#how else are the pensives supposed to be the founding heads of hogwarts

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Why Voldemort is a terrible villain and how I’d improve Voldemort as a villain

As much as I like Voldemort, when you look back on the books. Voldemort is a terrible villain. Yes he has the Horcruxes and has loyal followers...but that’s it. In this post I will be examining why Voldemort is a terrible villain in Harry Potter and how I would improve Voldemort as a villain.

Let’s look at Voldemort’s track record

No clear motivations. The movies do absolutely nothing to flesh out Voldemort, but that's understandable, they're the movies. But even in the books, there is no clear reason for Voldemort doing any of the things that he does. During the flashbacks in the Pensive, Tom is a disturbed child who has a tendency to torture animals, lure other children to creepy caves and steal stuff - all of this is bad, yes, but why? Why is Tom Riddle "evil"? I know the explanation that the canon somewhat provides: that Voldemort doesn't know love/friendship/connection because he was conceived under the trickery of a love potion, and his mother was abused But, even if you accept that explanation, that does not justify Tom Riddle being innately evil and monstrous. Why is he racist/supremacist? If he really is a natural genius with a detachment from human emotion, shouldn't he also be detached from things like blood supremacy, ancestry and mortality? Just because he's a sociopath doesn't mean he will automatically turn into Hitler.

Wages a Wizarding war, but couldn’t even conquer his own Wizarding Nation

He couldn’t become Minister Of Magic. Instead he dicked around in Borgins And Burkes and instead wanted to become Defense Against The Dark Arts Professor.....for reasons. He could’ve used his power as Minister Of Magic to gain followers, especially the fanatic pure blood families and the impressionable Slytherins and cover for his Horcrux murders. But nooo.

When Voldemort DOES take power by force during the second Wizarding War, he does barely anything with it. Voldemort owns the government and has an army of evil. Where does he plan to launch his attack on the world? At a god damn highschool. Yes I know he attacked Hogwarts because of the last Horcrux. Didn't need to get that far if he didn't act like the world's worst Bond villain and monologued for enough time to let Harry either escape or for the Deus ex machina to arrive on que. The first two times it happens, yeah I get it. You're a villain who is up himself, shit happens. But by book 5 when he is still doing dumb shit it's unforgivable. How hard is it to issue a kill on sight order to your hordes of evil? I mean FFS you have legit werewolves on your side, who can sniff out a drop of blood miles away and yet you do nothing with them? Not only do you fail to kill a defenseless baby but you can't evil kill the kid when he's locked up in your second in commands basement.

He isn't particularly charismatic or a decent leader. He does have tons of followers, for reasons. Seriously, except for fear and opportunism I can't understand why anybody would want to fight for him. I mean, I get that he is basically magic!Hitler, but actual Hitler could at least hold speeches. Actual Hitler had arguments why his rule would be good for the German people. Voldemort doesn't. Voldemort treats his followers like shit and tortures or kills them if they aren't useful any more.

He didn't do his homework and doesn't knows the magic lore good enough. He manages to kill himself two times because of lore he really should have known about. The first time he fails to see the magic love-charm, the second time he doesn't recognizes the arcane rules of wand ownership. Those are stupid, avoidable mistakes for somebody that is supposed to be the greatest dark mage of his time.

He isn't even a particularly good mage. He manages to get statemaled by Harry and defeated by Dumbledore. He never does anything truly remarkable with magic that we haven't seen other characters do the same or better (the cave in book six is pretty good, but that's already has best showing). All we see is “AVADA KEDAVA.” Cool, I’ve seen every damn villain use that stupid fucking spell and yes it is a terrible spell.

His plans are... well, they are shit. If your plans get permanently foiled by a bunch of meddeling kids, you should think about retirement, not world domination. The plan in "Goblet of fire" only works out because of dumb luck. "Orden of phoenix" works out because of Harrys incompetence. The plan to kill Dumbledore only worked cause Voldemort used logic and had one of his followers do the work for him. The rest of his plans fail gloriously.

Voldemort's goals. He... wants to be immortal, but why? Because he's afraid of death? Why is he afraid of death? He literally spent his childhood cutting open rabbits. He excelled in all fields of academia and is arguably very intelligent; intelligence tends to negate superstition. Okay, fine; let's assume he's afraid of death. But even if we look for another explanation: maybe he wants to live forever in order to stay in power.

Voldemort wants power...Why does he want power? Why does he want to, quite literally, take over the world? It makes no sense. He has no reason to care about any of that. Even if he's prejudiced against Muggles, what exactly gives him the willpower to actually gather followers, build a legion of darkdoom evil squad and kill everyone? His motivations are never explained, and he is introduced to the story as a 2-dimensional "bad guy". Even from the 4th book onward, Voldemort is never actually fleshed out. He simply goes from bad guy to "extremely bad guy/"super fucking evil". It's shallow. It's a bad character. He isn't even a character. He has no depth, nuance, relatability or layers to him. He's just a textbook douchebag who exists simply to give the protagonists something to do, because otherwise the stories would just be about magic school.

Let's look at the closest and most obvious reflection: Adolf Hitler. It's painfully obvious that Voldemort's movement is based on Nazism. But if you read Mein Kampf, Hitler actually believed what he was doing was justified, and provided reasons for it which he thought made sense. Even if it was objectively flawed, he believed it. That's what makes a good character in fiction; even if they're actually batshit fucking insane and critically evil, you can make them relatable if you go inside their head and show the audience why they're doing what they're doing. Even if the audience doesn't agree with the character, the audience understands why the character thinks this way. Unlike Hitler's diary, Voldemort has no level of self-introspection, no actual justifications. He's a walking plot device, and that's ridiculously bad for a 7-book-long story where he's the main antagonist. I don't remember a single interaction, scene or exchange where Voldemort is shown to have any degree of self-awareness. The youngest we ever see him is when Dumbledore visits him in the orphanage, and by that point he's already evil as balls, for seemingly no reason. Even when Harry is talking to him in their final fight, Voldemort only hisses and spits out superficial threats and a shallow understanding of the events around him, and actually has no idea who he is, or why he's doing what he does. . If he were a realistic character, this lack of self-awareness would build up over time, would create self-doubt in him, and he would go through a character arc where he "found himself" and learned what he really wanted. And then, maybe he comes back and does some crazy shit, but this time he does them with glorious conviction, and has no shame in admitting it. The audience knows him now, and he's a great villain. But that's not what we got.��Remember the 13-odd years Voldemort spent floating around like a puff of gas, possessing rats and squatting in Quirrel's turban? Why did his character not develop? HE HAD THIRTEEN FUCKING YEARS TO REFLECT ON HIMSELF. He literally had nothing else to do. He could've become such a complex character. Think about it: a bland, textbook villain gets cucked into infinity and now can't actually do anything but bide his time. It would clearly affect his personality, especially if it lasts 13 goddamn years. But when Voldemort is revived in book 4, he's still just "look how evil I am.exe". He had literally no character arc of any kind. That's actually impossible. No sentient human being can have the same personality, goals and motivations after over a decade of exile. He's a badly-written villain, plain and simple.

It seems like a very poor decision to make the antagonist of 7 thick books this unrelatable and bland. It also makes no sense because Rowling has written consistently excellent characters throughout the series. Why not make Voldemort a real character?

So here is how I would improve Voldemort as a villain

Motivation. So since it's universally accepted that Salazar was against Muggleorns because he grew up in a time where Wizards and Witches were being burned at the stake. What if Voldemort had similar intentions cause he grew up in a time during WWII and the Cold War and saw how powerful and dangerous the Muggles were becoming with their nuclear weapons and wanted to protect magic kind from the Muggles and viewed the Muggles invading a possibility. So he became Lord Voldemort and formed the Death Eaters to finish Salazar Slytherin’s work to protect magic kind against Muggles and Muggleborns. It could’ve started out as noble, but turned racist and evil in the end.  

As Tom Riddle, he becomes the Minister Of Magic or given a position of power secondary to the Minister Of Magic. The Lord Of Magic. It’s important that prior to becoming Lord Voldemort, he should hold a position of political power within the Ministry Of Magic. In Hogwarts, it is said as a student Tom was charismatic, charming and a wolf in sheep’s clothing. So why not use all that for politics? He could use his charm and political power to turn the Ministry Of Magic against the Muggleborns and against the Muggles. He would write a book explaining in detail why he believes in what he believes and that gives him the following he needs. The Book in question would be called “Magic Is Might!” The old Pure Blood magical families and impressionable young Slytherins would follow him like moths to a flame.  He could use his newfound political power to research all forms of magic and even the dark arts. He could make Horcruxes in secret. As Voldemort he would gather allies who were rejected by society like Werewolves and Giants. But despite what the Horcruxes do to his face, he could use magic to keep up appearances. He wouldn’t just be seeking to wage war with the muggles and muggleborns. First Voldemort has to take over the Wizarding world. 

Treats his followers like allies. Voldemort does not use fear and the threat of death and torture on his most trusted allies. Tom Riddle’s the Knights of Walpurgis hold key positions in Tom Riddle’s administration and then the Death Eaters are born and Voldemort treats them with respect and admiration. In a sense, he treats the Death Eaters like family.

The First WIzarding War should have been about Voldemort waging war on the other Wizarding nations. This would truly show how terrifying and powerful Voldemort really is. Would also explain why the other nations did not interfere in the second war, cause they were that terrified of Voldemort. The Order Of Phoenix was barely able to win and drive Voldemort from power. 

Voldemort’s fall was because he was desperate. He was ousted from power and Dumbledore, the OOTP and Aurors are on his trail. His body is failing him, so he desperately needs to create a new Horcrux. So he kills The Potters. He fully knew that Lily used the love charm to shield Harry from him. So He saw a way out. Voldemort purposefully destroyed himself so he could gain a new Horcrux. 

Plus, we can have Voldemort hide the Horcruxes in the nations he conquered. So Voldemort can hide them in -Russia -Germany -America -Hogwarts -France Obviously Nagini would be by his side at all times and well Harry is the last one. For context of how Voldemort conquered these nations. Imperio, subterfuge, and mass hysteria. He took out the Wizarding governments and implanted them with his thrawls.

Make Voldemort as hated as Umbridge. Here’s how.

In my hypothetical scenario where Voldemort hides the Horcruxes in different Wizarding Nations, make 8 books. Book 7 ends with everyone graduating from Hogwarts and the fall of the Ministry. 

This way, after graduation, the Ministry has fallen and it ends with the Big Seven on the run. In Book 8 they are all on the hunt for the Horcruxes. Not just for Horcruxes, but international allies to unite the Wizarding world against Voldemort. It ends with the final confrontation being at the Ministry. Voldemort's endgame plan is not just to wipe out the Muggleborns, but wiping out the Muggles. He has the Magic equivalent to a Nuclear bomb. Voldemort wants to destroy the Muggles and recreate the world in his image. Magic Is Might! He plans on using it and Harry has to stop him before it's too late

Voldemort fails because the Horcruxes are failing him. It isn’t immortality, it is only temporarily longevity and every time one of his Horcruxes gets destroyed, his body breaks down and his soul is in an even worse shape.  When Nagini is destroyed, it is over. Voldemort thinks if he can kill Harry, he will live forever as the prophecy states “only one can live forever.” so he believes if he could just kill Harry, he can win. But Harry deflects his curses and sends it right back at him. Voldemort dies as he did in the book. Powerless, alone and human.

[blacknailpolishonguitarstrings]

From Above

Magic was a very interesting thing. Powerful but fickle. Healing and caring in the right hands, yet wicked and deadly in the wrong ones. Dangerous. Magic was convenient, but used to its full potential only by a select few, and more often than not, by the ones in the wrong rather than by the deserving ones. As such, magic held many secrets that had yet to be discovered. Amongst those many unexplored areas, ghosts and death were some of the most obscure branches of magic. Wizards and witches knew next to nothing about the Afterlife. Ghosts were the imprints of departed souls, and could of course stay in the world of the living if they wished to do so, but they were forever attached to one place. What no one knew, or at least, remembered, was that if one poured enough emotion into the remembrance of a certain deceased person, their soul would be able to perceive what was happening in the world of the living at that precise moment. The souls of the dead had constant access to their past, of course, they were capable of thoughts and feelings, and they could see what was happening to everything and everyone in the world of the living, but as time passed, that connection grew feebler and feebler. The Dead distanced themselves from the Living more and more the longer they were gone, drifting further away from that thin barrier of Reality, and only a strong emotional connection could bring them back. That is how James and Lily Potter found their old friend Remus Lupin at their grave.

“James,” said Lily softly, resting a hand on her husband’s shoulder.

The logistics behind their ability to touch and feel each other were still unbeknownst and confusing to her, yet they were both ever so glad for it. Being dead…well it wasn’t fun. You merely existed. A lone, wandering soul. Yes, one was able to see the world and witness just about anything they wished, but that connection was unstable and weak at best. Both Lily and James felt themselves slipping away a tiny bit more with each day that passed, and it was an underlying knowledge, a cold hard truth, that someday they would simply cease to exist and fade into nothingness. But for now, they held on, with every bit of strength left in them to the real world. They had the urgent need to stay “alive” as best as they could, given their condition, for Harry, the son they would never see grow up, for Remus, their best friend, who was all alone now, and for Sirius, the one person who was slowly but surely getting dreadfully closer to James and Lily with every minute he spent in that cell, isolated, lost, in pain.

“What is it, love?” Asked James, looking up from the concert taking place in a small pub in London he was watching.

“Look, over there,” replied Lily, pointing into the far distance.

The world stretched beneath them like a small map they could observe closer whenever they felt like it, skipping from place to place in a matter of seconds. In the direction Lily was pointing towards, a grey, cold, graveyard stood in the middle of a town, namely, Godric’s Hollow. And among the marble tombstones, a lone figure kneeled in front of two joint headstones which shone bright and white in the evening, brand new, adorned with wreaths of white lilies.

Remus Lupin. In front of their graves. Behind her, James gasped.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” He whispered, already knowing the answer.

“I think so…James, do you feel it? The connection?”

“Yeah, I think I do, it’s almost as if he were…pulling us in.”

Suddenly, they found themselves right above the graveyard, with a direct on-look on it.

“I…I feel close to him, I think his magic is calling us towards him or something. Merlin, this is so strange, how does this even work?” Said Lily, puzzled and slightly frustrated.

“I’m afraid I don’t know much more than you. It must be some form of ancient magic, or maybe Death magic, who knows…in any case nothing we were taught at Hogwarts,” answered James thoughtfully.

His wife nodded in agreement, remaining quiet as she watched her best friend below her. Remus’ shoulders were sagging under an invisible pressure, it appeared as if he would sink into the ground on which he was kneeling at any given second. His hands were hidden in the depth of his old, brown, worn-out coat’s pockets.

“They’re probably balled into fists,” thought Lily knowingly.

Oddly enough he wasn’t crying, and he did not look particularly afflicted. On the contrary, he seemed…numb. He was just there. With no purpose, no emotions, no hysterics, no cries, nothing, he was just there.

“I wish we could talk to him, or at least know what’s going on in his mind,” said James abruptly, interrupting her train of thought.

At that precise moment, Remus pulled out his wand and waved it briefly over the headstones. The fresh flowers on the two graves disappeared in small puffs of sparkles, telltale signs of magic, which hung around fleetingly in the air before vanishing as well. He waved his wand again, and several dark green sprouts spurted from its tip, softly dropping to the ground, small roots snaking into the mushy earth. The plants began to grow in size, intertwining until they formed a complex woven arch of spikes and leaves stretching across the two graves. Here and there, pearlescent white flowers bloomed. White roses.

“He remembers,” murmured Lily, tears welling up in her non-existent eyes, pricking her skin, sliding down her cheeks.

“Oh, love, of course, he does. Besides, those lilies were truly atrocious,” James laughed, but through the rumble of his chuckles, Lily could hear the affliction and the sorrow, thick and overwhelming.

She sighed, hugging him.

“If only we could communicate somehow,” she repeated her husband’s words.

There was another curious thing about magic: it had the uncanny knack to listen to one’s feelings, and sometimes, it was lenient and amalgamated. That is how Lily and James found themselves right next to Remus, still invisible, still unperceived, but there nonetheless, with him, instead of above him. They were both too troubled to think about the trick behind it, and for a fleeting moment, it felt as if they were real again. If Lily hadn’t known any better, she would have sworn she felt the chilly autumn wind whisper through her formerly auburn hair, she would have sworn she felt the gravel crunch and roll under her feet, she would have sworn she felt her tears slide down her cheeks and freeze on her clammy skin right before they tipped past her chin, and she would have sworn she felt the texture of Remus’ wool coat under her hand as she placed it longingly on his shoulder, heat radiating from him under her palm. But she knew it was nothing more than a mere wish, sometimes she even wondered if she ever truly felt James’ touch, or if it was yet another fragment of her imagination, a shard of her shattered past. Neither of them was sure anymore, if they still resembled their former selves and had a partly physical form or if they were simple spirits, shadows of people, slivers of energy.

