#but i’ve not seen it since like. last year i reckon. maybe around christmas when itv and bbc just play a shit tonne of movies

[gracieblood]

me when i answer my own question

[ickle-ronniekins]

luck of the irish

request from @stars-shaped-clouds: Hi! If your requests are still open I would like to request for Fred Weasley! :D maybe meeting Reader the first time and fred is all like it’s like love at first sight thing? I really love your writing!!!!

request from @keoghans: Hi! I love your work sm!!!! I wanted to ask for a Fred one, where the reader is a Beater in the World Cup finals, and is a friend of Oliver Wood, and he’s all giddy looking at her play and stutters a lot when they meet and yeah, idk, flustered, stuttering Fred gets me hahah thank you love! ♥️♥️♥️

pairing: fred x reader

word count: 2.9k

A/N: yo what the FUCK i loved these requests—also i know wood doesn’t play for ireland but let’s just ~pretend~ and also i knoooow that in gof they don’t go home for the christmas holidays because of the yule ball but again let’s just ~pretend~ and go weak for flustered, head over heels, desperately adorable fred and his love and first sight with a professional irish quidditch player

tag list: @mintlibri @seppys-return-to-madness @how-do-life-does @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @semmelsemi @bobduncanlover @cottageoflove @laneygthememequeen @snakesonaplane-7 @lupinsx @keoghans @helloallthethingsilove @dreamer821 | message me if you’d like to be added darlings!!!

Fred finds himself rather excited to get back to school. Not for the work, of course, but the mischief! He and George had also heard through the grapevine that this year is supposed to be more exciting, more chaotic—something will be happening, but what, he doesn’t know. He just has to sit tight and wait until the feast, where Dumbledore will undoubtedly give them a clue as to what’s about to happen. Fred can hardly handle the wait.

But when Fred ends up at the Quidditch World Cup with his father, siblings, and friends before he heads off to Hogwarts for his sixth year, the last thing he expects is to meet someone who makes him want to push off school for as long as he possibly can. He’s expecting the laughs and teasing and Butterbeer and Quidditch puns and stories shared with old comrades. Which, he supposes, he is getting, but also with something else, too. His twin makes sure to add in some extra teasing.

Fred’s skimming the campsite for a familiar face, and he finds himself becoming aggravated when he can’t spot who he’s searching for.

“Where the bloody hell is Wood?” Fred asks, searching desperately through the very large crowd gathered outside their tent. “I thought you said we’d be seeing him before the match?”

“I did,” George tells his twin, also skimming the sea of people in front of them. His voice gets lost in the crowd, “Could’ve sworn he told me so..”

Suddenly, Harry’s voice echoes loudly. “Oliver! Good to see you!”

George and Harry are giddy at the sight of Oliver Wood, their former Quidditch teammate and captain. The tall, lanky bloke stands outside of their tent, pulling both men into tight embraces. It’s been quite a while since they’ve seen him, in fact.

It’s when he begins blabbering on about the Quidditch World Cup that Fred notices his arrival.

“Mate! Finally! How are things?” Fred says, seizing his hand for a firm shake. “Thanks again for setting this up,”

“Not a problem at all, glad you lot could join! Been ages since we’ve seen one another,” Wood beams, now offering greetings to Ron, Ginny, and Hermione respectively. Turning back toward the twins and Harry, he asks, “How was your travel? Okay? No hiccups?”

“Not a one,” George says brightly.

“Good,” Wood says, sticking his hands inside his pockets. “Really glad you guys could make it—I know it’s mad as a hatter, here, but I reckon that’s what makes it more exciting.”

Harry laughs at this and offers, “Going to be really wicked watching you play professional, you know.”

But Fred is no longer listening to the conversation in front of him; instead, you seem to have caught his attention, and to his surprise, you’re making a b-line right toward him! He feels as though his throat is closing up; it’s not until he realizes that you’re actually headed toward Oliver that he begins to breathe properly again. If you’re not the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen—

“Merlin! Wood, we’ve been looking everywhere for you. We’ve got to head to the changing rooms in a bit. Reckon Lynch will want to give us a good chat beforehand.” Both you and Oliver erupt into chuckles, leaving Fred nearly breathless at the light, airy sound of your laugh.

“Who’s this?” Fred asks shyly, watching your eyes sparkling at the sight of all of them.

“Speaking of playing professional—” Wood begins, introducing you to the lot around you, “this here is Y/N. Wicked good Beater, started out just this year for the Irish National Quidditch team.”

Fred suddenly feels his insides constrict; you? A Beater? On a professional Quidditch team? You can’t be more than seventeen years of age, and the smile tugging at the edges of your lips as you shake hands with everyone nearly sends him to the ground in a flustered mess. Suddenly, you take his hand in yours and he feels the electricity almost immediately. He can hardly contain the nerves. He’s starting to believe in this whole ‘love at first sight’ thing—

“Fred and George are Beaters, too,” Wood explains to you, and Fred’s delighted to see an impressed look on your face, “really wicked, they both are. And Harry, here, what a brilliant Seeker.”

George playfully slaps him across the arm. Everyone around begins to laugh when he teases, “Stop it, Oliver, you’re embarrassing us.”

“You can’t be more than sixteen,” Fred says to you without fully registering what’s happening. He’s saying things without thinking. He apologizes, “Sorry—erm—what I mean to say is, you look so young to be playing professional Quidditch. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, I—I mean—” he’s finding it hard to now create coherent sentences when all he can hear are annoying snickers from his brothers behind him.

“Color you impressed?” you ask, and he feels his knees go weak. He offers a nervous laugh when you continue, “I’m flattered. Seventeen, actually. But, yeah, I reckon I’ve just gotten really lucky for my age.”

“Luck has nothing to do with it,” Oliver cuts into the conversation, “you’re brilliant. Just wait’ll you see her play—madhouse, she is.”

You begin to laugh and turn back to him, “Neither one of us will be playing if we’re late—Lynch is looking positively dreadful, reckon we’ll need to go and give the pep talk ourselves?” Wood agrees and picks up his broomstick he’d placed on the ground. You turn back to everyone, “It was nice meeting all of you. See you after the match perhaps?”

“Yeah!” George begins excitedly. To Wood, he says, “Mate, when your team undoubtedly wins, come back here for a drink, eh? It’s the least we could do to thank you.”

The nerves are bubbling up inside Fred; he’s hoping Wood will agree and bring you along. Something tells him he’s not quite finished talking with you yet.

Wood looks at you and both of you shake your heads. “Alright, then! We’ll see you in a few hours time!”

Shouts of luck echo from everyone in the group, including some people nearby in surrounding tents. Can’t this evening last forever? The thoughts of Hogwarts, and whatever’s planned for this year, have seemingly left Fred’s mind, now that you’re here. Before you leave with Wood, he says to you, “Good luck! But from what Wood says, it doesn’t sound like you’ll need it.”

You grin broadly at him. “Thanks, Fred. Keep your fingers crossed for me, though. We still need all the luck we can get if we’re going to crush Bulgaria.”

From behind George and Ron, Wood yells with delight, “We’ve got the luck of the Irish—it’s all we need!”

— -

The match is underway, and Ireland is absolutely crushing Bulgaria. When he flies close to them, Fred’s excited to see a very large grin plastered across Oliver’s face. But there’s still a long while to go, and plus—the Snitch is nowhere to be found.

But why is it, Fred thinks to himself, is he feeling so nervous? Perhaps it’s the heights. He’s standing with his family up near the top of the pitch, what looks like millions of rows of spectators beneath them. Are they in the highest one? He’s too nervous to move and find out; he’s nearly rigid.

He realizes, though, that it’s not the height that’s got him feeling jumpy. An incoming bludger is headed straight for the Ireland Chaser hovering right in front of them, and Fred feels as though his entire soul is on fire when you quickly fly past, pummel the Bludger to the other end of the very large pitch (much larger than Hogwarts’), and send a wink his way before heading in the complete opposite direction, nearly vanishing in thin air.

George notices this and laughs. When Ginny and Ron question him on this, he nearly replies, “Just having a laugh,”

“Why?” Ginny and Ron ask together. Ron continues rather anxiously, “You worried Bulgaria’s going to catch the Snitch before Ireland, too? That Krum is absolutely wicked—”

“No,” George laughs again over the crowd, “I’m having a laugh at Fred. Someone here,” he continues, pinching Fred’s cheeks, “is a bit flustered over one of those famous Beaters.”

“Am not.” Fred replies, a twinge of annoyance in his voice. He pulls at his long hair, trying desperately to cover up the cherry red color now flooding his cheeks. George just cocks his head to the side, as if to say, Really, Fred? You’re an awful liar. He can feel his insides tighten at the thought of it. God, you’re brilliant. He wouldn’t mind having you wrapped around him for the rest of the evening after Ireland’s impending win. He finds himself watching you with dazed eyes and a lazy smile, not even paying attention at all to the match in front of him. Instead, he’s counting the times you fly near them and meet his gaze. Fred swallows thickly and then agrees, albeit begrudgingly, “Fine. So what? She’s gorgeous—”

“—and sweet,”

“and our age!”

“and plays professional Quidditch.”

Fred rolls his eyes at the mocking yet truthful statements coming from his friends. George opts to continue, “It’s no wonder you’re in love, Freddie.”

Ginny squeals, “Putty in her hands, he was!”

“Would you lot shove off?” Fred asks, eyeing Mr. Weasley curiously, thankful to see that he’s deep in conversation with Amos Diggory. “Make fun of me all you want, but for Merlin’s sake, don’t let dad hear you—he’ll absolutely never let me live it down.”

“All the more reason to keep teasing, mate,” Ron tells him, turning toward Harry and Hermione before the three of them erupt into a fit alongside George and Ginny. Again, Fred just rolls his eyes.

But he doesn’t really care what they think. Not now, anyway. Not when you’re hovering near them again and he notices the tight grip you have on your broomstick, the thin line of sweat at your hairline, the dimples in your cheeks when you grin brightly at another goal for Ireland. You turn and glance at them again, wiggling your eyebrows at him before pummeling another bludger straight toward a Bulgarian player, and Fred can’t contain these feelings of both admiration and jealousy bubbling up inside him as his eyes try to follow you all around the pitch. All he can remember is the way your hand felt in his when you introduced yourself just a few hours ago. All he can think of is how bloody adorable you look in those Quidditch goggles and robes. And all that’s flooding through his mind now, as he watches you slam yourself against a Bulgarian Chaser and call out to the other Ireland beater across the pitch, are the grins he keeps eating up each and every time you make so to fly by his seat in the stands.

— -

“Holyhead Harpies, for sure. They’re brilliant!”

“Couldn’t agree more. And Puddlemere United?”

“Merlin, no—don’t tell Wood I’ve said this, but they’re bloody awful. Just like the Falmouth Falcons. How about the Chudley Cannons?”

“My family’s exclusive to the Cannons, actually.”

“Knew I liked you for a reason, Fred.”

He lets a soft laugh escape his lips as he watches you tip your goblet backward and drink hastily the rest of your Butterbeer. Your cheeks are flushed; is it Ireland’s win? The copious amounts of Butterbeer you’ve consumed? The fact that the tent is so bloody warm? Fred doesn’t know, but he gets a sense that it might be something else when you bat your eyelashes at him and bite down on your lip to keep from smiling too much.

He’s feeling much more confident now—nothing a few drinks and slaps on the shoulder from George couldn’t fix! He’s surprised at how.. normal you seem. He’s hungry and desperate to learn more about you in your fleeting time together that he’s not even letting anyone else chat you up for a bit. Not that you mind, really. It’s not like you’re itching to get away from him. Actually, Fred thinks to himself now as he watches you, you might just be inching closer—

“So tell me then, you’ve been a Beater since your first year at Hogwarts, yes?” you ask, and Fred nods his head, eager to hear more, “you and George. What about the other two?” you nod in the direction of Ron and Ginny, who are animatedly chatting up Oliver Wood now. “Your other siblings don’t play?”

“Not those two,” Fred says, grinning a bit, “They’ll join us for little games we have at home, but not for school. Although, come to think of it, Ginny’s kind of brilliant actually—maybe she’ll play for Hogwarts one day..” he thinks fondly on memories of the last summer when they’d finally let Ginny join in on some of their matches.

“And what about you?” you ask, the glittering of your eyes very evident in the moonlight poking through the tent, “plans for after school? Pranks, maybe? Professional Quidditch, perhaps?” you tease him a bit, nudging him in the ribs.

Fred beams again and sips his drink slowly. He absolutely loves that you want to know more about him. “You joking? Follow you after that brilliant match? I reckon you’d have quite a laugh.” Which you do. You laugh at this, and he’s positively melting into the ground beneath him, itching to hear your laugh more and more. “George and I have some.. plans up our sleeves. Creating mischief at school isn’t just a hobby, you know.”

“No?” you inquire, sipping again on another Butterbeer, “is there such a thing as ‘professional pranksters’?”

“If there is, that’s exactly what George and I are.”

The two of you fall into a fit of laughter, grabbing the attention of the other group nearby. George wiggles his eyebrows at Fred, who feels the nerves bubbling up inside him again and shakes his head at his twin, before turning back toward you.

“So tell me,” Fred begins again, soaking up as much information as he can before the night’s end, “you’ve won. You’ve won the bloody Quidditch World Cup—” the both of you giggle lightly, and he watches as you nervously pull at your hair and bite down on your lip again, “—what’re your plans now? School, holidays?”

“I’m going back home tomorrow, to visit with my family,” you reply, and Fred digests this. “My parents are here tonight, but they’re off somewhere with my aunt and uncle—tomorrow’s when I get to go and see my extended family.”

Fred nods, taking this in. He just has to ask; it won’t sound strange, will it? “Yeah? And where’s home?”

“Ottery St. Catchpole,” you tell him, twirling the Butterbeer in your hands, and there’s a catch in Fred’s throat at your words, “right in Devon, if you’re familiar?”

“You’re kidding,” he replies breathlessly, and he sees you waiting with bated breath for his next words, “that’s where we are. How’ve we never run into one another in the village? We live just across the large hill!”

You sit back, surprised, and Fred’s happy to see an enormous smile on your face. You open your mouth to speak, but just then, Wood calls to you from the entrance of the tent, noting that Ireland’s captains would like to have a quick word before reuniting the players with their families.

Fred feels his insides tighten; he doesn’t want the night to be over, and he finds himself clutching his goblet rather tightly. He glances at his watch; Merlin, it’s nearly one am! How long had you two been at this? He peers at you, the rosy color of your cheeks still evident in the moonlight, and he wonders if you’re feeling the same way. When you turn back toward him and glance at him with sullen eyes and a weak smile, he realizes you just might be. You tell him, “I’m sorry the night has to end.”

“Me, too.” he admits, continuing to twirl his Butterbeer in his hands, “I’ve had fun.”

“Me, too.” you echo him, standing up from your seat and stretching in your Quidditch robes. Fred’s feeling rather woebegone at your impending departure, but suddenly he feels his spirits lift a bit.

“Can I write you?”

You peer at him with admiration in your eyes. A large grin spreads across your face. “Absolutely. Is that a promise?” you wink.

He laughs cheekily and hope he doesn’t sound as positively giddy as he feels, “It’s definitely a promise.”

He watches as you look around the tent and pull at your robes. Then you ask him, “Could I maybe.. maybe see you for Christmas?”

He’s beaming again; he feels that fire coursing through his veins once again. He stumbles over his words and clears his throat, “Y-yeah—that sounds great. I’d like that.”

You grin and place a hand on his arm. “Good.” And much to his surprise, you lean in and place a gentle kiss upon his cheek before squeezing his arm once again and making your way to bid farewell to everyone else, and then toward the entrance of the tent. Once more, you turn back to him, raise a hand in farewell, and nearly vanish into thin air.

Fred doesn’t even realize that George and Wood are standing beside him; he’s merely feeling the electricity buzz through him at this very moment, and is already beginning to count down the days until the Christmas holidays. When George pokes him in the ribs and interrupts his thoughts, he’s brought back to reality and notices everyone watching him now—each of them winking and chuckling lightly at this new relationship he’s seemed to have sparked. He can feel a chill wash over him when Wood leans in and says to him before leaving,

“I’m telling you—it’s the luck of the Irish, mate.”

reblogs & feedback are much appreciated lovelies, thank you for reading and requesting x

[rons-hermiones]

Come Find Me

Come Find Me

by rons-hermiones

Summary: Unplanned, Hermione is forced to spend Christmas at the Burrow due to her grandmother falling very ill. After being ignored by Hermione for weeks, Ron is determined to show her how much she means to him. Just before he gets the chance to tell her, Bellatrix Lestrange shows up with other plans for Hermione. Can Ron get to her before it's too late? (Ron/Hermione Half-Blood Prince AU)

Rating: M for language & dark themes in later chapters.

Chapter Six

“Oh Bill, wonderful to have you, you as well dear!” Molly exclaimed embracing Fleur. 

Nearby, Ginny scowled to herself. 

“Bill we’re surprised you came so early.” Fred commented. 

“What?” The eldest Weasley asked, confused. 

“Well, we thought you only came out when the moon did!” George laughed. 

“Boys!” Missus Weasley scolded, making a move to lunge at her two sons. However, a loud crack sounded, indicating they had left for work. 

“Those two, I swear.” Molly rolled her eyes. 

“It’s okay, you got a better welcome from them then I did!” Charlie’s voice sounded from the steps. 

Bill’s face brightened instantly as he unashamedly went to embrace his younger brother. They’d written each other any chance they got. They remained close, but it wasn’t the same as being with one another. 

“Charlie, I’ve missed you!” 

“Not as much as I missed you big brother.” He breathed pulling away, “I haven’t seen you in what a year? And you up and get yourself engaged. It’s like you're a new man.” He teases. Charlie knew about the engagement from their correspondences, but had yet to see the ring on Fleur’s finger in person. 

“And you are one brave woman, agreeing to marry a Weasley.” He said turning to the blonde. 

“Oui!” She teased back, making the room erupt with laughs, even eliciting a chuckle from Ginny. 

“Gin, why don’t you show Fleur around while I talk to Harry?” He asked hopefully. It was his goal to get his fiancé closer with his little sister before the wedding. 

With a small grunt, Ginny obliged as she ushered Fleur outside. 

“Not that I’m not happy to see you Bill, but what is it you wanted to speak with me about? Things okay with the order?” Harry asked in a whisper once the girls had vanished. 

Quickly, he nodded, “everything’s as good as it can be these days, I just was wondering how Ron’s been. He’s written me quite a bit.” 

“Oh,” Harry said relieved, “well, he was in a funk for a while there, I reckon he still is, but now he’s realized he’s in a funk, which sort of makes things better, you know?” He tries, never been the best with feelings. 

Bill chuckled, “alright I think I know what you mean. He wrote me yesterday, something about he had sort of broken up with Lavender, but made things worse with her.” He didn’t wanna say Hermione’s name in fear she was around somewhere. 

“Okay let me fill you in some. It all started two days ago in our dorms...” 

After twenty minutes Harry had thoroughly filled in the details Ron left out in his letter. He had also recalled some of the conversation Ron had told Harry he and Ginny had, something the youngest Weasley brother failed to mention to Charlie. 

When the chosen one finished, Bill let out a low whistle. He had known Ron’s situation was messed up from the letters, but damn, his little brother, the heartbreaker. Who would’ve thought? 

“Speaking of, where is Hermione? I haven’t seen her since we arrived.” Bill asked next. 

The dark haired boy nodded solemnly, “I’m afraid she won’t leave Ginny’s room unless your Mum makes her. She’s pretty bummed out about her Gran, but she also agreed to ‘stay out of Ron’s way,’ whatever that means.” Harry finished with air quotes.

At this, Charlie clicked his tongue, “Ron is hopeless. This isn’t exactly potions with Snape! It’s an easy fix.” He tutted. 

“Where is Ron? Surely he’d want to greet his favorite brother.” Bill says next. 

“Hey!” Charlie retorts, making Harry laugh. 

The oldest rolls his eyes, “all in good fun, but seriously.” 

“He’s been working on something all night. I could hear him.” Harry commented. 

Charlie nodded, “he had some sort of epiphany last night. He’s doing something for Hermione, all I know is that it involves Hogwarts, A History. He’s mental.”

“Ron wouldn’t pick up that book for anything!” Harry soon points out. 

“Well maybe not for anything, but for someone...” Charlie trails off. 

Suddenly, Ginny bursts through the door, alone. 

“Where’s Fleur?” Bill questioned. 

“She’s discussing something about the wedding with Mum, I had to get away,” she shakes her head, “anyone fancy a game of quidditch?” 

At this both Charlie and Harry jump at the chance. 

“Coming Bill?” Ginny asks as the other two boys disappear to gather their brooms. 

He shakes his head, “no, I think I’ll go say hi to Ronnie. Maybe when you're done you should check up on Hermione, yeah?” 

At this, his younger sister nods as he treks up to the attic. 

Once reaching the door decorated with Chudley Cannon posters and gold and red emblems, he knocks. 

“I’m awake Mum!” Ron promises through the door. 

“Not Mum.” Bill says opening the door. 

“Bill!” He exclaims excitedly, dropping the book to the ground and clambering off the bed, “how are you? How do you feel, wow, the scars have healed some. You look wicked! Like some bloke from those stories Mum reads.” 

At this, he laughs, “I feel great actually. Sometimes the full moon drives me a bit mad, but it’s not like I turn or anything like that. Plus, Fleur has done wonders taking care of me, making sure I take my potions and all that.” He assures, circling to sit on the edge of Ron’s bed. 

“Yeah I wouldn’t mind if she took care of me either.” He joked. 

At this Bill jabbed him in the ribs with his elbow. 

“Hey, kidding!” Ron laughed, “plus, I’m rather done with blondes. Forever.” He shivers remembering Lavender Brown. 

“Ah,” his brother breathes, “your love life has become quite the topic from what I hear.” 

At this Ron groans, “well I’m not to sure how many times ‘Ron is fucking moron,’ can be told but, glad your up to date.” 

Knowing Ron’s probably had his fair share of feeling bad, Bill holds off on making him re live anything, for now, “well, rumor is you’re working on something to fix your troubles.”

The youngest Weasley boy blushes madly, “it’s a bit stupid really.” 

“Come on just tell me.” Bill encourages. 

Ron breathes in defeat, wanting to tell someone, “alright well, Charlie said a gift might do then suddenly, I was reminded of this conversation from back in fifth year...” 

Ron sauntered into the common room with a moody Harry by his side. This behavior from the chosen one had become typical since the start of term, he was always so worked up over You-Know-Who and the ministry these days. 

And Ron could feel for him, he really did, he just wished Harry would drop the act around him and Hermione, who believed him completely. 

“Hermione.” Harry greeted too gruffly for Ron’s liking. 

In response, the bushy haired witch just hummed in acknowledgement. Hermione had been engrossed in her favorite book, so Ron knew better then to bother her and simply sat to her right. 

It was odd, but he rather liked to see her like this. It was almost adorable to see how invested she could get into something like a book. He admired her for it. 

Harry had fallen to her left and rolled his eyes, “are you good for anything but reading Hermione?” He asked viciously. 

At this, Hermione’s eyes finally left the pages of Hogwarts, A History and stared at her best friend in shock. Ron had passed shocked and moved entirely to anger. Harry looked as if he regretted what he said right after it left his mouth. 

“You say you’re sorry right now!” Ron roared, jumping to his feet. 

“Ron, it’s alright,” she began meekly from the velvet sofa. 

“Like hell it isn’t Hermione. Just cause stupid blokes like Seamus call you a liar doesn’t mean you get to start on her!” He pointed out. 

The dark haired boy sighed sadly, “I know, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, really Hermione”,

“It’s alright Harry.” She amended stiffly, “I think I’ll go for a walk.” The brunette quickly scrambled, grabbing her book before scampering out of the portrait hole. 

As soon as she was out of sight, Harry turned apologetically to Ron, “I shouldn’t have said that.” 

“You shouldn’t have.” The ginger replied softly, “and I know everything that happened with Cedric was really hard, but it’s hard for Hermione too. She thinks she could’ve done more,” 

“She couldn’t have.” Harry tells him sadly. 

He nods, “I know, but she doesn’t, so when you sound off telling her stuff like that, it just makes her feel bad.” 

The Boy-Who-Lived sighed, “I really didn’t mean it. You were right, I was just so done with people like Umbridge and Seamus calling me liars, sometimes I forget not everyone feels that way.” He admitted. 

At this, Ron stood as he clapped him on the shoulder, “it’s already done mate, just try to remember that from now on, alright?” He didn’t sound angry anymore, much to Harry’s relief.

Harry nodded as he watched Ron venture out of the common room, no doubt to find Hermione. 

“Hey Ron, wait.” He called out, standing and walking to him. 

“Yeah?” He asked. 

“I know I was upset about you two spending summer at Grimmauld Place together,” Ron opened his mouth to argue, but Harry stopped him, “and I know why you had to do it, I just wanted you to know, I’m happy you had each other. Well, I just, I reckon you two need each other as much as I need the pair of you, does that make sense?” He rambled. 

“I think so Harry, you sound a little mental though.” He joked. 

“It’s just, I know how you feel about her.” He blurted out. 

“Come again?” Ron had gone pale. 

Harry’s voice dropped to a whisper, “well I’ve always had some suspicions Ron. We do share a room you know, you mumble her name like every other night.” At this Weasley turned a deep shade of red that rivaled his hair. 

 Soon after, the green eyed boy pointed to his face, “see that! You blushed like mad whenever she came around first year, just like you are now. I know you were taking my invisibility cloak to go down to the infirmary second year. I heard you tell Neville back in third about how much you enjoyed Hogsmede and you were painfully obvious when she agreed to go to the ball with Viktor Krum, I reckon that’s when I really knew.” 

For a few moments Ron opened and closed his mouth like a fish, but in the end, he shockingly, didn’t deny it, “why didn’t you say anything?” 

Harry shrugged and thought about it, “well, I suppose I was waiting for you to figure it out as well. It seems to me you have.” He smiles slightly. 

Ron nods, “yeah, for a while there I just thought blokes felt like that around their mates who were girls. Probably around third year I realized it was a little different with her then it was with you. Definitely sorted it all out during that ruddy Ball.” He paused, “you’re not, well, you’re not angry?” One of the reasons Ron decided not to confide in Harry was because he didn’t want him to think there was any sort of divide. 

“Of course not. If anything I’m relieved I can stop pretending not to notice.” He laughed. 

At this, Ron let out an embarrassed chuckle, “well just don’t tell her alright?” 

Harry nodded, “will you ever? Tell her I mean.” He asks. 

At this the redhead shrugs, “I dunno, I just, it’s hard. I’d rather live my whole life watching her with other blokes then lose her as a friend.”

Potter lets out a whistle, “I can see The Prophet headlines now, ‘Weasley has Feelings!’” He laughs. 

They lapse into a brief silence, “you go after her.” 

Ron doesn’t need to be told twice and simply nods to his friend. 

“If it means anything, I think she feels the same Ron.” Harry says rather vaguely before going to a dark corner of the common room. 

For a moment, he considers staying and asking more about this theory, but instead decides to check on Hermione. Harry could wait. 

After wandering the dark corridors for a few minutes, he soon feels the urge to slap himself for not thinking sooner. He hadn’t checked the library. 

Set out on a new mission, he stalks his way to his new destination. However, halfway to the library he suddenly remembers that it’s probably closing soon, if not already. Inwardly groaning on not setting after her soon, he quickened his pace. 

And just as he’s about to reach the proper corridor something catches his eye. In between one of the many narrow hallways leading to nothing but a window, is someone sitting against it, book in hand. 

And not just anyone, Hermione. 

Breathing a sigh of relief, he slowly makes his way to her, “Mione.” He begins as to not startle her, she hasn’t seemed to notice his presence. 

Her brown eyes look up from her book, in the moonlight he can see them slightly glossed over as red rings appear around them. 

“Oh hi.” Her voice is croaked and throaty, it makes his heart break. 

“I’ve been looking all over for you.” He says softly, sliding down next to her. 

“Oh I’m sorry Ron.” She apologizes sincerely, “it’s silly though isn’t it, I’ve run off to read again. Maybe Harry was right.” Her voice cracks. 

“It’s not true, you know it isn’t.” Ron fiercely assured. 

“If he didn’t mean it why did he say it?” The brunette asked. 

He sighs sadly, “Hermione you know what he’s been like lately. As soon as you left he told me how sorry he was.” 

“But it’s true isn’t it?” She asks after a beat, leaving no room for him to even protest, “all I do is sit here and read while Harry and you are off actually doing something.” 

“Hermione what?” He asks genuinely confused. 

“Think Ron, who got rid of that troll first year?” 

“Well you were only in the bathroom because of me and you were the one who got me through the spell-” 

“Alright and who won the chess game the same year? Who got the philosopher's stone?” 

“Hermione we would’ve never even found the-”

She cuts him off again, “and who was lying useless petrified while you were in the chamber of secrets?” 

He groans, “again if you hadn’t had the note then Harry and I-”

She leaves no room for him to speak, “and third year you were the one who even spotted Sirius.” 

“I was also the one with a broken leg when the two of you-”

“Fourth year as well, you knew about the dragons.” 

“Only because Charlie told me, are you done?” He asks. 

“Or even this summer. You were the one who knew about the Order, even knew to handle Harry.” She’s now close to tears. 

Ron let’s a moment pass before speaking, “are you finally finished?” He whispered hoarsely. 

Next to him, she nodded, but didn’t dare meet her eyes with his. 

“You’re mental Hermione. Mental. Don’t you know we’d be dead without you? You’re the one who figured out the Nicholas Flamel business. You realized how the Basilisk had been getting around. And who had the time turner that saved Sirius, Lupin, and Buckbeak third year?” He reminded, “not to mention that without you, Harry would’ve never gotten through any of those tasks. Not to mention, him and I wouldn’t even be friends if you hadn’t convinced me to talk to him. And this summer? You’re the one who kept me sane when I was ready to hex everyone there.” 

He took a second to catch his breath after the long rant, “sure you read a lot of books, but that’s not why you’re brilliant. You’re brilliant because you know exactly what to say to help your friends. You know exactly how to save the rest of us.” At this, she completely broke down. 

Hermione’s head soon found a place atop Ron’s shoulder as she burrowed into it and cried silently. If this had happened a few years back, Ron would probably stiffly pat her head, but now, he knew better. 

Instead, he gently laid an arm across her shoulder and pushed her into him with a squeeze. His other hand made its way through her soft hair, letting his finger gently massage her scalp. 

“Thank you Ron,” she managed soon after, “I’ve just been feeling so useless, hearing Harry,” 

“Sh, Hermione,” he assured soundly, “I know how it feels too, but being here, even making you feel the tiniest bit better, well, it makes me feel not so useless.” He admitted, thankful she couldn’t see his now red cheeks. 

At this, Ron felt the witch nod into him, “you do make me feel better Ron. And you’re not useless, if I hadn’t made it clear, I think you’re rather brilliant.” 

A small smile grazed his lips as he continued to stroke the expanse of her hair. Her cries had now slowed, but he still felt she was tense. 

“You know Mione,” he began, making her hum softly, an indication to continue, “I understand you wanna read all the time, but this old book, again? You’ve been picking it up since first year.” He teased. 

Thankfully, a small chuckle bubbles past her lips, making him feel warm. 

“It’s rather pleasurable Ron, I’d love it if you read it. You have such an interesting point of view having grown up with this stuff, and well just being you, I’m sure your notes on it would be fascinating.” 

“Sorry to disappoint you Mione, as much as I love y,” he pauses, “as much as I love reading,” he amends sarcastically, “I’d need a bloody good reason to pick this thing up. And I mean important, life or death maybe.” He tells her. 

Again, a small laugh escapes from where she's nuzzled into his side. 

“One day Ron. One day.” 

They stayed like that until she fell asleep. 

“I thought maybe if I read this damn thing and made notes on what I thought and gave it to her, then it would show her how much she means to me.” He explained after briefly prefacing the significance behind it. 

To this, Bill smiled brightly, “I think it’s a wonderful idea Ron. Very thoughtful and personal to the pair of you, plus she’ll go nuts when she’s learned you picked up a book!” He teased, “what section are you on?” 

“I’ve gotten past the four founders. Right now I’m in the middle of all the troll business. I mean, sure it sort of feels like a textbook, but part of it reminds me of her, then it’s not so bad, is that mental?” He asks a little flustered. 

His older brother shakes his head, “no Ronnie, not mental. It’s almost romantic.” He jokes lightly. 

At this Ron rolls his eyes, but blushes nonetheless, “thanks.” 

A deep laugh escapes Bill as he stands from the bed, “I’ll be on my way now. You have a lot of reading to do in just three days little brother.” 

“Oi! And don’t I know it.” Ron yells as he leaves the room.

[sooibian]

Dittany

✨ part of the Spellbound collab series with insanely talented writers @hkynm ​ @fullsuninbloom​ @blackberrykai​ and @j-pping​

✨ pairing: hufflepuff!kyungsoo x ravenclaw!oc/reader ft. ravenclaw!chen

✨ themes: fluff, mild angst, slow burn, cheesy couples

✨ genre: hogwarts!au

✨ description: broken bones and a tedious detention - can I still say that this is the best christmas i've ever had? it’s because I found magic in him - the big eyed, dark haired, hufflepuff boy. funny I say that as a witch! but sadly, good things don’t last forever.

✨ word count: 16.5k

✨ tag list: @eggsodose @christiandosworld @imgonweast @is-that-baekhyuns-shirt @changshapatrol @thatanonymousgirl-as14 @his-mochi-cheeks @charmedbaek @xiusoomygod @crescent-iak @gdaystays @mangobaek @keonaforever21 @staryyugy @hyckrens @yixing-jaebeom @halfbloodkjm @thepoeticfirefly​

With a baggie of Caramel Cobwebs grasped between her fingers, he saw her head towards Gladrags Wizardwear. He feigned untied shoelaces as his friends Baekhyun, Chanyeol and Chen made a beeline for a table at The Three Broomsticks. He stayed just so that he could see her for just a little bit longer as she walked down the quaint but bustling lane of Hogsmeade. It baffled him how different she looked to him every time he saw her. 

Yet she looked so familiar.

A sound of girls giggling reached his ears suddenly making him more aware. A jet of purple light shot in her direction and she stood frozen, right in the middle of the street, face buried in hands.

It enraged him to see her like this, weak and lost. With a flick of his wand he unbound her legs. Misty eyed, she hesitantly looked over her shoulder for a fleeting moment before hurrying into the safer confines of the shop as though nothing had happened.

This was their first ever trip to Hogsmeade and he thought J. Pippin's Potions worth the detour. 

Rat tails. Porcupine quills. Billywig stings.

The Hair Raising potion had its benefits, after all. 

A few drops of it in their pumpkin juice and those girls went around school with their hair standing on end. It made them the laughing-stock and not a single soul suspected the innocent looking, third-year Hufflepuff boy.

.

.

.

Professor Trelawney's got me feeling like I’ve downed an entire flask of Felix Felicis.

