#(except Merlin he's fine actually he's the only old man who does not seem to make poor life choices)

[loregoddess]

so I've been watching the KH Union Cross stuff (in order, thank goodness, this would be so confusing to piece together otherwise), and like, I knew enough about UX that the appearance of the foretellers at the end of KH3 wasn't confusing bc I knew who they all were, but getting the expanded, explained lore and I'm like okay, actually these weirdos in animal masks are pretty cool, glad to know they'll show up (presumably) in future games

also I'm glad that memorizing the Latin names for the seven deadly sins is finally paying off

[fandomlovingfreak]

Glacial Passion (7/?)

Regulus Black/Reader

Rating: NSFW (at end of chapter)

Trigger Warning: Arranged Marriage, sexual content (consensual)

Word Count: 3715

MasterList Link I AO3 Link I Wattpad Link

Summary: Glacial, cold, icy… all words that described Regulus Black’s grey eyes. Was there truly no emotion behind those eyes, or did a caring man exist beneath? Could she defrost those glacial eyes?

Disclaimer: Regulus Black (Walburga Black, Orion Black, and Sirius Black) is a character from Harry Potter by J.K. Rowling. Reader or y/n is not owned by Rowling. This work has not been created for profit or financial compensation, and is a transformative fair use work in accordance with Section 107 of the United States Copyright Act.

Notes: No notes really. Sorry for the wait.

Enjoy

***

Mother & Father,

(y/n) and I will be continuing our honeymoon for at least an extra week. We will be traveling outside of Paris. I will send an owl once we are settled in the hotel.

Walburga stares down at the letter. 

Cold shock fills her at her new daughter-in-law willingly is staying past the allotted time Regulus had planned for the couple's honeymoon. 

Walburga thought them to be so indifferent about one another that they would have arrived home days earlier than planned, not extend their time alone together.

Hopefully, though, this meant the next heir of the House of Black would be on the way.

Part of her knows her son will continue to be stubborn, casting those infernal charms. Walburga didn't understand why her son insisted on-- engaging with his wife if he was just going to waste the attempt with a literal flick of his wand. The way he ignored his duties to his birthright was infuriating. She had thought she had raised this son to honor his pure blood and pedigree. To never ignore the responsibilities he had to his family.

Walburga glares at her husband. Blasted Orion had been the one to teach Regulus the contraceptive charm. Although she is glad no bastard children are running around, something she knew Regulus was aware could not happen, she wasn't happy that her golden boy is presently defying her wishes. If Orion hadn't insisted on taking her son to his-- whores, they wouldn't be in this position. Regulus shouldn't have been exposed to those dirty blood, good for nothing tarts. 

Tainting one's flesh was as good as tainting one's blood, in Walburga's mind. Not that she'd express her thoughts to anyone of their status. Men of Pureblood never seemed to view things of this matter as she did.

She knew this from experience.

Walburga sets the letter down on the breakfast table, "Regulus and (y/n) will be extending their-- holiday for another week yet."

"Is that right?" Orion says absentmindedly, continuing to scan the Prophet. She can tell he isn't listening to a word she says. Even after all these years, Orion's inattentiveness still boils her blood to an extent. You would think one would get used to being ignored, especially after all the years she has had to get used to it.

"I wonder where he will be taking our daughter-in-law."

"Yes, very weird."

Walburga's expression sours-- further. She snatches up the letter from Regulus and storms out of the breakfast room without another word.

***

I bustle around the room when Regulus is away, posting another letter. The afternoon and night before had been nice, to say the least. Regulus had been sweet, almost affectionate, the entire time we spent together. It was a big change in a short amount of time, which worried me a bit. Hopefully, he wouldn't revert back to his old ways in the next few days. Merlin-- I hope he won't at all.

I rearranged the bed pillows for the sixth time, trying to distract myself from my thoughts.

The door's key noise disturbs my thoughts as Regulus steps into the room.

"Hi," I rub my hands down the front of my dress.

We stare awkwardly at one another for a moment before he speaks.

"I've been thinking about traveling outside of Paris. Would you be interested in extending our-- honeymoon?" 

I'm taken aback by his sudden choice in conversation, "Where outside of Paris?"

"We can go wherever you please," he holds my hand, pulling me closer to his chest. This is the closest we've been since before he committed to trying our relationship out.

I clear my throat, "I-- guess that I'm just not really picky about where we go."

He smiles, "Well, then I guess you'll just have to trust that the places I want to go are places you want to go."

***

Together we pack up our belongings, casually swapping small talk.

"Do you want to write to your parents?" Regulus looks up from packing his trunk. "I mean, you haven't seen them since the wedding."

"What?" I give him a weird look, "No. I don't have anything to say to them."

Regulus looks slightly alarmed, "What do you mean?" 

"No offense to you, but my parents practically forced me to marry you. I'm not too keen on speaking with them right now."

"You shouldn't just-- I mean, they're your parents."

"Doesn't mean what they did wasn't insensitive. I wasn't theirs to just... give away."

He reflects on my words before taking my hand in his, squeezing comfortingly, "Sorry."

"For what? I know you were coerced into marrying me. It's not your fault."

"I know that. And at some level, I was pushed towards-- doing the right thing-- but I also had the right to refuse, and you were not granted such a right."

I nod, looking away as tears threatened at the corners of my eyes, "It doesn't matter--"

"No, it does matter. You do matter." I meet his eyes. They're steely, the furrowed brow and sour expression I know are not for me. "Don't you see why I use the bloody contraception charms now? They've taken too much from us already (y/n). They're not going to take that away from us as well."

I blink again, "That's why?"

"Of course it's why. We're not-- we're people for Merlin's sake. You're not property (y/n). I won't let anyone treat my wife like that." I'm not sure what to say to him. Thank you? Maybe that would be appropriate. "Besides, we're too young to think of such things. Maybe in ten years--"

"Ten years?" I laugh, "you really think I can keep them at bay for ten whole years? Your mother would be calling in every fertility specialist in the wizarding world, insistent that something must be wrong with me. Certainly, she wouldn't believe the problem was you."

Regulus sighs, "Okay, fine. Not ten years, maybe-- five?"

"Regulus," I laugh, "I know you don't like it. I am completely aware that you don't like being pushed around and knowing that I feel bad for trying to trick you into doing what I wish. But, like you said earlier. You can refuse, do as you please, but I only have one option laid out before me as your wife. And, I can't wait forever for you. I don't have that option. In a much wider social stance, people will talk and make my life miserable. Along with that, your mother and my own will also make my life miserable. There's nothing I'd like to do more than to-- take time for us, or even just me, but that just isn't the life we can lead."

Regulus looks down at his packing. I have to change the subject, feeling that we've exhausted this conversation enough for now.

"Who are you sending letters to?" 

Regulus looks up, "Well, the first one was for my brother, and the one this morning was for my parents."

"Oh, I didn't know you were talking to your brother." I'm suddenly reminded that Regulus hadn't answered my questions.

"So..."

"Yes?"

"Can I ask you now to tell me about your childhood now?"

Regulus looks uncomfortable immediately. He rubs the back of his neck, "Um-- Sure."

I reach for his arm, hoping that my touch is just a little bit comforting, "You don't have to, Regulus. If you don't want to."

"No," his eyes look so... serious as he collects his thoughts, "I want to be honest with you, and this is a part of who I am." I smile at him, my fingers moving to intertwine with his. "My parents are-- well, they clearly are in a situation like ours. Except it has been a very long time now, and nothing good came from the union."

"Well, not exactly nothing," I squeeze his hand.

Regulus rolls his eyes, "I'm not sure Sirius and I are something good, but okay, yes. Not everything was bad if you insist." His reserved smile has butterflies exploding in my stomach. "Anyways, my father has always chosen to be... well, he's always strayed from my mother. Even when I was a child, I'm sure he chose to be unfaithful even before Sirius and I. And-- uh..."

"What?" I'm not sure I want to know. He's developed a pink flush on his cheeks, not meeting my eye suddenly.

"Well, I was just going to-- confess, I suppose, about his favorite whorehouse."

Frowning, I ask what he means by confessing? What in the world is the connection between Orion's favorite whorehouse and Regulus.

It dawns on me exactly what he's confessing to, right as he speaks.

Regulus reddens further, "I'm sure you understand where I am going..."

I guess I have no reason to be upset over Regulus's past trysts. He was older than me, and most importantly, he was a pureblood man who was expected to... well, act as a pureblood man acts. And that included sleeping around as a bachelor, or in the Black family's case, sleeping with a select group of people their patriarch has chosen.

"Orion thought that we should uh-- learn in preparation for our marriages. Get out any wildness in our systems with the protection of women who were paid and wouldn't try to blackmail with a bastard child." 

I feel the cold glacial feeling of guilt rise up from the pit of my stomach all the way to my skin. Had I been-- Had I been causing him to relive a painful moment when I demanded--?

"And well, there are plenty of other things that were-- questionable about my parent's parenting style. My mother, you probably recognize she is a cruel, cold woman. A part of our recently exchanged letters, my brother and I were talking about a memory of our mother. Before she was the woman, you know, she was, well, a much more loving mother to the both of us. You actually were the one who brought forth the memory."

"I did?"

Regulus nods, reaching to cup my cheek in his hand, "It was the night we went to that-- the restaurant my father suggested. You said something about-- uh, a potential child giving you the love you seek from me."

I look away, feeling embarrassed by my words. To some extent, I do-- or did believe that having Regulus's heir, that a child's love could replace the feelings that should be between us as a couple.

"I--" I'm not even sure what to say. "That was wrong of me. I mean, eventually, it has to happen but pushing you-- or well attempting to trick you actually, because I thought..." What did I think? That he was hopeless? That I'd be stuck in a marriage that would parallel his parents and every other miserable Pureblood couple that has come before us.

"You have to remember that I am far from-- where you want me to be." Regulus's thumb traces under my eye, "But I certain I want what you've been asking me for."

***

Our packing takes longer than we'd expected as we spend more moments in conversation about our pasts, present, and hopeful future.

Regulus tells me about his first owl, a little brown owl originally named Maverick but nicknamed Rick because Regulus hadn't been able to pronounce it at age six. He tells me about family vacations that ended in disaster and his first date with a half-blood girl in year four that went terribly wrong. He reluctantly tells me about losing his virginity after I argue he already knew my story. With each moment, I feel more connected to him. How you feel at the beginning of the relationship when you're getting to know someone, the silly stuff that matters because you want to know them.

Checking out of the hotel is a bit-- strange, to say the least. As my husband talks to the witch at the front desk, who introduced herself to me as Seren, has been grinning an extra amount at Regulus, who appears to be oblivious to the flirtatious nature of the girl.

I'm surprised by the annoyance I feel as she flirts with my husband right in front of me. Without a second thought, I reach for his hand. I make sure that the ring Regulus gave me is obviously placed as I look Seren straight in the eye. Her eyes fall on the large purple jewel before her eyes shoot back up to mine. She at least has the decency to look embarrassed, her cheeks pinkening. Regulus frowns slightly at the interaction before going back to paying the witch.

I can't say that I'm not glad when we officially check out and walk out of the door. The jealousy is alarming, but what am I supposed to do when someone is ogling my husband? 

"I'm not completely oblivious, you know." Regulus glances at me, a small amused smile on his face.

"To what? The girl flirting with you?"

He chuckles, "That and your possessive behavior."

I look at him outraged, "I was not possessive."

He holds up my hand, "What was this about then? You casually wanted to hold my hand?"

"So what if I did?" 

Regulus rolls his eyes, "If that's what you really believe you were doing and not claiming me--"

"Claiming you?" I snatch my hand away.

"What else are you doing when you're showing off that ring?"

"I'm hardly claiming you. She was just-- too comfortable for my liking."

Regulus makes a sound in the back of his throat, "If you say so."

I bite the inside of my cheek, "Why didn't you do anything?"

He tries to hide a smile, "I hardly was indulging her."

"You didn't tell her to--" fuck off.

"I guarantee you, my dear wife, I have been deflecting her attempts all week." Oh, so maybe this wasn't exactly Regulus's fault... completely.

"You have?"

He stops me on the sidewalk, "Yes, of course. Do you really think I would flirt with another woman? Especially now?"

I shrug, "I guess-- no. I don't think you'd do that."

He shakes his head, "Of course I wouldn't."

***

I hold (y/n) tight against my chest as I apparate us to our new destination, remembering how she reacted the last time we apparated. 

The moment we're safely on the ground, I continue to hold her, asking quietly if she's okay in a hushed tone. (y/n) nods, her fingers gripping the sleeve of my coat.

For a second, I contemplate pressing a kiss to her temple as I rub my hand up and down her back, but I stop myself before I go through with the reaction. Even with the small progress we've made, it feels too intimate, even as a gesture of comfort. 

"Tell me when you're ready," I whisper.

Slowly, (y/n) pulls away from my embrace, (y/e/c) eyes opening hesitantly.

"I really don't like it." She says hesitantly.

"I can tell." We stand still for another beat before she confirms she is in better shape.

"Where are we?"

"Cork, Ireland." 

Her eyes widen with curiosity, "Really? I've never been. Dad's been a few times, but obviously, with school and other things, I hadn't had the chance to successfully convince him to take me with."

"So there were places you wished to visit." I can't help but tease her as she prattles on about the things her father has told her about the city we're visiting.

"Of course, but you spring things on me too quickly. I can never recall things when I've been surprised."

I chuckle, "Fair enough. We should check in soon; it's nearly ten. Whoever's running the front desk won't be happy we've arrived so late."

***

By the time we've checked in and opened the door to the suite, it's nearing ten-thirty. 

(y/n) takes a quick peek around the room before turning back towards me, "I suppose we should unpack--"

I don't let her finish the statement as I take two large steps towards her, cupping her face in my hands and kissing her soundly on the mouth. She makes a sound of surprise but doesn't pull away or smack me or something she ought to do, really. I'm not even sure where this need to kiss her came from. Maybe the way the soft light of the dimmed bedroom lights landed across her person, making her picturesque, ethereal even.

All I do know is that I must have her this instant. Must feel her soft skin under my fingers, feel her silken warmth as we move together atop the sheets of the hotel bed.

I have to have her, and I can only hope she feels the same way.

Tentatively, I run my hand down her spine, fiddling with the ridiculous amount of buttons that I could easily open with the flick of my wand. Something about the thought of painstakingly unbuttoning each individual button was incredibly erotic.

"I can never seem to control myself when you're around," I whisper as I kiss below her jaw. The way she seems to melt under the words has me smiling against her neck as I continue to kiss down to her exposed collarbone. These damn dresses she wears always showed off just enough cleavage to draw my eyes towards the neckline. "Do you wear these dresses on purpose? Torturing me all day, having to see only the tops of your breasts." Her breath hitches, egging me on. "Do you like it when I talk about your body like that? Like the way, just the sight of some of your naked flesh has me turned on? Hm?"

"Regulus--" My name comes from her lips like a prayer. 

"Tell me what you want." My hands worship her body, squeezing her covered tits. I would do anything to get this blasted dress off of her.

"I-- I want you."

"Want me to do what? Use your words, kitten."

Her lips, red and abused, open and close attractively once or twice before she finds her words, "I want you to fuck me."

"Fuck you? You want my cock, huh? Is that it? In any way that I'll give it to you?"

She blinks, a bit confused, but nods. I can't believe I've rendered my wife so speechless, so cock-hungry she can barely articulate what she wants.

"Let's get this off then," I tug at the neckline of her dress, "turn around, kitten." She quickly obeys, and I get to work on the buttons, finding I can release her from her dress easier than I had previously imagined. 

The fabric hits the floor as I gaze at her naked back, "turn back around. Think you've teased me enough. I want to see those tits."

Slowly, she faces me once again.

"I think I wanna fuck these," I say as I reacquaint myself with the feeling of her breasts in my hands.

"You want to-- what?" I often forget that my wife's sexual experience starts and ends with what we've done. She's looking at me like I've said something odd.

"You want me to show you? I think you'd look lovely with my cock between your breasts." I discard my pants, shirt, and jacket, pulling her towards the bed, lightly guiding her down to the floor as I sit.

"What about fucking me?" She frowns up at me.

I chuckle at her indignant frown, "Don't worry, darling. I plan on cumming inside of you. Now, push your tits together nice and tight around me. There we go."

Hesitantly, she does as I say. The sight alone has me twitching. 

Gently, I thrust up. If I thought the view before was good, seeing her innocent face watch as I seek pleasure from a new place on her body. She's radiant, on her knees, watching my cock disappear and reappear. 

"Do you like that, darling? Like watching?"

Her eyes flit up to meet mine, "Yes." It takes nearly everything within me not to cum on the spot. Merlin, what was this girl doing to me?

"Do you want me to fuck you, kitten?" I hold her chin, so she has to look at me.

"Obviously." There's that attitude I expect. Chuckling, I pull her from her knees, maneuvering her on her back.

"So impatient. Just itching to feel me deep inside ya, huh?" She nods, "words, darling."

"Yes, please."

The first inches feel like coming home. She makes those breathy noises I love, pleading with me for more, to give her everything and anything I can. 

It's a symphony in the room, the headboard of the old creaky bed knocking against the wallpapered wall, the noises (y/n) makes every time she moves her hips against mine... There's no doubt that we're alerting the rest of the occupants exactly what we're doing in room twelve. 

This thought stirs something inside of me. Clumsily, my fingers find her clit hoping to get her exactly where I'm at.

"Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop--" her voice is utterly fucked as she practically chants these words.

"Cum for me, kitten. Don't hold back." Merlin-- please don't hold back.

If our neighbors weren't aware of the little-- musical act happening in our room, they were now. (y/n) writhes beneath me, fingernails digging into the small of my back.

"Fuck--" I don't hold back as she clenches down hard. 

Was it ever this good with someone else? I can't think of a single woman who makes me cum as hard as I do with (y/n).

As the weaker aftershocks continue to rack my body, I lay down next to her, pulling her into my embrace. I reach for my wand in my discarded jacket, silently casting the charm.

(y/n) looks like she wants to say something, but I stop her, kissing her forehead.

"I promise, someday. But not today." (y/n) doesn't say anything but nods as she gets more comfortable in my arms. "You know, this is the first time we've done this."

"What do you mean?" (y/n) laughs, "we've done this a few times now."

"Not that. I mean, usually, one of us runs off after we've done that. This is the first time you're voluntarily in my arms."

(y/n) makes a soft noise of agreement, "That's true."

I smile. This was progress.

[fallingoverharrypotter]

Torn a New One

This is based on the @drarrymicrofic​ prompt for pretend, and got very long. Heres the ao3 link :).

The shirt is supposed to make Harry look like that one Bratz doll meme; you know the one. 

Thanks for reading <3 <3

Harry is a stoic man. That’s what Hermione calls him.

He’s sitting on Ron’s plush carpeted floors in his shiny new flat. Ron himself is passed out on a couch that costs more galleons than a year of Hermione’s tuition, with Hermione herself teetering on the edge of both her couch and hers and Ron’s refusal to bring up that they’re still fucking on the side of their tumultuous breakup. She brings up Harry’s problems to distract herself, and Harry tells her not to bother. Harry also tells her that she and Ron should just own up to their idiocy and sort their crap out sooner rather than later, and then Hermione yells loud enough to wake Ron with: Harry James Potter, you’re a complete and utter hypocrite. Ron does wake up when their voices raise like this, and then cordons Hermione off to the main bedroom leaving Harry to pretend that he’ll floo home, before the three of them end up eating cereal whilst sitting at/on Ron’s granite countertops the next morning.

All three look a right picture. Hermione is staunchly refusing to acknowledge that she’s wearing a t-shirt of Ron’s – old Canon’s merch that she’s absolutely swimming in. Harry, in solidarity, is also wearing one of Ron’s shirts without pants – the newest Wheezes rollout collection, classic stylized lettering (Ron’s got this beautiful flat because every single Witch and Wizard between the ages of 14 and 37 owns Wheezes now). And Ron himself is shirtless and in nothing but underwear.

They’ve seen more of each other than is completely normal over the last 15 years, but they’re still indulgent enough not to bring up any of the shit they refuse to talk about. They need a balancing force, Harry often thinks, someone who is outrightly honest and refuses the stupid little games that the golden trio fall into to avoid talking about their true feelings. That’s what Harry thinks inside his head, but his body ends up groaning and bending forward so his forehead smacks the countertops none too gently. His consciousness sounds more and more like someone he refuses to think about whenever he’s been drinking. Merlin save him.

“Oi,” Ron admonishes without looking up from his bowl. He’s leaning atop the counter on forearms and staring into his cereal, swirling the spoon around the stodgy mess and eating no longer.

Harry grunts first, and then says “gonna sick up, Ronnykins?” and gets glared at by Hermione who is onto her third bowl of cereal at this point. Right. Can’t joke about Lavender either, apparently. That fling definitely didn’t help the dynamic, Harry reminds himself.

“Jus’ don’t wan’ you bruising my bench with your fat head.”

Harry kicks out at Ron with his closest foot and makes contact, gets an immediate groan for his efforts, before Ron’s pulling up from his slouch and getting Harry into a pretty tight headlock. Harry resorts to elbowing Ron in the gut over and over. Ron groans and releases, making a mad dash for the fancy powder room into which he projectiles.

Hermione, for all she looks dazed and noncommittal this early into a hangover, manages to give off an air of created aloofness about the violent noises coming from down the hall. Harry smirks at her, and gets his own kick in response that makes him exclaim “ow, fuck. You two are so bloody violent.”

Before she responds, there’s a tapping at the window. Owl. Hermione stares at Harry to let him know that there’s no way she’s moving from her lounging for the bloody post, so Harry straightens up to open the window for the tawny. Efficient things these post owls are this morning; just drops the paper on the countertop near Harry’s bowl before flying right out the window without even waiting for a treat.

Harry’s shaking his head to brush away the last fuzz of the evening with the assistance of the scent of fresh air. Hermione gasps out loud. That makes Harry turn around quick enough for whiplash, and then he wishes fervently for death by sustained head trauma when the figure on the front of the paper, unfurled and sepia, winks right at him.

“Fuck,” Harry says. His gut churns, and then he’s running down the hall, past the occupied powder room to Ron’s master bath, and vomits up his guts.

 ***

Ron’s back in the kitchen by the time that Harry stumbles back in. Three strong cups of tea are quick-brewing under Hermione’s wand, even though both her and Ron’s attention is maintained by the Prophet’s front page. Because that is Draco Malfoy wearing a Wheezes “I shagged Harry Potter and all I got was this stupid shirt” collectable.

“It’s ironic!” Ron and George had insisted on its’ inception 4 years back. Only 100 had been made, a necessity: scarcity is key. They resell for a lot of money these days. Harry would rather die than see another in person. His face, a terrible photo of him caught by photographers during a pretty brutal night out, is plastered right on the middle along with stylized fireworks that go off every couple of minutes. He’d been convinced into making them, to try and control the narrative or whatever bullshit the Weasley’s had spouted just a couple of days beforehand when Harry had started stomping around the burrow or the floor of the joke shop or Hermione and Ron’s old shoebox apartment in anguish. It worked, he guesses, and he doesn’t see many of them anymore, as they’re kept in the strongest of imperturbable charms and modified protegos by anyone lucky enough to get one. But this one. This one he didn’t know about.

Hermione’s been muttering to herself as she read the accompanying story, when her voice perks up. “Merlin, listen to this: ‘this intrepid reporter asked what I’m certain all our readership will be most curious to uncover now that we are sitting down with the one and only Draco Malfoy. When we had sat down in Mr. Malfoy’s beautifully appointed drawing room, I too was especially shocked at his choice of attire,’” Hermione pauses here to roll her eyes and mutter “oh here we go,” before continuing in a higher and haughtier voice. “‘We all know the poise that Mr. Malfoy holds, one of Wizarding Britain’s most darling Stars, his performance in Wizarding Wireless serials having taken our world by storm the past 6 years. I must myself mention the serialisation of the modern take on the Wizarding classic story of Millicent Mimbletonia’s Marvelous Manor; captured this reporter’s heart, it did.’ What a load of absolute nonsense.”

“Oh, come on, Herm,” Ron says and knocks into her arm to get her to continue the story.

“Fine, but this is all absolute tripe. What was Draco thinking! Okay. Blah blah blah, you can’t believe how long this person goes on about Draco’s drawing room, blah. Okay here. ‘On questioning Mr. Malfoy’s choice to wear the now famously collectible Wheezes’ Harry Potter shirt, the gentleman seems to look slightly pensive.’

“‘‘Monsieur,’ our Star addresses me, ‘when you have been in the business of telling stories for as long as I, you start to have a great fondness for truth. I must now admit to you, and all of your lovely readers, that I bought this shirt on release and whilst under Polyjuice’. Now readers, you must bear with Mr. Malfoy here. Yours truly was very shocked-’ Good God, can this man obfuscate. Okay, then Draco says, ‘‘I’ve kept my ownership of such an item close to my chest, and away from my closest relationships. I have found over the years that true mutual affection, friendship, and love, have foundations built on beds of uncertainty and trust simultaneously, and thus I was afraid to expose myself.’ I but in here and ask what we must all be thinking at this admission: is he such a big fan of our Saviour that he is ashamed? But Mr. Malfoy continues: ‘No, monsieur. In all honesty, I am the man’s biggest critic.’’” Harry ducks his head, his hands shaking as he reaches for the now over-brewed tea.

Hermione looks up at Harry and Ron with wide eyes. Ron looks back at her wide eyed too, glancing small looks at Harry every now and again when he finds something particularly salacious, but he says nothing. Harry is hiding his trembling hands and trembling mouth behind a blisteringly hot cup of tea. She receives no objections, and continues. “‘‘I am livid that he’s been out of the public eye for so long regardless of his exceptional ability to bring about change in those around him; Potter has worked the same archival job in the Ministry for 5 years, with no end in sight, I fear. He refuses to allow those outside of his closest friends and family to know him in any sense, and I would argue that this is truly detrimental to his relationship with the Wizarding community. Although I disagree with the man on many things, I will be the first to say here and now that if any person deserves privacy, it is him. But the relationships we build with those we love-’’” and Harry snatches the paper out of Hermione’s hands.

“Harry,” Ron starts, reaching out a hand and grasping his upper arm. Hermione too has hopped down off the counter and is crowding Harry’s other side. He wants to shake them off, but he can’t. He can’t stop looking at the paper in his hands with Draco’s figure. Draco’s white blond head of hair turned beige on paper, his eyes sharp and flirty to readers, his hands restlessly gripping at his shirt. The shirt with Harry’s face.

Harry is a stoic man. Hermione tells him that exactly, Ron tells him that adjacently, and Draco. Draco has said the same thing in so many ways and at so many times that Harry has had it drilled into his head. His eyes are watering now, a little. And he can’t read much more of the article, but he doesn’t really need to. Because Draco will skate around enough of his personal life that it seems as though he’s come clean about something when he’s actually just marketing his next serial; it’s what he does.

This time, though, he’s wearing one of those terrible shirts that almost single-handedly sparked the Wheezes fashion line and bought Ron this apartment, and he’s saying things here that Harry knows are true. Knows are directed right at Harry. Knows because a week ago Harry had walked right out of Draco’s “well-appointed” drawing room, slamming the door and not answering the following owls. Harry hasn’t slept at his own sparse flat for a week. He’s spent time at Ron’s, spent time at Hermione’s, spent time at the Burrow. He’s even spent time in the dark halls of Grimmauld, which he hasn’t wanted to touch for years, no matter how many people around him shared their opinions on it being the perfect. Home. One day.

They’re standing there, the three of them, when a knock sounds on Ron’s front door. Harry freezes, but Ron staggers out into the hallway, still in nothing but underwear.

“Sweet Merlin, Weasley, could you put on some bloody pants? You do know it’s ten o’clock?” Says the visitor, and Harry just lets his back go limp, setting out to truly bruise Ron’s beautiful granite countertops with his forehead once again. He can hear Ron sarcastically mumble something along the lines of ‘yes Malfoy, of course you can come in’. Hermione grips his arm slightly in sympathy, but turns to face the entrance to the kitchen anyway. Like a traitor.

“Hermione, lovely as always. I see the three of you are in similar states of distressed undress this morning. Have you finally succumbed to your polyamorous destiny?”

“Nice to see you too, Draco. Lovely article.”

“Thank you. Do you like the shirt, too? Catches a sweet mint in resale these days.”

“You don’t say…”

“Yes, yes. Now, Harry, please pick yourself up off of the place we civilised people prepare our food.”

Harry groans into the cool surface, but can’t stop himself from responding. It’s a natural reaction to the bullshit that comes out of Draco’s mouth most times. “If you’ve ever made a meal by yourself in your life, I’ll eat the countertop.”

“Harry,” his voice is menacing, and his footsteps are getting closer, “I’m not civilised.” And at that Draco grabs Harry by the shoulder and turns up around and back up against the counter top with not a small amount of force.

Harry’s reply comes out breathless from the impact. “You said ‘we’.”

“It was a universal ‘we’.” Draco says this through gritted teeth. His blond eyebrows are sitting right on top of his grey eyes and they scream murder louder than they’ve ever done before, which is saying something since Draco was once a Death Eater, no matter what the admiring general Wizarding public would like to remember.  

Harry doesn’t have a retort prepared, per se. It would be a more concise comment on how Draco hadn’t taken a single English language course his entire life, and what would he know about the universal ‘we’, but Harry meets Draco’s eyes and he’s a bit lost. A week of blanket non-communication. A bit extreme. Not gone longer than a couple of days without talking for years, have they.

“Cuppa, Draco?” That’s from Ron.

“Yes. Two sugars. Level.”

Ron scoffs, but Draco beats him to it. “Weasley it’s two-level sugars, please, for once, reorient your sense of balance before you spill the entire sugar pot into the cup.”

“Just don’t give him any sugar, Ron. He’s obviously already mental, we don’t want him to go into cardiac arrest.” This from Hermione.

“Uh-”

Draco scoffs before Ron can respond. “Settle down Granger. I’m not going to pretend to like black tea for some sense of superiority like some of us.”

“It’s better for your-”

“You know what’s good for your health?” Draco all but yells and spins around to face Ron and Hermione. Ron, still next to naked, and Hermione drowning in Ron’s clothes. She’s back to sitting on the counter, Ron leaning back next to her. They look like they’ve looked for the past 10 years – drawn to each other, allies, et cetera. Draco huffs. “What’s good for your health is you two sitting down and talking about your absolutely bloody insane coupling. What’s good for your health is not getting blackout drunk every Friday night and ending up sleeping with each other, and then not talking about it, until the next week when you can do it again.”

Ron and Hermione are shifting where they sit, Hermione, looking as though she’s getting herself ready to argue back, and Ron in a more protected position behind his ex-girlfriend. Harry feels a little sorry for them, getting the third degree from Draco when he looks as unhinged as he does now. The Harry on his chest, a mess when the photo was taken, is now looking at them disappointedly like he’s on Draco’s side. Like a magical recreation of a Harry who was in quite an intense meltdown at the time has any right to be “on Draco’s side” about any issues of wellbeing.

Hermione does get the strength to pipe up. “Don’t take that tone with us, Draco Malfoy.” But that’s all she can get out. Harry’s pretty sure she’s stumped. Doesn’t have an argument. Draco, Harry knows, has refused to get involved in this situation. Has watched from the side-lines and stewed. Harry’s been all for letting the two of them work their shit out in their own time, but he’s a stoic man, what does he know about all that?

“Don’t take that tone with us, Draco Malfoy,” is Draco’s retort, mocking back in a high-pitched squeak that Harry winces at. Hermione was about to hop off the counter, he could see, but Ron’s sudden arm around her waist kept her down. “You two just have to talk about it. So what if Hermione slept with Lavender? You guys weren’t together at the time!”

Hermione splutters, eyes wide, all thoughts of advancing physically on Draco gone. Ron sat eyes wide too, flicking between Draco and Hermione as if waiting for more.

“Wait-” he starts.

Hermione wails “Ron I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I know. It was such a bad thing to do-”

“No wait! You’ve been acting weird because of that?” And Ron looks incredulously at Harry. Harry sends him an incredulous look back, equally as surprised that Draco hit the nail on the head.

“What! You knew?” Hermione is still wailing.

Ron turns fully to face her and wails himself: “Of course I knew! How could I not know! Harry told me! Draco told me! Lavender told me! Hell, a month ago you got so drunk you told me.”

Hermione’s eyes are so wide that Harry’s afraid she’s going to start crying, and he grabs Draco’s arm in shock. Draco tenses all of a sudden and then Harry consciously remembers why he’s not doing that and shrinks back again. Ron and Hermione aren’t really focusing on anything but themselves now, so they don’t notice how Draco turns slowly back to face Harry, backed against the kitchen’s island like he has been since Draco arrived.

“And you, Harry Potter.” Draco pauses, and Harry has time to do a quick pass over. Draco on the front page of the Daily Prophet and Draco in the middle of Ron’s stylish London flat are two very different Draco’s. Quiet, pensive, charming and loveable Draco in the papers. Thoughtful. Friendly. A bloody myth.

This Draco. Angry, flustered, dishevelled, loud. This is the same Draco who, when Harry slipped up the other week – the week when everything changed – went red, went silent, went unresponsive in so many ways. Harry, fresh off the first love confession he’d ever given, so incredibly off the cuff that it had shocked him and scared him, had had to storm out of the apartment, slam the doors behind him, and apparate away to his own flat he barely spends any time in.

He’d slipped up. They’d never even suggested anything romantic between the two of them. They’d been close for a long time at this point and. Feelings. His feelings. They were supposed to be unspoken. He’d been nursing the growing beast of his feelings behind his stupid chest, which was okay as long as they were unspoken. Pretending every day that they weren’t eating at him alive.

Eating at him when he woke up in Draco’s spare room on more mornings than he’d liked to count, early enough before work that they could sit for breakfasts in Draco’s kitchen. And then Harry’s co-workers at the Ministry archives asking him questions about Draco’s new shows or his schedule or his favourite foods. Draco and Harry having dinner with Ron and Hermione at hole in the wall restaurants in the muggle world. Birthdays together; dinners at Draco’s or Ron’s nicer flats; bickering over anything and everything they could get their minds on.

“You hate my job.”

Harry’s eyes bulge open. Did he mean to say that? Sweet Merlin. It was definitely him, and now Draco is staring at him in confused consternation, as if he has to come to terms now that Harry’s gone insane.

Harry doubles down, though. Trusts his subconscious decisions. “Yeah, you hate my job!” he repeats.

“Are,” Draco starts, slowly, “you kidding me.”

He could respond, but Harry just shakes his head instead.

Harry’s thought Draco’s been properly angry this whole time. He was wrong. “I hate your job? Who doesn’t hate your job!” Draco’s arms reach out and grab tightly around Harry’s upper arms. Harry’s not above flexing, just a little. He tells himself it’s to test the grip, but honestly, he’s hoping to distract Draco from the rage.

“It’s not that bad!” Harry repeats, and Draco groans loudly.

“Not that bad? Are you trying to give me a stress induced ulcer?”

“What do you know about stress induced ulcers?” comes a faint response from Hermione.

Draco turns his head, hands still tight around Harry’s biceps, and says “don’t you two have make-up sex to attend to?”

Harry responds. “Ron’s sick.”

Draco glares back at Harry for a second, and then turns back to where Ron and Hermione haven’t moved. “Get out, you’re distracting him from the fight.”

“We’re the emotional support,” and “lame fight” come respectively from Hermione and Ron.

“Oh, that’s rich!” Draco yells in their direction, but Harry’s sure that he’s ignoring Ron’s comment. “Emotional support! You two have let this wanker,” a thumb thrown at Harry from over Draco’s shoulder, “probably crash on your couches rather than forcing him to face me. You’re all as bad as each other.”

“Draco,” Harry feels he has to say, and draws Draco’s attention from his two best friends who definitely have been letting him crash on their couches and had not once tried to force Harry to face his problems. He loves them a hell of a lot.

“Don’t you try to lessen this, Harry Potter.” Harry’s been on the receiving edge of worse glares from Draco, so this one isn’t that bad. Harry’s actually feeling a lot better now that Draco is in the same room as him. Feels his terrible, traitorous heart almost relax. “I’m sick of you three. You’re the worst bloody enablers for each other.”

Harry scoffs. Sure, they’d never force him to do something he didn’t want to, but it’s not like they agree with his decisions all the time.

Draco hears the scoff of course, and gives up on trying to chase the others out of the kitchen. He turns around towards the entrance, faces away from all of them and talks to himself at top volume. “This is what my life has become. The sole source of constructive criticism for the bloody Golden Trio.”

Ron snorts to cover up a laugh.

“I survive working for a fascist dictator, successfully rebuild my image, forge a new path for myself in the world, but I’m here. An overworked, under-rewarded, glorified therapist!”  