Lily and James stood there for long minutes beside their friend, quiet, not daring to move, just watching him, being there with him. Lily would have given anything to know what was going on in his mind, but he remained silent. Finally, as the last few pale rays of sunlight tinted the grey sky a light golden before being swallowed by the night’s shadows, a hoarse whisper escaped his lips:

“I miss you…I…I’m so alone now and I don’t know what to do.”

His head hung low, dull chestnut curls hiding his face, but Lily could tell he was crying by the slight shake of his shoulders. Her heart tightened, clenched by pain, that is if it still existed somewhere.

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” he continued with more vehemence. “I don’t want to live like this anymore!”

Remus had almost shouted the last few words and looked as if he were about to say something else when the sudden crack of Apparition cut him off. Albus Dumbledore appeared between the gravestones, dressed in dark blue robes, looking tired, eyes wary.

“Remus, I assumed I would find you here. I am very sorry but I must interrupt your mourning, there is an urgent matter I must discuss with you. Will you—“

“Professor,” interrupted Remus, finally looking up.

His eyes were puffy and red, and ill-defined traces of tears lined his hollow, bony cheeks. Lily couldn’t help worriedly noticing how much thinner he had gotten, bones pocking out from beneath his coat.

“Do you believe Black killed James and Lily and Peter?”

Next to her, James flinched at the question; Remus hadn’t called Sirius by his last name in years.

“I…I am afraid all the evidence point to that, nothing is indicating otherwise,” answered Dumbledore quietly but resolutely.

“NO!” Vociferated James. “SIRIUS DID NOT KILL US, PETER, THAT TREACHEROUS RAT DID! SIRIUS WOULD NEVER DO ANYTHING LIKE THIS! HE IS MY BROTHER! HE ISN’T CAPABLE OF MURDERING ANOTHER HUMAN BEING!”

“James! James! They can’t hear you, my love, as unjust as this is there is nothing we can do!” Said Lily sadly, attempting to calm her husband down, yet her voice shook with contained fury.

Remus said nothing for a while, looking pensively into the distance, watching as the sun finally set, but something in his gaze had hardened.

“So he killed them,” he declared at last. “Black killed his best friends, those who gave him everything, and he abandoned me and betrayed me too…”

“No! Remus! Listen, it’s false! It’s not what it looks like! Dammit, Remus, listen to me!” Begged James desperately, trying to grasp his friend’s shoulders, but his hand went right through him, slicing through the air.

“He killed them,” repeated Remus bitterly. “I guess the Black in him won, after all, joined Voldemort, didn’t he?”

“I suppose so, yes,” nodded Dumbledore.

The words hit Lily like a punch in the gut as James sunk with a defeated and miserable sigh next to her.

“Old fool,” he mumbled.

[slytherin-puffskein]

i’m sick of everything, i just wanna hold you.

summary: Barnaby Lee and Laurent King, as confused, scared and clueless as they can possibly be, decide to navigate together through what is supposed to be an amazing night, the Celestial Ball. Fear clutching at their hearts, they dive in anyway, and discover just how odd a simple night can be. Terrifying, and yet wonderful once you learn to let go.

- - -

notes: Thank you so much for 200 followers!! I realized I had hit that follower count as I was typing this fic up, so I decided to make it a ‘thank you’ gift! Below you can read Barnaby and Laurent’s experience at the Celestial Ball, and I hope that you will enjoy!

- - -

There are many things that Barnaby Lee remembers, which is a miracle in itself due to his tendency to forget. He remembers his fifth birthday, he had gotten pretty neat... no, he can’t remember his gifts. Maybe he didn’t even get any, that wouldn’t be surprising. He recalled, however, his father’s smile. It had been comforting. In a way. He remembers the day his dad got a Kneazle, he had been allowed to play with it for an hour, or two. That, he can’t recall exactly. He just knows how fun it had been. He remembers when he got his letter from Hogwarts. Of course he had to remember this, or else, could he really call himself a wizard with pride? His father had kept on speaking to him about that damned letter, about how it will mark the death of his childhood and the birth of his life as a man.

A man. I’m only eleven years old. Can’t I play for a little longer...?

His woes, expressed in his eyes, had either been seen by his dad and ignored, or had simply gone unnoticed. He found solace in the second option. That way, it meant his dad cared about him. He had just... lacked the attention needed at that very moment to notice his son needed that specific care. He had been too distracted. Yes, that was it. Your father has a lot on his shoulders, dearie, his mother had once said. Yes, that was definitely it.

Barnaby Lee remembers a lot of things.

He remembers, most of all, how he met Laurent Dorian King. He couldn’t really pin that event down as a first meeting, however. They haven’t even spoken. They haven’t even looked at each other.

Barnaby had just been a terrified, nervous, anxious young kid looking for an empty cabin in the Hogwarts Express. It was loud, it was crowded, and the only thing he was looking for was someplace silent in which he could hide and mull. Death of your childhood, birth of your life as a man. Way to encourage him to pursue on his life. If only I had played with the Kneazle for a little longer, then I would have had more of that childhood.

He had, at last, spotted an empty cabin... or wait, no. It wasn’t empty. Not really. There was a figure inside, and as he stepped closer to the glass door he recognized a young boy. A young, fiery boy, but that was probably because of his orange, blazing hair. It looked... it looked pretty. After noticing his hair, however, he saw something else, something that reasoned with him: his face. The right side of it was pressed against the window, watching the large grassy fields unfolding by the train. That didn’t matter, though. What really grabbed Barnaby’s attention was his expression. He looked pensive, and yet, a spark in his eyes proved how he was truly feeling: about just as terrified as him. He’s just like me. Everyone here seems so excited... but he looks so afraid. I’m so afraid, too.

Maybe he can talk to him. Slide open the door, sit next to him, introduce himself: Hi, I’m Barnaby Lee. No, maybe not that. Who introduces themselves with their full name? Characters in the books he had read, yes, but he wasn’t in a book. This is real life, and in real life, you...

How do you introduce yourself in real life? He swallowed with difficulty, gaze still fixed on the ginger guy- Let’s call him Cabin Guy. He looks so... so. A word Barnaby cannot describe. Maybe he hadn’t found the right one yet. Or maybe no possible word could properly describe that boy. He just knew one thing: he had an aura, an energy, that drove Barnaby to sit with him and talk to him.

Friendly. Maybe that was the word. Despite his anxiety, he looked friendly. Like he would greet him with a smile and--

Before he could pursue his thoughts, or even make them happen, he felt a small hand land on his shoulder. As he turned around he quickly pinned a name to the face in front of him. Merula Snyde, daughter of rather fearsome Death Eaters. His dad had mentioned them a few times. How funny, now all of their parents were in Azkaban.

Merula Snyde exuded an energy that Barnaby couldn’t name as well, but it was in no way as comforting as the one Cabin Guy had. She titled her head, looking behind his shoulder, and scowled. “If I were you, I’d sit somewhere else, Lee.”

He blinked. She knows my name? Well, not my name, my surname. Of course she does. Dad and Mom are... rather popular. “Why?” The question slipped out of his lips.

“Because he reeks that Mudblood smell. I can smell it even from there, it’s retching.”

Mudblood. The first time he had heard that word from another mouth than his parents’. He shifted from one foot to the other, awkwardly standing there, not knowing what to do. How can you know that he’s a Muggleborn? And why is it so bad that he’s--

Before he could speak Merula was grasping his wrist. “Come with me, I got a better place for you to sit in.”

He obliged. One last look to the Cabin Guy. Their gazes failed to meet. Maybe they weren’t meant to be friends, after all.

- - -

Barnaby was met with quite the shock as he came to the realization that Merula’s newest target was, surprise, Cabin Guy himself. He also found out his name was Laurent King. Laurent King. What an interesting name... and odd to pronounce, as well. He tried saying it out loud five times in a row and failed, because he wouldn’t stop thinking about the surname. King. Was he kingly? Was Barnaby even worth his attention?

And how come he hadn’t known his name before? Maybe he hasn’t been paying enough attention in classes for the last two years. That would explain his monstrous grades. Yeah, surely. That was the reason. Maybe also because all of his attention had been fixed on Merula Snyde, who had the audacity to call herself his savior, for she had prevented him from befriending a dirty Mudblood.

You need to spy on him, Lee. I don’t trust that kid.

He will do it. Just to talk to him. That interest that had ignited in the train, it hadn’t died down. In fact, it grew stronger. So he went to spy him.

A first meeting about as fiery as his hair, as Laurent King ordered him to stay away from him for as long as possible. Maybe following Merula’s orders wasn’t such a good idea after all. Maybe he should detach himself from them in order to be himself and allow himself to befriend Laurent in a proper way.

And so he did.

And so, they were friends.

And so, he could finally claim he had a true friend, one that didn’t boss him around, that didn’t judge him, that didn’t belittle him. It... felt nice.

- - -

His eyes -wild, laughing, yet desperate-

.Virignia Woolf

- - -

When Laurent Dorian King befriended Barnaby Lee, he felt normal at last. He didn’t feel like a stranger anymore. He didn’t feel like the odd one out of the great equation that was Hogwarts... well, maybe not only Hogwarts. Right, he was estranged because he had dared to be a ‘Muggleborn’, but he was also pulled away from so many other things, so many other groups.

Thinking of it hurt. It hurt a lot.

One day, Lau, you’ll become one of the boys. His dad had often said that, alright. Usually accompanied with a massive slap on his back and bellowing laughter, sign that he has been drinking too much beer. Laurent had never minded, though. When his dad was drunk, he was cheerier. Happier. A shadow of who he was before his wife died.

Turned out, he never really became one of the boys. He never ended up with a small gang of boys to talk to, to laugh with, to fool around with. Boys will be boys. Well, that didn’t apply to Laurent. He had never felt part of their... their... their club. Yes, that word. Because it surely felt like one. A club in which you talk about girls and sports and girls and pranks and girls. A club that had a secret password, it seemed, and Laurent had failed to get it.

Despite how awful that isolation from the others felt, Laurent also couldn’t give a shit about it. He had never cared about these boys whose priority through the years shifted into seeing below a girl’s skirt. He had better stuff to do. Better shit to care about. Better things to see. And man, how many things he wanted to see. The choices were endless, and thus, limiting. And so he was stuck.

But with Barnaby, he felt liberated. Finally, he was feeling part of something. Something that no one else will have. It was his, that special little emotion beating hard inside of his chest. What was it? Happiness? Maybe. That, but more.

And he fucking, fucking loved that more. He fucking loved those nights spent sneaking out of the dorms to talk until the rise of dawn. He fucking loved those conversations about things as trivial as magical creatures to subjects as deep as the future. With Barnaby, he was discovering the universe. It might sound ridiculous, but it surely felt like so. And little did he know, it felt the same to Barnaby. It was as if two halves had finally met, and glued together. A bond that shall remain unbroken, both were sure of it.

A bond that, however, will be met with crushing obstacles, as another word came to describe the feelings they were both having.

Love.

- - -

When you love somebody it’s hard to think

about anything but to breathe

When you love somebody and bite your tongue

all you get is a mouthful of blood

.Fruit Bats

- - -

“You look horrible.”

“Thank you very much.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

Laurent smiled at Merula Snyde, combing his hair with his fingers one last time. Merlin, stop checking them already, you have no need to look perfect.

“This is just an opportunity to have fun, for me. I don’t have a date, so I can look as horrible as I want. I don’t have the pressure to look amazing.” He never thought he did, anyway. Sure, he acted confident, but he never really valued his looks. It was the freckles, maybe. They irked him.

Merula rolled her eyes and fixed his tie for the fifth time. For someone who couldn’t give a shit about Laurent King, she was sure watching over him. In her own little way, which made it all the more charming. “Wiseass.” Was her simple reply.

“More than you. We’re in fourth year, Merula, you should know it by now. Now go, I gotta get ready!” Well, was there really a way to get any more ready than he currently was? Despite Merula’s claims and his own insecurity, he looked flawless.

He never mentioned that he wanted to work more on how he looked, however.

No, he wanted to think about the storm that was settling into his mind. And thank Merlin, Merula vanished at last, leaving him alone in the Slytherin Common Room. It’s late. At this rate, I’ll be the last one to show up. He heavily sat down on a couch and sighed, rubbing his temples and trying to find order in his thoughts.

Laurent King and order. These words didn’t match. They never will.

Why was he so anxious, anyway? He and Barnaby had come to the decision to come to the Celestial Ball as friends, a mere excuse to have some fun. It shouldn’t make him that anxious. It shouldn’t make his palms as clammy, his cheeks as red, his fingers as trembling. Maybe I’m beginning a cold. Maybe. For he loved ignoring logical explanations.

Love. While that word described their relationship, both had tucked it away in a dark corner of their minds. Boys will be boys. That’s what people say. They don’t say Boys kis-- He closed his eyes.

Let’s just get this over with, fuck.

Two friends hanging out.

Nothing less, nothing more.

Then why am I so excited to see him?

- - -

You know how to ride a dirt bike, and you know how to do long division,

and you know that a boy who likes boys is a dead boy, unless he keeps his mouth shut.

.Richard Siken

- - -

“You...”

“You look...”

They both blinked. Barnaby giggled, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, I-- you first!”

“No, you first!” Laurent insisted, a smile making its way on his lips. “You talked first, after all.”

“I’m pretty sure we both said it at the same time, honestly...”

“Are you?”

“Pretty much.”

“Maybe we can both say it at the same time, then.”

Maybe that was meant to be, after all. That made Laurent think for a quick second. What else, about me, about us, is meant to be? His smile got bigger as Barnaby nodded, and they counted to three. They were standing in front of the Great Hall’s entrance. They could hear the music from behind the doors. Both have been late, it seemed. Had Barnaby been as anxious as Laurent? That was a question he would like to get the answer, just so he would feel less alone.

“You look amazing.”

There was silence as they both realized what the other just said, and they blushed. Pink hues, climbing over their cheeks, spreading over their faces, dead giveaway of how they were feeling.

That feeling, however, also felt like pure bliss to both. A bliss that they had tried to be ashamed of many times. The same bliss Barnaby had felt when he had lied down next to Laurent, their shoulders touching, as they stargazed in the Astronomy Tower. The same bliss that had taken over Laurent that one time their hands accidentally brushed together. We’re not supposed to feel this. You know. Remember what dad said.

Dad said many things.

He said, most of all, ‘I can’t wait for you to introduce me to your girlfriend. You’ll get one soon, look at you. You have your mom’s looks, and she made a lot of heads turn.”

Boys looked at mom, Dad.

So can it also happen to me?

“Your clothes...” Lau started, meaning to say a compliment. “They’re... good.”

If only he could punch himself in the face, right at this instant. How liberating would that feel.

Barnaby, however, smiled, looking down at his outfit and then back to Laurent’s. “Your clothes are good as well! V-Very good. Greatly goody. Wait, can I say that? That’s-That’s a word, right?”

“I believe it is, Barn.”

Oh Merlin I’m RIDICULOUS but why am I thinking like THIS why are we even complimenting each other we’re going to this stupid ball as FRIENDS. That had travelled over both their minds.

“A-Are you ready?” Barnaby suddenly asked.

I wish I knew.

“Yes, I am.” He replied.

Barnaby slowly stepped forward, his hand reaching towards Lau’s, but he stopped mid-movement and prayed that his friend had failed to notice it. “Let’s g-go, then.”

Laurent would be lying if he were to claim he hadn’t tried to reach for Barnaby’s hand as they stepped inside the Great Hall. As they walked together, Barnaby suddenly reminded something, and gave Lau a flower bracelet that matched his boutonnière.

It looked beautiful.

And it was also a dead giveaway they were each other’s... date.

Of course, a lot of other people had their friends as their dates, but they were entirely unfazed by it, as opposed to Barnaby Lee and Laurent King. That was because, these people saw each other as friends. Nothing else. Those other friends in the Ball, they didn’t awkwardly stood next to each other, stealing glances and hoping to be brave enough to reach for the other’s hand. Those other friends, their minds weren’t filled with worries and fears and anxiety. They were filled, in fact, with happiness and joy.

Because their feelings were only those of friendship.

Their faces exuded joy.

Their eyes, however, said another story, and that was what had rendered Laurent and Barnaby still. A group of girls looked at them, whispering. Two boys stared at them, eyebrows arched in concern, which made Laurent shiver. Are they just judging our outfits, or judging us? That flower bracelet, it only gave those people clues, clues that people could claim as theirs and do whatever the hell they wanted with it.

Couldn’t a flower bracelet, be just a flower bracelet?

