#and george is so startled by her boldness that he laughs (in a kind way) and says ‘miss i’m working’

[oh-for-merlins-sake]

SLOW BURN | gw | golden

summary: y/n, a local florist, stops in weasleys’ wizard wheezes for the first time and finds more than she bargained for. soon, she’ll teach george that there are many reasons to stop and smell the roses.

pairing: george weasley x fem!reader

word count: 2.6k

warnings: alcohol

a/n: AAAAAH you guys i did not want to stop writing this!! i had so much fun, and i’m really happy with how it turned out! it was really challenging for me to write a “slow burn” relationship, but i hope i did it justice! as you’ll see, this is not a “song” fic, but a lyric (in bold and italics) was used. cheers to the first installment of the golden collection!!

taglist: @iliveiloveiwrite @andromedaa-tonks @pansydaisy @a-little-too-much @slytherinsunrise @marvelettesassemble @msmarklee1213 @letsgotothehop @finnishslytherin @starlightweasley @witch-and-a-half @darthwheezely @vogueweasley @gcdric @breadqueen95 (message/ask to be added/removed, loves!)

Blackbirds trilled overhead as you glided over the cobblestone path to work. The sun was finally reemerging from behind the dark, dreary clouds, which had just finished bathing the streets of Diagon Alley in a springtime shower. You admired the lingering smell of fresh rainwater that dripped from the eaves above you.

Today, you were taking a detour from your ordinary route. Your younger brother’s birthday was just around the corner, and you had yet to find a gift worthy of a teenage boy’s microscopic attention span and angst-ridden ennui. You smiled to yourself as you spotted the vibrant shop down the street with its mechanical mascot tipping his hat to you.

It was curious to you that this shop had a natural magnetism to people of all ages. If you hadn’t found a thing yet, this shop should surely hold something that would cater to your brother. You’d seen the troves of young wizards clamoring in a morning or two before.

As you approached the large front doors, you glanced at your watch: half an hour until the start of your shift. You strolled into the whimsical shop, dodging a Fanged Frisbee in the process. You slowly turned in place, eyeing the towering shelves of eccentric gadgets and vivid pyrotechnics. Truthfully, it was a little intimidating; where to start was beyond you.

“Can’t find what you’re looking for?”

Startled by the sudden voice, you spun to face its origin. You were met with a tall, redheaded man with freckles that practically danced across his cheeks as he chuckled at your expression. Suddenly, you felt sheepish. “Sorry?”

“You looked a little...” he pondered the right word, “overwhelmed.”

You laughed, “To be honest, I’m not even sure what I’m looking for.”

He nodded, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. “Younger brother’s birthday?”

“How did you know?”

“Just a guess,” he shrugged.

You were quite impressed. As he motioned for you to follow him up the stairs to the next floor of the shop, you couldn’t help but notice how familiar he looked. Surely you’d seen him before — perhaps in line at Gringotts or sipping mead in the Leaky Cauldron. You couldn’t quite pin it.

You were relieved to leave the gargantuan fireworks below — on behalf of your mother mostly. You followed him to a wall of massive tubes that were filled to the brim with colorful candies.

“Our full collection of sweets,” he announced.

You eyed the assortment, noticing the words Puking Pastilles on a golden label. “Are these different flavors or...?”

“Yes, but more importantly, they serve different purposes. These, for example,” he pointed to the pastilles, “induce vomiting — perfect for skiving class!”

You chuckled. “Surely these aren’t allowed at Hogwarts?”

“‘Course not! But that’s what makes them so bloody popular — hot commodity,” he said, grinning from ear to ear. “We’ve got a sweet for nearly every malady.”

“Who even thinks of this sort of thing?” you mused — again, thoroughly impressed.

“I guess we do,” he answered, leaning against the counter.

Your jaw dropped. “You made these?”

He shrugged, the faintest smirk on his lips, “I made everything.”

“Get out!” you laughed, pouring some candy into a purple plastic bag.

“Of my own shop?” he teased. “I don’t think so!”

You twist-tied the bag shut and turned to face him. “So you’re Weasley?”

“One of them, at least — George, to be exact.”

“That’s wicked!”

You noticed his freckled cheeks growing rosier by the second. “That’s awfully kind of you,” he said, waving dismissively.

“No, honestly! It’s incredible!”

As you reached for another plastic bag, George rushed over to interrupt. “Here,” he pointed to the display of Skiving Snackboxes. “Take one of these — they’ve got all our best-selling sweets in one box. Your brother’s sure to love it.” He led you over, plucking a box from the top and handing it to you. “On the house.”

“Oh, I couldn’t,” you said, shaking your head.

“I insist! Consider it an incentive.”

“An incentive?”

He nodded. “To come again.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Thank you, George — really! I just know he’ll love it!” As you turned the box in your hands, you caught sight of the time on your wrist: five ‘til. “Merlin!”

George furrowed his brows.

“I’ve got to go!” If you hadn’t known any better, you could’ve sworn you’d seen a flash of disappointment in his eyes. “But, perhaps you’ll stop by sometime. I can return the favor — clip you a free dozen roses for your girlfriend or something,” you rushed out.

