Weasleysarch - 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐦

I wanna make it (so badly)

Art Donaldson x Fem Reader

Warnings/Contains: reader is AFAB with she/her pronouns, swearing, inappropriate employer/employee relationship, dry-humping, a lot of heavy petting, implied age gap, effective-infidelity (reader tested, tashi approved), oral sex (f!receiving), art is a bit of a pervert and mega-pathetic (endearing), references to religion (worship).

Word Count: 5.8k

i white knuckled the steering wheel on the way home from this film thinking about art donaldson- this is, essentially, an ode to that

Youth tennis lessons, $20/h, call for details

Finding work was hard, keeping work was harder.

Cleaning, baby-sitting, pet-sitting, pet-walking. There was virtually nothing you hadn't tried.

Odd jobs, odd hours, and the occasional odd employer.

You'd played tennis for the last couple years of college. Nothing remotely competitive but you and your friends had looked cute in the skirts and they'd give you whole hours out of class to play.

You were above average with a good arm and better patience.

Another odd job to add to your growing list.

You'd been particular about where you'd posted the ads, the neighbourhoods you'd chosen. Only the ones with manicured lawns and white picket fences.

Tacking the paper to boards in upmarket cafes, fancy supermarkets, ladies-only gyms.

The kind of people that want their kids playing tennis and could find their way to increase your pay- if you did well.

You always did very well.

So your little car looked a little out of place in this neighbourhood, fingers holding the scribbled post-it note with the address. Your scrawling handwriting detailing the "Donaldson's" were enquiring within.

Pulling up outside the house, you had a quiet inkling that you might've been out of your depth. Whoever owned this house deserved more than an above-average-ex-college-student that only learnt the sport to spend time with friends.

But they'd requested you, you'd have to let them come to that conclusion on your own.

Your knuckles only hit the door once before it was being swung open by someone that looked destined to be a security guard, like he'd come out the womb with his future decided.

What the fuck had you gotten yourself into?

He'd left you in the "formal lounge" to sit smack-bang in the centre of a couch that wouldn't even fit in the lobby of your apartment building- let alone the apartment itself.

As you admired a painting on the wall that you'd only ever seen in books, high heels on the stone floors made you jump in your seat.

The most beautiful woman you might ever see in your life appeared before you and said your name in a way that had you standing from your seat.

Your face faltered just enough that you hoped she didn't notice. There was something about her that told you she noticed everything.

Fuck me, that's Tashi Duncan.

If you know a thing about tennis (or even just watched the news) you know exactly who this woman is. You remember her more from your childhood but you remember her all the same.

The woman that once held the world by the balls.

She apologised for her husband's absence, that he was busy. It wasn't lost on you that the "husband" she casually referred to was Art Donaldson, US Open champion.

The Donaldson's.

Ah fuck.

Tashi went on the explain that they were wanting to begin lessons for their daughter Lily. You assumed this was the one you could hear running circles around the informal lounge.

"With all due respect, am I not the least qualified person in this home for that?"

You watched a perfectly formed cheekbone lift in what was nearly a smile. Strangely enough, something in the pit of your chest was dying to make her do that again.

There was something about her that demanded to be impressed.

You were no exception to the rule.

"My husband and I have seen some of your matches, we liked what we saw."

How? Your 'matches'- if you can even call them that, were nothing of note. You don't even think faculty bothered to watch them. You weren't quite sure why they'd even recorded them.

A silly part of you began to wonder how they'd even got a hold of them- until you remembered who they were.

The Hermes and Peitho of tennis.

"You did? I always thought of myself as more of a casual player."

"And that's what we liked, we know better than anyone how brutal tennis can become. We want someone to help Lily enjoy the game."

Oh, okay then.

You'd made a quasi-college-career out of purely enjoying the game. You were sure you could foster the same spirit for the six-year-old performing the entire 'Encanto' soundtrack in the other room.

Tashi laid down a tight schedule, Monday to Friday, 3pm to 6pm. You would teach Lily the wonders of the game on the court behind their home.

Their home you'd come to find out was a luxury rental when you'd complemented Tashi on another of the art pieces that'd apparently come with the place.

You'd also come to find out they typically live in hotel rooms, but they'd settled in this area for the time being as Art had a good thing going with a regular playing schedule and a sporting-goods deal.

You nodded along like you could begin to understand a life like that.

As she showed you back to your car (the one you suddenly felt humiliated for her to see you own), she called your name one last time from the doorway.

"You undersell yourself, we'll give you eighty an hour."

She left you choking on your tongue with one foot in the car and the other on an Italian cobblestone.

You were never going to walk or sit another dog again.

Lily was going to win her first Grand Slam by ten if that's what they'd pay you.

As your peeled your car from their turn-around area, you watched a Jeep Wrangler slow as it passed you. You couldn't see through the tint but you just knew it was him.

And you knew he was watching you.

The minute you'd told your roommate the situation you'd come into, she'd called bullshit.

A few texts from Tashi's now saved icon and a weird little photo you'd taken from inside the guest bathroom, it'd been enough to convince her.

"Fucking hell, are you God's favourite or something?"

