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White Moves First, Part 8 ~ Edmund Pevensie

In another life, y'all, I get to stay at home and drink tea and nibble on snacks while I furiously type my stories like there's no tomorrow. In this life, sadly, I am a student who must spend her time writing chemistry lab reports, giving immunology presentations, and settling the occasional choir drama. Sorry for the three-month-long wait, I hope you guys enjoy!

Summary: Despite the distance between their two lands, Y/N, princess of Archenland, is close friends with King Edmund the Just. But when push comes to shove, will friendship turn to more?

Warnings: none, other than Mr. Rabbitdash being his creepy prince self

Word count: 5.8k

White Moves First masterlist | Main masterlist

Who knew wedding feasts were so overwhelming?

Moments after Edmund and I entered the candlelit hall, my father grabbed my arm, tugging me away from Edmund before I realized what was happening. “There is Lord Dalor, you must greet him and thank him for his attendance.”

And so it began.

Everywhere I turned, there was another courtier I’d never seen before congratulating me. I politely listened, trying to keep my eyes on the speaking courtiers instead of Queen Susan’s decorations. She’d done a wonderful job, placing the lavender arrangements I’d chosen in beautiful places, along with pale green and purple ribbons flowing in every direction like a spiderweb.

I thanked everyone until I was blue in the face. Pretending to be an elated bride got steadily more difficult, and the buzzing of the nobles talking all around me was slowly driving me mad.

Lord Bote held his goblet aloft, allowing him to place his other hand on his chest in genuine gladness. “Truly, I was so honored by your invitation to your nuptials.”

Forcing a smile, I nodded. “My father insisted on it personally.” A good reply. Flattering, succinct, and upholding of the impression that I’d been the one to invite any of these people to my wedding.

Lord Bote beamed. “I do suppose that your–” The rest of his words were drowned out as my father—all the way at the end of the hall, standing at the king’s seat of honor—stood up and called for everyone’s attention.

My heart sank. What could the king possibly have in mind now?

“Friends, we are so honored by your presence here!” King Loon’s voice boomed. A large cheer rang through the room as goblets were lifted in the air. The king beamed at all his guests, basking in all the attention. “Today is the day of love’s celebration!” A second cheer rose, louder than the first.

“He means his celebration,” muttered a familiar voice beside me, and I slid an arm around Edmund’s back, grateful to have something to hold onto. Edmund wrapped his arm around me in kind, and I squashed the urge to lean into the comfort which was rare on this day.

“But now is a time of great honor for the couple, an auspicious moment that Archenland has the privilege of witnessing.” My father held out his hand to us. “King Edmund, take your bride onto the dance floor.”

I looked up into Edmund’s face, my high strung heart loosening a bit at the sight I knew so well.

Edmund’s lips hovered beside my ear. “Shall we?”

I nodded, taking the hand he offered to me as he led me into the center of the dance floor. The music began, sending Edmund into a low bow. I curtsied.

Edmund’s hand slid across my side, centering on my low back to push me closer to him than I’d ever been during a dance. My first impulse was to pull away, as a lifetime of instruction on deportment had instilled in me. But Edmund and I weren’t merely friends anymore. Marriage changed the little courtesies forming the perimeter of our friendship. I tipped my head back to look at Edmund’s face, trying not to blush at how close it was to my own.

“Finally,” I said quietly as we began the slow steps of a waltz. “I can take a breath.”

I could see the exhaustion tugging at Edmund’s eyes. “Won’t be long now,” he said softly. “Once they’ve all had their fill of ogling the new couple, we can leave.”

Oh, how I couldn’t wait to do so. All the staring, the comments, the festivity that filled the room. All these courtiers were celebrating because their princess wed, none of whom knew Edmund well and none of whom knew of the narrow escape Edmund was for me. I knew no one in this room would be celebrating as grandly if it were a Calormen prince currently dancing with me for the first time as my husband, just as I knew none of them would’ve outright protested the arrangement.

I shook my head.

Thirty minutes. For the rest of my life, I would never underestimate the importance of a half-hour.

The cause of my marriage predicament caught my eye, the Calormen prince lingering at the entrance to the hall, watching us with the posture of indifference, but the eyes of a hunter.

I gulped. “Rabadash is by the door.”

When we were younger, Edmund pursed his lips whenever he held back words he wanted to say. As he got older, he outgrew the habit, but occasionally, I could see the slightest twitch in the muscles of his cheek. If one didn’t know him, they might think he was fighting a smile instead of the urge to speak. Edmund spun us, his eyes lifting for a moment as he confirmed what I’d just told him, and his cheek muscles twitched.

I longed to know what it was he wasn’t saying.

Edmund spun us again so that he was once more in between the Calormen prince and I, as if to shield me from any possible harm from that predatory stare.

“Will he never leave us alone?” I said in despair.

Edmund’s eyes were fixated on me, his freckles standing out even in the low candlelight of the hall. “When the song ends,” he whispered, “I’m going to dip you.”

I glanced at the prince again, trying to ignore the fear worming in my gut. “And kiss me.”

Edmund grinned, and for a moment, I believed it was the idea of kissing me that made him look so eager and lively. “Adding to my strategies again?” he asked, with fondness that was even better than the eagerness.

“I can hardly help it,” I replied. “If there’s room for improvement, I should speak up, should I not?”

“You should indeed.” Edmund twirled me and then brought me back to him, even closer than before, making me crane my neck to keep eye contact. “Since you’re the expert, what kind of kiss would you recommend?”

My heart stuttered as I lowered my gaze to the ruffles of Edmund’s doublet, suddenly bashful. “I’m hardly an expert,” I hedged. “After all, my first was only a few hours ago.”

Did I imagine the tremble in the hand at my back? “But you are the lady,” Edmund replied. “Ladies should dictate what kisses they want…so they’re expecting them.”

“But a wife expects any and all kisses from her husband, does she not?”

Edmund’s lips parted for a moment, his chest rising and falling in a quick breath. “I don’t know, I’d have to ask mine.”

I maintained eye contact, trying to uncover the unspoken words. What was he trying to say? Was he asking permission? Or was there something deeper?

Eyes never leaving mine, Edmund gently braced his hands on my hips before lifting me into the air. With his hands holding me up and my feet apart from the floor, my lungs couldn’t quite draw breath. Even once he set me down to stand on my own merit, the breathlessness didn’t subside.

Edmund’s Adam’s apple bobbed, clueing me into the nerves he felt. My friend and husband was someone who sought out knowledge, who liked to know what to expect, who preferred a foundation of things he could understand. Perhaps, in asking my opinion on what kiss he should give, the man was looking for that same foundation.

I didn’t know what kind of kiss was most likely to discourage Rabadash. I had a sinking feeling that if Rabadash wanted to be encouraged, anything could fuel his fire. But how did I want Edmund to kiss me? Well, I wanted him to kiss me the way he had earlier. Like he meant it. Like there was no one else in the world he’d rather kiss, even if a roomful of people watched.

“I want you–” My voice was hoarse, so I cleared it, trying not to lose my nerve. “I want you to kiss me slowly.” Edmund met my gaze, and my heart jumped in my throat. His gaze had no right being that intense, it scrambled the words in my brain. “If…if you really wanted to kiss me,” I stammered, “i-if we really want Rabadash to think we’re in love, then you should take your time. Like there’s nowhere else you want to be.”

The only answer I got at first was a slow nod. Had I overdone it? Was he uncomfortable?

But when Edmund finally spoke, it wasn’t a change of the subject or a rejection. “What else?”

I squeezed the steady, calloused hand in mine. “Put your hand on the back of my head as you dip me…like I’m precious to you.”

“You are,” Edmund said immediately, then blinked as if surprised by his own words. He seemed to waver on taking it back before quietly repeating himself, sounding more sure now. “You are.”

I smiled warmly, to ease the striking caution I saw on his face. I knew what he meant. Edmund was precious to me too, especially when I could tell that his mind was attempting to untangle his uncertainty in this unfamiliar situation. “Don’t open your eyes right away afterwards, no matter how everyone reacts. Just…stay in the moment with me.” I waited for Edmund’s response, too terrified to keep talking.

The corners of his mouth turned up, and underneath my hand, his shoulder relaxed. “It’s easy to stay in this moment. With you.”

Suddenly, looking up at Edmund's almost-smiling face, I wanted the song to end.

In the way my father was basking in attention, I’d been basking in the proximity with Edmund, dreading the moment the song would end and separate us again to face the sycophantic crowd. And now I wanted the music to trail off, to lean backwards and know that Edmund’s arms would be there to catch me and his lips to greet me.

By Aslan, what was happening to me?

Now I was more nervous than before. This wedding was confusing, in every possible way, and also not anything close to what I expected.

As a princess, as a spare for the throne, I’d never held the power of choice, but even if that luxury had been mine, I never would’ve dared to presume my groom would be a king, and King Edmund at that.

I also never expected a wedding to happen so quickly. Royals were sometimes engaged as children, having almost a decade to get used to the idea of marriage. Even if engagements were sudden, royal weddings didn’t come together almost overnight as this one had.

And my mother wasn’t here.

She’d been gone for years, taken from me so long ago that the idea of an alive mother seemed more foreign than having a dead one. This was an event where she would’ve been hosting. She would’ve been the one picking the decorations, ensuring the food was prepared, standing at my father’s side as they celebrated their daughter’s good fortune. Perhaps that was why my father kept moving amongst the crowd, never staying in one place for too long lest the grief could catch up with him. Perhaps he was right by having me try on my mother’s dress. All he wanted was for her to be here tonight.

Or was that too generous an assessment?

“What’s wrong?”

Shaken from my reverie, I came back to the present moment, blushing a bit when I realized I’d just done the opposite of what I told Edmund to do. “I was just thinking about my mom.” I poked my tongue against the inside of my cheek, trying to figure out whether or not to continue.

“Thinking what?”

“Thinking…about how my dad must feel.” I gave a half-hearted smile. “If your daughter is getting married…it’d make sense that you’d miss your wife, right?”

Edmund didn’t answer, looking characteristically thoughtful. But when he replied, it wasn’t an affirmation or denial. “Do you think she would’ve liked me?”

“I…” My cheeks flushed. I didn’t remember her well enough to know. “I hope so.”

The responding expression wasn’t confused or pitying. It was discerning. All my life, I’d been a transparent princess—I existed. Ignored as easily as I was made a show of. Unreachable by rank. Mysterious by design.

But when Edmund was in the room, I did more than exist.

I was corporeal. I had feelings. I carried importance.

The music grew softer. Edmund let go of my hand to brace his at the base of my neck, guiding me backwards. Resting my hands on his shoulders, I allowed him to hold my weight.

He kissed me, not moving from the dip position.

At first, my mind raced. Were my lips too tense? Did I need to relax? Or was I supposed to move my lips? Edmund was moving his lips a little. I tried to match the movement, but it was peculiar. My hands tightened on his neck, my body starting to panic a bit at still being held above the floor. Would Edmund’s arms get tired? Would he drop me?