Harry, Hermione, and Ron exchange glances. The other two look at Harry in commiseration, but Harry is starting to think that Draco has a bit of a point when he realises that Ron’s arm is still around Hermione’s waist who is leaning right into his side.

“Okay.” Draco takes a deep breath and turns around to face Harry. “Since they’re not leaving, you all get to hear this.” He steps closer. “I hate your job. I hate your flat. I hate that you won’t face up to hard things, and I refuse to be okay with any of that.”

Harry swallows hard.

“People are letting you get away with anything at the moment, and when you told me you loved me, I got scared. Because I thought that I’d become one of those people to you too.”

“That’s not-”

“No.” Draco stops Harry for butting in. “No. We’re not pretending any longer. I love you-” thump goes Harry’s heart in his chest, eyes bulging and smile unable to be stopped “-but sometimes I seriously don’t like you.”

Harry’s smile does dim at that, but only slightly.

Draco looks away at last, his hands on his hips, and starts pacing. “I couldn’t believe-” sharp glance at Harry through the pacing, “-you just left after you said that. I couldn’t believe you’d actually not answer my owls. You’re an absolute coward sometimes.”

“You didn’t say anything…” Harry mumbles.

“Oh,” Draco responds with an eyeroll, still pacing, “so you get to freak out for a week, but I’m not allowed longer than a couple of minutes to compose myself?”

Harry ducks his eyes, ashamed.

Draco hmphs, and pauses in his pacing to look down his nose at Harry. “That’s right. You should feel bad.”

Shirt-Harry shakes his head at real-Har- “God Draco, take the shirt off!”

“What?” Draco is shocked into pausing his restless movement. “Take my shirt off? You haven’t even apologised and want to get me half naked like the rest of you? I think not!”

“That’s not- ugh, forget this.” Harry reaches forward and grabs Draco mid-pace. “Draco.” Deep breath. Harry meets Draco’s eyes. Draco looks like he’s been through his paces. He doesn’t even look angry anymore, he just looks like the culmination of a week of stress. Ron and Hermione are eating dry cereal right out of the box from their perch as they watch, and they both give Harry nods and a thumbs up in encouragement when his eyes stray to them.

He’s a stoic man: Draco and Hermione are right. He hasn’t had to be brave in a long while. This is a moment that’s worth it though, even if he has to fake it at first.

“I’m sorry.” He has to pause at that, because he can feel the emotions bubbling up a bit too high. He takes a deep breath, and makes sure that Draco’s eyes don’t stray. “You’re… you’re right. About a lot of that-”

Draco buts in with “I’m right about all of it, actua-”

“Shut up, do you want me to get this out?”

Draco concedes.

Harry takes another breath, but the nerves have disappeared in the face of Draco’s unfiltered verve. “I shouldn’t have left. I was-”

“A coward.”

“Draco.”

“…sorry.”

“I was. I was a coward. I was scared. You didn’t respond, which never happens. You’re so good with your words.” He has to take a minute to collect his thoughts, but finds the right thread. “I love you, and have done for a while. I ran because I kind of didn’t mean to say it then. We were already fighting about something, and it just came out, which wasn’t right, and sometimes I’m so afraid that things will change, because you’re my best friend-” “Hey!” “-my best friend and I didn’t want to lose that.”

“You should have said that then.”

Harry closes his eyes. God, feelings are so bloody hard. “Yeah, yeah I know.”

“Oh well, as long as you know.”

“Draco. Shut up.” He swallows. “I like my job.”

“No, you don’t. You come home-” a sharp breath “-you come to mine, I mean. You come to mine after work and you can’t stop complaining. We like our jobs. I’m sure when Hermione finishes her ChP and becomes the Minister she’ll love her job too.” (“It’s a PhD, Draco, I’ve told you a million times.” “Maybe another time, Herm.”)

Harry has to breath deeper, because his blood is pumping a bit too fast in his ears. He drops his hands from Draco and takes a couple of steps back. A retreat. “I think,” and he has to swallow a couple of times before he can force the words out of his throat. He looks up and meets all of their eyes. “I don’t think I can do important things anymore. I. I don’t want to- I.”

“Merlin sakes, Harry.” Draco says. “I think it may be time we force you into therapy.” And Draco just looks impatient. “You can’t keep pretending it’s not a problem, and we can’t keep letting you!”

Harry. Harry nods. He thinks he nods. It’s what he wants to do, but he’s not really looking at anyone anymore, eyes to the ground, heart a bit too fast in his chest for comfort. He wishes that he was still eating soggy cereal in the kitchen before the post arrived this morning. He’s a stoic coward.

Draco seems to take a deep breath, and then he turns around to face the others. “Okay, get up. I’m sick of standing in Weasley’s kitchen.”

Harry takes a pause and looks at Draco’s face. He’s perfectly serious, and so is the Harry on his shirt.  Harry’s heart is still racing, but Draco just looks resigned and present. He can’t help himself from smiling a little when his eyes catch on Draco’s. He gets a pretty severe glare in response, before Draco just walks right out of the kitchen and into the living room.

Harry follows, and hears the small grunt from Hermione hitting the ground behind him. Two sets of feet follow his own.

“Don’t forget my tea, Weasley!”

Ron scoffs, but still walks back into the kitchen to make a tea he’d promised about 20 minutes earlier.

Harry sits down on the floor in the same place he sat last night. Draco’s chosen the armchair near the fire; where he usually sits. Hermione stomps over to take the seat on the couch closest to the armchair, and Ron can be heard pottering around the kitchen.

“PhD.”

Draco looks to Hermione with a frown. “What?”

Hermione looks haughty yet contrite. Like she actually can’t help herself from making sure that Draco knows he was wrong, and feels a little bit sorry about it. “It’s a PhD, not a ChP or whatever you called it.”

“Honestly Granger, what does it matter?”

A harrumph from Hermione as she settles back into Ron’s expensive couch cushions. “It’s a very important thing.”

Harry chucks her a grin, and she smiles back proudly.

Draco rolls his eyes. “Why do you all insist on patting yourselves on the back constantly. You don’t see me singing my own praises.”

Ron let’s out a violent laugh from the kitchen, and Draco flushes a little bit, his eyes flicking to Harry who grins at him too.

Mugs float out from the kitchen, Ron trailing behind. Harry grabs his out of the air and cherishes the sent of the strong tea. He can’t help but laugh when Hermione grimaces at the taste of her milkless cup, and Draco looks at her as if he’s won something.

Harry’s won something. He’s won Draco sitting here in Ron’s expensive apartment, Draco rolling his eyes when Hermione chides him about his too sweet tea, then Draco chiding Ron when he argues that Ron made it too sweet anyway, and that if he has to have teeth work done it’ll be Ron’s fault.

“You can make your own tea, you know, you’re not that famous.”

“Actually, Weasley, I’m more famous than all three of you, currently. The only thing getting you through is dumb luck and a gullible consumer base. I get by on pure talent.”

“Sure, Draco.”

“Also, I expect thanks when Wheezes gets the significant boost in sales it’s sure to this week, what with the Prophet this morning.”

“Sure, Draco.”

Harry smiles. His arse will probably start hurting before his mug is drained, and the sounds of arguing will get tiring soon after that. He’s smiling so hard his cheeks hurt a little. He takes a deep breath. “Okay, fine. Therapy. I’ll do it.”

Ron and Hermione smile at him like they knew it was coming all along, pressed up against each other on the expensive couches. Draco just looks at him with a raised eyebrow, waiting for who knows what. Probably an oral manifesto of Harry’s recognised faults and his plans to change them. Harry just smiles right back at Draco, wide and unashamed. Draco shakes his head a little bit, lips pulling up too.

Harry’s worried that if Draco keeps looking at him at all that he’ll have to walk over there and kiss him without warning. He picks his mug up and keeps sipping though, pretends he doesn’t absolutely need to do just that. Because there’s going to be time. Lots of it.

His stoicism has its uses sometimes, maybe.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Pushed Around

Prompt: i looooooove you protective knights Merlin drabbles from over quarantine, the frantic energy of these large children fretting over Merlin is hilarious and so precious (': would you ever write your take on the classic "a visiting knight/noble is a dickwad to Merlin but he doesn't tell anyone bc of either worries of diplomacy or something else and then when Arthur and the knights do find out they have to have a serious chat w Merlin about his priorities and self-worth?" bc,,, it would be awesome

Thanks for the req! I do love this trope...

Read on Ao3

Pairings: merthur, but can be platonic or romantic, you decide

Warnings: uhhh nobles can be dicks

Word Count: 3372

The problem with Merlin is that he doesn’t say nearly enough for all the talking he does. Honestly, the man can ramble on for hours and hours without being interrupted and never say one word about himself. He’s spoken about how Arthur sits wrong for longer than a council meeting for goodness’ sake. And yet in all that time, he’s never said a single thing about himself.

 It would be impressive if it didn’t get them into nearly so many stressful situations that could’ve been avoided had he asked for help.

In fairness to Merlin, servants asking for help from anyone other than fellow servants isn’t exactly normal. In unfairness to Merlin, when has ‘normal’ ever been very high on his list of things to strive for?

 They’ve all gotten fairly used to it. Merlin will be doing something and one of them will notice that perhaps there’s a…better way to do that. Or perhaps he’s doing it with a little less skill or proficiency than he normally does and gods, Merlin, how long have you been hurt for? Merlin will shrug and smile sheepishly at them and say that it’s nothing to worry about. Only Gaius seems to be immune to that, raising the Eyebrow of Disappointment and Merlin will bow his head and let him tend to whatever he’s done to himself this time. The problem is Merlin seems to know this and does all he can to avoid doing these things in front of Gaius. Which leaves the rest of them to struggle frantically to keep track of Merlin while he’s frantically keeping track of them.

 But they’ve gotten used to it.

 Arthur is allowed to be an absolute prat—Merlin’s words, not his—in the mornings, insisting Merlin do all sorts of ridiculously elaborate chores to assess whether he’s hurt himself, whether something’s wrong, or whether he’s done something to upset Merlin more than tossing the occasional boot at him. If Merlin doesn’t snipe back or calls him ‘sire’ unironically, something is definitely wrong and everything is on pause until they fix it. No exceptions.

 Leon, as the closest thing to Arthur’s right hand aside from Merlin, takes every opportunity to stand next to him, regardless of how proper it is. Leon may not be immune to Merlin’s impish little excuses, but Merlin is not immune to the protective-older-sibling looks Leon gives him or the gentle way Leon arranges his cape so that Merlin looks even more inconspicuous behind the copious amounts of red fabric. Leon never says a word, and Merlin would never admit it, but there are times when, if you looked at them from behind, you would see Merlin reach out to clutch Leon’s cape and Leon reach to hold his hand.

 Percival is not a small man. Anyone standing opposite him better think very carefully about whatever they’re about to fight over. Odds are it won’t be worth it. Often all he has to do is stand up and they’re babbling apologies or excuses. Merlin, on the other hand, is a slight man who looks as if he’s always about two seconds from tripping over his own feet. Percival makes sure to stand in front of him.

 Elyan has a way with words. Not that he’s the most loquacious speaker, nor the most forceful, but he’s got a voice that makes people listen. It’s not Arthur’s authority, nor it is Uther’s unmistakable iron, but it is a quiet power. Oftentimes, people don’t seem to respect Merlin. Some go so far as to refuse to remember his name. Elyan’s never had a problem making them see reason.

 Gwaine is not known for being discreet, nor is he especially reserved in demonstrating that he’s here for Merlin, not for Camelot, not for Arthur, but for Merlin. Sometimes Merlin just needs a little reminder that he’s worth fighting for, and not just because he’s fighting for something bigger than himself.

 Lancelot is the only one that can actually get Merlin to talk, reliably. The man can see through Merlin’s nonsense in a way that rivals Gaius. Unlike Gaius, Merlin won’t fight him on it. It’s difficult to get Lancelot to tell the rest of them, despite what he’ll have you believe. But if Merlin looks a little happier afterward, then it’s all fine.

 So yeah, they’ve gotten used to it. What they haven’t gotten used to are the people that go out of their way to make life for Merlin harder.

 “There’s another tournament?” Merlin huffs as he throws the blanket over Arthur’s bed. “Didn’t you just have one?”

 “That was a joust. This is a melee.”

 “You’re all throwing yourselves at each other with various pieces of metal,” Merlin remarks dryly, “what’s the difference?”

 Arthur rolls his eyes as he gets up, glancing out the window to see the approaching knights. There aren’t nearly as many as the last tournament, thank goodness, but that does mean that this one won’t be nearly as easily decided.

 “As long as I’m not cleaning up after all of you this time…”

 Arthur frowns, looking back at Merlin straightening the bed covers. “What do you mean?”

 “Last time. I was working non-stop. Had another knight almost as demanding as you are.”

 “I’m allowed to be demanding,” Arthur says, “you’re my servant.”

 “Mhmm, sure.”

 “No one else is.”

 “You tell them that, sire.”

 “I will. Who was it?”

 Merlin shrugs. “Don’t really remember his name.”

 Arthur sighs, walking forward and resting his hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “Yes, you do. That’s what you say when you don’t want to tell me someone’s name.”

 “You don’t know that.”

 “I do,” Arthur says softly, turning Merlin to face him, “so you can tell me.”

 “That’s not how it works.”

 “Sure it is.”

 “No, it really isn’t.”

 “Merlin,” Arthur huffs, “if something is wrong, you know you can tell me.”

 “But nothing’s wrong!” Arthur just gives him a look until he sighs, picking up the laundry basket. “Alright, fine, his name was Tobias, are you happy now?”

 “Yes, I am, thank you.” Arthur gives his shoulder another pat before moving away. “The next time he’s here, I’ll make sure you’re nowhere near him.”

 As it turns out, that doesn’t go as planned. Because Sir Tobias didn’t just sign up for the joust, he’s here for the melee too.

 “Arthur Pendragon,” the man roars, clapping Arthur firmly on the shoulder, “thought you’d seen the last of me, eh?”

“Thought that bruised backside you got from falling off your horse would’ve kept you away.”

 Tobias throws his head back and laughs. “You’ve got spirit about you, lad. It’ll serve you well if you can hold your nerve.”

 “My nerve has never failed me before,” Arthur replies cooly, gesturing up the stairs, “though I’m sure you know that by now.”

 “We’ll see come the melee.”

 Merlin is out of sight, helping the stablehands tend to the horses. As Arthur walks up the stairs, he sees Tobias glance around and huff softly to himself.

 “Is there something wrong?”

 “No, no,” Tobias says quickly as they enter the hall, “just glad to see you’ve not assigned me the same servant this time.”

 Arthur straightens. “Excuse me?”

 “The gangly boy that tended to my chambers last time,” Tobias says, waving his hand, “right awful he was. Glad you’ve fired him.”

 “I see…”

 Arthur does not, in fact, see, but he makes a point to tell the knights not to let Tobias near Merlin.

 As it turns out, they don’t have much of a choice. Arthur needs Merlin to help him get ready, and Tobias is of high enough rank to be near the prince as he does so. Luckily for Merlin, he just has to stay inside the tent.

 Unluckily for Merlin…

 “Arthur,” Gwaine calls from outside, “they need you to come look at the shields.”

 Arthur gives Merlin’s arm a squeeze and steps away, ducking out of the tent. Gwaine leads him over to a table laden with shields, each with a different insignia painted on it. The Pendragon crest gleams in the light, next to the sigils from each of the other knights fighting. None of them has so much as a scratch.

 “Very good, sire,” the attendant says, sweeping them along to finish the final preparations. Arthur follows Gwaine up the hill to where the others are standing, Leon turning and nodding solemnly ate his approach.

 “Are all of you competing, then?” Arthur leans against the wall.

 Leon shakes his head. “Lancelot and I will be sitting this one out.”

 “Not growing weary are you, old friend?”

 “Weary of people attempting to kill you while I’m already engaged in combat,” Leon replies wryly, “and weary of Merlin being the only one able to do anything about it.”

 “They won’t listen to him when he calls for a stop to the tourney,” Lancelot adds.

 “And so you can keep anyone away from him,” Gwaine says firmly.

 “Precisely.”

 They head back down the hill, just in time to see a flutter of movement from Arthur’s tent. Gwaine frowns, rushing forward and throwing it open.

 “Merlin?”

 “I’m here,” Merlin says, getting to his feet, “just fell.”

 Arthur rolls his eyes fondly and reaches down to help him up. “At some point, Merlin, I do have to wonder.”

 “It’s fine, I just picked up something without realizing it was attached to something else.”

 “I see.”

 The rest of the knights glance at each other over Arthur’s shoulder and Elyan stalks off toward a neighboring tent. Leon bows deeply and tells Merlin that he and Lancelot will wait for the others to finish their training before coming to collect him.

 “There’s still a few more days to go,” Merlin says softly, “I don’t see why you all had to come here so early.”

 “It’s to make it fair, give the knights the chance to get used to fighting in the same place.”

 Merlin grumbles to himself as he goes about finishing up. Arthur catches him gently by the elbow as he turns to leave.

 “Are you alright? Really?”

 “Arthur, I’m fine. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

 Arthur sighs. “I would really like for one of these to go off normally for once.”

 Arthur does not, in fact, get what he wants.

 Not that anyone is particularly surprised that there’s a knight who managed to sneak a poisoned weapon into the training grounds, but someone clips Arthur through his armor and he winces, immediately aware that something’s wrong. Merlin spots it a mile away, because of course he does. The knight is quickly escorted away and Arthur shakes his head, calling for a search of all the knights’ belongings and weapons.

 “You’d think we’d get better about this,” Lancelot mutters as he and Merlin approach, Merlin rubbing his shoulder, “and that they’d stop trying.”

 “At least we caught it before the actual melee.”

 “Merlin, there you are,” Gwaine says, pulling Merlin to his side, “good. Now, you and I are going to have a talk.”

 “About what?” Arthur looks around. “What’s going on?”

 Lancelot just mouths that they’ll be back as Gwaine sweeps them both along the corridor. Arthur brushes it to the back of his mind. That’s not the first time they’ve done something like this.

 It’s the night before the melee. Merlin is late. Arthur paces up and down the length of his quarters. The knights have all vanished hours ago. Merlin is late.

 A knock.

 “Enter.”

 Leon sweeps inside, a stony look on his face. He glances around the quarters and bites back a curse. “Merlin’s not here, is he?”

 “No,” Arthur says, his blood beginning to run cold, “no, he isn’t. Where is he?”

“Gwaine and Lancelot are already looking,” Leon says, shutting the door, “but…sire, may I ask a question?”

 “Always,” Arthur says immediately, “you don’t need to ask.”

 “How long has Tobias been…allowed near Merlin?”

 “He hasn’t,” Arthur growls, hustling down the corridor, “but what has he done?”

 “He was more brazen during the joust.” Leon shoulders a door open. “But now—“

 “Merlin!”

 Arthur rushes forward as Merlin turns the corner. Startled, Merlin barely has time to turn all the way before Arthur’s wrapping him up in a protective arm and turning him back toward the safety of Arthur’s chambers.

 “Where were you?”

 “I was, um…”

 Arthur bites back a curse and hurries faster, Leon hot on their heels. Along the way, they come across Elyan and Percival, coming up from the armory.

 “Arthur, we need to—“ Elyan breaks off when he sees Merlin in Arthur’s arms. “Merlin?”

 “My chambers,” Arthur growls, “now.”

 “What about Gwaine and Lancelot?”

 “They’ll find us.”

 “Guys, whatever this is, it’s fine,” Merlin tries but Arthur simply opens the door to his quarters and sits Merlin down. “Really!”

 “Merlin,” Leon says quietly, “where were you just now?”

 Merlin glances at Arthur. Then back to Leon. “Helping Amelia.”

 “And who were you helping Amelia help?”

 Another glance at Arthur. Arthur closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

 “Merlin,” he says slowly, “I need you to answer me honestly, please.”

 Merlin nods, evidently a little taken aback at how soft Arthur’s voice is.

 “Were you helping Amelia because she asked for your help, or were you helping her so Tobias would get angry with you instead of her?”

 The silence that fills the room is more than enough of an answer.

 “I’m going to kill him,” Gwaine announces, kicking open the door, “now where’s—there you are.”

 “Gwaine, I—ah!”

 “Don’t break him,” Lancelot chides gently as Gwaine sweeps Merlin into a hug, “he’s probably still hurt.”

 “Hurt?” Arthur looks from Lancelot to Merlin. “Merlin—“

 “It’s fine.”

 “Can you allow us to be the judge of that,” Leon asks, settling a hand on Gwaine’s shoulder and moving him away, “please?”

 “It’s just a few bruises, he doesn’t even hit that hard.”

 “Not exactly helping your case here,” Gwaine snarls, stalking toward Arthur.

 “Merlin.”

 “…why’re you guys so upset?”

 Arthur winces. Merlin looks back and forth between them.

 “No…really, I don’t—I don’t understand. You lot hit me.”

 “Not like that!”

 “It’s fine, I don’t—“

 “This isn’t fine, Merlin, you’re being hurt.”

 “So?”

 The room falls silent. Leon draws back as if Merlin reached out to smack him across the face. Percival bows his head as Elyan bites back a curse. Lancelot stares at Merlin like he’s grown a second head. Gwaine looks at Arthur.

 Arthur’s chest clenches so painfully he fears he’s going to have to send for Gaius. Merlin…Merlin doesn’t believe that he’s worth worrying about when he’s hurt? Merlin doesn’t care that he’s getting hurt? Merlin is letting someone hurt him?

 “Merlin…”

 “What?” He looks around at all of them in confusion. “What it is? Why do you all look so…so…”

 “Upset?” Leon tilts his head. “Because you just told us you don’t think you’re important.”

 “But…this isn’t that big of a deal. It happens all the time. Why is this time any different.”

 “How often,” Lancelot says, “would you say this happens then?”

 “Every time there’s a tournament.”

 “Every tournament,” Leon repeats quietly, “there is a knight that does this?”

 “Sometimes more than one.”

 “And you…let them?”

 “It’s not like I have much of a choice.”

 No.

 No, no, no, this isn’t right.

 This isn’t right.

 Merlin is the man who waltzed right up to Arthur on his first day in Camelot and told him to stop being a prat.

 Merlin is the man who spat in Uther’s face as often as he could.

 Merlin is the man who demanded that everyone is treated as a person, be they servant or noble or royal.

 This is wrong.

 “Merlin,” Arthur manages, “Merlin, of course you have a choice.”

 “If I don’t do it, they’ll hurt someone else. And I’m used to it.”

 “But you never should’ve gotten used to it,” Arthur cries, rushing forward and grabbing Merlin’s shoulders, “damnit, Merlin, why don’t you protect yourself?”

 “I’m fine, Arthur.”

 “You’re letting yourself get pushed around and beaten by someone, you’re not fine.”

 “I have to put up with you, don’t I?”

 Arthur burns.

 Something in his chest squeezes so tight it breaks. He takes his hands off of Merlin like he’s been stung, backing up until he hits the poster of his bed. His mouth is open in shock and he can scarcely draw breath.

 Merlin thinks…Merlin…did he do this to Merlin?

 “I don’t understand why this is such a big deal,” Merlin is saying far, far away, “it’s not like I’m not…why’re you all looking at me like that?”

 No, no, Merlin is Arthur’s Merlin, he—he’d never hurt his Merlin, he’d never—no, he hasn’t—but—Merlin—

 “Arthur, are you—are you crying?”

 This is Arthur’s fault. This is Arthur’s fault, isn’t it, he’s messed this up, he’s messed Merlin up, he’s ruined it—he’s ruined everything.

 “Sire,” comes Leon’s—is that Leon’s?—voice from somewhere to his left, “you have to breathe, come on…”

 Arthur gasps, the air burning the inside of his throat. He does it again, frantically blinking to clear his eyes. Tears stream down his cheeks—so he did start crying—as the image of Lancelot and Gwaine talking to Merlin swims into view in front of him. Merlin’s brow is furrowed and he keeps shooting concerned looks Arthur’s way.

 “I never meant—“ Arthur swallows— “I never meant to hurt him. I didn’t—I never meant any of them, I—���

 “Shh, sire,” Leon murmurs, “we know. Nothing is simple right now.”

 “But that’s not what Arthur does,” Merlin protests, “he—is that why you guys are so worried?”

 Merlin turns and flies at Arthur, hands immediately coming up to cup his cheeks and numb away his tears, muttering all the while.

 “That’s not what I meant, Arthur,” he babbles, “I didn’t—I didn’t mean to—you’re not like them, I just—that’s what I’m used to, I didn’t know that there was a difference—“

 “I never meant to hurt you, Merlin,” Arthur says, gripping Merlin’s arms tightly, “I just—you must believe me—“

 “I do, I do—“ now Merlin’s crying too— “I just—“

 “Alright, you two,” Leon hushes, gently laying a hand on both of their shoulders, “let’s have you two sit before you fall over.”

 The knight guides them both to the bed, sitting them on the edge. They’re no help; they’re too busy crying and clinging onto each other.

 “Now, why don’t you two have a chat, and we’ll be outside.” Leon ruffles their hair affectionately and sweeps the others out into the corridor despite Gwaine’s protests.

 Arthur swallows. “I never meant to hurt you, Merlin,” he mumbles, “nor do I believe that you’re—a fool or an idiot or stupid or anything.”

 He clutches Merlin tightly. “You’re important to me.”

 Merlin nods. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you lot, it’s just…that was how the older boys in Ealdor treated me. I got used to it. And it always made sense.”

 Arthur shakes his head furiously. “It doesn’t make sense, Merlin. They were hurting you. People are hurting you. That’s not alright. That’s awful. And I’m going to stop it.”

 “You can’t just fight all the nobles who don’t like me.”

 “Watch me.”

 “Your father will—“

 “To hell with that,” Arthur snarls, “they’re hurting you. And I won’t stand for it.”

 Merlin sighs, slumping forward. Without a thought, Arthur catches him, pulling him closer and tucking his head over Merlin’s.

 “…you really would fight them for me?”

 “Yes, Merlin. I would. And I will.”

 He feels Merlin grin against his shoulder. “You’re going to make Tobias never come back to Camelot, aren’t you?”

 “Perhaps.”

[startanewdream]

A (last) bit of hope

Summary:  In which Remus laments over his requited love and Sirius comes to give him some sense, one last time, as the best friend he is. Set during Order of the Phoenix, missing moment of them discussing relationships and what it should mean to be alive.

Read on AO3 or below the cut:

________________________

'You are hiding'.

Sirius's voice echoes in the room, but Remus doesn't turn to him, same as he didn't move when the door opened and the bright light from the hall illuminated the small room he is in.

His hand continues to carefully brush the feathers of the sleeping hippogriff, just as he'd done for the last fifteen minutes.

'You can't hide here', Sirius continues, when Remus doesn't answer. His voice is light and teasing. ''That's my hiding spot. Go find somewhere else'.

It's supposed to be a joke and Remus thinks he was supposed to find good that Sirius' humour is better, but he doesn't laugh.

There is another moment of silence.

'Are you going to ignore me?', asks Sirius, sounding annoyed now. He was always sensible about people not noticing him..

'I am not', Remus assures distractedly. 'I am just concentrating on my task'.

'Merlin, you sound like a prefect all over again. " I can't go, Prongs, I need to finish these reports, they are soooo important"'.

This brings a small smile to Remus' lips.

'From what I remember, I used to go with you anyway'.

'You were just playing hard so you didn't feel so guilty. You obviously wanted to come with us'.

'Yeah, but then I had to wake at dawn to really finish those reports', Remus points out, raising his eyebrows to stare at Sirius, but Sirius doesn't seem impressed.

Well, he never really managed to make Sirius feel guilty, and, in any case, Sirius knows him well enough to know Remus doesn't regret his choices in school.

He'd trade any report for one more night with his friends. There weren't enough of those nights.

Sirius comes to his side, stroking gently the hippogriff’s head; even in his sleep, the animal seems to relax at Sirius' touch. There is one of the strangest friendships Remus has ever seen, and he once knew of a group of a werewolf, a dog, a stag, and a rat.

'Moody and Tonks have arrived', Sirius says in a nonchalant voice that doesn't fool Remus for a second.

He also knows Sirius very well.

He just nods, careful to avoid looking in Sirius' direction so it's more difficult for Sirius to read him. Won't work, Remus thinks, but he can try.

He just doesn't want Sirius to see that Remus already knows they've arrived - that she arrived. He'd heard the sound of noise in the hall, had heard Mrs. Black's cries echoing through the house and he had known Tonks was there - she always kicked the umbrella stand, so charmingly clumsy. It was fourteen days since he'd last seen her - he wonders if she still keeps her hair pink, if she had asked about him, if she...

He shakes his head, admonishing himself for letting his thoughts roam free. He'd promised himself he wasn't going to think about her - no matter the fact she still appeared in his dreams, where he couldn't control - hadn't wanted to control, because in his dreams there were no problems and they could be together, and if dreams were all he had...

'You got that look, mate'.

Remus' head snaps in Sirius' direction, but Sirius isn't even looking at him. He's smirking, though, like a cat that knows it caught the mouse.

Or rather a dog with a wolf, in their case.

'I don't know what you mean', says Remus with all the dignity he can muster, hoping his tone is enough to let Sirius drop the matter for once.

It's not, but then again Sirius was never one to drop the bone.

'The wolf-in-love look', Sirius explains helpfully. 'That one that makes you look like a puppy, or, well, more like a dog that needs to be neutered, you know, when the dog is all over the place with his -'

'I get the idea, thanks, no need to go on'.

Sirius chuckles.

'Well, that look. And considering the reason for your lovesickness is downstairs, I don't know what you are still doing here'.

'I am just busy', Remus whispers without any conviction. 'Since Buckbeak isn't flying outside, most caretakers recommend -'

'Moony, I appreciate your top grades in Care of Magical Creatures - we seemed to find it rather ironically, if I remember correctly -, but you are avoiding the subject here... Merlin, you were really hiding, weren't you?'

Sirius is staring at him concentrated now, and Remus wishes he'd thought of another place to hide. Well, not to hide , he wasn't doing that; he was just in search of a safe place to be while he avoids a beautiful temptation in the form of a twenty-three years old woman who has (most of the time) bright pink hair and makes his heart beat faster.

Also, a place where he doesn't have old friends that know him too well.

'What's going on?', Sirius asks at least. 'Two weeks ago you were offering to do anything if it were with Tonks - you took the Knight Bus to Scotland to be alone with her, for heaven's sake - and now you don't even want to see her?'

'I wasn't -', he begins but Sirius' lifted eyebrows make him lose his courage to lie. 'I just need some time alone'.

'Remus -', now Sirius' voice is sounding really concerned, and for a moment Remus is taken back to the Hospital Wing in Hogwarts in his Third Year, waking up to see James and Sirius around his bed, looking at him worriedly after one of his worst nights. They had refused to leave his bedside then. 'I thought it was just the full moon last week, but it's something else, isn't it?'. Sirius pauses, then he looks troubled as some thought crosses his mind. 'Did she - I thought Tonks was also - are you hurt?'

Remus shakes his head, denying it. That's the problem, really, he is not hurt. He is the opposite of it, because he is in love and he never felt that exhilaration before, never believed in it really, even though he'd seen people fall in love before.

It just had never seemed like something that could have happened to Remus.

It can't happen , he says to himself, you and her, it can never be . You can't be in love.

Except Remus never really had a choice in it. It had just…Happened.

'I'm going to call her here if you don't tell me, Moony'.

'She fancies me. We were on this mission together a couple of weeks ago, she was saying that you are still handsome even after everything, and I lost control, I got jealous and stupid and then Tonks - she - she told me if I stopped being sorry for myself, I’d see it was me that - that she fancied’.'

The words slip out of Remus' lips without him controlling it, and the only thing he thinks is that he isn't really telling the truth.

She told him she is in love with him. Not just fancying him.

In love.

Still, Sirius beams.

'Good hippogriffs, that's great! I’m glad to know I’m still handsome, but I’m so happy for -'

'It's not "great", Padfoot. It's… it's bad'.

'But you fancy her too' says Sirius confused, and Remus wishes that his feelings for Tonks hadn't slipped out in a drunk confession to Sirius when they were overcelebrating New Year's.

'My feelings don't matter'.

'Of course they do', Sirius says critically. 'You've been pinning all over her, with that gentle sad smile that's your charm, and now that Tonks actually reciprocates your feelings, they don't matter?'

'I never… I never thought -'

'That she could like you back, I know, but guess what? She does’..

'She shouldn't, I mean, look at her and - and look at me'.

He shrugs.

'Kind of opposites attract maybe. She is lovely, you are a git'.

'I'm being serious'. When Sirius opens his mouth, his eyes already shining with the joke, Remus raises his hand to stop him. 'Not now, Sirius. I mean it, look at me and tell me what you see?'

He sighs.

'A very fine gentleman, with greyish hair that looks actually distinguished, lines of experience in his face and, as James once said, deep green eyes that can see your soul'.

This distracts Remus for a minute.

'I think he was talking about Lily, Padfoot'.

'No, pretty sure it was you. He didn't have that goofy face he had when he was thinking of Lily. But he was actually pissed, so who knows -'

'My point is that what you see is an unemployed thirty-six years old man who lives in his friend's mother's house with no perspective of life… and I'm a werewolf'.

As he expected, the last phrase makes Sirius scowls, annoyed.

'Except for your age, none of it is your fault'.

'Doesn't change the fact it's true'.

'Well, true or not, she doesn't seem to care'.

'But it does. Me and Tonks - we - we can't be together'.

Sirius looks at him as if Remus had grown another head.

'I don't get you, Moony. You spent one year getting to know her, finding any excuse to be here when she returns from her watches, volunteering to missions that sounded boring even to me who would do anything to get out of this hell… and for what?'

Remus resists the urge to grab his hair and pull it out. None of his friends - none of the Marauders - seemed to ever truly understand what he was; they always seemed to put Remus on a pedestal that reality would crush.

'It was supposed to be platonic. It was supposed to be me letting myself just dream and enjoying her presence until - until she would meet a nice young handsome Auror and then -'

'How much firewhiskey did you drink?'

'What?'

'You must be drunk to be so out of your mind. My cousin has been smitten with you ever since she fell the first day and you offer her your hand, like a prince'.

'But I'm not the prince, I'm the mons -'

'Don't you dare, Remus', Sirius cuts him off, with a growl that makes Buckbeak wake, nervous. 'We forbade you a long time ago of calling yourself a monster'.

Remus thinks of their Second Year, of the night he came back to the Boy’s dormitories to hear his friends telling him they knew of his secret - he'd been so ashamed and scared, unable to meet anyone's eyes, promising them he would leave and telling them he was sorry for being a monster.

('You are not a monster!', Sirius had said, grabbing him by the shoulders and making Remus look in his direction. 'Don't ever say that again!'. And then James and Peter were there too. 'You just have a furry little problem', James had added, with that easy crooked grin that had first drawn Remus to him. 'And above all, you are our friend. If you ever want to define yourself, remember what you are. A Marauder')

'A half-breed, then', he says tiredly.

'That's Umbitch talking, and I refuse to hear anything that cow says, Moony'.

'I'm not human, not really'.

'Give me your hand'.

Remus blinks, puzzled, but he offers his hand anyway. Sirius puts his hand over his.

'See? Very much the same. Five fingers. Normal skin. Human'.

'Once a month -'

'Once a month I used to turn into a dog. How normal is that? Tonks changes her hair colour twice a day . Talk about normal, who wants to be normal?'

'Me'.

Sirius sighs.

'You are boringly normal, Remus. You are just a typical guy that once a month becomes intolerable, but if I could bet Tonks also has this kind of day'.

'I am too old for her'.

'I would say that age means experience, but you are so old-fashioned that it wouldn't even be true… so I'll say wines are better the longer they are left alone on the barrels'.

Sirius seems very satisfied with his metaphor, but Remus doesn't smile.

'She is too young'.

'She is a grown-up adult, you know that, right? Tonks can make her own decisions, even if it means falling for old grumpies such as you'.

'Not helping, Sirius'.

'I'm trying. You were the one who was good at helping people feel better - or was it James? Both of you were better than me, anyway. What I mean is that you are both adults, so anything you consent to is valid'.

'I'm too poor'.

'I've heard Aurors are paid well, so she can totally support you both… Ok, not helping, I know. But I mean it, stop being old-fashioned in this at least. Money is not an issue, and once this is over, you will get a normal decent paid job with three days-off every month'.

That surprises Remus, making him stop and smile for real now. He can hear the optimism in Sirius' voice, and after one year in that bloody house, with Sirius being more and more recluse and upset, it's nice to see him hoping for once.

Even if it's a vain hope, one that Remus cannot see himself.

'Now can you stop hiding? Do you know what James would have said if he saw you like that?'

' "If you want to hide you should have taken my Invisibility Cloak, Moony"?'

Sirius laughs loudly, even if there is a hint of sadness in his tone, the same one that is always there when he is thinking of Prongs.

Almost fifteen years later and it's evident that Sirius still misses his best friend like if he died taking a part of him.

