#ch: eddie carmichael

[training4theapocalypse]

Finders Keepers Ch 16. (Cormac McLaggen x fem!reader)

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 6.2k

Warnings: SMUT, PIV, Sex pollen / Love Potion so copious dub-con. Cormac calls Reader a Slut (during sex - not during an argument).

Summary: You want to celebrate Carmichael's return but you have anxiety. Thankfully McLaggen can always help you let some steam off.

A/N: We're really just killing time with the power of friendship (and smut) until the Battle of Hogwarts here.

Masterlist

Tag list: @countlambula, @ratsys, @aweidlich, @navs-bhat, @stainedpomegranatelips, @chiaraanatra, @xxvelvetxxxx, @ohnoitsrosie, @dracosisteer, @daisydark, @intense-sneezing, @lipstickandloveletters, @ichorai, @marmie-noir, @lolitstiana(let me know if you want removed at any point btw!)

Chapter 16: Relax

The party is in full swing as you sit anxiously on the couch, absently toying with the label from an unopened bottle of Madam Rosmerta’s mead in your hands. From here you can keep an eye on the front door and watch the others milling around in the kitchen.

You’re supposed to be joining in with the others, celebrating Eddie Carmichael’s release from Azkaban but when you look at the discarded Daily Prophet on the coffee table, a knot twists in your stomach.

Three photos dominate the front page under the headline “Mass Breakout from Azkaban: Quidditch Conspiracy?” Two professional headshots of Krum and Davies respectively, looking intimidatingly composed in their Lyon Quidditch robes and a picture of you in your Azkaban ones, looking quite the opposite.

You reread the caption underneath, although at this point it’s committed to your memory - permanently. 

‘Undesirables. Contact the Ministry of Magic immediately if you have any information concerning the whereabouts of the organisation known Dumbledore’s Army or the disappearance of Cormac McLaggen and Marietta Edgecombe. Reward five thousand galleons.’

“You alright, Keeps?” 

You look up when Alicia drops herself onto the sofa next to you. You nod and stop fidgeting with the bottle, trying to appear nonchalant.

“You’re not. I can still tell when something’s on your mind,” she says.

“I’m just keeping an eye out. I’m not sure it’s a good idea for us all to let our guard down.” You look edgily at the door. 

She chuckles. “You haven’t changed a bit. Always so serious - too serious. Relax. Enjoy the party.”

You purse your lips, holding back the rebuttal on the tip of your tongue. Her statement is half true but you can’t help feeling her assessment is an unfair one. You have changed. But to give yourself credit - this is serious. There’s a war going on and you’re all in here, partying as if it’s the end of term and you’ve just finished your exams. Nobody’s behaving like you’re wanted by the Ministry.

“I just think at least one of us should keep their wits about them. Just in case something happens.” Your eyes find the door again.

“What are you gonna do? Fight off the Death Eaters single-handed while we watch?”

“What are you gonna do? Get so wasted you can’t point your wand straight?”

“We’ll be fine.”

You look up at Carmichael and McLaggen, laughing together at the other side of the kitchen. 

Carmichael, even more so than you, bears the gaunt look of someone who’s spent time in Azkaban but his smile lights up his face so brightly that it’s almost easy to forget how recently he escaped. Your brow softens when you see him slap McLaggen on the back in reaction to some joke you can’t hear.

“Well, maybe something about you has changed,” says Alicia, watching you observe the two of them across the room.

“Oh, yeah?”

“I kind of had a feeling you’d settle down with a guy when your experimental phase was over.”

You snap back around to look at her. “It’s not like that.”

“What’s it like, then?”

You feel adrenaline rising in your chest, your body instinctively reverting to a state of readiness for one of your and Alicia’s notorious screaming matches.

“You know what, Alicia? You broke up with me so I don’t have to justify who I end up with or why.”

“Well, it might have been different if I’d known you’d resort to dating an idiot like McLaggen when there were no other lesbians left at Hogwarts. I could have at least warned you.”

“He’s not an idiot.” You hear scuffling at the other side of the kitchen and look up to see Carmichael and McLaggen play fighting, trying to put each other in a headlock. You close your eyes and let out an exasperated breath. 

Alicia laughs. “Come on, he’s everything you hate. Arrogant. Entitled. I heard he even got into an argument with Harry Potter when he wasn’t picked for the Quidditch team.”

“He was confunded!”

She pulls a face. “He was? He was reminiscing about the whole sorry tale with Wood and Angelina about it yesterday morning and never mentioned that bit. Just seemed to think Potter had just missed a trick, not recruiting the amazing Cormac McLaggen.”

Your stomach drops. He still doesn’t know. He doesn’t know that you knew Hermione Granger confunded him and never said anything.

“I’m not listening to you talking shit about my boyfriend - yes, boyfriend - when you’re staying here at his place,” you say and get to your feet. “You know, you haven’t changed either, Alicia.”

“I’m sure you’ll tell me why.”

“You’re still a dickhead.”

You hear her scoff behind you as you go to the kitchen and interrupt McLaggen and Carmichael’s boisterous laughter.

“Hey,” McLaggen says in a cautiously optimistic sort of way when you come over. “Do you need a bottle opener?”

“No. Do you have a minute?” you ask him and his expression becomes serious.

McLaggen puts down his drink and opens the kitchen door into the garden. When you follow him outside he shuts the door behind you and leans on the edge of a planter filled with lavender and sage.

“Everything alright? I saw you talking to Alicia. Didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Cormac, I need to tell you something.”

He straightens up with the demeanour of someone bracing themselves, pulling his shoulders back. “Cormac? Something must be up if you’re calling me that.” 

You take a deep breath. “Do you remember your Quidditch tryouts? How you missed the last penalty?”

“...Yes? Sort of?” he says uncertainly.

“Well -” You swallow nervously. “- Hermione Granger confunded you. And I found out and didn't tell you.”

“Okay?” His eyebrows knit together worriedly. “Then what?” 

“That’s it.”

“That’s what you came out here to tell me?” He laughs and runs his hands through his hair. “I thought you were about to break up with me or something.”

“What? No!” His palpable relief is confusing you. “You’re not annoyed with me?”

“C’mere,” he says, pulling you close to him. You stand between his legs and rest your forehead against his chest. His arms are like a warm, weighted blanket around your shoulders. “I’m not annoyed with you about school Quidditch tryouts. You’re acting like you confunded me - not Granger.”

“I should have told you or Madam Hooch or, well, anyone,” you tell his chest. “But I didn’t because I thought Ravenclaw’s chances would be better if Weasley was Keeper.”

He snorts a laugh. “Well, you were wrong. I was awful when I played in that one match, remember?”

“You’re really not mad at me?”

“You’re forgetting I already know how ruthless you are when it comes to Quidditch. I just can’t believe you’ve been feeling guilty all this time.”

“I sort of forgot about it until I was speaking to Alicia.”

“What else were you guys talking about? I looked over and, well, it looked deep.”

“Definitely not deep. She was just saying I’m too serious and that you’re arrogant and entitled.”

“Lots of opinions for someone who broke up with you and barely knows me.” McLaggen rolls his eyes.

“Do you think I’m too serious?”

He looks down at you, considering you for a moment. “I think you worry a lot and that it’s probably exhausting to live in your head. And don’t get me wrong, there’s a lot to worry about right now, but sometimes I think you think you need to be responsible for it all. And you don’t.”

You nod. “I don’t feel great about having a party when people like me are in hiding.”

“We’re still hiding. Or have you also forgotten you’re a fugitive responsible for my kidnapping?” He raises an eyebrow.

“And you’ll never escape,” you say, allowing yourself a small smile.

“I hope not.” He smirks. “What about me? Think she’s right”

“Entitled? No. Arrogant? Yes. But in fairness, you don’t have a lot to be modest about.”

“Lucky you,” he says, with that cocky look you love so much, waiting for your usual sharp retort. But you just bring your hand up to touch his handsome face.

“I am.”

“You’re supposed to argue and say I’m the lucky one. Now I do sound like an entitled dick.”

“I can’t believe you thought I might be coming out here to break up with you.” You’re not sure where you’d be without McLaggen right now. Probably holed up somewhere alone, or worse, still in Azkaban. 

“To be honest, that still sounds more plausible than you apologising for keeping a secret about Quidditch tryouts last year when there’s a war going on.”

“Yeah…” You frown when you hear raucous laughter coming from inside the lighthouse.

He kisses the top of your head. “How about you and I sit this one out? The Fidelious Charm is impenetrable. Everyone who knows about headquarters is in there right now. But if it makes you feel better, we can.”

And his words of comfort make you believe it in a way that Alicia simply dismissing your concerns and telling you to relax didn’t. Really believe it. That you’re safe. 

And that you’re not overreacting. That he gets it. 

Gets you.

You shake your head. “You’re right. I need to stop worrying. At least for tonight. Let’s go back inside and enjoy ourselves. Angelina, Wood and Alicia are going home tomorrow - when are we all going to get to do this again?”

He tilts his head. “If you’re sure?”

“I’m always sure when I’m with you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You weave your way through the party, chatting and occasionally accepting drinks thrust into your hands as music plays from McLaggen’s Uncle’s radio. You pass Davies as he leaves Krum on the sofa to get more drinks. You replace his empty seat next to Krum.

“I like this,” Krum says, looking appraisingly around the room.

“It’s all Carmichael’s doing. If there’s one thing he’s mad for, it’s a party. He was probably planning the whole thing in Azkaban.”

“Not the party. It is like having friends. Not just fans.”

You look at him a little sadly. He’s not expecting sympathy but the matter-of-fact way he said it makes your heart sink. You know what it feels like to not have many friends. It was only this year, after all, that you made your own.

“You can’t take part in a prison breakout without becoming friends at the end of it,” you smile.

He takes a sip of beer thoughtfully, looking at McLaggen. “At first, I am not so sure when he says you are his girlfriend. You are very bossy. But now I am thinking you are a good match. He is a good leader too. He fought vell in Azkaban.”

His unsolicited, backhanded compliment out of nowhere makes you laugh.

“Thank you. I think?”

Krum nods at Cho talking to Davies. She laughs hard at something he says and her long, shiny hair swishes in the dim light of the kitchen. “I also think your friend is very pretty. But I knew Diggory. They were together at the Yule Ball.”

“They were. But she can’t be expected to be alone forever. She’s had boyfriends since Cedric if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“This is good to know.” He stands up. “I’ll see you later,” he adds bluntly, standing up and making a beeline for Cho as if worried that any time she spends talking to Davies instead of him is an opportunity wasted.

Before you have time to be offended by Krum’s abrupt departure, Carmichael launches himself next to you, followed closely by McLaggen who slaps Carmichael’s head and squeezes between you. 

“Keep your bloody hair on. You could have just asked me to shift over,” says Carmichael, slapping him back. “You alright, mucker?”

You nod. “You’ve done it again, Carmichael. Some party.”

“It’s all I’ve been thinking about in Azkaban for the past month,” he says and you feel warm satisfaction - somehow knew that’s exactly what he’d have been doing without you there. “Needed something to think about when you done a bunk.”

“I’m sorry, Eddie -“ you start but absurdly he just laughs.

“Only winding you up.”

“I didn’t want to leave you there alone. I swear.” Even though Carmichael is just teasing, you still feel like you need to explain. 

“It’s true - it’s the first thing she said when she saw me,” confirms McLaggen with a slightly awkward look. “I wanted to get you out at the same time, it’s just that -“

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, alright? Maz got me up to speed, didn’t she? You broke into Azkaban for me. Can’t ask for much more than that.”

You nod. It still barely feels real. You did it. You got him out. And he’s doing… surprisingly well. “I can’t believe you’re so upbeat. I was a mess.”

“The Patronus every night kept me going. And I kept our old routine up.”

“What routine?” asks McLaggen, looking confused.

“You never told him about our very exciting schedule?” asks Carmichael.

“I’ve not told anyone anything about Azkaban, to be honest. Except the layout so we could draw up a plan.”

“Well, we’d recite facts all day and do burpees all night to keep sane. I think I’ve nearly remembered every plant from ‘One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi’,” reminisces Carmichael.

“That was basically all we did until the Patronus came. We couldn’t chat or anything or else the Dementors would sense us having fun. But when your Patronus showed up we could actually talk about things that mattered,” you add and squeeze McLaggen’s hand.

“You really did us a solid, mate.”

McLaggen nods at Carmichael and returns the squeeze of your hand gently.

As the night goes on, you, McLaggen and Carmichael are soon joined by Marietta as you catch up sitting on the fat leather couches. Leanne and Rodger Davies appear too and McLaggen pulls you onto his knee so Leanne can sit down, while Davies plants himself on a cushion on the floor. You look at the old grandfather clock - Krum and Cho have been conspicuously missing for almost an hour.

“You think they’re… they’re alright though?” you ask, looking at the kitchen window. You’re worried they’ve accidentally stepped outside the perimeter of the Fidelius Charm. 

“They’re fine,” insists McLaggen. “Trust me, you don’t want to stumble across something you can’t unsee.”

Just then, Cho and Krum burst through the back door in a more giggly fashion than you’d have expected from the internationally famous player.

“Oi, oi,” grins Carmichael. “Where you been?” They glance at each other and there’s an obvious silence as they hesitate. The only the sound is of The Weird Sisters coming through the radio.

“I remember this,” says Krum, changing the subject. “This vos the music at the Yule Ball.”

“Isn’t it funny that we were all at the Yule Ball?” asks Leanne. “Who would have thought three years later, we’d all be here together?”

Not you, anyway. For most of your time at Hogwarts, your only close friend was Cho and briefly, Alicia. Now you’re quite literally surrounded by friends.

A thought strikes you. “Who did you go to the Yule Ball with?” you ask McLaggen. You didn’t really know him back then.

He clears his throat. “Er, one of the girls from Beauxbatons.” You don’t fail to notice the sympathetic look Leanne gives him. Neither does McLaggen. “It’s alright,” he laughs. “I’m over it now. Really.”

“Wait, what happened?” you ask.

“Took his V-card and fled the country,” says Carmichael.

“Oi, it wasn’t like that.” Carmichael raises his eyebrows at him. “Alright, maybe that was the jist of it.”

“I hear that, mate,” says Davies and you give him a tight-lipped smile in commisseration, remembering how he was devastated when Fleur Delacour went home to France and never wrote back to him.

“What about you?” asks McLaggen. “Who did you go with?”

You shrug. “I didn’t have a date. I just went alone.”

“Yeah, but you never finished the night alone,” says Alicia, coming over with Wood, Katie and Angelina. “Remember?”

At the Yule Ball, Alicia noticed that you didn’t have a date either. And you hadn’t wasted time in finding out why she too had spurned invitations from the boys at Hogwarts. But you’d rather she didn’t flaunt it in front of your current boyfriend, who you notice, holds onto your waist a little firmer than before as you sit in his lap.

“I am thinking that I am not the only one who vos heartbroken after the Trivizard Tournament,” says Krum, and you’re grateful that the normally stoic Seeker has warmed up enough to change the subject again. He looks intently a Cho. “I vos sorry about vot had happened to Diggory.”

Cho smiles, a little sadly but she doesn’t look upset. “He would have been here too. At headquarters with us. He’d have loved being part of the D.A.”

As the night draws into the small hours of the morning, the group begins to retire to bed. Alicia, Angelina and Wood make their excuses since they’re getting up early to leave tomorrow. Soon after Katie and Leanne yawn and declare they’re tired and go upstairs too, shortly followed by Davies. 

“Right then. Party favours anyone?” asks Carmichael, wiggling his eyebrows at the five of you remaining.

Without waiting for a reply, he leaps off the sofa and runs up the stairs.

“Where’s he going?” you ask Marietta.

“Probably to get something from his bag.”

This perplexes you. “Where’d he get his bag?”

“I stole it from the Department of Magical Confiscated Items before I left the Ministry.”

“You did?!”

“Marietta Edgecombe.” McLaggen whistles, impressed. “It should be your mug shot in there.” He points to the front page of the Prophet, still open on the table. But Marietta just flips her hair over her shoulder with a proud smile as she hears Eddie trundling back downstairs with something clutched in his hand.

“Right, here we go,” says Eddie putting three heart-shaped vials on the table.

“Nope, no way,” you say. You recognise them immediately as love potion.

“Look, it’s different. You drank a whole bottle last time, didn’t ya? If you have half each it’s a better experience.”

You and McLaggen exchange glances. You don’t want to make a fool of yourself again.

“What was it like last time?” Cho asks you. “I’ve never had a love potion before.”

“What do you mean ���what was it like?’ - you saw me.”

“No, I remember that. Vividly,” grins Cho, and you expect she too is remembering you trying to kiss her like a possessed maniac. “What did it feel like?”

“I dunno, I was in a weird state of mind.” You and McLaggen were broken up and you remember begging him to fuck you in the cubicle as he resisted your pleas. “But it still felt… good, I guess. Circumstances aside.”

That’s an understatement. It felt really good. You wonder what it’d be like if McLaggen wanted you in the same insane, feral way you wanted him that night. It’s not as if he’s shy when he’s feeling amorous but still, the idea makes your cheeks flush. 

“Should we?” you ask him.

“You want to?” He reaches across your legs to pick up the small bottle. “I’m not doing it right here though.”

“Good, I don’t even remotely want to know what your turned-on face looks like, mate,” laughs Carmichael before swerving a cushion that McLaggen tosses at his head.

“Are you guys…?” You look between Marietta and Cho. Marietta nods but Cho looks at Krum waiting for his answer. He shakes his head and Cho looks slightly disappointed. 

“Not tonight,” says Krum. “I vant to be lucid when I’m with you.”

She looks taken aback by his forwardness but it cheers her up significantly. McLaggen hesitates looking at the bottle but you press his hand closed and look at him meaningfully. Maybe, just maybe, using it with him could repair your so-far tainted relationship with the potion.

McLaggen tears his eyes from your hungry look and helps you to your feet. “Right, we’re turning in to get some rest. See you guys later.”

You squeal when he grabs your hand, dragging you towards the stairs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You close the bedroom door behind you and lock it with a wave of your borrowed wand. You pause thoughtfully. “I’m gonna move the chest of drawers in front of the door - just in case.”

“A bit overkill, isn’t it?” asks McLaggen.

“I wanted to fuck anything and everything last time. It’s just an extra precaution.”

“Hmm,” he murmurs, turning the small vial in his hands and sitting down on the bed. “You sure it’s not going to be too intense for you? We don’t have to.”

