wordsaremything

[wordsaremything]

Post-War in Power

Summary: Hermione is called to the Ministry to talk about what they should do about rebuilding the school after the Battle of Hogwarts.

1150 words

Walking into the Ministry of Magic for the first time after the war was like walking into a museum. Even during the height of conflict, it always felt packed. But now as Hermione studied the dark marble space, there was hardly anyone about. She held her jacket closed and walked towards the lifts. 

Just that was odd– no one said a word to her, but everyone made sure to get out of the way.

Kingsley was having a meeting in his office about the current state of Hogwarts, and how to fix it. Hermione, Ron and Harry were all invited but Hermione insisted she should go alone. The others weren’t ready to talk about the school so soon, and if she was honest neither was she. But their new minister insisted at least one of them should be there. The boys were busy enough.

The cool, female voice was chillingly familiar as it told her she reached the Minister’s Office. She never would have thought there was anyone up here without the open door at the end of the hall with light and voices leaking out of it. She swallowed, walked over with her heart hammering, and knocked softly.

Kingsley was the first to look up. He smiled broadly and gestured to one of the empty chairs in the room. “Miss Granger, please.”

Hermione smiled politely in return and sat down, which happened to be beside Professor McGonagall. She was the only professor there, and besides Kingsley, the only person she recognized in the room. There were ten others, all men, who watched her with an odd look in their eyes. Like they were judging why she was included and afraid to speak at the same time. She folded her hands in her lap and looked to the minister.

“Miss Granger, these men were on the Hogwarts Board of Governors before Voldemort took over,” he said, and Hermione noted that name still made some of them squirm, “They’ve come to offer their ideas.”

She nodded once. “Nice to meet you.”

When it was clear they weren’t going to say anything else, Kingsley continued. “Right. The bottom line is we have to fix and clean the castle before we can let any students return. There is a lot to be done–”

“If the students want to return at all,” one of the governors interrupted, “There has been a serious tragedy at that school, not to mention any other unspeakable things. What parent will want their child there?”

Another one seemed to agree. “The world needs time to heal, yes. It will also take a considerable amount of time to make the school livable again. If I’m not mistaken, Professor, it’s been torn up, yes? And littered with… dead things.”

Hermione turned towards McGonagall as she cleared her throat. “Yes, while that’s true, it was not Hogwarts that committed those atrocities. We were invaded.”

“And poisoned,” interjected yet another one of the governors, “Those grounds will never be the same again. People died–”

“And we watched it happen,” snapped McGonagall. She looked between Kingsley and Hermione with a familiar, indignant look before she continued on. “We were powerless, I’ll have you know, while our school was controlled by that– that demon! Hogwarts educated the lot of us… we can’t let it continue to rot with that darkness.”

 This discussion was turning into an argument, and quickly. Hermione was at a loss– she didn’t know where to interject, or even where her place was in all this. If she had a place at all in this type of thing. What sort of power placed her any sort of political influence like these people had?

“We should close the school for at least a year,” a governor with a Slytherin lapel pin said, “Let people grieve, let the grounds reset. How would we get all of those repairs done in time anyway?”

Without a second thought, Hermione added, sharply, “No.”

Immediately all conversation stopped. Kingsley cleared his throat. “Go on, Hermione.”

She took a breath. “Hogwarts need to open at the same time it always does. Missing a year would be detrimental.”

“To what?” the wizard sitting across from her scoffed. Her eyes were still drawn to the snake on his jacket. “Your own sentiments? Harry Potter’s political agenda? The students–”

Well, if he was going to talk down to her she wouldn’t do this politely. Hermione Granger had no time for polite anymore. “The students need to see that things can go back to normal. Don’t you see? Closing down for a year would leave an entire generation of children without their education. How would they catch up? And what about the Muggleborns? We already struggle against wizard-born children, and being a year behind would make it worse. Returning students need to make up for the time they lost under the Death Eaters. Making them wait will only make the gap in their learning larger and harder to cross.”

Hermione cut her eyes to the minister. He was watching, and listening intently. He waved her forward. “What do you think we should do?”

“I think you as a ministry should do everything in your power to have Hogwarts up and running again by September,” she told him, “The only way to prevent something like this from happening again is through education. As for time, I know plenty of people who would love nothing more than to see Hogwarts back at its former splendor and would be happy to help. A deadline would be good for them– for us. You fight trauma with normalcy. You fight monotony with a sense of purpose. Like Professor McGonagall said, we were all educated at Hogwarts, where we thought it was the safest place in the world. If we make it so again, people won’t be so afraid anymore.”

None of the governors seemed to want to argue anymore. Instead, everyone looked at Kingsley. He simply glanced around at them all, his grin widening when his gaze fell on Hermione. She straightened every so slightly. “We do as Miss Granger says,” he said finally, and her heart could have hammered out of her chest. “We will rebuild the castle before term starts. We will be a united front in the place of the tyranny that castle endured. And the students will want to see their home away from home restored.” Hermione smiled, nodding slightly. She couldn’t believe that worked. And that no one wanted to argue with her, call her bossy, or write her off as grappling with idealism. They listened to her. She had power here she wasn’t used to.

Kingsley added, “I think I know some people who will want to see Hogwarts healed as well. We’ll get started as soon as possible,” he directed that statement towards the governors, now silent. “This has been,” he paused when his gaze once again fell on Hermione, “Enlightening.”

[wordsaremything]

In the Name

Summary: Peter fights the Goblin and the aftermath that comes with it.

2340 words.

Boom. Peter ducks instinctively to avoid the debris from the explosion. There’s a whooshing noise as the glider carrying the villain zips right over his head. Crap. With a groan, Peter raises one arm and shoots a string of webbing at the back of the glider. It connects and then there's a jerk as he’s pulled off the ground. Nice job, Parker, now you're swinging from the glider like an idiot. His added weight alerts the glider’s pilot and, as he turns to cackle at Spider-Man, Peter grimaces. God, the Green Goblin is ugly. Not a particularly imaginative name, but he looks like a goblin, talks like a goblin, so he's gotta be a goblin. “You mind slowing down?” Peter calls, pulling his knees up to his chest to avoid smashing his legs on a building. “I really don’t want to throw up on someone down there!” All he receives in response is another cackle and he’s getting really tired of being the only one participating in the conversation. The guy may be crazy, but he could at least delight in the jokes instead of just Spider-Man's misery. With a grunt, he tenses his arms and abs to pull himself up towards the glider. If he can get his hands on the guy, he’ll have a much easier time taking him down. Unfortunately, the Goblin isn’t just going to sit around and let Peter come to him. “I don’t think so, Petey!” he screeches, tossing a few pumpkin-shaped bombs in Peter’s direction. The hero is understandably distracted as he swings to and fro to avoid the explosions, so it takes a moment for him to really register what the Goblin just said. When it sinks in, Peter’s blood runs cold and he feels the bottom drop out of his stomach, fear like he had never felt in his 18 years. The Goblin called him Petey. Somehow, he knows. Sure, it might be a coincidence, but how likely is it that this psycho thinks Peter is a different Peter? Spider-Man and Iron Man have been seen together on multiple occasions and Peter’s the only Peter he knows who meets regularly with Mr. Stark. The connection is there if you know to look for it and, though it’s tenuous at best, it’s enough.

