Smirking in the Face of Adversity Since 1975.

At long last.

corvidae9 — Sat, 12 May 2018 23:46:29 GMT

Title: The Prisoner (4 of 4)
Author: corvidae9
Rating: PG13
Word Count: ~8590
Summary: Monsters, creatures and family. (Harry + like, everyone else in the world. Gen.)
Warnings: Latest in a series of Switchverse follow-ups, and therefore unrepentantly AU.
Author Notes: As with earlier chapters of Switch: if I left it out, it follows canon-- I feel like I needed to say that here because I absolutely am handwaving the entirety of the Shrieking Shack scene, which was my stumbling block for years until I realized that it was the one thing I wanted to hold on to in its entirety. Speaking of which, I am SO sorry for leaving you all hanging for... ohgawd. Ten years? I left the fandom in a flurry of drama, and left several fics about a hundred or so words and a proofread away from finished, and it is utterly my fault. I do in fact have entire chunks of Goblet and a few bits of outline for OotP written (and let’s talk about the AU-of-my-AU outtakes *cough*), but I have no illusions about when or if they’ll ever be finished. STILL! I did want to say that I love this universe, I appreciate everyone that has ever stopped to say they enjoyed it too. Thank you guys, seriously. I wanted to put this on LJ for everyone who was watching it, but everything is moving to AO3 going forward so if there are indeed updates, that’s where you’ll find them.
Disclaimer: No more than one or two very famous lines totally gacked directly from the original Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, but the premise remains. Basically, if you recognize it, it belongs to JKR and her army of publishers, etc. and is nowhere near even resembling belonging to me.

Switch | The Stone | Interludes 1 & 2 | Switch v2.0 | The Chamber I | The Chamber II | The Chamber III | Interlude 3 | Interlude 4 | The Prisoner I | The Prisoner II | The Prisoner III

Hermione sat with an open book in her lap, legs crossed on the wide ledge of the courtyard wall. Harry and Neville had gone on to tea in the Hufflepuff common room, but she'd insisted that she had one more chapter to read, and had encouraged them to go on without her. Her hands were not shaking anymore but her attention was on everything save the pages at hand. In the end she didn't have to wait for long before she had reason to look up.

"You can't do this!" screeched Tracey Davis, the sound echoing down the pillared walkway in the wake of her being escorted roughly by a scowling Professor Snape. Her cry bought the attention of anyone within screeching distance. Hermione set her bookmark as leisurely as she could manage and watched from beneath an arched eyebrow.

A sniffling Lavender Brown dangled from Snape's other hand, or at least seemed to, whining, "I didn't do it! I swear!"

"We shall soon see about that," said Professor Snape in a low and threatening growl.

"What are you looking at, halfblood?" sneered Flint at a hapless onlooker as he was being escorted similarly by a nastily grinning Filch following behind Snape.

"Mister Flint, refrain from speaking again if you value the ability to do so." There was no describing Snape's tone as he beat Filch to the rebuke; it was terrifying to contemplate what the man might be thinking. Unsurprisingly, Flint said nothing more. Anyone with sense would likely have never spoken again. Ever.

There was barely a hitch in Tracey's step as they passed, but the look she gave Hermione was pure murder. Snape's pace was steady as he led the way through the far set of double doors and back into the castle.

A seemingly shell-shocked Eloise followed into a courtyard that was already buzzing with gossip and conjecture, books pressed to her chest. Her eyes fell on where Hermione was collecting her bookbag, and Eloise's pace quickened until she caught up.

"Did you hear?"

Hermione paused, genuinely surprised that Eloise would bother to address her at all. She hefted her bookbag more securely onto her shoulder.

"Excuse me?"

"Tracey and Lavender. And Flint," Eloise stood with her shoulders forward, fists clenched around the spine of her book, her voice quavering with some mix of fear, anger and confusion. "They're being taken to Dumbledore. They could be expelled." She didn't bother to specify the transgression.

Impassive, though she felt as though she was about to be collected any moment as well, Hermione clamped both hands on the strap of her bag. "The house won't thank them for the lost points... whatever it is they did."

"They didn't do it! And-- and you know it!" Eloise said more desperately, though not at all more loudly. She clearly wasn't looking to attract attention either.

Hermione leaned in her direction and all but hissed, "Then they need to learn to make better friends. Perhaps there is a lesson to be learned there." She dusted a nonexistent mote from Eloise's shoulder, suppressing a smile when the other girl flinched.

"Good day," Hermione said, turned on her heel and headed directly for the Hufflepuff common room.

###

Hermione had paused in the girls' lavatory on the way to Hufflepuff, mostly to splash water on her face and go over the details of her setup in her mind for the thousandth time. There was no way she had left any trace of her hand in the situation, and no way to be caught. Officially at any rate. Hermione was sure of it.

That said, by the time she'd lost the contents of her stomach and brushed her teeth, the news was all over school that Flint, Davis and Brown were suspected of anything from having collaborated to help Flint cheat his way into passing marks to conspiracy to harbor Sirius Black. Truth be told it was closer to the former than the latter, but from Hermione's point of view, one of the worst things a student could ever be accused of. Either way, she was preoccupied enough to ignore the usual suspicious stares and whispers when Harry let her into the Hufflepuff common room.

"Where have you been?" asked Harry under his breath as he led her to their corner. "And did you hear what happened?"

"What? No," she managed, wearing a mask of earnest innocence and taking a seat in the wide armchair. "What's happened then?"

Neville took a seat on the arm, positioning himself so that he could watch the door while pretending not to.

Draco steepled his fingers in an oddly fitting gesture. "Well played, Granger."

"I'm sure I have no idea as to what you may be referring," Hermione said, though it took heroic strength to refrain from picking at the hem of her skirt.

"I wasn't sure you'd manage it," Draco continued with the nerve to look honestly impressed.

"Would you please be quiet, Malfoy," she attempted again. "I have no--"

"Flint, Davis and Brown," volunteered Harry. "They--"

Neville huffed a snort of laughter.

"--were caught... Hang on. You do know what happened, don't you?"

"Honestly, Harry, why would I know--" Hermione paused, realized her tactics were wasted on her friends and started over. "Plausible deniability. Nothing happened."

"Brava," Draco said, clapping his hands dramatically.

"Anyway," she said pointedly, "I have no idea how they thought stealing exam answers was a good idea, but I'm sure I don't care."

"Brilliant," said Draco. "Less than they deserve, but I'm afraid it will have to do for now."

"Wait--" exclaimed Harry, immediately he looked around before letting his attention rest on Draco, lowering his voice to finish, "How did you know?"

"I didn't," said Draco, beating Hermione to the answer for once. "But Granger had to make a big move and not be caught, thereby making it clear that she's not to be trifled with. By all accounts, she's managed it rather skillfully." He inclined his head toward her with a smirk. "My compliments."

"I didn't do anything, you understand." Hermione actually pinked and, feeling a little less perturbed, lifted her chin higher. "But if I had, I would have had an advantage, I'm afraid."

"More than half a brain?" offered Neville.

"That too," she said with the tiniest of grins. "At any rate--"

There was a commotion at the door to the Common Room and without further warning, Lucius Malfoy came through the door and made his way over to where they all stood. His attention was ostensibly on his surroundings as he approached, lip curled up, his habitual sneer in place and deepening.

"So this is Hufflepuff."

Several of the students in the room regarded the scene with interest, and just as many found that they suddenly had to be somewhere else.

"Father," said Draco by way of greeting and doing well enough at feigning nonchalance. "What are you doing here?"

"Draco." Lucius' gaze fell on Neville and Hermione, lingering for moment on their Slytherin badges. "Looking in on my son, of course. A pleasure to see you again, Harry. Miss Granger and Mister Longbottom, is it?"

"Good to see you, Mister Malfoy," Harry said without a flinch.

"Of course," Lucius murmured as Hermione and Neville offered up their own greetings. "I'm hardly surprised." Draco said nothing, he merely stood braced, attention on his father.

"I have business to attend to in the castle and realized that you would likely benefit from accompanying me, Draco."

"Oh?"

"Yes. The groundskeeper's filthy beast is being put down today, and I've been asked in to witness it." Hermione gasped and he added, "You had something to say, Miss Granger?"

Hermione was glaring at him, though Neville's hand clamped around hers reminded her to be calm. Her voice shook only a little as she ventured, "It's awful. And unnecessary."

"A truly deplorable business," Lucius said with much false sympathy. "However, one does what one must to ensure the safety of one's children. Get your cloak, Draco."

Draco hazarded a look at Harry in the moment that he hesitated before saying, "Yes, sir."

"Where are my manners?" said Lucius when Draco moved away to retrieve his cloak. "Did you want to come, too, Harry?"

"No, thank you," said Harry, jaw set and trying to remain civil. "I don't think I will."

"I suppose we are not all suited for carrying out necessary justices. No matter. I am certain your time will come."

"I'll be back," Draco said, raising his chin and fastening the buckle of his cloak.

"Yes," agreed Lucius, setting a heavy hand on Draco's shoulder. "This time. Good afternoon."

Harry, Hermione and Neville watched them go, though it wasn't until the door shut behind them that anyone spoke.

"Git," breathed Harry.

"We can't just let them kill Buckbeak," said Hermione.

"I know," said Harry, rummaging in his bag until he found what he was looking for. "No bloody idea how we're going to stop them, but we have to try."

Neville looked away and said quietly, "This is the Ministry we're trying to stop. It could mean a lot more than house points."

"It's Lucius Malfoy we're stopping," said Harry, dead set on doing just that. "And the plan will not involve being caught."

After another short pause, Neville nodded, though he still appeared dubious. "Fine."

"You two go down to Hagrid's and scout the area," said Hermione eyes on the door. "I'll catch up."

"What?" asked Neville, alarmed. "Where are you going?"

Hermione shrugged, her fingers worrying the knot of her tie. "Arranging for backup. And a distraction. And possibly an alibi."

She threw open the common room door, only to find Ron and Pansy trying to negotiate their way in. Harry bumped into her when she stopped abruptly.

"Hermione!" said Ron, speaking roughly at the same time as Pansy.

"Harry," Pansy added, her face ashen. "Something's happened. Where's Draco?"

"I know," Hermione said with an impatient nod and tried to move forward again. "Buckbeak. Come on--"

"No--" said Ron, pulling back on her arm. "Trelawney." Face drained of color, he swallowed and shot a look at Pansy.

"She had a vision. A real one," said Pansy. "Something's happening tonight."

"Yes," agreed Hermione. "Buckbeak's going to be executed tonight. We have to create a diversion, and--"

"You Know Who's servant is returning to him," hissed Ron. "Tonight. Someone he needs to help him rise again."

"Lucius Malfoy is on the school grounds for the execution," said Harry, scowling and squeezing past Hermione. "And Draco's with him."

Pansy's eyes grew huge.

"We need to stop them," breathed Neville. No one argued.

###

They paused their headlong rush at the end of the hall long enough for Harry to point in the vague direction of the library stairs.

"You're clear in that direction, Hermione. Head for Gryffindor and--"

"I've got it," Hermione said, already running and out of sight in a matter of seconds.

Harry shrugged and turned to Pansy.

"Alright then. Pansy you--"

"I'll take it from there," she said unequivocally. With a peck to Harry's cheek, she said, "Don't die," then poked Neville in the chest. "And you-- don't let him."

As she too ran off, Harry opened his mouth again and was interrupted by Ron.

"What are we waiting for, anyway?"

Harry pursed his lips and for once, said nothing as he resumed his run for the back stairs.

###

Ron was at the head of the pack as he, Harry and Neville raced down the corridors, so when he skidded to a halt, they also couldn't help but crash into his outstretched arms.

The familiar, manky figure arched her back and hissed violently, on duty and clearly annoyed. She began to stalk towards them, yowling for Filch.

"Shite, shite, shite," muttered Ron as they backed away slowly. After a quick pause, he added, "Here kitty, c'mere you nasty bag of bones, yeah, do you like... erm fish?"

"Ron--" Harry murmured urgently while still backing in perfect unison. "Have you lost your mind?"

Ron pulled his wand slowly, along with something from the opposite pocket. Mrs. Norris spat and made as if to pounce.

"No," Ron said with a grimace, his eyes on the grubby cat. "I'm going to transfigure. You and Nev are going to run."

Neville's eyes shot from the cat to Ron and then to Harry. Ron muttered a spell and suddenly whatever had been in his hand was dangling from a scaly tail. Mrs. Norris yowled piteously; a sound between a meow and a growl, as though torn between duty and dinner.

Harry met Neville's eyes and nodded.

"We'll meet you at Hagrid's," Neville said in a tone that brooked no argument. He shoved Harry and they kept running, ignoring Ron, Mrs. Norris and Ron's attempts to bribe her in some capacity, or at least hold her attention while they made their escape.

###

"Free the Care of Magical Creatures One!" cried Fred, carrying a sign that depicted a caricaturized hippogriff sporting huge, dewy eyes from behind bars.

"You'd have scratched the kid, too!" agreed George, his own sign boasting a slavering executioner carrying a bloody blade within a red circle and trying to peer around the line drawn across him.

"Buckbeak was a true educational experience!"

"Tell me you didn't learn not to piss off large, scary creatures!"

"Goldstein'll never do it again!"

"Raaah!" growled George, inciting the little crowd around him on the steps of the school consisting of about twenty-five students, mostly Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, a handful of Ravenclaws and a lone Slytherin firstie who looked confused and was likely in the wrong place.

"Would you watch what you're saying?" said Ron running up from behind them, clearly agitated and out of breath. He had performed three scouring charms to his hands and he still felt as though he smelled of the docks. "This is serious. What-- what is that? What is that sign?"

"Artistic interpretation," said George serenely.

"Lends drama and immediacy," agreed Fred in the same tone, then immediately whooped, "Free Buckbeak!"

Ron continued to stare at them in disbelief for a moment longer until his eyes slid to Hagrid's hut just down the hill and the badly concealed shape rushing toward it. "Next time, short notice or not, Hermione gets the final say on your signs."

"Short notice?" said Fred.

"Pah," George sniffed. "Hermione was knocking on our common room door an hour ago."

"Spur of the moment chaos has its place and all."

"But genius like this takes planning."

"Don't ask us where our mini-minions are."

"We'd tell but then we'd have to kill you."

"Reckon Mum wouldn't like that, Georgie."

"An hour?!" said Ron. "She only had a five minute headstart!"

"He's distraught, Fred," said George, reaching out to feel Ron's forehead with a hand that was promptly slapped away.

"Or every moment spent in her absence seems an eternity."

"'Sthat true, Ron? That's a right tragedy."

"You're mental, the lot of you," said Ron, taking a step back. "Just-- stay here and make as much noise as you can."

"Aye captain," said Fred with a salute.

"We'll hold the line."

"Teachers coming!" shouted Angelina from her vantage point at the top of the stairs. "Professors McGonagall and Sprout."

"I mean it," hissed Ron as he slipped through the students and through the first side passageway available.

He'd barely slid from sight when McGonagall stopped behind the crowd, planted her fists on her hips and exclaimed, "Exactly what is the meaning of this?!"

###

Hermione ran crouched low along the lower path to Hagrid's hut just out of sight of the castle steps, knocking in a rush when she arrived at the back door. The curtain at the window moved slightly before the door opened, but she was too busy tapping at the face of her watch to notice.

"I'm sorry it took so long- I think? Bother. I think I've overtaxed the poor thing," Hermione looked up at Hagrid in the doorway. "Are they here?"

"You shoul'nt be here Hermione," said Hagrid, his nose red and blotchy, his eyes pinched and tired. "None of you ought."

"We're staying with you, Hagrid," insisted Harry from behind him, stalwart and clearly already in possession of an oversized boulder-biscuit.

The shouting from the castle demonstration kicked up and Hagrid stomped down the steps and up the side of the hill to see what the commotion might be. He waved a huge hand in their direction, mumbling "Reckon that's not gonna go over well, bless their ‘earts."

"We're here to stop Malfoy elder," Neville reminded Harry quietly.

“I know, Nev, but we can’t just leave him,” Harry answered. “It’s not right.”

“Standing here waiting for detention is not going to help anyone.”

“Feel free to head back to the castle,” said Harry, testily

Neville eyed him, jaw set. “What exact help do you propose we offer, then?”

###

"Peaceful demonstration, Professor."

"We're dissatisfied with the situation."

"That's ridiculous. Everyone will report back to their common rooms immediately or I will begin assigning detention. Beginning with the two of you."

"We're not breaking any rules," said Fred sensibly.

"It's not dark, and even if it were, we're still technically in the castle."

McGonagall narrowed her eyes over her glasses at them. "Just how did the two of you know, at any rate? The staff was only informed half an hour ago."

"The nose knows, Professor," both Fred and George said simultaneously.

McGonagall continued to glare. "Back in your com--"

"Professor!" said another student, who was immediately subject to her doomful glare.

"Excuse me, but--" said Anthony Goldstein. "I-- I don't think Buckbeak ought to be put to death for my mistake. Even if we can't stop it, the Ministry should know how we feel."

"And it isn't as though Fudge is answering Anthony's owls, Professor," said Daphne just behind Anthony, delivering the line with wide, earnest, believable eyes.

Sprout exchanged a look with Professor McGonagall, and then set her hand on Anthony's shoulder. "That's very admirable, Mister Goldstein, but--"

"Pomona, a word, please?" said McGonagall, her tone less severe, though her eyes were still on Fred and George.

"One moment, children," said Sprout with a warm smile. Both teachers moved only a short distance away, but neither was intelligible thanks to a barely noticeable flick of McGonagall's wand. After a moment, Sprout nodded, McGonagall sighed and shrugged, and then both turned to face the assembled students. McGonagall crossed her hands in front of her and addressed them, eyebrow raised.

"The sun will set at precisely 5:35PM. I will return to secure the doors then, and anyone found on the steps at that time will be given a week's worth of detention. Which means that you are free to continue your polite and well-mannered activity for approximately twenty-one minutes. If anyone is heard to be abusive or rude, everyone will suffer the consequences. Are we clear?"

"Yes, Professor," most of the students chimed. McGonagall nodded firmly. "You two," she added, pointing at Fred and George. "Are responsible for seeing to it that the area is clear before I return. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Professor," said Fred, though they both nodded effusively.

"Absolutely, ma'am."

"Hmmph," she said, snatched the executioner sign from George, turned on her heel and strode away.

Professor Sprout shot a look over her shoulder, then leaned in and stage whispered, "Good luck, children!" before following.

Fred cracked a self-satisfied smirk and turned to address the crowd with a rallying cry of "Free Buckbeak!" as George began slapping palms with everyone within reach.

###

Ginny tilted her head at the bag of raw meat that Dobby held up to Luna, who was beaming as though it were filled with candy.

"Buckbeak will be so pleased! Thank you, Dobby."

"Anything for Mister Harry Potter's girlfriends!" Dobby enthused.

Ginny snicker-snorted and answered under her breath, "He wishes."

"Maybe," said Luna thoughtfully, turning to address her directly. "But probably not. He has a lot on his mind. At any rate, if he were wishing for a thing like that, he'd probably wish for--"

Dobby cut her off, looking uncomfortably as though we were about to propose punishing himself.

"Dobby will just deliver… something. Now," he offered with some measure of forced brightness, and disappeared with a tiny, mortified crack.

"House elves are such strange and wonderful beings," Luna reflected.

"Uh huh," agreed Ginny, already halfway down the corridor. "Right."

###

Pansy ran up the ascending steps to the Headmaster's office and nearly crashed into the Headmaster himself on his way down.

"Professor Dumbledore--" she began, prepared to pull out any and all stops, but Dumbledore was already speaking.

"You're absolutely right, Miss Parkinson. Our young mister Malfoy should not be witness to this evening's events." He set his hand on her shoulder and set off toward the wall at a brisk pace. Pansy only had a moment to wonder what was going on before the tapestry seemingly rolled up and became an arched doorway leading directly onto the lawns, and set them on a collision course with Lucius Malfoy.

"I-- yes?"

They rushed toward Malfoy, who was walking away from the castle at a brisk pace with Draco in tow, Fudge and McNair close behind.

"Lucius," Dumbledore enunciated carefully.

Draco's father managed to infuse even the mundane motion of stopping and turning in response with utter disdain and annoyance.

"Dumbledore," Malfoy purred. "Are you still here?"

"I, too, am often surprised by such turns of events, Lucius," agreed Dumbledore with appeared to be bemusement. Pansy did her best to stand in such a manner that Dumbledore blocked her from Malfoy's view, but it was not enough.

"Miss Parkinson."

"So pleased to see you again, Mister Malfoy," she said with her best smile-for-entertaining.

"Yes, now that the pleasantries are over with, if you'll excuse us--"

"I'm afraid, Lucius, that I cannot allow you to proceed," Dumbledore rumbled, sounding little more than pensive. Everyone stopped moving.

"It is against school policy for Draco to be out on the school grounds at this time of the evening. Young Master Malfoy, if you will kindly return to the castle with Miss Parkinson?"

Lucius narrowed his eyes to such an extent that it was likely impairing his field of vision.

"Stay right where you are, Draco," he said, almost succeeding at sounding nonchalant. "I'm afraid, Dumbledore, that he is my son, and I shall take him wherever I see fit."

"Normally, you would be quite right," Dumbledore said agreeably, "but I'm afraid that we do not have a request on file to withdraw Draco out of Hogwarts' care for the evening, and thus, happily, it is still in my power to order him back to the castle and away from a spectacle which--you'll pardon me, Minister-- is barely suitable for adults to witness." He cast a meaningful eye at Fudge. "Liability, you know."

"The hell you can," Lucius sniffed. He raised his cane to point at Dumbledore. "Draco will be--"

"Lucius," said Fudge, fidgeting and a bit deflated, looking caught between fearful and apologetic. "I'm afraid that he may have a point in that. You know, perhaps--"

For a fleeting moment, Lucius looked as though he might turn his outstretched cane on a Fudge who was suddenly done holding up his end of the conversation, but the energy was gone as quickly as it had gathered.

"Of course," He swept the same withering glance from Fudge to Draco before addressing Dumbledore. His eyes were still on Draco. "It appears I shall have to plan ahead more thoroughly the next time I choose to spend time with my own son. Draco, do run along. We shall have to continue this conversation at a later date.”

“Yes, Father,” Draco said as respectfully and carefully as he could manage. “I look forward to it, sir. Excuse me.” He nodded his head slightly at the other adults present, and proceeded past the Headmaster as quickly as he could without running. Pansy fell into step next to him and they exchanged a heavy, meaningful look.

Once they were out of the adults’ hearing range, Draco muttered, “Shite.”

Pansy carefully unclenched her fingers where they had been hidden in her pockets for what seemed to be hours and muttered back, “Indeed,” as Dumbledore, Malfoy, Fudge and the altogether too-cheerful executioner continued their slow advance to Hagrid's hut.

###

“Bless their ‘earts,” Hagrid repeated as he wiped wiping his face with a huge handkerchief of questionable cleanliness. He had finally turned his attention away from the the group of students at the castle entrance and was once again trudging up the steps to his hut, herding Hermione in as well. “Ain’t gonna do much to sway the Ministry, but it’s good of ‘em any rate.”

“I’m so sorry, Hagrid,” Hermione exhaled. She cast her gaze sideways to follow Harry, furiously reviewing their options for for escaping unexpelled, and whether saving Buckbeak was still an option. A flash of movement caught her eye on a shelf, and she caught sight of a very distinctive ratty tail disappearing behind two very large tea cups. “Hold on--” she muttered, sneaking up and reaching between the crockery for what was clearly Ron’s ridiculous pet.

“Scabbers!” she grumbled at him. “You vicious little rodent! You let Crookshanks be framed for your murder!”

The rat faced her what she could swear was a look that registered comprehension, before biting down hard on the meat of her thumb. She squealed and dropped him, but immediately drew her wand and exclaimed, “Veriverto!”

Where the rat had been, a single, perfect goblet lay on its side,

“So, that’s what that spell is useful for,” said Neville. Hermione frowned and tucked the goblet in the pocket of her jacket.

“I wish Crookshanks had eaten the filthy thing.”

"Yeh gotta go," said Hagrid, as he peered out of the window. Every inch of him was trembling. "They mustn' find yeh here. Go now; I’ve gotta be with Beaky when it..."

Harry looked miserable. “I’m sorry, Hagrid,” he said, as he stared unseeingly out the back window for a moment before really focusing on what he could see. His brow furrowed.

“...What are those two doing?” he mumbled to himself.

“Go!” the groundskeeper shouted. “I’m sorry, Harry. There’s nothin’ ye can do for ‘im.”

“I’m really very sorry, Hagrid. This was a bad business,” Neville said while reaching for Harry’s arm. “But getting expelled for being caught out here won’t help anyone,” he added for Harry’s benefit. Surprisingly enough, Harry put up no resistance, though it had more to do with who he was watching track through the scrubby woods behind the hut.

Neville tugged at Harry’s jumper until he was close enough that Hermione could throw the invisibility cloak over all three of them, and they awkwardly managed to slip out of the hut, through the pumpkin patch and up the hill back to the castle by way of the Whomping Willow path. A handful of silent tears spilled down Hermione’s cheek, but she didn’t say a word until they circled to the side entrance to the Herbology greenhouses. Harry’s disembodied head peeked out from under the cloak, and Ron opened the door for them on cue.

“You’ve got some explaining to do, Hermione,” he said without preamble, and without bothering to close the door behind them. It was a mark of how worked up he was that Crookshanks was winding around and through his feet and he had not bothered to shoo the cat away.

“Not now, Ron,” said Harry. His jaw was set as he leaned against the nearest planter. Ron ignored him.

“How were you at Gryffindor Tower an hour before we left Hufflepuff?” he said, gesturing wildly. “It’s not normal, and I am not imagining it, and I’m tired of you treating us all like we’re--”

Hermione actually slapped him hard across the cheek. The resultant look on his face was comprised entirely of shock and awe.

“I don’t answer to you, Ronald,” she spat. After a moment, she dug into her pocket, retrieved the goblet and shoved it hard at his chest. “And I found your stupid, filthy, useless rat.”

“Buh--” Ron sputtered, looking around for support, but Neville only shrugged toward Harry, who was staring distractedly off toward the groundskeeper’s hut. Crookshanks hissed.

The hut. Ron paled. “Oh. I erm-- I’m a right prat,” he let out a long, puffed breath. “Poor Buckbeak. I can’t believe they’re actually going to-- you know.” He realized he had very few hard feelings about the slap itself-- he’d grown up the second youngest of seven, after all. His ego might be bruised, but if there was one thing chess in Ravenclaw house had taught him, it was that defense of a poor position was only staving off inevitable defeat. Better to correct strategy early on.

Hermione turned her red-rimmed eyes on him, loathe to show weakness but filled with horror and sadness at Buckbeak’s impending demise and her utter inability to do anything about it. Ron did the only thing he could do and offered her a hand.

Instead of accepting the offer, she took another step forward and wrapped her arms around his middle, hiding her face in his jumper and leaving him in the position of figuring out how to gingerly wrap his arms around her back. Neville caught his gaze over her shoulder, held it for a moment without comment, then turned his attention out through the open door as well. The commotion of the students at the main gate was beginning to fade, meaning that sundown was only a few minutes away.

“I’m sorry I hit you,” she said after a moment.

“I deserved it,” he said with a shrug. “And besides, I’ve been slapped loads of times.”

“You probably deserved it loads of times, too,” she said with a teary huff of laughter as she straightened up and pulled away. “And so does your stupid rat, by the by,” she added with a slight nod in the direction of the goblet he was still clutching.

“Right! Scabbers!” Ron said with a smile. “At least we’ve still got him.”

“That thing bit me,” said Hermione with a grimace even as she wiped at her eyes. “At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if he were rabid and mad and-- ugh. Senile and incontinent.”

Ron looked up from where he had just successfully transfigured the goblet back into a very confused, scraggly rat. “He bit you?”

The distraction was all Scabbers needed to leap from Ron’s grasp and run, his panicked squeaking and chittering trailing behind, followed closely by a hissing and spitting Crookshanks.

“Scabbers, no!” Ron shouted as he ran out onto the lawn after the rodent, heedless of the time and sunset and the fact that he was heading in a beeline for the Whomping Willow. “Come back you sodding, stupid thing!”

Hermione and Harry exchanged a quick, disbelieving glance and then sprinted after him, the invisibility cloak streaming uselessly behind Harry. Neville set his jaw and did not follow. When he caught sight of the huge dog dragging Ron away, however, he did run straight for Professor Lupin’s office only to find it empty.

Much as Neville disliked the idea, there was only one other adult to whom he could report-- his own head of house.

###

Shortly afterward, Harry learned who the real traitor was, had the satisfaction of stunning Professor Snape, defended the absolutely spineless piece of filth that was responsible for his parents’ death, discovered he had a godfather that did not actually want him dead, and subsequently lost him to a wild lycanthropic professor and was about to lose him again to dementors. He sat dumbfounded in hospital as Professor Dumbledore explained how no one would believe them; how Sirius was doomed because of the utter, total ass-backwards system that--

“Harry?” It was Hermione’s voice. He turned his attention on her, aware that he had tuned out some portion of the conversation in favor of sinking into despair over the unfairness of it all. So he glared at her.

“Miss Granger. I would say two turns should be sufficient to put this debacle to rights,” said Professor Dumbledore, turning his attention back to Harry. “Or at least, as right as it can be at this point.” Harry furrowed his brow at the professor, wondering if he had any skill at mindreading or if Harry was exactly that transparent. “Do not --and I cannot emphasize this enough-- do not be seen. Good luck, children.”

Harry tilted his head as the doors shut behind Dumbledore, followed by the unmistakable clicking of the lock being engaged. “Wha--” Hermione was already hopping down from her seat at the edge of a bed and tugging something free from her jumper.

“I have no idea how this is supposed to work with both of us, and I had to swear on all that is good and holy to not misuse this, but--” she paused directly in front of Harry, holding a pendant of sorts in one hand, shifting from one foot to another, “--he honestly just told me to do it, and I would argue that is not at all misuse, and I suppose I already have but that was--”

“Hermione!” Harry said, reaching out and grabbing her forearm. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s a time turner, mate,” said Ron, blearily from the bed on the far side of Harry. “Should’ve known. Makes so much sense now.”

Harry shrugged at a chagrined Hermione.

“I wish I could have said something earlier, I really do, and I’m so sorry,” she said to Ron, then quickly added, “And yes, that’s the idea, Harry. Err. Sorry about this, excuse me.”

With no further warning, she came in close and looped one arm around his waist, somewhat naturally forcing his arm around her shoulders. She crouched so that both hands could still reach the device in her hand that he could see was some sort of elaborate hourglass on a slim gold chain, and began turning it with precise movements.

“Do not drive yourself any more insane than you are now!” called Ron, but he seemed to be speaking from farther away than he should be. He said something else, but Harry couldn’t make it out as the space around him and Hermione seemed to melt and reform.

“What?” he managed once Hermione had straightened up and stepped away.

“A time turner, Harry,” she said as though she were explaining to someone very, very slow. “I turn it, I travel back in time; one hour for every turn. Honestly, how do you pay attention to so very little?”

Harry was still processing what Hermione had just said as she dragged him by the hand down the corridor and away from the infirmary.

"Hermione. Are you honestly telling me that we just... Traveled two hours backwards through time?"

They pulled up short at the massive doorway and she pointed into the distance towards Hagrid's hut.

"No, Harry. I'm showing you."

Harry's gaze followed her line of sight and his jaw fell open again.

"That's-- That's us!"

Three very recognizable figures were running in half crouches towards the stout dwelling, and for one mad moment, Harry was struck with how useless those crouches were in disguising them from anyone who knew what to look for.

"Yes. Now, if we could just figure out how to get to Buckbeak before-- hold on."

Hermione began to jog around the large meadow, in what appeared to be the beginnings of a circle around Hagrid's hut. The two figures he thought he’d seen before were sneaking equally unsuccessfully through the edges of the woods there-- slight figures, one of whom seemed to be possessed of bright red hair.

"What the devil--" Harry muttered just as Hermione yanked him into the tree line.

"Head in the game, Potter," she said, her eyes hard and serious. "Yes. I have been time traveling one hour at a time all year, and it has made me rather testy. I would apologize, but I won't. Yes, you have just time traveled with me, and we're about to save Buckbeak and your godfather by somehow getting the former to the latter before Dementors get to him but not without disrupting what already happened. Mainly because we can’t, but now we have to be careful." She hazarded a look over her shoulder and added with less certainty, "And no, I have no idea what they're doing either, but it would appear that Lovegood is wearing a splotchy burlap sack for a purse and holding what appears to be a slab of meat. I’d say that’s outside even her eccentricity, so--"

"So," said Harry, his mind having caught up with the reality of the situation, "she's probably on some fool's errand to lure Buckbeak away herself."

Hermione beamed. "Precisely. Let's move."

###

"Here now, you great, magnificent, and possibly murderous creature," hissed Ginny as she bowed awkwardly. "We don't want to see you dead, so if you'd just... Maybe not eat us while I untie you?"

Buckbeak leveled his steely gaze at her as Luna dropped into a perfect slow curtsey.

"Greetings, esteemed friend Buckbeak. We brought you a snack. And freedom."

His attention turned on her, then on the glistening chunk of meat dangling from her hand, and he half stood, beak clacking in a way that reminded Ginny of smacking lips. She forced another smile and edged towards the hitching post.

"She's going to give you a nice, fat steak now because you are super great. And I'm going to just-- come untie you and then we're all going to run away, ok?" Ginny said, internally screaming at herself to just run the opposite way now. Still, Luna looked totally at ease and she couldn't very well leave her idiot Gryffindor alone.

"Hsst!"

Ginny's head snapped around and she cringed internally at the feather flapping in response.

"Ginny!” Harry hissed. “Don't turn him loose! Bring his lead here!"

"Don't you worry, Buckbeak," soothed Luna. "That's just Harry. You remember Harry! I have no idea what he's doing out here but frankly he'll be in less trouble that we will if we're caught because there's very little he can't do and get away with."

"Oi!" Harry protested from just beyond the treeline, but a second voice whispered after it.

"Be that as it may, could you please bring Buckbeak here? We're... taking him somewhere safe."

Hermione, of course.

"Where's safer than the sky?" Ginny hissed back. "And what are you two doing out here?"

"Can we do this later, please?" Harry responded in kind, adding, "Ginny. Please. It's a matter of life and death. I swear."

Luna reached out to Buckbeak with another chunk of meat, and he snapped it up with a slurp, rising to his feet to investigate the girl with the snacks, attention diverted entirely from the direction of the hitching post.

“Fine. But this is on you, Potter,” Ginny hissed back as she crept towards the post.

“Understood,” he agreed readily. “Thanks.”

Ginny narrowed her eyes, half-wondering what was so important and not for the first time why she was even here, but still too focused on not dying to give it her full attention. In her peripheral vision, she could see Luna now petting Buckbeak, holding what looked like a chicken breast. Ginny slowly untied the lead to the tune of his obscene gobbling sounds, and began to back towards Luna.

“There you go,” Luna said with a beatific smile. “We’re going to walk you over to your friend Harry now, and then we’re going to run away, alright?” She tossed the sack with the remaining meat towards Harry and Hermione, causing Buckbeak to whip his head around to follow its trajectory. Luna, unfazed, patted the beast again as Ginny began to crab-walk in the same direction. “Good boy. Good luck! I hope to see you again!”

Buckbeak followed, seemingly unworriedly, and as soon as Ginny came close enough to toss the lead at Hermione, she did. His eyes were focused on the sack dangling from Harry’s grip.

“Potter. Granger,” said Ginny. “Don’t get killed. Or expelled.”

Hermione tilted her head at Ginny in bemusement and responded, “Same to you.”

“Oh, we’re alright,” said Luna sunnily, catching Ginny’s elbow. “We’ve got alibis!” Then, they broke and ran off through the cover of the trees, such as it was, and were gone.

Harry and Hermione exchanged a look of utter confusion, broken only by an insistent clack of Buckbeak’s beak, his pleading expression fixated on the ferret.

“I didn’t ask them to do that,” she said. Harry cocked his head, but decided to ask later.

“Come on, mate,” said Harry dangling it out for him. “I’ve got to introduce you to my godfather.”

###

Luna slipped a miniature sign out of her pocket that immediately began to enlarge into a full-size “Free the Care of Magical Creatures One” sign as she and Ginny managed to melt back into the crowd at the gate without incident.

“Oi, Freddy,” said George quietly. “Girls are back just in time.”

Fred nodded but said, “Been here all along, what are you talking about?”

“Alright, friends!” shouted George. “We’ve got three minutes to sunset and no one wants to be on McGonagall’s bad side on this one.”

His pronouncement was met with a chorus of groans and swears. A particularly crestfallen Anthony sighed and sniffed.

“I feel terrible about this. I never wanted…”

“I know, mate,” said Fred, clapping Anthony’s shoulder.

“We’ve all done stupid things we wish we hadn’t,” added George with sincerity.

“The key is to try and only do stupid things that you’d be more sorry not to have done,” Fred said.

“Like this,” said George. His eyes darted to the far end of the hallway in the direction of a door slam. “And like how we’re leaving, right now.”

“Go, go, go!” said Fred, shooing the various houses of students in the direction of the nearest staircase, regardless of where they ultimately should be. They ran off at high speed, disappearing just as Fred and George pulled the outer doors shut. Luna and Ginny were the only ones conspicuously leaving the area as professors McGonagall and Sprout arrived. McGonagall narrowed her eyes at the Weasley twins, but they spoke before she could, addressing the professors cheerfully.

“We made sure that everyone stayed polite.”

“And we sent them packing off a few moments ago.”

“Like we swore we would.”

“Because Gryffindor pride would not allow us to do otherwise.”

“And can we say thank you once again for allowing our shenanigans, Professor.”

“Thank you.”

“We’ll just see ourselves out.”

They headed towards the stairs, one twin waving while the other yanked him by the elbow.

“Thanks.”

“Thanks again.”

Once they were out of sight, McGonagall turned her considerably weighty gaze on Professor Sprout, who burst into laughter.

“Oh, Minerva. I have so much hope for this generation.”

###
###

“I have family,” Harry said wonderingly. He was sprawled messily across his bed, staring at the ceiling of the third year dorms. “Actual family. I can’t believe it.”

“Mmhmm,” muttered Draco from his position cross-legged on his own bed, his quill scratching across a piece of parchment.

“He said I could come live with him one day.”

“Hmph,” muttered Draco, before holding up the parchment and reading from it, “Potter has found that he sympathizes with Black’s cause, and this is the perfect opportunity to point out that the Dark Lord’s supporters indeed have the right ideas.”

“Don’t you think your father knows Black isn’t actually a Death Eater?” asked Harry, sitting up from his

“Maybe,” agreed Draco. “Probably. But we aren’t supposed to, so I’m playing dumb. It’d be the perfect opportunity to talk you into being sympathetic to the cause.” He looked up with a smirk. “Black’s family after all. And you’re just a dumb Hufflepuff.”

“Piss off, Malfoy,” Harry said with a snort. “You’d know all about dumb Hufflepuffs.”

Draco lobbed a piece of balled-up parchment at Harry’s head, who batted it away negligently.

“It’s just. All this time. How could someone innocent spend thirteen years in Azkaban?” Harry wondered aloud.

“It’s easy when someone behind the scenes has a vested interest in a scapegoat,” Draco huffed and read again. “It’s easier than it should be, Father. He’s already agitated about how unfair it is that Black spent all that time in Azkaban. Potter’s actually glad that Black’s escaped.”

Harry looked up, brow furrowed. “You’re disturbingly good at this, Malfoy.”

“Thanks!” Draco said brightly, but immediately returned to writing. “This mad scheme had better keep me out of Durmstrang. And alive long enough to enjoy it.”

“Add something about how I’m incensed that Buckbeak got away because of what he did to your arm and disrupting practice,” Harry suggested. “It’ll make me sound like more of a Hufflepuff.”

“Done,” muttered Draco, his quill scratching furiously.

“But don’t go overboard.”

“Mmh.”

“Malfoy.”

“Hold up.”

“No, seriously,” said Harry.

“What?” said Draco, narrowing his eyes at Harry, who paused in his contemplation of the aged ceiling to tilt his head at Draco.

“Is your father really buying this?” he asked, eyebrows knit in earnest, signature, Potter concern.

“Honestly?” Draco answered with a sigh. “No idea. But it’s what he wants, and so he’s probably going to overlook a lot for a while. As long as I’m mostly believable.”

Harry pondered this for a moment, then nodded once and went back to staring at the ceiling for a while before adding, “Say something about how you have to be careful because of my filthy Muggle upbringing.”

“Potter are you daft?” asked Draco, his tone haughty. “That was in my first owl.”

Harry snorted a laugh and threw an arm over his face.

“Oh well, that’s alright then,” he said. “As long as we’re on the same page.”

###

“Did you hear?” said Hannah at breakfast one Saturday morning not too long after. She slumped into a seat she had manufactured by lifting Crookshanks out of the space between a very confused Hermione and Ron, and depositing him on Hermione’s lap. Vince and Greg followed suit by dropping on either side of Pansy and Neville with wide grins and already reaching for warm rolls.

“Abbott, the sheer volume of gossip there is to hear at this very moment in our educational careers may never be eclipsed again,” said Hermione with a sigh. She skritched her cat and regarded Hannah. “What is it this time?”

Hannah smirked and took a bite of an apple. Greg volunteered, “Flint’s gone for good. His parents decided he didn’t need to come back.”

Hermione looked vaguely pained. “He brought that on himself. Davis and Brown are already back.” A fact with which she was well-acquainted, as were the heavy duty wards she’d placed on her bed, possessions, and cat.

“Good riddance, anyway,” said Ron dismissively. Harry looked up in feigned deep thought, then nodded in agreement.

“Hold on--” said Draco. “They’ll need to replace him on the team.”

“Yeah, but their bench is deeply lacking,” said Harry.

“Honestly, they’ve got to start Sorting in some talent--” said Ron, trailing off as he saw Ginny and a handful of very recognizable quidditch players joining the Slytherin table in a hail of animated chatter. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he mumbled.

“Huzzah, Weasley Youngest!” shouted Luna from her spot at the Gryffindor table, unselfconsciously applauding with fervor, though she was the only one.

“Yep,” nodded Hannah. “That’s what I’d heard.”

Ron narrowed his eyes at his little sister just two tables over, who took a moment to lock eyes with him and smirk.

“Hear she’s good Chasing,” said Hannah, nonchalantly eating her fruit. “But that she’s an even better Seeker. Not better than me, of course. But good.”

“Slytherin won’t let a second-year Seek, full stop. No matter how good she is,” said Draco with a frown.

“And she’s only just joined,” added Harry. “They’ll need a few weeks to work her into the team.”

“Malfoy, Potter?” said Hannah with a confused look, “Isn’t Hufflepuff/Slytherin match next week?”

A handful of owls swept through the Hall, dropping letters and packages. A tiny, scraggly, wild-eyed owl and a giant, recognizable eagle owl dropped letters for Harry and Draco respectively. The giant owl flew off immediately, while the tiny owl landed on Harry’s shoulder, looked confused, hopped to Draco, remained confused, hopped across and landed on Ron before finally loosing a happy ‘hoot’ and beginning to groom the hair on the back of his neck. They all eyed the letters with suspicion. Ron carefully disentangled the owl and peered at it in his hands, while Hannah and Pansy made little “eep” and “coo” sounds about how cute it was. Crookshanks eyed it with calm interest.

“How bad could it be?” muttered Draco as he opened his own missive. “He sent it at breakfast.”

“Wh--?” Harry also muttered, turning over the envelope and peering at the unfamiliar handwriting.

Draco scoffed aloud and held the parchment out for Harry to see.

I had thought you lost to that abomination of a house, but I am gratified to see you may yet find your way. Do not stray again. Your mother sends her love.

Harry grinned crookedly. “I’m brilliant.”

“Hardly,” Draco said with an eyeroll. “This is all my doing.”

“If you don’t mind, Harry,” said Ron, who was now being nibbled on by the adorable little creature he held. “Why?”

Harry’s attention snapped back to his own post, and he scanned the two letters enclosed. His face brightened exponentially as he looked from one to the other.

“I have permission go to Hogsmeade!” he said with excitement. “And that owl is yours, Ron.”

“Huh?” said Ron with unnecessarily comic confusion.

“My godfather,” Harry said, savoring the phrase. “Sent him as a conciliatory gesture.”

Ron looked surprised, then thoughtful, then nodded and held the owl out towards Crookshanks. “Okay. Manky cat, what’s your verdict?”

The owl tilted his head to peer at the large orange cat, who sniffed it delicately, then licked the side its face from bottom to top and settled back down. There was a very high-pitched chorus of squeals, at least one of which came from either Vince or Greg, but no one present was about to make comment in that regard.

“Done,” said Ron with satisfaction. Hermione opened and shut her mouth, but decided in the end to just beam. At her cat, mainly.

As though on cue, Cedric broke from where he’d been standing in deep conversation with Oliver and clapped his hands briskly.

“Bloody hell,” groaned Harry and Draco in concert, to which Harry added under his breath, “Weren’t supposed to start ‘till ten.”

“Team!” Cedric said as he approached the table with enthusiasm. “Pitch. Ten minutes.” His hands landed heavily on his star chasers, but he leaned in across them to address Ron instead. “Your sister. What can you tell me about her?”

“She’s a mean little witch,” Ron shrugged. “You’re definitely buggered.”

Cedric’s hands turned into grapples as he hauled the boys up. Fortunately they’d already been in the process of standing.

“Straight to the Pitch, it is.”

Slytherin still didn’t stand a chance.

###

Nyet, redux.

corvidae9 — Mon, 10 Apr 2017 22:54:12 GMT

Sticky post!

1) I'm moving to dreamwidth, permanently. Find and friend me here!

to) I'm moving my fic to AO3 here, though it's possible (probable) not all of it will be going.

#) I may be deleting my account altogether. We'll see if I'm brave enough to cut the cord. So go find me over there *handwave* already.

<3 thanks, ghost of LJ past.
Cor

The first step is admitting that you have a problem

corvidae9 — Tue, 16 Aug 2016 00:03:07 GMT

...I need some Nick/Judy Zootopia fic, stat. Actually, I think I may need to write Nick/Judy Zootopia fic.

I mean, I don't even know why, since there is no way that it was not intended to be canon. But I can't stop being amused by their ongoing adventures in my head.

YER A WIZARD HARRY

corvidae9 — Thu, 04 Aug 2016 05:43:25 GMT

And yer getting old, just like the rest of us.
First, as a EWE H/D diehard whose ship could not be sunk by that desperately terribad epilogue, the fact that JKR killed off Astoria and made Ginny real tired of Harry's shit sounds JUST LIKE EWE fanfic. I mean, serious though. I could however hear the Dramione shippers' squeal at "I'm being bossed around by Hermione Granger, and I like it." and I can't say that I blame any of you. Can we just join hands over the pile of material she gave us and giggle?

Next, Albus all up in Slytherin and Scorpius being a decent human! Yess! We called that shit! Albus Severus/Scorpius shippers cracked my shit up, but damn, kids. Y'all weren't far off. Still, I don't want to ship them as much as I love seeing them BFFs. (the bit about "we hug now?!" makes me want to see the kids getting dads to hug though. heeeee excuse my one-track mind plz.)

THIRD WHERE THE FUCK IS LUNA. WHERE.

Four, can we talk for a second about what an unpleasant asshole Hermione is when she's single and the Defense professor? I mean, I kind of love the idea of her as a fucked up Snape clone, considering that she was the bane of his existence, but really? She's single so she turns into a harridan? Bite me.

FIVES, NEEDS MOAR LUNA. Sorry, that was just three again, but I mean it, where the fuck is she?

Six, I want to talk about how great it is that Harry is not magically the best parent in the world, because this makes perfect sense. One of the (completely legitimate) bitches with the original series is that Harry turns out to be a super great kid even though he's spent his life being someone's punching bag and LIVING IN A CLOSET. I know there've been studies on the fact that some kids who grow up in adversity often develop this sort of substitute morality thing, but still, a longshot. So it's nice to see Harry say, listen, I'm pretty fucked up, me, and I'm trying to figure all of this out too. Of course by now he's had a while, but as the parent of a teenager myself (wtf) we're still figuring this shit out, and it's awesome that Harry is too. /rant

ummm. There's more, I know it. I may have to dig back in for another read. :D TALK TO ME, HAAAARRRRRY POOTTTTEEERRRRRRR. TELL ME YOUR SECRETS.

In the meantime, you've probably ALL seen this BUT:

What's it called when you update every 18 months?

corvidae9 — Tue, 14 Jun 2016 08:11:34 GMT

Checking in. Hi! I had to update my profile because I'm not thirtysomething anymore. I'll just leave 'lol' here and pretend I'm laughing. >.>

So let's see-- I'm parked in front of my laptop with a nine-week-old kitten in my cleavage (his name is Varric, and he's my official Anxiety Cat(tm)) while the Nikita cat gives as few shits as possible about this development from her position on the ottoman not far away. Our Darko cat left us for greener pastures thanks to bum kidneys, and Ghost the corn snake followed soon after from an unknown ailment, and they're both still missed.

Kid the Elder is about to turn 16, Kid the Younger is three and a half, and Mr. Cor has the privilege of now being the primary breadwinner of our home since I quit my stupid, soul-sucking job last year to go to school full time. As a result, I just graduated with a BS in Applied Math with an emphasis in Biology (no minor after all), and am starting a PhD program in the fall in Computational Science to continue to concentrate on Biomathematics. I ALMOST accepted an offer to NCSU's amazing Biomathematics program, and I have some thoughts on the subject that border on regretful longing, but I can't really bitch since I live in a postcard.

I wrote a ridiculously long fic last year after I finished playing Dragon Age Inquisition, and it stoked my creative writing fires crazily. Then I wept for weeks because I realized that my writing has clearly suffered in the time since I slunk away from the fandom. It's almost like I was much better at it when I was writing eight or more hours a day! Who knew? :P Since then though, I started a collaborative fantasy project with Elder Kid, went back to work on a story my mom requested years ago, started an entirely new fantasy story project, then a weird urban fantasy project, reread chunks of HP and wrote several thousand more words of Switchverse (but no, it's still not done). I'm also doing a writing project this summer with a group that meets elsewhere on the internet, started by a fellow mom/nerd/writer, which is nice since once school starts up again in the fall, I'll be lucky to get a haiku in edgewise.

Still tubby AF but alive, giggling, and planning a crazy summer with highlights that include making all of the things, arranging a little bit larger of a living space for everyone, flying to Seattle for a Statistics conference, and finally a long overdue Maui vacation before I get cracking in my quest for education that can warrant being referred to as "Dr. Cor" ~~in order to properly get going with this mad scientist gig~~ uh, so that I can have a job that doesn't suck. <.<

Oddly, I found my way back to LJ today because I was making recycled frankenclothes as a way to access my happy place, and after all of these years my first instinct is to head to the tshirtsurgery comm and discuss. I can't decide if that's weird or sweet. Either way, though, hi! Hope you and yours are happy, well, well-read, and safe. <3

Errr. Hello? :)

corvidae9 — Thu, 06 Nov 2014 08:25:00 GMT

Hi there! hp_reunion is singing a siren song and calling all the lost sailors home for a bit, so I figured I'd stop in. It's more than a little weird posting here. I went friends only for anything that wasn't fic a little while ago based on the sudden need to be less visible, but I'm glad to be around to say hello.

So, let's see. In a nutshell, I am *actually* back in university kicking ass with a light at the end of the tunnel (majoring in Applied Mathematics with an emphasis in Biology and a minor in Chicano Studies kthx), and remarried to a lovely gentleman; my amazing The Kid is now 14 and in (a very awesome charter) high school (you remember, the one who was in diapers when I started this LJ) and he's with me 100% of the time (dear ceiling cat huzzah), and I've got a new baby dragon 12 years his junior who is about to be 2 in January-- we refer to her as Ninja Marie, since she sneaked up on us so thoroughly (she can count to 20 and knows all of her letters, often speaks in (short) sentences, and gets very emphatic about "BOOK, READ! READ BOOK!", so we're doubly extra sure she's ours).

I've become a strategy (board/card) game addict, I work remotely 60% of the time and still hate my job, but it's cool because AHAHAHAA. Sooooon.

I do not fandom officially, but I Storium (ask me how!)(no, seriously! let's start some manner of fandom game or something). I still work on Switch (no, seriously!).

I still bellydance occasionally and took up swing dancing with the experienced Mr. Cor, but I did the same thing that I did when The Kid was born and currently manage to resemble a parade balloon more than a proper dancer. But that's also cool-- I'm headed back in the correct direction and I'm right where I need to be right now. Oh! and I joined a Nerdy Parents group and it's ridiculous, lol. I recently went on vacation in the Southeast US and while the weather was bullshit, I had a super awesome time and SAW NASA AND STUFF AND MET AN ASTRONAUT AND OHSHIT THE WIZARDING WORLD OF HARRY POTTER OHSHIT. DIAGON MFKING ALLEY OMG. OMG. Um, wow-- that was quite a capslock. Ahem.

Right, and I still garden, oh yes. My Volunteer Tree is still the faithful head of the Crow Plant Army and I have an eensy mini greenhouse which has to date started dahlias, tomatoes, herbs, and other amazing things, some of which have even survived! This year, I'm starting bat plants, more herbs and a pile of strange, exotic things I'm growing just to see if I can. The tiny pomegranate tree I started in my window back in the transitional apartment is now fruiting and the cutting pulled from my best friend the lemon tree back home (thank you internet for teaching me everything I ever needed to know for the ZA) is also flowering and fruiting happily and YAY! Green thumb!

Nature. Babies. Math. Dancing. Making stuff. Living in a beach town. What more does a girl need?

So yeah. I have no idea what else I'm going to be up to around these parts, but I hope you guys are happy and doing well, and I'd love it if you wanted to stop in and say hi back and tell me about it. Or tell me to get off my ass and come check out your own LJs or something. :)

An announcement from Black Hearted Captain Crow, Magnanimous Ruler of the Swan Islands

corvidae9 — Tue, 19 Jul 2011 06:30:09 GMT

!) I wanted to pop in and let you all know that my latest reinvention has been a smashing success, for once. I am happy, well, healthy, busy and in progress in a good way. The Kid turns 11 today; Watson, Justice and I have become tightly knit trio of giggling secrets, repeated shared sorrow/hope/triumph trifectas and too many margaritas; Boys have suddenly discovered I exist again (cute, nerdy, adult ones! more than one! wtf!); Work fails as hard as it ever did but I could give a shit, considering my plans are going exactly as I'm planning them; I actually performed with my bellydancing class last month, kicked ass at the drum solo, and have decided I'm not going to stop. I've been picking tomatoes, tomatillos, blackberries, strawberries, snap peas and basil from my garden regularly, and have been adopted by an orange tabby cat named Cesar. Kid an I are going on an epic two week camping break soon beginning with a visit to The Escapee and his family, and ending with an epic series of hops down the Cali coast. I had to start carrying my cross trainers in my car along with my swimsuit because I have actually become That Girl That Does All That Active Stuff.

I'm not even waiting for a shoe to drop anymore. It kind of makes me want to cry sometimes how glad I am for... I don't know. Everything. My house is cluttery, I'm kind of broke and I am not buying a proper bellydancing costume until Spring, and I'm OK with all of that. Again. :)

You guys. I keep considering coming back in a regular capacity, but Active Girl says we're busy. I hope you're happy and doing well, and I hope I see you all again soon. I promise I'll check in now and then! but in the meantime, be good, do anything I would do and then some, and make sure to take pictures while you're at it. Please find me at nueve cuervos [at][teh][gmailz][omg] anytime.

<333333

corvidae9 — Tue, 11 Sep 2007 04:35:01 GMT

Title: The Prisoner (3 of 4)
Author: corvidae9
Rating: PG13
Word Count: ~7300
Summary: The plot thickens, as plots tend to. (Harry + like, everyone else in the world. Gen.)
Warnings: Latest in a series of Switchverse follow-ups, and therefore unrepentantly AU.
Author Notes: I know I'm rambling now. :D juice817 has taught me more about finding and attempting to avoid my own grammatical shortcomings than pretty much anyone ever, and then goes and digs through these things to make sure I've learned my damn lesson. Love her, people. I do!
Disclaimer: No more than one or two very famous lines totally gacked directly from the original Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, but the premise remains. Basically, if you recognize it, it belongs to JKR and her army of publishers, etc. and is nowhere near even resembling belonging to me.
Please note: The series is now on AO3, and any updates after The Prisoner will be posted there exclusively: Switchverse on AO3

"Harry, hi!" Hermione exclaimed as she pulled the door to the Defense classroom shut behind her in a rush. "What are you doing here?"

Harry stared, confused. "Weren't you just in History of Magic? How-- how'd you beat me here?"

