#every ten seconds hes looking away from his guests and staring at merlin

[justaz]

merlin told arthur his favorite color was the color of the sky during sunset when it shifted into a deep violet. arthur gets a tunic made in that exact shade. its the best thing merlin owns. arthur was hoping that would mean he’d wear it almost everyday but merlin almost never wears it. the only time he does wear it is when royals come to visit (which isn’t all that often). arthur “subtly” asks about it and merlin is like ���it’s the best thing i own. i’m not gonna dirty it mucking out the stables or serving rowdy knights wine while they splatter food on it” and arthur is like “why not wear it when nobles come to visit? look at least a little presentable for them” (cough nice save). merlin doesn’t see the point in it bc nobles don’t care about him at best, view him as less than human at worst.

arthur really just wants to see his boyfriend servant in the tunic he had made for him (bonus points for sending a message that merlin is his. not that merlin seems to notice. man is too much of an idiot). merlin wants to preserve his favorite tunic and gift from his boyfriend king.

[myokk]

clumsy

pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

word count: 9,1k

summary: sebastian is clumsy

cw: fluff, mutual pining, idiots in love, two really stubborn idiots in love to be exact, sir cadogan guest appearance, anne and imelda are the gremlin best friends every girl needs, smut (18+ ONLY), oral (f. recieving)

a/n: or: two stubborn brats make things more difficult than they have to be. I've been working on this for a MONTH more or less, ever since I drew the sketch that inspired it🫶 (I'm the world's slowest writer)

The first time Sebastian Sallow interacted with her after the fateful events of their fifth year, he fell for her.

Quite literally.

Maybe fell on her is more aptly put - Sebastian Sallow is not one to mince his words or say what he doesn't mean, after all. But, in the years to come, he always insists that he fell in love in that moment.

It was inexplicable. One moment, he was walking around, perfectly content with his loveless, boring life, and the next, his every waking moment was painful. Nobody had ever told Sebastian that being in love would physically pain or consume him so.

It all started like this: one moment, he's walking (well, striding) to Crossed Wands. Fine, he's running. Running late already, for the first meet-up of his last year. But - he isn't to blame for being late. He needed to check on something in the library - during his Transfiguration lesson, he had a hunch about something Professor Weasley had said in passing, and of course he had to go and check to see if he was right before he could even think about besting Leander in the inaugural duel of the Crossed Wands season but now, with how late he is - how many minutes ago had it started? - oh, Merlin, it's already been ten whole minutes and what if they've started without him (not that he can blame them) and -

Sebastian is abruptly pulled out of his thoughts when he collides with a strange obstruction in his way. He was just checking his father's old pocket watch, had only looked away for a split second and he could have sworn that, unless he was mistaken (which he never is), there wasn't a statue in the middle of the suspension bridge. And yet, he has run headfirst into something or someone, and now they are both flying through the air, books whirling around them in a flurry of pages and Sebastian unconsciously puts his arms out to grab her before they hit the ground and now he's holding her tight against him and they land with a loud, ungraceful thud, but at least she's not hurt.

Sebastian shakes his head to clear it after the impact that - miraculously - doesn't seem to have been as bad as it could have been, all things considered, and -

He freezes.

What has he done?

He's pressed up against the most impossibly lovely person he has ever seen quite possibly in his life, holding her tightly in his arms as she glares up at him in indignation, a faint flush spreading across her cheeks, making her face glow. Is this what the muggles mean when they say that they were struck by Cupid's arrow? Her hands scrabble uselessly at his chest as she tries to extricate herself from his grip. It's useless. Sebastian is completely frozen in place as he stares down at her, and he can feel his own face heating up at his inability to get off her. What's wrong with him?

"Sebastian," she repeats, and this time her voice registers in his brain. He realizes she has been talking to him this whole time, and as he stares at her face without comprehending - he couldn't have a coherent thought right now even if he wanted to - he sees her eyes dart quickly down, looking at where their bodies meet before she brings them back to his face, a deeper blush coming over her. "You -"

Oh, Merlin. It's her. He blinks and it's like the fog has cleared from his mind - almost, but-not-quite - and he realizes who he has unceremoniously crashed to the ground with him. The spines of the textbooks they are lying on top of dig into the arm that's pinned under her body and his other hand...he realizes (to his almost-horror) that to any students or professors walking by, it would seem as if they were caught up in quite the scandalous extra-curricular activity because his other hand is actively caressing her breast. Well, that's how it would look to any passerby, anyways.

Because there is no way he would be caught dead in such a compromising position with her.

The two of them haven't spoken since the events of their fifth year - the Year-That-Shall-Not-Be-Remembered-or-Acknowledged - and he had been perfectly content with his plan to continue this strange sort of ignoring that they had played all last year. Both of them pretending that they hadn't become impossibly close after only knowing each other for a few months - a closeness that he had gone and ruined by not knowing when to quit. All he had known to do back then was push push push because why couldn't she see things the way he had? The betrayal he had felt when she had gone behind his back to find her own way to cure his sister, and that one stupid word uttered in the heat of the moment, had caused an irreparable rift in their relationship and he would not allow himself to think about how much he missed her. Still misses her.

Just like he will not think about the fact that she is pressed beneath him in a compromising position, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she glares up at him in indignation. He continues to stare at her. Maybe his mouth is agape. She's stopped trying to get out of his grip and is resting her hands on his chest, seemingly waiting for an opportunity to push him off of her.

"Sebastian. Your hand," she repeats. "You're -"

Finally his idiot brain decides to wake up and Sebastian realizes with horror just how aroused he is at the moment and how did he never see her like this before? He gets up in a flash, pushing her back against the pile of books they're lying on top of, wondering if he can subtly adjust his robes without her realizing and then he makes the very grave mistake of looking down at her and she's still very much red-faced, propping herself up by her elbows and she looks so disheveled and lovely lying on top of the pile of books.

His idiot brain has now woken up completely, and how is it possible for one hormonal, eighteen-year-old wizard to be so embarrassed? He knocked her to the ground, pushed her further back in the books in his desperate attempt to get away from her, and now all he can think about is how to hide his arousal. Shameful, really. Sebastian quickly crouches down to help her pick up all of the books but she shoves him away and glares at him with an annoyance that he's never seen before.

"I can do it myself, thank you very much," she says with a huff, gathering everything they spilled up into her arms. She grabs the book Sebastian is holding out of his hands and he inhales sharply at the touch of her fingers grazing his.

Did someone - Garreth, maybe - spike his pumpkin juice with Amortentia during lunch? It's the only explanation he can think of as he stares blankly down at her. How else would he find her so beautiful, so breathtaking, when the last time they had interacted, Ominis and Anne had had to act as intermediaries for the two of them?

"Well," she says finally, slinging her school bag over her shoulder once all of her books have been unceremoniously shoved inside of it, "it's been...nice seeing you again, Sallow. I hope you had a good summer holiday."

And with that, she quickly turns and walks away in the direction she had been coming from, leaving a very confused Sebastian behind. He watches her as she walks away and her long, swishing braid is the last thing he sees before the door closes behind her at the far end of the bridge.

Eventually, he gathers his wits and wanders away.

He does not go to the first Crossed Wands meeting that afternoon after all.

She has not had a full-night's sleep since he somehow cursed her mind and her thoughts a week ago, and she can feel herself slowly slipping into insanity. A curse is the only answer that makes sense, the only thing that gives a conceivable answer to all the wicked dreams she has been having since that moment, dreams that cause her to wake up sweaty and breathless and needing him in the middle of the night in a way she has never felt before. She has been an absolute mess, a disastrous version of her normally quite put-together self, and she is not happy about it.

He's sitting next to her now - they were partnered up by the evil Professor Onai in their first NEWT Divination class of the year - and she's holding herself rigidly, arms tight across her chest, in an attempt to not accidentally touch him. Lately, every single time they make fleeting eye contact across the table during breakfast, or when they pass each other in the hallways, a shiver runs down her spine at the unfamiliar look in his eyes and she has to avert her eyes before it's too much.

Divination has never been a favorite subject of hers - too impermeable for her tastes. She is only taking it at the NEWT level because, during her career counseling with Professor Ronen at the end of her fifth year, he had said that if she wanted to be an Unspeakable she couldn't just work with logic (a preposterous thought, but as a sixteen-year-old she hadn't seen any recourse in arguing with the Ministry's requirements). She supposedly needs to get comfortable with the intangible as well. It doesn't mean she has to enjoy it, though: she doesn't, and never will. The Divination classroom is dark and stuffy, tucked away in one of the highest towers of the castle, and the nauseating smell of incense always coats her nasal cavities long after the class has finished. She finds her thoughts getting muddled in the haze of candle smoke and swirling orbs on the shelves around her - magic somehow always feels thicker up here - and the presence of a certain someone whose knees keep brushing hers under the tiny table they're sharing, a certain someone who has - improbably, inconceivably, impossibly - hit a growth spurt that summer and now towers over her and had encompassed her completely when he knocked her to the ground, isn't helping her concentration at -

"This week, we are going to review everything we learned together last year," Professor Onai says, after the class had rearranged itself based on her instructions. Sebastian shoots a look at her as she shakes her head in an attempt to clear it and sits up straighter. She hopes that Onai's lecture will help her concentrate and clear her mind a bit. If she has something to focus on, to try and think of and remember, it will be better than him. Anything would be better than Sebastian. Onai gives an appraising look to each table before continuing her speech. "As your NEWTs are at the end of the year, we need to make sure you are as prepared as possible. Open your books to page two-hundred and thirty. Today we're going to review the art of palmistry. I should hope that you do not need the aid of your textbook to help interpret the lines in your partner's palm but in the case that you do -"

She chances a glance at Sebastian before getting out her copy of Divining the Undivinable from her bag and wishes she hadn't. He looks uncomfortably big sitting on the tiny tea chair across from her, barely any hints of the boy who had completely swept her away two years ago visible on the sharper planes of his face. When had he - had they - grown up?

Sebastian Sallow was - is - charming, and that had been her downfall. She had successfully avoided his charms the year before, and she wasn't going to let that happen this year, no matter how much her body rebelled against her mind and resolve. Because, as she reminds herself, Sebastian Sallow is also manipulative, and cold-hearted, and selfish.

"Well," she says archly, opening her book. She will not look at him. "I suppose I am still quite ignorant of the practice of Divination, so do forgive me if I have to double-check my readings in the textbook."

He says her name as she opens the book, and she ignores him. He says her name again. She continues to ignore him. He grabs the book from her hands and puts it the correct way for her. She was looking at it upside-down. Her cheeks heat up and she continues flipping through the pages, as if nothing has happened. She finds page two-hundred and thirty. She pretends to be interested in what she sees.

(Divination is unfortunately not interesting.)

Oh, fine.

"Do you want to start, or should I?"

These are the first words she has voluntarily spoken to him - not including the events of last week, which do not count as they were most decidedly not voluntary - since he called her ignorant a year and a half ago. He somehow looks surprised to see that she has addressed him, and for some reason this fills her with rage and a strange sort of confidence. Why shouldn't she be able to talk to him?

"Here," she says, putting her hand out towards him, palm up, ignoring the strange fluttering feeling in her chest when he gently grabs it with one of his. Sebastian looks up at her, waiting for her to continue speaking, and were she not looking at him so intently she would have easily missed the bob of his throat as he swallows nervously. "Show me how it's done."

Her breath catches in her throat at the small, mischievous smirk he shoots to her before he bends over her hand and gently starts tracing the lines on her palm with the fingers of the hand that's not holding hers in place. His touch is feather-light and somehow soft, despite the roughness of his fingers as they drag over her palm. Every nerve in her body seems to have moved to wherever he touches and all of the bravado and anger she had just felt is quickly melting away. When she finally finds her voice, she hates how soft and breathy it sounds. She can't look away from the sight of his larger hands caressing hers.

"Well? What do you see? Do you remember the different lines? Because I -"

She falters. The murmurs of their classmates blend together in the background and the dim lights of the candles...the hazy, thick atmosphere and his proximity and the barely there touches of his rough fingertips on her sensitive palm are altogether too overwhelming and she needs to get out of there. She's supposed to be angry with him. Furious, even. Holding this grudge has been the only way she has been able to have any sort of power over him this past year, and yet...all she can think about at the moment are the sinful dreams she's been having lately where he presses her against a wall, desperately kissing her lips, her neck - even she knows that there has to be more to it - but what?

Sebastian blinks as she snatches her hand away like it's been burned and - oh, Merlin - she shoves the textbook back into her schoolbag and almost knocks the candle on the table over and wouldn't it be awful if she had started a fire? But she can't think about any of that now in her haste to just get out of the claustrophobic Divination tower.

Vaguely, she can hear Professor Onai asking her if everything is fine and she's not sure but she thinks she mumbles something about needing to go to the Hospital Wing - that's a good enough excuse to leave, isn't it? - but then she hears his voice, deep and cutting through the fog in her mind -

"Don't worry, I'll take her and make sure she gets there fine." A muffled response from their professor and then his voice, just as clear as before. "No, I don't know what happened..."

She hears him calling her name as she flees down the spiral staircase, almost tripping over her feet in her rush to get away from him, but he catches up quickly, reaching out to grab her arm in an attempt to slow her down. She stops running immediately - she supposes her traitorous body wants to see what he has to say, or maybe it just wants to bask in his intoxicating proximity. He crowds her space, and she sees that unfamiliar look in his eyes again. So very different from the cold disdain she had seen the last time she had been this close to him, during the argument that had ended their friendship.

"Let go of me," she whispers, but there's no conviction in her voice as she gazes into his deep, brown eyes. He can tell she doesn't mean it and doesn't make any move to listen to her. Why can't she hold on to the rage? A muggle quote about anger floats through her mind: Holding on to anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die. What a sweet poison her anger at Sebastian had been, while it lasted. She tries telling herself that he must still feel the same as the evening he had called her ignorant (ignoring the small voice in her head that reminded her of the letters of apology he had sent (that she had burned without reading), the times he had tried to get Anne or Ominis involved and apologize for him) - because why couldn't he just tell her himself? Maybe she had shut down any and all attempts he had made to repair the rift that he had caused in the first place, but she had been right to be so angry with him.

But oh, Merlin, he's getting closer to her, and she can now clearly see the freckles dusting his cheeks and nose and forehead and then before she knows it, his hand is sliding up her arm, leaving goosebumps everywhere he touches and then he's caressing her jaw with his rough thumb and he pauses. Her eyelids flutter closed as her head tilts towards him - she couldn't stop herself even if she wanted to (what does she want?). She can feel his warm breath ghosting over her lips and she has the improbable, ridiculous thought - how is he remembering to breathe? - before he speaks. His lips brush against hers with every soft word and a deep shiver runs through her body.

"I," she hears him say, his voice so, so low, "haven't been able to think since last week."

That's all she needs to hear, the brush of his bottom lip against hers all she needs to feel, to push her into closing what minuscule distance there is between them and then his lips are on hers and it's better than anything she's been imagining. His mouth is soft against hers, insistent, and her hands go up to grip the collar of his plaid jacket to make sure he doesn't go away or disappear on her.

She knows she's behaving wantonly, snogging Sebastian Sallow in the middle of the hallway where anyone could come across them, but third period has only just started and besides, she has had a week of restless nights being tortured by thoughts of him. A week of a few hours of sleep found here and there. Just one kiss should be enough to help her get over these strange feelings, right? She only feels like this because having him lie on top of her after he crashed into her - that satisfying weight of him - the friction of his thumb brushing against her nipple - had made her realize just how stupid she had been, holding this grudge against him for -

She whimpers in protest but it quickly turns into a moan as his mouth moves away from hers and down to her neck. He pulls at her tight collar desperately - she hears some seams ripping - to give him better access to it, and she finds herself arching her back and pushing her body closer to his as he nuzzles her neck with his nose before giving it open, sloppy kisses. When he hears her, he moves back to kissing her, greedily capturing every breathy moan that comes out of her mouth, but the noises coming from him are matching hers, and at the sound she feels an unfamiliar clenching deep in her stomach. Her fingers come up to his hair, going through the silky curls over and over - how are they as soft as his lips? - and he slowly pushes her back until she's sandwiched between his warm body and the cold stone of the wall behind her.

He lets out a low, frantic growl as a hand goes to grip the back of her head, holding her in place as he slants his mouth over hers. He tastes like cinnamon and...like something forbidden. What has gotten into her? She hates him, and yet...

They have abandoned any pretense of propriety - had they ever even been trying? - by this point. His tongue swipes across her lips and then she is completely lost to him, to every sensation of his mouth, and tongue, on hers. His large hands - the wicked hands that had been caressing her palm and had caused this whole mess in the first place - have moved to her waist and are pulling her even closer to him. When he pulls away briefly, she whines in protest, opening her eyes to glare at him. The sight of him, flushed and breathless, his eyes wide and pupils dilated - must match her own appearance because she sees the same hunger she feels in his eyes. She has never seen Sebastian Sallow so disheveled, but she finds she quite likes it and tugs on his curls with a whine. He obliges eagerly, bringing his mouth back to hers.

She's pressed as tightly against him as she can possibly be, and yet it still isn't enough. Her back arches once again, trying to find something, and then he slots one of his knees between her legs. She moans at the friction caused by his movements, can feel an unfamiliar slickness forming at the juncture between her legs, and this seems to spur him on further as his kisses get more desperate and sloppy. She moves against his leg, trying to relieve some of her discomfort, gasping into his mouth, when -

They freeze. Even if they are fully, completely, absorbed by...whatever this is, they can't ignore the strange, metallic clanking sound coming from their left. Sebastian pulls his head back from her slowly, reluctantly, breathing heavily, and looks over to see what the noise is. She wants to, but all of a sudden the horrifying reality of what they've been doing sinks in and oh god what if the noise is a person? Someone who has now seen her in what might possibly be the most mortifying moment of her life - desperately snogging Sebastian Sallow - and she finds she can't look over. She tucks her head into his neck to hide her face as she listens.

"I demand that you get away from her at once, you knave! Cease your attack!"

The voice sounds vaguely familiar, but she's certain that it doesn't belong to any of her classmates. He almost sounds...medieval, but -

"I made haste when I heard sounds of distress coming from down the hallway," the voice continues, "and it appears I have arrived not a moment too soon!"

She brings her head away from Sebastian's shoulder but still refuses to look over at whoever is speaking, instead choosing to stare at Sebastian's face. He's still deliciously flushed from their snogging, still breathing heavily, but now he looks terribly confused. His brows are furrowed, mouth opening and closing as he tries to come up with a response to the outrage currently being directed at him.

The unknown man is continuing his diatribe, almost not even stopping to breathe as he gets more and more worked up, and she hears some more clanking as he reaches a particularly exciting moment in his rant. Sebastian looks increasingly confused, but still shields her with his body, not moving away from her at all despite the accusations.

Her curiosity gets the better of her and she peeks over to see who it is.

The man who has been reprimanding Sebastian so boldly is none other than Sir Cadogan. Although she's never interacted with him directly, she often hears him yelling at his pony as she passes his portrait on her way to Divination. The knight is standing between two witches having tea, who are glaring at him quite angrily as he gesticulates wildly - every movement of his sword comes dangerously close to their display of cakes and sandwiches and it looks like he has already broken some plates. His armor is ill-fitting and loose on him, which explains the terrible noise.

"You rascally knave! I assure you that you do not want to find out what will happen to you if you do not unhand the fair maiden."

He brandishes his sword again, and the woman closest to him quickly snatches her tea cup away to save it from being broken as well. "Come now, Sir Cadogan," she says, exasperated. "Can't you see that these two are in love?"

The other woman joins her protests, nodding vigorously. "Yes, exactly that. Leave them be!"

"Nonsense," he exclaims. "I too have succumbed to my baser instincts on occasion and I can assure you that this is decidedly not what is occurring."

As Sir Cadogan continues to alternate between lecturing her and Sebastian, and directing his two attention to the ladies who are defending them, she looks back to the boy in question. Sebastian is looking down at her, a bemused smile on his lips and she feels a twinge in her chest. His face is still so close to hers that if she wants to, they could be snogging again with barely any effort and her eyes briefly flicker down to his tempting mouth before going back to his eyes, but...

What had gotten into her? What is she doing?

He had somehow managed to manipulate her again, because there is no way that this situation could have happened otherwise. All of a sudden, the anger she's been feeling for the past year and a half - that had left for a brief, blissful moment - surges again, and she pushes Sebastian away from her with as much force as she can muster. She almost feels bad as the happiness in his face turns to confusion, then frustration as he realizes she's getting away from him.

"Stay away from me," she hisses, picking up her discarded schoolbag from its spot on the ground. As she stalks down the hall, she can hear Sir Cadogan cheering on her bravery over the ringing in her ears.

She has a lot of thinking to do.

Sebastian Sallow's List of Priorities (in no particular order):

Figure out what the hell I'm going to do when I graduate;

Figure out how the hell I'm going to finish this bloody Charms essay before tomorrow; and

Figure out what the hell is going on between us

Sebastian sits in an undisturbed corner of the library - nobody ever comes to this table because it's tucked away between shelves of incredibly dense magical theory books - and is twirling his quill in his fingers, watching the ink splatter on the list he spent his precious time writing instead of the Charms essay he should be working on. He's far away from the first-years who like to congregate by the windows and watch the leaves fall softly to the ground rather than study for their classes. He's made especially sure that he is far, far away from her.

It's not his choice, mind you, but he needs to be a gentleman about these things. If she needs some time and space to figure out that she's as crazy for him as he is her, fine. But even Sebastian Sallow's patience runs thin, and he's not sure how much longer he can give her to come to her senses before he snaps and takes matters into his own hands. If things were up to him, the two of them would be sitting far too close together now in this secluded corner, and maybe he would need to put a hand over her mouth to ensure her complete silence as he runs a hand up her thigh.

Now that he knows what delicious sounds can come out of her mouth - sounds that he caused - he's been having a hard time concentrating on, well, anything. Sebastian surreptitiously glances across the library to where she's sitting and studying with his sister and Imelda. Ever since the events after their Divination class, Sir Cadogan has taken it upon himself to follow Sebastian around the halls of the castle, tripping through frames and disrupting their inhabitants as he lectures Sebastian on love. The tea party women had managed to convince the knight that he had disrupted an amorous exchange, and Sebastian fervently wishes they hadn't.

The whole school is abuzz with rumors about who it could be. Nobody has even come close so far with their guesses, but Anne and Imelda are having too much fun teasing him about it. Somehow, she has managed to avoid suspicion - he wonders how this is even possible, since she's never been able to hide what she's thinking. He makes eye contact with her - has she been staring at him this whole time? - and she flushes before looking over to Imelda, who's laughing too loudly at something Anne's just said. Sebastian can't tear his eyes away from her profile, his eyes following the curve of her eyebrow, the slight upturn of her lips as she smiles at her friends, her eyes as they dart back to him, her cheeks as she turns an even darker shade of red as she realizes he's still watching her. She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, and rests her chin on her hand as she tries to look absorbed in what Anne is saying to her.

Sebastian wonders if she's thought about him as much as he's thought about her. Judging by how she had snogged him back, he's positive that she feels the same way, but then he remembers how she had looked at him before she fled, and he's not so sure. He sighs as he looks back to his list, bringing his quill back to the third item and ripping the paper as he crosses it out again. His mind has been going in circles since that moment and he doesn't know what to think. He slowly puts everything into his schoolbag before heading out of the library for yet another freezing cold shower that hopefully tempers his now-permanent state of arousal whenever she's around.

He doesn't notice her eyes following him as he walks out of the library.

He doesn't hear her hurried excuse to Anne and Imelda as she shoves her things into her bag and rushes to follow him.

He doesn't hear her light footsteps as she gets closer to him.

When she puts a hand out to touch his arm as he waits for the moving staircase to stop, with a soft, "Sebastian" accompanying it, he nearly jumps out of his skin. He was so absorbed with thoughts of her, that to see her standing at his side, closer than she had been since they kissed was almost his snapping point.

"Can we talk?" she asks, looking almost embarrassed as she avoids his eyes. She instead looks determinedly at his collar. He thinks she probably notices that he swallows nervously before acquiescing, but she says nothing as she turns and starts hurrying away from him without waiting to see if he follows her.

She must know that he would follow her anywhere at this point.

They weave through hallways - Sebastian vaguely wonders where exactly they're going - before reaching a little alcove, hidden by a suit of armor. She looks around before pulling him into it. It's almost curfew and the halls are never that busy when the weather is as beautiful as it has been these days - the end of September seems to be clinging on to the summer for as long as possible.

Her lips are on his before he can even ask her what she needed to talk with him about, hungry and desperate. Sebastian is too stunned to pull away - not that he would actually want to. Her arms wrap around his neck, keeping Sebastian close, slender fingers sliding through his hair.

"What," she says breathlessly between kisses - almost not even moving her mouth away from his enough to be able to enunciate properly, "are you doing to me? I haven't been able to think for the last month."

Sebastian smiles into her mouth, wondering if she knows that she's repeating the very thing he told her two weeks ago. Maybe she has been thinking of him all this time - he almost hopes that she's been suffering as much as he has. Instead of responding, he moves a hand to cup her jaw, deepening the kiss. His other hand moves to her waist, gripping it tightly, pulling her flush against his body and she gasps into his mouth. He slowly moves her closer to the window alcove behind them, snogging her senseless the whole time. She moans into his mouth which just spurs him on further - her skirt rides up to her hips as Sebastian trails a hand up her stockinged thigh and they both gasp when his hand reaches skin. Her skin is so, so soft and her breathing gets faster as he continues to caress her inner thigh, closer to the bend between her thigh and her center. Sebastian wonders if she's ever been touched there before by someone else and jealousy flares up inside of him at the thought.

In one swift move, he scoops her up and places her so that she's sitting on the window-ledge, the dusky light of the sunset illuminating her from behind and making her wispy flyaway hairs a golden halo around her. Sebastian's breath catches in his throat - has he ever seen anything so beautiful as her in that moment? - she's staring up at him, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, her breathing shallow and anticipation in her eyes. "You're," he starts saying and his throat goes dry. He brings a hand up to tuck the errant lock of hair - the one she had tucked earlier in the library - behind her ear and she leans her head into his touch, closing her eyes briefly before looking up at him again with wide eyes. "You're perfect."

