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con-fection · 4 years ago

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ASHES TO ASHES | jim moriarty x reader | part 3/13

Word count: 4.3k

When Sherlock Holmes becomes a man obsessed, James Moriarty becomes a man intrigued. That much, you are about to learn.

The first night in your hotel room, you allow yourself rest. The bed sheets are so soft, and sleeping on a mattress is infinitely more comfortable than the floor of a freezing basement. In many ways, despite your fervent dislike of the decor of the room based on its disingenuity, it is a decent opposite to your life before.

There is no blustering breeze blowing through dark, cracked bricks. There are no semi-dangerous power tools strewn over the floor. The sheets don't scratch at your skin.

You make sure, that night, to check yourself over for injuries. The fire was a major risk, you knew that much, and there had always been the chance that you could get caught in the blaze and burn alive, your body remaining trapped in the same house as those of your step-family's, and your freedom curbed by fire.

And you had come out unscathed.

There were no burns on you, not even the tiniest of markings from something as harmless as a stray ember. There was the chance you were suffering from some mild smoke-inhalation, but you felt completely fine, so you weren't too worried about that.

You wake up earlier than most people, but today, you don't have to get up and start sweeping or work on preparing breakfast. You feel absolutely, devastatingly victorious when there come no shouts of your name, no demands to get out of bed and fix the house.

Freedom feels so utterly delightful.

The only real downside is the lack of birdsong. The kind of birds that will chirp sweetly in the morning with you as their only audience do not thrive in inner-city London. Here, there is the eternal street-chatter, car noises, and taxi calling.

When you turn on the TV, having spent the early morning lounging in bed and enjoying the feeling of being wrapped up in soft sheets, the news is reporting live from your street.

There is a news reporter lady talking rapidly to the camera, a microphone clutched tightly in one hand. Behind her lie the remains of your parents' house. The blaze has long-since been extinguished, but there still remains one lone firetruck at the scene. The house itself has practically caved in on itself. Tiles of the roof and pieces of wood that had served as the infrastructure of the house lie lamely scattered around the lawn and driveway. It's a mess of ash and what had once been your childhood home.

The words she's saying are almost imperceivable.

Verona's car had caught fire after all. That alone gives you a smug sense of satisfaction. Just one more thing that she had valued had been stripped from her and desecrated.

"...The police have announced that they are launching a murder inquiry into the deaths of Verona Archer and her nineteen-year-old twin daughters Aubrey and Alora. Detective Inspector Lestrade, who will be heading the inquiry, has declined to comment, but sources have confirmed to us that Reichenbach hero Sherlock Holmes will be consulting."

You sit up, more interested in what she has to say than you had been just moments ago. The murder inquiry was no real surprise - you hadn't exactly tried to cover up the fact that the corpses had been hacked to bits. The mere thought of Sherlock Holmes - an allegedly brilliant civilian detective - on the case, did however shock you slightly.

Taking in a shuddering breath only calms you very slightly.

You had been so, so careful, and this had the potential to become your downfall.

The police, of course, would be on the case. You had been smart - burning everything in the house that had belonged to you. Any item that bore your name or image was to be reduced to ash, now scattered in the wind like black snow.

It was most fortuitous that Verona had caused you to have a life of solitude. Her daughters, of course, had been allowed to go out and socialise as much as they wished. Verona herself would attend dinner parties, and had wormed her way into any and every social scene that she could. Everybody had adored the three of them - Verona Archer, with her perfectly curled blonde hair, pink lips, and her darling twin daughters that were the spitting image of her.

That was a social life that you hadn't been permitted. You had been incredibly resentful at the time. Your parent's families flaked away from you once they had both died - there was nobody who cared to reach out and check on their only child. There was no way of being certain whether or not they would even remember that you had been living in the Archer household.

It was rather unlikely there were even any neighbours that even knew of your existence. That obscurity would hopefully keep you safe.

It's mid-morning by the time you eventually leave the hotel room. You've decided that today you're going to buy some new clothes, get some food, and look for a job that won't ask too many questions, all whilst keeping your head down and staying away from any cameras. The employment will probably come in the form of a seedy pub, which does invoke some kind of revulsion within you.

You have to remind yourself that it won't be for long. This is all temporary - once you're able to acquire some forged documentation you'll be in the clear. This is just one step closer to your happy ever after. You've already endured the hardest part and come out stronger for it.

---

Lestrade has relocated his board, featuring pictures, evidence, and lots of colourful string and thumbtacks, to a bigger room in the police station. The board sits front and center of the room, and is the primary focus of the room's occupants.

The full team has been gathered, all congregating in this one room to try to work cohesively.

"Listen, we're under a lot of scrutiny on this case." Lestrade says, grimacing as he looks between his taskforce and the board.

"And that's your fault." Donovan sniffs. "If you hadn't brought in Sherlock bloody Holmes then I bet that the media wouldn't even care."

"Right, right," John tries to intervene. "Let's just look at the evidence, yeah? And try to solve the case?"

As usual, she seems less than thrilled with John's presence, regarding him less than a teammate and more as a tag-along that Sherlock had somehow procured.

"So what do we actually know then?" Donovan asks, staring unrelentingly at the board.

