#I should have a look since I live in Edinburgh too

[mrghostrat]

Haven’t been on tumblr in a long time.. I remember your streamer au, but nothing more. Id appreciate a small recap! :3

HII! for anyone who hasn't read it, it's a very slice-of-life collection of scenes for the most part, so there's loads of lil scenes i'll leave out of this. but here's a look back at the overall friends-to-lovers plot!

and they were streamers (10/16) (unfinished wip)

aziraphale and crowley are full time twitch streamers who live together in a london townhouse. crowley streams whatever he wants, usually toxic pvp games and "just chatting" hanging out and drinking. aziraphale streams all kinds of wholesome crafty content, such as cooking, baking, reading, and book binding.

crowley has been in love with aziraphale since... god, far too long. he'll never say anything because he knows aziraphale only sees him as a friend

aziraphale is bombarded with a hate raid during pride month, and is severely ill-equipped to moderate it himself. crowley jumps in to shut it down and fix his security settings to protect him further.

aziraphale brings crowley a cup of tea one stream (standing off-camera) when he's heavily focused on a game. he startles at the sudden presence, shouting "angel" accidentally for everyone to hear. aziraphale doesn't mind, but the chat go nuts speculating over the pet name and his relationship with his roommate

furfur, a sub-par streamer and tea-spill investigator, notes a connection on twitter between this "angel" and and old stream clip where crowley is caught ranting and rambling (very smittenly) about an "angel" in his life.

aziraphale's chat starts to wonder about the fondness between him and his elusive off-screen roommate

crowley posts in aziraphale's chat asking if he can have a bite of what he's cooking. he goes to the kitchen to try some, but the chat is too distracted freaking out that the notorious crowley is watching an aziraphale stream to realise aziraphale has actually handed a plate off camera. aziraphale seems troubled when he notices the chat is so beserk, so crowley makes a secret side account to send him a donation and tell him to keep up the good work

aziraphale comes home to find crowley in a discord call, playing party games with anathema, newt, and nina. he settles in beside him on the couch to join in.

crowley surprises aziraphale by raiding him at the end of his stream. he uses his 3,000 viewers to ask if aziraphale plans on going to a twitch meet-up in edinburgh. when crowley finally asks himself, aziraphale says yes.

the dark council, a huge and popular UK twitch team, tweets their curiosity about crowley's elusive roommate, wanting anyone with sleuthing abilities to spill the tea for them.

shaxx encourages furfur to investigate his theory that aziraphale and crowley live together, wanting him to impress the dark council twitch team to grow both their streams.

aziraphale and crowley drive to edinburgh together, playing games in the car, answering questions on twitter, and have a tense conversation on what to do if you harbour a secret crush. aziraphale thinks you should go for grand gestures, but crowley thinks it's best to bottle things up.

they attend the meet-up at a packed pub. crowley introduces aziraphale to beelzebub and promises to stick by his side, but as the drinks start flowing, they both get more comfortable to mill around and socialise on their own.

furfur, hired as the photographer for the event, arrives only after crowley and aziraphale separate from one another. but at the end of the night, gets a photo of them leaving the pub together in a drunken giggle fit, looking like smitten lovers. shaxx and furfur speculate they might be more than just roommates.

back in london, aziraphale makes plans for his holiday fundraiser stream. his viewers suggest a "roommate reveal" for £5,000. both he and crowley are flabbergasted that anyone is even slightly interested. furfur rushes to compile a tea spill twitlonger before the fundraiser.

while planning for his christmas events, aziraphale bakes a practise batch of angel cake on stream, crowley's favourite. he jumps up from the couch to eat a slice, accidentally wandering straight onto camera-- spoiling the fundraising surprise, and ruining furfur's tea spill. they're trending on twitter the next day.

aziraphale is hate raided again, but this time the raiders hack into his chat bot. crowley rushes in to reset the bot's data before they can export years of chat logs and sensitive viewer information. when the raid is halted, aziraphale is relieved, then devastated to realise everything has been wiped, until crowley assures him he made a backup of the logs, a la saving his books.

aziraphale finally realises he loves crowley. he's so overcome with affection for him, it starts to freak crowley out. crowley thinks he's getting swept up in the christmas season and is reading into affection that isn't actually there, and aziraphale thinks he's making crowley uncomfortable by upsetting the status quo

aziraphale becoems downtrodden by how closed-off crowley is being, and crowley panics when he realises he hasn't been subtle at all. he promises aziraphale hasn't done anything wrong and that he's just in his own head about their upcoming christmas party with their mods. aziraphale tries to believe him.

[sassenach77yle]

||COUNTDOWN || SEASON 3 EPISODE 12 || THE BAKRA||

#83daysofoutlander☆

“You didn’t know that Jamie was married?” He blinked, but not in time to keep me from seeing a small grimace of pain, as though someone had struck him suddenly across the face. “I knew he had been married,” he corrected. He dropped his hands, fiddling aimlessly with the small objects that littered his desk. “He told me—or gave me to understand, at least—that you were dead.” Grey picked up a small silver paperweight, and turned it over and over in his hands, eyes fixed on the gleaming surface. A large sapphire was set in it, winking blue in the candlelight. “Has he never mentioned me?” he asked softly. I wasn’t sure whether the undertone in his voice was pain or anger. Despite myself, I felt some small sense of pity for him. “Yes, he did,” I said. “He said you were his friend.” He glanced up, the fine-cut face lightening a bit. “Did he?” “You have to understand,” I said. “He—I—we were separated by the war, the Rising. Each of us thought the other was dead. I found him again only—my God, was it only four months ago?” I felt staggered, and not only by the events of the evening. I felt as though I had lived several lifetimes since the day I had opened the door of the printshop in Edinburgh, to find A. Malcolm bending over his press. The lines of stress in Grey’s face eased a little. “I see,” he said slowly. “So—you have not seen him since—my God, that’s twenty years!” He stared at me, dumbfounded. “And four months? Why—how—” He shook his head, brushing away the questions. “Well, that’s of no consequence just now. But he did not tell you—that is—has he not told you about Willie?” I stared at him blankly.

“Who’s Willie?”

Instead of explaining, he bent and opened the drawer of his desk. He pulled out a small object and laid it on the desk, motioning me to come closer. It was a portrait, an oval miniature, set in a carved frame of some fine-grained dark wood. I looked at the face, and sat down abruptly, my knees gone to water. I was only dimly aware of Grey’s face, floating above the desk like a cloud on the horizon, as I picked up the miniature to look at it more closely. He might have been Bree’s brother, was my first thought. The second, coming with the force of a blow to the solar plexus, was

“My God in heaven, he is Bree’s brother!”

There couldn’t be much doubt about it. The boy in the portrait was perhaps nine or ten, with a childish tenderness still lingering about his face, and his hair was a soft chestnut brown, not red. But the slanted blue eyes looked out boldly over a straight nose a fraction of an inch too long, and the high Viking cheekbones pressed tight against smooth skin. The tilt of the head held the same confident carriage as that of the man who had given him that face. My hands trembled so violently that I nearly dropped it. I set it back on the desk, but kept my hand over it, as though it might leap up and bite me. Grey was watching me, not without sympathy. “You didn’t know?” he said. “Who—” My voice was hoarse with shock, and I had to stop and clear my throat. “Who is his mother?” Grey hesitated, eyeing me closely, then shrugged slightly. “Was. She’s dead.” “Who was she?” The ripples of shock were still spreading from an epicenter in my stomach, making the crown of my head tingle and my toes go numb, but at least my vocal cords were coming back under my control. I could hear Jenny saying, He’s no the sort of man should sleep alone, aye? Evidently he wasn’t. “Her name was Geneva Dunsany,” Grey said. “My wife’s sister.”

59 IN WHICH MUCH IS REVEALED ~ voyager

[scotianostra]

Tragedy struck when the naval yacht Iolaire struck a reef on approaching Stornoway Harbour in the early hours of New Years Day 1919.

There are no shortage of tragedies I post about throughout the year, to me this is one of the saddest. The Iolaire were carrying troops home from the horrors of World War One, many on the Yacht would have been looking over to the lights of Stornoway when this cruel twist of fate took the lives over 200 Lewis men and 24 crew, the vessel was only about 20 yards from Stornoway Harbour. Some have labelled it the 'crowning sorrow of the war'

A report in the Stornoway Gazette recorded the impact of the tragedy:

No one now alive in Lewis can ever forget the 1st January 1919, and future generations will speak of it as the blackest day in the history of the island, for on it 200 of our bravest and best perished on the very threshold of their homes under the most tragic circumstances. The terrible disaster at Holm on New Year’s morning has plunged every house and every heart in Lewis into grief unutterable. Language cannot express the anguish, the desolation, the despair which this awful catastrophe has inflicted. One thinks of the wide circle of blood relations affected by the loss of even one of the gallant lads, and imagination sees those circles multiplied by the number of the dead, overlapping and overlapping each other till the whole island – every hearth and home it is shrouded in deepest gloom.

Messages of sympathy were received from far and wide, including from the King and Queen and from Lord Leverhulme, who had purchased the island of Lewis the previous year. He also led calls for a disaster fund to be set up and fund raising events were initiated. The Cinematograph Exhibitors’ Associations of Edinburgh and Glasgow arranged to take collections in all picture houses under their control for a week. A fundraising concert was arranged in the Usher Hall in Edinburgh on 14th February 1919, at which Scott Skinner, the acclaimed fiddler and composer and many others performed.

Calls for an enquiry came quickly, amidst suggestions of negligence on the part of the crew. A public inquiry was held in February 1919 and the jury found that insufficient care had been taken on the approach to Stornoway, as the vessel did not slow down or change course. In addition, it was not carrying enough life-saving equipment and there had been delays in the emergency services reaching the scene. HMY Iolaire was equipped with lifeboats for 100 men but was sailing with more than 300. There followed various recommendations, including that the Lighthouse Commissioners consider putting up a light on the Holm side of the harbour, and that the Government should improve travelling facilities for naval ratings and soldiers.

A naval inquiry held at the time was not made public until 1970. It had concluded that no blame could be attributed to anybody as the ship’s log had been lost and all of the officers had perished.

Even before the Iolaire sinking, The Outer Hebrides had a hard war even before the sinking, Lewis and Harris, the two northern islands of the Western Isles, had a population of 34,600 in 1911. Estimates report about 1,500 of those were killed during the war, and with another 201 lost on the Iolaire, that was an immense cumulative loss of young men and fathers.

There were 79 survivors in total of this disaster, it remains the UK’s worst peacetime maritime disaster since the sinking of the Titanic.

There are accounts of drenched, numb survivors immediately walking home across the moors in the storm, too traumatised to wait for help; of women who rushed to the shore to find their sons’ and brothers’ inert bodies among the rocks or surf, their baggage and presents strewn over the sand; of the stream of coffins being taken by horse and cart to be buried every day throughout the following week.

My previous post about Iain Crichton Smith featured a poem by the Lewis man about the tragedy.

[harrison-abbott]

Cyprus - Travel Poetry

I remember an immediate sense of quiet

When we stepped off the plane, onto the

Baked tarmac of the airport skirts: and

Even though it was an airport there was

A sense of hushed heat, and the sun was

Some sheen of gold across the eyes, with

Sharp shadows whenever a building

Cracked through the rays. We went there

From Poland, and it was one of those

Package-holidays; so we got on a bus

Which took us to the hotel where we were

All staying: and thus I had the constant

Buzz of Polish all around me.

Paphos – was the place we went to.

The bus sailed over hilly lands, where,

Looking out, there was a dry, orange

Land, peppered with dark green bushes.

And by the time we got to the hotel it

Definitely seemed like a completely

Different world. We were right by the

Coast, and there was an airy sense of

The sea idling whenever you breathed.

We went down to the Mediterranean, and

Went into the water and it was like stepping

Into a bath, and, one could look out on

The horizon and realise why so many

Folks of history were inspired to sail out

On this most fantastic of seas: there was

Something mythical and tantalising about

The span of the turquoise water that drew

You in.

And, we would go on walks down the beaches

And up into the desert-like country, where

Lizards would scurry by the dusty roadsides,

Under the orange trees that grew naturally

With their shiny fruits. And there were the

Palm trees that shook when a breeze came

With dry crackling. And we would sit on

The balcony at night, which overlooked

A jumble of shops and bars the far side of

The road, which kept their pink and silver

Lights on throughout the night and as we

Drank the cheap wine from the local store

They all washed together in a washy trance.

And, I’ve always been a night owl, so I

Would go out and explore the hotel when it

Was dark, and sit in the downstairs atrium

And read books in the bar that was open until

Four a.m. and there was a polite curtly-haired

Woman who worked there who I still recall

Strongly for some reason.

I stayed in that hotel for a full week and though

That’s a short amount of time, when you live

In one place for seven days it can stamp

Imprints of beauty on your mind, and you

Will miss the place for the rest of your life

Because you know that you’re never going

Back there. I’ve written stories based on

That place before, as a means to try and

Re-live (or forget?) the memories of it.

But I guess that is what grief is for: that you

Wouldn’t be able to grieve if you’d never

Experienced the content in the first place.

But, yes, wandering about that hotel with

Its echoey corridors and the quaint electrics,

And writing stories on the tiny desk in our

Room, at night: they were glorious times.

And, the cats! I should have mentioned them

Already. Stray cats. Everywhere you looked

There would be a cat sneaking about with

Their feline manipulation. There were two

Of them who would approach our room,

Because there was a rooftop just below

The balcony, and so they would come in

Through the patio doors. One was this

Fluffy female cat and the other was this

Slick male cat. And, my girl gave nicknames

For them both. I wonder whether those

Animals are still alive. Since I’m writing

This eight years after I went to Paphos. I

Hope they are. … And, my girl was a slender,

Tall young lady with huge eyes, freckles

And hair that stretched down almost to

Her waist. I learned the contours of her

Body and listened to the stories from her

Youth and told her my ones too.

In my diary/journal I would draw pictures

Of her, alongside the writings and the

Notes I made. And I remember reading

A Margaret Atwood novel called

Oryx and Crake. That was the first of hers

That I read. And so that wacky sci fi book

Gave an extra surreal element to my

Entire time in Cyprus. … In short, the whole

Country was one of intense, compact beauty.

As I’m writing now, in Edinburgh, Scotland:

There’s a window just above me, and it’s

Raining heavily, and there are white skies above.

And, I think of Cyprus as this never ending

Window vision – of a different kind. When I

Recall that place it is like looking through a window

Of a scene that never changes, of an ultramarine

Sky, and the effluvium of the sea nearby,

Of the sand and the sapped roads and the tiny

Stuffy shops where we bought bags of crisps

And small glass bottles of beer and packs of

Cigarettes without famous logos.

We hired bikes and we rode along the streets

And got to the district of the ‘posh’ hotels,

That were taller and fancier than our 3-Star one.

But, even though they were plush, they also seemed

Lost, on this island. Like they didn’t belong

To commerce. And though they were big, there

Weren’t many people about. They just seemed

Like pictures of hotels – like flourished postcard

Covers – rather than buildings were people were

Living in. And, at night, they would glow in the

Distance, with hues and shapes like torchlight

Shone through balloons. And often when we

Cycled in the evenings there were no cars

At all on the roads, and it was almost as if it

Was just she and I in this mini world – like

Riding about an empty town with only us

As the temporary inhabitants. But, eventually,

The seventh night came, and we got back on the

Bus with the rest of the Polish folks, to take us away.  

Despite it being eight years: I’ve never written

About Cyprus before. Maybe I was postponing

It, for all this time, for some reason.

As I say, I won’t be going back there ever again.

It wouldn’t be the same. And, sometimes it’s

Just better to leave a place for how you remember

It, even if the memories are painful to reconcile.

[punksdontgetold]

Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me

So, the new chapter is out! It took me A LOT of time to research everything I needed for this, but I'm finally done. Also, the drama starts escalating. Stay tuned.

Here's a piece of fluff for now tho:

Renton wakes up with a mild hangover to the delectable smell of potatoes fried with herbs. The first thing he sees is Simon, standing in his boxers by the stove with a spatula in his hand, humming something that sounds suspiciously like "You spin me round" while giving the pan a good stir.

