM or via email! Hit us up at [email protected]

Venues this week: the Back Room, Barbara, The Bearded Lady, Black Bear Lodge, Boundary Hotel, Brightside, Brisbane Powerhouse, Can You Keep A Secret, The City Sounds Stages, Crowbar, Empire Hotel, The Foundry, Frequencies TV, Greaser, Greenslopes Bowls Club, The Haunt, The Henderson, HeYa Bar, JMI Live, Johnny Ringo’s, Junk Bar, Lefty’s Old Time Music Hall, The Menagerie Cafe, Milk Factory, Netherworld, New Globe Theatre, Press Club, QLD Conservatorium, the Retro Bar, Rics Bar, Sonny’s House of Blues, The Stable, The Triffid, Woolly Mammoth, the Zoo

Wednesday 15

Jake Hoskins (WA) at Can You Keep A Secret: Free entry, from 8pm. More info on FB

James Bennett (NSW) at the Triffid: Free entry, from 5pm. More info at V FB

[JAZZ] Shannon Marshall Band feat. Johnny Smallcombe at the Press Club: Free entry, from 9:30pm. More info on FB

[BAND COMP] Moves, Vertigo, For The Wolves and Bixby Canyon at the Brightside: Free entry, from 8pm. More info on FB

[JAZZ] 3 Down feat. Gracie Mack at Rics Bar: Free entry, from 9pm. More info on FB

Zac Gunthorpe, Megan Cooper and Cameron Milford at the Retro Bar: $10, music from 8pm. FB

Thursday 16

Cloud Tangle (EP launch), McKisko and Dream City at the End: Free entry, from 7pm. More info on FB - sub

Hummin Trio at Can You Keep A Secret: More info on FB

WAAX and The Dead Love at the Foundry: Free entry, from 8pm. More info at E FB

Closet Disco Queen (CH), BARGE with an antenna on it, Belligerent Goat and Swamp Jenson at the Bearded Lady: $10 entry, from 8pm. More info on FB

[JAZZ] Belephwants at the Queensland Conservatorium: Free for Con students, from 1pm, more info on FB

[JAZZ] Lateo at JMI Live: $10 entry, Licensed ALL AGES, jam from 6pm, band from 8pm. More info on FB

Leavings, Purveyors of the Irregular and Acid Cat at the Milk Factory: $10 entry, from 8pm. More info on FB

Friday 17

Cheap Fakes and The Hi Boys at the Boundary Hotel: Free entry, from 7pm. More info on FB

Dirty Liars, Blend, Silence The Sun, Collission, Parameters and middle-earth at the Back Room: $15 entry, doors at 4:30pm. More info on FB

Pool Shop, McKisko, Amaringo and Johnny Cyrus and His Band of Ghosts at the Woolly Mammoth: Tickets $13.30, from 8pm. More info on FB

Valhalore, Dragonsmead, Amicable Treason, Seraphic and Harvey Djent at the Brightside: Tickets $18.40, doors at 7pm. More info on FB or FB

Down the Kings, Huntington, Roadhouse and For The Wolves at the Zoo: Tickets $12.25, door price $15, from 8pm. More info on FB

Kudos and TJ at the Milk Factory: Tickets $12.75, from 8pm. More info on FB

Tim Sparks Fire, Stayclose, Her Affinity, Crimson Nights and Vesper Green

at the New Globe Theatre: $20, music from 7pm. Set times on FB

Daneel & The Feel and Mr Clyde at Rics: Free, 9-11pm. Set times on FB

Wax’o Paradiso at the Foundry: $10 before 11pm, $15 after. FB

Sexdrive, Dagz and Bloodletter at the Bearded Lady: $10, from 8pm. FB

[JAZZ] James Sandon Trio at JMI Live: $10 entry, Licensed ALL AGES, jam from 6pm, band from 8pm. More info on FB

Born Joy Dead and Whalehouse at HeYa Bar: FREE, from 8:30pm. FB

ADKOB and Hawkmoon at the Empire Hotel: Free, from 7pm. FB

Black Strides at the Retro Bar: $15, from 7pm. FB

Tuxedo Kitten at the City Sounds Milano Stage: Free, from 4:30pm, set times at V

Susanna O’Leary at the City Sounds Wintergarden Stage: Free, from 5pm, set times at V

Saturday 18 March

Chocolate Strings and the Essie Thomas Ensemble at the Boundary Hotel: FREE, music from 7pm. FB

