Four Wishes That Never Came True, And One That Did (R) for catchthecat
Title: Four Wishes That Never Came True, And One That Did
Author: stonegrad
Recipient: catchthecat
Rating: R
Warnings: Angst, implied canon character deaths, non-explicit m/m slash
Characters/Pairings: AD/GG, Fabian & Gideon, RL/SB, Draco, AS/S
Summary: What you want isn't always what you get...
Author Notes: Canon-compliant, mutiple pairings and characters instead of one set one, and it seems to be mostly made up of angst - honestly, I have no idea how I managed to get from my original plan to this, but I did discover a new love for Grindelwald along the way. All quotes included are from either OOTP, HBP, or DH. Much love to my beta - any remaining mistakes are purely my own.
Four Wishes That Never Came True, And One That Did
1. “… [Grindelwald] struck up a close friendship with none other than Albus Dumbledore.”
It’s snowing outside, but the room they’re standing in is heated to the point of scorching, the windows beaded with moisture, the air suffused with the taste of wood smoke; almost too hot to breathe, sticking uncomfortable in his throat. “I never wanted it to come between us,” he says, wand hanging loosely in his grip, a lock of hair in his eyes. “I wanted you beside me. I want you beside me.”
No answer except a shake of the head, and Gellert feels his chest tighten, feels a bead of sweat slide down the back of his neck. It isn’t meant to be like this.
He takes two steps forwards, and Albus doesn’t move away - doesn’t move at all, not even when a finger slides under his chin, tilts his head back, Gellert’s thumb sweeping over his lower lip. The same words again, spoken softer than before, becoming more of a plea than a demand: “I want you beside me, Albus. Albus. ” A flicker of eyelashes, a tilt of his blond head, and he doesn’t beg, he doesn’t, but he’s getting close to it now. “Stay beside me; we’ve made it this far, haven’t we? We’ve come this far.”
And lower, lower, leaning in, his lips brushing Albus’ cheek: “We’ve come this far, don’t leave me now.”
Albus sighs, turning his head slightly; the chill in his eyes - blue, so blue - easing into something softer, something that much harder for Gellert to take. “I can’t,” he replies, “You know I can’t.” There’s a note of wistfulness in his voice, a bare hint of longing. They’re still friends. They’re still more than friends. “You can,” Gellert presses, sliding his hand up to cup Albus’ cheek, to bring his face back so their eyes can meet properly, so he can lean forward and press their foreheads together. “You liar - yes, you can.” Their lips are brushing, breath mingling, and it takes a heartbeat before the response comes.
“I won’t.”
Gellert closes his eyes - kisses him, gently, just once, and says “You know I can’t let you just walk away.”
2. “… Gideon Prewett, it took five Death Eaters to kill him and his brother Fabian, they fought like heroes…”
There are fires burning off to the right, other members of the Order milling around them, and the taste of magic in the air, the residue of spellfire - a tang of smoke, the bare hint of burnt meat, the smell of old coffee from where they’ve set up camp. They’re both giddy as schoolboys as they lie on the grass, an empty bottle of firewhiskey abandoned between them, though it’s not actually the alcohol they’re drunk on.
“A good fight,” Gideon says, and pushes himself up on his elbows, balancing on one arm for a moment so he can lean over and punch his brother in the shoulder. “Don’t you think, Fabian? A few more like that, and this war’s as good as won.” Fabian turns his head, his cheek pressing against the grass, the moonlight caught in his eyes - he’s smiling. “Yeah. A few more,” he agrees. “A few more.” A moment of contemplative silence - they aren’t men used to hoping, or wishing, but just once, just this once.
“We’ll get out of this alive, don’t you worry,” Gideon says at last, tilting his head back to look at the stars. He knows that, tomorrow, they’ll be back to fighting. They’ll be back in the thick of it - back in reality, where there isn’t any space for dreams. But this is one that’s just too good to give up.
“We’ll both get out of this alive.”
3. “‘He can’t come back, Harry,’ said Lupin, his voice breaking…”
He says “Stay here”, but Sirius has never been one for playing by the rules, never one for following orders, and he should know that by now, should have phrased it differently, should have added at least a ‘please’. Curses, softly, when Sirius crosses his arms over his chest, face set, wand clutched in one fist, his jeans still hanging around his hips and his shirt missing - he looks debauched, wild, resolute.