She smiles faintly and pulls his head back down towards hers and now she's brushing her lips against his, teasing him, before it's too much and he grips the back of her head, holding her in place as he crushes his mouth against hers in a bruising kiss. Her knees are on either side of his waist, and she desperately grinds her core against his throbbing erection and they both groan at the friction. Sebastian moves his hands down to her thighs again as he kisses her, slowly caressing his way up and pushing her skirt up further until it's completely bunched around her waist. She gasps into his mouth at his first tentative touch after he pushes aside her undergarments. Sebastian swipes a finger up her slit, through the slick that coats it, and then he starts circling her clit with slow, even strokes. She shivers against him - at his touch - clinging tightly to his shoulders and gasping into his mouth as he continues.

Every little noise coming out of her mouth, feeling how wet she is, how the slickness keeps growing growing growing makes Sebastian hungry for more - it isn't enough -

Slowly - so slowly - he wants to savor this moment - he lowers himself until he's kneeling between her legs and he looks up at her. Her face is deliciously flushed, all swollen lips and hair in a wild cloud around her face and all she can do is stare down at him. Her chest is heaving and she tries to close her legs - hide what is exposed to him - but he holds her thighs firmly in place on either side of his head. He turns his head and kisses her inner thigh, maintaining eye contact as he swipes his tongue across where he's just kissed, moving closer towards her slick center.

"Oh," she breathes, not-quite-a-word, not-quite-a-gasp, when his mouth reaches her center and hovers over it, lips slowly teasing her the way she had just teased him. Sebastian tentatively runs his tongue up her slit; the loud moan she lets out when he reaches her clit makes him stay there, applying light and not-so-light pressure in equal measure.

Her hands are scrabbling at his hair, digging into his scalp, ruining his earlier attempts to make it look presentable, hopefully attractive, for her these days. She's pushing his head deeper into the space between her legs, starting to rock herself slightly on his mouth, and Sebastian is happy to oblige. He eagerly laps up her slit, and the obscene wet noises as he continues combined with her whimpers and barely-spoken profanities "oh-yes-fuck-yes-there-please-" are making him hard beyond belief. He's straining against his trousers, begging to be let free. Without moving his face from her, he unbuttons his trousers and starts palming himself, using the slickness weeping out of the tip as lubrication.

She's abandoned all control at this point, grinding herself into his face as he laps her up, and it's driving him wild - knowing that he's doing this to her - causing her to be so undone. Normally she's so poised and aloof, never letting any real emotion flicker across her face, so to see her so desperate and needy and wanting him so -

Sebastian's gasping into her, tongue deep inside of her, "ohmygod" he hears her whisper, her hips driving into his face when she shudders and goes still, pulsing around the tongue that's deep inside of it. He slows down, smiling as he continues to run his tongue up her slit until she's responsive again. He kisses her inner thigh and hears her moan before getting up, caressing a finger down her love-struck face and leaning his head down to kiss her deeply. With his other hand he's still touching himself - the thought that she can taste herself on his tongue driving him crazy - and he starts rubbing its blunt head against her swollen clit. She takes it out of his hand- he groans at the feeling of her soft hands (the hands he had held a week ago in Divination and pictured doing this exact thing) tentatively caressing his length before she begins to slide it up and down her slit, coating it in her wetness.

Sebastian has surrendered all control to her - resting his hands on either side of her hips on the windowsill, tucking his head into the crook of her neck and thrusting with her movements as he loses himself in the sensation of sliding through her slick folds. He can feel his release building building building, and when he finally comes, all over her perfect, pink center, it feels like a finally.

Sebastian feels so, so heavy as he pulls his head away from her shoulder, as if he could fall into a blissful sleep right there, in the little window alcove where they've hidden themselves away. The sun has now set completely and they're in shadow as they stare at each other, the sound of their ragged breathing filling the tiny space.

"Sebastian, I..."

She's staring at him with an unfathomable expression on her face, still holding him in her hand, her other hand playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. They look down and he feels his face heat up even more at the mess he's made - he quickly pulls out his wand and cleans her up, before looking back at her, giving her a wry smile as he buttons up his pants and helps her off the ledge. "What did you want to talk to me about, again?"

She gives a slight shake of her head and looks away, but she can't hide the small smile that's growing on her face just like she can't help her eyes that keep wandering over to his. He knows the growing smile on his face matches hers - did that really just happen? She reaches over to lace her fingers through his as they walk around the suit of armor. "I - it's not important."

"Come on," he says, not being able to resist the opportunity to tease her - he's somehow managed to break through the barriers she's set up around her, and he's not about to let the opportunity slide. "Surely that's not what you had in mind when you..."

Sebastian trails off as he sees the expression in her face turn to one of horror - he didn't think his teasing was that bad, was it? - but she's also pulling her hand out of his like she's been burned and -

He follows her gaze, to where it's fixed at the end of the hallway and he knows that once again his face mimics hers. He will never live this down.

Standing at the end of the hallway and looking like two cats who've just found a huge dish of milk, are his sister and Imelda.

Misery.

Complete and utter misery are what she's feeling, if she has to put it into words, which she does. Writing things down always helps her out, helps her organize her thoughts into some sort of order. Except...this time around, it's not really helping. She can't seem to make any sense of her feelings for Sebastian.

She looks over the muddled mess of words she's written down - stream of consciousness, incomprehensible babble - and sighs. She's been dreaming of falling in love since she was a young girl - Jane Austen will do that to you - and can't believe that now that she's had her opportunity, it has to go and be with Sebastian Sallow. Because it has to be love, hasn't it?

There can be no other explanation for the painful way her stomach twists itself up whenever she catches a glimpse of him these days, the way he's consuming her every thought - even when she's dreaming she can't escape him. She can't get the sight of his tousled curls between her legs, his mischievous, warm brown eyes looking up at her as she had the most mind-numbing, toe-curling orgasm of her life - none of the times she's touched herself have ever come close to the sensations he managed to evoke.

Every time she's walking through the hallways between classes and hears his loud voice as he jokes with Garreth, or Ominis, about quidditch or Merlin-knows-what her eyes snap to his face as if he were the sun, and she a sunflower searching for its warmth. And he is most decidedly not the sun. He has the tendency to snort when he laughs, and he laughs too much, especially at his own jokes. Sometimes he talks while he eats. He always twirls his quill between his long fingers in the most annoying way, splattering ink onto any parchment unfortunate to be caught underneath. But he also...

He also always goes out of his way to prepare Ominis's Potions ingredients (why Ominis decided to take and was accepted into NEWT level is a mystery to everyone), occasionally stops to play a round of gobstones with Zenobia when he has the time. Sebastian can often be found in his favorite armchair in the Slytherin common room, resting his face on his hand as he idly flips through the pages of some book, looking altogether too handsome as he does so. And when he stretches and yawns at the end of every Arithmancy lesson - like he is now - his shirt lifts up a bit and she can see a tan sliver of his stomach and -

Snapping in front of her: she blinks and looks over: when she sees it's Imelda her face immediately turns beet red and she grabs the paper she's been doodling on and rips it to shreds as fast as she can.

"Are you fantasizing about a certain annoying someone?" Imelda asks with a wicked grin, dramatically looking over her shoulder at the certain someone in question. He's still stretching, blinking sleepily; when he notices the two girls watching him he flushes deeply. Her stomach twinges again at the sight of him noticing her - has he thought about her since that moment as much as she has? What would she do if he had? Or...if he hadn't? - and she focuses instead on the paper she is currently destroying.

"Imelda," she hisses, glaring at her best friend, "stop."

Imelda does not stop.

Imelda doesn't stop during their walk to Herbology, and she does not stop as they set up their planting stations, and she most certainly does not stop as they mutter charms over their plants.

Ever since she experienced the most wonderful moment in her whole life, followed by the most mortifying, Anne and Imelda have not stopped pestering her about it. They've finally solved the 'Sir Cadogan Puzzle' - I knew it was you all along, claims Anne - but if they truly knew what had happened between her and Sebastian, she's afraid the two of them would simply combust. She loves them dearly, but they never know when to stop, and they've been pushing and poking and prodding her for more information the whole week. She has managed to remain tight-lipped and, she hopes, mysterious about the whole thing, but she's getting tired of the teasing.

"Really," Anne says, wiping her forehead and leaving a trail of dirt behind, "if you would only talk to him, I would stop bothering you. Promise."

"Yes," chimes in Imelda, on her other side, wrestling the leaves of her own plant into submission. "You know, after we saw the two of you holding hands and looking at each other with stars in your eyes, I'm really starting to doubt that you hate him as much as you claim."

"Were the two of you snogging in secret all of last year too? Because, I'm starting to get annoyed thinking of all the times I had to talk to my brother for you because of your stubborn pride."

Does she still hate him? She certainly thinks she should, but then her thoughts get terribly confusing as she continues to think about him, and she realizes all of her old hatred has long since faded. Anne has forgiven her brother, Ominis has forgiven him, and all that remains is her.

They should talk, but she doesn't know what to say.

She's afraid that maybe the man she's been inventing in her mind this past month is simply a figment of her imagination - a fictitious being created by an accumulation of stolen glances when he doesn't know she's watching, someone who all of their classmates seem to like, someone who is very different from the fifteen-year-old boy she had that terrible argument with all that time ago. Maybe he doesn't actually exist.

She would be crushed if he's hiding the fact that he still holds on to that desperate darkness that had driven him to save Anne by any means necessary.

And so she keeps her space. She watches him from afar, feeling the hatred slowly melt off of her, falling more in love every day, but too cowardly to make the next move.

Anne and Imelda continue bantering on either side of her, not noticing - or, more likely, not caring - that she isn't participating.

Sebastian's hands are sweating. He wipes them on the inside of his robes as he glances at the girl next to him. She's holding herself rigidly, but she did this to herself, sitting next to him at dinner as she had.

Well, sitting next to him hadn't been completely her idea if he's being honest. He'd been having dinner with Anne, and the two of them were dying of laughter as she recounted seeing Duncan Hobhouse get tormented by Peeves earlier that day. One moment, Anne had been demonstrating what she had seen using her potatoes and green beans as props, and the next, a particularly evil grin had lit up her face as she pushed her plate away with gusto and jumped to her feet, calling her over.

"It would be such a shame for these potatoes to go to waste, seeing as I have a very important meeting to attend," Anne had said, after pushing her friend into the very tight space at Sebastian's side. "Never mind the mess, I can assure you I didn't actually eat the food..."

And with that, Anne had flounced away, Imelda on her arm, the two girls cackling to each other as they snuck wicked glances over their shoulders at the couple.

A couple who is now steadfastly avoiding each other and trying their hardest not to even brush elbows. Sebastian is altogether too aware of her presence, has been for the better part of a month, and his patience is dangerously close to snapping. He keeps getting maddeningly close to finally getting her to open up to him - had actually achieved it for a few blissful moments - just to have it be taken away again. It's almost embarrassing how many times he's thought about their encounter. She had been everything he'd been dreaming about and more - soft, responsive, just as desperate as him - so why has she been avoiding him so thoroughly?

Yes, he's caught her staring at him more times than he can count, with that same unfathomable expression she had before, almost dreamy - wistful - could it be love? But he knows that it's preposterous, wishful thinking on his part. If it were love - if she felt the same crazy, tumultuous emotions that he was feeling constantly - she wouldn't be so cold towards him. Even if she was staring at him more than ever before.

He doesn't notice as she slips a folded paper into the book sitting next to his plate, but he does notice that she sits next to him for barely five minutes, not even touching the food that Anne has so graciously left her, before she gets up and slips away without so much as speaking a single word to him, or even looking in his direction at all.

Sebastian's sitting in a nearly empty common room after curfew, flipping through his book as he normally does this time of day, when she sees him pause.

Although she's been waiting for this moment, watching him from the corner she's tucked herself away in, she feels ready to pass out from nerves. Her heart's ready to burst out of her chest as she watches him curiously pick up the letter she slipped in his book earlier, brow furrowed. She wrings her hands nervously as she watches him read the letter and flip over the page to see if there's more, and then he goes back to read it again from the beginning.

She wasn't expecting him to read it a second time, let alone a third time, still with an inscrutable expression on his face. Maybe she should have positioned herself closer so she could see every emotion flickering through his face as he reads - she's too far away to see anything and she curses her lack of foresight. If she moves now, he'll see her, and she doesn't even know what she was thinking when she wrote the letter, when she managed to convince Anne to help her get close to Sebastian earlier that night during supper, when she moved herself to sit in this corner just so she could watch him find and read the -

"Hello."

She nearly jumps out of her skin with a muffled shriek at the sound of his voice so close to her. Why does she feel almost guilty when she looks up at him? She's so, so afraid.

Emotions have never come easily to her. Showing them is something she's not sure will ever come naturally - Anne and Imelda can laugh and shout without a care in the world, but she always holds herself back. Hides a small part of herself away, that only she knows about. Baring herself completely to Sebastian in the letter she feverishly wrote the day before was like ripping out a part of her soul and giving it to him to keep. Once the words were written down, there was no way to take them back, not that she wants to.

But what if he rejects her?

Her eyes get hot and tears cloud her vision as she stares up at him, still wringing her hands together over and over, feeling like she's positively going to burst with the force of the emotions roiling around inside of her. Why did she think this would be a good idea?

Now he's kneeling in front of her, holding her hands in his bigger, rougher ones - reminiscent of that fateful day so long ago in Divination when he had flustered her so - and a thumb is gently wiping away the big, fat tears she didn't even realize were rolling down her cheeks and she lifts her face from watching their intertwined hands and gazes tremulously into his eyes.

They are so, so gentle and warm and full of love, but the emotions are still too much for her and she can't stop crying for some unfathomable reason, so the kiss they share is wet and lovely and full of incredulous laughter.

"I love you too," he whispers between kisses, over and over again, until the words almost lose meaning - but these words could never lose their meaning when they come from him.

  In the years to come, they always bicker about who was the first to say it. Sebastian says that writing doesn't count - that his words are the ones that decide who is the victor in this small argument - but she always just smiles at his insistence, knowing that he's kept her letter tucked inside whatever book he's reading since it first fell onto his lap.

[muse-oleum]

Fucknemies (fuckbuddies but with angst)

Yes, I’m aware I have an appalling sense of humor. 

Kingsman - Harry Hart x fem!OC

Based on this lovely anon’s request: Hi! Can ya write Harry with a Kingsman agent, enemies to lovers?

Summary: the mission agents Kay and Galahad were on goes to hell, where they finally stop bickering and start appreciating what the other has to give (*cough cough*)

This is going to be two parts, because I got carried away, so stay tuned for the smut! I toned down the ‘enemies’ to more ‘frenemies’ but I hope it’s still what the nonnie wanted. 

Word count: 2k85

Warnings: violence, swearing, prostitution, heavy themes, mentions of human trafficking

Also, my inspiration for this was this song, it’s badass, sexy and fits the theme of the underworld agencies pretty well. 

Agent Kay landed at Kingsman in the most uncharacteristic manner. She was, first of all, the illegitimate daughter of a wealthy tradesman based here in England; and her mother was an upper-end prostitute. 

Now, that shut up all these snobbish Kingsman boys alright. They didn’t know where to look ever since she had dropped the “w bomb,” as Merlin liked to call it. Her attitude, that of one raised between Soho and the up-end, was so ambiguous that most men were terrified by her. 

Most didn’t include agent Galahad. But then again he was rarely terrified by anything. Kay suspected he didn’t know what fear was. 

Little did Kay know that Galahad, or Harry, as she refused to call him, thought the exact same of her. Such lovely pet names as “hothead,” “idiot” or the more colorful and incontestably heartfelt “fucking imbecile,” were some of Harry’s favorite ways of nicknaming his feisty partner. 

For some reason, Merlin and Arthur absolutely delighted putting these two together for dangerous missions. It was almost as if their constant fighting in-between near-death and near-misses were their Sunday evening football gig. 

They loved it; and Merlin really couldn’t wait for his two friends to get their heads out of their own arses, and end that intolerable sexual tension once and for all. It was hanging over every curtain and curled up in every teapot, sizzling and unmistakably there. 

On that particular evening, Kay and Galahad were on an undercover “recognition” mission - the word had been stoically stressed by Merlin, the painful hitch in his voice the only indication that he already knew that shit was about to go down. Bad. 

So, an undercover mission. At some oil titan’s mansion somewhere in Italy. About two hundred guests and three different pools in which to drown Galahad if he became too irritating. Perfect. 

As Kay was exploring various creative ways to make him shut up if needed, Harry was troubled. 

He was troubled by the fact that he had a hard time focusing on anything else than the way her shoulders shone in the light of the chandeliers, or how her breath caused her chest to rise up, or how the thigh-high split in that godforsaken dress caused his mind to blank. 

It was all really infuriating. She was infuriating. 

Hot-blooded, compassionate, high-strung but cool under pressure, stunning, with the mouth of a sailor. She was delightful and sinful, all at the same time. And the older agent simply didn’t know what to do with himself every time he was near her. 

No doubt she thought him arrogant, snobbish and probably too old-fashioned. 

Little did she know all he longed for was to do very un-old-fashioned things with her. 

So, everything he said came out wrong, and with her quick wit, she absolutely murdered him with every comeback. He wasn’t sure what made her so enticing, apart from all the above, but he knew that virtually everyone was either terrified or drooling after her. Or both. 

Most of the time, both. 

A movement on her left caught Kay’s eye. Galahad was beckoning to her. They were posing as a couple, a little hint amongst the billions Merlin had already worked very hard to give them. 

Eggsy said he never face palmed as much as when his two favorite agents were out in the field together. 

“Do you see him?” Galahad whispered, his eyes unfocused but trained on the far corner of the room. 

Kay followed his gaze, immediately spotting the armed goon, one arm under his vest, no doubt cradling a gun, scanning the room in a would-be subtle manner. 

“They know someone’s there.” 

“On a scale of one to ten, how fucked are we?” Kay asked, her tone all that was innocent. 

Harry shot her a look. Her neck was craned towards the bar, avoiding looking in the direction of the armed man, although he knew she was following his every movement. 

He couldn’t help but notice how the slope of her neck met with her right shoulder in a sensuous curve. Her breaths were coming more rapidly now, and, as ungentlemanly as it was, Harry simply could not take his eyes off of her. 

She caught him staring, arching her eyebrow, and he realized he hadn’t answered her question.

“If they find us out, a solid seven.”

She scoffed, “we got out of a nine before, seven’s a joke.” 

Harry glared at her. 

“Last time, the nine was because of all issues locked, here the seven is because we’re clearly outnumbered. We weren’t outnumbered last time. So let me rephrase that: it’s a nine and a bit and we’re fucked.”

It was her turn to glare, sending him a look that plainly stated that she didn’t see the need for making such a fuss. 

“So what’s the plan now?” Kay asked, eyes going around the room. 

Three more armed agents had shown up, but nobody else here seemed to have noticed them. Wearing dark suits and all-too visible earpieces, Kay wondered how people could be so unobserving. 

“Get the fuck out ‘s the plan,” came a strong Scottish voice, a little too strained for her liking. 

“But we’ve achieved nothing,” she whispered, angry that the mission would be fruitless. 

She knew that oil trader had another, much more unpleasant, and definitely illegal trading business. Involving humans. 

As the daughter of a prostitute, she knew too well what exploitation was like. Her mother had not coddled her, but had shown her the ugly truth of her world. She could not stand by as others suffered a similar, sometimes worse, fate. 

“I agree,” Galahad said, causing Kay to look up sharply, surprised to hear her oh so careful partner agreeing with her. “Kay’s right, there are lives at stake here that we can’t ignore.” 

Kay blinked once, properly stunned. 

It’s not that Harry was unfeeling - he was doing this job to save lives too, after all - but he was sometimes too cerebral and restrained for her liking. 

Although, weirdly, she had to admit she liked that too. They were complementary; one was always there to catch the other. Perhaps that was Merlin’s scheming all along? The annoying Scot had something of a knack for psychoanalysis. 

Galahad’s brow was set, lips pursued and eyes hard. The traits of a man hellbent on seeing at least part of this through. She noticed how handsome he was, and how his charisma came not from his appearance so much as his demeanor. 

“So what do we do?” she asked, a little breathless, “do we keep snooping around and pray to all the gods and goddesses above to make it out in one piece?” 

“Pretty much.”

“You know what, Harry, for once, I won’t call you an arrogant upper-class jerk.” 

Kay left him standing there, a small smile on her face. She could hear Merlin grumbling something about murdering the two of them once he got them back at HQ. 

Nobody really cared about Merlin’s grumbling, as a rule; it was his default communication method. 

“Kay, take the upper floor and search for a door locked with a code. I’ll hack it. Galahad, take the gallery, you two keep an eye out. They know you’re here.” 

“I’m the soul of discretion, Merlin.” 

Kay heard Harry guffaw through her earpiece, earning him a smirk. 

“Ye, I’ll believe you if you come back without a hole through your head. Get to it.”

Always the picture of optimism and positivity, Kay thought, amused. Oh, let’s see what you’re hiding there...

She’d come to a locked door requiring a code. Patiently, Kay waited for Merlin to send her the code through her glasses. She waited a few seconds, before asking:

“Merlin? I need the code now, not in three hundred years.” 

“Afraid you won’t get it, princess,” came a voice that was decidedly not Merlin’s. 

Kay whirled around, face to face with a rather grumpy looking armed guard and his equally grumpy companion. 

Shit. So much for discretion. 

Without leaving her much time to deliberate, he attacked, slashing her arm with a knife she hadn’t noticed. It was painful, but bearable. His friend looked on, a small smile pasted on his face. 

Don’t you worry, sweetheart, I’m going to wipe that smile off your face in no time. 

Her retaliation came swiftly. 

If people had been praising Black Widow on screen - and she had to admit Scarlet Jo had the moves down - she was a Black Widow. That man never knew how his neck broke, or indeed how her legs were suddenly wrapped around his throat at all. 

His friend had stopped smiling, a moderate improvement to his otherwise average features. He looked much better grumpy. 

Your turn, sweetie. 

Too bad Kay had failed to notice another armed agent - not her armed agent, unfortunately - because it really could have ended here and there if she had. 

Instead, she felt the bullet slice through her thigh even before she registered the sound of the trigger. It tore through muscle and lodged itself in the bone, causing her to scream out in pain. Blood was gushing out; all she could hope for now was that Harry was near and that the bullet had missed the artery. 

Somehow, she wasn’t too hopeful. 

“Nice little trick you got there. With those legs, it’s hardly surprising. Too bad I had to aim for them, eh?” 

That was the last thing he ever said. 

A disheveled, very angry and murderous looking Harry ended his life here and there, sparing him the pain he had inflicted on Kay only because his conscience told him so. 

A very flimsy, very tiny part of his conscience. 

“Too bad, indeed,” he said, before rushing to Kay’s side. 

Her vision was blurred and even though she tried to stem the blood flow, she knew the bullet had at least scraped the artery. 

“Merlin, what the fuck were you doing?” 

That caused her to chuckle slightly. Hearing Harry swear was one of the most entertaining things in her life. It was so out of place, so opposite his brushed-up, gentleman front. 

“Those bastards cut the connection!” came the angry voice of the Scotsman. “Get her out of here, I’ll send the car. It’ll be a bumpy ride, so you better hold on to her, and whatever you do, don’t let her lose consciousness ye hear me?” 

The car ride was one of Kay’s worst experiences ever. 

She wanted to throw up, almost did, refrained herself from emptying her stomach right on Harry’s impeccable waistcoat. The shivers arrived just before they reached HQ, where a literal battalion of nurses took over. 

Harry, covered in blood, made a move to go after her, when a hand on his shoulder stopped him. 

“Wasn’t your fault. They got us clean.”

He turned towards Merlin, jaw set. 

“She’ll be furious, she really wanted to take him and his human trafficking gang down.” 

“And someone else will, I promise. For now, ye need a drink, and a strong one. You also need to finally get it off your chest because I swear, if having her nearly die is what’s gonna take to make the two of you fucking focus again, I’ll do it again.”

Harry turned a disbelieving look towards his friend. With narrowed eyes, he took a step towards him. Merlin held up his hands.

“This one wasn’t my doing, but I hope it’s helped you realize how much of an idiot you’ve been. She’s a keeper, but you keep pushing her away with you high-almighty attitude. Stop being a goddamn idiot.” 

This time, Harry was quite simply speechless. 

“Ex-excuse me?”

Merlin ran a hand over his eyes, sighing deeply. 

“You’re mad about her, she’s mad about you, so you fight because none of you can see how much you mean to each other. Honestly, it’s exhausting. Get it over with.”

Merlin walked away, leaving his friend ruminating the reproaches over in his head. 

That he loved her, he had no doubt. The feeling of utter helplessness and fear that had gripped him when he heard her scream was sickening. 

Yes, she drove him mad. He wanted her desperately; wanted her to like him and want him, need him. Until tonight, when she had snuggled against him, whimpering in pain, he had not thought a woman like her would ever need anyone. 

And she had called him Harry. 

Perhaps Merlin was right and it was time he put the record straight. 

If you guys didn’t notice the subtle hint of Darcy/Elizabeth in there idk what to say to you. Stay tuned for part II!

[la-fille-en-aiguilles]

The Beautiful & Damned (1/7)

Female Reader x Young!Remus Lupin | Female Reader x Young!Sirius Black

Chapter 1 : The Golden Couple 

A/N: Those who have been following my chaotic writing for a while (a massive shoutout to you, beautiful people) know that I am an incoherent little shit, and for that, I truly apologise. I’m only starting to figure out my writing habits, and it turns out they’re more a “spur of a moment” kind of stories. In short, if I have an idea, I better type away before I get another one and move on.  This was originally planned to be a 7-part story (which is huge for me), and I promise I’ll keep them chapters coming as long as there are readers. Also, I absolutely love talking to people, not only about writing in general but also about the way they see the characters (in this case, the Marauders), so please feel free to hit up my inbox if you want to share anything at all. Also, the feedback is always appreciated. 