"Pfft!" she said with a dismissive wave. "Shortcut through the Library. Honestly. Anyway. I should go."

"Hermione, I took that shortcut."

"Nonsense," she said over her shoulder. "I think I would've seen you if you'd been there too. See you at dinner!"

He watched her go, more confused than he'd started out... right up until the door pulled open again and Professor Lupin seemed genuinely surprised to see him.

"Harry! Hello," his eyes darted to the large clock. "Of course! I'd nearly forgotten. It's a good thing you were early." He stepped back from the open door. "Come in?"

"...Hi," said Harry as he did so.

"Miss Granger was just asking about the supplementary material regarding boggarts and identification thereof."

"She was?" Harry asked, knowing just how long it would take Hermione to get to the core of a problem and discuss it properly, and knowing full well it would take more than a few-minute head start. He tried to exert more of a show of nonchalance before he spoke again. "Yeah, she was really interested in that. Bet she was here forever."

Lupin chuckled. "A half-hour or so is hardly forever." He rolled up his sleeves and Summoned the dreaded trunk from the far corner of the room. "Ready?"

Harry was staring at the trunk in thought.

"Harry?"

"Huh? Oh. Yeah. Yes, Professor." He drew his wand, took a breath and tried to clear his mind save for his truly happy thought. "Sorry. Go ahead."

###

"Ginny?"

Luna's airy voice wafted through the space between the two girls watching the courtyard filled with milling students-- third years and older. Typical for a Hogsmeade weekend.

"Yeah?"

"Have you ever been to Hogsmeade?"

"Once. Mum met my brother Percy there once the first year he was allowed. You?"

"Oh yes." Luna tilted her head and watched a lone figure on the stairs across from where she and Ginny were wedged together on an overhang and in the shadows. "Dad took me there the summer before I started so that I wouldn't feel left out when the older kids went."

Ginny held the Moon Bounce Bubbles in one hand, hefting the lumpy weight of the cloth bag over the crowd of students below. "Cool."

"Do you suppose Harry's ever been?"

"Huh?" Ginny's attention snapped to Luna and then followed her line of sight to Harry sitting on the stairs and holding something she couldn't quite make out no matter how hard she looked. "No. I don't reckon he has."

The clock struck ten. Ginny pulled the string tie and released a tide of what appeared to be bright soap bubbles that floated lazily downward. Students regarded them with anything from glee to indifference until it became clear they were causing those who touched them to take huge, bouncing steps. Mass confusion resulted as people went after them or went out of their way to try and avoid them, while whole groups began taking those huge bouncing steps toward town. Ginny took hold of Luna's hand, bolted down the corridor and disappeared through the conveniently placed secret passageway they'd scouted earlier that week.

Through their own snicker-giggling, they heard Filch begin to bellow and laughter ringing throughout the courtyard, but they'd missed the moment that Harry stood, still frowning pensively, kicked the step above and made his way downstairs.

###

From their very visible position sitting on a high railing in the courtyard with a game board between them, Fred and George looked up when the bubbles began to fall and made a huge show of elbowing one another and shouting things like, "How about that, Gred?" and "That's quality work, there, Forge!" Filch came over to tell them off, though he had no evidence they were responsible and they'd been sitting there for long enough that they had a credible alibi. Professor McGonagall glared just as weightily, but was forgiven immediately, especially in that she was the one to convince Filch he in fact had nothing on them.

Fred and George thanked McGonagall in unison when Filch stormed off muttering about the good old days, and then slapped five as she turned away. Silently, they decided to finish their game before joining the bouncing horde and all was exactly as it should be... until they caught sight of Harry rounding the foot of the stairwell and heading back into the castle proper.

"It's a bloody shame," observed Fred.

"Too true," agreed George. "His Muggles just don't learn."

"More like, they don't care."

"Boy's got things to do in town, Freddy."

"A bloke shouldn't be kept from the fun."

"It's what makes 'em crazy."

"Death Eaters were unhappy as adolescents, it's a fact."

"Filch was an unhappy adolescent."

"Filch skipped adolescence, and if he didn't, I don't want to know."

"Fair enough. We're in agreement then," finished George, though if anyone had been listening, no one would have known what they'd just agreed to.

"Absolutely," said Fred. He tossed his leg over the railing and hopped down, a half-step behind George.

"Oi," said George, slapping his arm across Harry's shoulder a moment later. "We've got something for you."

###

"Where do you suppose they go?" mumbled Ron around a mouthful of brightly colored ice cream.

Hermione swallowed her own, laughing as she corralled a bit of animal cracker that was attempting to escape her bowl. "No idea."

"And that doesn't bother you."

"Why would it?"

Ron frowned. "Come on. It's a little weird. 'Pardon us, please, we're on a secret mission from which we'll come back tired and red-faced and... floaty'." He leaned in and pointed with his spoon. "If I didn't know any better and if Pansy were more like Parvati--"

"Stop there," said Hermione looking at him as though he were more than a little slow and not third in their class (after her and Pansy, of course). "First, everyone would know if that was the case, second, Nev's not like that and third, if they were, what business is it of yours?"

"None!" Ron said, coughing before attempting to say it again without squeaking. "None at all. It's just... weird."

"And what on earth do you mean by 'floaty'?"

Ron colored, shrugged and stabbed at his ice cream. "They just seem... happier."

"Who's weird and happy?" asked Hannah taking a seat at Ron and Hermione's table, holding a waffle cone filled with something swirled bright orange. Vince and Greg waved and pulled up chairs, too, carrying cones that were easily twice as big as the one Hannah carried, and were already being devoured gladly.

"Pansy and Neville."

"Hee, yeah. All the snogging does that."

"They don't snog!" said both Ron and Hermione, indignant on their friends' behalf.

"Ohh--k," said Hannah, clearly unconvinced. "Why don't we just find out for sure?"

Ron scratched the back of his neck and Hermione chewed her lip.

"I suppose we could," Hermione finally volunteered.

"I say we split up and scatter through town until we find them," said Hannah, taking a decisive bite. "They're supposed to meet us at-- noon? That gives us an hour to find them, and something to do to fill it!" She paused and looked around. "When did we lose Malfoy?"

"Pfft," said Ron. "Question is, why do we care?"

Vince and Greg sat up and looked at one another and Ron backpedaled.

"I mean, he can take care of himself. Maybe he just decided to stay behind with Harry."

Hermione and Hannah exchanged yet another look and Ron tried again.

"Maybe he's got a 'secret mission', too?"

That one went over a little better, and so on that note, Ron scooped the last of the melting ice cream into his mouth, clapped his hands and stood.

"Alright. Let's go find Nev and Pansy."

###

It had taken long enough to decide who was going where, mostly because of the indignance on Hermione's part at Ron's suggestion that neither she nor Hannah go alone. Frankly he was likely lucky she put her foot down before Hannah had, as Hannah's foot might've landed somewhere more painful for Ron than the ground.

As it turned out, Hermione was alone, but compromised by taking the most well traveled stretch of the Hogsmeade high street and larger side streets. Hannah and Greg started at the Shrieking Shack, Ron and Vince at the opposite end, both groups set to meet in the center and theoretically with Hermione near the Three Broomsticks.

Casually, Hermione strolled along the street, looking in through windows, taking mental notes as to where she'd been and what she'd seen for the after-lunch shopping expedition. She saw many students she recognized with a few locals mixed in, but no sign of Neville and Pansy. She turned the corner to work her way down the side street upon which the post office stood along with several, more specialized shops, but when she was sure it was a dead end, she also became convinced that there were in fact footsteps following along behind her.

She tightened the grip on her wand in her pocket and hurried without running. About five meters from the door of the post office, she turned to face whoever was pursuing, only to find no one about. An older couple across the cobbled lane paused and gave her a strange look, then went about their business. Hermione took a deep breath.

Then used that breath to scream as a face materialized out of thin air right in front of where she'd been standing.

"Shh!" said Harry, letting the cloak shut around him again. The couple across the street paused again.

"Alright, there, young lady?" called the man.

"Rat!" Hermione offered up lamely. "I don't like them."

"Strange," he said, but the woman with him shook her head, agreeing with Hermione's assessment and calling out to her next.

"Careful then. I'd head back to the high street if I were you. Good luck, luv!"

"I will, thank you," said Hermione with a wave, smiling until they were both safely turned away. Then she swatted in the general direction Harry had been standing, gratified when she made contact with something solid and not exactly caring what.

"What the devil are you doing here?" she hissed, looking up and down the street to make sure no one else was around to notice.

Harry was busy laughing, so she swatted again, this time striking nothing but air with a frustrated growl.

"Ugh!" she said, following the sound of laughter and fighting off a smile of her own. "Potter!" She hissed, swatting again, encouraged when she caught the edge of his cloak. "You little--"

"I give!" he said with a laugh, catching her wrist. "You caught me!"

Taking advantage of knowing his location, Hermione smacked him with the other hand.

"You could get in so much trouble for this!"

"Have to get caught, first."

"Entertaining yourself, Mudblood?"

Hermione started at the third voice, and turned to find Tracey, Lavender and Eloise watching her.

"Don't see why not," she said with a smirk. "I'm better company than the three of you combined."

When the hail of wet, muddy snowballs from an unknown source began, all Hermione could do was laugh.

###

Breathless, Hermione trotted up the street toward the Three Broomsticks accompanied by a curious empty space traveling in her wake. Ron and Vince were already there as was Draco, but no Hannah or Greg.

"Hi," she said, suppressing a grin. "Any luck?"

"Nah," Ron shook his head. "We found Malfoy."

Draco shot him a dark look. "I wasn't lost, Weasel. It's noon, I was already on my way."

"Joy," mumbled Ron.

Just then, Neville and Pansy came into view around the corner of the building, Neville carrying a paper bag, and Pansy was taking a long waltzing step, hurriedly bringing herself back in line when she realized she was being watched.

"Hello," she said, rubbing her hands together as she walked up and planted a kiss on Draco's cheek. "Are we all here? I'm simply parched."

Neville shifted the bag from one hand to the other, then offered a wave up to the group in general.

"Me too," said Harry, and everyone's head came up, searching about for the source.

"Hi," he said, and this time his hand was visible when he waved. Hermione shoved it down and looked around to see if anyone had seen.

"Honestly!"

"Altogether not the best idea you've ever had," observed Draco. "Still, now that you're here--"

Hannah and Greg rushed up to join them, flushed and grinning. "Sorry. Had to stop and adjust an attitude or two." She paused and looked over her shoulder. "Can we get inside please?"

"Hi, Harry," said Greg cheerfully.

"How'd you know he was there?" asked Hermione, brow furrowed. Greg looked just as confused.

"There's just the right-sized space there," he shrugged, pointing to where Ron and Hermione had automatically left a space for him between them. "And Draco was talking to him."

"That's great. Greg's a bloody genius, I've always said," Hannah said with a grin, patting his arm fondly. "Inside, please?"

###

Later, Harry and Draco let themselves into their dormitory, shedding cloaks and talking excitedly about everything that had gone on in the village, trying to stay quiet and not give away the fact that Harry had been there, too. Mid-sentence, a huge, familiar eagle owl swept into the room, dropped a letter into Draco's hands and cruised out. The color and cheer drained from Draco's face on contact, and he looked away, swearing under his breath.

"Alright. That's enough," said Harry, snatching the letter from Draco's hands and stepping up onto his trunk in two quick moves in order to hold it properly aloft. "Talk."

"Give it back, Potter," Draco said with a scowl, making a futile grab for it.

"No. Not until you tell me what the devil's going on."

Draco hopped onto the other end of the trunk, but Harry vaulted the footboard of his bed and landed with an exaggerated bounce on top of the black and gold covers, steadying himself on one of the corner posts.

"It's none of your bloody business! That's mine!"

He followed, but Harry was already hopping down onto the rug, one step ahead and backing away. "You're not even reading them! I saw you pitch the last two into the fire!"

"Spying now, too?" asked Draco, hitting the ground indignant and flushed.

"Maybe," said Harry with a nasty, wry smirk. "I guess you're not the only one."

Draco snarled and threw himself at Harry, landing a solid grab around his middle and sending them both slamming into Anthony's trunk across the way. Harry hit the top with an 'oof', shoving at Draco as his feet swung off of the ground, only doing enough to bounce back and hit the ground next in a tangle of thrashing arms and legs.

"Get- Off!" growled Harry, twisting viciously to try and get away as his back hit the ground, well aware he was close to pinned.

"I HATE YOU," Draco shouted, shaking him hard enough to make his teeth rattle.

"Wh--"

Harry stopped when Draco's fist connected with his jaw. Stunned, he let go and stopped struggling long enough for Draco to shove himself up and away, snatching the envelope up from where it had fallen to the rug. Harry scrambled to pop up into a crouch, slowly straightening, staring at Draco.

"What the bloody hell did I ever do to you?"

"This." Draco brandished the letter. "This is all your fault!"

"Your dad being a creepy bastard is my fault?"

The letter crumpled in his hands as Draco turned his fierce scowl on Harry, "Don't you dare talk about my father like that!"

"Why the hell not?" Harry shouted. He took a step closer, speaking at a lower volume though he nearly spat out the words. "He tried to kill Ginny Weasley. He almost got us all killed! He was probably there when Voldemort killed my parents!"

"He's my father, you imbecile!" Draco shouted right back. "He-- he taught me to ride and play chess and was always proud of me until I came here. Because--" he threw his hands up, "--because now I'm the biggest disappointment in his life and he's still trying to correct my behavior. He still thinks he's doing the right thing."

"I have news for you! He isn't! You and Pansy saw it for yourself!"

"And I never would have it if weren't for you!"

Harry stared at him, momentarily speechless. "You'd rather have just... followed along blindly? Because it would have made your life easier?"

"I don't bloody well know!" Draco huffed, clearly at a loss. "Maybe I would. Maybe I just want him to stop looking at me like I've failed him."

"I can't believe you," said Harry with a disgusted grimace.

"Neither can I." He shoved the letter in his hand at Harry. "Try believing that instead."

Eyes still on Draco, Harry snatched it back.

"Go ahead. Let me give you the abridged version-- 'Pure blood is to be prized; you've been put where you are so that you can work to make the Potter boy see the right of it and carry out your family's legacy. If you cannot do so, I will take harsher measures to correct your own wrongheaded thinking, etc.'"

"That's ridiculous," said Harry, turning the unopened letter in his hand. "He's mad."

"Maybe so, but he's still the one that decides whether I go to Durmstrang next year. The only things that keep him from trying it every time you and I get up to something spectacularly stupid are my mother and the fact that he wants me within arm's reach."

Harry looked up in alarm. "He wouldn't really do that, would he?"

"He would," said Draco, finally meeting Harry's eyes.

"We have to go to Dumbledore," said Harry, though the suggestion rang hollow even as the words left his mouth.

"And tell him what? Should I ask him to adopt me because I disagree with my dad?"

Harry fell silent, his eyes sliding to the hearth. He made to hand the letter back to Draco, who flatly refused it.

"I don't want it."

"So tell him what he wants to hear," said Harry suddenly. Draco scowled at him, rubbing absently at the knuckles of the hand he'd used to hit Harry.

"Lie."

"Lie," agreed Harry, stubborn and without hesitation. "Until you don't have to."

It was Draco's turn to think quietly until he finally said, "Not argue with the rhetoric. Write back that I'm trying to ingratiate myself with you in order to make myself indispensable."

"That you have seen the right of it, and you're putting up with a lot because of it," supplied Harry.

"That last one's true," said Draco.

"Piss off," Harry said distractedly.

"If I do this to my father-- there's no going back. He'd never forgive me if he found out. When he finds out."

Harry met his eyes and nodded. "Yeah."

"Okay," breathed Draco, and turned away.

"Okay?" said Harry, following. "Wh--"

"I need to think," Draco snapped, snatching at the broom his father had bought him. "I need air."

Harry stopped in his tracks and nodded as Draco took his gloves and hat from the side table, stalked over to the window and disappeared out into the afternoon without another word or a backwards glance. When Harry finally turned his attention to the letter in hand, he found that it was smoking, his handprint a charred shade of sepia where he'd been clutching it to his side.

The door clicked open and Harry looked up with a start.

"Is it safe?" said Anthony from the doorway.

"What?" said Harry too quickly. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"You could... err. Sort of hear the shouting in the corridor. Theo gave up and went to the Library, but I, um. Needed my book bag."

"Shite," breathed Harry, kicking at his trunk. "What did you hear?"

"Nothing!" said Anthony, pulling the door shut behind him. "Nothing at all!"

"Goldstein."

"Come on!" said Anthony with a hint of panic. "You know how these walls are-- we heard commotion and shouting, but y'know. Couldn't hear actual words."

Harry breathed a sigh of short-lived relief. He crouched and shoved the singed letter into a book and then into his trunk.

"What-- err. What were you arguing about?"

"Don't worry about it," muttered Harry as he locked his trunk again.

"But, I mean, you and Malfoy-- you're thick as thieves."

Harry stood suddenly, making Anthony jump back as though he was about to be struck.

"Philosophical disagreement."

"Okay!" said Anthony, taking a big step back. "None of my business. I get it."

"Good," said Harry, who stalked out, down the stairs and headed in any direction that could be described as 'away'.

At about the time Harry was walking out of the common room, Daphne's head popped around the doorway of the dormitory.

"Did you find out what all that was about?" she asked, eyes alight.

"Philosophical disagreement," repeated Anthony, hoisting his bag onto his shoulder.

"What about?!" said Daphne, suddenly pulling away from the wall and standing up straighter.

Anthony lifted his chin, walked out into the corridor and offered Daphne his elbow.

"A girl, of course. What else?"

###

"I may have to include you in my fantastic tales. It's your own stupid idea and I'm not sorry. And I'm borrowing your bird."

Half-asleep, Harry blinked at the blurred shape in the opening of his bed curtains that could be none other than Draco. And either Hedwig was perched on his forearm or he was holding a giant ball of wriggling snow.

"Okay."

The curtain fell shut and he could hear the window being slid open and then quickly closed again.

"If I'm lucky," said Draco over the telltale thumps of his shoes hitting the rug. "I won't live long enough to regret this."

###

Pansy greeted Draco the next morning on the way to class by throwing her arms around his neck, leaving him raising a confused eyebrow over her shoulder at a smirking Ron.

"Draco, darling, good morning!"

"Err. Good morning, darl--"

"And Harry!" she said, and Draco narrowed his eyes, catching onto her little farce. "Hello, love!"

Pansy took Harry's hand and kissed him on the cheek, and he flushed from neck to hairline. "Hi, Pansy."

"It's so good to see that the two of you could get over your spat over me. I'm flattered, but I'd hate to be the wedge driven between you."

"Parkinson, you are out of your mind," said Draco. "Can we please go to class now?"

"Pansy," stammered Harry, his fingers still wedged between hers. "Why?"

"The school is positively abuzz. Apparently the two of you were fighting over a girl, and currently the rumor mill betting pool has slightly better odds on it being me as opposed to Abbott and far better than Granger, which I must say, pleases me more than it should."

Harry turned to Ron for support, who was still too amused to do anything but shrug. "Beats me, mate. Creevey burst into the common room last night dying to tell the story, but it turned out half of everyone there had already heard it. Only in his version, there was a fistfight, and Malfoy here's supposed to be limping about. Oh! And a duel to the death scheduled for midnight."

"Pfft!" said Draco, but Ron was already leaning in to examine Harry's jaw.

"Hold up. Is that a bruise?"

Harry turned away quickly. "No. Let's go."

A group of giggling fourth years walked past just as Ron turned a murderous glare on Draco.

"Oh Ron! Don't be like that," said Pansy loudly. "One day, things may work out for us!"

A muffled gasp came from the group, and it predictably began moving faster to somewhere the new information could be disseminated. Pansy dissolved in overly amused laughter. Ron couldn't stop glaring at everyone, Harry looked embarrassed and Draco just pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Can we please go now?"

"Ha!" said Pansy, tugging a hapless Harry along behind her. "I win."

###

It was finally Christmas and Harry sat cross-legged on the hearth rug across from Ron, scowling around the Chocolate Everlasting sucker that was hanging out of his mouth at his handful of cards. A steady supply of snowflakes fell slowly, circling and bumping against the window and either gathering on the sill or rolling off to continue the short journey downward. The Burrow was warm and smelled of biscuits and vegetables and goose and who knew what else, and Harry was willing to try it all.

"Flrk," groused Harry. He set a card on the discard pile and shifted the sucker to the other cheek. Ron sniggered and took the card, made a complex arrangement of his own hand and then set them all down at once.

"Gin."

The cards in Harry's hand buzzed and gave him what felt like a mild shock, and he dropped them with a swear, just barely catching the sucker as it fell out of his mouth and before it could land on his new Weasley jumper. Ron fell back against the sofa laughing.

"My brother is a genius."

"Git. I thought they were from Zonko's?" said Harry.

"Yeah. A particularly inspired Christmas present from Charlie. 'M going to have to hide them from Gred and Forge."

"You won't always win," said Harry, unfolding his legs and stretching them in front of him.

"Did somebody call me?" said Ginny, rounding the foot of the stairs with a short hop.

"Yeah," said Ron offhand. "You did say 'git' a second ago, Harry. Got to be careful with that."

"Oh, stuff it, Ron," Ginny, already back in motion and heading toward the food smells. "You're not all that clever, Ravenclaw or n--"

A squawk sounded from the kitchen and a huge, grumpy-looking owl swept into the sitting room. Harry tried not to look terrified as the bird made a beeline for him, dropped a medium-sized package into his hands and went directly back out the same way he'd come, this time to the tune of Mrs. Weasley's shouting, "My word!"

"Wasn't that Malfoy's owl?" asked Ron, also staring after it.

"Yeah--" said Harry, already working on the letter attached. The handwriting was immediately recognizable.

Potter,

Mother asked me to extend her sincerest apologies for the lateness of your gift. Brutus has been busy running errands nearly nonstop past two days and though I have no idea what he's up to, I know he 'wasn't to be distracted'.

At any rate, you'll be pleased to know that the discussion you and I had has finally yielded some results. If nothing else, it seems to have brought everyone some peace of mind. For the time being. That's the operative phrase, I'm afraid.

You'll be even more pleased when you open the package. I got one too, and it's possible that above-mentioned conversation had something to do with both. It's possible too that it may have been the best idea I've ever had. And it's also possible I was supposed to have sent this an hour ago. It's in fact probable that if you send a reply, I may not answer it for a while. You may want to open the small one first.

Happy Christmas,
DM

PS: The lumpy one's for the Weasel. Wish him my insincerest holiday greetings while you're at it, would you?

Harry shoved the letter into his pocket in a rush and ripped the paper off of the package. It came apart into three pieces, the larger one of which expanded and pulled into a long, rectangular box wrapped in dark green paper boasting sparkling stars.

"Here, Happy Christmas," said Harry, shoving the lumpy package at Ron as per the note's instructions. "Why would he need a new one?" Harry stared for another long moment before laying into the paper on the big box he recognized well-- it was just like the boxes he and Draco had received first year (once they'd been liberated of the Shapeshift Paper). Clutching his own gift, Ron leaned forward, peering as closely as Harry was, but Harry wasn't paying attention to anything but the task of unwrapping. "It's not like his was completely destr-- oh my God."

Ron gasped when Harry pulled the broom out of the box, the inlay on the dark woodwork of the handle proudly proclaiming its make and model.

"Harry-- bloody hell, that's-- that's a-- bloody hell!"

"LANGUAGE, RONALD!" called Mrs. Weasley from the kitchen, though how she'd heard him was anyone's guess.

"It's a Firebolt," breathed Harry, awestruck and having completely forgotten about the smaller box. A shimmering tag hung from the handle; an elegant monogrammed 'M' on one side, on the other a message wishing him a Happy Christmas from Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. "I--"

Could he in good conscience take something like this from Lucius Malfoy, knowing what he did about the man?

"Can I touch it?" said Ron, mouth open and still staring, gift set aside.

"Sure," answered Harry distantly, torn, but... it was just... perfect. And he couldn't very well send it back without giving Draco's lies away, could he?

"Here," he said after another second and handed it to Ron, who held it like a baby. Harry shoved the wrapping paper aside and it crumbled in on itself, taking the packaging with it and disappearing with a 'pop'. All that was left in its wake was the smaller package, about the size of a wand box with a note written directly on its plain paper wrapping.

H-
What you still won't know is appalling, but it's the best I could do.
-D

"Must be nice," said Ginny, openly scowling. "Maybe I should suck up to snotty Pureblood rich kids to see if I can get one too."

"Gin, don't be like that," said Ron, eyes riveted on the precious object in hand.

"Like how? And what's that?" she said, pointing to the box Harry held. "A deed to your own country estate?"

Lifting his chin, Harry reflexively stuck the box in his pocket and away from her scathing glare. "If it is, you'll never know."

"Now, what exactly is all this commotion?" said Mrs. Weasley, wiping her hands on her apron as she entered the room. "What've you got there, Ron, hmm?"

"Harry got a Firebolt from the Malfoys!"

What might have been disapproval flickered briefly across Mrs. Weasley's cheerful face, gone as quickly as it had appeared. "Well, that's very... thoughtful, after what happened to your broom."

"Mum. It's not just a broom. It's a Firebolt. It's what all the professionals are using this season!" raved Ron.

Harry slowly got to his feet, looking embarrassed.

"Yeah, here, mate. Thanks," he said, taking it carefully from Ron. "It's thoughtful, for sure."

"Whatever," said Ginny, speaking directly to her mother.

Mrs. Weasley shot a reproachful look after Ginny, who turned and ran back up the stairs, then shifted that same look on the broom. Her expression didn't soften until she smiled at Harry.

"It's just lovely, Harry. May I?"

"Uh. Sure?" said Harry, confused as he handed it over.

Mrs. Weasley set it on the sofa, drew her wand and flicked it toward the Firebolt, incanting three or four words strung together in a spell he didn't know. The broom levitated and began to glow faintly blue.

"Mrs. Weasley?" said Harry, just as Ron said, "Mum!" a full octave higher than his usual speaking voice.

"It'll just be a moment, Harry dear," she said, sounding distracted. She tossed several other spells in the Firebolt's direction, examining it from every possibly direction as she did. "It's nothing at all. Just a little scan of sorts."

Nothing further happened. She shrugged and pocketed her wand. "I am sorry, Harry. I had to check. You're supposed to be safe here, you know."

"Mum--"

"I know, I know!" she said, deflecting Ron skillfully. "I'm hopelessly old-fashioned. Now," she plucked the broom out of the air and handed it back to Harry. "Why don't you boys get your coats, gloves and hats and go out for a fly, hmm? Not too high, now, and don't go too far. Be back within an hour for tea."

Ron and Harry exchanged a look and then ran for the hat rack that resembled a small tree, only rooted both top and bottom between the floor and ceiling. It wasn't until Mrs. Weasley sighed and disappeared into the kitchen that Harry spoke again.

"What was that about?"

"She's been asking for a broom all year," said Ron, shrugging and lowering his voice. "Bill and Charlie said they almost bought her one, only Mum told them she wasn't allowed until at least next year. She'd be a right menace if she knew that."

"And your mum?"

"Good idea, she had."

Harry looked confused. "But you--"

Ron paused in the middle of buttoning his jacket and raised his eyebrow at Harry. "It came from Malfoy? Malfoy's dad? Ring any bells?"

"Well, yeah, but... a little obvious to try and send a cursed gift. Isn't as if there wouldn't be witnesses here. Everyone would know he'd done it."

"Maybe. And maybe you'd mysteriously fall off of your broom like you did earlier this year, only this time break your neck because you were going so fast on your new broom."

It was Harry's turn to pause. "Oh."

"Yeah," said Ron as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. He tugged his hat on next, leaving his hands on the ties. "Hey. What was in the other box?"

Honestly, Harry had forgotten about the other gift. He stopped and pulled up the box that was sticking out of his pocket, tore the wrapper, and flipped it over in order get the top half off.

"It is a deed--" said Ron, eyes huge when he caught sight of the roll of parchment contained within.

Harry was almost ready to believe it until he pulled it from the box and began to unroll it. "A painting?" He blinked at the spidery structure covering half of the surface. He turned it lengthwise, tilting his head until it sunk in why his own name was at the center. "Ron-- look."

Ron craned his neck to see around the page and took a moment before he too understood. "That there-- that's your family tree! The Potter side, anyway, but there's space for your mum's side."

His fingers ghosted over the neat lines connecting him to his dad (James Alden Potter, 1960-1981), his grandparents (Aurelia Celestine Potter nee Cantwell, 1915-1978 and Harold Augustus Potter 1911-1978), thin branches that split off showing where earlier family members had married into families like Bulstrodes, Abbotts, Parkinsons--

"Look! Weasleys!" said Harry. "What is that, third... uncle, somewhat removed?"

"And Malfoys," said Ron, pointing at where some far outlying cousin had married a Malfoy. "Blimey."

"How'd he find all this?"

"Pureblood families are easy to track."

"Huh?" said Harry, not quite able to tear his eyes from the parchment.

"Well," Ron grimaced and inclined his head toward the tree. "If you want to say you're Pureblood, you sort of have to be able to prove it. And the Potters-- they're an old family. You could've just walked into the Ministry and asked for the Hall of Records, and then taken a lot of notes. And hopefully hit a few people on the branches that have already made themselves a tree and submitted it for public record, and then you could've just copied the bits you needed. 'Course, it still might've taken a few days to find all of the information, and then a few more to write it all down if you're doing it without magic... And let me tell you, it takes a little bit of forever to get the fussy little handwriting just right. But you could've. Anyone could've."

Harry stared, processing the information. "Hang on. How do you know?"

"Oh. Mum and Dad made us each do it the summer before we started at Hogwarts. They say it doesn't make us better than anyone else, but we still ought to know where we came from." Ron looked embarrassed, glancing about to make sure he wasn't overheard. "Only I copied most of mine from Charlie's old tree. He's my favorite brother, have I mentioned?"

"Right." Harry shook his head, bemused. "Wow."

"Feel sort of like a tosser for having done, now, though," Ron added, wearing pensive expression. "For one, it's not very Ravenclaw. For another, Malfoy wouldn't have surprised me with that business about being related. I, err. Might have to do it again." He grimaced. "Ugh. There are loads of us, though. Lot more than this."

"Boys!" called Mrs. Weasley from the kitchen. "Should I find chores for you instead?"

"No, ma'am," called Harry.

"Coming, Mum!" added Ron. "Put that away and let's go-- she's not kidding."

Harry rolled it up and set it back in the box. "I should put it upstairs."

"Yeah," Ron nodded. "You go, I'll run in and tell her you forgot your gloves and then I'll meet you outside."

"Ok," Harry agreed. "Ron-- one more thing."

"I didn't see anything," said Ron before Harry could ask, and adding before he could question it, "Are you kidding? My mother would start in about thoughtful children and--"

"Ron."

"--And Dad would twitch at the mention of Malfoy and people would wonder wh--"

"Ron! What are you talking about?"

"Err. Nothing?"

"I meant to say," Harry blinked at him. "You forgot to open yours."

"Oh! That. It's a great pile of Chocolate Frogs like it was last year," Ron said with a shrug. "We can make a sizable dent in them tonight after dinner."

"...How do you know?"

Ron shoved him toward the stairs. "What else do you do for people you don't really like, but don't necessarily hate? That much. Anymore. Anyway, go on." He jogged into the kitchen before Harry could ask why he shouldn't talk about his gift, but for once, Harry decided to leave well enough alone.

###

Draco,
It doesn't seem enough to thank your parents for the Firebolt. It's fair to say I've been mobbed over it ~~more than once to check for hexes~~, which I suppose is fine since otherwise I wouldn't have spent an hour on the ground since it arrived.

At any rate, I'm glad my idea helped, Firebolt or not.

But bloody hell. We have Firebolts. Diggory is going to have kittens.

Happy Christmas, mate,
-Harry

PS: I don't know when you found the time to do all of that work, but the tree's amazing. I don't know when or if I'll ever be able to fill in the other half, but it's brilliant nonetheless. Thanks again.

###

Harry,

Agreed. Now picture the look on Wood's face.

-D

PS: Potter, please. I paid someone to do it. But it's the thought that counts, and all that. You're welcome, anyway.

###

"So you just walked out?" said Hannah, somewhat gaping across the library table at Hermione. "We haven't even been back from hols a whole week!"

"More 'stormed', really," said Ron.

"I was thinking 'stomped'," said Pansy with a thoughtful look up.

Hermione glared at them both, and then turned her attention back to Hannah. "I did. I wasn't about to sit there and let her tell Neville that his Gran is about to die, or go on about Ron being 'in the Beyond'. The woman is mad as a hatter! And furthermore, never right. I'd be surprised if she'd ever actually Seen anything at all!"

"It's tedious," said Neville with a nod.

"Wow," said Hannah. "All that ever happens in our Divination period is Trelawney telling Harry he's going to die."

Greg blinked at Ron. "Are you ever really 'in the Beyond'?"

"No idea, mate," said Ron with a shrug.

"No," said Hermione. "He most definitely is not. Because it's rubbish."

"Oi, how would you know?" said Ron. "I might be!"

The library doors flew open faster than they ought, and Madam Pince shushed whomever it was barreling through them. Two well-practiced apologies later, Pansy rolled her eyes.

"Of course," she sighed.

Hannah pointed. "In five... four... three..."

"Hey," said Harry, tousled and rosy cheeked, tie still thrown over his shoulder as he appeared in their corner. "Sorry."

"Practice," agreed Draco, put together far better, though still grinning manically.

"Slytherin has the Pitch today," said Hannah. "Try again."

"Well. Racing around the school counts," said Harry.

"Got to get used to the new brooms, after all," agreed Draco.

"Ugh," said Hannah. "Stop there. I don't even want to hear it."

"I've let you borrow it!" said Harry.

"Yes, but I don't have one, thus, I don't want to hear about yours," she said with a sigh, only half joking. "At least I'm Seeking. And at least Diggory doesn't have one. Punks."

Hermione looked up at the clock, bit her lip and then began packing her things into her bag.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I've got an errand to run."

Ron furrowed his brow and examined the clock, too.

"It's only seven. We still haven't touched Transfiguration and I've got a load of work on Buckbeak's appeal for you to look at. It's not right-- me having to remind you."

Hermione hoisted her bag onto her shoulder with an apologetic shrug. "I have to go." She began to walk away, then paused, returned and held out her hand. "Give me the appeal file and start on Transfiguration without me."

With an accusatory grimace, Ron dropped a thick file in her hand, causing it to drop all the way to the tabletop. "Suit yourself. The top five pages are the most relevant. They're marked."

"Excellent, thank you," Hermione said icily, and stuffed it in her bag as well. "I'll get it back tomorrow."

Ron muttered about disbelieving the nerve of some people as she walked away again, but was cut short by his own yelp of surprise. Crookshanks had thumped down onto the desktop in front of him from some unidentified shelf and was hissing in the general direction of Ron's pocket.

"You get away from me, too!" he said, shoving the cat off of the table.

With a last reproachful look, Crookshanks twitched his tail and followed Hermione out.

"That manky cat is as barking mad as she is," said Ron, who then came to the realization that anyone in vicinity who was not trying to stifle a laugh was just not paying attention. He narrowed his eyes almost too far to see, glared all around and opened his Transfiguration book with a violent snap.

Neville added quietly, "Dunno. I like the cat better than I do Transfiguration."

Hannah finally gave in to the snickering, as did Pansy and Draco, followed immediately by Vince and Greg who didn't quite know what was funny but everyone else seemed like they were having a good time, so it seemed like a good call. Harry set his bag down on the table and grinned widely as he took Hermione's vacated seat across from Ron.

"Maybe what you need is a dog, mate."

Then, Harry had to duck a flying book.

Edit: I apologize - there isn't a part four posted; it's half-written on my hard drive and every couple of months I add a couple hundred words to it. One day, I do plan to finish this, and I totally acknowledge that it's a pain in the ass to those of you left hanging, but we'll get there eventually. Thanks for reading all of these, by the way. :)

corvidae9 — Thu, 23 Aug 2007 03:41:55 GMT

So, it was juice817's birthday a couple of days ago, and I wanted to do something different and fun for her because she loves me too much and always looks out for me, and so I made this and omg. I have no idea. I am ridiculously lucky to have you in my life and I'm sorry I fail and it's late. <333 (But you can even share it with Libby, should you so choose! :D) ♥♥♥ LOVE!OMG! ANDMANYMOAR!

Anyway. ok, this is a ficlety, AU fanmix-with-bad-cover-art that (hopefully :P) ~~(HOW WOULD I KNOW FOR CERTAIN? SHE'S USUALLY MY BETA! :D)~~ (Never mind. I know. Senior VP of Crack Production saved my ass, as usual.) relates early key moments in a relationship between two boys who crash into one another and manage to figure out that they're sad, sick, hopeless and meant to be. And smoking hot, let's not forget that. >.> It was supposed to be brief and descriptive. Then things got out of hand. O:) Hope it's sweetened to your taste, doll!

Two ~~halves of a srs bznss OTP~~ [Fictional] Wizards [well over the age of consent] Walk Into a Pub...
A Bill/Oliver Mix/Fic/Artsy Fartsy ~~Monstrosity~~ ~~Extravaganza~~ Collection
(Adult, NWS, ~2800 words altogether)

Get the whole mix here or dl individual tracks below. Mix and Interpol track are on sendspace, the rest are on box.net. All tracks are in .mp3 format and all links will spawn new windows.

I. 30 Seconds to Mars - Hunter

"Hi. You come here often?"

Oliver rolled his eyes as he looked up from his drink, interrupted as he got a really good look at the bloke doing the asking.

"Hey."

"That's definitely a line. I'm not ashamed," said the ginger bloke with the blinding grin. God, he looked familiar.

"Yeah?" Oliver looked around as though he might not be the subject of said line. "You lost?"

"Not anymore," he said with a laugh, and Oliver stared. He was just... pretty.

"Buy you a pint?"

II. Beastie Boys - Body Movin'

The guy --Bill-- he had skill, no doubt. With his tongue halfway down Oliver's throat, one hand snaked around Oliver's waist, fingers tucked into the back of his jeans, he managed to use the other hand to unlock his door and shove the door open. They bumped the doorframe, Oliver's heel caught on the jamb, Bill steadied him while he fumbled for the lock-- it couldn't have taken more than a handful of seconds, and yet it seemed an eternity to the door clicking shut.

Oliver was already unzipping Bill's fly, shoving him back against the door and dropping to his knees with a wicked grin.

III. James Brown - Get Up (Sex Machine)

"Mmprh?"

Oliver wasn't the most coherent when woken from a dead sleep borne of exhaustion. The light beginning to filter in may have revealed it to be the very early morning but as it turned out, he didn't have much time to worry about either. Bill's mouth descended on his, his body a warm weight over Oliver's. Oliver clutched at him and kissed back, hands roaming Bill's back until the redhead pulled away with a smirk and rolled him over unceremoniously.

"Hey," murmured Bill over his shoulder, breath hot on his ear, hips grinding against Oliver's arse. "Can I call you sometime?"

IV. Smashing Pumpkins - Pug

"Stop staring at the hearth, Ollie."

Oliver flipped Angie off, irritated. "I'm not staring."

"If this bloke's going to call you, he'll call you. Can we focus please on the game next week?"

"I'm focused!" Oliver growled. He jabbed a finger at the playbook on the table in front ofthem. "Tutshill hasn't got a chance. They haven't got shite for a play like this. And does it look like I care?"

"Uh huh," said Angie, fixing him with a little glare before going back to the plan. "See, here's where--"

She grabbed his chin and forced his eyes back to her.

"You are so gone. Like I said. Here's where--"

V. Eisley - Telescope Eyes

"Hi," said Oliver when the Floo flared bright for the fourth time in as many days.

"Hey," said Bill with a grin, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "You want to come over?"

Oliver's hands fisted the hearth rug. "I can't."

"No?"

Would he be upset? He might be. Then again they hadn't really done anything but... well. Walk through one hearth or another and shag like animals.

"Game tomorrow. Raincheck?" said Oliver, trying to sound hopeful but not pathetic.

"Game?"

Oliver tilted his head. "Game. We're playing the Tornadoes tomorrow."

Bill laughed. "Holy shite. You are that Oliver Wood. Keeper for United?"

"You really didn't know?"

"I--" Bill laughed again. "Don't take this the wrong way, kid, but you seem bigger on the pitch."

VI. The Bird and the Bee - Again and Again

"Hey."

"Hey."

"Come over. I've got something for you."

They'd been doing this for a month. There was never anything more than sex; no dinners, no dates. Oliver wanted to kick himself for just thinking that bollocks might not be so bad-- he hadn't wanted any of it since he'd left school, and for good reason. It was just a good thing that Bill thought the same way. Things could get messy otherwise.

...But there'd been that one time that-- eh. Whatever.

Oliver went.

VII. Interpol - Fog. Vs. Mould For The Length Of Love

Oliver was with Angie at the rear formation of the initial lap of the pitch, the crowds a mass of Chudley orange as always despite the team's dismal record. A handful of Weasleys that Oliver knew well, including friends and adoptees, cheered wildly for Oliver and Angie as the Puddlemere team passed, though they too were wearing orange.

All except one. Tall, longish hair, blue jumper. Offered a little grin and a half-wave.

"He came?"

Angie thumped a staring Oliver on the back of the head.

"Head down. Jump him later."

VIII. Ani DiFranco - Shy (live)

After the game (190-10, Puddlemere), after the showers and the big talk, Oliver slipped out of the locker room and made for the apparition point, only to be stopped by a pair of hands he knew all too well.

"You were fucking fantastic," said Bill into his ear, his hands roaming up the firm planes of Oliver's stomach.

"I'm supposed to be at the team party," breathed Oliver, hand dug firmly into Bill's hair and not actually protesting.

"Mine'll be better."

"Already better. Can't believe you came," said Oliver, craning his neck to bring his mouth closer to Bill's.

"Why wouldn't I?"

IX. Muse - Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want

"Hey," said Bill, scrubbing a hand through his hair. Oliver shifted in his seat-- damn that bastard, it was sexy as hell even though the shimmering green flames.

"Hi. You coming over?"

"Can't, I'm sorry," said Bill. "But if you're not busy tomorrow, I was wondering-- there's that street festival thing the Ministry's throwing in Diagon. Are you busy? Would you want to go?"

Oliver's nose twitched as he tried to keep the shock away from the grin that threatened to spread unchecked and crack his face in two. "I, err-- yeah? That'd be great."

"Ok," Bill said with a little grin.

"You want to meet somewhere?" Oliver offered.

"Not a chance. I'll come get you. Six alright?"

Oliver's stomach turned over as he agreed and watched the flames wink out. One hand slid over his own open-mouthed grin, trying to decide what the hell he was going to do with it, and mulling over the possibility that he might have been wrong about Bill Weasley.

X. Dave Matthews Band - The Best of What's Around

"C'mere," said Bill, pulling Oliver by the hand into a booth off of the midway.

Oliver hadn't quite gotten over the fact that they were, for all intents and purposes, out on a sodding date. He wished he could say that he didn't care, that he thought it was pointless, that it wasn't about dating, it was about shagging, but it would be an egregious lie. The second Angie had called him out for mooning over the Floo, he'd known he was in trouble; trouble exacerbated by the fact that he didn't think Bill was interested in anything more.

Until of course he was being tugged into a dark, confined space, half into Bill's lap.

"Smile," said Bill, low and rough, tugging on Oliver's earlobe with his teeth as the first photo clicked over.

More trouble than that, now; Oliver was damn sure he wasn't the only one interested.

XI. Joss Stone - Put Your Hands On Me

A knock at the door at the door startled Oliver sufficiently that he approached it carefully, wand drawn. The war might have been over, but no one loses reflexes like that, and no one ever knocked on his door (unless he'd ordered delivery).

A moment later, he was standing back from the peephole, pocketing his wand and opening the door with a confused grin for Bill.

"Oh, shite. Did I forget...?"

"No," shrugged Bill. "I was in the neighborhood, and I thought I'd see if you'd let me buy you dinner. Haven't eaten yet, have you?"

"No. I mean, I haven't." Oliver felt like a damn giddy teenager. It was a little sickening. "Sounds good."

"Good," said Bill, closing the distance between them and slowly sliding his hand up Oliver's chest and around the nape of his neck, lips brushing his temple. "Afters on you."

XII. Morcheeba - Part of the Process

Bill had said that a couple of his brothers were coming out to the pub to meet them and Oliver wondered if they knew. He and Bill hadn't exactly been hiding about town, and the Wizarding world was a notoriously small place, even if Bill hadn't thought to tell them. Apparently he was about to find out.

Percy Weasley walked up and offered up a smile and a very proper handshake. "Oliver. So good to see you. I must say, I don't tend to follow Quidditch but I hear that you're performing admirably, and I can't say I'm surprised. Well done!"

Oh god. Percy hadn't changed a bit. Oliver grinned and shook his hand enthusiastically. "Good to see you, mate. Thanks, It's fucking brilliant--"

Just then, Bill returned the short distance from the bar to the booth they'd staked out with two pints in hand and set them on the table.

"Percy! How'd I know you'd be first?" He pulled his little brother into a fierce bear hug that made Oliver hide an overly amused grin. "Take a seat and take mine, I'll get us more."

Before Percy could protest, Bill had dropped a careless kiss on the corner of Oliver's mouth was gone again. Percy slid into the booth across from Oliver, making a show of adjusting his glasses.

"Ah, Bill. He's in an especially good mood, I think."

"Just looking out for his baby brother," said Oliver with a smirk, though his eyes lingered on Bill's retreating form.

"And always will. As I suspect you'll find out." Percy held his glass up in salute. "Cheers."

Oliver's attention snapped back to Percy, but he didn't get the chance to return the toast. The Weasley twins had stormed the pub and were accosting Bill at the bar, and shortly thereafter were being waved in Percy and Oliver's direction.

"Oliver!" said Fred. Or possibly George.

"You lucky dog!" said the other, gesturing extravagantly.

"Leave it to Captain Wood to succeed--"

"--where even Veelas have failed!"

Oliver snorted a laugh and muttered, "Oh, Jesus," into his pint.

"Those hooligans on the other hand--" sighed Percy.

XIII. Teitur - You're the Ocean

Eyes half-lidded, Oliver grinned at Bill across the space between them in the small bedroom that went so far past merely smelling of sex as to be pulsating with it. The very air radiated and reflected hours spent learning and relearning every square centimeter of skin belonging to both Bill and himself and striving to blur the boundaries between the two.

"You're still watching me," he murmured, sated, somewhat hoarse, words lazily enunciated.

"You're still easy to look at," breathed Bill, his hand rubbing aimless, soothing patterns across the finger-shaped bruises blooming red and purple on the fair skin covering Oliver's hip.

"Mmm," hummed Oliver. "Don't stop."

XIV. Dido - Thank You

Oliver didn't even have to think about it. He Apparated directly from the pitch to Bill's flat, let himself in and crashed directly onto the sofa, then swore loudly.

"...Bad day in the office, dear?" ventured Bill cheekily, backtracking from the hallway into the sitting room. With his shirt half untucked and shoes unlaced, he looked as though he'd just arrived, too.

"Sodding, bleeding management and their bloody buggering suggestions," Oliver spat, slumping back, hands to the top of his own head. "Christ, they break my brain."

Preoccupied as he was, Oliver knew that there was sound and activity happening around him, but it only seemed a moment later that an open, brown bottle of the local brew was being pressed into his hand. Bill stood behind the sofa, hands digging into the knots of tension in Oliver's shoulders without preamble.

"Drink that while I change. We'll go out and eat, then if you still need to point me at the sods that need a beating, I'll go cheerfully."

It took Oliver two tries and a groan of satisfaction with the massage to line the bottle up properly for a long, protracted drink.

"What do you say?" asked Bill.

"Huh? Oh," said Oliver, melting under Bill's hands and letting the sofa hold him up. "Yeah. 'Sgood."

He sighed and took another drink.

XV. Tristan Prettyman - Always Feel This Way

"I have no idea why you're still staying in this crap flat of yours," observed Bill, crossing his ankles on the secondhand coffee table facing the sofa upon which he sat, Daily Prophet in hand.

"My flat is not crap!" said Oliver, indignant. He pulled the paper out of Bill's grip and straddled his lap instead, bare but for the mug half full of warm tea in his hand.

Bill opened his mouth to speak, grinning as words silently formed and reformed on his lips several times first.

"Fucking hell. You-- Trying to come up with something intelligent and witty with you like this--" his hands ran the length of Oliver's solid thighs and around his arse, groping and squeezing, grinding his own hips up through the flimsy material of his pyjama pants. "Sodding impossible." Bill leaned forward and pressed his mouth to Oliver's skin, his voice rumbling through Oliver's chest. "I'm still right, though. It's crap."

"Fuck that," breathed Oliver, flailing to set his mug down somewhere secure. His hands immediately dragged down Bill's shoulderblades and back up through his hair.

"It's crap," Bill repeated, nipping at Oliver's collarbone. "Mine's far superior."

"I've seen," said Oliver, bracing his foot on the edge of the sofa to get better leverage. "But it doesn't make mine 'crap'."

"I think it'd be even better," said Bill, sliding a hand up Oliver's back, bringing him close enough to mouth his neck, "if you were there all the time."

Pausing in the middle of a contented sound of approval, Oliver used the hands in Bill's hair to force him to look up.

"Sorry, wazzat?"

"I said." Bill smirked, cocky as hell, and overenunciated, "You should lose the crap flat and always be in mine."

Brow furrowed, Oliver blinked and stared.

"I'm sorry," Bill began, his smirk beginning to fade. "It seemed like a good idea at the t--"

Oliver's mouth crashed onto Bill's so hard, he thought he heard teeth clack. One hand hung loosely over Bill's back, fingers still flexing, the other stayed firmly around the nape of his neck.

'S a fuckin' brilliant idea," said Oliver sometime later and with no little difficulty.

BONUS TRACK. The Quidditch Pitch Incident - I Gave Oliver Wood a Wood

Bill somewhat stumbled into the office, grinning stupidly, collar of his shirt pulled high.

"Someone had a good night," observed Sylvianne, his fellow cursebreaker, sometimes partner and full time nosy pain in the arse.

"Heh," was all Bill volunteered. "Maybe so." He slumped into his seat, crossed his boots on his desk and reached for his owl post. Instead, however, he paused midmotion, sat up again, pulled something from his wallet and peered at it.

That was when he noticed that he was still being watched.

"...Can I help you?"

"Probably not," Sylvianne said, craning to see whatever it was he was holding.

He glared at her, and in a series of severe, serious motions, took the creased strip of four small photographs that he'd carried in his wallet since the street fair so many months ago, straightened it and pinned it to the corkboard over his desk.

"Happy now?"

Sylvianne only grinned and leaned in to examine the photos, nodding philosophically. "Well done, William."

After a moment longer, Bill pinched the bridge of his nose and huffed a genuine laugh. "Oh my God. I'm so fucked."

"You're always the last one to know, darling."

She patted his shoulder sympathetically and returned to her desk.

The HP universe belongs to JKR, WB and friends and is totally not mine. Clearly, Josh Hartnett and Keith Urban also belong to themselves, and I'm just borrowing them because they're pretty (though admittedly, my favorite Bill Weasley PB will forever be Damian Lewis)(LOVE. CRIKEY)(Who should then by rights belong to Kingsley, but again, different story)(*COUGH*). Once I saw Keith Urban on eBay and I almost bought him for Juice but then Nicole Kidman beat me to it. So I guess maybe he belongs to her. But I think Josh still belongs to himself. Probably. Dunno. I ended up trading my ~~voice~~ money to the Sea Witch to get legs. Anyway, According to our buddies at RIAA ~~or somewhere similarly fascist~~, you can keep downloaded music for 24 hours without buying it in order to sample it, after that, it self-destructs. You should also know that there's a popping sound before the firebursts here in the forbidden swamp, and that lightning sand looks a lot like bad industrial carpet. R.O.U.S.es, I can't help with. Maybe don't carry cheese around and don't say they don't exist? Walk softly and carry a big stick? HTF would I know? All I know is that they feed on fluff. Good luck with that. DO NOT BLOODY WELL FOLD, SPINDLE OR MUTILATE; THIS IS OUR JUICY'S BIRTHDAY PRESENT. BEWARE, YO.

♥♥♥

corvidae9 — Thu, 16 Aug 2007 07:25:36 GMT

Title: The Prisoner (2 of 4)
Author: corvidae9
Rating: PG13
Word Count: ~8000
Summary: A perfectly good story about quidditch continues to be interrupted by murderers on the loose and bastard upperclassmen. Rude. (Harry, Draco, Hermione, Ron, Pansy, Neville, Hannah, Vince, Greg, Anthony, Daphne, Luna, Remus, Ginny, Fred, George and like a hundred other people that won't shut up)
Warnings: Latest in a series of Switchverse follow-ups, and therefore unrepentantly AU.
Author Notes: Switch!PoA in full 360 degree theater in the round! Now with more ramble! ...It's possible that I'm far too fascinated with this 'verse. juice817 continues to destroy worlds with her awesome beta skillzors. ♥
Disclaimer: No more than one or two very famous lines totally gacked directly from the original Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, but the premise remains. Basically, if you recognize it, it belongs to JKR and her army of publishers, etc. and is nowhere near even resembling belonging to me.
Please note: The series is now on AO3, and any updates after The Prisoner will be posted there exclusively: Switchverse on AO3

Luna grinned hugely up at Remus, who was regarding her with equal amounts fascination and amusement.

"--And you say it's temporary," he said, crossing his arms and setting his closed fist against his chin.

"Yes, sir," She nodded, her normally blond hair now bright scarlet streaked with gold to match her Gryffindor scarf. "Designed specifically to last 8 hours, give or take an hour or so. It's been tested extensively."

"I see. And part of your marketing plan was to make the faculty aware that you're selling these 'Rocktop Taffies' without permission?"

"You're a Gryffindor, too, Professor." Luna just continued to beam. "It only seemed fair."

"Quite right, Miss Lovegood." Remus laughed. How could he not? He fished in his pocket, counted out four sickles and dropped them in her hand. "I'll take a small pack, but you can keep the change if you promise to see what you can do about convincing Mr. Potter to do the same."

"Oh, I couldn't take your money for that, Professor," Luna said earnestly, looking over to where Fred and George were busily taunting the Hufflepuff team. "There's already a plan in place for that. Whether it succeeds or not remains to be seen."

Remus laughed again and muttered, "Brilliant. Then keep it to forget we had this conversation."

Luna handed him the small packet of striped candy with a solemn nod. "What conversation?" she asked airily and walked away.

Still grinning, Remus peered at his reflection in a nearby suit of armor and popped one of the taffies into his mouth, idly wondering if the raucous color would cover the gray. James and Peter would have approved, he thought. He tried to shove away the thought of anyone else who might've agreed, but he could hear Sirius laughing uproariously in the back of his head and it made his stomach turn uneasily.

Being back at Hogwarts had been far more difficult than he'd expected. Every corner and secret passage held a memory that both warmed and ached. Every time he saw Harry, he wanted to pull him aside and talk to him about his parents; tell him stories that the Muggles who raised him would never have known, and did not, for fear of... well. For fear.

He set his feet back on the path toward the Pitch and knew exactly the moment the candy kicked in by the snickering and cheering that erupted from the students he walked past. Once he made his way up into the stand where much of the faculty sat, however, the reaction became more of a scandalized murmur.

"Toffee?" he offered once he took possession of the space that Minerva had saved for him, holding the bag in her direction. She stared at him over the top of her glasses, raising an unimpressed eyebrow as she took in the color of his hair.

"Did you get them from the Weasley twins?"

"Miss Lovegood, actually."

"Same difference," Minerva scoffed.

"I've noticed," said Remus with a grin. He took another sweet and leaned forward to see the person seated to Minerva's right. "Severus? Would you like one?"

Snape paused, glared first as if to make sure it was sufficiently venomous, and then turned the glare on Remus.

"That is the most ridiculous question I have yet to hear this week, and damnably, I've been surrounded by children for most of it. Congratulations."

Remus popped the sweet into his mouth and lifted an eyebrow. "That's a 'no'?"

Snape didn't bother to answer-- he merely sneered and returned his attention to the Pitch. Minerva elbowed Remus discreetly in the process of resettling her cloak and shot him a sideways glance that failed utterly to appear to be anything but amused.

Just as Remus crumpled the empty packet into his pocket, Lee Jordan arrived breathless, sheepishly shaking the rain off of his scarf as he grinned at Minerva.

"Sorry I'm late, Professor McGonagall," he huffed. "Bit of trouble getting here."

"I'll just bet, Mr. Jordan," she said, stern as she handed him the enchanted megaphone. "Next time, I'll commentate the game myself."

"No need, ma'am. Thank you," Lee said with a grin, not dampened at all as she waggled her finger at him.

