(no subject)
Fandom: Assassin's Creed x Harry Potter
Characters: Altair Ibn'La-Ahad, Malik Al-Sayf
Rating: PG
Warnings: Continued from like pillars four.
Gryffindor is partnered with Ravenclaw for Advanced Potions, which is both wholly better than being paired with Slytherin, and wholly unfair because Potions is hard enough without having to compete with the smartest students in the school.
Altair is an exceptional student - the Professors know this and more aggravatingly, he knows it. He excels in dueling, in quickdraw offensive skills, in flying, in Occlumency and oddly enough, in Divination, but Potions, for all its delicacy and necessary patience, drives him up the wall with restless energy. His partner doesn't help the situation any either, considering it's common knowledge that the Al-Sayf and Ibn'La-Ahad rivalry bleeds over into every aspect of the two Seekers' lives.
Really, it would have been so much easier if they had been paired with Hufflepuff.
"You know," says a dry voice, interrupting Altair's pleasant lull of mindless activity (the task at hand currently being the slicing and dicing of some unsuspecting root), "If you were even just -half- as fast with that knife as you are on the field, we might even get out of class on time today."
Altair lifts a sideways glance toward Malik from under the brim of his hood, which he insists on keeping up at all times (Desmond suspects it's just to scare the younger years). "Is that a backwards compliment?" he asks incredulously. "Did you just say I was fast?"
Malik's grin is instantly malicious. Altair immediately knows he has done himself a disfavor, even before the words are out of the Ravenclaw's mouth. "No, but I hear that's what Thorpe from Slytherin has been saying."
And all right, he supposes he walked -right- into that one, but that doesn't stop him from slamming his knife down hard enough to wedge it into the cutting board and dumping much more than the allotted proportion of Chickenweed into their brewing pot vindictively. A burst of yellow-green fumes burst into their faces, smelling strongly of boiled goose and sauerkraut, and Malik lets out a squawk of horror that only makes Altair smirk. Let the little teacher's pet panic a little - he deserves it, and besides, Altair's grades are a lost cause anyway.
He opens his mouth to say something of similar effect. "Squawkity squawk ba-squaaawk cockadoodledoo," Altair responds smugly, before the expression on his face falls to something considerably less smug.
Malik stares wide-eyed at him before promptly trying to laugh and ultimately only managing to spew tufts of yellow-white feathers into Altair's face. Altair coughs them out of his mouth, shoving at Malik's shoulders to put himself out of the trajectory path of chicken down, and he can't help noticing that his wheezes sound more like clucking than anything else. By the time he looks up, Malik looks positively murderous, mouth screwed up so tight and cheeks so red with rage that it looks like he's going to explode in a burst of feathers any moment now. The bridge of his nose is looking more and more like a beak now, with feathers caught in Malik's hair and dark eyes narrowed in anger.
Altair can't help it - he laughs, spitting golden-brown feathers right into Malik's face.
Fandom: Assassin's Creed x Harry Potter
Characters: Altair Ibn'La-Ahad, Malik Al-Sayf, Ezio Auditore, Desmond Miles, Minor Characters
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Continued from like pillars four, takes place after Tanya's lovely ficlet in the same verse.
Usually, the Prefects' restroom suffices. Their elevated statuses grant them access, their standing positions as Captains of their respective Quidditch teams doubly so. Entry is restricted enough such that lack of privacy is rarely an issue, but ever since Antonio and that fourth-year Hufflepuff hooked up, it has proved considerably less reliable than it had been in the past.
And considerably less empty, three-quarters of the time.
It's such common knowledge that Malik doesn't even bother steering them up to the fifth floor. Instead, he pushes Altair back against one of the sturdier bookcases (C through D Wizard Autobiographies), hands fisted in the other's robes and the bump of his knuckles pressing down hard into the dip under the Gryffindor's collar, and watches the moon from the open window wash the boy's face in almost ghostly pallor for a moment. Then he brackets Altair's right leg with his knees and leans in.