“I’d have to find one first,” he chuckled, following you as you skipped down the steps towards the doors.

A warm blush flooded your face as you laughed nervously. You spun to face George one last time as he landed at the foot of the stairs. “Well, maybe you’ll stop by anyways.”

“Florist down the road?” he asked, pointing in the general direction.

“That’s exactly the one!” you called, stepping backwards onto the street.

You rushed down the path towards the florist, your step feeling a touch lighter than it did earlier. You noticed the result of the sudden sun after the storm: a rainbow hanging above the grinning man attached to the storefront.

“Aha!” you exclaimed, finally realizing why George had looked so familiar.

When you arrived at work, you swung the screen door into the greenhouse open, announcing your presence, “Sorry I’m late!”

“Not to worry, dear,” Muriel remarked.

Muriel hired you a few months prior, admiring your proclivity to gardening and greenery. She taught you something new every day without ever realizing she was doing so. Her green thumb had a knack for nurturing every flower both under and out of the sun. And her extraordinary eye for piecing together various plants and flowers to create a stunning and elegant arrangement never ceased to amaze you.

“Be a dear, Y/N, won’t you?” Jasmine grunted as she attempted to haul a heavy-bottomed, ceramic pot.

You threw your things onto a nearby stool and rushed over to lift the side closest to you. The two of you managed to hoist the pot just above the dirt floor to carry it to its destination.

“Re-potting the Wiggentree,” Jasmine explained, dusting off her hands. “Pretty soon it’s going to be too big to stay, mum,” she called to Muriel.

“Yes, I know, dear,” Muriel muttered, “That does not change the fact that it must be re-potted.”

Jasmine was less fond of gardening than her mother was. But if something unfortunate were to happen, the shop would fall to Jasmine, so she figured it’d be best to at least try and learn a thing or two.

You walked through the door leading directly from the greenhouse into the shop. “Morning, Candace!”

“Morning, Y/N!” the cheery teenager chirped as she balanced a vase full of violets on the counter.

A set of hooks adorned with various dirt-stained aprons lined the wall just behind it. You reached for the one with your initial embroidered in the upper right corner, quickly throwing it over your head and down your body. You tied a bow behind your back before throwing your hair up and stepping back into the greenhouse. You grabbed a pair of gloves and began heaving soil into the planter with Jasmine.

Beads of sweat were already forming on your forehead as the humidity of the greenhouse settled into your skin.

Re-potting the Wiggentree proved to be a difficult and timely task, taking up most of the morning. By lunchtime, you’d moved on to trimming daisies and de-thorning roses, and come sunset, you were planting hyacinth seeds and watering Flutterby bushes in the garden.

“Y/N,” Jasmine announced, stepping out from the greenhouse. “Someone’s here to see you.”

You wound your way through the garden and the greenhouse, stepping into the shop in search of your guest. Candace giggled as she zipped her coat and nodded towards the front door. You stepped onto the patio, where the outdoor displays danced in the gentlest of breezes. You were shocked to spot George leaning over to smell the roses.

“George?” you laughed. “What on earth are you doing here?”

“Someone said something about roses,” he teased.

“Well,” you began, walking over and gesturing to the basket of pretty, pink roses, “What do you think?”

“Well worth the walk over here,” he answered, smiling brightly at you as he rocked on his heels with his hands in his coat pockets.

Jasmine rushed onto the patio with her jacket and purse draped over her shoulder and swiftly said, “Y/N, I completely forgot about my mother-in-law’s birthday dinner, and Candace just left! I’m so sorry — would you mind —”  

“Go on!” you hurried, waving her off of the patio, “I’ll close up!”

“Thank you, Y/N!” she called over her shoulder, “You’re an angel!”

You chuckled and rolled your eyes in amusement as she disappeared around the corner.

“I’ve got to tidy a few things but... the bar down the street doesn’t close for an hour,” you began, your heart fluttering as your stomach burst with butterflies, “We should take a walk and look at all the flowers down the alley.” You chuckled, feeling your face grow warm, “I planted half of them.”

George smiled, a light laugh gracing his lips, “All right, sounds good then.”

George busied himself with the outdoor displays while you prepared the shop for closing. He brushed his calloused fingers over the delicate flower petals, occasionally indulging in their sweet scents. He imagined how you likely smelled of flowers after a long day of work, and how that would be the perfect antidote to the lingering smell of gunpowder that constantly plagued his pillows.

“Ready?” you asked, stepping back onto the patio.

“More than ever,” he said.

As you walked down the alley together, you pointed out flowerbed after flowerbed resting on the windowsills of various shops and bakeries. Your favorites, he learned, were always the dahlias. He was surprised by the natural beauty that erupted from the brick and stone storefronts, and even more so by the fact that he never once paid attention to any of it. How could he have missed this?

“Merlin!” you gasped, rushing over to Mr. Reilly’s butcher shop. “Mr. Reilly has been doing an absolute lovely job tending to his poppies! You see, when I first popped in, he swore to Godric that he was incapable of keeping anything alive but himself, but look!”

George laughed, racing to keep up with you.