Maybe it was the fine sherry I brought her for Christmas and if I'm being honest she was most likely under the influence of some at the time - a bit too early in the day for such an indulgence but that’s just my opinion. Anyway, she has prophesied that today’s going to be a momentous day for me. She said it would “change the course of my destiny”. Jupiter has entered Pisces owing to which I’ll be able to open myself up more to the world. I shudder at the thought but her comically large, moony eyes bore a distinct hint of euphoria so I’ll take her word for it. And I don’t care what “opinions” other students - or even Professors for that matter - have of her but I’ll always believe that Divination is a highly compelling (albeit misunderstood) branch of magic. 

And Professor Trelawney is a truly gifted Seer.

With a spring in my step, I'm practically galloping down the Great Hall after a hearty breakfast and Professor Flitwick is unfeignedly in his element. A peppy tune on his lips, he blossoms golden baubles out of his wand, trailing them over the branches of the new dozen of frost covered fir trees akin to a Maestro weaving a symphony with his baton. Christmas has always been an ethereal treat for the eyes at Hogwarts. The Castle is covered in several feet of silver snow, in the Great Hall thick streams of holly and mistletoe criss-cross the ceilings and enchanted snow falls warm and dry from it. While I do feel a little lonely sometimes, I'd rather spend the holidays here than back home with Gran.  

Fourteen years of having to raise me all by herself after Mum and Dad passed away couldn’t have been easy. I reckon she could do well without having to unnecessarily fret over me during the holidays. And I could do very well without her persuasions, asking me to live up to the dreams my parents had had for me. Hopefully, she's enjoying herself with a cup or two of Firewhisky in the evenings in the company of her Ministry friends and gorging on those delicious Ugly Christmas Sweater Cookies and Liquorice Wands that she so relishes!

"Looks great, Professor!" I say to Professor Flitwick and with a cheery laugh he waves his wand bearing arm at me. I duck at the sudden attack of tinsels but one golden bauble nests in the loop of my topknot anyway. I think I'll keep it and use it for Hagrid's gift.

Hagrid!

A glance out the window behind the staff table and I resolve to brave the weather and pay him a long overdue visit. I have a little something for him and old Fang. I won’t lie, it helps to be the granddaughter of an influential woman for Hagrid’s Christmas presents don’t come easy. 

Another great thing about Christmas is that I have the castle all to myself. The dormitory is vacant and the Common Room is far emptier than usual. And I’m spared the everyday torment of hushed whispers and giggles and the occasional “practical jokes”. Carefully, I bring Hagrid’s present out of its little pen to measure it up against the stray bauble. Not his size. He rapidly blinks his beetle brown eyes at me and crawls up my arm with a certain urgency, nestling into the crook of my neck. “Aww Mr. Twiggles”, I plop the Bowtruckle down onto my lap and wrap a pink ribbon around its knobbly brown arm. Placing him under an airy bronze cloche, alongside a huge slab of butterbeer fudge, I bid him adieu. 

***

My butt is freezing, I’m pretty sure I heard something crack and it was definitely not the ice. A terrified Bowtruckle is smack in the middle of my face while I lie amidst crumbs of Butterbeer Fudge. Since this could be his only shot at freedom, Mr. Twiggles scuttles into the Forbidden Forest. Taking stock of the situation I realise that Fang’s present has now become one with the snow, I’ve lost Hagrid’s present to its natural habitat and probably snapped a few of my bones in the process. 

But this is the least of my concerns. 

My literal fall further down the school’s social structure has a witness - the Muggle-born Hufflepuff boy, who belongs to probably one of the most influential cliques in school. I don’t think much of them, to be honest. They’re just a babbling band of bumbling baboons. But can’t I have a day go by without being humiliated? Is that a lot to ask? Hagrid’s hut is barely ten feet from here. I wouldn’t mind breaking all of my bones in his company. He would’ve probably offered me some tea and his infamous rock cakes before carrying me to the Hospital Wing. Out of all the places in Hogwarts... out of all the places in the world...did this wide-eyed bloke really have to be here? Exactly in this moment? And just how many students is Hagrid friends with anyway? And why him? I swear I’ve never seen the boy smile. Not even when he’s with his rowdy friends. 

This can’t be it. 

This can’t be the ‘momentous day that changes the course of my destiny’. This is just like...any other rubbish day and it’s crushing my soul. I'm starting to believe that Divination is a whole lot of hogwash and Professor Trelawney is indeed a fraud. But at this point, I can’t feel my limbs and I really, really could use some help.

Squinting hard, the Muggle-born rushes to my aid. My lips begin to quiver and I feel warm tears trickle down my temples, further wetting my already damp hair. He stoops down and his eyes widen with surprise and recognition and he scoffs at my immobilized state. As he’s helping me up, I wrap my right arm around his shoulders. An imperceptible smile tugs at his lips as his left arm firms around my waist and before I know it, I’m standing on my own two feet - or one. My weight is supported by him and my good right leg. But before I can begin to thank him, a sharp pain shoots to my head and I see little stars buzzing around his ears. Maybe they are real! 

“Wrackspurts”, I mumble and observe his lips form the shape of a heart when curved into a wide smile. His smile is….bewitching.

And it's the last thing I see.

***

Madam Pomfrey strongly insists on keeping me caged in for the night. She’s implacable and my protests are met with a standard taut response, “Broken bones are particularly dangerous in winters. You’re staying the night.” How do I explain that I feel fine and keeping me in will only make matters a LOT worse for me.

I have to go see the Hufflepuff boy.

I have absolutely no memory of the events that unfolded after I literally started seeing stars. Not Wrackspurts. Did he perhaps carry me to the Hospital Wing? I have no answers and this isn’t exactly the kind of topic I wish to broach with Madam Pomfrey. My throat dries up at the thought of him struggling to bring me all the way up here and it makes me actively consider a transfer to Beauxbatons - if that is indeed possible. Because this cannot be happening right now! Sixth year has been quiet and I’d like to keep it that way, thank you very much. 

I don’t know if the Hufflepuff boy will keep it down for me. Will he tell his friends about it? Will I become the talk of the town even before school resumes? Will he keep it to himself if I cut a deal with him? I don’t mind helping him out with schoolwork or something.

My delirious train of thought is interrupted by three rhythmic knocks on the slightly ajar double door.

It’s him.

He’s standing in the doorway, twiddling a rectangular purple box in his hands, shifting his weight nervously from one foot to the other. Does he expect me to invite him in? What’s the protocol? Smoothing out the wrinkles in my blanket, I sit up slightly and crane my neck to find Madam Pomfrey who seems to be in her Office. Pursing my lips into an awkward smile, I turn to look at him and shrug noncommittally. He takes it as his cue to enter.

“This is for you.” He says in a low mellifluous voice which tastes like honeyed milk and gingerly places the box at the edge of my bed. Caramel Cobwebs. My favourite! He finds a seat at the edge of the other end of my bed.

“Thanks, you didn’t have to...and thank you for everything. I -”

His deep brown eyes suddenly meet mine and I lose all sense of speech.

“It was Hagrid who brought you here”, he says nonchalantly, drumming his fingers on his knees while allowing his large eyes to survey the sterile, sprawling infirmary.

Then why is he here?

“Aren’t you missing lunch?” I ask, unwrapping the box and offering the constellate of bite sized confectionery to him. “I’m not too hungry”, he says, guzzling down a few anyway. A soft smile touches the corners of his mouth. 

Silence echoes in the Hospital Wing, save for our muted nibbling. It’s soothing in its sense of comfort as neither of us is particularly chatty. And that’s just as gratifying as the sweet treats.

“Looks like we have company!” The stern but kind Matron swooshes out of her office, scrutinizing the boy from top to bottom, making him shift uncomfortably in his seat. She’s never been too fond of visitors. I remember the day I tagged along with Chen last year to visit his human banshee of a friend - Baekhyun. 

A doxy had apparently sunk it’s double row sharp front teeth into his arm, injecting him with its venom. His dense idea was to experiment with doxy venom to appear ill just so that he could cut a couple of lessons with his dimwitted oaf - Chanyeol. While the latter went unscathed and even managed to extract an ounce of venom out of the doxy (cute fairies he liked to call them), the human banshee had to be brought into the Hospital Wing to be administered the Antidote to Uncommon Poisons. I only visited the boy who cackles like a goose to get a little look-see of what doxy venom could do to a person. But to my absolute dismay, he looked... peachy, with an annoying boxy grin plastered across his face. The Matron shooed Chen, me and the big oaf out in a matter of minutes. It’s not that I blame her. I would’ve probably done the same in view of the racket that ensued amidst their boisterous conversation.

Madam Pomfrey brings out a small vial of brown liquid and applies a few drops of it on my elbow. I hadn’t noticed the nasty wound my fall had left on it, up until then. A greenish smoke billows upward and it quickly clears out to make the wound look several days old and new skin stretches over what had been a deep cut.

“Dittany!” The Hufflepuff boy and I say in unison.

“Well done! 5 points each to Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw!” Madam Pomfrey jokes as she peers over her spectacles and her gaze flits between him and me. I catch his heart shaped smile again. And for some reason, makes my stomach contract and my heart go into a somersault. Or maybe it’s the effect whatever Madam Pomfrey’s got me under.

The Matron raises her wand and points it at the table adjoining my bed. A large plate of sandwiches, two silver goblets and a jug of a cold beverage appear with a pop.

It's honeyed milk. 

She retracts into her office without pressing on him to leave and for that I am grateful. We share sandwiches in silence as a mildly bitter citrus aroma of Dittany wafts through the space between us. The plate endlessly refills itself but we’re both satiated by the third fill.

“I’m Kyungsoo, by the way. Sixth year.” He says in his dulcet tone and I take a huge gulp of the sweet nectar out of the goblet.

***

Madam Pomfrey sets me free with not one but two warnings. Avoid slippery outdoors if you’d like to enjoy the Christmas feast and Don’t count your owls before they are delivered. I’ll admit the second one is a bit difficult to stomach since I had my eyes trained on the door for the better part of the morning. It comes in fine print at the bottom of the letter of acceptance - steer clear of parent-less weirdos who believe in Divination and Nargles. Of course the sweet and quiet Kyungsoo received the same letter. 

After having sent Hagrid a Christmas greeting via an owl, I head over to the library. Its musty fragrance clears my mind off trivial sentiments. Sixth year is no child’s play and I need to read up on Apparition to avoid having a limb splinched especially after yesterday’s disaster. 

“Umm...HI!”, a chirpy voice startles me and I almost collapse into the Restricted Section. This voice is a little too sprightly for a deserted library and its owner looks like someone who does not belong in school during the holiday season. Her dazzling smile perfectly complements the twinkle in her eyes. She’s one of those girls but she seems nice? My puzzled expression asks her the obvious questions.

“Sorry! Professor Slughorn asked me to give this to you.” She hands me a rich parchment. It’s a letter addressed to me in the most exquisite cursive inviting me to dinner held by Professor H.E.F Slughorn.

Bleaaargh!

The girl is still here, eyes beaming with curiosity, “It’s for the Slug Club, right? What’s it all about? Well... I’ve always wondered.” Her voice trails off in an awkward giggle.

“Be my guest!”

It’ll help to have a slightly known, apparently friendly face in an obnoxious crowd.

***

I’m no stranger to the opulent ways of prestigious wizarding families but this isn’t something one would expect to see in a Professor’s office at Hogwarts. It’s barely even an office! It’s an enormous tent bathed in a dim orange of the sunset with its ceiling and walls draped in emerald hangings. The deep melody of violins drowns the frantic squeaking of house elves who are obscured by the heavy silver platters of the finest hors d'oeuvres.  

A circular dining area is set up right in the middle of the room where most of the invitees have taken their seats. There aren’t too many compared to last year. No Warlocks, no Vampires. Just a handful of students with their guests and a couple of past students - Slughorn’s proteges of course - who’ve managed to carve a name for themselves all thanks to the powerful connections he’d helped them forge through this very same Club. Or so he’d rather believe.

The tap on my shoulder strikes me with the realization that I’m still stood at the entrance. It’s my chirpy guest! The fifth year Gryffindor Prefect. One awkward small talk later, we find our seats at the ostentatious table.

Despite the grandiose, this is a rather intimate gathering. But judging by Professor Slughorn’s enthusiasm, the turnout is certainly not off-putting to him. He drones on about his overachieving handpicked students and I let my mind wander into the distance while Miss Prefect is certainly taken by the charms of this first-class motley. Well, at least someone’s liking it here.

“Kyungsoo, m’boy!” Slughorn jumps mid-feast at the sight of the newest entrant to this coalition, almost causing me to choke on my roast duck, “Welcome, welcome!” 

At a gesture from Slughorn, he sits down in the empty chair next to me and mutters a velvety ‘hullo’ in my direction and I’ve suddenly lost my appetite thanks to the butterflies in my stomach. He’s dressed casually in blue denims and a beige knit sweater yet he’s shining brighter than Sirius among all these boys in their finest ensembles.

“This young man is the only sixth year I’ve ever seen who’s managed to concoct the Draught of Living Death”, he takes a dramatic pause to peer at his guests over his spectacles before meeting my eyes, “flawlessly!”

Almost everyone at the table acknowledges Kyungsoo with a smile or a slight nod, save for a few overtly arrogant Purebloods who merely grunt in response or completely ignore his accomplishment. I, on the other hand, have my eyes trained on the roast duck to keep my erratic heartbeat in check.

Slughorn gears up for another act, “So tell us, Mister Doh, what exactly does your family do in the Muggle world?” His smile is cold, unwelcoming.

“My Mum is a chef, Professor...my parents own a restaurant.” Kyungsoo answers.

Slughorn contemplates on his answer for a while with a ‘hmm’, “A Muggle-born, eh?”, he lifts an eyebrow, “But the fumes from his cauldron almost lulled this old man into a deep slumber”, he chortles, wagging a sausage like finger, only to receive cold silence in response from everyone else except one invitee.

The feline eyed man laughs the loudest at Slughorn’s pathetic joke. One might think it’s probably out of sympathy. But it’s not. He seems to have actually found that funny.

Slughorn introduces him as Minseok Kim and goes on to sing praises about this former student of his. Slytherin. Excellent potioneer. One of the youngest registered animagi. 

His animagus is a cat. 

Minseok interrupts Slughorn’s discourse with an uncomfortable laugh showcasing his wide gummy grin, “You give me too much credit, Professor!”

“You’ve made me proud, my son! So tell us how your career as a Magizoologist is treating you? Well, I hope? Your uncle Soo Man Lee, a notable Warlock and a dear friend of mine, wrote to me saying that you happened to cross paths with an obscurus during one of your recent travels! That must have been...” Professor Slughorn shakes his head in horror and awe as his voice tails away.

“It’s certainly a story for a different occasion, Professor. Although, it happens to be one of my most memorable experiences.” Something about Minseok’s discomfit demeanour tells me he’d rather have a tête-à-tête with the obscurus than with Professor Slughorn. I take an instant liking to this man. 

“Minseok, we happen to have an aspiring Magizoologist in our company”, I loathe the nickname. It’s a garb. It’s a lie. But the conversation seamlessly steers towards me as a dozen pairs of eyes follow Professor Slughorn’s snivelling gaze. Clearing my throat, I say to Minseok, “I’m delighted to meet you - ”

“My dear, if I may ask and I hope you won’t mind”, Professor Slughorn interrupts me, per usual. Kyungsoo lets out a barely audible annoyed grunt and I hold my breath in anticipation of what he’s about to say next. Slughorn has a knack for broaching treacherous territories with utmost eloquence. I didn’t think it was possible for me to despise this gathering any more than I already do. I know where he’s going. I know what he’s going to say next. He’s going to play the Devil’s (Gran’s) Advocate. 

This is not a party. It’s an intervention which serves as an offhanded reminder of my parents’ gruesome deaths.

“You come from a lineage of Aurors par excellence. Your grandparents with whom I had the great fortune of exchanging notes and secrets in these very same classrooms. Your parents…. a tremendous loss to our world…” 

At this point, I’ve lost Professor Slughorn. 

He’s testing me again to see if I have any of my parents’ flair. I do not. Magizoologist is just a veil that conceals my seemingly purposeless life. I’m not sure what I want to be. Or who I want to be. If there’s one thing I know it’s that I don’t want to end up like my parents. Neither am I brave nor am I self sacrificial. Their deaths, I’ve come to terms with. It’s the torture they went through that keeps me up most nights - the unimaginable pain of the Cruciatus Curse before they were engulfed in blinding green light. My throat seizes up and I chew on the insides of my cheeks to feel pain that’s more superficial.

My sweaty palms clutch at the hem of my silk lilac dress. I feel hesitant fingers gently graze the back of my left hand, steadying the tremble. Judging by my lack of protest, Kyungsoo’s grip around my hand courageously strengthens. 

In subliminal comfort. 

I don’t feel cornered anymore.

.

.

.

KYUNGSOO

Oh I shouldn’t have. 

OH BOY I SHOULD NOT HAVE!

I’m not a pervert. In my defense her hand was right there! Trembling. Astray. Seeking shelter.

Asking to be held.

She didn’t say a word to me after that ridiculous party. I couldn’t muster the courage to say anything to her, either. What could I have said? I’m sorry? That would’ve been dishonest. I wasn’t sorry about it at all. Are you alright? I didn’t want her to feel any more uncomfortable than she already did. So I left it at that. Like I always do. 

Because I’m a coward. 

She swooped out with her friend as soon as the snoozefest was over, leaving her food completely untouched. In fact, I didn’t catch her taking a bite out of anything ever since I arrived. Her slender fingers were gracefully wrapped around a silver goblet the entire time.

It’s always been like that with her. She always needs something or the other to physically hold on to. The straps of her bag, books, remembralls, whatever she can find. I notice these little things about her. I always have. But to her I’m only a face in the crowd. The very same crowd she fights shy of. I don’t blame her. It is quite rare for pretty girls to notice me. 

And she’s ethereal.

Year One

My heart was hammering in my chest as I was ridiculously close to missing the Hogwarts Express. Partially because the oddly named Platform was nowhere to be found and I was starting to think of the entire thing as an elaborate prank. And when we did end up finding the way to the Platform by following a snooty wizarding couple who seemed to be seeing their daughter off, I quite frankly lost my mind at the prospect of having to run through a solid wall to get to it.

I said a final word of my goodbye to my teary-eyed mother.

Earlier in the day, her theatrical sobfest went on for hours after she progressed from outright denial and came to terms with the fact that witches and wizards do exist and that her only son is in fact a wizard. He wasn’t going to take over his parents’ restaurant business like she’d always hoped he would. Honestly, at this point he’s not entirely sure what his future beholds but he’s a wizard and is indeed very happy about it.

But I didn’t dare say this to her. 

I pretended to be upset about having to practically move out at the age of eleven. In all honesty, I was mildly upset but far more excited about this school I’d, obviously, never heard of before the Letter arrived - Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. 

But it wasn’t long before all of my bubbling excitement was reduced to a pile of rubbish.

I had lost my little pouch of wizard money which I thought I'd carefully tucked into the back pocket of my jeans only to find out about it seconds prior to having to pay for the strange but oddly tempting treats. I felt myself shrink under the kind old lady’s sympathetic gaze as I put my little confectionery treasure back to where it belonged. On the top of her trolley. Suddenly, the embarrassing rumble of my stomach was drowned by a welcome jingle of coins.

The second year boy in my compartment - who later introduced himself as Baekhyun Byun - paid for the treats instead. I didn’t like him at first since he had a permanent smile plastered across his face, was giggly and extremely chatty. He’d told me all kinds of sorting stories which made me want to take the same train back home. I discovered his annoyingly loud chewing habits while sharing a stack of Cauldron Cakes with him. But I guess a happy stomach makes one truly tolerant.

We tried to offer Pumpkin Pasties to the girl in our compartment who had her face buried in a book right since the moment she boarded. Baekhyun even tried to strike up a conversation with her, multiple times, but to no avail. She’d only respond in nods and slight smiles.

After a point, we gave up. There’s no cure to snobbery.

There was an empty feeling in the pit of my stomach even after having annihilated five Chocolate Frogs, a dozen Liquorice Wands, six Pumpkin Pasties and two Cauldron Cakes. It wasn't even the first day yet and I’d lost ten Galleons in wizarding money which equalled fifty Pounds in muggle money which equalled two meals at our restaurant.

The rain thickened as the train sped further north. Baekhyun pulled on his long black robe, gave me all of his Chocolate Frog cards and scurried ahead with his trunk leaving me alone with the oddball. We were nearly there.

“Here”, she said, thrusting a heavy, knotted pink cloth in my hands before exiting the compartment in a rush.

It was five Galleons neatly wrapped in a cloth that smelled exactly like the “farewell” cake Mum baked me. 

Vanilla.

***

We didn’t have to wrestle a troll or turn a fat rat yellow for the Sorting Ceremony like Baekhyun said we’d have to.

“RAVENCLAW!” the Hat bellowed and the girl from the Hogwarts Express found her place amidst the brains at Hogwarts (as Baekhyun liked to call them) and that didn’t leave me surprised at all.

When the strict witch called out my name I almost stumbled upon a step on my way up to the wooden stool. For no particular reason the word “Ravenclaw” rolled off my tongue and the Hat contemplated, “Intelligent and hard-working, eh? Hmm….where should I place you...I see. I see! HUFFLEPUFF!”

The table next to Ravenclaw cheered me on as a ghost, the Fat Friar, swooshed past me in what was supposed to be a bone chilling embrace. I caught her eyes and she gave me a little wave.

Ravenclaw...at least I knew where to find her. I’ll return her money but not the piece of cloth.

It is a reminder of home.

Year Two

Am I invisible to her?

Every time I’ve so much as smiled at her she’s returned it with an unreadable expression like that lady in the fake painting at our restaurant. If I approach her and she doesn’t recognize me, I’ll be making a complete ass out of myself. Anyway, she probably thinks I’m not good enough to be seen around with but third-year Chen is. People say she belongs to one of the oldest wizarding families and she sure does act like royalty. I guess, five Galleons to her is nothing but a drop in the ocean.

***

While Professor Sprout thinks I’m the next Tilden Toots - a celebrity Herbologist and Potioneer, Professor Snape’s way of expressing his satisfaction with my abilities in Potions was with a scowl and a barely audible “five points to Hufflepuff.”

Most of the students think of Potions as a lot of hard work but to me, it’s really not. I don’t entirely blame them. The classes are held in a dungeon and the Potions Master looms over us with a murderous intent but if you ignore all of that it’s just intricacies of timing and stirring techniques.

The Hair Raising potion was disgusting to concoct especially since one of the key ingredients was rat tails and three counter clockwise stirs left the cauldron with a sickening green residue causing the entire dungeon to smell like a dead rat.

I must admit, Hogwarts is one weird school. What on earth would I need this potion for?

Year Three

Whenever I’ve tried to avoid the joined at the hips duo Baekhyun and Chanyeol, I’ve found myself in their ear splitting company. By now, I’ve resigned to my fate. My fellow Hufflepuff Yoongi isn’t up for much these days. To be honest, he’s always liked to stick to the confines of the Hufflepuff dorm and that’s kind of a downer.

So I spend almost all of my free time in the company of the Perpetually In Detention duo and their Ravenclaw friend Chen. And I realise that I can never be Chen. Chen is perfect in every way. He’s polite, he’s intelligent, and at such a young age he’s got his life planned out. He wants to work for the Ministry of Magic. Which, I believe, is a cakewalk for the likes of him. He’s also kinda good looking. While we’re all struggling with embarrassing bulk sticking out of odd places and less than appealing skin, he could very well replace Gilderoy Lockhart for the next issue of Witch Weekly.

***

When I saw her head toward Gladrags Wizardwear, fingers clutched at a baggie of Caramel Cobwebs, I feigned untied shoelaces as Baekhyun, Chanyeol and Chen made their way into The Three Broomsticks. Suddenly, a jet of purple light shot in her direction and a sound of girls giggling reached my ears. She stood frozen in the middle of the street, face buried in hands and with a flick of my wand I unbound her legs. Misty eyed, she hesitantly looked over her shoulder for a fleeting moment before hurrying into the safer confines of the shop as though nothing had happened.

This was our first ever trip to Hogsmeade and I thought J. Pippin's Potions worth the detour.

Rat tails. Porcupine quills. Billywig stings.

The Hair Raising potion had its benefits, after all. 

A few drops of it in their pumpkin juice and not a single soul suspected the innocent looking, third-year Hufflepuff boy.

Year Four

Hagrid seemed quite proud of his crate full of Blast-Ended Skrewts. They were cuddly creatures, very useful and made for exceptional pets. 

If you looked at them with Hagrid’s beady brown, affectionate eyes.

Everyone in class was visibly disturbed at the sight of them. Yoongi was quite close to disappearing into the Forbidden Forest. But that’s just him - slimy, foul smelling, shell-less lobsters or not. I wouldn’t be surprised if he chose, out of the blue, to live as a hermit in the company of centaurs. Not sure if he’s aware that they’re averse to humans.

Smiling, she took two graceful steps towards the crate as the rest of us took two steps back. Then four, then six as her waist length hair rippled down her shoulders and sunlight bounced off the silver trinkets in her ears. Perhaps motivated by her deep affection for Hagrid and anything non-human, she dipped a piece of frog liver to tempt the freshly hatched Skrewts.

It was pointless. Skrewts don’t have mouths. Mine is carefully locked away in a little pen under my bed. Honestly, I don’t care whether it survives the semester or not. 

Anyway, she ended up earning a roaring applause from Hagrid and ten points for Ravenclaw.

I found myself following her to the hideous crate like my legs had a mind of their own while Yoongi gaped at me in horror. I don’t know what struck me but I’m pretty sure that I don’t love Hagrid enough to get stung by an ugly lobster. 

But she had her eyes lovingly trained on the Skrewts the entire time and my valiant battle against a six inch burning, biting and stinging hybrid went completely unnoticed by her. 

Would I have to transfigure into an ugly Skrewt to get her attention? Or gulp down a vial of Polyjuice Potion to look like Chen? 

I’d still lack his charm.

Year Five

How Chanyeol and Baekhyun managed to advance to the sixth year is anyone’s guess, really. 

Because at this point I wish I had a Time Turner. Twenty four hours in a day are not enough for what the O.W.L.s demand. I’ve got Potions, Arithmancy, Charms, Transfiguration, Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures, History of Magic and Defence Against The Dark Arts. 

And Divination is entirely her fault.

There’s one thing, though, that Trelawney’s “Inner Eye” was right about - Everything is not as bad as it seems, my dear. It’s true. Professor Slughorn isn’t half as bad as Professor Snape. Although he’s a little vain and self-serving, I have a better shot at earning an O in Potions with him than I could have ever had with Snape. Where Snape would dismiss my nearly perfect brews with a grunt, I manage to earn some real points for Hufflepuff with Slughorn.

Professor Sprout, ever so confident in my abilities, had laughed away my Career Advice session by calling me the next Tilden Toots. Her face fell slightly when I told her that I aspired to be Tilden Toots the Potioneer and not Tilden Toots the Herbologist.

But my dreams won’t materialize if I don’t have near perfect scores in Charms and Arithmancy and these are the two subjects that have kept me away from my “happening” social life.

I’d been haunting the Hufflepuff common room with my fingers in my ears, muttering soundlessly and my dear friend Yoongi chose to “take a quick catnap for a refreshed mind” every chance he got. I haven’t seen them in a while - Baekhyun, Chanyeol, Chen and their Quidditch friends Kai and Sehun. With twelve (failed) study schedules strewn on the floor and six weeks left until the exams, I seized my copy of Defensive Magical Theory and stepped out of the dorm for some fresh air and mindless chatter.

Last I’d heard, they’d managed to earn themselves a week’s worth of detention for setting off Filibuster’s Fireworks in Filch’s office. 

What I witnessed in the corridor on my way out made me stop dead in my tracks. Chen had his arm around her shoulders as they walked along the hallway laughing and talking animatedly. This was the happiest I had ever seen her in all these years. At the sight of them, I felt a paralyzing dread seep into my consciousness. 

I hated it.

I hated to see her happy. With him. A part of me saw this coming but I could’ve never prepared myself for it and I immediately regretted leaving the unwitting confines of my Common Room. 

Seething, I went in the other direction, taking a detour for the Quidditch pitch, to find those clowns. 

With them, I could very well drift in and out of conversations. While I lacked patience for most of their rubbish and I usually brought my earmuffs along, today was different. I needed to hear something refreshing to get my mind off the horrible fragmented flashbacks of what I’d witnessed just minutes ago. It’s probably nothing and they’re just friends but the nagging rebuttal to my ‘just friends’ argument is making me restless.

To my absolute horror, Chen breezed into the pitch with an annoying grin on his face, cheeks flushed. I felt the knot in my stomach tighten.

“Guys! I asked her out and she said yes!” He announced to the world in his usual thunderous scream invoking a deafening response from the rest of them. Slamming my copy of Defensive Magical Theory shut, I rushed to the common room, ignoring Kai calling out for me.

Year Six

Study hard and you will be rewarded. Fail to do so and the consequences may be... severe.

And rewarded, I was. With 6 Os, 2 Es (Arithmancy and Defence Against the Dark Arts) and 1 A (Divination). Yoongi had managed to scrape through with a decent O.W.Ls score as well. And “Chen’s girlfriend” had topped the year, per usual. With 8 O’s and 1 E in Defence Against The Dark Arts, having messed up one counter jinx in the practicals.  She’s strangely under confident when it comes to this subject.

My house-elf friend Winky smuggled in a congratulatory vanilla cake - a Muggle recipe I’d helped her recreate.

***

So turns out “Chen’s girlfriend” isn’t Chen’s girlfriend. 

I mean, Chen has a girlfriend but it’s not the girl from the Hogwarts Express. It’s the Ravenclaw Head Girl. Because I spent nearly half a year sulking, slogging away in the library, feeling betrayed for no particular reason, despite my well above average O.W.Ls score I felt like a complete idiot.

The bearer of good news was Chanyeol Park.

Who enraged me and made me want to kiss a Blast-Ended Skrewt on its non-existent mouth at the same time with, “Of course he’s not dating that Ravenclaw oddball. He’s dating the Ravenclaw Head Girl.”

Smacking him on the head with my copy of Advanced Potion Making, I decided to spend the upcoming Christmas at school. 

It’s now or never.

***

She’s SUCH an idiot!

A freezing, injured, drenched, clumsy idiot. 

A Bowtruckle whirred past me into the Forbidden Forest as I rushed to help her off the ground. Tergeo, I muttered to siphon the blood off her elbow and hoisted her up not long before she collapsed into my arms.

She’s a cute idiot whose pain is… my gain.

.

.

.

“Why aren’t you home for the holidays?”

Howling, a chilly breeze engulfs us but the panoramic view of the landscape from the Wooden Bridge is well worth it. As is the mildly attractive Hufflepuff boy who’d asked, very shyly, if he could see me here.

“My parents are always busy with the restaurant during the holidays, anyway. Thought I’d use this time to prepare better in advance for N.E.W.T.s”, says a red-nosed, shivering Kyungsoo.

He’s ambitious as he is kind. “So, are you?”

“Hmm?”

“Preparing for... N.E.W.T.s?”

“No. Something’s kept me busy.” An imperceptible smile tugs at his lips and I find myself unconsciously mirroring him. It’s freezing out here but my cheeks are ablaze.

“What has?” My tone is unwavering but his rich pause has me dreading as well as anticipating the answer.

“The Patronus Charm”, he says, “All I can manage is formless silver vapour.”

Oh.

“I could help if you like.” I turn to face him to find his confused expression uncoil into a toasty smile.

“You can conjure an actual corporeal Patronus?” His excitable voice is not as deep as his regular talking voice but it’s melodic anyway.

Nodding, I say, “Let’s go.” 

Kyungsoo’s eyes aren’t exactly trusting. I’ve brought him to the seventh floor and we’re gawking at a tapestry of trolls ridiculously bent in a plier. If I were him, I wouldn’t trust me either. But Hogwarts is an ancient castle and I’ve spent a good amount of time recceing it’s rooms, hallways, and everything in between. Yet, I discover something new, every time. 

Last year, I discovered this - The Room of Requirement - or as Meady likes to call it - the Come and Go Room.

“Okay, so we’re going to walk past the area of this door, thrice, thinking clearly of what we need.” Pointing at the wall opposite the funny tapestry, I say to Kyungsoo but a look of sheer confusion mixed with worry clouds his face.

“We’re going to think of a large, dingy classroom where we can have our lessons without anyone disturbing us.”

His expression is short of saying, ‘You’re crazy. Goodbye.’ Despite that, he valiantly follows my instruction.

After the third pass we’re in a spacious classroom completely devoid of any furniture, save for two desks.

“Ahhh”, hands on hips, he gapes in surprise surveying the dimly lit room, “but...we could’ve practised anywhere. Why here?”

“For the effect?” My fingers clutch at the edge of the desk as a knot tightens in my stomach and I find myself hoping that he stays.

His ha-ha-ha echoes in the room and his voice is at it’s high pitch again, “Shall we?”

Nodding, I take the centre of the class, “So the incantation is ‘Expecto Patronum’”

“Of that, I am aware.”

“Great now concentrate hard on a happy memory. I know it’s going to be tough without an actual Dementor or even a Boggart to practise on. But let’s give it a try, alright? Professor Flitwick taught me using a Boggart last year. I didn’t leave him alo -- sorry I’m rambling. Okay, happy memory... now...go!”

Kyungsoo squeezes his eyes shut and his face screws up in concentration. With a swish of his wand he stutters, “Ex-expecto Patronus!”

Nothing except peals of laughter echo in the room.

“Lets go again. Together now.” I say patting his shoulder.

Signalling each other with a nod we try again, “Expecto Patronum!”

A lynx rises out the end of my wand, trotting across the room before diffusing into nothingness. While Kyungsoo manages to issue a not so tangible cloud of silver.

A few tries later, he manifests something visibly stronger but he’s not quite there yet. And we’re both exhausted. I fish for a Chocolate Frog in the pockets of my cardigan and hand it to him.

“This charm is ridiculously advanced! How about we try again after Christmas?” Leaning on one of the desks, he offers dejectedly, nibbling at the Frog’s head.

I gladly accept it.

***

Owing to the small number of students that have stayed back this year, the House tables have been put aside and a single table has been set up for the Christmas feast. As if it were the most natural thing to do in the world, Kyungsoo comes and sits next to me. I hope he doesn’t hold my hand like he did during Slughorn’s party or maybe I hope that he does. I hope we do get to hold hands often and discuss what happened at the party. But we’re both great at pretending that nothing unusual did. The Gryffindor Prefect is somewhere on the other end of the table, chatting to a fellow Gryffindor. And the spread, as always, is sumptuous. 

Digging into a delectable roast turkey I ask Kyungsoo, “What’s Christmas like in the Muggle world?”

“Isn’t half as exciting as it is here. For starters, we have no Wizard Crackers. Or silver Sickles hidden within puddings.” He says toying with the cardboard tube moments before it went off like a canon, covering him in a cloud of blue smoke. A flurry of white mice scamper down his legs and scurry out of the Great Hall.

His mouth drops, inviting a roar of laughter from the rest of the table and he chooses to steer clear of the Crackers for the rest of the Feast.

He insists on dropping me off to the Ravenclaw Common Room, “I’ll see you again tomorrow? Six in the evening, the Room of Requirement?”