“I mean, based on what happened to me last time, you know you lose most of your autonomy, right? All you’ll want to do is fuck me.”

“That’s all I want to do most of the time as it is,” he grins. 

“I’m serious. It’s like losing yourself and only listening to the horny part of your brain.”

He doesn’t look too concerned with this revelation. “Sure you want to do it again? You hate love potions.”

“I just hate bad experiences with them. Are you sure you want to?”

“I’m always sure when I’m with you,” he says as you sit down on the edge of the bed beside him. He opens the stopper decisively and takes a drink. You both stare at the bottle.

“That’s almost all of it…” you say, your pulse rate quickening, remembering how you felt when you drank an entire bottle. 

“It felt like barely a sip!” He holds it up to the light. “I think there’s about a quarter left.”

“That’s a generous estimate.” 

McLaggen is much bigger than you after all - maybe it’s fine if he has more. You take the tiny bottle, drink the last few drops and when the liquid spills down your throat you immediately feel it warming in your chest. The burning sensation sinks lower and lower into your pelvis.

You look at Cormac. God, he’s beautiful with his messy curls and his eyes focusing intently on your face. But his usually bright green eyes almost look black right now. 

“Your eyes…” you say, blinking up at him.

“My eyes?” He blinks a few times. “What about your eyes? They’re so pretty.” He cups your face with both hands. “So, so pretty.”

With difficulty, you tear your eyes off him and look at the door.

“Let me just move the drawers,” you say, turning on the bed to face the door so you can grab the wand lying on the other side of the mattress. “Wingardium Leviosa - oh fuck -”

Your careful movement of the drawers is interrupted when Cormac crawls behind you on all fours and clambers over you, squeezing your tits from behind and knocking your wand arm so they crash into the door with a thud.

“Wait - Cormac -“ The feeling of his hot breath against your ear as he nuzzles into your neck makes your cunt throb. You extend your wand arm towards the door again. “Muffliato.”

White noise buzzes around the bedroom door as you place your wand down and try to turn around to kiss him but his body cages you in, preventing you from changing position. 

Cormac roughly pushes your T-shirt and bra up over your head so he can grope the bare flesh of your chest from behind. 

“Fuck. You smell so good,” he says, breathing in the scent of your hair. 

You feel his cock pressing against your backside. You want his touch more than anything right now but there’s a niggling feeling at the back of your mind. The sensible, ‘too serious’ part of your brain is yelling at you. Calling you an idiot for locking yourself in. But the love potion flowing through your veins is shouting louder. Telling you to do whatever will ease the throbbing sensation in your underwear.

Your core burns when he removes a hand from your chest and you hear the gentle clinking of his belt unbuckling. He’s never asked to fuck you like this before - you don’t mean under the effect of love potion - but from behind. And without any preamble, insistence on eating your pussy first or sweet murmured words of how much he loves you.

Silently he reaches around and unbuttons your jeans and when his hand brushes over your pussy you let out a whimper. It’s only the lightest graze but your skin tingles in response. Cormac pulls your jeans and underwear down to your knees, not even bothering to remove them completely as you remain on all fours.

“Fuck,” comes his low, ragged breath when he sees your pussy - blushed pink, sopping wet and ready for him to do whatever the fuck he wants with you.

Suddenly his chest is pressed up against your back and the length of his cock rubs underneath you, along your lips and brushing your clit. Every sensation is heightened. From the way his hands find your hard nipples to how his stubble scratches your shoulder as he kisses and bites your skin.

You feel yourself getting stickier and wetter from the way he’s dragging his length along your cunt. Until you realise he’s barely moving at all - that it’s you who’s pushing back against him chasing the gentle friction while he sucks a fresh bruise on your shoulder blade.

Cormac’s hands cease their rough groping of your body and you feel him position himself at your slick entrance. The head of his cock slowly glides between your folds but you can’t wait for him to slowly sink into you. Full of longing, you urge your hips backwards, feeling a shiver go up your spine as he penetrates you.

“So fucking tight…” he groans as he grips the soft curve of your hips and you rock on your knees until he’s pressed flush up against you. You unsteadily bring your hand to your clit but he reaches round and pushes your own hand aside so he can toy with the pulsing bundle of nerves, begging for attention. The rough pads of his fingers, coated in your juices, dance against you in time with your rocking. 

Bright, white light - brighter than any Patronus - flickers behind your eyelids as you chase the sensation. You pant and whine under his touch, feeling like a wild animal in heat as you get yourself off on his cock. But why isn’t he moving? You had expected from the way he crawled on top of you that he’d be desperate to fuck you too. 

“Cormac, fuck - fuck me… please,” you babble, knowing how much he likes it when you beg for him. The steady rhythm of his fingers picks up, rubbing in circles all over your clit.

“I can’t - can’t -” He swallows.

You push your hips back harder, gyrating into him as far as you can, feeling the stinging stretch of his cock opening you up as your body cries out for him. You bounce back wildly against his still body and your pussy clamps and convulses around him. Cormac frantically works your clit under his hand, guiding you to the blinding light just out of your own reach.

“Why?” You sob, in a pathetic, drawn-out wail. You were sure he’d want you the way you wanted him in the Prefect Bathroom. The way you want him right now. But here you are, making an idiot of yourself again, the love potion making you act in a way that you know is embarrassingly unbecoming but your body doesn’t seem to care.

He grits his teeth. “If I start - I won’t - I can’t be gentle.”

Oh shit.

“Don’t be gentle, then. Fuck me - fuck, fuck…”

Pleasure floods through your entire body, the love potion setting every nerve ending ablaze as your orgasm takes hold of you. You don’t even realise how loudly you’re cumming until he grunts your name and you can barely hear it over your own mewling.

Your arms give way and your face presses against the sheets as you collapse in a dishevelled heap, catching your breath and feeling your cunt twitch helplessly in the wake of your orgasm. The feeling you’ve only experienced once before, of love potion evaporating from your consciousness and your thoughts becoming instantly coherent, washes over you as your chest heaves and intense clarity sets back in.

He pulls out of you and your hips slump down to meet the bed too. But the anticipated sensation of his cum leaking out of you doesn’t happen.

“Did you…?” You look over your shoulder and watch him silently remove his T-shirt over his head. He clenches his jaw as he takes off his jeans. Cormac straddles your lying figure from behind and his hands massage the flesh of your ass, roaming over your curves until his thumbs spread your pussy - still flushed and swollen for him.

“Are you okay?” you ask. He doesn’t reply - he simply adjusts himself, taking hold of his warm, wet cock. You suck sharply through your teeth when he forces himself down into your sensitive cunt. 

Oh, fuck.

You can barely move. You try to tilt your hips up, to find a better angle but his weight on your thighs presses down on you - hard. Maybe if you had a pillow to lie on…

“Let me just grab -”

His hand comes down with lighting quick reflexes and pins your outstretched arm.

“No.”

He grinds down on you, using his forearm to push on your back so you’re flat against the mattress as his cock rams undiscerningly against your G-spot. And you realise, as he ramps up pace, that he was fighting against the love potion, letting you cum first so he could finally give in to the urge to fuck you mercilessly.

Cormac’s hand laces through your hair and wrenches your head back. He kisses you desperately but you wince and attempt to pull back. He makes a shushing noise, his lips pressing against the side of your face. 

“Shh, just take it… take it… take it…” Every hushed insistence is punctuated with a thrust.

Jesus fucking Christ. 

Cormac is taking your permission not to be gentle seriously. Your pussy leaks as you forget to protest and your body willingly accepts the uncomfortable hold he has on you. His fingers remain firmly entwined in your hair as he fucks himself into you. You wonder if he can even register that you’re his girlfriend and not just a warm, wet fucktoy for him to do whatever he pleases.

You know he’s being too rough with you. He knows he’s being too rough with you. But right now he doesn’t care. You wonder if he’s always wanted to fuck you like this and it’s just that the love potion has made him lose all sense of how he should behave.

The thought makes your pussy clench - that he’s always been so loving and gentle with you because he knows he ought to be. That he makes himself hold back because knows he’s so much bigger and stronger than you.

And now…

You let out an involuntary whine and quickly feel yourself blush right down to your chest when he laughs in response. A triumphant laugh, with his teeth bared against your cheek as he continues to thrust down into your pussy, his hips slapping your backside so hard it stings.

Fuck, you’re going to cum again. Going to cum from being used as nothing but a hole for Cormac to empty himself into. His free hand slides under your chest and squeezes your breast roughly. It’s definitely going to leave a mark. 

Your thighs twitch as your G-spot is fucking pounded into submission. You can’t tense and squeeze the way you normally do so you just have to accept your fate and pray that his cock keeps hammering into that same exact spot that you’re so desperate for. You wonder if he’d listen if you told him to keep going.

“Please, Cormac - there. Keep - fuck - right there.”

“Yeah? Fuck. You’re such a slut. Such a pretty, fucking, slut,” he slurs his words right against your ear.

Oh shit.

He’s never called you that before. Probably because he knows under normal circumstances you’d curse him. But you’re in no position to do so right now. And what’s worse - for some reason, it turns you on in a way that you never imagined it would.

“Yes,” you breathe.

“That’s right,” he says, gritting his teeth. “You gonna cum for me like this?”

You try to reply in the affirmative but instead, a broken yelp is ripped from your throat. The bedsheets bundle up tight under your fists as another wave of ecstasy takes hold of you, dragging you by your hair under the surface. 

And then you feel the drop approaching without any indication of slowing down. 

An empty dark space filled only by Cormac fucking you so hard that his hips drive you right down into the mattress. So deep and so tight that the air is forced from your lungs under the sheer weight of him. Every part of your walls constricts around his cock, gratefully squeezing him, thanking him for making you cum like this.

He lets go of your hair and anchors himself to your body by holding onto your tits. He gasps and groans wildly, and with a few more deep, grinding thrusts he pushes as deep as he can, cumming deep into your cunt. You twitch involuntarily around his cock, the aftershock milking every last drop he empties into you.

Cormac’s dead weight collapses on top of you and he pants breathlessly for a few moments. Even though you’re crushed, you’re comforted by his warm body. But it doesn’t last long. He pulls out of you and lies on his side, quickly brushing loose strands of hair out of your face.

“Baby… baby, are you okay?”

You remain lying on your front and turn your head to look at him. His eyes are full of deep concern.

“Yeah, I’m - I’m more than okay… are you?”

“I dunno, I - I tried to hold back but… fuck -” He brings his hand to his head. “I - called you a slut,” he whispers.

You laugh and pull yourself close to him, lying on your side and feeling his cum leaking out of you onto your thigh.

“Are you sure you’re alright? The love potion’s not -”

“Yes,” you stress. 

He looks at your breasts, covered in blotches. “Oh, god.” Cormac moves downward and places soft kisses on your chest, so gentle it makes you giggle.

“I’m sorry.”

“I told you - it’s okay. Are you feeling alright?”

“Just - fuck - I never let myself lose control like that.”

Your suspicions are confirmed.

“You know… you’re allowed to lose control when you’re with me. I’m not that fragile.”

“But -”

“No, listen, I know you’re a gentleman and I love that you make me feel loved, even adored when we have sex. I do. But if I’d known you had wanted to just pin me down and fuck me hard before, I would have let you. Wanted you to.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You shuffle down to meet him and smirk. “I’m not saying all the time. You know how much I like being adored.”

He smiles and kisses the top of your head, before pulling you close.

“I don’t want to break you.”

“Psht, I can handle it.” you smile. 

You lie quietly, breathing in the warm amber and jasmine scent lingering on his chest. It smells like home to you.

“I can’t imagine what it was like for you that time in the Prefect’s Bathroom. I mean, after that, I almost feel bad for not fucking you back then,” he murmurs into your hair and inhales deeply. You wonder if you smell like home to him too.

You laugh. “It was rough. But you made the right decision.”

“I mean, fuck, I had you. And I still felt like… I dunno. Like I was going crazy. You were right in Slughorn’s class.”

“In Potions class? What?” Your eyebrows pull together in confusion, trying to recall.

“Way back in our first lesson together, when you said they should be banned -” He frowns. “- I feel sick thinking what would have happened if it was me instead of you who drank it at the seventh-year party. I was able to hold you but if it was the other way around you wouldn’t have stood a chance.”

You shrug. “I’d have done alright if I had my wand.” 

“Unlikely. I’ve seen you duelling, remember?”

“Nah, I wouldn’t have duelled you - I’d just have done a binding spell.” You mimic waving your wand. “‘Incarcerous’ - then you’d be tied up so I could just wank you off. Sorted.”

You said it as a casual joke but Cormac’s breath catches in his throat as he holds you. 

“What?” You look up and see his face has turned pink.

“I think…” He clears his throat and laughs. “I think that’s just awoken something in me.”

You gasp in mock scandalisation. “Cormac McLaggen tied up and forced to cum by someone who ‘wouldn’t have stood a chance’ otherwise.”

“It was you who suggested it!” He protests as he laughs and rolls on top of you, lying between your open hips. He presses his forehead against yours and you look in his eyes. They’re normal again. Devastatingly green. 

“Imagine the Daily Prophet found out that’s what I’d been doing to you the whole time you were here, kidnapped.”

“Stop, I can only get so hard,” he smirks.

Cormac kisses you and runs his hand down the back of your thigh. You suck on his bottom lip before grinning up at him wickedly. “Who’s a slut now?”

Chapter 17: Purpose

[oscarisaacss-wp]

12 DAYS OF GIFMAS… DAY 12, your ocs + representation (pt. 1, pt. 2).

elle davies / kiss with a fist — ashkenazi jewish, israeli, bicurious, anxiety disorder

alita byrnes / black magic — biracial, creole, irish, anxiety disorder

eddie carmichael / kiss with a fist — biracial, bisexual, nigerian, depression

tess bakalova / foreigner’s god — cuban, ocd, borderline personality disorder, bilingual

nora cleary / strangeness & charm — biracial, chinese, italian, perfectionism, demiromantic

yesenia denver / lost myths — biracial, chinese, bisexual, ptsd, anxiety disorder, depression, secondhand trauma

irina makara / devil’s tears — maori, chinese, cook island maori, pansexual

florence russell / black magic — biracial, african-american, indigenous canadian, bisexual

maya daud / angel with a shotgun — anxiety, biracial, somali, norwegian, bicurious, depression

holly venari / the sun & other metaphors — ashkenazi jewish, anxiety disorder, schizophrenic, adhd

[training4theapocalypse]

Finders Keepers Ch 7. (Cormac McLaggen x fem!reader)

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 6.1k

Warnings: SMUT, Romance 🥹, Finger fucking, PIV, Unprotected sex

Summary: It's Valentine's Day and Cormac knows a secluded spot.

A/N: 800 words of plot, 5.3k words of smut. Can someone please help me budget? I can't feed my family. PS I was updating weekly when a chapter was 2k but they're getting longer and longer so it will be more like every 2 weeks.

Masterlist

Tag list: @pretendfan, @countlambula, @ratsys, @aweidlich, @navs-bhat, @stainedpomegranatelips, @chiaraanatra

Chapter 7: Fine

“Did you see who the Ravenclaw Captain is going out with?”

“Does McLaggen know she’s a lesbian?”

When you returned from the holidays, murmurs surrounded you and McLaggen when you walked down the corridor with his arm around your shoulder. Even tonight as you and the other last few remaining students are ordered out of the library by Madam Pince, a few of them give you both a backwards look as you leave.

“Does it bother you?” you ask, as he scowls at a couple of fifth-year boys.

“Nah,” he says unconvincingly. “I’m more annoyed that it’s interrupting the only time we have together.”

The second part, at least, is true. Between McLaggen’s detentions with Snape every Saturday, Ravenclaw Quidditch practice and the ever-increasing demands of your N.E.W.Ts, the two of you had hardly spent any time together - never mind time alone. Potions was the only class you shared and it required so much concentration these days that it was hardly conducive to intimate conversation.

The two of you lag behind the other students, trying to take as much time as possible to return to your respective dormitories. 

“They’re probably wondering what you’re doing with me,” you scoff.

He stops in his tracks, adjusting both yours and his book bags on his shoulder. “What makes you say that?”

“Don’t be daft McLaggen, you’re you. Ridiculously good looking, well-connected…”

“You’re mental. Genuinely bonkers.”

“I’m not sure if you noticed but I was hardly fighting off suitors before we started going out.”

He puts a hand on each of your shoulders and looks into your eyes. “Listen, you are so fit. I think that was more to do with…” He hesitates.

“My personality?” You suggest with a grin.

“I was going to say your reputation but sure, let’s go with that,” he laughs. “And I’m not sure if you’ve noticed but it’s all lads who have been staring at us. I mean, the first thing Eddie Carmichael did after he saw us together was ask me how I’d managed it.”

“Yeah, right.” 

“He did, I swear! I think you’ve annoyed a lot of blokes here by being secretly bisexual.”

“It wasn’t a secret! I-”

“God, you’re so easy to wind up.” He brings his free arm around your shoulder again and you continue walking towards the entrance hall. 

“I’m not used to it. Nobody’s usually brave or stupid enough to try. Except you, obviously.” You slow down as you make your way across the courtyard towards the entrance hall where you’ll need to bid each other goodnight. “Speaking of stupidity, when’s your last detention with Snape?”

“This Saturday. Just as well because it means I’m free on Valentine’s Day. You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Yeah, good shout - the pitch will probably be free.”

“I was actually thinking we could do something together that wasn’t Quidditch practice.”

Oh.

“What kind of thing do you have in mind?”

“Well,” he takes a deep breath as you reach the marble staircase. “We could go to Madam Puddifoots? Get coffee? And dusted in confetti, probably.”

You come to a halt, thinking about Cho’s previous experience there with Harry Potter. “I can’t think of anything worse.”

“Oh, thank god.” He grins. “Me neither.”

“Now you mention it, I wouldn’t mind being alone… just the two of us,” you say, taking a step towards him and looking up at his face. “What about that room on the seventh floor you guys used for the D.A. last year?”

“Pfft, yeah right,” he laughs. “Carmichael said he had to duel about twelve other blokes for the Room of Requirement last Valentine’s Day. Too many people know about it now.”

“Scared you’ll lose?” You ask, thinking that that would be something you’d enjoy watching very much.

“Carmichael managed to get the room last year but spent the entire night with his legs stuck in the jelly legs jinx. Not worth it.” You both crack up laughing.

“I meant to ask,” you say, thinking about Marietta. “Does he have a date this Valentine’s Day?”

“Carmichael? I’m not sure, why?” He gives you a confused look.

“Could you maybe hint to him that Marietta might be interested in going out with him?”