It's a feeling Remus shares, but he thinks it's easy for him. He feels grief, not guilt.

'He'd have kicked you in the arse', Sirius says when he stops chuckling. 'And tell you that if he had the nerve to ask Lily out when it was more likely she'd rather hex him than date him, you can face a girl who already fancies you'.

'Well, that paid him off in the end'.

'That's 'cause Lily would never resist his charm', Sirius says playfully, copying one of James' most presumptuous voices. It was one that had seemed to drive Lily mad, but in hindsight, Remus thought it was because she actually enjoyed it; and, after all, James had used that tone more as a joke than anything in the end.

Thinking about them makes his heart heavy with longing. They had shined so brightly together…

'They were perfect together', Sirius says suddenly, his thoughts in synchrony with Remus'. 'I think about them all the time, of how… how they made the right choices'. A shadow crosses his face. 'Well at least until the end'.

'What do you mean?'

'They didn't lose time. The moment they knew that they loved each other, nothing else mattered. None of James' past mistakes, none of her insecurities. They would fight in the war, and they would be together for as long as fate would allow it. Even Harry, you remember how -'

'They were so scared, I don't think I've ever seen James so terrified before'.

'He didn't even flinch before suggesting we became animagi, but talked about a baby and he was afraid', Sirius chuckles briefly, before looking beyond Remus. 'What I mean is… They lived. Shortly, not enough as they should, but they lived more than me and you'.

'We are alive, Padfoot'.

'Are we really? I'm back in this godforsaken house and sometimes I'm mad because James promised I'd never step foot again here, but he is dead, and I… I am a ghost'.

'You are alive', Remus insists and now he is the one taking Sirius' hand. 'See? Warm. That's because your heart is pumping blood through your body. While your heart is beating, you are alive'.

'That's my point!', cries Sirius. 'If this poor excuse of a human that's me gets to be alive, then it should have a meaning, right? I won't live to see my end in this house. You and me both, we deserve a chance to really live, and we can do it. As James did'.

If it were anyone else, Remus would think of denying it, and would list again all problems he has. But this is Sirius talking; Sirius, who once told him he wasn't a monster, who hugged him after his mom died, who is his best friend, to whom Remus promised he wouldn't ever mistrust again.

Sirius, who spent twelve years alone in Azkaban, who suffered more than anyone Remus has ever known but has come to grace him now with that little bit of hope that Sirius never seems to grace himself.

'Okay, I can work with that', Remus says finally, smiling, and that makes Sirius grin.

'So can I prepare for the wedding? I've got really good recommendations -'

'James had to lock you before his wedding', Remus remembers in a false severe voice, and they both share a smile. 'Something about a real stag party?'

'In a zoo, yeah, he wasn't amused. So no wedding yet?'

'No, just… just be less eager. We'll start slow. I will - I will ask her out. On a date. One that doesn't involve us hiding behind bushes'.

'Oh, if it's your kink, don't be shy'.

'Arse'.

'A very fine one I have, yes', jokes Sirius and Remus can't help but chuckle freely for the first time in two weeks. Sirius watches him thoughtfully. 'I mean it all, Remus, do you know that, right? I'm a poor bastard, but you should be happy. You deserve to be happy. Promise me you won't forget this'.

There is something soberer than usual in Sirius' eyes, some urgency that takes away Remus' sudden desire to just joke about it. There is a cold feeling in his spine that he forces himself to ignore.

'I won't', he says. 'But try to do -'

He stops when he hears someone coming up the stairs - the sound is rather erratic as if someone is missing a few steps now and then, and it is a sound Remus recognizes so easily that he can't help but sigh fondly.

Sirius grins knowingly to him, seeming more at ease, and Remus almost expects him to start winking and giving them his blessing…

'Wotcher, guys', Tonks says, her pink hair reddening slightly when her eyes meet Remus. Ignoring the nudge from Sirius in his back, he grins to her, for once letting his imagination flow free.

A date, yes, that would be nice. He doesn’t have the money for a nice dinner, but he could cook for her - but where? Not in Grimmauld Place, for sure, and he wouldn't suggest her house for a first date (Sirius is right in calling him old-fashioned). Maybe a picnic then? He cooks here and then they go to a nice park in London, somewhere no one would recognize them, where they could be just two lovebirds sharing chocolates and then, if he dares to hope, a kiss -

'Looking for someone?', Sirius asks innocently, and Remus wants to smack him. Sirius is never innocent, which is obvious even for Tonks, who throws a brief shy glance at Remus.

Guiltily, he remembers he never answered her when she told him she was in love with him.

He’ll make it right, he promises, and for once, instead of feeling concerned with the knowledge she likes him back, Remus lets this thought fill him with hope .

It can be okay. It will be.

'Actually, you', Tonks says, sounding a little puzzled as she looks back to Sirius. 'Snape just sent a patronus, he said the most unbelievable thing, for some reason Harry thinks you are in danger…'

[panharmonium]

(1/3) Heya! A while back you were discussing Morgana's character and Merlin's relationship with her WRT magic and mentioned "gaslighting." I know for myself when I refer to Merlin gaslighting her it's not in regards to him not outing himself, but that 1) Pre 2X03 he goes along with Gaius in pretending to not believe that her visions are true and giving her the sleeping draughts. And Post 2X03, after reassuring her that they're still friends, he just doesn't really talk to her again until 2X12.

Hi!  So, I will preface this by saying that I normally don't have a chance to respond to asks in this much depth, but luckily I had some free time over the past couple of days, and there's nothing I like better than writing incessantly about Merlin, so I took the liberty of doing a deep dive. :)

My impression (because these asks don't actually include a particular question for me to answer) is that I'm being asked to expand/defend my own analysis from my original post with regard to the above points.  And I'll be honest and say that I won't always do that for folks on demand, because I really am of the school of thought that I don't write meta to convince anybody of something or "prove" a point - I really am just talking to myself in my own room for fun, and it isn't important to me to make a case to anybody who would rather approach from a different angle.  Like - if we’re on different pages, it’s chill; I don’t feel a need to discuss it or like...change someone’s mind.  (In all seriousness, I really have just been writing these things for myself and a couple of friends.  Prior to three days ago, when some kind of a bizarre surge happened, I had no followers who were here specifically for Merlin.)

But there are definitely some things referenced in these messages that I do have strong opinions about (though as I always say, that doesn't mean anyone is obligated to agree with me!)  And since I have the free time and am actually interested in this topic, I figured I'd try to address these things one by one (though I can't promise to do so in order.)  

I'll put everything under a cut, because this did get quite long.

disclaimer: as always, whenever I write meta: these are just my own thoughts, and I don’t expect anyone to share them.  If we are on different pages, feel free to scroll past and keep having fun in whatever way is most enjoyable to you!

1) “after reassuring her that they're still friends, he just doesn't really talk to her again until 2X12″

So first, I have to pose a question.

Why does this say "[Merlin] just doesn't really talk to her again" after 2.03?

Specifically, that framing.  

Merlin doesn't talk to her again.  

Because what actually happens, from 2.03-2.10, in an objective, this-is-what-we-see-onscreen way, is this: Merlin defies Gaius and tells Morgana that he believes she has magic.  He sends her to the Druids so they can help her, tries to distract the attacking knights so she can escape from Camelot with the Druids permanently, and, when that fails, he makes sure to come to Morgana's room and tell her that he supports her and her secret is safe with him.  

Then, from 2.04 through 2.10, they don't have screen time together.

Not "Merlin just doesn't talk to her."  

They don't have screen time together.  You could say "Morgana just doesn't talk to him" and it would be just as true.

But somehow we immediately frame our discussion of this as Merlin not doing something.  And that is what I am pushing back against.  

Merlin takes massive risks to help Morgana in 2.03.  He makes it very clear that he is there for her and he will never tell her secret, and Morgana, for her part, is shown to be very appreciative of that.  It's clear that she trusts him and believes him.  They part on a very positive note, at the end of 2.03.

Why, then, do we automatically frame the objective, unattributable-to-any-one-character fact that they don't interact onscreen after that as being somehow a failing on Merlin's part?   Why do we frame the simple fact that "they have no scenes together" as something for which we can lay blame?  (On Merlin, of course.  Never on Morgana.)

It's not as if we see Morgana reaching out and failing to get a response.  From 2.04-2.10, there are zero scenes of Morgana trying to approach Merlin and being rebuffed.  There are no scenes of Morgana wishing for guidance and being turned away.  And, with the exception of the Witchfinder episode (where Merlin already does literally everything in his power to expose this dangerous man and protect Morgana from his machinations) Morgana is not, in fact, shown to be getting "more and more freaked out and isolated."  

I want to pause and address that, because I know we've all sort of...collectively decided to imagine that this is what happened (because as a fandom we've tried to just fill in with fanon what feels like a blank left by the writers), but onscreen, in terms of the source material: it is false to say that “in the background you kind of see Morgana get more and more freaked out and isolated as the season progresses.”  It just doesn’t happen.

With the exception of "The Witchfinder," Morgana is never shown to be having any inner conflicts about her magic, not until 2.11.  Episodes 4, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10 - absolutely nothing.  There is one scene in 2.08 where she mentions having trouble sleeping, but then that issue is immediately resolved for her when Morgause gives her the healing bracelet and cures her nightmares.  There are no scenes of Morgana worrying about her magic.  No scenes of her needing help.  No scenes referencing her position as a person who is struggling with being a secret magic-user.  No scenes referencing her magic at all, in fact.  She is not shown to be getting more and more freaked out and isolated; rather she appears to have integrated back into her old life, comfortable now in the knowledge of who and what she is.  It’s like what she told Merlin at the end of 2.03: "I know now who I really am.  And it isn't something to be scared of.  Maybe one day people will come to see magic as a force for good."

And we can of course debate whether that was really an appropriate writing decision, to have Morgana be fine, fine, fine, until suddenly we hit 2.11 and it's like, 'oh, suddenly not fine,' but we also can't evaluate or judge Merlin based on a fanon image of what we imagine was happening in Season 2.  We can only evaluate him based on what actually happens onscreen (whether we feel like it was well-written or not), and what actually happens onscreen is that minus her fear in The Witchfinder, which Merlin already takes decisive actions to address, Morgana is not shown to be distressed or isolated or conflicted until we hit 2.11.  

She appears, as far as Merlin and the audience can see, to be doing just fine.

I’ve got to be clear on this: "Merlin just doesn't really talk to her again" is a loaded sentence, when the phenomenon we're really trying to describe is  "Merlin and Morgana have no scenes together."  It inherently assigns responsibility, agency, and blame for any non-interaction to Merlin, when there is nothing in canon to support that framing.

If Morgana wants to talk to Merlin, she can come talk to him.  She knows Merlin is on her side.  She is shown to trust and appreciate Merlin without reservation at the end of 2.03.  And even if she had been shown to be spiraling into a bad place in 2.04-2.10 (which, as discussed above, is not the case) she could have come to Merlin at any time.  It is literally not Merlin's responsibility to pursue Morgana and press her to talk to him.  He has done his due diligence.  He makes sure she knows he is on her side, that he supports her, that he believes her, that he will never reveal her secret.  And she is shown to believe him when he says that.  If she needs him, she knows she can approach him.  And if she chooses not to do that - then that is on her.

This is a tough pill for even the in-universe characters to swallow, but Merlin is not responsible for the well-being of every single person in Camelot.  It is not his job to make sure that every single person in his orbit is 100% okay at all times.  It is not his job to read his friends' minds, or anticipate every single one of their needs, or to offer himself to them constantly, repeatedly, every time he has a spare moment, especially when they seem (like Morgana from 2.04 to 2.10) to be doing well.  Merlin has already been placed in a position where he is expected to devote almost all of his energy to serving someone else's interests.  When we expect him to also worry about and monitor and manage the health and happiness of all the other people around him, we are perpetuating the same damaging narrative for which we criticize characters like Kilgharrah, Gaius, etc - that everything is on Merlin, and if he can’t manage to juggle it all, then the negative consequences that ensue are his fault. 

A personal illustration of how this would play out in real life:

I live with my sister.  I am a pretty stoic person.  And when something is the matter, I sometimes don't tell her about it.  I just pretend like everything is fine.  I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that she would listen to me and support me if I ever came to her with a problem, but sometimes I don't do that.  And if that’s the choice I make, then that’s fine, but I have to take responsibility for it.  It's not okay for me to get angry and BLAME her for not helping me, when I never gave her any indication that I needed help in the first place.

So - flipping the narrative, what if we reframed the original statement to an equally loaded but equally accurate “post 2.03, Morgana just doesn't talk to Merlin.”  The two of them go through a harrowing experience together, where Merlin takes deadly risks to try to help Morgana escape Camelot and find her true self, where he offers his continuing support to her after it's over, and then she just never takes him up on that offer.  She retreats back into her comfortable position as Uther's noble ward, and stops associating with Arthur's lowly servant.  When Merlin helps save Gwen from the bandits in 2.04, Morgana never thanks him.  When Merlin is framed for theft by Catrina and hunted down, she doesn't stand up for him or try to help him.  When Gaius is arrested and tortured by the Witchfinder, she never stops by to see how Merlin is doing and check if he's okay.  When she's approached by a total stranger who wants her to steal a "weapon" for him, she doesn’t talk to Merlin at all, but rather agrees to steals the Crystal of Neahtid without ANY understanding of what it actually does or what Alvarr's plans are for it, leaving Merlin completely in the dark about why she's suddenly sneaking around acting so strange and suspicious.

Think back to Season One.  When Gwen is accused of sorcery and sentenced to death, Merlin confesses himself in order to save her.  Despite enjoying none of the protections Morgana has as Uther’s ward, Merlin still confesses himself in order to protect a friend.  But when Merlin is accused of sorcery in 2.07 (and when Gaius is then sentenced to be executed), Morgana does nothing comparable.  She just lets them take the fall.  Merlin allows himself (and Gaius) to be accused, even though he could easily have ratted Morgana out instead, and Morgana, despite knowing that Merlin is keeping silent to protect her at his own expense, never says a word to defend him, or approaches Merlin about it afterwards.  She sees Merlin dragged out of the Council Chambers screaming after Gaius is sentenced to death, but she says nothing.  She knows Gaius is going to be burnt at the stake, but she does nothing, not even making her usual appeal to Arthur.  

Does that mean we should assume that she was being negligent?  That she was abandoning Merlin when he needed her most?

For clarity - I'm not saying that the answer to that question is yes.  I’m saying that I’ve never seen anybody assign intention/bad faith to Morgana when it comes to her non-interaction with Merlin from 2.04 to 2.10 (even though that particular read is actually far more justified by the text).  There is no reason to assign intention to Merlin, either.

Ultimately, I just want us to be aware that saying “Merlin just doesn’t really talk to her again” inherently assigns agency and blame to an agentless fact.  Morgana and Merlin not being on screen together from 2.04 to 2.10 =/= "Merlin just doesn't really talk to her."  The phrase "Morgana just doesn't really talk to him" is an equally true statement, but one we don't hear nearly as often, because in the Merlin-verse, everything is Merlin's responsibility.  And therefore, when there’s a problem, everything is Merlin's fault.

2) “pre 2X03 he goes along with Gaius in pretending to not believe that her visions are true giving her the sleeping draughts”

Okay, this is just my own opinion, but - I personally think it is unreasonable for us to expect Merlin to correct every single bad choice that the people around him make, and it's unfair to transfer the blame for other people's choices onto his shoulders.

If Gaius is making bad choices prior to 2.03, then they are Gaius's bad choices.  Merlin, in 1.07, has just arrived in Camelot within the last couple of months.  Gaius has lived in Camelot all his life, and has been dealing with Morgana for two decades and Uther for longer than that.  Gaius is a trained physician.  He is in a position of authority over Merlin, and he has far more experience with the royal family than Merlin does, and when he tells Merlin that the safest thing for Morgana right now is to help her sleep through the night without having potentially-prophetic nightmares, of course Merlin listens to him. 

But five minutes into 2.03, immediately after Merlin learns that Morgana actually has magic (not just dream-visions, which this show states to be a separate gift) he is arguing with Gaius, saying that "you need to be honest with her."  At the fifteen minute mark, he is in Morgana's chambers telling her how to find the Druids.  

I cannot get on board with transferring blame that belongs to other people and dumping it all on Merlin's overburdened shoulders.  He directly defies Gaius's orders so that he can help Morgana, as soon as it becomes apparent how serious her situation is.  He leads Camelot's army on a chase through the woods in an attempt to help her run away, putting himself at extreme personal risk to do so.  How would he explain that, if he were caught?  If he were seen?

He does more to help her with her gift than anyone, and he puts himself at risk of discovery and execution to do it.  The standards to which we hold him, and the number of responsibilities we expect him to assume, and the ways we hold him accountable for choices that other people in positions of power have made, even when he ultimately corrects their mistakes - are impossibly unreasonable, and they certainly aren't the same standards we use to evaluate Morgana’s actions.

3) “while I don't think Merlin owed outing himself to anyone IMO was a really nasty undercurrent in the writing of ‘crazy/hysterical woman with her volatile lady feelings can't be trusted’ even after he's known her for like a year compared to Lancelot, Gilli, Daegel etc. being a-okay.”

Comparing Morgana to Lancelot, Gilli, and Daegal as a way of saying that Merlin underrates Morgana's trustworthiness in favor of theirs doesn't make sense.

Merlin doesn't choose to out himself to Lancelot at all.  It's an accident.  

Merlin doesn't choose to out himself to Daegal, either.  He's put in a situation where it's either "use magic" or "we both die."

Gilli has a little more wiggle room in terms of "was this an active decision on Merlin's part," but it's also not accurate to interpret this situation as arising out of Merlin's personal desires/level of trust in Gilli as a person.   Merlin reveals himself because he feels like it is the only way to get through to someone who is going to get themselves killed looking for revenge.  (And I've written previously about how I think Merlin's choices in this situation are in fact directly influenced by the decisions he didn't make with Morgana, and how making the opposite choice here in an attempt to "do the ‘right’ thing this time" doesn't actually change the ultimate outcome, but that's neither here nor there.)

None of these three instances are moments where Merlin looks at these characters and goes, “these people seem way more trustworthy than that crazy, volatile lady i know; i’m gonna reveal myself to them!"  He is forced into all of these situations, against his will, and is outed either by accident or necessity.

Additionally - the above is really the more important counterpoint, but I do think it's worth mentioning that Morgana, as far as the closeness of her relationship with Merlin goes, also can't be meaningfully compared with the other three characters on this list because her position as a noble places her in a totally different category altogether.

Merlin legitimately likes Morgana in the early seasons, and he's thrilled to be her friend.  But Merlin is also class-conscious - he has to be, given his position in society; and moreover he's spent the first twenty years of his life being best friends with a dude who is both hyperaware of and hypervocal about the inequalities of the current social system.  Merlin is ALWAYS aware that Morgana is on a different level than he is, and he is perfectly justified in being slightly more reticent around people who aren't cut from his own cloth, in the same way he is justified in being slightly more careful around Arthur, who also leverages his power and privilege whenever "equality" becomes inconvenient for him.

Take the comparison between Lancelot and Morgana, for example.  Merlin has known Lancelot for slightly less time than Morgana (Merlin meets Lancelot in 1.05), but he cleaves to Lancelot more quickly, and it is only natural that Merlin would do so.  Merlin is a peasant farmer.  He is literally as low on the social ladder as you can get without being one of the itinerant poor.  Morgana is, in essence, a princess, and Merlin isn't wrong for feeling more comfortable around Lancelot than he is around her, because Morgana, for all that she is generous-minded with the servants, is SO far above the level of people Merlin is used to associating with, and she has SO much more influence than he does - it's a power differential that can't be erased, no matter how friendly Morgana is with him.  And it’s a dynamic that isn't limited to Morgana, either - it exists between Merlin and Arthur, too.  

This is an element of the show that I don't necessarily see discussed often when it comes to Morgana and Merlin (and Gwen, for that matter), and most of the time it seems to be ignored in favor of like...“Morgana doesn't see class!  She's friends with Gwen and she's friends with Merlin!"  And I'm not disputing that she considers herself to be friends with them at first, but I also am not going to pretend that she doesn't then weaponize her class against them as soon as the situation changes.

In S3, she leverages her privileged position to threaten Merlin with execution if he tries to reveal her misdeeds, because she knows that no one will believe a servant even if he tells the truth ("Just think how Uther would react if he learnt that a serving boy had tried to poison his beloved ward").  She is horrified at her vision of Gwen taking the throne in 3.10, saying "How can that be?  She's a servant."  She mockingly calls Gwen "My lady" when capturing her in 5.06, and, when offering Gwen a drink of water, says, "Is it too good for you now that you're queen?"  She scathingly criticizes Helios’s capture of Merlin in 4.06, saying, "And you bring me how many men?  Or should I say how many servants?"  She tells Merlin, "You are Arthur's servant, nothing more" later in that same episode.  She dispenses with all semblances of equality with Gwen in late Season 2 whenever Gwen's in the way, instead snapping at her, ordering her around, and booting her out of the room.  And in "The Dark Tower," she drags Gwen behind her on a rope.

Morgana in the early seasons is committed to an "I'm not going to lord my social status over my lower-class friends!" attitude.  But that doesn't mean her social status doesn’t exist, or that the power differential has vanished.  And when the chips are down - when Morgana feels like she's getting less than she "deserves" but her former servants are getting more than they themselves do - she falls back on the power she has as a noble.  The ways in which Morgana interacts with Merlin and Gwen, after Morgana's falling out with Camelot, don't manifest as just "you betrayed me and we're not friends anymore," they express themselves in ways that specifically target Merlin and Gwen's "lowly" status, in comparison to Morgana's lofty one.

4) “I also hate the Merlin and Gaius talk in 2X12 where they more or less write her off as using her powers for eviiiiil when she hadn't consciously used her powers for ANYTHING yet.”

I suppose this could be subject to personal interpretation, but I’m pretty sure Gaius and Merlin think Morgana was consciously aware that she was the source of the magic.

They don't know that she wasn't consciously involved.  The audience doesn't even know that, frankly.  What Morgana is actually aware of is left undefined by the show.  (I personally always got the vibe that Morgana obviously knows it has something to do with the agreement she and Morgause made, but that she doesn't exactly understand the details of how it's working.)  But that's still never actually stated.

Merlin, (after Kilgharrah tells him the magic is coming from Morgana), assumes she is aware of what's happening.  And I personally think it’s impressive that even given this, he covers for her the entire episode.  At first he doesn't even suspect she has anything to do with it at all, not even after what she did in the previous ep - he makes up that story about Gaius having given her a potion to cover for her, assuming her magic is what's keeping her awake.  It's not until Kilgharrah tells him what's going on that he realizes the truth, and EVEN THEN, he continues to lie for her.  

If she was afraid - if she was in over her head - if she regretted her actions and wanted to change her mind - she could have confessed to Merlin and asked him for help.  Literally everyone in Camelot was incapacitated, and as far as Merlin knew, Morgana’s plan was to let them all die.  It's not that I'm happy about Merlin's choice to poison her, and neither is Merlin - but I'm also not comfortable blaming him to the exclusion of Morgana or critiquing him for feeling like Morgana did something bad.  She did do something bad!  She made her own choices.  Merlin didn't make them for her.  

Erasing Morgana’s responsibility erases her agency.  She makes decisions to get where she is in 2.12.  She makes an agreement to help Morgause without doing her research and without getting the details about what would actually happen to the people around her, just like she made an agreement to help Alvarr retrieve the Crystal of Neahtid without finding out what it actually was or how Alvarr planned to use it.  Merlin didn't make Morgana do any of those things.  

Re: the Merlin+Gaius talk in 2.12 - I personally don't read that conversation with Gaius as Merlin "writing [Morgana] off."  

Merlin doesn't think Morgana is irredeemably evil.  He apologizes to Morgana when she returns in 3.01.  Even when she displays shame and self-recrimination about her own actions, he doesn't say one word condemning her for anything she did in the last season.  All he feels is sympathy for her suffering.  He tells her, sincerely, "I am so sorry for everything you've been through."  He holds absolutely no grudge for what she did in 2.12.  None.  

And even when he finds out she's betraying them again - he first approaches her as a friend.  He begs her to stop.  He tells her, "It doesn't have to be like this.  We can find another way."  He answers "no" when she asks him if he believes she deserves to be executed for who she is.  Even as she's trying to kill them all.

And when she snaps, "Good!" in response to his statement that women and children are dying and the city will fall, he responds, "You don't mean that."  That is not the response of someone who's already written her off as evil.  He doesn't believe she wants all this violence.  He is trying to reach her.

She doesn't ever reach back.  And that is not Merlin's fault.

5) kilgharrah indiscriminately kills people

I don't think I can really address Kilgharrah in any meaningful way, because personally I don’t feel like dragons operate on or can be evaluated by human moral standards.  Other folks can take a different tack with this, obviously; there's no canon information one way or another.  That's just my own personal approach.

6) “[Kilgharrah] and Merlin are bros again by 3X02 but Morgause and Morgana and Kara killing knights and guards (who work for Uther/Arthur) are OMG murderers, have crossed a line, etc.”

Okay, look, let’s be honest here - this issue is a real philosophical question raised by the show, but Morgause and Morgana are not just killing knights and guards.  Morgana, with Morgause at her right hand, literally orders her crossbowmen to murder a bunch of civilians in the street, as if shooting fish in a barrel.  She tells her forces to “burn [the people’s] crops.”  She raids Ealdor, a poor peasant village that isn’t even within Camelot’s borders, at the end of Season 4, and at the beginning of Season 5, Morgana’s Saxon army is attacking innocent peasant villages in Annis’s kingdom and capturing the villagers to be taken as slave labor to Ismere.  Later in Season 5, Morgana kills other magic-users like Finna and Alator, who have been just as wronged by Arthur/Uther as she herself has been.

Kara - I've already written extensively about how she did nothing wrong and Arthur deserved to be deposed, so...same page there!

To wrap this up -

Nobody does everything right in this show.  Everybody screws up somewhere.  And the degree to which various people are both victims and villains is something we all have to decide for ourselves, and not all of our conclusions will be the same, which is perfectly fine.

But in the end, for me, the difference between Merlin and Morgana is that Merlin owns his choices.  He believes he is the one to blame for what happens not just to him, but to the people around him.  He literally says to Morgana, "I blame myself for what you've become."  And while I don't necessarily think that's even true, he certainly does.  Despite the fact that there are so many factors limiting him and forcing his hand and trapping him into certain courses of action, he never cites those factors as excuses, or seems to recognize their existence at all.  He takes responsibility for himself, regardless of any extenuating circumstances.  He looks back at his choices, and he feels remorse for some of them, and at the end of the day, when things go badly, he blames himself.  

But when things go badly for Morgana, she only ever blames others.  When something is wrong, it's because Merlin or Arthur or Gwen or whoever didn't help her (even though she never asked them for help in the first place.)  We never see her acknowledge a mistake or regret a decision, even though she obviously makes her fair share of bad ones.  She is never shown to be sorry for anything.  The closest we get to remorse is her interaction with Mordred in 5.09 ("I hope one day you find the love and compassion which used to fill your heart"), and that brief moment of inner conflict never goes anywhere (which is so unfortunate, as a writing decision, but again, in a piece like this, I can only evaluate what actually happened onscreen, not what I wish had happened).

So, all this being said, I personally am very careful about assigning more blame to Merlin than what he already assigns to himself - especially when he doesn't deserve it (for example, see Part 1 of this piece).  Merlin makes his share of mistakes, but we are generally much quicker to hold him accountable than we are Morgana, and we outline impossible expectations for him that we don't expect from any other character on this show.  We hold him to a different standard, one which is, frankly, pretty much in line with how he's treated in the canon: that everything is his responsibility, and when things don't work out, everything is his fault.  And I can’t get behind that mindset, because a) it isn’t fair to him, and b) I don’t think it holds up under scrutiny.

[another-snape-story]

Morning Post

Chapter XIII

“Pity you didn’t partake in carving pumpkins last night, it was fun,” you complained meeting Snape at your door awaiting to accompany you to the Great Hall for breakfast.

“I’m not excited about these childish entertainments,” he stated blankly.

“So, Professor McGonagall is a child, in your opinion?”

Snape rolled his eyes, defeated.

“Ha! Got you!” you cheered.

“It’s just not my cup of tea.”

Actually, the point was not in ‘childish entertainments’ in general, but in enormous amount of people involved in this activity, whose presence Snape had no desire to tolerate longer than necessary. Moreover, he found it unacceptable risking his reputation by being caught at such a shameful piece of work.

In fact, Snape had one tiny pumpkin in his private chambers, carved carefully all by himself. When was the last time he did it, he’d hardly remember, but this year he discovered he was in sort of a festive mood. Where did it come from? He supposed, he knew it. If you’d offered him to do it together, he would’ve probably agreed – not without showing reluctance and discontent, of course. Snape heartily regretted losing the whole evening of enjoyable pastime in your company. Maybe he should’ve sacrificed his grim image? Anyway, it was way too late for remorse.

Once you climbed the narrow spiral staircase to find yourselves in the Entrance Hall, someone ran into you, knocking you off your feet right in Professor Snape’s arms.

“Damn you, Quirrell!” he growled. “Watch your step!”

“I’m s-s-sorry,” he adjusted his turban and disappeared behind the corner.

“He’s been frantic lately,” you rubbed your shoulder, throwing scornful look in his direction.

“Idiot,” Snape hissed.

Meanwhile a crowd of Gryffindors rushed by, Harry Potter among them. The boy greeted you with a cheerful smile which vanished once he noticed your gloomy companion. Snape, annoyed by recent unpleasant encounter with his stuttering colleague, seemed now even more intimidating.

“Nice boy – Harry,” you smiled, as you leisurely continued your way along the corridor. “So diligent. He’s having a hard time. So many things other children find common are new to him.”

“He’s not the only one in this boat,” Snape snapped disdainfully. He didn’t like children, you knew it. Neither did you, actually – at least not that loud mass.

A Hufflepuff girl brusquely slipped between the two of you – just in time to confirm your conviction.

“Ugh, how you’ve been surviving here for so many years?” you grunted.

“Self-control and tones of sedatives,” he answered plainly as you entered the Great Hall, which buzzed and hummed in usual mealtime routine. His wit never failed to make you laugh, this time was no exception.

Eyes rounded in amazement, a few heads turned in your direction, watching you as you made your way to the teachers table. Beaming with joy, you created a huge contrast with the man black as thundercloud.

“Severus! You should’ve joined us last night!” Professor McGonagall exclaimed with a mixture of reproach and disappointment on her face.

“I’ve been told off already, thank you very much,” he pulled the chair for you to help you sit and took his place beside.

“He’ll assist us next year,” you whispered, so that Snape wouldn’t hear.

“Oh? How did you manage to persuade him?” McGonagall leaned closer, curious and excited.

“I haven’t yet,” you replied furtively for the sake of privacy, “but I think it’s quite possible.”

Satisfied, the old lady straightened on her chair. After making some hard thinking, she gave Snape a meticulous look, drawing it on you and then back on Snape. As if coming to a conclusion, she smiled slyly.

You didn’t pay attention when owls delivering post flooded the room – you rarely received letters – not once during your staying at Hogwarts. But dozens of surprised gasps made you raise your head from your plate. Everyone’s attention was caught by a long, thin package carried by six large owls. Even the small envelope landed on the table escaped your notice. But not Snape’s – with the tail of an eye he studied the inscription.

“Broomstick?” you instinctively looked up at Snape, searching for an answer. “Is it a broomstick?”

“It is,” Professor McGonagall affirmed without hesitation.

This very moment the birds dropped it right in front of Harry Potter.

Snape squinted in disgust, his spirits reaching the lowest. “Potter again. Always Potter in the spotlight.”

“Come on, why does he annoy you so much?” you grudged. “The boy changed in the face, when he saw you today!”

“They all annoy me, these dunderheads,” he spat.

“He’ll replace Charlie Weasley in Gryffindor Quidditch team,” McGonagall announced proudly.

“What?” Snape outraged. “But first-years are not allowed…”

“I’ve settled this matter with Albus, Severus. He agreed it was a good idea,” she cut him short crisply.

“The boy barely mounted the broom! You can’t…”

“He’s showing better skill in flying than Terence Higgs so far!”

“Let us not become personal!” Snape barked, his nostrils fluttered in resentment.

Sitting in a crossfire, you had no other option but to follow the argument. You found it curious that Snape cared about Harry’s safety. Strangely, it didn’t come along with his attitude towards the boy. Nevertheless, you tended to take his side rather than McGonagall’s – you also found it insane throwing a child into this chaotic whirlpool of players, Bludgers, Quaffles, Snitches, and Merlin knows what else.

“Remember you promised to give me xylem sap?” you addressed him quietly, carefully putting your hand on the man’s wrist.

Once he faced you, for a brief moment you sensed all his anger directed on you.

“I need it in my class. Shall we go fetch it now?” eyes locked on his, you tightened your grip.

“Yes…” he let out a heavy sigh. “I suppose…”

With a gesture concealed from Snape’s view, you apologized before Professor McGonagall and were about to leave, as Snape stopped you.

“Won’t you take it?” he handed you the envelope. “As far as I can tell, it is for you.”

Indeed, there was your name on it. And the other name, which promised no good. Without reading, you shoved the letter in your pocket.

“Is everything fine?” seeing how upset this small piece of paper made you, Snape asked worriedly.

“Yes,” you squeezed a smile and headed for the exit, a tall man in black following you. He was still annoyed with the news about Potter being taken into the Quidditch team, but his wrath subsided a little – not without your involvement. He was thankful you saved him from burning bridges with Minerva, but what he appreciated most was your sympathy, which he – in his opinion – didn’t deserve.

“It is not right!” he complained. “They can’t just rewrite the rules for no reason!”

“A legend in a Quidditch team, isn’t it a good reason?” you noted sarcastically. “You have no power against two ganged up Gryffindors who happened to be the school’s main authorities.”

Snape sniggered at your remark. You’ve always managed to push his thoughts off distressing rails.

“We’ll be cheering on Slytherin harder then,” you stated. “Won’t we?”

“Absolutely,” Snape agreed. He felt much better now.

“See you at the feast?” it was no longer possible to delay the moment of parting – classes were about to start in a few minutes.

Snape smiled mildly and gave you an affirmative nod.

“Thank you for xylem sap, by the way,” you smirked playfully.

“I have some, if you ever really need it,” his brow sprang cunningly.

“Is there something you don’t have, Snape?” you laughed and hurried off.

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[swanqueeneverafter]

The Once & Future Queen Pt.12

Storybrooke. Sheriff's Station. (Belle reads an entry in a book while Alice grimaces at the creature crawling under Will’s skin.) Belle: “I feared as much.” Alice: “What is it?” (Belle hands Elsa the book who studies the page.) Belle: (To Alice:) “It’s a Fomorroh. (She looks at the drawing of it in the book over Elsa’s shoulder:) Whoever put it there was very highly skilled.” Alice: “What does it do?” Belle: “In the days of the Old Religion, they were used by the High Priestess to enslave the minds of their enemies. Once a thought was planted, the victim would not stop till they’d accomplished it.” Elsa: (Looks up:) “Could that be what affected Anastasia?” Belle: “It’s a definite possibility.” Alice: (Staring at the creature squirming under her brother’s neck:) “How do we get rid of it?” Belle: “First we must paralyse the serpent.” (Belle looks to Elsa who nods and they head into the jail cell to join Alice. Standing over Will who lays sleeping on the cot, Elsa uses her powers to freeze the Fomorroh in place.) Alice: “Is it dead?” Belle: “Sadly not. Merely dormant. Now for the tricky bit. I’ll need a knife.” Lily: (Entering the station alongside Tiana:) “Here. Have mine.” (Lily pulls out a knife from her boot and hands it to Belle.) Belle: “Er... thanks. I still need to sterilize it though.” (Lily nods and walks over to her father’s desk. Pulling open a drawer, she leans down and produces a bottle of rum.) Lily: “Dad’s secret stash. Will that do?” Belle: (Nods:) “Actually, rum is a great antiseptic. Thanks.” (Belle pours the rum over Lily’s knife and Alice grimaces as Belle cuts the Fomorroh out of Will’s neck.) Alice: “That’s it? Belle: “For now.” Elsa: “What do you mean?” Belle: “If you kill one, eventually another grows in its place.” Alice: “But how do we get rid of it, if it keeps growing back?” Belle: “There’s only one way, I’m afraid. You have to kill the mother beast.” Alice: “How can we do that if we don’t know where it is?” Elsa: (Noticing that Will is beginning to wake:) “I think we’re about to get some answers.” Lily: “All right, everyone out of the cell.” (Ushering everyone out, Lily pulls the cell door closed and locks it while Will rolls over onto his back.) Will: (Seeing the five women all staring at him:) “Oh bloody hell. This isn’t good.”