Altair allows one kiss (more accurately about six or seven) before he pulls back, mashing the back of his head into the uncomfortable spine of Priscilla Prindililly's Memoirs. "In the library?" he whispers, sounding more disappointed than surprised. The room is empty, but the walls and paintings have ears. Altair glances pointedly at their surroundings, eyes a pale yellow-white in the night before ultimately settling a traitorously warm gaze on Malik's face. "You are such a Ravenclaw."
"Thanks," Malik quips easily, already angling his face again.
Altair distracts him with a pointed tug of his robes, sending them both stumbling out of the dusty alcove and into the aisle. "No, let's go to the Rmph mm Mmfirememt," he says, half of it against Malik's mouth.
Malik pulls back. "The Room of Requirement," he repeats flatly.
Altair nods, smirking a little and already leading them both into the hall, sliding away from Malik like a shadow, except for where his fingers catch and lace themselves between Malik's own. He tugs the other boy towards him without needing to mutter a Lumos spell, because Altair has always had this uncanny ability to See, and smiles to himself when Malik doesn't reach for his wand, inherently trusting his judgment. "You know, when I came across it at the beginning, the first thing that crossed my mind was-"
"'Oh, this would be a good place to bring a date?'" Malik asks, quirking a brow.
"This is a date?" Altair asks, stopping halfway up the stairs. It takes some physical shoving on Malik's part to get them up the flight before the staircase changed directions on them. The motion seems to push his train of thought back in line as well, because as soon as they reach the third floor, Altair continues, "But no, the first thing I wondered was if it really did have everything I required.”
They come to the familiar end of a pathway, facing a tall, blank wall with only a sconce on either side to light their passage. It gives Altair the opportunity to stop and shoot the other boy a look that Malik supposes Altair thinks is roguish or charming. What Malik says is, “You look like you just swallowed a bloating potion.”
Rolling his eyes, Altair takes the three passes at the designated spot and just like last time, the inlaid bricks part like the sea to reveal the same unsuspecting door. If the handle is a little warm to his touch, he barely feels it, too eager and blood already running too fast in his veins for him to notice. He just wants to get them inside, just wants to slam the door shut behind him and push and be pushed down into the pile of soft, colorful pillows that usually manifests in his version of the room, or even the clinical, medical-issue mattress in Malik's.
What meets them on the other side of the door is neither.
Malik stares in flabbergasted silence at the sight before him for all of three seconds. For all three of those seconds, it is almost too painful for his eyes to bear. The red velvet lining the walls is garish, the lacy curtains fluttering in an invisible breeze is lined with frills, there is a porcelain muggle bathtub sitting right in the center of the room with rose petals floating in a suspiciously girly-smelling pool, and the corner of the bed that they can barely see, hidden behind rosebushes and manicured apple trees is covered with a set of red sheets polka-dotted with pink hearts.
“What the hell did you just require?!” Malik yells. He sniffs indignantly and no - are those scented candles? He turns in Altair's direction with an accusing glare and only manages to focus on something past the other boy's far shoulder. Is that a chocolate fondue fountain?
Altair looks just as stunned as Malik feels. In fact, he looks utterly perplexed, not like he can't imagine why the Room would conjure this sort of vision, but more like he can't even figure out how his mind could possibly come up with something this gruesome. “No. This isn't mine,” he says at last, narrowing his eyes, voice suddenly dropping an octave lower into the realm of 'dangerous', and reaching into the pocket of his robes to take out his wand, pointing it at the ready. “Who's there!”
Malik follows suit, pressing half a step closer into Altair's unguarded side.
There is a muffled squeal of surprise, decidedly high-pitched, before the covers on the Bed Monstrosity shuffle and twist. “Oh, Altair,” says Ezio, surprisingly nonchalant for the fact that he is standing in front of them clothed in nothing but an embroidered powder-pink blanket held in place around his hips. A girl - that Hufflepuff, Vespucci, Malik remembers - follows curiously a few paces behind before she recognizes Altair and in an embarrassed huff, all but crumples to the floor in a blushing heap, hiding herself in the tail ends of Ezio's trailing makeshift toga.