Snake Bite Whisky, Spirit Bunny and Slato at Netherworld: Free, 2pm-11pm, more details on FB

Dorsal Fins and others at the Foundry: Tickets $17.85/$20 at the door, doors 8pm. FB

ILUKA, OJ Mengel and Angharad Drake at the Milk Factory: Tickets $14.30, from 7:30pm. FB

Blake Dantier Band at Johnny Ringo’s: Free, 7pm-midnight. FB

Stone River Fever at the Retro Bar: $15, from 7:30pm FB

The Ceilidh Clan at the City Sounds Wintergarden Stage: Free, from midday, set times at V

Sunas at the City Sounds Wintergarden Stage: Free, from midday, set times at V FB

The Dollar Bill Murrays, Port Royal, Kodiak Empire and Rugged Coast at the Foundry: $5, ALL AGES, 1:30-5pm. FB

Sunday 19 March

In Real Life, David Theron, Feelsclub, Sleep Club, Biyolk, GNIGHTz and Spacecowboy4005 at the Foundry: Free, 6pm-3am. More details at FB

LiveSpark: Sue Ray and Brad Butcher at the Brisbane Powerhouse Turbine Platform: Free entry, ALL AGES, from 3:30-5:30pm. More info at V

SS Sebastian at the Milk Factory: $10, 4:30-6:30pm, more details at FB

Sarah Haigh and the Wicked Messenger at The Henderson: Free, all ages, 3-5pm. FB

[BLUES] BB Factory hosted Blues Jam at Lefty’s Old Time Music Hall: Free, 3:30-7:30pm. FB

[JAZZ] Shaw/Garton duo and Charlotte McLean Quintet at Frequencies TV: $10, BYO, 4-6pm. FB

The Settlement at Lefty’s Old Time Music Hall: Free, from 5pm. FB

[JAZZ] Eddie Gazani at the Retro Bar: Tickets $15, from 7:30pm FB

Tuesday 21 March

[JAZZ] Brad McCarthy Trio at Black Bear Lodge: Free, from 7pm. FB

Steve P and Hayden John at Rics: Free, from 8:30pm. FB

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insidesanity · 5 years

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More fanfic

N “You’re welcome Mr. Banderknott.”

“How-yawn- do you know my name, I haven’t-yawn- taken potions yet, Mom won’t let me till second year. Was pardoned.”

“If I didn’t know the names of all the students here I would be a dismal teacher indeed. Now go to sleep.” The boy yawned one more time before going into a deeper sleep. As Snape walked down the many winding corridors he had to resist the temptation to take the boy back to his own rooms, which were closer, to heal the boy, as well as have him close by for…sustenance. However, the boy’s already pale frame convinced him otherwise, and he kept walking.

Knocking on the door to the infirmary took more willpower than Snape expected, but he did it none the less. Opening the door Poppy gasped, eyes wide.

“Severus, what did you do? What have you done?” She cried trying to pull the boy away from Severus and back away at the same time.

“I have done nothing!” Snapped Severus, giving up the boy. “I found him on the floor near a suit of armor, bleeding to death after falling, or being pushed, onto a sword. I cleaned his wound and brought him here. Do not assume I would lose control of myself!” Poppy stared at the Professor disbelievingly, as Snape felt the smallest twinge of guilt at lying to the nurse.

“Your palor is better than yesterday” Poppy said flatly as she held the boy tightly.

“There was blood on the floor, it was insulting to stoop to that level, but I’d rather not kill anyone. Now goodnight, and ask the boy about bullying, I don’t want this to happen again” Severus’s cloak whisked around the corner seconds later, leaving a bewildered Poppy to care for the boy.

Only when he reached his quarters did Snape stop to relax and slide into a black leather chair in front of a quickly lit fire. Only then did he think about what happened. And only then did he curse his own stupidity as well as himself for feeding on the boy too long, and at all. Holding his head in his hands he muttered to himself.

“Why did I not keep some of that blood for later, I can’t expect a meal every night, let alone a full one.” Sighing, Snape shook his head and ran fingers through hair that was slightly oily. Getting up he undressed and prepared for a fitful night.

Next morning as Snape ate some bacon wishing for something more raw, McGonagal sat down next to him and pushed a large vial of red liquid at him. Looking at the vial Snape could tell it was blood. Turning his gaze at McGonagall he asked a silent question, she just pursed her lips. She was not going to say whose it was, if she had gotten it from Poppy, a fight in the halls, a donor, or herself.