I truly hope you enjoy! 

During days like this, the Great Hall seemed to have a life of its own: laughter, exaggerated whispers and the clinging of forks against the fine porcelain echoed in its walls, giving the place a voice, vivacious and cheerful banter. The ceiling turned into a clear blue sky today, not a cloud in sight but infinite azure. Late October chill was kept at bay by the thick stain-glass windows while students were enjoying their Friday lunch and hot apple cider. 

You always thought lazy autumn days in Hogwarts were the best.

As you walked into the main gathering area, your heels clicking on the centuries old floors, you immediately felt the vagabond stares of the students settle on your frame. You weren’t particularly dressed up – for you, the weekend had started early – but no loose sweater and jeans could hide your delicious curves and legs that went on for days. Ignoring the feeling of being gazed at, you walked on, your eyes drifting around in search for your friends. Soft smile bloomed on your lips as you spotted Lily, Marlene and the incomplete Marauder gang at their usual spot. 

Throwing your long, thick hair out of your face and letting it fall in loose curls down your back, you strutted confidently to the Gryffindor table. Remus Lupin was the first to notice you. The corners of his lips curled upwards as he paused his mindless activity of cutting a toast for a moment. Noticing Moony’s stare, James turned his head in your direction, instantly beaming at you. 

“If that isn’t our Siren”, he spoke, as you approached the table. “You’re up early, considering the state in which Padfoot finally decided to show his dogface at four in the morning...”

“Oh stuff it Potter”, you chuckled, leaning over the table between him and Remus, reaching for the green grapes on Lupin’s plate. 

Popping one into your mouth, you shamelessly wiggled your way in between them as James groaned in protest. Remus gave you a chiding stare, but his bright hazel eyes were smiling. 

You bit your bottom lip innocently, slowly reaching for another grape. Young Lupin shook his head helplessly, pushing his plate towards you, inviting you to share his meal. You full-on grinned at him as you tousled his unruly hair with your fingers, quite relishing the silky feeling under your fingertips. 

“Just so I am mentally prepared,” Remus took a pitcher with the hot apple cider and served you a glass before filling his own. “For how much longer are you going to steal my food, Y/N?” he turned his upper body in your direction, his chest almost touching your shoulder. The veil of sleep still clouded his radiating eyes, framed with impossibly long eyelashes. You studied the hues of colour in his irises for a millisecond, not sure which shade dominated them all. 

Winking at him mischievously, you made a show of dipping one of your fingers into his chocolate cream desert. Once he sighed and shook his head again, you quickly licked the sticky sweetness off your skin. 

“For as long as you are going to have food, Rem, obviously”, you happily told him, taking the glass of cider he offered you. Gulping it down rather hastily, you switched your attention to Lily, Marlene and James, arguing about something quite animatedly.

“...For the last time, Potter,” Marlene gave James a poignant look, barely content with whatever he had proposed. “We can’t just show up at the Ravenclaw common room and pretend we’ve been invited! Especially after that prank you pulled last week!”

James looked both desperate and amused. For those who knew him, really knew him, it was clear that he either argued for the sake of arguing, not being all that interested in breaking into Ravenclaw’s quarters, or he stubbornly refused to let it go because the girl he was so madly in love with was watching his little performance. 

“Okay first of all, that trap wasn’t meant for that moron of a Ravenclaw prefect. Second of all, it wasn’t all that bad!” James defended all the more ardently, seeing Marlene roll her eyes. He switched his glance to Lily – the redhead didn’t look particularly convinced by his monologue either. “So what he spent hanging head down for a couple of hours? Didn’t kill him, right?” he searched for Moony’s eyes, begging for a word of support, after finding none in Marlene’s stern features and Lily’s judging bright green eyes. 

Remus gave Potter a sympathetic look, that of a person who wants to help but truly doesn’t know how. Still, the reassurance in his kind orbs gave James an illusion of hope. 

Until Lupin spoke, that is. 

“Right, Prongs. I don’t understand either, why would one be so royally pissed off after hanging a couple of them hours head down from the Astronomy Tower?” Remus feigned confusion, shrugging his shoulders. “And how dare he stutter now?”  

James threw both of his hands in the air – a confused and desperate gesture - looking at his pranking companion, whose idea the whole thing was to begin with. Getting no reaction from Moony, who remained utterly unfazed, James hid his eyes in a facepalm that came from the heart. 

You tried desperately not to burst out laughing as you watched the entire happening. Remus winking at you once he knew Prongs wasn’t watching was the last drop. Throwing your head back, you let out a loud laugh. 

That would have probably made everyone turn their attention to you, if they hadn’t been following your every move already, from the moment you walked in. 

Regaining your breath, you bit you lip, mindlessly resting your head on Moony’s shoulder. For a moment there, you could swear you felt him stiffen, but the sensation was so short-lived, you might have imagined it. 

Meanwhile, James mumbled something about Remus being a traitor before turning away dramatically and stuffing his mouth full of fried eggs. 

“I honestly don’t even like that Prefect McGillan,” Lily suddenly stated. “He’s a snob and an arrogant know-it-all”, she stole a quick glance at the back of James’ head, thinking nobody would notice. “And maybe he deserved a small knock off his pedestal...”

“Lily Evans!...” Both you and Remus gasped in unison, all smiles now. Hearing the other’s voice, you exchanged mischievous glances, your eyes sparkling with secret knowledge. “Are you saying James here did something right for once?” Moony suggested, giving you a quick wink. 

“Godric no!” the redhead blurted out immediately, her cheeks turning a lovely shade of pink. “No one deserves to be treated like that... It’s just… I guess it must be true then. Karma works in its mysterious ways...”

Remus threw you a meaningful glance, and you bit hard on your bottom lip, fighting to hide an emerging smile. You could bet ten galleons Potter was beaming like an idiot that very second and would tell and re-tell Lily’s reaction to Padfoot once that last had finished nursing his head-splitting hangover.

“Well I work in my own mysterious ways, as well” you chirped, taking a sip of your hot cider - Remus must have served you another glass without you noticing, “And my name ain’t Karma”.

Everyone’s eyes were on you now, even James turned back to face you with an expectant stare.

“Pads and I are both invited to that party”, you simply confined, “I don’t see why we cannot bring plus... four?” 

Prongs threw his head back, puffing his lips at your last words (“Brilliant!”); Remus just kept looking at you, with what you could only pin down as admiration lighting up his face. 

“So that’s settled then,” with a wide smile, Marlene served herself a spoonful of strawberries. “With you and Black being the guests of honour, no one will ever dream of kicking us out.”

You rolled your eyes, small grin still ghosting over your lips. 

“Please,” you said, stuffing two more grapes into your mouth. “They just want a couple of bottles of firewhisky, and they think Sirius and I are the only ones who know where to get some.”

Watching you smile at some stupid-ass comment James threw your way, and laugh out loud at his face after a witty comeback you shot at him, all that Remus could think about was no. No, oh Godric no, you were so wrong, and so oblivious. Firewhisky wasn’t the reason everyone wanted you to sit next to them during every Quidditch game. Or dance along them on the makeshift dancefloor. Or walk by their side on your trip to Hogsmeade. It was so much simpler than that. It was you. You and your magnetic, celestial kind of beauty. Divine. That’s the first word that came to mind when people first saw you. 

Your beauty was the power that could fix everything that was wrong with the world, but Sweet Merlin, was it merciless. You were dazzling, and it was an agony to comprehend your exquisiteness in a glance. With eyes that held captive for eternity, with smell so enthralling it drove insane, with legs that wizards ought to write books about, your presence in a room promised so much, yet allowed for so little. 

A queen with a little bit of savage. That’s who you were. Queen, building a kingdom worthy of her magnificence, with a king to match. You and Sirius mingled well indeed – an exquisite siren and the hottest and the baddest debauchee in Hogwarts. The Golden Couple, although as far as Remus knew, you were just friends. Everyone felt special as soon as you two walked into a room, because you graced them with your presence. No one could resist your charms. Everyone enjoyed bathing in your glow, devouring it, getting drunk on it...

“Remus?” he nearly jumped, feeling your soft breath hit his neck. “You’re coming too, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” he rattled without thinking, turning your way sharply. His breath caught in his throat as his eyes met yours, so dangerously close. 

“Good”, you smiled at him contentedly. “Thanks for wanting to share your Charms notes with me, Lils,” you gave the redhead a grateful look, already rising on your feet. “I’m going to go get Pads to move his lazy ass – we have firewhisky to stock on. I’ll see you lot tonight then, yeah?”

Remus released the breath he didn’t know he was holding as he watched you walk back to the Grand Hall’s entrance. His heartbeats matched the echo of your steps, as he bit the inside of his cheek till it bled. The floors were your runway as you walked, your hips swinging deliciously, your perfume still keeping him entranced. 

He needed to learn how to breathe again. 

“I thought you were going to have a go at that Wolfsbane potion tonight, Moony,” Remus heard James whisper, his every word laced with an understanding Lupin hated to acknowledge. 

“Not anymore,” Remus uttered, his eyes still fixed on the heavy doors, the ghost of your silhouette a fixture in Moony’s feverish mind, your voice still softly ringing in his ears… 

Accio Chapter 2: No, Definitely

My Beautiful Tags (I am tagging the people who have previously showed interest in my Remus Lupin story - please, please let me know if you don’t want me to tag you in this! Much Love!): @zakthedrak, @marauder–harder, @davros2004, @firefurr, @heyjess-marie, @kapolisradomthoughts

[fuwafuwamedb]

A Gamble (GilHaku, Solomon/Gudako)

“Problem.”

Hakuno looked over at the other table as they both saw the same company entering.

Shit.

“Fall back?” Hakuno asked into her walkie talkie.

“Best choice. Where’s Merlin and Gawain to cover the tables?”

The two were anywhere nearby.

Archer Gilgamesh and Solomon were bickering with one another, but that wouldn’t last a terribly long amount of time. They would be throwing a fit or reacting far too strong at the sight of them at the tables dressed in these outfits.

Running would be hard in the heels.

Her outfit was a bit tighter than it needed to be too.

“Bail?”

“Definitely.”

Hakuno put her walkie talkie down, finishing the game by folding and letting one of the patrons win. Cu Alter laughed as he pulled the chips back.

But damn, the laugh caught the two’s attention.

Gilgamesh paused.

Solomon stared at her a moment before looking over towards the surrounding area in the room.

“Fuck,” Hakuno heard Gudako mutter into the walkie talkie.

“Gudako!”

The man was already storming across the room, pulling her away from the table. The redhead was flushed, already attempting to get away.

“Artoria needed help with the casino! We did it as a favor!”

She was being hauled from the room.

A few of the patrons got up, but Hakuno couldn’t see what was going on. Gilgamesh was in front of her. The man was pulling his jacket off, eyeing her and smirking a bit.

“It’s a bit unsavory-“

“Gil, don’t even. I’ve seen some of your wardrobe. This is tame in comparison.”

He raised a brow, glancing at the table.

“Deal.”

“What?”

Gilgamesh was moving into one of the seats, motioning her on. “Deal the cards.”

“You have to have poker chips, Gil.”

“I’m going to gamble with something a bit more valuable between the two of us.” He leaned forward, setting it on her shoulders before he motioned her on.

This wasn’t how this worked, but damn.

“You in, Cu?” Hakuno asked the man.

“I know when my luck ends.”

He wandered off to the other table.

“Not a very good house dealer, are you?”

“I was doing fine until you showed up,” Hakuno growled, throwing the cards down between herself and him. She just needed to follow the instructions that had been set up for her. Hopefully Artoria would come along and free her. Either that, or she’d save Gudako.

She couldn’t imagine what Solomon would be doing. He’d seemed to be hauling her back to his room here at the hotel.

“Place your bet,” Hakuno told him.

Gil set his room key on the table.

“A week entirely free of comments and criticisms, since others seem apt to complain that I harass you.”

He did, but she nodded.

“I get the room?”

“The room, the credit card loaded with funds for room service, the hot tub, the balcony looking over the poor and gaudy city that we’re in,” he rattled off.

Hot damn.

Hakuno moved to push chips forward only to pause.

Cu had won out the house.

“It would seem you must also gamble with something personal,” the man observed.

“I don’t have anything to gamble,” she confessed.

He knew this, of course. He’d seen her wallet. He knew how things worked in Chaldea. While she made some money, it was only through under the table deals with Gudako. It was only through doing little things like working in the casino tonight.

“You have yourself, Hakuno,” the man purred.

She was going to regret this.

“Anything you want,” Hakuno told him. “For a week.”

“You’ll bicker,” Gil complained, moving his cards around in his hand idly.

“I won’t complain from the moment the clock strikes midnight to the very last second of the final day.” She wanted that room and that funding. She and Gudako were going to eat until they popped. Invite Artoria to join too. They’d eat out the casino.

Beni made good food too.

“Your guest accepts the terms,” Gil told her.

Soon.

Hakuno glanced at her cheat sheet for this game,

She hadn’t lost a single game until Gilgamesh had come in. In fact, the hand she’d thrown down would have beaten Cu Alter. Two pairs.

“I’m going to raise the bet,” Hakuno told him. “I want you to do Caster’s work for him for the week.”

Archer snickered. “I’ll meet that bet. You’ll spend every night before bed doing a full body massage. I do believe someone has caused me to feel stress over her disappearance on this vacation. It may be best to have someone knead the knots away.”

She glanced at her notes again, opting to trade out cards again.

Three aces.

“You have to be nice to Kid Gil for a week,” Hakuno demanded.

The man laughed harder. “That good? Well,” Gilgamesh leaned forward, leaning his chin on his hand. “I will raise the bet to include you feeding me each meal personally. You’ll deny any chairs for my lap and provide me drink or food as desired.”

Shit.

She had three aces though.

They’d gone on long enough.

“Sorry, Gil. Your luck has come to an end.”

She lowered the cards, smiling despite her words.

She was going to undress and lay naked on the couch for an hour up in that room. Between the suite’s normal accommodations and the ones that Gil had added for himself, the room was amazing. Television binging and truffles would be best to start the week off.

“I do believe this is called a royal flush,” Gil drawled.

His eyes gleamed.

Fuck.

The man was standing up though, grinning as he simply slid the hotel room key forward and leaned to speak quietly to her.

“You have ten minutes to close this table and go to our room, Hakuno. I do believe I am in the mood for some wine and admiring whatever sense of momentary fashion the king of knights possessed when tossing you into this outfit.”

She cursed her way to the elevators.

She did her best to ignore the sounds of Solomon and Gudako in the nearby closet as the elevators opened for her.

At least someone managed to get the better of their king.

She shouldn’t have raised the bets.

This week was going to be a nightmare.

[elizabethemerald]

Jim is Honest AU: Lie 3

Jim Lake Jr lies again and again to his loved ones. What if instead, he told the truth? How would that affect his relationships, and story of Trollhunters? Let’s look at all the major lies and omissions Jim made and let’s turn them on their head. This time Let’s say Jim is Honest.

Jim returns late from his first day of Trollhunting to find his mom home, and Mr. Strickler making a house call! After he leaves Jim realizes, he has to tell his mom. But what if she forbids him from protecting the trolls?

Barbara had to admit the omelette was pretty good. Maybe she was finally learning how to handle herself in the kitchen after all! Or more likely the boy currently nervously fiddling with his plate had helped. She wasn’t as oblivious as he sometimes liked to think she was. She had noticed her son surreptitiously dicing some of the onions and adding seasonings. Oh well, at least they had eaten dinner together for the first time in a few days. Now what was it that Jim was so nervous about?

Strickler had left less than an hour ago. Was Jim nervous about having his teacher here at his house? Or was it all the responsibilities he was taking on. Romeo and Juliet? Chess? She had no idea he was interested in so many things. Now he seemed torn up. Several times he took a breath like he wanted to say something, but each time he closed it again. Finally he got up, gathered the dishes and rinsed them off. From her spot at the dining room table she heard him click on the coffee maker.

“Jim? You’re not thinking of having coffee this late on a school night are you?” He was quiet in the kitchen for a moment.

“I think this might be a coffee kind of conversation.” He said. His voice was tight with his anxiety. Barbara did her best to still her shaking hands. Truly she hated coffee. She had always joked with Jim that she would only drink it in an emergency. She only had to coffee maker at all to be polite for any guests. She struggled to wait patiently while her son made the coffee. When he brought out the cup he had even drawn a small tree with the cream. He had a much smaller cup for himself.

“What did you need to talk about kiddo?” Barbara asked. Jim nervously turned his cup this way and that.

“So, I just found out trolls exist?” He finally said. Barbara looked at him in confusion.

“Like internet trolls? Is someone bullying you on one of those sites you and Toby are always on? Is it that Steve boy? I have half a mind to call his mother.”

He put his head in his hands. “Not like internet trolls! Like real trolls. Magical trolls!”

“Jim what are you saying? You’re not making any sense.”

Barbara could tell he was desperately trying to find some way to explain. She felt she was seconds away from calling one of her friends from the hospital who was a child psychologist. Jim suddenly snapped his fingers and stood up.

"What if I just show you!" He walked over to his bag, which was still slung on the rail for the stairs. He also shut the curtains in the living room. He stood before her and held out a small metal object. It looked like a children's toy of some kind. Jim turned it to face him and it started glowing.

"For the glory of Merlin, Daylight is mine to command!"

Small blue lights flew out of the object. And Jim was lifted off his feet. Pieces of armor appeared out of the air and clanked into place. After the last piece appeared Jim landed back on the ground and a massive sword materialized in his hand.

Barbara could only stare open mouthed at her son. He looked..like a hero. It took a long moment for her to get her brain and mouth moving again. "What? Why?"

"I guess, I am the Trollhunter! The amulet called to me. There is a whole city of magical trolls under our feet! And I'm tasked with protecting them!"

"Jim! You can't be some kind of Troll fighter! You're still in high school! You should be worried about your grades and girls, not Trolls!"

She stood up and held his shoulders. This couldn't be right. He was just a child! Why would a child be chosen to do this?

"Its Trollhunter mom. And I feel like maybe I can really do some good here! Also I can't give it up, the amulet is bonded to me."

"But what about your other responsibilities? The play? The chess club?"

Jim tapped an armored finger against his lips, then pointed it at her. "The play is a problem. To be fair I kind of auditioned on accident and I didnt expect to actually get the part."

Barbara clasped her hands in front of her face and she struggled not to scream out her frustration. While Jim accidentally auditioning was way more like him than doing it on purpose it just demonstrated the kind of disaster child she was raising.

"As for the chess club, that's a code Mr. Strickler made up, so we could talk about trolls. I'm not actually doing anything with chess."

"Oh. So what you're saying is you told your teacher before you told your mother."

Jim at least had the decency to look ashamed. "I'm sorry, I was just really freaked out and needed someone to talk to. Toby was at the dentist and you were at work. And Mr. Strickler had just said the other day that I could come to him for anything."

Barbara sighed and hugged him close. It wasn't his fault her work schedule was all over the place. As she held him the amulet made a soft ringing sound and his armor disappeared. Jim caught the amulet as they pulled apart.

"Huh. I guess I'm relaxed now." He said with a half smile. Something was suddenly bothering Barbara. Like a tingle in her mind, something about this story was off.

"So you told Mr. Strickler about your troll fighting and he told you to use a code when speaking about it. Why?"

"He said other people might think I'm lying. He said people could try and take me away or hurt me because of it."

The tingle in her mind was now alarm bells. "Your teacher knew you would be risking your life, and you are risking your life, right?" His eyes slid sideways before he nodded. "And he didn't tell me, your mother? We had a long conversation before you arrived, he had every opportunity to do so."

Jim shrugged. Barbara sat down at the table and gestured for her son to do the same. She continued speaking.  "I've raised you, by myself for the past ten years. I would never hurt you. Why wouldn't he tell me?"

"I don't know mom. I just know that I can finally help people. Just like you do."

At that Barbara slid out of her chair so she was kneeling in front of Jim in his. "Ok. You're the…"

"Trollhunter." He supplied when she paused.

"You're the Trollhunter now. A couple of rules though. One: be safe. I don't want to lose you. Two: I want to know about everything that happens. When it happens. I don't want to find out two days later ok? This stuff is important enough to interrupt my work at the hospital. And Three: if you ever need help, call for me, and I'll be there. With whatever you need."

"Thanks mom!" Jim slid out of his seat as well and hugged his mom again, both kneeling on the floor.

Eventually Jim went to bed. Even the small amount of caffeine hyped him up for a while. He excitedly told her about finding the amulet, meeting his two troll trainers, auditioning for the play, even his wild run through the city away from the evil troll Bular. His stories didn't fill her with confidence, but he had survived everything so far, mostly unscathed.

After he went up to bed Barbara finally drank her own coffee. She hadn't had any earlier and now it was lukewarm, even more unpalatable. She pulled out her laptop and started searching.

Barbara's experience with Jim's father as horrible as it was it gave her an awareness some of her fellow doctors lacked. When a woman couldn't stand to have a Male nurse or doctor touch her. Or when she could see a bruise when she rolled up a woman's sleeve to apply the blood pressure cuff. Or when a child flinched from even a gentle touch.

She had learned exactly what to say to get a husband or boyfriend out of the room. She knew how much detail to discuss a woman's period before the men would either leave or stop paying attention. She knew how to hide a phone number for a crisis line in the margins of a pamphlet on how to properly insert a tampon.

The same alarms that drove her to protect the girls who came into her clinic were now going wild for her son. Why would Walter hide the fact that her son was in danger from her? How could a history teacher benefit from keeping a magical world of trolls a secret? Who was Walter Strickler?

[january3693]

Someone We Used to Know - Part 19

(This is a Marauders Era AU about what might have changed if Sirius was expelled after the Prank. Here’s the Master List if you’d like to start from the beginning or find a specific part)

They don’t make it to the hotel until just after noon. That’s how long it takes for James and Remus to have the first real fight in the history of their friendship. Oh, they’ve snapped and shouted and vehemently disagreed with each other in the past, but they’ve never really fought. Not like this.

Neither of them come out of it blameless. Remus arguably kept the greater secret, but he only kept it for a few hours. James, on the other hand, has been hiding his strange, clandestine alliance with Regulus Black for almost three years.

Remus is still angry. So is James. He’s not sure either of them are entirely sure who they’re really angry with though.

In contrast, Peter is unusually quiet and possibly in shock.

Calling him in and bringing him up to speed took them another two hours, but it was only fair.

It’s always been the four of them.

Remus calls the hotel again. This time he gets their address before he hangs up.

Then they go, apparating in a swirl of fury and confusion and anticipation. It’s damn lucky no one gets splinched as they arrive in London.

Remus has made sure they’re all wearing Muggle clothes, though Peter had to borrow one of Remus’s jumpers, which is too long in the sleeves and too narrow around the middle. The doorman at the very fancy hotel still gives them a suspicious eye as James storms past him, Remus and Peter following in his wake.

“Wow,” Peter says in a hushed whisper as they cross the lobby with its marble and gilt and crystal chandeliers. Wow indeed.

Somehow, this is Sirius’s life now. Silk suits and museum galas and expensive hotels, all in the Muggle world. It’s a strange place to find the former scion of a pure-blood wizarding family, and Remus has to wonder how Sirius got to this point, this place in life.

Just before they reach the front desk, James seems to realize he’s out of his rather shallow depths when it comes to Muggle things. He pauses, still scowling and simmering with anger, and steps aside to let Remus take over.

“Hello, we’re here to see a guest…Mr. Cole Sterling,” Remus says as he approaches the desk. He tries his best to return the receptionist’s smile even though he feels like he’s going to throw up any second now.

“Of course, sir. I can phone up to his room,” the woman says. “Who may I say is calling?”

Before Remus can answer, James pushes forward and snaps, “Tell him Moony, Wormtail, and Prongs are here to see their old friend.”

*

Sirius has to admire Helen at the front desk, because she somehow manages to get him his entire ten minutes. In that time, he’s able to hide his pickpocketed loot, wash his face, finger comb his hair, and mostly change clothes before someone starts banging on the door of his hotel room. His shirt is still unbuttoned, but he’s genuinely afraid one of his old friends might break the Statute of Secrecy and blast the door open if he doesn’t answer it immediately.

He takes a deep breath, because it’s too late to do anything else. Maybe Laverna is right. Maybe Sirius does want to be found. Now that he’s one thin hotel door away from his old friends though, all Sirius wants to do is run.

Again.

Yet, once upon a time, a musty old hat told Sirius that he was almost stupidly brave and sent him off to Gryffindor House. Now, he has to muster every ounce of that courage—so much of which he’s buried for years—to turn the doorknob and open the door.

And there they are.

Remus, Peter, and James.

Moony, Wormtail, and Prongs.

They’re all there, standing on his doorstep. Staring at him with wide eyes. Sirius stares right back, marveling at how much of a heart he has left to break.

He saw Remus last night, but Sirius is still in awe of the man before him. This quiet, threadbare man who’s already showing a few streaks of grey in his brown hair. There’s a pull, a gravity to Remus Lupin that somehow tugs at Sirius. Exactly like it did when they were teenagers.

And next to Remus is Peter. He’s lost some of that lingering baby fat and has grown a few inches. He’s still a bit short and chubby, but it suits him. He looks like everyone’s friend, the affable bloke no decent person can dislike. Sirius feels the urge to smile at him, even as Peter gawks like a fish at the sight of him.

Then there’s James.

Of them all, James seems to have changed the least, physically speaking. His hair’s still wild, his glasses are still crooked.

It feels like something bursts inside of Sirius’s chest, and for a split-second he honestly worries he’s having a heart attack at twenty-one. Only this feels good. It hurts—oh Merlin, it hurts—but he wouldn’t trade this feeling for anything in the world.

Breathless and suddenly lightheaded, the only word Sirius can manage to get out is a quiet, completely inadequate “Hi.”

