winter fire @tozierskaspbrak - Tumblr Blog

Pas de Deux

I wrote this! Read it here or find it on ao3! words - 677

From the moment the orchestra struck the first note of the overture, Sirius Black was quite bored. His family’s tradition of seeing the Nutcracker every Christmas time had gotten old. When he was six, he loved watching the dancers tell the story, especially the candy canes. But now, he was twenty six, and could basically hum the entire show from memory.

He watched as Clara and Fritz fought and as the Nutcracker broke. He smiled softly when Clara threw her shoe at the rat king. He still had to admit that despite the familiarity of it, the show was still enjoyable.

Despite his boredom, he knew that it would be fruitless to try and sneak out. With his parents on either side of him in the private box at the theater, he tried his best to look entertained.

Sirius’s brooding ended abruptly when he heard the first notes of the finale. The Black parents pulled him to his feet and he began clapping eagerly. Just because he found the ballet boring didn’t mean he had no respect for the dancers working so hard to entertain everyone.

The applause grew louder and more of the audience stood up as the Nutcracker Prince and Clara came to the front of the stage. The Prince swept his arm toward Clara where she stood at the edge of the stage, but Sirius’s heart dropped when the Prince stepped into the light. His hair was neat and glowed almost gold in the stage lights, and he moved gracefully as he bowed. Sirius looked around frantically for a program.

“What are you trying to find, Sirius?” His brother Regulus asked.

“The program,” Sirius replied, patting each of his pockets.

“I don’t think we got one,” their mother said before looking back at the stage. Sirius cursed himself for forgetting.

After the show, everyone filed out into the theater lobby. Sirius let out a noise of confusion when his mother pulled him away from the exits.

“Where are we going?”

“We’re meeting the dancers,” Walburga said over her shoulder. The family walked through the doors to the backstage area and Sirius absentmindedly fixed his perfectly styled hair.

The dancers had left their costumes on, and Sirius made a mental note to compliment the costume department. Ballerinas turned their blinding smiles toward the family as they walked in. Sirius’s heart rate returned to normal as he went around giving gratitude to dancers and the beautiful Prince was nowhere in sight. When the family finished congratulating the dancers on a beautiful performance, Sirius took one last sweep of the stage. He was both disappointed and relieved that he hadn’t run into the prince. He really was never good at flirting with boys.

Walburga looked over her shoulder to make sure he was behind them and he smiled softly. She nodded sharply.

“I’m going to go to the car,” He muttered to her. She nodded.

“We’ll be out in ten minutes.” Sirius dipped his chin in reply and started for the door. He swung the door open and came face to face with the Prince. The man was in a pair of grey sweatpants and looked very surprised to have come face to face with someone other than a dancer. An awkward silence fell between them before Sirius decided to say something.

“You looked beautiful out there.” The man blushed at his words and a smile flickered across his friendly face.

“Thank you so much,” He muttered, still looking at the floor. Sirius offered his hand.

“Sirius Black,” He said. The man looked up to catch Sirius’s grey eyes with his own amber ones.

“Remus Lupin,” The man said, taking Sirius’s hand. Sirius lifted Remus’s hand to his lips and kissed the backs of his fingers, reveling in the blush spreading across Remus’s cheeks. Sirius pulled a scrap of paper and a pen from his coat and scribbled his number.

“Call me sometime,” Sirius murmurs to Remus, pressing the paper into his hand. Remus smirks up at Sirius and ghosts his palm across Sirius’s chest.

“Will do.”

Part Two Here!

tsauergrass

TW: quarantine

(if there’s anything else you’d like me to tag, please let me know!)

***

“…so the fish bowl was knocked over, right, and at first Teddy didn’t notice, and Andy was still in the kitchen, so it wasn’t until she heard Teddy scream that she saw the goldfish flapping about on the floor—”

Draco laughed. “And did she get the fish back into the bowl?”

“Of course she did.” Harry laughed, too, a sound full of statics on the other side of the telephone. “But Teddy was frightened, I think. His ears are now goldfish fins and they wouldn’t turn back. He’s been hiding in his room.”

