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introvertllux · 2 months ago

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Meet the Wayne’s Chapter 4: Fault Lines

I DON’T claim the rights to batman only the black!OC. Also this is pure fiction and NOT my thoughts on marriage or family at all.

Word count: 6703

Third Person P.O.V

The darkness of the Batcave barely registers tonight; it swallows him, its depths closing in as jagged memories claw through his mind, vivid and merciless.

He’s back in the chaos of the orphanage grounds, the moments after the explosion crashing into his senses. The blast hits him with relentless force, a wall of fire and shrieking metal tearing him from his family. Heat sears his skin; the raw, bitter tang of smoke and dust fills his throat, his vision flickering in and out of focus as the world twists into a blurred nightmare. A metallic taste sits thick on his tongue, the stench of burning debris choking every breath. Somewhere nearby, he hears the cries of panicked children, the dull thud of falling concrete, a cacophony of pain and confusion.

And in the epicenter of it all, he sees her—Scarlett, encased in a sickly, pulsing glow. His vision sharpens for a second, taking in the unnatural pink light radiating from her hands, illuminating her figure in the smoke-filled ruins. For a heartbeat, she is both familiar and terrifying, her skin emblazoned with symbols he doesn’t recognize—ancient, jagged symbols that coil around her body like hungry vines, each line bright and alien, pulsating as if they’re alive, twisting through her skin, binding her to something unspeakable. He can’t look away, horrified as she lifts her hands and the pink light spreads, expanding into a protective shield around the boys, shimmering with raw, arcane energy.

The symbols shift and flare, seeming to grow, searing themselves deeper into her skin until she looks less like the woman he knows and more like a creature out of a nightmare. Tendrils of light coil from her fingers, threading through the air, wrapping around their sons in a way that is both protective and horrifying, as if something monstrous is holding them close. His sons’ faces are wide-eyed, pale against the crimson haze of the chaos around them, their expressions reflecting his own fear, their voices swallowed by the explosion’s aftershock.

A flash of blinding pink light, and he’s thrown backward, hitting the ground with a force that cracks through his bones. He hears the world distantly, as if through water—the sound of Scarlett’s voice, strange and resonant, mingling with the low hum of power that feels like it’s bleeding into the very air. His head spins, pain rocketing through his body, and when he lifts his gaze again, she is still there, a vision of otherworldly power, the symbols now pulsating like a heartbeat. Every blink brings a new nightmare into focus—the symbols writhing across her skin, her eyes blazing with the same light, unnatural, almost… inhuman.

What has she become?

___________________________________________________________

Back in the Batcave, Bruce’s fists clench until his knuckles burn, his mind trapped between fury and a creeping sense of horror. It replays again and again, each time worse, each time clearer—the symbols, those terrible, glowing brands that marked her skin, the strange, almost reverent way they seemed to pulse with each of her breaths. And the power, raw and unearthly, wrapping around their sons with the force of an invisible hand.

The woman he thought he knew, his partner, his wife—she had stood amidst that chaos wielding powers he couldn’t begin to understand, forces that defied every rational rule he lived by. He realizes, with a cold dread creeping into his bones, that he’s been blind. Blind to the secrets she carried, to the darkness woven into her past. What else has she kept from him? What else is buried beneath the surface, concealed by her quiet words, her careful facade?. Questions swirl and harden into something cold, focused, and selfishly determined. He will have answers.

The moment Bruce storms into the manor, his fury is a palpable force, chilling the room as he enters. Shadows cling to him like a cloak, and each stride crackles with barely restrained rage. He’s singularly focused, almost feverish, every thought consumed by one need: answers. He has no concern for his sons’ well-being, no space in his mind to wonder how they’re handling the aftermath. The only obstacle between him and Scarlett’s secrets stands before him—Alfred.

In the dim light of the sitting room, Alfred stands protectively, the boys gathered around him like soldiers waiting for orders. They’re watching Bruce with uncertainty, tension radiating from each of them, but Bruce barely registers their presence. His face is a mask of cold resolve as he stares down Alfred, his jaw clenched, fists tight.

“Where is she, Alfred?” His voice cuts through the silence like a blade, each word sharp, deadly, and laced with venom.

Alfred’s expression shifts almost imperceptibly—a flicker of concern that doesn’t escape Bruce’s notice and only stokes his anger further. “She’s resting, Master Bruce,” Alfred replies, his tone calm, steady. “I’ve advised her to take time to recuperate, to let the—”

“I don’t care about rest.” Bruce’s voice rises, tinged with bitterness and barely restrained fury. “I need to talk to her. Now.”

Alfred’s gaze hardens, and there’s a steely resolve in his eyes as he meets Bruce’s. “With all due respect, sir, now is not the time. She’s been through more than you know. Let her rest.”

The betrayal twists in Bruce’s gut like a knife, the mere fact that Alfred—his oldest confidant—would stand between him and the truth, protecting Scarlett’s secrets instead of him. Him. The man who trusted Alfred above all else.

Bruce steps forward, his voice dropping to a low, venomous growl. “Alfred, I have every right to know what my own wife has been hiding from me. You don’t get to decide that.”

Alfred’s gaze remains steady, unflinching, calm as a stone in a storm. “And yet, Master Bruce, I fear pressing her now will only push her further from you. Perhaps… patience—”

“Patience?” Bruce’s voice is a raw, incredulous whisper, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles go white. “I watched her wield something beyond our world, Alfred. Symbols, light, things that have no place in this family. And you’re telling me to wait?” His eyes narrow, his voice a bitter accusation. “What else are you hiding from me?”

The tension between them is thick, suffocating, but the boys have had enough of watching silently.

“Maybe now isn’t the time, Dad,” Dick says, breaking the silence with a calm but pained voice. He steps forward, his gaze steady but pleading. “Mom’s been through a lot. Pushing her like this is only going to make everything worse.”

Jason scoffs, his arms crossed, a look of pure disdain on his face as he stares at Bruce. “Right, because ignoring everything has worked so well in this family.” He takes a step forward, his voice simmering with resentment. “Isn’t that how you work, Dad? Keeping everything buried under secrets, shoving us out whenever it’s ‘inconvenient’?”

Bruce’s eyes narrow, but Jason doesn’t flinch. The anger in his voice spills out with years of pent-up rage. “Funny. You act like you’re all about honesty, trust, family—but you’re just as much of a liar as she is. More, even. And you know it.”

Bruce’s jaw tightens, his voice coming out as a dangerous hiss. “This isn’t about secrets for the sake of it, Jason. This is about our safety. Your safety.”

Jason’s face twists with fury. “My safety? Are you kidding me? You know what’s not safe? Sending your kids out to fight psychos and maniacs every other night. You care more about Gotham than you ever did about us. About me.” His voice cracks, anger boiling over. “If she’s keeping secrets, it’s only because she knows that you’re incapable of dealing with anything you can’t control.”

Bruce glares at Jason, but he can feel the weight of all their eyes on him, each gaze a silent accusation.

Tim clears his throat, his voice careful but challenging. “But maybe there’s a reason she didn’t tell you, Dad. You’ve always been against… anything you can’t control. I don’t blame her for hiding it.”

Bruce’s gaze snaps to Tim, his fury mingling with a sense of betrayal that makes his voice icy. “I trusted her,” he snaps. “I trusted all of you. And now I find out that each one of you would rather protect her secrets than respect my right to know what’s happening in my own family?”

“Your family?” Damian’s voice is cold, almost mocking, as he crosses his arms. “Funny. You talk about family like you know what it means, but you treat us like soldiers. Like pieces on a chessboard you can push around and sacrifice when it’s convenient.” His words are bitter, razor-sharp. “Mother has her reasons, I’m sure. And if you can’t handle it, maybe that’s the issue.”

Bruce’s eyes narrow dangerously as he turns to Damian, his voice dropping to a deadly tone. “What I can’t handle is betrayal. Your mother has been lying to us—for years. You don’t keep something like this from your family.”

A scoff cuts through the room. “Family?” Duke says, his tone thick with disbelief. “You keep talking about family, but all you ever cared about is Gotham. You think being Batman gives you a free pass to ignore us, to push us out of your life and call it protection.” He takes a step forward, his voice steady but angry. “You weren’t even there when Jason—” Duke glances at Jason, his voice faltering, then regains his resolve, “when any of us needed you. And now you’re mad that she tried to do what you never did?”

Bruce’s fists clenched tighter, his face twisting with bitterness. “So this is all my fault?” He spits, his voice almost a snarl. “I put my life on the line every day to protect all of you. And this is what I get? Accusations? Disrespect?”

Dick steps forward, his face tense, his voice strong but filled with hurt. “No, Dad, this is what happens when you put Gotham before us. When you build walls around yourself and keep everything locked away. You think you’re protecting us, but you’re tearing us apart.” His gaze meets Bruce’s, steady and unwavering. “If you want to blame someone for all the secrets in this family, look in the mirror. We learned from the best, didn’t we?”

For a second, Bruce’s face softens, a flicker of pain crossing his features, but he steels himself, his gaze hardening. And then Jason steps forward, fists clenched, his voice dripping with scorn.

“You think you’re some great protector, but all you do is control. You’re so obsessed with Gotham, you can’t even see us for who we are. You use us, treat us like weapons, then demand loyalty?” He lets out a bitter laugh, stepping even closer. “Mom might have her secrets, but at least she gives a damn about us.”

Bruce’s face contorts in anger, and he takes a step toward Jason, his voice low and deadly. “Watch yourself, Jason.”

Jason’s sneer only deepens, his hands curling into fists as he stares Bruce down. “Or what, Bruce?” he spits, his voice laced with contempt. “You’re not half the father you think you are. You want everyone’s loyalty, but you don’t deserve it. Not like this.”

The words hang in the air, thick with tension, and for a moment, it feels like the thin thread holding them together is about to snap. Bruce’s hand twitches, his fury nearly blinding him, as he takes another step closer. It’s a heartbeat away from turning physical, the rage between them almost unbearable.

The tension in the room swells, pressing in like a storm about to break. The silence grows heavy, thick with unspoken accusations, with words so sharp and bitter they seem to hang in the air like knives. Each breath feels weighted, every glare a loaded weapon.

The boys are visibly shaken, their faces tense and guarded, raw emotions surfacing as they look at each other, uncertain, angry, hurt. Jason’s fists are clenched so tightly his knuckles have gone white; Damian’s face, usually calm, is clouded with a confusion he can barely conceal. Dick stands firm but pained, his shoulders taut, every inch of him aching with the burden of holding this family together. Tim’s gaze flits between Bruce and Alfred, his mind racing, analyzing every fractured piece of the scene. Duke, his usual calm slipping, looks ready to step forward, but something holds him back, a silent question in his eyes.

In the thick, tense silence, a presence shifts the air, drawing every eye to the doorway. It’s not the dramatic entrance of a warrior or a call for attention, but the quiet strength of a mother, a woman bearing secrets and scars. Scarlett stands there, her arms wrapped in bandages concealing the marks Bruce had seen, hiding the symbols that had just shattered the fragile trust between them.

Her face is pale, but her gaze is steady, deep as dark water, and beneath her composed exterior lies the weight of pain and secrets she’s carried alone for too long. There’s something hauntingly resolute about her, like a structure pieced together after a storm, refusing to let even a crack show. Every movement is deliberate, unyielding.

The boys, instinctively, draw closer to her, as if grounding themselves in her presence. Jason’s fists relax slightly, though his eyes still burn with restrained fury; Dick’s stance softens as he watches her, concern shadowing his face; Damian, usually guarded, reveals a flicker of vulnerable uncertainty, his gaze searching hers for reassurance. Each son looks to her with the raw ache of loyalty mixed with confusion, a need for answers balanced with an implicit, unshakable trust.

Scarlett meets each of their eyes, her expression unwavering as she takes a silent headcount, offering the reassurance only a mother’s presence can provide. Her calm gaze settles the chaos, even if just for a moment, promising them that no matter the secrets or tension, her love remains unshaken.

And then, breaking the stillness with a quiet strength that commands attention, she speaks.

"Enough."

The single word lands with the weight of an iron bell, stilling every lingering thought and dissolving even Bruce’s bitter glare. Her voice isn’t loud, but it cuts through the air with a finality that no one can ignore, not even Bruce. His face snaps toward her, caught off-guard by the power of her voice.

But the shock quickly gives way to cold disdain, his gaze raking over her bandages. His mouth twists into a mocking smile. “Oh, so you’re finally here,” he sneers, his voice thick with venom. “How convenient that you’d rather hide behind those bandages, wrap up all your little *secrets* than show me who you really are. Was this your plan all along? Making me think I had a partner?” He laughs bitterly, each word an accusation. “Or was I just another pawn you thought you could use?”

Scarlett’s jaw tightens, but she stands her ground, meeting his gaze without flinching. Her voice is low, steady. “I was trying to protect this family, Bruce. I didn’t want to drag you into something you could never understand.”

“*Understand?*” Bruce’s face contorts with anger, his voice rising, accusations spilling from him like acid. “Protect us? You don’t know the first thing about protecting a family. *I’m* the one who’s held this family together while you lied to us every day, hiding whatever that was. I’ve sacrificed everything—for you, for Gotham, for these boys—and you… you just stood back and watched, hiding who you are.”

A flash of hurt flickers in Scarlett’s eyes, but she remains composed. “I did what I thought was best. I kept it hidden because I wanted to keep you safe.”

Jason steps forward, his frustration boiling over. “Funny, isn’t it?” he sneers. “That word doesn’t mean a damn thing around here. ‘Safe?’ No one’s safe in this family. We’re dragged into all your secrets, all your lies.” His gaze, blazing with betrayal, locks onto Bruce. “And you, Dad—don’t talk to me about loyalty. You care more about Gotham than us. Batman first, Gotham first. We’re just what’s left over.”

Bruce’s voice is cold and sharp. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Jason. *Everything* I’ve done has been for this family.”

“No,” Dick cuts in, his voice strong but carrying a tremor of hurt. “Everything you’ve done has been for you. Every decision you make, every wall you put up—it’s to keep us out and protect yourself. And we’ve been left to pick up the pieces while you keep us in the dark.”

Bruce’s gaze snaps to Dick, his face hardening. “I’m the one who’s kept this family alive. You couldn’t possibly understand the sacrifices I’ve had to make for Gotham, for *you.*”

Duke shakes his head, his tone cutting. “Sacrifices? Sure. But if we’re so safe, Bruce, why do we keep coming back broken? We’ve all had to keep secrets just to stay intact. And now you’re furious with Mom for trying to protect us? You’re mad that she did what you’ve done every day. Look in the mirror.”

Bruce’s fists tighten, his voice turning icy. “This isn’t the same, Duke. I haven’t lied to you about who I am.”

Tim’s voice slices through, measured and clear, the analytical mind behind it breaking through Bruce’s denial. “But you *have,* Dad. You kept us in the dark over and over. You hid Damian from us for *years.* You lied about Jason after… after what happened to him. You’ve kept things hidden from each of us, all the time. This family is built on secrets—and most of them are yours.”

Bruce’s eyes turn to Tim, his expression twisting with a bitter frustration. “Those weren’t lies; they were decisions I made to protect all of you.”

“Protect?” Damian laughs, a cold sound that carries the bite of deep disappointment. “Or protect your image, Father? You talk about family, but we’re just pawns on your board, part of your crusade. The minute we become inconvenient, you toss us aside or cover up the truth. Maybe Mother kept secrets because she knew what you’d do. And maybe the problem isn’t her—it’s you.”

A dangerous glint flashes in Bruce’s eyes as he steps toward Damian, his voice a low, deadly rumble. “What I can’t accept is betrayal. Your mother has lied to us all, hidden parts of herself that none of you could understand. And you’re blaming me?”

“Maybe she thought you wouldn’t understand,” Dick says, his tone uncharacteristically harsh. “Maybe she thought you’d react exactly like this—lashing out, accusing her instead of even asking why.” He holds Bruce’s gaze, his voice edged with pain. “Maybe she didn’t tell you because she knew you couldn’t handle it.”

A thick silence falls, and Bruce’s gaze lands back on Scarlett, his eyes filled with fury, his face hardening further as he stares at her, the bandages concealing everything he suddenly feels he doesn’t know about her.

“Oh, I can handle it,” he sneers, his voice low, mocking. “The real question is, what else are you hiding, Scarlett? Or was this all just some twisted game from the beginning?” His voice drops into a cold, scathing whisper as he steps closer. “Did you ever care about me? Or was I just another step in whatever plan you had?”

Scarlett’s expression holds steady, though pain flickers in her eyes. Her voice is quiet but unwavering. “I did what I thought was best for all of you, Bruce. I didn’t want to drag you into something you’d never accept.”

“Oh, spare me,” he spits, his voice full of contempt. “Best for you, more like. You kept us in the dark, treated me, treated all of us, like strangers. And you think that’s what’s best?” He leans in, his voice a cold, venomous whisper. “If I’d known who you really were, Scarlett… I would never have married you. I regret every single moment I wasted on your lies.”

His words hang heavy in the air, cruel and final, as Scarlett’s face pales, unshed tears brightening her eyes. The boys stare at him, each of them stunned, the devastation of his words settling over them like a suffocating weight.

She finally whispers, “You don’t mean that, Bruce.”

“Oh, I mean every word,” he sneers, bitterness dripping from every syllable. “You wanted secrets, Scarlett? Well, I want none of them. I want nothing to do with you if this is who you really are.”

The boys, caught in the tension, glance between their parents, trying to reconcile the love they thought they knew with the anger and betrayal spilling into the room.

Without another word, Bruce turns sharply, his footsteps echoing as he leaves the room, his final words hanging like a curse in the air. And as he disappears into the shadows, the shattered remnants of their family stand in stunned silence, the weight of his words pressing down on them like a suffocating shroud.

___________________________________________________________

Scarlett stands there in the heavy silence left in Bruce’s wake, her heart splintering with the weight of everything unsaid. She can feel the anger radiating from each of her sons, the betrayal simmering in their eyes, the questions they’re too hurt to voice. She forces herself to take a steadying breath, anchoring herself so she can be the calm in their storm, even as her own heart fractures under the burden of their pain.

She steps forward, her voice soft but imbued with a strength that she hopes they can lean on. “Come on,” she says gently, extending a hand to each of them as though gathering her flock. “Let’s sit down. Let’s talk.”

The boys exchange reluctant glances, some scowling, some averting their eyes, but they follow her, settling into the familiar comfort of the living room. Jason drops onto the couch with barely restrained fury, his gaze fixed on the floor, arms crossed tightly over his chest like a fortress. Damian sits stiffly, shoulders squared, masking the conflict within. Dick leans against the back of the couch, arms folded, his expression tense. Tim and Duke linger by the doorway, guarded and wary, their eyes flitting between her and the empty hall Bruce left through, as if hoping he might walk back through it.

Scarlett takes a seat beside Jason, reaching out to place a gentle hand on his shoulder, feeling the tension wound tightly beneath her touch. “Jay,” she murmurs, her voice a balm, even if his walls are up. “It’s okay to be angry. You’ve got every right to be.”

Jason flinches but doesn’t pull away, though his jaw tightens, his voice raw and low. “Angry? That doesn’t even begin to cover it.” He glances up at her, pain flickering in his gaze, barely concealed by the anger layered over it. “He doesn’t care about us, Ma. He only cares about himself—and that damn city.” His voice cracks, the vulnerability seeping through despite his effort to suppress it. “You’re the only one who’s ever really been here for us.”

The words cut deep, and Scarlett feels her heart shatter just a little more as she takes in the hurt he tries so hard to hide. “I know, Jason,” she says, voice steady but laced with sorrow, trying to reach through the bitterness to touch the young boy she remembers, the one who always looked for his father’s approval. “Your father… he has his own way of loving. It’s not perfect, but that doesn’t make your feelings any less valid.”

“Then why isn’t he here?” Jason’s voice rises, frustration spilling out. “Why is he out there, doing what he does best—running from us?”

Scarlett lets the silence settle, her hand tracing soft, comforting circles on his shoulder, the way she used to when he was younger, before everything became so complicated. Her gaze drifts to the others, each of them wearing that same look, a mixture of frustration, hurt, and exhaustion, all of them silently asking the same question: Why isn’t he here?

Finally, she speaks, looking each of them in the eyes, grounding them with her gaze. “I can’t explain all his choices,” she says softly. “I wish I could. But I know he loves you, even if he doesn’t always know how to show it.”

Damian’s scoff breaks the moment, his posture rigid, arms crossed tightly. “Father has a very… peculiar way of showing love,” he mutters, sarcasm dripping from every word. “To him, we’re soldiers. Tools to be used in his crusade. That’s all we are to him.”

Scarlett turns to Damian, her expression softening as she reads the complicated tangle of hurt and pride in his eyes. “He’s not perfect, Damian,” she says, her voice a gentle balm. “None of us are. I know he can be… distant, cold even. But he’s just as human as the rest of us, even if he doesn’t like to admit it.”

Damian meets her gaze, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through his hardened exterior. “Does he even know that, though?” he says, his voice softer, tinged with resentment.

Tim’s voice cuts in, calm but lined with a bitter edge. “That’s just it, Mom. He demands perfection from all of us, but he’s the first one to leave us behind when things get too hard.” His gaze is dark, conflicted, and Scarlett can see the weight of years spent trying to live up to his father’s impossible standards. “He sets expectations that no one can meet, then just… walks away when it suits him.”

Scarlett’s heart aches as she listens, taking in the toll Bruce’s distance has taken on each of them. “I know,” she says gently, reaching out to Tim, her touch light but comforting. “Sometimes he’s so focused on protecting all of you that he forgets you need more than just protection. And that’s unfair. It really is.”

Dick, leaning against the couch, lets out a long, weary sigh, his voice quiet but steady. “It just… it makes it hard to trust him, Mom. Every time he walks away, every time he shuts us out, it feels like he’s choosing his mission over us. Like we’re just… side projects.” He runs a hand through his hair, frustration evident in his every movement. “And he doesn’t even realize it.”

Scarlett reaches for Dick’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, grounding him with the warmth of her touch. “I know, Dick,” she says softly, her eyes filled with a fierce love that envelops each of them. “You all deserve more than he’s giving you. And I know it’s hard—harder than it should be. But you’re not alone in this.” She glances around, her voice firm and steady. “You have each other. And you have me. No matter what happens, I’m here, and I will always be here.”

A heavy silence settles over the room, her words sinking in, and she can see each of them absorbing the reassurance she offers, letting it fill the void left by Bruce’s absence. Jason’s shoulders ease slightly, his anger softening into something quieter. Damian’s posture relaxes, the usual tension between him and the others fading, if only for a moment. Tim looks down, his expression unreadable, but she can feel the shift in him, the way her words have touched a part of him he rarely shows.

But beneath Scarlett’s calm exterior, a storm rages. She feels the weight of her choices, the secrets she’s kept, bearing down on her with unrelenting force. She wonders how much of this hurt she could have prevented if she’d been more honest, if she hadn’t woven her life with Bruce out of carefully constructed facades.

A memory stirs, drawing her back to the early days, when everything felt simpler, when she hadn’t yet seen the cracks forming beneath the surface of the life they’d built.

The memory washed over Scarlett, vivid and raw, as if she were back on that rooftop with Bruce, caught between the stars and Gotham’s fractured lights. The air was cool, tinged with the scent of rain and smoke, and each sound—the faint hum of the city below, the occasional gust of wind—felt amplified against the silence that stretched between them. She remembered the feeling coursing through her then: a thrill tinged with fear, an excitement she could hardly contain. She had been so young, eager to escape her past, to finally seize control of her own destiny. Being here with Bruce had felt like a door opening to a life that once seemed impossible.

She’d stood beside him, teetering between disbelief and exhilaration, tasting freedom on the edge of every breath. Her past with Ra’s al Ghul felt like a distant ghost, something she could leave behind if only she played her part well enough. She saw in Bruce Wayne the ultimate escape, a life that promised security, power, and maybe even the family she had always craved but never dared to dream of. Yet there was something else, too—a magnetism she hadn’t expected, a pull toward the man behind the wealth and mystique. She knew she had walked onto this rooftop to be exactly who he needed, carefully crafting herself into that perfect “cool girl” he might fall for. And yet, standing here, looking at him, she found herself suddenly questioning her own intentions.

Beside her, Bruce was half-hidden in the dim light, his features etched in shadow, his gaze fixed on the skyline. There was something unbreakable about him, a figure carved from stone and shadow, an enigma that made him seem almost otherworldly. But tonight, as she watched him, she could see a glimmer of something else, something fragile beneath the armor he wore. He wasn’t just Gotham’s billionaire or some untouchable vigilante; he was a man bearing a burden that seemed insurmountable. It was that rawness she saw beneath his façade that intrigued her, more than any amount of money or status could.

They shared the silence for a while, sipping wine as they looked out over the lights of Gotham, two figures united yet worlds apart. Scarlett could feel the weight he carried, a heaviness that seeped into his every movement, as if he were bearing the weight of the night itself. She felt a strange pull to ease that weight, to step into a role he’d never asked her to play but that she could see he needed. And yet, a small voice whispered that this was more than just a role. She wanted him to look at her and see something beyond the woman she pretended to be.

And then, as if pulled by some invisible force, he spoke, his voice low, barely more than a murmur. “Do you ever wonder if it’ll end?”

She blinked, caught off-guard. Bruce, ever composed and controlled, rarely revealed anything personal. For weeks, he had been a fortress, someone whose charm and mystery she could only glimpse, never fully reach. But tonight, something had shifted. She leaned in, cautious, aware that this might be one of those rare moments where he allowed himself to be vulnerable, even if only for a moment.

“What do you mean?” she asked, her voice soft, almost a whisper, careful not to break whatever fragile connection had formed between them.

“This,” he said, gesturing out to the city sprawling below them, Gotham stretching endlessly into the dark. “This need to protect it. To keep it from falling apart.” He paused, his hand falling back to his side, and his gaze turned distant, his eyes darkened as if he were somewhere else entirely. “Sometimes I wonder if it’ll ever be enough. If anything I do will ever be enough.”

Scarlett felt something shift within her as she listened, sensing the depth of his burden. She could see it in the way his gaze lingered on the skyline, the city that had shaped him and scarred him in equal measure. But tonight, there was something different—a vulnerability that clung to him, making him seem less like Gotham’s mythic hero and more like a man struggling to hold himself together.

“Gotham’s… always been home,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “But it’s also the place that took everything from me. My parents. My sense of safety. There are nights when I feel like I’m fighting against something impossible, trying to save a city that doesn’t even want to be saved.”

Scarlett’s heart twisted as she listened. She knew the story of his parents—everyone in Gotham did. But hearing him speak of them, feeling the anguish woven into each word, made him feel heartbreakingly real. She understood, then, that his mission wasn’t just about Gotham; it was about trying to fill the void that had been left in him as a child, a promise he’d made to himself to never feel powerless again.

“When I was young, I thought the world was safe. That it would always protect me.” He laughed then, a hollow sound that seemed to echo into the night. “But that night—” His voice faltered, and his face hardened as he looked out over the city. “Everything I thought I knew, everything I believed, it all disappeared in an instant. I realized that no one was going to protect me. No one could.”

A chill ran down her spine, her own heart breaking for the boy he must have been, the boy forced to grow up in a single, shattering moment. She wanted to reach out to him, to bridge the gap between them, but she sensed he would only pull away. So instead, she let the silence linger, allowing him the space to speak, to collect himself.