And then Edmund’s tongue brushed my bottom lip, and I stopped thinking. My body loosened, like I was silver softening in a smith’s flame, and, by Aslan, Edmund held me like I was something precious.

Slowly, without breaking the kiss, Edmund lifted me up again, setting me on my feet just as the warmth of his face disappeared from mine. I opened my eyes, too curious to help myself.

Edmund’s eyes stayed closed, just as I’d instructed, and his brow was furrowed as though he were in pain. I gazed at his pale complexion, drinking in the noble bridge of his nose and the dark locks of hair resting on his forehead. Then I noticed his lips looked pinker than normal. Was that from our kiss?

Applause broke my trance, and Edmund’s eyes opened, a warm smile crossing his face.

“We survived,” I said lightly, biting my lip to keep from grinning in too undignified a way for a princess.

Someone in the crowd let out a particularly loud cheer, and Edmund’s cheek muscles twitched again. “Twenty more minutes,” he said quietly, “and I’m tying the tablecloths together to get us out of here through the window.”

I laughed, marveling at Edmund’s ability to put me at ease. “I happen to be an excellent knotter.”

“One of the many perks of marrying you,” Edmund said before stepping away to hold out his hand. I took it, allowing him to guide me off the dance floor. We were not among the courtiers for a moment before my father came and whisked Edmund away, leaving me behind.

I frowned at my father’s rush to separate us but quickly had to rearrange my face into a gracious smile as Lord Mor appeared out of nowhere. With no polite way to extricate myself from the situation, I had no choice but to listen to his inane chatter while searching the crowd to see where my husband had gone.

“Excuse me, Lord Mor,” Cor said politely, appearing at my side. “May I speak with my sister for a moment?”

Lord Mor bowed cheerfully and left.

“Thanks for the save,” I mumbled, turning to face my oldest brother.

“What are brothers for?” Cor smiled.

An arm slung around my waist in a casual move only the other twin would do. “Next time you dance with your husband,” Corin said, lifting his goblet, “tell him to save the kiss for later.”

I blushed furiously. Funny, I’d only been thinking of Rabadash seeing our kiss, not the hall full of others and certainly not my brothers. What would a happily married woman say to her brothers after comments like that? When the women of court were married, they seemed to laud their status and knowledge as married women over all the unmarried ones. “When the two of you fall in love, you’ll understand.” I tried to say it as loftily as the other women did, but my brothers just gave me strange looks.

“Gross,” Cor said, his face pinched.

“Heads up,” Corin said, his tone more serious than I knew to expect from him. He gestured with his goblet, and the three of us looked over to see Edmund deep in discussion with my father. King Loon looked more relaxed than I’d ever seen him, and I momentarily wondered how many goblets of wine he’d drunk. Or perhaps it was the court’s undivided attention he was drunk on.

Edmund, on the other hand, stood rigidly; the only part of him moving was his fist at his side, which clenched and unclenched repeatedly.

Immediately, the three of us whisked across the room to join the kings. “Father, you haven’t spoken to Lord Mor,” Cor quickly said as I slid my hand across Edmund’s middle, trying to comfort my friend.

The king grinned, clapped Edmund on the shoulder, and loudly said, “we’ll discuss it tomorrow, my boy!” And with that, my father allowed Cor to lead him away with Corin on the other side.

“What was that about?” I asked Edmund, twisting around so that I stood in front of him.

Edmund worked his jaw, staring the way my father had gone. “I’ll tell you later.” The tense set of his face made my chest ache a little. He’d given so much to me and my father and my people. All day, he’d done what was expected of him, with no complaint.

All of it was too much, and more than enough for tonight.

Winding my hand through his, I tugged him gently into a walk beside me.

“Where are we going?” Edmund asked.

“Bed,” was all I answered.

It was customary for a husband to bring his wife to his own bedchamber, but Edmund was glad when Y/N instead brought him to a different guest chamber. It was almost identical to his, but minus the possessions strewn about the furniture and carpet. He’d have to pack those in the morning before they left for Narnia.

“I have never been so tired in my life,” Edmund groaned, falling onto the bed. “Are weddings always like this?”

“I wouldn’t know.” Y/N fell onto the bed beside him. “Ours is the first I’ve ever been to.”

“I would be satisfied if it was the only one I’d ever have to go to.”

Y/N huffed in agreement.

Oh, it was a relief to lay down. It was as if Edmund’s body exhaled out the tension of the day, finally allowing him to relax. Before dancing together, King Loon had directed Edmund through an endless stream of sycophantic men and women. It wouldn’t have been so terrible, if only King Loon had allowed Edmund and Y/N to discourse with the guests together, but it almost seemed as if the king were trying to keep Edmund away from his daughter.

Edmund shook his head. No, it was far more likely that King Loon intended to take advantage of having Y/N and Edmund around while he still could.

Then the dancing.

Dancing with Y/N was much more pleasant than talking with people he didn’t know, but then again, doing anything with Y/N was much more pleasant than most anything else.

Including foiling a certain prince.

Yes, that was very pleasant.

It’s too bad there were no teams in chess. Edmund had no doubt that he and Y/N would decimate any opponents. He sat up, looking at his wife.

“Are you alright?” he asked, for what felt like the tenth time that day. He could hardly help it if their wedding warranted constant check-ins with his friend’s wellbeing. If the wedding had truly been an event born of ‘love’s celebration’, he’d be able to read into Y/N’s smiles and expressions of excitement. But with the pretenses they were holding up, Edmund couldn’t assume anything.

But when Y/N smiled at him just now, it wasn’t like the smiles of the day. Her lips spread into a soft smile, setting Edmund at ease in the way only Y/N could. “I’m good. Are you?”

“Better now,” Edmund answered honestly. Here, in the privacy of their temporary chamber, they didn’t have to force anything. They could just be who they were.

Too soon, the happy moment ended as Y/N squeezed Edmund’s shoulder and got to her feet. “Time to get ready for bed.” Edmund groaned, too comfortable to move. Astonishing, really, how exhaustion reordered one’s priorities.

Y/N stood, unclasping her necklace and pulling out her earrings before placing the jewelry on the bedside table. Edmund watched her slide his old signet ring off her ring finger and back onto her pointer finger. Perhaps he should’ve felt slighted by the action, but really, she was right, it looked much better on that finger.

“Um…” Y/N shifted, fiddling with the laces on the back of her dress. “Do you mind?”

Edmund stared at her reddening cheeks, confused at first by what she meant. Then realization dawned, and his own flared. “Ah, of course.” He quickly jumped off the bed, walking around to meet her.

Y/N turned around, presenting the laces to him. Edmund nervously wiped his hands on his pants, staring at the neat knot at the bottom of the bodice, right where his hand had been while dancing. Funny, he hadn’t remembered feeling the knot there.

Taking a quick breath, he started on the knot. The little cords were tinier than Edmund was accustomed to working with. On a ship, the knots of a rope were much thicker and easier to undo, even if they did cause ropeburn. His fingers felt awkwardly large as he tried to undo it, but the knot held firm. “You’re too good a knotter,” he grumbled.

Y/N’s delicate shoulders shook, from shivers or laughter, Edmund couldn’t tell until she spoke with great mirth. “Having a spot of trouble?”

“Blast,” Edmund muttered, and her shoulders shook a little again. “How secure does a dress need to be?” he groused, suddenly thankful that men’s fashion didn’t require a helper to get in and out of. No wonder Y/N had a designated lady’s maid, she had to do this every day, sometimes multiple times.

He tried to use his thumbnail to get some leverage on the knot, but it continued to make him look inadequate in front of his wife. Another minute, and he’d rip the damn dress apart out of pure frustration.

As soon as he thought the thought, his fingers slipped on the laces. Calm down, he told himself sternly. You’re a king, for crying out loud. Act like it.

“You never told me what the problem with your dress was,” Edmund said.

With his hands fidgeting with the knot at her back, he felt her spine stiffen. “It was nothing.”

“Y/N. Honesty.”

The princess let out a heavy sigh. Edmund could imagine her face, slightly irritated and anxious, weighing her words as he knew her to do. He wanted to know if he was right, if his mind could predict what she looked like, but he had a hunch this conversation would be easier for her without being face-to-face.

“My father…wanted me to wear my mother’s dress.” Edmund’s fingers froze, the stubborn knot still in his grasp, as he waited for her to go on and attempted to control his anger with more integrity than King Loon attempted to control Y/N. Y/N shifted her weight. “He said I was always meant to wear it.”

“Did you like it?” Edmund asked with extreme care. “The dress?”

“It was pretty,” was her only answer.

“So you didn’t like it.”

Y/N’s hands slid down her skirt, her fingers sweeping across the fabric. “Not the way I like this one.”

Edmund nodded, satisfied. Finally, the knot gave, and he made quick work of the loops, freeing his wife at last. He turned away from her to face the wall, silently allowing her the privacy to step out of the dress. Then he looked down at his own clothes. Normally he slept in only a pair of sleep breeches, but doing that tonight felt indecent. So he simply took off his boots and fancy doublet, leaving his trousers and undershirt. Anything more could wait until they had a space of their own to solidify their nightly routine.

He could still hear Y/N rustling about, so he stayed where he was, stifling a large yawn with his hand. The rustling continued.

“I’m done,” Y/N finally announced, and Edmund turned to see her already sliding in between the covers of the bed. She fought a large yawn as she ran her fingers through her unbound hair.

Had her hair always been that long? It tumbled over halfway down her back, a few short pieces in the front to softly frame her face. Suddenly, the Archenland hairstyles peeved Edmund. Y/N should’ve always been wearing her hair this way.

He reprimanded himself again. Not appropriate thoughts to have about his friend.

He got into bed beside her, feeling glad he’d sent a note ahead to Cair Paravel to Peter to prepare the bedchamber where they would sleep. He couldn’t imagine bringing Y/N into the chamber he’d had for years in Cair Paravel. Literally. His mind couldn’t conjure the image of her walking in and staring at the organized chaos of Edmund’s things.

The maids at Cair Paravel long ago learned not to disturb Edmund’s chambers for something as disruptive as cleaning. Once, they’d rearranged all of Edmund’s books from his ordered yet overflowing stacks onto his bookshelves, and Edmund nearly had an aneurysm. Sure, it looked messy to the outsider, but really it was an intricate system of information in the forms of books, parchment, and broken quills. An outsider would never be able to appreciate all the little marks on Edmund’s bedpost from Edmund’s attempts to master knife throwing just for the sake of knowing how to do it.

The idea of bringing some mysterious wife into that space troubled Edmund, but he had a feeling that Y/N, his friend, would gladly stand next to him and learn knife-throwing.

And grow more accomplished at it than he.