"Watch yourself. Do not slander or abuse the other team or their House, do not call their flying into question, do not incite the crowd or take it upon yourself to call fouls; merely call the plays, if you would." He nodded enthusiastically and she added, "I'm watching you."

Lee continued to nod and assure her that he understood. When Minerva was through, he switched it on and turned to face the crowd.

"Good morning, Hogwarts! Welcome to the first game of the quidditch season! Today, We're pitting the might of Gryffindor against the badgers of Hufflepuff house, who are hoping that their golden lineup can manage to follow up last year's record-breaking season; a feat that in fact, Gryffindor is about to render completely impossible to achieve as they prepare to wallop Hufflepuff mercilessly."

"Oh for--" Minerva sighed though she made no move to stop him. "Merlin help us all."

Partially sodden from the patchy rain that had been falling on and off and in occasional torrents, Remus couldn't help but grin as he pulled his collar up against the light drizzle and an early November wind that was beginning to take on a vicious bite.

###

Just after match began, the rain began to pour down in earnest, and not a spectator was left untouched as the winds pushed the water under awnings and turned umbrellas inside out. The quidditch players over the Pitch were wearing waterproofed cloaks and insulated gear, but the storm was raging hard enough that it didn't matter, soaking through uniforms and gloves and down into shin guards that just grew heavier as the game wore on.

Harry didn't envy Cedric the job Seeking today at all. Not that he ever really did, but today he knew the Snitch was going to be utterly impossible to locate in these conditions. As it stood, it was impossible enough to see and keep hold of the quaffle, dark as it was, if far larger. The score stood at 20-10 Gryffindor and both teams were flying as reasonably well as they could under the present conditions when Harry intercepted the quaffle on a pass that involved his, Draco and Ian's threading between the Gryffindor Chasers. Not the safest move at best, it had probably been tantamount to insanity with the visibility being what it was, and Lee didn't hesitate to point that out.

The Hufflepuff Chasers however, paid no attention. They picked up formation right away and proceeded in a beeline toward the Gryffindor goals. As they approached, they split further apart using a complex crossover in which Harry handed the quaffle off to Draco, who handed it off to Ian as their paths intersected. Harry headed straight for Wood at the center hoop anyway, hoping that the weather would be with them and helping to keep Wood from knowing which hoop to block, but Wood's instincts were dead on. He dove for the quaffle that Ian tossed and Harry swore as he overflew the hoop, wheeling around to begin again.

When he did, he found himself face to face with a person-shape he hadn't seen coming.

The screaming in his head started before he could do anything to avoid it, and the storm closed in around his unconscious form as it fell earthward unimpeded.

###

When Harry's eyes opened again, he couldn't immediately place where he might be, nor where the pounding in his head originated. There was an insistent susurration swirling around him that might be more than one person speaking, but he couldn't quite be certain from behind the gradually fading curtain of bees.

He hazarded one eye open and a warm hand landed on his wrist. All he managed to say was, "Bzuh?" Again.

"Oh good, you're awake," said Hermione quietly.

The business of waking up with a headache and the certainty that something was very wrong was beginning to wear on Harry. He might have said so, except the memory of what he'd been doing before he'd passed out in the face of creeping despair intruded upon his senses.

Harry sat bolt upright and said, "The match. What happened?" Though the move set his head swimming momentarily, he could see that there was a small crowd gathered round; the Hufflepuff team still in sodden and somewhat bedraggled robes, as well as half the Gryffindor team in the same condition. Ron, Pansy Hermione, Neville, Crabbe and Goyle-- not the 'small' crowd at all, perhaps, all looking a little abashed at the question.

"I caught the Snitch!" said Hannah with some enthusiasm, elliciting a groan from the assembled Hufflepuffs.

"Diggory can blame it on being distracted by your impending death, if he needs to," said Wood He was standing behind and to the right of the Seeker in question, patting Cedric's shoulder heavily twice before leaving it in place there. "We won't begrudge it him this time."

Cedric glared over his shoulder. "Malfoy and Cadwallader went after you, Harry, but--

"We couldn't get past the Dementors," said Ian, apologetic.

Harry blinked, taking in the fact that they'd lost the game and it was his fault, and taking only the barest bit of comfort in the fact that he was alive to hear the story. "Then how--"

Standing next to Ian, Draco was holding what appeared to be a length of wood. His hair was a darker shade of blond than usual, still wet and at odd angles across his forehead, though it didn't do much to cover his own scowl.

"Dumbledore. He used a spell to catch you on the way and slow your fall. The rest of the professors managed to dispel the Dementors--" he tossed whatever he'd been holding lightly over Harry's lap, "--and your broom was blown directly into the bloody, sodding Whomping Willow."

Harry stared, ashen-faced at what had been part of the handle of his Nimbus 2000, cracked messily no more than half a meter from the end.

"No one thought to Summon it until after it became kindling," Draco added, accusation clear in his tone, as though someone within hearing range could be held responsible for the destruction.

"They were busy worrying about Harry, too," said Fred definitively.

"I told Fred here that you'd bounce, at any rate," retorted George.

"Or would have said, if we'd been watching you instead of Diggory," shrugged Fred and suddenly he and George became their own wall of conversation.

"Everyone watches Diggory."

"Bloody unfair, is what."

"He's all flash."

"We're far better-looking."

"At any rate, bouncing or not, the panic was overrated."

"Not like anyone was going to let you actually die of a case of quidditch."

"If it'd been Ron, though--"

"--He'd probably be dead meat."

"Not that that should worry you," said George with an elbow to Ron's back.

"You've got two weeks until it's your turn to figure out how to outrun them," agreed Fred. Ron shot them a dark look, but Pansy beat him to the response.

"Would you two please shut up?" she said in such a way that made it clearly not a request. "Harry, are you alright?"

Fred and George made faces that screamed of mock intimidation, dramatically zipping their lips and tossing aside the imaginary keys, but Harry was still staring at the broken bit of his broom. Ron nudged Harry's shin guard with the back of his hand and murmured, "Mate?"

"Yeah," mumbled Harry, though it couldn't be further from the truth. "I'm fine."

###

It had been a week since the disastrous match, which meant a week to the Hufflepuff/Ravenclaw match, all of which in turn was wreaking havoc with the internal dynamics of the group of friends gathered under the clock in preparation for the trip into Hogsmeade. While Filch droned on about permission slips and old-fashioned punishments, they fidgeted and rambled, one conspicuous member short.

"Where's Potter?" asked Hannah, hands stuffed deep in the pockets of her sweatshirt, hood pulled up and well over her head. Vince and Greg nodded from their customary bookend positions around her.

"Sulking somewhere in the castle, likely," answered Pansy. "His uncle wouldn't sign his permission slip."

"Ugh," mumbled Hannah.

Draco nodded in assent and added, "Muggles," in place of a curse word.

Fortunately, Hermione took no note, whispering as she was to Ron in a disturbingly conspiratorial fashion, stopping now and then to bat at Neville with what must be particularly distracting ideas.

"If you're plotting you'd best be including us," said Draco, draping a casual arm around Pansy's shoulders. Just then, the clock struck ten, signaling time to set out on the path toward the village, and the crowd around them began to mill more intently. Pansy wrapped her arm around Draco's waist and squeezed him tight for a moment, then slipped away.

"Not me," she grinned, taking hold of Neville's elbow. "I have business to attend to, and I'll require Neville's assistance."

Both Neville and Draco sputtered, Draco's hands thrown up in a violent shrug. Pansy blithely continued, stepping up her pace, forcing Neville to keep up. "It won't be long. We'll meet you at noon? The Three Broomsticks for lunch?"

"Ok!" said Hannah, stepping up and waving them on without concern, thumping Draco with her elbow in the process. "No worries, Malfoy. Quality Quidditch Hogsmeade just got in their new stock for the season."

Ron perked from as far away as he was, and Hermione groaned.

"But the Shrieking Shack--"

"But-- quidditch," said Ron, looking torn for a moment, then lighting up with a new idea. "Come with us. We'll do both."

Hermione tossed her braid over her shoulder and crossed her arms. "Oh, whatever. I'm perfectly capable of going on my own."

Vince and Greg exchanged a look.

"We want to go to the Shack," said Vince.

"Supposed to be the most haunted place in Hogsmeade," agreed Greg.

"There we have it," said Draco, though his eyes strayed to where Neville and Pansy were far enough ahead of them to disappear around the bend in the road. "Everyone's happy. Except Potter, which is probably the way of the world."

"And we'll still meet at noon for lunch?" said Ron, hopefully, cracking a bit of a wheedling grin. "Come on, Hermione. You know you don't want to put up with the lot of us at Quality Quidditch."

"Fine." Hermione's expression softened ever so slightly. "Yes, I suppose that'll work."

###

Harry wasn't sulking. Mostly. Mostly because he was determined to put the time alone to good use.

At about the time his friends were finding their way to Hogsmeade, he was knocking on Professor Lupin's office door, the lack of response cementing in his mind the certainty that the professor was among the throng heading for town. After his third set of unanswered knocks, Harry grimaced and turned away, closer to sulking than he had been to begin with. He was halfway down the corridor by the time he heard the door open behind him, and stopped short when Professor Lupin cleared his throat and said, "Hello?"

"Yes! Professor Lupin, hello!" called Harry, jogging faster at the 'thud' of what sounded like a second door closing in the direction he was heading. "Wait--" he faltered, brow furrowed when he saw that the door was still open. "Err..."

"Harry," Lupin smiled a little abashed, casting a very brief glance over his shoulder and running a hand through his hair. "My apologies. I was in the middle of rather engrossing research. Was there something you needed?"

"I, yes." Harry said, hands jammed down in his pockets. "I was wondering. Is there--" he frowned, searching for the right words, and when he found them, they were earnest with the barest touch of desperation. "Can you teach me how to defend myself from the Dementors? Do what you did on the train, and on the Pitch?"

"I... could. It's advanced magic, but..." Lupin peered at him, suddenly far more serious than he had been. "Yes. I think I should try."

"Good," said Harry, nodding. "Now?"

"I do happen to be free." Lupin smiled ruefully. "Meet me in--" his brow creased in thought, "--half an hour in the Defense classroom. I need to gather together the necessary supplies."

"Ok." Harry's expression became an infectious grin and he began to back away. "Thank you, Professor."

Rushing off as he was, Harry didn't hear Lupin's sigh, nor his quiet mutter of, "Don't thank me just yet."

###

"...You're joking."

"Not at all," Pansy beamed. "I've taken lessons here every summer for five years. Mother thinks the area is declassé, but Madam Sophie attended Beauxbatons with my aunt and boasts impressive credentials that even Mother can't argue with."

Neville looked up and down the cobbled side street off of the Hogsmeade high street as though afraid of being caught. "I know. I've been in some of the same lessons." A knock on the large window from the inside caught his attention and he looked up to find a familiar face smiling and waving them in.

"I know. That's why you're here."

"But - my Gran made me." He looked a little embarrassed as he quoted the woman. "She's says it's something at which all gentlemen of good breeding should be proficient." He shrugged. "It's not like I wanted to."

"But you like it," insisted Pansy.

"I--" said Neville lamely, still looking pained, but unable to deny it. "Sort of?"

"I won't tell. Now come dance."

He shot another look up and down the street as Pansy hauled him through the door.

"Tante Sophie!" Pansy said, greeting their instructor with a kiss to each cheek. "Thank you so much for agreeing to the private lesson. Ballroom, I think?" She held up Neville's hand. "I brought a partner!"

###

Harry was slumped over a book at the Hufflepuff table in the Great Hall, sleeping soundly, glasses askew and mouth open when the groups of students began filtering back from Hogsmeade. Platters of bread and raw vegetables and water pitchers began to appear up and down the length of the table save for a space left around him. Thoughtfully, a small pillow had appeared under his tousled head.

"What d'you suppose he's been doing all day?" whispered Adri leaning over Harry's left side, head tilted in confusion and poking at his ear ever so lightly. Harry only twitched.

"Dunno. What do third years do when left to their own devices all day long?" answered Jin, leaning over Harry's right side and tucking a bit of carrot stick into his collar.

"I knew Potter was trying to keep pace with his brainiac friends, but it never seemed that difficult for him. And spending a Hogsmeade Saturday revising?" said Adri with a frown, trying to balance a celery stick on top of his mop of hair, and then another. "That's just not right."

"You know his family didn't sign his permission slip," said Jin, settling a warm bun on Harry's shoulder. "That's why he was stuck here." Adri raised her eyes to meet his, clearly scandalized while she added another celery stick.

"What kind of monsters would do that to a lad?!"

Jin shrugged and eyed the mustard. "All I know is they're Muggles."

Still horrified, Adri wrinkled her nose and tilted her chin up. "Oi. I have some of those. I like 'em just fine."

"I don't have a problem with them," said Jin with yet another shrug while beginning the delicate process of dangling a bit of broccoli into Harry's open mouth. "I'm just telling what I know."

Cedric strolled by the opposite side of the table with Oliver and a handful of mixed Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors in tow, casually dropping a squeaking ice mouse on the back of Harry's neck with an offhand, "Reveille, Potter."

Harry woke with a shocked inhale and scrabbled at his collar, though the motion only caused the chilly candy to slide down the back of his shirt.

"What?! Gah! Ack!" he sputtered over the laughter around him, contorting to try and retrieve the mouse from his clothing while simultaneously attempting to swat at the brief rain of hors d'oeuvres cascading down his arms and off of his head.

"So rude," said Hermione glaring at a retreating Jin and Adri, who were still bursting with laughter. "Hold still," she grumbled and in one swift move, untucked the back of Harry's flannel and undershirt, shaking until the mouse fell out.

Swearing, Harry jumped again and turned, batting her hands away. "Wh--! Ice! Hermione?"

She stood hipshot while the ice mouse was left to melt slowly on the stones between them, Hannah and Ron behind her nearly out of sight as they were doubled over with laughter. Draco snickered while Pansy looked sufficiently unimpressed and Neville smirked unsettlingly.

"Morning, Harry," deadpanned Hermione. "Bored without us?"

"No, actually," Harry said, rubbing at his eyes and brushing ineffectually at the final carrot that fell out of his collar. "Why would you think that?"

###

"You're going to have to teach us next, mate," said Ron not too much later from across the Ravenclaw table where they'd all ended up for dinner.

"I read about Patronuses after what happened on the train," said Hermione, peering at Harry and looking more than a little impressed. "It's supposed to be really advanced magic. I understand they teach it in NEWT-level Defense. And you managed one? Fully formed?"

Harry pushed a potato onto his plate with a little shrug. "Yeah. Took a few tries, though." He shrugged with a self-deprecating little laugh. "A lot. I passed out a couple of times too. It was bloody well exhausting."

"Now imagine how quickly we'll pick it up since we won't be fainting left and right," said Draco, reaching for a pitcher of pumpkin juice.

"Sod off, Malfoy," said Harry, though he wasn't actually frowning.

Smirking, Draco kicked Harry under the table. "Watch it, or we won't share the loot."

"Ron's right," said Pansy, unfolding her napkin across her lap. "We should all learn. Those things are surrounding the castle grounds, and there's no telling when they'll decide to drop in for a visit again."

"Fine." Harry shrugged. "Can we start tomorrow?"

"Excellent," Hermione said and began on her soup.

A lone owl made its way across the enchanted ceiling, swooping low and dropping a letter in front of Draco without a pause. He frowned, squinted to read it, and then visibly paled as he shoved it in his pocket. All Harry saw was the ornate letter 'M' on the seal.

"What's that, now?" asked Hannah with interest, craning her neck to see.

"Nothing," Draco said, catching Harry's eye briefly, all the amusement gone from his face.

"Ooooh," said Hannah, nudging Hermione. "One of those letters."

"I said it was none of your business," Draco snapped. The group fell quiet and Draco didn't bother trying to cover for it. Harry cleared his throat.

"Erm. Where are Greg and Vince?" asked Harry.

"Greg's family met them in town for dinner," said Hannah, still somewhat glaring at Draco. "I guess it was his mum's birthday?"

It was Pansy's turn to frown and exchange a look with Draco.

"What?" asked Hannah, beginning to sound annoyed.

"Nothing," said Pansy, poking at her dinner. "I'd forgotten, is all. I'm sure my mother sent a gift."

"You should have seen Honeydukes, Harry," said Ron. It may have otherwise seemed a total lack of social grace, but his gaze lingered too long on Hermione's fidgeting hands, and his tone was too loudly disingenuous to be anything but a distraction.

"Oh!" said Hermione, reaching into her bag. "Of course!" She thumped down a brown bag in front of Harry with a crooked smile. "You've already met the ice mice, but there were so many amazing sweets, we couldn't decide what to bring you."

Harry glanced from one to the other and couldn't help but return the smile, dropping his fork to peer into the bag. "Yeah?" He turned it out onto the tabletop, picked out a chocolate frog and tossed it unerringly and without an upward glance to Draco, who caught it much the same way. The bright contents shifted as he poked through them and muttered, "what's this?"

It was a packet of... something that seemed to squirm and wiggle on its own, and Hannah giggled.

"Ok, that's just mean."

Grinning, Ron and Hermione pointed at one another without hesitation and said at roughly the same time, "That was your idea."

"Give me those," said Pansy, tugging them out of Harry's hand. "Bleeeccch. They taste lovely, but they don't stop wiggling." Harry's brow furrowed and she added pointedly, "Ever. Not even once they've exited your system."

"Oh," said Harry, until it dawned on him what she meant. "Oh! Ugh."

"Exactly. I thought they'd stopped selling them to students."

Ron shrugged. "We have ways."

"Excuse me!" said Pansy to a passing second year. "Creevey is it? I'm afraid we've got too much candy, would you like some?"

Wiggling gummy worms in hand, Colin dashed off after a round of effusive thanks. Harry watched with open-mouthed amusement.

"Ugh."

"He will never, ever learn," mused Hermione.

"And it will never stop being funny," added Draco unexpectedly, abandoning all pretense of a silent, brooding dinner in favor of the chocolate in hand.

Harry relaxed a little in his seat and held up another bizarrely familiar sweet. "Alright. How about this?"

###

"Harry. Wake up, Harry, something terrible's happened!"

Harry stirred and half-asleep, groped for his glasses. He shoved himself up on one elbow and squinted.

"Goldstein? What time is it?"

Anthony nodded quickly, his face pale. "Half three. Someone broke into the Ravenclaw common room and tried to kill Ron Weasley. They're saying it was Sirius Black."

No longer lacking in coordination, Harry vaulted from his bed and slammed directly into Draco.

"Potter! Calm down."

"He killed my parents!" snarled Harry, doing his groggy best to get away. Draco shook him once.

"Yes, and he'll kill you too. Where's your wand?"

Backing down just a touch, Harry scrubbed a hand down his face. "Sirius Black is in the castle."

"Maybe. And if he was, he's probably long gone," said Draco.

Harry bristled and shoved him away. "Then I'll f--"

The door of the dormitory burst open and Madley, the seventh year prefect, called authoritatively, "Shoes, suitable pyjamas and wands; be in the common room in two minutes, this is not a drill."

Anthony looked terrified. "Oh God. This is not good."

"Shut up," both Harry and Draco said in unison, still not completely reconciled with Anthony over the Buckbeak incident. Anthony didn't seem to notice, already fumbling with his shoes.

"Fine," said Harry, grabbing for his Weasley jumper and yanking it on over his worn and oversized pyjama top. "I won't do a bloody thing."

"Good."

"Great," said Harry, slamming the drawer of his nightstand, wand now gripped tightly in hand.

Draco brandished his own wand in Harry's direction, heedlessly spilling a shower of agitated black and gold sparks in its wake. "If I thought he was anywhere we could catch up with him and not get killed doing it--"

"We?" asked Harry, shoving it aside. "This is my fight, Malfoy. You can stay out of it all you want."

"I'm already a disgrace to the bloody family, I'm not letting you go after a mad Death Eater on your own," Draco hissed.

Harry's eyebrows knit in confusion. "Huh?"

The door slammed open again and Anthony shot to his feet, shouting, "Ready!"

"Common room. Now," said Madley. "If you're missing when Professor Sprout calls roll, it's a week's detention."

Draco cocked his head toward the door after Anthony. Harry frowned and went.

"This isn't over," he whispered as they joined the crowd rushing down the corridor toward the common room.

"Trust me," grumbled Draco. "I know."

###

Once in the Great Hall, Harry and Draco scanned the room for Ron and Pansy, slipping away when the double queue of Hufflepuffs became more of a loose group. Pansy found them first, barreling into Draco without warning.

"He was in the tower," she said with a thinly disguised edge of hysteria as she pulled away from the hug. "Sirius Black."

Harry was still scanning the crowd. "Where's Ron? Is he alright?"

"Yes," Pansy nodded shakily. "He's with Flitwick and Dumbledore; there's--"

"Hey," said Hermione, appearing behind them. "We got away as soon as we could."

Neville circled around Harry, reached for Pansy's hand and squeezed it briefly, earning him a glare from Draco.

"Was it really Ron he came after?" Neville asked quietly.

Pansy nodded again, gaining composure in the retelling. "The tapestry near the common room entrance was shredded; so were the drapes on Ron's bed, but nothing else." She shrugged. "Black... Why would he go after Ron? He had a knife. Black could've killed him."

They stared blankly at one another for a long moment until Hermione ventured, "We were all at the Ravenclaw table at dinner... maybe he was already in the castle then? Watching..."

"...Because he was looking for me," said Harry, voice flat. Hermione nodded.

"Back to your houses, please," said Percy Weasley, holding his wand aloft in their direction. "Order must be maintained, no exception. You can gossip about it tomorrow."

"But-" said Hermione, only to be cut off.

"No exceptions. Not even for you. Move along."

Reluctantly the knot of friends broke apart and headed for separate corners. Hannah waved lamely from the section of the Great Hall currently earmarked for the Gryffindors, only receiving a few half-hearted waves in return.

Harry and Draco retreated to the Hufflepuff corner before anyone knew they'd been gone.

###

"Hey," whispered Harry across the short distance between his squashy sleeping bag and Draco's. The professors had been switching off between patrolling the rows of students bedded down under the Great Hall's enchanted ceiling and going out to secure the rest of the castle, and the last set of short, quick footsteps had just died away.

Only one gray eye was visible when Draco pulled the edge of the sleeping bag down.

"What?"

"What was that about, earlier?"

Draco managed to convey utter contempt with just that one eye as he muttered, "Your godfather trying to kill you and going after a Weasley instead because he's barking mad?"

Harry flinched, but didn't respond in kind, knowing he'd never get an answer otherwise.

"No, git. About your family."

"None of your business," Draco answered, and even the one eye was blocked from sight as he tugged up on the bag. "Go to sleep."

"Wait," said Harry, hazarding a quick look around before reaching out and tugging back down on Draco's bag, sick of the stonewall when it came to the topic. "Draco. What's going on?"

"It's... complicated," said Draco, a combination of angry, exasperated and defeated, rolling onto his side to better address Harry. "Not to mention entirely y--"

"Mister Malfoy," interrupted Snape, though the light from his wand seemed louder than anything he could have said. An unseen hand shoved Draco back down into the sleeping bag as Snape continued. "If you must suffer from insomnia, keep it to yourself or I will personally find for you adequate medication to control it." The light swung on Harry, who had to shut his eyes to keep from being blinded. "And you, Mister Potter, will keep your hands to yourself."

A smattering of quiet laughter from various points around them signaled that not everyone was asleep, though when the light from Snape's wand disappeared, so did all the sound in the area. Harry glared vaguely in Snape's direction, his attention drawn back at the small 'whoomf' of Draco rolling onto his back in the sleeping bag and covering his face with his arm. Without meaning to, Harry mirrored the move, though after a second, he pulled his forearm away from his eyes and stared at the stars above-- stars he'd never seen the like of until his first night at Hogwarts. It didn't seem as though it had only been two years.

Harry watched for a long while before he finally fell asleep.

###

"I hear Snape caught y--"

"Finish that sentence," said Draco to a Hannah whose braids were askew and a little fuzzy if still intact early the next morning, "and I will personally hex you ten ways from tomorrow. Possibly eleven, points and detention be damned." His eyes fell on Greg standing nearby with a ratty stuffed bear under one arm, and he lifted a single questioning eyebrow.

Greg shoved the bear at Hannah with Seeker-like speed. "I was only holding it for her."

Vince looked like he wanted to say something but had changed his mind and was moving on to the deep and weighty contemplation of impending breakfast. The tables finally rematerialized, but before everyone could take a seat, Dumbledore's voice rang out loudly over the room.

"The castle has been unequivocably declared free of any intruders. All students please take your place at your own tables in order by year. You will be allowed back into your common rooms and dormitories once the meal is concluded."

Hannah grimaced and rolled her eyes. "Fine. Ten o'clock in the library? I'll tell Hermione and Neville, you get Pansy and Ron."

"I've got it," murmured Harry, thumping Vince's shoulder as he walked away, circling the table the long way around to bump into Ron, who was at the center of a chattering group of Ravenclaws. At least, it was what passed for 'chattering' in Ravenclaw, which still precluded Harry's passing on the message. He found Pansy instead and leaned quickly over her shoulder.

"Library, ten. Bring Ron." He paused and took a better look at her. "Alright?"

After the barest nod to indicate she'd heard, Pansy cocked her chin at an angle that spoke volumes for just how 'alright' she was pretending to be and how ridiculous the question seemed. "Lovely," she said, already walking away. "Enjoy your breakfast."

Harry sighed and continued on a path that took him around near enough to the Head Table to see Professor Lupin sitting at his usual place, suddenly turning to scowl at Professor Snape to his right. Harry couldn't catch what had been said, but all Lupin did next was set his jaw and turn away.

"Potter. Find your mates," snapped Madley, and Harry's attention came right back to doing just that, finally dropping into the space that had been automatically left open across from Draco.

On Harry's left, Anthony was peering at his empty plate and muttering under his breath.

"Either Sirius Black was really in the castle or this is an elaborate dream, and if this is an elaborate dream then either my mum's scones and jam will appear any moment now, or else a bowl full of piranhas." He kept staring. "Aaaany moment now."

Instead, the usual assortment of breakfast foods appeared and though he was still perturbed, Harry did the only thing he could. He took a warm roll and tossed it to Draco with a weak smirk, then elbowed Anthony so that he would look up and present a better target.

###

Luna and Ginny sat in the Ravenclaw stands the following Saturday, each wearing their own house colors without conflict.

"I was so glad to hear Ronald made the team," asserted Luna with a nod, offering a glaring Ginny her bag of popcorn.

"Stupid. It's so unfair that he got a broom," Ginny grumbled. She took a handful and shoved it into her mouth, chewing and muttering, "mpfffngg sffohdnng bruvvr."

Unperturbed, Luna tilted her head as the Hufflepuff Chasers zoomed by, though admittedly, Harry had less 'zoom' than usual on the school broom he was using. "Who's to say you won't get one, too?"

Ginny slumped and swallowed hard, her eyes nominally on the action over the Pitch. "I'm working on my older brothers. Maybe for ohmygod--" she cut herself off and stood with the rest of the 'ooohing' crowd, dragging Luna by the elbow so suddenly the popcorn fell off of her lap and onto the bleachers below. Ginny didn't notice; she was busy pointing at the Ravenclaw goals. "Did you see that? That's my idiot brother!"

Luna cheered the spectacular save enthusiastically, though she cheered just as loudly when Hufflepuff rallied and scored past Ron, and yet again when he stopped another goal, and once again when Cedric Diggory cut Cho Chang off in a scary sort of dive that looked as though he might fall and plucked the Snitch right out of the air not five inches from her blue-lacquered fingernails.

###

"Pay up Hermione," said Neville, still applauding as Diggory made a victory lap of the Pitch, Snitch in hand.

Hermione swore mildly under her breath, though she too applauded Hufflepuff's victory. Hannah nudged her and muttered, "I wouldn't have taken that bet. Diggory would have to be dead for Chang to get one over on him. She's too busy staring at his arse."

This time Hermione flushed and elbowed her back, digging through her pocket once the applause died away. "Here," she said, dropping a shiny Galleon in Neville's pocket. "Well-played. Don't spend it all in one place."

"I'm sure that was an illegal move," said Pansy, frowning, the sole Ravenclaw in the Gryffindor stands. "Diggory shouldn't be allowed to nearly decapitate opposing players, no matter how dashing he looks while doing so. It's just... bad form!"

"These games are hard to watch," remarked Vince. Everyone turned their attention on him, but it was Greg that spoke next.

"Hard to pick who to cheer for." He grinned at Hannah. "I like it better when you're playing."

"Don't say that to Draco," said Pansy. "Not that I give a toss, since his team should by all rights have been crushed, but we don't need to start any more undue strife."

Neville laughed, took hold of her shoulders and steered toward the stairs while she pretended to rail further against the cheating Hufflepuffs (or perhaps she wasn't pretending). Hannah hopped lightly up onto the bench seat and made Greg give her a piggyback ride, her blond head easily visible over the crowd as she called for inconsequential passersby to 'make way or else' while Vince followed, still cheering on general principle. Hermione managed to lose them in the temporary crush, but wasn't concerned. They'd all be making their way toward the general direction of the locker rooms, and she could meet them there. Lost in thought, she stood back and let the main body of students make their way down the stairs before she even bothered joining the stragglers.

As she stepped off of the last wooden step, a pair of hands grabbed her from behind and swung her around the side of the stands, under the red and gold fabric and released her at full momentum, sending her sprawling onto the patchy turf.

"Ow, oof!" she grunted as she hit the ground, scrabbling to reorient herself and stand. Another pair of hands shoved her back down roughly before she even got a look at the first assailant.

"Jumped-up Mudblood," hissed a voice she knew was being disguised, though when she shoved the hair out of her face and rolled to her knees again, this time wand in hand, there was no one to be seen. Disgusted and a little afraid, she spelled the mud out of her clothes and tied her hair up again.

Her left hand went to the small lump under her jumper halfway down her chest, and she considered the pendant carefully. Just one turn and she could wait here, find out who it had been and put a stop to them. Maybe leave them tied to a post wearing the ears of a jackass they so deserved.

Instead, she sighed heavily and moved to peer out from under the flap of heavy canvas to ascertain that it was safe to make her way back out to her friends. There was a good reason she had been given a Time Turner. She could be responsible, make wise decisions, use it only for schoolwork, prove that Slytherins could be trusted.

When Hermione rounded the south side of the Pitch, she could hear Tracey's grating snickers from somewhere nearby. Hermione tightened her fists further and repeated all those things to herself once again.

###

Harry slumped on the common room sofa furthest from the center of the raging victory party, empty bottle in hand. He didn't even start when Draco landed roughly against the back of the same sofa with enough velocity that it was certain he'd been shoved, though he wasn't complaining. He dangled a fresh butterbeer in front of Harry, peering sideways as he spoke.

"Did you miss it? We won. I know you're slow, but--"

Scowling, Harry took it, muttering thanks, but didn't take a drink.

"No, seriously. It was fantastic. I smoked the Weasel and then Diggory took out Chang. Hello?"

"No thanks to me," said Harry with a sulky exhale. Privately, he was mulling over and over the thought that his friends were probably lucky to be alive at all no thanks to him as well.

Draco stared at him as though he'd grown a third eye. "Even on that ancient piece of firewood, you fly better than most of the Ravenclaw team combined. Stop feeling sorry for yourself, it's annoying."

"I can't even get into town to buy a new broom! How am I going to fly like this the rest of the year?"

"Look, you're scaring the firsties," said Draco, cocking his head in some direction other than himself.

Harry turned to look and was rewarded with what felt like a pitcher of ice water pouring over his head.

"Gah-ah-ah!" he shouted, jumping to his feet, but Draco was long gone amidst a sea of happy faces and a localized tide of laughter. "That's it!"

He vaulted the sofa back and hit the ground running, cutting through the crowd to the dormitory stairs and swearing as he raced up to the dorms. The door was half-open, and he paused, choosing to peer in rather than crash through it in case of a surprise attack.

An owl was dropping another letter into Draco's hands. Harry shoved a lock of wet hair out of his eyes in time to see Draco tear it in half without reading it and toss it into the hearth. Harry scowled, wondering what if anything he could do about it if Draco refused to talk about it, and came up blank.

Then, Harry made as much noise as he could shoving the door open and stomping in, pointing and growling, "You are so paying for that."

###

They were all on a keener edge than they had been as of late. Hermione was still making a habit of dashing about and appearing from nowhere. Ron had been trying not to obsess over his lost first match as Ravenclaw Keeper on the heels of his attempted murder. Draco was snappish and tense every time the post arrived, refusing to even mention the contents. Hannah amused herself by constantly plotting some revenge on the Slytherins, and Neville found ways of reminding her to be more subtle while pointing out how best to strike. The only ones who seemed unaffected seemed Greg and Vince, who always offered up awkward greetings and then proceeded to be alternately amused by the chaos around them and frustrated by increasingly difficult revision.

Harry and Draco headed straight for the Gryffindor table that Saturday morning, right to where Hannah, Vince, Greg, Hermione and Neville were already seated, grim-faced and quiet. At first, Harry slumped down facing Hannah, muttered oblivious and sleepy good mornings, then took stock of the situation.

"...What happened?"

Hermione held out a bit of rough parchment bearing a message in what could only be Hagrid's handwriting. Harry held it up and Draco read over his arm, and both were quiet for a long moment.

"They sentenced Buckbeak to death?" asked Harry.

"Good riddance," shrugged Draco and set to serving himself from the trays at hand. When it became evident that only Vince and Greg were also doing so, he paused and looked up, toast in hand. "What?"

"It's not fair to pass judgment on Buckbeak for something that's not his fault," said Hermione, crossing her arms.

"Goldstein provoked him, and you know it," added Harry.

Draco set his forearm down on the table. "That's all well and good but I'm the one that was nearly killed and if there's one less monster in the world, oh well."

"He's not a monster, Draco," Hermione said, drowning out anything else that might've been said. "He's a creature, and he isn't responsible for what he did!"

"Then they ought to sack Hagrid and be done with it," said Draco. "But either way, I'm not fussed."

Their voices to were beginning to rise to a level that was attracting attention, but it didn't stop Hermione from saying, "It was just a scratch!"

Draco's toast hit his plate with an audible clank.

"I couldn't bloody well use my arm for a week! Snape made Longbottom do my prep work and then deducted points from both of us for being too sloppy. I could've been thrown off of the team for missing the trials. Quidditch, Granger!"

Neville's head snapped up at mention of his name, but he didn't say anything. He didn't get a chance-- Hermione was already on her feet and practically snarling over the table.

"At least you're still alive."

Draco sneered, egging her on. "Not for long if Professor Halfbreed has his way about it."

It happened without warning. Hermione pulled her hand back and slapped Draco hard across his cheek, and everyone in earshot gasped. Draco set a hand over the stinging mark, his eyes narrowed and on Hermione.

"You'll pay for that, M--"

Harry's hand closed over Draco's other forearm with a threatening sound. "Don't."

"Why don't you just owl your father and see if he can do anything about that, too?" Hermione said, snatching up her bag, stepping over the bench and stomping away past Ron and Pansy who had come up just in time to see the end of the scene play out.

Neville directed what was almost a glare in Draco's direction and stood, too. "I'll go."

"What the devil just happened?" said Ron as Neville followed Hermione out, grimacing in confusion.

Draco shook Harry's hand off and stood next. "We're all bemoaning the fate of Hagrid's pet monster and I'm playing the part of the villain." He shoved his plate loudly into whatever was nearest and walked away. Harry rolled his eyes and swore.

"Well?" said Pansy, cocking her head after Draco.

"What?" Harry shrugged. "He's not going to listen to me. I've tried."

"Oh for-- Potter. Maybe you're arguing the wrong point." Pansy scowled and followed instead, muttering as she went, "Maybe you just don't understand the right one."

Ron sat heavily, frowning after Pansy, too. "Some way to start a day."

"Buckbeak's been sentenced to death," said Hannah as Vince offered Ron the serving bowl no longer heaping with scrambled eggs.

"Wh-" said Ron, taking it and serving himself distractedly, his eyes darting to Harry. "Oh. Malfoy's dad."

"Yeah," said Harry, stabbing viciously at the sausages on his plate.

"Think I'd like him better if he were an orphan," muttered Ron, who then looked up at Harry, eyes comically wide. "'M'sorry, mate. I didn't mean--"

Harry held up a hand, voice tightly controlled. "I know."

Toast half-hanging out of her mouth but held tightly in one hand, Hannah watched them until it looked as though they might not kill one another.

"Who's up for some practice, hmm? Full contact, no Snitch."

corvidae9 — Fri, 06 Jul 2007 07:01:34 GMT

Title: The Prisoner (1 of 4)
Author: corvidae9
Rating: PG13
Word Count: ~5900
Summary: There's a killer on the loose and a pack of monsters surrounding the castle. Life around Harry never gets easier. (Harry, Draco, Cedric, Hermione, Neville, Ron, Pansy, Hannah, Vince, Greg, Anthony & Daphne)
Warnings: Latest in a series of Switchverse follow-ups, and therefore unrepentantly AU.
Author Notes: I am SO sorry for the hiatus and am consequently really nervous about posting this. :D The other three parts to this are in progress, and I'll have them for you sooon. :D YAY!! juice817 is the best beta EVER. ((CHOOCHOO!))
Disclaimer: No more than one or two very famous lines totally gacked directly from the original Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, but the premise remains. Basically, if you recognize it, it belongs to JKR and her army of publishers, etc. and is nowhere near even resembling belonging to me.
Please note: The series is now on AO3, and any updates after The Prisoner will be posted there exclusively: Switchverse on AO3

###

20 Aug, 1993

"I have to admit, Minerva. I'm looking forward to meeting James and Lily's boy," Remus said quietly, his cup clinking against his saucer as he set it down. His attention remained on the Deputy Headmistress briefly before returning to careful contemplation of his hands. It didn't matter how many times Remus had seen her in Muggle clothing or how long he had been an adult entitled to refer to her as 'Minerva' rather than 'Professor McGonagall', it was still surreal.

Minerva hazarded a small smile.

"Ahh. Our Harry."

Remus recognized that tone right away and snickered, sitting back and leaning his chin on his hand.

"I see. More a chip off of James' block than Lily's, then?"

"More than it may seem at first, I'm afraid," she sighed, adjusting the square frames on her nose. "The way he and the Malfoy boy run about the school, sometimes the comparison is as inevitable as it is terrifying."

"I'm sorry," said Remus, his head snapping up abruptly. "I thought I heard-- did you say 'Malfoy'?"

"That, Remus, is exactly what I said," said Minerva, taking a sip of her own tea.

Remus swallowed hard. "So he was Sorted Slyth-"

"Hufflepuff," Minerva interrupted, gently chiding. "As was the Malfoy boy. It made all the papers two years ago, Remus. Honestly."

"I'm afraid I haven't been much for Wizarding society as of late, Minerva. I'd say I was surprised Albus found me, but we both know that would be a lie."

It was Minerva's turn to look abashed.

"Of course. I forget sometimes to factor in the pigheadedness of the Wizarding population at large. Do forgive me."

"Don't," said Remus, waving it off. "Nothing for me here anyway. Muggle Patagonia or Wizarding, it's all the same."

Minerva cracked a tentative smile. "Were you really in Patagonia?"

"No," Remus snorted a laugh. "It only felt like it."

Minerva was caught between a laugh and a sigh of regret, then she went quiet again for a long moment before speaking again.

"You have heard--"

"About Sirius?" Remus asked, not bothering to hide the old hurt in his voice. "I've heard. It was all anyone talked about when I went into Diagon Alley today."

"Then you know he's expected to surface at the castle sooner or later."

"I know," said Remus quietly into his teacup.

"I'm ready."

###
###

1 Sep, 1993

"Potter. Potter," said a voice that seemed like it was disembodied, yet somewhere nearby and familiar. Harry's head was a messy haze, permeated with a a sense of despair, and he couldn't put a finger on what or why.

"Sodding hell," said another. A third chimed in, higher in pitch than the rest.

"What was that thing?"

Harry managed to crack open one eye and found himself face to face with Hermione. Err... sort of, since she seemed to be sideways. Then he realized that the surface pressed to his cheek was the seat he'd been sitting on... which made him the likely candidate for one who was sideways.

"He's coming around!" she said, grinning hugely, patting his arm and saying decisively, "You're going to be just fine now."

Draco's face suddenly came into focus over her shoulder looking eternally unimpressed while passing Harry's glasses forward.

"In need of attention, then?"

"Ngh," was all Harry managed as he pushed himself up carefully. "Wh' happened?"

"You passed out, you great pansy," said Draco, cut off by a telltale stomp and a muttered, "Ow! Hey!"

"It was a Dementor," said a new voice over the jostling noises, obviously that of an adult. "One of the guards of Azkaban, and there is no bloody reason for them to be on the train."

Harry slipped his glasses on and the man came into focus. Graying though he didn't give the appearance of being old enough to do so, his oddly amber brown eyes gained a hint of humor that seemed more a more natural expression. It made Harry wish he had something more intelligent to say than, "Wha-?"

"Here," the man said, pressing a chunk of something into his hand. "Eat this. It will help with the after effects of the Dementor. I'm going to check on the rest of the children."

Blearily, Harry blinked at the object, further confused as the man's hand descended upon his head and ruffled his hair.

"It's chocolate. Best remedy yet." He then produced a bag from his coat pocket and handed it to Hermione, gesturing around the compartment as he continued. "I'll be back in a bit."

Harry watched him go, Pansy not far behind. He was still not quite altogether in his head but getting there; there enough to startle as Ron flopped into the seat next to him.

"That was creepy," Ron breathed. "Glad you're alright, though. Going to eat that?"

"Yes," said Hermione pointedly, pulling a small lump wrapped in cellophane from the bag she'd been given and shoving it at Ron. "He is."

Draco sat heavily in the seat across from Harry, propping his feet up and on the bench across next to Harry's hip, clearly smug that his legs could now reach to do so (barely) where Harry's could not. He held up his own chocolate and cast an eyebrow in Harry's direction. Harry shrugged and took a bite of his own candy, finding that he was immediately flooded with a returning sense of well-being, giving him the wherewithal to roll his eyes at Draco in return and mutter, "What?"

"Nah, nothing," Draco smirked, the exchange ending there as Pansy re-entered the compartment in a rush.

"Lupin's the new Defense Aganst the Dark Arts professor, which explains how he knew what to do about that thing," she said frowning, hands on hips. "Chocolate?"

Hermione took a seat next to Draco and held up another wrapped bit of chocolate.

"They're called Dementors and I have no problem with chocolate as the remedy of choice to their effects."

"Amen," said Pansy, dropping gracelessly next to Hermione and taking the proffered chocolate. "Harry, how are you feeling?"

"Fine," Harry said automatically, though for the most part he was. "Were you-- err. Who was screaming?"

The compartment went quiet and from the set of Hermione's furrowed brow, Harry was pretty sure he wasn't going to like the answer.

###

"I'm fine," Harry insisted as they stepped off of the train. Hermione's mouth was set in a permanent frown and Ron was busy scanning the crowd, though what he was looking for exactly was a mystery to Harry.

"He's fine, Granger. It's his talent," agreed Draco, laughing as he avoided Pansy's resultant swatting hand.

"Alright," said Hermione, sounding unconvinced though she was still leading the way to an unoccupied carriage. "It's just--"

A larger boy slammed into her shoulder, pushing past her to vault into the carriage. She turned to face him, indignant, and found herself face to face with Marcus Flint.

"No Mudbloods allowed," he sneered. Pucey snickered, shoved past and climbed in as well.

Before Hermione or anyone around her could react, Tracey Davis' laughter rung out as she strolled past, elbows locked with Lavender. Tracey covered her mouth with her free hand, eyebrows high and turned to stage whisper to Lavender.

"Did you hear? Granger's been lying about her blood status! Can you imagine the nerve?"

Hermione stood open-mouthed as they walked away, Lavender's faux shock of laugher trailing along behind her.

"That's not good," muttered Pansy. The carriage pulled away and another took its place.

"He's one to be proud of his inbreeding, seeing as he's back this year for yet another bout with seventh year," scowled Ron, staring daggers at the retreating carriage.

"Hermione?" said Harry, taking her elbow and ducking his head.

"I'm as fine as you are, Harry," she said, forcing her chin up and pulling her arm away. "It had to happen some time. Let's just go." With that, she climbed into the carriage at hand. Harry, Ron, Pansy, Neville and Draco followed, though they rode most of the way in silence.

###

"Let me get this straight," said Ron as was his wont. He peered at Harry, who had pinched the bridge of his nose, shut his eyes and let his head thump back against the bookshelf behind him. "Sirius Black is your godfather, and V-- You Know Who's minion, and he's probably out to kill you. And he's Malfoy's cousin."

"Yes, Weasley," said Draco, sitting forward in direct counterpoint to Harry. "Point for you."

"That's not good," muttered Hermione, frowning worriedly at both Harry and Ron.

"I'd worry about yourself first," said Hannah, looking up as several older Slytherins with no business in their corner of the library drifted past, looking for all the world like sharks. "You're not exactly anyone's favorite Slytherin right now."

Hermione shrank further into her seat. "I know," she said, and though her voice was smaller than it usually was, her features were set in a moue of dogged determination. "I'll be alright."

Hannah sat in the seat nearest Hermione as the rest of the group watched, still at a loss for how they could help.

"You can sit with us in the Great Hall whenever you want," said Greg, patting Hermione awkwardly on the back a little too hard.

"Yeah an' if anyone gives you trouble for being a Mudblood, they'll have to answer to me and Greg," said Vince, nodding effusively.

"Oh!" he added when Hannah reached back to smack him. "I mean, 'Greg and I'."

Hermione huffed a small laugh and leaned to press her shoulder to Hannah's. "It's fine, really. Thank you."

"Just stay away from Flint. He's the worst of the lot," said Draco, looking up from the quill he'd been toying with.

"Yeah, that's f-- what time is it?" said Ron, interrupting himself suddenly.

"Three after four," Pansy answered, at first without concern, though she too sat bolt upright next. "Oh! Ron, run!"

Ron's chair scraped back with a tortured squeal as he shot to his feet. He paused only to lean in Hermione's direction.

"Hermione. Anyone gives you trouble and survives Crabbe and Goyle answers to me, understand?" With that he thumped the table next to her book once. He spared a frown for the squashed-face orange cat who jumped at that and ran out.

"What was that about?" Harry asked Pansy, who had busied herself resettling Ron's chair.

"Quidditch trials," said Pansy, not quite looking at either Harry or Draco. "Davies decided that since we've got to train up at the very least, a Keeper and two Chasers, Ravenclaw was going to start immediately this year."

Neither Harry nor Draco gave a damn that she wasn't quite looking at them, since they were busy staring at each other wide-eyed.

"We've only been here two days!" said Hannah, sitting up straighter. "What position is he going for?"

Pansy smirked purposefully at Draco. "Keeper. He's quite good."

"Yeah," mused Harry more to himself than anything. "I've seen him play 'round the Pitch. He's practiced with us before."

"But--" said Hermione quietly. "I thought he wasn't trying out because he couldn't aff- err. Didn't have a broom...?"

Draco knew well that Ron was better than fair at stopping whatever came at him. "So what changed?" he asked just short of accusatory, eyes on Pansy.

"The strangest coincidence," she began airily. "My eldest brother, Joshua? He just replaced his Shooting Star and happened to ask if I had use for it or knew anyone that might."

Draco narrowed his eyes, though he looked more annoyed than angry.

"You didn't."

"Did," she said with a nonchalant shrug. "What's it to you?"

Neville had the gall to laugh as Draco and Pansy stared each other down and venture, "Alright Hermione. That means it's up to you to represent us on the Slytherin team."

The resultant look on Hermione's face set everyone laughing... except Pansy, who only twitched her nose at Draco, and Draco who was otherwise occupied glaring right back. Hermione didn't get a chance to properly reply before Draco stood and tugged forcefully on Harry's shoulder.

"Let's go, Potter," he grumbled.

Harry stood, though he shoved Draco's hand off. "Yeah. I know."

"Yeah," Hannah sighed and got back to her feet. "Wait for me."

"Where're we going?" said Vince though he too was standing already.

"Pitch," said Hermione, stuffing her planner into her bag and replacing it with a bigger book. "These three need to see what they're up against. Stop me if I'm wrong."

"You're not wrong," said Harry, squeezing the top of her wrist as he walked past and fell in line with Draco. "You coming?"

"Ah," said Hermione, waving it off. "Have fun. I have some preparatory reading I haven't quite waded through yet."

"Good luck with that," muttered Draco, moving too quickly to be stopped.

Neville looked from Hermione to Harry and then back. Hermione shoved his knee under the table.

"Go on. I'll be fine. Take these two with you."

"We can stay," said Greg. "Shouldn't be alone anyway. Slytherins are sneaky."

"It's fine," said Hermione, her voice beginning to house more than a trace of exasperation. "Honestly, what could happen in the Library?"

Vince and Greg exchanged a shrug.

"Suppose you're right," said Greg, lifting his heavy bag as though it were feather-light.

"Yeah," agreed Vince. "Buncha books couldn't hurt, right?"

Hermione smiled, waved and watched them go in the direction everyone else had, waiting until they were out of sight to grab hold of Crookshanks and squish him close.

"Of course they can't," she muttered.

###

If Harry hadn't known any better, he'd have said that Hermione's body language as she crossed the corridor ahead as he and Draco made their way back from the trials screamed that she was slinking away.

"I don't believe Parkinson got her hands on a broom for the Weasel. I can't believe he took it either," huffed Draco at his elbow as they made their way back to the castle. "What happened to all his noble poverty?"

"You heard; he promised chess lessons for Joshua's eldest in exchange," muttered Harry, distracted and steering them in the direction that Hermione had been headed. "Damn it. He's good, too."

Draco shot a murderous look out of the corner of his eye. Harry didn't need to see it to know it was being directed at him.

"Well, he is," shrugged Harry.

"Exactly. Which is why I can't bloody well believe Parkinson's nerve-- where are we going?"

Harry jogged the space between them and Hermione, reaching for her shoulder when he got close enough to do so.

"Hey, Hermione. Wait up-- wh--!"

Draco's eyebrows shot up as Hermione turned, hands to her hips with a belligerent, "What?!"

"What the devil happened to your face?" asked Draco. Harry was already leaning in and tilting his head to examine the purpling bruise on her cheek.

Tracey Davis happened. If you're quite through staring--"

"No- wha-- how?" sputtered Harry, completely dumbfounded.

"Davis. Hit you. I don't believe it," said Draco.

"She didn't," said Hermione with a frustrated sideways glare, batting Harry's hand away from her face. "A bookshelf accidentally emptied itself onto me."

"But then how--" Harry began, only to be cut off again.

"I know, alright?" said Hermione, crossing her arms tightly. "I have ways."

"She's so dead," breathed Harry.

"Don't bother," said Hermione. "She'll be sorry enough in a few minutes."

Draco snorted a laugh, cocked his head and said, "This ought to be good."

"...Hermione--" said Harry, eyes still darting back and forth to Hermione's cheek. "What did you do?"

The corner of Hermione's lip quirked upward. "Let's just say that strangely? She's about to appear to be a giant block of cheese to any mammal under about five pounds or so."

Harry stared for a second before bursting into laughter.

"Oh. That's cruel. Especially for someone who has to deal with the dungeon staircase."

"Say, Granger," said Draco suddenly thoughtful. "Mind sharing that trick?"

###

The Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors filed out of the Defense classroom, still somewhat giggly despite the abrupt end of class. Hannah elbowed Greg with a snort of laughter.

"Kittens, mate? That's just--"

"Oi," mumbled Greg. "They've got wicked sharp itsy teeth an' move like they're boneless an' they move in herds if you give them the chance. They're just not to be trusted."

"You're one to talk," sneered Draco. "What's so bloody threatening about butterflies?"

Harry walked just ahead, more quiet than usual.

"Shut up," Hannah frowned. "That was a great, nasty moth and you know I don't like bugs. At least I wasn't hiding at the end of the line, Malfoy. What are you afraid of? House Elves? Dust bunnies? Broken mirrors?"

"Sod off, Abbott," said Draco, head held high. " I wasn't hiding. I was watching and biding my time. Not everyone can put on a spectacular Dementor show like Potter here."

"Huh?" Harry managed, having heard his name with no clue as to what context.

"Go back to sleep, Potter," sighed Hannah. "All that coddling by the professor is tiring, I know."

Harry narrowed his eyes at her. "I wish he'd have let me try. It was only a Boggart. I could've taken it."

The group went somewhat silent. Finally Vince said, "Dunno, Harry. Can you really cast when you're passed out?"

Draco opened his mouth to volunteer a comment that would no doubt have had nothing to do with Harry's defense, but was interrupted by the familiar sounds of Ron and Hermione boldly debating something obscure and academic as they approached a junction of corridors.

"I'm telling you, the Goblin Wars were pivotal in the establishment of the Statute of Secrecy, and would have been no matter when they'd happened," said Hermione with the air of a bored academic lecturing mulish schoolchildren.

"And I'm telling you that it's bollocks. The Goblin Wars were clearly a diversion away from the real matters at hand and fomented from within the existing Ministry," insisted Ron, looking up and away with a long-suffering sigh. "What better way to convince Muggles to try and burn witches when a troop of Goblins rampages through their back gardens?"

"Please. You're grossly oversimplifying the issue," said Hermione, rolling her eyes. "Again."

"I have a simple issue!" said Pansy when she caught sight of their approaching friends. "Would someone please rescue me from these two? Really, I like a good Goblin War as much as the next Ravenclaw, but I'm lucky to have survived the original lecture alone."

"What? Pansy, come on--" said Ron, clearly looking for backup and failing to find it.

"No. I don't give a rat's arse. We know it happened, we know the mechanics of why and what happened as a result. Let's move on, shall we?"

"Please," came yet another voice from behind, causing the friends to subtly close ranks around Hermione. "Let's move on. I can't wait for class with Professor Oaf," said Tracey, a smirking Lavender at her side and a scowling Eloise trailing behind. "Do you suppose he can even spell 'Professor'?"

"Do you suppose he can spell at all?" said Lavender, low and vicious, and she and Tracey snickered.

"Honestly, he's almost as bad as a Muggle," said Tracey. "Worse."

"Now that's low," Draco said with a huff and Hermione was torn between frowning at him and her housemates.

"I hear you acquired a herd of new pets, Davis," smirked Hannah, hipshot and imposing... somewhat due to the two hulking boys behind her, true, but by now the whole school knew with some certainty she could hold her own without them. "How'd that work out for you?"

Though she blanched somewhat, Tracey answered evenly, "Just fine, thank you. Professor Snape Banished them, unfortunately, or I'd have sent them right back in Granger's direction next. I hear Muggles and Weasleys enjoy them because they remind them of family."

Harry made to move forward, but both Draco and Pansy shot a hand out to stop him.

"Stay away from her, Davis," he growled nonetheless.

Hermione groaned, "Oh, hell," but Harry disregarded it.

"Potter. I wouldn't dream of coming near," Tracey said, punctuating it with a delicate sniff. "Disease, you know." Lavender tittered, Eloise continued to look miserably resolute.

"Davis," said Draco quietly. "Remember that party your father threw the summer before we came to Hogwarts?" As one, Pansy, Vince, and Greg shifted uncomfortably and Tracey went ashen. "How is your mother faring these days?"

"Blood traitor," Davis growled. "You're no better than them."

"Bollocks. I'm far better than any of them combined," Draco countered with a smirk.

"Let's move along, here!" shouted a passing Prefect. "Class in two minutes!"

Of course.

Cedric set a hand on Tracey's shoulder and grinned. "Don't want to be late, do we? Of course not," while Penelope Clearwater waved cheerfully in Ron and Pansy's direction.

"Come on now. Potions for you, isn't it? With the Hufflepuffs?"

"Gryffindor," corrected both Hannah and Pansy, upon which Penelope shooed them in the appropriate direction.

"Thanks, mate," Harry murmured as he passed Cedric once the group broke apart and began to move again, though the discussion was far from over.

"Don't thank me," said Cedric, suddenly collaring him and Draco and pushing them off to the side in order to be able to address them better. "Fights will get you detention that will certainly coincide with practice, do you understand me? I don't give a damn what that chit says, it is not worth it."

"We weren't fighting!" hissed Harry.

"And I'm the Minister of Magic," Cedric said with a raised eyebrow, cutting Draco off before he could say anything of the kind. "Watch it. Both of you. Now get to class."

"We're not firsties!" said Draco, indignant as Cedric pulled away to rejoin Penelope on their rounds.

"Then stop acting like it," shrugged Cedric. "Trials at four."

The majority of their classmates were significantly ahead of them by now, and Harry and Draco spared one last sullen glance in his direction before jogging to catch up.

"'Stop acting like it', my arse," grumbled Draco.

"We're going to have to do something about Davis," muttered Harry.

"No, we're not," said Draco. Harry stopped in his tracks.

"Why the hell not?"

