Theme 3 - Giving Up and Theme 20 - Far Away (Two Parter Fic of Themed Dooom!)
Two more for the Evangeline series, last update tonight, I swear! Two themes - Giving Up and Far Away - start out being about basically the same thing and diverge off to different takes on the same basic situation. Both Draco's POV. Enjoy everyone! ^_^
Theme: 3 - Giving Up
Fandom/Pairing: Draco/Gregory/Vincent
Title: Without Her (Part I)
Author: Lady Zip
Rating: PG 13
Disclaimer: Please don’t murder me Ms.Rowling. I wuv you… ;_;
We didn’t know what to do with ourselves when Evangeline started at secondary school.
She’d be gone away nine months of the year except for a visit at Christmas and we had this big empty house all to ourselves. Before that she was always in every corner, a maddening invasion on our privacy one day, a charming decoration the next. We missed her with a tangible ache the first month, always calling her name before realizing she wasn’t home and cautioning each other to hush late at night before remembering that she wasn’t sleeping just down the hall.
Her room sat empty and untouched and every year when she came home there would be a mass redecorating as she deposited a new layer of experience and obsession and wonder over top of the ‘old’ her that she’d left behind the year before. It was like watching an insect molt and reform over and over, year by year, and we’d cry to ourselves inside seeing how much she had grown without us.
We didn’t recognize her at the train station coming home in third year. She’d shot up nearly a foot higher than when she left and Vincent was startled as anything when this wildly blond girl dropped all her baggage and threw herself into his arms and called him daddy. She attacked Greg next and very nearly bowled him over with her new size while Vince was still gaping at her.
At the end of her fifth year she wasn’t alone when we arrived to pick her up. She waved to us, then shyly tugged a tall dark haired boy across the platform to meet us for the first time. I had a terrible sense of dread that we’d lost her completely. A boyfriend. She’d turned into a woman without us.
But at the least he was a nice boy; a seventh year, as tall as Greg, with hair such a dark brown it was nearly black and warm hazel eyes. There was a faint accent to his English and when I heard his name - Nikolai Krum - I knew why. At Eva’s age I would have considered him terribly attractive too. He was polite and undemanding as he kissed her on the hand goodbye and shuffled off through the crowd toward his own parents and siblings waiting at the gate.
Eva was giddy that we didn’t kill him on sight the entire way home and she spent almost all summer holed up in her room writing to him.
He visited one weekend when his family was in London for a reunion of some kind with local friends and part of me still feels guilty about having pressed my face to the window glass, spying on them when he kissed her goodnight on the doorstep. But she looked so utterly content in his arms, an expression that I can’t ever forget.
It was remembering that look in her eyes that made me relent without question when he asked to marry her four years later.
If I had to give her away like that at least I was going to give her to a man that would make her happy. Greg and Vincent, though they grumbled and sighed and clung to her in her pretty white dress just the same as I did, felt the same.
She asked her Grandfather to give her away at the wedding, as not to choose among us, and he was more than happy to have her on his arm for that long walk. Watching her hand leave his as he left her to stand beside her husband made something inside my chest break. Greg’s hand crushed down on mine before I’d said a word, Vincent squeezed my other arm, and the three of us just clung helplessly to one another the whole time. Nikolai’s mother and grandmothers sobbed without restraint more than enough to make up for our hard-fought quiet.
A week later, lying in bed the house had never felt so empty. She had hardly been home with us in ten years, but there was a finality to seeing her layers of room stripped bare. I was wide awake at three in the morning and slid out of bed to paw through our photo albums.
I got caught on a picture of her at six years old, dressed up like a fairy princess for New Year’s Eve, seated on her grandfather’s knee. She grinned and laughed, little shoes sparkling as she kicked up her feet, dress swishing in a whirl of green. And when I looked up the newly framed wedding photos - Eva and Nikolai side by side - stared down at me from the mantle with the same sweetness as my baby from long ago.
I felt old, used up, like all meaning had gone away from me all at once, and for a moment I let myself wallow in that. And then Greg settled himself beside me on the couch and closed the album in my hands.
“Are you coming to bed? You need sleep, we have a big day tomorrow.”
“We do?”
