im-a-wonderling

[im-a-wonderling]

Person A: “….Where did you get this?”

Person B: “Hm? Oh! I found it at our front door, why?”

Person A: “….We need to leave. Now.”

[im-a-wonderling]

Bait ~ Klaus Mikaelson

I did a quick little challenge to clear the writing palate by writing something that's exactly 1,000 words. It was a lot harder than I thought, but it turned out very similar to Firsts and Lasts. I've never written for Vampire Diaries before, and it's been years since I watched it, but here it is. There will be no part 2.

Warnings: unedited, angst, unhappy/uncertain ending

Y/N let out a strangled groan that hurt her throat as it ripped through. Her lungs begged for more air, but every movement of her chest sent a wave of agony through her body. Her hands, curled helplessly around the spot where the knife was buried in her abdomen, were soaked with warm blood. 

“I’m sorry,” Mikael said. She could see him through the strands of hair that were stuck to her face, partially obscuring the view. “I truly wouldn’t have if there was another way.”

His words sounded so genuine, like his pain in stabbing her was far greater than her pain at being stabbed. Greater than her pain, which was so powerful, she barely felt him rifling through the pockets of her pants. 

“Where do you keep your phone?” he asked, his voice grim. 

Even if Y/N had wanted to answer, the only sounds she could produce were those of pain. The air that passed through her lips slightly dislodged the hair covering her face, but not enough to fully reveal the vampire hunter’s face.

Mikael pushed away one of her hands that had come to rest on top of her wound, and a gasp of agony came from her as he stuck his hand in her jacket pocket. “Ah.” He pulled out her phone, turning it on to display the wallpaper of Y/N and Klaus grinning with ice cream cones in their hands. 

“Don’t,” Y/N managed to beg, trying to appeal to humanity that wasn’t there.

“Shhhhhh.” Mikael didn’t even look away from the screen he tapped.

She tried to lift her head, to do something, but it barely left the pavement before falling back again. Mikael pressed a button and turned the phone around, allowing Y/N to see the name on the outgoing call. 

Klaus. 

The phone rang only once. “You’re not supposed to be calling me,” said a luxurious voice that Y/N knew better than her own and loved more than any other. “I was told by Henry that you were angry with me for assigning him to follow you everywhere.”

It took all Y/N’s effort not to look to the side to see the hybrid in question, whose neck had been snapped moments just before the knife was jammed into her gut. 

“Don’t mistake me, I will always be glad to hear your darling voice, I’m just surprised.”

Mikael raised his eyebrows. Y/N knew what he was doing. It didn’t take a genius to figure out the trap Mikael set and what role she played in it. But bait was no good if Klaus didn’t understand the danger. 

She could be quiet. She was already done for, she knew that from the amount of blood gone. But Klaus must live. If she didn’t make a sound, Klaus would think it was a prank call or a misdial and hang up, and then he would be safe. 

“Y/N?” Klaus asked, and she could practically hear his eyebrows contorting. “Are you there, love?” 

She squeezed her eyes shut, biting on her lip so hard, she tasted blood. 

A foot pressed against her abdomen, pulling on the wound. She pressed her lips together, but it was too late. Tears slipped from her eyes, and her cry of pain, however muffled, was still audible. 

Immediately Klaus’s voice changed. “Y/N? What’s going on? Are you hurt? Where are you?”

She shook her head, trying to convince her vocal cords to cease with their betrayal. There was a quiet huff. Then the world exploded into pain as the knife was ripped from her body, and she couldn’t withhold her scream. 

“Y/N!” 

Her awful sobs couldn’t be contained anymore, ringing through the alley. 

“What’s going on?! Y/N, talk to me!” Klaus ordered. Y/N couldn’t answer. “Tell me where you are.”

Y/N turned her head towards the street sign at the entrance to the alley.

North Carlton.

She mustered up all her strength. “I-I don’t…know where.” The lie echoed through her head like heavy bass, but even as it hurt her head, she couldn’t regret it. Klaus started barking orders, but he must’ve pulled the phone away from his mouth, for she couldn’t decipher them. She couldn’t hear Mikael anymore, but she knew he wouldn’t be far.

“My hybrids are on the hunt,” Klaus said into the phone, sounding out of breath. “I’m coming, love, I’m coming.”

Y/N shook her head, forgetting amidst all the pain that Klaus couldn’t see her. Her consciousness steadily dwindled as her limbs felt heavier and heavier. “No,” she wheezed, but her voice was too quiet for Klaus to hear. 

“Stay on the phone, just keep listening to my voice.” Looking up into Mikael’s horrible face, Y/N let out a whimper of pain and fear. “I know you’re scared, love, but I’ll be there, I’m coming for you.”

A weak sob wracked through her rapidly declining body. Mikael’s plan was working, and there was nothing she could do. “Guess you should’ve…should’ve turned me–”

“No, stop that, I’ll find you, I’ll come get you, just stay on the phone for me, okay?”

Y/N’s head swirled, making her blink as the stars up in the night sky seemed to circle around her. Mikael apparently realized she was done, for he turned the phone around. “Hello, Niklaus.” 

A large bang came from the phone, as if something heavy’d been kicked over, and a stream of colorful curses followed in its wake. “I will end you,” Klaus growled. “You hear me?”

“You had better do it fast.” Mikael looked down at Y/N. “She doesn’t have much blood left.”

Another crash sounded from the phone. “You listen carefully.” Klaus’s fury was evident, even distorted by the phone. “When I find you, I will tear you into pieces and leave them for–”

Mikael dropped the phone, and even though bits of glass and technology hit the side of Y/N’s face, she did not move.

-

Overall tag list:

@thelastpyle @valiantlytransparentwhispers

[im-a-wonderling]

OH MY GOD. THE GEORGE FIC. I’M FOAMING AT THE MOUTH YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND. YOU ARE LITERALLY SO SKILLED WITH WRITING😞😞😞😞

Eeeeeee, thank you!! This most recent part of that fanfic almost had me foaming at the mouth when I was writing it! George is just too wonderful.

[im-a-wonderling]

Under Pressure, Precious Things can Break ~ George Weasley

Tonight, we are celebrating! I finally got some resolution to an ongoing Residence Life issue at my college, and even though I'm exhausted, I am so relieved, so here, have some George 😂 This is the fifth part of an ongoing fic (for which I still do not have a name). Click here for part one if you haven't read it or need a refresher. Honestly, if you enjoyed part 4 of White Moves First, you'll probably enjoy this too!

Word count: 6k

Warnings: unhealthy family dynamics

Fred could never, ever say this to Molly Weasley, but Hogwarts’s pancakes were better than his mother’s. The house elves just wove the buttery flavors in a way that made Fred want to sing, and it was their skill that often inspired his own creativity. He pointed at George with his fork, a whole pancake dangling from the end of it.  “I think if we amend the Hardening charm, instead of stone, we can make gobstoppers that never get smaller.” The pancake flopped off Fred’s fork and onto George’s plate, splattering syrup everywhere.

“Sorry ‘bout that.” Fred carelessly ran his napkin over the syrup on the table before reclaiming his pancake. 

It was then that he noticed George hadn’t torn his eyes away from a distant spot over Fred’s shoulder. 

Narrowing his eyes, Fred glanced, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Turning back to his twin, Fred added: “We could also use a fur spell for some sort of taffy.” 

“Mmhmm,” was the vague answer.

Fred skewered a sausage from George’s plate and took a large bite, waiting for a reaction. There was none. “And once we get to the shop,” he added, “you’re going to handle all the stocking while I get to talk to all the stunners that come in, yeah?”

George didn’t even blink. “Mmhmm.”

“George?”

There was a moment before George started, as if waking from a dream. “What?” he asked, his eyes finally focusing on Fred. 

Fred dropped his fork onto his plate with a clatter. Apparently, the pancakes had to wait. “Alright, what’s on your mind?”

The distracted redhead’s expression shifted from preoccupied to somber, which Fred did not see very often. “Y/N. She ran off last night, and she’s not here.”

“Is that it?” Fred folded his arms on top of the table. “Y/L/N never comes to meals.”

“No,” George replied, “she always comes to breakfast on the weekends. Half the castle sleeps in, so she can eat without getting bothered.”

Fred rested his chin on his arm, studying George’s face. It was odd to see George so worried about something so small. Perhaps Y/N didn’t feel like coming to breakfast. Maybe she was sleeping in. At the very least, the misanthropic girl missing a meal wasn’t cause for such concern. “Huh.”

“What?” George stared hard at his twin, seemingly preparing himself for any lecture on George’s life choices or disagreement born of disbelief or even some well-intended yet annoying advice.

Fred picked up his fork again, refocusing on his food. “Lee owes me two sickles.”

“Not helpful,” George huffed, looking back over at the Slytherin table, as if Y/N had snuck in without his notice in the last thirty seconds. 

“Alright, so how’d you run her off?” Fred carelessly wiped his mouth with the clean corner of his napkin. “Will it require a box of chocolates or an Italian holiday?”

“I snogged her.”

Fred’s jaw went slack. “Right. An Italian holiday for the two of you together then.” When George didn’t say anything, Fred cocked his head, sensing his twin’s hesitation. “Was it bad?”

“No!” Aghast, George scowled at his brother. “It was good–”

“Only good?” Fred asked.

George’s scowl intensified. “We were both having a great time, but then Snape interrupted.”

“Snape.”

“Yeah, she was serving detention. I snuck out and waited for her, but Filch showed up, and I had to dodge.”

“And now she’s not at breakfast.”

“Yeah.” George sighed. “Which means I need to go find her.”

Fred took a sip of his water. “Not even going to try playing it cool?” 

George shook his head. “Y/N doesn’t need cool, she needs involved.” The way he spoke gave Fred the impression that George knew much more and had thought much deeper about Y/N and what she needed than Fred anticipated. 

The doors of the Great Hall opened, and George whipped his head around with the speed of a centaur to look at those who entered, only to deflate slightly when he saw it was a gaggle of Ravenclaw third-years. 

Fred watched his twin's clear disappointment, an alarm whistle like that of a Sneakoscope going off in his head. This wasn’t just about a random snog with an uncertain ending. “Why does this matter so much?” Fred asked curiously.

George blinked, his fingers nervously twirling a fork. “I dunno,” he muttered. 

“If you're gonna lie to me,” Fred scoffed, “you could try to be convincing.” 

The fork froze, and George stared at the metal tines for a moment with so many emotions crossing his face, they couldn’t be deciphered. “Mate, she needs someone.”

Fred raised an eyebrow. A genuine answer, if also incorrect. “Y/F/N Y/L/N doesn't need anything.” 

“Yes, she does.” George's words were soft and not at all defensive. They were matter-of-fact, spoken uncannily like Granger when she answered Flitwick’s questions in Charms. “She tries to cover it up, but everyone needs someone to help hold them up.”

“Are you saying that she needs you?” 

“I'm saying I might be the only one who cares enough to notice what she needs.” When George looked at Fred, there was a steadfast determination in his face that Fred had only seen a few times. And each of those times, George had plowed his way forward. Fred studied his twin, running his tongue over his teeth. Was George making a mistake? If he was, nobody would be able to talk him out of it until George himself realized it wasn’t right. 

A few days ago, Fred had seen George and Y/N walking together through the grounds. He’d known George was unusually attached to the Slytherin, but to see them chatting with each other and how enthralled George was…Fred had to admit to a little twinge. This was his twin, it was the two of them who were supposed to gravitate around each other. 

But now, looking back on the memory, Fred realized he couldn’t remember how Y/N had looked. He was sure he would’ve noticed if she seemed uncomfortable or malicious, so she must’ve meant well. Perhaps she was as taken with George as George was with her, especially if she’d let him kiss her. 

Making his decision, Fred leaned forward. “You know…the ferret will probably know where she is.”

“Ugh.” George lowered his head onto the table with a loud thunk. 

“It’s probably the fastest way to start, you know he always keeps an eye on her.”

George, head down on the table, didn’t move for a moment. “I hate it when you’re right,” he said as he finally straightened and got to his feet. 

“Most do,” Fred said solemnly, finally returning his attention to his pancakes. “Just be glad you don’t owe me two sickles.”

Not replying, George swept out of the Great Hall in such a hurry, he didn’t even stop to give Umbridge a dark look as he passed her.

-

“Malfoy.”

Standing in the Central Hall by the fountain, the slimy git turned to George, mouth already curling. “Weaselbee.” He leaned against the fountain, folding his arms in a manner which his goons quickly copied. “Come to ask for some fashion tips?” His voice rang out enough to draw the attention of a few other cliques nearby. “Of course not,” Malfoy said before George could reply. “You can't afford it.” 

George ignored the laughter from Malfoy's posse. “I’m looking for Y/N. Do you know where she is?”

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed to slits, glaring at George. “What do you want with her?”

George grinned. “Fashion tips.”

“Well, I knew she was spending her time with charity cases,” Malfoy said in a stage-whisper, nudging Goyle beside him, “but even she has better things to do than help the riff raff.”

George took a breath through his nose, taking a moment to grasp onto his patience. 

Malfoy, of course, didn’t allow even a moment, before squinting. “You’re the reason she’s acting up. She’s never had a detention before. Not until you got in the way.”

“As I recall,” George said, “you’re the one who reported her.” His words were easy, but he knew by Malfoy’s swallow that his expression was anything but. 

The boy stuck his nose imperiously in the air. “She’s never broken the rules before.” 

George knew his chuckle would rub Malfoy the wrong way, so he let it fly. “It’s no surprise that your loyalty lasts only as long as she does what you want.” 

Malfoy’s cheeks reddened, and he straightened to step closer to George, his hand drifting to his robe pocket. “Your loyalty only started once she got in trouble!”

George remembered that night in the corridor after Y/N’s detention with Umbridge. She’d been the last person he’d expected to come out of that gaudy pink office, and she’d walked out with a simultaneous mix of confidence and reserve. A masterful mix, if George said so himself. Nearly everyone who’d landed detention with Umbridge landed themselves also in her perpetually adverse graces. But Y/N managed to appear chastened without fear, and Umbridge hadn’t given Y/N a second glance. 

It was only after Umbridge’s office door had closed when Y/N showed a hint of pain, which had immediately evaporated the second George had revealed himself. 

“If you left her alone,” Malfoy was saying, “she wouldn’t be in hot water with Snape.”

George’s nostrils flared. As if he hadn’t done all he could for Y/N’s wellbeing. But this was not the time. “Look, have you seen her or not?” He had much better things to be doing than arguing with Malfoy. Such as arguing with Y/N. 

Malfoy scowled. “No. And you’ll–” George started walking away, and Malfoy shouted the words after him. “–stay away if you care what’s good for you!”

-

As breakfast winded down, the castle corridors filled with people. There was a massive snowstorm blowing in which prevented being out on the grounds or out at Hogsmeade, but nobody wanted to be cooped up in their dormitories. 

That apparently included the Slytherin first-year boys, huddled in a group in the fourth floor corridor. The sandy stone walls were bathed in bright light from the white snow falling outside the windows. The group chatted and laughed, Y/N’s brother standing in the centre, enjoying his clear status among them. 

“Clem?” George said, taking great care to stop a respectful distance away from the group. He was not a threat to them, and he wanted to prove it. 

The group of Slytherin boys turned, their bodies immediately tense and hands drifting to their wand pockets. The deep distrust on their faces made George hesitate. What had they experienced in their short time in this castle that could make them so paranoid? 

