golden snitches get stitches [Mickey]

[michelangelo tiberius mclaggen]

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Now that was an interesting point being brought up about Hogwarts. He had never thought hard about how the staff – specifically the professors – always seemed to know what was going on. Chalking it up to simply knowing the antics of students better than the students themselves seemed to work for him. “It’s either the gargoyles or they have their own trace placed over the castle,” Mickey mused. Those were the most plausible choices. “Or all of the portraits are snitches,” he quickly added, shrugging. They had always been nice to him when he’d struck up conversations, though he knew they could get grouchy when disturbed. Would a portrait really go out of their way to alert a professor on watch of a student out of bed? It would absolutely be petty considering the portraits didn’t actually require sleep. They weren’t living beings.

When it came to attending a practice, Mickey nodded his head slowly. They were definitely both thinking the same thing right now, and getting their dad off both of their backs was a constant fight. Why they had never chosen to fight back against him together was a great question. Being his puppet had apparently been easier, and look where it had gotten them. Ella literally ran off and joined a circus and he knew Rafe’s heart wasn’t entirely in playing Quidditch. Mickey used to think he took one for the team but all it did was embolden their father’s resolve in having all of his children go professional. Technically two had with his sister’s brief stint with the Harpies. Not everyone was built for pro-level play though, and forcing those that were only halfway in to begin with was the worst way at convincing them to go all the way. For himself, he literally had nothing else that he could fall back onto. His brother did, it seemed.

“Only come if that’s what you want to do,” Mickey said firmly after a few seconds of thinking about it. “I know it seems like I’m doing exactly what he wants…but I’m playing because I want to. So you should do the same.” With literally everything. Once Cormac learned that he wasn’t the one controlling the show anymore, he’d back off. He had done the same once Mickey had told him to screw off following the completion of his first season. It took reminders every so often over the years, but it had sort of worked. Now, that wasn’t saying the same thing would work for Rafe. There was no telling what their dad would try to pull after losing Ella completely. That was what worried him the most…

Raphael Caelan McLaggen ● 440 ● Ain't No Rest for the Wicked by Cage the Elephant

MADE BY VEL OF GS + ADOX 2.0

[Raphael Caelan McLaggen]

In all of Cheese’s years at the castle, he’d never considered that the gargoyles might see everything that went on. It made sense, because they’d definitely been carved with eyes and it wasn’t a stretch to think a Headmaster of the past might have enchanted them to keep an eye on the unsuspecting students…but wow, he’d never look at them the same way again. Cheese stiffened in his chair at the thought, and his brain raced to think if he’d ever seen a gargoyle look at him during one of his speed runs around the castle during Quidditch practice or in the occasional moments he’d glance up to look out for Fanged Frisbees. He couldn’t think of any specific instance, but Merlin, thank you Mickey for that nightmare fuel tonight…so Rafe eagerly seized on the suggestion that the portraits were snitches because he could live with that. “Those monks look dodgy, don’t they? Bet they’d run to a professor first chance they get if a student’s out past curfew.”

Rafe stared at his brother like he’d grown a second head – because it must be that head giving him advice and not the Quidditch-crazy brother he knew. Mickey had always been as obsessed as their dad, or at least that was the perspective he’d always had from down below (both in the literal sense of his brother having a few inches on him, but also being reminded that he was just a mere mortal in the presence of Dad’s favorite). Rafe had seen Mickey angrily throw his broom down after a bad loss – an eerie echo of their dad – and commit to an insane training schedule that left room for basically nothing else. The thought literally couldn’t formulate in Cheese’s mind that Mickey was capable of giving advice that could turn him away from Quidditch, and his mouth gaped open for a second before he hastily snapped it shut.