“And that’s when you decided…” She let her question hang in the air, sensing he would understand, even if she didn’t finish it.

“Yes,” he replied, his tone resolute, though a dark resolve had seeped into his words. “That’s when I knew that if I wanted the world to be safe, I had to make it that way myself. I couldn’t let myself be vulnerable again. I couldn’t let anyone else feel what I felt.”

There was a silence then, a weight that settled over them as his words hung between them, unspoken truths filling the empty space. She could see it etched in his features, the years of pain and anger that had shaped him, the walls he’d built so high even he couldn’t see over them. Batman wasn’t just a mission or a mask; it was the only way he knew how to survive. Yet she sensed that the same armor that protected him had also trapped him, locking away any part of himself that might still feel.

“You carry so much,” she murmured, her voice barely audible, afraid to shatter the fragile openness between them.

He looked at her, his gaze piercing, as if studying her, weighing her understanding. “It’s not something I expect anyone to understand,” he replied quietly, a hint of bitterness in his tone. “Not really. Batman… he’s the only part of me that makes sense. When I'm with him, everything is clear. The purpose, the mission—it’s the one thing that feels real.”

Scarlett felt her breath catch, realizing that Bruce Wayne was little more than a shell, a role he played for the world. Batman was who he truly was. He’d compartmentalized his pain, his trauma, turning it into a weapon, and yet she sensed he’d lost himself in the process. And standing here, she felt herself slip into her own role, crafting herself around his needs, becoming the woman who would understand without question, who could shoulder his darkness with quiet strength.

But beneath her calm exterior, a small voice whispered that she wasn’t here only for him. She was here for herself, too, for the life he could give her, for the chance to build a future free of her past. She was drawn to him, yes, but she had crafted her persona deliberately, adapting herself to fit his world, his desires. She was the “cool girl” who wouldn’t flinch at his shadows, who could meet his intensity with unwavering resolve. It was manipulation, she knew, but a necessary one—one that would allow her to escape Ra’s, to create the life she’d always dreamed of.

Yet as she listened to him speak, something deeper stirred within her, an unexpected tenderness that caught her off guard. She was drawn to his brokenness, to the pain he carried so privately. She wanted to be the person who could understand him, to be the one he turned to when the darkness grew too heavy. She wanted him to trust her, not because she played a role, but because he saw her as the one person who wouldn’t turn away.

“Then why keep up with Bruce Wayne?” she asked, trying to keep her tone light. “Why not let the world see Batman instead?”

He gave a dark, hollow laugh. “Because Bruce Wayne is necessary. He’s a distraction, a mask. If people saw the real me… they’d see the darkness, and that’s not something the world needs.” He looked at her then, his expression hard, yet with a flicker of something vulnerable. “The world doesn’t need me. It needs the myth.”

And in that moment, Scarlett realized that she had lost control of her game. This wasn’t just manipulation anymore. She cared for him, deeply, in ways she hadn’t anticipated. She wanted him to see beyond the mask she wore, to know the woman beneath the facade. But she had built herself around his needs, and now, she was trapped in a role she had created, bound by her own manipulations.

They sat together in silence, watching the city lights flicker in the distance. Finally, his hand brushed over hers, a small, tentative gesture, and her heart quickened. She had crafted herself to be his perfect companion, yes, but somewhere along the way, she had fallen for him. For the man beneath the armor, for his complexity and pain. And in that touch, she allowed herself to hope that maybe, one day, he would see her for who she truly was.

But as the years passed, that hope withered, cracked under the weight of the personas they’d both created. She had molded herself around his darkness, but she had done so at a cost, bound to a man who belonged more to shadows than to her. And now, as she sat beside her sons, aching for the family she’d tried so hard to hold together, Scarlett felt the weight of that night settle over her. She had wanted to be his partner, his equal, but in doing so, she had bound herself to his darkness, forever caught between the woman she truly was and the mask she wore to be loved.

A soft touch on her hand pulls her back to the present, and Scarlett’s gaze meets Jason’s. His anger, always so fierce and relentless, has softened into something raw, something painfully vulnerable. He looks at her with eyes that, despite the walls he’s built, reveal a flicker of the boy he once was, the boy who trusted her implicitly, the boy who had once looked to her for all the safety he could never find in his father’s absence.

“You’re not going anywhere, right?” His voice is barely a whisper, a plea wrapped in bravado, but she can see the fear buried deep beneath it.

A tender smile softens her face as she reaches out, brushing a lock of dark hair from his forehead, just as she had done when he was young. “No, Jay,” she murmurs, her voice steady but gentle, infused with a quiet strength that she knows they all need. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She lets her gaze sweep over each of them, taking in the lines of tension in Damian’s posture, the guarded look in Tim’s eyes, the quiet ache on Dick’s face, the simmering frustration in Duke’s furrowed brow. These were her sons—not bound by blood, but by choice, by the promises she had made to them over the years. And now, looking at each one of them, she knows that, despite everything, she would keep those promises until her last breath.

“Whatever happens, I’m here,” she says softly, letting her words settle into the stillness that’s fallen over them. “I’m here for all of you. Always.”

__________________________________________________________

Prior Chapters:

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

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Story Timeline and Overview:

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Additional info:

I know Jason never calls Bruce "dad" unless by accident in the comics. I sort of did that vibe. But generally when reading, I want it to read as sarcastic or even him subconsciously doing so. The idea is that underneath it all he does see/consider Bruce his dad and wants a dad. So if I write him saying dad it's a vulnerable moment where he cares and wants love.

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333creolelady · 1 year ago

Text

Lady Of The Blue Bakunawa Chp. 2

Afab! Black OC X Roman Reigns (pirate au)

Warnings: mentions of past discrimination, talks about body image.

Note: We’re still easing into things as our characters are only just getting to know one another. Things will pick up a bit more in chapter 3.

Story playlist link here <-

Alternative Playlist Here <-

Next -> chapter 3

<- Back to Masterlist

Songs this chapter : opus 36, opus 23, End title.

Alternative songs this chapter: King of Sorrow, No surprises.

Dove

“ Breakfast!”

The girl jumps from her sleep and steps out of her bed. It takes but a moment for her to remember the last few days.

“ It’s Caden M’lady”, the boy calls from behind the door.

The girl opens it and he comes in to set the breakfast down at the vanity. Her food was accompanied with water and hot coffee with sugar.

The girl shakes her head. Caden wondered why she hadn’t spoken to him yet. He wondered if she couldn’t speak or maybe something else was going on. He didn’t want to ask.

“ We eat breakfast in the mess hall and some of us eat out on deck. We eat three times a day. I’m usually on the top deck so feel free to join us ”. Caden walks to the door, stopping just at the threshold. He decided it better to leave the invitation open in case she changed her mind. He had a feeling she wouldn’t come but he didn’t want her to feel left out. “ By the way. The physician has you on 3 meals and 3 snacks a day. Says’ you need to get your strength up. If you want something you can write it down if you don’t feel comfortable talking”, Caden pulled a pin and paper from his pocket and sat it on her bed. The girl eyed it. She acknowledged him with a nod, trying her best not to be rude. He left quietly, leaving her to indulge in her food. And indulge she did.

Truthfully she felt a bit guilty eating the full hearty helping that Caden made for her. Living in Britain meant conforming to every standard the best way that she could. She didn’t have the exact same body shape of the women around her. Where she came from the women had hips and breasts—and even the ones without it were never shaped like the women in Britain. Women in the Caribbean simply carried their weight differently than European women. There wasn’t one singular look where she came from. She’d come to realize that a girl who looked like her had to make herself as small as possible by eating less, wearing constricting clothing, or adding more layers. A dress too tight and she could be accused of purposeful seduction by the wrong man. She had to take up the least amount of space possible. She bound her breast, concealed her hips and did whatever possible not to draw attention to her hair. She’d wrap it, or pull it into a bun. Wearing her hair down afforded her too many looks from curious men and glares from their wives. It was dangerous to be seen. All attention was bad attention. Yet she was weak and starving—starving enough to be put onto a meal plan. The thought alone made her reconsider if she should feel bad for nourishing herself.

Her meal filled her up just enough. The only problem was that she had nothing to do. She explored her room, looking out of the small window. The ocean was so blue here. She wondered if they were still in England and just how far away she drifted from the wreckage. Her room was quite plain so she started searching drawers. Inside she found two books. Moby dick and A modest proposal. She knew she probably shouldn’t even have shown interest in the book. Women weren’t allowed to read but her grandfather taught her in secret as a child.

Before she knew it, she was lost in moby dick. Caden had come back to find out what she wanted for lunch and saw her holding the book. She quickly threw it on the floor and sat up straighter on the bed. Caden eyed her warily.

“ You know I’m not going to arrest you for reading. We’re pirates—we’re the last people to judge”, Caden chuckled.

She wrote down what she wanted and Caden brought it to her. Apples, grapes and assortments of berries were her absolute favorites. She assumed fruit was likely limited due to their current location so she saw the meal as a real treat. Seeded breads and cheese were even better. She hadn’t eaten so plentiful in a very long while. Caden brought her more books when she wanted a break from moby dick. On the third day of her stuffing herself and reading, Caden noticed she was almost done with the three extra books he brought her.

“ You know…. We have a library. It’s small but it’s got a lot of books ”, He suggests hesitantly. The girl popped her head up in interest at that. She’d never heard of a pirate ship having a library. Maybe all the years Roman spent in his prison palace made him high maintenance.

“ The black jewel is the second largest pirate vessel on these waters. We’ve been afforded a lot more privileges since we have more space. Most of us aren’t really readers but Roman is. The doctor also keeps his medical books there. I can take you to it during dinner if you like M’lady ?”, he asks hopefully. He was really curious about this girl. He figured if he showed her more books it would push her to speak.

She nodded enthusiastically. She didn’t have the chance to read often. Most of the books in her old home were from her grandfather and uncles. Pretending she couldn’t read wasn’t really hard because most people assumed she couldn’t. Women of her status and color were told what they were supposed to do anyway.

Before dinner she freshened up and changed into another set of hand me downs. Caden came for her and showed her around. There were four levels on the black jewel. The bottom level held storage, water, supplies, ice boxes, cannon, and other miscellaneous storages. The third level held the kitchen and dining hall. The second level was the crew’s sleeping quarters. The weather deck held the captain quarters, the infirmary and the library.

When she left the crew’s quarters on the second level of the ship, she realized she was in a private room. Most of the crew had bunkbeds or hammocks with privacy curtains if needed. She must have been staying in the quarters of an officer. Many of the men whispered amongst themselves, eyeing her curiously. None of them approached her and Caden seemed to notice the way she grasped his arm tightly as he led her through the ship. Although the lower levels of the ship were narrow and cramped, it was a cleaner than she imagined. She’d heard of stories of pirates as a girl. Stinky, smelly, forceful with barely any teeth. Some of the men fit the description in some ways but most were mostly just shaggy, sun kissed, hard looking men. The ship didn’t smell like fresh roses but it wasn’t the worst she smelled. The top deck was freshly mopped and wet with salt water. This ship was twice the size of the ship she was on just a few nights ago. It was also very long.

The library was very small with a sun room, two wall to ceiling bookshelves with a protective glass case. There was a large couch and a small coffee table. There was only enough room for two people—maybe three. It was cozy and smelled of old paper and leather. This had to be the most comfortable place on the ship. Caden closed the door and she noticed notes of oak and sandle wood. This would definitely be her hiding spot. The sunlight shot rays into the room, spotlighting the dust particles in the air. She didn’t mind it.

“ Help yourself. I’ll bring you your dinner”, Caden left her to explore the book shelves.

She noticed Roman seemed to be a lover of the more philosophical books. As for her, she’d read any genre she could get her hands on. Reading was her escape. She loved to escape and think of a better world for herself. Life happened as it does and she became aware of the soul crushing weight of reality. There likely would be no great love or some grand adventure. There would be no man that would understand her as she understood herself. There would be no riches. If she was lucky there would be simplicity—a gentle husband, children and land. That’s why she agreed to leave London. At least she had her books.

She snapped out of her thoughts as Caden placed a tray of beef stew and bread on the table. There was even wine this time with her typical pitcher glass. It smelled delicious. She dug in immediately. Caden and her ate in silence. There wasn’t much he could say to a girl who refused to speak. She read dangerous liaisons as she tried to savor every bite of stew soaked bread. The wine acted as a bitter palate cleanser and the book was getting good. She nearly forgot Caden was there.

“ I’ll take your dishes and leave you to read. I have some cleaning to do anyways. I’ll come back for you in about 2 hours…sound good ?” She nodded and went back to reading her book. About an hour into her reading she book marked her page switched to another. A tap on the door startled her.

“ It’s just me. Mind if I have a seat ?”, Roman stands in the door way, hunched down to avoid hitting the ceiling.

She moves over as an invitation. She’s still tense but no longer panicked. The last two days gave her no choice but to calm down.

Roman moves his hulking frame under the door and moves into the room, closing the door behind him. He takes the lantern he’s holding and hangs it on the hook beside the door illuminating the room. He sits beside her on the couch and places what looks to be a bag of Chenet or Spanish limes beside him. They were her favorite fruit growing up and she hadn’t eaten one in over a decade. Roman noticed that she perked up when she saw them.

“ Are you going to talk to me tonight ? ”, he raised a dark brow at her. She looked at him warily.

Roman

The mousy thing in front of him eyed his fruit with determination. He found it funny how food motivated she was. Then again, she was likely starving well before her shipwreck. Lack of food variety in Britain had to be rough for anybody.

“ You answer a few questions and the whole bag is yours. I swear it ”, he smirked down at her. Her eyes shot him daggers before she nodded and leaned in for the fruit.

“ Ahp—not before you answer my first one ”, he held the bag away from her. She sat back and folded her arms.

“ What’s your name?”, he asks. He’d desperately wanted to know days ago. And now he’d finally have a name to the face that had been plaguing his every thought. She’s quiet for a moment and the irritation drains from her face. He sumizes that she might just be painfully shy, as she plays with the hem of her shirt.

“ Jane…”, she whispers. She’s so quiet he can barely hear her melodic voice. The girl looks around the room anxiously.

“ What’s that ?”

She clears her throat. “ Jane….Jane Ramlal”, she says louder. Her voice is pure honey. It’s ridiculously sweet. All the times he called her Dove was fitting.

“ Jane”, he tries the name on his tongue. He notices she becomes a bit squirmy from his voice. He assumed it to be nerves.

“ And where are you from…Jane ramlal? ”, he says quietly. He decides to match his whisper to hers. Whatever it takes to make her comfortable.

“ I’m from England…”, she says. He notices a laxness in her accent. Her mouth shapes around her words in a way that is different and peculiar. He could tell she purposely hid it, most likely because of where she was living before.

“ You’re from the Carribbean?”, He asks. Her eyes light up with questions.

“ I was born in Trinidad. How…did you..”

“ It was the way you lit up about the the Spanish limes. When I would sail into Caribbean the children ate it like candy. I was hooked the moment I tasted one. They’re my favorite and a rarity in other places”.

“ Ah….” She nods, her gaze softening at the fruit net in his hand. He gracefully hands her the bag. She immediately digs in and begins to peel one, bringing the fresh fruit to her lips and sucking. Her eyes close in contempt at the sweet yet tart flavor. Roman watches her and he can see the relief wash over her face. This might have been the happiest he’s seen her so far. As she giggles to herself as she chews with her eyes closed, he realizes he wanted to see it more. He’d never wanted to do so much for a stranger in his whole life. She eats the first fruit in just a few short minutes. She picks up another.

“ How did you end up here ? We’re you on a ship before this one ?”

She pauses for a moment, placing the fruit back in the bag. She looks down at her hands and her expression becomes pained. For a moment he regrets asking.

“ If I don’t say why will you—take away the food ?”, she asks. The expression that comes over her face is so fearful it stops his breathing for a moment.

“ I—no of course not. I would never. You may eat whatever you like on this ship. Consider the fruit a gift. Caden told me how fond you were of fruit and so I thought ….”, he trailed off. Jane rubbed her neck nervously.

A beat of silence passes.

“ There are no judgements here. If you did something wrong I’m not going to—I’m not going to punish you or anything. I just need more information. I doubt you want to stay here “, Roman explains with a fluster. He felt the need to emphasize the word “ Punish” because it seemed she expected it.

Dove

“ I was on a ship headed for America but there was an accident. It happened so fast that I can’t remember. I just remember struggling to breathe, being put on a boat and then floating”, she pauses for a moment. Oh she remembered everything. She remember everything that happened on that hell boat. She knew better than a tell a man the pain another caused her. They were known to inflict that same pain again. A woman’s pain was their fuel and permission to be the most vile monstrous things to her. They figure she's accustomed to cruelty. Why be any better?

“ I was going to a colony called Jamestown. I signed up for indentured servitude. I would serve four years as a cook and then I could be given land. I could marry…start over. At least that’s what they told me.”

They were taking people in droves from Africa and sending them to other places, one of them being America. They’ve exclusively been forcing African people to work as servants for some time. No pay, no breaks. They worked them like mules and forced them to have children. She’d rarely heard of something so horrific. Even worse—she missed that fate by the skin of her teeth. Europeans occupied Trinidad and her family were no strangers to the struggle of forced labor. She moved to England for a better life. A life of servitude—though not far removed from the atrocities of the British monarchy, it was better than chains—or so she told herself.

Roman

He noticed how she skimmed over the extreme bruising that littered her body. He figured she wasn’t ready to talk about it. He wouldn’t push any further. But that word…

Indentured…

He’s heard of that before. Some of them worked the garden grounds at the palace he grew up in. Indentured servants were convicts of some sort who spent their sentence in service.

“ And why did you sign up for it ? ”

“ I….”, she huffs in embarrassment. He peels her another lime and pushes it towards her. She takes it gratefully.

“ I was accused of stealing…”, her voice wobbles.

“ ….and did you..?”

“ No. I was accused by Lord Williams wife. She never really liked me. I stood in court. She framed me. Even when I begged and explained—it didn’t matter. None of it mattered ”, her words were rushed as if she was on trial again. Her breathing was quickened and Roman rested a hand on her shoulder. Her breath caught up enough to keep her from hyperventilating again.

“ I believe you Jane” he whispers. Her eyes soften in relief. Apart of him wonders if people not believing her was a common theme in her life. It seemed a weight was lifted off of her from those words.

“ Thankyou”, she rasps.

Roman and Jane stare at one another for a moment before she clears her throat and looks away.

“ Do you have any family ?”, He asks.

“ They’re all long gone. I have an aunt but she’s married with four children in England. It’s really just me. I live in a unit with other girls around my age. We all work for the wealthier people in Britain”, She shrugs.

“ Aaaanddd because of your sentence I’m assuming you can’t go back to England?”

“ No. My only choice was indentured servitude or jail. The prison in England was not something I wanted. But I can’t go to America either. Someone on the boat told me of what they do to people who look like me there. It was a set up. My family told me stories about that life and I didn’t want it. They knew what they were sentencing me to when they sent me away”, a ghastly look spreads across her face.

“ Well it seems we’re in a bit of a conundrum then. You can’t go back to England….can’t go to America. I doubt you’d want to go back to Trinidad with all the British soldiers occupying the island”, Roman observed.

That sets something off in Jane. “ I have nothing to my name. Not a single article of clothing or heirloom”,Jane chokes on her words, feeling her eyes twinkle with tears.

“ Just give me some time. I’ll figure something out for you. I’ve got connections. People owe me favors”, he encouraged. He noticed a stray tear streak down the side of her cheek. He gently took the back of his pointer and swiped it away from her skin. They both freeze at their first touch. Now that he could see her closer she was even more breathtaking. It didn't surprise him that some odd mistress sent her away. She was likely jealous of her and undoubtedly prejudiced. Jane pulls away, looking at the book shelf.

“ So...where are you all headed?”, she asks. Her deamenour is distant again. He didn’t like that but he supposed it was most appropriate. Maybe she didn’t believe he would truly help?

“ What are all pirates headed for? Treasure—gold, riches. Money “, he chuckled. She turned back to him inquisitively.

“ Where is it?”

“ At the edge of the universe of course.”

“ How do you get to the “edge” of the universe ?”

“ Something tells me you don’t believe me little Dove. I’m slightly offended”, Roman smirks knowingly at her. People who weren’t familiar with the sea often expressed their doubts. There was always someone trying to squander the hopes of a pirate.

“ Well…I’m more so caught on the “ edge of the universe” bit. That sounds oddly magical. That’s just make believe. The stuff you tell children for a bedtime story.”

“ l don’t believe in much but I do believe in magic Ms.Ramlal. It is very much real. You just have to know where to look”, said Roman.

“ Magic isn’t real.”

“ Well I found you…surely that’s magic, yes?”, He whispered.

Jane

Jane stared at this handsome man incredulously. She wanted to hide her face at just how much that comment made her burn. “ A coincidence. A miracle. Divine intervention.”

“ All the same Ms. Ramlal ”, he chuckled showing his perfectly white teeth. This was one good looking pirate. He had all his teeth AND they were white.

“ So how does one find the edge of the universe?”

“ To find what’s hidden one must be…lost.”, he says gruffly.

“ That’s a very …philosophical take on it ”, she chuckled. He smiled even deeper.

“ To an extent yes. But I mean just as I say. We could be heading East or West and still meet at the same point. We have to keep moving forward. Though I’m not fond of setbacks, I figured a year or less should be more than enough time.”

“ That’s a really long time to be sailing”, said Jane.

“ Ay’... But the journey is just as important as the destination. At least that’s the way I view it”, he shrugs.

“ How will you know you’ve actually reached it?”

“ Oh dove…we’ll know. You can’t miss it.”

Jane covers her mouth with a yawn. Suddenly she realized just how long she’d been up. It was already dark out.

“ I see you’re tired. Just let me get the physician in here to give you a once over before I let you retire for the night. He’s been worried about you”, Roman insists. She gives in, even though she’s weary of interacting with so many people in one day.

Dr. Earl comes in a few moments later after Roman retrieves him. He felt her skin, pressing against her neck and abdomen. He asked her questions about her eating and energy. She was well on her way to a full recovery. Her neck was healing up already and the bruises were fading. Satisfied with how the checkup went, Roman walked her back down to her cabin.

“ Thankyou for walking me back.”

“ Well I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable. I know this situation might be intimidating. Caden has been keeping a close eye on you for me. I was hoping he would make you a little bit more comfortable.”

“ He has made it a bit easier. He’s been very patient with me through this …transition.”

“ Right. Well I hope that we can come up with a solution for this problem soon. I bid you a goodnight Ms.Ramlal.”

“….Goodnight..Captain Roman ”, she curtsies briefly and they stare at each other dumbly for a moment. She didn’t have to curtsy but it was done out of habit. Eventually she walks back into her room, gently closing the door behind her. She stands behind the door for a moment, hand to the wood as she breathed for what seemed like the first time in hours. He was disgustingly charming and wickedly handsome. She could see how he got away with murder and whatever else came with being a pirate. She doesn’t know that he does the same as well, gathering his bearings behind the private wall that separates the cabin quarters from the sailors. With an exhale they both step away….

Days later….

Jane wakes from the smell of food cooking. She gets up and asks for a bin of water to wash herself. She loved how hot Caden made the water for her. In London she only had enough time for a quick wash with a shallow bowl of lukewarm water and a hunk of soap. She dreamed of having one of those lavish bathtubs with opulent smelling oils and flower petals. For now, her medium sized tin tub would do.

She changed into fresh cotton pants with a pirate blouse and vest. She made sure to pull her hair back from her face as well. She finished her morning routine with a quick wash of her teeth with tooth powder—the expensive kind. Back in London she would brush her teeth with salt, grated orange rind and absinthe. It was good enough at keeping her teeth clean and free of infection and ache. Kept them relatively white too. Tooth powder however, that was an aristocrat's bread and butter.

“ Morning M’lady. Will you be having your breakfast in the library again?” Caden asks as he pushes her tin of bath water out of the door. Jane got up and grabbed the other end of the handle. He looked grateful for the help and they dumped it into one of the makeshift toilets that led to the water.

“ I- I have no problem getting my own breakfast”, Jane spoke quietly. Part of her felt guilty for waiting so long to speak. Caden lit up.

“ You talk!”, Caden grinned. His boyish features shined through showing just how young he was.

“ Sometimes”, Jane chuckled.

“ It’s a bloody miracle. Of course—I’ll show you to the kitchen. No problem at all!”

The kitchen was hot and the lack of ventilation made it pretty smoky. Two people worked in the kitchen. An older man who looked to be in his 50’s and another man who looked slightly older. She curtsied politely at the two.

“ John and Allen, this is Jane. She came down to grab her breakfast. Isn’t she most helpful? Would beg those lazy dogs out there to get their own breakfast any day of the week”, Caden jokes. The two men removed their chef hats out of respect momentarily.

“ Pardon their quietness. They’re tongues were cut out. They can’t talk.”

Right…she almost forgot. Most of these men were convicts and it wasn’t always for small crimes. If they were punished then a cut out tongue was certainly a possibility.

“ That’s no problem at all. I’ve been enjoying your meals very much. Thankyou”, she tried her best to smile politely. They grunt in appreciation and turn back to their pots and meat chopping. An awkward silence fills the room. Jane quickly grabbed one of the plates lined up on the counter.

“ I’ll catch up with you in a moment Jane. I’ve got to get this food loaded on the cart and get it to the crew. You know your way?”

Jane simply nods and sees herself out. Most of the men don’t bother to speak to her. Some tipped their hats as they walked around the second deck busily. As she got to the top deck she realized just how busy it truly was. She had gotten so used to the way that the ship moved in the few short days she was here. They were going pretty fast, fast enough for a breeze of salt water to lightly kiss her skin. It was windy today.

“Bring a Spring Upon ‘er!”, Roman yelled at the crew. He seemed royally pissed today but Jane didn’t want to bother asking why. They make eye contact and his gaze softens and then hardens again. He nods at her in acknowledgment and she does the same as she walks into the library and closes the door. She placed her scramble on the coffee table and sighed in confusion. Why was her heart beating out of her chest from just a look? She couldn’t afford to have feelings for a pirate—it was a heartbreak waiting to happen. Everybody knew a pirate adores nothing more than the sea. He was handsome. That’s all it was. That’s all it HAD to be.

She spent the day in the library. She noticed a lot of movement on the deck. The men were loud with each other. It’s not like she wasn’t used to it. The ship she previously came from was just as loud. During lunch Caden suggested they eat on the top deck and she took the invitation. Despite the occasional stares she felt fairly comfortable with him by her side.

“ Captain found a small village to dock in. It’s where you’ll get whatever you need ”

“ Really?” She perked up.

“ Yeah. He seems to want you nice and comfortable. Many lads would kill to trade places with you right now. He’s show’n a bit of favoritism. You’re lucky to be on his good side. Pirates aren’t the most polite people”, Caden snorted.

“ Well you’re a pirate. You’ve been quite chivalrous to me. That counts?”, she chuckled.

“ I’m not quite a pirate. Not yet. I’m a cabin boy. A pirate in training if you will”

“ Ah…how old are you ?”

“ I’m fifteen years of age M’lady”

“ And how long until you become a pirate ?”

“ Whenever Cap’n Roman thinks I’m ready. For most lads it’s about 17 ”

“ I can’t believe I’m saying this but I hope it happens for you Caden”, she chuckled. It seemed taboo to wish somebody good news on their pirate career. It wasn’t exactly the most morally balanced job. However, she had no space to judge. She’s been shown more kindness on this ship than back at her old home.

