#he just jots them down whenever the fancy strikes him

[mobbothetrue]

I thought it would be a fun quirk for an upcoming dnd character to have, so I’ve been jotting down limericks that he would have written.

I think I’ve gone too deep into this man’s psychology. Writing funny little poems about how he got so drunk his family left him and he thinks it’s his fault for being a failure. And then writing a poem where he rhymes ‘simple’ with ‘rimple’.

[thestrangeprophet-blog]

The Muse and the Soldier

The Muse and the Soldier

·       f/reader x Levi Ackerman  

·       No NSFW

·       HC storyline

·       I do not own the rights to any of the characters

·       PLS support the actual Attack on Titan anime

 You open your eyes and take pleasure in the feel of the morning breeze coming from the window. Breathing in the air which carried the aroma of those special blue flowers potted downstairs in front of your tea shop. Seems you have left all your pencils across the desk and the drawings plastered to the walls from the night before had fallen again. You pick up the drawings and admire the one yet to be finished. It is of a regular customer you normally see when they come back from a scouting mission. Piercing grey eyes in contrast to his fancy dark undercut. Levi Ackerman. You always wonder how he has the time and will to keep up with his hair. After laying his portrait neatly on your desk, you ready yourself for another day brewing the finest tea you can in hopes of seeing Levi for another bout of his favorite tea.

The Captain and Commander Erwin were frequent visitors to your tea shop because Levi had always recommended it. For one reason or another, the tea you brewed satisfied him beyond what he would brew himself with what he had. Erwin had thought the same as well and it brought you enjoy your tea could be held to such standards. As a fellow tea lover, the subject of tea was never a boring conversation with Levi, no matter how short or blunt it was with him. Sure, most people see it as something more along the lines of hot leaf juice. It’s more than that and Levi understood it though it went unspoken.

Captain Levi came alone today and took his usual seat. It was rather unusual but you carry on and bring his favorite. The teapot whistles and steams like Titan smoke with the lingering scent of black tea that trails through the wind. As you set his cup in front of him and pour his tea, you notice he seems lost further in thought than normal. You finish pouring his tea and hesitantly ask if there is anything else you can do for him. He takes a second to come back to this moment and raises his head ever so slightly. His hair still covering those captivating grey eyes. Releasing an exhausted breath, he asks of one thing of you.

Levi: I- If it’s no trouble to you… will you sit with me Y/N? Even just for a moment?

Y/N: That’s a bit of an odd request, Captain. I’m surprised you even remembered my name. But sure! Anything for my best customer.

Levi: You don’t have to address me as Captain. J-just Levi will do… and thank you.

You sit in the chair across from Levi where Erwin is normally seated discussing the next expedition and plans you have for Eren and the cadets of the 104th Cadet Corps. As of in this moment, this is simply two human beings sitting together enjoying tea. Just sounds of the breeze against your ears and the softened sips coming from across the table at the lips of the man before you. Levi’s cheeks are flushed with a gorgeous rosy blush. It seems he wants to start a conversation but has no idea where to start. Its adorable how a man with a reputation for being such stone cold badass could be flustered over tea. You strike a smile in his direction and find your own way to start a conversation he could initiate. Call it encouragement if you will. The sketchpad and pencil you keep handy finally get put to use. The pencil scratching against the paper caught Levi’s attention though he kept to his tea. He watched as he appeared on the paper before him in awe.

           Levi: Hey Y/N, is that supposed to be me?

Y/N: Oh, uh yeah haha! I figured you weren’t much in the mood to talk so I didn’t want to bother you while you were enjoying your tea.

Levi: You are a woman of many talents I see.

Y/N: I wouldn’t say that much.

Levi: N-nonsense. I come here to enjoy the tea you brew perfectly and the singing you think I can’t hear. Didn’t know you were so skilled with a pencil as well.

Y/N: I usually never have the time to draw during the day Levi.

Levi: Can I request something? I’ll pay for it.

Y/N: No need to pay me. What can I do for you?

Levi: I need you to draw someone for me. I don’t really know them too well, but they have a face I could never forget.

Y/N: Oh I wonder who this special person is! Could you describe them for me?

Levi: Well, they’re around the same height as me maybe a bit taller. They have long black curly hair that glistened as though it was a fire at sunset. Brown eyes like fresh honey in the morning and glistened with a hopeful shine I envy. They wear some rather dark clothing year round even when its hot outside. Their nose is slightly hooked and cheeks soft and red. Their lips glistened and they look soft to the touch. And even though they don’t think it looks very nice, they have a scar across their left eyebrow. I’m not exactly sure how they got, but they always try to cover it behind their hair yet it still finds a way to see the light. Their jawline is soft and looks like it could rest perfectly in the cups of your hands.

Y/N: Wow Levi, I didn’t realize you had a way with words.

As the form you forge is refined from guidelines to distinctive features, the person he is describing truly is a sight to behold. You may not have the colors to use but you understand the value of what those colors are which are just as powerful. Levi sits across from you amazed at your skill for a second time until you’ve finished your work. You hand him the final sketch and you already know he just asked you to draw yourself but play it off. He takes the drawing into his hand and holds it up so you and the drawing are in view with each other.

Levi: As beautiful on paper as you are in person. Tsk, your hands are even a work of art on their own.

Y/N: If I may say I’m rather flattered you’d ask me to draw myself just for you but you aren’t very good at making your flirtations subtle. Unless you weren’t trying to be subtle in the first place.

Levi: Oi its not my fault you decided to pull a journal out of nowhere while we’re drinking tea together!

Y/N: You are one hundred percent correct Levi. Really for a man who exudes such confidence, I’ve never seen you even stutter let alone get flustered over tea. Its cute.

Levi blushes even more and looks away trying to play it off. He already knows you’ve got at least one finger wrapped around him. No one really talks to him like that besides this Hange person he mentions. They sound like an interesting character from the way he describes them. You would love to meet them one day when they aren’t experimenting on Titans. For now, your gaze remains fixed on Levi’s profile as he tries to regain his composure. You would not have assumed he was even interested in such trivial things other than being a clean freak.

You are aware of Levi’s reputation but just getting to sit with him in such an intimate setting gives you a next level view of him. The clean undercut and soft flowing hair was just asking to have someone’s fingers run through it and embrace the feeling of each strand even if it meant making his hair just a little messy. Each group of strands followed the path of the wind as leaves blew from the vines. His jawline was as sharp as the blades he carried to cut down titans like butter. His hands, though they bore the weight his fallen comrades and the destined purpose to eliminate and survive, seemed delicate under the rough calluses of combat. But his eyes. Those damn grey eyes. They pierced right through me whenever you got the chance to see them yourself. All of the things they saw, and the feelings kept behind them like a locked door. There is so much pain rage behind those you wonder when the last time Levi got to see something outside the realm of horror outside and within the walls.

           Y/N: Levi?

           Levi: Yeah Y/N?

Y/N: When was the last time you’ve ever had a chance to relax and just lay low for awhile?

Levi: Can’t say. I don’t think I’ve given myself a damn break but I can’t afford to. I don’t exactly have anything else to do.

Y/N: Hmmm. Let’s change that. Make sure you make yourself available tomorrow at sundown. Come back to the shop and dress casual. I know somewhere we can go. I’ll even grab an extra book so you can out those hands to work other than killing Titans and jotting down whatever it is you do write for your paperwork.

Levi: B-but I c-can’t just abandon my po-

Y/N: Shush. In case you haven’t noticed you don’t have any missions scheduled for at least another week. Plus business around here is slow. We could both use a little time for ourselves. Even if its just a moment.

Levi: *blushing even more* uh- ok. I guess it wouldn’t hurt. You didn’t have to act like such a brat about it.

Y/N: If you weren’t Levi I would throw this lukewarm teapot of tea all over you

Levi: *Smiling ever so slightly* hmp I uh… I guess I could see you doing something like that. Okay, I’ll be back tomorrow to pick you up. I’m curious as to where this place is anyway.

Y/N: Alrighty then it’s a date! No ifs ands or buts. You got that Levi?

Levi: Loud and clear.

You’re leaning over the table to make sure Levi knows where he needs to be. You’re close enough to him you can smell the scent of the tea you made him mixed with just the scent of him. You’d kiss him right then and there if you really wanted to. Looks like he had the same idea but you pull away because you weren’t in that much of a rush. His lips were parted as they awaited your lips to meet his. It was thrilling seeing him even a little desperate for you but making him wait was even better. As much as Levi felt he couldn’t abandon his post, he couldn’t say no to you. He’d been working up the courage to talk to you for as long as he has been coming to your shop. Though he wasn’t the one to ask, Levi appreciated that you were the one to take the lead in making plans to accompany each other on a date. You’d been waiting for the opportunity to even be in this position. Now that it’s here, you make plans to make the date an enjoyable one that Levi would also like. Good first impressions are still pretty important. Especially if you want to make a good impression for Levi.

           Levi: Tsk, its almost sundown. Id better get back to the brats at HQ.

You grab his hands and ask him to wait just a little while longer.

Y/N:  Well if you’re going to be leaving, at least let me give you some extra tea and a meal to take back with you. It’s the least I can do for agreeing to going on a date with me on such short notice.

Levi: Tsk make it quick please.

Y/N: Don’t rush me. I’m being nice to you. I usually don’t just give out free tea and meals to anyone you know.

Levi: I’m sorry. Thank you. I- I uh really appreciate your generosity.