“Eddie and Marietta? I dunno…”

“Why not?”

“I mean, she’s a bit of a…” He hesitates. “She’s sort of a goody-two-shoes, right?”

“So? Eddie’s Head Boy.” You bristle, ready to defend her.

“Yeah because he’s clever but he’s still a bit of a geezer. I suppose Dumbledore doesn’t know he runs a black market. He made a mint last year selling Baruffio's Brain Elixir to fifth years doing their O.W.Ls.”

This is news to you. Carmichael’s obviously good at keeping his illicit activities quiet. “Well, maybe she likes a bit of edge.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll tell him to ask her out. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Not as a double date or anything,” you add quickly. “I spend enough time with her as it is.”

“Yeah, I’m not keen on being around Carmichael working his magic either.” He screws up his face in distaste. “The two of us could always just go to the Three Broomsticks?”

“Eh, too crowded. What about the Quidditch stands again?”

“No way. It’s far too high and exposed for what I’d like to do to you.” He moves his arm down your back and squeezes your bum.

“Cormac,” you tut, pretending to look scandalised but he just responds by tilting your chin up to kiss him. Standing on your tiptoes to meet his lips, you grab his shirt, pulling your body in as close as you can to his.

There’s a hiss behind you and you pull apart to see Mrs Norris, the caretaker’s scruffy old cat giving you a reproachful look. That could only mean that Filch wasn’t far behind. 

You kneel to try and scratch her head but she hisses again and bats your hand away before running in the opposite direction.

“I’ll think of something,” says McLaggen, returning your book bag. “Something good.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A couple of weeks later you stand at the edge of the Quidditch pitch with your broom at your side, as per McLaggen’s instructions. The winter sun is low over the loch in the distance. His last detention should be finished by now. 

You soon see his broad figure walking down the path towards the pitch - his broom in one hand and his book bag in the other, looking like it’s ready to burst at the seams. You pull your scarf around you tightly against the cold evening air.

“Oi oi,” he grins, you hear the bag clinking with what you hope is a bottle of Firewhisky as he gets closer. “You ready?”

“What am I meant to be ready for?”

“A secluded night alone with your favourite git.”

“Inside I hope?” You ask, shivering.

“Nope.” He mounts his broom and kicks off into the air. “Are you coming or what?”

You twist your mouth into a reluctant smile and kick off from the ground

He grins over his shoulder and accelerates towards the loch. Where is he taking you? 

You soon catch up with him as he flies low over the water. Just as he turns to see if you’re close yet, you dip your hand in the water and speed past, splashing him with freezing water as you whizz by.

“Oh, you cheeky…” His voice trails off as you get further away, laughing into the wind whipping at your face. He catches up with you again and cuts in front of you, forcing you to stop abruptly. “Wrong way. Follow me.”

You behave yourself this time and follow him as he flies towards a tiny island in the middle of the giant loch. He descends onto the pebble beach and dismounts when he’s onshore and you do the same.

“Here?”

“A bit further back, away from the lake.”

“Loch.”

“Hm?” He takes your broomstick to carry it for you.

“We’re in Scotland so it’s a loch, not - ah, never mind.” 

You hold your tongue - the name of the body of water wasn’t the issue you saw here. Firstly, it was freezing cold tonight and secondly, you could make out the castle from the island. Anyone looking out a window would see any fire you lit to keep yourself warm, potentially drawing the attention of the teachers.

You reach a grassy verge at the edge of the stony beach and McLaggen conjures a blanket from thin air which spreads itself out on the ground. He gestures for you to sit down before walking around the perimeter in a circle muttering spells.

“Shield charm, disillusionment charm,” he says in answer to your silent question. “And a few more to make sure nobody can see us from the castle or sneak up on us unexpectedly.”

You tilt your head. “You’re good at all this defensive stuff.”

“Don’t sound so surprised. I’m doing the N.E.W.T. in Defence Against the Dark Arts, remember?”

“Rather you than me,” you say, watching as he turns his attention to his book bag and extracts not a bottle of Firewhisky but a large jam jar, inside which he conjures a blue flame. He puts the jar at the edge of the blanket and you feel instantly warmer. 

Joining you on the blanket he laughs at your stunned expression. “Not bad, eh?”

Not bad? 

The sun sets on the horizon, casting a red glow over the island. Birds chirp their final songs of the evening and the gentle lapping of the water on the stony beach combined with the surprisingly intense heat from McLaggen’s Bluebell Flame Charm make you feel like you’re somewhere much milder than rural Scotland on a February evening.

“Cormac, this is…” You search for the word. You’d never expected him to be romantic. Thoughtful. It’s entirely out of your realm of experience. You swallow. “It’s good.” You go to kiss him but stop in your tracks when you feel his wet jumper. “Oh, sorry.” You say and quickly cast a hot air charm, drying off his clothes that you soaked earlier.

“Thanks,” he grins. 

You look out at the castle across the water. “So… nobody can see us from up there?” He shakes his head. “You’ve really thought of everything,”

“Ah, it’s not even the best bit.” He rummages in his bag again and pulls out two bottles of butterbeer and a bag of Honeydukes cinnamon-flavoured marshmallows. 

“I love a toasted marshmallow. Good thinking.”

“They’re not toasted. Just normal.”

“Don’t tell me toasted marshmallows are a muggle invention,” you say in disbelief. “Watch this.” You pull two marshmallows out and levitate them over the large flame in the jar, spinning them so they crisp evenly. You draw them back to you. “Wait a minute, they’ll be molten hot.”

When they’re cool enough to touch, you pull one from the air and feed it to him. 

“Mhm…” he says, eyes rolling to the sky. “I can’t believe I’ve been eating marshmallows cold my whole life.”

You laugh and eat yours. 

You both chat for a while as the sun continues to set, toasting marshmallows, talking about Quidditch, speculating how Marietta and Eddie’s date went and of course the upcoming exams.

“So you never fancied doing Defense as an N.E.W.T.?” he asks.

“I couldn’t. It was my only A at O.W.L. The rest were - “

“O’s and E’s, obviously, seeing as you’re a know-it-all” he smirks. “Is that why you didn’t join the D.A. last year then?”

“To be honest, I only considered it in the first place because Cho fancied Potter and didn’t want to go alone. But then Marietta agreed to go with her. I guess I just don’t like fighting.”

He puts down his butterbeer. “Look, don’t take this the wrong way but…”

“I know, I know. I’m probably the most aggressive person here. But when it comes to curses or duelling, I just… freeze up.” You look at him seriously and take a deep breath - you’ve never told anyone this before. “And then with Cedric being murdered… It all just messed with my head. I mean he was great at Defence and it never helped him. That was all I could think about during my exam.”

McLaggen nods. “I never really knew Cedric but I heard he was a decent guy.”

“He was. And he was a really good boyfriend to Cho, y’know? Like he was never really afraid to be…” You lean back on your elbows looking at the scene in front of you, trying to find the right words. “He was good with stuff like this. The romantic stuff. I like that you’re not afraid of that either.”

He joins you, leaning back casually. “It’s easy when it’s with you, I guess.”

“You know, you’re nothing like I thought you’d be.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, in the spirit of not taking things the wrong way, I’m not the only one with a reputation.”

“Yeah? Go on, what do they say about me then?”

“Full of yourself, kind of a pig, talks about his dad’s connections all the time…” you rhyme off, counting on your fingers.

“You say all those things too,” he smirks.

“Well, maybe you are what they say.” You turn on your side to face him, propped up on your elbow. “Maybe I’m just surprised that I like it.”

“I’ll take that.” His thumb brushes your lip as he cups your chin to tilt your head up. “Whatever makes you moan my name again.”

“Pig,” you whisper, lips barely touching his as you both smile. You don’t really believe it- he’s kind of a sweetheart even if he finds himself funnier than he actually is. You kiss him and his hand brushes your inner thigh just below your skirt.

Fuck, those hands. You love how small they make you feel. His fingers trace their way up and under your skirt. 

“These feel nice,” he murmurs, toying with the lacy hem.

“Oh god, promise you won’t laugh when you see them - I don’t know what I was thinking.” He pulls back and raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t want to get you a gift, I’m not romantic like that but Marietta and Cho suggested… Ugh, I’ll just show you. Don’t laugh.”

You slip off your skirt and pull your jumper off over your head. When you disentangle yourself, you see McLaggen staring at you open-mouthed at your dark red lacy lingerie in the dim firelight.

“You’ve got to be kidding me…”

You throw yourself back on the blanket and cover your face with your hands, feeling intensely embarrassed. “Stop! I changed my mind about ten times.” You tell him between your fingers. “The girls convinced me to go through with it in the end.”

“I might have to send Cho and Marietta my thanks because… fuck.” He moves your hands and brushes your hair from your face. “You are so, unbelievably hot.” 

“Well, you’ve got a lot to thank them for,” you whisper, looking up at him leaning over you. The familiar expensive scent of him intoxicates you, the heady amber and jasmine lighting up your synapses. “They were the ones who told me how to… like what to do with - I mean when we were in the Leaky Cauldron.”

He pauses. “Damn. Then I’ll definitely have to give them my undying gratitude.”

You give him a mischievous smile, feeling goosebumps on your skin as his fingers leave your face to trace up and down your arm. It might be warmer thanks to the blue flames but you’re significantly chillier in your new state of undress.

McLaggen seems to notice. “As much as I’m enjoying seeing you like this, do you want my jumper?”

It’s sweet of him but you shake your head. “Just your body heat.”

“I can manage that.” He shuffles closer to you but impatient for him to understand your meaning, you quickly pull him on top of your body, feeling his warm weight on you. “Fuck…”

He inhales deeply into the crook of your neck and you close your eyes, tilting your head to the side, allowing him to kiss the bare skin of your neck. With satisfaction, you feel his hard cock pressing against you from under his jeans when his hips slot perfectly into the opening of your legs.

“Cormac?”

“Hm?” He asks your neck, his lips sucking the sensitive skin just under your ear.

“I like this.”

He stops his kissing to look down at you. “I mean, let me get started first before you give me such unusually high praise.”

“I’m serious. I mean tonight. All of this.”

“I am too. It’s nice to hear you say something nice about me for a change.”

“Take your top off or I’ll run out of nice things to say,” you tell him, tugging at the bottom of his jumper.

“There she is,” he says grinning before kneeling between your legs to pull off his sweatshirt, exposing his bare chest. 

“Shit…” you say, looking up at his muscular figure in front of you, every contour of his body illuminated by the blue firelight. 

“You’re welcome.”

He really is unbearably full of himself. 

But with good reason. 

Your skin prickles again with the absence of his warm body against you but you’re less certain it has to do with the cold, considering the heat emanating between your legs.

“Shut up and come back here.” You pull at his waistband, urging him to return to you.

McLaggen closes in on you, resting his arms on either side of your head. His warm skin feels divine against you, even better than his soft jumper. “I don’t think so… I know you like hearing me talk.” 

And for some reason his high opinion of himself makes your pussy ache. This is a man who has never been told he’s bad at anything. And it’s beyond irritating that he’s correct on this occasion. He knows exactly how to turn you on - how to make you weak for him. And what’s worse is that he knows he knows it.

“I’d like it more if you stopped talking and kissed me,” you say, succumbing to the urge to put him in his place. But it spurs him on even more.

“Too much for you to handle?”

Before you can argue back, his mouth meets yours. His tongue enters your mouth and you taste the sticky sweetness of butterbeer and toasted marshmallows. The kiss is slow - different to the last two times he’s kissed you like this - you’ve got all the time in the world on this little island. No rush to explore each others’ bodies with fervent urgency. The only ticking clock is your own arousal, incredibly eager for him to hurry up.

Your legs draw around him again as you wriggle against the bulge pressing against you, silently begging for his attention below your waist. But instead, he massages his tongue over yours, making you whine softly, surrendering your pride. He deepens the kiss, holding onto your jaw and you thread your fingers through his hair.

McLaggen’s hand slides down your body, groping your breast through your bra on the way down. He stops at the crux of your inner thigh, touching the hem of your underwear again.

“Is this okay?” His tone is sincere for a change.

You blink up at him. “Yes,” you breathe.

He moves your underwear over and slips a single finger inside you. Your breath hitches in your throat as your walls clench around the new intrusion - you’ve never been with anyone with fingers so large. Your arousal coats his fingers - it sounds so obscenely wet and sticky that your cheeks burn.

McLaggen watches closely for your reaction. He’s being so gentle with you that it makes you want to roll your eyes. What you want is for him to pin you down and take you here on the blanket. You can handle it.

“I’m fine, McLaggen.” You rock your hips in encouragement, trying to prove just how completely and totally fine you are. 

“Oh, so it’s McLaggen again, is it? I must be doing something wrong.” He grins. “But you’re so wet for me…” he says pushing his fingers in and up. You gasp at the sudden sensation of him hitting that spot. “So something must feel nice.”

You grab hold of his face and kiss him fiercely, sucking his lower lip and grinding against his palm, trying to instil a sense of urgency in him. Maybe you can goad him into fucking you.

“Aww, my poor baby’s impatient.”

Your thighs squeeze together in response to his teasing.

“Don’t-” You cut yourself off. You almost told him to stop calling you baby. But that would be cutting your nose off to spite your face because you, really, really like it.

“Don’t what?” His finger taps against your G-spot, making you squirm under him. 

“Fuck, nothing. Never mind,” you huff.

“This is so sweet,” he says as he pushes his palm against you, rubbing against your clit. 

You sputter. “I - what’s sweet?”

“Trying to get me to hurry up by pretending you’re annoyed with me.” He removes his finger and for a second you’re about to complain, that is until he brings two fingers to his mouth and sucks them, slowly, purposefully tasting you before running them along your folds. “You’re not gonna provoke me into anything. I’ve got you to myself for the first time in weeks. I’ll do this all night.”

Oh, shit.

He slides his two digits out and back into your pussy and you arch your back at the new stretch. You squeeze your muscles, feeling every ridge of his long fingers inside you. You feel your climax blossoming inside you already and you untense your thighs, trying to stop your orgasm in its tracks but that just allows him to press his fingers deeper.

“Fuck - wait, Cormac. I don’t want to cum like this. I want you to - ah, fuck,” you pant and he halts his movement, keeping his fingers still inside you.

“There’s no way you’re only cumming once tonight.”

“Pr - promise?” You choke, desperate for him to start moving again.

“I promise.” The heel of his hand feels perfect against you as he curls his fingers. You grip the blanket. “C’mon, be a good girl. Stop fighting and cum for me.”

You hate that you love that.

You lift your hips as much as you can, leaning into his hand pressed between your bodies, feeling the precision with which he’s attacking his target. Everything pulls up in your lower half, burning and aching, teetering on a knife’s edge. 

“Mhmh.” You bite your lip, trying not to cry out into the silent night air in response to his relentless finger fucking.

“There we go, thaaat’s it,” he says and the way his voice is dripping in smug self-satisfaction sends you over the brink. Bliss floods your body, spreading through to your every extremity by the incessant pressing of his fingers into your core. 

And it’s like you’re flying through the air - not on a broom like before. Like you’re hurtling towards your own end, plummeting at breakneck speed into your orgasm.

You gasp for air as the last wave of ecstasy crashes over you and Cormac slowly draws his fingers from you, grazing your swollen clit.

“Still ‘fine’?” he teases.

“Yeah… I’m fuck. Yeah, I am… I’m fine.”

“Good.” Cormac trails kisses down your chest all the way to your lower abdomen but you interrupt him.

“Wait -” He lifts his eyes up at the interruption, lips still touching your stomach. “- Aren’t we going to have sex?”

“What, right now?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“Are you sure you’re ready? I know it’s a big next step.”

“Oh. Aren’t you?”

“God, yes.”

“C’mon then, don’t make me beg.”

He pushes himself to rest back on his knees and bites his lip, looking at your pink cheeks and the way your chest rises and falls as you try to bring your heart rate back to normal. “Yeah, go on then, beg a little bit.”

Your stomach twists - you were being facetious. Your instinct is to spit a scathing retort back. But shit, you want him.

“Cormac, be serious.”

“Yeah, say my name too. I know you’re turned on when you say it like that.” He undoes his belt buckle with one hand and pulls his cock out. 

God, it’s everything you remember and more. 

Cormac takes himself in his hand and slowly jerks his length up and down. “If you want it, use your words.”

You’re not used to anyone telling you what to do like this. That was your job - always. In the bedroom, on the Quidditch pitch - you’ve always had to be in control. 

You blink up at him with wide eyes as he kneels between your open legs, stroking his cock. 

Dimples appear at the corners of his mouth as an infuriatingly brazen smile crosses his face and he pulls off your underwear. 

“So pretty and wet for me, baby,” he says, drawing two fingers along your soaking wet slit, the rough pads of his fingers pausing at your still sensitive clit.

“I thought you were going to fuck me,” you pout, although the feeling of his fingers dipping between your folds sends pleasant tingles down your spine.

“Beg,” he whispers, withdrawing his hand to coat his cock with your juices. There’s total silence apart from the crackling of the blue fire and the wet, slick sound his hand is making as he uses your wetness to pump his fist up and down.

You stare at each other, both daring the other to crack first. Fuck, why is he drawing this out? 

“If you don’t want it, I’ll do it myself,” you bite, unhooking your bra and tossing it aside. You can make him beg too. You lie on the blanket and run your hands down your body, your right hand finding your clit.

He releases the grip on his cock and leans over you again, for a second you think you’ve got him exactly where you want him and that he’s finally going to fuck you but instead, he flicks his tongue across your hard nipple. 

“Fuck… Cormac,” you whine, and your hand works quicker between your bodies. You can feel his erection pressed against your inner thigh as heat envelopes your nipple and he sucks gently on the pebbled nub of skin.

Everything below your abdomen is hot, sticky and swollen. Your fingers work in rapid circles as your writhe under him, your chest heaving under his mouth. He lifts his head, exposing your nipple to the cool night air again and you gasp.

His lashes dip from your face to your hand moving shamelessly between your bodies.

“You’re so beautiful. I could watch you do this forever. Guess I’ll have to…”

You swear at him, feeling your orgasm rear its head again. There’s no turning back now. You pant, trying to squeeze your legs together but they meet his hips, preventing you from making the tension you need.

Without warning he grabs your wrists and roughly pins them on either side of your head. Your pussy twitches, furious at the sudden absence of friction.

“Fuck, I was about to -”

He pushes his hips on top of yours, rubbing the underside of his cock on your now throbbing clit. The pressure is much too light. You try and push up against him to get relief but he moves his hips back in retaliation, not allowing you to grind against him. 