*

Despite everything Remus and Regulus said, all their evidence, James didn’t believe them.

Until the moment that door swung open, he didn’t believe Sirius was alive.

He’s hoped for too long to actually believe.

But here’s the proof.

Here’s the truth.

Sirius is standing right in front of him. Alive.

And James is angry.

He hates being angry.

It reminds him of being a teenager, of being that cocky arsehole who pushed a petty feud so far it resulted in disaster. For him, for Snape, and especially for Sirius.

Only Sirius seems just fine.

Actually, judging by the hotel they’re standing in, Sirius is doing quite well for himself.

For five years, James thought he was dead.

For five fucking years, James has been mourning his best friend.

Merlin, he’s angry.

If you’d asked James just yesterday how he would feel if he found out Sirius was alive, he’d have said happy. Joyful. Ecstatic.

Instead he’s just…just so fucking angry.

“It really is you,” James whispers.

Then he lets that anger loose and punches his old friend in the face.

Sirius staggers back several steps, a hand flying up to his nose and coming away bloody. Remus and Peter both grab at James before he can follow Sirius into the room and hit him again.

“What the hell?” Remus snaps. Peter is yelling his name. Sirius is swearing.

James wrenches one arm free of Peter.

“Five years, Sirius!” James shouts. “We thought you were dead!”

“Shit! James will you keep it down or put up some damn silencing spells,” Sirius snaps back, his voice slightly muffled by the hand pressed against his bloody nose. “This is a hotel! There are people all over the place—muggle people.”

James shakes off Remus as well and steps into the hotel room. He can hear Remus and Peter  behind him, one of them closing the door, the other casting a strong set of silencing spells. James isn’t looking at them though, he’s watching every move Sirius makes, ready to use a body-bind curse if Sirius tries to make a break for it.

He’s still angry, but James is also beginning to realize just how hurt he is. 

Five years and Sirius never contacted him. Never sent a letter or anything to let James know he was safe, that he was alive. Their friendship had meant everything to James. Had it really meant so little to Sirius?

“You owe us an explanation,” James says, no longer shouting, but twice as forceful as before.

Sirius nods as he reaches into the bathroom, grabbing a fluffy white hand towel for his nose. “Yeah,” he admits, “I suppose I do.”

(Part 20)

[mysweetestcreature]

Meus Amor (Hogwarts!Harry) Part V

(Banner by the lovely @pretty-hazza)

***

Series Masterlist

***

The moment her feet land on the hardwood floor of the unfamiliar flat that smells vaguely of a mixture of disinfectant and eucalyptus, there’s a feeling of queasiness starting in the pit of Y/n’s belly. Her awkward footing leaves her to stumble out of balance until she ends up with her back against the wall, breathing heavily as she tries to tie the last five minutes together into something she can only hope to understand. Her head is spinning, and every possible worst-case scenario reels in her head and flashes before her eyes like an untimely vision of bereavement. There are so many questions she has, but the fears that have settled within her are almost unbearable. Y/n feels the hot tears burn behind her irises as she tries hard to blink them away. Where was Harry? Why hadn’t he come with them after the attack? The image she remembers before getting lost in the haze of apparition was the wanton black smoke that surrounded his body like a veil of smooth silk. 

“You’ll be safe here, don’t worry.” Her eyes slowly rise from staring at the spaces between the floorboards to the girl who had brought her here. Gemma offers her a small smile and reaches forwards to rub up and down her arm as if it would make the uneasiness in Y/n’s chest feel any less constrictive. She doesn’t dare move but allows her head to pan around the room and study each detail as though she would be tested on it at a later time. There are a number of books stacked neatly by size on the mahogany coffee table in the middle of two white leather couches that face each other. In the corner right by the window is one of Gemma’s uniforms being repaired by an enchanted needle and thread beside a laundry basket of freshly washed clothes and sheets. Along the walls are pictures of the Styles family; their faces full of glee and fulfillment as they flash their blinding smiles to the photographer before succumbing to their fits of laughter.

“Make yourself at home!” Gemma exclaims as she quickly jogs and disappears into the hallway. “I’m just going to set up the guest room. It’s been ages since I’ve had company.” A small chuckle reaches Y/n’s ears, and she forces down the lump in her throat and wills herself to think calmer thoughts. Suddenly there’s a sharp pain in her lower abdomen that’s like being struck with thousands of thorns from the inside. She slides down the wall and gasps for breath and hunches forward and wraps her arms around her stomach as the hostile burning agitates her entire being.

“It-it hurts,” she chokes out. Gemma is at her side in an instant, talking her through breathing exercises and rubbing her back as soothingly as possible. This is worse than having been struck with the Cruciatus curse, much worse. “I... I need Harry. P-Please I need Harry,” She starts sobbing on the floor and calling out her boyfriend’s name, praying to Merlin that he’ll appear in front of her and make this unwelcomed feeling go away like he always does with just the touch of his hand to her cheek.

“Honey, I need you to take deep breaths, alright? In through your nose...that’s it. Just keep doing that. You’ll be okay,” Gemma coaches. She frantically grabs her wand from her back pocket and mutters the summoning charm. A clear bottle with vibrant purple liquid comes hurdling through the air and lands perfectly in Gemma’s hand. She unplugs the cork––the loud popping noise enough to take Y/n’s mind off the throbbing for a split second––and holds it up to Y/n’s mouth. “Drink this.” Y/n looks at her through the tears rimmed around her eyes, her shaking hand grasping the neck of the glass and guiding the sparkling liquid to her lips. 

It washes down her throat like running water, and she can feel it settle in her gut and boil like piping lava. The potion leaves an aftertaste on her tongue, like sparkling grape juice served within a minute before the start of a new year. Starting from ten, she counts backwards with her eyes shut tight as the feeling of anguish diminishes to nothing more than an afterthought. She peels her lids apart and looks up at Gemma, the healer’s stare narrowed in on her stomach as her lips wrap expertly around words that Y/n has never come across before with the tip of her wand aimed directly to her skin. 

A luminous white band emits from the wand and wraps around her and tickles her midsection, and her tummy starts to flutter lightly before a calming warmth sinks in and the rest of her nerves seem to relax into the feeling. That’s all she can make out before the room fades to black.

***

Harry chases the unknown assailant miles above the ground and far away from the initial attack. All he can see is red and he’s almost certain that there’s actual steam pushing out from his ears. How could he have been so negligent? He hadn’t noticed a fucking death eater tailing them around Diagon Alley. It’s not that he expects these assholes to play fair, but the welfare of his family had been his only plea when it came down to being plagued with the skull and serpent on his arm. 

Oh gods, his heart beats erratically as the worry sets in. The look on Y/n’s face as he had backed away from her and urged her into his sister’s hold is all he can see with the force of the wind stinging his eyes. She looked so scared and he just wishes he could be there to hold her and whisper his pledge of protection from all the evil that his world has brought upon them. All he can hope for right now is that his girl and their baby are in good health because he swears on Salazar’s name that he won’t be able to suppress this impulsive darkness he feels has grown within him and prickles in his fingertips in just a matter of minutes. But he’ll try to fight it as long as he can, he needs to be the man that Y/n deserves. It’s proving difficult, however, as he already feels the boiling of his blood scorch his veins when a malicious smirk is sent his way in the most taunting manner. With his wand aimed on the shadowy figure in front of him, he yells out a curse that petrifies the death eater’s body and sends him plummeting to the ground in the endless landscape of green flora found on the outskirts of the city. 

He follows behind closely and descends in the relative area where the other man had fallen. There, he finds the body frigid as it lays on the dirt completely powerless. Harry steps closer to him, his fists tight and nails digging deep crescents into his palms, ready to break this guy’s jaw if presented the opportunity. 

“I ought to curse your life away for that stunt you pulled,” he begins, sliding the wand out of the man’s front pocket and breaks it like a scanty twig on his bended knee. “But I won’t become like you lot. So just listen to my words carefully. My girl stays out of this. Or else that wand won’t be the last thing I snap.” His voice carries a tone so low and frightening that for a second, he can barely recognize it as belonging to him. He picks the death eater up by the collar, his toes barely scraping against the pebbles on the ground. Harry mumbles the counter curse under his breath, and he watches as the man desperately gasps for air. 

“Yaxley told me you’d be difficult,” the death eater chuckles in a way that makes Harry’s teeth clench, “but he didn’t tell me that you’d break my wand. Now that was just was uncalled for.” He looks with false sadness down at broken piece of wood, only to be replaced with another one of his smirks. “The name’s Zayn by the way. Big fan.” 

“I don’t care what your name is,” Harry says harshly, then throws...Zayn to the ground with a loud thump. He turns around and presses the heel of his palms to his eyes and lets out an infuriated growl. “Just tell me what the fuck he wants now.” 

How many more lives am I meant to destroy?

The guilt from having been involved in the assassination of Professor Albus Dumbledore still makes him nauseous, even though the elderly man had tried to discourage him from blaming himself. (And the entire situation still troubles Harry because Dumbledore had known about the attempt on his life, yet he still allowed for everything to unfold.) He traces the metal band on his finger and prays that regardless of what happens next, she’ll still love him because he’s sure that he can’t live without her.

Zayn lifts himself up and makes little attempt to dust the dirt from his fitted trousers before taking a step closer to Harry. His deep brown eyes penetrating Harry’s green ones in an intense lock that could make an entire population turn to stone. Now that he’s had a good look at him, something about the dark-haired man in front of him looks vaguely familiar.

“Voldemort.”

All Harry can do is lift an unamused eyebrow as he looks to the left and right of them. He’s met with nothing but trees that stretch miles and miles in both directions and the chirping of birds in the branches. Is something meant to happen? 

A pop suddenly sounds from behind him, his body stiffens up as he turns his head to the side where he sees a silhouette stretching towards him the light of the setting sun. He lets out defeated sigh before he feels a pair of hands on his shoulders before the forest vanishes in front of him. 

***

Malfoy Manor is dark. Gloomy and malevolent, depending on who it you’re asking. Its Victorian style architecture offers the impression that maybe a king or someone of high nobility must preside somewhere within the mountain-high exterior. Harry’s been inside at least a dozen––maybe even more––times, mostly in his earlier years during the holidays for the Malfoy’s famous New Year’s Eve parties where he and Niall would sneak a bottle of fire whiskey and drink it in Narcissa’s prized rose garden. 

Yet the last time he had been here had probably been the most memorable, and not for the enjoyment of getting pissed off his arse and trying to avoid getting stuck under the mistletoe with Pansy or Daphne. The last time Harry had been here, it was during his initiation that has left him with the mark even uglier than a scar that inevitably signed his life away.

His left arm tingles the closer he walks to the grand dining room, and when he looks down, he can see the serpent slithering about on his skin. Two other death eaters are on either side of him as though blocking him in in the chance that he’ll flee. Both are dressed in long black robes and shiny ebony shoes with heels that sound with each one of their heavy steps. Zayn walks in front, guiding them deeper into the core of the manor. It’s funny though, when he thinks deeply about this. Not to say that he finds the entire thing humorous––his girlfriend and sister were almost harmed by flying shards glass for crying out loud––but one must laugh when considering the dramatics of the day. 

“I suppose this isn’t an invitation for tea,” Harry snorts, unable to hide his mild amusement.

Zayn makes a noise, as if fighting off a laugh. “Can’t say it is, but maybe once this is all over the Dark Lord will buy us all a pint, yeah?” He looks over his shoulder and wriggles his eyebrows in a playful manner. 

A voice clears itself as they reach the doors where the meeting is to take place. They’re greeted with cold steel grey eyes, lips held in a thin line, and the once slicked back platinum blonde hair is as disheveled as a madman’s thoughts. It’s only been a few months since Harry’s last seen him, but it’s as though Draco has aged years before his time

There’s a look Draco gives him, one that injects an unsettling feeling into the back of his neck. He pushes down on the doorknob behind him and walks backwards to open it up all the way. They file into the room one by one, and Harry stops for just a second as he and Draco’s eyes meet as he passes him. It’s just long enough for him to catch a look of bitter remorse, one to only mirror his own. 

Harry enters to find a long decadent table, each chair seating a death eater, most of whom he’s encountered at least once in the past. At the very head of the table is the Dark Lord, his sharp yellow teeth on full display as he welcomes the newly arrived to the meeting. 

“Harry, my boy! So glad you could join us this evening,” he gushes, then signals to the empty seat two down to his right next to Snape. Harry swallows hard but wills himself over to his assigned spot. Snape gives him a sideways glance as he sits down uncomfortably, and from a few places over he can hear Lucius Malfoy gasp in appalment and mutter something to his wife. This is odd, even given his circumstances. To be seated so close to the Dark Lord signifies an authority over those that sit below him. 

“My Lord, if you will,” Lucius speaks up. “I think it is inappropriate for the Styles boy to be seated so far up above esteemed death eaters,” he explains hurriedly. “He’s involved with the daughter of an auror.”

“Now, now, Lucius. We mustn’t judge Harry for being young, hmm?” Voldemort responds, pushing out of his chair and walking around the right. His hand traces the back frames of each of the seats until he stops at Lucius’. “And besides, Severus has told me how vital he had been to the mastery of the connection between cabinets, one that Draco couldn’t achieve on his own.” The last part is tutted out with a deceitful tone, and it ultimately shuts the older Malfoy up. “Now, that we’ve cleared that up,” Voldemort begins, a dark laugh leaving the pit of his throat, “I believe it’s time we-”

The doors sound loudly against the walls, and all seated heads crane their necks towards the wide-open threshold. At first, Voldemort looks peeved. No one in their sane mind would dare interrupt the Dark Lord mid-sentence. However, the moment a man hooded with a burnt green cloak steps out of the shadows, Voldemort’s rotting teeth spread wide in a pleased grin.

Harry’s eyes narrow into the darkened hallway that encompasses the hooded figure. His heartrate quickens as the soles of his shoes heavily pound against the polished floor like mini earthquakes. His hands reach up and grasp his hood, the material scrunching between his fingers as he flips it back to reveal a tired face with deep wrinkles settled in the once youthful skin. 

“No...” Harry whispers disbelievingly to himself, his body being drained of all its color as he takes time to process the image of his father. 

*** They all stand and bow as the Dark Lords makes his grand exit, Bellatrix Lestrange and Lucius following closely behind him like a swarm of bees. The room quickly fills up with secluded conversations all discussing the same topic. Harry keeps to himself, as the variation of sneers and boastful remarks all mesh together as they enter through his ears. His jaw muscle aches under the severe clenching of his back molars. 

Instantly does he feel the regret simmer through him. He’d known that the previous mission would not be his last, but he never thought he’d ever have to go into full-blown combat against the DA. War means only one thing, and he vowed that he’d never do it again.  

From the corner of his eye, he can see someone approaching him. He pulls his hand into a tight fist by his side before coming face to face with him. His father looks at him, stopping just a few feet from where he stands. Getting a closer look, Harry is able to briefly study the dullness in his irises and the way his features pull downwards in a seemingly permanent frown. Yet, the man has the audacity to look him straight in the eyes and smile as though he hadn’t ruined his life. 

“Son,” his father breathes as though he had been holding it in for hours, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and pulling him in for an awkward embrace. Harry remains frozen, the foreign feeling burning through his clothes and leaving his skin to swelter. He blinks a few times, hoping to bite back the feelings that have just unearthed after months of suppression. 

He backs away, shaking his head. “You don’t get to call me that anymore.” His voice is hard. Desmond looks at him incredulously, and it stirs something within Harry. “What? You thought you could just waltz back into our lives like nothing in the past year happened?” he says bitterly. He makes his way towards the exit, shooting is father a look before disappearing into the hallway.   “Harry don’t be so juvenile,” Des reprimands as he follows him out the door, but Harry just scoffs as he continues navigating through the maze of the manor. Him? Childish? It wasn’t him who abandoned his family in favor of someone made with every inch of vileness. 

Suddenly, he’s being forced up against the wall, and his head cracks the glass of a picture frame behind him. The tiredness on his father’s face is replaced with an authoritarian countenance, one that Harry had been exposed so many times before. If before this would’ve scared him, now is different. “I’m still your father, you will show me respect.” 

“Respect.” Harry repeats, shoving Des away into the opposite wall. “What part of you deserves that?” 

*** By the time he makes it to his sister’s flat, Harry’s mind has gone numb and there’s an ache in his back as if he had just fallen off his broom from more than a hundred feet above the ground. His shoulders slump forward as he falls onto one of the white leather couches, his head falling back with his eyes closed as he searches for some sort of relief. He covers his face with his hand, taking long breaths as he tries to calm himself down. The tips of his index finger and thumb settle in the inner corners of his eyes, then drag inwards to pinch at the bridge of his nose. 

“Hey.” He turns his head to see his sister leaning on her side against the wall. 

“Hey.”

Gemma slowly walks over and takes the cushion on his left. At first there’s a silence that surrounds them, with a cloud of unsaid words hanging above them as both stare mindlessly at the photos that adorn the wall across from them. “He’s back,” Harry finally says, a croak coming from deep within him. And as the words reach his ears, he immediately realizes the pain behind each syllable. He leans forward, elbows on his knees and his hands clasp together and knock against his forehead like a sign of prayer.

“You mean-”

“Yes.”

Both remain tight-lipped for the proceeding minutes, but Harry can hear the faintest whimpers sounding from his sister’s throat. He regrets turning to her, the vision of the unsuccessfully suppressed tears glistening in the outer corners of her eyes is enough to break a part of him. He doesn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around her and bring her to cry on his shoulder as his chin rests atop her hair. His eyes close on their own accord as he listens to her weeps and allows for the emotion he had been holding in, to finally reach the surface.

“I hate him for what he’s done,” Gemma says into her hands. She straightens up and furiously wipes the tears from her cheeks. “He broke us. He broke Mum. I can never forgive him for that.” She stands up and paces back and forth in front of the sofa. Harry nods in agreement but lets his voice stay at rest. “I won’t,” his sister states firmly. Gemma sits back in an armchair to Harry’s left, bringing her knees up and hugging them close to her chest. 

She faces away from him, but he can still hear the continuation of her sorrows that creep into the air. This is far from what he’s used to when it comes to her. As children, she’d been the more understanding out of the two of them. No matter how many times her loved ones had failed her in the past, no matter the shortcomings that may have been, she would find it in her to grant forgiveness. However, seeing her put on such a cold front makes him realize that their family truly is wrecked beyond repair. 

Yes, he’s known this to be fact for quite some time now, but the grief that comes with it never fails to send an ache to spiral beneath his chest. 

***

The sight of her sleeping peacefully on the bed is enough to ease away the tensions in his body and whatever it is that had been constricting his lungs. He closes the door behind him, then makes his way over to her. The bed dips down where he sits, and he leans down to press a long chaste kiss to the side of her mouth as he takes in her sweet and comforting scent. His nerves find peace in having her so close to him again, and he thanks the gods that she escaped to the day completely unscathed. 

It’s then his attention turns to focus on her stomach. His palm gently presses on her clothed skin, and his thumb caresses the slightest swell that he isn’t certain is even there. Yet, he wonders if their baby can feel his touch from inside her sleeping mother. Can she sense his presence? Does she feel the immeasurable love he already has for her?

Y/n begins to fuss beneath him, a mumble of his name lingering on her lips as her eyes adjust to the sudden invasion of light on her pupils. As the blurriness vanishes, she gasps when she sees him beside her.

He smiles down at her, running the back of his finger down her cheek. “Hey, pretty girl.” 

“Oh my god,” she cries, immediately bringing him down and wrapping her arms around him, her hand cupping the back his neck and tangling in his soft brown curls. She hugs him closer to her, afraid that this may be all a dream and reality is just as painful as she had left it. 

He cradles her, content with the feeling of her in his arms after a day of hell. “I’m sorry,” he whispers into her skin. His lips linger on her neck as they continue with their embrace. “I’m so sorry.”

She sniffles softly as she kisses the side of his jaw over and over. “I-I was so scared.” He pulls away just enough to see the worry that paints over her features. Her eyes are glossed over like fragile glass and her nose dusted with a pink flush just at the tip. He runs his thumbs under her eyes and presses his lips to hers. She breathes him in, and the feeling of relief finally washes over her as his tongue swipes along her bottom lip. 

“Shh, I know,” he says, the words passing into her mouth as he maintains the kiss. 

They break apart moments later, and he leans his forehead against hers. His eyes fall lower on her body and his heart pounds with anxiousness when he finally decides that the voice in his head is right. He can’t run from this.

Not anymore. 

Not when he can lose the two most precious things in his life in just a span of a second.

He stares back at her, his mouth pulling down at the ends when he looks right into her eyes. “I need to tell you something.” His voice is shaky and breath uneven as he sits both of them up. 

She looks to him with a curious yet apprehensive expression. Her head tilts slightly. She notices the crease between his brows as he stares down to where his hands find hers to hold. It makes her nervous, and the frightening thoughts from earlier that day come fleeting through her mind once again. 

“I love you both so much.” He presses his mouth to the back of her hands, squeezing them gently. 

Both? She’s sure she had heard him clearly, despite his low and almost inaudible tone. “W-what?” she questions, pulling her hands from his and placing them over her chest as though to protect herself.

“Remember when I went to visit my mum a few weeks ago?” She nods slowly. He swallows hard and forces down whatever it is that’s lodged in his throat. “I found out that...” He puffs out a breath, and a hand rests itself on the curves of her waist, while the other reaches up to cup her cheek. She doesn’t pull away from him this time but doesn’t make the effort to fall into him either. He realizes this, and it gives him that final push to come out with it. “It’s not just the two of us anymore.” 

“I don’t understand.” Her eyebrows furrow as she searches his eyes for an explanation. She watches as his jaw clenches and his eyes falter. She follows them. “What are you trying to say?” Her teeth sink into her bottom lip until it’s pale pink––almost lifeless white shade, and her mouth runs dry the longer he takes his time to respond. 

There’s just no way he can phrase the words without wanting to curse himself and this entirely fucked up life he’s led them into. “Y/n,” he starts, “you’re...” His eyes squeeze shut, and he gathers all the courage he has left. “Pregnant.” The silence that falls between them is unnerving. She sits there with her body frigid, the color draining from her face and blood running cold in her veins. 

A deadpan expression encompasses her features. She stares at him as though he had two heads and had neon orange hair. 

She suddenly rises up from the bed and backs herself up against the wall. With her hands falling down to her belly, she thinks back to all the signs she’d come across these last couple of weeks. It’s then her fingers curl harshly around her shirt. The sound of her knuckles cracking in the dead atmosphere of the room alarms him. “I knew something was wrong.” She shakes her head, then raises her arms and digs her nails into her scalp and pulls on her hair. “I should’ve been able to tell.” 

Harry leaps to his feet and pulls her hands down by her wrists. “Love, no. We’d always used the charm, there’s no way we could’ve ever anticipated this.” Her eyes fall to her feet as she continues to shake her head. She feels pathetic where she stands, and it makes hate himself even more for doing this to her. He wraps his arms around her and holds her tightly. She stays limp, her arms hanging at her sides as she stares emptily over his shoulder.

He feels the heat of her tears on his shirt, and despite her lack of vocal presence, he can hear the sobs escalating within her. It makes him tighten his hold on her because doesn’t know what else to do but keep her close to him and let her that he’s there to for her. 

“Talk to me,” he pleads with her. “Tell what you’re thinking.” He buries his face in the crook of her neck and whispers to her. 

“How’d you know?” she asks meekly.

He sighs heavily. “We have a tapestry out back.” His lips form in a thin line when she lets out a quiet snivel. “I suppose my mum went to look at it at some point, and she––she saw her.” 

She lets his words sink in. Her mind does its best to make sense of it all, but it’s becoming harder and harder to grasp as time passes by them. She doesn’t know whether to be angry that he kept this from her for days, disappointed that she hadn’t sensed it herself, or dare she say excited because she’d always fantasized about the idea of motherhood. It’s all too much for her right now, too many of emotions fighting to prevail over the other, and she fears it’ll have her spiraling into something she can’t control. 

“We...” she forces out. Air collects in Harry’s lungs, but it still feels as though they could collapse. “We’re going to have a baby girl?” she wonders innocently. He allows the corners of his mouth to rise up in a small smile.

“Yeah.” He lets out a light chuckle that releases some of his nervousness. “We are.” Her arms wrap around him and unwinds slightly in his hold. 

“I’m scared,” she admits, mumbling into his shirt.

He nods his head numbly. “So am I.”

***

Dear Mum and Dad,

I know you’re probably worried beyond your wits––and who can blame you? The attack on Diagon Alley was something I never thought would ever happen to me, I guess because you guys have always taken such good care of me all these years. It was like a nightmare that I could only hope I would wake up from. I don’t know how else to describe it.

Please know that I am safe, though! I’m thankful that Harry was able to get us out of the ice cream parlour before the explosion. He’s taking good care of me, and you’ll be happy to know that there’s not a scratch on us...well except for this papercut I just got trying to write this letter!

Gemma, Harry’s sister, said that we can stay here for a few days until things calm down, and we can all regain our strength. I already miss you guys like crazy! This morning I woke up and forgot that I wasn’t at home and the memories of the day before suddenly appeared before my eyes, and all I really wanted to do was hug you both.

Which leads me into something that I need to tell you, but it’s also something I have to do in person. There’s no easy way to begin, especially considering that I myself am still trying to fully come to terms with it. Everything around us seems to be turning to black, but now I feel I have added inspiration to fight through it now; and I know you guys will understand why. 

Until then,

Y/n

She folds the paper up neatly, making sure that the corners are well-aligned before sliding it into an envelope. She walks over to the window where Artemis stands ready for her to tie the letter to her leg. 

“You can get this to Dad, won’t you, girl?” She smiles at the owl as she runs the back of her finger down its head and beak. Her white snowy feathers fluttering slightly as she moves pleasingly against her hand. Y/n takes a treat from her pocket and holds it for her to take, to which the owl greedily scoffs it down. “When you get back, I’ll tell Harry to get you a nice juicy mouse!” Artemis lets out an understanding hoot as she takes off from the window sill. Her wings expand, and Y/n can’t help but stare in awe as she glides through the sky. 