“What are you-” Ezio begins, sounding somewhat perplexed until he notices who's standing next to the Gryffindor Prefect. Understanding lights in Ezio's face and he settles back with a hand on his cocked hip and a smug grin that Malik notices looks no better on him than it does his older sibling. “Oh. I see.”
“This is yours?” Altair asks.
“Hmm? Oh, this?” Ezio prompts, waving at his choice of interior décor with a curt wave of his hand, as if anyone could mistake what Altair was referring to. “I suppose it is. Rather nice, isn't it?”
Altair apparently decides this is a good time to defend his honor. He turns back to Malik with a look that obviously says, See? Not mine. Ezio takes the lull to beckon Vespucci towards him, reeling her in with the very covers she's shielding herself with and wrapping an easy arm around her shoulders. They're standing in counterpoint now, to Altair and Malik, only decidedly less sexually frustrated and clothed. Malik is just in the middle of deciding that he really doesn't like that the person he's standing across from is a curvy, slim wisp of a girl when the door pushes open behind them.
“I'm telling you, you guys have to see this, it's really coo-” Desmond stops, hand still on the doorknob, and even if all four faces staring back at him are familiar, two almost painfully so, it still takes him a few good seconds to register the situation in his eleven-year-old mind.
“Mm-hmm,” says Lucy, not at all impressed, from the vicinity of his right shoulder. She sniffs and then recoils, as if the flowery, almost oppressive perfumed scent of the room personally offends her newly-found Slytherin sensibilities.
“Oh, you kinky Gryffindor bastards, you,” says Shaun, pushing his glasses up his nose.
Rebecca puts a hand on Desmond's outstretched arm and pushes it down so she can survey the scene more clearly. She's chewing loudly on a wad of gum, and before she speaks, she blows a big, bright neon green bubble from her mouth and pops it. “I think I saw this on the muggle internet once, on this site I wasn't supposed to-”
“It's past your curfew!” Altair says ultimately, not at all hypocritical. Malik slaps a hand over his face and Ezio waves like he's part of the British royalty.
Desmond just looks pained, burying his face in his hands. “Why does this always happen to me?”
Characters: Altair Ibn'La-Ahad, Malik Al-Sayf
Rating: PG
Warnings: Continued from like pillars four.
Gryffindor is partnered with Ravenclaw for Advanced Potions, which is both wholly better than being paired with Slytherin, and wholly unfair because Potions is hard enough without having to compete with the smartest students in the school.
Altair is an exceptional student - the Professors know this and more aggravatingly, he knows it. He excels in dueling, in quickdraw offensive skills, in flying, in Occlumency and oddly enough, in Divination, but Potions, for all its delicacy and necessary patience, drives him up the wall with restless energy. His partner doesn't help the situation any either, considering it's common knowledge that the Al-Sayf and Ibn'La-Ahad rivalry bleeds over into every aspect of the two Seekers' lives.
Really, it would have been so much easier if they had been paired with Hufflepuff.
"You know," says a dry voice, interrupting Altair's pleasant lull of mindless activity (the task at hand currently being the slicing and dicing of some unsuspecting root), "If you were even just -half- as fast with that knife as you are on the field, we might even get out of class on time today."
Altair lifts a sideways glance toward Malik from under the brim of his hood, which he insists on keeping up at all times (Desmond suspects it's just to scare the younger years). "Is that a backwards compliment?" he asks incredulously. "Did you just say I was fast?"
Malik's grin is instantly malicious. Altair immediately knows he has done himself a disfavor, even before the words are out of the Ravenclaw's mouth. "No, but I hear that's what Thorpe from Slytherin has been saying."
And all right, he supposes he walked -right- into that one, but that doesn't stop him from slamming his knife down hard enough to wedge it into the cutting board and dumping much more than the allotted proportion of Chickenweed into their brewing pot vindictively. A burst of yellow-green fumes burst into their faces, smelling strongly of boiled goose and sauerkraut, and Malik lets out a squawk of horror that only makes Altair smirk. Let the little teacher's pet panic a little - he deserves it, and besides, Altair's grades are a lost cause anyway.