You'd argue you were quite the opposite, she of all people should know. She'd seen some of the states you'd come home in after your other random jobs.

Felt good to be the winner.

Even just once.

In the air of some girlish fascination, she brought up a Youtube video of "Tashi Duncan Career Highlights" courtesy of "tennisguy779."

You'd protested it, rolling your eyes while feigning disinterest. No use, the minute you caught her out the corner of your eye- you were captivated.

It was entirely possible to imagine she hovered above the court, like there was a greater force placing her exactly where she needed to be, exactly when she needed.

It was even easier to believe she was just that good.

As you watched her play, listened to the sounds the game could draw from her- you wondered if this was how she and Art had felt.

Had they curled up in their informal lounge like you were right now? Had Tashi studied your every move meticulously like you assume? Had Art passed comment on your form? Did he think you were any good?

Tennisguy779's lineup changed quickly to "Art Donaldson Career Highlights" and you felt your chest constrict. An inexplicable feeling washed over you.

Like you'd been caught with God's forbidden fruit.

Your roommate had tried to question why you'd effectively flown off the couch, only to be met with a muttered 'goodnight' as you shut the bedroom door behind you.

Thin walls meant you drifted off to sleep that night with the rhythmic sounds of Art, grunting his way through an ATP Challenger.

It was no surprise you dreamt of him.

The Donaldson's tennis court was down a steep set of stairs, set back into an oasis of lush greenery.

Perfect for a 6-year-old's first lessons.

You didn't know if it was the grand balcony that overlooked the court or the fact a well-manicured Tashi stood atop it, but you felt positively observed.

Lily was in the midst of showing you how she could do a cartwheel (she couldn't) when the voice in the back of your head started echoing a promise of $80/h.

"Alright, lets channel some of that into your elbow."

Give a six-year-old a racquet half the size of her and she's going to blow effective chunks, but at least she has the spirit. Maybe it's her energy, maybe it has been a while since you've been on the court-

The kid's running you ragged.

Coupled with her height, you're spending more time bent over than you are up straight and it's all going to your head. All you can hope is Tashi isn't up there watching you stumble after the ball.

But you're sure there are eyes on your back.

Lily is a quick learner and you work out a tradeoff of one tennis skill for one spinning heel kick (mandatory that you watch).

Roll on 6pm and she's dog-tired, however, she's managed to hit the ball at least twice. Surely that's earned your keep. She lays star-fished on the turf and murmurs something about a piggyback.

You know you're about to earn your keep.

By the top of the staircase, you're more than happy to hand over a Lily-shaped-sack-of-potatoes to Tashi's mother. As you emerge from behind an ornate gargoyle, your suspicions proved correct.

Art Donaldson had been watching your every move.

Left alone on the balcony with him, you're acutely aware of the fact he's standing between you and your exit, and he's just had a full show of you bent over and flitting about his tennis court.

That and you still haven't said so much as 'hello' to the man.

You dwell on it for a moment and then there's that feeling back in the pit of your stomach, like any minute you'll be caught with fruit in hand- in throat.

The Original Sin.

Luckily, Art made the decision for you, crossing the space to shake your hand. If he noticed the way your hand trembled, he didn't seem to mind.

"It's nice to finally meet you."

You wished you had more to say to him, or maybe something more intelligent. Something better than a quiet "and you."

He was the better conversationalist, thankfully. Head motioning to the court, he looked down his nose at you when he spoke.

It should've felt condescending. It didn't.

"How did she go out there?"

"Yeah, really good- not a Disney character I can't name now."

He laughed.

Really laughed, like the joke was better than it was.

Like there was a preening little flutter inside you that said "do it again!"

You shrugged your shoulders like making him happy came naturally as you squinted up at him, as if he was the sun.

"You were watching? You must've seen her picking it up?"

Because he was the expert. Because he is the champion.

He hummed as he nodded, eyes skywards like there might've been something more important behind the clouds.

"Must've been distracted."

Within an instant- his eyes flickered to your own and you were sure he watched them change. He must've seen something he liked, the corner of his lip quirked up before he spoke again.

"Come on, I'll sort your payment and then we'll let you get home."

And for whatever reason, his hand fit perfectly in the small of your back as he lead you inside.

And how quickly did you become a strange piece of furniture in the Donaldson's home- in their life?

An ottoman for Tashi to rest her tired feet on.

An abstract piece on the wall for Art to admire when he passes it.

A projection of constellations across the ceiling to keep Lily bright behind the eyes.

At least you belonged- there was no doubt that this was where you belonged.

That wasn't to say your tennis skill had improved any, lesson after lesson you still couldn't wrap your head around why they'd even signed you on, let alone kept you.

"Ok, don't watch that one either- maybe just do what I say and not what I do."

You hadn't nailed a single one, at this point you couldn't blame Lily for skipping around pretending her racquet was a horse.

Wasn't like she'd be learning anything if she was paying attention.

"Ok, here we go just- ok right, when your parents ask how today went, please be kind."

"Your elbow is too low."

It was a miracle you didn't scream.

Art entered the court with a swagger that you could only assume struck fear when he was your opponent.

