[ACxHP] Like Pillars Four!verse
Endy started a Harry Potter AU, which you can read here! And I guess I did some follow up fics throughout the last couple of... weeks. Though, you should probably read this first, which sets up the 'verse. I'll be posting up some old stuff in the order I wrote them in. :T
Rating: PG
Characters: Altair, Malik
AU: Assassin's Creed/Harry Potter - lp4
It was one thing to jokingly threaten a rival or subsequent friend with docked points, but quite another to actually have to do it. Altair couldn’t remember Malik ever breaking school rules-though losing his house points was known to happen on occasion, usually with Altair’s help.
He found Malik sitting in the corner of the library while wrapping up his prefect rounds. The other boy had a large book in his lap, idly flicking the pages back and forth with the tip of his carefully dimmed wand. He was hiding, Altair realized, and it was only by habit that Altair caught the odd, wavering blue glow amidst the messy stacks of books from the corner of his eye.
“I know I told you that you might as well live in the library, but I was only kidding,” Altair said, confident in his approach without needing to light his wand. “I’d remind you that it’s past curfew, but you probably knew that.”
Malik glanced up, annoyed, which was nothing new, but he also looked tired. More than tired, actually, since Altair knew that Malik had been trying to cover up a cough in Potions. It was obvious that he was sick, and thousands of years of magic history had somehow failed to come up with a cure-all spell for the common cold.
“You should’ve let Adha do your shift,” Altair continued when Malik didn’t answer right away. He peered down, finally muttering lumos under his breath. In the back of his mind, he ran a list of charms - just in case the person in front of him wasn’t Malik. This was Hogwarts, after all, and their resident poltergeist, Erudito, had a handful of boggart friends and had always been particularly malicious towards Altair.
(Still, a boggart wouldn’t have taken the form of Malik. There were very few things Altair feared, and Malik was definitely not one of them.)
He was saved from that train of thought when Malik shut his book with a dull thump, dust flying from the pages in tiny waves. There was a hint of satisfaction behind Malik’s frown, like the kind he would have had when he answered a difficult question in class.
“I handled it fine,” Malik said, his voice holding an odd rasp before it cut off with a small cough. “I caught some second years in the kitchens, but that was it.”
And it wasn’t as if Altair cared, but since he was a prefect, he did have certain responsibilities to the students, and other stubborn and insufferable prefects happened to be included. He crossed his arms, a little reluctant to uphold his duties for once. For all their rivalry and bickering, they had never taken house points from each other; by some kind of unspoken mutual agreement, they kept their personal enmities and prefect status separate, much to the relief of their respective houses.
“Then why are you here, if you’re done?” he demanded.
Malik remained silent for half a beat, and shivered from the cold. “Reading,” he snipped, gesturing to the book.
Altair raised a brow. “In the library past curfew? Five points from Ravenclaw.”
Malik didn’t even blink. In truth, he seemed to be expecting it, or was at least too sick to care.
“I usually take away ten,” he replied, standing up and hefting the heavy book. He set it down in one of the unsorted piles, and, at a quick glance, Altair noticed it was an encyclopedia for magical plants.
Before he could ask, Malik was already making his way out of the library. Altair kept up, despite Malik’s griping and attempts to wave him off.
“I don’t need an escort.”
“Of course you don’t, I’m just making sure you really are going back to your common room.”
It was a testament to how Malik was feeling when his half-hearted arguments died off. In the end, he allowed Altair follow him to the Ravenclaw tower, and they stopped in front of an inconspicuous wooden door with a bronzed knocker in the shape of an eagle’s head.
Altair was aware of the riddles the Ravenclaws had instead of passwords. He didn’t think much of it, having answered a few of them for a few lost Ravenclaw students, and sometimes he did it just because he could.
“Ah, back again?” the eagle said, craning its neck to give Malik a shrewd-eye stare. It clicked its beak and prompted, “What can be swallowed, but can also swallow you?”
“The glutto-pitcher flower,” Malik answered, reaching out to take the handle, but the eagle let out a piercing screech, and he hastily withdrew his hand.
“I don’t expect you to get the answer anytime soon,” the eagle hooted smugly, and froze in place with a creak of finality, though that didn’t stop Malik from giving the door a frustrated kick.
Altair stared, first at Malik then to the door and back to Malik before it all clicked. He burst out laughing.
“So that’s why you were in the library!” he grinned. “You can't figure out the riddle. You were locked out!”
Given that Malik was already flushed red from his fever, his cheeks were near on fire as he turned to face Altair.
“Oh, and I suppose you know the answer then?”
Shrugging, Altair put up his hands and made a face. “Maybe I do.”
Malik let out a tiny snort of laughter that was more angry than amused. “No, you don’t. You would have said it and rubbed it in my face by now.”