You hand Levi the tea and meal you made just for him. You touch hands for a moment and get goosebumps for the first time in a long time. You blush just enough that Levi notices as well and gives a small smirk. You exchange that smirk with one of your own.

           Levi: Thank you again Y/N. I guess I’ll see you soon.

           Y/N: You guess?

           Levi: I will see you soon.

Y/N: Much better. And by the way, you have a very charming smile. I wish I could see it more often. It suits you almost as much as that cold gaze you’ve always got equipped.

Levi: I never really gave it much thought what that looked like. I’ll pick you tomorrow. I promise.

Y/N: You’d better if you know what’s good for ya hahaha! I’ll see you tomorrow, Captain.

END

Comment if you’d like a Pt. 2!

[mysweetestcreature]

Meus Amor (Hogwarts!Harry) Part III

(Banner by the lovely @pretty-hazza)

***

Series Masterlist

***

A large grey cloud lies above the castle of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, blocking any chance for the sunlight to produce it’s much-needed warmth. Despite it being June and the end of another year fast approaching, the atmosphere that surrounds the grounds is one that none can describe. It’s the type of feeling that leaves nerves bouncing about in the chest and makes it hard for the lungs to function properly without reason.

So much has changed in these five months.

Five months. That’s how long it had taken for him and Draco to mend the vanishing cabinet in the Room of Requirement. For the entire duration of that time, Harry had wanted nothing more than to see it fixed, so he could go back to his normal routine instead of spending nearly every night disposing of dead pixie bodies in the Black Lake. He’d been running out of excuses to give Y/n of why he’s been feeling so tired in the mornings. And maybe now he can focus more on keeping her as unaffected as possible rather than having to divide his attention with this bloody task. 

Ever since Y/n had been sent to the Hospital Wing because of that dimwitted Hopkins, Harry can’t help but keep a close eye on her when someone that rouses his suspicion just as much as looks at her funny. At first, he thought his paranoia had been overriding his sensibility, after all, he and Draco are the only two death eaters within the student population (at least that he’s aware of). Although, it has come to his attention that there are those, much like Hopkins, that are well aware of the occurrences within the Dark Lord’s circle. The scariest part of this is that Harry doesn’t know what they know. He hasn’t been able to pinpoint the extent of their knowledge, and if they’re aware of what he has dangling on a thin thread.

As he sits on the floor, however; his back perched up against the cabinet’s sleek wooden exterior, he can’t deny the uneasiness that’s eating him up from the inside. The bird they had used for this final trial run pecks greedily on the feed he had laid out for it on a small napkin. It’s alive, so incredibly full of life and completely unscathed by its journey to and from the sister cabinet at Borgin and Burkes. He had checked it for any lost limbs but found it to be as healthy as ever. 

“We’ve done it,” he says, although any traces of confidence are absent. The thoughts of what the Dark Lord will have in store for him refuse to leave the forefront of his mind. He’d be mental if he were to assume that this would have been the extent of his services. The mark on his forearm a constant reminder that he’s bounded to this world he wishes he had never known. 

It’s almost comical how even through the use of concealment charms, he can still feel the dark mark sit heavy on his skin. Every single day he’ll feel it prickle with pain underneath his sleeves, as though someone were stabbing him with a hundred needles inflamed with the Fires of Hell. He’s grown accustomed to the pain, however; and he’s surprised that he still feels anything at all. 

“So, we have,” Malfoy’s voice just as weary. His steel grey eyes mindlessly staring out in front of him. His usually slicked back hair disheveled from having run his hands through them one too many times in the past half hour. This isn’t where he ends.

The bird chirps its jaunty melody, a tune that would make even the grumpy Mr. Filch crack a wholehearted smile. Its song reminiscent of all good things that life has to offer, like warm summer days that one can spend lazing away underneath the cooling shade of an oak tree with his favorite person. But to the two boys sitting in the Room of Requirement, it serves as a prelude of what will happen come the fortnight. 

An underlying feeling of apprehension burns at the pit of his stomach whenever he thinks about it. He wishes he didn’t know, at least that way his conscience would save him from the shocks of pained regret that leaves the blood running thin within his veins and the tips of his fingers becoming as cold as metal.

***

Recently, it’s dawned on Y/n that by this time next year, she’ll be a full-fledged adult (by Wizarding World standards, that is). Both her parents have started getting on her back about plans for her future in bits and pieces from each one of their lengthy letters, and it really has started to freak her out. It’s not that she hasn’t given it much thought because of course she has! It’s just that she seems to be incapable of coming to a solid conclusion because she doesn’t have the faintest idea of how she wants to go about making such an important decision, and she’s not even an indecisive person. Being a half-blood, she gets the best of both worlds, so her options are virtually unlimited. And she guesses that may be where she’s at a disadvantage. 

There are two roads that she can choose from. She could proceed with her education and move forward and attend a muggle university. But what would she study? Arithmancy and Astronomy are two of her best subjects, but the idea of being a mathematician or astronomist doesn’t quite tickle her fancy. Her mum works as a clinical trials manager for a major pharmaceutical, having received a degree in biology from Imperial College London. The benefits that come with the job are more than satisfactory, whatever that means. 

The other choice is to find herself a place in the Wizarding World workforce, but it seems as though it’s limited to jobs within the Ministry. Her dad loves being an auror, even though the hours have become quite hectic in the passing months. She remembers when she was a little girl and he’d take her to the office and let her play with some of the trinkets––all safely de-hexed, but cool nonetheless––in the Improper Use of Muggle Artefacts division because he and Arthur Weasley had always gotten along well. 

As she lays wide awake in her bed, each one of her roommates fast asleep at this late hour––or would it be considered early? ––she lets out a long huff of annoyance because she knows she doesn’t need to worry about this just yet. But she hates the uncertainty of it all. From what Harry’s told her, he’s meant to take over his family’s business (they’re a manufacturing company that supplies various potions to hospitals all around the United Kingdom). In short, he’s got a himself a secure plan. And thinking about Harry and the future simultaneously just makes her smile because she can’t see one without the other.

***

“I presume you come here baring good news?” The greasy-haired professor doesn’t bother to turn around, his attention instead directed to the uneven taps of rain drops against the window pane. Harry can see a fogged image of the man’s reflection from where he stands on the other side of the deep colored mahogany desk. His face as undecipherable as ever, his eyes hinting no emotion as he stares forward into the storm. 

Harry clears his throat then stretches his jaw as he gets a feel for the words that rattle in his mouth. “Yes, sir,” he reports, his hands digging into the depths of his pockets and toying with the fabric between his index finger and thumb. “Everything is in order for…” but he can’t find it in himself to say it aloud. His chest rises as the oxygen swirls through his flared nostrils. “It’s ready.”

Snape just barely turns his head, the side profile of his face shadowed out by the darkness that stretches across the four walls of the room. And yet, Harry can still feel the penetrating observance of his eyes. 

A long-aggravated silence rings through his ears and pokes at the base of his spine. He swears there’s a hint of something else infused in the air that surrounds them. Could it be a fragment of hesitance that exudes itself with each calculated breath? Ever since Harry had learned about Desmond Styles’ participation within the inner workings of the Dark Lord’s army, it had seemed to be a known fact that Severus Snape’s loyalties had been with Albus Dumbledore…so the question remains as to why he’s found himself in a situation such as this one. Was the Dark Lord’s power and influence really that strong, that he could steal away an ally of the greatest wizard to ever live? (And yes, Dumbledore is the greatest wizard to ever live. Even a blind man could see it.) Or maybe he was holding something over Snape’s head as well. It definitely isn’t an unheard-of tactic.

The sound of the clock striking midnight from all the way in the tower can be heard over the lack of vocal acknowledgement. He supposes that now would be the appropriate time to bow out. With tired steps, he drags his feet over the creaky wooden floorboards. All he wishes to do is close his eyes and melt into the comfort of his sheets and sleep for the next week or so. Before he can fully push down on the door’s bronze lever, the man behind him finally speaks up.

“Protect her,” is all he says. Harry’s brows form a crease just above the bridge of his nose. His heart picking up speed as he turns abruptly on his heel, a sudden cackle of lightning revealing an absence in front of the window. 

***

Tick.

The pendulum of the large clock sways back and forth, never missing a beat. Minutes being reduced to meager seconds, and the scribbling, scrabbling, scratching of students quickly jotting down their final thoughts becomes more frantic.

Tock. 

Fuck. Where has time gone? Has it really been three hours already? Looks like the Pepperup Potion only does work if one has a cold. 

Tick.

There’s a faint sniffling coming from somewhere in the back––poor lad has most likely cracked under the pressure. Is it question fifteen? It’s most definitely question fifteen. 

Tock.

“Quills down,” Professor McGonagall announces to her sixth year N.E.W.T.-level class. A mixture of groans and sighs of relief spread through the space as the sound of chairs scraping against the floor fill every corner of the examination room. Some students look as though they’d just been on the end of particularly horrific bat-bogey hex, while others are just relieved that it’s all over, erupting in cheers because freedom is just upon the horizon, nearly tangible in their palms. 

Y/n caps her ink bottle and carefully places each quill in their allotted slot in her pouch. If there’s one thing she hates, it’s when their feathers get all ruffled (the other day she’d scolded her boyfriend for just tossing them in his bag…tossing them!). “That wasn’t bad at all,” she says, looking up momentarily to smile at Liam who had been seated right in front of her for the last three hours. 

“I thought it would be loads worse, honestly,” Liam snorts as he stretches out his arms. “That question about the bird conjuring charm? A first year could’ve easily answered it!” he shakes his head and lifts himself out of his seat. 