You led him to the pub that had just opened the month prior, Brenda’s Brews, whose owner agreed with your suggestion of keeping a few Fire Seed bushes out front to “really grab the people’s attention!”

Upon entering the pub, Brenda greeted you from behind the bar, “The usual, Y/N?”

“Two please!” you called, sliding a few sickles across the counter faster than George was able to dive into his pockets. “Don’t worry about it,” you winked.

“Okay, but next one’s on me, yeah?”

“No, no, consider it a thank you for earlier,” you said, raising your glass.

George clinked his glass with yours before sipping from the foamy ale. “Good choice,” he nodded.

“Can’t go wrong with a little Dragon Scale,” you remarked, savoring in its tangy, bitter taste.

“I’ve got to ask,” George began, setting his glass down on a coaster with The Weird Sisters plastered on it, “It seems like you know everyone in this bloody part of town. How come we haven’t met? Have you been here long?”

You laughed at his disbelief. “I’ve only been here a few months, so I haven’t quite gotten to everyone yet — for example, Number 93,” you muttered as you fidgeted with your diminishing glass.

“That’s wild,” he paused before snapping his fingers and saying, “Y/N?”

“Y/N,” you confirmed, taking a swig from your glass.

“And you’ve already made that big of an impact on everyone?” he continued.

You blushed, feeling flooded with a sudden warmth. You were quite flattered by the idea that you may mean something to this place; a place that was so new and intimidating not that long ago; somewhere you were certain a florist could never thrive: the middle of the city.

Perhaps the finger pricks from a thorn every now and then was worth it.

You shrugged bashfully, “I don’t know about all that.”

“Y/N,” a bartender called as he raced past, carrying two different mugs with different colored ales, “May loved the mayflowers! She said yes, by the way!”

You clapped, squealing in excitement, “Congratulations, Borden!”

George raised his eyebrows, as if to say, See?

Brenda bellowed, “Last call!”

You checked your watch: half an hour until close.

And despite the short burst of time remaining, it felt as though you’d been laughing and chatting away with George for hours. If someone insisted that they’d magically slowed time, you might have believed them. It felt so familiar to talk to George; it came so naturally. You wondered if he’d been talking since birth, given the way he animatedly told stories and produced witty comebacks within nanoseconds of the original comment.

At last, your glasses had been drained of their contents, and Brenda was shooing the last of the stragglers out the door. George followed behind you as you ducked out, calling goodbye to Brenda and Borden back inside.

Perhaps you’d been imagining it, but it certainly seemed that you and George were walking much closer together than you had been originally. One misstep and you might have brushed his hand.

You were suddenly distracted by the vibrant purple dahlias sitting outside of Rosa Lee’s. You raced over, carefully assessing exactly which flower to pick, explaining, “She won’t mind, I give her a new basket every week.”

George felt suddenly in awe of your natural grace and delight. It seemed so simple to please you: a dainty dahlia was all you needed to feel like the world was a good enough place to live. In a way, he envied your childlike wonder; it was different than the one exhibited in his shop by his products. It paid attention to the smaller things in life, rather than inciting big, booming bangs. It provided a sense of serenity.

You giggled and tucked the flower behind his right ear. He blushed as your hand gently grazed his skin. “How do I look?” he managed.

“Beautiful,” you said sincerely.

You continued walking as George fiddled with the dahlia. “Your favorite, right?” he asked, pointing to it.

“That is correct, sir,” you answered, impressed by his memory.

Once you reached Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, George leaned against the door and twiddled with the tiny flower between his fingers. He considered asking you inside, despite the lights clearly being off, indicating that the shop was clearly closed, and therefore, indicating that he meant inside his flat.

Likewise, you pondered the same prospect. You wondered if it’d be too forward: to suggest the idea of coming inside. Perhaps, tonight wasn’t the night.

And that was all right.

“Well, George,” you sighed, “I must say I’m really glad I stepped into this wacky shop of yours today.”

“I’d say the same,” he said earnestly.

You paused. “You’ll have to stop by again... you know, to finish off your bouquet,” you said, gesturing towards the dahlia.

He smiled. “You’ll be there tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” you echoed, a smile growing on your lips. You stepped onto the street and waved.

The sight of George waving back with a lopsided grin on his freckled face was enough to tide you over until next time. You spun in place and apparated home.

Honestly, George liked the idea of taking his time, carefully picking flowers — a few each day — until his bouquet was erupting from its vase.

Maybe then, you’d come in.

#george weasley x reader #george weasley x you #george weasley x y/n #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley #hp fanfiction #george weasley x fem!reader #golden collection

[axwalker]

Now and Then 4: Unrequited

I’m participating in @wackydrabbles and the prompt this week is # 45: “I don’t hate you” and will appear in bold.

Synopsis: Synopsis:   The story of Alexis’s and Drake’s friendship since they met when they were 10 years old until they become roommates after college. (AU)

In this chapter: Lexie tries to reconnect with her father while she deals with her feelings for Drake. 

