tollers: miscellaneous (bottled magic)
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.


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.'


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.


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.)
tollers: miscellaneous (like in a fairytale)
"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?"
tollers: miscellaneous (bottled magic)
This one's for [personal profile] rincredible.

Harry Potter is not afraid of his shadow.

He is envious of it.

Once, when the three of them had been traveling for hours, pursued by the hot, unceasing light of the sun, he had glanced over his shoulder, catching sight of two shadows leaning into each other - his and Hermione's - close, like they were kissing.

It's odd that he's never really noticed it before. Never noticed how his shadow leans forward, depending on the time of day, sometimes looking like it wants to be drawn back into the earth, other times looking defiant; ready for a fight, maybe. (It's more ready than he is, at any rate.)

Never really paid any attention to the way his shadow seems to know much more than he does, realize that it has what Harry never could.

'Are you all right, Harry?' Hermione asks. They're walking along a brow-beaten path, just the two of them, alone ever since Ron had got up and left them in a flurry of lanky limbs and angry words, his face red to match his hair.

(He's not sure he'll ever forgive him. He's not sure he wants to anymore.)

Her face is pale, streaked still with dried tears; neither of them had the chance to wash before packing up.

Harry shakes his head. His eyes are trained to the ground, at their shadows.

'I'm fine, Hermione,' he answers. His voice is unconvincing. 'I should be asking you.'

She shakes her head, like it doesn't matter. Or maybe it does, but she'd rather not say. 'You're a horrible liar,' she says instead. She touches his hand, the barest brush of skin against skin.

'I know,' he responds. His voice is a murmur.

Hermione takes a couple steps forward, and the two dark figures separate.

'What if we stayed here, Harry?'

Harry looks up from Hermione's copy of Beedle the Bard. It's his turn to make some sense of Dumbledore's gift to the brightest witch he knows.

(He isn't having terribly much luck with it so far.)

'We could grow old here. It's peaceful.'

The words are out before Harry can stop them. 'We can't do that.'

Hermione nods, almost apologetic. She dips her head, touches the bark of the tree and sighs. 'No, I suppose we can't.'

In Godric's Hollow, it's night. Christmas Eve. Snow falls like a cloud being split apart, dusting everything around them, covering the dark with white.

Hermione loops her arm through his, holding him just there. Harry tightens his arm ever-so-slightly, sure she won't feel a thing.

(But hopeful that she will.)

'Hermione,' he starts. The words are tied up on his tongue, should's and can't's entangled amongst 'maybe's and 'i love you's.

He can see their shadows against the dim light of the streetlamp, joined as one, like a pair of lovers embracing — or a mutated monster.

'Yes, Harry?'


Just before Harry leaves the tent to take watch, Hermione stops him. Her skin is glowing by the light of the tiny glass lamp, filled with conjured flame.

He wonders if his is glowing too.

'Harry,' she starts.

He looks away, looks to the side, finds their shadows. The bushy haired silhouette leans into the figure of the boy, their features losing coherency.

She stands before him; he can smell her hand-creme — and it takes everything he has not to lean forward and kiss her.

'Harry,' she says again.

And, closer than he's ever been to her, she rises up on her toes and kisses his mouth: brief, chaste, and tasting of burnt mushrooms and lip gloss.

'Be careful.'

Cold and wet, a shattered locket clutched between icy fingers, Harry stumbles up the hill.

The sound of a metal tip, dragging against the permafrost, crackling leaves and drawing a line in the dirt, follows close behind.

'Mental,' says the voice. 'Harry, you could have bloody died out there.'

Ron's expression is one of wide-eyed worry, watching his best mate as though a part of him can't quite believe he's there.

Harry feels the same.

His eyes keep flicking to his shadow, obscured by trees, a band of dark streaks across his figure, cutting him into ribbons.

'But we did it. We destroyed the Horcrux,' Harry says, turning his gaze away. 'I'm glad you're back.'