“But…it’s easy to do what you want when it’s what he wants,” he protested weakly. He wracked his brain and tried to remember a time when Mickey had firmly said no to Cormac. It didn’t come as easily as memories of Ella doing the same, which she had gotten quite good at. “Maybe if I fumble the Snitch next time, he’ll see I’m not cut out to…carry on his legacy or whatever,” he mumbled after a moment, repeating Cormac’s golden words (legacy legacy legacy) with a tone of mild disgust. But he was tempted. He wanted so bad to listen to what Mickey was saying, because it almost felt like a way out. Like a way to justify that doing what he wanted to do was okay. It was one thing to hear the words from Yas or Ella, independent spirits that had always done what they wanted. But from Mickey? Impossible, right?

michelangelo tiberius mclaggen

[michelangelo tiberius mclaggen]

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While Hogwarts was supposed to be a welcoming, comfortable school of magic, there had always been that looming feeling of being watched at all times while in the corridors. The portraits absolutely didn’t help with that all but Mickey had always felt that it came from something else entirely. Whether it was gargoyles, secret charms placed in the hallways, or merely curious house elves peeking from around the corners, being alone inside the castle had the chance of feeling extremely unwelcoming and unnerving. Especially at night. “Could you imagine one hopping off its perch?” Mickey said, not noticing that his brother was referring to the portraits. He was still stuck on the gargoyles bit. “All of the portraits act like divas though. Unless you really piss one off, I don’t think they’d do too much.” He could count maybe on one hand the amount of times that he remembered seeing one of the denizens of the frame scampering off to tattle. It took them forever to do anything because they had to hop from portrait to portrait. That effort alone seemed like it would drive many of them to not care as much.

Merlin, the way Rafe was looking at him made it seem like he’d just slapped him upside the head with a beater’s bat and then told him the sky was purple or something. Sure, it was a strange thing to say because of their ‘expectations’ as McLaggens. Or as Rafe put it, following through on the legacy. Mickey had a hard time understanding why his father still wanted more out of them – now that he had achieved pro level easily and was maintaining his career, there was no reason that Rafe needed to do it too. There was no McLaggen dynasty, no matter how hard Cormac wanted it to be that way. The family was one failed professional Quidditch player turned reporter and one successful professional Quidditch player. If they had centuries of players in their family tree, then maybe he could understand it. But they didn’t. “He has to understand that expectations and reality don’t align with one another all the time. Sometimes it happens, but yeah…” Fumbling the snitch would be even worse than playing normally and simply not following through on a career in the sport. Mickey could already hear what his father would have to say about that. “Don’t throw the match just to spite him. He isn’t worth it.”

Raphael Caelan McLaggen ● 407 ● Sun//Eater by Lorna Shore

MADE BY VEL OF GS + ADOX 2.0

[Raphael Caelan McLaggen]

Rafe hated the direction they’d taken in the conversation, but he supposed it was his older brother’s job to give him haunting nightmares about spying portraits and animated gargoyles. He could still remember the dizzying number of times in his childhood that Mickey had egged him on to do questionable things that could’ve easily ended in a broken neck. Like the time he’d told him there was treasure in the hippogriff paddock on a trip to the zoo. At least now Cheese was old enough to be reasonably suspicious – and this time, he wouldn’t go climb out onto one of the castle’s towers to see if the gargoyle had anything to say about that. “Er, right,” he mumbled, hoping that weak response would be enough to end this train of thought. It was true enough at least that the portraits were complete divas – overinflated sense of ego, he supposed.

And Mickey was right about another thing too…Rafe would hate to throw the match just to show Cormac that he wasn’t pro material. The fact of the matter was that even if Rafe already knew he had no interest in pro Quidditch, he still really liked playing. As a hobby. As something to do with his friends. As something that could give him a complete thrill whenever he caught the Snitch. That was all, really, but it was enough for him most of the time and he wanted to catch that Snitch in their upcoming match. He’d hate to practically hand Slytherin the Championship just because he had a bad case of daddy issues. So Cheese nodded reluctantly, although his eyes wandered and he perked up as the pizza finally arrived. The conversation broke for a few moments while he inhaled his slice of satisfyingly good Pixie Pepperoni, and then he picked up the conversation again like no time had passed.