Warning: Teen angst, A very bad father, Unrequited love. THE CONTENT OF THIS BLOG IS NOT SUITABLE FOR UNDER 18

Word count: 1700 🙈

Tagging wacky drabblers: @texaskitten30​ @bebepac​ @pedudley​ @sirbeepsalot​ @burnsoslow​ @ravenpuff02​ @loveellamae​ @oofchoices​ @emceesynonymroll​

Permatag: @ac27dj​ @twinkle-320​ @kimmiedoo5​ @marshmallowsandfire​ @mskaneko​ @pug-bitch​ @princessleac1​

2012. (17 years old)

Drake parked the Jeep that he had spent all summer repairing in front of Lex's house. While he waited for her, he turned on the radio and raised the volume at AC/DC's You Shook Me All Night Long. On his rear mirror, he saw Lexie leaving her house with a cherry Pop-Tart in her mouth, and her backpack half-opened; she was tying up her hair in a messy bun as she approached his car.

"The alarm didn't sound again?" Drake asked teasingly when she got into the car.

"It did." She chewed the last bit of Pop-Tart. "I got in an argument with my mom. My dad wants to see me, but she doesn't want me to go."

Drake frowned. "Out of the blue? Isn't that a little weird?"

"It's for my birthday, Drake."

"Lex, your birthday was more than two weeks ago."

"He was busy. He said he tried to call me, but you know this thing never works," Lexie said, pointing at her old cellphone.

Call me, Maybe start playing on the radio. She smiled mischievously.

Drake rolled his eyes, "Don't you dare, Lex."

Lexie looked at him mockingly and raised the volume.

"Just don't do the dance, please don't do the dance," he pleaded, knowing that it was pointless.

"Do you mean this dance?" she grinned as she sang along with the radio, dancing and mimicking the song's dance moves with her hands.

"You're such a dork." Drake chuckled.  

Lexie laughed. "Come on, Walker, I know you want to too." She kept singing. "Hey, I just met you, and this is crazy …" She threw Drake a mischievous look and pointed finger guns at him.

"… But here's my number, so call me maybe," Drake talked more than sang as he shook his head smiling. They both burst into laughter.

When the song ended, Drake lowered the volume and asked, "Are you going to see him?"

"My dad? Well … maybe …" She bit her lip.

He saw the gesture. "What?"

"I thought that maybe you could come with me?"

"Hard pass."

"Please, Drake! I really want to see him, but it's been a while. Plus, Cindy and Sean will be there too, they make me so nervous." Lexie grimaced at the thought of her stepmother and stepbrother.

Drake had never met George O'Brien. In their six years of friendship, Lexie's father had called her for her birthday a total of three times -always late- and she rarely saw him. Drake loathed the guy, but for some reason, Lexie was desperate to reconnect with him. Drake couldn't understand, if Bianca came back, he wouldn't even give her the time of day.

"If Elena doesn't want you to see him, she must have her reasons," Drake said as he parked the car.

"Dad was a crappy husband, but he loves me; he wants to have a relationship with me." She sighed. "You don't have to come if you don't want to, though."

Drake detected the hint of vulnerability in her voice. "Don't worry, Lex; I'll be there. When is it?"

"Tonight," Alexis replied as they walked to the school.

"Shit! I had a date with Haley."

The mention of Drake's girlfriend made Lexie nauseous. She had been unsuccessfully fighting her feelings for Drake for over a year. As much as she tried, she couldn't avoid the flip on her stomach when she saw him, or her heart racing every time he smiled at her.

"I know. I tried to change the day, but he refused."

"It's okay, Lex. I'll talk to Haley; I can always find ways to make it up to her later." Drake smiled.

"Eww! Disgusting, Walker”.  

"Drake!" Haley yelled with her sickly-sweet tone of voice

Alexis rolled her eyes. “And that's my cue to leave.”

“You could give her a chance, you know? She’s nice.”

“Right. See you at lunch?"

"Yeah.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The rest of the morning passed quickly. At lunch, Lexie threw a glance towards her regular table in the cafeteria. Liam, Olivia, and Max were talking while Haley and Drake were kissing each other. Alexis wondered if there ever came out for air. She was about to leave the cafeteria with an empty stomach when Max yelled her name.

Shit. Lexie waved back and sat next to Max across the two happy couples. She slammed her tray on the table, crashing it against Drake's.

"Is everything alright, Lexie?" Liam asked.

"Yeah," Lexie answered angrily.

Olivia and Max exchanged a look. They knew perfectly what the problem was.

"Penelope is having a party Sunday night. Would you like to come? She has a pool," Haley said, smiling.

"Sunday is GOT night, and we all watch it at Li's house, sorry," Lexie said dismissively.

Drake glared at her.

"You can come too; It's actually pretty fun," Liam invited Haley before Olivia could kick him under the table.

"What's GOT?" Haley asked.

Drake was about to answer, but Lexie beat him to it. "Are you serious? Game of Thrones. Best show ever," she replied, annoyed.

"Oh! I hate it!' Haley grimaced. "So much blood and killing. Totally a boy's show."

Lexie snapped at her, "I guess Liv and I didn't realize that we needed a penis to watch a TV show. Maybe, you can give us a list of the things girls are supposed to like." When she saw Haley blushing embarrassed, Lexie knew she had gone too far. She bit her lip, ashamed of herself.  

Drake shot her a furious look and stood up from the table. "Come on, Haley. We have Algebra in 10 minutes."

