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wanderlustlover
Title: graduation
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing/Character: Albus/Scorpius
Rating: PG
Wordcount: \
AN: from this prompt.
( It's the end of the year. )
wanderlustloverTitle: graduation
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing/Character: Albus/Scorpius
Rating: PG
Wordcount: \
AN: from this prompt.
( It's the end of the year. )
Yuletide Recs - Part I - Cook's Illustrated, OUaT, Rabbit Heart (Raise it Up), How To Talk..., HDM
Dec. 29th, 2011 03:54 pmHere is my first fic-rec post for the 2011 Yuletide archives. I've got so many more fics to get through but these are a few to get started. From various fandoms:
( Cook's Illustrated, His Dark Materials, How To Talk To Girls At Parties, Once Upon a Time, Rabbit Heart (Raise it Up) )
More to come!
( Cook's Illustrated, His Dark Materials, How To Talk To Girls At Parties, Once Upon a Time, Rabbit Heart (Raise it Up) )
More to come!
note: Well, it started off following this prompt. And then it sort of got sidetracked and went somewhere else, and then this ended up happening. So idek if this is appropriate anymore. *shifty* I may try this one again later.
Prompted from this image.
This is a sort of scribbly thingummy.
i.
Hermione knows everyone expected her and Ron to marry. They've only been playing back-and-forth for years now, and Ron has only fancied her forever.
'Maybe longer,' Harry joked once.
(And then, soon after, never again.)
Ron turned a deep red to match his horrid Christmas jumper (a little too small, no longer fitting the limbs of a once seventeen-year-old, frayed at the hems, with a hole under the right arm), and when she met eyes with Harry, heart leaping into her throat, she couldn't help but think, 'It's really not that simple.'
Her fingers brush away Ron's hair while he sleeps, his eyelids twitching lightly at her touch. Harry suddenly shifts, the mattress groaning in protest, before his arm winds itself around her waist, resting there, a comforting, heavy (safe) weight over her stomach.
She settles back into the pillows and closes her eyes, the flush in her cheeks appearing when she thinks, 'The best things never really are.'
ii.
Somewhere, deep down, Harry always knew he and Ginny wouldn't really work out. It'd just taken years for him to find that Gryffindor courage to tell her.
(To admit it to himself.)
'I'm a bit busy at the moment,' was Harry's go-to excuse.
'You always have time for Ron,' Ginny pointed out, none-too-gently. 'And Hermione.'
His scar doesn't prickle, not anymore, but he rubbed it then; out of habit, maybe - in times of stress. 'They're my best friends.'
It was the way he said it, he thinks, that told her everything, left her heart numb and her eyes wet even when she nodded and said, 'I understand.'
She hadn't been there, and she couldn't. He didn't blame her. There were just things -
And it was them. Always them.
(McGonagall had said so, herself: 'Why is it always you three?' while they turned to each other, shameful and shameless glances exchanged amongst teenagers.)
He presses a kiss into Hermione's bare shoulder (and she leans into his touch), while he reaches for one of Ron's hands and squeezes.
It was always going to be them three.
iii.
Ron thinks he might have fallen in love with them both, that first day on the Hogwarts Express when he stumbled upon Harry Potter's car and was bossed about by Hermione Granger.
Which, he thinks, is silly - absolutely mental, really - because how is an eleven year old supposed to know what love (true love) is?
When he told them his theory, years after the war, he expected them to laugh, maybe chide or tease him.
But Hermione and Harry exchanged a glance, then - brown eyes to bright green - and turning back to him (as he sat there, utterly perplexed and a little offended), they shrugged.
'It was never really a surprise,' said Harry.
'You are the heart of us,' Hermione added practically, like this was simply a question on an exam paper.
He thought he couldn't love them any more.
(And the sex that night was fucking fantastic.
Quite, well, literally.)
Prompted from this image.
This is a sort of scribbly thingummy.
i.
Hermione knows everyone expected her and Ron to marry. They've only been playing back-and-forth for years now, and Ron has only fancied her forever.
'Maybe longer,' Harry joked once.
(And then, soon after, never again.)
Ron turned a deep red to match his horrid Christmas jumper (a little too small, no longer fitting the limbs of a once seventeen-year-old, frayed at the hems, with a hole under the right arm), and when she met eyes with Harry, heart leaping into her throat, she couldn't help but think, 'It's really not that simple.'
Her fingers brush away Ron's hair while he sleeps, his eyelids twitching lightly at her touch. Harry suddenly shifts, the mattress groaning in protest, before his arm winds itself around her waist, resting there, a comforting, heavy (safe) weight over her stomach.
She settles back into the pillows and closes her eyes, the flush in her cheeks appearing when she thinks, 'The best things never really are.'
ii.
Somewhere, deep down, Harry always knew he and Ginny wouldn't really work out. It'd just taken years for him to find that Gryffindor courage to tell her.
(To admit it to himself.)
'I'm a bit busy at the moment,' was Harry's go-to excuse.