He held up his hands to show he wasn’t holding his wand. “I just want to talk.”

None of the Slytherins budged from their alert positions. 

“It’s about your sister.”

Since Clem was at the back of the group, George was the only one who could see the split second of worry that spread across the young boy’s face. Just like Y/N, however, his face went instantly blank, concealing his thoughts. “It’s alright guys. I’ll be right back.”

Following George around the corner, Clem’s mask lifted to reveal the worry once more. “What is it?”

“Have you seen Y/N? Last night, she and I…” George blinked, suddenly questioning the idea of telling an eleven-year-old boy that he snogged his older sister. “We were talking, and we got interrupted, and now I can’t find her anywhere.” There, that wasn’t suspicious. 

Clem’s boyish face tightened. “What did you say to her?” 

George swallowed, debating which part of the previous night’s conversation could be shared. “We talked about knights and princesses.” As soon as the words left his mouth, George felt his cheeks heat up. “We did!” he hurried to say, not that that was convincing. “We debated whether or not she was more like a knight or a princess.”

Clem’s only response was to lift an eyebrow, looking astonishingly like Professor McGongagall for having so little in common with the head of Gryffindor house. 

“We really did,” George said weakly before shaking his head slightly. “Look, can you just tell me where she is?” 

“I don’t know where she is,” Clem replied. “She wasn’t at breakfast.” 

Disappointed at the lack of new information, George nodded and turned to go.

“Whatever you did,” Clem said, making George turn around again, “you better not have hurt her.” The boy’s face turned menacing. “She really likes you.”

The first-year’s intention was certainly not to be encouraging, but George felt his spirits lift in spite of the hostility. “She said that?”

Clem shook his head. “She didn’t say anything. That’s how I know.” And with that, he left in the direction of his friends. 

George grinned stupidly at the floor. He knew Y/N would never let him close enough to snog her, much less snog him back if she didn’t like him. Still, it was nice to know. 

So nice that George practically skipped to the Gryffindor Common Room, where he’d seen Harry studying earlier. Harry’d taken to staying where Umbridge didn’t often go, meaning the Room of Requirement and Gryffindor territory. 

When George entered the sea of students all fighting for armchairs and couches, he spotted Harry in the corner by the fire and maneuvered towards him. “Harry, I need to use the map.”

Harry, to his credit, didn’t question George. He just led George into his dormitory and pulled the map from his chest to lay it on his bed. Soon, George was poring over the moving parts of the castle. 

“Who are we looking for?” Harry asked, joining George.

“Y/L/N.” 

George felt Harry tense beside him. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with her lately,” was the Chosen One’s chosen reply. Eyes not leaving the map, George hummed affirmatively. “Are you sure she’s trustworthy?”

“Yes.” George lifted his finger to pass it over the mass of names displayed in the Great Hall, even though he knew Y/N wasn’t there. Harry’s shoes shuffled on the floor, his weight shifting. “Spit it out,” George said, his finger now tracking down the dungeons. 

“How do you know she’s trustworthy?”

Ahh. So that’s what this was about.

George glanced at Harry, taking in the stubborn jut of the boy’s chin. “Would you ask me that if she were in Hufflepuff?”

Harry didn’t reply. 

“Y’know,” George said, his thoughtful tone masking his frustration, “Merlin was a Slytherin. So is Tonks’s mum.”

“And so’s Voldemort, Malfoy, Bellatrix, and Snape, and–”

“I know.” George blinked at Harry, uncertain how to explain his attachment to this particular Slytherin and his conviction that she was of upright character. Finally, he just shrugged. “She’s different, Harry.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Harry grumbled, bending over the map once more.

“I never know what I’m doing,” George quipped, though it sounded flat to his own ears. Truthfully, with Y/N, he knew exactly what he was doing. Well, trying to do. 

“There!” Harry pointed where, sure enough, her name was written beside a pair of footprints George thought were more lovely than any of the others he’d been looking at. 

George sighed, relieved. “The owlery.” He had no idea what she was doing there, but at least now he knew where he could find answers.

-

Standing in the owlery, staring out at the worsening storm, I waited. It was too cold for anyone to be loitering in the tower and with the snowstorm coming, no one in their right mind would send their owl out with a letter. 

But I knew a letter was coming for me. Y/L/Ns were never deterred by anything, certainly not weather. 

No letter had arrived, but I could almost feel the brush of feathers and harsh peck of a beak from Eris, the family owl. I could picture the Y/L/N family crest pressed into green wax, sealing the crisp grey envelope. Worse still, I could almost certainly forge an identical letter with no help. 

Y/L/Ns didn’t break the rules and certainly didn’t associate with Gryffindors. It was the job of daughters to take care of sons. If I really wanted to be a burden, I’d better leave Clem out of it. 

The sentiments were familiar, but just because one knew a curse and its caster didn’t mean the curse didn’t hurt. 

The snow started coming down harder and harder, and still I stood, watching the snowstorm for the black, elegant owl. The longer the letter took to arrive, the more my mind raced. 

Maybe Snape hadn’t mentioned my first detention with Umbridge; he loathed her nearly as much as the students did. Maybe he told them to revoke my Hogsmeade privileges. Maybe he’d mentioned both detentions without explaining why I’d gotten them. Would that be bad? My parents wouldn’t have context, and it was the context that was both paramount and damning. 

Absentmindedly, I lifted my cold fingers to my lips, assuredly shivering from the cold and not the memories from last night. 

I definitely hadn’t expected kissing George to be anything like what it had been. 

I shook my head. Wouldn’t have expected. It wasn’t like I’d been sitting around like a silly Hufflepuff, daydreaming about what it would feel like to have George kiss me. 

…was it possible Snape told my parents about the kiss?

No, not at all. To have told my parents about the kiss, he had to have seen it. And if he’d seen it, he would’ve seen George. And if he’d seen George, there is no way George would’ve made it out of the dungeon without detention. 

At least that piece of information was safe. My eyes caught on a speck, pulling me through my thoughts. 

Was that…

I squinted at the horizon. Were my eyes playing tricks on me? 

My heart sank as the dark speck in the furiously falling snow grew large enough for me to make out the flapping wings. 

Eris. 

She covered the last furlong of her journey too quickly for me to regain my composure. Settling on the glassless window frame, she held out her claw, the grey envelope dangling from it as if the words inside did not burden her in the least. 

With shaking hands, I accepted the letter. Eris, job done, flew off, selecting one of the topmost cubbies to rest. 

There was no writing on the outside of the envelope. My parents conducted enough secret business to keep the exterior of their correspondence anonymous and charm the envelope to burst into flames if someone other than the intended recipient opened it. 

Popping the wax seal open, I pulled out the letter to reveal the elegant script of my mother. Y/L/Ns believed that delicate handwriting was the first sign of a true lady. 

I looked away from the page, trying to control my breathing. I’d accepted their criticism before, how could this time be much different? Despite my efforts, my heart was in my mouth as I finally started reading. 

Scathing. The words were like knives, flaying me open. 

They’d never gone this far before. 

I struggled to draw breath from the thin air as I reread the final line. 

It is with every hope for your refined improvement, we have decided–

I crumpled the parchment, hurling it at the wall. The light parchment only made it two feet in the air before falling to the stone floor, removing the opportunity for satisfaction. Just another effort of mine that fell short. 

I looked up at the ceiling, refusing to cry. Tears only made everything worse. Y/L/Ns didn’t cry. 

Resting my hand against the freezing stone of the window frame, I closed my eyes, allowing the cold breeze to slowly numb my face. Numbness was better than feelings. 

Y/L/Ns never let anything get to them. 

Leaning forward to expose more and more of my body to the wind, I almost couldn’t feel the tears slipping down my cheeks. Furiously, I wiped them away, but soon the flow was too great to keep up with. 

I’d known better, I’d been better for almost my entire time at Hogwarts. I’d stayed away from everyone to protect myself, yes, but also to protect others, especially Clem. I was the only one who should’ve had to bear the force of our parents’ disapproval. 

I knew how to stay out of trouble, how to ensure my parents weren’t unnecessarily reminded of my existence, and I’d acted in spite of it. 

I’d done this to myself. It was all my own fault. 

I slammed a fist into the stone frame, the pressure in my chest growing with the effort of keeping down my sobs. 

The sound of footsteps on the stairs made me jolt. Holding a hand over my mouth, I pressed myself into the wall, trying to make myself small enough that if the individual walking up the steps were looking for an owl all the way at the top of the Owlery, they wouldn’t see me. Even so, I turned to face the storm, to keep my surely blotchy face away from any observer, even the owls. 

The footsteps grew louder and louder, my heart pounding. Whoever it was, they’d passed so many of the little alcoves housing the school owls, they must’ve been looking for a specific one. 

It doesn’t take long to post a letter, I told myself. It doesn’t take–

“Imagine,” said a familiar voice, “that I’ve been looking for a friend long enough to realise I haven’t found them because they’re avoiding me, and then I have the good luck to stumble upon their hiding place.”

No.

Not now. 

I turned my face farther away, pushing the side of my face into stone. “Bugger off.” There was a slight wobble in my words, and I could only hope the howling wind outside the tower covered it. 

“Well now, that’s not very nice. Can’t a good-looking bloke just enquire how a bonnie’s doing?” George asked good naturedly. 

“Not if–” My words were croaky as they left my thick throat. I cleared it. “Not if you’re stupid enough to be the bloke and I’m unlucky enough to be the bonnie.” 

Silence fell, and somehow the silence was worse than the sound of his voice in my current defenseless moment. His voice, useless as it was against the chill of my skin, was almost a balm against the chill emanating from my chest. 

Y/L/Ns didn’t need friends.

“Don’t slip on your way out,” I snapped. “I’d hate to step in blood on the stairs.”

I expected to hear the sound of footsteps on the owlery stairs, but George was never one to do the expected. “Y/N,” he said carefully. “Why are you crying?”

Bloody hell. Bloody, minging, blooming, manky hell. 

I stared harder at the snowy mountains as they grew blurrier. “Not today, Wealsey.”

It was silent for a moment. “If you really wanted me to leave, you shouldn’t have used my last name. It's another sign that something’s wrong.”

“Please go away,” I managed to say. I should’ve known that the appearance of manners would only make George more determined. 

The next step was softer, unhurried in the way that George always was. The knowledge that he was coming closer made me curl myself tighter towards the window. “What’s wrong?” he asked slowly and clearly. As if articulation was the reason he hadn’t gotten an answer.

“Nothing.” Blinking only loosed another tear.

“I never heard of anyone crying over nothing.”

“Please,” I whispered again, not sure what I was asking for, but knowing I couldn’t bear for him to stand there and know that I was crying. 

“Don’t leave me hanging.” How could he sound so gentle and so fearful at the same time? It tugged painfully at the pressure in my chest. “Talk to me about what’s going on.” 

I was losing the will to resist. “Just leave me alone,” I begged as a last ditch effort. 

“Tell me it isn’t about last night, tell me I didn’t hurt you.” 

I squeezed my eyes shut at the alarm in his tone. He was too good, too good for this school and too good for this situation and too good for me. He really was a knight in shining armor, but I was not the princess for him. “It’s not you.” 

I’d expected some relief or further pressing, but George didn’t say anything. The only sounds in the tower was the howling of the wind outside and the rustling and shifting of hundreds of owls. He couldn’t have left, I would’ve heard him. 

In my mind, I tried to picture the way George looked behind me. The only thing I could easily see was the concern I’d seen in his face many a time. Did he have his hands in his pockets the way he tended to when he shuffled along beside me in the hall? Or were they clenched at his sides in frustration? 

The curiosity was too much. I peeked.

George’s hands weren’t in his pockets; they were holding a familiar sheet of parchment. He stared down in shock at it, and my fear skyrocketed. 

I lunged, snatching the letter from him. “Don’t!” 

Many of the sleeping owls started, some awakening from sleep to settle their attentive eyes on us. Disgruntled hoots filled the air, echoing throughout the tower. I hadn’t meant to disturb the dignified creatures, but remorse couldn’t puncture my panic. 

George’s deep horror was a terrible thing to see. “That was from your parents?”

“No.” I stuffed the letter into the pocket of my trousers. “No, a-and it’s none of your business!”

“Why would they write all that?” George's brown eyes—solemn as the owls’—tore into me even deeper than the letter crumpled in my fist. “That's messed up, Y/N.” 

I swiped at my cheeks, trying to hide the evidence of my hurt. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Y/N, I’ve gotten detention more times than I can count, my parents have never written a letter like that. Even their Howlers aren’t that awful.”

As if my parents would ever do anything as undignified as a Howler. Besides, they did just fine without the added volume. 

 George started towards me, and I shrunk away from him. He stopped. “Y/N…they’re wrong. You’re not a burden.” 

My breathing hitched. “George–”

“You’re not.”

“It’s none of your business,” I replied, but my tone was anything but convincing. Also unconvincing was the painful rate at which my breathing was reaching. 

“How could they say all that to you just for getting detention?” George asked with a clear mix of sadness and disgust.

I needed to regain control of the situation, to get the upper hand before this spiraled further. “You're overreacting.”

Anger joined Geroge’s mix. “Is that what they've told you?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I told him fiercely. “It’s fine.”

“It isn’t!” George shook his head angrily. “They don’t know you, they don’t know that all that you’ve done, you’ve done to protect those you care about. First Clem…” George trailed off. “Then me.” A strange look was growing on his face, a look which threatened the conclusions he was arriving at.

I glared. “Stop talk–”

“You protected me from injustice,” he smoothly interrupted, “but Clem snuck that broomstick into the castle, that detention was rightfully his.” 

“I mean it, George!” I warned, but George didn’t heed me. 

“Now why would you try so desperately to protect him from the school? Well, you wouldn’t.”

“Stop it!”

“You were protecting him,” George pointed at the parchment still in my hand, “from that.” 

“You…” It was getting harder to catch my breath. “You don’t understand.” 

A spark flamed in George’s eyes. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“You’re wrong.”

George cracked a small smile and made a disappointed sound. “I should’ve seen that coming.” He stepped closer. “See, I don’t believe you.”

“I will end you,” I threatened, backing away but George didn’t stop this time. ���You hear me? If you keep pushing me and talking to me and smiling at me and going to detention with me and kissing me and trying to save me–” My back hit the stone grid of the window, and a surprised gasp left my lips. I quickly held out my hand to keep him at bay. “If you come any closer, I…I’ll break you!”

George stepped close enough for my hand to rest on his chest. The contact made him stop, making me think he’d finally heeded my warning, until he lifted his hand to cover mine. “I know your parents made you believe that. But I don’t.”

I yanked my hand away from him like I’d been burned, even though it was my heart that stung, not my skin. I was trapped. Either I stepped further away and risked sending myself through the glassless window…or I stepped closer to George. “Walk away, George, I mean it!”

“No.”

“I’ll hex you!”

“Then hex me.” George’s hands cupped my shoulders, pulling me in.

I fought it, pushing against his chest, trying to get him to let me go, but his grip only grew more insistent. “Don’t,” I moaned, turning my face away so he couldn’t see the fresh tears falling.

But George never was good at following directions. 

His arms came around me, holding me tightly.

And I shattered.

An inhuman sound spilled from my mouth as my tears fell with foolhardy abandon. My knees gave out, George being the only thing holding me up. He slowly lowered us to the Owlery floor, never once loosening the grip that kept me upright. 