“It was a bit harder than that, you modest,” she teases in response, reaching over and swatting his shoulder. Ever since she’d first met Liam in first year––they’d become friends when she sat next to him during the start-of-term feast––he’s been known to be exceptionally bright. (And although he’ll never admit it, she knows that he had a small crush on Hermione Granger up until recently. Poor lad had been in a horrible mood when her and Ron Weasley had come to a mutual understanding.) 

As for her, she’s just excited that Harry will be coming home with her once they arrive back at King’s Cross. If all goes well, she’s hoping that maybe he can stay a bit longer…say the whole the summer? She mustn’t get too ahead of herself, of course, but she can’t help it! Just imagining all that they can do in the next few months has her feeling all bubbly inside, like whenever she eats a bunch of Fizzing Whizzbees all at once. Never before has she felt this happy and excited to have someone in her life to the point where she gets giddy just thinking about him.

Strong hands slide around her waist and pull her into their owner’s sturdy chest. Light kisses trail across the side of her face, and she can’t help but giggle as she relaxes into his inviting warmth. He’s like her own personal furnace when she needs it. “Go well?” Harry asks, turning her around in his arms. She hums a response, bringing up a finger to poke the crevice of his dimple that accompanies an utterly adorable lopsided smile. 

***

“Do muggles really wrap their dicks in rubber or some sort?” Harry shoots up from the floor, only to hit his head on the underside of his four-poster, where he had been searching for something that he can’t even remember at the moment because the throbbing in his head shoots to the front that he can feel it just above his eyebrows. A string of colorful words rush out of his mouth like water through the pipes as he balances himself on his feet.

“What are you on about?” he shoots back, grabbing a pillow and chucking it harshly in Niall’s direction. He catches it though, then plops down atop Harry’s mattress, kicking his shoes off––he knows much Harry hates dirty feet on his perfectly clean linen––and linking his fingers together behind his head as he stares up at the drapes above him. 

“Overhead Justin Finch-Fletchley in the courtyard earlier, said something along the lines,” he muses turning on his side to look at Harry, who still sports the scowl along his polished features. “Was just wondering if you knew anything about it or if Y/n’s already wrapped your willy up nice and snug.” Niall falls into a fit of laughter at the progression of emotion displaying on Harry’s face. 

“No, she hasn’t,” he rolls his eyes at the blonde. What irks him more though is that he actually knows what he’s referring to because he’d begrudgingly asked Y/n this a short while ago, and how he wishes he hadn’t. When magic folk have sex, they mutter a simple contraception charm to eliminate the chances of an unplanned pregnancy or take the Morning After potion if they’ve allowed the hormones to gain the upper hand. But he can’t even wrap his mind around having to wrap himself in a pathetic piece of rubber whenever he wants to be intimate with his girlfriend because it really does seem like the ultimate mood-killer.

Other than that, he’s been making his best efforts into learning more about muggles for her sake because he’s fully aware of how important that part of her life is. So far, he’s learned all that he can about what not to do in front of those who think that magic is only a mere part of a kid’s birthday party entertainment act. Not to mention that he’ll be thrown into that mix in the coming days. And fuck, he’s so bloody nervous about the concept of it all. More than anything, he wants her parents to like him because he just really loves her, bless him he does. This could very well make or break them (aside from everything else going on). She says that they’ll love him, but he’s not fully convinced just yet. 

***

It’s a day for the girls, or at least that’s what she’d been told when they’d dragged her out of their dorm room before she could fully open her eyes. She understands that she hasn’t been spending as much time as they had in the years prior, so this little expenditure is long overdue. Also, Hermione had given her a look of pure desperation because there’s no telling what will happen if Lavender says something to piss her off if she isn’t there to accompany them. They’re still at each other’s throats about the whole Ron ordeal, which is partially the reason that she spends so much time away from Gryffindor Tower. 

That’s how she finds herself in the middle of Gladrags Wizardwear, scavenging the racks for something that will catch her attention. She has half the mind to purchase those socks that scream when they get too smelly, just for the fun of it. Or maybe she should look into buying her dad some new robes to wear at those Ministry formals because her mum has been complaining about him wearing the same outfit at the Christmas parties. 

“Oh!” she spots a dark blue button-up that she’s certain would look absolutely amazing on Harry. He’s also in need of some more clothes because she may have nicked a few of his nicer shirts whenever she spends the night. They’re just so comfy and soft and have his scent embedded in each threat, and now over a dozen of them are stored away in her trunk. 

“Is that for the beau?” Parvati comes up behind her, pushing her gorgeous raven hair behind her shoulder as she takes a closer look. When Y/n offers her a blushing smile, she claps her hands together. She’s always telling her how adorable her and Harry are. And since he’s taken to sitting at their table during meals more often, he’s less of a mystery (for the most part) to them. “That’s so sweet!” 

The sound of hangers crashing to the floor disrupts their conversation. “It’s sickening, is more like it,” Lavender rolls her eyes. Yep, she’s still bitter. “Boys are nothing but immature assholes that’ll break your heart once they’ve taken all they’ve can from you because apparently you’re only good for a few months until he’s moved on to someone else!” Every person single in the store pauses what they’re doing, most offering their looks of pure sympathy because the young witch is so completely distraught. Even Hermione can’t even refute such a statement because deep down she does accept to be the reason that for her heartbreak. “Now which one of these dresses brings out the gold in my irises?” Had she not just had a mini fit, Y/n would have told her that the two dresses she’s holding up appear to be the same exact shade of purple. Despite herself, she points to the one on the left, the apparent ‘amethyst’ color, and Lavender rushes into one of the fitting rooms towards the back of the store. 

***

The library is still his favorite place to snog his girlfriend, especially after exams when it’s left nearly deserted. They had snuck past Madam Pince’s desk while she had been interrogating a few students on their––ridiculously long––overdue books. No wonder the librarian is on edge all the time, with all of the nagging she has to do come the end of every year. They had caught the end of a particularly impassioned speech about how books are meant to be treated with the utmost respect, and not to be used as means for cleaning up niffler feces during Care of Magical Creatures. And Y/n can’t imagine the reason why one would even go about such a technique. (Everyone knows that Hagrid stores the really good cleaners in the shed!)

Harry has her pressed up against a bookshelf in the dragon section because it’s always nice and toasty compared to the others, and she still feels a bit cold despite it being so close to July. She never leaves her room without some sort of extra layer, and he’s resorted to bringing along a spare jumper with him just in case she might need it. 

“We’re going to get in trouble,” she giggles into his mouth, and he swallows each one as he continues to suck fervently on her bottom lip. There’s a lingering taste of toffee on her tongue, one that he finds to be particularly intoxicating at the moment––but really, when doesn’t he find anything about her to be? 

“Don’t care, love,” he mumbles back, his breath tickling the shell of her ear as one of his hands reach down to hook under her knee to lift her thigh to wrap around his hip. Goosebumps scatter all across her skin as his calloused fingers run higher and higher up her lower half. She bites her lip and tilts her head back, granting him access to as much of her as possible.  

There really is no chance that he’ll ever get enough of her. From her love of all things sugary, to her obsession with reading Witch Weekly articles that he’s sure are written without suitable evidence to support whatever point they’re trying to get across. Even her animosity towards flying––which is not to say that he still isn’t trying to get her more comfortable on a broom because he really is trying his best. The other day he’d planned on giving her some lessons, but his Gryffindor is a determined little thing. She knows he can never resist her, especially when she ups the soft and cuddly factor by the tenfold. It only took a bit of convincing and sweet tender kisses to the base of his jaw, and the next thing he knew they were having a picnic by the lake with Ashes during a rare appearance from the sun.

They manage to go another couple of minutes before getting interrupted. It’s a low cough that barely reaches his ears, and he’s a bit annoyed because he was this close to getting to love on her proper. A part of him is afraid that it’ll be Madam Pince about ready to zap his bum into oblivious because they’ve been warned so many times before about this. She’s threatened him with multiple detentions until the day her leaves the doors of Hogwarts for the last time. But he turns only to meet…well, he’s not quite sure who she is. 

“Can I help you?” he asks.

The girl, who appears to be no older than twelve stares up at them shyly, her nose twitching in the slightest. “Professor Dumbledore wants to see you in his office,” she barely squeaks out. 

What? Professor Dumbledore wishes to see him? In his six years of being a student here, he doesn’t think he’s spoken more than ten words to the elderly wizard, and those had just been respectful greetings when they cross paths across the field. 

Y/n rests her palm on his chest, smiling genially at the girl before offering her thoughts. “Are you sure he needs this Harry? I’m sure you mean Potter, yeah?”  

“No,” the girl replies timidly. “I have a note requesting for Harry Styles.” She reaches into the pocket of her jeans and pulls out a precisely folded piece of parchment. Harry eyes it suspiciously for a moment, before taking it from in between the girl’s fingers. 

Harry, please meet me in my office this afternoon for a spot of tea. I hope you like earl grey! The password is ‘sherbet lemon.’

All the best,

Professor Dumbledore

Now he’s completely fucked. He closes his eyes and leans forward against Y/n’s forehead, taking in deep breaths through his nose. “I’ll stop by Gryffindor later, yeah?” He gives her a departing kiss, letting his hands slide down from around her waist slowly until they’re at his sides.

***

Before his knuckles can knock on the door of the headmaster’s office, it swings open before him. Harry looks up from his feet and peeks his head into the spacious room with ceiling lights illuminating the space rather delicately. 

