Fandom IntroductionsSherlock HolmesA Study in...(Sherlock/John. Warnings: Drug abuse)
The same as the regular introductions except these are for fandoms.
Most of these are Harry Potter.
Since Watson’s departure from his long-time residence at Baker Street the rooms that had once been shared by doctor and detective had not changed much because of one man’s absence. There were different stacks of paper on the desk, the violin sat in a new location, the meal that had been brought to Holmes was left untouched, and the smell of tobacco smoke was perhaps more prominent than it had ever been. Mrs. Hudson kept the dust from collecting on the shelves and the floors but everything was as it had been left. The main room that had been occupied by the pair on so many nights of instigating as they sat by a warming fire was doused in darkness. The curtains had not been drawn back; it was a trivial task that served very little purpose to Holmes except when he was curious to know if anyone would be paying him a visit. Small tasks had been so often left to Watson to care. The light of day or the black of night had little sway over what Holmes would be doing with his time anyway.
Holmes was hard at work in the corner of the room at a small table he’d taken from the side of a chair placed near the fire. There was an assortment of books set out about the floor along with the vials of liquid that sat on the surface of the table. His sleeves had been rolled up to the elbow and he was shaking a corked liquid vigorously to produce some result. The tap at the door had barely registered in his mind; it was an annoyance at best. If his focus had been on visitors he would have assumed it was someone other than the woman of the house come to torment him with some complaint or another. He hadn’t expected Watson. Watson was out of reach these days though that was mostly Holmes’ doing; he had pushed away. It happened little by little, an unconscious choice that would make the loss of a friend, his only friend, much easier to cope with.
Moody was the best description of his present state though currently he looked to be actively involved in some great task. It meant nothing better than he either had a case that required the work or had been at his old vices and indulged in cocaine again. It may have taken him longer than necessary but the familiar gait stirred a memory. “Watson,” he announced without looking and instead pouring the contents of the glass container onto a light colored cloth on the table. “Giving up married life already? I warned you over it but I won’t have you back. Miss Morstan,” he started, straightening his posture to finally peer through the darkness at his lost friend, “…Mrs. Watson shouldn’t allow it.” There was a vague smile pulling at his lips but it seemed incapable of taking complete shape. “You enjoyed the trip, I take it?” His attention was scattered in his present state, more focused on his work than any individual, and he glanced at it once before being pulled by compulsion back to it. “What brings you about?”Permission(John/Sherlock. Warning: Drug abuse)
Had it been any brighter in the space, Holmes might have been capable of better discerning a look of skepticism that went over the face of the doctor. With Mrs. Hudson bustling around so feverishly it seemed very unlikely that Holmes would consider shooting without questioning. Then again, according to the poor landlady her tenant had become excessively reclusive. Watson had taken his eyes off of Holmes for a few weeks and he was threatening to shoot before questioning? Was that really characteristic of his overly inquisitive partner? Ex-partner -- it was all rather confusing at the moment as to what they actually were. "Is that paranoia?" he questioned, managing to erase the humor out of his voice.
For having been absent, Watson found it surprisingly easy to maneuver the room as though he'd never left it. The first obligation he was to undertake was to draw back the fabric that presently blocked out any light that Holmes was attempting to avoid. "How many times must I tell you not to sit about in the dark?" It was simple falling back into scolding Holmes in a manner that would create very little impression with the detective. The moment Holmes struck into one of his moods he would back in the dark or if Watson wasn't there to insist on the light. Watson wasted no time now in flooding the room with a brightness it had probably not seen in days (though he feared it may have been weeks). "And yes, I have actually come to reprimand you as you are clearly in need of it."
The unusually excited speech didn't go unnoticed it just went temporarily unmentioned. Watson removed his hat as he took a moment to glance down at the street. This felt more comfortable to him than residing with Mary, this view was so familiar that there was something calming about it even in the chaotic assault of questions from Holmes. Most of those questions he was going to bypass unless they were better contained or focused. For now, he turned his attention back into the room. "When was the last case you took? The last visitor you had, for that matter?" Watson knew the first answer -- at least he was fairly certain he did -- and could make a fair assessment about the second.
