Summary: Short stories for 31 Days of Flash Fiction

Beta Love: Dragon and the Cold Water Bottle Torture, Dutchgirl01 the Busiest Bee that Ever Buzzed, Commander Shepard the Winter Soldier

A/N: Artfight is eating my soul… x.x death. Fanfiction site is dead.

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Knock Me Down With a Feather

Love does not dominate; it cultivates.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe


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Prompt: "I told you, we're here for the girl, not you. Don't make this harder than it has to be. Hand her over."

"And I told you, over my dead body."

Prompt: "Dance with me and pretend the world doesn't exist," he pleaded.

After that, there was no going back.

Prompt: Let me be her protector.

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It began as a dance.

Just one, when I had succumbed to weakness and begged her to.

"Dance with me and pretend the world doesn't exist," I'd said to her.

After that, there was simply no going back.

After that, I knew I had to be her protector—

Her life was worth—infinitely more.

More than being Potter's thankless babysitter and Weasley's closet infatuation with the foolish idea—the idea that she was supposedly meant for that redheaded imbecile. The idea that Molly bloody Weasley had carefully seeded into his chicken wing-obsessed head.

The war had come and gone, but in the Wizarding World, little had truly changed. It was resistant to change much as they refused to grasp that fashion had moved on without them.

Something had changed with that one dance. The feel of her pressed against my chest. The way she tucked against me like she was made for me.

Lily had never suffered my touch save to shove me for saying something distasteful about her friends. It took me a while (a lifetime) to realise that what she'd given me, while better than my homelife) wasn't actually the shining beacon that had powered my Patronus for so long.

But the feeling I'd felt resonated in my entire body when she'd pressed close to me—a rightness that could not be mistaken. I wanted it to be mine—

I wanted this feeling to last.

I loved the way she indulged in a meal of fish and chips from the old chippie by the ocean, cradling it in a newspaper like I had as a kid. It was one of the few things from Cokeworth I had pleasant memories of. I loved the way she leaned into me, sharing her grease, salt, malted vinegar, and the food with such casual kindness.

She was not like I remembered her as a student.

She was quiet and more contemplative.

She said more with her expression than with words.

I wanted to tell her how much she had become to me, but I failed at it every time I came close. I didn't want to ruin the moment with some impulsive blurting of care when she was tucked against me.

Perhaps—action was enough.

Surely, she knew how hard it was for me to admit to feeling a connection.

But how could she? I never told her.

But maybe—

Maybe this one gesture would tell her all I wanted to share with her.

She looked around the beach cottage with wonder, her slender fingers dragging over the stone walls and garden fences. She touched the rich loamy earth with her hands even as her feet pattered along the sandy paths leading to the shore. She smiled broadly at the small herbology garden I had started, but I had left most of it unfinished—

Because I wanted us to do it together.

I wanted her—here with me.

She found a nesting pair of mini quetzalcoatls in the hedgerow, and they immediately took to her, slithering up her arms to explore her. One of them, jealous of the other, tried to strike the other, but it ended up biting her ear.

Hermione grimaced, and her hair sprouted a few colourful feathers like she was trying to grow a mane and feathered crest.

Well, that was unexpected.

The mini-quetzals seemed apologetic, licking her ear with their tiny tongues, but with each lick, her mane of feathers grew thicker and more vibrant.

Hermione smiled at me sheepishly, but hell if the tiny prismatic scales on her forehead weren't—attractive in so many ways.

Then, as if it had been the plan all along, the mini quetzals moved into her mane of feathers like it had been custom made just for them.

She laughed softly, smiling at me.

I took her hands in mine, placing what I hoped would give her the message that I couldn't quite manage to put into words.

She opened the elongated box with curiosity, her new crest feathers rising with her obvious desire to know what was in it. She froze, her fingers touching the old brass key where the ward magic waited for her acceptance to merge her energy with the house's protective fields. She gulped as she saw the Ouroboros ring attached to the end of the key with a tendril of magic, the ring's serpent shape inlaid with ammolite and opal in the colours of her new head feathers in a strange bit of fate. She looked at me with such a soft expression as her arms went around my neck and she clung to me like I was her sole buoy in the storm.

She trembled as I slid that ring onto her finger, and I cupped her face between my hands to bring my mouth to hers. I pulled away reluctantly, my finger pressed into her bottom lip with promise in my eyes.

"I love you," she said silently, her voice so soft in the wind of the beach.

Suddenly she stiffened, and before I could even react, she hastily shoved me away from her with a powerful blast of magic just as something ripped through her barrier like it was made of wet tissue paper.