If this guy knows Peter’s identity, Peter has no choice but to take him down by whatever means necessary. If he gets away, the Goblin will draw Peter out again and put his loved ones in danger. Again. MJ and Liz flash through his brain, and then, with all the associated pain and fanfare so does Gwen. Peter doesn’t think he can stomach any of that again, and Gwen didn't even know until the last second. The guilt would destroy him if the Goblin didn’t take care of that himself. Between the circumstances of Uncle Ben’s death and onward, ever since the spider bite, Peter thinks he’s carrying enough guilt to last him the rest of his possibly-very-short life. He’s so wrapped up in his own head that he doesn’t notice the glider rapidly approaching the Oscorp building. All of a sudden, the glider comes to a stop (the physics behind that technology are probably fascinating and a part of Peter’s mind is caught up on them), sending Peter swinging forward with some momentum toward a large window. The impact is as unpleasant as he imagines it could be and he releases the web, crashing through the glass and rolling out of his fall to mitigate the damage. As he gets to his feet with a grimace under his mask, Peter is surprised to find the Goblin hasn’t high-tailed it out of there. He’s floating just outside of the broken window, waiting, and that can mean nothing good. “Surprised, Parker?” Peter can’t quite recognize the voice as it’s filtered through the green mask, but the cadence seems somehow familiar. And the use of his last name clinches it – the Goblin knows Spider-Man’s identity. Despite the blood he feels oozing from somewhere and down his back, he stands tall. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he answers with as much confidence as he can manage. All of his quips have fallen out of his head and he’s left reeling, desperately grasping for something to say. Anything. He’s lost the upper-hand a long time ago, but he has to keep them on equal footing or Peter will die. He doesn’t want to consider that chain reaction. This time, he shoots two strings of webbing at the Goblin’s feet and pulls. Clearly, the villain is expecting Peter to go for the glider again, so he doesn’t move out of the way in time. With a yank, Spider-Man pulls the Goblin off his feet and through the window. “Careful, Gobby!” he warns, starting to feel a little bit better about his chances. “Wouldn’t want to lose that fancy toy of yours. Looks expensive!” The Goblin laughs from his position on the floor as Peter moves to stand over him. “You really think you can beat me, boy? Me? You think I don’t have contingency plans in place? More importantly, you think I care whether I live or die?” Peter has no idea what to make of that if he’s being perfectly honest. “The Goblin doesn’t die with me!” “I think I’m up here and you’re flat on your back,” he replies, looking down at the prone figure. It’s taken hours to get to this point and Peter has already stopped the villain’s overarching plot to take over the city. This is about cleaning up, about taking the Goblin in and seeing justice for those who have been hurt. “And I’m not going to kill you. I’m going to hand you over to the authorities and you’ll get a fair trial just like everyone else. Not sure how they’re gonna find a jury of your peers because I haven’t seen too many goblins around, but I’m sure it’ll work out somehow.” There’s a whirring from above and Peter assumes it’s something in the building. Oscorp contains quite a few labs full of equipment and he can’t see how the Goblin could do anything from his current position. He squints down at the man on the floor – Peter presumes he’s a man based on his shape, but he can’t really be certain – with a frown, trying to decide what to do with him. That’s when he feels it: the familiar prickling over his skin that means danger. Without any real thought, Peter dives to the left just in time to watch the Goblin’s glider come down hard. The sharp-edged vehicle practically cuts the Goblin in half, but he doesn’t cry out and, suddenly, Peter understands his plan. Rather than go to the authorities, face a trial, and then prison, the Goblin has made a choice. He knew his chances of taking Peter along with him were slim, but he went for it anyway. He never intended to leave the building alive. Slowly, Peter crawls toward the dying man, bile rising in his throat. He knows it’s not his fault, but it feels as though he’s just killed a man. When he gets close enough, he pries the mask off of the Goblin’s face with shaking hands and sits back on his heels. Norman Osborn. It explains everything: his access to technology, his knowledge of the company’s inner workings, and even the connection he’d managed to make between Peter Parker and Spider-Man. There’s a sinking feeling in Peter’s stomach as it hits him that he’s just killed... Harry's dad. Harry, who he'd just reconnected with from childhood, who was all eye rolls and Rolls Royces and "missed you, Pete". As someone who knows exactly what it feels like to lose a father figure, he can’t stop the guilt from rising in him. The edges of his vision blur and he realizes there are tears in his eyes. A creak comes from behind and Peter whirls, scraping his knees on broken glass and pieces of the glider as he does so. Standing just inside the door is a pale-faced Harry Osborn, eyes locked on his father’s body as Norman Osborn gurgles what has to be close to his final breath. Peter raises his arms in a gesture of peace as he gets very slowly to his feet. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out, though he knows that isn’t enough. Harry's eyes dart up to Peter, real, tortured pain combining with tears as they do. “I…” He wants to explain the situation, but he can’t. Even talking to Harry is a risk because the suit doesn’t modulate his voice at all. Instead, Peter shakes his head and makes his way to the broken window. He turns to look at Harry, now on the floor with his father, a final time. “I’m sorry,” he grunts with conviction. Then, because there is nothing more he can do, Peter throws himself through the gaping hole in the side of the building and swings into the foggy afternoon. There will be consequences, he knows. Today, he has made a life-changing mistake.

                                                       ••••••

It's been nearly a decade since Peter even looked at the Oscorp building. Sometimes it still haunts him, just like Harry does, on his worst days. But as fellow grad students walk through security at the door and pick up name tags, Peter lags behind at the back of the line. As one of the leading chemical and tech companies in the city, of course there would be some lab time, opportunities to network for jobs after graduation. 

Peter wishes someone from Stark Industries had reached out before Oscorp. He sticks the nametag onto his blazer pocket and follows the tour group inside. Students around him babble, asking each other questions that he could have easily answered. Yes, they do have animal biology, sometimes they genetically engineer spiders that give you superpowers. Sometimes the projects result in the death of your parents, also, but it's very impressive really, what corruption can do. Oh, there's a food court too, they have really good paninis there. The intern assigned to their tour group is a Ph.D. student from NYU with an impressive pompadour who sounds like he would rather be anywhere else. Peter doesn't ask questions or look particularly inviting as the group wanders around one of the research labs. Maybe he should have brought his camera to donate some of the photos to the Daily Spectator. He knew his undergrad paper would have loved to see him again. The tour is short, thankfully, and there's a reception around lunch time. Immediately other students gather around scientists milling about the room. Peter rips off his nametag and crumbles it into a ball before anyone can really get a look at it. He didn't want any of those "I knew your mom and dad" conversations today. Not here. At the refreshment table, Peter's stirring some sugar into a styrofoam cup of coffee when he feels the prickling feeling erupt over his skin. Danger. But no– he lifts his head and sees nothing but a smartly dressed young man standing on the other side of the table from him. They make eye contact and the other smiles first.

"Peter Parker." It's Harry Osborn. After the Goblin... it was both of their faults they didn't remain friends, again. Harry had to mourn and deal with the company, and Peter felt sick just looking at Harry's face. He still kind of feels sick. "Harry. Hi." Peter's awkwardness, like always, didn't shake Harry. "I thought you still went to Columbia," he comments, "I didn't expect you to come to this, though. You, unfortunately, know this place inside and out." He nods slowly. "It's, uh, part of my class," he says. "Right. You're going to be a Master of Science, huh? From an Ivy League, too." Peter nods again, unable to focus, either because of seeing Harry again after the murder of his father or because the spider sense was still crawling all over his skin. Harry reaches for a cup of coffee, and Peter's whole body wants to react to the small movement. But he remains frozen. "You'd think the PR department can afford some real cups," Harry comments as he takes a sip and looks around the lavishly decorated room. Peter allows himself a little laugh. "Yeah. An interesting thing to save money on." "You're right. Next staff meeting, I'm pointing that out," says Harry with a decisive nod. Peter takes a moment to look around, falling oddly into old habits; where are the exits, could he get everyone out of the room should danger arise, where is the danger? But all he sees are the curious and slightly jealous looks of his classmates. Oh. Peter suddenly remembers. Harry's CEO and Chairman of Oscorp now. Not just his childhood friend. He clears his throat and Harry looks back over. "Aren't you a little too important to be at a thing like this?" the former wonders. Harry chuckles. "Well, I can do whatever I want, Pete, that's the beauty of being the boss. But," he leans a little closer, "Full disclosure, I knew you would be here. I saw the list of names. Thought I would try to say hi." "You did it," Peter mumbles and then forces a smile. "Score one for Osborn," says his old friend with that knowing smile, like when Harry used to take the fall with Aunt May when they broke something in the living room. "Come sit, tell me about your life." Everything inside Peter's head is telling him not to go, not to let his guard down. But it's just Harry. Peter is out of practice– that has to be what was making him react like everything was a danger. He just hated Oscorp. Harry though... maybe Peter's ready to stop blaming himself for what happened to Norman. Harry brings him a new cup of coffee with a boyish grin and immediately Peter is full, once again, with guilt and dread.

[wordsaremything]

rainless.

thunder doesn’t need rain

rain is an after thought

it is a thunderstorm after all

rainstorms are weak

thunder does its own thing

doesn’t need much but space

and lightning

because lightning always seems to know

where they’re going next

[wordsaremything]

#MeToo

TW: This is not a happy story. This is something I have been avoiding for a long time. But I need to get it out. This is about a personal sexual assault story. I know I’m late to the game but I’ve only just come to terms with it.

I met a boy through my friend’s date at a bar. She met his friend on Tinder, and subsequently happened to mention that we were out on the bar strip at that very moment. Apparently, he took that to mean he should come to see her and bring his friend. 

Doesn’t seem like a problem. I was a single, dolled up, pretty drunk girl at the time. She always got more attention than me, which I don’t have a problem with, because I like drinking more than I like men in bars. But at least there was someone there to talk to while my friend figured out if she liked this dude. Turned out she didn’t, but I was doing a bad job of saving her.

My boy was actually very nice, and very cute. He seemed to know all the right things to say. He told me had never been “that guy” who came up to girls in bars and tried to hit on them. He said when he did, they didn’t know how to carry conversations and then what’s the point anyway? I remember laughing, saying I don’t get people who don’t know how to talk, because I did it all the time. He laughed too and offered to buy me another drink. I said yes. Beginning of the end to be honest. From there, I lost sight of my friend.

No one, but especially girls, should NEVER leave their friend alone in a bar. 

It was summer, mid-August. Boy and I went outside to talk because it was loud inside. He shared all of my interests: Spider-Man was his favorite superhero, and he liked Andrew Garfield the best. Chris Evans really embodied Cap, don’t you think? Harry Potter is a masterpiece of our generation. 1989 was a brilliant album. So on. So forth.

I thought I had hit the jackpot. A nerd under the guise of some nice biceps. He held my hand and walked me between bars. Bought me more drinks. At the last bar, it was only us in there, meaning the romantic figurative and also literally as it was nearly four in the morning. He didn’t kiss me. He hardly touched me, which at the time I thought was respectful. We talked and talked, and it was refreshing to have someone want to listen to me after a whole summer of getting over the last asshole.

Bars close at 4 am. We like to party in the Great White North, but anyway we ended up meeting back with my friend and his friend outside the door and they walked us back to her car. He kept talking as we walked, and I could tell that my friend was not too happy with her date. I checked my phone as we walked and realized that I had missed nearly ten texts from her telling me she wanted to leave.

I was 0 for 2 on the friend scale at that point.

We got to the car. I heard my friend’s date ask if he could kiss her and didn’t wait for her to answer before he went for it. My date did not kiss me, but he did ask for my number and I gave it to him. He assured me he would text me, and that he wanted to take me out. Usually, men I meet in bars don’t get very far past a day of texting, but I had hope.