“You’re right. It’s my last year too, it’d be nice to win for once.” Hufflepuff hadn’t won the Cup in a long time, and really they probably were a long shot to win this year too. But they were a hard-working bunch and it didn’t hurt to try at least. Cheese glanced at his watch and winced. “Got a thing at the castle soon. School paper whatever,” he said unenthusiastically. Jimmie Blishwick’s tyrannic hold over the school paper had gotten worse in their last year, and she’d started scheduling meetings at unholy times (like the middle of the night or on a Hogsmeade weekend) so they could get their special issues out on top of the weekly circulation. And hey, Cheese was just a foot soldier in all this – aka, sir yes sir.

michelangelo tiberius mclaggen

[michelangelo tiberius mclaggen]

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Food was the greatest diversion. It could pause and delay unwanted and awkward conversations, which while not always useful, allowed for a reset of sorts. Mickey hadn't realized how hungry he was until the pizza was brought out, his stomach giving a tremendously deep rumble right as the plate was set in front of him. The couple of slices he had ordered most likely wouldn't do it and he'd have to find some other sustenance before it got too late in the afternoon. Nothing was worse than getting the wobbly feeling from not eating enough, and he had a strict calorie count to stick to per the team trainer's orders. Had to be in tip-top shape to keep the performance up. One of these days he'd get the owl about making the national team...one of these days...

"It's tough, you know..." Mickey said through a mouthful of pizza, not elaborating at all while he chewed over the next couple of seconds. "Sorry," he added as he forced himself to swallow. "It's tough because I want to cheer you on, but Gryffindor is still my team." He tried to hide the wry smile he had on his face with another bite of his pizza. At this point, there was very little stake in how the Hogwarts house teams played. Looking for the next top player was more important, and he trusted his gut on that more than what the scouts ever presented. Very few of that lot actually knew what they were doing. Watching thousands of games was absolutely different from playing in them. The same could be said about the journalists that hounded the players constantly. They had a job to do, sure, but they didn't have to be idiots about it. Some of them made the crazy fans look like angels.

Mickey spotted his brother check his watch, and was about to ask if he had something to do, having it confirmed almost immediately. "Sounds fun," Mickey tacked on just as dryly as his brother. "Is it a required one?" Or rather, was it necessary to graduate? There were some exams and papers that simply hadn't been important at the end and merely needed to be done because the Ministry wanted their educational boxes to be checked off. As someone who had already been drafted before graduating, Mickey had a lot of mixed feelings on what seventh years had to do in their final two terms.

Raphael Caelan McLaggen ● 407 ● Song by Artist

MADE BY VEL OF GS + ADOX 2.0

[Raphael Caelan McLaggen]

The conversation stopped for a few seconds while both boys wolfed down their pizza in a way that surely would have gotten some sort of reproach from their mum. Rafe inhaled his first slice but slowed down on his second while Mickey spoke around his own mouthful of pizza. He did his best not to roll his eyes at his brother – as if they didn’t both know why Mickey would actually attend a Hogwarts game. It wouldn’t be for the nostalgia of watching Gryffindor play, and it wouldn’t even really be because Rafe was there either. No, Mickey would be on the hunt for the next him. The future star of pro Quidditch and maybe giving the Bats a shot at the title. “I’m yoor bruther,” Cheese pointed out with his mouth full, coughing slightly as he tried to swallow all at once. Not that he figured it would make a difference to point that out – most graduates looked sick at the thought of cheering for another House team. Family be damned.

Rafe shot Mickey a deadpan look at the thought of using ‘fun’ in the next sentence after ‘Jimmie wants…’ He shook his head slightly at Mickey’s question, but then reconsidered and shrugged his shoulders. “It’s for Jimmie Blishwick, so no…but yes?” Cheese would probably be able to skip it, since Jimmie didn’t know where he was and he hadn’t really advertised the fact that his famous older brother was coming to visit. But someday, somewhere, she’d track him down and probably mutilate him so he could never sit on another broomstick again. Much less play a match of Quidditch. He didn’t know who the faculty adviser was for the school newspaper, but whichever professor it was…they were nowhere near capable of controlling their Editor in Chief when she fixed her mind on something. He was just the poor shmuck caught in the middle of it all.