“How do you do it?” I wept, thinking of how easily George had accepted Snape’s bullying and the judgment from his housemates. “How do you not care?”

George pressed a quick kiss to my temple, his arms holding me tighter. “They’re your parents. I don’t think it’s possible for you not to care.” I pressed my face into his chest, trying to muffle the horrid sounds I was making, and he lightly ran his hand over my hair. “They don’t know the real you,” he whispered as I sobbed. “I’m not going anywhere,” George whispered into my temple. “I told you, you won’t break me.”

“You broke me,” I moaned, my nose rubbing against the soft knit of his sweater. 

George pressed his cheek to my head. “I’m here,” he said. “It’s alright.”

-

The sky was fully dark now, and the chill had crept its long fingers around my ears and toes, but still I clung to George like a raft in a storm.

And he let me, even though my cries had subsided. 

“I understand now,” he said softly when we’d been silent for what felt like hours.

I’d never wanted him to. Even now as he held me, the knowledge that he had seen me cry made my stomach twist unpleasantly. But I was too tired to fight it now, and it felt too good to be this close to him. 

“You need to warn Clem.” I didn’t immediately protest, but George seemed to know how much I hated the idea. “I know, it flies in the face of all you’ve done to protect him, but he needs to know. You might not be able to intercept the next letter.”

I sat up. “How do you know I’ve been intercepting his letters?”

George’s gaze was tired as his deft fingers tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. “Because I know you, Y/N. I’ve seen you in protective mode.”

“Clem is still good.” I wiped my nose on my sleeve. “They will ruin him.”

“He loves you, Y/N, he loves you so much. He wouldn’t want you to keep this from him.” His hand left my ear to cup my cheek. “It’s not fair for you to shoulder this alone.” Not fair, he shouldn’t have been arguing this with me when he kept brushing his thumb across my cheekbone, like he knew his touch would make me more obliging. 

I gathered enough willpower to shake my head, which sadly made George drop his hand. “He’s the son they always wanted,” I nevertheless replied. “He will head up the family legacy one day, and the less damaged he is when he does, the better for everyone.”

“So what are you going to tell him about Christmas?”

I shouldn’t have been surprised that he’d gotten to that point of the letter. “I’ll tell them they went to the Mediterranean, they have a villa there.”

“He’s eleven, not stupid.”

“I’d rather he suspect something than know that his parents forbade him and his sister from coming home for Christmas.” 

George let out a long sigh. “How am I supposed to go home for the break if I know that you’re here by yourself?” 

I pressed myself into him again, unwilling to admit how much the idea of him leaving affected me. 

George’s fingers lightly ran through my hair. “Well,” he mused, “you’ll just have to come home with me.”

I pushed away from George and onto my feet so quickly, my head spun. “What?”

Looking marvelously unruffled from his position on the floor, George held my gaze. “If you come with me, I won’t have to spend all day worrying about you because I’ll be able to make sure you’re alright.”

“I could never leave Clem alone.”

George rolled his eyes. “Don’t pretend you don’t know Clem’s included in that invitation.”

Astonishing, how quickly all my pain and embarrassment could transform into incredulity. “George, I’ve never even had a conversation with your twin, and you want me and my brother to spend Christmas with your family?” 

He didn’t dissolve into explanations or excuses. He simply looked up at me and said: “Yes.”

“That’s absurd.” 

“Yes.”

“Your family will be shocked.”

“Yes.”

“And Christmas break is almost two weeks long!”

“Yes.”

“Stop saying yes!”

George rose to his feet. “Look, you don’t want Clem to know what your parents have said, right? Simply telling him your parents are going on holiday isn’t going to be enough. But if they’re going on holiday and the two of you have an invitation elsewhere, he won’t think about it too much.”

“He’s eleven, not stupid,” I parroted.

“Trust me. As someone who once was an eleven-year-old boy, he’ll be wholly focused on playing Quidditch scrimmages and eating as much food as his stomach can hold.”

I hated to admit it, but that sounded like a better Christmas break than Clem had ever had. “But won’t your parents be–”

“My parents,” George wrapped his arms around my lower back, drawing me into his embrace again, “would love to have you home, our house has always been open to friends.”

I blinked, suddenly full of nerves of a different kind. “Friends?”

Unfortunately, George’s perception did not suffer a lapse. He grinned. “That can be a conversation for later.”

Covering my brilliantly warm cheeks with my freezing hands, I tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let me. “Do you trust me?” he whispered. 

“Regrettably.”

George, the wonder that he was, tilted his head back to let out a laugh. “I swear, if you and Clem come with me for Christmas, the two of you will be safe. And who knows?” He looked down at me with twinkling eyes. “You might even have fun.” 

I knew I should say no. Forget their displeasure over Snape’s letter, if my parents found out I was even entertaining spending the holidays with the Weasleys, let alone that I’d gone and brought Clem? The catastrophic repercussions for both the Weasleys and myself could not be understated. 

But with George’s arms around me once again, anchoring me, keeping me safe, I looked up in his eyes and gave him my answer.

“Okay.”

-

Overall tag list:

@thelastpyle @valiantlytransparentwhispers

Series tag list:

@onelemonoat @goldfishinpainttubes @screaming-les-bean @catpjimin

[im-a-wonderling]

Under Pressure, Precious Things can Break ~ George Weasley

Tonight, we are celebrating! I finally got some resolution to an ongoing Residence Life issue at my college, and even though I'm exhausted, I am so relieved, so here, have some George 😂 This is the fifth part of an ongoing fic (for which I still do not have a name). Click here for part one if you haven't read it or need a refresher. Honestly, if you enjoyed part 4 of White Moves First, you'll probably enjoy this too!

Word count: 6k

Warnings: unhealthy family dynamics

Fred could never, ever say this to Molly Weasley, but Hogwarts’s pancakes were better than his mother’s. The house elves just wove the buttery flavors in a way that made Fred want to sing, and it was their skill that often inspired his own creativity. He pointed at George with his fork, a whole pancake dangling from the end of it.  “I think if we amend the Hardening charm, instead of stone, we can make gobstoppers that never get smaller.” The pancake flopped off Fred’s fork and onto George’s plate, splattering syrup everywhere.

“Sorry ‘bout that.” Fred carelessly ran his napkin over the syrup on the table before reclaiming his pancake. 

It was then that he noticed George hadn’t torn his eyes away from a distant spot over Fred’s shoulder. 

Narrowing his eyes, Fred glanced, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Turning back to his twin, Fred added: “We could also use a fur spell for some sort of taffy.” 

“Mmhmm,” was the vague answer.

Fred skewered a sausage from George’s plate and took a large bite, waiting for a reaction. There was none. “And once we get to the shop,” he added, “you’re going to handle all the stocking while I get to talk to all the stunners that come in, yeah?”

George didn’t even blink. “Mmhmm.”

“George?”

There was a moment before George started, as if waking from a dream. “What?” he asked, his eyes finally focusing on Fred. 

Fred dropped his fork onto his plate with a clatter. Apparently, the pancakes had to wait. “Alright, what’s on your mind?”

The distracted redhead’s expression shifted from preoccupied to somber, which Fred did not see very often. “Y/N. She ran off last night, and she’s not here.”

“Is that it?” Fred folded his arms on top of the table. “Y/L/N never comes to meals.”

“No,” George replied, “she always comes to breakfast on the weekends. Half the castle sleeps in, so she can eat without getting bothered.”

Fred rested his chin on his arm, studying George’s face. It was odd to see George so worried about something so small. Perhaps Y/N didn’t feel like coming to breakfast. Maybe she was sleeping in. At the very least, the misanthropic girl missing a meal wasn’t cause for such concern. “Huh.”

“What?” George stared hard at his twin, seemingly preparing himself for any lecture on George’s life choices or disagreement born of disbelief or even some well-intended yet annoying advice.

Fred picked up his fork again, refocusing on his food. “Lee owes me two sickles.”

“Not helpful,” George huffed, looking back over at the Slytherin table, as if Y/N had snuck in without his notice in the last thirty seconds. 

“Alright, so how’d you run her off?” Fred carelessly wiped his mouth with the clean corner of his napkin. “Will it require a box of chocolates or an Italian holiday?”

“I snogged her.”

Fred’s jaw went slack. “Right. An Italian holiday for the two of you together then.” When George didn’t say anything, Fred cocked his head, sensing his twin’s hesitation. “Was it bad?”

“No!” Aghast, George scowled at his brother. “It was good–”

“Only good?” Fred asked.

George’s scowl intensified. “We were both having a great time, but then Snape interrupted.”

“Snape.”

“Yeah, she was serving detention. I snuck out and waited for her, but Filch showed up, and I had to dodge.”

“And now she’s not at breakfast.”

“Yeah.” George sighed. “Which means I need to go find her.”

Fred took a sip of his water. “Not even going to try playing it cool?” 

George shook his head. “Y/N doesn’t need cool, she needs involved.” The way he spoke gave Fred the impression that George knew much more and had thought much deeper about Y/N and what she needed than Fred anticipated. 

The doors of the Great Hall opened, and George whipped his head around with the speed of a centaur to look at those who entered, only to deflate slightly when he saw it was a gaggle of Ravenclaw third-years. 

Fred watched his twin's clear disappointment, an alarm whistle like that of a Sneakoscope going off in his head. This wasn’t just about a random snog with an uncertain ending. “Why does this matter so much?” Fred asked curiously.

George blinked, his fingers nervously twirling a fork. “I dunno,” he muttered. 

“If you're gonna lie to me,” Fred scoffed, “you could try to be convincing.” 

The fork froze, and George stared at the metal tines for a moment with so many emotions crossing his face, they couldn’t be deciphered. “Mate, she needs someone.”

Fred raised an eyebrow. A genuine answer, if also incorrect. “Y/F/N Y/L/N doesn't need anything.” 

“Yes, she does.” George's words were soft and not at all defensive. They were matter-of-fact, spoken uncannily like Granger when she answered Flitwick’s questions in Charms. “She tries to cover it up, but everyone needs someone to help hold them up.”

“Are you saying that she needs you?” 

“I'm saying I might be the only one who cares enough to notice what she needs.” When George looked at Fred, there was a steadfast determination in his face that Fred had only seen a few times. And each of those times, George had plowed his way forward. Fred studied his twin, running his tongue over his teeth. Was George making a mistake? If he was, nobody would be able to talk him out of it until George himself realized it wasn’t right. 

A few days ago, Fred had seen George and Y/N walking together through the grounds. He’d known George was unusually attached to the Slytherin, but to see them chatting with each other and how enthralled George was…Fred had to admit to a little twinge. This was his twin, it was the two of them who were supposed to gravitate around each other. 

But now, looking back on the memory, Fred realized he couldn’t remember how Y/N had looked. He was sure he would’ve noticed if she seemed uncomfortable or malicious, so she must’ve meant well. Perhaps she was as taken with George as George was with her, especially if she’d let him kiss her. 

Making his decision, Fred leaned forward. “You know…the ferret will probably know where she is.”

“Ugh.” George lowered his head onto the table with a loud thunk. 

“It’s probably the fastest way to start, you know he always keeps an eye on her.”

George, head down on the table, didn’t move for a moment. “I hate it when you’re right,” he said as he finally straightened and got to his feet. 

“Most do,” Fred said solemnly, finally returning his attention to his pancakes. “Just be glad you don’t owe me two sickles.”

Not replying, George swept out of the Great Hall in such a hurry, he didn’t even stop to give Umbridge a dark look as he passed her.

-

“Malfoy.”

Standing in the Central Hall by the fountain, the slimy git turned to George, mouth already curling. “Weaselbee.” He leaned against the fountain, folding his arms in a manner which his goons quickly copied. “Come to ask for some fashion tips?” His voice rang out enough to draw the attention of a few other cliques nearby. “Of course not,” Malfoy said before George could reply. “You can't afford it.” 

George ignored the laughter from Malfoy's posse. “I’m looking for Y/N. Do you know where she is?”

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed to slits, glaring at George. “What do you want with her?”

George grinned. “Fashion tips.”

“Well, I knew she was spending her time with charity cases,” Malfoy said in a stage-whisper, nudging Goyle beside him, “but even she has better things to do than help the riff raff.”

George took a breath through his nose, taking a moment to grasp onto his patience. 

Malfoy, of course, didn’t allow even a moment, before squinting. “You’re the reason she’s acting up. She’s never had a detention before. Not until you got in the way.”

“As I recall,” George said, “you’re the one who reported her.” His words were easy, but he knew by Malfoy’s swallow that his expression was anything but. 

The boy stuck his nose imperiously in the air. “She’s never broken the rules before.” 

George knew his chuckle would rub Malfoy the wrong way, so he let it fly. “It’s no surprise that your loyalty lasts only as long as she does what you want.” 

Malfoy’s cheeks reddened, and he straightened to step closer to George, his hand drifting to his robe pocket. “Your loyalty only started once she got in trouble!”

George remembered that night in the corridor after Y/N’s detention with Umbridge. She’d been the last person he’d expected to come out of that gaudy pink office, and she’d walked out with a simultaneous mix of confidence and reserve. A masterful mix, if George said so himself. Nearly everyone who’d landed detention with Umbridge landed themselves also in her perpetually adverse graces. But Y/N managed to appear chastened without fear, and Umbridge hadn’t given Y/N a second glance. 

It was only after Umbridge’s office door had closed when Y/N showed a hint of pain, which had immediately evaporated the second George had revealed himself. 

“If you left her alone,” Malfoy was saying, “she wouldn’t be in hot water with Snape.”

George’s nostrils flared. As if he hadn’t done all he could for Y/N’s wellbeing. But this was not the time. “Look, have you seen her or not?” He had much better things to be doing than arguing with Malfoy. Such as arguing with Y/N. 

Malfoy scowled. “No. And you’ll–” George started walking away, and Malfoy shouted the words after him. “–stay away if you care what’s good for you!”

-

As breakfast winded down, the castle corridors filled with people. There was a massive snowstorm blowing in which prevented being out on the grounds or out at Hogsmeade, but nobody wanted to be cooped up in their dormitories. 

That apparently included the Slytherin first-year boys, huddled in a group in the fourth floor corridor. The sandy stone walls were bathed in bright light from the white snow falling outside the windows. The group chatted and laughed, Y/N’s brother standing in the centre, enjoying his clear status among them. 

“Clem?” George said, taking great care to stop a respectful distance away from the group. He was not a threat to them, and he wanted to prove it. 

The group of Slytherin boys turned, their bodies immediately tense and hands drifting to their wand pockets. The deep distrust on their faces made George hesitate. What had they experienced in their short time in this castle that could make them so paranoid? 

He held up his hands to show he wasn’t holding his wand. “I just want to talk.”

None of the Slytherins budged from their alert positions. 

“It’s about your sister.”

Since Clem was at the back of the group, George was the only one who could see the split second of worry that spread across the young boy’s face. Just like Y/N, however, his face went instantly blank, concealing his thoughts. “It’s alright guys. I’ll be right back.”

Following George around the corner, Clem’s mask lifted to reveal the worry once more. “What is it?”

“Have you seen Y/N? Last night, she and I…” George blinked, suddenly questioning the idea of telling an eleven-year-old boy that he snogged his older sister. “We were talking, and we got interrupted, and now I can’t find her anywhere.” There, that wasn’t suspicious. 