Was this a bad idea from the beginning? Laurent turned to Barnaby, and smiled at him. Oh, how much I want to hug him. Ditch the Ball, go with him, hug him someplace empty where no one can look at us.

“People are looking at us.”

Barnaby nodded. “They are. I’m sorry, Lau...”

That made him blink. “Sorry for what, Barnaby...?”

Their gazes met, and their breathing stopped. He’s too beautiful, both thought. Barnaby sighed, then shrugged. “I feel like it’s my fault... that bracelet, my boutonnière, everyone’s looking and...”

And guessing. Guessing what we both fear the most. Because it is true. Truth, is the most terrifying thing one can hear.

You’ll attract a lot of girls, Laurent, his father had once said.

So many girls look at you, Lee, it’s ridiculous, Merula had scoffed.

Good looking lads. Meant for women. Malfunctioning. It surely felt like it. Neither of them dared to address these problems, though. Instead, Laurent decided to cast them away, and to do the thing Barnaby loved most about him: not care. “Screw these people, Barn. Let’s enjoy this damned night and forget about everything!”

Wiseass, Merula would have said.

I love you, Barnaby wanted to say. He giggled as Lau finally took his hands, Merlin they are so small compared to mine, and dragged him to the dancefloor. They followed the music’s upbeat rhythm, not caring about anything else but fun. They danced, jumped, laughed, and soon enough Barnaby was twirling Lau around, laughter on his lips.

People are looking. Men shouldn’t act like that with each other. It’s weird. Fuck it, guys, I don’t care anymore! As long as Lau is around, I’m not afraid! Never will be! Take that, suckers!

They were happy.

- - -

We were in the gold room where everyone finally gets what they want, so I said What do you want, sweetheart? and you said Kiss me.

.Richard Siken

- - -

They ditched the Ball when the slow dances came around. It had been too awkward, too bad to look at. All these couples, boy and girl, dancing together, laced together, with nothing to keep them apart. It had made them sick because they wanted to be as fearless and dance together as well. Their fathers’ words, however, wouldn’t stop drilling themselves deeper into their minds: One day, you will find a lovely girlfriend.

A girlfriend. What they were supposed to have.

Sorry Dad for I have failed.

I found someone, but he isn’t a girl. But he’s perfect. He’s so perfect. He makes me laugh when I cry, he listens to me when no one does, he supports me when I fall down. It’s love, I know it, it’s what I feel. Why is it any less valid, because it’s from a boy?

They were kissing. Laurent pressed against a wall, Barnaby’s hands cupping his face, they were kissing, and they were forgetting about everything else. No fear, no dads, no looks, no whispered words about them, there was only the now and it was filled with the both of them and the love that lived between them. It filled them up, ensnared them, drove them crazy, and they would be entirely happy with dying right after that kiss, because they felt nothing else would feel as good.

Acceptance? Probably.

But does acceptance truly exists in that wicked world? A world where people from different blood status aren’t as accepted from others, can it really accept a boy who likes boys, or a girl who likes girls? There was doubt about that. A whole lot of doubt. Doubt that made them want to cry.

But right now they weren’t crying.

They were kissing.

And Laurent was whispering Barnaby’s name like a prayer, a prayer that will only bring good to them.

And Barnaby was whispering Laurent’s name like a prayer, a prayer that will only bring good to them.

Their hands travelled over the other’s body, feeling the fabric of their clothes, tugging the other closer, trembling as they grasped onto hair and pulled softly,

Such was Barnaby’s daydreaming as he brought Lau back to the Slytherin Common Room. Little did he know, Laurent held the same thoughts. The same dreams. He wanted to kiss Barnaby, to feel his body curve against his, to sink his fingers into his hair... but just like it had happened with Barnaby, fear had forced him to hold back. And he hated himself for it.

“It was fun.” Laurent said nonetheless.

“How so?” Barnaby replied. “People kept staring at us... it felt...”

“Pathetic.” His answer immediately came. “It felt pathetic for these people. They don’t have anything better to do than to stare? I think it was a whole lot of fun for us”

Why are we so worked up over this anyway we were supposed to be going to this ball as FRIENDS why are overanalyzing everything I’m so tired I want my bed I want him I want to be in his arms. They had felt the pain they were trying to ignore for so long, and it felt terrible.

“I guess you’re right.” Barnaby couldn’t help but giggle. It always happened with Lau. He spoke to cheer him up, and it worked instantly. What kind of odd magic. What kind of odd magic love was.

“And now, we’re alone. They can’t look at us now.”

The spark of an idea ignited in Laurent’s eyes. The same happened in Barnaby’s. No words were needed. Not really. It was just like that, with Laurent King and Barnaby Lee. Ever so slowly Barnaby slid his arms around Laurent’s waist, not before giving him a special look that said Can I? and Laurent had nodded, and then gave him the same look. Barnaby had nodded as well, and he shivered as Laurent curled his arms around his neck.

They pulled each other closer. Their chests touched. They could feel each other’s heartbeat.

Erratic, panicked, lovesick.

And, away from any gazes, away from any bad thoughts, away from their parents, away from the ties keeping them trapped in the real world’s painful reality, they flew away in their own little paradise.

And danced.

[callboxkat]

Infinitesimal (part 24)

Author’s note: I probably shouldn’t have taken the time to write this, but I did, and here it is!

Warnings: self deprecation, guilt, worry, talk of being trapped, illness mention

Word count: 1313

Look for the masterpost in the notes!

...

Virgil shoved the cut piece of baseboard back into place behind him, closing off the entrance to the tunnel, and was immediately shrouded in near-darkness. Virgil practically threw his crutches to the ground in frustration and collapsed to the floor. He fisted his hands in his hair and pulled, barely stopping himself from ripping it out. “Stupid, stupid, stupid!” he berated himself in a whisper. How could he do that? He’d fallen asleep! Outside! Just there, for any human to find!

He finally released his hair and scooted a bit further from the tunnel entrance, dragging his crutches after him, before stopping and staring back at the sealed entrance, his back pressed against the wall of the tunnel. Part of him almost expected an enormous hand to yank away the door and come reaching in after him. He knew that was only a paranoid musing, but although he might have been safe now, sealed inside the walls, he didn’t feel like it.  His heart was still racing, and his breath was coming in gasps—definitely not just from the exertion of climbing down that table leg in such a hurry.

He was safe, but… a few more seconds, and he could have been caught. A few more seconds, and he could have lost everything.

“I’m so stupid,” he whispered once more, disgusted with himself.

…

Virgil eventually returned home with his head hung low, shameful as a misbehaving dog facing its master. He quietly crept into his and his brother’s home, not even daring to hope that Emile hadn’t noticed his absence. He had taken as much time as he dared to calm down and smooth his hair down, but he probably still appeared rather frazzled.

He made his way through the main room and into their shared bedroom. Sure enough, as he had expected, Emile looked up at the first quiet tap of his crutches on the floor.

“Morning,” the sick little said. His voice was soft—he couldn’t speak very loudly at the moment without agitating his throat—but he clearly wasn’t happy.

Virgil sort of bobbed his head in a nod. “Morning,” he echoed quietly.

“Mind telling me where you’ve been?”

Virgil sighed and sat down on the floor, setting his crutches at his side. “Sorry,” he said. “I… I went for a walk last night, and I fell asleep. It was stupid of me.” Not technically a lie.

Emile looked at him for a moment, then moved so he was sitting up in the blanket nest. Virgil could see the effort it cost him. “Where’d you go?”

“Just around the second floor. I needed some time to think. I didn’t mean to be gone so long.”

“You didn’t leave the walls, did you?” Emile asked. Before Virgil could answer, his brother jerked slightly, pressing a hand to his mouth to muffle a coughing fit.

Virgil grabbed a nearby cup of water (Emile must have filled it himself) and handed it over. “No, of course not.” That one was definitely a lie. It tasted bitter on his tongue. “I just got a bit restless, so I went and walked around a while.”

“Hm.”

“I stopped for a break, and… I guess I fell asleep.” Virgil rubbed at his face and sighed. “I’m really sorry, Em. I know I pro—I know I freaked you out.”

Emile looked at him for a moment, his eyes searching. “You could say that,” he finally confirmed, sounding drained. “I was about five minutes from going out after you.” He shifted over towards the wall and patted the blankets beside him. “Come on—I can tell you’re still tired.”

Virgil doubted he would get any more sleep after his terrifying awakening that morning, but he obliged. He untied the string he used to secure his crutches from around his torso, set it to the side, and lay down beside his brother. Emile still seemed a little stiff. Virgil supposed he couldn’t blame him—even apart from the lie, Virgil’s carelessness had probably caused quite a deal of stress, which was worse when he was already sick. There were a few long moments of silence before Virgil asked, his voice barely a whisper, “You mad at me?”

“Well,” Emile murmured, “I’m annoyed, I suppose. I’m glad you’re okay. Just—please, don’t do that to me again.”

Virgil guiltily looked away. “I don’t plan to. I’m really sorry,” he sighed. Then, he looked up at Emile and tried to lighten the mood. “Now quit talking, dummy. You’ve gotta be killing your throat.”

Emile smiled, although it looked a little stiff. He took another sip of water, then nodded and lay down too.

Emile fell asleep rather quickly. Virgil couldn’t help but wonder about when he’d woken up to find him gone. Had he been sitting here half the night, trying to decide what to do? Debating if it was worth risking collapsing in the maze of tunnels trying to find someone who might well have been fine? (And Virgil had been fine, in fact. He’d been stupid, and he’d nearly been found, but it wasn’t as if he had actually been harmed). Emile could have gone out there, sick, and ended up in even more trouble. Because of him. Because Virgil was an idiot who fell asleep in a human apartment.

The worst part of this wasn’t even the fact that Virgil had upset Emile so much with his mistake. No, it was the knowledge that this situation wasn’t even that bad, not compared to what was coming. Emile was upset with Virgil for a mistake, for a one-time accident. So how on Earth was he going to ever forgive Virgil once he finally had to tell Emile that he still left the walls? How hurt would he be knowing how often Virgil had lied to him?

Virgil shifted in the blankets, shoving his face into one of the scraps of fabric. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

…

Roman was regarding his closet pensively when his cell phone rang, interrupting his thoughts with its quiet alarm. He paused and stepped back, grabbing the small device off of his nightstand and answering the call. “Hey, Logan. What’s up?”

“Good morning, Roman. I trust I did not wake you?”

“No, I was up. Is there a reason you’re calling?”

He could hear Logan clearing his throat on the other end of the line. “Of course. I thought you might want to know that Patton was acting rather odd this morning. I doubt it is anything to be concerned over, but I thought that I would tell you anyway so that you could investigate further, should you decide it would be beneficial.”

“…Odd how?” Roman asked, shifting the phone to his other hand as he grabbed a few hangers from his closet and got to work laying out his clothes for the day.

“I got the impression that he may have been hiding something from me. He took an unusually long amount of time to answer me this morning when I requested entrance to the living room, and when he finally did allow me in, he seemed flustered, or perhaps nervous. I must admit my ignorance as to why.”

“Well, that could be pretty much anything,” Roman shrugged, picking out a few more items from his dresser. The reasons someone might not let someone else into their room right away way were pretty much infinite.

“That is what I thought as well. I only decided to tell you in case it turned out to be pertinent information.”

“Yeah, I get it.” Roman paused for a second, pursed his lips, and switched one pair of socks for another, which admittedly looked pretty much identical to the first. He nodded to himself, satisfied with his outfit choice. “Anyway, I’ve gotta go. Classes and such.”

“Of course. I will speak with you later.”

“Yep. Seeya, nerd.”

…

Tag list: @arc852 @thats-so-crash @romanasanders @why-should-i-tell-youu2 @anyay666 @bluebloodstains @nightmarejasmine @side-for-sides @infinitesimal-grey @cobythinks @justanotherpurplebutterfly @punsterterry @dylan-winchesters-blog @wofie-kinz @i-like-cookiez @smol-jar-of-pickles @musicwithalex @brookeisanerd @scorching-scotch @of-swords-and-princes @thepoolofthedead @a-black-pegasus @brooky71 @downrightdanny @rainbow-sides  @anxiousvirgilsanderss @picklesandbeyond @super-magical-wizard @opaque-puppet @just-another-rainbowblog @patton-loves-coloring @starryfirefliesbloggo @purplesoul-at-hogwarts  @gaylotusthatexists @quoth-the-sparrow @awesomelissawho @amuthefunperson @faithfreedom @heck-im-lost @gayfandomsaremything

[musicfeedsmysoul12]

Haven Raised- Chapter 12

AO3

Summary:  Harry's life is completely changed when his aunt and uncle are forced to take him to a funeral at a relatives. Now being raised by Primrose Evans, her sister Grace and the citizens of Havenfall, his life is going to be a roller coaster.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Years later, Harry would always swear he had no idea how the end of the year had suddenly convulsed and changed so quickly for him. It seemed as if one minute he was celebrating the end of finales with Hermione and Ron at Hagrid’s hut, the second it was if he was running from his life.

And not from an animal for once.

In another life, where he had been more suspicious and more capable of picking up hints and problems, he may have figured out what was going on. In this life, where he was more focused on animals and friends, he did not.

Thus, suddenly finding himself being kidnapped by a teacher was shocking. A lot.

Harry and his friends had been walking to the Hufflepuff common room when Professor Quirrell came out of a hallway.

“Ah, Mr. Potter.” the teacher said with a forced smile. “Can you accompany me?”

“Yes, sir. See you guys.” Harry said, nodding to his friends, as he began to follow the Professor.

A little further away though and a wand was pointed at him before it all went dark. Harry woke up in a dark room, his head aching. He was tied up and Quirrell was glaring at a mirror in front of him.

“Why isn’t it working?” demanded the professor. Harry blinked, looking up at his professor in confusion and then fear when another voice began to speak.

“Use the boy…”

“Master, you are…”

“I am strong enough for this.” With that, the professor began to remove his turban he always wore, revealing a face on the back of his head. Harry choked, eyes widening in horror. “Harry Potter… you must have known I was around.��

“Who… who are you?” Harry asked. The face frowned, as did the professor from what Harry saw in the mirror.

“Don’t lie to me! You must have been wondering who let the troll in and who cursed that bludger!” Hissed the face.

“...No?” Harry shrugged. “I thought those were all accidents.” The face looked so offended that Harry couldn’t help his snort.

“HOW DARE YOU LAUGH!” The face snarled.

“Calm down Pitch.” Harry rolled his eyes.

“I am Lord Voldemort!” snarled the face and Harry suddenly felt his insides freeze. Lord Voldemort. The person who killed his parents.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” Harry said in fear. Voldemort chuckled darkly.

“No one has gone as far into the dark arts as I have,” Voldemort replied. “No one has tapped the well of knowledge that-” A low growl echoed through the room and Spot was there in front of him suddenly, snarling. “What… what is this?” Voldemort hissed, glaring at the dog. Spot growled again and burst into flames, snarling as he did so.

“My dog! He’s part hellhound!” Harry said cheerfully as Spot began barking- but not his normal barking. This barking was a deep, soul screaming bark that echoed through the room they were in. Voldemort flinched and Professor Quirrell screamed, clutching his head. Harry himself felt his head aching right over his scar. He gritted his teeth and tried not to scream as Spot let out yet another loud bark that filled the room.

“HOW?!” Voldemort screamed in rage. Harry just leaned his head back, trying to breathe as his scar SCREAMED in pain.

A roar of rage erupted from Voldemort and Spot yelped. Harry looked to see what looked like a spirit rushing from the body towards him, Spot jumping for it, but missing as it passed through Harry.

Harry couldn’t help his scream in pain. All he could think was that he wanted it to end. He just wanted it to be over with.

He just wanted it done.

-0-

“VOLDEMORT WAS IN THIS SCHOOL!?” Was that… mom?

“Miss Evans, please calm down-” Professor Dumbledore?

“I will not calm down! My son is in the hospital wing after an attack at this school that you claim was safe!”

“Miss Evans-”

“If this was some test for him to discover if he is under a prophecy I will not hesitate to kill you Dumbledore!”

“Mom?” Harry asked softly, wincing. He opened his eyes as he heard someone rushing over, and his mother’s blurry face was in view. “Mom…”

“Harry! Honey.” Prim reached out to cup her son’s face, tears in her eyes. “Oh darling, you’re awake.”

“What… mom what…” Harry closed his eyes and tried to remember what had happened. “... Professor Quirrell! He had Voldemort on the back of his head!” Harry sat up but winced in pain. Prim pushed him down gently.

“It’s okay honey- he’s gone,” Prim told her son gently. “Spot… scared him off.” Harry looked to the side where Spot lay, the dog asleep. Harry swallowed loudly as he remembered those barks. Those soul-shattering barks.