“We’re raiding Diagon Alley and then we’ve got those show tickets your dad gave us. Did you change your mind about going?”
“No no, I just…”
“Forgot she wasn’t the whole world?” He gave me a knowing smile and kissed me gently.
“I know, it’s weird. But she’s happy and that means we did a good job, right? Now all we have to do is let her go and be happy. She’ll be back from time to time - we’ll probably see her more now than we did when she was at school.”
And I smiled and slept easily in his arms, because he was right.
Theme: 20 - Far Away
Fandom/Pairing: Draco/Gregory/Vincent
Title: Without Her (Part II)
Author: Lady Zip
Rating: R (a few rather adult parts but not enough to me to call this lemon)
Disclaimer: Please don’t murder me Ms.Rowling. I wuv you… ;_;
In some ways having Evangeline gone over the school year was like being teenagers again ourselves.
We felt totally freed from responsibilities; our weekends were our own. There was no reason to stay sober and be chauffeurs or to stay publicly decent in the living room at all hours.
In her first year, around the end of November, it finally sunk in that she wasn’t home and wasn’t coming home until Christmas and she wasn’t going to knock and walk in on us at some inopportune moment if we ravished each other late in the morning on a Saturday.
“We don’t have to act like adults all the damn time anymore. So lets not!” as Vince so eloquently put it, thumping a two-four and a stack of our favourite childhood games on the coffee table.
Greg stared at him over the edge of his book, then tilted his reading glasses again and took a hard look at the stack of boxes now competing with his feet for table space.
“Good christ man, that’s my old Scrabble set. We haven’t played in years. Have you got any idea how snappy and growling and ravenous that letter bag is going to be? Not to even mention how sure I am that the board will bite your face off the second you open that lid…”
“We have our wands. I’ll take my chances.” Vince grinned, rubbing his hands together excitedly. “Now play me! Or are you all a bunch of pansies?”
So we spent an entire three days wedged against each other on the sofa and around the coffee table drinking beer and shrieking at each other over games of Scrabble and Chess and Uno. Toward the end of the Saturday when we’d all managed to get rightly toasted on the beer and shots of Firewhiskey we switched to cards. We played strip poker and bet with multiple packages of every flavour beans. Prizes were awarded in the form of promises of sexual favours.
Then we got around to actually cashing in the sexual favours and within an hour we felt our proper ages again.
I was having a rightly nice time until Greg buckled on top of me and buried his face in my chest with a barely restrained yelp of pain.
“Greg? You alright mate?”
“Oh fucking hell…”
“Move off a bit, you’re crushing me.”
“….I can’t.”
“What the bleeding hell do you mean you can’t?”
“TELL me you did not just throw your back out!”
“You know Vince I would love to tell you that” Greg wheezed “, but the searing pain in my lumbar spine seems to disagree.”
I can’t remember what story we made up to tell the mediwitch, little alone whether or not it was a good one. Just that Vince and I made things up to each other in the shower while Greg slept off a dose of pain killing potion that was better meant for a dragon when we got home.
When Eva wrote to us that Tuesday and asked if anything exciting had gone on for us that weekend (she’d gone to her first house Quidditch game and spent the whole five hours screaming like a maniac in the stands until she’d lost her voice) Greg gave me a horrified look over the parchment of her letter and informed Vincent and I that he would kill the both of us in our sleep if we told her anything about his injuries.
Vince wrote her back and said we’d dug out our old games and had a very nice time eluding being bitten by the Scrabble board.
In her fourth year we took a vacation. Went to a wonderful beachy spot in Jamaica for a week in January, just because we could.
Vince, looking the youngest among us with his tattoos and well-maintained shoulders, got hit on by a number of young women who couldn’t have been more than a few years older than Eva was.
When a cluster of them followed him back to the spot we had staked out on the sand, he gleefully gave them the shock of their lives by picking Greg up by the waist and kissing him breathless while they watched open mouthed. I doubled over laughing as they ran off in a fret and Greg in his bewilderment asked me what he had missed that was so funny.
We built a massive sand castle on the beach for no reason at all and took pictures of it to owl to Eva.