Clem’s boyish face tightened. “What did you say to her?” 

George swallowed, debating which part of the previous night’s conversation could be shared. “We talked about knights and princesses.” As soon as the words left his mouth, George felt his cheeks heat up. “We did!” he hurried to say, not that that was convincing. “We debated whether or not she was more like a knight or a princess.”

Clem’s only response was to lift an eyebrow, looking astonishingly like Professor McGongagall for having so little in common with the head of Gryffindor house. 

“We really did,” George said weakly before shaking his head slightly. “Look, can you just tell me where she is?” 

“I don’t know where she is,” Clem replied. “She wasn’t at breakfast.” 

Disappointed at the lack of new information, George nodded and turned to go.

“Whatever you did,” Clem said, making George turn around again, “you better not have hurt her.” The boy’s face turned menacing. “She really likes you.”

The first-year’s intention was certainly not to be encouraging, but George felt his spirits lift in spite of the hostility. “She said that?”

Clem shook his head. “She didn’t say anything. That’s how I know.” And with that, he left in the direction of his friends. 

George grinned stupidly at the floor. He knew Y/N would never let him close enough to snog her, much less snog him back if she didn’t like him. Still, it was nice to know. 

So nice that George practically skipped to the Gryffindor Common Room, where he’d seen Harry studying earlier. Harry’d taken to staying where Umbridge didn’t often go, meaning the Room of Requirement and Gryffindor territory. 

When George entered the sea of students all fighting for armchairs and couches, he spotted Harry in the corner by the fire and maneuvered towards him. “Harry, I need to use the map.”

Harry, to his credit, didn’t question George. He just led George into his dormitory and pulled the map from his chest to lay it on his bed. Soon, George was poring over the moving parts of the castle. 

“Who are we looking for?” Harry asked, joining George.

“Y/L/N.” 

George felt Harry tense beside him. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with her lately,” was the Chosen One’s chosen reply. Eyes not leaving the map, George hummed affirmatively. “Are you sure she’s trustworthy?”

“Yes.” George lifted his finger to pass it over the mass of names displayed in the Great Hall, even though he knew Y/N wasn’t there. Harry’s shoes shuffled on the floor, his weight shifting. “Spit it out,” George said, his finger now tracking down the dungeons. 

“How do you know she’s trustworthy?”

Ahh. So that’s what this was about.

George glanced at Harry, taking in the stubborn jut of the boy’s chin. “Would you ask me that if she were in Hufflepuff?”

Harry didn’t reply. 

“Y’know,” George said, his thoughtful tone masking his frustration, “Merlin was a Slytherin. So is Tonks’s mum.”

“And so’s Voldemort, Malfoy, Bellatrix, and Snape, and–”

“I know.” George blinked at Harry, uncertain how to explain his attachment to this particular Slytherin and his conviction that she was of upright character. Finally, he just shrugged. “She’s different, Harry.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Harry grumbled, bending over the map once more.

“I never know what I’m doing,” George quipped, though it sounded flat to his own ears. Truthfully, with Y/N, he knew exactly what he was doing. Well, trying to do. 

“There!” Harry pointed where, sure enough, her name was written beside a pair of footprints George thought were more lovely than any of the others he’d been looking at. 

George sighed, relieved. “The owlery.” He had no idea what she was doing there, but at least now he knew where he could find answers.

-

Standing in the owlery, staring out at the worsening storm, I waited. It was too cold for anyone to be loitering in the tower and with the snowstorm coming, no one in their right mind would send their owl out with a letter. 

But I knew a letter was coming for me. Y/L/Ns were never deterred by anything, certainly not weather. 

No letter had arrived, but I could almost feel the brush of feathers and harsh peck of a beak from Eris, the family owl. I could picture the Y/L/N family crest pressed into green wax, sealing the crisp grey envelope. Worse still, I could almost certainly forge an identical letter with no help. 

Y/L/Ns didn’t break the rules and certainly didn’t associate with Gryffindors. It was the job of daughters to take care of sons. If I really wanted to be a burden, I’d better leave Clem out of it. 

The sentiments were familiar, but just because one knew a curse and its caster didn’t mean the curse didn’t hurt. 

The snow started coming down harder and harder, and still I stood, watching the snowstorm for the black, elegant owl. The longer the letter took to arrive, the more my mind raced. 

Maybe Snape hadn’t mentioned my first detention with Umbridge; he loathed her nearly as much as the students did. Maybe he told them to revoke my Hogsmeade privileges. Maybe he’d mentioned both detentions without explaining why I’d gotten them. Would that be bad? My parents wouldn’t have context, and it was the context that was both paramount and damning. 

Absentmindedly, I lifted my cold fingers to my lips, assuredly shivering from the cold and not the memories from last night. 

I definitely hadn’t expected kissing George to be anything like what it had been. 

I shook my head. Wouldn’t have expected. It wasn’t like I’d been sitting around like a silly Hufflepuff, daydreaming about what it would feel like to have George kiss me. 

…was it possible Snape told my parents about the kiss?

No, not at all. To have told my parents about the kiss, he had to have seen it. And if he’d seen it, he would’ve seen George. And if he’d seen George, there is no way George would’ve made it out of the dungeon without detention. 

At least that piece of information was safe. My eyes caught on a speck, pulling me through my thoughts. 

Was that…

I squinted at the horizon. Were my eyes playing tricks on me? 

My heart sank as the dark speck in the furiously falling snow grew large enough for me to make out the flapping wings. 

Eris. 

She covered the last furlong of her journey too quickly for me to regain my composure. Settling on the glassless window frame, she held out her claw, the grey envelope dangling from it as if the words inside did not burden her in the least. 

With shaking hands, I accepted the letter. Eris, job done, flew off, selecting one of the topmost cubbies to rest. 

There was no writing on the outside of the envelope. My parents conducted enough secret business to keep the exterior of their correspondence anonymous and charm the envelope to burst into flames if someone other than the intended recipient opened it. 

Popping the wax seal open, I pulled out the letter to reveal the elegant script of my mother. Y/L/Ns believed that delicate handwriting was the first sign of a true lady. 

I looked away from the page, trying to control my breathing. I’d accepted their criticism before, how could this time be much different? Despite my efforts, my heart was in my mouth as I finally started reading. 

Scathing. The words were like knives, flaying me open. 

They’d never gone this far before. 

I struggled to draw breath from the thin air as I reread the final line. 

It is with every hope for your refined improvement, we have decided–

I crumpled the parchment, hurling it at the wall. The light parchment only made it two feet in the air before falling to the stone floor, removing the opportunity for satisfaction. Just another effort of mine that fell short. 

I looked up at the ceiling, refusing to cry. Tears only made everything worse. Y/L/Ns didn’t cry. 

Resting my hand against the freezing stone of the window frame, I closed my eyes, allowing the cold breeze to slowly numb my face. Numbness was better than feelings. 

Y/L/Ns never let anything get to them. 

Leaning forward to expose more and more of my body to the wind, I almost couldn’t feel the tears slipping down my cheeks. Furiously, I wiped them away, but soon the flow was too great to keep up with. 

I’d known better, I’d been better for almost my entire time at Hogwarts. I’d stayed away from everyone to protect myself, yes, but also to protect others, especially Clem. I was the only one who should’ve had to bear the force of our parents’ disapproval. 

I knew how to stay out of trouble, how to ensure my parents weren’t unnecessarily reminded of my existence, and I’d acted in spite of it. 

I’d done this to myself. It was all my own fault. 

I slammed a fist into the stone frame, the pressure in my chest growing with the effort of keeping down my sobs. 

The sound of footsteps on the stairs made me jolt. Holding a hand over my mouth, I pressed myself into the wall, trying to make myself small enough that if the individual walking up the steps were looking for an owl all the way at the top of the Owlery, they wouldn’t see me. Even so, I turned to face the storm, to keep my surely blotchy face away from any observer, even the owls. 

The footsteps grew louder and louder, my heart pounding. Whoever it was, they’d passed so many of the little alcoves housing the school owls, they must’ve been looking for a specific one. 

It doesn’t take long to post a letter, I told myself. It doesn’t take–

“Imagine,” said a familiar voice, “that I’ve been looking for a friend long enough to realise I haven’t found them because they’re avoiding me, and then I have the good luck to stumble upon their hiding place.”

No.

Not now. 

I turned my face farther away, pushing the side of my face into stone. “Bugger off.” There was a slight wobble in my words, and I could only hope the howling wind outside the tower covered it. 

“Well now, that’s not very nice. Can’t a good-looking bloke just enquire how a bonnie’s doing?” George asked good naturedly. 

“Not if–” My words were croaky as they left my thick throat. I cleared it. “Not if you’re stupid enough to be the bloke and I’m unlucky enough to be the bonnie.” 

Silence fell, and somehow the silence was worse than the sound of his voice in my current defenseless moment. His voice, useless as it was against the chill of my skin, was almost a balm against the chill emanating from my chest. 

Y/L/Ns didn’t need friends.

“Don’t slip on your way out,” I snapped. “I’d hate to step in blood on the stairs.”

I expected to hear the sound of footsteps on the owlery stairs, but George was never one to do the expected. “Y/N,” he said carefully. “Why are you crying?”

Bloody hell. Bloody, minging, blooming, manky hell. 

I stared harder at the snowy mountains as they grew blurrier. “Not today, Wealsey.”

It was silent for a moment. “If you really wanted me to leave, you shouldn’t have used my last name. It's another sign that something’s wrong.”

“Please go away,” I managed to say. I should’ve known that the appearance of manners would only make George more determined. 

The next step was softer, unhurried in the way that George always was. The knowledge that he was coming closer made me curl myself tighter towards the window. “What’s wrong?” he asked slowly and clearly. As if articulation was the reason he hadn’t gotten an answer.

“Nothing.” Blinking only loosed another tear.

“I never heard of anyone crying over nothing.”

“Please,” I whispered again, not sure what I was asking for, but knowing I couldn’t bear for him to stand there and know that I was crying. 

“Don’t leave me hanging.” How could he sound so gentle and so fearful at the same time? It tugged painfully at the pressure in my chest. “Talk to me about what’s going on.” 

I was losing the will to resist. “Just leave me alone,” I begged as a last ditch effort. 

“Tell me it isn’t about last night, tell me I didn’t hurt you.” 

I squeezed my eyes shut at the alarm in his tone. He was too good, too good for this school and too good for this situation and too good for me. He really was a knight in shining armor, but I was not the princess for him. “It’s not you.” 

I’d expected some relief or further pressing, but George didn’t say anything. The only sounds in the tower was the howling of the wind outside and the rustling and shifting of hundreds of owls. He couldn’t have left, I would’ve heard him. 

In my mind, I tried to picture the way George looked behind me. The only thing I could easily see was the concern I’d seen in his face many a time. Did he have his hands in his pockets the way he tended to when he shuffled along beside me in the hall? Or were they clenched at his sides in frustration? 

The curiosity was too much. I peeked.

George’s hands weren’t in his pockets; they were holding a familiar sheet of parchment. He stared down in shock at it, and my fear skyrocketed. 

I lunged, snatching the letter from him. “Don’t!” 

Many of the sleeping owls started, some awakening from sleep to settle their attentive eyes on us. Disgruntled hoots filled the air, echoing throughout the tower. I hadn’t meant to disturb the dignified creatures, but remorse couldn’t puncture my panic. 

George’s deep horror was a terrible thing to see. “That was from your parents?”

“No.” I stuffed the letter into the pocket of my trousers. “No, a-and it’s none of your business!”

“Why would they write all that?” George's brown eyes—solemn as the owls’—tore into me even deeper than the letter crumpled in my fist. “That's messed up, Y/N.” 

I swiped at my cheeks, trying to hide the evidence of my hurt. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Y/N, I’ve gotten detention more times than I can count, my parents have never written a letter like that. Even their Howlers aren’t that awful.”

As if my parents would ever do anything as undignified as a Howler. Besides, they did just fine without the added volume. 

 George started towards me, and I shrunk away from him. He stopped. “Y/N…they’re wrong. You’re not a burden.” 

My breathing hitched. “George–”

“You’re not.”

“It’s none of your business,” I replied, but my tone was anything but convincing. Also unconvincing was the painful rate at which my breathing was reaching. 

“How could they say all that to you just for getting detention?” George asked with a clear mix of sadness and disgust.

I needed to regain control of the situation, to get the upper hand before this spiraled further. “You're overreacting.”

Anger joined Geroge’s mix. “Is that what they've told you?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I told him fiercely. “It’s fine.”

“It isn’t!” George shook his head angrily. “They don’t know you, they don’t know that all that you’ve done, you’ve done to protect those you care about. First Clem…” George trailed off. “Then me.” A strange look was growing on his face, a look which threatened the conclusions he was arriving at.

I glared. “Stop talk–”

“You protected me from injustice,” he smoothly interrupted, “but Clem snuck that broomstick into the castle, that detention was rightfully his.” 

“I mean it, George!” I warned, but George didn’t heed me. 

“Now why would you try so desperately to protect him from the school? Well, you wouldn’t.”

“Stop it!”

“You were protecting him,” George pointed at the parchment still in my hand, “from that.” 

“You…” It was getting harder to catch my breath. “You don’t understand.” 

A spark flamed in George’s eyes. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“You’re wrong.”

George cracked a small smile and made a disappointed sound. “I should’ve seen that coming.” He stepped closer. “See, I don’t believe you.”

“I will end you,” I threatened, backing away but George didn’t stop this time. “You hear me? If you keep pushing me and talking to me and smiling at me and going to detention with me and kissing me and trying to save me–” My back hit the stone grid of the window, and a surprised gasp left my lips. I quickly held out my hand to keep him at bay. “If you come any closer, I…I’ll break you!”

George stepped close enough for my hand to rest on his chest. The contact made him stop, making me think he’d finally heeded my warning, until he lifted his hand to cover mine. “I know your parents made you believe that. But I don’t.”

I yanked my hand away from him like I’d been burned, even though it was my heart that stung, not my skin. I was trapped. Either I stepped further away and risked sending myself through the glassless window…or I stepped closer to George. “Walk away, George, I mean it!”

“No.”

“I’ll hex you!”

“Then hex me.” George’s hands cupped my shoulders, pulling me in.

I fought it, pushing against his chest, trying to get him to let me go, but his grip only grew more insistent. “Don’t,” I moaned, turning my face away so he couldn’t see the fresh tears falling.

But George never was good at following directions. 

His arms came around me, holding me tightly.

And I shattered.

An inhuman sound spilled from my mouth as my tears fell with foolhardy abandon. My knees gave out, George being the only thing holding me up. He slowly lowered us to the Owlery floor, never once loosening the grip that kept me upright. 

“How do you do it?” I wept, thinking of how easily George had accepted Snape’s bullying and the judgment from his housemates. “How do you not care?”

George pressed a quick kiss to my temple, his arms holding me tighter. “They’re your parents. I don’t think it’s possible for you not to care.” I pressed my face into his chest, trying to muffle the horrid sounds I was making, and he lightly ran his hand over my hair. “They don’t know the real you,” he whispered as I sobbed. “I’m not going anywhere,” George whispered into my temple. “I told you, you won’t break me.”

“You broke me,” I moaned, my nose rubbing against the soft knit of his sweater. 

George pressed his cheek to my head. “I’m here,” he said. “It’s alright.”