Altair rolled his eyes. “Not like it matters to me; it’s not my problem.”
But Malik did not say anything, fisting his hands over the ends of his sleeves, stretching the dark fabric. He looked awful and miserable, and while Altair did not have to worry about Malik breaking down in tears like a first-year, he wasn’t sure if he could trust Malik to not blast the common room door apart with his wand.
“Go to the hospital wing,” Altair said. “You look like you’re about to die. And not just from embarrassment either.”
Usually, some small part of Altair found Malik reasonable most of the time (like the majority of all Ravenclaws). He would never admit it aloud, but it still came as a surprise when Malik shook his head in a way that was more stubborn and surly than rational.
“If I went, then they won’t let me play tomorrow,” Malik explained, brushing past Altair, presumably to head back to the library instead of sitting next to the door to wait for someone to open it.
“Against Hufflepuff?” Altair scoffed, but he didn’t say anymore than that. He wouldn’t have wanted to miss a Quidditch game either, even with a cold and a fever. He watched Malik trudge off into the corridor, almost walking into a suit of armor, and gnawed at the inside of his cheek. With a loud exhale, he jogged over, grabbing Malik’s arm to pull him back. “Hey, wait. I have an idea.”
“You know the answer?” Malik asked, doubtful. He yanked his arm from Altair’s hold, but only to press his face into his sleeve to muffle a sneeze.
Altair shook his head. “No. But follow me.”
The seventh floor was lit with torches, the low flames throwing faint shadows over the floors and walls. Altair walked pass the main classroom doors and turned into a rather large hallway, decorated with dozing portraits and stone arches. Malik trailed behind him, easily keeping up, but he had grown quiet during the walk and mumbled his responses when Altair tried to goad him into saying something.
“Okay. Here,” Altair said, coming to a halt. He gestured to an empty space on the wall.
Malik stared. “I don’t-” he began, but then he straightened and blinked. “Is this the Room of Requirement?”
Altair canted his head, trying to hide the disappointment of not being able to prove Malik wrong. “You know it?”
Malik was still looking at the wall with sharp interest. Or, rather, feverish interest, both figuratively and literally. “I’ve heard rumors,” he replied, a rueful smile quirking one side of his mouth. “How did you find it?”
Aside from Ezio and Desmond, Altair hadn’t told anyone about his second sight. He floundered around for an answer, but he had never been one to tell lies. He never needed to. Lifting his chin, Altair focused his gaze over the faint golden outline of the magical room.
“I was looking a quiet place to practice and study,” he said, daring Malik to make fun. “And the Room of Requirement showed up. I’ve been using it ever since.”
“Oh,” Malik said thoughtfully, and after a moment, he added, “It shows. The practicing, I mean.”
Altair wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t that. He wondered if he should be taking Malik to the hospital wing if the other prefect was going to start making compliments while delirious.
“Yeah. Well,” Altair said roughly, ignoring how amused Malik seemed just then. “Walk in front of this spot three times, and think of what you want. Be specific.”
Malik did as he was told, taking measured steps back and forth. Before he could finish his third pace, the wall shivered and a door sprung up, shoving aside the portraits, much to the disgruntlement of its occupants.
The door itself was plain and almost out of place, considering that it was Hogwarts, and everything tended to be gaudy. Altair thought it kind of resembled an ordinary muggle door - the knob was simple and made of dull metal, and there were uneven paint marks streaked across it. With a pleased hum, Malik opened it and they looked inside.
The room was small and uninteresting. A low bed took up most of the space, but there was also a sink attached to one of the walls and, of all things, a clock with an alarm. It was clean and functional. It also looked like a prison cell.
“Wow,” Altair said over Malik’s shoulder. “Couldn’t you have required something more comfortable?”
But judging from the way Malik expression brightened, the room might as well been furnished with a giant canopy bed and a mansion-sized swimming pool and fur rugs.
“It’s great,” Malik said, still clutching one hand on the door knob. Like he couldn’t believe he wasn’t going to spend the rest of the night curled up in front of the Ravenclaw entrance (or blasting it apart).
Altair rolled his eyes and gave him a shove towards the bed. “Glad someone thinks so.”
Despite being sick, Malik held his ground and only stumbled a little. He did, however, let go of the door and, very deliberately, said, “Thank you.”
Grunting in acknowledgement, Altair stepped out of the room, about to close the door behind him when he heard Malik let out a tired laugh.
“I’ve figured out the riddle,” Malik said, toeing off his shoes and shrugging off his outer robe. Apparently, he didn’t want to bother with anymore than that, and collapsed in the bed, burying his face into the pillow.
Altair thought back. “'What can be swallowed but can also swallow you?'”