Sherlock steps forward, pinning another picture to the board, next to the Archer girls. "This is our culprit. She's Verona's step-daughter, the child of a previous marriage of Verona's second husband."

There she is - there you are. It's an old photograph, ridiculously outdated from when you had been in high school. It looks terribly out of place next to the pictures of the Archers when they had been alive. Theirs are recent, good quality images - Verona's had been just the night before she was killed. The twins were impossible to distinguish from one another. All of them had the luxury of smiling at the camera, of being happy.

Lestrade takes over. "Her father died almost a decade ago in a car accident, and her actual mother passed away a while before that from health complications. The dad remarried not too long after his wife's death, so Verona becomes her step-mum, and the twins become step-sisters. She's a few years older than the twins, and we have no clue whatsoever what she had been doing since she finished high school."

"And we have no clue where she is now?" Anderson asks.

"None wha-" Lestrade begins.

Sherlock cuts him off. "No, that's not true. She'll be in a major city, most likely London. She'll either be keeping a low profile, or have a new identity set up already. She will have changed since high school - probably a hair cut, hair dye, or even tattoos, though that's unlikely."

"Right, I'll tell the officers on duty to keep an eye out for her." Lestrade nods, "Though I don't think a picture from years ago is going to help very much."

Donovan frowns slightly, her eyebrows tugging downwards slightly. She bites her lip for a second, her eyes darting between the pictures of the Archer girls when they were alive, their bodies, and their possible murderer. "Do we have a motive yet? Are we sure that this couldn't be a stalker who killed the Archers to kidnap their step-sister? I just can't really see a girl who Verona had raised, who loved the twins as if they were really her sisters, just turning on them like that."

"That's been bothering me too." Lestrade says. "I mean, maybe she felt like an outsider, but -"

"Of course she felt like an outsider." Sherlock says. "Verona took away her step-daughter's bedroom and had her sleep in the basement, so that she could store her fur coats upstairs. The step-daughter would be banned from furthering her education, and served as practically a live-in maid. It's incredibly obvious, really."

"They kept her as a maid? In the basement?" Lestrade's jaw hangs open slightly, his tone utterly disbelieving.

"Of course they did. All we have to do now is find her." Sherlock says, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Come on, John. If Cinderella's looking for a story, then we'll help her write one."

---

By the time you get back to your hotel room, your confidence has been bolstered immeasurably. You'd rather cautiously kept away from the more densely populated, camera-filled streets, and remained in more seedy, shady areas where nobody would really care too much even if they did know what you'd done.

In that time, you'd secured clothes, food, and you'd scouted out a few places that would probably be willing to employ you and not ask too many questions, though you weren't under the impression that they would pay you particularly well.

It felt so intoxicating to be completely and utterly free. You had no constraints any more. There were no Aubrey and Alora to hound you when you went shopping, and Verona was no longer around to tell you to be grateful that she even kept you around. Total, complete independence was one of the finest things you had ever encountered.

Perhaps the next few months would be rough whilst you were evading the police and establishing your new life. But ultimately, you were free. From freedom, your happily ever after would be borne.

Hastily, you put the food away - you'd bought simple things that could be stored in the mini-fridge - and pull the clothes on to hangers in the wardrobe. It doesn't feel like home, but oddly, you're glad for that.

Home had been burnt down, reduced to ashes by your own hand. In due time, you'd build a new one if you had to, and it most certainly would not resemble this hotel room.

Once you've finished packing everything away, you try to allow yourself to relax, but for some reason, you feel utterly unable to.

For some, indecipherable reason, you feel watched.

Instantly, your eyes narrow and you stalk around your hotel room, checking below your bed and in the bathroom. There's nobody hiding in either places, and you know that the wardrobe is empty, too. You're utterly alone here, and yet, you certainly do not feel that way. Rather, it feels like there are eyes at your back, scrutinising your every move.

Your next course of action is to check out the window. There's nobody there. Still, you draw the curtains closed tightly. It does little to block out the light or offer you any true sense of security. You're on edge - all of a sudden the shadows in the room feel too dark, too ominous, and it feels like the temperature has dropped several degrees.

There's a deep paranoia settling into your bones, and slowly, but surely, your heart rate is beginning to rise, to the point where your heart is rapidly thundering against your ribcage.

There has to be something you'd missed.

Most people hadn't developed the acute senses that you had. They simply weren't as perceptive, and they had no reason to be. Your distinct awareness of everything around you had been developed over years and years of maltreatment.

Just the slightest movement could tell you a thousand different things. Noises, from the screech of a heeled shoe against wooden floor to the mutterings of your step-mother, were a vital part of determining how safe you felt. Sight, too, was important. You could recognise just from the way Verona positioned her handbag if she would be in the mood to let you eat that night.

You had learnt to trust your senses. And right now, they were declaring that you had missed something - that there was something totally and completely off about this room.

Quickly, your eyes are traversing over every tiny little thing. From the doorframe, to the curtains, to the TV, to the desk -

The desk.

That's what had changed. The sugar packets and TV remote had been pushed to the outskirts of the desk to make room for something that hadn't been there before.

