#also only one I REALLY fully thoroughly explained was Lily but OH WELL | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

valiantarcher · 3 years

Text

I have random and assorted thoughts on my Constance Savery reads over the past couple of weeks. I’ve categorised them by work (Magic in My Shoes, “The Waswytch Secret”, The Reb and the Redcoats, The Good Ship Red Lily, and Enemy Brothers) so those who haven’t read all of them have the option to (hopefully easily) scroll past the unread ones if they so desire. I have also put them under the cut due to length.

Magic in My Shoes: I enjoyed Sally as the narrator, and the premise was engaging even with me knowing the secret early in the book. I was a little surprised by the accusations of ill-nourishment and neglect against Aunt Persis, but in retrospect, I appreciate that realism - four growing children are not going to flourish off even generous portions for two of them. Which brings me to my main complaint - Tandy and his unwillingness to see gorging himself was selfish and wrong on many levels. Despite the thin excuse that he had been delicate and sickly at times in the past, I really expected Josset (with Laurence’s support) to put his foot down instead of continuing to baby him (after all, as someone remarked, triplets are all of the same age). Tandy didn’t ruin the story for me, but he made certain parts of it very irritating. I did love the plan involving ten-year-old Laurence becoming a schoolteacher and, when Aunt Persis declared that was nonsense, all the children bring up a moral tale with a six-year-old being so studious that she became a teacher as solid proof.

“The Waswytch Secret”: Given that it was in a collection of ghost stories (well, sort of - most had some sort of haunting element, if only a little, but I’m still not sure why “The Red-Headed League” was included), I wasn’t sure what to expect at first. It was thoroughly Savery, though, and an enjoyable read with an element of mystery. It felt slightly different from her novels, and I think that was due to the choice of one of the younger children as narrator.

Reb and Redcoats: This was a reread and I found it a pretty fun one this time around. Randal’s integration into and relationship with the Darringtons was charming. I couldn’t decide whether Tim Wingate’s inaptitude for stealth and secrecy was more irritating or amusing, but I swung towards the latter by the end, especially given his cheerful nature. My main gripe is that I still feel like the Patty switch was kind of cheating.

The Good Ship Red Lily: I struggled with this one a lot even past (or maybe because of) the tense start. Violet was a horrible child, and I loathed Ingram and disliked Sir Timon. Objectively, of course it’s good that there was reconciliation with Ingram and that he repented and asked forgiveness, but I could not make myself invested in it (though the tiny glimpses we had of it from Michael’s perspective helped a little). I enjoyed Toby as primary character a lot and especially appreciated his resolution to deny the pleasures when he felt accepting them would go against his conscience. I wasn’t very pleased with the treatment of Patience, though - Toby said the others didn’t join him in his denial because they were too young to understand; while that certainly makes sense for the younger ones (and Violet is a category in and of herself), Patience is a year older than him and - although not privy to all the knowledge and trust from their father that Toby is - was Toby’s confidant about plans to escape. She showed a lack of wisdom in following Violet up the chimney, but that could partially have been explained by her caregiving to the younger children. Regardless, especially since all knew about Ingram’s betrayal, I think Patience at least should have been given a reason for not seeing the pleasures as a betrayal of their father instead of being pushed to the side and under the general but false umbrella of “too young to understand”.

Enemy Brothers: Especially after The Good Ship Red Lily, I was afraid this one might not live up to the positive recollection I had of it - but it didn’t disappoint. I very much appreciated that, although Dym was the one who had a special connection with Tony, Tony belonged to the entire family and they to him. I know Tony takes it lightly at the end and chalks it up to their keenness for detective work, but James and Porgy cycling 60 miles after him and the German in the car was no small thing. And, while it bugs me a little bit that Ginger doesn’t recgonise Tony despite the marked resemblance to Dym, I’ll let it go with the idea that he thinks he’s familiar but his brain doesn’t provide the correct context while on ship. I have a new appreciation for Dym. On one hand, of course he is gentle and doesn’t take harm easily from Tony - he’s been searching for Tony for years and so he’s been choosing to love Tony for years. And, on the other, you can tell he still hasn’t forgiven Max’s Mutti for stealing Tony and just how much effort it takes for him to choose to tell Tony to still love her and that he will take him to see her after the war. I also appreciate the honesty that Dym had in discussing England’s past and how they were not always on the side of right but that this time, they were. Also, Dym was a bomber pilot! I don’t know the exact statistics, but this was an incredibly dangerous job. I’m sure it varied some between organizations and aircraft, but if you were on the crew of a US B-17 bomber doing runs, the odds were you would only make it halfway through the 25 runs (I believe that’s right for the year it was published?) you were supposed to before being killed, captured, or severely injured. Even if you beat the odds and made it through all those runs (as some did), you would have had multiple crewmembers who did not and so would not have kept your full crew together (Were there rare exceptions to this, crews who made it all together? I hope so, but I don’t know). At any rate, when Euphemia comments to Dym and his friends to leave croquet until the summer when it was warmer and the way they all looked at each other for a moment as if there was no certainty that summer would come hit hard this time. (Oh, I just found someone noting that the RAF flew night missions and had a higher casualty rate than the US bombers, though it did depend on the year, of course - if they weren’t in the worst year yet, they were heading into it.) And the moment when Tony finds Dym and comes up behind him, nervous and afraid, and whispers “Please, George, I’ve come back” is just wonderful. I think there’s an idea of fear and justice vs. love and mercy, along with the hope that the choice of coming back will make a difference, but I haven’t figured out how to put it into words. I’m actually kind of shocked this book has never been made into a movie or a mini-series, especially when WWII stories have been so popular in somewhat recent years. But perhaps the strong Christian threads have put producers off (...not that that’s stopped others from mangling or removing them from other works).

The Good Ship Red Lily and Enemy Brothers: Enemy Brothers feels like a kind of inverse of The Good Ship Red Lily. Both books deal with children meeting and spending time with family members (and because of kidnapping, no less) and making decisions as to where home is and who true family is, but the role of the family is drastically different. In Red Lily, the dapper uncle is the kidnapper. Ingram tries to act like he is filling the kind, wise, but fun adult role and the children do love him for that. However, he is directly and actively responsible for their kidnapping, for previous imprisonment of their father, and for the current attempt to capture their father. In Enemy Brothers, Dym is ostensibly in the enemy role (being English and responsible for Tony’s “imprisonment” in the White Priory), but his actions are kind, loving, and (mostly) wise. Even when Tony is hating him, he can’t deny there’s a magnetism around Dym that all the children, including him, recognise and respond to. It’s not quite that serious, but I am reminded of the exchange in The Fellowship of the Ring about the enemy’s agents seeming fair but feeling foul, while the good may look foul but feel fair. But where an understanding of Ingram’s true nature leads Toby to separate from him and his grandfather, a deeper understanding of Dym and his true character helps Tony to make the hard but right decision about his home and family. In both cases, repentance and returning bring about reconciliation and restoration, but Ingram is the one repenting in Red Lily, confessing and asking forgiveness of his brother. In Enemy Brothers, Tony is the one who comes back, finally seeking the brother who has sought him for so long. He doesn’t ask for forgiveness from his brother in words and indeed doesn’t need to because his actions speak so loudly of it, but is fully received with love and restored.

#Constance Savery #Enemy Brothers #The Good Ship Red Lily #The Reb and the Redcoats #Magic in My Shoes #The Waswytch Secret #books #I'm sure I'm forgetting lots of thoughts but this is so long already #Thanks to past!Valia for having acquired much more knowledge of WWII since the first Enemy Brothers read #No thanks to past!Valia for not having done any research into the RAF #I am also always struck by the reminder Enemy Brothers was written during the war - maybe that's part of why it feels so real #As far-fetched as the premise always seems to me - these things just happened and the timing was such?? But stranger things have happened #Providence after all and I'll forgive it here even though I tend to like a stronger recognition of it #And now to send all the books back to their own libraries *sighs*

10 notes · View notes

louthegreatfurrry · 5 years

Text

let the light guide your way, Pt.3

Harry stares down at the letter in his hands. The paper – parchment, part of him thinks, that’s surely parchment – is thick and heavy.

“What’s taking so long, boy?” Uncle Vernon calls, and Harry casts a quick glance over his shoulder before refocusing on the letter.

Mr. H. Potter stares up at him in green ink.

Harry has only received letters once or twice before, and they were always from school or the library. The few times it had happened, Uncle Vernon had confiscated it immediately. They had only been handed over to Harry after being thoroughly squinted at.

Something about this letter seems terribly, incredibly important. Maybe it’s the weight of it in his hands. Maybe it’s the seal at the back. Maybe Harry just wants something personal, for once.

“Coming, Uncle Vernon!” he calls, quietly slipping the letter in through the blinds on his cupboard door. He’s going to read that later, when he has time, and when the Dursleys have left the house for the evening.

He suffers through the day, working quicker than usual to finish his assigned tasks. Aunt Petunia squints suspiciously at him, but she shrugs it off and lets him go. Finally, finally Harry’s allowed to retreat to the familiar darkness of his room.