My friend and I left. She did not like her date at all, and amidst my apologizing for missing her texts I told her about mine and that I think I lucked out tonight. I definitely used the word “refreshing” a lot. I was still drunk when he texted me that same night that he got home safe and told me again that he was going to take me out. I told him I was interested, also home safe, and that I would talk to him the next day.

Honestly, I don’t remember now how much we spoke in that week leading up to the next weekend, in which we did go on a date. He wanted to take me to a park with a gorge, which I had never seen before or even knew existed in my city. It was different, and I was into it, although I was also had the impression he would take me somewhere we could get drinks or a snack.

Nope.

The park was lovely. We sat together on a couple benches, I put my arm around him first, which he thought was great, and he pulled me over to sit close to him which I thought was highly attractive. Means he was strong or something? I don’t analyze myself. But I was having a good time.

The first red flag should have been the politics talk. He thought transgender people could “pretend” all they wanted but they would always be the gender they were born as. He thought Hillary Clinton should have gone to prison but still voted for Bernie Sanders. He was what we would call a “Bernie Bro” or at the very least a very conservative libertarian. Don’t know which is worse. But I liked him and he seemed to like me, so I was trying to tell myself that it wasn’t a big deal even though we disagreed on fundamental issues. I should have known he disclosed to me he owned a house, ran a real estate business, and the business was a local dynasty. Rich, entitled white boy.

He took me to the back of the park. We sat together, looked at the ducks in the very dark pond, and he said “there’s one more thing I need to do tonight” and I said what, like an idiot. And he kissed me. And kept kissing me.

I like a good makeout as much as the next girl. But I thought that was all. Whenever I pulled away he came back in. I tried to suggest things we could do, he just laughed and went back to kissing me. He told me I was being stiff and physically picked me up to sit on his lap. I remember vividly the bench cutting into my bare knees and shins from how I sat on him. From there he tried to touch me, and he did such a bad job at touching any sort of spot between my legs that I thought he was trying to just move my dress out of the way.

From there it got worse. He liked dirty talk. I forced myself to keep going in to kiss him just to make him shut the fuck up. He told me he had to come twice before he went soft. I could have puked right there. I still tried suggesting we do something else, anything else, but he knew what he was doing. I’m such a good kisser, did I know? He’ll do whatever I want, baby, please. He’s a good date, eh? He made me touch him because I was turning him on just so much.

I said nothing. I especially didn’t say no. I let it go on. In a public park, until nearly 11 pm. Could have gotten arrested now that I think about it. I just couldn’t say no, even though I could taste it, even though my body rebelled and everything in me was rejecting him. Thank god he wasn’t big enough to hurt hardly at all.

He drove me home and I told my roommate it was a great date and I liked him. I don’t think the situation fully sunk in until he completely ditched me after that. I had to text him first if I wanted to speak to him, because I was holding onto some thread that maybe he was a good guy. I just couldn’t believe I’d been fooled and assaulted, and I let it happen. I didn’t realize what really happened to me until a few months later when I forced myself to think about it. Whether I said no or not, everything else said I was not in the mood. Someone focused on me instead of himself would have realized that. 

I didn’t see him again until November. I saw him in a bar, a good one that I went to a lot, with the same friend I was with when I met him the first time. We never made eye contact, but I saw him, and I basically had a panic attack. Despite the amount of time since the incident and the fact that I have the greatest boyfriend in the world now, I still needed to leave before he could even breathe in my direction. He got close. His stupid friend tried to talk to mine again, but like a badass angel she blew him off.

We left. I explained to her what went down between us. She was sympathetic and knew immediately why I needed to leave. I’ll probably never want to speak to him again, and I’ll always have that boom of anxiety in my chest when I think about him too much. But it happened, and it could have been so much worse. Even if I had said no. 

[wordsaremything]

Wildflowers

Summary: Scorpius visits his mother’s grave when he can’t sleep.

434 words.

Early one morning Scorpius couldn’t sleep. As the orange light of the sunrise filtered into his bedroom, he was already up and dressed, and stuffing his glasses onto his face. Malfoy Manor was still asleep. He was careful not to wake his dad, sleeping just down the corridor, as he opened his door and crept downstairs. 

He pulled some wildflowers once he was outside and bunched them together as he walked. They grew naturally around the foundation of the house. His dad told him once that Narcissa used to have them pulled like weeds– but Scorpius’s own mother had an attachment to them. He was careful not to step on any as he walked down the garden path. It was like his legs knew where they were going before Scorpius did. He opened the wrought iron gate on the other side of the garden and left it as he wandered into the cemetery. 

Astoria’s grave was the newest, in the back, and in the middle of the large plot of land that was the Malfoy family’s final resting place. He walked by countless great-great-and-so-on grandfathers and aunts and cousins before he found her. Scorpius knelt in the damp grass before the headstone. 

“Hey, mum,” he mumbled and placed the wildflowers among the other crumbling bouquets of flowers left there. Some of them were big and arranged in beautiful bouquets of roses or lilies or peonies. Scorpius wasn’t fancy. Astoria Malfoy used to tear up from just a handful of half-crushed wildflowers when he was a child.

“Thought I would come to say hi. I miss you. I, er, got the best marks in Slytherin, you know. I don’t know about the whole year, though. Rose could have beaten me.” He smiled fondly and cleared his throat. “I’m a fifth year now. I have to tell Slughorn what I want to be when I grow up soon... All I know is that I want to help people. Dad says I’m smart enough to be a politician but I’m not too good at talking to crowds. Or even one person. Al wants to be an Auror like his dad, but I don’t think I’m brave enough. I’m thinking I could be a Healer.” He paused and stared his mother’s gravestone as if it would talk back to him. “I could save people’s lives. I could... find out what happened to you, mum.” He reached out and put his hand on the stone, right over her name. “Love you. See you soon.” 

But he didn’t get up. He let the sun warm the back of his neck.

[wordsaremything]

Interview

Summary: Scorpius is a pro-Quidditch player. He gets interviewed by his ex after winning a match.

1960 words.

Scorpius tasted dirt and blood as he skidded, face down, against the grass of the pitch. The crowd roared around him, alight in the stands, some cheering their support of his fall and others shouting for him to get up. Somewhere in the sky, a Beater was celebrating for doing the first lesson in the Quidditch handbook: take out the Seeker.

But this Seeker was more resilient than he looked.

He swiped at his dirty face with the sleeve of his robes before darting back to his feet. The crowd of black-wearing fans exploded into applause as he did so, only further increasing the adrenaline that currently coursed through Scorpius’s veins. He pushed his arm out in the vague direction of where his broom had landed.

“Up!” he growled at it, and in the next second, the broom was in the air once again with Scorpius on it.

That Snitch had to be close, the young Seeker thought, if one of the Puddlemere Beaters decided it was time to knock him from the sky. He wasn’t about to sit idle and become another easy target, not when his team was down by about six shots. If the Magpies won this, they would go to the playoffs, and they would have a shot at the League Cup on his first ever season. If Scorpius wasn’t rookie of the year already, he would be if the caught the Snitch in this match.

“Number three is up and flying! Hanover tried to knock him down, but not even a two-story fall can stop Malfoy.”

The crowd of Magpie fans exploded in cheers of support, but Scorpius barely heard. He saw, on the other side of the pitch, a little sparkle of gold behind Puddlemere’s Keeper. And the opposing Seeker was already shooting across the pitch for it. Scorpius couldn’t lose them this match.

He thought on the spot. “Princeton!” he called. Elizabeth Princeton, one of Montrose Beaters, turned her head. He held up four fingers in her direction; the signal for play number four. This play in the Montrose Magpies playbook was the one that had just been executed on him: take out the Seeker. Princeton nodded once and zoomed off, and Scorpius chased after her. If this plan worked, Scorpius needed to be right there to grab the Snitch before it was gone again.

Watching the play happen was like watching a well-choreographed dance. Princeton swung her bat and lobbed a Bludger at the opposing Seeker, but a little too hard, sending it careening into the end of his broom. However, it did do its job and snap the thing in half, and Seeker fell. With a burst of speed and no heart to look to see if the other player was okay, Scorpius flew over the Bludger’s path and grabbed the Snitch from midair. He held it over his head triumphantly.

“Malfoy’s got the Snitch! That’s two hundred and fifty points to the Magpies, which clinches the win!” The commentator had more to say undoubtedly, but it couldn’t be heard over the roaring of the crowd. His heart was nearly beating out of his chest, and he couldn’t see anything over the lights, but he did register that the Montrose Magpies were going to the playoffs.

After that was a whirlwind. Scorpius was allowed enough time to put his broom away before the Magpies’ manager, Hunter Flume, whisked him away for publicity. Scorpius had been warned when he became a starter on the team that Seekers were almost always the most popular with the media because catching the Snitch ended the match. Honestly, he liked the attention.

There was a line of fans between the locker room and press box. People screamed Scorpius’s name, mostly women, asking for photos and autographs. He stopped for as many as he could.

“Hi Scorpius,” a pretty dark-haired girl sighed as Scorpius signed her photo of him.

He looked up and gave her a smile. “Hi, love,” he replied simply, and just those words made her and surrounding friends start to screech in excitement. He handed back the autograph and waved to them before moving on down the line. The attention used to make him anxious, because he was never so popular in school or when he was on the reserve team, but now that he was two seasons in it made his heart swell with pride.