"Because Granger is a Slytherin; she got herself into this mess and she's going to have to deal with it. And if you think she's not already working out how, you have clearly not been paying attention."

Harry frowned in thought. Draco didn't give him a chance to get far.

"Come on," he urged, beginning to move again and forcing Harry to keep up. "We'll miss your mate's first class."

###

As one, the Hufflepuffs and Slytherins stared at the hippogriff and the half-giant professor, open-mouthed and disbelieving when he asked if anyone wanted to 'come up and pet the little fella'. Harry, Draco, Hermione and Neville had unconsciously pulled into a tighter knot than usual but as always, it was Harry that ended up volunteered.

"He's going to die," muttered Draco. Hermione elbowed him with a disapproving frown, as though she weren't clutching Neville's elbow in the other hand.

"No one's going to die," she hissed. "Hagrid knows what he's doing."

"Malfoy," whispered Daphne, peering around Draco, who very nearly jumped out of his skin. "Have you ever seen one of these?"

Flinching when the hippogriff appeared unimpressed with Harry's show of respect and reared back, Draco mumbled, "In books. Be quiet."

"Oh my God! He's going to get eaten," said Anthony. "How is this educational?"

"Hush," said Daphne. "They're pretty. I'm sure it's not going to eat Harry."

"...How does its aesthetic affect its ability to eat third years?" hissed Draco, his eyes riveted on the scene.

"I mean, they're pretty, and I'm sure that it's not going to eat Harry," sighed Daphne. "Look - it's practically smiling!"

"Because it knows there's a meal coming!" said Anthony with some distress.

Draco visibly relaxed when the thing let Harry pet its head like some overgrown feline. He could see Neville shaking his arm out when Hermione let go, no doubt trying to regain circulation to the lower half of his limb, but neither said a thing. It was quiet for a whole second or two before Hagrid just... deposited Harry onto the creature and sent it off with a slap to the arse. Draco and everyone around him gasped, eyes turned skyward to watch for Harry's inevitable fall, subsequent death and metamorphosis into a meal for large magical creatures. Anthony made a noise like a plaintive bleat under his breath and Daphne sighed loudly.

"Don't be such a baby," she grumbled. "He'll be fine."

"If fine is a metaphor for 'dead'," worried Anthony.

"Shut. Up. Both of you," growled Draco. "If there's one thing that git can do, it's fly."

That seemed to work, at least long enough for the thing to come back and land safely. Hagrid helped Harry down and Hermione breathed, "Oh, thank God," almost too quietly to be heard over the chatter that sprung up all around them.

"See?" said Daphne while Potter talked with Hagrid. "No harm done. It's like a giant puppy."

"A puppy," said Draco, grimacing at her. "Are you mad?"

"No, she's right," said Anthony, visibly puffing up. "It's not so bad. Why, I could go out there and greet it myself, if I so chose."

"Right," Draco said after a brief pause, completely unimpressed with the survival instinct of the population at large, and proceeded to turn his full attention on Hermione and Neville instead.

"--understand that the word 'Hippogriff' comes from the Latin fo--" Hermione was saying, and Draco tuned her out too, crossing his arms and completely done with this ridiculous excuse for a class.

...Just in time to see Anthony wandering out to meet the beast, with Daphne looking on as though he were so very brave rather than just very stupid.

"Goldstein!" Draco shouted, but it was too late. The hippogriff was squawking and canting, and for some unfathomable reason, Anthony merely stood there looking as though he might vomit.

Later, Draco would explain his actions as concern for a housemate's safety and the points that might be lost should he die as a result of his stupidity. At that moment, he couldn't have explained at all why he rushed out and grabbed Anthony by the shoulders just as the hippogriff reared up again, higher this time, beak clacking and talons raised. He simply did, turning Anthony toward the crowd with a shove and a swear just as the beast came down burning lines of fire down Draco's upper arm and across his elbow and forearm. He stumbled but didn't quite fall, thanks to Neville and Hermione catching him and practically dragging him back and away. The crowd noise from the students around him grew into panicked shouts, over which he could hear Hagrid shouting at the hippogriff and Harry shouting something and-- ouch.

Draco looked at the blood dripping from his arm, grimaced dramatically, and promptly passed out.

And then came to almost immediately when Hagrid lifted him off of the ground and made for the castle.

"Put me down--" he mumbled, but it did no good. There seemed to be a minimum of jostling for how quickly the trees were passing, but Draco was still loopy, unnerved and his arm throbbed.

"We'll get ye' t' Madam Pomfrey and she'll fix you right up, don' you worry," said Hagrid.

Draco groaned and let his head loll until he could see Harry, Hermione and Neville jogging to keep up, all looking as though they were constipated, but the sideways mess of it started giving him a headache and he could feel his pulse all the way from the fingers on his mangled arm to the top of his pounding head.

"God I hate magical creatures," he mumble-sighed, and managed to pass out again.

###

This time when he came to, Madam Pomfrey wasn't even done mending his arm.

"There you are," she said kindly, her wand weaving magic he could feel throughout his arm. "Nasty scare, Mister Malfoy, but it's not serious. We'll have you up and about in just a bit."

A flurry of activity registered just past her, and Draco smiled despite himself.

"You lot are pathetic," he said, loudly enough to be heard by the group of friends at the foot of the bed he'd been set upon.

"You're the one on your arse in hospital," Harry said with a grin, circling around the end of the bed.

"About that. Are you busy later?" said Draco conversationally.

"Huh?" said Harry.

"Yes. I'm afraid I have an appointment to kick Goldstein's arse. Thought you could assist."

"None of that, Mister Malfoy," said Madam Pomfrey with a stern little look over the top of her glasses that held more amusement than reproach. She pulled back her wand, inspected her work and seemingly satisfied, waved her wand over his shredded shirtsleeve to repair the gashes in the fabric. "Injuries you sustain in fights aren't something I'll suffer gladly."

"Yes, ma'am," mumbled Draco, clearly displeased.

"Besides, he already feels terrible," said Hermione. "It could've been a lot worse."

"Yes. That thing might've killed me. I would threaten to haunt the wanker, but--"

"Mister Malfoy!" exclaimed Madam Pomfrey, tightening the conjured sling to get his attention. "Watch yourself. Now. I was able to fix the lacerations and all of the underlying damage, however, you are to rest this arm for at least a week."

"A week!" whined Draco. "But practi--"

"A week, and you'll thank me for it," said Madam Pomfrey, brooking no argument. "After that you should be able to go back to working on ways to come visit me all over again."

Draco swung his legs over the side of the bed and made to stand, but she pushed him back by the uninjured shoulder.

"Ah-ah-ah. Sit. Let the potions sink in and you can get up to go to dinner and back to your house from there."

Petulant, Draco sat back and began to cross his arms, only to remember the sling and pout further. Madam Pomfrey pointed warningly at Harry, Hermione and Neville.

"You three--" she glanced at the clock, "--are in class as far as I know. Don't let him use that arm. Stay here until dinner. Understand?"

"Yes ma'am," they all chimed. She nodded, satisfied, and hurried to her office.

Hermione sunk down on the end of the bed while Harry pulled up a chair and Neville dragged one from the next bedside over.

"So," ventured Hermione. "How do you feel?"

"Like I've been mauled by a bloody monster," said Draco. "Because I have."

Hermione shrugged. "Technically, it's not mauling since--" and stopped speaking when she caught sight of the look that Draco was giving her.

"The points Goldstein lost and those that were given to you even out," said Neville, finally. "He's been given detention, though. Mucking pens for a week."

"Can't bloody well believe they let that oaf teach a class," huffed Draco. "How could Dumbledore allow him to bring those things in?"

"Hey-" said Harry, sitting up and beginning to look offended. "Hagrid did his best. It wasn't his fault Goldstein decided to be a tosser. Hagrid could've controlled him!"

"And he was paying such close attention to do so, wasn't he?" Draco sneered. "And if it hadn't been Goldstein, some other moron would have tried it, you know they would've."

"Oh, come on," Harry scoffed. "Hermione, tell him."

Hermione looked uncomfortable, twisting the edge of her skirt just below her knee. "Well... actually, Harry, the hippogriff is probably best left to advanced studies. Though! You are very right in that Anthony did provoke it."

"Since when do you complain about studying ahead?" asked Harry, and Hermione's eyes came up, wide and panicked.

"Ahead?! Oh! Bother. I have to go--" She slid off of the bed and murmured, "See you all later. Draco, feel better!" as she hoisted her massive bookbag and ran out.

"Alright, then," muttered Harry, confused as she ran off.

Neville shrugged. "You know her."

"Yes, and she agreed that this was completely unnecessary," huffed Draco. "Practice at four, Potter, and I'm not allowed to use this arm!"

"Isn't as though Diggory's chucking you from the team," said Harry irritably. "You heard Madam Pomfrey, it'll be fine."

"That doesn't change the fact that Hagrid is a halfbreed fool, his animal is little better than a monster and--"

The door to Madam Pomfrey's office and she hurried down the room to the bed in which Draco sat. "Your father's here, Mister Malfoy." Her worried eyes darted to Neville and Harry, face red and brow furrowed, clearly on the verge of a vehement rebuttal.

"And that my father's going to kill someone," finished Draco, collapsing back onto the raised pillows.

###

Draco sat cross-legged in the center of his bed awake well before usual and waited. It was not long before a vicious tapping at the window sent him to his feet, hurrying in the hopes that no one else would wake. His arm was no longer in a sling, and had not been for a handful of days, and it felt perfectly fine, thanks. He pushed the window open just far enough to take the message from the huge owl still damp with the early morning dew, and shut the window in the bird's face before it could peck at his hand.

A soft snore sounded from behind Harry's bed curtains, and Draco froze in place. When no further movement or sound was evident, he crept back into his own bed and resumed his position, breaking the seal on the letter and reading it with everincreasing agitation.

The grave, elegant signature at the bottom that looked much like what Draco's might one day was his cue to slump forward and allow the parchment to crumple in his hands as he did.

The day will come when you will understand... said Lucius Malfoy. No Malfoy should have to take up residence in such a House as the one to which you have been relegated, though your heedless behavior seems to warrant no better... said Lucius Malfoy.

"Hey," said a sleepy Harry from the other side of Draco's drapes, his hand appearing in the seam and tugging on whatever bedding was closest. "Get up."

"Yeah, in a min--" Draco answered, interrupted as the letter in his hand blazed up and destroyed itself without heat, leaving only cool ashes in his hands.

"Wazzat?" muttered Harry, pulling the drapes aside in earnest to peer in. His hair was smashed into a shape that was ridiculous even for him, and he was still rubbing at his eye under his glasses.

"Nothing, Potter. Christ, do you mind?" Draco snapped and sprang from his bed, past a supremely confused Potter and toward the bathroom, brushing ashes from his hands as he went.

Perhaps study abroad at Durmstrang would remind you of your responsibilities.

Draco didn't want to be reminded of anything of the sort. He wanted to be left alone.

###

corvidae9 — Fri, 22 Jun 2007 08:51:09 GMT

Super Sekrit Project # 30927598q54 Unveiled!

Kids, I give to you, the I Can Has LolTheme:

Or! See them all here!!

Notable guest stars include my Willow as 'lazy', Ashton as 'sleepy', laurie's Frank as 'jealous' and juice's Charlie as 'guilty'). "Dorky" came from the freakin' brilliant xkcd.com comic here. All other pix were gacked off of caturday, ICHC, the net. Pretty much everywhere and anywhere, so if anyone sees something that's theirs and they want removed, drop me a line here.

Instructions for installing this mood theme:

1. Download the zip file RIGHT CLICK SAVE, PLEASE.

2. Upload pictures to your server. no hotlinking, plz

3. Open the file 'execute.txt', also in the zip.

4. Using Notepad or something like it, replace 'http://I-CAN-HAS-URL' with your server URL (e.g.: "http://s17.photobucket.com/albums/moodtheme1/")

5. Make sure you're logged in to the LJ username you're loading the moodtheme for. Then, go to the command console and give it a title. Like maybe:

moodtheme_create "I Can Has LolTheme" "by Corvidae9"

then click 'execute', which will then cause the system to assign and give to you a moodtheme ID. WRITE IT DOWN.

6. Back in execute.txt, replace all instances of "XXXXXX" with your shiny new moodtheme id.

7. Copy the contents of execute.txt and paste it to the command console, then click 'execute'.

8. Look and Feel switchboard thingum and choose "I Can Has LolTheme" from the mood theme drop-down menu.

All this info is in the readme.txt file, also included in the zip.

OMFGYAY!

corvidae9 — Sat, 02 Jun 2007 02:34:47 GMT

We know two things about Harry Dresden's mechanic:

1) His name is Mike

2) He keeps the Blue Beetle running.

Pfft. That's WAY more than enough to expand upon. So, without further ado, please allow me to give you a complete figment of my imagination as a birthday present for knitmeapony, without whom my life would be sad and sorry and crack-deprived in the worst of ways. A day early, I know, but she'll be off doing fun things tomorrow, because HELLO. RL = birthday cake and alcohol. *nodnod*

*loves!* Happy, happy and many more, doll!

Title: Parts, No Labor
Author: corvidae9
Rating: PG at most
Word Count: ~2250
Summary: An afternoon in the life of Mike the Mechanic. (Dresden Files fic!)
Author's Note: Yay! OMGLOL-- Sly provided the reality check beta and fact-checked me on his name and what we know about him, and didn't say nuffin' because she's AWESOME like that. :D Canon-compliant through Proven Guilty with no overt spoilers.

Miguel scowled at the hunk of metal at hand, wondering how the hell that tall bastard managed to beat the crap out of this thing on a regular basis. Rancheras played over an undercurrent of static from an old system hooked up in the corner under a prominent poster of the Virgin Mary that doubled as a calendar more than three years out of date. A Chevy that had been elevated to a state higher than any mere 'vehicle' was jacked up two feet off of the ground. Bright, shiny yellow, dripping with chrome and likely a better dancer than Miguel would ever be, it made the torn-up Beetle ten feet away look like more than a heap of shit than it might otherwise have on its own.

"Pobre chingadera," muttered Miguel, running his grease-stained hand over the gaping, ragged hole in the hood that matched the one in the boot over the engine. "'Mano, one day you're going to have to tell me what the hell does that sort of damage." His English was excellent, flavored only by the neighborhoods in which he'd come up, all much like the one he lived in now.

The gringo said with a shit-eating grin, "You don't want to know, Mike."

Considering how he'd gotten to know Harry Dresden, Miguel was pretty sure he was right. He crossed himself absently and muttered, "Dios nos libre."

"Si, por favor!," came a young woman's voice, followed by the girl in question-- his pride and joy, the apple of his eye and the cause of death someday for any man that even looked at her funny. His Marisol, all of sixteen and set and determined to become an aircraft engineer, but only if she couldn't be a mechanic like dad. "Save us all from the tamborazo, Papa," she said unkindly, flicking the switch on the radio until something resembling rock en espanol came out of the speakers. To Miguel, it was noise-- a bunch of long-haired kids with too much time to whine about things they'd never experienced-- but he'd change it back later. Better than that Britney Spears bullshit all the other kids her age were listening to, he supposed. A protest came muffled from the mechanic in the greasy coveralls whose foot had been tapping in time with the repetitive tophat crashes of the ranchera music from under the yellow bomb, but it was idle complaint. Everyone ignored him.

"Hey Marisol," said Harry, doing a pretty decent job of not making it sound like 'Mary-soul' even though he was still looking at his car as though it were a relative in intensive care. "How's school going?"

"Awesome," she said, stepping up, crunching into a huge, red apple and talking through her mouthful. "Straight A's. I'm foreman in autoshop this semester, too."

To be fair, Miguel was also too busy assessing the state of the not-so-Blue Beetle to notice what Marisol was wearing before he slung an arm around her shoulders, made more difficult now that she was just as tall as he was. At five foot six, it wasn't saying much for him, but this was his baby here.

"That's my mija," he said, bursting with pride and well aware of the fact that she might not be standing there at all if it weren't for Harry. "She's captain of the-- pero que chingado es esto?!"

Marisol's outfit consisted of some sort of top that would have fit her snugly four years ago, and pants so low he could see her hipbones, which were only visible since her coveralls were unzipped, arms tied around her waist. She had the nerve to roll her eyes and stand hipshot, only making it worse.

"What? It's hot!"

Harry looked over, his eyes went wide and Miguel was sure he was going to have to kill him in the split-second that it took the gringo to conspicuously cast his eyes downward and away. Good man, that Harry. Apparently Miguel telegraphing bloody murder at her had the desired effect without his having to rant further. Marisol sighed, shoved the apple into her mouth and held it between her teeth, still managing to look supremely put out as she pulled the arms up, slipped into them and zipped them up.

"Tadah!" she said next, though muffled through the apple, it sounded like "NUHNAH!"

"You can look now, Mr. Dresden. I'm decent again. God forbid I show my body on the street," said, Marisol, going on in the fine tradition of snotty teenagers everywhere, overachievers or not, "I'm the wrong religion and past the traditional age for a burqua but dad's looking into it, did you know?"

Miguel couldn't help but level a gentle slap upside her head.

"Ya. Basta," he said, cocking his head at the Beetle. "Get in and start it."

"But I want to work on the Chevy!" she whined. The voice under the yellow bomb rumbled in Spanish and she cast a dirty look in the direction of the protruding feet. "I can do it, you know."

Miguel was about to tell her to stop her goddamn whining and get in, because as much as he loved that girl, she had a stubborn streak worse than her mother's, God rest her, but Harry spoke first.

"Come on, Marisol. This one's more of a challenge," he said, holding out the keys. "Who knows, I mean, maybe you can't fix it." Marisol glared, snatched them and opened the door.

"Aw, come on! You don't even have real seats, Mr. Dresden!" she sat carefully on what passed for the driver's seat, and leaned out of the open door, speaking earnestly. "Listen. Do yourself a favor and give this car a decent burial, go down to Stan's and buy a little used rice-rocket and be done with it."

"Marisol," Miguel growled and the teenager rolled her eyes again.

"Fine. Fine. If it even starts." She grimaced exaggeratedly as she turned the key but the old engine wheezed and spat and turned over.

"Not quite a lost cause, right?" Harry said with pride, rocking back on his heels.

"Mmph," grumbled Marisol, though she said nothing else.

"I hate to say this, Harry," said Miguel, "but she might be right." He knew what it was like to have something you couldn't bear to part with, and despite Harry's skill, Miguel knew he didn't generally have much in the way of money. That was something Miguel knew all about, too. Miguel didn't want to be cruel-- it was just that sometimes, it was time to let go.

"Shh!" said Marisol, preempting Harry's response. "I'm trying to listen here!"

Harry actually laughed and leaned (low) to mutter, "I think we got her."

Miguel nodded and muttered back, "You had her at challenge."

The engine cut again and Marisol popped out.

"Is there any hope, doctor?" Harry asked gravely. Marisol picked up on the joke and ran with it.

"She loves you even though you done her wrong, Mr. Dresden," she answered just as gravely. "Give us the weekend and a lot of money you could use to buy a real car, and we'll fix it."

"Marisol!" Miguel growled again. "Don't listen to her Harry. Standard fee - parts, no labor. Tuesday be alright?"

"No, no," said Harry. "I--"

"Don't you start with me," said Miguel. "We owe you."

"Aw, man, you've paid me back ten times over," Harry said, running one hand over his head and looking embarrassed. Good people, Miguel repeated in his head.

"I said don't start with me. Take it or leave it, that's my final offer," said Miguel, brooking no argument.

"But if you want to slip me cash on the side," Marisol piped in, flashing a winning grin, "I won't argue."

"Muchacha!" said Miguel, aiming another thwap that she ducked this time with plenty of clearance.

"What?!" she answered, brimming with feigned innocence. "I have to think about my college fund!"

"You don't worry about that," Miguel said emphatically, and he meant it. The shop had done real well since Harry had come around all those years ago, and whatever he couldn't get up front, he'd find a way for. No way his girl wasn't going to school while he was breathing. Besides as long as Igor over there stuck around--

"You," he redirected to Harry. "You got a ride home, or do you need me to drop you off?"

"It's ok," said Harry, shaking his head. "I've got a ride. Can I use your phone?"

"Yeah, of course," said Miguel, tugging out his cel phone. "Just press--" Miguel stopped when he caught the look on Harry's face, suddenly remembered, and thumped Harry's arm.

"You know where to find the shop phone. Damn thing's still rotary."

Harry smiled, mumbled his thanks, and went to make use of it.

"He's a weirdo, dad," reflected Marisol calmly.

"Tu te me cayas," said Miguel. "If it weren't for him--"

"Not the bad kind!" she protested, crossing her arms. "I'm just saying." She circled her temple with one finger in the universal signal for 'mentally unsound'.

"Maybe so, mija," said Miguel, rubbing his short, dark beard with a mischievous grin. "You would know."

"Ugh!" was her affronted reply. "I'm gonna go dig through the pile of spare Beetle parts in the back, dad," she said, and Miguel could see she was failing to properly hide a smile. "'Cause that's the crazy people work around here."

Bemused, Miguel watched her mock stomp until she slipped out the back door.

"Kids are great," said Harry at his side again.

"I'd say you should have a few of your own and find out, but I like you too much," said Miguel, and Harry grinned, but looked away.

"Other people's are better," Harry said. Miguel didn't miss the flinch. He didn't know much about Harry but apparently, he'd hit a sore spot.

"Your ride on its way?" said Miguel by way of changing the subject.

"Yeah, she was in the neighborhood. Be here any second."

They had exchanged small talk for no more than a few more minutes when a motorcycle pulled up -- shiny; seemed like a good piece of equipment at first glance, but then bikes weren't necessarily Miguel's thing. Someone smaller than his Marisol cut the engine, popped the stand and climbed off, tugging her helmet off in the process and revealing a sweet face and a blond ponytail.

Harry waved and grinned as she approached. "Hey, thanks Murph."

Miguel was in the process of a knowing wink-and-nudge, when he stopped short, brow furrowed.

"That's Murphy?" he said.

"In the flesh," said the diminutive blond, who from up close was still just as sweet, only radiating a clear sense of being someone dangerous to start shit with. She offered a hand. "You must be Miguel."

"Mike's good." He took her hand and shook it, shaking his own head while he was at it. "Damn, woman, from the stories I hear, I thought you'd be six feet tall."

Murphy shot a look at a grimacing Harry, though she smiled all the same. "Funny, I was thinking the same about you."

There was a beat of silence before Miguel burst out laughing, thumping Harry on the arm again.

"I like her, man. You guys want to stay for a beer or something?"

"Oh! No, thank you, Mike," said Murphy, eyes darting to Harry and back. "I've got a shift tonight."

"Yeah, and I've got a job to get back to," said Harry, and Miguel could swear he looked a little pink around the ears. "Which means I'll be calling my brother or hoping the trail follows a convenient train line."

"Just 'till Tuesday, man," said Miguel. "We'll have her back to you in no time."

"Thanks, Mike. Appreciate it," said Harry shaking his hand.

"Any time, Harry," said Miguel genuinely.

"Good meeting you," Murphy said, already beginning to move away. "Dresden, you coming?"

"Yeah. See you later, Igor," called Harry, only answered by a grunt that seemed to satisfy everyone in question.

Miguel could hear him muttering about 'Hells bells, in a hurry?' as they strapped helmets on and got situated on the bike, and decided that he was not enough of someone's meddling tia to say any damn thing as he watched them ride off.

"Papi!" shouted Marisol from the back door. "There's a red hood and like, three rightside doors, but no boot."

"Gracias, mija!" Miguel called back, turning to knock gently on the side of the Chevy. "You hear that, Igor? Up for a trip out to the junkyard tonight?"

A relatively normal-looking hand stuck out from under the car formed into a thumbs-up, and Miguel nodded, satisfied, no longer noticing the fact that the hand was somewhat greenish in tint and could possibly be described as 'a little scaly'. It'd been years since that week from hell, after all. Igor was like part of the family, warts and all.

"Ok!" declared Miguel, moving back to the stereo to find the oldies station. "There's something nobody can bitch and moan about." The strains of old school Motown began to waft up through the shop and Miguel began working the hinges of the Beetle's hood to the Smokey Robinson and the Miracles, knowing all was well as he heard Marisol's voice singing along over the clatter of metal outside, loudly if not well.

...Damn. Maybe he should get that girl some voice lessons or something.

I wanted to call it The People in Your Neighborhood, but then I was tempted to add '- I' to the end, which would imply that there should be more, now, wouldn't it? Dunno. Sly's already written about Harry's neighbor (READ IT HERE, OMG - The Upstairs Neighbor) -- you guys want to start a collaborative Dresden Files neighborhood project?!

corvidae9 — Sun, 29 Apr 2007 01:36:16 GMT

Title: By Proxy
Author: corvidae9
Rating: NC17
Word Count: ~5100
Summary: Dean (belatedly) reconsiders how best to help Sam, around whom no women are safe. (Sam/OFC, Sam/Dean)
Warnings: voyeurism, wincest, mention of minor character death, little bit of the ever-present crack factor.
Notes: I ~~blame~~ credit Ash & De (notthequiettype & anasuede) for this amazing ouevre of wrong, not to mention the fact that I totally gacked at least three lines and a bit of a situation from things Ash said. :D juice817 loves me too much and clearly enjoys unfucking things I've gone and fucked up and generally rocks a lot.

###

Dean was worried.

Sure, the kid had been acting pretty normal. Talking about wanting to forget about what had happened with Madison and all that. Sam's head was in the game, he wasn't missing things or spacing out-- he seemed fine. Problem was, he really shouldn't be. Especially not after Ash emailed about what had happened to Sarah.

By the time they'd gotten back to upstate New York all there was left to find was her father in a post-possession confusion awaiting trial in a county jail and a cold grave where the backfill wasn't even quite lying flat. Sam took it all in, kicked a tree, got drunk, puked in an alley while Dean held him up, then slept for two days. Then, he rolled out of bed, into the shower and was back online searching for the next job as though nothing had happened.

That had been some freaky shit.

Dean guessed it was like some sort of post-traumatic stress. Sam was just-- what was the Stanford boy word? Suppressing it or something. Making it so that he didn't think about it, doing other things to keep his mind distracted. If it was Dean, man, he knew what he'd do to stay distracted.

Alright so maybe it was Dean a little bit and maybe that's why he did the things he did. And maybe his methods of dealing with his own shit weren't going to work for Sam, given how he seemed intent on never touching a woman again. Which was fucked up, if you asked Dean. But hell, he didn't even seem to want guys. Not that it was Sam's style, usually. (But man, there'd been that one time in Dallas...) It was just... you know. Sometimes there's a itch you can't quite scratch any other way, and Dean understood that.

Only, right now Sam was the only one scratching Sam's itches, and even then he always looked guilty about it afterward. No way could that be healthy or normal, and it sure as fuck wasn't going to help control the evil or whatever. It was completely unnecessary.

Dean was sick of not being able to fix it. It was his job to watch out for Sam, and he had to come up with something.

###

Relatively quiet college town somewhere in Arizona, three months after the week they wasted in New York.

They'd laid a spirit to rest that for once, went quiet and easy, and spent the evening in a college bar that was blasting music that Dean could almost call rock, cold beer in hand and hustling pool and sometimes darts on and off. Not enough from any one person that it would really piss somebody off, but more than enough to cover the motel and the beer.

Sam... Sammy. He spent the night fending off the advances of various women of varying degrees of smoking hotness, too busy staring at either his beer or the perky brunette at the bar. Dean had to admit, the kid had good taste. Big eyes, clothes that showed her off without looking too trashy; kind of girl that could still look smart, hip and funny in an eyebrow ring and a shirt sporting some lame pun on the theory of relativity, and way she laughed made everyone around her laugh too. Kind of girl Dean stayed away from on general principle if he could help it. They didn't need his kind of trouble.

But she was perfect for Sam. Unfortunately, the idiot didn't bother to get up and talk to her.

Eventually, she was the one who came over, exchanged smiles and small talk, left her number on a napkin and walked back to her friends. And Sam? Took that napkin and tossed it aside when no one but Dean was looking. Dean couldn't let that go.

###

Sam said he was tired and done, and Dean told him to go on ahead, he'd be fine. Good thing the code for BRB - Getting laid was still in effect. Sam only nodded and left, walking steady enough that Dean wasn't worried about his making it the two blocks back to the motel.

Then Dean sidled up to the group of girls at the bar and latched on to the one with the eyebrow ring.

Amanda.

He turned on charm so smooth, her friends drifted back and away to give her some room to work. She wasn't the type to fall for it out of hand, but god, the smile he gave her would have melted the meanest teacher, the most cranky metermaid-- and the con? Well. Best lies are mostly made out of truth. The look on her face when he told her that his brother had just gotten out of a relationship that was short and brutal and left a mark, and after they'd lost their dad...

Her warm fingers tightened on his arm and he patted it, all friendly gratitude with a hint of mischief. And then the risky move-- he mentioned that they were only in town for two more days, and if she wanted, he could tell her where to find his brother. Turned out Amanda was a little dirtier than all that. He'd suspected it when he saw the tongue ring, but damn-- the glitter in her eye was impressive. Made him reconsider the idea of handing her off to Sammy for all of two seconds. Maybe not even that long-- Sam always came first.

Thirty minutes and two beers-- that's all it took to get Amanda to leave the bar with him and walk to the motel.

###

Dean opened the door a crack and stuck his head through into the dark room, whispering, "Sammy? You awake, man?"

There was a quiet, mostly-asleep groan from the bed that Sam had picked out, and Dean walked in. Amanda followed, narrowing her eyes as she took in the scene around her, then smacked Dean on the arm.

"I knew it! You could have just said so!" she hissed. Dean was beyond confused.

"Huh?"

"That this was just about getting your brother laid. And maybe you, too." Amanda shut the door with a smirk, dropped her jacket unceremoniously off of her shoulders and then reached up to kiss Dean full on the mouth, locking the door with her free hand. "I might've come anyway."

Dean's eyes practically rolled up in his head. Jesus, but this girl was perfect...

...And already moving away, leaving him in the lurch by the door as she stalked over to the bed upon which Sam was sprawled, shirtless for once, but still in that ass wriggling, face first position that he always ended up in after three beers. Her hand... god. She set it down on the curve of Sam's ass with a little approving sound and let it trail up the small of his back, her knee on the edge of the bed as her fingers traced his shoulderblade.

"Oh my god," she whispered up at Dean. "He's--" she bit her lip and traced a well-defined shoulder with the tips of two fingers. "Hot."

"Yeah. I hear that," Dean snickered. He covered his mouth with one hand, let it drag down his chin and looked away. Sam was more than just hot, that much was certain, but it wasn't something he was about to say out loud. "Listen, I'm just gonna go--" he said, pointing toward the door but not making a move to open it.

"No you're not," she grinned, tugging down on the sheet covering Sam. "You're gonna sit right there and watch. You know you want to."

Dean stared as Sam reached up in his sleep, automatically winding around her waist and tugging at her. No doubt at all that he wanted to watch, and that was pretty fucked up, but...

"Pervert," she said, standing, shucking off her jeans and resettling on the bed. She shoved Sam onto his back by the shoulder and straddled his hips, leaning in and murmuring something Dean couldn't make out. Dean groaned, treated as he was to a full view of her round ass in panties printed with little... what the fuck were they? Goldfish?

"Just have a seat, it's cool," she purred, leaning in over Sam, just now really coming awake. "Nothing to do out there anyway."

"Buh?" was all Sam managed before she kissed him hard. From where Dean was standing, he could see Sam's huge hands scrubbing up the length of her spine and under her shirt as he kissed back until he suddenly sat up in a rush.

"Wait-- what?" he rumbled, hoarse from sleep and beer and Dean's knees threatened to buckle.

"Your brother did a very thoughtful thing for you," she said with a little giggle, sitting back to strip off her shirt and lean in again, mouth to his ear, though this time she whispered loud enough for Dean to hear. "And all he gets to do is watch. Poor baby."

The pleading look on Sam's face--

"Dean?" he said, looking over her shoulder, though his hand was holding firmly to her ass.

"It's ok, kid," Dean said, giving in and sliding sideways into the ratty motel armchair. "I'm here." God, because that would help. I mean, it wasn't like he hadn't-- I mean there'd been that one time-- and then. Him. And Sam. And of course, that time in Dallas. Christ. "You- uh. You just-- go ahead and--" Dean made a totally inadequate and unnecessary gesture that almost looked like 'shoo' and would immediately have felt like a total dumbass if it weren't for the fact that he was harder than he ever remembered being (with obvious exceptions) and already wondering how the hell he was going to sit still. He left his hand drop casually to his crotch and wisely shut the hell up.

Amanda giggled.

"Hee. You guys are just cute."

That was all she said as she leaned again and this time Sam let her push him back down onto the pillows with an obscene grind of her hips. Sam slid a foot up to set it flat on the mattress, his hands sliding down the backs of her thighs and pushing up on her ass. Dean was close enough in the little motel room that even in the half-light from the glowing sign outside the window, he could see Sam's fingers creeping up the center of her--

"Oh! Hi!" Amanda squealed. "Big hands." Her ass rocked back and Sam's fingers dug into the crotch of her panties, and she sighed, high and breathy. Her hand crept down the front of his pajamas and Sam bucked up with a groan, pulling his head up to close his mouth over the nipple that had escaped from her bit of nothing bra.

"Big everything," she said, and Dean could hear the smirk in her voice and see the odd twist of her wrist that set Sam groaning again. "I like it."

Sam hadn't said a word, hadn't made a move that she hadn't started, but right then, he slid a hand up into her hair and pulled her mouth down to his. The fingers pressed against her panties flicked once, shoved the material out of the way and then his two longest fingers were inside of her.

The hand lying lazily over Dean's crotch squeezed in sympathy as the girl whined into Sam's mouth and pressed into his hand, faltering in pulling his pants down bit by bit. Normally, he knew Sam was the kind of guy who went for all the touchy feely kissing-petting-eating-out shit beforehand (hell, it was only considerate; Dean did the same thing when it wasn't a backroom quickie or something), but Sam was going straight for the goods tonight, boy.

Sam's hand flailed out for the nightstand and the girl broke the kiss and beat him to it.

"Condom?" she breathed and Sam nodded and groaned.

"Wallet."

She knocked it off of the table and onto the bed. He tore into it and sent everything in it flying as he yanked out the package and swept the rest off of the bed. If she had a problem with Sam moving at the pace he was, she sure didn't act like it.

Dean stared --no, man, stared-- as she got up on her knees to give him room to get it on, somehow shoving the goldfish panties down and away in the process. His eyes were riveted on the play of half-light on Sam's muscles, for once not giving a damn about the girl's body instead. Dean's brain teetered on the edge of utter collapse as Sam rolled the thing on, groaning as Sam grabbed blindly for her hips and tugged her down and after one readjustment and a breathy giggle out of the girl, slammed her down onto him, hard enough to wrench a moan from everyone in the room.

Everyone. Including Dean, whose jaw went slack, palming his cock in earnest as the girl rode his brother, moving in sinuous undulations at first that Dean could see were making Sam's hands clench against her skin. She sat up and bounced experimentally, breathed something Dean couldn't quite understand about 'huge' and 'inside' and bounced her hips again. Sam brought his other knee up and let his hands roam up to her tits, kneading as she rolled and bounced, his hips moving up to meet her halfway more often than not.

Christ. With how long it had been since the last time Sammy'd been laid... hell. Dean would've lost it, but Sam just wrapped his arms around the girl's back and sat up, effectively pulling her into his lap, his mouth gravitating directly to her neck, a mess of teeth and tongue and flushed lips. Damn, but that kid was a biter, yeah. Again, no surprise there. Dean was licking his lips, face hot and the--

Sam looked up, meeting his eyes directly over the shoulder of the girl he was fucking and gasped as he rocked her and Dean could swear he'd said, "Dean."

He might have. Just like he did in Dallas around the cock of that pretty boy they saved from an incubus and who paid them back in a more than fucking satisfactory way. It hadn't been the first time one had seen the other with someone else... it had just been the first time they shared someone else. As in fucked them at roughly the same time. As in, it was entirely possible that Dean hadn't forgotten any of it and never would. Especially vivid in Dean's mind even after three months would be the long hour or so they spent making out between the time they woke up and found the guy gone and the time they took separate showers, got dressed and never mentioned it again.

Fact was, the guy had been a convenient intermediary, but Dean didn't need an excuse to want his brother, and therein lay the problem.

Oh god, and it was a problem that just became more pronounced and in need of attention as Sam fucked this random girl while staring at Dean, who was not more than seven feet away and was two seconds from dropping trou and jerking right off and fuck that this was probably levels of not right that had yet to be defined by... whoever it is that decides things aren't right..

Sam pulled her up and drew his feet underneath him so that he was sitting on his knees-- a lot harder than it looks, but damn, he pulled it off. The girl (who yeah, had a name but Dean didn't care and he was sure Sam didn't either at the moment) gasped and made a needy whimpering sound and Sam returned his attention to just under her ear.

She pried a hand off of Sam (fuck knows how) and slid it down his chest, down her stomach and directly between her legs to touch herself, suddenly getting about ten times louder when she hit the sweet spot. Christ it was hot, but not nearly as hot as Sam's eyes shutting tight, a moan rumbling from deep in his chest in appreciation.

Dean watched them fuck, because there was no better word for what they were doing, no nicer, less abrasive euphemism that could describe the grind of her body against his. He couldn't see her face, and he honestly didn't give a damn. Sam was always what was important, and Dean could barely form a coherent thought once Sam broke from kissing her, jaw slack and forehead creased, his fingers digging into her hips and back. He wasn't even sure he hadn't imagined murmuring, "Come on, sweetheart," at roughly the same time that Sam did.

It seemed like it had been forever, but she finally did, her whining becoming a high-pitched mewl and then a breathy gasp, shuddering and letting Sam tug her down over and over again and one more time before he lost it. Sam swore and shook, falling forward and just barely managing to get a hand out to brace himself in time, lowering the girl to the mattress without falling on her in a heap like he probably really wanted to do.

Sure enough, when Sam's eyes opened again, they were drawn likes magnets to Dean's and Dean's mouth went more dry than it already was, fighting the ever-louder voice in his head that was saying that girl had no right touching what was his. That it ought to be Dean making Sam come like that and it damn well should be his name on Sam's lips.

Not to mention the whispered conviction that Sam was thinking the same thing.

The girl giggled and slumped against Sam's arm, but he didn't let her get comfortable. He kissed her shoulder, one hand on the base of his cock as he pulled out and rolled off of her carefully. Dean hissed an inhale, about two seconds from throwing the girl out on her still-wet ass as Sam muttered something about being right back, scooped up his pajamas in the hand not holding the condom and disappeared into the bathroom.

Make that one second.

Dean managed to take his hand off of his dick, stand and move closer to the bed.

"Hey-- Amanda?" he rasped. "Listen--"

"Mmmhi," she offered with a sated grin. "You want? I can--" her eyes darted wickedly to where Sam had just disappeared into the bathroom and back, " --I can suck him while you fuck me. I wouldn't mind."

"You--" Dean would have really been impressed any other day, but he couldn't focus on anything but Sam groaning, straining, his eyes boring into Dean; Sam twitching, Sam breathing for chrissakes. "Sorry, sweetheart," he said with the most understanding smile he could manage while trying not to groan every time his cock twitched in his too-tight jeans. He handed her the jeans he picked up off of the ground, followed by the nerd shirt. "Listen, I don't want to shove you out the door with your pants in your hands because that's happened to me, and let me tell you, it's a little weird to have to put your pants on outside someone's door. But I've gotta--we--"

What? Fuck his brother?

...yeah. That was about right.

"Oh," she said with a little frown, swinging her feet off of the bed. She looked at the jeans, shrugged and bent to step into them. "Ok, I guess. I just figured--"

And apparently his eyes gave it away entirely too well.

"Oh!" Amanda squeaked as she stood, pulled up and zipped them with a little gasp and a grin. Whether it was for the pants or for Dean didn't matter.

"Can I watch?"

Dean grimaced and opened the door. "NO."

"But I just--" She pouted again. "That's not fair."

"Life's like that," Dean said in all honesty. "Trust me. I know." The toilet flushed and Dean cocked his head toward the door again. "We've got your number, though," he added lamely.

Amanda pursed her lips, finally threw up a hand and said, "Lose it." She turned on her heel and all Dean could hear was her muttering about 'fucking out of towners'. Not that he gave a damn.

"Dean?"

Sam's voice reverberated right through Dean and he groaned, slammed the door shut, threw the locks and undid the button fly of his jeans in a series of smooth moves as he rounded on Sam.

"Where'd she go?" asked Sam, pants hanging off his ass and looking thoroughly fucked and fuckable and Dean couldn't stop and didn't want to.

"Gone," mumbled Dean, planting his hands in the center of Sam's chest and shoving him back onto the bed. Sam went with a surprised oof and Dean kept talking. "She was way skankier than I thought, anyway. All wrong for you. Hot though."

"Dude! I just--" Sam started with a gesture toward his cock, but Dean didn't let him finish.

"I know," Dean growled. "I was watching." He caught Sam's mouth with his own, intent on owning him entirely, beginning there. Sam kissed back for a long, torturous minute before pushing at Dean's arm, pulling away and trying to scoot up to no avail.

"I don't-- Dean, what were you thinking? That girl might--" he hitched a breath as Dean began gnawing at his throat, licking his still-sweaty skin, "--in trouble because of --ohfuck--me--"

"She's fine. I picked her up, remember?" mumbled Dean, crawling up onto his knees, freeing Sam to slide all the way up onto the bed.

"Dean--" Sam mumbled, his mouth pulling into that classic tortured emo Sam expression, his bigass hand sliding up around the side of Dean's face. "The hell are we doing?"

The fact that Sam said 'we' and not 'you' was all Dean needed to feel completely justified in reaching down and shoving Sam's recently rediscovered pants down and out of the way.

"Fucking," offered Dean disingenuously, though he conceded and turned his head so that he could kiss the palm of Sam's hand.

"But-- we can't-- we--"

"Swear to God, Sammy, you finish that sentence, so help me, I will kick your ass."

Sam only tilted his head at Dean, pleading silently.

"Fine. It's fucked up," Dean agreed. Then bent to score a bite to Sam's nipple, too hard to be considered a nip. Just because he'd let the kid win like he always did didn't mean it had to be easy.

"So fucking what? No one gives a damn," he murmured over Sam's gasp. Dean kept talking between quiet biting and sucking noises, even though Sam was far from arguing, his fingers tight in and through Dean's short hair. "You said it yourself-- we're all that's left."

No answer was forthcoming, which was fine, since Dean didn't damn well need one past the way Sam was arching up under him, or the way Sam yanked his head up to kiss him, eyes shut, completely invested in the process. For good reason-- kissing Sam like this was both like drowning and surfacing too quickly; like a hundred different conflicting sensations that couldn't be properly be appreciated one without the other.

Dean's hands drifted, muscles shifting under his skin as he kneed Sam's thighs apart, a vague voice in the back of his head growling about the fact that only reason he wasn't bitching about the fucking beard burn was because Sam's would be a hundred damn times worse. He snickered into Sam's mouth, but didn't stop the assault, not until he was planting a hand at Sam's side (and not over his shoulder because he was too fucking tall and Dean needed leverage, Christ), using the other to loosen Sam up; to finally steady himself and find just where he was going next.

"You," murmured Dean, shaky, his teeth grazing the extreme arch of Sam's throat as he sank into him at stuttering, panting intervals. "You're all I have left."

###

Amanda crossed her arms tightly under her breasts as she walked the four blocks home, struggling with the impulse to run back to the cheesy motel and see if she could catch anything interesting by smashing one eye up against their window. She wasn't a pervert, not really--she just-- you know, had earned the right to watch. Possibly get in between that, because damn--

"I don't blame you," came a voice from just ahead.

"Excuse me?" she said, her head snapping up to find a shortish brunette with a weak chin blocking her path. Her fists opened and shut and she automatically distributed her weight evenly to be able to move as quickly as possible. Not quickly enough as it turned out, however. The brunette's hand was already around Amanda's throat with grip so strong, she couldn't even find the air or clarity of thought to do much more than claw feebly at the woman's hand.

"I said, I. Don't. Blame. You," said the brunette, shaking Amanda a little with every word. "I'd take them both in a heartbeat, but I'll have to settle for Sam, I think."

Amanda's mouth opened and shut, her face turned red and nothing she did seemed to keep the air from leaving her body, or her eyes from going black as ink.

###

Near Flagstaff, Dean's phone rang too loud, vibrating as it did against the cheap veneer of the motel nightstand. One queen-sized bed was empty and made, the other held Sam sprawled half across Dean, his skin overwarm with sleep because the kid had always been a goddamn toaster. Dean reached out for the piece of crap responsible for waking his ass up with the tinny sound of Motorhead at... 6:30 am on a Saturday, the caller ID bright and clear enough to make his stomach turn.

"'Sup, man?"

"Got something for you, chief," came Ash's voice from the other end of a vaguely fuzzy line. "Series of signs not too far from where you an' Sam are, down by ASU."

"Yeah?" said Dean, his hand automatically soothing Sam as he stirred.

"Yep. Girl named Amanda Heckinthorn went way off her John Deere and fucked up a bunch of her housemates. Left behind, and I quote, 'marks that lead the authorities to believe she belonged to some sort of a cult'."

"Whozzit?" murmured Sam, already shifting awake, his forehead pressed to Dean's shoulder.

"Nobody, Sam. Don't worry about it," Dean muttered. "Seriously, man, thanks, but don't worry about that one," he added, a little louder into the phone.

Fucking Sam and his freaky psychic shit. He leaned up on his elbow and peered blearily. "Dean."

Dean waved it off. "Yeah, yeah, thanks. Listen, I've gotta go. We're taking off for a couple of days, but call me here if anything comes up."

"I get it," said Ash, and Dean could practically hear his nod. "Need a little shore leave. Something blows up, though, you can bet your ass I'll call you. And you tell me to forget it one more time, an' I'll up and stop altogether."

"No!" said Dean, trying to contain his alarm as he sat up further. "No, listen, we were just through there. Everything's cool. Thanks."

"Dean!" hissed Sam, wrapping his foot around Dean's calf and shoving himself forward in the direction of the phone. "The hell's going on?"

"Uh huh," Ash grumbled unheard and hung up. Dean clicked the phone shut and tossed it back onto the nightstand. He laid back and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying not to think about that girl he'd pretty much killed and how best to never tell Sam.

"Yeah? What did Ash say?" Sam growled, his bitchface firmly in place.

Damn it. It was too early in the morning for that bitchface.

"Eh. Usual bullshit," said Dean, all nonchalance as he dug his fingers into Sam's hair.

"Right," said Sam, unimpressed. "And we're taking a few days off?"

"Yep. Dragging your ass to the Grand Canyon," Dean said, pulling his hand away from his face and offering up a sleepy, winning grin. Sam remained unaffected (from the waist up, at least).

"...The Grand Canyon." Sam rolled his eyes and sighed. "Dean, we don't have time for that."

"The fuck do we have time for, then, hmm?"

Sam didn't have an answer. Which was good, because Dean didn't want to have to be witty or pushy. He wanted to get his happy ass back to sleep.

"Good. The Grand Canyon it is," Dean mumbled and shut his eyes. He wasn't going to ever tell Sam about the girl. Dean would have to live with it on his own shoulders along with--

"Yeah?" Sam said again, muffled against Dean's skin, and Dean sucked in a breath as Sam's hand found its way down his body and directly to his morning wood, regardless of the fact that the time of day barely resembled morning.

"Yeah," Dean muttered, trying for belligerent and failing miserably. That was probably because Sam's mouth was doing its best to follow the path of his hand and Dean didn't really want him to stop. Sam did pause though, his mouth dead center of Dean's stomach. Pupils dilated and breath shallow, Dean lifted his head to see why. Sam's eyes were trained on him, huge and unwavering.

"That girl, right? That's why Ash was calling? And the demon?"

Dean couldn't lie to the kid. "Sam--"

Alright, who was he kidding? He could, he had and he probably would again.

"Nah, man. Already told you it's not gonna happen. Not anymore."

Sam exhaled, "Ok," the tension seeping out of his body as he resumed his licking, biting path down Dean's body.

Groaning, Dean let his head flop back against the pillows, feeling like a bastard. A bastard that was about to get a stellar blowjob, true, (and where Sam had learned, he didn't want to know), but a bastard nonetheless.

It wasn't all a lie though.

"God yeah, Sam-- right; fuh-fuck--"

No more girls were going to get hurt on account of fucking Sam.

###

corvidae9 — Thu, 12 Apr 2007 07:13:41 GMT

I love you all. I suck that this took too long to finish. Good god but I need a beta. Anyone that even sounded like they were offering is getting an email tomorrow when I am ~~alive~~ awake again. ♥

Title: Come Together (8 of ~8) (!!!!)
Author: corvidae9
Rating: R
Word Count: ~5770
Warnings: crackful premises, het/slash/fem, rampant bisexuality
Summary: This is the first morning after of the rest of your life. Only less ominous than all that.
Author's Note: *COLLAPSES OMG* See Part I for full Summary/Notes! Questions/comments/interpretive dance, as always, welcome here. :D

I - Saturday | II - Sunday | III - Monday | IV - Tuesday | 4.5 - Tuesday Night | V - Wednesday | VI - Thursday | VII - Friday afternoon | 7.5 - Friday Night | VIII - Saturday²

Saturday²

It was still dark and though Ginny would be happy never to move again, she had a serious and pressing need that would be messy and just ouside of the realm of her acceptable kinks to deal with where she was. Extricating herself from the sprawl and tangle of limbs that seemed impossible to attribute to only Tonks, Ginny was finally able to press a kiss to a tattooed shoulderblade and crawl from bed unnoticed.

Knowing Remus lived here too, it occurred to Ginny that wandering down the hall starkers might not be the best of ideas, so she pulled Tonks' short dressing gown off of the hook behind the door, shrugged it on and slipped out of the room. The hallway seemed twenty degrees cooler than Tonks' bedroom had been, and Ginny shivered. She crossed her arms more tightly, doing the same with her knees as she finally made her way down one door to the loo only to find it occupied.

Immediate as the situation was, Ginny made a little grr-whimper sound and bounced her foot. As she opened her mouth to hurry Remus, the sound of the toilet flushing changed what was about to have been a loud, 'Hey! There's a queue!' to an 'oh my god thank you' under her breath.

She pushed away from the wall, effortlessly managing the steps of an uncomplicated hopping sort of knees-crossed dance as the tap came on, adding, 'come on, come on' as the doorknob rattled and the door opened.

"Took long enough mate," she said more loudly with an eyeroll. "Swear you're worse than a--"

And then Ginny stopped dead. And would willingly have fallen literally dead as she realized that it was not Remus at all exiting the toilet.

"Weasley, if you wouldn't mind," said Severus, narrowing his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest, a disturbing amount of dungeon-pale leg showing from under a loosely-buttoned shirt, white and therefore clearly not his.

Ginny couldn't help a grimace, using one hand to shield her eyes sidelong as she turned away. "Sorry. Sorry, so not looking." Good god, what was Remus thinking?

"Likewise," Severus said with icy dislike, if not disgust, and squeezed past her. His footsteps receded down the hall and disappeared into the door on the opposite side of the loo.

With a single headshake, Ginny ran in. Three minutes later, more or less, she ran back out, skulked back through Tonks' door and nearly cannonballed back into bed, burrowing against Tonks, face smashed against her shoulder.

"Mmph?" said Tonks, more asleep than awake.

"I'm so, so sorry we left the party. Poor Remus," said Ginny. "Must've really been pissed. Poor me. Ugh."

Tonks pushed herself up, brow furrowed and rubbing at her eye as she managed to roll over and face Ginny. Ginny only smashed herself closer.

"Wazzat now?" mumbled Tonks fuzzily, pat-patting Ginny's side.

"Snaaaape," Ginny groaned. "Was in your bathroom. Wearing Remus' shirt."

"Score!" giggled Tonks, her arm tightening around Ginny.

Ginny looked up, alarmed. "What? Shame on you! Remus could do far better than that greasy bastard."

"'S what he wanted," mumbled Tonks. "Good on him."

It was Ginny's turn to shove herself up on an elbow, though she was scowling unconvinced. "He wanted Snape."

"Yep," said Tonks, shrugging and using the opportunity to lean in and nibble at Ginny's throat. "Something about having a sexy voice."

"That-" said Ginny, cut off with a breathy sort of giggle as Tonks' fingers shoved open the dressing gown still barely covering Ginny's frame.

"I know, I know, but you've got to admit," said Tonks, beginning to sound a little more awake and a lot more predatory. "The man has je ne sais quoi."

"Nuh-uh," said Ginny, allowing herself to be pushed back down onto the mattress. "I know quoi and just no-- oh! hello there..."

"Hi," said Tonks, slinging her knee over Ginny's hip and pulling herself properly over her. "At least he didn't see you starkers, eh?"

"Stop there," Ginny said, flailing up to slap a hand over Tonks' mouth. "Please."

"Oh," said Tonks, swatting away and pinning Ginny's hand with one of her own, toying with the tie of the dressing gown with the other, and wearing far too gleefully wicked a grin. "I don't think so."

###

Severus was in fact wearing the nearest shirt he'd found that loose, would cover most important parts of his anatomy, as he hadn't seen a dressing gown and couldn't be arsed to care if he was seen and in what state. Of course, that attitude had originated when he had been under the impression that no one else could possibly be awake, and had completely dissipated when he had come face to face with the Weasley girl in a similar state of dishabille.

Not bothering to remove the shirt, he stood unsure at the edge of the bed, shoving his hair back over his shoulder and casting a glance around the room in an effort to locate his clothing in the gloom.

"Come back to bed," murmured the lump under the covers that was Remus, a questing hand reaching out from under said blankets and patting the rumpled sheet. "Still dark. No point in moving."

"I should go--" said Severus, out of place and beginning to feel ridiculous.

"No!" exclaimed Remus, tossing the covers off of his head and sitting up. "No, no," he added more quietly, wincing as he rubbed his temple and slid out of bed a little more slowly. His arms stole around Severus' waist, murmuring into his throat, "Don't go."

As much as his instincts told him to run, Severus stood still, though he did not return the embrace.

"You're welcome to stay as long as you want," added Remus in a sleepy, roughly cajoling voice, nipping at his ear. "I'll make it worth your while."

After a long moment of utter disbelief that he might actually be welcome to stay, and the corresponding shock inherent in the fact that he really, very much wanted to do so, Severus slid his arms around Remus and turned into his kisses.

"Swear that I will not run into any more half-dressed Weasleys, Lupin, and I will consider it."

Remus chuckled into his skin, "I swear," and didn't give Severus a chance to argue further.

###

Hermione practically skipped down the stairs though she was tired, sleepy and a little dehydrated. It was eight o'clock in the morning on a Saturday, yes, and most people were busy sleeping off their drunks (or on them, as the case might be), but Hermione was awake, bright-eyed and humming as she made tea, wet hair braided and knotted at the nape of her neck. The post owl dropped the Prophet onto the table and she shrugged her shoulders once happily, set out her mug and one of the guest mugs before turning any sort of attention to it.

As she unfolded the paper, she loosed a peal of loud, delighted laughter. Hand over her mouth she kept giggling as the little black and white Ron and Draco snogged on the front porch, eventually fell over the railing and didn't stop once they hit the lawn. Every now and then, Ron would flash a rude gesture at the viewer, but his hand unfailingly found its way back to the photographic Draco.

"What's this now?" said a deep voice from behind her as Dean leaned in and set his chin on her shoulder, his hands wrapping around her waist.

Hermione held the paper up for him to see, helpfully tilting her head to give him better access to the side of her neck. "Someone made a spectacle of himself last night."

"Betrayed by Best Mate," read Dean out loud, amusement clear in his voice. "Youngest Weasley brother steals Malfoy out from under Potter's nose at Potter's own party! No word yet on how the BWL's taken this latest blow."

"There's a poor choice of words," Hermione snickered.

Dean turned, nibbled on her ear and breathed, "Heh. Blow."

"I would," said Hermione, dropping the paper so she could run a hand up around Dean's neck with a grin. "But you'd be late to work."

"I don't think I'll ever cease being amazed at the levels of depravity to which you will sink, Miss Granger," he said, chuckling as he pressed a kiss to her jaw.

"A good policy in general," said Hermione, turning in his arms to face him. Tugging on the collar of Dean's shirt, she tilted her head at him. "Just how did the rest of the layabouts get the day off, then?"

"They're daddy's favorites?" grinned Dean, wincing when Hermione smacked his shoulder in response. "Alright. I don't have enough seniority that Shacklebolt could have made it look legit. Had to trade in favors to get last night off as it was."

"Favors?" asked Hermione with an arched eyebrow loaded with more than its share of innuendo.