'You always have time for Ron,' Ginny pointed out, none-too-gently. 'And Hermione.'
His scar doesn't prickle, not anymore, but he rubbed it then; out of habit, maybe - in times of stress. 'They're my best friends.'
It was the way he said it, he thinks, that told her everything, left her heart numb and her eyes wet even when she nodded and said, 'I understand.'
She hadn't been there, and she couldn't. He didn't blame her. There were just things -
And it was them. Always them.
(McGonagall had said so, herself: 'Why is it always you three?' while they turned to each other, shameful and shameless glances exchanged amongst teenagers.)
He presses a kiss into Hermione's bare shoulder (and she leans into his touch), while he reaches for one of Ron's hands and squeezes.
It was always going to be them three.
iii.
Ron thinks he might have fallen in love with them both, that first day on the Hogwarts Express when he stumbled upon Harry Potter's car and was bossed about by Hermione Granger.
Which, he thinks, is silly - absolutely mental, really - because how is an eleven year old supposed to know what love (true love) is?
When he told them his theory, years after the war, he expected them to laugh, maybe chide or tease him.
But Hermione and Harry exchanged a glance, then - brown eyes to bright green - and turning back to him (as he sat there, utterly perplexed and a little offended), they shrugged.
'It was never really a surprise,' said Harry.
'You are the heart of us,' Hermione added practically, like this was simply a question on an exam paper.
He thought he couldn't love them any more.
(And the sex that night was fucking fantastic.
Quite, well, literally.)
"Where did you get that thing anyway?" Rose asks, peering over Albus' shoulder, chin leaning into him.
Scorpius' napkin-note owl bristles its wings once. Then shaking its head, it looks as though it might be sleeping. (Or is attempting to, anyway.)
"No where," Albus replies off-handedly. He returns to reading his really, very engaging chapter on the Revolt of Gurgash the Gross in 1479, pretending to ignore his best friend and -
"It can't just be no where."
- his brother.
James jabs at the little owl with the tip of his wand, forcing it to bristle its wings again. It suddenly looks as though it might take flight. "It's an impressive piece of magic, in any case."
With an internal sigh of annoyance, Albus reaches out to cup the owl between both hands, sliding it toward him and out of harm's way.
"Leave it alone, James," he says.
James leans forward, grinning. He bumps Albus' shoulder playfully. "Come on, Al. You can tell us. Is it from a secret admirer, then?"
"No." He will forever hate his face for the fact that it always fails to conceal his emotions. He turns red.
A second passes as Albus waits for the inevitable.
"Merlin's beard - d'you have a secret admirer, really?" James' grin widens. "Well done, Al. Who is it?"
Does his brother really have absolutely no tact at all?
(He doesn't even want to admit the answer.)
"It's - just -" Albus lets out a huff. "Just leave me alone," he finishes weakly. "We're in a library. We should be doing work. I've got a History of Magic exam in two days, and ..."
Rose ignores that. She narrows her blue eyes in his direction, looking so very much like his aunt Hermione when she's trying to stare into your soul to extract secrets.
(Albus is convinced she can do it. She's nearly always right about things.)
Albus averts his gaze away from his staring family. The owl's wings beat lightly against the insides of his palms.
"I'll tell Lily, and she'll investigate if you don't spill now," Rose says.
"And you know she'll get to the bottom of it," James says. "She's a regular - what was that character you talked about once? 'Homes'?"
"'Sherlock Holmes'," Albus answers reluctantly, "and why can't you just let it go? No one gave it to me. I - I made it myself."
James rolls his eyes. "If you made it yourself, you would've just admitted it in the first place."
"And your face wouldn't have turned funny colours."
"Yours'll turn funny colours if you don't let it alone," Albus threatens.
"It's about time you got yourself a girlfriend, Al," James says sagely.
"Why?" Albus asks. He does not ask why it's got to be a 'girlfriend.'
James says plainly, "Rite of passage."
"Or," Rose says, snorting, "it's just that you're completely fanciable, if you stopped being so twitchy and shy. In fact, I heard Sara McLaggen and Matilda Bennett talking about you the other day in the girl's lavatory."
"What?" James asks.
Albus looks surprised too. No one ever talks about him, not unless they're talking about how strange he is, or how much he takes after his dad, or how much he and his family ruined their families lives, or worse ...
Rose nods. "That's right. I thought I heard wrong, to be honest - no offence, Al - but yeah. They were definitely talking about Albus Severus Potter. They said you had -" She glances up as though trying to recall the exact words "- 'really cute green eyes and a lovely smile'. You know, when you actually smile."
James grins. "Thatta boy, Al."
"I smile," Albus protests.
He stares back at the text before him, watching the words come together in a blurry mess of black ink on paper as he thinks about what Rose said and not about Gurgash the Gross.
If it's true - if what Rose says is true -
But why would it be? And what would that change? He doesn't know either of them, not really. And that little sinking feeling in his stomach has nothing to do with them, not Sara, not Matilda, not any other girl. Not even Alexis Castle. It's -
It's Scorpius.