It’s a date?

***

Today’s class wasn’t nearly as bad as the previous one but God knows Kyungsoo’s in a dire need of practise.

We sit on the floor after two scarcely productive hours with our stash of Chocolate Frogs pooled in the space between us.

“Here’s something I don’t get about Muggleborns. How are your parents okay with sending their children away to an entirely different world? Doesn’t matter what Professor Dumbledore has to say, I refuse to believe Hogwarts is one of the safest places in the world. We have moving staircases, a murderous tree, Quidditch, and Filch!”

His laugh reverberates in the empty classroom, “It’s not much of a trade off, really. The Muggle world has its own set of issues.” He unwraps a Chocolate Frog and offers it to me, “You live with your grandmother, right?”

“My fierce, retired Auror, grandmother. Yes. And you?”

“With my parents. I’m an only child. And you’re right. My mother wasn’t very keen on sending me away but she couldn’t risk their restaurant being reduced to a pile of ash every time I threw a temper tantrum.”

“You don’t look like the temper tantrum sort.”

“Ah you underestimate me.” He chuckles, “so the holidays end soon and I don’t have a Patronus which means our classes will have to continue. You’re okay with that, right?”

“Very much”, I nod but an upsetting finality pulls at me.

“Is there anything...you’d like to do on the last day of the holidays?” He fixes his gaze on my feet.

“Do you have something in mind?”

“Do you want to...well I was thinking if...I need to procure some Wolfsbane from the Forbidden Forest would you like to come with?”

“Are you daft? Do you have any idea what sorts of -”

“Creatures dwell in the Forest? Yeah, I’ve been there, multiple times.”

“And you haven’t been caught? Mauled? Battered?”

He sighs, “Unfortunately, not once.”

Meeting his unflinching gaze I welcome my impending doom, “Okay...maybe I’ll end up finding Twiggles in one of those Wiggentrees but don’t abandon me if Werewolves come for us.”

***

I guess there’s a first time for everything. But it’s my first time flouting a rule and getting caught. My adventurous friend from Hufflepuff seems absolutely unperturbed by the ghastly smile that’s spread across Filch’s face. And anything that makes Filch this happy can’t be good news. Kyungsoo shoves the bunch of Wolfsbane down the pocket of his jeans and I just stand there as an unwitting accomplice to his dumbassery. To my dumbassery. I should’ve never agreed to this. I didn’t even have any luck with Twiggles. But then again Bowtruckles are master camouflagers. What was I expecting?

“Follow me”, the sadistic old man wheezes and my legs feel bound by shackles. Kyungsoo tugs at my arm and teary eyed, I slowly shake my head. He laughs mouthing, ‘It’s nothing.’ Maybe it’s nothing to him considering the company he keeps. What if I get expelled? Where will I go? It’ll be enough reason for Gran to disown me but this bespectacled charming boy doesn’t have a lot to lose now, does he? He can waltz back into his Muggle world and work in his ‘restaurant’. Of course he’s an exceptional cook if he trades recipes with freaking house-elves! I can’t end up having a life worse than squibs. Boys are trouble unless they’re Chen. I literally never should’ve. What of this was a trap all along? I’m SUCH a fool!

I find myself in the part of the vast echoing Entrance Hall I’ve deliberately avoided in all these years. It’s foul smelling, really dull and a cat menacingly meows at us while curling around her Master’s feet. 

Room 234-00. Filch’s office.

Coughing, the caretaker points at the chains and manacles that are hung from the ceiling, “I keep ‘em well oiled in case they’re needed. The Forbidden Forest, eh? Brave enough for Acromantulas and Werewolves, are we?” His face is barely inches away from Kyungsoo’s and I feel a sudden pump of adrenaline, “Sir, please, it was a mistake. We promise to never venture into the Forest again. We promise to never venture out of our own dormitories again. Please, please just let us go!”

Filch is taken aback by my plea and Kyungsoo has pursed his lips, holding in a laugh and I feel stupid.

With the sound of a crack, Filch’s equipment of torture comes crashing to the floor. Mrs Norris’ tail shoots up in fear and a raucous laugh echoes in the room souring Filch’s mood, “PEEVES!”

“Nasty Filch! Leave the luuuuurve birds alone! Leave them alone! Loony woony filthy Filch!” An invisible Peeves’ annoying cackle resounds before ceasing with a deafening crack. 

Filch is boiling in rage. I tilt my head to look at the slightly experienced in disciplinary matters Kyungsoo and judging by his sullen expression, we’ve had it.

.

.

.

Does he think that I somehow jinxed his great expedition to the Forest? Because it’s been two days since the start of semester and there’s no sign of Kyungsoo. Neither in the Great Hall, nor in the classes I share with Hufflepuff. Is he avoiding me now that his friends are back? The lump in my throat aches.

“Oww!” 

Chen greets me with a smack of a book on my head, “I MISSED YOU, GOBLIN!”

I’ll never get used to Chen’s incessant need to announce everything to the world to get his point across but seeing him makes me realise just how much I’d missed him, too. Despite his dig at my height and an underhanded compliment to my brain. He slumps into the chair next to me, activating his ability to speak like a banshee. Not very different from his white haired Gryffindor friend. 

“So tell me. How was Christmas? Did you get the set of Wizard Chess I sent you? We should play sometime. Thanks for the Floo Connection, by the way! It was really thoughtful of you and I love it! My darling loved it a lot, too but I had a tough time explaining it to my folks. So how was Christmas?”

I wait patiently for my closest friend in school to finish babbling before telling him what I think he’d like to hear about my little adventures. Or the information Kyungsoo would rather have me share. The nagging feeling that he’s been avoiding me weighs me down like a rock. 

 “So you broke your leg, told Slughorn off and earned yourself Detention with a Hufflepuff boy who happened to be in the Forest at the same time as you. All of this in a matter of two weeks? Wait, why were you in the Forest again?” Chen is amused but also a little suspicious.

“I told you! I was bored. I went looking for the Bowtruckle!” I argue, needlessly.

“Bored? Didn’t you have to read up on Apparition? Also, you of all the people should know how elusive Bowtruckles are, Miss Magizoologist!” I cringe at the nickname. “And who is this Hufflepuff boy?” I wouldn’t be surprised if Chen were a Legilimens.

Letting out an exasperated sigh I answer, “Some Kwangsoo something?”

“Glasses? Kinda short? Squints a lot? Brooding?”

“So you know him, Mister Tall Guy?” I ask, inviting another smack on my head.

“Yes, through Baekhyun. I mean, haven’t you seen him with us? His name is Kyungsoo, by the way.” Chen’s not particularly suspicious now which bolsters my confidence to spew rubbish.

“No I haven’t. It’s probably because I can hear you guys before I can see you and I prefer not to violate my eyes like I do my ears when I’m around any of you. I hope this answers your question.” I think it was a bit much but Chen breaks into a fit of laughter.

“Then you’ve probably not heard him, either. He isn’t a lot like us.” He contemplates, “but don’t you look around in class? You haven’t ever noticed him before? He’s in the same year as you! You’re ridiculous!”

Of course I’ve noticed him. 

Every time he’s tried to talk to me, return my money, earned points for his house or even a sneer from Snape. Every time Madam Pomfrey has cooed at him. Even when he braved feeding a Skrewt. I’ve seen him in the hallways, in classes, in the Great Hall. 

But to know someone is to invite heartache and I’ve had my fair share of it.

“You mean he isn’t noisy like the rest of you. And no I haven’t. It’s probably because he’s not as attractive as a Merperson or as lithe as a Basilisk.” I lie. He’s not anything like the magical creatures I’ve studied about. He is a human. And humans are too tricky for my liking. Two weeks with him, two days without him and I seem to have lost my marbles. 

Guess, I am pathetic if not ridiculous.

“Come to think of it, I haven’t seen him around either”, Jongdae ponders.

***

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

Maybe it was too direct but I need to get this weight off my chest. I can’t spend every Saturday until the end of term with him in close quarters, clearing out Filch’s old files (the Muggle way) with animosity looming between us. Peeves is enough trouble with his water bombs already. And Kyungsoo’s silent treatment is simply too much. 

He brings me Caramel Cobwebs, holds my hand and refuses to talk about it, insists on being tutored, spends Christmas with me, lands me in Detention and starts avoiding me as soon as his friends are back.

“I caused you trouble and you seemed so disturbed by it. I’m sorry. I’ve not been avoiding you...I just thought maybe you wouldn’t like to see me again.” Mumbles Kyungsoo, dropping Filch’s File Number 27 on the floor, leaving a mess of loose, dusty papers.

‘Butterfingers’ here isn’t right at all. I’ve been dying to see him.

I help him clear the mess by re-filing the records of the 27th file in alphabetical order. 

“I’m not mad at you. I was a tad bit worried, that’s all. This is my first time being...punished and none of this is your fault. I’m sorry if I made you feel like that.”

His little smile and an understanding nod makes my heart flutter. Snapping out of it, I read out an amusing record from a random file, “at least we’re not pickling rat brains in the dungeons.” 

His eyes grow wide in horror, “What?”

“Sehun Oh and Kai Kim for bewitching snowballs to hit Professor Snape!” I summarise.

Kyungsoo guffaws, “Yes! This was last year. Baekhyun had dared them to it and those idiots thought Snape wouldn’t notice. They ended up reeking of dead rats for two weeks after that. Nobody would go near them! Not even Baekhyun.”

I put the file back with an ‘ahh’, “So Kai Kim, Sehun Oh, Baekhyun Byun are your friends right? And Chen, too?”

“Yeah, Chen and Chanyeol Park. Why?”

Of course, the Great Oaf.

“Nothing, you’re quite different from them.”

“How so?” Resting his chin in his hand, Kyungsoo inquires and avoiding his eyes I reply, “Well, you’re not very noisy or mischievous?”

He chuckles, “I’m not noisy that’s true. But I literally took you to the Forbidden Forest and it’s the reason why we’re here today sifting through these records. Will you still say that I’m not mischievous, Miss Ravenclaw?”

“I take back my words, Mister Hufflepuff”, I need to get away from this sweet talker, “Now let’s look for more, shall we? Filch certainly has your friends’ adventures chronicled in these files.”

“We’ll probably find something on Chen, too.” He says quietly.

“No wayyy! Chen’s perfect.” I protest.

He throws a file onto the desk, creating a cloud of dust, “What if we do end up finding something about him here, in these records? Then what?”

“Then I’ll….do whatever you ask!” 

Why! Why?

“It’s a deal!”

***

Kyungsoo and I have been seeing each other fortnightly for the sake of Dementors. Let’s just say if he were required to actually fight one off today, he’d end up having his soul sucked out. Does the boy have no solid happy memory or what? Or maybe I’m just a terrible guide.

In class, we’re cordial. But somewhat distracted.

We spend all of our Saturdays together. Turns out he’s a couple of weeks older than me which means we both qualify for  Apparition Lessons. The lessons are scheduled for Saturday mornings and we spend the rest of the day in Detention.

The first lesson was...quite unforgettable. 

For Kyungsoo, me and whoever was witness to our idiocy. Professor Flitwick positioned Ravenclaws into a line as did Professor Sprout with Hufflepuff which had Kyungsoo and me standing next to each other with the requisite distance of five feet between us. The Instructor from the Ministry waved his wand and old-fashioned wooden hoops appeared on the floor in front of us.

“Destination. Determination. Deliberation!” The man who was a white wispy version of humans, squeaked.

“Concentrate upon the destination now. Which is within the hoop. Then focus on your determination to occupy the visualized space. And when I give a command, on three, turn on your spot, feeling your way into nothingness, moving with deliberation!”

Kyungsoo gave me one furtive glance and I lost all sense of Destination and Determination.

“On my command….one….”

I spun on the spot, lost my balance and fell over and Kyungsoo crash landed into my wooden hoop. With our Professors’ eyes on us, I felt myself melt into a puddle of embarrassment.

The inexplicable tension crowding the office during Detention that day left hardly any room for conversation. Which was kind of okay considering the ground we covered with Filch’s wretched files.

Although, the next lesson found us positioned at the two opposite ends of our respective House lines by Professor Flitwick. 

Despite being in the same room, I missed Kyungsoo.

Transfiguration hasn’t been particularly eventful with Kyungsoo. With Professor McGonagall’s hawk-like eyes on us, we don’t dare to so much as shoot a glance in each other’s direction. 

But last week was different.

In a lesson that included conjuring a flock of birds out of our wands, the entire class managed a few feathers, some gross mutations, and severed heads. Everyone except Kyungsoo. He’d succeeded in creating several twittering birds in his third try. Which was not so great for me since the little yellow chirpers zoomed in my direction and circled around my head, singing merrily. This continued even after most of the class, including Professor McGonagall, had already left. His idea of an apology for the inconvenience was flashing his heart-shaped smile. 

I guess it doesn’t take a lot for me to forgive him.

***

It’s nearing the end of the third month of the semester and there’s no dirt on Chen. 

Like I’d said, he’s perfect. We’ve found volumes on the other two, though. Chanyeol and Baekhyun. How they’ve not been expelled yet is anyone’s guess. These delinquents make my little Forest excursion look like a joke.

They’ve set off dungbombs in Snape’s dungeon, cursed each other and ended up having a slug attack right in the middle of their Astronomy practicals, got caught sneaking out of their dorms after curfew only eleven times, transfigured McGonagall’s desk into a ferret to ‘showcase their Transfiguration prowess’, set off Filibuster’s Fireworks in Filch’s office, distracted Filch by jinxing Mrs Norris with Tarantallegra - her legs spasmed wildly out of control, making her appear as though she were dancing. 

No wonder they’re the only students Peeves gets on with.

This little vault of information made Kyungsoo exceptionally happy after moping around for not having anything on Chen, yet. He’s going to use these embarrassing incidents (one of the punishments included cleaning out the bedpans in the Hospital Wing without using magic) against the two of them, he says. 

Detention and shared classes is the only time Kyungsoo and I get to see each other since sixth year is no cakewalk. 

Free periods come by few and far between and are used to keep up with the vast amount of homework we’re being set. We’re studying as though we have exams everyday and lessons themselves are far more demanding than they used to be. Especially since we’re required to use Nonverbal spells now in every lesson that requires incantation. I often catch Kyungsoo’s motley around school. Somehow, they’re everywhere but he’s hardly ever to be seen with them. Working hard towards his ambition to become a Potioneer, I suppose. I wish I were just as passionate about something.

.

.

.

Sixth year is an anomaly. 

Professor Sprout says we’re allowed to swear loudly in today’s lesson since we’re going to be dealing with one of the most dangerous plants ever - Venomous Tentacula - a green, spiky, toothsome magical plant with mobile vines that tries to grab living prey. Kyungsoo quietly stations himself next to me in the greenhouse inviting snarky sideway looks and hushed whispers from a couple of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws around us. “She’s latched on to him now”, sniggers a Ravenclaw boy and I notice Kyungsoo ears turn scarlet. 

A pair of thick gloves on, Professor Sprout takes her place behind a trestle bench in the centre of the greenhouse, “We’ll be extracting Venomous Tentacula’s essence for Professor Slughorn’s experimental Potion No 7 today. Now, who can tell me how we should proceed to extract essence out of a plant that could try to strangle you?”

Kyungsoo’s hand rose in the air like it always does during Potions and Herbology, “By using the Severing Charm, Professor.”

“Excellent. Ten points to Hufflepuff”, Professor Sprout beams at her favourite student, “We’ll use the Severing Charm but Nonverbally. Which will stun Venomous Tentacula and sever its mobile vines. Along with me, on three. One...two...”

I nearly squeal as one of the Tentacula’s sharp fangs grazes my arm. Kyungsoo notices and in a state of panic tries to stun my plant for me only to get seized and bitten by his own. “Diffindo”, I flick my wand at Kyungsoo’s plant, flailing it and flouting the nonverbal spell rule but it’s too late for any of that. The plant’s poison, although non-fatal, has started working on Kyungsoo. 

His skin turns bright purple, knocking the wind out of me.

Professor Sprout rushes him to the Hospital Wing.

***

On Professor Sprout’s special request, Filch has begrudgingly exempted Kyungsoo from this week’s Detention. I saw him for Apparition this morning and we’d both managed to, with Destination, Determination and Deliberation in mind of course, land into our own hoops. 

Kyungsoo looked perfectly fine. Which is to say the purple of his skin from yesterday has been washed over by the roses of his cheeks and the honey of his skin. Madam Pomfrey was required to keep him in only for the day as Professor Sprout was quick to act and the poison hadn’t caused much harm. I feel like a bad friend for not having visited him since lessons ended in the a.m. with Astronomy but he says he was out in a couple of hours at most. 

He’s planned to spend the rest of the day with his friends who he’d not had a chance to catch up with off lately.

By late afternoon I’d unexpectedly fallen into a state of blissful slumber on one of Filch’s old files. Coughing, I woke up engulfed by dust. I had to admit, Detention was boring without Kyungsoo and it’s honestly starting to scare me how used to I gotten to his presence, the faint scent of eucalyptus that trails after him and the ambrosial warmth that infiltrates through his seemingly tougher exterior.

But at the same time I regret misreading him. Mistrusting him or sometimes trusting him too much. He’s nothing like I thought he’d be. His simplicity is comforting but at the same time it is truly baffling. Maybe it’s okay to not give it much thought and let Jupiter do its celestial dance while I do mine by recreating damaged detention records.

#1116

>> Chen Kim

>> Lack of concentration in Charms resulting in production of a hoselike jet of water instead of a fountain from his wand, knocking Professor Flitwick flat on his face in the process

>> Lines - ‘I am a wizard, not a baboon brandishing a stick.’

>> Issued by Professor Flitwick

>> Points taken: None

I do a double take when I read the name. 

Chen! Chen? Chen in Detention? How did I never know about this? Even if it’s just lines it is still a punishment. And how did The (then) Ravenclaw Prefect Chen mess up a Charm in Professor Flitwick’s class? I must know. But Kyungsoo’s got to see this first! I quickly replicate the record on a spare parchment and shove it in my bag and with a flick of my wand, I place everything exactly where it belongs in Filch’s office. What’s he going to do about it when he finds out? Give me another detention? Bring it on!

Throwing caution to the wind I allow my feet to take me where Kyungsoo said he’d be. Swiftly descending down the staircase, I exit out the side door down the corridor off the Entrance Hall and run towards the courtyard feeling the harsh winds tugging against my skin.

It’s unusually cold for the first day of April.

Seated between Chanyeol and Baekhyun, he’s laughing away seemingly at the two lanky boys - Kai and Sehun who’ve got their wands at the ready. The courtyard is oddly vacant, save for these four rioters and Kyungsoo. 

Even Chen’s not here. 

All banter comes to an abrupt halt when Kyungsoo’s eyes meet mine, his expression solid as a rock. With a barely perceptible shake of his head he’s signalling me to walk away from here and maybe this is what it feels like being punched in the gut. Four curious pairs of eyes flit between Kyungsoo and me and I feel too numb to even get out of there. Did I make a mistake being here? Is he too embarrassed to acknowledge me in front of his friends? The frigidity of his expression is eating away at my insides. Moments of complete stillness later I sprint out of the courtyard amidst wolf whistles and peals of laughter.

Throwing my bag over my shoulder, I wipe the angry tears rolling down my cheeks and vow to never see this doe eyed pretender again.

KYUNGSOO

It’s been two weeks since the incident. 

Two whole weeks of her arriving after and leaving before me for our shared lessons. She’s even charted up a Detention routine which limits our interactions to curt nods and dismissive grunts. Needless to say, I still don’t know how to conjure a corporeal Patronus. She thinks she’s the only one I could’ve asked? Not Baekhyun. Not Chanyeol’s Slytherin friend. Just her?

So much for her big Ravenclaw brains. 

She walks around all high and mighty displaying her knack for embarrassing honesty but in the moments of truth she plays ostrich. I wasn’t trying to avoid her. I would never. But she’s a complete idiot who’d rather believe otherwise. An idiot who’ll never look into my eyes to feel what I feel. Even if she does, she’d just never accept it. It took me five and a half years to get her to talk to me. And if it takes just one misunderstanding to drive her away like that, I’m not sure if I want to try again.

.

.

.

The only two things I’ve gained out of my short lived acquaintance with Kyungsoo Doh are Detention and a new foul nickname “the girl who follows Kyungsoo around.”

I hear it everywhere I go. The Great Hall, the corridors and the Common Room isn’t very forgiving either. So all thanks to Kyungsoo, I’ve retracted into my wretched shell. I arrive late for lessons and swoop out like an owl as soon as it’s over. I spend every free period in one corner of the Library and try to avoid the Common Room as much as I can.

All these years I spent pretending like the cute, short, portly boy I met on the Hogwarts Express didn’t exist were far better than the last couple of months of letting him into my small Universe. In all honesty, I’ve started to loathe him. It takes immense self control for me to not have his pretty face eat slugs every time I cross paths every time I lay my eyes on it.

“Now, this one here….who can tell me what this is. My dear boy, Kyungsoo?” Holding a vial of liquid pearl in the air for us to see, play-acts Professor Slughorn. Another potential victim of my out-of-character slug attack.

“It’s Amortentia”, Kyungsoo’s voice reaches my ears from the far end of the dungeon. 

“It is indeed. It almost seems foolish to ask”, he says, bringing the vial to my eye level, “but I assume you could tell me what it does?”

“It’s a love potion, Professor.” I say.

“It’s not just a love potion, sir. It’s the most powerful love potion in the world.” Kyungsoo offers and I feel the heat rising up my cheeks. I hate having this volley regarding a love potion with Kyungsoo.

“Excellent! And how did you recognize it, my dear?” Slughorn directs his question to me.

“By its distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen.”

“And?” His theatrics redirect to Kyungsoo.

“And the steam rising in characteristic spirals.” His dulcet tone echoes in the gloomy dungeon.

“Well, well, take ten well-earned points each for Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw”, says Slughorn genially, “would you two please be kind enough to come forward?”

Kyungsoo and I take, in what it seems like, ages to be stood on either side of Slughorn, arms over our chests, looking in opposite directions.

“There is one more key characteristic --”

“It’s supposed to smell differently to each of us, according to what attracts us”, Interrupting Slughorn, Kyungsoo and I garble.

“So to demonstrate”, Slughorn brings the vial closer to my face, “my dear?”

Consumed by the heady steam rising out of the potion, I clear my throat, “I can smell honey and...eucalyptus and….” Dittany. But I leave it at that, “That’s all Professor.”

“Very well, Mister Doh?” Slughorn quizzes.

“Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion…..Vanilla and …..Dittany.”

***

‘Evanesco!’ 

With that my last bottle of Sleekeazy vanishes in thin air.

“What are you doing up so late?” Chen’s groggy voice makes me jump but I counter, “What are you doing up so late?”

“Early. Up so early. It’s three in the morning”, yawning he waves his Charms textbook in front of my face, “Protean Charm.”

“Vanishing Spell”, I say pointing my wand at the empty table in front of us.

Chen relaxes into the chair next to mine and I let my gaze wander around the deserted Common Room. It really is a work of art encapsulated in all the blue and bronze. The stars painted over the domed ceiling, shine the brightest at this hour of the night, waltzing gracefully across the midnight blue carpet. If they were my stars, they’d wobble and fall owing to their two left feet. Could they, in the very least, give me a reason for this nagging ache in my chest?

‘Aguamenti!’

Drenched and dishevelled by a jet of cold water that shot out of Chen’s wand, I silence his raucous laugh and shower him with the choicest expletives before lifting the spell and drying myself.

“WHAT WAS THAT FOR!” I demand.

“You seemed so lost I was tempted. It’s what my dad uses to wake me up when I oversleep, you know? A nice cold bucket of water.” Chen’s snicker causes me to silence him again and he continues to blather soundlessly. How is this idiot so energetic at three in the morning!

“I’m going to bed”, wearily, I get up to leave and wave my wand at him.

“Wait! Stay”, says Chen, “It’s been quite a while!”

Groaning I slump back into the chair without further protest, “You’re right...so how’s our Head Girl doing?”

“She’s doing great. We’re doing great! She’s signed up to intern with the Ministry this summer under a certain Arthur Weasley...The Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office.” Chen beams and making me want to pinch his cheeks in adoration.

“Congratulations Chen! Ah but I’m not surprised. She’s always been as bright as a button.” I can’t help but coo at these lovebirds. At how absolutely smitten they are with each other while I suffer with an inexplicable tug of longing.

“And you, not so bright. Stopped following Kyungsoo around, have we?” Putting on his ‘big brother cloak’ he quizzes me with a raised eyebrow and I shrink back into my chair out of embarrassment, “You know about it?”

“The whole school’s talking about it!”

“I’ve stopped ‘following him around’ now why isn’t anybody talking about that, eh?” My anger is misdirected at Chen.

“He’s been talking about that. About how you’ve been acting like he’s invisible. A notch below satisfactory behaviour, am I right?” The low rumble of his voice thunders.

“You’re defending your stupid friend here! So much for being unbiased, hah!” Seething, I argue.

“You’re absolutely right Dung Brains I am defending my stupid friend here which is you. Now tell me, airhead, what’s it called when two wizards have their wands pointed at each other, in a combative position.”

I groan, he can’t really be asking me that but the urging silence is uncomfortable.

“A duel”, I mumble.

“You, my dear, were walking straight into a battlefield of hair-brained blokes who were surrounded by stink pellets, dungbombs and fireworks. It was only natural for Kyungsoo to ask you to skedaddle, make a run for it...save your life! If only you’d have let him explain?”

Guilt courses through my veins and I find myself in the defensive, “But then why didn’t he just tell me instead of giving me that terrifying look? I thought he’s ...I thought he didn’t want to see me...and..and why didn’t he do anything when those great prunes started laughing at me? Also why do they keep causing trouble everywhere they go? Do they want to fill up Filch’s office with their records before they graduate? It only means more work for me. And for Kyungsoo.”

“They were celebrating a Muggle custom, April Fools’ Day as per the wise counsel of their frog brained leader Baekhyun and Kyungsoo was only trying to protect you. And you were too obtuse to see that. Why won’t you give him a chance? He’s one of the good ones, you know? And those prunes aren’t too bad either. They were laughing not at you but at him...they’re just happy for their friend.”

“Happy? Why?” My heart goes into a wild frenzy.

“You should ask him that. We’re going to be at the Three Broomsticks for Baekhyun’s birthday celebration on our trip to Hogsmeade this Saturday. So naturally, your Detention is suspended for the week. Come along?” He eyes me expectantly.

“Not in a million years”, I deadpan.

“Don’t be stupid”, with a flick of his wand he makes the three bottles of Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion reappear, “and live a little.”

***

On Saturday morning I went down for breakfast feeling thoroughly depressed but trying my best to act normal. Kyungsoo was seated with Yoongi at the Hufflepuff table. He was stealing glances at the Ravenclaw table before his eyes met mine. Pursing his lips he nodded slightly in acknowledgment. For a fleeting second I had a strange desire of joining him at the Hufflepuff table but I quietly slipped into my seat besides the fifth year girl who’s been tutoring Kyungsoo’s friend Kai and has been a tad chipper ever since.

The largest portion of my headspace has been occupied with an internal debate on whether I should apologize to Kyungsoo or not. But I’ve noticed how he’d not been trying too hard either. If I handed him the Detention routine he went along with it without a single word of protest. If I’ve been ignoring him in class he hasn’t been exactly forthcoming. The familiar sense of finality sets deep into my bones and I’ve lost my appetite. I gulp down my tea and slip out of the Great Hall to pay Hagrid a long overdue visit.

.

.

.

They never tire of it. 

The two boys from Slytherin provoked me to strike them with the Twitchy-Ear hex. They’d found it particularly amusing to call me by my stale nickname as I made my way down to Gladrags Wizardwear to buy Hagrid a new moleskin robe. 

He’d been exceptionally understanding despite my despicable behaviour. Not having visited him in nearly six months and communicated with him only via a flurry of owls, I had no idea Fangs had been suffering with distemper. Kyungsoo’s been helping out with a self prepared brew to keep him stable. Explains why he’s been frequenting Hagrid’s hut. Also explains why he didn’t come see me on the second day that I’d spent in the Hospital Wing.

And my attitude towards him explains exactly why he chose to keep the truth about helping me get to the Hospital Wing that day. 

I don’t know how to thank him or apologize to him. Maybe he’s just better off without me. 

I am here in Hogsmeade on a whim. 

As the sun fades into a deeper blue my feet stop outside The Three Broomsticks and I’m desperate to see him. But he’s at a friend’s party and I’d only be making it awkward for everyone.

“Hullo”, a familiar honeyed voice reaches my ears making me stop dead in my tracks.

Taken by surprise, I turn and tip my head back slightly to look up at the large eyed boy, his face bearing that lethal heart shaped smile. I hug myself despite the warmth of May wishing I could make myself smaller.

Having rehearsed an entire apology speech in the shower in the morning, I found myself strangely tongue tied at the sight of him. He prods me to walk the quaint streets of Hogsmeade by his side.

“I’m sorry”, staring into the distance, I muster with a giddy head and a seized up throat.

“No. I’m sorry”, says Kyungsoo as his hand slowly finds mine, inviting stares from passersby, “I should’ve...communicated better. But promise to never shut me out again? I couldn’t take it.”

Fireworks go off in my head at the sudden contact, “No, no I’m sorry I should’ve trusted you and… I promise to never shut you out again.” I couldn’t take it either.

“So what are we now?” He interjects, lacing his warm fingers with mine.

If only he could hear the thunder of my heart, “We’re friends again?”

“Friends who fancy each other? Isn’t that a bit odd?”

“I-- umm, I--”.

“I --- umm?” He teases, “Okay...I fancy you. I always have. In case you hadn’t noticed.”

Going up on my toes I plant a little kiss on his jaw, I don’t know what came over me. Maybe I’ve finally gone mad.

His fingers run over his jaw lightly and he chuckles, “If you attack me like this again I’d have to report you to Professor Sprout.” Letting go off my hand he wraps his arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer. I feel a tingling sensation run down my spine.

Having circled the rural settlement for nearly an hour, we’re famished. We find ourselves on the High Street, right outside of Honeydukes, “After you, M’lady!” Crouching down in a bow, Kyungsoo gestures me to walk in.

M’lady?

Together we stare in wonder at the shelves upon shelves of the most succulent looking sweets imaginable. We’ve both, individually, been here countless times but together we feel like children lost in wonderland. I realize how light my pockets feel as Kyungsoo’s eyes wander around the shop ambitiously.

“Kyungsoo, I only have enough for Hagrid’s moleskin robe. I didn’t think I’d need a lot of gold for this trip...I could make a quick run to a Cashpoint first”, embarrassed, I admit.

“If we were to compound the five Galleons that I’ve owed you for six years now, I’m certain I could buy you half the shop!” The portly Ambrosius Flume, the owner of Honeydukes, clears his throat in annoyance at Kyungsoo’s comment, eyeing us suspiciously. 

Buy half the shop we did. 

Kyungsoo wasn’t entirely lucky with all the flavours of Berti Botts having sampled soap, dirt and earwax while I almost choked on a rotten-egg flavoured one. The Pepper Imps had us breathing fire at each other and a lock of my hair got caught in the line which Kyungsoo doused just in time and saved my scalp from going up in flames. We pigged on Peppermint Toads which made us sick after they literally started hopping frantically in our stomachs. 

Kyungsoo suggested we make a quick stop at Dogweed and Deathcap for a handful of leaves of a very foul smelling plant that were supposed to help us keep our barbaric fare down. When I absolutely refused to chew on them, Kyungsoo force fed me. The weird red dotted black leaves made our mouths go completely dry and left us with a pungent after taste.

“If you wanted me dead, you could’ve just used the Unforgivable Curse instead!” I cried.

We realized if we weren’t quick about it, we’d just end up breaking curfew so we sprinted to Gladrags Wizardwear to pick up Hagrid’s robe only to be tempted to by the thought of staying longer in each other’s company. Going back to Hogwarts meant being held hostage by the blue and bronze and the yellow and black. I’ve never appreciated Hogwarts’ divisive House system, even more so now.

“We’ll make it in time if we leave exactly at 9:30 p.m.” Kyungsoo reasons.

“How much longer do we have now?” I ask, dreading the answer.

“20ish?” he says sheepishly.

Burying my face into his warm and fuzzy sweater, I whine, “That’s not a lot.”

Squeezing me in a hug he says, “Then let’s make the most of it!”

We enter the shop that’s apparently been dressing ‘the Elegant Wizard’ for over two centuries with lurid socks and flashy robes. I chance upon a moleskin one which I quickly set aside for Hagrid and a furry red one with silver and gold stars that bounced off of it. I egged Kyungsoo to try it on over his all black Muggle clothing along with a bright yellow hat made out of chicken and pheasant feathers. He on the other hand picked out a black velvet robe with a high collar, a set of fake fangs and dragon hide boots that made me look like a vicar at something that the Muggles call a “rock concert.”

The disapproving help at the shop agreed to get our magazine cover worthy looks on camera. She said she’d get them printed and that we could get a copy on our next visit for fifteen Sickles.

Along with Hagrid’s robe, I purchased a pair of socks for the birthday boy Baekhyun. They were patterned with wolves that howled when the socks got too smelly.

And then, just like that, it was time for us to go back to Hogwarts.

***

Which came first; the Phoenix or the Flame?

The eagle knocker drawls and for the first time in six years I have no clue what it’s talking about. I’ve lost all ability to reason and all I want to right now is run over to the Hufflepuff Tower. A tall, thin boy who stood leaned against the wall next to the door comes out of the shadows ‘tsk-ing’ at me.

“Aren’t you supposed to be one of the smart ones? Did Kyungsoo really manage to dumb you down?” He chuckles before proceeding to answer the knocker, leading us into the Common Room. 

I choose to not answer him but he continues to look at me questioningly. He extends his arm and says, “I’m Sehun Oh, fifth-year.”

“I know”, I say, “I’m --”

“I know who you are. The pretty girl who’s captured Kyungsoo’s heart thus breaking mine.” He dramatically clutches at his chest, falls and rolls over on the floor. 

Excusing myself, I softly apologize to the elongated Flobberworm and head over to the Dormitory.

“Wait!”, he calls out, “I didn’t mean to weird you out! Are you up for a game of Chess? You’re practically a friend now… considering what you have going on with Kyungsoo. And I’m really bored.”

What do I have going on with Kyungsoo and what does Flobberworm know about it?

Unsure of my role here as a friend or an entertainer, I decide to indulge him with, “...just one game!”

“Wicked! Let me call Chen and you can ask his girl to join.. also Miss Ravenclaw!”

“Aren’t we all Ravenclaw?”

“Sorry...you know the girl who’s tutoring Kai?”

This is by far the most eventful day I’ve had in all of my six years at Hogwarts.

***

Resting his chin on my shoulder, he’s circled his arms around my waist as we stare into the distance from the Wooden Bridge. Every free period finds us together, somewhere very far away from prying eyes. The seventh floor and the Bridge are our usual haunts. Although, we think of these excursions as extremely detrimental to our upcoming exams, we realize there’s nothing to be gained out of fighting a troll. That is, our intense feelings for each other. But I’m not that brave and honestly neither is he. The shadows underneath his eyes are self explanatory.

