#i. plenty of room / good company › fred.

[teethless]

tags

you're what / shocked and disappointed ? i'm evil › ic.

a tussle like that is good for the soul › hc.

getting killed made me feel alive for the very first time › study.

i don't want to be this good looking and athletic / we all have crosses to bear › visuals.

i wasn't lurking / i was standing about / totally different vibe › aesthetics.

creature of the night here yeah ? › answered.

love isn't brains children / it's blood › meta.

i. you're all i bloody think about / dream about / you're in my gut / in my throat / i'm drowning in you › buffy.

i. whatever souls are made of / his and mine are the same › drusilla.

i. i'm sorry i can't save you from everything › dawn.

i. she never treated me like a freak › joyce.

i. it's almost like your my father-in-law in'nt › giles.

i. i'd bite you in a heartbeat › willow.

i. i'm insane / what's his excuse ? › xander.

i. my money's on the witch › tara.

i. had a thing / didn't last › anya.

i. captain cardboard ! › riley.

i. plenty of room / good company › fred.

i. he's a breath of fresh air isn't he ? / good thing i don't breathe › andrew.

[mercurygray]

watching the rain forrrrr Fred & Brady?

Oh, this was a good one. Thank you for giving me an excuse to write them!!

It was bound to be quieter, out here with the rain.

She hadn't joined the Red Cross to be the center of attention - it was true enough that you got some of that being one of four girls in a truck, but that wasn't the same as having the spotlight on you for an unscheduled one-woman episode of Command Performance using a borrowed guitar.

Sadly for her, though, it looked like her usual seat was already taken. John Brady rose from one of the crates, his pipe giving him an almost patrician air. "Oh, I'm sorry. Didn't think there'd be anyone out here," Fred said, turning to go back inside.

"Plenty of room here for whoever wants it," Brady offered, gesturing to a second crate with his pipe. "If you don't mind a little company, that is - or the smoke."

"Reminds me of home, actually," Fred said, smoothing down her jacket and sitting down. Her grandfather had smoked a pipe - usually out on the fire escape, so the apartment wouldn't smell too awful. The smell of it calmed her. "It was getting a little loud in there for me."

"The sound of earnest appreciation," Brady said with a smile. "You made that guitar sound better than Jimmy does."

Fred blushed. It had been Curt's idea, because wasn't it always? Now, now - I think I'm owed a little treat for making it home in one piece, eh? Now where's - where's Fred? I wanna hear her sing me something. I know she's got a real sweet voice and we ain't all heard it yet.

She'd tried to beg off but Curt wouldn't take no for an answer, so they'd chivvied her up on stage, and Jimmy Hobart had handed over his guitar and pulled a stool out, and she'd tuned it up and asked Curt what he wanted to hear. Somethin' nice, he'd said with a grin. Somethin' sweet.

She wasn't about to go singing him a love song, so she'd pulled out one of those cowboy ballads she thought she'd be singing so often, I want to ride to the ridge where the west commences, Gaze at the moon till I lose my senses, Can't look at hobbles and I can't stand fences, Don't fence me in.

She'd done that one, and another by Gene Autry, until Egan had joined in and gotten the whole club singing, and then Hobart had come back and she'd been able to sneak out the back door, back to the rain and the smell of Brady's pipesmoke.

"Not all of us studied music in college, Lieutenant Brady."

"You know, I wouldn't mind if you called me John," he offered quietly. "Curt's not Lieutenant Biddick, is he?"

Well, Fred, you walked into that one. "Curt excels at making himself an exception. There are rules I'm supposed to follow - and up until I got here I was pretty good at it."

"What do you think changed?" Fred looked over at Brady and found he was watching her with careful, considerate eyes - an armchair philosopher with his pipe.

She snorted and looked out into the night at the rain. It was a good question - what had changed? She was still the same person who'd left Madison twelve months ago - still had the same parents, the same college degree, the same training. Was it this place, or these people? The answer came back very unannounced, and she smiled to herself about it. "Apparently flyboys are very persuasive."

Brady chuckled. "On behalf of my fellow flyboys I will accept that compliment. So do you have any other tricks in those uniform sleeves of yours, Miss Fred? You dance, you sing, you play the guitar, you charm hardened pilots out of their seats, you make excellent donuts and a hell of a good cup of coffee. Is there anything you don't do?"

Now it was her turn to laugh out loud. "I also play a pretty good game of cribbage."

He didn't have time to respond to that, because just as she'd said it the door was opening again and Curt, listing a little bit to starboard, joined them outside. "John Brady, are you getting my best girl a drink?"

Brady sat up a little straighter, taking his pipe out of his mouth. "I can be, if she needs one."

"Hey, what is your drink, by the way?" Curt had turned his attention to Fred. "The next time I phone in I'll know what to ask for."

"A whiskey soda." Fred looked over at John, a little impressed.

Curt clapped him on the shoulder. "He remembers! See, this is why you're never gonna leave us, Fred, because we spoil you. And do you know why? Because we know a good thing when we see it. And you, Fred, are a very, very good thing."

"Maybe even the best thing?" Fred asked, getting up from her crate. Duty called - somewhere in her mind she could see the shift supervisor tapping her wrist. She'd danced too long with the same soldier, and there was no more time for quiet.

Curt was laughing at that, pulling her back inside and saying something about the jitterbug and showing Blakeley what was what and who was who. And Fred couldn't help but notice the feeling of Brady following them, resuming his seat on the stage and his clarinet, the smell of rain and his pipesmoke lingering on her jacket.

[free-pool-trash]

x of swords - george weasley

part one of three

Summary: Growing up as Harry’s neighbor, you always believed that you were completely regular. In an attempt to feel closer to Harry (your best friend) you begin to dabble in the art of divination and, in the process, you uncover magic that you didn’t know you had. (i hate doing summaries this does not sum it up but you get the jist)

Relationships: George Weasley x Reader, platonic!Harry Potter x Reader, platonic!OC x Reader, platonic!Sirius Black x Reader, platonic!Remus Lupin x Reader, platonic!Fred Weasley x Reader, platonic!Nymphadora Tonks x Reader, platonic!Molly Weasley x Reader, platonic!Hermoine Granger x Reader, Sirius Black x Remus Lupin

Warnings: Swearing, anxiety, fluff, angst, mentions of torture, mentions of death (let me know if I missed anything!)

Word count: 22.9k 

so here it is 😏 i was going to wait until i was completely finished with this to post it but i didn’t wanna rush it and oh my god it’s already so long  😫 I’m moving to Edinburgh in 2 weeks so i won’t be able to write as i have so much to pack so i hope this keeps some of you happy for a while <3 obviously i put a lot of effort into this and spent a lot of time on it so i really hope yall like it and i will personally kiss everyone who comments. likes or reblogs <3

mastelist

Life on Privet Drive was definitely something- something being incredibly boring. Nothing even remotely exciting happened on the street and the company was, to put it simply, miserable.

You’d lived in 5 Privet Drive since birth which, unfortunately for you, meant that your family are extremely close with the Dursleys who live next door. The Dursleys are a family of bigoted, pig-headed bullies. Made up of Petunia, Vernon, Dudley and, in your opinion the only tolerable one, Harry.

From the age of five, Harry had been your only friend on the street and vice versa. Initially, the both of you had bonded over your dislike of Dudley but as the years rolled on Harry and yourself had become virtually inseparable.

It was certainly strange- how close your parents were with Petunia and Vernon. Your mother and father are actually quite lovely, they are the complete opposite of the Dursleys, they’re open minded, kind and extremely friendly. But, you supposed, their friendliness didn’t discriminate from person to person, even if said person forced their orphaned nephew to sleep in the cupboard underneath the stairs.

There was no denying that Harry had been miserable with the Dursleys, who were unfortunately his only remaining family and you supposed you should’ve been happy when your best friend finally got away from them after his 11th birthday.

You’d missed him for the entire school year and you only got a chance to ask where he’d actually gone off to when he’d arrived home for the summer. (You didn’t believe the story Vernon had spun about Harry attending a boarding school for juvenile trouble makers).

“It’s incredible, (Y/n), honestly! I wish you could be there too.” He’d told you when you finally saw him again, after he’d finished his first year in his mysterious boarding school.

“That’s great, Haz, but where exactly is it?” You wondered and Harry only gave you his signature grin.

“Scotland.”

With a heavy sigh you let the subject go, he was clearly happy wherever he was going to school so it didn’t matter where or what it was. As long as he was happy.

By the time his 12th birthday rolled around you’d found the perfect gift for him. You’d made your parents buy you a polaroid camera for him to take away to school, he’d told you so many amazing stories about his school, you wanted to see some of it for yourself so you figured a camera would be the best course of action.

The morning of his birthday, Harry was woken up by the sound of pebbles tapping against his barred up window. The boy looked out to see you waving at him, an excited smile on your face and a neatly wrapped present in your other hand. Harry couldn’t stop the smile that formed on his face as you beckoned him down with your hand. It was barely dawn but you knew better than to give a present for Harry to either his aunt or uncle because they’d only give it to Dudley, so it was best to get it to him before the rest of his supposed family woke up.

Hogwarts was amazing and Harry was over the moon to have discovered he was a wizard and make so many new friends, but he had missed you- his only friend in the muggle world. Your birthday was only a few weeks after his and he hoped that maybe you’d get a hogwarts letter of your own, obviously that hadn’t happened. Nonetheless he was happy to see you in the summer, he couldn’t shake the thought that Ron and Hermione would have loved to meet you though.

Slowly and quietly, Harry snook down the stairs and out the front door to meet you.

“Happy birthday, Haz!” You whisper-shouted excitedly, pulling the green-eyed boy into your house so he wouldn’t get caught outside when he wasn’t even allowed out of his bedroom.

Harry rolled his eyes at the nickname, “I hope you know that you’re still the only person who calls me that.”

“Good,” you said happily, closing the front door behind you. “Anyway, I got you something that you can bring away to school with you!” He rose an eyebrow at you as you pushed the carefully wrapped box into his hands, “Open it,” you instructed. And so he did.

It was very possibly the most expensive gift he’d ever gotten, you (or your parents) usually got Harry presents that couldn’t be stolen by Dudley. For example, your mother had taken to buying Harry his own clothes, seeing as your best friend was a lot taller and thinner than his horrid cousin.

You, on the other hand, would usually make him gifts with sentimental value, something Dudley had absolutely zero interest in. The camera though, you knew would be safe as Harry would be leaving for school again soon enough.

Harry stared dumbfounded at the cardboard box that held the rather large polaroid camera, judging by the image on the box it was a good quality thing, probably expensive. “This is… really nice, (Y/n).”

A bright smile found your lips as you rushed into an animated explanation about why you’d picked a camera as his birthday present this year.

“So you can take lots of pictures of you and your new friends in your new fancy private school and when you come back here you can show them to me!” Harry chuckled and nodded his head, hoping he’d be able to find time to take pictures like you wanted.

“I’ll take pictures of everything. Promise.” He told you, holding out his pinky with a cheeky grin. You linked your pinky with his and nodded gratefully.

“We should christen it,” Harry announced, tearing into the box and he quickly set the camera up before he pointed it at you expectantly. “Well, come on then. I’ve told my school friends all about you, they’re going to want to see what you look like too. So, smile-“ with a disbelieving laugh, you crossed your legs underneath yourself from where you were sitting on the floor across from Harry, and tucked your hair behind your ears before you looked directly at the lense of the camera and gave it the brightest smile you could muster. The camera flashed and the picture slowly revealed itself, it seemed to be good enough to satisfy Harry’s twelve year old self.

He’d shown the polaroid to Hermione first, the bushy haired girl had smiled softly as she held the polaroid gently, “She seems lovely, Harry.”