"Favors," he said, bumping her. "As in, conveniently forgetting indiscretions I may or may not have witnessed among the ranks of the senior Aurors and promising to work the post-party shift."

"Bother," sighed Hermione. "Do you have time for tea before you go?"

Genuinely apologetic, he shook his head. "Got to go home and change. That's if Seamus and Lav didn't totally destroy the place last night."

Hermione laughed. "You could have brought your Auror's robes along with you. It might've saved you some time."

It was Dean's turn to laugh and poke her in the side. "Can you imagine for one moment the look on your face if I'd tried?"

###

One eye cracked open and though the heavy drapes were mostly pulled, the room was too bright by far.

It seemed there was also a problem in that his brain was fogged by what was either still alcohol or a hangover that was waiting for him to try and move a muscle before kicking in at full potency. The strangest thing about it, though, had to be the fact that Neville was not in his bed but still mostly dressed.

Wait, no. The strangest thing about it was probably that he was staring at Harry, still passed out no more than a foot away, mouth open and snoring quietly on every other inhale.

Neville pillowed his head on his own elbow and didn't move away.

###

Tea in hand, Hermione waved from the porch as Dean Disapparated from the back garden, waiting to frown at the trash left on the grass until after he was gone. Still, the frown was more perfunctory than anything. With a graceful flourish of her wand, Hermione gathered it into a small whirlwind that built itself up as it moved across the lawn and collapsed neatly upon itself as it reached the lowest step. Satisfied, she turned and headed back into the kitchen, grin back in full force when she caught sight of the person poking at the guest mug she'd left out.

"Err. Granger," said Draco by way of a greeting, cocking his head toward the teapot while wearing a stupid, sated smirk in as he peered out from under a renegade fall of painfully straight, platinum blond hair that he didn't bother to shove away from his eye. "May I?"

"Be my guest," Hermione said and took a sip from her own mug with a knowing grin.

"Don't. I'm well aware of the situation," Draco said, pouring and fixing his tea.

"What?" asked Hermione as she examined him, recognizing the pyjama bottoms immediately.

Draco turned and leaned on the counter. "Your expression bears literal weight. Please desist."

That tore it. Hermione laughed and tapped the tabletop purposefully. "Mine won't be the only one today, I'm afraid."

Eyebrow arched, Draco pushed away from the counter and peered at the paper lying open on the table. "Oh-- that." And then he did something so exceedingly rare that Hermione could probably count on two hands the number of times she'd ever seen it happen. He grinned, hugely, genuinely, his fingertips trailing over the photo. "At least I don't have a bad side. And Weasley doesn't look half bad in that position, does he?"

"Wazzat 'bout me?" mumbled Ron, pushing his way through the door, looking as though he might've been hit by a hurricane or some other force of nature intent on tearing the clothes from his body, mussing his hair beyond recognition, bending him into impossible positions and leaving behind marks to prove it.

###

Neville hadn't intended to disturb Harry, but he didn't have a choice by the time he made the decision to shift carefully and creep away. Fortunately Harry was still asleep when he came back and Neville didn't hesitate in setting the extra hangover potion and glass of water on the side table quietly and slipping back into the bed with as little disturbance as possible.

Still, Harry sniffed and rolled over, patted his own face in his sleep and not finding his glasses on his face, settled for rolling again and throwing his arm over and around Neville.

Neville... well. Neville didn't bother to move. He was lucky he remembered to breathe.

###

Being hit by a force of nature was an apt description for Ron's state, given that's exactly what had happened to him. Not that he was complaining-- oh no; not at all. There might have been a bit of grumbling when he woke up and the bed was empty and he couldn't find the pyjamas he knew had been thrown over the chair near his bed. His stomach had turned uncomfortably in the moments before he'd seen Draco's clothes and shoes still strewn about the floor, but once he had, went about finding his dressing gown and set off to find him. No luck in the bathroom and voices from downstairs had drawn him to the kitchen, which is how he'd found himself drawn like the proverbial moth to the white-hot flame that was Draco standing with his back to the door and wearing Ron's pyjama bottoms along with his own wrinkled undershirt.

Honestly, there was no competition for his attention as Ron made his way over and slid his hands around Draco, palms flat and crawling up his stomach, mouthing the nape of his neck and murmuring, "Thought you'd gone."

Draco made a 'mrrr'ing sound deep in his chest of the sort that Ron was now well acquainted with, and as such he was unsurprised in the least at the approval registered in parts of his anatomy currently pressed firmly against Draco's arse. To his credit, Draco did not seem the least bit surprised either, turning a heavy-lidded smile over his shoulder and collecting a drawn-out kiss that was cut short by a polite cough from across the table.

Eyes snapping open, Ron left off drawing up the hem of Draco's shirt, swallowed hard and let his gaze finally drag up to see Hermione standing tongue in cheek and not bothering to pretend she hadn't been watching.

"Oh. No. Don't let me interrupt," she said, purposefully pulling a chair out, taking a seat and gesturing toward her throat. "I'll be fine. It's just a tickle."

Ron flushed and tucked his face against Draco's shoulder, actually feeling as though he might laugh until his eyes fell upon the paper. "What's that?!" he said, cutting off whatever it was that Draco had been about to say.

"Photographic evidence of your heartbreaking betrayal," said Draco with much amusement evident in his voice, tugging on Ron's hand, which had gone rigid around him.

"That--" sputtered Ron. "What?"

"Oh come on," said Draco, pointing to the offending bit of text. "At least you're not a fickle temptor. Granger-- is that even a word?"

Swearing under his breath, Ron released him and walked away.

"Weasley?"

Ron stormed out of the room, still muttering as he raked a hand through his hair, shoved the door open with the other and went through. He didn't hear Hermione sigh and offer up a swear of her own, nor did he see Draco hesitate for only a moment, not needing Hermione's nod to decide to follow Ron into the hallway. He did however, notice when Draco grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around to face him, and he certainly heard when Draco leaned in and growled,"The hell is wrong with you?"

"That?! 'S the front page of the Prophet!" Ron knew he was lashing out and probably not even close to coherent, but he couldn't be arsed to stop.

"Good thing you're used to it, then," Draco said, sounding genuinely angry.

"It's not their business! And now--" Ron faltered, throwing a hand out to gesture toward the still-swinging kitchen door. "Now everyone-- that-- the front fucking page for god's sake!"

Draco poked at his stomach. "I can't buy them all off, Weasley, it's going to happen. Man up or--"

"Or what?" sneered Ron just as nastily as Draco ever had.

"You're the sodding mental case, Weasley," said Draco, leaning forward to shout directly into Ron's face. "You know that, don't you?"

"Or what, Malfoy?" said Ron, already wishing he could take it back and running all possible moves through his mind for a good way out.

"Or-" Draco began, but Ron didn't let him finish either as he decided on a course of action. He didn't want to hear what his alternatives were, not after what it had cost to get to where they could argue over being caught in grabby snog by reporters starved for information on Harry's party. He rolled his eyes and reached out to grab Draco's shirt and hauled him unceremoniously to him and kissed him hard. Ron could almost taste the word 'else' that was the last thing to leave Draco's mouth before the whimper that came with Ron's having smashed him up against the wall. Funny how Ron hadn't quite remembered when he'd decided to do so, but he'd done it. He didn't even feel the slightest bit of remorse as he slid his hand up the side of Draco's throat, his fingers digging in wherever they could as though he hadn't traced every available inch of skin there innumerable times the night before. With his tongue.

At any rate, Ron managed to thread his fingers tightly through Draco's hair, spurred on by the hand pressing on his elbow and rubbing aimlessly along his arm, not to mention the other that had wormed into his dressing gown and was raking short nails down already-raw patches of skin along his sides and back.

"Fuck it," breathed Ron at a break in which he realized that his dressing gown had come open, not that any part of his exposed skin was actually exposed in that it was pressed firmly along the length of Draco's body. "They can take as many pictures as they want."

"You're still a bloody mental case," panted Draco, pushing away from the wall.

"So're you," said Ron, who hadn't quite relinquished his hold of Draco's hair.

Another polite cough sounded from the other side of the kitchen door.

"This is such a bad idea," murmured Draco, leaning in to steal a nipping kiss at Ron's throat.

"Fucking stupid is what," Ron answered, nowhere near deterred as he tugged Draco through the room and toward the front stairs.

"You do have a room, Ron." Hermione called through the door.

"Shut up, Hermione," said both Ron and Draco; a phrase which would probably have brought her immediate wrath down upon them, had it been intelligible through the tangle of teeth and tongues in the way. Still, it was likely that she'd understood the intent just fine. Hermione came through the kitchen door, tea in hand and looking up.

"I've got a camera on my mobile, you know," she said, then took a nonchalant sip.

"I hate her some days," grumbled Ron, moving just a little faster. "A lot."

"Funny," Draco grinned and began pulling him up the stairs. "That's what I've been saying for years."

###

This time when Neville woke Harry's eyes were open and watching him, though for the briefest moment he forgot to do anything but smile muzzily. It wasn't until Harry smiled back that he flushed and realized that he should in fact be running away.

"Last night--" Harry said, looking confused, and Neville immediately shook his head and leaned up on an elbow.

"Nothing happened," he said definitively. "It's a little fuzzy after the Twister shots, but I remember it all... mostly."

"No- I mean, I know, but--" said Harry as though he barely believed it himself. "I had... a really great time"

"Yeah?" said Neville, relaxing again even though Harry's arm was still tight around him.

"Yeah. I never..." Harry shut his eyes and his voice was quiet. "A year ago, all I remember thinking was that I probably wouldn't live long enough to do anything besides fight. Every day that goes by--"

Neville was only human. He used the leverage afforded to him by the elbow still half under him to close the distance between them and pressed his lips to Harry's. Apart from the fact that his eyes snapped open, Harry didn't give any other indication of being surprised in the least. In one fluid movement, he used the arm around Neville to draw himself closer and wind one foot around his. Neville couldn't stop to think about what he was doing, offering up no resistance as Harry pressed closer and slid his knee up and over Neville's hip. He breathed Harry in, tasted him through the stale beer and sleep; bloody hell, Neville's hands were scrabbled for purchase in Harry's thin t-shirt, his body sparking hot everywhere Harry's weight settled against him.

Groaning, Harry fisted a handful of Neville's shirt, using the other hand to run his hand up Neville's chest. As far as he was concerned, Neville was probably still asleep, because he'd never quite had such a perfect moment in his life. When Harry finally tore himself away, panting, staring and grinning stupidly, Neville didn't know what to expect. Apparently neither did Harry, if the look on his face was any indication. It must have been the confusion that led Neville to say what he said next.

"I can't watch you do what you do anymore," he murmured, echoing Harry's words from the night before. He bit his lip and added, "I don't want to be one of those people to you."

Neville let his eyes flutter shut when Harry lifted the hand on his chest and ran it through Neville's hair. A shiver ran down his spine and Neville's hands took on a air of urgency as they crept up under Harry's shirt and clutched at his skin.

"Never," murmured Harry, leaning in and nipping at Neville's lower lip, quiet and determined and all raw honesty. "They were never you."

###

The sun was near to setting again from the looks of it and Tonks tumbled out of her room, disheveled and wobbly-legged and calling promises to hurry after herself as she pulled the door shut. She hurried past Remus' room, wearing trousers and a white tank top, hurriedly pulled on if the red brassiere clearly visible underneath was any indication.

After a quick glance into the kitchen made it clear that Remus was the only other person in sight, she slouched in wearing the stupidest of grins.

"Good morning to you," said Remus, flushing even as he made it sound far more filthy than it ought.

"Gooooood morning, Remus John," said Tonks, grabbing his face and kissing him on the cheek. "Heard you had company."

"You did?" said Remus, his head popping up from where he'd been studying the tabletop.

"Yep," Tonks said, unbearably smug as she stuck her head in the refrigerator. "Ginny told me she had a most interesting encounter last night." Her head came up unexpectedly. "Wait. This morning."

Remus laughed again, scrubbing his hand up and around the back of his neck, then immediately wincing again for the fresh mark he disturbed in the process. "Oh. Yes. That."

"Nicely done, old man," said Tonks, handing him a bottle of beer.

"You as well, pup," he said, taking the beer dubiously. "Shouldn't we be seeing to breakfast, or some such?" He pointed to the various menus he'd been examining when she'd walked in. "I was thinking of ordering take away. I don't know that I have it in me to try and do something up myself."

"Mm. What do you have in you, then?" said Tonks with a wickedly filthy smirk as she took a long pull from the cold bottle, reaching around his arm and tugging up the proper menu. "Curry, please."

Snorting a laugh, Remus elbowed her hard. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"I've got enough of an idea, thanks. I--" Tonks paused as Remus pulled up the menus and exposed the Prophet underneath, and burst into laughter as she read the headline.

"Ah. Young love," breathed Remus in a breathy approximation of a sigh, though he couldn't help laughing too. "Apparently they benefited from your plot by mere association."

"Our plot," said Tonks, who still couldn't stop laughing even after Remus thumped her arm.

"It's not that funny."

"Hell yes it is! Look at that!" she said, coughing as she tried to suppress her chuckles. "Imagine for one moment please my baby cousin's reaction to seeing that today. On the front page. Imagine the look on Ron's?"

Remus paused to look at Tonks and then joined her in the raucous laughter. Though they couldn't quite look at one another for fear of setting each other off again, Remus slung an arm around her shoulders and pressed a kiss to her temple.

"You are bad, bad news," he said with a fond squeeze.

"And you love me for it," she answered, squeezing back before pulling away. She spoke over her shoulder as she made her way down the hall. "Let me find my mobile and we'll order. There needs to be food, and soon."

"No loud distractions, you," he called after her, turning the page of the Prophet after another amused headshake. "Food first."

Tonks was suddenly back and in his face.

"Mate, I am so sorry. I completely forgot to put up an Imperturbable-- was it really that loud out here? Because I know it was d-"

Remus waved it off. "Don't worry about it."

"Oh, no, I know you did, 'cos I didn't hear a sound," she said, biting the inside of her lip. "But I feel like an arse now because the last thing you and Sn- Severus wanted to hear was--"

"I put Imperturbable charms up in your room on Monday. Good, strong, durable ones," said Remus, all smug amusement as he finally flipped the page without looking up.

"You utter dog!" Tonks said, smacking his arm. "Monday?!"

Remus snickered and made a show of fending off further blows. "Monday." Tonks set her hands on her hips and pursed her lips, tongue in cheek.

"Your face is going to stay that way," he said, making a grab for her protruding lower lip and missing when she twirled away and continued on her way back down the hall. "The phone, Nymphadora."

Tonks shot a rude gesture over her shoulder and said wickedly, "Yes, but who needs food when there're Imperturbables on my room that I'd like to test further?"

She disappeared into her room and Remus smiled, making a note of what needed to be ordered but stopping after two words and suddenly looking after Tonks.

"Tonks?"

Quickly, he dropped the pen and jogged down the hallway after her, cursing himself for not owning his own mobile phone.

"You'd better be kidding!" he called out, knocking roughly on her door. "Tonks!"

The door opened just a crack and suddenly there came the sound of not one but two women giggling. A mobile phone popped through the opening and Remus had to scramble to catch it.

"Chicken Tikka Masala for --hee!-- two, pleas--" said Tonks, cut off as the door shut again. Remus stood phone in hand, rolling his eyes and had begun to head back to the kitchen when the door opened again and a small wad of Muggle pounds were next to be shoved through the crack.

"And plenty of --stay!-- Chicken Vindaloo!" said Ginny, cut off by more giggling before the door slammed shut again. Remus watched, grinning, and surely enough, the door opened once again.

Tonks' face and shoulder, now bare but for a loosened bra strap were only visible for a moment as she whispered, "Thank you!"

This time the door was slammed for good.

Remus snorted a laugh, shook his head and finally placed the order as he made his way down the hall to his own room.

"I hope you like--"

The phone went flying, the door was hard against his back, and the lack of ambient sound was deafening as the hands on his hips held him steady and the mouth on his made further words impossible.

In essence, things were finally as they ought to be. And they were bloody brilliant.

--end.

...wait, wait:

Post-credit bonus scene

Sunday morning, about a month later...

Ron jogged down the back stairs of 12 Grimmauld Place, barefoot and whistling a merry tune that spoke of having managed an entire weekend off and the prospect of spending the lion's share of those two days with the annoying Ferret that he couldn't quite get enough of.

He hit a particularly triumphant note as his feet hit the kitchen floor on a hop, only to find Tonks digging through the refrigerator.

"Wotcher, mate!" said Tonks, emerging with a bottle of orange juice. "Sleep well?"

"Hey," said Ron, eyebrow arched. "Running low at your place?"

"Eh," she shrugged, setting the bottle on the counter and reaching up into the cabinet for two glasses. "It's just too quiet. Gin's at camp, Remus is off with Snape and I needed some human interaction." Pausing and looking around, she furrowed her brow and said, "What, no paper?"

"Sadly? No," Ron said with an incongruous grin. "The Prophet delivery owls won't come near the house any more."

Tonks nodded sagely and poured. "Yeah? Why's that?"

Ron looked up and whistled, and not two seconds later, a scary-looking bird swept directly in through the cracked window and came to a swift, silent rest atop the cabinet nearest Ron. "Tonks, meet Rufus. Rufus, Tonks."

"Is that... is that a Peregrine Falcon?" said Tonks, mouth sort of hanging open when Ron reached up to pet the bird fondly.

"Yep," Ron said, offhandedly. "Y'know, him and Hedwig get along just fine. But Prophet owls... rub him the wrong way. And the neighborhood has been curiously free of rats as of late."

Tonks snorted a laugh, still staring at the gorgeous and clearly predatorial bird. "Fancy that. You had him trained?"

At that, Ron finally colored and looked down. "He... um. Was a gift. Came that way."

Grinning as she handed Ron a full glass, Tonks mumbled, "I see," before she took a drink from her own.

"Don't," said Ron through a laugh as he snatched the glass away. "I mean it."

He could tell she was going to anyway, or had intended to until the door opened and Justin slouched in, landing in a seat at the table, head in his hands.

"Shoot me, please," he groaned, exposing one eye to be able to see Ron. "I beg you. I can no longer endure this torture."

Ron and Tonks exchanged a look of pure confusion, both muttering, "Huh?" as Justin went on.

"She's killing me. Killing me! I can't bear it!"

"Err--" said Tonks, taking a step closer and patting his shoulder. "Who's killing you, now?"

"Hannah! She's--" Justin dropped his face onto his arms again and mumbled.

"Wazzat?" asked Ron.

"Perfect!" said Justin, still muffled but loud enough to be understood. "She's perfect. Damn her."

Tonks sighed, set her glass of orange juice next to his elbow and patted him a little more forcefully. "There, there, mate."

Justin downed the juice in once long drink as though it were a shot of firewhiskey and slammed the glass back onto the tabletop. "It's no use. She'll only ever see me as her business partner."

Ron and Tonks stood watching Justin groan miserably into his arms for a moment before they exchanged another, more sympathetic glance. Ron shrugged, at a loss until Tonks' eyebrow shot up, a wicked smirk playing at the corner of her mouth.

"Hey," she said, shaking Justin's shoulder. "Have either of you got a birthday or something coming up? 'Cos I've got some party planning experience..."

END

corvidae9 — Sun, 08 Apr 2007 02:11:26 GMT

What do you do when you're supposed to be finishing something that absolutely needs finishing? You finish something else! *facepalm*

Title: Crowd
Author: corvidae9
Rating: NC17
Word Count: ~5900
Summary: Luna is so clever, she outwits herself. (Harry/Ron, including Harry/Luna/Ron and every permutation thereof, mention of F/Hr/G) Post-HBP.
Author's Note: Written for mickawber, based on a result of a discussion about his One Bad Thing theory and for no particular reason other than we share a lot of the same perverse amusements. :D And also, it took me about a year to finish. Good thing my friends aren't allowed to hold it against me, right? It also doesn't end the way it was originally supposed to ~~and it's probably responsible for all of your unmatched socks and probably ripped the tags off of several mattresses while it was at it~~, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. *irons hands omg*

###

October, 1997
Harry considered the lump on the other side of the room, recognizable by the shock of Weasley red hair poking out from under the quilt that was pulled almost entirely over his face. He didn't have to think at all to know that Ron had two methods of sleep. 'Sprawled out' counted as one, since no matter what, all limbs ended up pointing in different directions and was his default mode of sleep. 'Curled up' meant a particularly rough day and no desire to talk about it. In the four months that they'd been out hunting and destroying and generally roughing it, Harry had seen this probably twice and in the six years prior to that, he'd seen it maybe a handful of times.

Today Harry knew exactly why. Rolling up on his elbow, he cleared his throat and watched for the cover to be lowered just far enough for Ron's eye to focus on him, which it did almost immediately as far as he could tell without his glasses.

"I don't know what to make of it either, mate. It's... a little weird, yeah."

The one blue eye showing narrowed slightly. "Don't want to talk about it."

"Bothered me too, you know. Felt like... I don't know. Cracking one or both of them upside the face. Hard."

"Mate," Ron growled, not even bothering to disguise his jealousy. "Do not even tell me that you're all sprung on her too..."

"No! God, Ron. No," said Harry quickly. "She's like my sister. Gah. I just... Doesn't seem right that your brothers --and I do mean brothers because I've no clue which was doing what-- should chat Hermione up."

"Or that she'd just stand about and giggle like an empty-headed bit of fluff," Ron grumbled.

"Especially not with Ginny standing around acting like they're the best thing that ever happened to the Wizarding World and I'm just an overrated hack. I mean, they're her brothers and successful and not in mortal danger every hour or so, but still. Damn."

"Did you see the way Hermione was giggling?" said Ron, sitting further up, eyes narrowed. "Giggling, Harry."

"Funny," mused Harry, now staring at the wall just above Ron's shoulder, not registering that they were talking about separate 'she's. "Didn't sting quite as much as I thought it might. But that dig from Ginny about stealing her brother..."

"Sodding brothers," murmured Ron.

"And sister," Harry said, eyes snapping back to Ron. "Don't forget her."

"Cut from the same bloody cloth, the three of them."

There was a pause as their two disparate conversations merged back into one, followed by identical guffaws of laughter. Harry covered his eyes with his forearm. "Oh hell. We... are the biggest wankers."

Ron laughed, adding in an offhand manner, "Speak for yourself. Gone are my days of wanking to H--"

Silence reigned again as Ron stopped dead in his tracks and Harry half-sat up, incredulous. In all of their years as best mates, Ron had never, ever admitted anything about what he did or did not feel about Hermione except to say that they were just friends and now... "I'm sorry, what?"

"Piss off. I'm done carrying a half-arsed torch for my best friend, alright?" Ron said with a vehement sweeping motion with his hands as he sat up. "Done. She can shag my brother if she wants. Either or both, I don't give a damn."

His tone was mocking and relatively light, but Harry could hear the resentment in it, as well as another emotion more immediate, and couldn't decide whether it was regret or genuine relief that it was no longer his job to be Hermione's intended love interest by default. It sounded far too much like his own voice in his head telling him things with Ginny were better off this way too (though truthfully, he could do without the open scorn). "Well, good luck to her then. She's got exactly... twenty hours to pull it off, and then we're gone again."

Ron's bed creaked and groaned as he rolled onto his back, forearm across his face unconsciously mirroring Harry's position. "Bugger."

###

March, 1998

Harry was thrown to the ground as a curse flew past, fully convinced he'd been hit by a freight train or a hex with about as much force, but when he opened his eyes he found he was being shaken lightly by a Ron not eight inches from his face, murmuring incoherencies such as "I swear to God if you die I'll kill you, Harry. We've been through this."

Managing a pat to Ron's side, Harry coughed and blinked and mumbled, "'Mfine. Got to get up. Death Eaters." At the last his eyes opened wider than ever and tried to sit in a rush, only to find a smaller, blood-spattered hand on his shoulder helping to hold him down.

Her voice was almost unrecognizably missing a lot of the spacey qualities he'd come to appreciate, but Luna spoke clearly and calmly nonetheless as Ron continued to hold him steady. "Gone. They all Disapparated about five minutes ago. Apparently, they had somewhere to be."

"How long... how long have I been out?" asked Harry, still dazed. "Hermione?!"

"Is fine. You've not been out long - they left right after you went down, buggered if I know why." Ron peered into Harry's eyes for signs of concussion and then gently turned his face to where Hermione was being fussed over by both Fred and George. "And those prats have some explaining to do."

Harry's hand had not yet left Ron's side (entirely unconsciously no doubt), and now he squeezed lightly, voice regaining an almost playful edge. "After we kick their arse."

In an uncharacteristic show of affection, Ron dropped his forehead to Harry's chest with a laugh. Before Harry could react, he straightened and popped to his feet offering Harry a hand up. "Can you walk?"

Tentative, Harry took the hand and stood. "Yeah. Looks like. "

"Good. Let's go," Ron nodded and clapped Harry's shoulder gently, not letting go as they made their way to Hermione.

Harry may not have had time to process the scene correctly, but Luna certainly had. She'd stood watching them practically in their own world from the time Harry's eyes opened to their walking away without so much as a by your leave, and the pieces fell into place. With a sigh, she brushed her hair back from her face with barely a hiss as her fingertips brushed the raw scrape at her temple and thought that maybe she should try and help.

It was a thought, at least. That was what Healers-in-Training did, after all.

###

April, 1998

Harry walked into the room he shared with Ron at Grimmauld Place and sat on the floor with a thump. " I need a drink."

"Harry?!" Ron was on his feet and peering at Harry in an instant, sinking to his knees beside him, and truly alarmed by the look on his face. "Mate? say something..."

Ron shook him slightly, and Harry finally blinked and turned his attention to him. "It was... no. Just. I didn't need to see that."

"All right. Let's slow down," said Ron, his brain already churning possibilities, each more horrific than the last. "What did you see?"

"Hermione. And Fred..." Harry said, licking his lips.

"That bastard," spat Ron. "I knew it!"

"...and George," murmured Harry, and Ron's eyes flew wide.

"I'm sorry, what?!"

"The... err. Three of them." Harry scratched his head and refocused on Ron, sort of almost-smiling now. "It was... y'know. Creative."

Ron blinked and sat back on his heels. "Ugh. Just... Ugh."

Harry snorted a laugh, to which Ron responded by thumping his shoulder with a half-hearted frown. Unfortunately, this seemed to have no effect other than to spur Harry on, and he laughed again and didn't quite stop, letting his head fall back against the wall. Ron tried to narrow his eyes at Harry, but instead, he suddenly loosed a chuckle that became a bark of laughter. Neither seemed inclined to stop, and both continued to laugh madly, Harry holding his hands over his stomach, Ron folding over, his forehead pressed to the wall near Harry's head.

"Oh my god. Just..." Harry wheezed. "Hermione. Who knew?"

"Shut up, man," Ron said in a tone higher than his usual speaking voice and creaking with laughter. "Seriously. I still don't want to know."

Harry kept laughing and Ron collapsed forward against the wall and partially Harry's shoulder, almost inaudible. Eventually the hysterical laughter did in fact die back and Harry wiped his eyes under his glasses fighting stray chuckles. As he turned to face Ron, Ron was turning to face him and they bumped temples. Ron loosed another chuckle, but suddenly he was breathing too hard; he had a visual he didn't need, but it had to do with the fact that if Harry was this close all it would take for a kiss really was to turn just a little bit. Just. A little.

In the meantime, Harry had generally the same thought, and though somewhat surprised, was fully willing to follow it through at that particular moment. He nuzzled Ron's temple several times before making to tilt his chin toward him. He could feel Ron's breath on his cheek; it was rushed and too-hot and Harry slowly let his eyes shut.

Suddenly as one, their eyes popped open and they flew apart as if burnt.

Straightening his glasses, Harry sputtered, "I--"

"Right," mumbled Ron, scratching the back of his neck as he got to his feet.

"Long. Um. Long day," said Harry as he popped to his feet.

"Yeah. Yeah!"

"I'm..."

"Yeah! Going. Me, um. Me too."

"It was just. y'know. After."

"Seeing that, o'course."

"Yeah! um, yeah."

"Right. So, bed? I mean! You know. Yours, and also mine. As in, two."

Harry nodded inanely, "Yeah. Yeah. I'm gonna... yeah. Brush my teeth."

"Sure, yeah, 'course," said Ron lamely. "I'll um. I'll do that when you're done."

"Ok, yeah. Sure," Harry nodded again, wishing the crazy would stop, finally managing to edge to the door. "Right. Be. Um. Be right back."

He slipped through the door and shut it, immediately doubling over, hands to his knees to take a deep breath, because he suddenly felt like he was hyperventilating. He shook his head and arms and finally moved on to the bathroom, wondering what the hell had just happened. Unbeknownst to him, Ron was thinking pretty much the same thing just on the other side of the door.

###

Breakfast at Grimmauld Place consisted of tea and whatever was at hand, at whatever hour you rose to find it. Luna was fine with this. There always seemed to be rolls, sometimes even fruit, and that was for the most part all she needed.

Today, however, Harry, Ron and Hermione were in residence and she wanted to catch them, since they would probably be on their way again shortly. She'd heard the commotion in Hermione's room, and thought that maybe Harry and Ron had worked it out both with Hermione and without her. The idea was discarded when she caught sight of Harry hurrying down the hallway, however, and from the look on his face, wasn't nearly as relaxed as Hermione would no doubt be come morning.

Apparently, they still did need the help. She watched him walk, admiring the grace of his actions when he wasn't paying attention to them, and thinking that his coloring really did suit him well, as did the extra long sleeves of his shirt and the eternal almost-artful mess of his hair.

Smiling and thinking that Ron was a lucky boy indeed, she brushed her hair more quickly to hurry up and get downstairs.

###

Of all the uncomfortable flushing going on over breakfast, Hermione was the least informed of the three, given that she assumed that it revolved around her. After about ten minutes of group mumbling and niceties the three of them never bothered with anymore, she cleared her throat.

"Harry. Listen, I'm... really really sorry you had to see that."

It was Ron that held up his finger. "Rule number one. we don't want to hear about it. Details, that is. We don't want them."

"Rule number two," said Harry. "If it makes you happy... then y'know. We'll deal with it."

Ron held a third finger up and hesitated, "Rule-- no wait. That's it. Though I've no idea why you'd want to shag those idiots."

Hermione cocked her head at them, half-horrified and yet mostly relieved. Her rabbit-in-headlights look dissolved into a wobbly smile and she hooked her arm around Harry's shoulders. "I love you. Both of you. Sooo much." She looked up as Ron stood not a foot away without moving. "Well?! Come here!"

He hesitated before stepping up and immediately was crushed into a hug, trying very much not to think about the fact that he was sort of hugging Harry, too. They'd done this before. It wasn't a big deal, not at all.

"Oh! Hugging! What a good way to start a day!" exclaimed Luna from the doorway. The trio disentangled themselves and took a collective step back. "Don't mind me. I just need some tea and whatever's about."

She walked in directly to Hermione and threw her arms around the shorter Gryffindor. "And good morning to you, too!"

Hermione's eyebrow shot up as she patted Luna's back. "Err. Yes! good morning!"

Luna turned and made Harry her next target. He was about her height and just right for throwing her arms around, as opposed to Ron who came next. He was just tall enough that she had to rise up on her tiptoes and sort of launch herself upward. It's possible that she lingered a little longer on the boys, but that was purely scientific, given that she wanted a feel for how they'd fit together.

Rather well, was the conclusion.

That done, she smiled blissfully and moved to get tea. "Would anyone like more tea?" She asked offhand as she poured the last drops into her cup, pondering possible next steps. It might have to wait until next time.

###

May, 1998

Harry, Ron and Hermione stood crouched, hidden in the recesses of the tall shrubbery at the garden wall of the aged manor, watching as they had been since an hour before the last light went out.

Hermione shot a quick look at Harry before raising her wand and beginning work the countercharms to the security wards. It had taken her a week to work out how to deconstruct them without setting off the alarms, but if the Horcrux they were seeking was indeed in the basement vault of the manor, the wards would be the least of their problems.

There was a faint sizzle and Harry leaned forward but Ron put a hand on his shoulder. "Nuh uh, mate. I'll go."

Brow furrowed, Harry shook his head. "No way."

"We're all going in once they're down, anyway," hissed Ron. "I'll just nip up to the door to make sure."

Looking up, Harry closed his hand over Ron's without another word, waiting a beat before nodding. "Hermione took them down, she knows what she's doing."

"Then it's not a problem, is it?" smiled Ron, squeezing Harry's shoulder once again before creeping forward along the wall, wand drawn.

Narrowing her eyes in the direction of the Manor, Hermione nodded and murmured, "He's fine. They're down."

Ron reached the servant's entrance without incident, pushed open the door and turned with a small wave. Harry exhaled a relieved, "bloody hell," as he and Hermione scrambled to follow.

###

"Mobilicorpus!" shouted Hermione, her wand arm shaky but her voice steady. Harry's unconscious form rose into the air slowly, but at the rate the thumping at the door and the spell sparks coming through the gaps between it were increasing, the wards she'd set hastily would be coming down any second now. "Ronald! We have to move!"

Ron finally had a grip on the smaller box inside the puzzle box he'd had to work carefully to keep from having his hands smashed flat or worse. "Got it, got it; Hermione how's he doing?"

"Breathing... I think," Hermione said, flinching as the door bowed inward again. "Other than that all I know is we have to get him back home."

"Oh shite!" Ron shouted as he pulled the box free and the bigger apparatus snapped shut, his entire upper body barely clearing the crash. "Let's go," He scrambled to his feet breathless, shoved the box at Hermione and crouched to wrap his arms around Harry's knees and toss him over a shoulder. "Now Hermione! Now!"

Hermione didn't need to be told twice. She grabbed Ron's hand and Apparated them all directly out as the door splintered inward.

Having one Apparate all three in a tight situation had become a habit-- mostly to ensure that they all ended up in the same place and were still able to watch each other's back when they arrived. As such, all three appeared at the end of the walk leading to 12 Grimmauld Place at once, though Ron was already heading for the door at a dead run, assisted by the fact that Harry's limp form was still magically lightened by the Mobilicorpus spell.

Hermione ran hard to keep up with Ron's long legs, a step behind as he crashed through the door, shouting, "Anybody home? 'Cos we sort of need you now!"

Luna was already there. "His room, I think," she said calmly, even though Hermione had already set the chest down, collared Luna and was dragging her up the stairs behind Ron.

"Curse damage - I heard part of the spell. I don't know it, but I can repeat it for you," said Hermione, not waiting for the questions she knew by heart. "He went down immediately-- his eyes were half-open at first, but he's been totally unresponsive since."

Ron set Harry down on his bed and stood back with a hand over his own mouth, swearing quietly as Luna moved in and removed the Mobilicorpus, murmuring and examining. "Hmm. Hermione, the spell?"

"Tempus Impedimento, I think," said Hermione as she wrapped her arms around Ron. "Something about stopping time?"

Nodding Luna lifted Harry's hand and let it drop to the mattress, which it did so slowly, it was as though his hand was floating through the air. "He's in a pocket of time that responds to different rules than ours," said Luna as she crouched down and watched Harry's hand fall the rest of the way to the bed, muttering what sounded like math under her breath. "Fortunately, this was either cast by someone who didn't know what they were doing, isn't very strong, or Harry's massive, frightening reservoir of power kicked in and kept him from taking it full-strength."

Pointing a belligerent finger toward Harry, Ron's scowl deepened. "This isn't full-strength?"

Luna remained unphased as she shook her head. "Not even close. Unimpeded, he should still be falling to the ground." Her eyes were wide as she looked up at Ron again. "Which is why it's such an effective curse. You immobilize your enemy and put them out of commission for a month or longer, if you care to let them live that long. Not everyone that meets this curse has someone around that can first, remove them from the situation and secondly, knows or can find the countercurse without killing them."

"What?" Hermione said, face completely devoid of color. "No, no, we can fix it-- there is a safe counter. Right?"

"Oh yes!" Luna exclaimed with a bright smile as she straightened abruptly. "The countercurse involves a slow return to normal time. You see, Finite Incantatem doesn't work, and then there's only killing when people who don't know get desperate and use more complicated breaking spells, which eventually release the victim in one fell swoop. And that's when the rescuers end up killing whomever they're trying to fix." She shook her head. "Shame, really."

Ron gestured wildly again. "Ok, so do it, yeah?"

Shoving his gesturing hand out of the way, Hermione turned a considering eye on Luna. "How slow?"

"No idea," shrugged Luna. "The only surviving victim I actually know of took just about ten days before he could manage to cross a room in the space of twelve hours. But this isn't the full curse for whatever reason, and this is Harry we're talking about."

"That's bollocks!" shouted Ron, taking his frustration out on Luna without remorse.

Hermione turned a disapproving eye on Ron, but said nothing, the tone of her answer to Luna evident that it held the same meaning and intent. "Fine. You start, I'll go see what I can find out about it." She stooped to press a kiss to Harry's forehead before adding, "Stay with him, Ron. I'll lock the chest up and we'll deal with it when we've got him back."

Luna watched her stretch up and kiss Ron's cheek and then rush out of the room.

"Chair?" offered Luna, but Ron was already pulling one away from the writing desk and turning it backwards flush against the bed. He sat hard, wearing a sullen expression that was a curious mix of worry and anger, and always that fierce devotion to Harry.

"Well?" he growled as he dropped his chin onto his arm.

"Well, well, well," Luna murmured to herself as she began on the counter, ignoring Ron's glare.

###

An hour later, a complex web of magic laid by Luna's countercharm was slinking its way around Harry's still form though one could really only feel it rather than see it, and Ron was still staring as though doing so might help.

Luna sighed and circled the bed, setting her hands on his shoulders. Though she'd moved slowly, he started, clearly not paying attention to anything past his line of sight. She made to knead the knotted muscles under her hands, but they were pulled so tight she vaguely worried that she might hurt her fingers in so doing, not that it stopped her from trying. Quietly, Luna murmured a spell to help them relax, though when she began to speak, Ron's hand darted up and caught hers. Holding it a little more firmly than was comfortable, he growled, "What are you doing?"

Unperturbed, Luna answered. "You can't help him if you can't move from how sore you must be."

"What? I'm fine," he said with a scowl. "Worry about Harry."

"I am," she said softly, trying to wiggle her fingers and failing. "The counters are doing their work, and in half an hour I'll start again. In the meantime, I'll work on you. Ouch."

Ron's eyes slid from hers to where he was squeezing her fingers and the pressure immediately eased, his expression gone apologetic.

"Oh, God, Luna, I'm sorry. It's just--"

"Shh," she said as her hands soothed over his shoulders again, her eyes darting to Harry and back. "I understand."

Visibly deflating, Ron nodded and muttered a small, "Sorry," as he dropped his head onto his crossed forearms on the back of the chair. He didn't have further complaint as Luna worked the knots out of his neck and shoulders, pressing down along either side of the length of his spine and shoulderblades. Ron groaned appreciatively over her murmured spell at the small of his back.

"Did you l--nngh--learn that somewhere?"

Luna nodded sagely as he melted further under her hands. "As is the case with most things."

Her hands drifted down his hips and over his spread thighs and over the bulge in his jeans. Ron's head popped up with a sharp inhale.

"Luna, what?!"

"Relax," said Luna, unzipping his jeans and slipping her hand in and through the slit of his boxers.

"C--can't," he said, shaking his head, though not making any attempt to shove her away. "Harry."

"Relax," she repeated, her lips pressed to the back of his neck, her hand moving faster.

Panting irregularly, Ron hung his head, and Luna could see his fingers bled white and clutching the chair back. Her mouth dragged up under his ear, thumb moving up and around with every stroke. Harry lay unmoving in the bed two feet away appeared to be unconscious but there was no telling with the state of the curse, and Luna didn't care. Correction: Luna did care-- she hoped he was awake and watching.

Ron's muscles tightened under her hands and when Luna's teeth bit into his ear, he loosed a stuttered moan from the back of his throat and spilled hot over her hand. Distracted as he might be, Luna was paying close attention and didn't miss the name on his lips when he did.

Harry-- it was always about Harry, wasn't it?

After a second, Ron stood abruptly and didn't quite meet her eyes as he tucked himself away and zipped his jeans.

"Sorry," he murmured again and hurried for the door.

"He needed that," she said in Harry's direction as the door slammed shut.

Harry didn't have an answer.

###

The counter charm could only be credited with part of the cure, Luna was certain. She watched Harry emerge from his room late the next morning, gaining stability with every step, though she didn't interrupt his progress downstairs. Instead, she smiled as she heard Ron and Hermione's reactions from the kitchen.

Luna slipped into Harry and Ron's room once he was gone, humming as she set to clearing away the magical spell debris as she dusted with charmed faux fwooper dusters that moved about on their own. When the door opened not much later, she knew exactly who it was, and so she didn't bother to be worried even after the heavy hand landed on her arm just above the elbow and spun her around to face him.

"Hello Harry," she said with a genuine grin. "I'm very glad to see your strength seems to have returned in full."

He didn't look very glad. He looked as though he had that answer now. The lights flickered, the dusters suddenly moving erratically and crashing into one another.

"Was that some sort of a show you put on?" he growled.

"The dusters?" said Luna, not really worried that he was hurting her. "No they--"

"Yesterday," he ground out, shoving her back a step. "With Ron."

"Oh! That. No," she said, going without resistance. "That was his needing to relax. Inappropriate as it was, I could try and admit that I didn't think you were conscious."

"Funny thing about that," Harry said, his eyes betraying a hint of a flinch as her back hit the wall. "Since you're the only one who knew anything about the curse."

Luna didn't have to tilt her head up at all to look at Harry in the eye. "There was an article on little-known deadly curses in the Quibbler of 4 April 1993," she said, breathing in the pressure of his squeezing hands. "The author wished to remain anonymous but Daddy had his suspicions."

Ignoring the extraneous information, Harry only pushed harder. "You knew I was watching the whole time!"

"Kinky," she said with a smile, slipping her right foot out of its scuffed sandal and running her toes along his calf. "You could see his face, couldn't you?"

"You knew," Harry leaned in and snarled, breath ragged and hot across her ear as he took the opportunity to push her into the wall again.

"Knew you could hear him groaning your name?" she asked, all feigned innocence, arching up against him purposefully. "Knew that you wanted to be the one wrapping your hand around his cock?" Harry groaned and ground his hips against hers and she went on.

"He's so beautiful, Harry. Did you see? When he came how his lips curved around your name as though he was s--" All at once, Harry was scrabbling at her skirt and shoving her knickers aside, his fingers plunging into her before she finished, "--sighing it. Smiling it."

Luna was so wet-- a situation made worse by the fact that his fingers gave her the impression that he wouldn't have cared if she wasn't. She let her head thump back against the wall as they curved under and into and up and around and murmured, "Harder, Harry."

"Stop," said Harry with another vicious swipe before withdrawing his hand and pushing away his pyjamas.

"Ron should be here to see this, I think," murmured Luna, watching his motions intently. "It'd be only fair."

"Shut up," growled Harry. "Don't talk about Ron."

"Ok," said Luna, tossing her newly-freed hand over his shoulder and flexing her fingers to encourage the returning circulation. Luna wasn't holding his tone against him; he'd had a hard, confusing few days, after all.

"I mean it," said Harry, tugging her hips up roughly. Luna went willingly, wrapping her leg around his arse as he lifted her once more and pushed into her roughly with a groan. "Don't," he breathed as he pounded into her. "Not Ron."

Luna didn't bother pointing out that she wasn't the one moaning his name as Harry was doing, nor did she bother pointing out when the door cracked open and Ron's surprised face appeared for a split second before it shut again. She shut her own eyes and clutched at Harry and let the wall hold her up, giving over to the sensations coursing through her body.

When he came, he let her down slowly and didn't quite look at her either, even when she kissed his cheek and let herself out, but Luna wasn't worried. She would make sure it was worked out before the end of the day.

###

Luna could hear the argument through the door and walked in without knocking.

Harry and Ron stood facing one another, faces red and hands in fists, both looking up and growling a simultaneous and uncharitable, "What?!"

Luna didn't stop until she was standing between them. She reached out, took hold of Harry's face and kissed him, ignoring his surprised yelp.

In the background, Ron groaned, "Oh for fuck's sake," and that was her cue to release Harry and turn to Ron instead, push up onto her tiptoes and kiss him as well. It should be noted that neither put up much of a fight.

"Now you," said Luna as she pulled away from Ron. Both made sounds of protest and Luna wasted no time in pointing to Harry though she addressed Ron. "You could have died and you would never have known what it's like to do what I just did."

She watched them stare at each other and wondered whether they could feel the weight of it as keenly as she could, even though neither did a damn thing else. With an exasperated sigh, Luna grabbed a handful of Ron's shirt and tugged as she kissed Harry again. "Do it," she mumbled, her grip tight on Harry as she turned to Ron again. "You want to," she added, privately delighted when she felt Harry's hand drift low across her stomach. "Take it while you can," she said as Ron kissed her without being dragged, his eyes rooted firmly over her shoulder. Harry suddenly pressed closer, his mouth on her neck from behind, though from the size and angle of the hands on her hips, it could only be Ron tugging at her.

"Do it," she breathed and they were finally kissing over her shoulder, one of Harry's hands sneaking up her ribs to palm a breast. She leaned the side of her cheek against Ron's shoulder and watched as best she could, glad to act as their temporary body by proxy. Even if it was only for the selfish prospect of all four of their hands on her at once; both of their mouths and both of their cocks.

If they could only rip them from one another.

###

Luna was tired and sore, bruised from heavy fingerprints and overenthusiastic elbows and knees, but bore none of the evidence of biting kisses that decorated Ron's neck and at least one place on his thigh. Which was fine. Harry had marked what was his. It was lucky, how they fit together.

Her knickers were a loss but her skirt and jumper made themselves available with little fuss. Once she had them on, she twisted her hair into a knot that she could slip her wand through temporarily until she could shower and wash it.

Just as well about the knickers anyway. Luna ran an absent hand between her legs and shuddered as her fingers came up slick and warm. She whimpered audibly as a fingertip teased bundles of highly overstimulated nerves enough to verify just what sort of activities she'd been involved in, as if there'd been a doubt. The covers draped low across Harry's back did little to cover his skin or the way he was tangled up with Ron, which in turn did nothing to make her want to stop.

Still-- her job was done.

One sleeping boy shifted closer to the other and paid her no heed as she wiped her fingers on a nearly-raw thigh and slipped into the hallway. Though Luna shut the door carefully behind herself, the door across the hall opened as though on cue and a glaring Hermione stepped through, arms crossed in front of her chest.

"Good morning, Hermione," whispered Luna with a smile powered only in small part by the cool breeze up her skirt and the fresh memories that came along with it.

Hermione said nothing. If Luna had to guess, she would likely attribute it to Hermione's keen awareness of the glass house in which she stood.

"It's not going to happen again," said Luna with a distinct lack of penitence despite the fingernail wedged firmly between her teeth.

Furrowing her brow, Hermione leaned one shoulder against the doorframe. "Why's that?

Luna popped the finger out of her mouth and ran a reverent hand down the outside of Harry and Ron's door. "You're asking me?"

Just like that, all of the burgeoning hostility was gone from Hermione's expression as she sighed, looked away and murmured, "No."

Luna didn't have an answer as she walked away, but she squeezed Hermione's elbow in passing. There was only so much she could fix, after all.

###

corvidae9 — Fri, 06 Apr 2007 07:54:58 GMT

Woo! One more reveal results in reposted fic for you. I hear there was good stuff in the exchange, but I didn't really have the opportunity to follow springsmut (other than to die and gush and SQUEAL over my own gift here and NWS and utterly worth all the dying and gushing and squealing) so go check out the masterlist. But! Candy. Have some:

Title: Proper Predators
Author: corvidae9
Pairing: Ginny/Luna
Rating: NC17
Word Count: ~2760
Warnings: dark themes, girlsmut, recreational restraints, spanking, dubcon, egregious abuse of the present tense
Summary: Luna takes measures to correct Ginny's attitude at a critical juncture. (Ginny/Luna)
Author's Note: Written for jamie2109 for hp_springsmut 2007.
Note II: Also! Fits into my fanfic100; Ginny/Luna table - prompt 072

###

Ginny stares at the broken bits of her broom and sticks her tongue in her cheek as far as it will go trying to keep from crying. There's not much left to say because she's already sworn a stream of curses that would have earned her a swift wooden spoon to her bottom were she still in her mother's house.

Were her mother's house still standing, that is, and given that her mother were still alive to wield the spoon. Still that's information that isn't new or different; Ginny's known this to be true for months and though then it stung and prickled and sliced, now it just smolders and burns. Luna knows this because she can see the shimmer around Ginny as clearly as most people see her freckles and Weasley. It's easy-- Ginny radiates I will kill someone for all of this just as strongly as Charlie or George or Fleur do. (Of the three latter, Luna fears Fleur the most. She's seen what the woman can do.) Luna worries for all of them, but worries about Ginny the most. She can't help it; the worry is a worm that stretches and sinks into her skin as though she were already dead and dinner for it and ten hundred of its friends.

Luna watches Ginny fly and fly, but now that she's tumbled and her broom is dead, Luna wonders what else Ginny might manage to find that will keep the bloodlust at bay. Sex is an option, though going back to Harry is not, given who he shares his room with and the sounds Luna hears that emanate from within (they're exciting but unsurprising and if she didn't spend so much time watching Ginny she might watch them more often).

"What?!" growls Ginny suddenly up in her face, displacing her anger in Luna's direction, ruffled feathers and killkill closer to the surface than usual. Luna cocks her head and realizes that she's still smiling.

"I'm sorry about your broom, Ginny," Luna says without backing down. "And your lip. Would you like me to heal it?"

"No," Ginny says, though 'says' is a stretch in that it sounds as though Ginny's channeling ten angry skeksies, and shoves past Luna, shoulder banging roughly into hers as she runs off back into the house.

"Ok," shrugs Luna, thinking that maybe Ginny just likes the copper tang in her mouth; maybe it makes her feel like a proper predator rather than a tired eighteen year old orphan in a worn pair of her brother's trousers.

The door bangs shut not far away and Luna lifts her eyes to the hill that was always what her father used as a landmark to limit how far away Luna could stray. The wards on it now are strong enough to peel flesh from bone should someone unauthorized attempt to break through them, but when Luna was a child, they'd buzz and flash and sometimes threaten mundane punishments. Sometimes they still do.

Luna wonders what it must be like to be peeled while being called a naughty child undeserving of pudding. She would ask her father, since that's what Bellatrix did to him, and thinks maybe she will-- maybe a seance would break up the monotony of hiding and near death.

Then again maybe she doesn't need to know.

-----

"We need a better fucking plan," snarls Ginny, her eyes as tired as those of the pale boy in the corner that everyone avoids as though he carries a deadly plague. Exceptions are made for when he's exceptionally helpful or annoying, in which case physical proximity is justified by either handing him a bottle of ale or staring him down. He opens a mouth that reveals a slight unnatural lift to one corner that no longer goes away thanks to the half-completed scar just there. Luna thinks it might be rather convenient, since he doesn't tend to say things that don't necessitate even the hint of a sneer.

"Well said, Weaselette; feel free to devise one."

"Shut the hell up, Malfoy," she says, this time pushing up using the hands that were braced on the scarred strategy map and scattered parchment on what was once Luna's kitchen table before the kitchen became a war room. Luna perches on what is still a kitchen counter and listens, her attention now and again drawn to the blacked-out windows as if she can still see something distracting through them.

"Ginny, just listen," says Harry from directly across the table in the voice that says, "Hello, I'm Harry. Sometimes I'm brilliant and sometimes I'm just an idiot." Everyone notices and many sets of wary eyes are suddenly trained on him, and him alone, though he's wedged between Ron and Hermione. "It'll work."

Now Ginny's wearing the face that says, "You're both Harry and an idiot all the time and I hate when you're right."

It's times like these that Luna sees why things would never have worked between them. They say too much in italics and say the wrong things out loud. Also, Harry likes shagging boys, which would've put a crimp in their relationship pretty quickly, too. Luna's stomach turns over lazily once and settles in as she listens for Ginny's inevitable growl of--

"You don't know that."

"Give it a rest," says Hannah the Hufflepuff that had to take over all of the Healing duties when they'd lost... well. All of the people that had been good at it. "We don't have a choice."

"Scared, Weasley?" taunts Malfoy, because he has nothing better to do at the moment and it's easy and fun.

"Yeah," says Ginny, tilting her head and taking a step in his direction, Malfoy in turn shrinking further into the corner. "Of the fact that once we're all dead, no one will be around to stop Voldemort."

"We're not dying," says Hermione, and she's the easiest to believe because she thinks she's always right and whether she is or not, always sounds it. Ron's hand squeezes Harry's shoulder and Luna finally sits up and kicks a foot against the cabinet.

"She's right," Luna murmurs as though in a haze, though it's easily audible to all of those in the room. "This is the most sound plan yet, strictly speaking in terms of casualty projections and relative probability of success." Everyone goes quiet in the wake of her pronouncement, and Luna reaches back and idly picks a bit of caulk away from the edge between the countertop and the wall.

Ginny's hands are thrown up in disgust, and that she's giving in this quickly is a sign that she agreed from the beginning. "Fine. If you say so," she says and turns on her heel, beginning her stomp out. "Just don't leave without me. I have unfinished business."

Neville makes to follow her but Luna slips lightly onto her feet and cuts him off with a soft hand on his shoulder. "I can do it."

Her quiet, bare feet steal through the dark house on Ginny's trail as surely as if she were tracking something that didn't swear loudly every time its foot connected with something in the dark and was not too stubborn to just light its wand. Conveniently, she chose her bedroom to stomp in to, and since she shares it with Luna, Luna has no problem letting herself in.

"God damn it, what?!" Ginny snarls again, staring sullenly before tossing herself across her bed, narrow by necessity so as to fit three in the small room. (One each for Ginny and Luna and one extra just in case.)

"Tsk," Luna says, more a sucking sound through her teeth than anything else. "Accio wand."

Too surprised to do anything but sputter, Ginny's eyes go round as her wand comes flying off of her person and into Luna's hand. A lazy twist of Luna's own wand pulls Ginny tight across the width of the bed, hands over one side and securely fastened to the bedframe, toes just barely brushing the floorboards and unable to get any sort of leverage that wouldn't involve going headfirst over the side and Ginny finally squawks, "What do you think you're doing?"

"I think," says Luna, unhurriedly, "that you need this."

"Need what?" shrills Ginny, wriggling to try and get a knee up without overbalancing.

"Stop," Luna says, brooking no argument as she takes hold of the back of Ginny's trouser leg and yanks with one hand to pull her flat again, idly sweeping a trinket of some kind off of the bedside table and transfiguring it quickly.

"Swear to god I will--"

Luna didn't hear what Ginny was going to swear to god, and wouldn't have even if Ginny had finished the sentence with words rather than a surprised yelp. She was busy bringing a wooden spoon down on the softly rounded curve of Ginny's arse, hard enough to make a satisfyingly loud thwacking sound that reverberated at just the right frequency to make Luna shiver hard. Luna can't think in present tense when comes to Ginny making that sort of noise; she'd think in future tense if she could, but she isn't assured of anything in the future that waits for her, so she decides to see it in her mind as if it's already occurred.

They call it visualization.

"What the hell?" cried Ginny, losing some indignance to a breathy sort of speech, breaking into Luna's thoughts.

Mildly annoyed that she had absently been stroking the inside of Ginny's thigh with the wooden spoon and hadn't noticed, Luna repeated the motion once she was paying attention. "Not hell." Spoon in one hand, wand in the other, Luna murmured a careful charm to unfasten Ginny's trousers, running her hands up Ginny's thighs and hips until they reached the waistband. She peeled Ginny's trousers and knickers down and away to expose bare flesh, and Ginny squirmed, swearing though it did no good. Luna tugged her them off and away along with Ginny's trainers without the benefit of untying them before straightening up again.

Exhaling Ginny's name, Luna brought the spoon down on one bare buttock with another resounding thwack and Ginny yelped again. Luna's cool fingers traced the bright mark left behind on Ginny's pale skin, calmly setting her wand down on the side table with her free hand. "Far from hell--"

"Luna--" said Ginny with just a hint of a whine.

"Shh," said Luna, fingers smoothing down the small of Ginny's back. "Tell me to let you up--" she breathed, leaning in to press her cheek against the red spot, sighing at the heat rising under Ginny's skin, "--and I will."

Ginny's breath was harsh in the quiet room, but she said nothing. Luna grinned, tongue darting out to see if the heated pink skin tasted any different from the the rest of Ginny.

It didn't. In her head it still did, though.

Luna straightened up, hand kneading one reddened arse cheek as she brought the spoon down on the other. Ginny gasped and pressed back, but not once did she say 'Luna, let me up'.

"You should see yourself," murmured Luna, gaze intent on the pattern she was building on Ginny's skin. "You're beautiful." Another swing of the spoon made Ginny gasp and Luna smiled again as she left the flat of the spoon in contact with Ginny's arse and dragged it down the back of her thigh. "I could work out just how many times I'd have to hit you to make it all pink like that, but it'd be more fun to found out."