The letter turns out to be way shorter than expected. It’s also a bit underwhelming. Why would they write with green ink anyway? It makes it so much harder to read in the dim darkness…

Harry should probably find a letter telling him he’s a wizard to be a bit more concerning than he does. He should also probably think it’s a joke. Or someone messing with him. Or – well – something, surely!

Instead there’s something that just… clicks. He nods to himself. It feels… right.

We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Now, that doesn’t feel quite as right. An owl? Where do they expect him to find an owl? Is he supposed to go into the wilderness and catch one?

He worries his lip for a bit. Maybe he can mail it back – but no, he got no return address.

Right. Maybe it is a trick, after all. Nothing but a dumb joke played by Dudley and his friends.

Harry stuffs the letter into his pillowcase, knowing Aunt Petunia won’t change his bed anyway. He can’t bring himself to get rid of it completely – and neither can he rid himself of the nagging feeling that the letter is genuine.

But, Harry reminds himself as he desperately tries to extinguish that flare of hope, he can’t contact this Headmaster Dumbledore either way. His heart does sink, a tiny bit, but it’s a lost case. There’s really no way for him to do anything.

He closes the cupboard door behind him and does not look back.

Three days later Harry sits on his knees in the backyard, dirt up to his elbows as he works on repotting some of Aunt Petunia’s favorite flowers. The sun’s been beating down on his neck the whole day, and he hasn’t been allowed any sunscreen, so he’s sure to develop a sunburn now.

Grumbling darkly to himself – Harry never liked those flowers anyway – he resigns himself to have a burning neck for a few days.

“B – Harry!” Aunt Petunia calls.

Harry looks up, surprised. She only ever calls him that when they have guests – and if they have guests, she’d want him to be a bit more respectable than he is now…

Grimacing down at his muddy pants, Harry tries his best to brush off the mud before rubbing his hands together to rid them of excess dirt. Then he hurries into the kitchen, careful to leave his shoes by the door so he won’t stomp filth all over the floor.

Aunt Petunia is white as a sheet when she gives him a nervous little smile.

Glancing behind her, Harry can see why.

He blinks at the very, very small man sitting on the couch, then hurries to look at Aunt Petunia again. She doesn’t like it when he stares at strangers.

Aunt Petunia looks even more strained now than before. “This is Mister… Flitwick,” she says, and despite her best efforts her mouth tightens a bit at what she likely finds to be a terribly abnormal surname. “He’s here to talk to you about… school.”

Something tells Harry that the only reason Mister Flitwick was allowed inside was because the neighbours would stare otherwise. “Pleased to meet you, sir,” he says, nodding in Mister Flitwick’s direction. Manners are important, he knows.

“And I you, Mr. Potter!” Mister Flitwick says in a very, very small voice that fits his very, very small body. “I am to be your Charms Professor at Hogwarts – and I must apologize, on behalf of Headmaster Dumbledore, for sending you a letter and not a representative right away.”

Harry perks up, chest expanding to make space for the burst of light within him. “You’re from Hogwarts?” he asks, and his voice trembles. Then he hurries to add a meek, “sir,” upon feeling Aunt Petunias’ burning gaze on his already sore neck.

Apparently, Aunt Petunia’s anger hadn’t been because of Harry’s lack of manners. “But – but – but we never said – ” She cuts herself off, pressing a hand to her throat. When she speaks again, her voice raises into a sharp squeak. “You got a letter?”

Oh, no – he’s going to be punished for that now. Ducking his head to avoid her gaze, he allows himself a small nod. “Yes, Aunt Petunia.”

She mumbles something suspiciously like ‘so glad Vernon is at work’ under her breath. “Mister… Flitwick,” she says, louder now – and again making a face as though she just bit into a lemon. “The – Harry, here, will not be joining your school.”

Harry’s suddenly thrown back to what feels like ages ago, sitting in the cupboard on bruised knees reading green ink and tasting such wonderful, glorious hope on his tongue. Then the bitterness drowns it, the disappointment and anger with himself for believing, and now – now he’s been given that hope back, and Aunt Petunia tries to take it away from him?

Mister Flitwick glances over at him, and perhaps he sees the way Harry’s fingers have tightened on the cloth of his pants, for he dips his head and looks back to Aunt Petunia. “You say that as though you have any choice in the matter,” he says cheerfully. “Lily and James wanted him there, and so do the teachers.” He looks over at Harry and shows him the most genuine smile Harry has ever seen. “All of us.”

Aunt Petunia stares at him with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. When Mister Flitwick pulls out a wooden twig – a wand, Harry’s mind helpfully supplements him – she seems to sink into the chair. “Yes, well, when you put it like that…” she very nearly squeaks.

Chuckling, Mister Flitwick gives his wand a little twirl, after which a scroll of… not paper, but parchment, appears in the air. He plucks it down and unrolls it, quickly skimming through its contents. “I came here with the orders to discuss the plans for young Harry with you, Mrs. Dursley,” Mister Flitwick says, and from his position by the door, Harry can see the way his lips curl in an amused smile. “Though now it appears I’m here to tell you about the plans.”

Aunt Petunia pales a few shades more – and surely, she must be about to reach maximum paleness – but nods, nonetheless. Admittedly, the nod is a bit shaky, but at least it’s a nod.

“Right,” Mister Flitwick says, clearing his throat. “I will return in two days’ time to bring Mr. Potter to Diagon Alley – that is, a Wizarding shopping street where he will be able to purchase everything he’ll need for school. He will be handed a ticket to the Hogwarts Express, which leaves for Hogwarts the 1st of September at 11 o’clock precisely. It leaves from King’s Cross in London, at Platform 9¾.” Mister Flitwick looks up at Aunt Petunia, his eyes sharp. “You will make sure Mr. Potter gets to the platform on time. If he does not arrive to school, one of my colleagues or I will bring him there.” He looks down again, but Harry can still see the smile lurking at the corners of his mouth. “Not brining him might have… consequences.”

Aunt Petunia nods hurriedly. “Of course,” she allows shakily. “Two days’ time. London the 1st of September.” She swallows, gaze flickering to the clock on the wall. Her knuckles go white where she tightens her hold on the armrests of her chair. “If – if you’ll excuse me, Mister F… Flitwick – my husband will return home soon, and – he would not like seeing you here.”

“I see I have overstepped my welcome,” Mister Flitwick says, hopping down from the couch. The amused creases around his eyes show that he is likely fully aware that he was never welcome in the first place.

Harry notes that he isn’t as short as he seems when he’s standing. He would probably be about Harry’s height, actually.

Mister Flitwick turns to Harry with a bright smile, bowing at the waist. “I’ll see you in two days, Mr. Potter,” he says, and then he spins on his heel and disappears with a crack.

Harry stares at the spot where he stood for a moment.

And then he turns on Aunt Petunia. “You knew?” he says, hands balling into fists.

“Hush, boy,” Aunt Petunia replies, but it lacks the usual malice. She’s still pale, hands trembling slightly as she stares into absolutely nothing. “I… I have to tell Vernon…”

Recognizing a lost fight when he sees one, Harry walks off, grumbling darkly to himself about aunts who can’t take a bit of a surprise.

His heart is already dreaming of magic, and owls, and spells.

Later that day, after he’s finished in the garden and dinner and sweeping the hallway he lies in his cupboard and listens to Uncle Vernon’s bellows of rage, followed by Aunt Petunia raising her voice to screech at him – a seemingly fruitless attempt at explaining, or perhaps placating.

Harry rolls over and closes his eyes. It’s not his problem. He’ll be going to school no matter what the Dursleys settle on.

They yell far into the night, and when Harry is torn out of sleep to make breakfast the next morning, Aunt Petunia is grim and Uncle Vernon isn’t looking at either of them.

Still, Harry supposes, it’s better than being thrown out on the street. He eats his bacon in peace.

Harry waits anxiously the next day. It occurs to him, while he’s fixing breakfast, that Mister Flitwick hadn’t mentioned when he was arriving – only that he was.

Aunt Petunia seems just as anxious as him, glancing at the clock every ten minuets or so.

Around noon someone knocks on the door. The whole house holds its breath.

“Boy –” Uncle Vernon says.

“I’ll get it!” Harry runs for the door, nearly tripping in his haste. He rips it open, lowers his gaze, and finds that his predictions had been right. The very, very small man called Mister Flitwick is just a little bit shorter than him. “Hello,” he greets, offering him a smile. “Are we going to that street now?”

Mister Flitwick smiles at him. “Diagon Alley, yes,” he says, nodding once. His gaze shifts to something behind Harry, and some of the warmth in his smile dwindles. “Ah, hello again, Mrs. Dursley! I will be taking Mr. Potter to Diagon Alley, now, as we agreed.”