***

“I never got to thank you properly,” Harry says. He stands in the archway, a hand stuffed in his pocket, the other holding a cup freshly brewed coffee. Gemma looks up over the top edge of the Prophet. “For what?” she asks, placing the pile of papers down next to her plate of toast and jam. He takes the chair next to her, placing his mug down on the table and staring down into the hot liquid. He pokes his tongue to his cheek; the sides of porcelain being caressed by the pads of his thumb. 

“You know,” Harry shrugs meekly, lifting his doleful eyes to hers. “For taking care of my girls when I couldn’t be there.” 

His sister’s shoulders fall forward. The expression on her face showing nothing but thoughtfulness as she looks back at him with every bit love. “They’re my family now,” she replies, and gives him a side smile as she reaches over and covers his hand with hers. “I know you would’ve done the same had our situations been reversed.” She squeezes his hand once more, making sure to bestow in him an empathy before returning to her reading. 

They sit there at the breakfast table in a restful pattern. Harry continues to take long sips from his coffee, while Gemma is content with flipping through the pages of moving figures. It continues for some minutes, before he hears her click her tongue against the roof of her mouth. 

He lifts an eyebrow as she folds the paper, and it levitates away to place itself neatly on the stack in the corner of the room. She places her elbows on the table, hands folded and tucked under her chin. She gives him roguish a side glance, her mouth open but without words. 

“What is it?” Harry finally asks.

“Are you going to ever tell her about...you know.”

Harry leans back into his chair, the creaking of its wood is the only thing to fill in the silence that falls between them. Despite staring down into his lap, he can still feel her eyes on him, burning holes into his skull and penetrating deep into his mind. He exhales deeply. “I’m afraid she’ll hate me.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.”

“Harry, I’m sure-”

“Gemma,” he cuts her off, running a hand through his hair. “I killed a man.” 

***

Y/n rubs a big circle into the blanket of steam on the bathroom mirror. She studies herself closely, as though expecting for something to be different in the way she looks. Although, she isn’t quite sure what kind of changes to look for. This is a whole new world that’s just opened up before her, and the thought of her and Harry’s child growing inside of her makes her feel an unattainable amount of love in her heart, even in this short amount of time. She’d always wanted to be a mum. Of course, she never expected it to be so soon, but something about it just settles well. 

Her eyes fall onto the reflection of her tummy, and a hand goes to cover it on its own account. “Hi, baby,” she whispers, smiling to herself as she strokes the towel gently with the utmost care. “So, it was you making all those funny things happen all along.” A giggle escapes her. “Already causing mischief like your daddy, aren’t you?” 

She wishes that her baby would do something now, anything to let her know that she can hear the sound of her voice. Harry said she’s just about a month along, so their baby doesn’t have a face on the tapestry just yet. It leaves her in full anticipation and eagerness to know what she’ll look like once she’s here. Part of her still feels guilty for not knowing she’d been in there all this time. Her mum told her that she’d known she was pregnant with her almost immediately, and that had been without the blatant obviousness of what she had been exposed to. 

She readjusts the towel around her chest and steps out into the hallway. The closer she gets to her room, the more she’s able to make out the voices coming from the distance. She stops in front of the bedroom door, and now she can decipher the words being said. 

“Harry, I’m sure-”

“Gemma, I killed a man.” 

It’s like her heart stops mid beat. The air around her becomes harder to breathe in, and she finds herself unable to move. Her breath catches in her throat, and the grip she has on the doorknob loosens until her hand slides off of it like butter. 

“It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t have a choice!” 

“But then why do I still see his face whenever I close my eyes?” 

The conversation comes to an abrupt end when she hears the legs of a chair slide against the floor boards in an awful screech. Her body catches up to her mind and unfreezes, and she can see his shadow coming into view. 

***

He pushes the door open to find her sitting on the bed, hair dripping beads of water down her back and disappearing in the gaps of her towel. Once again, it’s her presence that dilutes the negative energy coursing through his body. His perfect girl, the remedy for all the bad things to happen in his life. He walks towards her and sits down behind her and wraps his arms around her waist. 

“You smell nice,” he mumbles into her shoulder, placing a kiss onto her skin. He fastens his hold on her, breathing out in contentment as he enjoys the feeling of her cooled skin against him. He twirls a particularly long thread between his fingers, amusing himself for just a moment. 

Y/n turns her head slightly. Her hand is shaking underneath the pillow in her lap, and she can only hope that he doesn’t sense anything off about how she barely expand her lungs to full capactiy in her frazzled state. He pokes his nose into her cheek as he trails his lips along her jaw. The feeling of the light stubble on his upper lip sends a shiver from the base of her neck and down her stiff spine.

“How are you feeling?” His husky voice startles her. He looks over her shoulder to where his hands come to rest on her stomach. 

She swallows hard on the lump in her throat. “I’m fine.” 

“Are you sure?” he asks again, this time turning her in his lap to face him. Her eyes evade him, staring down at his shirt, and he notices the teeth marks embedded into her bottom lip. “Love?” 

Hesitantly, she raises her head to look at him. 

“Love, are you okay?” His face fills with worry as he searches her for an answer. “Is it the baby? Are you feeling pains again? Gemma told me you were having them. We can go to St. Mungo’s if there’s something wrong.” His tone is panicked as the questions and statements come out of him all at once. 

This makes Y/n shake her head, a frail tug of her lips as she cups his cheeks and smoothens out the crease between his eyebrows. “No,” she answers honestly. “I’m just feeling a bit tired.” She watches as his appearance becomes less troubled and the muscle in his jaw slackens a great deal. 

“You’re sure?” She nods, and he drops his forehead to rest on her shoulder. “I just don’t want anything happening to you two,” he admits. “I wouldn’t be able to handle it.” 

She feels her chest loosen a bit. 

***

Flaming glass comes hurdling through the air, and the hair-raising screams of wizards and witches alike fill their ears in the aftermath of the explosion. She gets a glimpse of the scene from over Harry’s shoulder as it further unfolds. Her heart pounds like a drum beneath her chest, and her grip on Harry’s arm only intensifies when she looks up to see the almost hostile expression on his face. Her eyes dart to where his bulge at, and they land on the figure dressed head to toe in black attire. The man smirks in their direction.

Who is he? Why had he been following them all through the day? 

So many questions race through her mind as she stands almost paralyzed in the alleyway. 

Harry snaps his head back at her, his face instantly becoming less rigid as he stares into her eyes, but in a way that makes the back of them prickle with an unknowing fear. It’s the way his eyebrows just barely bunch together and how his chest quickly rises and falls as his hands around her hips loosen. “Get her out of here!” he suddenly yells to Gemma. 

“What? No! I’m not leaving without you!” She fights off Gemma’s hold on her and rushes back and attaches herself back onto him. She begs him not to do this. The last thing she wants to do is be away from him, especially in time like this. 

His hands cup her cheeks, and she holds on to his wrists as to keep him with her. “I’ll come find you, okay? But right now, I need you to go with Gemma.” His tone is desperate as the words come rushing out. She can see an equal amount of fear in his eyes before he pulls her closer and presses a kiss to her forehead. “I love you,” he tells her.

She shakes her head, her vision clouded with tears as Gemma pulls are away from him. Her stomach flips, and her knees feel as though they can’t support the weight of her anymore. He runs back onto the main street, despite her calling his name over and over. 

Gemma wraps her arms around her, and she can feel she digs for her wand in her jacket pocket. Just as their bodies disappear into the vortex of apparition, she takes one last look at Harry, but his body consumed by an all too familiar black veil. 

Y/n wakes up in cold sweat, her eyes opening abruptly, only to be met with plain white ceiling. She turns her head to her right where Harry lays asleep with his arm draped over her stomach. The rest of her body turns with her, and she brings a hand to move one of the brown curls away from his forehead. She scans her eyes over his face, wanting to memorize its features. Every mole, the crevices of his dimples, the thickness of his long lashes, and the way his nose wriggles whenever she grazes the tips of her fingers down his jaw. 

Her heart tells her nothing is wrong, that he’s still the same person she fell in love with back on the Hogwarts Express. But her head, her head and all the stupid signs she’s come to face tell her something is different. 

She shuts her eyes. “Please tell me I’m wrong,” she whispers pleadingly. Very carefully, she coordinates herself to get out of their shared bed. Just as her feet touch the floor, Harry start to shift, and ends up on his back. His left arm lies where her body had just been. 

She picks up her wand from the top of the end table, then slowly moves to point it to his bare skin. It feels like hot metal burning through her palm the longer she holds it in that position. “Please,” she whimpers one last time. Her lips form around the first syllable of the word as her hand continues to shake out of focus.

He’s not one of them, he just can’t be. She knows him, almost better than she knows herself. She sees the compassion in him, even when he doesn’t want to admit that he’s kinder than he intends to be because that’s who he is. He’s not like his father or any of those criminals that everyone wants so desperately to associate him with. 

But she’s also afraid. Her world is changing far too quickly, and she’s finding it harder and harder to keep up with the madness of it all. And more importantly, she loves him too much for it to go any other way. 

Her hand brushes through her hair as she drops her wand to her side. “I can’t do it.” The words are mouthed without a stretch from her vocal cords. She sniffles into the neck of her shirt as her hand moves to rest above her abdomen. That’s when she realizes that this is why she has to do it. Needs to. They’re already bringing a child into this world in the middle of a war far deadlier than its predecessor. She can’t afford surprises. Not when the price to pay is this. The tip of her wand hovers back over his forearm. 

“Aparecium.” *** He feels around the bed, searching for her body as his eyes garner the strength to open up to the light of a new day. The side next to him is cold, and he finally peels his lids apart to see the space next to him completely empty. He lets out a sigh and turns onto his back. 

“What’re you doing on the floor?” he asks when he spots her, chuckling lightly as he pulls the covers off. His feet are cold against the floor as he circulates around the bed and bends down in front of her. It’s then he gets a good look at her, and the smile on his face quickly melts away. 

Her eyes are rimmed red, and her lip begins to quiver as she lifts her head up to stare back at him. It’s the way she looks at him, he doesn’t know how to describe it, but it terrifies him. 

Slap.

Her hand harshly comes in contact with his cheek, strong enough to forcibly knocks his head to the side. His eyes grow wide when he snaps back to her, and he’s met with her tears as they furiously fall in an endless stream down onto her shirt. 

She covers her face with her hands and begins to cry, her whole body shaking uncontrollably as she does so. He reaches out to touch her, but she coils and away from him almost immediately as though he were poison. He retracts his arm quickly. His heart shattering and mind racing because this isn’t something he’d ever thought would happen. The gears in his head going into overdrive as he tries to comprehend what the fuck is going on.

And then he sees it. 

His eyes land down onto his arm. His left forearm, ridden of its concealment. The sinister mark on display for the whole world. He quickly looks back to her, and she looks at him through her puffy eyes as she wraps her arms around herself as a barrier to him. It’s as if to tell him to stay away. 

“You’re one of them,” she chokes out. 

He numbly backs away from her until he hits the edge of the bed. His mouth falls open, but he doesn’t have the power to use it. His entire world feels as if it’s just crashed around him all at once.

It’s his greatest fear come to life. 

“You’re one them,” she repeats, only this time he can practically taste the anger in her voice. 

“Y/n, please,” he starts in pure desperation as his emotions become too overwhelming for him to control. “Just-just listen to me. I lo-”

“No!” she screams at him. He squeezes his eyes shut and pulls on the hair on the top of his head. “You lied to me!” With wobbly knees, she stands to her feet, looking down at him with tears veiling her vision. “You’re a liar.”

Harry quickly stands up, pulling her into his chest and clings to her. “Love, no,” he cries, and only growing louder as she attempts to squirm out of his embrace. 

“Let me go!” she yells, but Harry refuses. He cups the back of her hair and frantically declares his love for her in her ear. 

It takes all the strength in her to escape his grasp and push him away. When he tries to approach her, she slaps him.

She slaps him again, then again, and again. His cheek stinging bright red and shining with the tears of his failure. 

Harry falls to his knees and wraps his arms around her lower half as tightly as he can. He can’t let her go, he can’t afford to. No matter how hard she tries to push him away, he’ll only come rushing back. 

“Everything,” she sobs, holding onto the sides of her head because she feels it’s about to explode. “Everything about this relationship is a lie!” 

He shakes his head hysterically against her. “I love you so much. Please, don’t do this. I love you. I love you. Y/n, please. I can’t lose you, not this way. Please, I love you so much.” He cries into the bottom of her shirt and leaves sloppy kisses on the marks of his tears. 

She starts to hit his shoulders, knocking them with her loose fists as she feels the strength in her body drain out of her. She braces herself against the wall, her chest heaving as she breathes out one shaky breath after the next. 

He looks up at her, hoping to find even the faintest of lights in her eyes to give hope that they can make it through this, that this is just a test they need to go through to reach their happy ending. He pleads with her, but it’s like she doesn’t hear him. 

Her face becomes unreadable, but he senses something different about it. She inhales sharply, then all of a sudden she shrieks out in pain. He recedes at arm’s length, his eyes quickly scanning her as his heart quickens in pace. 

A line of blood trails down the inner side of her legs. 

“No, no, no.” He jumps up just in time to catch her in his arms, only for them to land back on the floor. “Gemma!” he shouts towards the door. His girl hunches over and wraps her arms around her stomach. “You’re okay,” he says hurriedly, taking her face in his palm. “You’re okay.” 

Gemma runs into the room, freezing for a moment as she takes in the shock of the image before her. 

“Help her!” Harry screams, and his sister composes herself and orders Harry to get Y/n on the bed. 

Potion flasks swiftly enter the room, too many for Harry to count. Gemma opens the cork a sparkling red one, guiding the nozzle to Y/n’s mouth and lifting her head just high enough for her to drink from it. This seems to relax the pain just enough for her face to soften. 

But the tears in her eyes still continue to flow out. 

He feels so helpless right now. His sister is fully concentrated on his girlfriend, and he’s here standing on the sides. Y/n turns to look at him, but the sight of him makes her breakdown in sobs. 

Gemma pauses mid-incantation and bounces her eyes between the two. 

“You can’t be here right now,” she tells him. 

“I’m not leaving her,” he counters adamantly.

The older Styles lets out a sigh. She shoots her brother a warning look, only to be met with his stubbornness as he refuses to move. Looking back at Y/n, then looking to Harry, she raises her wand and flicks it towards him. 

The walls of the room zoom past in a flash, and suddenly he’s out in the hallway. The door slams shut in front of him, the magnitude of its power enough to rattle the portraits on the walls. 

He’s never felt more worthless.

***

A/N: I KNOW, I KNOW...IT’S BEEN YEARS SINCE I’VE UPDATED. I’m so sorry this took so long, but I hope this was worth the wait!

Anyway, OH MY GOD?? THIS PART THOROUGHLY STRESSED ME OUT AND HOPEFULLY YOU GUYS DON’T HATE ME FOR WHAT JUST HAPPENED :o 

Comments? Questions? Concerns? 

Send them in!

[elliewithcellie]

The One

Summary: At Charlie’s wedding, Dean realizes who he wants to spend the rest of his life with

Characters: Dean x Reader, Sam, Cas, Bobby, Charlie x Trish (OFC)

Word Count: 1,259 

Warnings: FLUFF, bad dancing, two bad words, potential inconsiderate joke

Prompt: "Well, I guess I’ll just gouge my eyes out.”

A/N: Congrats to @fanaticwritings for 2.7K followers! I cannot even fathom. Anyway, I hope you all like this one! It kind of hit me yesterday, and I just went with it. FEEDBACK ROCKS! Let me know what I can improve on!

Check out more of my stuff HERE

***************

“I now pronounce you wife and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

Charlie Bradbury squealed and kissed her new wife, Trish. The crowd of family, friends, and loved ones erupted into cheers and applause. Charlie and her bride ran back down the aisle, glancing at her friends in the second row. Sam, Dean, you, Cas, and Bobby all gleamed with joy for your friend’s monumental moment. The two brides practically skipped to the double doors. Dean grabbed your hand and let his lips press against your knuckles, as you continued to watch the happy couple.

Before the doors slammed shut, Charlie yelled, “See ya at the reception, bitches!”

*******

You walked into the reception hall and could not believe your eyes. The room was decorated with every bit of nerd-dom you could imagine. From Star Wars to Harry Potter, Doctor Who, Sherlock, Star Trek, Merlin, Marvel, DC, they had gone all out to make this wedding their own.

You took your seat in between Dean and Cas and watched the newly-weds share their first dance.

“They look so happy up there,” you whispered, leaning your head to rest on Dean’s shoulder.

Dean kissed your forehead. “Yeah they really do.”

The guests stayed silent as they awed over the love that resonated between the two women, but soon after, the real party began. Upbeat music thundered through the hall and more and more people started to get up to dance. Everyone seemed so happy and carefree up there, dancing their worries away.

“Uh, guys,” Sam began, “is that Eileen over there?”

You laughed. “Yeah, Sam, I think it is. Go talk to her!”

“Should I? I don’t want to push anything.”

“Sam, a conversation doesn’t do any harm. Go for it!” Sam smiled, let out a deep breath, and walked over to Eileen.

“I am going to go ask those children why they insist on calling some kids a duck and one kid a goose.” Without another word, Cas left the table, and you and Dean were the only ones left.

“Ten bucks says the kids get Cas to play Duck Duck Goose with them.”

You snorted. “I would definitely pay to see that.”

The night went on, and the dancing continued, but you and Dean were so engrossed in each other that nothing around you mattered. The two of you talked nonstop for almost the entire night.

“And that’s when I said, ‘I’m Batman.’” You shook with laughter. You could not get enough of Dean. When you finally calmed yourself, you noticed he was staring at you.

“What?”

“Nothing. You’re just gorgeous.”

“Whatever, Dean. You are the pretty one in the relationship.”

“Oh, please, Y/N. I’m serious. I could look into your beautiful eyes for a lifetime if I could.”

You blushed. “My eyes? Dean, your green eyes are absolutely perfect! There is nothing better than your eyes.”

“I think we’re both lucky then.” You and Dean said nothing for a few moments. You just looked at each other, taking in the art that sat before them. After a bit of silence, Dean spoke up. “You know, I’ve been thinking—”

“Uh-oh. You’ve been thinking?” you joked.

“Haha. Anyway, I—”

Just then, something caught your attention. As the first three beats of the next song came on, you squealed.

“It takes two to make a thing go right!”

“OH MY GOSH, DEAN, I CAN’T NOT DANCE TO THIS SONG! I’ll be back, babe!”

Before Dean could get another word out, you ran to the dance floor and started dancing your heart out. You flailed your arms and hopped off beat, and you were causing the whole party to watch you wig out to your favorite song. A few people dug your energy and joined in on the crazy. Eventually, more and more people danced to the 90s hit.

“Y/N, what the HELL are you doing up there?” Dean called out from his chair.

“I’m dancing, Dean. You should try it!”

“You look like you escaped an insane asylum!”

“If you hate it so much, look away because I’m living my best life!” you responded, out of breath but never taking a moment to quit dancing.

“Well, I guess I’ll just gouge my eyes out.” But Dean didn’t look away. He wasn’t even a little embarrassed. He watched you truly enjoy yourself, affection filling his heart. Dean barely noticed Bobby taking a seat next to him.

“Your girl has no shame.”

Dean couldn’t even turn away from you when he replied, “Not even a little.”

The two of them sat watching you get your freak on, when Bobby spoke up again. “She’s the one, huh.”

Dean felt like the air got sucked from his lungs. He nodded slowly and turned to Bobby.

“I’ve never met someone so full of life and joy. Because of her, I’m actually excited to wake up in the morning just to see what adventure is in store for us. Sometimes it’s planned; sometimes it’s a shock to us both; sometimes the adventure stays at home in front of the TV. Bobby, she has this glow, this energy, that I’ve never seen before. Her smile and laughter are what I live for. She’s always seeing the bright side of things and reminding me that everything will work out. I never thought I was a hugger until I had a(n) Y/N hug. Now I can’t get enough of them. But her eyes. It doesn’t matter what she says about them, I’ve never wanted to look at anything more than I do her eyes. Most of all, I am in love with her strength. She has the confidence to dance like a freaking idiot without a single thought of what anyone thinks. But more than that, she’s tough, brave, resilient, and a fighter. Bobby, I have to marry her!”

Bobby chuckled. “Slow down, ya idjit! Boy, you got it bad. You can worry about that later, but right now, she’s alone up there, and it’s a couple’s dance. Why don’t you show her how much she means to you?”

Dean looked back over at you. You wiped the sweat-stuck hair from your forehead and slowly made your way back to the table. Dean smiled at Bobby. “Thanks.”

He stood up and met you halfway. He took your hand in his and led you back to the floor. He placed your hands around his shoulders and let his fall above your hips.

“What’s all this, Romeo?”

“It’s a couple’s dance, isn’t it?”

You hummed in response and swayed slightly side to side, allowing the sweet melody of Norah Jones’ “Come Away with Me” to flow through you both.

You looked over at Charlie and Trish. Their eyes remained closed as they kept their foreheads close together, the love between them radiating to everyone surrounding them.

“I want that with us,” Dean whispered. “I want a life with you by my side ‘til the end. I want to have the privilege of calling you mine for the rest of my days.”

You looked up at him, nothing but adoration in your eyes. Dean leaned in closer, just enough to brush his lips against yours for a moment. The kiss was so gentle yet explained to you everything he wanted you to believe. He held you close as you danced together, moving in sync leisurely to the slow song that carried out the night.

“Is this a proposal?”

“Not yet, but it’s coming. For now, I’m going to hold you in my arms and love you with all my heart.”

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@twelvedaysofjilychristmas

Prompt #1: wedding day

Rating: G | Word Count: 1,844 | AO3: read here | canon

For @prongsno who has the sweetest smile and kindest heart. 

I know this is late (and all of them are going to be late, apologies in advance) but, it’s here now, finally, and I hope you can all pretend the ending is good.

They choose June and the sun is gold on her skin and when he wakes up he thinks he’s fallen into a dragon’s hoard. James watches her for a minute, hand ghosting along her cheek, brushing strands of hair behind her ear. He can’t believe it’s almost here.

“Morning,” she murmurs, and he smiles, closing the gap between them to press a kiss to her lips. “Your breath smells.”

“So does yours.” He whispers it into her neck, kissing down to her collarbone.

“We’re getting married tomorrow,” Lily rolls onto her back and he props himself up on his elbow beside her.

James can’t contain his smile, “finally.”

The door bangs open and Sirius sighs dramatically as he realises that the covers are halfway down their bodies and they’re both naked. “Please,” he collapses against the door frame, “there are children in the house.”

“Don’t call Pete a child, you know it upsets him.”

“It’s almost as if that’s the point.” Sirius crosses his arms and raises his eyebrow until James and Lily concede and pull the duvet up over themselves. “Thank you. Now, get up, get dressed and get ready to get married. Breakfast is being served in ten.”

“I thought you didn’t care!” James yells as Sirius slams the door behind him.

His response comes without hesitation, “I don’t!”

“I guess we better get up them,” Lily stretches her arms above her head and he takes the opportunity to bury his face in her neck again.

“You know they’re not going to let us see each other until tomorrow morning once breakfast is finished don’t you?” The words tickle her throat and she gently pushes him away.

“You think you’ll be able to survive that long without me?”

“I’m marrying Lily Evans tomorrow. Anything’s possible.”

It is strange, not spending the day and night with each other. Usually the only time they’re apart these days is on missions. No one gives them any time to think about it though. James’ house is full and it’s enough of a task to keep them at either end of it, James confined to the East Wing and Lily to the West.

Euphemia flits between the two ends, keeping everything in order and occasionally forcing tasters down people’s throats, catching them unawares.

“You do know it’s an intimate gathering don’t you mum?” James calls after her as she scurries away after attacking him with a spoonful of mousse. Judging from the amount of food he’s tried, she’s cooking for no less than a hundred.

The boys are spread across the library, Sirius browsing through the books on Latin poetry whilst Peter attempts to throw confetti into Remus’ tea. They’re meant to be working out the best way to set up the marquee but it’s simple magic and it’s much more interesting to just be together. If James closes his eyes, he can imagine that they’re third years again, sat in their dorm room after a long day of trying to annoy Filch.

“Are we going to le-“ Remus starts, only to be interrupted by James and Sirius at the same time.

“Anyone fancy a trip to the village?”

Marlene sees them leave, they’re sneaking not so great when the Potter household has about a hundred windows looking over every bit of surrounding land. “They’re off.” She announces to the room, spinning around with her hand stretched out. “Money please.”

“No way –“ Mary leaps up to look out the window but, sure enough, the four of them are running across the front lawn towards the protective perimeter. “Bloody Merlin.” She reaches into her pocket and hands Marlene two galleons.

“I can’t believe you thought they’d last longer than an hour MacDonald,” Marlene tuts.

“Amateur.” Lily laughs from her seat in front of the fireplace, not even looking up.

“If they’ve left, does that mean we can start drinking?” They’re meant to be making sure Lily’s dress fits, but it does and it’s a lot easier to just be together.

“I don’t see why not.” Mary flicks her wrist and the bottle of champagne on the table pops open and pours itself into three glasses. “To Lily and James.”

-

The day plays itself away and before long it’s the next morning and they’re disapparating, everyone crossing the perimeter in groups of no less than three.

Ideally, they would have married in the garden, or at Hogwarts if James’ drunken ramblings were anything to go off, but it was too dangerous. The whole Order was invited and it was too risky for everyone to be at a known location. So Wales it was.

Lily and Remus had found a perfect spot. Isolated and beautiful, there was a small cottage, abandoned or at least empty for the summer, on the edge of a meadow filled with dainty wild flowers. That’s where the girls wait whilst the boys set up the marquee in the meadow and Euphemia and Fleamont transport all the food and drink over with the help of their house elf.