He didn’t know what this specific summons was about, but probably nothing good. She’d ask for something impossible that would require him hanging out of the Astronomy Tower by one hand, or else keep him in the dark room until past curfew, or something. But Cheese figured Mickey would understand. His older brother definitely always put work first, the needs of the team before the needs of everything (everyone) else. “But we’ll…do this again?” he suggested weakly, polishing off his second slice as he considered the laminated card with all the big events in Mickey’s life for the season. All his matches. Even if it wasn’t a typical 9-to-5 job, it still found a way to take up all of Mickey’s time. And Cheese supposed he had that to look forward to for himself soon enough.

michelangelo tiberius mclaggen

[michelangelo tiberius mclaggen]

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Rafe had a great point...they were brothers and Mickey probably should be rooting for him no matter what. He chuckled to himself at that, knowing that he'd never hear the end of it if his old Gryffindor teammates saw him cheering on Hufflepuff. But did it really matter at the end of the day? He was there for his brother, not archaic old house matchups. Hufflepuff wasn't even a rival really. Or at least hadn't been when he was playing. "If you win, I'll wear a Hufflepuff scarf to the next match," Mickey offered up as a reward. That would really get the talking going. But at that point it wouldn't matter because Gryffindor wasn't the opponent. And he knew he shouldn't care what others thought of him. The tabloids would write baseless rumors regardless, and they could be infinitely worse than mentioning him rooting for his brother. The only reason this concept of 'keeping up appearances' existed in his brain was because of his father. It always circled back to Cormac...

Mickey have a nod of understanding. By school paper, he'd meant something for the student paper. Strange how that wasn't his immediate thought considering how often he dealt with the media. Having it run by Blishwick's daughter had to be an experience. If she was anything like her father apparently was, then getting things done was a priority. He'd used the dating services once or twice to no avail. "Don't want to keep her waiting then," he half-laughed, trying to maintain a level of seriousness about it. Blishwick wasn't like the muggle mob, but he did have his hands in literally everything it seemed.

"Of course," Mickey confirmed. "It'll be easier once you're out of school too." Unless Rafe decided to take up a job at Ripam de Sanguinem. That didn't seem like him though. Which immediately made him wonder if vampires could have the pictures taken. Suffice to say, Mickey remembered very little on vampires since learning of them in school, and he didn't frequent that part of Horizont often. He didn't particularly like being mistaken as one. It only got worse as the season dragged on. "Just send me an owl beforehand on whatever Hogsmeade weekends were both free." It wasn't like he had anything going on outside of Quidditch.

Raphael Caelan McLaggen ● 384 ● Song by Artist

MADE BY VEL OF GS + ADOX 2.0

[Raphael Caelan McLaggen]

Well damn, that was a tempting offer. Cheese tried and failed for a moment to imagine Mickey in Hufflepuff gear, but it had never happened before so he didn’t have any memories to use as reference. Mickey’s popularity only added to the appeal, because he was quite well-known around Hogwarts (to Quidditch fans at least) and the McLaggen name hadn’t quite lost its notoriety yet either. “Deal!” Rafe said in a rush before Mickey could rethink his promise and maybe regret it. It wasn’t that Cheese was a bad Quidditch player, but Hufflepuff was a more laidback team in general. They tried to book the Pitch when they could, didn’t fuss when another team stole it, and tried to keep the vibes cheerful whenever possible. Their winning streak wasn’t fabulous, but Cheese had managed to catch the Snitch here and there at this point in the season.

So this just reinforced his determination to train harder and manage a win against Ravenclaw in their next match. Their tactics were good, but the team tended to work more as talented but separate players instead of one cohesive unit. Cheese momentarily forgot about Jimmie Blishwick and her thinly veiled threats as he considered what he might say to his team captain about this observation, but left it alone at Mickey’s reminder that he shouldn’t keep her waiting. With a grimace, Rafe polished off his last slice of pizza and the rest of his butterbeer. “Easy for you to laugh. You haven’t seen the way she manhandles my camera.” He gave a shudder at the memory of how she’d snatched it out of his hands the other day to check that he’d been paying attention while she was talking. Cheese had kept his horrified gaze on her for the rest of the conversation.