Oliva smirked. "Remind me not to piss you off."

"What? She was sexist!" Lexie defended herself.

"Right, that's why you scolded her, feminism," Maxwell laughed. “Nothing to do with Dr-” Max stopped talking when Lexie elbowed him. Liam didn’t know anything.

"Why do you dislike her so much?" Liam asked before finishing his cheeseburger.

"I don't. I have to go; I have class too." She left in a hurry. She was feeling angry and frustrated, specially with herself.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After class, she ran to the locker rooms to change for Gym when she stumbled upon Haley.

"I was looking for you," Haley said, tucking her hair behind her ear.

"I'm sorry, Haley I have Gym like in five minutes," Lexie replied, trying to be more agreeable than she was at lunch.

"It's going to be fast. I just wanted to tell you that I'd like it if we could be friends. I know you hate me, but I think you're cool, and it would be best for Drake if we all got along."

Haley was a tall, green-eyed gorgeous blond. As if that wasn't threatening enough, she was kind and friendly too.

Lexie sighed. "I don't hate you. I'm sorry about this morning, that wasn't about you." Or not entirely.

"It's fine." Haley gave her a perfect smile. "I know Drake loves Game of Thrones. Would you explain it to me? So, I can watch it with him?"

Lexie suppressed her urge to roll her eyes. "You don't have to like it only because he does, you know?" Trying to make amends for her earlier behavior, she added, "but, if you want to, yeah, I'll explain it."

Haley almost jumped. "Thank you, Lex."

"Uhm, only Drake calls me Lex," she said but added apologetically, "but you can call me Lexie if you want though, all my friends do."

"Got it, thanks, Lexie. I better run; I have class too." Haley waved her god-bye.

Lexie was about to enter the gym when she got a text message from her father. It turned out that he couldn't have dinner that night, but he asked her to go to his lawyer's office and sign some papers related to her grandfather's inheritance next week. That was the real reason he wanted to see her, not to reconnect with her. Elena was right about him.

After typing a quick text to Drake telling him that he was free for his date, Lexie decided to skip Gym, she wasn't in the mood. She walked around for a while until she reached the football field. She sat on the stands with a framed photo of her father in her hands, she had planned to give it to him that night as a gift. In the picture, she was 8 years old and was looking at her father adoringly as they decorated a Christmas tree. Lexie hated to cry but couldn't help herself. Everything in her life was upside down. A father that didn't love her and a crush that would never be anything else. Lexie was well aware that Drake only saw her as his best friend.

"Lex," Drake said, startling her.

Lexie tried to wipe the tears off her face so he wouldn't see them. "What are you doing here? I thought you had a date."

"You're worried about Haley now?" He said, handing her a Coke, her comfort drink.

"Hey! I apologized!" Lexie exclaimed after taking a sip of the drink.

Drake chuckled. "Yeah, only because she went looking for you."

"Can we count this as a win? I apologized to one of your girlfriends, that's unheard of."

"You're so damn stubborn that yes; we'll count this as a win." He couldn't explain it, but Drake sort of liked how possessive Lexie was with him.

They sat in silence for a moment. Drake had seen her crying when he sat next to her, but he knew his best friend better than anyone, she needed a little space before talking about her problems.

After a while, he finally asked, "Are you okay, Lex?"

"Uh-huh," she replied.

"Lex, look at me."

Her big brown eyes looked up to him. Drake's heart tightened with her sadness. "He's not worth it. You know it, right?" He put his arm around her shoulders. “If he doesn’t appreciate to have a daughter like you, then he’s a piece of crap.”

"He's my dad. He's supposed to love me no matter what," Lexie cried despite herself. "If he doesn't, who will?"

"I'm always going to be here, Lex. No matter what."

She looked at him. "You say that now, but you will fall in love and forget all about me."

Drake raised her chin with his fingers, she almost melted when she met his deep gaze. "Never. No matter what happens you’ll always be my best friend Lex." He placed a friendly kiss on her forehead. "I swear.”

“Me too,” she answered sadly as she placed her head on his shoulder.

#axwalker writes #drake x alexis #now and then #wacky drabbles

[carewyncromwell]

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

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

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

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

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

“...Does everybody know?”

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

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

She glanced away restlessly.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

Charlie: “Oi!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Charlie...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cromwell-Weasley twins?”

[Charlie’s face broke out into a fuller white smile and he gave a low chuckle.]

Charlie: “Cromwell-Weasley twins. (thoughtfully) We might want to find a snappier way to say that, though. ‘Charlie and Carey?’ ‘Red and Green?’ ‘Twins from Another Mother?’”

[Carewyn laughed.]

“We’ll work on it.”

Percy: “I should hope you’re working on a lot more than just nicknames.”

[Charlie’s younger brother, Percy, had arrived, his arms crossed over his chest.]

Charlie: “Percy? I didn’t know you followed me.”

Percy: “I did -- to make sure you’re not shirking your studies like you did your responsibilities all summer. Honestly, it’s bad enough I have to babysit the twins now that they’ve started at Hogwarts -- I didn’t think I’d also have to tell my Prefect older brother to keep his mind on school. What would Bill say if he knew?”