Harry had nodded his head in agreement, you were lovely. He just hoped Dudley wasn’t terrorising you too much while he was away. His cousin always had somewhat of a crush on you, which Harry knew was ridiculous considering you all but loathed Dudley.

True to his word, Harry had taken plenty of pictures, many were of (non-magic) areas of the Hogwarts campus, many were of his friends; Ron, Hermione, Fred and George Weasley (who had an absolute field day with the muggle contraption), one or two of Hagrid and he even managed to capture a nice one of the owlery. Although you were one of his best friends, sometimes thinking about you while he was in Hogwarts brought his mood down. It reminded him of how much he wished you could’ve shared in his adventures and not to mention how much he missed you, you could hardly send him an owl, what with being a muggle and all, so he only got to spend time with you during the summer months.

Things had changed during his third year, though. When he received a rather shocking, albeit very welcome, letter.

Dear Harry,

I’d like to start by saying: hi, how are you? How’s school? Good? Great. Now that that’s out of the way… when you come home I’m going to KILL you!!! I cannot believe you didn’t tell me you are a wizard! Well, I understand why you didn’t but anyway.

You’re probably wondering how I found all of this out. Long story short, I saw Vernon’s sister floating around your sitting room and then I saw you running out swinging a wand around. I put two and two together. You would not believe how long it took me to figure out how to get in contact with you. I practically had to beg Dudley to tell me how to get this package to you, he eventually told me how in exchange for a kiss on the cheek. It was as horrifying as it sounds, the things I do for you, Haz, honestly. Don’t worry though, you can make it up to me over the summer.

I bought an owl by the way. I’m guessing she found you okay? Look after her for a little while before sending her back will you? She’s just a baby so she can’t do too much long distance travel just yet.The lady I got her from is a witch, she was very kind and knew exactly what I was looking to use an owl for. Her name is Astra (the owl’s not the lady’s)! Isn’t she lovely?

Moving on from that, I felt bad forcing you to send me pictures and getting nothing in return so I have decided to very kindly grace you with my exhilaratingly normal life. You will also find I sent you some of those sweets you like.

Tell Ron and Hermione that I said hi! Oh and Fred and George too! Get into lots of trouble for me ;) I suppose I better stop rambling now, sorry about that I’m just excited (and i might be missing you… just a tiny bit!)

Write back to me soon, if you can! Tell Astra I’m proud of her for making her first delivery! (give her plenty of treats for me yeah?)

I’ll let you get back to your wizardy stuff now, Haz.

Lots of love,

(Y/n) xoxo

P.s. your magical secret is safe with me. promise.

Harry looked up from your letter with a dazed smile, your new little owl was looking at him expectantly, no doubt awaiting her treat, “Good job, Astra. Your owner says she’s very proud of you,” he informed her, handing her a piece of bacon from his breakfast plate and laughed when she hooted happily.

Astra is a gorgeous little tawny, she has brown and white feathers that were fluffy to the touch. Harry could already tell she was well suited to you though, she was friendly as anything with the most curious eyes he’d ever seen.

“Whose it from?” Ron grunted from beside him, munching happily on his huge breakfast.

Harry let out a short laugh, digging into the envelope to pull out the photos and sweets you’d sent, “(Y/n).”

“I thought she didn’t know about you?” Hermione asked from beside Ron, Harry only shrugged.

“She figured it out. She’s quite clever, I think you’d like her Hermione. She says hi by the way.” He answered somewhat distantly, distracted by the pictures you’d sent, all of which had writing on the backs. He paused on one photo, he guessed one of your parents had taken it, you were stood in the woods, surrounded by trees with a huge smile on your face, your eyes were closed and your nose was scrunched up as a very tiny Astra seemed to be nibbling at your ear affectionately.

“I’m sure we’d get along, I admire her determination, really. And she even bought an owl?” The girl questioned, reaching over and petting Astra gently.

Harry’s smile was gentle as Astra hopped onto his shoulder, “Yeah, suppose she did.”

“Alright! I’m gonna say it!” George Weasley exclaimed, plucking the photo of you from Harry’s grasp, he held it between himself and Fred, the older twin had somehow swiped the letter you’d written. “Harry’s girlfriend back home is quite cute, don’t you think, Freddie?” Fred nodded resolutely, pushing the letter into George’s face as he pointed towards a specific line.

“I have to agree and look, Georgie, she told Harry to tell us that she says hi! Ugh, such a darling,” Fred fake swooned and Harry felt his face heat up while George made kissy faces.

“She’s not my girlfriend.” Yeah, you had opened Harry up to a whole new world of teasing yet somehow he didn’t mind.

“Oi, do you think she’d like some of our Weasley products?” George asked genuinely, wiggling his eyebrows. Harry shuddered at the thought of you getting a hold of anything that Fred and George had created, because yes, you would like some magical pranking products. You had quite a talent for mischief, only in Harry’s worst nightmares would the Weasley twins ever get their hands on you.

Harry shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, “Dunno.”

“She single?” Fred asked jokingly and Harry scrunched his face up. He supposed you were single, though, he’d never really pictured you with anyone. He felt quite protective over you, but he supposed he'd like to see you happy with someone he approved of- or alternatively; anyone but Dudley.

“Think so,” Harry told him with another shrug before a cheeky grin spread across his lips, as he focused his attention on the twins who were nudging each other in mock victory, “Why? Should I write home and tell her the esteemed Weasley twins have a crush on her?”

George was the first the speak, he nodded, completely serious and Harry found himself worrying that perhaps one of the Weasley twins would get his hands on you.

“Yes. Absolutely,” Fred snorted and said no more, allowing his younger twin to continue the girl based antics seeing as Fred’s actual crush, Angelina, had started to glare. “In fact, give her my name. Tell her to write to me next time, eh?”

Harry’s eyes widened, oh Merlin, George was serious.

“Oh sod off, would you? The poor girl is a muggle, she’d throw herself off the astronomy tower if she got stuck with either of you prats.” Ron said through a laugh, none of them could deny it was quite funny, even Hermione had to bite back a smile at the chaos your simple letter had caused.

Around two weeks had passed until Astra returned to you, two letters attached to her leg this time.

You greeted her with a warm smile as she landed on the inside of you window, “Welcome home, pretty lady! Did you have a nice trip?” You cooed, patting her feathers and giggling when she nuzzled her head against your fingers. Having a magical owl as a pet was weird, but still, you seemed to be managing her okay.

Astra hooted happily, as if informing you that she did, in fact, have a nice trip. “That’s good! Let me take these letters off and you can have a well deserved rest, I’ve made a nice nest up for you,” you rambled softly as you untied the string that was holding the letters to her leg.

Astra hooted, hopping onto your arm and allowing you to place her on the plush pile of pillows and blankets which she immediately made herself comfortable upon, once again hooting in content when you placed a handful of treats in front of her.

You assumed that both letters were from Harry until you noticed the messy handwriting that covered one of the envelopes, handwriting that definitely didn’t belong to Harry. Besides, never, even in the furthest reaches of your imagination, would your best friend ever refer to you as; “Harry’s Pretty Neighbour”. You set that one to the side for the time being and focused on the letter you knew to actually be from Harry.

Dear (Y/n),

Hi. Sorry I didn’t tell you I was a wizard. If it makes you feel better I was actually planning on telling you this summer, but thank you for saving me from that conversation. I miss you too (only a tad). I hope you’re having a good school year so far, it’s been pretty chaotic here but I promise I’ll tell you every single tiny detail when we see each other at the end of May!

Did Astra get home okay? She’s a really lovely owl, she took quite a liking to George who (terrifyingly) has taken quite a liking to you. He’s been badgering me all week for “permission” to write to you, in his words, “just to say hello.” I think you’d actually get along but he and the rest of his family are very magic oriented, I’d be surprised if he didn’t scare you away… the pair of you together would be my worst nightmare. Don’t even get me started on how I’d feel if Fred was in the mix too. I’m tired just thinking about it.

Thank you for the sweets they were lovely, I put a chocolate frog in the envelope for you, it’s a really popular sweet in the wizarding world- don’t freak out when it hops, it’s just a charm the frog isn’t really alive.

I enjoyed the pictures too, I put a few in this letter for you too, the polaroid is running out of film but it should be enough to keep me going until the end of term.

Write to me again soon, I like hearing from you.

Take care,

Harry.

P.S. I’m really sorry you had to kiss Dudley, I’ll do something to make it up to you. Promise.

P.P.S. If George OR Fred manage to write to you PLEASE don’t eat anything they give you.

With a laugh you set the letter down beside you. Curiously, you reached a hand into the ivory envelope and pulled out the peculiarly shaped chocolate box as well as the polaroids. You viewed the photos with a fond smile, Harry always looked so happy, even with whatever chaos was happening around him. Wizard school definitely made your best friend the happiest he’d ever been.

Opening the next letter, which you now guessed judging by Harry’s letter, came from George Weasley, Harry’s friend Ron’s older brother. That was all you knew about him. You let out a gasp once you opened the seal, a small show of tiny fireworks shot out, exploding in balls of reds and oranges across your bedroom before they disappeared as if they’d never been there in the first place.

Slightly frazzled, yet amazed, you cautiously plucked the letter from the envelope and began reading.

Hello, Harry’s Pretty Neighbour.

I hope you enjoyed the show, hopefully it didn’t startle you too much… I’m not exactly sure what muggles are used to… if it did scare you I’m sorry.

Anyway, just wanted to say hi. Promised Harry I wouldn’t spook you, he’s quite protective of you, you know. It’s very sweet.

I don’t blame him, though. If I had a friend as pretty as you I’d be protective too ;)

Don’t break my heart, write back?

Yours truly,

George Weasley x

And that had been the start of it. Two years had passed since you’d discovered the wizarding world and it seemed as though things had simultaneously gotten worse and better. As it turns out, your lifelong best friend was some sort of prophetic hero in the wizard community and on top of that it seemed that there was a war brewing that he would be expected to lead.

Of course, you were completely useless as you don’t possess the ability to perform magic which also means you're at risk of being hate crimed by some classist, wizard, blood supremacists? You weren’t sure. But Harry was worried.

You’d been writing back and forth to a few of Harry’s Hogwarts friends (your friends now too) for a long while now, you’d even gotten a chance to finally meet them when you’d gone with the Dursleys to collect Harry from King’s Cross Station.

You got along best with Hermione seeing as she was raised similarly to yourself and Harry. However, of all of Harry’s school mates, you liked George the most. Everyone could have predicted it really, you’d been writing to each other constantly and the second you’d clapped eyes on each other in the flesh he’d broken out in a run to crush you in a hug. Harry had groaned at the sight of the pair of you, smiling widely at each other, seeming to slot together perfectly. He had to laugh about it now though, if things went well with Ginny he supposed you’d probably end up being his sister-in-law, assuming his predictions of George falling completely in love with you were correct (they were, he knew).

All air of laughter or wizard/muggle romances was gone at the moment however. You and Harry sat alongside each other, your hand holding his loosely between the swings you were sat on, he’d be going into his 5th year at Hogwarts soon, he’d yet to recover from the last. He’d made a friend only for that friend to be killed right in front of him. He’d almost been murdered himself for God’s sake.

“If you don’t feel safe, Haz… maybe, I don’t know? Don’t go back?” You suggested weakly, knowing he’d never do such a thing. As you expected, Harry shook his head and looked at you solemnly.

“Can’t. Not now that he’s back.” With a sigh you squeezed his hand.

“They should be paying you for this, you know,” Harry chuckled then, squeezing your hand in return.

“I’m doing this for you too. To keep you safe.” He admitted and you sighed miserably.

“I wish I could be of more help.” Harry scoffed, his green eyes shining with pure disbelief as he stared at you.