Nonetheless, Edmund requested Peter move all his parchment and books to a new study while having the furniture replaced and the chambers thoroughly cleaned. The only thing that Edmund had asked to remain was his solid gold chess set, a gift from a foreign dignitary whose name Edmund had forgotten. Y/N had never seen his chess set. Considering she always teased him for choosing to play black, he could already imagine the two of them chuckling over the black pieces being gold instead.

“I can’t wait to see Narnia,” Y/N said suddenly, as if she’d been thinking similar thoughts.

Edmund grinned up at the ceiling. “I can’t wait to show it to you.” What fun the two of them could have. He could show her the library and point out the best armchair by the window with just enough light in the evenings to read by. Oh, and she’d adore the sweet pastries he sometimes nicked from the kitchens while all the staff pretended not to see. And the best place to go in the castle to see the stars at night. The constellations would be the same as Y/N had grown up with. Maybe it’d make her a little less homesick on nights when she missed her homeland.

They laid side-by-side in silence, and Edmund felt his eyes getting heavier and heavier.

“What were you and my father talking about?” Y/N asked, as quiet and light as a flame.

A flash of anger doused Edmund’s insides, waking him up immediately. He rolled to his side, propping his head up on his fist so that he could look down into her face. “Your father was asking when your coronation will be. He wanted to plan it for the day after tomorrow.” In Archenland. King Loon wanted to crown a Narnian monarch in Archenland’s hall. On a day’s notice. Nevermind the concern of crowning a queen in what wasn’t to be her new country, Y/N deserved more than a rushed and disorganized coronation.

Y/N seemed to shrink into the comfort of her pillow, as if she wanted to be swallowed up by the soft down and feathers. “Oh.”

“Y/N?” He waited until Y/N looked at him with curious eyes. “Do you want to be a queen?”

Y/N’s expression was marble smooth, giving him no clues as to her thoughts. Finally, she said, “Narnia already has two queens.”

Edmund narrowed his eyes, trying to analyze her tone. “If you wished it, a coronation could easily be arranged. But…should you not wish it…remaining a princess would be…satisfactory.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, bestowing Edmund with her sudden humorous twinkle. “Satisfactory?”

“You know what I mean,” Edmund grunted, falling flat on his back, preferring the sight of the ceiling for his sanity.

But instead of leaving him to privately stave off embarrassment, Y/N turned onto her side, her thankfully serious face appearing in his view. “Shouldn’t this be a conversation between you and your siblings?”

“It will be. But I want to know what you want before I talk with them.”

The princess seemed to digest this, her eyes drifting off to the side as she thought. She had this habit of puckering up her lips when she was deep in thought, Edmund saw it often when they played chess. Her mind was the most appealing part of her, so it was unfair that whenever she was lost in it, her lips furrowed together as if begging to be kissed.

Edmund shook his head. Really? Was he coming down with a fever or something?

“Is it even wise to have a foreign queen if there are already two?” Y/N asked.

Edmund shrugged. “Susan and Lucy weren’t born in Narnia any more than you were.” Y/N glanced down at the bedding, her hair falling into her face. Without missing a beat, Edmund reached up to tuck the traitorous locks behind her ear.

Y/N’s eyes fluttered as his fingers brushed the shell of her ear. “Do my duties change based on my title?” she asked.

“Officially? Perhaps.” Edmund withdrew his hand. “Practically? Likely not.”

Y/N nodded once, meeting his eyes again. “Then I think I would like to remain a princess. Coronations sound scary.”

Edmund sat up, and Y/N leaned back so they didn’t collide. He intended to ask her if she was sure, but the sight of her contented expression in front of her unbound hair across the pillow told him all he needed to know. Maybe later she would change her mind, and they would organize a coronation then, but for now? She didn’t want that, and Edmund wasn’t about to give her something she didn’t want. “Okay,” he said softly.

She smirked. “Though I still hope the Narnians might grant me a nickname like they have you and your siblings.”

“Oh, certainly,” Edmund replied. “Especially if they see your fear of coronations.” He gestured grandly. “Princess Y/N the cowardly.”

His friend snorted, running her hands through her unbound hair. “More like Princess Y/N the prudent.”

“Y/N the theatrical.”

“Y/N the eloquent.”

“Y/N the laughable.”

Y/N held up a finger. “Y/N the modest.”

“Y/N the loquacious.”

She burst into giggles at that one, a sound that was impossible not to love. Edmund chuckled, unable to help himself.

Their laughter quieted as both settled into their pillows. “Blow the candles out?” Edmund asked.

Y/N hummed, and both of them blew out the candles on their bedside tables.

They didn’t talk anymore. The only sound in the darkness was the occasional rustle as Edmund or Y/N changed position.

Edmund had never shared a bed before. Was Y/N a light sleeper? Would adjusting his position wake her up? Edmund’d never been able to fall asleep quickly; his mind was too active. What if Y/N didn’t feel comfortable falling asleep until he was asleep?

Oh, Aslan, what if Edmund snored? He didn’t think he could ever live it down if he snored and she couldn’t sleep because of it. If he did snore, they’d have to sleep in different bedrooms. Maybe they needed to do that anyways. Would Y/N prefer her own room at Cair Paravel? Would she tell him if she did, or would she simply follow his lead? Maybe Edmund needed to just assume she would prefer a different room. But what if she found it insulting? In the morning, he could ask her, she had promised him honesty if he asked for it.

There, it was settled. He’d ask in the morning.

Oh, he was an unthinking moron. He should’ve asked her before they settled in to sleep tonight. But then again, he didn’t doubt that the Archenland court and staff would gossip wildly if they knew Y/N and Edmund slept in different rooms on their wedding night. The staff at Cair Paravel would be much more understanding, so maybe they needed to wait at least until they were in Narnia.

“Edmund?” Y/N said tentatively into the darkness.

“Yes?”

“Remember when you promised to do whatever I requested?”

“Yes.” Oh no, was she about to ask for a different room? Edmund decided he would be the one to leave. He didn’t want her walking around the halls on her wedding night, people were much more likely to question her than him.

“Will you…will you hug me?”

Edmund blinked. “Of course.” He shuffled over to her, and Y/N shuffled into his arms before he could decide on the logistics of hugging while horizontal.

His right arm acted as a pillow for Y/N’s head while his left curled around her back, holding her close. His fingers unintentionally tangled up in her hair, and it felt exactly as he’d expected. Y/N tucked her head just underneath his chin, the tip of her nose brushing the hollow of his throat. He rubbed her back gently, wanting to reassure her.

This was…surprisingly nice. Sure, maybe Edmund’s arm would fall asleep with Y/N laying on it, but until it fell asleep, it was very comforting. Y/N seemed to agree. He felt rather than heard the long exhale from Y/N’s body as she nestled into his embrace.

When he sleepily laid back a little so he wasn’t directly on his side, somehow Y/N’s head ended up in the crook of his neck. The last thing he remembered before falling asleep was Y/N’s hand slowly coming to rest on his chest.

Overall tag list:

@thelastpyle @valiantlytransparentwhispers

White Moves First tag list:

@thesecretlifeofpenguins @read-just-cant @chesh-ire-cat @emotionallyattachedteen @cassini-among-the-stars @uncontainedsmiles @mastermasterlist1p1 @goldfishinpainttubes @silverowl102 @daisyslife

#narnia #chronicles of narnia #narnia fanfic #narnia fanfiction #edmund #king edmund #king edmund the just #edmund fanfic #edmund fanfiction #arranged marriage #friends to lovers #chess #marriage of convenience #royal marriage #edmund pevensie

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im-a-wonderling · 2 months ago

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Hi, I stumbled onto your writing today and I was wondering if your Bucky x Reader series Emergency Room was ever completed - I address able to find anything past part 4 and I'm dying to know how it ends!

Hey there! Unfortunately, no, I never finished Emergency Room. Emergency Room was my first (and only) instant, massive hit. I got about 900 notes in the first 24 hours, which was insane to me as a newbie tumblr writer. People liked it enough that I made it into a series, even though I really only ever had inspiration for the first part. I'm a plotter, I know exactly how each one of my ongoing stories at the time are going to end...with the exception of the ones I eventually realize I am not writing for my own enjoyment. Emergency Room falls into that category. I wish I could at least give you an ending for you to imagine for yourself, but I can't even get that far into plotting for this series 😅

#my asks #emergency room

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im-a-wonderling · 3 months ago

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Rescue Me, Part 5 ~ Obi-Wan Kenobi

Sorry this took so long! I had a conference and then a car accident and then was maid-of-honor in a wedding, so safe to say things have been chaotic. I hope you guys enjoy!

Summary: Y/N tries to cope with the aftermath of the events on Neftali and Obi-Wan Kenobi's part in them.

Warnings: a sort of panic attack and PTSD

Word count: 5.9k

Rescue Me masterlist | Main masterlist

Words did not exist in the place I was.

I did not exist in the place I was.

And strangely enough, there was no place where I was either. I was both nowhere and somewhere. Or maybe I was multiple somewheres at the same time.

But there was no time.

Time did not exist either.

There was no weight to me, for there was no form to me. I could not move, but I did not need to. I could not feel, and I didn’t need to do that either. All I needed was just to be, and I was, and the was-ing was.

Then something shifted.

I couldn’t describe what was different from Before, I only knew that I was now in After. There was no light, no sound, no smell, nothing I could discern other than the certainty that somehow, something was changing. Gradually, everything began to grow heavier and heavier, but not in a fearful way or an exciting way, just in a way.

And then, suddenly, there was pain.

Oh, it ached and burned, growing worse. And worse.

I couldn’t temper it or move away from it, forced to experience the pain exactly as it was.

Then, I felt tiny strikes, small reliefs from the otherwise all-consuming fire.

Next came the light. Dull and warm. It didn’t shine on any shapes or colors, but any light was a contrast from the nothingness of Before.

Slowly, I became aware of where the fire’s shape started and stopped. Where I started and stopped. I could feel legs and arms again, battered and burning as they were, but I couldn’t move.

“Y/N, please, please wake up!”

I could’ve cried at the sound of that voice coming from somewhere above me. I tried to say the name, but my voice didn’t work, as if it was still in Before.

“Please, Y/N!”

Now I could feel my face, but most particularly the pressure on my cheek accompanied with tiny scrapes that did not hurt.

“C’mon, talk to me, open your eyes, breathe!”

I tried. I tried so hard to listen, because I would do anything that voice asked of me, but I couldn’t move, no matter how hard I fought.

Obi-Wan’s voice grew quieter, and at first, I was alarmed. Was I fading back to Before? No, that couldn't be, because I could still feel the burning pain and the small pricks of relief. No, Obi-Wan’s voice softened as he chanted something. Was it my name? It didn’t sound quite right to be my name. I strained to listen.

“I’m sorry,” he was saying. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

He said it over and over, and I yearned for him to stop, but the words only poured forth at a greater speed and intensity. “I should’ve run faster, I should’ve gotten to the club sooner, she wouldn’t be here if I’d been faster. I shouldn’t have left her alone in that bar or in the storm, I should never have let her go. It’s all my fault, I know it is, but please don’t take her from me.”