“We need to chart up a study schedule. We barely have any time left!” I say bursting out of our saccharine bubble.

“Sure”, he nods, “whatever you say.”

“Kyungsoo!” Freeing myself from his embrace I turn around to face him, “We need to make it to the seventh year!”

“Who says we won’t?”

He’s loopy.

“Kyungsoo!”

“That’s me.”

“Kyungsoo!” 

He pulls me into a hug again and I’m close enough to see the constellation of moles on his neck. “Mmm Sleekeazy”, he hums, sniffing my hair. Distracting me.

“Do you need some?” I ask, immediately realising how his hair seems to be getting shorter each day. I run a hand over his head, “guess you don’t. What do you keep doing with your hair?”

“I like it like that. It’s more comfortable”, he sighs, “Wait! You don’t like it?”

“I can learn to live with it. Besides, more Sleekeazy for me. Keeps my hair from looking like a bunch of Flobberworms!”

Flobberworm! 

I have a Chess game to win!

“Kyungsoo! I have to go. I need to win this time. That Sehun boy is ridiculously good at Chess. Even Chen and I together don’t stand a chance against him.”

“Wait! You’re abandoning me for Sehun?” He asks, mock angrily.

“Noooo! I just….have to win this time. And you need to go chart up a study schedule for us. Also, what are you doing next week?”

“Whatever you’re doing next week”, he says, batting his eyelashes. And I try to suppress a smile.

“Have you ever watched a Quidditch match before?”

“Baekhyun’s Captain of Gryffindor, Kai is the Keeper. Chanyeol is the captain of the Slytherin team and Sehun’s the Seeker for Ravenclaw. And Yoongi is a lousy Beater. So yes, I have. Except I’ve never found myself rooting for my own House. And if you tell those Mandrakes this, I’m afraid I will have to break up with you despite you being the prettiest, smartest, nicest girl I’ve ever met. I’m sorry I don’t make the rules.” 

“Aww”, I tease, “Noted. And you could’ve just said yes. Let’s watch the Hufflepuff vs Ravenclaw match next week?”

“We’ll be in different stands!” He cries.

“Oh! That’s absolutely terrible but can we go anyway? I finally have someone to root for.”

“You’ve always had Ravenclaw to root for!”

“No, silly! Sehun Oh.”

“Ah! Of course”, he says, putting his arms around me. Again.

***

On the morning of the match, I had my game face on. I don’t even know why.

Having successfully followed the study schedule that Kyungsoo had laid out for us, our mood was light, and we were ready to let our hair down. Which, for all practical purposes, wasn’t something Kyungsoo was capable of. We were walking up to the pitch until it was time for us to go our separate ways.

“You turn right and I’ll go left”, I instruct Kyungsoo.

“I’m aware of where the Hufflepuff stands are. Thank you for your consideration.”

“Okay then”, I giggle, “see you later?”

“No...you’re joining me in the Hufflepuff stands.”

“Do you want me to get expelled? Was that your grand scheme all along?”

“Of course they’re going to expel you for this. And if they do, I promise to voluntarily drop out.”

“What will we do then? Deal in stolen artefacts?”

“Looks like you have it all planned out.”

“No, I just know someone...great we’re off on a tangent again! No, I’m not joining you in the Hufflepuff stands. Bye bye Kyungsoo Doh. See you later!”

“You’re bound by law to break the law”, he hands me a neatly folded parchment, “Chen’s detention record. When you came to see me that day, it made me wonder. What was so important? So I went back to sift through the records you’d worked on and voila!”

“What’s ‘voila’?”

“Don’t digress. Come along, house-elf and find me a good seat.”

“Yessir”, I give up. And covering all the blue and bronze of my uniform with the black robe, I sneak into the Hufflepuff stands. 

The things I do for this bald idiot.

The pitch is pulsing with a contagious energy and I find myself completely engaged as soon as Madam Hooch’s first whistle sounds. All the whizzing and whirring players make my head spin so I have my eyes trained on the Ravenclaw goalpost except for when I’m checking up on Sehun’s progress with the Snitch. Ravenclaw hasn’t been doing too well and with the game down to it’s final few minutes, Sehun really is their only hope. Kyungsoo pulls me down everytime I jump or squeal for the Ravenclaw side, “Do you want to get thrashed?” he whispers.

And just then the commentator shouts, “Ravenclaw’s Seeker Sehun has caught the Snitch! RAVENCLAW HAS WON THE MATCH!”

My voice is hoarse from all the screaming. I turn around to face Kyungsoo pulling him in a tight hug annoying all the Hufflepuff fans around us. 

In a fleeting moment of exhilaration, his lips are on mine and the world stops.

***

"Happy memory!" I parrot for our last lesson before the year ends but Kyungsoo seems to be awfully distracted. That teasing smile on his face he's trying not so hard to contain is making my heart thump against my ribcage.

"Focus", I croon once again with mock annoyance but my brain is mush and I feel like I'm levitating because there's no way my jelly legs could be supporting my stance right now. He sways closer to give me a quick peck on the nose. 

"Happy memory", he whispers as his eyes search mine. Brushing a stray lock of hair away from my face, he allows his thumb to softly caress my cheek. His fingers pry for mine before they're intertwined in a steady grip. 

We take our positions, raise our wands and yell with a flick, "Expecto Patronum!"

Two lynxes dance around the Room of Requirement illuminating it with the gleam of their silver.

Dumbstruck, I tilt my head to face Kyungsoo, “Your Patronus...”

“Our Patronuses”, he whispers.

“We have the same --”

Kyungsoo reaches for my waist and draws me close, his plush lips an agonizing touch away from mine. Twirling my fingers in the seams of his robe, I close my eyes and feel my breath hitch in my throat. A tingling sensation spreads through every fragment of my being as his hand finds the back of my neck and his lips meet mine in a dizzying kiss.

.

.

.

Two Years Later

My house looks wonky.

And, no. It’s not the after effect of Apparating here. A wonky house held up by charms in the middle of nowhere was the only thing Kyungsoo and I could afford with his meagre pay at J. Pippin’s Potions and the modest “severance” I received after being practically disinherited by Gran for wasting my time with a Muggle-born.

I trudge the short distance from the shabby front garden to the main door, weary from my dismal performance in today’s Stealth and Tracking lesson. 

The door swings open and the pungent odour coming out from Kyungsoo’s makeshift Apothecary in our basement makes me want to barf. Putting a bubble around my head to avoid the smell, I traipse to the basement.

A bald Kyungsoo is bent over a cauldron, the steam from which has fogged up his glasses and has apparently made him go deaf. I poke him on his shoulder to grab his attention, making him jump. Therefore causing his little vials to smash on the floor.

I just set us back by twenty Galleons.

Kyungsoo is quick to clear the sloppy and shard-y mess I’d made and reverse the Bubble Head charm I’d put myself under. He covers up the putrid cauldron immediately.

Tears well up in my eyes and I lean into his chest. 

The world is bleak.

“You’re home”, he coaxes, gently running a gloved hand over my head.

“Remind me again why I chose to become an Auror? I could’ve done anything with my perfect N.E.W.T. scores. I’m disastrous at this!” I’m sobbing against his soft ‘t-shirt’ as he comforts me with a ‘shhh..it’s okay’. “The chickens have made such a mess in the coop, Soo and I haven’t heard back from the Auror Office on the internship yet. We have a piteous stack of gold in our vault at Gringotts….” sniffling I continue, “You know we could just keep our money in a safe here..those clever Goblins are making so much money out of our money! The vault is a bad decision...we’re losing more money because of it. I hate the vault and the chickens and this house! What if it crumbles down while we’re asleep? What will we do then?” I pull away from him, my wide eyes demanding answers.

“We won’t have to worry about much if the roof comes crashing on us”, He reasons with a slight teasing smile. 

“The very stringent Auror Office accepted you because you’re a brilliant witch and right, I believe you enrolled with them only to spite Gran. And honestly my love, you’re being too hard on yourself. You did really well on the Concealment and Disguise training, didn’t you?” He says, lifting my chin up.

“Also on the Memory Charm”, I offer quietly, making him chuckle.

“Exactly! What else is bothering you? Ahh the chickens and the vault?” 

“Also the fact that Gran hates you and your parents think I’m a sinister witch who has tied their son down”, my lips begin to tremble again.

He sighs.

“I promise to take care of the chicken situation tomorrow and my love, we finally have a reason to keep that vault”, his eyes enlarge into beautiful brown circles and his plush lips stretch into a heart. A shrill pitch betrays his otherwise deep, calm voice, “Dogweed and Deathcap has offered me a job with a pay raise and a free supply of ingredients! Which is a great thing because ever since you’ve started your Auror training you’ve practically emptied my Dittany stores!”

“KYUNGSOO! I’m so happy for you!” Screaming, I jump into his arms and he twirls me around, dancing and giggling.

Panting, he says excitedly, “Wait! There’s more. Apparently the article on the benefits of Confusing Concoction I co-authored with Slughorn’s Warlock friend’s daft grand nephew?”

I nod vigorously.

“That article really took off! One of the reviews called me a ‘promising Potioneer’! Gran apparently got a whiff of that article...”

My expression soured, “And?”

“She’s invited us home to discuss it!” He rummages for a letter in his desk drawer and hands it to me, “Take a look at this!”

The letter reads in Gran’s shrewd yet artistic handwriting. She mentions, to the best of her abilities, how proud she is of me for following my parents’ footsteps and that she’d like to see us for dinner to discuss our ‘future’.

“She’s coming around”, Kyungsoo crouches to peer into my blank eyes.

“Took her long enough.”

“There’s one more thing”, he says sheepishly.

It looks like an evening full of surprises. 

Kyungsoo gives me a glossy magazine with a still picture of a woman in the most garish outfit I’ve ever seen with the word VOGUE sprawled across her scrawny frame in big bold white letters.

“Soo, why are you giving me a Muggle magazine?”

“For Muggle clothing inspo.”

I hate it when he uses these ridiculous foreign terms like “inspo” and “voila”. “Voila” is definitely his favourite.

“Why would I need clothing inspiration, Soo? Do you not like what I wear?”

“I love what you wear. Even when you don’t wear --”

“Soo!”

“Okay umm we have to take a trip to London...my parents would like to have us over for the weekend….you’re”, he pauses, “you’re okay with that right?”

It’s a lot to process. 

What if they prosecute me by hanging? I’ve read about what Muggles do to witches. Idly running through the pages of the magazine which suddenly seems too heavy for my arms, I buy time. Kyungsoo patiently waits for my answer.

“What’s ‘goss’?” I mumble, eyes trained on ‘Vogue’.

“Gossip?”

“Ahh...I have some ‘goss’ on Baekhyun and his girlfriend.” I digress and let me.

His brows crinkle in concern, “Oh-kay?”

“They were caught snogging in one of the Training Rooms yesterday...”

“And what became of them?”

“I don’t know.” They were made to clean all the Training Rooms the Muggle way. “Kyungsoo, I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He pulls me into his arms and presses his soft lips to my forehead, “We’ll get through this.”

“Of course, we will. We’re soulmates”, I say into his chest, reminiscing the time we’d kissed while two lynxes waltzed around us.

Suddenly, with a loud boom, Kyungsoo’s cauldron went flying in the air. It’s bubbling hot contents splattered on the walls of our basement. The impact made us duck under his desk.

“I forgot to turn off the burner.”

[padfootagain]

A Very Rose Mistake (II)

Part 2: How You Reached Loch Lomond

 Here we go for a second part for my series for Harry Styles! The fake-dating is upon us, and it's gonna be a wild ride! For now though, it remains calm and rather sweet.

I've chosen the spot for Cassie's wedding (as the title of the chapter proves), if you want an idea for the lodge where the family is staying, here is one of the places I used as an inspiration.

For now, we're getting things ready and planting some foreshadowing, but the trouble will really start in the next chapter, so enjoy some calm before the storm hahaha! I hope you like this chapter! No warning of any kind to be applied here (except mentions of ashtma... can that be triggering for someone?).

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Word Count: 3676

                                                             I

                                              Holmes Chapel, 2002

That was the scariest thing you had ever seen.

Even Gemma's costume as a zombie at Halloween wasn't as scary.

You had been running around the street for a while, playing with your friends. You and Harry were playing with Melanie, Amanda and Daniel. It had turned from a hide and seek through the street to playing tag.

You had been running like crazy, and maybe even a little too much. You yourself were out of breath, your lungs begging for air and your legs growing sore as they tired out. But you were also laughing to the point where tears were starting to gather at the corner of yours eyes, so you didn't want to stop.

But then Harry slowed down, and slowed down some more, until he was stopping altogether. And as you turned to him to encourage him to keep on running to avoid Daniel catching you, your eyes grew round. His breathing was more than uneven: it was shallow and raw and hoarse, with a high whistling sound that escaped his lungs with each intake of breath. He bent over, hands on his knees in an effort to calm down.

It wasn't the first time that you saw him having asthma to that level, but it was still so scary to you.

Sometimes, the attack stopped with a few seconds of deep breaths, so you came to stand by his side, and soothingly rubbed his back.

"Hey, deep breaths! It's gonna be fine."

But this time, even with a little time, it didn't get better. And the more time passed, the more Harry was growing scared, making his breathing become even shallower. You realized quickly that this attack wasn't simply going to go away.

But after being friends with Harry for three years, you knew exactly what needed to be done.

Daniel, Amanda and Melanie, however, didn't have your experience dealing with Harry's asthma, and they seemed properly terrified as they caught up with the two of you.

"What's wrong with him?"

"Why can't he breathe?"

"What should we do?"

"We should get his mum!"

Before you could stop them and reassure them that you could handle it, the three of them were sprinting down the road towards Harry's house. But you didn't have time to worry about them, your best friend needed you now.

"Do you have your inhaler?" you asked him with a voice that was much calmer than what you really were.

He shook his head no, so you reached for your own. You always had one on you. One day, Harry didn't have pockets big enough on his trousers, and he had asked you to keep his. He had forgotten to take it back, and you had been carrying it ever since. When it expired, you asked Anne if you could keep one for him just in case. It was agreed that it would stay at your house for when he came over – which was whenever you weren't in his house – but it wasn't as hard for you to reach the upper shelf in your kitchen as your parents thought it would be.

And it was coming handy now, for sure.

You reached for the inhaler in the pocket of your jacket, shook it, opened it and forced Harry to stand straighter again.

"Come on! On three, you take a deep breath. You can do it! One!"

You approached the inhaler from his lips.

"Two!"

You forced the tip of the inhaler in his mouth and pressed on the top just as you were counting.

"Three!"

Harry took a deep inhale just as the gas in the inhaler flowed in his mouth, guiding it directly into his lungs. He staggered backwards a little as he started coughing.

"You need to take another, Harry. It's a big one. You need two. Come on!"

As soon as he wasn't coughing quite as much, you did the same thing all over again, and with two full puffs of medicine, Harry's breathing slowly evened out. The high whistling-like noise stopped, his breaths slowly grew less hoarse.

You helped him sit down as he was starting to be merely out of breath again.

And slowly, just as Harry calmed down, your own heart slowed down as well, relief washing over you. There was really nothing scarier than seeing Harry unable to breathe, after all, it wasn't your fault if your heart had sped up so much.

Just as you were putting the inhaler back in your pocket, you heard people running towards you. When you turned around, your three friends were hurrying towards you along with both your and Harry's mother.

"Harry! Are you okay?"

But your best friend nodded, a weak smile on his lips. Anne let herself fall by his side.

"What happened? Do you need your inhaler? Can you breathe okay?" she asked in a rushed voice, her own breath uneven after running up the street, taking his face in her hands to force him to look up at her.

"I gave him two doses already," you answered, making both adults frown.

"How…? He left his inhaler at home!"

"I have the one you left for him at my place. He always forgets his. It's safer if I always have one on me."

"How did you get it from the shelf?" your mother blurted out, but Anne didn't seem to really mind, she was back on focusing on Harry, who's breathing had evened out more.

"Are you mad at me?" you asked your mother with a shaky voice.

Harry's attention was pulled away from his mum's eyes by your tone, and he turned to look at your mother.

"She saved me. Don't punish her, please."

"Harry, how many times have I told you that you need to keep your inhaler with you at all times?" Anne admonished, and he sheepishly looked at the dark pavement. "Do you have any idea how scared I was?"

"'M sorry."

"Can you breathe alright now?"

"Yeah, it's gone. I'm fine."

She pulled him into a hug, heaving a relieved sigh as she ran her fingers through his curls. Your own mother bent down to be levelled with you.

"I'm not mad, because you did the right thing today. But next time, when we take a decision, stick to it. You should have come to fetch me or Anne. Okay?"

"But I knew how to do it. I knew how to help him!"

"Yes, and you did fine. But what if you had made a mistake? Did you think of that?"

"It's not because I'm eight that I'm stupid!"

"No, it's because you're eight that you're not old enough to have this kind of responsibility with other people's lives. Now, I wasn't mad at you, so don't make me mad now."

You nodded, choosing to bite your tongue this time.

Harry was soon back on his feet, despite his breathing still needing to be deeper than usual, but he would be fine. He shot you a bright smile.

"Thank you, Y/N. You were really looking out for me."

You giggled at his remark, shaking your head before nudging his arm with your elbow.

"Silly! I'll always take care of you."

                                                            II

                                                 Glasgow, 2020

"Let me help you with that, love."

You let Harry reach for your suitcase on the conveyor belt, placing it on the ground next to his with a little huff leaving his lips.

"Let's get a car. We shouldn't be more than 40 minutes away from the lodge," you proposed after thanking him, as you started dragging your suitcase through the large airport of Glasgow, and Harry agreed with a nod.

You waited for him to get the car, enjoying the chilly air of Scotland while you kept an eye on your luggage.

It felt good to be back in Britain. Cassie and Amy had decided to get married in Amy's homeland, and as you saw the pictures on the websites of the venue they had booked for the ceremony, you understood why. Loch Lomond seemed absolutely stunning, and you felt giddy as you waited for Harry to come back with a car. You couldn't wait to see your family again. You hadn't been back home since Christmas of the previous year, the plane tickets being desperately expensive. Besides, you were way too busy at work, about to start writing your thesis to get your PhD, and giving classes at the university. Actually, you were hoping to get some work on your manuscript done while you were here. You could picture yourself already with a warm blanket over your shoulders, a cup of tea in your hand, writing while admiring beautiful landscapes.

Harry pointed at a black SUV as he finally reappeared by your side.

"It's all settled. Let's go."

You put your luggage in the car, and Harry was designated as the driver while you were in charge of the maps. After all, after studying how maps had evolved throughout history for one of your classes back when you were still studying for your degree, it seemed only logical that you were best fitted for the job. Besides, Harry couldn't wait to get the chance to tease you about it if you got the two of you lost.

The ride was rather quiet until you left the airport and started to drive on the main road leading to Loch Lomond. It was only a 40 minutes-drive North-West of Glasgow, and you hoped that over the coming week you would have a little time to go for some sightseeing in the town as well.

You reckoned that the hardest part would be to locate the lodges, that didn't seem to be in a town of any kind, but rather right upon the shores of the loch. But for now, you were driving on a large road, in the right direction, and would be doing so for some time. So, you allowed yourself to relax and watch by the window the fields and trees passing by in a blurred rush. The yellow and green fields disappeared one after the other under the blue sky, bushes and trees painting darker hues here and there over the peaceful landscape.

"So… let's run everything one last time, shall we?" Harry suggested.

You nodded, leaving your eyes rested on the landscape instead of looking at the man by your side.

"We've been together for four months. So far, all good," you said, letting him go on in your stead.

"We decided to take our friendship to the next level after we confessed that we actually liked each other on an evening where we had both had too much to drink."

"That detail is ridiculous though, I don't think people will buy that."

"Why not?"

"I wouldn't get that drunk!"

"You've got properly drunk many times before, honey," Harry teased you, and you rolled your eyes at the pet name.

"We're not there yet, no need for that kind of names."

"I'm practicing!"

"You call me 'love' or 'darling' all the time already. You don't need to call me any differently."

"I call everyone that. I wouldn't call you like that all the time if we were together. I would call you 'babe', 'honey', 'my love', 'my darling', 'dove', 'lovie'…"

"Yes, okay, I get it."

Harry chuckled at your annoyed expression.

"Well, you'd better get used to it, because my mission is to shower you with love for a week."

"Pretend, Harry," you corrected him. "Pretend to be showering me with love. And you don't even have to do that, actually. You just have to act normal, and say that you're my boyfriend."

"If we were together, I wouldn't act the same when I'm around you," he replied after a short silence, his voice quieter.

"Whatever."

"They're gonna figure out we're lying!"

"Of course, they won't! Anyway, back to our little backstory. Which is ridiculous, by the way."

"Why is it ridiculous?" Harry protested with a deep frown and a pout. "It's completely plausible, on the contrary."

"If I had feelings for you, I wouldn't confess everything while drunk. I wouldn't let you kiss me while we were both drunk either. That's just not me at all!"

"Oh, yeah? And how would you do it, then?"

"I don't know…"

"Well, as you don't have a better story to sell, let's stick with the drunk theory."

You heaved a sigh, but had to agree.

"Then, we talked about it seriously, and we found out that we both felt like this."

"If your parents ask, we didn't spend the night together when we got drunk."

"Why not? We said we kissed."

"Your father will cut off my balls if he thinks that I've slept with you while we were both inebriated. Besides, I thought you knew me better than this, I would never sleep with someone who's not able to be certain they really want to do it. And if we did sleep together, I would want to make sure that you remember it the next morning."

You wanted to argue, but couldn't. Harry was right. Your parents would get mad at him for that, and you needed the three of them to get along as well as usual. You also didn't doubt any of his arguments.

Which reminded you of a tiny, wee detail that you hadn't yet presented to Harry…

"By the way, uhm… I… I might have not… told my parents… that you were the one coming with me…"

"What?! Y/N!"

"I know!"

"You were supposed to be the one telling them! You were supposed to get them to wrap their minds around the idea before we actually got there!"

"I know… but I… I couldn't…"

"We're fucked," Harry groaned, facepalming.

"No, we're not! It's gonna be fine. It will all be fine! We're going to have a great time, my cousin will get married and it will all go as planned."

"Why did I let you drag me into this?"

"For my grandma's cherries. It was easier to lur you here than for the wicked witch to fool Hansel and Gretel."

"Knowing that they both get devoured at the end of that story, perhaps that wasn't the best analogy you could come up with."

"The White Witch and the Turkish delights?"

"Edmund betrays his family!"

"But he doesn't get eaten!"

Harry couldn't refrain a laugh as he shook his head at you.

"You really have a special talent to get me into trouble, huh?" he laughed.

"You're the one who's always had a bad influence on me!"

"Who are you kidding?"

It was your time to laugh, resting your head against the seat while your smile lingered on your lips.

Despite all that you had to worry for, you felt happy. Happy to be in Scotland, and happy for your cousin, and happy to see your family, and happy to enjoy it all with your best friend.

Your next words passed your lips before you could think them through, but they were earnest, so you didn't regret them.

"Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm glad you're here with me."

A tender smile formed on his lips, and he reached for your hand resting on your knee, giving your fingers a warm squeeze.

"I'm happy to be with you too, lambkin."

"Y/N!"

"CASSIE!"

You got almost tackled by your cousin the second your feet touch the ground as you climbed out of the car. Harry could only quietly chuckle at the scene, a fond smile on his lips.

"I've missed you so much!" she pouted. "Why did you have to go all the way to California?"

"I know. I've missed you too."

"I'm so glad you could come this week though, it wouldn't have been the same without you."

"I'm so happy to be here. It's gonna be amazing. And you're soon going to be married!"

"Dear God, don't remind me," she pulled away with a grin on her face. "Actually, please do remind me, cause I love the idea."

You both laughed, before she would turn to Harry, giving him one of her bear hugs too.

"Harry! You sneaky little thing! I knew you had a crush on Y/N, always had one! It was more than time that you made a move!"

Harry and you exchanged a quick glance, while he blushed and let out a nervous giggle.

"Well, you know me. I'm a slow one."

"Just took you… how long? Twenty years?"

"Give or take a few months, yeah, I guess," he ran his hand through his hair and let his fingers slip down to grab on the back of his neck.

"Well, look at you two!" she cooed, " you look so cute together! But you must be exhausted after your flight. Come on, I'll show your room!"

The lodge was set on the shores of the loch, and it was breathtaking. All around the quiet water, hills were covered with trees and forests. The blue sky matched the colour of the water it was reflected upon, a few clouds drifting leisurely far above. The leaves of the trees all around had just started to change their colours, green, yellow and timid orange shades mingling in an autumnal patchwork. There were a few tiny boats sailing across the loch, some people fishing during the clear afternoon, and if the air was chilly, the bright sun was enough to make it pleasant to stay outside.

From your room, you had a beautiful view directly on the loch. If you opened your window, you would only have to take but a few steps to dip your toes in the cold water.

It was magical.

"Cassie… this place is perfect for your wedding," you told her with a bright grin as you enjoyed the view of your bedroom. "You and Amy are going to have such a beautiful ceremony!"

"I know," your cousin nodded, with emotion making her voice a little shaky. "I'm so lucky to have found her. She and her family are arriving later this evening, I came ahead to get all my guests settled. We're so excited!"

You gave her another hug, before she would dry the tears that had gathered at the corner of her eyes.

"Alright, enough of that! I'm going to let you settle down, and then you can join us in the reception room. Your parents just arrived, Y/N, actually. They're getting ready too. Have you told them that you two are together now?"

Harry and you exchanged a glance.

"Not… really," Harry answered with a grimace.

"Oh… that… well, good luck with that." Cassie forced a smile as she spun around and walked out of the room, leaving the two of you alone.

"Yeah, I reckon we're going to need some luck indeed, or a miracle, at this point," Harry mumbled under his breath, sitting on the foot of the bed.

"Don't be like that," you nudged him as you let yourself fall by his side.

He heaved a sigh, taking a better look around the room, which was rather spacious. A large queen size bed was set at the centre, with a TV right in front of the large windows revealing the gorgeous sight over the loch. A door on the right side of the room led to the bathroom, the rest of the wall covered with a closet. On the left, there was a little table, a sofa and a couple of chairs. All the room was painted in deep blue and cream shades, that complimented perfectly the wall covered in driftwood around the windows.

Harry stood up to explore the closet, finding with ease some extra blankets. He grabbed a pillow and put it on the sofa with the blanket, making you frown.

"What are you doing?"

He raised an eyebrow, answering as if his actions were obvious.

"Well… I assumed that I would be taking the sofa. You want to leave me the bed?"

You hesitated for a couple of seconds, but then shook your head at him.

"Harry, we've been friends for over twenty years. I think we can share a bed."

"You sure?" he asked, visibly surprised.

"Wouldn't be the first time," you chuckled. "Try not to kick me out of it this time though, would you?"

Harry rolled his eyes.

"We were fourteen when that happened…"

"Still…"

"I mean… we haven't done that in a very long time," he went on, his tone wary and full of hesitation. "We were… we were much younger, then. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable."

"I won't. It's alright. You sleeping on the couch would be ridiculous. Besides, the last time we did that, we were twenty, we were fully grown already," you laughed at the memory, remembering how you had both felt sore the next morning after sleeping in your tiny bed in Oxford. You hadn't minded your painful limbs though, Harry coming to visit you while you were busy studying at university was all that mattered.

He grinned as he remembered the night as well, and he tried to hide the blush that blossomed over his cheeks.

"Yeah… my back remembers it!"

"Would you feel uncomfortable if we shared the bed?"

"I don't think so. I mean… it's a pretty large bed. There's room for both of us."

"Come on then, bring back your pillow. As long as we both wear pyjamas, I don't feel like it would be awkward."

"I did not plan on sleeping naked with you in the room, even if I stayed on the sofa," he replied, rolling his eyes at you.

"And I'm grateful for that," you laughed at him.

After unpacking some of your belongings, you were ready to step out of the bedroom.

Harry took a deep breath, reaching for the doorknob.

"Are you ready?" he asked you in a tender tone.

You gave him a warm smile.

"Yeah, I'm ready. Let's face my parents."

With a nod, Harry opened the door, and you walked across the building to find your family, about to announce who your mysterious boyfriend was.

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[itsthemoofacewriting]

A postcard home

This is for the Tumblr event the wonderful @zonamievents organised, today’s prompts are postcard and hot cocoa. I picked the former.

Summary: Nami thinks she’s so smart and cunning, but she can’t pull the wool over her own sisters’ eyes. Rating: K.

This can also be found on AO3 and FFN.

I’ve never written a no dialogue story before and I wanted to try it.

Enjoy.

Snow had finally settled over Cocoyasi village. It was late this year and everyone in the village had wondered if this would be the first year that they wouldn’t have any before Christmas. It was a big topic for weeks and Nojiko was slightly relieved when it did arrive so everyone would stop talking about it. Although, it certainly did highlight a change for the better. Gone were the times of discussing Nami or hiding from Arlong and his crew when they rampaged or banding together when someone was short on money.

It was a lovely, mundane difference.

The only issue with the arrival of snow, other than villagers now moaning about how hazardous the snow was, was that it was a tough season for Bell-mère’s mikan orchard. Don’t get her wrong, it looked beautiful, snow settled on top of the trees and hints of orange poking through the white, but it meant smaller than usual mikan’s.

Nojiko’s brought out of those thoughts when she heard the crunching of shoes against snow and it’s the mailman looking slightly out of puff. It wasn’t really a quick trip to her house from the village and the snow only made it harder. But she doesn’t dwell on that, because seeing him meant that it could only be one thing being delivered and it had her skipping towards the door to meet him there.

The door’s shutting quickly after his first knock and it’s probably a bit rude, he had clearly wanted to chat, but they can do that anytime, she wanted to look at this as soon as possible. Her fingers are itching.

It had been a while since she’d heard from Nami.

The envelopes open and she’s greeted by the picture of a large Christmas tree, decorated to the nines, on the front of the postcard. It’s a generic picture but it’s normally whatever Nami can get hold of but Nojiko’s still slightly impressed she managed to predict when it’d get here and find one to match that. Their postcards could take anywhere from a month to six to get to the other.

Flipping it over, she scanned the message:

       Everything’s good. Nothing new.

Nami’s messages were always short and to the point. It was hardly like Nami could go into great detail. Firstly, where would she find the time? And secondly, information was brief so nothing could be traced should the postcard be intercepted. And that was fine, it was enough just to know her sister was okay. Also, it meant if information was brief Nami would send photos along in an envelope with the postcard and she loved those.

And low and behold, there they were behind the postcard.

They were hardly ever works of art, but they were always fun and just from those still images Nojiko knew Nami was having the time of her life. Like she deserved to. Also, it was nice to see her sister, even if it wasn’t in person.

But the photo she’s currently looking at is a stark contrast to her sister’s words on the postcard. It’s a group shot of the crew and its chaos, some looking at the camera like good models, others laughing or bickering or extra limbs were sticking out of them, but that’s not what caught her attention.

It’s the man standing next to Nami.

Roronoa Zoro.

She remembered his stern expressions well from back then, always ready for the worst and, she reckoned, hoping for it at times if the blood thirsty gleam in his eyes she’d seen briefly was any indication. But she’d seen first-hand how all of that would melt away after victory or when he was offered alcohol and would laugh at the antics of his crew. A brute with a soft heart, it seemed.

To an average person, with no knowledge of the people in the photo, it would look like nothing, but call it a sister’s intuition… and, okay fine, the trashy gossip magazines she’s been buying to keep tabs on her sister between postcards, it’s certainly not an accurate description of Nami’s words ‘nothing new.’

They’re stood close together in the chaos, much closer than what one would deem friendly (Maybe she’s being over critical, sue her), neither facing the camera as they looked to be arguing. Nami’s finger is pointing at his chest and their faces are close as they exchange words, Usopp’s next to them looking exasperated. So nothing new apparently.

She’d seen the way those two were around each other before they’d left the village and she’d quietly hoped there would be some development. She had to play it cool with Nami though, show too much interest and she’d never find out without a face-to-face conversation. But with how brief their postcards are, she’s left analysing photos and trashy magazines with blurry photos of the two of them together. One time, it looked like they had been kissing off in the distance, but the quality was so poor most people didn’t believe it. But Nojiko could spot her sister anywhere.

Was it too much to ask for photographers to focus their damn snail before taking photos?

Nevertheless it was enough for Nojiko. Flicking through the rest of the photos she was disappointed that there was no more of the two together. Nami was such a tease, dangling a carrot in front of her just out of reach. But she couldn’t be too disappointed when she came across the photo of Nami with her mikan trees… and if she squinted, was there a splash of green hair she saw hidden in the trees?

Nojiko wasn’t born yesterday, Nami’s definitely playing with her. She’d spent her childhood growing up with Nami, she knew her sister like the back of her hand. But it still amused her that Nami tried to trick her, make her work for the information. It’s so like her.

A real witch, you might be tempted to say.

Quite fitting really. A brute and a witch, both too soft for their own good at times.  

In the quiet of her little home, she went back to the first of the photos and was still as she gazed down at the photo, almost like she was trying to soak it all in. Her gaze occasionally taking in the rest of the crew, but ultimately it stayed on Nami. Taking in her long orange hair playing in the wind, eyebrows furrowed and mouth open like she’s in the middle of a lecture. Despite the expression, there’s no weight to Nami’s expression, like there used to be back then. It made Nojiko happy. That was what she’d always wanted for her, wanted her to be where she belonged- at sea, even if it split them apart.

And it seemed Zoro had a part to play in that now, even if it wasn’t one hundred percent confirmed (To Nojiko it was but try telling that to the other villagers).

With one last long look at her sister, Nojiko was opening the envelope again to slip in the postcard and photos, ready to venture down to the village to show the others. However, as she did, the items were met with resistance and when she peered in, she’d missed something else.

Another photo.

With the new photo in hand, Nojiko’s serene smile curled into something much sharper. A mixture of glee and smugness that screamed ‘I knew it!’. It was probably for the best Nami wasn’t here, because that look alone would have her back up, like a cornered cat.

There was less of the crew is this photo, only the five that had been at Arlong park and it looked like they’d finally got their act together. All of them looking at the camera, Luffy’s arms stretched around to bring them all in and even with less of them, it still managed to be just as busy.

But that’s not what caught her eye, no. It’s the arm that’s wrapped around Nami’s waist and a Nami’s head resting on a shoulder. An arm that belonged to Zoro and Nami’s head on his shoulder. Both of them are smiling at the camera, leaning into one another and Nojiko doesn’t have to read between the lines this time to have her confirmation that they are indeed together.

She doesn’t stop to stare at it like the others because she’s too giddy and excited to stand still.

With a skip in her step, she’s shoving the photos and postcard into the envelope and slipping on her coat as she made her way towards the door. All the while thinking about how she wanted to play this with Genzo, so she could get the best possible reaction from him. He’d be horrified no matter what, but she really wanted to milk it. She had to get her kicks somehow.

And, she had some money to collect from some villagers. She was Nami’s sister after all, she’s always down for some easy cash- she just has no idea why they bet against her.

.

.

.