“More help? (Y/n) you must be joking…” he trailed off as you shook your head, you weren’t joking, you hated that you couldn’t help Harry through this, for once you knew there was nothing you could do to improve the situation in any way that would make an impact, “Oi. Look at me,” Harry demanded, no trace of the usual awkward sarcasm to be heard when he spoke.

You let your eyes meet his again and watched how they seemed to soften when he took in how utterly defenceless you looked, “If it hadn’t been for you, the first ten years of my life would’ve been an even worse hell than they already were. You were the only good thing and you’re still the only good thing about being back in this place.”

He watched sadly as your eyes fell to the floor again, “Besides, the sooner we get this mess with Voldemort sorted out, the sooner you and George Weasley can navigate the whole muggle/wizard romance thing.”

At his statement you barked out a laugh and Harry let himself smile too, “Shut up, Potter. S’not like that.”

Harry laughed then too, “Oh it is so like that, (N/n).”

“It so isn’t.” You grumbled, but your little smile confirmed to Harry that it absolutely was like that.

“Okay. Fine, please then do tell, what is going on between you and the infamous George Weasley?” Harry challenged, revelling in the way your cheeks burned with embarrassment. He let out a low chuckle when you shrugged shyly and kicked the stones beneath your feet.

“I don’t know… We write to each other a lot, and I think he’s really interesting and funny and sweet and of course I think he’s fit. But, I don’t know,” you bit your lip as Harry listened to you, he found it quite endearing. “I just don’t see how it would work. I like him, yeah, but…” Harry scoffed again as you trailed off. He hated seeing you feeling so insecure, Harry was clueless about a lot of things, but he knew exactly how much his best friend was worth- more than all the gold in Gringott’s.

“Ok as your best mate, and as someone who is very close with the Weasley family, I’m telling you that he’s mad about you. All he ever does is ask me about you, Fred is completely sick of him. He’s even told Molly about you, which is truly a commitment believe me,” Harry started, growing more content with the more bashful you became, “And didn’t he write to you just before the Yule Ball to tell you that he was going with Katie Bell as a friend but he wanted to tell you just incase you heard it from someone else and he didn’t want you to get the wrong idea?” Finally, you were back to fighting a smile.

“Yeah he did.”

“Well there you go. But seriously he hasn’t dated or even so much as looked at anyone else since he met you. Which I’ll be honest is super annoying for me but you deserve someone who thinks you hung the stars in the sky.”

A mock gasp left your lips and you released his hand to place it over your chest in faux hurt, “You mean to tell me you don’t think I hung the stars in the sky? I’m hurt, Harry. I think I’ll have to rat you out to Mrs. Weasley.”

Harry laughed but the lighthearted atmosphere didn’t last long before Dudley had shown up with his little gang of bullies, all of whom made fun of Harry’s nightmares.

It was then things had taken a turn for the worst, the sky turned black and storm clouds completely blocked out the previously scorching sun. You looked to Harry for answers but he seemed to be seeing something that you couldn’t, all you knew was that it had become unbearably cold, a feeling of misery making a home in your bones as Harry rushed to pull you to your feet.

“Run! Come on!” He shouted, clutching your hand tightly in his and sprinting through the neighbourhood until you, Harry and Dudley found yourselves struggling to catch a breath in a graffiti covered tunnel.

A terrified yelp left your throat as what you’d been running from revealed itself to you.

Several floating, cloaked shadowy figures swooped into the tunnel on both sides, their hands decaying and boney, their presence leaving you with the feeling that you’d never know positively ever again.

Harry had effectively used his body to cage you against the wall of the tunnel, his back pressed firmly against your chest, your own back pressed to the cold concrete wall, his wand was at the ready as the creatures approached rapidly.

“Don’t look at them.” Harry instructed, protecting you first as you watched in horror as one of the creatures seemed to be ripping Dudley’s essence straight out of his body.

It only took Harry a few painfully long seconds to take care of the creature in front of the pair of you, you’d wished you’d taken his advice and buried your head in his shoulder so you wouldn’t see the monstrous creatures before you, yet, you couldn’t seem to tear your eyes away from Dudley.

The rest happened in a blur, Harry had yet to let go of your hand as it (and your entire body) shook violently. Demontors broke even the strongest of wizards, Harry knew that as a muggle who’d never seen a magical creature, other than an owl, you’d react negatively.

“If it makes you feel any better, I used to faint every time I saw a dementor.” You nodded numbly, giving Dudley a side glance of concern while he mumbled incoherently to himself.

“Is he alright?” You questioned meekly, voice shaking. You were still freezing and the all too familiar feeling of uselessness didn’t do anything to help you regain your inner warmth.

Harry nodded, “He will be.”

“The ministry will be after my head for using magic outside of school,” he told you after a few minutes, squeezing your hand lightly for the umpteenth time, “So I’m gonna have to go away for a while. Probably tonight. Eat some chocolate, it should stop the shaking.” He told you, you hadn’t even noticed you’d reached Privet Drive.

“And they won’t-“ your breath got caught in your throat and your eyes filled with fear, “The dementors. They won’t come back, will they?”

Harry shook his head, “No. But come on, we should get you inside before the ministry shows up and tries to obliviate you.” His final words came out as more of a mumble than an actual sentence as he passed a bumbling Dudley over to Petunia and Vernon before steering you down your own driveway.

“You better not have broken her too, boy!” You vaguely registered Vernon’s voice shouting in your and Harry’s direction.

Your parents were away on holiday at the moment, in Spain. They’d wanted you to come but you hadn’t wanted to miss Harry’s visit, so when you shakily managed to open the door the house was completely dark, you weren’t sure at what point night had fallen.

Harry closed the door behind himself and made his way into your kitchen, the boy rifled through your sweet press before his hand finally settled on what he was looking for. A triumphant sort of yell left his lips as he pulled a bar of chocolate out of the cupboard.

While Harry tossed the bar onto the counter and busied himself with boiling the kettle, you stood in the hallway still, completely rigid.

“Come on, (Y/n). Sit down.” He urged gently, not turning around. Wordlessly, you fully entered the kitchen and slid into a chair facing Harry.

“Don’t you have better things to be doing than making me tea?” You wondered, setting your hands on the table and fidgeting with your icy fingers. Obviously, you appreciated Harry’s fussing but with the way he was talking about the ministry earlier you were sure he had more important things to worry about.

Harry only faced you once he was finished making your tea. He carried the hot cup and the previously discarded bar of chocolate over to you, he placed them both on the table before giving you a hard look, “I’m looking after you first. I’ll deal with everything else later.”

“I used to be the one who took care of you.” You said through a sigh, taking a sip of the hot tea and slumping against your seat as you began to heat up on the inside again.

Harry let out a low chuckle, “Oh how the tables have turned.”

“I liked it better the other way.” You complained, munching on a square of chocolate.

“Trust me, so did I,” Harry groaned, standing up and placing a comforting hand on your shoulder, “Don’t worry though, (N/n). Have a sneaking feeling that you’ll be looking after me again soon enough.”

You patted the hand he had clamped on your shoulder in appreciation, “Thank you, though, for looking after me.”

“Course. I better go. I don’t want you getting roped into anything else tonight,” he said with a sad smile and you nodded in understanding, “We probably won’t see each other for a while but I’ll write. Is Astra back from Cecilia's yet?” Celillia is the witch you’d gotten Astra from in the first place, the pair of you had kept in touch and she’d recently offered to try and teach you some basic divination skills, she claimed that, “Being a wizard isn’t exactly a requirement” and you desperately needed something, anything, to make you feel more connected to your friends in the wizarding world. You supposed you’d need to plan a trip to her cottage soon, after tonight you definitely needed some of her wisdom.

“No, not yet. She flew straight there from the burrow so I suppose she’s probably resting,” you informed him distantly, still clutching his hand, “You’ll be careful, won’t you?”

Harry squeezed your shoulder and let out a deep breath, “I’ll try my best. Promise,” with that he lifted his hand from your shoulder and extended his pinky to you, you gladly linked it with your own. Harry noted, very gratefully, that the warmth had now returned to your hands and you’d stopped shaking so violently.

“Send me a letter once Astra gets back, alright? I’ll keep you updated on what’s going on over on my side.” You agreed before walking Harry to the door, hugging him tightly and watching as he approached the Dursley’s front door.

As predicted, Harry, George, Hermione and Cecillia had let you know that the wizarding world was crumbling fast. Admittedly you were worried about your wizard friends, but Cecillia had done a great job of keeping you distracted by keeping you buried under heaps of divination books, tarot cards and crystal guidebooks. As it turns out, though, you had quite the talent for making accurate detailed predictions.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were descended from a powerful seer,” she’d written to you in awe after you’d managed to predict exactly how a date of hers would go without missing a single detail.

Reading tarot cards quickly became one of your favourite hobbies to indulge in when you weren’t in school. You’d made the mistake of telling George about it in a recent letter, Harry already knew and he also knew that there was no point telling you that he didn’t have a heap of faith in divination. George however was having a field day with the new information.

The older boy teased you at every chance he got, but it was all in good fun as in every letter he sent, you’d find a page that he’d ripped out of his own divination book, the pages would be crinkled and have messy notes scribbled along the margins, with explanations over words that he knew you wouldn’t understand as a muggle. They were actually really helpful. Aside from all the teasing he found it quite endearing that you were trying to get familiar with some form of magic. Even if it was a form of magic wizards tended to ridicule.

He’d been quite worried about you, Harry told him about the dementors and how you’d been quite shaken up after your encounter with them. He’d written to you on a weekly basis, constantly checking in on you, making absolutely sure that no more dementors paid you a visit. He and Harry both kept you up to date with the constant and seemingly never ending rules being imposed upon them by their new headmaster, or headmistress; Delores Umbridge. George also disclosed to you all about his and Fred’s plan to leave Hogwarts and pursue their lifelong dream of opening a joke shop. You had nothing but faith in the twins, really. Your complete faith in them hadn’t stopped you from sending George a handful of crystals that you believed would help his and his shop’s success. He’d teased you relentlessly in each letter since he’d received your package containing citrine, tiger’s eye, amazonite, aventurine and smokey quartz. What he hadn’t mentioned since receiving your little gifts, is that he’d been carrying the five crystals around in their little orange mesh drawstring bag in his pocket everywhere he went. He had to give credit where credit is due and, to be fair to you and your holistic ways, he hadn’t run into any serious obstacles since he started carrying the gems around.

November through June had brought forth a plethora of unfortunate events. You were practically swimming in school work which left you with no time to write to Harry, or even practice tarot. As well as that, you’d been having nightmares, although Cecillia had warned that these dreams could hold some sort of prophesies within them, you highly doubted that though, you weren’t a wizard, only a muggle. Whether prophetic or not, the nightmares plagued you, keeping you up at night or waking you at all hours of the morning.

On one particular morning, you’d awoken with a gasp. Sweat coated your face, soaked your pillow cases and caused your legs to stick to your blankets in a way not even the June heat could've caused. Your heart pounded against your ribcage, tears welled in your eyes, and your body shook as violently as it had the night you’d come face to face with the dementors of Azkaban. The unadulterated fear coursing through your bloodstream suggested that perhaps this bad dream had been something more than simply that.

As fast as you could manage in your panicked state, you dragged your body out of bed and stumbled towards your light switch, flicking it on before haphazardly ripping a sheet out of the refill pad on your desk, grabbing a pen and beginning to scribble down the dream that you could only describe as a warning.

Your laboured breaths stirred Astra from her slumber, the tawny hooted tiredly, hopping out of her cage and fluttering over to your shoulder, settling there as you wrote.

