Discover Top Posts Tagged with #frombookstofics microfic

@rosekillermicrofic - 24. Confess - word count: 334

Every single one of them has noticed the way Barty sometimes shuts down. He's about to say something and then just doesn't. He becomes quiet, withdrawn, only speaking when spoken to. It's worrisome and, if Dorcas has to be fully honest, also a bit terrifying. It's Barty they're talking about. The ultimate stick-it-to-the-man kind of guy. He's the son of a politician for Merlin's sake — he knows how to talk! So why doesn't he?

Dorcas doesn't know what to do anymore. There should be no reason for him to shut down the way he does. The ridiculous shit he’s said in the past should attest to that. But for some reason, he does.

She sees him sitting on his own in the common room during her free period. While it's not strange to see him skipping class, he does not usually do it alone.

Dorcas plops down on the sofa next to him but doesn't say anything. Barty is curled into himself, face down and avoiding everything around him.

“Confess,” she says casually. There is no pressure or determination behind her voice, there is no worry or fear either. She says it in the same tone one would use to comment on the weather.

“What?” Barty asks, still not looking up.

“Confess,” she just repeats.

For a while, it's quiet. Barty fidgets with his rings, and Dorcas looks at the fire burning beside them.

“I love him,” he whispers.

Evan, she thinks. While this isn't a surprise, it wasn't the answer she had expected to hear him say — but now it all makes sense.

“I love him,” Barty repeats quietly, finally looking up, unshed tears shining in his eyes. “But he doesn't love me.”

“He does.” she whispers softly, laying her hand on his.

When she finally gets him to meet her eyes, she can still see the doubt in them.

“He does,” she repeats, and she will continue to repeat those two words as often as she needs to until Barty believes her.

@wolfstarmicrofic - 13. Bench - word count: 331

There is this one bench hidden by the edge of the schoolgrounds. The wood is old and silvered over with age, its surface is scratched and marked with countless initials which have been softened by rain over time.

Luna often passes it on her walks.

It's always empty.

And yet, it never quite looks that way.

The seat has been worn smooth in two places, side by side, as if the wood remembers the people better than people do each other. Sometimes the bench looks lonely. Other times, simply waiting.

She wonders from time to time, who left all those marks behind. But never enough to ask, some questions seem happier unanswered.

Curfew has long since passed, but the castle was too restless and so Luna wanders the grounds, covered by the pale light of the waxing crescent moon.

Nearing the bench, she slows down.

Professor Lupin is sitting there.

He doesn't notice her, his eyes not fixed on the forest itself but rather a narrow path crawling its way out of a small gap between the dark trees. He sits there waiting in a way that makes him look like part of the landscape.

Luna considers turning back, but before she can something moves by the treeline.

A large black dog. It steps out of the shadows and makes its way across the grass. It's stride confident, no hesitation. It moves as if returning to the place it belongs, and professor Lupin smiles.

It is small, but changes his whole face.

The dog settles by the professor's side. Its head resting on his knee.

Neither of them speak.

They don't seem to need to.

They just sit there – together – looking out across the lake as the water reflects the occasional moonlight.

Luna watches them long enough to know she has wandered into something private. Not necessarily secret, just private.

So she just simply turns back, quietly making her way back to the castle. Leaving the bench to its two occupants.

@jeggyverses-jegulus-microfic - 9. Phobia - word count: 377 cw: internalised transphobia

Regulus stares at the mirror before him, his eyes drawn to the crescent-shaped scars on his chest. They're hideous. He's hideous. The sight of them makes his skin crawl. Before, his chest had felt like something foreign — a body he had been forced to borrow — now jagged scars were all that remained. Reminders of all that he has left behind. It makes him wonder if it was a mistake — if he should have done this. Would it have been better if he had stayed her?

When he was still her, he had been sure of a future — a future filled with respect and certainty. He had a family that held status, wealth, and influence within the wizarding world, but by choosing to be him, he had lost all that. Sure, the Black family wasn't a place filled with love, but it had been a stable place to live.

He remembers binding until he could no longer breathe, remembers avoiding mirrors and flinching upon seeing his own reflection. He remembers the pain, the fear, the wrongness of it all, and yet there is still some traitorous part of him that wonders if his mother had been right after all. That there really is something wrong with him.

He couldn't have stayed her. The thought alone makes him want to tear his skin off. But standing in front of the mirror, fingers tracing the pale, rigid scars on his chest, he can't help but wonder if it was all worth it.

Was being him worth losing all he has ever known?

“Hey love,” comes the soft voice of James. He's leaning in the doorway, eyes focused on Regulus. Regulus looks at him through the mirror.

“Hey,” his voice is quieter than he wants it to be.

James lifts himself off the doorway and makes his way across the room until he's standing behind Regulus. They meet each other's eyes in the mirror.