“Make it last.” She said before going back to her food. Snape nodded and slid the vial into his robes, he didn’t need a meal every day, he’d have a drop later that night before bed, to see whose blood it was, and what condition it was in, but not now, when he had eaten last night. He went back to munching on his bacon waiting for his first class, as usual though he left before everyone else. On his way to the dungeons a familiar smell hit his large nose, blood, fresh.

“This will be the end of me.” He muttered to himself. He set off, cloak billowing behind him, to find the source. He heard the problem long before he saw it. Two students were dueling, loudly.

“Expelliarmus!”

“Protego!”

“Furnu-!”

“ENOUGH!” Snape said as he rounded the corner! Both boys were startled out of the duel. One was a Ravenclaw and the other Gryffindor, both second year students. One sported long yellow hair that grasped his ankles while the other had tattered robes and was smoking slightly. Snape pointed to the one with tentacled hair. “Finite incantatum!” The hair stopped struggling but remained ankle length. “Report to Filch at 9’o clock tonight for detention, both of you. You,” Snape said to the boy with tattered robes, “infirmary now, you’re bleeding from a vein, it needs to be stopped.”

The boy started. “What? Where? How can you tell?”

Snape pointed at the floor, which had a spattering of blood on it, and then to the boys neck which had a thin stream of blood flowing across it. “That kind of flow is created when a vein is cut directly, now go before you faint from blood loss, and minus 100 points from both your houses for fighting, and no, I am not interested in why this miserable excuse for a duel was started, now both of you Go!” The boys scrambled to comply. “And do something about that atrocious hair before class!” Growled Snape. “This will be the death of me, why is there so much blood now of all times?” Snape looked at the floor and saw the blood spattering, and sighed as he felt a small tinge of hunger hit him. He quickly looked around to confirm the emptiness of the hall.

“Accio blood.” He muttered and ushered the meager flow into a vial from his robes, before hurrying to his first class of the day.

The first half of the day was uneventful, if tiresome from fighting, incompetence, and unruliness. At midday Snape took lunch in his quarters, drinking the miniscule amount of blood from the skirmish he stopped earlier to relieve a pounding headache. Preparing for his Newt level class of Slytherins and Ravenclaws he sighed, this was going to be a long class. Many of the ingredients used in the potion they were going to be making needed to be sliced, diced, or cut into strips. Snape only hoped there would be no accidents, despite the rivalry to show off and see who was more knowledgeable, often by sabotage.

Everything was fine until the end of the class when a Slytherin boy threw a firecracker under the table of a Ravenclaw who was cleaning up. Snape saw it of course, but since most of the potions were already gone he deemed it not to be hazardous. Unfortunately, it did scare the Ravenclaw, and the boy’s knife got propelled into the table, along with the tiniest bit of the skin between two of his fingers. The boys hand was now sluggishly bleeding and stuck to the table.

Snape could, of course, smell it, but he was not hungry due to his dinner last night and today’s lunch. He walked up as the boy tried in vain to pull the knife out of the table and his hand. Getting up beside the boy Snape breathed deeply, to those looking on it would seem he was trying to calm down, when really he was just enjoying the smell. He sighed.

“You will never-” Snape’s words startled the student who got a burst of strength from it and pulled the knife out as he was turning toward his feared professor. Still holding the knife out it went straight into Snape’s stomach, two inches deep. As the professor’s black robes grew wet very quickly the students’ eyes grew wide with horror. Snape put his hand to the growing wet spot and tugged the knife out, more blood rushed out as the only thing that was stopping it came out. Snape could smell his own blood, and was now very aware of how much he was losing, just as he was aware of how much he would need to drink. Suddenly, he was very thirsty.

“Get out. Now. Get all of your things and leave immediately. Mr. Flory, Mr. Slazor, detention, see the Headmaster immediately. Leave, NOW!” The students were already gathering their things and banishing cauldrons before the sentence was completed. Not 5 seconds later the only thing left in the room was Snape, and the bloody knife. Pointing his wand at the still bleeding gash the tired wizard shot a healing spell at it. The wound closed mostly, but still bled sluggishly. Only time would help now.