It's in the centre of the desk, and your jaw drops open slightly just at the sight of it. A bolt of ice rushes down your spine and suddenly you're afraid. There had been no fear when you killed three people and set their house aflame. But this, this felt like a threat.

Resting idly, almost innocently on the desk, is a heeled glass shoe.

It glitters prettily under the few rays of sunlight that escape from the curtains, but its mere presence feels insidious. You want to stumble away from it, dash out of the hotel and run for your life. But you don't. Rather, you stalk closer, creeping towards it, your eyes wide and unblinking.

The glasswork is pretty. It's delicate - carefully made, with intricate spirals running up the heel. It's relatively transparent, with a slight blue tint to it, enough to make it appear more frosted. It looks about your size, but it's far too nice to even attempt to wear. It's the kind of shoe you would have relentlessly lusted after as a child. A real life glass slipper.

And yet, neither the pretty glasswork or whether it is actually wearable are the primary thoughts on your mind.

Right next to the shoe, lying so innocuously on the desk, is a little white note. It almost resembles a business card, with a swooping golden border around the edges. If the shoe felt like a threat, then this feels even worse.

Inscribed, in shocking black ink on the bone-white card -

HELLO, CINDERELLA. WOULD YOU LIKE TO GO TO THE BALL?

Now you really do feel like crying - like yelling out and destroying everything around you, smashing the glass slipper and burning your dreams just as you'd burnt the house down. You collapse to the floor, one hand clutching at your chest, grappling onto your torso like it was a lifeline.

You had been cautious. Cameras had been avoided at all costs. You'd even made sure that there would be no up to date pictures of you available for you to be identified from. You had done everything right.

It was so, awfully unfair. All of a sudden, that tenuous, delightful freedom had been ripped out from under you and torn to ribbons. And you had no idea by whom.

There was somebody out there who knew. Somebody who knew what you had done, and worse still, knew where you were. Somebody who could very, very easily let themselves into your hotel room.

Last night, you had slept so soundly, totally unaware that you had already been compromised.

You had no idea who could possibly do this - who could want to torment you in this way. Nobody came to mind. There should have been nobody that even cared to look for you, beyond the police hunting down a criminal. Logically, there should have been no way for you to be found. All of your bases had been carefully covered.

Worst of all is that you have no way of fathoming what it even means. Is it a threat? A taunt?

You simply have no idea, and you're not inclined to even want to find out. It's entirely possible that you've burnt your way out of one cage just to be put in another. All because there's somebody out there who's smarter than you, who has somehow been able to undo every precaution you put into place.

Taking in a deep breath, you lower your head into your hands and beg yourself to just think.

This could be a threat. You have no idea who would want to threaten you, and you have no leverage against them.

Rather quickly, you come to the conclusion that for now, you will simply play along with whatever they want. It's the easiest option - if they'd found you here then they could potentially find you anywhere. This way, you can dig for as much information on them as possible.

Playing along could mean being extorted, or made into a pawn. Wretchedly, it threatened to put a stranglehold on your freedom.

But, you'd broken out of the role of the pawn before.

If they were threatening you, then you would play along, until you found the right time to burn them to ash, reduce them to cinders that could easily be swept away. You were already well on your way transitioning from pawn to queen, and you were absolutely determined not to let anything derail you.

This time, you wouldn't run away from the blaze. You would gleefully watch it consume anybody who dared stand against you.

If reaching the fabled happily ever after meant starting a few fires, then that's what you would do.

---

There's a deep sense of relief when you wake up and find that nothing's changed. The glass slipper is still resting threateningly next to the card it came with upon the desk, but you haven't received any additional gifts. Not yet, anyway. You cannot simply throw caution to the wind - now you must be more careful than ever.

Somebody has discovered exactly who you are, and they know exactly where you are. It's quite possibly the worst position for you to be in. The last thing you need is anybody else recognising you.

That morning, you creep out of your hotel room, dressed in some of the clothes you had bought the day prior. You were very careful not to choose anything too flashy or that would stick in people's minds. For all intents and purposes, you needed to become a shadow, to fade from memory and hide in plain sight.

Once again, you will be trawling the shadier areas. These are the places bathed in darkness and defined by hidden bloodshed. These people have little regard for the law-abiding. Being amongst them will probably help keep you concealed.

They won't allow the police to get anywhere near them. There will never be any security cameras. There will only be secrecy and that is where you'll thrive. It's where you will hide, until the press has blown over and your step-family's murders have been relegated to cold cases.

You stalk out of the hotel, ever wary of everybody that you interact with.

Any one of these people in the lobby could have left you the slipper and the note. They're the ones with the most opportunity. However, most of the guests here, from what you can reasonably guess, are disenfranchised or senile. It could have even been the lady at the desk, Emily, you think her name had been.

You take to the streets like a duck to water. You decide to walk along a route with less traffic, working your way through maze-like alleys rather than go near the roads. There's almost no cameras here, and occasionally you will see a metal clasp on the brick walls that perhaps, at some time had held a camera, but it had since been taken down or torn off the wall.

Unfortunately, these places are rife with unsavoury people. Realistically, you probably weren't the only person here that was on the run from the police.