The words taste just a little like a lie.
tollers: miscellaneous (pretty little thing)
For: [ profile] tosca1390
Title: she'll play her heart to a drum beat
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing/Character: Bellatrix Lestrange
Rating: PG
Wordcount: ??
AN: From the prompt, here (image: Adele's 'Rolling in the Deep' glasses on the floor)
Cross-posted from here | AO3

The sound of her heart is a low and steady thumping in her breast. )
tollers: miscellaneous (Default)
For: [personal profile] rheall
Title: all for one (and one for all)
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing/Character: Neville Longbottom-Luna Lovegood
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 382
Prompt: 'friendship'.
Crossposted: From here.

Neville had never successfully cast a stunning charm before today. )
tollers: nightmare before christmas (suffering. so much suffering.)
For: [personal profile] winding_path
Title: it fell unto my lot (that I should rise and you should not)
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing/Character: Remus Lupin
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 634
Prompt: Remus Lupin - The High Kings' The Parting Glass
Crossposted: From here | AO3

The grandfather clock chimes. )
tollers: nightmare before christmas (suffering. so much suffering.)
For: [ profile] yeomanrand
Title: i am not penelope - never was, never will be
Fandom: Twilight
Pairing/Character: Bella Swan
Rating: G
Wordcount: 312
AN: From the prompt, Twilight, Bella Swan (/nobody), you don't get to have me.
Cross-posted from here.

This was so unbelievably OOC for me, and yet I feel like I enjoy the more HBIC-Bella than the meek, doormat (as stated in the feedback comments) Bella we see in the books. I think I was actually channeling a lot of KStew when I was writing this. Damn you, KStew. You are now my image of Bella! *shakes rueful fist*

Well, that's what fanfic is for, right? Good or bad, it's what you make of it while you're writing. This is the Bella I always wish we got to read in the books. Choose yourself, girl. Don't live life for someone else.

At the cusp and climax of the battle... )
tollers: miscellaneous (kiss me and don't let me go)
For: [ profile] miss_mishi
Title: sometimes you can't make it on your own
Fandom: Doctor Who
Pairing/Character: Amy Pond/Rory Williams
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 447
AN: From the prompt, Doctor Who, Amy, Amy/Rory, far away, far away, I want to go far away, to a new life on a new shore line
Cross-posted from here.

I don't think I want this. )
tollers: lady gaga (caught in a bad romance)
For: [ profile] faded_facade
Title: when choice means leaving everything behind
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing/Character: Harry/Hermione
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 424
AN: From the prompt,

Harry Potter, Hermione Granger (Harry/Hermione appreciated but not necessary)

Something inside the cards I know is right
Don’t wanna live somebody elses life
This is what I wanna be and this is what I give to you because I get it free

Cross-posted from here | AO3

It's always been her choice, which life she chooses to live. )
tollers: miscellaneous (and in a moment i'll be ready)
For: [ profile] magic_carpettt
Title: In My Time of Dying
Fandom: Doctor Who
Pairing/Character: Amy Pond
Rating: G
Wordcount: 218
AN: From the prompt, Doctor Who, Amy Pond (post-The Pandorica Opens), I got out of bed today staring at a ghost/Who forgot to float away.
Cross-posted from here.

Read more... )
tollers: miscellaneous (Default)
Title: Believing or leaving (is it all in your head?)
Pairing/Character: Izzie/Denny
Rating: PG-13 or yeah.
Wordcount: 275
AN: Utterly and totally AU because Izzie probably sees Denny in her head, but I'm making it so he is somehow (supernaturally) back from the dead. Papa Winchester style! This is pretty much taken from the last bit of 5x08 so there is a fair warning for spoilers.

I love you, but goodbye )
tollers: miscellaneous (Default)
For [ profile] nosferatu_blue.

Title: Time unsettling
Pairing/Character: Wormtongue/Eowyn
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 224
AN: Theme was lost/lonely --> comfort; I haven't reviewed the canon, so I'm going to say this is more movie-verse/AU than anything. This is the drabble that would never end, so it became more of a ficlet.

They are one and the same. )
tollers: miscellaneous (Default)
Title: Laundry
Rating: G
Word Count: 371
Pairing: Tenth Doctor/Rose
Time Used to Write: An afternoon
Spoiler Warnings: Just series 1 stuff.
Disclaimer: Doctor Who and all characters, settings, etc. do not belong to me - obviously.

How long have you ... )

October 2015

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