Moving to his private rooms he waited for his abilities to heal the wound. The pain, such that would incapacitate any one else, merely annoyed the old Ex-Death Eater. Next he summoned bandages and wrapped his stomach until the wound could not be seen and no one would know that the wound had healed without healing potions, as they leave magical residue. Pointing his wand at the fireplace he lit a fire and summoned Dumbledore.

“Headmaster, I need to see you immediately.” Dumbledore did not even reply, he just came out of the fire.

“My dear boy, what happened?” Dumbledore said as he looked on in concern.

“I got a knife imbeded in my stomach by a dunderhead student who wasn’t paying attention, because another idiot student set a firecracker off near his knife. I’m sending them both up to you. That however, is the least of my concerns, I’ll heal. I did however lose a great deal of blood.” Dumbledore did look quite alarmed at this. “As such I’d like to take the rest of the day off, not only to keep up appearances of being human and needing rest, but because I am tired and …thirsty.”

Dumbledore looked at Snape and nodded. “Of course my boy. I could also donate some-”

“No. You know what blood of such high magical content does to some vampires, I could get addicted to it. I’d only ask before a fight Albus, or if one… I was dying. Kids, stuff off the ground from their fights, I don’t have to worry about. You, you’re…aged. ”

Dumbledore smiled. “Well I may look 90 but I am 140.” He chuckled to himself. “Take a couple days off, I’ll cover potions for you. Just be sure to walk around a bit.” Snape nodded, as he got up to go to his quarters. Dumbledore patted him on the back and went to look at the potion master’s lesson plans. Too tired to do anything else, Snape threw his robe in the pile of clothes that was picked up each Wednesday for washing and fell into bed, completely forgetting about the blood McGonagall gave him in the robe.

Chapter 7 addiction

Next morning Snape woke up tired and hungry, very hungry. The cyclical events of feeding and losing blood were becoming maddening, and droll. He rolled around in his sheets, trying to get untangled. Yawning he slowly went to the mirror. His beard had grown last night, and since Dumbledore was taking over his classes, regrettably, he had time to trim his beard for once. A quick spell and a half inch of hair fell into the sink before him. He groomed himself slowly that morning, taking a while in the shower and enjoying the fact that he had time, although that pleasant fact was marred by the gnawing in his gut. Soon however it was time for breakfast in the Great Hall and Dumbledore said he should walk about, and he should at least stop in for the announcement about Dumbledore taking over his classes for a couple days. Dressing quickly he left the room, nimbly stepping over the hamper of dirty clothes that would be picked up by the house elves later that day. Walking the halls he decided to head for

breakfast to see if he could get some sausages or rare bacon. Of course it couldn’t be a peacefull transit.

“Furnunculus!”

“Reita!”

“Rictumsempra!”

“Petrificus totalus”

“Once again, ENOUGH! Petrificus Totalus Multissimo!”

The two students froze in place as Snape walked slowly up toward them.

“Did I not make myself clear yesterday? There is to be no fighting in the halls! One hundred and Fifty Points! From each of you! And detention with Filch all week! Finite Incantatum!” The students stayed frozen in place, one’s arms ready to cast the next spell but seemingly unable to move the other feeling about aimlessly in front of them.

Well? Must I spell it out for you every time? To the Infirmary! And I told you to cut your hair!” The students still did not move, Snape furious stalked up to the boy with short hair and put his hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

“What? Who’s there? Bill? Go get a professor-“

“Too bad one has already found you.” The student turned his head slowly to look blankly behind him. “H-hello Proffessor.”

“Fifty points, infirmary, now!” Snape barked.

“Professor, I can’t see.”

Snape grumbled and walked toward the other boy, who was unable to move.

“Finite incantatum. Go take your fellow student to to infirmary. Now. And if I catch either of your dueling again you will be having detention with me.” The boy stood there for a moment before scrambling to get the other student and running off.

Snape glowered after them and continued his trek toward some form of sustenance and soon arrived at the main hall. As soon as he neared the open door he stopped. The sound was deafening, a cacophony of drumbeats and rushing rivers sang under the yells and chatter of the morning. He looked up to the head table at Dumbledore and met his eyes. Dumbledore nodded and with all the affirmation he needed Snape turned with a flourish and left, but not before he saw McGonagall's concerned eyes. A thought flashed through his mind that made him rush towards his chambers. The vial, the blood, Mcgonagall had given him yesterday was still in his old robes.