“You’re… you’re a nightmare,” you breathe, helplessly, your orgasm still glimmering just under the surface.

“You’re a dream.” And there it is again, that stupid, arrogant look on his beautiful face. He’s so… fucking hot like this. You want to hit him but your wrists are still pinned. You briefly consider headbutting him. “Come on, baby. You can say it. You can ask nicely.”

Fuck.

Your hips meet the blanket again as you squirm. It’s wet. Soaked in your arousal. His mouth returns to your chest, paying attention to your other nipple. This change of tactic means he moves his body again and the only relief you had on your clit disappears completely as he adjusts his position.

“No! Fuck.” You try to bring him back to you, struggling against his grip but ou’re no match for his strength.

Cormac pauses, raising an eyebrow expectantly.

“Cormac, please, fuck me,” you whimper.

“That’s more like it -“

“I - I need you. Like, now,” you interrupt.

He laughs and kisses your forehead. “Was that so hard?”

Cormac releases your wrist, grabs his cock and holds it against your entrance, his head resting between your folds.

Holy shit.

He brings his mouth to your ear. “I’ll be gentle.” He sucks your earlobe softly.

“I’m fine.”

You don’t want him to treat you like some delicate thing he’s scared to break just because it’s your first time with a man - scared to fuck you the way you know he wants to.

“So you keep saying. But I’ll be gentle anyway.”

And he lowers his hips towards yours. 

You are not fine. But not in the way he means. You’re sober but your thoughts are clouded by an undeniable thirst for him. Right now all that matters is Cormac, his body, his cock pushing slowly into you. 

If you thought his fingers felt big, it’s nothing compared to this. There’s no pain - you’re so fucking wet you feel him slip inside you with relative ease - there’s only pressure, beautiful and all-consuming as his cock fills you up.

“Shit, Cormac…” You bring your free hand up to his shoulder and grip onto it for dear life, your nails digging into his back.

“Are you-?”

“Fine - yes, Cormac. Fuck, yesyesyes,” you groan, squeezing your eyes shut.

Cormac releases your other wrist as he finally bottoms out so you can wrap your arms around him, feeling the muscles in his back flexing as he holds himself up. You open your eyes when you hear him groan.

His face is frowning in concentration. And you realise, he’s not as cool and cocky as he was pretending to be. He’s trying - really hard - not to lose control the moment he’s buried inside of you.

“Cormac?”

“You feel so good, baby... fuck.”

He drags his cock back out of you and you feel every inch before he slides it back in again, the base of him grinding dangerously against your clit.

“Are- are you close?”

He grits his teeth. “I’m fine.”

He’s not fine either. You realise he’s not going slowly for your benefit at all - if he picks up pace he’s going to succumb to his end. And so, he continues his torturous crusade of rolling his hips into you slowly, pushing sweetly into that spot in your centre that makes your breath catch in your throat.

It’s harrowing. Nothing like you imagined all those nights in your four-poster bed, curtains drawn as you fantasised about his cock, mercilessly fucking you hard, fast and quick. This is measured. Determined. Slowly breaking you down thrust by thrust.

His hands slip behind your shoulder blades as he pulls you close, pressing your face into his muscular neck. He’s all-consuming. You’re drowning in the dark, spicy scent of him as if you’ve plunged yourself headfirst into a cauldron full of Amortentia. You can’t take full gulps of air without choking on his pheromones. Although you’re not sure you ever want to breathe fresh air again.

He’s perfect. You firmly push back against the words floating on the surface of your mind - the urge to choke out between moans of pleasure that you’re maddeningly, irredeemably in love with him. Fuck.

You’re surprised to feel tears swimming in your eyes- you’re not sure if it’s from the intimate closeness of the way he holds you tightly or from the sensation of his cock filling you up, throbbing and sliding in and out of your soaking wet pussy. 

Everything lifts and tightens up inside you again when you hear him groan, hot breath tickling your neck. You whisper his name right into his ear and he jerks his hips up unexpectedly in response. Then the next thrust is so deliciously deep it makes you squeeze your eyes shut and all you can see is the dancing blue flame behind your eyelids.

“Fuck… there,” your moan is stifled by the way your mouth is pressed against his shoulder, tasting the salty sweat on his skin.

Cormac’s low exhale is like grit. His back muscles tense when hears your plea but he keeps going, hitting the exact same perfect angle. Euphoria floods through your veins as you hit the point of no return.

“Cormac,” you pant as your pussy clamps down around him involuntarily. “I’m gonna-”

“Thank god,” he lifts his head from the crook of your neck. “I don’t know how much longer I can hold out - oh fuck.” His expression changes when he sees your face - flushed, lips parted and your eyebrows knitted together. He curses helplessly and can’t help himself when he feels you tighten around him like a vice.

He fucks you through your orgasm, forcing noises from you you’ve never made before - something between a sob and his name is ripped from your throat. The blue flame in the jar is barely an ember compared to the wildfire running wild through your body.

It reminds him distinctly of those beautiful expressions you made on the Quidditch pitch last year when you were watching your team lose and he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. “Fuck, that’s it, baby…” He sucks through his teeth. “Such pretty faces for me.”

The aftershock makes your muscles twitch around his cock, giving him silent permission to finally lose all self-control as he gazes into your out-of-focus eyes. You feel his cock pulsing as his release paints your insides and with a final, shuddering gasp he slumps on top of you, his heart beating furiously against your chest.

You both lie there for several moments. You feel like you’re glowing. Maybe you are - he certainly is. You trace your fingers on his back, watching as the light of the blue flame glistens on his sweat-soaked shoulder. You could fall asleep with him on top of you like this - you don’t even want to think about returning to the castle even though you know you have to.

“Sorry, I’ll stop crushing you,” exhales Cormac eventually, sliding his leaking cock out of you and heaving himself over onto his back. The absence of his body makes you realise how warm and comfortable his dead weight was. 

“I didn’t mind. Hope the offer for your jumper still stands though.” You sit up and pull it over your head, and the smell of his aftershave on the cosy wool makes your skin tingle as it envelopes you.

“Looks better on you than me anyway.”

You draw your knees to your chest, looking out across the water. The sun has set and the only light comes from the small jar and the torchlit castle in the distance.

“Filch will have locked the front doors by now,” you think out loud.

“Fly to the astronomy tower, disillusionment charm to get us back to the common rooms - easy.”

“If I end up getting a detention and have to miss Quidditch practice I’ll kill you.”

“Yeah, I bet.”

“You’re uncharacteristically stoic, Cormac.” You turn to look at him, lying with his hands behind his head. You tenderly run your fingers through his hair, pushing it back. “What’s going on in that pretty little head?” You smile at him fondly.

“I’m all good.”

Oh. Your stomach drops. Was it bad for him? “Should I be worried?”

“No, I just -  I need to wait for the blood to return to my brain,” he says, staring up at the clear night sky.

“If you’re sure…”

“Otherwise I’d blurt out something very stupid. Like I was falling for you.”

“Well… I guess that would make us both idiots,” you sigh and grab the leftover marshmallows. He watches as you levitate a couple of them over the fire. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you smile and carefully send one of the marshmallows to hover above his face. “At least you didn’t blab it out when you were inside me like I almost did.”

“It was that good, eh?” He gives you a cocky smile before biting the marshmallow in mid-air. He regrets this immediately. “Ah- hot!” He sits bolt upright with his mouth open, full of the molten sugar burning his tongue, making him look considerably less cool than he was trying to be a second ago.

“I’ve changed my mind.” You say between giggles at his expense as he fans his open mouth. “I take it back.”

“Yeah, you wish,” he chuckles after he finally manages to choke down the marshmallow.

You don’t. 

You don’t wish to take anything back at all.

Chapter 8: Incendio

[training4theapocalypse]

Finders Keepers Ch 9. (Cormac McLaggen x fem!reader)

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 6.9k (whoops)

Warnings: SMUT, Sex Pollen (and therefore non-con), homophobia

Summary: McLaggen tries to apologise. Reader lets off some steam at the end of year party in the Prefects' Bathroom.

A/N: I am nervous as FUCK about this one. I cried real tears writing this. I hope I got it right. Some recommended listening: Daylight, Possibility, Habits

Masterlist

Tag list: @pretendfan, @countlambula, @ratsys, @aweidlich, @navs-bhat, @stainedpomegranatelips, @chiaraanatra, @xxvelvetxxxx, @ohnoitsrosie, @dracosisteer,

Chapter 9: Real

“He’s still out there,” says Cho, entering the common room. It’s late. You, Cho and Marietta are the only three who haven’t gone up to bed yet. “He says he’s sleeping out there if you don’t come out. And I refused to tell him the answer to let him in.” 

“Good. He’s too thick to get in here on his own,” you say, sitting on the sofa and flipping through your Charms textbook. You’re not really reading it - you couldn’t concentrate if you tried. You just keep turning pages angrily for something to do.

After a thorough dressing down in McGonagall’s office where you pleaded with her not to expel you, she eventually settled for banning you from Quidditch, stripping you of your Captaincy and giving you detention every Saturday until the end of the year. 

Now you wonder if you’d rather have been expelled.

“Aren’t you even going to speak to him?” asks Marietta.

“I heard everything he had to say in the dressing room earlier and it’s the last thing I ever want to hear coming out of his stupid mouth.”

“Eddie said -”

“Don’t talk to me about Carmichael either. I can’t believe you’re still seeing him after what he and McLaggen said about you too.”

She shrugs her shoulders. “Eddie said he didn’t say anything like that and I believe him.”

You tut and don’t bother looking up. “More fool you then.” You turn the next page and are greeted with a Polaroid of you and McLaggen sitting on the Quidditch stands - it must have slid between the pages. You took the photo yourself, of your head and shoulders with Cormac, you mean McLaggen, nuzzling into your neck. Your stomach twists looking at the giddy expression on your face.

The Polaroid. Your face flushes hot as you’re reminded of the topless photo you gave to him. The way he talked about you makes you wonder how many other Gryffindor boys have seen it by now.

You snap your book shut. “Actually, I will go out and speak to him.”

“You are?” asks Cho, surprised. “Do you want me to come? You know, for moral support?”

“And to make sure you don’t say something you regret,” mutters Marietta. You ignore her.

“It’s fine,” you say quickly, adrenaline already coursing through your body as you ready yourself for confrontation. “I just need to return his jumper. And he has something of mine.”

You quietly creep up to the dormitory to pick the jumper off the chair where you keep discarded clothes and head back downstairs. Marietta and Cho are huddled next to each other whispering.

“Good luck,” says Cho looking up. You stop in front of them and hand Marietta your wand. She might have a point about you doing something you’ll regret.

“Take this. I don’t want to be expelled.”

When you close the common room door behind you, you find McLaggen sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall.

“Here,” you toss the jumper at him. “I’m only out here to give you this. So you can fuck off back to your common room.” You turn to go back inside.

“Wait!” He jumps to his feet. “Please, just talk to me.” He puts a bandaged hand on your shoulder and winces. It looks badly burned.

“Don’t touch me. Either go to bed or go to the hospital wing. I don’t care. Just keep it away from me.”

“I’m sorry - ”

“Save it, McLaggen. Wait, I forgot you can’t save shit.”

He doesn’t take the bait and for some reason, this annoys you even more. Come on, you think, argue with me - give me an excuse to scream at you. He just looks down at you pleadingly, with those green eyes you’ve spent countless hours gazing into. You look determinedly away, refusing to be drawn in.

“Please, listen to me. It was just locker room talk after a shitty game. I didn’t mean any of it.”

“Then why did you say it.” The plea makes your voice crack. And you feel another flash of annoyance, this time at your own emotions for betraying you, making you sound pathetic. You swallow, trying to rid yourself of the lump in your throat.

“Look, if I got too defensive or took it too seriously they’d have just ramped it up.”

“So, what, you just went along with it? Do you not have any respect for me at all, talking about how I ‘fucking love it’? Talking shit about my friends too?”

“Is that any better than what you told Cho and Marietta?”

“Oh, so it’s my fault?” you seethe. “For telling Cho and Marietta that we had a nice date and that you… that we…” That he treated you right. That when you had sex you shared a connection that you’d never felt before. That you told each other how you felt. Or at least how you thought you felt. “I never talked about you like that,” you finish.

“Come on, we weren’t being serious. They were just taking the piss - they don’t actually think you’re only going out with me to sabotage the game.”

You can’t believe he’s minimising this. The hurt you feel rises up in your throat and you spit it at him before you can stop yourself. “Well, they were right.” McLaggen’s eyebrows knit together, trying to make sense of what you’re saying. “None of this was real.” You shake your head and take a step away from him, towards the door. “This was all just so I could fuck up your team’s chances for the cup.”

There’s a moment’s silence. “That’s not true.” He chews on his bottom lip, searching your face. “This was real. It still is real.”

“Oh yeah? You sure about that?” You twirl your hair in a mocking imitation of yourself. “‘Oh Cormac, I’ve never felt like this before. Please fuck me.’” You cross your arms. “As if you ever did it right. As if I ever felt anything for you.”

“I -” His face falls and you’re surprised when immense guilt hits you like a tonne of bricks - you’ve tried to hurt him on purpose and it’s worked. Too well. There’s no taking it back. You try and force yourself to remember the stupid grin he gave you when he left the dressing rooms, to reignite your anger. 

Say something worse back. Give me a reason to hate you more than I hate myself for saying it. 

But instead, he just takes a deep breath. 

“I’m sorry you had to pretend for so long,” he says flatly.

Your remark was a low blow. He set the fire but you stomped all over the embers. Your heart feels like it’s cracking down the middle. You’d rather relive every loss on the pitch a million times over than feel the way you do now.

“I am too.” Your eyes burn so you turn towards the door quickly before the tears start rolling down your cheeks. You pause as you’re about to touch the handle and look back over your shoulder. 

He’s facing away from you, his broad shoulders slightly hunched looking down at the jumper in his hands. 

“I want my photo back.”

McLaggen clears his throat. “Yeah, sure.” His voice is thick. “No problem.”

You whisper the answer to the riddle and Marietta and Cho fall backwards when you push the common room door open again.

You wipe your eyes and look down at them on the floor. You don’t even want to tell them off for eavesdropping -  you just sink to your knees on the patterned blue carpet beside them and start sobbing into your hands. Marietta puts an arm around you. Cho tucks a wet strand of hair behind your ear.

You’ve lost everything - except for the two people comforting you now as ugly tears stream down your face, into your hair and soaking the carpet.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spring merges into summer, each day passing into the next seamlessly like a flipbook. Incremental changes that you barely notice as exams draw closer and closer.

The only real difference is the sun setting later and later, making it increasingly difficult for you to sneak out at night, alone, with your broom to practice Quidditch. You need to keep up your training if you still want to impress the Holyhead Harpies at tryouts in the summer. McGonagall can ban you from Quidditch at Hogwarts but she can’t ban you from that.

You’ve become exceptionally good at enchanting the quaffle to fly towards you, in lieu of you and McLaggen taking shots at each other. But you soon predict the patterns the charm forces the quaffle to take and saving the shots gets too easy. 

It doesn’t stop you from spending hours in the dead of night, tormenting yourself with the same repeated mechanical saves over and over and over. It’s a suitable punishment for getting yourself banned. It’s somehow linked to the cup in your mind. If you can just keep practising, forcing yourself to carry out save after save until your wrists ache, your legs are bruised and you can barely stay awake on the seat of your broom - maybe your team will win the cup in your absence.

Your groin feels numb as you take off your robes and examine the nasty, painful contusions on your inner thighs in the dim dawn light before falling into bed. Welts from your broom handle and bruises from the quaffle so painful that you need to sleep with a pillow between your legs.

You fall asleep, exhausted, instantly. And you’re grateful for the release of sleep - the less time you spend lying in bed awake the less time you have to think about McLaggen.

During the day, when you’re somehow operating on three hours of sleep, you spend every free second either in detention, in class, doing homework or studying alone. You decline Marietta and Cho’s offers to join their group studying with the other seventh years, including their boyfriends. You’re becoming increasingly anxious that you need to do well in your exams - a backup plan if you can’t play Quidditch professionally.

And the less time you spend around Cho, Michael, Marietta and Eddie being loved up, the less frequently you’re reminded of McLaggen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Inter-House Quidditch Cup Final is scheduled for the last weekend in May. Even though you’re not playing, you feel sick to your stomach just thinking about it. 

“I wish you didn’t have detention,” says Cho, tying up her long dark hair as she gets ready for the match. You sit on the edge of your bed, putting your shoes on. “Who else is going to scream at me when I’m playing like shit?”

“Well, it’s your job to do the screaming,” you say, picking up your - her - Captain’s pin and putting it on her chest. “Go out there and give them hell for me, Captain.”

“You’ll always be the Captain. To me… to the team. We miss you.”

Your heart weighs down on your heavily. You miss them too. There’s only one person you miss more. All you want is to be comforted by him. Have him pull your face into his chest and stroke your hair, tell you everything is fine. Losing your Captaincy would have almost been bearable if you still had him.

Cho as usual seems to read your mind.

“Sometimes we don’t realise what we had until it’s gone.”

“It’s just a badge. I’m okay… really.”

“I’m not talking about Quidditch.” She takes your hand. “I know he made a mistake. A bad one. But things are changing outside of Hogwarts.” You’re reminded horribly of the story in the Daily Prophet about the five your old boy who was mauled by a werewolf last month because his mother wouldn’t give information to Death Eaters. “I would give anything to have had one more moment with Cedric.”

You hold your breath. Cho hardly ever mentions him. “He never would have made a mistake like that,” you say finally.

She shrugs, tears welling in her eyes. “I guess I’ll never know. He wasn’t perfect either, even if other people would rather remember that he was.”

“Well, I know one thing - he would have been proud of you.” You close your eyes. “You’ve got this. Bring it home.”

They lose spectacularly. You left the cup for them on a silver platter and they lost 450 - 140. Like you, Potter was stuck in detention and didn’t play but losing their Captain seemed to unite the Gryffindor team whereas Ravenclaw crumbled.

You thought you’d feel something. Anger, bitterness… anything. You just feel numb. It’s like you’ve been desensitised. Extreme exposure to your entire spectrum of emotions these past few weeks.

You’re sure the Gryffindor common room will be a riot right now. A slashing sting of pain cuts through your emotionless daze, picturing McLaggen in celebration. Maybe he’d have a few Firewhiskies and wrap his arms around another Gryffindor girl, picking her up and spinning her the way he so often did with you. 