Caden asked her questions about herself and she kept it fairly vague. She didn’t mention that she was charged as a criminal. She didn’t say she couldn’t go back to Europe. All those things she told Roman were in confidence. She could have lied but she didn’t. She wanted him to know the truth at that moment.

Roman interrupts their small talk. “ I’m sorry for interrupting but I need to speak with you. Can you step into my cabin please?”

“ O-Of course”, says Jane. She strolls behind him to the captain's quarters. She noticed a pattern of Roman preferring to talk in private. She didn’t mind. She preferred to be on the receiving end of his softened gaze.

His quarters are sizable. His desk sat catty cornered to the entrance of the room. A large wooden bed with a plush mattress sits at the furthest point of the room. The door to his bathroom was left open. From the front door she can see that the bathtub is clawfoot and spacious. In the middle of his quarters sat a large round table with a map and figurines. Large shelving wrapped around the perimeter of the room that held many items that Roman owned. Large windows sat on one side of the suite overlooking the water and allowed light into the room as well as a skylight. She could tell that his time as a man with status rubbed off on his taste. She adored the cleanliness too. Roman seemed to like nice things and he knew how to take care of them. He pulled back the curtains on the windows attached to his door. It seems he did that purposely to give her some comfort. It felt like an invitation to exit whenever she pleased. She wasn’t trapped—not like before.

“Ms. Ramlal, how are you?”

Roman*

There was a brightness to her that wasn’t there before. She seemed just as timid and worried but less…frigid. Less stiff. He liked that.

“ I’m doing well and you ?” She asks.

“ I’m quite pleased since I’ve found a place to dock with a lot of merchandise. We can finally get you whatever you need and some proper clothes”

“ Oh right. Of course.”

*sqwacckk* “ Pretty lady, pretty lady”

Roman sighs when he realizes Pete woke up. The parrot flew over to the desk causing Jane to startle into a chuckle. He was colorful with a large yellow beak.

“ My apologizes about Pete”

“ It’s no problem”

*squakkkk* “ M’lady, lady ”

Roman burns up with embarrassment. He was most grateful for his tanned complexion otherwise he’d be as red as a beet. “ He must have been picking up what the crew has been saying. I can take him out”

“ Oh it’s not a problem really. Hi little Pete”, she holds her arm out and the bird climbs onto her arm looking closely as if to inspect her. She chuckled, rubbing his head with the tip of her finger. Her smile melted away years of tension from his shoulders.

“ He’s never met a stranger… as you can see”

Jane just smiled at him, petting him down his back.

“ We should reach land in the next hour”

“ Are you sure ? I’m fine with my clothes.”

“ Nonsense, a woman deserves her own clothes. It’s the least we could do in such an unideal situation”, he insists.

“ You’ve been most kind…”, she trails off looking down into her lap in deep thought. Pete nuzzles into her shoulder which gets her attention. Roman wondered where her mind went whenever she got quiet.

“ We’ll be going over by paddle boat. I don’t make it a habit of docking the ship on the edge of every island in case the law is snooping around”

“ That’s fine ”, she nods, scooping Pete into her hands.

“ And I have to warn you that there will be a storm tonight. We’ll try to get ahead of it but there’s a chance we’ll likely get caught in one. There’s nothing to worry about, we’re very experienced in navigating them. Like I said before I’m not very fond of setbacks”, said Roman. She was still so quiet. He wanted more from her—more dialogue. She owed him absolutely nothing and he knew that. He convinced himself that his enchantment had much to do with her womanhood. Maybe being around so many men became mundane. Still, the crew was no stranger to the sight or the touch of a woman. On occasion they would dock and do whatever with whoever was a willing participant.

Though the men never admitted it in front of him, her beauty was a constant topic followed by how she got there. She was a mystery. That mystery made him uneasy because he was running out of time. Soon they would find a home for Jane and he would be surrounded by the grit and grime of men again. In deep thought, It takes him a moment to register the fear in her eyes. Before he can say anything she just thanks him and excuses herself out quickly. He frowns in confusion.

Jane*

She can’t do another storm but where will she go? Images of the water pooling in around her flood her memory. Being pushed further and further to the back as people filled the boats in front of her. Left for dead.

She snaps out of it and heads back to the library, sparing Caden no mind. She locks herself in until Roman retrievers her. Earl, Caden, Roman and herself all sit in the paddle boat waiting to be hoisted down to the water by rope. It took half the crew to get them down into the water. The rock of the water bobbed their bodies roughly. Caden and Roman started turning the oars in the water, propelling the boat towards land. A small village with docks and resting ships sat in the distance. There was singing, dancing, drunken men, and the sound of music. She also saw many merchants looking to make a profit.

It took them about 10 minutes to reach the shore. Jane tried to steady herself as she stepped onto the dock but Roman grabbed her hand to help her up. She smiled appreciatively at him as she pulled away, missing the burning warmth of his hand already. Roman led the way, tipping his hat to the people who greeted him. Heads turned as his hulking figure marched down the dock. Eccentric men tipped their hats at her beauty. Women held up dresses, waving them at her.

She turns to Roman. “ Have you been here before?”

“ Maybe a handful of times, why?”

“ They seem to have gotten rather lively”

“ They know cap’n is most generous”, Caden chimes in with a goofy look. Roman scruffs the boys hair, chuckling at his antics. Her eyes light up at their dynamic. They were most similar to brothers in a way. She didn’t think pirates cared much for family to even recreate it.

“ Cap’n over ere”

“ Aye aye cap’n”

“ Dresses for the lady?!”

Merchants were shouting in all directions and it overwhelmed her a bit. Thankfully the bustling streets of London made her well equipped to navigate such an environment.

Gowns made of silk, cotton and vibrant gold trimmings sparkled in her peripheral. There was jewelry of all kinds from shells, pearls, silver and rubies. Gold earrings that looked like a centerpiece in the palace of Versailles. Then she saw it in the corner of her eye, it was a light green gown embroidered with light ruffles and a built- in bodice. It flared at the bottom and was the perfect mixture between elegant and casual. The type of gown a proper lady would take on a stroll to the market with her wealthy husband. She froze when she saw it. It was presented with a matching emerald and gold necklace with earrings. Jane stills as she looks at it. The merchant is patient and doesn’t attempt to approach her.

“ Quite the beautiful dress”

Roman appears behind her and startles her a bit, yet she doesn’t attempt to turn around. She’s here for simple clothes. She shouldn’t wear anything that would make her stand out. She should stick to a brown or even a grey color. Nothing fluttery or poofy. Something flat, dull, unassuming. Roman watches her try to pretend that she’s indifferent to the dress. .

“ We’ll take that one and any other colors you have”

Jane whips around and realizes just how close he was. His ribs were nearly pressed against her back. She looks at him incredulously.

“ Sir—-Roman. You surely do not- “

“ But I shall, Miss Ramlal”

“ I- I cannot afford this and you need not—-“

“ I would be happy to gift this to you for all your trouble. Besides, a lady shan’t walk around in clothes intended for pirate.”

“What I mean is…”, she looked wildly into his fiery eyes trying to get him to understand her panic. “What I mean is that I cannot afford to pay for this in other ways”, she whispers to him urgently. Her face morphs into something of embarrassment.

Roman’s eyes light up in realization and her’s settle into shame. He’s disappointed in her response for a moment and he turns his head to watch the vendor pack four different colors of the same dress into boxes. His silence scares her for a moment. Was he disappointed in her response? Or worse…did she anger him.

“ Jane….I would never expect anything in return for something done from the kindness of my heart. I have no desire to take what you do not Intend to give. I’m not that kind of man. You are safe…..here”. Roman turns to her again with sincerity watching her watery eyes glisten at his words. She looks down at her shoes to hide her sad relief.

“ You are — “

“ Most kind …yes—to you. Now I insist you buy more and if I’m not pleased or if I feel you are holding back we will be here even longer. So you’d best be honest with your needs. Pay no mind to the expense. Do you understand Jane ?” His voice is still gentle but he’s more stern. She immediately obeys.

“ Yes si—Roman” she quips. He grins at her slowly and slides a satchel loaded with shillings into her hand before turning away. It’s heavy in her hand and when she opened it she realized she was holding the most coin she’d ever had in her entire life.

With every alarm sounding off in her brain, she brought what she needed. Combs, brushes and hair pomade. Dresses and corsets. Beautiful jewelry and shoes. Perfumes that reminded her of the salty and sweet aroma of the islands and salt covered mangoes. Each merchant was most generous, wrapping the gifts in bows and walking them to the boat that awaited her. Roman watched in the distance at how overwhelmed she was. Every now and then she’d look back at him with a puzzled expression and he’s send back an affirming one. Roman approached her when it seemed she was done. She stood looking at the pile of gifts sitting in the paddle boat. Guilt etched her face but Roman’s warning expression told her not to voice such opinion.

“ I would gift you a chambermaid but we don’t have any spare rooms for her”, his tone so matter of fact. Jane scoffs in astonishment.

“ Let’s get you back ”, Roman gently presses a hand to her back and guides her to the edge of the boat. He helps her in as Earl finishes his medicinal purchases. Caden loaded the boat with food and supplies. Jane sits at the front with her chin in her hands staring out at the water. She flinches at Roman’s generosity in her mind. She didn’t want to come off ungrateful but he refused to accept her declines. As she stared at the beautiful boxes beside her, a small part of her gushed at the thought of obtaining such beautiful things. She’d bought things she could only dream of owning. She’d hold her breath and hope that he meant what he said to her.

—————

Thanks for reading. ALL reblogs of this post will receive a link to the sneak peak of next week’s chapter. ❤️

#roman reigns #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns au #roman reigns x oc #pirates au #the tribal chief #wwe smackdown #wwe #the head of the table

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srim01997 · 23 days ago

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Second Chance | Aemond T. x OFC

Paring: Aemond “One-Eye” Targaryen x Viseara Targaryen (OC), Aemond Targaryen x Viseara Targaryen (OC), Implied Aegon II Targaryen x Celtigar! OFC

Fandom: House of The Dragon (HBO)

Warning: Slight NSFW, Character death, Canon Divergence, some surprises in the ended

Writer’s note: lolo thanks for every like and reblog!!! and Gwayne smut already post ;)

Please ilke, comment and reblog!!

Previous Chapter | Second Chance masterlist | Next Chapter

Chapter 11 Black & Green

As Viseara had anticipated, Vaemond Velaryon filed a petition to reconsider Lucerys' claim as heir to Driftmark. The rogue princess read the contents of the letter Daemon had received, feigning a frown.

“What will you do next, Daemon?” Viseara asked her twin brother. “Now that it’s come to this?”

“We’ll have to return to King’s Landing, little sister.”

“I can’t wait to hold my niece in my arms.”

“Be patient a little longer, little sister.”

During their discussion in the hall of Dragonstone, it became clear they needed to journey to King’s Landing immediately to assert Lucerys' rightful claim as Lord of the Tides. Viseara decided to travel on dragonback while the others took the ship, as Rhaenyra’s pregnancy made riding Syrax impractical, according to Daemon.

The rogue princess joined the others by carriage after securing her dragon in the dragonpit. However, upon arrival, they were met with no welcoming party—not even a single attendant to greet the heir and her retinue. Viseara rolled her eyes in annoyance at the blatant slight.

“They’ve grown too accustomed to holding their heads high, forgetting who the heir truly is.”

Her frustration eased slightly when a single lord stepped forward to greet them. Daemon scowled as he noticed some Targaryen insignias replaced with the Seven-Pointed Star. He leaned toward Viseara, muttering under his breath.

“It’s as hideous as you said, this seven-pointed blasphemy.”

The group split up; Rhaenyra and Daemon wanted to introduce the children to the ailing Viserys. Viseara, meanwhile, accompanied Jacaerys and Lucerys to the training yard, a place they had once frequented in their younger days. However, the stares of onlookers quickly turned toward the Velaryon boys, scrutinizing their resemblance to the late Ser Harwin Strong rather than Laenor.

“Don’t mind them,” Viseara said firmly. “You are Targaryens.”

But their attention was soon drawn to a round of applause and cheers from another corner of the yard. The three moved to see Aemond sparring with Ser Criston. The Kingsguard swung a morning star with ferocity, but Aemond’s deft movements turned the tide in his favor. The crowd clapped enthusiastically, and noblewomen squealed with admiration.

“Well done, Prince. You’ll surely win the next tourney.”

“I don’t give a shit about tourneys,” Aemond replied, his single violet eye scanning the yard. His gaze landed on Jacaerys and Lucerys before shifting to Viseara. “Nephews, Have you come to train?” he said coldly, then turned to her, murmuring, “Aunt.”

Before further words could be exchanged, the wooden gates creaked open, and Vaemond Velaryon entered. His gaze swept disdainfully over the two Velaryon boys, igniting a flicker of anger in Viseara. She resisted the urge to march over and strike him, muttering curses in High Valyrian under her breath.

“Ilībōños.” (Bastard.)

The rogue princess was about to lead her nephews away from the yard when she noticed Aemond watching her. She glanced at the boys and said, “Go find Baela and Rhaena. I’ll speak with your uncle.”

Jacaerys sensed the tension between his grandmom and Aemond but was dragged off by his younger brother before he could say anything. The one-eyed prince walked alongside his aunt until they reached a secluded corridor.

“I apologize for never saying goodbye to you, Aemond,” Viseara said in High Valyrian, following him. “How is your engagement?”

“No engagement for me,” Aemond replied, suddenly pulling her into a corner and pressing his lips to hers. He pinned her against the wall, his hand slipping beneath her skirts. His rough touch kneaded her hips before trailing lower, fingers brushing against damp fabric. A smirk played on his lips as he pulled back.

“I haven’t even touched you yet, and you’re already wet,” he teased, his hand resting on her abdomen. “Has your waist thickened from food?”

“Aemond!” she hissed.

“But you’re still beautiful to me,” he murmured, pulling her closer and resuming where they had left off months ago. Their passion filled the dim corridor, blending with rain pattering against the windows outside.

Aemond had left Viseara's bed early in the pre-dawn hours, seemingly to avoid any suspicion from his mother regarding him and her after the previous incident. The rogue princess had risen early, bathed, dressed, and wandered through the Red Keep until she reached the throne room. The slightly ajar door suggested someone was inside, so she pushed it open and found her second nephew sitting comfortably on the Iron Throne.

“Ziry would sagon sȳrje lo ao didn't sit va bona.” (It would be best if you didn't sit on that.) Viseara moved closer until she was standing between Aemond’s legs. “Unless ao jaelagon naejot sagon charged rūsīr treason against se dārys se prince.” (Unless you want to be charged with treason against the king and heir.)

The one-eyed prince pulled her onto his lap, challengingly locking his gaze on her.

“Sometimes nyke feel bona ziry should emagon issare issa seated va se āegenka dēmalion, daor zirȳ; daor issa half-mandia nykeā issa eldest lēkia.” (Sometimes I feel that it should have been me seated on the Iron Throne, not them; not my half-sister or my eldest brother.)

His large hand rested on the back of her neck.

“Se nyke jaelagon ao hae issa dāria hen sīkuda dārȳti.” (And I want you as my queen of seven kingdoms....)

“Skoros sȳrkta advice than bona? Jiōragon pryjagon se dēmalion gō īlon emagon daor bartos.” (What better advice than that? Get off the throne before we have no head.)

Viseara rose from his lap, noticing his muttered curse. She grabbed his hand and saw a small cut on his palm—the Iron Throne had rejected him.

“You should tend to your wound before everyone gathers here, nephew,” she remarked, aware of the throne’s rejection of Aemond. Luckily, it hadn't been fatal like Maegor's.

As the sun officially rose, everyone gathered in the throne room, with Otto standing before the Iron Throne as King Viserys’ proxy. The issue at hand was the rightful succession of the Driftmark lordship, which should have passed to Lucerys according to Corlys' will. However, Vaemond claimed a greater right as Corlys’ younger brother.

The rogue princess stood with her family while her second nephew stood with his. Dressed in black and red, with a sword at her side, her mismatched eyes glared at the Hand of the King. Daemon had informed her of Otto and Alicent's ploy to keep her eldest brother bedridden with milk of the poppy.

"Forgive me... Otto, you're in for a surprise. Why doesn't the throne cut the backside of that green leech?”

Viseara knew Rhaenys would never allow Vaemond to claim Driftmark, though she wasn't sure what agreements Rhaenyra and Rhaenys might have made to secure Luc's claim. She tapped her foot nervously as the Hand began to speak.

“Though this council hopes for Lord Corlys Velaryon’s recovery, we gather for the somber duty of determining the Driftmark succession. As Hand, I speak on behalf of the king on this and all matters,” Otto declared, stepping back to sit on the Iron Throne.

Viseara whispered in High Valyrian to Daemon, “Nyke hope bona āegenka dēmalion stabbed zȳhon gundja.” (I hope that Iron Throne stabbed his ass.)

“Ser Vaemond Velaryon,” Otto called.

Vaemond confidently approached the throne, recounting his family’s history and his supposed greater claim to Driftmark over Lucerys, Corlys’ younger grandson. Rhaenyra attempted to interject but was silenced by Alicent.

Daemon grabbed Viseara’s wrist when he noticed her amused smirk at Vaemond’s speech. “Calm down, little sister...”

“I’m trying,” she muttered, her tone biting as Vaemond spoke of bloodlines. “Blood of the sea, indeed. How gallant of him to strike when my elder brother is down. Truly inspiring behavior from a younger brother—oh, please, do continue, Ser Vaemond.”

As Rhaenyra began to speak, the doors opened with a herald’s announcement: “King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.”

Viseara wished she had a mirror to show Otto and Alicent their stunned faces.

King Viserys hobbled in with a cane, all eyes on him. Viseara and Daemon rushed to help their elder brother to the throne. After he was seated, Daemon placed the crown on his head before stepping down with Viseara.

“I must admit, I am confused,” Viserys said, his voice weary. “I do not understand why this matter of succession is being debated when it has already been settled. The only one who can clarify Lord Corlys’ wishes is Princess Rhaenys.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Rhaenys stepped forward. “My husband wishes to pass Driftmark through Ser Laenor to his trueborn son, Lucerys Velaryon. He has never wavered, nor have I.”

The Queen Who Never Was continued, “In fact, Princess Rhaenyra has informed me of her intent to marry her sons Jace and Luke to Lord Corlys’ granddaughters, Baela and Rhaena—a proposal I wholeheartedly support.”

Viseara stifled a laugh at the sight of Otto, Alicent, and Vaemond’s expressions.

“Then it is decided,” Viserys declared. “Once again, I reaffirm that Prince Lucerys Velaryon is the rightful heir to Driftmark, the Driftwood Throne, and the Lord of the Tides.”

Vaemond erupted in anger, publicly insulting Rhaenyra and her children.

Viseara interjected, “You forget that her children might have inherited their dark hair from their great-grandmother, Lady Jocelyn Baratheon. But whether their hair is dark or white, they are Targaryens.”

“You’re as debauched as your nephew—I hear you lie with—” Vaemond’s words were cut short as Dark Sister silenced him, leaving the hall in shock.

“He can keep his tongue,” Daemon remarked, sheathing his blade.

As the room quieted and Vaemond’s body was carried out, Viseara felt Aemond’s fingers graze hers as they passed, drawing Daemon’s suspicion.

“What is it, little sister?”

“Nothing. Prepare for tonight. Viserys wants a family dinner, but... he wishes for us to wear green, while the queen and her children wear black.”

“Feed me to Caraxes, but if it’s my brother’s wish, so be it,” Daemon muttered, heading off to his chambers.

Returning to her own quarters, Viseara undressed and stood before the mirror, gazing at her reflection.

“Have I gained weight? No... surely not.”

Viseara stood in a green dress with an off-shoulder design, revealing a slight glimpse of her cleavage. The rogue princess gazed at herself in the mirror before adorning a necklace and heading to join the others in the dining hall. She couldn't help but wonder whose idea it was to have them swap colors (seriously). As far as she recalled from her first life, they wore their usual colors, which inevitably led to chaos and the death of her eldest brother.

The tall figure in the emerald dress strode gracefully into the dining hall. She noticed Aemond staring at her in astonishment, but he quickly masked his reaction with indifference when Daemon and Rhaenyra entered the room with the others. Walking in with Elia, Aegon pulled out a chair for her before conversing with Aemond.

Viseara glanced around the room as the door opened again. The guards brought in her eldest brother, who was seated on a wooden chair and positioned him at the table. She took her designated seat directly across from Aemond, which perhaps explained why he couldn’t keep his eyes off her—or her neckline.

Daemon furrowed his brow, noticing how his one-eyed nephew was practically undressing his twin sister with his gaze. However, he refrained from saying anything as their eldest brother stood to deliver a speech. Viserys lamented the discord between them, urging them to reconcile. He hinted that it was time to end their conflicts.

Reconciliation lasted all of five minutes, only to inevitably lead to bloodshed later.

The rogue princess raised her glass in acknowledgment of the toast made by those at the table. Their faces bore strained smiles, as if performing a play to soothe the ailing king’s heart. But Viseara’s brow twitched slightly, a subconscious warning of something brewing beneath the surface. When her brother left the table, a roasted pork platter was placed before them.

Who on earth planned this menu?!

Viseara couldn’t say a word before raising her hand to cover her mouth, as though the smell repulsed her. Her heterochromatic eyes caught Aemond pausing mid-movement. Daemon immediately turned to check on his sister.

“What’s wrong, Viseara?”

“I just feel a little faint and nauseated, that’s all, dear brother.”

Deep down, the rogue princess knew the real reason for her condition but wasn’t ready to share it with everyone, including the one responsible for it.

She was in the early stages of pregnancy.

TBC.

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen x oc #hotd fic #hotd x oc fic #hotd x oc #aemond x oc fic #prince aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond x original female character #hotd aemond

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mischievouslittlecreature · 1 year ago

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Part 1: In the Heart of War

Fandom: Dunkirk

Pairing: Shivering Soldier x OC

Summary: Trauma can make you do terrible things.

Word Count: 3,403

Notes: Warnings for depictions of war, PTSD, blood, and a major head injury. Henry Wilson is the name for the Shivering Soldier created by the lovely people over @henry-wilson.

Previous Chapter • Series • Fic • Next Chapter

Chapter 3: Not Going Back

Back hunched, empty mug of tea dangling from one hand, Henry seemed to have just begun to nod off. Perhaps it was the gentle rocking of the boat, or maybe the simple promise of dry land, that was enough to lull him. Daisy was seated beside him, a little afraid to move out of fear that she’d disturb him. Their sides were pressed close together in the small corner of the deck that they’d squashed themselves into. Not that she minded. He was warm.

But then another explosion sounded off in the distance and he was jumping to alertness, head snapping upwards. Eyes focusing on the smoke in the distance, he frowned, standing.

“Henry?” she asked, setting the mug she’d been cradling in her hands aside.

“Where are we going?” he turned to Mr. Dawson.

“Dunkirk,” the old man answered. Henry glanced back to where plumes of black smoke rose from the ocean into the sky. For a moment she caught sight of his eyes. Of the sudden flash of raw, panicked horror that washed over them.

“No, uh, no, no, we’re going to England,” he looked back at Mr. Dawson, confused. Pleading. Hoping that he had misheard. Mr. Dawson clearly also saw the sudden fear crossing Henry’s face, expression smoothing out, voice calm and gentle.

“We have to go to Dunkirk first.”

His head shook wildly. “Look, I’m not going back,” he almost choked on the words. “I’m not going back. Look at it,” he pointed towards the smoke. “If we go there, we’ll die.”

Mr. Dawson glanced from him to the smoke. Then shrugged. “I see your point, son,” Daisy’s eyebrows raised. “Well, let’s plot a course,” he gestured for Henry to follow him. “You can take your tea below and warm up. Peter,” he called to his son. “Have we got space for a man to lie down?”

“Uh, yeah,” Peter eyed Henry warily. “Here, come on,” he held out a hand, taking Henry’s empty cup of tea from him so he could brace himself to descend the steps. “Careful. Careful,” he led Henry to a tiny room, stuffed full of orange life jackets, but with just enough space that he could lay down if he wanted to. “Just in there,” Henry eyed the space, glancing back at Peter, eyes darting over the boy's shoulder to look at Daisy. She gave him the most comforting smile she could muster. The angles of the light accentuated the sharpness of his jaw and cheekbones, dark fringe falling into his eyes. “I’ll get you some more tea.”

She noticed Peter’s fingers hovering over the lock after he closed the door. “Don’t,” she said quietly. The blonde looked reluctant, but nodded. Feet planted firmly on the stairs to keep her balance, she moved to help him with the tea.

“I’ve got it.”

“Peter,” she spoke in a hushed voice. “Are you afraid of him?”

Peter pursed his lips, glancing over his shoulder at the room he’d left Henry in. “He makes me nervous.”

Daisy followed his gaze. She supposed that it must be frightening, especially for someone as young as Peter, to see a person as mentally destroyed as Henry was. As kind as the soldier seemed to be, the fear made him unpredictable.

“He’s alright. He’s just scared,” her attempt at reassurance only earned her a small shrug. She sighed, patting him on the shoulder before climbing back above deck. George was sitting next to Mr. Dawson, the pair talking about fighter planes.

“What are you going to do when he realizes that you haven’t turned us around?”

Mr. Dawson sighed. Daisy narrowed her eyes.

“He isn’t just going to fall asleep until we get back to England. Certainly not with those explosions in the distance. He might ask to come back on deck soon,” the wind whipped a few locks of hair into her face that she had to push away. “So, what’s the plan?”

“I’ll handle it.”

“I was thinking that maybe I should try talking to him.”

Mr. Dawson shook his head. “No, I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“All due respect, sir, but he trusts me more than the rest of you.”

“I’m the captain of this vessel, Daisy. If anyone has a problem with the course I’ve charted for us, they take it up with me. I won’t get the rest of you involved.”

Her jaw clenched, forcing herself to swallow her frustration. Getting into an argument wasn’t going to do much good for anyone.

“Is he a coward, Mr. Dawson?” George asked.

“Of course not,” Daisy’s tone was aghast.

“He’s shell-shocked, George,” Mr. Dawson said at the same time. Glancing away, his lips pressed into a hard line, a deep sadness settling into his eyes. “He’s not himself. He may never be himself again.”

The idea sent a mournful pang through Daisy’s heart. Not just for Henry, but for all of the men so irreparably scarred by this war. It wasn’t fair. Sitting down next to George, she sighed, shoulders curling in against the cold bite of the wind. George stood to help Peter with something down below.

“‘Never,’ you say?” she asked, frowning out at the ocean in front of them. Mr. Dawson shrugged.

“It depends on the man, I suppose. And what he went through. An attack from a U-boat is one of the worst things that can happen out here,” he bent to adjust the speed of the engine. When he straightened, a small smile played on his lips. “He seems to be quite taken with you.”

Scoffing, she shook her head. “I’m just the first person to offer him a shoulder to rest on since being irreversibly traumatized.”

“The most relaxed he’s been since getting on this boat was when you were talking with him.”

Shrugging, she pulled her green sweater tighter around herself, slipping her hands underneath it to protect them from the cold. “Once we get back to dry land I’d give it a week until he’s forgotten all about me.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”

She shot the old man a funny look. “We just met.”

“You say that as if you weren’t visibly pouting for the hour you thought he was married.”