Your methodology of travelling only by the shadiest routes brought you past a myriad of seedy little pubs. You'd taken a look at some of these places yesterday. They seemed like as good a place as any to start looking for a job. The people there weren't likely to ask too many questions.

Despite having probably done crimes more morally reprehensible than any of the pub patrons, there's a disparity in how you view yourself compared to how you view them. They're stationed below you - they are just another stepping stone to your future. Among them isn't where you belong.

The way you spend the day is rather boring - doing a more in depth evaluation of all the places nearby that would probably be willing to employ you, mentally cataloguing the pros and cons of each place. It's incredibly dull, but you have to remind yourself that it's necessary. Right now, you don't have much other choice.

By the time the sun is beginning to set and dusk is beginning to fall over London, you've found a few places you like the look of. They're easy to get to, and just seedy enough that they may not care about your lack of documentation. That, of course, had been destroyed in the fire, and even if it hadn't, you weren't about to use your real name.

Once it starts to get darker, you head back to your hotel room, half-starved. You're simultaneously eager to get back just to eat, and nervous that you could have been left another message.

You practically fly through the lobby, hurriedly following the signs back to room one hundred and twenty five.

You make your way down the hallway, pausing cautiously at your door.

There, hung on the door handle is one of the hotel's do not disturb signs. You hadn't been the one to place it there.

Immediately, you're put on edge. The tiny, rectangular blue and green key card feels rather heavy in your hand. Your fingers twitch, and your eyes narrow. Once again, something is very, very off.

You press your ear to the door. There's nothing - no noise that you can discern. Cautiously, you swipe the card, and you tug the door handle down, but you don't push it all the way open. Not yet. You wait another moment before doing so, your eyes immediately flying to check the bathroom before you even truly step inside.

The room looks deserted, overcast by shadows. There's a deep anticipation stirring within you as you step into the hotel room and let the door close behind you.

It's rather dark - the shadows all move in the dying sunlight, and there's too many places for someone to hide.

"Hello, Cinderella." A voice calls out from the darkness, crooning and smooth.

In a second, your hand has slammed down on the lightswitch. The lights flicker for a moment, but they enable you to see him.

There's a man lounging in the chair to the desk, looking directly at you. His legs are outstretched in front of him, and he's passing the glass slipper between his hands.

You'd never seen him before. He's older than you, perhaps in his early thirties, with slicked back dark hair, an expensive-looking grey suit, and eyes that stare straight into your soul.

"Did you like my gift?" He asks, sounding vaguely amused. His dark, all-consuming, black eyes dart briefly down to the glass shoe in his hands. He strokes a fingertip along the glasswork intimately.

"Who are you?" The question tumbles from your mouth before you can even think to stop it.

He rolls his eyes. "I believe that I asked you a question first. You're welcome to call me Moriarty. But you, Cinderella, have been a very naughty girl."

This Moriarty man is rather changeable, you think. His annoyance had quickly faded to something that sounded horrendously like glee. You're left floundering for a response - there's nothing clever for you to say.

"Have I?" You find yourself saying, rather absently, like you were making an off-hand remark about the weather or something equally insignificant. It feels meaningless to refute him. You know exactly what he's referring to.

"Oh come on," Moriarty says. His voice is almost playful - and it's now that you place his accent. Irish. "You know you have. Killing your wicked step-mother and ugly step-sisters? Most people would call that terrible. Psssh, I'm not so boring." He waves it off, dismissing what you had done gut-wrenchingly easy.

You flinch backwards, your back colliding with the door. "Oh?" You manage to choke out.

"No, no. I'd call that impressive," He says in a sing-song voice. He seems so cheery, and he's practically grinning at you. "You see, most people don't quite gather the guts to kill their own families. And when it's a woman - well, they tend to go for poison. Bit of a cop out, don't you think? But no, not you. That would be too boring. Go on, Cinderella, tell me how it felt."

"Am I...being blackmailed?" You don't think you've ever felt so confused and worried at the same time. This man - the man who had figured it all out and found you seems to be dually comical and threatening. You can't really discern what is an appropriate reaction.

"Only if you'd like to be." He replies with an innocent shrug of his shoulders. "Just tell me something, will you?"

#jim moriarty #jim moriarty x reader

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rainandhotchocolate · 5 years ago

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The girl next door

A/N ok yes it’s technically 1am but fk u all its STILL DAY 6 IN MY MIND anyway this is a !muggle reader x James fic, the classic girl next door trope :)) Enjoy lovelies!

The girl next door

James watched from his window as a bright red car rolled up into the driveway next to his. The house next door was relatively similar to his own, a classic Victorian terrace with a balcony overlooking the front lawn and the back garden. James’ parents hadn’t changed the decorations much, wanting to keep it in line with muggle stereotypes as much as possible, not draw attention to themselves unnecessarily. The most they had added were two rocking chairs out on the front porch for them to watch the neighbourhood pass around them, doing muggle things.

James’ next-door neighbours, however, had done the exact opposite. Whilst they had to keep the front façade, heritage or some odd muggle council thing, they had painted the front a deep-sea blue, the door was porcelain white to match the balcony. Hanging down across the painted walls was lush ivory which vined its way across the façade and up the edge of the balcony, meeting a row of blueberry and raspberry plants that had never really sprouted. From James’ bedroom, he could see into the back of the house and garden, completely renovated so that there were large windows covering the kitchen and living space and led out into a complete mess of a garden, a huge oak tree in the middle, daisy’s and honeysuckles covering the grassy surrounding it.