Without a word, James takes his shirt off and holds it out.

Regulus stares at the red fabric.

“I don't want your pity.”

“Good thing that's not what I'm offering.”

After a long moment, Regulus finally takes the shirt and slowly leans back into James's embrace.

“One step at a time,” he whispers softly into Regulus's ear.

@steddiemicrofic - Steady - word count: 666 - Rated: T cw: mcd, grief

They aren't part of each other's lives in any significant way. Steve can't even remember the first time he saw Eddie, but he can remember the thousandth of times that followed.

A flash of denim at the end of the hallway. The echo of a laugh that carried just a bit too far. The way Eddie would cut across the parking lot instead of using the sidewalk, like the rules were nothing but a suggestion made for others.

They never really talked.

A sarcastic comment here or there, sure. Even an absent “Move, Harrington,” whenever Steve stood in his way. There was even one time when Eddie kept the school door open for Steve with the toe of his boot; he didn't look back, probably didn’t even realize he was doing it or for whom. But it happened and Steve mumbled a small thanks before disappearing into the sea of students.

That has been the extent of their relationship for years.

Eddie had become part of the scenery. Something familiar for Steve to hang on to when all he had ever known got turned upside down.

Steve would catch himself looking for that familiar leather jacket between classes. He would hear someone playing the guitar behind the gym and think, “There he is”, without even walking over. He would walk the school grounds trying to calm his mind before Biology started and he’d have to spend the hour in a dark classroom watching whichever video the teacher had deemed important, when he would catch a glimpse of Eddie sitting on one of the picnic tables with the rest of Hellfire, and all of a sudden everything would finally quiet down.

He had even spotted Eddie in the library once — face down on a textbook, hair spilling over the table — he probably hadn’t even bothered to read the book, only needing something to substitute as a pillow while he napped.

Eddie was always just there. Familiar enough that Steve had stopped noticing he was noticing.

Until Eddie wasn’t there anymore.

Until Steve could no longer notice him.

The first day, Steve didn't even notice, too busy dealing with the aftermath of their final Upside Down encounter or earthquake the government had dubbed it. So, no, he didn’t notice, not at first.

It was just one of those mornings where everything feels just a bit off. Nothing new. Steve has had many of those ever since his first encounter with the Upside Down.

But that’s the thing right? Absence is strange. It doesn’t come knocking on your door to announce itself, but it isn’t always present either, or at least we like to think so.

The only thing it does is settle in the cracks we leave unattended thinking what’s the harm? It will hold, but behind those cracked walls a flood is slowly building and when the pressure finally becomes too much and the walls give in, grief comes down on us in waves, drowning us in what we so desperately tried to ignore.

Steve eventually learns this in the way his eyes scan every crowd he passes, searching for that leather jacket he just can’t seem to find. In the way he freezes whenever black curls pass him by. How, whenever he hears the playing of a guitar he thinks of him, but by the sound of the notes he knows that it isn’t Eddie who’s playing.

It will never be Eddie, not anymore.

He knows this, but habits linger. Like reality hasn’t caught up yet and sometimes Steve wonders if it ever will.

That’s the cruelest part; the way the heart lingers behind the mind when it comes to loss.

In his head he knows Eddie is dead.

But his heart keeps on searching for him by the entrance to the trailer park, by the benches outside the library, on the corner of every street. And while his head keeps on telling him: he’s gone, his heart keeps on saying: he’s just late.

@wolfstarmicrofic - 22. Teabag - word count: 418

For some reason Remus hasn’t figured out yet, the wizarding world seems averse to the concept of a teabag. They just put the leaves in the water, which means that the leaves float in the water, which means you drink the leaves with the water. It’s ridiculous. Sirius, James and Peter don't seem to get it, being pure-bloods and all. At least he got Lily to share his struggles with even if she isn't such an avid tea drinker as he is.

When, in their third year, Divination becomes a class some of them follow, Remus starts to understand the lack of teabags, but he also sees the immediate lack of privacy. If the loose tea leaves are in order to see the future, everyone who sees your teacup will know it. No more secrets, no more hiding. All will be out there for everyone to see. Someone picks up your cup, and they will know.

The others tell Remus he is being paranoid; that no one cares about the leaves at the bottom of his cup, but they don’t have to hide. They do not have to lie every day of their lives to everyone around them. They do not have secrets like he does. It isn’t about secret crushes, though yes he does have one, but for him it is about survival. About avoiding the hunt that will undoubtedly follow him were his secret to come out.

When he was twelve years old, three people already figured his secret out. Sure, they didn’t mind. They were even looking into ways to support him even more (the leading option at the moment being animagi. They think he doesn’t know, but they’re horrendous at keeping things secret from him). Still, they are an exception, not the norm.

If his secret were to come out he would lose this, lose them, and he can’t have that.