“My scar… it hurt when he was barking.” Prim frowned and looked thoughtful while he saw Professor Dumbledore frown himself.

“We’ll talk to the others- Diego probably knows something given how old he is, and JD is…”

“A devil and probably knows why a hellhound’s bark would hurt?” Harry asked. Prim nodded as Dumbledore chuckled to himself.

“I am endlessly amused by the fact I simply just did not notice who else was there in your hometown Miss Evans,” Dumbledore told Prim who laughed a little.

“It was quite the surprise to learn that they were who they were.” She agreed. She coughed then. “I… apologize for my temper before.” Dumbledore shook his head.

“No, you were right to be mad. I knew… something was off. And in hindsight my choice to hold the Stone here was…”

“Moronic,” Prim said dryly. Dumbledore chuckled but nodded.

“Why was he here?” asked Harry. Dumbledore sighed, looking very old.

“That would be my fault- I believed that while Quirrell was a follower of Voldemort, he wasn’t dangerous to any student nor was I aware of the fact he had Voldemort on the back of his head.” Dumbledore shrugged at a look Prim gave him. “He was after a valuable magical artifact that I was keeping in Hogwarts for a friend who was lead to believe that Gringotts wasn’t the safest place for it.”

“Oh.” Harry frowned. “Voldemort seemed convinced I was wondering who he was and stuff. He’s the one who let the troll in and set that bludger on me.”

“Which can both be explained away as magical incidents,” Dumbledore said, amused.

“People like him always believe they are the most important person in the world and that they cause more issues then they do,” Prim remarked. “I dated on like that- very briefly. She was convinced everyone believed her actions the most important and after I broke up she caused minor chaos for me I simply brushed off as bad luck.” Prim smirked. “She was furious I wasn’t too concerned about it.”

“The downfall of such people.” Dumbledore chuckled. “Now, Harry- I believe your friends wish to come speak to you. No one knows what happened exactly…”

“Personally I believe you should keep it quiet but drop a word to the Aurors.” said Prim. “I doubt the higher-ups want to believe he’s back but it’s a good idea to at least let someone be aware.” Dumbledore grimaced but nodded.

“I will do so. You are correct.” Dumbledore told Prim and he left as the door opened and Ron, as well as Hermione, came in, both looking extremely worried.

“Harry! Prim!” Harry smiled to himself, happy he had people who cared as his mother pulled out her phone to give the kids privacy and update Havenfall’s Finest on the situation.

He felt warm and happy, surrounded by people who cared.

-0-

“No.” Albus raised an eyebrow at Primrose who simply raised one back.

“You’re quick to shoot down my suggestions.” He said mildly.

“Only when they’re ridiculous. Harry would be the first to say he did nothing but talk to Voldemort, and that it was Spot who drove him off. He does not need points. Never mind he does not need points given to him at the end of the year feast!” Primrose shook her head. “I’m glad you decided to talk to me about this though I wonder why. I wonder why you reach out to me half the time this year!”

“It’s because you do not see me as a great leader- you see me as an old man,” Albus said honestly. “Perhaps I should have reached out to you about the Stone when Nicholas asked me to hide it here.” Nicholas and his belief Gringotts had been using the Stone to garner profits from those willing to pay. His paranoia was killing him. “I also thank you for… words on how a Stone is made.”

“As it’s from an anime Harry used to be obsessed with you shouldn’t thank me.” Primrose shrugged. “I need to head back to Havenfall- thank you for allowing me to come here.”

“You’re welcome,” Albus told the young woman. She removed her portkey from her pocket and activated it. Albus watched the space where she had left with a pensive face.

He had started taking advice from Primrose when she had spoken with him after the troll incident. It did him well he believed. Having an unbiased opinion… at the same time, he found himself disliking her thoughts.

“I’ve gotten too used to being unquestioned.” He echoed his previous thoughts of the year. Even her suggestion to inform someone in law enforcement did not occur to him until then. It was… strange to suddenly be confronted with the realization he had gotten complacent. Or… settled he supposed with everyone asking for advice and looking at him favorably.

“Suppose even an old codger like me can learn new tricks.” He chuckled to himself. It was a fun thing to think about truly.

What other new things could he learn?

-0-

The end of the year feast was delicious. As well, the entire house of Hufflepuff was thrilled to come in second in winning the House Cup with Ravenclaw beating them fairly.

According to rumors Snape had tried to give Slytherin extra points but was caught frequently. He was very bitter as he sneered at the school.

“Couldn’t happen to a nice bloke.” Was all Ron had to say about it.

Harry was happy he’d been released from the hospital wing- though no one was sure why his scar had hurt so much. JD’s confusion was the most, and they were reluctant to contact any sibling of theirs.

“Let’s just say we’re not the happiest family and leave it at that.” Was all they had to say about their reluctance. Razi promised a summer of research- one that Harry invited his friends to join.

“My mother said it would be fine for you to come.” He told his friends, stiffly given they were in public. “As well she extended an offer to my age mates,” he nodded to the Hufflepuffs around them, “to come for my birthday if they were able to. She’s attempting to arrange something like portkeys…”

“That would be splendid!” Justin told Harry.

Time went by quick and soon they were on the train ride home, Hedwig and Spot both eager to get home from what Harry saw. Ron and Hermione were eagerly talking about their summers- both excited to stay with Harry over the summer, while Harry was just looking forward to seeing his family.

His mother and Grace were waiting at the platform, chatting with the Weasleys and Grangers.

“Grace! You’ve graduated!” Harry cheered at his aunt, who laughed and hugged him.

“Yep! Haven’t heard back from any schools yet but I’m looking forward to it!” She told him with a big smile on her face.

“Ready to go?” Prim asked her son, smiling at him. Harry nodded and waved goodbye to his friends before taking the long rope that was their portkey and being swept away. They landed in the bowling alley where Havenfall’s Finest were waiting. As JD slung an arm around his shoulders, Harry grinned.

He was right where he was supposed to be.

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Well... holy shit I actually finished a fic. Wtf... how... Hope you guys liked! Next part will be up... soonish. I've got other stories I'm working on loves! See you soon!

[malfoydormiensnunquamtitillandus]

Granger’s Sister part VI (reader x Draco Malfoy)

                                    part I | part II | part III | part IV | part V

 A few people at Hogwarts knew about Hermione’s family in the Muggle World. Even fewer knew about her older sister. A complete muggle, you kept silent and lived as a muggle with your family until Hermione asked you to go visit her at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

previously: “Pansy must be looking for you.” You interrupted, your eyes glued to the ground as you felt tears coming again. He sighed loudly, taking one step closer to you and placing his hands on your neck gently. The first tear drop hit the ground and the second followed quickly. “Don’t touch me…” You whimpered pitifully, sniffing. “…we wouldn’t want you to get Muggle all over your wizard hands.” You wiped your tears with your fists before looking him straight in the eyes. There you stood, proudly, despite him having hurt you. You were not going to be ashamed.

     You placed your hands over his gently and removed yourself from his grip. You turned around and noticed a big, wooden door right in front of you and without questioning any further, you walked through it and into one of the hallways at Hogwarts without looking back. You walked aimlessly along the hallways until you became tired, then started looking for somebody to ask for directions.

           Hermione cried when you’d gotten back that night. Seamus and Dead had been back for hours with no clue of your whereabouts. She had been up waiting for you in the common room, by the fire, for the most part of the night and for the first time in her life she had not been able to concentrate on a book. You reassured her and told her how you got lost exploring Hogsmeade.

“I am a cat, Herminie; I always land on my feet.” You said, petting her hair. “I saw some students running late and followed them back.” Years of disobeying your parents had turned you into a more-than-skilled liar. “Unfortunately they belonged to a different house and I got lost into the castle. Then I ran into some room full of old objects and could not find a door...”

“The room of requirement…” She whimpered in between sobs – that were getting softer as you kept lying.

“I guess… Anyways, I was tired, and out of the blue I find this bed, so I slept there. I thought that I’d be better at figuring a way out on a clear head.” You ended the story and hugged her tightly.

“I shouldn’t have left you alone.” She cried again, your efforts going down the drain.

“Tell me about this room…”

“In the room of Requirement you will find literally anything you require. So, as you needed rest, you found a bed.” Hermione explained, wiping her tears. You bit your lip pensively.

“Say, there was this strange mirror…” You began and her brown eyes fixed yours as you nodded. “The Mirror of Erised… what does that do?”

“Why? What did you see in it?” Her question took you completely by surprise. The truth was not an option, so you lied again.

“Nothing actually…” Her eyes became smaller as she frowned at you thoughtfully, momentarily able to see through your lie.

“So, then it was a simple mirror. What about it?” She asked, making you think about changing the subject as you could not have thought of another lie that quickly.

“Umm…” you hummed, “… I looked different. My hair was longer.” To that, Hermione burst into laughing, watching you with a completely amused expression. You squinted your eyes at her, not sure if you were allowed to lie too.

“Longer hair…” she repeated laughing again. “There was an inscription on the mirror, was there not?” She asked becoming serious once more and you nodded.

“It was a strange language.” You confirmed making her pull out a blank piece of parchment and her quill, scribbling something down.

“Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.” She read, making you raise an eyebrow at her. Was that supposed to mean anything to you? She then stood up and walked towards a big, ancient-looking mirror, hung on the wall to your right and placing the parchment in front of it. “Read it now.” She said, her hand gesturing you to walk over.

“Ishow no tyo urfac ebu tyo urhe arts desire.” You said hesitantly, still looking puzzled.

“Look again. Just look at it.” She answered and the excitement in her voice made you want to actually try. After watching the words for a minute, everything had started falling into place.

“I think I see it…” You whispered watching as your brain sorted out the words before your eyes. “I show… not your face but…” Silence took over the room once more, the crackling of the fire burning slowly being the only sound breaking it.

“Your heart’s desire.” Hermione concluded eagerly, making you swallow the lump in your throat with great effort. Your eyes got watery again, as a vision of Draco’s smiling reflection looking back at you came flying back into your mind. “The Mirror of Desire.” Your sister smiled at you proudly, but your eyes were staring blankly at the reflection in the mirror.

He had seen you.

           Hermione’s eyes widened in surprise when she noticed a tear run down your cheek. You wiped it off quickly with the back of your hand and laughed.

“This place is making me feel too much at once.” You said in a high-pitch voice. “It makes everything else seem so dull.”

“Oh…” She cooed quietly, “you startled me for a moment.” You laughed at her concerned expression, kissing her temple.

“I’m only tired… and emotional.” You smiled and she responded with a hesitated laugh. “Can we go to sleep? I feel as if I’ve been ran over by the Hogwarts Express.”

           You woke up the next day with some newfound confidence and a strong belief that you did indeed always land on your feet. The previous night you had warned Hermione about your ‘loud snoring’ and asked her to put a silencing spell on you – for the comfort of others – and then cried yourself to sleep. Casting away negative feelings was far from your policy. You believed in crying over it until you’d gotten no more tears to cry… as long as you never cried about the same thing ever again.

“We’ve got… oh no…” Hermione growled while putting on her necktie. “Divination…”

“Well, to me it sounds fascinating, what’s with the growling?” You asked, zipping in your pants.

“It’s… a long story, but I just think that it’s ridiculous.” She answered, grabbing her bag and leading you down the spiral staircase.

“You’ve just made your bed using a wand and you think predicting the future is ridiculous?” You followed her down the steps, trying to tie your hair up somehow when you saw Ron, Harry and the twins walking down the stairs on the other side of the room.

“Morning!” Hermione spoke excitedly, her eyes glowing when they fell upon Ron.

“Morning!” You imitated her, pretending to swoon and she slapped you across your arm. The boys laughed and greeted when you joined at the bottom. Hermione was having a heated argument with Ron over the very subject you were about to attend and just as she was about to respond, George’s voice distracted you.

“How did you like Hogsmeade?” He asked walking by your side, as Fred approached from the other.

“Honestly, it was incredible. Everything here is…” You answered dreamily when you noticed a green robe walking ahead of you, in the same direction and your heart clenched.

“Well, pity your stay is so short.” George answered, smiling somehow sadly. “But I thought you’d like some of these to take back home.” He pulled a bag of sweets of all sorts and colors from his robe and handed it to you. Judging by the state of their robes and by what Hermione had told you, their family was far from wealthy and all those sweets could not have been cheap, so his gesture had moved you deeply.

“Oh, George… I can’t…” You barely managed to speak, your emotions getting the best of you once more.

“Why? C’mon, I got them for you.” He encouraged, ruffling your hair. You took the candy and hugged him tightly. He was the kind of person that you believed to be inhumanly good.

“Thank you so much!” He smiled preciously as his twin teased him and then they suddenly said goodbye before walking a different way. In no time, you were following the other students into the divination classroom – a place that seemed out of that world, still, very appealing to you. The room was dimly lit and filled by a nice perfume. There were incense sticks lit up here and there and various teacups around the room.

           When the professor came in sight, you finally understood why Harry referred to her as looking like a large, glittering insect. She was a thin woman, draped in a gauzy shawl covered with shining sequins and glittering strings of beads. She had thick glasses, which hugely magnified her eyes and caused them to appear about ten times their normal size.

“Welcome.” She spoke in a soft, misty, ethereal voice. 

“Wait! I feel... there is a presence… a foreign presence in this room.” She continued, making everyone look your way.

“To be completely blunt, teacher,” You answered slightly amused, “if spotting me is a sign of the Second Sight, I believe that the whole class is extremely gifted.” A few stranded giggles responded to your wit, making the teacher frown slightly.

“A skeptic.” She replied quite snappily, her usual soft voice turning brisk.

“The thought of offending you or the gifts that you possess is far from me, but you don’t need a third eye to notice the fact that I am the only person who is not wearing a robe.” She scrunched her nose at your earnest answer and instructed her students to grab a crystal ball – you were included.

           You spent half of the class watching your crystal ball curiously, trying to see anything, but failing miserably and the rest of the time looking at other people who actually seemed to be getting something. Your eyes were darting towards Draco now and then, despite your heroic efforts to keep them down and away from him; he was simply magnetic. That was what you were doing when professor Trelawney approached you, sitting on the empty pillow on your right.

“Allow me.” She spoke softly again, startling you and looking squinty-eyed at your crystal ball. You looked at her with mixed feelings of curiosity and skepticism – because one part of you thought that she was a fraud while the other was so desperate to catch a glimpse of the future or make some sense of your life that it was willing to believe in her. “You are conflicted. There is a war between your heart and mind – you are stuck between what you are feeling and what you think it is that you should be feeling. You have strong intuition, Mrs. Granger. My advice would be to follow that.” You were looking at her dumbstruck, too surprised to notice the looks that you were getting from everyone around you and then it hit you: her concluding phrase. “… which is coincidentally what I read in Mr. Malfoy’s crystal ball... except I do not believe in coincidences… I believe in fate.”

           That was when you unglued your eyes from hers and looked towards a wide-eyed Draco. You remained silent despite your mind’s efforts to make up some kind of answer; any at all and to her, silence was a clear enough answer. You left the class with Hermione looking at you disapprovingly and just as you were about to exit, Draco passed by you and shoved her out of his way, walking out first.

“It’s fine, Hermione: ladies first.” You yelled loudly, making the Gryffindor students around you burst into laughing. You were following your sister along the halls and towards the Gryffindor common room with some students asking questions about the muggle world when you heard a familiar voice that made you stop dead in your tracks. “I need to use the restroom.” You blurted out of the blue, making Hermione give you a suspicious look.

“Oh… that’s not such a great idea. That’s Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom… you don’t want to go in there. Can’t you hang on a bit longer?” She was sweet as always and diplomatic, but the frustration was obvious in her voice.

“Why are you mad at me?” You asked bluntly, looking her straight in her eyes.

“How did she know about Draco and you? What kind of rubbish was that? Fate?” She snapped back immediately, having been obviously bugged by the matter for a long time.

“So… have you suddenly become a believer? Does Divination finally sound legit to you?” You accused, not being able to think of a better excuse. What were you supposed to blame it on? Her noticing you looking at him? That would have been as incriminatory as it gets. “You said it yourself, it’s… rubbish.”

“It’s just…”

“If you are done with the accusations, I really must use the toilet.” You interrupted, bursting into the bathroom and locking eyes with a crying Draco. You closed your eyes and left out a pained sigh when you felt a striking pain in your chest.

“Get out.” He growled angrily, turning his back to you quickly.

“I’m not going anywhere.” You answered stubbornly, walking closer to him.

“Leave!” He yelled, splashing water over his face and rubbing his eyes quickly.

“Don’t do this...” You pleaded, ignoring the aggressive tone in his voice.

“You couldn’t possibly be as stupid as to believe her.” He forced a laugh and his expression turned despiteful once more.

“I might be stupid enough to trust my instincts.” You answered looking him straight in the eyes, making him look away.