Merlin's beard, it's Scorpius.
And try as he might to stop it, that sinking feeling turns into something entirely different (not unlike what he used to feel about Alexis) when he thinks about the pale blond-haired boy.
(It's Scorpius.)
"U-um." Albus shuts his book, and in a flurry of slightly shaky movements, gathers the rest of his parchment notes and quills together to stuff into his book-bag. He scoops the owl into one hand and places it into his robes pocket. "I should probably get back to the common room now. It's getting late."
Rose frowns. "What? But what about -"
"Sorry, Rose. Um. I could help you with your potions revision later? Er - tomorrow, maybe?"
"... yeah, all right, Al."
As Albus hurriedly exits the library with his bag slung haphazardly over his shoulder, he can just hear James ask, "What the bloody hell was that all about?"
Scorpius' napkin-note owl bristles its wings once. Then shaking its head, it looks as though it might be sleeping. (Or is attempting to, anyway.)
"No where," Albus replies off-handedly. He returns to reading his really, very engaging chapter on the Revolt of Gurgash the Gross in 1479, pretending to ignore his best friend and -
"It can't just be no where."
- his brother.
James jabs at the little owl with the tip of his wand, forcing it to bristle its wings again. It suddenly looks as though it might take flight. "It's an impressive piece of magic, in any case."
With an internal sigh of annoyance, Albus reaches out to cup the owl between both hands, sliding it toward him and out of harm's way.
"Leave it alone, James," he says.
James leans forward, grinning. He bumps Albus' shoulder playfully. "Come on, Al. You can tell us. Is it from a secret admirer, then?"
"No." He will forever hate his face for the fact that it always fails to conceal his emotions. He turns red.
A second passes as Albus waits for the inevitable.
"Merlin's beard - d'you have a secret admirer, really?" James' grin widens. "Well done, Al. Who is it?"
Does his brother really have absolutely no tact at all?
(He doesn't even want to admit the answer.)
"It's - just -" Albus lets out a huff. "Just leave me alone," he finishes weakly. "We're in a library. We should be doing work. I've got a History of Magic exam in two days, and ..."
Rose ignores that. She narrows her blue eyes in his direction, looking so very much like his aunt Hermione when she's trying to stare into your soul to extract secrets.
(Albus is convinced she can do it. She's nearly always right about things.)
Albus averts his gaze away from his staring family. The owl's wings beat lightly against the insides of his palms.
"I'll tell Lily, and she'll investigate if you don't spill now," Rose says.
"And you know she'll get to the bottom of it," James says. "She's a regular - what was that character you talked about once? 'Homes'?"
"'Sherlock Holmes'," Albus answers reluctantly, "and why can't you just let it go? No one gave it to me. I - I made it myself."
James rolls his eyes. "If you made it yourself, you would've just admitted it in the first place."
"And your face wouldn't have turned funny colours."
"Yours'll turn funny colours if you don't let it alone," Albus threatens.
"It's about time you got yourself a girlfriend, Al," James says sagely.
"Why?" Albus asks. He does not ask why it's got to be a 'girlfriend.'
James says plainly, "Rite of passage."
"Or," Rose says, snorting, "it's just that you're completely fanciable, if you stopped being so twitchy and shy. In fact, I heard Sara McLaggen and Matilda Bennett talking about you the other day in the girl's lavatory."
"What?" James asks.
Albus looks surprised too. No one ever talks about him, not unless they're talking about how strange he is, or how much he takes after his dad, or how much he and his family ruined their families lives, or worse ...
Rose nods. "That's right. I thought I heard wrong, to be honest - no offence, Al - but yeah. They were definitely talking about Albus Severus Potter. They said you had -" She glances up as though trying to recall the exact words "- 'really cute green eyes and a lovely smile'. You know, when you actually smile."
James grins. "Thatta boy, Al."
"I smile," Albus protests.
He stares back at the text before him, watching the words come together in a blurry mess of black ink on paper as he thinks about what Rose said and not about Gurgash the Gross.
If it's true - if what Rose says is true -
But why would it be? And what would that change? He doesn't know either of them, not really. And that little sinking feeling in his stomach has nothing to do with them, not Sara, not Matilda, not any other girl. Not even Alexis Castle. It's -
It's Scorpius.
Merlin's beard, it's Scorpius.
And try as he might to stop it, that sinking feeling turns into something entirely different (not unlike what he used to feel about Alexis) when he thinks about the pale blond-haired boy.
(It's Scorpius.)
"U-um." Albus shuts his book, and in a flurry of slightly shaky movements, gathers the rest of his parchment notes and quills together to stuff into his book-bag. He scoops the owl into one hand and places it into his robes pocket. "I should probably get back to the common room now. It's getting late."
Rose frowns. "What? But what about -"
"Sorry, Rose. Um. I could help you with your potions revision later? Er - tomorrow, maybe?"
"... yeah, all right, Al."
As Albus hurriedly exits the library with his bag slung haphazardly over his shoulder, he can just hear James ask, "What the bloody hell was that all about?"
