Lost & Found

Hufflepuff is tea and sweaters. Hufflepuff is punching someone in the face because they need to shut up, calm down, or get the sense knocked into them. Hufflepuff is spring, seeing winter melting away and basking in the sunlight. Hufflepuff is singing loudly to Journey and Queen. Hufflepuff is having the messiest room and yet knowing exactly where to find everything. Hufflepuff is “there’s no such thing as too much chocolate”. Hufflepuff is one too many glasses of champagne so the world feels like sunshine. Hufflepuff is honestly not giving a damn what anyone else thinks. Hufflepuff is prank wars that spiral out of control. Hufflepuff is getting shit done while everyone else argues. Hufflepuff is refusing to fit into the mold, which results in hufflepunks. Hufflepuff is staying up till three am to talk someone out of depression, out of suicide, out of something stupid, convincing them how amazing and how loved they are. Hufflepuff is loyalty, is true friendship, not the plastic My Little Pony stuff but the true friendship. Hufflepuff is the first ones to get Netflix running at Hogwarts, despite magical interference. Hufflepuff is loneliness, is the intense desire for friendship. Hufflepuff is having to deal with derision and scorn. Hufflepuff is loyalty placed in the wrong ideal, loving the wrong person. Hufflepuff is drowning in emotions that bring panic attacks.

Ravenclaw is winter peace and blizzards. Ravenclaw is the beauty of white snow against evergreens and a baby blue sky. Ravenclaw is the sharpness and cutting edge of a cold breeze, the glint of a metal blade. Ravenclaw is the silence of a library, lost completely in a world of ink and screens and words. Ravenclaw is a glass of wine and an old friend. Ravenclaw is martial arts and street smart. Ravenclaw is always asking why. Ravenclaw is pages filled with writing and doodles and diagrams. Ravenclaw is telling dirty jokes in code so no one can tell why you’re laughing so hard you can’t breathe, and the teacher can’t read the notes you were passing in class. Ravenclaw is failing a class because you couldn’t be bothered to read or do homework, it was too boring and you had other things. Ravenclaw is challenging the status-quo and saying “there’s always another option”. Ravenclaw is citrus and a stash of junk food that you always seem to eat right away. Ravenclaw is learning a new language because you want to. Ravenclaw is an innocent face that can hide the dirtiest mind. Ravenclaw is a pile of books that you’ll read - you will, you promise - one day. Ravenclaw is looking up and saying “hell, when did it get to be three thirty AM”, and you have classes in five hours but decide that staying up another half hour won’t hurt. Ravenclaw is love that happens slowly, like creeping ivy, till one day you wake up and realize it’s ensnared you tightly and you wouldn’t have it any other way. Ravenclaw is addiction, to coffee, to drugs, to sweets, anything to get that clarity and that swooping feeling. Ravenclaw is coldness, is locking away resentment to fester, is “revenge is a dish best served cold”. Ravenclaw is shutting up and never ever asking for help, because you’re smart enough, capable enough to handle it. Because you have to.

Gryffindor is summer, cloudless blue skies and endless green fields. Gryffindor is adrenaline highs and truth or dare. Gryffindor is bright red lipstick and cologne that makes heads turn. Gryffindor is parties that go all night. Gryffindor is fireworks exploding in the sky. Gryffindor is standing up to anyone, friend, foe, or stranger, to tell them they’re wrong. Gryffindor is throwing your friend a beer and jumping on their lap to take a nap. Gryffindor is the love of horror games. Gryffindor is steak and burgers, Gryffindor is spicy curry. Gryffindor is taking the risk, making the leap, no matter the odds. Gryffindor is raising your hand in class. Gryffindor is passionate love, whether it be romantic, platonic, or otherwise, that sees no difference in a hand picked wildflower and a diamond necklace as long as it makes the recipient happy. Gryffindor is defending, even if it’s defending someone you hate against someone you love, because Gryffindor stands up for what is right. Gryffindor is recklessness, the uncontrollable emotion, the carelessness with laws and rules. Gryffindor is choosing the ‘morally correct’ option even if it means more are hurt. Gryffindor is solving things brashly, physically, and only making everything worse.