“Come in, Harry,” he hears a voice call out for him, and he finds it to be so impeccably warm and inviting, and the type to hold so many stories about everything life has to offer. “You’re just in time! I’ve just got it up to the perfect temperature,” he motions to the pot, with blue floral accents lining the edges down by the base, as well as around its slender spout. He chooses to focus on this, rather than Dumbledore’s wistful smile as he walks forward. 

A wave of déjà vu washes over him. He’s been in this type of situation before, albeit the sense of hospitality somehow making him feel a bit queasy. It was only some nights ago that he’d been standing on the other side of Snape’s less luxurious desk, delivering news that would affect the person in front of him now.  

There’s a mumbling coming from above, he allows his gaze to drift upwards, where all portraits of former Hogwarts Headmasters scatter across the wall. An argument seems to have arisen, from the words he can just barely make out. “Will you lot hush, can’t you see we have company?” Phineas Nigellus Black yells out. Dexter Fortescue scoffs aloud, “I will if Fronsac would shut that bloody insufferable trap of his!”

“Gentleman,” Dumbledore turns around, his hands placed firmly on his hips as he gives them all such an authoritative expression that makes each pair of lips pull tightly in a straight line. “You all know how much I enjoy your company, but maybe take the day to visit your other portraits, hmm?” Each former headmaster beckons a departure, shifting to either side of the frame and disappearing from eyesight (although, he does hear one of them mutter a complaint of being kicked out of his own office). “Harry, my boy, please do take a seat.”

Harry climbs the platform that Dumbledore’s desk is situated on, a noticeable timidity as he takes them one by one. A chair––presumably for him––sits just opposite of the grander chair of the headmaster. It has a deep shaded red cushion sitting nice a plump atop of it. When he sets himself down, he finds his bum just molding in the awfully comfortable padding. “Profe-”

“Do you take milk and sugar in your tea?” the elderly wizard asks him. 

“No, sir,” he quips. He listens as the steaming liquid pours into the matching tea cup. Dumbledore reaches across the table to hand him the cup with its matching saucer, to which he cautiously takes from his wrinkled hands. The seemingly charred skin rousing his attention for the time being. “Thank you, sir.”

***

She’s growing restless with each passing minute. When Harry had been called up to the headmaster’s office, she had expected it to only last a half an hour, tops, and that had been over two hours ago. What could Dumbledore possibly want with her boyfriend? He’s not a troublemaker by any means, well…unless you count getting yelled at by Madam Pince or Filch, but if that were the case, she would have been called up as well. 

What if he’s going to talk to him about his father? Harry would absolutely dread it! It’s understandably still a touchy subject for him. She’s working on a letter to send her dad before they leave. It’s basically her begging him not to bring up anything about Desmond Styles and especially about You-Know-Who. She hears the snide comments that have been erupting from particularly obnoxious students about how the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. And if it weren’t for her mum teaching her to not let such heathens affect her in any way, no matter how much she wants to snap back at them for implying such things about Harry. 

“Will you quit it? I can’t bloody focus on my book when you’re being all fidgety,” Liam scolds her, thwacking the cover of George Orwell’s 1984 to her feet rested in his lap. She sticks her tongue out at him, kicking the book enough that it lands face down on the carpet. “Oi, the pages will crease!” 

***

“You and Ms. Y/l/n are an item, yes?” Dumbledore asks, genuinely curious as he sets the teacup and sauces down on the flat surface. Harry nods, a fondness in the way he smiles. “Ah, to be young and in love, as the saying goes, I think.” Both chuckle soundly. Conversation has been rather light, and there must be something in the tea because Harry’s feeling so at ease in spite of the internal chaos his nerves had been sending him through earlier. It’s definitely the tea, he thinks. There had been this natural sweetness to it that let his muscles relax enough so he could be a more sociable human being. 

It’s also oddly satisfying to gush over his girl to someone that isn’t Niall. The blonde Irishman has been up his arse lately because his most recent date had gone horribly wrong by the time the food had come to the table. He still isn’t quite sure what happened, but he guesses it would be in everyone’s best interest to not pry into the matter. Which is why when Y/n had surprised him the other day with that button-up she had bought on her day out with the girls, he had to hide it under his shirt because Niall’s mood would only get worse if he were to have seen. 

“And we’d do anything for the people we love, yes?” A twinkle in his eyes as he peers over his half-moon spectacles that look as though they’re about to fall over the tip of his nose.

“Yeah,” Harry finds himself saying, his lips formed into that boyish grin that could accurately tell anyone how enamored he is. “I’d do anything for her.” Then it hits him. The reason why he’d been invited for tea this afternoon was this. He wipes his mouth down with the napkin spread out on his lap. “Professor, I-”

Dumbledore sits back in his throne-like chair. His fingers stroking along his long grey beard, picking out a few crumbs from the biscuits they had been indulging in. “The thing about love is,” he pauses momentarily, chuckling to himself when he finds a particularly chunky crumb tangled in the tips. “Is that it has the power to drive us to do things––some that we may not be proud––because we fear losing those who mean the most to us.” Harry swallows hard, and suddenly the tea is leaving a tart taste in his mouth. 

“I’m sorry,” his voice lost in the guilt. “I-I wish I didn’t have to do this, but he…I can’t lose her.”

“You shouldn’t apologize for wanting to protect your loved ones, Harry.” Dumbledore stands up and comes around the desk, leaning back along the edge just meters away from where Harry becomes restless on the plump red cushion. “You are a better person than you think you are.”

***

It’s a few days later, his girl fast asleep on his chest as places repeated kisses to the crown of her head. The curtains around his four-poster providing them with the privacy needed to shield themselves from his four––now three––roommates. 

Tonight, is the night. The night that will spark the beginning of a war that he isn’t sure will ever cease to exist, at least in this lifetime. Maybe he can convince Y/n to run away with him to some place where the Dark Lord’s influence doesn’t reach. They could start their life there, in their own personal oasis where they wouldn’t have to worry about surviving into the next day. He would marry her, find her a nice rock that would look gorgeous on her fourth finger alongside her current ring. Then maybe when they’re ready they could have a few precious little babies, a mini him and a mini her running around in their diapers and making Ashes’ fur change colors each time they giggle whenever he tickles their squishy little bellies. He bets they’ll inherit a proclivity for sweets just like their mummy, and hopefully won’t jump on her ‘no flying’ business because he’s definitely planning on taking them out on his broom once they’re old enough. 

She starts to stir in her sleep, burying her face further into the crook of his neck and mumbling his name ever so softly. He strokes her hair and whispers sweet nothings into her ear to keep her safe away in dreamland. “Shh, I’m here, angel. I’m right here.” And then she’s still again, the steady rise and fall of her chest comes as a relief. 

It doesn’t last though. At exactly 10:49 pm on the 30th of June, the Hogwarts community says goodbye to their beloved headmaster. His body lays lifeless on the cold ground at the foot of the Astronomy Tower. Niall had woken them up in frantic haze, and the three of them rushed out to see if the spreading news had any truth to it. Although Harry had been dreadfully anticipating this moment for six months. And now that scene is right in front of him, it’s inexplicable and something he wished he could shield her from. 

Harry holds on to her hand tightly as they become encompassed in the crowd gathered around the fallen wizard. The sniffles and cries of students and faculty alike are released into the darkness casted by the storm cloud overhead. When Y/n catches a glimpse of Harry Potter hunched over Dumbledore’s body, bitter sobs growing louder and louder as he shakes him, urging him to open his eyes.

But he doesn’t. And the sight bites at everyone’s heart.

Professor McGonagall is the first one to draw her wand. A small ray of light emitting from the tip as she stares up to the sky through a glossed layer of tears. In an almost practiced manner, hundreds of wands are raised up in the air, fighting off the shadows that creep around in the antagonistic night until a stroke of illumination nudges its way to disperse the cloud of its evil presence and give the headmaster the rightful parting he deserves, even if the world isn’t quite ready to say goodbye. 

Y/n softly cries into his chest, her tears absorbing through the material of his thin grey tank and burning his skin. The last words spoken to him still fresh in his mind and holds such important meaning. It had been simple, but to him, it meant the world. Not because now he feels vindicated for having the dark mark permanently embedded on his left forearm, but because he was served hope on a silver platter. He sucks in harshly, his eyes scanning through the crowd in search for that unmistakable head of platinum blond hair that he had been working so close with for months. 

Draco Malfoy is nowhere in sight, he had fulfilled his mission. 

And now Albus Dumbledore was dead.

***

When Harry pictured himself meeting his girlfriend’s father, he hadn’t anticipated it being at a funeral. He knows Dumbledore hadn’t wanted him to feel guilty about this, but that’s easier said than done. What if his father had never become a death eater during the first Wizarding War? Would he have been forced to help mend the vanishing cabinet that still remains up in the Room of Requirement? He likes to that things would have turned out differently. He and Y/n walk into the Great Hall hand in hand when she suddenly releases her grip on him and runs towards the man, bringing him in for a big suffocating hug. 

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” Nicolás pulls away and runs his hand down her ponytail with a faltered tug of the lips. He looks a bit older than she remembers him being over the holidays. A few greyer hairs sprouted at the roots of his hairline and the wrinkles just below his eyelids more prominent when he smiles. 

“I’m fine, dad,” she assures him, running her hand up and down his arm. “Just shaken up is all.” She didn’t know how much she missed him until today. All her life her dad had been her protector, the one she’d run to whenever she was stricken with a nightmare or in a mood when she hadn’t done as well as she would have on a test. But now she has two men to make her feel protected. She looks to her side, anticipating Harry to be there, but instead he’s standing awkwardly where she had left him. Oops. “I’ll be right back,” she tells Nicolás.