Malik did not move from his spot.
“Pride,” he answered, muffled, and was fast asleep before Altair could even leave the room.
Rating: PG
Characters: Altair, Malik
AU: Assassin's Creed/Harry Potter - lp4
It was one thing to jokingly threaten a rival or subsequent friend with docked points, but quite another to actually have to do it. Altair couldn’t remember Malik ever breaking school rules-though losing his house points was known to happen on occasion, usually with Altair’s help.
He found Malik sitting in the corner of the library while wrapping up his prefect rounds. The other boy had a large book in his lap, idly flicking the pages back and forth with the tip of his carefully dimmed wand. He was hiding, Altair realized, and it was only by habit that Altair caught the odd, wavering blue glow amidst the messy stacks of books from the corner of his eye.
“I know I told you that you might as well live in the library, but I was only kidding,” Altair said, confident in his approach without needing to light his wand. “I’d remind you that it’s past curfew, but you probably knew that.”
Malik glanced up, annoyed, which was nothing new, but he also looked tired. More than tired, actually, since Altair knew that Malik had been trying to cover up a cough in Potions. It was obvious that he was sick, and thousands of years of magic history had somehow failed to come up with a cure-all spell for the common cold.
“You should’ve let Adha do your shift,” Altair continued when Malik didn’t answer right away. He peered down, finally muttering lumos under his breath. In the back of his mind, he ran a list of charms - just in case the person in front of him wasn’t Malik. This was Hogwarts, after all, and their resident poltergeist, Erudito, had a handful of boggart friends and had always been particularly malicious towards Altair.
(Still, a boggart wouldn’t have taken the form of Malik. There were very few things Altair feared, and Malik was definitely not one of them.)
He was saved from that train of thought when Malik shut his book with a dull thump, dust flying from the pages in tiny waves. There was a hint of satisfaction behind Malik’s frown, like the kind he would have had when he answered a difficult question in class.
“I handled it fine,” Malik said, his voice holding an odd rasp before it cut off with a small cough. “I caught some second years in the kitchens, but that was it.”
And it wasn’t as if Altair cared, but since he was a prefect, he did have certain responsibilities to the students, and other stubborn and insufferable prefects happened to be included. He crossed his arms, a little reluctant to uphold his duties for once. For all their rivalry and bickering, they had never taken house points from each other; by some kind of unspoken mutual agreement, they kept their personal enmities and prefect status separate, much to the relief of their respective houses.
“Then why are you here, if you’re done?” he demanded.
Malik remained silent for half a beat, and shivered from the cold. “Reading,” he snipped, gesturing to the book.
Altair raised a brow. “In the library past curfew? Five points from Ravenclaw.”
Malik didn’t even blink. In truth, he seemed to be expecting it, or was at least too sick to care.
“I usually take away ten,” he replied, standing up and hefting the heavy book. He set it down in one of the unsorted piles, and, at a quick glance, Altair noticed it was an encyclopedia for magical plants.
Before he could ask, Malik was already making his way out of the library. Altair kept up, despite Malik’s griping and attempts to wave him off.
“I don’t need an escort.”
“Of course you don’t, I’m just making sure you really are going back to your common room.”
It was a testament to how Malik was feeling when his half-hearted arguments died off. In the end, he allowed Altair follow him to the Ravenclaw tower, and they stopped in front of an inconspicuous wooden door with a bronzed knocker in the shape of an eagle’s head.
Altair was aware of the riddles the Ravenclaws had instead of passwords. He didn’t think much of it, having answered a few of them for a few lost Ravenclaw students, and sometimes he did it just because he could.
“Ah, back again?” the eagle said, craning its neck to give Malik a shrewd-eye stare. It clicked its beak and prompted, “What can be swallowed, but can also swallow you?”
“The glutto-pitcher flower,” Malik answered, reaching out to take the handle, but the eagle let out a piercing screech, and he hastily withdrew his hand.
“I don’t expect you to get the answer anytime soon,” the eagle hooted smugly, and froze in place with a creak of finality, though that didn’t stop Malik from giving the door a frustrated kick.
Altair stared, first at Malik then to the door and back to Malik before it all clicked. He burst out laughing.
“So that’s why you were in the library!” he grinned. “You can't figure out the riddle. You were locked out!”
Given that Malik was already flushed red from his fever, his cheeks were near on fire as he turned to face Altair.
“Oh, and I suppose you know the answer then?”
Shrugging, Altair put up his hands and made a face. “Maybe I do.”
Malik let out a tiny snort of laughter that was more angry than amused. “No, you don’t. You would have said it and rubbed it in my face by now.”
Altair rolled his eyes. “Not like it matters to me; it’s not my problem.”