“Shouldn’t you go see him?”

“He won’t see anybody.” Harry sighed. A noise came from the other side, as though he was shifting, was stretching his legs. “Andy is making pudding after dinner. Says that’ll probably bribe him out.”

“It’ll bribe you, is who it’ll bribe.”

“Hey,” Harry laughed, “Teddy likes sweets, too.”

Draco smiled. Harry’s laughter was warm and familiar, even through the messy statics over the wire. He clutched the phone closer to his chin and let out a soft breath.

“And you?” Harry asked. His voice softened. “How was today?”

Draco couldn’t remember why they had decided that living separately was better. It was so stupid, thinking about it now. One day they were talking late into the night, and the next the Ministry issued a lock-down for the dragon pox that had spread out of control and banned Apparation and the Floo altogether. Harry had been staying with Aunt Andromeda and Teddy, had been invited over the long weekend, so that was where he was, now—leaving Draco alone in his miserable flat with gilded Chippendale furniture and heavy bookshelves, the winter sky pale and gloomy outside the window.

Draco swallowed and tried to smile, even though Harry couldn’t see him. It fell. “It’s alright. I started another book.”

“Is it the one you talked about before? The one about the painting of a bird?”

“It’s a goldfinch,” Draco said, twisting the telephone cord between his fingers. “No, it’s another one. It’s about a detective.”

“Tell me about it.”

Draco smiled. “Like a bedtime story? Shall I make sure you’re tucked in and kiss you goodnight?”

Harry laughed. “That would be nice. I’m sure you’re good at it.”

They had been talking over the phone every day. At first it was Harry who called, Draco rushing down the hall and skidding over the corner whenever the old telephone on the wall rang, but then he couldn’t stand it anymore: the silence, staring unseeingly at the lines of a page, waiting for the phone to ring at any moment—a fog pressing at the back of his mind, an unconscious notion. The air strained. The ring would come wrecking through anytime now, deafening—his muscles strung tight, ready to leap out of the settee. He was so sick of it, so tired. So he copied down Aunt Andromeda’s telephone number one night, carefully, number by number, and called the next day. And the next, and the next. Waiting for Harry to pick up, for the loud clack that came just before his voice, the little tilt at the end when he asked hello? Then the warmth that came with recognition—Draco.

How he missed hearing his own name from Harry’s mouth.

They fell into comfortable silence. Draco looked out of the window, stretching his legs out in the nook. It was dusk, the sky bruised with a streak of yellow.

“Have you shaved?” he asked out of the blue.

“No,” Harry said without delay, as though he, too, had been waiting. “I shaved two days ago.”

“Do you have stubble?”

“Yes.” There was a smile in Harry’s voice. “If I kissed you now, your chin would be ruddy after.”

Draco took a sharp breath. From the phone came only silent, swarming statics.

“Draco—”

“Tell me.”

“I—”

“Tell me about it,” Draco said, quiet and frantic and desperate. He could barely breathe. “Harry—”

“Fuck,” Harry whispered. A quick huff into the telephone, a broken attempt at a laugh. “Fuck, Draco. I want—oh god. I want to see you. I want to cook dinner in the kitchen with you, I want to wake up next to you in the morning, I…I miss you. So bad. Fuck, Draco, I miss you. I want to touch you, I want—”

Harry’s voice broke. Draco clutched the phone, tight with fright. “Harry. Harry, are you crying?”

“No,” Harry sobbed. “No, I’m not crying.”

“Harry. Harry. Don’t cry, Harry.”

“I won’t.” Harry sniffed, inhaled and exhaled deeply. His voice was thick and wet even through the statics. “I won’t. I’m not crying now.”

“I miss you, too, Harry.”

Harry broke again. “Goddamn it, Draco!”

“It’s okay. It’s okay.” Draco’s voice thickened. Clutching the telephone close to his mouth, he took a shuddery breath. “I miss you. Darling, my darling. My love. I miss you so much.”

“Shut up.”

“I miss you,” Draco continued, “I miss you.” It was a chant, as though with every repetition it eased the pain however slightly. “I miss you. I miss you.”

Harry sobbed.