Two months later

It’s warm, the sun’s high and they’re making good progress towards the next island. For the time being, it’s something that doesn’t require her attention and she’s just about to walk across the deck to join Robin for some sunbathing when she heard the familiar cry of the News Coo.

Looking into the sky, it circled a few times before starting its descent and Nami was walking over to meet the bird at the railing.

Unlike the normal newspaper she bought weekly, it was a sealed envelope and Nami was quickly paying off the bird, barely taking notice of the price increase, so she could quickly open her letter. There was only one person this could be from.

The postcard was simple, just a picture of an orange cat, but based on the photos that slipped out of the envelope, it’d been sent around Christmas. Nojiko and Genzo were in one of the photo’s surrounded by snow.

She looked at it for a moment longer, thinking about where she would frame the photo before turning her attention to the letter. Nami had thought it was hilarious when she’d sent her postcard off to Nojiko, just leaving enough crumbs for her to figure it out so when she flipped the card to read the message, she gave a short, sharp laugh.

Nojiko had figured it out alright.

       Nice try. Since when did you take an interest in plant life?

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

By plant life, am I referring to Zoro’s nickname Marimo? Yes, yes, I am.

I love the thought of Nami and Nojiko sending little postcards and photos to one another.

As always, please forgive any errors (especially as I rushed this to post on time).

Thanks for reading.

[mikkomacko]

Dear Daisy 6

Harry enjoys Saturdays. For the past two months, Saturdays have consistently been his day off from patrolling. Occasionally he'll get Sunday or Friday off as well, but he doesn't get his hopes up. It doesn't matter to him. He's completely fine only having Saturday off.

A shop in town (one he's yet to learn the name of because he's still confused by the French language), had a nice leather bound journal he'd bought the first week of being stationed in the city. It's similar to the one he'd left at home, the one he's comfortable with, so it makes writing his letters easy. Which is what Saturday is for. A letter to Daisy, a letter to Anne, a letter to Gemma, and a letter to Niall who's unable to fight due to his old knee injury. Today he gets through Anne's, Gemma's, and Niall's letters quickly. He's addressing one to Daisy when he pauses, recalling the letters she sent last week. Harry quickly flips to a blank page, scribbling the name of a man he's only spoken to a few times.

Dear Robin,

I wasn't sure you'd remember me after all these years. The last time we spoke I was about thirteen, right before my uncle started grooming me on the steel business. I've changed a lot since then which is why it was quite shocking to hear about you from Daisy. She told me of your generosity, a quality I'll always remember you for if the books in my library are anything to go by. I'd like to thank you for taking Daisy in while I'm away and distracting her with the gift of baking. She may not look it, but I know she gets awful lonely when she's left to herself too long. I remember a few years ago, when I was maybe seventeen or eighteen, I'd passed by her near the park where she was sitting in the grass, chatting with a pigeon. Of course I teased her for it. What kind of nutter talks to birds? But she'd gotten flustered and yelled at me, told me birds need friends too. She also mentioned being stood up by a boy from my mum's neighborhood so she was complaining to the bird. It wasn't really my business, as she so snottily put it, but I knew she was continuing to speak me because she was lonely. I suppose I'm glad that Bill whatever didn't show up that day.

I was worried about leaving her. Her family has hurt her. She wouldn't want to spend much time with them. And her friend Summer has taken up a babysitting job so her time with her is limited as well. Knowing she's enjoying her time with you brings me comfort. I can't thank you enough for watching over my love.

She told me of your son's and I'm sad to not know them very well. I'm sure they're just as wonderful as you if not more. Perhaps you could give me their names or where they're stationed and I could keep an eye out for them? I believe it's a fair deal; you watching my family and I'll watch yours?

Wishing you a happy fall and hoping the bakery stays busy,

Harry Styles.

The bakery is a big company in town so he doesn't need to ask for the address. Finishing up that letter and stuffing it into an envelope, a titter of giggles flows through the November air. Harry peeks up through his eyelashes, finding two girls in long coats not so subtly looking at him. A red head one wiggles her fingers at him, flicking her hair over her shoulder. Harry thinks she's the kind of bird they'd put on a postcard around here. With the Eiffel Tower behind her, trees turning autumn shades that compliment her hair. It's a nice picture, but not one he'd like to look at forever. French girls are pretty, but he prefers English. Particularly English girls with frizzy brunette curls and freckles on her nose and cheeks. Light brown eyes that stir like honey and drip warmth into his veins when they look at him, whether it be through tears of frustration or sparkles of adoration.

He ignores the girls, shifting his shoulders under his thick army coat. At least the uniform is warm. Harry turns back to the letter he had started writing to Daisy, teeth sinking into his chapped bottom lip as he continues to scribble.

Dear Daisy,

I've never enjoyed autumn. I find it uncomfortable. That brief period between the peek of life in the summer and the bittersweet end in the winter. The one thing that I do enjoy, is my mother's pumpkin soup. I'm glad Gemma visited you on Halloween and I'm glad you had so many pumpkins. I would say I'm jealous but I think that'd give you an edge over me so I'll admit to nothing. As for the fighter pilot girl, I wish I could have seen her. My father was a fighter pilot and I use to have a photo by my bed of him in his plane. One time I had a dream that my daughter flew planes, crossed oceans and looked down at mountain tops. She might've looked like that girl you saw. I can't know for sure seeing as I'm here and you're there. Again, I won't say I'm jealous, but do you think there's a chance she'll be a pilot again next year?

Anyway, I'm sitting on a bench in the grass around the Eiffel Tower right now and there's two girls watching me as if they'd have a chance. Suppose I should tell them I'm a married lad? Or should I let them dream? I reckon it'd rile you up if I didn't say anything so I'll stay silent. Who's jealous now aye?

Think I'll go to the bakery down the street after this. You've given me an awful craving with that dream of us in our house, dancing as your pies burn in the oven and my roast beef cooks to perfection. One of my bunk mates gets cookies sent to him from his mum. He likes to brag about it. Think ya could send me some oatmeal ones? Oughta show his mum who's boss.

I don't like raisins though. If there's raisins in my cookies I'll have no choice but to divorce you.

Until then, I hope you're staying warm. Niall told me he'd drop by sometime, check the heater and leave some firewood for you. I don't know if you'll need it but there's extra blankets in my closet as well. My nan knitted a nice green one for me a couple years ago. Spilled some tea on it once but it's awful nice. Feel free to use it. It'll keep ya warm at night. Not as warm as me of course, but it should suffice. If it doesn't you can go to the church and complain to my Nan's grave. Tell her Harry sent you and maybe she'll only hit you a few times.

Heard a rumor the other day that if things are still slow around here by December a few of us might be able to go home for a bit around the holidays. Don't get your hopes up too much but know I'm brown nosing the hell out of my sergeant for the next few weeks. It'd be nice to be able to hit you with a snowball. And it'd be nice to spend my first Christmas as a married man with my wife. I promise I'll keep updating you (only if you send me cookies). Don't tell my mum or sister, they'll try writing to my sergeant about sending me home and I don't need him knowing I'm a momma's boy.

I'll dream of you baking cookies tonight, tossing raisins into the trashcan just for me and I hope you dream of me sitting here, getting oggled by some Frenchies. Happy November love, enjoy this time in the twilight zone.

I'll be home soon Daisy, I promise

The Harry Styles x

~

Harry's week has gone by too slowly. Typically, roaming the streets of Paris or cleaning up around the base is enough to keep him from straying but not this week. Everything he does, everything he sees, everything he smells pushes his mind to Daisy. Mopping the kitchen floors reminds him of the day they worked together to clean her room. The trees remind him of how it felt to sit in the backyard with her, listening to her soft breaths as she worked on her blanket. The smell of the bakery, flour and cinnamon, remind him of her warmth and the cold air only makes him long for her even more. He doesn't think he's ever had such a terrible week, so he decides he'll push himself to do more next week. Initiative will definitely earn him a ticket home for Christmas, right?

He tries not to let himself get too discouraged as he collapses onto his cot, fingers clutching to the envelopes he received today as well as the medium sized box addressed to him. He's got a letter from his mother as well as Robin, but it's the one attached to the box that he goes for first.

Dear Harry,

French girls may have cute accents but can they make Robin's famous oatmeal cookies perfectly on their first try? I really hope not because then I've really got nothing going for me. Except for the fact that I've already got your last name of course.

I don't know how often you go see the Eiffel Tower but I'd appreciate a thorough description and rating of it from you please. I'd love to see the Eiffel Tower one day but I think I'd like to see the whole world too. Maybe your daughter will be a pilot and she can fly us all over the planet. If not, I'll have to divorce you myself. Assuming you haven't already divorced me by then. I think it would be funny if we divorced each other all the time. Then we could just keep getting married over and over again. I wouldn't mind it if you wore that suit you wore on our first wedding day. You looked really handsome. I was thinking of dragging Summer to town with me to get our wedding photo. If you're nice I'll send you one. If not, I'll save it for the holidays when you come home. I know you said not to get my hopes up but I also know you. You're a born leader Harry whether you like it not, and I'm positive you'll be allowed home.

I just realized something a bit funny. Home. Home used to be my parents house. The home I grew up in. Then I thought it’d be your house, the one I took over by planting flowers everywhere and actually cleaning. I don’t know what home is right now. I keep telling you to come home but what does that matter if I don’t even know where that is? Maybe I’m overthinking it. I hope you know your home Harry and I hope you’re able to come back to it.

Enjoy the cookies, I put extra extra raisins and love into them.

-Daisy o

Harry heart pounds, teeth biting at his bottom lip as he lays the letter down on his pillow and wiggles his finger under the seal on the box. Tearing it open, he fights back a smile at the smell of cookies that hits his nose. They’re not hot or anything, but they’re relatively fresh and wrapped up in a cute basket with green ribbon.

“What’d ya get Styles?” Pip, a bunk mate, asks from two cots over. Harry pulls the basket out, smirking at the other man.

“Gift from my girl,” he says proudly, chest puffing out “she’s a baker.” Pip chuckles at Harry’s sudden uplifted attitude, peeking at the cookies that do look quite delicious.

"Hope they're better than Frank's wife's." He makes a disgusted face and Harry laughs. Frank only shared his cookies once and they were bloody awful. He's never tried Daisy's baking but he's sure it's better. She's better than every other girl on the planet. How could her cookies not be better as well?

Harry tucks them safely into the little bedside table he has, glancing over her letter one more time because he loves her words before tucking it into the drawer that holds all his letters from her. He can't help but think of her claiming she knows him. If Daisy knew him as well as she thinks she does, then she'd know that his home isn't some silly house. And she'd know that he's her home. He's always been her home.

~

Time is supposed to heal. That's what Harry's always been told. The words first arose after his father died and he has blown them off for a long time. Until they rang true. Because one day Anne stopped crying, and people stopped leaving casseroles at the house, and Gemma started going on dates again, and Thomas showed up to chat with Harry more than he used to.

Time. Harry thinks he's pretty tolerant of time. He'd waited hours to speak to Daisy the first night he met her. He waited years to finally be more than the boy who almost killed her. And he's held onto two big secrets for all these years because he knows she'll need time before she can see him as someone she doesn't hate anymore. Years flew by so months should be a breeze. Right? Harry thinks so, but the two months away from Daisy are agonizing, and they're getting worse as days go by. Since when did November turn from 30 days to 300?

Extra training. Extra shifts. Extra work. Extra letters. Extra sleep. Yet nothing is helping to speed the process. He's gotten snippy (snippier than usual) to the point that he pissed off Frank for saying his wife's baking was "absolute shit" and he snapped at that red head girl in town for batting her eyelashes at him. There's a chance he told her she's skin to something the dog would drag in but he honestly can't bring himself to care at all. He just wants a moment with Daisy. Just one moment so he'll know that she's still is because sometimes he feels like he's been stuck at an army base his whole life and their marriage is all one big dream.

When the final day of November rolls around, Harry breathes a sigh of relief. He tells himself that he'll see her soon although he really doesn't know when soon will be.

He's hunched over a table in the cafeteria, hidden in the corner because he really doesn't want to talk to anyone, with his journal and mail sitting before him. He'd told his mum how hard the days were getting and she started sending letters more often, filling him in on random events and gatherings happening back home. He'd just gotten one yesterday talking about the neighbors starting a victory garden so he's a bit surprised to have another one so soon. Surprised, but grateful.

Dear Harry,

We've gotten more snow this week, enough for Niall to come over to shovel out the driveway for me. He stopped by your's and Daisy's home as well, insisting he help take care of "Harry's gals" as he put it. He's awful nice and I heard he's been checking in on Daisy often which is great.

I know you've really been missing her, and I hope this letter brings you comfort rather than heartache. Daisy is devastated without you. I do believe she's happy when she's at the bakery with Robin which I find simply wonderful, but there's multiple nights where she's shown up at my doorstep. She cries for you a lot, misses you more than I think you know. I think she sleeps better here. I always put her in your old bedroom and she's out like a light.

Please don't worry about her Harry. I'm glad she's come to me. She needs companionship and nurturing, both of which I can give. Know that she's safe and happy in your old room, and she's safe and happy with Robin. I know this may not be the happiest of news, but I want you to focus on the good part. Daisy misses you, and to miss you means she's gotten comfortable with you. She's cares about you Harry. I remember the days where I'd hear nothing but you bellyaching about her hating you. Think of how far you've come Harry, and use that happiness when things are tough.

We're all watching over Daisy and taking care of her. Now you take care of yourself, you've got a family waiting for you. I love you very much Harry, and I'm so proud of you.

-Mom

Harry's chest aches, bones collapsing with the image of his sweet Daisy dripping rain, crying in the middle of his mother's living room for him. He knows she's shy, and that she had a hard time being comfortable around his family. Not that he blames her. She was practically forced into the Styles family, so to know that she actually sought out Anne is heartbreaking. He's only ever seen cry a handful of times, all of them his doing, and the most dreadful time were her tears at their engagement party. She had looked so small and afraid, so desperate for safety that he genuinely hated himself at the time too. Because he did that to her. Well, not exactly, but he didn't fix the problem that was caused by his recklessness.

He can see that same look in her eyes. The one that came to mind when he was signing up for the army. Doe eyed, vulnerable, sweet, and innocent. Too precious for him to risk being hurt. He supposes he'd rather being crying over him than being crying over someone else's cruelty. At least if it's his fault he knows she's still safe. He'd never hurt her, not like the world would. Not like secrets between family members, and arranged marriages, and a German army would. No, he only teases her. It's his own stupid but relatively harmless way of getting back at her. She's been breaking his heart for years. He thinks it's fair that he gets to fluster her enough to tears sometimes.

But he never wanted her devastated and broken by his absence. Maybe he did his job too well. He somehow got her to be romantic with him after a decade of nothing but hatred. He cared for her, nurtured her, but then he had to leave, and that sheltered place he created for her left. He hopes she can find some sense of peace with his mother. Anne's always been the best mother anyone could ask for and Daisy could use that love right now.

Folding the letter back up, Harry decides he doesn't want to keep this one. While he feels appreciated and cared for because Daisy actually misses him, he doesn't want to have to be reminded of her teary eyes every time he comes across it. Harry's crumbling the letter up when another envelope is being thrown in front of him, smacking against the table top.

"What's this?" Harry asks gruffly, because the envelope is blank and thick so it couldn't have come in the mail. He looks up, heart jumping nervously when he's met with the eyes of his sergeant.

"Ticket home Styles," he says, lips quirking up under his thick mustache. "you've earned it. Taken on more work than necessary here. And I here you got a bird back home that doesn't want to spend Christmas alone."

Before Harry can say anything, sergeant is turning on his heel and heading towards the door. Harry stares in shock at the envelope, heart thumping in his ears. Pip had to have told sergeant about Daisy because that's the only guy Harry's ever talked to her about. After snapping at those French girls, he'd sat Harry down and told him to him everything. And he had. And now's he's got his ticket to Daisy. His ticket home.

[honeyhan-123]

The Artist ~ III

Summary: When Steve meets the reader at an art class he immediately becomes enticed and maybe, just maybe, she can help heal his wounded heart.

Warnings: none (smut in later chapters)

Word Count: 2.6k

AN: I am so sorry it took my a while to come out with the next part of the series but I hope y’all like it. Also Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays to everyone! 

As always a massive thank you to the beautiful @imanuglywombat​ who designed the amazing moodboard. 

Series Masterlist

My Masterlist

Part One ~ Part Two

Steve had woken up the next morning in a funk. It had started the night before when he had awkwardly walked back to the tower with Bucky. He wanted so badly to say something, to say anything to the other man but everytime he tried, he was just reminded of that night and his heart shuddered in his chest. He had thought they were finally in a good place again but it still hurt. He knew he was being selfish but he couldn’t help it. He had waited so long to finally get Bucky back and to have him so close but not in the way he wanted was torture for Steve.

It was as though the entire tower could feel Steve’s sour mood as hardly anyone bothered him throughout the day. He had spent most of it in the gym, either destroying yet another punching bag or sparing with his teammates as they drifted in and out of the room. The hours that he didn’t spend in the gym were occupied by a small amount of paperwork and mission planning. 

They had recently caught wind of some illegal arm dealing off the coast of Portugal and while it would have normally been left to the authorities, they had reason to suspect they were dealing with alien tech so the team had been brought in. There wasn’t much information circling about it so Steve knew he still had a couple weeks to plan but it still made him slightly ansty being so unprepared.

The hours passed slowly but finally it was six o’clock and Steve felt no guilt as he packed up for the day. There was a slight spring in his step as he left Avengers tower with his sketchbook tucked under his arm and his sour mood from earlier was almost completely forgotten. His legs jiggled as he took the J train out to Brooklyn, equal parts nerves and excitement ransacked their way through his veins. 

To help pass the time as the train rushed through underground tunnels Steve watched those around him. Not like he would on a mission trying to figure out whether or not they were actually civilians but as he imagined an artist would watch them. He tried to figure out how he would draw each and every and every passersby. He tried to memorise the way the old lady’s smile lines deepened as she spoke to who Steve assumed to be her grandson, or the way the little boy looked up to her with complete adoration in his eyes. 

He felt so much more at ease than he had all day as he stepped off the train and began the short walk towards the studio, his mind never once drifting to his brunet best friend. Despite the darkening sky the streets were packed as people bustled around and Steve had to squeeze his way through the throng of people. He smiled as he passed a group of carolers despite it only being late November. The familiar tune of ‘Good King Wenceslas’ floated through his ears and he stooped to donate a hefty sum in their collection tin, earning him a round of ‘thank yous’.  

The studio was only a block away so when he finally dashed up the steps, he could still hear the melodic voices of the group. As he pulled the door open, a warm gush of air washed over him and he couldn’t wait to get inside but he heard someone call out to him that made him pause. 

‘Hey! Hold the door please!’ He turned as you came bustling up the stairs, your face barely visible behind the large canvass you carried. Steve stood back and ushered you in ahead of him and you gave him a small ‘thanks!’ 

Already starting to feel a little too warm in your multiple layers, you set down the canvass just inside the entryway and shrugged out of your heavy winter jacket. ‘It’s bloody cold out there isn’t it? I reckon we’ll get some snow for sure this year.’ Steve nodded his head somewhat absentmindedly, trying to tear his eyes away from you. 

‘I - uh - yeah, I hope so. It used to snow heaps in the city when I was growing up but it’s been a while since we’ve had a proper winter.’ 

‘Oooh that must have been so nice! I’ve always wanted a white Christmas like in all those Hallmark movies but I grew up in Australia so that was never going to happen.’ 

‘You’re from Australia?’ The slight twang of your accent had been one of the first things Steve had noticed about you, but he thought maybe the average person wouldn’t have been able to tell. It definitely sounded like you had been in New York for a while. 

‘Yeah, Melbourne actually. I moved here after university. I have no idea why though. Probably some preconceived notion that to be an artist, you have to struggle in New York for a bit first.’ You laughed as you mocked yourself and Steve smiled, knowing exactly what you meant. ‘What about you? Are you originally from the Big Apple or are you a newbie like me?’ Your eyes locked with his as you asked and Steve felt his smile deepen. 

‘I was born and raised here in Brooklyn actually.’

‘Right of course, you literally said you grew up in the city earlier. Sorry about that.’ Steve shrugged away your apology telling you not to worry about it. The door was pulled open and you tried to move out of the way as a gust of cold air drifted inside following another class member who you smiled in greeting at.

‘We should probably head in, it’s nearly seven.’ Steve said as he checked his watch. ‘Do you need a hand with that?’ He gestured towards the large canvas leaning against the wall.

‘Oh yeah. If you wouldn’t mind? It’s just a bit awkward to carry by myself.’

‘Not at all.’ He easily lifted it into his arms and followed as you led the way down the hallway and into the studio. He had no choice but to follow as you headed towards one of the easels towards the front of the room, where you had sat last week. Even though he didn’t want to be noticed by the rest of the class, Steve couldn’t resist the temptation of sitting down in the empty stool next to yours. 

He watched as you pulled out your oil paint and started setting them on a very used palette and Steve was reminded of last night. He wasn’t sure if he should bring it up, as you hadn’t mentioned yet, but he thought maybe you just hadn’t seen him. After all he and Bucky had been towards the back. 

‘I uh, I saw you last night. At Ronan’s bar for the wine and art night.’ He clarified, determined not to seem creepy. ‘I was going to say hi but you seemed a little busy.’

‘Oh, really? I’m so sorry I didn’t even notice you were there! But how good is it!? $25 for unlimited wine plus some art fun. It’s just a shame they only run it during winter.’ You looked slightly remorseful and Steve couldn’t help but agree.

‘I didn’t realise that. I just found the flier over the weekend and decided to give it a try.’ 

‘Well I’m glad you did. If you don’t mind me asking, why the sudden interest in art?’

‘Oh, well I don’t know really. One of my friends, Nat, found my sketchbook that’s basically been abandoned the last few years and wouldn’t stop nagging me to get back into it. She and Tony are always pushing me to have a life beyond work.’

‘Tony as in Tony Stark?’

It only crossed Steve’s mind as he nodded that perhaps not all of Tony’s employees were on a first name basis with him. He needed to be more careful with the words that came out of his mouth. Eager to shift the conversation away from Tony he quickly divulged even more personal information. ‘I uh, I think it might have something to do with my friend, the one I told you about last time.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yeah, growing up he was practically always my muse and we’ve only recently found each other again - he had to go away for a while. Maybe it’s because he’s back again that I’ve found the inspiration…’ He drifted off, unsure of what he was saying. ‘That probably didn’t make any sense.’

‘No, no, it did. I totally get what you mean. I used to have this dog, his name was Bear and growing up I used to draw him all the time. But when he passed away, I just didn’t feel that spark anymore, you know? It took me a while to find it again but when I did everything just made sense again.’ 

Steve was refrained from replying by the entrance of Madame Maxine to the studio as she quickly called the class to order. 

‘Today we have the wonderful Jerry modelling again. Since it is his second week, he will be modelling nude for us today.’ Her attention drifted back to Jerry who was wearing a dark red silken robe. ‘If you could please derobe Jerry and get settled into position B that would be brilliant.’ Jerry nodded and followed her instructions, setting himself down on the stool in front of the class. Steve had to admire his confidence. He knew that even if it was purely for art he could never model nude for anyone, he struggled enough doing promotional shots when he was fully clothed. 

Steve was too aware of you sitting next to him for the next hour. Everytime you shifted on your stool or bent to mix some more paints he noticed and his eyes followed your movements. As a result his own sketch was barely half complete by the time the hour was up and the small bell rang. He would definitely be voting to keep the position. 

Your painting on the other hand was beautiful. Despite the limited time you had not only managed to capture Jerry as he was, but also his essence. Steve was enraptured and stammered his way through a maze of compliments which you humbly shrugged away. 

‘I just have experience with Jerry, he modelled last winter and he works here part time too.’ 

‘He works here?’

‘Yeah Maxine rents out the studios to aspiring artists if they need a large space. I had this massive project over the summer on three canvases that were each four by five meters and my apartment is a shoebox so it never would have worked if it weren’t for Maxine.’

‘Wow, that sounds impressive.’ Steve could hardly imagine working on as big a canvass as you were currently using, never mind one nearly three times the size. ‘How long did it take you to finish?’

You glanced down, slightly avoiding his eyes. ‘It’s not… well it's not technically finished yet. I’m so close to being done with it but I just…’ You trailed off, unsure how to put it into words. 

‘There’s something missing?’ Steve filled in for you and you nodded eagerly.

‘It’s almost right but everytime I think it’s done I realise just how much I hate it and I have to leave the room to stop myself from painting over it again.’ Although Steve had never done something quite on the same wavelength he could relate to the need for perfection. He had lost count of how many pages he had ripped out of his sketchbook and thrown in the trash only to start all over again. 

‘What’s it of?’

‘It’s a collection, mainly of my favourite places in New York and it’s all about the human footprint… or at least, it’s meant to be.’ 

‘If it’s anything like your painting of Jerry I’m sure it’ll be incredible.’ 

Steve didn’t have to be able to see it to know that your cheeks would be flushing with heat at his compliment. He didn’t understand why you doubted yourself so much, it was clear that you were incredibly talented. ‘Thank you, you’re far too sweet.’ 

Maxine clapped her hands once again calling the attention of everyone. ‘It is now that time where we decide if we would like Jerry to stay as he is or if we would like him in a new position. Raise your hands for the same pose.’ Steve eagerly raised his hand along with you and most of the class.

After a quick headcount Maxine nodded firmly. ‘Well that settles it, Jerry, if you would be so kind as to return to position B.’ Once again the silk robe fell to the floor as Jerry repositioned himself on the stool and Steve promised that he wouldn’t let himself get as distracted by you this time around. 

+

By the end of the second hour Steve had a half decent looking sketch that paled in comparison to yours but he had long since resigned himself to its fate. 

‘Your painting is amazing.’ He told you truthfully and you smiled up at him abashed. 

‘Thank you Steve. That really means a lot.’

‘Well, it’s definitely true.’ Once again, Steve’s heart constricted in his chest as you flashed a sweet, bashful smile his way. He really felt a little ridiculous, being so completely enticed by someone he had only just met but being with you, it just all felt different. 

He watched as you packed up your paints and helped you carry the drying canvas over to the corner of the room where Maxine said you could leave it for the night. 

By the time you were by the coat rack you and Steve were the only students left in the studio, everyone else had filed out fairly quickly. Steve shoved his coat on and quickly plucked your own from the hook, holding it out for you. 

He wondered briefly if he was perhaps overstepped but the smile of gratitude you flashed him put him at ease as you daintily slid your arms into the open holes. ‘Thank you.’

‘Anytime.’ He walked with you out of the building and down into the street. 

‘Well, I’m heading this way.’ You pointed in the opposite direction of the train station and Steve felt a brief flash of chagrin. He wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye just yet and he got the feeling that you felt the same. 

‘I’m the other way. But uhh…’ The invitation to coffee at a cafe just down the street was on the tip of his tongue as his phone rang. ACDC’s Back in Black rang through the cool night air, breaking any tension that had been building up. 

You flashed what looked like a remorseful smile and raised a hand in farewell. ‘I’ll let you get that, but will you be at Ronan’s next week?’

‘Yeah, yes. I will.’ Steve hadn’t really thought about returning to the little bar but if that’s where you were going to be, that’s where he would be too. 

‘Great! I’ll uh, see you there.’ You flashed him that sweet and bashful smile once more before turning on your heel and getting lost in the crowds of New York. 

Steve watched you go for longer than he really should have and by the time he finally fished his phone out of his pocket Tony had nearly been sent to voicemail. 

‘Tony, what’s going on?’

+

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[simplyshelbs16xoxo]

‘The Christmas Caper’ Chapter 4: One Step Closer

Prologue | Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3

FFN | Ao3 | Buy Me a Coffee?

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When Mycroft headed into his room where Anthea waited, she raised an eyebrow at him. “Well?”

“They’re speaking to each other, and there’s minimal to average physical affection,” he replied. “They’re not talking about the elephant in the room, but I have no doubt all will work out.”

Anthea smiled approvingly. “Let’s hope the first time you give a gift, it doesn’t crash and burn.”

Mycroft grimaced. “So glad to see you have every confidence in me.” He walked over to the bed, and sat upon it, his back facing her.

“You know what I mean, dear,” she told him. “I just meant that your plans tend to backfire, especially when it comes to matters of the heart.” Anthea did her best to not laugh aloud in remembrance of the first time Mycroft tried to show her how he felt.

“Don’t remind me,” he sighed.

Three Months Ago

“Anthea, it has come to my attention that you’re a fully functioning female with above average intelligence,” he informed her.

She knit her brows in confusion. “Sir?”

He tried again. “What I mean to say is I would appreciate if you kept away of being in the company of other men—especially Wilson—who knew your standards were quite that low?”

She dropped her mouth open in shock, and walked right up to his desk, the clicking of her heels echoing in his office, and gave him a good smack. As she turned to walk out, Wilson came in with some files. Anthea approached him, tugged the lapel of his jacket and snogged him right in front of Mycroft, who was, for once, dumbfounded. And she left without a word.

Wilson stood there in a daze having felt the rage in her kiss. “Wow,” he said in amazement, “you must have really pissed her off.”

Mycroft was not amused. He pointed to the door. “Get out.”

Shaking the memory from his mind, Mycroft turned to face Anthea. “On second thought, maybe you should get more involved with the plan.”

“Oh no,” she laughed. “This one is all you—and your brother, of course. If anything goes wrong, the name Holmes will be written all over it which would make it understandable.” Anthea slipped under the duvet, and shut off her bedside lamp. “Now get changed and into bed, I’m exhausted.”

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.

Sherlock hadn’t slept at all last night. With what little sleep he did get, his dreams were haunted by the words of John Watson: “Talk to Molly. This may be the very last chance you’ll ever have to fix things.” He knew that John was right. So many scenarios played out in his mind where he never spoke with her. And every single time, it ended with him and Molly drifting apart. His mind even went as far as to show him she would eventually move on into the arms of another man—one who probably deserved her more than a man who couldn’t be brave enough for her.

After getting dressed, he made his way downstairs where his mother was reminiscing about her career as a mathematician with Molly who was looking through one of the books she had written. Both women looked up at him as he entered the room.

“You’re up early,” Mrs. Holmes commented.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he replied with a shrug, heading towards the kitchen.

Molly noticed how tired he looked, wondering if he ever got a decent night’s sleep after the Sherrinford Incident. “Try drinking some tea before bed,” she suggested to him, like she was one to talk. She could hardly sleep last night either even with the tea.  

“I’ll take that into consideration, thank you, Molly,” Sherlock smiled warmly. He met his mother’s knowing look. “Where’s father?” he asked.

Mrs. Holmes felt an idea brewing. “Went to pick up some eggs—we completely ran out what with all the baking. You know, why don’t you and Molly go into town for breakfast?” She turned to who she hoped would be her future daughter-in-law. “You would love it! It’s a little cottage diner on high street. Nettie makes the best fry up!”

Molly smiled. “That sounds delightful! What do you think, Sherlock?”

“Well, I—“

“Oh, Sherlock loves the food there,” she told Molly as she got up to leave the room. “Go on, you kids have fun!”

Molly looked up into Sherlock’s eyes, an amused smile forming on her lips. “I have to admit, your mum is a force to be reckoned with.”

He chuckled. “You have no idea.”

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.

Once they began the drive into town, Sherlock had to admit he was thankful for his mother’s interference. He took a quick glance to his left at Molly in the passenger seat, her hair done up in a French braid. The more time he spent with her, the more he wanted to just throw all caution to the wind, and damn it all, he wanted to be selfish. But would it be considered selfish if she wanted the same thing? It was much too tempting.

“How’ve you been holding up?” Molly asked, breaking the silence. “Since…well, you know.”

She still cared for him—that was good. But, of course she did. One thing about Molly Hooper is when she gave you her love, it was unconditional.

Sherlock, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Mary’s berated him. If I have to hear you go on about how you don’t deserve her and she deserves better, I think I might die…again. Too soon? He ignored her in favor of the ache in his heart. “I’m getting by,” he replied to Molly. “But what about you? It’s not as if you escaped unscathed.”

“I’m okay,” she shrugged, but Sherlock knew better.

“You’re not okay,” he said matter-of-factly.

Molly sighed, turning to look out her window. “I’m just bloody frustrated,” she muttered to herself. Part of her hoped he had heard her.

.

.

He had heard her—loud and clear. Sherlock was tired of fighting with himself, and so, for their time at the diner, he let go. The two of them had a right good time, laughing it up and sharing stories, including memories that they couldn’t very well agree on.

Molly swallowed her last bite of food, having cleared the plate. “Alright, but I remember on John’s stag night, the two of you were pissed after only two hours, and I had to come pick you up in the morning!” She laughed. “I met Mary outside of the station and we were just laughin’!”

Sherlock took a sip of his tea. “I didn’t think it was particularly funny, Molly.”

“Oh, you know, you’re right,” she continued, laughing as she spoke. “It’s not nearly as funny as the seven voicemails you left me! You were so smashed!” Molly gave a light playful slap to his forearm.

His brows rose up. This was the first he had heard of this. “I…left you seven voicemails?” Was he too inebriated to remember? But he remembered so many other events of the night. “Molly, what did I say?”

She eyed him curiously. “You mean, you don’t remember?”

He shook his head. “Afraid not—what did I say?”

“I dunno,” she teased. “Maybe I want to keep it to myself.”

Sherlock tilted his head, clearly frustrated.

“Alright,” Molly conceded with a laugh. “Not one of them ever completed a single thought. It was like bits and pieces. In one you called me your pathologist quite possessively, then in another I think you said something about marriage changes people. Oh!” She was giggling now. “I think you called Tom a wanker in another one.”

He felt—what?—relieved? Embarrassed? Possibly both. “Right, well, no one said I could hold my liquor.” Sherlock returned the amused smile that was also on Molly’s face.  

Molly couldn’t help but notice how at ease she was around him. Those first couple of years she knew him gave her butterflies and frayed nerves, but ever since she helped him with his lazarus plan, there was a shift in their friendship. It became deeply intimate from that moment forward. It was when her crush turned into a raw, honest love. Not once did it waver. His apology last night sparked something in her, and she felt the need to say the words rattling around in her head before she lost her nerve. “Sherlock?” His eyes pierced hers inquisitively. “I just want you to know, I’m sorry too.”

He furrowed his brows. “I don’t understand—for what?”

She bit her lip anxiously. “This friendship”—she motioned between them—“whatever this is; it’s a two-way street. Last night, you apologised for not having gone to see me. Sherlock, I’m sorry for having not gone to see you. I knew what had happened and why, but I wasn’t brave enough to face it all. Neither of us were. I don’t want to live a life that doesn’t have you in it. I’ve tried, and it’s bloody awful. I forgave you. Can you forgive me?”

The muscles in his face relaxed, giving way to a softness that Molly had only ever seen a handful of times. “Of course I forgive you. I’ll let you in on a secret…”

They both leaned their heads forward.

“…I don’t want to live a life that doesn’t have you in it either. A life without you, Molly Hooper, would be too dull to imagine.”  

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.

Whilst Molly went to have a look at the shops, Sherlock had an errand to run with an old friend. The bell on the door rang out when he made his entrance. The place was full of handmade jewelry, as far as the eye could see.