Harry strains his neck to look at Aunt Petunia, who’s clutching the doorframe as though it’s the only thing holding her upright. She looks incredibly disappointed. “Yes,” she says. “Make sure you do. And that you return him in one piece.” There is an attempt – which Harry has to admit is quite the failure, thanks to how she has once again paled – at looking down her nose on Mister Flitwick. “We know how this – this pesky wand waving business is. Dangerous, that is! So. Make sure he comes back whole. Or we’ll never hear the end of it.”

Mister Flitwick chuckles. “Of course, Mrs. Dursley. We’ll return no later than twilight.”

It gives them lots of time, Harry notes. It’s summer – twilight won’t arrive for another seven hours, at least. Aunt Petunia looks like she might complain, but Mister Flitwick grabs Harry by the arm and spins with him, and then there’s a terrible sensation of being flushed down the toilet, and then Harry’s standing in the middle of a busy street.

He lets out a yelp and stumbles a bit, but Mister Flitwick merely chuckles and pats his hand a bit. “Not to worry, Mr. Potter,” he says, “everyone reacts a bit poorly to their first apparition.”

Harry isn’t quite sure what to say in response to that, for he’s a bit busy staring at the street unfolding before him. There are people everywhere, wearing tall pointy hats and long robes and chattering on about a dozen different topics. There is a shop for owls, and there one for cauldrons, and there one with books –

“Let’s see, then,” says Mister Flitwick, pulling a piece of parchment out of his robes. “I think we’ll go through this list in order, and then you can go shopping for whatever you like afterwards – how’s that, hm?” He hands Harry the list as he speaks, and Harry takes it with eager hands.

Robes, gloves, cauldrons, books –

a wand.

And he’s allowed to shop freely afterwards? Wherever he wants? Harry takes in the street with something akin to hunger in his stomach. “I would like that very much,” he manages to say. “But – Mister Flitwick, sir, I don’t have any money…”

Mister Flitwick nods, as though he had expected this. “That there,” he says, pointing down to a large marble building further down the street, “is Gringotts, the Wizarding bank. Your parents left you a vault.” He begins to walk down the street, and Harry, not wanting to be left alone in the hustle and bustle of this new and exciting world, hurries to keep up. Not that he needs to hurry a lot – Mister Flitwick has shorter legs than him, after all. “Oh, and Mr. Potter? That’s Professor Flitwick, to you.”

Harry would be ashamed, if it weren’t for the good natured way Mister – Professor Flitwick had said it. As it is, he only nods, mumbles some form of apology, and keeps up.

At the entrance to Gringotts stands two even shorter creatures. “Goblins,” Professor Flitwick explains, exchanging a bow with the goblin to the right. Harry, not wanting to accidentally offend them, bows as well. Professor Flitwick gives him one of his amused looks, but doesn’t comment, so he must’ve done something right.

The trip inside of the bank is, to be quite honest, a bit boring. There’s some to-the-point talk between Professor Flitwick and a goblin, and then they’re walking a bit. The most exciting part has to be the ride down to the Potter vault (Harry doesn’t bother keeping in his whoop of excitement) and the absolute mountains of coins Harry is met with when the vault door opens for him.

He turns to Professor Flitwick with wide eyes. “How – how much can I take?” he asks meekly.

“Wise question!” Professor Flitwick says, his voice rising in pitch with his eagerness. “You should take enough to last the schoolyear, as well as this shopping trip – here, let’s look at it together, shall we?” He walks over to Harry and picks up some of the coins, pointing out a Knut and a Sickle and a Galleon and explaining their worth. Harry nods along, though he doesn’t think he’ll remember how much a Knut is to a Sickle and a Sickle to a Galleon – as long as he remembers which is which, it should be easy enough.

When they leave, Professor Flitwick assures him he has enough for the schoolyear – and probably a little bit extra, he says with a wink.

Harry can almost swear that the goblin escorting them rolls his eyes.

Harry squints at the bright light outside of Gringotts. He hadn’t realized it was that dim in there. “What now?” he asks Professor Flitwick, his pouch of newly acquired money jingling by his thigh.

Professor Flitwick hums, pulling out that list again. “Ah, that would be robes,” he says. “Madam Malkin’s would be best for that. Follow me.”

Not long after they’ve found their way into a small shop full of racks and mannequins with all different sorts of robes. Some are long, some short, some simple and some terribly flamboyant. Harry, busy staring around the room, barely hears Professor Flitwick telling the lady at the counter that he’s a “Hogwarts student, the full set.”

They’re both taken to the back room, where Harry is put on a stool. The lady – Madam Malkin – slips a black robe over his head and begins to pin it to the right length. “Which House, dearie?” she asks, not looking up at Harry as she works.

Harry throws Professor Flitwick a flabbergasted look.

Professor Flitwick chuckles. “A first year, ma’am,” he says, and Madam Malkin nods, as though that explains everything. Professor Flitwick then patiently explains the four Houses of Hogwarts, into which all the first years are sorted on their first day. “What house do you think you’ll be in, Mr. Potter?” he asks, something like curiosity to his voice.

Before Harry can open his mouth to answer (“I don’t know”) Madam Malkin stiffens. “Mister – Mister Potter?” she repeats, looking up at Harry as if he just saved her dog from drowning. “Harry Potter?”

“Uh,” says Harry. “Hi?”

“Madam,” Professor Flitwick says courtly, “The robes, please.”

Madam Malkin blinks, then hurries to continue with the robes.

Harry frowns at Professor Flitwick.

“Ah,” he says, and the usual humor in his eyes flickers and dies. He sits down on the stool standing beside Harry’s. “Twenty years ago, there was a terrible war. Your parents fought in it, along with many, many others.”

Harry stares at Professor Flitwick with wide eyes. This is more information that he’d ever dreamed of learning of his parents.

“Our side fought against a terrible foe,” Professor Flitwick continues. “A Dark Lord, who we today know as You-Know-Who, or He Who Must Not Be Named.”

“What’s his actual name?” Harry asks curiously.

Professor Flitwick visibly grimaces. Then he glances around before leaning forward. “Lord… Voldemort,” he whispers. He shudders after saying the name. “He was a terribly evil man. Hundreds of lives were lost. Nothing seemed to be able to stop him.” There’s a heavy pause. Professor Flitwick levels him with a solemn gaze. “Until you.”

“M – me?” Harry squeaks.

“You-Know-Who came to your parents house late at night during Halloween, 1981,” Professor Flitwick continues. His voice trembles, just slightly, with some withheld emotion. “Lily and James did not survive. But when he leveled his wand on you…” Professor Flitwick pauses again. “The Killing Curse is supposed to kill instantly.”

Numbness creeps up Harry’s arms. The hairs on his back stand up, and he flexes his fingers against a sudden uneasiness. “Why didn’t it?” he whispers.

“No one knows,” Professor Flitwick says quietly. “But when we came to the house… all that was left was you and a dusty robe with You-Know-Who’s magical imprint on it.” He shakes his head. “You’re known as The-Boy-Who-Lived, Mr. Potter. Everyone in this world knows about you.”

Harry stares at him with wide eyes. “O – oh,” he says. Then he quiets, not sure how to react to all of this. Professor Flitwick looks so terribly sad, so old and worn – Harry would like to say sorry, but it would probably be taken the wrong way, so he says nothing.

“There,” Madam Malkin says, her voice thick with emotion. When she straightens beside Harry, her eyes are wet with tears. “Free. Savior of the wizarding world discount.”

“What – no! I can’t do that,” Harry exclaims, pushing aside the robe to tug open his pouch filled with money. “That’s – here,” he says, shoving a handful of Galleons at her. “Is that enough? Do you need more?” He gives Professor Flitwick a look which hopefully isn’t as desperate as he thinks. “What’s the price?”

Madam Malkin makes a keening sound at the back of her throat, and then she swallows, a few tears trickling down her cheeks. She looks down at the golden coins in her hands, then carefully counts out three Galleons and five Sickles. “There,” she says, voice wobbling slightly. She hands back easily ten Galleons. “I don’t need more.” She holds out her free hand after Harry puts the rest of the coins into his pouch.

Harry blinks at it for a moment, then, realizing what she wants, he rushes forward to shake it.

“You are a kind boy, Harry Potter,” Malkin says. “Thank you.”

Once outside, after Professor Flitwick has shrunk Harry’s bags and put them in a larger bag and handed it off to him, Harry sighs. “She shouldn’t have treated me like that,” he mutters. “I haven’t… done anything yet.”

“While that might be true,” Professor Flitwick says patiently, “there are many people who will react in similar ways. You are loved here, Mr. Potter. I would advice you to get used to the thought.” He gives Harry a small beam. “And I’m saying this only because I think you ought to know, but the Hogwarts student pack costs 15 Galleons, usually.”

Harry freezes. “What?” he exclaims. “She took – she took two!”

Professor Flitwick nods. “And she was very much aware of what she was doing,” he says. “Don’t hold it against her. She’s grateful.” His eyes cloud as he stares at something far, far away. “We all are.”

Clearing his throat, Harry shifts from one foot to the other. “Well, er… what’s – what’s next on the list?”

“Ah – er,” says Professor Flitwick, fumbling for the list. “Books! Course books, that is. Flourish and Blotts is where most students go – this way!”