He opens his mouth to say something of similar effect. "Squawkity squawk ba-squaaawk cockadoodledoo," Altair responds smugly, before the expression on his face falls to something considerably less smug.
Malik stares wide-eyed at him before promptly trying to laugh and ultimately only managing to spew tufts of yellow-white feathers into Altair's face. Altair coughs them out of his mouth, shoving at Malik's shoulders to put himself out of the trajectory path of chicken down, and he can't help noticing that his wheezes sound more like clucking than anything else. By the time he looks up, Malik looks positively murderous, mouth screwed up so tight and cheeks so red with rage that it looks like he's going to explode in a burst of feathers any moment now. The bridge of his nose is looking more and more like a beak now, with feathers caught in Malik's hair and dark eyes narrowed in anger.
Altair can't help it - he laughs, spitting golden-brown feathers right into Malik's face.
Fandom: Assassin's Creed x Harry Potter
Characters: Altair Ibn'La-Ahad, Malik Al-Sayf, Ezio Auditore, Desmond Miles, Minor Characters
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Continued from like pillars four, takes place after Tanya's lovely ficlet in the same verse.
Usually, the Prefects' restroom suffices. Their elevated statuses grant them access, their standing positions as Captains of their respective Quidditch teams doubly so. Entry is restricted enough such that lack of privacy is rarely an issue, but ever since Antonio and that fourth-year Hufflepuff hooked up, it has proved considerably less reliable than it had been in the past.
And considerably less empty, three-quarters of the time.
It's such common knowledge that Malik doesn't even bother steering them up to the fifth floor. Instead, he pushes Altair back against one of the sturdier bookcases (C through D Wizard Autobiographies), hands fisted in the other's robes and the bump of his knuckles pressing down hard into the dip under the Gryffindor's collar, and watches the moon from the open window wash the boy's face in almost ghostly pallor for a moment. Then he brackets Altair's right leg with his knees and leans in.
Altair allows one kiss (more accurately about six or seven) before he pulls back, mashing the back of his head into the uncomfortable spine of Priscilla Prindililly's Memoirs. "In the library?" he whispers, sounding more disappointed than surprised. The room is empty, but the walls and paintings have ears. Altair glances pointedly at their surroundings, eyes a pale yellow-white in the night before ultimately settling a traitorously warm gaze on Malik's face. "You are such a Ravenclaw."
"Thanks," Malik quips easily, already angling his face again.
Altair distracts him with a pointed tug of his robes, sending them both stumbling out of the dusty alcove and into the aisle. "No, let's go to the Rmph mm Mmfirememt," he says, half of it against Malik's mouth.
Malik pulls back. "The Room of Requirement," he repeats flatly.
Altair nods, smirking a little and already leading them both into the hall, sliding away from Malik like a shadow, except for where his fingers catch and lace themselves between Malik's own. He tugs the other boy towards him without needing to mutter a Lumos spell, because Altair has always had this uncanny ability to See, and smiles to himself when Malik doesn't reach for his wand, inherently trusting his judgment. "You know, when I came across it at the beginning, the first thing that crossed my mind was-"
"'Oh, this would be a good place to bring a date?'" Malik asks, quirking a brow.
"This is a date?" Altair asks, stopping halfway up the stairs. It takes some physical shoving on Malik's part to get them up the flight before the staircase changed directions on them. The motion seems to push his train of thought back in line as well, because as soon as they reach the third floor, Altair continues, "But no, the first thing I wondered was if it really did have everything I required.”
They come to the familiar end of a pathway, facing a tall, blank wall with only a sconce on either side to light their passage. It gives Altair the opportunity to stop and shoot the other boy a look that Malik supposes Altair thinks is roguish or charming. What Malik says is, “You look like you just swallowed a bloating potion.”
Rolling his eyes, Altair takes the three passes at the designated spot and just like last time, the inlaid bricks part like the sea to reveal the same unsuspecting door. If the handle is a little warm to his touch, he barely feels it, too eager and blood already running too fast in his veins for him to notice. He just wants to get them inside, just wants to slam the door shut behind him and push and be pushed down into the pile of soft, colorful pillows that usually manifests in his version of the room, or even the clinical, medical-issue mattress in Malik's.