Harry,

I hope this letter reaches you in time. I might sound completely mad but something terrible may be about to happen. I’ve been having these horrific dreams over the last few months, I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry but Cecillia suspects they’re premonitions and I’m terrified she may be right. I’ve just woken up, it’s around 2am and if I’m lucky, Astra should get this letter to you before 6am…

Onto the dream, you were there and you were asleep, I was standing by your bed, it was a four-poster sort of thing, the room was decorated in mostly red and gold. You woke up panicked, you looked completely overwhelmed and you began shouting about your Godfather Sirius, about how he was in trouble… From then on I watched the day play out. You, Hermoine, Ron, Ginny, a boy with brown hair I’ve never met, I think you called him Neville in my dream, and a blonde girl- Luna I think you called her, you all went to the ministry to rescue Sirius and find some kind of prophecy. Harry you have to listen to me, you mustn’t go, it’s a trick, Voldemort planted it in your head and if you go you’ll only put Sirius in harm’s way. But, knowing you, you’re gonna go anyway… so here’s my advice: keep your eyes open for the witch Bellatrix. Keep Sirius away from the veil and please please please, be careful.

I’m heading to Cecillia’s cottage for the day and maybe even the next couple of days, send Astra there when you find time to write back.

I hope I’m wrong but if I’m not; good luck, Harry. I love you and if you don’t look after yourself the dark lord will be the least of your worries.

Lots of love,

Y/n.

Folding up the letter and placing it in a stray envelope, you addressed it and gently tied it to your loyal owl’s leg. “I’m gonna need you to go as fast as you can to get this to Harry, okay Astra?” She hooted with what you guessed to be determination before she set off, out into the night. Thankfully for you, now that your owl was occupied, you knew Cecillia owned a telephone so you’d have no problems contacting her. While writing to Harry, you’d left out a few details about the dream. You conveniently forget to mention that you’d watched his only remaining family member killed at the hand’s of Bellatrix, it had looked so terrifyingly real that your mind couldn’t have possibly conjured it up all by itself. You also failed to mention hearing Harry’s agonising scream as Sirius fell, the noise was nearly deafening. Seeing Sirius, a man you’d only seen in pictures, die and watching your best friend mourn for him was, well, traumatising. There was no way you’d get a wink of sleep for the remainder of the night, so, you quietly tiptoed downstairs and made a call.

The line rang three times before Cecillia’s voice sounded, chirpy as ever despite the late hour, “Hello?”

“Sorry to call so late,” was all you managed, your voice although shaky was immediately identified by the much older witch.

You could nearly see the soft smile on her youthful face as she spoke, “Ah, Y/n my darling, no worries at all! How is my favourite student doing at half two in the morning?”

“Not well, I’ve had another vision. I think you might’ve been right about the dreams being prophetic,” you told her, willing your voice not to crack as the image of your bad dreams crept into your mind once again.

Cecillia let out a gentle hum, “Shall I apparate over? You don’t sound in the highest of spirits, darling.”

“Yes please,” you answered simply and within seconds Cecillia was standing before you, a worried furrow in her brow and her ashy brown hair disheveled from apparating to you in such a hurry. How could she not? You were, after all, her protégé.

“Oh, darling. You look terribly shaken up, come, come, let’s get you some water,” she fretted, guiding you to your kitchen, magically flicking on the light with her wand and filling up a glass of water, with a few flicks of her wrist the glass had floated over to your usual seat at the table, meanwhile Cecillia had stirred you into the wooden chair adjacent the glass.

Wordlessly, the witch peeled your damp hair away from your face and secured it back with a crocodile clip shaped like a huge golden bumble bee, it’s wings adorned with glittering gems. The bee sat comfortably in your hair as Cecillia finally sat down beside you, she made herself comfortable on the kitchen chair, crossing one leg over the other, resting her elbow on the table and using it to prop her cheek up. Her wide green eyes stared at you sympathetically, watching intently as you sipped your water.

“I’m assuming your loyal familiar is sleeping soundly?” She wondered, referring to Astra. You shook your head, simultaneously swallowing a gulp of water before responding verbally.

“I sent her with a letter to Harry, it was more of a warning really,” Cecillia nodded her head, signalling you to go on, “I dreamt of Harry and his friends going to the Ministry of Magic to rescue Sirius Black, but it was a trap. When they got there they were ambushed by dark wizards and Sirius well he…” you trailed off, eyes growing distant and unfocused when the sight of the man being murdered reentered your mind’s eye. A gentle hand on your shoulder pulled you back to the present.

“This one was far worse than the others then?”

You nodded, “It didn’t feel like a dream, cecillia. It was like I was actually standing there but I couldn’t do anything to help though… as per usual,” you muttered bitterly, receiving a harsh squeeze to your shoulder in response.

Cecillia fixed you with a maternal glare, “None of that! You potentially saved a life tonight. And, as I effortlessly predicted since the moment I met you, you’ve got the magical gift of sight,” her hard look melted into something more forgiving as she spoke, “You’re much more than just a muggle. You may have been an extremely late bloomer, but, you’re a witch and a seer at that. A peculiar case indeed, although in the wizarding world stranger things have happened,” the old witch told you proudly, eyes shining with glee as your own filled with confusion.

“How do we know the dream will even come true?” You questioned.

Cecillia simply shrugged and offered you a cheeky grin, “I trust your feelings, darling.”

True to your initial feeling, you hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep, you knew you wouldn’t be able to rest until you found out whether or not your dream had come to fruition. Cecillia remained by your side throughout the night, eventually the sun had risen and your parents descended down the stairs, neither of them were surprised to see Cecillia sitting at the kitchen table. They saw her as an odd woman, very kind and perfectly lovely, but odd. You’d told them that she owned an animal sanctuary and that you’d been volunteering with her, it wasn’t too far fetched really, she had given you an owl after all, not to mention the amount of cats that hung around her cottage.

She explained to your parents that she needed your help at ‘the sanctuary’ for the next few days and that she’d drop you home once the work was finished. It hadn’t been a problem, so you traveled to Cecillia’s cottage after getting dressed and packing an overnight bag (full to the brim with tarot decks and only some clothes).

It was nearly 8 in the evening when Cecillia sauntered into her living room, where you were sitting, sporting a knowing grin, she held a piece of parchment in one hand and an unopened envelope in the other.

Jovially, she plopped herself down beside you, obviously doing her very best to contain a huge grin from forming on her face. Wordlessly, she placed the envelope on your lap with a mere, “For you.”

On the envelope you could tell by the handwriting that it had come from Harry. This was definitely a make or break moment for you. The contents of this letter would either confirm that you did in fact have magic, or, they would be responsible for causing you to experience a seismic amount of embarrassment. Swallowing the lump in your throat you tore the envelope open, freeing the letter and daring to read what was inside.

Dear Y/n,

Your dream was right. And that advice you gave about keeping an eye on Sirius? It saved his life. I suppose I’m mostly writing to say thank you. I’ve got some updates for you too: firstly, it’s finally been confirmed that Voldemort is back so my name is cleared. Secondly, it turns out that Remus and Cecillia are old friends, she contacted him earlier today about your vision and he and Sirius haven’t shut up about how impressive it is. I have a feeling you might be hearing from them soon, The Order now more than ever is in need of a secret weapon and genuine seers are hard to come by. I hate to involve you in this, it’ll probably be dangerous and you know I don’t want to see you hurt, or worse. But having said that, I’m glad we’re in this together now.

Astra got here in good time, by the way, she landed on my window just after I woke up from my vision of Sirius, it was actually quite freaky. I’m taking good care of her so don’t worry, she should be back to you at some point tomorrow.

Hermoine and Ron say hi too. I’m sure you’ll be hearing from George soon, seeing as he and Fred are in the Order… On that note I better get going.

Thank you again for the warning.

See you soon,

Love, Harry.

A bemused smile spread across your lips as you scanned the page, thankful to have finally made a significant difference in Harry’s life. Cecillia was grinning like a cheshire cat beside you, pride shimmering in her emerald eyes. She bumped her arm against yours playfully when you let the letter fall to your lap, “An old friend of mine will be stopping by in a short while. It seems he’d like to get you trained up in some defence against the dark arts.” She told you, still grinning.

“Defence against the dark arts?” You wondered out loud, you were sure you’d heard Harry mention those words to you before, however, the memories were fuzzy.

“Magic to keep you safe from darker magic, the likes of which the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters rely,” she explained darkly. Just then, a loud bang erupted from her open stone fireplace, a bubble of green dissipated as two men stepped less than gracefully onto Cecillia’s faux-fur rug. You recognised them both from your vision. They were Sirius Black and, if you were to take an educated guess, Remus Lupin.

Cecillia wasted no time before she was giddily jumping from her seat to greet the pair who had just appeared in her sitting room.

“Remus! Oh, how wonderful to see you!” She all but squealed, pulling the tall man into a hug and ruffling his already messy hair.

He reciprocated the hug with a gentle chuckle, “It’s nice to see you again, Cece. It’s been far too long,” he pulled away and the pair of them shared a fond smile before simultaneously looking to Sirius. “I trust you remember Sirius?” Lupin asked, almost rhetorically.

Sirius let out a booming laugh at that, “She could never forget me, now could you, Cece?” Cecillia rolled her eyes, and with a look of endearment nearly tackled Sirius into an embrace.

Seeing the woman who was essentially your magical mentor so overjoyed was lovely, Cecillia was jolly at the best of times but you’d never seen her quite like this. Her happiness added to your sense of helpfulness, Sirius Black was obviously important to more than just Harry, if the smile on the free-spirited witches face was anything to go by. Although you were ecstatic for the three witches and wizards before you, you couldn’t help but feel like you were imposing on an intimate reunion.

Awkwardly you cleared your throat, successfully bringing the trio’s attention onto you as you stood by the sofa, smiling unsurely. If it was even possible, all three of their smiles broadened when their gazes landed on you.

“Am I right in assuming that this is my guardian angel?” Sirius asked, separating from Cecillia.

Cecillia nodded, filled with pride, “And isn’t she just the loveliest guardian angel you’ve ever seen?” She gushed, half seriously.

You offered Sirius a bashful smile, along with a nod of greeting, “I’m glad to see you’re alright,” you told him.

His grin stayed fixed in place but he raised a single eyebrow in confusion, “Glad? And yet you’ve never met me before now…” his tone was laced with inquisition, as if he wanted to figure out what ulterior motive you could possibly have for caring about a stranger you’d only ever seen in a dream.

It didn’t take a seer or a psychic to see what Sirius was after, so you simply answered him truthfully, “No, we’ve never met, but you’re still a person, I watched that woman kill you, it was horrible, nobody deserves that. As well as that; I know how much you mean to Harry and what sort of best friend would I be if I didn’t try to help him keep his last family member safe?” Sirius nodded approvingly at your reply, looking between Remus and Cecillia.

“She remind you of anyone?” The black haired man asked in a low chuckle, Remus snickered and Cecillia bit back a grin.

The witch made her way back to your side and wrapped an arm around your shoulder, jostling you ever so slightly when she noticed your vaguely worried expression, “Don’t worry, darling, you just remind us of one of our most treasured school friends, I promise I will tell you all about it later. But for now, I believe Sirius was about to thank you for saving his life?” She prompted, waiting expectantly.

Sirius cleared his throat and straightened his posture before outstretching his arm, offering you his hand which you took firmly in your own. His voice was steady, strong and genuine when he spoke, “I am truly thankful for what you did for not only me but Harry today. I’m extremely proud of my godson for aligning himself with such a strong, powerful and wonderfully loyal young lady.”

“How sweet,” Cecillia cooed, before guiding you to the kitchen, “Come now, boys, kettles on- we have a lot to discuss!” She called over her shoulder.