Right now it struck pure embarrassment and Lily wasn't helping.

"Daddy, she didn't hit a single one!"

"Alright, I don't think daddy needs to know that-"

"Daddy knows, daddy's been watching."

Daddy really needs to stop calling himself that.

Lily and her racquet took off for another tour of The Grand National as Art approached you with quiet determination.

It was like waiting for impact, his eyes never wavered off his daughter as he made towards you. At the last moment, he snapped his attention in your direction- with a smile that should've felt condescending.

It wasn't.

"If your elbow is too low you lose topspin and power."

If you deserved the $80/h you were earning, you might've known that.

As Art stepped up to you, the turn of the planets on their axis slowed down and it could've been entirely possible to believe it was only you two.

And Lily upon her trusty steed.

The gallops of her tennis shoes thinned out as Art placed one hand around your elbow, lifting it higher. His other hand held your waist as he pulled your back flush to his chest.

"Lily, go find grandma."

Then it really was just you two.

Your heart hammered against the shell of your ribcage, blood rushing around your ears as you felt Art's chin perch at your shoulder.

"If your elbow is high enough," His hand lifted it up and you let it stay there. "And your hip is turned."

He didn't have to say it with the gravel in his voice, but he did. He didn't have to hold your hips as he moved them, but he did. He didn't have to stay without so much of an inch between the two of you, but he did.

With one hand in the curve of your waist, he tossed the ball into the air with the other- then he whistled.

Like the obedient thing you didn't know you were, you raised the racquet and sent the ball flying through the air without even blinking.

As the streak of green hit the court and rolled away, you found yourself lying in wait, as if you were waiting for something- your next command?

"Good girl."

There it was.

Under the all consuming effect that Art Donaldson just seemed to have on people, you'd entirely forgotten you were in a position you could be 'caught' in. By his all consuming wife, of all people.

So, you should've moved.

Quite honestly you should've straightened up and cleared your throat and thanked him and told him it was time for you to go home.

You should've moved.

But Art wasn't moving. If anything he was staying purposefully still at your backside.

Obedient thing you seem to be.

"Show me that again?"

So,

You teach Lily the bare basics of tennis for three hours and receive $80 on the hour.

Then Art spends three hours of his spare time teaching you to perfect your swing- in a way that couldn't ever vaguely resemble professional.

A simple transactional arrangement.

Your tennis improves on a slow but sure basis and he gets the most off-court action he's seen since college.

Even if it is just heavy petting on astro-turf.

A hand under the hem of a tennis skirt. A pressing hip against your own. A deep breath as your hair brushes past him.

You figure Art will take what he can get.

And it's never enough to raise alarm. Sure, there's that fluttering in your chest that warns you might get 'caught' but you're never quite sure what one might 'catch' if they found you out.

It's undoubted who that 'one' is though.

The one who holds the cards- holds the throat, maybe.

Tashi, who's presence precedes her perhaps more than her reputation. Even when she isn't there, she's there.

So, when Art's hand lingers too long on the outside of your thigh and you think you can feel it verging into the territory that'll change everything- it's Tashi on your mind.

You're beginning to think your conscience sounds a lot like Tashi.

Who are you if not obedient to the Donaldson's?

Chasing Lily around a court.

Adhering to Tashi's every request.

Being Art's fantasy.

Being Art's.

Most of the time, anyway. Three hours a week.

Something to keep him bright behind the eyes, maybe. Something to keep him happy. Something to keep him-

Winning?

He tells you he plays better with you around. The way he says it makes you giggle, a girlish little noise that sort of just slips out. He serves the ball with his eyes on you and, sure enough, it lands smack where he wanted it too.

Everything where he wants it. When he wants it.

Shy and inconsequential touches and glances shared just between you.

Until, well- until they weren't.

"Would you like a coffee?"

Tashi's mother had taken Lily off to bed, leaving you and Art separated by an island. Kitchen island.

He braced both palms against it as he watched you watch the door, wondering if you should cut and run, wondering if someone else might come through it.

Talking yourself out of it. Whatever it might be.

"Yes please."

Even he looked surprised, brows raising an inch as he turned to the Nespresso machine. You took the moment to watch his back, the muscles moving under the cool-dry fabric of his shirt.

You spent all your time pretending not to notice him that actually allowing yourself the chance to study him made you lightheaded.

Had he always looked this captivating?

He broke your focus with a coffee cup, sliding it towards you as he rounded the bench. His eyes didn't even waver off you as he took a sip of his own.

It wasn't lost on you that he managed to tongue foam off the tip of his nose.

This was the longest you'd stuck around after a tennis lesson, longest you'd allowed yourself to be in his presence. You weren't quite sure how big this thing could get.

Your mouth was opening before your brain had decided it was a good idea.

"Mr. Donaldson-"

"Art."

"Uh, Art- I really appreciate the help you've been giving me- uh, you know- with tennis."

He placed his coffee mug down, nodding as he did it. "My pleasure."

Naturally.

That brain of yours was still firing off at a mile a minute. There was a very tiny voice right at the back that said it was up to you how this night would end- you had a choice to make.