Oh gods, he panics as her heels click on the marble floor. She holds out her hand to him when she’s about arm’s length, to which he takes gladly as a reflex. (Curse his desire to always be touching her in some way.) “Want you to meet someone,” her doe-like eyes beaming up at him as she gently tugs him her direction of origin. And now he’s staring directly into a similar pair of eyes, although these are much less loving and much sterner than what he’s used to. 

“Mr. Y/l/n,” he acknowledges, “it’s…um…” breathe, Harry, breathe! “an honor to meet you, sir.” Fabulous first impression, Harry. Ten points to Slytherin! To think he’s been just centimeters away from Voldemort himself, and yet this is probably the closest he’s been to shitting his trousers. 

Nicolás looks him up and down, and Harry can practically feel the judgment oozing with each moment of passing reticence. He tilts his head to Y/n, her lip caught between her teeth as she tries offer him glances of encouragement. 

“Harry,” Nicolás finally breaks, “it’s about time we be properly acquainted.” Harry lets out a long breath––although it’s unobserved by the Y/l/ns––and nods gingerly. Even Y/n exhales in relief because she just wouldn’t know how to handle such a stiff situation at this time. She knew her dad would be sensible, after all, that letter she’d ending up writing him had been about fourteen pages, front and back, which included very clear directives to be nice to him. 

They chat for some time, dancing around the topic of what’s actually happening around them until they’re forced to accept it and find their seats in an empty pew alongside Liam and Niall. Y/n hates funerals, probably more than anyone else she knows. Those hymns they play during the procession of the casket touches her the wrong way and she often finds herself feeling a bit nauseous. But never like this. Now more than ever, she swears that the pungent smell of incense floating around the room touches her nostrils in the worst ways possible. What is this wretched stench? Harry notices the faintest tint of green on her and wraps an arm around her shoulder. 

“Are you okay?” his feels her forehead with the back of his hand. Thankfully she hasn’t got a temperature, but it still doesn’t overcome the fact that she looks about the shade of a green Anjou pear.

***

The train pulls away from Hogsmeade Station, the image of the castle gradually leaving their sites as the engine picks up speed. No one knows what’s to come in the next school year with everything that’s happened. Professor McGonagall had given a solemn message during the end-of-term feast that put things into perspective for many students. This is all really happening. It’s no longer a fear of the when, but a fear of the now. 

“I’m glad we’ll be far away from here,” Harry says as he watches the countryside pass them by. Some of the land destroyed in one of the more recent death eater attacks, the once abundance of prosperous crops now reduced to ash beyond any magical repair. That’s the thing about dark magic, its effects can be irreversible, or as good as. 

The Ministry has come out with a slew of statements, each one as desperate and unbelievable as the last. The people need security, not just near empty words promising a safer tomorrow. Because now the safest place in all of Wizarding Britain has been tainted so drastically that parents will most definitely withhold their children from returning next term; and if Hogwarts is no longer a refuge for security, then what place is?  

“We should just stay away forever,” he says into a whisper. Y/n looks up at him through her eyelashes.

“Where would we go?” she dares to ask him, tracing her finger over his torso. He shrugs his shoulders. “Doesn’t matter, as long as I’ve got you, I could live just about anywhere.” 

“You mean that?” 

“Every word.”

***

Harry likes Muggle London. More than he’s willing to admit. 

The idea of living here crosses his mind whenever he finds something new that he genuinely enjoys. Muggles have these nifty screens that have people inside of them that lets everyone know what the weather is outside before even setting foot out the front door. He’d been glued in front of the telly for a good couple of hours before Y/n had to forcibly drag him away because he’d been sitting too close and would definitely strain his eyeballs. She thinks it’s cute though, how excited he gets when he learns something new or is presented with some crazy invention unconceivable to the average pureblood’s brain. 

He’s getting along with her parents as well. Linette Y/l/n is such a wonderful woman and now he knows where Y/n gets her sweetness from. The first day they’d arrived, she’d asked him what his favorite meal was and prepared it for dinner a few hours later. (Don’t tell anyone, but he thinks it’s better than what his house elf, Tin-Tin, has ever made. If word gets out, then he knows the poor little elf would punish herself.) Nicolás is at work most of the time, but they did go out for lunch yesterday, and the two talked all things quidditch, much to Y/n’s contempt. There’s still a smidgen of tension that linger in the air between them, but Harry doesn’t let it affect him for his girlfriend’s sake. He still isn’t certain if he likes him or not because sometimes he feels himself being observed a little too closely for his liking. 

What he likes most of all, however, is that her room is right across the hall from his. And since this isn’t school, he’s actually allowed to enter her bedroom––which he’d been in once before on Christmas Eve into Christmas day––and really get a feel for who she is. Her room is just as adorable as she is, he decides now that he’s finally had a chance to soak in every detail. The walls painted a muted pink that appear white at first glance. She has a whole shelf full of pictures of her through the years in order of when they had been taken. 

“You were such a cutie, just look at those pigtails!” he gushes, picking up a picture of her from when she was only five years old. This of course causes her to blush and give him that pout that always manages to make him swoon. “Now you’re a right beauty, aren’t you? My beautiful girl that I love to bits and pieces.” He pulls her into his lap and nuzzles into her cheek. “Love you so much, I do.” These muggles are making feel even softer than usual. 

“Yeah?” she giggles, giving him a quick peck to the lips as her fingers tread up into his brown curls. He nods thoughtfully and kisses her chin. “That’s a relief because I love you lots too.” 

Their loving looks soon turn into much more, their lips languidly moving together while their hands roam over each other’s bodies. Her parents aren’t home, which makes this the ideal time to show her just how much he means every word of his affections. (Imagine the look on Nicolás’ face if he were to walk in on them.) He’s quick to pull her shirt over her head, laying her down on her back on top of the mattress.  

***

She washes the mixture of sweat and sex off her body, humming along to a Beatles song she had heard her mum blasting before she’d left for work. Her strawberry scented body wash all nice and foamy on the loofa that she moves all over her skin. 

“Penny lane is in my ears and in my eyes there beneath the tides-ow!” she drops the loofa on the shower floor and cups her breasts in her hands. The girls have been feeling awfully tender recently, and she thinks it might be because her period will soon be gracing her with its presence. She’d nearly punched Harry in the gut earlier because he’d taken to tweaking one of her nipples in his mouth, which under normal conditions would have definitely gotten her motor running, but they’re so ultra-sensitive right now that it just didn’t feel good at all. This could only mean that its symptoms are going to hit her like a load of bricks. 

***

They take the Piccadilly line from Gloucester Road to Covent Gardens. (Harry’s become completely taken with the London Underground, says the tube is his favorite muggle invention of all time.) She figured she’d show him the wonder that is Neal’s Garden, with the eccentric multi-colored buildings that spread throughout the alley. It’s not as crowded as other parts of London that she’d taken him to. There are definitely less people here than when she had taken him down the entire length of Oxford Street. No, this place has just the perfect number of civilians to make it feel alive and vibrant. 

The tight passageways lively with different stores to fit all the health and wellness needs anyone could ever have––Y/n drags Harry to the location’s namesake organic beauty shop the second she spots it, and the two invest their money in lovely smelling moisturizers for both the body and face. She’s seen his toiletries bag, and there’s just as much product (maybe even more) than in hers. This really does explain why he’s got such perfect and pore-less skin. 

When their stomachs grow a bit peaky, they find a quaint little restaurant at the end of the street that Y/n claims to serve the best pizza in all of London. Both moan at the taste of the gooey cheese stringing along after each bite from the wood-fired crust that has just the most delectable crunch to it. The two share a few innocent kisses here and there that taste of tomato and basil but are sweet nonetheless.

“You’ve got a little…here, I’ll get it for you, love.” He leans in attaches his lips to the side of her mouth to rid it of a tiny dribble of pizza sauce. “There, all clean,” he cheeks, winking at her before helping himself to another slice. 

Because there’s always room for dessert, at least as Y/n so proudly believes in, they share a large cup of gelato between the two of them on a bench in one of the more secluded areas. The lady behind the counter had only given them one spoon, so she feeds the both of them, alternating who gets to take a bite from the creamy goodness of stracciatella. But Harry is a bit greedy, directing the spoon to his awaiting mouth when it had been on its way into hers. 

“Hey!” Y/n gasps, furrowing her eyebrows because that bite had had a good amount of chocolate on it––and he doesn’t even fancy chocolate as much as she does! She dips her finger alongside the inner edges of the cup, coating it nice and even with a chunk of cold sweetness before rubbing it all over the side of Harry’s face. “You’ve got a little-” she mimics him, stifling a fit of giggles because he just looks so absolutely scandalized. 

“So that’s what you’re playing at, yeah?” He takes a fingerful of gelato and smears down the entire length of her nose and over her cupid’s bow. And they end up getting in a little food fight, ignoring the stares of those around them as they flick whatever remains in the cup at each other. 

By the end of it all, they’re both a sticky mess, and Harry pulls them into an empty washroom and freshens them both up with a cleaning spell that rids their clothes of any evidence of a mess. And they may have taken longer than they thought because someone comes banging on the door as though meant to punch through it. “Oi, no shagging in the toilets, there are people out here that need to have a wee!”  

***

He’s happy, so unexplainably and purely happy that he doesn’t think anything will ever top the feeling. It’s like all of their problems have been left behind in the Wizarding World, and now they’re free to carry on with their lives without fearing for the worst. 