There certainly had been a lot to discuss. The Order of the Phoenix thought having a seer at their disposal would be extremely beneficial in the upcoming war, the issue was; you are not yet of age and some members of the group didn’t wish to involve a child in their battle. Sirius, Remus and Cecillia made it abundantly clear that if you desired to join the Order, you were more than welcome but you would be welcomed under certain conditions. Those conditions being that your membership be kept under wraps and not disclosed to any muggles, meaning your parents.

“To keep them safe and to give you an escape route if things get too messy, even with the level of magic you’ll have gained by the time the war is in full swing, as a muggle born you’ll most likely need to flee quickly,” Remus explained, though it didn’t make much sense.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to run if my parents knew what we were running from? They’re open minded people, I’m sure they’d understand,” you attempted to reason, the trio but exchanged yet another loaded look with each other.

Cecillia placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, “We have a contingency plan in place, darling. Nothing you need to worry about for right now,” she reassured, easing your nerves a tad. “You trust me don’t you?” She followed up, her tone slightly stonier, more serious. You nodded your head certainly in response, there was no doubt about it; you trusted the witch with your life. “Then,” she began again, a somewhat chastising look on her face, “Trust that I will not allow a single hair on your head to be harmed.” This rule also extended to wizards not in the Order, which meant that when in the magical world, you were to air on the side of extreme caution.

Relating to that, another condition was that, at all times in the magical world, you were to be accompanied by an of age member of the Order. According to Sirius, who your were growing to like more by the second, he was going to arrange for a member of the Order to bring you to Diagon Alley in the morning to get you a wand. The prospect of having a wand of your own was terribly exciting, once again though, you found yourself wondering if you had it in you to properly wield one, or wield one at all for that matter. You were too exhausted to fret for too long, so the thoughts about magic levels and your own capabilities were only fleeting. Once all of the serious chat dissipated into friendly chatter, you managed to slip away from the table at which you were all sat. Making your way back to the sitting room, you tucked yourself into the corner seat of Cecillia’s old and very comfortable sofa, pulled your knees against your chest, wrapped your arms around them and rested your cheek against your knee. Slowly and deeply, you began to breathe in and out, fiddling with the amazonite bracelet that adorned your wrist in order to quell your ever growing anxiety. For a few sweet minutes you indulged in the calm silence, meditating peacefully in your comfy seat until a soft knock sounded from the doorway. When your eyes fluttered open they were met with the image of Sirius Black, leaning casually against the frame of the door, a hand plunged deep into his trouser pocket and another flipping a stray tarot card between his fingers. His eyes were focused on yours as he spoke, “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

You shook your head and patted the seat beside you, “‘Course not, come sit.”

The man chuckled but obliged, settling in the spot beside you and offering you the card he’d previously been fiddling with.

“The ten of swords,” you identified easily, “I assume you’ve been feeling quite overwhelmed if this card found its way to you.”

Sirius hummed, “CeCe tells me that you’ve a penchant for card reading. I was rubbish at divination back at Hogwarts, only took it because I thought it’d be easy but I could never get my head around it,” he reminisced, an airy laugh slipping from his lips.

“If you don’t mind me asking, who were you all talking about earlier when you asked if I reminded Cecilia and Remus of anyone?” He let out a deep sigh before fixing you with a soft smile.

“An old school friend of ours, she was more than a friend to me, but that’s a story for another time,” he started, staring out into the empty space before him a melancholy grin on his lips, “She was fiercely loyal to her friends, if she wanted to help there was absolutely nothing that would stop her from doing so. I know I don’t know you very well, but from what I heard today and the way in which you’ve been described to me by Harry; I can see her in you,” he finished, bumping his shoulder with yours and forcing a happy smile onto your lips which mirrored Sirius’.

“What’s her name?” You asked.

“Her name was Marlene,” Sirius answered.

Your heart dropped with his use of past tense, “Was?”

Sirius bowed his head slightly and began to twist the rings that adorned his slender fingers, “She was killed during the first war,” he told you, making eye contact once again, a grave expression on his face as he continued, “I saw your apprehension earlier when we brought up the topic of secrecy, but you must understand that during the first war we lost so many who were dear to us, keeping you in our back pocket will ensure that you aren’t harmed in the face of this war, if any dark wizards hear so much of a whisper of a muggleborn seer they will stop at nothing to eliminate you,” he paused for a brief second, never breaking eye contact, the gravity of the situation heavy on your chest your fingers absentmindedly found your amazonite bracelet once again. Your movements were halted when Sirius placed his large hand over yours, squeezing it warmly while staring at you determinedly, “You saved my life today, Y/n. So believe me when I tell you that I will stop at nothing to keep you safe,” he promised and you squeezed his hand in return.

“I know,” he smiled as he watched your eyes return to the ten of swords and your grin broadened with the sort of mischief he’d only ever seen in four people; James Potter, Marlene McKinnon and Fred and George Weasley. “I have a prediction for you.”

Sirius entertained you fondly, a mischievous air that reminded him of when he was your age surrounding the pair of you, “By all means, do tell.”

“I predict,” you paused for emphasis, “that we are going to be very good friends.”

Sirius let out a booming laugh of which the volume he couldn’t control, “That is a prediction I truly hope will come to fruition.”

“Oh no, this is a duo that spells trouble,” Cecillia giggled to Remus as they entered the sitting room.

Remus looked between you and Sirius with a grin, “With a mentor like you, Cece, I’m not surprised Y/n has a taste for mischief,” the ruffled wizard teased, receiving a gentle elbow to the ribs from your mentor.

“Oi, if you’re going to blame my beloved girl’s mischief on anyone you better blame it on a certain Weasley twin,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows and causing the boys to smile giddily like teenagers.

Sirius bumped your shoulder again, this time with a faux-scandalised smile, “A Weasley twin, eh? Come on then, which one?” You blushed heavily and cleared your throat in an attempt to alleviate the embarrassment filling your being.

“He’s just a friend!”

“Mhm. A friend that sends her annotated pages from his divination text book,” Cecillia sang and Sirius snickered.

“Whichever one it is must be quite taken with you if you made him actually crack open a textbook.”

“Annotations are quite intimate,” Remus half teased although you could see he believed what he’d just said, “I bet it’s George,” he directed the bet at Sirius who carefully observed the way you bit your lip and bashfully looked towards the wooden floor.

“I think you’re right, moony. Now!” He stood suddenly and pointed a finger at Remus expectantly, “We best get going and arrange Y/n’s accomplice for tomorrow’s field trip,” he wiggled his eyebrows before turning his head to face you again, he shot you a wink and you couldn’t stop the airy laugh that left your mouth at his lighthearted antics.

Remus gave Cecillia a one armed hug, “we’ll be seeing you both tomorrow then, it was lovely to meet you, Y/n, perhaps next time Sirius will allow me to get a word in,” he chuckled and Sirius responded by throwing his arm around your shoulder.

“I better get off, this husband of mine is growing jealous,” he told you in a teasingly hushed whisper.

Your eyes widened and you looked between the two men, “You two are married?”

A love struck smile took over both of their faces which immediately gave you your answer. “We’re engaged,” Sirius clarified before pulling you into a proper hug, “Get a good night's sleep, we’ll be sending an order member to collect you early tomorrow morning so you can be in and out of Olivander’s before a crowd can build,” he told you while giving you an affectionate squeeze, you could’ve laughed when you realised that it felt like you’d known Sirius forever but you also could’ve cried when you relived the image of him losing his life and realised that just because it was over and prevented didn't mean it hadn’t still transpired in your mind’s eye, you didn’t let that show on your face though.

“I’ll make sure I’m well rested,” you promised.

With that, Sirius bid Cecillia goodbye, and he and Remus left the way they’d came.

The rest of the night had been spent with Cecillia telling you story after story about her school days and the trouble she’d caused with Sirius, Remus, James and Lily Potter, Harry’s parents, and another boy who she only referred to as “the rat”. Though the tone of the stories were completely lighthearted, they weighed on your chest with a sense of such tragedy. A huge majority of their friends were killed young because of the war, a war that was now waging once again. It led you to wonder who’d be lost to this one, if perhaps you’d be on the list of names that Harry or Cecillia or George would speak about fondly with a dense undertone of sorrow in the years after the second war had long since been won. It was a risk you were willing to take though, the notion of fighting for a deserving cause filled you with a sense of purpose, a purpose you’d been searching for for years. More than that, you felt important. You were needed. An asset. You would actually be of some help.

True to your word, you’d been getting a good night’s rest. The bed in Cecillia’s spare room was the comfiest thing you’d ever come across, though, as you began to stir from your deep slumber you couldn’t recall the empty side of the double bed being quite so dipped.

Slowly and begrudgingly, you cracked your eyes open to see Cecillia smiling tiredly at you in the light of dawn, “Morning, darling. Sorry about the early start, I’ve made you some tea,” she greeted quietly so as to not disturb the peace of the early morning. She held two ceramic mugs, one in each hand and passed you the steaming cup that was hand painted green, keeping the brown one for herself. Tiredly, you patted the spot beside you and pulled the quilt to the side, inviting the witch into the warm bed. She happily slid in, pulling the quilt over her and chuckling quietly when you dropped your head onto her robed shoulder and began to sip the tea she’d made. Cecillia rested her head against yours and sipped on her own tea.

“Are you excited for today?” She asked and you hummed.

“I’m having mixed emotions,” you stated, “I’m excited to see everything, but I’m sort of nervous that I won’t have enough magic to even get a wand,” Comfort spread through your chest when Cecillia pressed her lips to the crown of your head.

“The wonderful thing about wands, lovely, is that the wand picks the wizard,” she began, “so whatever wand you end up with will accentuate the level of magic inside you. Its power will grow as yours does and you’ll soon come to realise that you couldn’t imagine wielding anything else,” her voice was wistful and her eyes shined with wonder as she recalled how it felt to bond to a wand.

“What do you think mine will be like?” You wondered, excitement awakening in you thanks to Cecillia’s encouraging words.

The witch took an exaggerated slurp of her tea before answering, “Something curious,” was all she said.

“Insightful,” you murmured and she shrugged unapologetically, her chaotic energy exuding now that she’d started to wake up fully. “What time is it anyway?”

“Half six, your chaperone should be arriving at seven and Olivander’s opens at eight,” she told you before shimmying out of bed, you whined in the absence of your head rest. “You better get dressed. Wear something nice, rumour has it that your tag along is quite the eligible bachelor,” she wiggled her eyebrows and all but floated out of the spare room. It was practically your room by now though, over the years since you’d gotten Astra and met Cecillia you’d stayed in the room on countless occasions. Cecillia embodied something that was something between a second mother, a spiritual mentor, a teasing older sister and a slightly kooky aunt.

“Oh? So do you reckon I should brush my hair then?” You jokingly called out after her only to receive a harsh scoff.

“Absolutely not! Don’t be desperate!” You barked out a laugh at her response, shaking your head and getting ready for the day ahead.

You were just about finished getting ready when a familiar bang sounded from the sitting room. Taking a deep breath, you gave yourself one last look over in the mirror, happy with the outfit you’d chosen, you made your way towards the sitting room to come face to face with your surprise chaperone for the day.

When you shuffled into the sitting room, a smile immediately stretched across your lips upon seeing who had been appointed to stick by your side for the day, “George!” His name left your mouth in a squeal that would’ve been embarrassing had you not been so excited to see him. It’d been upwards of a year since the last time you’d seen George in the flesh and although you’d seen each other in photos and written to each other at a rate that was almost excessive, the prospect of spending time together in person was, for lack of a better word; magical.