A Short Time Later. (After asking for time alone, Tiana and Will talk while Elsa, Belle and Alice watch with Lily from the Sheriff's office.) Tiana: (Casually biting into one of her beignets:) “So, you don’t remember anything?” Will: “I remember Morgana conjuring the snake, but…nothing more. No.” Tiana: “And how do you feel?” Will: “Apart from this throbbing pain in my cheek, I feel fine.” Tiana: “Mhmm. Well rest assured, you deserved it.” Will: (Bringing his hand to his face:) “This was you?” Tiana: “You’re damn right it was. Under Morgana’s control or not, you had it coming. (Will begins to protest:) First you tell Henry that you and Ella had an affair in Wonderland... (Will’s eyes widen:) Then you run up a huge bar tab at the Lair and leave without paying...” Will: “Oh, bollocks.” Tiana: “And finally you try to break into the library. That’s where I put an end to your night on the town.” Will: (Grabbing the cell bars:) “T, you have to know I would never cheat on you with Ella. Or anyone. I value my life too much.” Tiana: (Smirks:) “Oh, I know. Ella was as surprised as I was when Henry told us what you’d confessed to him. Ella and Henry are fine too, by the way.” Will: (Shaking his head:) “I’m lucky to be alive.” Tiana: “Lucky you can run faster than Henry, you mean.” Will: “Henry? No, I’m more worried about Regina! Or Ella... Or Robin if it comes to that. T, can you ever forgive me?” Tiana: (Nods:) “First things first. (Tiana turns and waves for the others to join them:) According to Belle, the serpent in your neck is dormant and when it wakes, your mind will be Morgana’s once more.” Will: “But how do we get rid of it, if it keeps growing back?” Belle: (Walking over to them:) “There’s only one way, I’m afraid. You have to kill the mother beast.” Will: “That creature that lives in Morgana’s hut? (Belle nods:) Great. How long have I got? How long before this thing wakes up?” Elsa: “A day, no more. And I wouldn’t face her alone.” Alice: “Don’t worry, I have a feeling Will’s going to have plenty of company on his trip back to Morgana’s hideaway.” Land Without Magic. Past. Hong Kong. (August sits across from the Dragon.) Dragon: “Tell me. Why have you come?” August: “You see that?” (Rolls up his pant leg.) Dragon: “No, because the problem is with your other leg. (August chuckles and rolls up his other pant leg:) You're turning to wood... Pinocchio.” August: “How in the hell do you know my name? Who are you? Are you from my land?” Dragon: “August, you're in pain. Waste your energy not on me but on your affliction. All you need to worry about is whether I can help you. And the answer is, indeed I can.” August: (Exhales and whispers:) “Thank God.” Dragon: “There are, however, conditions.” August: “Yeah.” Dragon: “I need an item of great value to you.” August: “Money. I-I have some--” Dragon: “No. That comes later. I need something close to your heart, something that cannot be replaced.” (Points to August's neck.) August: (Pulls out a necklace from beneath his shirt:) “This? It's... It's worthless.” Dragon: “The pendant, perhaps, but the string—it was the string your father used to animate you as a freshly carved puppet. In a way, it first gave you life. It will serve as payment from your soul.” (The Dragon holds out his hand.) August: “Will it work?” Dragon: “Perhaps. (Reluctantly, August gives him the string:) Now... as any vendor from this world, I also need payment from your wallet. 10,000 American dollars.” August: “$10,000?” Dragon: “Bring the money tonight, and you shall never turn to wood again.”

Morgana’s Hovel. Present. (Agravaine visits his niece to share information from Camelot.) Morgana: “Do the people grow weary of Guinevere’s reign yet?” Agravaine: “I wish it were so, my lady, but I do bring information of an equally enticing nature. I have planted the seed of suspicion in our young Queen’s mind. I’ve struck a blow at the very heart of old Camelot.” Morgana: “Go on.” Agravaine: “Lancelot grew unsure of my motives, but I’ve turned the situation to our advantage.” Morgana: “How so?” Agravaine: “I’ve used it to implicate an old friend of yours. Gaius.” Morgana: “The old healer?” Agravaine: “I think there are some interesting times ahead for our physician.” (Agravaine goes to pour himself a drink.) Morgana: “And that’s your news is it? You were almost found out and managed to divert their suspicions onto an elderly healer? It’s hardly information of an enticing kind, is it?” Agravaine: “No, my lady.” Morgana: “So, my lord…you can do better. And you will do better.” Agravaine: “Yes, my lady.” Morgana: “I, on the other hand, have learned the whereabouts of the man destined to be my downfall.” Agravaine: “Really? You know where Merlin is?” Morgana: “Yes, and I have already set plans in motion that will lead to the Sorcerer’s own demise.” Agravaine: “My lady, I must admit your news is far more interesting than mine. Where is he, this Merlin?” Morgana: “Ah, now that’s the tricky part.” Storybrooke. Past. October 2011. (On the school playgrounds, Henry looks at a family tree assignment he was supposed to complete. It is not filled in. He tucks it into a folder and slides it under his open lunch box. Mary Margaret walks up to him.) Mary Margaret: “Henry? You didn’t turn in your homework again. Is there a problem? (Henry does not answer, so she sits down beside him:) Oh, Henry. Things really will change if you just believe it. (He closes his lunch box:) Life is unpredictable.” Henry: “Is your life unpredictable? Because it seems to me like everything is pretty much the same around here. Except me. My birth mom didn’t love me. Regina says she does, but she doesn’t. I-I don’t belong here.” Mary Margaret: “You do belong here, Henry. You are loved. (Her expression perks up as she comes up with an idea:) I wanna show you something. (She reaches for something in her bag:) This morning, I was cleaning out my bedroom closet. Like I’ve done every week, thousands of times, and do you know what happened? I found something. Something I’ve never noticed before. (She pulls out a large book, entitled in golden letters as Once Upon a Time, and places it down in front of Henry:) It was just there. Like magic.” Henry: “That’s not possible.” Mary Margaret: “Well, of course not. (Henry begins opening the book:) But it happened. This book somehow arrived. (Henry turns to a page with a drawing of an older man and young boy:) Was it given to me? Did I forget about it? I don’t know, but there it was. And do you know what I saw when I looked inside? (Henry looks at her expectantly:) Hope.” Henry: (Glances down at the book:) “Looks like fairy tales to me.” Mary Margaret: “And what exactly do you think fairy tales are? They are a reminder that our lives will get better if we just hold onto hope. Your happy ending may not be what you expect, but that is what will make it so special.” Henry: “Can… can I borrow this?” Mary Margaret: “You can have it.” Henry: (Smiles:) “Really?” Mary Margaret: “Believing in even the possibility of a happy ending is a powerful thing. I think you could use it. (She gets up and pats him on the shoulder:) I’ll see you in class.” (She departs.) Henry: (Flips to another page of a princess and her prince:) “Ms. Blanchard.” Mary Margaret: “Yes?” (He looks up and is stunned to see her dressed as the same princess in the book. A moment later, she appears as normal.) Henry: “Thank you.” Mary Margaret: (Smiles:) “You’re very welcome.” (She continues walking away.) (Watching this exchange from afar, Emma turns to the Apprentice.) Emma: "That's the last one." Apprentice: "Yes, the storybook that started it all." Emma: "Merlin’s messing with me, right? I put him back in his tree and now he’s getting his revenge? (The Apprentice stares at her with a confused expression:) I mean, I'm not sure I like the idea of being the catalyst behind so much tension between Henry and Regina." Apprentice: "I imagine you would dislike the idea of losing your family forever even more." Emma: "Well, when you put it like that..." Apprentice: "Now remember, you must be in position at the precise time Henry knocks on your door or all will be lost." Emma: (Nods:) "I'll be there. What about Mulan?" Apprentice: "If all goes according to plan, your friend will join you back where you both belong." Emma: "What’s Mulan doing for you while I'm delivering storybooks anyway?" Apprentice: (Smiles:) "There are many elements that have to be set in motion before you can safely return home, Emma. In life, we all have our parts to play, and I am no different. Come, we shall make one last journey together. After that, your fate is in your hands." (They walk together around the corner and out of sight. Meanwhile, Henry opens the storybook and flips to a page of a princess and prince with an infant child.) Henry:  “Emma.”

Storybrooke. Present. The Dragon’s Lair. (Zelena watches as Regina fills a large leather bag with various unsavory looking items, including the baseball bat.) Zelena: “What happened to you focusing your energies on Maria and Henry?” Regina: “Morgana targeted Henry. I don’t know what she’s up to and Morgana can attack me all she wants, but the minute you go after my kids? You better believe I’m coming for you.” Zelena: “Are you sure that’s the wisest move? I mean you don’t exactly have the greatest track record when it comes to witch fights.” Regina: “That’s why you’re coming with me. Come on, Zelena, Morgana is the reason Robin Hood had to sacrifice himself. Don’t you want revenge for that?” Zelena: “Honestly... revenge is the last thing on my mind. I’m more concerned about keeping the ones I love safe and so should you be. I thought we retired from the revenge business?” Regina: “Well I don’t know what else to do! Without Emma, I can’t create a protection spell powerful enough to protect the town. Even if I could, we all know how well that worked out last time.” Zelena: “All right, but shouldn’t we try and find out what Morgana wants? Lord knows she’s not the first person to try and take over everything. If we understand her motivation then maybe-” Regina: “Guinevere already tried that, remember? The last time anyone gave into Morgana’s demands, she kidnapped Lily and Maleficent. Then, when people gave her the benefit of the doubt, my daughter was taken from me. (Sighs:) Look, I admire this new passive nature you’ve discovered and we can ask Morgana all the questions you want, but this time we’re gonna take the fight to her for a change. Now are you coming or not?” (Regina picks up the bag and leaves while Zelena considers her options.) Land Without Magic. Past. Outside a bar in Hong Kong. (August looks through his wallet to find payment for the Dragon, but does not have sufficient funds.) Mulan: (From her seat at the bar:) “Hey.” August: “Hey.” (He walks towards her.) Mulan: “You look like you could use a drink.” August: “Yeah, well, I wasn't planning on staying very long.” Mulan: “Come on. Humor me. Celebrating alone is no fun. (When he sits next to her she pulls out her purse, which contains a big stack of one hundred dollar bills:) Figured a medicine man wouldn't take plastic. (Raising her bottle:) Um... To second chances.” (They toast.)

August: “Who knew they'd be so expensive?” Mulan: “Mm. Save my seat?” August: “Sure. (Mulan gets up and heads to the bathroom. August drinks his beer and looks around the bar. Turning back he sees a man now sitting in Mulan’s chair:) Oh, hey someone was sitting there.” Apprentice: “Yes, she was saving my place. Hello, August.” August: (A little startled by this:) “All right, how do you know my name?” Apprentice: (Chuckles:) “I know many names. Would you prefer I call you Pino-” August: (Hushed voice:) “Keep your voice down. August is fine.” Apprentice: (Smiles:) “Very well. August W. Booth. If you’re looking for answers... (Slides the storybook in front of him:) here’s where you should start.” August: “I’m not sure a bunch of fairy tales can cure me. (Winces in pain:) Ah!” Apprentice: (Notices August rubbing his leg:) “The body has a strange way of sending us signals, doesn't it? The tricky part isn't hearing them, but knowing what they truly mean.” August: “Listen, old man, I’ve already found someone who can give me what I want.” Apprentice: “Yes. But you have no money with which to pay him. August, what the Dragon has will stop you from turning to wood, yes. But that's just a symptom. You have a choice to make, either you can steal this poor girl’s money and give it to the Dragon. Or you can take this. (Places his hand on the storybook:) Inside lies the answer to your salvation. (Cautiously, August reaches out and opens the book:) Remember August, only you can cure yourself.” (After turning over a few pages, August looks up to see that the Apprentice and the money have both vanished.) Boston. Past. An Upscale Restaurant. (Emma Swan arrives and walks through the restaurant. Spotting her mark, she heads to Ryan’s table, he stands and extends his hand.) Ryan: “Emma.” Emma: “Ryan? You look relieved.” Ryan: “Well, it is the Internet. Pictures can be…” Emma: “Fake. Out-dated. Stolen from the Victoria’s Secret catalogue. So…” (They each take their seats.) Ryan: “So… tell me something about yourself, Emma.” Emma: “Oh… Uh, well, today’s my birthday.” (Watching this from a discreet distance, Emma smiles at the past version of herself before heading into the elevator.)

The Land of Oz. Past. (Carrying a small basket, a young girl walks along the yellow brick road. Up ahead, her path is blocked by a young man and a fallen tree.) Young Girl: “Excuse me, but your tree is blocking the path. You should move it before somebody gets hurt.” Young Boy: “I'm afraid it's already too late.” Young Girl: (Sees a lone egg nestled in the boy’s hand:) “The poor thing. It must not have survived the fall.” (The girl waves her hand over the egg and it glows green.) Young Boy: “How did you do that?” (The Young Girl waves her hand again and the nest reappears safely in the tree above them.) Young Girl: “Magic.” Young Boy: “Are you a witch?” (The girl nods.) Young Punk: (Stepping out of the bushes with his friend:) “She's a freak! Haven't you ever heard about the monster who lives in the shack? The freak with magic?” Young Girl: “That nest didn't fall out of the tree, did it?” Punk: “No. It made good target practice, though. And so will you.” (The Punk draws back his catapult and the girl runs for cover.) Young Boy: (Charges at them, weapon held high:) “Why don't you practice on my axe? (The punks run away. Turning to her:) Are you all right?” Young Girl: “Yes. Thank you. (Stepping out from behind the tree:) Well, that was a first. Not a lot of people want to befriend the girl with magic. Maybe they're right. Maybe I am a monster.” Young Boy: “You used your magic for good, and that doesn't make you a monster. It makes you special.” Young Girl: “You really think so?” Young Boy: (Offers his hand:) “I'm Stanum.” Young Girl: (Shakes it:) “Zelena.”

Outside Morgana's Hovel. Present. (Raising her head from behind a large boulder, Merida looks down at Morgana's hovel as Agravaine exits.) Merida: (Whispered:) "Do you know that man?" Will: "Not a clue. Thanks to this thing in me neck, I can barely remember my own name." Merida: "Shh. (Merida watches as Morgana also exits the hovel:) Right, there's our chance. You tell the others, I'll go on ahead." The Land Without Magic. Boston. Past. Emma’s Apartment. (Henry Mills arrives outside and is about to knock on the door when it swings open.) Emma: “Hey, kid. What took you so long?” Henry: “Oh... Are- Are you Emma Swan?” Emma: “Yep, and you’re Henry and you’re also my son.” Henry: “Yeah... how did you-” Emma: “I’ll explain on the way. Come on, kid. Let’s go home.”

[inmyownlittlecorner5]

Moonlight Chapter Eight: Dinner at Eight

A fanfic Novel by la-topolina

Rated for Mature Audiences

Warnings: Language, Violence, Sexual Content

Chapter 8/26

Moonlight Masterpost+

<< Chapter Seven+

Chapter Nine+ >>

-----------------------

I'll be late. -M

Severus crushed the note in his hand and glared at his breakfast. It was Friday morning and he didn't care to admit to himself how much he'd been anticipating that night. He also didn't care to admit to himself that he was worried over the reason that Miranda would be late. The idiot woman seemed hell-bent on getting herself killed or at least maimed on a regular basis and he would much rather that she were in one piece.

“Hem, hem, bad news?” Professor Umbridge twittered next to him, trying to read over his shoulder.

He turned his glare on Umbridge until she cleared her throat and returned to her own breakfast. Then he angrily tore open his second letter and saw Lucius Malfoy’s haughty script,

Severus,

Join us for dinner at Malfoy Manor tonight. Eight o'clock. Bring the usual.

-Lucius

Severus crumpled this note as well. Who knew how long he would have to stay at Malfoy Manor. He was in an evil mood for the rest of the day and took it out on all of his students, who were sent away with enough extra homework to keep them indoors all weekend.

His mood had not improved by the time he reached Malfoy Manor that evening. The house elf lead him into the sumptuous drawing room, but he did not spare a glance for its vaulted ceilings or prized artwork. Vincent Crabbe and Walden Macnair were already present, nursing drinks and exchanging rude stories. Lucius poured some firewhiskey into a crystal tumbler and handed it to Severus.

"Apologies for the short notice, Severus," Lucius drawled.

"I am always ready to be of service," Severus shrugged, his face a mask of boredom. He knew Lucius didn't care a bit about causing inconvenience to anyone but himself.

"We wanted your particular talents tonight.”

Severus raised an eyebrow in question and waited.

"We're having a little tart over for dinner. She's been given a task that will benefit the Dark Lord and she’s not being entirely compliant. We’re going to encourage her to return to business.”

"Over dinner? Why the pageantry?" Severus inquired dryly. He was beginning to worry that he knew exactly who this little tart was.

“It is not quite time for the Dark Lord to return publicly. This woman is a foreigner with some connections and would be missed if she simply disappeared.”

Severus eyed Vincent and Walden. "I don't see why you require my presence then. Surely those two are capable of frightening a single woman," Severus remarked.

"Afraid to get your hands dirty, Snape?" Walden growled.

Lucius held up a hand to stop the usual bickering. "I want you to slip her some veritaserum after dinner. We want to know who she is working for, particularly if that person may be Dumbledore.”

“I think I would know if Dumbledore had begun hiring foreigners,” Severus said.

Lucius smiled patronizingly. “I wouldn’t assume that Dumbledore tells you everything. The old man didn’t live to his age by telling his secrets to everyone, even if you have hoodwinked him into thinking that you are his man.”

Severus shrugged and sounded bored, "As you like. Does this woman have a name?”

“Miss Miranda Rose,” announced the house elf, leading the owner of the name into the room.

Severus groaned inwardly. Why did this woman have such a stupid occupation? What was wrong with her father that he let her work for him? If it were his daughter, he would spank her for her impertinence. Hell, he felt like spanking Miranda. He would not be able to protect her if Lucius and the others decided to torture her. He would probably have to participate to maintain his cover. He tried to tell himself that it would serve her right for her reckless behavior, but an icy fear was sitting just beneath the surface of his anger.

If she was at all nervous being left in a room alone with four larger men, she did not show it. She wore an easy smile and a stunning mermaid gown of lapis lazuli blue. Her silver hair was swept up in several braids, pinned in a complicated pattern to the back of her head. Sapphire earrings dangled from her ears and she carried a silver handbag, slung over her pretty wrist.

"So glad you could join us," Lucius said, bending over her hand and eyeing her appreciatively.

“I was delighted to receive the invitation, Mr. Malfoy,” she said, receiving his attentions gracefully.

He turned, still holding her hand, to introduce her to the rest of the company. "My associates. This is Mr. Vincent Crabbe.”

Vincent lumbered over to Miranda and took his turn bending over her hand clumsily. “Miss Rose,” he said, gruffly.

“So nice to meet you, Mr. Crabbe,” she replied, smiling warmly at him.

“And this is Mr. Walden Macnair,” Lucius continued.

Walden took the liberty of actually kissing Miranda’s hand, rather than bending over it properly. “Miss Rose,” he leered.

“Mr. Macnair, good to meet you,” she answered with another warm smile.

“And this is Professor Severus Snape,” Lucius finished.

Severus took Miranda’s hand and bent over it courteously, his face still a mask of polite boredom.

She smiled brightly and said, "Professor Snape and I have already had the pleasure.”

"Really?" Lucius eyed Severus shrewdly. Severus kept his face still, and wished that he could strangle Miranda. So much for keeping things quiet. What on earth was she going to say next?

"Yes, he was so good as to put me back together after the werewolf incident. If you recall, it happened in Cokeworth," Miranda explained smoothly.

“How fortunate,” Lucius commented, still eyeing Severus, who still said nothing. Perhaps Miranda would keep the rest of their association to herself.

“It was indeed. You have a lovely home Mr. Malfoy,” Miranda said warmly, as at ease as she would be if she were in the house of an old friend.

“Thank you. My wife supervises the decorating.”

“You are a lucky man.”

Lucius offered Miranda his arm and led her into dinner. She openly admired the arched ceilings, imposing columns, and glittering chandeliers of the dining room. The usually massive table had been shortened to accommodate a more intimate group and provide a better view of Miranda to the other diners. Lucius seated her at the foot of the table, with Walden on her right and Severus on her left and took the head of the table for himself. Vincent was between Lucius and Severus, and they made a bit of an awkward party.

Although Lucius’s intention had obviously been to isolate and frighten the woman, he did not seem to notice that it was failing spectacularly. Miranda positively scintillated at dinner, radiating charm and wit. Lucius, Vincent, and Walden were almost tripping over each other for her smiles. Severus maintained his expression of polite boredom during dinner, but he had to admit it was amusing to watch Miranda work.

“An executioner, Mr. Macnair? How daring!” she was saying, her eyes wide. “What sort of weapon do you use?”

Walden preened like a peacock and answered, “The Ministry’s tried to get me to upgrade to the new Sharp-Strike Broadsword, but I can’t give up my old Miserecordiæ Battle Axe. It’s been in the family for generations and it’s like an old friend.”

“My! You must look magnificent when you’re called to duty. How do you stand it?”

“Nerves of steel, my dear, nerves of steel.”

Vincent snorted at this and Miranda turned her smile on him. “And you, Mr. Crabbe, what do you do?”

“Do, Miss Rose?” Vincent asked. He was a stupid man, and always spoke very slowly.

“I mean, I can see that you must be a pure-blood and a nobleman, so I’m sure you spend most of your time managing your estate, but what do you do for fun?” Miranda prompted.

“Well,” Vincent was mesmerized by Miranda’s smile. “I don’t get the chance very often, but Occamy fighting can’t be beat.”

“No! Isn’t that illegal? How clever you must be to elude the authorities. And such a dangerous sport! Aren’t they known for mauling their captors?”

“Yes!” Never in his life had anyone referred to Vincent Crabbe as clever, and the already large man puffed up even more. “It’s ripping good fun though.”

“I’d love to see such a thing.” Miranda’s eyes were glittering at Vincent. “I hope an opportunity will arise while I’m in England.”

It was Lucius’s turn to scoff and Miranda turned her attention to him. “Of course, you must indulge in only the best entertainments, Mr. Malfoy,” Miranda said admiringly. “I have never seen such a fine estate as Malfoy Manor. I don’t think such things exist in America.” She lowered her eyes demurely and added, “I must admit that I was simply dying to see such a place, but I never dreamed that I would have the chance.”

Lucius gave her a patronizing smile and said, “I’m delighted to be of service.”

About this time, Severus felt Miranda’s stocking-clad foot begin to travel up the inseam of his left leg. It took all of his powers of concentration not to drop his fork.

“If I may be so bold, Mr. Malfoy, it’s so impressive to watch you advise Minister Fudge during our meetings. He must rely on you quite a bit,” Miranda observed.

“He does indeed,” Lucius confirmed arrogantly.

“And you’ve been so kind to me. I know that it’s quite exceptional for someone of my birth and connections to enjoy the notice of someone like you.” Her voice was almost a purr and when she raised her eyes to Lucius, they were smoldering.

Lucius smiled at her invitingly and drawled, “Exceptions are made for exceptional women.”

Miranda lowered her lashes again. “It’s a shame that your wife wasn’t able to join us.”

“I’m afraid she’s traveling at the moment,” Lucius said quietly.

“And your son is at school?” Miranda murmured. She was still running her foot up and down Severus’s leg and he had begun mentally reciting the one thousand magical herbs and fungi in both English and Latin to maintain his control. Merlin, this woman was reckless. And intoxicating.

“He is,” Lucius replied, completely unaware of what was going on at the other end of the table.

“You must be lonely in this big place all by yourself.” Miranda’s voice was husky and pitched just above a whisper.

“I find ways to pass the time, Miss Rose.”

“I’m sure you do.” Miranda turned her glittering eyes on Severus and asked, “Do you teach Mr. Malfoy’s son at Hogwarts, Professor?”

“Yes,” Severus answered. His voice was harsher than he meant it to be, and he finally batted her foot away with his knee. If he was going to be expected to talk, he did not want to deal with quite that much distraction, enjoyable as it was. She took the hint and kept her foot to herself. “Draco is one of the few students who shows any promise,” Severus added, his voice much steadier.

“I must say, I am glad I never had a teacher like you at Ilvermorny. I’m sure I would have been in detention constantly.” She turned her gaze back to Lucius and said conspiratorially, “I’m afraid Professor Snape thinks that I am a perfect barbarian.”

Tired of being left out of the conversation, Walden put in, “Snape’s not the best judge when it comes to women.”

Miranda rewarded Walden with a smile and continued steering the conversation for the rest of dinner. Severus was glad that the attention turned away from him and his mind wandered to how he hoped the evening would end, presuming Miranda was not murdered before he could get her back to his rooms at Hogwarts.

After dinner, they adjourned to the library. Vincent loitered in front of the door and Walden by the large bay window. Miranda still seemed completely unconcerned and allowed Lucius to seat her in a large arm chair in front of the fire. Severus’s fear that the evening would spiral out of control returned. He pushed down the fear and covered it with anger that Miranda had put herself in this situation in the first place.

"Severus, be so good as to fetch us all a drink," Lucius ordered lazily.

Severus complied, hesitating briefly before adding the veritaserum to Miranda’s glass. If truth were to be told, he rather wanted to know her secrets as much as Lucius did. If she was who she said she was, she would probably escape mostly in one piece. If she wasn’t, it was probably best to find out now before his involvement with her went on any longer.

"Do you mind if I smoke, Mr. Malfoy?" Miranda asked.

Not at all Miss Rose," Lucius replied.

She pulled a cigarette out of her sphinx covered case and Lucius lit it with a snap of his fingers. She took a long drag and crossed her legs, exposing most of one through a slit in her gown. The temperature in the room appeared to rise a few degrees and Severus presented her with her drink. She took it and Lucius proposed a toast.

"To Miss Rose," he offered, eyes glittering.

The men all drank, but Miranda simply smoked for a few moments, twirling her glass in her fingers, a little smile playing on her lips. Finally she looked sideways at Lucius and purred, "Now Mr. Malfoy, do you really expect me to drink this?"

Lucius stiffened. "I beg your pardon?”

She gave a throaty laugh. "Here I am, alone in a locked room with four former Death Eaters--alleged, of course. The Potions Master of Hogwarts just handed me a drink. Why on God's green earth would I be fool enough to drink it?"

Lucius’s tone was icy and smooth, "If you know who we are, you know it’s in your best interest to do as you're told."

She uncrossed her legs and rose from her chair like a dancer. She slinked to the table and set her drink down, then crossed to Lucius and blew a line of smoke in his face.

"Why don't you just ask me what you want to know, Mr. Malfoy?” she challenged.

"How would I know you were telling the truth when you answered?" he demanded, his anger rising.

"Let's play a little game," she circled him and then crossed to Severus and circled him as well. Severus glared at her, but said nothing. He felt that the situation was completely out of his control and he did not like the feeling.

"We're going to pretend that we're all adults and that you have hired me to do a job,” Miranda went on. “We're going to assume that I really don't give a shit about whatever your European Wizengamot is up to. Besides,” she circled back and leaned against the chair, grinning at Lucius, "I'm immune to veritaserum."

Vincent and Walden stepped forward menacingly, but Lucius shook his head.

"Or, if you'd rather do it the hard way, that's an option too," Miranda went on smoothly. "I promise not to be too rough on you.”

Lucius let out a short bark of laughter. "You are a madwoman!" he exclaimed.

"That's what Professor Snape said after the werewolf incident," she replied. "Look, Mr. Malfoy, I know you think I'm dragging my feet on the Black case but with all due respect, I work best when left to my own devices. You've called me to the Ministry for a meeting twice a week since you hired me, excepting the two weeks I was laid up at Professor Snape's house." She advanced on Malfoy again as she went on, "Every time I get some momentum going, I have to drop what I'm doing and listen to you and Fudge patronize me and now you are threatening me with a pack of thugs who obviously don't have a pair of brain cells between them to rub together. Excepting you of course, Professor Snape." She threw Severus a grin which he returned with a glare. "I simply cannot work under these conditions!" she finished dramatically.

Lucius laughed again and asked, "My dear Miss Rose, are all Americans as insane as you are?”

"Probably," she answered, smiling. "Look, I will update you via mirror once a week and I will meet with you in person once a month, like I do with all my clients. If you have a problem, you can use the mirror to contact me, or you can contact my father, I talk to him every day." She finished her cigarette and made the butt disappear into thin air. Then she ran a long finger from the bridge of Lucius’s nose down to the middle of his chest. "Now, do you think that will hold you, or do we need to get ugly?”

Lucius took her hand and kissed it hotly. "Very well Miss Rose, we will try it your way.”

"Just what every woman wants to hear," she purred. "Now, if there is nothing else, I'd like to say good night to you gentlemen. Severus and I were supposed to be fucking at least an hour ago and I'm a perfect bitch when I'm horny.”

Lucius laughed harder at that than anything else she'd said all evening. Severus continued to glare at her as though he were as likely to kill her as do anything else to her. Lucius kissed Miranda's cheek, slapped Severus on the back, and ushered both of them out of the Manor.

"To Hogwarts?" asked Miranda when they were outside.

"Indeed," Severus growled and they disappeared.

Severus made a grab at Miranda's arm when they reappeared outside the wards at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but she eluded him and started striding purposefully and fearlessly towards the entrance to the dungeons. She kept well ahead of him and he followed her, becoming angrier by the second. What did she think she was doing? Didn't she realize how much danger she had been in? She might think that her status as an American protected her, but Severus strongly doubted this. Were all Americans as insufferably arrogant as this one?

"Lily," Miranda murmured as the reached the entrance. She had her wand ready and unlocked his door when they reached it as well, and disappeared into his sitting room. he slowed his pace, like a cat stalking its prey. He entered his rooms and closed the door behind them extremely slowly, then turned, intending to give Miranda a thorough tongue lashing.

Before he could begin, she was in his arms, kissing his cheek and laughing merrily. "You see, I told you I've dealt with men like Malfoy before."

"You are fortunate that you aren't dead," he snapped. Honestly, underneath his anger, he felt rather relieved and a bit impressed that she’d managed to talk herself out of that situation, but he didn’t want her to know that. The last thing he wanted to do was encourage her foolish behavior. Who knew when her luck would run out?

She rolled her eyes at him, "Don't be silly. Malfoy’s a bully. When I didn't cower or cry, he didn't know what to do with me. The rest was easy.”

"I seem to recall that we agreed to keep our involvement quiet."

She sighed. “That is true and I am sorry. I was a bit surprised when I saw you in the drawing room tonight, and I had to improvise.”

“And what would you have done if I hadn't been there?" he demanded. "They could have done anything to you.”

“I would have done basically the same thing I did with you there,” she shrugged. “It would have taken longer and been much more tiresome, though. I would have been stalled in the library after dinner while Malfoy, Crabbe, and Macnair all competed to get me into bed. I’d have had to jolly them along until they were too drunk to see straight, and you would have been in a perfectly awful mood by the time I was able to get here. Not that you’re in a very good mood right now.”

"You are seriously underestimating these men!"

She laughed again. "They aren't the sharpest tools in the shed. Some wizards have realized that magic is the great equalizer, and that a witch can be as dangerous as a warlock. Malfoy didn’t even take my wand away when I entered his house. Men like that so easily manipulated by beauty and a little flirting. Now, if you had planned the evening, then I might have been worried. You are obviously the most dangerous one of the lot.”

"You won't get anywhere by flattering me.”

She finally pushed away from him, "Relax, Severus! I think you're just angry that I didn't need to you come to my rescue. I can take care of myself!”

"I seriously doubt that."

He glared at her silently as she threw herself into his armchair and kicked off her shoes.

“How long have you known I was a Death Eater?" he finally asked quietly.

She shrugged. "I know a lot about you. You're linked to Malfoy, so I've been investigating you as well. Professor Severus Snape, born January 9th, 1960 in Cokeworth, England. Son of Tobais Snape, an alcoholic laborer and Eileen Snape, née Prince, a witch, Hogwarts, class of 1950. You were usually found in the company of one Lily Evans as a child who, interestingly, became the mother of one Harry Potter, the so-called ‘Boy Who Lived.’ You attended Hogwarts 1971 to 1979 and particularly distinguished yourself in Potions and Defense agains the Dark Arts. You became a Death Eater, I assume shortly after graduation. You became Potions Master at Hogwarts in 1981 at the tender age of twenty-one. You received a pardon the end of the First Wizarding War and continued in your position at Hogwarts. Although you apparently keep in touch with your old friends.” She gave him a tired smile and added, “Shall I go on? I was hoping to be off the clock by now.”

His face had become a cold mask while she went through her recitation. When she finished, he slowly drew his wand and crossed the room to her. He placed the tip of it on her lovely throat and drawled, ”Doesn't it concern you in the least that you are alone with me?”

She held his gaze, looking amused by his show of aggression. "You've had plenty of opportunities to kill me so far. If you haven't done it yet, why would you do it tonight?”

Her boldness only fed Severus’s anger. He wanted to scare her. He wanted her to take seriously the danger she was courting. "Are you so sure I haven't been planning to do just that?”

She ran a graceful foot slowly up his inseam again. "Now, darling, if you wanted to kill me, you'd have done it the minute we walked in the door. I am very confident in my ability to judge character. You are an efficient killer. You don't make things complicated, you just do what needs to be done." She reached her hands up to his throat and began undoing the buttons of his dress robes.

"You are the most insufferable woman I have ever met," he growled, trying not to let show how much she was affecting him.

"I get that all the time.” She laughed, dark and throaty. "But can you honestly tell me that you didn't love my performance? Can you honestly say that you weren't absolutely wild to have me?”

His wand drifted away from her neck. His anger at her and lust for her had been at war all evening, and lust was finally getting the upper hand. “Stop fishing for compliments, you little minx,” he murmured.

"Do you know what I like best about these high collars that you wear?" she asked.

"Hmmm?" He didn't trust his voice.

"That they'll hide whatever marks I make under them," she purred, and bit him.

He groaned and swept her off the chair, into his bedroom, slamming the door with his foot as he went.

------------------------------

End Note:

N.B. According to Pottermore.com, Occamys are plumed, two-legged winged creatures with serpentine bodies. I imagine this is the cock-fighting of the wizarding world.

----------------------------------

Moonlight Masterpost+

<< Chapter Seven+

Chapter Nine+ >>

[imaginejamesandsirius]

Hey, can you write a story in which James is protective of Sirius and gets angry whenever someone speaks ill of him (maybe accusing him of being just another Black or a Death Eater) so when he and Sirius come back after the Veil (because they do come back), James is appalled to discover Sirius is considered a bad guy and is so upset and founds the Sirius Black Defense Squad? :) please and thanks!!

"You sure you're not a Death Eater?" the other auror said, voice low and quiet like he knew exactly how cruel he was being and didn't care in the slightest. "Like your dear brother? Well... ex-brother?"

Sirius didn't bother grabbing his wand, he just pulled his arm back and plowed his fist into the other man's face.

Right about the moment he was hitting the ground, James rounded the corner, carrying two mugs of tea with a pile of paperwork tucked under his arm. "Er." He looked up, saw the hurt and infuriated look on Sirius's face and the way he was holding his hand oddly in front of him, and sighed. He walked over to their desks, nudging-- oh what was his name, McLaggen?-- with the toe of his shoe. "C'mon lad, off the floor some of us are trying to work."

"Your partner's bloody mad!" Probably-McLaggen said as he scrambled to his feet, hand coming up gingerly to his face which would bruise spectacularly if he didn't get it healed.

"He does look rather angry, doesn't he? I suggest you leave before I decide to join him in that." James ignored what he actually meant by that phrase because this was earl grey in his hand, and he was having a craving. Getting worked up would only sour the taste, and McLaggen wasn't worth that.

"Here you go love, English Breakfast two sugars. I halved it because I don't want you bouncing around all night while I'm trying to sleep."

People stared for a minute as Sirius took the tea with a mild grimace before they tottered off, clearly getting the hint that nothing further was going to happen. Probably-McLaggen had to be dragged away by his friends so he didn't try to restart anything. James really wished people would stop pushing him like this. He was going to bloody snap one day, and Merlin help whoever was on the receiving end of it.

*

Being brought back to life was just weird. Honestly. People asked James if he felt any different, and he didn't. They asked Sirius the same and got-- you guessed it-- the exact same answer. They felt normal. Not tired, not too energized, they didn't think they were missing any memories, and overall they felt absolutely normal. Unfortunately that answer was unsatisfactory to the Medi-witches, and they were trapped in solitary. Which would have been fine except James did want to see Harry and Remus again, and he would rather have liked to acquaint himself with Moony's kid. Moony had a kid! The future was wild, but here he was, stuck in hospital instead of exploring it.

In an attempt to sedate James and Sirius's escapist tendencies, they brought the Prophet to them every day. "Ah," James said, delighted, "we made the front page." Except... he frowned. The headline stated Hero James Potter returned from the dead! and there was a picture of him from the first war, but Sirius was nowhere to be found. He lifted the paper and looked under it, like somehow the second half of the headline and main picture had been separated and was waiting for him to find it; it wasn't. Well that couldn't be right.