Peter pulls chairs from thin air and orders them into rows, enough to fit the Order and a handful more, whilst Sirius and James magic an arch to stand in as an altar and Remus goes over the perimeter one more time.

“You sure about this?” Sirius asks as he and James lower their wands to admire their finished work.

James looks at him, sharp. “What does that mean.”

Sirius’ shrugs. “Everyone else is. Isn’t it the best man’s job to make sure the groom doesn’t get cold feet?”

“How are your feet feeling?”

“Like they regret asking the question,” Sirius runs a hand through his hair and the gesture is so borrowed that James loses focus for a second. “You know what I think about Evans. You know what I think about you two together.” And, even though Sirius has never said, not outright, James does know. “Then you don’t need to ask how my feet are feeling.”

-

People begin to arrive as the sun sets, apparating outside the perimeter and answering Remus and Peter’s security questions as they pass through. Lily watches from the window as they take their seats, eyes flicking from person to person, looking for anything suspicious.

Nothing was going to go wrong. She knew this. But she couldn’t stop herself from worrying. All of them, together, in one place, it was dangerous. Dumbledore had almost told them they couldn’t invite everyone and then McGonagall had pulled him aside for a word. Lily spots the Transfiguration professor now, being wrapped up in a hug by James. Although she’s too far away to see McGonagall’s face, Lily knows she’s holding back a smile.

“Ready?” Remus’ voice makes her turn and she smiles at him, shrugging.

“I think I’ve been ready for a while. What do you think?” She grabs at her dress and holds out the skirt, twirling for him.

“I think you look beautiful.”

She laughs, “thank you.”

He holds out her hand for her and she takes it, grateful that it’s him walking down her the aisle. As a girl, she’d always thought it would be her dad next to her on her wedding day but his death last year had taken that away from her.

Remus had been shocked when she asked, of course. But he’d said yes.

“You look good too. Very handsome,” she tells him as they walk down the stairs to join Marlene and Mary.

“I’ve heard the rumours about weddings, thought I’d put some effort in,” he pretends to puff out his chest and she rolls her eyes.

“Who knew the marauders could scrub up so well?” They’re wearing matching dress robes, the only difference the tiny animal footprints embroidered on their collars. You’d have to lean in closely to see them and Lily hadn’t been surprised to find out they were Sirius’ idea.

“Everyone.” Marlene says, impatient. “Now hurry up, you can’t be late to your own wedding.”

“They’re literally right outside Marls, it’s fine.” Lily reassures her bridesmaid.

“Well let’s get outside then.”

Mary shoves Marlene’s boquet into her hand and pushes her through the door, “Follow us in 20 seconds, okay? Good luck.” She gives Lily a bright smile and then follows Marlene who, unable to react now everyone seated has turned around to watch the cottage, is walking slowly towards the aisle.

“20 seconds to run.” Remus whispers.

“You scared you’re going to lose Potter to me?”

“You know when you say ‘I do’ that you’re saying it to all four of us, Evans, don’t be daft.”

“I do.” She looks up at him with a grin and he nudges her shoulder.

“Time to go.”

The walk up the aisle felt like forever. It was only a few metres long but, it was too many metres away from him. She’s wearing snitch earrings and is pretty sure this is why James is crying when she reaches him at the altar.

“Look after her,” Remus says as he kisses Lily on the cheek then goes to stand behind Sirius. James manages a strangled ‘shut up’ before he snatches up Lily’s hand and pulls her in for a quick kiss.

Their guests titter, and Euphemia tells James to behave, but Lily doesn’t mind that he’s not meant to kiss her until later.

The minister clears his throat and James steps back, sheepish. “It’s been a while.”

“24 hours.” Sirius mutters behind him.

The minister clears his throat again and starts to talk, but Lily isn’t listening to any of it. She’s too busy staring at James, her fiancé, her James, her soon to be husband. She knows he isn’t listening to a word either because he’s too busy grinning and Lily has never loved a smile more.

“ –the rings.” Peter steps forward and they tear their eyes away from each other to accept the rings, simple gold bands with each other’s name inscribed on the inside.

It’s a haze as they slip the rings onto each other’s fingers and the minister gets them to repeat their vows, simple, muggle ones, and then suddenly they’re saying ‘I do’ and Lily realises she’s crying and laughing as James dips and kisses her, softly and furiously all at once.

She can hear clapping in the background but, as he pulls away, James whispers “I love you Mrs Potter,” into her ear and she hears that as loud as a crescendo, in her ear, in her veins, in her heart.

“Stop hogging the bride,” then Sirius is pulling them apart and scooping her up and spinning her around and it’s the first time she’s seen him smile in months and it’s brighter than all of the lanterns hovering above them.

“Give over Padfoot.” James calls and she’s back on the ground next to him, between her boys, and someone’s taking a photo but all she can see is James and all she can hear is their laughter and when McGonagall had told Dumbledore ‘it’s more than a wedding, it’s hope’ Lily hadn’t understood but, now, as Lily Potter, she does.

[mad-ramblings]

Unexpected

Anon request:  Hey Doll! Please could you do a Harry Hart x reader where the Kingsman ( Harry, Merlin, Eggsy and Roxy ) have to go back to Harry's house during an emergency so they can use his laptop and they meet Harry's secret wife there, the reader :D Thanks Angel!

A/N: I liked writing this. Maybe too much. I just really love Harry Hart okay?

(Y/N) was sitting upstairs in the study reading the newest book Harry had bought her. It was something she loved about him. Every anniversary, he would buy her a new book, and she would buy him the latest field guide on butterflies.

She knew that her husband worked at the Kingsman tailor shop, but also knew that there was no way he was a tailor. She never knew of a tailor that went away on month long business trips and then came back with a few scrapes and bruises. He wouldn’t tell her his exact job, but as long as he came back alive, that’s all she cared about.

As (Y/N) was reading, she didn’t hear the front door open or close. Downstairs, Eggsy and Roxy walked into Harry and (Y/N)’s living room. “Alright Merlin, we’re in. Where’s Galahad’s laptop?” Roxy said.

“It should be upstairs in his personal study.” He replied. “Up the stairs, down the hall, second door on the right.

“Got’cha Merlin. What do we need to do once we find it?” Eggsy asked, quickly making his way up the stairs.

While the subtle noise of the door opening and closing when unnoticed by (Y/N), the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs certainly caught her attention. She wasn’t expect any guests today and Harry is never home this early. She crept towards the desk on the other side of the room and quietly took one of the hidden pistols out of its secret compartment. She cocked the gun and aimed it towards the door, ready to fire if need be.

Eggsy and Roxy got to the door of the study and opened the door. Eggsy had been in the room before and wasn’t expecting to be surprised with a gun being pointed at him. Roxy and Eggsy both pulled out their pistols as soon as they figured out the situation they were in and were prepared to shoot at the strange woman standing in front of them in their college’s office, that was until Merlin’s voice shouted out.

“Do not fire! Put away your weapons, both of you.”

Eggsy looked perplexed and asked “But Merlin she’s-”

Roxy put a hand on his shoulder. “Eggsy, do what he says. Just look at her.” They both shared a glance at the woman, her own gun slightly lowered now, but her eyes still tinged with fear. Roxy put her gun back in its holster and then turned back to the woman. “Hello there. We aren’t going to hurt you.”

(Y/N) lowered her gun just a bit more and asked, “What are you two doing in my house?”

Roxy and Eggsy turned to each other with a confused look. Her house? But this house belonged to whoever was agent Galahad?

“I always knew this would happen. Sooner or later.”

All three people turned to see where the new voice was coming from. There was Harry standing in the door frame.

“Roxy, Eggsy, I’d like for you to meet (Y/N) Hart. My wife.” He said casually walking across the room to her, putting his hand against the small of her back when he got to her.

Roxy stared on in silence, mouth slightly agape while Eggsy stood there sputtering.

“You have a wife!? Since when? Merlin did you know about this??”

By now Merlin had tapped into the speaker system in the study and his voice seemed to come from the walls. “Of course I did. I was the best man at his wedding. Terribly sorry for the fright (Y/N), didn’t know you were home. I would’ve warned you.”

“Oh it’s alright Hamish, I decided to take off work today and didn’t tell Harry. Anyway, don’t let me keep you from... Whatever it is you lot are doing.” She picked up her book and walked past Harry giving him a quick peck on the cheek.

Roxy and Eggsy watched the two interact, both still in a state of shock.

“So,” Roxy started, “how long have you two been married?”

A smile tugging at the corners of his lips and a glimmer of love and adoration in his eyes as he watched his wife walk away, Harry replied “Ten years as of yesterday.”

“You’ve been married for ten years? How has nobody known? Why don’t you wear a ring?” Eggsy questioned, becoming more and more confused with each question. 

Harry said nothing at first. He slipped a few fingers underneath the collar of his shirt and pulled out a small, silver chain with a gold band on it, showing it to Roxy and Eggsy. “The treasures in a man’s life are best kept to himself, Eggsy.” He put the chain back in place and strolled over to his laptop on the desk, sitting down in front of it. “Now then, we have a world to save. Let’s get to it.”

[craft-rose]

anomaly (pt. 6)

Title: anomaly 

Pairing: Reader + Jungkook

Rated: M

Type: Covenant!AU

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

You awoke to the sound of your alarm.

The sound was both loud and piercing to the ears. Probing at the nightstand, you grabbed your phone and swiped your thumb across the screen, turning off the Harry Potter theme, which, upon having made it your ringtone, you had slowly come to despise with every ounce of your soul.

You considered going back to sleep, shifting your attention to the window as you turned over. Going by the pale skies, and the cars in the driveway, it was still really early. The group members were undoubtedly asleep, tucked away in their bedrooms on the second floor of the house.

I really have to pee. 

Although Yoongi had given you permission to spend the night, he had told you nothing of the layout, the rules, where to find the nearest bathroom in case you needed it, etc.

Fuck. 

Unable to ignore your bladder any longer, you got up and out of bed, tiptoeing across the guest room and through the long, dimly lit hallway, clutching your overnight bag to your chest. To your relief, the hallway was empty. There was no one. Not a sound. Just the echo your own footsteps as you opened and closed a few doors, in search of the nearest bathroom. As you approached the door on the far end of the hallway, past the living room and the kitchen, and what appeared to be the room where the boys kept their gifts from ARMY, you heard something.

Music.

It was faint, so faint you almost missed it, but you recognized the rhythm. Your roommate, Erin, had listened that exact song for weeks after it was released. Every morning and every night. At the time you thought you hated it, but hearing it now, after everything that happened to you the past couple of days, you found it comforting, strangely.

Coming towards the door, you opened it, just a crack.

There was a dance room inside. It wasn’t as large as the one in those dance practice videos that Erin used to binge watch, but it was sizeable enough that you didn’t immediately notice the young man inside, in front of the mirror.

His hair was stringy and tangled, his face was bare, and he was dressed in sweats. By the look of him alone, you figured he had been in there a long time, running through choreography, releasing the buildup of stress that he had instinctively held in throughout the weeks. 

In large part, you knew it was wrong to invade his space like this, but you couldn’t look away.

You had no idea he was such a good dancer.

It was only when the music stopped, that you snapped out of it.

“Y/N?” Jungkook asked, looking at you through the reflection in the mirror.

You froze. “S-sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just — I was looking for the bathroom and I-I —”

“Down the hall on your right,” he cut in, rather curtly.

Skin prickling with embarrassment, you nodded to him in thanks on your way out. Dragging the door shut behind you, you realized how crazy you must have looked, staring at him like a rabid sasaeng fan in the shadows.

Whatever chance I had is gone, you thought, face screwing immediately after. Chance? What am I saying? I need to shut up.

You took a sharp right, happening upon the bathroom in the few seconds that followed. Quickly closing the door, you glanced at yourself in the mirror above the sink. Naturally you looked a mess. A tangled, swollen, half-awake mess. 

Great.

With only your toothbrush and a single change of clothes at your disposal, you made quick work of your morning routine, checking your phone every couple of seconds to see if either your aunt or your roommate had replied to the texts you had sent them.

It was still reasonably early. You suspected they were still asleep. But the longer you waited, the more you worried. Last you checked, your aunt and niece had made it safely to the island. As for your roommate, Erin, you had no idea if she had made it to her parents’ house.

Looping your hair into a topknot, you took one last look in the bathroom mirror — only slightly less messy than before — and wrapped your fingers around the doorknob, twisting it open to find a string-haired guy leaning against the wall, a couple of feet away, his hands in his pockets and his head tilted down.

The second you stepped out, he glanced up.

Your stomach felt as if it had flipped inside out. “S-sorry. I didn't know you were waiting.”

“I wasn’t,” Jungkook uttered to you, straightening his posture. “Waiting for the bathroom, I mean.”

“Oh ...” 

There was a second or two of silence before he said the rest.

“I was thinking of heading out soon,” he explained, darting a quick, unobtrusive look at you. “Do you want to come?”

Your eyebrows twitched up. “Now?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s okay if you don’t want to. I just thought since we’re both up —”

“I want to,” You interjected, a little too quickly for your liking. “I mean if you want me to, then I want to. But if you don’t, it’s completely okay.”

He pressed his lips together, presumably to keep from laughing. “Meet me in ten?”

Cringing at yourself, you nodded. “In ten.”

There were traces of morning light pouring in through the gaps between the blinds, illuminating the empty, two-bedroom apartment. Yoongi tiptoed inside, softly pressing the front door closed as he had a look around. To his surprise, there were no signs of forced entry. Anywhere. The locks on the windows and the doors, were all in tact. Going by the dust outlines along the floors and tables, not a single piece of furniture, nor a single photograph or household ornament, was out of place.

Everything was exactly the way the two girls had left it, down to the day-old, half-eaten bagel on the kitchen table.

Yoongi resisted the urge to throw it out, instead shifting his attention to the bottle of ibuprofen on the counter. There was a glass of water beside it. Hesitating for only a moment, the young rapper placed his hand over the glass, allowing his fingers to hover just an inch over the lip prints along the rim.

Within seconds, he deduced the lip prints belonged to you — not the hunter he had come looking for.

Unlike the hunters he had dealt with in the past, this one seemed to move differently. They left no trace behind, not one indication that they even existed. He had only your word and the reports of that other girl who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

B-bzz. B-bzz.

Snapping out of it, Yoongi glanced down at his phone.

From: Kim Namjoon

No practice today. Seokjin and I are going to investigate Third Street if you want to come.

The other guys were suspicious of a hunter as well. He knew he should have told them about you the moment he found you outside of the house, but for some reason he hadn’t. Either for you, for Jungkook, or for himself. He didn't know anymore.

Sliding his phone into his back pocket, he turned around to leave, stopping dead in his tracks the second he heard it.

Creak.

The sun had just barely risen, and the city was slowly coming to life, early birds either heading to work or going out for their morning jog.

You weren't one for exercise. Erin was always going to yoga and trying out new, trendy workouts but you had always preferred exercising your mind over your body.

As expected, Jungkook was definitely more of an Erin type.

“How much longer?” You asked, losing breath as you embarked your third lap around the park.

Having just caught wind of how grossly out of shape you were, Jungkook turned around, jogging backwards as if completely at your expense. “Oh, come on. We’re only just getting started.”

“Wh-when you asked if I wanted to h-head out, I-I thought you meant b-breakfast — not military t-training,” You panted, only half joking.

He chuckled. “This isn’t even close to what they do in the military.”

“H-how would you know? You’re a b-baby.”

“I’ve seen videos,” he shrugged, finally slowing to a stop. “Five minute water break and then we move on to burpees.”

You groaned, crumpling down on the pavement as a few joggers passed by. To your surprise they were completely unshaken by the sight of Jungkook. You knew for a fact the reaction would have been different in your area. There would have been riots on the streets, buildings torched down to the ground, thousands of screaming middle schoolers racing to find their favourite member.

The thought of it alone, gave you shivers.

Suffice to say, Bangtan lived in a different part of the city. The people in their neighbourhood were probably used to seeing idols, and the park itself was gated, permitted only to people who lived in the area.

“I don’t know what burpees are, but they sound like a fucking nightmare,” You countered, slowly coming to your feet. “One more lap and we get ice cream.”

Jungkook took a swig from his water bottle, tossing it to you. “Five more laps and we get high-protein vegan shakes.”

Just the sound of that made your heart hurt. “I might actually hate you.”

“Good,” he smirked, breaking out into a jog. “Break’s over!”

“But it hasn’t been five minutes yet!” You called out, to no avail.

Twenty minutes and five laps later, you collapsed on the grass, morning light pouring over you as you closed your eyes, ready to knock the fuck out. The last time you had worked out so hard, you were in high school, and your PE teacher had made you do laps for coming late to class.

“See. That wasn’t so bad, was it?” the idol asked, sitting down beside you.

You opened your eyes specifically to glare at him. “If this is your way of telling me that I should lose weight, I swear to Merlin, the moment we get back to the house, I’m going to squat over your bed and take the most disgusting vegan sh —”

“This has nothing to do with your weight,” he interjected, plainly.

Your face screwed “Then why are we here?”

For a split second he just looked at you, and you truly thought he was going to laugh, dig into the insecurities that you had buried deep into your subconscious — not that you really cared. 

If he wanted to spend his life dieting and exercising, he had every right to do just that. You felt zero inclination to change. For him or anyone else.

The moment you opened your mouth to tell him that, he plucked a dandelion from the grass and placed the yellow flower in your palm, the petals slightly wilted.

Glancing down at it, you felt your chest squeeze. “What’s this for?”

Eyes on you, he answered. “Do you remember that night in the café, when you defended yourself against Cameron?”

You fell silent at the memory, nodding.

“You felt this weird sort of energy that you couldn’t control. Like adrenaline, but stronger. Right?” 

Again, you simply nodded, stomach knotting as you thought of Cameron, his hands around your neck.

Without a moment left to waste, Jungkook glanced down at the dandelion and carefully grazed his fingertips along the wilted petals. You had no idea what he was doing, only that everything else in the park had somehow faded into the background. The world was mute. It was just the two of you, the dandelion in the palm of your hand, and Jungkook’s dark brown eyes fixed on you as you glanced down at the dandelion, your breath catching in the back of your throat as the petals slowly came back to life, bright and vibrant as ever.

“W-wait — Did you just —You didn’t just —”

“I did,” he said, in quiet observation of the shock and wonder in your eyes. “And you can, too. Using the same energy that kept you alive that night.” 

You had no idea what to say, how to verbalize the feelings that were shooting through you.

“So, it’s real? Everything you said to me before? There — there’s some kind of weird magic shit inside me that just exploded that night?”

He nodded. “I can teach you to harness that weird magic shit, take control of it.”

You peeled your lips apart as if to ask him a thousand questions at once, but only one managed to escape. “How do I get rid of it?”

His expression changed, but only for a second. “You can’t,” he uttered to you. “I get that it’s a lot to handle, especially when you’ve been living in the dark all your life, but it’s important that you learn to control it. You don’t want it to overwhelm you.” 

“Like that night at the café,” You came to realize, swallowing the rush of emotions. “I just — it came out of nowhere.”

“It was dormant for a long time. As crazy as it is to say, when Cameron attacked you, he woke you up.”

You spared a moment to think, to let his words sink in. “So, without adrenaline, it doesn’t work? I can’t use the weird magic shit?”

“With practice, you can use whenever you want,” he said. “But it is easier when you’re charged up.”

“That explains the laps,” You realized, feeling all sorts of stupid.

Without saying anything — not one ‘I told you so’ — the idol turned his body towards you, just a foot of distance between the two of you as he held his hands out, palms facing up. You looked up at him with question marks in your eyes.

“It won’t be like last time,” he said. “I promise.”

For whatever reason, you believed him.

Carefully placing your hands in his, you closed your eyes, and you waited. The last time you had joined hands with him, you ended up leaving his house, enraged by the things he had said to you, and ultimately terrified of what it all meant. But this time was different. Your chest hitched as he lowered his hands, positioning them so they hovering about half an inch beneath yours.

At first you felt nothing. Just the lingering warmth of his palms and fingers.

It was only as you released the breath you had been holding in, that you felt it. 

That strange, inexplicable pull that you had felt on the train, at the café and in the guest room the previous night — concentrated between your hands in his. You couldn’t decide whether it felt hot or cold, firm or soft, good or bad, only that it was particular to Jungkook, and that, strange as it was, you didn’t want it to end.

When he finally pulled away, you unconsciously leaned forward, eyes flying open.

“Holy shit …” You breathed, blinking up at him. “Wh-what was that?”

“That’s what happens when people like us come together,” he explained. “The energy becomes stronger, heightened.”

“What are we exactly? Vampires, werewolves, zombies?”

He couldn’t help but laugh. “No, none of those. We don’t have a name.”

“Why is that?”

“Our existence is meant to be kept secret. It’s hard to do that when there’s a name attached.”

You were silent for a second, absorbing the information only to feel a tiny vibration in the pocket of your coat. Erin, you thought, hurriedly retrieving your phone and glancing at the screen.

From: Unknown Sender

You look beautiful today.

Throat clenching, you darted a look over your shoulder, and around every inch of the park that you could see from where you were. There was no one. Just a few joggers and the idol in front of you.

“What’s wrong?” Jungkook finally asked.

You swallowed the anxious lump in your throat, passing your phone to him. “He’s been taunting me since last night. I tried calling the number once, before I fell asleep, but the call didn’t go through.”

He examined that message, and the others, chewing his bottom lip in thought.

“Should we go?” You asked, glancing around again, the inside of your stomach beginning to twist.

Jungkook stayed silent, handing your phone back a moment later. “Yeah, let’s get out of here,” he said, to your complete and utter relief. “It’s time you meet the guys.”

[fantasticnewtimagines]

*I Wouldn’t Change A Thing* Newt x reader

◘ anonymous asked:

I really like your writing a lot. I was wondering if you could write about the reader being very self conscious of her body. She doesn't feel like she's pretty and only sees are her flaws. She continuously compares herself to Queenie and Tina and believe that she has no chance with Newt since she's not as pretty as the sisters. One night Newt walks in on her as she stares at herself in the mirror prodding at her body and he finds out about her low self esteem and comforts her.

♥ I have also written something similar to this you can read here!

❤ Always remember that you’re beautiful just the way you are. I hope this helps whoever is dealing with low self esteem. We are all beautiful people in our own way, shape and form. There is no one right way to look.

WARNINGS: Please, only read if you feel like you are in a good place emotionally. Take note that I in NO WAY want anyone to feel as if any of this is something negative. No one’s body is perfect and no one size is perfect. We are all beautiful. 

It felt as if you’d been sitting here for years. The same couch in the same living room with the same people. Glancing up, you saw Queenie’s breathtaking smile as she giggled along to the story Newt was telling. In all honesty, you had no idea what he was talking about. You hadn’t been paying attention for almost ten minutes now. How could you? Every time you tried all you could do was glance over at either Goldstein sister and notice how perfect and beautiful they were.

Queenie’s perfectly manicured curls and her dazzling smile... Tina’s petite form and her porcelain smooth skin.... You were nothing compared to them. 

“Care for some more tea, honey?” Queenie broke you from your trance as she smiled over at you, the pot of tea resting in her delicate hands. 

You felt your words get caught in your throat as you managed to reply, “n-no thank you...” 

All eyes were on you now and you suddenly pushed yourself up, brushing your hair from your face as you excused yourself. 

“I-I’m actually really tired. I’m gonna head to bed. G-goodnight, everyone.”

No one had the chance to even respond before you disappeared around the corner and in to your guest room. Leaning up against the door you felt your entire inside begin to crumble. How were Tina and Queenie so perfect? So beautiful? There was not a single flaw about them. It was no wonder Newt loved them. 

Gently walking across the room, you kicked your heels off and looked up to see your reflection in the fun length mirror in front of you. As you looked back at yourself all you could find was the enormous amount of flaws and imperfections staring back at you. 

Your hair wasn’t curly, your skin not completely smooth or clear. As your hands skimmed across your face and down your neck, you paused as they landed on your waist. Your awful, imperfect waist. 

You’d always admired Tina’s tiny form. It was something any girl would want. She looked fragile and oh so feminine. When you stood next to her you felt like a troll. A disgusting, imperfect troll. 

Your fingers found the buttons to your blouse and as you carefully untucked it from your skirt, you pushed it back now revealing your bare skin. The sight in front of you made tears swell up in to your eyes. There was so much of you. 

Grabbing at your stomach, you felt the tears begin to spill down your cheeks as the thoughts in your head began to swirl around; growing louder and louder. 

Newt could never find you beautiful

Newt could never love someone as ugly as you.

Tina is so much prettier.

Queenie is every man’s dream. 

You’re nothing compared to them.

Newt will never find you pretty.

The thoughts kept spilling in as you wandered to your arms and legs, grabbing at anything you could and comparing it to the Goldstein sisters.

It was true... you were hideous. Newt would never love you.

“Is everything okay with Y/N?” Placing the tea pot on the side table, Queenie glanced from Tina to Newt, a sad look in eyes as she felt ashamed that she would miss any of your thoughts that could have led to you leaving so abruptly. 

“I... I don’t know....” Glancing over the couch, Newt began to worry as he had never seen you so quiet and lost in thought. 

“M-maybe someone should go check on her?” Tina said, almost a whisper. 

Newt knew it should be him. He was your best friend and even though he didn’t say it too often, he truly cared for you... deeply. 

Pushing himself up from the couch he slowly and quietly made his way towards the door to your room. His hand reached out, brushing the handle softly before he paused and took in a deep breath. His concern for you grew with each passing second and as he pushed open the door, he paused as he saw you standing before your mirror, your blouse unbuttoned and exposing your entire top half. 

He forgot to knock. 

“Oh-” Averting his eyes down, Newt shut his eyes, his cheeks burning from the bright red they were now turning. “I- I’m so sorry...” Looking back up, Newt locked eyes with yours in the reflection of the mirror and nearly crumbled at the sight. 

Red and wet, your hurting eyes looked back in to his before you grabbed your blouse and pulled it over your exposed skin. You felt ashamed and disgusting. Now Newt had seen you in your most un-appealing form. 