Hunter sat Scorpius down in the chair, which was across from another one that was currently vacant. “A couple reporters are coming in to interview you. Witch Weekly and the Prophet both wanted to talk to you, everyone else is just going to go to the press conference with the rest of the team,” he explained.

Scorpius nodded as a runner handed him a wet cloth to wipe the dry blood from his mouth. He hadn’t even had the time to take inventory of where the blood came from. “I’ll be my most charming self,” he assured.

“Great,” said Hunter, clapping the Seeker’s shoulder, “Act natural too, maybe.”

“Don’t I always?” Scorpius quipped back, and didn’t notice when the first reporter walked in until she spoke up.

She cleared her throat. “Hey, captain.”

Now, Scorpius was in no way captain of the Magpies. It was his first season. However, he was captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team back at Hogwarts. And there was only one person who called him captain consistently.

He turned, and she was already sitting in the chair like she owned it. She had a notebook open on her lap, and a pen ready to write down his answers. Scorpius had forgotten she worked for the Prophet.

“Hey, Rose,” he replied, and was suddenly all sorts of self-conscious. He was dirty, sweaty, and still a bit bloody. It was, however, not a state she was unaccustomed to.

“You two know each other?” asked Hunter Flume from behind Scorpius.

She answered for him. “We played together at school.”

“She was the Keeper,” Scorpius added, absentmindedly as he watched Rose.

“Right, I remember you when I was scouting,” Hunter continued, “Weasley.”

“Granger-Weasley,” she corrected, firmly but not rudely. She did look pointedly at Scorpius afterward. “Can I begin my interview now?”

The manager stepped off, leaving Scorpius and Rose together to talk for the first time in nearly three years. He broke up with her for his career. She broke up with him because he didn’t make time for her.

“So, Scorpius,” she began, and it struck him that she would be nothing less than professional, “How does it feel to go to the playoffs in your first season as a starter?”

The interview was almost unbearable because of how normal it was. She asked questions pertaining to his feelings about the match, the play that won him the Snitch, how different it was to be a starter compared to a reserve. Good, basic sports questions. He could have sworn she was a news reporter. But he wasn’t the one asking questions.

“Well, that’s all I have for you,” she said, lifting her head from her notebook and giving him a smile. A polite one, not a real one. She stood, and he followed suit. She held out her hand. He reached out and shook it.

He cleared his throat as he let go. “I look forward to the article,” he said.

She simply nodded her head and packed up her notepad. “Have a nice day, Scorpius, Mr. Flume,” she said, and then was gone. Scorpius didn’t sit down. He was frozen… in more ways than one. He had so many questions.

Why did she treat him like a stranger?

Hunter touched his shoulder. Of course he didn’t know the history between Rose and Scorpius. “Witch Weekly next,” he said.

“Right,” Scorpius mumbled and sat back down again. Although, he wasn’t sure when he would be capable of turning on the charm again.

The next day Scorpius was up and in Diagon Alley to catch the morning edition of the Prophet. He basically tore through the pages until he found Rose’s article about the match. He didn’t usually do this, but he couldn’t help it this time.

When he finally came across the right page, he folded the paper over so he could read it. As it turned out, Rose didn’t write an article about the match. She wrote it about him. And it was amazing. It was a profile about him; his early life, how he go into Quidditch, how much he loved the game. And the descriptions were beautiful and entirely accurate. He read the whole thing top to bottom, and then again. She hadn’t asked any questions about his past or personal life, but out of every person in the world, she would know everything about him. He needed to see her, because this was one of the greatest things he’d ever seen.

When he was finished, he rolled the paper up and tucked it under his arm. His watch read half past nine. She would be in the office by now, definitely.

The Daily Prophet office was situated around the corner from the Leaky Cauldron. He wasn’t sure what the rules were there for visitors, but he didn’t care. He was sure people walked in there all the time with questions about the news.

Scorpius pushed the front doors open and walked up the desk before the door. “I would like to talk to Rose Granger-Weasley, please, is she here?”

The secretary looked at the paper under his arm and then back up at him. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Mr. Malfoy.”

He quickly shook his head. “No, you don’t understand–”

“It’s okay.” Scorpius turned and Rose was standing in the doorway with a cup of coffee in her hand and sunglasses in her hair. She continued. “I thought he would come.”

Rose led the way into the newsroom, where they passed at least twenty reporters writing away at their desks before she sat down at an empty one. Scorpius remained standing until he perched himself at the end of her desk.

He showed her the print of her article, complete with a photo of Scorpius holding the Snitch from the match. “This is incredible.”

She smiled, and her cheeks flushed light pink. “Thanks, captain.”

“No, I mean it,” he continued as if she didn’t understand him. This elicited a little laugh, and he was all flushed from her calling him captain again. “You got it all right. You hardly asked any questions and this is still like someone wrote a thousand-word biography about me. I can’t believe you still remember all of this.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Of course I do. How long have I known you? Ten years now?”

He let out a short laugh and nodded his head. “Yeah, that would be about right.”

“You’re a fan favorite, Scorp,” she said, shrugging her shoulders, “I’m giving the people what they want. I thought it was only fair since I know you so well. Also…” He looked up at that, since he had almost deflated at the fact that she might have only written about him to make fans happy. “I thought it was the only way to get you into my office.”

Scorpius raised his eyebrows, almost surprised. “Wait, you–”

“Scorpius, we’ve given each other a maddening amount of space,” she said, and he could have exploded right then and there, “Don’t you think it’s time we get coffee or something?”

He blinked, and then cleared his throat to try to make himself at least look more eloquent. “Yes. Yeah, we should do that,” he replied.

She looked down emphatically at the coffee she just walked in with, and then up at Scorpius again. She gave him a smile, a real one that he hadn’t seen in ages, and then she offered him her cup.

[wordsaremything]

To Sever

Summary: Andromeda Black makes the decision to leave her family forever when her parents find out she’s dating a Muggleborn.

1776 words

Diffindo: (charm) Severs an object into two pieces.

Andromeda was in the garden clipping flowers when her mother came to find her. She heard Druella’s shoes on the path before she saw her, but this did not work in the young woman’s favor. She turned and hardly had a second to recognize the furious look on her mother’s face before she was being dragged by her ponytail into the manor. The sheers clattered onto the concrete, crushing many of the blooms Andromeda had so lovingly chosen from the bush, but all that was forgotten among the ripping of her roots.

Druella didn’t say anything as she pulled her middle daughter into the kitchen and flung her with all her might to the floor. Andromeda put her elbows out just in time to catch herself before she smashed her nose against the stone. Eighteen years living in Black Manor, and her mother had never reacted to anything this way.

She gazed up through tearful eyes and Druella flung a sheet of parchment at her. “What is this about, Andromeda?” she demanded sharply, voice ringing so sharply every House Elf in the kitchen darted out the door and to different parts of the house.

Immediately Andromeda knew what happened. She would know the handwriting on the letter anywhere. Her mother had found a letter from Ted.

“Mother, it’s not–”

“Don’t lie to me!” she shrieked, and Andromeda cringed, “You’ve been having relations with a mudblood, haven’t you? Insolent, ungrateful little girl! Bellatrix has been worried about you for years, and your father just thinks you’re shy, you just wait until he hears about this–”

Bellatrix. How did she know? And she told their mother. Betrayal sparked through Andromeda’s chest, white and hot, eating through the fear that was currently freezing all the blood in her veins.

Druella once again wrapped her hand in Andromeda’s ponytail and pulled her up to her feet. “Answer me, girl,” she hissed, leaning close to the brunette’s face, “You’ve been seeing a mudblood haven’t you?”

She swallowed thickly. “Yes.”

Then, Druella released her. Andromeda stumbled, grabbing the edge of the counter to keep her from falling over. Just like that, Druella Black’s infamous poise and decorum were back. “I will speak to your father about this. He will decide what to do with you.”

Her heart could have stopped. According to the Blacks, Andromeda had committed a cardinal sin by even touching Ted. And now, she had been with him for years. Her mother was furious, obviously, but she was still a wife, and all major decisions came down to the man of the house. Even when it came to disciplining daughters.

“To your room, Andromeda,” she ordered and then snapped, “Now.”

She didn’t need to be told twice. She bolted from the kitchen and ran all the way to her bedroom, which was a feat in a house so big. For the hours she waited for her father to arrive, Andromeda cycled between crying into her pillows and pacing her room. What was she going to tell Ted? How was she going to tell Ted? There’s no way her parents would ever let her out of the house again without an escort.

She would never see Ted again.

And then the tears came back, and it was a vicious cycle until her bedroom door banged open.

Andromeda sat up on her bed, frozen as Cygnus Black walked into the room. Her mother floated in the doorway. Cygnus reached for her and gripped Andromeda’s chin tightly in his hand; it was a hard, painful reinvention of the one sign of affection he ever showed any of the girls. He forced her to look him in the eye.

“You will never see that mudblood again, do you understand me?” he said, low and dangerous, “I will not have my daughter defiled by that filth, nor will I allow her to besmirch my good name. You will attend tomorrow’s party and you will do what you were born to do and forget all about him. Am I clear?”

Pureblood party. Dancing with every unbetrothed son of her parents’ friends until she couldn’t feel her feet. Pretending to be so in love with her little cousin that everyone would just accept it when their parents announced their engagement. No more Ted. It would be like he never even existed.

She was older now. Who was she to think that she could keep her girlish affections after leaving school? She always knew, deep down, where her place is.

“Yes, father.”