What meets them on the other side of the door is neither.
Malik stares in flabbergasted silence at the sight before him for all of three seconds. For all three of those seconds, it is almost too painful for his eyes to bear. The red velvet lining the walls is garish, the lacy curtains fluttering in an invisible breeze is lined with frills, there is a porcelain muggle bathtub sitting right in the center of the room with rose petals floating in a suspiciously girly-smelling pool, and the corner of the bed that they can barely see, hidden behind rosebushes and manicured apple trees is covered with a set of red sheets polka-dotted with pink hearts.
“What the hell did you just require?!” Malik yells. He sniffs indignantly and no - are those scented candles? He turns in Altair's direction with an accusing glare and only manages to focus on something past the other boy's far shoulder. Is that a chocolate fondue fountain?
Altair looks just as stunned as Malik feels. In fact, he looks utterly perplexed, not like he can't imagine why the Room would conjure this sort of vision, but more like he can't even figure out how his mind could possibly come up with something this gruesome. “No. This isn't mine,” he says at last, narrowing his eyes, voice suddenly dropping an octave lower into the realm of 'dangerous', and reaching into the pocket of his robes to take out his wand, pointing it at the ready. “Who's there!”
Malik follows suit, pressing half a step closer into Altair's unguarded side.
There is a muffled squeal of surprise, decidedly high-pitched, before the covers on the Bed Monstrosity shuffle and twist. “Oh, Altair,” says Ezio, surprisingly nonchalant for the fact that he is standing in front of them clothed in nothing but an embroidered powder-pink blanket held in place around his hips. A girl - that Hufflepuff, Vespucci, Malik remembers - follows curiously a few paces behind before she recognizes Altair and in an embarrassed huff, all but crumples to the floor in a blushing heap, hiding herself in the tail ends of Ezio's trailing makeshift toga.
“What are you-” Ezio begins, sounding somewhat perplexed until he notices who's standing next to the Gryffindor Prefect. Understanding lights in Ezio's face and he settles back with a hand on his cocked hip and a smug grin that Malik notices looks no better on him than it does his older sibling. “Oh. I see.”
“This is yours?” Altair asks.
“Hmm? Oh, this?” Ezio prompts, waving at his choice of interior décor with a curt wave of his hand, as if anyone could mistake what Altair was referring to. “I suppose it is. Rather nice, isn't it?”
Altair apparently decides this is a good time to defend his honor. He turns back to Malik with a look that obviously says, See? Not mine. Ezio takes the lull to beckon Vespucci towards him, reeling her in with the very covers she's shielding herself with and wrapping an easy arm around her shoulders. They're standing in counterpoint now, to Altair and Malik, only decidedly less sexually frustrated and clothed. Malik is just in the middle of deciding that he really doesn't like that the person he's standing across from is a curvy, slim wisp of a girl when the door pushes open behind them.
“I'm telling you, you guys have to see this, it's really coo-” Desmond stops, hand still on the doorknob, and even if all four faces staring back at him are familiar, two almost painfully so, it still takes him a few good seconds to register the situation in his eleven-year-old mind.
“Mm-hmm,” says Lucy, not at all impressed, from the vicinity of his right shoulder. She sniffs and then recoils, as if the flowery, almost oppressive perfumed scent of the room personally offends her newly-found Slytherin sensibilities.
“Oh, you kinky Gryffindor bastards, you,” says Shaun, pushing his glasses up his nose.
Rebecca puts a hand on Desmond's outstretched arm and pushes it down so she can survey the scene more clearly. She's chewing loudly on a wad of gum, and before she speaks, she blows a big, bright neon green bubble from her mouth and pops it. “I think I saw this on the muggle internet once, on this site I wasn't supposed to-”
“It's past your curfew!” Altair says ultimately, not at all hypocritical. Malik slaps a hand over his face and Ezio waves like he's part of the British royalty.
Desmond just looks pained, burying his face in his hands. “Why does this always happen to me?”