She owled us back and said it looked fantastic and sent pictures of the snow fort she and Elizabeth Potter had built together. The picture featured Evangeline and one of her housemates - Maegelin Ul Copt - slaughtering the Potter girl and Aveline and Gulliver Longbottom with a whack of snowballs.
To soothe my discontent about her friendship with Potter’s utterly Gryffindor-ish daughter I reminded myself every time I looked at the photograph of how wonderfully Eva and Maegelin were winning their snowball fight.
In her seventh year sending her off to school had finally become a bit of a celebration. Greg and Vince and I made specific plans for how to waste our night the first day that she was gone. We saw her off with hugs and smiles and then dodged off back to Diagon Alley and went on a shopping spree.
I piled my potions equipment in the kitchen and set about causing a number of hearty explosions - because deep down I think we can all agree that setting things on fire in inherently cool. Greg pitched us all out of the basement and invited Winter over for a good long sparring session with their practice swords, emerging only for water and snacks for the whole day.
Vincent took over the upstairs and made the whole house hum with noise, testing out new boosted amps for every instrument he owned and blaring his music until I couldn’t take it anymore and sneak attacked him. I let myself be half-deafened by the noise while he pinned me to the floor in retaliation for the start I’d given him, and ravished me roughly like he hadn’t in months. His mouth was hot down my neck and on my chest as he eased me loose with slick fingers, then fucked me hard, any noise we made lost in the bass.
That evening, after Greg had seen Winter out, he found Vince and I sprawled on the floor of the music room, half out of our clothes without him. Indignant that we’d left him out he dragged us both to bed.
We lay in the dark together later, nuzzled close and comfortable as always, and Greg sighed against my shoulder and asked where all the time had gone.
“She’s so grown up and so far away and all we’ve seen of her is a stack of letters and photographs of her showing up the Gryffindors for us.”
Vince leaned over me, kissed him and smiled. “What’s to be so depressed about? We didn’t do nothing with ourselves all this time. She’s had happy years and so have we. This is just been practice for missing her for real when she moves out and gets married and we have to find more things to do with ourselves.”
I smiled just a little and nuzzled Vince’s neck. “So, maybe tomorrow we should get those board games out again?”
Greg shuddered against my back. “No. Not ever after last time.”
“Poker it is.” I kissed his cheek, and turned out the light.
Theme: 3 - Giving Up
Fandom/Pairing: Draco/Gregory/Vincent
Title: Without Her (Part I)
Author: Lady Zip
Rating: PG 13
Disclaimer: Please don’t murder me Ms.Rowling. I wuv you… ;_;
We didn’t know what to do with ourselves when Evangeline started at secondary school.
She’d be gone away nine months of the year except for a visit at Christmas and we had this big empty house all to ourselves. Before that she was always in every corner, a maddening invasion on our privacy one day, a charming decoration the next. We missed her with a tangible ache the first month, always calling her name before realizing she wasn’t home and cautioning each other to hush late at night before remembering that she wasn’t sleeping just down the hall.
Her room sat empty and untouched and every year when she came home there would be a mass redecorating as she deposited a new layer of experience and obsession and wonder over top of the ‘old’ her that she’d left behind the year before. It was like watching an insect molt and reform over and over, year by year, and we’d cry to ourselves inside seeing how much she had grown without us.
We didn’t recognize her at the train station coming home in third year. She’d shot up nearly a foot higher than when she left and Vincent was startled as anything when this wildly blond girl dropped all her baggage and threw herself into his arms and called him daddy. She attacked Greg next and very nearly bowled him over with her new size while Vince was still gaping at her.
At the end of her fifth year she wasn’t alone when we arrived to pick her up. She waved to us, then shyly tugged a tall dark haired boy across the platform to meet us for the first time. I had a terrible sense of dread that we’d lost her completely. A boyfriend. She’d turned into a woman without us.
But at the least he was a nice boy; a seventh year, as tall as Greg, with hair such a dark brown it was nearly black and warm hazel eyes. There was a faint accent to his English and when I heard his name - Nikolai Krum - I knew why. At Eva’s age I would have considered him terribly attractive too. He was polite and undemanding as he kissed her on the hand goodbye and shuffled off through the crowd toward his own parents and siblings waiting at the gate.