Cygnus released her, and Andromeda let out a breath she didn’t even know she was holding. “Good girl. You will stay here until the party tomorrow as punishment. And this–” He snatched up her wand from her bedside table, causing a pang of panic to shoot through her. “Is mine. Until further notice.”

He swept out of the room without another word, and Druella was hot on his heels. Moments later her door slammed, leaving Andromeda alone in her room. Even though she now had hours to herself to think of what to say to Ted –in a letter, of all things– she knew it wouldn’t be enough time to say everything she wanted to.

For the next twenty-four hours, Andromeda Black was the picture of a perfect daughter. She sat before the vanity in her room and let Narcissa do her hair like nothing was wrong. Her little sister liked doing things like that. Plus, she would chat like no one was listening, so Andromeda could just stare at her reflection and let it happen.

Try to once again come to terms with the fact that this was her fate for the rest of her life.

Even Druella said nothing when Andromeda came down the stairs and passed her– oh. It was because she was talking to Bellatrix. She hadn’t seen her older sister for quite some time, and even as they made eye contact over their mother’s shoulder, Andromeda decided she would keep it that way. She was sure if she got anywhere near Bellatrix at that moment she would scratch her eyes out.

The middle sister waded through the party like a fish about to go belly-up. She accepted glasses of champagne without more than a smile in reply, followed his lead, allowed him to squeeze her hand a little too tightly, and step on her shoes. This is what her parents wanted. Pretty, cooperative, and silent.

“Too bad about the Blacks,” her partner said, stirring her out of her thoughts.

She blinked at him. “What do you mean?” she said. That might have been the first intelligent thing she’d said to him all night. What was his name? Wilford? Waldo?

“I mean,” he continued, and with the look on his face she registered what he was getting at, “You walk around like you’re too good for everyone, yet you don’t even know how to speak.”

“Excuse me–”

“You’re excused, love,” he said, stepping away from her for a moment, which was the steps in the dance. It gave her just enough time to allow rage to boil up in her chest. He was insulting her for being quiet, even though that’s exactly what her mother asked her to do? Could she never win? She spun back into his arms. “It’s a fine change. No one liked a chatty woman, you know.”

Andromeda couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She was repulsed. Yes, that was it. She could see it now, living this way for the rest of her life. All of these girls in the room, dancing with strangers, would suffer loveless marriages and the desperate pursuit of a son and a lifetime of being silent. If she was miserable for just one night of reckoning with it, she wouldn’t survive her entire life.

She had a way out. She had love, real love, and it didn’t have to be a childhood dream. She wasn’t playing herself. And she wasn’t scared anymore.

Suddenly, she stepped back. Her partner looked confused. “Excuse me,” she muttered before turning.

He scoffed. “You can’t just leave in the middle of a dance!”

She paused just long enough to turn and give him a look. “I can, and I will.”

Pushing her way through the crowd, she beelined for the place where she knew she would find her wand. Her father’s study was on the second floor beside the library, where she remembered sitting on the floor and drawing pictures while her father read her a story. It pained her, thinking of what she was about to do. Her parents loved her, even if they would never tell her so or let her explain to them that the world was changing. Ted loved their daughter, don’t they want that? And Narcissa… Merlin, Andromeda would miss her. Her beautiful perfume, and her soft-spoken ways, and her unwavering loyalty. Andromeda had lost Bellatrix some time ago.

The study was unlocked and open to the guests to browse, should they want to during the party. It was a status symbol if she ever saw one. Andromeda closed the door behind her and knelt before the desk. She pulled open every drawer until she found one that was locked. That had to be where he was keeping her wand– out of reach, but in a place where she would know exactly where it was. Taunting her.

“Alohamora,” she whispered at the drawer, hoping her wand could do something. It was her only plan. “Come on. Alohamora!”

Light flashed and she could pull the drawer open. She retrieved her wand and paused before she waved it again. There was blank paper sitting on the desk, empty. Quickly, she placed her wand down and got a quill.

She wrote three notes. One to Sirius, so she could go into detail about what she was doing and where she was going and that she was going to be safe. He would understand. The other two were for Cissy and Regulus, and both of them said something simple; ‘I’m sorry I’m leaving you with them’. She signed off that she loved each of them very much.

Stubborn tears rolled down her cheeks as she folded each of the letters. They dotted the parchment, but she didn’t have time to make them look pretty. All three of the recipients were downstairs, but she charmed them to appear in each respective bedroom so she didn’t ruin their nights.

Andromeda once again picked up her wand. She took a breath, trying to memorize the scent of home before she gave the wand a wave and apparated on the spot to Ted’s.

[wordsaremything]

Lost

Summary: Scorpius loses a Snitch in the woods behind his grandparents’ manor and returns with an entirely different lost thing.

1659 words

Scorpius was already a two-season Seeker by the time he was fourteen, something his parents were always proud of, but also set below all of the boy’s academic achievements. There was one person in his life who always asked about Quidditch first, though– Hyperion Greengrass. Scorpius’s maternal grandfather was a warm, animated man who was never afraid to hug his grandson as he grew up. The Malfoys had their own special way of showing their love, but the Greengrasses never shied away from saying it aloud.

His mother got sicker and spent days on end in St. Mungo’s, neither of Scorpius’s parents wanted a teenager to spend his summer holiday in a hospital room. Added to the fact that he finished all of his summer homework in early June, Scorpius often found himself standing in the back garden of Greengrass Manor. Sometimes, he was alone. But not this time.

“I can’t believe this,” Hyperion exclaimed, his lined face streaked with distress. An almost naked broom rested flat in the grass. Scorpius stood on the opposite side, also frowning. “It’s not even that old. If I can still fly, so should this broom.”

Scorpius pursed his lips. “We can share my broom?”

“Nonsense. There’s no Quidditch without a little competition.” Hyperion squared his shoulders, still surprisingly broad for his age, stuck his hand out over the broom and declared, “Up!”

The dull, nearly 40-year-old SIlver Star shuttered feebly but basically stayed put. The older man groaned in annoyance while Scorpius loosed a sigh. His arms were crossed with a Nimbus 5000 tucked into his elbow. “I think it’s just out of juice, Grandfather.”

“Damn!”

Scorpius shrugged his shoulders. “Like I said, we can share the Nimbus,” he pointed out.

By the look on his grandfather’s face, he knew Hyperion Greengrass was not one for sharing. He admitted to his grandson when the young blonde mentioned trying out for the Quidditch team as a first year that it had been Hyperion’s dream to be a professional Quidditch player, but that just wasn’t possible at the time, according to him. So Scorpius empathized every time something came in between his grandfather and playing the sport he loved.

“Well,” the old man sighed, “I’ll get the balls out, then. It’s your broom, you should fly first.”

“Are you sure?” Scorpius said with an amused expression.

Hyperion waved his hand at him, a dismissive action the younger one understood as ‘go for it’. So Scorpius walked further out onto the grounds, which wasn’t much room compared to what he was used to at home, since most of the Greengrass grounds was woods. He had just started to climb onto his broom when he felt something whiz past his head, causing him to flinch in surprise.

He looked over, and his grandfather looked guilty. “There goes the Snitch,” he said flatly.

“You let the Snitch out first?” Scorpius questioned, “I thought you played Quidditch!”

“Hold in your sass, boy,” said Hyperion, although he grinned as if he wanted Scorpius to sass him. He gestured towards the woods, in the general direction the Snitch had zipped off to. “Go on and find it, then, little Seeker. That’s what you’re good at.”

Scorpius looked to the treeline and pursed his lips. Going in there alone didn’t seem like the best idea, but he supposed his grandfather grew up, and he would know if it was dangerous in there or not. So he nodded. “Alright. If I don’t come back, tell my mother I love her.”

“Very funny.”

He turned on his heel and regarded the woods. It was early afternoon; there was no way anything dangerous would be up and about anyway. It was just a forest, it would be sunny enough. And, he hoped that by now his eyes were trained to see the Snitch. With a deep breath, Scorpius started forward into the trees.

It wasn’t dark in the woods, which was comforting, but it still wasn’t as bright as it had been on the lawn. He tripped a few times. Even if it was light enough, he swore this was still a death trap. He scowled at his surroundings. If he were a Snitch, where would he go?

Something rustled to his right. Scorpius froze, hoping it was the Snitch, but… it sounded a little too big. The sound happened again and his arm shot up to the right side of his head, where he usually kept his wand sitting behind his ear. But, of course, it wasn’t there because it was summer and why would he need a wand when playing Quidditch with his grandfather? He lowered his arm, slowly, hoping that the sudden movement hadn’t scared anything.

The rustling started again, and then continued, getting louder as it did. Scorpius backed himself into a tree, his heart racing. If he was smart, he would just run, but he knew turning his back on an animal would be dangerous. Rose always said he’d make a good Gryffindor, but trying to blend into a tree trunk didn’t seem very brave.

Something moved into the shaft of light. Scorpius’s heart leapt, but then he looked closer and… it was a lizard?

A lizard with wings. He leaned a little closer, but still held fast to his tree. It was a dragon, no doubt, but a baby one. What was a baby dragon doing here, of all places? Scorpius steeled himself and stepped a little closer. The dragon made a tiny squeak and retreated a bit. Aw, it was scared of him.

Scorpius knelt down. “Don’t worry, it’s okay,” he mumbled, although he felt like an idiot. How would a dragon understand him? He held his hand out, palm up, like he would to a cat. The dragon sniffed, its whitish head bobbing, and it moved a little closer. Scorpius remained still, Snitch forgotten, and watched carefully as the dragon moved closer to his hand. The little thing was actually kind of cute– the scales shimmered in the shifting beams of light, giving off a translucent kind of reflection in a number of colors, and its eyes were startling. Scorpius could see them as it moved closer; there were no pupils, but they were a vivid purple that stood out against the color of its scales.