George drew his attention away from the framed pictures that lined Cecillia’s fireplace to see you standing in the doorway, looking as bright as the newly risen sun and sporting a smile that he couldn’t quite put into words how it made him feel. It only took a second before his own cheek splitting smile grew on his face, and with it left his hopes of impressing you with his cool and collected attitude. You hadn’t given him too much time to dwell on his ruined cool guy facade as you all but threw yourself into his arms. The red head let out an endearing laugh, catching you in his toned arms, wrapping them tightly around your torso. A scarlet blush rising on his ears when he felt your smile against his neck. “Hello to you too,” he chuckled against your ear and you pulled back enough to look at him, your arms still secure around his shoulders.

“Sorry,” you started, the smile that still adorned your lips telling him that you weren’t all that sorry at all, “Hi,” you greeted, bashfully pulling your arms away from him.

The sitting room was quiet for a moment as the pair of you only stared at each other, would it be too much to tell him that you’ve missed him? You didn’t want to come on too strong after such a long time apart, you’d already tackled him into a hug within the first five seconds, but with that came your next internal question of; did you really want to keep this boy on his toes?

George, having already discarded his notion of acting nonchalant with you, bet you to the punch. He rubbed the back of his neck and flicked his gaze to the floor before bringing it back to you, “I’ve missed you.”

A giggle left your lips before you could think about choking it down, you nodded your head, bouncing slightly on the balls of your feet, “Yeah, I’ve missed you too. Sorry I haven’t written, Astra is still with Harry.”

George gave you a grin, “No worries, darling. Heard you’ve been a very busy little psychic lately.”

Darling, you mused internally, the nickname echoing through your head and causing your heart to somersault in a way you’d never really felt before.

“Oh how sweet,” Cecillia sang from the doorway, a wicked grin on her face as she took in the two hopeless blushing messes, staring doe-eyed at each other in the middle of her living room. “I hate to break up the reunion, my dears, but the pair of you really should get going,” she instructed, strutting up to you and holding a cloth pouch in your direction, “Sirius left you some spending money, it’s different than the money you usually use but I’m sure George will have no problem helping you out,” Cecillia shot the boy a wink and he nodded, once again growing bashful.

“Now,” she grew serious, directing her words at George and making him slightly intimidated with her strong eye contact, “You are to be extremely careful. You are not to mention that Y/n is a seer and you are not to draw any attention to the fact that she is a muggleborn, if Mr. Olivander asks, she’s a half-blood who's been living in the states and that’s why she doesn’t have a wand,” you wore a confused expression, George nodded in complete understanding, “Did Sirius give you the list?”

George nodded once again, pulling a folded piece of parchment out of the back pocket of his slightly baggy denim jeans, “May I take a look?” Cecillia asked, already snatching the parchment from George’s long fingers and unfolding the sheet and reading it aloud, “Alright! A wand… seriously? He used a whole page of parchment just to write one thing?” She grumbled, stomping over to the nearest side table, leaning down and began to scribble on the parchment. You looked to George as she wrote, “Why do you have to say I’m from the States?” You asked quietly and George leaned down slightly to be closer to your ear.

“Witches and wizards in America don’t get wands until they’re of age, we get them here when we’re eleven,” just as he was finished offering his explanation, Cecillia walked back over, a hard look on her face that you weren’t used to seeing, though it seemed that the look was reserved for George.

Silently she handed him the parchment before looking to you, hard look dissolving back into her usual playful expression, “Have fun, lovely.” She then turned to George again, apparently having had enough of trying to intimidate the poor boy, she shot him a smile, “You’ll be taking the floo to Diagon Alley, my fireplace is big enough to take the both of you at once,” she handed George a pouch of what looked like green powder, “George knows what to do, now, not to sound like a broken record but do stay safe and have fun,” she finished, ushering the pair of you into her fireplace. You couldn’t lie, it was quite strange, you supposed you should get used to things coming across as strange, you were about to be exposed to the magical wizarding world for the first time after all. In the fireplace, you stood shoulder to shoulder with George, noticing the nervous look on your face, he slid his hand into yours gently. When you looked at him, he kept his face focused on his feet, “Ready, Y/n?” Taking a deep breath you nodded shakily.

“Ready, George.”

At your words, George slammed the green powder onto the ground and shouted, “Diagon Alley!”

You were sure you were going to be sick. Whatever the powder was, it had you spinning at a pace you didn’t know was possible, you had screwed your eyes shut and you were almost certain that you could feel yourself physically moving. It was only when George tugged on your hand that you opened your eyes to see that your surroundings had actually changed. “It’s horrible the first time, but you get used to it,” George said, pulling you by your still intertwined hands onto the cobbled street. The dizziness died down after only a few seconds out in the fresh air, the added sensation of George’s thumb rubbing soothing circles against your hand seemed to do the trick in settling you completely as you took in the street ahead of you. It was dazzling, really. A long cobbled street, lined with shops that looked like they were plucked straight out of a fairytale. As planned, the streets were fairly empty in the early morning as George led you down the path towards the shop where you’d hopefully get your wand. The name “Olivanders” was written above both windows of the dark shop, the words “makers of fine wands since 382 B.C.” were to be seen just above the door. Excitement had completely overridden your nerves and you practically skipped towards the door, George followed casually behind you, his hands tucked into his pockets and a fond smile on his lips.

“I suppose you’re excited then?” He asked teasingly and you didn’t bother trying to hide your obvious childlike wonder as you waited for him to catch up with you.

“It probably seems silly to you, but this morning Cecillia told me all about when she got her wand and it sounded so wonderful,” you told him, smiling when he bumped his shoulder against yours.

“I don’t think it’s silly, I still get giddy thinking about the time Fred and I got wands of our own,” he pushed the door open and motioned for you to step inside, slowly you walked into the empty shop. It was dark and somewhat dingy but there was something very mystically inclining about it, you could feel the energy and it was utterly exhilarating.

“Wow,” you breathed out, spinning where you stood, gazing at the boxes upon boxes that lined the shelves.

Only a minute passed before an old man stumbled to the front of the shop, smiling at the pair of you from behind the counter, “Ah, Mr. Weasley, it’s good to see you, it’s been some time. What can I do for you this morning? I see you’ve brought a friend,” the older wizard greeted and you smiled in response.

“I’m looking for a wand. I’ve been living in the states for the past few years but I just moved home,” you lied easily, George couldn’t help but smirk, what he’d give to have had you around for some of his and Fred’s pranks at Hogwarts.

The old man nodded in understanding, his eyes scanned you, his eyes were scrutinising and you fought the urge to squirm under his gaze, “Interesting. One moment please,” he said, murmuring to himself as he searched the isles for what he was looking for. A small “aha” sounded from within the isles, he was back in front of you within seconds, an open rectangular box in his hand. It was absolutely gorgeous, it resembled a raw tree branch, wood spiralling up its expanse until it stopped at the top, cutting off in a jagged, dull edge. He must’ve noticed how your jaw dropped, how could he not? He hadn’t been able to take his eyes off you since you’d wandered into his shop. He was an old wizard, but he wasn’t naive, he was well aware you weren’t returning from America, he could sense an energy in you that he hadn’t come in contact with in a long time. “Curious, isn’t it?” He prompted you, causing you to let out an airy laugh. Cecillia was going to tease you big time when you got back to her cabin.

“It’s lovely, what is it?” He offered you the box expectantly and you hesitantly picked up the wand with as much care as you possibly could. It was cool against your skin and was heavier than you’d imagined it would be.

“Thirteen inch, oak; cut from the base of a tree, which at the time, was almost six hundred years old,” he explained, watching happily as you ran your fingers along the wands several ridges,”With a phoenix feather core, quite a rare piece indeed. Unfortunately, this particular wand has been extremely difficult to match to a witch. But something tells me that you might be just the witch for the job,” he held your gaze and you once again got the feeling that he knew something he shouldn’t, “Go on, then. Give it a wave,” he prompted and you looked to George for further encouragement. George laughed at your lost expression, pulling his own wand out and pointing it towards the now empty box on the counter, “Like this, love,” he demonstrated, moving his wrist in a semi-circle motion, making the box levitate off the counter.

Another pet name. You ignored the butterflies in your stomach in favour of clearing your throat, squaring your shoulders and pointing your wand at the same box George had just made float, which was now settled back against the counter. Imitating the boy beside you, you moved your wrist in a swift semi-circle. Suddenly, a golden light poured from the tip of the wand and warm air surrounded you, gently blowing your hair back and forcing a laugh of disbelief to leave your lips. George stood wide eyed beside you, his lips parted slightly. He was amazed really, he went through five wands before he found the one that fit him, yet you’d found yours on the first try, and he had to admit; you looked glorious doing it.

After paying for your wand, you exited the shop, looking around George’s side at the list he was holding. From what you could make out, Cecillia had added a number of items to the originally very short list; 1) a wand, 2) a pendulum (crystal of the ladies choice), 3) crystals: labradorite, lapis lazuli & azurite, 4) mugwort, 5) new tarot deck (again, whatever she wants Sirius can afford it ;)).

“Suppose our next stop is the divination shop,” George said, mostly to himself but gave you a mischievous smile, “If we hurry up and get our shopping done fast we could probably get a butterbeer in before we rejoin the rest of the Order,” he sang, grazing his hand against yours as you walked side by side.

“Beer? You seriously want to drink beer at half eight in the morning?” You asked him, your eyebrow raised and he replied with an exaggerated roll of his eyes and draped his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close against his side and once again leaning his head down so his lips were level with your eye.

“No, you git,” he began with a laugh, “It’s not really beer, it’s pretty sweet; most wizards love it.”

You hummed in acknowledgment, “Sounds nice,” you told him absently, preoccupied with all the intriguing shops that surrounded you. George’s arm remained wrapped around your shoulder as you strolled further into Diagon Alley, seemingly uninterested in his offer for a butterbeer. The pair of you got what you needed from the shop and, since it hadn’t taken long, you decided to take George up on his drinks offer. You noticed that he seemed a little bit crestfallen since your noncommittal answer earlier.

“Hey,” you said, bumping your arm against his.

“Hello,” he replied, returning the gesture.

“So… d’you wanna go get one of those beer things that you were talking about earlier?” You asked nervously, your lip between your teeth. For all you knew, asking someone to grab a butterbeer in the wizarding world was the muggle equivalent to proposing.

George flashed you a grin that was almost childlike, it was mesmerising, so sweet and pure and you almost wished you’d brought your camera to take a picture of it. “I thought you’d never ask.”

With a giggle you let him grab your hand and lead you excitedly towards a building that had “The Leaky Cauldron” written above the door. When you got inside, George led you to a small round table with two chairs and you both sat down opposite each other. As casually as you could, you rested your elbow against the table and let your cheek rest against your fist, for a solid few minutes, while George ordered, you curiously looked around the pub until your gaze finally rested on George who was already looking at you with a soft smile, “Having fun?” He asked, genuinely curious.

You nodded your head, “Mhm, are you? I’m sure getting up at the crack of dawn to take me shopping isn’t something someone like you would usually like to do for fun,” you said, becoming slightly self conscious when you realised that he probably wasn’t enjoying the morning as much as you were. This was all normal for him, you’d nearly forgotten.

George gave you a perplexed look, “Course I’m having fun, love. But, what do you mean someone like me?”

You shrugged, once again pushing down the butterflies that arose in your stomach from the pet name, “I dunno, you’re just- you’re mischievous and fun and… I don’t know, shopping for stuff with me doesn’t seem like it’s something you’d want to do. I just hope Sirius didn’t force you into it,” you admitted shyly, smiling gratefully at the waiter when he placed the mugs of golden liquid on the table.

George chewed on his bottom lip for a second before he shook his head, “He didn’t force me. I sort of, well, I sort of forced him to let me take you. He wanted Professor Lupin to do it but I…” he let out an exaggerated sigh before giving you a smile, “I wanted to spend time with you,” he confessed sweetly, watching happily as a smile formed on your lips and you tried to hide it in the rim of your butterbeer. He laughed when your face lit up once the liquid hit your lips, “Like it?”