Watson carefully removed the coat as if that were some indication of the length of his stay and draped it neatly over one arm. They were so strangely contrasted; the pair of them. Watson couldn't tolerate any sort of disorder even on his person and Holmes was content to sit about in his ratty robe that had certainly been around for as long as Watson could remember. As if to prove their difference in attention to dress, he pulled and straightened the cuffs of his shirt, and made sure there was complete order. "Better still: explain why my former landlady finds you terrifying enough to request my assistance."
Harry PotterWhat's Done is Done(Pansy/Oliver. Time: Post-War. Warnings: TBD)
Afternoons, especially late afternoons when the sun was out, generally showed a slowing in productivity. The mad rushing of the morning had dwindled and even the office chat had dulled into a low hum. Employees moved sluggishly, most were caught in a day dream that their morning coffee had failed to prevent as the caffeine dwindled in their systems. It was almost like a repeat of the zombie mornings minus the crisp possibilities that an early hour often brought to the populace. Even the tyrannical rule of Myna Parkinson had ended some hours ago as she slammed her office door shut and had not emerged since – no one dared try to enter.
The departure of her mother from the floor prompted the young woman to emerge from her own office. The memos she’d been sending as a form of communication to her secretary had retaliated on the poor stout woman by dive bombing her while she crouched under her desk, flailing her shoe at them as her wand was just out of reach in a pencil cup on her desk. The school-like note passing had been necessary in the past few days as Mrs. Parkinson had targeted her daughter specifically over the marriage law and had several times been on the verge of titling her a traitor. Pansy being the only immediate family remaining was the girl’s only salvation from hearing that disgusting word.
Now, Pansy felt it was safe though she made no effort to help her secretary. Her jade eyes passed over the desk of her secretary and while this situation normally would have struck her as highly entertaining she found it impossible to even crack a smile and moved past with what appeared to be a blank indifference. The destination was another office across the floor to pick up the photos that would be put into the newest issue of the magazine. Unfortunately, the wisp of a creature was gone for the day and Pansy was confronted with a closed door and the photos neatly held to the door with a weak sticking charm.
Her lips pursed and she tore them away from the door, leaning one shoulder against the wall, and going through the little collection. Pansy’s dark hair was kept long enough, that when she looked down as she was, could hide her face. It conveniently blocked out the look of utter annoyance she had. Throughout the morning she’d been distracted with the annoyance that was Oliver Wood. She hadn’t even come into physical contact with her yet and he was causing more trouble than he was undoubtedly worth. There was a considerable lack of focus thanks to him and that was the only reason she remained past her typical work hours.Bottled and Shelved(OC/M. Time: Trio-era. Warnings: TBD)
A week had passed since the return to school: the start of sixth year. It had begun pleasant enough with a fond farewell from family, promises to write, and the usual nonsense that accompanied a goodbye that would last until the holiday. That day the weather had been a bit cool but it was sunny and cloudless. Unfortunately, the weather had taken a turn and majority of the days spent on classes the rain had been relentless. It made the grounds muddy and dangerous, a slippery adventure for anyone that dared walk out into the elements -- very few people did aside from Quidditch players and students that needed to get to Care of Magical Creatures or Herbology. By the third day there was a restlessness in classrooms as the students, already confined by being trapped indoors, shuffled their feet, fidgeted, and found distractions as they sat at their desks. Anything to break up the monotony of another dreary day... On Friday, they were in luck and the sun came out. Everything outside was still soaked but that didn't stop the younger years from going outside, many of them slipping accidentally and dragging down friends in the process making them a muddy mess.