Harry follows, relieved to see the Professor smiling in that quickly-becoming-familiar way of his. Books aren’t his greatest pleasure, as he never quite got the hang of reading, but if it’s required, it’s required.

When they enter the shop – a store filled with shelves stacked to the ceiling with books upon books upon books – Professor Flitwick puts a hand on Harry’s shoulder. Harry almost manages to keep from twitching at the sudden move. “Take a look around, Mr. Potter,” Professor Flitwick says with a smile, “and I’ll talk to the clerk regarding your schoolbooks.”

Harry nods absently, wandering off towards the back of the store. He reads the backs of some of the books as he goes, and a few of them piques his fancy. Pulling one of them out of the shelf – Curses and Countercurses – he begins to flip through it, humming in interest at some of the odd things the book promises to teach him.

A curse that twists a person’s tongue? Harry thinks wistfully of the way he’s sometimes wanted Uncle Vernon to just shut up about his dad.

“Hello,” a voice says, and Harry spins around, nearly dropping his book in surprise. A pretty boy with silver-white hair and pointed features stands by the other shelf, holding a leather satchel in his other hand. “First year, you too?”

Flushing slightly at the state of his own clothes – Dudley’s hand-me-downs aren’t exactly the prettiest dress clothes out there – Harry nods.

The boy’s gaze lands on the book in Harry’s hands, and he wrinkles his nose. “You don’t want to buy that,” he says. “It’s a terrible boor, my father says. And most the curses are practically useless, too.”

Harry looks down at the book again, frowning slightly. The Jelly-Legs curse doesn’t seem useless, to him. “Why?” he asks. If the book is bad, he’d like to know the specifics, so he knows what to avoid in others.

That seems to throw the boy for a loop. “Er, well – because it is, of course,” he says, raising his chin dauntingly.

“Right,” says Harry, feeling very much not impressed.

“Anyway,” the boy says, “my parents are just up the street looking at trunks for my year. I hope they find one with a few extra compartments – and it better have the Slytherin crest on it, too – I mean, it’s obvious I’m going there, we don’t need to wait for the Sorting to know that.”

Harry nods warily, glancing to the right to see if it’s a suitable exit route.

The boy gives him another daunting look. “Not the talkative sort, are you?” He then gets an utterly horrified look over him. “You are the right sort, aren’t you?”

Not quite sure what the ‘right’ sort is, Harry nods eagerly. “Oh, yes, of course,” he says, eyeing the gap between the two bookshelves. Maybe he’d fit there, if he sucked in his stomach…

“Oh. Well, then.” The boy looks about. “Who are you with, by the way?”

“You know,” Harry says cheerily, “I think he just called for me! I have to go. See you at Hogwarts!” And with that he bolts for the gap between the shelves, sucking in his stomach just to be sure. The boy doesn’t even have time to react.

Harry browses for books a bit more, picking out a few more as he walks. Powers You Never Knew You Had and What To Do With Them Now You've Wised Up looks interesting, so he tucks it under his arm. Runic Dictionary has a rich red color to its cover, and Harry ooh’s and aah’s a bit over it before he brings that, too. Curses and Countercurses remains in the bunch, purely out of spite.

By the time Professor Flitwick calls Harry back to the counter, he hasn’t picked out any more books. He offers Professor Flitwick a bashful smile, but he only chuckles a bit, looking almost pleased with him.

“Come on, then,” Professor Flitwick says good-naturedly, “next on the list is your wand.”

“Is there a trunk on the list, sir?” Harry asks.

Professor Flitwick squints down at the paper. “…no,” he says, sounding genuinely surprised. “We’ll have to get you that, as well.”

Harry nods absently. “Wand first, though, right?” he asks eagerly.

“Indeed,” Professor Flitwick says with a smile.

Ollivander’s has a narrow outside and a tiny, dim and dusty inside. It reminds Harry somewhat of his cupboard.

A tiny bell rings somewhere in the shop as Harry and Professor Flitwick enter. There are small, rectangular boxes stacked atop each other along the walls and on the shelves. Harry stares at them, wondering which might hold the wand he will end up with.

“Good afternoon,” a soft voice interrupts.

Harry jumps, turning to face the owner of the voice. He comes face to face with an old man whose hair looks like cobwebs and eyes like moons. “Hello,” he greets cautiously.

The man – Ollivander? – smiles. Harry isn’t sure if he likes that smile or not. “Ah, yes. Yes. I’ve been waiting for you. Harry Potter.” Harry nods slowly. “You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow.”

Nodding in understanding, Harry adds, “Nice for charm work, right?”

Ollivander beams. “Oh, yes, absolutely,” he agrees.

Harry blinks. He hadn’t even guessed on that. He’d just blurted it out. A quick glance at Professor Flitwick shows him to be just as confused as him.

“Your father, however,” says Ollivander conspiringly, walking closer to Harry, “favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power – ”

“And excellent for Transfiguration,” Harry buts in.

What on Earth is transfiguration?

“Oh yes, quite so!” Ollivander says. “Ah, well, I say your father favored the wand – but it really is the other way. The wand chooses the wizard, after all.”

Harry nods.

Ollivander’s eyes drift, settling on Professor Flitwick, who’s still standing by the door with a small smile. “Ah!” Ollivander exclaims. “Filius, what a joy, it’s almost as though it was yesterday… aspen, dragon heartstring, nine inches?”

“Oh, yes, right as always!” Professor Flitwick says. “Works as a charm.” He adds a wink to the end, which Ollivander chuckles at.

Charms, Harry’s mind supplements, aspen is good for charms.

“Now, yes, young Mr. Potter – wand arm?”

And so passes almost twenty minutes of Harry being handed wand after wand, all of them rejecting him the moment they touch his fingers. His heart sinks a little with each discarded wooden stick, but Ollivander only seems to grow more and more excited.

“Tricky customer, hm?” he says, eventually, giving the tall pile of wands an amused look. “No matter, no matter – every wizard has his wand. Let’s see, now…” He goes fluttering over by the shelves, muttering to himself.

As Harry has already seen this happen seven times, now, he turns to Professor Flitwick with an expression he knows is hopeless.

Professor Flitwick offers him a reassuring smile. “I took almost an hour,” he whispers. “I thought there might’ve been a mistake. Not to worry, Mr. Potter. You’ll find your wand.”

Ollivander returns shortly after, shoving a new wand into Harry’s hands. “Holly, phoenix, eleven inches, nice and supple,” he says.

Harry sighs, taking the wand in hand and expecting it to be snatched right out again.

He blinks, however, at the sudden and immediate surge of power that rushes through him – from his very toes to the roots of his hair.

“Hm,” says Ollivander, “no, I don’t think – ”

Harry snarls, taking a step back and clutching the wand to his chest. Ollivander blinks, taken aback. “No,” says Harry hotly, “I want this one.”

“But – ”

“This one,” Harry repeats, and his scar tingles. “Or nothing.”

There’s a moment where bone-deep terror flickers in Ollivander’s eyes. A brief second it doesn’t seem like he’s in the tiny shop anymore, but rather somewhere very far away. Then Ollivander blinks and the look is gone. “Ah, Mr. Potter, are you certain?”

Harry straightens, wand still in hand. His scar stops tingling. “Yes. It chose me.”

Ollivander seems resigned. “Very well,” he mutters. “Seven Galleons.”

Nodding, Harry hands over the seven golden coins. He bids Ollivander farewell – which he responds to, admittedly somewhat shakily. Back out on the street, Professor Flitwick gives Harry a strange look. “What was that, Mr. Potter?”

“The wand felt… right,” Harry tries to explain. “I’m not sure, sir. I just… I just knew that I couldn’t leave the store without it.” He ducks his head bashfully. “I… I’m sorry, if I embarrassed you, sir – I don’t know what came over me…”

And true, he doesn’t know what that was. There was just this… this intense, feral anger at the thought of losing the wand that so obviously had chosen him.

“Apology accepted, Mr. Potter,” Professor Flitwick says easily. “Well, let’s go, then. We still need to finish the rest of your shopping.”

The Apothecary is a fascinating, curious place, and Harry spends most of the time peeking into barrels and boxes and drawers full of strange, slimy stuff. Jars of herbs and roots line the walls while feathers, claws, and fangs hang from the ceiling. Harry ooh’s and aah’s for a bit and almost manages to keep in his disappointment when the basic potion ingredients he needs for school don’t include neither unicorn hair nor vampire fangs.

After they finish in the Apothecary, they stop by the last obligated shop to get Harry a cauldron, glass phials, a telescope (which Harry almost manages to break), and a set of scales. “What now, sir?” Harry asks, shifting to get a better grip on the bags he carries. “A trunk?”

Chuckling good naturedly, Professor Flitwick steers him towards the trunk shop. “First year,” he tells the clerk, as Harry once again drifts through the shop. They have trunks in all the colors he can think of, and then a few more – large trunks, small trunks, trunks that look like books, trunks that are made of books.