It was an Opaleye, he knew that much from Care of Magical Creatures. But they were from New Zealand and Australia… what was it doing all the way in Europe?

He nearly forgot he had been beckoning it closer. The Opaleye gently rested its chin in Scorpius’s palm, one side angled up to look at him. It would have startled him if all his muscles hadn’t been so taught while he knelt there.

Scorpius ran his fingers under the dragon’s chin, like scratching a cat. He wondered what he would do now. This baby dragon can’t survive by itself for very long, and he didn’t think he wanted to have a confrontation with its mother. He thought that she probably wasn’t around anyway, considering the Greengrasses would have noticed if there was a full-grown Antipodean Opaleye on their land. The baby must have half walked, half flown for a while to get here alone. It was too small for its wings to carry it very far.

The dragon moved again, and started to climb into Scorpius’s hand, then on again. It was just as a big as a small cat, so it was a bit older than a hatchling. It was a lot sharper than a cat though, and Scorpius cringed as it walked up his arm. It chirped softly, rubbed its head just under his ear, and made itself comfortable right on its shoulder.

“Alright, then,” he muttered and slowly got to his feet, “Let’s go figure out what to do with you.”

Scorpius made his way out of the trees with a dragon instead of a Snitch. He was probably about to give his grandfather a heart attack, but hey, it would be a good story to tell his friends. When he was back in the grass behind the manor, Hyperion had his back to the woods, polishing the Silver Star. Scorpius cleared his throat.

“I thought you got–“ Hyperion stopped when he turned to look at Scorpius, who smiled sheepishly. He got to his feet, blinked, and continued. “What do you have there?”

“A baby dragon.”

“You found it?”

“More like it found me.”

“Is it… dangerous?”

“Er, probably?”

Scorpius didn’t know how he did it, but his grandfather got in touch with some dragonologists that would come get the Opaleye. They didn’t wait around for very long, but the entire time the dragon would not let Hyperion anywhere near it. Scorpius insisted it was nothing but friendly to him, but it hissed and smoked ever so slightly whenever he got near it. The same thing happened when the dragonologists arrived. Not one of them could touch the baby dragon, but it continuously curled and uncurled itself around Scorpius’s shoulders.

“Is there any reason this dragon would want to protect you, Mr. Malfoy?” one of them asked, “Females especially tend to be territorial.”

“No, sir, I just found it… her,” he replied as the dragon once again hissed at the wizard for being too close.

Eventually, Scorpius had to be the one to put the dragon in a little carrier for them to take back to the colony. She did whatever he wanted her to do, which made him sad as he watched the carrier close on her. She inclined her head to see Scorpius for as long as she could, and then they took her away. He was oddly sad when she was gone, but at least she would be among her own kind there.

“Well, that was an adventure,” Hyperion pointed out once they were alone again.

“Yeah,” Scorpius agreed, “Maybe we should have kept it.”

His grandfather barked a laugh. “Funny.”

[wordsaremything]

press for smiles

do you ever wonder why we close our eyes when we kiss? / maybe there’s some real reason i don’t know about but / personally i think it’s to block out everything else but the lips you’re touching / that’s what i like most about it / we as people rely so much on seeing and eyes that cutting off that one sense / makes anything new / we’re forced to focus on the softness of the person’s lips and where their hands meet body and that little / happy sound / that hums in their throats / i want every kiss to be that kiss / i want every happy kiss to resonate on my mouth so two smiles are just pressing together / smiles that are genuine / so genuine that they dazzle even me / but i don’t want to see / i want to feel / because that’s the whole point of kissing with our eyes closed

[wordsaremything]

Death

Scorpius doesn’t deal with the death of his mother all too well.

638 words.

To think, Scorpius woke up in a great mood. He went to class and earned House points, laughed and went to Quidditch practice like any other day. In fact, it was after practice back in his dormitory when he got the letter.

The Malfoy’s eagle owl was silvery-blue, and a staple in Scorpius’s life. Whenever he saw that owl, he thought of mum and dad. A little piece of home. That owl, however, had never delivered a letter right to his window in his years at Hogwarts. Scorpius dropped his practice robes on the floor. Opened the window. Took the letter in his hands. Broke the seal. And his heart stopped. It was from his dad. ‘Scorpius,

The day we’ve been dreading has come. Your mother is declining and she won’t get better– the Healers have done everything they can. They say she won’t make it until morning. I’m coming to get you from the headmistress’s office tonight so we can spend some time together and you can both say your goodbyes. She understands, she needs to see you. We’ll deal with what happens as it comes. See you soon. –Dad’

Scorpius scrunched the letter in his hands, the parchment crinkling in his fists. He’s gotten letters from St. Mungo’s before– he knew “tonight” was soon. He stuffed the letter into his back pocket and didn’t even bother packing anything real. He needed his wand and his glasses. That’s it. Still clad in his Quidditch number and sporting a distinctly tortured expression, Scorpius left his dormitory and started the death march to McGonagall’s office.

Scorpius didn’t take his time in trying to get back into his routine. Maybe it would help with his general state of mind– which at the moment was bad. Scorpius was overwhelmingly sad, that was true, but he also had so much… energy. Maybe if he threw himself into school or Quidditch, he could expend that extra energy. But he was a Seeker, which meant he spent a lot of time floating with nothing but his thoughts, and he worked too quickly to rely on homework to distract him. His mother has always loved watching him work on holidays. Scorpius tore through the corridor one morning, knowing he was going to be late to Charms and Al would kill him if they didn’t work together again when his shoulder connected with someone else’s. The force of it caused Scorpius to stumble. “Watch it, Malfoy,” the bloke chuckled. Some Gryffindor meathead, the robes told him. He thought it would be over there, as Scorpius was no stranger to some light bullying, especially when the girl beside the Gryffindor looked sheepish. “Nick, don’t, his mother just died.” And a guardian angel, she was. They didn’t know anything about his mother and they never would. Just a couple jerks. Scorpius drew in a breath and went to continue on his way when he heard something else. “I heard, his Death Eater father probably killed her.” Scorpius froze. Never in all his life had he ever heard something come from the mouth of another person that made him see red. Not much time passed in between Scorpius pulling his wand from his bag and him shoving the Gryffindor who dared speak about his family like that into a wall, the wand pressed firmly against his jugular.

“Say it again,” he hissed, with venom Scorpius didn’t know he had in him, “What, are you scared? You know curses are in my blood, right, my father’s a Death Eater. Say it.” Someone had gone to get a professor, who in turn shouted Scorpius’s name. Shit. Well, he had done it now. Headmistress McGonagall waved her hand, and Scorpius immediately backed off. Then, he stalked down the hall, already feeling the waves of sadness coming back. He wasn’t going to Charms.

[wordsaremything]

Something Sad

I should write something sad.         Because it gets dark at 4 pm And I look so much happier in the sunshine

I should write something sad.         Because I want to go home But at this point anywhere I go is temporary

I should write something sad.         Because I need to hug someone. But the universe made us an ocean away

I should write something sad.         Because I want to say I miss you But I don’t think we’ll ever be there

I should write something sad.         Because I tried to memorize you But your warm cologne clouded my brain

I should write something sad.         Because loneliness is my greatest fear Yet independence is my greatest virtue

I should write something sad.         Because I’m an artist.         And creativity comes in waves of sad.

[wordsaremything]

Family Business

Summary: Helena Wayne is a lawyer at her father’s company after criminal law proved too much for her. However, she can’t seem to escape it. 

2012 words

A black car pulled in front of the Wayne Building in Gotham, letting Helena out before the revolving double doors. She put her bag on her shoulder and closed the door behind her. Her driver put the window down. "Five o'clock?" he called out to her. "Five," she agreed. Then she paused because her assistant had just run out the door looking harried. "Make that six, Fertie," Helena added. "You got it." Helena approached the door with a raised eyebrow. Her assistant forced a smile. "Morning!" she chirped as if nothing was wrong, but Helena could see that there was. "Morning, Asha," she said, and the two of them pushed through the revolving doors. They waved at the front desk, Helena swiped her company ID, and they continued past the turnstiles to the elevators. "How's everything looking?" "Good. Interns got here early and filed everything left over from last night, so that's all done. I sent them on a coffee break." "I'm sure they appreciate that. Was it done right?" "Checked it myself." "Beautiful. The Magdah case?" "Mag's law office called this morning, and it's Leffler–" Helena sneered at that. "–and he wants to meet with you before any contracts are drawn. I told him your lunches are full and you'll get back to him." "Yeah, when pigs fly. Magdah ought to be happy we want them, they'll be bankrupt in a year without us. I hate small talk over a $20 salad when I could do real work." The elevator pinged on the eleventh floor. "You could get a $20 glass of wine and then pretend to want to pick up the check. You know he'll insist he get it." "This is why we're a team, Asha," Helena continued with a smirk as she walked down the hall towards her office. The term 'her office' was relatively new, but it did have a plaque with her name on it, so it looked official. Being a lawyer at Wayne Enterprises came with its perks. 