"Hoo are ye up and aboot this early?" asks Renton, rubbing his eyes.

"Define early. It's hauf past eleven," says Simon as he turns around, "Since ye're up, ye can pit the music on."

"Alright," says Renton, slowly climbing out of bed as though not to spill the booze still sloshing in his skull. "Dae ye remember what time we got back last night?"

"Ah've nae idea. It was definitely before sunrise."

Renton checks the stereo, which is loaded with an R.E.M. record, decides that it's good enough, and presses play.

"Ye're in a guid mood," he says as he wraps his arms around Simon, pulling him close so he can feel the warmth of the skin against his chest.

"I'm no' workin' till seven taenight, an' that's just fur a couple o' hours." Simon leans back into the embrace without losing focus on the cooking. Then, he lifts a bowl of beaten eggs and pours them over the golden-brown potatoes sizzling in the pan.

"Whit's that?" asks Renton, "An omelette?"

"How dare ye? That," Simon points with the spatula, "is a frittata. A family recipe frae the mitherland, if ye must know."

"Mitherland? Ye've never even bin tae Italy."

"Comportati bene, cazzo!" retorts Simon, trying to sound all serious. Renton is vaguely aware that "cazzo" means "a dickhead" or something. The contrast between Simon's thick Scottish accent and his undoubtedly Italian intonation is just too funny. "The recipes o' my ancestors course through my veins; the proof's in the frittata," continues Simon.

"Aye, Marco Polo," says Renton and presses a kiss to the nape of Simon's neck.

After months spent cramming for his Highers, figuring out what he wants to study, filling in applications to universities, and making stuff in essays about how motivated he is to join the ranks of university students, summer finally gives Renton a respite. Now, close to the finish line, the only thing he needs to do is to apply for a student grant from the Edinburgh City Council and wait to get his Highters results back, but that won't happen until August.

Claire said she'd help him, and she knows about this stuff, so Renton isn't particularly worried. If anyone can figure it out, it's Claire. Renton already feels like he's punching above his weight anyway. The exams went fairly well, so he should get a few Bs. That should be enough to get him somewhere, if not in Glasgow, then in Aberdeen, which is his third choice. He also applied to the University of Edinburgh, but not because he wants to stay and study here, but just because why not? It's good to have options.

"Ye taggin' alang taenight?" asks Simon later in the afternoon. He's dressing for work now, after they've spent all day lying in bed, fooling around, and doing fuck all.

"Nah, actually, I'm heidin' tae Claire's later," says Renton. "She said she'd help me fill oot the applications."

"Didnae ye say ye already did that?" asks Simon, fixing his collar in the mirror.

"Aye, those were applications fur universities. I still need tae get aw the papers ready tae apply fur funding so I huv somethin' tae live aff of."

"Fuck, how much paperwork daes it tak tae get intae wan fuckin' university?"

Renton can't hold back a laugh. "Ye're better aff no' knowing," he says, ruffling Simon's hair to mess up his ready-for-work look.

"Oy!" protests Simon.

"I'll come ower on Monday, aye?"

"On Monday? Whit are ye gonnae dae the morra?"

"Claire's folks are away again, so I'll hang oot at hers and hopefully finish this hail thing before I reach my wit's end."

"Workin' extra hard in exchange fur that university counselin', Rents?"

"It's no' like that," objects Renton, "We're mates, and mates help each ither, ye know."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," says Simon. "Jist dinnae forget tae leave the keys tae Finlay, okay? And turn aff the boiler this time, fur fuck's sake."

"Aye," says Renton, and gives Simon's arse a squeeze when he's about to get out of the door. Simon swiftly turns around, grabs Renton's neck, and forces his tongue down his throat.

Sometimes, Simon gets weird about Renton spending time with Claire. It kind of looks like he might be jealous, but that's not it. Simon doesn't seem bothered about them hooking up; it's like he doesn't like them hanging out and being friends. So that's not exactly jealousy, but who knows what it is since there's no way to make Simon talk about how he feels unless you put a knife to his throat, and still, there's no guarantee. Somehow, they found themselves in a funny relationship where it's fine to jerk each other off, but talking about it is off the table.

Simon hangs out with a lot of people and hooks up with even more — maybe not so much lately, but still — and Renton always gives him his space. Although they have been spending a lot of time together, so at times, it feels like Renton has actually moved in with Simon as he spends more time at his place than at his parents'. But Simon lives in the Old Town so that just makes sense.

The kiss is about to turn into a full make-out session, but then someone's coming up the stairs, and Simon releases Renton.

"If ye change yer mind, we'll be doon Cowgate for a guid bit," he says, a bit winded, "The regular spots: Green Room, The Basement, an' mibbe Riverside Bar. Got five grams tae sell." Then he hurries down the stairs without looking back.

Read the new chapter

[usernoneexistent]

Juniper spends her summer holiday with friends from Hogwarts as well revisiting an old one that she hasn't seen in a while.

Warnings: mention of substance abuse, mild bad language, emotional neglect.

The summer before Juniper's second year was one that she actually looked forward to. Despite looking through the little archived newspapers of Jacob's expulsion and disappearance, she couldn't progress much further thanks to her mother and herself, who threw away most of the news articles. But she enjoyed her correspondents with Rowan and Ben that they had.

They promised to write regularly to each other and have a sleepover at each other's homes. Rowan was first; the Khannas welcomed Juniper with open arms. Ben arrived a little later. Mr Khanna offered Ben's parents that he could pick up and drop off Ben. Despite having worries about all sorts of issues, they reluctantly agreed. Mr and Mrs Khanna made it very clear since the two girls were alone with a boy that, Ben had to sleep in Rowan's older brother's room and that if the three were alone, they must keep the doors open at all times.

Rowan gave a tour of the tree farm, explaining in excruciating detail from the type of tree down to its grains before her brother jokingly told her off and that she should relax. She bathed in the refreshing smell of sawdust and country air. Juniper chuckled out that this is what Rowan finds relaxing. He mostly kept himself but helped out whenever Rowan needed him. Juniper had to be careful not to watch them closely for too long. She was happy for Rowan that she got along so well with her brother, but the green-eyed monster peaked at his ugly head. Jealous of Rowan's functional family unit while hers was in tatters.

She ignored that feeling as best as she could and focused on the fun. Mrs Khanna made butter chicken for them. It was Juniper's first time trying, but despite the spiciness, it was delectable. She had more laughs than envy moments, causing the little jealous monster to retreat to its slumber.

Juniper had to take the train at Ben's turn to host the sleepover. Due to Ben's parents' house not being connected to the floo network and Juniper living in Scotland, she had to navigate from St Andrews to Edinburgh and then down to Birmingham. Ben's father picked her up and took her into a suburban neighbourhood in his silver muggle transport. Juniper had seen cars before, but it was her first time riding in one, though she felt queasy throughout the journey. Her hair was colovera to black to make the Coppers more comfortable. Rowan was already there as she lived closer. Ben had his father's hair but his mother's brown eyes. His parents seem old, with flakes of white in their hair.

"Um, the door has to be left open. My parents are just excited that I actually have some friends over." Ben mentioned as Juniper looked around the room. It was plain, the walls were pale blue, and the walls looked sparse.

"Your parents are like mines." Rowan chimed in.

"Ma pa is like this too." Juniper added. "Actually no. He would kill you."

"Kill me! I don't want to be killed by your dad!" Ben exclaimed, frightened.

"Oh, don't worry. He'll kill me after you for bringing a boy home." Juniper said in a serious tone. Ben's eyes grew wide like saucers before Juniper laughed. "It's a joke. Don't worry. Ma Pa is far away from England."

Ben awkwardly chuckled, but Rowan distracted them by asking about all the usual muggle games. There was the snake and ladders, the game Ben had introduced when they started regularly hanging out. She browsed through his books, constantly asking one query after another. Ben patiently answered all their questions before informing them of their trip to the cinema. Ben had written to them about the muggle's own moving pictures. They use theirs to tell stories rather than take photographs.

When they finally arrived, Rowan and Juniper were in awe of the place. Ben's father also bought them popcorn which was corn burned with butter. As the muggles called it -the film- was about a girl from Kansas with a small dog. Ben gave a brief synopsis of the prequel story where she ends up in this magical place and an emerald city with small people and magic. There was a scarecrow, a lion and a tinman. In this film, there was also a princess and a pumpkinhead.

When he came to collect them, Rowan and Juniper talked nonstop about the cinema and the moving pictures. It went on and on at dinner too. They had pizza; Rowan and Juniper knew what it was but never had, so the excitement of new and exciting muggle things returned late to the night. However, they had to sleep in the guest bedroom, but Juniper convinced Ben to sneak in the middle of the night so they could chat all night long. They snacked on sweets that Juniper smuggled in and played card games.

Ben seemed relieved that the girls had a fun time before leaving, and his parents looked less anxious, especially his mum chewed on her nails less. They couldn't wait until their third one.

The rest of July came and went as her letter for the second year arrived. During that time, she practised spell casting, looking through Jacob's old school notes to see if she could perform more advanced spells.

July was always the hardest on her mother. The reminder that Jacob had been missing for another year caused her mother to become more irascible and spend more time with her bed. The glass potion bottles would increase in her room. Juniper went shopping again, but when she returned, her mother told her off grumpily for not considering the dangers of being alone before crying about how sorry she was for not being there for Juniper.

One day, an owl brought the Daily Prophet and dropped it on the table, almost landing her cereal. Typically, she would scan through it and tear out any pages she knew would trigger her mum into an episode. However, this particular headline caught her eye.

Curses of the Moss coming back sooner than later?

Written, of course, by Rita Skeeter. That journalist made the most scandalous and shocking headlines throughout Jacob's expulsion and subsequent disappearance. She hid every one of her articles in a box, but none ever had any substance.

Jacob Moss' disappearance felt like it just happened yesterday when he endangered Hogwarts when it was supposed to be a place of sanctuary. Now five years later, his younger sister has seemingly continued on his delusional quest of the fabled cursed vaults-

Juniper stopped reading on at this point. She knew better than to fall for the vindictive lies of Rita Skeeter and start looking at more credible sources. She recalled that her neighbour, Gedeon Doughlas, had collected newspaper clippings about almost everything during the fiasco. Gedeon had always been there for her and her mum. He was Jacob's prefect, so he also watched out for her brother. Well, their families have been friends since the 1800s when his great, great grandfather and her three times great grandfather founded and co-owned their infamous pub, the Naughty Cliffs. Though in hard times, her grandfather had built up a lot of debt, and her mother wasn't fit to work; thus, it ended with Jimmy, Gedeon's father running the place as of late.

She crept quietly past her mother's bedroom down the hall and grabbed her bright red raincoat before heading out into the forest of Tentsmuir. The Doughlas house was a five-minute walk, a stone structure similar to her home.

Her wet knuckles rapped on the dark wooden door. A few minutes passed before Juniper determined it was a stupid idea anyway. Besides, she was also getting soaked in the drizzle.

"Junie?" Behind her, the door was outstretched, and a tall, blonde man leaned against the door frame.

"Ged!" She excitedly ran up to him and almost knocked the wind out of him.

"Well, look at how you've grown, Tern." He hugged her properly and spun her right around before putting her down. A wet stain was marked on his shirt where the raincoat touched. "It's been almost a year right?"

"Aye, we keep missing each other." Juniper remarked. Gedeon invited her in and placed her soaked raincoat by the fire while he made some tea. Uncle Jimmy was away at work, leaving the two alone.

"What brought you over here anyway?" Gedeon leaned against the countertops with his cup of tea in hand.

"I wanted tae look over the old articles when Jacob went missing. You still have all the articles?" Juniper warmed her hands against the puffin-covered mug.

"Aye, I do. I think I have them in my room. Wait one second till I find them." Gedeon left Juniper alone for what felt like a while. She heard his heavy footsteps running around the room.

Before long, her tea was gone, and Gedeon's went cold. He came back and plopped down a massive stack.

"Whoa! I did nae expect you have this much." The girl commented. Her fingers carefully flicked through, scanning each headline to see if it was a grabber or if it contained genuine information.

"Why'd you want tae read this anyway?" Gedeon queried, helping Juniper sort through. "Wait, you're searching for the cursed vaults, aren't ya?"

"Aye..." Juniper felt herself go quiet. She had forgotten that Gedeon was also an adult, yet most always stopped her from finding Jacob, but Gedeon was her side. When her brother disappeared, he looked after her and her mum. Besides, he would know what Jacob was doing for at least three years.

"Are you gonna tell ma?"

She put on her best puppy eyes at Gedeon, and he just laughed at her plea attempt.

"Aye, no worries. I'm no going tae tell your ma, I promise." He winked at Juniper.

"How is it going anyway?" Gedeon inquired, growing more interested in Juniper's adventure. She updated him on everything that had happened for the past school year, including her strange visions.

Gedeon seemed supportive and even offered his help where he could. Well, he first allowed Juniper to take the article clippings that appeared to hold the most information and put it into her evidence notebook. Keeping everything in one place was handy instead of relying on Rowan's incredible memory archive.

He charmed the bits of newspaper articles with a waterproof charm to protect them from the rain before she said her thanks and goodbyes to him, forgetting all about her mother tossing in bed.

***

Finally, when it was Juniper's turn, it was the complete opposite of her mum. Julia didn't mind that the doors were shut and if the tweens wanted some privacy. She trusted Juniper would be responsible enough, as always. Her mum really went the extra mile for Juniper, helping her set up a tent charmed to be rainproof as the summer rain ceased to end, and with sleeping bags, they found lying about the house.

"What else do we need?" Juniper asked.

"I think I have some games somewhere for you guys," Julia stated. "Wait here, I'll get it."

Over fifteen minutes passed as Juniper grew more concerned. She had finished putting up the fairy lights. The girl rushed inside and up the stairs to the attic; she peaked her head over to find her mother weeping quietly.

"Ma?"

"Oh, Junie," Julia quickly wiped her tears. "I was just getting ludo."

Juniper wrapped her arms around her. "You don't have to say anything. Don't we need the sweets too?"

"You're right, Juno. I'll go make up a bowl." Julia thinly smiled, using her daughter's distraction.

Juniper took the magically modified ludo board. Jacob had tinkered about with it after finding the board game in a muggle market.

Mr Khanna brought Rowan and Ben outside their stone cottage. He asked if Rowan had everything she needed, but she knew that Rowan would be over-prepared.

"You're finally both here!" Juniper squished them both in a bear hug. "Come, I have so much to show you. Me and Ma set up the tent for us to sleep."

"That's so cool!"

"It looks small," Ben commented.

"It's bigger on the inside." Rowan and Juniper said simultaneously. Ben didn't look as surprised. A year at Hogwarts would make anyone ready for the unexpected.

Ben was amazed at the change in size perception. There were three camping beds with sleeping bags and a separate bathroom that her father had enchanted. Now that Juniper thinks about it more, her father did most of the transfiguration and put all this effort into it. Yet, they only camped once together, which ended in an absolute disaster from the patchy memories.

"I was thinking we could down tae the beach first, how does that sound?"

"That sounds like a wonderful idea," Rowan said.

"Wait here, I need tae ask Ma tae colovera ma hair since muggles are there," Juniper excused and rushed to the kitchen. The bowl was there, but her mum wasn't. She quickly looked into her mum's bedroom.

Crap.

That was her mum out cold for a whole day. Juniper went outside, grabbing her tulip hat and a bobble before she squished her hair up inside the stripey hat.

Juniper peaked her hair around in the tent and forced a smile. "Mum is quickly out shopping so I could nae get my hair colovera but we can still go tae the beach."

Rowan raised her eyebrows in suspicion but left it.

"Okay, lets go then."

Juniper guided through the forest and onto the trails where the muggles tend to trek. Down to the sandy beach, many muggles dotted about with their kids. Juniper kicked off her shoes.

"This place is so nice," Rowan remarked, looking comfortable for once. "I wish I could live in a place like this. It must be nice being able to go the beach whenever you want."

"Not to mention the terriying creatures that lurk at night in the forest." Ben added

"I can assure you the most terrifying thing here are the seagulls." Juniper chuckled, pointing up at the seagulls encircling.