Placing your coffee mug beside his, you scanned his face to find him already looking at you. Perhaps the choice was already set.

Maybe it was fate.

All he said was your name, it could've been the way he said it- but your whole body was losing the rigidity it'd formed when he first asked you to stay longer. When he'd made the choice.

Crossing the small gap between you two, Art was careful to keep one hand on the kitchen bench as the other hovered beside you. Not touching you,

Yet.

One step closer and the tip of Art's nose was touching yours. You think you might've been able to smell the coffee off his breath.

It thinned out- leaving you with his sweat. Musk. Art.

A sudden surge of morals overcame you, your voice broke out as a gasp.

"What about Mrs. Donaldson?"

"Actually, it's still Duncan."

You screamed.

Right in his face.

Tashi's voice made you jump out of your skin.

However, Art didn't move. As you turned your head to gauge the way his wife stalked across the kitchen, you felt his nose brush against your cheek.

Tashi retrieved a tall bottle of Pellegrino from the fridge, taking a poignant sip as her eyes flitted between the two of you.

What a fucking sight.

Her husband, eyes shut and face pressed pathetically to their daughter's tennis instructor- his hands itching to close around your waist.

You, young and bleary eyed looking utterly caught. Staring up at her like she might decide your fate.

It took all your strength to find your words.

"I’m not here to teach tennis, am I?”

“No, of course not. You’re frankly terrible at tennis.”

There's the Tashi you were expecting.

Her words should've stung, but they didn't. They couldn't, not when her husband was laying his hands against your back and rubbing soothing circles down the length of your spine.

Not when his lips were mouthing wet kisses along your cheek.

Not when she was right. Spade's a spade.

"Why am I here?"

She snorted, a real dissatisfactory sound- like she hoped you were smarter than that. She was halfway to her bedroom before she cut you loose.

"Careful, he makes that sound before he cums."

And he had, just like she'd said.

Art had cum in his shorts, pressed up against your thigh with his face still smushed against your own.

And you'd taken it, obedience in spades.

You'd stood there and let him hump your leg like a bad dog and you'd even pat his head and whispered kind words in his ear after the mess he'd made.

Then you slipped out the front door to your car and you'd pretended not to notice that there were two bedroom lights on upstairs.

You hadn't even divulged the freaky details to your roommate when you got home.

But the showerhead knew all about them.

Visions of Art on the clouds of steam- replayed in your head the sounds he'd made right in your ear.

How he'd whimpered your name when he splashed his boxers like a fucking teenager.

It was no surprise you dreamt of him.

You even showed up next day, valiantly. You didn't run for the hills or even straight to a tabloid about how weird the Donaldson's really were.

And maybe that's why you hadn't told your roommate either.

Because telling someone what Tashi allowed? What Art liked?

That'd mean you'd have to admit your dirty little secret.

You loved it.

When you showed up, something was different. No usual chatter in the house, no shoes by the front door. You checked out the front window to see what you'd missed when you arrived.

Tashi's car was gone.

"She's taken her mom and Lily to the ballet."

At least you didn't scream this time.

You were lucky your back was to him, lest he see the self-righteous little smile that broke when the words settled.

"Oh, ok."

"I'll see you on the court."

Oh, ok.

Lest he see the disappointment that took over.

Following him close behind, you didn't know why you were effectively surprised that he still wanted to continue with your lessons. You'd half expected- hoped, he'd bend you over the kitchen island.

Tennis was fun too, you guess.

Thinking about it, something that bold didn't seem the style of the man who'd nearly blacked out rubbing up on you. Beckoning you onto the tennis court with two fingers and a wry smile did, however.

You fell into your usual position, hip turned and elbow curved on your side of the court. You waited for him to appear behind you, chest melding into the curve of your back.

It never came.

Art took long strides towards the net, vaulting it in one smooth motion. He ended up parallel to you, waiting with a ball and racquet in either hand.

The smile had left his face, a rather blank expression taking over as he sized you up. And there was that fear- knowing what it felt like to be on the wrong side of him.

This was going to hurt.

From the moment he pressed the ball to the neck of his racquet, it was all over. Your feet were never in one place for more than a second, your arms burned above you, your head permanently on a swivel.

Art didn't look like he'd broken more than a sweat.

You knew he had, you could see it in the neck of his shirt. But he didn't look it.

He looked calm, he looked in control, he looked-

Like he was enjoying himself.

For every rally that you managed, you thought you saw an inkling of pride set in his features.

For every serve that you missed, you knew you saw unbridled lust.

Not a point scored in your favour, you hit the ball towards him one last time before you collapsed to the turf. Flat on your back, reminiscent of your first lesson here.

You watched the clouds shift over your head, listening to your pulse thick and fast in your ears. Just underneath it, you could hear footfalls approaching.

No hurry, but impending.

Soon, the sun above you was eclipsed by Art Donaldson. His golden hair shone with the halo of light behind it.

Now this was God's favourite.

"You can't be giving up this easily?"

Forcing a laugh, you threw your arm up and over your eyes. "Wanna bet?"

Turns out he did- turns out Art struggled to do anything but win.