Looking like some mud monster that had crawled out of the Forbidden Forest could wait for another day. A perfected drying spell on a stone bench and Silvanus had found it an adequate place to take up residence to act as though reading the book in front of him was the important thing in all the world. Another boy had sat next to him facing the opposite direction and watching a group of second years levitate clumps of dirt and hit each other until a professor came slipping and sliding over to stop them and take points away from individuals that seemed to have been the source of the little battle. "Afternoon, Price. Read the Prophet lately?" The boy that had sat down without invitation had wild red hair that looked like it had been subjected to electricity. He waited a moment, glanced at Silvanus who was very blonde in contrast and currently ignoring him, before going on. "Saw that bit about your brother. That's a shame. Imagine you'll follow suit?"
Reading the same word repeatedly several times was taxing when someone so irritating was speaking to him and the blonde finally looked up. The expression was nothing but blank, nothing readable in the dark green eyes. "No," he responded hollowly. "I shouldn't think I'd follow a traitor. That is what you're asking isn't it; if I'd join a rebel lot of miscreants and foolishly defy the Ministry?" The Ravenclaw returned to staring at the words on the page. "I wouldn't be so idiotic. Unless you've something important to say, Harwood, I suggest you get back to your little gaggle of lackeys." Indeed, in the corner of the yard stood several Slytherins trying to inconspicuously stare at the happenings between their friend and their... well, not enemy per say. Silvanus was an oddity.
The boy, Harwood, sat there almost stupidly for a few seconds before it occurred to him to grab the book away without any warning. He stood, held it up for the others to see, and turned toward the pale boy, walking backward and dangling the book out as if trying to lure some creature into a trap. A cheer had gone up from the other boys and they began ambling forward, mindful of the precarious ground they were walking on. "Come on, Silas, admit you're in pieces about it. That's your brother that's been sent to Azkaban. Ruining the family name and all. You've got to have some feelings about it."
Almost as soon as the book had been taken, Silvanus had jumped to his feet and had watched with narrowed eyes as it was waved like a trophy; an undeserved victory prize. Tension had built up in his chest and his movement around the bench felt stiff from resisting the urge to attack the other boy. "I was very clear with you about my feelings on the matter." Somehow he managed to keep his voice even, cold even. "The choices made were idiotic and I have no desire to repeat them -- give me the book." It became very apparent that one of two things could result from their interactions: Harwood would relent and turn the book over or some sort of altercation would draw the attention of another professor and they'd be dealt with that way. Silvanus let out a measured breath and held his hand out to reclaim a book that was obviously not going to be given over to him. What a wonderful way to enjoy the first nice day since the start of term. Take Heart Again(OC/M Death Eater. Time: Trio-era AU. Warnings: Violence.)
Dim candlelight was difficult to see by and she managed to knock something from the desk, hitting it with her elbow. It was vital to remain in such poor lighting though, even with the wards and charms thrown up around the house. The structure had to appear void of life, vacant. It was anything but vacant. It was frequently used by Death Eater's passing through the area or for meetings but it was never a permanent place of business. The business of evil never sat still. It was in perpetual motion because evil was not the dominating force in the world. It was constantly being chased about by the forces of good. That was why the dawn always chased away the shadows of night in those story books. The villains of the world were cowards running and it was wise of them to run.
Wisteria muttered a curse under her breath as she shoved the drawer shut and crouched down in the flickering light of a few short and unreliable candles. Whatever she'd knocked into had to be around somewhere close to her feet. Hands groped for it as her pale eyes strained to see in the thick shadow. "Where are you?" she muttered to the object before her hand settled on what felt to be a sphere of some sort. A crystal ball? That seemed archaic. She didn't really believe in prophecy and fortune-telling. It seemed like an outdated practice that didn't take into consideration the free-will of a human and their ability to make choices not associated with their character.
Sitting back on her legs she held the clear ball up and tried to see something other than the distorted images on the other side of the room. Nothing. A lopsided smirk was produced from the confirmation that it just didn't work. Then she heard it. The sound like someone was approaching and the look fell from her face. The ball was quietly set back down on the floor and she produced her wand as she got to her feet. It might have helped to cast 'lumos' but that would have drawn attention to what she was doing. Had someone been in the house and she simply hadn't noticed? Was that even possible?