He read the article, which said a lot considering that their return was confidential and even the people who knew what had happened didn't really know what had happened. And there, like an aside hidden in the middle of an essay, was news of Sirius's return. Sirius Black-- heir apparent for the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black-- also returned from the dead in a manner similar to J. Potter. Black is a suspected Death Eater from the first war, though no official charges were ever pressed. Ex-fucking-cuse him? 'Suspected Death Eater'??? What the bloody fucking hell was that shite! When he pointed it out to Sirius, expecting similar outrage, Sirius just shrugged. "What?"

"C'mon James, I told you I was arrested for blowing up those Muggles. Pettigrew being alive apparently didn't change matters all that much."

James stared at him, dumbfounded. "Please tell me you're joking," he said faintly.

Sirius shrugged again.

James threw the newspaper at him, glad that that, at least, got a reaction out of him. "What is wrong with you? People think you're a murderer, doesn't that bother you?"

He sighed. "James. They've thought that for nearly twenty years now, and I'm too old to try and change their minds. I'm not in Azkaban, and that's all I care about."

James glared, then crawled out of his bed and into Sirius's, aggressively cuddling him. If it was the last thing James did, he was going to hunt down every single person that made Sirius so dispassionate with himself, and he was going to wack them over the head with a mop until their opinion changed. Because thinking that Sirius wasn't the best person on the entire planet? That was bad enough, but to actively dislike him? Heresy.

Sirius chuckled and wrapped his arms around James. He thought he was overreacting a bit, but he wasn't going to turn down some cuddles.

Later that day, they were reluctantly told that they could leave the following day. The Sirius Issue wasn't gone from his mind, but for the moment it wasn't absorbing his every thought.

*

Remus and Harry were waiting for them when they were released from St. Mungo's. Sirius wrapped Harry up in a tight hug, and James decided to give them a moment of relative privacy by turning to the baby in Remus's arms. "Oh well aren't you just the second cutest thing in the world," he said wondrously when Teddy blinked at him.

"Second cutest?" Remus repeated in amusement.

"Well I have to be honest don't I? Don't I?" James said in a baby voice, grinning as Teddy responded in baby babble.

"Sirius your partner is insulting my baby."

"I am not. Am I?" James said, still using the baby voice. "No I'm not."

"Sure you're not," Remus said drily. "Harry's his godfather by the way. Not sure I got to tell you that."

James straightened up from where he'd been hunched over to be on eye level with Teddy. "Really? Aww they grow up so fast. Mostly because I was dead for your entire life," he said in an aside to Harry, who had finally stopped hugging Sirius. "But I do remember how quickly you grew as a sprog. I swear, between one day and the next you went from babbling to running around the house."

"Speech and movement aren't that conn--"

"Oh shut it Moony I'm having a moment."

"Not a very good one," Harry joked.

James gasped theatrically, putting an arm around Sirius's shoulders when he went back to standing beside him. "Do you hear this treachery? From our very own son?"

Harry's face flashed with confusion, but Teddy let out a loud wail that reminded Remus they should head back to continue talking. James agreed easily, though he wasn't quite sure where they were heading back to.

Remus went ahead and apparated with Teddy since the floo could be a little dodgy with a newborn, and Harry led them to the fireplaces, telling them to go to 'the Burrow'. Sirius seemed uncomfortable with the idea, but James didn't have a chance to ask him about it before they were stepping into the green flames and swirling away.

When he materialized, it was to the image of a middle-aged red-headed woman fussing over Harry, oblivious to his discomfort. She ushered him off to the kitchen, then turned to James with a neutral smile. "You must be Mrs. Weasley," he said with an equally polite smile. He didn't know anything about her other than she was Harry's friend's mother, and she had eight kids or summat.

"I am dear." She stepped forward to shake his hand, and James tried not to let his smile wince at the endearment. She didn't mean anything by it, he knew, but he'd always felt that endearments were earned, not given away like mints. "You're free to stay here for as long as you like so you and Harry can become acquainted. I'm afraid it's a touch crowded for beds, but we'll find a space for you."

The words were nice, the offer genuine, but something about it struck James as off. He realised what it was a moment later: Remus wasn't staying here, and he'd explicitly said that Sirius could stay with him. And if Sirius was staying with Remus, then James was staying with Remus, and James was now confused as to why she thought James didn't have a place to stay since Remus had obviously been around in the past few days to be with Harry. "Ah, er- thanks for the offer, but we'll be fine at Remus's."

"Did Harry say he was going with you?" she asked with a confused tilt of her head, like plans had been made without her knowledge.

"No," James responded, equally confused. "I thought Harry was staying here with his friends." He looked to Sirius to see if he knew what was going on any better.

"He is," Sirius confirmed. "Ron and Hermione," he added in a lower voice, and James nodded. There were too many new people, and he wasn't remembering any of them except Teddy. But Teddy was a baby and hardly counted.

"Oh, well if everything's in order, why don't we get a bite to eat? You do look a bit peckish dear," she said, looking over James like she thought he could stand to gain a pound or ten.

Rude, he thought uncharitably. This was the perfect size for holding Sirius and fitting both of them on any given horizontal surface. If he gained weight without warning, who knew what would happen to impromptu cuddle sessions? He shuddered internally as they followed Mrs. Weasley to the kitchen; it didn't bear to think about.

There was a long dining table taking up the entire room, which was abnormally large to accommodate the ludicrously long table. The table was laden with food, and most of the seats were already filled. Half were Weasley's, but the other half looked to be friends of both the children and the family. The young, dark skinned woman talking to Harry was surely Hermione, and it appeared that she, Harry, and half the Weasley children were having a discussion about Quidditch.

Remus took the empty seat at the end, strapping Teddy into the highchair next to him before he plated up some food for both of them. The seats next to him were open, and Sirius and James took them. It was like a small version of meals at Hogwarts. It was strange to be around people that looked the same age as him, but he was born a decade or two before. Hell, he and Harry were only a few years apart, physically speaking.

James poked dubiously at the food on his plate. It's not that it looked bad-- quite the contrary, it looked delicious-- but he couldn't help his trepidation. Normally he would have wolfed it down, but Sirius was only nibbling. The two of them had similar tastebuds, and it stood to reason that if Sirius didn't like it, then James wouldn't either.

"Mister Potter?"

Sirius had to nudge his leg before he realised they were talking to him. "Hm?" he said, looking up from the questionably good food.

"What do you think?"

"I wasn't paying attention," he admitted with a grin. "What's the question?"

"Is the seeker the single most important player in Quidditch?"

James rolled his eyes. "It's called a team sport for a reason. There's no such thing as 'single most important player'. One person buggers up, you all suffer."

"Language," Mrs. Weasley said, and it didn't seem like she was joking.

James glanced at Sirius in a 'are you kidding' way, and he made a face that said 'no, she is completely serious'. "We've all fought in a war-- or two," he added with a nod at Remus who was busy making a face at Teddy in an attempt to get him to eat what was currently on the fork in front of his mouth, "and we've probably all killed people. Are you really gonna get upset about a stray curse?"

"I just don't think it's nice to say in polite company," she said, a touch primly, and James had to stop himself from saying 'what the fuck' aloud.

"Riiiight," is what he said instead. "Anyways, Quidditch is a team sport, and trying to break it into pieces like that doesn't even make sense to the sport."

"You were Quidditch Captain in your day weren't you?" Hermione asked, and James nodded. "I don't think Harry mentioned, but he was in our year. When we were still going, that is."

"Nice." James held up his hand for a high five, and Harry paused for only a second before slapping it.

"I'd meant to pursue it as a career, but then the war happened and then I died, so." He shrugged.

"Do you really think it best to bring that up?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

"Bring what up?" James asked. Honestly, every time she said something he was plunged into a state of confusion that never resolved, only dissipated over time while something else distracted him.

"Your... absence," she said delicately.

"It's kinda hard to miss. Or do I actually look the forty years I'm supposed to be? Me and Sirius used to look good together, now I just come across as a cheap sugar baby."

Sirius snorted, and Remus sighed in a way that meant he was amused but he wasn't going to admit it. "Be glad for your youth, sweetheart. You could probably play professionally now," he mused. "Once they get rid of your death certificate or whatever rot they're planning on doing to declare you alive again, you'd be able to audition."

"I haven't so much as looked at a broom since I got back, I might not even be good anymore." Sirius rolled his eyes at that because come on, and James amended, "I'm sure a lot has changed in the past twenty years for the League. I can't show up with no knowledge and no recent practice." He frowned as something occurred to him. "What're you planning on doing? Cause pros travel, and I'm not sure I want to try and live without you for weeks at a time."

"I could travel with you, it's not like I've got anything else going on for me. Besides, then I'll be the trophy spouse and people won't have as much cause to complain."

"Sirius," Mrs. Weasley's voice cut in, and James was really about to get annoyed with this.

"What," James said, a touch shortly as he turned from their conversation.

"You shouldn't joke about such things," she said, eyes darting to the children, but fuck if James or Sirius knew what she was trying to convey.

"I wasn't joking?" Sirius said, utterly confused.

She heaved a put upon sigh, and Remus cut in just as she was opening her mouth. He very carefully wasn't looking at anyone but Teddy as he talked in a mild tone, "Molly I suggest you think about whatever it is you want to say, taking into consideration how much you may or may not know about the two of them."

"Oh!" She looked away as a light blush covered her cheeks, and James's brow scrunched. What in Merlin's name was going on? She cleared her throat. "Well, erm. I think I should check on the biscuits!" she said before bustling out of the room.

"Do you know what's going on?" James asked, turning to face Sirius again.

"Not really."

"She didn't know the two of you were together," Remus supplied.

"How is that possible?" James asked.

"Well James, the last time you were alive was twenty years ago, and since then everyone decided that you and Lily were married-"

"What? How is that possible? We barely even talked!"

Remus shrugged. "You all got married on the same day. I guess pictures got mixed around, and there was no one left to say which wedding picture had the correct partners."

James shifted his glare to Sirius, hitting him upside the head with a flourish that dealt very little pain. "Why didn't you tell her? I thought you'd been seeing her on and off for three years?"

Sirius ran his fingers through his hair to get it back in order. "Well it's not like we got on, is it?"

"What? What do you mean you didn't get on? You're wonderful, everyone likes you."

"Most people disagree with you," Sirius pointed out, and he was wholly unprepared for the shock that gave James.

"Excuse me? You are the best thing to grace the face of this planet, and people don't recognise that?"

"James-" Sirius started to say, and James could spot the telltale splotches of pink on his cheeks that would turn into a full body blush if he didn't calm back down.

"You stay here, I need to plan." He bopped Sirius on top of the head and left for the sitting room before anyone could even think to stop him. He pulled out a wand-- not his wand because that was long since gone and he hadn't had a chance to replace it yet-- and started a list in front of him. He only had four bullets before Harry came into the room and sat beside him.

"Maybe badges?" Harry suggested, pointing at point two which said: Public but low key support sign??? James nodded thoughtfully, adding a dash and the word badges next to it.

James glanced at Harry. He didn't seem upset which, now that James thought about it, was a relief. "You're not upset?"

Harry shrugged. "Would've done a few years ago. Now I'm just glad you have each other. Professor McGonagall always said Sirius wasn't the same since you died. I thought she meant Azkaban at the time but."

James nodded, adding another bullet to the list.

"I won't have to see you kiss, will I?"

"Do you want me to lie?"

"Yes."

"Then no, you won't ever see a thing. We're practically strangers in public, and in private we stick to hand holding and nothing more."

Remus, who wandered in with Teddy a few moments ago, snorted. "That's possibly the biggest lie you've ever told, since the current winner of: 'of course I don't love him Moony we're just friends'."

"I was in denial, you berk."

Harry laughed when Remus flipped him a v and James returned it, sticking out his tongue. Remus settled into the sofa next to Harry and nodded at the list. "What about that charity he donated to?"

James snapped his fingers and added it to the list. "You're a genius Moons." He added a few more bullets before going to the top and titling it SBDS.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry asked, tilting his head like the angle would reveal the secret to him.

"Sirius Black Defense Squad. I considered 'Sirius Black Lovers' but that sounded a little off."

"I'll say," Harry said. "You're the only 'lover' in here, and I don't want to be that closely related to you."

"Oh bugger off," James said fondly.

[capmerthur]

THE ONCE AND FUTURE FIC

Yet another resurrection fic (sorry???). ARTHUR RETURNS IN CHAPTER 2. Lots of feeeeels, and overdue conversations (at last!) between our precious King and Warlock. Title might change as this goes along, but this has always been the work title in my head since I started thinking about writing it, so… Starts right when 5.13 ends. WARNING FOR SUICIDAL THOUGHTS IN CHAPTER ONE.

Excerpt PART III:

If this is a waking dream then Merlin never wants to leave it. This is solid enough, real enough, for the rest of his maybe neverending life. "You're here. You're well. That's all that matters, Arthur; I swear that's all that has ever mattered to me."

Arthur holds his gaze for a long, long time; as if waiting for Merlin's clear eyes to betray his words. And when he finally seems confident enough that they are indeed genuine, he whispers, but it sounds like a pledge: "And you're here, Merlin, and you're *you*; and I swear that's all that will matter to me from now on."

(PREVIOUS CHAPTERS UNDER CHAPTER III)

@clone-number-1

III. (MERLIN POV)

"I'm fine, Merlin. I'm fine."

And not only the voice is perfect, but the language is the one Merlin hasn't heard for over a millenium...

"Arthur?" is all Merlin can let out - no more than a somewhat hiccuped whisper as he still has no breath, no voice, to start with; but an obvious plea coming from the depths of his soul. A world of wonder, and longing, and ache, and disbelief, and hope - because no matter what, Merlin can't help but want; can't help but hope - in those two syllabs that own his heart. Magic *does* exist, after all; and Merlin would give it all - all the magic he possesses, all his pain, all his hopes, everything - for this vision to turn real.

Arthur's already fragile smile falters: "Don't you remember, Merlin. No man is worth your tears." The reproach is nothing but badly fake though, and Arthur's voice somehow breaks as it ends: "Especially not me."

And then suddenly - and so quickly Merlin doesn't register any of it before it has actually happened, and so it is too late for him to move backwards to prevent it from happening - Arthur brings his hands on Merlin's face, gloved fingers brushing his tears away under his eyes - and Merlin can *feel* them!?

Merlin is lost; lost in what he sees, lost in what he hears, and lost in what he feels. Can this be true? Can it truly be true?

But then Arthur starts speaking again - rushed out words leaving Merlin stunned.

"I apologize, Merlin. The way I reacted- (sigh) I deserve all the names you've ever called me and more. I'm thick, and dumb, and *such* an idiot, and a complete dollophead, and a cabbage head, and a prat, and a royal *ass*, and I still don't know what a clotpole exactly is but I'm certain I am the definition for one indeed too. I may have seen anyone with magic turning against me; but I should never have doubted *you*, Merlin."

Merlin just cannot believe what he's hearing. It's everything he has ever wanted to hear; everything he has ever hoped to hear - so how can it be real?

"But more than anything, I think, I'm sorry because I should have known, Merlin. I called you a liar; looked at you like you had betrayed me. But you've told it. You actually shouted it for everyone to hear; and I believe you nearly told it to me, privately, at least once, and presumably more... But I just didn't want to hear it, did I? So I'm sorry I was such a coward; a *coward*, Merlin. And I'm so sorry, and so ashamed - and honestly I really can't blame you for not trusting me to understand: because you were right; and it guts me, Merlin."

Merlin shakes his head, about to interject - real or not just cannot matter anymore; not when Arthur's gaze is boring into his very core, pleading and honest and full of a guilt Merlin just can't bear to witness: "Arthur-"

Arthur silences him though, cutting him off by shaking him once by the shoulders: "But what counts is that I know, now, Merlin. Your magic is not only part of who you are; it also makes you who you are. And I will trust it; because I trust *you*. You must believe- No, let me rephrase this before you obey me again - because you *always* obey me, don't you Merlin; even when whatever I say in anger or despair isn't intended nor meant to be an order; and I've done it so often, haven't I... 'Do not put me into that position again'? 'Tell me it's gone'? (AN) So. Can you believe me; Merlin? It's not an order; I definitely do not deserve to give you any order at all to start with anyway. And you don't even have to forgive me; you shouldn't forgive me. But please, at least, can you b-"

"Of course I believe you. And there is nothing to forgive, Arthur. Nothing." Merlin half shouts, ancient words flowing instinctively, head skaking 'no' for emphasis, bringing his hands up to Arthur's wrists and pushing downwards, keeping Arthur's hands in place on his shoulders. If this is a waking dream then Merlin never wants to leave it. This is solid enough, real enough, for the rest of his maybe neverending life. "You're here. You're well. That's all that matters, Arthur; I swear that's all that has ever mattered to me."

Arthur holds his gaze for a long, long time; as if waiting for Merlin's clear eyes to betray his words. And when he finally seems confident enough that they are indeed genuine, he whispers, but it sounds like a pledge: "And you're here, Merlin, and you're *you*; and I swear that's all that will matter to me from now on."

.

AN: Tiny quote from my Body Swap fic; sorry, I just couldn't NOT put it there, it just FITS...

(Also, just imagine they speak in old brittonic... but please don't expect me to write it? sorry?)

.

(PREVIOUS CHAPTERS)

(Warning for this chapter: suicidal thoughts)

I. (MERLIN POV)

Merlin holds Mordred's sword in his right hand, appraising it. He still can't believe he has found it; still can't believe it's actually in his hands.

Over sixty years now - nothing; yet far too long - Merlin has been waiting for this moment. Since he has begged Freya, and threathened (and apologised - he couldn't blame Freya for not listening; he wouldn't have either, if their roles had been reversed), and begged again - in vain, for Excalibur. Since he has finally understood that he was a fool to hold onto hope for something that couldn't, wouldn't come to pass. Arthur was *never* coming back: Merlin had simply witnessed enough - he had witnessed too much; and too many times; and definitely one time too much one time too many - to ignore it any longer.

/

It was not that Merlin had grown too tired of waiting - too tired of the ache, the longing, the loneliness... For Arthur? Merlin would *always* wait; however long it might take.

It was not that Merlin had come to believe mankind didn't deserve Arthur to rise again to start with - even though it *was* an easy conclusion, when it was at its worst, when it turned its anger against itself - too many horrors, atrocities, bloodshed. But mankind could be beautiful, when loving, in any form; and marvelous, too, when it was at its best; when it turned its anger towards its limits: the medical progress over the ages would have had Gaius exhilarated, and proud; and what about its general neverending thirst for discovery, for explorations, for quests? - of course Arthur would come back: if only he could.

It was just that Merlin had finally understood that he had been played - not even because Albion (the name has since long fallen out of use and its people had been scattered through the globe, so it might mean nowadays something else than it had used to to start with) had got united without Arthur (and even if it still only meant Great Britain, well, it might after all need to be united again); but simply because the list of unending reasons why Arthur should have come back to save the day and yet hadn't (to mention only the very top of the list: half of humanity wiped out in a finger snap by the Black Death? the whole world collapsing in chaos, bend on destroying itself - World War?) had turned out suspiciously too long, and finally impossibly too long, as mankind had truly reached the lowest point not only ever but even possible without Arthur rising yet again (organised experiments and torture on toddlers, honestly?).

So.

Arthur wasn't ever coming back from the dead, simply because no one ever came back from the dead (except as a shade - and that would be even worse, wouldn't it? - or at a cost too great to burden anyway). It had been easy to believe in the prophecy; simply because it had been what Merlin had wanted. A distant promise of Arthur returning was still way better than no Arthur at all, and so Merlin had willingly taken the bait. But the fake prophecy had obviously been made up; as revenge, or entertainment - or both; and Merlin had felt stupid for not having realized this ages ago - The Sidhe were proud indeed; and Merlin had thwarted them. (It had been easy to forget it at first - to tell himself that they hadn't known Arthur was THE Arthur at the time, whatever...) Merlin wasn't sure about what Kilgharrah might have exactly known or not (On the one hand, Kilgharrah had forged Excalibur, who had always truly helped them. And Merlin had been warned by the Great Dragon, right from the start, and repeatedly; so wouldn't it all have worked out just fine if he had listened. On the other hand, if he had listened? Wouldn't he have been a monster, punishing people for crimes they had not yet committed? So maybe giving him the truth had in fact been the sure way to have him not acting on it. After all, Kilgharrah had hated the Pendragons - at least Uther - enough to have tried to wipe out Camelot. And he hadn't been exactly pleased either to discover Merlin was a Dragonlord, even if he had seemed to soften when he had realized that Merlin would not control him as a puppet. And last but not least, Kilgharrah hadn't taken care of Aithusa as Merlin had thought he would; and that's how Aithusa had ended up with Morgana - and had forged the sword that had killed Arthur), but it didn't change anything anyway...

Well, you bet Merlin hadn't been willing to indulge them any longer. Not that anger was what was driving Merlin, of course. There was simply *no point* anymore in waiting. Nor in living, to be honest - especially as it might be what kept him from actually finding Arthur again somehow; next life, paradise, wherever and however and whenever? Merlin was no religious man, but even he had no answer about what happened after death after all. Maybe it was worth a shot? It was a very, very thin chance indeed; but it was still more of a chance than just staying here waiting for *nothing*... So. Merlin had begged Freya for Excalibur. But as she had kept absent, it had dawned on him at some point that Excalibur wasn't the only blade he could use... Merlin had searched for that other mighty weapon through his magic for years; then had sent his creature to retrieve it when he had successfully localized it.

/

And here, now, finally, is Mordred's sword.

And Merlin feels no dread, no fear, while holding it. If anything, he feels calm - calmer than he has ever been, probably. And that's how Merlin knows that his decision is indeed right: even his magic agrees.

He should do it in the lake though. Magical artifacts just shouldn't linger around in the open, huh...

Yes.

Let Mordred's blade rest along Excalibur.

And let Merlin rest along Arthur.

Freya will make sure they all lay undisturbed.

Merlin blindly pulls at the cord around his neck, taking it out from under his tunic and sliding his left hand along it until it closes around Arthur's mother sigil (AN) and Camelot's ruler's ring (Gwen had it brought to him, so he could give it back to its true owner on his return: Camelot in the meantime was to be ruled by a Concil of Knights and a Guardian, until Arthur would come back to sit on his kept empty throne and his kept empty seat at the Round Table).

Merlin closes his eyes; makes a silent promise.

I'm coming, Arthur.

He takes a first step into the lake.

.

Backstory: +1500 years in short - because it hurts and I just don't have the heart to fully write the prologue I had intended to write:

Merlin has never left the lake. He kept waiting. He couldn’t, wouldn’t leave, (nor SLEEP even for that matter by the way) no matter for how short - imagine if Arthur came back just when he was NOT there, huh. And of course he wouldn’t trust his magic to warn him somehow - it had failed Arthur when he needed it the most after all. So no. Merlin has never left the lake. But Gaius has mentioned to him (Merlin got visitors, in the beginning (and his mother came to live with him until she died); before he cut himself off the world) how maybe the time he was given without Arthur was to LEARN more about magic; so that he would be prepared when Arthur came back to face whatever ordeal they were supposed to face. Because even if Merlin is hyper *aware* - he feels *everything*, through his magic - practice is necessary too.  So Merlin mastered the art of molding sand/clay and animating it with his magic (basically, he walks the Earth as Old Merlin - because people tends to let old grumpy men on their own - whenever he needs anything physically). He can speak, hear, see, learn, through him, following the world as it expands (America, Australia, etc etc, because even if he was aware they existed, he couldn’t physically *go* there before they were ‘found’). And he can touch, and carry (for example you bet he brought back something red for Arthur to wear every time - Merlin sort of owns a ‘male red mode through the ages’ museum by now - and he hates it, of course).  The first time Merlin has truly thought Arthur *would* come back has been The Great Plague. The second time has been WWI. The last drop has been the Nazis and Unit 731 experimentations.  So Merlin sent its creature to fetch Mordred’s sword after having localized it though his magic - and that’s what Old Merlin is bringing back to him when this all starts (aka that shot at the end of 5.13)…

(AN: Just so you know, Merlin's magically pierced in the thickness of Ygraine's sigil to pass a cord - he  wouldn 't make a hole in the front design of course!)

(Also... A resurrection fic!? What am I getting myself into!? I'm still a newbie around here so I definitely haven't read enough Merlin fics to ever claim making something original (so by the way, please feel free to let me know your all time favourites resurrection fics! So far I’ve read The Change Trilogy and Like the cycle of the year we begin again (and they’re both gorgeous reads so run and read them if you haven’t yet!) but I haven't seen (yet?) my take, both on the waiting and on the getting along after Arthur's return, in the fics I've read so far, so I thought I might as well write this down ?)

.

II. (ALTERNATE POV)

Arthur regains consciousness under water.

He's cold; so cold he's shaking - helpless, steady spasms he just can't put an end to (being past half dead apparently has repercussions?). But it's bright, up over him, and he instinctivally pushes himself up towards the light; towards the air.

The moment he breaks the water, Arthur registers that he's not only alive but that he feels *just right*. No pain in his side, no weakness, no dizzinesss, no strain: nothing wrong at all - except from the convulsions from the cold, but you bet he's not going to complain, all considered. The sun is veiled by clouds, but feels nonetheless like a welcomed warmth on his face, and Arthur breathes deep, bringing his arms up and turning his palms towards the warmth too as the tremors start to subdue; he's alive!; and well! He doesn't need to pat his absent wound in wonder, nor to look at the water, transparent clear instead of bloodened red, to know that what he feels is true.

Merlin's done it.

He *has* saved his life.

Again.

It's both unexpected (Arthur had been so sure he had taken his last breath, when all had finally faded to black, no matter how much he had been trying to stay with him, as Merlin had pleaded; to hold onto Merlin, to his voice, to the way he was holding him) - and yet somehow expected. Magical waters and a sorcerer who knows how to work its power would do wonders, obviously. It has happened before after all, bringing his beloved Guinevere's spirit back?

A sudden realization; and Arthur can't help but laugh. And it feels so exhilarating - alive! alive! - the laugh turns into a howl; and Arthur relishes on it, throwing his head back. Honestly? How could he have ever been *so* blind - of course it had been Merlin then too by the water edge, disguised as an old woman!

/

Somewhere on his right, a buoying laugh erupts.

And Merlin knows that laugh. So hearing the exact right tone of that entirely unexpected laughter at once feels as if a vicious invisible hand is squeezing at his heart.

He had forgotten it; he realizes. But he would recognize that howling laugh amongst any other...

Merlin doesn't dare to *believe*. Cruel hope nonetheless blooms unbidden in his heart, and his eyes can't help but zero in on the source of that sound.

And it is exactly as it should be; exactly as it has used to be...

There *is* ARTHUR; standing in the lake, water reaching his hips, chainmail glistening, head thrown back as he laughs. (Has anyone ever looked more simply breathtakingly majestic no matter what they did and even without trying?) Merlin can only see his back, but you bet he would recognize the shape of that back amongst any other too.

Merlin's breath is knocked out of him; and Mordred's sword falls from his hand.

Merlin knows what he hears and sees *cannot* be true. He has seen the world in a much, MUCH more desperate state without Arthur coming back then. There is absolutely no reason for Arthur to come back right now. So. He is being granted a vision; that's all. But of course Merlin wouldn't, couldn't, try to take his own life anymore, not after having had even just a glimpse... Besides, he has just handed over the last sword that could end him anyway. Merlin has to acknowledge The Sidhe's thinking; they know exactly well how to play him. But damn, they are vicious.

But no matter the abysmal pain from such a low blow, Merlin still considers this to be a gift, and is determined to draw it out for as long as he will be allowed to. Those few seconds might sustain him for another fifteen centuries to come, and maybe more...

/

Arthur quiets down after a while. Thinking about his savior: where is he?

Arthur scans his surroundings; and the warmth he feels when he finally spots Merlin definitely eclipses the sun.

/

The laughing stops, and Arthur turns, eyes searching; and a bright smile appears on Arthur's face the moment they find him.

"Merlin!"

Merlin's knees give out. His name through Arthur's lips has sounded *exactly* right - righter than in any memory Merlin has relied on to live on hanging onto. And it hurts. The shame, and guilt - to realize he had forgotten *this* too? It shouldn't have been possible - to have something so dear going misformed; a pale, withered, incomplete, erroneous copy, so far from the original that its truth has disintegrated? Oh yes, it hurts.

And Merlin's fingers dig; hard, deep into the sand. He cannot reach out. He longs for; he *aches* to - both physically and emotionnally. But he cannot. As long as it's only his eyes and ears that are deceived, then he can pretend it is true...

Merlin starts to cry. He can't help it; he cries - as he hasn't cried since, well, all those years ago: silent tears endlessly streaming down his face, unabached, treacherous; and Merlin hates them - hates the way they blur his vision when he has to - HAS TO - *see*. He is powerless to stop them though.

It is *blinding*.

Merlin has tried, so hard, to keep remembering, to NOT forget. But his memories, even sustained with his magic, have so obviously failed him; haven't done Arthur any justice at all. Merlin has forgotten so, SO much; and being proven just how much he has actually forgotten slices through him like a knife. The exact darker shade of Arthur's blond hair when wet. The exact way Arthur stands and moves. The exact sharpness of Arthur's features - his nose, his cheeckbones, his jawline. The exact shape of that smile - that particular, undeniably fond smile following his name Merlin has used to live for and from. Guilt slashes through him again. How could he have *forgotten* the exact shape of *that* smile; the most precious to him amongst the myriad of each and every of Arthur's smiles?

/

But then Merlin collapses, instead of cheering with him - he has thought him gone for good? And Arthur suddenly feels like there is still after all a gaping aching wound on his body; but this one deep in his chest, and of his own making. He owes Merlin *everything*, doesn't he? Yet he has hurt him - and so very severely. Despite it, though, Merlin obviously still cares for him; and so very much... His own behaviour puts Arthur to shame. So. Arthur hadn't had the time nor the strength to plainly apologize before. But he has now; and he won't run away from the words that he needs to say - and even more important, that Merlin needs to hear...

/

Arthur is now rushing through the water towards him - so fierce!, so strong!; alive and well!? His smile is gone though; replaced by worry - because of Merlin's tears, no doubt: yet another reason to hate them then...

And then Arthur is plopping down in front of him, out of breath; and Merlin gets proof again of just how much he had forgotten - the exact colours and depths of Arthur's eyes! There is now a fragile smile back on Arthur's face - a soothing smile, meant only for Merlin's sake; and it's going to break Merlin's heart, no doubt.

[elizaxspears]

So, here’s another try at Hartwin! I’m still testing grounds with them, so why not go for a post Golden Circle, fix it, sick fic? Because that’s exactly what this is.

After everything was said and done, things weren’t as bad as they seemed. Granted, yes, they were still bad but there was some good luck crawling out of the shadows. Not only had Merlin survived the mine, equipped with bionic legs that looked wicked awesome, Roxy escaped the mansion before the missile hit and the Statesman offered their resources to help rebuild Kingsman. Harry was appointed as Arthur and Eggsy got to keep the title of Galahad. Finally, there was some semblance of normality Eggsy thinks, as he sits on the couch in his and Harry’s new flat. What he had now with Harry was probably the only truly good thing that came out of this whole mess. Once they’d released the cure to the world and they were finally able to shed those tears, it came easy to admit how they felt in their rawest state. Of course, he had to tell Tilde about this and, while it hadn’t gone down easy, and honestly when was anything in eggsy’s life ‘easy’, she let him go. She even said she suspected he felt that much to his mentor considering he lived in Harry’s house and never changed a thing. It was just, no one expected Harry to come back.

Now he had. An eye missing and still dealing with the horrors of what he’d done at the church, he was back and so were Merlin and Roxy. While he still lost Brandon and JB, this was probably the best outcome that could have happened. He, Jamal and Ryan had closure over Brandon and JB the second helped ease the hole of losing his beloved pug. Having Hamish around helped as well and Eggsy pretends not to know that’s Merlin’s real name.

He’s gotten back from visiting mum and Daisy with Harry—Arthur’s—permission. While he tells her he’s no longer dating a princess but Harry Hart, the tailor who was meant to be dead, she just shakes her head, ending his stories. She doesn’t know what her son has gotten himself into; expecting the life of a tailor to be a simple job, but as long as he returns home to her and Harry alive, she’s not asking questions. Eggsy doesn’t like the tension between his mother and Harry and hopes maybe one day they can finally make amends over his father. Daisy, at least, was over the moon for Harry since the very first time they’d met. The darling thing already had Harry wrapped around her little finger.

He flicks through the news articles on his phone; they don’t hold his attention much as he keeps an ear out for the door. Since he hasn’t seen Harry for nearly a month, Merlin’s set him on a mission, one he took personally. As Merlin’s informed him, Eggsy had been Harry’s, well, a lot of things. He’s made sure Harry takes the breaks he needs, help avoid any eye strain from staring at the contrasting small black letters on a blanched white paper, that he doesn’t suddenly throw himself into being Arthur without a good head on his shoulders and food for gods sake Harry, people need to eat! Since Eggsy’s, been gone, Harry’s nearly gone off the deep end. Not even Merlin’s nagging made him budge and now he’s gone and worked himself ill. His sleep schedule was non existent with late nights and even earlier mornings; all of it catching up to him and Merlin knows Eggsy has this way of getting the stubborn pillock to listen (Merlin’s words).

Which is why when Eggsy hears the door open, he puts on his best disappointed face. It doesn’t match Harry’s, never could rival the look he got when Harry was chastising him about not shooting JB, but it should, maybe, work. “‘Arry.” he greets at the door and hell if Merlin wasn’t joking when he mentioned Harry looked as sick as he probably felt. He’d gone pale again except for the slickly flush on his cheeks, with large dark circles under his eye, a slight sheen of sweat covered his skin and his hair was just that bit out of place, his suits as well. His hands are even slightly shaking as they close the door. “Fuckin’ hell Harry.”

Harry gives him that mock smile before shredding his coat and hanging it up. He’s also got a briefcase which Eggsy takes. “I need that.” he says like he’s actually going to work. His voice is scratchy and a little croaky.

“No you don’t. Instead, why don’t y’ come sit with me for a bit? Missed you.” Harry must not be feeling well if he’s not up for arguing. Instead he goes along easily.

Eggsy sets the briefcase down and put his arm around Harry’s shoulders, taking his hand to lead the way. “I’m not brittle, Eggsy.”

“Just come with me.”

He’s sure Harry expected them to return to the living room but Eggsy instead leads them upstairs. Harry looks frustrated and just as a protest is on his lips, he’s whipping his head to the side, snapping a hand to his mouth to cover the horrible cough. His shoulders shake with the force of it and Eggsy’s frowning even worse now. “You okay?” he asks softly when Harry breathes deeply once the fit seems over.

“Fine.”

Though Eggsy isn’t, and won’t be, convinced, he continues to help Harry toward their bedroom. The older man takes a seat on the edge of the bed; he just sits there, staring up at Eggsy with as much heat as a sick man can muster. “Hey, you’re not gonna get better if you work yourself to the grave.”

“I’ve been dead once already. I’m sure another trip won’t be that horrible.” Eggsy crosses his arms and looks away. For once, it’s Harry who knows he’s crossed a line. Despite the time between Kentucky and now, it’s still a sore subject for the younger man so Harry reaches out, his warm hand resting over Eggsy’s bicep. “I’m sorry my boy. That was in poor taste.”

Eggsy takes a deep breath, his eyes finding Harry’s hand before the takes it in his own. “Dunno if I’ll ever be okay with it. I…saw you die, ‘arry. I saw that bullet.” the memory is surfacing but he does his best to shove it away. Especially when he reaches for Harry’s glasses, pinching the arms between his fingers. “…can I?”

“You may.” Eggsy slowly removes the glasses from Harry’s face and for as long as Harry lives, their both going to be reminded of what was lost that day. Where they both weren’t the best to each other, where that should have been the end for their relationship. But, it’s also proof Harry’s a tough old bastard and it’s going to take more than a bullet to kill him. “Eggsy.”

His eyes flick to Harry’s working one and instead of apologizing, he leans forward, kissing just above his eyebrow of the damaged eye. “Harry.”

Harry has his arms around him and Eggsy returns the hug. It’s warmer than normal with Harry’s increased body temperature but it’s still a comfort Eggsy finds himself searching for more often than not. “You’ve made me proud, Eggsy. You’re exactly what Kingsman needed.”

He’s heard Harry say that before and every time there’s that slight doubt but he trusts Harry; he always trusts Harry even when he doesn’t. Like Whiskey. Maybe the entirety of Statesman being double agents was wrong but Harry had been right about Whiskey. “They need you more.” Eggsy replies as he pulls away. “Now, get changed for me. I wanna see you outta this suit and into your robe or something. I’m gonna make you something to eat.”

