100 Moments
folder
Harry Potter › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
100
Views:
10,600
Reviews:
52
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
100
Views:
10,600
Reviews:
52
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Years
Title: Years
Author: ianthe_waiting
Rating: T
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and their characters are the property of JK Rowling. This is a work of fan-fiction. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this story. I am just borrowing the puppets, but this is my stage.
Genre: Drabble
Warnings: Lite DH Spoilers
Summary: #8 – Years. He would wait for years, if he had to…
Word Count: 701 words.
Author's Notes: Drabble: a slice of fic in less than 1500 words. From the FEH universe! Atypical non-smut? Suggested by ryo_hija.
Prompt 8 – Years
He loved the way the air would send her dark hair flying behind her like a ebony flag. He loved the way her long legs would fall over the handle of her Cleansweep. Her skin was perfect, her dark eyes bottomless. When she threw the Quaffle, she seemed like one of those statues from ancient times…a warrior queen.
Angelina Johnson had been his dream…and his pain.
Because of her, he got a Beater bat to the face which caused him to look like some troll spawn for the remainder of his years at Hogwarts. It was not bad enough that in his second year he had to stay at St. Mungo’s enduring a particularly nasty case of dragon pox…having to repeat year.
Most people, during his Hogwarts years, thought Marcus Flint was a mental deficient, whose only talent was Quidditch…even Angelina Johnson.
By no means was Marcus a nice man. He was large, ugly, and intimidating, but when he made Detective Inspector, people were forced to respect him. Maybe Marcus Flint was not as stupid as most believed. He was well on his way to Detective Chief Inspector when the day came that he was called to assist DCI Malfoy in investigating the attempted murder of George Weasley.
Marcus remembered reading the notice of Angelina Johnson’s marriage to George Weasley in the Prophet years before…and then the notice of the birth of their first child Fred…then the second…Roxanne. Each time, Marcus drowned himself deep in a bottle of whiskey at the Leaky Cauldron. He had seen her in Diagon Alley, followed her to Number 93, and watched her interact with her husband through the plate glass of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. She seemed so happy, smiling, laughing as the Weasley held her tight, and pressed kisses into her throat and cheeks.
Marcus remembered seeing Angelina’s two children, so small, so beautiful…
Their eyes should have been dark like hers…like Marcus’, and not a startlingly shade of blue-green set into caramel skinned cherub faces…
“Flint?”
She was sitting in the corridor of St. Mungo’s, blood staining her white blouse…her husband’s blood. Her hands were wringing upon her lap, and her dark eyes were shimmering with tears.
Marcus moved toward her, sitting in the chair next to her, facing the door to the Emergency ward where Healers, and DCI Malfoy were trying to save her husband’s life.
“I don’t know what to do…” she sobbed.
Marcus’ dark eyes widened as Angelina’s arms snaked about his thick neck, and she pressed her weeping face into the shoulder of his cloak. Marcus’ large hands clenched, unsure whether it would be appropriate to hold the woman.
She wore her hair different, plaited into tiny braids from her scalp. She had aged very little since they had played against each other at Hogwarts.
Marcus had never been so close to her before that moment, and he was drowning in her perfume…a light scent that seemed to scream her name in his brain. Angelina…Angelina…
“What am I going to do about the kids?” she cried, her voice muffled against his shoulder. “What about the shop?”
Throwing propriety aside, Marcus let his thick arms wrap about her quivering frame, finding her to be so small against him. He held her as she cried, and the tension emanating from Emergency ward heightened. Marcus knew Weasley was not going to make it…none of Potter’s victims made it…all but one.
“It will be alright, Johnson…you have your family…you have…” he trailed, nearly saying ‘me.’
In most ways, it was an empty reassurance, but Angelina seemed to calm. Pulling back to look into his face, she smiled sadly.
“No has called me ‘Johnson’ for years, Flint.”
Marcus’ face moved…and he smiled, making sure she did not see his mangled teeth. “You’ll always be ‘Johnson’ to me…” he whispered.
Angelina smiled again, even as tears trickled down her cheeks. Pressing her face into his shoulder again, Marcus held her tighter. He knew that within moments he would lose her again.
Weasley was dead.