With as fast a walk he could muster without breaking into an unseemly run Snape made his way towards his rooms. He swung open the door so hard it squeaked as its hinges strained. There, his laundry basket, he rushed over and reached in, only to find nothing. It was Wednesday, faculty laundry day. The basket snapped in his hand. He took a deep breath and counted to ten. Everything was fine, he just needed to call the elf assigned to the chambers in the dungeon.

“Lintals!”

With a pop a small female house elf appeared.

“Yes, how can Lintals be helping-“ the words died on her lips when she saw Snape looming over her. All the elves were aware of Snape’s condition, just as they were aware of Remus’. They were fairly sure that they weren’t considered food, fairly sure.

“Lintals, there was a vial in the pocket of my robes last night which I forgot to remove in my injured state. You obtained my laundry this morning, did you see the vial?”

“I believe so Mr Snape sir.”

“You believe so?” Snape whispered icily. Lintals squeaked.

“Lintals saw a few vials this morning sir, Lintals is sure one was yours.”

“Could you please retrieve it for me?”

“Yes Mr Snape sir!” And with a pop the house elf was gone. Snape sat in his chair to wait. Five minutes went by. This was abnormally long for a house elf. Ten minutes. Snape had had enough.

“Brinnie!” There was a pop and another elf appeared. An old old male with a torn ear and wearing old ripped socks students had left behind as arm and leg warmers appeared.

“Yes master Snape?”

“I sent Lintals to get a vial from my clothes and she has not returned. Find out what is going on and get her and my vial!”

With a pop the elf was gone, wasting no time on replies. Less than a minute later there was another pop and both Brinnie and Lintals were back. Lintals was shaking, she was holding onto Brinnie as if for dear life, but Brinnie shook her off and pushed her forward.

“What is the meaning of this? Where is my vial?”

“Mr Snape sir, Lintals found vial sir, but was not sure if it was right vial because there were other vials like it in pile of items from dungeon clothes batch. So so. - so Lintals opened vial to smell but some spilled. Vial was not-not- not full like it was. Lintals needed to find more of liquid like in vial, to replace that what was missing, so she could return it like it was, but Lintals could not figure out what potion was in vial! Bad Lintals! Lintals is bad house elf!” Lintals began to pull her ears in shame.

Snape sighed and held out his hand. Lintals stopped pulling her ears and shakily dropped the vial into his hand and backed away. The vial was ¾ full, Snape sighed, every drop lost was a huge loss, but there was nothing to be done, Doubtless the spill had been cleaned by now and the house elf would just punish itself.

“I am not pleased with this but there is nothing to be done, so refrain from further self injury please. Also next time please bring the vial and ask me instead of opening it….” The potions master pauses, his curiousity coming to the fore. “You can tell which potion belongs to whom by smelling it?” Lintals nodded her head.

“Yessir, other professor has strawberry smelling potion, and another has one that smells like fire, they often forget them in their robes.” Lintals exclaimed proudly. Snape shook his head and as he did he realized he could hear fast drumbeats, and his hunger was gnawing again. Snape looked down at the two house elves, waiting to be dismissed, and had a wrenching realization.

They would do whatever was ordered of them. His stomach turned and growled, audibly. Lintals squeaked and took a step back.

“Would mister Snape sir like some food?”

Snape nodded, a plan forming.

“Yes please bring me some steak, raw. Brinnie, you are dismissed.” With a loud pop both elves were gone. Snape immediately put the reclaimed vial into his bed side table drawer and retrieved another empty vial and waited.

Moments later Lintals returned with a plate of raw steak which Snape indicated she should put on a nearby table, which the elf did shakily.

“May Lintals be going now sir?”

“Not quite yet.” The elf was practically on the verge of fainting. Snape held up the vial. “ I need a small bit of blood for a potion, it can’t very well be mine and I cannot ask a student, would you please provide me with some? About say, the amount you spilled from the other vial?”

“Is Lintals being punished sir?”

“No, you would know if you were.” The elf nodded and with a snap of her fingers there was a bit of red in the vial. “Thank you Lintals, you may go as you wish.” The elf popped out of there before the sentence had finished echoing off the dungeon walls. Snape marked the cork of the vial with a quill and put it next to the other vial, which he removed. He was hungry, it was not the time for finding out what house elf blood did to a vampire, he threw a stasis charm on the new vial and closed the drawer.