“Harry’s my godson,” Sirius says, and Remus wants to tell him that that’s not the point, that it’s not about Harry, but he doesn’t know how to phrase it; settles, instead, for pulling on the last few scraps of his clothing, grabbing his wand from the bed - fuck, it looks like they’ve been having a damn orgy in here - and it’s not until he’s turning towards the door that he manages to speak again. “Merlin, Sirius, just stay here, will you? There isn’t time for this.”
There’s a hand on his cheek, fingers threading through his hair, and Sirius has managed to get his boots on, has his shirt slung over his shoulder, his trousers done up. He’s coming. Fuck it, but he’s really coming along, and Remus doesn’t know if he can handle this - he can’t have both of them in the firing line, he can’t. “Stay here,” he begs, and there’s a crack in his voice as he steps closer, chest-to-chest, his fingers hooking in Sirius’ belt, trying to find just a little bit of stability. “Stay here. Please, Sirius, stay here, stay safe.”
Takes a long, shuddering breath; there’s something heavy in the pit of his stomach. He’s got a bad feeling about this.
“Stay,” he whispers, but the fire in Sirius’ eyes hasn’t gone away, hasn’t dimmed, and Remus isn’t surprised when the only thing he says is: “We don’t have time to argue about this.”
4. “‘I haven’t got any options!’ . . . ‘I’ve got to do it! He’ll kill me! He’ll kill my whole family.’”
There isn’t any way out, he knows it, and yet still he wants to say ‘help me’; wants to say ‘please, for the love of Merlin, stop talking and actually help me.’ Because, damn it, this isn’t what he wants to do, but he will, he will if he has to; family comes first, it always has, and choosing between his parents and Dumbledore is no choice at all.
His hands are shaking, his mouth is dry, and there isn’t enough air in his lungs to form the words. ‘Help me.’ Two syllables, and both of them stuck in his throat - it’s almost funny; he’s never had trouble talking before. But now - now, when it matters, when it really, really matters - he can’t make a sound. Fuck, it’s just two words, only six letters, how can it be this hard?
Draco wets his bottom lip, glancing at his hand, wand clutched so tightly that his knuckles are white - and then up, past Dumbledore, at the sky above them, where the Dark Mark burns brightly against a backdrop of stars. The green light spills over his face, catches in his eyelashes. ‘Help me.’ It’s only two words. He can say it, surely? And if he can’t, if he seriously can’t…
Then ‘Avada Kedavra’ will have to do.
His lips start to move; only it’s in the same moment that he becomes aware of the footsteps on the stairs, of how the door behind him is flying open. Aware of the fact that he’s taken too long, that his time’s run out, and that none of it matters now.
1. “‘What if I’m in Slytherin?’”
Scorpius’ eyes are grey as gunmetal as he says “You want to.” Says: “You really want to, don’t you?” And Albus doesn’t have an answer to it - or, he does, but he’s not sure if he should say it, because being silent is surely better than screwing everything up. So he mutters “Quit it, Scorpius,” and turns towards the door, robes flung over his shoulder, his hair still wet from the shower and dripping down his back. The changing room is empty - they’re the last ones left - and it shouldn’t matter to him, but it does.
“But you want to,” Scorpius argues, grabbing him by the wrist - he sounds peeved, like he’s thinking about doing something violent, and Albus has a moment to register that this is the first time that voice has ever really been directed at him. “You fucking git, just say it!”
There are tears pricking in the corner of his eyes, something hot and heavy in the pit of his stomach, and Albus whirls around. “I want to, okay!” He wants to yell it, wants to sound angry, but it comes out tired and little bit broken. “I want to. You know I do. So stop fucking with me, and leave me alone.” And there’s a heartbeat of silence before Scorpius smirks and rolls his eyes, leaning in, his breath against Albus’ lips, and say “What world are you living in?” before he kisses him.
~fin.
~
This is the mod account for this community, not the author's account. Please let it be noted that I do not take credit for
this person's work. Their name will be revealed in this post and another community post on May 31st.