Apparently. As she neared the door to the room a voice stretched out through the dark and there was a faint light which was only due to wand-light. No one but Death Eaters could get past those wards without making a racket and alerting the house. Well, them and someone who was very good at what they were doing. She held firmly the wand in her hand, her lips pursed with indecision. Finally, bravery won out and she muttered, "Lumos." The light seeping out into the hall and being a telling sign of her location.
It wasn't necessary to track her down as she stepped out from the doorway, her features lit by the wand. To Death Eaters, Wisteria was one of them. It seemed as though she had simply come into existence one day and never departed. That was a ridiculous notion but it made most of them suspicious even after three years of faithful service. "I didn't know anyone else was here," she stated curtly. She stared at him critically. The look would mask her dismay in the distorted light. "How long have you been here?" What was implied was 'how long have you been here without my knowing.' Nothing Broken(Draco/M or F. Time: Trio-era AU. Warnings: TBD.)
Summer had been long and arduous. The weather had been agreeable enough but it felt as though the situation that had been brewing for the entirety of his school years was pulling things together and dragging them apart simultaneously. As he stood on the platform staring fixedly at the train, Draco was both aware of the business going on around him and removed from it. He didn't move, just stood near the trunk of his belongings in a sort of catatonic way. In the periphery of ice gray eyes he could see the younger children scampering frantically about; making incessant racket that grated on his nerves. Pansy even had the gall to edge up to him and whisper her greeting in what she surely thought was a seductive tone.
At least with her at his side it would be impossible to dwell on the goings on of his personal life and the platinum blond quirked an eyebrow at her while she repressed a grin of delight. "Come on, Parkinson. We have better things to do than stand here chatting -- if that's what you'd call what you'd just said to me." The tone was flat enough to wipe the look of pleasure off of Pansy's face and she settled back into a sneer of annoyance. That was familiar. He could appreciate it because after years of yanking her emotions through mud they had settled into something of an understanding: Draco would insult and belittle her most of the time and be kind when it was convenient to him. Pansy silently agreed to the terms though she didn't like them. What choice did she have? Draco didn't display an ounce of compassion for anyone, ever, without an agenda behind it.
After everything was packed away in the train and they had found Crabbe and Goyle it then that they struck out to find others that they associated, to get out of the mass of inferior creatures crawling about in search of places to sit. Thankfully it didn't take long to find the compartment that contained someone they associated with. Or, at least, Crabbe and Goyle assumed it was acceptable to associate with and they lumbered inside followed by Pansy who already looked as though she was on her guard but attempting neutrality and Draco who wore no expression whatsoever. They arranged themselves in their seats. Crabbe and Goyle never separating, Pansy resigned to sitting next to them, and Draco next to the one they had intruded upon. "Nice seeing you again," Pansy commented as though she was surprised the student had survived the summer for some reason. "Enjoyed your summer?"
Why was it that girls felt the need to overcompensate for their dislike of other living creatures? Draco leaned into the corner. It wasn't his dislike, it was just a comfortable position to survey the people he was traveling with. Crabbe and Goyle seemed incapable of understanding Pansy's venom and this brought a smirk onto Draco's face. "You know she isn't really interested, right? She just doesn't want to disrupt the precarious and, as of yet, undetermined hierarchy of this term," Draco explained to them perfunctorily. It was going to be a miracle that the two of them should survive once they were not under the care of their leader.
Draco's eyes rolled away from the boys and settled on their little friend just as Pansy's face flushed. "I'm sure everyone will fall back into their places. Don't you think? No use attempting any social climbing this late in the game." They had always been in competition but Draco was better at disguising his contempt than Pansy was, at least in his inflection. The words sounded as though they might be equals but he would never stand for that. That was unsteady ground to be walking on as there was no advantage in his favor. Really, they could never be equals.At a Loss(Hermoine/M. Time: Post-War AU. Warnings: Violence, NC)
It had been hours since the last shade of blue was erased from the sky and even longer still since the sun had gone beyond the horizon. For the time of year, it was cold with a bitter wind that came in gusts through the streets of London. Despite the night, lamps kept a good majority of the streets lit as bright as - well - late evening. Some however were nothing more than black voids that would swallow a person whole if they were brave enough and so inclined to venture down them. The daytime noise had gradually faded as the night came on and the twilight sounds were similar but also notably different. The sounds people made at night were muted, muffled by some golden rule that told them the darkness meant a sort of quiet or deserved a certain reverence. It was like the whole world was holding its breath waiting to be surprised by the monster under the bed.