“Y/N....” Newt’s hand dropped from the door handle as he began to walk towards you. You hid your face and turned away and attempted to make a bee line towards the bathroom. “Y/N, please...” Reaching out as you attempted to glide past him, Newt gently grabbed your arm an held you in place his eyes trying to find your face as you turned away and sniffled. 

“Please, Newt,” You whispered, “Please let me go....”

“No.”

Your entire body tensed at his response. He gently pulled you towards him, his hand coming up to brush the hair from your face. He knew what you were doing. He knew what you were feeling. It was all to obvious.

“You don’t need to do this...” He said gently, his hand stopping and resting under you chin as he tenderly tilted your head up to meet his gaze. “There’s nothing about you that isn’t beautiful. Every part of you is.”

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you shut your eyes and shook your head. He was wrong. He was so wrong.

His thumb came up to brush the tears away, his other hand still under your chin. 

“No, Newt,” you began, “I’m hideous. You saw... I’m nothing like Tina or Queenie...”

“Tina or Queenie?”

You nodded, hugging your arms around you tighter now. “They’re perfect...”

“The only person I see who is perfect, is you.”

Why did he have to lie? Newt was too nice for his own good. 

Attempting to break free from his grip, you began to cry even more as Newt only held on tighter. Giving up, you finally caved. Your legs became weak and you slipped to the ground, Newt following. His arms wrapped around you and pulled you in close as you cried. Your trembling body made him feel helpless and he fought to hold back tears of his own. 

Gently, he rubbed your back as his hand came up to rest against the back of your head and pulling it in to his chest. You could smell the sweet mint on his mustard yellow vest and his finger’s as they pulled through your hair gently, causing you to finally calm down. 

Finally catching your breath, you tilted your head up to see Newt looking at you with sad eyes. 

“Love, please... please know that you are beautiful...”

“Newt, please. I know we’re best friends, but you don’t need to lie to me.”

“Lie?” Newt nearly stumbled back as his brows furrowed in and he looked you deep in the eyes. “Y/N, I would never lie to you. Never. I love you.”

His words were empty and you brushed them off as nothing more than his way of being your friend and trying to make you feel better.

“I’m serious, Y/N.” His tone became more serious and his grip on you tight once again. “You may think I find Tina and Queenie attractive, and I do, but not like you. They could never be you.”

“What?” The word left your lips in a whisper and you stared quizzically up at the wizard as you tried to piece together what he was saying. 

“You are the one I find beautiful, Y/N. Every part of you. Every single thing about you entices me. I’m sorry I never told you... I was afraid...”

Newt looked down, shame and regret covering his face as he now knew how he should have shared his feelings sooner. He had no idea how long you’d been feeling this way and knowing now that he had all this time to help you, to show you the truth.... he felt terrible. 

“Are you being truly honest, Newt?”

“Merlin’s beard, yes...” 

Lifting your hand to his cheek, you slowly began to caress his cheek bone as you looked in to his sea foam green eyes, tears emerging from the corners. 

“I love you.” And with those words, Newt closed the gap between the two of you. His chapped lips found your soft ones and the moment you felt his on yours you felt as if you had sprouted wings and could fly. He tasted so perfect.

His hand came to your arms wrapped around your waist, clutching your blouse and trying to hide. He gently moved them away and placed his hands on either side of your exposed waist. His hands were warm and inviting. You had expected him to be repulsed, to push you away, but he only pulled you in closer. Your chests now flat against each other you let your arms wrap around his neck and your fingers to get lost in the messy hair on his head. Newt smiled in to the kiss before deepening it. 

It was like the entire world changed and you felt new. In his arms you began to feel your thoughts melt away. Newt truly did love you just how you were. There wasn't one part of you he hated. 

Your lips parted softly and Newt’s hand came to rest on your cheek. As you looked up, a smile spread across his face and he said, “There’s not a single thing I’d change about you, love. Never.”

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[inkstainedfanfics]

Breathe

Request: Hello! I simply adore your imagines. Could you do a NewtxReader where the reader has severe anxiety but Newt doesn't know until he finds her in the middle of a panic attack. And he calms her down and loads of fluffy moments. (Ps. I love your angst imagines. They make my heart ache, which apparently I like. Who knew?)

Word Count: 1,325

Pairing: Newt x Reader

Requested by @aceandawkward but also tagging @red-roses-and-stories @dont-give-a-bother @caseoffics @myrtus-amongst-the-stars @ly--canthrope @thosefantasticbeast2 @benniesgalaxy @whatinbenaddiction

The world works in facts, standards. X + Y = Z. Multiply 5 by itself and you’ll earn 25, no matter the circumstances. Throw something solid in the air and it will come back down regardless of its weight.

It’s comforting, this certainty, to know that if X happens, Y will follow without fault.

You wish as you sink to your knees that humans worked the same way. That every situation resulted in only one outcome, one feeling. You know it’s impossible – emotions are messy – yet as you land on the cool tile of the bathroom floor, your last coherent thought is about how nice it would have been to know that watching seven strangers and three friends walk in that door would be the terror’s invitation, that only minutes later some unseen antagonist would waltz on up from its nest in your gut and take over everything.

You lie down, the cool tiles a welcome break from the sweat beading up on your face, ordering yourself to breathe.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Merlin’s sake, just breathe.

A knock at the locked door interrupts you. “Love, did you want me to put the chicken in the oven now or in a few minutes?”

Newt.

You suck in air and muster the last of your strength. “Now.” A lie. It’s not supposed to cook for ten more minutes, but saying that takes far more breath than you can draw in.

“At 425?”

You drop your head onto the ground, gulping in breaths as the world spins around you, a whirling mess. “Yes.” The word’s quiet, little more than a whisper, as you shut your eyes.

Oh god, what are they thinking out there? You shudder. They expect a hostess, not a mess. You should be out there, should be serving the chicken, should be setting the candies in the little bowls Newt bought, should be preparing the dessert and making sure the pudding is setting properly. There’s so much you should be doing, yet you’re here, choking on the anxiety that never leaves. God, you should be used to it, shouldn’t you? It’s been here for years, how the hell can you not leave it behind? You squeeze your eyes shut.

Your heart slams against your ribs. Dread, terror, inexplicable horror course through your veins:  all guests far more familiar than anyone currently milling in your kitchen.

Breathe. You need to breathe. You know it, know as you try to sit up that you should begin your grounding technique, but instead you accidentally bang your elbow against the gold claw of the bathtub. You know that taking deep breaths and focusing on something, anything, will help, but it’s hard, near impossible.

Another knock at the door. “Love, are you all right?”

Newt’s voice again. You try to say yes, to tell him you’ll be out in a few minutes, you just need to apply some makeup, but somewhere between your chest and your mouth, the words get lost, stumble off on a path of their own and nothing comes out.

You search for them, eyes shut tight, but they’re nowhere to be found. There’s nothing but a rush of fear there. You can’t think, and you sway, feeling as though you may pass out.

Then there’s a body kneeling next to you, tall and warm and worried.

“What is it; are you hurt?”

You gulp, shaking your head. The words. Where are the words?

“What’s wrong?”

You shut your eyes, quelling the nausea in your stomach. “I can’t breathe.” An understatement. It feels like you’re dying.

Newt’s brow furrows. “Can I help?”

You nod. “The faucet.”

“Turn it on?” When you nod, Newt stands and a gentle rush of water sounds in the small room. “What else?”

His hands flutter uselessly around you, so you grab one, holding it tight, squeezing it. Newt stops then, lets you grip his hand as tight as you need to.

“I’m here, love, you’ll be all right.” There’s a quiver of nerves in his voice, but it’s rough and low and the perfect distraction.

“Breathe with me.” You murmur, the words returning.

If Newt is surprised by the request, he doesn’t show it. He just slows his breaths, takes deep ones, tries to match what he must assume you need. Tears swell in your eyes at the sweet gesture, and you reach up to wipe them away.

Newt laces his fingers with yours as your grip loosens. “Anything else I can do?”

You nod, taking breaths that feel deeper, that seem to fill your chest with more air: not enough, but more. “Senses. Things to see, feel.”

You zero in on the things he silently points out, examine the gleam on the side of the tub, the cobweb in the corner, the missing scratch of paint on the wall, the way the brown lace of his boot just grazes the tiles, the knot in the wooden cabinet. You listen for his slow breathing, for the rush of the water draining in the sink, the slow tapping of his foot, the low scratches of Newt’s voice as he murmurs comforting words every few seconds. You continue the exercise, finding three things to feel (The calluses on Newt’s hand, the thin lines between the tiles, the soft fabric of your clothes) and two things to smell (the chicken cooking, the disinfectant you’d sprayed all over the apartment earlier).

Then it’s over, leaving nothing but a shadow of the fear and exhaustion behind. Everything else retreats back into your stomach, ready to pounce the next time. You do your best to ignore the strange residue.

Newt shifts next to you, noticing the change in your demeanor.

“Thank you.” You mumble, staring at your interlocked hands.

“May I ask what that was?”

A beat passes before you answer.

“A panic attack.” You shut your eyes. “I have issues with my anxiety. It can be… too much, sometimes.” You know you should explain more, but tears of shame block your throat.

Newt, though, noticing the rise in your voice, squeezes your hand gently. “Nothing to be ashamed of, love. We all have our struggles.”

“Yes,” you say, cheeks hot, “but mine are ridiculous. I know I’m safe, that I’m not dying, yet it still happens.”

He’s quiet, thinking.

“I don’t know how to stop it, prevent it.” You continue.

“Well,” Newt says, comforting smile curving his lips, “you have me, if you’d like my help.”

“You’re not, you know,” you swallow again, fingers tapping a quick rhythm against the tiles, “bothered by it?”

“Why would I be?”

“I’m being ridiculous. There’s no point to this.”

Newt shakes his head. “How can you consider yourself ridiculous for something you can’t control?”

You shrug casually, but your voice is a whisper. “I wish you didn’t have to deal with this.”

“Love,” Newt says, lifting your chin so you’re looking straight at him, “I will always love you, no matter what happens. If you need my help, you need only ask. It’s no bother whatsoever, and you will never be anything less than wonderful to me.”

You lift his arm, wrapping it around your shoulders as you snuggle against his chest. “Thank you.”

He kisses your hair. “Of course, love.”

You sit there for another minute before breathing in a final deep breath. “We’re supposed to be out there serving our guests.”

Newt shrugs, arm tightening around you. “They can wait.”

The world works in certainties, people don’t. That’s a fact, a rule of the world, but every rule has an exception, and you find the exception to that rule right here in this moment as you find your own certainty in Newt’s steadiness, in the calm resolve he has about staying by your side. A surge of gratitude hits you as you lean against him, and you promise yourself as he kisses the top of your head that you’ll be here for him as long as he’ll have you.

[deepfriedtwinkie]

Kingsman: A Trainee’s Mission (Pt. VI)

PREQUEL FIC, this section ~2kw

note: this is the only part without any Merlin in it BUT IT’S IMPORTANT FOR LATER OKAY (don’t cry, Harry will think you don’t like him)

pt. I  | pt. II  | pt. III  | pt. IV  | pt. V

.

.

By now, the compound has been home for so long that Harry is almost enamored to see London again. It’s easy to forget how much he loves these streets, the shops, the throngs of people going about their days. Easy to forget, but easier to remember.

He walks primly at the elbow of his proposing agent, a man named Martin Turner. The same who’d first met him as a ten-year-old, enthralling him with images of the world of gentleman spies. A world he’d never known to be real, until then, even with what his mother did for a living. Gentlemen were a much rarer breed in her work, after all. Some of her stories could turn a woman to the nunnery.

As Agent Lamorak, Martin has been kept away for nearly the whole of Harry’s training so far, busy with some mission or other, always jet-setting this way or that. They’ve spoken only a couple of times, but it’s no bother. Obviously, it’s more than understandable. All the more reason to take him up on his sudden invitation, delivered in person this morning in the training room, clear out of the blue.

They enter the tailor shop, Martin holding the door. Harry smiles, hands in his pockets, taking in the atmosphere for the first time through a proper candidate’s eyes. His last visit here felt like a new world. This time, it feels like coming home. He’s quite ready to get used to that feeling.

“’Morning, Simons,” Martin greets the headtailor.

“Good morning to you, sir.” The old man’s only movement seems to be the quiver of his mustache. “May I be of assistance to you gentlemen?”

“Yes, in fact, you may, Simons.” Martin’s head tips toward him. “I’d like for you to meet Harry Hart, my proposal for one of the open positions.”

As he was raised to do, Harry gives his hand, and the headtailor accepts. They shake. “How do you do, sir,” Harry says with a smile.

“Very well, thank you.”

“Simons here is nothing less than the best this business has got, Harry,” Martin boasts. “You’ll be taken good care of with him.”

“Oh, I have no doubt, sir.”

Then he blinks so rapidly he may have to blame the mothballs.

“Wait, sir… ‘Taken care of?’”

Simons politely withdraws his hand, which is fine, because it leaves Harry’s free to drop to his side like the dead weight it is. The way Martin is looking at him makes him wonder if perhaps there’s a television camera hidden somewhere, and his own expression will be plastered on newsstands and billboards by morning.

“You didn’t think I’d let you finish out the program without your own Kingsman souvenir, did you?” Martin grins. “The hell with that. It’s time you were fitted for your first proper bespoke. Unless you object, of course.”

“No sir!” Well, that could have been less of a yelp. He swallows, tempers himself, and tries again, managing formality despite his whole face splitting ear-to-ear. “I mean…no, sir. Thank you, sir. I’d be quite honored.”

“Mmhm. That’s what I thought.” The agent points to a heavy door of oak, off to Harry’s left. Simons comes out from behind the counter, a cloth tape measure hung over his shoulder, and Martin claps him on the back. “Give him the works now. This young man is our honored guest.”

“Of course, sir.” Simons does his best impersonation of a five-star doorman, motioning Harry into the room. “This way, please, Mr. Hart. Fitting room one.”

It’s the last thing on earth he’d have to be asked twice. He hustles forward, grateful it doesn’t turn into a cartwheel.

“I’ll be out here when you’re through,” Martin calls.

The fitting room is one of the plainest cubicles of space ever knocked together by man, little more than patterned wallpaper, brass hooks, and varnished wainscoting, but it takes Harry all of four seconds to decide that he loves it every bit as much as the rest of the place. He’s patient with Simons’s meticulous taking of his measurements, lifting arms on command, turning this way and that, holding various swatches of fabric to his chest for God knows how long. That’s the difference between the Kingsman Tailors and anywhere else. When he works here, he’s going to have to do something kind for Simons. A thank-you note, perhaps, with something for his trouble inside. Cinema tickets or something. It’s terribly kind of him to go out of his way for this.

In good time, the tailor excuses himself, returning moments later with a garment bag draping both tabled arms. “Try this, sir,” he bids, hanging the bag on one of the hooks. “It should give you a fair idea. If you find it’s to your liking, then we will proceed with alterations.”

He’s never stared so reverently at a bag before. “Thank you… Thank you kindly.”

“My pleasure, sir.”

This is it. This is the moment he’s imagined since he was a ten-year-old boy, pinning horrible drawings of suits between the butterflies on his walls. The concrete start of his new life.

The garment bag is shed to the floor before Simons is even fully gone. His brain suggests some analogy to a chrysalis, but he can’t be bothered to spare a thought to connect it. He strips to briefs and socks, dressing quickly, his back turned staunchly to the mirror. Stealing a glance too soon will ruin something about this. He isn’t sure what, but it matters.

In a moment, it’s done. He feels the places that need taking in—cuffs at his knuckles, rumpled elbows, puddles at his feet—but he doesn’t care. It’s the most comfortable thing in the world.

He turns around.

The suit is blue, he notices properly. A very, very dark navy blue. Fine pinstripes crawl the length of it. Simons has picked him a tie to match. Navy, with a slim white stripe, centered with a slimmer note of red. He takes in the two rows of handmade buttons. The press of the lapel.

Harry blinks the blur from his eyes. It is the most exquisite thing he’s ever worn.

We’ve done it, Mother. I wish you could see your boy now.

He’s making a mental note to phone her as soon as possible when another tap comes on the door. “Pardon me, sir. Agent Lamorak requests to have a look, if you’ll oblige coming out for a moment.”

He’s absolutely bursting to show someone, anyway. Lamorak will do wonderfully for now. Harry turns the heavy knob, consciously matching his stride to the elegance a suit like this commands. His expression, on the other hand, is under no such control.

Martin stands from the couch, letting out a long whistle. “You’ve outdone yourself, Simons. A few tucks and it’s a work of art.”

“Very kind of you to say, sir.”

“And this comes in the lot, yes?”

“Already ordered to your specifications, sir.”

“You’re a fucking gem.” Martin smiles Harry’s way, holding out a finger with each next word. “Bulletproof, water-resistant, flame-resistant, and conceals up to thirteen highly-classified armaments. There’ll be nothing you can’t do in this, believe you me.”

He believed it already. In front of the showroom mirror, Harry gives a crisp tug to the jacket, straightening his posture even further than it was to begin with. “I really don’t know what to say, sir. I can’t possibly thank you enough; I know this isn’t typical for only a candidate…”

“Nonsense. You’ve earned it.” His mentor takes a pull from a rock glass he’s been holding. Gin, it looks like. “Your weapons and written test scores were absolutely phenomenal.”

Yes, they were, weren’t they? He can’t help it. He’s had a feeling.

“And I’m not permitted to tell you specifics, but I can say that you’ve earned Arthur’s attention on almost every one of your practical tasks.”

That reminds him to ask. He makes eye contact through the mirror, rather than twist round in the suit. “If I may, sir, what was in those parcels we retrieved on the mountain, anyway?”

“In the envelopes? Those were floppy disks.” Swallowing another sip, Martin makes quotations with his hands. “‘Encrypted files of critical importance to international security.’ That’s this year’s bullshit for ‘Arthur’s Doctor Who fan club mailing list.’ Gives him an excuse for missing the last fifteen meetings.”

“You’re kidding.” Of course he isn’t.

“Of course I’m not.”

Why did I ask?

He’s basking in the jovial moment until Martin’s demeanor goes stony, his gaze laser-focused through the window. His tone changes in the drop of a hat.

“Harry, do as I say. Whatever you do, don’t counteract or seem suspicious,” he mutters levelly. “Time to prove your place in the family business.”

The miniature bell above the door jingles. In comes a portly man in an expensive windbreaker, lighting directly on Lamorak. Harry watches, indifferent neutrality on his face, as the newcomer ignores Simons entirely, no acknowledgment—sorry, Simons, he’d do well to remember you’re a person, too—and instead, steps up to grasp Lamorak’s hand.

They shake cordially. “Mr. Kuznetsov,” Lamorak’s far brighter with his greeting than he might’ve been. “On schedule as always.”

“Mr. Evansbee.” An alias; his name is Turner. And this man’s accent is Russian. “How could I miss one of our treasured conversations?” Lamorak set this meeting. Not the first, or the tenth, either. What kind of conversations?

“Please, allow me to introduce a star pupil of mine from the university. I’m helping him to look his finest when he represents us at St. Hugh’s next month. Oliver Greene, this is Mr. Kuznetsov, one of my trustworthiest colleagues.”

Harry doesn’t need a cue. Seamlessly he adopts his new self, shaking the hand he’s offered. “How do you do, sir.”

“I get by.”

He sends Lamorak the most innocuous look he’s got. “Shall I leave you to it, Professor? You’ve been more than enough help already.”

It’s the right decision. Nothing he gets in return suggests a forthcoming reprimand. “Yes, good lad, Oliver. You can go and get your things. I’ll see you in lecture on Monday.”

“Very good, sir. Lovely to meet you, Mr. Kuznetsov.”

“The pleasure is all mine, of course.”

Whatever you do, don’t counteract. His only move is to beeline for the fitting room, then, the outing finished just as quick as it began. The last he sees of Martin, he’s hooked an arm around the Russian’s shoulders, leading the way to the sofas, carrying on a lively discussion in whispers.

So this trip was no coincidence. Harry is implicitly careful as he removes each piece of his suit, hanging one at a time for Simons to collect. He isn’t disappointed. It should have occurred to him from this morning. Whatever Lamorak’s working on must be drawing to a close.

Besides. He could have met the contact here alone. No part of that required having a custom suit made.

Be grateful you were invited in the first place, and don’t ask why it’s over.

Well. He can’t make promises about the second part.

“Good-bye, Simons,” he says aloud near the exit, after saying a silent one to the suit in the fitting room. “I’ve left everything sorted for you.”

“Wonderful, sir. Good-bye.” It’s almost their last exchange, until the tailor catches himself. “Oh, and one more thing, sir?” He’s scribbling in a leather folder.

Harry stops, halfway through the door jamb, hoping it doesn’t count as counteraction. “Yes?”

Simons looks up, beaming friendliness. “I’ve located your file with us to store your measurements. Isn’t today your birthday, sir?”

Yes, it is. He’s all but forgotten that for the past ten minutes.

Harry smiles back. “Twenty-first,” he confirms.

“Happy birthday, sir.”

It’s certainly shaping up to be.

.

pt. VII  | pt. VIII  | pt. IX

[dralentines-day]

Gift #5, @devinesis

Hey @devinesis , more like DEVINEsis, because your gift is spectacular. 

Our gifter says:

“Hello! I hope you enjoy fluffy stories that make you want to squee and die. Enjoy!”

A Fair Chance - Roll up!  Roll up to Britain’s first wizarding funfair, complete with high-flying rides, amazing acrobatics, weird and wonderful animals, fortune telling and, of course, all the food you can eat! Harry was looking forward to visiting the fair with Ron and Hermione. That was until Draco Malfoy and a mysterious fortune-teller changed his plans. 6k.

Tags: 2nd base smut

Harry was not having a good time.  It’ll be fun, they’d said.  Just give him a chance, they’d said.  But no, Draco Malfoy was still as big a prat as ever.  Never mind that so far Harry could only seen the back of his stupid, unnaturally blond head from where he was waiting for them by the ticket booth.  Once the git eventually turned around, he was sure that he’d see the trademark Malfoy scowl, the look of disdain that instinctively made Harry’s hands curl into fists.  

If you had told Harry that one day he’d be attending a wizarding funfair with Hermione, Ron and Draco Malfoy, he would have laughed in your face, given you a pat on the head and suggested you take a trip to St Mungo’s.  Because it was ridiculous.  Only apparently, according to Hermione and Ron, it wasn’t.  Apparently it was completely normal to invite your ex-Hogwarts rival out for an evening at the fair and only tell your best friend about it right at the last second. 

“Oh, and by the way, Harry.  I’ve invited Draco along tonight,” Hermione had said nonchalantly as she’d grabbed a handful of floo powder from the mantelpiece.   

“Uh hu- Wait, what?!” Harry had choked out, the hand that was uselessly trying to pat down the mess of dark hair on his head pausing in mid air; he was sure that he had misheard her. 

Hermione rolled her eyes at him.  “Draco Malfoy.  You know, tall, blond-“ 

“-Little ferrety face,” Ron interjected. 

Harry stared, dumbfounded, his brain not quite catching up with the words he was hearing. 

“Come on, mate,” Ron added, chucking on his coat and winding a bright orange Chudley Cannons scarf around his neck.  “He’s actually a pretty decent guy once you get over the creepy tattoo and long history of mutual hatred.”  Ron grinned but Harry was in no mood for jokes. 

This was exactly what he had been worried about ever since Hermione had come back from her first day at the Department of Mysteries.  She’d been raving about how amazing Malfoy was, how smart and talented, and how much he’d changed since school.  Bullshit.  Then they’d started hanging out after work, going to the pub together, and soon Ron had been dragged in too.  He started saying things like “he’s not so bad, I guess” and “Harry, you’ll never guess what Draco said last night”.  Traitor.  Harry was the only one who could see through Malfoy’s little game.  Well, he hadn’t figured out what exactly the game was yet but he was sure that Malfoy was plotting something. 

Hermione sighed.  “When are you finally going to get over this stupid rivalry?  It’s been nearly ten years, for Merlin’s sake!  You’d get along with him if you gave him a chance.” 

She looked pleadingly at him and Harry sulkily crossed his arms in resignation.  It’s not as though he had anything better to do, he supposed.  After all, the last thing he wanted was to sit around in Grimmauld Place by himself all evening, surrounded by gloom and dust and old memories. 

So here he was.  Walking up to the fair and glaring daggers at the back of Malfoy’s head for having the nerve to come crashing back into Harry’s life and steal his best friends from under his nose.  

“Draco!” Hermione called out and Malfoy turned around.   

Instead of the familiar scowl that Harry had been expecting, Malfoy’s face split into a beaming smile.  Harry shivered.  It was just because the expression looked so alien on Malfoy’s face, he told himself.  Not because of the way the evening sun caught the grey in Malfoy’s eyes, turning them silver, or the way the casual black jeans lengthened his legs and clung in all the right places, or the way the fabric of his shirt rippled as Malfoy waved, exposing a hint of pale collarbone.  Harry frowned and shook his head.  He would have to tread carefully; this could all be part of Malfoy’s nefarious plan. 

Malfoy stepped forward to greet them, kissing Hermione on one cheek and shaking hands with Ron.  Noticing Harry, his smile faded a little and he took a deep breath. 

“Potter.”  Malfoy held out his hand, eyes no longer warm but wary. 

At the gesture, Harry was transported back to a dark September night over a decade ago.  I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself.  Malfoy’s fragile smile trembled and Harry wondered if he was reliving the same memory.  To hell with it, Harry thought, before gripping Malfoy’s surprisingly warm hand in his own and being rewarded with a grateful look from the blond. 

“Right then,” Ron coughed, breaking the tense silence.  Harry let go of the hand still encased in his and, in an excuse to hide his slightly flushed face, turned away to look at the fair.   