Eva was giddy that we didn’t kill him on sight the entire way home and she spent almost all summer holed up in her room writing to him.
He visited one weekend when his family was in London for a reunion of some kind with local friends and part of me still feels guilty about having pressed my face to the window glass, spying on them when he kissed her goodnight on the doorstep. But she looked so utterly content in his arms, an expression that I can’t ever forget.
It was remembering that look in her eyes that made me relent without question when he asked to marry her four years later.
If I had to give her away like that at least I was going to give her to a man that would make her happy. Greg and Vincent, though they grumbled and sighed and clung to her in her pretty white dress just the same as I did, felt the same.
She asked her Grandfather to give her away at the wedding, as not to choose among us, and he was more than happy to have her on his arm for that long walk. Watching her hand leave his as he left her to stand beside her husband made something inside my chest break. Greg’s hand crushed down on mine before I’d said a word, Vincent squeezed my other arm, and the three of us just clung helplessly to one another the whole time. Nikolai’s mother and grandmothers sobbed without restraint more than enough to make up for our hard-fought quiet.
A week later, lying in bed the house had never felt so empty. She had hardly been home with us in ten years, but there was a finality to seeing her layers of room stripped bare. I was wide awake at three in the morning and slid out of bed to paw through our photo albums.
I got caught on a picture of her at six years old, dressed up like a fairy princess for New Year’s Eve, seated on her grandfather’s knee. She grinned and laughed, little shoes sparkling as she kicked up her feet, dress swishing in a whirl of green. And when I looked up the newly framed wedding photos - Eva and Nikolai side by side - stared down at me from the mantle with the same sweetness as my baby from long ago.
I felt old, used up, like all meaning had gone away from me all at once, and for a moment I let myself wallow in that. And then Greg settled himself beside me on the couch and closed the album in my hands.
“Are you coming to bed? You need sleep, we have a big day tomorrow.”
“We do?”
“We’re raiding Diagon Alley and then we’ve got those show tickets your dad gave us. Did you change your mind about going?”
“No no, I just…”
“Forgot she wasn’t the whole world?” He gave me a knowing smile and kissed me gently.
“I know, it’s weird. But she’s happy and that means we did a good job, right? Now all we have to do is let her go and be happy. She’ll be back from time to time - we’ll probably see her more now than we did when she was at school.”
And I smiled and slept easily in his arms, because he was right.
Theme: 20 - Far Away
Fandom/Pairing: Draco/Gregory/Vincent
Title: Without Her (Part II)
Author: Lady Zip
Rating: R (a few rather adult parts but not enough to me to call this lemon)
Disclaimer: Please don’t murder me Ms.Rowling. I wuv you… ;_;
In some ways having Evangeline gone over the school year was like being teenagers again ourselves.
We felt totally freed from responsibilities; our weekends were our own. There was no reason to stay sober and be chauffeurs or to stay publicly decent in the living room at all hours.
In her first year, around the end of November, it finally sunk in that she wasn’t home and wasn’t coming home until Christmas and she wasn’t going to knock and walk in on us at some inopportune moment if we ravished each other late in the morning on a Saturday.
“We don’t have to act like adults all the damn time anymore. So lets not!” as Vince so eloquently put it, thumping a two-four and a stack of our favourite childhood games on the coffee table.
Greg stared at him over the edge of his book, then tilted his reading glasses again and took a hard look at the stack of boxes now competing with his feet for table space.
“Good christ man, that’s my old Scrabble set. We haven’t played in years. Have you got any idea how snappy and growling and ravenous that letter bag is going to be? Not to even mention how sure I am that the board will bite your face off the second you open that lid…”
“We have our wands. I’ll take my chances.” Vince grinned, rubbing his hands together excitedly. “Now play me! Or are you all a bunch of pansies?”
So we spent an entire three days wedged against each other on the sofa and around the coffee table drinking beer and shrieking at each other over games of Scrabble and Chess and Uno. Toward the end of the Saturday when we’d all managed to get rightly toasted on the beer and shots of Firewhiskey we switched to cards. We played strip poker and bet with multiple packages of every flavour beans. Prizes were awarded in the form of promises of sexual favours.