As they head back in the direction of the tube station, he revels in how the warmth of the sun radiates onto her hair, casting somewhat of halo around the rim of her head. Gods, he didn’t think it was possible for her to look even more angelic than she already does. And he just can’t help himself. He presses her in between him and the outside wall of a store, one hand on her waist, the other just above her entire height. His lips hover over hers, breathing into her mouth as he looks down at her through half-lidded eyes. 

“My perfect angel.” She can feel the air of his words puff in her face as she reaches up and cups his face to finally press her trembling lips to his in a passionate exchange that has her knees buckling and barely able to support her weight had it not been for him holding onto her so tight.

***

“You two seem to have had a nice time,” Linette says when they enter through the front door. 

Y/n kisses her mum on the cheek. “Sure did,” she smiles, pulling out all of their shopping bags from her little purse. Extension charms surely are a blessing to this world. 

“Did you have fun, Harry? Hope this one didn’t tire you out too much. I know I’m always an exhausted mess when we go out,” Linette pokes fun at her daughter, who in turn scrunches her face into a pout. “Oh, don’t be like that. If you keep making that face, it’ll get stuck that way.” 

The playful banter between a mother and her child, it all feels so foreign to him. He can’t remember the last time he and Anne had shared a laugh, or even a look of admiration like Y/n and Linette are now. He and Gemma used to pick her flowers from the garden every morning when they were smaller. Tin-Tin would help them pick out the prettiest ones with the largest petals and greenest stems and wrap them up in some fancy colored paper to give to her at breakfast. Those are the memories he holds dearest to his heart because it’s all he has left of their once happy family.

“What’s wrong?” Y/n asks, wrapping her arms around his neck and bringing him out of his thoughts. “Haven’t said a word since we’ve gotten here.”

He shakes his head and pecks gently at her forehead. “It’s nothing, love. Just tired is all.” She eyes him suspiciously for a moment but decides to drop the subject. They talk about the day’s events with Linette. Y/n shows her all the things she bought, from the boots she had gotten off a clearance sale to those hydrating facials masks from Neal’s Yard Remedies that are meant to tighten the skin and leave it looking young and refreshed. 

***

Y/n hums happily as she helps her mum in the kitchen, that same Beatles song from earlier today. 

“Since it’s just us girls here,” Linette speaks up, popping her head out the archway leading to the dining room. “Tell me about him,” she bumps their hips together as they chop the vegetables for stew she plans on serving later.

“Well,” Y/n starts, overwhelmed by all the things she can say about him because she could go on and on about even the simplest of his habits that she can’t decide on where to start. “He’s amazing, mum. Really, really great.” A smile lifting the edges of her lips. She really does feel like the luckiest girl to someone like him love her the way he does. “I always get butterflies in my tummy when I’m around him, he treats me like I’m a princess.” 

“I’m happy for you, lovey. He seems like a nice boy.”

Knowing that her mum approves of him means the world to her, and she knows that her dad will come around full circle as well. 

“I know you probably don’t want to talk about this, but as your mum I feel obligated to ask.” Uh oh. “Have you two,” she bops her head as if that would make what she was trying to elude to so blatantly obvious. “You know, you’re young and sometimes young people get into these moods and one thing leads to another and…”

“Mum!” she gasps, dropping the knife on the cutting board and covering her ears. “You’re right, I don’t want to talk about this!” La, la, la. She much rather engage in the whole ‘future’ conversation because at least that doesn’t involve something so private. 

But Linette’s fingers wrap around her wrist and forcefully remove bring them away from her head. “I’m not entirely sure how you magic lot take care of this kind of thing. Just promise me you’re being careful, yeah? That’s all I ask!” 

“We are, mum. Promise,” she groans, ignoring the way her stomach flips over into somersaults. Thankfully Harry’s still asleep in his room, and won’t ever have to listen to how mum is making her cheeks flush a violent shade of red. 

“I’m just saying!” Linette pokes her sides. “And I think you’d appreciate me talking to you about this than your dad because God only knows he’d sputter out.” 

***

He stretches out the knots in his back after having waken up from a rejuvenating nap. The sheer white curtains allowing some of the sunlight enter into his room and lighten his aura. Although, he’s feeling a bit annoyed because he could’ve sworn that his girlfriend had been asleep next to him when he had closed his eyes. She’s probably in the kitchen snacking on those Mars Bars that she bought while in queue at the Waitrose yesterday. His feet swing over the side of the bed, his head still trying to wake up along with the rest of his body.

There’s an unaccounted-for gust of wind that blows his hair onto his face. Maybe he had left the window open, or maybe Y/n had done so before she left? He finally lifts his bum off the soft cushioning and limps his way over. He moves the curtain aside, but he’s despondent to see that everything is sealed and locked. His eyes instinctively move up to look past the window as a sudden chill rattles his bones. 

Across the street is a man dressed in all black robes, his long white-blonde hair pulled back into a small low ponytail. He stands there with no regard for the curious glances of pedestrians that pass him on the sidewalk. This man shouldn’t be here. That had been part of the deal. Harry’s fists curl tightly into his palms, his nails digging crescents in the skin. The man outside signals for him to come down with just a finger. He’s taunting him, trying to intimidate him, and gods, he hates that it’s working. 

Harry grabs his wand from the side table then apparates to the empty alleyway a few houses down. He skillfully lands firmly on his feet without a hint of imbalance. His wand shoved back into his front pocket, it’s handle covered by his shirt. 

The approaching footsteps kick the bits of rubble on the ground. A daunting laugh nearly venomous to the ears. “How’s life amongst the muggles, Styles?” 

“Get the fuck out of here, Yaxley.” He grips his neck tightly in his hands and shoves him harshly into the brick wall, half the mind to choke him on the spot. 

The death eater struggles to breathe, but a smirk still remains on his face. “My, my, someone’s got himself a temper,” he chokes out. With the tut of his tongue he draws a letter from his robes pocket, his name addressed on the front of the envelope in finely printed lettering. “A message from the Dark Lord.” 

He eyes it cautiously before releasing his strangling hold and snatching the letter from his pale fingers. Yaxley coughs out as he tries to absorb more oxygen in his lungs. He glares at Harry but doesn’t act on whatever bitterness he may have racked up. 

No, instead he decides to push all the buttons he knows will emit a desirable reaction. “Got yourself quite the girl there, lad. Would be right shame to see something happen to that pretty face of hers.” 

Ignore him, he tells himself. It takes all the strength given to him the forces above to not react. Not when her and her mum are so close distance. 

“Couldn’t have just sent an owl?” he sneers, tearing the top of the envelope and pulling out the folded piece of paper that he expects to have some sort of new assignment he’s meant to complete. When he unfurls it, however, there are two words written.

We know.

“What is this bullshit?” Harry looks back up at Yaxley, crumpling the paper up and throwing it at him. “This some kind of joke?” ‘They know’ what? Harry can truthfully say that he hasn’t an idea of what this could be pertaining to. He’s not an idiot, he would never do something to put his girl’s life at risk. 

“Interesting,” Yaxley circles around him. “The Dark Lord will be absolutely floored when I tell him. Might want to consider paying mummy a visit.”

“Wha-” But before he can get out another word, black smoke fumes into the air as the death eater flies up into broad daylight. He hears a medley of gasps from the main street, his dropping in frustration. 

What doesn’t he know?

***

The next day he makes up an excuse that he has to pop back home for a bit because his mum has come down with freak disease, and Gemma is stuck working overtime at St. Mungo’s. Y/n seems to be understanding, although she does get a bit pouty because she had planned for them to head up to Hampstead Heath this afternoon. He promises her that he’ll be back to get a show of the sunset, and then he’s off. 

He apparates into his childhood bedroom at Styles House, a rush of nostalgia hitting him as he takes a good look around. It’s just as he left it, not a single speck of dust cloaks over any of the surfaces. 

“Master Harry! Tin-Tin is so pleased to welcome Master home!” he turns around at the pop of the house elf. 

“Where’s Mum?” he asks her, patting her head. 

“Mistress is in the den. Would master like Tin-Tin to let mistress know that he’s here?” she smiles widely at him. She’s always been very attentive, and he remembers how he almost set her free when he was younger.

Harry runs out the door and descends down the grand staircase, nearly tripping over his own feet in the rush he’s in. 

“Mum,” he breathes out once he’s stood under the archway. Anne snaps up at him, her eyes growing wide surprise as she covers her mouth with both hands. They stare at each other for what seems like hours. 

It’s Anne that makes the first move, she gathers him in her arms and pulls him in for a tight embrace. She cries softly, and he’s not sure what kind they are. The way she rubs his back tells him she’s happy to have him here, but then there’s something else saturated in each one of her tears. 

“Mum,” he repeats, grasping her shoulders and pulling away far enough to look directly into her eyes. “I need to know if you’re not telling me something.”

Her mouth opens but closes immediately after. She peers behind him as if looking for something. “Where is she?” she questions sternly. He returns the stare. “Come with me.” She takes hold of his wrist and leads him outside through the gardens and towards the cabana that he’s only ever been in a few times in his life. The doors open before them, and close loudly when they’re fully situated in the room. This is where they keep the Styles family tapestry. The faces of its members dating all the way back to the fourteenth century. 

Anne walks further into the room, towards the middle where the most recent generation is located in this intricate web. Her arms are crossed over her chest as she stares at the bottom of their family’s section. Harry follows her eyes, starting from his grandparents, down to his parents, then Gemma and himself, then finally…

***

A/N: Oh goodness, it’s been a while! Thank you all so much for your feedback and support for this series.