Her scream tore into my soul. I felt it rather than heard it.

I saw her blood splattered all over the ground where the spell had slashed into her—a spell that was intended for me.

I had wanted to be her protector, but she had sacrificed herself for me. And her sacrifice—paid in blood—stained the rustic pathway where her footprints were still clearly visible.

"Get him!" I heard the voices, but I couldn't even move. I could only stare at the body of Hermione as she bled out on the path of what should have been our home.

Our. Home.

Ours.

I was paralysed.

Wasn't it enough to have lost Lily—she who didn't even care for me like Hermione had? Now, I had to lose Hermione, too?

Rough hands jerked me to my feet—

And then the screaming began.

Bodies burst into flames and turned to piles of ash before my eyes.

And I saw those familiar hateful blue eyes before they turned black and grey before blowing away as motes of ash on the wind.

More hands touched me, and they, too, burst into flames.

I saw those piles of ash fall to the ground and get swept out and away even as I crawled over to Hermione's side.

I gathered her in my arms, cradled her limp body to my chest, and screamed out my anguish to the world.


I came to with a heavy weariness as if my body was reluctant to breathe out of sheer principle.

I woke up—where the heck was I?

Wherever it was, it was warm.

Dark.

Comfortable.

As I moved, the ground seemed to move out from under me, and light caused me to wince slightly as the beach breeze taunted me with the happiness I had just grasped only to lose it a moment later.

What was the use of having such a place, even with my enemies apparently turned to ash, without her there to share in it?

Something tickled my ear, and I swatted it away.

It tickled me again, and I rubbed my ear frantically and looked—

Oh.

A gold and sienna quetzalcoatl stared back at me with shimmering eyes that caught rainbows like the facets in a perfectly cut gemstone.

I was laying in the coils of a giant quetzalcoatl.

But that crest of feathers was unmistakable. Especially with two mini quetzalcoatls staring at me from under those feathers.

"Hermione?" I whispered, my voice raw. Screaming had a way of making the spoken word hideously difficult.

"Quetzalcoatls are apparently natural healers," Hermione's whispery voice tickled my brain. I didn't hear it so much as I knew it. "And these little guys refused to take no for an answer."

The mini quetzalcoatls nodded decisively in unison.

I placed a hand on her serpentine snout.

Warm.

Familiar.

"You're alive—" I managed. "That alone makes me inclined to agree."

She nosed my hand warmly. "If you'd rather reconsider marriage, I will understa—"

"NO!" I almost yelled, but thankfully I had little voice to do so. "I want—need you in my life. I will marry a giant winged snake if that is what you have to be."

Hermione radiated warmth and amusement. "I'm not sure what I have to be anymore."

If the mini quetzals could look smug, they were definitely giving it their all.

"I did not expect him to attack you," she said sadly. "I did not expect such hate when I told him there could never be an us. And I knew—"

She sighed, tongue flicking. "I knew from the expression on his face when he saw you with me that he meant your death."

"So you pushed me aside and took a Dark curse to the face?"

"I—will confess I thought my shields would have been sufficient," Hermione admitted. "What I did not expect was the sheer depth of his anger or his hate."

She sighed, her tongue flicking. "It was always so easy to underestimate him when he did such stupid things all the time. I should have paid more attention and been more wary of him."

"No one can have eyes on all sides of their head," I said. "Even me. Paranoia was my life. I thought I could protect you from whatever came. I wanted to be your protector. And instead you almost died protecting me."

"Maybe I needed a life changing experience," Hermione mused.

"I don't think anyone expects being assimilated into an entirely new species as your typical life-changing experience," I said, feeling my eyebrow touching my hairline. "I—I'm sorry you lost your ability to choose."

"I don't think we really get to choose the most significant things in our lives," Hermione said. "We don't get to choose our parents. Our siblings. Our most significant moments in life. Sometimes, we must accept that we have little or no say in the matter."

"You think we have no choice?" I asked.

"I think we have many choices," Hermione allowed. "I just think that we look too closely at the big ones and forget the smaller choices we make in life. And those choices we make by making no choice at all."

"Philosophical," I said.

"I've had a few incidents in my life that gave me pause to think about how I got there," Hermione said grimly. "And some, I believe, liked to make choices for us both, for reasons that were deemed noble, whether they actually were or not."