When inside, she put her bag on the desk and pulled out a MacBook. "And the Cooper case?" Once again Asha looked stressed. She hesitated, and Helena took it open herself to say, "What now?" Martin Cooper was an employee of the family business at the Metropolis branch when the upper floors of the building were taken out by a hijacked plane. The plane –of course– was quickly under control but only after the building was hit. Martin Cooper was injured, as many others were, by the crash but refused to let it end at the Wayne Foundation covering the damages. Instead, he sued the company for unsafe working conditions and he refused to settle. It was stupid and Helena hated it. "The time of the hearing has been pushed up," Asha told her. "To when?" "Today." Helena could have crushed the laptop in her hands if she tried hard enough given the frustration she felt at that statement. But she just took a breath and gently placed it down in front of her. "What time?" "1:30." Shit. Her dad had wanted to be there for the hearings, obviously, considering he was the CEO. But considering he was flying a plane to Iceland at the moment with the League, there was no way he would get to a meeting at 1:30. But there was a backup. "Okay," said Helena with a decisive nod. Asha immediately got out a pen to write things down, knowing that tone right away. "Call my mother. Tell her what's going on and to put on her most intimidating dress. She'll go with me, dad won't mind." Asha gave a nod. "Consider it done. Do you need anything else?" She shook her head. "I have work to do." Asha nodded and left the room, closing the door behind her. Helena sat at her desk, opened her computer, and prepared the Cooper case.

At one o'clock on the dot, Asha knocked and pushed Helena's door open. The latter looked up. "Your mom just walked in," said the assistant Helena smirked. "This ought to be good." The two women wandered into the hallway outside Helena's office and watched. Employees scattered around, trying to clean things, organize, spray air freshener. "Mrs. Wayne has entered the building," said a passing editor to an intern when they walked by Helena and Asha. The former snorted and leaned against the wall. "Maybe we should warn them next time," she muttered to Asha. The other girl smiled. "Then we wouldn't get this." "It's always fun to entertain the idea of making people’s lives easier." The elevator pinged and employees scattered to their positions. Someone even froze at the opening to the break room with the bowl of snacks. The doors slid open and Selina Kyle strutted down the hallway, and she did look her most intimidating. Black Gucci dress, leather Birkin bag, royal purple Jimmy Choos, and a string of pearls around her neck. The woman knew how to dress. Employees mumbled, "Hello, Mrs. Wayne” and various other greetings as Selina walked down the hallway, and she waved and muttered hellos in reply as she went. She grabbed a pear from the snack bowl when she passed. Helena and Asha just waited at the end of the hall. Selina broke into a smile as she reached them. "Hi, baby," she said. "Hi, momma," Helena responded and they kissed cheeks. Selina touched Asha's shoulder. "Hi, Asha, good to see you." "You too, Selina." Helena nodded her head towards her office door led all three of them in. Asha closed the door behind her and loitered there. Helena sat behind the desk and Selina perched right on the desktop. She promptly produced a knife from her bag and started cutting slices from the pear. "I can't believe you let them call you Mrs. Wayne," said Helena. Selina shrugged and ate a slice right off the blade. "It strikes fear into their hearts. And it reminds them who /you/ are, which is the important thing." The daughter rolled her eyes. "Thanks for coming, by the way. I don't want to deal with that employment lawyer by myself and, apparently, I don't count as a representative of the Waynes on my own. I'm just the lawyer." "Does Metropolis even have real lawyers? Nothing ever happens there," Selina said, waving her knife hand in a dismissive motion. "You would think. But this one that Cooper's got is a real jerk. Very hard to get to." "Well," sighed Selina with a swipe of her knife against the fruit, "We'll just have to break him. They don't make 'em in Metropolis like they do in Gotham." A cab ride later, the three women walked into the Gotham City courthouse and made for the hearing room. But then they walked in, the lawyer was there, but a woman joined him. Not Martin Cooper. She didn't look up as the others sat down on the other side of the table. "I don't think we've been aquatinted," Cooper's lawyer said, standing and holding out his hand to Selina, "Gregory White." She shook his hand with a tight smile. "Selina Kyle," she responded, "I'm your company rep today." He sat down and folded his arms before him on the table. "I'll cut right to the chase here, ladies. This case has changed drastically," he said. Here we go, Helena thought. She placed her laptop, unopened, in front of her. "Where is Mr. Cooper? I thought we were serious here, Gregory," she asked, trying her best not to sound bored. But the man was a lawyer. He saw right through it. "Martin Cooper is dead," he said evenly. Asha sucked in a gasp of surprise. Helena stared at him. "Dead? You and I spoke on the phone with him present two days ago," she said incredulously. "The world is a cruel place," said Gregory, showing his palms. The woman beside him stayed quiet when he gestured to her. "This is his wife, Sheila, by the way." "What happened?" Selina asked, glancing at her. Now Shiela did speak up. "He was murdered," she hissed venomously. Selina raised her eyebrows in surprise but did not balk. Gregory White cleared his throat. "Allegedly. We have reason to believe it was a murder," he continued. Helena exchanged a look with her mother and leaned forward on her computer top. Without looking down or shifting much at all, Selina started recording on her phone under the table, which was very illegal. No doubt she would send it right to the husband. "What reasons do you have?" Helena asked. "I believe you have quite the history with criminal law, Miss Wayne," he said. Helena waited patiently for him to continue as she was familiar with this deflection tactic. "Your last criminal trial is what you say secured your job at Wayne. Not the fact that your name is on the building." "We're not talking about me, Mr. White." "No, but we are talking about your job. You know criminal law like the back of your hand, and I have never understood why you settled for corporate," he continued and shook his head, "So you know exactly what the reasons are. A worker suing a multibillion-dollar company for unsafe conditions and multiple damages, therefore exposing the entire operation to the public, and then he turns up dead a day before a court hearing. Does that not sound fishy to you, Miss Wayne?" "You can't really believe that Wayne Enterprises would put a hit out on an injured employee," Selina interrupted. White shrugged. "And we have no reason to believe you didn't." "This is outrageous," Helena declared, "Accusing us of murder on nothing but the fact that you have no leads? Even in Metropolis, there are bad people! This isn't even enough evidence for another hearing–" Sheila Cooper slammed her hands on the table, cutting off the speech. "My husband is dead! There are no witnesses, no ransoms, no traces, only bullet holes! Someone killed him like they were hunting something and only people who want their employees to sit down and shut up would do such a thing!" Helena turned her head and stared, taken aback by the woman's outburst. It was two different kinds of startling. The case had taken a serious term /and/ this woman was accusing her family's company of murder. This was going to get out to the press and the Daily Planet would have a heyday dragging them through the mud. "I'm sorry for your loss, Mrs. Cooper," Selina interjected, "But no one at this company had your husband killed. And if you press charges, you will lose." Sheila Cooper turned red, but her lawyer quickly intervened. "She and I still have more to discuss. We will get back to you officially when a decision is made about anything." Helena stood quickly. "Then this meeting is over. I will be scheduling the next one. Have a lovely afternoon," she said. She picked her laptop in one swoop and headed for the door. Selina and Asha were not far behind. In the hall, Helena dropped back. "Someone murdered him," she said. Selina was already putting the phone to her ear. "I'll check my sources," she said. The Sirens. Between the three of them, they could find out if any hitmen had been hired lately and by who. "I already sent the full audio file to your father. Wherever he is he's already listening to it." "They're going to charge us with murder." Selina nodded. "I know." Asha gulped audibly behind them. "This will go to court," Helena said, squeezing her computer in agitation, "I'm going to be defending in a murder trial." "You shouldn't have settled for corporate," Selina said, and then turned away when the other line of her phone picked up. She walked ahead, and Helena ended up beside Asha. "Why did you leave criminal law?" the assistant asked, hesitantly and curiously. Helena pursed her lips and her whole body tightened as if preparing for impact. "Too close to home."

[wordsaremything]

Come To Mamma– Part 2

Summary: Two more snapshots of Maria Stark’s relationship with her son.

1360 words.

The Long Island sun streamed in through the open curtains into the kitchen as Maria cooked. Sunday afternoons were always spent in the kitchen, and at the moment is smelled like absolute heaven as well. Tomato sauce boiled away on the stove while Maria whisked together a sugary batter for pizzelles. Ana and Edwin usually had run of the house, but today the kitchen was hers. The radio in the corner played upbeat jazz music, and as Maria crossed the room she hummed and danced to the beat. She wasn’t paying much attention as she did so until an arm looped around her waist. She gasped in surprise and suddenly she was chest to chest with her husband. “Excuse me, sir, I am busy,” she laughed softly. Howard hummed. “Take a break with me,” he replied. “I’ll answer that question with your usual answer,” she said and detached herself from him, “No.” Groaning softly, Howard spun to follow her across to the stove. Maria laughed again as she pulled the lid of her sauce pot. She breathed in the strong scene to tomatoes and Italian spices and decided it was nearly ready. “Don’t like tasting your own medicine, huh?” “No, I thought you loved me.” Maria barked a laugh as she stirred her sauce. “Don’t you dare pull that on me, Howard Stark,” she said. She felt Howard approach her from behind, still groaning in annoyance as he buried his nose in her hair while she cooked. She reached back and gently patted his cheek by some way of comfort, but most of her focus was on her own task. Then she heard sniffles. Her head snapped up, and Howard immediately stepped away. Their nine-year-old was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, tear-tracks drying on his face. Maria all but dropped her spoon. “Tony, what happened?”