Charlie: “(lowly) He’d sympathize with what I’m going through.”

Percy: “Bill was betrayed by Rakepick too: that hasn’t stopped him from fulfilling his duties at Gringotts. You should follow his example -- ”

[Sensing the tension between Charlie and Percy, Carewyn decided to step in.]

“How is Bill liking Gringotts? I got a letter from his new address, so I know he’s left the Burrow, but he didn’t go into much detail.”

[That was a bold-faced lie: she and Bill had exchanged several long letters that summer. It had been one of the few comforts Carewyn had, in the face of Jacob’s renewed absence. But she knew talking about Bill and Gringotts would be a good way to divert focus off of Charlie.]

Percy: “Quite well -- Bill can’t go into a lot of detail about his assignments, given that Gringotts requires a certain level of confidentiality, but his superiors have been impressed by his work ethic.”

“As they should. Bill’s always been a hard worker.”

[She turned to Charlie.]

“That reminds me -- Charlie, could you grab a few books from the section for History of Magic over there, for our study session? I reckon some stuff on Wendelin the Weird and the witch burnings’ll be good..”

[She’d been speaking quickly, clearly wanting to subtly brush Percy off by making it look like they were getting busy. Charlie, picking up on Carewyn’s intent, shot her a smile over his shoulder as he swept over to the bookshelves.]

Charlie: “Sure.”

[Carewyn herself picked out some Transfiguration books off the shelf, as well as a book titled An Examination of Historic Prophecies. She could still feel Percy’s critical eye on her as she set her pile of textbooks down on one of the tables.]

Percy: “(his arms still crossed) Studying Divination?”

[Carewyn realized too late that the Divination book had ended up on the top of her stack.]

“Oh! (dismissively) No, actually -- Trelawney gave a weird prophecy in class, so I just thought I’d read up on it a bit -- “

[Carewyn cursed her luck. She hadn’t wanted Charlie to hear that.]

“Yeah -- it was really awkward, actually. She just sort of stopped in front of me and started babbling to no one about murky water and ‘endings’ and other nonsense. Then she sort of looked at me and said the vision was gone and wouldn’t explain.”

[Despite Carewyn’s best efforts, Charlie looked concerned. To her surprise, however, Percy also seemed interested.]

Percy: “What did Professor Trelawney say, exactly?”

[Carewyn blinked at Percy. The third-year Weasley boy’s ears turned pink.]

Percy: “I read a few books on Divination over the summer -- I think it’s a very engaging subject!”

[Although she felt some faint misgivings about Charlie being able to hear all this, Carewyn decided it couldn’t hurt to hear what Percy thought.]

I’ll just have to play it off, like I don’t care.

“...Let’s see, ah...she said she saw ‘murky water’ in my future -- though we were reading tea leaves, so Tonks suggested she might’ve meant the tea. Then she said...‘changes swirling around you’...‘endings, final endings’...‘prices to pay’...‘the ultimate price.’“

[Charlie looked very disturbed.]

Charlie: “That does sound ominous...but Trelawney’s prophecies are supposed to be notoriously incorrect, aren’t they? Do you reckon this one’s real?”

[Carewyn scoffed.]

“No. But I am curious why she would make up those things at all -- I thought maybe reading up on prophecies could give me a hint.”

[Percy brought a hand up to his chin thoughtfully.]

Percy: “Perhaps...but everything I’ve read about prophecies suggests there are usually more details than this. So much of what you heard could be interpreted in multiple ways.”

[Carewyn nodded. She had thought so as well.]

“Maybe Madame Pince would have some suggestions of books that could help?”

George: “I wouldn’t go near her right now if I were you.”

Fred: “She’s in a right foul mood.”

[Carewyn turned. Two identical-looking ginger-haired first years wearing Gryffindor tie had come up to join them.]

Fred: “(innocently) Nothing! Just thought we’d introduce ourselves to the school librarian is all -- ”

George: “(sniggering) “ -- by helping her ‘reorganize’ a few Library shelves.”

[Charlie rolled his eyes up toward the ceiling. Carewyn raised her eyebrows.]

“Ah, the infamous Weasley twins. Fred and George, right? We met briefly over Christmas break once a while back, but you were both sick in bed.”

Fred: “Ugh -- bloody awful headache, that was. My head felt like it was full of pea soup for a week.”

George: “Mine felt more like beef stew. (sighs) Anyway -- love to stay and chat, but I have detention.”

Percy: “(appalled) The year’s barely started, and you’re already in detention!?”

[The twins ignored him.]

Fred: “Sorry, George -- I’ll take the blame next time, promise.”

Percy: “ ‘Next time?!’”

George: “(laughing) I’ll hold you to that, Fred!”

[With that, George headed out of the Library.]

“It’s too bad George had to leave so soon. It was nice to finally meet you -- formally, of course.”

Charlie: “Fred!”

Fred: “(laughing) Kidding! Though Bill and Charlie have both said you’ve got good pipes. And of course I’ve heard all about your adventures with the Cursed Vaults -- though I was mostly interested in hearing about all the tricks you’ve pulled around school!”