“This stuff is amazing,” you almost shouted, taking another large sip from the drink, “No wonder you all love it so much.”

George snickered, “Just in case it wasn’t clear; I’m having a lot of fun with you,” he said all too casually, taking a sip of his drink.

“Where to now?” You wondered, after you’d finished your drinks and set off back towards the floo network.

George shot you a cheeky look and wiggled his eyebrows, “I’m taking you back to headquarters.”

“Sounds ominous,” you commented, following him into the fireplace, nervously.

“D’you want a tip?” George asked out of the blue and you looked up at him expectantly, nodding. “The dizziness isn’t as bad if you keep your eyes open,” he whispered, taking your hand once again and throwing down the same green powder from earlier and shouting a new location that you hadn’t heard before. You cringed as the world began to spin, listening to George’s advice hadn’t helped much as the transportation was just as awful as it had been the first time. Unbeknownst to you, you were squeezing George’s hand like your life depended on it, George’s thumb had resumed brushing circles around your hand in response, the harsh squeezing didn’t bother him at all, not when it was you doing the squeezing. Just like earlier, George led you out of the fireplace and into the unfamiliar sitting room. Though the room was completely unfamiliar it was full of faces you immediately recognised, one face in particular standing out above all the rest.

In a second you’d dropped not only George’s hand, but all of your shopping bags to the floor carelessly and hurled yourself towards the boy who had already begun rushing towards you the second he caught sight of you appearing in the fireplace. Your bodies collided with so much force that you nearly sent each other tumbling to the ground, laughter sounded from both of you as you swayed the other, almost roughly, the way you always did when reuniting after an extended period of time.

“Glad to see you in one piece, Harry,” you told him with a cheeky smile on your lips, opting not to call him Haz in front of all of his wizard friends lest they tease him, not to mention you’d become quite possessive of the nickname, you wouldn’t be too pleased if anyone else started adopting it. Not that you’d ever admit that out loud.

“Yeah, you too,” his smile was as wide as could be when he shook his head, “I can’t believe you’re actually here.”

“Do you want me to pinch you?” You teased, jokingly taking his cheek between your thumb and your pointer, giving the skin between them a gentle squeeze. Harry swatted your hand away with a low chuckle and unraveled his arms from around you.

“Alright, you two, if you’re ready we have some matters we need to discuss with our newest member,” Sirius’ voice sounded from behind you, a knowing look on his face as he watched Harry sneakily pinch your arm in retaliation. He had to fight the urge he felt to reminisce on his old school days; when he’d purposely annoy James, Remus or Peter and receive the exact same mockingly vengeful look that you’d just given Harry.

“I’ll bring your things to the kitchen,” George announced, reminding you of his presence before he walked rather quickly out of the room, bags clutched in his hands.

Harry snorted out a laugh when Sirius followed George out of the room, leaving the both of you alone. Harry wiggled his eyebrows and did his best to make his voice take on a sultry tone, “he’s bringing your things to the kitchen.”

“Shut your mouth, Potter,” you replied, pinching his cheek for the second time and tossing your arm around his shoulder, him doing the same as he led you to what you assumed was the kitchen.

“Do I have your permission to open my mouth to tell you something,” Harry asked lightly, stopping so you were both standing outside a closed wooden door.

“I’ll allow it,” you answered, smiling softly at your best friend.

Harry grinned, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Haz,” the boy groaned at the name but made no further comment, he pushed the wooden door open and walked inside.

The room held a long table where many adults were sat, chatting in hushed whispers when you entered the room, some of whom you recognised and some you didn’t. Mrs. Weasley was fluttering about the table, filling people’s tea cups before she spotted you. The woman, who you’d only ever met briefly at King’s Cross station one year, rushed over to you and greeted you warmly, “Hello, dear! Come, come sit down!” She ushered you to a vacant chair beside George and across from Fred, Harry took the seat on your other side. “I trust you got everything you needed from Diagon Alley? I hope that son of mine didn’t cause any trouble for you,” you gave her a friendly smile and shook your head.

“Yes, we were able to find what we needed and George was very helpful,” Mrs. Weasley, seemingly satisfied with your answer, offered a gentle smile to you and George. She then pushed a cup of tea towards you before sitting down herself.

Beneath the table George bumped his knee lightly against yours, but didn’t break from his conversation with his twin as he left his knee pressed against yours. You didn’t draw attention to it either, simply letting your knee relax against his as the witches and wizards at the long table grew quiet in favour of staring at you wordlessly.

“I’m sure you’ve all heard the news of the seer we’ve acquired,” Sirius’ commanding voice broke the silence as he stood up from his chair, and placed his palms against the table, “I’ve brought her here today so that we may discuss proceedings to ensure her safety.”

“Yes,” a toneless drawl, drawn out nasally from the end of the table drew your attention to a black haired man at the opposite end of the table, “and what of Mr. Potter’s presence?” He asked, almost menacingly. Right off the bat, you didn’t like the greasy haired man. He was rigid and his face sported a permanent snarl and from across the table you could already tell; he wasn’t on your side.

“She’s my best friend, I’m here to make sure she’s not going to be put in any unnecessary danger,” Harry told the man shortly, in a tone that he’d more than likely perfected after having spoken to the man previously.

“As touching as that may be,” the older man snarled, “you are not a member of the Order.”

“Oh, enough, Serverus,” Sirius scoffed, pulling his hand down his face in exasperation before he let his eyes settle on Harry, “Perhaps you should wait upstairs for now. We’ll let you know of any significant updates.”

“I’ll tell you everything later, promise,” you whispered quietly, linking his pinky with yours beneath the table before he stropily took his leave.

“As I was saying,” Sirius spared Severus a glare and continued, “As we know, Yn is an unregistered wizard with an unregistered wand, meaning she won’t be on the radar of The Ministry of Magic. On the downside of this, seeing as her power manifested late, she is also untrained.”

All gazes fell to you once more, only Remus’ eyes were staring softly, crinkled at the edges from the smile on his lips, “I’ll be tutoring her in Defence Against the Dark Arts over the summer. She’ll catch up quickly, no doubt,” you smiled gratefully at him from your spot, relaxing a bit knowing that you’d actually be learning how to defend yourself the wizard way.

“I suppose I will be tasked with teaching the art of Occlumency? A seer with an easily accessible mind is hardly an asset,” Severus drawled. You didn’t have a clue what occlumency was, in all honesty, but you kept your mouth shut in favour of asking Remus when the meeting was over.

The meeting soon drew to a close, the older Order members slinking to one end of the table to arrange the schedule for your glorified summer school while you, Fred and George snuck away to find Harry. You found him sitting against the headboard of a bed in one of the upstairs bedrooms, “How’d it go?”

“Take a guess, mate, Snape had a right sour look on his face the whole time,” Fred answered, sitting on the bed across from Harry’s. George sat beside him and you made your way to sit with Harry.

“Ah, so that was the infamous professor Snape?” All three boys nodded, looks of exhaustion on their faces, “I don’t trust him. Something is very off about him,” you spoke thoughtfully and the boys nodded in agreement once again.

“I don’t like the idea of you being alone with him,” George said, his brows furrowed.

Fred snorted and clapped his twin roughly on the shoulder, “Getting a bit jealous are you, Georgie?” Harry laughed along with Fred while you blushed lightly and George felt heat rising up the nape of his neck.

“Sod off,” he muttered, but made no attempt to deny that he was slightly jealous of all the alone time his old evil potions professor would be getting with the girl he was harbouring feelings for.

The afternoon quickly turned into the evening and before long you were gathering your things and preparing to return to Cecillia’s. Harry would be heading back to the Dursley’s later that night, much to his dismay. You told him you’d be back on Privet Drive at some point the next morning since Cecillia would be dropping you home, as she promised your parents, so he wouldn’t have to suffer alone for too long.

That summer came and went in a bit of a blur. Two days in each week were spent learning how to protect yourself against the dark arts with Remus. He’s an amazing teacher, that couldn’t be disputed. In the space of only two months he had you duelling like you’d been doing it since the day you were born. Of course, you were thrilled to be bonding with your wand and developing (according to Remus) a very impressive skill for Defence Against the Dark Arts. But, on top of that, the shared conversations and exchanging of stories over hefty mugs of hot chocolate with the werewolf had been a huge highlight of your summer, and had caused the two of you to grow exponentially closer.

September was nearing and with it came a stiff breeze that prompted the hair on your arms to stand alert as you waited by the bus stop, the one just down the road from your house. Today was to be an important lesson with Remus, he hadn’t told you what the lesson would entail, but he had said that it was a charm that was “of the utmost importance”.

Although June, July and August were technically your summer holidays, you’d barely had a second to rest. You were, at this point, running on fumes and sheer will power. Extensively using magic was bound to wear you out, however, getting a good night’s rest after a gruelling training session had become something of a luxury for you. Visions of the future and retellings of past torments plagued your dreams and allowed you no time to rest. One vision in particular had been reoccurring, it arrived every night for the past two weeks, taunting you. The autumn chill that dripped down your spine reminded you of the premonition, having your hairs standing due to fright, rather than cold. It was always the same, no details ever shifted or warped and, unfortunately, the experience never grew any less harrowing. The warning that the vision brought about weighed on you heavily and followed you around like a stray cat. Images of a cold, desolate, blue-hued cellar lived behind your eyes, the phantom feeling of freezing metal shackles weighed on your wrists painfully and the undiluted terror combined with the indescribable agony brought about by the unfamiliar wand shoved against your throat had you forcing yourself to stay awake until you physically couldn’t anymore, each and every night. Nobody knew about the vision, you didn’t want to worry them, though, you knew that your distress was beginning to become visible; dark bags were prominent beneath your eyes, Harry had watched you fall asleep in the middle of the day, often on his shoulder, almost everyday that week and Remus could tell by the sluggish movements of your wand that your mind was elsewhere.

A few minutes passed before your bus arrived, the journey to Grimmauld Place was quite long but you couldn’t seem to warm up to floo travel, so going on a regular bus was the better option. When the red double decker pulled up, you greeted the driver with a smile and paid for your ticket. You made your way up to the second story and sat right at the front. The bus, as it normally tended to be, was empty. Resting your head against the window, you let your eyes slip shut, the noises of tree branches brushing against the speeding windows lulling you into a, hopefully, peaceful sleep.

Thankfully when you woke up, no visions lingered. You woke up just in time too as the bus was rounding up to your stop. As usual, Remus waited for you at the bus stop, his hands shoved deep in his tattered jacket pockets and a gentle smile on his lips.

Still groggy from your nap, when you exited the bus you greeted Remus with a tired wave.

“Dare I say you haven’t been sleeping well, dear?” He said gently, walking alongside you towards the house.

You thought about it for a second, perhaps telling someone wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world. “I’ve just, well, I’ve been having this nightmare,” you started, growing nervous just thinking about it.

“Nightmare or vision?” He pressed as you walked into the house.

Guilt creeped into your chest upon seeing the clear worry on his face, “I think it’s a vision.”

Remus nodded quietly, placing his hand on the small of your back and pushing you in the direction of the living room. He gave you a warm smile, when you sat down on the sofa. He grabbed a blanket that hung over the back of the sofa and draped it over your lap. “I’ll make us some hot chocolate and we can discuss this,” he suggested.

“I thought you had an important lesson for today?” He only shook his head, smiling lightly.

He made his way to the door wordlessly and returned within two minutes with two big, steaming mugs in his hands. Remus handed you a mug and sat down beside you on the sofa, accepting your invitation to pull the blanket over his lap too.