My chest twinged, a hurt much different from either the fire or ice. I gathered every part of myself, urging my body to listen. Obi-Wan didn’t deserve this. He saved me when I’d already owed him more than I could ever repay.

Another tiny strike hit my face, but it wasn’t cold like the others. “Please don’t go, Y/N.”

I clung to the words, building up the momentum.

Move, I ordered my body.

Nothing happened.

MOVE!

All at once, my chest rose as I inhaled what felt to be a great big breath. My heart started at a dizzyingly painful pace. Had it not been beating before?

A strangled, shuddering gasp came from above. “Y/N?”

I still couldn’t move my arms or legs or even lift my eyelids. But my chest moved as my lungs expanded and retracted.

Whatever I was lying against shifted. “You’re okay.” The familiar scrape brushed across my forehead, my hair. “Thank the stars.”

I tried to speak, but all that came out was a tiny grunt.

“It’s okay, you’re okay, you’re safe, take your time.” The warm scrape brushed down my temple back to my cheek. The callouses on Obi-Wan’s hand, I realized. Then something else brushed my forehead without scraping, something softer.

I’d felt it recently before.

Was…Obi-Wan…kissing my forehead?

Fighting for every miniscule movement, I peeled my eyes open.

The first thing I saw was the upside down and blurry face of Obi-Wan. I blinked several times, and my vision cleared to show me the ginger hair laying flat against his head and trickles of water rolling down to meet his beard. His eyes blinked rapidly, likely protesting against the water.

The water. The tiny strokes of relief from the fiery pain all over my body was water.

Were we in a refresher?

“Buh…” I managed to say, but the sound was painful to my own ears. I weakly cleared my throat. “Bun-ker.”

From Obi-Wan’s expression, one could have mistaken the word for a treasure. “No, we’re not in the bunker, we’re on the ship, we’re going back to Coruscant.” He shifted behind me slightly, making me aware of how much of my bare skin was touching his, but I didn’t have the energy to pull away even if I’d wanted to. “How do you feel?”

I swallowed, the movement feeling as foreign as if I’d never done it. “Hurts.”

He nodded, giving a weak laugh that reverberated against his chest where I lay. “That’s to be expected.”

My view continued to expand. I could see the walls of the refresher behind Obi-Wan and water dripping down from the stream pouring from the head of the refresher.

“How…?”

Obi-Wan’s hand squeezed my arm. “I found you.” Normally the words would be comforting, but there was a strangeness to them. Was it the tone? The cadence? I wished we both were still connected to the Force so I could better understand what lay beneath his words, but as it was, I couldn’t muster up any words to ask.

With great effort, I lifted my hand from where it’d lain limply by my side to cover his hand.

Obi-Wan looked away so immediately, I nearly withdrew it, as if I’d done wrong. But while his face was turned away from me, his arms seemed to hold me tighter.

I pressed my hand to his chest, waiting patiently for him to turn back to look at me.

Was I imagining the shudder that passed through his body when he finally met my eyes? And also the fear in his blue eyes?

“It took so long,” he finally rasped. “I came back, and you were gone, and it took so long–” He shook his head as he cut himself off, eyes falling to the floor of the refresher. Whatever words were building in his throat seemed to be hurting him. “You were blue. You were blue, and you weren’t moving, not even breathing, and I was so scared that you were–” Again, he stopped, staring hard at the floor. The rising and falling of his chest was more ragged than before.

I lifted my hand from his chest to his face, trying to reassure him.

He cleared his throat, looking back at me with hope. “But then I remembered what you told me when we were in the bunker, a-about not rewarming too quickly? And then…then that gave me the hope that you would wake up.”

I gave a weak smile.

We sat unspeaking, listening to the pattering of the water on the floor. While moving was still greatly difficult, I gradually felt more and more aware. Obi-Wan watched me carefully, his gaze constantly shifting from my face to the rest of my body.

When Obi-Wan reached up to turn off the water, I could finally hear the hum of the ship’s engine in the absence. Obi-Wan didn’t move yet, seemingly in no hurry.

My wrists started throbbing oddly, and I tipped my head to look at them. The shackles are still there, I realized. Of course there was no way Obi-Wan would risk cutting off my hands altogether simply to remove the chains that still bound me.

But somehow, those chains felt heavier than everything else.

My breathing grew choppier.

Eleven days.

I’d spent eleven days hanging from the ceiling, eleven days with little water and littler food, eleven days in pain while being…

I shuddered. If Obi-Wan hadn’t come for me…would I have died in that dungeon? Or would Dooku have kept me alive and suffering until I caved?

Obi-Wan’s thumb moved to wipe away a tear I hadn’t realized had fallen. “You’re okay.”

The soft words only made more tears fall. Obi-Wan flinched as the vice grip I clung to him with increased. I tried to let go, but my hands could only cling to the only safety I could feel without the Force.

Obi-Wan gently freed one arm and grabbed the cloak sitting on the metal floor just outside the refresher, using it to wipe off the excess water.

Once I was dry enough, he got to his feet, pulling me up with him. My feet, still bare, shuffled against the metal floor as I focused on trying to stay balanced on them. “I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan said helplessly as he guided me onto a rickety cot in the ship, “I left too quickly to grab any supplies. I don’t have food o-or water or any clothes for you or even blankets and we’re still hours away from Coruscant.”

I wanted to wave away his concern, but the fabric of the cot was likely just as cold as the metal surface of the floor.

“You’re shivering,” Obi-Wan said with alarm. “You weren’t shivering before.”

“N-no, it’s g-g-good,” I muttered quietly through chattering teeth. “M-m-means m-my bod-dy is fin-nally fi-fighting.” For warmth, I wanted to add, but it was so taxing to speak.

Obi-Wan pressed the back of his hand to my forehead. “You’re still not warm.” He took his hand away, and my forehead felt colder than ever.

I reached out blindly for his wrist, and upon finding it, brought his fingers back to my forehead, sighing at the warmth of his skin. It didn’t matter that I hadn’t reconnected with the Force, I didn’t need it to know that Obi-Wan was hovering.

The cot sank a bit by my thighs, as if Obi-Wan was leaning his weight into that spot. Then, the space behind me dipped further.

An arm wound around my waist, pulling me into the heat of Obi-Wan’s body.

There was a soft grunt. “You’re freezing.”

I didn’t answer, too overwhelmed to think straight. His touch was still prickling and painful against my skin, but there was another sensation that bloomed somewhere deeper than my skin, a sensation that seemed to frighten the chill. When my shivers finally subsided, my still body sent my exhausted mind into the embrace of sleep.

“Y/N?” Obi-Wan said, what felt like a minute later.

I forced my eyes open to see him in front of me, the metal walls of the ship just behind him. There was no hum from the ship’s engine.

“Let’s get you to the healers.”

Pressing my cheek into his chest, I allowed Obi-Wan to pull me to feet I could barely feel and guide me wherever he wished. Even though it was night on Coruscant, everything still seemed too bright. I squeezed my eyes shut as the movement of walking tugged and pulled at my sore body.

“Y/N?”

The voice was familiar enough for me to peel my eyes open in time to see Chief Healer Vokara Che rushing towards us. “Put her down here.”

Obi-Wan helped me lay on the bed Vokara Che indicated, and the minute my back touched the cushion, Vokara Che started bustling about. She pressed a hand to my chest, just under my collarbones, in the way of Jedi healers and the way she’d taught me. I could feel her searching the Force within my body.

“What are you waiting for?” Obi-Wan came around to my other side, having been pushed out of the way by the head healer. “She needs food!”

Vokara Che snapped in Obi-Wan’s face. “Do not order me around in my own temple infirmary, Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan’s nostrils flared. “She’s been starving–”

“She cannot eat yet,” the healer snapped, “or we risk subjecting her to refeeding syndrome.”

“I didn’t bring her to you so you could–”

“Kenobi, hold your tongue or I’ll have you thrown out.” The following moment of silence was fraught. “Y/N,” she said, quietly but not gently, “the Force in you has been disrupted.”

I nodded.

“Was your Force connection severed?”

I glanced at Obi-Wan before realizing, too late, how incriminating such an action might be. “I had to pull back,” I whispered. “Che, it was Dooku.”

Vokara Che looked between the two of us, her lips pursing. “No wonder you’re so weak.” She yanked a blanket up and over my body. “You know what the first step towards healing is.”

I needed nothing more.

The moment I threw my mental shields down, the Force came rushing in, filling me with such warmth and security, I let out a long breath. My eyes closed, my body lighting up with something akin to rejoicing. Homecoming.

When I opened my eyes, the lights in the temple infirmary seemed brighter. Vokara Che patted my shoulder in her firm manner. “Now stay still, I need to scan you.”

She bustled away, rummaging around before returning with a machine I knew well. We used it to quickly scan and address physical injuries. The machine whirred as she passed it up and down my body, collecting information.

The beep of confirmation was followed with a sour look on the healer’s face. “You’ve lost 18% of your body weight.”

18%? Almost a fifth of my total body weight?

Even though Vokara Che spoke with a matter-of-fact tone, I could feel the buzzing of her anxiety through the Force, even if it wasn’t as palpable as the anxious thrumming of the light. The healer’s eyebrows lowered the more statistics the machine provided. I closed my eyes, too tired to keep up.

Malnutrition slowed healing greatly. My body didn’t have the energy for basic functions, let alone the uphill climb of getting my muscle mass back. To avoid refeeding syndrome, I’d have to introduce enough nutrients with slowly increasing amounts of food, keeping close watch on my metabolic levels. It would be a slow process.

“May I speak with you, Kenobi?”

I opened my eyes to see Obi-Wan standing beside me, looking down with a blank expression that couldn’t disguise the worry permeating his force signature.

“Go.” I patted his arm to try and be comforting.

“Kenobi?” Vokara Che prompted again.

Obi-Wan turned with what seemed to be great effort before following Vokara Che out of the door.

Leaving me alone.

The only light came from the window behind me.

I didn’t need the beeping to tell me that my heart rate increased. I’m safe, I told myself sternly. Obi-Wan and Vokara Che, my two mentors were only just on the other side of the door. I wasn’t in the dungeon, I was in the Jedi Temple. Dooku was far from me.

A gentle scraping started off to my left.

“No,” I mumbled, my mouth dry. The chains around my wrist clanked as I clutched my arms to my chest. They ached as if I were right back in that dungeon. Suspended. Hanging. The subtle thumping of my heart in my chest grew until I could feel it beating in my stomach.

The scraping increased.

I can’t go back, I can’t do this again, never again, not back in that place, not back with Dooku, freezing and starving, I can’t–

“Y/N!” Obi-Wan burst in, rushing to the side of the bed. “What’s wrong?”

I only balled up tighter. No matter how hard I fought for air, I never got enough. A sharp cramping started in my side, painful enough to make me gasp.