To prove her point, one of the seagulls daringly swooped down and snatched a family's chips as they ran shrieking. The man tried to whack the seagull with a rolled-up newspaper, only to trip over the bags.

The seagull laughed in its victory, eating away at the chip. Juniper saw the look of horror on Ben's face. She tried her hardest to stifle her laughter but to no avail. Rowan quickly followed suit.

"It's not funny!" Ben stomped.

"I'm sorry, Ben," Rowan wiped away a tear before clutching her stomach.

"I was nae expecting that," Juniper howled with laughter. "I'm sorry, Ben but I swear I did nae plan this. This is just too perfect."

Ben moped around briefly, but he started to enjoy the day. The trio at first kept to themselves the rest of the day but somehow managed to play with the muggle kids. Juniper had a few close calls with her hat flying off, but they walked back home soaking, sandy and weary in the best way possible.

Juniper checked on her mum, still out like a light, so she had to get creative. She made grilled cheese sandwiches and brought the sweetie bowl. She claimed that her mum went to bed early. Technically not a lie.

They stayed up all night, maybe getting hyper from the sweets or the excitement from that day, but at some point, they somehow fell asleep. Julia was still so knocked when Juniper checked in again.

Two days and one night were all that Juniper asked for.

The girl calmly assured her friends that her mum was just tired and made them breakfast. They grew concerned, but Juniper plastered a smile, repeating that everything was alright.

Juniper was forced to put on an apologetic smile while asking Mrs Khanna if she could disapparate Ben back to his parents. Mrs Khanna raised concerns over her mother's lack of presence. Still, Juniper immediately shot her down, saying she was fine and could handle it alone.

Once the goodbyes were over and she shut the front door, the floodgates of anger opened. She heard a creak from her mother's bedroom, and her mum's head popped out, blue tuffs sticking out where she had lain.

"Where are Rowan and Ben? Did I miss them?"

"Aye, Ma! They just left right there." She snapped. Her mum physically reacted as her face showed deep hurt. Juniper wanted so badly to run and comfort her mum, but another part felt deeply pained that she couldn't just have woken up. Just the days of sleepovers, that's all she wanted. How hard was it for her mum not to take sleeping draughts and sleep in? Just simply be there and give her the sense that everything was alright.

"Auch, what a shame. I wanted to chat to Mrs Khanna for a wee minute." Her mum grimaced before returning to bed.

Juniper wanted to scream at her mum for being careless but stayed calm. Screaming would just induce a panic attack and make her mum cry that she was a lousy mother, and if things got worse...Juniper didn't want to think about that.

She left the cliff cottage and walked through the wood. Before she knew it, her hand punched a tree, and every pent-up frustration was released on the bark before she screamed that her small frame could muster.

"Poor tree. What did he deserve tae get such treatment?" Juniper turned around and saw a blonde man bearing a crooked grin.

"Oh, hey Gedeon" She covered her bruises, hands behind her back. "Nothing much."

"You sure?" He slowly approached her, getting his wand out. "Let me see, Tern."

Juniper, ashamed, put out her hands as Gedeon healed the bloody and bruised knuckles.

"There, all better now." He said softly. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

Juniper shook her head. She knew she could confide in Gedeon, but she didn't want to say.

"Wanna come bird watching with me?"

"Beats being here."

Juniper took his offer. She needed to escape from here and be secluded in nature's life. She took his arm and disapparated to the Isle of May. It was a small, rocky island off the coast of Fife.

They apparated inside the abandoned light tower. Gedeon quickly checked that no muggles heard or saw anything, but it seemed good of people that day. Maybe the rain driving most tourists off, or they're on the boat.

"Tie your hair up, Junie."

"Why?" Juniper asked as she obediently followed his instructions, twirling it into a messy bun.

"Just in case any muggles pass by. Don't want tae to make them jealous cause of your amazing hair." He joked. Her hair was causing trouble, as per usual.

"Aye, so the usual then," Juniper said. Gedeon placed his fish hat on her head, almost swallowing Juniper whole. "Are we going to see the puffins first?"

"Aye, you always loved the puffins." Gedeon laughed.

"What's so wrong about that?" Juniper huffed and pouted, which seemed to make Gedeon laugh more.

"Aye, nothing." He pulled her out of the lighthouse. "Lets go."

When they got out, the wind wasn't as bad as Juniper had expected though she had to hold on tight to the hat. He took her to the rocky side and crawled down onto their stomachs at a safe distance.

Gedeon pulled out a pair of binoculars and observed the flock of puffins either idling by at the rocks or flying about.

"Look at that one!" Juniper pointed towards the bird, swooping down on its prey. "He's got a big fish!"

"I think that's actually a she." Gedeon corrected.

"How'd you ken?" She asked.

"I ken cause the bill is small and her overall size." Gedeon explained.

"Obviosuly, I can't see very well from here." Juniper commented snarkily. They could get closer, but Gedeon didn't want them to disturb their habitat.

Gedeon sighed and passed his binoculars on to her. "Here, use this and tell me what you see."

The rock was filled with loud squawks and little chirps as Juniper scanned with her binoculars. There were a lot of puffins feeding their chicks.

"Lots of baby puffins," Juniper watched a mother puffin feed her chick a fish. She watched the birds in a fit of strange jealousy, and the mother birds were more of a mother than her own.

"Do you want tae talk about your ma?"

Juniper sighed, "I asked ma if she can no take sleeping draughts when ma friends come over. I don't want them to see her all moody and depressed."

"I get that," Gedeon sympathised. "I was embarrassed to bring my friends over when I was your age."

"Really?"

"Aye, but don't forget that yer Ma is dealing with a lot at this time."

Juniper sighed as Gedeon was right. Her mum was trying hard not to think about Jacob, but a part of her couldn't help but feel overlooked. She looked through the binoculars.

"A whole lotta puffins...Wait." Juniper scrunched her eyes to look closer at the foreign bird. "There's another, white except for the head and the beak is orange."

"Pass that back," Juniper gave back the binoculars, observing Gedeon. His eyebrows knitting as he focused on the other bird. "Look it's an artic tern. Also known as sterna paradisaea in Latin. They're common around here."

"You ken Latin?" Juniper sounded surprised at this new knowledge.

"Only for birds," he quietly laughed. "It helps knowing if they're part of the same family."

"Oh? But why do you keep calling me tern? I don't think I'm anything like them."

"On the contrary, Junie, you are exactly like them."

"How so?"

"They are tenacious and hopeful creatures. They migrate the longest distance and they continue to persist despite the dangerous weather conditions leading to hope."

"That's pretty cool," Juniper said, smiling to herself.

Juniper determined right then that terns were her new favourite birds, and she would be an arctic tern pursuing the cursed vaults.

Previous chapter: chapter 10

Next chapter: chapter 12

[pshbites]

PILLOW TALK ━ pjs

pairing : fiance!jay x fem!reader genre : est. relationship, pure FLUFF!! warnings : none! synopsis : after a long day of work you and your loving doting fiance lay in bed and have a conversation about the future wc : 0.9k a/n : muahahahah i just wanted to put this out bc i enjoy feeding u guys.... ENJOY!

if u enjoyed pls like & reblog, feedback is always appreciated!!

you shut the front door behind you, frowning slightly at the living room light still being on, which signified jay was awake. you walked over, seeing him on the couch mindlessly typing on his laptop. “oh baby, you’re home. i didn’t hear you come in” he smiled up at you, sliding away his laptop. “why are you awake, i told you not to wait up” you sighed, setting your purse on the coffee table and taking a seat next to him, him immediately pulling you into him to rest your head on his shoulder. 

“sorry love, i was just doing some planning” he said, stroking your hair. you sighed, intertwining your fingers with his. ever since jay had proposed it seemed most of his time was taken up in planning this wedding. if it weren’t for you, jay would’ve gotten married at a church the very next morning. that shows how eager he is to make you his wife. 

“‘s okay baby, let’s wash up okay?” you sat up, your head off his shoulder and now your hand cupping his face. he looked in your eyes and nodded, pecking your lips before standing up from the couch. the two of you walked to your shared bedroom and bathroom, beginning your nightly routines side by side. 

you and jay had been living together prior to the engagement and not once did either of you regret it. of course there were some days where it was frustrating that you worked long hours and jay worked from home, but either way you both were comfortable with one another and that meant including 24/7. 

jay shut the bathroom lights as he walked behind you to the bed that you were already laying on. jay walked to the other side and laid on the bed, getting under the covers along with you. you turned to him and smiled, as if asking to lay on his chest and he nodded, opening his arms for you. 

you laid on his chest and smiled as he began to stroke and play with your hair. “what were you planning?” you mumbled, breaking the silence in the room. “i was checking out some venues” he sighed, twirling your hair around his fingers. “we haven’t even decided a location yet babe” you laughed a little and he furrowed his brows. “yeah i know i was looking in popular spots, there’s this place in edinburgh i think you’d like” he replied making you frown a little. 

“you know park jongseong, it's your wedding too” you said his full name, in a mocking way. “i’m well aware yln yn” he teased back, making you laugh. “then start acting like it!” you slapped his chest lightly, eliciting a small yet playful ‘ow’ from him. jay sighed and continued to play with your hair in every way, “you know whatever you like, i like. i wanna make this perfect for you” he confessed, sighing out. you sat up, turning to look at him.

“babe, i promise, i don’t need so much. i have you and our friends and family, that’s what perfect means to me” you played with the edges of his shirt, looking into his eyes. he nodded, reaching to hold your hands in his. “i know, but what you like is important to me so just let me do this” he rubbed your hands in his, smiling. you looked into his eyes and sighed out, “fine fine, but as long as you like it as well” you agreed reluctantly, laying back down on his chest. 

jay went back to your hair, continuing to play with it as his other hand went to rest on your waist, rubbing it softly. the two of you laid in silence like that for a while, the sound of his heartbeat calming you down after a long day of work. “does this mean i should schedule our cake tasting?” jay mumbled, making you laugh against his chest. you felt his chest bubble with giggles as well. “yes you can” you said, making him smile and nod, pulling you closer. 

you looked down at your own hand next to his, coincidentally both of your rings on display. his plain band and your engagement ring. you smiled softly, rotating it on your finger, playing with it. “you know i was thinking” you said, making jay hum in response. “we could order our cake from that bakery we both like, you know the one-“ “we went to after our first date, i remember” he smiled, looking down at you. “i like that idea,” you smiled, looking up at him slightly. 

jay smiled down at you and kissed your forehead, making you close your eyes and smile. “i love you” you said once he pulled back slightly and he only smiled back “i love you too my love” you sighed, cuddling up closer to him if that was even possible. maybe this was one of the reasons you loved jay so much, his need to always love you regardless. sometimes that was all you needed. 

you sighed against his chest, your eyes starting to shut slightly. “you sleepy?” jay mumbled, still stroking your hair. it was causing you to fall asleep, you knew that, he knew that. “yeah but i wanna talk to you more, i haven’t seen you all day” “it’s okay, we have the rest of our lives” jay sighed out, his words making you smile. it was true, you did have the rest of your lives together. the thought of this lulled both of you to sleep, assured you weren’t missing anything. 

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© all rights to pshbites 2025. please do not copy, translate or repost my works

[johanisntsleeping]

Possible itinerary for a future trip to Edinburgh

So, since the last time we went on a trip you organized everything yourself, I decided to start looking into our next one myself.

We've talked about a lot of places we could go, and maybe I'll write a post for those places too, but Edinburgh looks to be the most likely candidate for a new destination at the moment.

Edinburgh is a very nice city, looks to be very much our style, and it's even more perfect in fall or winter.

Day 1

-We land in the morning or the evening. The airport is half an hour away from the city so we'll have to get a bus or a Taxi, or Cab as they say there, and make our way to the city.

-AirBnBs, hotels, and rooms downtown are actually quite expensive so we'll have to find some good deal somewhere. It might turn out to be a Paris 2.0. but we'll see.

-If we land the evening prior to our first real day, a good first visit would be Dean Village. It's a very quiet part of the city, with a nice river and lots of vegetation running through the old houses of the neighborhood that could be the subject of some great photographs.

-After Dean Village, we could head to Stockbridge and its farmers market, where a lot of artisanal products are sold (Lots of candles apparently?). To get there we'd have to walk along the Leith River, which would make for a beautiful relaxing walk.

-Then we have brunch or lunch in Stockbridge before we head to the beautiful Royal Botanic Garden. There we will walk. A lot. But there are very nice ponds and trees, and our feet should have recovered from Paris by that point.

-Then, as we'll probably do many times during our trip, we'll go get some tea and relax a bit before...

-We walk (I'm sorry) to the Royal Mile, and there we will walk some more (foot massages come included with me). Edinburgh doesn't seem to be a city with lots of specific landmarks like Paris, it's somewhere you go and kinda just live. We'll probably visit lots of churches and historic buildings along the way. It should take the whole afternoon and we might not even see all of it.

-It should be dinnertime by now, and honestly, I don't know where to go yet cause it all looks very British, so I mean bad. But after that, if we want to relax and have some fun before returning to our room, we could go to Mousetrap. It's a simple bar, serving beers and drinks, but its main attraction is the board games scattered around the place waiting to be played.

-Then we go home, cuddle, kiss, and then fall asleep together, which is always the best part of the day.

Day 2

-I wake you up by giving you a little kiss on the cheek, then when your eyes slightly open I start kissing you even more until you tell me to stop, but you don't really mean it because you actually want more and want to drown in the love I give you. But we can't waste too much time because we have to get ready and get out of the house because...

-The first thing we go see is the zoo. It shouldn't be too crowded if we get there early, and we'll be able to enjoy weird-looking dogs and cats. And yeah, they got Red Pandas too. We stay at the zoo the whole morning ideally, and maybe even have lunch there.

-Then we'll visit the National Galleries of Scotland: Modern One and Two, and its surroundings. It should be another great walk with the Leith River nearby. This could take us a good chunk of the afternoon but should be worth it. It's another great place where to take pictures.

-We go back to the city and we should be able to check out Topping and Company which is a really nice bookstore you might like.

-Then we have dinner, and we can either go to Lane 7, which is a really cool bowling and game room place, or walk through the city at night. We could get drinks again, then go home and kiss and maybe if we're not tired make love?

Day 3

-We wake up, do the whole kissing thing again, and then we get ready because before it gets too busy we have to go check out 13 Harry Potter-related locations. It should take the whole morning. I will share a PDF file with all the locations at a later time.

-We get lunch and then we head to Portobello, the seaside town of Edinburgh, where we'll spend the afternoon visiting. A nice tea by the beach could be a nice thing to do.

-We'll come back around dinner time and we'll probably be too tired to do much, but a nice walk to see Edinburgh's Castle at night is something we could consider. If we're back earlier we could also go watch the sunset at Arthurs Seat. It's a little 30-minute hike up a hill but it should be worth it for the view.

-Then we go back to our room, where I'll give you the tons of cuddles and kisses that you deserve for making me feel so good.

And this is what I think a few days in Edinburgh could look like. Of course, there's a ton of stuff I left out, and ideally, we could stay another day or two and see more stuff we find.

I only hope we get to do this one day.

[gumnut-logic]

Sweetapple (Part 3 - bit 3)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 - Bit 1, Bit 2, Bit 3

Still @flyboytracy ‘s fault 😁💚

Finally we get to the end of Part 3. I suspect there will be a Part 4 and that’s it, but trust me, Alex would be quite happy if I kept writing more of him. He wants stuff to happen! ::eyes him:: This fic first, finished is the key. Plus, I’m sick, so muse has to be treated nice or it will plead sick too and then nothing will get done.

Again many thanks to @onereyofstarlight​ for reading and her amazing support :D

This bit also has some exposition, but the next bit should have more Tracy in it :D Thank you all of you who have been patient with me. Writing would be so much easier if I didn’t have to go to work, drat it. ::hugs you all::

I hope you are enjoying this fic.

-o-o-o-

The news did put a damper on the Māhia achievement and Alex fully expected for there to be a delay. But no, the efficient machine that was Tracy Industries only took a moment to recover before steaming ahead with even more determination, and a few weeks later Alex found himself landing by hovercopter, no less, at the research facility.