“Just soup will do, my boy.”

Eggsy stands for a few minutes as he watches Harry slowly undress himself, making sure he’s doing what he asked, before giving him one more kiss to his temple and making his way back downstairs to the kitchen. He knows what recipe to make; the same one Harry had told him about during those twenty-four hours together. He remembers standing in the small kitchen, watching Harry go about making their dinner with a little book full of recipes sat out ready for use. Out of curiosity, Eggsy skimmed through the book, asking Harry about the ones that looked delicious or had really weird names. He asked about the soup recipe and Harry told him his mother had made it up and always cooked it for him when he was a sick lad. It was one of the few things she would do for him personally instead of having someone else tend to Harry.

Now, Eggsy has only his memory to rely on. That’s something that makes him pause. While he lost quite a bit because of Poppy, Harry lost his entire livelihood. His home, his butterfly collection, Mr. Pickle, all his knick knacks that probably held some sentimental value. He even nearly lost his oldest friend because of Eggsy’s mistake. He knows he can’t blame himself for Harry’s townhouse blowing up but he feels he’s lost everything too. He lived in that house for a year. He’d seen all what Harry hid away, the things that made him man rather than a hardened spy. All of it was gone now.

Harry had taken this news better than Eggsy expected, at first. When they were in that diner, after they’d save the world and they could be two men mourning for a friend, Eggsy saw Harry’s true grieving. There were no sobs or shouting or anger at all, but a constant stream of tears from his closed eye. Eggsy cried with him and like the cell, embraced him, both letting everything go.

Eggy’s brought back to his mission when there’s scratching at the back door followed by tiny barks. He sets down the knife and opens the door. Hamish rushes in with JB the second trotting along behind him. Eggsy wants to get on their level but he has dinner that needs to be prepared. Instead, he sends them upstairs, hoping seeing Hamish will give Harry more motivation to relax. JB on the other hand stays at his side; the smell of food too tempting for the pug.

The soup is finished in the next half hour to the best of Eggsy’s abilities. While he’s not a grand chef like Harry, he thinks he did pretty well. He’s had a taste and he’s satisfied with it. So he takes the bowl upstairs, JB following behind.

When he returns to the bedroom, Harry’s thankfully listened. His pyjamas on, the blanket over his lap with Hamish curled on top the blanket. Harry's’ hand continuously soothes down Hamish’s back, a fond smile on his face. Eggsy can only imagine what memories this must bring back. “Dinner.” he speaks up.

Hamish lifts his head as Harry’s attention is now on him. Maybe it’s the aroma wafting from the bowl, but Harry’s eyes go even softer. “Please tell me you didn’t make what I think you did.”

Eggsy is suddenly very nervous. “If I did?”

“Oh Eggsy.” Harry says and Eggsy swears there’s moisture gathering in his good eye, “you didn’t need to go through all that trouble for me.”

Eggsy sits on his side of the bed, passing the bowl to Harry. “Of course I did. You woulda made the same for me, yeah?” Harry nods as he takes the spoon, stirring the contents of the bowl before lifting the spoon. He blows on it; Eggsy waits eagerly as Harry takes the first bite. “…well?”

Harry sighs. “It’s good, thank you.”

“Should help your throat too.” they sit there in silence for a moment as Harry eats until they hear a bark. Eggsy looks down at JB before picking up the pug and putting him on the bed with the rest of them. “Was watching me cook.”

“Have they eaten yet?” Harry asks, setting down the spoon to rub over JB’s head.

“Yep. But, JB ate Hamish’s leftovers again.”

Harry just smiles. “You’re lucky.” he says to the pug, “if Mr. Pickle were still alive, you wouldn’t have had anything to steal.”

Eggsy sports the same smile, reclining back against the bed. Harry slowly finishes off the soup, Hamish still on his lap while JB is at his side, waiting to see if he’ll get anything. While Harry has been known to give both dogs scraps from the table, there’s nothing here for Harry to share so once the bowls done, JB huffs then takes his normal spot next to Eggsy’s feet, stretching out. “Feel better?” Eggsy asks, taking the bowl and putting it aside.

“Far too early to tell yet.” Harry replies, reclining as Eggsy had, his hand returning to stroking over Hamish’s back. “But, thank you Eggsy. I’m sorry I’ve been a little hard on you lately.”

Eggsy shrugs. “Arthur’s a big job. Don’t blame you for gettin’ stressed like that.” this time he sets Harry with a pointed glare, “but I can blame you for lettin’ yourself get run down like this Harry. You know you gotta keep your health up.”

Harry closes his eye. “I know. Believe me, I do.”

“Then why just throw yourself into nothing but work while I was gone?”

“It was better than coming home to an empty flat.” Eggsy’s brows draw together and Harry continues. “For years after Mr. Pickle, I would come home alone. I’d grown used to it, I’d expected it. Then you called in my favour. I’m not so much as an old fool to believe in love at first sight but I did become increasingly fond of you. It wasn’t until we spent that night together that I realized I was an old enough fool to fall in love. I woke up next to you and I thought, I’d love to wake up like this every day.”

Eggsy frowns. “And I had to go and fuck it up, right?”

“We both fucked it up.” Harry counters. “I shouldn’t have gotten as angry as I did. I shouldn’t have left without finishing our conversation.” he looks at Eggsy again. “And now, after all that’s happened, nearly losing you to a princess, nearly losing Merlin, then having you leave for a month so soon after, I couldn’t stand it. The longer I was away from this place, the better.”

“Why’d you let me go then if it bothered you so bad?”

“Because I’m not going to prevent you from living because I have some demons I've yet to concur.”

Eggsy thinks then scoots closer, wrapping his arms around the older man’s shoulders from the side. “This is home Harry. Our home. Remember that okay?”

“It’s only home when you’re here with me.”

Eggsy hugs him tight, resting his head on Harry’s shoulder. “I know.” and they’re able to enjoy this moment, this comfortable silence for a little longer until Harry turns his head to cough again. It sounds better than the last one at least. “C’mon Harry. Lay down, get some rest.”

“You forget I have paperwork I have to do.”

“You forget that I’m not lettin’ your arse outta bed until you’re not coughin’ anymore.”

“Don’t make me order you as Arthur.”

“Don’t make me order you as your boyfriend and I think that has a higher rank right now.” Harry narrows his eyes. Any other time, he’d try Eggsy much like Eggsy does with him except, there is something very tempting about bed rest.

Finally, he relents. “Fine. Because my boyfriend demands it of me.”

“Damn right he does.” Eggsy is grinning proudly as Harry shifts, carefully enough to avoid jostling Hamish off his lap. He’s laying down now. “Close your eye.” Eggsy says and Harry does.

Then there are fingers pressing just enough on his temples, rubbing in slow circles. “Eggsy—”

“Sh. It’s okay Harry. Let me do this for you.”

Harry fights for a bit; fights to keep conscious. He’s still a little terrified sometimes of that creeping darkness but there are three different things that help ease that fear away. He can feel Hamish still on his lap, the dogs weight a nice comfort, he can hear JB the second snoring from Eggsy’s side of the bed and best of all, he has Eggsy hear with him. “I love you.” he says softly, hardly audible to his own ears.

Eggsy doesn’t skip a beat as he replies, like he’s been waiting to say it since the night they spent together, “I love you too.”

[foursugars]

Reborn chapter 2

Arthur is resurrected in the modern era, and he has to learn how to cope with a new world and new ideas, as well as his feelings for Merlin.

If you haven’t read the first chapter go do that, it’s actually pretty good. And I’m going to say this again, please please leave a comment or review or whatever. I want to know what you guys think!

----- 

Six months had gone by since Arthur had come up out of the lake, returning from the dead. Merlin was very proud of how much Arthur had adjusted in that short time, and he was also very proud that he had gone four whole months without trying to stab anyone.

Arthur was proud of himself too. He could work the microwave, he was no longer terrified to ride in cars, and he knew how to use Siri. Merlin had gotten him a phone so that Arthur could google things whenever he was confused. (And so that he could text Merlin when he wandered outside and got lost, which was surprisingly often.)

All in all, Arthur seemed to be adjusting to what he had come to accept as his new life fairly well. He still had bad days of course, there were still things that made no sense to him, but overall he had come to the point where he understood more than he didn’t.

Except for one thing. Fukcing feelings. 

Six months had gone by since Arthur had come up out of the lake, returning from the dead. Merlin was very proud of how much Arthur had adjusted in that short time, and he was also very proud that he had gone four whole months without trying to stab anyone.

Arthur was proud of himself too. He could work the microwave, he was no longer terrified to ride in cars, and he knew how to use Siri. Merlin had gotten him a phone so that Arthur could google things whenever he was confused. (And so that he could text Merlin when he wandered outside and got lost, which was surprisingly often.)

All in all, Arthur seemed to be adjusting to what he had come to accept as his new life fairly well. He still had bad days of course, there were still things that made no sense to him, but overall he had come to the point where he understood more than he didn’t.

Except for one thing. Fukcing feelings.

Arthur was sat behind the shop counter, glaring over the top of a book at the back of Merlin’s head. Merlin was talking to a customer, nodding and waving his hands around a lot.

‘Why does he have to be so goddamn cute??’ Arthur thought to himself angrily. ‘He’s doing it on purpose, I know it. He’s trying to… to sabotage me for… something.’ The truth is, Arthur had been having thoughts like this for weeks. Angrily trying to except his feelings and failing miserably. He was sure the only way he could come to terms with this was to run far away, change his name and live the rest of his life as an isolated sheep herder. Or to angrily make out with Merlin. One or the other.

Merlin glanced over his shoulder at him, and Arthur hurriedly looked back down at his book. He peeked back up a couple minutes later and sighed in relief to see that Merlin had moved behind some shelves. Then he felt annoyed because he couldn’t stare at him with an unobstructed view anymore.

Arthur set his book down and wandered over to Merlin. “Hey, I think I’m going to go upstairs and check on Loaf. Call me down if you need help with anything k?”

Merlin smiled at him. “Sure thing you royal prat.” Arthur’s heart did cartwheels.

Arthur climbed up to their flat, scooped up Loaf, hurried to his room, and collapsed on this bed. He groaned, smushing his face into Loaf’s fur. “Why does he have to be so pretty? It’s not fair.”

Arthur was shocked out of his stupor a couple hours later with his phone ringing.

“Hey Arthur,” Merlin said from the other end, “you think you could come downstairs? I have a bit of a boyfriend situation.”

“Why are you whispering? Are you ok?” Arthur said getting out of bed and heading to the stairs.

“I’m fine, I’m supposed to be getting a book from the back. Just come downstairs ok?”

“Ok, I’m coming down. Don’t worry.” Arthur knew that Merlin was perfectly capable of protecting himself after thousands of years of practice, but all he could think of were the few times that Merlin fell on his butt in the middle of a fight and nearly got his head chopped off before Arthur swung in and saved him. He needed to protect Merlin from whoever was bitching at him.

Arthur got downstairs just as Merlin was coming out of the back. He pushed past a tall, imposing man standing in front of the counter to get to Merlin.

“Hey what’s wrong?” Arthur said softly once he was standing at Merlin’s side.

“Hey jerk! What the fuck do you think you’re doing?! I saw him first!” The man that Arthur pushed past slammed his hands down on the counter and growled at Arthur.

“What??” Arthur snarled back, instinctively stepping in front of Merlin.

“Well sweetie,” Merlin said in a voice that was all too calm, “James here was offering to take me out for an evening where we would do very, ahem, interesting things in his bed. I thought you might want to meet him.”

“What??” Arthur shouted again. He didn’t have to be a millennial to understand what that man had been insinuating. “How dare you?”

“Hey, mind your own fucking business man,” the man leaned over the counter, trying to act imposing, but Arthur was better at it. Even several inches shorter and fifty pounds lighter, Arthur had a regal and intimidating air that no man could replicate.

“I’ll mind my own fucking business when your business doesn’t involve threatening to take my boyfriend up the ass douchebag.” Arthur smirked inwardly. He hoped Merlin would be proud of how much modern language he just used.

“Boyfriend?” The man said incredulously.

“I told you I was seeing someone James,” Merlin said putting an arm around Arthur’s waist and squeezing his hip. “And I’m afraid he would notice if I was gone from our bed at night.”

Arthur flared his nostrils, too angry to even notice the weight of Merlin’s hand on his body. Just who did this guy think he was?

“Yeah and let me tell you something buddy. If you so much as look at my boyfriend again I will personally rip your head off your body with my bare hands.”

“I’d like to see you try,” the man shot back, not sounding as confident as he had a minute ago.

Arthur threw his head back, laughing. “‘I’d like to see you try’. Merlin did you hear that, he’d like to see me try! Oh god this is too much, sir it would be a pleasure. Unfortunately I already maxed out my number of allowed homicides for today, but in the meantime, you can get the fuck out of our store. The doors over there.”

The man had enough self respect to not try to challenge Arthur again, instead storming out of the store, yelling profanity the whole way out. The other customers stared after him in embarrassed silence.

“What a jerk!” Arthur fumed. “Just who does that stupid idiot he think he is? What gave him the outlandish idea that he had any right to treat you like that?? And did you see him yell at me? Me! The bloody king!”

“Calm down Arthur,” Merlin chuckled. “He was just an over entitled guy who spent his whole life in privilege and never experienced someone telling him no before. He’s not the first and he won’t be the last. And in any case, you certainly gave him what was coming.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes at Merlin. “You didn’t need me here to scare that guy off.”

“No,” Merlin said, “but it’s fun to see you all jealous and protective. Reminds me of the good old days.” Merlin squeezed Arthur’s hip again and wiggles his eyebrows at him before walking away. Arthur could feel his whole body heating up.

-----

“Move your fat butt dollop-head,” Merlin said, sitting down next to Arthur on the couch. Arthur obediently scooted over and held his hands out for the popcorn. Merlin chuckled and handed it to him, grabbing the remote and turning the tv on, flipping through channels.

“Right,” he said, “what are we feeling tonight?”

‘You,’ Arthur thought. “Comedy,” he said.

“Oh, good choice,” Merlin said. “Coming right up.” A moment later a cheesy comedy was playing on the screen and Merlin and Arthur were cuddled up together. Arthur tried not to think of how close they were, of how easy it would be to just turn his face a little and plant a kiss on Merlin. Of how intimate this moment all ready was, but he found he couldn’t focus much on the show.

Despite how high strung he was, it was late and he hadn’t slept well the night before, so it didn't take long before Arthur’s eyes began to droop, and the next thing he knew, he woke up gasping with Merlin bent over him looking concerned. “Arthur?” he asked, reaching for his hand.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what- this is so dumb, Merlin I’m sorry,” Arthur said, pulling away even though he was shaking.

“Arthur, how long have you been having nightmares?” Merlin spoke softly, and looked at him intently. Arthur wanted so badly to just curl up against his chest and let him hold him.

“It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

“It’s not fine, I can tell you’re shaken up. You can tell me. Please.”

Arthur almost did. He looked into Merlin’s eyes and could see how much he really cared about him, and he almost told him about how he’d seen things almost every night since he had return. Scenes of battlefields, of fallen friends, of betrayal and sharp pains in his side. His lungs filling up with fluid while Merlin clutched him to his chest and wailed. But Arthur didn’t tell Merlin any of this.

“You know, it’s late, we should probably be getting to bed-” he looked away and moved to stand up, but Merlin caught his forearm before he could run away and pulled him back down.

“Arthur,” he said, his eye’s flashing gold for a moment, “please tell me.”

And just like that Arthur was crying. Sobbing into Merlin’s shoulder and spilling everything, while Merlin rested his head on his and rubbed circles on his back. There was a small voice in the back of Arthur’s head shouting at him, “what the hell are you doing?! You’re a king for gods sake, why have you suddenly become a sniveling mess??” But now that he had started, Arthur found he couldn’t stop the stream of words coming out of his mouth. There was no going back.

“... and I can hear you breathing in the other room, so sometimes I just lay awake and listen to you because then I don’t feel like I’m dying, because you always protect me, even when I didn’t know it you’ve always protected me, and I shouldn’t feel safe next to such a scrawny little wimp but oh god I love you, and I can’t imagine being safe without you and-“ Arthur cut himself off and clamp his hands over his mouth.

“Shit, I didn’t mean to say that,” he whispered.

Merlin was grinning at him, still rubbing circles on his back. “I knew it,” he said. “You’re such a little liar Arthur Pendragon.”

“What??” Arthur said incredulously. “I may be a lot of things, but I am not a liar.”

“Hm,” Merlin said, “I think I’m gonna have to disagree, cause I seem to recall an incident a couple months ago where you swore up and down that you were as straight as they come, yet here you are professing your undying love for me.”

“I didn’t say undying,” Arthur mumbled.

Merlin laughed and put a hand under Arthur’s chin, “it’s ok you giant idiot, I love you too.”

Arthur’s eyes went wide, and he barely had time to process what Merlin had said before his lips were on his. Arthur sat stunned for a moment, not sure how to react, but Merlin was moving slowly, and it didn’t take long for him to catch up.

Arthur pushed himself up against Merlin, wrapping his arms around him, one hand tangling in his hair, the other pressed against his lower back. The kiss turned heated and messy, no longer slow and chaste. Merlin moaned into Arthur’s mouth, and Arthur pulled away. Merlin made a small sound of protest, tugging at the front of Arthur’s shirt.

Arthur looked down at Merlin in his arms, his pupils dilated, face flushed, hair everywhere. He was beautiful, and Arthur loved that he could make Merlin look like that, that he could make Merlin beg for him to come back, to kiss him more, but that wasn’t what he wanted right now.

Arthur whined and scooted down so he was hanging off Merlin’s neck and looking up at him. He’d never felt so vulnerable in all his life, but with Merlin he could be as vulnerable as he needed.

“Merlin,” Arthur breathed heavily, “I, I need you.”

“You sap,” Merlin chuckled.

Merlin quickly took over in leading the kiss, continuing the heated direction, pushing Arthur down into the couch. Just as hands started wandering, a loud bark interrupted them.

Merlin started laughing against Arthur’s lips when he let out a loud groan of disgust. “Loaf! I’m busy!” Arthur complained.

“Maybe we should move to somewhere more private,” Merlin whispered against Arthur’s neck.

“Maybe,” Arthur agreed. Merlin took him by the hand and led him to his bedroom, Loaf following at their heels.

“Sorry Loaf,” Merlin said once he and Arthur had stepped inside his room. “Adults only.”

Arthur felt a little bad about locking Loaf out in the hallway, but then Merlin’s mouth was on his again and he was falling back into the bed and he forgot to care.

Hours later, Arthur lay wrapped in Merlin’s arms, his head in his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

“I can’t believe that seriously just happened,” Arthur mumbled. Merlin simply hummed, running a hand through Arthur’s hair. “I’m still convinced this is a dream.”

“It’s not a dream,” Merlin said with a yawn. “I would know.”

“Of course you would,” Arthur said. They sat in comfortable silence for a couple more minutes and then, “you used magic on me didn’t you? Earlier I mean. I saw your eyes go gold before I told you… everything.”

Merlin shrugged. “I just wanted you to be honest with. I don’t like seeing you in pain. I honestly had no idea how much you would feel like spilling.”

“You knew though didn’t you? You knew that I liked you.”

“Yeah I guess I did. You didn’t really hide it well. You were terrible actually.” Arthur prodded him in the side and Merlin squeaked. “Careful Merlin, I am still king.”

“Well,” Merlin started.

“Shut up I am,” Arthur insisted.

“Whatever you say sire,” Merlin said sarcastically. If nothing else, Arthur was positive that Merlin would never lose his ability to snark every person he talked to.

“Wait, so if you knew, why didn’t you ever say something? We could have been doing this,” Arthur gestured between their two bodies, pressed together, “this whole time.”

“I wanted to wait until you were ready. I wanted you to tell me yourself.”

“Well that was dumb,” Arthur said. “And I thought you were supposed to be smart Merlin.”

Merlin laughed and pulled Arthur closer to him, kissing the top of his head. “If you want,” Merlin mumbled into Arthur’s hair, “you can stay here tonight. And every night. If you want.”

Arthur closed his eyes. “You couldn’t keep me out.”

[khremixed]

Part 6:  Traverse Town and Getting the Gang Together

We’ve finally gotten to our first real world and man is it a good one.

I’ve always loved the look of Traverse Town.  The cobblestone streets, Victorian buildings, and bright neon signs just combine into something amazing for me.  Each of the three districts has its own unique flavor, but they don’t feel disparate from one another.  Traverse Town also has the feeling of being inhabited, at least in the First District.  The Second and Third Districts are overrun by heartless, so it makes sense in story why no one seems out and about.  It might be my favorite world, so I’m fine that it’s the world we are going to be using as a home base for this game (and miss it dearly in the games it doesn’t appear in).

The transition here is good too.  Donald and Goofy arrive and Donald notices a star going out.  Then Pluto runs off and finds Sora knocked out in an alley.  Pluto wakes up Sora, hears some noise outside human hearing, and then runs off, not to be seen again until the closing cutscene.  Sora wanders off into a nearby store and you meet Cid of Final Fantasy VII fame.

Real talk, but I’ve never played Final Fantasy VII.  Actually, I’ve never beat a Final Fantasy game.  I find turn based combat tedious so the only one I really enjoyed was XII (you know, the one everyone else seems to hate).  I played VIII for a while because of my love of Leon/Squall (more on this in a bit), but the battle system there is broken as all hell.  But anyway, I’ve never played VII, so when I first played this game, I thought Cid was like 35.  Yeah, he’s clearly older than the rest of the gang in Traverse Town, but it didn’t seem like that big of a gap.  His hair is bright yellow and he doesn’t move in a way that reveals being that old.  It’s a jrpg so I assumed that we were going with the anime convention of any person over twenty being treated as a senior citizen.  It wasn’t until Kingdom Hearts 2, when Cid gets a voice actor, that I realized he’s way older (wiki says 42 but that’s ancient in anime/jrpg terms).

Cid’s great, though.  I mean, you are some random kid who just wandered into his store who tells you a tale he’s probably heard a million times over (world destroyed, everyone scattered) and he just immediately offers to help you.  No ulterior motive there.  He’s one of the good ones.  Cid tells Sora to look around town to see if maybe Riku and Kairi did end up here and to come back if they really didn’t.

Sora heads to the Second District.  Everything is nice except for that guy that runs out and immediately gets turned into a soldier heartless in front of you.  It’s genuinely disturbing.  This is the closest thing Kingdom Hearts gets to when it comes to depicting death.  Plus, for someone playing this the first time, you don’t really know what’s happening other than the fact that that dude is terrified and you see his heart literally leave his body to turn into a monster.  Sora then fights a bunch of other heartless and will continue to do so as you explore the various areas.  There is also a great running gag of when you go into one place, Donald and Goofy just miss you as they exit another place.

Heading back to the First District, which is now equally overrun, you go back to Cid, because really, who else does Sora know?  Cid gives a pep talk and Sora goes back outside and this is the moment I’ve been waiting for.  A voice tells Sora that he really has no clue what he has and wonders why it would ever choose a kid like Sora.  And this, my friends, is how we meet Leon.

I’ve had a crush on Leon since I was 12.  Hell, I’ve had a gunblade on my keys since 2007.  As I said before, I love him so much I tried to get through Final Fantasy VIII.  And Leon totally owns Sora in this battle.  Even if you win, which isn’t that difficult if you hide behind the pillars to block his fireballs and nets you an elixir from him down the line, Sora still faints.

While Yuffie helps Leon collect Sora, Aerith finds Donald and Goofy.  Also, between these two scenes, we get our next big Final Mix addition.  Riku wakes up on Hallow Bastion (we don’t know the location yet, but it is) and calls for Sora and Kairi.  Watching him from afar is Maleficent.  At first, I really liked this bit.  It’s fun to see new stuff and I’ve always kind of wondered how Riku ended up with Maleficent.  But the more I think about it, the more I wish it wasn’t there.  Like Sora, the player originally had no clue what had happened to Riku for several hours of gameplay.  The reveal later that Maleficent is manipulating Riku was great and this new scene is detrimental to that reveal.

Anyway, Sora wakes up and has his first hallucination of Kairi, who then turns into a concerned Yuffie.  Since this is the first one, the player can assume that Yuffie’s theory that Leon gave the poor kid a concussion is probably accurate.  Donald and Goofy are in the adjoining room and whole explanation about the heartless is given to everyone by cutting back and forth between the two groups.  It’s a pretty dynamic way to get all the exposition.  This is also the first time we hear about Ansem and his report on the heartless.  I’m sure that that won’t be a reoccurring thing that will reveal previously unknown horrific facts!  I’m sure the whole mess that is Ansem the Wise/Xemnas/Xehanort won’t cause me to start screaming obscenities at the tv screen again!  (Sidenote:  but I totally forgot that we don’t find out that Ansem the Wise was the leader of their home world here or even that his title is “the Wise”).

On a character note, but I’d forgotten just how much of an apathetic asshole Leon is.  He just cannot be bothered to care about Sora’s friends or even feelings.

This is all interrupted by a heartless appearing and Leon and Sora go off to fight.  And this scene is bullshit.  Yuffie getting Leon’s attention, fine.  Her not attacking but instead running?  The hell.  And Leon is the one who tells her to run!  Why?  It isn’t to go protect the healer in the next room because Yuffie just blows past Aerith.  What is with this game and women not getting to do anything but get kidnapped unless they are evil or mermaids?  KH2 does have Yuffie fighting, but still.

Our gang still doesn’t hook up though.  You have to make your way to the Third District, where Donald and Goofy literally crash into Sora.  Cue boss fight!

The boss battle is pretty fun.  And in another change for the Final Mix, but they recolored the armor.  Don’t know why.  (Actually, the further in I get, the more I wonder how many of the heartless were recolored for this and I just can’t remember everyone’s original look so I’ve missed some.)  You have to kill each piece of the armor separately and they will attack independently of each other.  Nothing outstanding, but still fun.

Donald and Goofy try to convince Sora to come with them.  Unlike with Cid, who just wanted to help because he’s a standup guy, Donald is an asshole who straight up lies to Sora about the likelihood of finding Riku and Kairi (Goofy is a standup dude though).  Leon also says he thinks that Sora should go, but is more like Eeyore about it.  Goofy hugs everyone and says “One for all and all for one”.  Now that I’ve played KH3D and know that he was a musketeer with Donald and Mickey, I think that’s rather sweet in retrospect.

Oh, and also, Donald and Goofy tell Sora that if he’s going to join up, then he’s going to have to smile and have no sad faces.  Fuck them.  Sora just lost literally everyone he ever knew and loved and they want him to swallow those feelings.  That’s messed up, y’all.

You also get some stuff, the most important of which is the ability to dodge roll.  I love dodge roll!  I’m always mad when you don’t get it in other games.  There is literally only one ability I like more and that is the high jump (glide is close too).

Before taking off, you can go open up the secret passage to Merlin’s place.  Before Merlin shows up we get another Kairi hallucination.  She thinks that the room is like the secret place on Destiny Islands, but she’s a hallucination, she’s allowed to be wrong.  There Merlin arrives!  I always found his help sort of useless (the Fairy Godmother was more helpful in turning stones into summons but I think in all my years I’ve only ever used a summon once).  Also, feminist aside, but why does the Fairy Godmother hang out as an inanimate mini-carriage when not doing stuff?  Is it so they don’t imply anything going on between her and Merlin when you aren’t around?

When you leave you get the villain conference table scene where they discuss the unlikelihood of Sora winning.  It’s a good introduction of the villains, but I can’t tell if the Final Mix version changed the animation or if I’m just on a better tv because you can now see the silhouettes of all the villains rather than just hearing their voices with extremely shadowed shapes.

[alcoholicseraphim]

The Year Before Tomorrow

Chapter Eleven- Year I- Finite Impassivity

It was supposed to be a good day. Sirius would go home with James for the summer, this time with no obligation to return to his biological family. He would have to wake up early, which was annoying, but it was well worth getting back into the real world. James's mum would hug both of her sons, and James's dad would shake his hand and grin through his mustache. He would feel loved and this whole debacle of a year could be put behind him.

Remus was the one to shake him awake, which was expected. Sirius swatted his hand away and buried his face further into his comforter.

"Sirius, I'd absolutely love to play this game but now is not the time." The urgency and pure fear in Remus's voice coaxed Sirius into sitting up, a feat rarely accomplished except through several minutes of semi-playful violence.

"What time is it?" Sirius asked, a part of him still clinging to sleep.

The werewolf turned away to wake up Peter and James. "Almost five. C'mon, up." He pulled frantically at Peter's arm, to no avail. Peter was harder to wake up than even Sirius if he hadn't gotten a full eight hours of sleep, which he most assuredly had not. Everyone in Gryffindor House had spent the last night having a grand farewell party. Almost everyone, rather.

It took a moment for Remus's reply to register in his brain. "What do you mean almost five?" Sirius yelped. "The castle had bloody well better be on fire or something. Almost five. What the fuck." He flopped back, the draw of his warm bed irresistible.

"Don't you dare go back to sleep," Remus snapped. And then, in an only marginally softer tone, "You're not far off. You-Know-Who's army is here."

Sirius sat up again. "You're taking the piss, right? Right?" There were wards, weren't there? Hogwarts was supposed to be the safest place on earth, safer than Gringott's, even!

Remus shook his head, finally pulling Peter out of his bed and onto the floor. Peter woke up with a start, and probably a sore tailbone as well. Ignoring Peter's indignant squawks, Remus moved to James' bed and shoved him out of his bed as well, learning from his previous mistake.

"Now that everyone's awake," Remus said, "we need to get everyone out of here. There are Death Eaters on our front lawn and we need to get everyone to the train as soon as possible." He did have a point. Sirius would hold off his interrogation until everyone else was safely on the Express.

"How do you even know this?" James asked, indicating the window. Sirius looked where he pointed and realized that the window faced the back of the castle. "Your senses aren't that strong."

Face flushing, Remus mumbled, "I got a Patronus. It doesn't matter; what matters is getting everyone out of here."

James and Peter hauled themselves off the floor, using the posts on their beds to steady themselves. James headed toward the door as quickly as he could while hungover. Remus and Sirius started to follow, but Peter hesitated.

"C'mon, Wormtail," James called. "You wanna live or what?"

"It's just... this isn't a prank, right? Who told you?" Peter's eyes were narrowed, and Sirius realized in that moment that he'd been the butt of too many of their jokes to trust them implicitly. Peter wouldn't move until he had proof.

Remus knew this too, and stepped forward to whisper in his ear. Sirius strained his ears, but couldn't hear anything. Odd, that Remus wouldn't want him or James to know. Whatever he said convinced Peter, though, and that was the most important thing.

James had gone on ahead, apparently, as the three boys discovered when a shrieking alarm pierced their eardrums. After a few moments of severe discomfort, the alarm stopped abruptly, punctuated by a heavy thud. As a unit, the boys rushed down the staircase to find James crumpled on the ground, sleeping peacefully. Sirius looked up and saw a sandy-haired seventh year girl, Bridget Gaffney, lowering her wand and glaring irritably at James's prone figure.

"What was that for?" Sirius asked eloquently, his expression slack and his eyes wide.

"It's four in the bloody morning," the Irish girl grumbled.

"Five, actually," Remus chipped in.

"Whatever. Either way, it's too fuckin' early to be woken up. Wanted to get in one last prank before summer, didja? Fine. Put your friend back to bed."

Remus coughed. "Er, yeah, about that. It wasn't a prank. There are Death Eaters on Hogwarts grounds and we need to get everyone to the Express." It sounded lame in the apologetic tone he was using, and none of the assembled students looked convinced.

"Go look, if you don't believe us," Sirius snapped, trying to make up for his friend's meekness. "I don't care if you think it's a bloody prank; we still need to get the younger ones out of here. This isn't the time to be bickering, believe me. Just get everyone up."

Gaffney opened her mouth as if to protest, but another seventh year cut across her. "At worst, we get to the train a few hours early. S'no big deal." That seemed to convince the others, and they disappeared back up the stairs to help the younger ones.

"Could've gone worse," said Peter, eyeing James. "Does anyone know the counter?"

Sirius and Remus exchanged glances and shook their heads in unison. Remus swiped a hand over his mouth and said, "It looks like we'll have to levitate him. He's all packed. Peter, would you please retrieve our bags? We'll need two wands to get James all the way to the train."

Peter saluted Remus with a grin less than usually wide. "Aye-aye."

"When you're ready," said Sirius, pointing his wand at James. "Mobilicorpus." Remus followed suit, lessening the strain on Sirius's magic significantly.

As the Gryffindor Common Room was, unfortunately, in a tower, it took nearly half an hour to get to the ground floor. Filch and Professor Sprout were waiting to get the children through to safety. Professor Sprout was visibly fretting, even going so far as to chew on her already stubby nails. Filch was the opposite, terse and snappy. He did seem to be nervous in his own way, though.

The remainder of the journey took place in the invisibly-drawn carriages, allowing both Remus and Sirius to relax for a few short minutes. The Hogwarts Express was a welcome sight. The platform was flooded with students frantically boarding the train, getting settled in record time. There were children of all Houses, not just Gryffindor, Sirius noticed with no little relief.

Sirius helped Remus get James into the compartment that Peter had already claimed before turning tail and heading right back out onto the platform. Remus stuck his head out the window and hollered for Sirius's attention.

"I'm not leaving," Sirius announced firmly, wishing this conversation didn't have to happen. He could only hope that his conviction would triumph over Remus's logic.

"What do you mean you're not leaving?" Remus yelped, sticking his head further out the window, balancing his torso precariously on the ledge. "Sirius, you've never been in a real duel before, you don't know what you're doing-"

"Hogwarts is my home. I'm seventeen, old enough to fight. And really, you can't stop me, ye of little faith. Tell Prongs I said I'll see him, all right? And Peter?" Sirius smirked at his friend, brandishing his wand.

Remus looked like he wanted to argue, but the train was beginning to leave and he had no choice but to bring his head back into the compartment proper. "Good luck, Padfoot. I'd better see you when this is all over, okay?"

"Okay," Sirius agreed readily. As much as he wanted to watch the Express until it disappeared, if he wanted to get a head start on the fighting then he'd better head back. The carriages were waiting, and he saw that he wasn't the only student determined to stay and defend their home. Not that there were many, but enough.

How many Death Eaters were attacking, anyway? He had no perspective of even the total number of soldiers in You-Know-Who's army, but surely he wouldn't have brought all of them to attack a school populated primarily by children.

He didn't have to wait long before the carriages deposited those returning practically on the castle's doorstep. A part of him did wonder if this was all a prank. If it was all a joke, it was in terrible taste.

Those thoughts were expelled from his mind at the first sight of the sky. The Dark Mark hung overhead, lit up by the brilliant colors of sunrise. The contrast made it worse.

Death Eaters really were invading, even though he hadn't seen any yet. Sirius followed his classmates inside.

"Where are they?" a Hufflepuff seventh year whispered.

The familiar, acrid stench of smoke greeted Sirius's enhanced sense of smell. He wrinkled his nose, turning on the spot to try to find out where it was coming from. "Upstairs, then," he suggested, already climbing the stairs.

Or, at least he would have, had the stairs not been completely ruined by an explosive spell. Whether intentional or not, Sirius didn't know. Someone had the bright idea to repair the stairs, but none of them trusted it to hold their weight.

There were other ways. Going upstairs wasn't necessary, they discovered. There was plenty of chaos just a corridor away.

Sirius sprinted straight into the crowd, dodging deflected curses and retaliating with his own. His face split into a grin. Merlin, he'd never felt so alive!

One Death Eater, a man as far as Sirius could tell, whirled to face him, sending a Petrificus Totalus at him with a marksman's accuracy. He was out of his depth, he finally realized, falling backwards. The Death Eater stalked toward him even before he hit the ground, wand raised and the Killing Curse doubtless on the edge of his tongue.

Several things happened at once. The nameless Death Eater was struck by one of his comrade's deflected spells, and he began screaming as his skin turned a bright red. Sirius braced himself to hit the stone floor, possibly even blacking out. A small body slid under him, breaking his fall, and then dragged him behind a nearby tapestry. He wanted to turn his head to look at his savior, but the Petrificus Totalus prevented any movement besides breathing.

"Boiled alive," a familiar voice remarked. "They'll be dead by now, or at least wishing they were." Hermione Granger forced his legs to bend so he could sit propped up against a wall. "I know you're angry with me, but now isn't the time. We must be quiet and wait for the spell to wear off so we can get out of here. Honestly, what were you thinking? You could have died. If it weren't for happenstance's intervention you would be."

Sirius could do nothing but stare at her. Rage and hurt and confusion swirled inside of him, feeling as though his insides were expanding and confined by his skin. There must be some sort of release, or he would explode.