I couldn't help but grimace. Albus had always held some sort of opinion that what I suffered (what he said we all suffered for) was some greater good. I no longer believed in such things. What he had done was turn a bunch of children loose to do what adults should have been doing. The Wizarding World relied on prophecy and a boy who didn't even know his arse from a hole in the ground when it came to the real reason he even lived to save the world.

That he had was sheer dumb luck.

Luck, and those like Granger who had the brains to solve what he couldn't. Studied and researched while he ran around playing silly buggers with his redheaded tumour. Patiently fixed whatever he broke.

"I suppose we need to substantially expand the cottage to accommodate your new body," I mused with a chuckle.

"You—meant what you said?" Hermione asked.

"I know my history states I will say many things, but I meant what I said. I would take my vows with you quite seriously. My proposal stands—if you—" I grimaced. "Still want to."

I found myself constricted in a serpentine hug with her forked tongue tickling my ear. "Of course, I do."


"You may kiss your—" the Ministry person looked utterly unsure as to what to say. "Witchacoatl," he finally managed.

Close enough.

I went up on my tippy toes to place a kiss on her snout as her tongue flicked against my face. I saw a sudden flash of movement from under her mane of feathers as a pair of brightly coloured mini-quetzalcoatls regarded me with questioning stares.

Did I mean my vows?

Of course.

If I had to be a giant feathered flying serpent to meet her on equal ground or sky, it would be a good life. An acceptable bargain.

"Go on then, you cheeky buggers," I whispered against her cheek.

One bit my nose and the other my ear.

And everything went black.


Ever tried to snakeling proof your brewing lab?

I have.

Fortunately for us, we were good at warding against idiots, so curious snakelings weren't as bad as they could have been. And since we could fly AND use magic, snakelings were not as big of an issue.

Also, mini quetzals took on babysitting duty with aplomb, and they (and their own batch of babies) moved in with us and loved to torment, er, take care of the snakelings.

Hermione was amused, and I was nigh ecstatic.

The Department of Mysteries had registered us as agents to protect us from the Department of Regulation of Magical Creatures—who had tried to send some idiot over to contain us, and ended up with a seething horde angry mini quetzalcoatls direct to the forehead.

Apparently, the mutagenic venom was just for those they actually liked.

Good to know.

Otherwise every idiot would be a quetzalcoatl.

As it was, once a week, Amelia Bones would send a not-idiot to come and "milk" our venom because it apparently had a thousand different uses outside of outright killing someone, and one of them was countering the effects of other venoms and treating the effects of Dark magic on the body.

Who knew?

Well, the DoM knew, apparently.

They were keeping their breeding pair of quetzalcoatls and our growing mini quetzalcoatl sanctuary on the secret weapon list as well as the "do not disturb" list unless you had an official invite.

Our modest home quickly turned into a lair. Our small beachfront turned into an extremely large unplottable sanctuary to keep random Muggles and such from wandering in and—

Sometimes we'd get visits from South American groups to come pay their respects, and we allowed them to collect some of our moulted feathers for their sacred bundles.

I wasn't going to stand in the way of that kind of respect. They may not have respected me as a person, but I recognised respect for the quetzalcoatl as a species. We were—

An amazing piece of engineering on a beastly scale.

Even if our family had to tolerate a little palo santo up our nostrils, respectful patting, and even some dancing.

I'd take that to the Dark Lord's revels and Dumbledore's faculty meetings any day.

The snakelings loved it. They allowed themselves to be cuddled and stroked, and they knew to keep their fangs to themselves. If anything, they were being socialised far better than when I had been a child. Until Hermione, a kind touch and a snuggle was like a foreign language.

Now, the touch of scale and warmth was—like air. I couldn't imagine life without it.

Without her.

This life—

This is what I had been born for. It had been a hard childhood. A traumatic adolescence. A tortured adulthood—

But as the warm feathers and coils of my mate curled around me, her tongue flicking against mine in a serpentine kiss, I knew that all of that had prepared me to recognise this great gift I had been given.

And I was all in.

Because she—was worth everything.

And this shared life was the piece of myself that had laid in wait for me to pull my head out of my arse long enough to see it.

And for the rest of my life, I would be grateful.

There was so much to be grateful for.

As I saw my female spawn curled up in one of our South American guest's laps, the man's eyes filled with liquid wonder, I knew lives would change.

Not because of us specifically—but because of what we allowed others to realise.

Possibility was everywhere, no matter how dark the beginning or how hopeless the time.

"I love you," Hermione hissed as she corkscrewed around my body, tangling her feathers with mine.

"And I you," I replied with all my heart. "Always."


And they lived quetzalcoatl-ly ever after.