Avengers Lab was a legit comparison. As they flew over the main building the Tracy Industries logo glared up at the sky from the roof. People could be seen buzzing around the complex like bees. Some wore protective clothing, some wore jeans, many were riding what looked like hoverscooters about the grounds.

Off in the distance, something went bang and a curl of smoke wound its way up between two hills.

No one in the complex seemed to pay any attention.

Beside him Erica was dancing in her seat, providing a running commentary on everything she saw. He had serious concerns she was going to blow a blood vessel through sheer excitement if she wasn’t careful.

As for himself, he was overwhelmed. The possibilities of his future and how last Christmas he hadn’t been able to make rent much less celebrate and yet now he was in the fabled land of everything. Part of him was terrified it was all going to pop like a soap bubble and disappear like a dream.

But it didn’t. They landed and were welcomed by Tia Thompson herself - a tall woman with a big mop of frizzy hair and a smile full of perfect teeth. She was professional and kind and handed them over to Fireman Fred.

Fred claimed to be the foreman of the site, but as far as Alex could understand, it sounded more like the man was the shepherd and the rest of them, including the director were the sheep.

He was formidable and Alex honestly did feel like a sheep, a very small sheep despite his own considerable height. Fred was at least a half-foot taller than him, several widths wider and the bulges in his t-shirt were all muscle.

Older, definitely grizzled and with an accent from Edinburgh itself - where IR had apparently pulled him out from under a building.

Some time later, Erica dug up the story that the man had followed International Rescue home and had badgered the staff at Tracy Industries until Jeff Tracy dropped by and gave him a job.

He had been the shepherd ever since.

Yes, Alex definitely felt like a sheep.

But this sheep had some living quarters on Māhia Peninsula and finally had a chance to realise his ideas.

The concept had originally come to Alex while reading about Jeff Tracy’s landing on Mars. The Cornerstone lander had made its approach in the middle of one of the planet’s notorious dust storms. Several of the craft’s sensors had been compromised causing an error in the calculations for touchdown, which in turn had made for a rough landing. The fuel tanks had been damaged and if it hadn’t been for some quick repairs by Lee Taylor, their fuel could have bubbled away.

The team had had access to the necessary sealants, but it had required up and close work. At the time, the two astronauts had been able to reach the leak site, but there was always the chance they couldn’t, and time was always a factor.

It was a safety gap that Alex couldn’t find any currently manufactured substance or device that could have improved the astronauts’ chances.

It was mainly a concern regarding delivery. Finding a way to get a sealant out there fast that could work in all kinds of pressure or lack of it.

He designed a compound that produced a deployable skin, laced with nano-polymer strands that should give it amazing strength and flexibility. Delivery could be by propellant or drone. He hoped to see it able to contain hull breaches in the depths of space or in the deep sea.

But first they had to make it work.

And work they did. Weeks passed in that lab. Many glorious weeks filled with ingenuity and experimentation.

Erica was the saner of the two, often dragging him out of the lab repeatedly at the wrong end of morning. He sometimes fought her, possibly in his own delirium, but he had to admit she was right.

So coffee was obtained.

He did, for one small moment, hope that this heavenly place was the source of that manna he had found in Scott Tracy’s reception area. But while the site’s coffee was top notch, it just really wasn’t up to that decadent level.

But at the moment he had enough coffee to sustain his consciousness and enough to focus.

He was very, very focussed.

For days on end.

So that was perhaps why he didn’t clue into the fact there was a Thunderbird parked on the landing field that morning. Perhaps it was the snag they were having with temperature balance between the siliwrap capsule and the projectile launcher and the fact he had been working through that when Erica yanked him out of the lab at 2am and consequently was still ‘working’ on it five hours later when he must have walked past the hulking green cargo plane and not noticed it in the slightest.

Erica called it his ‘Big Think’ mode.

Erica shouldn’t be allowed to name anything.

But in any case, he didn’t notice the Thunderbird.

He did, however, notice the hoverchair in his lab with some blond-haired twit poking around in his notebook.

“Hey, don’t touch that!”

The man looked up at him, expression sheepish. “Sorry, couldn’t help myself.”

But Alex was staring as realisation slowly dropped bricks on his head and stomach.

The man had one arm in a sling and one leg in a cast. He was also, undeniably Mr Gordon Tracy.

-o-o-o-

 Next

[free-pool-trash]

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.”

[svnflowervol666]

Ma Petite Chérie: Babymoon (Harry Styles x fem!Reader)

Read more from this little universe, Ma Petite Chérie, in my masterlist!

Summary: Harry and Y/N go on their babymoon.

Warnings: pregnancy, smut, fluff

Word Count: 6.4k

Author’s Note: Hello! I wrote this in order to cross off a few requests. I promised Harry and Y/N would have a baby of their own, plus I get asks all of the time to write pregnancy sex - specifically awkward, giggly pregnancy sex. I also got one about Harry getting a love boner, so here is my attempt at shoving all of that down your throat at once. Try not to choke :-)  I also just reallllllly love Harry, Y/N, and Tallulah, so I wanted to give them some more love. Also made this one pornstache!Harry, so, there’s that. And one last thing...I know the verb tense is way off in this but I could not be arsed to edit it so plz don’t drag me. I hope everyone enjoys! Take care and TPWK.

“Oh my god,” Y/N huffed as she collapsed on the plush sofa in the living room of the cottage.

“It feels so fucking good out here by the water.”

“Breeze is nice, innit?” Harry replied as he rummaged through the kitchen cabinets to check out how well the place he’d rented for the week was stocked.

“Beats going t’ France at the end of June. Think I’m kinda gettin’ tired of Paris t’ be honest.”

“That is quite possibly the snobbiest thing I’ve ever heard you say, Mr. Styles,” she said with a laugh as she began to flip through the tourist brochures that were left on the coffee table.

Not that they’d be partaking in any of it, no. Their plan was to hole up in the quaint, Scottish cottage that sat right on the coast of the North Sea for the whole week, not even planning on changing out of their pajamas.

It was their babymoon after all - a time of peace and tranquility before the arrival of their first child together.

Harry hummed and he made his way from the kitchen to where Y/N was seated on the couch. He stood behind her, knees knocking against the back of the sofa as he crouched down and wrapped his arms around her very large, very swollen belly.

“If I recall correctly, Mrs. Styles, I sat my injured arse in a stiff train seat to Edinburgh for five hours because someone was too scared to fly even though they were cleared to do so by three separate doctors.”

“’M not Mrs. Styles for another year and a half,” Y/N muttered under her breath, albeit not trying to keep Harry from hearing it in the slightest.

Harry snickered into her neck, then playfully nipped her earlobe with his teeth as he whispered.

“Not my fault yeh got knocked up and we had t’ push the wedding.”

“It is very much your fault, Harry,” Y/N swatted at his face, fingers first brushing his jawline that was covered in a rough stubble and then just barely tracing the full-blown mustache that sat like a caterpillar above his bright pink top lip.

Harry smirked down at her, nostrils flaring wide and lips disappearing inside of his mouth.

“How’s your rib?” Y/N asked suddenly.

“Good. Why?” Harry’s brows quickly furrowed together in confusion as to why she was asking about his injury.

“Might have to ride that later if you’ve got the lungs for it,” she tapped her index and middle fingers along her philtrum, right where Harry’s mustache sat on his own face.

Her blunt lewdness had Harry’s cock immediately growing stiff in his pants. It had been a while. His injury coupled with her being in the last trimester of her pregnancy had left them both feeling unsatisfied for the past several weeks. Maybe this babymoon would prove to be relaxing not only because Harry and Y/N get to spend a week without a rambunctious almost six-year-old screaming at all hours of the day, but for other reasons too.

“Think I’d actually drop dead from happiness if yeh sat on m’ face right now, lovie. But, before yeh get too comfortable with that idea, we need t’ head into town. Kitchen’s only got the necessities, and I doubt yeh want t’ eat homemade bread for a week.”

“I’m sure you’d love to eat homemade bread for a week,” Y/N jested, poking fun at Harry’s latest obsession with the carb-filled food.

“Remind me again why I put up with you?” Harry toyed as he extended his arms out towards Y/N to use as leverage to help her hoist herself up from the couch.

When she regains her balance, she lifts herself up just slightly to press a quick kiss to Harry’s lips that he happily accepts. Y/N hums and jokingly checks the imaginary watch that sits on her wrist.

“How much time do you have? That list is pretty long.”

//

The trip to one of the only supermarkets in the small part of Edinburgh that they were staying in had proved to be rather tiring, because Harry opted to use store-bought pasta instead of making his own - something he never does. Maybe it was his healing rib causing him to be short-winded, but he simply could not bring himself to hand-make the pasta they chose to have for dinner that night. He bitched about it all night, about how it wasn’t as chewy as it should be and how it would have tasted much better if he would have just made it himself, but it still didn’t deter him from helping himself to a second serving.

He claimed it was because while he did use pre-cooked pasta, he didn’t use sauce from a jar and made his own from fresh tomatoes and that was the appeal. Y/N just thinks Harry likes to complain and listen to himself talk.

After dinner, just as the sun was setting and Harry and Y/N were waiting for their pasta to digest before they dove into the box of fresh pastries from a bakery they found along the way, they decided to take a walk around the property. The renovated, stone cottage that was overgrown with vines and leaves sat along a short cliffside that overlooked the North Sea. It was a short walk down the cliff that brought them to the beach, where mist from the ocean whisped around their legs and ankles like a thin veil of smoke. While it was the middle of summer, Scotland’s persistent rain showers and their proximity to the water never made it too hot to bear.

“Lulah would love it out here. We’ll have to bring her when the baby’s older.”

“She realIy would,” Harry agreed as he wrapped his sweater further around his chest.

“Know yeh didn’t give birth t’ her, but I swear you two are just alike sometimes. Absolutely hates bein’ hot and gettin’ sweaty just like you.”

Y/N smiled softly and knowingly at Harry before reaching into the pocket of the patchwork sweater of Harry’s that she’d stolen for their stroll on the beach for her phone.

“I’m gonna call her.”

She picked up on the third ring, Y/N’s phone screen then illuminated with a live image of a gap-toothed Tallulah. Well, it’s Mitch’s phone, but she’d been waiting for this promised FaceTime call all day so of course she’s quick to answer.

“Mummy!”

Both Y/N’s and Harry’s heart swelled in their chest when they heard Tallulah speak. It had been several months since she’d decided to start referring to Y/N as her mother, but neither of them had grown used to it just yet. Y/N felt a sense of achievement in “earning” the title of being Tallulah’s mum after all of the years she’d spent with her, and Harry felt a sense of resolution. His family was a real family now, and not just a patchwork of awkward relationships and trust issues. Y/N was Tallulah’s mum and she was now seven months pregnant with their own child and they’d be married by the end of next year. He was actually there to see his child grow this time, they weren’t a secret kept from him out of spite. He’d be there for all of it, even the gross and bloody and goopy bits. And he’d never felt more complete.

“Hi, baby,” Y/N beamed from ear to ear.

“What are you doing?”

“We’re walking on the beach,” Y/N answered.

“Want to see it?”

The five-year-old (five and three-quarters if you asked Tallulah herself) nodded quickly, and Y/N then flipped the camera around to show her the view of the water. Y/N pointed out their cottage from where they stood in the sand, turning the camera to Harry briefly as he held up a peace sign so Tallulah could see that her dad was also on the beach with her. She told her all about the train ride there and how Harry almost slipped and broke his face when was carrying his and Y/N’s luggage into the cottage.

Harry listened to his two little loves talk back and forth with the biggest smile on his face as he absent-mindedly scoured the beach for rocks he could skip along the water. He noticed whenever Tallulah said something that Y/N thought was funny, she had to cup her bump with her hand and forearm to keep it from shaking her entire body. She told him she hated laughing now, because it made her look like Santa Claus, but Harry thought she couldn’t look more beautiful.

“That’s so pretty! Can we all go when the baby is here?” Tallulah asked, puckering into a pout as she begged.

“I think that’s a great idea, Lulah. We were just talking about that, weren’t we, Harry?”

Harry perked up from where he had been washing a sandy shell off in the ocean and suddenly appeared in view of the camera and took the phone from Y/N. 

“Hmm?” he asked as he studied Tallulah’s appearance.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Mitch to watch his baby girl while he went away for a week with his other baby girl, it was that him and Sarah voluntarily asked to babysit Tallulah and that’s what made him so apprehensive to accept their offer. There wasn’t anything out of the ordinary about a sleepover at Uncle Mitch and Aunt Sarah’s every now and then, but to want to watch his daughter for an entire week certainly was. Harry felt like Mitch was plotting against him and that he’d come back to Tallulah with bright blue hair and bangs or she’d be sporting the world’s worst potty mouth when she came home, but so far that didn’t seem to be the case. 

She was wearing Harry’s “Dream Boat” shirt that she’d claimed as her own a few years back when Y/N had taught her to wear her father’s clothes when she missed him because the smell would remind her of him (he had to steal it back and sleep in it a few times every now and then to keep his scent on it), and her long, brown hair was damp and neatly braided into two plaits and hanging off her shoulders. That had to have been Sarah’s doing, because Harry knew Mitch could barely put his own hair into a ponytail without creating several lumps and redoing it eighteen times before it looked presentable - meaning he certainly wouldn’t have been able to make a five-year-old sit still long enough to braid her hair perfectly. 

She looked fine, though. Happy, healthy, certainly didn’t have blue hair or bangs and hadn’t said a single naughty thing since she’d been on the phone with Y/N.

“Lulah wants us to come back here after the baby’s born and take her with us,” Y/N beamed.

“I think we can work that out. Sounds quite lovely, actually,” Harry concurred.

“Yeh bein’ good for Mitch and Sarah?”

“Mhmm,” Tallulah nodded.

“We had pizza for dinner.”

“That sounds yummy,” Harry enthused, trying to let his daughter know he had his full attention.

“It was bery good,” she sighed.

There was a long pause before Tallulah blurted out suddenly in the most serious tone, “When are you gonna shave the rest of your mustache? Mitchy was making fun of you today.”

Harry was caught between a gasp and a laugh, which resulted in him choking on his own spit. Y/N turned on her heels in the sand to look at him with wide eyes. 

“You okay?” Y/N mouthed quietly to Harry, completely oblivious to everything that had happened in the last thirty seconds.

Harry nodded, wiping the involuntary tears from his eyes as he coughed himself back to life and regained his composure.

“What exactly did Uncle Mitch say about my mustache?” he prodded.

Tallulah shrugged, subconsciously wiggling her loose bottom tooth with her tongue.

“Don’t ‘member. Just that you look weird with it.”

“Well that’s not a very nice thing t’ say, is it?”

“Mummy said you look weird, too,” Tallulah spouted without hesitation.

Her comment left Y/N’s mouth agape, covering her smile with her palm as Harry’s raised eyebrows feigned offense in her direction.

“She did?” Harry asked sarcastically, narrowing his eyes at her.

“Yeah,” Tallulah sighed as if it was exhausting having to tell your own father that his facial hair looks off-putting.

“I think you should shave it, too. It’s scratchy when you kiss me goodnight.”

All Harry could offer in return was stunned laughter while Y/N hid her face in Harry’s peck. Her bump pressed lightly into his and even though he was pretending to be mad at her, he wouldn’t dare think about pushing her off of him - not while she was this warm and cozy against his chest. 

“Well, if mummy really hates it I suppose I’ll get rid of it. But,” Harry pauses and pulls Y/N out from where she had burrowed her face into his sweater.

“I think I might know a trick that’ll convince her t’ let me keep i-”

“Enough!” Y/N exclaimed, clamping both of her hands around Harry’s mouth.

Harry chuckled against her palm and poked his tongue through his lips to lick her fingers, which sent her hands flying back down to her leggings so she could wipe them dry.

“I swear to god, Harry. You’re five years old,” she joked with a disgusted expression on her face, to which Tallulah had something to say to that. 

“No, I’m five years old!”

The two adults laughed in unison.

“Alright, Lulah. We’re gonna go inside now. ‘S gettin’ kinda cold out,” Harry said.

“We’ll call you tomorrow before bed. Alright, lovebug?” Y/N added.

“Okay,” Tallulah huffed.

“We love you, Lulah,” Harry spoke softly into the microphone.

“Love you, too...Daddy wait!”