He looked between the vial and the raw steak, and sat down at the table. He drained the glass of pumpkin juice brought with the steak and poured a bit of blood from the vial into the cup. He then began to cut up the steak. He eagerly put a piece in his mouth and chewed, and scowled. It was good, and he would most definitely eat it, but there was not enough blood in this to even whet his appetite. He pushed the plate away and picked up the glass. He still did not know whose this was. He smiled, he’d know soon enough, and he sipped from the glass. It was, amazing, akin to a smoky wine. He swallowed, and His entire body tingled with magic. He knew whose this was. He sipped, and almost sighed. It tasted of magic, of mice, and scrolls. He finished the glass, fully sated after the small amount and set to work on the steak. He looked at the nearly full vial and smirked.

“What a generous cat you are, Mcgonagall.”

Over the next week Snape had another sip from the vial. Classes went on as normal, and there were luckily No fights in hallways. That weekend he took another sip after trying the vial from the house elf, which while filling tasted odd and made him mildly nauseous.

The next week was stressful, two Owl level courses had exams, and he had a sip from the vial for each day. That weekend he graded papers and served detention to two students, whom he happily watched scrub cauldrons while having another sip to celebrate and enjoy the tingling sensation of magic in his veins.

The week after he had four sips, because he had to deal with first years, and his senses and reactions were sharper after drinking from the vial. He caught two fire crackers, three almost explosive potions, two fights in the hall, where he deflected spells midway to their target, and one late night wanderer as they left their dorm. He had two sips that weekend so he’d be ready for more the next week.

By then end of the month the vial contained one sip, which he had at the start of the new month after drinking the rest of the house elf blood hungrily.

By the second week of November Snape was starving, more so than before. House Elf blood, student blood, it quelled his thirst, but he yearned for more. He ended up going to breakfast and having barely cooked bacon as he sat next to his donor. He heard the drum of her heart and pushed it out of his head.

“Mcgonagall, is there any way I could obtain another vial for my studies?” He said as nonchalantly as he could.

Mcgonagall looked at Snape surprised.

“Severus that vial should be barely half empty, a bit or two a week should not have depleted it.

“A house elf spilled some retrieving it from my robes after I was injured.”

“Ah, I can have some for you tomorrow morn-“

“This evening please.”

Mcgonagall started, it was unlike Severus to ask for things, let alone make his want apparent by interrupting.

“Are you quite alright Severus?” Severus twitched a bit and looked at Minerva briefly before staring ahead.

“I am fine, just a bit hungry.”

Mcgonagall sincerely doubted that,. So it was four days later at 11:30 pm as she got ready for bed that Mcgonagall was alerted by the measuring charm she had placed on the vial, that it was already over half empty.

Chapter 8 the lioness and the serpent

Snape found himself in his chambers staring at the vial. He had had a sip, he wasn’t hungry, but he needed more. He completely understood what was going on, Minerva was older, her magic aged, powerful, and he was addicted to it. He was trying to decide if he cared and what he was going to do about it. He took another sip. He nearly shuddered, and he frowned at his lack of control, it would not do. He stoppered the vial and looked at it. It had been two weeks, the vial was nearly empty. He sighed and sat down, listening to the heartbeats of the sleeping children nearby. They were peaceful, steady, almost lulling him to sleep, and that’s when he heard it, the louder heart beat. It was stronger, very strong, and it was moving. Snape grabbed his wand and bolted out the door looking for, hopefully, an intruder he could eat.

The changing staircases posed no challenge as he leaped between them, ignoring the gasps of three portraits that were awake. He dashed around a column and followed the heartbeat which was getting louder by the moment. He rounded a corner as the drum neared deafening levels and ran into Mcgonagall carrying an armful of books.

“Severus! What is the matter with you!? Dashing around in the dark like that?!”

“I could ask you the same.” The had drum quieted, but had gotten faster.

“I know the castle well enough to not need a light anymore. What are you doing dashing about like a frantic fox?”

“I thought I heard something, it was apparently, just a cat with some books.” Snape looked at the titles. “Bindals guide to vampires, hmmm doing some research on me? Are you scared perhaps?”

Severus held out his arm letting the professor pass and walked along side her to her quarters.

“Nonsense. I would just like to know how to help you better.” Severus could hear her heart beat hold steady at a fast pace when it should have been slowing, was she lying or just scared?

“Surely you could just ask me.”

“If every organism knew all there was to know about itself it would be a perfect world, alas that is almost never the case.”