Somehow, you found it within yourself to stand back up. This time it was only a practice, you weren't brave enough to face off against him another round.

This was more your speed.

The hand that wasn't holding your elbow was curving around your front, the pleats of your tennis skirt lifting over his fingers. You felt a warm hand slowly moving across the front of your underwear.

Two fingers migrated south, pressing against the seam of you- he must've felt the pure heat radiating beneath his fingertips.

Turning your head even an inch, you found the curve of his nose pressing into your cheek.

"I didn't give up."

He hummed, the vibration rolled across your shoulders.

"Mmm, you didn't."

The hand sans-racquet dropped between your thighs to press his palm into your cunt. It was Art who flexed your fingers and cupped it.

"Where's my prize?"

There was no trophy, no podium, no medal.

But there was Art between your legs, slinging a knee over each shoulder like he might've been the real winner.

You'd never been inside the 'changing shed' behind the court, of course it was nicer than your actual home.

Your head made contact with the hard wood behind you, bench digging into your ass as you felt a hot mouth moving against the seat of your underwear.

Running your fingers through his hair, your gripped the ends of it- tugging him closer until you felt the flat of his tongue through the thin fabric.

Needy fingers tugged the ruined garment down your thighs, tucking him into the pocket of his shorts. You knew all too well that you'd never see them again.

You were sure Art would be seeing a lot of them.

His tongue ran up the split, one long stroke before you felt the curve of his nose press to your clit. The ridge of it moved as his tongue retreated back to your entrance.

With everything he had.

Your eyes had been rolling back in your head as you arched your back, the moment you were able to find a semblance of control- your gaze fell before you.

Naturally, Art was already looking up at you. Two hands splayed across each side of your hips as he pulled back to wrap his lips around your clit.

You couldn't help the hazy little smile on your face as you watched his eyes.

Utterly devotional.

The more you tugged on his hair, the hungrier he seemed. Pulling from the root seemed to spur him on, seemed to tell him 'good job' and he was responsive.

His tongue flicked beneath your clit, pressing it to his upper lip as he brought two fingers to your entrance. He stroked a couple times, making your hips twitch against him, before he sunk in to the last knuckle.

Turns out Art had a style about him. One he brought to the tennis court and, seemingly, to the floor of his changing shed.

The style was calculated.

Every move he made was engineered to get something out of you- a reaction, a whimper, a twitch. He was doing what he did best.

Playing a game.

Art struggled to do anything but win.

"Fuck- Mr. Donaldson."

"Art."

Even muffled against your cunt, you were good at following his orders. Even more so when he was the decider of your imminent orgasm.

You threaded your fingers in the sides of his hair, pulling his face flush against you so you could ride his mouth. Taking every last thing from him you could.

It drew the most pathetic moan you'd ever heard, straight out of his chest and hit you straight at your core. The burning coil tight within your stomach was unraveling quickly.

You heard the murmurings of words, among the blood rushing in your ears. Easing up just enough, you let him pull back to speak.

"Tell me this feels good, please."

Your chest thumped, the sight of Art helpless between your legs was one thing. Hearing him beg?

You might black out.

"Art- you feel so fucking good," Dragging him right back where you needed him, the tip of his tongue drove against your clit. "You're gonna' make me cum."

He whined.

A heady drawn-out sound that quite literally sent you over the edge. Your hips lifted off the bench, the heel of your foot digging into his back and making his whine turn into a whimper.

Your orgasm broke you apart until it felt like white-hot flame licking up your sides. Of course, Art never relented, drinking in everything you could give him- literally.

The moment you felt the peak begin to subside, the urge was ramping right back up. Like he knew what he was doing, his eyes locked back onto yours as he sucked at your clit.

He was going for gold.

A quick second orgasm hit, seemingly out of nowhere. Your thighs clenched around Art's head, his hands coming to each of them.

You relaxed yourself a bit, feeling like it might be too much- until you felt him pressing your thighs even harder to either of his ears.

Oh, ok.

Art Donaldson knew what he liked.

You physically had to push him off you, watching him fall back on his outstretched palms as you let yourself breathe for what felt like the first time.

Wet eyes, wet chin, chest rising and falling like he'd run a marathon- Art sat sprawled out before you like he'd stumbled upon an alter (he had).

Breathless, you gestured towards him. Your hand dropped a little as your eyes fell between his legs, wordlessly offering a deal.

A deuce.

His cheeks flushed, more so than they already were. His eyes fell an infinitesimal amount before he spoke up.

"Uh- I already have."

Of course he had. He makes that sound before he cums.

Instead, you heard him shuffle back onto his knees as he all but crawled towards you. He draped his upper half into your lap, head resting against the soft cotton of your skirt.

Coming off the other side of a high, the reality of your situation began to settle for you. Why they'd really called you here- what purpose you really served.

All you could do was gently stroke a hand across Art's head, feeling him go limp against you. Boneless, but not spineless.

He must've known you were going to speak, he must've heard the intake of breath or just felt you shift. He cut you to the chase- beat you to the punchline.

Art nuzzled his face further into your lap as you felt him mumble against your thigh.

"I can't lose- you."