“What is it?” he asked.

“Give the baby kisses for me. And no bikes!”

Harry wanted to laugh, but he also wanted to cry, so he settled on a closed-mouthed smile that was enough to convince Tallulah that he was unbothered by what she said.

“Kisses for the baby and no bikes. Got it,” he nodded.

“Okay, I’m gonna go eat some sweets with Sarah!” the child yelled, suddenly energetic like she had temporarily forgotten that her and Sarah had baked cookies twenty minutes before Y/N called.

“Alright, but it’s almost bed time so not too m-!” was all Harry could answer to before his daughter ended the call and presumably raced to where ever Sarah was in their house. 

“‘S like she doesn’t even miss us,” Harry mumbled as he placed Y/N’s phone in his back pocket and began walking back up to the cottage with his arm wrapped around Y/N’s shoulder. 

Y/N hummed, basking in the warmth that radiated from Harry’s chest as he held her.

“They’re just buttering her up. She’ll be crying to leave by the time we get back.”

“Just don’t really know why they were so keen on keepin’ her t’ be honest.”

Harry positioned himself one step behind her as they walked up the stone steps together, keeping one hand on the small of her back. Y/N peered over her shoulder at him, her tight lips curling up into a smirk as if to say she knew something he didn’t.

“What?” Harry asked.

Y/N shrugged, “Promised I wouldn’t tell.”

Harry clearly didn’t like that answer, because he moved his hand that was supporting her waist and quickly pinched her bum.

“Tell me,” he demanded, eyebrows scrunched together and lips pursed together in what could be considered a childish pout that mimicked Tallulah’s.

Y/N sucked her lips into her mouth, contemplating whether or not she should spill the beans on the news Sarah had shared with her a few weeks prior.

“They’re gonna start trying for a baby soon,” she whispered as if were a long-kept secret told in a room full of nosey people despite the two of them being alone on the otherwise desolate beach.

Harry’s ears perked up, a wide smile adorning his face from ear to ear.

“No fucking way,” he mumbled, and suddenly all of Mitch’s incessant hammering of baby questions he’d sent Harry’s way in the past few months suddenly making a lot of sense.

Harry thought he was trying to be a good friend and stay engaged in Y/N’s pregnancy, but now he understands the real reason behind his behavior.

Y/N nodded deviously as they make their way into the living room of the cottage.

“They’ve been asking everyone they know with kids to let them come over just to see if they can handle it. I mean, if you ask me, I think they’ll do great. Nothing wrong with trying it before buying it, I guess,” she said with a shrug.

“God, he’s gonna be such a good dad,” Harry was practically beaming for his closest friend.

“I know,” Y/N agreed, walking over to Harry to hold both sides of his head in her hands as if he was a disobedient puppy being disciplined.

Her bump prevented her from getting too close to Harry’s chest, the roundest part of her belly nudging Harry’s tummy.

“They’re both very excited. Which is why, when he finally decides to tell you, you have to act surprised. Act like he told you you just won the lottery or something. Alright?”

Harry sarcastically changed his facial expression to mock bewilderment. His eyebrows rose well off into his forehead and his jaw nearly dropped to the floor as he gasped.

“How’s that? Think he’ll buy it?”

Y/N jokingly jabbed him in the shoulder.

“Smartass. I’m going to take a shower. I’m sticky and I smell like the ocean.”

“Guess I gotta keep workin’ on it, then.”

When he’s done cleaning up what was left of their dinner, he heads to the master bedroom with the intention of washing up in the shower after Y/N. He’s messing around with the A/C unit on the window to make sure it’s not set to a temperature that will smother them in their sleep and unpacking their luggage into the wooden dresser, where an antique turntable rests.

Stacked long the side of the record player, there was a handful of old vinyl, most of which Harry either recognized or new very well. He was actually shocked to find a Shuggie Otis album in the collection, to which he quickly slipped the record out of the worn sleeve and set the needle to the edge and waited for the soft sound to fill the room while he worked. 

“That thing works?” Y/N’s voice broke up the old 70s tune as she exited the bathroom with her hair tied up with one of Harry’s scrunchies that she stole out of his toiletry bag, wrapped in only a towel that barely fit around her form.

“I know,” Harry agreed, “Needs a new needle but other than that ‘s in pretty good shape.”

“Leave it to you to find a rental with 70s records in the bedroom,” there was a lighthearted tone in her voice as Y/N poked fun at him.

She padded over to her luggage in the corner of the room for a change of clothes, only to realize Harry had unpacked it all for them. As she’s rummaging through the drawers trying to figure out where Harry had put what, she lets her towel drop to the floor freely.

Harry doesn’t know how must time has passed, but he knows he’s staring. He’s staring at the water droplets that drip from the stray hairs on the nape of her neck and run down her bare back. He’s staring at the swell of her stomach where their baby lies, at the faded, almost-shiny stretch marks on the sides and the newer, darker ones on the underside that had only recently broken through. He’s staring at the bracelet on her wrist, the one that’s braided pink and blue with three beads on it - one ‘H’, one ‘T’ and one heart. Tallulah made it for her at school one day and told her the heart was for the baby and also because she loved her. It was hanging on by its last few threads, threatening to snap as each day passed, but she refused to take it off.

All he does know is that he loves her so much that he thinks none of this is real and that he’ll wake up one day and be in his early twenties again with no direction in life and the insidious feeling that he’ll die alone without ever finding his “person.” It’s when Y/N called out to him and snapped him out of his thoughts that he’s realized his underwear are suddenly feeling incredibly tight.

“Har,” Y/N beckoned him away from whatever had been occupying his brain.

“Hmm?” 

He resituated himself on the bed and crossed his legs in an attempt to hide himself from her.

“I said the hot water in there’s kinda shit, so you’ll probably want to wait a little bit before you get in.”

“‘S alright,” Harry dismisses, “Come ‘ere.”

He draws her towards him with an outstretched hand, navigating her around the bedpost and over to the side where he had been sitting. With the gentlest of touches, he runs his fingers over her bare legs. The coolness of his rings don’t make well with her skin that was still extremely warm from her shower, causing hundreds of tiny goosebumps to erupt around her thighs. Harry raises her shirt, one of his that she stole when her own clothes became too uncomfortable, but even now she’s nearly stretching this one to its limit, and rests it on top of her bump.

She doesn’t question him, doesn’t chastise him. She lets him love on her, lets him press kisses to her skin just above her belly button (making sure to give an extra one from Tallulah per her request) and rest his cheek against her stomach while his other hand feels around on the other side in hopes to feel the baby move or kick or do something to let him know that they’re there. Lucky for Harry, baby knows when their dad is around and is quick to make themselves known, so he takes a second to savor these last few moment he’ll have with his newest bub before they’re earth-side in a little less than two months.

Y/N lets him be because she knows how important this is to Harry. She knows that he never got these moments with Tallulah and that it’s one of the things that plagued him during those nights where he feels lonely despite her being asleep right next to him. He never got to feel her kick in her mum’s tummy and he didn’t get to see her grow from the size of a pea to the size of a melon before she was welcomed by her parents and the rest of her family that had been waiting anxiously for her arrival. 

No, Tallulah was dropped on his doorstep like a wet kitten in the middle of the night. Shivering and crying and just needing someone to hold her and tell her that it was going to be alright because her mother had decided she’d be better off elsewhere. Of course, she was too small to remember, but Harry could never forget it.

So, it’s the least she can do. To let Harry love on her. Love on them.

Her eyes catch his once or twice and she can see the gears in his head turning. There’s something on his mind and he’s hesitant to tell her what it is. Y/N lifts his head by tilting his chin up, her index finger brushing over the healed scar on the underside of his jaw from a few months prior.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” she whispered.

Harry shakes his head, a grin on his lips.

“‘M just really, really happy right now. Happy tha’ I’m here w’ you.”

Y/N smiles back at him genuinely before pulling away from his grasp and gesturing to his lap.

“And I’m happy that I’m here with you. Seems like your little friend is really happy, too.”

A soft groan emits from Harry chest, having realized he’d uncrossed his legs at some point and his very prominent bulge had come into Y/N’s view.

“Sorry, lovie. Didn’t mean t’ make it like tha-”

“I’m just messing with you. You know,” she ponders, “I was half-way kidding when I asked about your lungs earlier. But... This will be the last time we’re kid-free for a while,” she taunted.

“Are yeh asking?” Harry jests and points his thumb towards the bathroom door, “‘Cos I was actually plannin’ on just having a wank in the shower.”

“Oh, okay,” Y/N shrugs and moves his hands off of her waist as she pretends to walk towards the living room.

Before she can take two steps, Harry’s standing up and pulling her back into him for a kiss. It’s full of heat and passion and almost knocks Y/N off of her feet. He cradles her head in his large hands and moves to whisper in her ear.

“Really gonna let me fuck yeh?”

A quiet chuckle escapes her lips, to which she replies, “What else did you think we were gonna do all week?”

He’s unable to bite back his own laugh, and it’s the sweetest sound to ever grace Y/N’s ears.

“Then get on the bed and take yeh clothes off.”

They work quickly, as they’ve conditioned themselves to do over the years of squeezing in any time they can together before they’re interrupted. Y/N lies back on her elbows as she waits for Harry to undo his pants and her breath catches in her throat when his boxers hit the floor. 

His cock is hard, not fully, but the sight of the first few beads of glistening precum causes a shiver to run down her spine. She’s blown him a handful of times since he’s been in recovery, but she’s been far too pregnant and he’s been far too injured lately to engage in any kind of actual fun. It’s safe to say that they’re both more than ready. 

Harry scratches at his scalp, unsure of how to word his questions as he looks her body up and down.

“How do you...erm...how do you wanna-?”

“My stomach, please,” Y/N says with a laugh.

She quickly reaches for one of the pillows behind her and gets on all fours, wedging the object underneath her bump to keep some of the weight off of her back. Slowly, she arches her spine down towards the mattress, and the glimpse Harry catches of her pussy through the light of the setting sun is enough to send another jolt straight to his cock.

Harry wastes no time joining her on the bed, caressing her hips and moving back to massage the plump skin of her ass. He leans down on top of her, flips her hair over to one side, and begins sucking on the sensitive skin between her neck and jaw.

“Gonna let me taste yeh first, right?” he mumbles into her skin.

Y/N hums in response, attempting to rock backwards in order to feel Harry’s cock rub against her backside. She hears Harry laugh, presumably because he’s caught on to her neediness, so it only pushes him further to be the tease he’s notorious for being.

He sponges wet kisses down her back, getting a rise out of every audible breath that leaves Y/N’s throat.

“Relax, baby,” Harry says when he feels her growing tenser as his kisses travel closer to where she needs him the most.

“Gonna get yeh there. Just gotta be patient.”

Harry presses one last kiss on the final notch of her spine before using one of his hands to spread her legs open just a little bit further. When he parts the globes of her ass, his mouth waters. Her pussy is shimmering with her arousal, perfect and on display just for him. 

He tests the waters by running the tip of his tongue from her clit up to her center and he hears a sigh of relief leave Y/N’s lungs at the contact. Next, he’s massaging her folds, exploring her and refamiliarizing himself with the way she tasted. Harry feels her relax into the mattress with each lap of his tongue against her, silently begging him for more. His tentativeness allows him to read her body language and he draws back momentarily to spread her lips apart with his middle and index finger.

The cool air against her core stuns Y/N, but is quickly drowned out with a moan when she feels Harry’s warm saliva drip from her ass down to her clit. His mouth is back on her before she can recover from the sensation, lapping her up and flicking at her clit with his tongue and driving her mad. He’s got his nose buried inside of her as he devours her in the way that he’s really been yearning to for months (he doesn’t count the late night or early morning quickies because he claims he never gets to spend as much time taking care of her as he really wants to). The scruff from his mustache is staunch against her soft folds, but Harry’s tongue is quick to soothe the burn and she loves it.

He smirks against her as she lets out a particularly loud moan when his facial hair brushes against her clit. What was that about shaving my mustache? he thinks to himself but does not dare say aloud.

When he senses that she needs even more, his fingers move from spreading her apart to pressing against her opening. Gathering her wetness on his digits, he slowly pumps them in and out of her. Y/N’s mewls and whimpers are like music to his ears and only spurs him on further. He ruts his hips against the comforter, anything to relieve the throbbing between his legs that is a result of how pliable she’s become for him. She’s soaking the rings on his fingers in the most picture-perfect way and Harry truly genuinely can’t get enough of it; and neither can she. Which is why he’s confused when one of her hands swings around her backside to stop Harry from working her open.

“Har-” she pants.

He withdrawals all contact immediately and peaks his head around to look at her face.

“Yeh good?” he asks as she’s stands up on her knees and turns around to face him.

“‘M great. Wanna be on top now,” she says, her lips plump and swollen from biting down on them so harshly that she nearly drew blood.

“You sure? Yeh don’t want me t’ finish yeh first?”

His eyes dart from her lust-blown eyes to her round belly.

“Mhm. Now lay your pretty ass down before I change my mind.”

She doesn’t have to tell him twice and he’s rolling over on his back, working his way to prop himself up against the headboard. His cock is red and leaking against his stomach, excruciatingly waiting to be buried inside of his girl. He wonders why she’s staring at him with an annoyed expression on her face, but then she speaks up.

“Do you see how pregnant I am? Gonna have to lay all the way down, shit head.”

He does as he’s told and he’s honestly scared that he’ll cum in five seconds if she doesn’t get on with it. 

“I swear to god, if you laugh at me,” she grunts as she straddles his waist, “I’ll cut it off.”

“‘M not gonna lau-”

It’s his turn to moan aloud when she grips onto his cock, running it across her folds to collect as much wetness as she can before she allows him to stretch her out. He’s focusing so much on not losing it right then and there that he doesn’t realize she’s stopped and is waiting for the go-ahead. Through his dark, thick lashes, he nods; as if she would have to ask.

Harry reaches for her hands as she lowers herself onto him, the two of them squeezing a bit too harshly when she reaches the last few inches. The burn consumes Y/N from the inside and out, but it’s never felt so right to either of them. 

She’s not moving just yet, but her cunt is pulsing around him and it feels almost as good as the real thing. They’re staring at each other, both with looks that relay more than words.

“Love you,” Harry’s face softens as he looks up at her.

“Love you, too,” Y/N smiles as she leans down as far as she can in search of a kiss.

He meets her in the middle and their lips find one another and mash together in harmony. The rocking of their hips reminds both of them what they’re actually doing, and causes both of them to gasp at the way Y/N pumped Harry half-way in and out of her. 

When she’s settled back down on the base of his cock, she begins slowly rutting herself back and forth. It takes her just a little bit longer than usual to work up a steady rhythm, but when she’s got it, boy does she got it and it feels so fucking good. The tip of Harry’s cock is pressing against the deepest parts of her and before she knows it, there’s a warm coil winding up in her tummy that bounds itself tighter and tighter inside of her.

She needs to go faster and she needs to go faster now, so she braces her hands on Harry’s chest as she continues to fuck herself on Harry’s cock. Harry lets out a sound that she can’t tell apart between a groan of pleasure and one of pain. His hands dart quickly from where they’d been gripping at her thighs to grip at her wrists.

“Can’t do tha’, lovie. Not the ribs.”

“Shit,” she laughs, subconsciously clenching down on his shaft in the process.

“Sorry.”

“‘S okay,” Harry reassures her as he repositions her hands on his shoulders so she can still have something to grab on to.

“Keep going.” 

Her bump is now cradled against Harry’s stomach and it allows her to find relief in the way that her clit is brushing against the trimmed nest of hair that lies around the base of his thick, throbbing cock. He’s twitching inside of her so much that she can feel it alongside her thrusts as they continue. They both won’t last much longer and they know it. 

“‘M getting close.”

“I know,” Harry pants beneath her.

She switches positions, now with her fingers digging so hard into the meat of Harry’s thighs that her knuckles are changing color. She’s able to lift her hips up and down a bit more from this angle, and it allows Harry’s cock to nudge against her sweet spot.

“Feels so good, H,” she whimpers so quietly that almost Harry couldn’t even hear it.

“‘S that it? Right there?” he mocks as he works at meeting her thrusts with his own.