[Carewyn’s lips curled up in a smirk.]

Percy: “(snorts) That’s putting it mildly.”

“Well...just remember, Fred, I’m a Prefect, same as your brother. I don’t mind trouble as long as no one gets hurt -- but it’s harder for me to overlook things if they happen right under my nose.”

[Fred raised his eyebrows daringly.]

Fred: “So you’re fine with us causing trouble as long as we don’t get caught?”

[Carewyn crossed her arms, but her smirk didn’t shift.]

“Sure...but that includes not getting caught by me. And I’m not easy to fool.”

Fred: “(laughs) Challenge accepted!”

[Percy looked scandalized.]

Percy: “Carewyn! Prefects are supposed to protect the rules, not encourage -- “

Charlie: “(laughs) Calm down, Percy -- Carey takes the rules seriously. She doesn’t even let Tulip and Tonks get off scot-free, if their pranks hurt anybody.”

[Still looking miffed, Percy decided there was no point in arguing and so forcefully changed the subject.]

Percy: “Ahem -- I’m glad you’ve met...but now Charlie, Fred, and I need to study.”

[Fred scowled.]

Fred: “Yes, Mum.”

[Percy ignored him, turning back to Carewyn.]

Percy: “I know you don’t hold stock in what Professor Trelawney said to you, Carewyn, but I’d say you should be careful, all the same. I don’t think you’re going to find much meaning from it, though.”

[Percy shooed Fred off to the other end of the library, leaving Charlie and Carewyn alone at their table. Charlie and Carewyn spent the next hour studying Transfiguration and History of Magic, the book Carewyn had pulled out on Divination left forgotten on the side.

Carewyn thought Percy might be right. A book might not have any answers -- but perhaps a centaur might...]

((OOC: ^.^ I do love my Weasley boys very much, yes, I do. Even you, Percy, you right stick-in-the-mud. Also, the “singing” comment by Fred really did make me laugh so hard, given that Carewyn totally does sing when she thinks she’s alone! And also when music is playing, or she’s in her Animagus form, or when she wants to cheer someone up, or...yeah, she just likes to sing, period. XD

Next up -- checking in with Torvus!))

#carewyn cromwell #jacob's sibling #charlie weasley #fred weasley #george weasley #percy weasley #bill weasley #hphm #hogwarts mystery #roleplaying #gameplay

[smartworkingpackage]

Thoughts From Groucho, or Re-Marx on Staying Relevant for 100 Years

“I don’t know what you have to say,

It makes no diff’rence anyway;

Whatever it is, I’m against it!” — Groucho Marx in Horse Feathers

To fans of classic comedy, the idea that Groucho Marx is all but forgotten is startling. One of the most popular comedians of the 20th century, he was the quick-witted and sharp-tongued ringleader of the golden age comedy team The Marx Brothers. The siblings conquered every medium, from stage and radio to movies, television, and books. Kids today still recognize his trademark glasses, fake eyebrows and mustache, and cigar, and “Groucho masks” remain popular party items.

Groucho’s stage, film, and television character specialized in insulting the pompous and self-important and embracing the absurdity of life. But beneath the wisecracks was a sharp self-taught intellectual. His public persona was only slightly more heightened than his real-life personality, and his thought processes were governed by a keen assessment of what people expected of him and how he could either fulfill those expectations or subvert them.

His family’s poverty forced him to leave school and go to work at the age of 12, but he had a lifelong thirst for knowledge. Thanks to his fame, he befriended some of the greatest minds of his era (including Nobel Prize-winning poet T.S. Eliot). His papers were even collected by the Library of Congress. Despite his humble beginnings, he wrote six books himself and was a frequent contributor to many magazines, including The New Yorker. His compiled letters have been published in multiple books, and his quotes still make the rounds of social media, this time as memes.

While you might not think a comedian born in 1890 would have much to offer today, consider this: Groucho made your great-great grandparents laugh, and what he had to say is still relevant in the 21st century. He’s more remembered than his once-equally famous brothers. Why? He was better able to adapt to changes in society and technology. And his life and thoughts offered guideposts to anyone savvy enough to apply them.

What mentorship means

When Groucho went into vaudeville at 15, making $20 a week, his mother Minnie realized that if having one son in show business could make that kind of money, having his brothers join him could net a small fortune. She pushed them all into the act — whether or not they wanted it or not — and when she was done, The Four Marx Brothers were one of the biggest acts in show business.

Greatness rarely comes without a struggle, and she willed her boys to success. As one of the few female show business managers in the first decades of the 20th century, she had to be stubborn, somewhat outrageous, and fast-talking to get her boys ahead. She made instant decisions, and never let her errors stop her forward progress. Her tough approach to organizing her five out-of-control sons, stretching money, and staying one step ahead of unscrupulous theatre owners marked Groucho for life. Her legacy lived on in Groucho, who, though he was prone to bouts of depression, kept Minnie’s determination close to his heart. Her mentorship made him what he was.

Groucho’s other mentor (in the words of talk show host Dick Cavett, “his god”) was playwright and director George S Kaufman, who wrote or directed scores of plays, two of which won Pulitzer Prizes. He loved nothing more than spending time with men like Kaufman or S.J. Perelman, who were brilliant writers with life experiences and points of view that added bite to their writing.