What do you think is going to happen next? Tell me here!

[complicatedandstained]

alone, finally

Prompt: send me a word or phrase and I’ll write a micro story 

Dawn.

You are too young to be standing outside this particular bar, but it’s barely dawn and you do it every day and you’ve only had your ass grabbed once.

Lea ambles out, hollering something to whatever barmaid’s doing a better job at mothering him than his mother this morning, a stale chunk of bread in one hand and an open rucksack of texts and parchment slung haphazardly over his shoulder. He borderline tackles you because yesterday you said something about how you weren’t coming because you hate that he’s always late which he is. Again.

He hangs on to you for a minute too long, his chest and wiry arms irritatingly warm against yours and his breath ghosts your ear as he relays some scandalous gossip you’re going to forget two seconds from now. And you use the extra time to lean over the bony nubs he calls shoulders and cinch the drawstrings of his bag before he loses another essay you edited the hell out of to the wind.

“C’mon, Isa.” He catches you by the hood and drags you down the path toward your education, like you’re the resistant one.

You are sleepy, lines creasing the space above your nose like a scar. You let him tug you along. You tell yourself tomorrow you’re not waiting.

Period 1.

It’s too damn early for history, Lea tells you, pillowing his head on the text in your arms. You are in the back row sandwiched between him and a slender blonde toying with a knife, slipping it between her fingers like water, like she thinks she can’t bleed.

The classroom smells like dust and Lea’s jacket smells like the liquor your mother spills into black forest cakes and the blonde smells like she spilled a bottle of cheap perfume down her skimpy black bodice. You are suffocating. And it pisses you off because you actually like history, even early in the morning with your droning professor, the one that’s too short-sighted to yell at Lea when he places his fingers on your cheeks and tries to stretch your frown of concentration into something he finds more appealing.

Which pisses you off because Lea likes history too, when you retell it, gesturing to landmarks, on your walks through the city when your parents are too busy working to care where you are or which guards are about to thrash you for which misbehaviors.

Only this time your professor does notice, frowns and jots your names onto the parchment in front of him. You about bite Lea’s fingers off. You can barely breathe.

Period 2.

Two dozen students separate you and your best friend, which does not stop him from tossing you mildly inappropriate hand signals and pointed looks whenever it strikes his fancy. The girls beside you elbow your arms and ribs when you don’t respond, so you return the ones you catch with rolled eyes, scowls, and the occasional begrudging chuckle. You feel crowded.

The scientist at the podium asks your class if any of you know why the sun sets red.

This time you look to Lea of your own accord and he’s already smirking back at you.

You told him once that his lion’s mane of curls is the color of the sunset. You don’t know what possessed you.  He didn’t reply, just stared at you for a while as you counted the freckles smattered across his nose like flecks of paint. You figured he didn’t hear you properly. You figured he forgot.

You are tired. Lea focuses on the lecture and you listen with your chin propped on your knuckles, supported by an elbow and your eyes wide shut. This lasts about twelve minutes and then he’s fashioning paper ninja stars and angling them toward your neck and shoulder blades.

Period 3.

Your literature professor asks you where Lea is with his essay. You are not in literature class at the time.

You get up without answering and scour the hallways until you find him napping on a couch in the common room, drool hanging out his mouth in a string. You pull him back to class with his earlobe between your thumb and forefinger. This time he about bites you.

Lea submits the paper. It’s a damn good paper.

You go back to class and get a break from him. The girls in class are not aware. They talk about the way his voice thrums like guitar strings when he laughs and how his smile is white and soft like a cloud and you think that is a dumb metaphor, but you don’t tell them that.

You have rolled your eyes at them in the past and they choke on their giggles like they know something about you that you don’t.

Lunch.

A willow tree sleeps in the sun-drenched courtyard outside of the academy building, bordered by a hundred pink dandelion fluffs. Sometimes you eat lunch beneath it when you want to get away. Lea inevitably finds you there, friends shadowing him, mouths babbling. They settle around you like courtiers. He talks at you though you don’t say much back. And they’re loud and obnoxious and his shoulder rests solidly against yours.

Period 5.

Magic.

You and the other diviners are reading tea leaves, which you think is kind of a waste of time though you love the dark, bitter taste as it stings your lips.

Lea about blows up the classroom.

Again.

You help him clean up. Everybody else is tired of it. You say the tea leaves told you to. He kind of smiles though you know your joke is lame.

He makes you swear not to tell the bar staff.

You swear.

You keep cleaning. The stench drags at the walls of your lungs and makes your nasal cavities burn. The sound echoes in your ears making everything a bit dimmer.

Class is over and his friends crowd around you, with Lea claiming he’s going to walk you home and then bounding, with your wrist wrapped in his sun-bronzed, calloused fingers, in the opposite direction. They are rowdy and rough and ill-mannered and they would make your father narrow his eyes, lift his nose, and plead with the gods for their souls.

They give you a migraine. Lea is the loudest, the rowdiest, the least well-mannered. He knocks against you as you run through the square, shouts your name and boosts you as you scale a fence, cusses you out when you complain. You are exhausted by

Twilight.

He does walk you home—eventually—and you give him a literal and verbal shove when you reach your wide wood paneled door with the crescent moon shaped window. He grins and it makes your migraine worse.

He tries to get in your way and you shove him off and push your way inside as if anyone’s waiting there for you. You say something about how you’ll see him tomorrow, or maybe it’s just him who says that and you agree in your head.

You shut the door.

Alone, finally.

You close your eyes and the silence seeps in.

For the first time all day you can hear your own heart beating.

You nudge open the door again and Lea stares, eyebrows up, hands half risen. You are not sure who’s more surprised, you because he’s stuck around or him because you opened the door back up.

You motion him inside and shut the door and he follows in silence, green eyes wide and jade colored in the shadows. You lean against the door and he leans against it beside you. Your eyes shut and you assume his do too and you flex your fingers towards his and just breathe, and for once he is quiet.

His fingers twine with yours, rough and knobby as tree roots.

Alone, finally.

[hungrywhovianjedi]

                                              If I Never Leave

In an alternate reality, everything is different. Emma got to raise Henry, Neal never died, and Hook never changed. This is the story of when Hook changed the past, and Neal never left.

Read where it all began : Prologue, chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5, chapter 6 chapter 7 Epilogue

IHTSYH Also on: FFN

Read the rest of this story Prologue 

this story is also on FFN

tagging a few friends and people who showed interest: @flslp87 @revanmeetra87 @thegladelf @galadriel26 @swanfireheart @andiirivera @tralfamador-ian  

if you would like to be tagged in future chapters, just let me know or if you would like me not to tag you, likewise

Chapter 1

Neal Cassidy wasn’t prepared. He thought he was, but nothing prepared him for the mood swings, the cravings. The aches and pains, and the general difficulty of having a pregnant girlfriend. Wait, no fiancé. As soon as they found out, going to Canada didn’t feel right. He wanted to raise his son in the place that they chose together.

Neal turned them around and pushed the little bug to its limit after getting it a clean vin, and they made it to Tallahassee, Neal bought a small house with the watch money, and got a job at a local store. The first thing he did when he got their house, was buy a ring.

It wasn’t fancy, but he knew Emma wouldn’t care, and anything beat an onion ring in a bathroom at a roadside motel outside of Tacoma. Then he took her out on the town, and did it right. He and Emma were on the beach after a movie, and dinner, when he pulled her to a stop, and dropped on one knee. He pulled out the small box, and asked her to marry her on the Tallahassee beaches, and she told him yes, her lips warm and soft against his, this time without puke breath and onion rings.

They got married in a courthouse, Neal in a dress shirt and jeans, and Emma in a white sundress practically glowing with joy, and pregnancy their little boy becoming more pronounced every day.

It was days like today he knew he would always cherish, as Emma waddled into the living room, softly humming to her their son, and rubbing soothing circles over her stomach. He wished he could paint, so he could capture that moment forever, the way her eyes were closed, and the way her face lit up as she caught his eye across the room. “Henry’s been active today. I think he’s as anxious to come meet us, as we are to meet him.” She said as she moved over to him.

She was almost seven months along now, and they had finally agreed on a name. She had been thinking Benjamin, or James, and he offered John and Michael, but Emma refused to have her son named after “the little boys from Peter Pan” It went like that often, but Neal found it he didn’t even know how, but one day, he and Emma were watching a movie, when he heard it. Henry. Henry James Swan-Cassidy, they chose James because Emma said it was “A strong name, and it made him sound like a prince, even though neither of them were.” He smiled when he thought about it, Henry really was a prince, not that Emma knew that.

Neal moved to her side, resting his hands on her swollen stomach and leaning down so his face was inches away from his son. “We’re excited to meet you to, kid.” He looked up at Emma, and smiled at the fondness on her face, as she gazed back at him softly. “But, let’s take it easy on your mom a bit yeah? We’ll still be here in a couple of weeks, and we can’t wait, but you have to, alright kiddo?” He was answered by a hard kick to his hand, and he smiled. “Glad we agree Henry. Glad we agree.”

~~zero hour~~

Neal was woken by a sudden gasp beside him, and a bone crushing grip around his arm. He shot upright, as Emma groaned. “Emma?” He asked groggily, “Babe, what’s wrong?” He barely opened his eyes, when it suddenly felt like he had been jolted awaked by a car battery.

