Mia and Ron repair their friendship as the returning Hogwarts students head to King’s Cross. Everyone spends Christmas together, and Mia is quickly reminded of friends she has yet to reunite with. Mia confronts the portrait of Walburga, which gives her the drive to take down the final people left on her list of enemies. Using the Wizengamot proceedings and pureblood law as a weapon, Mia faces off against Dolores Umbridge—step one of creating the future Wizarding world that she fought for. Potter Manor is recovered, and wedding planning season comes upon the group.
Hello there! Long time, no see (my bad I know) but, here: an Alicia Zimmermann-centric piece as she goes to Parents’ Weekend during Jack’s freshmen year. [focus on Alicia, Jack, and Shitty] 6k
Somewhere, deep in her heart, Alicia Zimmermann knows she is a bad mother.
It started out as a worry, as maybe it does for all new mothers, that she will be a bad mother. That she won’t know what to do with a baby or a toddler that one day she will accidentally drop him or forget to feed him or feed him something he is actually allergic to or maybe she’ll scar him emotionally somehow and she worried but she survived his childhood okay. And then, after he was five or six, she stopped worrying about it. She thought she was doing pretty good. Jack had hockey and loved hockey and, sure, they didn’t have deep emotional talks but she didn’t exactly have any basis of comparison. Television families told her she was doing okay. No teenage boy wanted to have deep talks with his mother. And, look, if Jack didn’t talk to her all that much as he turned 12 and then 13, at least he was still talking to his father. Mostly still about hockey but she… she thought that had counted. Hockey was like French, to her. Another language she could understand but couldn’t quite speak. But Bob could. He was on top of it. Jack was taken care of.
She loved Jack. That was never the problem. The problem was that her love wasn’t enough. It didn’t matter. It didn’t alert her to any of the facts and maybe it even blinded her– She loved her son and her son loved hockey and so she loved hockey too. She loved her son and then her son seemed to love a boy named Kent and they never talked about it but she let Kent come over all the time and she figured they would discuss it at some point. She just… assumed everything was okay. Even after he was diagnosed with the anxiety disorder and given pills. It was always… well, that was a little problem but it’s handled and under control and everything is okay now.
See. Bad mother.
A good mother would have known somehow.
A good mother would have pushed and prodded or sensed it without even having to be told.
A good mother would have paid attention to how hard Jack was on himself. A good mother would have made sure her son had interests outside of hockey. A good mother would have known that Jack’s long silences after losses weren’t normal. A good mother would have preached balance and fostered friendships with different types of people and stopped the fucking hockey.
She didn’t though. Stop the hockey. No, not Alicia Zimmermann. She encouraged it. She went to the games and cheered the loudest and she even loved it a little bit because she thought it brought him joy, like his father. She bought into the vision: Jack playing hockey like Bob, the Zimmermann legacy continued throughout the ages…
God, she even used to tease Jack about how it took his father three years to win a Cup and she was sure Jack could manage it faster than his old man.
A good mother wouldn’t have done that. So, see, she’s always been a bad mother. Even now, now that she’s almost lost him, now that she’s promised to do better, now that she’s finally read all the books and online articles about anxiety and pressure and the danger of sports and hockey culture… now she’s still just as bad. Just for different reasons.
Now she is a bad mother because it’s Saturday afternoon and he’s been at Samwell for almost three months and she does not feel like mothers are supposed to feel in this moment.
She glances around. At the sea of other mothers and fathers crammed onto Samwell’s campus for Parents’ Weekend. They are not nervous. They are excited. Happy. Enthusiastic. Overjoyed to see the teenager they had left just a couple months ago again. To her right is a father almost (but not quite) breaking into a run to give his son a hug. To her left, a mother has burst into tears. Happy tears.
And then there’s her. She’s not excited to see Jack. Well, no. No, it’s not that she’s not excited. She is. She is. (She is. She repeats it once more just to remind herself). She is just…
She is nervous too. More nervous than she is excited.
based on a dream I had, I present: a short semi-fic about Jack and Shitty and their day-long, beautiful relationship.
Basically, this is what happens:
At a kegster during their freshmen year, in which Shitty is running around being the life of the party even though he’s a freshman, Jack is also in attendance– talking to Berger and Marsh in the kitchen. Jack is there, partly to keep an eye on Shitty, partly because he is surprised by how much he does like some of the guys on his team, mostly because they had won today and Jack is in quite a good mood. Not a good enough mood that he is going to risk going into the living room where music is blasting, but in a good enough mood that he is holding a solo cup of beer and chilling in the kitchen, chatting with Berger and Marsh. He is at ease as Jack ever is– laughing good naturedly as they tease both him and each other and of course, this is when the trouble starts.
The trouble is this: Marsh is drunk and excited that Jack has actually shown up to a Haus kegster and since Jack seems to be in a good mood, Marsh decides to take a risk and ask Jack a Question. More specifically, Marsh rams an friendly elbow into Jack’s ribs and goes:
“Yo, Zimmermann, you like anyone on campus yet?”
A few months prior, that question would have made Jack freeze up. But now, Jack smiles easily (because honestly, it is a rather respectful question– “like” instead of “fuck”; “anyone” instead of assuming “girl”) and he certainly doesn’t want to get into his romantic history or lack of crushes so he smiles, shrugs, and says
“Nah, love’s shitty,” It’s still friendly and he smiles and asks Berg about his crush that the whole team knows about and that should be that.
The problem, however, is that what Alex Berger and Carter Marsh heard was not “Nah, love’s shitty,” but “I’m in love with Shitty.”