When James was young, he used to watch with envy at the large tyre that was tied to the edge of the tree, watching the couple swing their young daughter higher and higher into the tree. He wondered if it was the closest thing muggle’s felt to flying.

He first met the girl next door when he was 8, when Euphemia and Fleamont had brought around a large pudding to greet the new neighbours. They had ushered them in, the woman wearing an oversized pair of overalls and covered in paint, the man in jeans and a jumper, holding the newspaper in one hand as he led them into the kitchen.

“We have a daughter around the same age as James.” He remembered them saying to his parents whilst he looked around at the brightly coloured utensils hanging around the kitchen.

“Y/N!” At her mum’s yell, Y/N came skidding through the open doorway, sliding further than she expected in her socks on the smooth wooden floorboards and grabbing hold of James to slow down.

“She’s a bit of a wild one, our Y/N,” her dad had said, grinning down at her as Y/N gave James an apologetic grimace, “Why don’t you show James the yard?”

She grabbed James’ hand and pulled him out the large back door, which was also a window, and led him towards the tree.

“This is a fairy tree, they like to sleep here at night, but if you’re lucky you might get to see one,” She winked, a piece of her curly dark hair falling into her face. She tried to blow it off with the corner of her mouth before shaking it off her face. She was wearing a bright pink dress, James remembered because he wondered whether she was going to ruin it as she grabbed hold of the tree branch and swung herself up and onto it.

“Come on! What are you staring for?”

“Nothing, coming,” He’d grinned up at her and pulled himself up, joining her on the large tree. They’d jumped around it for an hour before his parents came back into the yard and brought him home.

Being an only child, James took any opportunity he could do have her over or vice versa when she was bored and wanted someone to hoist her onto the tallest branch.

“I can see the whole way to London from here!”

“You bloody cannot,” James snorted, tickling the inside of her leg so she jolted forwards, having to grab hold of the branch in front to steady herself.

“Oi!”

“That’s what you get for lying,” James giggled as she tried to reach down and poke him, but she was too high up.

“Come up here so I can get you back.”

“Not even if Merlin was up there,” James danced around the trunk of the tree, avoiding her foot as it dangled, trying to find his head.

“What, like King Arthur? Stop moving! I promise I won’t hit you I’m just trying to get down,” Y/N held her leg still until James sighed and moved over so she could use his shoulders to climb back down. She hit him across the arm the moment she landed on a thick branch, her lip curling brazenly.

“You are so dead,” James growled at her, chasing her across the tree branches, watching Y/N giggle loudly as he got closer until he could tackle her onto the grass in a heap.

When they got older, well mostly when James went to a ‘faraway very boring nothing to talk about’ boarding school they drifted apart. It was natural enough, they still saw each other on break, chatting about their classes and friends. On Christmas eve, Fleamont and Euphemia would invite all the neighbours around for scones and tea and Y/N would sneak some chocolate for James and herself to share in the garden, watching the stars. When they turned 14, it was a bottle of wine from her parents tiny under the floorboards cellar and they giggled for hours as the wine made James feel light-headed and flushed and like he could do bloody well anything.

When the parents had moved into the sitting room for whiskey (well it was firewhiskey with the label hidden), James and Y/N had stolen a blanket so they could keep lying on the grass as the snow began to fall on their heads. James turned to look at her, face flushed from both the bottle of red wine and freezing air, eyes wide and twinkling as she looked up at the stars, a look of awe on her face. Snow had begun to land on her eyebrows and hair, sparkling brightly against her pale skin and dark curls in a halo around her head.

“Snow has got to be the prettiest thing on earth,” She’d said sitting up and looking across the garden as it settled in the grass and leaves. James was still staring at her and she gave him a funny look in return. “What?”

“You look so beautiful with snow in your hair.” James wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol talking or himself but without giving it a second thought he leaned in and kissed her, softly, his heartbeat rising in his chest.

He’d pulled back slowly, watching Y/N’s mouth make a small ‘o’ and her whole body freeze momentarily.

“I’m sorry, it… must be the alcohol, I didn’t mean – “

“No it’s fine I just – “

“Why don’t we go back inside?” James’ heart was racing, his head catching up to himself. You bloody idiot.

“Oh, yeah ok.” James had given her a hand standing up, and they’d both walked back inside in silence, brushing the snow from their hair and shoulders.

Since then, things had never really gone back to normal. James focused all his romantic energy on Lily, Lily who would scowl as he walked past and became infuriated by the smallest of prods, but wouldn’t make him feel like he did that Christmas Eve. Hollow.

The next Christmas break, Sirius turned up on their doorstep, bruises covering every inch of visible skin, blood dripping down his lip and staining the side of his thin long-sleeve top.

“Hey… mate,” He spluttered when James pulled open the door, freezing up when he saw Sirius’ state.