“She’s panicking,” Vokara Che’s voice said, sounding funnily distant.

A hand touched my shoulder. My skin seemed to scream at the contact, but my limbs couldn’t move beyond the trembling of my hands.

“Y/N, honey, look at me.”

I was petrified, unable to respond or move or even breathe.

“You’re safe. Dooku isn’t here. You aren’t on Neftali. You’re safe, you made it, I’ve got you.” He said the words over and over again, a wave of reassurance flowing in from the light.

Then, before I could react, arms wrapped around my hunched body. Gently, hands guided my head up until my face pressed into the telltale fabric of a Jedi tunic. A chin rested on the top of my head, and when Obi-Wan continued to speak, I could feel the rumble of his words against my temple. “You’re safe. He can’t get you here.”

Finally, I clutched the front of his robes with my trembling hands, taking comfort in the Jedi-ness of the fabric’s coarseness. Don’t go, I pleaded with my grip. Don’t leave me.

“That’s it,” Obi-Wan said gently, his hold tightening on my shoulders. “That’s it, honey."

As the panic subsided, exhaustion took its place. I started to droop against Obi-Wan’s chest, my grasp on him quickly slackening. He could’ve easily untangled himself from me now, but I didn’t feel him move.

“Kenobi–”

“I’m not leaving.” A hand rested on my head. “I’m not going anywhere while she needs me.”

“Your judgment is clouded,” the head healer said briskly. “You have no idea what’s best for her right now.”

“I’ll be quiet,” Obi-Wan promised, his light thudding in time with the heartbeat against my ear. “I’ll do whatever you tell me, I swear.”

Vokara Che’s response was muddled as I fell back into sleep.

My eyes flew open. I grasped my wrists where I could feel the chains, but my hands touched not harsh metal but my own warm skin. My body remembered the chains, even if they were no longer there.

I glanced around me, the sight of the temple infirmary never more comforting. There was ample light, and the faces of the other Jedi were comforting in their familiarity. I’m not in a dungeon anymore, I reminded myself as my eyes traveled over the other beds.

Then my eyes reached the seat beside my own bed where Obi-Wan sat, watching me with the look I recognized as an assessment. “How do you feel?” he asked.

“I’m well enough.” I sat up, swinging my legs to the side of the bed. The casual air I’d intended to have was foiled by the slowness of my movements and the pained grunt that left my lips.

I paused then, disoriented by the Jedi undertunic I wore again. When had that been put on me?

Obi-Wan’s light gave a thoughtful ripple, and I distinctly avoided looking at his face. Shame coursed through me at how pitifully I’d clung to him before falling asleep. That wasn’t the Jedi way. Our comfort came from the Force, not from other beings. Obi-Wan was being far kinder than his mission required him, though it was likely second nature to him now after being my master.

Speaking of…

“Where’s Ghon?” I asked. “How much does he know? Is he upset?”

Obi-Wan’s face pinched for a moment before returning back to the placid mask I recognized as being his negotiator’s mask. “He’s worried about you. He knows your mission was only supposed to take an evening.”

I winced. Ghon needed a lot of support, and after this whole ordeal, he would be practically buzzing with anxiety. Before I could ask anything more, my eyes flitted to the infirmary doors just in time to see them open.

Luminara strode in, coming quickly to my bedside and addressing Obi-Wan. “The council requests that you appear before them.”

Obi-Wan nodded, getting to his feet.

“Both of you.”

The light pulsed unpleasantly. “Y/N has still not recovered. She is traumatized and needs time to heal.” Obi-Wan’s authoritative tone didn’t seem to land with Luminara.

She blinked slowly, a brave feat when faced with Obi-Wan’s displeasure. “I’m sorry, sir, but the council insists.”

I braced my hands on the bed, using them to balance my weight on my feet. “I’ll go.”

Obi-Wan stepped closer, reaching out as if to push me back on the bed. “You can’t, you’re not well.”

“I will answer the council’s request.” I picked up the Jedi overtunic on the small table beside my bed, struggling to put my arms through it.

“Y/N–”

“Don’t.” I finally managed to pull the tunic on, relishing in the familiarity of it. “I’ll not let your concern get in the way of my obedience.” Attempting for loftiness, I lifted my chin before brushing past him, but I only managed a few steps before reaching out for something to aid me in holding myself up.

Wordlessly, a calloused hand caught mine. Much like how we’d walked to the club, Obi-Wan let me lean on him as he walked me out of the infirmary, except now I didn’t have poor footwear to blame my unsteady gait on.

It was a good thing those blasted shoes and revealing dress were still on Neftali. I never wanted to see them again.

“You should be resting,” Obi-Wan grumbled, clearly unable to help himself. “The council can wait a day or two.” Perhaps it was my imagination, but the farther we walked, the more agitated the light grew. Was he truly that worried about me?

“It’ll be quick,” I promised, without a clue how long the meeting would actually take. Strange. It was just the type of promise I would make Ghon. A promise born of a deep desire to reassure without being certain of the truth.

Obi-Wan slowed down. “Let’s take a break.” I started to disagree, but he cut me off with: “Y/N, your breathing is getting ragged.”

I stopped walking, pressing a hand to my chest. He was right. I allowed him to lead me to the nearest wall so I could lean up against it.

I could remember a time when my body lived easily, when my steady heartbeat paired with the assured pumping of my lungs. My legs were capable of inhuman jumps while my hands could heal nearly every possible wound. But now, when my body didn’t have to do any of those things, something as simple as walking required more of me than I had to give.

That 18% loss of my body weight took all my stamina and fortitude with it, and I sorely missed them.

“I won’t be jumping off of any mountains any time soon,” I tried to joke, but my tone was all wrong, too flat and serious. I glanced up at Obi-Wan, prepared for a teasing comment about wallowing, but he wasn’t looking at me. He was staring down the hallway in the direction of the councilroom, his hands fidgeting with his robes. He looked as though he were gauging the distance. Obi-Wan could be protective, he’d proven that on Taris. But why was he so protective now? Only a few more feet and I would be in one of the most protected places in the galaxy.

When I got up, Obi-Wan didn’t take my arm again. Instead, he hovered a stride behind me, close enough to catch me if I were to crumple to the floor. If he’s so worried I’ll fall, why doesn’t he walk beside me? I wondered.

We reached the councilroom doors, and I didn’t even have a moment to smooth down my robes before they slid open.

There should’ve been some comfort in the familiarity of the grave expressions of the council, but their faces only made me tense. “Knight Y/L/N,” Master Shaak Ti acknowledged, her voice firm. My spirit gave an almost audible waver as if it gulped where my dry and sore throat could not.

Obi-Wan hung back, allowing me to walk in first. I did, expecting him to walk past me towards his seat once I reached the center of the room, but he did not. Behind me he still stood, exactly in the position I’d stood when I was his padawan. Why was he behaving as though he were the lower-ranking warrior between the two of us when his empty council seat was right before me?

Master Windu extended a hand. “We’re pleased that you’re safe.” I bowed slightly, wishing his tone sounded less robotic so that the words might sound more genuine. “We sent for your padawan the moment you arrived. He should arrive from Ryloth soon.”

Even at lightspeed, it took days to travel to and from Ryloth safely. If I’d been gone for ten days before they sent Obi-Wan after me, I’d have been gone less than a week before they sent Ghon away.

I tilted my head. “Why is he there?”

“When we were unsure that you would return, we reassigned him to Master Ima-Gun Di.”

I stared at Master Windu, my lethargic brain struggling to wrap my mind around the idea of my padawan being reassigned. When his face didn’t shift, I glanced around at the others, hoping for some explanation. Did they not have faith in Obi-Wan’s ability to rescue me? Is that why they sent my padawan away before sending Obi-Wan after me?

Master Yoda lifted the end of his walking stick, pointing it at me. “Conflicted, you are.”

“Yes,” I admitted. “This ordeal has been…confusing.” I felt the Force in the room darken a bit. “I imagine it will take a lot of work before I am fully–”

Fully what? Fully at peace? Fully safe? Full healed?

“–normal.”

“Vokara Che has notified us of your injuries.” Master Mundi leaned forward. “You endured much.”

Unbidden rose the feelings of cold, hunger, and fear. I lowered my gaze to the floor, trying to remain calm in front of the council. How was I expected to respond to that? How would one of them respond if they had been subjected to Dooku’s torture?

“I’m just grateful it wasn’t worse,” I finally replied, even as my thoughts swirled. Was grateful the right word? Yes, I was glad to be out of that dungeon and off that icy planet and perhaps even glad to be standing before the council. But was I truly thankful that it wasn’t worse? How could it even have been worse?

“Much more rest, you need,” Master Yoda decided, his wise eyes piercing my inner depths. “Feel your exhaustion, we do.”

I bowed my head. “Yes, master.”

“Heal while you await your padawan’s return,” Master Windu said. “When he does, we’ll inform you of your next mission.”

Another mission. I swallowed hard before bowing and leaving the chamber on unsteady legs.

The doors hissed shut, but I didn’t sag against the wall to catch my breath until I’d turned the corner.

Perhaps it was a good thing Ghon wasn’t here to see his master like this. In the few days until he arrived, I needed to get my strength back. Especially if the council would send us on our next mission when he arrived. I couldn’t afford to not be able to protect my padawan when Dooku was now aware of his existence and could potentially target him.

I heard the council doors open. Ever the humble Jedi, Obi-Wan’s feet dragged a bit as he came around the corner, his light flagging. Did he truly hate praise so much? I’d only been commended by the council once, but it was a euphoria unlike anything else. Though perhaps when one had been commended so many times, it lost its punch.

The smile I plastered on my face took much effort, but I resolved to stay positive. “So? Did they give glowing praises?”

Obi-Wan’s eyebrows furrowed as he bent down beside me. “You don’t look well,” he said softly.

My smile fell. “Is it that obvious?”

“Yes.” Obi-Wan smirked. “C’mon, let’s get you–”

Abruptly, he stepped away until he was almost on the other side of the corridor, just as Masters Windu and Fisto rounded the corner.

I blinked, confused.

I’d felt their Force signatures drawing near just as Obi-Wan had, but I’d ignored it, whereas he’d almost scrambled away from me.

The masters didn’t look in my direction, walking right past me without so much as an acknowledgement. When they were well past us, however, Master Fisto glanced back at Obi-Wan, and I felt a surge of something through the Force.

Regret?

No, that wasn’t quite right.

It was too complex, too layered for me to puzzle out and after the masters walked through the doors at the end of the corridor, their Force signatures grew too faint for me to fully perceive what lay within them.

Obi-Wan came to crouch beside me again. “Vokara Che said she has a regimen for you, to get your strength back, and she wants you to start today.” He held out his hand to help me up.

“What’s going on?” I asked him instead of accepting his hand.

“I’m taking you back to–”

“No,” I interrupted, “what’s going on with you? Why did Master Fisto look at you like that? What happened?”