“Those incense sticks irritate my eyes.” He answered defensively to a question you had never asked. You closed your eyes and leaned against the sink, sighing deeply. You felt your eyes fill with tears underneath your shut eyelids and bit your bottom lip when you felt it tremble. He had stopped speaking and you were both sitting in silence when one first tear ran quickly down your cheek.

“Fine, Draco…” You cooed silently, your voice breaking. “It’s alright.” You continued, looking him in the eyes. “I don’t even know what it was that I expected.” You laughed through the tears, wiping them off with the palm of your hands. “I guess this has to be it.” You concluded, pushing yourself off the sink and walking slowly in his direction and towards the door.

“What do you want me to say?” He asked with anger battling the shaking in his voice.

“You see, instinct… it can lead you places, but it is your brain that must figure the rest out.”  You explained, sighing once more. “But every time it comes to you, it’s my heart that does the thinking and nothing makes sense anymore.” You smiled when you got close enough to actually notice the faint wrinkles that formed on his forehead when he thought. “So I do not have your answers, Draco.”

           You slid your hands gently around his torso and pulled him into a hug, laying your head on his chest and listening to his heavily beating heart.

“You see… I don’t even have mine.” You whispered caressing his face with your right hand before kissing him softly. “I’m leaving tomorrow. You take care.” You said, breaking the kiss just as he was beginning to respond and letting him go. You took one last look into his eyes and walked past him and towards the exit.

“Hermione… everyone is only trying to keep you safe.” He spoke, making you slow your pace.

“Funny… you’re the broken one, but I’m the only one that needed saving.” You scoffed shaking your head.

“You don’t understand…”

“I think I do. You chose the wrong person to have feelings for.” You replied turning on your heels to face a flushed faced Draco.

“… you might be the only right choice I have ever made, Y/N.” He cooed, his eyes filling up with tears once more, making you cry inexplicably. “The trouble is… I have already made so many wrong ones.” He continued, breaking into a sob, shaking. “And I do not want you to be around when it all comes crashing down.”

‘You don’t always have to face the world alone, Draco.” You walked towards him quickly and held him tightly as he cried on your shoulder.

“I have all these feelings for you…” He sobbed making your heart heavy. “But the timing is so wrong.”

“Y/N?!” Hermione’s voice rang from the door and you heard the door creak.

“Shit… Can we say goodbye tomorrow? In the room of requirement…” You whispered and he nodded before placing a quick, messy peck on your lips.

           You pushed him towards one of the stalls and ran to face Hermione.

“I am sorry. The smoke irritated my eyes… I did not want anyone to see me like that.” You said, grabbing her shoulder and leading her back towards the hall.

“Are you ok?” Hermione’s brown eyes looked deeply into yours and she looked visibly concerned.

“Sure. It will go away. I washed my face.” You replied care-free, skipping towards the Gryffindor common room.

           You remembered playing wizards chess with Ron that night before bed. Sitting by the fire and gossiping with Hermione who had so many things to say – she obviously needed more time with her sister. The memories began flashing faster as sounds from the outside world – reality – started piercing through and you remembered that you were only re-living memories; long-lost memories.

           You ran along the hallways, pressured by the time and trying to squeeze in as much time as you could for a proper goodbye; had you known it would be forever. You found the massive doors and entered hesitantly, your heart pounding in your chest to find Draco staring into the mirror of Erised – wondering how long it was going to be before your reflection would fade and he would start seeing someone else. Your eyes turned watery in one quick instant when he turned to look at you, teary eyed.

           Somehow, inexplicably, illogically, you felt it was the end. You ran and hugged him tightly, eyes closed, inhaling the smell that you would keep associating with love for the rest of your life: something that smelled like violets to you, the ocean and citrus.

“Right love, wrong time.” You carved into the wood of the couch where you had laid for hours the day before, after he’d snatched you from the claws of death – you then wrote the initial of your names in very small letters. “You take care of yourself…” You whispered, caressing his face and he nodded weakly, “… and be good.”

“I might not be able to keep these promises.” He replied, hiding his face into the crease of your neck like a child – you stroke his hair gently.

“… come look for me when the time is right.” You pleaded. “I will wait.”

“I cannot ask you to do that.” He sobbed, holding you tighter.

“So don’t…” He pulled back for a moment to look into your eyes and somehow, a feeling of overwhelming sadness and fear washed over you.

“Don’t wait for me… I may never come.” Everything was clear and you had started shaking.

“Draco… tell me something. I need something to hold on to.” You begged, wrapping your arms around his neck tightly, aware that it might be the last time you got to hold him so close.

“I promise… that if given the choice, I will try to make the right one.” He said, picking you up and sitting on the couch with you in his lap. “Promise me that you will not wait. Promise that this once, you will let your mind make up your mind and get that dumb heart of yours checked.” He added laughing between the tears, making you laugh as well. “I know what you feel, I’m feeling it too, but I cannot make you a promise that I cannot keep.”

“Neither can I… Draco, I guess that part of me will always wonder ‘what if’ and I’ll be damned if there are not about millions of ways that this could have turned out… that this could turn out.” You replied kissing him again after looking down at your watch. “Promise that you will write me… for a while.” You whispered as you hugged Draco for the last time. He kissed your temple tenderly and whispered the promise in your ear. You pulled back to look at him one last time, staring so deep into his icy eyes that his soul felt touchable; it felt within reach and palpable.

“I will.” You let his lips crash into yours and closed your eyes slowly, allowing your brain to take everything in and carefully and lovingly store it among your most precious memories. You opened the door to the classroom and snuck outside into the busy hallways, walking towards Dumbledore’s office. As you approached the door, you heard Hermione whisper:

“Malfoy… out of all the people… Why him?!” You knew your sister and by the tone of her voice, she was angry. You took a deep breath before walking proudly into the office. You wanted to tell her everything – about how loving Draco could be… how he was sensitive and fearful and how when he cried he looked like a child. You wanted to tell her about his dreams and how red he turned when you told him how handsome he was… you wanted to, but knew that she would not listen. Hermione was sometimes so used to being right that she could not open her eyes to see that she was sometimes wrong.

“You are mad…” You whispered hardly prying your jaws open.

“I actually am not.” She lied blatantly. “I… trust your judgment.” She continued as if you knew her so little – she was disappointed. You frowned and looked around confused. They all looked guilty and concerned and that gave you an unsettling feeling. The feeling that it was time for you to leave.

“Goodbye, Y/N…” George spoke sadly, walking your way and hugging you tightly. “Enjoy your candy and… well…”

“I won’t forget you. You can – and I insist you do – write me anytime.” You replied hugging him back and kissing his cheek lovingly. He was so dear to you.

“Hagrid is waiting for me outside, Herminie.” The words came out hesitantly, as you turned around, your feet carrying you towards your sister in spite of your intuition. You opened your arms and pulled her into a hug. You were to see her over Christmas – in less than 4 months, so there was no need to get emotional. “See you soon and be good – write me!” You tightened the hug and planted a kiss on top of her head. “I love you.” You concluded, caressing her bushy hair.

“I love you, too… so much.” She whimpered wrapping her hands around you tightly, the tip of her wand touching the back of your head.

           You snapped back to reality and found yourself in the middle of the living room with 8 pairs of worried eyes staring at you. There were rivers of tears streaming down your face and you had to take a moment to remember how to breathe properly; so you were gasping for air as if having been under water the whole time. Everything had come back to you, every single detail – every single childish dream of you and him together and the conviction that he was your soul-mate. And then… at the end of it all, anger. The feeling of betrayal made your blood boil and your insides turn painfully to the point where you had begun shaking uncontrollably. You started sobbing loudly.

“Y/N…” Hermione called and you looked up to find her sobbing too.

“How… how could… no… how dared you?!” You yelled angrily trying to get back up, but your feet yielded and your voice cracked. “How could you?!” Your screams were loud but sounded strangled and you lost your voice halfway though.

“Please, Y/N…” Ron begged pitifully. “She only meant good… she thought that she was doing the right thing.” He explained making your frustration increase. Your blood burn so hotly that it felt like lava running through your veins.

“Doesn’t she always?!” You snapped back. You were a wildfire, ready to burn everything that stood in your way to the ground. You had been unleashed and there was no stopping you.

“I tried to protect you, Y/N!” Hermione screamed back. “You don’t know him!”

“Did you?” Your brain was under attack – all the information was too much for you to process at once. The memories and what you were going to do with them… the fact that your sister had wiped out a part of your memory; a part that to you meant so much. How could you trust her again? “You have no idea who he really was, Hermione. None of you do…”

           No one dared to speak anymore. They were trying to fight a wildfire with drizzle.

“If you really were so convinced that he didn’t love me, Hermione… Why did you not open the letters? Just to make sure… just to prove it to me, should this day ever come.” A dead silence fell over the room. “If you were so right, sister, why did you not open the letters?!” She did not speak… nobody did. You were right – you knew you were, but how you wished you were in the wrong. You had calmed down, the fire had stopped spreading, but it was burning slowly still. “I will read them to you.” You spoke clearly, implying and meaning that they had no choice but to listen.

“Dear Y/N,

           It’s only been 2 days and I am writing you once more. Having met you has been both a blessing and a curse: a blessing for all the reasons that you already know and a curse, because I did not know what it is like to miss someone this way before having met you – because I did not know how to look for comfort when I needed it and now I look for it in you.

           Yesterday I was in the library reading a book on magical artifacts. Remember the mirror of Erised? Turns out it is such an old device that nobody knows who created it or how it came to be at Hogwarts… I know that this all means nothing to you… it means nothing to me… I guess that I am just beating around the bush, because I do not know how to be this vulnerable… because I saw you… I still see you in the mirror.

                          “Erised stra ehru y tube cafru oyt on wohsi.”

           It’s a mirror… the writing is supposed to be read backwards.

                         “I show not your face but your heart’s desire.”

                                                                                                        Yours still,

                                                                                                            Draco.”

           You put the letter down and looked for Hermione’s eyes. She was now crying on Ron’s shoulder.  How you wished you could hate her right then… because she deserved every drop of the venom that your hate was.

“Tell me now… did you…?” You spoke slowly. “Did you know him at all?!” You yelled angrily. “Don’t you see? You are so stuck on always being right that you… you’d rather rob me of my memories… rob him of the only person who ever bothered to listen than admit to be wrong.”

“Y/N…” Ron cooed almost inaudibly, holding Hermione tightly. “She wanted to undo it…”

“By the time she had understood what a mistake it was, Draco had… well he… Did he mention it in the letters?” Harry continued, being the first one brave enough to look you in the eyes. He analyzed your face and the confused look on it, you were clueless. “He joined Voldemort, Y/N.”

           You pulled out the letters and scattered them on the floor unopened. You wanted to read them, but not for them. Not there. You wanted to defend him, but you could not. The war you were leading was unfair, for they had had years to prepare for it and you… had brought a knife to a gun fight, your only advantage being them not wanting to shoot just yet.

“Maybe he wouldn’t have if the only person who believed in him was still there.” You argued, placing your faith in the person you had gotten to know.

“Exactly…” Harry agreed, making you frown in confusion. “The stakes were too high for the Death Eaters to ever allow that to happen. They would have killed anyone who stood in their way.”

“Y/N…” Hermione whimpered. “They would have killed you…”

“You obliviated me!” You screamed angrily.

“What do you mean?” Ron asked frowning in confusion.

“I have never performed a memory charm, Y/N…” Hermione defended herself weakly.

“I remember it, Hermione! I’ve had nightmares about it.” You responded, but everyone was looking at you as if you had gone completely mad.

“Y/N…” Ginny intervened, holding Harry’s hand. “Memory charms are impossible to undo.”

           At that point, you were unable to argue any further. You now had placed back most of the pieces… but the missing parts still made the bigger picture unclear.

“I… need time to think.” You concluded after a long, thinking pause, taking your purse and storming out the door.

“Please…” Harry pleaded, “just please allow us to explain when you are ready.”

           You listened before putting your coat on, the letters into its pocket and walking out the door misty eyed. The whole scenery looked like a complete blur and you stumbled for a while before losing balance and crashing on your knees on the grass, crying your heart out. You cried at the thought of having been betrayed by the one person you trusted blindly, at the thought of Draco reaching out to you and thinking that you are shutting him out.

“Dear Y/N,

           I must make a choice. I wish you were here to tell me the right thing to do.

           I do not know how to do that, Y/N… no one ever taught me how to be a hero. No one ever taught me how to do the right thing. I just wish you were here to hold me.

                                                                                                     Yours sincerely,                                                                                                        Draco Malfoy.”

“Dear Y/N,

           I am aware that you might not want to answer… but I just miss you so much and writing these is the only thing that helps me relieve the pain. A part of me hopes that you are not receiving them… the other part is a lost traveler and you are an Oasis in the middle of the desert.

          Please be well.

                                                                                              Yours sincerely,

                                                                                              Draco Malfoy.”

“Dear Y/N,

          I broke my promise to you.

          I am afraid I made the wrong choice.

          I am sorry. I love you.

                                                                                              Yours sincerely,

                                                                                              Draco Malfoy.”

“Dear Y/N,

           I do not even know if you have received my previous letters or have simply decided to move on – which, despite hurting me deeply, would be the choice I hope you have made. I hope that you are happy. I hope… that you met someone that makes you feel the way you made me feel.

           Soon enough, I might stop sending you letters, Y/N. I have a decision to make… I can still turn this around… doing the right thing sometimes costs so much, but Y/N…

          I cannot do what they are asking of me.

          I guess that if this is it, I will have loved you until the end. At least I did one thing right.

         Goodbye.

                                                                                              Yours always,

                                                                                              Draco Malfoy.”

[crochetawayhpff]

Nine Years

A/N: This started as a Romione plunny. Then I sat down to write it and wrinkled my brow, deciding it ought to be Fremione instead. So there you go. It also started with the LANCO song Greatest Love Story. That's where the idea came from, but as you can see, it diverged greatly from there. Anyway, I couldn't get words for any of my WIP's out, and this was begging to be written instead. The is AU for obvious reasons, Fred is alive, etc. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Hermione sighed as she looked around her lonely flat, her eyes fell on the photo of her and Fred from her fifth year. She smiled sadly as she watched him tug one of her curls and she threw her head back laughing at some joke he had told. She missed him. Merlin, she missed him more and more every day. But would he want to see her? She didn't know. She didn't think so. She kept up with him and George in the papers. They were doing well, opening shops all over Great Britain. But they hadn't left things that well back after the war had ended.

"If it's what you want," Fred said woodenly as Hermione finished packing her trunk. She had just sat her NEWTs, the war had been over for six months. They shouldn't have been having this fight. This was when they were supposed to be happy, but Hermione didn't feel happy. She felt trapped and stuck.

"It's what I need," she said quietly.

"Right," Fred replied, not meeting her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Me too."

Hermione left then, she left the Burrow and left Britain. She went to Australia to find her parents. Then complete her education at the wizarding Uni in Melbourne. Fred had begged her to stay, but Hermione knew she couldn't. She had to get out of Britain. She had to heal from the war and reconnect with her parents if she could.

Hermione shook herself from her memories. It didn't matter now, eight years after she left, she was finally back in Britain. Back in London even. Her parents had stayed in Australia, preferring the weather there and Hermione had been happy to have a reason to go back. If things didn't go well in London. She tried not to think about why they wouldn't work out. About what that would mean.

Right now, she needed dinner, she decided. She'd finally got everything unpacked and was ready to begin her new job on Monday morning. She'd studied to become a mind-Healer in Australia, an equivalent to a Muggle neurologist. It had taken a specialized mind-Healer to reverse the Obliviate spell Hermione had cast on her parents, and she had been inspired.

Hermione donned a jean jacket as she left her apartment above Florean Fortescue's. She'd been pleased to see it had been rebuilt under the same name, although with a new owner. A chippy had opened up a few doors down and Hermione was in the mood for classic London takeaway. Melbourne didn't have anything on the food London offered.

"'Mione?"

She turned and found Fred staring right at her. The look on his face was a mixture of sadness, hope, and incredulity.

"Hi, Fred," she smiled at him. Circe, how she had missed him. She took in everything she could, he was still so much taller than her, and thinner, than he had been. She frowned when she noticed that. He was dressed in a very dapper suit, he had either given up the garish dress of his twin or he was going somewhere special. Her breath caught, he was probably going on a date. A date with someone who wasn't her. She swallowed hard and tried to keep her smile friendly, to keep the tears at bay.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"I just moved back," Hermione said. "Yesterday. I'm starting at Mungo's on Monday."

"Right," Fred said tightly, looking away from her. Hermione could see the tension in his jaw. She wanted to ask him… she shook her head. She gave up that right eight years ago.