The late hour finally brought Hermione out onto the streets. She had spent a good deal of the day writing and petitioning and generally in disagreement with the Ministry; sometimes the rules and red tape were hopelessly frustrating - in the end necessary. It was quite the walk from her flat to the inconspicuous building. It would have been faster to take the Knight Bus but a paranoia had sunk in to her being. The Ministry had been edgy lately though, as usual, they were keeping the public calm and unaware. Certainly, wizard transportation would have been safe but really, was it? After her school adventures nothing really seemed safe, especially if the Ministry was being hush-hush about things. She'd even wrote to Harry, inquired about the situation and still found herself without answers. Voldemort had been gone for a year and the world was lulled into a blanket of security; no wizard could possess that sort of power again, not for a long time.
Hermione clutched the letters she had received as the cold air rushed passed her, ruffling her hair and freezing her hands. The letters were responses from around Europe of peculiar happenings and the people potentially behind the trouble. If anything, they were going to be read in the privacy of her own flat where she was safe, secure, and not under the curious eyes of others. The brown eyes gazed up at the sky, straining to see through the city lights. It was a moonless night, starless if she was seeing things properly - a storm was coming. She picked up her pace, holding her letters firmly to her chest as if they were the things that needed protecting from the unnatural summer weather.Butterfly Effect(Seamus/M. Time: Post-War AU. Warnings: TBD)
Three members of the D.A. were gone. That was approximately three too many when the war was supposed to be over and Harry was supposed to have saved the Wizarding world. It seemed lately like there was a great deal of loose ends just drifting about in the breeze since Voldemort fell - this was some sort of vendetta.
Dumbledore's Army had reassembled in a way. Everyone was in contact and a meeting had been held, matters had been discussed, and orders had been given out; it was all very official. Seamus had found it all very proper and serious; which it was but in the end left with a very bad taste in his mouth. How he had wound up to be the one tracking down this particular Death Eater was beyond him as it seemed like a fool's errand. Everyone was already up in arms about the situation so he was making a point of preparing for the worst.
It had been raining all week. How the roads weren't all flooded was something of a miracle. The witches and wizards moved idly about their business with hoods thrown up over their heads to protect themselves against the elements. Seamus had followed suit and was using it partly as a disguise as by now the cold had bitten through the fabric and was presently gnawing on his bones. It wasn't safe to go out alone if you were once a member or still an active member of the D.A. Along with other official business it had been decided that traveling in pairs was the only way around things and to spare more lives.
On good authority (namely, he'd been following him about for a few days), he knew that Draco frequently went about this street. That's what he was waiting for. Sure, he'd caught glimpses of the former Slytherin earlier in the week before the meeting had begun but aside from this little bit of information he'd gathered there was nothing more he honestly knew.
Seamus had been out of touch with London the moment school let out and everyone else wanted nothing more than to forget about the Death Eaters that got away thanks very much to Harry. Needless to say, he wasn't thrilled to be standing in the cold rain, one frozen hand hidden under his cloak wrapped firmly yet numbly about his wand. This was going to be a disaster; with his teeth already chattering he could tell.Morsmordre(Narcissa/Lucius. Time: First War. Warnings: TBD)
Cold air seeped in from the open window of a dark bedroom. By now the room was frigid as the heat had run frantic from the confines as quickly as it could manage and nothing of the previous warmth remained. The gray dawn light spread across the floor and over the motionless objects, seeking to banish the night from every corner before the sun had a chance to break the horizon and find traces of the dark. Positioned on the wrong end of the bed, the blond hair cascading out about her in a moment of unguarded carelessness, Narcissa's pale, slender frame rested motionless. Some time during the night she had sat down on the vacant bed, stopped her worrying of her hands, and persistent pacing only to slip off into an uncomfortable sleep. Not even the cold air was enough to keep her up as she'd exhausted herself from silently fretting and a persistent tension her muscles that would not evaporate.