"Oh god," groaned Ginny, pressing her face into the mattress. "Luna, please."

"Please do?" said Luna, tugging on her own skirt as she shifted in place, wet and flushed and wanting. "Alright." She swung the spoon again and whimpered a little herself as Ginny flinched. Reaching under her skirt, she hooked her fingers into her own knickers, tugged them down and kicked them away, then climbed up onto the bed on her knees beside Ginny. Wooden spoon pressed to Ginny's arse, she warned, "Behave," and brought it down again.

Ginny strained against the binds with a whimper that made Luna's eyes shut, made her lick her lips and tighten her stomach. She set her hand on Ginny's arm and murmured a charm that released only that wrist, though she kept control over it, bringing the fingers of Ginny's newly-freed hand to her lips to carefully suck them into her mouth, swirling her tongue around them, nipping at fingertips and short nails with abandon. When Ginny made to exercise control over her hand, Luna brought the spoon down again and dug her nails into Ginny's forearm.

"I said, behave," she growled, nipping at Ginny's wrist. With that, she bent Ginny's arm at the elbow and shifted it so that Ginny's fingers could reach up and under the short skirt pooling at Luna's knees. "See what you've done," sighed Luna as Ginny touched her, shifting to press her hips into Ginny's fingers.

"Wet--" Ginny breathed, fingers scrabbling to find their way at a strange angle, and it was Luna's turn to gasp.

"Don't stop," said Luna, dropping the spoon and tangling her fingers up and into Ginny's thick, straight hair. She tugged back and leaning down to plant a kiss on Ginny's neck. "Make me come," she murmured, pressing her lips to Ginny's skin and still very much in control as she finally allowed Ginny's head to turn far enough to kiss her.

Ginny did, and Luna could feel the relief coursing through Ginny as she gave in, kissing and stroking and not fighting as Luna knotted fingers in her hair and in the sheet next to her shoulder. Luna shuddered and exhaled into the kisses until all she could do was press her open mouth against Ginny's shoulder and moan low. Her eyes fluttered shut and she whimpered a stuttering 'ee' sound, shaking as she came, and between one breath and the next, rolled Ginny onto her back using her bound arm as the pivot point.

"Good girl," Luna panted, pressing kisses to Ginny's throat and mouth, her collarbones, palming a breast up and under her shirt. It was Ginny's turn to slide her free hand up through Luna's hair, still warm and slick and carrying a distinctive scent.

"Luna, please. God--"

"Shh--" said Luna, her hands stroking up and down Ginny's hips and thighs. She pressed her mouth just below Ginny's navel and sucked up a bruise, teeth and all, nails dragging up and around to knead her arse, aiming for anywhere that was warm and probably a spoon-shaped mark. "Shh," she repeated over Ginny's mewling sounds of approval. "Let me." Ever closer to her target, Luna lapped carefully at skin, one hand smoothing down the back of Ginny's thigh in order to pull her knee up and draw her legs open wide.

"Let me."

-----

The old house looms large over them and Luna can hear Ginny breathing hard to her right. A hand creeps up Luna's back and Ginny's leaning in, muttering, "I'm going after Dolohov," though what she's really saying is, "I'm warning you now-- I plan to eviscerate the man responsible for my parents' deaths, no matter what it takes."

"I'm coming with you," Luna murmurs back, realizing that Ginny's eyes are clear and dark. Luna can see that Ginny's mind is working, her fingers plotting on their own as they flex and re-grip her wand, her killkill sharpened to an acute point with a name etched upon it cleanly through and through.

Ginny lets her italics speak for themselves as she crushes her mouth to Luna's hard enough to reopen the split lip that hasn't quite had any opportunity to heal, and they kiss in silence for a long moment until Harry's harsh stage whisper directing everyone to "Go, go, go!"

The copper in Luna's mouth does indeed make her feel like a proper predator. She grins against Ginny's lips, holding on to the expression as she follows Ginny into the house and on her hunt and wonders if perhaps she doesn't feel the littlest bit sorry for Antonin Dolohov and anyone sorry and luckless enough to be around him tonight.

...Hmmm. No.

corvidae9 — Wed, 04 Apr 2007 09:14:13 GMT

Title: After Midnight
Author: corvidae9
Rating: R for language
Word Count: ~ 3450
Warnings: homfg so much crack. first person. Also, RPF.
Summary: Jensen and Jared feed the FX guys after midnight and all hell breaks loose. Fortunately, some of the veterans have seen this before.
Author's Note: Ok. I know that says RPF. And I KNOW that I don't generally write or read it, but I couldn't resist this after merrycontrary read to me the J² commentary on the FX guys on SPN. It's gen, but you can read in any subtext you want, even though it'll make me feel vaguely dirty. Either way, OMFG. Crack. Also, Kelly and Josh are completely imaginary and since I don't stalk J² as thoroughly as people should who write RPF, I don't plan to do it again, and I don't want to hear about how I've got it all wrong. Driver picks the OCs, shotgun shuts his cakehole. Capice?

###

Some of the weirdest shit happened to us today. I know no one's gonna believe me-- I mean, someone's going to point out that I work on a show that's about weird shit and maybe we've been partying too hard or working too hard or all of the above. That's ok. That's exactly what Ackles said right before he grabbed the bottle of Vicodin I had left over from the Wrist Incident, downed more than the recommended dosage with a huge swig of Jack and then crashed out on the couch in my trailer in a fetal position, collar of his shirt still hanging from a thin thread and said, "Type less, loud, J."

He was pretending to be asleep by the time I called him on being an assface. And wrestled back my damn Vicodin.

Hold on, hold on. I have to go make sure that the crates we piled in front of the door are holding and yelling at Kelly that we just aren't coming out until daylight. With more cursing than that, but you get the idea.

...ok. Back. Anyway. Lemme back up to the beginning.

It started with a trailer full of nerds.

Doesn't sound like it would be that much fun, I know. But sometimes me and Ackles have a couple of beers and go down there when we're bored.

Ok-- mostly, I supply him until he agrees that it'd be fun to go hang out with the nerds. And then we do.

Dude. Those guys are messed up. Fourteen fucking computer screens cannot be good for your mental health. Granted. We're fucking pretty, and hero worship isn't bad for anyone's ego, but damn. Twenty four hours a goddamn day: me and Ackles kicking someone's ass. Me, looking emo. Him, looking emo. Us looking emo. Some really hot girl looking emo. (Or almost naked-- that's ok too.) The Impala... looking emo. Honestly, it's only more than creepy if it's either our our Bareass Moments on 'still', and even then it's probably harmless.

Anyway. So we had a couple of beers and I said to this idiot, "Dude. Let's go down and try on the Chimaera heads from the next ep. You know those guys'll let us."

Ackles rolled his eyes at me, flicked his beercap in the vague direction of my head (guy has some shitty aim, I'll tell you. If he had to shoot for real on the show, we'd be fucked. Actually, if it comes to shooting these bastards tonight, we're pretty much fucked anyway on account of all the guns we've got are fake, but even if they weren't? Yeah. We'd be fucked.) and headed out with him leading the way as if it had been his idea. I'm pretty sure he was still wearing the Dean skin.

So we got to the FX trailer, which, I'll admit, I think is fucking awesome. Apart from fourteen computer screens all flashing my face more often than not, they've got all sorts of cool shit lying around, and no matter what time of the day or night, there are always a handful of pale nerds sitting around and willing to show us the latest, greatest piece of nerdage they're working on.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not an elitist bastard. I'm referring to these guys the way they prefer to be referred to. Last time we went down there, one fool was actually wearing a shirt that read 'pale nerds kick ass'. Hey man, who am I to judge?

Anyway, so we get down there and though I could swear that the clock in my trailer said that it was just before midnight when we left, there were more than the usual complement of geeks for that time of night gathered around the big bank of screens in the middle. Like a pack of light-starved meerkats, they all looked up when Ackles opened the door. I snorted a laugh and shoved him through, letting the door slam shut behind me as I called out, "Hey guys. What's new in the dungeon?"

There was a freaky sort of chorus of 'hey' as we did, and I could see Ackles' head come back as he shot me a sideways look. That paranoid, 'what the fuck' look that he sometimes gets right before he shovesmy ass out into a crowd of screaming fangirls and says, "You first, man."

I shot him a look that pretty much said, "Whatever. Jesus. It's just the FX guys." (Shut up. I know we spend too much time together, alright? There aren't many people I can look at in complete sentences.)

Fool mumbled, "Fuck you," under his breath as he moved forward with a nod for the nerds, but obviously, I followed. It'd been my idea after all. (Though after what happened, I'm gonna see if I can't convince Ackles otherwise.)

So we get up to the bank of monitors and the guys are animating these scary-looking little toothy bastards that kind of looked like something I'd seen in a movie as a kid, and I bumped the nearest guy with an elbow and said, "The hell is that, man?"

In retrospect, yeah. They were acting a little weirder than usual. Sure sometimes I catch one or two looking a little too hard or too wide-eyed, and sure, sometimes when my attention's diverted by something new and unnatural, a stray hand finds its way to my ass, but whatever. We let makeup girls get away with a lot more than that.

Anyway. They all sort of looked at Josh, the lead guy with the fauxhawk, and then up again at me. "Uh. Yeah," he said, and added a smile as though he was just then remembering to do so. "They sent us some advance specs for the season finale and we were screwing around with some ideas."

There was a general, synchronized murmur of, "Advances specs, yeah," and Josh cocked his head at the nearest kid to him.

"Hey. Why don't you show them the Chimaera props?"

The kid, who was new enough that I'd spaced his name, popped to his feet and all but scrambled over to the corner, reached into a huge, black plastic bin and pulled out an ugly fucking thing that Dean and Sam would be dispatching in just two episodes' time.

"Wicked," I said elbowing Ackles with a stupid happy and possibly slightly intoxicated grin as I made my way over. I took hold of it and popped it over my head (after I checked it for protruding sharp edges) and held my hands out all Frankenstein-style, growling and generally being an idiot, which never fails to amuse me. Ackles slapped at my hands as the guys laughed, and I could hear the kid handing him something too. Under the edge of the mask, I could see him slipping on these nasty claw-gloves, and then it was my turn again to laugh my ass off as he took a swing at me.

Now, at the time, it didn't seem weird, because those guys eat like horses (which if nothing else, should have been a little weird since only a couple of them actually looked like horses, and none of them ever use the gym, far as I know) and-- hold on.

...

Alright. Had to go prop the door again. I don't care if Kelly says they've got a plan. It's either Marines or daylight, and even Marines might not make much of a difference right now. Kim said light'll fix it and he fucking looked like he knew what he was doing, and I've been watching horror movies for background research long enough to know: if someone fucking looks like they know what they're doing, and no one dies under their supervision? They fucking know what they're doing.

Besides. That fucker worked on X-Files.

Anyway.

Speaking of fuckers, I can't believe that Ackles is asleep.

Anyway. So these guys are grumbling about how craft services already said they're closed for the night and we're on location too far out of town to get pizza delivery, and me, of course, I popped off the chimaera head and foolishly offered Kelly's services for the run. Ackles looked at me like I was completely nuts, but hey, that's not new and Kelly was. I knew she was still awake, and though it sort of makes me a dick to say, it was her turn as the new kid to make a pizza run. New like the babe of the ep; as in, she'd only been in for a week covering for our usual girl, who had fallen on site not a week earlier and was in a cast and off her feet for no less than another month. (As we were running back to the trailer tonight, Ackles pointed out oh-so-fucking helpfully that she'd fallen down the steps to the FX trailer, but fat fucking lot of good that did to remember then, right?)

Ackles was still looking at me like I was crazy, then he tapped his wrist. Right-- there was some rule about bringing the FX guys food after midnight. Stupid, but it was in the contract, so I looked at my own watch, only to find that it was stopped around six o'clock. It didn't make any sense, so I grabbed at Ackles' wrist to take a look at his watch... and he wasn't wearing one.

One more wordless what-the-fuck exchange and then Ackles grumbled, "Couldn't find it," then cocked his head at the clock over the wall.

Weird. It said 10:45. So we called Kelly and sent her on her way. And asked for a couple of cases of beer to go with all the pizza while we were at it.

What? She was new. Apparently, she didn't know any better either, and we were planning on sharing.

About forty-five minutes later, she showed up with a pile of pizza and a couple of the guys helped her bring in the beer. I'll admit it, I flashed dimples at her as I handed her two beers and sent her on her way. It's fun and easy, and they're so cute when they light up like that, even when I'm wearing a monster hat and playing with a fake machete.

So I sat on a high counter across from Ackles and aimed a kick at his ass as he tried to do the same but with a more effort, all but snorting beer out of my nose as he stole a line from the show and muttered something really stupid about my being being freakishly tall. Once settled with a pizza to ourselves, we managed to get involved in an in-depth conversation on... fuck. I don't even know anymore. Something character-related, I know that. But y'know-- Beer. Pizza. We weren't paying attention to the guys anymore until it got way too quiet.

It's gonna sound stupid, I know. But suddenly I felt like... ok. It does sound stupid. But I felt like Sam when my head popped up and the whole damn trailer had gone quiet and the guys were nowhere in sight. Ackles dropped to the ground on crazy quiet feet and I almost wanted to laugh when he held a finger to his lips and mouthed, 'shhh'. And then shit got really weird. There was a wet, crackling sound from the other end of the trailer near the lit bank of monitors they'd all been standing near, and we both started sidling for the door, because, again? Been doing this for too long. Something fucking sounds like it's crawling out of its skin? Chances are, if it is, you don't want to know. Your dumb ass better be running before you have the chance to find out.

Even if lights suddenly go out. Like they did just then.

Now, we knew the way out, and you best believe I was grabbing onto the back of Ackles' shirt, because no fucking way I was being left behind. Unfortunately, there was more wet crackling between us and the door, and when Ackles nearly fell on his ass (meaning, he fell on me and I hauled him back on his feet), I could tell the look on my face had to be mirroring his, when we both looked down and saw... well. What I can only describe as something that looked like some sort of pod in the backlight of the emergency lights over the door (which is how we knew which way was out).

My voice was embarrassingly high and near to breaking as I asked, "We doing a pod people episode sometime soon, dude?" even though we both knew we weren't. He grabbed the front of my shirt and hauled as he hopped over it.

"No. Gotta get gone, man," he said as he kept moving, and I had no choice but to follow, even though the last thing I wanted to do was step over it. With good reason, as it turned out. Just as I stepped over it, the fucking thing cracked open, yellow, vaguely-glowing goo spilling out onto the floor.

That wasn't the first thing I noticed, though. First thing I noticed was a chunky sort of female arm reaching through the crack in the thing and latching onto my ankle with a grip that swear to god belongs to nothing earthly, accompanied by an ear-splitting squeal of, "Oh my god! It's Jaaaaared!!!"

Holy. Shit. Fangirl.

Fangirls from the sound of responding squeals from around the room.

And not the polite, wait-'till-we're-done-eating-and-quietly-ask-for-a-hug-and-an-autograph sort of fangirl. The kind that rush us when one or both of us are clearly hungover and barely coherent, cling to arm, leg, neck or any other available appendage, declare their undying love and then want to know if we're secretly fucking. (For the record, we're not, but if we were, I wouldn't tell you.)

Anyway, I aimed a kick at the emerging monster, vicious enough to dislodge her hand and trying to ignore the heartbroken cry that accompanied the retreating hand. I couldn't tear my eyes off of the thing that came out of the pod, though-- I just had to let Ackles pull me along as she (it?) emerged, goo dripping from its wide hips and 'I heart J²' shirt and pulled its feet free, all the while blowing kisses and making grabby hands in my direction.

It was fucking terrifying, let me tell you. Worse when Ackles stopped in his tracks and muttered, "Oh. Fuck me."

I finally did look away from the thing behind us, only to find three gooey girls blocking the trailer door, at least five more popping up from under desks and lurching toward us.

Yeah, that would be about when I discovered that I have no problem hitting things that only look like girls. After the first one tried to sink her teeth into Ackles' bicep (which, let's be honest, is usually the first place anyone thinks to want to sink their teeth into the guy), and he shoved her into the one behind, I had no problem punching the thing that had managed to get her hands on my ass. I doubted pod people could navigate the court system successfully enough to pursue a battery lawsuit, even if they'd been in California. But we weren't, so were probably safe. Besides, if we'd violated our contracts by feeding the FX guys after midnight, there wouldn't be any money to sue for, at any rate, so, well. Fuck it.

Two more fangirls shoved over a bench worktable and grabbed whatever handfuls of clothes they could reach. Ackles threw another wicked hook and we managed to kick open the door, run out, and you know what? For the last time-- horror movies? Pay. Off. Pay attention. I locked the door from the outside while Ackles yelled, "Get back!" and shoved a lighting rig over in front of the door.

And then? We ran like hell back here. On the way, I'll admit-- I panic-dialed Kelly and told her to fucking well call Marines or something. Five minutes later, Kim was on the line, grilling us as to how exactly they'd gotten the food and telling us to stay put until daylight. He swore about the broken clocks being the oldest trick in the book and I um...yeah. Pitched the phone at the wall out of sheer fucking frustration. I don't know why. That would be why we're reduced to Kelly shouting through the trailer door. Not like I'm gonna fucking open it.

Even now, when she's calling through about it almost being light out and how they're going to get craft services to open early just to get us some wanna-be Starbucks.

###

So, I shook Ackles awake, because yeah - last four hours? That little shit's been snoring, mouth open in a depressant-induced stupor while I was busy typing and trying not to panic. He rolled over and had the decency to look a little paranoid as Kelly's voice wafted through the door again.

Apparently, it was 'all going over in just a little while' and I almost felt bad as she apologized again for whatever hand she had in the debacle, even as I wondered just how Kim 'knew what he was doing because he'd been through this before'.

That bastard is fucking scary good at reading me. He smacked my shoulder as he shambled to the tiny restroom and muttered, "X-Files."

I got brave and lifted the corner of the shades and peered out. The area around the FX trailer was cordoned off and there was a group of the biggest, scariest most-tattooed crew members holding what looked like cattle prods, while a big-ass truck was now parked next to it.

Ackles' voice from over my shoulder startled me. Alright, I fucking jumped out of my skin, and all he did was snort and drop a hand on my shoulder, ignoring my dirty look as he hunkered down next to me and said, "What'd I miss?"

...Anyway. I managed to not tell him to go to hell. Mostly because at that point, I could swear I could hear the crazed fangirls in the trailer still squealing. The door buckled, the cattle-prod-wielding roadies jumped back from the door, and the figure that could only be Kim signaled to the truck driver. I knew I wasn't imagining the screams though as the truck pulled away and took the roof to the FX trailer with it, nor the subsequent unmistakable attendant carnage of multiple explosions from within. A scorched hand came up over the side of the wall, but it was cattle-prodded promptly, combusted into flames and fell back into the erstwhile FX trailer.

"Wow," breathed Ackles. "That was-- holy shit!"

We both jumped back as a distinctly female face popped up directly in front of the pane of glass we were peering out of.

Female, as in, Kelly. Holding up two cups of coffee and calling in, "It's all over now! I have your coffee!"

Female, as in, the "Fuck that," that I couldn't help but say with a scowl, as Ackles dropped the blinds on her overly-cheerful face.

"Keep it," he called out, and handed me the bottle of Jack. Hell, they weren't going to need us anytime soon. It'd be at least a day of lost production while everyone else ran around trying to commandeer FX guys from Smallville, or Stargate or some shit.

Yeah, I'd say we were taken care of.

###

corvidae9 — Thu, 22 Mar 2007 21:49:27 GMT

Title: Come Together (7.5 of ~8) [NOW there's only one more to go. :D]
Author: corvidae9
Rating: R
Word Count: ~9100
Warnings: crackful premises, het/slash/fem, rampant bisexuality, snogging, free-flowing alcohol (what? It's a party!)
Summary: In which there is a raging anti-party (and several subsequent mini-anti-anti-parties) that together suspiciously resemble a raging party.
Author's Note: See Part I for full Summary/Notes! Questions/comments/interpretive dance, as always, welcome here. :D omg sooo sorry for taking so long with these last two parts. RL ate me alive, parsley and all. And not the fun way, either. D:

I - Saturday | II - Sunday | III - Monday | IV - Tuesday | 4.5 - Tuesday Night | V - Wednesday | VI - Thursday | VII - Friday afternoon | 7.5 - Friday Night | VIII - Saturday²

Friday Night

Neville had managed to exit Harry's room without incident, though watching him cross from the rumpled bed to the master bath in a t-shirt and boxers while scrubbing a hand through his hopelessly mussed hair really did pose a challenge to his Selfless Zen of Harry Potter. If Neville had slammed the door a little too unsteadily on the way out, and if he'd puffed a huge exhale after, it was all in the name of regaining said composure.

He didn't often, but Neville needed a drink.

Having jogged downstairs at that time only to be commandeered again, Neville had missed the opportunity to crack into the drinks and get an early start, but now that Ginny had dashed upstairs to get dressed and Hermione was probably greeting guests or hosing down reporters, he was safe. Making his way around by way of the kitchen, Neville walked into the sitting room nearest the food and drink set up with a sigh of relief.

"Yeah, mate," said Neville, bumping Ron's elbow. "I'll take that." He took a glass off of the stack that Ron was setting down, helped himself to the beer and took a decent-sized swallow before he even registered that Draco was standing nearby arranging bottles of liquor.

"Err. Hello," said Neville sheepishly as he lowered the glass again. "Good to see you made it."

Ron arched an eyebrow in his trademark expressive confusion and cocked his head at Neville's glass. "Thirsty?"

"Weasley," drawled Draco, not losing an ounce of amusement from his expression. "After spending ten minutes assisting in the set up, even I can only imagine with a shudder the thirst for alcohol that a week in this madhouse might have caused."

"Piss off," said Ron, though he was almost smiling as he shook his head.

Neville looked from one to the other and wondered whether in the wake of Harry's faceplant in his lap and these two not at one another's throats that perhaps he might be imagining all or part of this day. He was however, spared having to answer himself as the front door opened in a spectacular rush of trumpeting fanfare and red and gold pyrotechnics that melted into sparkling ribbons and continued to spread outward over the hardwood floors.

"Never fear, good citizens!" cried one Weasley twin, striking an heroic pose in the doorway.

"The party is in fact, here." cried the other, joining the first in the doorway, waving and grinning into the crowd (small as it was at the moment), who for the most part, cheered as they dodged the fireworks.

"Oh, hell," said Ron with a sigh. "Here we go. Wards for the table, maybe?"

"Nah," said Neville. "Ginny left strict instructions. They're not allowed anywhere near the food or drinks unless they're actually eating and/or drinking."

"And just how is that enforceable?" said Draco, entirely dubious.

"She appealed to their better natures, since it's Harry's party and all?" Neville said, though from the tone of his voice, he didn't quite believe that either. Both Ron and Draco turned narrow eyes on him. "And apparently, she's got some sort of blackmail on them," he added as he grinned and took another drink.

"Reprobates, the lot of you," breathed Draco as each twin took a step and reached a hand back through the doorway. "What now?"

A giggling Susan Bones emerged into the room clutching one each of the twins' hands, dressed fit to kill with her cleavage alone and looking more smug than anyone had a right. Ron rolled his eyes and looked faintly ill. "Yeah she does."

###

The music seemed to grow a little louder, the crowd a little more upbeat even as it swelled in size, the door now in a constant state of flux. Every time it opened, faint, desperate cries of 'Do you have a comment?' or 'Why the Ministry boycott?' filtered in, usually followed by a threatening growl and sometimes a crack and then a hasty 'Reparo'. When Angelina and Oliver arrived, there was a general uproar in that they brought along a small group of players from both United and Tutshill along with them. Ginny in her cut and reconfigured Property of the Auror Corps shirt (formerly Ron's), too-short skirt and ripped tights, managed to barrel into them both before they even made it past the doorway.

Ron, however missed that particular bit of showmanship. He was sitting on the window ledge of the breakfast nook across from a similarly perched Draco Malfoy, relating the tale of the queen Boggart. Feet planted on the wooden bench seat, Ron used his empty glass as a convenient tool with which to gesture more emphatically, not that his facial expressions weren't conveying enough animation on their own. Draco looked appropriately horrified, through to his chagrin, Ron was hoping that it left room for a measure of 'suitably impressed'.

As it turned out, he was gratified enough when Draco burst into laughter as Ron described the wind-up polka-dot chihuahua and its subsequent demise.

"Exactly!" exclaimed Ron as he nudged Draco's foot with his own and resolved not to think about it any harder than he had to. He told himself firmly that he was sitting across the window seat from just another blond that he was looking to properly impress; they had no grudges and no history before having caught sight of him.

"Only a simpleton like you would find that hilarious enough to kill a Boggart Queen," said Draco between more laughter and another drink from his own glass, and Ron paused to examine him.

Maybe there was a little bit of a grudge still there.

"Oh and I suppose you would have made it a mirror, then? Photo of yourself?" asked Ron as sarcastically as he could manage, and all Draco did was laugh harder. And damn him-- it was infectious.

Maybe they needed the grudge to get by.

###

Severus stared at the same half-empty glass of firewhiskey still in hand round about eight o'clock, annoyed with himself that he couldn't quite bring himself to down the remainder and loosen his shirt; to get comfortable and have another two or three glasses this size and decide not to go anywhere until he absolutely had to.

The issue was that he truly did not want to go to the party and be anywhere near Potter or his cronies. He didn't care if the twin terrors made idiots of themselves, and he didn't care that there might in fact be one person he could get along with far from the main body of the ridiculous display.

The ensuing problem was that one of those statements had been completely untrue until he'd turned on Lupin. Purposefully and unsubtly because he'd been frustrated with himself, because he'd thought it the best course in order to hold on to his favorite fantasies. Unfortunately, the lingering effect was that even the best and previously most fulfilling of said fantasies didn't hold a candle to even the most pedestrian of time spent with the wolf. Even dinner became something he could manage to enjoy rather than see to.

As such, he had more than a few choice curses for the next time he saw Lupin, that much was certain. Fortunately, he had the perfect opportunity to deliver such. Carefully, he stood, set the half-full glass down on the side table, brushed down his clothes and drew his wand.

Severus was no fool Gryffindor, and therefore he might have to justify his actions some other way than 'manning up', but he was going to carry them out at any rate.

###

For once, Harry took the front stairs down. Personally, he could do without the grand entrance, but in his mind, it might be better if he made one and let everyone have their moment, and then maybe leave him to milling around in peace for the rest of the evening.

As he appeared around the top of the first landing, he held out hope of a quiet descent that lasted two steps down. Then there was a deafening roar of applauding, cheering and wolfwhistling that made him flush from throat to hairline. He rolled his eyes as he waved it off, muttering, "Oh hell. Come on, now," trying to sound nonchalant as he surreptitiously glanced over the crowd, looking for faces that were more than familiar-- everyone here was a friend that could be trusted, or a friend by extension, but there were only a handful that made him feel truly ok- made him feel home. He didn't see Ron or Hermione, no Ginny or even Draco either, but there were Luna and Neville, applauding and waving enthusiastically.

Luna called out, "Happy Day, Harry!" and as he made it to the bottom step, he tried to follow her voice only to be accosted on all sides by hugs and handshakes and winning grins. More than one hand strayed familiar in the crush, yet he wasn't able to really say that it hadn't been there once before. Overwhelming more than anything, Harry kept smiling and hugging, about on his last nerve not five feet from the staircase, cursing his own stupidity for agreeing to all this to begin with.

"Alright, back off, mates," said Neville from behind Harry.

"You'll love him to death," Luna added with an owlish blink. "The boy isn't as used to it as he ought to be, you know."

Her small hand slipped into the crook of his elbow and tugged him off to the corner where Percy was seated near Harry's cordoned-off armchair. Neville followed and Harry shook his head.

"This is ridiculous," he muttered.

"Not at all," said Luna. "You did a marvelous thing. You are a marvelous thing. People want to wish you well. Or at least, say they do. Especially your friends." She pushed him gently into his chair. "We'll just let it die down a little and then you'll be able to mingle with everyone else."

Harry laughed until he found himself with an unexpected lapful of giggling Mandy Brocklehurst. "Harry! Congratulations!" she exclaimed, planting a too-lingering and too-moist kiss on his cheek.

"Oh no," said Luna, reaching out for Mandy's elbow and tugging her back onto her feet. "I'm sorry. His lap is off-limits at the moment."

Harry snickered and dropped his chin into his hand. "She's right, I'm afraid," he agreed.

"Oh, well. Congratulations anyway," Mandy said, suddenly very interested in adjusting her hair. "But if you're interested, I wouldn't mind keeping you company. Again..."

Harry watched her walk away as she let the word trail off, more bemused than put out. "Thank you, Luna. Have you been assigned security detail?"

Luna laughed hysterically, so suddenly that Percy jumped and nearly dropped his drink before he relaxed again.

"Not at all," she said cheerfully. "I'm on friend duty."

Head thumping back against his chair, Harry looked up again as a drink landed in his hand. Neville grinned down. "What she said."

###

Remus was on the back step with Bill, companionably squirting moving incandescent reporters over the fence with Hermione's transfigured Super Soakers and occasionally sharing a laugh over the surprised yelps as the ice-cold water hit a target.

"You here to stay this time?" asked Remus during a lull in which the bobbing blobs of light seemed to back off.

"Nearly," answered Bill.

"Story of the last two years or so, mate," said Remus without accusation.

"Put my foot down this time. Five more weeks and I'm done," said Bill, adding under his breath as he lifted his beer in Kingsley's direction. "Don't mind saying I'll be a sorry bastard if I'm wrong."

Kingsley in turn flashed a rude gesture from his position at the side of the house and called out, "Make sure to have one for me, Remus."

Remus laughed, downed the remaining beer in his own glass and held it up. "You've got it, mate." He murmured to Bill, "On duty?"

"Damnably, yes," frowned Bill. "It was that or call in the kids."

Grimacing, Remus set his gun down on the porch. "That's dedication."

"No," Bill smirked. "He's just trying to get in my trousers with his selfless deeds."

"Did it work?" said Remus, all too amused and playing along.

"Aye, pretty much instantaneously," said Bill with a decisive nod.

Remus laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. "Smart man." He cocked his head toward the door and held up his glass in a silent declaration of intent to have his way with the beer. Opening the door onto a cacaphony of music and laughter worked well enough, but his progress was impeded when he crashed head on into Tonks immediately following.

"Hi Remus. Seen Gin?" she asked, her eyes scanning the back garden over his shoulder.

"Last I heard she was off looking for you," said Remus. "Bad show, losing her so soon."

Tonks narrowed her eyes and shoved him back a step. "Wanker. Help me."

Remus shoved back with one hand. "Fine. I'll make a circuit or t--"

There was a crack of Apparation just past the gate and a small commotion of lights headed in the general direction of such, though no one came through. To make matters worse, the inky artificial black of what was unmistakably Peruvian Darkness began edging over the fence in that direction. Tonks frowned and started forward, as did Kingsley and Bill, but Remus held his glass up and Transfigured it into a pair of weirdly glowing goggles.

"I can handle it," Remus said as he pulled them on and trotted to the gate, not giving them a chance to argue. "Stay back until I get it dispelled."

With the recently-developed goggles, he could see right through the artifical darkness, easily yanking open the gate and standing aside in one quick motion. When nothing came through, he poked his head around with extreme caution, wand drawn. He could see glowing reporters milling about confused, and a figure approaching at the center of the inky black that he recognized immediately. Brow furrowed, Remus held a hand up in Kingsley's direction, though he probably couldn't see Remus doing so. He edged out past the gate and further into the dark, wand still drawn in the slim case that he was wrong. Truthfully, he felt as though he might know that shape almost anywhere.

"Severus?" he hissed.

"Reporters, Lupin," Severus hissed back. "The place is crawling with them."

"Can't say I'm surprised," said Remus.

His head popped up as the nearest of the pack came closer, groping, hands out in front of his face, and calling shakily, "Who's there? Do you have a comment?"

"Remus?!" Kingsley called from inside the gate.

Severus brought his wand up, speaking formally in a clear dismissal, "Apologies for the distubance."

"Wait!" hissed Remus, pushing Severus' wand hand down, eyes darting back and forth before calling back to Kingsley, "It's clear. Just more reporters that are about to be dealt with."

The reporters within earshot scattered like rats and Bill said, "Care to dispel this shite, then, mate?"

"Good. Evening," said Severus, raising his wand again. Remus shook his head and grabbed hold of Severus' wrist.

"No, no, hold on," Remus growled, feeling like this situation was spiralling rapidly and ridiculously out of control. "Just come in."

"This was ill-advised at best," sneered Severus. "I should have known it some sort of media stunt."

"Hold on for what?!" called Tonks, sounding as though she were getting closer, likely because she was. "Sod it, I'm coming in."

Remus darted a look over his shoulder and said quickly, "I'm glad you came. It wasn't a media stunt. Hold on."

With that, he Disapparated, Severus in tow. Not five seconds later, he reappeared alone, and dispelled the Darkness quickly only to find Tonks, Bill and Kingsley staring at him in confusion.

"Reporters," he said lamely. "Trying to be sly."

Bill flashed a rude gesture in the direction of the nearest glowing lights. "Bastards." He tugged on Kingsley's elbow and began to retreat as Kingsley shot Tonks a look that said he knew something was off, but if Remus was behind it, he wasn't going to press the issue.

"Let's get back, shall we?" said Remus cheerfully, his eyes darting upward before settling on Tonks again. He pressed a guiding hand to her back as they went back through the back gate and shut it securely. "As I recall," said Remus making a beeline for the house and pushing Tonks forcibly along with him, "I was on a mission, so if you gentlemen will excuse me--"

Once inside the door, Tonks made a jerky little pulling-away movement and hopped forward a step before wheeling on Remus. "What was that about? And let me tell you, you're lucky I speak both Shacklebolt and Lupin because you are doing a right shitty job of covering whatever it is you're trying to cover."

Remus took her by the arms and leaned in, the look on his face a cross between shock and terror. "He came."

Eyebrows raised as far as they could go and wavering between the hot pink of her hair and a bright cherry red, Tonks' mouth dropped open. "Are you serious? The hell are you doing here?" She looked at Remus as though he might be hiding something on his person. "Where'd he go?"

"That is precisely why we need to talk," he said, releasing her except for an elbow and dragged her through the kitchen to the sitting room in order to raid the food and drink spread. He gathered two bottles of wine and a random plate of cheese and crackers, then pushed her back into the kitchen with his elbow. "I needed to appropriate your idea."

"My wh-- Oh. OH! Foul!" said Tonks, poking Remus in the chest. "Cheat!"

He shrugged apologetically as he made for the back stairs, heart thumping wildly in his chest. "I'm sorry. I'm further behind than you are."

Tonks stood hands on hips, peering at him hard for a moment longer before deflating a little and waving it off. "Too true. I'll figure it out."

Remus paused three stairs up and grinned. "Thank you."

"Keep moving, fool!" said Tonks with more than a trace of exasperation. "And take those goggles off."

Laughing, Remus turned and ran the rest of the way.

###

"Malfoy?"

Draco held up a hand as Tonks disappeared back out of the room. "Did you see that?"

Ron was well aware that there was a party raging in the main room, and that instead of mingling and possibly doing something about fixing his unfortunate state of not having had a decent shag in months, he was still sitting on the window ledge of the breakfast nook across from Draco Malfoy deeply entrenched in an in-depth discussion as to concrete reasons behind the Cannons' spectacularly bad luck and why the Arrows/United match the following Sunday was shaping up to be the one match of the season that absolutely could not be missed.

He'd given up trying to rationalize it. He'd even given up trying to make sense of it. Hell, he'd given up caring that Remus and Tonks were clearly in the middle of some sort of mischief.

"Yeah," said Ron, dismissing it with a shrug. "'Least they're not at each others' throats after last weekend."

"What happened last weekend?" said Draco with an air of lazy curiosity, and Ron turned to look at him as though he'd been speaking in a foreign language (which was not entirely out of the realm of possibility).

"They broke up," said Ron, adding with a concessionary nod, "Well, Officially. You hadn't heard?"

"Who would I have heard it from and why the devil would I care?" said Draco, his eyes still narrowed as the bit of overheard conversation nagged at him.

"Harry, for one. And you care now, don't you?"

"Mere curiosity," said Draco with a shrug. "It could be a useful bit of information." Feet where they were now on the wide sill, Draco nudged Ron's hip with his foot and held out his glass. "Speaking of useful."

Ron leveled a deadly glare at him.

Draco grinned and held the glass out insistently. "Try not to spit in it."

"I don't fetch and carry."

"Poor training in hospitality."

Ron's eyebrows crawled yet further and Draco rolled his eyes with a sigh. "Please."

With a grumbled swear, Ron took the glass and planted his feet solidly on the bench seat (a move that Hermione would go pretty shrill over if she'd caught it) before hopping gracefully onto the ground. He set his hand on the door and shot one last reproachful glance over his shoulder before went through it and set to refilling the glasses in hand. Wondering why the hell if he was so annoyed, he still could think of not much else more than tossing the ferrety git up against the side pane and--

"You're spilling."

"Huh?!" said Ron, turning from the wall he'd been staring through down to the overflowing beer glass in his hand. "Shite," he muttered, bending to take a sip from the offending glass to lower the liquid level. "Thanks."

"Distracted?" said Hermione, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet as she pulled a clean wine glass and served herself from a bottle of some sort of white that had been sitting in the tub of ice.

Ron eyed her up and down with half a smirk before turning to refill the second glass. "A bit. You?"

The woman actually giggled. "Maybe."

He couldn't help the requisite protective instinct and the usual twinge of jealousy. "Make sure Dean knows I'll break him in two if he acts like an arse, mate or not."

"Thank you, Ronald, I'll be sure to bring up that bit of cheerful conversation at my earliest opportunity," she tried to deadpan, but there was more of the giggling. Sodding hell. "Who are you fetch-and-carrying for, hmm?"

"Huh?!" he said again, causing the glass to spill over (again). "Oh! Just--"

"--being a gracious host," Draco said from the doorway, closing the last few steps to take possession of the drink nearest him. "And I do appreciate it."

Hermione's eyes went wide and Ron knew she was (valiantly) subduing an urge to clap a hand over her mouth. "Oh! Well, that is... very gracious of him," she said with an overly agreeable nod.

"Hermione..." warned Ron out of the corner of his mouth, beginning to feel exposed and self-conscious and as though his every thought was laid bare to her dissection.

"Very," agreed Draco, adjusting the drink in his hand and shifting subtly in Ron's direction.

"I have to! Go--" said Ron, not giving a damn about the oddities of inflection. "--because I promised I'd help out with security. Remember, Hermione?"

He didn't give her a chance to answer. Instead, he half-turned to Draco and pulled a small grin that looked more like a grimace, he was sure, eyes darting back to Hermione. "'Scuse me."

"Of course," Draco acknowledged with a careless nod, and Ron turned on his heel and beer in hand stalked past Hermione as though it were all her fault.

Ron didn't want to articulate what exactly comprised 'it' just now, not even to himself. As a result, he downed the majority of his beer in the trip through the large, loud, crowded sitting room and Banished the empty glass as he tossed open the front door wearing a look of pure murder for anyone foolhardy enough to try for a photo.

###

Harry drained the last of his second drink in quick succession while Neville and Luna were busy playing some alcohol-soaked variation of thumb wars. Percy had wandered back to see whether anyone needed help with the perimeter and without looking up from the latest round, Luna called up to Harry, "Did you need another, Harry, or is your lap open for business again?"

Neville coughed hard and lost the round, thereby forced to take a drink from the glass balanced in his other hand.

"Dunno about 'open for business'," said Harry, grinning though his eyes were shut. He then stood and didn't wobble at all as he brushed the front of his shirt. "But brave enough to make it across the room to get my own drink, I think."

"Excellent," said Luna, cocking her head at Neville and toward Harry's chair. "We'll save your seat."

"You don't have to do that, Luna," said Harry. "Just... y'know. Keep doing what you're doing."

"We can reach across!" she volunteered, adding as a happy exclamation, "Damn!" then "Yay!" immediately afterward as Neville won a round. Neville shook his head and took Harry's seat.

"Yeah-- she's right," said Neville as Luna took a drink. "We can reach."

Harry patted his shoulder. "Long as you're having a good time, I suppose"

"Don't worry about us," Neville said with a grin as Luna scooted her chair closer and held out her hand insistently. "We're fine."

###

Severus stood on the flat section of the roof of 12 Grimmauld Place among two overturned lawn chairs and a small table, arms tightly crossed and scowling, attempting to convince himself to draw his wand, Apparate home and forget this debacle had ever happened. For all he knew, the wretched Wolf had dumped him here as some sort of practical joke to see how long he would stand there. And never mind the 'please-- just give me a minute' delivered with such conviction as to appear--

The door to what was presumably the staircase banged open and Lupin appeared. It shouldn't have been so gratifying to see that he was visibly concerned as he scanned the area, or that he sighed in what appeared to be relief as he spotted Severus.

"Severus. Hello. I'm sorry about what happened down there," he managed, shifting a plate and two bottles into one hand while he secured the staircase door behind him. "We were as surprised as anyone when the bloody reporters arrived, but I suppose we really ought not have been, with it being Harry's party."

"No. Potter has a knack for garnering the attention he so thrives upon," grumbled Severus, peering more closely at Lupin as he approached. "What--"

To his credit, Lupin somehow suppressed the need to apologize for Potter, instead turning his attention to aiming his wand at the chairs and table and transfiguring the area to resemble a small sitting room. The chairs became a sofa set upon a rug, the table stretched longer, shrank low and suddenly bore candles in jars. He set things in hand down onto the table, tugged the ridiculous purple goggles off of the top of his head and transfigured them into two wine glasses.

"--are you doing, exactly?" said Severus. Not that it wasn't obvious. Save for the fact that it perhaps might not be. After all, this would generally be regarded a 'romantic setting' under any other circumstances.

"You know," said Lupin as he spelled the cork from a wine bottle and poured. "I've tended bar in Muggle pubs more than once, and there were times that I would have given my eyeteeth to be able to conjure clean glasses or charm up corks." He handed Severus a glass and held up his own. "I'm glad you came."

Severus narrowed his eyes first at the glass and then at Lupin, decided it was a lost cause and finally held his glass up ever so slightly, tone more icy than he intended. "Thank you for the invitation. Such as it was."

Seemingly unperturbed, Lupin merely smiled again. "I'm afraid you were correct. It was in fact, ill-conceived at best."

Wineglass paused halfway to his mouth, Severus said, "Had I known the affair would be one such as this all said and done, however, I might have conceded earlier." Not to mention saved himself the time and trouble of having agonized over his part in this farce at all.

"Had I known an invitation to cocktails on a rooftop was what it would take," said Lupin after a brief pause. "I would have begun with that."

Severus took a larger drink than was strictly civilized as he allowed himself to accept that Lupin was indeed interested. In him. He could now continue with the plan to Apparate away and pretend this had never happened, or play along.

"Have a seat?" asked Lupin in a tone that could only be interpreted as 'hopeful', gesturing to the sofa.

There wasn't much of a pause before Severus sat carefully, adjusting his trousers and crossing one leg, ankle to knee. His drink hand hung off of the armrest as casually as he could manage.

"Muggle pubs?"

###

Ginny was genuinely pleased to see so many people she knew having a good time and so very glad to see her. She was also glad that her turn babysitting the front yard was over, because her next move was going to be all about finding Tonks and picking up that conversation.

In the front room she obliged Michael with an improptu dance for all of ten seconds, then excused herself and cut through the knots of people to make her way toward the kitchen. Her eyes were on the crowd-- after all, how difficult could spotting pink hair be?

"Hey Gin," said Harry, looking up from a conversation with Theo and Millicent of the Slytherin contingent that had arrived only a few minutes prior. "Having fun?"

Ginny sighed and crossed her arms. "Everything is brilliant."

Theo smirked. "Clearly." Millicent made no effort to hide a matching expression behind her drink.

Very nearly sulking, Ginny snapped, "I want my--"

"MTV?" murmured Tonks as she slipped her arms around Ginny's waist from behind.

Ginny grinned hugely and turned, oblivious to the quiet, surprised murmur around her. "Whatever that is. Geez, but you're hard to find."

"Look who's talking," said Tonks, nuzzling Ginny's cheek, arms tight around her. "Want to get out of here and talk?"

"Please and thank you right now," said Ginny, pressing a light kiss to the corner of Tonks' mouth. "I have plenty to say."

A buzz of laughter heralded Fred and George's arrival nearby. They slapped each other's backs when they caught sight of Ginny and Tonks, cracking huge, knowing grins and began to speak.

"Horses make good ice water!"

"And monitors really know how to toboggan!"

Initially nothing but annoyed at the interruption, Ginny raised an eyebrow in confusion once she heard what they'd said.

"Shoe butter coffee cake is a roach extravanza?" said one twin, looking at the other as though wondering about the tough crowd.

The other shrugged it off. "Lotion organizers in the toilet are made of carbon."

They both roared a laugh, and while everyone else around them seemed to find it hysterical, Ginny continued to stare.

"The hell have you two done this time?" she asked, distracted as Tonks laughed into her shoulder.

"Twee babies aren't shooting arrows!" said one, rolling his eyes.

"Oi!" said the other, exaggerating a look around. "Parlay rutabega Susie?"

Susan appeared behind them, hands on her hips. "Never call me 'Susie'," she growled.

"Rutabega Susie!!" they both shouted and proceeded to sidle up and bookend her, one tossing an arm around her shoulders and the other winding an arm around her waist.

"What happened to them, exactly?" asked Harry through a snicker.

None too impressed, Susan eyed one, then the other. "No idea. When we got here, they were fine. Few minutes ago, they started babbling like this. And apparently, they're either unaware they're doing it, or it's some sort of experiment."

"Socrates wept," said one philosophically. The other nodded.

"Shinier things have happened."

"It's sort of hot," said Susan. "In a freakishly disturbed sort of way."

"Bacon," the twins said simultaneously, drawing out the vowels with a wicked leer, and as a result, Tonks barked another laugh.

"Sanguine sock time!" said one, holding up his bottle.

"Apples are a tasty meat!" agreed the other, his hand dipping down to pinch Susan's arse.

Harry covered his mouth with a loose fist and laughed as Susan giggled and slapped at the twin's hand muttering, "I take it back."

"...Sure. Hey!" said Ginny tugged Tonks back a step. "You lads have fun with that. I've got places to be."

Susan made a half-hearted grab for Ginny's arm. "Help?"

"Help with what? They probably did it to themselves!" Ginny said.

"Cunt Muppet!" shouted a twin as a rallying cry, holding his bottle up with a huge grin, the other adding, "For the Win!" Everyone around them hoisted their drinks and repeated it back and Ginny shot a dirty look at Tonks for shouting along.

Theo turned to an equally non-plussed Millicent to ask what exactly a muppet was, and Susan tilted her head at Ginny in supplication.

Tonks was barely audible through the wheezing laughter that trailed off as Ginny pulled away. "Oi, no, no. Leave them. Harry can do it.... Harry?"

"Gone, bastard," muttered Ginny, cocking her head toward where Harry had been standing. "Ten minutes. If it's not fixed they'll have to run around shouting about cunt muppets for the rest of their natural lives and I won't be a bit bothered by it."

"Fine," said Tonks, trying to pout, though her trailing laughter kept it from being as potent as it might otherwise be. "Ten minutes, and then I'm making off with you."

"Hey," Ginny said. Tonks looked up and crashed directly into a warm, drawn-out kiss that was more than anything a promise of things to come.

Neither registered the twins' whistling and hooting while they somehow made the phrase "Muffins and Escargot" dirtier than it had any right to be.

###

Harry had slipped away from the scene with the twins, just then beginning to feel a bit of a buzz and thinking he might be about ready to brave the room and possibly even join the thumb-wrestling. Halfway back, he ran into Justin and Hannah who filled him in on their plans for their new office, in the process giving him the run down of Zacharias' progress in his quest to become one neverending shrug. Once he drew away from them, it was clear he'd need another drink and so he went back, refilled his glass and then managed to make it back to his seat with only minor interruption.

When he got there, Neville was still in his chair, chin in his hand watching Luna and Percy dance not far away and wearing a look of utter amusement.

"Hey," said Harry and Neville started, breaking into a grin and making to stand.

"Chair's safe, mate. Luna left me in charge of it, and I didn't argue. She's the Ravenclaw."

Harry snickered, but pushed back on Neville's shoulder. "No, stay there. I'll sit over th-- wait." He grinned and tapped the chair with his wand, and it expanded just enough so that one more person could sit in it if the occupants sat flush at the hip, and then did so.

"...Ok," Neville said, shifting as Harry fit himself into the chair.

"Alright? I could put it back?" said Harry, suddenly worried that he'd gone too far.

"No!" said Neville quickly. "I'm fine. Good. Great, even."

"Ok," Harry said, leaning back against the wing and bending his knee slightly to rest the outside against Neville's thigh, resting his drink on the armrest. "You could also get out there and... I don't know. Mingle. Lot of friends around."

"I'm fine. I'm having a good time watching, you know?" said Neville, visibly swallowing hard, though Harry was buzzed enough that it was just an opportunity to watch the bob of his Adam's apple.

"Yeah. I love a lot of these people, but they sort of freak me out," said Harry, with a small smile. "It's good that everyone's having a good time, though."

###

"Yeah," Neville repeated, worrying that his decision to break into the drinks earlier and more quickly than he otherwise might have may have been a bad idea, given he couldn't quite dispel the visual of a sleepy, rumpled Harry fresh from his equally rumpled bed. "Good time," he muttered, wondering how many times he could fit the same phrase into the conversation.

Harry snorted a laugh, then thumped Neville's arm as he took a drink. Neville shook his head and a thought occurred to him.

"You, err. Look... dunno. Refreshed. Like you're having a good time," he said to Harry, marvelling that this was indeed the case.

"Yeah?" said Harry with a crooked smile. "Maybe I am. I'll never admit to it."

"It's good. Lot of the time--" said Neville, then stopped himself and waved it off. "Never mind. It's good." That had to have made at least six repetitions of 'good' between them both.

"'Lot of the time' what?" said Harry suddenly curious.

Neville rubbed the back of his own neck. "Nah, it's nothing."

"Come on, what?" said Harry, bouncing his knee against Neville's leg insistently.

"It's just-- a lot of the time when you're out having fun lately, it's a little like you're not," said Neville with a shrug, followed by a nervous laugh, his face flushed and hot. "Ah, hell. Luna's rubbing off on me. Like I said, never mind." It didn't help that Harry didn't say anything immediately.

After another long second, Harry flopped back against the wing of the chair. "You know that new arrival at the House? The one that I spent this last week watching over?"

Neville didn't know what it had to do with his end of the conversation but he went along. "Yeah...?"

"Usual story. Old near-and-not-so-dear friends coming to call and finish up their business; no one to help her out or keep an eye out for her," It was Harry's turn to shrug. "Eh. It's stupid."

"No! It's not. Go on," said Neville as encouragingly as he could.

"It's just-- It makes me think that I would never have gotten anywhere on my own," He looked down and shrugged again, and Neville got the distinct impression this conversation would never have occurred without the magic of fermentation. "I guess I'm tired of doing what I do and ending up alone again these days. It doesn't matter that it seems like I'm not. I am." Harry huffed a laugh. "Alright. That doesn't make a damn bit of sense."

"Oh," said Neville, trying to keep his tongue from tying into knots. "No, it does."

Harry laughed again, looking a little embarrassed. "At least someone understood that."

Mandy swung past and grinned winningly, but she didn't manage a word past, "Hi," before Neville cut her off with a very real edge to his voice.

"No, Mandy. His lap definitely off-limits now."

###

Tonks went out to the back step to spend her ten minutes productively glaring at the glowing reporters and verifying that partygoers were who they said they were. She stepped out the door and found Charlie sitting on the top step with Pansy perched next to him, one knee slung over his.

"Wotcher, Chuck," she offered brightly, telling herself that she was not in fact about to be pounded for having unremitting filthy thoughts about his little sister. Mostly because he didn't yet have any way of knowing, not that that wouldn't change the moment he went inside. "Parkinson. How're things?"

He glared predictably at her, making it clear he was fondly considering homicide for the nickname, though Pansy's added glare was relatively new.

"Abysmal but for Charlie," sighed Pansy, standing gracefully.

"Not so bad, but about to be better," said Charlie on his feet as well, thumping Tonks on the shoulder as he opened the door. "Listen, thanks--"

"Oh no!" said Tonks, alarmed. "I'm only here for--"

Charlie and Pansy were gone and Tonks found herself alone on the porch, growling, "--ten bloody, sodding minutes," into thin air.

###

The roof was too quiet. Oh certainly the conversation had gone well at first. Remus had a lot of stories he had never really told anyone, but unfortunately, he preferred it that way. Maybe one day-- well. That was a lot of presumption. But as it stood, once he told his favorite pub story, there had been a lot of staring into wine glasses.

Thus, it was in everyone's best interest for Remus to keep their glasses filled. To have something interesting to look at, of course.

Thus, as he emptied the first bottle into Severus' glass, he found himself snickering, drawing a confused eyebrow from Severus.

"You know," said Remus as he opened the second bottle. "I am a terrible Gryffindor some days."

"Is there any other kind?" asked Severus, lifting his glass with a smirk that said he was not in any way kidding.

Remus shot him a dirty look while trying not to smile as he finally managed to refill his own glass. "Yes. Many."

"In your opinion," Severus said, baiting him further. "For what it's worth, among morons you tend to stand out as... less so. Lycanthropy notwithstanding."

"Thank you," deadpanned Remus. "I may swoon."

After a short sip, Severus spoke again. "Fine. What makes you a 'bad Gryffindor'?"

"I am being an absolute pansy, and have been when it comes to you for approximately twenty years now," said Remus without hesitation, staring out over the side of the roof, offhand as though he were discussing the weather.

"Excuse me?"

"Do you remember the night of your first Order meeting?"

Severus scowled. "Regrettably, the memory is as clear as a bell."

"James and Sirius were about fit to kill, Peter... well. It doesn't matter." It's not as though it was a genuine reaction, at any rate. "But I..." Remus rolled his eyes at himself, determined to go on. "I thought--"

"Lupin."

"--I thought it was an incredibly brave thing to have done," Remus said. "And I didn't speak to Sirius and James for a week after having told them so. Forcefully." Forcefully was one word for it. More to the point, he'd stopped Sirius from marching down and 'disposing of the 'Snivelly Git' himself' by way of a full-body bind around James' tackling arm.

"How very noble of you," muttered Severus, unimpressed.

"I'm trying to say that I've been fascinated by you for a long damn time," said Remus, beginning to be convinced that it had been a terrible idea, "and I never thought I stood a chance."

"In all fairness, you did not," Severus said, and Remus' chest constricted with the familiar feeling of having been made a fool of at his own hand. "Or for the most part... did not until recent events."

Slowly --God, too slowly-- feeling began to seep back into Remus' fingers. He finally turned to peer at Severus with the barest spark of renewed hope, and slid the slightest bit closer.

"How recent?"

###

The moment Tonks caught sight of Bill, she popped up and bolted, grabbing his face and kissing his cheek in passing. "Alright, be good, have fun, bye," she said, the 'bye' bitten off as she ran through the door, tore through the kitchen and the back int the sitting room, took a perfunctory look around and then found exactly what she'd been looking for.

Ginny looked up from where she was holding her wand on Fred and George and grinned. She muttered something to them and walked away, nothing so much as stalking toward Tonks heedless of people in her path. She didn't bother to stop until she was flush with Tonks, hitting her with nearly enough force to knock her over, thoughtfully sliding her arms over Tonks' shoulders and grinned. "Let's go."

There was no point in arguing. The party would be perfectly fine without them and if it wasn't there weren't more than enough people who could deal with it.

"Yes, please," said Tonks as her hand wound up through Ginny's bright hair.

###

"Is your best mate always completely stark raving mad?" asked Draco as he slid into the seat nearest Harry's.

Harry snorted a laugh as did Neville, attached as he was to Harry's side. He received an inquiring eyebrow from Draco, though Draco was able to display an uncommon amount of kindness in refraining from from further comment. Then again, it wasn't as though he were surprised. At all.

"You tell me," snickered Harry, who Draco knew for a fact was feeling pleasantly content and somewhat drunk, which was a gratifying thing to see. A little disappointing, since Draco had laid in a store of recreational potions in advance to counteract any sort of moping, melancholia, and any other conceivable maudlin thought he'd expected to pick up on from Harry on the day of The Anniversary. He had enough that he would have shared, but it was probably for the best this way.

"Fucking stark raving," grumbled Draco.

"Enjoying yourself, then?" asked Harry brightly.

"Potter, I will continue to despise you through the end of your days," said Draco over the top of his glass, though he couldn't quite keep down the hint of a smile.