"You look good, Fred," Hermione's smile softened. He did look good, his hair was longer, like Bill's, tied back in a small queue.

He turned back toward her and the amount of hurt and pain in his eyes caused Hermione to gasp, she stepped forward and laid a hand on his arm.

Fred blinked at her and the hurt was gone, he grinned, but it didn't reach his eyes. He looked almost manic.

Hermione stepped back again and half turned away. Clearly, he was on his way somewhere.

"I'm just going up to the chippy," she said and gestured to the shop a few doors down.

"Right," Fred nodded. "I've got a thing. See you around." And he walked off.

"Right," Hermione murmured as she watched him go. She blinked back the tears that were threatening to fall and turned back toward the chippy. It had been her choice, she had nobody but herself to blame.

A week later, Hermione had just gotten out of the bath after a long day at the hospital when someone pounded on her door. She wrapped her robe around herself and hurried to see who it was. She hadn't even gotten a chance to tell anyone where she lived so she couldn't imagine who was calling on her.

When she opened the door, Fred stood there with a six-pack of butterbeer and a bag of takeaway in his hand.

"Can I come in?" he asked.

Hermione nodded and gestured him inside. "Let me change." She hurried back to her bedroom and quickly pulled on a pair of denims and an old Gryffindor Quidditch sweater. One of Fred's actually, she had loved wearing them at Hogwarts, and she cherished the few she still had. She rolled up the long sleeves as she made her way back out to the main room to see Fred setting the table.

"I hope curry's, alright?" Fred asked as he levitated plates and silverware to her table.

"Yeah," Hermione said.

Fred turned toward her and gasped, "You still…"

"Yeah," Hermione smiled. "It's warm."

Fred grinned broadly at her, "Good."

They set into the food and Fred told her everything he had been up to in the last eight years, every shop he'd opened and his favorite products he and George had come up with. Hermione enjoyed hearing about their brilliance and was pleased they were doing so well.

"Do you still tend the shop?" Hermione asked.

Fred shrugged, "Sometimes. I prefer to tinker in the back though," he shrugged. "George is the showman."

Hermione smiled. "It's good to see you."

"You too."

Fred kept showing up at Hermione's flat with dinner in hand. It started out as once or twice a week, now it was up to five or six times a week. Hermione had been back in London for six months. He hadn't asked her out. They hadn't kissed even. But the dinners seemed to have taken on a date-like quality. They had started casual enough, and then Fred had surprised her by cooking for her once, insisting she dress up for the occasion. And now, every Saturday night he cooked for her.

Today was a Saturday and Hermione was under the weather. She'd slept on and off all day on her sofa and had considered owling Fred to not show up. She decided she'd do it the next time she woke up and she fell back asleep again.

She woke to a pounding on her door. Hermione rubbed her bleary eyes and looked at the clock, it was six, right when Fred showed up every week. She grumbled as she stood from the sofa and crossed the room to the door.

Throwing it open she groused, "Don't you have a date or something?"

"Er…" Fred trailed off, he was holding a bouquet of flowers and was dressed in a Muggle suit. "I was sort of hoping you'd be my date."

"Oh, gods, Fred," Hermione rubbed her forehead, "I'm sorry. I'm not feeling well today, come in." She stepped back from the door and let him into the apartment.

"Well, in that case, a night in is required," Fred said decisively. He summoned a vase for the flowers and headed to the kitchen. Hermione laid back down on the couch as another sneezing fit overtook her.

Fred banged around in the kitchen for a while, before coming out with a bowl of soup. Hermione smiled at him in thanks.

"You don't have to stay," she shrugged. "Surely, you can find something better to do on a Saturday night."

"Hermione," Fred said, pulling the bowl of soup out of her hands so she had to look at him. "I've been coming 'round to your flat almost every day for six months. What else do you think I'd have to do tonight?"

Hermione blushed, "I don't know, a date or something. Surely you have other friends."

"A date? The only person I want to date is here, with me, right now," Fred raised his eyebrows and Hermione closed her eyes.

"Truly?" she asked opening them once more.

"Yes," Fred said plaintively. He leaned in and Hermione was sure he was going to kiss her, but she sneezed rather violently.

Fred laughed, "Let's get you fed and tucked into bed."

Six months after that, Fred proposed. They still hadn't kissed.

"I don't think…" Hermione trailed off gazing at the ring in Fred's hand. She desperately wanted to say yes, but they hadn't even kissed yet.

"Tell me you don't want this and I'll leave," Fred said quietly. His voice so uncharacteristically quiet and pensive.

"Oh, Merlin, I want to say yes, but Fred…" she couldn't even voice her fear. What if they didn't fit together like they had? It had been nine years now.

"Is it about the kissing?" Fred asked and Hermione nodded. She chanced a peek at his face and he was grinning widely. "Do you think that explosive chemistry we had as teenagers has somehow disappeared?"

Hermione shrugged, it's not like she had a lot of dating experience in her life. She'd gone on a few dates during Uni but had mostly concentrated on her schoolwork. And then since being back in London, Fred had monopolized her time, she hadn't wanted to see anyone else. Even if they'd never defined their feelings.

Fred wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him. She lifted her chin to look him in the eye as he lowered his lips to hers. The faintest brush and Hermione felt a spark travel from her lips through her body. Energizing her. She wrapped her arms around Fred's shoulders and pulled him close, deepening the kiss. She couldn't, wouldn't ever get enough.

Breaking the kiss, Fred pecked his way along her jaw to her ear, "Is that a yes?"

"Merlin, yes!" Hermione cried as he pulled the lobe of her ear into his mouth. Her knees weakened and her heart soared. How could she have forgotten this? How could she have left this nine years ago? She was insane to have given up this chance at happiness.

"Thank the gods," Fred murmured to her, pulling her tighter to his chest. Hermione hummed her agreement.

[flintwoodandco]

help me breathe again (a wish to start anew)

Summary: With an arranged marriage to Draco Malfoy, Neville wonders how else his life can get turned upside down

Rating: T

Genre: Arranged Marriage, Angst, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers

Words: 9232

A/N: For @septimvsmalfoy, the second winner of my giveaway!! The prompt was an arranged marriage and oh boy did i get carried away. 

Shout out to @lepetitcomte for being an awesome beta!!

-

AO3

or

“No!” Neville’s voice is sharp and loud, almost echoing through the field that surrounded him.

Having been invited for tea at his grandmother’s, Neville reluctantly left his teaching post for the weekend, wondering what proposition she was going to throw at him now.

He had expected some pushes towards social elite events in relation to his 25th birthday having just passed, but nothing prepared him for what he just heard.

“I refuse,” Neville had already shot up from the table, ready to apparate away in that moment.

“You can’t,” Augusta states, as if she had expected this reaction. “The Malfoys have agreed and it was not an easy task to make them do so.”

Neville grits his teeth, his patience being tested by the second. “Then why did you arrange this in the first place? Without asking me?”

Augusta waves away Neville’s questions, a stern look on her face. “Pureblood traditions must be carried out in a particular manner. I discussed this at length with Narcissa and she agreed to the necessary steps. We must keep our family in good standing, Neville”

“What does that mean?” Neville shakes his head. “Tell them I won’t do it. I don’t give a damn about anything else, I will not marry Draco Malfoy.”

Unperturbed by Neville’s outburst, Augusta replies in even tones telling him he must until Neville cannot take it any longer and he apparates away to a friend who he is sure could help.

*

“I’ll do everything I can,” Hermione nods, ferocity growing in her eyes. “There must be a way out of this.”

At this point, all Neville can do is hope Hermione is right, the gnawing in his stomach growing by the hour.

*

By the time Hermione dives headfirst into her research, everyone else in their circle has caught wind of Neville’s predicament.

“What? It’s not like he’ll die if he refuses to marry him, right?” Harry questions.

“Well, no,” Ron starts and Neville dreads what he has to hear.

He knows just as well as anyone what will happen since he was already pledged by his grandmother, but hearing it out loud, Neville is sure he’ll want to disappear on the spot.

“It’s just, life is somewhat ruined for Neville then. He’d be outcast, hardly allowed in public. It’s a scandal tenfold, Harry.”

Harry doesn’t look convinced, but Neville manages to give him a weak smile. “He’s sugarcoating it, but I suppose anything would be better than marrying Malfoy.”

“It’s so stupid,” Ginny mumbles from her corner in the room, arms crossed tight. “The fact that she did that without your permission. Is she really that daft?”

Neville raises his eyebrow, ready to say more, but Hermione interrupts the tense conversation.

“I found a case! Something that fits your situation exactly.” Her eyes scan the papers in front of her.

Hurrying over, Neville looks down at what Hermione has, his hope rising just a little.

“It’s a very old one, but it would give us foundation. Something to fall back on when we go to the Ministry. I’ll need to do much more, but I think we have something.” Hermione’s smile is the best thing Neville’s seen all day and he wants to hug her with all of his might.

If Hermione can really get him out of this, find some way for him to live his own life, then he’ll do whatever it takes to get there. Even if it means appeasing the two families for the time being.

~

The looming gates of Malfoy Manor leave a sinking feeling in Neville’s stomach, as if all that lies ahead is gloom and despair. Straightening himself up, Neville waits for the gates to open before he marches up to the front doors, the only sounds being his footsteps on the gravel pathway.

He finds that he doesn’t have to knock on the doors, his eyes searching as they open into a cold, dark hall. The ceilings are high above, entryways everywhere he looks, and he follows the one that has the lone source of light.

Clearing his throat as he approaches, Neville watches as a thin woman with long blonde hair rises from her seat in front of a fireplace. She seems more focused on the flames than Neville’s sudden appearance and she takes her time to turn to him.

“Neville,” Narcissa greets, a stiff smile on her face.

Despite that, her eyes are inviting, her pose relaxed, and Neville works through his confusion. He knows much of this arrangement is his grandmother’s doing, but the fact that Narcissa agreed to it in the end leaves an unpleasant nagging at the back of Neville’s mind.

“Draco will be down soon. I’ll leave you two to get acquainted, but you must tell me a little about yourself first. I’ve heard many a great deal, but I still do not know you.” Narcissa’s smile softens a bit, despite how she keeps her distance, and Neville shrugs, glancing at the walls lined with bookshelves.

“I’m an assistant professor at Hogwarts. Teaching Herbology. Otherwise, I suppose I like to spend time out walking when I’m not working.” Neville isn’t sure what to share, but Narcissa nods along, her eyes remaining on him.

Neville finds strange comfort in the way she listens, so unlike his grandmother. She doesn’t interrupt with her own thoughts, only adding bits after she’s sure Neville is done speaking. It’s as if she cares, even if Neville is sure she doesn’t.

“Do you like your grandmother?”

The question is sudden and Neville’s hands sweat. He’s never enjoyed saying much about his grandmother, the mere thought of having to lie about anything a bit detestable for Neville.

When Draco enters the room, Neville isn’t sure if he should be thankful or not, turning away when Narcissa goes to embrace Draco.

Neville doesn’t dare let his gaze go to Draco, keeping him in the peripheral of his vision. The crackling fire fills the empty space, but Neville knows one of them will have to say something eventually.

“So,” Neville breaks the silence. “Never expected this did you?”

He cringes at his attempt to make the conversation light, waiting for Draco’s scoff. Instead, he receives a weary sigh and Neville turns his head just a little.

“I’m sorry,” Draco’s voice is soft.

Neville stares, the sound of an apology leaving Draco’s lips sounding almost forbidden. Not once has Draco apologised for his behavior at Hogwarts, but now he sounds fragile, unfamiliar. Faltering for a moment, Neville thinks over what to do before his bitterness takes complete control.

“I’m not in the mood for apologies. Even if you’re not to blame for this.”

Draco’s gaze meets his own and Neville lets out a long sigh.

“We just — I guess we have to deal with what’s happening. We haven’t been given options. If you really think there’s a way out of this, I’d love to hear it.”

Neville tries not to watch the changes in Draco’s face, the way the emotions show freely rather than staying hidden like Neville would’ve thought.

“I don’t know,,” Draco starts, his voice small, “ If I could’ve gotten you out, I would have done so.”

Neville can’t stop his confused stare, wondering where the Draco Malfoy from school went. He’s waiting for harsh insults, not a timid shell of the boy he once knew. This pensive Draco is foreign and no matter how Neville tries to explain it to himself, none of the answers makes sense.

Draco has taken to staring out the window, leaving Neville at a loss for words.

“Well, I’m going to go now,” Neville says, no longer in the mood to play houseguest.

Receiving only a nod in return, Neville takes his time turning before he leaves the room. So much of this is strange, his thoughts are being twisted this way and that. Neville hopes this isn’t some cruel joke and he looks back at the manor once he reaches the main pathway.

Frowning, Neville doesn’t appreciate the tension taking hold of him and he rushes from the scene wondering what the hell is happening to him, let alone Draco.

~

Neville hopes he only has to visit the manor once, but he finds himself there on almost a monthly basis. Lucius is absent at best and Neville spends most of his time in Narcissa’s garden room.

If anything, Neville is grateful for Narcissa’s patience and her kind manners. He’s honestly surprised she raised a son like Draco, but Neville’s not about to question her.

“Your grandmother is quite the ruthless matchmaker,” Narcissa comments as she takes a sip from her cup.

The two are waiting on Draco to return from his outings, but an hour has passed and Neville doesn’t blame Draco for taking his time.

“Yeah, she’s always been…” Neville trails off, not wanting to outright bash his grandmother.

She raised him but Neville doesn’t feel how he thinks he should for her. He yearns for the world where he was raised properly by his parents and swallows down the lump in his throat, avoiding Narcissa’s eyes.

“With the stain on our family name, I just wanted a new start for Draco. A way for him to make his way in the world without the whispers and sneers behind his back.”

Neville blinks at Narcissa’s sudden honesty, but he stays quiet as his curiosity gets the better of him.

“When your grandmother approached me, I jumped at the chance. I swore that no matter what convincing I had to do with Lucius or my son, it would be for the best,” Narcissa sighs, rubbing her temple with two fingers.

“Of course I wanted Draco to marry someone he truly loved, really cared for. I was foolish, but things have already been set in motion and I hope you’ll be able to forgive me someday.”

The cup in his hands feels fragile and Neville sets in on the table so he doesn’t accidentally break it. Hearing Narcissa’s side of the story twists his stomach, a heavy weight settling itself in Neville’s mind. He tries to find the strength to say something, but at that moment, Draco enters the room and the moment is shattered.

“Mother,” Draco greets and stiffly turns to Neville. “Longbottom.”

Neville’s stomach twists at the familiarity of Draco’s tone, the sound of his name like a punch to the face rather than a greeting.

“Neville, please.”

Draco doesn’t say anything as he stands in the doorway, shifting as if he might jump into the ferns at any given moment. It doesn’t help that Narcissa sweeps out of the room then, giving Neville a soft smile and Draco a small hug as she goes.

The moment is tense, Neville wondering if leaving the room as well would be rude. He stills as Draco sits down at the table, clearing his throat as he does so.

“I’m sorry if my mother ever gets personal. Never could hide secrets from her.”

Neville is relieved that the subject isn’t about the two of them and he shakes his head. “No, she’s actually a breath of fresh air in all of this. I can’t imagine how things will be when I meet your father.”

To his surprise, Draco laughs at this, leaning back in his chair. “God, won’t that be something.”

This doesn’t comfort Neville and he hunches his shoulders, hoping he can find some excuse to leave the room.

“I shouldn’t laugh,” Draco’s voice interrupts his thoughts. “I know what you probably think of my father and what he thinks of you. I’ll take care of him.”

Neville isn’t comforted by this, but he doesn’t make a point to say so. He’s a little shocked by Draco’s defensiveness, his willingness to help him out, even if the future is still grim for the two of them.

It seems that what happened at Hogwarts is long gone, but Neville isn’t ready to let the wounds heal over just yet. He knows what Draco is capable of and that controls so many of Neville’s thoughts.

Needing some air, Neville stands up with a singular nod towards Draco. “I guess I’ll see you next month then,” Neville says, marching from the room.

A small, “See you,” makes Neville pause for a moment, but he doesn’t turn back around, his resolution leading him out of the manor.

~

When a sealed envelope with extravagant writing arrives for Neville, his heart sinks. Normally, he’s excited by mail, but he knows who this is from. With hesitation, Neville opens the letter, skimming over the words.

Narcissa has planned a dinner party for Neville to meet family and friends of the Malfoys. Neville feels sick to his stomach, but even if he were to hide the letter, he knows his grandmother would have him going before he could even get the word ‘no’ out.

The owl pecks at his hand, waiting for a responding letter and Neville is slow to write out his acceptance. He manages to satiate the owl by giving it some food, but it doesn’t last long and Neville all but pushes the bird out the window.