The best he gets from Y/N is a nod as she focuses the best she can on getting herself there. She’s coating him with her juices with each pump and with one glance down at where they’re joined together nearly shoots Harry over the edge.

“Yeh gonna cum f’ me?” Harry asks as his thumb reaches under her to begin rubbing circles on her clit.

“Gonna give me a good one?”

His movements coupled with his words catalyze the tightness within her, threatening to snap at any moment. She’s definitely sweaty and tired of being on top, but she’s so close now that she wills away the pain in her lower back and thighs.

“Come on, bunny. Give it to me.”

He works with that he can and makes sure he’s slamming into her as deep as he can, speeding up the pace he’s making with her clit in the process. 

She cums with a strangled, “Fuck,” and a shrill cry of his name, and that’s all he needs to meet his end as well. The world is black and quiet for the two of them for just a brief moment, and then they’re both seeing all of the stars in the galaxy.

Her walls are coated with the warm ropes of his seed and spills out of her as she milks him, coaxing all she can out of both hers and Harry’s orgasms. Y/N can feel the last few twitches of Harry’s cock inside of her and her movements slow to a stop. 

His cum is splashed along her inner thighs and around Harry’s shaft, and they’re both struggling to catch their breath. Y/N feels sorry for him for a brief second when she sees him clutching onto the left side of his ribs, but then she remembers the situation that put him there in the first place and great incredible fuck she just gave him and so she decides not to dwell on it too much. 

Serves him right.

She collapses on the bed beside him, the two of them staring idly at the ceiling. It’s nearly dark now, the sun having set long ago and only their silhouettes are visible in the moonlight. Harry reaches over to pet her cheek and press a kiss into her hair as their breathing slowly but surely evens out and they come to.

They’re both too tired and fucked out to have a lucid conversation, so they’ll save that for tomorrow. No. Right now was for cuddles and falling asleep to the sounds of each other’s soft breaths and the peace of mind knowing that they can do this every single night for the rest of their lives if they wanted to because they’re getting married and they have a family together and they’re so in love with each other that nothing else matters.

When Y/N finally manages to muster up the energy to lift herself from the mattress and waddle to the bathroom, Harry breaks the silence.

“Hey,” his voice is calm and collected and there’s a smirk on his face.

“Hmm?” she answers as she cranes her neck and braces herself on the door frame of the master bathroom.

Her other hand is caressing her bump, a tick that she’d picked up over the months whenever she wasn’t doing anything important.

“Sit on m’ face in the morning?”

There’s that laugh again. The one that Harry loves and swears came straight from the angels above.

“With pleasure,” she winks as the door closes behind her.

[chelsie-fan-55]



‘Oldies are doing well’ Phyllis Logan hails older generations as Downton helps BritsDOWNTON Abbey star Phyllis Logan says it was “fabulous” to be reunited with the cast and production crew to shoot a second film due out early next year. The sequel follows on from the events of the first film released two years ago, which was set in 1927 with Robert and Cora Crawley, the Earl and Countess of Grantham, receiving a visit from King George V and Queen Mary during a royal tour of Yorkshire. Filming of the second film, which sees Dominic West, Hugh Dancy and Laura Haddock join original stars including Dame Maggie Smith, Hugh Bonneville, Michelle Dockery and Elizabeth McGovern, started at Highclere Castle in Hampshire in April and finished in June. Phyllis, 65, who has portrayed Downton housekeeper Mrs Hughes in all six series of the original ITV drama and reprised the role for both films, said: “It was fabulous to be reunited with the cast again, we had such a lovely time, but it was over far too quickly. “During the six seasons that we did (for TV) we usually started filming in the February and finished in the autumn, so we had a good six months of each other, and now it is curtailed into a matter of weeks, so it was done a bit too quickly but we had a great time. “There is lots of nice, really fun stuff in it, I must say and some lovely star turns.” Phyllis, who is also the narrator of fly-on-the-wall TV show The Highland Vets, which starts its fourth series on Channel 5 tomorrow (MON) night, believes period dramas like Bridgerton and Downton have provided much-needed escapism during the past 18 months of the Covid-19 pandemic. She says: “With the likes of Downton Abbey it looks so magnificent, the costumes are magnificent and the mores of the time are different where you don’t air-kiss and have to be suited and booted, and straight-laced, well certainly outwardly.. who knows what they got up to behind closed doors. “But we try to show some of this too and the public just can’t get enough of this type of costume drama. “Everyone has been bingeing or re-bingeing on their favourite shows just to give them a sense of normality. “If you can watch Bridgerton, if you can watch Downton Abbey, or your favourite comedy show, you think the world is ok now, or get a sense that life is continuing in a fashion.” Downton has also led the way in using older actors in prominent roles at a time when TV and film has been criticised for being ageist. Phyllis says: “It’s been fabulous and long may this continue. With Dame Maggie (Smith), Dame Penelope (Wilton), myself and Jim Carter, the oldies are doing well.” Her husband Kevin McNally, who is also 65, is best known for portraying Joshamee Gibbs in all five Pirates of the Caribbean films but joined the cast of Downton for its second series on ITV as Horace Bryant. Phyllis says: “It was nice to have my husband in Downton as well but it was very peculiar the way it happened. “He was on set at one point and said I have just been offered this job and I said ‘oh, what is it?’ And he said Downton Abbey, and I said ‘very funny, what’s the job?’ And he said Downton Abbey and I said ‘oh come on, I haven’t got time, I’ve got to go back on set’. And he was being serious. “They did not even tell me they were going to offer it to him and I thought they should have run it past me first, surely.” She adds: “And it ended up with most of the scenes we were involved in being together, which was unusual. “In normal circumstances as he was playing a posh person and I was playing the housekeeper as usual, I thought our paths would never cross but the way the storyline worked we were always together. “So sometimes we got picked up in a car together to bring us to the castle and it felt like ‘bring your husband to work day’, so I thought ‘what is going on?’” Phyllis, who also starred as Lady Jane Felsham in Lovejoy with Ian McShane for eight years, met Kevin, who portrayed Bernard Ingham in The Crown last year, when they co-starred in mini-series Love and Reason in 1994. Since then they had only appeared together in short films and an episode of comedy show Rab C Nesbitt until their joint stint in Downton, but Phyllis says she would be happy to work together again in the future. And Kevin’s help was vital when it came to recording the narration for The Highland Vets, which follows the vets, nurses and receptionists at DS McGregor & Partners veterinary practice in Thurso, Caithness, as they treat animals in the remote northern tip of the UK mainland. After recording the first couple of episodes of series one in a studio in London’s Soho, Phyllis has been forced to do her narrations since the first lockdown in March last year from the study of her home in west London. She says: “Kevin was my sound engineer for the Highland Vets. They sent all this equipment and I was so useless at using it that Kevin was thankfully around and on hand to be my sound engineer.” The fourth series of the Highland Vets, which contains seven hour-long episodes, starts with the vets treating a young Common seal spotted struggling on a beach by a walker. She adds: “I haven’t done many narrations. I enjoy this one because it is such a lovely programme, there is always something different cropping up, so it is a pleasure to do it.” As a result of the repeated lockdowns for the pandemic she has yet to travel up to Caithness to meet the staff at the vets. But Prince Charles did pay them a visit during a two-day tour of Scotland, where he is known as the Duke of Rothesay, at the end of last month (JULY). Unfortunately the TV cameras were not there at the time but wearing a kilt, he was welcomed by senior vet and director Guy Gordon, who introduced him to his team, including Katie Reiss, 22, who had only started work a few days earlier. Ms Reiss said: “It’s an unorthodox start to work! We spoke about my training at Edinburgh University and chatted about how the vets have been really helpful integrating me into work. “He (Charles) said to stick at it and not lose hope because I have wanted to be a vet since I was a wee kid.” Guy says: “We felt honoured that Prince Charles was keen to visit our veterinary practice to meet the staff and learn about what we do. “He stayed with us for about 45 minutes chatting about aspects of our work with genuine interest and insight. “The light drizzle didn’t dampen this special occasion nor cause him to hurry, he took time to engage with everyone. “So they have the royal seal of approval.” She adds she loves getting to see The Highland Vets before anyone else to do its narration. “There are a few sad bits that do not go to plan but it is so heartfelt.. and the fact that they are in that location which is absolutely spectacular, that they all love it, they love their lives, their jobs, their workmates, their animals. “It’s just beautiful and lovely and life-affirming stuff, even when things go wrong.” Phyllis also stars in a film, The Last Bus, with Timothy Spall which they shot two years ago but has just been released. It tells the story of an old man whose wife has just died using his free bus pass to travel to the other end of the UK, where they originally lived, with her ashes in a small suitcase. She will also be seen in the second series of BBC drama Guilt, which is due to air later this year. *The new series of The Highland Vet starts tomorrow at 9pm on 5Select. Source: Sunday Express

[fanficshiddles]

Tear You To Pieces, Chapter 9

Kelly shut the curtains as soon as she got into the rather shabby B&B room. But it was the best she could afford in the meantime, she had no idea how long she was going to have to be on the run for, so didn’t want to blow all of her money too quickly.

She’d managed to budget herself to last on the run for around a year. She had to include hair dye into the monthly budget. As even though it had been two months, she had no idea if Loki was still looking for her or not, so she only went out in disguise to be on the safe side.

She was still not over what happened, what was still happening. And she knew it was all her fault, she would never be able to get over it. She had unleashed the monster, literally.

Not bothering to turn the TV on, she just got into bed and tried not to think about it all. The news was always filled with Loki now, and how he was conquering the world. Country after country was flocking to kneel under Loki’s rule. Otherwise, he was slaying every country that dared to defy him. Which soon brought them to heel, before they lost everyone.

Kelly was really jumpy, every noise right outside her room had her entire body going ridged, expecting the worst. It took her heart a while to stop racing after each noise. She knew she couldn’t carry on living like this, but she didn’t know what else to do.

Turning onto her side she curled up and cried herself to sleep, like she did every night. But her sleep was never peaceful, it was always laced with nightmares. Always of him. Most of the time, he was looming over her with her sisters’ body at his feet.

She woke up in a sweat, calling out for her sister. How she wished everything was just a nightmare, but no. She was living a nightmare.

Keeping on the move was her plan, so since she was awake anyway, even though it was only five in the morning, she decided to move on to the next place to stay. She had made it all the way up to Edinburgh by foot mainly but also a couple of bus trips. She just kept moving around from city to city, town to town. Wherever she could get to.

As Kelly made her way down the road, there was just a few people going about at that time of the morning. But she kept getting shivers down her spine, and not from the cold. It was like someone was watching her…

When she looked round over her shoulder, she caught a glimpse of a tall, black-haired man amongst a small crowd of early risers heading to work. Her heart started racing in fear, thinking it was Loki, she quickly moved on and walked as fast as she could. When she glanced back in the direction of the man, there was no sign of him anymore.

She tried to shake it off, thinking it had just been her imagination. Surely if it had been Loki, he would’ve made his presence more known.

But as she made her way further into the centre of the city, she still had a really bad feeling that she was being followed. So she rushed into the bus station and bought a ticket to head further North, maybe if she headed out of the cities and tried the quieter villages, she might be able to stay under the radar better.

Just before she was able to pay for her ticket, there was sudden screaming and panic within the station.

‘What the…’ She looked around in confusion, but then she felt pure dread run through her veins as she saw the reason for the panic and chaos.

Loki.

He had stormed into the station in his regal armour, the biggest grin formed on his face when he locked eyes on Kelly.

‘No…’ She gasped out quietly, her legs suddenly turned to jelly as she tried to run with the others that were panicking.

Loki made his way towards Kelly straight away, with large purposeful strides as he towered above everyone else that was scarpering around him in terror.

She started running for the back exit, but Loki reached out towards her and Kelly suddenly felt as if there was a collar around her neck that was suddenly pulling her backwards towards him. She brought her hands up to her neck but couldn’t feel anything there, but there was definitely something pulling her back.

She panicked and screamed as she was dragged back towards Loki, who had stopped and was just pulling her towards him. When she was within grabbing distance, the invisible collar disappeared and she felt like she could run again.

But she was within striking distance. And Loki struck like a snake, grabbing her he forced her to the nearest wall and pinned her against it, his large dominant hand wrapped around her neck firmly. Her lower lip was trembling in fear as he sneered down at her, she tried clawing at his arm but it was futile.

‘Mmmm, I finally found you.’ Loki hummed low and squeezed her neck a bit harder in warning when she continued trying to struggle.

‘Plea… please… Let me go.’ She stuttered out between trying to take big breaths, his hand controlling her breathing wasn’t making it easy to talk.

‘Oh no, my little pet. You should be begging for my forgiveness, for that little stunt of running away from me. You have no idea how much of an inconvenience it was when I came to collect you, to find you gone. Ungrateful mortal.’ He growled, squeezing her neck again for a few seconds, making her splutter.

He could see the pure fear in her eyes.

‘However.’ He purred, easing up a little on his grip he rubbed his thumb up and down the side of her neck. ‘I wouldn’t be in the position I am now if it hadn’t been for you. And whilst I should punish you for being a naughty girl and disobeying me, I will give you the benefit of the doubt. This time. Because I know you’re my good girl really, aren’t you?’

Kelly closed her eyes and tried to tune him out. But of course, that could never happen.

‘Look at me!’ He demanded and squeezed her neck again, making her eyes fly open.

‘Maybe once I get you home, you’ll be more talkative. And I shall give you your reward, and finally claim what you owe me.’ His eyes darkened and he smirked, then leaned in and kissed her on the lips, despite her trying to move her head away to no avail.

She had no choice but to endure his lips moving against hers, he was surprisingly gentle, yet there was an urgency within him too. A very deep part of her was longing at his kiss, like it was a reminder of what she thought they once had… But she remembered that had all been fake, Loki had used her.

Loki pulled back slightly, licking his lips. ‘Now come, pet. Let me show you your new home.’ He grinned wickedly and released her neck.

But before she could even think about trying to run, a collar formed around her neck. Only this time it wasn’t invisible, she could feel it too with her hands as she tried pulling it off. There was a chain leash attached to it that Loki held, so she was going nowhere.

‘Come on.’ Loki growled and tugged her along as he headed out the main entrance.

When they stepped outside, some civilians that saw Loki started kneeling for him instantly. Some ran away. But Loki didn’t care about any of them, he had what he wanted.

Kelly couldn’t stop shaking and crying as Loki slipped his arm around her waist and held her in close, then teleported them both to the airport where Loki had a jet waiting for them. He hauled Kelly onto it, she wasn’t sure why she was even trying to still get away, she knew there was no chance.

Loki had the leash vanish, but the collar remained. As soon as it was off, she ran as far back in the jet as possible and cowered down in the corner. Loki chuckled and took a seat near the front, looking very pleased with himself.

‘There is a much comfier seat down here for you, pet. It might be a bumpy ride.’ Loki called back to her as the jet started off down the runway.

But Kelly was quite happy where she was, as far away from Loki as she possibly could be between some seats. Though she knew it wouldn’t be for long, the jet was already taking off into the sky. She didn’t know exactly where home was for Loki. She really didn’t want to know.

‘You know, it has been ok since I’ve been ruling your world. Not quite as fun and exciting as I had originally hoped, but I realised it’s been because I’ve been chasing you. Now that I’ve found you, the real fun can begin.’ Loki said casually as he opened a bag of salted nuts.

Kelly shivered at his tone and words, she didn’t want to know what he meant by that.

It only took half an hour to get to their destination. But it had felt more like ten hours for Kelly, with Loki trying to make small talk the whole way there, as if nothing was wrong. As if she was there of her own accord.

‘Isn’t this a delightful sight.’ Loki chuckled, looking out of the window.

Kelly was curious as to where she was. So she slowly moved onto her knees and leaned up on one of the seats to look out the window. Her eyes widened at what she saw.

They were coming to land in New York, but it wasn’t the New York she remembered.

For starters, where The Statue Of Liberty should be, was replaced with a ten times larger statue of Loki himself. Then as they headed into the city, where the Avengers tower used to be, a new tower was built. But it was much larger too, and on the side of it was Loki’s name in bright gold letters.

‘No… No.’ She sobbed and put her hand over her mouth in horror.