-

The sky was fully dark now, and the chill had crept its long fingers around my ears and toes, but still I clung to George like a raft in a storm.

And he let me, even though my cries had subsided. 

“I understand now,” he said softly when we’d been silent for what felt like hours.

I’d never wanted him to. Even now as he held me, the knowledge that he had seen me cry made my stomach twist unpleasantly. But I was too tired to fight it now, and it felt too good to be this close to him. 

“You need to warn Clem.” I didn’t immediately protest, but George seemed to know how much I hated the idea. “I know, it flies in the face of all you’ve done to protect him, but he needs to know. You might not be able to intercept the next letter.”

I sat up. “How do you know I’ve been intercepting his letters?”

George’s gaze was tired as his deft fingers tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. “Because I know you, Y/N. I’ve seen you in protective mode.”

“Clem is still good.” I wiped my nose on my sleeve. “They will ruin him.”

“He loves you, Y/N, he loves you so much. He wouldn’t want you to keep this from him.” His hand left my ear to cup my cheek. “It’s not fair for you to shoulder this alone.” Not fair, he shouldn’t have been arguing this with me when he kept brushing his thumb across my cheekbone, like he knew his touch would make me more obliging. 

I gathered enough willpower to shake my head, which sadly made George drop his hand. “He’s the son they always wanted,” I nevertheless replied. “He will head up the family legacy one day, and the less damaged he is when he does, the better for everyone.”

“So what are you going to tell him about Christmas?”

I shouldn’t have been surprised that he’d gotten to that point of the letter. “I’ll tell them they went to the Mediterranean, they have a villa there.”

“He’s eleven, not stupid.”

“I’d rather he suspect something than know that his parents forbade him and his sister from coming home for Christmas.” 

George let out a long sigh. “How am I supposed to go home for the break if I know that you’re here by yourself?” 

I pressed myself into him again, unwilling to admit how much the idea of him leaving affected me. 

George’s fingers lightly ran through my hair. “Well,” he mused, “you’ll just have to come home with me.”

I pushed away from George and onto my feet so quickly, my head spun. “What?”

Looking marvelously unruffled from his position on the floor, George held my gaze. “If you come with me, I won’t have to spend all day worrying about you because I’ll be able to make sure you’re alright.”

“I could never leave Clem alone.”

George rolled his eyes. “Don’t pretend you don’t know Clem’s included in that invitation.”

Astonishing, how quickly all my pain and embarrassment could transform into incredulity. “George, I’ve never even had a conversation with your twin, and you want me and my brother to spend Christmas with your family?” 

He didn’t dissolve into explanations or excuses. He simply looked up at me and said: “Yes.”

“That’s absurd.” 

“Yes.”

“Your family will be shocked.”

“Yes.”

“And Christmas break is almost two weeks long!”

“Yes.”

“Stop saying yes!”

George rose to his feet. “Look, you don’t want Clem to know what your parents have said, right? Simply telling him your parents are going on holiday isn’t going to be enough. But if they’re going on holiday and the two of you have an invitation elsewhere, he won’t think about it too much.”

“He’s eleven, not stupid,” I parroted.

“Trust me. As someone who once was an eleven-year-old boy, he’ll be wholly focused on playing Quidditch scrimmages and eating as much food as his stomach can hold.”

I hated to admit it, but that sounded like a better Christmas break than Clem had ever had. “But won’t your parents be–”

“My parents,” George wrapped his arms around my lower back, drawing me into his embrace again, “would love to have you home, our house has always been open to friends.”

I blinked, suddenly full of nerves of a different kind. “Friends?”

Unfortunately, George’s perception did not suffer a lapse. He grinned. “That can be a conversation for later.”

Covering my brilliantly warm cheeks with my freezing hands, I tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let me. “Do you trust me?” he whispered. 

“Regrettably.”

George, the wonder that he was, tilted his head back to let out a laugh. “I swear, if you and Clem come with me for Christmas, the two of you will be safe. And who knows?” He looked down at me with twinkling eyes. “You might even have fun.” 

I knew I should say no. Forget their displeasure over Snape’s letter, if my parents found out I was even entertaining spending the holidays with the Weasleys, let alone that I’d gone and brought Clem? The catastrophic repercussions for both the Weasleys and myself could not be understated. 

But with George’s arms around me once again, anchoring me, keeping me safe, I looked up in his eyes and gave him my answer.

“Okay.”

-

Overall tag list:

@thelastpyle @valiantlytransparentwhispers

Series tag list:

@onelemonoat @goldfishinpainttubes @screaming-les-bean @catpjimin

[im-a-wonderling]

to the girl i was then, picking apart rhymes and doing as she was told: i forgive you.

for the table and the lion and the river, too.

they were not your children, and you were just a girl. too little to hold them, too big to be held, your world had no space for anything else.

he did not die because of you. she was not snatched because of you. you did not send the snow nor wield the sword.

your mother placed the world atop you and is it such a wonder that it fell? your palms were wet with sweat and your brother's shoulders buckled under the strain. the wonder is how long you could both stand it.

and you're right. he's a beaver. he shouldn't be saying anything at all. he should not have said what he did. none of you should have had the christmas you've had.

i forgive you.

for the train, most of all.

[im-a-wonderling]

Thank you so much for the new White Moves First chapter! You have no idea how much I’ve been waiting for it. I had a midterm exam this morning when i got the notification and i said f it, i gotta read this. Safe to say my priorities are clear 😂. But fr you made my day 🥰

You're welcome!! I'm so, so, SO glad you enjoyed it! Also, same, I am currently trying to study for my microbiology exam and failing miserably. I hope your midterm went well!

[im-a-wonderling]

White Moves First, Part 9 ~ Edmund Pevensie

I had to take a quick break from studying for my Microbiology exam to put the final touches on this and post it. Hope y'all 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: unhealthy paternal relationship

Word count: 5k

White Moves First masterlist | Main masterlist

The next morning arrived too soon. I blinked at the bright sun shining in my face. Why had Rona forgotten to draw the drapes last night?

I pressed my face further into my pillow, searching with my hand for a blanket to pull over my head. My exploring hands, however, didn’t find a blanket to serve as a haven from the blinding sun, but brushed something soft and warm. Groggy, I cracked open my left eye to see a blurry face. With a blink or two, my view cleared enough for me to realize it was Edmund.

Both eyes were wide open now as I stared dumbly at the face of my best friend. 

Oh. 

Wedding.

Edmund lay on his stomach, his head pressed so deep into the pillow, I could only see half of his face. His features looked exactly the same as they did when he was awake, smooth and relaxed. Did Edmund really express himself with his face so little?

My heartrate kicked up, pulling me to sit bolt upright. Edmund was asleep in my bed. Or was I awake in his bed? Technically, we weren't in his bedchamber or mine, so this was just...a bed?

I’d never slept in the same bed as anyone before.

Funny, I would've thought having company while I slept would've affected said sleep somehow, yet...I’d slept much the same as I had every other night. How could such a large change be so seamlessly integrated? 

Huh.

Wide awake now, I slowly rolled onto my side to stand from the bed as silently as possible. Gripping the heavy curtains, I pulled them closed. A glance over my shoulder confirmed that Edmund still slept, and I then made up my mind that he should sleep as long as he could. The last few days had been full of challenge and strife. Rest was paramount. I quickly changed into a light dress that Rona had left in the room for me yesterday morning. 

“Ring the bell for me,” she’d told me as she laid it down, “and I’ll bring you and your husband breakfast.”

But why would we need to take breakfast in the bedchamber? I’d spent my whole life eating breakfast with my family in our private dining room; I saw no reason to stop now. 

After rinsing my face in the wash bowl, I crossed to the bedchamber door and pushed down on the heavy handle. The worn metal let out a horrid, loud creak. Frozen, I listened to the sounds of Edmund shifting in the bed, then breathed out a soft sigh of relief when they stopped. 

Slipping out of the chamber, I walked to the family dining room. 

The corridors were full of servants running this way and that, carrying garments, bowls, buckets, rags, baskets, flowers from the chapel, everything imaginable. Every one of them seemed surprised to see me, their eyes widening and their pace increasing so they passed me sooner. 

I ignored them. The novelty of their princess being a married woman would wear off for them soon. 

Brushing into the room, I saw both Cor and Corin were seated. Slouching horribly, Corin shoved his eggs into his mouth as fast as his fork would allow while Cor was cutting his bacon into neat bites. From the way they behaved, one would think that Cor grew up in the castle while Corin was off in south Calormen. But no, Cor doubled down on the rules to make up for the years spent without manners and Corin disregarded them entirely out of spite. 

They both paused as I started dishing up my plate, looking at me with expressions similar to the servants’.

“Good morning,” I said pointedly. 

“We, er…didn’t expect to see you this early,” Cor said, with a strange twist to his lips.

“I don’t have much time left with my family before we leave for Narnia,” I replied. “I want to enjoy it while I can.” My brothers exchanged a look I could not understand before returning to their food. 

We ate in silence for a few minutes, allowing me to get halfway through my sausage before the door to the dining room swung open. The way my father rubbed his head as he walked gingerly told me that wine was indeed part of his jubilance the day before. 

“Good morning,” I said.

He quirked a brow. “Good morning,” he said slowly. “Is King Edmund joining us?”

I finished chewing my bite of biscuit. “He may. I didn’t wake him before leaving.” My father looked at the twins the same way they’d looked at each other. “What?” I demanded. 

“Nothing, my dear.” My father patted my shoulder before taking his place at the head of the table. “Nothing at all.”

Somehow I doubted that, just as much as I doubted my ability to pry the answers out of them.

The only sounds filling the room were the clinking of cutlery and the soft sounds of chewing. Many a breakfast had been spent this way…so why did the silence bother me so? Why did I so long for my father or one of my brothers to say something? It wasn’t as if this morning was like every other morning we’d ever spent together. I was a married woman now.

“When will you and King Edmund be returning to Narnia?” Cor asked finally. 

I smiled at him. “I’m not sure. We haven’t discussed it yet.”

“I imagine he’ll inform us when he wakes.” My father’s tone was careless, his eyes focused solely on his plate. 

“Well, if–” I began to say, but the opening of the door made me stop. 

“Good morning, all.” Edmund swept inside and took a seat beside me without any hesitation, as if it was natural. As if we’d been doing it all our lives. 

“Good morning, King Edmund!” my father boomed. “I trust you slept well?”

Edmund dished a healthy helping of scrambled eggs onto his plate. “I did indeed.”

My brothers glanced at each other, Corin with his mouth agape and Cor looking like he’d just swallowed his boiled egg whole. I paused in my chewing to give them a strange look, but upon noticing my attention, they quickly lowered their gaze to their food, their cheeks a deep shade of pink. 

How odd. 

“The banquet went on for hours last night.” My father’s satisfaction rang off his every word. “The nobles and council all send their compliments on a wonderful celebration.” I wiped my mouth with my napkin to hide my frown. King Loon was only addressing Edmund, as if the compliments from those on the guest list was some private victory to be shared between the two of them. 

Edmund inclined his head with an admirable grace. “That is very kind of them. I’m glad I wasn’t the only one who enjoyed the special day."

King Loon’s enthusiastic head bobbing was hard to watch. I lowered my gaze to my plate, trying to tune out the rest of the conversation and numb the hurt wrapping around my insides. 

A hand touched my arm, causing me to look up at Edmund. “Did you sleep well?” he asked softly. 

I smiled back at him. “I could not–”

My father laid down his goblet, making a loud clunk that drew all eyes to him. “So.” He leaned forward towards Edmund, bracing his arms on the table. “It's time to discuss Y/N’s coronation.”

Edmund didn’t look away from my father, but his hand, previously resting lightly on my forearm, slid lightly down until it could lace with mine. He squeezed quickly, and I somehow knew that he was waiting for a signal. If I squeezed back, he’d take the lead. 

I looked across the table at my brothers, trying to warn them with my eyes. They in turn glanced at each other, concern on their faces. They didn’t know what the eruption would be, only that it was about to occur. “Father,” I said lightly, “there isn’t going to be a coronation.”

King Loon let out some sort of laugh that sounded uncannily like that of a temperamental mare. “I know you don’t like having all the attention on you, but you have married a king. There’s going to be a coronation at some point, so it might as well be as soon as possible.”

Edmund let go of my hand, his jaw clenching. My hand shot out to rest on his thigh, making him look over at me. I shook my head minutely, begging him to remain silent. This was my choice. It was only fair that I should break the news and receive the brunt of his displeasure. “There isn’t going to be a coronation, Father,” I repeated gently, “because I’m not going to be a queen.”

Cor and Corin exchanged another look, communicating in the way that twins could. “Perhaps we should leave,” Cor suggested as they both stood. 

“Nonsense! You will stay,” my father commanded. Once my twin brothers were reluctantly but silently seated once more, my father turned to me, a smile breaking out on his face once more. “Y/N, you’re in such good spirits from the wedding that you jest!”

The muscle underneath my hand tensed, and I knew I was losing my opening before Edmund jumped in. “I’m not cracking jokes,” I said quickly. “I’m being serious.”

King Loon gave a short laugh. From the way Edmund’s fingers curled into a fist around his fork and the dark expression on his face, he seemed prepared to use the fork to eviscerate my father. “She speaks the truth, Your Majesty.” Even his voice seemed ready to cause damage. Edmund had seen my father’s arrogant stubbornness before; why was it affecting him so much more now?

Finally seeming to realize it wasn’t a practical joke, my father’s figure seemed to swell with indignance, but not at me. King Loon glared at my husband. “I did not let her marry you simply so she could remain what she already was.”

My mouth dropped in utter disbelief, and I wouldn’t have been able to muster a response. Edmund however, glowered with such menace, I could hardly find similarities between his face and the face of the man I'd woken up next to. “And I did not marry her simply so you could have all you wanted!” I stared at Edmund, dumbfounded by the volume of his words.

“It’s not what I want, it’s what she wants,” King Loon protested. 

“And how would you know that?” Edmund dropped his fork onto his plate, making a loud clang that made me jump. “You have not asked her what she wants!”

“That’s not true!”

But Edmund was just getting started. “You did not ask her if she wants to be crowned! You did not ask her if she was willing to marry Prince Rabadash! You did not even ask her if she wanted to marry me, and if she hadn’t already agreed to marry me, I would not have asked you for her hand!”

My brothers glanced at me with a mixture of guilt and horror, and it was then I remembered that they didn’t know I’d known about the potential arrangement with Rabadash. My father, however, had recovered himself and did not look at all abashed. He slammed his hands on the table as he stood, all pretenses of courtesy gone. “You tricked me! Convinced me to marry off my only daughter only to throw away any chance of her becoming a queen!”

“Father!” I said sharply. 

“Stay out of this!” King Loon snapped, without even looking away from Edmund. 

Edmund rose to his feet with a lethal speed I’d never before seen. I was surprised the very foundations of the castle weren't shaking from the pure strength of his fury. “If you must raise your voice with anyone, you will raise it at me.”

The two kings stared at each other, an exhibitionistic stubbornness on one side and a quiet, steely resolve on the other. 

I got to my feet, laying a hand on Edmund’s arm. “King Edmund.” Edmund tore his eyes away from my father, allowing me to see the depths of rage in his eyes. I tried to exude gratitude for his willingness to face my father’s unhappiness. “You needn’t strain yourself. This is a conversation between my father and I.”