Slytherin is fall evenings, the air crisp but not cold, the setting sun revealing autumn beauty before darkening to show a million billion stars in the indigo inky sky. Slytherin is when the air smells like cloves and cinnamon and smoke from the crackling bonfire. Slytherin is apple pie with vanilla ice cream. Slytherin is a glass of golden scotch. Slytherin is finding comfort in jeans and a leather jacket, dying your hair and tattoos that are like artwork. Slytherin is pride in your heritage, in what it took to get you here. Slytherin is the warm blossom of accomplishment in your chest. Slytherin is tall boots and long scarves. Slytherin is the person you’d trust with anything and everything, the one you love above all else, the one you’d kill for. Slytherin is not being afraid of the dark, but remembering that night heals. Slytherin is musky forests and the steady soothing rainfall. Slytherin is sarcasm and wit. Slytherin is determination in the face of fear. Slytherin is talking your way out of situations to keep those you love safe. Slytherin is the love that shows itself quietly from day to day, with quiet brushes and unsaid favors, but that rears up in fury to defend if necessary. Slytherin is the dark side, the morally ambiguous, the race to the finish line for whatever it is you desire, shoving others aside because you have to. Slytherin is locking yourself in a shadowed corner and curling up, because it’s too much… it’s too much… and wiping the tears and standing anyway, head held high because you can’t stop now, and you can’t show weakness.

Hufflepuffs are not weak. Ravenclaws are not heartless. Gryffindors are not arrogant. Slytherins are not evil.

“Why are you smiling so much?” Aubrey asked Chloe, who was currently looking down at her phone, grinning hard. She hit pause on the show they were supposed to be watching. “Oh my god, you aren’t texting Tom again, are you?”

Chloe looked up from her phone. “God no,” Chloe said.

“Chicago?” Aubrey asked, sounding, if possible, even more horrified.

“He wishes. Sorry, I’m being rude.” She put her phone face down on the coffee table, but couldn’t stop herself from glancing at it when it buzzed.

It was a few days after she had exchanged numbers with Beca, and the two had basically been texting whenever they could. Chloe had found herself thinking Oh, I should tell Beca about this constantly, and, based on the messages she sent, Beca must have been doing the same.

“Who are you texting?” Aubrey asked. She then did a fake gasp and put a hand to her chest. “Do you have other friends?”

Chloe laughed. “Erm… Kinda?”

“Oh wait, for real?” Aubrey asked. “Who?”

Chloe hesitated. She didn’t lie to Aubrey. Not anymore. Not even by omission. Other than Stacie, Aubrey was the one person with whom Chloe was completely, 100% honest.

Still, she wasn’t sure Aubrey would approve of the way she and Beca had met, and she wasn’t sure Beca would be thrilled about her telling Aubrey about it either.

Apologies for this short chapter, hopefully the upcoming chapters make up for it. Thank you for everyone who reblogged, please keep doing it haha

——–

They pulled up outside Beca’s house, but she hesitated before going in. She could see the living room light was on, meaning her Dad and Sheila would be up. She couldn’t face telling them about her evening.

“Are you okay?” Chloe asked.

“Yeah,” Beca said. “Uh, thank you for this. For everything.”

“It was nothing,” Chloe said. “I couldn’t have let you walk home in this state. Anything could have happened.”

Beca laughed softly. “It’s not nothing,” she said, shaking her head. “You don’t even know me, but you helped me anyway. You keep doing that. You keep… helping.”

Chloe didn’t really know what to say, so she just watched Beca who turned to look out of the window again, fiddling with the cuffs of her shirt.

“This whole situation is pretty weird, isn’t it?” Beca said with another laugh, finally looking at Chloe.

“It’s definitely out of the ordinary,” Chloe said. “But it’s not bad. I’m not sorry that I was the one who answered your call that night, and I’m not sorry you saw me in the store and figured out who I was. I’m not sorry I drove by you tonight, and I’m definitely not sorry I pulled over.”

I’ve been really looking forward to hitting this part of the fic, and I’m so glad people stuck with me through the slow start. Thank you to everyone who has reblogged my fic so far, and I hope you carry on doing that 💚

——

Chloe drove home from Aubrey’s that night feeling better than she had in weeks.  

She had needed this night off from her own head. Simply eating a meal with her best friend, watching trash TV, and teasing her about her crush had felt like a vacation.  

She was excited to get home and fall asleep feeling good for once.

As she stopped at a traffic light, she spotted something that made her frown.

A girl was walking down the street by herself.

This wouldn’t be a concern usually, but she seemed to stumble every so often, and kept bringing up a hand to wipe at her eyes. She was also drinking from a bottle. Chloe couldn’t really tell what it was, but the brown glass suggested beer.  

There was something familiar about her.

The girl stepped under a street light, and her face was illuminated.

Was that… It was.

She pulled the car over and rolled down the window.

“Beca?” Chloe called.

Thank you again to everyone who reblogged the last chapter! I hope you all enjoy this chapter and that you carry on sticking with me 🧡

——-

“Hi Mom,” Beca said, trying to stop the shake in her voice.

“Hello!” Beca’s Mom said, enthusiastically. “I didn’t think you’d answer.”

“What’s up?” Beca asked, her other hand clenched in her pocket, gripping her keys as a way to anchor herself.