“Sirius, Merlin, are you ok, get inside come on, MUM! DAD!” He yelled towards the stairs before reaching out and grabbing Sirius as he went to collapse on the front doorstep. They didn’t have anyone over for Christmas eve that year, Sirius still sickly thin, the fading bruises still deep blues and purples splaying across his face and legs. Sirius sat up with James all night talking about next years Quidditch cup and the best way to get a date for the first Hogsmeade weekend back, James continually flicking his eyes towards the bedroom window where lights were still on.

“Am I not as interesting as the darkness,” Sirius threw a pillow at him when James outright didn’t respond to Sirius’ question about how much frogs spawn was too much frogs spawn.

“Oh sorry, what?”

“What are you looking at?” Sirius narrowed his eyes, a smile creeping onto his face.

“Nothing, it’s nothing- “ But Sirius had already jumped out of the bed, masking his pain with a grimace and was limping over to the window. He gazed out, pushing James to the side as he tried to close the blinds, looking over into Y/N’s house.

“Ahhh, of course! I guess a hot girl is more interesting than I am,” Sirius snorted, still watching, “Ooo, a taken girl, much less interesting.”

“What?” Forgetting all pretence of composure, he hopped out of bed and rushed over to the window. He could see Y/N leaning up against the wall, smiling at something out of view. That something quickly returned, as a tall curly haired boy who lifted her up in the air and kissed her passionately. James felt something in his gut twist. He turned away quickly from the window, sitting back on his bed, determined to look calm.

“And here I was thinking that Lily was the only one for you huh?” Sirius grinned widely, prodding James, “Come on, there’s a million girls out there, I promise we can find you someone just like that.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow when James didn’t reply. He sat back on the bed and watched him, letting the silence hang.

“She was my first kiss.” James had said. He’d never really admitted that before. They didn’t really talk about that kind of stuff, more like what they could do, will do. Sirius remained silent, gripping one hand on James’ knee.

Y/N hopped out of the red car, opening the boot to help her parents get out the rest of the shopping bags and bring them into the house. Sirius wasn’t awake yet, and James was indulging himself by watching her smile up at her dad who had likely told a really terrible joke about fishing. The door closed and James found himself wandering back to his bedroom, wondering if she would go to her room and read or listen to music or something. Maybe she would look up to where his window was too, looking for him. James rolled his eyes at himself, shaking his head. Stop being such a sap.

Then he froze. Standing at the side of their house was Sirius, looking up at James and waving fervently, smiling like an absolute dick. He saw him exaggerate waggling his eyebrows and mime walking up to the front door.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” James mouthed at him, giving him the finger and trying to swat him away from the house. Sirius grinned wider and walked out of James’ vision. James sprinted back to the living room banging on the window loudly as Sirius walked up to Y/N’s front door and knocked. James stopped banging immediately as her mum answered the door and craned forwards, desperately wishing he could hear through glass. She brought him into the house and closed the door.

When Sirius returned James jumped him.

“What the FUCK,” He hissed, eyes flashing at Sirius who continued to look very satisfied with himself.

“Oh, calm down, I didn’t do anything too wild,” He winked, making his way to the kitchen, forcing James to follow him in a huff.

“You need to tell me exactly what you did.”

“I just invited her over – “

“What? Why? She doesn’t even know you!”

“For a little party we are having,” Sirius continued as if James hadn’t just spat a little in his face.

“Party?”

“Just a small thing, it will be fine. I’ve already cleared it with your parents!” He grinned as James went to tackle him.

As it so happens, Sirius (for once) was actually telling the truth and had only invited a small group of people from Hogwarts who lived around London and had gone home for Christmas. Marlene arrived first, holding a bottle of firewhiskey and a wild grin, followed closely by Alice and Frank who brought mince pies, and Remus and Peter who had brought a selection of sweets from their parents. They were sitting in the front living room exploding snap when the doorbell rang. James sprung up, flattening out his shirt pedantically.

“You really weren’t lying Pads,” Remus shook his head at James, “He’s smitten.”

“I told you,” Sirius sang, chuckling as James gave him daggers.

“Ok please, she doesn’t know we are wizards so please tame down the whole… fact that we are wizards.”

“Well said, Prongs,” Remus gave him a small clap.

“Oh, shut it the lot of you.”

“James are you going to get the door?” Euphemia called from the kitchen.

“Yes, mum, I’m going now!”

“Hurry up, she might leave,” Marlene winked at James but he ignored her, moving down the hallway a little too quickly, having to stop himself from slipping into the door in his socks.

Ok, calm down, it’s just a lowkey Christmas hang, nothing to worry about. Chill.

He took a deep breath and plastered a smile on his face, swinging open the door. Y/N was standing in the cold, covered in a large fluffy coat, arms tucked inside to keep warm.

“Finally, I thought you’d forgotten about me,” Y/N smiled up at him and James felt his entire pep talk get thrown out the window as he remembered how her how face scrunched up when she smiled and it made his heart jump. He silently thanked the stars when he heard Sirius slid up beside him.

“You came! James has told us all about you, come in come in,” Sirius elbowed James subtly, and James opened the door wider so she could step inside.

“Looks like you haven’t changed a thing,” Y/N stepped out of her wet boots and looked around the hallway.

