As many of you know, I recently had a baby, and I was going to open up commissions during my mat leave but writing with a baby is a lot more work than I thought it would be. I can, however, still edit and offer advice!
Fic only, I'm not super comfortable editing anyone's papers for them. I have this titled "TDP Editing/beta commissions" but I can do content for other fandoms provided you give me context for something I'm not ultra familiar with.
Happy to do every 1000 words for the price of a ko-fi 😊 Send me an ask if you're interested!
A/N: All this covid madness is driving me insane and I needed the stress relief so this is just for funsies and to see if anyone’s interested in a dumb moonfam Hogwarts au. If people like it enough, I’ll put it on Ao3 and keep going. For now, enjoy! Reposting bc tumblr ate my tags. Sorry for the double post!
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There’s a girl at the Ravenclaw table that Lain’s been glaring at for about ten minutes now. It’s pretty out of the ordinary for him. Usually he saves this kind of unwarranted animosity for that Slytherin kid, Runaan, but there’s something… different in the downturn of his lips that piques Ethari’s curiosity.
It’s early for lunch. The Gryffindor table isn’t so crowded yet, and it’s not like Ethari’s a stranger here at all - Lain spends plenty of time at the Hufflepuff table to make up for it - but he pauses for a moment anyway, looking up and down the mostly empty table before he climbs over the bench to join him.
“That’s not how you get a girl’s attention, you know.”
Lain scowls, working his fork into the almost unrecognisable remains of the rissole on his plate. “I don’t want her attention,” he snaps, stabbing at a bit of mince probably a little more aggressively than he’d intended. “She’s not worth my time.”
Ethari raises an eyebrow at him. “So… why are you giving it?”
“I’m not.” He snatches at the jug of pumpkin juice in the middle of the table, and the only reason he doesn’t knock over a pile of scones is because Ethari has the sense to move them out of the way. He’d been wondering already, but the sourness of Lain’s pout and the frustrated tinge of pink in his cheeks just makes him all the more curious. It’s rare for someone not Runaan to invoke Lain’s unbridled rage like this, and the only reason that rivalry exists to begin with is because they’re equally matched in everything from Charms to Potions to Quidditch.
This is something different.
This is something else.
“What’d she do?” he tries.
Lain grumbles something unintelligible into his pumpkin juice, and Ethari lets out a long, patient sigh, and tries again.
“What’d you do?”
That gets him. “I didn’t do anything,” he snarls, slamming his goblet down. “Runaan provoked me. I was just minding my own business on the way to Herbology, and he comes out of nowhere being a pain in the backside, as always, and then she comes along and I tried to explain myself, because it wasn’t my fault, but she - she hexed both of us, and next thing I know, Professor Ibis is there now we’ve both got detention, all because bloody Runaan -”
Ethari holds up a hand. It’s not all true and he knows it - Lain has a habit of twisting stories like these to sound less incriminating, and his stupid rivalry with Runaan’s got them both into enough trouble that he knows rubbish when he hears it. “Runaan provoked you?” he asks, “Or were you provoking each other like you always do and Tiadrin just happened to be there to hex both of you before you could hex each other again?”
Lain falters. Then he narrows his eyes. “Tiadrin?”
“Yeah, Tiadrin.” Ethari snorts at him. “I make it a point to know the kids in our year. Sorry you’re not as popular as you think you are.”
Lain presses his lips shut, golden eyes hard with betrayal. “I didn’t do anything wrong,” he grumbles, turning back to his butchered rissole. “Runaan had his wand out first. She didn’t even let me explain -”
Ethari stifles a snort. “Don’t blame her,” he mutters into his goblet, and Lain shoots him a look that he pointedly chooses to ignore.
“I should have known better than to try,” says Lain shortly. “She’s all buddy-buddy with Runaan. Of course she’d take his side.”
“You said she hexed both of you.”
“She still took his side.” Lain glances at her once more, his head bowed towards his plate in a poor attempt to be subtle about it, but his eyes flit back to his rissole when Runaan approaches her looking just as sour. “See what I mean?”
“Er. No,” says Ethari, because he doesn’t. Even from here, Runaan’s scowl is hard to miss. Tiadrin, on the other hand, looks pretty smug about it, and again, he can’t blame her. Lain and Runaan’s rivalry is stupid and childish, and he’s certain she’s not the first to want to stop them before they start all over again - she’s just the first to actually do something about it. He makes a note to congratulate her about it later - and to ask her what really happened. He has a feeling her version might be closer to the truth. He clears his throat. “I don’t get why you’re so pissy about it,” he says. “You and Runaan get detention often enough on your own. What’s so different about this time?”
Lain grinds his teeth and glares down at his plate. “She upstaged me,” he mutters, so quietly that Ethari struggles to hear it.