“I must agree with you there.”

“Besides I already know what you’d ask of me.”

Mcgonagall waved her hand and opened the door to her quarters.

“What pray tell do you think I’d ask for?”

“More,” Mcgonagall paused as if unsure how to say what came next tactfully “….food.”

“I once again must agree. Good night Minerva and good luck with your research.”

“Good night to You as well Severus.” The professor went to close her door but found it being held open by a rather strong grip. “Severus?”

“You should be.”

“Excuse me?”

Severus blinked once as if coming out of a daze.

“You should be getting to bed soon. Do not stay up all night.”

Mcgonagall looked at Snape concernedly, she nodded and closed the door. Somehow she doubted that that’s what he was going to say.

Severus stood outside the door a for few minutes listening to the loud powerful drumbeat inside the room. He had made up his mind. He quickly stalked back down to his chambers, he was hungry.

Later that night Minerva got a second alert from the measuring charm, the vial was empty.

Severus spent his following nights in a meticulous order from then on. He graded papers. He drank half a vial of Lintals blood and Obliviated her. He followed Mcgonagall from the shadows. He practiced using his skills and read on vampire lore. And he waited.

He was genial and normal to Mcgonagall during the day, he could see her slowly relaxing as time passed, but always he could tell where she was, always hear the drumbeat when she was near.

Mcgonagall on the other hand was acutely aware that something was off. Snape had yet to ask for more blood and besides the occasional twitch when startled by her was acting normal, which

was decidedly not normal in such a predicament.

Minerva gave Severus another vial later that week and her concern was proven justified when her measuring charm told her the vial was half empty that very night, and empty the next. She began to have an idea of what was going on.

That night she paced her chambers undecided, if she went to Dumbledore, or anyone for that matter Snape would be mortified. If she did not alert someone she or Snape could get seriously hurt. She tapped her chin, and decided on a late night prowl to mull things over.

Meanwhile Snape was in the dungeon practicing the transfiguration professor’s craft, putting in one final night of practice of turning into mist and shadow.

Both went to bed that night with machinations and decisions being decided.

The next day Mcgonagall came to Snape with some papers.

“Hello Severus. There is a Gryffindor student who needs to be excused from potions until he can get his anti-allergy charms set up. There was a misunderstanding about appointments at st mungos and he will have to miss you class for a week or two. This needs your signature.”

“Very well Minerva. Give me a moment.” Snape scrawled his name quickly across the bottom and handed the parchment back. Before he could say anything else Mcgonagall had turned the proverbial tail and left. Snape stared and listened to a drum only he could hear.

Back in her quarters the professor lifted the illusion on the top part of the paper and nodded satisfied. After filing it away she went about the next part of her plan.

That evening Snape stalked the corridors as usual,

Passing slytherin dorms first, then up to ravenclaw, down to hufflepuff, and back toward the start toward griffindor, and Mcgonagall. Outside the door he breathed deeply and listened. The drumbeat inside was steady, his quarry slept. Another small beat pattered away in the room, perhaps ms Norris has chosen to sleep with a fellow cat tonight. He’d take care of the cat if it woke.

With another deep breath he relaxed and willed himself inside the door, turning into a fine mist and

wafting through the cracks. As he coalesced on the other side he could feel the slight tingle of a trapping charm, that wasn’t being activated due to his miasmic state. He mentally smiled, his quarry was smart, but not smart enough. He flowed forward and began to reform beside the bed from whence the drum beat came. Mcgonagall was completely under her covers, he carefully peeled back the top to reveal….nothing. A knot grew in his stomach as he pulled the blanket back farther still to reveal a drum, a beating charm causing it to reverberate rhythmically. He turned to flee but too late; a field of force surrounded him on all sides with no space for even mist to escape. He heard a rustling of blankets and turned.

In the corner a cat stretched and stepped out of a cat bed before taking a step into Mcgonagall’s form. She stood dressed in a night gown with wand at her side. She looked at Severus who returned her gaze with utter loathing tinged with respect. Minerva shook her head.

“I am truly sorry Severus, this is all my fault.” And with a quick stupefy that was all the potions master knew.

Chapter 9 chess

Snape awoke stiff and dazed. He sat completely still, moving his eyes underneath his lids instead of blinking and keeping his body relaxed as if he was still unconscious. He quickly began to take notes of his surroundings from his other senses.