“I just thought I’d call, since you obviously weren’t going to call me,” her mom said. “I didn’t even know you were back in town. How long have you been back at your father’s?”

“Not long,” Beca lied.  

“Hmm, well, fancy not giving your own mother a call to let her know you’re home,” she said, with a huff of indignation.

“Sorry,” Beca said.  

“Are you planning on coming to see me at all while you’re back?”  

“Yeah, of course,” Beca said. “Uh, when are you free? We could go for dinner or something?”

“We don’t need to go anywhere, why don’t you come here for dinner?”

“Uh, sure,” Beca said, her stomach sinking. “When’s good for you?”

“How about tonight? Steve is out with the boys and Callie is staying over at a friend’s house,” her Mom said.

“Tonight sounds great,” Beca said. She really didn’t want to spend time with her mom’s husband and her step-daughter.  

“Perfect. Come over around six,” her mom said.

Thank you for all the support so far. I promise, the girls will be brought together soon. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and that you continue to comment.

Trigger warnings: Anxiety and depression are talked about in this chapter.

—

“So, you had a panic attack last week?” Stacie, Chloe’s therapist, asked once Chloe had settled herself in a chair.

“Yeah,” Chloe replied. “It was probably the worst one I’ve had in a while. But I know what triggered it.”

“’At Last’ again?”

Chloe nodded, hearing the opening of the song begin to play in her mind. She closed her eyes briefly and told herself the song wasn’t playing. It faded away.

“That’s still a major trigger for you?”

“It would appear so,” Chloe said. “I tried all the breathing exercises you taught me, but they didn’t work this time. I had to get Aubrey to come over.”

Stacie tapped her pen lightly against her notebook. “The problem is, I think this song might always be a trigger for you. We just need to work on how you process it. How you respond to it.” Chloe nodded. “How have you been feeling otherwise? Panic attack aside, how has the anxiety been?”

“Um, I dunno… manageable? It’s still there, but it’s mostly in the background. It tends to be worse in the evenings,” Chloe said. “The, uh, the depression is worse than the anxiety right now.”

Stacie nodded and made a note. “How bad?”

Thank you for all the support so far. I promise, the girls will be brought together soon. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and that you continue to comment.

Trigger warnings: Anxiety and depression are talked about in this chapter.

—

“So, you had a panic attack last week?” Stacie, Chloe’s therapist, asked once Chloe had settled herself in a chair.

“Yeah,” Chloe replied. “It was probably the worst one I’ve had in a while. But I know what triggered it.”

“’At Last’ again?”

Chloe nodded, hearing the opening of the song begin to play in her mind. She closed her eyes briefly and told herself the song wasn’t playing. It faded away.

“That’s still a major trigger for you?”

“It would appear so,” Chloe said. “I tried all the breathing exercises you taught me, but they didn’t work this time. I had to get Aubrey to come over.”

Stacie tapped her pen lightly against her notebook. “The problem is, I think this song might always be a trigger for you. We just need to work on how you process it. How you respond to it.” Chloe nodded. “How have you been feeling otherwise? Panic attack aside, how has the anxiety been?”

“Um, I dunno… manageable? It’s still there, but it’s mostly in the background. It tends to be worse in the evenings,” Chloe said. “The, uh, the depression is worse than the anxiety right now.”

Stacie nodded and made a note. “How bad?”

Things are actually going to start happening from this point haha. Thank you everyone for sticking with me. And a special thanks to everyone who reblogged, and I really hope you continue to do so. If you liked this chapter at all, please just give it a reblog. If I sound desperate and needy it’s because I am haha

———-

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Chloe counted in her head as her hands tingled and shook and her chest tightened.

Six. Seven. Eight.

She tried to focus on her breathing, the way she had been taught to do, but her vision kept swimming.  

Nine. Ten.

She looked down at her hands, only they weren’t her hands anymore. Or more accurately, they were her hands but from four years ago.  

And they were covered in blood, but it wasn’t her blood.

She could hear music, but she knew no music was playing.  

God, not this song. Not this song.

She squeezed her eyes shut, but the images stayed, and the music stayed, and her breathing got faster.

She started crying.

Once again, thank you to every one who took the time to reblog and for sticking with me through this slow burn.

The notes on this have been getting lower and lower each chapter, and I’d love it if more of you reblogged. I want this fic to reach as many people as possible, and the more people who reblog, the more people who’ll see it. 

———

Beca was pacing her room, quietly freaking out.

It was 10:55pm, and Chloe would be calling her in roughly five minutes.

She didn’t know what she was going to say to her.

She poured another glass of bourbon, her third of the night, and stashed the bottle away, resolving not to let the drinking get out of hand tonight. She just needed to settle her nerves.