Harry leaves the shop with one of the better trunks designed for First Year students. It has three compartments (all of which have their own passwords) and a Hogwarts crest at the top lid. “The House-Elves have seen this model before,” the clerk assures him, “and will Charm your House crest onto it once you’ve been sorted.”

Harry nods, making a mental note to look up House Elves later.

“Now, Harry,” Professor Flitwick says, after they’ve put all his bags into the trunk and Professor Flitwick cast something he called a featherlight Charm on it. “Where to?”

With a start, Harry realizes they must have finished the list. His stomach swoops. He’s never been able to shop like this before. “Uhm – the list said – we can bring a pet?” he asks, crossing his fingers eagerly. It’s almost too good to be true.

Professor Flitwick nods. “A toad, a cat, or an owl are the most common,” he says. “I know of a pet store right around the corner. Come on.”

Harry watches the toads through the glass, but shakes his head and moves on quickly. Toads aren’t really… his thing. He’s surprised toads are anyone’s thing, to be honest. The cats aren’t really interesting either – he’s fine with cats and most cats are fine with him, but they watch him with creepily intelligent eyes as he passes them. Besides, he’ll be reminded of Mrs. Figg every time he looks at it if he gets one. He has to restrain a shudder.

A low hoot gets his attention. There are a few owls gathered at the back of the room. Most of them have dusty coats, but there are a few peculiars in there – a jet-black one, and one looking as though it’s trying to impersonate an eagle –

and… a snow-white little angel.

Harry feels as though all the air has been punched out of his lungs. “Hey, there,” he whispers, walking over to the owl’s perch. “Aren’t you a beauty?” The tag beneath the perch reads Snow Owl – loyal, protective, and headstrong. Carries your mail like no other. Harry looks up at the owl with a wide smile. “Think we’ll work together?”

The owl hoots, fluttering its wings a little before taking flight. A moment later it settles on Harry’s shoulder.

Professor Flitwick looks terribly amused when Harry makes his way over to the counter. Harry doesn’t ask why.

They return to the Dursleys somewhere around dinner time, and Harry has stuffed his trunk full of all kinds of interesting things. There’s wizarding candy, the books he’d bought, some small knick-knacks that look strange or make odd sounds, a proper box for his wand along with an instruction pamphlet and a set of polish, a wand harness Professor Flitwick said was smart to get, a Bottomless Bag, quills and parchment, owl food and so on and so on.

Upon arriving back at the Dursleys, Harry realizes that he might have a bit of a problem.

There’s nowhere to put his things.

This problem, however, is not a long-lived one. Not long after Harry comes in – wizarding trunk and owl and all – Uncle Vernon clears his throat briskly. “We’ve talked about it,” he says, and Harry gets the vague impression that Uncle Vernon would rather be anywhere else than here, “and you might be getting a bit too, er, big, for the cupboard. Which is why you’ll be getting Dudley’s second room.”

A pause, and then Harry nods. “Thank you, Uncle Vernon.”

That sure solves the problem of space. Well, almost. The room is full of Dudley’s broken toys, but that’s alright. Harry will look through it to find what he’d like to keep in the room and what he should throw out.

Later, when Harry’s gone to bed and Dudley has not gotten his room back, he lies and stares at his trunk and owl into the late hours of night.

A month later Harry stands by Platform Nine, King’s Cross, holding the ticket he got from Professor Flitwick tightly. The Dursleys left a few minutes ago, looking terribly amused but apparently not daring to laugh at him.

Harry looks up at the brick wall in front of him. “You just walk straight through,” Professor Flitwick had said, when Harry asked. “Just walk. It’s as easy as that.”

Watching the wall now, Harry isn’t quite so sure. Nevertheless, he takes a step forward and reaches out, pressing his fingers to the bricks.

Except his fingers go straight through.

Hiding a small smile Harry looks about, making sure no one who shouldn’t see this is watching him. Then he steps fully forward, pulling his trunk after him. Darkness engulfs him for a few long moments, but it ends as quickly as it came, as he suddenly stands on a completely new place.

Harry blinks. Powerful magic, he thinks, to transport someone this far…

The platform is packed with people, cats running about and owls soaring above them. Children and teenagers flutter from group to group, loud chattering and laughing filling the air. Adults stand scattered on the platform as well, talking together in tones that aren’t quite as loud as the children.

Harry rushes for the train, ducking his head in an attempt to not meet anyone’s eyes. He hoists his trunk into the train – with some difficulties, since Professor Flitwick’s Charm had worn off after some time – and climbs in after it. After a brief search he finds an empty compartment, where he sits down with a heavy sigh.

He leans his head back against the headrest behind him and closes his eyes. Peace. His stomach clenches painfully against a wave of nervousness, and he opens his eyes again. What if he won’t be sorted? What if it really is a mistake?

A boy pokes his head into the compartment before Harry can follow that train of thought any further. “Hi,” he says cheerily, “can I sit here? Everywhere else is full…”

Harry gestures for the seat opposite of him. The boy – a head full of ginger hair and the whole night sky scattered across his face, along with kind dark eyes – nods gratefully and sinks into the seat, pushing his worn trunk beneath it.

A tense pause. “First year?” the boy asks. Harry nods. “Me too. I’m Ron Weasley, by the way.” He doesn’t hold out his hand to shake, and Harry likes him a little bit more for it.

“Nice to meet you,” Harry says. “I’m Harry Potter.”

Ron instantly looks as though the sun just exploded. “You – I mean – are you? Really?” Harry nods. Who else would he be? “And you – do you have the… the scar?”

Harry smiles, in spite of himself. Poor Ron, too flustered to string together words properly. “Yeah,” he says, pushing his curls away from his forehead.

“Wow,” says Ron.

“Not really,” says Harry, letting go of his bangs again.

Ron blinks, then bursts into surprised laughter. “Suppose not.” Then he sobers again. “Do you… I mean, do you remember any of it?” Harry shakes his head, which seems to disappoint Ron, for he slumps a bit over in his chair. “Oh,” he says. Harry shifts, uncomfortable with Ron’s small sigh. He almost considers making something up, just to cheer him up again. Then Ron perks up. “Want to play Exploding Snap?”

The next hour or so is spent in cheery company, Ron gleefully explaining the rules of the card game to Harry, who listens with rapt interest. When Harry learns the rules and the game begins to go smoothly, they talk about themselves – Harry manages to get Ron on a roll, talking about his brothers and parents and his little sister Ginny. Ron asks a question here and there himself, but Harry answers as vaguely as he can. He’s not sure if Ron really would appreciate all the stories of his childhood.

At one point a girl with dark skin and wild, bushy hair bursts into the compartment, blabbering about a lost toad. When she sees Harry and Ron playing, however, she quiets down and enters the compartment. The quiet doesn’t last long, though, as she hurries to bombard them both with questions about the game. Harry, still not fully certain about the rules, is happy to let Ron explain.

The girl introduces herself as Hermione Granger, after which Harry and Ron introduce themselves as well. Hermione gapes at him for a moment, before leaving Ron and bombarding Harry with questions instead. He can’t answer even half of them (“Is it true that your favorite candy is ice mice?” – Harry doesn’t even know what that is), which he tells her, and she pouts but accepts that.

By the time the sun tips towards the horizon and the skies turn dark, Harry has made relatively good friends with the both of them. Hermione is a bit over the top enthusiastic about her hobbies, and Ron is a bit over the top enthusiastic about Harry, but he can live with that. They’re both kind, and nice, and seem like good people.

“I’d love to be a Gryffindor,” Ron tells them, proudly puffing out his chest as Harry hands him another Chocolate Frog. “My whole family has been Gryffindors.”

Hermione bites her lip. “I’ve heard so much good about Gryffindors.” Then she seems to pale. “As long as I don’t end up in Slytherin…”

Ron nods vehemently.

Harry frowns. Professor Flitwick had said every House was just as good as the others… “I don’t know where I’ll go,” he says, fiddling a bit with his sleeve. “I think all of the Houses sound just fine.”

Hermione and Ron stare at him for a bit. Then Ron ducks his head, muttering something vaguely agreeing, and Hermione nods thoughtfully.

“Well,” she says, biting her lip, “I guess we’ll just have to see.”

The boy from the book store in Diagon Alley corners Harry later, when they’re standing and waiting for the Sorting to begin. “You didn’t tell me you were Harry Potter!” he exclaims.

Harry blinks. “You – you didn’t ask,” he says, taking a step back from the eager expression on the boy’s face. “And you didn’t tell me your name!”

The boy straightens up as though this feat requires his full attention. “My name is Malfoy,” he says. “Draco Malfoy.”

Harry nods to this. “Hi, Draco. Nice to meet you.”

Before they can say anything else to each other, Hermione appears through the crowd and pulls Harry away, chattering eagerly about the ghosts that just floated in through the wall. Harry throws Draco a quick wave.