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weasleysarch

2 weeks ago

SHAWN HATOSY As SAMMY BRYANT Southland | Identity (4.04)

SHAWN HATOSY as SAMMY BRYANT Southland | Identity (4.04)

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weasleysarch

2 months ago

ABEYANCE: 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟏

Everything had changed, and not for the better. Voldemort had returned to his former glory, even if there were people who chose not to believe it. The Dark Lord had returned and no one was safe.

Charlotte's fourth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was nothing like she had anticipated. At the end of the summer, Charlotte joined the Weasley family, Hermione, Harry and the Diggory family to the Quidditch World Cup. She had always had an inkling for the sport- so there was no way that she was going to pass on going to the event. But part of her wishes that she hadn't left the Longbottom household. Death Eaters had invaded the muggle grounds and tormented everyone around them- primarily the muggle caretakers and the muggle-born witches and wizards that were there for the World Cup.

Following the dreary events of the Quidditch World Cup it was announced to the students of Hogwarts that the school would be hosting a legendary event, the Triwizard Tournament. The tournament in itself was a whirlwind of an experience, even if you were chosen by the Trizard Cup to compete. It was also that Charlotte had experienced her second bout of heartbreak and loss. She had witnessed the death of her dear friend, Cedric Diggory.

She had known the Diggory boy since her second year at Hogwarts, two Slytherin boys by the names of Vincent Crabbe and Gregg Goyale had spent their entire afternoon tormenting the muggle-born witch, chasing her around the castle in between classes. Cedric had seen the young witch rush past him in the corridor, he was almost about to write her up for running recklessly in the corridor but once he had seen what she had been running from- he had decided to give the punishment to the two Slytherin boys instead.

Cedric was in his fifth year and was the prefect for the Hufflepuff House. Luckily he had been able to catch up to the three younger teenagers before Crabbe or Goyle could do anything more to the young witch. He had yelled at the two boys for harassing Charlotte, sending them both to Professor McGonagall with a note explaining what had happened. He had sent the two Slytherins to McGonagall because he knew that Professor Snape would do nothing about the matter.

Before leaving he had made sure that she was okay, asking more than once if she needed to go to the hospital wing to go and see Madam Pomfrey, Charlotte ensured him that she was okay. From that moment forward he had seen her in the light of a younger sister, he had grown to be protective of the girl.

Her brother, her protector of sorts was killed in cold blood by Lord Voldemort and both Harry and Charlotte were witnesses. Although Charlotte was not there in person, she had still seen the murder happen. It had become more prevalent for Charlotte to have bouts of what she thought were visions. But she did not think about it all too much, she just wished that someone would obviate the moment from her memories forever.

Cedric had been called a 'spare' within the last few seconds of his life, and Cedric Diggory was far from a spare. The Hufflepuff champion was brave and loyal to a fault. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time and had become a causality of the second wizarding war.

She had remembered it so clearly, everything had seemed to turn black in her mind, both Nora and Anromdea talking to one another. Not noticing that Charlotte hadn't said anything for a few minutes- but that was nothing out of the ordinary, it had been a custom for Charlotte to daze out of conversations that she was a part of. She had seen her close friend killed and then she had been brought back to reality.

Charlotte got to her feet quickly, getting down to the grass just seconds before Harry returned with Cedric's dead body in his hands.

"He's back! He's back!" Harry's hollow screams could be heard throughout the entire Quidditch pitch, it was etched into her brain the contortion of permanent pain that was plastered on Harry's face as he wailed over his dead friend. Nora and Ron were quick to Charlotte's side. Ron had pulled his friend in for a comforting hug while Nora just held her hand, the tears did not leave her eyes though, she never cried.

Along with the permanent memory of Harry's wails of pain that was etched into her brain, the same noises from Amos Diggory were there too. Not only had he lost a child, but he had also lost his only child, his only son. How was one meant to react after that?

***

Every single Hogwarts, Durmstrung, and Beauxbatons student along with their respective professors were gathered in the Great Hall, they were all in mourning for the loss of the Diggory boy. Charlotte looked ahead and saw Headmaster Dumbledore sitting in his golden chair, the same one he has had since he became Headmaster.

The look on Albus Dumbledore's face was unreadable, which was not unusual but in a moment like this it did not make anyone feel better than they were already feeling.

A memorial was held for Cedric at the end of the school term, no matter the relationship everyone had with Cedric, they all felt the pain. Cho Chang had lost a boyfriend she had come to love, the Hufflepuff House had lost a leader and dear friend, and Charlotte had lost a brother, the only brother she had ever had.

Albus Dumbledore's forehead rested on the palm of his hand briefly as he tried to conjure the words to speak to the children and professors sitting in front of him. It had been a week since Cedric had been murdered, and he still did not know what to say.

"Today we acknowledge a really terrible loss." Headmaster Dumbledore's words were strong as they left his mouth, he was trying to be strong for everyone. "Cedric Diggory was as you all know, exceptionally hard working, intricately fair-minded. And most importantly a fierce fierce friend." The great wizard stood from his chair, walking closer to where the students were. His own frailed fingers inserted with one another as he stood there.