The mood in the Ravenclaw room is sour. You wonder if they blame you. If they do, it’s nowhere near as much as you blame yourself. The only two people behaving normally are Marietta and Carmichael, neither of them has ever been particularly interested in Quidditch.

“Do you mind a third wheel?” You ask, approaching them at the airy window seat. Marietta moves her legs from Carmichael’s lap so you can join them. They don’t notice you discreetly clench your jaw when your bruised legs, hidden by your school robes meet the hard surface.

“Where’s Cho?” 

“Still down there, I’ve heard. I think the team is avoiding me. Did you watch the game? How was it?” You hope they didn’t, you’re not sure you’re ready to hear details yet.

“We stayed for a bit,” answers Carmichael. “But we came back early when we saw it was going tits up. I’ve got stuff to be getting on with - namely the old seventh-year hale and hearty.”

“The what?”

“My job as Head Boy, innit? Need to organise a big do after the N.E.W.Ts”

“It’s going to be great,” says Marietta fondly, touching his leg. You resolved to respect her decision to continue seeing Carmichael so you try to appear interested.

“Nice one. What have you got planned?”

He leans in to explain. “Right, listen to this. It’s gonna be a pool party in the Prefects’ Bathroom -”

“A pool party?” You wrinkle your nose. “Aren’t the teachers supposed to come to the end-of-year celebration?” 

“Nah, nah, nah.” He waves a hand dismissively. “I’ve not got to the most ingenious bit yet. I’m planning a second decoy party for the next day. Y’know the official one with all the teachers. This one they won’t know about. Loads of booze and some other er, illicit substances.”

“What, like drugs?” you whisper eagerly. You could really, really do with blowing off some steam after the term you’ve had. Where would you even get those in the wizarding world? Class A’s aren’t exactly the kind of thing someone would sell down an alley in a quaint little wizard village like Hogsmeade.

“Yeah, right. These wizard-born ones wouldn’t be able to handle that,” he grins, jerking his thumb at Marietta who rolls her eyes. “Made of softer stock than you and me. I’m talking banned potions and suchlike.”

Interesting.

“And you’re alright with this? I thought you were against rule-breaking?”

She shrugs. “It’ll be after exams so if we get caught it won’t matter. Besides, they’re not going to expel all of us, are they?”

“How are you paying for this? Haven’t the teachers noticed you siphoning galleons off the official party budget?”

“Funny you should ask. McLaggen’s footing the bill. I mean, you know he’s minted.”

You wonder if McLaggen’s funding the party because he’s desperate to get wasted for the same reasons you are. You swallow and try to sound casual. “How - how is he anyway?”

Marietta’s eyes widen. It’s the first time you’ve even mentioned him since the night outside the common room. 

Carmichael sighs and takes his eyes off his parchment to look at you seriously. “He looks the same as you - like shit, by the way,” he adds as if you haven’t noticed the bags under your own eyes or the way McLaggen looks tired and withdrawn in Potions, even from your new desk, alone at the other side of the classroom.

“Did he tell you about - ?”

He cuts you off. “I’m not getting in the middle of it.”

You nod. 

“That’s fair.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

During the second last week in June, you sit your final N.E.W.T. -  your Potions practical. In the Great Hall, you find yourself at a single table adjacent to McLaggen’s.

The examiner, Professor Marchbanks, gives her usual preamble before the exam and instructs you to turn over your exam paper.

‘AMORTENTIA.’

You breathe a sigh of relief. You know this one well. There’s a list of ingredients and partial instructions. The rest is up to you.

“You have ninety minutes. Good luck.”

She turns and conjures a giant hourglass sand timer and with a flick of her wand flips it so the golden sand starts cascading, counting down the time left in the exam.

You get to work lighting the fire underneath your cauldron before making a start on grinding up your rose petals to a fine powder.

An hour later, the room is filled with the heady scent you recognise intimately as the one that reminds you sorely of McLaggen. There are new notes this time. The scent of toasted cinnamon marshmallows, the smell of grass on a frosty December night and just a hint of Firewhiskey all complement the amber and jasmine fragrance you know so well.

You hold a moonstone over your cauldron, ready to drop it in and the memory of the first time you brewed it swims clearly in your head. You remember the spark of electricity when you grabbed McLaggen’s wrist.

“That’s quartz - not moonstone.”

“Shit, thanks. Good catch - you could be a seeker.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

You discreetly look at McLaggen to find he’s already looking at you. The corner of his mouth turns up slightly and he holds up the iridescent blue moonstone between his fingers. The small gesture brings a lump to your throat. You wonder if he thinks about you as much as you think about him. You give him the tiniest nod before returning your attention back to your exam.

At the end of the ninety minutes, when your potion has been brewed. Professor Marchbanks walks around the tables, asking each pupil a selection of questions before dismissing them. You feel extremely confident about this one - the pearlescent colour and spiralling steam coming from your cauldron look perfect.

Your ears prick up as she reaches McLaggen. 

“McLaggen, Cormac.”

“Yes, professor.”

“Very nice,” she says peering into his cauldron. “Can you please tell me, when did MACUSA ban Amortentia?”

“Er, 1922?”

You hear the unmistakable noise of a quill ticking parchment.

“And what is distinctive about the scent?”

“It smells different to everyone depending on what attracts them.” 

“Care to indulge me for an extra point?” She says in a simpering sort of voice that makes your mouth twist into a frown. Surely the old bat isn’t flirting with McLaggen? 

“Yes, professor. I can smell freshly laundered Quidditch robes, coconut shampoo and warm toast.”

“Well, that sounds lovely.”

“It was.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You, Cho and Marietta manage to sneak to the Prefects’ Bathroom undetected later that night which is lucky considering how giggly they are from your pre-drinks in the dormitory. You too are in a better mood now that both your exams and the Quidditch season are over. A small part of the weight that you’ve been carrying has been lifted from your chest and it’s as if you can breathe a little more deeply again. 

And even though you try to tell yourself that you don’t care, that you never want to speak to him again, you do want to see McLaggen tonight. You know you shouldn’t. Maybe the fumes in your potions exam got to you but tonight you feel open to clearing the air, or at least having a cordial relationship rather than ignoring each other.

You also know you should apologise for what you said. He was able to apologise to you, after all. The way you hurt him when you told him you never cared about him at all. Could you forgive yourself if you parted ways at graduation forever without him knowing that you had never really meant it?

“Sandalwood,” Marietta tells the door and it swings open. You shut it behind you quickly when you’re met with loud music. The room is dark, lit by a hundred candles and the moonlight outside pouring through the stained glass mermaid mural.

The seventh-years congregate in their various groups and cliques, some sitting around the edge of the swimming pool which has been filled with blue foam. You immediately spot McLaggen at the edge of the pool, talking to Katie Bell and Leanne. You could recognise those bare, broad shoulders anywhere. The ones that you’ve kissed and bitten and gripped onto tight while he fucked you.

‘She fucking loves it. Said I was the best she’s ever had.’

It was true. You loved it. And he loved it too. But the problem was that you also loved each other.

The three of you squeeze into a changing cubicle together and start stripping from your robes down to your bathing suits. Marietta removes the half-empty bottle of mead from her bag.

“One more for good luck?” She asks and you each take a quick swig before giving each other a once-over. Cho fixes Marietta’s hair and then shrieks with laughter when Marietta tugs the front of Cho’s bathing suit down to show more cleavage. 

Cho turns to you and winces when she sees your legs. Marietta claps her hand to her mouth.

“I told you you need to take a break.”

Your inner thighs remain conspicuously covered in bruises from your late-night Quidditch practice. 

“It’s fine, it’s dark out there. Besides, nobody’s going to be looking at me tonight. Although I am going to talk to McLaggen,” you add seriously. 

Cho beams but Marietta purses her lips.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” she says.

“What? You’ve both been telling me to speak to him.”

“I just… Maybe not tonight. I think everyone could do with a drama-free party. You don’t want to bring down the mood.” She’s clearly worried about you ruining Eddie’s big night.

“No drama. I promise. I’m…” You swallow. “I’m going to apologise and just leave things as friends. If anything it will lift the mood. It means we can all mingle without it being awkward.”

“And you’re sure he’ll accept it? It won’t be a screaming match?”

You hesitate. You hadn’t considered the possibility that he wouldn’t. “We’ll behave.”

The three of you emerge from the cubicle and make your way over to a table being used as a makeshift bar where Eddie Carmichael and Michael Corner are mingling. They greet Marietta and Cho respectively while you busy yourself and grab a drink.

“This looks great, Eddie,” coos Marietta. It does. He’s made some effort - it looks more like a nightclub than a student bathroom tonight. Your eyes land on McLaggen again.

“Back in a sec.”

You slip into the water and wade over to the far side of the pool where McLaggen, Katie and Leanne are chatting, waist-deep in the water. Leanne waves and smiles warmly. McLaggen looks apprehensive.

“Hey,” you say sheepishly to the group. “McLaggen, have you got a minute?”

“Yes,” answers Leanne immediately. “No, you two can stay here.” She tells McLaggen when he looks around for a quiet space to talk. She grabs Katie and drags her away. 

You rest your arms on the edge of the pool, looking at the mural of the mermaid. McLaggen leans on the wall next to you.

“How’s the hand?”

He lifts it out of the water and flexes it - you can’t help but notice the way his forearm muscles contract. “It’s alright now. I went to the hospital wing and Madam Pomfrey sorted me out.”

You drag your gaze from his hand to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. I deserved it.”

“I didn’t mean the hand.” Another pang of guilt. “Though I actually am sorry about that too. I wanted to apologise for what I said outside the common room.”

He reaches over you to grab a bottle of beer from the side. He still smells good, you can notice it even surrounded by the sickly sweet smell of the periwinkle foam. He doesn’t say anything so you continue.

“I was trying to hurt you. On purpose. I feel like shit.”

“Well… that makes two of us.” He takes a sip of beer and stares across the pool.

“I thought if I convinced myself I never cared about you, I’d feel better about what you told Dean and Peakes.”

“I get it,” says McLaggen, who eventually turns to look at you. “It was the worst mistake I’ve ever made. I know I said it was just banter but I wish I’d stuck up for you. For us.” He spins his beer bottle in his hands. “I told myself it was fine because you had told Cho and Marietta about our date but I knew I was kidding myself.”

You swallow. “McLaggen, you ruined it.”

“I know,” he says simply and you both stare at the mermaid quietly for a moment while she brushes her hair.

You take a deep breath. “Anyway, I came over to see if we could still be friends.”

He looks into your eyes. “You know I can’t be your friend. I just can’t,” he says in a low voice.

You’ve hurt each other so badly that he doesn’t want anything to do with you. You nod. “I’d better head back.” You grab your drink. “I mean, we can at least be around each other without fighting, right? If you want to hang out with Carmichael you don’t need to wait for me to leave.”

McLaggen hesitates like there’s something else he wants to say but thinks better of it. “Yeah… sure.”

He follows you to the group where Marietta and Cho are laughing so hard they’re crying. Carmichael has a wide grin on his face.

“That you two made up then?”

You and McLaggen look at each other. “Not really.” Marietta and Cho clutch each other, gasping for air between giggles. “What’s got them?”

“Elixir of Euphoria,” says Carmichael. “It’s expired so it’s extra strong. You want some? There’s one left.” He jumps out of the pool and kicks his bag over to you before going to get himself another drink.

Your curiosity gets the better of you. You open the bag and you’re not sure what Carmichael is on about - there’s about two dozen pink bottles left. 

“You want one?” you ask McLaggen, who shakes his head. “Michael?”

“I’ve had one - just waiting for it to kick in,” he says, obviously unaware that he’s beaming from ear to ear.

Honestly, you could do with cheering up, you can’t remember the last time you smiled the way Michael is right now. You take a vial and down it in one go, discarding the bottle at the pool’s edge beside your drink. Immediately your skin starts to tingle pleasantly. This is nice. You wonder when the giggles will kick in.

Warmth spreads through your body, right to your fingertips and toes. It’s like all your senses are heightened - the sensation of the warm water, the dim light dancing across the pool. You’re suddenly aware of how good McLaggen smells, the smell of amber and jasmine coming from his body is strong. Even stronger than the cloying blueberry scent of the foam.

You step away from him and lean against the wall, trying to get relief from the overpowering, intoxicating smell. You feel good but you don’t find it funny at all. Quite the opposite.

“Did you get it okay?” asks Carmichael, returning with a drink. You look up and realise for the first time ever that he looks fucking great, standing there above you in his swim shorts. You can now see why Marietta likes him. Your eyes linger on his body.

“Yeah,” you say in a barely audible whisper. 

“Are you…?” He gives you a strange look. You feel impatient waiting for him to finish his sentence. Are you what? Ready to end the party early and go upstairs to Ravenclaw Tower with him? Yes! “Oh, shit.” He spots at the empty vial at his feet. “That isn’t Euphoria Elixir.”

“You - you said it was in your bag.” You say, feeling slightly panicky now as your chest rises and falls rapidly.

“Didn’t you read the label? I thought the heart-shaped bottles would give it away.” Cho and Marietta look over at the commotion as he bends down to pick up the bottle. “It’s a love potion, mate.” He says to McLaggen over your shoulder.

‘Oh, shit’ is right.

You take deep gulps of air, trying to calm yourself. You feel burning hot. A bead of sweat drips down your chest falling between your breasts “What?! You were going to spike someone?”

He looks offended. “What? No! It’s for couples who want to take it. Consensually. A bit of added spice, innit? I’ve got loads of it.”

It’s like a sauna in here, you feel the back of your neck - it’s sticky with sweat. But not as hot and sticky as you feel below the waist. “Oh no, oh no, oh no,” you whisper quietly, trying to stop yourself worked up.

Cho notices you panicking and it seems to sober her up a little. She’s still smiling to herself as she swims over to you. God, she’s so pretty. The way her hair is so shiny and wet at the ends. She’s more beautiful than the mermaid on the mural.

“What happens if you take a love potion that hasn’t been enchanted by someone?” McLaggen asks Carmichael, taking a step towards you. You hold your breath, trying not to inhale any of his stupid pheromones.

Cho steadies you and takes your hands. “Don’t hold your breath. Lots of air. Let’s get you some water.”

You look into her eyes. Her beautiful eyes. And you notice she has freckles. You could stand here and count every one. You suddenly realise, it’s never been McLaggen or Carmichael. It’s Cho.

“Kiss me!” You blurt out, pulling her hands towards you. She bursts out laughing again. 

“Well, that answers that question,” says Carmichael.

“Cormac,” says Cho urgently, trying hard to restrain you as you try and wrap your arms around her. You can’t help yourself. She smells so good. Clean. You need to get close to her. “A little help?”

“What am I gonna do? Can’t you just put her to bed?”

“And have her going down the corridor like this?” says Cho, struggling, and Marietta rushes over to help her. Maybe Marietta will kiss you. She doesn’t. She dodges your lips and holds onto your wrist while Cho holds the other. “Clearly she wants to fuck anyone. What if she bumps into a teacher?”

You groan. “Oh god, I hope it’s Firenze -” Mortified, Marietta claps her free hand over your mouth. God, it’s boiling hot. The water is making everything below your waist throb.

“Please, Cormac.” Marietta’s eyes dart around the room. Nobody else seems to have noticed your condition yet. “She trusts you. More than anyone.”

McLaggen groans and drags his hand down his face in exasperation before looking up at Carmichael. “How long do these last?”

“Half an hour? An hour? Two? I’ve got no idea mate, they’re expired.”

McLaggen looks at Marietta and Cho struggling to hold onto you. He sighs and heaves himself out of the pool. “Right, come on then,” he extends his hand to hoist you out and you eagerly grab it when Cho and Marietta release you. He looks so fucking beautiful in this light, with his wet hair and sharp, angular jaw.

“Where are you taking her?” Asks Cho.

“Cubicle. Don’t let anyone down this way, alright?” 

Cho looks uneasy. “Cormac… you’re not-?”

He screws up his face, offended, looking back at Cho as he helps you to your feet. “Going to take advantage of her? Cho, come on.”

You stopped listening after he said he was taking you to a cubicle. A cubicle. Alone. You’ve never considered it to be a particularly sexy place before but just thinking about it makes heat emanate from your every pore - between your legs feels like it’s on fire. You squeeze his hand as he drags you quickly around the corner to the door furthest away from the pool.

“After you,” McLaggen says, holding it open and you practically skip inside. He steps in and locks the door behind him.

The smell of him is overpowering. The way he towers between you and the door makes your pussy leak. You barely have time to register the serious look on his face before you throw your arms around him. 

“Nope!” He says, catching your forearms and wrenching them from around his neck. He pins them to your side.

“Fuck, Cormac. Touch me,” you whine, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him. He swerves your lips. You exhale shakily. “Wha- why are we in here? Aren’t you going to fuck me?”

“Absolutely not.” He looks down at you with concern. “Your skin feels like it’s on fire.”

“I - I’m fine,” you hiccup. “P-p-please, I want you so badly.”

He pulls you tight to his bare chest and you whine, your face smushed against his muscles. With one arm, wrapped tightly around you, he turns on the shower. “We don't have supplies in here to make an antidote so we need to cool you down.” You squeal when icy water hits your back.

You clench your thighs together. Everything is pulsing, begging to be touched. 

“Can’t you just - ?”

“No.” 

Cormac keeps you firmly pinned to his body, holding around your shoulders with both arms as he forces you both under the bronze shower head, cold water cascading down your bodies. You sob into his chest, your mouth pressing against his wet skin, inhaling the familiar smell of his aftershave. It turns you on so much that it hurts.

“Fuck, I need to - ” you turn your face slightly, taking gulps of air to steady yourself. “I- I, fuck.”

“Shh, it’s okay,” he whispers gently, bringing one hand up to stroke your wet hair. “Do what you need to do.”

The way he strokes your hair and tells you everything is okay grounds you temporarily. You know what you need to get rid of it from your system.

You move your hand between your bodies to find your throbbing clit with your hand through your swimsuit. You start rubbing in circles furiously, moaning into his pectoral muscles. Your walls clench desperately around nothing, wishing they were gripping his cock as your fingers urgently work on your small bundle of nerves. 

The back of your hand brushes something rigid and you pant in excitement. “You’re hard - fuck me, please.” 

He jerks his hips back away from you. “Nope. Just keep going. Come on,” he urges through gritted teeth.