For a long moment, the room was still. “What is the meaning of this?” my father asked me, his anger a pale monument beside Edmund’s. He turned his baleful gaze on my husband. “King Edmund, talk some sense into your bride.”

Edmund’s posture straightened, bringing him to his full, towering height. “She is not my bride, she is my wife.” He stepped away from the table, pushing his chair in before fixing my father with an exceedingly stony stare. “We are allies, Your Majesty. You do not command Narnia.”

King Loon went abruptly still, his shoulders finally sagging in the face of Edmund’s anger. He turned towards me for the first time, looking more uncertain than I’d ever seen. “Y/N,” said my father beseechingly, his voice suddenly small, “you should be queen. Surely you see that. You wed a king, that’s…” he gestured loosely, “that’s how these things go. You’re going to advocate to be queen, yes? Because you’re a good daughter.”

“Let me be more clear.” Edmund grasped my hand, so tight it bordered on painful. “I said you do not command Narnia. As of yesterday, Y/N now belongs to Narnia.”

My heart contracted harshly, though at what aspect of that truth, I wasn’t sure.

My father huffed and puffed, clearly trying to cover the hole my husband just poked in his authority. “I…I…you still haven’t received her dowry!” he spluttered. 

“You can keep it,” Edmund replied roughly. Without waiting for my father’s response, he tugged me out of the room. 

Tongue-tied by what just happened, I numbly followed Edmund through the castle, holding up my skirt to keep up with my husband’s furious pace without tripping. I didn’t realize where he was going until he turned the corner leading to my drawing room. As soon as we crossed the threshold, Edmund let go of me. I slowed to a stop as he marched to the windows and braced his hands on the window sill, staring out. 

We stood in silence. 

What was I supposed to do? I’d never seen Edmund like this. Did he want space and silence to calm down? Did he need someone to talk to in order to ease his anger? I’d never talked someone through their anger before. I’d never even been allowed to show it to any degree close to how Edmund was showing it. 

Cautiously, I approached him. He must’ve heard me coming, but his stare didn’t waver. 

“Ed?” 

No response. 

I rested a light hand on Edmund’s shoulder, light enough that he could shake it off. He didn’t. I almost withdrew, my instincts on what was appropriate telling me to pull away. But Edmund and I weren’t merely friends anymore. We were allowed to do whatever felt natural, and in this moment, I wanted to help him more. 

Encouraged, I slid my hand to Edmund’s face, nudging it over to me so that I could see his expression. When I finally did see it, I almost shrunk away from him.

The contortion of his face around his dark eyes was startling. A vein stood out in his forehead, pulsing in a way that felt like his anger had replaced his blood and was now coursing through his system. 

Moving slowly, I stepped closer, using my thumbs to smooth out the wrinkled skin between his eyebrows. “Breathe,” I instructed. Edmund’s inhale caught in his chest multiple times before he had enough air to exhale. As he did, my hands slid gently down the sides of his face, pausing on his jaw. “Again,” I whispered, and he obeyed.

My hands moved to his shoulders, trying to draw the anger out of him with gentle touches. 

Edmund’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, one of his hands leaving the window sill to rest on my waist. “Are you okay?”

Is that what he was angry about?

Cupping his jaw to keep him in place, I pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. “I’m okay. You don’t need to be worried.”

His shoulders slouched, the final bit of tension leaving them. Both hands were on my waist now, using me to hold him up instead of the window. 

I bit my lip, the next issue presenting itself. “We need to make things right with my father.”

Edmund twisted, whipping his face out of my hands as both hands left me. “Why?” he spat. “He’s trying to take advantage of you.”

Me? Wasn’t he really trying to take advantage of Edmund?

Not important. 

“We won’t let that happen. We can smooth things over without a coronation.”

“He’s in the wrong,” Edmund grumbled. 

“I know he is, just like I know that you’re trying to protect me. But…you don’t have to prove yourself to me. I know who you are, just like I know who my father is. I don’t expect him to change because of a marriage, and I don’t want you to change because of a marriage.”

“But who I am is someone who will protect you,” Edmund argued. “I made a vow.”

“You won’t be breaking it by making sure that Narnia and Archenland still have good relations.”

Edmund scoffed, his eyes moving to stare out the window again. “Relations,” he muttered under his breath. “As if I care about relations.”

A little chuckle escaped me. “You do care about relations. Maybe not at the moment, but you do.”

His eyes took on a dazed glint. “How are you able to think rationally right now?” he whispered. “How is the anger not eating you up inside?”

“I’m not more rational than you are.” I sighed, brushing my hand against his chin again, and a little knot in my chest eased when he let me. “I simply gave up on him a long time ago.”

Edmund pursed his lips. “I want us to leave for Narnia today.”

I hesitated. 

I’d known we would leave eventually, but that eventuality seemed much farther away before the wedding. As much as I’d longed for Narnia, I’d never left this castle, nor known any other home than the one I’d been born in. 

But if this disastrous fallout with my father told us anything, it was that it was time for change. Time for my best friend and I to call the same place home.

“Alright, we can leave today.” I started for the door, already thinking of where to look for Rona to pack my things when something tugged on my hand. I looked down to see Edmund’s fingers interlacing with mine. Gently, he pulled me back to my spot beside him, not saying anything until I looked up at his face.

I could still see the residual anger in the worried skin between his eyebrows, but his eyes were remorseful. “I’m not trying to make a deal. Regardless of when we leave for Narnia…if you want me to apologize, I will.”

I felt as though my heart had fallen through the floor, only to spread wings and flutter off towards the sun. “How did I end up with a husband as good as you?” I murmured. 

Edmund’s mouth spread into a small smirk. “You said yes.”

That I had, in almost the exact spot in which we were standing. He’d poured his heart out to me, all the while his pleading eyes tugged at every part of me, stealing away any possible resistance. He had no idea how tightly my heart squeezed in my chest when he first said the words: ‘marry me’. Not the slightest idea that all my protests hadn’t been for my sake, but for his. 

How many sacrifices had he made for me since then? And what had I ever done to deserve such loyalty? 

“Edmund?” I said quietly. 

“Yeah?” came the immediate response. 

“I’ll go smooth things over with my father.” I squeezed his hand. “While I do that, you can make the arrangements for us to go home.”

“Home.” Edmund’s eyes sparkled. It seemed he liked the sound of that as much as I did. 

-

Edmund had far more success than I. 

I went to my father’s study, the library, the gardens, and the throne room before one of the stewards said my father had retreated to his bedchamber. When I knocked upon the closed door and entreated my father to open it so that we might talk, I received no response. I paced back and forth for what felt likes ages before I lost patience and tried the handle.

It was locked.

My father did not want to speak to me. 

Feeling down, I went to find Edmund, a task that proved much easier. 

Somehow, he’d almost finished working with Rona to pack all of my things, directing her away from the things which would be supplied to me upon reaching Cair Paravel. I stood awkwardly in my bedchamber as Edmund and Rona flitted back and forth. 

Rona left the room to grab a set of combs that she’d been polishing for me, and Edmund pulled a dress from my wardrobe and began folding it himself.

Cheeks burning, I whisked forward and plucked it from his hands. “You shouldn’t be doing that,” I muttered, quickly folding it and stashing it in one of my trunks. Edmund’s eyebrows pulled together in concern. “You have so many more important things to do than help me pack.”

At that, Edmund’s face stretched into a grin, and he laughed. My flush deepened as I closed the trunk, and I knew Edmund noticed it. 

“I’m not laughing at you,” he told me, still chuckling. 

“No?” I arched a brow. “Because it feels like you are.”

That seemed to sober him. “I’m sorry.” He reached for me, sliding his arms around my back to pull his reluctant wife into a hug. “But when are you going to learn that my most important things involve helping you however I can?” 

I let out a humph on principle, even though his response made my knees soften like butter in the sun. Rona returned, and Edmund respectfully released me before resuming his task with my lady-in-waiting. 

Within an hour, our things were all packed and being loaded onto the carriages and wagons the Narnian monarchs had brought with them. 

Dressed in my favorite riding habit, I walked with Edmund through the Great Hall, glancing around at it as we walked. There was history in this room. The corner I always liked in the wintertime because the meager sunshine would pass through the nearby window. The stairs on which I’d fallen and skinned my knees countless times. I’d never given much thought until now. When was the next time I’d see that window or those stairs?

“The carriages are ready, your majesty,” said one of the Narnian soldiers, a faun who fell into step beside us “We must leave soon if we wish to be back in Narnia before sundown.”

Edmund nodded and thanked him, before leaning closer to me. “Time to say our goodbyes.”

“We ought to wait for my father,” I said.

A flash of the earlier anger settled on Edmund’s face. “If we wait too much longer, we won’t make it before dark.” 

I gave a quick nod before approaching my brothers, who’d been watching the process of packing up the procession with great interest. As I walked closer to them with goodbye on my lips, my eyes started welling up with tears. I’d been separated from them before. Cor lived in Calormen for years, and Corin grew up attending events in Narnia and Calormen. But this time was different, because for the first time, I was the one leaving them behind. 

“You’ll write us, right?” Cor asked. His transition from peasant to prince hadn’t been easy, and he’d needed much help from me in the past few years, which must’ve been why he looked so worried. “And stay out of trouble, won’t you?”

“Of course. On both counts.” 

Corin placed his hands on my shoulders, looking me directly in the eye. “Get in as much trouble as you possibly can.” 

I laughed, pulling them both into a bone-crushing hug. “I’m going to miss you guys.” The twins held me just as tightly as I did them, and it seemed none of us wanted to be the first to let go. 

“Now, now, don’t make a scene,” said my father’s voice. 

Reluctantly, we separated, my brothers stepping away to allow my father forward. 

He was clearly still upset from the conversation at breakfast, I could see it in his face. But I was reservedly glad he’d come to see us off. Leaving at all was strange, but leaving without saying goodbye would’ve been far worse.

“Thank you,” I said softly, hoping my softness would soften him. I didn’t dare give him a hug, so I curtsied. A sign of respect, a gesture of my allegiance to the king of Archenland before all who watched. But the words I spoke were quiet because they weren’t performative. “I love you.” 

My father nodded. Say it back, I silently pleaded. I’m leaving. Please tell me you love me. King Loon opened his mouth, and my hopes rose. “I will see you in a few months.”

My hopes fell like doves stricken from the sky, and the winces on my brothers’ faces did not stop the free fall.

He could never love me in the way daughters ought to be loved by their fathers, if he even loved me at all. Something inside of him was so broken, so warped that he couldn’t give me what I needed from him. 

But I didn’t need him anymore. I folded my hands in front of me, staring into my father’s eyes. I will never curtsey to him again, I promised myself. “I left Mother’s crown in my bedchamber,” I told him. “It means more to you than to me.”

And with that, I turned to rejoin my husband. 

My father would most certainly retake my mother’s crown, holding onto what was quite possibly the last remnants of love in him. 

If I were ever to die, would Edmund break in the same way my father had broken? Would he shut himself off from those who loved him best, hiding behind locked doors? Sinking deeper into titles and formalities and pretension, all of which isolated him? 

I hoped not.

Edmund inclined his head to my father and brothers before leading me to two horses in the middle of the procession. 

One I recognized: my grey mare. The other must’ve been Edmund’s, a stallion of a deep reddish-brown with a white star on his forehead.  

“Your stallion is beautiful,” I said. 

The horse lifted his head and stared directly at me. “Thank you, your highness.”

My mouth fell open, and Edmund started chuckling at my gawking. “Y/N, this is Philip. Philip, Y/N.”

“You’re Philip?” I asked. “Oh, Edmund’s told me all about you!” Particularly their adventures that more often than not ended with Philip saving Edmund’s life. Of course, Edmund hadn’t mentioned that Philip was a horse. “I didn’t know you were staying with us.”

Philip tossed his head. “I wish I could’ve attended the nuptials, but I’m afraid your father declared the chapel for people only.” 

“What?” I blurted. He hadn’t mentioned that, let alone asked. Edmund’s face soured. He already knew this, I realized. I knew how hard it was not to have his older brother at his wedding, but my father hadn’t even allowed one of Edmund’s dear friends to attend? How was it possible that Edmund’s sacrifice for me kept growing?

Conflicted, I hadn’t even noticed Edmund had guided me to my mare until one of the Archenland soldiers stepped forward with the customary step to allow me to get up on horseback. But before the soldier could even set the step down, Edmund’s hands found my hips. “Jump,” he said.

I jumped. 

With the added momentum, Edmund easily got me up into the saddle. “It’s handy having a husband,” I said, smiling down at him as he guided my foot into the stirrup. 

Edmund grinned. “Well, I could hardly trust anyone else to take such good care of you.”

My cheeks warmed, and I ducked my head as Edmund checked that my other foot was securely in its position. He got onto Philip with a fluid ease that made me flush and avert my eyes.

“Forward!” the faun from earlier called, and slowly the whole procession stirred into motion. I glanced around, trying to locate where all my possessions were, but all I could see was how large the procession seemed. It hadn’t felt so grand when I’d watched Edmund arrive. I counted nearly a hundred Narnians, none of which I had seen in the castle.

Where had my father told them to stay? I dearly hoped he hadn’t condemned them all to stay in the stables; there was no way they could all fit. 

I turned to wave at my brothers, but we were far enough away from the castle that I noticed a figure on the topmost balcony, watching us depart. Proximity wasn’t needed; even if I couldn’t see the face, only one person at the castle would wear robes of such outrageous orange.

My lips curved up in a smile.

Checkmate, I silently told Prince Rabadash. 

But when my eyes lowered to see my brothers, standing right where I’d left them, my chest ached in a way it never did during victory. As if feeling the ache as well, my brothers lifted their hands, waving me off into my new life.

I sat forward again, brushing away a quick tear, my heart heavy. “At least I don��t have to say goodbye to you,” I whispered to my lady’s maid, who was riding behind me.

Rona smiled. “No, you don’t, your highness.” 

“Nor you,” I said, turning to look at Edmund, feeling suddenly shy.

“Never again,” Edmund said back, his hand leaving the reins to lace through mine.

-

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 @ajwild220

[im-a-wonderling]

I just hit 40k words written for White Moves First! It's crazy that this was only supposed to be a singular scene with Edmund getting jealous of Rabadash dancing with the MC. Just goes to show that stories have a life of their own 😂

[im-a-wonderling]

Rescue Me, Part 6 ~ Obi-Wan Kenobi

I have to thank @hmuwithemfeeeels, @writing-on-the-wahl, and @sassysaxxy profusely. All three of them read through every version of this part (of which there were many), sometimes multiple times. They all helped me on the path of making this part what it needed to be. I wish I could be more eloquent, but honestly, I'm just so glad that this part is finally finished, I've been working on this for months.

Summary: Y/N painfully works through her recovery while Obi-Wan is nowhere to be found.

Warnings: healthy weight gain

Word count: 5.6k

Rescue Me masterlist | Main masterlist

Vokara Che wasn’t a healer of ringing endorsements, but her grudging smile made me liable to burst with pride. “You’re making progress,” she said, laying her data pad beside me. 

I beamed at her, matching the sunshine on the walls of the Jedi temple infirmary. The itch to get moving—to return to my old self—was insatiable. I missed the faith that my legs could hold me while my hands held my lightsaber and the knowledge that my body could sustain the defense of my ideals. “When can I start training?” 

The Twi’lek healer pursed her lips. “I’m still concerned about your lungs.”