"It's good to be consistent," said Neville with a nod as he drained his glass, beating Harry to the comeback and setting him to snickering.

Draco shut his eyes, shook his head once and exaggeratedly refocused on Neville. "When did you cease being worse than entirely useless?"

"Have I?" said Neville, tone wry. "I hadn't noticed."

"Long before you did, at any rate," said Harry, smacking the back of his hand lightly against Neville's stomach, though he was addressing Draco. "I saw him go out front, you know."

"It's useless. A fucking terrible idea," said Draco, leaning forward elbows to knees and speaking to Harry directly, not intending to be clear enough that anyone else could follow the thread of conversation.

"...Yeah. Probably," agreed Harry unhelpfully.

"I blame this on you. You and your entire idiotic House."

"On behalf of myself and my House, fuck you."

"Nothing good can come of this."

"Then we're used to that sort of thing."

Draco stared Harry down for a second longer and then hoisted himself to his feet. "You're not right," he said as he walked away. "None of you are."

Craning his head around the side of the chair, Harry called after him, "Wouldn't be the first time!"

Snarl inaudible over the music and noise, Draco lifted his chin impossibly higher and went out the front door.

###

"Huh," murmured Neville.

"What's that?" said Harry, peering at him.

"Ron and Draco?"

"Heard this morning."

"Makes sense, now."

Privately, Harry agreed. Ron's moods, the complex emotions that he'd picked up from Draco, the pisspoor attempts at avoiding the party by both sides all added up. "Now if they could just manage to live through it--" Harry snorted another laugh. "God help us all."

Luna chose just that moment to twirl past and set a drink in Neville's hand.

"And we can help each other in the meantime!" she grinned, flopping the armrest of the chair and leaning against Harry.

"Status report, Lieutenant?" said Harry, leaning too and affecting a deep, serious voice, not really expecting one.

"Aye sir," Luna said, sitting up back straight and beginning a recitation that left Harry and Neville snickering uncontrollably. "Weasley, female: MIA along with Tonks. Weasley, eldest: patrolling the perimeter along with Shacklebolt, subject to occasional very minor lapses in attention. Weasley, next eldest: serving as an armchair for Parkinson. Weasley, Woobie: hoping I'll go rescue him from back porch duty. Weasleys, double: still spouting occasional nonsense but for the most part trying to ensure that they make proper use of every possible innuendo for 'Bones'. Weasley second youngest: formerly on front porch duty, but about to be attacked by Malfoy. As General Granger is off snogging Thomas and unavailable to make this decision, I recommend we commandeer reinforcements. Also, Potter: smashed up against Longbottom, a move of which I highly approve."

Laughing, Neville reached across Harry and shoved her knee, which only served to remind her--

"Oh! Lupin: On the roof with Snape."

"What?" said both Harry and Neville in unison.

"Lovegood: merely giving the report," she said with a lopsided grin and a shrug. "Some things are inexplicable."

Neville looked faintly ill.

"Here," said Luna hopping down from her perch and grabbing for Neville's hand. "Twister will make you feel better."

###

Temporarily made brave, Draco had in fact set out on a mission.

Certainly, he realized that he was going to be sorry later. Perhaps in the morning. Perhaps even in about thirty seconds or so, give or take. At the time, however, it seemed the only thing left to be done. He shoved the front door open, stepped out onto the porch, caught sight of Ron sitting on the railing nearest the door and closed the distance between them in two long strides.

"Oh for fuck's sake," Draco growled.

Ron stood immediately. It was more a shift of his weight-- his feet were already on the ground since he was tall enough to actually reach. He opened his mouth, but didn't get a chance to say anything as one more step brought Draco directly into his personal space. His hands came up around the sides of Ron's face, more to keep him still than anything, and didn't stop moving forward even once he'd pushed Ron back against the railing.

"Bzuh?" Ron croaked, and Draco ignored the utter lack of erudition, choosing instead to crush his mouth to Ron's once, forcefully, and then again. He leaned in so hard and so far that Ron was forced to twist his fingers into the front of Draco's shirt to keep from toppling over the side. Flashbulbs went mad around them and though Draco would have happily throttled them all any other time, he couldn't be arsed to care. The sounds that Ron was making in the back of his throat goaded him on, the grip in his shirt, the obvious bulge in his trousers, at exactly the right height and angle such that all it took for Draco to get him to repeat the sounds from his throat with a simple, shallow roll of his hips-- all added up to his perfect willingness to be photographed in the act of doing so. With Ronald Weasley.

Any last shred of doubt was eradicated when he felt a foot hook around his calf, the action not only allowing him closer still, but pulling him in to make use of the available proximity. One of the hands on his chest sought to wrap itself around Draco's waist and down to follow the curve of his spine with total disregard for the public at large, and it was all Draco could do to shove back, grip more tightly; hold on and brace his knee against the railing to keep from falling right over the edge and landing in a tangled heap.

With Ronald Weasley.

The world made no sense. Apparently he had no problem with that.

###

"Right hand red!" shrieked Luna with glee and a pile of partygoers in varying states of intoxication landed in a collectively giggling heap. In an attempt to free himself from Mandy's clinging to his leg, Harry fell face-first onto Neville and laughed as it set off a domino effect and knocked everyone else over again.

"You know what?" said Harry once he was standing, as he tried unsuccessfully to push away yet another incarnation of his mysteriously ever-full glass. "You're right. I'm having fun."

"Again!" said Luna, sparking a hoot of laughter from the crowd as Percy tackled her sideways to a nearby chair and declared her 'under quarantine before she could cause mischief for anyone else'.

'Quarantine' looked suspiciously like a snog.

"Tha's brilliant," said Neville, distracted as he applauded and begged off another game. His eyes suddenly went wide when Harry slipped an arm around him.

"Is." Harry pointed with his drink hand, leaning in too close. "I'm gonna commandeer th' fucking stereo. Come with me."

"As though I'd miss that," said Neville as offhandedly as he could manage, and Harry laughed again, squeezed once and dragged him across the room.

###

The door of the flat banged open so hard, Remus was sure that the thing was about to fall off of its hinges, not that he much cared, given Severus was pinning him to the wall beside it, his mouth hot on Remus' throat, hands heavy and creeping up and under the back of his shirt. He was being inexorably drawn closer and Remus didn't care if it ever stopped. His hand flailed from Severus' shoulder and out to the door that he couldn't quite reach, a whimper escaping his lips as teeth met skin and gnawed; lord, he could barely breathe much less think.

"S-severus," Remus managed, "We should-- the door," but Severus paid no attention, his hips grinding against Remus and making him see colored stars in his field of vision. Growling, he shifted and rolled, pinning Severus in turn to the wall, shoulder poking over the edge of the doorframe. Without another pause, Remus grabbed Severus by the arms, pulled him away from the wall, moved him far enough over that this was no longer a problem and then slammed him up against it again. Wearing a devious, wolfish grin not two inches from Severus' face, he planted his hands over Severus' shoulders and kicked the door shut.

"Sorted," he panted with a distinctly michievous glint in his eye, sliding a hand up the side of Severus' throat, marvelling at how pliable he was willing to be, how he was willing to let Remus turn his face in order to murmur approval into his skin between nipping kisses to his jaw. "I am so glad you came." Remus dragged his tongue upward toward Severus' ear in order to add in a low murmur, "So, so glad--"

"...Friday..." breathed Severus, not entirely intelligible.

Remus nipped at his earlobe. "What's that?"

The fingers of Severus' hand dug into Remus' shoulderblade and he shifted up and away from the wall before falling back. "Rule-breaking friday--"

"In all fairness," grinned Remus as he nudged Severus back to look at him. "It might be Saturday, now--"

"I don't honestly give a damn," said Severus, freeing a hand and using it to pull Remus into a kiss that threatened to never end and somehow began a migration away from the wall and toward Remus' room.

Hungry and raw and nerve endings on fire, Remus kissed back and seconded the sentiment with no further words.

corvidae9 — Fri, 09 Mar 2007 08:00:15 GMT

Title: A Good Indication
Author: corvidae9
Rating: R
Word Count: ~4600
Summary: Ginny's best friend will always be there for her. (Ginny/Luna)
Author's Note: Said ireneadler: "I have a huge pregnancy kink, so anything with that is love, especially within a long-term relationship. Plot=excellent. Lately I've become interested in relationships that are a bit ambiguous--are they friends? Are they lovers? Where is the line? (For a bit of context, I just saw an amazing performance of Shakespeare's Troilus and Cressida, and the Achilles/Patroclus dynamic blew me away.) I enjoy fluff, although angst is fine too if it's not too dark." Originally posted in witchwinter, 2007.
Note II: Also! Fits into my fanfic100; Ginny/Luna table - prompt 028

~*~*~*~

Luna knelt on the plush bath mat next to the tub, her head resting on one forearm as the other trailed through the lavender-scented bubbles and cool water, fingers just barely tracing the soft skin poking barely through the surface.

"Hello in there, darling," she said loudly, though her tone was soft and sweet. "How are you today?"

A very unladylike snort was the only answer as Ginny slid further into the bubbles. "If the squirming is any indication, I'd say 'bloody well peachy'."

"That's a wonderful indication, isn't it, darling?" smiled Luna, still focusing her attention over roughly the middle of the tub. "It's probably some sort of dance of bladder-squishing happiness."

Ginny narrowed her eyes at Luna, but all Luna did was laugh. Loudly enough even that the overlarge baby somehow still managing to fit within the confines of the thin-stretched skin of Ginny's stomach jumped. Which in turn caused Ginny to twitch and slap at Luna's hand. "Nutter," she growled, losing any trace of vehemence as she trailed off on a sigh.

"I'm sorry," said Ginny after a long, quiet pause filled only with lapping water and skating fingers.

"Don't be," murmured Luna in a voice that might or might not be joking, tracing a circle around Ginny's no-longer-concave navel. "I really am."

Giggling, Ginny shifted slightly onto her left side in order to better face Luna. "Yes, so I'm not sorry for that. I'm sorry about all of this."

Luna tilted her head, her hand splayed on the downward slope of Ginny's belly, thumb pressing against what might be a foot or a knee or an elbow. "I'm not."

"It was just... such a bad idea," Ginny went on, absently petting Luna's wrist, though she took no notice of her comment. "Such a horrible idea. One last one for good luck, Harry? Sure it has to work out, shouldn't it? I mean, clearly. That's how it works in stories, right? The hero shags his tragically doomed love interest one last time, goes off and vanquishes the evil, then disappears into the sunset, right?"

"Well," said Luna philosophically. "It worked."

"He doesn't knock up said lover and he damn well doesn't stick around a day or so, only to disappear with his best friends, one of whom happens to be his lover's elder brothe--RRGH," groused Ginny, splashing water up with her flailing hands.

"You could find him if you wanted to," said Luna, unphased as she flicked water out of her eye. "Only you don't want to, not really."

"Damn straight," muttered Ginny. "Don't want to. Don't care. But I'm still sorry." She hazarded a glance up at Luna, her bright red hair just now beginning to fall out of the loose knot at the base of her neck, not needing the question in order to offer the answer. "This shouldn't be his problem. Even less than it should be yours."

"Ah, but it's not my problem either," murmured Luna. "It's not a problem at all."

"I know," sighed Ginny, biting her lip as she threaded her fingers through Luna's. "I know. It's... you've been amazing to stay as long as you have. Just-- thank you."

"Mmm," said Luna, quiet as she idly made patterns in the bubbles with their joined hands. "He might want to know, though."

"He's fucking my brother and their best friend for his happily ever after. He doesn't need to know. Not now," Ginny said, adding quickly, "And that's fine. He should be free to shag anyone he wants. Isn't as if he's in love with me or whatever."

"That is fine," agreed Luna sensibly. "Because you don't love him, either. This bit of whatever notwithstanding."

Ginny opened and shut her mouth once, deciding that there was nothing she could say that Luna didn't already know. "Right," she agreed with a nod, suddenly sure of her decision not to hunt Harry down until she was settled on her own. She shut her eyes again and tightened her grip on Luna's hand, as if to keep her from going anywhere at all.

"You know who you do love, though?" asked Luna, using a tone that was new and different; quiet and a little unsure, and made Ginny crack an eye open to make sure it was still her. The corner of Luna's mouth was pulled up in a tiny smirk.

"I--" Ginny started to say, changing her mind and raising an eyebrow instead. "Who?"

"Me," Luna said, her eyes on Ginny. "You love me so much, you worry there's no room for anyone or anything else." She lifted Ginny's hand to her mouth and Ginny could only watch as Luna kissed her palm carefully. "Except the baby."

Staring, willing to blame the sudden lack of oxygen on the baby that had take over her body so thoroughly, Ginny licked her lips and searched for an answer. It was true, yes, but she didn't know what to say or how to react just then. She'd been living with Luna for years in some sense, but the idea that she... that they...

Seeing that Luna was about to speak, Ginny cut her off by pulling a cheeky smirk, trying to buy herself some time. "Do I really?"

She should have known better. Luna tilted her head and set it back on her own forearm, the slight shift in her expression looking a little like regret. "Yes. Only--"

The Floo blazed up in the sitting room and Luna stopped, pulling away to stand.

"Wait!" said Ginny, tugging on Luna's hand. "Only what?"

"Only your mother is here," said Luna, reaching for the fluffy white towel spread on the rack and waiting. "And so you have to return to normal gravitational and seasonal conditions."

"Hello?" said Molly Weasley over the crackle of the flames from down the short hall. "Girls? Are you home?"

Frowning, Ginny managed to push up on her hands and knees, unselfconscious of the sodden knickers and bra that she'd been wearing when she'd flopped into the tub. Though she gladly accepted Luna's help in standing, she narrowed her eyes at Luna and hissed, "This conversation is not over."

"Yes, Mrs. Weasley," called Luna, though her eyes were again on Ginny. "Give us just a moment."

Ginny shouted, "Come on through, Mum!" as she wrapped herself in the towel, adding under her breath, "I'm serious."

Tucking a loose strand of damp hair behind Ginny's ear, Luna smiled and turned to leave Ginny to change, whispering, "Over enough."

~*~*~*~

At least half an hour before she'd actually activated the Floo connection, Molly Weasley had adjusted her hat once more before kneeling at the hearth. She'd set aside the basket she'd been clutching and took a handful of powder... then sat back on her heels and hesitated, chewing at her lip. At the time, Arthur's hand on the clock was still firmly at 'work', and Molly guessed she had about four hours before that would change. Four hours would give her more than enough time to visit Ginny, come home, have a good cry and then put dinner in the oven. Still, it was so hard-- Arthur had the nerve on several occasions to tell her that she was overreacting, but by mere virtue of the fact that he didn't otherwise discuss it, he let on that he was just as perturbed. She'd known him long enough by now that she hardly had to think to know that.

Tears threatened again as Molly thought that that sort of relationship was one her daughter was going to be deprived of for years to come. Turning her nose up at it on her own behalf was one thing, but the way things stood...

She pressed the heel of her free hand to her eye and spent those thirty minutes trying to convince herself that she was being a silly old woman, but her heart was absolutely broken at the idea of her youngest --her only daughter-- in the predicament that she was in. Twenty, pregnant, unmarried, unattached even; sharing a flat she wouldn't be able to keep without her dotty friend-- a nice enough girl to be sure, and such a help to Ginny so far, but there was no doubt she'd be moving house soon. No young woman wanted to be a nursemaid to someone else's child when she could be out having a good time and working on a life of her own. And her stubborn, heedless Ginny would be in trouble then, and too hard-headed to admit it and too... too... stubborn to just come home.

Children needed to learn their own lessons in life, it was true, but the thought of her baby learning this lesson her own was one that Molly could not bear. There was no helping it, though, and with one last swipe at her eye, Molly finally managed to toss the powder into the hearth and call up the proper address for Ginny's flat.

No one was in sight, though the sitting room was as tidy as it ever was. "Hello?" she called, craning her neck to see past the hearth on the other end of the connection. "Girls? Are you home?"

"Yes, Mrs. Weasley," called a voice that Molly recognized as Luna's. "Give us just a moment." A second later, there was a distinct splash of water and Ginny's voice adding, "Come on through, Mum!"

Molly stood, legs a little stiff from having sat still on them for so long, but she emerged from the Floo gracefully anyway thanks to years of practice. She set the basket in hand down on the coffee table and immediately began straightening the books and papers around it. That done, she shook out and fluffed sofa cushions for lack of anything else that presented itself as in need of tidying.

"Hello, Mrs. Weasley," said Luna from the doorway, absently spelling away what appeared to be wet patches on her shirt and trousers. "I was just helping Ginny out of the bath-- it's slippery you know, and centers of gravity are nothing to be trifled with. Can I get anything for you? Tea?"

"Bless your heart, dear," Molly said, genuinely grateful. "But I brought a little something that we can all have once Ginny joins us."

"Oh," grinned Luna, finally looking up as she approached Molly and hugged her. "You brought tea with you. I've found that it always tastes better when you make whatever it is you make, even if we follow your instructions to the letter. People seem to think it's a mother's prerogative, so I suppose we'll find out soon enough." Luna pulled away and picked up the basket with a little 'oof' and headed toward the kitchen, and Molly followed. "Though I don't suppose Ginny should have to fix tea anytime soon." She paused, looking up as in deep thought. "Perhaps once for purely experimental purposes. But after that, she'll have to fight me for the teapot," Luna finished, suddenly giggling.

Molly swallowed hard and patted Luna's cheek. "I can't thank you enough for what you've done for Ginny." Blinking rapidly, she threw her hands up in a gentle gesture of 'oh dear' and then produced a handkerchief with which to dab at her eyes. "It's such a comfort, knowing she's not always alone here all of the time, and know, Luna, dear, that when you do move, I won't hold it against you at all all. If there's anything that Arthur and I can do for you, you've only ever to say so and we'll be there."

Luna stared at her for a long moment as she set the basket down on the counter. "Thank you. But I don't plan to leave. Unless Ginny's planned it, only I'm sure that she would have said so."

"Certainly, babies are precious dear, but they're more work than they may seem," sighed Molly. "Well. You'll see, I suppose."

"Were you ever tempted to leave yours?" asked Luna, inquisitive and not at all rude or cruel.

"I- I- No!" sputtered Molly nonetheless. "Good heavens, no! I mean, when you've multiple babies in dirty nappies spitting up and pulling each other's hair and clothes and making each other's bears disappear, Apparating to the Mediterranean and changing your name sounds a perfectly logical solution. But I never would have-- I loved them too much. Love them still just as much and even more. But that... that's different. They're mine."

"Yes, well. That's how I feel about that baby," said Luna, tone matter-of fact, though she was staring off at some unnamed point in space. "It helps that I feel the same way about Ginny, or that might be a bit problematic. But as it is, I don't plan to leave either of them as long as they want me around." She refocused her attention on Molly and added, "Which may in fact be limited after this afternoon, but one can only hope."

Molly was absolutely touched by the dedication inherent in Luna's statement. Not surprised, given they'd been inseparable for the better part of five years, but touched nonetheless. "Oh, Luna. It's just--"

"Hi Mum," said Ginny distractedly as she ambled in dressed in a blue and white printed sun dress, wet hair in a knot. She kissed Molly on the cheek, but managed to slip right out of her proffered hug as she turned to Luna, a hand on her round stomach as if steadying it. "You. Is that true, what you just said?"

Luna seemed to take the shift in conversation in stride, the set of her jaw making her answer obvious, though she spoke as though she were still offering tea and discussing gravity. "Yes, absolutely."

Covering her mouth with one hand, Ginny closed the distance between herself and her best friend, finally throwing her arms around Luna, nuzzling her cheek and murmuring words that Molly couldn't hear. Luna nodded quickly and suddenly they were kissing and Molly's eyes flew wide, all of the pieces of the story falling into place as surely as Luna's hands crept around Ginny as far as they could reach. Molly took a step back and then another and another until she was back in the sitting room, dabbing at her eyes yet again for a different reason entirely. Her heart was lighter than it had been in the months since a belligerent Ginny announced that she was pregnant, wasn't disclosing just who the father might be and arsed if she cared what anyone thought of that. With Luna at her shoulder, of course.

"Err, Mum--" said Ginny from the doorway, her fingers tight through Luna's.

"You know, dear," Molly said, patting the pockets of her dress. "I just realized that I promised your father I'd make his favorites for dinner tonight, and it'll take me absolutely forever to get it all together--"

Ginny stopped her with a hug. "You're alright with this, Mum?" she said quietly, her eyes giving away just how much she needed that answer to be 'yes' even if she swore ten minutes later that she didn't care.

Molly smiled crookedly and held her as tightly as she dared with the baby between them. "Your brother is in Patagonia with Harry and Hermione, and lord knows what they get up to," she said with a smile, a solid attempt at humor to stave off anything else. "I'm afraid an elder sibling has beat you to the scandal once again."

Actually laughing, Ginny mumbled, "Thank you."

"Be happy, love. It's all we ever wanted for you, your father and I," Molly whispered. Pulling away and patted Ginny's stomach and added with a nod, "And you! Be good to your mum!"

"You'll come back though, won't you, Mrs. Weasley?" asked Luna.

Molly folded her into a huge hug next and sighed, "Of course. I just wish you'd call me 'Mum', dear. Or 'Molly' if that's too familiar."

Luna squeezed her even closer and Molly could feel the girl grinning against her shoulder. "Thank you, Mis- Molly-- Mum."

"Miss Molly Mum," snickered Ginny. "There's a new one."

"Hush, you," said Molly, swatting at Ginny's shoulder though her hand was still on Luna's elbow. "Listen to me. There's tea laid out in the basket-- just tip it over and let it flow out on its own," she said, her tone suddenly businesslike, though she trailed off with a contented sigh. "I always did like that spell. At any rate, I should go." Molly made her way to the hearth and took a handful of Floo powder, her eyes darting to the girls and back. "Would you girls like to go shopping? Saturday. Lunch after? My treat."

"Lunch before," said Ginny, curling into Luna's side. "I get hungry and I like to sleep in."

"She does," said Luna. "It's inspiring."

"Of course, dear," smiled Molly. "You should take advantage while you can."

Molly couldn't help another round of cheek kisses and half hugs before finally Flooing home to the Burrow, switching on the WWN and relaxing into her chair, knitting in hand. Dinner after all had been put together first ting in the morning when she'd needed something to occupy her hands, and she had a new project that was going to need attention.

~*~*~*~

Luna watched Mrs. Weasley spin away into the flames, feeling as though she were made entirely of candy floss and flesh-covered helium, her toes gripping at the pile of the carpet so she wouldn't float away despite the arm firmly around Ginny. Once Molly was gone, Luna turned to the girl smashed up next to her expecting fully that any words that came out of her mouth would spring fully formed in heart-shaped bubbles, float up and splat on the ceiling to spill the sound out. Only she didn't get the chance to find out.

"Don't do it," growled Ginny, eyes set hard. "Don't you dare."

Luna said nothing, but flattened her toes and reminded herself to breathe, waiting to hear what she didn't dare say.

"Don't start telling me that you wish you hadn't forced me. That you hadn't wanted to say anything because you didn't know how I'd take it," said Ginny all in one breath, the fact that she was just as tall as Luna in her favor as she leaned in and pointed and played a very convincing mother bear. "Don't tell me I should think about it, or that I'm under a lot of stress and in no condition to break anyone's heart, because I damn well know what I want and I meant what I said. I do love you. And you know it! You said so first!"

Ginny's posture indicated that she wasn't quite done, so Luna let her finish.

"Which reminds me! If you're so smart and you knew all along, why didn't you say anything earlier?"

Luna could only smile as she hazarded a hand to Ginny's shoulder, carefully sliding it up to her neck when she didn't shrug it off. "Was that what I was going to say?"

"Yes," said Ginny, losing a bit of steam, relaxing into Luna's hand.

"Funny. I would have sounded just like you," Luna said quietly, her thumb skating along Ginny's soft skin. "Go on then. Why didn't I say anything earlier?"

"Because," Ginny said as she leaned into Luna's hand, and though Luna had comforted her a hundred times before, her heard was beating so hard in her chest, she could almost hear it as clearly as she heard Ginny passing off her own fears as belonging to Luna. "Because you were afraid that it would change things-- break things. Because you didn't think you could go back to normal if I'd said you were wrong."

Pressing her forehead to Ginny's, Luna shut her eyes and smiled. "It's a good thing I wasn't wrong, then."

~*~*~*~

Arthur knew Molly had gone to see Ginny by the food scents he caught on entering through the back door of the Burrow. He set his case down carefully next to the counter and pulled his cap off, giving it a half-twist in his hands as he ventured into the sitting room.

"Molly?" he called out, just loud enough to be heard. "Molly, dear?"

"In here!" called Molly, her voice cheerful, and Arthur raised an eyebrow as he walked the rest of the way into the room. "Hello, love," she said, setting aside her knitting to stand and greet him, hugging him tightly. "How was your day?"

"Err--" said Arthur. "The usual. Molly--" he pulled back just enough to be able to take a better look at her. "Are you-- are you alright?"

"Yes of course, dear," scoffed Molly, brushing a bit of lint off of his shoulder. "Why wouldn't I be? Don't be silly."

"I see," said Arthur agreeably, not knowing just how to ask why she wasn't in tears or scouring something vigorously. Then he had it, though he felt like an utter arse for doing so. "How's Ginny doing?"

"She looks wonderful," sighed Molly. "Positively aglow-- you remember back when I was expecting William-- well-rested. And well-taken-care-of, just like I always was, dear, and good thing too, because mark my words, it'll be any day now."

Arthur was speechless. It was as if the fairy of family disagreements and untenable bones of contention had stepped in and fixed the unfixable rift between his wife and daughter. All he needed to know now was what sort of sacrifice might be required and in whose name it ought to be dedicated.

"Really? Is that so?" he finally managed, grinning hugely as he gave Molly a little squeeze and a shake.

"Yes!" giggled Molly, slapping at his hands like a teenager. "Yes. She's fine. They're fine," she said, turning away to retrieve her knitting. "Now, I know-- I've already made plenty of socks for the baby, but I simply couldn't help myself."

"Oh?" asked Arthur, eyeing her project with interest. "...Rainbow. Very precious." He didn't know what else to say-- they were socks, and he was still busy being thankful.

Molly set her hands on her hips and looked as though she had something to say. Arthur knew that look. "Ahh," he said, crossing his arms and waiting for the explanation.

"About that, darling," said Molly. "You should probably have a seat."

~*~*~*~

"Be still," Ginny groaned as Luna jostled her, batting at Luna's hands even as Luna reached for a biscuit off of the coffee table they'd dragged into the bathroom. The water sloshed around them in the enlarged tub, but Luna kept a hold on Ginny and prevailed, sliding back down to settle in again, facing Ginny with her prize.

"No," Luna mumbled through a big mouthful, popping the rest of the biscuit into Ginny's mouth.

"'M trying to nap," Ginny said as she chewed. Her words were garbled, but Luna understood them perfectly.

"I know," Luna said, then swallowed. "But not all of us are already so full of baby that there's only room for half a sandwich before it's naptime." her hand drifted back to its place at Ginny's stomach, while the fingers of the other hand were still only in a position to stroke a bare shoulder blade, given that arm was pinned under (a thankfully more buoyant) Ginny. Their legs were tangled in a knot that Luna imagined might never be unraveled; maybe even just after one more twist.

"Mmm," sighed Ginny, reaching blindly behind herself for a teacup, indiscriminate as to whether it was hers or Luna's. "Can we have bathtub tea parties all the time?"

"Of course," Luna murmured into Ginny's shoulder, smoothing hands over Ginny's stomach until she again found a protrusion that might be ankle or knee or elbow and poking.

Ginny laughed as the baby squirmed. "And will you still want to touch my fat stomach when there's no baby inside?"

"Will I still be allowed to poke at you?" said Luna, doing so again, rewarded promptly by another giggle.

"Absolutely not. No poking," said Ginny, feet wiggling as she did.

"None?" Luna said, her thumb leaving the safe haven of Ginny's stomach and sliding up the side of her ribcage, sliding forward until it brushed a n unnaturally dark and now-bare nipple. Inhaling almost as harshly as Ginny did, the fact that she was allowed to do so seemed something so tenuous as to be something she only imagined to be true. As if Ginny might slap he hand away and ask just what she might be thinking and where exactly her clothes had gone and remind her offhandedly that just because she slept with women these days didn't mean she'd want Luna. Instead, the teacup in Ginny's hand wavered and clicked against her teeth and Luna pressed a warm, open-mouthed kiss to Ginny's collarbone with a silent murmur of thanks, her fingers purposefully moving again.

There was a crash over the side of the tub that Luna could only assume was the teacup, given that Ginny's hands were now free to thread through her hair and pull her face up, harder than was strictly necessary, Luna thought, but then she didn't mind when she caught on to Ginny's intent. Her mouth crashed into to Ginny's for only the... was it the fourth time now? Fifth? The fifth time, and something small and unnecessary inside of her broke; something that spent too much time assuring her that Ginny wouldn't ever love her the way she loved Ginny. Without it, her hands were free to roam the planes and dips of warm skin beneath them, her tongue welcome to explore and map out every precarious centimeter of the inside of Ginny's mouth, her heart welcome to lay claim on the baby between them as hers-too-damn-it.

Luna kissed her hard, eyes shut though she peeked now and then as she re-tilted her head to catch a little more of Ginny's whimpering mouth, but did it only to reassure herself that she was not in fact imagining this and that Ginny was still more-than-ok.

Deep down, Luna knew she ought to have no worries. The squirming was a good indication.

corvidae9 — Fri, 09 Mar 2007 07:56:57 GMT

Title: Rubbish
Author: corvidae9
Rating: NC17
Word Count: ~2,250
Summary: The Sight is Sybil's cross to bear. (Sybil/Rosmerta, implied Rosmerta/Draco dubcon)
Warnings: Voyeurism, girlsmut, angst
Author's Note: Written for istalksnape, witchwinter 2007!! fiona_fawkes kicks ass for answering my panic-stricken call for a femslash beta and doing a fantastic job. *OMG♥LOVES*

~~~~~~

"Rosmerta--"

"Rubbish, Sybil. It's rubbish and I won't hear it."

"It's not rubbish. I've Seen it. You must--"

Rosmerta pushed a brown paper bag into Sybil's hands and waved her off with the good-natured grin of someone who was well-versed in Sybil's eccentricities. "I'll be fine, dear," she said in a tone that brooked no argument, stretching up to peck a friendly kiss to Sybil's cheek. "Go on now, you've got class in the morning."

"I know what everyone thinks of me," said Sybil as she shifted the bag in her hands, eyes huge. "And I know you don't believe me. But I've Seen it-- I've Seen your hand turned to evil."

With a hurried glance around the room to be certain that they were the only ones left in it, Rosmerta moved closer, the gesture more than friendly this time. "Sybil, I-" she said, her nose nudging the slightly taller woman's cheek, "can take care of myself." Her breath slid across Sybil's cheek in warm, cidery waves and Sybil rocked on the balls of her feet; further away and then inexorably back, eyes half shut. Instinctively, she turned toward the full, inviting mouth, letting her tongue dart out and moisten her own lips, brushing Rosmerta's in the process.

"I don't mean to See it. Any of it."

"I know, dear," murmured Rosmerta, hand creeping up Sybil's thin, soft stomach, the other gesturing for the heavy bar to descend and secure the bar across the doors. "I know."

~~~~~~

The boy had always reminded her of the Black boys she'd served back before her father had passed on, though much more of Regulus than Sirius. It was more than the slope of his nose; more the tilt of his chin than the shape of it. It was the attitude with which he scanned her and saw nothing more than The Help; he dealt with her accordingly and moved on.

He was a snotty little bastard skilled in reminding her that she was nothing more than a merchant's daughter, much as his mother had throughout their years of school together, no matter what their relationship. True to form, the boy in the very footsteps of his mother also failed miserably to make Rosmerta feel anything but pride in herself. Rosmerta was comfortable with her hard-won skills and her more than respectable inheritance-- in her estimation, none of those things could be said about any Black.

Or Malfoy, for that matter. Draco would be no different once he passed through the school and into his adult life.

~~~~~~

"An old family," muttered Sybil under her breath. "The castle knows them, but whether it's a current student or--"

"Sybil," sighed Rosmerta, cutting her off before the inevitable declaration of doom, fingers drifting down the Seer's lips and chin. "Stop forseeing my death and destruction."

"No, no-- you won't die," said Sybil, agitated as she sat up in the half-light, the blanket pulled to her chest. "That's what I've been trying to tell you. You see, it's a convergence of stars but for the first in retrograde; the illusion of moving in one direction while truly moving in another."

"Ya Basta! scowled Rosmerta, tossing back the covers as she rose, disgusted and padding naked to the bathroom. She grumbled in her and her father's bastardized Spanish hybrid and slammed the door, the water not beginning to run for a full five minutes.

Sybil in the meantime drew up the covers and turned to face the window, telling herself that she was wholly unsurprised when a weight settled in behind her, Rosmerta's arm dropped around her middle.

"No student would harm me, Sybil. Perhaps you've read it wrong," Rosmerta murmured, pulling the thick mass of dishwater curls away in order to press ler lips to the back of a soft neck. "Perhaps it is that a great number of people will find themselves smashed at the Three Broomsticks. Unwise as it is, it's good for business.

Anyone else would have murmured, "Perhaps," to end it; to keep the warm arms around them, soft mouth trailing along warm peach-soft skin. Anyone else made have tried to convince themselves that they'd invented the vision out of fear for their lover's safety; anything to keep that lover from leaving.

Sybil said nothing.

~~~~~~

Rosmerta should have known something was extraordinarily wrong the moment Draco Malfoy came into the pub alone and in the wee hours of the morning as she cleared the common room for the night.

"Mr. Malfoy!" she exclaimed as she tucked her bar rag into her apron, frowning with concern as she bustled closer. "What are you doing here at this hour?"

His grey eyes were shadowed and tired, and he let his gaze drop to the ground, his fists opening and closing, every breath evident in the tremble of his slender frame. Rosmerta tilted her head and squeezed his shoulder-- whoever's son he might be, he was clearly a child in need.

Draco looked up again, jaw set, and opened his mouth with a half nod, "There's-- there's no one else around, is there?"

He'd managed to make it sound like a desperate question, full of dread, and Rosmerta felt the tremor in his voice cut straight through her. Ducking her head to meet his eyes she said as reassuringly as she could manage, "There isn't, not now. But I'm here, and we'll find you help-- I promise."

"Ok. Ok that's good," muttered Draco, looking away. "That's good." And before she could do or say anything else, his wand was in her face, an unthinkable, unforgivable curse on his lips.

And then there was nothing Rosmerta wanted more than to help him do anything he had to do, for she had never had any sort of facility with throwing off the Imperius Curse.

Sparing a final coherent thought for Sybil's well-deserved 'I told you so,' Rosmerta's lip curled up into almost a grin until she was interrupted by Draco's frustrated whine.

"What are you smiling at? You don't get to laugh at me! Not anymore! Stop it!"

And so Rosmerta did.

~~~~~~

Sybil's back arched off of the bed, her bony hips pressing up into her lover's hands and mouth; fingers that were rough from too many years of cleaning and serving pushing insistently into her as a mouth that said whatever she deemed needed saying molded to her cunt. Her hands flailed and gripped the sheets of Rosmerta's bed as a moan became a gurgled grunt, none too attractive on its own and yet the raw quality of it drove Rosmerta to withdraw her slick fingers and anchor them instead around Sybil's hip to mirror the position of the other hand. Nails digging into Sybil's flesh, Rosmerta encouraged the undulation of her lover's hips, letting the flat of her tongue press across and around her clit, humming into her soft, moist flesh.

In her sighing and moaning, and in the music from the wireless that Rosmerta had insisted upon, Sybil missed the almost inaudible whisper from the darkness of the wardrobe, or if she heard it, mistook it for her own as it murmured, "Harder."

Without a second thought, Rosmerta complied, ferocious in her quest to devour Sybil whole, nails slowly beginning to leave welts. Sybil's moan became a cry, torn between the pleasure threatening to break over her and pain of Rosmerta's nails digging in and surely near to breaking her pale skin. Heaving breath after breath, cheek smashed into the pillow, Sybill bucked, her fingers on fire from the strain of clenching them so tightly, and she missed yet another murmur; a quiet hiss and a swear, nothing she wasn't doing as well. Rosmerta actually growled as she shifted and Sybil cried out, splintered apart into a hundred pinpricks of light and sound and sensation, whimpering as Rosmerta's nails dragged a track down each hip, her delicately-lapping tongue a mockery of all things delicate and setting off aftershocks that continued to shake Sybil from the inside out.

"Oh god; Please, Rosmerta; that's-- ohgod-- enough," breathed Sybil, but Rosmerta only backed off enough to lap at the beads of sweat on Sybil's stomach.

"Oh fuck yeah," hissed the voice in a low, shaky whisper from somewhere in the room, but Rosmerta heard it easily. "Your turn. Hard."

"Fuck yeah. My turn," echoed Rosmerta as she scrambled up and straddled Sybil's hips, left hand braced on the mattress. Thighs spread wide, her right hand snaked between them to stroke herself and Sybil could only flail for a moment as Rosmerta sealed her mouth around a small, hard nipple and suckled.

Under her own ministrations, Rosmerta whimpered sharply and bit down, and Sybil gasped, pushing at her with a weak hand. "Careful, I-" she breathed, cut off by the stroke of Rosmerta's fingers against Sybil's sensitive, exposed clit and a murmured hush by way of apology.

"So wet. Love it hard," Rosmerta breathed, her arse canting back further as if putting herself on display as she touched herself. Sybil shut her eyes as Rosmerta licked and sucked and bit her way up her neck, producing a little moan with every exhalation that blended in seamlessly with the moist smacking of Rosmerta's fingers. Pornographic moans and whimpers escaped Rosmerta's lips around where they met Sybil's skin as she worked herself into a frenzy until at last every muscle in her body seemed to contract, and everywhere she touched Sybil she felt as though she were on fire.

Rosmerta collapsed with a whining cry onto Sybil, pulling her hand away from her own cunt with a groan. She touched the wet pads of her fingers to Sybil's jaw and dragged them down her throat, leaving behind a scent that already hung heavily in the room. Sybil sucked in a hard breath as Rosmerta's tongue followed, lapping the trail of warmth industriously, her fingers settling to tweak Sybil's nipple as she mumured, "God. So good, lovely."

The pinching fingers at her breast subsided as Rosmerta slid onto the bed and tucked her head against Sybil's shoulder, and Sybil blinked into the darkness, wondering why she felt as if she'd been flattened by a hurricane or a herd of erumpents; tossed ashore by the storm at sea that was Rosmerta these dark days and wondering if perhaps this is what the signs had all been pointing toward.

A sudden noise near the wardrobe caught her attention, followed by what seemed the muffled crack of an Apparation, and Sybil tried to sit up, alarmed, hissing, "What was that?"

"Huh?" muttered Rosmerta sleepily, tightening her grip on Sybil's waist. "It was nothing. The night maid, probably." She yawned hugely and ran her hand down Sybil's side and hip, only to have her eyes pop open as she brushed the raised indents her fingernails had left behind. Leaning up on her elbow, she craned her neck to see them better, brow furrowed in what appeared to be true confusion. "I'm sorry, love, I--" she said, examining the marks. "I don't know what came over me."

Sybil rubbed her eye and pushed her hair back over her shoulder, all the while staring at the wardrobe. "Neither do I."

~~~~~~

It was done the day Sybil sought Rosmerta in the back room of the pub on a Hogsmeade weekend and found her-- shirt partially unbuttoned, apron askew and smelling of spunk she had not succeeded in spelling away entirely. Rosmerta's eyes were nearly as huge as Sybil's without the benefit of the glasses she wore (to dispel the lightwave energies around her of course).

Drawing her shawl tightly around her narrow shoulders, Sybil straightened her back and turned on her heel without another word, and Rosmerta shook her head, holding her shirt shut and peering into the gloom. "Sybil-- wait, I can-- wait!"

Pausing, though not turning, Sybil said, "For what?"

"For me-- for... I don't know," Rosmerta breathed, her panic almost tangible and almost believable as she caught up with Sybil and squeezed her hand. "I don't know what I was doing. Please."

Sybil lifted Rosmerta's hand to her lips and kissed it, her eyes shutting for a moment as she did. Though she still did not look at Rosmerta, she cocked her head and sighed resignedly, "You will," and continued, walking out of the room and out of the pub for good.

Confused, Rosmerta covered her mouth with a hand that smelled a combination of man and Sybil's incense that should never coincide and looked around the room, not understanding what had happened; how any of it could have happened. She loosed one sob that Sybil would never hear, though she looked as though she might at any moment break into tears.

And then a voice sounded from the darkened corner of the room, hissing nastily, "Forget that bag of bones. We have work to do."

It was Him, and that meant she had to obey.

And so Rosmerta forgot.

corvidae9 — Thu, 08 Mar 2007 02:54:09 GMT

Title: Come Together (7 of ~8)
Author: corvidae9
Rating: R
Word Count: ~4970 this section
Warnings: crackful premises, het/slash/fem, rampant bisexuality
Summary: A sort of countdown to the anti-party and (almost) everyone has a story to tell. (Friday's party TBC in 7.5)
Author's Note: See Part I for full Summary/Notes! Questions/comments/interpretive dance, as always, welcome here. :D

I - Saturday | II - Sunday | III - Monday | IV - Tuesday | 4.5 - Tuesday Night | V - Wednesday | VI - Thursday | VII - Friday Afternoon | 7.5 - Friday Night| VIII - Saturday²

Friday Afternoon

Ginny hurried from the public Apparation point down Diagon Alley to Sclera Brothers, the clock over the Leaky Cauldron proclaiming it to be 2:05. She broke into a trot, weaving between small knots of loud, cheerful witches and wizards and temporary chairs and tables, while most of the shops were dark and sporting signs that read, "closed for the holiday".

Not even breathing hard when she arrived, Ginny saw Tonks already talking to the burly clerk.

"I'm sorry, mate-- she'll be here any-- oh!" said Tonks, face splitting into a grin as she pointed back at Ginny, "What'd I say?"

"'Lo love. Sorry I'm late," Ginny said cheerfully, her eyes straying to Tonks more than anything else. Merlin, she was in trouble, but she was not her brother; she could actually play it off.

"...I know you," said the clerk, with cartoonlike recognition. "Aren't you-- Weasley?"

Ginny grinned and offered up a wave. "That's right. One of many, sir," she said, then returned her attention to Tonks. "What are we picking up?"

"This box, that keg and--" began Tonks, only to be overrun again by the clerk.

"Nah-- the new Chaser? For Holyhead? Crikey, you're amazing!"

"Oh! God, thank you! You think so?" said Ginny with the air of suddenly having made a new best friend. "Where'd you see me play? I've only ever been to training--"

"M'brother's the assistant coach for United an--"

"The scrimmage last week!" said Ginny, so, so pleased as she turned her grin on Tonks. "We cleaned the pitch with them."

"Hey, this may seem weird, but are you, um, seeing anyone?" asked the clerk and Tonks suddenly stepped in between them.

"Yes. Absolutely, she is."

###

'Are you seeing someone', my ARSE, were the exact words that went through Tonks' mind as the great oaf tried to take apart a week of hard work and an eternity of longing at the seams. Now, granted, he didn't have as much a chance as all that, but it was the principle of the thing. Tonks could hear in her head the rest of the exchange as clear as day: 'why, no! I am not' 'well what about me?' 'oh! well come to my party and make Tonks have to hurt you and possibly lock you in a closet!' 'oh that sounds brilliant!' 'oh good! then we'll talk if you survive, for I am oblivious to her charms!' 'For the chance at an arse as fine as yours, that sounds fair!'

Tonks didn't need that sort of trouble this close to the goal. Not at all. It was time for drastic measures.

"I am?" asked Ginny, suddenly hipshot, arms crossed and eyebrow arched.

It was time for full and unexpected disclosure. That and Tonks couldn't stand to stare at the shine of the gloss on her parted lips one more second without finding out if it was cherry or watermelon.

"Oh yeah," said Tonks, taking a step toward Ginny that practically swaggered. "Pretty girl, fun as all get out. Clumsy too, but you know, spent a week working and sending charming owls and creeping and plotting to set conditions up just right to catch hold of you and convince you that she might be worth your time."

"And is she?" said Ginny, rooted to the spot and clearly determined not to lose this round of chicken as Tonks came right up into her personal space. That was fucking hot.

"Yep," said Tonks, nose twitching.

"Prove it," Ginny said with an arched eyebrow that made Tonks want to slap the cocky grin off of her face.

Instead, Tonks had nowhere to go but forward, and such, grabbed hold of Ginny's jacket with one hand and tugged her closer, the other sliding around the back of her neck and into her hair, her mouth crashing hard onto the slightly-taller Ginny's and --oh my god--discovered that it was in fact mango-flavored lipgloss.

The clerk groaned and muttered, fading into the haze of background noise and paranoia in the split-second it took for Ginny to respond, and when the slim, warm fingers of one hand landed on the bit Tonks' collarbone peeking through her shirt, there was nothing at all left in the world except Ginny (who was very much not oblivious after all) kissing back.

Eventually, since the clerk wasn't about to interrupt them, they did in fact split apart when they had no choice, both grinning stupidly, Ginny's hands around Tonks' middle and up under her puffy jacket.

"Good point," breathed Ginny, her cheeks flushed pink.

"I have a lot of those," said Tonks, having some problem keeping from resuming the public snog.

"We should get the alcohol back to the house," said Ginny, in a better position to be reminded, given she could still see the clerk staring, probably.

"Yes," agreed Tonks, her thumb running idly along the side of Ginny's neck. "I'd like to have some more of this conversation once we get there, if that's quite alright."

"You should know this conversation is the only one I'm interested in having tonight," said Ginny, with a look that made Tonks feel as though she were melting into puddle.

"You should know that I've been looking forward to this conversation for quite some time," murmured Tonks.

"You should both know that unless this conversation involves immediate and mututal nudity, I'd like you to take your order and go, 'cos I've got to get out of here and have a bit of a moment to myself before the festivities in the Alley," said the clerk in a curious mix of amused and put out.

Tonks grinned and finally convinced herself to take a step back. "Right. Sorry about that, mate. I--"

Unfortunately the second step back took her directly into and over the miniaturized keg and onto her arse at his feet.
"--Ow."

Ginny did not immediately rush to her side in concern. She was pretty much occupied laughing her own arse off.

###

At about half two, Hermione was stalking through 12 Grimmauld Place looking a little more stressed than she had any right to look, given it wasn't her party and she wasn't the one that was supposed to be doing the organizing. When she heard a crack downstairs immediately followed by another, she assumed that it was Tonks and Ginny back with the drinks and rushed out to meet them. She was met instead by the two of them exchanging a look over the still-miniaturized keg that stopped her in her tracks. Before she could even say anything, they were kissing with a frantic sort of gradual build that made Hermione's face flush a dozen shades of pink, knowing exactly what sort of activity required that kind of kissing as a prelude.

Any other day she would have turned around and gone right back into the house, but --and it was terrible to say, she knew-- she had things to do and she didn't have time to take over the set up on their behalf. It had been their bloody idea, anyway. And Hermione had a damned date.

And god help her, Parvati was coming over early to do her hair.

"Excuse me?" she ventured to no avail. "Gin? Tonks?"

Nothing.

"HELLO?!" she said at high volume and Ginny and Tonks finally looked up, both flushed and breathing hard.

Tonks' hand lingered on what looked like Ginny's breast on the side furthest from Hermione for a split second longer before she yanked it back as if burned, turning her 'o' of surprise into a winning grin.

"Wotcher, Hermione!"

"Hello," said Hermione in full field general mode and brooking no argument, though with a not-unsympathetic smile. "You, food. Ginny, decorations. Pick this up again later, please, as I've no desire to run your party while you play doctor."

Tonks pointed at Ginny, whose eyes were narrowed so far it was a wonder she could see out of them. "I needed somone to come with me."

Smile unwavering as she locked stares with Ginny, Hermione called out over her shoulder, "NEVILLE!"

"He's supposed to be helping decorate," said Ginny, doing her best to give Hermione the 'bugger off for a minute, please' look.

Hermione shrugged it off. "He'll be back. NEV!"

Tonks tugged on Ginny's sleeve. "I'll go get Remus."

"No," Ginny growled, even as Hermione said agreeably, "That works."

"Gin--" said Tonks, finally diverting her attention with a hand around her waist, "It's fine. I'll get Remus. We'll pick this up later."

Ginny scowled and crossed her arms tightly. "Fine."

Tonks leaned to whisper something in her ear, and Ginny suddenly broke into a huge grin. After a (relatively) brief kiss Tonks called out, "Be back Hermione. Sorry about that," and Disapparated.

"You're such a bitch some days," said Ginny, though --very strangely-- the grin seemed to stick.

Hermione cocked her head, not in the least bit concerned about provoking her, though she remained a little confused. "Truth. Pot/Kettle. Let's go."

Neville stepped out onto the back step in time to be dragged back into the house by the elbows as Ginny and Hermione moved past with hurricane force.

###

Kingsley sighed and shoved his mobile back in his pocket, stalking back in from the balcony of his flat to the small kitchen table and lean over Bill, arms over his shoulders.

"Bad news," he rumbled.

"Sorry. Not allowed," said Bill, dropping his paper to shut his eyes and just lean. "Had enough of that. Tell it to go away."

"I've got to get to the Ministry ball. Seems a couple of the Aurors scheduled for duty came down with something and they wanted me to call in reinforcements."

"So do it," murmured Bill, turning and pressing his nose against the side of Kingsley's neck "Perks of management."

"Can't," sighed Kingsley. "Next ones in line are Tonks and Weasley..."

"...And there's no way you're letting them miss their party," finished Bill.

Kingsley growled a sound that was meant to convey that he was in no way softer on them than anyone else and that they in particular received more than their share of the arse-chewing thanks to their mulish need to continue being heroes. Bill, in turn aimed a nipping kiss at the soft skin too near his mouth to resist, and Kingsley took that (correctly) as a placating 'I know'.

"I'll come with you," said Bill.

"Nah. Go to the house. I'll just be standing around looking threatening."

"Listen-- 'S nothing but kids anyway. We'll let them have their fun, I'll find ways of distracting you and be on hand in case there's any trouble."

Kingsley knew he ought to argue, remind him that at the very least, Charlie, Remus and probably Hes would be there, but Bill had been at the jobsite in Egypt training his replacement for a bloody month before now, as he had been on and off for what seemed like forever, and was scheduled for at least another five weeks after. Truth be told, he was looking for an excuse not to argue.

"What time to you have to be in?" asked Bill, reaching back to grope in Kingsley's trouser pocket for his mobile.

"Four," Kingsley said with a smile. "And that's not my phone."

"Oh?" Bill answered, amusement evident in his voice as he finally located the mobile and then tossed it onto the table top after only a cursory glance. "Hour's a long time. A bloke could get better educated in the difference."

###

Ron was faceplanted on his bed begging the ground to swallow him whole, willing himself not to recall that he'd decided to spend time with Malfoy on Wednesday to remind himself what a snotty bastard Malfoy was and why he wanted nothing to do with him, and the plan had backfired spectacularly.

Oh, he wasn't entirely proven wrong-- Malfoy was certainly a snotty bastard, but he was also relatively witty, entertaining, liked the chocolates that Ron picked over and vice versa, could play a decent game of chess (though still not decent enough to beat Ron) and was generally a passable human being.

Also, the barest strip of skin that showed between his belt and the bottom of his shirt when he stretched sometimes tended to taunt Ron and dare him to get a closer look.

He opened one eye and groaned when he saw that it was only three thirty, and wished that the party would just happen and be over with; maybe wished too that he could do something other than obsess for the four hours between now and then.

"Ron!" called Hermione from outside his door. "Come on. I need you to help set up the back garden."

Bugger. Why couldn't he learn to stop wishing things?

###

Harry on the other hand, was fast asleep, and had left Neville in charge of waking him up at six.

At four, Neville was downstairs charming balloons into place, hair still wet, eyes darting to the nearest clock every ten minutes or so without fail, and never mind that he'd set the alarm on his watch.

###

Remus set his share of the boxes down on the counter and then looked to Tonks, who set a same-size pile on the table.

"Let's see-- how does this work?"

"Got it," said Tonks, holding up the bit of parchment that had been affixed to the side of the box labeled '1'. "'The food will stay charmed fresh for up to'-- blah blah blah -- ok. Here. 'Set the boxes on a level surface'. Check. 'At the appropriate time, merely use a standard unpacking charm, which will activate the enchantments on all of the boxes in hearing range.' Brilliant. We can do that." She set the parchment back on top of one of the boxes and patted it. "Now. If you'll excuse me, I've got an appointment with a redh-- Remus?"

"Huh?" said Remus, arms crossed and leaning on the counter, his attention snapping back to her from... wherever it had been. "Right. Unpacking Charm does it. Go on and find her."

Wanting nothing more than yes, to go and find Ginny, Tonks tilted her head. It was clear that Remus needed her, and therefore, she had business to attend to. "It really went that badly?"

"Nightmarishly so," said Remus, pressing a palm to his face and exhaling loudly. "I don't know what the hell I was thinking."

Tonks sighed and muttered, "Sodding bat." Louder, she added, "Alright. You an' me, we're cracking into the drinks."

"The last thing I need is to be pissed this early in the evening, love," said Remus. "Thank you anyway, though. Find me later and try again."

With a look that spoke volumes for how thick she found Remus to be, Tonks held up two bottles of ale. "We need to doctor your partners' alcohol?"

Remus snorted and looked down, bemused. "You are so very right."

Tonks peered thoughtfully into the open box, shifted the bottles into one hand and took another two. "And one each for ourselves won't hurt while we're at it."

###

"Don't look at me like that," said Draco, though it was actually him reclining in state on Pansy's bed and watching as she paraded every last one of the new dresses she'd bought for the party. "That one may be a bit much for this particular function."

Standing hipshot in the most recent of the parade, a watered silk creation in dark rose with a back cut scandalously low, Pansy crossed her arms and turned her nose up. "You're right, and that's why I made sure to have a selection. And you're being a moron."

"Piss directly off," sneered Draco, dismissively, tossing one of her pillows aside. "Go select another one, princess."

Glaring, she dropped the straps off of her shoulders where she stood and walked away from it after it fell to the ground, disregarding the fact that she was down to her scantily-cut underthings. "You are," she called from her walk-in closet as the rose silk disappeared from the ground (thanks to her house elf, no doubt). Pansy came back out of the closet in a sea green dress that fell just below the knees and again looked at Draco as though he were slow.

"If The Weasel's anything like his brother, you've nothing to lose."

"I do. That one makes you look... hippy," said Draco nastily, smirking when she tugged it off and Banished it in a large puff of flame and smoke.

"Perish the fucking thought. I am not hippy," she snarled and retreated once more, hands automatically gravitating to the sides of her hips and thighs as if to reassure herself. "No one gives a damn anymore, Draco," she called out from the depths of the closet.

"That you're not hippy?" said Draco, rolling his eyes.

"No, dolt," said Pansy, stomping back out wearing a blue halter dress that was really rather stunning in what managed to be a casual way. "That he's The Weasel and you're... well. You."

"Perfect. You're a sodding vision. I care," said Draco as he slumped further. "Severus doesn't know what the hell he's talking about. But I mean it about the dress-- that's the one."

Pansy pursed her lips and continued in her march toward her bed, climbed up and slapped Draco. As he rubbed his cheek and looked offended, she flopped against him and snaked her arm around his middle securely. "Watch your mouth. He got us out alive."

After a pause during which Draco wrapped his arms around her shoulders and squeezed, he murmured, "You'll wrinkle your dress."

"Sod it. Mipsy will fix it. Stop being an idiot and smile-- we're going to a party."

After a short, comfortable silence, Draco laughed. "Weasley doesn't stand a chance."

"No, darling," said Pansy, looking up and pushing his hair back from his face. "Neither of them ever did."

###

The doorbell rang at 5:37 and Hermione rushed to get it, half in dread and half in nervous excitement.

"Oh my god," mumbled Parvati. "I knew we had an uphill battle ahead, but--"

"Well, at least she moisturizes," sighed Lavender at her shoulder.

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but Parvati beat her to it.

"Hush. Yes, I brought backup. We'll need a room. Good lord, one with decent lighting."

"No make up," said Hermione forcefully. "Hair only, you agreed."

Lavender grimaced and whined, "Hermione, pleeeease. I know subtle. I am a master of subtle."

"No. Make up," said Hermione decisively, leading them to Luna's room. "That's final."

Parvati set her case carefully on the floor against the wall, flicked her wand at it and let it become a full beauty station. As it did, she turned to look at Hermione the way one might eye the less fortunate, before attempting a smile.
Nearly shocking Hermione into a coma, Parvati said as kindly as she was capable of doing, "Well. You do have very nice skin."