“He’s coming.” She gasped. “I think he’s coming!” She gasped again, clutching at her stomach. Neal was out of bed in an instance, scrabbling for the light switch, and rushing to the closet. He frantically dug through, he knew the bag was in there, he watched Emma put it in here. After a minute of searching, where most of their closet wound up relocated to the bedroom floor, he found it, and was back at Emma’s side. She was breathing heavily, she hissed as Neal helped her out of the bed, and into the sweater that was beside the bed.

“Just breathe, Emma. Breathe, and before you know it, Henry will be here.” He told her, with a small smile, that she returned before a contraction struck, and she was crushing his hand.

~~hour 1~~

The drive to the hospital, was one of the longest, and most nerve-racking drives Neal had ever taken. Emma was trying to urge him to go faster, despite the fact he was already going ten over, and well beyond the point of getting pulled over. So, when the lights never flashed, before he swung into the hospital parking lot, he released a sigh of relief before he pressed a kiss to Emma’s head, and launched out of the car and into the emergency room, to get help.

The nurse looked up when he came running in. “I need help!” He called to her, making her bustle around the desk, “My wife, she’s in the car, and she’s in labor.” When he said the words, it really came crashing down on him. This was happening, he was going to be a dad. In a matter of a few hours, he would be a father, and Emma would be the best mother. He knew it already, as he helped the nurse get Emma into the wheelchair, and rolled her into the emergency room.

Not long after, they were in one of the rooms with the curtain door, Emma perched on the high bed. The nurse that helped Neal get her inside, was preforming a check on Emma’s vitals. Jotting down notes. She took her temp, “Okay, Emma. About how far apart are your contractions? So we can get a good estimate of when your little one is going to come meet you.” The nurse asked soothingly.

Neal rubbed her shoulders gently, as Emma answered, her hand resting over Neal’s. “I woke up about five, with the first one, and they’re I don’t know twenty minutes apart?”

The nurse nodded, jotting something down on her clipboard. “okay, the doctor will be in, in a moment, she’ll check and see how much you’re dilated, but chances are, you’re in early labor, which means you have a long way to go. Which if you are only in early labor, you’ll have a choice. You’ll be able to go home, and come back, or we can get you set up in a birthing suite here.” Emma nodded, and the nurse left, after a parting pat to her leg, and a smile.

The curtain pulled back a couple moments later, revealing a doctor that held a striking resemblance to Emma, just with dark hair on the other side.

“Okay, Mrs. Cassidy.”

“Swan-Cassidy.” Emma corrected. “Mrs. Swan-Cassidy”

The doctor nodded. “My name is doctor Cameron, and I’ll be preforming your preliminary exam, then I’ll send that to your doctor. I see it listed here, as doctor Rider?”

Emma nodded. “Yes, doctor Rider.” She confirmed.

Dr. Cameron nodded, and looked up with a smile. “Alright, let’s take a look, and see when little one is going to come say hello.”

~~hour 4~~

Neal and Emma decided to stay, because Emma didn’t want to wait too long and end up ‘having a house baby’ because they didn’t know what they were doing. So they were set up in a birthing suite, and Neal found himself pacing restlessly, as Emma slept. The first three hours, had been spent with Doctor Rider coming in to take a look at Emma’s progress, and him reading Emma’s old beat up copy of Peter Pan. A book which he had come to cherish, despite his knowledge of what Neverland really was, because of the way Emma’s face lit, up whenever she read it to their son.

He hated Pan, but even he had to admit that the story in this land was not Peter Pan as he truly was. This Pan was mischievous and playful, not evil and spiteful. He was halfway through the final duel with Captain Hook, when he looked up, and noticed that Emma had drifted to sleep. He released a sigh of relief, glad that she was finally sleeping, he knew he should try and do some sleeping before things got serious in a couple hours, but he was wired.  

He looked back at Emma, sleeping peacefully, and it hit him again, how he almost gave this up. He almost walked away from her, leaving her to go to prison, he almost destroyed her life. He almost put Emma in the position to give up the baby they were eagerly awaiting. He owed it to Hook. If it weren’t for Hook telling him she was pregnant, if he hadn’t fallen in love with an older, more broken Emma, he would have thrown this away.

As he paced, he replayed his life in his mind, all the mistakes he had made. When he was a little boy, he had been so happy. His father had been his best friend, his mother his stone wall, that would shield him from the dark nights. Then his mother left, and tore down the wall, leaving his father feebly covering them with scratchy wool, and raising him to be afraid. Then the Ogre’s War draft came for him, and that was when he saw his life crumble. He suddenly was a prince in their village. His father a vengeful king. He was no longer the loving father that had sold everything he owned for his son. Neal looked to his wife again, when she made a small sound in her sleep. His father had turned to darkness to protect his family. Neal made a vow as he looked at his world, asleep in that small hospital bed, he would protect them, but he would never do something that he wouldn’t want his son to emulate to do so. He wouldn’t let darkness rip apart this family, like it did with his first.

His mind replayed the night that he left his father. He was so hopeful, he thought that he would finally get the chance to live a life free of dark magic, by taking his father to the land without magic. His father let him go, he abandoned him. Neal admitted to himself, that he would likely never forgive his father doing that to him. He knew that staying here with Emma, he knew it was the road back to his father. He also knew, he would never leave Emma to face him alone. Not with Henry. He wouldn’t do that, so when that time came, he would walk into the town that the curse made, and he would suck it up. He would go back to his father. He vowed to stay by her, and he would protect her, and their son. Even if that meant going to the one place he never wanted to go. Even if it meant that he would have to face his father. Neal would never leave his family.

He paused in his pacing, and moved back to Emma’s side, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. He didn’t know why Hook would give him this chance, but if he ever saw the man that saved his future, he wasn’t sure he could ever repay the gift he was given, even as Emma woke with a groan, and something told him, that Henry wasn’t that far away.

~~hour 7~~

Sweat beaded on Emma’s forehead, her contractions began coming closer and closer together. Doctor Rider was a constant in the room now, as the room began to transform, and it seemed to get smaller, as more and more people came in, bringing things for the doctor, and offering Emma drugs. All of which she denied immediately. She had told Neal right away, that she didn’t want anything. She wanted this to be natural.

Neal had taken up a new position by her head, hand clamped in hers. It was another check, and this time doctor Rider looked up. “Emma.” He began, as Emma clenched Neal’s hand again, he grunted, but otherwise showed no reaction, aside from whispering encouragements, “Emma,” Dr. Rider started again. “We’re almost ready, your water should be breaking any time now, or we’ll have to break it ourselves, then it’ll just be a matter of time, before your little guy is here.” He assured. “Something that will help, is if you wanted to take a short walk around the ward, it might help get things get rolling.”

Emma nodded, as they brought her legs down from the stirrups. “I think I’ll try that, I’m already getting tired of this bed.” She joked.

Neal smiled and rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand, and nodded, whatever she wanted.

~~hour 9~~

Another lap around the hospital, it seemed like Henry was really not willing to come out and say hello, but there was hope, back around the end of the last lap, her water broke, and that was when the pressure really started, mostly because he was sure he would need a splint or perhaps a full cast if she squeezed much harder, doctor Rider was back at his place by her feet, legs up in stirrups once more, and then he said the magic words.

“Emma, when I say push, I’m going to need you to push.” His voice was soothing, and Neal felt a wave of anxious, happiness, with twinges of terror, cut through with pain, as Emma crushed his hand again. “Okay, Emma. Push!” he ordered, and Emma tensed, body contracting, a solid cry slipping past her lips, Neal swore he saw the lights flicker, but that could just be because of the points of pain flashing behind his eyes, as he swore he felt something crack in his hand.

“Okay, that was so good Emma, so good, just a little bit more, and he’ll be here, ready, and I need you to push again Emma. Push!” He ordered, Emma pushed again, a strangled scream leaving her lips, and Neal felt his heart go out to her, as he began to lose feeling in his fingers, whispering praise in her ear.

“Shut up!” She all but shrieked at him. “You did this to me!” He tried not to let the words hurt, he was warned by the doctor, that she might say things she didn’t mean because of the pain.

“I know, Emma, I know. I’m sorry babe, but it’ll be over soon, he’ll be here soon.” He whispered.

“Emma, push!” The doctor ordered again, and this time Neal was sure he felt a bone crack, and the only thing that broke through the haze, was Dr. Rider’s exclamation. “I see the head, just one more Emma. Ready, and, push!”

Emma’s resounding scream was the longest most agonized scream he had ever heard her release, and when it was done she sagged back against the mattress.

“Okay Emma, one more push, and his shoulders will be through. Just one more, and you get to hold your son.”

“I can’t do it! I can’t!” She sobbed. “I can’t do it!”

“Yes you can, he want’s to meet you Emma, just one more push!”

Emma shook her head, but finally she tensed again, grip harder on Neal’s hand, as she screamed one more time, and this time, it was joined by another scream, one that Neal wouldn’t soon forget, because it was the high, clear, first cry of his son.

Emma sobbed when she heard it, and he saw pure joy, mix with the exhaustion on her face, as the doctor laid Henry in her arms. “Hi, Henry.” She whispered, holding him close to her chest, her grin growing, when his cry silenced as soon as he was in her arms. “Hi” she whispered, before tearing her eyes away to look at her husband, “We made this.”

Neal felt tears on his face, as he bent to kiss her. “You did all the work.” He turned to look at his son, and he swore, he had never seen anything so beautiful. “Henry Swan-Cassidy, he’s going to take this world by storm” He told the little boy, earning a sleepy laugh from his wife.