Ron greets Hermione and Harry both beneath one of the lanterns. His face is pale, making his freckles stand out, and it looks like his hands might be shaking just a little bit. “What’d you reckon the Sorting will be?” he asks. “Fred and George – my brothers – said we’d be wrestling a troll…”

But before either Harry or Hermione can answer that, the doors to the Great Hall swings open.

Harry stares in awe. The ceiling is scattered full of stars and a cloud here and there – rows upon rows of floating candles clutter the air above the four long tables positioned in the room. Hermione leans forward and whispers, to them both, “The ceiling is enchanted to look like the outside sky – no matter the weather!”

“Wow,” Harry breathes.

A fifth table stands upon a little podium at the end of the room. A very important looking man sits at its centre, along with several other, slightly less important looking people flanking him on each side. When Harry finds Professor Flitwick among them he realizes it must be the teachers’ table.

Professor Flitwick meets Harry’s gaze and offers a reassuring smile, to which Harry nods his thanks.

There’s an old, rugged hat standing on a stool beside the Professor who’d introduced herself as McGonagall. Once all the children are positioned inside the room, its brim rips open – and it begins to sing.

Harry is too fascinated and intrigued to truly listen to the words the hat sings, but at least the melody is catchy.

There’s no speech or anything when the hat finishes – just a cleared throat from Professor McGonagall and some rustling of paper –

“Abbot, Hanna!”

A girl with pigtails breaks free from the crowd, stumbling up towards Professor McGonagall. Once there, she sits down on the stool and pulls the hat onto her head.

A pause, and then – “HUFFLEPUFF!”

Harry holds his breath as they move down the list, students being sent off to –

“RAVENCLAW!” – a boy with jet-black hair and rectangular glasses, Professor McGonagall had said his name was Terry Boot –

“GRYFFINDOR!” – Hermione sags over in relief and scurries over to the table clad in red –

“SLYTHERIN!” – that’s Draco, looking utterly pleased with himself –

They’re closer, so much closer than just five students ago, and Harry feels far more nervous than he has any right to be.

Then, finally – “Potter, Harry!”

Ignoring the many whispers spreading through the hall, Harry takes a deep breath and marches towards the Sorting Hat.

#harry potter #fanfiction #tomarry #harrymort #dark harry #meg og mitt #my writing #let the light guide your way

20 notes · View notes

imaginejamesandsirius · 6 years

Note

Hey, I was wondering if you would consider writing a story where James is a muggle but he has a family member living with his who is I wizard/witch so he knows about magic. He meets Sirius who tries to hide the whole magic thing but still manages to mess up sometimes. Things escalate to where something happens and everything comes out. Whether James knows about Sirius being a wizard or just about magic in general would be interesting to see.

((Vaguely nsfw directly after the cut, but nothing after the next break))

Sirius was just getting water, and then he saw the most exquisite being in the world and stopped cold. He was fit as all hell, an old shirt setting loose on his frame and highlighting his muscles. He had messy hair that might have been natural but also might have been because he'd just gotten thoroughly shagged-- and somehow that didn’t turn Sirius off in the slightest, it only made him want to be the reason for it the next time.

He didn't realise that he was staring until the man spoke up. "Something on my face mate?"

Sirius blinked, then flushed as he realized that he'd been caught. He cleared his throat and averted his eyes like that could undo the past... however long he'd been looking. "Nothing that doesn't belong there."

His brow furrowed like he couldn't tell if that was an insult or not, and Sirius wanted to slap himself. He was a flirt, he should be able to say one charming thing. "Er. Okay. My name's James by the way. In case that's, y'know, something you're into."

Sirius choked on his next breath, turning red from lack of oxygen and also his inability to comprehend that.

"You one of Lily's friends?"

"Er, yeah. Sirius."

James frowned again. "Yeah, of course I'm being serious."

"No I- I'm Sirius. My name. Like the," he pointed up as if at the sky, "star. In Canis Major."

His face smoothed out, and he let out a little laugh. "Oh. Sorry about that. Nice to meet you Sirius."

"Nice to meet you too. So er, how do you know Lily?" Definitely not from Hogwarts; Sirius would remember a bloke like this hanging around.

"Cousin. And you?"

"From school." She had family here? This was mostly a 'we survived being adults for a year' party, and Sirius had thought-- until this moment-- that they were the only ones here, and that the reason they weren't using magic was because of the muggle neighbourhood and not, y'know, muggle guests. "You er," Sirius licked his lips and glanced behind him, "here with anyone?"

"Well considering that Lils is the only one I know, I can't say I am. Why?" he asked, clearly knowing the answer but wanting to tease Sirius all the same.

"Gods Jamie, you really gonna make me say it?"

"Well if you're already comfortable enough to call me 'Jamie', you should be able to tell me what you wanna do to me."

Sirius choked on his tongue. "You don't waste any time do you?"

"Why bother?" James said with a shrug and a cocky smirk. "It would leave less time for more..." he paused, looking Sirius over appreciatively, "enjoyable venues."

~~~

Sirius was shoved against the wall, and he moaned loudly as James licked and bit at his neck, rubbing his erection against the line of Sirius's hip. He whimpered when James worried at a sensitive spot just under his ear, going at it hard enough that he would definitely have to heal it in the morning or risk everyone seeing it.

He usually hated that, but right now it was the hottest shit he'd ever experienced, and he arched into it, holding James closer as he rolled his hips.

James clearly knew what he was doing, testing Sirius for what he liked and, when he found a spot, showered it with love before moving on to the next spot. It ended up with Sirius shirtless, his trousers undone and his pants pushed strangely on his hips where James's hands had pushed and rubbed against him while James was still fully clothed.

"My- my room's oh Merlin--"

He could feel James grin against his skin, and he did something with his hand so that it felt like he was massaging Sirius's cock.

"James," he whined, voice embarrassingly high in his throat.

"Yeah Si?" James sounded breathless, and that was a bloody rush to his ego because he'd barely done anything; he'd mostly just let James touch him however he wanted.

"Want a bed?"

"Beds are overrated," he growled, thrusting his hips in a way that left no doubt in Sirius's mind as to where he'd rather shag him (ie, against the wall).

"Maybe," Sirius agreed with a gasp. "But I don't have-" he tried to think of what the muggle protection was called, but he couldn't think of the word and settled on "-stuff in my pockets."

"Oh sweetheart I think everyone knows that your pockets are empty." James ran his hands over Sirius's arse-- and his skin-tight trousers-- appreciatively, letting go after giving it a squeeze. "C'mon where's your room, love?"

~~~

Sirius had woken up the next day with James still in his bed, a delightful ache in his arse, and a head-full of great memories of the previous night. He wanted that for the foreseeable future, so he didn't think twice about telling James that they should go on a date. He'd agreed, they exchanged numbers-- which Sirius fortunately had as Lily absolutely refused to owl people from her muggle flat-- and Sirius didn't truly realise that magic would be an obstacle until much later in the day.

Well, how hard could it be? He'd slipped up and said 'Merlin' last night, and James hadn't said a word about it, so it would probably be the easiest thing in the world. If he got James out of the deal? Yeah, there was no question.

~~~

Sirius liked to think that he did pretty well hiding magic from James. He slipped up a few times, asking for a quill instead of a pen, trying and failing to explain why he had fur on his couch when he had no dog, the occasional charm for cleaning and cooking that he didn't think twice about casting even in James’s presence, that sort of thing.

James accepted each and every excuse with a confused little smile, but he never questioned Sirius about it further. He was so trusting, and Sirius almost felt guilty for taking advantage of that, but it's not like he was going to hurt him, right? This was the law they were talking about, and unlike the animagus thing, this felt more serious.

Besides, he didn't even know if James was serious about him, and if James wasn't in this for the long haul, then they didn't need to bother with the magic reveal.

~~~

"Er..." James was staring at Padfoot with wide, slightly alarmed eyes. "Hey there." He was making an obvious effort to remain calm, keeping his posture and tone unaffected in the hopes that it would keep the gigantic dog in Sirius's flat calm. Sirius always insisted that he didn't have a dog, so James really didn't know what to make of this, but his mind was whirring, trying to find an answer.

For Sirius's part, he froze when James spoke. He turned slowly, and he hadn't meant for it to look menacing, but apparently it was easy to confuse mild panic with aggression because James looked even more worried.

"Okay I'm going to really hope that you're mates with Sirius and not actually a sodding bear dog that's about to murder me. I swear, that guy never tells me anything," he said, giving a nervous chuckle. "What I mean to say is that if you're- er, y'know, magic or whatever, now would be a good time to change or leave or summat."

Sirius cocked his head, heart pounding. Did James just say magic? Was he being serious or was he joking? Sirius honestly had no idea, and while that terrified him, it didn't feel like something he would be able to get out of. So, he padded to his bedroom, feeling James's eyes on him, and stepped just inside the door to change so that he was out of sight.

Chewing on his lip, Sirius stuck his head out the door. Instead of panicking like he'd been terrified that James would, he looked relieved.