"I think therefore you have the right to know exactly how he died." Charlotte's breath hitched as Dumbledore continued to talk, in this moment she felt someone's head rest on her shoulder. It was Hermione, her Gryffindor cloak now being covered by Hermione's curly hair. Dumbledore moved further, now standing where his podium was. His hands still fidgeting among themselves.

"You see, Lord Voldemort murdered Cedric Diggory. The Ministry of Magic does not wish me to tell you this. But not to do so, I think, would be an insult to his memory." Dumbledore continued to talk. This would be the first time that Charlotte would cry about Cedric's death. The past week had felt like a blur to the girl, going from class to class, trying to get through the days, ignoring the stares she would receive from the rest of her peers.

Albus Dumbledore's words started to drift from her mind as she started to go numb, she no longer felt the weight of Hermione's head on her shoulder, the only thing she felt was pain, excruciating pain.

That was when she felt a hand grab her left one, she looked to her left slightly to see that Harry had reached his bruised hand to grasp her freckled one tightly. He did not look at her, nor did he say anything either. Soon enough their fingers had interlaced with one another. He knew that she needed the comfort. He understood the pain she had been going through the past week, more so than anyone else in the Great Hall itself.

At the end of the school term in 1995 Harry Potter was named the Triwizard Champion, even though in Charlotte's eyes there would always be two champions of the 1995 Triwizard Tournament. Cedric Diggory had lived a short-lived life, but she would make it known how brilliant of a champion and friend he was

***

The school term had ended, and it was time for Charlotte to return to the Longbottom household. She had been living with Neville, Nora (his twin sister), and their grandmother, Augusta.

Albus Dumbledore had explained to Augusta Longbottom that it was no longer safe for Charlotte to return to the Orphanage in Mermaid Quay. She needed to be living within a magical household. When Augusta Longbottom first met Charlotte, she had been quite apprehensive, but once she had seen the bond and friendships she had developed with her two grandchildren- she knew she had to say yes.

The summer break of 1995 was spent in bed for Charlotte Carter, she had no family left in this world. That was taken away when Cedric had been murdered. The only time she had been through something like this was when she had lost Lady Marrowbone when she was younger, but that did not hurt her as much as this did. On top of all of the grief she had been going through, all of Harry's closest friends had been instructed by Headmaster Dumbledore to cease major contact with the boy over the summer break. And at first was hard for the girl to do, but she had gotten use to distancing herself from the people she loved so often that unfortunately it had become like second nature for her to do so.

According to Dumbledore it was safer to keep Harry out of the know for everything that dealt with the Dark Lord himself, the wise wizard knew that Harry would drive himself insane if he had been receiving information- and not be allowed to do anything with it. It was safer for Harry to stay in the bubble of Little Whinging.

Headmaster Albus Dumbledore had given Charlotte one more order before he went into his bubble throughout the holidays.

'You are to wait here until Moony sends you correspondence, if Mr. Potter sends you an owl, answer it to the best of your ability. however, do not speak of the dark lord although I know how terribly hard it will be for you to do so.'

Charlotte had been wrapping the book she had gotten Harry for his fifteenth birthday; she had been able to buy it with the money she had been saving from working at honey-dukes over the past couple of summers and on the weekends during the school year.

"He Flew Like a Madman." She had seen Harry read through it a couple of times when they were at the Burrow, and he had been asking Ron about the book more and more, so she thought she would do the boy a favor and get the boy his copy of the book.

"You have mail!" Nora Longbottom's voice rang out in a sing-song voice, making Charlotte chuckle at her friend. As Nora walked into their shared room, Charlotte closed the envelope that had Harry's birthday card in it, then turned to Nora to take two pieces of mail from her friend.

"See, this." Nora points at Charlotte's desk, mainly towards the gift she had for Harry. "This does not look like 'I am completely over the silly schoolgirl crush I had on my best friend two years ago.' this shows. 'Harry I am so endlessly in love with you-" Before Nora could finish her sentence Charlotte had thrown the small pillow that was between the small of her back and the chair she was sat on. Nora caught the pillow and held it to her chest, inspecting the work that Hedwig had done to her fingers.

"You better tell that git off though, Hedwig pecked the hex out of my fingers, I think either she is mad, or he told her to do it." Nora showed Charlotte her index and middle finger.

Charlotte took the letter out of the envelope and read what Harry had written to her.

"Lottie, I have been expelled from Hogwarts, they're going to take my wand.

There was a dementor attack, they tried to get myself and Dudley.

What on earth is going on? Please reply as quickly as possible. Harry."

Charlotte looked at Nora with worry in her eyes, this could not be good.

"What on earth are they doing so far from Azkaban?" Nora questioned, watching as Charlotte ripped the envelope off of the second letter, she had received

"Charlotte, it is time you need to come to Headquarters now, we are on our way to go and get Harry from Privet Drive, but you need to be there before we are, it is for your safety. R. J Lupin."

Charlotte read out Remus's messy calligraphy to Nora, both of them sharing the same worried expressions.

"I have to go, Nora. Now. Help me pack." The two girls got to packing everything that Charlotte would need, deciding that she would also pack her school trunk as well- not knowing how long she would be at the safe house.