Watching it fly away, Neville wishes he had his own wings as well before he goes to his closet in search of formal robes. A sick feeling worms its way into Neville’s stomach and he can only hope the evening will be a quick one.

~

When the day finally arrives, Neville lingers by the lampposts, not wanting to enter the manor just yet. It would be only him amongst strangers after all and he finds himself wishing that even his grandmother would be there just so he’d have some familiar face.

With a few steady breaths, Neville holds himself tall before entering the manor and into the chatter that fills the ballroom.

A few turn to him when he walks in, but it’s Narcissa who greets him first.

“How good to see you, Neville,” she embraces him lightly before leading him around the room.

He’s introduced to so many names and faces, he knows he’ll remember only one at best and he breathes out heavily when he’s finally given space on the balcony. He stares back into the lighted room, knowing he doesn’t belong. He was met with stiff faces, untrusting glances and he wonders how he hasn’t been thrown out yet.

“Longbottom, is it?” a snide voice pulls him from his thoughts.

“Neville, if you please,” Neville responds, taking a nervous sip from his drink.

The woman before him is old, frail, but she frowns at him as if his very presence disgusts her.

“Not a fine match for Draco. What Narcissa was thinking, I’ll never know.”

Nevill doesn’t appreciate how loud the woman’s voice is, as others nearby turn to the conversation.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” the woman continues on.

Neville feels small, but the fury grows in him as the woman rambles on without leaving any breath for Neville to defend himself. He tries to block out the words but the moment his parents are mentioned in a disdainful manner, Neville’s blood boils.

“Aunt Hilda.”

Everyone turns as Draco approaches Neville, planting himself firmly next to him.

“I would appreciate if you would stop making such outlandish comments about Neville. Just because you’re no longer the center of attention, doesn’t mean you need to take it out on him.”

The woman sputters at this, saying something about Draco’s disrespect and she hobbles off in anger.

“Anyone else?” Draco calls out to the ballroom.

Everyone jumps back into what they had been doing earlier and Neville turns to Draco.

“Why?” is all Neville can think to say, wondering if this had just been the work of Narcissa.

Draco doesn’t look at him, his glare on everyone else in the room and Neville waits.

“She’s always been like that. I can’t stand seeing yet another person torn down by her.”

Neville makes a ‘hmm’ sound, not trusting Draco’s words. After all, it wasn’t like Draco hadn’t done the same thing to him at Hogwarts. Neville thinks to say as much, but he’s tired and just wants to go home.

“I know I’m being hypocritical,” Draco crosses his arms, staring down at his feet. “And I understand if you want me to leave you alone for the rest of the evening.”

“All I want is answers,” Neville blurts out, clearing his throat when Draco looks at him. “I mean, hell, Draco, you bullied me for almost our entire time at Hogwarts, we’re being forced to marry each other, and suddenly you’re acting like you can actually stand me? You’re a nutcase if you think I believe you.”

The words spill out of Neville’s mouth and he feels the guilt creep up on him when Draco genuinely looks hurt. Neville is still bitter however and he doesn’t let his guard down.

“I’m not asking you to believe me,” Draco starts out slow.

There is hesitation in the air and Neville clenches onto his glass.

“I’m not asking you for anything. I’m trying to make changes for myself and you just happened to be part of that. You have every right to stay mad at me. I would be too if I were you.”

Draco pauses, leaving Neville to process what’s just been said. He’s not ready to forgive and forget. Neville doesn’t know what he’s ready for. He can’t understand this sudden new Draco and he frowns.

“I’ll leave you alone now,” Draco ends on a parting note, heading to another part of the ballroom.

Neville watches him leave, but he makes no move to follow. Instead, he backs out to the cool night air, his mind replaying the scene over and over. He curses the entire situation and when his mind gives him a singular idea, Neville doesn’t hesitate.

~

The sun has barely risen and Neville stands on the train platform, waiting in the cool, brisk air. The train pulls slow into the station, smoke billowing, as Neville picks up his only suitcase.

Once the boarding has begun, Neville hands his ticket to the guard and searches for an empty compartment. He passes by families and bustles of children before he finally gets to a seat, thankfully alone. He settles into the cushioned seat, his body relaxing once the train starts moving again. He’s grateful that McGonagall gave him the time off, but he’s not sure how everyone else will take it.

That is, if they find out. He’s not running away. He just needs time alone, to think about everything. With so much having been unloaded onto him, Neville finds it very unfair that he wasn’t given more time to simply take it in. He’s sure he could’ve come up with a better solution, but with everything in full swing, Neville feels like a fish caught in the tide.

The scenery rolls past him and before Neville knows it, he’s reached his destination. Following the instructions, Neville finds the isolated cottage, sighing happily at the sight of the seaside cliffs.

He’s greeted by an elderly couple who welcome him to their home, settling Neville into one of the guest bedrooms. They show him the ins and outs of the cottage and Neville wonders why he didn’t do this sooner.

Here, he doesn’t have to use his magic. It’s just him in his room, the small town for him to explore, a beach for whatever else. He lays back on the bed, the sunlight warm and inviting as Neville lets himself drift off to sleep.

~

The first day is full of exploring and Neville almost shouts for joy at the freedom he has. He takes his time in each little shop, plans out which place he’ll eat at next, finally settling down at the beach just to breath in the sea air.

The sun is out today, shining on the waves of the ocean and Neville allows his mind to go blank. It’s pleasant, not thinking about his impending future even if Hermione has promised to get him out of it. For now, he’s stuck with his limited freedom. It’s a sinking feeling and Neville pushes it to the back of his mind, eyes drifting to the seals lounged out on some nearby rocks.

“Must be nice to not have human worries,” Neville speaks to them, amused when one rolls to look at him. “No arranged marriages, no being polite—”

“—nothing but the sea and their companions.”

Neville’s head whips around and he’s greeted by the sight of Draco. Draco’s hands are in the pockets of his coat, his hair moving just enough with the wind. Neville frowns at him, the moment not as spoiled as it could have been, but spoiled nonetheless.

“I came here to get away from you,” Neville says simply, ignoring the creeping guilt when Draco’s face falls just a little.

“I know,” Draco shrugs, looking out at the sea.

Neville continues to stare at Draco, waiting for some quip or for Draco to walk off. He doesn’t like how Draco just remains. Like a stain Neville has never been rid of. He thinks to scream, to make Draco as small as he once felt, but someone needed to be the adult. Neville turns back to the sea, the seals’ interests now completely on them. Eyeing them warily, Neville pieces through his options, then deciding on one that will maybe make the day just a little less sour.

Seeing as Draco isn’t leaving anytime soon, Neville scoots over on his rock, motioning for Draco to sit.

“I’m not going to do anything,” Neville says when Draco doesn’t move.

He won’t fall victim to his insecurities. He’s worked so long, so hard, Draco can’t be that tipping point. Neville tenses when Draco sits next to him, now glad Draco has remained so quiet.

It’s a harsh difference from the boy at Hogwarts, but then again, no one came out of the war the same. He can only imagine what Draco had on his mind during their last years, finding himself pitying Draco just a little.

“How’d you find me?” Neville asks amongst the crashing of the waves.

Draco doesn’t respond right away and Neville thinks to nudge him to get an answer out.

“Asked around. Asked everywhere. I just wanted to see you.” Draco’s voice is shaking, almost unrecognizable and Neville almost scoffs at this.

When Draco’s eyes finally meet his, Neville holds his breath. Now looking at Draco closely, he can see he isn’t in his best shape. His face is stiff, the bruising under his eyes almost permanent, skin marred by the war. Neville knows Draco has struggled, he won’t deny that.

“You’re unlike anyone I’ve had in my life. You speak your mind, you’re strong and brave, you’re everything I wish I could be. Could have been.”

Neville feels his palms start to sweat at words that sound like actual compliments. All he knows is that he’s told Draco to piss off and nothing more. Surely, that can’t warrant what Draco is saying now.

“It’s not too late,” Neville answers, slow and unsure. “We’re only 25, Draco. You have your whole life ahead of you.”

“Not with my past.”

Sick of Draco’s complaining, Neville rolls his eyes, his voice finding itself. “If you’re going to be like that, then why even try with me? We’ve both been through so much, I mean... can you imagine if I had given up after all you did to me at Hogwarts?”

Neville is sure he sees a visible shiver from Draco and he shakes his head, turning back to the sea.

“I know teenage years define so much, I know family controls almost everything. We’ve been given the short end of the stick, but that isn’t the end. I plan to get out of my grandmother’s grasp. I had so much going for me before this engagement came along.”

Feeling a headache growing, Neville breathes in, wishing he could just be back in his room.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is, if we want this to work, we’ll have to change ourselves again and just see what happens. We both want out, but for now, this is it.”

Draco nods, but Neville’s not sure how much he understands. The air starts to sting and Neville stands, waiting for Draco to stand as well.

“I’m going back to my place. Where are you staying?”

“Local inn near the town square,” Draco pointed at the village.

Neville mulls over his thoughts, knowing that Draco might be staying as long as he is and he sighs.

“Want to get dinner tonight?”

“Oh, um,” Draco frowns as if he didn’t expect this.

Neville didn’t either and wonders where his words are coming from. He figures it’s hospitality if anything, waiting for Draco’s response.

“If that’s okay with you,” Draco finally answers.

“I invited you.”

“Oh, right.”

The departure is awkward as the two take separate paths, but Neville glances over his shoulder at Draco, wondering just what is to come from this vacation.

~

Neville is surprised to see Draco at the restaurant before him. Neville knows he himself is 15 minutes early and Draco’s face lights up at the sight of him.

“Hungry?” is all Neville asks and Draco tries to play it off.

“Just enjoying the village is all.”

Neville makes a grunt of a noise, entering the restaurant first with Draco tailing behind. Once the two are seated in, Neville is surprised how calm he feels. Of course, it might just be hiding the nerves and Neville tries to not think too much on it. He stares at the menu, but he doesn’t focus on the words.

Being with Draco in such a casual environment is different to say the least and Neville jumps when the waiter comes over.

Making a hasty decision, the waiter then leaves with their order and Neville frowns at the bottle of wine and full glasses that’s suddenly on their table.

“On the house, he said,” Draco picks up his own glass, taking a sip.

Neville stares at the glasses, untrusting of a free gift. The thought of some alcohol does sound nice though and Neville takes his glass, toasting Draco automatically.

“Ignore me,” Neville mumbles, staring at the table’s woodwork.

Draco doesn’t say anything, but his mouth twitches and Neville takes that as a good sign. The awkward silence is almost unbearable and Neville twists his wine glass around, hoping for something to happen. He’ll take a plate of food being spilled on his lap if it means breaking from Draco’s gaze.

“How do you like your teaching position at Hogwarts?”

“Oh,” Neville blinks, having expected the silence to linger. “It’s wonderful really. I’m lucky I was brought on so quickly. What about you though?”

Neville blushes at his automatic politeness, watching Draco’s hand clench at his question.

Draco’s answer is blunt. “This and that.”

It’s something Neville’s heard time and time again, so he nods, glancing around at the restaurant. The atmosphere is calming, only a few other customers around, light decor, and Neville clears his throat in attempt at conversation again.

“I’m confused as to why you followed me to a place like this. Doesn’t seem like your type.”

“You’d be surprised,” Draco says around the rim of his glass. “I’m not all Knockturn Alley, you know.”

Neville raises his eyebrows with a shrug, his mouth quirking up just a little. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“For your information, Neville,” Draco’s voice is harsh, but a lightness lines its edges. “I find myself rather inclined to living in a cottage by the sea.”

The arrival of their food breaks their conversation for just a moment, but once the waiter is gone, Neville is curious to find out more.

“Tell me about this cottage,” he asks after they take a few bites.

Draco looks as if he wishes to bolt from the table and he swallows down his food, his fork poking at his plate.

“Nothing fancy. Maybe red brick. Two stories. Ivy climbing up the sides. A small garden would be nice.”

Neville lets the small smile spread on his face, hoping the image in his mind is the same as Draco’s. It’s picturesque if he says so himself and he glances down at his food just as Draco’s eyes land back on him.

“Once I get a few things sorted out,” Draco sighs, going back to mulling over his dish.

“I hope it works out for you,” Neville nods, his heart poured into every word.

Their eyes meet for a brief second and Neville feels a tug in his chest. Without his sneer, Draco seems like any other person he’d talk to on the street. Hell, he’s sure if he didn’t know Draco, he’d try to actually be friends with him. Breathing out at this thought, Neville takes a large swig from his glass, hoping this will deter him from dwelling too much on it. He’s not supposed to like Draco; he convinced himself of that fact long ago.

“Thank you,” Draco murmurs. “I hope Granger finds your way out of this. Then you can go back to your dreams too.”

Neville’s nod is solemn and he’s can’t stop the heat that rises within him. Out of anger or sympathy, at this point it’s difficult to separate. Steeling himself, Neville steers the conversation to small talk about the food and restaurant, hoping he can sort himself out with the rest of the time he has here.

By the time dinner is finished and the two are back on the street, Neville honestly doesn’t know where to go from here.

“I’m this way,” Draco points in the opposite direction of where Neville has to go.

Neville shifts on his feet, wondering if he should say something more, but instead waves goodbye to Draco.

“See you around then,” Neville says with resolution and Draco answers with his own little wave.

The departure is filled with more tension than Neville would desire and when he finally makes it back to his cottage, he falls down on the bed, not bothering to take off his shoes and coat. What has happened sends Neville’s mind into a flurry and he stares at the ceiling, wondering if having it collapse on him would be such a bad thing in the end.

~

It’s early afternoon when Neville decides to distract himself in a local shop, looking over the various wares and gift items. He spots a small stained glass ornament he knows Luna would adore and he plucks it off the shelf. At least one person on his mental gift list is crossed off. After circling the store a second time, nothing else catches his eye and he heads to the counter to pay.

Neville’s stomach drops when he spots a familiar head of blond hair, but that quickly fades into soft laughter when he notices how much Draco is struggling with Muggle currency. The cashier looks about ready to tear Draco’s head off and Neville quells his laughter to help Draco out.

“Sorry,” Neville smiles at the cashier. “My friend’s been away much too long in America. Seems he’s forgotten the difference between England and Ireland.”

Spotting how much Draco owes, Neville pays the cashier what’s needed along with his own item. Out of the corner of his eye Neville can see just how red Draco has gone and he leads the way out of the shop, not needing to check behind him for followers.

“Thanks,” Draco looks away when Neville hands him his bag.

“You’ll get the hang of it,” Neville shrugs. “Honestly, if it wasn’t for Luna and the time she spends with Muggles, I’m not sure I would’ve been okay.”

Draco’s shoulders finally drop, his hand running through his hair once before he turns to Neville. “Can you teach me? I can pay you back. Whatever you want.”

Neville blinks at this sudden question. Draco being interested in anything the Muggle world has is a shock to say the least. Neville wants to say he’s pleasantly surprised, but concern lingers as well.

Seeing Draco waiting for an answer, Neville shakes his head and motions for Draco to follow as he heads towards a small cafe just a few doors down. “Everything about Muggles or just the money?” Neville asks once Draco has caught up with him.

Draco doesn’t answer until they’re seated in the cafe, his hands wringing together.

“I suppose all of it.”

“All right,” Neville nods, a sense of pride growing within. “First, flat whites.”

The confusion on Draco’s face is all it takes for Neville to burst into laughter, apologizing as he does so. Neville doesn’t care that the whole cafe is looking at him because for the first time in a while, he’s genuinely laughing and he doesn’t want it to stop. Once his laughs start to subside, Neville pats Draco’s hands sympathetically with a smile on his face before getting up to buy the drinks.

The lightness Neville feels now is something he’s been missing and when he slides the mug over, he finds himself eager for Draco’s reaction to the taste.

“It’s… fine,” Draco’s nose scrunches up just a little after taking a sip and Neville lets out a breathy laugh.

“It was the same for me the first time.”

“Luna?”

“Hermione.”

A comfortable silence settles between them and Neville figures he doesn’t have to dive into the lesson right away. It’s an almost perfect moment with the large window that allows them to see out into the town and the booth that cuts them off just a little from the rest of the customers.

Seeing Draco take another sip, Neville smiles as holds his mug close to him. It’s a fleeting thought, but Neville thinks that if it had been this Draco at Hogwarts, maybe they could have been friends and perhaps an arranged marriage wouldn’t have been so bad.

~

When night falls, Neville finds himself following Draco this time. After the cafe, they went down to the beach, silence still dominating most of their time. While at first Neville had been annoyed, now he doesn’t mind so much. He’s amused by the comfort he feels just having another person with him. Even if that person is Draco.

Draco’s mood had improved considerably too, but Neville attributes that to him understanding more of the Muggle world. He was surprised at how much Draco wanted to know and learn, only imagining how Hermione would take this news. If anything, Neville liked seeing Draco just be himself, if that was who he is now.