As the school year continues on, his worries do not falter, he just becomes better at hiding them. Keeping his teacup close to his person, never letting it out of his sight, messing with the leaves after he is done. Everything and anything he can think of to keep his secret safe.

Eventually the cold months turn into warm days, and days inside turn into hours under the sun. And hiding his secret becomes easier with a small gift: teabags. Some muggle curiosity Sirius called it, hidden among rubber ducks and other things. But Remus knew what it was, and that was enough.

@jeggyverses-jegulus-microfic - 28. Team - word count: 334

Rain poured down from the blackened sky, drenching all those who stood in the stands. The wind was relentless, making the already dangerous game even more hazardous; multiple students had already been sent off towards the hospital wing. Yet even though the storm, shouting could be heard, rising above the distant thunder. No one dared to miss a Quidditch match – especially not this one, not the final: Gryffindor versus Slytherin. Who would win the cup?

Regulus hung high in the sky, hovering above a sea of green and red jerseys, looking for that golden flicker that would win Slytherin the cup, and end this game. Below him James made his way towards the Slytherin goalpost, the Quaffle in hand. The other chasers, green or red, couldn’t keep up with him. At least the stormy weather benefited someone.

James' goal brought Gryffindor’s score up to 95, while Slytherin’s remained at 90. But the rain hung like a curtain over the court, hiding everything from sight. The cold wind clung to their bodies, freezing them from the inside out. Finding the Snitch in this weather would be near impossible. They had been in the air for hours now, and the ending was nowhere in sight. As captains, James and Regulus could, of course, try to reach an agreement, but that would never happen, they knew it, their teams knew it, the whole student body knew it. There would be no getting out of this rain, they were both too competitive for that. They would give it their all even if that meant playing for hours, or days until the Snitch was caught.

And after Slytherin wins, because of course Slytherin is going to win, they would meet in the Room of Requirement like they so often did: quiet, unseen, theirs alone. No more red, no more green. No more houses and opposing teams. Just them. Hidden where no one would ever find them, they could finally become their own team. James and Regulus. Regulus and James.

@jeggyverses-jegulus-microfic - 8. Storm - word count: 176 cw: implied mcd

I did not tell you about the cave calling my name.

I let you laugh. You let me steal your jumper.

Our hands find each other like it's the most ordinary thing.

As if tomorrow were guaranteed.

It isn't. Not anymore. Not for people like us.

You ask, “Will I see you tonight?”

And I lie, “Of course.”

I know you'll never forgive me.

How can you?

I never told you.

And isn't that the cruelest part?

The wind howls as if grieving, mourning the love it may once have felt.

The same love I steal from you.

It is brutal, the wretched way none of us have a say.

We do as we are told.

Boys dressed up as obedient soldiers, marching into a war.

A war we inherited, never chose.

The water waits with patient hands.

It already knows that I am gone.

Maybe it will quiet the storm raging inside my mind.

The lightning finally severing what remained of us.

And when Death finally comes, I hope it knows that I already answered.

@jeggyverses-jegulus-microfic - 8. Snow - word count: 411

The windows of the library had frosted over sometime during the night. Outside the grounds were covered in a thick blanket of snow. Cold, white, and not yet touched by any of the students. It was an easy choice, staying inside, it was warm no matter where you went. Going outside meant freezing along with the trees.

Regulus’s friends had been in the middle of “planning” a party for the first snowfall of the year when he had left for the library. It had been quiet in the halls and it was quiet in the library. The students had likely opted to spend the day in their dorms huddled around the fire.

Regulus had made his way to a table close to one of the windows. It was a hidden spot, out of sight from anyone who would make their way towards the library to study or catch up on homework after the Quidditch match of last week.

Laughter came from outside. It sounded familiar and yet so foreign at the same time. He knew he shouldn’t look, he had to focus on his studies, he had a test coming up. But a small distraction couldn’t hurt, right?

Before he knew it his eyes had left his book in favour of looking out of the frosted window. It was blurry, but the motions were easily spotted against the still background.

Sirius was the easiest to recognise: black hair against the white background, bold movements and no hesitation. Peter trailed behind him, next to what must be Remus, hand still in his pocket; he looked content to just watch. In the centre of them all stood James, bright smile and flushed cheeks. He threw his head back laughing, and even at this distance Regulus could hear the sincerity behind it (like James Potter could ever do anything without being sincere).

Regulus should look away — he should have never looked out the window — but for some reason he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the boy in the center.

James's eyes caught his through the window for less than a second, but it felt like so much more — it felt like years, maybe even an eternity. A small smile grazed James' lips as he looked at him and Regulus’s breath caught, like it always did when they looked at each other (traitor). All of a sudden James looked away, attention caught by something Remus had said, and Regulus turned back to his studies.