He nodded vaguely at Mickey’s instructions to owl him whenever the next Hogsmeade dates were released while fishing around in his money bag for the right number of sickles. “There’s a career fair at the Ministry soon, I think. I guess to motivate us before NEWTs,” Cheese observed with a shrug. That probably meant he’d be seeing Mickey sooner than he thought – surely his brother would be there to convince interested students to consider going pro. Even so, he’d only really go over to say hi…because even if Cheese had no clue what his post-graduation plans should be, he knew Quidditch was only Cormac’s dream and not his. That would be a tough Knut to swallow, whenever that truth came out at home.

michelangelo tiberius mclaggen

[michelangelo tiberius mclaggen]

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"Deal," he repeated back to his brother. There was nothing wrong with showing his support, and the tabloids would have to deal with it. Not like it was the first time a professional player went back to Hogwarts to watch house matches. Mickey hated that he had to think this way. The media crew for the team had drilled into his head from day one that there were very specific looks that he needed to put on as a player. As if that stopped the best in the league from pulling off ridiculous crap all of the time. He tried to keep himself squeaky clean for the sake of his image and team. Wearing Hufflepuff gear for a game wouldn't kill his reputation except with certain circles. Quidditch was quirky that way.

Finishing off his pizza, Mickey slouched back into his chair as the conversation turned towards the Blishwick family. Even though he needed the calories for practice, he could still feel the entire pie already sitting in his stomach. Surprisingly, he ate decently healthy. With the way his teammates liked to order out while on the road, he figured he'd be sick of grease and whatnot by now. This sort of food was absolutely necessary for post-match celebrations. Even more so when the Bats lost.

"Maybe she'll threaten to read my fortune, or whatever it is their family does." Mickey still didn't completely understand what the magic was behind it. Blishwick had his ads everywhere, whether they were pizza or matchmaking, it seemed like his face was inescapable. His daughter sounded like she was a tad full of herself. "Just hex her hands closed next time or something. One glue spell always works." He'd personally done that once in school when a first year touched his recently polished broom. Smudged the handle and then wiped the wax off onto one of the couches. He had refused to be responsible for that mess.

Mickey hadn't heard about this career fair yet, though supposed it would be strange if he had. Quidditch was so far removed from the rest of the working world. His teammates and coaching staff were more worried about who they were going to recruit than anything else. "Is it just for Ministry jobs?" he inquired.

Raphael Caelan McLaggen ● 378 ● Song by Artist

MADE BY VEL OF GS + ADOX 2.0

[Raphael Caelan McLaggen]

Cheese snorted into his almost empty Butterbeer pitcher at the thought of Jimmie reading anyone’s fortune. “She’d probably just make up loads of stuff,” he said honestly, shaking his head. Nobody really understood the magic behind the Blishwick brand – only that it guaranteed love, as long as both sides were being genuine about their intentions. It would be easy to think that love might just be in the Blishwick genes, some form of ancient wizarding magic, but Jimmie disproved that whole theory. She was famously allergic to love and the family business, and practically everyone knew it. Still, Rafe had to wonder if that was by choice or if she’d just made a massive mistake once in setting someone up and then swore off the whole thing.

Either way, the thought of Mickey going to the Blishwicks for anything was bizarre. “Are you…er, interested in hiring Mr. Blishwick?” Cheese asked tentatively, thereby neatly sidestepping Mickey’s insane idea to glue Jimmie’s hands together. That was a recipe for eternal damnation, including being haunted by Jimmie’s ghost long after she’d managed to kill him. Still, he hadn’t completely dodged the minefield. It still meant asking about Mickey’s love life, which was something Rafe had never been interested in. Their sister got enough of the family’s attention in that field, especially since she tried rather hard to rub it into their parents’ faces. So thankfully Cheese had been spared from the thought that Mickey might be an actual human being who occasionally dated.

Even though they’d just finished eating, Cheese’s eyes wandered to the display case as he wondered whether it would be too ridiculous to order a snack for later. But he could already hear Addy’s disapproval in his head so he didn’t say anything. Instead, he thought about the upcoming career fair and all the hard choices he was going to have to make soon about his future. “Nah,” he finally decided, “Addy says her brother’s going too, and he’s with the Prophet.” He worked with Cormac, but that was too strange a thought to say out-loud. Mickey would get it, they could bond in the discomfort of that fact together, and then casually move on.

michelangelo tiberius mclaggen

[michelangelo tiberius mclaggen]