Small flashes of lucidity come to you, brought forth by the icy water. Fuck, you’ve missed him so much, you think during a wave of unclouded clarity. Even just being close to him like this. Your orgasm builds, swelling from deep inside as you take deep gulps of the smell of his skin. Your clit pulses underneath the pressure of your fingers. 

“Fuck, why is this happening to me?” you whimper, in a brief moment of intense embarrassment that comes as quickly as it goes again. 

He says nothing. Instead, he soothes you with a gentle shushing noise and presses his lips to the top of your head. A tiny token of affection that sends you over the brink. You silently gasp for air as pleasure engulfs you. All you can hear is the echo of water on tile ringing in your ears as you reach your climax. 

The ecstasy that flows through your body is beyond intense but over in a few short seconds. Your knees shake and your dead weight drops into McLaggen but he’s holding onto you so tightly that you don’t fall. You whimper, feeling bliss spreading across your skin, only for it to evaporate completely, instead of it nestling and purring in your chest like usual.

Suddenly you’re cold.

Oh fuck.

Your thoughts become less hazy, less dreamlike and your teeth start to chatter.

“C-can you t-turn it off?” You shiver. He looks down at you and, obviously feeling like it’s safe to do so, releases his hold of you and turns off the shower.

His lips are blue. 

“Are you okay?” He curls his finger under your chin, tilting your head up into the light. “Your pupils are back to normal.”

You nod and both stare at each other silently. 

“Thank you for…” You’re not sure what to say. For restraining you? Making sure you didn’t make a fool out of yourself? 

He gives you a tight-lipped grimace. “I’m just glad you’re alright.” He turns to unlock the door.

You can’t let him go. Not now. Not ever.

“Cormac…” You reach out and touch his arm, feel your eyes welling up. “Cormac, I think about you every day. And I’m sorry I hurt you so badly that you don’t even want to be friends with me anymore.”

McLaggen breathes a heavy sigh and turns back around to face you. “It’s not that I don’t want to be friends with you. It’s that I can’t be. I can’t be your friend and see you move on with someone else. I’ll always be in love with you. And I’m sorry I ruined it.”

You blink and feel tears falling down your face. “I love you too. I miss you. I miss us.”

He comes closer, his freezing cold hands cup your face as he brushes away a tear with his thumb. “I miss us too.”

“I don’t want to be your friend either,” you whisper, looking into those devastatingly beautiful eyes.

He leans down, pulling your face close to his and kisses you. And it feels so much better than the orgasm you had under the influence of the love potion. Time stops, and the concept of everything else that has ever existed vanishes. It’s just you and him. You link your arms behind his neck. Hot, damp tears land on your cheeks and you taste salt when they fall across your lips. You’re not sure if they’re yours or his. You kiss his top lip, his stubbly chin, his eyes - every wet part of his face.

Cormac picks you up and you wrap your legs around his waist, desperate for every inch of your body to touch his. You grab his face and run your fingers through his hair. He parts his lips and you moan when his tongue enters your mouth - not from pleasure, from longing. You’ve missed the taste of him. 

He holds you in a vice-like grip and pushes your body against the cool, tiled wall. When his hips press firmly between your open legs, you wince in pain at the pressure on your bruised thighs.

Cormac pulls back. “You alright?” His lips are slightly swollen and thankfully, no longer blue.

“Yeah, just a few bumps and bruises from Quidditch practice.”

He puts you back down and looks at your body. 

“Ouch…” He kneels down to get a better look. “When were you playing? I’ve been looking for you on the pitch in the evenings.”

“I’m banned. I’ve been going down after midnight so McGonnagall doesn’t catch me.”

“Fuck… How much training are we talking about here?” He raises an eyebrow and looks up at you.

You don’t answer. And you don’t really think he expects you to. He can tell you’ve been putting yourself through the wringer. He softly kisses every nasty bruise, welt and scratch before getting up to hold you close to him again.

You’re not sure if you’ve been in here for minutes or hours. Either way, you’re sure people will have noticed your absence. You sigh and break apart and he watches as you adjust your swimsuit and fix your soaking-wet hair.

“We should probably go and enjoy the rest of the party,” you say, feeling slightly flushed again. 

“Give me a second,” he grips the top of the wooden door and determinedly looks at the ceiling. “I can’t go back out there like this.”

“Do you want me to…?” You look down at the hard bulge in his shorts.

“I think what you need is rest,” he says and you laugh. “Nah, let’s go back - it’s probably the last night we’ll all be together. But you and I have… well, all the time in the world I suppose.”

You wait until he’s in a fit state to be seen in public again before opening the door.

He puts his arm around you, it sits comfortably on your shoulder the way it always has. “So, what’s this about Firenze?” he smirks as you walk back together.

“Oh, you know he’s the only one who can compare to you in that department.”

“Correct answer.” He squeezes your shoulders and kisses the top of your head. “Fuck, I’ve missed you.”

Chapter 10: Electricity

[training4theapocalypse]

Finders Keepers Ch 15. (Cormac McLaggen x fem!reader)

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 6.5k

Warnings: Really (really) mild sexual harassment.

Summary: You return to Azkaban with the D.A. in an attempt to free Eddie Carmichael and the rest of the muggleborns.

A/N: This chapter is all plot no smut. Back to our regularly scheduled fucking soon.

Masterlist

Tag list: @countlambula, @ratsys, @aweidlich, @navs-bhat, @stainedpomegranatelips, @chiaraanatra, @xxvelvetxxxx, @ohnoitsrosie, @dracosisteer, @daisydark, @intense-sneezing, @lipstickandloveletters, @ichorai, @marmie-noir(let me know if you want removed at any point btw!)

Chapter 15: Freedom

McLaggen sits on the edge of a large planter in the lighthouse’s garden watching as you try without success to conjure a corporeal Patronus.

“It’s getting more solid,” you say, looking back at him hopefully but he just shakes his head.

“It doesn’t just become more solid. It’s either a Patronus or it’s vapour. And you’re still producing vapour.”

You groan and sit next to him. It’s a chilly morning a few days before Halloween. You lean your head on the shoulder of that cosy cable-knit jumper of his that you like so much. 

“I didn’t say stop,” he says, nudging you.

“I don’t think I can do it,” you grumble resignedly, ignoring his elbow in your ribs. 

“Since when did you just give up when something didn’t come easily to you?”

“I’m not giving up -”

“Well, get up then. Think of a happy memory and try again. The happiest one you’ve got.”

“I’ve used them all up,” you sigh and get to your feet. You’ve been practising this spell every day for almost a month. But today you really, really need it. Tonight, you’re leading a group into the depths of Azkaban and you don’t want to rely on everyone else’s Patronuses. You want your own too.

Right, a happy memory. You take a deep breath and think about when you found out you were going to Hogwarts. How excited you were when Professor Sprout arrived on your doorstep to gently explain to your parents that you were a witch and that you were going to a school of magic.

“Expecto Patronum!”

Your parents were so proud. Your parents who are now worried sick about you as you stay here in hiding.

An even tinier wisp of silver vapour than before emits from the end of McLaggen’s dad’s wand.

“Maybe it’s the wand?” you suggest, turning it over in your hands. It’s a nice wand. Oak, ten inches long, springy… but it’s not yours.

“We’ve been over this. You can do every other spell fine with his wand. It’s not the wand.”

“It’s just… it’s just that every fun, happy memory I have is tainted right now. I mean, I can’t think about the Holyhead Harpies without thinking about Cerys and Flint. I can’t think about anything in my childhood without remembering my parents are worried about me.”

McLaggen gets up and wraps his arms around you from behind. “Your mum and dad are alright. They know you’re safe.”

You sigh and relax into his touch, tilting your head to let him nuzzle your neck. “They’d be so scared if they knew about Azkaban.” You pause, debating on whether to say the words dancing in front of you. You decide to be honest with him. “I’m scared. I… I can’t bear to think about going back.”

“I know,” he says simply, his lips pressed against your neck.

“Cormac, I -” You sigh. “I’m not brave like you.”

“You have to be.”

That’s not what you want to hear. You want him to insist that you should stay behind and keep watch over Headquarters. Safe under your duvet while the rest of them go hurtling across the North Sea.

But you can’t. 

You’re the only one who has actually been inside Azkaban. The only one in the group for whom the prison isn’t unplottable. And besides, this is your plan - your plan to get Carmichael and the other muggleborns out of there.

“I also think,” he says slowly. “That it will help your nightmares if you go back and free those innocent people.”

McLaggen has been woken up by your disturbed nightmares enough by now to know the memories are still affecting you. He’s held you in his arms and reminded you of your current whereabouts every other night these past few weeks.

Maybe McLaggen is your happy memory. The person who keeps you grounded. Safe.

“I know. You’re right… let me try again,” you say and he steps back, giving you space.

You think about the first time you kissed McLaggen on the freezing cold Quidditch stands. How you felt when he wrote to you over Christmas. The date he took you on to the middle of the loch on Valentine’s Day. The first time you had sex.

“Expecto Patronum!”

You think about stumbling out of the fireplace with his dad. Straight into Cormac’s arms, crying, shaking, desperately worried about what would happen to Carmichael if you weren’t in the cell opposite him to keep him company.

Vapour. Again.

Shit.

“Come on,” he says encouragingly. “Have another go. What about the first time you flew a broom? All you need is one really, really happy memory and you’ll have it. You’re so close.”

“Wrong,” says a thick voice from behind you. You and McLaggen both turn around to see Viktor Krum standing with a hot cup of coffee, steam rising in the crisp morning air. 

“Wrong?” asks McLaggen.

“It is a good place to start.” He shrugs. “But vot you need is to see yourself performing the spell. You are not believing you can do it. You must see it first.”

“Ugh, right. Come on,” you hype yourself up, turning away from them to face the sprawling green clifftop in front of you. “I’m doing it.”

“No. You’ve done it. Believe you have done it already,” says Krum. 

You close your eyes and picture yourself clearly - storming into Azkaban, a blinding white shape leading the charge in front of you as a dementor flees instead of gliding towards you with icy, rattling breath. 

You see Carmichael whooping and cheering into the wind as he flies together with everyone back to the beach, hardly daring to believe you’ve come back for him.

You and McLaggen apparating onto the cliff at Seafarer’s Beacon and then he pulls you into a half-hug, half-spin as everyone cheers in celebration. 

Sitting on the window seat at the top of the lighthouse in your pyjamas, not really paying attention to the book on your lap as you watch Marietta braid Cho’s hair as the three of you giggle and gossip.

Then you see Carmichael standing up at a long table, wearing a suit and cracking jokes at McLaggen’s expense during his best man speech at your wedding. Your dad laughs the loudest.

You and McLaggen sit on the floor of an empty bedroom, racing to see who can assemble furniture quickest - McLaggen using magic and you using an Allen key. You throw a pillow at him when he sabotages you by turning the instructions into a paper aeroplane with his wand and sending it flying around the room.

“Expecto Patronum!”

Everyone is happy. Safe. Together.

This time the warmth of your hopes and dreams spread right from your chest, to your fingertips and through the wand. Before the shape can even appear, you already know you’ve done it. Because you did it already, so clearly in your head.

A sound escapes your lips somewhere between a laugh and a sob as you watch a fluffy, horned beast trot around in front of you. 

A ram.

It backs up a few steps before charging off and vanishing in a silver cloud.

You turn around to see Krum and McLaggen. Krum raises his mug slightly in your direction with a nod before turning back inside, through the kitchen door without another word.

You squeal and leap into McLaggen’s arms. He hugs you the way he always does - exactly like in your happy thought. He squeezes you tight before letting you down and you sigh breathlessly, looking up at him.

“Don’t be grumpy because Krum helped,” you tease, trying to catch his eye as he looks at the door over your shoulder. “You’re the one who’s been getting me there for the past month.”

“I’m not sure why the happy memory thing didn’t work on its own,” he grumbles. “That’s how Potter taught all of us in the D.A.”

“I was getting in my own head, dwelling on bad things in the past when I needed to think about the future. I had to force myself to think about all the good things that are going to happen when we do this.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Oh. Nothing. It’s stupid.”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

“I thought about Carmichael - all of us - being safe. Back here. ”

“That’s not stupid- ”

“But I think the thing that did it was picturing the two of us just doing boring, normal stuff after the war is over.”

He presses his lips against the top of your head. “Still not stupid. I can’t wait to do boring, normal stuff with you. Not hatching schemes to break people out of prison for a change.”

You take a deep breath of his aftershave, the dark amber and jasmine scent makes your senses light up pleasantly. “I hope you still like me during peacetime.”

“I’ll always like you,” he says.

You pull back to smile up at him. “You’re always so sure of everything. I suppose that checks out… y’know with learning how to do a Patronus.”

“Oh yeah? Go on then, tell me.” His tongue pushes against the inside of his cheek as he waits for a sarcastic comment. 

You don’t disappoint him. “Of course, you already believed you could do it.”

“Haha,” he says sarcastically, dimples appearing at the corners of his mouth in a reluctant smile.

“Oh, to have an ounce of Cormac McLaggen’s self-belief!” You push back from his chest and exuberantly brandish his dad’s wand. “I’d be unstoppable - Expelliarmus!”

He casts a shield charm with a lazy flick of his wand.

“You won’t beat me if you keep casting spells verbally.”

Confringo, you think but the wand flies out of your hand before you can finish the thought. He catches it with expert accuracy.

“Again,” he says, tossing it back in the air. You catch it. “Ready?”

You change your stance and extend the wand again. “As I’ll ever be.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Listen up, team. Conditions are decent. Windy but clear,” you say to the group gathered on the deserted beach at Stonehaven once you’ve all apparated to the rendezvous point in one piece. “Let’s go over it once more before we kick off.”

You look at the faces in front of you. Most are determined. Some nervous. Marietta looks faintly green as her shaking hands grip her broom - though you suspect it’s nothing to do with the bitter North Sea wind whipping her hair across her pretty, scarred face.

“Stay with me in formation until we penetrate the boundary. Once we’ve got visibility we head for the South corner - the tip of the triangle - and blast our way through to the corridor on the top floor. Team Gryffindor -” You look at McLaggen, Katie, Leanne, Wood and Alicia. “You go anti-clockwise while the rest of us -” You nod at Krum, Davies, Cho, Marietta and Leanne. “We go clockwise. We unlock every cell, get back to the opening we made and fly everyone out.”

“From the Daily Prophet and Potterwatch, we reckon there are nine muggleborns locked up in Azkaban. If they outnumber us, we come back for them. But only if it’s safe. Under no circumstances can you take more than one passenger on your broom,” adds McLaggen. The waves crash against the rocky beach ominously, as if reminding you all where you’ll end up if your broom is overburdened.

“When we get back here, we give them a wand and send them on their way. Remember, we can’t take anyone except Eddie Carmichael back to Seafarer’s Beacon. The more people that know about Headquarters, the riskier it is for us all to stay there. No exceptions,” he says.

“Ministry presence is minimal at night - it’ll mostly be Dementors we’re dealing with. But as soon as they hear us breach the walls, they’ll alert the authorities. So we get in and out quickly and stun any Ministry officials who get in our way. Got it?” You ask.

“Yes, Captain,” says Davies.

“Got it,” says Cho.

The rest of them murmur in agreement.

“Ready to send the Patronus?” You ask McLaggen and he draws his shoulders back. He casts his German Shepherd Patronus and it obediently awaits instructions. 

“Tell Eddie Carmichael to get ready - we’re coming for him.”

It’s the first time he’s ever communicated verbally with Carmichael using the Patronus. Hopefully, it’ll make him understand that something extraordinary is about to happen.

“Okay!” You shout, turning to face the sea. “Everyone, mount your brooms! And let’s go!”

The eleven of you take to the air and start speeding West, over the black, treacherous waves roaring below you.

It feels… wonderful. In all your anxiety about carrying out this mission, you had almost forgotten that you’d get to fly again. Fly properly. Not just hovering in the perimeter of Seafarer’s Beacon, helping Marietta get up to speed with riding a broom again.

The icy wind burns your face and makes your eyes narrow. But the weather doesn’t matter. You feel free up here. Like you can do anything.

As you get further and further out, you look anxiously into the empty horizon.

Come on, come on. Where are you?

When the thought crosses your mind, it appears. A gigantic, stony triangular prism launches itself directly from the waves. The water swells and crashes as it emerges, apparently from the depths of the ocean. But you know it was never underwater. Whatever ancient magic protects this place only conceals it - it doesn’t actually submerge it. 

You slow your broom waiting for it to appear fully in front of you.

“You guys can see that, right?” You whip around on your broom to see ten, shocked faces looking up at the grey monolith towering over you. Their silent answer to your question is written all over their faces.

“Everyone - move up! South point!” You bellow into the night sky and start zooming up and up to the highest floor of Azkaban.

All your nerves have disapparated. Being on a broom, leading a team - it’s what you were made for. It feels right. And you know beyond a doubt that you’re ready for whatever comes next when you breach the walls of this wretched place.

“Get in position!” You wait for the other brooms to meet your level, hovering outside the highest point of Azkaban. You point your wand. “On my mark… three… two… one!”

The effect of eleven Reductor curses being cast at once is astounding. This first hurdle was the part of the plan that was least certain - you had no idea if your curse would actually blast through the protective enchantments, penetrating the walls. But it does. The combined force of your curses blasts a hole into the corridor wall, sending rubble, brick and ash plummeting into the sea.

“Move!” You yell and fly into the opening, landing on the stone floor inside. The unsettlingly familiar damp smell of the prison reaches your nostrils, immediately bringing memories flooding back of your time spent here. But you don’t have time to process them as you see a hooded figure gliding down the corridor towards you.

Fuck.

You can do this. You can do it.

Cries of “Expecto Patronum!” ring out along the corridor as the rest of your team begin conjuring Patronuses. The rallying cries of your friends force you from your momentary state of shock.

You give yourself a shake and with all your might conjure your silver ram, sending it charging down the corridor, as if ready to headbutt the Demontors ahead, accompanied by a silver swan, wild rabbit, tabby cat, stoat and falcon.

You hear cries of shock and confusion coming from the prisoners in their cells. The two teams split up and Cho, Marietta, Leanne, Davies and Krum start casting unlocking charms at cells as you storm down the corridor, your brooms still in hand. 

But as they open the cells and provide hushed, soothing words of explanation, you only have one person on your mind.

Carmichael.

You run as fast as you can, along to the end of the corridor where you know he is. Firmly keeping your back to the cell that you used to inhabit, you skid to a halt in front of Eddie Carmichael’s cell.

“Alright, mucker?” he asks weakly. Unexpectedly, the greeting makes your throat tighten when you see him, standing at the bars. Waiting. Just as you’d hoped he’d be.