She stood, wiping her hands down on her pants. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m sure.”

“You’re going senile, old man.”

“What’s going on?” Peter asked, popping up from below deck.

“Your father is seeing things.”

“Don’t listen to her son, she's just in denial.”

Grumbling, about how she would rather jump into the sea and swim back to England than carry on with this conversation, she stomped downstairs.

∗ ∗ ∗

Stretched out half on top of the life jackets piled in the room with him, Henry tried to close his eyes and rest. But every little jolt from the boat sent him leaping up, preparing to race for the door at any sign of water leaking in or the boat sinking.

And he couldn’t stop shivering, the little tremors leaving his hands unsteady, muscles fatigued. It didn’t matter how warm he was, this was not the kind of shivering that heat could abate.

The people on the boat seemed nice enough. Though the nervous glances, bordering close to actual fear, between the two young boys every time Henry moved made him almost wish that he’d just allowed the sea to claim him, rather than clinging to the wreckage of that sunken ship. When he thought back to how he’d knocked the tea from the young, dark haired boy’s hand, he wanted to curl in on himself from embarrassment and shame.

They all probably thought him mad, or at the very least a coward, for the way he’d practically begged them to just turn around. To take them all home and away from the hellscape that awaited them if they continued on their course to Dunkirk. But they just didn’t understand. By forcing them to turn around, he was keeping them all alive. The only thing that awaited them at Dunkirk was misery and death.

He sat up, leaning his side heavily against the stack of orange life jackets beside him. Lips pursing, he huffed. It had been more comfortable out on deck, where he could see what was going on and Daisy was warm against his side.

When she’d approached him, with a small smile and wide hazel eyes, he’d forgotten, for the tiniest sliver of a second, the trembling in his bones. For a moment he was himself again, blinking up in stunned awe as a pretty girl approached him. Soft, short brown hair fluffy from the wind and humidity, danced around her neck. And when she grinned, dimples appeared in her cheeks. So damn adorable he wanted to stroke his finger over them.

He was pretty certain he was half in love from one quick glance alone.

The boat jolted again and his hands flung out for stability, heart hammering as he waited for a rush of water to hit him in the face, punching the air from his chest. But it never came. They must have just hit a bit of choppy water. Exhaling deeply in relief, he took a final gulp of his tea, setting the cup aside and standing. Pausing a moment to regain his balance on the swaying floor. He would feel better if he was back out on deck. Maybe Daisy would sit with him some more. He liked listening to her talk; that soft, musical Welsh accent working like a balm over his shattered nerves.

He pressed his hand to the door to push it open. It wouldn’t budge.

∗ ∗ ∗

The wind whipped at her hair, nipping her cheeks and chilling her ears. She missed having Henry’s warm figure seated beside her. The thought had briefly occurred to her to go down to the room he was resting in. Not to do anything unseemly, just to sit and talk. But she didn’t want to overwhelm him either. Or disturb him if he was resting.

Mr. Dawson and George were discussing spitfires after a group of three flew over them. She didn’t pay much attention, pillowing her head on her arms, huffing out a breath of air. Bored. And definitively more than a little tired of the sight of open water. They’d been out there for hours. The least they could see would be a dolphin or something.

Peter leaned his head in from below, eyes wide.

“He wants to come out.”

Mr. Dawson’s brow furrowed. “What have you done? Locked him in? Let him out, for God’s sake.”

Daisy jumped up from where she’d been sitting. “I told you not to do that!” she scolded. They could hear the sounds of the door rattling lightly as Henry tried to open it, his shouting muffled by the wood. Daisy, George, and Mr. Dawson all huddled at the entrance to the stairwell, watching as Peter unlocked the door and pushed it open.

There was no one in the room.

Face scrunching in confusion, Daisy leaned forward. Okay. She was fairly certain that Henry wasn’t a ghost, or had the ability to pass through walls. Where did he go?

Peter ventured further into the room, head tilting up to examine what she remembered from the brief moments she’d spent in the little room to be a skylight.

Straightening, then turning, she just about ran into Henry’s chest where he was standing behind her. His hands caught at her before she could stagger back, gently guiding her to the side. His eyes remained focused on Mr. Dawson, a combination of fear and anger boiling beneath them.

“You haven’t turned around.”

“No. We have a job to do.”

Henry rested his hand on the ceiling to help stabilize himself against the sway of the boat. He laughed, humorlessly.

“Job? This is…this is a pleasure yacht,” he stuttered. “You’re weekend sailors, not the bloody navy. A man your age?”

“Men my age dictate this war,” Mr. Dawson’s eyes narrowed. “Why should we be allowed to send our children to fight it?”

“You should be at home!” Henry shouted, finger raised.

“Well, there won’t be any home if we allow a slaughter across the channel,” a sadness entered Mr. Dawson’s eyes. An attempt to gently explain. “There’s no hiding from this, son.”

Something twitched in Henry’s eyes. He looked like he was about to cry. “What is it you think you can do out there, on this thing?”

“There’s not just us. A call went out. We aren’t the only ones to answer, you know.”

The desperation in Henry’s eyes was building. Tension was mounting in the air. Like that moment when the water in a tea kettle had just begun to boil, but the kettle had yet to begin to scream with the steam releasing from it. “You don’t even have guns.”

“Do you have a gun?”

“Yes, of course,” the growing agitation was plain in Henry’s voice as he swayed from side to side with the movements of the boat. Daisy took a step back. While she still didn’t think that he would intentionally hurt any of them, he was clearly frightened enough to do something drastic, especially if he felt like he was being backed into a corner. “A rifle, a 303.”

“Did it help you against the dive bombers and the U-boats?”

Her eyes flickered to where George was standing near the stairs. Peter was behind her, out on the deck. He’d climbed out through the same window Henry had crawled through.

“Mr. Dawson, let me talk to him–” she began.

“I’m handling this, Daisy,” he said sternly.

“You’re an old fool,” Henry closed his eyes, leaning forward and shaking his head. “I’m not going back,” for a moment his hand pressed flat against the window. He opened his eyes and straightened. “I’m not going back. Turn it around,” the command in his voice was clear. And for a moment, she saw a glimpse of the soldier he’d been before the U-boat and the war had blown his mind to pieces. Determined. Strong. Steadfast. Prepared to do what was necessary.

Mr. Dawson turned away, his back to Henry. “I’m not turning round.”

“Turn it around!” Henry shouted, loud enough to make all of them but Mr. Dawson jump. “Turn it–” he grunted and lunged forward, seizing at the wheel, trying to push Mr. Dawson away from it. Peter shoved past Daisy, attempting to wrestle the soldier off of his father. George was reaching out, trying to help. Daisy jumped back; there was no way in hell she was going to try to get in the middle of that scuffle.

“Henry!” she instead shouted, hoping that somehow the sound of her voice could break through his panicked actions. The area was so small and crowded, it was hard to see what exactly was happening. Mr. Dawson was scrambling at the wheel, Peter grabbing at the back of Henry’s uniform. In the sharp, frantic movements attempting to gain purchase on the wheel, one of Henry’s elbows caught George in the head, the boy losing his balance, falling with a clatter down the stairs.

“Wait, wait!” Mr. Dawson said, hands held out as Henry rounded on Peter, attempting to lightly push him off.

“Calm it down, mate,” Peter said, hands up.

“George!?” Daisy called, when he didn’t pop back up from where he’d fallen. Everyone went still.

“George? George!” Peter scrambled past Henry and down the stairs. Henry staggered backwards, sitting down hard, eyes glued to where George was curled in a fetal position on the floor, whimpering. “What have you done? Daisy!”

The sound of Peter calling to her shocked her out of her stunned stupor, rushing down the stairs to kneel beside the boy. His head was bleeding, groaning quietly as his body spasmed with pain.

“Okay, you’re all right, George,” Peter was saying. “You’re all right. Hang on,” he grabbed a lifejacket and a rag. “Okay. Okay, just…”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Daisy said, helping him to lift George’s head enough to pillow it on the life jacket.

“That’s it. That’s good enough,” he watched carefully as she guided his hands on how to hold the rags against the bloody spot on George’s head. “It’s gonna keep some pressure on. There we go,” Peter was murmuring more to himself than to her. “There we go. Can you hear me, George?”

Above deck it was all quiet, so she assumed that Henry and Mr. Dawson had stopped fighting. But she couldn’t worry about that right now, too busy helping Peter wrap George’s head in bandages. The two boys were muttering things to each other.

“Be a brave lad.”

“You and Mr. Dawson?” George rambled. Peter’s fingers that were pressed to his head came away bloody. He shot a panicked look at Daisy. She bit her lip. This was far, far beyond the handful of first aid classes she had taken. “It’s the best thing I’ve ever done.”

“You’re alright. You’re okay,” Peter tried to soothe. Daisy reached out to tightly grab his hand and squeeze it.

“Go get him some water,” she said, taking over putting pressure on the injury. The blood was hot as it drenched her hands. Closing her eyes, she tried to calm her breathing. To remind herself that all head injuries bled a significant amount.

“Sea Cadet. It’s the only thing I’ve ever done.”

“It’s alright. It’s okay. Just have some water,” Peter tried to hold the cup to George’s lips, but he turned his head away.

“I told my dad I’ve done nothing at school,” his words were slow. Not quite slurred, but certainly dazed. “And that I would do something one day. Maybe get in the local paper,” there was a wistfulness to his voice that broke her heart. “Maybe my teachers would see it.”

“Okay, get some rest. I need you back up on deck as soon as you’re able,” Peter said, in a clear attempt to raise George’s spirits. George shook his head, suddenly looking even younger than he actually was. A little sob left his lips.

“I can’t.”

“What?”

“I can’t see.”

The horrified look that Peter wore was mirrored with her own. She beckoned him silently to come with her.

“I’ll be right back, George,” he said, following her into the corner where they could speak in hushed voices.

“You can help him, right?”

“Peter…I’m not even a nurse. I’ve taken a few classes in first aid, that’s it,” her eyes darted to where George was still curled up on the floor. “He needs more help than you or I can give him right now.”

“So…so what? What do we do?”

“We’ll just…make him as comfortable as we can.”

Peter shot a venomous look towards the stairs. “This is his fault.”

“Peter,” she caught him by the sleeve, pulling him back to her as he started to turn away. “It was an accident.”

He scoffed, pulling away to stalk up the stairs, voice quiet as he spoke with his father. Sighing, Daisy knelt over George, adjusting the bandages around his head.

“Just try to rest, okay, kiddo?”

He nodded, mumbling incoherently. Frowning, she made her way back upstairs.

“Well, should we turn back?” Peter was asking. Mr. Dawson glanced towards the way they’d came, a sad, conflicted look entering his eyes.

“We’ve come so far.”

“How’s Henry doing?” she asked, glancing outside to where she could see a figure huddled on the deck.

“Who cares?” Peter snapped.

“Peter,” Mr. Dawson chastised softly. He turned to Daisy. “I think you should go check on him.”

Nodding, she approached the huddled figure cautiously, sitting down beside him. He had his head buried in his hands.

“Henry?” she rested a cautious hand on his forearm. He jumped at the touch, head raising to look at her with miserable eyes. It was clear he’d been crying.

“I’m–I’m sorry,” he choked out, a few more tears spilling down his cheeks. Eyes widening, Daisy wrapped her arms tightly around him, letting his head rest against her shoulder as his back spasmed with violent sobs.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, hugging him tightly while he clung to her. “It’s okay. It’s okay,” she thought back to poor George, whimpering on the floor, and squeezed Henry just a little bit tighter to her. God, she hoped that what she said was true.

Previous Chapter • Series • Fic • Next Chapter

Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts!

#not an update #shivering soldier #shivering soldier x oc #henry wilson #henry wilson x oc #dunkirk #daisy preston #daisy preston x shivering soldier #daisy preston x henry wilson #my ocs #my fanfiction #in the heart of war

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envihellbender · 1 year ago

Note

VIVISECTION COMMITTED TO A CUTE BOY

Characters: Innocence (Avatar to the Slaughter), Carlin (OCs)

Verse: The Magnus Archives

Content: extreme gore

Innocence put a lot of work and effort into their production. The intro music, for example, was a deceptively simple tune - it was important that it stuck into the minds of everyone who heard it. However, it also had to be impossible to mimic, Innocence had an Aerophone AE-10 that they loved that they perfected the sound on. It was almost like the traditional bagpipes, but not quite. It was more upbeat and thus cuter, that was particularly important. Everything Innocence did was about aesthetics, down to their military uniform and pins in their long blond hair.

They spent hours setting up each streaming set, and of course each instrument used was state of the art or specially built. They whistled as they made sure everything was in place, when they were adjusting their ring light and all they could hear was yelling and screaming was when their smile started to falter. They turned to their co-star and scowled. The young man they’d chosen was extremely pretty, his best feature was his lips which were unfortunately hidden by duct tape for the time being. His eyelashes were thick, and his curls were dishevelled and had a week’s worth of greasy clinging to them. He’d been a model, and his starved body wasn’t doing much to help him now. Innocence wrapped the young man on his knuckles with their favourite iridescent scalpel whilst tutting.

“I’m trying to focus. I really don’t wanna cut your tongue out … but if I have to I will, even if it ruins the show,” they said before sticking their tongue out. The young man screamed again and as a result Innocence shoved the scalpel into his mouth in one swift movement. The edge cut open the roof of his mouth and the sharp point hit his uvula. He let out a whining whimper and Innocence raised their eyebrows as he did. “Are you going to behave?” He nodded. Innocence quickly pulled the scalpel from his mouth and sighed in annoyance. “Ugh. Stop bleeding. We’ve not started yet.” The young man spluttered as the blood from his mouth seemed to recede from its wound, pooling and congealing around his tongue. Innocence finished setting up the lights and camera, cleared their throat and began.

“Hiiiiiiii!” Innocence sang into the lense, their hands making a heart into the camera as they bat their eyelashes, with stars drawn on their cheeks in black eyeliner. They lowered their hands and then pressed their index fingers together. “So many new subscribers to our exclusive little club! Thank you so much to everyone who’s got the word out! Every link shared really helps me to make more content!

“Today we’re doing something a little different, I know you usually get to see me work on a group, but today I’m going to focus all my efforts on this one boy in particular,” Innocence said. They spun round and faced the second camera that was pointed directly at their co-star. His naked thin torso had lines of black marker drawn on him. They were more for appearances than anything else, Innocence knew instinctively where to cut and didn’t need a guide. “So, every day to celebrate spooky month, I’m going to perform a live vivisection on a new performer!”

“It’s okay, you don’t need to do anything. You just need to lie there and look pretty,” Innocence said in response to Carlin’s spluttering. “To begin with we have this young man, sorry his gag is torn up, monsters, he couldn’t stop yapping.” Innocence giggled and slipped out their iridescent scalpel with daisies clipped to the handle from their coat pocket. They rested the blade on the model’s Adam’s apple before ripping the gag from his mouth. “Some of you more eagle eyed viewers might recognise him from his cute AF TikTok videos or London Fashion week! It’s Carlin Rider, owner of the best lips and eyelashes in the business. I bet his organs are even cuter! Which one first, monsters?” Innocence looked up to a screen off camera and grinned.

“Intestines? So early in the game? Don’t be silly!! Those are going to be much later-” Carlin began to yell again causing Innocence to sigh and roll their eyes. They stared at their lips and mentally filled Carlin’s mouth with blood until he spluttered and whimpered. “Sorry monsters, we’ve got a chatterbox today! I think that answers our question though. He can’t talk if he’s missing his larynx!” Innocence spun their scalpel over their fingers and cut a smooth straight line from the bottom of Carlin’s chin to the space between his collar bones. Innocence then carefully slipped their fingers into his wounds and expertly pulled his larynx out, blood spurted from Carlin’s throat almost like a comical fountain. “Told ya! Look how cute that is!” Innocence said triumphantly, posing in front of the camera with it. “That’ll keep him quiet, look at this pretty brown eyes! Looking around the room so desperate for help.” Innocence stroked Carlin’s curls, he gasped silently and shook his head desperately trying to resist Innocence’s touch. They held the larynx up to the camera again this time turning it this way and that so the viewers could get a good look at it. Carlin was starting to grow pale and weak, Innocence exhaled in annoyance.

“Oh my, thought he was stronger than that.” They spun on their heel and returned to their desk, picked up their Aerophone and played the similar tune. The result was the wound on Carlin’s throat sewed itself back up without the larynx and colour and life began to return to his face. Innocence gleefully ran their fingers down his throat. “Sooooo pretty. I did such a good job. You can barely tell it’s gone.” Carlin opened his mouth as he attempted to respond, a croaking, quiet, and desperate gasp being all that left his mouth. Tears began falling down his temples and pooling by his ears.

“Good boy. Precious baby. Isn’t he a cutie everyone,” Innocence said, flicking their hair behind one shoulder, a couple of strands getting caught in their military jacket’s shoulder pads. “Next we’re gonna dooooo… Hmm, aw heck let’s take out a portion of is intestines. As a special treat for everyone sitting at home.” Innocence winked deliberately at the camera. They took out the same iridescent scalpel they’d used to open his throat and licked it clean. It didn’t matter if Carlin got an infection, that always made the future streams way more interesting. They pressed the scalpel into Carlin’s pale torso, and wriggled it into his guts. They had a little bit of a dig around until they found a nice thick bit of intestines and snipped it from the rest of them, giggling as Carlin silently screamed, unable to make a noise, and bled out. The yellow fat from his small belly dripped out making Innocence gasp in delight. They held up the bit of Carlin’s guts to the camera and twirled it around. “How pretty are his organs?! I love them. I’m definitely gonna cut up this cutie again. I might even have him long term. Wouldn’t that be fun, monsters?”

Innocence took a bite down on the intestines and sucked the blood and digested food out of the organ.

“Well, if we’re gonna get this babe done by the end of the day we better get going, huh?” Innocence sang, then flicked a peace sign at the camera with a grin.

#envi writes #gore #guro #extreme gore #oc innocence #the Magnus archives #oc Carlin #Magnus archives oc

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berrys-hide-out · 3 months ago

Text

The neighbours next door

A mcu Fanfiction intro (short warning; OC's are a part of the story!)

Hydra is back full force, Bucky is lost, the Avengers have no idea who Spiderman truly is, Loki wreaks havoc and three organisations with a few vigilantes try to somehow solve the problems while Peter Parker finds out more and more about not only his neighbours but also the war he suddenly found himself in. "Peter..?" Oh gods! How was he going to tell May?! "coming!" ----------

Peter Parker was everything but dumb. He’s guarding a secret so big that the whole UN would be flipping out about it if they knew, don’t even get me started on the Avengers!

He’s got a mind capable of solving some of the hardest calculations and his work shows in his report cards from no other school then Midtown High, and so it honestly was no wonder when he got curious about his neighbours, often times, weird behaviour.

Miss Evyn wasn’t much older than him. Maybe 1-3 years and yet she was extremely silent in her step. Not even outside but even in her own apartment, though this wouldn’t rattle suspicion of anything, it wasn’t all there was. She was often dressed in rather fancy wear and rarely less.. she never left the house with something simple,.. figuring she lived in queens in an apartment building, not else where, she should have the same money issues like them, although it didn't seem like it.

The weirdest things Peter noticed however, that pulled his neighbour into question was the weird leaving and returning times and the smells he sometimes picked up thanks to his enhanced senses.

Miss Evyn would sometimes leave at six am and be back at eleven pm. Other times she left at zero or even one am only to come back in the afternoon, sometimes she was gone for a few days, sometimes two to three weeks, other times she didn't leave the house for a few days.

On some days she smells like she just played in the most moist room you could imagine, other times she smelled like somethings burnt down, then though she could also smell like flowers or a specific fruit and it wasn't all that rare that she had a second scent on her.

Not a lot of jobs came into question that could potentially lead to such extraordinary most likely events.. and yet..

The boy shook his head, as long as his spider sense didn’t alarm him everything would be fine. He took two stairs up at a time, just coming back from school. A soft surprised hum left his throat as he saw the dark brown haired female talk with what seemed to be a young man. His hair, unlike hers was untamed, a wolf cut, with his hair in deep black, he had to look down to her to talk to her correctly, that’s how tall the guy was.

Miss Evyn’s green-brown eyes lifted to his brown ones and she smiled kindly, giving a small wave in greeting before refocusing on the man in front of her. When the man noticed him a soft scowl, ever so poorly hidden, emerged in his features and his Spidersense alarmed him of an incoming attack- yet before the man could even move to touch him Miss Evyn pulled him aside and freed the way. “Apologies Mister Parker.” She muttered as she sent the man next to her a heated glare. “Yes... apologies.” The man grumbled with a low raspy voice, eyeing Peter up and down and up again.

Peter nodded and rushed past them.

“Pull yourself together, seriously!” “He’s a mutant!” The man hissed back. “Davian, he is not a mutant and you can’t simply attack just because you think it’s right!” She scolded quietly and crossed her arms. “Plus, I do hope you remember our deal. Right?” Her voice grew threatening, yet she seemed to have joy in reminding the man of the to Peter unknown deal.

Davian bristled at her tone “Yes.” He grumbled and looked at the smaller girl. “great.” She nodded and eyed Peter, but the boy was busy fiddling with his keys.

How could this Davian guy know?! Who even was he and was he a mutant as well? Or some wizard?! Peter took a deep breath once he finally closed the door behind himself and leaned against it.

Some neighbours they had….

“Peter darling, how was school?” His aunt questioned as she peeked around the corner from their kitchen. “It was alright!” He called into their apartment as he set his bags down. “Got an A in science! And the AcaDec team has a competition next week.” He informed and joined his aunt in the kitchen. May smiled at him “that sounds great” Peter sent her a warm smile, the smell of lasagne meeting his nose. He went to the oven and smiled “looks good.” He complimented and May leaned over to look at it as well “Almost ready too, why don’t you already put the plates on the table?” She questioned at which Peter nodded “Sure thing aunt May.”

As he grabbed the plates he hummed. “Have you met the guy who was standing outside with Miss Evyn just now? Small face, black hair in a wolf cut and clothes similar to Miss Evyn’s?” May hummed in thought. “You’re talking about a shirt and cargo work pants?” Peter nodded as he watched his aunt place the utensils onto the table. “Yeah, those,” he shrugged “he just had a heck lot more jewellery.— like three rings on his hands, a chain… everything” He described and waved his right hand around while it was free when he set the plates down.

May hummed in thought. “I’m not sure.” She paused before turning to him again as she’d been on her way back to the kitchen. “Though there was a man here maybe a few days ago that looked similar to what you described but honestly who knows who that girl hangs around with.” She stated with a hint of aversion.

Peter hummed. “Yeah.” He stated absentmindedly. Davian, he remembered, was the name of the guy. Why did he say it as if it’d be clear as daylight that he, Peter Parker, was a mutant?! That, even as another mutant, shouldn’t be possible! Especially since he‘s never seen the man! He ignored May's slightly annoyed tone, knowing already that his aunt was everything but a fan of their female neighbour.

May placed the lasagne onto the table “why do you ask? Did they say or do anything to you?” Peter shook his head, “I was merely curious if you knew of him.” he shrugged and sat down.

“Peter, if they did something let me know I'll deal with them" she pushed worriedly and Peter shook his head, "seriously aunt May, nothing happened" he reassured with a soft smile. "hmm.... alright then let’s not focus on some random teenagers… remember you can tell me anything..." when he didnt say anything she sighed. "Where will you have your competition?” May asked, changing the topic and Peter felt a wave of relief wash through him.

Aunt May could often talk about Miss Evyn and get really heated about her style and late night habits. One time his aunt even refused cake from their neighbour simply because she was afraid she'd put somehting in there and if she had that much money she should've gone to find a better home or feed the homeless. Not that she said that into Miss Evyns face, however his aunt could rant about her for hours if she wished. Currently though his thoughts were else where. Who knew if Davian had superhearing like him…. And Miss Evyn? Who knew, probably not or she’d know about his identity… right?..

“Washington, DC.” he answered his aunts question. His voice not giving away his inner turmoil.

Some neighbours they had..

#peter parker #aunt may #marvel fanfic #berry talks #oc's #oc introduction #spiderman fanfiction

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sl-ut · 3 years ago

Text

brutal

PROLOGUE

pairing: oc!alexander x reader (siblings), various x reader (platonic)

description: y/n and her brother get stuck on the highway on their way to find refuge in atlanta.

warnings: swearing, mentions of death, bombing

words: 1.3K

date posted: 27/02/22

next part

Y/n woke with a start, instantly repulsed by her sweaty flesh as it clung to the thin sweatshirt she wore. The prior night had not been kind to her, keeping her up for half of the night while an uneasy feeling settled over her, not to mention the blistering Georgian heat and lack of air conditioning.

She peeled the light cotton blanket from her body as she clambered out of the backseat of the car, grunting as she stretched her legs out and stepped onto the cooling pavement of the highway. Her senses were overwhelmed, distant cries and yells deafened her while her skin stung from the night air brushing her inflamed skin. Y/n pressed onward, turning the corner of the old Toyota to greet the others.

“Geez, someone clearly didn’t get enough beauty rest.”

“Shut up,” she muttered in a low, raspy tone.

“And in a good mood, I see.”

Y/n shrugged slightly as she perched against the front bumper, accepting the bottle of lukewarm water being offered by the older man and took a large gulp as he watched her, waiting for the eventual explanation she would provide.

“Didn’t sleep well, is all.” She sighed, “I just… I have a bad feeling, don’t know what about, though.”

“You heard the news,” Alexander shrugged. “They’re taking refugees in the city, and the CDC’s probably more than halfway to figuring out a cure for this thing. You’re gonna be on a plane back home in no time.”

“Well, when mass populations are becoming cannibals, I think it’s warranted that I’m a little bit nervous. Especially when we’ve been backed up on this stupid highway for literally hours.”

Alexander rolled his head backwards, “Relax. As bad as things are, stressing yourself out won’t change any of it.”

The girl rolled her eyes, “Yeah, I’ll stop stressing myself out when you start to take things a bit more seriously.”

Alexander pressed his palm to his chest and gasped dramatically, “Ex-ca-use me, miss, but I’ll have you know that I am taking this very seriously. I just prefer to stay optimistic about these things.”

“Oh yeah,” she smirked, “Then would you mind grabbing me a snack from the emergency kit that any responsible adult would have packed?”

Alexander frowned at her, “Shut up. How the hell was I supposed to know that this was gonna happen?”

She poked at his ribs, a genuine smile growing on her lips for the first time since the whole ordeal had begun, brows relaxing from their furrowed stature.

“I think there’s some liquorice in the glovebox.”

“I think I’ll pass.”

The deafening fluttering of a fleet of helicopters brought their attention to the sky, rushing in the direction of the very city that the siblings, as well as everyone else stranded on the highway, were hoping to find refuge in.

Alexander eyed his sister’s sudden alertness as distant gunshots became louder and louder, watching as the crease between her eyebrows reappeared, lips curling inwards over her teeth anxiously.

“Can I have some liquorice?” A small voice called, pulling both of their attention to the young boy perched on the ledge of the tailgate of the adjacent Jeep, “Well, is it red or black? Because I only like the red stuff.”

“Carl,” The woman next to him hissed, pinching his arm lightly before turning to Alexander, “I’m sorry, he doesn’t need any.”

Alexander waved her off as he moved around to reach into the glove box, “No, it’s completely alright. I’ve been trying to get rid of it, but this one just doesn’t like it.”