He had been playing outside, right near the kitchen so Maria could keep an eye on him, but she hadn’t heard him come in. He sniffled again and showed his hands– he had skinned the pads bloody. No wonder he was crying! “I told you to be careful on that bike,” Howard commented. Maria sighed and waved Tony forward. “Vieni, mimmo.” Come here, baby. He did, going over to Maria and holding his arms out. She picked him right up with no difficulty and set him on the counter beside the sink. Howard said something about getting antiseptic and left the room, but she just shook her head and studied Tony’s scrapes. They would heal up fine. “We don’t need any of that fancy stuff,” she murmured, “Just makes it sting. Good thing you were wearing trousers and didn’t scrape up your knees too, huh?”

Tony nodded. “I ripped them though,” he mumbled.

“That’s the least of our worries,” Maria replied with a little smile. She wet down a cloth with warm water and gently cleaned up his hands, apologizing softly whenever he hissed in pain. It didn’t take long though, and she put the cloth aside. “There, that wasn’t so bad, huh?” she said. He shook his head but still pouted. She tilted her head. “Does it hurt?” He nodded that time. “What about here?” she asked and gently poked his side. Tony giggled quietly. “Does it hurt here?” “No…” “What about here?” She poked him in the other side, and then again, causing him to smile and laugh in earnest. She smiled too, tickling him until he nearly fell off the counter and into her skirt. “Stop it!” Maria reached up and wiped at his cheeks with her thumbs. “Do you feel better now?” she asked softly. He smiled back and nodded. “I hate that bicycle,” she added, just to make him laugh again. “I think I need my training wheels back.”

Maria was putting in new flowers around the house when she heard a knock at the door. That was odd– usually, people didn’t come to the Starks’ unless they had planned something. Maria wiped her wet hands on her skirt before going over to pull the front door open.

Two men in black suits greeted her, and a third’s head could be seen behind them, which took her by even more surprise. “Mrs. Stark?” said the one on the left. “Yes?” she replied apprehensively. The two men parted so she could see the third, who held her dejected-looking teenage son by the upper arm. For a moment she was concerned –who thought it was okay to touch him like that?– but then the man who spoke presented her with a badge and a letter. FBI. Cease and desist. Maria sighed and put on her most polite smile. “Thank you for bringing him home, gentlemen,” she said, “I’ll take it from here.” “Ma'am, we would appreciate it if–” “I said I’ll take it from here,” she interrupted her smile still intact. She saw Tony crack a smile, but he quickly schooled his expression as she waved him forward. He pulled his arm free and headed into the house. “Have a lovely night,” she added pleasantly before closing the door. Then, she rounded on Tony and held up the letter, silently demanding an explanation. “Okay, I’m sorry!” he declared, holding his hands up in surrender. “You hacked the Pentagon, Anthony?” she demanded, “Really? Did you think you wouldn’t get caught?” “No–” “You brought the FBI to our house! Oh, you are in so much trouble, imagine if your father had been home, you’re lucky he’s in California–” “They told me I couldn’t!” he interrupted sharply. Maria stopped cold. Tony never interrupted her. But with the look on his face, she assumed there was more to this than his just being an idiot kid. She took a breath and crossed her arms. “Alright. Who did?” “The other 12th graders,” he replied, now looking sheepish, rubbing his arm, “They said I… bought my way in. That I wasn’t actually smart enough.” Immediately all her anger was forgotten. Tony was much younger than the others in his grade, considering how advanced he was. She could only imagine how tough it was for a fifteen-year-old to fit in with a bunch of eighteen-year-olds, and leave it to her kid to go above and beyond in trying to prove himself. He hacked the Pentagon on a dare. She sighed softly. “Tony, look at me.” He did, raising his eyes to hers. Tony got his dad’s eyes, but everything about that expression was Maria. “When will you learn not to listen to other people?” “Probably never.” She shook her head. “The only other person you should ever listen to is your mamma,” she said, which earned a crooked little smile, “There will always be someone trying to bring you down, Tony. You’re a very, very special boy. And one day you will be a very strong man. Other kids… don’t understand. They just want what you have, what you’re working for.” Tony, of course, had heard this all before. If Maria didn’t tell him how special he was every day, either her day was incomplete or she was dead. And she would keep saying it until he believed her. She walked over to him and pushed hair from his forehead; brunette curls that were so much like hers. “You can do anything you put your mind to. Just, don’t put yourself in federal prison, do you hear me?” Tony smiled at her, nodding. “So, I’m not in trouble?” “Oh, you’re definitely in trouble,” Maria told him with a serene smile, “You’ll do nothing but go to school and come home for a week. But… I guess I won’t tell your dad.” He sighed and nodded again in resignation. “Good boy. You can go now.” He stepped away, heading for his bedroom, but then Maria cleared her throat. He paused, sighed, then hurried over and gave her a hug. No teenage boy would be caught dead hugging his mother, but she and Tony had always been different. She squeezed him back and kissed his head (which continually got harder to do as he grew). “What do you say?” “I love you, mamma.” “I love you too.”

[wordsaremything]

Come To Mamma– Part 1

Summary: Two snapshots of Maria Stark’s relationship with her son.

735 words.

At nearly 4 am on the dot Maria was woken up by the familiar cries of her baby down the hall. The immediately startled awake, but her husband slept on like a rock beside her. She didn't mind– he probably didn't go to bed until a few hours ago, and she took any opportunity she could to cuddle little Anthony. She darted up from the bed and pulled on a bathrobe before hurrying down the hall to the nursery. According to Howard, the baby was old enough for his own room, but Maria missed having his bassinet right beside her. She supposed she should get used to not having him with her at all times, but he was still just a baby yet. She could still treat him that way for a bit longer. Maria padded across the nursery to the crib, where Tony laid on his back and screamed. "Sh, sh, it's okay," she cooed as she reached down and pulled him into her arms, "it's okay, baby, mamma's here." He still cried, but as Maria held him Tony stopped his screaming. She held him to her chest and slowly swayed back and forth to soothe him. It absolutely broke her heart to hear him sniffling and gasping as the sobs started to quiet down. "You're not hungry, you feel clean," she murmured, looking down at the tear-soaked face, "You must be lonely. Afraid of the dark?" He responded by swiping one of his little fists against his eye, and she smiled at him. "What can we do about that, huh? How about a song." She cleared her throat and quietly started to sing to him. "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are gray." The tears and sniffles subsided, leaving Tony wide-eyed but silent. He was completely enthralled with his mother's voice. "You'll never know dear, how much I love you," she continued, smoothing some dark hair from his forehead at the same time, "Please don't take my sunshine away." The baby seemed thoroughly comforted, but she still didn't want to give him up yet. So she kept him in her arms and curled up in the rocking chair in the corner, determined to hold him until he fell asleep again. As it turned out, both mother and son fell asleep in that rocking chair, and weren't found until morning.

Maria loved summer in California. It was warm and sunny enough to remind her of all the holidays she spent in Italy. The Starks did a lot of flying between New York and LA for Howard's work, which meant on these trips he was often busy for their time on the west coast. Just as well. Maria and Tony, the latter only four at the time, could get to know Griffith Park just the two of them. Lounging on her side on a blanket, Maria read a copy of the newspaper while Tony ran around and played. They were content to be there for a few hours. At one point, Tony piped up in a hushed voice, "Mamma!" Maria looked up and saw that her toddler had an orange butterfly sitting in his palm. She smiled at him encouragingly, but he was absorbed with the insect in his hand. "Che cosa?" he asked. What is it? "Farfalla," she replied, "Butterfly." Tony's eyebrows knit together, thoughtful. "Flutterby?" he said. Maria chuckled. "Butterfly," she repeated, slower. He nodded. "Butterfly," he stated, satisfied. He used his other hand to try and poke it, causing it to fly away. Tony gasped quietly and watched it go until neither of them could see it anymore. Then Tony scrambled over to sit on the blanket in the curve between Maria's hips and her legs. "You're a butterfly, mamma." She knit her eyebrows together, amused. "Why's that?" "Pretty," he said, fisting the skirt of her dress and pulling it so it pooled into his lap, "but don't fly away, okay?" Maria ran her thumb over his cheek. "Never, mimmo. I would miss you too much," she assured him. Tony smiled back, showing all his teeth. "I'm going to find another one!" he declared, and Maria tugged her newspaper out of the way just in time before he trampled it, running back into the grass in search of something else to study. She smiled at his back fondly before she went back to her newspaper.

Part 2

[wordsaremything]

Breathe, girl.

Hey, girl. I know how you feel. You feel the world is going to swallow you up. But where is the hole?

Is it the ground? The ground of the apartment you can’t pay for, The ground outside covered in snow that leaks through your boots, The ground of the building where someone said you don’t belong there.

Is it school? School determines your future with a three-digit number ranking, School bundles you and everyone  into a single statistic, School robs you of your own mind.

Is it them? They forget to invite you, They forget you have feelings too, They forget a smile can be a coping mechanism.

Is it you? You forget to read. You forget how to cry. You forget how to breathe. Breathe.

Hey, girl. Breathe. You don’t know what hole is going to swallow you. Breathe, girl.

You deserve to breathe.

[wordsaremything]

Master list??

In the little heart in my bio, it’s clickable ^^

[wordsaremything]

Update!

Read Hawk and Dove: Consumption on AO3, Wattpad, and ff.net.

Five years after the events of 'Hawk and Dove', the mutants have settled into their lives of protecting those who need it and helping their own become heroes. Naturally, things that are good and easy don't last, and the MGGB receive a distress call from their friends in America. While helping the Trifecta deal with a threat that could potentially be the world's first super villain, their ranks are being rapidly shrunk by a sickness that only seems to be infecting mutants.