Tears well in your eyes. He’s thinner and paler than you remember. His black and white striped robes are grimy. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, Carmichael… Even in this getup.” You swallow. “Alohamora.”

The cell door swings open. Fear grips you once more. Stupidly, you feel scared that if you step into the dank cell, the door will swing shut behind you and you’ll both be stuck there forever. 

But you don’t have to. Carmichael steps out before you can psych yourself up and all you have to do is reach out and pull him into a hug.

You feel his cold body shudder immediately under your touch.

“Maaate,” he sobs into your shoulder. 

“I know. I know.” He smells like stale sweat, sour porridge and filth. But you’ve never been so glad to experience that putrid smell as you are right now. You clasp his shoulders. “One last push and we’re home.”

He nods, and you both sprint to meet the rest of your group in the corridor, accompanied by several nervous-looking prisoners in the same filthy robes. “How many?” you ask.

“Seven including Carmichael,” says Davies.

“Let’s hope the others have less. This way.”

“Eddie!” cries Marietta, pushing past you, Davies, Krum, Cho and Leanne to embrace him.

“Maz!” he chokes, a grimy hand pulling the back of her sea-sprayed curly hair into his neck.

You lead them back to the crumbling corner. You can barely hear yourself think over the howling wind and the waves colliding with the side of Azkaban.

You see McLaggen and the rest of his group came running down the corridor, followed by more visibly terrified prisoners.

“We’ve got to go - now. Ministry are on their way. We stunned two but more will be coming,” says McLaggen urgently.

You quickly try and count heads. “We’ve got thirteen prisoners. Too many. Some of us will need to go and come back.”

“I’ll stay. Hold the Ministry as long as I can,” says McLaggen.

“You can’t stay here by yourself.”

The others immediately start clamouring over each other.

“Shut up a second! I can’t think!” Your brain whirs into overdrive, calculating the risk of the best fighters versus the quickest fliers versus the shortest amount of trips to ferry everyone out of there. “Krum - stay here with McLaggen. The rest of us will fly to shore and a couple will come back for the rest.” You turn. “What are you waiting for? Let’s go!”

You mount your broom and extend your hand so that the nearest woman in dirty Azkaban robes can climb on behind you. Krum and McLaggen ready their wands, turning to face the dark corridor as the others help the prisoners onto the backs of their brooms.

“Hold on tight,” you say to the woman and she clasps her hands firmly around your waist. 

When the prisoners are ready, the nine of you kick off into the night sky, over the treacherous waves and start flying back to shore. The woman, whose name you don’t even know, is light but no matter how much you will your broom to speed up, it feels heavier bearing the weight of another passenger. You turn your head slightly to see Eddie clutching onto Marietta’s back as her eyes focus on the horizon in determination.

After what feels like much too long, you land clumsily on the beach and feel the others touching down behind you not long after.

“Right you know what to do,” you say urgently to the others. “There’s four prisoners still in there with McLaggen and Krum. I need one person to fly back with me -”

“I’ll do it,” says Davies, spinning around and readying his broom again.

“The wands, Davies - leave the wands!” yells Cho.

“Shit, yeah,” says Davies, pulling the backpack full of wands from his shoulders and tossing it to her.

You both take off again, zooming as fast as you can towards Azkaban. You never thought you’d be returning to this awful place, let alone twice in one night. 

With horror, you see flashes of red and shining glimmers of silver light bouncing between the giant chasm in the wall. Fuck, you weren’t thinking straight. You might be the best flier but you know that you’re not the best at duelling. You just pray there are no Aurors there or you’re about to be royally fucked.

Because there’s no time to turn back now. You cast a shield charm as you and Davies land amongst the rubble, rebounding a stunning charm from a Ministry official back down the dim corridor.

McLaggen springs out from an unlocked cell, shielded by your protective charm so he can grab his broom from the floor.

They’re fighting two versus two as the prisoners cower in the corner. With a glimmer of hope, you realise that you and Davies now outnumber them.

“Petrificus totalus!” You cry, casting the spell at one of the officials but he sends a silent disarming spell your way - McLaggen’s dad’s wand goes spinning through the air from your fingertips.

“Shit!”

You throw yourself on the floor, out of the way of the crossfire and scramble towards the wand, lying on the floor between you and the Ministry officials.

A third figure you hadn’t noticed leaps out of a cell and his foot stamps on your forearm just as your fingers brush the discarded wand. You yelp in pain when he bends down and drags you to your feet by your hair.

“Ow! Fuck!”

You feel the tip of his wand pressed against your throat as he spins you roughly to face McLaggen and the others. He jerks your head right back, forcing you to look up into his face.

He sneers as your eyes widen in recognition - he’s the guard who gave Carmichael his newspaper so long ago.

“I know you, pretty,” he laughs. “The little Quidditch-playing bitch who escaped. Though you were much prettier behind bars.” He looks at McLaggen, driving his wand deeper against the flesh of your neck. You’ve never seen McLaggen’s face drain of colour so quickly before. “Wands down.”

“Leave, now! Get out of here -” Your cry is interrupted when he pulls your hair tighter.

“Shut up,” he hisses, pressing his lips against your ear as his eyes dart between McLaggen, Davies and Krum. “You’re not going anywhere. The Head of the Muggle-Born Registration Commission has asked for you personally.”

McLaggen slowly, carefully, places his wand and broom on the floor. Krum emerges from behind a crumbling wall, holding his hands up. Davies drops his wand and holds his hands in the air too.

You look from your friends to the prisoners huddled in the corner. Why did you have to come back and jeopardise the mission when you know you’re no good at duelling?

No good at duelling.

As you look at McLaggen’s dad’s wand on the floor, his face pulled in distaste swims to the front of your mind.

‘Merlin’s beard - don’t tell me you were Muggle brawling.’

Muggle brawling. 

Now that’s something you can do.

Without a second though, using the reflexes you’ve spent your whole life honing as a keeper you whip your fist down and punch your attacker between his legs as hard as you can. Every ounce of strength you have travels down your arm like you’re ferociously knocking the quaffle away from the goal.

He lets out a pathetic wail as he releases your hair. You react quickly, wrenching his wand from his hand before scrambling to the floor to pick up Mr McLaggen’s wand. Before he can even sink to the ground in pain, you cast a body-bind curse and his entire body tightens and falls back, landing rigidly on the stone with a dull thud.

The fighting begins again immediately, Krum sends a white light slashing through the air, knocking a robed man flying back into the stone wall. McLaggen grabs his wand and shoots a stunning spell directly into the chest of the last standing official, making him crumble into a heap on the floor.

The only stirring comes from the wizard who had grabbed you as he breathes raggedly on the floor, unable to move.

You walk over to where he’s lying but McLaggen tries to stop you. “We need to leave,” he says grabbing your arm.

You ignore him and shrug off his hand as you walk.

You crouch down beside the figure. He can’t even blink but his eyes look terrified. 

“Tell Gregor McLaggen if he ever wants the Imperius Curse lifted from his son, his boss needs to stop putting innocent muggleborns in Azkaban.” You look up at McLaggen, Davies, Krum and the last four prisoners. “Let’s move.”

You find your broom again.

You, Davies, Krum and McLaggen hoist the last of the stragglers onto the backs of your brooms and take off once more across the North Sea.

When you finally land, you’re pleased to see the other freed prisoners are gone with the exception of Eddie, who is standing with his arms crossed, bracing himself against the freezing sea blow.

“Any issues?” asks McLaggen, when he’s finished helping the trembling man from the back of his broom.

“None. They all had families and friends to return to. We told them to get out of the country but I suppose we’ll see in the Daily Prophet if any of them are recaptured,” says Cho.

“If they have any sense they won’t come back here,” says Alicia. “No offence,” she adds to you.

You don’t say anything.

“Any dramas on your end?” asks Katie.

You look at McLaggen, Krum and Davies.

“A bit of trouble with the Ministry but we made it out okay,” says McLaggen.

Cho rushes over with the last of the wands and hands them to the four freed prisoners. She starts rhyming off the agreed instructions and making sure they have somewhere to apparate to.

“I - I can’t apparate,” says a stricken-looking woman in a feeble voice.

“What?” asks Cho - looking to you for direction. 

You hadn’t planned on any of the prisoners not being able to apparate.

“Do you have somewhere safe to go?” asks McLaggen.

“I live in Yorkshire. My husband… my children - they’ll be there.”

“Right, I’ll take you,” says McLaggen.

“No, Cormac -” you begin but he cuts you off.

“None of the free prisoners can come back to headquarters. What are we supposed to do? Leave her here on the beach?”

“What if it’s a trap?” You look at her edgily but her face falls like she’s about to cry. 

“It’s not a trap. She didn’t know we were coming. She didn’t ask to be rescued.”

You feel your eyes burning. Anger that the plan has been turned upside down on its head. Embarrassment that you almost tanked the entire operation in Azkaban with your woeful defence skills. Fear that if Cormac McLaggen disappears into the night you’ll never see him again. 

“What’s your name?” you ask her.

“Mary… Mary Cattermole.”

“If this is some kind of trick, Mary Cattermole, I’ll put you back in there. I mean it!”

Mary shrinks back in fright and McLaggen looks alarmed.

“C’mon, it’s okay,” says Cho, appearing behind you to pull you back by the crook of your elbow. “He’ll be fine.”

“You’ve got the piece of parchment with headquarters location?” he asks you.

You want to shake your head. Tell him you don’t still have the small piece of parchment with Seafarer’s Beacon written in his handwriting burning a hole in your pocket. He’d be able to see right through it if you lied - pretended like you needed him to come with you to escort Eddie through the Fidelius Charm protecting headquarters.

McLaggen nods at you once before taking Mary Cattermole by the hand. She tells him something but you can’t hear it over the wind rushing in your ears. Before you can argue any further or ask where exactly they’re going, there’s a noise like a car backfiring and they vanish before your eyes.

Your chest tightens as you look at the empty space McLaggen just disappeared into and let out a shaky sob.

“Why didn’t any of you back me up?!” you accuse nobody in particular as their stunned faces watch you silently. Your heart feels like it’s been ripped out of your chest. You’ve barely been more than a few feet away from him since he and his dad rescued you from Azkaban.

“It’s not a trap. He’s coming back.” Cho takes your arm. It’s just as well she does because your legs feel weak. “Let’s get Eddie home before they come looking for us.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You sit on the window seat in the kitchen, tears silently rolling down your face as you stare out the window. It’s dark outside. All you can see is your own blotchy face reflected in the glass as you look for any sign of McLaggen.

The atmosphere in the kitchen is grim. It’s nothing like the celebration you had pictured. Whenever anyone does speak it’s in a hushed whisper. And nobody directs any of the whispering to you. 

Because they know now that you were right to be worried.

McLaggen should have been back a few minutes after the rest of you.

When you made it back to Seafarer’s Beacon, you showed Eddie to his room and left him and Marietta to catch up. You had practically bounced down the spiral staircase, expecting McLaggen to be waiting in the kitchen for you already.

But he wasn’t.

You fiddle absently with your watch strap. The digital display says it’s almost three in the morning. You wipe your eyes and bring yourself to look away from the window to address the rest of the group huddled quietly around the kitchen table.

“You guys should go to bed. It’s been a long night.”

“No way,” says Cho. “I’m not leaving you to wait up alone.”

Krum shakes his head.

“I won’t be able to sleep until I know he’s back safely,” says Katie.

“Me neither,” says Leanne.

“Why don’t I make us all some more tea?” suggests Davies bracingly, getting up from his seat.

“I still say we go out and look for him,” says Wood. Angelina and Alicia roll their eyes at him.

“What are we gonna do, Oliver? Go door to door? Fly over the whole of Yorkshire and hope we just see McLaggen wandering around?” asks Alicia.

“I mean, how big can it be?” he asks.

“It’s an entire county,” explains Angelina, not unkindly. “It would take us days.”

“Cho, can’t you send him a Patronus with a message?” asks Davies, leaning against the countertop as the kettle boils.

She looks at you nervously. “Well… we don’t know where he is or who’s listening. If he’s in trouble it might lead them straight here. And besides, Cormac knows how to send one. If he needs help he’d have sent one to us by now.”

“Unless he doesn’t have a wand,” you say quietly and the room goes silent again. You take a deep breath. “I need air. No - alone,” you add firmly when Cho and Alicia get up out of their seats. “I’ll be fine. I just need a minute.”

When you get outside, you close the front door behind you. The mild sea breeze feels good in your lungs. Easier to breathe than the sharp, salty air surrounding Azkaban. 

How could he be so selfish to leave you like this? Always so determined to be the bravest. The most chivalrous. But then you immediately feel bad for calling him selfish in your head when you might never see him again. Of course, he wasn’t being selfish. He was the total opposite. 

You’re sure he wanted more than anything to come home with you but he just had to make sure that Mary Cattermole got home to her family.

You want to hit something. Instead, you rest your forehead on the wooden front door and let out a sigh.

Crack.

The sound of someone apparating in the darkness some distance behind you. Every fibre of your being prays that it’s him. It has to be him. Only him. If someone’s captured him, there’s no way he would lead them here. Unless he was somehow forced.

You whip around in panic when you hear footsteps sprinting towards you.

You let out a gasp of surprise as your face meets a soft-knitted jumper and a pair of arms wrap around you.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” says McLaggen breathlessly pulling you tight and nuzzling into your neck, his broom still in his hand, pressing against your back as he squeezes. You feel his heart pounding in his chest.

“Cormac, you scared me!”

“I was running towards the door - I didn’t expect you to be out here but, fuck, I’m so glad you are. I’m sorry - everything’s fine. She just had trouble finding her family. But they were staying with a neighbour. I’ll explain inside.”

“Wait,” you say, burying your face into his chest. You squeeze your eyes shut and drink in every sensation he has to offer. His smell, the weight on him on you, the sound of his heart beating. “Don’t do that again,” you say, your voice muffled by the soft cotton of his jumper. 

“I won’t. I promise,” he says.

You pull back and look up at him properly. His golden mop of hair looks tousled as ever after your mission. You grab his face, pull it close to yours and look him right in the eyes. “I don’t want you to ever leave my sight again.”

“What about in the shower?” He tilts his head and gives you an infuriating smile, trying to make you laugh.

“Don’t make jokes. It’s not funny,” you bite back and kiss him fiercely. Your tongue delves into his mouth and he drops his broom with a clatter against the door to thread his fingers through your hair. Cormac kisses you like you’ve been apart for weeks - not just hours. “But yes… especially in the shower,”

The front door opens and you break apart in time to see it closing again quickly.

“He’s back!” says Davies’ voice from behind the door and you hear movement inside. “No - wait. Give them a minute.”

You exhale a laugh and shake your head, as McLaggen picks up his broom and opens the door to joyous cheers from the group.

“Sorry.” Davies hands you a steaming mug of tea with a sheepish grin. “I was just bringing you this. Want one?” he asks McLaggen.

“You’re not having something stronger?” asks Cormac, dumping his backpack on the table - you only just now realise it’s ready to burst at the seams. He opens it up and starts pulling out a giant fruit cake, homemade fudge, a massive slab of chocolate and some biscuits.

“Been shopping, have you?” laughs Angelina. “While we’ve been here worried sick?”

“They insisted,” he says with a sigh, pulling up a chair. “We apparated to Mary Cattermole’s house but her family weren’t there - we spent ages looking for them. Then we found them at a neighbour’s house. She’d been arrested for escaping the Ministry during the infiltration in September - her husband works in Magical Maintenence. He and the kids had been in hiding. He almost had a heart attack when we showed up in the middle of the night. But they’ve all decided to leave the country… so they gave me all this.”

That was sweet of her. A guilty knot forms in your stomach. You’ve spent the last few hours plotting how you were going to hunt her down.

“And it’s a good idea. Leaving the country, I mean. I’m sure you guys will feel much safer back in Lyon.” McLaggen says to Krum and Davies.

“I don’t think so.” You shake your head and look at the pair. “I think you should stay here. You were both just spotted breaking into Azkaban. I don’t know much about International Magical Law but they might come looking for you in Lyon.”

Krum nods. “Vell, I’m not in any hurry to return. The league is still called off.”

“And you,” you say, turning to McLaggen again. “I hope they won’t come looking for you after I gave the guard that cover story.”

You explain to the rest of the group about the fight when you returned to Azkaban for the second time and what you told the Ministry official.

“I thought if they saw you, they might come after your dad. So I said you were under the Imperius Curse. But I couldn’t really think of an explanation for Davies and Krum. Sorry.”

“It’s fine. We knew what we were getting into when we came here,” said Davies. 

You yawn and try to hide it by taking a sip from your mug.

“Right, I think we should all go to bed,” says Cho, not failing to notice your heavy eyelids. 

“I thought we were -” Alicia yawns too. “- I thought we were going to have a party?”

“Eddie’s the most fun at parties. We can wait til he’s feeling up for it,” says Cho. “Besides, he’d be furious if we had one without him.”

Tired murmurings, the sound of chairs being pushed back and mugs being put in the sink rings through the kitchen. You lace your fingers through Cormac’s and lead him upstairs to your room. As you climb to the top of the lighthouse you hear doors shut on the lower floors as everyone else retires to bed too.

You curl up on the bed together. Neither of you have the energy to even take your clothes off. You just lie there on top of the duvet, nestling into him.

“I fucked up,” you murmur softly into the space on his chest where your head is resting. “When we were fighting the Ministry. I used a verbal spell and he disarmed me.” 

“It was just a mistake. It happens. But you did good. You were so brave.”

“And he pulled my hair. It was so humiliating.”

“That says more about him than you,” says Cormac, kissing the top of your head.

“You’re not annoyed?”

“With you? Never,” he says sleepily and you lift your head to see he’s too tired to even open his eyes. “I was just scared when he had you… I’ve never been so scared.”

“I thought you were about to hand yourself in.”

“I was.”

“We really should have talked about that beforehand. You should have run rather than get captured yourself.”

“You know I’d never do that.”

“I know. But you should have. You’re the secret keeper for headquarters.”

“I don’t care. Whatever the cost, they’re not taking you again. And certainly not alone.” He yawns and pulls you tighter. “I know that makes me an idiot.”

“Mhm,” you murmur, fighting sleep. “Well, you’re my idiot.”

Chapter 16: Relax

[training4theapocalypse]

Finders Keepers Ch 8. (Cormac McLaggen x fem!reader)

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: Romance, sexual references, homophobia, violence

Summary: McLaggen finally gets a call-up for the Gryffindor Team and you go along to watch.