It sprawled out in front of them: a myriad of brightly coloured tents advertising petting zoos and fortune tellers, acrobats and contortionists; food stands piled high with butterbeer, pumpkin pasties and - Harry’s mouth salivated - treacle tart! There were sky-high rides with lights flashing vividly as guests sped around on flying motorbikes.  Harry was so entranced that he completely missed Hermione talking to him. 

Harry tore his eyes away from the bright lights and flashed Hermione a sheepish look.  “Sorry, ‘Mione.  What was that?” 

She rolled her eyes affectionately.  “We were just saying that we should have a walk around and see if anything grabs our attention.” 

“Yeah,” Harry nodded.  “Sounds good to me.” 

As they set off toward the first of the stands and tents, Harry couldn’t help but feel unnerved by the whole Malfoy situation.  Having him with them felt so unnatural and yet natural at the same time.  Through the noise and bustle of the fair, he could hear Malfoy talking to Hermione, the rich, aristocratic tone so familiar from his Hogwarts days.  Except now, rather than inciting anger, that tone was inciting something else entirely, something deep in Harry’s gut that he couldn’t put a finger on. 

“Oh, look!” Hermione gushed suddenly, pointing at a red and white striped tent.  “It’s a photo booth.  I used to go to them all the time with Mum and Dad.” 

“Huh,” Ron grunted, wandering over to the tent.  “Reckon it takes proper photos or just those weird standy-still ones Muggles have?” 

“Only one way to find out,” Hermione replied with a grin as she marched into the tent, pulling Harry unceremoniously behind her.   

Malfoy and Ron filed in behind and only then did Harry realise just how small the tent was.  It was no larger than a broomstick cupboard and, as Hermione and Ron fussed around with knuts and sickles, Harry was pushed up against the side wall, a head full of hair in his face and his arms full of a very pointy Malfoy. 

“Er…” Harry said, trying not to breathe for fear of falling over. 

“Oh, shit… sorry,” Malfoy stammered, a curious blush appearing on his ordinarily pale cheeks. 

“No, it’s ok.  I’ll just…” 

“If I move over here…” 

But every movement only served to bring them closer together until Harry was pressed against Malfoy from knee to shoulder.  The fresh, fruity scent of Malfoy’s hair wafted into his face and Harry closed his eyes, praying to the four founders that Hermione and Ron would hurry the fuck up before things got even more awkward.  He was only human, after all, and he wouldn’t be able to help it if his body decided that it was rather interested in being this close to someone, and a rather nice smelling someone at that, after such a long time.   

“Ah, got it!” Ron exclaimed as a disembodied voice spoke. 

“Welcome to WizSnaps, the UK’s premium photography booth service.  Please be advised that this service is not recommended for those suffering from light-sensitive ailments or curses.  Prepare for photograph capture in 3, 2, 1…” 

Harry smiled awkwardly.  Even after all these years, he still wasn’t quite comfortable with posing for magical photos.  I mean, it’s just going to be a 5 second loop of me looking like an idiot, he thought. 

The disembodied voice spoke again.  “Your photographs are now available for collection.  Thank you for using WizSnaps.” 

As they piled out of the booth, Ron handed them each a copy of the photo.  Harry distractedly pocketed his and took a deep breath, grateful to be out of the confined tent and taking advantage of the fresh air to regain his composure.  He followed as Ron and Hermione strolled off and listened as they excitedly discussed what they wanted to do next.  He glanced over at Malfoy and frowned in confusion.  The blond was staring in horror down at the photo in his hand, his face flushed red with embarrassment.  What’s got him so upset, Harry wondered as he pulled out the photo that had been hurriedly stuffed into his pocket.  Before he could examine it, however, he heard a rasping voice call out. 

“Care to hear you fortune, dear?” 

Harry glanced around, trying to place the voice in the busy crowd.  His eyes fell upon a shrivelled old witch whose liver-spotted hands were beckoning him over to her.  As if caught on an invisible fishing line, Harry weaved through the crowd toward her until he reached a dark, inconspicuous tent, almost unnoticed amongst the brightness of the other stands and stalls.  The witch smiled at him encouragingly.  Noticing that their friend was no longer behind them, Hermione and Ron turned and followed Harry, Malfoy trailing behind them. 

“Fortune telling?” Hermione grimaced.  “Harry, you know that divination is nonsense.  Don’t you remember Trelawney?” 

Harry shrugged.  He did remember Trelawney and, from Hermione’s many rants, knew how subjective and inconsistent divination was.  But there was something about this witch, about the way she had picked him out of the busy crowd and spoken to him as if right next to his ear.    

“I know, Hermione.  But I’ve got a feeling about this,” he explained, surer than ever that this was something that he needed to do.  “I’ll come find you guys when I’m done.”    

Hermione frowned in disapproval but nodded, taking Ron away and further into the fair.  Malfoy shot Harry a curious look before following them into the crowd. 

Harry turned back to the witch.  “So.  How does this work then?” 

She smiled mysteriously at him and beckoned him forward once more and into the darkness of the tent.  Harry coughed as he entered, the air smoky and pungent with the smell of burning herbs, and blinked in the gloom.  In the middle of the space he could make out two embroidered chairs seated around a worn, wooden table.  The witch gestured to the nearest chair and Harry sat down. 

The old witch sat opposite him and her scratchy voice began to echo through the tent. 

“You come to see your fortune, 

But seeker, a note of caution, 

These runes see future, present and past, 

But although you see, it may not last, 

For everything has chance to alter, 

So if you want, you must not falter, 

Your future lies within your hand, 

Poor or rich, lowly or grand.” 

Goosebumps erupted along Harry’s arms as she spoke.  The magic in the words was undeniable.  She held out a wrinkled hand and Harry hesitantly reached out, jumping slightly as he met ice-cold skin.  The witch raised her other hand and, with an incoherent mumble, dropped a set of what looked like wooden dice on the table.  Each had more sides than Harry could count and were carved with strange symbols.  The witch examined them intently before speaking. 

“Your past was full of sadness and loss, a dark presence haunted your steps and those you trusted used you as a pawn in a greater game.” 

Harry huffed.  “Well everyone knows that.” 

The witch’s next words silenced him. 

“Your present is no less full of sadness.  Once the apple of the public’s eye, you have retreated to a house of dark and decay, pushing away all but your closest friends.  You convince yourself that no one will ever love you for who you are, rather than who they believe you to be, so you lock your heart away.” 

Harry felt his eyes prickling.  Never had someone laid out so clearly the fears and doubts that had been filling him up for so many years. 

“And…” Harry cleared his throat.  “What about my future?” 

“Your future,” the witch paused, examining the last rune closely.  “Your future is what you let it be.  I see happiness and love if you would but open yourself to it.  But I also see loneliness and despair, if you do not.” 

Harry frowned.  “What?  What kind of amateur fortune telling is that?” 

The witch stared at him, her eyes glinting mischievously in the gloom.  “Ah,” she croaked.  “I see that you might need more than that.  A push, maybe?  Very well.  I will give you a rare gift: a glimpse into your near future.  When you leave this place, you will wake far from here and will have a chance to see what could be yours,” she paused, before adding, “if only you would shed the fear of rejection that clings to your very soul.” 

And with a gummy grin and a “Four years or so should do it.  Good luck, Harry” she disappeared in a poof of smoke. 

Harry jumped and coughed away the pungent smoke that rushed to fill his lungs.  Had the old witch been serious, he thought, clearing the remaining smoke away with his hand.  Will I really see my future?  He stood up and faced the exit of the tent.  Taking a deep breath and hoping that this wasn’t some gigantic joke, he stepped forward.  As the dusty fabric slid over his face, he felt his eyelids droop, his head became heavy on his shoulders and his vision went dark.   

——- 

Harry groaned as the early morning light landed upon his face.  He had been having the strangest dream; something about Malfoy and fortunes and ferris wheels.  Ah well, he thought, stretching out his tired limbs over the silky bed sheets.  He couldn’t remember a time he’d been this comfortable!  He usually woke up panicked and out of breath, covered in sweat and sweltering in the scratchy sheets.  Wait.  Scratchy?  Harry paused in his stretching.  These sheets were the opposite of scratchy!  They were divinely soft, light as air against his naked-  Naked?!  Since when the bloody hell, Harry thought with a frown, did I sleep naked? 

Confused, Harry prised open his heavy eyelids and jolted as the remnants of sleep left him in a startling whoosh.  This was definitely his room, but not as he remembered it.  Rather than the dark, peeling wallpaper that he was used to, the walls were painted a bright, periwinkle blue that seem to gleam in the morning sun.  Rather than the threadbare, dusty carpet, his feet met the smooth hardness of wooden floorboards.  In the corner of the room - the room he was sure he had left in a state the previous night - piled high with dirty clothes, stood a stunning armoire that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a country mansion. 

The more he looked around, the more Harry grew to think that there was something very, very wrong.  Unfamiliar clothes and shoes were dotted around the room, paintings that he’d never seen before were hanging on the walls and, even more unnerving, there was the sound of music coming from downstairs. 

Beginning to panic, Harry quickly grabbed his wand, threw on a t-shirt and pair of tracksuit trousers that looked as if they belonged to him and tiptoed out onto the landing.  The music was louder here and, when he listened closely enough, Harry could just about hear someone moving around downstairs.  He inched down the stairs, his wand braced in front of him.  As he crept down the last step and into the ground floor hallway of Grimmauld Place, Harry nearly screamed when a voice beside him spoke. 

“Good morning.” 

He spun around and came face to face with a snake.  About four foot in length, the snake was lying in a shallow pool of water inside a giant glass tank.  It looked completely unconcerned to see Harry and seemed to think that the whole situation was perfectly normal. 

“Er, hello,” Harry replied, keeping his voice quiet in case the person rattling around in his kitchen heard. 

“You’re up late,” the snake said, rather disapprovingly.  “The other one has been awake for hours.” 

Harry frowned.  “The other one?  Who’s the other one?” 

The snake rolled its eyes as if it should be obvious.  “The other one.  The one with white scales who brings me tasty frogs to eat.  Speaking of which… I’m hungry.” 

More confused than ever, Harry turned away from the snake.  It’d refused to speak any more until Harry brought him breakfast anyway.  Instead, he sneaked towards the open kitchen door and peered around the corner into the room.  Well I’ve definitely found the source of the banging, Harry thought as he stood there motionless, glued to the spot at the sight of Draco Malfoy waltzing around his kitchen in nothing but a baggy Falmouth Falcons t-shirt and a pair of rather ratty Slytherin pyjama bottoms.  And to make things even stranger, it looked as if he was trying to cook. 

As if sensing Harry’s eyes on him, Malfoy glanced over from where he was attempting to crack an egg.  “Morning, sleepy,” he said with an affectionate smile.  “Have you been up long?” 

Feeling like he had to respond but not trusting his voice, Harry shook his head. 

“I suppose you needed your rest after last night,” Malfoy said, shooting Harry a filthy grin that left no doubt in Harry’s mind about what last night had entailed.  “Sit down then.  I’ll make you some coffee.” 

Still not quite sure that his voice would be able to do anything but scream, Harry obeyed the strange demand and watched Malfoy amble around his kitchen whilst a million and one thoughts flew around Harry’s head.  Malfoy placed a steaming cup of coffee down on the breakfast table and Harry, sipping on autopilot, asked the one question that seemed to make it through the fog of confusion that was his mind. 

“How do you know how I like my coffee?” 

Malfoy looked at him like he was crazy.  “Harry, I’ve been making you coffee for years.” 

Harry stared at him, filing away Malfoy’s casual use of his first name for a time when he didn’t feel like he was going mad.  

Malfoy’s mocking expression changed to one of concern and he placed a warm hand to Harry’s forehead.  “Harry, are you feeling alright?  You look terribly pale.  Was it another nightmare?” 

It must be a nightmare, he thought, there’s no other explanation for what’s happening.  Suddenly, Malfoy’s arms slipped around him and Harry froze.  Strong hands ran soothingly through his hair and along his back and Harry found himself loosening and relaxing under the pressure.  In for a penny, he thought, as he sighed and rested his head against Malfoy’s chest.  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been held like this, but there was something about the situation that made him feel safe and secure, like he’d done this a thousand times before.  With a last stroke of his hair, Malfoy released him. 

“Now, who wants pancakes?” 

——- 

Harry had come to a conclusion.  Either this was happening entirely in his head and he was locked away somewhere in St Mungo’s or this was real and he didn’t know Draco Malfoy very well at all.  Because said person was currently dancing around Harry’s kitchen in pyjamas and making pancakes, all the while singing along to what sounded like Celestina Warbeck.  The Malfoy he knew from school, all stuffy and posh and “wait ‘till my father”, was gone and in his place was this… well.  Harry wasn’t even sure how to describe him.  Whirlwind?  Maniac? 

After forcing his way through a stack of slightly rubbery pancakes – Malfoy had seemed so pleased with himself that Harry hadn’t the heart to tell him – he remembered the snake’s demand. 

“Oh, don’t believe a thing Achilles says,” Malfoy had responded.  “I’ve already fed him this morning.  He’s just trying to get more food out of you.” 

“Achilles?  What kind of name is that for a snake?” Harry scoffed. 

“I’ll have you know,” said Malfoy with mock indignation, “that Achilles is a perfectly respectable name for a snake.  And anyway, it’s your fault for letting me name him.”   

“You named him?” Harry questioned. 

Malfoy gave him an askance look.  “We are a bit slow this morning.  I know you told me to fuck your brains out last night but I didn’t know I’d done such a good job,” he said with a smirk.  “Yes, although you drew the line at me naming him Salazar!  Ron and Hermione thought it hilarious, you living with two snakes.” 

At the mention of his friends, Harry started.  Of course, he thought.  He’d been such an idiot.  He should have contacted Ron and Hermione straight away.  If anyone would be able to help him figure out what the hell was going on it would be Hermione. 

“Er… speaking of Hermione, I’m just going to give her a call and see if she’s home,” Harry said as nonchalantly as he could. 

Malfoy raised his eyebrow at him.  “Ok.  I’ll clean up in here while you do that.”  

As fast as he could without seeming suspicious, Harry rushed to the living room and threw a handful of floo powder into the fireplace with a shout of “Hermione and Ron’s house!”  The fireplace swirled emerald green and cleared as a young girl greeted him. 

“Hi, Uncle Harry,” she said smiling. 

“Uh…” Harry faltered.  He had no idea who this person was.  Looking at her closer though Harry recognised the bright red hair, the freckly cheeks, the warm brown eyes and prominent front teeth that all told him exactly who she was.  “Hi there.  Is Mummy there?” 

“Ok.  She was just getting Hugo up but I’ll get her.”  The girl vanished from view but Harry could hear the loud “MUUUUUUM! UNCLE HARRY WANTS TO TALK TO YOU!” 

Less than a minute later a familiar brown, bushy head appeared in the fireplace. 

“Hi, Harry.  How are you?” 

Harry paused, wondering where the hell to start.  “Erm, not that great, Hermione.  You see, I don’t really know where I am.” 

Hermione eyed him with concern.  “I don’t understand.” 

“Well I woke up and there was music and then there was a snake and Malfoy and pancakes and-“ Harry blurted out incoherently. 

“Hey, slow down,” Hermione said calmly.  “Now, start from the beginning.” 

So Harry told her everything.  The more he spoke the deeper her frown became until he finally finished. 

“What do I do, Hermione?” 

“You’ve got to stay calm, Harry.  It sounds as if you’re under some kind of spell.  What’s the last thing you remember?” 

Harry thought.  He remembered going to bed, dreading being woken up again by countless nightmares, remembered being at Ron and Hermione’s getting ready to go out.  Where were they going?  Somewhere outside – he remembered wrapping up warm and travelling by floo to a small village.  He remembered lights and noise and smells and a giant flashing wheel.   

“I think I was at a fair?” Harry said uncertainly. 

Hermione’s face lit up.  “Yes!  Harry, we went to a fair ages ago.  Must have been four or five years ago.  That’s the last thing you remember?” 

Harry nodded.  “What happened that night?  Maybe it’ll jog my memory.” 

“Well we met Draco there – you were really unhappy about that,” she said with a smile.  “If I recall you and Ron ate an excessive amount of treacle tart, we went on a few rides, I think you went to see a fortune teller but you wouldn’t tell anyone what she’d said-“ 

“That’s it!” Harry shouted, making Hermione jump.  “The fortune teller!  She told me my future and said that maybe I just needed a push in the right direction.  She said that to help me she’d show me a glimpse of my future…” 

Harry trailed off.  So that was what this was?  This is what his future could be?  Just as he was trying to figure out how to feel about that, Hermione spoke. 

“If that’s true, Harry, then I’m sure you’ll be back in your own timeline soon.  These spells never last very long.  Probably just until you fall asleep.” 

Harry nodded, the fog of confusion back and muddling his thoughts. 

“Can I just say one thing, though?” Hermione asked.  “I can see the cogs in your brain whirling and if you’re scared about this being your future, don’t be.  I’ve seen how happy you are with Draco.  You two are made for each other.  Just give him until the end of the day to convince you of that.  Ok?” 

Harry nodded once again and the floo connection cut off.  He groaned as he stood up, his legs protesting at the rough treatment of having to kneel on such a hard surface for so long.  Harry took a deep breath.  Time to re-join the person who I could be spending my future with, he thought with a slightly hysterical laugh. 

Stepping out into the hallway, a hissing voice reached out to him. 

“Has the one with the black scales brought me some tasty frogs?” Achilles asked hopefully, raising its coils up from the shallow pond. 

Harry shook his head.  “Sorry.  Apparently you’ve already been fed this morning.  I’ve been told not to trust you anymore.” 

Achilles sank back down in resignation.   

Harry went to walk back into the kitchen but was stopped short by the sight of Malfoy leaning against the doorway.  He was watching Harry with a predatory gaze, the kind of look that made Harry want to run away and move closer at the same time. 

“Harry, Harry, Harry,” Malfoy tutted.  “You know what speaking in Parseltongue does to me.” 

“Wh- what does it do?” Harry gulped, the way Malfoy’s were raking up and down his body making him feel naked. 

Malfoy pushed off from the doorframe and sauntered over to crowd Harry against the wall.  He placed his hands on Harry’s sides, scratching his fingernails lightly over ribs, and pushed his hips forward to meet Harry’s.  “This is what it does to me,” Malfoy almost growled in his ear. 

Harry gasped.  Malfoy was hard against him.  He could feel himself lengthening in response and threw his head back as Malfoy began peppering kisses over Harry’s neck.  Hands roamed over his arms, shoulders and chest, before settling to grip his backside, the scraping of nails providing the perfect pain to accompany the pleasure of warm lips ravaging his neck.  The lips travelled upwards until they met Harry’s own.  Finally, Harry thought, as he opened his mouth under the assault and allowed his tongue to intertwine with Malfoy’s.  Thoughts of “what the fuck am I doing?” vanished as quickly as they had appeared as Harry lost himself in the feel of Malfoy’s body against his own, the feel of his lips and tongue and – oh my god! – cock.   

When Malfoy pulled away, Harry only just managed to hold in the groan.  “I’ve got an idea,” Malfoy said, licking his lips suggestively.  “Why don’t we move this to the shower.” 

Harry showed no resistance as Malfoy guided him upstairs by the hand, pulling him into the same bedroom as he had woken up in and through into the en suite he had no idea even existed.  He raised his arms as Malfoy hurried to undress them both, trying and failing not to stare when Malfoy threw off pyjamas to reveal stunning, porcelain skin that Harry itched to touch.  When Malfoy stepped under the hot mist of the shower and held a hand out invitingly, Harry’s willpower snapped.  Who cared if this wasn’t his life?  Shouldn’t he at least make the most of it while he was here?  And hell, it could be his life if he wanted it.  But before the confusing thoughts could continue, Malfoy was on him again.  His soapy hands were running all over Harry’s body, everywhere but the place Harry most wanted them to be.  As if he could sense this, Malfoy smirked. 

“What’s wrong, Harry,” he whispered throatily.  “Is there something you want?” this is a very Nicole thing to say! ;) 

When Malfoy’s fingers trailed down to stroke his inner thigh, Harry stopped trying to resist.  “My cock,” he begged.  “Please.” 

“My, my.  Such pretty manners,” Malfoy praised as his hand moved to grasp Harry’s length. 

Harry shouted out in pleasure.  It had been so long since he’d been touched by someone other than himself.  Being Harry Potter wasn’t really conducive to one-night stands and there had been no one since Ginny who had been worth the risk.  But this was something else. 

Just when Harry thought that this couldn’t get any better, Malfoy released him, repositioned himself and reached down to grab both of them together.  Harry’s eyes rolled back and he braced himself against the wall, legs weak with spine-tingling pleasure.  Malfoy’s hand was slick and moved with ease, generating delicious friction between them until Harry could take it no longer.  He groaned as he came hard, riding out the waves under Malfoy’s relentless pace, until Malfoy himself shook and threw his head back with a moan. 

They stood there like that, under the water as they regained breath.  Malfoy’s hands traced circles on Harry’s hips and Harry finally got a chance to touch Malfoy’s pale skin, his fingers trailing over biceps and shoulders and running over dusky pink nipples.  He discovered that Malfoy was ticklish if you stroked him in just the right place under his armpit, that he flushed down to his chest after he came and that his hair turned a breath-taking shade of gold when wet.  This could be mine, Harry thought.  And the thing was, he wasn’t so sure that he didn’t want it anymore.  

——- 

“Urgh,” Malfoy groaned, slamming another kitchen cupboard shut.  “I can’t be bothered to cook tonight.  Shall we just get a takeaway?”  He looked at Harry pleadingly. 

Harry smiled, still  not used to seeing Malfoy do anything but scowl and sneer.  “Sure, whatever you want.” 

“Yes!” Malfoy cheered.  “Then we’re having Indian.  It’s been ages since I’ve had a good vindaloo.” 

“A vindaloo?  Isn’t that a bit spicy?” Harry asked doubtfully. 

Malfoy rolled his eyes.  “Thank you very much for your input, Mr I-have-a-tikka-masala-every-time, but, unlike you with your delicate sensibilities, I’m actually adventurous when it comes to trying different food.” 

Harry chuckled.  Yes, this Malfoy was definitely not what he had expected but, as the evening wore on, as they demolished curries and rice and naan and settled down with a bottle of wine, Harry began to realise that this might be the Malfoy he wanted.  

“Can I ask you a question?” Harry slurred, already a glass and a half of wine down and counting.  Somehow he had ended up with his head on Malfoy’s shoulder and didn’t quite have the energy or the inclination to move just yet.  

“You already did but go on,” Malfoy smirked. 

With a roll of his eyes, Harry asked, “How did we get here?” 

Malfoy sighed.  “I know, I sometimes wonder that myself.  How did two people who hated each other so much get to this point?  The truth is, Harry, I don’t think I ever really hated you.  I think I was jealous and angry and resentful but, after the war, that all just seemed so… insignificant.”  Malfoy took a sip of wine and swirled his glass as he continued.  “After that, I must confess that I developed a bit of a crush!  Hermione and Ron spoke about you a lot, of course, and I think they had an inkling about how I felt so they just kept trying to find ways of getting us to meet.  Me coming along to the fair was their idea.  Merlin, that was a disaster at first!  I remember you being so guarded, almost like you thought I was going to summon the Dark Lord there and then!”  He chuckled, stroking Harry’s hair away from his forehead with a free hand.  “And that photo booth!  I was so embarrassed, seeing myself staring at you like a smitten teenager.  But then you seemed to warm to me.  You wowed me with your charms and I was gone.” 

Harry hummed thoughtfully before grinning.  “You really had a crush on me?” 

“Urghh,” Malfoy moaned.  “I should have known that would be the part you’d pick up on.  Now I’m never going to hear that end of it!” 

Harry smiled but relaxed against Malfoy’s shoulder.  He thought about what Hermione had said, about giving Malfoy a chance to convince him that they could be happy together.  Exactly when it had shifted Harry had no idea, but there was no doubt left in his mind that he could be happy with this person.  

“Draco?” Harry said, raising his head and peering into warm grey eyes.  The face that he met was so familiar and yet old memories of scowls and sneers had been replaced by new ones of smiles and laughter and moans of pleasure.   “I had a really great day today.” 

Draco smiled at him.  “Me too, Harry.”  He leaned down to place a gentle kiss on Harry’s lips.  “And plenty more like it to come.” 

Yes, Harry thought, as he closed his eyes.  Because now he knew what he wanted and he was damned if he was going to let it slip away.   

——- 

Harry blinked as the flashing lights and bright colours assaulted his eyes.  He stared at the people and sights around him, trying to orientate himself.  Yes, he was back at the fair.  The old witch’s spell had worked.  He had seen his future and now had the chance to make it happen.  What was it she had said?  “So if you want, you must not falter, your future lies within your hand.”  Then that was exactly what he was going to do.  

He looked out towards the direction Hermione, Ron and Draco had headed in, hoping that he’d be able to find them in the bustling crowd.  A sharp crinkling in his hand, however, made him pause.  Harry glanced down and opened his fist to reveal the photo they had taken earlier in the evening.  So this was what had made Draco so embarrassed.  He took a closer look and smiled, watching as the photo looped again and again: Hermione and Ron giggling together, himself grimacing and squashed awkwardly into the corner and Draco, who could never seem to take his eyes off of Harry.  A warm feeling erupted in his chest and he strode out into the fair, more determined than ever. 

Suddenly, a bright head of hair caught his eye. 

“Harry!  Over here,” shouted Ron.  “You’re just in time, mate.  We were just about to get some treacle tart.” 

“Brilliant,” Harry grinned with a knowing chuckle. 

“How was the fortune teller?” Hermione asked sceptically. 

Harry smirked.  “It was pretty good.” 

He turned to Draco, who seemed startled to be receiving Harry’s full attention, and took a deep breath.  “I was wondering if you’d like to go on the ferris wheel with me afterwards?” 

“Oh!  Er, yes!  That would be-“ Draco stammered, his face flushing in a very familiar way, “that would be nice.” 

Harry ignored the loaded look that Hermione and Ron sent each other and smiled at Draco.  “Great.  Now, did someone say something about treacle tart?”

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