But Malik did not say anything, fisting his hands over the ends of his sleeves, stretching the dark fabric. He looked awful and miserable, and while Altair did not have to worry about Malik breaking down in tears like a first-year, he wasn’t sure if he could trust Malik to not blast the common room door apart with his wand.
“Go to the hospital wing,” Altair said. “You look like you’re about to die. And not just from embarrassment either.”
Usually, some small part of Altair found Malik reasonable most of the time (like the majority of all Ravenclaws). He would never admit it aloud, but it still came as a surprise when Malik shook his head in a way that was more stubborn and surly than rational.
“If I went, then they won’t let me play tomorrow,” Malik explained, brushing past Altair, presumably to head back to the library instead of sitting next to the door to wait for someone to open it.
“Against Hufflepuff?” Altair scoffed, but he didn’t say anymore than that. He wouldn’t have wanted to miss a Quidditch game either, even with a cold and a fever. He watched Malik trudge off into the corridor, almost walking into a suit of armor, and gnawed at the inside of his cheek. With a loud exhale, he jogged over, grabbing Malik’s arm to pull him back. “Hey, wait. I have an idea.”
“You know the answer?” Malik asked, doubtful. He yanked his arm from Altair’s hold, but only to press his face into his sleeve to muffle a sneeze.
Altair shook his head. “No. But follow me.”
The seventh floor was lit with torches, the low flames throwing faint shadows over the floors and walls. Altair walked pass the main classroom doors and turned into a rather large hallway, decorated with dozing portraits and stone arches. Malik trailed behind him, easily keeping up, but he had grown quiet during the walk and mumbled his responses when Altair tried to goad him into saying something.
“Okay. Here,” Altair said, coming to a halt. He gestured to an empty space on the wall.
Malik stared. “I don’t-” he began, but then he straightened and blinked. “Is this the Room of Requirement?”
Altair canted his head, trying to hide the disappointment of not being able to prove Malik wrong. “You know it?”
Malik was still looking at the wall with sharp interest. Or, rather, feverish interest, both figuratively and literally. “I’ve heard rumors,” he replied, a rueful smile quirking one side of his mouth. “How did you find it?”
Aside from Ezio and Desmond, Altair hadn’t told anyone about his second sight. He floundered around for an answer, but he had never been one to tell lies. He never needed to. Lifting his chin, Altair focused his gaze over the faint golden outline of the magical room.
“I was looking a quiet place to practice and study,” he said, daring Malik to make fun. “And the Room of Requirement showed up. I’ve been using it ever since.”
“Oh,” Malik said thoughtfully, and after a moment, he added, “It shows. The practicing, I mean.”
Altair wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t that. He wondered if he should be taking Malik to the hospital wing if the other prefect was going to start making compliments while delirious.
“Yeah. Well,” Altair said roughly, ignoring how amused Malik seemed just then. “Walk in front of this spot three times, and think of what you want. Be specific.”
Malik did as he was told, taking measured steps back and forth. Before he could finish his third pace, the wall shivered and a door sprung up, shoving aside the portraits, much to the disgruntlement of its occupants.
The door itself was plain and almost out of place, considering that it was Hogwarts, and everything tended to be gaudy. Altair thought it kind of resembled an ordinary muggle door - the knob was simple and made of dull metal, and there were uneven paint marks streaked across it. With a pleased hum, Malik opened it and they looked inside.
The room was small and uninteresting. A low bed took up most of the space, but there was also a sink attached to one of the walls and, of all things, a clock with an alarm. It was clean and functional. It also looked like a prison cell.
“Wow,” Altair said over Malik’s shoulder. “Couldn’t you have required something more comfortable?”
But judging from the way Malik expression brightened, the room might as well been furnished with a giant canopy bed and a mansion-sized swimming pool and fur rugs.
“It’s great,” Malik said, still clutching one hand on the door knob. Like he couldn’t believe he wasn’t going to spend the rest of the night curled up in front of the Ravenclaw entrance (or blasting it apart).
Altair rolled his eyes and gave him a shove towards the bed. “Glad someone thinks so.”
Despite being sick, Malik held his ground and only stumbled a little. He did, however, let go of the door and, very deliberately, said, “Thank you.”
Grunting in acknowledgement, Altair stepped out of the room, about to close the door behind him when he heard Malik let out a tired laugh.
“I’ve figured out the riddle,” Malik said, toeing off his shoes and shrugging off his outer robe. Apparently, he didn’t want to bother with anymore than that, and collapsed in the bed, burying his face into the pillow.
Altair thought back. “'What can be swallowed but can also swallow you?'”
Malik did not move from his spot.
“Pride,” he answered, muffled, and was fast asleep before Altair could even leave the room.