“As I live and breathe, Sherlock Holmes has come back for a visit!” The man behind the counter clapped his hands together. “It’s been an age! What can I do for ya?”

“Hello, Rupert, I need you to do something very important for me…”

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.

Mycroft had been smoking in the backyard when Sherlock and Molly returned. He put out his cigarette just as his brother appeared. “And how was your morning with Doctor Hooper, brother mine? Inquiring minds want to know.”

“It was enlightening,” Sherlock answered.

Mycroft eyed him curiously. “And have you two discussed the events of that night?”

“Not yet,” he replied, looking down toward the ground. “It’s a delicate matter—a bit difficult to just bring it up, especially when we’re trying so hard to move past it.”

With a sigh, Mycroft shook his head. “Has it ever occurred to you, little brother, that it will be easier to move past it if you two have this conversation?”

Sherlock glared at him. “Of course it has! Honestly, Mycroft, why do you care so much? What’s in it for you?”

“Can’t I be a good brother for once?” he asked. “Is it so hard to believe I want you to be happy?”

Taking a moment to think things over, Sherlock turned around and turned back, unsure of how to process this information. “Yes, actually, it would be very hard to believe had we not just shared a traumatic experience three months ago.” He roughly ran his fingers through his curls. “Sherrinford changed you, Mycroft.”

“As it did you,” his big brother countered. “I don’t think it’s necessarily a bad thing, do you?”

“No,” Sherlock agreed. “For what I need to do, it isn’t. She loves me—God knows why. But I’m not blind to the fact that sometimes loving someone isn’t enough. I love her, but can I provide for her everything she needs? I doubt it.”

Mycroft walked up onto the stoop. “I’ll leave you with this: it’s not about asking whether you can provide these things for her, but asking whether or not you are willing to try.” A knowing smirk appeared on his brother’s face, and then he was gone.

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.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Sherlock needed to talk to her. It was all he could think about. It was early evening when she entered the sitting room after dinner. His eyes couldn’t help but linger, especially since she was holding their goddaughter in her arms whilst she sang Christmas songs to her. He found that he enjoyed hearing Molly sing. He also noticed how she had stuck a red Christmas bow in her hair much to Rosie’s amusement, the lights on the tree reflecting off of it.

This adornment reminded him of another Christmas at Baker Street. It was a bittersweet memory. On one hand, it was the first time he had ever kissed Molly, though only on the cheek. But on the other hand, he still regretted his behaviour to this day. Knowing what he knows now, he knew he had been jealous, thinking she had been doing all of that for someone else. It was cruel to insult her the way he did. Allowing himself a quick glance, he admired the set of her lips and the swell of her breasts peeking out from her blouse. Though he wanted to, he didn’t allow his eyes to linger there too long, and settled on watching her eyes light up.

Molly caught him staring eventually, and she just beamed at him as if there was no place she’d rather be. “Look Rosie, your Uncle Sherlock is actually smiling for once.”

“I smile,” he argued playfully. His heart was pounding when she approached him, only mere inches away. “May I?” Sherlock held out his hands from where he sat on the sofa.

Carefully, Molly helped to settle Rosie in his arms and seated herself beside them. It warmed her heart to see him take an active role in the little girl’s life. Surprisingly, Sherlock was actually good with children in his own way. Rosie reached a hand up, her dimpled fingers grabbing her godfather’s nose. He gently pulled her hand away and pressed a quick kiss to her fingertips.

“I hope you’re being good for your Aunt Molly,” he told her softly. “She works very hard, and deserves everything she’s ever wanted.” Sherlock didn’t know what it was about talking to his goddaughter, but he found he didn’t feel so afraid saying these things though he was very aware that Molly was sitting beside him. When he glanced over at her, he noticed tears forming just at the waterline of her eyes, but she held them back.

Molly brushed back the wispy pale blonde curls on Rosie’s head. “Your Uncle Sherlock is just a big softie deep down,” she laughed quietly. “And you know what? He deserves just as much—especially to be loved.”  She looked up and their eyes locked, neither unable to look away. Her heart beat furiously in her chest, and before she could talk herself out of it, Molly kissed him tenderly, lingering long enough to get lost in the feel of his lips on hers. She hadn’t given him enough time to kiss her back, the shock evident on his face when she pulled away.

Without a word, she stood and left the room suddenly in need of fresh air.

[elenamcwrites]

folklore - a reading

If you’re a swiftie (officially not capitalized now), like me, you’ve probably been experiencing the mystical reverb and spiritual reckoning that is folklore. You’ve also probably been reading plenty of reviews and analysis articles--there are some stellar articles out there already.

Listening to the album is like lying in a meadow over the course of a summer day, afternoon thunderstorm, and the harsh sunset that comes afterwards, spiraling through memories and contemplation. It’s the best of the worst feelings you’ll ever have, and you can’t stop.

So, compulsively, I had to share my own interpretations and thoughts as I listen to the album again for the 7th time.

the 1 - Starting out with just piano, and then turning into what feels like a casual bop, the attitude of this song starts out very ‘I Forgot That You Existed’. And we hold onto that cavalier, ‘oh well’ attitude until... UNTIL. “If my wishes came true, it would’ve been you.” That line starts the slow ache that builds through the end of the track and makes this song much more more layered and complex than the first song of Lover. Perhaps this is a more honest version of the same feeling. Swift digs deep into that nostalgic feeling, letting us vibe to the wistful wishing at the same time. And of course, there is foreshadowing in the lyrics--film, graves, rose, chosen-family, painting. All of these reappear later on in various songs on the album, and some have been themes from earlier albums, too (especially graves).

Highlight lyric: “In my defense I have none // for digging up the grave another time.”

cardigan - We start with a beat that sounds reminiscent of “high heels on cobblestones,” and it emphasizes this early imagery. Being young is one of the major themes of this song, even though it’s also part of the triptych of songs about a love triangle. The nostalgia feels more specific to young love generally than to the specific lover, asking us to wonder why we judge the young perspective so harshly. The song is an anthem to how much she knew about love, including the pain of it, despite what people say. Swift has shown a special appreciation for the wisdom and raw experience of youth, and this song is another classic defense of the teenage experience. The metaphors in this song are classic Swift, and the structure of this song is reminiscent of ‘All Too Well’--the chorus lyrics change just a bit each time, and we get a powerful, gut-punch verse at the end.

Highlight lyric: “I knew you’d haunt all of my what-ifs // the smoke would hang around this long // cause I knew everything when I was young.”

the last great american dynasty - ‘The Man’ was probably Swift’s first real feminist anthem, directly stating how sexism affects her career and the perception people have of her. But this song gets at feminism from another perspective. First of all, she’s telling the story of Rebekah Harkness, who was the heiress that lived in her Rhode Island mansion before her. She was a trouble-maker in her town, blamed for her husband’s death and for ruining the calm status quo of the old money neighborhood. It’s completely apparent that Swift relates to this experience, and she likely knew some of this story before she purchased her home. In telling the story of a powerful, interesting woman, Taylor is rebelling against the patriarchy in a slightly subtler way than her previous songs--though she still makes her point pretty clear. Swift cares about the herstory of her home, and she’s made this story iconic by including it on her album. It’s like she took the idea of ‘Starlight,’ but instead of retelling a happy love story, she used her powers for an even more important tale. Now, there are also two potential connections to note: Rebekah also went by Betty, and her maiden name was West. Just remember that. And of course, the theme of the mad woman returns later as well.

Highlight lyric: “who knows if I never showed up what would have been // there goes the most shameless woman this town has ever seen // she had a marvelous time ruining everything.”

exile - I like to imagine this song as the follow up to ‘The Last Time,’ from Red. Both are duets, and they both have relatively simple, but strong chords as the primary musical backdrop. Where ‘The Last Time’ depicts a relationship at the cusp, moments before their final conversation, ‘exile’ is post break-up. She’s out with someone new, and we understand this is an unspoken conversation across a room. And the vibe of the songs fit with this progression perfectly. ‘The Last Time’ feels like anxious desperation, but exile feels heavy and depressingly final. We revisit the film motif, and there’s some potential connection to the archived ‘If This Was A Movie’. Now, is that intentional, or does Swift just really like movie imagery? Does it matter? The build in this song is arguably the best on the album, which I think is partly due to the style of the musicality, and partly because it’s helpful to have a lower voice to mix it up. This song sounds the least ‘Swift-esque’ to me--reminds me of Damien Rice most of all--but it still fits beautifully into the album. Also, lots of callbacks in here--town and crown are used a LOT in her prior albums. A few examples: “You traded your baseball cap for a crown” in ‘Long Live’, “They took the crown but it's alright” in ‘Call it What You Want,’ “Staring out the window like I’m not your favorite town” in ‘False God.’ Now, again, these could just be words that she loves to use (they also rhyme with a lot), or there could be some deeper connections. I’m guessing it’s somewhere in the middle.

highlight lyric: “second, third, and hundredth chances // balancin' on breaking branches // those eyes add insult to injury”

my tears ricochet - I’ll admit this song had to grow on me a little bit. Why? Well, I don’t love revenge-ballads. But, this is much more complex than LWYMMD, and like the rest of the album, it centers the more vulnerable side of her anger. This song is 100% about Big Machine Records and Scooter Braun. The funeral is for her--or the version of herself that died just before Reputation--and she is back as a ghost (or another version of herself) to haunt those who caused her death. It’s slow, moody, haunted... Everything you want from a bitter funeral march. The best part of this song is that she doesn’t solely pass blame. She shows off her self-awareness, which has become more common in all her music since 1989, but still very clearly places responsibility on Scooter for her ‘stolen lullabies’ (i.e. her masters). Swift claims this song is about young love gone wrong--but, death is a pretty intense metaphor, and given that she blatantly used it (for the first, and maybe only time?) to talk about her career, I don’t think anyone is buying it.

highlight lyric: “I didn’t have it in myself to go with grace // and you’re the hero flying around saving face”

mirrorball - Maybe I’m just a biased toward romantic and nostalgic songs, because I don’t love this one either. (I’m sorry!) But, here’s what I’ll say: this song is still exquisite. It reminds me of the reverb-radio-vibe of the late 80s songs, but with the astral, saccharine flavor of the rest of the album. If you condensed the Miss Americana documentary into a song, this would be it. A reflection (get it?) of fame and her desire to be everything to everyone--to be well liked, to be the center of attention. The coolest thing about ‘mirrorball,’ to me, is that she hasn’t written a song quite like this before. It’s sort of a manic-pixie-dream-girl version of herself. Swift is telling us that she knows who she is, and that comes with seeing the less ‘pretty’ side.

highlight lyric: “I’m still a believer, but I don’t know why // I’ve never been a natural, all I do is try, try try.”

seven - Can you say haunting innocence? This is a great song for half-attentive listening in the sun, and it could almost be a lullaby. In Swift-lore, the theme of childhood shows up every so often, like in ‘Mary’s Song,’ ‘The Best Day,’ ‘It’s Nice to Have a Friend,’ and ‘Christmas Tree Farm.’ This one is definitely the most dreamy, and it is also tinged with that darkness that consistently underlies all the tracks on this album--“Are there still beautiful things?” Imagine a sepia filter, and that’s kind of what this song embodies. Some fans have wondered about this song as a possible hint to bisexuality and/or relationships with women in general. (See Kaylor fan theories if you want to dive deep.) I can see this--the childhood friend has braids, which could imply she’s a little girl, and they ‘hide in the closet’. However, it seems more likely to me that this is coincidence. Lots of kids play in their closets, and if the song is about the friend’s father being angry all the time (and maybe abusive?) hiding in the closet also makes literal sense. I think the imagery in this song is some of my favorite on this album. 

Another interesting point that I haven’t seen discussed so far is that Swift names this song ‘seven’ spelled out, yet uses the number ‘1′ in the first track title. The only other track she uses numbers in the name is ‘22′, which is about being 22. So, she could be trying to push past the idea that ‘seven’ is just about being 7 years old--though I do think it’s about that, too. She could also be intentionally connecting ‘the 1′ to ‘22′ in some way. They are both a similar vibe, and perhaps they even refer to the same time period in her life. If we go with that theory, who was T dating at 22? The most likely candidate for that timeframe is Conor Kennedy, which was sort of short-lived, and didn’t seem to end with as much fire as many of her break-ups. So, it’s possible that it’s about him. Or, maybe she just wanted to make sure we knew that ‘the 1′ was a concept she doesn’t really believe in anyway, and didn’t want to grant it the full word ‘one’. Will we ever know?

highlight lyric: “Before I learned civility // I used to scream // Ferociously // Any time I wanted”

august - It seems clear to me that this is the second song in the love-triangle narrative. I’ve heard people claim this is ‘illicit affairs’, but those people obviously haven’t looked at the lyrics. The narrator says ‘James, get in the car,’ which is directly connected to the lyrics in ‘betty.’ But, even without that obvious link, the style of august fits in with the stylistic choices of ‘cardigan’ and ‘betty’. All three have strong instrumental tracks complementing the vocals, soft harmonies, and lots of wistful lyrics. ‘illicit affairs’ cuts much sharper and deeper, but more on that later. Combining the dreamy vibes of ‘seven’ with the slight bop of ‘the 1′, this track is sticky--easy to get stuck in your head. The only thing I wonder about this song is how old this narrator is meant to be. They’re drinking wine, and she references going ‘back to school,’ which sort of feels like a reference to the college experience. But, the betty and james characters make numerous references that feel like high school. So, maybe this affair took place in another city with a college girl? I have to wonder if this is Swift referencing some of the age-gap relationships she’s been in. Again, with Conor Kennedy, she was 22, and he was 18. She also supposedly crashed his sister’s wedding in August, and that was the start of the end of their short romance. I’m just saying...

highlight lyric: “Wanting was enough, for me it was enough // to live for the hope of it all.”

this is me trying - If ‘The Archer’ was Swift confessing to her bad habits after a couple early relationship fights, ‘this is me trying’ is a desperate reminder a few months into the relationship. The two songs are sonically very similar, and I didn’t love the vibe (sorry, again!) the first time. But, I do love the artistic continuation. ‘this is me trying’ slows us down even more than ‘The Archer’ did, with a drum line that is almost like a heart beat, and it feels much less hopeful as a result. The lyrics are also some of the darkest I’ve heard from Swift--”I got wasted like all my potential” and “could’ve followed my fears all the way down.” My heart almost can’t handle this song, to be honest. She also references films again, but my favorite imagery connection is her standing over the lookout, which calls back to Rebekah looking out over the sea in LGAD.

highlight lyric: “and maybe I don't quite know what to say // but I'm here in your doorway”

illicit affairs - This song has that ‘All Too Well’ ache with a hint of ‘Death by A Thousand Cuts’ energy, and personally, I love it. You’ve got the busy instrumental strings underneath a simple, yet haunting melody line, and it’s that light, anxious tension that fits beautifully with the theme of the song. The lyrics depict the simple, small heartbreaking things that remind you of the pain you’re putting yourself through, which is reflected in the slightly surprising, soaring note at the end of the line in the verses. Whether you’ve actually been involved in an affair, these feelings show up in plenty of toxic relationships, and that universality is part of what makes the song powerful. The lyrics aren’t about pretty images, but that’s sort of the point. It’s prime Swift conversational lyricism, and you could pick out any number of lines that make a painful short poem all by themselves. 

highlight lyric: “and you wanna scream // don’t call me “kid,” don’t call me “baby” // look at this godforsaken mess that you made me // you showed me colors you know I can’t see with anyone else”

invisible string - The primary love song on the album, this feels like a follow up to ‘Lover,’ maybe something she’d sing after being married a year or two. It’s sort of like ‘Mine,’ but much more mature, partly indicated by the pace of the song, which is steady and sure of itself. It’s also lovely to me that she’s returned to a bit of her country vibes--I ask you, would it feel like true end-game love for Swift if she couldn’t write a country love song about it? Back when she wrote country, all her happy ending songs were merely aspirational, and now they feel true. This is also 100% about Joe Alwyn, and to me, this is proof they have not broken up like some early reviews speculated. We also need to acknowledge that she’s past the Joe Jonas break up (um, good, that was ages ago) and is sending him and Sophie presents for their baby. I read a review that basically said this song seems a little too ‘all tied up’ for Swift, and that it doesn’t feel as genuine as a result. I sort of agree, but if we can take a sad song and accept that it isn’t how she feels 100% of the time, can’t we also do that with happy songs? Plus, she technically does say that it would be ‘pretty to think,’ which sort of implies it’s more a thought experiment than an actual belief. So, there’s that little twinge of sadness we needed to appease the folklore goddess. Oh, and of course, there’s a reference to Lover’s color scheme, saying time “gave me the blues and then purple-pink skies.” Which, many Kaylor hopefuls read as a reference to the Bi pride flag. To that, I just say... Maybe?

highlight lyric: “time, mystical time // cutting me open, then healing me fine”

Mad woman - My favorite thing about this song is the piano melody that happens in the background the whole song, working in concert with the main melody, but also completely independent (and haunting). It reminds me of one concept of madness--having multiple voices or thoughts going on simultaneously. But of course, it’s artfully and perfectly put together, which is the whole point. What could be perceived as madness is, in this case, what makes her able to create a masterful work of art. Now, this is also certainly a song about her masters, Scooter Braun, and Scott Borchetta. But it is also another feminist anthem. Women are taught not to be angry, not to yell, not to react with any emotionality otherwise we are discredited entirely. Swift directly calls this to attention by explaining that we’re angry for a reason--often antagonized intentionally until ‘you find something to wrap your noose around.’ She also makes the important point that women can also ‘hunt witches,’ and can be complicit in treating one another poorly. This is a reference to Scooter Braun’s wife defending him publicly against Taylor. Probably the most savage line is about the ‘master of spin’ having affairs, which she implies his wife knows about and seems to passively accept. But Swift doesn’t go too hard on her, reminding us that ‘no one likes a mad woman’, and that pressure is real. Could this ‘master of spin’ also be Scooter? I think probably. But I did read that some people are connecting this song to Hillary Clinton (she’s a scorpio, and the song references a scorpion sting), and that maybe Trump is the adulterer here... I feel like that’s a stretch, but I appreciate the interpretation.

highlight lyric: “What a shame she went mad // You made her like that”

epiphany - I suspect this song is directly related to how Swift is processing the current state of the pandemic. The atmospheric vibe with slow, clock-ticking beat in the background really feels momentous and poignant. Yes, she starts with images conjured from her grandfather’s stories of World War II, but she quickly seems to compare this awful battle to the doctors fighting COVID-19 on the frontlines in hospitals. The lyrics are simple, repetitive, and powerful. With so many ill literally struggling to breathe, the lines about breathing out really do hit especially hard these days. I can’t believe that wasn’t a thoughtful choice. The chorus is just barely hopeful, reminiscent of the numbness we all have to use as a coping mechanism to get through traumatic experiences. But it’s that little sliver of hope that makes the song even sadder--is that possible?

highlight lyric: “only twenty minutes to sleep // but you dream of some epiphany // just one single glimpse of relief // to make some sense of what you've seen”

betty - Give me all that Tim McGraw, Love Story, early Taylor pop-country. This song is definitely enhanced in part because of its connections to ‘cardigan’ and ‘august,’ but it stands strong on its own. It’s old news at this point, but James and Inez are based on the names of Blake Lively and Ryan Reynolds’s daughters, so it’s all-but-confirmed that their third daughter was named Betty. Written from the perspective of James, there is massive speculation out there about whether the narrator is meant to be a boy or a girl. There are reasonable clues on both sides, so I’ll just say this: I love Taylor, but she’s always been a little late to the party when it comes to socialized ideas of male/female. Because of that, I don’t think she’d have a female narrator riding a skateboard. I also feel from the style of narration--“I don’t know anything;” “just a summer thing;” “would you tell me to go fuck myself”--it does sound more like stereotypical teenage boy language than what we know as swiftie teenage girl language. What I do like about this song, though, is that because it’s written from James’s perspective, it does sort of leave a wider opening for personal interpretation than some of her other love-story-like songs. The reason I personally love this song is that it’s mostly about redemption and forgiveness. Everyone has wished someone who broke their heart would write this song about them, and so it offers catharsis. Plus, it’s the only song on the album that truly feels happy at the end--thanks, key change! It’s refreshing and heartening, and it’s good timing, too. After the heaviest song on the album, we needed it. (Oh, and there’s a callback to the broken cobblestones from ‘cardigan’. And then he literally mentions her cardigan. So.)

highlight lyric: “if you kiss me // will it be just like I dreamed it? // will it patch your broken wings?”

peace - The vibe of this song is like laying on your couch in the summer with light coming in through the blinds and the ceiling fan is going around just fast enough to keep the warm air circulating, but not really cool you off. This song has a hint of ‘False God’ style, a little jazzy, but otherwise, it’s a pretty fresh feel for Swift. The message fits this thoughtful, lightly antsy feeling. She’s basically saying she wants to start a family with Joe (no, I don’t think she is literally pregnant yet) and settle down, but there is no real ‘settling down’ with her level of fame. I also think that Swift truly enjoys making music, performing, and engaging with her fans, and she doesn’t want to leave that life behind any time soon. So, she’s asking him if he can make that work. It’s, again, a mature vision of what a long-term relationship can actually look and feel like. Not all of us can truly relate to the burdens of fame, but there are other ways we can be unable to ‘give you peace’. No relationship is idyllic forever in the way romantic love often makes it out to be, and this song gives us a more realistic, consistent example. And just in case we thought this was just a nice song, the whole ‘clowns to the West’ is another potential Easter egg. In the lyric video, east is not capitalized, but West is. Most likely, this is a dig at Kanye. If we want to believe Taylor wasn’t being vengeful, it could potentially be a reference to Rebekah (West was her maiden name). I lean toward theory one, although it’s kind of amazing that it works out such that it connects to both.

highlight lyric: “but I'm a fire and I'll keep your brittle heart warm // if your cascade ocean wave blues come”

hoax - (Phew last one--I don’t have access to ‘the lakes’ yet) Swift can’t end the album without bringing us all back to the raw emotional space she opened up within us. This song brings back similar piano lines from ‘mad woman’ and the image of screaming on the cliffside. Chronologically, ‘hoax’ feels like it takes place after or during the death of her reputation, i.e. the feud with Kim and Kanye, when she was still very vulnerable. Based on timeline, this seems likely to be either Calvin Harris or Tom Hiddleston. It could really be some combination of the two, since many songs aren’t really about just one person. My gut tells me it’s primarily about Calvin, since she’s referenced that they didn’t have a very faithful relationship--”your faithless love’s the only hoax I believe in.” Both relationships travelled a lot--“I left a part of me in new york.” I’m guessing she’s referencing the feud with Harris over her writing credit on ‘This is What You Came For.’ She takes attacks on her career as seriously as hurtful relationships, and since she’s referencing being torn apart by the media when she says that “what you did was just as dark,” I think it’s likely that this also has something to do with hurting her reputation. It’s another hauntingly beautiful song, and you can totally imagine yourself out on that cliff looking at the midnight sea as the piano line ends.

highlight lyric: “you knew the password, so I let you in the door // you knew you won, so what's the point of keeping score?”

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

Overall, the album is my favorite of Taylor’s so far for two reasons: 1) the continuity in both theme and sound is stellar, and 2) there aren’t any songs that I don’t like. Usually, there are 1-3 songs on Taylor’s albums that are either forgettable or too on-the-nose for my taste. I’m sure that is a product, in part, of having to craft songs for radio-play and for her amazing, cinematic live shows. Having given herself the freedom to make whatever music she wanted without thinking (so much) about whether they’d top the charts or be good for a stadium concert, she made an album without a single ‘pop just because’ track.

Now the real question is... What will she do with the remaining 6 months of quarantine???

[rons-hermiones]

Come Find Me

Come Find Me

by rons-hermiones

Summary: Unplanned, Hermione is forced to spend Christmas at the Burrow due to her grandmother falling very ill. After being ignored by Hermione for weeks, Ron is determined to show her how much she means to him. Just before he gets the chance to tell her, Bellatrix Lestrange shows up with other plans for Hermione. Can Ron get to her before it's too late? (Ron/Hermione Half-Blood Prince AU)

Rating: M for language & dark themes in later chapters.

Chapter Twenty Six

“Malfoy?” Ron repeats, “what about him Harry? What about Hermione?” He pleads. 

“It was her, it was Hermione.” He clarified. 

“But I thought-“ Neville starts. 

“It’s Voldemort, our connection or whatever. Hermione is the one who did it this time. She brought me up, he thought of me, and well.” He explained with a shiver. 

“But I thought he warned her. Said someone would d- someone would get hurt if she did that again.” Ron asked worriedly, not wanting to even think about Hermione and death together. 

Harry reluctantly nods, “I know but she had to tell me something.” 

“What was it?” Neville asked. 

“Malfoy. That was all she said, it was like, it was like she couldn’t speak properly. She sounded so...” he shivered, not willing himself to finish, “but that means I was right Ron, Malfoy, he’s got something to do with all this.” Though Draco wasn’t specifically mentioned, Harry was desperate to push his theory. 

Shockingly, Ron didn’t protest, “Look, Harry, there’s something I’ve been keeping from you.” 

The chosen one eyed him, silently imploring himself to go on. 

“Well, since we’ve been back at school I reckon you might be right.” 

“Why?” Harry asks. 

“That day on the train, during the Prefect’s meeting, Malfoy told Katie Bell that Hermione was ‘taking some time away with her family’,” he air quoted, “at first I thought maybe he just heard us, I dunno, but then I started having these dreams.” 

“The ones that’ve been waking you up?” Neville cut in. 

Ron nodded, “yeah, I mean I know it’s just a dream, but every time it starts with Malfoy telling me he knows something about Hermione. That along with his fathers track record, your suspicions, and now this, well...” 

“We need to check his room.” Harry said, like it was simple. 

“What? Harry, are you mental? How in the hell would we swing that.” Ron cried out. 

“No, listen,” he stands from the floor, causing the other two to rise, “we know where the entrance is from second year. We’ll make sure Malfoy is on rounds. I’ll have the map to see if anyone’s coming. We’ll be under my cloak.” Harry explains. 

“Yeah and what about his roommates? Or the password?” Ron asks. 

“He bunks with who? Zabini, Crabbe, and Goyle? Well, there has to be a night Quidditch and rounds meet, yeah? We’ll do it then. Neville, you can stay on the pitch just in case.” Harry looks at him. 

Neville nods. Sure, he hasn’t got the full story on what happened, but he’s willing to help anyway he can. 

“Fine.” Ron agreed, only doing this for Hermione and not to entertain Harry’s theory, “when?” 

“I don’t know whenever it works with the Quidditch schedule and rounds.” 

“Here, I have the schedule. I need to know when the pitch is free to practice flying.” Neville admits sheepishly as he searches his trunk for the parchment, “here it is!” 

He hands it over to Harry as Ron grabs the prefect’s schedule. They hold the two sheets side by side, Neville over their shoulder. 

Ron meets his friend's eyes, “tomorrow.” 

...

The three wake early the next morning to go to the Great Hall. There, they work out their final details of the plan, like they did until late last night. 

Harry’s original thought was pretty solid, so it was all just building off that. 

“Alright, after dinner. Six.” Harry reminds again. 

The pair nod. 

“It’s kind of exciting to be a part of this. Is it always this exhilarating?” Neville whispered. 

A small smile found its way across the pair's face, “no.” They answered simultaneously. 

Surprisingly, the notion of having a third person that wasn’t Hermione didn’t bother Ron that much. Simply because it was Neville. 

It’s not like he was replacing her, he was helping out for her. It was something he admired, he knew she would too. 

As Ron stretched and got ready for class, he didn’t notice McGonagall approaching. 

“Mister Weasley.” She called, making him go stalk still. 

“Good morning Professor.” He tried. 

She ignored it, but didn’t yell at him for yesterday either, “the Headmaster requests your presence. The password is cockroach clusters.” 

He gulps. He thinks he’d rather face McGonagall’s wrath than get a talking to by Dumbledore. 

She looks him in the eyes, “I’m going to assume you had good reason for that stunt in the common room yesterday.” She whispers, looking at his black eye, cut cheek, and fat lip from under her glasses. 

He nods quickly. 

“Hm. Longbottom. Potter. Good day.” She says before walking away. 

The pair looked to the redhead. Harry clapped him on the shoulder. 

“Well mate, good luck. Just be done by six, yeah?” He teased. 

“Not funny Harry.” He groaned. 

“Hey, if what just happened is any indication of anything, it’s that McGonagall trusts you. Dumbledore too, remember what he told you at the Burrow.” Their eyes meet briefly. 

The prospect of Horcruxes has been rattling around his brain for weeks, but they promised to bring it up. 

“You’re right, I’ll just tell the truth.” Ron half agrees, turning to leave. 

“Good luck!” He hears Neville call. 

Slowly Ron dredged his way to Dumbledore’s office. A bit scared for what was to come. He didn’t think the man would tell and scream, no, instead he’d give him some confusing life lesson. One that would have him thinking and analyzing it for weeks. 

He’d rather be screamed at. 

“Cockroach clusters.” He told the statue.

In response it twisted into a coiled staircase. Taking a deep breath, Ron climbed it. Soon, he found himself staring at Dumbledore’s back. 

As he opened his mouth to say hello, he was cut off. 

“Ah Ronald, good morning.” The old man said, turning and giving him a small smile. 

“Good morning sir.” Ron responded nervously. 

“The clouds are out today, but you see there,” he points out his window at a single beam of light, “the sun will surely push its way through by the end of the day. Preserve.” He comments. 

Unsure what to say, Ron simply nods. 

Finally, he turns, “do you know why I’ve called you here?” 

Weasley gulped, “I may have a guess...” 

“News travels fast in this castle. But I don’t have to tell you that, do I?” 

“No sir.” Ron agrees. 

“You’ve been through a great deal Ronald, today, I’d like to give you the benefit of the doubt. Violence is not tolerated at Hogwarts, but I assume you have good reason.” He says knowingly. 

“Yes sir, I believe I do.” He says honestly. 

“I’m interested to hear.” 

“Well, I didn’t witness it myself and I never uh got the chance to ask her, but I have it on good authority.” He pauses, “from Ginny, Neville, Luna, and Harry,” Ron cites, “that Cormac McLaggen was inappropriate to Hermione the night of Professor Slughorn’s Christmas Party. That and he began making out of line comments about her, I just, well, I wanted to feel like I was doing something.” He says the last word almost as a cry. 

Dumbledore sighs, “I know how you feel Ron.” 

He shakes his head before he can help himself, “no you don’t.” 

Dumbledore would laugh had it been any other situation. It’s almost astounding how similar him and Harry are as he is reminded of their conversation after Sirius’ death. 

“Maybe not, but you’re not the first person I’ve seen struggle with being away from a loved one.” He tells him. 

Again, Weasley shakes his head, “no, this, this hurt is different.” He admits, “I’ve lost people, take Percy for example. Sure I miss him, but with Hermione, it’s a different kind of missing. It’s like, it’s like nothings the same. Like it’s not worth it.” Ron doesn’t know why he feels the need to be so honest. 

“You can’t let this hurt consume you. Your job is to channel that into something else. Something Hermione would’ve liked. Your prefect rounds, your work, Harry. You and I both know she would not approve of her punching Cormac McLaggen, no matter the situation.” 

And he was right, Ron knew he was, but it was so hard. These past twelve hours of confiding in Neville and Harry about Malfoy. About finally coming up with something to help, it felt good. It felt right. 

“You’re right sir.” He agreed. 

“I’m glad we can see eye to eye Ronald. On these dark days, I would like you to remember that the sun always comes out again.” He steps forward and whispers, “I have it on good authority all is being done for your friend. Remember that. Remind Harry of that.” 

Unable to answer, or even protest, he nods. 

Dumbledore was right, finally, him and Harry were doing what they could to help Hermione. 

“Now, I’d hate to keep you from your lessons. Good day Mister Weasley.” The old man smiled, turning back to the window, stroking Fawkes. 

“But sir, aren’t you going to...” Ron started confused. 

“Punish you? Is that what you want?” He questions with a quirked brow. 

“No!” Ron jumps in. 

“Mister McLaggen will be dealt with accordingly. Please don’t make it routine practice to start brawls in my common room.”

“Of course sir. It won’t happen again.” 

“Good.” Dumbledore smiles, “but if anyone asks, you have a week of detention with Professor McGonagall.” The Headmaster winks. 

A smile strikes Ron’s face at his words. “Thank you so much.”

He shakes his head, “for what?” 

Ron laughs. 

“Good day Mister Weasley. Please remember what I said.” 

In response Ron nodded and bid the old man goodbye before vanishing down the stairs. 

Once reaching the bottom he sighed, now all he had to do was get through classes, then it’d be time to put operation what the fuck does Malfoy know in action. 

...

Thankfully, six o’clock came faster than Ron thought it would. He figured all this anxious waiting around would drive him mad and slow time. But it hadn’t. 

“Alright Neville, whatever you do keep them at Quidditch. Practice is supposed to last an hour, we shouldn’t be longer than that, but just in case. We’ll find you when we’re done.” Harry told him one last time. 

He nodded, “got it.” 

“Malfoy should have started rounds a little bit ago, come on.” Ron prodded. 

“Okay, good luck Neville.” Harry said. 

“Good luck to you guys too. I won’t let you down. I won’t let Hermione down.” He assures in a whisper. 

The pair nods in response. They know he won’t. They’re not planning to either. 

As Neville disappeared down the corridor, Harry soon skimmed the map, finding Draco’s dot wandering by the Charms room. 

“Let’s go, we’ll cut through the courtyard.” Harry said, throwing the cloak over them. They had to huddle to fit, but it worked. 

Soon enough, they successfully reached the dungeons, only seeing Missus Norris once, but she just pranced by, not noticing them. 

“Alright, we’ll just wait until someone says the password.” Harry whispered. 

It took five minutes, but soon enough they saw Millicent Bulstrod’s dot move closer to them. 

“Sacred Twenty-Eight.” She told the stone. 

Ron scowled at the password. 

Soon enough it opened up as she went though. 

“If we hurry we can sneak in with her, come on!” Harry said lowly. 

Thankfully, the noise of the moving stone masked their footsteps as they snuck in behind Millicent, nearly budging into her. 

She didn’t notice though, as she disappeared up a staircase. 

“Other one must be the boys.” Ron pointed out, already moving to the leftward staircase. 

Nodding, Harry dredged on. Luckily, like Gryffindor Tower, each of the dorms with a sign indicating the year, ranging from one to seven. 

Soon, their eyes fell on the one labeled ‘Sixth Years’, it was slightly ajar. Before entering, the pair glanced briefly to the map in Harry’s hands, being extra cautious to ensure they were alone. 

They pushed open the wooden door, cringing as it squeaked on its hinges, they surveyed the area carefully before fully stepping in. Once inside, they threw off the cloak as Harry took the liberty to cast a locking charm, all while Ron caused a ‘muffalito’. 

The room was identical to their own dorms, but all red had been replaced with green and gold swapped with silver. 

“Which do you think is his?” Ron whispered despite silencing the room. 

The chosen one eyes the four poster beds carefully. The one closest to the door is messier than he thought imaginable. The blankets tossed on the ground and the sheets of specks of something on them. 