“She what?”
Lain takes a breath. Uses it to steel himself like he’s about to divulge some kind of horrible secret. Glances up and down the table to make sure no one else is within ear shot. “She upstaged me,” he grumbles again.
That’s what Ethari thought he heard. Lain’s not one to throw tantrums like this - not usually - but then no one really upstages him either. He and Runaan are equally matched. It’s rare that one ever gets the upper hand, but the fact that Tiadrin had honestly just makes Ethari want to congratulate her more. “Upstaged you?” he asks, dubious.
“Yeah,” mumbles Lain. “She was so fast. Had her wand in her hand before Runaan and I even blinked. Stuck me with a Stickfast Hex so good Professor Ibis had to undo it for me. Runaan had sardines coming out of his nose. It was amazing.”
Ethari stares at him. “She got you with a Stickfast Hex and you’re calling her ‘amazing’?”
Lain flushes. “Credit where credit’s due,” he mumbles, hiding his face in his goblet.
There’s a pause. Lain spends longer than he needs to gulping down the rest of the pumpkin juice that Ethari’s pretty sure he’s only doing it to hide the rising blush in his face. The issue here is so obvious he wants to laugh, and as much as he wants to take pity on Lain and his lack of emotional maturity, it feels like it might be funnier just to sit back and watch this disaster unfold. Lain’s always been a bit of a ladykiller, but this is going to be a trainwreck in the best possible way, and he’d be a poor friend if he tried to stop it.
He’s got Transfiguration with the Ravenclaws after lunch, which means Lain will have to spend Potions brooding over this with Runaan in the same room, and Ethari almost wishes he was in Gryffindor just so he can make jokes about it all period. But he eyes Tiadrin instead, a smirk pulling at his lips and a plot coming together in his mind. If it works, maybe Tiadrin will rub off on him, and Lain might deflate his ego enough to see that he and Runaan would probably get along if they weren’t always at each other’s throats.
If it doesn’t - well. It’ll be fun to watch, at least. Maybe Tiadrin will rub off on him anyway. He can hope.
He claps Lain’s shoulder. “I’m going to class,” he says. “You’re going to stew on this whether I try to stop you or not, so I might as well save myself the trouble. At least Tiadrin’ll be easier to talk to. See you in Charms.”
“What - wait!” Lain makes a grab for the sleeve of his robe, and Ethari pauses, trying not to let his amusement get the better of him. “What - Have you got class with her or something next?”
“Sure do,” Ethari tells him mildly.
The flush returns, and Lain ducks his head. “Can you - uh - can you explain for me? Tell her it wasn’t my fault?”
“Why?” This time, Ethari can’t stop himself. He does smirk. Lain’s panic is too much. “I wasn’t there. I don’t know what happened. Alternately, you could try to talk to her yourself like a normal person.”
“Yeah, but -” He swallows and twiddles his thumbs. “She won’t give me the time of day. You could at least like… soften her up or something. And then maybe she’ll actually listen to me.”
Ethari lets out a snort. “I’ll see what I can do,” he says, tugging his sleeve out of Lain’s grip.
(Oh, he’ll see all right. With any luck, they’ll be on more than just speaking terms by the end of the semester. Maybe then, he’ll finally have some peace and quiet in the halls).
How do you think Tiadrin and lain found out they were having Rayla?
Do you guys just have like a direct line into my brain or something bc I am in situation right now where all I can think about is babies and y'all aren't helping 😂
34.
She's not pregnant.
She's not because the timing's not right, and it's far too soon to be throwing up already, and, in any case, Tiadrin had meant it as a joke. She and Lain have been married about a year now, but they're still young, and there's plenty of time for babies in the future, but right now - what had she said?
Let's just not worry about it.
Let's just have some fun.
It probably won't happen right away anyway.
She's been off the Moon tea for a month. They've only fooled around a handful of times since, and she'd bled not even two weeks ago, there's no way -
But Lierin looks at her blood in the flask; at the sprouting bairnweed within it, her brow knitted together in that unimpressed scowl she always wears, and Tiadrin feels the rest of her blood drain out of her face as Lain scrambles for her hand.
"I think that tells you everything you need to know," says Lierin shortly.
"But -"
"Bairnweed very rarely lies, Tiadrin." Lierin snorts and waves them out of her apothecary. "I don't think this is one of those times. You have your answer. Off with you both. See a midwife when the hour is more reasonable. I have other matters to attend." She ushers them back into the cold, impatient and tired and unwilling to deal with their protests, but -
Tiadrin finds that they have none. She stares at the fresh fallen snow, her skin almost as pale, and Lain slumps against Lierin's door and sinks onto the ground without a word.