He was tied to a chair, with chain. He didn’t know with what type of chain or what type of chair without flexing, Which might alert his….captor. He mentally snarled. Mcgonagall. The crafty cat.

He checked his possessions next. His locket,which contained a very specific poison that had three uses depending on how taken, was gone, as was his wand, the potions he carried with him in his robe at all times, the empty vials, and the syringe. Even the flat medallion he kept underneath the skin on his left arm, the one which gave his body a pulse and heartbeat, was gone. Its counterpart which gave him mild protection from the sun and allowed him to eat food was gone as well. In fact so was his robe. He was wearing his suit. He couldn’t hide any actions underneath it, not even knee movement or flexing he might have used to loosen his bonds. He cursed mentally. The cat was good. She was a member of the order after all, but he had never given her this much credit.

He began to take note of surroundings. He listened. Nothing. No Heartbeats. No noise of children. Nothing. No clues as to where he was, which in itself was a clue, but it also meant he was alone. He opened his eyes. The room was pitch black, which was fine with him. There was a chair across from him, a good 10 feet out of reach, with a side table covered in metal vials, and some potions he couldn’t make out inside their black opaque containers. There were two beds, one with chains and no covers, the other reeked of garlic with a smaller cat bed beside it as well as a bed side table with various amenities. There was a metal chest in the corner, with no key hole but most likely tightly locked. Above the chest was some type of oval, a mirror probably.

Against the far wall were two more sets of chain, above which hung various metal and wood rods at least 10 feet in length, some of the wooden ones had points.

The only area which was concealed was a small room, next to the wall of vampiric hell, which held a toilet and wash basin. There were chains in the washroom as well.

Every single piece of metal was either silver, or iron, or some combination there of.

Above the entrance hung a wreath of wolfsbane, Hawthorne, and various religious symbols, at which he sneered openly.

Snape strained. The chair was welded to the floor, and made of iron, as were the chains. There was a faint sound from the doorway, and Snape swung his gaze toward it. As he did wet hair hit his face. He had been washed. Without his special soaps or conditioners, he would not be protected from sunlight, nor would he shed a reflection. He quickly looked at the opaque bottles again, bottled sunlight. He cursed. The clear ones would probably contain spring water, from the spring blessed by Merlin.

The sound was turning into footsteps. Snape quickly let himself go limp as the door opened.

With a flick Mcgonagall lit up the torches in the room.

“Don’t even bother Severus. The chair has a weight charm on it, I was alerted when you moved.”

Snape cursed mentally again and sat up.

“And what, pray tell is this?”

“Detox, as the muggles call it.”

“That will take weeks, I am sure I will be missed.”

With a flick a paper appeared in Mcgonagalls hand. Snape peered at it and nodded, trying not to look impressed.

“And the child who needed his allergy charms from saint mungos?”

“Never existed, an excuse to obtain your signature for a leave of absence paper.”

“Which I’m sure you’re personally giving to Dumbledore?”

“Oh goodness no.” With a flick of her wand the paper vanished. “It is on his desk.”

Snape mentally cursed again. Dumbledore would know something was amiss if he didn’t deliver the paper himself, But it just appearing on his desk was something Dumbledore wouldn’t question. Of course, Dumbledore, the brilliant old manipulator, would probably not intervene if Minerva handed it to him, he’d guess in a moment what was going on. Snape sighed inwardly. He didn’t want that, want his friend to guess he had fallen so low. The fact that he did not sense the old cat’s duplicity when she handed him the paper was a testament to how distracted he had become, his legilimancy should have given him some slight alert. Still, he was grateful she did not alert Dumbledore, even if it deprived him of a chance for escape.

“Thank you.”

Minerva nodded and sat down across from him.

“So what were you going to do with my body?”

Severus mentally started. He had never seen the old witch so, bold.

“I…. had a number of options upon which I had not decided.” Minerva merely sat and waited for him to continue. He Decidedly did not wish to. Not only because it was awkward, but because there was still a very slight chance he could pull it off. “So I am in your chamber?”

“Yes, my Untraceable Chamber.” Only members of the order had access to this chamber, a counterpart to the room of requirement, it required a password, and each member had their own private password which opened a different room. multiple saferooms or interrogation chambers could be in use at once, and be kept secret and secure if there was betrayal. “I suppose this might have been where you would have taken me, had you decided to keep me alive?” Mcgonagall pursed her lips in distaste.

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