The next one isn’t as bad, the blankets are ruffled and the pillows are skewed, but the bedside table is reasonably clean. However, the image of a scantily clad witch peeking out from beneath the blanket is very visible. 

The quidditch posters and personal photos tacked onto a board over the third bed can only confirm it belongs to Blaise Zabini. 

And if Ron and Harry were placing bets, there’s  no doing the last one belongs to one Draco Malfoy. His bed is neatly made. Though his space isn’t as personal as Blaise’s, there’s a stack of books and parchment neatly organized on the side table. A ring rests on top of the pile, one they’ve seen Draco bear many times before. 

“I didn’t really fancy Malfoy to be all tidy.” Ron commented. 

“Really?” Harry asked, shocked, objection on his lips about how well Draco dressed being indicated as much. 

Like his friend could sense it, he shook his head, “no just because a bloke can clean up nice, doesn’t make them neat. Fred and George have pretty nice robes, but you’ve seen their room.” He reminded. 

Harry monetarily shivered at the thought. He wouldn’t even be remotely shocked if something was growing under the twins beds. 

As the dark haired boy was monetarily lost in thought, Ron stepped closer to the vantage point and eyed the table carefully. 

“I reckon one things out of place, he’ll know.” He states. 

Harry nods in agreement, “how about you start   in the drawers, I’ll do his trunk.” 

Weasley agreed and began carefully filing through the stacks of parchment. Most of it seemed to be nothing but graded assignments along with the occasional letter from home. 

All were only from his mother. They were short and not at all telling of anything. 

Just simple things like, 

Hope you’re doing well. I miss you son. 

I’ve sent a few galleons for your Hogsmeade visit next week, have fun. Love you. 

I’m going to pick you up from the platform on Saturday. I can’t wait to see you! Mum. 

And if the correspondents weren’t between those with the last name Malfoy, Ron might even think they were sweet. 

Harry had also been having similar luck to Ron. Draco’s trunk was an endless amount of clothes and shoes, really nothing that raised eyebrows. 

He peered over to see Ron skimming through the pages of a book. 

“Anything?” The Boy-Who-Lived asked hopefully. 

He shook his head, “no, just something for that Dark Arts essay on centaurs magical properties I reckon.” 

In response Potter groaned. They’ve been here nearly ten minutes. 

“Okay, how about I check the bed and you check under it?” He suggested next. 

Ron was about to protest to say that he doubts Draco would leave some big bad clue under his pillow, but they figured no stone should be left unturned. 

Complying, Ron ducked down to the floor and he heard Harry ruffling Draco’s sheets. 

A pair of shoes under the bed, along with an old sock. A chocolate frog under his pillow. That was it. 

As Harry began to work on lifting the mattress, they could vaguely hear the crunching of stone echo inside the quiet room. 

Both jumped, Ron hitting his head in the process, before meeting eyes. 

Quickly, Harry grabbed for the map, eyes scanning for Draco’s dot. 

“He’s in the common room!” He stage whispered. 

The ginger jumped and looked to be sure, “complete tosser he is. He’s supposed to be on rounds for another hour, just wait-“ 

“Ron!” It seemed as if he missed Hermione so much he had taken to adapting some of her values as well. 

“You’re right, sorry.” He said before moving to grab the cloak, “come on Harry.” 

As the other boy moved to join him, something caught his eye, “wait.” He said picking up the book on Centaurs. 

“Harry, I already looked like that, let’s go! I hear footsteps.” He said, casting a charm to tidy up Draco’s bed as good as new. 

“It’s not that.” He whispered in response. 

Being that Harry had cut Ron off midway through his investigation on Malfoy’s bedside table, he never got around to the small book hidden underneath the one for class. 

Wizarding Antiques

His mind soon flashes to Draco wandering around Borgin & Burkes months ago. Both Hermione and Ron dismissed it, but this book proves it meant something more. 

“Harry!” Ron stage whispered, having to undo the locking charm so they could leave. However, as he did so, the foot falls only grew louder. 

Mesmerized he ignored Ron, eyeing the cover. Something soon caught his eye. A book Mark sticking out just a little over halfway in the book. 

Eagerly opening it to see whatever Draco has tagged, he stops when he realizes it wasn’t a bookmark. No, it was a photograph. 

Astounded by the sight in front of him, he puts the book down, completely forgetting about his prior task. He’s reminded of why they’re really here. 

Not to confirm what Harry believes to be true, but for Hermione. This picture is telling him as much. Shoving it in his face. 

“Harry, let’s go!” Ron says, tossing the cloak partly over his hunched frame as Draco can be heard conversing with another Slytherin outside the door. 

Harry stands still. He can’t move. He can barely think. 

There’s no way- 

“Harry,” Ron tries again, but soon realizes his friend is completely enthralled in something, “wait, what is it? Did you find something?” Like his friend, he remembers why he’s here. Who he’s here for. 

Ron peeks over his shoulder at the picture. He can’t understand what has Harry in such a state over it. He’s seen it countless times in The Prophet.  

“Hermione.” Is all he can whisper. 

The name of course catches Ron’s attention, but he’s suddenly drawn away by The jerking of the door, making him jump. Thankfully, he’s managed to secure the cloak around Harry and move them closer to the door. However, the picture is still clutched in his hand. 

He holds his breath as Malfoy eyes the room suspiciously. Then it appears something catches his eye. 

He steps forward only centimeters from them. 

Wealsey screws his eyes shut in anticipation. 

It’s over, Merlin it’s all over-

But instead he makes his way over to Goyle’s sneering as he covers up the photo of the nude witch with his pillow. 

Doing his best not to outwardly sigh in relief, Ron takes the distraction to get the hell out, practically dragging Harry with him. 

As they reach the somewhat safe, well, less dangerous area of the Slytherin boys staircase, Ron again takes the time to observe the photo. Harry’s still mesmerized by it, though he can’t see why. And he can’t ask either, at least not until they’re back in Gryffindor tower. 

It’s a picture of Draco sitting in a chair, stoic look on his face. To his left is his mother dressed in elegant black robes, looking regal as ever, hand on her son's shoulder. To his right, his father in the same position. Except, he looks less royal, more worn than anything. 

The pictures on a loop, but they barely move. Just a slight shift in Draco’s father’s feet. A twitch of the youngest Malfoy’s upper lip is somewhat noticeable. 

The only thing that does stand out, is the continuous sparkling of a chandelier glittering above them.

[skinnylittleredwrites]

My best friend, my lover.

TITLE OF STORY: My best friend, my lover. CHAPTER NUMBER/TITLE/ONE SHOT: 1/? AUTHOR: skinnylittlered. WHICH TOM/CHARACTER: Actor!Tom. GENRE: Romance. FIC SUMMARY: Andrea and Tom have been friends since the beginning of time. Until a confession of love is made. This story follows the events of their subsequent relationship (sequel to You Wanna Play that Game? ) RATING: Explicit (language, references to sexual activity). WARNINGS/TRIGGERS/AUTHORS NOTES: - FEEDBACK/COMMENTS: -

Chapter 1.

As I pull my hair back in quite possibly the fiftieth bun, a bun by which I’m trying to convey that I did try, but at the same time that I didn’t try too much, but inevitably fail for the, quite possibly fiftieth time

 I groan in defeated exasperation raising my hands to the unforgiving high heavens and damn it all to hell, just letting my arms slump and my hair fall back in its usual, otherwise perfectly passable, waves, I decide that this is probably the end of me as a potential romantic social being because at this point it seems that my whole self esteem is, irrationally, loosely hanging by the very thin thread of my very poor skill of fashioning a complementary hairdo to my outfit, a skill that I, naturally, expected myself to acquire by precisely fifteen minutes of watching instructional videos of how to accomplish such a task, and ten minutes of attempting to recreate it myself. Surely, I should have known that an amateur thirty something year old with virtually no experience in hair styling other than the casual, day-to-day hairdo, could match that of a teenager who essentially does it for a job. Surely.

Surely.

Or... maybe if I do let my hair rest on my shoulders as it usually does, however now more orderly that in it generally is, thanks to the application of several products that I didn’t really know I needed, but now that I have been acquainted with, decide I maybe will actually use in the future I might actually have succeeded in doing the very thing that I believed I had been failing at all along. As I look in the mirror, perspective anew, I thank the lord for both sixteen year olds on the internet and self suggestion, both very powerful tools in the life of a woman.

All in all, I’m pretty pleased with the result. Hair may have proven, along the three decades of my inhabiting this earth to be one thing that, try as I might, I could never really master, but makeup and dressing up are things that, if I may say so myself, I’m pretty damn good at. Trial and error, of course, has proven to be the mother of all teachers and, with god as my witness, there was quite the number of errors in my trials. However, as I’m shamelessly admiring my full length reflection I’m happy to conclude that this may be the culmination of my learning experience and what a perfect opportunity of that to happen, this date that I have been hoping for but never really letting myself to expect for most of my adult life.

There is, indeed, a life out of the friend zone. Or at least for those of us who are lucky enough to have the object of our desires return our sentiments, there is. As it turns out, I am one of those happy ones and I would rather not consider the alternative. It is much to dreadful to ponder upon right now, and I believe I’ve done more than my fair share of thinking about it so far. Tonight is a celebration of my triumph. Tonight is about new beginnings and the beautiful things that can spawn out of a life long friendship turned romance. Tonight is our first date and I cannot wait to see him, and I am excited, and anxious, and jubilant, and absolutely terrified and-

As the train of thought is all but a hair’s width away from crashing into the sometimes thicker than I’d like it to be bone of my skull, I try to distract myself by admiring my outfit once more, but, however nice it is, the second time around it doesn’t really work anymore. Trepidation is a very strong detractor from reality, and in reality, it’s just going to be me and him. Alone. On a date. There are so many ways this can become very fucked up in various ways but, thankfully enough, before I can make a mental inventory of each and all of them, possibly in alphabetical order, and drive myself various degrees of insane in a very short time span, the alarm I set for leaving home and picking him up at the airport goes off and I bolt out the door.

The car drive and subsequent wait at the airport go by in a flurry of faces and roads and the trees by those roads, and bad music on the radio, and there, emerging from this mix of mismatched elements is his face. I see him looking around the crowd, eyes searching, with his brows furrowed as they do when he’s focused on something, and I wait patiently for him to locate me. His expression changes visibly when he does, softening a bit and I’m frozen into place with anxiety. Serves me right to feel like this after having dumped all of my emotional baggage on him right before he had to leave. As he strides towards me, I have the sudden urge to make a run for home and just spend the day watching TV reruns and eating junk food instead of torturing myself like this. But here he is, and here I am, and here we are, silently sharing an awkward hug in Heathrow, silently walking towards my car outside of Heathrow, silently driving the very same car away from Heathrow...

He clears his voice and hesitates before speaking.

“So... How’ve you been?”

My god, this really doesn’t feel right.

“Good. You?”

He is no longer turned to face me, but looking straight ahead at the road before us. His reply is absent minded, completely devoid of any inflection.

“Fair.”

“How’s your Da?”

This time a smile breaks through his poker face. Finally, something familiar.

“Getting younger every day. A lad in his prime, I’d say.”

“I bet!”

“He asked about you, you know?”

“Yeah?”

It isn’t really like I wouldn’t or didn’t expect that. I’ve known the man for most of my life, I’ve been to his house in Edinburgh more times than I can count on two hands, I send him homemade pie on Christmas. Of course he would ask about me, but I humour the conversation because, well, because it’s the first time since we’ve seen each other when we’re a bit more relaxed, so I let myself slip into the customer talk of how his father is, his eternal joie de vivre, the weather in Scotland, and others, feeling the air in the car become a bit lighter as we converse. Before long, I’m parked in the lot beside his house and the trepidation is slowly settling back in, evident to both of us.

“I’ll, uh, just drop my bag really quickly and be right back in? Or would you like to come up?”

I shake my head. He nods and exits the car.

There’s no way I can go back there, not with how I’m feeling, how we’re both feeling, right now, not with what happened the last time I was there, crying and professing my love, the love that had been corroding at my peace for years, unbeknownst to him, essentially dropping its decade weight on him out of nowhere. Fortunately, my love was mirrored by his, I found out the very same day, but that doesn’t really change much about the current situation. Our paradigm was shaken to the core, our mannerisms, before then fuelled by platonic pretense, however romantic our intentions might have subconsciously been, became deconstructed, crumbled before us. We have to re-learn friendship, to integrate love into the equation, to function as a couple. Moreover, there is the aspect of physicality to be considered. That fateful day brought with itself not only theoretical revelations, as it did carnal ones. For the first time in thirty something years, we knew each other as man and woman, fully wholly, biblically. It was a hunger that I did not even know I needed satiated to that extent, which is why I’d maybe disregarded it almost completely up to that point - also an instance of how such a powerful tool as self suggestion might come into play in one’s life, I reckon – but now that had a bite of the proverbial apple, I wanted more. Alas, what mess we’ve got ourselves into!

I startle as the car door opens and raise my forehead from the wheel. He is looking at me, not saying anything, and, breathing in, I do the same, feeling like I’m finally seeing him for the first time since I picked him up. This is Tom, my best friend since childhood. Tom, my partner through good and bad, high and low, the boy who thought me how to do a slingshot, who held my hair the first time I was hungover, who I, not only once, sent out on tampon runs at the most inconvenient times of the day. Tom, who smells like my childhood and maturity all in one. Tom, my best friend, my lover, my confidante, my Tom.

My Tom.

“I missed you.”

He smiles, a genuine, blossoming smile that reaches his eyes and it’s all back to normal for a brief second. Then his face comes closer to mine, so close that we’re breathing each other’s air and my heart flutters again. But this time it’s excitement. It’s new and it’s scary and I want to run away and jump in his arms at the same time and-

“I missed you, too,” he whispers against my lips and then kisses me. He kisses me for I don’t really know how long, and nor do I care, and it’s different familiarity than what I knew, but I know him and for the time being that’s all that matters.

****

Author's note: hello there to all of you who are still here. I'm back, in a way...?

[padfootagain]

Girl Crush (XIII)

Chapter 13: Would It Be A Sprout?

 Here we go with a new chapter!!! I hope you like it!!

Important chapter ahead. Like… hmm hmm…. Very important chapter, that I will let you discover by yourself but… yes, yes, important indeed. Poor Harry…

Tell me what you think about it!!

Word Count: 2749

Two months.

Harry hadn't seen you in two months, that was way too long.

If he had booked a flight for L.A. as soon as he had learnt that he would have a few days off between two shows, he still reckoned that in the future he would have to plan his trips to make sure he had more time to visit you.

Of course, the two of you had been on the phone almost every day. But it wasn't the same. It wasn't the same at all. Your voice was distorted by the waves transmitted through space, he felt the distance between the two of you in the way you laughed, and your face on the screen of his phone wasn't represented well enough for him to see all the details in your eyes.

Gareth wouldn't be around for the whole afternoon and evening, and Harry was rather happy to avoid sharing you for a while. Some of his friends had asked to organize a party, but he had pushed the occasion for 48 hours later. He wanted to spend the first day he was back to the city of Angels just catching up with you, and he would be dining with you and Gareth the next day.

And indeed, you did spend the whole afternoon together. You had taken the day off to go pick up Harry at the airport, and after dropping his luggage at his house, you enjoyed a lazy afternoon walking down the beach, talking about everything and nothing, eating too much ice-cream and laughing so hard your bellies ached.

You sat down in the sand to watch the sun set and disappear beyond the ocean, painting with red, gold and purple the heavens and the waters it sank in. Your toes were brushed by the waves, and you looked at a little crab running back and forth a few meters away with amusement painted all over your features.

And if he had missed you these past few months, Harry suddenly realized how much he had. He felt happier than he had in these seven weeks. Despite how much he loved performing, he reckoned that he wouldn't have traded this moment even for the rush of stepping on a stage and hearing a crowd sing his songs. If the second was exhilarating, exciting, this… this was soothing and calm. It felt almost like meditation, like connecting to the simple things that meant the most. When he turned to look at you again, he saw home in your features.

Funny that he felt that way. He had never really considered any place like a home since he had left his mother's house at 16. And yet, there was no other word to describe the warm feeling that grew in his chest as he stared at you. He felt like he was exactly where he belonged.

You felt his stare fixed upon you, and turned to him. He answered with a warm smile.

"What's going on in your funny head?" you asked, resting your chin on your knees.

"Nothing," he shrugged. "I'm just happy to see you. I've missed you."

The smile you offered him was worth a thousand suns, but it remained tender and delicate as one of these peonies you adored. The wind carried the salty scent of the ocean, yet he could smell your perfume over the salty fragrance of the waves: jasmine and summer skies, that was how he would describe it.

"I've missed you too, Harry. I'm glad you didn't forget about me."

You had spoken similar words before, but this time your tone was serious instead of teasing, so he frowned instead of laughing like he usually did.

"Forget about you, what do you mean?"

You shrugged, your gaze settling on the waves instead of his green eyes. It was easier to speak words you felt so deeply when watching a sunset than the two orbs you dreamt about from time to time.

"I don't know. You went away for so long, to live something pretty insane and amazing. And I'm just here, an ordinary florist…"

"Don't talk about it like that," he interrupted you with a bitter tone, and you were surprised to find a mixture of sadness and anger in his deep voice.

"I'm not blaming you or anything. And I'm not saying that I'm miserable either. I'm absolutely amazing."

He chuckled.

"You are. You are amazing."

"Doesn't mean that… you being away, sucked up in the craziness of it all… I was afraid you would stop thinking about your friend who lived thousands of miles away."

He shook his head, giving you one of his tender, lopsided smiles, and wrapped an arm around your shoulders to pull you close. And you hadn't realized before then, how much you had missed being in his arms.

"How could I ever forget my best friend, you silly? I missed you like hell. By the way, would you like to come to London for the holidays?"

Your eyes widened.

"What?"

"I'll be at my mum's for Christmas, but have to get back to London on the 26th. Thought you could come with me, as you didn't get the chance to walk around the town the last time you went there. My mum offered to let you stay for the New Year too, I'll go back to Holmes Chapel for New Year's Eve. You could come with me. A few others of my friends that you know will be there, so you won't feel alone, don't worry."

"I… I don't know…"

"You don't have to give me an answer now. Just think about it. And don't worry about money, I'll pay for the tickets, and you can stay at my place, so it won't cost you a penny. Or well, a cent here, I suppose."

"Are you sure about this?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"You're inviting me to stay at your mum's…"

"What about it? You're my best friend. Trust me, I talk about you all the time, she and Gemma know who you are already. Come on, say yes! It'll be fun! I'll be your guide in London!"

You had to admit that it was an excellent proposition, so you nodded, defeated.

"Okay, that sounds fun. I'll come."

"Wonderful! I'll get you tickets, you don't have to worry about a thing."

You rested your head against his shoulder, smiling.

You felt like you never had to worry about anything whenever he was around anyway…

"By the way, Harry…"

"Hmm?"

"You talk about me all the time?"

"Oh, shut up!"

It was late. Really late. Both of you should have been in bed, but none of you wanted to sleep. Harry was exhausted, but he didn't want to bid you goodnight just yet, and you were tired too, but you were too excited to have your best friend back to care too much about your stinging eyes.

Outside, the sky was cloudless and stained with a thousand stars, pale and distant lights lost in an infinite void. The moon was beginning a new cycle, its shape turned into a mere silvery line. But nor you nor Harry paid much attention to the beauty of the night sky.

In Harry's home, Notting Hill was playing, and Julia Roberts and Hugh Grant were breaking into a private garden in the centre of London. Both of you had changed into pyjamas, and you had stolen one of Harry's Treat People With Kindness oversized jumpers. Harry had settled for a pair of old shorts and an oversized green T-shirt. His hair had grown quite a lot since you had last seen him, and the dishevelled strands fell before his eyes. He had also clearly not shaven in a few days, and you were not complaining.

Two glasses of red wine, half empty, rested on the ground next to your feet, and the rests of some Chinese take-out were still scattered across the table. On the couch, Harry and you were facing each other, both of you sitting cross-legged on the comfortable cushions. Harry had just finished to paint your nails, and it was your time to decorate his.

You had chosen to match your nails with his, both of you sporting an alternance of pastel blue and lilac now. You were applying the final layer now, and you were quite proud of your work, barely any of the polish had wandered on his skin.

You had missed these evenings with him so much. The simple, quiet ones where all the two of you did was talk, enjoy each other's company, watch a film and do silly things like painting each other's nails or play boardgames in your pyjamas. You didn't reckon that there was anyone else with whom you would never grow tired of spending this kind of simple and yet intimate moments. Your memories brought you back to the first rainy afternoon you had spent together, the first time you had won against him at Scrabble, and he had never stopped raging about always losing ever since. The thought made you smile.

You were so lucky to have Harry in your life…

There was a slight frown on your features as you focused so intensely to not mess up your hard work. But he could read in your posture too that you were calm, absolutely relaxed. If there were things that stressed you out with your work, or your relationship with Gareth, your body language spoke loudly enough to leave no doubt that you weren't thinking about any of these issues. And as a result, you started to hum a random melody, without even noticing the gesture.

You always hummed when you were happy, without even noticing. An unconscious gesture that never failed to make him smile. He didn't recognize the tune, but then, he wasn't even sure it existed yet, maybe you were creating it now. Just the same way as you did while you were cooking together that day, and created one of his songs in the process. Would you create another tonight?

Through the low light of the room, the flashes from the TV screen painted shadows and shades across your features. Photons were caught in your hair and glimmered there, flickering fireflies shining brightly before fading.

You finished to paint his pinky finger, and let out a content sigh, before resuming your humming as you closed the bottle of polish. You wiggled a little, happy and proud of your work. Your smile radiated joy and kindness. And you were so… adorable? Beautiful? Perfect? It felt like all these adjectives weren't enough to describe how he felt for you in that moment.

His heart seemed to expand in his chest, in a way it had never changed before. It was as if… it was growing bigger and bigger, getting filled with something new that asked for nothing but to burst out and ignite the entire world. He had never felt this way, and yet, it didn't feel like Harry was completely foreign to it. It felt more like… something that had always been there, but never to this proportion, never to this intensity that blinded everything else the way it did now.

And the words that formed on the tip of his tongue and almost spontaneously tumbled past his lips showed him what the meaning behind this overwhelming feeling was.

I love you.

He did manage to bite his tongue before he could let out any sound though, but the urge to speak these words made his eyes grow round all the same.

What… what the hell was happening? What did that even mean?

Love? Well, obviously, you were his best friend, he did love you in a way, but not… not that way…

And he knew that as the words formed in his mind and heart, this time, they weren't intended to express a platonic love he would feel for a friend. They meant… something absolutely not platonic…

"All done! And may I say, I've nailed your nails! No pun intended."

He didn't even notice that you were talking. He seemed to have zoned out.

In reality, he was completely panicked.

What was going on? Why did he feel like that? Why did he want to say that?

"Harry? You're alright?"

You waved your hand right before his eyes in an attempt to bring him back to Earth, and he finally seemed to snap out of his trance.

"Huh? Sorry…"

"Are you alright? You don't like your nails?"

"What? My nails?"

He looked down at his hands and remembered what you had been doing.

"Oh, no, they're great. Well done!"

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Uhm… yeah. I'm just… Very tired all of a sudden, with the trip and all that."

You nodded, and he could read in your eyes that you believed his lie.

"You should get some rest. It's very late."

"I'll prepare the bed for you in the guest room…"

"No, go to bed. I know where everything is kept in this house anyway," you laughed, already turning off the TV. "Try to wait a few minutes for the polish though, or else you'll put some all over your pillow."

"Of course. Thanks again, it looks great."

You grinned, putting the nail polish away.

"I'll clean up, you get some rest," you ordered, before leaning closer to him. "Good night, Harry!"

You dropped a peck on his cheek. A gesture you had done many times before, and Harry shouldn't have reacted to it the way he did.

Why was his heart about to explode again? Why couldn't he breathe? What the hell was happening to him?

"Uhm… Good… Good night, Y/N," he stuttered, blushing hard from his neck to the tip of his ears, and he hurried to get up and head for his bedroom to hide his reaction.

He could still feel your lips against his skin, a ghostly sensation lingering on his cheek, like a little tickle… Your lips were so soft…

He locked the door behind him, resting his back against the wooden surface, out of breath, his eyes wide in panic.

What the hell was going on?!

He replayed the scene in his head, trying to understand what could have happened?

You were sitting on the couch next to him, painting his nails, and you looked so beautiful and…

His heart started to race again, and he rested his hand upon his chest, as if it would make the organ slow down, but all it did was make Harry feel through his ribcage just as fast his heart was pounding.

He let himself slide down the length of the door to the floor, and sat there for a while, resting his head against the cold wood behind him.

You were his best friend. Nothing more. What the hell was wrong with him?

The next thought that formed in his messy head was a question: what would it feel like to kiss you?

He was horrified at his own mind… how could he think like that of you?

You were his friend. You trusted him. And you were in a relationship with someone else. His brain had no rights forming this kind of thoughts.

And yet, when he let his mind wander off again, the same question appeared again, and this time, he felt the burning urge to stand up, open the door, cross the house back to the living room and find out.

He did none of that, of course. Instead, he kept on panicking, burying his face in his hands.

But he reckoned that he was simply being tired and stupid. You were his best friend. You were… his friend. Nothing more.

He was simply stressed out with all his shows, and tired, and jetlagged, and he had missed you so damn much, and he was so happy to see you again and spend some quality time with you.

Yes, it was only the mingling of all these circumstances that was messing with his head. A good night of sleep, and he would be back to his senses.

What if it wasn't though? What if… what if the feeling didn't stop in the morning? What if he really was in love with you?

He dragged himself off of the floor and crawled into bed, collapsing on his pillow and closing his eyes, hoping he would fall asleep soon.

He didn't sleep very well through the night though.

You were haunting his dreams.

**************************************************

Taglist :  @ponycake27 @horsesreign @xinyourdreamsx @jbluevelvet@notkeppeki @daynigt-dreamer-stuff @fudgeflyss @stuckupstucky@snek-shit @suchatinyinfinity@i-padfootblack-things  @buckybsarmy @heyohheyitsgabi@jigsawlover10 @emyyjemyy @addictedtofictionalcharacters @staringmoony@madamrogers​ @cronias13​ @stylesfics-xx​ @mellamolayla​

[liw-the-melancholic-apple]

How it may have gone - Humble Beginnings

A fic taking place in the marauders era. While the political climate seems to head to a conflict, James, Sirius, Remus and Peter are still just teenagers. Dealing with typical teenage problems.

But this year their little group grows. Who would have known that more prefects would be a good thing?

Masterlist

Nine: A hard night's day II

The common room slowly came to live and I vaguely answered the question as to where I’d been that night a couple of times but mostly ignored what happened around me. Until all four girls stood in front of me and ordered me to breakfast.

“Let me get dressed. I probably look like I feel. I’ll meet you in five minutes.”

“You promise?”

“I’d take an oath.” They left and I went upstairs. Looking at my closet I landed on black Jeans, a black and grey flannel and a black cardigan. I redid my hair into the topbun and put on some make-up after brushing my teeth. Just to cheer me up a bit I popped on my favourite ring.

I didn’t quite make my five minute promise but I got up to the Great Hall as quickly as possible. When I entered, though, I considered turning back around and asking Mimi for that toast and jam she had mentioned. They all sat at our table. Milla next to Remus and Peter, who bumped elbows with Nica. Nica talked to Blair who sat across from her and in between Chloe and James who stole some bacon from Sirius’ plate. Why?

I sighed internally and very slowly walked towards the Hufflepuffs. Maybe if I walked slowly enough they’d be done eating and I could not feel that badly. But since I didn’t move at the speed of a flubberworm, I arrived at the table before Peter had started his second course. I sat down next to Mag and across from Toby, keeping some distance between me and the Potter-posse and Crick.

“Morning, you look terrible!”, Magnus greeted me and won a slap against the shoulder.

“Charming.” He grinned at me and handed me a cup and the pot of coffee. “Thanks.”

I mindlessly grabbed a raisin roll and a chocolate muffin and started plucking them apart without really eating.

Nica waved at me.

“Huh?”

“Ugh, if you’re sure you don’t want to come to Hogwarts and spy on those two lovebirds?”

“I am. Got homework and detention.”

“Right! What d'you get?”

“Caring for the plans in the greenhouses one hour a day. Not too bad, actually.”

“You could do both tonight, you know”, Peter said trying not to spit out his sausage and fried egg.

“Not if I want to sleep at some point.”

“Sleep is for the weak! Live a little, Goods! So what if you don’t have all your homework? Nobody will die from it.” Hoarse voice, cheery tone, friendly, casual, not a trace of hostility. Was he kidding?

“Consider me weak then.” I pushed an enormous piece of muffin in my mouth and nearly suffocated.

“It will be so much fun though, shopping and following them around just the right amount”, Blair tried to change my mind.

“I hope you’ll have much fun. But I’ll sit this one out.”

“You’ve sat everything out, since the year started, Tea!”

“Was I talking to you?”

“No, but since we’re friends again, I reckon I can take an interest in your wellbeing again. You’ve spent five weeks in isolation, Black’s right, you should live a little.”

“Thanks for the input.”

“Have I done something?”

“No Crick, course not, sorry. I snuck off to the kitchens yesterday and fell asleep there, I’m just grumpy. Which is another good reason to stay here, by the way. Get some decent sleep.”

“No changing your mind?”

“None.”

The group went back to loudly planning how to spy on Remus and Milla which had those two groan, roll their eyes and giggle. I stayed out of most conversations and focussed on the destruction of yet another raisin roll. My untouched coffee had gone cold by the time the others got up.

“Coming?”, James held out his hand to help me off the bench.

“Sure”, I sighed and took his hand.

He held me back from the others a bit.

“You should have come with the others last night.”

“I was making up with Crick.”

“Before that I mean. You should’ve come outside with them.”

“To do what exactly?”

“Listen to Sirius explain.” I didn’t answer.

“He did explain all of it. Granted, it took him forever which is way too long, but he did. And I think you should have heard it. Maybe even before the others.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m glad he feels… Forget it. It’s fine.”

We arrived outside and pulled out our cigarettes while Milla and Remus waved and made their way to the village.

“This is going to be great!”, Sirius triumphed.

“It better be. We’d have one hell of a mess on our hands, if it isn’t”, Blair answered.

“Don’t be a spoilsport. It will be great, they will come back coupled up and we won’t have to listen to Remus whine about her anymore.”

“Does he do that?”

“What? No, of course not, never, don’t know why I said that”, he recovered very unconvincingly.

I took a last puff, threw the fag on the ground and went back to the foyer.

“Where do you think you’re going?”, Nica shouted.

“To bed! You are off in a minute anyways, aren’t you?”

“We’re giving them an hour head-start. Come back!”

“I’m knackered Chloe, I’ll have a lie-down.” Spoken and disappeared.

“All is not well with you.” Crick had waited for me.

“I’m really tired. Maybe some other time?”

“If you want to talk, I’m here, yeah? Even if some idiot breaks your heart.”

“Noone did. And I wouldn’t come to you with that. I’m not a sadist.”

“You could, though.” I hugged him a little longer than usual trying to express my gratefulness, appreciation and how bad I still felt, then I left him standing in the foyer and went to bed.

Felix had come up to the dorm and woken me up with a weird expression on his face, informing me that Sirius stood in the corridor waiting for me, bothering everyone who went in or out, asking them to get me for him. Groaning I got up and dressed again. I reckoned that I didn’t have a choice to avoid talking to him. After all I had just accused him of ignoring me for no apparent reason, it would be childish to do the same to him.

Breathing in and out two or three times I stood in the common room before opening the door and stepping onto the corridor.

“Goods, hey.”

“Hi.”

“You seemed…discontent this morning.”

“How late is it?”

“Just about lunch time.”

“Bloody hell, I slept for a while, then”

“Yeah, you did. I’ve been here four hours and most of your hosuemates proper hate me by now. Felix was really annoyed when I asked him to get you.”

“He’s thirteen, he’s always annoyed.” I tried a smile. It felt weird.

“Listen, you want to grab a bite and have a chat? I reckon I owe you one.”

“I’d rather not, Sirius. I’m pretty sure I know all I need to know. It’s fine. Kind of.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, yesterday cleared a couple of things up.”

“It did?”

“Yes. Just leave it, yeah?” I turned to either climb back into bed or confront my mountain of homework.

“Goods, I want to talk to you, hold up!”

“You want to talk to me? You want to talk to me? I’ve wanted to talk to you for five bloody weeks. And I’ve tried and sensationally failed, haven’t I? Can’t always get you want.”

I knocked against the barrel.

“Goo…Jette! I’m an idiot, okay? I know. But you deserve a conversation.”

“Damn right! I deserved one first day back from Christmas. Or the day after that. But I didn’t get one. I got death stares and ignorance like I had bloody murdered someone.” I stepped back from the door and lowered my voice again as more and more of my housemates went to lunch.

“I’m sorry”, Sirius hissed. “Which is why I’d like to explain it to you.

“What’s there to explain?”

“All of it!”

“You okay?” Felix and Marvin had just climbed out on the corridor.

“Sure”, I answered.

“You don’t look it.” He turned to Sirius. “She hasn’t had an easy couple of weeks, right? And she’s not good with waking up. Don’t upset her anymore, mate.” He looked into Sirius’ face all earnest and protective and I didn’t think I either ever respected or loved him as much as in that moment.

“I really don’t intend to upset her. I’m trying to apologise and make things right.” What I saw of Sirius’ expression was melancholic.

“You’re a stellar brother, Felix, you know that? She’s lucky to have you.”

“She really is”, I agreed kissing Felix on the cheek and sending him away.

“He’s looking out for you”, Sirius sadly smiled.

“He better be. I’ve done enough of that for him for years. Should’ve seen him in his first year. Lost little idiot.”

“Yeah, I can imagine. Same thing with Reg…” The smile vanished from his face.

“Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. But I am. So, please have lunch with me?” I sighed deeply. I contemplated for a moment. I walked towards the stairs.

“Thanks, Goods. I appreciate it.”

“Hang on! Should you not be in Hogsmeade spying on Remus?”, I suddenly asked when it occurred to me that he had so looked forward to that little mission.

“Oh, the rest are covering that. Thought this was more important.”

We went up in silence, both wondering where this talk would actually leave us. Sirius pulled me to the very empty Gryffindor table. It was the emptiest of all four of them, only first and second years, Sirius and I. My own table next to it was a little more populated. Obviously the snow and cold kept some people form the village. Most Slytherins were apparently battling the weather and most Ravenclaws had decided to stay in.

Staring at the bowls and plates in front of me I realised I still wasn’t hungry although I barely touched my breakfast apart from brutally mutilating it. Unwillingly I piled some salad on my plate and decorated it with a bit of chicken breast. Sirius took half the total amount of chicken wings and drowned them in ketchup. I waited for him to speak, but he didn’t. He thoroughly enjoyed his food and I forced myself to finish mine. When a third of his plate was cleared he looked up from it and turned to his left, facing me. His face was covered in ketchup, he didn’t care or didn’t notice. I handed him a napkin.

“What did you mean when you said that yesterday cleared up things? I mean it might have for the others because they didn’t know what you knew, but what on earth did it clear up for you?”