"Oh thank god," James said, walking towards him and body slumping with relief. "Just so I know, is that always you?" He gestured back towards the living room where they'd had their awkward run-in moments ago. "Or will it be someone else the next time I accidentally walk in? And while I'm at it, Sirius, why don't you ever lock your door? I know you can defend yourself or whatever, but I don't want you to wind up dead in case you don't have your wand on you or summat."

There were a million things Sirius wanted to ask and say to him, but all he managed was a stuttered, "You... you know?" He'd been careful to not let him see too much, and he knew everything? Well, he amended, not everything, as he seemed to think that anyone could be an animagus and that its form could be taken by anyone that felt like it.

James frowned. "Er, yeah? I mean, I didn't see you actually change just now, but it's... pretty obvious what just happened. Especially since you kept telling me that you didn't have a dog," he said, wrinkling his nose. "If you didn't want me to know, you should have come up with a better lie ahead of time."

"No I mean- about magic? You know?"

James blinked. "Yeah. Lily was pretty loose with the truth when she was younger." Pretty much as soon as Petunia had decided to be a bitch about it because she wanted someone to confide in and her go to person had just decided that she hated her, Lily had reached out for someone new. "I thought you knew that I knew?"

Dumbly, Sirius shook his head.

"Oh. Well that explains a few things."

"You're not mad?"

"Why would I be?"

"I never told you," Sirius said uncomfortably.

"Lily did mention a few years ago that it was illegal, so I learned to keep my mouth shut about it."

"And you're okay with it?"

"Well yeah."

"Oh Merlin." Sirius pulled James into a desperate hug. "I was so worried you'd leave when you found out."

"Er, nope." Clearly not expecting Sirius to react like this, James pat him on the back awkwardly. “I’ve got a magical boyfriend, and it’s fine.”

#prongsfoot #marauders #fanfic #sirius black #james potter #filled #getting together #no voldemort au #post hogwarts #muggle james #siriuslystarbucks #Anonymous

40 notes · View notes

xummie · 4 years

Text

Vernon’s Peril

Vernon x Seungkwan

Hanahaki Fic

WC: 3160

Can Vernon be saved from his Hanahaki disease?

-----

“Those are your only options.” The doctor said, his arms crossed sternly but his voice soft with understanding. The CEO stood there, unsure what to say, unsure what to do. As the doctor turned to leave the room he said, “I’m sorry Hansol. I’ll give you two time to think.”

Hansol Vernon Chwe sat stunned. Something he thought was only myth now was trying to kill him. How could he let this happen? He spent practically 24/7 with all twelve of the other boys, and yet one of them had become singled out so drastically in his heart? And because of that a mystical lily plant had started to grow, slowly taking over his lungs and suffocating him?

He first experienced the symptoms of his Hanahaki Disease about a month ago, coughing tiny petals every once in awhile. The real worry started three days ago, Wednesday, when he and his impossible love were watching a movie in the dorm. They laughed together at a scene and as he laughed he got a burning pain in his lower esophagus, rushed to the bathroom and vomited into the toilet. At first he thought he was just sick, but when he went to flush he noticed something that made him gasp. Small but long white lily petals were in the toilet, mixed with blood and bile. Confused, he flushed and went back to the living room, where his companion questioned his health. Explaining that he didn’t feel good he said goodnight and went to bed.

He struggled to sleep through the night, his chest burning and his mind racing. Should he tell someone? Was he imagining the petals? The next day started off the same as the last ended, he saw his friend first thing and had to make a quick trip to the toilet. This time there were more petals, and Vernon was legitimately frightened. They had a show in less than a week, what was he going to do? He spent the rest of that day avoiding most of his fellow members, which was easier than he expected as he worked with the Hip Hop unit most of the day to prepare for the concert. He also went to bed early, thanks to the aching in his chest, so he didn’t have to run into his hyung again.

He spent the next few days avoiding those that he could, but he still had practice, and the more he practiced with the entire group the worse he felt. Friday he had a coughing fit during group practice, catching blood and lily petals in his hand as he rushed out of the room to try and regain his breath. Seungcheol made him go rest after that, but again Saturday he needed to practice with the hip hop unit. He made it halfway through his “Back it Up” rap before he was completely out of breath.

“S.Coups-hyung,” He said from the floor where he sat coughing, trying desperately to catch his breath. S.Coups sat next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Steady your breathing. Why are you coughing so hard?” Vernon couldn’t answer but simply removed his hand from his mouth, showing the 4 lily petals it held. S.Coups was caught completely off-guard. “Vernon why are you holding flower petals?”

He waited for Vernon’s coughing to subside, worried but not wanting to press the younger. Once he could finally speak Vernon muttered, “I don’t know how but I am coughing flowers. And vomiting.”

“What? How would that even be possible?” Vernon simply shrugged in response, his face lacking color and his breathing labored. S.Coups thought for a moment, “We need to get you to a doctor. This is not good. I’m getting a staff member to take you.”

Suddenly, BSS entered the room, being as loud as you’d expect Hoshi, Seungkwan and DK to be. “Vernon! Just the person I was looking for.” Seungkwan said as he practically bounced towards Vernon. The closer he got the stronger the urge to vomit grew. “Why have you been avoiding me? You haven’t said a word to me in two days!” As he spoke he punched Vernon on the shoulder, and Vernon couldn’t help but spew blood and lily petals across the practice room floor.

Everyone yelped and chaos ensued. Vernon was choking and couldn’t catch a breath. He passed out as S.Coups and the staff called paramedics who then rushed him to the hospital.

“Vernon,” a deep voice spoke, bringing him back to the present. “How could you let this happen? You love another member in such a way?”

“I’m sorry.” Vernon muttered ashamedly. “I don’t know how, I don’t know why… it just..”

“Do you know who?”

“Yes sir.”

‘Well?”

“Seungkwan-hyung sir.”

The CEO was not pleased, and he thought about the options the doctor had given his idol. The doctor could surgically remove the disease, leaving Vernon loveless at an unknown level, he would surely lose all ability to love Seungkwan, but would he also have to live a fully loveless life? They would also be risking the possibility that he forget important memories of Seungkwan. Alternatively, if Seungkwan loved Vernon back then the disease would wither and die. Surely this would be a good option if they allowed same-sex relationships, but that was so far from their acceptances that he could risk ruining his company by allowing it.

“Sir,” Vernon said, his voice quiet and weak. “I’ll do the surgery. I know it is not allowed and I don’t want to die.”

The CEO nodded slowly, “I’ll have the doctor schedule the surgery, I’ll be back.” And he left Vernon alone in the room.

The CEO walked to the private waiting room where all 12 of Vernon’s fellow members were waiting anxiously. As they saw him they stood, and S.Coups asked the question that was on all of their minds. “What is wrong? What happened?”

“Vernon is very ill and has to go in for emergency surgery.” The collective gasp resounded, but was also a voice short. Seungkwan simply sunk back into his chair, unable to make a noise. “All of you go back to the dorms and rest, I’ll keep you updated on his condition.”

As S.Coups lead everyone out of the room he turned back to pull Seungkwan to his feet, but the CEO stopped him and whispered in his ear, “He will stay.” S.Coups simply nodded, leading the others out of the room. He had read enough stories, and though they were stories, S.Coups thought he could guess what had happened. He had seen Vernon’s love for Seungkwan growing for years, maybe it was finally too true to bear. After they had all cleared, the CEO sat by Seungkwan and spoke softly to him. “Seungkwan, do you know what’s wrong with Vernon.”

“No sir, I am scared for him. Why did you keep me?” Seungkwan had clearly been crying, his face puffy and red.

“Seungkwan, have you ever heard of the Hanahaki Disease?”

“What? I mean, yes, I read it in a book.” Seungkwan was now thoroughly confused, why would the CEO bring up a fake disease?

“Well, it is not as fictional as we believe, it is what now threatens Vernon’s life.” Seungkwan’s eyes widened, his mouth slightly agape. That would mean that Vernon was in love with someone that didn’t love him back, but who could that be? “Do you know who Vernon’s unrequited love is, Seungkwan?”

“No sir… I don’t know of him having any connections…”

“It’s not an outside connection.”

“Inside?! As in, one of us?” Seungkwan put the puzzle pieces together before the CEO could reply. “No. Not one of us. You mean me…”

“Yes Seungkwan. Did you not know?”

“No sir, we’re just friends, we can’t be anything more.” Seungkwan’s heart was trying to beat out of his chest. Vernon loved him? Not as a brother, or a friend, but as a lover. Why had he not said? Of course he knew the answer to that, he wouldn’t have said because it wasn’t allowed. “So, the surgery, it will remove his love, right? That’s how that works?”

“Yes. It’s dangerous, it may remove memories of you too.” The CEO’s voice was soft, caring, but also almost pleading, which confused Seungkwan. The thought of Vernon forgetting him made a new tear drop from Seungkwan’s eye. He couldn’t speak, and they sat in silence for a minute before the CEO spoke again. “There is another option…”

Seungkwan sucked in his breath… what was CEO leading too? “What do you mean sir?”

“Well, if his love was no longer unrequited then the disease would die.”

“I know sir, but… would… how?”