[clandonnachaidh]

Light Across The Seas That Sever (Ch6)

AO3

“Mind ye’ve got that meeting this afternoon?” Ian reminded him for the thousandth time as they all sat at the breakfast table and Jamie fought the urge not to roll his eyes, already mildly annoyed at the fact that his bowl of porridge wasn’t quite right. He should’ve made it himself without backing down when Jenny had insisted on doing it for him, that way it would’ve been thick enough to plaster a wall with, just how he liked it. But his sister would never surrender the spurtle, working it through the oats and milk until they became creamy and setting a large bowl of sugar on the table, much to Jamie’s distaste. Thick enough to clart a wall and with enough salt to make your eyes water, that was exactly how he’d had it since he was a bairn, their mother taking hers in the same way. Only Jenny and their father had preferred that their breakfast be covered in sugar and the sweetness of the Scottish strawberries that grew wild on Lallybroch estate.

“Aye, I ken fine well enough,” Jamie grunted without turning his eyes towards Ian who was trying to encourage a spoonful into Wee Ian’s mouth. “Whit was the name of the estate again?”

“’Tis the only estate in Tomich but did I no’ tell ye? He’s changed the meeting to the golf club.”

It had been his idea to begin with but now Jamie was uncertain about how their drunken plan was taking shape. After one too many whiskies of a night, he and Ian had been sprawled in front of the fire as they chastised the blend that they were imbibing, arrogantly announcing that the two of them could do much better. Jamie hadn’t thought anything of it as he’d stumbled to his bed and let sleep take him but a few days later he found himself mending a fence post in the back field as Ian continued his musing about Broch Mordha putting its stamp on the world as a new destination for a premier whisky distillery and the two of them, its innovative creators.

Jamie grunted as he rose to his feet and deposited his bowl into the deep sink, letting the tap run to soak the dish and refusing to turn his body to take in the picture perfect family scene that was sat at the kitchen table.

“Mr Dunsany—“

“He’s a Lord, is he no’?”

“Is there a reason yer being a particularly crabbit arse this morning, brother?” Jenny’s voice was dripping with irritation, not wanting her nice family breakfast to be ruined by the interminable grey cloud that had been brewing over Jamie’s head for the past few weeks.

“Jen, leave him be.”

“I will not. He’s been a moanin’ greetin’ face since he came back from that bloody reunion and ’tis hell time he snapped out of it,” she said a little louder to ensure that Jamie heard the emphasis that she placed on the insult as it flew from her mouth.

This caused him to turn on his heel and level his sister with a careful eye.

“I’m sorry, Janet, but sometimes I think ye forget that there is a world outside of Lallybroch. Life can be a damn sight more complicated than poppin’ out weans and tending tae chickens, ye ken.”

If her temper didn’t hit the roof, her eyebrows certainly made a good go of it. Silently, her fingers curled tightly around the spoon, stilling herself against the pull of Wee Ian’s chubby little hand that was fisted in the material of her shirt, demanding attention.

“I ken that fine well, James. But ye canna jus’ come home every time ye see her and sulk like a wee bairn that doesna get what he wants. Grow up a wee bit, aye?”

At the end of her parting shot, Jamie felt the anger licking at the sides of his throat. The rage that he’d been directing towards himself was now begging to be let loose on someone else, someone that would bite back and Christ, Jenny would do just that. It had been this way since he’d come home, the frustration melting into a sullenness that had punctured the idyllic bubble that the family lived in at Lallybroch. In his worst thoughts, he resented both his sister and his best friend and the happiness that they shared. Jamie loved them to their bones, of course he did, but after leaving Oxford with yet another memory of how he’d let Claire slip through his fingers, the last thing he wanted to see was the very evident love between Jenny and Ian and their three children.

And so he found himself, in a suit that was a bit tight across his shoulders but he’d purchased anyway in a department store on the Inverness High Street, shaking hands with Lord William Dunsany in the bar of a golf club that he’d never seen fit to frequent himself. Jamie tried his hardest not to let the glances from the club members get to him as they walked around the lounge with an understated belonging the he’d never feel himself. He made sure that he gave a strong handshake, looking the shorter man straight in the eye and made the informed decision to swap from his usual Scots to his best Received Pronunciation, assuming that Lord Dunsany was one of those people who claimed to be a ’Scotchman’ but was as English as they come with the age old story of inheriting Scottish land as a birthright. Jamie had realised, however, that the man certainly knew his whisky and would make a not-half-bad business partner with himself and Ian if he managed to convince him to part with some cash.

Jamie was fuzzy on the details of how’d they’d come to the agreement but two hours and four whiskies later, he found himself once more shaking hands with Dunsany. The Lord would foot the seed money in exchange for a fairly sizeable but not unfair amount of the business and as a personal favour, Jamie would escort his eldest daughter around Edinburgh the following evening.

“She’s up here with me to get away from some nonsense that’s gone on at home but she’s been cooped up in her hotel for days while her mother tries to organise a townhouse for her. I just want her to get out and see the city. Who better to show her around than a native?”

Late next afternoon, his slight hangover thankfully having subsided after a coffee and a square sausage roll, Jamie stepped off of the train and onto the platform of Waverley Station in the heart of Edinburgh.

The tang of the breweries immediately filled his nostrils and he breathed deeply as the ever present sound of bagpipes floated down from the upper level of the street. While Lallybroch where was his heart lived, and he loved the humour and familiarity of Glasgow, Edinburgh held a special place in his heart. He never got tired of grabbing a coffee and walking the length of George Street in the sun, the castle bursting into view if he turned his eyes to the east.

Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he made his way towards the hotel that Dunsany had insisted on to putting him up in, the same one as his daughter just to make things simple. Although Jamie had spent many a morning diving into the spectacular breakfasts put on at one of his favourite places in Edinburgh, The Huxley, he had never imagined staying at The Caledonian that loomed over the small establishment just metres from its door.

Jamie didn’t quite know what to do as the doorman who was wearing a bloody top hat opened the door to the hotel for him so he settled on giving the man a polite smile, resisting an absurd urge to give him some type of formal bow. He had been in nice hotels before but nothing like this with its polished marble floor and a huge vases of fresh cut flowers on most surfaces that he could see.

“Mr Fraser, we have you in the Robert Louis Stevenson Suite for two nights. Here is your room key and it also includes the number for the Concierge, should you have any need. We have a table booked in the Peacock Alley bar for you and Miss Dunsany at 6pm this evening and I would be happy to make any dinner reservations you would like to make, within or outwith the hotel. Michael can get the rest of your bags from the car,” a neat blonde woman smiled at him from the reception desk as she inclined her head to the bellboy hovering at a polite distance over Jamie’s right shoulder.

“It’s nae bother, lass, I’ve only got the one bag,” Jamie muttered with a hint of embarrassment as he pulled the bag from the floor and swiped the keycards from the desk, smiling back at her. “Thank ye.”

When he stepped through the door that bore the name of one of Scotland’s most beloved authors, his growing Imposter Syndrome ramped up a few notches. Crossing the floor towards the window, Jamie was greeted by a beautiful view of the castle as it loomed over the city. He didn’t quite know how to act, having never been in such a large and clearly expensive hotel room. In fact, it wasn’t even a room, the woman at the desk had called it a suite.

Flicking through the TV channels for a little while, settling on the new show about Billy Connolly’s upbringing in Scotland, his fingers lazily scratched at the bare patch of skin just above his belt buckle. Something about being in a different city and having some time to himself made him feel lighter than he had in weeks and he gave himself permission to laugh at a particularly lewd joke that spilled from The Big Yin’s mouth on the TV.

Jamie’s phone, lying face up on the mattress beside his left shoulder, startled him as it gave a firm buzz. Sitting up, he opened the latest message from Geneva, telling him that she wanted to go out for dinner somewhere nice tonight. He was under no illusion as to the fact that when someone like Geneva Dunsany used the words ‘somewhere nice’, she was actually saying ‘somewhere expensive’. But thankfully, Jamie knew just the place and sent her a reply saying that he had it in hand before phoning down to the reception and having the helpful woman book a table at a restaurant he knew would be impressive enough but not so posh that he would feel out of his depth by eating there.

Although they’d messaged back and forth that afternoon, he hadn’t bothered to enlarge the tiny picture next to her name at the top of the screen. Toying with his phone, Jamie resolved that he had to know what the lass looked like, not wanting to have to shuffle embarrassingly around the bar trying to figure out who he was there to meet.

Her picture brought to its full size, he looked at her for the first time and tried was pleasantly surprised. She was clearly beautiful. Dark hair that flowed in loose waves over bare shoulders, her skin a beautiful olive brown from a summer tanning on a beach somewhere. She was looking at the camera dead on with a surety that came from a privileged upbringing, her face painted perfectly and a twist of the lips that couldn’t really be called a smile, as if she didn’t want to be seen to be having fun. She looked like every posh girl that Jamie had met in his life, every girl at university who would air kiss their friends on both cheeks while their manicured hands clutched at bags that cost more than his first car.

Suppressing a groan at the thought of spending a weekend with a person who no doubt came from an entirely separate world than the one he’d grown up in, Jamie divested himself of his socks as he plodded, bare feet on plush carpet, through to the bathroom to take a shower and clean himself up ahead of his evening.

Later, he sat at the bar, his fingers playing with the patterns on the cut crystal glass that housed his double whisky, he felt a gentle hand rest on his shoulder.

“James Fraser?”

His stomach dropped into the floor.

The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind at what hearing his name fall from the lips of an Englishwoman would do to him. He felt an absurd wave of revulsion swipe through him in an instant and he took a quick drink before turning on his stool to face her, swallowing the bile that had risen up in his throat.

“Och, lass, nobody really calls me James. Ye can call me Mac. ’Tis another one of my family names,” he tried to sound light and not as if the sounds of his name leaving her lips felt like the flesh on his back had been ripped open to the bone.

There was a reluctance in her eyes and he immediately knew that she was uncomfortable so he did his best to send her his most charming smile, gesturing for her to sit and then signalling to the bartender.

“What would ye like tae drink?”

“Martini, if you would, extra dry, extra dirty,” she ordered confidently as the bartender nodded and turned to begin preparing it for her.

With her chin in the air, she asked, “So, my father said you were a business associate?”

“Aye, I suppose I am now. My brother-in-law and myself wish to start our own whisky company. Your father has kindly offered to help.”

“My father isn’t generally in the habit of helping out of kindness.”

“Aye, well, hopefully he trusts that we ken what we’re doing. Or that we’ll figure it out at the very least,” Jamie tried to joke but she gave him nothing. There was something cold in her demeanour that he hoped he wouldn’t have to fight against for the whole evening.

After watching the martini disappear down Geneva’s throat in record time, he offered her an arm as they left the hotel and were hit by the cool air of Edinburgh in the evening. As soon as Jamie took the first step towards Princes Street, Geneva halted.

“We’re walking?”

“’Tis no’ far, only ten minutes or so. We have time before our reservation,” he replied, gently tugging on the arm that she’d looped through his so that she would begin to walk with him. Her feet stayed firmly planted on the concrete.

“These are £500 shoes, I’m not walking anywhere.”

“Lass, Edinburgh is a city tae get lost in. If we get a taxi we’ll just be looking at the sides of buses and traffic lights. Yer father asked me tae show ye the city,” letting her arm slip from his, Jamie took a step forward and gestured towards the castle, atmospherically lit from beneath now that the sun had gone down. He turned back to her with a kind smile and held out his hand. “Let me, aye?”

Reluctantly, she acquiesced and let him lead her away from the hotel. Jamie’s skin tingled at the contact and he realised that he hadn’t touched a woman apart from Jenny since the university reunion with Claire. He flexed his fingers experimentally and felt something swell in the pit of his stomach when Geneva tightened her grip in response.

The two of them made small talk as they walked through Princes Street gardens and up towards the restaurant, Geneva seeming happy enough with the venue that he’d chosen. He’d heard good things about The Witchery before and as they sat down at a table covered in a pristine white cloth, surrounded by painted dark wood on the walls and ceilings, he noticed how pretty Geneva looked in the candlelight. Only a fool would try to argue that she wasn’t beautiful. But there was a coldness to her that hadn’t warmed yet and so he kept on being as charming as he could, hoping that another glass of wine might bring down the steely demeanour that she seemed to hold on to for dear life.

Oxford had been full of girls like Geneva Dunsany. Wealthy, privileged and confident. After four years of university, Jamie had perfected the art of tuning out their inane conversation about which exotic place they’d spent their summer, who’s guestlist they’d been placed on for the weekend and what they were planning on wearing. So he knew how to respond to her constant stream of speech, nodding and agreeing in the right places and sending dazzling smiles across the table when he felt like rolling his eyes. Though somehow, he found that he didn’t actually dislike Geneva Dunsany. Something in her eyes, or maybe it was the way she chose her words, showed Jamie that the poor little rich girl personality was an act. Underneath the mask, she felt the same way that he did—unfathomably sad.

Something inside of him felt sorry for her, recognising the pain that he knew all too well in another. And while he didn’t particularly care for the woman, Jamie decided to be kind to her. He leaned closer across the table and started to respond to her stories with anecdotes of his own. With the help of another two martinis, she began to blossom in his company and the two shared a relatively pleasant evening together.

When they reached the hotel elevator, Jamie had nothing on his mind other than stripping off his constricting shirt and sleeping off the whisky cloud that was hanging somewhere around his temples.

“What’s on the agenda now, then?” Geneva asked as they stood side by side.

“Shower then bed, I think.”

“Sounds good to me,” she all but whispered, Jamie’s head twisting to see the dark look of seduction that was painted on her face. “Mind if I join you?”

He didn’t say no.

It was shocking how easily he slipped into the worst version of himself. There had been a few nights in the past where he’d spent too much time and money in the pub in Broch Mordha and woken up the morning with some woman curled around him at whatever bed and breakfast they’d invited him back to. He only ever slept with women who were in the area for the moment, never anyone who he’d run into again. It was always when he was half gone with drink, his body acting solely on blind need that he succumbed to his baser instincts.

The doors of the elevator opened and Geneva walked in purposefully, turning to look at him with an alluring smile. Jamie walked in beside her and pressed the number for her floor.

They found pleasure in each other’s bodies but it was skin deep at best. A simple matter of scratching an itch that they both clearly had and had resolved to using the other to sate that particular need. There were no delicate touches or gazes held for any real length of time. Jamie set himself to work, making sure that she got hers before followed suit. It was perfunctory. Pleasant. And when they both uttered their subdued sounds of fulfilment, Geneva immediately rolled away from him, shielding herself once more.

“Do ye want me to go?” Jamie’s voice broke through the dark silence of the room.

Her response was barely a whisper, “Please.”

He dressed quickly, roughly, and scrambled around in the dark for his phone that had fallen from his pocket. Geneva was lying as still as a statue but Jamie could hear the odd sniff from her and realised that she had begun to cry. After dithering between his options, his inherent gentlemanliness won out.

“Is there anything I can do?”

There was no response for a few seconds and he took that as his answer, beginning to move towards the door of the room when a single word stopped his hand from turning the doorknob.

“Stay.”

Keeping his eye on her as though she was a frightened animal that might bolt at any provocation, he slowly began to undress. When she moved over slightly to give him room to get under the covers, he did just that and felt a strange sense of kinship as she wrapped her body around his. Jamie held her, stroking her hair until she fell asleep in his arms. The sound of her gentle breathing was the only thing filling the room until his phone suddenly pinged with a notification.

Facebook Congratulate Claire Beauchamp on their engagement!

Before he could stop himself, he opened the app and looked at the posed photograph of the two of them, her left ring finger showing off an almost comically large diamond ring.

After telling our friends and family, we are so happy to announce that we are engaged! We thank everyone so far for their kind words and well wishes. From the future Mr and Mrs Frank Randall.

Every muscle on his body was thrumming with energy. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what the energy was made from. Rage? Fear? Utter desolation? Whatever it was, it was coiling its way around his ribs, holding him in stasis and holding him hostage as he experienced it.

He wasn’t even considered a friend anymore, seeing as he hadn’t been given the privilege of a private message, having to find out through fucking Facebook. She had clearly changed in her time in Boston, the Claire he knew would never have given up her name and become Mrs Frank Randall. Randall-Beauchamp at the very least, for Christs sake.