My smile and pride faded. That sounded like she wasn’t going to clear me, and that was…unacceptable. “My lung function will improve–”

Vokara Che crossed her arms, showing her famous stubbornness and making me more nervous. “You know that rushed healing makes botched healing.”

“It’s been almost a week, how is that rushing?” I argued.

But neither volume nor impatience could sway the unmovable rock that was Vokara Che. “Tell me how many days you were gone. Say the number.”

I looked into Vokara Che’s unyielding face, trying to ignore the jump of fear in my chest. “Vokara–”

She held up her hand. “Eleven days. Very little water, very little food.” My stomach turned as she spoke, as if it, alongside my brain, held onto the memories of that dark, Force-forsaken dungeon. “Your chains prevented you from moving your arms, leading to the breakdown of your muscles.” My shoulders ached, like she was awakening the wounds with her words. “Your mind was fractured–”

“My mind is fine,” I snapped. “I am a healer, same as you, and if I–”

“And all of that happened,” Vokara Che raised her voice, “before you suffered hypothermia and almost died!”

“Well, I didn’t die!”

Vokara Che’s nostrils flared, striking fear into my heart at whatever painful reminder she was about to impart. “Six days ago, Kenobi carried you into this infirmary twice because you were too weak to stand! Have you forgotten that?”

I lowered my gaze to the floor. 

I hadn’t forgotten. I didn’t think I’d forget anything about the last three weeks as long as I lived, not with the consequences that had come. 

The consequences of being taken: extreme muscle atrophy and malnutrition. Whenever I was upright, my shoulders ached, and I’d taken to wrapping my weak wrists for support, hoping it would be enough to allow me to wield my lightsaber again. Vokara Che’s careful nutrition regimen had won back a few pounds, but I was still operating from a weight deficit, not to mention my decreased organ function. 

The consequences of being rescued: hypothermia and the removal of Obi-Wan’s title of Master and position on the council. Obi-Wan had done well in warming me up; the risks of hypothermia once I’d reached the Temple were minimal. But the aftershocks of Obi-Wan’s removal from the council still rang through the Temple, and I was most especially vulnerable. 

It just didn’t make sense. The council decided not to send anyone after me. Obi-Wan was part of the council, he was part of the decision they made. Even if he personally wanted me to be rescued, personal desires were nothing compared to what had been decided by the complete council.

Being injured should’ve provided the perfect condition to deepen my connection with—and trust in—the Force, but every time I closed my eyes to meditate, in the darkness behind my eyelids, I could’ve sworn I heard scraping sounds once again. 

“Ghon will be back any day now,” I argued. It may have been a losing battle, but it hurt less than the losing battle in my mind. “I could be sent out on a mission soon, and I can’t afford–”

“Peace.” Vokara Che picked up her data pad again and started walking over to the next occupied bed. “The council won’t send you to any front while you’re still suffering the effects of so much protein catabolism.”

‘Doubt’ and ‘council’ were two words I’d been avoiding using in the same sentence. I stood from my bed, following her. “Please,” I begged. 

Vokara Che didn’t look away from the Jedi whose pulse she was checking. “The day you can jog two laps around the marble gardens without stopping is the day you can start training.”

I lifted my chin, determined. “Then I’ll be back in ten minutes.” 

-

Out of the eight separate gardens in the Temple, the marble gardens were the most sterile, and as such, the only one with a path. Truthfully, it resembled a courtyard or an outdoor ballroom more than it resembled a garden, since the only plants were tiny sprouts in large clay pots. Even the path wasn’t concrete or dirt cutting through grass, but a red onyx marble cutting through cream marble. The faint, swirling patterns within the cream made a good environment for peaceful meditation. 

But for all the contemplative beauty, I did miss the trees and plants in the other, wilder gardens, though they were nothing compared to the jungles of Felucia. Strangely, when I was on Felucia, I missed the climate of Coruscant. Now, here on Coruscant, I missed the person I was on Felucia. 

And the Jedi I’d been with on Felucia. 

I hadn’t laid eyes on Obi-Wan since the council meeting. How could he be busier than ever before after being demoted to Knight and removed from the council? Anytime I tried to follow the faint light of his Force signature, the Force led me out of the temple where my worn-out body kept me from going any significant distance.

Reaching the bottom of the marble steps onto the path, I traced the circular path with my eyes. Two laps around the gardens was almost an insult. On our mission to Kessel, Obi-Wan and I were riding a transporter in order to save a member of the ruling class from a Separatist assassination attempt. The transporter broke down, and we had to run four miles in less than twenty-five minutes in order to save the target. 

Two laps was nothing.

Despite my confidence, I wasn’t even halfway through the first lap when sweat started beading on my forehead. My lungs burned with every expansion, the twin organs struggling to keep up with the strain. I slowed my pace, reminding myself to keep going. Pushing through this pain was nothing compared to what I needed to be capable of in a few days and even less compared to what I’d already faced. 

Thirty feet shy of the first lap, I had to stop, leaning against one of the large potted plants for support. The coarse rattle accompanying every inhale made me wince. If I had a patient making that sound, I’d tell them to rest, even sedate them if I needed to. Why then did I so badly want to keep pushing? Frustrated, I knocked my fist against the rim of the pot. “Blast!”

The Force brushed gently across my forehead, lulling me into closing my eyes. I panted, leaning my whole body against the pot and allowing the Force to blanket my skin. 

In the distance, Obi-Wan’s light shone like a guiding, blinding star. And in the other direction, much farther away, loomed the threat of Dooku’s darkness. I took comfort in the separation and in knowing that when I opened my eyes, Dooku wouldn’t be there. Even if the fear of the darkness still festered within me, my body was no longer trapped there. 

“I’m safe here,” I whispered, for the words didn’t work if I only said them in my mind. “I’m home.” 

With my eyes closed, the brilliant light of the sun filled my vision with a hearty red. And in the hearty red of my vision appeared a face I knew well. 

A piece of Obi-Wan’s hair stuck to his sweaty forehead partially smudged with dust. His eyes were wide as his mouth slowly formed an inaudible shout, a vein bulging in his forehead. Then, he lifted his chin to look up, just as a large piece of rubble came hurtling down towards him.

“No!” I burst out. 

My eyes flew open, and I stared at the plants by my feet, my heart contracting painfully. The image was gone as soon as it’d come, but the fear in his expression settled heavily in my gut. Was it a buried memory resurfacing? I wanted to believe it was, but in the image, Obi-Wan’s hair was short and his beard was full. Only my recent memories featured him that way. And if it were that recent a memory, I would’ve known immediately. 

“Typically,” said a voice which immediately made me straighten, “the ‘no’ comes after I’ve made a suggestion, not before.”

I looked up into the face of Anakin Skywalker. “General Skywalker!” I said, perhaps overly brightly in my attempt to move past the image. I straightened and then immediately leaned against the pot again as my head spun, from exertion or surprise, I wasn’t sure. I grinned to cover for the lack of my bodily autonomy. “The great General Skywalker, returned to Coruscant once again.” Then I noticed the sling around his human arm, instinctively reaching out with the Force to assess the injury. His bones felt intact, but his shoulder ligaments were strained, as though they’d been displaced and then returned. Painful, but not permanent. “What was it this time?”

He adjusted the arm slightly. “Bounty hunters. Gunray still hasn’t given up his vendetta against Senator Amidala.”

Of course. His Jedi reflexes allowed him to easily escape danger, but he might’ve ignored his Force-given instincts if he were defending someone else. 

I raised an eyebrow. “I hope Vokara Che gave you something for the pain when she relocated that.”

“You know she never uses medication on me. Something about needing to learn my lesson.” General Skywalker shifted the arm a bit, as if he could still feel the pain he must’ve felt when Vokara Che put the arm back in the right position. “I was actually hoping to see you for treatment, but…” he trailed off.

I smiled again, hoping desperately that Vokara Che hadn’t told him that I wasn't cleared. “I’m…not treating people yet.”

“Are you training?”

“Trying to.” I wiped a trickle of sweat off my forehead. “Turns out, my body is still…”

“Recovering,” General Skywalker finished, a kinder word than what I was going to say. “May I join you?” 

“Of course.” I pushed off the pot, equally grateful and surprised when my body didn’t sway. 

Once on a mission to Falleen, I saw two children together. Their mothers were sisters, but the children didn’t know each other well. Both being ten years old, they’d been sent to do a chore together. They shared so much history, yet treated each other with a strange politeness. Since the skin of a Falleen changed color to reflect their emotions, the pleasant yellow hue of their skin betrayed the awkwardness of their exchange. 

General Skywalker and I’s relationship was similar. Having shared a master, our histories were entwined but our presents rarely met and only did in the Temple, specifically in the infirmary where I patched him up. Mostly our conversations centered around Obi-Wan, since General Skywalker saw him more often than I did. A fact that I’d privately wrestled with, worrying that if I were a Falleen, my skin would turn green.

Banishing those green thoughts, I focused on keeping up with the general’s pace, which was nothing short of relaxed, but even walking loosely sent the occasional painful spasm through my chest. 

General Skywalker slowed his pace to that of a baby Derbit, but the look on his face was much darker than anything a Derbit could summon. “Dooku really did a number on you, didn’t he?”

His name in the air sucked the air out of my tired lungs and dragged me right back to the dungeon, pain racing through my body. Not wanting to appear weak in front of the general, I forced in a breath as casually as I could, waiting for the images to pass. 

But General Skywalker spoke before I was ready to. “I’m glad you’re okay.” He lightly touched the top of my shoulder, looking up and down my body. General Skywalker did not have the gaze of a healer, but I knew his connection with the Force was unrivaled. There was no way of knowing what kind of information he could receive from just a look. “You are okay?” he asked. 

I wanted to shrug off his hand, but I knew sometimes the most combative patients were the ones who needed the most help, so I remained where I was. “Yes. I’ve gained back five pounds, and I’m finally able to walk by myself.” My eyes darted over to Master Stass Allie meditating in the center of the gardens. “I’m finally eating solid food too, although not very much of it yet.”

General Skywalker smiled sincerely. “I’m very glad of that. I know I’d be missing food too.”

“But not rations.”

“Never rations.” He shuddered in a manner that mirrored Obi-Wan. How odd it felt to see my old master’s mannerisms in the legendary general. What must the Jedi Order have thought when the Jedi to train the Chosen One then chose to train the padawan of Pong Krell? I could feel their horror deep in my gut, and my arms reflexively clasped behind my back. 

But since he was also Obi-Wan’s padawan, General Skywalker understood him as well as or perhaps better than I. “General Skywalker, may I ask you a question?” 

“Always,” the general said easily. 

“If…if Ahsoka was taken from you, i-if she were taken by bad people…what would you do?”

He lifted a knowing eyebrow. “This is about Obi-Wan, isn’t it?”

I looked away as the mysterious, panicked face of Obi-Wan flashed unbidden in my vision again. “Yes, it’s about him.” 

“Let me ask you this: if Ghon were taken from you by bad people, what would you do?”

My chest tightened at the mention of my padawan, who still hadn’t returned from Ryloth. The idea of him in that dark cell, chained to the ceiling, cut off from light and people as he wasted away…it made me feel sick. “Ghon is still a padawan,” I protested, weighed down by the unspeakable urge to explain myself. “He’s only eleven, he doesn’t have all the skills to withstand the dark side as we do.”

The only reply was the lift of the general’s eyebrows. 

It was sacrilege to discuss this here, in the very heart of the Jedi Order, out in the open, with Master Stass Allie meditating only just out of earshot. 

But sacrilege or not, it was the truth. 

But the truth is wrong, I argued with myself. I wasn’t supposed to choose defiance. General Skywalker and Obi-Wan could choose defiance; they were irreplaceable. I was supposed to prioritize peace over my emotions, and it was my emotions swirling in my gut, urging me to go save Ghon from a situation that wasn’t even real.

The knowing look on General Skywalker’s face made my own flush. “You’d go too. Even if the council told you not to.”

“The council was the one who charged me with the responsibility of teaching and caring for Ghon,” I protested.

“Even if the council said no?” he pressed.

I knew what my answer was, but I couldn’t speak it, could barely even think it. 

“I can feel your wrestling.” The general tilted his head. “It feels almost exactly the same as how Obi-Wan felt when he asked me to help him save you.”

A million questions sprung to my mind, but I remained silent, fighting my surprise and hating that General Skywalker could likely feel it. 

The general continued walking with such casual airs, we might’ve been discussing Coruscant’s weather, which, thanks to weather control, was the exact same every day. “We interrogated everyone in the club, but when no one could tell us anything helpful, Obi-Wan begged the council to send us to go save you anyways. He was certain he could find you.”

“And the council wasn’t,” I finished. I couldn’t fault them for it. The galaxy was massive. It didn’t matter how experienced and capable Obi-Wan was, the odds of him somehow being able to find me were infinitesimally small. 

“And that’s when Obi-Wan asked me how to steal a ship.”

I gaped at the general, unable to reconcile the image of Obi-Wan breaking the rules so thoroughly. If the council hadn’t sent Obi-Wan, of course there wasn’t any authorization for a ship. But stealing one? In a wild moment, I wondered if the general was showing his infamous sense of humor, but his grave expression settled that theory. 

By the void. No wonder the council had stripped him of his status. 

The two of us walked past Master Allie, both of us remaining silent in some unspoken agreement. General Skywalker thoughtfully wrapped his robotic hand around one strap of his sling as we walked, looking much more carefree than I felt. Then again, Obi-Wan hadn’t gotten himself demoted because of General Skywalker. 

“I wanted to go with him,” the general said once we’d passed Master Allie and could safely talk, “but someone had to create a diversion.”

Even if I knew what to say, the lump forming in my throat made it impossible to speak. I knew General Skywalker broke the rules regularly and that he broke them this time for Obi-Wan, but I was still overwhelmed with gratitude. 

“When I asked Obi-Wan where he was going to look for you first, do you know what he said?” I shook my head, not sure I wanted to know. “He said the Force would take him to the right dungeon.” 

My feet froze. Dungeon? Was that…just a throwaway phrase…or did Obi-Wan know about the dungeon before he came to rescue me? It was far more realistic to believe that his word choice was coincidence...except for the fact that Obi-Wan had indeed found me in a dungeon. “How could Obi-Wan possibly have known that?” 

General Skywalker glanced at Master Allie and then put his back to her, lowering his voice. “He saw you.”

“What are you talking about?” I said hoarsely, hardly able to speak around the frantic beats of my heart that seemed to extend through my whole being.

“When you’d been taken off the planet to Chobb knew where, he saw visions of you.”

Visions?

Of me?

“Visions that disturbed him so much, he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t train.” General Skywalker swallowed. “It was like watching him lose his mind.”

I could relate to the feeling, but now was not the time. “What happened in these visions? What exactly did Obi-Wan see?”

“You, hanging from the ceiling in a dark cave. And himself, using his lightsaber to cut through your chains.”

I gaped at him. “Obi-Wan…he saw the future? His future? Our future?”

General Skywalker nodded. “He didn’t know what Dooku was doing to you, but he could feel your pain, and he knew that it was up to him to rescue you.”

Stars, if Obi-Wan felt me, if he felt my pain, my terror, and my despair…if I’d known that he could feel me, I would’ve…

Shielded earlier.

To spare him. And protect him. 