Neville’s sure Draco had to hide many things at Hogwarts, but he knows not to ask. He doesn’t need any of his old wounds opened either, so he just stares at the back of Draco’s head.

All of a sudden, Draco stops, spinning to face Neville. “Do you want to come to my place? Just for a drink.”

It’s the bored Draco face again and Neville isn’t sure how to proceed. Just getting inside sounds nice, but he questions Draco’s intentions. Even if they had a great time, Neville’s walls haven’t come crumbling down.

“You can say no,” Draco says when Neville takes his time to reply.

On the spot, Neville reacts, blurting out a hasty, “Okay,” just to diffuse the situation.

“Are you sure?” Draco tests, his eyes watching Neville’s movements.

Taking a deep breath in, Neville flips through the pros and cons as his head and stomach pull him two separate ways.

“Yes. I’d like that very much.”

Neville thinks he means it and allows his gaze to meet Draco’s. After some more staring, Draco accepts this answer, resuming the walk to his place. While Neville can feel his nerves start up, he doesn’t regret his answer. There’s no usual, “Take it back,” screaming in his mind, no need to run.

What he feels, he’s not sure if he could explain to anyone. A calm nervousness that subsides with every step. When they reach the front door, Neville feels completely at ease as if he trusts Draco.

“I don’t have much, but I hope this is okay,” Draco says as he brings out a bottle of firewhisky and two glasses.

“Works for me,” Neville takes off his coat, looking for a place to hang it up.

Draco sets the bottle and glasses down before motioning for Neville’s coat and hanging it up on a rack Neville knows he wouldn’t have noticed.

“Blends in too much with the woodwork,” Draco mutters, pouring out drinks for the two of them.

He hands Neville his glass and Neville takes it, settling in on the couch as his nerves start acting up again. Glancing around at Draco’s rented place, Neville finds it too dark compared to his own, but more fitting to Draco’s tastes. That is, besides the cottage dream.

“Thank you for today,” Draco settles down on a chair near the couch. “I mean it. It’s everything I’ve wanted to know, but I’ve been too scared to ask.”

“Why scared?” Neville questions, taking a sip from his glass.

“Considering what I was like at school, would you have ever thought I’d have an interest in this world?”

Neville can’t argue with that logic, but he doesn’t say so, not finding the need to add salt to the wound.

“I’m just glad to be an adult now. Away from everything I grew up with, being able to make my own opinions instead of my family influencing me. I just…”

Draco grows quiet as a storm brews in his eyes. There is so much Neville can sense and he doesn’t know what to do.

“Do you think they’d forgive me if I apologized?” It’s barely a whisper and Neville has to take a moment to realize what Draco has said.

Neville wonders this too. After all, he hasn’t forgiven Draco yet and he wasn’t even the main focus of Draco’s taunts compared to his friends. He wants to give Draco an honest answer, but after all he’s accomplished in these two days, he doesn’t want that to go flying out the window as despair takes its place.

He knows his friends are proud, but not to the point where it rules them and he thinks maybe with time, he and everyone else will be ready to forgive.

“Not now, I don’t think,” Neville speaks, thinking before he says his words. “It’s still fresh. But who knows. They easily might because we were kids then. Just kids caught up in everything.”

Neville watches Draco, watching as Draco’s face falls, his knuckles turning white as he grips his glass. Perhaps it’s a trick of the light, but Neville thinks he sees Draco’s eyes water and he glances down, wishing he could give Draco some privacy.

“As long as you keep working on become the best version of yourself, I think that’s all they could ask,” Neville adds as an afterthought, taking another large gulp from his drink.

The buzz of the alcohol starts just a little and Neville wonders if he should leave now before things really turn emotional.

All he wants to do right now is give Draco a hug and he finds himself both disgusted and intrigued by this thought. Rooting himself in his spot on the couch, Neville looks back up at Draco just as Draco wipes his face with his hand.

“Sorry. I should let you go now.”

“It’s fine,” Neville shakes his head, a little disappointed at Draco’s words.

He would’ve been ecstatic to hear that at another time, but now, Neville doesn’t want to leave Draco alone. It’s too much, knowing how Draco must feel, remembering his own loneliness and when he just needed someone to be there.

Searching for the strength within him, Neville gets up, bringing over a chair to sit next to Draco. He’s not sure what to do first as more tears fall down Draco’s face and he sets his hand on Draco’s wrist, rubbing his thumb across the skin. He hesitates a little when Draco looks down, noticing then how Draco’s fingers curl up just a little. Neville bites down on his cheek but he figures it’s not the worst that could happen, taking another swig from his glass before letting his fingers trail down.

With his and Draco’s fingertips brushing against one another, Neville feels like he’s on fire, his gaze hyperfocused on their tight fingers. Letting himself fall first, Neville moves his hand until Draco’s fingers are entwined with his own, amazed at how quickly Draco seals their hands together.

Draco’s grip is strong, but from his years of playing Seeker, Neville isn’t all too surprised. He wonders if his own hold has changed, if its firmness matches Draco’s and he starts rubbing his thumb against the skin again.

The shaky breaths from Draco slowly become deeper, steady, and Neville finds himself relaxing as well. He’s not sure what this means or what he’s doing, but he decides he’ll think on it later when his mind is more sober. Not that he’s drunk but, in a way, he wishes he was.

He’s not sure how long he and Draco hold hands, but when Draco sighs, letting his grip drop just a little, Neville figures it’s the end of it and pulls his hand away.

He doesn’t like how he misses the touch, fidgeting as he figures out where to go from here.

“I’ll just...” Neville gets up quickly, setting down the glass and making his way over to his coat.

Draco says nothing as Neville fumbles with his coat, then heading to the front door and Neville waits for Draco’s response.

Pushing himself up, Draco walks over to Neville, opening the door for him and nodding his understanding.

“This was nice,” Neville blurts out, not sure where his words are coming from.

Draco hums in response and Neville breathes in sharply as Draco leans in, placing a kiss on Neville’s cheek.

“I’m sorry I ever doubted you,” Draco whispers as he pulls away, looking down at his feet.

Neville’s eyes are wide, his mind panicking, and he shoots down the stairs without a goodbye. It’s all too much to handle, too much to digest, as Neville all but runs through the streets. By the time he reaches his place, Neville is ready to pass out, his mind wondering if this had all just been a dream.

~

With his vacation coming to a close, Neville takes some time by the beach to think about all that’s happened. He doesn’t trust his own feelings, how his mind now sees Draco. He nearly curses the sea but he stays quiet, not wanting to disturb the seals.

Draco had found him the morning after with a small goodbye and quick apology. Before Neville even had a chance to stop him, Draco had headed off, presumably back to the manor.

Neville’s destination is just that, but he doesn’t know to expect. To go back to cold, unfeeling Draco would be terrifying and Neville can only hope he’ll see the Draco he’s learned to know and love.

His stomach drops as the word “love” lingers in his mind. He shouldn’t be at that conclusion. Not now, not ever. Yet, it’s there as if he’s had no choice.

“What’s wrong with you, Longbottom?” he whispers to himself as the waves crash.

All he can see is Draco’s face, his smile when he finally understood what Neville was teaching him. The kiss on his cheek lingers and Neville buries his face in his hands.

He hopes he hasn’t fallen for Draco, but it seems as if his mind has done just that and Neville curses himself. His vacation ruined, his feelings torn in every which way, Neville doesn’t want to deal with anything and he pulls his hands down to scream at the ocean.

His life is turning into a swirling mess and Neville doesn’t know how to stop it.

~

Neville’s first day back at the manor is a whirlwind. Narcissa sweeps him away to show him all the plans for the wedding, what will be set up where, color palettes thrust into his hands.

Neville doesn’t care about any of this, having always wanted a simple wedding, so Narcissa’s planning is a bit much. He follows along obediently, nodding when Narcissa wants confirmation but he finds it all too elegant and showy.

“Mother,” Draco interrupts Narcissa’s one-sided conversation, taking the palettes from Neville. “Can I borrow Neville for a moment?”

Flustered, Narcissa excuses Neville and Neville gives her a polite smile before he leaves.

“She loves planning things in case you haven’t noticed,” Draco comments, leading Neville to one of the back doors of the manor. “Sorry I couldn’t come sooner.”

“It’s fine,” Neville smiles, already at ease.

The two enter into the kitchen of the manor and Neville glances around at the house elves working amongst the large room. The elves pay him little mind as Draco sits down at a small wooden table, motioning for Neville to sit across from him.

“Lunch?” Draco asks, but Neville doesn’t have a chance to respond before food is placed in front of the two of them.

Neville thanks the house elves, only receiving wary glances in return and he waits until Draco starts before picking at the food himself.

“She really wants a big white wedding for us, doesn’t she?” Neville teases, pleased when Draco smiles in response.

“Oh yes. Her’s was nothing less, it’s only natural she’d want it for me.”

“It’s sweet, honestly,” Neville says, finding Narcissa much more pleasant than when he first met her.

“I think she just wants to impress you. She talks about you constantly.”

There is no malice in Draco’s voice. If anything, he seems proud of this, meeting eyes with Neville for a moment.

“And you?” Neville asks, wondering how much Narcissa talks about Draco to others.

Draco blushes and Neville already knows that Draco misunderstood his question. He stays quiet, curious to Draco’s response.

“I talk about you, yes,” Draco ducks his head as if he hopes his piece of bread will hide him.

The stress that had been taking hold of Neville’s mind breaks just a little. After his vacation, he tried to deal with his feelings on his own, only to corner himself with every thought. As a last attempt to salvage himself, he described the situation to a few friends, using a fake name in the place of Draco’s. The details Neville spared were minute at best, yet his friends seemed to agree Neville had fallen in love. Which then led to pestering Neville thought he was rid of long ago.

Now, Neville has accepted his fate, nervous about where things will go from here.

He can’t help sigh a bit at this, keeping his gaze on Draco. “I’ve been talking about you too.”

Draco’s head shoots up at this and he eyes Neville warily. “What have you been saying?”

“Enough so my friends wonder what’s happened to me,” Neville chuckles, thinking back to Dean and Seamus’ confused glances. “I mean it in a good way.”

“Doesn’t sound good,” Draco mumbles, but there is a hint of a smile on his face and Neville returns it.

There is something about being with Draco that Neville is sure he can’t explain to just anyone and he watches Draco talking to one of the house elves as if he’s talking to a good friend. A small hint of admiration grows in the back of Neville’s mind and he thinks one of these days, he’ll get around to telling everyone, maybe even Harry, about this newfound Draco.

~

“Neville!”

Glancing up from his pot, Neville smiles when he sees Hermione rushing towards him through the greenhouse.

“I’ve got it,” she gasps. “I’ve got it all. Everything that’ll make it so you don’t have to marry Malfoy.”

Neville thinks he should be ecstatic, shouting, but instead a darkness enters his mind and he can only reply with an, “Oh.”

“Neville, don’t you realize what this means? You can live your life now.”

“Right,” Neville shakes his head. “Of course. I’m just — I’m shocked it’s happened. How did you—?”

Hermione seems happy with this and grabs Neville by the hand dragging him out of the greenhouse. “Let’s go find your grandmother and the Malfoys. We’ll stop this now.”

Neville stays quiet, his mind twisting in a multitude of ways. He wants to pull back from Hermione, but he knows this was what he wanted from the start. To live his own life, marry who he wished. It’s all finally going to be a reality and Neville knows he shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Letting Hermione fill his grandmother with facts, Neville watches as if he’s not even in his own body before they apparate to the manor.

Draco is there, surprisingly, and it pains Neville to see how much Draco’s face lights up when he sees him. Draco is quick to correct himself, giving the group a sullen frown as Narcissa enters the room. Augusta’s lips are in a thin line as Hermione throws evidence in Narcissa’s face and finally, Narcissa waves it all away. A small sigh leaves Narcissa’s lips and she looks directly at Neville with a steel composure.

“Neville, you’re no longer bound to the arrangement. Whatever you choose to do now, I give you my best,” Narcissa nods. “We’ll take care of everything else.”

Neville can’t tell what she feels. Her face is blank, but she gives Neville a small smile as if she had hoped he would find a way out of it. Daring to look at Draco, Neville thinks he sees fire, despair, so much wrapped up in one expression.

“I’ll see you around, Draco,” Neville speaks up. He doesn’t wait for Draco’s reply, turning to lead Hermione and his grandmother from the manor.

He’s finally free, but that doesn’t explain why he feels like breaking down into tears.

~

The ambiance of Diagon Alley is both familiar and nerve wracking as Neville heads to a very specific destination. He pushes through the crowds, breathing a sigh of relief when he reaches the herbology shop.

The sound of the bell puts him at ease and Neville takes a moment to just have some silence amongst the rumbles from outside.

Once he starts to relax a bit, Neville takes his time to explore the store, making note of what he’ll need for when classes start again. The shop isn’t often frequented and knowing the shopkeeper, Neville is often left to his own devices. Here, it’s just him and the plants. That is, until the door opens and Neville automatically turns towards it. His heart leaps at who he sees, his feet leading him back over to the front.

“Draco,” Neville says, surprised.

Of all places, he never thought a herbology shop would be the first place he’d see Draco.

Draco’s eyes widen a bit before he puts on a stern face. “Neville.” It’s short and harsh, but Neville finds himself unable to blame Draco.

He thought Draco wanted out as much as he did, but seeing this, despondent, quiet Draco, Neville knows otherwise.

As much as he hates to admit it, he’s been missing Draco, too. The rush he felt when they were exploring the small town together, the little moments spent together, Neville has wanted to go back time and time again.

“Can we go somewhere? To talk?” Neville asks hopefully.

Draco seems reluctant, but he motions for Neville to lead the way. With a surge of confidence, Neville leads them from the herbology shop, everything else forgotten in favor for just talking to Draco.

He hasn’t much time to think about anything, yet the opportunity sits in his lap and Neville is willing to go wherever this takes him.

Once the two reach a cafe and settle themselves in the back, out of sight, Neville starts.

“How have you been?”

He can see the start of a sneer on Draco’s face, but Draco stops it in favor of giving Neville a shrug.

“As well as could be expected. Now that there’s no wedding to plan for, the house is quiet.”

Neville nods, though he’s not sure if he can sympathize. Being free of this engagement has been a relief, if only to his grandmother is off of his back. Neville is happy to just be back at Hogwarts, working, but he wishes the call-off hadn’t been so abrupt.

Nothing has stopped his thoughts from straying. Even at night, he dreams back to the time spent with Draco. His heart beats faster when he remembers Draco’s smile, the tentativeness of his touch.

“I’ll be honest with you, Neville,” Draco breaks the moment. “I miss coming home and seeing you. It made the manor a bit brighter, like all the darkness that was once there was fading.”

Neville raises his eyebrows a bit at this, but lets Draco have his moment.

“I think — I don’t even know how to say this. I—”

Draco stumbles over his words and Neville decides to meet him halfway.

“I like you too, Draco.”

Neville’s stomach flips at his sudden bravery. Admitting it, hearing the words out loud is almost panicking, but Neville stays in his seat. They’ve come so far, if either of them run now, Neville thinks that’ll be the end of it and he doesn’t want that.

“You do?” Draco whispers, his eyes shining with hope and doubt.

Looking at Draco’s hand resting on the table, Neville reaches out, taking it in his own.

“I do.”

A warmth blossoms in Neville’s chest when Draco’s hand latches on and meeting Draco’s face has never been easier. He’s pleased to see Draco relaxed, almost emotional if Neville is being honest.

“What do we do now?” Draco questions, his thumb rubbing absentmindedly against Neville’s skin.

Neville had hoped this was what Draco was going to say and he grins, a small thought growing in the back of his mind.

“I have an idea.”

~

Narcissa shuffles through her mail, frowning at each item. It’s not as if any of them hold true interest or they’re really meant for her. It’s gossip of the wizarding world, things that need to be paid, and she doesn’t wish to read any of them.

Not until she sees a Muggle postcard, a still picture of a beach and brilliant blue water. Flipping it over, Narcissa’s face paints into a rare grin and she clutches the card to her chest.

Rushing to her library, Narcissa sets to write out a reply, her quill flying over the paper.

Neville,

Thank you for taking the time to write. Draco had sent a small note saying he’d be gone but he didn’t say where.

I am happy for the both of you. The three of us must celebrate when you return.

Please enjoy the rest of your honeymoon, the islands look beautiful.

Send my love to Draco.

Pausing, Narcissa thinks over how to end the letter, her mind already there.

Best Wishes & Love,

Narcissa

Satisfied with her response, Narcissa finds her owl, tying the letter to its leg and sending it off. For the first time in a while, Narcissa feels more than optimistic about the future than she has in years and she smiles, knowing her son is truly happy, married to the man he loves.