He offered the bag of Twizzlers to the young boy, then to the young girl sitting next to him. She nervously reached out and plucked a single piece of red candy from the package, thanking him quietly as she began to nibble on it.

“Thank you,” The small woman beside her spoke up in a meek tone, the ghost of a smile donning her face. “I’m Carol, this is Sophia.”

“My name is Alexander,” Y/n’s brother introduced, “This is my sister, Y/n.”

The other woman introduced herself as Lori, and the boy as her son Carl. A man appeared behind her, broad shoulders widening even further as he approached. His eyes raked over Alex’s tall frame, then moving onto Y/n, causing her to shift uncomfortably. His dark gaze ran over the entire length of her body, and though he was conventionally attractive, she felt a shudder take over her entire being.

“Lori,” he tugged her aside, speaking to her quietly before stepping forward to extend her hand to the older Baldwin sibling, “How’s it going, man. Deputy Shane Walsh.”

Alexander shared a short glance with his sister, a small smirk growing on his lips at the man’s composure, shaking his hand cockily, “Alexander Y/l/n.”

“I’m gonna go up the road, see what I can see.” Shane huffed.

“I’ll come with you.” Lori turned to Carol, “Would you mind keeping an eye on Carl for a minute?”

“No,” the boy protested as he hopped off of the tailgate, taking a step towards his mother.

“Shane and I are just gonna go scout up ahead a little bit and see if we can find someone who knows what’s going on.”

“I wanna come with you.” He whined.

“Hey, we’re gonna be back before you know it, little man.”

Alexander turned to Carol, “I think I’d like to see too, watch out for her too, would you?”

“Of course.” Carol placed a hand on Y/n’s shoulder as the girl frowned, having scolded her older brother numerous times for treating her like a child in the past.

He jogged off after Shane and Lori, leaving Y/n to lean against the Cherokee awkwardly as she glanced between the two younger kids. She smiled tightly at Carl when he turned to eye her, wide eyes staring into her own, almost as if he were inspecting her.

“Your dad’s nice,” Sophia commented, glancing up at the brunette boy as they continued their card game.

“Shane’s not my dad,” Carl huffed, “My dad’s dead.”

Y/n glanced down at her tennis shoes, digging her toe into the pavement uncomfortably at his words, or more specifically, the way that he had spoken them. So cold and lifeless, like it had barely even affected him. Those very same words that she had yet to even speak in the years following her own father’s death. As she raised her stare, it was met with Carol’s look of concern. The woman appeared to be so genuinely kind, without a mean bone in her body.

"I like your bracelet,” Sophia hummed, poking at the green and brown braid that hugged the other girl’s wrist, “Did you make it?”

Y/n twisted the colourful bracelet between her fingers, “Yeah, my friend and I made them a lot when we were younger.”

“It’s pretty… Can you make me one?”

“Can I have one, too?” Carl added.

The girl snorted quietly, “Next time I have some thread, I’ll see what I can do.”

The earth shook suddenly, the sky lighting up with a warm orange glow. Terrified yells fill the air, nearly concealing the deafening booms in the distance, though the sound still managed to rumble Y/n’s eardrums. She instinctively placed a hand on Carl’s back as the young boy cowered closer to her, shaking in fear. Y/n couldn’t tell if the tremors that wracked her body came from the boy’s fear or her own.

“Y/n!” Alexander appeared at her side, lifting his hand to cradle the back of her head, Lori and Shane rounding the corner of the Cherokee to inspect their boy.

“We gotta go,” Shane announced, “Head back on the highway. I know a place where we can set up camp.”

“What about Atlanta?” Y/n hugged herself tightly, leaning back against her brother.

Shane stared deeply into her eyes, lifting his hand to wipe his mouth before his words escaped him in a low tone, face frighteningly stoic.

“Atlanta’s gone.”

MY WORK IS, UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCE, TO BE REPOSTED OR SHARED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION. I HAVE NEVER GIVEN CONSENT TO MY WORK BEING SHARED, SO IF YOU SEE ANOTHER ACCOUNT POSTING MY CONTENT PLS LET ME KNOW.

#walking dead #female reader #reader insert #x reader #imagines #glenn rhee #the walking dead #twd #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #rick grimes #glenn rhee x reader #rick grimes x reader #carl grimes x reader #angst

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free-pool-trash · 3 years ago

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x of swords - george weasley

part one of three

Summary: Growing up as Harry’s neighbor, you always believed that you were completely regular. In an attempt to feel closer to Harry (your best friend) you begin to dabble in the art of divination and, in the process, you uncover magic that you didn’t know you had. (i hate doing summaries this does not sum it up but you get the jist)

Relationships: George Weasley x Reader, platonic!Harry Potter x Reader, platonic!OC x Reader, platonic!Sirius Black x Reader, platonic!Remus Lupin x Reader, platonic!Fred Weasley x Reader, platonic!Nymphadora Tonks x Reader, platonic!Molly Weasley x Reader, platonic!Hermoine Granger x Reader, Sirius Black x Remus Lupin

Warnings: Swearing, anxiety, fluff, angst, mentions of torture, mentions of death (let me know if I missed anything!)

Word count: 22.9k

so here it is 😏 i was going to wait until i was completely finished with this to post it but i didn’t wanna rush it and oh my god it’s already so long 😫 I’m moving to Edinburgh in 2 weeks so i won’t be able to write as i have so much to pack so i hope this keeps some of you happy for a while <3 obviously i put a lot of effort into this and spent a lot of time on it so i really hope yall like it and i will personally kiss everyone who comments. likes or reblogs <3

mastelist

Life on Privet Drive was definitely something- something being incredibly boring. Nothing even remotely exciting happened on the street and the company was, to put it simply, miserable.

You’d lived in 5 Privet Drive since birth which, unfortunately for you, meant that your family are extremely close with the Dursleys who live next door. The Dursleys are a family of bigoted, pig-headed bullies. Made up of Petunia, Vernon, Dudley and, in your opinion the only tolerable one, Harry.

From the age of five, Harry had been your only friend on the street and vice versa. Initially, the both of you had bonded over your dislike of Dudley but as the years rolled on Harry and yourself had become virtually inseparable.

It was certainly strange- how close your parents were with Petunia and Vernon. Your mother and father are actually quite lovely, they are the complete opposite of the Dursleys, they’re open minded, kind and extremely friendly. But, you supposed, their friendliness didn’t discriminate from person to person, even if said person forced their orphaned nephew to sleep in the cupboard underneath the stairs.

There was no denying that Harry had been miserable with the Dursleys, who were unfortunately his only remaining family and you supposed you should’ve been happy when your best friend finally got away from them after his 11th birthday.

You’d missed him for the entire school year and you only got a chance to ask where he’d actually gone off to when he’d arrived home for the summer. (You didn’t believe the story Vernon had spun about Harry attending a boarding school for juvenile trouble makers).

“It’s incredible, (Y/n), honestly! I wish you could be there too.” He’d told you when you finally saw him again, after he’d finished his first year in his mysterious boarding school.

“That’s great, Haz, but where exactly is it?” You wondered and Harry only gave you his signature grin.

“Scotland.”

With a heavy sigh you let the subject go, he was clearly happy wherever he was going to school so it didn’t matter where or what it was. As long as he was happy.

By the time his 12th birthday rolled around you’d found the perfect gift for him. You’d made your parents buy you a polaroid camera for him to take away to school, he’d told you so many amazing stories about his school, you wanted to see some of it for yourself so you figured a camera would be the best course of action.

The morning of his birthday, Harry was woken up by the sound of pebbles tapping against his barred up window. The boy looked out to see you waving at him, an excited smile on your face and a neatly wrapped present in your other hand. Harry couldn’t stop the smile that formed on his face as you beckoned him down with your hand. It was barely dawn but you knew better than to give a present for Harry to either his aunt or uncle because they’d only give it to Dudley, so it was best to get it to him before the rest of his supposed family woke up.

Hogwarts was amazing and Harry was over the moon to have discovered he was a wizard and make so many new friends, but he had missed you- his only friend in the muggle world. Your birthday was only a few weeks after his and he hoped that maybe you’d get a hogwarts letter of your own, obviously that hadn’t happened. Nonetheless he was happy to see you in the summer, he couldn’t shake the thought that Ron and Hermione would have loved to meet you though.

Slowly and quietly, Harry snook down the stairs and out the front door to meet you.

“Happy birthday, Haz!” You whisper-shouted excitedly, pulling the green-eyed boy into your house so he wouldn’t get caught outside when he wasn’t even allowed out of his bedroom.

Harry rolled his eyes at the nickname, “I hope you know that you’re still the only person who calls me that.”

“Good,” you said happily, closing the front door behind you. “Anyway, I got you something that you can bring away to school with you!” He rose an eyebrow at you as you pushed the carefully wrapped box into his hands, “Open it,” you instructed. And so he did.

It was very possibly the most expensive gift he’d ever gotten, you (or your parents) usually got Harry presents that couldn’t be stolen by Dudley. For example, your mother had taken to buying Harry his own clothes, seeing as your best friend was a lot taller and thinner than his horrid cousin.

You, on the other hand, would usually make him gifts with sentimental value, something Dudley had absolutely zero interest in. The camera though, you knew would be safe as Harry would be leaving for school again soon enough.

Harry stared dumbfounded at the cardboard box that held the rather large polaroid camera, judging by the image on the box it was a good quality thing, probably expensive. “This is… really nice, (Y/n).”

A bright smile found your lips as you rushed into an animated explanation about why you’d picked a camera as his birthday present this year.

“So you can take lots of pictures of you and your new friends in your new fancy private school and when you come back here you can show them to me!” Harry chuckled and nodded his head, hoping he’d be able to find time to take pictures like you wanted.

“I’ll take pictures of everything. Promise.” He told you, holding out his pinky with a cheeky grin. You linked your pinky with his and nodded gratefully.

“We should christen it,” Harry announced, tearing into the box and he quickly set the camera up before he pointed it at you expectantly. “Well, come on then. I’ve told my school friends all about you, they’re going to want to see what you look like too. So, smile-“ with a disbelieving laugh, you crossed your legs underneath yourself from where you were sitting on the floor across from Harry, and tucked your hair behind your ears before you looked directly at the lense of the camera and gave it the brightest smile you could muster. The camera flashed and the picture slowly revealed itself, it seemed to be good enough to satisfy Harry’s twelve year old self.

He’d shown the polaroid to Hermione first, the bushy haired girl had smiled softly as she held the polaroid gently, “She seems lovely, Harry.”

Harry had nodded his head in agreement, you were lovely. He just hoped Dudley wasn’t terrorising you too much while he was away. His cousin always had somewhat of a crush on you, which Harry knew was ridiculous considering you all but loathed Dudley.

True to his word, Harry had taken plenty of pictures, many were of (non-magic) areas of the Hogwarts campus, many were of his friends; Ron, Hermione, Fred and George Weasley (who had an absolute field day with the muggle contraption), one or two of Hagrid and he even managed to capture a nice one of the owlery. Although you were one of his best friends, sometimes thinking about you while he was in Hogwarts brought his mood down. It reminded him of how much he wished you could’ve shared in his adventures and not to mention how much he missed you, you could hardly send him an owl, what with being a muggle and all, so he only got to spend time with you during the summer months.

Things had changed during his third year, though. When he received a rather shocking, albeit very welcome, letter.

Dear Harry,

I’d like to start by saying: hi, how are you? How’s school? Good? Great. Now that that’s out of the way… when you come home I’m going to KILL you!!! I cannot believe you didn’t tell me you are a wizard! Well, I understand why you didn’t but anyway.

You’re probably wondering how I found all of this out. Long story short, I saw Vernon’s sister floating around your sitting room and then I saw you running out swinging a wand around. I put two and two together. You would not believe how long it took me to figure out how to get in contact with you. I practically had to beg Dudley to tell me how to get this package to you, he eventually told me how in exchange for a kiss on the cheek. It was as horrifying as it sounds, the things I do for you, Haz, honestly. Don’t worry though, you can make it up to me over the summer.

I bought an owl by the way. I’m guessing she found you okay? Look after her for a little while before sending her back will you? She’s just a baby so she can’t do too much long distance travel just yet.The lady I got her from is a witch, she was very kind and knew exactly what I was looking to use an owl for. Her name is Astra (the owl’s not the lady’s)! Isn’t she lovely?

Moving on from that, I felt bad forcing you to send me pictures and getting nothing in return so I have decided to very kindly grace you with my exhilaratingly normal life. You will also find I sent you some of those sweets you like.

Tell Ron and Hermione that I said hi! Oh and Fred and George too! Get into lots of trouble for me ;) I suppose I better stop rambling now, sorry about that I’m just excited (and i might be missing you… just a tiny bit!)

Write back to me soon, if you can! Tell Astra I’m proud of her for making her first delivery! (give her plenty of treats for me yeah?)

I’ll let you get back to your wizardy stuff now, Haz.

Lots of love,

(Y/n) xoxo

P.s. your magical secret is safe with me. promise.

Harry looked up from your letter with a dazed smile, your new little owl was looking at him expectantly, no doubt awaiting her treat, “Good job, Astra. Your owner says she’s very proud of you,” he informed her, handing her a piece of bacon from his breakfast plate and laughed when she hooted happily.

Astra is a gorgeous little tawny, she has brown and white feathers that were fluffy to the touch. Harry could already tell she was well suited to you though, she was friendly as anything with the most curious eyes he’d ever seen.

“Whose it from?” Ron grunted from beside him, munching happily on his huge breakfast.

Harry let out a short laugh, digging into the envelope to pull out the photos and sweets you’d sent, “(Y/n).”

“I thought she didn’t know about you?” Hermione asked from beside Ron, Harry only shrugged.

“She figured it out. She’s quite clever, I think you’d like her Hermione. She says hi by the way.” He answered somewhat distantly, distracted by the pictures you’d sent, all of which had writing on the backs. He paused on one photo, he guessed one of your parents had taken it, you were stood in the woods, surrounded by trees with a huge smile on your face, your eyes were closed and your nose was scrunched up as a very tiny Astra seemed to be nibbling at your ear affectionately.

“I’m sure we’d get along, I admire her determination, really. And she even bought an owl?” The girl questioned, reaching over and petting Astra gently.

Harry’s smile was gentle as Astra hopped onto his shoulder, “Yeah, suppose she did.”

“Alright! I’m gonna say it!” George Weasley exclaimed, plucking the photo of you from Harry’s grasp, he held it between himself and Fred, the older twin had somehow swiped the letter you’d written. “Harry’s girlfriend back home is quite cute, don’t you think, Freddie?” Fred nodded resolutely, pushing the letter into George’s face as he pointed towards a specific line.

“I have to agree and look, Georgie, she told Harry to tell us that she says hi! Ugh, such a darling,” Fred fake swooned and Harry felt his face heat up while George made kissy faces.

“She’s not my girlfriend.” Yeah, you had opened Harry up to a whole new world of teasing yet somehow he didn’t mind.

“Oi, do you think she’d like some of our Weasley products?” George asked genuinely, wiggling his eyebrows. Harry shuddered at the thought of you getting a hold of anything that Fred and George had created, because yes, you would like some magical pranking products. You had quite a talent for mischief, only in Harry’s worst nightmares would the Weasley twins ever get their hands on you.

Harry shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, “Dunno.”

“She single?” Fred asked jokingly and Harry scrunched his face up. He supposed you were single, though, he’d never really pictured you with anyone. He felt quite protective over you, but he supposed he'd like to see you happy with someone he approved of- or alternatively; anyone but Dudley.

“Think so,” Harry told him with another shrug before a cheeky grin spread across his lips, as he focused his attention on the twins who were nudging each other in mock victory, “Why? Should I write home and tell her the esteemed Weasley twins have a crush on her?”

George was the first the speak, he nodded, completely serious and Harry found himself worrying that perhaps one of the Weasley twins would get his hands on you.

“Yes. Absolutely,” Fred snorted and said no more, allowing his younger twin to continue the girl based antics seeing as Fred’s actual crush, Angelina, had started to glare. “In fact, give her my name. Tell her to write to me next time, eh?”

Harry’s eyes widened, oh Merlin, George was serious.

“Oh sod off, would you? The poor girl is a muggle, she’d throw herself off the astronomy tower if she got stuck with either of you prats.” Ron said through a laugh, none of them could deny it was quite funny, even Hermione had to bite back a smile at the chaos your simple letter had caused.

Around two weeks had passed until Astra returned to you, two letters attached to her leg this time.

You greeted her with a warm smile as she landed on the inside of you window, “Welcome home, pretty lady! Did you have a nice trip?” You cooed, patting her feathers and giggling when she nuzzled her head against your fingers. Having a magical owl as a pet was weird, but still, you seemed to be managing her okay.

Astra hooted happily, as if informing you that she did, in fact, have a nice trip. “That’s good! Let me take these letters off and you can have a well deserved rest, I’ve made a nice nest up for you,” you rambled softly as you untied the string that was holding the letters to her leg.

Astra hooted, hopping onto your arm and allowing you to place her on the plush pile of pillows and blankets which she immediately made herself comfortable upon, once again hooting in content when you placed a handful of treats in front of her.

You assumed that both letters were from Harry until you noticed the messy handwriting that covered one of the envelopes, handwriting that definitely didn’t belong to Harry. Besides, never, even in the furthest reaches of your imagination, would your best friend ever refer to you as; “Harry’s Pretty Neighbour”. You set that one to the side for the time being and focused on the letter you knew to actually be from Harry.

Dear (Y/n),

Hi. Sorry I didn’t tell you I was a wizard. If it makes you feel better I was actually planning on telling you this summer, but thank you for saving me from that conversation. I miss you too (only a tad). I hope you’re having a good school year so far, it’s been pretty chaotic here but I promise I’ll tell you every single tiny detail when we see each other at the end of May!

Did Astra get home okay? She’s a really lovely owl, she took quite a liking to George who (terrifyingly) has taken quite a liking to you. He’s been badgering me all week for “permission” to write to you, in his words, “just to say hello.” I think you’d actually get along but he and the rest of his family are very magic oriented, I’d be surprised if he didn’t scare you away… the pair of you together would be my worst nightmare. Don’t even get me started on how I’d feel if Fred was in the mix too. I’m tired just thinking about it.

Thank you for the sweets they were lovely, I put a chocolate frog in the envelope for you, it’s a really popular sweet in the wizarding world- don’t freak out when it hops, it’s just a charm the frog isn’t really alive.

I enjoyed the pictures too, I put a few in this letter for you too, the polaroid is running out of film but it should be enough to keep me going until the end of term.

Write to me again soon, I like hearing from you.

Take care,

Harry.

P.S. I’m really sorry you had to kiss Dudley, I’ll do something to make it up to you. Promise.

P.P.S. If George OR Fred manage to write to you PLEASE don’t eat anything they give you.

With a laugh you set the letter down beside you. Curiously, you reached a hand into the ivory envelope and pulled out the peculiarly shaped chocolate box as well as the polaroids. You viewed the photos with a fond smile, Harry always looked so happy, even with whatever chaos was happening around him. Wizard school definitely made your best friend the happiest he’d ever been.

Opening the next letter, which you now guessed judging by Harry’s letter, came from George Weasley, Harry’s friend Ron’s older brother. That was all you knew about him. You let out a gasp once you opened the seal, a small show of tiny fireworks shot out, exploding in balls of reds and oranges across your bedroom before they disappeared as if they’d never been there in the first place.

Slightly frazzled, yet amazed, you cautiously plucked the letter from the envelope and began reading.

Hello, Harry’s Pretty Neighbour.

I hope you enjoyed the show, hopefully it didn’t startle you too much… I’m not exactly sure what muggles are used to… if it did scare you I’m sorry.

Anyway, just wanted to say hi. Promised Harry I wouldn’t spook you, he’s quite protective of you, you know. It’s very sweet.

I don’t blame him, though. If I had a friend as pretty as you I’d be protective too ;)

Don’t break my heart, write back?

Yours truly,

George Weasley x

And that had been the start of it. Two years had passed since you’d discovered the wizarding world and it seemed as though things had simultaneously gotten worse and better. As it turns out, your lifelong best friend was some sort of prophetic hero in the wizard community and on top of that it seemed that there was a war brewing that he would be expected to lead.

Of course, you were completely useless as you don’t possess the ability to perform magic which also means you're at risk of being hate crimed by some classist, wizard, blood supremacists? You weren’t sure. But Harry was worried.

You’d been writing back and forth to a few of Harry’s Hogwarts friends (your friends now too) for a long while now, you’d even gotten a chance to finally meet them when you’d gone with the Dursleys to collect Harry from King’s Cross Station.

You got along best with Hermione seeing as she was raised similarly to yourself and Harry. However, of all of Harry’s school mates, you liked George the most. Everyone could have predicted it really, you’d been writing to each other constantly and the second you’d clapped eyes on each other in the flesh he’d broken out in a run to crush you in a hug. Harry had groaned at the sight of the pair of you, smiling widely at each other, seeming to slot together perfectly. He had to laugh about it now though, if things went well with Ginny he supposed you’d probably end up being his sister-in-law, assuming his predictions of George falling completely in love with you were correct (they were, he knew).

All air of laughter or wizard/muggle romances was gone at the moment however. You and Harry sat alongside each other, your hand holding his loosely between the swings you were sat on, he’d be going into his 5th year at Hogwarts soon, he’d yet to recover from the last. He’d made a friend only for that friend to be killed right in front of him. He’d almost been murdered himself for God’s sake.

“If you don’t feel safe, Haz… maybe, I don’t know? Don’t go back?” You suggested weakly, knowing he’d never do such a thing. As you expected, Harry shook his head and looked at you solemnly.

“Can’t. Not now that he’s back.” With a sigh you squeezed his hand.

“They should be paying you for this, you know,” Harry chuckled then, squeezing your hand in return.

“I’m doing this for you too. To keep you safe.” He admitted and you sighed miserably.

“I wish I could be of more help.” Harry scoffed, his green eyes shining with pure disbelief as he stared at you.

“More help? (Y/n) you must be joking…” he trailed off as you shook your head, you weren’t joking, you hated that you couldn’t help Harry through this, for once you knew there was nothing you could do to improve the situation in any way that would make an impact, “Oi. Look at me,” Harry demanded, no trace of the usual awkward sarcasm to be heard when he spoke.

You let your eyes meet his again and watched how they seemed to soften when he took in how utterly defenceless you looked, “If it hadn’t been for you, the first ten years of my life would’ve been an even worse hell than they already were. You were the only good thing and you’re still the only good thing about being back in this place.”

He watched sadly as your eyes fell to the floor again, “Besides, the sooner we get this mess with Voldemort sorted out, the sooner you and George Weasley can navigate the whole muggle/wizard romance thing.”

At his statement you barked out a laugh and Harry let himself smile too, “Shut up, Potter. S’not like that.”

Harry laughed then too, “Oh it is so like that, (N/n).”

“It so isn’t.” You grumbled, but your little smile confirmed to Harry that it absolutely was like that.

“Okay. Fine, please then do tell, what is going on between you and the infamous George Weasley?” Harry challenged, revelling in the way your cheeks burned with embarrassment. He let out a low chuckle when you shrugged shyly and kicked the stones beneath your feet.

“I don’t know… We write to each other a lot, and I think he’s really interesting and funny and sweet and of course I think he’s fit. But, I don’t know,” you bit your lip as Harry listened to you, he found it quite endearing. “I just don’t see how it would work. I like him, yeah, but…” Harry scoffed again as you trailed off. He hated seeing you feeling so insecure, Harry was clueless about a lot of things, but he knew exactly how much his best friend was worth- more than all the gold in Gringott’s.

“Ok as your best mate, and as someone who is very close with the Weasley family, I’m telling you that he’s mad about you. All he ever does is ask me about you, Fred is completely sick of him. He’s even told Molly about you, which is truly a commitment believe me,” Harry started, growing more content with the more bashful you became, “And didn’t he write to you just before the Yule Ball to tell you that he was going with Katie Bell as a friend but he wanted to tell you just incase you heard it from someone else and he didn’t want you to get the wrong idea?” Finally, you were back to fighting a smile.

“Yeah he did.”

“Well there you go. But seriously he hasn’t dated or even so much as looked at anyone else since he met you. Which I’ll be honest is super annoying for me but you deserve someone who thinks you hung the stars in the sky.”

A mock gasp left your lips and you released his hand to place it over your chest in faux hurt, “You mean to tell me you don’t think I hung the stars in the sky? I’m hurt, Harry. I think I’ll have to rat you out to Mrs. Weasley.”

Harry laughed but the lighthearted atmosphere didn’t last long before Dudley had shown up with his little gang of bullies, all of whom made fun of Harry’s nightmares.

It was then things had taken a turn for the worst, the sky turned black and storm clouds completely blocked out the previously scorching sun. You looked to Harry for answers but he seemed to be seeing something that you couldn’t, all you knew was that it had become unbearably cold, a feeling of misery making a home in your bones as Harry rushed to pull you to your feet.

“Run! Come on!” He shouted, clutching your hand tightly in his and sprinting through the neighbourhood until you, Harry and Dudley found yourselves struggling to catch a breath in a graffiti covered tunnel.

A terrified yelp left your throat as what you’d been running from revealed itself to you.

Several floating, cloaked shadowy figures swooped into the tunnel on both sides, their hands decaying and boney, their presence leaving you with the feeling that you’d never know positively ever again.

Harry had effectively used his body to cage you against the wall of the tunnel, his back pressed firmly against your chest, your own back pressed to the cold concrete wall, his wand was at the ready as the creatures approached rapidly.

“Don’t look at them.” Harry instructed, protecting you first as you watched in horror as one of the creatures seemed to be ripping Dudley’s essence straight out of his body.

It only took Harry a few painfully long seconds to take care of the creature in front of the pair of you, you’d wished you’d taken his advice and buried your head in his shoulder so you wouldn’t see the monstrous creatures before you, yet, you couldn’t seem to tear your eyes away from Dudley.

The rest happened in a blur, Harry had yet to let go of your hand as it (and your entire body) shook violently. Demontors broke even the strongest of wizards, Harry knew that as a muggle who’d never seen a magical creature, other than an owl, you’d react negatively.

“If it makes you feel any better, I used to faint every time I saw a dementor.” You nodded numbly, giving Dudley a side glance of concern while he mumbled incoherently to himself.

“Is he alright?” You questioned meekly, voice shaking. You were still freezing and the all too familiar feeling of uselessness didn’t do anything to help you regain your inner warmth.

Harry nodded, “He will be.”

“The ministry will be after my head for using magic outside of school,” he told you after a few minutes, squeezing your hand lightly for the umpteenth time, “So I’m gonna have to go away for a while. Probably tonight. Eat some chocolate, it should stop the shaking.” He told you, you hadn’t even noticed you’d reached Privet Drive.

“And they won’t-“ your breath got caught in your throat and your eyes filled with fear, “The dementors. They won’t come back, will they?”

Harry shook his head, “No. But come on, we should get you inside before the ministry shows up and tries to obliviate you.” His final words came out as more of a mumble than an actual sentence as he passed a bumbling Dudley over to Petunia and Vernon before steering you down your own driveway.

“You better not have broken her too, boy!” You vaguely registered Vernon’s voice shouting in your and Harry’s direction.

Your parents were away on holiday at the moment, in Spain. They’d wanted you to come but you hadn’t wanted to miss Harry’s visit, so when you shakily managed to open the door the house was completely dark, you weren’t sure at what point night had fallen.