He would wait for her to grieve, to settle her life, and children into the fact that they had no husband or father…and then…even if it took years…he would ask her out.
Author: ianthe_waiting
Rating: T
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and their characters are the property of JK Rowling. This is a work of fan-fiction. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this story. I am just borrowing the puppets, but this is my stage.
Genre: Drabble
Warnings: Lite DH Spoilers
Summary: #8 – Years. He would wait for years, if he had to…
Word Count: 701 words.
Author's Notes: Drabble: a slice of fic in less than 1500 words. From the FEH universe! Atypical non-smut? Suggested by ryo_hija.
Prompt 8 – Years
He loved the way the air would send her dark hair flying behind her like a ebony flag. He loved the way her long legs would fall over the handle of her Cleansweep. Her skin was perfect, her dark eyes bottomless. When she threw the Quaffle, she seemed like one of those statues from ancient times…a warrior queen.
Angelina Johnson had been his dream…and his pain.
Because of her, he got a Beater bat to the face which caused him to look like some troll spawn for the remainder of his years at Hogwarts. It was not bad enough that in his second year he had to stay at St. Mungo’s enduring a particularly nasty case of dragon pox…having to repeat year.
Most people, during his Hogwarts years, thought Marcus Flint was a mental deficient, whose only talent was Quidditch…even Angelina Johnson.
By no means was Marcus a nice man. He was large, ugly, and intimidating, but when he made Detective Inspector, people were forced to respect him. Maybe Marcus Flint was not as stupid as most believed. He was well on his way to Detective Chief Inspector when the day came that he was called to assist DCI Malfoy in investigating the attempted murder of George Weasley.
Marcus remembered reading the notice of Angelina Johnson’s marriage to George Weasley in the Prophet years before…and then the notice of the birth of their first child Fred…then the second…Roxanne. Each time, Marcus drowned himself deep in a bottle of whiskey at the Leaky Cauldron. He had seen her in Diagon Alley, followed her to Number 93, and watched her interact with her husband through the plate glass of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. She seemed so happy, smiling, laughing as the Weasley held her tight, and pressed kisses into her throat and cheeks.
Marcus remembered seeing Angelina’s two children, so small, so beautiful…
Their eyes should have been dark like hers…like Marcus’, and not a startlingly shade of blue-green set into caramel skinned cherub faces…
“Flint?”
She was sitting in the corridor of St. Mungo’s, blood staining her white blouse…her husband’s blood. Her hands were wringing upon her lap, and her dark eyes were shimmering with tears.
Marcus moved toward her, sitting in the chair next to her, facing the door to the Emergency ward where Healers, and DCI Malfoy were trying to save her husband’s life.
“I don’t know what to do…” she sobbed.
Marcus’ dark eyes widened as Angelina’s arms snaked about his thick neck, and she pressed her weeping face into the shoulder of his cloak. Marcus’ large hands clenched, unsure whether it would be appropriate to hold the woman.
She wore her hair different, plaited into tiny braids from her scalp. She had aged very little since they had played against each other at Hogwarts.
Marcus had never been so close to her before that moment, and he was drowning in her perfume…a light scent that seemed to scream her name in his brain. Angelina…Angelina…
“What am I going to do about the kids?” she cried, her voice muffled against his shoulder. “What about the shop?”
Throwing propriety aside, Marcus let his thick arms wrap about her quivering frame, finding her to be so small against him. He held her as she cried, and the tension emanating from Emergency ward heightened. Marcus knew Weasley was not going to make it…none of Potter’s victims made it…all but one.
“It will be alright, Johnson…you have your family…you have…” he trailed, nearly saying ‘me.’
In most ways, it was an empty reassurance, but Angelina seemed to calm. Pulling back to look into his face, she smiled sadly.
“No has called me ‘Johnson’ for years, Flint.”
Marcus’ face moved…and he smiled, making sure she did not see his mangled teeth. “You’ll always be ‘Johnson’ to me…” he whispered.
Angelina smiled again, even as tears trickled down her cheeks. Pressing her face into his shoulder again, Marcus held her tighter. He knew that within moments he would lose her again.
Weasley was dead.
He would wait for her to grieve, to settle her life, and children into the fact that they had no husband or father…and then…even if it took years…he would ask her out.