“I honestly think I’d be worried if it had, my parents might have gone mad,” James felt himself fall back into the easy rhythm of conversation with Y/N as he led her back into the living room, Sirius on their tails.

“So this is a bunch of people from school, Marlene, Alice, Frank, Remus, Peter, and well you must have met Sirius this afternoon?”

“Yes! So nice to meet you all, and actually put faces to names,” Y/N beamed around at them all, finding a place beside Remus on the floor.

“He talks about us?” Marlene made a loud gasp.

“I’m shocked,” Alice shook her head in mock amazement.

“You all suck,” James hissed at them, quickly returning to his previously plastered smile state, “We were just playing cards. Do you know any good games?”

They continued playing cards, Marlene sneaking them sips of Firewhiskey when they were sure that James’ parents weren’t about to come and drop in another bout of snacks, with only one minor mishap with the cards when Frank slammed too hard on two similar cards resulting in Remus spinning Y/N around as a card exploded.

“What the hell was that noise?” Y/N looked disorientated, blinking vehemently.

“Car backfiring,” Marlene smiled, her eyes still slightly panicked. Frank was mouthing I’m sorry to James as he quickly wiped down the table with his hand.

“Right…” Y/N still looked confused but dropped the topic. Alice yawned loudly, stretching out her back on the soft carpet behind her.

“I’m actually getting super tired, might head off?” She turned to ask Frank, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah, I have to be home before 12 anyway, my parents love Christmas,” He grinned at James, sending him a sly wink. James rolled his eyes, praying that Y/N didn’t see.

“Well if you’re heading, I might… catch a ride,” Marlene held back a laugh as she attempted a muggle phrase.

“Uh, yeah, sounds good,” Alice poked her in the ribs, shooting her a look to shut up. They all stood up, Marlene grabbing the bottle of firewhiskey and putting it back in her bag.

“Sorry boys, and Y/N, you’ll have to live without for the rest of the evening.”

“Fine with me, it tasted way different to anything I’ve ever stolen from my parents,” Y/N laughed, smiling warmly up at Marlene. James wanted to hug her. Or something. Perhaps he was getting delirious.

They waved goodbye, leaving the house before apparating together away, James cringing when he heard the loud crack!

Sirius kicked Remus in the leg and gave Y/N a smile.

“Would you like a hot cocoa? Remus makes the best, I can help him find the ingredients.”

“I don’t think she want –“ James started, feeling increasingly panicked. He hoped his eyes accurately said don’t fucking leave me alone I’m a mess.

“I’d love one!” Y/N cut him off and Sirius’ smile widened.

“Perfect, come on Remus,” He pulled him up, Remus giving James an apologetic smile before following Sirius out of the room. A silence fell over the two of them, and James found himself beginning to stress over whether it was comfortable or if he should interrupt it or if that would make it seem like they couldn’t just hang out in silence anymore and would that be worse?

Thankfully, Y/N spoke first.

“Your friends seem nice,” She was leaning back on her hands, looking up at him with her y/e/c eyes.

“They’re a bit mental, but in a good way,” James chuckled, fixing his hair unconsciously. Y/N laughed loudly when she saw his hand ruffle through his already messy hair.

“You always do that when you’re nervous.”

“I’m no-“

“Oh shush, I’m nervous too… it’s been a while I guess.”

“Yeah… I guess it has.”

“I broke up with Dan – my boyfriend last month,” She avoided his eyes now, leaning forward. James saw her face flush slightly but didn’t say anything, pretending not to notice. “The first thing I wanted to do was come over and lie in your garden and just forget about it but you were at school and we hadn’t really spoken since… well, you know.”

“Yeah,” James replied dumbly, wincing at his lack of conversational aptitude.

“I just, miss you, you know?”

“Yeah, I miss you too. I pulled the best prank on one of our teachers and I just wanted to send you an o- letter, but I didn’t know if, you wanted to hear from me I guess,” He laughed awkwardly, reaching for his hair but stopping himself.

“I’m sorry for running out on you like that it was, well it was my first kiss.”

“Mine too.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really, what do you think I am, Casanova?” James snorted at her and she grinned sheepishly.

“I don’t know, you were always talking about girls from school, especially um, Lily? I just presumed that it was something you did.”

James laughed properly now, a large booming laugh he hadn’t felt in a while. It felt good to talk to her again, even if it was vaguely awkward small talk.

“I honestly am the worst with girls. I think everyone presumes I’m some smooth mover and then doesn’t talk to me.”

“Well obviously, if you’re calling yourself a smooth mover,” She joined in, her face scrunching up as she laughed at him.

“Oh, fuck off,” James threw a pillow at her, but she just laughed harder, blocking her face and letting it fall to the ground.

“I had a massive crush on you, you know.” She spoke quickly, like she’d been holding it in and let it out all in one breath. James stared at her, momentarily stunned.

“So, your answer me kissing you was to splutter and run away?” James teased, unsure whether this was still a casual conversation or not. His heart was beating in his throat and he swallowed hard.

“I was 14, give me a bit of credit, I was having a mini heart attack,” She gave a soft chuckle, but also looked increasingly uncomfortable, swinging back and forwards on the floor.