Harry closed the door behind himself and made his way into your kitchen, the boy rifled through your sweet press before his hand finally settled on what he was looking for. A triumphant sort of yell left his lips as he pulled a bar of chocolate out of the cupboard.

While Harry tossed the bar onto the counter and busied himself with boiling the kettle, you stood in the hallway still, completely rigid.

“Come on, (Y/n). Sit down.” He urged gently, not turning around. Wordlessly, you fully entered the kitchen and slid into a chair facing Harry.

“Don’t you have better things to be doing than making me tea?” You wondered, setting your hands on the table and fidgeting with your icy fingers. Obviously, you appreciated Harry’s fussing but with the way he was talking about the ministry earlier you were sure he had more important things to worry about.

Harry only faced you once he was finished making your tea. He carried the hot cup and the previously discarded bar of chocolate over to you, he placed them both on the table before giving you a hard look, “I’m looking after you first. I’ll deal with everything else later.”

“I used to be the one who took care of you.” You said through a sigh, taking a sip of the hot tea and slumping against your seat as you began to heat up on the inside again.

Harry let out a low chuckle, “Oh how the tables have turned.”

“I liked it better the other way.” You complained, munching on a square of chocolate.

“Trust me, so did I,” Harry groaned, standing up and placing a comforting hand on your shoulder, “Don’t worry though, (N/n). Have a sneaking feeling that you’ll be looking after me again soon enough.”

You patted the hand he had clamped on your shoulder in appreciation, “Thank you, though, for looking after me.”

“Course. I better go. I don’t want you getting roped into anything else tonight,” he said with a sad smile and you nodded in understanding, “We probably won’t see each other for a while but I’ll write. Is Astra back from Cecilia's yet?” Celillia is the witch you’d gotten Astra from in the first place, the pair of you had kept in touch and she’d recently offered to try and teach you some basic divination skills, she claimed that, “Being a wizard isn’t exactly a requirement” and you desperately needed something, anything, to make you feel more connected to your friends in the wizarding world. You supposed you’d need to plan a trip to her cottage soon, after tonight you definitely needed some of her wisdom.

“No, not yet. She flew straight there from the burrow so I suppose she’s probably resting,” you informed him distantly, still clutching his hand, “You’ll be careful, won’t you?”

Harry squeezed your shoulder and let out a deep breath, “I’ll try my best. Promise,” with that he lifted his hand from your shoulder and extended his pinky to you, you gladly linked it with your own. Harry noted, very gratefully, that the warmth had now returned to your hands and you’d stopped shaking so violently.

“Send me a letter once Astra gets back, alright? I’ll keep you updated on what’s going on over on my side.” You agreed before walking Harry to the door, hugging him tightly and watching as he approached the Dursley’s front door.

As predicted, Harry, George, Hermione and Cecillia had let you know that the wizarding world was crumbling fast. Admittedly you were worried about your wizard friends, but Cecillia had done a great job of keeping you distracted by keeping you buried under heaps of divination books, tarot cards and crystal guidebooks. As it turns out, though, you had quite the talent for making accurate detailed predictions.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were descended from a powerful seer,” she’d written to you in awe after you’d managed to predict exactly how a date of hers would go without missing a single detail.

Reading tarot cards quickly became one of your favourite hobbies to indulge in when you weren’t in school. You’d made the mistake of telling George about it in a recent letter, Harry already knew and he also knew that there was no point telling you that he didn’t have a heap of faith in divination. George however was having a field day with the new information.

The older boy teased you at every chance he got, but it was all in good fun as in every letter he sent, you’d find a page that he’d ripped out of his own divination book, the pages would be crinkled and have messy notes scribbled along the margins, with explanations over words that he knew you wouldn’t understand as a muggle. They were actually really helpful. Aside from all the teasing he found it quite endearing that you were trying to get familiar with some form of magic. Even if it was a form of magic wizards tended to ridicule.

He’d been quite worried about you, Harry told him about the dementors and how you’d been quite shaken up after your encounter with them. He’d written to you on a weekly basis, constantly checking in on you, making absolutely sure that no more dementors paid you a visit. He and Harry both kept you up to date with the constant and seemingly never ending rules being imposed upon them by their new headmaster, or headmistress; Delores Umbridge. George also disclosed to you all about his and Fred’s plan to leave Hogwarts and pursue their lifelong dream of opening a joke shop. You had nothing but faith in the twins, really. Your complete faith in them hadn’t stopped you from sending George a handful of crystals that you believed would help his and his shop’s success. He’d teased you relentlessly in each letter since he’d received your package containing citrine, tiger’s eye, amazonite, aventurine and smokey quartz. What he hadn’t mentioned since receiving your little gifts, is that he’d been carrying the five crystals around in their little orange mesh drawstring bag in his pocket everywhere he went. He had to give credit where credit is due and, to be fair to you and your holistic ways, he hadn’t run into any serious obstacles since he started carrying the gems around.

November through June had brought forth a plethora of unfortunate events. You were practically swimming in school work which left you with no time to write to Harry, or even practice tarot. As well as that, you’d been having nightmares, although Cecillia had warned that these dreams could hold some sort of prophesies within them, you highly doubted that though, you weren’t a wizard, only a muggle. Whether prophetic or not, the nightmares plagued you, keeping you up at night or waking you at all hours of the morning.

On one particular morning, you’d awoken with a gasp. Sweat coated your face, soaked your pillow cases and caused your legs to stick to your blankets in a way not even the June heat could've caused. Your heart pounded against your ribcage, tears welled in your eyes, and your body shook as violently as it had the night you’d come face to face with the dementors of Azkaban. The unadulterated fear coursing through your bloodstream suggested that perhaps this bad dream had been something more than simply that.

As fast as you could manage in your panicked state, you dragged your body out of bed and stumbled towards your light switch, flicking it on before haphazardly ripping a sheet out of the refill pad on your desk, grabbing a pen and beginning to scribble down the dream that you could only describe as a warning.

Your laboured breaths stirred Astra from her slumber, the tawny hooted tiredly, hopping out of her cage and fluttering over to your shoulder, settling there as you wrote.

Harry,

I hope this letter reaches you in time. I might sound completely mad but something terrible may be about to happen. I’ve been having these horrific dreams over the last few months, I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry but Cecillia suspects they’re premonitions and I’m terrified she may be right. I’ve just woken up, it’s around 2am and if I’m lucky, Astra should get this letter to you before 6am…

Onto the dream, you were there and you were asleep, I was standing by your bed, it was a four-poster sort of thing, the room was decorated in mostly red and gold. You woke up panicked, you looked completely overwhelmed and you began shouting about your Godfather Sirius, about how he was in trouble… From then on I watched the day play out. You, Hermoine, Ron, Ginny, a boy with brown hair I’ve never met, I think you called him Neville in my dream, and a blonde girl- Luna I think you called her, you all went to the ministry to rescue Sirius and find some kind of prophecy. Harry you have to listen to me, you mustn’t go, it’s a trick, Voldemort planted it in your head and if you go you’ll only put Sirius in harm’s way. But, knowing you, you’re gonna go anyway… so here’s my advice: keep your eyes open for the witch Bellatrix. Keep Sirius away from the veil and please please please, be careful.

I’m heading to Cecillia’s cottage for the day and maybe even the next couple of days, send Astra there when you find time to write back.

I hope I’m wrong but if I’m not; good luck, Harry. I love you and if you don’t look after yourself the dark lord will be the least of your worries.

Lots of love,

Y/n.

Folding up the letter and placing it in a stray envelope, you addressed it and gently tied it to your loyal owl’s leg. “I’m gonna need you to go as fast as you can to get this to Harry, okay Astra?” She hooted with what you guessed to be determination before she set off, out into the night. Thankfully for you, now that your owl was occupied, you knew Cecillia owned a telephone so you’d have no problems contacting her. While writing to Harry, you’d left out a few details about the dream. You conveniently forget to mention that you’d watched his only remaining family member killed at the hand’s of Bellatrix, it had looked so terrifyingly real that your mind couldn’t have possibly conjured it up all by itself. You also failed to mention hearing Harry’s agonising scream as Sirius fell, the noise was nearly deafening. Seeing Sirius, a man you’d only seen in pictures, die and watching your best friend mourn for him was, well, traumatising. There was no way you’d get a wink of sleep for the remainder of the night, so, you quietly tiptoed downstairs and made a call.

The line rang three times before Cecillia’s voice sounded, chirpy as ever despite the late hour, “Hello?”

“Sorry to call so late,” was all you managed, your voice although shaky was immediately identified by the much older witch.

You could nearly see the soft smile on her youthful face as she spoke, “Ah, Y/n my darling, no worries at all! How is my favourite student doing at half two in the morning?”

“Not well, I’ve had another vision. I think you might’ve been right about the dreams being prophetic,” you told her, willing your voice not to crack as the image of your bad dreams crept into your mind once again.

Cecillia let out a gentle hum, “Shall I apparate over? You don’t sound in the highest of spirits, darling.”

“Yes please,” you answered simply and within seconds Cecillia was standing before you, a worried furrow in her brow and her ashy brown hair disheveled from apparating to you in such a hurry. How could she not? You were, after all, her protégé.

“Oh, darling. You look terribly shaken up, come, come, let’s get you some water,” she fretted, guiding you to your kitchen, magically flicking on the light with her wand and filling up a glass of water, with a few flicks of her wrist the glass had floated over to your usual seat at the table, meanwhile Cecillia had stirred you into the wooden chair adjacent the glass.

Wordlessly, the witch peeled your damp hair away from your face and secured it back with a crocodile clip shaped like a huge golden bumble bee, it’s wings adorned with glittering gems. The bee sat comfortably in your hair as Cecillia finally sat down beside you, she made herself comfortable on the kitchen chair, crossing one leg over the other, resting her elbow on the table and using it to prop her cheek up. Her wide green eyes stared at you sympathetically, watching intently as you sipped your water.

“I’m assuming your loyal familiar is sleeping soundly?” She wondered, referring to Astra. You shook your head, simultaneously swallowing a gulp of water before responding verbally.

“I sent her with a letter to Harry, it was more of a warning really,” Cecillia nodded her head, signalling you to go on, “I dreamt of Harry and his friends going to the Ministry of Magic to rescue Sirius Black, but it was a trap. When they got there they were ambushed by dark wizards and Sirius well he…” you trailed off, eyes growing distant and unfocused when the sight of the man being murdered reentered your mind’s eye. A gentle hand on your shoulder pulled you back to the present.

“This one was far worse than the others then?”

You nodded, “It didn’t feel like a dream, cecillia. It was like I was actually standing there but I couldn’t do anything to help though… as per usual,” you muttered bitterly, receiving a harsh squeeze to your shoulder in response.

Cecillia fixed you with a maternal glare, “None of that! You potentially saved a life tonight. And, as I effortlessly predicted since the moment I met you, you’ve got the magical gift of sight,” her hard look melted into something more forgiving as she spoke, “You’re much more than just a muggle. You may have been an extremely late bloomer, but, you’re a witch and a seer at that. A peculiar case indeed, although in the wizarding world stranger things have happened,” the old witch told you proudly, eyes shining with glee as your own filled with confusion.

“How do we know the dream will even come true?” You questioned.

Cecillia simply shrugged and offered you a cheeky grin, “I trust your feelings, darling.”

True to your initial feeling, you hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep, you knew you wouldn’t be able to rest until you found out whether or not your dream had come to fruition. Cecillia remained by your side throughout the night, eventually the sun had risen and your parents descended down the stairs, neither of them were surprised to see Cecillia sitting at the kitchen table. They saw her as an odd woman, very kind and perfectly lovely, but odd. You’d told them that she owned an animal sanctuary and that you’d been volunteering with her, it wasn’t too far fetched really, she had given you an owl after all, not to mention the amount of cats that hung around her cottage.

She explained to your parents that she needed your help at ‘the sanctuary’ for the next few days and that she’d drop you home once the work was finished. It hadn’t been a problem, so you traveled to Cecillia’s cottage after getting dressed and packing an overnight bag (full to the brim with tarot decks and only some clothes).

It was nearly 8 in the evening when Cecillia sauntered into her living room, where you were sitting, sporting a knowing grin, she held a piece of parchment in one hand and an unopened envelope in the other.

Jovially, she plopped herself down beside you, obviously doing her very best to contain a huge grin from forming on her face. Wordlessly, she placed the envelope on your lap with a mere, “For you.”

On the envelope you could tell by the handwriting that it had come from Harry. This was definitely a make or break moment for you. The contents of this letter would either confirm that you did in fact have magic, or, they would be responsible for causing you to experience a seismic amount of embarrassment. Swallowing the lump in your throat you tore the envelope open, freeing the letter and daring to read what was inside.

Dear Y/n,

Your dream was right. And that advice you gave about keeping an eye on Sirius? It saved his life. I suppose I’m mostly writing to say thank you. I’ve got some updates for you too: firstly, it’s finally been confirmed that Voldemort is back so my name is cleared. Secondly, it turns out that Remus and Cecillia are old friends, she contacted him earlier today about your vision and he and Sirius haven’t shut up about how impressive it is. I have a feeling you might be hearing from them soon, The Order now more than ever is in need of a secret weapon and genuine seers are hard to come by. I hate to involve you in this, it’ll probably be dangerous and you know I don’t want to see you hurt, or worse. But having said that, I’m glad we’re in this together now.

Astra got here in good time, by the way, she landed on my window just after I woke up from my vision of Sirius, it was actually quite freaky. I’m taking good care of her so don’t worry, she should be back to you at some point tomorrow.

Hermoine and Ron say hi too. I’m sure you’ll be hearing from George soon, seeing as he and Fred are in the Order… On that note I better get going.

Thank you again for the warning.

See you soon,

Love, Harry.

A bemused smile spread across your lips as you scanned the page, thankful to have finally made a significant difference in Harry’s life. Cecillia was grinning like a cheshire cat beside you, pride shimmering in her emerald eyes. She bumped her arm against yours playfully when you let the letter fall to your lap, “An old friend of mine will be stopping by in a short while. It seems he’d like to get you trained up in some defence against the dark arts.” She told you, still grinning.

“Defence against the dark arts?” You wondered out loud, you were sure you’d heard Harry mention those words to you before, however, the memories were fuzzy.

“Magic to keep you safe from darker magic, the likes of which the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters rely,” she explained darkly. Just then, a loud bang erupted from her open stone fireplace, a bubble of green dissipated as two men stepped less than gracefully onto Cecillia’s faux-fur rug. You recognised them both from your vision. They were Sirius Black and, if you were to take an educated guess, Remus Lupin.

Cecillia wasted no time before she was giddily jumping from her seat to greet the pair who had just appeared in her sitting room.

“Remus! Oh, how wonderful to see you!” She all but squealed, pulling the tall man into a hug and ruffling his already messy hair.

He reciprocated the hug with a gentle chuckle, “It’s nice to see you again, Cece. It’s been far too long,” he pulled away and the pair of them shared a fond smile before simultaneously looking to Sirius. “I trust you remember Sirius?” Lupin asked, almost rhetorically.

Sirius let out a booming laugh at that, “She could never forget me, now could you, Cece?” Cecillia rolled her eyes, and with a look of endearment nearly tackled Sirius into an embrace.

Seeing the woman who was essentially your magical mentor so overjoyed was lovely, Cecillia was jolly at the best of times but you’d never seen her quite like this. Her happiness added to your sense of helpfulness, Sirius Black was obviously important to more than just Harry, if the smile on the free-spirited witches face was anything to go by. Although you were ecstatic for the three witches and wizards before you, you couldn’t help but feel like you were imposing on an intimate reunion.

Awkwardly you cleared your throat, successfully bringing the trio’s attention onto you as you stood by the sofa, smiling unsurely. If it was even possible, all three of their smiles broadened when their gazes landed on you.

“Am I right in assuming that this is my guardian angel?” Sirius asked, separating from Cecillia.

Cecillia nodded, filled with pride, “And isn’t she just the loveliest guardian angel you’ve ever seen?” She gushed, half seriously.

You offered Sirius a bashful smile, along with a nod of greeting, “I’m glad to see you’re alright,” you told him.

His grin stayed fixed in place but he raised a single eyebrow in confusion, “Glad? And yet you’ve never met me before now…” his tone was laced with inquisition, as if he wanted to figure out what ulterior motive you could possibly have for caring about a stranger you’d only ever seen in a dream.

It didn’t take a seer or a psychic to see what Sirius was after, so you simply answered him truthfully, “No, we’ve never met, but you’re still a person, I watched that woman kill you, it was horrible, nobody deserves that. As well as that; I know how much you mean to Harry and what sort of best friend would I be if I didn’t try to help him keep his last family member safe?” Sirius nodded approvingly at your reply, looking between Remus and Cecillia.

“She remind you of anyone?” The black haired man asked in a low chuckle, Remus snickered and Cecillia bit back a grin.

The witch made her way back to your side and wrapped an arm around your shoulder, jostling you ever so slightly when she noticed your vaguely worried expression, “Don’t worry, darling, you just remind us of one of our most treasured school friends, I promise I will tell you all about it later. But for now, I believe Sirius was about to thank you for saving his life?” She prompted, waiting expectantly.

Sirius cleared his throat and straightened his posture before outstretching his arm, offering you his hand which you took firmly in your own. His voice was steady, strong and genuine when he spoke, “I am truly thankful for what you did for not only me but Harry today. I’m extremely proud of my godson for aligning himself with such a strong, powerful and wonderfully loyal young lady.”

“How sweet,” Cecillia cooed, before guiding you to the kitchen, “Come now, boys, kettles on- we have a lot to discuss!” She called over her shoulder.

There certainly had been a lot to discuss. The Order of the Phoenix thought having a seer at their disposal would be extremely beneficial in the upcoming war, the issue was; you are not yet of age and some members of the group didn’t wish to involve a child in their battle. Sirius, Remus and Cecillia made it abundantly clear that if you desired to join the Order, you were more than welcome but you would be welcomed under certain conditions. Those conditions being that your membership be kept under wraps and not disclosed to any muggles, meaning your parents.

“To keep them safe and to give you an escape route if things get too messy, even with the level of magic you’ll have gained by the time the war is in full swing, as a muggle born you’ll most likely need to flee quickly,” Remus explained, though it didn’t make much sense.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to run if my parents knew what we were running from? They’re open minded people, I’m sure they’d understand,” you attempted to reason, the trio but exchanged yet another loaded look with each other.

Cecillia placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, “We have a contingency plan in place, darling. Nothing you need to worry about for right now,” she reassured, easing your nerves a tad. “You trust me don’t you?” She followed up, her tone slightly stonier, more serious. You nodded your head certainly in response, there was no doubt about it; you trusted the witch with your life. “Then,” she began again, a somewhat chastising look on her face, “Trust that I will not allow a single hair on your head to be harmed.” This rule also extended to wizards not in the Order, which meant that when in the magical world, you were to air on the side of extreme caution.

Relating to that, another condition was that, at all times in the magical world, you were to be accompanied by an of age member of the Order. According to Sirius, who your were growing to like more by the second, he was going to arrange for a member of the Order to bring you to Diagon Alley in the morning to get you a wand. The prospect of having a wand of your own was terribly exciting, once again though, you found yourself wondering if you had it in you to properly wield one, or wield one at all for that matter. You were too exhausted to fret for too long, so the thoughts about magic levels and your own capabilities were only fleeting. Once all of the serious chat dissipated into friendly chatter, you managed to slip away from the table at which you were all sat. Making your way back to the sitting room, you tucked yourself into the corner seat of Cecillia’s old and very comfortable sofa, pulled your knees against your chest, wrapped your arms around them and rested your cheek against your knee. Slowly and deeply, you began to breathe in and out, fiddling with the amazonite bracelet that adorned your wrist in order to quell your ever growing anxiety. For a few sweet minutes you indulged in the calm silence, meditating peacefully in your comfy seat until a soft knock sounded from the doorway. When your eyes fluttered open they were met with the image of Sirius Black, leaning casually against the frame of the door, a hand plunged deep into his trouser pocket and another flipping a stray tarot card between his fingers. His eyes were focused on yours as he spoke, “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

You shook your head and patted the seat beside you, “‘Course not, come sit.”

The man chuckled but obliged, settling in the spot beside you and offering you the card he’d previously been fiddling with.

“The ten of swords,” you identified easily, “I assume you’ve been feeling quite overwhelmed if this card found its way to you.”

Sirius hummed, “CeCe tells me that you’ve a penchant for card reading. I was rubbish at divination back at Hogwarts, only took it because I thought it’d be easy but I could never get my head around it,” he reminisced, an airy laugh slipping from his lips.

“If you don’t mind me asking, who were you all talking about earlier when you asked if I reminded Cecilia and Remus of anyone?” He let out a deep sigh before fixing you with a soft smile.

“An old school friend of ours, she was more than a friend to me, but that’s a story for another time,” he started, staring out into the empty space before him a melancholy grin on his lips, “She was fiercely loyal to her friends, if she wanted to help there was absolutely nothing that would stop her from doing so. I know I don’t know you very well, but from what I heard today and the way in which you’ve been described to me by Harry; I can see her in you,” he finished, bumping his shoulder with yours and forcing a happy smile onto your lips which mirrored Sirius’.

“What’s her name?” You asked.

“Her name was Marlene,” Sirius answered.

Your heart dropped with his use of past tense, “Was?”

Sirius bowed his head slightly and began to twist the rings that adorned his slender fingers, “She was killed during the first war,” he told you, making eye contact once again, a grave expression on his face as he continued, “I saw your apprehension earlier when we brought up the topic of secrecy, but you must understand that during the first war we lost so many who were dear to us, keeping you in our back pocket will ensure that you aren’t harmed in the face of this war, if any dark wizards hear so much of a whisper of a muggleborn seer they will stop at nothing to eliminate you,” he paused for a brief second, never breaking eye contact, the gravity of the situation heavy on your chest your fingers absentmindedly found your amazonite bracelet once again. Your movements were halted when Sirius placed his large hand over yours, squeezing it warmly while staring at you determinedly, “You saved my life today, Y/n. So believe me when I tell you that I will stop at nothing to keep you safe,” he promised and you squeezed his hand in return.

“I know,” he smiled as he watched your eyes return to the ten of swords and your grin broadened with the sort of mischief he’d only ever seen in four people; James Potter, Marlene McKinnon and Fred and George Weasley. “I have a prediction for you.”

Sirius entertained you fondly, a mischievous air that reminded him of when he was your age surrounding the pair of you, “By all means, do tell.”

“I predict,” you paused for emphasis, “that we are going to be very good friends.”

Sirius let out a booming laugh of which the volume he couldn’t control, “That is a prediction I truly hope will come to fruition.”

“Oh no, this is a duo that spells trouble,” Cecillia giggled to Remus as they entered the sitting room.

Remus looked between you and Sirius with a grin, “With a mentor like you, Cece, I’m not surprised Y/n has a taste for mischief,” the ruffled wizard teased, receiving a gentle elbow to the ribs from your mentor.

“Oi, if you’re going to blame my beloved girl’s mischief on anyone you better blame it on a certain Weasley twin,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows and causing the boys to smile giddily like teenagers.

Sirius bumped your shoulder again, this time with a faux-scandalised smile, “A Weasley twin, eh? Come on then, which one?” You blushed heavily and cleared your throat in an attempt to alleviate the embarrassment filling your being.

“He’s just a friend!”

“Mhm. A friend that sends her annotated pages from his divination text book,” Cecillia sang and Sirius snickered.

“Whichever one it is must be quite taken with you if you made him actually crack open a textbook.”

“Annotations are quite intimate,” Remus half teased although you could see he believed what he’d just said, “I bet it’s George,” he directed the bet at Sirius who carefully observed the way you bit your lip and bashfully looked towards the wooden floor.

“I think you’re right, moony. Now!” He stood suddenly and pointed a finger at Remus expectantly, “We best get going and arrange Y/n’s accomplice for tomorrow’s field trip,” he wiggled his eyebrows before turning his head to face you again, he shot you a wink and you couldn’t stop the airy laugh that left your mouth at his lighthearted antics.

Remus gave Cecillia a one armed hug, “we’ll be seeing you both tomorrow then, it was lovely to meet you, Y/n, perhaps next time Sirius will allow me to get a word in,” he chuckled and Sirius responded by throwing his arm around your shoulder.

“I better get off, this husband of mine is growing jealous,” he told you in a teasingly hushed whisper.

Your eyes widened and you looked between the two men, “You two are married?”

A love struck smile took over both of their faces which immediately gave you your answer. “We’re engaged,” Sirius clarified before pulling you into a proper hug, “Get a good night's sleep, we’ll be sending an order member to collect you early tomorrow morning so you can be in and out of Olivander’s before a crowd can build,” he told you while giving you an affectionate squeeze, you could’ve laughed when you realised that it felt like you’d known Sirius forever but you also could’ve cried when you relived the image of him losing his life and realised that just because it was over and prevented didn't mean it hadn’t still transpired in your mind’s eye, you didn’t let that show on your face though.

“I’ll make sure I’m well rested,” you promised.

With that, Sirius bid Cecillia goodbye, and he and Remus left the way they’d came.

The rest of the night had been spent with Cecillia telling you story after story about her school days and the trouble she’d caused with Sirius, Remus, James and Lily Potter, Harry’s parents, and another boy who she only referred to as “the rat”. Though the tone of the stories were completely lighthearted, they weighed on your chest with a sense of such tragedy. A huge majority of their friends were killed young because of the war, a war that was now waging once again. It led you to wonder who’d be lost to this one, if perhaps you’d be on the list of names that Harry or Cecillia or George would speak about fondly with a dense undertone of sorrow in the years after the second war had long since been won. It was a risk you were willing to take though, the notion of fighting for a deserving cause filled you with a sense of purpose, a purpose you’d been searching for for years. More than that, you felt important. You were needed. An asset. You would actually be of some help.

True to your word, you’d been getting a good night’s rest. The bed in Cecillia’s spare room was the comfiest thing you’d ever come across, though, as you began to stir from your deep slumber you couldn’t recall the empty side of the double bed being quite so dipped.

Slowly and begrudgingly, you cracked your eyes open to see Cecillia smiling tiredly at you in the light of dawn, “Morning, darling. Sorry about the early start, I’ve made you some tea,” she greeted quietly so as to not disturb the peace of the early morning. She held two ceramic mugs, one in each hand and passed you the steaming cup that was hand painted green, keeping the brown one for herself. Tiredly, you patted the spot beside you and pulled the quilt to the side, inviting the witch into the warm bed. She happily slid in, pulling the quilt over her and chuckling quietly when you dropped your head onto her robed shoulder and began to sip the tea she’d made. Cecillia rested her head against yours and sipped on her own tea.

“Are you excited for today?” She asked and you hummed.

“I’m having mixed emotions,” you stated, “I’m excited to see everything, but I’m sort of nervous that I won’t have enough magic to even get a wand,” Comfort spread through your chest when Cecillia pressed her lips to the crown of your head.

“The wonderful thing about wands, lovely, is that the wand picks the wizard,” she began, “so whatever wand you end up with will accentuate the level of magic inside you. Its power will grow as yours does and you’ll soon come to realise that you couldn’t imagine wielding anything else,” her voice was wistful and her eyes shined with wonder as she recalled how it felt to bond to a wand.

“What do you think mine will be like?” You wondered, excitement awakening in you thanks to Cecillia’s encouraging words.