He couldn't stand to even look at her, but his eyes would not move. In the darkness behind the tapestry her features twisted into something stony, cruel, sinister. A sneer, or a smirk, or a snarl. Something wilder and more loathsome than even Bellatrix. She was only setting him up for a trap so that she could kill him, he just knew it. That would explain why no one had come after them immediately; she was on the Death Eaters' side. Hell, she'd probably let them in! Who else would be that bitter? Hogwarts wasn't her home, and clearly she harbored no affection for any of its residents.

That whore.

She wouldn't even look at him.

Hatred rose inside him, spraying a red mist before his eyes. His abhorrence for her exceeded that of his mother, Snivellus, his cousin, everyone. At least they were forthcoming about their evil. This girl was dishonestly Dark, hiding behind an innocent face and secretly grovelling before anyone with any power at all.

His fingertips began to tingle, a sure sign that the spell was wearing off. He waited in silence for a minute more, unwilling to call Granger's attention to his rapidly approaching freedom of movement. The tingle spread through his body and finally fizzled out on his scalp. There.

Sirius lunged forward and closed his hands around her throat, smashing her head into the stone wall behind her. He ignored her yelp of surprise and the scrabbling of her fingernails against his wrists, focusing instead with glee on her bugged-out eyes and the changing hue of her skin. It took only several seconds for her eyes to shut and her resistance to cease. She wasn't dead yet, though, just unconscious. He would have to stay there for another few minutes before she would die.

Was that what he was? A murderer? Sure, she was poison in the air he breathed, but he didn't have to kill her. That was how the rest of his family solved their problems, not him. He wasn't like them. He wasn't.

He let go, hands trembling.

It took a much shorter time than Sirius had anticipated for her to regain consciousness. Her breaths came loud and fast and frantic. He looked on in disgust, picking up his wand and pointing it at her slumped form. "You're going to get us both out of here," he commanded.

"How-" her voice came out a raspy whisper, and she had to stop to cough. "How am I supposed to do that?"

"Not my problem," he said, twitching his wand to remind her that he was the one with the control here. "You're chummy with the freaks out there, right? They'll let you through."

"What?" Granger rubbed her throat, wincing.

Sirius rolled his eyes, even knowing she couldn't see it in the dark. "Don't lie to me, Granger. I know what you are."

Just a beat too slow, she said, "Just because I prefer the company of Slytherins doesn't mean I run with Death Eaters, you prat!"

Like he was going to believe that. Right. "Not. My. Problem," he hissed again, leaning forward and jabbing his wand into the groove between her collarbones. "Move."

"Cast a notice-me-not," she shot back.

He'd never tried it, if he were honest, but he wasn't about to tell her that. "No. Let's go."

She had to use the wall to help her climb back to her feet, and all the while Sirius watched in wary disgust. Taking a shuddering breath, Granger pushed the tapestry aside and marched straight out. "Now we run," she suggested over her shoulder, not following her own advice.

"I'm right behind you," he said. Those words would have been comforting in any other context, but in this one he intended it to be a threat. "Go."

Granger walked, probably as fast as she was able to at that moment. They both hugged the wall. It took no time at all for spells from all directions to be aimed straight at them.

In hindsight, she was a Muggleborn. The Death Eaters probably didn't care a whit about her. "We can run now," he said, grabbing her by the forearm and dragging them both forward.

"Go to the- seventh floor," she gasped, barely able to move fast enough to avoid losing her footing. It seemed as good of a suggestion as any.

They'd gotten to the fifth floor before being accosted. Sirius glanced over at Granger, noting the eyes wide and wild with terror. Maybe she had been telling the truth about not being mates with the Death Eaters. Maybe. It could also be a ruse, since she was so good at those. He faced the pair in front of them. He didn't have to see their faces to know who they were: his beloved cousins, Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange.

"Hey, Bella," he said, projecting every ounce of bravado he was capable of. "Hey, Rudolph. How's your overlord doing? Heading for Dumbledore? You know he doesn't have a chance against the Headmaster, right?"

Instead of getting riled up like he'd thought, they stayed silent, raising their wands in a synchronized motion. "Avada Kedavra," they chanted in unison.

The spells didn't hit. Sirius wouldn't have been quite fast enough to dodge, but Granger shoved him aside with what he could only assume was all her strength. Both curses went around her slight frame, singing holes in her robes but otherwise leaving her unharmed. She drew her wand and stood there casually, face blank. "Hermione Granger, nice to meet you," she announced, smiling politely.

Sirius was well aware of what she was trying to do, but he would be damned before he ran away from a fight. She fairly swam in her robes, and in the light he could make out the gauntness of her features, the bruises that he'd left on her neck. Leaving her to a certain death would be just as bad as killing her himself.

Or so he told himself. He still hesitated.

The couple appeared to forget about him entirely once Granger introduced herself, giving him enough time to slip around the corner unnoticed.

Bellatrix cackled, an eerie sound when he couldn't see her mouth moving behind the mask. "The Dark Lord wants you alive, and here you are. Stupid Mudblood. Don't you know that nobility is for the weak?" She flicked her wand, and this time her aim was true. Granger didn't even try to avoid it, and didn't struggle as the thick robes bound her limbs together.

"Maybe," Granger said, calmly looking down at her predicament. "What, you're not going to 'play with your food' first? Maybe you've not reached your full potential."

Again Bellatrix and her husband appeared to communicate without words. "Crucio!" Bella shrieked it, whereas Rodolphus merely drawled.

Granger couldn't stay impassive through the Cruciatus. No one could. And so she let out one long scream, which cut off into whisper.

Sirius aimed and whispered, "Stupefy!" Rodolphus went down, crumpling to the ground. Bellatrix turned in one fluid motion, hair flying.

"Blood traitor," she spat. "I thought you'd have the good sense to run off and hide. Do you have a deathwish like your little Mudblood pet here? Incarcerous!"

He barely dodged it, even with all the practice he'd gotten avoiding his mother's spells. And from duels in the corridors, those too. "Is that all you've got?" he taunted, shooting a Stupefy at her that she effortlessly deflected.

Bella, never one to make the same mistake twice, grabbed Granger by her hair and hauled her to feet, holding her limp body like a shield. Granger did struggle this time, thrashing back and forth and putting up what might have been an admirable fight had she not all the strength of a sleepy child. "You idiot!" Granger whisper-yelled. "Run!"

At that point Sirius felt he could safely assume that Granger and Bellatrix were not on the same side, but something ugly reared its head and without stopping to think he cast another Stupefy, this one aimed straight at Granger. It struck and she slumped in Bellatrix's grasp. Bellatrix didn't seem to care that her human shield had been hit, just grinning even wider.

"See, little blood traitor? You're no better than the rest of us. Avada Kedavra!"

That little stutter, that moment in which his body froze up, would be his undoing. The bottle-green spell hit him square in the chest.

*|II8II|*

Hermione took a moment longer to wake up than Rodolphus did.

Her vision swam, she could hardly hear, and everything ached. She felt like she could vomit up her insides. Scratch that, it didn't ache. That was like saying a bullet wound "ached". She hurt everywhere.

Even worse, she wasn't even remotely safe. In fact, Bellatrix's wand was pointed directly at her face. "Get up!" She barked, a maniacal gleam in her hooded eyes. Hermione considered herself fairly well acquainted with the woman's moods, and that could only spell victory.

Sirius. Oh, Merlin, Sirius. It took effort to turn her head, but there he was- a pile of corpse and clothes several feet away. She'd risked the bloody future for him, and he'd gotten himself killed anyway? Oh, Gods.

Her stomach heaved, tears streaming down her cheeks. She could hardly breathe, hardly think, and in that moment she might have accepted death gladly. Though her grief didn't fade, her suicidal urges did as soon as she felt the tug of Bellatrix's hand in her hair. It was Bellatrix. Always Bellatrix. Always Sirius, barreling headfirst into situations even though she had it on pretty good authority that he'd hated her up until his last breath.

The Lestranges were talking, but Hermione couldn't focus. Her limbs flailed against her bonds, even though they all knew it was useless. She was useless. Why couldn't he have just run?

It wasn't even noon, and her world had already disintegrated into dust.

She was barely aware of being dragged away. She barely registered the appearance of half a dozen men and women in black robes and white skull masks. What she did register, though, was the searing heat of an Incendio to the side of her throat.

It was Bellatrix, probably. Or... who was the most sadistic of them? Her thoughts were scattered. Maybe Lucius. No, not him. Greyback? Dolohov? Shite. It didn't matter.

"Am I to see-" she had to stop to hack her lungs out, still feeling as though her windpipe had split in half. "-your Lord now?" She had to pull herself together. There would be time to grieve later, but now she had to protect her mind and her life. She had to.

There was no response. Not a very talkative bunch? Good, she didn't feel like using her voice at all if possible. It hurt to even breathe, much less force a sound out of her abused vocal cords.

The adrenaline in her body faded bit by bit as they all seemed to be standing, doing nothing. Just waiting. It made her uneasy, but her body decided that there was no immediate danger. Exhaustion crept in and muddled her thoughts again.

She could say one thing for the Death Eaters- they let her fall asleep.

Not that they could have stopped her, really. The moment her eyes shut her body disappeared.

[dralentines-day]

Gift #30, @halfbloodprincess23

This gift is a full-blooded masterpiece. Enjoy, @halfbloodprincess23 !  

Our gifter says:

“Dear Random Person, 

Happy Dralentine’s Day. <3 Every time I write a drarry fic, it is always one of my favourites because I love these two characters so much. This fic is no exception. I really hope you enjoy it. I’d also like to point out that I didn’t realise Hot Tea could be a pun for ‘hottie’ until after I’d decided on the title, I SWEAR. Happy reading.

Xoxo, Anonymous”

Hot Tea - Draco Malfoy is on Harry Potter’s doorstep and he really doesn’t seem like he wants to be there. What happens next involves hot tea, a date that isn’t really a date, the ugliest vase Draco has ever seen, balls, sacks and snakes, and unfortunately none of those last three are sexual in the slightest. 

OR

Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter drink tea, go to a Fair, and fix a problem at Malfoy Manor. 13.2K. 

Tags: no smut, just obscure sexual innuendo and light swearing.

“Potter,” Malfoy says coldly as if it is Harry standing unexpectedly at his door, rather than the other way around.

Shocked at the presence of Draco Malfoy, of all people, standing at his door on a dreary Sunday morning, Harry isn’t able to formulate a response. Instead, he simply stands there, processing, waiting for something to actually make sense.

“Is this how you treat all your guests?” Malfoy asks in a bored voice that tells Harry he really doesn’t want to be here, which is the only thing that has made sense so far.

“Why are you here?”

Malfoy narrows his eyes and stares at Harry with obvious distaste. “No need for your tone, Potter. I don’t want to be here, either.”

“My tone?” Harry holds back a laugh. He can see Malfoy is on edge and doesn’t fancy a wand fight on a quiet muggle street. Not failing to notice Malfoy has avoided his question, and with lack of a better option, he invites his childhood rival inside his apartment.

He immediately regrets it when the next words out of Malfoy’s mouth are: “This is where you live?” Again, Harry wonders how Malfoy can possibly think Harry is the one with a tone problem.

Harry quickly waves his wand so the worst of the mess is swept away, the many piles of clothes on the floor flying upstairs to hide in his bedroom, the dirty mugs in the living room moving to the kitchen to hide under the sink. He wasn’t expecting company.

With the apartment still in poor shape, but at least a margin better, Harry turns back to Malfoy, hoping to finally hear an explanation. Despite his frustration at Malfoy’s presence and usual pointy demeanour, he is still incredibly curious about what has brought him here. However, Malfoy doesn’t look like he is planning on explaining. If anything, he is staring at Harry as if awaiting an explanation from him. Harry sighs, wondering why he didn’t just slam the door as soon as he saw who it was. Better yet, next time someone rings the doorbell, he should check who it is through the keyhole before opening it to avoid situations like this altogether. It’s too late now though, so he does the only thing he can think of.

“Would you like some tea?”

“You’re offering me tea?” Malfoy asks as if Harry has just insulted his mother.

“…and the offer has been rescinded.” Harry is unsure if he should be laughing or hiding. He hasn’t seen Malfoy since the trials. At that time, Malfoy had been too defeated, too traumatised Harry supposed, to say much at all. He certainly seems to have regained his attitude since then.

Still, Malfoy doesn’t say anything. He is staring at Harry’s muggle clock intently. 

“Got somewhere to be?” Harry asks.

Malfoy looks back at Harry, his face scrunched up. “No.” He says harshly, making Harry feel like it was a stupid question.  

“Okay…” Harry says because he can’t think of any other way to respond other than cursing Malfoy, which he knows would be a terrible idea. With Malfoy still looking as if he has no intention of explaining anything and Harry having made no progress on that front, Harry shrugs and takes a seat on his sitting room couch.

“What are you doing?” Malfoy asks immediately.

“Seeing as I’ve no idea how long you plan on standing there without saying anything, I’ve decided to get comfortable while I wait.” Harry pulls his legs up onto the couch with him.

Harry can see Malfoy’s eyes follow his shoes as they come up to rest on the arm of the couch. Harry supposes it is against Malfoy family sensibilities. So becoming a Death Eater is fine, but shoes on the couch is out?

Malfoy shakes his head before redirecting his attention to Harry’s face, and Harry imagines the image of his shoes being thrown forcibly from Malfoy’s mind. He is careful not to laugh. “Were you planning on offering me a seat?” Malfoy asks, and just like everything else he has said today, it sounds like an insult.

Harry is starting to enjoy this. Behind Malfoy’s cold demeanour, he is clearly uncomfortable about something, likely the reason he is here in the first place. Harry has no such discomfort so he is able to sit back and wait to see how things will play out. He hopes there is some humiliating reason Malfoy is here that he will be able to laud over the man for the rest of his life. That would certainly make up for years of bullying.

“Considering your reaction to my generous offer of tea, I didn’t think it would go down very well.” Harry says with a bright smile he suspects will irritate Malfoy.

Malfoy rolls his eyes and breathes a deep sigh. Harry has a strange feeling he is about to be lectured. “A host should display formal etiquette regardless of the attitude of his guests.”

Harry has to stop himself from shouting A-ha! “So you admit you have an attitude then?” He says instead.

Malfoy stares at him a moment silently. Does he have no comeback? Does this mean Harry has won? He closes his eyes and stays like that for another painful moment. Harry is a little unsettled and is beginning to wish Malfoy would fire back with a nasty quip already. Malfoy opens his mouth and eyes at the same time but the words aren’t what Harry is expecting. “Where’s your kitchen?”

“What?” Harry asks surprised.

Malfoy waves his hand in an elegant imitation of the universal signal for never mind. “I’ll find it myself.” Harry starts to get up so he can follow Malfoy into the kitchen and find out what in Merlin’s name is going on, but Malfoy gestures for him to stop with an unnecessary flourish of his hand.  “No, stay there.” He orders.

Harry stays seated and tries to remain calm. What could Malfoy possibly get up to in his kitchen? He hears a crash.

“Don’t move, I’m Reparo-ing it.” Shouts out Malfoy before Harry has a chance to come running. Harry secretly hopes it is the awful ceramic vase his Aunt Petunia made him for his birthday last year. The gift is admittedly an improvement after years of receiving old socks and toothpicks, but it doesn’t make up for the years of abuse at the hands of the Dursleys. He would feel guilty throwing it out when he knows it must have taken ages for his Aunt to create and was clearly meant as the branch to a small stunted olive tree, but seeing it only brings back bad memories of his childhood. However, if it were to be accidentally broken…Harry doubts even Reparo could fix something so precariously held together in the first place.

Malfoy returns shortly after with a single mug in his hand. Of course, the bastard wouldn’t think to make one for Harry as well. “That vase in your kitchen is appallingly hideous, Potter. I had to transfigure some flowers to put in it, just to make up for its offensive patterns.” He says as he places the mug on the small table beside Harry, before taking a seat on the armchair opposite.

Harry looks down at the mug beside him, puzzled. “You made me tea?”

Malfoy grimaces like he was hoping his good deed would go unnoticed. “Don’t be ungrateful. The appropriate response is thank you.”

“Thank you?” Harry says uncertainly. He starts to wonder if Malfoy is in serious trouble. If he is doing something even slightly nice for Harry, he must want something in return.

“You’re welcome.” Malfoy says staring at the empty fireplace behind Harry.

Harry takes a small sip of his tea. It burns his tongue. “So…”

“So?” Malfoy repeats, his attitude returning in full force.

“Malfoy,” Harry starts, skipping the pretence and asking straight out:  “Why are you sitting in my apartment watching me drink tea?”

“Believe me, Potter. I don’t want to be here.” Malfoy says like it’s not obvious in the way he has been on edge since he arrived and the way he has negatively responded to everything Harry has said.

“You said that already.” Harry takes a large sip of his tea, forgetting how hot it is. He grimaces as it burns its way down his throat.

“Well, I don’t.”

Harry loses his patience. This is starting to get repetitive. “It’s not exactly great for me either.”

Malfoy appears affronted. “I made you tea.”

Harry wants to laugh but Malfoy appears quite serious. He made tea, and didn’t even manage to break that goddamn vase. He hasn’t exactly saved Harry’s life. “Oh, of course. That certainly makes up for all the unpleasantness.” Harry says sarcastically.

“You’re not making this easy.”

Harry is about to lose more than just his patience. How can Malfoy suggest he is the one being difficult all the while sitting there with that nasty scowl on his face? “What easy? I don’t even know why you’re here.” Harry says in a voice dangerously close to yelling. He hasn’t reached for his wand yet but, Merlin, he wants to.

“I need a Parselmouth.” Malfoy says quickly, the syllables coming out like they belong to one word. He is not looking at Harry.

Harry’s rising anger takes a backseat to his curiosity and excitement. He takes a small sip of tea as he surveys Malfoy, sitting on the armchair in his small apartment looking incredibly uncomfortable. Malfoy needs a Parselmouth. Malfoy needs him. This is going to be good. “Why?”

Malfoy explains the situation to Harry’s mug. “There’s a room in the Manor that has sealed itself off. My mother and I have tried every spell we can think of but nothing has worked. The door has carvings of snakes on it and I think, no, I am certain, it requires parseltongue to open.”

Harry can’t stop himself from smiling. He knows Malfoy must be hating every minute of this. “So you need my help?”

“I’d appreciate if you would be able to attend – “

“You need my help.” Harry interrupts, not letting Malfoy evade the question.

“I don’t need – “

“Malfoy. Say it. You need my help.”

A long deep sigh falls from Malfoy’s mouth and he rubs his temples as he stares at the carpet. “I’m not going to say that. Stop being childish.”

Harry is tempted to tease Malfoy further, but seeing Malfoy not even able to meet his gaze begins to get to him. He feels a little bit guilty for having taken so much glee in someone else’s discomfort, even if that person is Draco Malfoy. He takes a long sip of his tea, letting Malfoy stew for a moment longer because he really can’t help himself. “So you want me to come over now?”

“What?” Malfoy jerks his head up and finally meets Harry’s eye.

“To try out that door?” Harry explains politely, allowing Malfoy his confusion. Merlin, Harry is confused as well. He is willingly helping Draco Malfoy.

“You’re going to do it?” Malfoy asks, the shock clear in his voice. So he never expected Harry to agree but he came anyway? He must really be desperate.

“Of course. Just let me finish this tea.” Harry takes another sip. It’s still hot but he can’t burn his mouth much further.

His shock seeming to wear off, Malfoy becomes serious. “How much?”

“How much what?” Harry asks. How much tea does he have left? How much parseltongue can he speak?

Malfoy blinks a couple of times and gives Harry a look that reads you are an idiot. “Payment, Potter. What do you want?”

Oh. Harry feels very silly. Of course that’s what he meant. “Nothing. I’m sure it won’t take long and I haven’t got any other plans.” He certainly does not need Malfoy’s money. He could not work for the rest of his life and still have enough money to pass onto his grandkids, if he ever has any that is.

“No.” Malfoy’s voice is firm.

“No?” So he doesn’t want Harry’s help anymore? What is Malfoy playing at?

“You can’t do this for free. I don’t want to owe you a favour.” Of course. That makes perfect sense. A Malfoy wouldn’t want to be in anyone else’s debt, especially not Harry Potter’s.

“I’m not going to ask you for a favour.” Harry assures him, because he isn’t one to hold something over someone. If he says he’s going to help, he’s going to help, no strings attached. Knowing Malfoy’s family, he suspects this is a new concept to the rude man on his armchair.

“You say that now because you don’t need one. When the time comes, you’ll be at my door reminding me of everything you’ve ever done for me. This won’t be another item on that list. Name a price now.” Malfoy demands, which is reckless as he is the one at Harry’s house asking for help. He really should be more agreeable. Harry could change his mind at any time.

Does Malfoy really think Harry keeps a list of every good deed he does? Like that is the only reason for doing anything good? He wonders how many lists Draco has. “I’m not keeping a list and I really don’t need any money. I’m actually very well off.” He is usually reluctant to mention his wealth in case it comes across as bragging, but considering his guest, he doesn’t really think it is of any consequence in this instance.

Malfoy snorts. “And yet you live here.” Harry frowns. And they had been having such a pleasant conversation. “Whatever, it doesn’t have to be money.”

Harry starts to answer immediately, his response automatic. “There’s nothing that I…” but a thought suddenly comes to his head, and he realises he has the perfect opportunity. “Wait, actually…yes, there is something.” He smiles wickedly.

Malfoy’s eyes widen and he no longer looks keen on accepting payment. “I don’t like the way you’re smiling.”

“Let me introduce you to the muggle world.” Harry says, knowing how bizarre it will sound to Malfoy and not caring. His intentions are both good-hearted and petty. He does think it will be good for Malfoy’s character to finally have a positive experience with muggles, but he also knows it will be absolutely hilarious to watch.

“What the hell, Potter?”

“You spend the day doing muggle things with me, and then we’ll go open up that room in the Manor.” Harry explains, liking the idea the more he thinks about it. This will be much better than monetary payment. Malfoy outside his comfort zone is priceless.

Malfoy is looking at Harry like he just asked if he wanted to jump into a volcano. Harry continues to smile, which seems to frazzle Malfoy further. “Since you are incapable of rational thought, I take it back. You are more than welcome to help me for nothing in return.”

“…and that offer has been rescinded.” Harry says, enjoying the way Malfoy’s frustration has had a peculiar effect on his face, his usually pale cheeks having turned the slightest shade of pink.

Malfoy stands up, looking down at Harry, his fists are clenched but he hasn’t drawn his wand. “Potter, I am not going on a date with you.”

A date? Is that what it sounded like? Harry worries Malfoy may not be the only one with pink cheeks now. He hurries to clarify. “It’s not a date, Malfoy. Don’t flatter yourself.”

Malfoy’s eyes narrow. He seems suspicious. Harry supposes it is warranted under the circumstances. “Why do you want to spend the day with me?” Malfoy asks in the manner an Auror might interrogate a criminal.

“It’s not about me spending it with you, it’s about you spending it like a muggle, to give you an understanding of the way they live, and how they’re not so different from us.” Harry explains carefully so there can be no confusion. He can’t have Malfoy thinking he wants to date him.  That would be way too much fodder for his insults.

Retaking his seat, Malfoy is laughing but there doesn’t seem to be any humour in it, only disbelief. “Merlin, that’s worse. You’re trying to save me. I think I’d much prefer the date.”

Harry shrugs. He isn’t backing out now. “It’s my only offer.”

“So you’re still an insufferable do-gooder then?” Malfoy asks, and despite its content, it sounds less like an insult than everything else Malfoy has said to Harry this morning.

“Yep,” Harry agrees if only to frustrate Malfoy. “And you’re still an arrogant prat?”

“Watch it.” Malfoy says, but it doesn’t have the edge to it that Harry would expect.

“So do you agree to my price?” Harry asks, already knowing exactly where he wants to take Malfoy.

“I don’t see any other option.” Concedes Malfoy.

Harry tries to stop the huge grin that tries to cover his face. He really shouldn’t be this excited at the prospect of spending a day with Malfoy. “How do you feel about Fairs?”

Malfoy scrunches up his face in what looks to be a mixture of confusion and disgust. “I don’t know what that means, and now I’m not sure I want it.”

Harry laughs. Malfoy’s insistence at being contrary isn’t nearly as bad when the cruel edge is removed. “Actually, it doesn’t matter, because you’ve already agreed to it.”

“Potter…” Malfoy says in way Harry is sure is intended to be threatening, but has absolutely no effect on Harry’s resolve. He is taking Draco Malfoy to the Fair.

“You never know, you might enjoy it.” Harry teases. He already knows that he at least is going to enjoy himself. He wonders if he’ll be able to convince Malfoy to ride The Giant Slide in a sack. That’s something he has to see.

“I don’t even know what it is. I swear to Merlin, Potter, I’ll – “

“You’ll what? Curse me? I defeated Voldemort, I don’t think you’ll be much of a challenge.” Harry is surprised by his own cockiness. There’s something about Malfoy that makes him want to one-up him every time.

“Your head is even bigger than it was in school, Potter. I didn’t think it was possible.” Harry can’t help but notice that Malfoy seems to be saying his name an awful lot. It’s hard to miss when it’s enunciated so carefully each time, sometimes sounding like a swear word, sometimes like a sigh, but never like a name.

“I’m kind of a big deal.” Harry says. He finds himself anticipating Malfoy’s inevitable dispute of this.

“Yes, I’ve seen the Prophet. The Boy Who Lived and Died. It made for a great front headline the first time they did it, but I’m not sure who the genius is that decided to repeat it fourteen times. There must be something else to report on by now.”

This throws Harry. “You’ve been counting.”

“That was just a guess,” is what comes out of Malfoy’s mouth, but the way he drops his gaze says otherwise. Harry doesn’t bother to confirm that it is indeed fourteen, that he has been counting too, waiting for it to end. Malfoy seems a little too keen to change the subject. “How much longer are you going to be with that tea?”

Harry let the counting slide, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t going to tease Malfoy about every other possible thing. “Eager for some muggle fun?”

It could easily be his imagination, but Harry swears he sees the smallest hint of a smile beginning to form before it is quickly replaced with an exaggerated scowl, lacking in menace. “No, Potter. Must you be so infuriating? I’m eager to get this all over and done with.”

Harry takes one last long gulp, ignoring the way it still burns slightly on the way down. “Let’s go.” He sets the empty mug on the table beside him and heads towards the entrance.

Malfoy is yet to move from seat. “You’re not going to change first?”

Harry looks down at his t-shirt and jeans and back up at Malfoy in his black robes. If anything, considering where they’re heading, Malfoy should be the one to change. “No.”

“No?” Malfoy repeats, looking horrified. “I thought those were your pyjamas.”

Harry laughs, too amused to be insulted. “First lesson: Muggles don’t wear robes.”

“So they walk around in pyjamas? What kind of – “

Harry quickly interrupts. He knew Malfoy wouldn’t have much experience with the muggle world but he didn’t think he would know absolutely nothing. How had he not run into muggles before? Had he never even noticed them or what they were wearing? “These are not pyjamas. These are jeans. I can lend you some so – “

“Please tell me you aren’t suggesting what I think you’re suggesting.” Malfoy says, like Harry has suggested they stick their hands into a tank full of Grindylows.

“I’m only offering because if muggles see you in that, they might –“

“I don’t care what muggles think of me, Potter. I am not wearing the rags you pass off as clothing.”

Harry doesn’t bother arguing. For Malfoy to stick out like a sore thumb will be much more entertaining anyway. “Suit yourself. Shall we go then?” Harry opens the door and gestures for Malfoy to leave first.

Malfoy gets up slowly from the couch, as if everything is too much of a challenge for him. He is being really quite dramatic, and Harry can’t help but enjoy it. “You should put up better wards around your apartment.” Malfoy remarks as he makes his exit.

Harry ignores this, and follows Malfoy out down his porch steps. When he reaches the curb, Malfoy grips Harry’s forearm tightly with a sour expression. “What are you doing?” Harry asks.

“I’m getting ready for side-apparation because I don’t trust I won’t splinch myself with directions from you.”

Harry stares at Malfoy’s hand wrapped around his arm for a moment. His grip is so tight it’s starting to hurt. “Muggles don’t apparate.” He says to Malfoy’s hand.

Malfoy’s hand releases him instantly. “Then how are we going to get anywhere? I don’t suppose muggles use brooms either.”

“You still ride?” Harry asks automatically, the mention of brooms reminding him of their time on rival Quidditch teams, before house sports began to seem so trivial. Despite buying his way onto the Slytherin team, Malfoy had always been a good flyer.

“Of course.” Malfoy says with a non-committal shrug.

Harry gets the feeling that talking about something as basic as flying is even too personal for Malfoy. He quickly answers Malfoy’s original question. “We can walk. The local school is having a Fair this weekend so it’s not far.”

“I still don’t know what that means.”

Harry begins to walk and Malfoy falls into step beside him. “I can’t think of anything in the Wizarding world to relate it to.”

Malfoy makes a small huffing sound. “Then just describe it as it is. I don’t need a magical point of reference for everything.” He says, sounding irritated. Harry makes a mental note to try not to underestimate Malfoy’s intelligence again, at least not aloud.

“Well, it’s a mix of things. There’s a market of stalls with bake sales and homemade jewellery and usually a second hand book stand. There are rides. You know, like a giant slide and a merry go round. There are also games. Like when you have to throw balls into a clown’s mouth as it is moving side to – “

“Hold on,” Malfoy says raising a hand delicately which draws Harry’s eye. “I think I actually might need a reference for that last one. You throw balls into someone’s mouth?”

Harry realises it does sound a little strange when put like that. “It’s not a real clown. It’s mechanical.”

From the look of Malfoy’s face, Harry knows his clarification hasn’t helped in the slightest. “You throw balls into a machine that looks like a human mouth for fun?” Malfoy exclaims, his voice weighed down with heavy disbelief.

“And to win prizes?” Harry adds weakly, not knowing how else to explain such a weird game. In hindsight, maybe it wasn’t the best example to bring up.

Malfoy stretches his mouth out wide in a way that might look like a smile on anyone else but on him looks more like an upside down frown. “In that case, sign me up.”

“See, I told you that you might enjoy it.”

Malfoy drops the almost smile for an actual frown and laughs. Harry can’t recall seeing anyone laughing while frowning before. “That was sarcasm, Potter.”

“You won’t be laughing when I get more balls in than you.” Says Harry before wondering if he’s accidentally stumbled into obscure sexual innuendo territory. He turns away from Malfoy to look straight ahead again, his face scrunching up as he tries to think about what he’s just said.

Malfoy is laughing again, and Harry has to peek via his peripheral vision to see if the frown is still there. No, Malfoy is smiling. Yes, there’s an element of a smirk in there too but it’s definitely a smile, a big smirking Malfoy smile. “Yes, I will be. I’ll be watching you shove balls down a machine clown’s mouth as it moves side to side, and I will be laughing at how ridiculous you look. “

Harry feels the need to defend himself and the awful carnival game, if only to prolong a pleasant conversation with Malfoy. “You have to time it right so that you get the most points. You don’t just shove them down indiscriminately.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

Harry is pleased to have reached a place with Malfoy devoid of nastiness. There is a part of him that always enjoyed sparring with Malfoy, and now they seem to be doing a similar thing but with humour rather than anger, with laugher rather than shouting. It’s unexpected but welcome. So of course Harry has to go and stuff it up.

“How’s your mother doing?” He asks.

Malfoy’s face changes in an instant, a cold plaster covering any traces of a smile. “Don’t.”

Harry wishes he could take the question back and say something light-hearted instead. He will stretch out a conversation about clowns and balls forever if he is only given the chance to take that question back.

“I may have agreed to go on a…an outing with you, but I didn’t agree to this.”

“A conversation?” Harry hedges, deciding to act clueless, even though he knows he has stepped over a very obvious, thick line.

Malfoy sighs and explains in a tired voice. “A personal conversation. You don’t get to ask me about my mother. You hardly know us.”

Harry doesn’t think that’s fair. Of course he knows Malfoy. “Your mother, I guess, but you, we went to school together for six years.” He says, no longer having to act clueless. How could Malfoy think he hardly knows him?

Malfoy laughs again but it’s nothing like the one earlier. His face is twisted cruelly and the sound is harsh and breathy. “If you think you know me after that, then you must think very little of me, Potter.” Beneath the edge of Malfoy’s words, Harry senses something almost like sadness? Disappointment? Self-pity?

“That’s not true.” Harry says. There was a time when he thought Malfoy was nothing more than a bully, but as he got older, he understood things a little more clearly. He had seen glimpses of what Malfoy’s home, what his childhood, might’ve been like and it was terrifying. There is no excuse for any of the horrible things Malfoy has done and said over the years, but Harry no longer judges him as harshly for it. Now, seeing those small parts of Malfoy that he’d never seen before – friendly laughter, open vulnerability, a pleasant (if short-lived) conversation – his opinion of Malfoy is growing again.

“Then you’re delusional.” Malfoy says. “Do you recall me ever saying anything that wasn’t an insult to you?”

“Who you are is in your actions, not words.” Harry says quickly to disguise the fact that Malfoy is probably right. He can’t recall a single interaction throughout their school year which didn’t involve an insult, or a hex, or both.

“What, like how I became a Death Eater?” Malfoy counters instantly, his voice is cutting. Harry realises he probably should have chosen his words a little more carefully. A lot of Malfoy’s actions were questionable as well now that he thinks about it.

Harry takes a moment before responding, trying to find words that might actually be comforting this time. He realises the absurdity of the situation – he is trying to comfort and convince Draco Malfoy, his sworn enemy since the age of eleven, that he’s not a bad person.  “I don’t believe you had a choice in that.” Harry finally says truthfully.

“You always have a choice.” Malfoy says in a quiet voice. Harry wonders if Malfoy is only repeating what many people have told him before in judgement or if he actually believes it. It’s a line Harry has heard himself a million times but he has never bought it. It implies all choices are equal, that there’s a black and white to every problem, and there isn’t. Harry knows that better than most. 

Harry doesn’t think explaining this to Malfoy will help so he sticks to the clichés. “Sometimes it’s an impossible choice.”

Malfoy nods and Harry thinks his words may have finally gotten through, until Malfoy looks over at him with a hard face. “You can forgive me if you wish, Potter, but you can’t make me forgive myself.”

Harry isn’t quite sure what to say to that. He supposes Malfoy is right, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to try and help. He wants to see Malfoy smile again, a real smile, so he tries to lighten up the conversation. “You also said we weren’t going to have a personal conversation but look where we are.”

Malfoy looks away immediately, and Harry knows before he even says anything, that he misjudged the situation, that that was not the right thing to say. Malfoy’s voice is cold when he replies, “Don’t worry Potter, it won’t happen again.”

They continue to walk in silence. Harry wishes he could take the joke back and say something serious instead. Malfoy was opening up to him, in a completely unexpected way, revealing so much more than Harry ever thought he’d get to see from Draco Malfoy. Then Harry had to go and stuff up another conversation.  

Harry looks over at Malfoy. He must know Harry’s gaze is on him but he keeps looking straight ahead. Harry looks down at his own feet. He is confused, not just by Malfoy’s behaviour, but by his reaction to it. He is worried about Malfoy and desperate to comfort him, and these thoughts aren’t just ruled by his typical “do-gooder” attitude but by something else as well. He stopped hating Malfoy a long time ago but he never thought that he would ever start to like him.

The silence stretches on uncomfortably. Harry is thankful when they finally reach the school and entrance to the Fair. He fishes out his wallet to pay the entrance fee with some muggle money. He wants to break the awful silence with Malfoy and hopes enough time has passed for him to have cooled down. He is ready to make a comment on how it looks like it might rain, but luckily Malfoy saves him from having to talk about the weather by being the first to speak.

“You’re paying for me? Merlin, this really is a date.” Malfoy says with disgust, eyeing the muggle change Harry tucks into his wallet as they continue into the Fair.  

Relieved that they are back on speaking terms, even if it is with a scathing comment, Harry can’t resist smiling as he rolls his eyes. “Relax, Malfoy. It’s just money.”

“Relax?” Malfoy repeats, looking panicked now, “How can I relax? I can hear people screaming.”

Harry laughs. Familiar with the noise, he can assume it is coming from people on the various rides set up over the school’s vast oval. “It’s just people enjoying themselves.”

This doesn’t seem to comfort Malfoy at all, in fact he looks even more concerned. “I feel like it would be wise to point out to you now, Potter, that I, like most normal people, do not scream out of enjoyment. If you hear me screaming, please assume I am in pain or serious danger and respond accordingly.” He says seriously.

“Never fear, I will always rush to your side to rescue you.” Harry responds with exaggerated sincerity, not willing to miss an opportunity to tease Malfoy. It has the desired effect.

Malfoy is rattled. He folds his arms across his chest. “That’s not what I meant. I don’t need your rescuing.”

Harry shrugs, perfectly innocently, not daring to comment on that. Sure, he could bring up a few choice times when Malfoy certainly did need his rescuing, but that might be pushing his luck.

