Yes, it was over; it was destroyed she felt. Directly something got together, it broke. She had a feeling of desolation. And then you have to pick up the pieces, and make something new, something different, she thought, […]
Virginia Woolf, from The Complete Works; “The Years,”
Hey!! I always have to remind myself of this, so I may as well remind everyone else too!
If you’re still embarrassed about something that happened years and years ago, nobody else remembers or cares by now!! The only reason you remember it so well is because you were the one at the center of it, and rehearsing the event in your head and remembering how uncomfortable you were at the time further cements it into your memory, so it’s easy to think that everyone else who was there at the time remembers it as vividly as you do to this day or that it was just as significant event to them as it is to you, but that’s not true! I’m willing to bet $99 that nobody who was there has even thought about it since. None of them care anymore (if they even cared that much to begin with), so there’s nothing to be embarrassed about anymore!
Eight Year had been a little tense at first. Truth be told, Harry hadn’t expected so many of the Slytherins to come back to finish their education. And since Eight Years had a Common Room of their own, Harry soon had gotten used to see Malfoy, Zabini, Parkinson, Nott, and Greengrass a lot more than he had thought he’d see them.
Ron and a few others had grumbled about the Slytherins at first, but eventually even they had given it a rest, once it had become apparent than the Slytherins were actually trying to be decent to the rest of the students. And after a few months, all Eight Years were, if not friends, at least decent acquaintances. It had been so much more than Harry had expected.
He also hadn’t expected his eyes to start following Malfoy around again, but that had happened as well. And that time around, the reason for his interest in Malfoy was quite different. Though Harry tried to be discrete. There was no point embarrassing himself by revealing his crush on Malfoy. His plan was to wait for it to die eventually. So far, the crush had only grown.
Since everyone was on decent terms by Valentine’s Day, and since they were already adults, it was no surprised when a game of Truth or Dare and drinking were suggested for the holiday’s evening.
Hermione was firm in her belief that the game lacked severely in the consent department. Harry agreed with her. Not that she even needed his support since everyone had pretty much learned not to go against her strong opinions.
So nobody (openly) opposed her decision to make a little change to the game. And add a bit of romance, at least according to her. Harry was relived when she explained the changes. If a person really didn’t want to answer a truth or do a dare, they simply would have to drink instead. Even if they try to answer the truth or do the dare, either they wouldn’t be able to talk, or an invisible barrier would prevent them from completing the dare. If two or more people were involved in a dare, if even one of them didn’t want to participate in the dare, the person who got dared would have to drink.
Harry thought it clever that Hermione had added the drinking to her rules twist. This way, people were much more agreeable with it. And so the game began. The first time the modification spell took effect was when Justin was dared to slap Parkinson on the arse. Parkinson wasn’t too much into that, so Justin hit an invisible barrier only an inch from Parkinson’s arse.
A few more times the modification prevented a truth or a dare to be answered or completed. And Harry learned some interesting things about some people. Mainly about Malfoy. Okay, he was mostly interested in things about Malfoy. But he thought that everyone would find it interesting that Malfoy had gone out to the Muggle world on a few occasions after the War. The idea itself was so bizarre. But Harry would pay a fortune to see Malfoy in the Muggle world.
Half an hour after the game had begun, it had brought a new couple together. Apparently Greengrass and Nott were quite fond of each other and when Nott got dared to kiss Greengrass, the spell allowed them to do so. They had cosied up on the loveseat and were ignoring everyone else.
It was Parkinson turn to ask and she grinned in Harry’s direction.
“Well, Potter, Truth or Dare?”
“Dare.” shot Harry back.
“I was hoping you’d say that. Let’s see… I dare you to give Draco here a nice heartfelt kiss on the lips.”
Besides Harry, Ron burst into laughter. “Pfft, did you forget the new rules, Parkinson? No way this dare will end with anything other than drinking.”
It seemed to Harry that he had been quite successful at hiding his ogling of Malfoy. Or maybe it was just Ron who hadn’t noticed. It didn’t matter anyway. There was no way Malfoy would want to kiss Harry, so Harry didn’t have anything to worry about.
He focused his attention on Malfoy and walked to him. Harry couldn’t read the other boy’s face. There was annoyance, maybe? Something else?
“Let’s get this over with, Potter.”
Harry almost sighed in disappointment. In that very moment he wished Hermione hadn’t intervened with the rules. That way he could at least get a kiss from Malfoy.
He leaned towards Malfoy and prepared to hit the invisible barrier of the modification spell with his face. Except he didn’t hit it, so his lips landed on Malfoy’s, no resistance whatsoever.
Oh, Malfoy’s lips were so soft, so inviting. Harry could spend hours kissing them, biting them, licking them. The lower lip was fuller than Harry thought it would be, and he absolutely loved it.