Obi-Wan licked his lips. “Y/N,” he said in a way that didn’t sound like him at all, “why don’t we just–”

“Did they not commend you?” I pressed. Obi-Wan motioned for me to take his hand and stand. “I won’t move until you give me an answer.”

“They didn’t.” No longer waiting, he took my hands and pulled.

I allowed him to bring me to my feeble feet, even as the blood started to drain from my face due to the exertion. “Why didn’t they?” I faced him, leaving a hand on the wall for balance. “Do they…” I swallowed hard. “Do they care so little about me that your mission means nothing to them?”

Obi-Wan coughed even though his throat sounded clear. “It would…mean something.”

“What do you mean ‘it would’?” I narrowed my eyes. “What aren’t you telling me?”

He sighed, rubbing his temple with his thumb in a strange and unconfident gesture. “I wasn’t commended because it wasn’t a mission.”

Now the blood drained from my face for a different reason. “What are you talking about? What do you mean it wasn’t a mission?”

“Please, Y/N.” He tried to reach out for my arms, but I pulled away, swaying a bit.

“But why would they have sent you if it wasn’t a mission? You wouldn’t have come if–” I stopped. “Obi-Wan…did…did the council not send you at all?”

He let out a long breath. “I asked them to.”

There’s only one response they must’ve given, but I still had to ask. “And they refused?”

Obi-Wan didn’t answer, turning his face away from me. But shame radiated through his signature, and it wasn’t a shame directed inwards.

“They…they left me to…die?” I stammered, a second wave of something hitting me so hard, the world started to sway.

That’s why they sent my padawan away. Not because they had no confidence in Obi-Wan, but because they never expected for me to be rescued. Obi-Wan had come to rescue me despite their inaction.

But if Obi-Wan was part of the council, how could he cross them? To cross them…was to cross himself. He undermined his own authority by disobeying the council. Was the council angry? Is that why Masters Windu and Fisto didn’t acknowledge either of us? But then why would Master Fisto feel something similar to regret? Had they punished Obi-Wan?

It was getting harder and harder to breathe.

I didn’t realize Obi-Wan was steadying me until he tightened his grip on my shoulder. “Are you alright?” His concern, which would normally have felt so comforting, was now worrying. Why did he seem so much more distressed by my health than the council?

The floor seemed to swirl under my feet as I shrugged out of his grasp. “What did they say to you?” I demanded. “What did they do?”

His answer was too quick. “Nothing.”

“There’s no way they’d allow you to just defy them, especially to rescue me. So tell me. What did they do?”

“Vokara Che will be wondering–”

“Tell me!” I shouted at him.

The light of Obi-Wan’s signature grew stronger as we stared at one another, becoming increasingly resolute the longer he looked at me. “They stripped me of my status as master.”

How could he lie about such a thing with such a straight face? It was unfathomable! No, if he were no longer a master, that would mean he was no longer on the council, and the very idea was a joke. I leaned into the Force, trying to parse through what he’d told me, to puncture the lie.

But instead of sharpening, the Force softened, cradling me as if to comfort me.

“No,” I blurted. I shook my head, causing my head to spin faster. “It’s not possible.”

Instead of answering, Obi-Wan just looked at me. He didn’t argue with me or try again to get me to the temple infirmary. In his silence, the truth had nowhere to hide and became apparent at last.

“H-how are you simply okay with this?!” I cried. “They just stripped you of your position on the council, and you’re not even the least bit concerned that–” I broke off. The words I spoke seemed to wound me more than they wounded him, almost as if…as if he wasn’t surprised. “By the void,” I said faintly. “You knew they were going to do that to you.”

Obi-Wan’s sigh seemed to come from the depths of the Force. “I didn’t know completely…but I suspected.”

Something in me flared, rearing its ugly head as it was reborn from long ago: the anger I thought I’d put to rest. Staring at the unruffled Obi-Wan Kenobi, now Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi instead of Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, I couldn’t contain it. “That’s why you tried to keep me from going before the council, isn’t it?!”

“Y/N,” he said sharply, “I was concerned only with your health.”

“No, no, you were trying to keep your secret from me!” I lifted a tingling hand to my head. If only everything could stop spinning!

Now Obi-Wan finally looked distressed. “Please, Y/N, don’t do this now. You’re too weak.”

I looked up at him, dazed but focused on his steady, blue eyes. “Why…why would you…” I stumbled, struggling to regain my senses long enough to put my racing thoughts in order.

The world spun faster for a moment as a strong arm looped around my legs, knocking me off balance. I felt as if I’d been thrown into the air, until my head fell against a chest. A beard brushed against my forehead, and the comforting smell of Obi-Wan enveloped me.

“Why would you?” I managed to whisper as my eyes fell shut. “Why would you do that?”

“Shhhhh. You need rest.”

My anxiety, though fuzzy at the edges, did not lessen. How could I rest, knowing Obi-Wan defied the council and lost his position in it? But as I should’ve expected, the answer to my plight for rest was Obi-Wan himself, his strides lulling my tired mind back into sleep.

If you enjoyed this, consider buying me a coffee and/or check out my masterlist for more!

Overall tag list:

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Rescue Me tag list:

@penfullofwordsaheadfullofstories @starlazergazer @blackqueengold @ajwild220 @exploringalaxiesfarfaraway @mortallycrispyglitter @nerdory10 @shinybananapastanickel @sassysaxxy @sunshine-girl013 @fablesrose @marrily @friskynotebook @burnthecheshirewitch @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @thriving-n-jiving @witchersoldier @cherrsnut @projectdreamwalker @cacti5539

#how has it already been a month since I posted this #whyyyyyy does time move so fast?!#obi wan #obi wan kenobi #obi wan fanfic #obi wan fanfiction #star wars #star wars fanfiction #sw #obi wan x padawan #jedi!reader

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im-a-wonderling · 4 months ago

Note

Just wanting to know when the next part of white moves first will be released? I am loving this series!!!

Edmund has always been my favorite character.

If Edmund is your favorite character and you're enjoying White Moves First, I must be doing something right 😂

I have quite a bit of work to do for part 8 still, and as I'm recovering from Covid and at the start of my senior year, I genuinely have no clue how long it'll take 😬

#my asks #white moves first

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im-a-wonderling · 4 months ago

Text

Sloth Brains and Spine of Lionfish ~ George Weasley

This is a continuation of my ongoing George Weasley fanfic, so make sure you read the other parts first (here's part 1). I need to figure out what the overall fic name should be, so if anyone has ideas, let me know XD

Warnings: none

Word count: 5.2k

“And we’ve inquired about renting a place in Diagon Alley.” George easily skipped the vanishing step, turning around to offer his hand. I ignored it, jumping the step on my own and nearly losing hold of my books for my trouble. Unbothered, George gestured grandly with the untaken hand. “Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, we’ve called it.”

We reached the bottom of the staircase, making our way down the nearly empty corridor. I liked to walk to my classes before the castle walkways were clogged up with bodies and sounds, and most of the other students were still at lunch. Funny, George never seemed to mind the crowds before, yet now he walked with me in the empty hallways between every class.

George hopped up on the bench against the wall, walking along the wood with his arms stretched out for balance. “We should have a response before we all go home for Christmas, and possibly have the place rented before school lets out.”

I dodged the ghost of Erling the Great that had just appeared through the wall, hoping he didn’t see me. I did not want to get trapped into one of his onerous and endless stories again. “So you’ll be selling all those prototypes the two of you’ve been testing on the first years?”

“Yup." George hopped down to walk beside me again. "Plus a few more we’ve got up our sleeves. We’re testing another one tonight, and if it’s finally ready, it’ll be one of our staples in the shop.” The light in George’s eyes as he spoke about his dream was unlike his normal errant sparkle. The shine wasn’t born of mischief, it was born of passion, and it seemed to lift George’s very heels as he bounced excitedly forward.

“Well, I’m certain it’ll be brilliant.” Distracted, I hadn’t even thought about the words before they came flying out of my mouth. I pressed my fingertips to my lips, unsure if I were more horrified or embarrassed.

George’s bouncing paused, and he turned the full weight of his vexingly self-possessed smirk on me. “Is that so?”

Embarrassed. Definitely embarrassed.

My cheeks blazing, I scowled at him. “Don’t crow, it’s unbecoming.”

The redhead absentmindedly knocked the railing at the top of the next flight of stairs, causing the stairs to ripple a bit and then resolidify. “I’m just revelling in the compliment.”

“It’s hardly a compliment, more a statement of fact.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Oh?”

“Don’t look at me like that.” I forged past him down the stairs, ignoring the slight tremble I felt underneath my feet. The staircase—objectively the most sensitive staircase in the castle—was just pouting over George’s knock. “The two of you are persuasive, which is objectively a good skill to have for retail, not to mention the shrewdness required for the strategy of business and the creativity and intelligence to make new products. I’d wager you’ve already made a fair bit of coin here at Hogwarts, so with a centralised location that can be open full-time, you’ll make a fortune, and likely–” I closed my mouth, pressing my lips together.

Too much. I’d said too much.

The faint, impossibly warm chuckle from behind me made me shiver. “Well, when I have a fortune, I can perhaps afford to buy you a Christmas present.”

I stopped, rooted to the step. George passed me, continuing down a few more steps before seeming to notice I wasn’t beside him and turning to face me with a puzzled expression. "What?"

“Don’t buy me anything.” From my position three stairs higher than him, I had a tactical advantage were this to become a situation where my wand was necessary. Any offensive attack I unleashed would be that much harder to defend against.

But George stuck his hands in his pockets, seemingly unconcerned. “With trying to go into business and all, I couldn’t rustle up enough Galleons if my life depended on it.”

“Don’t spend anything on me,” I repeated, easily masking my sudden nausea as distaste. Gifts were pointless at best, painful at worst.

The incessantly inquisitive and contrary Gryffindor tilted his head, his eyes giving me a strangely sharp assessment that made me wonder if I wasn’t masking as well as I thought. “Why not?”

I forced myself to woodenly descend the steps and then turn the corner towards the Potions classroom. “There’s nothing I need.”

“But surely there’s something nice you want?”

“There’s nothing I want either.”

“Now you’re just joshing. Everyone wants something.”

“What do you want?” I shot back.

“I told you.” George opened the door to the Potions classroom. “To buy you a Christmas gift.”

I didn’t walk through the doorway. “Well, I want you to not buy me a Christmas gift.”

“Nah, that doesn’t work.”

“Why not?”

“Your wanting can’t just cancel someone else’s wanting. That’s like asking for it to drizzle when you don’t even like drizzles and only because I like the sunshine.” His tone was perplexingly even and carefree, despite the venom of my words. And he still held the door open.

I gripped my books tight to my chest. “Christmas gifts are like sunshine?”

“No, you are like sunshine,” George replied, the corner of his mouth curling in an infuriatingly charming smirk. He had no right to look like that when being sarcastic. “With all your suspicion and compliments and enthusiastic statements of fact, why, you just make me feel warm all over.”