"Do you need me to come with you?" Said Nora. Charlotte shook her head. Nora looked at her friend with a concerned look.

"No, you need to stay here, with Neville and your grandmother, bless Neville but he's not the best for when it comes to defensive spells or protection, Nora." Nora let a stifled laugh out

"But what about you? You're a muggle-born witch, Lottie. God knows what is going to happen to you if something happens, please write to me to let me know that you're safe, I don't know what I would-"

"Nora!" Charlotte cuts her friend off with her words and by placing her hands on her shoulders. "Of course, I will let you know I am okay, I will let you know that the others are-"

"I just want you to be safe, please. You know what-" "Nora, please. Stop worrying, please. I will be fine."

***

She was underaged which meant that apparating out of the Longbottom home was a no-go for her, so the next best option was the floo network. Although she hated using the floo network she knew that using her broomstick while having to carry her school trunk and her rucksack would not go well in the air. It would also gain unwanted attention.

Using the floo network would have to be one of the weirdest sensations that a witch or wizard would feel. She did not like how it felt like her own body felt like it was being ripped apart, even though it wasn't. But this would be the only way to get to everyone else.

Nora and Charlotte looked at one another before Charlotte threw the floo power to the ground shouting '12 Grimmauld Blace' before she did so. Nora worried about her friend, in the back of her mind she had been thinking that this could be the last time she could see Charlotte and she would not know how to deal with that.

With a loud CRACK! She had appeared in one of the two drawing rooms of the Black family home, this would be the first time that she visited the home, as she entered the drawing room via the fireplace she was met with the back side of a couch, she hit her face that hard on the rotten fabric that her nose started to please crimson coloured blood from her nose.

"Bloody hell." She said as she stood from the spot on the floor, after she had gathered her bearings she looked around the dark room, "That's just fantastic." She brought her hand to her nose feeling the blood run down the small distance from her nose to the edge of her chin.

"Lumos" She used the spell to light up the room she was in, the entire room was filled with cobwebs and unused furniture. No moving portraits are to be seen anywhere. She looked around for a door to exit the drawing room, the hopefully be able to find someone in that manner.

"AGH!" The scream left Charlotte's mouth, the loud crack had made her draw the wand from inside her leather jacket. Her other hand clutched to her heart, she looked behind her and saw both Fred and George Weasley standing there with wands in hand- they had passed their apperation tests... brilliant.

"You idiots! I could've jinxed the both of you!" Once she relaised she was safe, the girl put her wand back into the jacket, walked up to the twins, and brought them into a joined hug- both of them still giggling at the look Charlotte had on her face.

"We couldn't help it, Lottie." Said George, he had pulled away from the girl. Fred's body still lingered near Charlotte's though as he wrapped an arm around her waist.

"Mum told us you were coming, we knew we had to take the opportunity to scare you." Fred's words were followed by an infectious laugh, "Come on, Hermione is worried sick about you." Fred said once more. Picking up her bag from the ground below.

"Hold on, what happened to your face?" George said pointing at Charlotte's nose.

"Oh, that." She said feeling the blood that had already dried under her nose and the skin of her chin, "When I entered the drawing room, I hit my face on the couch there. I am all good, I just need to find a bathroom so I can get this blood off of my face."

***

"Charlotte!" Hermione essentially jumped on top of her friend, Hermione hadn't seen Charlotte since the last day of term. "Thank god you're okay!" She said as she hugged her friend.

"Why wouldn't I be okay, 'Mione?" Charlotte asked, hugging her friend back as she did she gave Ron a look, and he smiled back at her, not knowing what to say to her. "I am all good, it's Harry we should be worried about."Hermione pulled away from Charlotte's body taking a good look at her friend. It had been around two months since the last time either Ron or Hermione had seen the girl, and neither of them barely heard from the girl over the break. The only member of the Weasley family that received owls from the girl was Fred.

"They can't expel him can they?" Charlotte asked moving to where Ron was, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug- she had missed her friend.

"From what we heard Harry needed to use the spell, Dudley was with him." Said Ron, he was worried for his friend. "But the Ministry is so twisted these days that who knows what they'll do to Harry and Dumbledore." Hermione and Charlotte nodded in agreement.

Since the events that took place at Hogwarts last year, the Minister for Magic has been using all of his power to smear both Harry and Headmaster Dumbledore within the Daily Prophet. She had never liked the man, she had always known that he had been a coward and this was just proving her theory correct.

Along with the damnation of Harry and Dumbledore within the Daily Prophet, there had been whisperings about Charlotte. There were also some things that Dumbledore had sworn both Hermione and Ron to keep from Charlotte as well. And as much as Hermione hated lying to her closest friend, she knew that she could not defy any orders that came from her headmaster.

Cornelius Fudge had gotten into the ears of many Aurors, stating that Dumbledore had been hiding who Charlotte truly was, that she was a weapon of sorts. There was a reason why the Headmaster had been keeping it from her, he did not need her any more distracted than she already was.

"He is a git, we all know it. He is going to get us all killed because he cannot face the truth."