Shame roiled through me like the Boiling Sea on Drall. I would’ve engaged in a sith technique, simply to spare Obi-Wan discomfort? Would shielding myself even have worked? These strange visions Obi-Wan reportedly had…did they stem directly from the Force or somehow through the Force from me? Would the Force have sent Obi-Wan to me? Or had I unconsciously reached out for him?

General Skywalker was watching my expression closely, and I could feel his attention through the Force as well. “Hasn’t Obi-Wan told you any of this?”

“He’s avoiding me,” I grumbled, with a bit more malice than what was necessary. 

The general rolled his eyes. “He’s off-planet, Y/L/N.”

Off-planet? Was that why the Force kept leading me out of the Temple when I tried to find him? Had the council sent him away to keep us apart? Or to punish him?

Hang on, if Obi-Wan had been able to sense me across the galaxy and following the light led me out of the Temple…did that mean I’d be able to find Obi-Wan too? If I were to get on a ship right now and blindly fly towards the light, would I end up wherever Obi-Wan was?

The light, as if reacting to my thoughts, grew larger above me. I glanced up at the ships passing above our heads, staring up into the sky beyond which lay Obi-Wan. “How is any of this happening?” I muttered as the light continued flaring. 

“You’re still confused.” General Skywalker sounded sympathetic. 

“Yes,” I admitted. “I understand a little more, but…I…I just…” My words failed, unable to contain the scope of what was happening inside of me. 

General Skywalker rolled his shoulders and glanced around us again, clearly preparing to exit the conversation. “Look, Obi-Wan always taught me to follow the Force. I think he taught you the same.” He paused, waiting for my response or trying to find his next words, I didn’t know. “He followed the Force right to you. Say what you will about right or wrong, but…that counts for something.” 

I digested that before nodding once in acknowledgement. 

The general’s comm beeped, and he sent me an apologetic look. “I have to go. Stay on the mend, yeah?” He strode for the garden entrance. 

“General?” I said. 

General Skywalker turned around. 

“It’s because I was his padawan, right?” I said, desperation making my lips looser. “That he can feel me?” 

And that I could feel him? 

A rogue smirk found its way onto the general’s mouth with such ease, I knew it wasn’t an uncommon expression for him. “If Obi-Wan can feel me in that way, he’s never directly crossed the council to come rescue me.” A rush of guilt coursed through me, and General Skywalker was shaking his head almost instantly. “Defying the council isn’t something new, Y/L/N. If anything, Obi-Wan made Master Qui-Gon proud.” And with a wink I wasn’t sure how to interpret, General Skywalker swaggered out of the gardens. 

I watched him go, my fingers fidgeting with the sleeve of my tunic. The general gave me more information, but it felt as if the facts floated above me out of arm's reach, making it impossible for me to pull them down and put them together in a way that made sense. 

Shaking my head, I started running, but only made it seven steps before reaching out for the nearest pot again. 

I wasn’t going to get two laps in today, with or without stopping. 

A wipe of my forehead showed the perspiration from the attempt, and I fumbled my way out of the gardens, ready to bathe away the embarrassing evidence of my failure. 

-

The Temple baths were empty while I bathed, but after, the corridors teemed with Jedi, all healthy enough to bustle about their business and curious enough to stare at me. I could feel their attention like a pin jabbing me in the arm. I’d felt scrutiny this intense when I walked here after Master Krell had been killed. 

Back then, I was the tainted padawan, the one no one could fully trust. I wasn’t quite sure what they thought they saw now. 

Perhaps Vokara Che expected me to return to the infirmary, but spending my days on a bed as a patient in the very infirmary where I’d once been a healer? It was mortifying. Vokara Che had allowed me to leave the infirmary to attempt my laps, so I was going back to my room to recover in private. 

“Knight Y/L/N?” 

I turned to face the youngling I’d just passed while trying to ignore his open stare. “Yes?”

“Master Yoda wants to see you.”

My heartrate kicked up. “Did he say for what purpose?”

The youngling shook his head. “Only that he’s waiting for you in his quarters.” Message delivered, the youngling bowed and scampered off, but not without a last glance over his shoulder. 

“Force help me,” I muttered, laying a hand over my heart, trying to use pressure to calm myself as I walked to Master Yoda’s quarters. It was only the exhaustion of my body that made my feet drag, I tried to tell myself. Master Yoda asking to speak to me wasn’t concerning; he was an involved Grand Master. He spoke to many Jedi every day. There was nothing special about him asking to see me now. 

Unless there was something special, and it was my turn to receive consequences. 

I gulped as I reached the door, flexing my fingers in an effort to keep them from shaking. Knock, I instructed myself. It would be a quick check-in, nothing more. Nothing unusual, nothing ominous. 

“Enter!” said Master Yoda, in his gruff, froggy, sage-like voice. 

I jumped slightly. Of course Master Yoda could sense me. It was foolish of me to be surprised. 

Forging ahead, I stepped close enough for the sliding door to open.

Master Yoda stood in between the two cushioned, circular chairs, both of his hands resting atop his gimer stick. The slats of his windows were open enough to let lines of Coruscant’s sunlight through, shining patterns onto the floor. 

I only proceeded far enough to allow the door to slide close behind me with a quiet whoosh. I bowed. “You wanted to see me, Master?”

“Yes.” Master Yoda hobbled over to one of the chairs, seating himself with what looked like great difficulty. “Join me.”

My heart lifted a bit. Would Master Yoda really want me seated if he intended to punish me? I sat, my body straining with the effort to keep good posture. 

“Great pain I sense in you. Fear.” Master Yoda’s hands rested on his knees, palm up. “Uncertainty.”

I nodded slowly, certainly uncertain about where he was going with the conversation. “Yes.”

“Suffered much, you did.”

My face burned. “Master, I–”

“Know not do I how Kenobi found you.” Master Yoda tilted his head.  “Glad I am that he did, especially before it was too late.”

Too late. 

My thoughts clashed within my mind. Did he mean before death? Or before I inevitably gave in? 

“It was too late,” I murmured.

“Hmmm?” 

I couldn’t look up from my lap. Was there much point in my broken body being rescued if my mind was still steeped in the darkness of that dungeon? “I failed, Master. I withdrew from the Force. He was right all along about me.”

Master Yoda’s voice, instead of growing louder in a reprimand, grew softer with compassion. “Right about very little is Dooku.”

“I did exactly what he wanted.” I clenched my hands in my lap, watching my fingers whiten. “I gave into the darkness.”

Master Yoda’s chuckles reverberated through the space, causing me to look up in surprise. “If true that was, not here would you be. Cowardly is Dooku. Cares not does he about light or dark, but about power and victory. Gave him neither, did you.” 

I thought back to the last moment I saw Dooku, right after he felt me shielding from the Force. He’d said something about getting me food…because I submitted. “I only submitted so that we could escape,” I murmured. 

Master Yoda nodded. “Made it eleven days, you did. Submission?” He laughed again, and the sound made me feel strangely lighter. “Weak your body may have been. But strong your spirit was.”

He’s saying I’m a survivor, I realized. 

“Maybe I was strong in that dungeon,” I croaked. “But since then…Master, I’m so afraid.”

Master Yoda nodded soberly. “I can feel your fear. Scared of the shadows, you are. Hold something you haven’t faced, they don’t.” 

“But if Dooku ever takes me again–”

“Then shown, have you, that the dark side has no hold on you. Shown, have you, that you are a warrior whose strength lies with the Force.” A smile spread across Master Yoda’s face. “Saved you, the Force did, from those who wield it for their own ends. Welcome you, it would, but more it still has for you to do.”

He was right. The Force was with me through the pain of that dungeon. It brought Obi-Wan to me to save me. Even when I’d been alone and freezing to death on that deathtrap of a planet, even when I’d passed through the veil and felt nothing, the Force held me. And if Obi-Wan’s actions were so shameful, why would the Force have led him straight to me?

I took a deep breath and let it out. Perhaps I imagined it, but it seemed like my lungs weren’t quite so resistant. 

“Failed?” Master Yoda got up from his chair, leaning heavily on his gimer stick to walk close enough to rest his three-fingered hand on my knee. “Given you an unbreakable spirit, the Force has. Tried and failed to break it, Krell did. Break it, Dooku cannot.” 

Spirit. 

An uncertain smile grew on my own face. 

My body hadn’t yet recovered. It might never fully recover. But spirit? Well, the wise Master Yoda knew much more about spirit than I.

It was with much gratitude that I stood to bow. “Thank you, Master Yoda.”

Both of Master Yoda’s hands came to rest on his gimer stick as he smiled at me. “Rest. Sleep. Meditate. Time to heal, you have.”

As I left the Grand Master’s chambers, I deeply felt just how much time I truly had. A whole life yet ahead of me, thanks to the Force.

And thanks to Obi-Wan Kenobi.

-

The next day, I ran a full lap around the marble gardens without stopping. 

Feeling full of light, I descended the steps to the baths. I was about to turn around the corner of a corridor when I paused, suddenly filled with the conviction that I was walking in the wrong direction. 

“Y/N!”

I turned around just in time to get tackled so enthusiastically, I nearly fell over. I should’ve panicked, especially because I couldn’t move my arms in this sudden embrace, but I couldn’t feel anything but simultaneous shock and relief as my padawan held me fiercely.

“Ghon,” I whispered, freeing my arms enough to hug him back. 

“You’re alright!” Hearing those words in my padawan’s sweet voice somehow made the sentiment more believable. 

“I’m alright,” I repeated, pressing my cheek to the top of his head. “I’m alright.” My vision blurred because standing in the fiercest hug I’d ever received, my gratitude overwhelmed me. I stood in the Jedi Temple, reunited with my padawan. Both of us were safe. How much did two laps around the garden truly matter?

I lifted my eyes to the ceiling, blinking away the tears before they could fall on Ghon’s head. Deep within me swirled feelings of joy, warmth and light. 

Light. 

My head jerked over to see Obi-Wan at the end of the hallway, watching. 

A strange thrill rocked through my stomach at the sight of him. He looked far more composed than he had after the Jedi council meeting, almost…regal. 

…had I been so full of my own light that I hadn’t sensed his coming nearer? 

Then I remembered the padawan clinging to me and how that might be perceived in this building. For a moment, I panicked, ready to pull away from Ghon, but then I stopped. Ghon was just a boy. A child. He deserved to have someone hug him. 

And, oh, how desperately I wanted to be that someone. 

That was when I noticed the luster of Obi-Wan’s light through the Force. Standing all the way at the end of the hall, he radiated more gratification than Ghon did. 

Ghon pulled out of the embrace, looking back at Obi-Wan. “You were right! She’s okay!” He turned back to me, talking excitedly. “Master Windu said that you wouldn’t be coming back, and Master Ima-Gun Di said that he was going to be my new master, but then Master Kenobi came to get me, and he said that you were back!”

What?

I looked at Obi-Wan. He went to retrieve Ghon? That’s where he’d been this whole time? Had he told Ghon that he was the one who rescued me? Clearly he hadn’t told Ghon that he wasn’t a master anymore, if Ghon was still using the title. Had the council sent Obi-Wan to Ryloth or had he gone of his own volition again? 

“He told me to trust the Force,” Ghon was saying, “right before you left, remember? He said ‘trust the Force’ and you would be okay. Well, I did, and you are!” Ghon flung his arms around me again, and I caught him, holding him just as tightly. But I couldn’t tear my eyes from Obi-Wan, who still stood too far away for me to speak to him. A public corridor in the middle of the Temple was perhaps the worst place for us to talk anyways, even if hardly anyone was around. 

But still, the words bubbled up from deep within me, full of meaning and unsquashable.

Thank you.

And to my shock, a reply came immediately, accompanied by an unmistakable warm glow. 

You’re welcome.

Obi-Wan recoiled at the same time as I did, staring at me with the same wide eyes I knew I regarded him with. 

What…just…happened?

Obi-Wan gave me a quick nod and walked away in a suspiciously quick fashion that could almost be categorized as a scurry. And if I hadn’t had an eleven-year-old boy clinging to me with all his might, I would’ve run after him.

-

Overall taglist:

@thelastpyle @valiantlytransparentwhispers

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 @annshit @shakespeareansonnet @honeyb34r

[im-a-wonderling]

Girl, I just need another chapter of White moves first 😭😭

Trust me when I tell you that this fic got me into chess and I loved it and I made my brother and his friends love it too. Every time I get a Tumblr notification I hope it's a new chapter...

Are you serious about that?! WOW! 😱 I’m so glad that you’ve found something you and your brother and your brother’s friends love!! Awww that makes my heart so happy.

I was literally working on White Moves First today, making slow but steady progress. I feel that I’m at a crucial point for both Rescue Me and White Moves First, and I want to make sure these next parts are true to the characters and to the heart of the stories.

[im-a-wonderling]

I just finished your continuation of Bruises and the epilogue/standalone oneshot! I would love to see a part 2 story continueing maybe in the second movie plot, where mc comes back and explains how she dissapeared on the Isles or something!!? Btw love your writing style, such a good flow and easy to get lost in❤️❤️

I'm so glad you enjoyed Bruises, and thank you so much for your compliments!

I don't think I have enough inspiration in me to write a part two to the Bruises epilogue/standalone. However, while I don't actually fully know what happened to the main character myself (sometimes stories have a mind of their own), I will unpack some of my thoughts.

I view the main character (MC) has having been on the Lone Islands for a long time, long enough to be recognizable by most of the citizens there and to know her way around. To that end, I don't believe that she would get abducted or lost.

Honestly, I picture something similar to what happened to Elijah in the Christian Bible in 2nd Kings 2, where Elijah literally gets taken to heaven without dying. I see the MC being contented with her life, which is why she retreated to the islands. She goes on her regular morning walk, and to reward her for being a faithful and good regent, Aslan would appear to take her to his country.

Aslan would also appear to the boy she raised as her own (who is now Narnia's regent and has now obviously grown into a man). I'm not sure how he would do it, but he would reassure the boy that the MC is well, which allows for the boy to be as contented and faithful as his adoptive mother.

[im-a-wonderling]

I’m so excited for Anakin in rescue me

Does he know about Obi Wan’s … feelings?

Between the friendship Anakin and Obi-Wan have and the Force sensitivity Anakin has, I think it would be almost impossible for Anakin not to sense Obi-Wan's turmoil where the main character is concerned. What he does with that information remains for you to see 😛

[im-a-wonderling]

Hello!! First of all, happy new year, i wish you all the best, you seem like a very sweet person!

Could we have another sneak peak of "rescue me"? I am very anxious for the next update and i am sure that you will deliver something great!

Thank you 🤍

Awww, thank you so much!

I'm actually hoping to post part 6 of Rescue Me soon! There's a few parts I'm having to tweak, but it is very close to being done.

[im-a-wonderling]

Merry Christmas! ❤️

Merry Christmas to you, Anon, and everyone else! Sending y’all love in this joyful season 🥰

[im-a-wonderling]

Sneak peak for rescue me? If not totally ok, don‘t wanna be pushy 🫶

Of course 😏 Someone asked a while ago if Anakin was going to be in Rescue Me...I guess here's the answer!

“General Skywalker, may I ask you a question?” 

“Always,” the general said easily. 

“If…if Ahsoka was taken from you, i-if she were taken by bad people…what would you do?”

He lifted a knowing eyebrow. “This is about Obi-Wan, isn’t it?”

[im-a-wonderling]

My draft for Rescue Me part 6 keeps fighting me and it just makes me wanna