The witch took an exaggerated slurp of her tea before answering, “Something curious,” was all she said.

“Insightful,” you murmured and she shrugged unapologetically, her chaotic energy exuding now that she’d started to wake up fully. “What time is it anyway?”

“Half six, your chaperone should be arriving at seven and Olivander’s opens at eight,” she told you before shimmying out of bed, you whined in the absence of your head rest. “You better get dressed. Wear something nice, rumour has it that your tag along is quite the eligible bachelor,” she wiggled her eyebrows and all but floated out of the spare room. It was practically your room by now though, over the years since you’d gotten Astra and met Cecillia you’d stayed in the room on countless occasions. Cecillia embodied something that was something between a second mother, a spiritual mentor, a teasing older sister and a slightly kooky aunt.

“Oh? So do you reckon I should brush my hair then?” You jokingly called out after her only to receive a harsh scoff.

“Absolutely not! Don’t be desperate!” You barked out a laugh at her response, shaking your head and getting ready for the day ahead.

You were just about finished getting ready when a familiar bang sounded from the sitting room. Taking a deep breath, you gave yourself one last look over in the mirror, happy with the outfit you’d chosen, you made your way towards the sitting room to come face to face with your surprise chaperone for the day.

When you shuffled into the sitting room, a smile immediately stretched across your lips upon seeing who had been appointed to stick by your side for the day, “George!” His name left your mouth in a squeal that would’ve been embarrassing had you not been so excited to see him. It’d been upwards of a year since the last time you’d seen George in the flesh and although you’d seen each other in photos and written to each other at a rate that was almost excessive, the prospect of spending time together in person was, for lack of a better word; magical.

George drew his attention away from the framed pictures that lined Cecillia’s fireplace to see you standing in the doorway, looking as bright as the newly risen sun and sporting a smile that he couldn’t quite put into words how it made him feel. It only took a second before his own cheek splitting smile grew on his face, and with it left his hopes of impressing you with his cool and collected attitude. You hadn’t given him too much time to dwell on his ruined cool guy facade as you all but threw yourself into his arms. The red head let out an endearing laugh, catching you in his toned arms, wrapping them tightly around your torso. A scarlet blush rising on his ears when he felt your smile against his neck. “Hello to you too,” he chuckled against your ear and you pulled back enough to look at him, your arms still secure around his shoulders.

“Sorry,” you started, the smile that still adorned your lips telling him that you weren’t all that sorry at all, “Hi,” you greeted, bashfully pulling your arms away from him.

The sitting room was quiet for a moment as the pair of you only stared at each other, would it be too much to tell him that you’ve missed him? You didn’t want to come on too strong after such a long time apart, you’d already tackled him into a hug within the first five seconds, but with that came your next internal question of; did you really want to keep this boy on his toes?

George, having already discarded his notion of acting nonchalant with you, bet you to the punch. He rubbed the back of his neck and flicked his gaze to the floor before bringing it back to you, “I’ve missed you.”

A giggle left your lips before you could think about choking it down, you nodded your head, bouncing slightly on the balls of your feet, “Yeah, I’ve missed you too. Sorry I haven’t written, Astra is still with Harry.”

George gave you a grin, “No worries, darling. Heard you’ve been a very busy little psychic lately.”

Darling, you mused internally, the nickname echoing through your head and causing your heart to somersault in a way you’d never really felt before.

“Oh how sweet,” Cecillia sang from the doorway, a wicked grin on her face as she took in the two hopeless blushing messes, staring doe-eyed at each other in the middle of her living room. “I hate to break up the reunion, my dears, but the pair of you really should get going,” she instructed, strutting up to you and holding a cloth pouch in your direction, “Sirius left you some spending money, it’s different than the money you usually use but I’m sure George will have no problem helping you out,” Cecillia shot the boy a wink and he nodded, once again growing bashful.

“Now,” she grew serious, directing her words at George and making him slightly intimidated with her strong eye contact, “You are to be extremely careful. You are not to mention that Y/n is a seer and you are not to draw any attention to the fact that she is a muggleborn, if Mr. Olivander asks, she’s a half-blood who's been living in the states and that’s why she doesn’t have a wand,” you wore a confused expression, George nodded in complete understanding, “Did Sirius give you the list?”

George nodded once again, pulling a folded piece of parchment out of the back pocket of his slightly baggy denim jeans, “May I take a look?” Cecillia asked, already snatching the parchment from George’s long fingers and unfolding the sheet and reading it aloud, “Alright! A wand… seriously? He used a whole page of parchment just to write one thing?” She grumbled, stomping over to the nearest side table, leaning down and began to scribble on the parchment. You looked to George as she wrote, “Why do you have to say I’m from the States?” You asked quietly and George leaned down slightly to be closer to your ear.

“Witches and wizards in America don’t get wands until they’re of age, we get them here when we’re eleven,” just as he was finished offering his explanation, Cecillia walked back over, a hard look on her face that you weren’t used to seeing, though it seemed that the look was reserved for George.

Silently she handed him the parchment before looking to you, hard look dissolving back into her usual playful expression, “Have fun, lovely.” She then turned to George again, apparently having had enough of trying to intimidate the poor boy, she shot him a smile, “You’ll be taking the floo to Diagon Alley, my fireplace is big enough to take the both of you at once,” she handed George a pouch of what looked like green powder, “George knows what to do, now, not to sound like a broken record but do stay safe and have fun,” she finished, ushering the pair of you into her fireplace. You couldn’t lie, it was quite strange, you supposed you should get used to things coming across as strange, you were about to be exposed to the magical wizarding world for the first time after all. In the fireplace, you stood shoulder to shoulder with George, noticing the nervous look on your face, he slid his hand into yours gently. When you looked at him, he kept his face focused on his feet, “Ready, Y/n?” Taking a deep breath you nodded shakily.

“Ready, George.”

At your words, George slammed the green powder onto the ground and shouted, “Diagon Alley!”

You were sure you were going to be sick. Whatever the powder was, it had you spinning at a pace you didn’t know was possible, you had screwed your eyes shut and you were almost certain that you could feel yourself physically moving. It was only when George tugged on your hand that you opened your eyes to see that your surroundings had actually changed. “It’s horrible the first time, but you get used to it,” George said, pulling you by your still intertwined hands onto the cobbled street. The dizziness died down after only a few seconds out in the fresh air, the added sensation of George’s thumb rubbing soothing circles against your hand seemed to do the trick in settling you completely as you took in the street ahead of you. It was dazzling, really. A long cobbled street, lined with shops that looked like they were plucked straight out of a fairytale. As planned, the streets were fairly empty in the early morning as George led you down the path towards the shop where you’d hopefully get your wand. The name “Olivanders” was written above both windows of the dark shop, the words “makers of fine wands since 382 B.C.” were to be seen just above the door. Excitement had completely overridden your nerves and you practically skipped towards the door, George followed casually behind you, his hands tucked into his pockets and a fond smile on his lips.

“I suppose you’re excited then?” He asked teasingly and you didn’t bother trying to hide your obvious childlike wonder as you waited for him to catch up with you.

“It probably seems silly to you, but this morning Cecillia told me all about when she got her wand and it sounded so wonderful,” you told him, smiling when he bumped his shoulder against yours.

“I don’t think it’s silly, I still get giddy thinking about the time Fred and I got wands of our own,” he pushed the door open and motioned for you to step inside, slowly you walked into the empty shop. It was dark and somewhat dingy but there was something very mystically inclining about it, you could feel the energy and it was utterly exhilarating.

“Wow,” you breathed out, spinning where you stood, gazing at the boxes upon boxes that lined the shelves.

Only a minute passed before an old man stumbled to the front of the shop, smiling at the pair of you from behind the counter, “Ah, Mr. Weasley, it’s good to see you, it’s been some time. What can I do for you this morning? I see you’ve brought a friend,” the older wizard greeted and you smiled in response.

“I’m looking for a wand. I’ve been living in the states for the past few years but I just moved home,” you lied easily, George couldn’t help but smirk, what he’d give to have had you around for some of his and Fred’s pranks at Hogwarts.

The old man nodded in understanding, his eyes scanned you, his eyes were scrutinising and you fought the urge to squirm under his gaze, “Interesting. One moment please,” he said, murmuring to himself as he searched the isles for what he was looking for. A small “aha” sounded from within the isles, he was back in front of you within seconds, an open rectangular box in his hand. It was absolutely gorgeous, it resembled a raw tree branch, wood spiralling up its expanse until it stopped at the top, cutting off in a jagged, dull edge. He must’ve noticed how your jaw dropped, how could he not? He hadn’t been able to take his eyes off you since you’d wandered into his shop. He was an old wizard, but he wasn’t naive, he was well aware you weren’t returning from America, he could sense an energy in you that he hadn’t come in contact with in a long time. “Curious, isn’t it?” He prompted you, causing you to let out an airy laugh. Cecillia was going to tease you big time when you got back to her cabin.

“It’s lovely, what is it?” He offered you the box expectantly and you hesitantly picked up the wand with as much care as you possibly could. It was cool against your skin and was heavier than you’d imagined it would be.

“Thirteen inch, oak; cut from the base of a tree, which at the time, was almost six hundred years old,” he explained, watching happily as you ran your fingers along the wands several ridges,”With a phoenix feather core, quite a rare piece indeed. Unfortunately, this particular wand has been extremely difficult to match to a witch. But something tells me that you might be just the witch for the job,” he held your gaze and you once again got the feeling that he knew something he shouldn’t, “Go on, then. Give it a wave,” he prompted and you looked to George for further encouragement. George laughed at your lost expression, pulling his own wand out and pointing it towards the now empty box on the counter, “Like this, love,” he demonstrated, moving his wrist in a semi-circle motion, making the box levitate off the counter.

Another pet name. You ignored the butterflies in your stomach in favour of clearing your throat, squaring your shoulders and pointing your wand at the same box George had just made float, which was now settled back against the counter. Imitating the boy beside you, you moved your wrist in a swift semi-circle. Suddenly, a golden light poured from the tip of the wand and warm air surrounded you, gently blowing your hair back and forcing a laugh of disbelief to leave your lips. George stood wide eyed beside you, his lips parted slightly. He was amazed really, he went through five wands before he found the one that fit him, yet you’d found yours on the first try, and he had to admit; you looked glorious doing it.

After paying for your wand, you exited the shop, looking around George’s side at the list he was holding. From what you could make out, Cecillia had added a number of items to the originally very short list; 1) a wand, 2) a pendulum (crystal of the ladies choice), 3) crystals: labradorite, lapis lazuli & azurite, 4) mugwort, 5) new tarot deck (again, whatever she wants Sirius can afford it ;)).

“Suppose our next stop is the divination shop,” George said, mostly to himself but gave you a mischievous smile, “If we hurry up and get our shopping done fast we could probably get a butterbeer in before we rejoin the rest of the Order,” he sang, grazing his hand against yours as you walked side by side.

“Beer? You seriously want to drink beer at half eight in the morning?” You asked him, your eyebrow raised and he replied with an exaggerated roll of his eyes and draped his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close against his side and once again leaning his head down so his lips were level with your eye.

“No, you git,” he began with a laugh, “It’s not really beer, it’s pretty sweet; most wizards love it.”

You hummed in acknowledgment, “Sounds nice,” you told him absently, preoccupied with all the intriguing shops that surrounded you. George’s arm remained wrapped around your shoulder as you strolled further into Diagon Alley, seemingly uninterested in his offer for a butterbeer. The pair of you got what you needed from the shop and, since it hadn’t taken long, you decided to take George up on his drinks offer. You noticed that he seemed a little bit crestfallen since your noncommittal answer earlier.

“Hey,” you said, bumping your arm against his.

“Hello,” he replied, returning the gesture.

“So… d’you wanna go get one of those beer things that you were talking about earlier?” You asked nervously, your lip between your teeth. For all you knew, asking someone to grab a butterbeer in the wizarding world was the muggle equivalent to proposing.

George flashed you a grin that was almost childlike, it was mesmerising, so sweet and pure and you almost wished you’d brought your camera to take a picture of it. “I thought you’d never ask.”

With a giggle you let him grab your hand and lead you excitedly towards a building that had “The Leaky Cauldron” written above the door. When you got inside, George led you to a small round table with two chairs and you both sat down opposite each other. As casually as you could, you rested your elbow against the table and let your cheek rest against your fist, for a solid few minutes, while George ordered, you curiously looked around the pub until your gaze finally rested on George who was already looking at you with a soft smile, “Having fun?” He asked, genuinely curious.

You nodded your head, “Mhm, are you? I’m sure getting up at the crack of dawn to take me shopping isn’t something someone like you would usually like to do for fun,” you said, becoming slightly self conscious when you realised that he probably wasn’t enjoying the morning as much as you were. This was all normal for him, you’d nearly forgotten.

George gave you a perplexed look, “Course I’m having fun, love. But, what do you mean someone like me?”

You shrugged, once again pushing down the butterflies that arose in your stomach from the pet name, “I dunno, you’re just- you’re mischievous and fun and… I don’t know, shopping for stuff with me doesn’t seem like it’s something you’d want to do. I just hope Sirius didn’t force you into it,” you admitted shyly, smiling gratefully at the waiter when he placed the mugs of golden liquid on the table.

George chewed on his bottom lip for a second before he shook his head, “He didn’t force me. I sort of, well, I sort of forced him to let me take you. He wanted Professor Lupin to do it but I…” he let out an exaggerated sigh before giving you a smile, “I wanted to spend time with you,” he confessed sweetly, watching happily as a smile formed on your lips and you tried to hide it in the rim of your butterbeer. He laughed when your face lit up once the liquid hit your lips, “Like it?”

“This stuff is amazing,” you almost shouted, taking another large sip from the drink, “No wonder you all love it so much.”

George snickered, “Just in case it wasn’t clear; I’m having a lot of fun with you,” he said all too casually, taking a sip of his drink.

“Where to now?” You wondered, after you’d finished your drinks and set off back towards the floo network.

George shot you a cheeky look and wiggled his eyebrows, “I’m taking you back to headquarters.”

“Sounds ominous,” you commented, following him into the fireplace, nervously.

“D’you want a tip?” George asked out of the blue and you looked up at him expectantly, nodding. “The dizziness isn’t as bad if you keep your eyes open,” he whispered, taking your hand once again and throwing down the same green powder from earlier and shouting a new location that you hadn’t heard before. You cringed as the world began to spin, listening to George’s advice hadn’t helped much as the transportation was just as awful as it had been the first time. Unbeknownst to you, you were squeezing George’s hand like your life depended on it, George’s thumb had resumed brushing circles around your hand in response, the harsh squeezing didn’t bother him at all, not when it was you doing the squeezing. Just like earlier, George led you out of the fireplace and into the unfamiliar sitting room. Though the room was completely unfamiliar it was full of faces you immediately recognised, one face in particular standing out above all the rest.

In a second you’d dropped not only George’s hand, but all of your shopping bags to the floor carelessly and hurled yourself towards the boy who had already begun rushing towards you the second he caught sight of you appearing in the fireplace. Your bodies collided with so much force that you nearly sent each other tumbling to the ground, laughter sounded from both of you as you swayed the other, almost roughly, the way you always did when reuniting after an extended period of time.

“Glad to see you in one piece, Harry,” you told him with a cheeky smile on your lips, opting not to call him Haz in front of all of his wizard friends lest they tease him, not to mention you’d become quite possessive of the nickname, you wouldn’t be too pleased if anyone else started adopting it. Not that you’d ever admit that out loud.

“Yeah, you too,” his smile was as wide as could be when he shook his head, “I can’t believe you’re actually here.”

“Do you want me to pinch you?” You teased, jokingly taking his cheek between your thumb and your pointer, giving the skin between them a gentle squeeze. Harry swatted your hand away with a low chuckle and unraveled his arms from around you.

“Alright, you two, if you’re ready we have some matters we need to discuss with our newest member,” Sirius’ voice sounded from behind you, a knowing look on his face as he watched Harry sneakily pinch your arm in retaliation. He had to fight the urge he felt to reminisce on his old school days; when he’d purposely annoy James, Remus or Peter and receive the exact same mockingly vengeful look that you’d just given Harry.

“I’ll bring your things to the kitchen,” George announced, reminding you of his presence before he walked rather quickly out of the room, bags clutched in his hands.

Harry snorted out a laugh when Sirius followed George out of the room, leaving the both of you alone. Harry wiggled his eyebrows and did his best to make his voice take on a sultry tone, “he’s bringing your things to the kitchen.”

“Shut your mouth, Potter,” you replied, pinching his cheek for the second time and tossing your arm around his shoulder, him doing the same as he led you to what you assumed was the kitchen.

“Do I have your permission to open my mouth to tell you something,” Harry asked lightly, stopping so you were both standing outside a closed wooden door.

“I’ll allow it,” you answered, smiling softly at your best friend.

Harry grinned, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Haz,” the boy groaned at the name but made no further comment, he pushed the wooden door open and walked inside.

The room held a long table where many adults were sat, chatting in hushed whispers when you entered the room, some of whom you recognised and some you didn’t. Mrs. Weasley was fluttering about the table, filling people’s tea cups before she spotted you. The woman, who you’d only ever met briefly at King’s Cross station one year, rushed over to you and greeted you warmly, “Hello, dear! Come, come sit down!” She ushered you to a vacant chair beside George and across from Fred, Harry took the seat on your other side. “I trust you got everything you needed from Diagon Alley? I hope that son of mine didn’t cause any trouble for you,” you gave her a friendly smile and shook your head.

“Yes, we were able to find what we needed and George was very helpful,” Mrs. Weasley, seemingly satisfied with your answer, offered a gentle smile to you and George. She then pushed a cup of tea towards you before sitting down herself.

Beneath the table George bumped his knee lightly against yours, but didn’t break from his conversation with his twin as he left his knee pressed against yours. You didn’t draw attention to it either, simply letting your knee relax against his as the witches and wizards at the long table grew quiet in favour of staring at you wordlessly.

“I’m sure you’ve all heard the news of the seer we’ve acquired,” Sirius’ commanding voice broke the silence as he stood up from his chair, and placed his palms against the table, “I’ve brought her here today so that we may discuss proceedings to ensure her safety.”

“Yes,” a toneless drawl, drawn out nasally from the end of the table drew your attention to a black haired man at the opposite end of the table, “and what of Mr. Potter’s presence?” He asked, almost menacingly. Right off the bat, you didn’t like the greasy haired man. He was rigid and his face sported a permanent snarl and from across the table you could already tell; he wasn’t on your side.

“She’s my best friend, I’m here to make sure she’s not going to be put in any unnecessary danger,” Harry told the man shortly, in a tone that he’d more than likely perfected after having spoken to the man previously.

“As touching as that may be,” the older man snarled, “you are not a member of the Order.”

“Oh, enough, Serverus,” Sirius scoffed, pulling his hand down his face in exasperation before he let his eyes settle on Harry, “Perhaps you should wait upstairs for now. We’ll let you know of any significant updates.”

“I’ll tell you everything later, promise,” you whispered quietly, linking his pinky with yours beneath the table before he stropily took his leave.

“As I was saying,” Sirius spared Severus a glare and continued, “As we know, Yn is an unregistered wizard with an unregistered wand, meaning she won’t be on the radar of The Ministry of Magic. On the downside of this, seeing as her power manifested late, she is also untrained.”

All gazes fell to you once more, only Remus’ eyes were staring softly, crinkled at the edges from the smile on his lips, “I’ll be tutoring her in Defence Against the Dark Arts over the summer. She’ll catch up quickly, no doubt,” you smiled gratefully at him from your spot, relaxing a bit knowing that you’d actually be learning how to defend yourself the wizard way.

“I suppose I will be tasked with teaching the art of Occlumency? A seer with an easily accessible mind is hardly an asset,” Severus drawled. You didn’t have a clue what occlumency was, in all honesty, but you kept your mouth shut in favour of asking Remus when the meeting was over.

The meeting soon drew to a close, the older Order members slinking to one end of the table to arrange the schedule for your glorified summer school while you, Fred and George snuck away to find Harry. You found him sitting against the headboard of a bed in one of the upstairs bedrooms, “How’d it go?”

“Take a guess, mate, Snape had a right sour look on his face the whole time,” Fred answered, sitting on the bed across from Harry’s. George sat beside him and you made your way to sit with Harry.

“Ah, so that was the infamous professor Snape?” All three boys nodded, looks of exhaustion on their faces, “I don’t trust him. Something is very off about him,” you spoke thoughtfully and the boys nodded in agreement once again.

“I don’t like the idea of you being alone with him,” George said, his brows furrowed.

Fred snorted and clapped his twin roughly on the shoulder, “Getting a bit jealous are you, Georgie?” Harry laughed along with Fred while you blushed lightly and George felt heat rising up the nape of his neck.

“Sod off,” he muttered, but made no attempt to deny that he was slightly jealous of all the alone time his old evil potions professor would be getting with the girl he was harbouring feelings for.

The afternoon quickly turned into the evening and before long you were gathering your things and preparing to return to Cecillia’s. Harry would be heading back to the Dursley’s later that night, much to his dismay. You told him you’d be back on Privet Drive at some point the next morning since Cecillia would be dropping you home, as she promised your parents, so he wouldn’t have to suffer alone for too long.

That summer came and went in a bit of a blur. Two days in each week were spent learning how to protect yourself against the dark arts with Remus. He’s an amazing teacher, that couldn’t be disputed. In the space of only two months he had you duelling like you’d been doing it since the day you were born. Of course, you were thrilled to be bonding with your wand and developing (according to Remus) a very impressive skill for Defence Against the Dark Arts. But, on top of that, the shared conversations and exchanging of stories over hefty mugs of hot chocolate with the werewolf had been a huge highlight of your summer, and had caused the two of you to grow exponentially closer.

September was nearing and with it came a stiff breeze that prompted the hair on your arms to stand alert as you waited by the bus stop, the one just down the road from your house. Today was to be an important lesson with Remus, he hadn’t told you what the lesson would entail, but he had said that it was a charm that was “of the utmost importance”.

Although June, July and August were technically your summer holidays, you’d barely had a second to rest. You were, at this point, running on fumes and sheer will power. Extensively using magic was bound to wear you out, however, getting a good night’s rest after a gruelling training session had become something of a luxury for you. Visions of the future and retellings of past torments plagued your dreams and allowed you no time to rest. One vision in particular had been reoccurring, it arrived every night for the past two weeks, taunting you. The autumn chill that dripped down your spine reminded you of the premonition, having your hairs standing due to fright, rather than cold. It was always the same, no details ever shifted or warped and, unfortunately, the experience never grew any less harrowing. The warning that the vision brought about weighed on you heavily and followed you around like a stray cat. Images of a cold, desolate, blue-hued cellar lived behind your eyes, the phantom feeling of freezing metal shackles weighed on your wrists painfully and the undiluted terror combined with the indescribable agony brought about by the unfamiliar wand shoved against your throat had you forcing yourself to stay awake until you physically couldn’t anymore, each and every night. Nobody knew about the vision, you didn’t want to worry them, though, you knew that your distress was beginning to become visible; dark bags were prominent beneath your eyes, Harry had watched you fall asleep in the middle of the day, often on his shoulder, almost everyday that week and Remus could tell by the sluggish movements of your wand that your mind was elsewhere.

A few minutes passed before your bus arrived, the journey to Grimmauld Place was quite long but you couldn’t seem to warm up to floo travel, so going on a regular bus was the better option. When the red double decker pulled up, you greeted the driver with a smile and paid for your ticket. You made your way up to the second story and sat right at the front. The bus, as it normally tended to be, was empty. Resting your head against the window, you let your eyes slip shut, the noises of tree branches brushing against the speeding windows lulling you into a, hopefully, peaceful sleep.

Thankfully when you woke up, no visions lingered. You woke up just in time too as the bus was rounding up to your stop. As usual, Remus waited for you at the bus stop, his hands shoved deep in his tattered jacket pockets and a gentle smile on his lips.

Still groggy from your nap, when you exited the bus you greeted Remus with a tired wave.

“Dare I say you haven’t been sleeping well, dear?” He said gently, walking alongside you towards the house.

You thought about it for a second, perhaps telling someone wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world. “I’ve just, well, I’ve been having this nightmare,” you started, growing nervous just thinking about it.

“Nightmare or vision?” He pressed as you walked into the house.

Guilt creeped into your chest upon seeing the clear worry on his face, “I think it’s a vision.”

Remus nodded quietly, placing his hand on the small of your back and pushing you in the direction of the living room. He gave you a warm smile, when you sat down on the sofa. He grabbed a blanket that hung over the back of the sofa and draped it over your lap. “I’ll make us some hot chocolate and we can discuss this,” he suggested.

“I thought you had an important lesson for today?” He only shook his head, smiling lightly.

He made his way to the door wordlessly and returned within two minutes with two big, steaming mugs in his hands. Remus handed you a mug and sat down beside you on the sofa, accepting your invitation to pull the blanket over his lap too.

“Now tell me; what has been going on in that wonderful mind of yours?”

You took in a deep breath, staring into the hot chocolate and avoiding his understanding gaze, “It happened for the first time around two weeks ago. I thought that it was just a dream, it didn’t feel like a dream but I thought that if I kept telling myself it was I would start to believe it,” you started, taking a sip of your drink before going back to staring at it, “But it kept coming back. Every night for the last two weeks. I haven’t been able to sleep, I’ve been too scared to,” your voice was small as you made the confession. You hated that the feeling of helplessness was beginning to wash over you yet again.

“What happens in this vision?” At his question, you placed your cup on the floor and turned to face him fully, turning on the sofa and pulling your knees up to your chest.

“It’s always the same. I wake up and the first thing I know is that I’m absolutely freezing. I’m in this cellar-like thing. I’m chained up by my wrists and my feet are barely touching the ground… I can’t see anyone but I can feel-“ your breath hitched and you rushed the swipe the tears that were falling away from your cheeks, “I can feel a wand against my throat, it’s pressing hard. There’s a whisper, it’s quiet and ghostly and I can barely make it out but I hear them say; crucio.”

Remus’ eyes widened in horror.

“Then I feel nothing but agonising pain and then I wake up,” Remus’ eyebrows furrowed.

“You’ve had this same vision every night?” You nodded.

“I know I should have said something but I didn’t want anyone to worry,” it was then that Remus grabbed your hands and looked at you with a sense of urgency you didn’t know he could possess.

“I need you to listen to me very carefully,” his eyes were wild and his hands shook lightly as they held yours, “You-Know-Who is back. There are already reports of certain Wizards going missing and none of us have any doubt that it’s his doing. And although I- we- care for you a great deal, it would serve us all well to remember that you’re a detrimental piece in this war. If he catches wind of you, he’ll stop at nothing to take you from us,” your heart was now running at the speed of a hummingbird. “We have a plan in place to keep you safe, I fear we may have to implement it sooner than planned.”

Before you knew it, you were surrounded by the entire Order of the Phoenix, all of whom looked grave. Cecillia sat to your right while Nymphadora Tonks occupied the seat to your left. You had the pink haired auror to thank for your duelling capabilities, as well as Remus of course. Her presence was comforting, she made it a point to shoot you a wink every time she caught your eyes looking more fearful than usual.

“Our original plan will need to be tweaked, I ran into Narcissa Malfoy in Diagon Alley and she very plainly insinuated that I was a person of interest in the death eating community,” Cecillia informed the table, a, for lack of a better word, bitchy tone laced in her voice. She’d told you many of her Hogwarts stories, you could recall her telling you that she and the woman she’d mentioned, Narcissa, had once been good friends until around their fourth year. She hadn’t told you what exactly had happened, only that it had been messy.