Unfortunately Malfoy is not fooled by the shrug. “You do keep lists.”

“I don’t. Although, maybe, I was thinking of a few times I may have saved – “

“A few?” repeats Malfoy, his voice rising.

“But I haven’t thought about that in a long time.” Harry says truthfully as he halts at the bottom of The Giant Slide he has successfully guided Malfoy to. “Look, I promise I will never use those times against you, except to tease you relentlessly. I saved you because I wanted to, not because I wanted something out of it.” He’s not sure if Malfoy believes him or not but for now it doesn’t matter, because his number one priority is getting Malfoy onto The Giant Slide which he figures will be another argument. “Now will you please grab a sack and follow me?”

Malfoy finally notices the stack of hessian sacks at the foot of a long set of stairs. He picks up a sack with two fingers and holds it up away from his body, looking it over carefully. He drops it and looks at Harry. “I am not getting in a sack.”

Harry is thankful Malfoy has decided to challenge just the sack and not the ride altogether. He suspects the sack issue will be a losing argument for him, so he has an idea, an evil idea.

“That’s alright, just go down without one.” Harry says with a shrug, careful not to look too happy about it.

Malfoy frowns, unconvinced. “Is that allowed?”

“Yea, of course, the sacks are really for the children anyway.” Harry says casually, even as he picks up a sack for himself. Luckily, it seems to be enough for Malfoy who begins to follow Harry up the stairs, although he doesn’t look particular happy about it.

Harry half-expects Malfoy to back-out when they get to the top of the slide but once they finally reach it, Malfoy looks excited, which makes what Harry knows is going to happen next so much funnier. The slide has ten lanes so they easily set up next to each other. Harry sits down inside his sack, making sure the lower half of his body is fully enveloped. After a hesitation, which Harry is sure is due to concern for dirtying his robes, Malfoy takes his place beside Harry, sackless. Harry’s mouth is twitching as he tries to stop himself from grinning.

They take off at the same time, Malfoy beside Harry early on but falling behind quickly. Harry slides down easily, his ride smooth, even over the three bumps in the track. When he reaches the bottom, Malfoy is not with him. Harry stands up, moves out of the way and looks back up at the slide.

Just like Harry knew he would be, Malfoy is stuck at the first bump, unmoving. He is looking around at everyone sliding down around him, confused. Harry can see the exact moment he realises everyone else, including adults, are using sacks too because his eyes get wide and his face goes pink.

Without a sack, the friction of Malfoy’s clothes prevents him from gliding smoothly along the track. Harry watches as Malfoy awkwardly shuffles and shimmies himself over the first bump. He looks so foolish. When Malfoy gets to the second bump and the same thing happens, tears begin to form in Harry’s eyes. He can’t help it. Malfoy’s irritated, embarrassed, haughty face is hilarious, and the way he has to wiggle himself down is so undignified and so un-Malfoy-like. At the third bump, Harry is on his knees, openly crying with laughter. He wishes he brought a camera because he wants to relive this moment for the rest of his life. But even without photographic support, Harry doesn’t think he will ever forget what will now and forever be known as The WiggleTM.

Malfoy finally reaches the bottom of the slide, his face redder than Harry’s ever seen it, but he’s not sure how much is from embarrassment and how much is from anger. Malfoy rises to his feet gracefully which makes Harry laugh even harder because it’s so typical of Malfoy, and so unlike the way he was squirming only seconds earlier.

Malfoy strides past Harry where he still sits on the ground with one hand raised. “Don’t even talk to me.”

Harry quickly gets up and follows Malfoy who seems to be trying to gain as much distance between himself and The Giant Slide as possible. “You’re the one who didn’t want a sack.” Harry calls after him, still not completely finished laughing.

Malfoy whips around, wand drawn and steps in close to Harry, his wand jabbing Harry’s neck. “You knew that would happen.” Malfoy accuses angrily.

“No idea.” Harry says with another innocent shrug, all the while smiling brightly. He isn’t concerned by Malfoy’s wand.

Malfoy closes his eyes and it’s funny because that paired with how close he is standing to Harry makes it look like he is preparing to kiss him. Harry shakes the thought from his mind when it doesn’t immediately repulse him. “I could curse that smile right off your face.” Malfoy says instead of kissing Harry, his eyes reopening.

Harry raises his eyebrows. “But you won’t.” He challenges.

“You think I wouldn’t do it in front of all these muggles?” Malfoy asks with a scowl, which may have been threatening if the grip on his wand hadn’t already loosened, it now only tickling Harry’s neck.

“No,” Harry says, “I just don’t think you’d hurt me.”

Malfoy’s face twitches and scrunches as he decides his approach. He settles on: “Remember when I broke your nose?”

Of course Harry remembers all too well when Malfoy stepped on his face and left him on the Hogwarts Express at the start of sixth year. It goddamn hurt. But that was then. That was a different Draco Malfoy. Like the current Draco “You can’t make me forgive myself” Malfoy is going to hurt him over a joke. “Yes.”     

Malfoy stares at Potter frowning for another beat before dropping his wand and stepping back. “Damn you.” He says to the grass.

Harry feels a little guilty after Malfoy’s reaction, but not nearly enough to regret making Malfoy wiggle down that slide. For as long as Harry James Potter shall live, he will never forget The WiggleTM. “I’m sorry for tricking you, but you have to admit that was hilarious.” He says, not really committing to a full apology.

Malfoy shrugs, his eyes still facing the ground. “I didn’t know you had it in you.” He says and there’s almost a compliment buried in that insult.

“You’re the one who never turned up to our duel in first year.” Harry counters.

Malfoy’s head jerks up and he is clearly ready to dispute the facts on first year, but his eyes dart to something behind Harry and his eyes widen. “No way.”

“What?” Harry turns around to work out what Malfoy is staring at and laughs. Harry is prepared this time to stretch out a conversation about clowns and balls for as long as humanly possible.

Malfoy is slowly approaching the clown game with a look of fascination on his face so intense, Harry finds it hard to believe the same person was scowling and threatening to curse him only moments earlier. “This is even more ridiculous than how you described it. The way they move. Is this another joke? Did you set this up? Muggles don’t really play this, do they?” Malfoy turns to Harry in disbelief, searching for answers.

Harry would love to say he did set it up, that no one actually seriously came up with a game that involved clowns with wide open mouths moving from side to goddamn side, but he can’t because some strange troubled person did do that, and it is a real game.

Harry sees the attendant is just setting up for another game and heads forward, pulling out his wallet. He turns back to Malfoy. “So are you going to play, or are you going to stand there and laugh at me?”

The shock at seeing the clowns seems to have worn down Malfoy’s tension and he even looks like he could smile. “You think I can’t do both?”

Once Harry has paid for the two of them, they each take position in front of equally scary looking clowns. Their five challengers are three teenagers and a young girl with her mum. Harry tries to quickly explain the rules to Malfoy to give him a fair chance, but he waves him off, and appears to study the location of the varying points in his own clown’s lap.

The game begins and the balls fall out. Harry’s hands are around two instantly, using his lightning fast reflexes to his advantage. He drops the first ball into his clown’s mouth quickly and mentally times how long it takes to enter the next field of play. Once satisfied with this, he is able to time each drop perfectly for the most points. With his fast start, and flawless method, he’s pretty sure no one has a chance of beating him.

“Potter, slow down.” Whispers Malfoy beside him.

“Why? I’m winning.”

“Let one of the kids win.” Malfoy urges.

“Oh, right.” Harry is embarrassed to have not even thought of that. He was so caught up in winning he hadn’t even spared a thought for the fact they are adults versing children. He immediately slows his speed and times his balls so they fall into the smallest point bracket. The game becomes boring. He glances over to Malfoy to see how he’s going and frowns. Malfoy is not slow at all, and what’s more, his balls are all scoring the highest points. It takes a moment for the realisation to hit him.

“Malfoy, you cheat!” He yells, beginning to speed up his pace again, but knowing it is hopeless. He’s already wasted too much time. Malfoy only shrugs and keeps feeding his balls into the clown’s mouth. Harry should have known not to trust a Slytherin to play fairly.

When the game ends, and Malfoy’s station lights up confirming him as the winner, Harry coughs “Dirty Cheat,” a little unsubtly. Malfoy rolls his eyes, unfazed.

Harry isn’t surprised when Malfoy picks the large stuffed unicorn as his prize. It’s the only magical animal on display. He is surprised, however, when Malfoy immediately turns and approaches the young girl and her mum, the former looking very put out at losing the game. He presents the unicorn to the young girl.

“Would you mind awfully looking after this Unicorn for me? I don’t have the time myself but I can tell you’d take great care of him. His name’s Harry.”

The young girl looks delighted and eagerly grabs the Unicorn. Harry stands there stunned. Is this some sort of act?  What could Malfoy possibly have to gain from this?

Malfoy returns to Harry and mutters irritably. “She was never going to win, she wasn’t even looking where the balls would roll to get the most points. She was just wasting them. It was pathetic.”

“Pathetic?” Harry repeats, smiling, not believing any of Malfoy’s irritation.

“Yes.” Says Malfoy, daring Harry to challenge him. He almost does too, but he realises arguing about it won’t change the facts: Malfoy doesn’t want to admit to a good deed, doesn’t want to validate the notion he has any good within him, so he covers it up with a snide comment and harsh tone. Harry wonders how long he has been doing just that, to justify any actions that fell outside his parents’ expectations of him. Harry is reminded of the hot tea Malfoy made for him earlier.

“What’s that?” Malfoy asks, bringing Harry back to the present.

Harry follows Malfoy’s pointed finger and watches as a giggling couple exit from a small booth. “A photo booth.” He answers.

Malfoy stares at him, clearly waiting for more information. “And..?” He prompts.

“It’s just a booth where you take photos. It’s not that exciting.” Harry explains. He wonders if he could somehow convince Malfoy to get on one of the more thrilling rides in the Fair. He suspects someone like Malfoy isn’t going to enjoy spinning upside down but Harry would certainly enjoy watching.

Malfoy narrows his eyes and it’s clear he has taken Harry’s dismissal of the photo booth as a challenge, although Harry has no idea what he’s trying to prove with it. “If you’re going to show me the muggle world, I expect to see all the dark and dirty as well. Don’t just show me a fairy tale.”

Harry laughs because it’s hard to think of a photo booth as dark and dirty and…oh wait, no, he can think about it like that now. Thanks Malfoy. “The clowns were kind of dark.” Harry reasons, and dirty if he really thinks about it, but that’s not a conversation he ever wants to have.

From the way Malfoy smirks, he is likely thinking the same thing. Thankfully he does not address it. “I’m not going to argue with that.” He says which can’t be construed as dark or dirty. Although it is strange since Harry never thought he’d see Malfoy pass up an opportunity to argue with him.

“And a photo booth isn’t really dark and dirty. It’s just a photo booth.” Harry says, ignoring his thoughts from earlier that have the power to contradict what he has just said.

Malfoy raises his eyes brows and makes an elegant sweeping gesture with his hands. Harry is reminded of The WiggleTM and has to stifle a giggle. “Then show me just a photo booth.” Malfoy says.

Harry shrugs. Photo booths are really only for children and couples or for getting your passport photo taken, but Malfoy doesn’t seem to know this. Harry worries if he mentions it, it might make Malfoy concerned they are on a date again.

They shuffle into the booth which is painfully small for two people. Harry’s whole left side is pressed up against Malfoy’s uncomfortably. He wants to jump out and run, run away from Malfoy. He can’t really understand why since it was his idea to take Malfoy out in the first place, but he suddenly feels overwhelmed. His head feels a little fuzzy and his left arm is tingling and he has no idea what in Merlin’s name is going on. He takes a breath and focuses on feeding muggle money into the machine.

“How does it work?” Malfoy asks curiously, he is so close Harry can feel the breath on his face. It’s too much.

“Once I press this,” Harry gestures to the large button between them, “There’s a timer and then it will take a few photos one after another.”

Looking over the choices for photo frames, Harry notices there are a lot of lovey-dovey frames. He hovers over one that is listed as “Limited Edition” and reads the cursive text in the corner: Happy Valentine’s Day 1999. He freezes, he had no idea that was today. He hopes Malfoy doesn’t see it because then he’d really be suspicious of this being a date, and it’s not. It’s definitely not a date.

Malfoy leans forwards and slams down the button, consequently locking in the Valentine’s Day frame Harry has been hovering over. Merlin. Harry starts to panic. What happens when Malfoy sees the frame? Will he freak out?

“So what do we do now?” Malfoy asks, looking at Harry expectantly.

“Smile at the camera.” Harry says casually trying to stay calm. He didn’t even pick the frame willingly. It was Malfoy’s fault. But when the photos print out there are going to be big stupid red hearts all around their faces. It’s not going to matter whose fault it is. It’s going to be weird.

Malfoy appears oblivious to Harry’s panic. “There better be a flash. The lighting in here is terrible. Do muggle cameras have flashes?” He says in his usual critical fashion.

Harry turns to Malfoy to counter this and explain muggle cameras are actually far more advanced than those of wizards, but the words disappear when he sees the large smile on Malfoy’s face as he looks ahead into the camera. It is clearly a fake smile, perfect for cheesy photo booth photos, but there’s something charming about it that catches Harry off guard. Even knowing it is fake, he has a strange desire for Malfoy to look at him with that smile. He is still staring at Malfoy when he hears the first click. Harry quickly turns his head to face the camera as well but he knows he is too late. He is no longer concerned about the Valentine’s Day frame and much more concerned about how the first image will turn out.

Harry doesn’t even notice when the flashes stop. Malfoy nudges him back to life and he exits the booth lightning fast. He stands in front of the dispensary box, waiting for photos to print, knowing he has to grab them first to stop Malfoy from seeing that first photo. If Malfoy sees Harry staring at him like that, it is all over. Malfoy will leave, although why that prospect is so terrible, isn’t something even Harry fully understands yet.

After a painfully slow minute, a small strip of photos falls from the dispensary box. Harry is quick to pick them up before Malfoy can even react. He rips off the top most photo and stuffs it in his jeans pocket before giving the remainder to Malfoy without even glancing at them. Unfortunately his actions don’t go unnoticed.

Malfoy is frowning, clearly suspicious. “What was that? Why did you get rid of one?

Harry shrugs but he is sure it is a meaningless gesture when he feels the heat at his cheeks. “It was a bad angle for me.” He says, unconvincingly.

“A bad angle?” Malfoy repeats sceptically as he takes a look at the photos within his hands. “Hey, why aren’t these moving?” He asks, and Harry is thanking all the magical gods in the sky for the distraction.

“Muggle photos don’t move.” Harry explains, hoping the previous conversation will not be revisited, that Malfoy will forget about the traitorous photo in his pocket.

Malfoy nods slowly, looking as if he is processing this new fact. He is still staring at the photo strip in his hand. “So we’re frozen like this forever?’

Harry looks down at the rest of the photo strip for the first time. He can’t really make out the images in Malfoy’s hand from a distance but he can see a lot of red. Merlin. He’d forgotten about the frame. He is surprised Malfoy hasn’t mentioned it yet. “They’re just photos.” He says, and it’s just a silly frame, it doesn’t mean anything.

“Brilliant.” Malfoy whispers.

Harry is taken aback. Even with the images staying still and the sappy Valentine’s Day frame, Malfoy thinks they’re brilliant? “Excuse Me? Did you just compliment something muggle?”

“No, Potter, don’t be absurd, you must be hearing things.” Says Malfoy roughly, but Harry isn’t fooled. It was only a whisper but he heard it loud and clear. Brilliant. “Are we done with this now? I believe I’ve been adequately acquainted with the muggle lifestyle. Will you hold up your end and open up the Manor room?”

Harry knows he can’t be unreasonable and force Malfoy to stay with him for too long but he is isn’t quite ready to let go just yet. He had expected to enjoy himself on this outing, but he is a little worried by just how he is enjoying it. There should be much more laughing at Malfoy and much less staring at his charming smile in a small enclosed space. Despite his worry, he isn’t giving up so easy. “Okay, but first, aren’t you hungry?” He asks, thinking this is a perfectly innocent reason to spend just that extra moment of time longer today.

“Not particularly.” Malfoy responds, ruining it.

Harry’s mind is already set so he ignores Malfoy. “Well, I’m starving.” He says, despite only feeling slightly peckish.

Malfoy rolls his eyes, but let’s Harry lead him to a food stand. He lets Harry purchase two lots of candy floss. He lets Harry lead him to a cluster of differently shaped tables, clearly pulled from various classrooms of the school. When they sit down across from each other, Harry starts to hands over one of the candy floss sticks but Malfoy rebukes him.

“I am not touching that.” He declares, his face scrunching up in disgust.

“Then why’d you let me buy two?” Harry asks.

Malfoy mimics Harry’s perfectly innocent shrug from earlier with a smirk on his face. Harry looks at the two giant sticks of candy floss in his hands. Well, he’s not keen on wastage so he’s certainly going to try it. He rips some fluff from one with his teeth carefully, trying not to look at Malfoy’s reaction. He’s sure he looks ridiculous.

There is silence as Harry makes solid progress through a third of the candy floss in his left hand. He starts to feel a bit sick already. It really is very sweet.

Malfoy is staring at him with a bored expression, his head supported by his hand as he leans on the table. “This seems a lot like a date.” So he did notice the Valentine’s Day frames then.

“It’s not.” Harry says defensively between fluff.

Malfoy’s eyes watch as a patch of the candy floss falls to the floor. “Well, there won’t be another one.” He says.

“Unless you need my help again.” Harry counters, before realising the implication of his words. He hopes Malfoy does not pick up on it.

Thankfully he doesn’t or at least he doesn’t comment on it. “I’m still waiting to see how useful you actually are.” Malfoy says instead, the hint of a challenge in his voice.

Harry is happy to accept. “You doubt my abilities.”

“I heard a rumour you couldn’t speak parseltongue anymore.” Malfoy accuses and maybe it is in Harry’s imagination but there is a playful element to his tone.

“And yet you still came to me.” Harry is pleased to note.

Malfoy’s face twitches, clearly not as pleased with that observation. “There’s no one else.”  

“There must be some pureblood relative who inherited – “

“None of our relatives want anything to do with me.” Malfoy says in that bored voice again, which makes it impossible for Harry to know if Malfoy sees it as a good or a bad thing.

“Right.” Harry says. He is now halfway through his the first lot of candy floss. He’s not sure if he can even finish one. It’s too sweet. Much too sweet. Would it be obvious if he were to accidentally drop one of them…or both of them?

“If you tell me after all this you can’t speak parseltongue…” Malfoy starts to warn, but trails off. He obviously realises threatening to curse Harry won’t hold much weight any more.

“Relax. I can speak it, I’m just a little rusty.” Harry says. He is letting his grip on the candy floss sticks loosen slowly. He wants it to look natural when they drop.

“How rusty?” Malfoy asks, his bored voice replaced with alarm.

“I can open a door.” Harry assures. If he could open the Chamber of Secrets as a twelve year old, he can open a boring old house door as an adult.

Malfoy doesn’t look convinced which is rather insulting in itself. “It’s not just any door. He set it up when he was living at the Manor.” Malfoy looks down at the table, looking very small all of a sudden.

Harry doesn’t need an explanation to know who Malfoy is referring to. “Right.”

“I should have taken you there first, now if you can’t open it, I’ll have wasted an entire day with you.” Malfoy says to the table.

“If I had opened it first, you wouldn’t have done this, but you know I’ll follow through on my word.” Harry is waiting for Malfoy to look up so he can accidentally drop the candy floss. Otherwise Malfoy will assume he dropped them on purpose. He already has the perfect distraught face planned for when they fall.

“I’ll know you’ll try. I don’t know if it will work.”

“I can do it.” Harry assures.

“You better be as good as you think you are.”

Malfoy looks up at him and Harry suspects this might be his only chance to dispose of the sickly sweet floss. Before he has to enact his dramatic plan, he feels a heavy raindrop on his shoulder and then several drops all over his body. The rain picks up fast and Harry knows he will be drenched in seconds…which means so will this stupid candy floss and he will be able to dispose of it no questions asked. But when he looks at the candy floss in his hands, it is still completely dry. He looks up and finds that across from him, Malfoy is completely dry as well.

“So your reflexes were fast enough to cast a non-verbal impervious charm over both yourself and my candy floss but not me personally?”

“Something like that.” Malfoy is smirking. “Here.” He lifts his wand and vanishes all of the candy floss. Harry briefly worries about the magic being performed in front of muggles but then realises the rain is probably too heavy for anyone to see clearly. His glasses have already become more of a hindrance to his sight than anything else, so he doesn’t’ even realise that Malfoy has moved to his side until a hand grabs gold of his upper arm. Harry closes his eyes as the world begins to spin.

When the apparation ends and Harry is standing on flat ground, he opens his eyes, but he still can’t see anything. He shivers and then feels a warm pressure envelope him and spit him out. He blinks. His glasses are no longer covered in water and he is no longer wet. Malfoy must have charmed him dry. He is just thinking how considerate that is when Malfoy’s voice interrupts his thoughts.

“I don’t want you dripping on the carpet.”

So maybe not so considerate.

It is then that Harry realises where he is, Malfoy Manor, and they are already inside. At first it surprises Harry but then he realises that of course such a grand Wizarding house would have an apparation parlour. Looking around, he doesn’t recall ever seeing this room. It’s strange because this house has featured in several of his nightmares so much so that he thought he knew it back to front. The unfamiliarity around him makes him realise the house from his dreams is not really Malfoy Manor at all.

“It’s up here.” Calls out Malfoy’s voice. Harry hadn’t even noticed that Malfoy had left the room. He follows Malfoy’s voice up a grand staircase and along an unnaturally long corridor.

When he reaches Malfoy, they stand in front of an ordinary looking door, or at least it seems that way at first, but when Harry looks closer, he can see the small snakes running around every edge, unmoving, but not quite still at the same time.

“What room is this?” Harry asks, wondering what would need to be so heavily guarded.

“It’s the bedroom Voldemort took over when he moved in.” Harry can tell it takes a lot for Malfoy to say the name. Malfoy spits it out with disgust, but not like the way he says Harry’s name, not at all, but like he can’t bear to say it, like it is caught in his throat and he has no choice but to cough it out or face choking on it.

Harry feels a shiver run up his spine. He really hopes that Voldemort hasn’t left anything behind in this room. He kneels down and leans in close to the door, his eyes trained on a single snake near the handle. He takes a breath and focuses on speaking directly to the snake. When he asks the snake to open the door, a weak hiss escapes his mouth and he already knows it is not enough.

He can see Malfoy’s body tighten in his peripheral vision. “I forgot how creepy that is.” Malfoy says in a quiet voice. Harry thinks about all the times Malfoy must have heard Voldemort speak parseltongue, and he feels repulsed with himself. He hates sharing things with Voldemort. Even with the horcrux gone from his body, Harry can’t help but feel like a bit of Voldemort lives on in him.

Harry shakes the distraction from his head and tries to refocus. He stares at the snake and pictures it as a living, breathing animal. He asks it to open for him with a harsh breathy hiss. He tries not to notice Malfoy’s clenched fists at his eye level and closes his eyes in shame.

“You did it.”

The door opens, and Harry’s first thought is one of relief that he doesn’t have to use parseltongue in front of Malfoy ever again.  His next is fear, and after that curiosity. He gets to his feet and moves to walk in. A hand stops him.

“I’ll walk you out.” Malfoy says more as a demand than a suggestion.

Harry shakes himself from Malfoy’s grip and walks in anyway. It may be Malfoy’s house, but he is the one who opened the door, and there is no way he isn’t going to see what is left inside.

The room is not what he expects. It looks like an average bedroom, not one belonging to the darkest wizard of all time. There are even Quidditch posters on the walls and a racing broom hung up over a desk scattered with piles of books and parchment. The only thing that makes sense is the heavy decaying scent like Voldemort was here only moments ago.

Malfoy has followed him in and is now trying to drag him out, tugging on Harry’s arm. “Potter, it is rude to overstay your welcome. I held up my end of deal and you’ve done your bit so now if you could please – “

“This is your room.” Harry realises. Malfoy stops tugging.

There is a silence that follows this. Harry doesn’t need confirmation. He already knows he is right. It horrifies Harry to think a teenager’s bedroom could become host to Voldemort. That somewhere so personal could become tainted by a horrifying evil. There is a bright flash of lightning outside that seeps through the window and lightens up the room, but just for a moment.

“It was once. Not anymore.” Malfoy finally says. He is looking around the room like he’s never seen it before.

“Why did – “

“Because he could. He had his pick of any of our guestrooms but still he made my parents kick me out of my room for him. He’d already taken everything else, why not?” Malfoy’s voice is bitter and sad.

“I’m sorry.”

Malfoy sighs. “Please don’t pity me.”

“Sorry.” Harry says automatically which earns him a death stare from Malfoy. Whoops. “Not sorry?”

The loud thunder finally hits, roaring through the room. At the same time Malfoy flinches, Harry pulls his wand from his jean pocket, not noticing the small piece of ripped paper that follows and floats to the floor. Realising it is only thunder, Harry sheepishly returns his wand to his pocket. “Look at us, jumping at thunder, like we’ve been through a war or something.” He jokes.

Malfoy stares at him. “That is not funny, Potter.”

“No, it’s not.” Harry agrees.

It is then that Harry notices the paper on the ground at his feet at the same time Malfoy does. They lock eyes, frozen for a second, and then Harry lunges for it as Malfoy calmly says “Accio.”

Harry watches in horror as the small piece of paper flies into Malfoy’s hand, and he watches in horror as Malfoy looks down at the photo, the stupid photo surrounded by stupid red hearts, the one where he is staring at Malfoy. He realises if he had never hidden the photo, then he might have been able to pass it off as a meaningless glance, but now it is anything but meaningless.

Malfoy’s eyebrows are tightly wrapped around his eyes as he stares at the photo. “Why didn’t you want me to see this?” He asks slowly without looking up.

Harry’s face is already heating up. There’s no way he can bullshit his way through this, but he is sure as hell going to try. “I told you, it’s a bad angle.”

“Why were you looking at me?”

“I wasn’t.” Merlin. That is the worst lie he could have said. The evidence is right there in Malfoy’s hands. His face is bright red now, even more evidence. He hopes Malfoy doesn’t look up.

Malfoy looks up. “Potter.” He says impatiently but gently, so gently. Couldn’t he always say his name like that? It almost makes Harry want to come clean. Almost.

Harry squirms. Malfoy is staring at him and he knows he is caught in a terrible lie. He fiddles with his glasses nervously. “It was nothing. I just got distracted for a while.”

“Distracted.” Malfoy repeats with a smirk. He knows, he knows, he knows. His eyes fall back down to the photo. “Can I keep this one?”

Harry is shocked. He wasn’t expecting that. Is Malfoy making fun of him? “Why do you want to keep it?” He asks, suspiciously.

Malfoy looks back up to Harry, his smirk wider than Harry’s ever seen it. “It’s a good angle for me.”

Harry can tell Malfoy is teasing him, but he isn’t sure exactly what it means. He laughs nervously but he can’t bring himself to smile.

Malfoy’s smirk suddenly drops and he sighs. “Potter, did you even look at the other photos?” He asks, sounding annoyed.

Harry is confused. Did he look like that in all the photos? Had Malfoy already seen? He watches nervously as Malfoy pulls the rest of the photo strip from his pocket and places it in his hand.

Harry looks down at the first photo under the tear. He is relieved to find himself staring directly at the camera with a determined expression. It takes him a moment to notice that the Malfoy in the image isn’t staring at the camera at all. No, he is staring at the Harry in the photo with a frown. He looks at the next image. Malfoy is still staring at him, but the frown is replaced by an unreadable expression. His heart beginning to beat faster, Harry looks at the final image. Malfoy is staring at Harry in this one too, and he’s smiling. Draco Malfoy is smiling at Harry Potter. It’s a small genuine looking smile that Harry has never seen on Malfoy’s face before, it almost seems like he’s witnessing something very private. It’s absolutely beautiful.

Managing to tear his eyes away from the image, Harry looks up to the real Malfoy who is watching him too, but he isn’t smiling. He looks panicked and uncertain, vulnerable even, a huge contrast to the smirking man who stood before him only seconds earlier. Harry isn’t sure what he is supposed to do next. Falling for your ex-arch nemesis, and finding out they might also be falling for you too isn’t really covered in DADA class. Harry can’t think of anything original with this many thoughts flying about in his head so he repeat’s Malfoy’s earlier words.

“Why were you looking at me?”

“I got distracted.” Says Malfoy repeating Harry’s words back at him.

Harry still isn’t sure what to do next, so he keeps it safe, borrowing words from Malfoy once again. “Can I keep these?”

Malfoy continues to play along. “Why do you want to keep them?”

This is it. He can keep playing the game, repeating earlier meaningless words, or he can take a leap. “Because you’re beautiful when you smile like that.” He says all in a rush.

Malfoy’s smirk returns. “And you’re sure it doesn’t have anything to do with the fact I’m smiling at you? I’m sure your enormous ego gets a kick out of that.”

Harry freezes. Is Malfoy insulting him? He’s just told the bastard he thinks he’s beautiful, which is no mean feat, and Malfoy is still there, insulting him. He doesn’t know what to think. Had he misjudged the situation? He was sure after seeing those photos that Malfoy felt something for him to, but was he just seeing what he wanted to see? The silence stretches on between them, the sound of heavy rain filling the space.

Finally Malfoy speaks again. “Merlin Potter, I thought you were brave. What more do I need to do? I've been flirting with you all day.”

The world spins for a moment. Flirting? So Malfoy does feel something? He thinks back over the day they’ve spent together but cannot recall anything particularly flirty. “That was you flirting? You were acting exactly the same as in school?”

Malfoy laughs and Harry feels like he has missed the joke. “Yeah, that's kind of the point.” Malfoy says with another you’re an idiot face.

“Oh.” Malfoy thinks he was flirting with him at Hogwarts? Harry wonders if Malfoy even knows the definition of the word. “You know, most people respond to compliments better than insults.”

“Not you.”

Harry blinks. What does Malfoy mean by that? “Have you even tried complimenting me?” 

Malfoy’s face scrunches up in distaste. “What is there to compliment?”

Harry stares at Malfoy in disbelief. How can he stand there and claim he has been flirting with Harry, like he fancies him or something, and then come out with that? He isn’t even sure of Malfoy’s feelings anymore.  “You catch more flies with honey than vinegar.” Harry says, because his brain is too fried to find anything original to say.

Malfoy shakes his head at that and Harry realises the muggle saying is probably wasted on a pureblood wizard. “I don’t want to catch flies. I want you.”

This throws Harry again. So Malfoy does fancy him? Harry isn’t sure how much longer his head can keep up with this. Hearing Malfoy say he wants him is incredible, but dangerous. With the amount of flip-flopping Malfoy is doing, the words could be taken back in an instant.  Still, he wants to believe it. “I guess that’s sort of a compliment.” Harry reasons, desperately trying to hold onto it.

“What do you want me to say? That I think you’re wonderful?” Malfoy asks.

“That would be a – “

“Because that’s not true. I think you’re an idiot. You’re reckless, naïve and childish. You’re noble to the point of stupidity. You’re quick to anger and can’t seem to control your impulses. You have innate powerful magic but you waste it by relying on talent alone. On top of that, you don’t seem to be able to clean up after yourself because you live in squalor, and you own the ugliest vase I have ever seen.” Malfoy’s voice is cold and harsh.

Harry can’t believe it. He can’t believe he thought that Draco Malfoy had changed, can’t believe he was starting to fall for someone so cruel and heartless. He can’t even spare a thought for the way his own heart is breaking because all he wants is to make Malfoy hurt too, for him to have a taste of his own cruelty.

“At least I don’t act like a cold, cruel bastard to disguise any sign of my humanity.” Harry says hoping to hit Malfoy where it hurts most.

Malfoy only looks surprised. “Are you angry?” He asks.

Harry can’t understand Malfoy right now. Of course he’s angry. How could he not be? “You did say I was quick to anger so I guess you’re right. Congratulations Malfoy.”

“I know I’m right. Don’t you get it?” Malfoy yells at Harry who is starting to get the feeling he is missing something very important. “I think all this, I tell myself I hate you with every fibre of my being, that Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter are enemies, but I don’t feel it. I can’t feel any hate towards you…” Malfoy pauses and he takes a breath. His voice is softer when he continues, “…not when I am head over heels in love with you.”

Harry tries to process Malfoy’s words fully but they just keep repeating in his head, not allowing him to absorb them. His anger is forgotten but his body still has use for the adrenaline coursing through him. Malfoy is in love with him. That’s not something words can easily take back. Still Malfoy hasn’t exactly been upfront with his approach.

“That’s a strange way of telling me that.” Harry says when he finally regains his voice.

“I know. I’m sorry.” Malfoy says in a small quiet voice. “There’s something wrong with me. I’ve known it since fourth year. You’re not supposed to fall in love with someone you’re told to want dead. You’re not supposed to fall in love with someone you know hates you. You’re not supposed to fall in love with someone because they’re everything you’re not, because they’re everything you wish you could be. You’re not supposed to hurt someone you love to try and convince yourself it’s not real. It’s twisted. Especially when that person only ever does good, when that person saves your life more than once, when that person, despite everything you’ve done to them, still thinks you’re worth saving. It’s not right. I’m not right.” Malfoy’s voice breaks and he turns away from Harry, but not before Harry has seen the tears in his eyes.

“Are you - ?”

“No, it’s just dusty in here.” Malfoy says quickly his hands at his face.

“Draco – “ Harry starts, trying out Malfoy’s first name. It feels weird on his tongue.

Malfoy scoffs. “You don’t have to tiptoe around me and use my first name now. I’m not any more fragile than I was five minutes ago.” He says, cutting Harry off.

“Alright, prat then.” Harry concedes. He is blessed with a small laugh coming from Malfoy’s back. “Would you like to do this again? It’s the last day for the Fair but I’m sure there’s plenty to do in muggle London.”

There is a pause before Malfoy replies. “Still think I need more sympathy for muggles?” He asks, and Harry knows it isn’t the question he wants to ask.

Harry is happy to clarify, although still a little embarrassed. Even understanding Malfoy’s feelings now, he still can’t help but feel a little shy himself. “No, it’s just about me spending time with you.”

Malfoy turns around quickly. His eyes are all dried up, but there’s no hiding the tell-tale redness. “So it’s a date?” He asks, the Malfoy smirk returning.

Harry wants to punch the jerk in the face and pull him in for a kiss all at the same time. The intensity of his desire, for at least the kiss part, surprises him.

“If that doesn’t offend your sensibilities too much…” Harry replies staring at Malfoy’s lips.

“Shove it, Potter. I’d love to.” Malfoy’s lips say with the hint of a smile.

Harry has been staring for far too long. He quickly averts his gaze and begins to back out of the room. He needs to leave now or he’s going to do something stupid like kiss Malfoy. “Right. So same time next week? Should I come here or do you – “

“That’s it?” Interrupts Malfoy, his eyebrows raised.

“What?” Harry asks, still backing away.

Malfoy shakes his head at Harry like he is an idiot. “I’ve just confessed my feelings for you and you’re still the shy one? I saw you looking at my lips.”

“I wasn’t. I mean…you were talking so…” Harry tries to cover up but there’s no way he will be able to justify the intensity in which he was staring at Malfoy’s lips.

“If you want to kiss me, please kiss me, Potter. I don’t want to wait another week.”

Oh. Yes, Harry wants to, he really wants to. But he can’t help but hesitate. It’s not like he hasn’t kissed anyone before. But he hasn’t kissed someone he actually likes in a long time, not since Ginny. Kissing someone you don’t like is easy, it’s fun and safe. It doesn’t matter if you’re not any good. Kissing someone you like is completely different, like walking on hot coals. And he really likes Malfoy.

He stares back at Malfoy’s lips. Merlin, they’re gorgeous. “Are you sure you – “

“I’ve been fantasising about this my entire teenage life, will you please stop looking at me like that if you’re not going to kiss me?”

Harry stares at Draco Malfoy, his once sworn enemy, basically begging Harry to kiss him, and he feels hot all over. Before spending this ridiculous day with Malfoy, he couldn’t have imagined wanting someone so innocently. Yes, he definitely wants to explore below the belt, but he also wants to kiss Malfoy gently on every inch of his face, wants to hold him in his arms, wants to hear him moan so loud that it…okay maybe not so innocently then.

Harry walks over to Malfoy and places a hand on Malfoy’s shoulder to steady himself. Malfoy raises an eyebrow at that but doesn’t comment. Harry takes one last look at those gorgeous pink lips before leaning in and finally giving Malfoy that kiss, the one that sends sparks through your body, the one that feels like fire and ice at the same time, the one that makes you think of every silly cliché you’ve ever read and makes you finally understand they’re not so silly after all. But it’s just a kiss. Just one kiss. And it won’t be the last.

The End.

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