12 Works by criminally_minded
Listing Works
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Starts immediately after the Battle of Hogwarts. Harry volunteers to allow Draco and Narcissa to serve out their house arrest in his home in order to keep them out of Azkaban.
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Harry sat back down, hands trembling. Hermione leaned over Ron and whispered to him, “Harry, are you sure you know what you’re getting yourself into?” Harry nodded firmly, trying to convey much more confidence than he felt.
Ron rolled his eyes. “We can’t have one peaceful year, can we?"
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Harry hadn’t been following Draco the day that Zacharias Smith tried to hex Draco when his back had been turned. Well, not exactly, anyway. Is it really considered ‘following someone’ if you were simply heading to the same class as them? And if they took the long way ‘round, and you decided you also felt like a bit of a walk, well, that was fine, wasn’t it? In any case, it had been lucky, since Zacharias had chosen that day to be the world’s biggest prat. It was pure instinct that drove Harry when he tackled Draco out of the way, a surge of protectiveness that compelled him to take the jinx himself. It had been what Hermione would have called his ‘courageous nature’ and Ron would have called his ‘blatant stupidity.’
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Harry Potter hated quills. He hated quills since Hagrid had taken him to Diagon Alley for the very first time, back when he was eleven years old. (“I’m going to need some pens and pencils,” he had said to Hagrid, the picture of naïveté. Hagrid had stared at him in confusion while he described the writing implements, then he had broken out into a grin and handed him an over large feather. A feather. With a bottle full of ink.)
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(A butterfly flaps its wings and causes a hurricane in London.) When Harry found Draco crying in the bathroom in sixth year, he helps him instead of attacking him.
Drarry.
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Another day, another hostage situation.
Derek sighed deeply. “You know, normal people would have said, ‘hey, I’m gushing blood from a large knife wound in my back’ instead of just bleeding all over the place and fainting.”
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“Don’t worry, Hotch. It probably looks worse than it is. The superficial blood vessels of the scalp and face are particularly vulnerable to trauma.” Spencer was starting to sweat, his hands shaking as he wiped blood out of his eyes.
“Reid, your left ear is gone.”
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Spencer's having nightmares.
Hotch helps.
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Spencer was not okay.
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A muscle jumped in Hotch’s jaw as he stared at the other man intently. He nodded curtly, standing abruptly and walking toward the door. He paused with his hand on the doorknob. “You know I love you, right?”
Spencer cried harder still, pressing his palms against his eyes. “Not enough. I love you too, but it’s not enough.”
And with that, Aaron was gone. -
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“How sure are you that it won’t blow us all to bits?”
“Approximately 75%.”
“Spencer.”
“80%?” -
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Wherein the floor is lava. Domestic fluff, short and sweet.
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He had tried to give his boss a hug. A hug. A perfectly normal, thank-you-for-saving-me hug. Three seconds long, four seconds max. He had no idea what had possessed him to lean forward and kiss the man, in front of their entire team, no less.