“Then go step out in the snow,” I said crossly, finally walking under his arm into the classroom.

A cauldron bubbled merrily up by Professor Snape’s desk, just in front of the blank chalkboard. Reaching my potions station off to the left, I dropped my books down, the resulting thud much too loud but ultimately satisfying. I waited for the dungeon door to close, signalling that George had left and allowing the pit in my stomach to dissolve. But when it did close, I couldn’t help feeling a bit disappointed.

“Anyone sit here?”

I looked up in time to see George gently set a copy of Advanced Potion-Making on the station next to me.

“What are you doing?”

He flipped through the pages, his eyes trailing down the text. “Sitting in class with you.”

A fledgling of panic rustled its wings in my stomach. “You’re not in this class.” George hadn’t achieved the Outstanding required on his O.W.L.s to continue Potions at the N.E.W.T. level.

“Well, I see no harm in sitting in. Hogwarts rewards those who seek knowledge, you know.”

There was harm. There was much harm indeed. “George, class is going to start soon.”

George calmly met my gaze. “Lucky for us, I don’t have anywhere else to be.”

“Are you insane?” I hissed. “They’ll eat you alive.”

“Better me than you.” His light tone couldn’t disguise the weight of his words.

I paused, studying his freckled face. “Is that what this is about? You’re trying to rescue me again?”

“Prevent the need for rescuing, actually.” George pulled out his seat, sitting down and pulling out his potion-making kit, which clearly hadn’t been used in a while. “And be careful, or I’ll think you don’t want me to sit next to you.”

“I don’t.” Especially not when our peers were about to walk in, including Warrington. Not to mention Snape. George's misguided attempts would only succeed in making us both targets.

Unconcerned, George pulled a quill, an ink pot, and parchment out of his bag. “I promise I’ll be a model pupil.”

How did he do it? How did he brush it all off like the words meant nothing? Like consequences didn't exist? He just sat there, easily relaxing against the back of his chair like he had the ultimate conviction that it would hold him up as long as he needed.

The classroom door opened, and I immediately but subtly slid into my seat, hoping against hope that somehow our peers wouldn’t notice us.

But hoping George Weasley was unnoticeable was as useful as asking a kappa not to eat you. Warrington’s wicked eyes settled on George before sliding to me. I ducked my head. Maybe Warrington’s similarity to hippogriffs didn’t end with his looks and the sign of reverence would make him less dangerous.

But even as Warrington finally sat down, directly in front of Snape’s desk, I could still feel stares.

My peers didn’t often remember I existed, as I intended. I didn’t answer questions in class, I stayed out of trouble, I took care not to offend anyone who mattered and not overly involve myself in anything. It protected me, and it protected Clem. And yet as everyone, Gryffindor and Slytherin alike, stared at me with shock and disapproval, I knew they remembered me now. And that remembrance was going to bite me where it hurt.

I shrunk down in my seat, holding my elbows tightly. George leaned over to me. “Relax,” he said softly. “No one is going to curse you in the middle of class.”

“It’s not the middle of class I’m worried about,” I muttered, more to myself than to him.

His lips pursed, but before he could reply, the dungeon door banged open, and Professor Snape strode to the front, his cloak billowing behind him like shadows of prejudice and loathing. I could see the moment the potions master noticed George. His beady eyes narrowed, sending my trepidation through the roof. It was hard to know which house was more despised by the other in the Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry, but Professor Snape did not have the same amount of integrity within the rivalry as Professor McGonagall.

“A new student today,” Professor Snape mused, the slow delivery of every word promising trouble. I sat so stiffly, my shoulder muscles were beginning to hurt, but George stayed calm and seemingly unaffected. “Is there a reason for this…change?”

“Yes, sir, I just really wanted to hear today’s lecture,” George said politely.

“How studious of you.” Professor Snape crossed his arms, warning of the incoming confrontation. “I suppose, Mr. Weasley,” he said in his characteristically flat tone, “that you’re also studious enough to tell me what sloth brains are used for.”

George didn’t move from his laid-back yet attentive position. “Sir, that would be dragon dung fertiliser.”

The curl of Professor Snape’s mouth made me tense. “Of course. I would expect someone of your,” he paused as he rested a hand next to George’s worn textbook, “inclinations to misguidedly name dung as being the correct answer.”

A few snickers rang through the classroom, the Slytherins ready for the millionth round of Gryffindor mistreatment. “Daft Weasley,” said Warrington’s unmistakable voice, loud enough to echo through the whole classroom yet remarkably and predictably soft enough that Professor Snape didn’t seem to hear.

But I knew he had, judging by the hateful glitter in his eyes. The professor leaned in closer to George, who still hadn’t moved from his position. “Ten points from–”

“He’s not daft.”

I barely realised the words had come out of my mouth until everyone in the classroom turned to look at me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw George straighten in his chair.

“Excuse me?” Professor Snape finally asked. If the potions master could manage a sincere expression, he’d be aghast. As it was, he looked at me with the same chronically detached countenance he always wore.

Underneath the table, a hand brushed my leg, but I ignored it.

“Sloth brain mucus is used in the creation of dragon dung fertiliser, which Professor Sprout names as the superior fertiliser for magical plants. If you wanted him to answer what sloth brains are used for in this class, you should’ve specified, at which point he would’ve clearly said the Draught of Living Death.” I stared resolutely back at Professor Snape as the classroom fell silent aside from the bubbling of the example potion beside Professor Snape’s desk. “Sir,” I added belatedly.

The only sign of the professor’s surprise and uncertainty was the rapid blinks. “He would’ve clearly said it?” Professor Snape asked finally. “Then I suppose Mr. Weasley would also be able to tell me what colour sloth brains turns the Draught of Living Death, hmmm?”

“Cyan.” George’s posture, straight as an arrow, revealed the strain he was now apparently—and tardily—feeling. “It turns the potion from pink to cyan.”

See? I thought victoriously as I watched Professor Snape’s jaw move in a suspiciously gnashing way. I was right. He’s not daft.

“Detention,” the professor finally said.

“Yes, sir,” George responded, lowering his eyes.

“Not you, Weasley.” The dark eyes turned on me. “You, Miss Y/L/N.” George’s hand balled into a fist. “For speaking out of turn.”

I met the head of my house’s eyes without flinching. “Yes, sir.”

As Professor Snape continued the lesson, I noticed with slight triumph that he’d completely forgotten to take ten points from Gryffindor or give George detention for showing up.

But the triumph shrank as the class continued and George’s posture remained stiff.

After brewing a nearly perfect Antidote to Veritaserum and being assigned a 42-inch essay on exactly how the antidote combatted compulsory truth-telling, class ended. Instead of waiting for Warrington and the others to leave, I shoved everything into my bag and was the first one to the door. But nowhere could I go at no possible speed to avoid the fiery anger burning behind me.

“What were you thinking?” George hissed as I walked towards my common room.

“Snape doesn’t get to treat you that way,” I replied with equal fervour, wondering at how completely my compliance had disappeared. “And neither does Warrington, the prat.”

A hand closed around my elbow, turning me around. “Beg Snape’s forgiveness,” George demanded. “Maybe you can beg off spending the night in the dungeons.”

“I won’t,” I snapped, wrenching my arm out of his admittedly gentle grip. “Because they were wrong; you’re not stupid. It was a stupid question. He just wanted to mock you–”

“I’ve been mocked nearly every day of my life!” The response was so impassioned that George’s cheeks were going red. “I can handle it.”

“Well, I can’t!” I said sharply. “It’s not fair.”

“Oh, like you serving detention on behalf of your brother?”

I glanced around quickly, noticing the few seventh years loitering in the corridor. Were they gathering more evidence about the sudden and unorthodox alliance between George and I? Would any of them report back to Warrington? Or Snape? Or Merlin forbid, Umbridge?

Seizing George’s wrist, I dragged him off into an alcove, pulling so roughly that he nearly bonked his head into the sloped decorative wood carving of the tiny space. “How is what I did any different than what you’ve done for me?” The snarling tone of my words made me think of my lioness Patronus. Perhaps a lioness was more apt than I’d originally thought.

George, however, looked nothing like his mischievous and light-hearted magpie. “Because you disrespected a professor!”

"So did you! If you hadn't sat in the class, the whole thing could've been avoided!"

"Snape already hates me! But he's your head of house, and now you've insulted him!"

I glared at him. “And if McGonagall treated me like that, would you just sit there and not say anything?” He wouldn’t, we both knew it.

George scoffed deep in his throat. “That doesn’t matter, she would never do something like that.”

“Come off it, George!” I impatiently readjusted my heavy books, resisting the urge to toss them at him. “You would stand up for me!” He had stood up for me, many times over.

George pressed his lips together so tightly, they started to whiten, stubbornly refusing to say what we both knew was true. “You shouldn’t have done it.”

I scowled. “You don’t get to tell me what I should and shouldn’t do.”

“Someone has to, since you clearly weren’t born with basic self-preservation!”

Livid, I tossed my head and stormed out of the alcove towards my common room where the foolhardy twin couldn’t follow me.

“What happened to not lifting a finger to help or hurt anyone?” George called after me, so loudly that the other noises in the hallway hushed.

I lifted a finger over my shoulder in an obscene gesture as my only reply.

My footsteps echoed through the dungeons as I neared the potions classroom. Somewhere above my head was the Great Hall, lit up with enchanted candles and everlasting torches. In the dungeons, however, the torches were so sparse, it was easy to grow convinced that there was something lying in wait in every shadow.

“I received a new Spine of Lionfish shipment this morning,” Snape was saying, gesturing towards my potions station where a stack of boxes lay before returning to the parchment he was writing on. “You will crush them all into powder without using magic. When you are finished, and only then, are you allowed to leave.”

Spine of Lionfish. Capable of causing pain and paralysis. I licked my lips. “Sir, am I allowed to wear my gloves?”

The potions master paused in his writing, making my heart sink as I tried to guess how great a punishment Professor Snape meant to inflict on me. “Yes,” he said finally.

Worried my relief would make him change his mind, I concealed it before nodding and sitting down at the desk, pulling out my dragonskin gloves and getting started.

It would’ve been meditative to pulverise the white and red spines if I wasn’t constantly aware of how long it would take to grind three boxes of spines when my mortar could only hold five spines at a time. I glanced over at the desk to see Professor Snape hunched over, his nose inches from the parchment he wrote on, as if he was struggling to see it.

I popped open a vial, holding my breath so that I wouldn’t accidentally inhale any of the powder as I poured it inside the vial and labelled it.

Each vial could hold the powder of about fifty spines, and I’d filled four vials when Professor Snape suddenly rose from his desk. He pulled at his cloak, untangling it from his legs as best as he could while holding a letter. Whatever the letter was, it was either important or elicited some sentiment to make him clench it so tightly. Without saying a word, Professor Snape left.