“I wish I could kiss you right now,” Draco said. “I wish I could see you right now, you and your snotty face. I’d take it all.”

“Hey!” Harry laughed, wet. “You love my snotty face.”

“I do.” Draco laughed, too, soft. “I do, my love. I do.”

Slowly, on the other side of the phone, Harry quieted down. Draco stroked the smooth metallic surface of the telephone. After the mess of a confession he felt numb and fuzzy, a little tired.

Outside the window, a raven glided against the dusk and settled in an empty tree.

“When this is all over,” Harry said, inhaling—letting the air out in a whoosh, the statics swarming crazily in Draco’s ears. His voice was low and slow. Draco imagined him looking out of a window, too, looking out at rural England under the same fading sky. “When this is all over, I am going to take you out. I am going to Apparate to your flat so fast you won’t even notice, and I am going to kidnap you.”

Draco laughed, curling into the nook. “Why do you need to kidnap me?”

“Just for the surprise of it all.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, a smile in his voice. “I am going to take you to Wales, just like the first time we went out together. Remember? I’ll take you to that ice cream shop again, and I’ll order raspberry-flavor for you. It’s going to be such a nice day, the sky is going to be so clear. The air is going to be so fresh. It’s going to be such a beautiful day.”

“And are you going to steal my ice cream again, just like that time?”

“Yes,” Harry laughed, “and I am going to be a gentleman about it. I will offer you mine, and you will take a bite, and you will say, oh, my, this is delicious. I am going to order that one this time. And I’ll be flustered and tell you no, don’t bother—and I will give mine to you.”

Draco smiled, abashed, even though Harry cannot see. They fell into comfortable silence again. Draco did not feel the need to hang up. Outside the window the night had fallen, the early hours of the dark, a tinge of light still lingering—as though the colors had not yet spilled fully, were still drifting to cover the side of a house, the tip of a thin branch.

The statics was a soft noise in his ear. Harry was on the other side, listening, too, to the same noise.

evyrob

Fixing plot holes again. If you’ve been wondering why Weasley twins “haven’t noticed” Peter Pettigrew, here is the only plausible explanation, cause i’m personally not happy with the “they’ve been looking the other way” version

yumk-deactivated20181113

soupgremlin-deactivated20200525

extremely cursed quiz.

in a murder investigation, who are you? the killer? the witness? the detective? with a heavy dose of vibes assigned. i’ll reblog with a link in case it doesn’t work.

#the vengeful ex #huh

recklessfiction

What to do When You Find Yourself Turned into a Statue

You mustn’t move. The reason for this is twofold. There is no guarantee that you will not crack and crumble the moment you attempt to. You have been in this garden for a very long time after all

Gardens are filled with all manner of things. It is best that you do not alert them to yourself. Keep still.

Humans are not meant to look upon you. They will lose themselves to the thought of you, shrieking in the night, prostrate at your feet, cursing your stone heart, demanding your attention, offering their devotion. You mustn’t feel guilt as they slowly lose their minds. This situation was not of your making.

Accept no help from the fey. They will offer you freedom but they will not specify when. Before you know it, you will find yourself trapped in their court, a beautiful ornament standing silently in the midst of their frenzy.

They will admire you, touch you softly, run their hands over your cold marble form and you’ll shiver. How is it that their hands are so much colder?

You will despair. Millenia you may stay this way, still and silent in the garden, watching the world pass by you. You will witness wars and rituals, you will be a confidant to lovers and poets, a guardian to children and a curse on the earth. No one will not see the tears that fall from your eyes and you will not know how to stop them.

Make good friends with the sun and the moon. You will have no one else for company and their light will save you many times in the coming years.

There is something else in the gardens with you. You hear them in the night, feral and raging nearby but never close enough that you can see them. You feel them though, nails drag against your legs, leaving long, deep scratches in the stone. Tally marks.

Should you find yourself kissed, by some blushing poet or a fey with a knowing look in their eye, you will feel the stone crack around you. You will feel the air flow through your lungs and the heat on your skin once more. You are free, but be warned, you are now vulnerable and there is a familiar snarling behind you.