“You were the one who got me drunk!”

“Ahh so you’re going to blame it on the alcohol huh?” She gave a knowing nod, her lip curling cheekily.

“I will give some credit to the alcohol for giving me certain encouragements.”

“Fair enough.”

A silence fell over them again, but this time James felt calmer, like a weight had been lifted from his chest and allowed him to look her in the eye again.

“I am sorry I didn’t respond how one should have responded,” She cringed at herself as she spoke.

“Ahh, don’t stress about it. Honestly I don’t know what I would have done if you had just sprung that one me either.”

“Mmm,” Y/N simply hummed in response, her head crooked to one side.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You are the worst fucking liar.”

She huffed at him, tucking a curl behind her ear. James watched her hand carefully. He wondered what it would feel like to do that for her, to graze the edge of her cheek, cup her chin.

“I guess… I guess I was just wondering,” She bit her lip and James resisted the urge to stare at it. “How you would have reacted.”

James felt his whole body stop. He forced himself to nod in reply, suddenly very aware of how alone they were. And how easy it would be to just lean down…

“I guess we’ll never know.”

“Cocoa!” James could have killed Sirius in that exact moment, and by the expression that dawned on Sirius’ face, he could tell.

“Oh shoot, I should really get home, I promised mum I’d help wrap dad’s presents before tomorrow morning!” Y/N had checked her watch and stood quickly, brushing the mince pie crumbs from her skirt. “I’ll, er, see you soon?”

“Yeah, yeah of course, I’ll bring by some treacle tart tomorrow,” James led her to the door and watched as she got home safely. He closed the door and immediately banged his head against it.

Sirius and Remus were staring furiously at him when he returned to the living room and sunk into the couch, feeling more depressed than anyone should on Christmas Eve.

“HOW COULD YOU NOT KISS HER!” Sirius whispered and yelled simultaneously, not wanting to wake up James’ parents.

“It really is poor form, mate,” Remus agreed, sipping on a mug of cocoa.

“I think I’m just going to die here now. Forever. Please leave me to mull in my failures.”

Sirius rolled his eyes and sat up next to James’ face.

“You’re a fucking idiot if you think we’d let you give up this easily.”

In a matter of minutes, the three boys had pulled on boots and jackets over their trackpants and snuck quietly out the front door and around the side of the house. They reached Y/N’s window slowly, careful not to make any noise that would have any neighbour poking their heads out the window and seeing three boys sneaking towards a girls bedroom window in the middle of the night. Not the best look.

“Ok, the lights are still on in her room, she said she was helping wrap presents. This is your moment!”

“This is stalking,” James hissed back, his stomach clenching. This was so so so stupid. And yet, the thought of surprising her, her big toothy smile at the window, and likely the firewhiskey, made him continue to follow Sirius. Remus walked behind, checking to see if anyone was watching.

“We will keep watch, go!” Remus pushed James forward lightly so that he was standing directly in front of it. He didn’t move, just watched the light flicker against the curtains.

“I can’t do this –“

“Shut up!” Sirius and Remus both hissed back. Sirius leaned forward and knocked on the window, immediately hiding on the right side of the wall, Remus on the left.

“You fucking – Y/N! Hey!”

Y/N had pulled back the curtains cautiously, opening them fully when she saw who it was.

“What are you doing here?” She whispered back, eye flickering to her door and then back to James who was now shivering slightly in the snow.

“I… well I was just thinking about what you said and…” He took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. She was examining him closely, expression unreadable. “I was thinking that you never got to see my reaction…”

He wanted to bang his head against her window. Maybe he would pass out and could pretend this was all a sleepwalking episode or something. She continued to watch him for a second before she snorted loudly.

“Fuck, I am so sorry I just thought, I’ll leave,” James closed his eyes for a second, clenching his fists by his sides. He was going to stab Remus and Sirius in their sleeps for ever suggesting this.

It happened so quickly James wasn’t actually sure it did happen. With his eyes still shut, he suddenly felt something soft press slowly against his lips. His eyelids flickered open quickly, just in time to see Y/N pull away, a small smile on his face.

“I… oh.”

“You’re right, that was a reaction worth witnessing.” She looked a little giddy, though James was sure he looked ten times happier.

“I mean I’m definitely happy with it.”

“Good.” She bit her lip again, pausing for a second before continuing, “What are you doing on boxing day?”

“Nothing,” James replied very quickly.

“Pick me up at 10.”

“Ok.”

“I should probably actually get some sleep tonight.” Y/N giggled, her eyes shining bright against the moonlight.

“Yes, of course, sleep well, Y/N.”

“You too James.”

Y/N looked at him for another moment before closing her blinds with a wave.

James turned around on the spot, moving away from where Y/N would be able to hear him and jumping in the air, a fist in the air.

“Fucking YES.”

“Finally,” Sirius punched him in the arm, flanked by Remus who beamed at him.

“I’m glad this worked, the next thing was storming the place and telling her you were in love with her.”

“Very glad it didn’t come to that.”

“I’m not, I’ve always wanted to storm a house,” Sirius replied pensively, putting an arm around Remus and James, “But I’ll settle for this.”

Advent: @maraudersandco @gollyderek

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