Every breath she took now was measured and calm; her only sign of life until a distantly familiar voice penetrated the edge of dreaming. She shifted, her eyes reluctant to open in a moment of disoriented irritation, and then the reality of life returned. Lucius had been away and when he did leave her and their son it was a point of annoyance to her which she expressed in glib comments because underlying that negative outward show was an anxiety that was unfathomable to her. Willing putting her family in danger, willingly putting her husband in danger... Narcissa understood the purpose of it, saw that to preserve what they believed in it was necessary, but it didn't make accepting it easier.
In an instant she was up and listening for the voice again, holding her breath and shivering. The temporarily quelled nervousness was moving into her stomach again, taking up a permanent residence it would seem, it prompted her to rise and open the door. It wasn't certain that her hand shook because of the air or anticipation when she reached for the knob. What was certain was she couldn't allow herself to focus on trivial things like that.
The rest of the manor was warm, more inviting than the bedroom and the contrast was shocking to her body. Certainly, she hadn't imagined footsteps and Narcissa stood frozen momentarily trying to find some composure despite the innocently vulnerable way she held herself after waking up alone. "Lucius," she breathed in relief, not above a whisper, at the first sight of him appearing from the stairs. Tension fled from her and she was capable of moving toward him more quickly than she should have if she was still trying to feign anger with him for insisting on going out on these late night missions.
(Hermione/Pansy. Time: Trio-era AU. Warnings: TBD)
In all her years in school, even after teaming up with the most reckless boys in the entirety of the Wizarding World, Hermione Granger had never been in more trouble than she was during her sixth year. It was infuriating and demeaning, to say the very least. That was the reason for the look of shame that was painted all over her face as the pair of them were dismissed by the Gryffindor head of house -- of all people! Her head was kept low to hide the scarlet coloring on her cheeks. The hair she had forced into proper order acted as a curtain to mask the frustration. She could have kicked a wall and not felt any better for it.
If Parkinson had stopped bickering with her and used whatever common sense was lurking around in her addled head she might have considered that Draco Malfoy was of no interest to a best friend of Harry Potter. Even if she wasn't a friend of Harry's there was nothing remotely inviting about Malfoy. He was about as charming as a dead Nargle. It was ludicrous that they even had to fight over it... over him. She had a good mind to confess to the puggy-faced bint the entire situation. That wouldn't have gone over well so they were reduced to squabbling and the inevitable detention that followed such stupid antics.
Hermione's lips were pursed, pressed together to keep her mouth from running away from her. If only she had been more careful with the Time-Turner she wouldn't have lost it to Malfoy to begin with. Dumbledore warned her and there was a failure to obey. Now she not only had school to get through and Voldemort to worry over but was sneaking around doing work for the son of a known Death Eater! Perfect. Not to mention his loony girlfriend was out to get her and Malfoy had stated very clearly that he was amused by it. Slytherins were disturbed.
As she carefully shut the door, sure that it would make the minimum amount of noise not to upset an already annoyed McGonagall, and turned to face the hall, her head lifted to see where she was heading. Abruptly she stopped with wide, surprised eyes. The expression of alarm didn't make it to the rest of her features as she was irate enough to prevent it. Not again... Automatically, Hermione rolled her eyes off to the side but she was forced to right herself once it became clear that Pansy was advancing.
Tension radiated out of her, restraint. The hall, from what she could see was empty. The students were elsewhere: classes, eating, studying. They were alone for the time being and that was never a good thing. Pansy looked just as miffed as she had been that first day she'd spotted Hermione with Malfoy. In truth, she looked almost murderous. That wasn't an excuse for the Gryffindor to back away. She squared her shoulders and stood her ground looking almost defiant though there didn't seem to be a decent reason for it.