We all need mentors, role models, and people who believe in us. Who are those people in your own life? What can you learn from them? What would you discover if you made lists of the traits they have that you want to cultivate? Groucho was never intimidated by people he knew were smarter and more skilled than he was. Instead, he befriended them, learned from them, and ultimately became someone who was equally sought-out for opinions and advice. Certainly, we could learn to do the same, even if the inspiration comes from a man with a painted-on mustache.  

“I find television very educational. Every time someone turns it on, I go into the library and read a book.” -Groucho Marx

A century of not accepting the conventional

Associating with writers like Kaufman helped Groucho develop the trait he was best known for: tweaking authority. Whether it was high society, the government, or big business, he was sure to let anyone who thought they were better than him know that he wasn’t going to stand for it. Audiences loved him as much for what he said as to whom he was saying it. Who wouldn’t want to tell a stuffy socialite, “I’ve had a perfectly wonderful evening. But this wasn’t it”? Groucho’s humor worked because it struck that chord in everyone who wants to be bold and to not fear being unconventional but to embrace their own individuality with gusto.

His anti-establishment streak was as powerful in the Great Depression as it was in the 1970s when comedy broke from tired one-size-fits-all jokes to personal observations. Some of that era’s most important comedians — George Carlin, Richard Pryor, and (especially) Woody Allen  — were influenced by Groucho’s confrontationally personal wit. Stand-ups today perform material based on their own observations. They make notes about what they see and turn it into jokes that we can identify with and laugh at. Before Groucho, almost no “monologists,” as they were called more than 100 years ago, relied on this technique. Mark Twain may have been among the first.

Groucho didn’t accept the status quo or conventional wisdom, and the good news is, you don’t have to, either. You don’t have to be needlessly confrontational, but when you see things that don’t make sense, say something. The only way anyone is going to hear (or implement) your ideas is if you voice them.

What made Groucho and his brothers stars was their irreverence and spontaneity. By keeping their eyes open to the absurdities around them, they could call attention to them. You may not have the nerve to say after a particularly boring presentation, “I thought my razor was dull until I heard his speech’” But Groucho would — and did.

Those qualities of Groucho’s — staying open and aware of what was going on around him, calling attention to things that are supposed to make sense but don’t, an eager willingness to gather information and experience from others — are qualities that anyone can develop. It may not be easy to do it. Our own inhibitions and social convention can get in the way. But the rewards of personal growth and value as a collaborator are immense.

The more you know, the more valuable you become

Groucho had an immense personal library. Whenever he and his brothers were performing on the road, he brought along a huge trunk filled with books that expanded his point of view and gave him expertise in any number of areas. After all, you can’t properly insult someone whose background you don’t fully understand.

Books and bookstores may not have the cultural impact they once did, but you have an advantage over Groucho. You’re reading this on some kind of a screen, and a world of information is just a click away. There are more e-books, reports, texts, essays, and other media available than you could possibly consume in one lifetime. That tidal wave might seem overwhelming, but dive in. Make and share lists and collections of books, authors, articles, or photos that inspire you. Evernote is a perfect place to store lists like this, so when you’re in need of a little inspiration, it’s always at your fingertips. Plus, you don’t have to carry around all your reading material in a heavy trunk, like Groucho did.

Comedy is based on taking serious topics to extremes. Without a firm basis in reality or facts, humor’s just a series of jokes without context. Beneath his makeup, Groucho was a deeply serious man, capable of debating National Review editor William F. Buckley as to whether the world is, in fact, funny.

Groucho was rigorous in his comedy. Before filming most of their movies, the brothers would do live tours trying out material. As the brothers performed scenes from upcoming movies on the stage, stenographers sat backstage timing laughs, measuring the intensity of audience responses, and tracking whether delivering a line or a physical “bit” of comedy one way got a better response than another. All that data came back to Hollywood, so by the time the brothers committed the scenes to film, they already knew how the movies would perform on screens around the world. Without this meticulous note-taking, their best films may have ended up as slightly incoherent as their early ones in which the laughs came too quickly together and audiences missed some of the best jokes. Because they took the time to record metrics in front of multiple live audiences, the Marx Brothers legend endures to this day.

The timelessness of individuality

When the brothers’ film career faded in the 1940s, Groucho reinvented himself by hosting a television quiz show, You Bet Your Life. (It’s where the phrase “Say the secret word and win $100” comes from.)  The show, which still enjoys a healthy following on YouTube, allowed him to interact with “civilian” guests, winning him a whole new generation of fans who expected him to do the unexpected.

Reinventing ourselves and embracing the unexpected are things we can cultivate in ourselves. Groucho was blasé about aging, but a person doesn’t last 70 years in showbiz without finding ways to stay relevant and productive. By using some of Groucho’s tips, you might find yourself having his staying power.

But don’t just take our word for it. See for yourself how Groucho Marx might inspire you to raise a few eyebrows in your own work and life.

And now, the one, the only, Groucho.

from Evernote Blog http://ift.tt/2gm3tHm via IFTTT

#Evernote Blog