A/N: It's all gone fucking tits up.

Masterlist

Tag list: @pretendfan, @countlambula, @ratsys, @aweidlich, @navs-bhat, @stainedpomegranatelips, @chiaraanatra

Chapter 8: Incendio

The Hufflepuff loss was hard to swallow. You lost by a measly ten points. Too many goals conceded. Too many stupid mistakes on your part. Cursing under your breath as you make your way out of the dressing rooms, you start doing sums quickly in your head. 

The cup was still basically yours - especially if Hufflepuff beat Gryffindor in their next match. Preferably by a significant margin. It would still leave you and Gryffindor to face each other in the final.

Cho catches up with you before you can storm off any further.

“Hey, look don’t blame yourself. It was my fault for missing the snitch when it was hovering above Smith’s stupid head about ten minutes in.”

“It’s absolutely not your fault, Cho. I just haven’t been practising hard enough. And I’ve given the team too much slack recently. I know exams are only a couple of months away but we all need to train more. Train harder. One more game and it’s ours.” 

“Well, it’s definitely not your fault. We were miles ahead - they only beat us because they caught the snitch.”

“I’m the Captain, Cho. It’s down to me.”

You shake your head. Cho doesn’t understand your disappointment in yourself but McLaggen would get it.

Maybe that’s why you’re not playing as well, says a small voice at the back of your head. Your extra practices one-on-one with him hadn’t exactly been productive since Valentine’s Day. These days all it took was a flirty comment from McLaggen and you’d cut your practice short and end up with your arms wrapped around each other under the stands.

You walk together silently back to the castle and find Marietta waiting for you in the entrance hall, away from the throng of students returning from the pitch. 

“Congrats!” she says brightly, clearly not noticing the sullen look on your face.

“We lost,” you reply miserably.

“Alright girls?” says a voice from the crowd behind you. It’s Eddie Carmichael and your heart soars when you see he’s accompanied by McLaggen.

“C’mere,” McLaggen says and pulls you into a one-armed hug, kissing the top of your head. Relief washes over you as you bury your face in his chest and inhale the familiar pleasant smell of his aftershave. He does get it. Of course, he does. “Do you mind if I steal my girlfriend from you?” He asks Cho and Marietta.

“Sure,” says Cho. You have a feeling she’s desperate for McLaggen to take you off her hands and cheer you up.

“You’re the best,” he says.

“No you’re the best, Cormac,” Cho says in a sing-song voice and grins at Marietta.

“Oh yeah, the very best,” Marietta adds. “The best she’s ever- ow!” She rubs her side - Cho has very obviously just elbowed her in the ribs. 

You had told them about your date with McLaggen the same night that you had snuck back to the Ravenclaw dormitory well after midnight, still high with endorphins. Swearing them to secrecy, you had also confessed that it was incredible. Specifically, in a moment of sheer giddiness, you had told them it best sex you’d ever had.

“So why can’t you tell McLaggen that?” asked Marietta, practically kicking her feet in the air behind her on your bed.

“You know what he’s like. His inflated head doesn’t need any more encouragement.”

Now in the entrance hall, you scowl at them as McLaggen looks between the three of you, confused.

“Let’s go,” you say pointedly and drag McLaggen away in the direction of the Great Hall while the rest of the group dawdles behind you.

“What was all that about?” he asks, when you’re far enough away from them.

“Nothing, just ignore them.”

“Tell me,” he says seriously. “What did they mean?”

You let out a heavy sigh. “They’re talking about our date a few weeks ago.”

“You told them?”

“I mean, yeah. They noticed I wasn’t back until after midnight.” You say, sitting down at the end of the Gryffindor table, as has become usual for the two of you at the weekend when everyone mingles at other tables. McLaggen sits beside you with an unfamiliar expression. “What, you didn’t tell Carmichael?”

He leans across and whispers. “Is that why Cho said my name like that?” It dawns on you that the expression on his face is embarrassment. You’ve never seen him insecure about, well, anything before.

“No! Absolutely not. I promise she doesn’t know anything about that. They were making fun of me. Not you.” He raises an eyebrow so you link your fingers through his reassuringly.

“So what were they making fun of you for?” He asks quietly - he’s not letting this go.

“Ugh, I’m never going to hear the end of this,” you groan. “I just told them that our Valentine’s Day was good. That it was -” You stop yourself and roll your eyes as the penny drops for McLaggen and his usual smug smile is back.

“The best?”

“Shut up.”

“The best,” he repeats with a stupid smirk on his face, nodding in a self-satisfied way before helping himself to some sandwiches. 

“At one thing,” you say, stabbing a sausage aggressively with the end of your fork and pointing it at him. “You’re still the worst - generally speaking.”

He shrugs. “So what else did you tell them?”

Your reply is interrupted when you hear a sob echoing from the other side of the Great Hall followed by Lavender Brown running from the room, leaving a group of girls including Cho, Marietta, Parvati and Padma sitting huddled together talking at the Ravenclaw table.

“What’s going on there?” says McLaggen, nodding in their direction.

“I dunno, maybe she and Weasley broke up?” You suggest. Cho looks up and locks eyes with you, she jerks her head gesturing you to come over. Strange. “Back in a sec.”

When you approach the table, Cho says. “It’s Ron Weasley, he’s been taken to the hospital wing.”

“Is it serious?”

“He was poisoned. I think he’s okay - he was in Slughorn’s office at the time so they gave him an antidote quickly.”

“In Slughorn’s office? What, did he drink something accidentally?”

“Looks like it.” You try to look neutral. It’s obviously awful he’s been poisoned but then again, you barely know him. And if he’s in the hospital wing that means… “I thought you might want to know. For our next game. And Gryffindor’s.” Cho’s eyes dart in McLaggen’s direction.

You do an about-turn and march back over to McLaggen and squeeze his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

“We’re not gonna have lunch?”

“You’re going to want to hear this. Not here,” you add as he opens his mouth to respond.

He swings his leg over the bench before following you out of the Great Hall. When the coast is clear you grab his hand so he stops and faces you.

“Weasley’s out for the next Gryffindor game.” He blinks a few times. This was clearly not the news he’s been expecting from Lavender’s outburst. “Cormac, that means you’re playing next week!” You grin and he clasps the back of his head in disbelief.

“He’s- he’s what?! This is…” he exhales nervously, searching for the words. “He’s alright though, yeah?”

“He’s in the hospital wing. He’ll live but it sounds like he’s definitely out. You need to find Potter.”

His shocked expression turns into pure joy. His smile is almost enough to make you forget that you’ve just lost to Hufflepuff. “You’re so twisted. I love you.” You let out a squeal when he suddenly lifts you up and spins you in a hug, covering your face in sweet, silly little kisses.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On the morning of the Gryffindor vs Hufflepuff match you walk into the Great Hall to find McLaggen sitting at the Gryffindor table and staring at a plate full of untouched food. He looks slightly green.

“Hey, handsome,” you say, approaching him from behind and planting a kiss on his cheek. You’re not just stroking his ego - he does look handsome in his Quidditch uniform, despite his current nauseated complexion.

“Morning -” He stops in his tracks when he turns around to greet you.

“What’s wrong?” You grin. “Red’s not really my colour, is it?” You tug at the hem of his borrowed Gryffindor jumper.

“Oh yeah, it’s dreadful on you,” he says sarcastically, shuffling over so you can squeeze onto the bench next to him. He turns his attention back to his full English breakfast. “God, I feel ill,” he adds quietly so only you can hear him.

“Yeah, no wonder,” you say, swapping his grease-filled plate with your empty one. You grab a stack of toast. “Eat this. I can’t stomach anything else before a game.”

He hesitantly bites into a corner of a piece of toast and you lean on your elbow, watching the colour creep back into his face. He gives you a single nod.

“Where’s Potter?” You ask, looking down the Gryffindor table.

“Visiting Weasley at the hospital wing, apparently.”

“Very sweet,” you say curtly. You decide to keep your opinion to yourself as you’re within earshot of about a dozen Gryffindors. As Captain of the team, Potter should be here. As McLaggen finishes his fourth slice of toast you lace your fingers through his free hand. “Do you want to get some air?”

The pair of you walk through the castle, towards the Quidditch pitch. He’s unusually quiet. You look up at the sky as you pass through the courtyard, the clouds are patchy and the dazzling sunlight splits the sky occasionally.

“Tricky conditions,” you say bracingly. “You’ve got the sun in front of you but it’s nothing you can’t manage.”

“Yeah…” he says, sounding queasy again.

“You’ve got this, McLaggen. I’m no Chaser but you’ve saved about a hundred of my best shots this week.”

“I’ve never had nerves like this before.”

You stop when you reach the edge of the pitch. The stands are slowly filling up and the noise from the chatter echoes around the field. You reach up and put and hand on each of his shoulders to look him in the eyes. Your pep talks are only reserved for the Ravenclaw Team but you can make an exception for him. Just this once.

“You’re ten times the player anyone else here is. You could play any fucking position and they all know it. Hell, Potter knows you’d be a better Captain than him which is probably why he won’t let you near the team.”

He inhales and draws his shoulders back. “Yeah… yeah you’re right.” He starting to sound more like the McLaggen you know.

“I’ll be right there, cheering you on.” You point to the section of the Gryffindor stands just in front of the goal. “Don’t let the crowd get to you. Just pretend it’s like it’s just me and you.”

“You can’t expect me to believe you want Gryffindor to win.” He smiles for the first time all morning.

“I didn’t say that. I’ll be cheering you on specifically. I want zero goals conceded. But if Hufflepuff get the snitch before Gryffindor can score, that wouldn’t be so terrible,” you smirk.

“Well, I’ve got my lucky charm with me.”

“We don’t know if I’m lucky yet.”

“Not you. Well, sort of…” He reaches inside the front of his keeper’s shoulder pad and extracts the Polaroid you sent him over the Christmas break.

“Oh my god, put my tits away!” You laugh, pushing it back against his chest before anyone can see.

He tucks the photo back underneath the pad, concealed from view. “I’ve been getting pretty lucky ever since you sent me this. Considerably less studious at night though.”

You stand on your tiptoes to kiss him. “You pig.”

He snorts loudly making you giggle and brings his hands to your waist, pulling your body close against him.

“Oi, no fraternising with the enemy,” calls Ginny Weasley approaching you from behind. You both break apart to see her grinning as she strides past you towards the dressing room followed by the rest of the team - except Potter.

“I’d better go.”

You nod and give him one final tight hug. He looks you over from head to toe as you step back to leave.

“I know we were joking earlier but red is definitely your colour.”

“I’m wearing red underneath it too… same as Valentine’s Day.” 

He throws his head back and bites his fist. You burst out laughing again. “Incredible. Just… fucking hell,” he sighs. 

“Well, seeing you in your uniform does something to me. I had to up my game.” You kiss his cheek once more. “Good luck, Cormac.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cho finds her way to the front of the stand beside you just in time to hear Madam Hooch’s whistle signalling for the game to begin. 

“You made it. You got here just before Potter” 

Cho squeezes your hand. “How’s Cormac? We saw you both at the table this morning.”

You nod. “He’s gonna be great. He just needed a bit of extra confidence.”

She looks at you incredulously. “Cormac? Needing confidence?”

“I know,” you laugh. “It wasn’t like him. I gave him a pep talk and that seemed to help though.”

“And that’s Smith of Hufflepuff with the quaffle,” says a dreamy voice echoing around the stadium. “He did the commentary last time, of course. And Ginny Weasley flew into him. I think probably on purpose. Smith was being quite rude about Gryffindor. I expect he regrets that now he’s playing them.”

You and Cho stare at each other. 

“That can’t be Luna Lovegood…” says Cho, gaping at the commentator’s podium. But there’s no mistaking it.

“Ooh, Potter seems to have spotted the snitch.” No. Your eyes bolt upwards, searching for the tiny, golden, winged ball but there’s no need for you to worry - he hasn’t even picked up speed. Potter continues to circle above the game at his usual pace. You look at the commentator’s podium to see Professor McGonagall shaking her head, clearly regretting her choice. “It’s a good thing he still has his broom,” says Luna thoughtfully. “The Ravenclaw Keeper threatened to set it on fire a few years ago when he upset their Seeker by celebrating.”

“And I’d do it again. That puffed-up git,” you whisper to Cho who returns your smirk. “Shit, speaking of which, what’s McLaggen doing?”

You look up to see McLaggen who is so busy arguing with Ginny Weasley that Codwallader zooms straight past him and scores.

“Oh dear,” says Cho. “The crowd will love that.”

Boos and jeers echo around the stadium and you watch as Potter whips himself around and flies over to McLaggen.

“And Harry Potter’s now having an argument with his Keeper,” says Luna serenely above the noise of the crowd. The Gryffindor Chasers take possession again and manage to score one a piece, taking some heat off of McLaggen. You watch as he furrows his brow in concentration. 

“Come on, McLaggen,” you urge quietly. 

The Gryffindor crowd around you cheers when their team scores another goal. Luna Lovegood doesn’t seem to notice and instead tries to draw the crowd’s attention to other things, such as interestingly shaped clouds.

You watch as McLaggen lets in another goal, and another, and another and another.

“70 - 40 to Hufflepuff,” barks McGonagall into the megaphone.

He’s choking under the pressure, you realise, watching his face turn scarlet. The more goals he lets in, the more annoyed he gets. And he takes it out of the rest of the team.

“Oh god, what’s he up to now?” you groan, watching him abandon the goalposts completely to talk to one of the Beaters.

“What, er, what did you say, exactly, in this pep talk of yours?” asks Cho tentatively. 

You sigh as McLaggen grabs Cootes’s bat and demonstrates how to swing it properly towards an oncoming Codwallader.

“That he could play any position on the team - better than the rest of them…” you say, horror-struck.

Potter spots McLaggen off his position and flies towards him, presumably to shout at him again, just as McLaggen swings the beater’s bat at a bludger and-

“Oh my god!” screams Cho, watching the bludger slam into Potter’s head with a sickening thud. You gasp as Potter is knocked off of his broom. The two Gryffindor Beaters react quickly and catch him in mid-air as he falls, before flying him to the pitch safely. 

Murmurs cascade through the crowd as Madam Hooch blows her whistle for a time-out. 

McLaggen can’t even bear to look in your direction as he flies down to the ground with the rest of the team. You and Cho watch with bated breath as a stretcher is summoned for Potter.

“That’s awful. I hope he’s okay,” says Cho. 

You say nothing, instead watching McLaggen getting screamed at by Ginny Weasley. He deserves it, sure, but it’s not easy to watch.

“And Harry Potter is being taken to the hospital wing,” says Luna. “I do hope he’s alright. I like him. He’s a very good Seeker. I wonder if the game will be called off.”

“It won’t,” you mutter. According to the rules, play has to resume - even without a Seeker. Gryffindor would only win if they were ahead by 160 points by the time Hufflepuff’s Seeker catches the snitch. And the way McLaggen is playing, that’s looking highly unlikely.

Madam Hooch’s whistle blows again and the teams kick up into the air.

You watch the rest of the game behind your fingers. If McLaggen was playing poorly before, it’s nothing compared to this.

He lets in a total of seventeen goals before Hufflepuff put them out of their misery and catch the snitch, ending the game with a score of 320 - 60.

“Well, good news for us I suppose,” says Cho as you leave the stands together. “Basically cancels out our loss to Hufflepuff.”

Normally you’d be elated at this result. But you need to find McLaggen - you’re sure the Gryffindor Team will be tearing into him and you want to make sure he’s alright. “Cho, you go ahead,” you say, when you arrive at the dressing rooms at the edge of the pitch. “I’m not sure what state Cormac will be in.”

She nods and leaves you to wait outside. Sure enough, McLaggen is getting an earful. You stand back, trying not to eavesdrop but the volume at which Ginny is berating McLaggen makes it extremely difficult. 

She exits the changing room followed by Demelza and Coote. You give them a curt nod which they ignore as they stomp back up to the castle. You hover in front of the dressing room door waiting for McLaggen to emerge.

“Well, if you think that was bad, wait until my girlfriend gets a hold of me,” you hear McLaggen say with false bravado. “I’ve probably ruined her reputation as a coach.” You exhale a laugh and shake your head. 

“I wouldn’t worry about that. She’ll probably be delighted,” says a voice that you recognise as Dean Thomas. “She’s basically just won the cup thanks to you.”

“Ah, now it makes sense,” says an unfamiliar voice but you know it must be Peakes as he’s the only other player who hasn’t left the dressing room yet.

“What makes sense?” bristles McLaggen.

“Why she’s going out with you. Y’know, pretending she’s not gay, getting in your head, making sure Ravenclaw win the cup this year…”

You scoff silently. You have half a mind to storm in there and give Peakes a piece of your mind. But instead, you wait for McLaggen to defend you.

He laughs. “She’s not gay, trust me.” You purse your lips. You can do better than that, McLaggen. 

“I dunno - you could be on to something Peakes,” says Dean. “How can you be sure?”

“Believe me, she isn’t,” says McLaggen, the familiar note of machismo in his voice. Your heart starts pounding in your chest. “She fucking loves it. Said I was the best she’s ever had. Better than Alicia.”

Blood seems to be rushing in your ears. Your fingers instinctively grip your wand. So, he can cope under the pressure of being questioned by the Minister for Magic at Christmas but not by a couple of teenage boys? You think to yourself, furiously.

“Oh yeah?” Peakes sounds impressed. You hear movement from inside as they grab their belongings and walk towards the door.

“Oh yeah,” confirms McLaggen. “Those Ravenclaw girls are wild. I sorted Carmichael out with one of her mates, Marietta. And he says she’s the same. I swear, she told me the other week that they all share tips on sucking c-”

McLaggen opens the door and stops in his tracks when he sees you. You’ve never understood what it meant when someone looked like their life was flashing before their eyes. But you do now. Peakes and Dean too look terrified at the glare you give them. You feel your chest heaving as you try to steady yourself.

McLaggen quickly rearranges his face and flashes a grin at you, evidently hoping that you didn’t just hear that conversation. You don’t return it.

Rage boils over inside you.

“Incendio,” you spit, pointing your wand at his broom. He drops it in shock and lets out a cry of pain when the flames lick his right hand. McLaggen tries to find his wand in his robes with his left to put it out.

You turn on your heels to march away but an appalled voice bellows your name behind you.

It’s Professor McGonagall. 

She extinguishes the flames with a stream of water from her wand and turns to face you, her lips pursed so tightly that they’ve disappeared altogether.

Shit.

Chapter 9: Real