She drank and felt better.

She wanted to tell Chloe the truth, but didn’t want to freak her out. She didn’t want her to think that she’d tracked her down or something, but keeping quiet about it felt worse.

She considered just ignoring the call, but the thought of that made her heart sink. She wanted to speak to her again, and if she ignored this call, she had a feeling Chloe wouldn’t call back.

At 11:03 pm, the phone rang.

Once again I want to thank everyone who’s taken the time to like and reblog - especially those who’ve reblogged - it really means everything to me, and I really hope you continue to do so.

A few people seemed to think that I was bringing Beca and Chloe together already, but I’m afraid I’m not. They’re gonna spend some time apart so we can get to know this version of them, it’s definitely a bit of a slow burn. Please stick with me though. I’m also sorry this chapter is a little short.

—————

“Are you okay?”

Beca swallowed hard and nodded because she didn’t trust herself to talk.

Holy fuck she thought, her heart pounding. Holy fuck, holy fuck.

“Really? Because you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” the girl behind the counter, Chloe, said.

“Uh-huh,” Beca said, swallowing again. “S-sorry, you just look like someone I know.”

“Okay,” Chloe said. “Can I get you anything else?”

Beca glanced to the shelf of liquor bottles behind Chloe. She badly wanted a drink. All thoughts of her hangover had been pushed from her mind.

“C-can I get a b-bottle of Jim Beam t-too please?” Beca asked. She bit down hard on her bottom lip, trying to force herself to calm down and to stop stammering.

“Of course, I just need to see some I.D. first,” Chloe said, tapping her finger three times against the counter.

Thank you to everyone who’s taken the time to like and reblog, it really means so much to me, and I hope you carry on doing that <3 I know this chapter is a bit slower, but I hope you all stick with it. Chapters will be posted probably every other day, so you shouldn’t have to wait too long for the drama.

————–

Beca woke early the next morning with a hangover so bad that it threatened to ruin her whole week.

A crack in her curtains allowed a ray of sunlight to make its way into her room, shining directly onto her face. When she opened her eyes she winced immediately at the bright light before throwing the blanket over her, groaning at the pain in her head.

She felt her face burn with embarrassment when she remembered last night and her phone call with Chloe. It wasn’t that she regretted calling Support Line, but she hated that feeling of vulnerability. It felt like a weakness.

A churning in her stomach sent her stumbling from her in bed into her bathroom, and she was soon throwing up the remainder of last night’s dinner.

She felt the shakes and hot flashes she associated with the worst kind of hangover, and stripped off to take the coldest shower she could handle.

Here we go! This is a scary moment for me, I’ve been working on this fic for a long time.

When Beca calls a Samaritans style phone line one night, she’s looking for a friend. For someone to listen, and understand.

She has no idea that the girl who answers the call, Chloe, needs that just as much.

Beca and Chloe need each other, they just haven’t met yet.

———————-

The alarm woke Chloe Beale up at 9:30 pm. She rolled over with a grunt and searched for her phone in the folds of her blanket, finally finding it under a pillow. She switched it off and dropped back down into bed. Her eyes closed again, refusing to open more than a few millimetres.

“One,” she mumbled. “Two. Three. Four. Five.” She forced her eyes open and rolled out of bed.

She’d only been asleep for an hour, and it wasn’t enough. Not for the first time, she wondered why she was doing this.  

She stepped into her shower yawning, and washed her six-hour shift at the convenience store out of her skin and hair. She kept her eyes closed as she rinsed out the shampoo and rested her head against the cool tiles as the hot water ran down her back. Then she heard her second alarm ringing on her phone, and she turned off the shower.

She dried off and dressed quickly, blow-dried her hair, and tied it up in a messy bun. She didn’t bother with make-up.

It was almost 10 pm when she walked into the kitchen, before remembering that she was out of coffee. With a sigh, she grabbed her keys off the bench, planning to stop by the store on her way.

“Damn Red, don’t you ever leave here?” Her co-worker Cynthia Rose asked as Chloe made her way to the counter.

“I just missed you too damn much,” Chloe said, her voice sounding as tired as she felt. She paid for her coffee and left.

At 10:50 pm, she arrived at her town’s Support Line office, where she worked four hour shifts, three nights per week as a volunteer. Her job was to answer phones and to listen to the multitude of unhappy, often suicidal, people who called Support Line every day across the country.  

She made her way through the small office, waving a hand at Ted, the office manager, and sat down at her phone, which was beside her best friend Aubrey. They had met at college and Aubrey had started volunteering here when she began working towards her Master’s degree in psychology. This place was the perfect work experience for her.  

Chloe had her own reasons.

I have been waiting all year to post this.