A moment later the realization finally hit him and he opened his eyes. He stared right back at Malfoy’s comically wide grey eyes. Malfoy seemed to have realized what had happened as well. Well, there was only one logical thing for Harry to do. He grinned into the kiss and placed his hands on Malfoy’s waist, bringing their bodies flush against each other. Malfoy’s hands flew to Harry’s hair and he grabbed mercilessly at the dark locks. He had opened his lips invitingly and Harry deepened the kiss, his tongue meeting Malfoy’s.
Ron had the misfortune of taking a sip from his drink when the kiss had happened, and was still choking, not that Harry noticed. Malfoy had all of his attention. So Harry didn’t hear Parkinson speaking to her fellow Slytherins either.
“I told you all that Potter ogled Draco’s arse but noooo, you didn’t believe me. So, pay up now, losers!”
New Story, Modern AU: Following BPC’s victory at the battle of Culloden Scotland and its people have endured 250 years under the dictatorship of the Stewart Monarchy. Emerging from out behind the “Heather Curtain,” Jamie Fraser is a brilliant dancer with the Royal Edinburgh Ballet & one of the lucky few allowed to travel to the “Free World.” He finds himself in London with a potentially career-ending injury.
Ten Years Earlier
Claire remembered the first time she saw him dance. Jamie Fraser was only 19 and had just made his debut with the Royal Edinburgh Ballet tour of London. Her boyfriend, Frank Randall, had managed to score two precious seats to this event, through his counter intelligence connections. Claire had taken a rare evening off from her last year of residency. She was about to become an orthopedic surgeon at St. Mary’s Hospital. Frank was one of an elite team of British “diplomats” in charge of shadowing various members of the company and their handlers.
Scotland was still under the dictatorship of the Royal Stewart Monarchy. They ruled their country behind “The Heather Curtain” and though they shared a border with England, the ten mile wide demilitarized zone between the two countries might as well have been Siberia so desolate and forbidden the territory. There was a strict no-fly zone over Scottish airspace.
Not much was known of everyday life in Scotland. What little information trickled out came from satellites making passes from space and from athletes allowed to travel outside the country for Olympic events or ballet tours like this one.
The people, the language, the customs had developed largely in isolation since the time of the victory of the Bonnie Prince Charlie on the moors of Culloden in 1746. Most of the artists and athletes allowed to travel either did not speak English or pretended they did not. They spoke Gaelic, a language not widely spoken and certainly not in the living memory of most Britians today.
The exquisite power of his performance stole her breath. Every movement technically precise, flawlessly executed. Jamie was beautiful to watch. Gasps could be heard from the seats around them as he launched himself time and time again in gravity-defying moves. Most male dancers could, and were expected to, leap four to five feet off the ground. But Jamie, who, at just under 6 feet, was taller than the usual dancer, could get as high as seven feet in a single bound. The best high jumpers in the world, Claire knew, could top eight feet. But more than that he became the character. Body and soul – it was in his hitched step, the way he moved his hands to say nothing of that face that could convey the depth of his feelings with a flick of his eyes. His acting ability, so rarely allowed to flower in a dancer, at least in the free world, moved the audience to tears.
Like everyone else given the privilege of seeing him that night, Claire had been riveted. Stunned silence greeted the final tour jete and then like a giant wave the explosion of the standing ovation that went on for at least fifteen minutes.
Laoghaire Mackenzie, the prima ballerina of the REB, was presented with a bouquet of flowers as she finished her bows. She pulled a single rose out to present it to Jamie, the traditional gesture of respect from a ballerina, then had obviously changed her mind mid-reach. She kept the one flower for herself and, catching him totally by surprise, thrust the rest of them into his outstretched hand. This prompted another round of cheers.
Now Jamie sat on the table in her exam room, the MRI of his knee running through her computer as he watched her with the most piercing blue eyes she’d ever seen. His body had hardened and matured in the three years since she’d seen him last. He also looked exhausted, his face lined with pain. The REB was back on tour and he was once again the lead dancer of the Company. Claire had learned when dealing with professional athletes to be honest and direct.
“Well, Mr. Fraser, you have two choices, either I operate or you fly home and someone else does. If not, you will never dance again.”
The next rogue you play is a scrawny 17 year old kid who thinks they are ready to be a rogue because they have read hundreds of books on the theory of assassiations and have an undying love for James Bond, but have never actually left their house.
Every time I see Christmas stuff before Halloween stuff I get so mad. Like, let me enjoy Halloween first please. Then, that got me thinking about the summer people who freak out about us Halloween lovers screaming about Halloween in early June. I guess that I am saying is, ignore this if you aren’t a Halloween person.