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If he had been eating a slice of pizza when his brother inquired about him using the Blishwick Matchmaking services, he probably would have choked on it. That was certainly a question. ”I’ll be frank with you…I don’t think I really need Blishwick’s help in that department.” He played Quidditch professionally. Taking the groupies out of the equation – because sleeping with them was never a good idea to begin with – Mickey had never failed to find a relationship when he wanted one. That was probably the bit of Cormac in him, an overwhelming confidence that bordered arrogance at times. Realistically, he didn’t even have to look for it most of the time. And then there were muggles if he really wanted no connections. Raphael didn’t need to hear the intimate details of his exploits though. If and when he wanted to settle down, he was sure his brother would be the first to know. ”I’ll keep it to just his pizza for now. I think that’s only fair,” he added.

”Interesting…I guess the teams aren’t doing recruiting there. Not sure how many rookie hopefuls would spend their time talking to Ministry stiffs to begin with,” he shrugged. The recruiters had so much better use of their time anyways and would always spill the details of their research on prospective players whenever they got the chance. There was no way for the necessary Quidditch skills to be shown off at a career fair. And if there had been, the teams would have heard about it ages ago. The Prophet being there made sense though. Always trying to hook their claws into young, up and coming reporters. Then they would taint their minds with catchy headlines and leads that weren’t lies, but never fully the truth. He enjoyed the sports section of the paper despite who basically ran it. There were definitely worse parts of the paper though. Not to mention the Quidditch magazines that were borderline libelous. ”As long as you don’t sell your soul, you should be fine,” Mickey said as he thought about a few of the tabloid magazines his name had popped up in recently. He really needed to stop seeking those out…

Raphael Caelan McLaggen ● 365 ● Song by Artist

MADE BY VEL OF GS + ADOX 2.0

[Raphael Caelan McLaggen]

Yeah, Rafe was immediately sorry that he’d asked about Mickey’s love life. It was one of those subjects that you wandered into accidentally, realized what was happening, and then immediately got the hell out. Cheese had made the mistake of bringing it up to their sister once, and he’d paid dearly with details that he’d never be able to forget (not without a strong Obliviate spell at least, which was risky but tempting). Mickey wasn’t nearly as bad, and Rafe nodded at his brother’s subtle hint that he didn’t need Blishwick’s particular set of skills. “Uh yeah, gotcha. The pizza’s less drama, too.” Because if there was one thing that confused Cheese more than his Transfiguration homework, it was his love life. He’d sorta been stumbling through the whole thing with a lot of help from his friends. Girls still didn’t make much sense to him, even one he’d known since they were eleven years old.

He shrugged a little as Mickey wondered about the recruiters and the career fair. He’d long since thrown out the idea of a Quidditch career. It was exactly what Cormac wanted, which immediately took any appeal out of the prospect…and besides. Cheese didn’t want to be compared to his brother. It wasn’t Mickey’s fault, but he’d been dealing with comparisons for years. Professors that had gotten Mickey as a student first, other wizards and witches in his year that read the tabloids or followed the Quidditch league. The other Hufflepuffs didn’t ask him much about it, besides asking about the Bats’ chances when they were filling out their brackets, but Cheese had gotten some obnoxious comments from the other Houses. “Yeah,” he finally said, “I reckon the career fair’s for 7th years that don’t know what they want yet. Quidditch teams have been scouting potential recruits for ages already.”

It was clear what Mickey thought about reporters after having launched his own public career, but Cheese just nodded along. He didn’t have any particular thoughts about newspapers, except that it might be nice to have a stable paycheck instead of scraping by as a starving artist. “I’d just be the photographer. I dunno if I’d even see the story before it gets published, much less do anything with it.” He didn’t really know how it was to work at the Prophet, or what they expected from their photographers – that was something he hoped to learn from Addy’s brother. The alarm on his watch finally started to scream at him – Jimmie must’ve enchanted it when he wasn’t paying attention – and Rafe winced as he covered it with his hand. “Er, I gotta go. Thanks for the pizza.” He didn’t really know how to say goodbye so he just nodded at Mickey, finally got the watch to stop screaming, and raced out of the booth before he discovered what else Jimmie had done to it.

michelangelo tiberius mclaggen
[End post Cheese!]