###

As a rule, he did not drink when outside his home. Sobering Solutions were never quite enough, even when he brewed them himself.

As a rule, he did in fact habitually dress in dark clothing, though the sharp, deep black trousers, matching shirt and vests with impossible numbers of tiny buttons were intended for when he left the house. The vest threaded through with nearly unnoticeable shimmering dark green never came out of storage charms but for formal functions and to date, he had never worn it while the formal outer robes hung unnoticed in the closet.

As a rule, Severus did not sit in his armchair wearing what amounted to party clothes and toying with an untouched glass of firewhiskey at six in the evening.

It seemed Friday was beginning to look like a rule-breaking sort of day.

###

A throng of reporters bustled through the official Ministry ball and wove their way back and forth between it and the informal celebration that had taken over Diagon Alley. Enough to actually qualify as a bona-fide throng for once, as in addition to the usual coverage by the Prophet and the Quibbler, there were a handful of reporters from press on the continent and even one from the states and one from Wizarding Geographic. Teeming, nothing so much as a pack of quietly persistent pirahnas that formed and broke apart and reformed and tried to pick at one another's kills as the guests began to arrive for the cocktail hour scheduled to begin at six-fifteen.

Still, they all eventually began to ask the same question.

"Where's the guest of honor tonight? Seems his entire table is empty."

And received about the same response.

"I heard they neglected to RSVP. All of them."

Until they ran into Michael Corner's very recently estranged ex-girlfriend, Lisa Turpin, who answered with a sneer, "Try Potter's house. Seems they're having their own little party, one to which the likes of me aren't invited given I'm not shagging his little friend anymore. And when I say little, I mean little. And you can quote me on that."

They did. And then in a rush the throng had relocated to the front lawn of 12 Grimmauld Place.

(Except the reporter from Wizarding Geographic.)

###

"Wake up, Harry," said a voice that was warm and comfortable, the hand planted between his shoulderblades heavy and just right. Harry shifted, more asleep than awake to throw an arm over the lap of the fully-dressed person sitting on the edge of his bed, murmuring under his breath.

"Don't want to. 'S too early. Come back to bed."

"Err. You can't go back to sleep. You'll miss the party. You could try, but I don't know that I could defend the door against Ginny, Tonks and Hermione at once."

"Don' feel bad. No one could," muttered Harry with a raspy laugh, turning his head to squint at Neville, across whose lap he was now thrown. "They're scary. Be bloody well nigh invincible altogether."

Neville laughed. Harry grinned and then rolled off of him. "Sorry, wasn't quite awake," he said, groping for his glasses on the side table.

"N-no worries," said Neville, dusting his trousers off meticulously as he stood. "You awake now?"

"Yeah," said Harry, swinging his feet onto the floorboards. "...Nev, it's six-thirty."

"You looked like you needed the sleep," Neville said, coloring slightly. "There's time." He grinned and looked away. "All you missed was Ginny dealing with reporters."

Harry's eyes went wide, failing to see how that was funny. "Reporters? Nev, you're kidding."

"No. Someone tipped them off," said Neville, turning the grin on Harry. "So Gin went out there and called them all together. Then she hosed them down with 3W Incandescent Ink and then Hermione re-keyed the wards to shock anything that even remotely smelled of the stuff."

Harry stared as his newly-waking mind made sense of that, then barked a laugh and buried his face in his hands. "They can't get in and they can't sneak up because they're glowing."

"Yep," agreed Neville. "And the Ministry sent security to help deal with them."

"Ergh," said Harry, suddenly less entertained. "Can't decide which is worse."

"Heh," said Neville with another brilliant grin. "These are an alright sort."

###

Kingsley stood, arms crossed on the back porch of 12 Grimmauld Place, surveying carefully the moving spots of light beyond the tall back garden fence as Bill and Tonks further fortified the adjusted wards, Ginny, Hermione and Ron working on the front side of the lot. There was a sizzle and a yelp, and he called out. "Stay back, folks. Private Property."

He did an excellent job of not snickering as Tonks added under her breath, "Wankers."

###

Luna checked her watch, a gift from Hermione that had made her so very happy at Christmas --pink and featuring a fat cartoon kitten that sported a bow and a friendly wave-- and grinned hugely. Seven o'clock and she was standing on Percy's doorstep with a bouquet of mixed flowers tucked behind her back, knocking politely just like one ought.

The voice that rang out from behind the closed door was an equal mix of panic and excitement, and so very Percy that she bounced up on the balls of her feet once and twice and back before the door even opened.

"Just a moment-- I'm sorry, Yes I--" The door opened and Percy cocked his head at Luna, adjusting his glasses in utter confusion, shirt open at the throat, tie hanging loosely under the collar.

"Luna? Is everything alright? It's-- early? Or did I misunderstand the invitation?"

"No. As usual, you understood it perfectly well," smiled Luna gently, pulling the flowers from behind her back and offering them to him. "I wanted to surprise you."

"They're lovely!" said Percy, blinking again as he peered from them to her. "But you really didn't have to."

"I know," said Luna, leaning over them to peck his cheek. "That's what makes them special."

###

At approximately 7:35, the doorbell rang and a completely done-up Lavender ran to the window and peered out, squealing at the top of her lungs before taking a breath and grabbing Hermione by the elbow to pull her away from a last-minute strategy session with Ginny, both freshly in from seeing to the wards.

"They're heeeere!" she said, disturbingly fifteen years of age all over again, and Hermione nodded and pressed a hand to her hair, in a smooth, tasteful french twist and no hint of makeup to be seen, in a dress that cost her all of Tuesday night haggling over neckline, hemline, cut, color, formality and transparency with Parvati and Lav; a fight she would have given up after five minutes if she didn't know that without her say, Parvati would have picked something incredibly inappropriate and Lavender would have egged her on.

"Excellent. Shall w--"

Lavender had Hermione's chin in hand and was taking advantage of her 'W' sound to squish something gooey onto her lips. Hermione pulled back and slapped at her hand.

"Hands off, Brown!"

"It's only lip gloss," pleaded Lavender, eyes a little desperate as she pressed the tube into Hermione's hand. "Subtle gloss and shimmer, and it tastes like chocolate, that's all, I swear."

Hermione shot her a dirty look and opened the door. And promptly forgot the dirty look as quickly as Lavender was suddenly a grown woman again.

"Hi," she grinned, oh, so gratified as Dean grinned back.

"Hi," he said, dropping his gaze and palming the back of his neck. "You look--"

"Hi Hermione," said Seamus distractedly, elbowing Dean in passing as he walked in and fell directly upon Lavender.

"Yes. Thank you," said Hermione, rolling her eyes, the air quotes audible in her speech. "That's all Lavender. Apparently, she 'knows subtle'."

"Nah," said Dean, taking her hand and kissing the back of it. "That's all you."

Hermione didn't even notice the flashbulb and the resultant crack of Tonks' accidentally breaking someone's camera.

###

Ron had been sent to set out the food, grinning stupidly as he set the boxes out on the buffet in the sitting room and performing an unpacking charm that set up a huge spread of finger foods and all the necessary dishes and utensils.

Still grinning and muttering, "Wicked," around a pilfered carrot stick, he returned to the kitchen to haul out the accompanying alcohol and stopped short in the doorway.

Pansy was standing in the back entryway, hanging up her coat and going on about the utter irony of being on such familiar terms with Potter as Draco shut the door behind them.

Swallowing his mouthful, Ron cleared his throat and Pansy obviously looked him over, arching an approving eyebrow. "Malfoy. Parkinson. There're drinks... well, food in the sitting room. I'm getting the dr-- See, because things are um. Just getting started."

Smirking wickedly, Pansy strolled up to Ron and patted his arm on the way past. "I'll just go find your brother, then and make him get me some."

Ron watched her go over his shoulder, mouth dry as he realized he'd have to look up again, eventually. So he sucked it up and did.

"Weasley," smirked Draco, looking fit to be devoured as he stripped off his long trenchcoat and hung it up as well. "It appears I've been left to my own devices yet again."

Biting the inside of his lip hard first to remind himself to be cool, Ron said, "Your devices could help set out the alcohol." He didn't really expect that Draco would help, it was just the only thing--

"I suppose I could do that," said Draco, mirroring Pansy's smirk and moving fully into the room. "Where should I start?"

Ron stared. He couldn't help it. He was definitively, utterly, truly--

"Weasley?"

--screwed.

###

corvidae9 — Mon, 05 Mar 2007 22:34:47 GMT

Title: Come Together (6 of ~8)
Author: corvidae9
Rating: R
Word Count: ~4280
Warnings: crackful premises, het/slash/fem, rampant bisexuality
Summary: Ron tries to beg off of the party and the truth comes out -- err. One of the truths, at least. Neville sort of gets his dinner, Hermione gets a cryptic green light and tries to issue a sensible warning, and Remus has no luck.
Author's Note: See Part I for full Summary/Notes! Questions/comments/interpretive dance, as always, welcome here. :D

I - Saturday | II - Sunday | III - Monday | IV - Tuesday | 4.5 - Tuesday Night | V - Wednesday| VI - Thursday | VII - Friday afternoon | 7.5 - Friday Night | VIII - Saturday²

Thursday

Ron cornered Harry in the sitting room as soon as he got home from work (earlier than usual because of the impending holiday) and skipped over every manner of pleasantries to get straight to, "I can't be here for the party." Harry furrowed his brow, and Ron went on unnecessarily. "See, it's because I have this thing... something... that needs doing and so I won't be here. Technically. So--"

"Whoa - hold up--" said Harry, clearly concerned. "You alright, mate?"

"Fine. It's just-- I'm sorry, I wanted to let you know--"

"There you are!" exclaimed Hermione as she entered the sitting room, looking as though she hadn't seen the two of them in eons. She walked all the way into the room and hugged Harry and then Ron, talking all the while. "I've been looking all over. Listen, about tomorrow--"

Ron hugged back, but then pulled away to hold her at arm's length at that. "Hi!"

He held on as almost simultaneously, Harry said, "He says he's busy," still looking confused.

"Busy?!" exclaimed Hermione, oblivious to the fact that Ron was still holding her securely nearly up on her toes. "How? It's a holiday; you couldn't possibly be working because Kingsley promised he'd make sure you were clear. Could you let me go, please?"

"Busy," confirmed Ron releasing her, though finding himself at a loss for what to do with his empty hands. "Sorry." He decided on crossing them over his chest.

"You have to be here," said Hermione, leaving no room for argument as her hands gravitated automatically to her hips. "Maybe at first it was about a stupid, useless party, but now it's a show of solidarity and an important step toward showing that Harry doesn't need Ministry validation and he won't blindly support their cause until things really start changing for the better."

"There'll also be alcohol in large quantities," observed Harry as if in deep thought, cracking a laugh as Hermione smacked him in the chest with the back of her hand.

"Yes, that too," said Hermione with a smile as Harry batted her hand away. "And I for one will need more than a few stiff drinks to deal with the crowd. But I'm going to be here. And you should be too."

"Yeah, the crowd is exactly what I don't want to deal with," muttered Ron. "If it was just you two, and maybe Nev, Gin, whoever, sure. But this... I mean, it's everyone. All of bloody Gryffindor and half of everyone else we know or went to school with. And Malfoy."

Harry and Hermione rolled their eyes nearly in unison. Hermione said dismissively, "Oh, come on, Ron, that is no excuse. You got along just fine last night."

"Besides," added Harry, "Malfoy'll probably show for ten minutes to say he made an appearance at the big party and then run off once Pansy's found Charlie."

"Bollocks! And if he does, I'll beat his arse myself," Ron said, displeased at the very idea. "He can't just wander off from your party-- 'cos... you know..." Neither Harry or Hermione seemed to know, and so Ron was forced to finish the sentence. "...you're attached, sort of. Or as attached as you get to anyone but us these days. Hell, he comes back."

"You seriously think I'm sleeping with Malfoy?" Harry said, just as Hermione said the same, substituting 'I'm' for 'he's'.

Ron tilted his head, arching an eyebrow at Harry and trying to sound convincing. "I told you, I don't care. I won't go berserk if you admit to it." Ron might break a dish or a vase or a piece of furniture next time Harry wasn't around, but he could probably restrain himself for short periods of time.

"Look, I'm not, alright?" Harry said with a sigh, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "Remember when Moody made him teach me Occlumency? Remember what I told you about backlash and seeing into each other's heads? Well, see-- Moody wouldn't let up, and I felt so guilty about failing at it before; like I had to prove I could, and Draco-- he felt like he had something to atone for..."

"I remember," murmured Ron, but Harry went on.

"Yeah, and we picked into each other's heads all night long more often than not until I did get it right and by then... there was... yeah. Very little of our lives that the other didn't know. It's hard to let that go. When someone else sees things you can't... couldn't even put into words... you either want to run screaming or you have to get comfortable."

"Oh," said Ron, under his breath, which he struggled for, now feeling like even more of a tool and a bastard for lusting after someone that Harry was so deeply attached to.

Harry cracked a small wry smile. "Oh, it gets better. Apparently we sort of... I don't know. Broke something... So-- yeah. When things get loud in his head, I can um. Sort of hear it. And vice versa."

"I didn't know that part,"said Hermione quietly. "It makes sense, though."

Ron stared open-mouthed, his voice flat when he finally did speak. "You can hear what Malfoy's thinking without trying."

"No! God, imagine?" laughed Harry, still looking a little caught out. "Nooo. It's just... when one of us gets really angry, or stressed or... the opposite... it's like hearing a faint echo of the feeling. It's sort of creepy."

"Fascinating," murmured Hermione, though Ron did nothing to hide the accusation in the question that he overran her with.

"And you didn't think to tell us?"

Harry shrugged, the lines of his forehead beginning to crinkle and form his angry/hunted face. "I didn't want to talk about it. I've only ever thought of telling Nev yesterday, and I didn't end up getting the chance."

"So what, you just invite Malfoy over for the night to read each others' minds and stay current?" said Ron with as much sarcasm as he could muster, chin up as though he was digging in for a fight.

"No, actually," Harry shot back peevishly. "We drink and imagine how nice it must be to be alone in our heads for once. And then we work on making it stop. It used to be clear as a bloody bell, and now it's more of a muffled thud. I'd call that progress."

"...Oh," said Ron, eyebrows nearly crawling off of his forehead in an attempt to look suddenly better informed.

Hermione, who had been pinching the bridge of her nose and letting the pissing contest play out, grumbled, "Yes, Oh. I swear. You're both still fourteen some days." She sighed and dropped her hands to her hips, her recrimination for Harry consisting only of, "You could have asked for help," hissed in his direction before refocusing on Ron. "As for you, you're not getting out of this party. If it's a hot date, bring them along, if not, you've got us and so help me if I have to tie you to a chair and stick a hat on your head myself."

"You know she will," said Harry, scratching the back of his neck and looking away, tongue in cheek. "Not like she hasn't done it before."

Ron's face immediately flushed a violent shade of Weasley red. She had. And Harry had been there. And there had been a lot of nudity immediately following. What? They had thought they were going to die. It's what people do when faced with their own mortality. Usually in isolated pairs, yeah, but he, Harry and Hermione had been sharing a brain since the time they were eleven; surely that had to count for something.

Given the awkward silence and shuffling of feet, they were all thinking the same thing. Hermione, as always, could be counted upon to clear her throat and make the wordless declaration that it was time for the conversation to move on. As such, she did, saying, "Right. Sorted. Ron's coming to the party." She took Harry's hand and walked him to the kitchen mumbling about tea, incorporating her other famous strategy-- not giving anyone the chance to argue and sound stupid in the face of being hopelessly outmatched.

"But--" said Ron in a valiant attempt to defy her, but the swinging door shut behind them and even his dirtiest glare did nothing to bring her and Harry back. He could go after them and continue the discussion in the kitchen, but there was no point. He wouldn't win-- two against one was usually a bad sign for whomever was the 'one'.

Damn the 'two' straight to hell. And Malfoy too, now that he really wasn't shagging Ron's best friend and theoretically free to shag him, because there would surely be death and dismemberment following any attempt on Ron's part to make that happen, and he wasn't sure he could resist.

###

"Come to the party," said Remus as the door opened, not giving Severus a chance to say anything first.

"You're out of your bloody mind," Severus said as he stepped back to let Remus in.

"Not at all," said Remus, ducking his head in acknowledgement as he entered. "They wouldn't let me roam the streets if I were."

Severus shut the door a little more loudly than he needed to. "On the contrary. I know of several others of your ilk currently Auroring, do-gooding and teaching, and yet no one's made a move to lock them away. More's the pity."

Remus paused in his progress down the dim hallway and turned, laughing. He didn't care that the sentiment was probably serious for the most part-- it was just funny. Of course, given that Severus was following at his usual brisk pace, turning in the short, narrow hallway resulted in his ending up face to face with Remus not half a step away. Reminding himself to steady, Remus tilted his head imperceptibly, eyes full of mischief and darting purposefully to Severus' mouth and back, so quickly it might not have happened. "Point. But they'd come for you, next."

All he seemed to earn was another glare, and the growl of that rough velvet voice biting through the space between them, surprising Remus yet again with its capacity for cutting humor.

"They could try," said Severus as he held Remus' eyes for a second longer and then brushed past him.

###

Neville was in no way offended by the owl he'd received from Harry the afternoon previous. He knew as well as anyone in the house that Harry's job was unpredictable at times, especially when they were depending on him for security rather than maintenance. The message had said something about having had to sit up and keep watch, but he'd promised to be home Thursday night so they could try again.

Truth be told, Neville was disappointed but he understood. The people at the halfway house needed Harry more than he did, even though some days it didn't seem like that was even possible.

Yes-- just to be different, Neville was well aware of this fact, and was for the most part not disturbed by it. But Harry was trying to find his way in the world and he didn't need Neville complicating that. Once he did work it out, Neville would still be around-- after all, he'd more or less moved in here, hadn't he?

After he sent one last owl to the latest Wizarding match for the family of a newly-identified Muggleborn, he sighed in relief at the temporarily empty state of his inbox. He'd already convinced Hermione to go home after her last appointment of the afternoon, and it was a quick thing to lock up the tiny storefront office and Apparate into the back garden of 12 Grimmauld. Home.

Pausing in the back entryway to ditch his jacket and shoes, a penchant he blamed on Ginny, though it might have been equal parts that and rebellion against his Gran's overly proper ways. Either way--

"Hey," said a voice familiar enough to bring an automatic grin to Neville's face, flagging only somewhat when he looked up to see just how tired Harry actually looked.

"Hey yourself," said Neville, straightening up and shoving his shoes against the rack with one foot. "Alright, Harry?"

"Yeah," said Harry, dragging a hand through his hair. "Long couple of days is all."

"Get you something?" asked Neville as he circled around the table and behind Harry's chair, squeezing his shoulder as he did.

"Nah, 'mfine. Hermione made tea, but then Ginny dragged her off for 'last-minute errands'," said Harry. "Should be some left--"

"Uh-huh," grumbled Neville, peering sideways at Harry. "Have you eaten?"

"Sure, earlier," said Harry, punctuated by a yawn. "I'm sorry about last night, though."

"Yeah," said Neville, already pulling leftovers from the icebox and setting them on the counter. "You missed it. Got a little loud-- pretty much a party in and of itself, but fun. Good to see everyone."

Harry waved that off. "I heard, yeah. But I owe you dinner. I wanted to, it's just-- huh?"

Neville set a plate of leftovers recently hit with a Warming Charm in front of Harry. "Dinner. Don't worry about it," said Neville as he turned and replaced the containers in the icebox and brought the bread back to the table with him along with his own plate. One more short trip for his mug and then he sat down at the corner adjacent to Harry's seat. "Worked out, yeah?"

Harry eyed the plate of lasagne, picked up his fork and snickered, "Guess it did." Neville watched him take a bite, cracking a huge grin as Harry's eyes rolled up.

"Oh, alright, this is wicked."

They ate in comfortable silence for a while, Neville still watching enough to catch Harry almost nodding off.

"You weren't kidding about sitting up all night, were you?" asked Neville as he selflessly rescued Harry from stabbing himself with his fork.

"No," said Harry, rubbing a hand over his face. "It's just... this new girl..."

"Oh?" said Neville as he sent the dishes off to wash themselves, concerned and yeah, fighting off the so-very familiar twinge of jealousy, though he knew it wasn't about that.

"Lot of problems. Bad enough that I had to babysit the wards and fight off a damn shade," said Harry, who waved it off again and stood. "Should be taken care of, though."

Neville cocked his head. "Get some sleep, Harry."

"Yeah," he said with a smile as he thumped Neville's arm. "Thanks, mate." Harry headed toward the stairs and stopped to turn his smile back on Neville. "I still owe you dinner, though."

"Party's tomorrow," said Neville, arching an eyebrow.

"Saturday, then," said Harry with a shrug. "If you're free."

"When am I not?" said Neville in a tone of gentle self-deprecation, starting a little as Harry answered quickly.

"Beats the hell out of me why," he said. "My luck, then. 'Night."

Neville watched him go and wished he hadn't already re-formed that statement in his head a hundred times, sure he was only taking it the wrong way.

He probably was.

###

Remus leaned on the kitchen counter as he had when he'd first tempted Severus with the idea on Monday, worried that he might not pull this off the way they'd planned. It had seemed to go so well, even though he knew from the start that a party wouldn't be the way to lure Severus out-- he was the sort of man most comfortable in the quiet of his lab; of his home, undisturbed and in his element. He wanted to say that he had no idea what he and Tonks had been thinking when they'd devised this plot, but that was patently untrue. They'd been thinking with their nether regions and firewhiskey from a point of view twenty years out of date... for him, at least.

But Remus was determined now, and even if he couldn't manage this bit of badly-devised plotting, he wasn't going to give up. He would just have to come up with a new plan... and resign himself to having lost the bet with Tonks, because there was no way she would fail, given what he'd heard this week. Which was fine. He'd waited twenty years-- he could wait and come up with something with which to harass Severus next week.

"Lupin. Are you listening?"

Ah. Shite.

"I'm afraid not, Severus," said Remus with a small grin. "I was distracted."

Severus appeared highly unimpressed. "I said, this should be enough to keep the cretins dosed all evening should you so desire. The effects will be greatest within the first half hour, but you could theoretically continue to administer it once every two hours or so with no ill effect."

Remus grinned and shook his head. "Truly, you are amazing. Are you sure you don't want a research and development job with Weasley's wizarding Wheezes?"

The bottle and a slip of parchment were slipped into a box that wrapped itself in brown paper, and Severus took two slow steps in order to hand it to Remus from unexpectedly close proximity. "You couldn't afford me," Severus said with the barest hint of a smirk, and Remus would have fallen out of his chair if he'd been sitting.

"I-- would get a second job," said Remus lamely, adding unthinkingly, "in a heartbeat." It wasn't until it was fully out of his mouth that he kicked himself mentally. Hard. With steel-toed boots. God damn it all, he'd never had to be the smooth one.

Severus started back, eyebrow raised and smirk gone. "That might do it," he said, and then was suddenly occupied in clearing the things pertinent to the box that Remus was holding off of the table.

"...Thank you. I--" Remus nodded to himself. Right. He was definitely not giving up yet, not when-- sodding hell, what had that been? Was that innuendo? Had it been flirting, for god's sake?

"Have you changed your mind about tomorrow yet?"

###

"--So, I thought I'd let you know," said Hermione, actually sounding a little nervous, twisting the strap to the string bag slung on her shoulder and full of miniaturized party supplies as she and Ginny made their way down the street in a Muggle part of town. "I mean, I don't exactly go around advertising who I'm seeing at any given point in time, and you if anyone--"

"Please," said Ginny dismissively, carrying a rucksack bulging at the seams with the same. "The Prophet may make everything about Harry, but I know better. And I have reliable sources."

Hermione nudged her elbow. "You've been spying on me?"

"Not you specifically, but camp can be a little dull and weird without you all," said Ginny with a shrug and a smirk. "The intelligence I receive just makes me feel closer to home."

"The intelligence you receive. Please," scoffed Hermione, though she couldn't help but be amused. "More like the gossip Luna and Neville bring you. Anyway," she added with a resolute inhale. "About--"

"--Yes. Of course it's fine. More than fine." said Ginny, as though it were the most obvious answer in the world. "It was a long time ago and I'm not worried about it and you shouldn't be either. Knock yourself out."

Hermione made to answer but was cut off by a tinny, metallic tone that compelled Ginny to suddenly hold a finger up and demand, "Hold on." She pulled her mobile from her pocket, flicked it open, scrutinized the screen for a moment, then laughed before jabbing at the keys in turn.

"Interesting message, then?" said Hermione, annoyed, though studying Ginny's face, now lit by more than the wash of bluish light from the tiny screen.

"Heh. Tonks," Ginny said, still picking at keys.

"Oh?" Hermione said, smirking as she crossed her arms, suddenly sure she was for the most part nonexistent to her friend.

With a self-satisfied grin, Ginny hit the 'send' key and flipped the phone shut. "Yeah. She's looking for a status on our mission."

Hermione shifted to emphasize the bag hanging from her shoulder. "And did you tell her that we're done and on our way home with time to spare?"

"Hell, no," said Ginny emphatically. "Told her I'd rather share that sort of sensitive information in person."

Rolling her eyes skyward, Hermione set her hands on her hips. "Ginny. They just broke up last weekend."

"Pfft," said Ginny, waving it off in an unconscious imitation of Tonks. "That's been coming for practically forever. You know as well as I do they--"

"Still!" said Hermione, scandalized and yet impressed despite herself.

"Still nothing. Besides. She brought me chocolate and pet my foot and is dropping hints about a mile wide," said Ginny, arching an eyebrow at Hermione. "Chocolate, Hermione. The good kind."

"You are so easily bought," Hermione said, shaking her head with no real malice. "And you had better be sure about what you're doing, because a lot of friends could get hurt if you're wrong or--"

Lower lip in a full pout, eyes narrow, Ginny's mobile went off again and she held a hand up at Hermione to glance at the screen. "Hold that bitchy thought. Hello? Oh, hey, hi!"

Hermione watched the pout recede entirely, watched her go from petulant to snickering, hip-shifting, skin-crawly contentment in the space between one word and the next and dropped her hands back to the strap of her bag. Ginny agreed to meet Tonks and give the report over coffee and hung up.

"'Wrong or screwing around', is that where you were?" she asked Hermione, pout back in full effect.

"No," said Hermione, faintly amused. "No, I know you're not 'screwing around', now."

"Because, it's not like we're the most serious people in the world," Ginny went on. "Things go badly, we chalk it up to a bit of fun and move on."

"That's not going to happen either and you know it. You are so hung up on her, it's..." Hermione threw her hands up and exhaled a huge sigh.

"What?" asked Ginny, voice starting to crawl up a notch.

Hermione hugged her close for a moment, then pulled away and shook her head. "Familiar. And as much as I love her, too, there's not a question as to whose arse I kick if you get hurt this time. So don't." She didn't usually get involved in the romantic affairs of her closest friends, honestly, nor did she make idle threats. Hell, she normally wasn't involved in planning parties, much less involved in romantic affairs of her own. It'd just been a strange week.

Ginny stared at her, and didn't argue when Hermione took the bag off of Ginny's shoulder as well and said, "Go have coffee."

"Hermione--"

"Go."

"--Me too, yeah?"

"Yeah," Hermione grinned, jogged up three steps and into the darkened doorway of a closed shop and Disapparated.

###

"No, Lupin, and do not expect that to change," said Severus as he carried the things he had brought upstairs back down to the lab, expecting that Remus would follow. 'Mortified' was not the right word for how he felt about what he'd dared do and say, nor was 'shocked'. 'Disbelief' might cover it more ably. 'Embarrassed that he'd thought to indulge his fantasy with any sort of conscious action' was another.

"Can I help you with that?" Remus said as he did in fact follow, and Severus shook his head resolutely.

"I am fine, thank you," he said, biting off every syllable to make clear just how unnecessary the overture was.

"Am I allowed to express my thanks, at least?" said Remus as they reached the basement lab, the door opening automatically for Severus but requiring an extra word to allow Remus in as well.

"Belated though it may be, yes," muttered Severus, setting the things down onto a pristine work table and finally deigning to charm them to replace themselves properly.

"Thank you," said Remus, leaning against the doorframe. "You're going to make a lot of people laugh very hard, and on a day like tomorrow, they'll need it."

Severus wheeled on him. "Wonderful. I've always wanted to be a joke."

Remus had the nerve to look pained as he straightened up. "That's not--"

"You're welcome, Lupin," growled Severus, arms crossed tightly. "In case you missed it, that was your dismissal."

Jaw set tight, Remus nodded. "That it was," he said with the nerve to look... what was that? Hurt? Damnable wolf.

Severus said nothing further as Remus turned and retreated up the stairs, bracing his hands on the work table once he was out of sight, waiting until he heard the door shut upstairs before kicking it viciously until he heard something crack.

###

corvidae9 — Sun, 04 Mar 2007 21:07:20 GMT

ok - short interlude missing from Tuesday, which I'll eventually tack on to Tuesday night to keep my numbering system intact. :D

Title: Come Together (4.5 of ~8)
Author: corvidae9
Rating: R
Word Count: ~1375
Warnings: crackful premises, het/slash/fem, rampant bisexuality
Summary: Tonks meets up with ~~Subject one~~ her contact at 12G.
Author's Note: See Part I for full Summary/Notes! Questions/comments/interpretive dance, as always, welcome here. :D

I - Saturday | II - Sunday | III - Monday | IV - Tuesday | 4.5 - Tuesday Night | V - Wednesday | VI - Thursday | VII - Friday afternoon | 7.5 - Friday Night | VIII - Saturday²

Tuesday Night
Tonks eyed Ginny across the short distance from the corner of the short sofa in which she was currently sprawled and offered up the box of chocolate straight from Honeydukes' 'Sweets to Impress' shelf. She had Ginny's notebook open on her lap, a quill in her free hand and was honestly impressed.

"Mmph," she said, chewing and swallowing her mouthful of coconut trufle. "This is brilliant. You've thought of everything." Tonks used the quill to point to her temple. "Me, I had a very similar list in my head."

Ginny grinned back and took the box, her feet tucked neatly underneath her. "I find that serious chaos requires thorough preparation." She took a white chocolate caramel star and popped it into her mouth whole, leaving two little points showing between her lips. "That whole Gryffindor 'on three' stereotype pisses me off."

"Oi. Some of us rely heavily on that--" said Tonks raising an eyebrow as she marked an item off of Ginny's list. Certainly, this party wasn't one of those times, given she and Remus had a similar list at home, but she wasn't going to say so. Instead she turned a cocky grin on Ginny. "Plans are well and good, but sometimes you've got to charge in and tear shite up," she said with a shrug as she pointed to another item. "Alcohol was the first thing on the list, and it's bought and paid for."

"Mmm, see, I couldn't decide whether alcohol or food should go first," said Ginny, patting her hips. "I eat just like my brothers some days. 'Course if I did it all the damn time, my broom would probably quit the team due to cruelty and undue burdens."

Tonks snorted and circled the item that read, 'Food- a lot; Where's open? Ask Mum?.' "Yeah. I hear y--"

"Hold up--" Ginny interrupted. She sat up, licked her thumb and reached across the space between them to wipe it across Tonks' temple then flopped right back. "Ink. Sorry. G'head."

"--you," said Tonks, her eyes following the progress of Ginny's hand. She smiled then cleared her throat, "Thanks. Anyway. Dunno if we want to involve anyone's mums. Sure they'd make food... and then they'd hover and next thing you know they're walking around asking people if they're enjoying themselves."

Ginny gave a shudder and stretched her foot out to nudge Tonks' knee, somehow deciding that it was a good enough place to leave her foot propped. "Don't even wish it on us. As it is, the invitation list has gotten out of hand and I think my brothers are coming in from godforsaken corners of the globe just for the party. That alone might be sign enough to bring my mother down upon us."

"Charlie and Bill? Wicked! Haven't seen them in an age," said Tonks, aiming a tickle at Ginny's bare foot as though she weren't imagining doing far worse and less innocent. "When?"

"Tomorrow, far as I know," said Ginny with a giggle, kicking out half-heartedly at Tonks' hand. "Don't tell Ron. I wanted to surprise him."

"Not a word," smiled Tonks, grabbing hold of Ginny's ankle and settling it back on her own knee with a decisive point and a growled, "Stay," that made Ginny snicker again. "Speaking of that specific brother-- you notice him being a little off lately?"

"No, not a 'little off'," sighed Ginny, taking another chocolate and handing the box back with an offhand gesture. "A lot off. As in, he's got a pash on Malfoy that's probably making him want to die."

Tonks stared as Ginny put the heart-shaped raspberry truffle on her tongue and pulled her finger out of her mouth with a faint 'pop', using the somewhat surprising information as a good excuse. "Wow," she said, tone flat. Oh! The box. She took it back and tried to focus on what she wanted next. Yeah, wow-- those fingers--

"Yeah, 'magine? They'd either kill each other or never stop shagging," mumbled Ginny, shifting the candy from one cheek to the other. "Still. Way Malfoy was looking at him... I'd wager he's thinking he wants to give it a go."

"You're serious?" said Tonks, sitting up a little though she hadn't stopped unconsciously stroking the top Ginny's foot. Actually, right about when she sat up was about the point in time that she noticed what she'd been doing and it made her want to crawl right across the sofa and onto Ginny's lap. Valiantly, she resisted the temptation and resumed the petting as if nothing had happened.

"Oh yes. Like he wanted to... dunno," said Ginny with the a hint of a smirk. "Crawl right over the books between them and settle it his way. If it weren't my brother we were talking about, I'd say it was hot."

Shite-- Tonks knew that sort of look. She was probably doing it herself right about now and she realized she wasn't planning on reining it in. Ginny was a straightforward sort of girl; Tonks might as well put it out for her to pick up and see where it went. "You're right," she said finally finding a hazelnut chocolate to destroy, taking a bite and catching Ginny's eye as she added, "That is hot."

Ginny wiggled her toes and stuck her hand out for the box. "Party ought to loosen them up a little at any rate," she said as she tapped the notebook in Tonks' lap again. "What's next?"

###

Ginny watched Tonks go with a wave and the promise of an owl before Thursday with the things she'd settled on taking care of and a final count of reservations. She watched as Tonks Disapparated from the back garden, shut the door, reached up behind herself to grip the top of the broomrack and lifted her feet off of the ground with a squealing, "Heeee" sound.

"That good?" said Neville, poking his head in from the back stairwell with a grin.

Hitting the ground again with what resembled a hop, Ginny stormed right back into the main area of the kitchen. "Oh yes," she said with a grin that outshone Neville's easily, taking his face in both hands and planting a kiss on his face. "Ohhh yes."

Neville swatted her off and made a show of dragging her by the scruff of the neck to the table and shoving her gently into a chair, then set himself to making tea. "Talk."

###

Tonks popped directly into the kitchen of her and Remus' flat, laughing and pumping a fist in the air. "Remus!" she called out when she caught sight of his head popping up from his book where he was in his favorite chair.

"Y--" he said before she cut him off.

"I fondled her feet. And she let me. There was innuendo involved. And she wiped ink off of my face," said Tonks in a self-satisfied rush as she retrieved cold bottles from the icebox.

"I managed to get one genuine laugh and find out that he's proficient at the use of chopsticks," said Remus with a grin as he leaned back and set his book over his knee. "And the cat likes me. His name is Brutus."

Tonks roared a laugh as she sat on the arm of Remus' chair and handed him a bottle so that he'd have something to clink with hers.

"I also found out what's wrong with Ron. Apart from the what's usually wrong with him." She snorted taking a drink before adding, "And I say that with all love for the boy. Really."

"Oh?" said Remus, absently sliding an arm around her. "What's that?"

"Let's say we should have brought him in on our plot and added a subject three," said Tonks, leaning back against the wing of the chair.

"Oh no," sighed Remus, amused though sympathetic. "The poor lad."

Tonks snickered, holding up a finger around her bottle. "And that's not the half of it."

corvidae9 — Sat, 03 Mar 2007 02:53:38 GMT

Attention kids! There is a 4.5 in which Tonks and Ginny plot over chocolate, only it's handwritten in my notebook. You'll have it before part 6! (hopefully tonight :D)

Title: Come Together (5 of ~8)
Author: corvidae9
Rating: R
Word Count: ~4225 this section
Warnings: crackful premises, het/slash/fem, rampant bisexuality
Summary: Hermione has a visitor, Remus checks in on his commission, Draco is suddenly out of his depth, and Grimmauld is overrun by Weasleys, the only remedy for which is running far, far away.
Author's Note: See Part I for full Summary/Notes! Questions/comments/interpretive dance, as always, welcome here. :D

I - Saturday | II - Sunday | III - Monday | IV - Tuesday | 4.5 - Tuesday Night | V - Wednesday | VI - Thursday | VII - Friday afternoon | 7.5 - Friday Night | VIII - Saturday²

Wednesday

At her desk, halfway between sitting and standing as she had been for about fifteen minutes as she wrote out a message that had extended onto a fifth square yellow sticky note, Hermione was oblivious to the quiet second person that crept up through her open office door.

"One larger bit of parchment might have done as well," observed Luna, head tilted toward the chain of sticky notes in question.

"Jesus!" swore Hermione with a start, dropping the pen (not quill) in hand onto destktop with a clatter.

"Oh! Him," said Luna, nodding. "He might be helpful, I suppose. I'm personally a fan of swearing on Ganesh."

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Hermione looked up, more businesslike than rude. "What are you doing here?"

The corner of Luna's mouth twitched upward. "Scaring the living shite out of you. You?"

Hermione laughed and flopped backwards into her chair. "Working. It's the kind of thing I do well."

"I know," said Luna as she sat carefully in Hermione's guest chair. "Neville says the early outreach program is coming along beautifully and even the Ministry can't find a thing to be bastards about."

"It is!" said Hermione, her eyes lighting up. "Luna, it's brilliant. You'd be amazed at how often the parents of a Muggleborn are more relieved than anything else that they're not going mad. I mean, my own parents spent ten years pretending I didn't make broccoli literally disappear from my plate, can you imagine the grief we're sparing?"

"Hmm. You'd think they'd have learned just not to serve it," mused Luna. Hermione arched an eyebrow that Luna caught immediately, and she went on as though it had been her intention to begin with. "But we're all very proud of you both."

"Well, thank you," said Hermione, sitting up straight again to sign off on the note. "Now. What are you doing here?"

Luna smiled with a hint of a smirk and scooted back in her own chair in turn. "I came to let you know that if someone needs to use my room on Friday night, they're welcome to it, since I have somewhere else to stay."

"...Friday? Please. You know we have plenty of room. Besides, I'm not the one plan--" Hermione's confusion was nearly complete until she remembered that she was talking to Luna and tried to understand the statement accordingly. "Oh. OH!" She grinned, "And where exactly are you staying, praytell?"

"With Percy, if last night was an indication of things to come," Luna suddenly laughed. "I said 'come'."

Hermione was a grown woman, yes, and she was a gossiping-only-on-special-occasions sort of busy, serious woman who wore bad, if comfortable, shoes and didn't hold with cluttered bathroom vanities. She'd been what amounted to a field general through a bloody war and her best friends were men (and Ginny)(and Luna) who'd subjected her to a hundred times worse and more crude. That said, her face flushed red as she covered her mouth with one hand and snorted an incredulous, giddy laugh. "You didn't?!"

"Did!" said Luna, rather pleased with herself in her matter-of-fact manner. "And! He's coming to Grimmauld rather than the Ministry party, but he said he wouldn't 'stay there and be subjected to his brother's shenanigans' if he stayed with me. So we'll have to go back to his flat, I'm afraid."

Her eyes wouldn't go any wider. Hermione blinked and took this in slowly. "He's ditching the Ministry party. For our party."

"Uh huh," agreed Luna brightly. "I'm very proud of him, too. Did you want to come out and spend your lunch shopping with me? I have to be back at the paper in... an hour and a half."

Hermione quickly folded the memo in front of her and stood, holding her arm out for her owl and digging her purse out of her desk with the other.

"Absolutely. I need details."

###

Back in their school days when Sirius wanted to drop in on someone unexpectedly, he tended to use the time-honored hop out of a tree, laugh at his target's having jumped ten feet out of their bloody skin, drop an arm around their shoulders and then proceed with the wheedling. Though Remus' heart tightened a little to think of his best friends in better days, it didn't come without the thought of just how badly what he was trying to do now might've been received. Not that he hadn't considered it then, too. Because he had-- oh, yes. It hadn't been more than a fleeting idea, really, but idea enough.

So there, twenty years later, he stood on the step of Severus Snape's home, knowing that if he'd tried to hop out of a tree, he'd likely be hexed into slimy bits before his aged, lycanthropic arse hit the ground. (Besides, Sirius and James had only ever pulled the tree bit off successfully, unless you wanted to count the time Peter tried and landed face first in Lily's cleavage, which had been brilliant for all of about the ten seconds it took disentangle them. Then, she'd slapped the shite out of him.)

He was smiling at the memory when Severus opened the door, in shirtsleeves again rolled to the elbow, and a potions-spattered shop apron, not wasting any excess muscle exertion on a pleasant facial expression or even sparing a breath for a greeting. He tossed an apron at Remus and turned away from the door muttering, "If you're here to harass me, you may as well make yourself useful."

With a silent apology for the Padfoot and Prongs (and yes, even the Wormtail that died long before his skin thought to), Remus slipped the apron on and followed Severus in as he tied it off.

He wasn't sorry he was doing this; he was only sorry it had taken this long to stand up to the Marauders in his head, frozen in stasis in 1981 and less forgiving than the living ones might have been.

The cat meowed hopefully and followed Remus the whole way down to the lab door, where Remus stopped to scritch his head before a dark look from Severus sent the cat strutting in the opposite direction, determined to avoid the appearance of having been scared off.

###

In the year since the war ended, Severus had seen Remus... what? perhaps twice per month at most? Once for the Wolfsbane with occasional trips in between for supplies for the infernal shop. The arrangement served Severus' purposes quite well- he profited in both cash and research and he had a reason to interact with the wolf regularly, however briefly.

It was indeed possible that perhaps in the two days since Remus had begun to seek him out for this ridiculous plan, Severus had suddenly developed a mild infatuation that was both disturbing and precious; the stuff of cheap, neatly-resolved, romantic fiction.

What was more possible and in fact, the actual case, Severus had been nursing a sick fascination for the man for years, even when he'd been busy ruining Remus' chances of ever teaching again with one well-placed bit of information about his lycanthropy; even when they'd been forced to work too closely near the end of the war. Especially then. The difference between Severus and some stupid Gryffindor (or Draco, apparently) was that he knew better than to pursue the pointless fantasy. Realistically, even if by some freakish chance Remus was interested, it would never work, never be more than a fleeting moment of hedonism before things went to hell and even his comfortable daydream was destroyed.

Severus didn't have time or pleasant distractionary thoughts enought to spare that he could afford to lose one. Thus he held this one close and guarded it jealously. Or had until the mongrel had taken it upon himself to invade his home and attempt to make him a co-conspirator, to bring dinner and pour wine and ingratiate himself with his cat.

...The cat, for god's sake. Brutus didn't like anyone. Even the neighborhood watchdogs gave the surly bastard a three-foot berth. It was a large part of the reason he and Severus got along so well.

And yet, Severus could hear the bloody smile on Remus' face as he spoke as they made their way down the basement stairs.

"So you've made progress?"

"One could say that," said Severus, unamused. "One could also say that I've wasted my time for a juvenile reason and I ought to hand you what I have and wish you luck."

Remus blinked and had the audacity to look entertained as he crossed his arms and shifted. "Are you going to?"

"I might. Look at this," Severus said, handing Remus a notebook, opened to a page filled with meticulous notes and diagrams. He let Remus read for a moment before going on over his snickering. "I believe they've designed similar in the past, but I also believe my methods are superior, not to mention more durable."

"Severus, this--" Remus looked up, eyes practically shining. "It's brilliant."

"Hardly," said Severus, narrowing his eyes. "Infusing the Wolfsbane to include time-release anti-inflammatories, analgesics and marrow-replenishing solutions while retaining full potency was brilliant. This is a mere exercise in the ridiculous."

Remus had the nerve to look at him as though he might have been speaking in tongues. "Lupin? I trust you understood that. Have you been peripherally affected by the very notes on the infernal thing?"

"All that was your idea?" Remus asked in complete disbelief.

Severus leveled a look at him that called him any number of unkind synonyms for 'idiot', though said idiot seemed only fit to continue to appear surprised. "Yes. Apparently I am singular among my peers in that I have seen what the curse does from close proximity. Enough to feel that it needed improvement. Those I correspond with-- Let us say that they were eager to prove they could, and not so much concerned that they should."

He'd said too much. Damn him straight to hell. Severus made a concerted effort to regain his look of narrow-eyed disdain, but he tucked away the look that Remus gave him in order to add it to his store of material for said pleasant dreams.

"At any rate, I'll have it for you by tomorrow evening."

"Come to the party," said Remus as if it were a statement rather than a request, and for a vague, fleeting moment the socially unacceptable teenager that dwelt in the back of Severus' mind wanted to crow about having been invited.

"Aboslutely not," Severus said, turning to the cauldron behind him. "You can stay and shred fluxweed or see yourself out."

After a long moment that was quietly dreadful for no particular reason that should matter, Remus was at his elbow, rolling up his own sleeves.

"Show me."

###

Draco,

I trust my letter finds you well and keeping yourself busy and out of trouble. I doubt that this is the case, but it does not keep me from hoping it, you understand.

I had resolved not to say anything about your latest appearance in the rag that the Wizarding world finds to be acceptable journalism, as it is your business entirely whom you choose to be seen with and who you choose to bed. ~~even if it is Potter, the visual of which still causes me to wish for swift death or blindness~~ Having said this, I can tell you that I know for a fact you are about to do something stupid. I could see it in your eye. You, boy, have a look that is much akin to a flashing beacon of intent for those who know how to read it, few of us though there are. For this reason, I am about to say something that you will never hear me say again, and you will never see again, given that this message will no longer exist once you've read it.

Do it.

Only the regret of not having done could be worse than the consequences otherwise. ~~For you, that is.~~

As always, I am merely an owl away,

Severus

Draco watched the note evaporate, perversely more unsure than he had been before. Severus commenting on the matter though he was not aware of the details somehow lent it weight and substance; made it more real and less of a game, and he didn't know that he could handle anything other than something he could play.

He dusted his hands off though there was no need and tried to resume work on his accounts to no avail.

###

It'd been a relatively slow day in the office, so to speak. Kingsley had sent Ron and Tonks out to have a look at the backroom of Borgin and Burkes first thing, though for once it wasn't to inspect the proprietor, but at the old bastards' request. Turned out there was a nest of boggarts suddenly descended on it, and with a nest came a queen that was so nasty, not even old Burke could quite get a handle on her.

Ron had never seen a spider so sodding, miserably huge, venomous and terrifying in his life. He supposed it might speak not so well of him that after all he'd been through, his boggart was still a spider, but that was another thing that he'd learned to be just fine with. He also suspected that he had learned to project a spider as his biggest fear, 'cos he'd be damned if boggarts started turning into his dead friends and family, and let people make of it what they would.

They'd actually had to kill the thing rather than subdue it, and Tonks gave him the satisfaction of letting him smash underfoot the tiny wind-up polka-dot chihuahua it had become once they'd dealt with it.

Alright, after that, it had been quiet.

Ron dumped his cloak on the coat rack and loosened his boots, thinking he'd stop at the ice box for an ale, then maybe head to his room and--

"There's my baby brother," said a voice that could only be his brother. Erm. One of them. Of course, once the sinewy arms were wrapped around his shoulders and he was face to face with his brother Charlie, it all became clear. Somewhat. "God, look at you, I can't believe you're an Auror. You know it kills Mum half with horror and half with pride whenver she starts in talking about you, you little bastard."

"Hi Charlie," said Ron, patting Charlie's back. "The hell are you doing in these parts? Thought you were out at the reserve until next month?"

"Pansy told me about the thing Friday, Gin told me there was room at the house for a visitor, I took leave, and I'm here," he said with a shrug.

"...Pansy. As in Parkinson? As in Malfoy's little friend?" said Ron, brow knit. "Why would she tell you?"

"Are you sure you're old enough to hear this, lad?" said Charlie with a leer that immediately told Ron that he was not. And he said so. And then he took a beer from the icebox, threw it to Charlie, took another for himself, immediately opened it and drank what felt like most of the bottle.

Unfortunately, Charlie thought he was kidding. "She's amazing, mate. Witty, and sharp and just cutting and brilliant. And she does this thing with her--"

"No, Charlie! Just-- no," said Ron, grimacing as he took another drink and suddenly coming up with a way to deflect the conversation. "Tell me about the reserve."

"Dragons, blah blah blah," came a third voice and Ron and Charlie both looked up wide-eyed as Bill came in from the sitting room, arm pulled tight around Ginny's shoulders. "Probably picked that little girl up with his 'wanna see my scars' line? Lame."

"Bill, hey!" said Ron, "What--?"

"Same story, different person doing the inviting, kid," grinned Bill, releasing Ginny to engulf Charlie in a huge, thumping hug. "Hey, Charlie."

"And as long as it wasn't Phlegm, I was perfectly fine with that," grinned Ginny. "Though you two are going to have to spend Sunday at the Burrow with the rest of us, you know. Mum won't let you get away from her that easily."

By now, Bill had moved on to squeezing the life out of Ron, which was also fine, given that Bill was the only person allowed to be taller than him. 'Cos, you know-- he was Bill.

"Gin," warned Bill. "Don't be evil. Wasn't her fault entirely."

Charlie snorted. "Shagging your best mate tends to put a damper on wedding plans, yeah, Billy?"

Ron wanted nothing more than to stick his fingers in his ears and make a lot of loud noise. He'd heard the story once. Hell, he had to work for the 'best mate' in question. He didn't need to hear it again.

"Shut up, boy," shot Bill with no fire behind it. "It was long overdue."

The door opened once again and Ron groaned unconsciously as Fred called out, "You're so right!" Or maybe it was George.

At any rate, the other came in on his heels, adding, "You simply cannot live without us."

"Oi-- who wants food?" said the first, and Ron couldn't help but laugh as they kept talking.

"Because we're starving."

"We would've stopped for take away."

"But you wouldn't have taken it from us anyway."

"Which is a good, smart move."

"Proves you've been paying attention."

Ginny rushed them and let them catch her. "Idiots one and two!"

"Baby snot! You've been missed!"

"How's camp?"

"Drills?"

"Hoops?"

"Quidditch gear?"

"...Mmmm. Quidditch gear."

"Plenty of pretty girls?"

Both twins leered as they added simultaneously, "'Nough to keep you busy chasing balls?"

Ginny opened her mouth to answer, but it was Ron that said, "Food sounds great!"

Bill's hand thumped between Ron's shoulderblades and he muttered, "You need to relax, kid."

"Food as soon as Hermione and Neville get here," said Charlie. "Hermione promised more Italian take away than we could eat in one sitting."

"Poor little thing," said one twin, occupied in tugging on Ginny's braid.

"We'll eat her out of house and home," said the other, who was fending off her swatting hands. "Where's Harry?"

"On duty," said Ron, pretending as though he weren't leaning into Bill.

"I thought that was yesterday," frowned Ginny.

"Tonight too," said Ron. "Turns out their new arrival has ex-friends that don't want to stay gone."

"As if he hadn't spent enough of his bloody life on duty," said Charlie with a frown.

"We're always missing somebody," mused Bill.

"Percy couldn't make it, either," Ginny said with a sigh. "He's busy."

"Read: he couldn't be arsed to lower himself," said one twin.

As the other opened his mouth to answer, Percy walked in, adjusting his glasses and speaking primly, "Read: He was busy, but now is no longer. Contrary to popular belief, I can in fact put up with my siblings for short periods of time, though Merlin knows how, why or what miracle keeps everyone alive in the process."

Luna, Hermione and Neville were just behind bearing two huge boxes of aluminum trays of food, and while Bill moved to hug his brother, Luna smiled.

"I have a theory!"

Reaching back to take her hand, Percy quietly whispered over his shoulder, "Please don't." Hermione dissolved into giggles, Neville tore open a tray of bread and handed it to the nearest redhead in an attempt to hold off the impending feeding frenzy long enough for him to acquire plates and utensils, and Ron caught Hermione's eye and actually laughed, too.

Life could in fact be good some days.

"Hey! There's my girl!" exclaimed Charlie, and Ron looked up, eyes huge as Pansy Parkinson smiled as though she might be a real, breathing person (as opposed to being entirely made of snark and vitriol) and pitched herself at Charlie with what could only be described as a squeal of delight. The pit of Ron's stomach was suddenly churning, vicious in its reminding him that where Parkinson went--

"--Well. I'll stand in the corner and pretend that I'm not about to drown in a sea of garish ginger, shall I?"

--Malfoy was never far behind.

###

It was true, Where one found Pansy out of the house, one could most of the time find Draco and vice versa. This would be because the Wizarding world liked to hold grudges, and though they'd been exonerated fully and carried Order of Merlins (First Class) just like most everyone else in the room, people didn't like them. They didn't like Pansy and Draco's last names, their families, their history, and it had not a damn thing to do with who or what they were or had done.

As a result, yes. They did watch each other's back, just as they'd done from the time they were children. And so when Pansy had squealed and elbowed him and begged him to come to Grimmauld for dinner, he'd agreed... after attempting to talk, shame and/or bribe her out of it. He suspected that if she weren't so ridiculously infatuated with the dragon weasley, she might object on the same grounds he did - mainly that they'd be outnumbered in quantities that Draco couldn't remember since around the time of the last days of the war, and really, he didn't want to think about that just now either.

Truthfully, he might've left her to her own devices anyway, given she was just being grabby. After all, she'd get more than enough of her Weasley's company on Friday-- but apparently she wanted to make the most of his visit. Something about not having seen him in weeks. Draco was not impressed. Moreover, Severus' words rung in his ears, so to speak.

Do it.

The man was mad. And also quite brilliant. And a total bastard. A very cautious, wily bastard, who apparently had Draco's best interests in mind, but a bastard nonetheless.

'Do it', he'd said. What the sodding hell? And frankly, what the sodding hell would he know?

Still, faced with more Weasleys and Gryffindors than he could shake a stick at, his best friend in the lap of and feeding one, Draco had one option. A known evil-- yes. Excellent cover. Err. Reason.

"Weasel," he said, nonchalant as he sidled over to where Ron stood, apparently also trying to blend into a corner of the kitchen as his siblings sprawled throughout the sitting room and stairwells. "This is... loud."

"Welcome to my world," grumbled Ron, casting a sideways look at him that spoke of conflict so profound as to be a war zone.

"Is this really the sort of thing you grew up with?"

"If by sort of thing you mean, family that loves you even though they're fucking batshit nuts the lot of them?" said Ron, leveling a look at him directly. "Then yeah. This is exactly like that. Only there's more beer and swearing 'cos Mum and Dad aren't about."

Truly fascinated in his horror, Draco nodded, peering about him as though he were an anthropologist on a distasteful mission. "It doesn't matter how many times I've seen it happen --which thankfully are few-- it never ceases to amaze me."

"Yeah?" said Ron, stepping up the challenge in his voice. "And why's that?!"

Do it, said Severus in the back of Draco's head, and he shook it slightly. "Because-- it doesn't seem as though it should work so well. And yet, it does, and even your prude of a brother was taken back into the fold with barely a blink for the saying of 'sorry' and a slap upside his head," Draco said, realizing that he'd let the Severus voice distract him while he said something so very true, it hurt to consider.

Ron was staring. Draco's stomach roiled, angry that this game had grown out of hand.

"Yeah," said Ron, pulling away as if had stung him, too. His path, however took him only as far as the ice box, from which he pulled two more bottles and handed one to Draco. "Last one for the night. Long day tomorrow." Draco murmured thanks and Ron went on, his voice a little unsure. "You um. About sick of the noise?"

"Oh my god yes," said Draco, making it sound as if it were one long word before taking a pull of his ale.

Ron smirked and looked around in a manner that was anything but surreptitious, then hit the side of a cupboard with a fist. A compartment slid open from a spot previously hidden from view, and he pulled out a small box quickly before shutting it again. "Come on," he said, cocking his head and taking box and beer up the back stairs.

Draco, much to his own despair, followed.

###

Ginny kept her eye on Ron as he popped open his not-so-secret stash of chocolate and chessmen and led Draco up the back stairs, willing to bet he was headed for the library and quietly congratulating him in her mind.

Then there was something gooey and sticky crawling down the back of her shirt and as she contorted wildly while the twins snickered and Charlie roared his approval. "Swear to god, if you animated your leftover noodles and sent them marching down my shirt, I will --BLEECCH! Aw, HELL-- kill you dead!" Ginny shrilled, reaching ineffectually over her shoulder and then under and around her back.

DEAD.