Author: stonegrad
Recipient: catchthecat
Rating: R
Warnings: Angst, implied canon character deaths, non-explicit m/m slash
Characters/Pairings: AD/GG, Fabian & Gideon, RL/SB, Draco, AS/S
Summary: What you want isn't always what you get...
Author Notes: Canon-compliant, mutiple pairings and characters instead of one set one, and it seems to be mostly made up of angst - honestly, I have no idea how I managed to get from my original plan to this, but I did discover a new love for Grindelwald along the way. All quotes included are from either OOTP, HBP, or DH. Much love to my beta - any remaining mistakes are purely my own.
Four Wishes That Never Came True, And One That Did
1. “… [Grindelwald] struck up a close friendship with none other than Albus Dumbledore.”
It’s snowing outside, but the room they’re standing in is heated to the point of scorching, the windows beaded with moisture, the air suffused with the taste of wood smoke; almost too hot to breathe, sticking uncomfortable in his throat. “I never wanted it to come between us,” he says, wand hanging loosely in his grip, a lock of hair in his eyes. “I wanted you beside me. I want you beside me.”
No answer except a shake of the head, and Gellert feels his chest tighten, feels a bead of sweat slide down the back of his neck. It isn’t meant to be like this.
He takes two steps forwards, and Albus doesn’t move away - doesn’t move at all, not even when a finger slides under his chin, tilts his head back, Gellert’s thumb sweeping over his lower lip. The same words again, spoken softer than before, becoming more of a plea than a demand: “I want you beside me, Albus. Albus. ” A flicker of eyelashes, a tilt of his blond head, and he doesn’t beg, he doesn’t, but he’s getting close to it now. “Stay beside me; we’ve made it this far, haven’t we? We’ve come this far.”
And lower, lower, leaning in, his lips brushing Albus’ cheek: “We’ve come this far, don’t leave me now.”
Albus sighs, turning his head slightly; the chill in his eyes - blue, so blue - easing into something softer, something that much harder for Gellert to take. “I can’t,” he replies, “You know I can’t.” There’s a note of wistfulness in his voice, a bare hint of longing. They’re still friends. They’re still more than friends. “You can,” Gellert presses, sliding his hand up to cup Albus’ cheek, to bring his face back so their eyes can meet properly, so he can lean forward and press their foreheads together. “You liar - yes, you can.” Their lips are brushing, breath mingling, and it takes a heartbeat before the response comes.
“I won’t.”
Gellert closes his eyes - kisses him, gently, just once, and says “You know I can’t let you just walk away.”
2. “… Gideon Prewett, it took five Death Eaters to kill him and his brother Fabian, they fought like heroes…”
There are fires burning off to the right, other members of the Order milling around them, and the taste of magic in the air, the residue of spellfire - a tang of smoke, the bare hint of burnt meat, the smell of old coffee from where they’ve set up camp. They’re both giddy as schoolboys as they lie on the grass, an empty bottle of firewhiskey abandoned between them, though it’s not actually the alcohol they’re drunk on.
“A good fight,” Gideon says, and pushes himself up on his elbows, balancing on one arm for a moment so he can lean over and punch his brother in the shoulder. “Don’t you think, Fabian? A few more like that, and this war’s as good as won.” Fabian turns his head, his cheek pressing against the grass, the moonlight caught in his eyes - he’s smiling. “Yeah. A few more,” he agrees. “A few more.” A moment of contemplative silence - they aren’t men used to hoping, or wishing, but just once, just this once.
“We’ll get out of this alive, don’t you worry,” Gideon says at last, tilting his head back to look at the stars. He knows that, tomorrow, they’ll be back to fighting. They’ll be back in the thick of it - back in reality, where there isn’t any space for dreams. But this is one that’s just too good to give up.
“We’ll both get out of this alive.”
3. “‘He can’t come back, Harry,’ said Lupin, his voice breaking…”
He says “Stay here”, but Sirius has never been one for playing by the rules, never one for following orders, and he should know that by now, should have phrased it differently, should have added at least a ‘please’. Curses, softly, when Sirius crosses his arms over his chest, face set, wand clutched in one fist, his jeans still hanging around his hips and his shirt missing - he looks debauched, wild, resolute.