“What was the original plan?” You asked, growing frustrated with the Order’s lack of communication skills.

Thankfully, being one of the younger members of the group, Tonks understood your frustrations and spoke up on behalf of the group, regardless of whether they were ready for you to know or not; she understood that it was your life they were coordinating.

“We talked about relocating you to CeCe’s. We also, and far more pressingly, planned on erasing all traces of you from both the muggle and wizard world. Which would mean using a memory charm on your family and friends in the muggle world,” Tonks explained, eyes locked on yours while everyone else in the room glared daggers at the purple haired girl.

“Yes. Though we also planned on telling you this information with a far more delicate approach,” Snapped Molly Weasley from the end of the table, causing Fred, who sat to her left, to roll his eyes.

“She’s been riddled with visions of being ruthlessly tortured with an unforgivable curse for the past two weeks. I think the time for delicacy is long passed,” the older of the two twins practically scoffed. George nodded in agreement.

“Besides,” he set his gaze on you, eyes genuine and unwavering as he spoke, “she’s strong enough to handle the truth. It’s time you all stopped acting like she isn’t.”

The table fell silent. His words hung in the air as many of the adults hung their heads.

“By memory charm I’m assuming you mean obliviate?” You broke the silence, if you could you hoped to start an open conversation with the experienced witches and wizards that surrounded you.

“Yes. They’re completely reversible and once the war is over I’ll restore all of the memories.” Cecillia said.

“We know it’s a huge ask, dear, but it’s our best chance at keeping you out of that wretched creature’s hands,” Molly attempted to soothe both you and herself when she pictured what it would like to be in your shoes, how she’d feel if she had no other choice but to be forgotten by the thing she valued the most; her family. Molly Weasley had never been very good at hiding her maternal instincts, over the summer that fact had become glaringly obvious to you. You and Harry had laughed about how the children of Privet Drive had a special place in her heart.

“I understand,” you told her sadly, chewing on the inside of your lip, “I’m guessing by the atmosphere in the room that I won’t be home to say goodbye before you wipe their memories,” you shifted yours eyes from person to person, stopping when Cecillia took your hand firmly in hers.

Her lips were downturned and her eyes filled with guilt, she shook her head mournfully, “I’m afraid we can’t risk it, my darling. Even being here places you in danger at the moment.”

“Where will she go then? If CeCe’s place isn’t an option we’ll have to find a safe house,” Sirius sounded and, simultaneously, both Fred and George stood up, shoulder to shoulder with very professional expressions on their faces.

“We may be able to help with that, actually. George, if you would,” Fred started, nodding to his twin who straightened his shoulders and puffed his chest out over so slightly.

“Thank you, Fred. As you know, we have a property for Weasley Wizard Wheezes secured and we’ll be living in the flat above where the shop will be,” everyone at the table, including yourself, stared at the twins in confusion, not quite sure where they were going with their little pitch until Fred took over again.

“And that flat has three bedrooms,” he said, a smirk growing on his thin lips.

George spoke again, “Which means there’s one for me and one for Fred.”

“Which means there’s one spare,” Fred grinned wickedly.

Tonks let out an impressed laugh once the penny finally dropped, “We apparate her in and nobody would ever know a thing. Nobody other than those of us in the room know that Y/n is a friend of the Weasley’s, plus us visiting the joke shop wouldn’t raise any suspicion. I have to give it to them, it’s a great idea,”

“And one of the two of us will always be within shouting distance if anything happens,” George added, somewhat pleadingly.

Sirius looked across the table at you, “Y/n, it’s up to you. Whatever you decide will be final, we won’t interfere,” he promised sincerely. It was an easy decision, but still, it weighed heavily on your chest. In all honesty, you weren’t worried about your location, staying with the twins would surely be a light and fun time amidst all the doom and gloom. Your worry was that you would, once again, be handing over your control. Sirius dressed it up as though it was your choice, but you knew that this was probably their best option and in reality you really had no other choice than to move in with Fred and George.

“Sounds good to me,” you whispered halfheartedly, eyes dropping to stare at your lap as your teeth pulled anxiously at the skin of your lips.

“So it’s settled then,” Remus said, “Y/n will go with Fred and George tonight.”

Abruptly, you pushed your chair away from the table and stood up. Sparing nobody a glance, you left the room as quickly as you possibly could, before the lump in your throat could choke you or the tears that pooled in your eyes spilled like water through a broken dam. George made a move to rise from his seat only for Remus to stop him by placing his hand on the boy’s shoulder, “Give her a moment.”

You found yourself locked in the second story bathroom, sitting in the bath. Your legs hung out over the side of the tub while your head was tilted back against the black tiled wall. As hard as you tried to prevent them, tears were streaming down the expense of your cheeks, neck and beneath the neckline of your shirt. The minutes ticked by yet your chest continued to rise and fall rapidly due to the sobs that shook it, your breath uneven. Visions of brutal torture were bad enough when you were in your own home, in your own warm bed, with your parents just a room away and ready to make you a hot cup of tea after you woke up screaming. Now, the visions would without a doubt continue to plague you, unlike before though, you wouldn’t be waking up in a familiar setting, nor would you fall asleep in the comfort of your own mattress, when you woke up screaming so loud that your throat grew raw, your comfort would rely on two seventeen year old boys who seldom took things seriously. It’s not that you didn’t trust them, no, you trusted them with your life- you are trusting them with your life, it’s just that there was already a lot going on in your mind at the moment, moving in with your crush and his identical twin brother isn’t exactly your idea of a nerve killer.

A knock against the bathroom door pulled you from your thoughts. You rushed to wipe your tears with your sleeves, sniffling, “Come in,” you choked out. Cursing your voice for breaking when you spoke.

Remus’ head poked through the door, his body following soon after. Even in an atmosphere as dense as this one, a sense of gentle calm always followed Remus wherever he went. Clumsily, the werewolf slid into the bath beside you with a low “oof” sound, mimicking your position with his much longer legs dangling closer to the wooden floor than your own.

“CeCe has gone to collect your things for you and get Harry, then, I believe, perform the spell,” he eyed you cautiously, hyper aware of your glassy eyes and puffy face. When your eyes widened and you whipped your face towards him, his stomach twisted into knots, he hated seeing you like this. He could sympathise with your feelings. When James and Lily were killed, and Sirius went to Azkaban and even when Peter was presumed dead, Remus had been left with a vicious frustration fuelled by his belief that he was utterly powerless in his own life. He could see in your eyes that that same notion was starting to creep up on you too.

“Already?” You gasped out, pulse rising again, a slight panic setting in. “It won’t hurt them will it? The spell?” You fretted, looking pleadingly to the man beside you.

He shook his head, tenderly taking your hand and placing it against his clothed chest, his beating heart present against the palm of your shaking hand. “I promise you that they won’t feel a thing. They will go on living an exciting life, travelling, seeing the world safely while you’re away. When this is all over we’ll place their memories of you back in their minds and it will be as though you were never gone.” Your teeth found the inside of your cheek again, gnawing relentlessly at the skin as you failed miserably to hold back a fresh set of tears. Remus squeezed the hand he held against his chest. “Let it out, Y/n. It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone,” he whispered, heart sinking lower when your bottom lip quivered and you let a rasped sob leave your body. With a deep sigh, Remus used the hand he was already holding as leverage to pull you into him, wasting no time he enveloped you in his arms, holding you securely as you cried against his chest. Admittedly, it felt good to let it out, Remus’ hand rubbed soothing circles against your heaving back and eventually, you didn’t know how long it had been, you calmed down, your tear ducts all dried out.

Remus held you in his arms for a while longer, even though you’d stopped crying, he could feel your body as it continued to shake. “I can’t promise you it will all be okay, but I can assure you that myself and Sirius, and everyone else for that matter, will be there for you at the drop of a hat; whatever you need,” he spoke against your hair.

“Whatever I need?” You echoed, the pit in your stomach ever growing.

“Of course,” he confirmed.

Remus startled slightly when you suddenly tore yourself away from him. As best you could in your awkward position, you turned to face him and grabbed his hands with as much urgency as he had done with yours. “I need you to do something for me,” Remus furrowed his brows in confusion, but nodded his head anyway.

“If anything happens to me… Don’t make them remember,” you instructed, maybe the request would’ve seemed radical if you had said it to anyone else, but you knew that Remus had experienced losses like no one else you knew, perhaps Harry came close but even his shortcomings couldn’t compare to Remus’. “It’d only cause them pain. If I die and they’re happily living none the wiser, leave them be, please,” the man let out a heavy sigh and took a moment to take you in. Your eyes were hard yet pleading, they left him no room to negotiate and he understood perfectly where you were coming from.

“Alright,” he agreed before raising his eyebrow and readjusting himself to get a better look at you, “However you should know; no matter what may come of this war, none of us will forget about you. In such a short time you’ve given us so much… you gave Harry his first friendship, a friendship that he cherishes more than anything in the world, I might add. You saved Sirius from death, my fiancé and Harry’s godfather. Mentoring you has given Cecillia a new lease of life and Molly Weasley one more child to knit jumpers for at Christmas,” he took a brief pause then went on, “For the sake of saving time I won’t even begin to tell you what you mean to the twins. My point is;” there was a melancholic type of smile on his face when he paused again, as if he was imagining what it would be like to remember you fondly if you did in fact die for the cause, “What you’re asking is incredibly selfless. And while your mother and father may not remember how wonderful you are, we all will.” Remus chuckled lowly when you shuffled your way back into his arms, squeezing his middle tightly. He slung his arm around your shoulders and delicately pressed his lips to the top of your head. You held so much love in your heart for the man who was currently cradling you in his arms. You debated telling him, you weren’t sure if it was entirely appropriate but after the speech he’d just given you couldn’t have cared less, “Remus?”

“Hm?”

“I love you,” you murmured, looking up at him innocently.

He offered you a toothy smile and breathed out a soft laugh, “I love you too.” With a content nod, you rested your head back against his chest, enjoying his soothing heartbeats against your ear. A melodic hum rumbled against your cheek, a quiet giggle left your mouth when you recognised the melody to the song he was humming. The tune of “Rhiannon” by Fleetwood Mac floated through the bathroom bringing a genuine smile to your lips. The werewolf’s humming was interrupted by another knock against the bathroom door, whoever was knocking didn’t wait for a response before entering the room. Sirius stepped in and quietly shut the door behind him. He didn’t question you and Remus' position in the bath but simply slid into the tub on the other side of you, sandwiching you between himself and Remus. The black haired man let out a heavy sigh and leaned his head back against the tiles.

“The mother hens downstairs are worrying up a storm,” he said in exasperation, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Tonks so riled up about someone’s safety. I tasked Molly with making you some hot chocolate to keep her occupied”

“Maybe I should go back down…” you muttered halfheartedly, begrudgingly peeling yourself away from Remus’ warm body.

Sirius gave you an apologetic look, “I held them off for as long as I could.”

“Thanks,” you whispered, bumping your shoulder to his, making him chuckle. After pulling yourself out of the bath, rather clumsily, you took a second to check yourself over in the mirror.

“You’re glowing, darling,” Sirius all but sang from behind you and you couldn’t stop the slight snort that escaped you.

“That’s one way to put it.”

“If you don’t believe me go on downstairs and ask George what he thinks,” Sirius teased, wiggling his eyebrows and receiving a light shove from his fiancé who couldn’t hide his grin.

“Leave her alone, love,” he chastised weakly, “You look perfectly fine, Y/n. Go downstairs and get something to drink, you need to rehydrate.” A bittersweet smile broke out on your lips, his fatherly tone simultaneously soothed you and left you yearning for what you were in the process of losing. Trying not to dwell on the sad fact, you left the bathroom and slowly descended the stairs.

As you assumed, the second you stepped back into the kitchen, Molly began to fret over you as if her life depended on it. Sipping on the hot chocolate she’d given you, you were reminded of how desperately tired you were. All the crying hadn’t helped ease the heaviness in your eyes either. Every bone in your body felt heavy for that matter, you were struggling to even hold your head up.

“You can lean against my shoulder if you’d like,” George’s voice broke you from your hazed state, you’d completely forgotten he was sitting beside you despite his leg that was pressed against yours beneath the table. You gave him a sleepy but grateful smile, as subtly as you could you scooched closer to the ginger and slotted yourself against his side, letting your head fall onto his shoulder. “Will you keep me awake until Harry and Cecillia get here?” You requested in a slurred murmur, your eyes fluttering between open and shut.

“Of course,” was all he said, he looked down at you adoringly, smiling like an idiot when you nuzzled into his shoulder, your nose rubbing against his neck. Try as he might, George couldn’t pull his eyes away from your drowsy face. “What do you propose we do?”

You shrugged your shoulders lightly, “Just talk.”

“How would you like your new room decorated?” He asked quietly, his head tilted down while he spoke to you, so you could hear him and so he wouldn’t ruin the lulled bubble you’d managed to obtain between you by talking too loudly. A sweet smile grew on your face, a smile that all but knocked all the breath out of George’s lungs when you angled your head to make eye contact.

“Can I have a double bed?” George snorted at your question and shook his head no.

“Nothing smaller than a king. What else?”

You pretended to ponder for a moment, “Can we paint it?” The ginger nodded, taking his bottom lip between his teeth.

“If you want to,” he started, almost sounding nervous, “We could paint it together?” Even in your sleep deprived state you hadn’t missed the vulnerability in his voice, it was the same vulnerability that you’d noticed when he’d asked you to go get a butterbeer with him a couple of months ago.

“I’d love that,” you told him, your answer causing his lips to twist into a pleased smile, “How do you feel about the colour green?”

Immediately, his smile dropped and he let out a disgusted scoff, “Green is a Slytherin colour.”

“You keep forgetting that I don’t get the whole house sorty thing,” you reminded him, not happy with his reasoning for hating your favourite colour. “Besides, I love green, it’s my favourite colour.” You told him truthfully. Not content with his disgruntled facial expression you began to defend your preference, “A lot of beautiful things are green; you’ve got grass, trees, emeralds- did you know that emeralds are really useful for enhancing psychic abilities? It also evokes clarity of thought,” you rambled, willing yourself to be quiet when you registered George’s fond expression.

The look of endearment aimed at you brought butterflies to life in your stomach, effectively waking you up somewhat.

“Do you have any emerald?” He asked, you assumed he was only feigning interest, you didn’t know that he could’ve listened to you go on and on about anything and everything for the rest of his life.

“No, not yet. I should probably get some though.” You said through a yawn. Your breath against his neck made him giggle, it was pure and unsuspecting but you took note of it. Everything about George Weasley felt like sunshine to you, his laugh filled your chest with warmth whenever you heard it, his eyes found yours like a lighthouse, guiding your lost mind back to the present each time your gazes connected. His voice, like his laugh, warmed you up when you were cold, giving you a reason to stay awake when you’d rather just slip away. In conjunction with the sun, even if you couldn’t physically see him, you never doubted that he was always there. As well as all of that, like your favourite tarot card; The Sun, he signified good things, hope that hard times will end with you on top, contentment and happiness. While your thoughts consisted of George’s similarities to the sun, his were consumed with the, in his mind, overwhelmingly cheesily romantic notion that you were the moon and the stars, he would’ve cringed if he didn’t wholeheartedly believe it. Everything that made the night sky magnificent was reflected in you. Like the stars, you were mysterious and captivating. Nothing seemed to compare to your glow or beauty, if you were to ask him what he preferred; you or the night sky on a clear night, he’d happily ignore a blank, starless sky in favour of simply staring at you as you went on tangent after tangent about crystals or tarot cards.

The pair of you were pulled from your musings when Harry rushed through the kitchen door looking unmistakably heartbroken, ever the empath when it came to his best friend, Harry’s heart sank the moment he laid eyes on your form, limp against George’s side. The second you saw him you all but ripped yourself from George’s side and the older redhead felt a surge of irrational jealousy begin to build in his chest at how fast you left his hold in favour of the chosen one. He knew it was ridiculous, he’d heard the way each of you respectively talked about each other, at this point you were practically siblings. But he supposed it was rational to be jealous when you liked someone the way he liked you.

Quickly, you crossed the room to Harry who had his arms already outstretched. He knew you were emotionally exhausted when you didn’t bear hug him. You meekly slid your arms beneath his open zip-up hoodie, tucked your head beneath his chin and didn’t say a word. “I shouldn’t bother asking if you’re okay then,” Harry muttered to himself, leaning his cheek against the top of your head and wrapping his lanky arms around your frame.

“Did Cecillia remember to bring Astra?” You asked, it was all you wanted to know about the night’s events.

“She’s in her cage in the living room, darling,” Cecilia said, walking into the room looking guilty.

“C’mon, let’s go have a chat,” Harry suggested, leading you out of the kitchen and upstairs to his unofficial room. Once inside the room you sat down on the edge of the bed, the blue duvet softly creasing beneath you. Harry plopped himself down beside you and offered you a gesture that was always saved for when either of you felt the other was on the edge of something dangerous. Your hands rested against your lap and he deftly slid his pinky over yours, intertwining your two littlest fingers. It was such a familiar experience; he’d done it when your grandparents died, when you’d cried over failed exams that you worked hard for, and in turn, you did it for him when he’d felt as though he had no place in the world, when he’d open up about his parents and when Cedric died and the ministry dragged his name through the mud you’d find your pinky tangled with his almost every night after he’d sneak over to your place after another nightmare or panic attack. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You shook your head, “Not tonight. I don’t want to cry anymore,” you croaked out, looking straight ahead of you at the grey painted wall.

“I understand,” he said, sighing and dropping his head onto your shoulder, “Let’s talk about something else then.”

“Like what, Haz?”

Harry snorted out a chuckle, “Like the way George looked like he wanted to hex me when you left him to come to me,” he teased, a smug lilt to his voice.

“He wasn’t teasing me, perhaps I’ll go back to him,” you grumbled, ignoring Harry’s childish giggles.

“Yeah you’d like that wouldn’t you?” You smacked his arm lightly with your free hand, doing a bad job of containing giggles of your own. “Don’t worry, since he’s going to be your new roommate there will be plenty of time for “oh George I’m so sleepy, please hold me until I fall asleep”,” you let out a cackle at Harry’s terrible impression of your voice, laying your cheek against his wild hair.

“That is so not what was going on, Haz,” you defended with a tiny smile.

Harry let out an airy, disbelieving chuckle, “Then what was going on?”

“He just said I could lean on him until you and Cecillia arrived and we just started chatting about how I wanna decorate my room,” you explained truthfully and Harry nodded.

“Riveting,” he mumbled sarcastically. Despite his snarky comment, the boy removed his head from your shoulder and pulled you against his chest. “Jokes aside, I’m glad you’re staying with him, I know he’ll look after you for me,” you rolled your eyes at the sentiment.

“I don’t need to be looked after,” you reminded him, looking up at him with a chastising smile.

He rolled his eyes right back at you, jostling you slightly in his arms, “No. But you like to be.”

You threw your head back in laughter, “Yeah, I suppose I do.” You did. You quite like both doting on people and being doted on, you’d grown up in an affectionate family so it was no wonder really.

“It’s getting late. We should get you settled into your new home,” Harry announced, pulling himself and you up from the bed, “I wasn’t going to say anything but you look terrible. You need sleep.”

“Thank you, Harry. Just what every girl wants to hear before moving in with her crush,” you joked, gently hitting your hip against his.

The kitchen was quiet when you returned, it seemed everyone had grown tired from the dramatic events of the evening.

“Ready to go then?” Fred asked, his coat already on and a handful of your bags in his hands.

“As I’ll ever be I suppose.”

After saying goodbye to everyone you, Fred and George traveled to their apartment by floo, to your dismay. The apartment was bare as they’d only just moved in but you could see it had lots of potential for becoming a cozy home for the twins.

As your first night in your new residence began, your aching eyes and tired mind didn’t leave you with any time to dwell on current events, the second your head made contact with the pillow you were out like a light. A dreamless slumber welcomed you for a while until your peace was broken by the all too familiar nightmare.

The first thing you recognised was the burn coming from your wrists. Shackles adorned them and effectively held your hands high above your head, stretching them uncomfortably. Goosebumps painted the expanse of your arms and legs, due to the freezing temperature in the nondescript cellar. A feeling of hopelessness planted firmly in your chest, the feeling only hightening when the familiar echo of footsteps, heavy and loud, drifted from the corridor outside of your field of vision. You knew who was approaching, you’ve lived this before, and so, you held your lip between your teeth and squeezed your eyes shut. The face of the dark wizard who always brought about your intense suffering was, for the most part, completely fuzzy, unrecognisable, featureless and bone-chillingly terrifying. You’d learned over the last two weeks of having this vision that it was less harrowing if you closed your eyes.

“I’ll ask you once more,” The voice was distorted, like it was being heard through a weedy radio, ominously unplaceable, “Where is he?”

You held no control over your voice, as was the norm during visions, as you felt and heard yourself reply, “I’ll tell you once more; I’d sooner die then sell him to you.” You felt your teeth gritting and your jaw clenching while you spoke. Jaw only tightening when the pointed tip of the wizard’s wand stabbed unforgivingly against the column of your neck.

“And die you will, my dear. But not yet-“ your eyes sealed themselves shut and you did your best to shake yourself out of the vision before what you knew was coming took place, as usual, your attempts were fruitless, “-Crucio.” Just like that your body was consumed by pain, the likes of which you’d never imagined possible, until you couldn’t even register yourself screaming anymore.

You bolted upright, clutching at the sheets of your new bed. Laboured breaths left your mouth and you aimlessly gripped at your neck, where the wand had been pressed, and let the tears spill freely. Momentarily disoriented, you’d forgotten where you were. Deep, heavy bursts of air left your mouth as you hastily scurried out of bed and towards the door. Somewhat aimlessly, you gravitated to the door across the hall. A yellow hue seeped from under the frame into the otherwise dark hallway. Light flooded the hall once you managed to fumble the handle down and pull the door ajar, a discombobulated ginger greeting you with half lidded eyes, obviously having been dozing off before you disturbed his peace.

“Sorry,” you rasped once your peace of mind returned to you and you realised where you were. Despite knowing that you shouldn’t have been standing numbly in his doorway, your feet seemed to be rooted in place, you couldn’t have walked away if you wanted to.

“S’alright,” George called out to you softly, sitting up in his bed, his back against the headboard. “You can come in, you know.”

Shutting the door behind you, you nervously shuffled into the room, stopping when you reached the side of his bed. George’s eyes roamed your face and he took notice of your still somewhat panicked expression, he drew his covers to the side and patted the empty space by his side. Something that always intrigued you was people’s preferred side of the bed, some people gravitated towards the left while others were more biased towards the right, but George Weasley? He slept right in the middle. The twin slept with a huge number of pillows, to the point where it was almost laughable, many of which you could only guess he’d smuggled from the Burrow.

Far too wound up to save face, you slid into his bed and didn’t shy away when he guided you into his side and tucked you tenderly beneath his lean arm. His embrace offered a greatly appreciated warmth as the chill of the dank dungeon always lingered long after the vision itself was over.

“What’re you doing up so late?” You asked, your voice gravelly. As you spoke, George effortlessly shuffled your body and his down so that your backs were resting on the mattress and not the headboard. Your head found it’s home against George’s shoulder and your hair was being tentatively twirled between his fingers.

“It’s our first night actually sleeping here. I couldn’t get to sleep,” he explained, his voice low and laced with fatigue. “I’m not really used to having my own room. It’s strange not hearing Freddie snoring or breathing.”

“I get that,” you whispered, “it’s quite comforting knowing for certain that someone is there with you.”

George nodded then. His eyes were glued to your face and he hadn’t even registered his own thought process before his lips were pressing delicately against your forehead. Today had appeared to be the day for laying all your cards out on the table, yourself and George hadn’t danced around your feelings for each other half as much as you usually did when you’d be in each other’s presence. Neither of you had the energy anymore, besides, if today’s events proved anything it was that; things were getting seriously messy as the war built momentum and it was clear that time was something that could very well be running out.

“Yeah,” he regarded you carefully, a little grin growing on his lips, “It is.”

A comfortable silence overtook the room. George’s twirling of your hair never ceased, every now and then his fingers would ghost over your shoulder and you’d catch yourself smiling against the cotton of his shirt as your eyes grew tired enough that they were close to falling shut.

Just as you were working up the motivation to lift yourself up and trudge back to your own bed, George spoke, “You can sleep here if you want, with me,” there was that innocent vulnerability again. There was never an ulterior motive when it came to him, he did things purely for the sake of making others happy, if he felt he could make a difference he simply needed to. Especially when it came to you, he realised.

“You don’t mind?” You asked, daring to peek up at him.

“Course not. I could use some company anyway.” He reassured you, his lips returning to your forehead, only this time the action held far more intention. “You don’t snore do you, love?”

You snorted out a giggle, looking up at the ginger cheekily, mischief dripping from your little grin that forced George’s heart to stutter rather violently and he hoped you hadn’t noticed. “No. But I drool.”

George’s face contorted, his nose scrunching up adorably in disgust, “Do you really?”

“Suppose you’ll have to find out, won’t you?” You teased and he sighed deeply, his disgruntled expression melting into a soft, adoring smile.

“I should’ve expected this, I knew you couldn’t have been completely perfect,” he said, mockingly sorrowful.

You scoffed, pushing his chest lightly, “You’re doing a lot of sweet talking tonight, Mr. Weasley,” you told him and he shrugged innocently.

“Just wanted to see you smiling again, darling.”

“Yeah, well, you’re doing a good job,” you assured him, the bashful yet tired smile that stretched your lips as you gazed up at him proved that you meant what you’d just said. “I like it by the way, the sweet talking.”

At your words, a huge, shit eating smirk grew on the boy’s freckled face. He managed to rearrange your bodies so that you were still tucked under his arm but you were now facing each other at eye level. “I knew it,” he proclaimed cockily.

You raised a challenging eyebrow, biting back a smirk, “Oh did you?”

George nodded pridefully, “‘Course I did. You see, I’m a little bit psychic,” his words forced a booming laugh from your lips, your cheeks hurting from the smile he’d orchestrated.

You shook your head, smile never dulling as you let out a chastising whisper, “oh sod off.”

“I love your smile,” he said suddenly, his eyes widened in horror when he realised he’d uttered the words out loud. The world could’ve stopped in that moment and you wouldn’t have noticed, all you could take in was George’s face, his eyes searching yours for something.

Carefully, you slid from hand from his chest to his red, blushing face. You cupped his cheek gently, moving your thumb against his cheek bone, almost swooning where you lay when he nuzzled against your touch. Working up some Gryffindor courage, George mimicked your movement, removing his arm from around your shoulder and bringing his palm to rest against the curve of your jaw.

As you stared at each other, you weighed up the pros and cons of telling him that you were completely head over heels for him. Your decision, apparently taking far too long, was made for you when George tugged you impossibly closer to him.

“I wasn’t going to tell you… you’ve had so much going on I didn’t want to overwhelm you,” he said, brown eyes boring into your soul.

“Tell me what?”

He took a deep breath, preparing himself for every possible outcome that may spring once the words on the tip of his tongue are spoken aloud, “That I love you.”

#george weasley x reader #harry potter x reader #sirius black x reader #remus lupin x reader #marauders x reader #fred weasly x reader

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