Then we got around to actually cashing in the sexual favours and within an hour we felt our proper ages again.
I was having a rightly nice time until Greg buckled on top of me and buried his face in my chest with a barely restrained yelp of pain.
“Greg? You alright mate?”
“Oh fucking hell…”
“Move off a bit, you’re crushing me.”
“….I can’t.”
“What the bleeding hell do you mean you can’t?”
“TELL me you did not just throw your back out!”
“You know Vince I would love to tell you that” Greg wheezed “, but the searing pain in my lumbar spine seems to disagree.”
I can’t remember what story we made up to tell the mediwitch, little alone whether or not it was a good one. Just that Vince and I made things up to each other in the shower while Greg slept off a dose of pain killing potion that was better meant for a dragon when we got home.
When Eva wrote to us that Tuesday and asked if anything exciting had gone on for us that weekend (she’d gone to her first house Quidditch game and spent the whole five hours screaming like a maniac in the stands until she’d lost her voice) Greg gave me a horrified look over the parchment of her letter and informed Vincent and I that he would kill the both of us in our sleep if we told her anything about his injuries.
Vince wrote her back and said we’d dug out our old games and had a very nice time eluding being bitten by the Scrabble board.
In her fourth year we took a vacation. Went to a wonderful beachy spot in Jamaica for a week in January, just because we could.
Vince, looking the youngest among us with his tattoos and well-maintained shoulders, got hit on by a number of young women who couldn’t have been more than a few years older than Eva was.
When a cluster of them followed him back to the spot we had staked out on the sand, he gleefully gave them the shock of their lives by picking Greg up by the waist and kissing him breathless while they watched open mouthed. I doubled over laughing as they ran off in a fret and Greg in his bewilderment asked me what he had missed that was so funny.
We built a massive sand castle on the beach for no reason at all and took pictures of it to owl to Eva.
She owled us back and said it looked fantastic and sent pictures of the snow fort she and Elizabeth Potter had built together. The picture featured Evangeline and one of her housemates - Maegelin Ul Copt - slaughtering the Potter girl and Aveline and Gulliver Longbottom with a whack of snowballs.
To soothe my discontent about her friendship with Potter’s utterly Gryffindor-ish daughter I reminded myself every time I looked at the photograph of how wonderfully Eva and Maegelin were winning their snowball fight.
In her seventh year sending her off to school had finally become a bit of a celebration. Greg and Vince and I made specific plans for how to waste our night the first day that she was gone. We saw her off with hugs and smiles and then dodged off back to Diagon Alley and went on a shopping spree.
I piled my potions equipment in the kitchen and set about causing a number of hearty explosions - because deep down I think we can all agree that setting things on fire in inherently cool. Greg pitched us all out of the basement and invited Winter over for a good long sparring session with their practice swords, emerging only for water and snacks for the whole day.
Vincent took over the upstairs and made the whole house hum with noise, testing out new boosted amps for every instrument he owned and blaring his music until I couldn’t take it anymore and sneak attacked him. I let myself be half-deafened by the noise while he pinned me to the floor in retaliation for the start I’d given him, and ravished me roughly like he hadn’t in months. His mouth was hot down my neck and on my chest as he eased me loose with slick fingers, then fucked me hard, any noise we made lost in the bass.
That evening, after Greg had seen Winter out, he found Vince and I sprawled on the floor of the music room, half out of our clothes without him. Indignant that we’d left him out he dragged us both to bed.
We lay in the dark together later, nuzzled close and comfortable as always, and Greg sighed against my shoulder and asked where all the time had gone.
“She’s so grown up and so far away and all we’ve seen of her is a stack of letters and photographs of her showing up the Gryffindors for us.”
Vince leaned over me, kissed him and smiled. “What’s to be so depressed about? We didn’t do nothing with ourselves all this time. She’s had happy years and so have we. This is just been practice for missing her for real when she moves out and gets married and we have to find more things to do with ourselves.”
I smiled just a little and nuzzled Vince’s neck. “So, maybe tomorrow we should get those board games out again?”
Greg shuddered against my back. “No. Not ever after last time.”
“Poker it is.” I kissed his cheek, and turned out the light.