“Harry’s my godson,” Sirius says, and Remus wants to tell him that that’s not the point, that it’s not about Harry, but he doesn’t know how to phrase it; settles, instead, for pulling on the last few scraps of his clothing, grabbing his wand from the bed - fuck, it looks like they’ve been having a damn orgy in here - and it’s not until he’s turning towards the door that he manages to speak again. “Merlin, Sirius, just stay here, will you? There isn’t time for this.”
There’s a hand on his cheek, fingers threading through his hair, and Sirius has managed to get his boots on, has his shirt slung over his shoulder, his trousers done up. He’s coming. Fuck it, but he’s really coming along, and Remus doesn’t know if he can handle this - he can’t have both of them in the firing line, he can’t. “Stay here,” he begs, and there’s a crack in his voice as he steps closer, chest-to-chest, his fingers hooking in Sirius’ belt, trying to find just a little bit of stability. “Stay here. Please, Sirius, stay here, stay safe.”
Takes a long, shuddering breath; there’s something heavy in the pit of his stomach. He’s got a bad feeling about this.
“Stay,” he whispers, but the fire in Sirius’ eyes hasn’t gone away, hasn’t dimmed, and Remus isn’t surprised when the only thing he says is: “We don’t have time to argue about this.”
4. “‘I haven’t got any options!’ . . . ‘I’ve got to do it! He’ll kill me! He’ll kill my whole family.’”
There isn’t any way out, he knows it, and yet still he wants to say ‘help me’; wants to say ‘please, for the love of Merlin, stop talking and actually help me.’ Because, damn it, this isn’t what he wants to do, but he will, he will if he has to; family comes first, it always has, and choosing between his parents and Dumbledore is no choice at all.
His hands are shaking, his mouth is dry, and there isn’t enough air in his lungs to form the words. ‘Help me.’ Two syllables, and both of them stuck in his throat - it’s almost funny; he’s never had trouble talking before. But now - now, when it matters, when it really, really matters - he can’t make a sound. Fuck, it’s just two words, only six letters, how can it be this hard?
Draco wets his bottom lip, glancing at his hand, wand clutched so tightly that his knuckles are white - and then up, past Dumbledore, at the sky above them, where the Dark Mark burns brightly against a backdrop of stars. The green light spills over his face, catches in his eyelashes. ‘Help me.’ It’s only two words. He can say it, surely? And if he can’t, if he seriously can’t…
Then ‘Avada Kedavra’ will have to do.
His lips start to move; only it’s in the same moment that he becomes aware of the footsteps on the stairs, of how the door behind him is flying open. Aware of the fact that he’s taken too long, that his time’s run out, and that none of it matters now.
1. “‘What if I’m in Slytherin?’”
Scorpius’ eyes are grey as gunmetal as he says “You want to.” Says: “You really want to, don’t you?” And Albus doesn’t have an answer to it - or, he does, but he’s not sure if he should say it, because being silent is surely better than screwing everything up. So he mutters “Quit it, Scorpius,” and turns towards the door, robes flung over his shoulder, his hair still wet from the shower and dripping down his back. The changing room is empty - they’re the last ones left - and it shouldn’t matter to him, but it does.
“But you want to,” Scorpius argues, grabbing him by the wrist - he sounds peeved, like he’s thinking about doing something violent, and Albus has a moment to register that this is the first time that voice has ever really been directed at him. “You fucking git, just say it!”
There are tears pricking in the corner of his eyes, something hot and heavy in the pit of his stomach, and Albus whirls around. “I want to, okay!” He wants to yell it, wants to sound angry, but it comes out tired and little bit broken. “I want to. You know I do. So stop fucking with me, and leave me alone.” And there’s a heartbeat of silence before Scorpius smirks and rolls his eyes, leaning in, his breath against Albus’ lips, and say “What world are you living in?” before he kisses him.
~fin.
~
This is the mod account for this community, not the author's account. Please let it be noted that I do not take credit for
this person's work. Their name will be revealed in this post and another community post on May 31st.