“Seungkwan, do you love Vernon? Have you been hiding it too?” Seungkwan didn’t know if he could take anymore shock. Was the CEO really asking him? Could he actually be suggesting that they could become more than friends? Noticing Seungkwan was too stunned to answer the CEO spoke again, “I value all thirteen of you, and your relationships to each other. I believe it could ruin Seventeen to have your relationship so ruined, for Vernon’s experiences with you to be erased… I don’t want to risk that. So, if you were to love him too, I would allow it, we’d just have to keep it quiet, for now at least.”

Seungkwan was crying now, not out of fear but out of relief because he could save his best friend… actually, his could be boyfriend? “I do sir. I’ve loved him for a long time.”

“Then go tell him.” Seugnkwan’s head was spinning. The CEO had just given him permission to confess his love to Vernon, an act that he not only had been wishing for for years, but that would save his best friend’s life.

Seungkwan stood and started for the door but froze, suddenly concerned again. “CEOnim, won’t it hurt Vernon to be near me?”

“Ah, you’re probably right. Let’s ask the doctor what to do.” He stood and led Seungkwan out of the room and to the desk where they found the doctor. “Doctor, may we speak to you in private?” The doctor nodded and led them to another room.

“What can I do for you sir? The surgery is scheduled for an hour from now, they are prepping Hansol.” The doctor said, addressing the CEO but glancing curiously at Seungkwan.

“I’m hoping we won’t need the surgery now.” The CEO said, his voice powerful and commanding as ever, but still tinted with worry.

“Oh?” The doctor was slightly shocked, thinking that this was a quick turnaround for an Idol who was previously not allowed to date. “Who might the lover be?”

“That would be me sir.” Seungkwan said, his voice shaking in anticipation. His face was still puffy from crying, and his heart was racing with adrenaline. This declaration made the doctor gasp slightly, for he had not been expecting anything like this.

“You mean…” The doctor started but the CEO raised his hand to stop him.

“We don’t have time. We will need to keep this as quiet as possible please.” The CEO’s voice was stern and the doctor nodded, understanding the situation. “Now, Seungkwan needs to tell Vernon, correct? But it causes Vernon pain to be near Seungkwan, so how do we go about this?”

The doctor’s face dropped into a regretful frown. “You’re right, it is painful, and dangerous, but necessary. Seungkwan must tell him, and Vernon must accept and believe it. With as advanced as his disease is simply seeing Seungkwan may send him into a dangerous vomiting fit.” Turning to fully address Seungkwan he continued, his voice soft and serious. “You must make sure he hears you, that he understands. If he accepts it, the vomiting should end with the entire disease being expelled.

Seungkwan gulped and sweat started to bead on his forehead. This would not be easy, watching Vernon in pain is the last thing he wanted to do, but he knew he had to, for the sake of his love. After a moment he nodded at the doctor, and looked between both the elder men in the room, “I understand. I’m ready.” The CEO also nodded, placing a comforting hand on Seungkwan’s shoulder and squeezing, as if trying to imbue him with extra strength.

“Very well.” The doctor said, “I will lead you to his room.” Seungkwan followed the doctor out and to Vernon’s room, where the doctor quickly cleared the nurses after making sure Vernon was in the most stable condition possible. Seungkwan wished he could look into the room while he waited, but to protect Vernon’s privacy the blinds were closed tight. It took about 5 minutes for the doctor to clear the room, and they were the longest 5 minutes in Seungkwan’s life.

As he waited he tried to prepare himself for what he might see. Why must I first cause him pain before being able to relieve it? He wondered to himself, desperately wishing there was another way. He closed his eyes and worked to steady his racing heart, knowing that he must be calm and completely sincere to be able to swiftly convince Vernon of his returned love.

“Are you ready?” Seungkwan’s eyes shot open to see the doctor holding the door open for him, and he nodded determinedly. “He is on some strong painkillers, he may seem slightly delirious, but I think he’s conscious enough to understand.” And with that Seungkwan slowly walked into the room and the doctor quietly closed the door behind him, though he would wait right outside of the room incase something went wrong and he needed to intercede.

When Seungkwan entered the dimly lit room he was relieved to find Vernon’s eyes were closed, and he used that to spend a little time taking in the sight in front of him. The younger man’s sandy hair was disheveled, and his breathing was extremely ragged. He had an oxygen tube around his face and in his nose, the doctor had changed it from a full mask so he would be clear to vomit. It pained Seungkwan to see Vernon like this, with IV’s in his arms and monitor probes all over his chest. Even with it all though, Vernon’s resting face was soft and carefree, not contorted in agony as it had been in the practice room mere hours ago.

Seungkwan took a deep breath and moved towards Vernon. He went to place a hand on Vernon’s wrist, but realized that less contact at first was probably better. “Vernonie?” Seungkwan said quietly, his soft voice dripping with emotion.

Vernon’s eyes opened and he glanced around the room before landing on the man he loved. His first instinct was to smile, and he did briefly, before gasping in pain, “Hyung no.” he managed to whisper as he turned his head away, praying that he wouldn’t suffer another attack, but knowing it was all too close as his chest constricted, preparing to eject the unwanted matter in it.

“Vernonie, I’m so sorry. I know this hurts you, but please listen.” Vernon was holding his mouth tightly shut, trying to will himself not to hurl the white lily petals in front of Seungkwan again. Seungkwan continued quickly, “CEOnim told me what is wrong. Vernon, I know you love me, I wish I’d known before… because then I could have told you…”

Suddenly Vernon’s breathing stopped, which set off a monitor alarm, as he was being choked off by the entire lily blossom trying to escape his throat. His eyes were wide with pain as he turned to look at Seungkwan, fear and pleading echoing in his wider, dark chocolate brown eyes. Seungkwan’s voice cracked as he attempted through tears to tell Vernon what he needed to hear. Swallowing hard he tried again to finish, “Vernonie, I love you too.”

At this Vernon’s eyes closed softly before he spasmed and violently vomited onto himself as he lay on the bed. Devoid of energy, Vernon wasn’t able to roll himself over and Seungkwan knew he’d surely asphyxiate, so he quickly reached across the younger man and pulled on his shoulder, rolling him to his side. Blood, bile and full lily blossoms littered the floor and Seungkwan’s clothes as Vernon’s chest spasmed over and over, leaving him no room to breath. Scared for his friend and unsure if Vernon had accepted his profession, Seungkwan began doing the only thing he could think of.

He kissed Vernon’s forehead as he continued to throw up and bent to his ear, saying loudly “Did you hear me? I love you! I love you Chwe Hansol Vernon! I love you, and I will never forgive you if you die on me! I can’t do this without you, I love you, please stay with me. I love you, I love you…”

He continued to desperately whisper his love into Vernon’s ear while using one hand to hold him on his side and the other to stroke his hair. The spasming slowed after about a minute and Vernon was finally able to take in a shuddering breath. He got a few seconds to breath and he was able to open his eyes again, staring straight into Seungkwan’s before a larger spasm began to shake him so hard that Seungkwan almost lost hold and nearly dropped him back onto his back. This last spasm finished with one final morsel ejecting from Vernon’s mouth. This time it was not just a bud, but a full stem and root system, the hanahaki disease in its physical form.

Vernon went limp and Suengkwan laid him back on his back, making sure he was breathing before letting out a sigh of relief, only just realizing that he’d been holding his breath in fear. Not caring that he was covered in a mix of flowers, blood and bile, he quickly moved to the door and opened it a crack to let the doctor in. The doctor looked around at the mess of a room and locked on the singular lily that was attached to the stem. He too sighed as both of them walked back to Vernon’s side. The doctor checked some vitals then looked at the terrified Seungkwan, his face breaking into a grin. “You did it boy, you cured him.”

They didn’t have to wait long for Vernon to open his eyes again, and he took a deep breath, completely unlabored for the first time in days. He looked deep into Seungkwan’s eyes as he smiled brightly and whispered, “Thank you hyung. I love you too.” This sent Seungkwan into a sobbing mess and he leaned down toward Vernon, about to do something he’d been wanting to do for ages.

Their lips met, and at that moment both of them knew that the coming days, months, even years, would be the best of their lives.

Please drop a kudos on AO3 if you liked this!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22936390/chapters/54825340

#Hanahaki #vernon #hansol vernon chwe #seungkwan #boo seungkwan #seventeen #svt #angst #choi seungcheol

0 notes

not-talking-about-pancakes · 7 years

Text

Importance

Inspired by THAT scene from 6x18 "Where Blue Birds Fly" this is just a bit captain swan smuff. I actually originally had nearly the same idea that played out in that scene, but it happened before (and much better) I could write it. So I changed up my idea so as not to totally copy what they did on the show. Emma and Killian just want one, uninterrupted morning to themselves, but it seems that Mary Margaret has sixth sense about these things and has really the worst timing ever. And also a terrible definition of the word emergency.

A big thanks to @wholockgal for her help with beta and editing, working out the details, and the title. She’s amazing and I love her and you all should too.