I bit my lip and hesitated. He jumped his shadow, I should, too.

“The girls said some things, when they wanted to come pick me up to go upstairs that just…made me understand things better. No need for you to repeat it.”

“Come again?”

“They said that you had told them all about it because there was no need to keep it a secret from your friends.”

“Exactly.”

“That’s that, then.”

“What?”

“Well, I took the hint. That’s why I didn’t join you guys.”

“What hint?”

“Are you serious?”

“Always.” I couldn’t help but chuckle. Should’ve known better than to use that word.

“The way they found out is identical to the way I found out. Not asking for it but hearing it anyway. And you tell them all about it because they’re your friends.”

“Right…”

“Well, that told me all I needed to know.”

“I’m clearly missing something. Mind just telling me what you know.”

“Ugh…” I pushed my plate away and rubbed my hand over my face probably messing up my make-up.

“Do I have to?”

“Please. You seem to think that that means more than it does and I’d like to understand that.”

“It’s not that difficult: They are your friends, so you tell them what’s up when they hear about your housing situation. I’m not your friend, so you don’t tell me. I get that. So,I guess I can go?”

I got up and walked outside to the courtyard. Sirius caught up with me at the first of the icy steps.

“You don’t really believe that, do you?”

“What else should I believe? When I found I seized existing for weeks.”

“Well, yeah, but…”

“But what. Look, it’s fine, really. I don’t fully understand what I’ve done wrong but nobody can be liked by everybody and you don’t have to be friends with me to be friends with them. You just have to accept my presence. As long as you can do that…”

“Will you shut up?”, Sirius interrupted my babbling. “That is not true. None of that is true, yeah? You are my friend. I took a bloody punch for you. By a guy who’s built like a small mountain troll. I do not do that for people I dislike.”

“But…why… how…what?”

“I would have talked to you last night anyways, Goods. James, Remus and Peter set me straight. They were furious. Don’t ever doubt their friendship; I think they were ready to drop me for you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!”

“Maybe not dropped me completely. The point is that I’m an idiot and you’re my friend. If you still want to be. Seeing how I’m an idiot…”

“Yeah, I want to be your friend, why d’you think I blew up at you.”

“Fine. Friends. Good Merlin. Thought that was obvious after we rescued you from Cricket…”

“So, did I but then you ignored me…”

“Said I’m sorry, haven’t I? Can you just let me explain?”

“Only if we go back inside, I’m freezing.”

He smiled and led me back into the castle and the prefect lounge. We didn’t talk on the way up. I didn’t know what to say anyways, I was rather confused.

In the lounge Sirius ignited the logs in the fireplace and I found some left over bottles of butterbeer.

“Nice!”

“I’m all ears”, I said after the first sip and gave Sirius my undivided attention.

“Right. Okay. Where do I start?”

“Where did you start yesterday?”

“Answering all the question the girls had”, he laughed.

“I have a question but I don’t know whether I want it answered.”

“Go for it.”

“When I realised you lived with James although your parents are alive and well I kind of assumed they… chased you out of their house. That right?”

“Sort of. I mean, you could say that. Look, I’ll go a bit far back in the story to answer that, yeah? That might be easiest.” I nodded.

“Here we go: My parents are pathetic, vile, racist people who love their so called blood purity and hate everything that isn’t a pureblood wizard or witch. I didn’t get that when I was young and I don’t get it now. And I’ve always let them know that I neither understand nor agree. When I was younger they didn’t make a big deal out of it, kept repeating their credo to me and hoped with all the traditional pureblood education I’d get the hang of it in time.

That changed when I started Hogwarts, got sorted into Gryffindor and befriended James, Peter and Remus. A bloodtraitor and two halfbloods were not who my parents wanted me to spend my time with. When I came home for Christmas they told me they were disappointed and expected me to use my position in Gryffindor House to spy on all those unworthy of magic so they could use that information in the Ministry to get unpure blood banned from Hogwarts. I refused. I told them I liked the blood traitors and halfbloods I knew and stuff like that. That’s when it started.” He paused and took a sip of his drink. He didn’t start talking again.

“The violence?”, I asked in a whisper. Truly, I wanted him to say no.

“Yeah”, he answered just as quiet. He took another sip of his bottle. “At first it was just a well-placed slap across the face and some yelling about how I was not serving my name. But the more they forced their views on me, the more I rebelled against them. Didn’t help that James and his family are normal purebloods who showed me how it could and should be done right. That made me even angrier at their ideals and twisted darkness. So, basically I escalated the rebellion and they escalated the repercussions. Slaps became punches, one became five and then ten and then don’t ask me how many, telling me I wasn’t serving my name turned into calling me a disappointment, a disgrace, a waste of space. You know…”

“I knew I didn’t want an answer to that question.” I felt a lump build in my throat and my eyes water. I usually wasn’t such a cry-baby.

“Oh, it’s no big deal…

“Yeah, it is! How could you even say that? It’s the biggest deal! They are your parents, they’re supposed to protect you and love you and tell you everything’s gonna be alright and be proud of you and support you. They’re not supposed to harm you, Sirius! Or break you down mentally. It is a huge deal.” While I spoke the lump in my throat grew and got audible, my voice cracked a bit. Sirius looked up at the sound of that.

“Woah, no crying! It’s alright.”

“It’s not alright! It’s amazing you’re not some whimp or an elitist arsehole or the worst person ever, fucking miracle that! You deserve so much better! Don’t tell me it’s alright! It’s not. Not even a bit.” By now tears were streaming down my face, clearly alarming Sirius.

“Goods… I don’t know what to do, now. The other girls didn’t cry. What do I do?”

I didn’t answer but leaned over and hugged him tightly. Sobbing like a toddler at the idea of the terror that he’d been through for the past five years. After a moment or two he hugged me back, rubbing my back, going “shhhhh” all the time.

“You know it’s not alright, yeah?”, I asked when I had calmed down enough.

“I know it’s not normal. And I know they’re wrong. But I am alright. Because I’m with the Potters now, and I got a family that actually functions and very good but sobby friends. So, please don’t feel sorry for me.”

“Of course I feel sorry for you!” Sirius let me go and pushed me away, his eyes narrowed and brows furrowed. I was confused. What had I done now?

“I knew it! This is exactly what I told them and they all went ‘no, she’s not like that, she won’t look down on you.’ And I believed it! I don’t need your pity!”

“I don’t pity you”, I forced myself to sound calm and neither shocked nor offended. “I am sorry for you.”

“Same bloody thing!”

“Not at all. You are my friend. I respect you and I care about you. That means I want you to be happy. I want you to be well. I want you to be unharmed. I want you to be as whole as possible. So, when you’re not happy, when you’re not well, when you are harmed, when you’re being broken, I feel sorry for that. Not because I look down on you but because I’m hurt on your account. You honestly think, I’d cry for you if I didn’t respect you? If I didn’t care?” I still forced myself to remain calm but it took all I had.

“You don’t think I’m a pathetic loser?”

“Sirius, why would I?”

“Cause you have such a perfect family. All of you. You all managed to be yourselves and believe in the right thing and make your parents proud. Why would you not think I’m an utter failure?”

“They are the failure! They failed you! And if you think any of us would judge you for what you’ve been through, then we have, too. But not you. Not you.” I closed the distance between us and forced him to look at me by pulling up his face with both my hands.

“You have done nothing wrong. And we all know that. You’ve stood up for what you believe in to terrible and horrifying people and you’ve come out a strong and kind person. We know that and we see that and we respect that, so much. But we still hurt for you. We’re still sorry you had to go through it. You got that?”

“I got that.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.” I let go of him and returned to where he’d pushed me.

“Is that why you didn’t talk to me. Because you thought I’d judge you, I’d laugh at you?”

“Honestly, after that speech I’d rather not say…”

“As long as you don’t think it anymore.” He gave me a weak smile.

“Not anymore.”

“Good.”

“Want to hear the rest of it?”

“The rest of it?”

“Like how I ended up at James’.”

“Yes and no.”

“So, my parents had a dinner discussion about werewolves, one night. It was during the summer holidays and there had just been an article in the Prophet about how there is a German organisation that has set up a full-moon-camp for werewolves. If you’re affected you sign up and then they take care of you over the full moon. The idea is for families to not be as affected or whatever. Great initiative. Obviously my parents hated it.

They told each other how it would be a great idea to set the whole camp on fire on a full moon night just to ‘end that pest’. Now, I don’t know what you think of werewolves but I tend to think they shouldn’t be liquidiated for existence.”

“Agreed. Most days they are just normal people and when they turn, they’re not themselves anymore. I’ll be honest: I do not need to run into a werewolf during a full moon. There’s a reason they are classified as one of the most dangerous creatures, but I’m mainly sad for them. The people I mean.”

“Well, my parents would hate you. Even more. Anyways, I told them pretty much what you just said. Which… didn’t fly with them. And because they had spent the entire time I was with them by screaming at me and using me as their personal punching ball – don’t look like that! – they decided I would be given one more chance to return to their noble and ancient ideals. So, they made me. Literally. They made me do what they wanted me to do. Brought in a stray mixed blood dog and had me kick it.”

“When you say made me…”

“Imperius.” I had to find every last bit of strength to not cry again. There was a very good reason that curse was an unforgivable one.

“And when that didn’t have the desired effect they rounded the evening out with a Cruciatus. I was knock-out for about half a day, then I wrote to James and flooed over there. Never looked back.”

“Thank God for Euphemia and Fleamont. I’m glad you’re out of there.”

“So am I.”

We drank up our butterbeers without another word and silently agreed to go back out to the courtyard after a while. Before we opened the door of the prefects’ lounge I hugged him again. Practically buried my face in his neck, one arm around it, one around his waist. I didn’t cry, I didn’t say anything. I just stood there wrapped around him, trying to stop his hands from shaking, which hadn’t been still since he told me about his sorting. I hoped he’d understand what I was trying to convey.

“You smell like something very familiar but I can’t put my finger on it”, Sirius said after half an eternity. Difficult to say if I had succeeded in my mission.

“Coconut”, I answered.

“I like it.”

“Thanks.”

“You can let go now, Jette. I’m good. We’re good.” I let go and smiled at him. He opened the door and we left.

[eeveedel]

PLS WRITE SUMN W CHUBBY ALPHA HARRY.. MAAM.....

okayyyyy :) 

This is literally the most wild drabble I’ve ever written, I loved this idea and then on Twitter I got some food kink requests so here we are. 

Please be advised his fic contains adult content intended for 18+ audiences, as well as chubby/fat kink and sexual feeding. If that at all makes you uncomfortable or is triggering to you please don’t read. If you’re interested, then enjoy some unedited stupid boys, rushed and messy sex, and a dumb ending xo 

–

Pool parties were Louis’s favorite part of summer.

Aside from the chance it gave him to survive the summer heat wave by mooching off his much richer friend’s pool, parties like this also gave him an excuse to wear his dumbest swimsuits, like the palm-leaf covered Speedo he had chosen today. He loved nothing more than doing sloppy, half-remembered flips off the diving board and draping himself over one of Liam and Zayn’s stupid novelty pool floaties while he let the sun deepen his tan, all while letting as much of his body as possible be shown off in his tin swimwear.

Most of all, he liked doing all that while feeling his alpha’s gaze on him.

Louis shifted on the hot pink inflatable pool chair he had planted himself on, and looked at the side of the pool.

Harry had laid down in one of the poolside loungers, bone dry and drinking a beer while he watched Louis in the pool.

He looked fucking delicious. He always did, but something about the sight of Louis’s alpha in an old swimsuit, his round, soft belly flopping a little over the waistband, made him feel hot all over.

Louis should be used to his boyfriend’s body enough to not almost get a stiffy in public over it, and yet here they were. He had first met Harry over a year and a half ago, when Harry had spilled his rum and Cherry Coke all over Louis’s new white shirt at Niall’s annual Christmas party. Louis had cursed him out thoroughly before actually looking up and immediately going quiet at the gaze of a tall, warm-looking alpha in front of me. An alpha who also was sporting a sizable beer gut belly under a very old looking t-shirt, which made Louis’s chest warm up for some reason.

After gazing at his alpha for a few more moments, Louis rolled off the floatie and into the water. He swam over to the nearest pool ladder so he could climb out, and then once he was out of the pool he promptly flopped down on the lounge chair with Harry. Immediately, put his arms around the alpha’s middle and his chin on Harry’s shoulder, giving his round cheek a kiss.

“Hi, alpha,” Louis giggled, throwing a leg over Harry’s lap. Harry smiled at him, his sunglasses dipping down his nose so he could give Louis a full, bright green glance.

“Hey, baby,” he said, skimming his fingers over Louis’s dripping wet skin, “You want a towel?”

“No, I think I’ll air dry,” Louis said, “Mind if I stay here?”

Harry kissed the side of Louis’s head and squeezed his hip.

“Not at all.”

Louis smiled and snuggled into Harry’s shoulder, absentmindedly rubbing his hand over his alpha’s sun-warmed skin.

Zayn and Niall had taken up the loungers next to Harry’s own chair, both of them looking half-asleep and at least a little burned. A minute later, Liam emerged from the sliding glass door at the back of his grossly huge house to hand Zayn a beer and give the omega a kiss. Then he sat down on the last free lounger, lifting up a glass of clear liquid and lime rinds to his lips.

“Liam,” Niall said, “Is that tequila? At two in the afternoon?[if !supportLineBreakNewLine][endif]

Liam shrugged and nodded.

“Yup,” Liam said, “I’m cutting out glutton for the summer. No beer.”

“Fine, but tequila? Straight ass tequila?” Niall argued.

“It’s better than you think!”

Niall grunted at that, sliding his sunglasses up to rest in his sun-bleached hair.

“Whatever. You’re always on some weird fucking health kick. Last year you ate that weird cold salad out of a Ziploc bag all of June.”

“It’s called farro, and it did wonders to my bum, I’ll have you know.”

Liam took another sip of his tequila, and then smiled at all of them.

“You know, I’m thinking of do P90X again, too,” he announced, “I’m trying to start a little club to do it in the afternoons, make it easier.”

“P90X?” Niall repeated, “The fuck is this, 2009?”

“Fuck off, it’s still effective,” Liam scoffed.

“Well, count me out,” Niall said.

“Yeah, babe, you know I’m not doing that,” Zayn added, making Liam sigh.

“God, whatever,” he turned to Harry, pointing at him with his beer bottle, “Styles? You in?”

“No thanks,” Harry shrugged.

“Oh, come on,” Liam laughed, “No offense man, but you could use it more than any of us. You really let yourself go since uni.”

Harry snorted, taking another swig of his beer.

“I’m alright right now, thanks,” Harry said, and squeezed Louis’s hip, “Besides, Louis’s not really into six packs, are you baby?”

Louis blushed, and prodded Harry with an elbow.

So maybe Harry was right. Louis had seen pictures of Harry when he was in university, when he probably weighed less than Louis.; knew exactly what Liam was referring to when he said Harry had let himself go a little bit. Harry had once told him that he reckoned he had gained about 40 pounds in beer, take out, and office job laziness since then, but he never seemed upset by that. And while Louis could appreciate pictures of Harry’s old physique, it didn’t hold a candle for him compared to what his boyfriend looked like now.

But just because he had a kink for his boyfriend being chubby didn’t mean their entire friend group needed it spelled out for them.

“Shut up,” he grumbled.

Harry chuckled, and drained his bottle.  

“Speaking of six packs,” he said, “Louis, baby, can you go get me another beer?”

“Isn’t that like your fourth today?” Niall said, “How are you drinking more than me and you’re not even buzzed?”

Harry patted the side of his belly with a smirk.

“Higher alcohol tolerance,” he said, “Guess it comes with letting yourself go.”

Louis flushed again, and then peeled himself away from Harry’s side, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“I’ll go grab that beer for you, babe,” Louis said. He got to his feet, looking at everyone else, “You guys need anything?”

“I need you not to cream yourself on my patio,” Zayn jutted in.

“Fuck you,” Louis snapped, and then grabbed the handle of the sliding glass door.

“Hey, Liam, remember when you ate six bananas a day for a month in uni and ended up in the hospital with B12 deficiency?” Niall asked from behind him, which made Liam scoff angrily and then begin ranting about something he had read in a fitness journal that month.

Louis glanced behind him, and was just able to catch Harry looking at him over his shoulder. The alpha gave him a wink, a grin spreading on his face to make a dimple form in one of his padded cheeks.

Louis swallowed thickly and went inside.

–

They got home late, after the boys had talked them into a few more beers and kicking a football around Liam and Zayn’s backyard. By the end, Louis was bone tired, and he nearly had to drag himself through the front door of his own house, his ass still squeezed into his wet Speedo and his arms held down by several containers of leftovers.

He flicked on the kitchen light, Harry close behind him as he opened the fridge to put the leftovers inside.

“That was fun,” Louis said, looking over at his boyfriend.

“It was,” Harry sighed, slumping against the wall. His hands found their way to his stomach, and he rubbed it in slow, gentle circles, “M’fucking stuffed, though.”

He patted his middle, and it sounded firm and hollow. Louis just looked at him, trying to keep his breath normal. Harry was staring at him in the same firm way he had been looking at Louis swimming in the pool. He looked gorgeous, with his long hair tied up and his skin healthy and glowing from the sun. He was wearing the shirt he had put on once they were done at the pool; a yellow Hawaiian shirt covered in green and pink palm leaves. The bottom two buttons were tight against his middle, a bit of his tan skin showing through where the fabric didn’t quite cover him.

“Oh,” Louis said, “Uh – had a bit too much, huh?”

“Oh, yeah,” Harry grinned, “Can’t tell what was the mistake, that third burger or all that potato salad you brought me.”

He patted his belly again, and Louis turned away. He tried to ignore how his traitor of a cock was already chubbing up.

“Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?” Harry arched an eyebrow.

“Don’t talk about how full you are.”

“What, I am?” Harry said. He sighed fully, and his belly pushed out. He stroked his hand up the line of buttons that ran down his front. “Hope I don’t pop one of these, I think this shirt.”

“Harry, shut your fucking mouth, I need to take a shower,” Louis snapped, his face already turning red. He snapped the fridge closed and tried to walk past, but Harry grabbed his wrist.

“Do you?”

“Yes, I have chlorine in my hair, it’ll be so dry in the morning if I don’t condition it,” Louis said, “That’s basic science.”

It made Harry laugh, and he let go of Louis’s wrist.

“M’kay, baby,” Harry chuckled, “I’ll be in our room when you’re all done.”

Louis nearly jogged away, slipping into their room and then into their en-suite. He took off his shorts and t-shirt, tossing his Speedo into the sink to soak. He was already half-hard and he cursed weakly as he turned the shower on.

Fucking fuck his beautiful, thick alpha. Fucking fuck his own kink. Fuck all of it. He just needed a shower.

He scrubbed his body and hair down quickly, avoiding his dick entirely. He felt wetness between his cheeks that certainly did not come from the showerhead, and he whimpered as he finished up. Quickly, the water was shut off, and Louis almost tripped getting out of the shower. He wrapped his slender waist in a towel and tried to dab at his soaking hair with a washcloth. When it was no longer dripping all over his shoulders, he shook his head hard, trying to clear his thoughts, before he stepped into the bedroom.

Any thoughts of clearing his thoughts were vanquished when he came into the bedroom.

Harry was there, as promised, sitting up in their California king in just in his black briefs, his full beer belly spilling into his lap and his love handles curving over the briefs’ elastic. He was scrolling through his phone, but he looked up and tossed the device away when Louis walked in. Harry grinned and stretched an arm over his head, showing tattoos that had long faded and stretched out with his arm’s growing width.

“Louis,” Harry said, “Perfect timing.”

“Is it,” Louis said weakly.

“Yeah,” Harry said, and then, the treacherous fucking bastard stuck a thumb into his belly button and grabbed the bottom half of his belly with his other four fingers and shook himself, making his stomach jiggle, “Was just thinking I’m not as full as I was a few minutes ago.”

Louis felt his fingers weaken their grip on the towel and it fell down onto the floor, leaving him naked.

“Oh, yeah?” he asked.

“Mm hm,” Harry hummed, “Think I could go for some dessert. Could you get me something?”

Oh, this bitch. This fucking bitch.

“Sure thing,” Louis agreed, his neck warming, “How about some of those brownies Niall made?”

“That sounds great,” Harry agreed.

“Well,” Louis said, his throat feeling tight, “Let me just go grab that.”  

He nearly sprinted out of the room and into the kitchen. Once he was there, his mind was already racing. He grabbed the Tupperware full of the brownies, which were already caramel covered and iced with little frosting flowers. They were probably enough on his own, but he just tucked the container under one arm and kept exploring the fridge.

Harry wanted to play dirty, get Louis riled up and then decide that tonight was a good time for a feeding and a fucking, which he knew made Louis lose his mind. So Louis was going to do better than some leftover brownies.

After rummaging for a bit, Louis picked up a canister of whipped cream, a bottle of chocolate syrup, and the half-gallon of milk they had their fridge. He shut the fridge door with his knee, and managed to carry his haul back to their room.

Once he was back, Harry watched him with interest, and Louis deposited all the food on the bed before he climbed up himself. He sat with his legs bracketing Harry’s legs, the alpha’s warm stomach touching his own.

“Here are your brownies, gorgeous,” he said, picking up the Tupperware and cracking up open. He picked one off the top, holding it out, “Open up.”

Harry opened his mouth, and Louis gently fed him the dessert, his mouth growing drier at how Harry ate without losing eye contact with Louis.

When Harry had the last bite in his mouth, Louis pulled his hand away and licked at his fingers.

“How is it?” the omega asked.

“Mm,” Harry hummed, and then spoke with his mouth still full, “I think it could use something extra.”

“Well, you’re in luck.”

Louis grabbed the whipped cream from his side, holding it up for Harry to see. He shook up the cold canister, and then tipped it upside down, angling it towards Harry’s face.

“You want some, baby?” he asked, his hand already pressed on the nozzle.

“You know I do, honey.”

Harry opened his mouth and Louis nodded, then put the nozzle on Harry’s tongue and pressed. He pressed until the alpha’s mouth was overflowing with whipped cream. Then he brought his mouth down, lapping up some of the cream from Harry’s mouth and then kissing the alpha’s sugar-covered mouth. Harry moaned as he kissed Louis back, his hands reaching back to grab at Louis’s bum. Louis bounced a bit, his ass shaking Harry’s hands.

Louis pulled away after a few moments, and then smiled again.

“Were those brownies chocolate-y enough, alpha?” Louis asked.

“Could be a little more,” Harry said, “Niall skimped on the cocoa powder, I think.”

“That bastard,” Louis laughed, “I would never do that to you.”

He reached for the chocolate sauce then, opening it up and then tipping it into Harry’s mouth. A little spilled over Harry’s lips and chin as Louis squeezed it along Harry’s tongue. Louis quickly closed the bottle and swooped in, licking the sugary sweetness off of Harry. Harry groaned again, his hands squeezing harder at Louis’s bum. The omega gasped against his lips, and he reached down, holding onto Harry’s belly and jiggling it a little.

Harry’s moan turned into a weak growl, but Louis just pulled away from the kiss and smiled at his alpha, grabbing the half gallon of milk.

“Something to wash that down, alpha?” he asked.

Harry watched him with careful eyes, his gaze flashing.

“Sure,” he said.

He opened his mouth again, and Louis tipped the carton to his lips, a little inevitably spilling on his chin and his chest.

“Oops,” Louis giggled when it spilled, “Clumsy me.”

He screwed the milk carton shut, and then went to work, licking the milk off Harry’s chin and then down on his soft chest. He held onto his boyfriend’s love handles while he did, and Harry just groaned above him.

Louis was just getting to licking at one of Harry’s dark, wide nipples when the alpha grabbed the omega by his hair and yanked his head up.

Louis squeaked in surprise, his eyes going a bit wide as he looked up at Harry’s dark eyes. Harry smiled at him, the expression a bit too soft for his eyes, and then he adjusted his hips and grabbed at his own crotch.

“You want some dessert now too, baby?”

Louis snorted.

“You are a horrible, evil alpha,” Louis said, “Of course I do.”

Harry grinned, then pulled his hard cock out of his briefs, giving it a few unneeded tugs. His fingers then went to grab at Louis’s bum, pulling his cheeks apart and slipping his fingers inside. He fingered Louis quickly and messily, making the omega whine loudly as he did so. Then Harry was lifting him up roughly and planting him down on his cock.

Louis yelped, and then started bouncing, burying his face in Harry’s shoulder as he did. He smelled like rich, spiced wood mixed with the scent of sugar that had come from their dessert, and Louis whimpered at the smell, licking Harry’s shoulder. He kept his hips bouncing, and Harry held a hand on his bum, giving him a squeeze as he moved.

“Such a good omega,” Harry said, “Takes such good care of me. Keeps me well fed and everything.”

Louis whined, nipping at Harry’s skin. He wanted his mouth filled somehow.

Harry’s hips bucked, and Louis yelped as he felt the alpha’s cock jab harder into him. He felt Harry’s big, powerful body move under him, his belly shaking and heaving as he moved. Harry was grunting, the sounds deep and labored by the food in his belly. It only made Louis whine higher in his throat, and he brought his hands up, clawing his blunt nails on Harry’s furry chest. He pulled his mouth off Harry’s shoulder, his jaw a bit sore and his mouth dry as he spoke.

“M’so glad you’re my alpha,” he said, “Glad I don’t have an alpha like Liam. Just want an alpha I can feed and spoil all I want.”

Harry chuckled at that, kissing Louis sweetly despite still pounding into him hard. When he pulled away he slapped his own belly, the sound loud and sharp, and Louis almost cried. He felt more slick pour out of him, and he bit his lip.

“You spoil me so good, sweetheart,” Harry said, his voice deep and nearly a growl. He bucked his hips up, and Louis yelped again, “You want my knot?”

“Yes,” Louis hiccupped, “Oh, god, please.”

“Yeah, I know what you need,” Harry said, still fucking into Louis, “You like a big alpha with a big knot, huh?”

“H – Harry,” Louis gasped, and then squeaked weakly as Harry moaned under him, and he felt a knot start to expand himself him. His thin body shook, and he felt himself coming, a mess all over Harry’s bloated stomach.

Harry held and kissed him as Louis sat tied on his knot, and Louis just hung onto him, scenting himself against Harry’s neck and whining. Harry kissed his neck gently, calling him a good boy and a good omega, and Louis clung to Harry tightly, feeling his own release dry between them.

When Harry’s knot was deflated Louis climbed off his alpha with shaky legs, clearing the bed of Harry’s late-night snacks.

“Leave those,” Harry said when Louis started to get off the bed with it.

“The milk needs to go in the fridge, asshole,” Louis mumbled, but still struggled to waddle out of the room with his shaky legs and sore ass. He put the food away as quickly as he could, and then he was right back in his room, his body cuddling up next to Harry. The alpha rubbed them both down with a washcloth, and then wrapped a thick arm around Louis, giving him a kiss on the top of the head.

“Thanks for my snack, baby,” he said, and Louis giggled. He reached his hand up, rubbing over the tight skin of Harry’s belly, and it made the alpha moan in appreciation.

“God, I still wonder where the fuck you came from,” Harry said, “How did I get so lucky with you?”

Louis shrugged, snuggling deeper in Harry’s soft side.

“M’lucky,” he mumbled, and he meant it. Here, next to his big, soft alpha, he felt safe and at home, pretty satiated and content.

And he would be ready to give Harry whatever he wanted in the morning, whether it was breakfast or something more.

[niall-is-my-dream]

I Will Love You Forever

 So I got a bit carried away again today! This blurb of Harry and Alex is when she had moved back to England to be with him.

Catch up below and let me know what you think.

Em x

https://niall-is-my-dream.tumblr.com/post/186287708843/we-know-where-we-belong

https://niall-is-my-dream.tumblr.com/post/186310151473/ill-wait-for-you

You'd been laying in your bed staring at Alex for a good half an hour. She looked adorable when she slept, her hair swept across the pillow, her head resting on her hand. Your legs were entangled with hers and you couldn't bare to move away.

 It had been three weeks since she had landed back in England. You'd collected her and her four big suitcases at arrivals at Heathrow, your coat collar pulled up and a hat on. No one had taken any notice of you which was exactly what you hoped for.

The four weeks she'd been gone back in Australia were torture. She went back and packed up her apartment there, finished up at work and came straight back to your house as soon as her plane had landed. You'd invited her to live with you, permanently as your girlfriend. Finally after all these years you could call her that.

Since she'd been back you had spent time making your place hers as well. You brought new linen for your bed, choosing it together like a proper couple. Your evenings were spent curled up on the sofa, her legs across your lap as you both read. 

Christmas time was upon you and a week after she arrived back you went to pick your first Christmas tree together. Wrapping up against the cold you headed out of the city to the countryside to choose one. You'd never bothered much before, always working right up until you went back to your Mum's for the Christmas holidays. But this year was special, you'd finally got the love of your life with you.

Over the next few weeks she settled into her new London office while you were on a well deserved break after a year of touring. Cooking for her had become your favourite thing. Greeting her when she came back from a long day in the office with a glass of wine and a home cooked meal.

Last night had been no different, except after dinner she retreated to your shared bedroom to finish packing for your trip back to Holmes Chapel tomorrow morning. She had ten days off to celebrate with both your families. However, neither of them knew you'd begun a relationship. Alex had told her Mum that she was going to live at yours in your spare room as it would easier and safer than living on her own.

You both wanted to live in the bubble of the new relationship without the pressure of your Mum's. They would both be excited that you had finally got together, but the early stages of a relationship were different with Alex. Having known each other all your lives, you had both said you were worried about how the shift in your relationship would go. Both of you agreeing that you didn't regret starting anything, but that you wanted to savour every moment and feel no pressure to conform.

In fact you had slotted into a relationship with complete ease and it had shocked you both. So, with the way things were going you were going to tell your families at their annual Christmas Eve party at Alex's parents house.

With both your bags packed ready for the morning you offered to run Alex a bath, she looked shattered. Work had been full on for her since she had arrived back. A huge contract that she was managing was both tiring but also really exciting and rewarding. As she sunk in the tub full of bubbles you headed downstairs to get you both some wine.

 "You getting in too?" She asked you as you handed her the glass.

 "I can do if you want me to love, I don't mind sitting on the floor if you want the tub to your self?"

 "No, I'd rather be in here with you actually." She smiled.

 "Don't need to ask me twice." You replied as you stripped off and sat at the opposite end of the roll top bath.

 "Mmmm this is much needed." She said as she laid her head back and closed her eyes.

"How's work going?"

"Good, but so busy. Glad to have a break from it all."

"Are you nervous about telling our families tomorrow?"

 "A little bit!" She laughed as she sat up to take her glass off the windowsill.

You watched her as she took a big sip before placing it back down.

 "How about you?" She asked.

"I reckon they already know. My Mum keeps asking me questions." You replied.

"Yeah, my Mum does too."

"Well, this time tomorrow we will be telling them."

"Makes it even more official." She said.

"It does." You replied reaching for her hand under the bubbles and pulling her towards you.

"H!" She cried out as she landed in your lap, the water splashing over the sides.

"Just wanna love on you a little bit." You mumbled as you nuzzled your face into the crook of her neck. She wriggled around on your lap as you tickled her neck with your stubble.

"Stop tickling me!" She giggled, as she turned around in your lap.

"Well, what can I do then?" You whispered, and she reached for your hand, guiding it towards her centre.

********

Lying here looking at her now, you were wondering if you could just hide away in your home for the next ten days. Eating your body weight in Christmas food and Quality Street chocolates. You reluctantly got your self up, pulling on some joggers and a t-shirt as quietly as you could.

Switching on the radio as you entered the kitchen, you started the coffee machine as the Christmas tunes started playing. You had an hour before you needed to leave. It was a 3.5 hour journey back to Holmes Chapel and you said you'd be there by lunchtime.

Making a coffee for you both, you headed upstairs to find Alex just stirring.

"Morning." You said placing the coffee on her bedside table and leaning down to kiss her.

"Morning." She mumbled sleepily.

"I'm going to take a quick shower, got to leave in an hour." You said.

"Ok, I'll drink this and then jump in after you." She replied.

An hour later and you were in the road. You were expecting quite a bit of traffic, people all heading off to work or home to their families. It was a long enough journey anyway so you hoped it would be plain sailing. Alex had packed some snacks and drinks, the car loaded with presents and your luggage. You were surprised the car could even move it was so full.

When you drove past the town sign you breathed a small sigh of relief at being home. Taking Alex's hand in yours, she gave yours a squeeze and you glanced at her, a massive smile on her face.

"Nearly home love." You said.

You headed straight for Alex's parents house, choosing to drop her off to spend some time with her family before heading over with yours later for the dinner party. Pulling up on her drive, you put the car in park. Spotting her Mum Angie in the kitchen window, you gave her a wave.

"There goes my chance of a cheeky kiss before you get out the car." You said.

"Plenty of time for that Harold." She replied smiling.

You had seen her Mum just six weeks ago when every one had come to your show, but you hadn't seen her Dad Tim, since you visited Holmes Chapel in the summer. You'd gone to their's to have drinks with your Mum one evening, a chance to catch up since you were back home for a couple of days. It had been awkward for you since it wasn't long since your trip to Australia where you had done incredibly dirty things with their only daughter.

It didn't feel awkward this time, even though you'd fucked that only daughter in your bath tub last night. Maybe it was because since you'd seen them last, you and Alex had made the commitment to each other. Either way it felt natural to hug her parents and talk about how the drive had been on the way up.

Angie offered you some lunch but you decided to head off to your Mum's knowing she would be worrying if you were any longer. Alex offered to walk you out while her Mum busied herself in the kitchen and her Dad took her bags to her room.

With her parents out of sight she pulled you close, a hand cupping your cheek and kissed you goodbye. Each of you whispering I love you's and I'll see you laters against your lips.

Later when you were all seated at Angie and Tim's dining table you realised you'd never felt more comfortable and content than you did in that moment.

Tim stood up to make a toast to remember Robin, and then to his delight at Alex finally being home, you knew this was where you belonged. Her family and your family together like it had always been since you were babies.

Taking Alex's hand in yours under the table you gave it a squeeze and she looked your way. As her Dad sat down, Alex stood up. Everyone looked her way, anticipating what she might say. When she told everyone that you two had embarked on a relationship everyone cheered. 

Lots of "I knew it's" and "I told you so's" which made you both laugh. Apparently everyone had assumed that something was going on between you two. 

Then your Mum decided to tell everyone about how you'd cried when you'd found out that Alex has gone to the Year Ten disco with Jacob Stubbs. You cringed at the story, but Alex had leaned over and given you a kiss.

Tim cracked open the champagne and everyone celebrated your news. Both your Mum's had huge smiles on their faces and you could see them already mentally organising a wedding.

Later when you managed to get Alex alone in the kitchen, you pulled her to you and she wrapped her arms around your neck. 

"I love you Alex Connelly, I've loved you since I was 13 and I first saw you in that little red bikini." You said smiling.

"I love you too Harry Styles and I wish you'd taken me to the Year Ten disco."

"I wish I had to." You whispered back. "Lets sneak upstairs and do some experimenting in your bedroom again, for old times sake."