Title: Of Sewing and Butterfly Wings
Summary: Matthew and Berwald talk about sewing and family.
Rating: G, not at all harmful to minors.
Notes: A one shot from the HPatK universe, which is based Dakt37's (at deviant art dot com) Harry Potter and the Extremely British Professor. This takes place WAAAAAY later in the story, trust me on that one, though it contains no spoilers. I struggled with Berwald's dialogue, and eventually decided to go with some dropped constants, but not full on "m'mbl' sp'k".
Disclaimer: Not mine, at all, premise belongs to Dakt37, known and beloved characters belong to their various networks and creators. The few OCs which appear are mine, but if for some reason you wish to play with them, ask and you shall receive
Naja Enoksen - Greenland, keeper for the Nordic International Quidditch team.
Chaser twins are Roi and Liv Hojggard, who I think I made to represent the Faroe Islands, or possibly Svalbard, I don't remember.
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Berwald frowned as yet another quidditch robe was dumped onto his ever growing sewing pile. The culprit, Naja Enoksen, gave him a small, sheepish grin, her dark eyes apologetic. "It got caught on the hoops," she explained, and Berwald just nodded, scowling slightly at the Greenlandic keeper.
"'S fine," he told her, "leas' you cleaned it f'rst." She nodded, thanking him as she walked away, and Berwald rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration, starting a bit when something landed lightly on his shoulder.
"Are you alright Mr. Oxensteirna?" Earlier, Peter had barreled in, shouting loudly and causing the teams twin chasers to nearly crack their ribs laughing at Berwald's face upon seeing his son covered in mud and sopping wet. With him, had been what at first appeared to be a butterfly, and Berwald had been momentarily tempted to crush the thing in a bout of petty revenge against his son for tracking mud all through the house. However, the butterfly's giggles and quiet requests to please let go chased those thoughts away quickly, and Berwald had somehow ended up with the faerie keeping him company until 'his human' could be found.
"'M fine," he muttered, "This 's just a lot of sewing t' do." Matthew, apparently a very sympathetic creature, nodded, sitting cross legged on the corner of the table Berwald was at.
"I remember one time," he said, leaning over to pick up a needle, "we got a new member of the flitter, and he didn't have any winter clothes. So, it was late in the season by the time we realized and," he stopped to giggle slightly, walking over to the spool of blue thread nearest Berwald, "and mama was so annoyed she told me I had to procure them!" He quickly sat down on the spool, fishing for the end of the thread as he balanced the needle on his lap. "I asked why, after all it's hard to stay warm in northern Ontario, that's a lot of clothing, and you know what mama said?"
"No," Berwald replied, a little bemused by Matthew in general, "can't say I do."
"Well," the faerie continued, little pink tongue sticking out as he tried to thread the needle, one eye closed. "She said 'Matthieu, if you are going to bring 'ome strays, you are going to take care of dem!'" Berwald chuckled at the faerie's adoption of a French accent, watching as he finally managed to thread the small needle.
"Wh't 'appened with th'other faerie?" he asked, now intrigued. Matthew faltered a bit at that, face falling, his grip on the silver needle tightening.
"We, we got well, I guess the best approximation is married, maybe," he closed one eye again, obviously thinking back. "Maybe a hundred years after." Berwald blinked at that, not expecting that response.
"Wh're is he?" the Swede asked, puzzled as to why a faerie would be so far from home and his whatever faeries called their significant others. Matthew sighed in response, looking up at Berwald with big sad eyes.
"I don't know," he said simply, "part of me says he's probably dead but," he bit his lip, blinking away tears, "I mean, it's Al, and Al can't just die, he's Alfred and he wouldn't do that to me." Berwald watched as the small faerie struggled to hold himself together, feeling bad for bring up something obviously painful.
"'S alright," he offered, holding out a palm which Matthew immediately clambered on to, abandoning the needle and thread, "if you don' think 'e's dead, maybe 'e's not." He told the other, gently rubbing one little leg with his thumb. Matthew sniffed lightly, looking up at Berwald in thanks.
"Thank you Mr. Oxensteirna," he said, "I hope you're right." Berwald nodded once, encouragingly, before turning back to the pile of quidditch robes.
"Wanna help me sew 'em?" he offered and Matthew nodded vigorously, flitting off his hand to recollect his needle.
"Sure but, one question, why don't you use your magic to sew them?" Berwald considered this for a moment, obviously thinking hard before he shrugged.
"Jus' seems wrong," he muttered, unable to pinpoint why, "tha's all." Matthew seemed to accept this answer, a look of determination steeling across his little face.
"We'll take care of this in no time Mr. Oxensteirna," he said, "don't you worry." Berwald smiled slightly at the faerie's confidence, picking up the first quidditch robe, silently hoping it took a while more to hunt down Matthew's human. He was very good company.