I poured the powder into the half-full vial before dropping new spines inside the mortar. It might take me all night to finish my detention, but finish it I would. Once punished, my defiance would hopefully fade in memory.

Detention would ease Snape’s ire, but my classmates would likely look to retaliate in their own ways. I took a deep breath. As long as they stayed away from Clem, I would accept whatever punishment they doled out.

A soft rasp sounded behind me, making me freeze. And in that stillness, the unmistakable sound of a footstep sounded from behind me.

Would they interfere with the completion of my detention? Would Warrington, Parkinson, and Goyle really try to subject me to further wrath from our head of house?

Keeping the rest of my body still, I slyly slipped my hand off my pestle and into my pocket, gripping my wand. After a moment’s pause, I whirled around, thrusting my wand out. “Immobulus!” The blue spell shot from my wand tip.

“Protego.” My attacker’s wand arced, my blue projectile dissolving upon contact with the invisible shield.

Lifting my wand, another spell was about to leap from my lips when I finally recognized the face in the shadows. “What are you doing here?” I hissed.

George pocketed his wand before flinging himself down on the nearest seat as if it were a fainting couch. “I came to help my knight in shining armour. After defending my honour, I could hardly leave my dainty yet plucky princess to toil away in the dungeons.”

I clenched my wand, my heart beating at a pace I would fiercely deny if it were brought up. “I thought you said I was a knight.”

“Maybe you’re both.”

“Maybe I’m neither.” I glanced at him. “You’re a lot more dainty than me anyhow.” And a lot more chivalrous, though he didn’t need to know that.

George sighed like the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. “Can’t help it if I have easily bruisable skin, can I?” How strange. He seemed to have completely recovered from our fight earlier.

“Seriously, Weasley, what are you doing here?”

“Ooh, she brings out the last name.” George grinned. “That’s how I know I’ve got your stylish knickers in a twist.” I raised an eyebrow, and his smile fell. “Not that I’m making assumptions about your…knicker…preferences.” His cheeks were red again, but instead of accompanying the flush with a glare like earlier, he averted his eyes over towards the window where darkness was quickly falling.

“I’ll repeat my question,” I said, sparing him from acknowledging his obvious embarrassment. “What are you doing here?”

I definitely imagined the relief on his face as he dropped into the chair beside me. “Serving your detention with you.”

I returned to my mortar and pestle, grinding the spines with more aggression than before. “I know you have better things to do, perhaps some testing to do on first-years?”

“Fred can test the Canary Creams without me.”

“He’ll rename your business ‘Fred’s Wizard Wheezes’.”

George gave a short laugh, crossing his legs. “Naw, FWW doesn’t have the same ring as WWW.”

“If Snape finds out you helped me with the work, he’ll get angry.” I didn’t want the professor getting any angrier at either of us.

“Then I won’t touch anything. I’ll just help you pass the time.”

“By regaling me with more business plans?” My words were coming out all wrong, sharp and heated. George was being thoughtful, and yet I couldn’t seem to check my prickliness.

“If you like. I also have some fabulous stories to tell about pranks or family or even the sausage rolls I ate for breakfast.”

My pestle scraped a little too hard against the mortar. “Maybe your knight prefers silence.” I glared down at the lovely pink powder. Without the proper knowledge, someone might mistake the powder for something innocuous, like fairy dust or rose sugar. But the seductive material could cause serious damage.

“I think I know my knight better than that.” His voice had no right to be that gentle.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” He wasn’t being flattering, he was right on, but I wasn’t going to tell him that. “Maybe you don’t know her at all,” I said lightly, pouring the powder into the vial before dropping the next five spines into the mortar.

A hand found my waist, and I stopped grinding the chalky spines. My eyes fluttered shut at the sparks flying beneath my skin. I turned around, resting my gloved hands on his shoulder to push him away, but my muscles wouldn't do it.

I felt as though the warmth in George’s brown eyes was somehow pouring into me, chasing away the chill of the dungeon and shadows.

“Trust me,” I warned, “you don’t want to get close.”

“That’s just like you,” George said softly, his eyes fixed on some point beneath my nose, “just like you to tell me what I do and don’t want.”

“George, I’m serious.”

“So am I.” He licked his lips. “Uncommonly so.”

Fear flooded my body, tangling with the warmth to make a strange buzzing sensation. “Is this your plan?” I asked shakily. “The Gryffindor gets close to the Slytherin and then makes fun of her to all his friends because she fell for it?” I pressed my hand over the wand in my robes, prepared to pull it out again. “I won’t fall for it.”

George's hand brushed against mine. I wanted to pretend that he was trying to keep me from drawing it, but the gesture was too tender, too comforting to believe it. He stepped closer. “Maybe the Gryffindor is the one falling for it.”

“Sounds more accurate.” My voice was embarrassingly high-pitched and breathy. I cleared my throat. “Gryffindors are more gullible than Slytherins.”

“Can this gullible Gryffindor ask a question?”

He was too close. I needed to step away, to put some space in between us, but one step away was my potion station with venomous powdered Spine of Lionfish. “No,” I managed to say. “No questions.”

George lifted a hand to tuck my hair behind my ear. “Can I kiss you?”

My hands shook. If I needed to draw my wand, I wasn’t sure I would be able to hold it. “I said no questions.” Especially no questions that I didn’t know how to answer.

His face came closer to mine until all I could see was the expanse of fair skin beneath freckles. “I’d rather drink the Draught of Living Death than be like Warrington…and yet I’m trying not to read into the fact that you seemed more ready to kiss his boot than kiss me.”

I couldn’t respond or think when he was this close. When his lips were so close that I could feel his breath on my face. He couldn’t even do me the favour of having halitosis or even just onions and garlic for lunch?

“That’s…it’s…I mean,” I stammered. Why was it impossible to form anything coherent? I would’ve been happy with a snarky comment or a quick denial.

George tilted his head back slightly, looking me in the eye. “Say no. Say no, and I’ll sit back down and tell you about the recipe for Canary Creams.”

The refusal was prepared on my tongue, ready to launch and return both of us to the refuge of platonic banter with sporadic sincerity. Things were already too dangerous for the two of us, and the true threats of the castle and beyond hadn’t even started yet. It was better for both of us if I said no. I needed to say no.

But I couldn’t do it.

I never before had trouble doing what would keep myself and my brother safe, but being with George Weasley flew in the very face of safety, and I couldn't bring myself to back away.

His nose brushed against mine, and I marvelled at how smooth his skin was. I’d half-expected to feel bumps on the skin from his freckles. “Say no,” he whispered.

“I can’t,” I whispered. I wasn’t sure if the words referred to saying no or to kissing him, but George seemed to know.

Arms encircled my waist, secure and unavoidable. Lips pressed against mine, warm and soft and utterly, completely George. He was everywhere, even where he wasn’t touching me because all my body could do was sigh and all my mind could conjure were red locks and brown eyes.

He pulled back. “Do you–”

I rose to my tiptoes, kissing him before he could finish. George, apparently, didn’t mind, giving up on his words immediately to kiss me back. His fingers brushed back my hair, a gesture so comforting that I melted into him.

I pulled my gloves off, desperate to feel his face with my hands. The dragon scales let out a loud noise as they hit the stone floor, but I didn’t care, finally able to caress his face.

Without breaking the kiss, George stepped forward, moving me back on my tiptoes. I didn’t know where he was taking me, and I didn’t care enough to stop what we were doing and look.

George took another step forward when there was a clunking sound.

The latch of the door, I realised in horror. Instantly, George’s warmth disappeared, and I whirled around, frantically grinding at the spines while sweeping my gloves underneath the potion station with my toe.

Heart hammering, I heard the door open. The torches in the hallway casting momentary shadows before the door closed again.

Act natural, I thought frantically. Act like you've just been here the whole time, serving detention. But my inability to take a full breath undermined the nonchalance I was attempting. My lips burned, as if by kissing George, I’d kissed pure flames.

“Miss Y/L/N.” Somehow, Snape’s voice was more chilling than before.

Slowly, I swivelled to face the potions master. He didn’t look any more suspicious than he normally did, but he was never the type to emote.

There was a flash of movement over his shoulder, and I looked to see George with his back pressed to the wall of the dungeon, perfectly in between two torches where the shadows could partially conceal him. Quickly, I looked back to Snape, noting for the first time in my life with relief that the professor’s beady eyes were trained on me.

“You are free to go.”

I blinked, trying to ignore George creeping over to the dungeon door. “Sir, I haven’t finished–”

Professor Snape waved his wand, enchanting the mortar and pestle sets against the wall to soar over to the boxes and start grinding spines of their own accord. “You’ve been here for long enough.”

George reached the door, lifting the latch silently and sliding through a tiny crack in the door.

I nearly crumpled with relief, turning my attention back to Snape. “Sir, are you sure–”

“I’ve already taken points off Gryffindor.”

I frowned before quickly making my face blank. George lost points, regardless of my outburst. My actions today in class accomplished nothing.

“As for you, I won’t take any house points.”

Predictable.

“But I’ve written to your parents.”

I froze.

My parents—who represented just a blip in the long history the Y/L/N family of pureblooded Slytherins and yet championed the legacy with every movement—would soon know. As I looked into Snape’s glittering eyes, I knew he’d told them everything and knew the magnitude of punishment I’d be receiving. His grin widened as I remained still as a statue. Not only did he know, he relished it. “You’re dismissed.”

Snape lowered himself into the chair behind his desk, taking his time as he folded his long, bony fingers.

So thoroughly unable to move, I wondered if some of the dangerous pink powder had somehow made it into my body.

“Did you hear me?” The displeasure in Snape’s voice sounded like the cracking of a whip, and like a frightened mare, I stirred into action.

“Yes, sir, goodnight, sir.” I swiftly knelt to grab my gloves and put them on before dumping the spines in my mortar into the box again.

It wasn’t until I was pulling the dungeon door open that I remembered George, my fear only increasing.

But instead of George awaiting me, it was the cantankerous caretaker, Mr. Filch. “Out of bed, are we?” he snarled, looking quite pleased.

“I w-was finishing detention!” I burst out. “I’m on my way to bed, I swear!”

“You’d better hurry then.” Chapped lips curved upwards to show yellow teeth.

I fled from the teeth, from the spines, and from the consequences of the kiss. I ran as fast as my legs could carry me, horror nipping at my heels.

“Advantage,” I said quickly, and the door to the Slytherin Common Room opened. I ducked inside and ran as fast as I could towards my dormitory, not stopping until I flung myself down on my bed, burying my face in my pillow.

Merlin, what had I done?

Overall tag list:

@thelastpyle @valiantlytransparentwhispers

Series tag list:

@onelemonoat @goldfishinpainttubes

#harry potter #hp #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction #george #george weasley #george weasley fanfic #george weasley fanfiction #george wealsey x reader #george weasley x y/n #hogwarts #slytherin!reader #slytherin x gryffindor

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