Tasting the rare metallic nature of blood in his mouth, Jamie realised that he was biting the inside of his cheek. He felt the need to get up and do something, anything to expel the energy that was going to burst out of him if he didn’t channel it into something. But he was stilled by the feel of Geneva’s naked body against his and a rush of guilt tried to swallow him whole.

How dare he question Claire’s life, assume to know her situation all the while he was in bed with another woman. Reminding himself for the hundredth time that Claire had made her choice and it wasn’t him, he swallowed his pride and went to send her a message, even though he knew it wasn’t a smart idea.

He shouldn’t have had that final whisky.

Jamie: Just seen the news. Congratulations to you and yours.

A blatant lie but what was he supposed to say?

To his surprise, her reply was almost immediate.

Claire: Thank you!

Short and to the point. Two words that would shut down any further conversation, a feigned attempt at excitement and gratitude that he prided himself on being able to see through.

He knew that he would have been one of many to send the same sentiment that day but he had kidded himself that his text would receive a more personalised response. Maybe all she thought of him was a copy and paste response as she planted her phone down screen first on the sofa before climbing into the arms of her future husband.

In an attempt to hold the tears at bay, Jamie curled an arm around Geneva’s prone body, bringing up his hands to his arm and pressing his palms into his eyes until he saw stars.

[alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer]

champagne problems (part 1)

here's my first part of my modern no magic "champagne problems" singer-songwriter quarantine thomastair AU! happy birthday to @foxglove-airmid even though I don't think it's your birthday where you live anymore (and I still haven't posted zia's birthday fic, it'll happen I swear)!

no content warnings for this part (besides maybe quarantine), but future parts will include discussions of mental illness, substance abuse, and a suicide attempt

obviously, the song alastair "wrote" in the fic is not mine, it's by taylor swift! and a few of the lyrics have been changed!

Masterlist | AO3

Thomas breathed out a sigh of relief as he lugged his suitcase up onto the fifth floor landing.

“‘Ere we are,” Piers announced as he unlocked the door.

Thomas was utterly exhausted, such was the result of taking a redeye flight across the Atlantic during a global pandemic, but any idea of rest that he’d had was interrupted when he heard the sound of piano flood the apartment.

“Ah, sorry about that,” Piers nodded, “One of my flatmates, the walls are paper thin. He can’t record at the studio right now, but he’s trying to finish his EP, so it’s been a bit noisier around here. He’ll take a break soon, hopefully.”

Thomas shook his head. “It’s no problem. Thank you, again, for allowing me to stay here. I’ll be looking for my own place as soon as the quarantine is up.”

“Of course. You’ve got the couch as long as you need it. Couldn’t just hang you out to dry, could I? Although, you did pick a god awful time to move to the city, if I do say so myself.”

Thomas sat down on the couch and tried to make himself comfortable. It was more comfortable than the flight or the airport, at least. “I know… I considered postponing the move, but the visa was so difficult to get, I just couldn’t pass up the opportunity. They say this will all blow over in a couple of weeks, but borders are closing and I heard talk of them suspending all pending visa applications. I didn't know how long it would be if I waited, if the job was even still here for me at all.” Although at first entrance, the music had seemed to be a nuisance, it now comforted him. It wasn’t bad at all, in fact, it quite reminded him of the days Alastair’s playing had filled their flat…

“Where did you say you were working again? At a record company?”

“Yeah. I’m just doing pretty basic stuff for now, but if I ever do want to record my own music, I’ve got to start somewhere.”

“Hm,” Piers said, gesturing to the room the music was coming from. “Perhaps you’ll get on with him well, then. Would you like some tea?”

Thomas nodded and Piers went to start the teapot. Piers continued, “Though I suppose he's more of the tortured artist type. Very reserved, quite prickly. I didn't even meet him until a couple weeks after I moved in here because he was off in some psychiatric hospital.” Thomas shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He was never one for gossip. “My other roommate’s nice, though, I think you’ll like him. He-”

“How did you end up in New York, again? I don’t think I ever asked.”

Piers dove into the subject change quite readily, explaining his uni - or college - years in New York City and his decision to stay afterwards. Thomas had tuned most of it out, truthfully. It wasn’t that he was trying to be rude, but he was rather exhausted, and Piers was wearing thin on his patience.

As the kettle started to whine, Thomas heard the musician begin to sing, and he froze. It sounded so much like Alastair. But it couldn't be, could it? With over 8 million people living in the city, he would not end up in Alastair's apartment by accident. His Alastair was certainly reserved and prickly, but it wasn't possible. It must be like all those times he thought he saw him on a street he'd never walked or heard his laugh in a café he'd never been to. Just his mind, tricking him. Even if he knew that voice so well, despite not hearing it in so long.

“It’s quite good, isn’t it? His first single just dropped.” Piers asked, bringing over his cup of tea. He hadn’t realized it, but he’d been staring intently at the door.

Thomas took the cup. “Hm? Yeah, I guess. Thanks.”

“You should look it up. It’s called “champagne problems” by Simurgh. That’s spelled- Well, it should come up.”

The name Simurgh sounded familiar, but Thomas couldn’t put his finger on where he knew it from. At Piers’ insistence, he pulled out his phone and brought up the song. As he skimmed through the first few lines, a cold feeling settled in his stomach.

“You booked the night train for a reason So you could sit there in this hurt Bustling crowds or silent sleepers You're not sure which is worse”

“Simurgh,” Thomas realized.

“Yeah, I think it’s Arabic or something.”

It took Thomas a moment to process that Piers was responding to him. “It’s Persian.” He was certain that Alastair would have some very stern words to say if he heard Piers confusing the two, actually. Thomas had admittedly let his Farsi skills deteriorate quite a bit since the breakup, but he was fairly certain the name came from the Shahnameh. There was no doubt in Thomas’ mind now: he was staying in Alastair’s apartment, and Alastair’s first single was about one of the most painful days in Thomas’ life. “I, er, I used to study it.”

“Oh, yes, that’s right!” Piers launched into a tangent that Thomas tuned out as he read through the rest of the page.

“Because I dropped your hand while dancing Left you out there standing Crestfallen on the landing Champagne problems”

“Thomas? Are you alright?”

He realized then that his hand was trembling so badly that his tea nearly spilled. He used his other hand to steady it. “Oh, uh, yes, I’m just tired.”

“Perhaps you should rest. I can ask Alastair to quiet down for a while-”

“No!” he exclaimed rather too forcefully. “No, that’s not necessary. I’d just rather not talk, if that’s alright.”

Piers nodded.

Thomas kept reading.

“Your mom's ring in your pocket My picture in your wallet Your heart was glass, I dropped it Champagne problems”

Of all the songs, why did he release the one about him? Why was it about a memory still so painful in Thomas’ heart, all of these years later? He remembered it so well, standing there, alone, shattered into a million pieces.

“You told your family for a reason You couldn't keep it in Your sister splashed out on the bottle Now no one's celebrating”

He was fairly certain that Barbara had been more excited than even he was, confident that Alastair would accept, and so very proud of her baby brother, all grown up. She’d been furious when it fell apart, but it was her who stood with him during the aftermath, who boarded him onto a train to Edinburgh to visit Eugenia when he couldn’t stand to be in the same city as him any longer, who went through his phone, blocking all of Alastair’s accounts so that he could obsess over him no longer, who comforted him as he wept and held him as he picked the pieces of himself back up again.

And all the more sour was the memory in light of her death.

“Dom Pérignon, you brought it No crowd of friends applauded Your hometown skeptics called it Champagne problems”

He looked up at Piers, who had fortunately become enthralled with something on his phone and was no longer paying Thomas any mind. He lifted the teacup gingerly to his lips, but he felt far too sick to take a drink.

“You had a speech, you're speechless Love slipped beyond your reaches And I couldn't give a reason Champagne problems”

A reason, that’s all Thomas had wanted. Just any explanation. He understood if they were moving too fast, or perhaps he’d misread something, but he just didn’t understand it.

Why? Why can’t you tell me why? I deserve an explanation, Alastair. Please, anything.

I… I’m sorry, Thomas.

Stop it! Stop apologizing! We can just go home and pretend this never happened, please, forget about all of it, it was a stupid idea-

Thomas, stop. I shouldn’t’ve… This was a mistake. I’m sorry I didn’t see that sooner.

That was the moment Thomas felt his heart stop beating.

“Your Midas touch on the Chevy door November flush and your flannel cure "This dorm was once a madhouse" I made a joke, "Well, it's made for me" How evergreen, our group of friends Don't think we'll say that word again And soon they'll have the nerve to deck the halls That we once walked through”

Despite the nearly two decades Thomas had spent in London before Alastair, it was never the same without him. He saw him everywhere he went, despite knowing he was thousands of miles away. After graduating uni that May, he accepted a spot at a graduate program in Spain and didn’t look back.

“One for the money, two for the show I never was ready so I watch you go Sometimes you just don't know the answer 'Til someone's on their knees and asks you "You’re the only one I want by my side, What a shame you’re fucked in the head," you said”

Those were the words that haunted Thomas’ nightmares, even now.

It’s you! It’s only you for me! It was always going to be you! But I can see now that I was never going to be enough for you, you and your secrets and walls and your lies. It’s a shame… it’s a shame you’re so fucked in the head, Alastair. You’ll never truly love anyone, will you? You’re not physically capable of it.

Alastair hadn’t responded. Thomas had wanted a rise out of him, any reaction at all, despite knowing how lethal and volatile Alastair could become when provoked. But there was nothing. Not a flicker of anything in his steeled expression. He’d simply looked down, apologized again for any pain that he’d caused, and left.

That was the last time they’d spoken.

Thomas and his sister left for Edinburgh that night, and when he’d returned to London, Alastair was gone.

“Well, you'll find the real thing instead Who'll patch up your tapestry that I shred And hold your hand while dancing Never leave you standing Crestfallen on the landing With champagne problems”

Thomas couldn’t imagine giving his heart to anyone again, not now and certainly not then. He’d dated in Madrid, but it had always stayed casual. He’d made sure of it. He could see now that he and Alastair had gotten together quickly, moved in together quickly, done all of it very quickly. After all, he’d fallen hard and fast. He gave all of himself to Alastair, and he’d nearly lost all of himself in the process.

“Your mom's ring in your pocket New picture in your wallet You won't remember all my Champagne problems

“You won't remember all my Champagne problems”

Now, he wondered what the rest of the story was. He’d convinced himself that Alastair had never loved him, that he was heartless and cruel, though he’d known that wasn’t true. Could Alastair have written this song if he’d never truly loved him? Perhaps he was a sociopath.

Thomas felt like he should run. Like he should pick up his bag and dart out of the apartment before Alastair could notice him, find some hotel somewhere with undoubtedly extraordinary high rates and just pretend like this never happened. He could get back on a plane and go back home to his parents and delete his phone browser history and pretend like this was all just a bad dream. But he could not move.

He didn’t know how many minutes had passed before Alastair’s door opened. He looked up with a start.

“Thomas,” Alastair breathed. He stood wide eyed, flushed.

“Do you two already know each other then?” Piers asked.

There was a moment of silence before Thomas cleared his throat. “We used to,” he said, looking down.

“I, er, I forgot that your friend was coming today,” Alastair told Piers. “It’s quite a long journey from London, you should have told me, I would have been quieter.”

Thomas considered correcting him for a moment, but decided not to. “Don’t worry about it. I heard you had your first big release. Congratulations.”

Alastair gave an awkward nod. “Thank you. Right, well, I’ll just…” He rushed over to the kitchen and pulled a bottle of water from the fridge. “I’ll try to be a bit quieter.”

“Don’t- It’s fine, really. In fact, I’m sure there’s some hotel in the area I can stay at for now, actually-”

“Well, don’t leave on my account,” Alastair interrupted. “We agreed to let you stay here, and the city’s a bloody mess right now. I’ll stay out of your hair, Thomas.”

Thomas only nodded as Alastair disappeared back behind his bedroom door.

Thanks for reading! Taglist (ask to be +/-): @stxr-thxif @chaos-and-starlight @zosiaenrique @lifewouldbebetteronmars @littlx-songbxrd @dianasarrow @eugeniaslongsword @bookswitchcraftandcats @jamesherondaleofficial @thomas-gaypanic-lightwood @livingformyself @anarmorofwords @foxglove-airmid @writeforjordelia @sapphic-in @jem-nasium @fortheloveofthecarstairs @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @shadowrunner2000 @thewarthatsavedmylife @fair-childd @itsjusta-j-really

[whatdoesshedotothem]

[KISS] Friday 17 October 1834

7 5

11 ½

a kiss last night but no better than the last she said I did not gave her dinky dinky  as at first how was it  that is she did not feel moisture from me as before  very windy morning but fine F54° now at 9 5 am till now looking at little Chamouni [Chamonix] model of Mt. Blanc – opened this morning 1st time since our arrival – out at 10 – breakfast at 9 ¾ - read the morning Herald (of Wednesday) - Long advertisement about railroad connecting London Norwich York Edinburgh and Glasgow - A- off to Cliff hill etc at 11 when Holt came for ½ hour to tell me the sale of Mr Samuel Hall’s coal to Mr Rawson was all off - the estate entailed upon Isaac Thwaites’ children in default of SH- leaving issue - he has only one child, a daughter aetatis 20 living with her aunt Pearson at the Northbridge because her mother (Mrs. Hall) an odd person - R- on finding the property entailed wanted SH- to give him a bond of indemnity for £3,000 - refused - and whenever the coal is again to dispose SH- promised Holt a chance for it - the R-s all low about it - Holt does not think much of their colliery now - have very little of this own coal to get - mine pulled at this new pit (to be called Walkerpit in compliment to A-) will make at 8d. a load a great deal more than R-‘s sold in the town at 9d. -  Jeremiah R- wanted Holt to speak to me about their buying the Shibden coal but he, Holt, declined - I can get all the coal above Dove houses out at this Walker pit - Mrs. Machins’ coal cannot be got now that SH-‘s coal is unsold - would have me get it at £10 per D.W. if I can - but not worth more - told him to get to know all he could (without say anything) about the Sutherland coal in Rooke’s land - the man who was to have had £20 from R- for advising SH to sell his coal is not now to have the money, so will tell H- (for he knows) all about the Rookesland coal - H- to let me know too the value of the Hawkins coal - and to get me (willing to pay for it) a general plan of the coal strata in this neighbourhood - said I suspected Stocks was doing his best to get a loose in upper brea land - H- to look after this - I would give as much for upper brea (I thought) as anybody else - Stocks would beat James Norris at longheadedness - H- to be on the look-out - to call again by and by -  went to my father and Marian – above an hour with them – told Marian what had passed  she said she had not determined on making Mr Abbot did not know that she should do it told Marian I would give her £20 for the view of Shibden dale by Mr Horner if she liked to which she consented and handsomely offered to let me have it for £10 as I could get him to copy it for that price – or said she would leave it in the house and take nothing – of course I declined this – then out with the masons and Charles and James H- till their dinner at 1 25 and sauntering about for 10 minutes afterwards – then wrote the above of today till 1 55 had Pickells – to begin moving wall in his long field for road to Mark Town’s land at 7/ a rood – out at 2 25 to meet A- not at Lidgate – at Cliff hill at 3 5 to 3 25 – A- not there – back to Lidgate to Lightcliffe church – peeped in at windows – she was not there –

SH:7/ML/E/17/0097

(she was to take old Washington and go and see about the pews) in passing Lidgate  saw little Susan, and A- not there – fancied I had missed her – took shelter at Hardcastle’s for a few minutes – home at 4 ½ - rainy for some time after – heated and uneasy at finding A- not returned – with Charles H- still at the blue room chimney piece -  A- safe back about 5 ½ not much or rather very little wet – dinner at 6 – coffee – had Marian sometime – read from  p.132 to 153 vol. 1 Niebuhr’s Rome - then played and lost 3 hits - ½ hour (till 10 ¼) with my aunt - fine but very windy till about 4 pm then rain - finish about 6 pm and wind lower - F51° at 10 20 pm and fair (rain very recently) and wind gone down - raining heavily at 10 25 pm.