“Now tell me; what has been going on in that wonderful mind of yours?”

You took in a deep breath, staring into the hot chocolate and avoiding his understanding gaze, “It happened for the first time around two weeks ago. I thought that it was just a dream, it didn’t feel like a dream but I thought that if I kept telling myself it was I would start to believe it,” you started, taking a sip of your drink before going back to staring at it, “But it kept coming back. Every night for the last two weeks. I haven’t been able to sleep, I’ve been too scared to,” your voice was small as you made the confession. You hated that the feeling of helplessness was beginning to wash over you yet again.

“What happens in this vision?” At his question, you placed your cup on the floor and turned to face him fully, turning on the sofa and pulling your knees up to your chest.

“It’s always the same. I wake up and the first thing I know is that I’m absolutely freezing. I’m in this cellar-like thing. I’m chained up by my wrists and my feet are barely touching the ground… I can’t see anyone but I can feel-“ your breath hitched and you rushed the swipe the tears that were falling away from your cheeks, “I can feel a wand against my throat, it’s pressing hard. There’s a whisper, it’s quiet and ghostly and I can barely make it out but I hear them say; crucio.”

Remus’ eyes widened in horror.

“Then I feel nothing but agonising pain and then I wake up,” Remus’ eyebrows furrowed.

“You’ve had this same vision every night?” You nodded.

“I know I should have said something but I didn’t want anyone to worry,” it was then that Remus grabbed your hands and looked at you with a sense of urgency you didn’t know he could possess.

“I need you to listen to me very carefully,” his eyes were wild and his hands shook lightly as they held yours, “You-Know-Who is back. There are already reports of certain Wizards going missing and none of us have any doubt that it’s his doing. And although I- we- care for you a great deal, it would serve us all well to remember that you’re a detrimental piece in this war. If he catches wind of you, he’ll stop at nothing to take you from us,” your heart was now running at the speed of a hummingbird. “We have a plan in place to keep you safe, I fear we may have to implement it sooner than planned.”

Before you knew it, you were surrounded by the entire Order of the Phoenix, all of whom looked grave. Cecillia sat to your right while Nymphadora Tonks occupied the seat to your left. You had the pink haired auror to thank for your duelling capabilities, as well as Remus of course. Her presence was comforting, she made it a point to shoot you a wink every time she caught your eyes looking more fearful than usual.

“Our original plan will need to be tweaked, I ran into Narcissa Malfoy in Diagon Alley and she very plainly insinuated that I was a person of interest in the death eating community,” Cecillia informed the table, a, for lack of a better word, bitchy tone laced in her voice. She’d told you many of her Hogwarts stories, you could recall her telling you that she and the woman she’d mentioned, Narcissa, had once been good friends until around their fourth year. She hadn’t told you what exactly had happened, only that it had been messy.

“What was the original plan?” You asked, growing frustrated with the Order’s lack of communication skills.

Thankfully, being one of the younger members of the group, Tonks understood your frustrations and spoke up on behalf of the group, regardless of whether they were ready for you to know or not; she understood that it was your life they were coordinating.

“We talked about relocating you to CeCe’s. We also, and far more pressingly, planned on erasing all traces of you from both the muggle and wizard world. Which would mean using a memory charm on your family and friends in the muggle world,” Tonks explained, eyes locked on yours while everyone else in the room glared daggers at the purple haired girl.

“Yes. Though we also planned on telling you this information with a far more delicate approach,” Snapped Molly Weasley from the end of the table, causing Fred, who sat to her left, to roll his eyes.

“She’s been riddled with visions of being ruthlessly tortured with an unforgivable curse for the past two weeks. I think the time for delicacy is long passed,” the older of the two twins practically scoffed. George nodded in agreement.

“Besides,” he set his gaze on you, eyes genuine and unwavering as he spoke, “she’s strong enough to handle the truth. It’s time you all stopped acting like she isn’t.”

The table fell silent. His words hung in the air as many of the adults hung their heads.

“By memory charm I’m assuming you mean obliviate?” You broke the silence, if you could you hoped to start an open conversation with the experienced witches and wizards that surrounded you.

“Yes. They’re completely reversible and once the war is over I’ll restore all of the memories.” Cecillia said.

“We know it’s a huge ask, dear, but it’s our best chance at keeping you out of that wretched creature’s hands,” Molly attempted to soothe both you and herself when she pictured what it would like to be in your shoes, how she’d feel if she had no other choice but to be forgotten by the thing she valued the most; her family. Molly Weasley had never been very good at hiding her maternal instincts, over the summer that fact had become glaringly obvious to you. You and Harry had laughed about how the children of Privet Drive had a special place in her heart.

“I understand,” you told her sadly, chewing on the inside of your lip, “I’m guessing by the atmosphere in the room that I won’t be home to say goodbye before you wipe their memories,” you shifted yours eyes from person to person, stopping when Cecillia took your hand firmly in hers.

Her lips were downturned and her eyes filled with guilt, she shook her head mournfully, “I’m afraid we can’t risk it, my darling. Even being here places you in danger at the moment.”

“Where will she go then? If CeCe’s place isn’t an option we’ll have to find a safe house,” Sirius sounded and, simultaneously, both Fred and George stood up, shoulder to shoulder with very professional expressions on their faces.

“We may be able to help with that, actually. George, if you would,” Fred started, nodding to his twin who straightened his shoulders and puffed his chest out over so slightly.

“Thank you, Fred. As you know, we have a property for Weasley Wizard Wheezes secured and we’ll be living in the flat above where the shop will be,” everyone at the table, including yourself, stared at the twins in confusion, not quite sure where they were going with their little pitch until Fred took over again.

“And that flat has three bedrooms,” he said, a smirk growing on his thin lips.

George spoke again, “Which means there’s one for me and one for Fred.”

“Which means there’s one spare,” Fred grinned wickedly.

Tonks let out an impressed laugh once the penny finally dropped, “We apparate her in and nobody would ever know a thing. Nobody other than those of us in the room know that Y/n is a friend of the Weasley’s, plus us visiting the joke shop wouldn’t raise any suspicion. I have to give it to them, it’s a great idea,”

“And one of the two of us will always be within shouting distance if anything happens,” George added, somewhat pleadingly.

Sirius looked across the table at you, “Y/n, it’s up to you. Whatever you decide will be final, we won’t interfere,” he promised sincerely. It was an easy decision, but still, it weighed heavily on your chest. In all honesty, you weren’t worried about your location, staying with the twins would surely be a light and fun time amidst all the doom and gloom. Your worry was that you would, once again, be handing over your control. Sirius dressed it up as though it was your choice, but you knew that this was probably their best option and in reality you really had no other choice than to move in with Fred and George.

“Sounds good to me,” you whispered halfheartedly, eyes dropping to stare at your lap as your teeth pulled anxiously at the skin of your lips.

“So it’s settled then,” Remus said, “Y/n will go with Fred and George tonight.”

Abruptly, you pushed your chair away from the table and stood up. Sparing nobody a glance, you left the room as quickly as you possibly could, before the lump in your throat could choke you or the tears that pooled in your eyes spilled like water through a broken dam. George made a move to rise from his seat only for Remus to stop him by placing his hand on the boy’s shoulder, “Give her a moment.”

You found yourself locked in the second story bathroom, sitting in the bath. Your legs hung out over the side of the tub while your head was tilted back against the black tiled wall. As hard as you tried to prevent them, tears were streaming down the expense of your cheeks, neck and beneath the neckline of your shirt. The minutes ticked by yet your chest continued to rise and fall rapidly due to the sobs that shook it, your breath uneven. Visions of brutal torture were bad enough when you were in your own home, in your own warm bed, with your parents just a room away and ready to make you a hot cup of tea after you woke up screaming. Now, the visions would without a doubt continue to plague you, unlike before though, you wouldn’t be waking up in a familiar setting, nor would you fall asleep in the comfort of your own mattress, when you woke up screaming so loud that your throat grew raw, your comfort would rely on two seventeen year old boys who seldom took things seriously. It’s not that you didn’t trust them, no, you trusted them with your life- you are trusting them with your life, it’s just that there was already a lot going on in your mind at the moment, moving in with your crush and his identical twin brother isn’t exactly your idea of a nerve killer.

A knock against the bathroom door pulled you from your thoughts. You rushed to wipe your tears with your sleeves, sniffling, “Come in,” you choked out. Cursing your voice for breaking when you spoke.

Remus’ head poked through the door, his body following soon after. Even in an atmosphere as dense as this one, a sense of gentle calm always followed Remus wherever he went. Clumsily, the werewolf slid into the bath beside you with a low “oof” sound, mimicking your position with his much longer legs dangling closer to the wooden floor than your own.

“CeCe has gone to collect your things for you and get Harry, then, I believe, perform the spell,” he eyed you cautiously, hyper aware of your glassy eyes and puffy face. When your eyes widened and you whipped your face towards him, his stomach twisted into knots, he hated seeing you like this. He could sympathise with your feelings. When James and Lily were killed, and Sirius went to Azkaban and even when Peter was presumed dead, Remus had been left with a vicious frustration fuelled by his belief that he was utterly powerless in his own life. He could see in your eyes that that same notion was starting to creep up on you too.

“Already?” You gasped out, pulse rising again, a slight panic setting in. “It won’t hurt them will it? The spell?” You fretted, looking pleadingly to the man beside you.

He shook his head, tenderly taking your hand and placing it against his clothed chest, his beating heart present against the palm of your shaking hand. “I promise you that they won’t feel a thing. They will go on living an exciting life, travelling, seeing the world safely while you’re away. When this is all over we’ll place their memories of you back in their minds and it will be as though you were never gone.” Your teeth found the inside of your cheek again, gnawing relentlessly at the skin as you failed miserably to hold back a fresh set of tears. Remus squeezed the hand he held against his chest. “Let it out, Y/n. It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone,” he whispered, heart sinking lower when your bottom lip quivered and you let a rasped sob leave your body. With a deep sigh, Remus used the hand he was already holding as leverage to pull you into him, wasting no time he enveloped you in his arms, holding you securely as you cried against his chest. Admittedly, it felt good to let it out, Remus’ hand rubbed soothing circles against your heaving back and eventually, you didn’t know how long it had been, you calmed down, your tear ducts all dried out.

Remus held you in his arms for a while longer, even though you’d stopped crying, he could feel your body as it continued to shake. “I can’t promise you it will all be okay, but I can assure you that myself and Sirius, and everyone else for that matter, will be there for you at the drop of a hat; whatever you need,” he spoke against your hair.

“Whatever I need?” You echoed, the pit in your stomach ever growing.

“Of course,” he confirmed.

Remus startled slightly when you suddenly tore yourself away from him. As best you could in your awkward position, you turned to face him and grabbed his hands with as much urgency as he had done with yours. “I need you to do something for me,” Remus furrowed his brows in confusion, but nodded his head anyway.

“If anything happens to me… Don’t make them remember,” you instructed, maybe the request would’ve seemed radical if you had said it to anyone else, but you knew that Remus had experienced losses like no one else you knew, perhaps Harry came close but even his shortcomings couldn’t compare to Remus’. “It’d only cause them pain. If I die and they’re happily living none the wiser, leave them be, please,” the man let out a heavy sigh and took a moment to take you in. Your eyes were hard yet pleading, they left him no room to negotiate and he understood perfectly where you were coming from.

“Alright,” he agreed before raising his eyebrow and readjusting himself to get a better look at you, “However you should know; no matter what may come of this war, none of us will forget about you. In such a short time you’ve given us so much… you gave Harry his first friendship, a friendship that he cherishes more than anything in the world, I might add. You saved Sirius from death, my fiancé and Harry’s godfather. Mentoring you has given Cecillia a new lease of life and Molly Weasley one more child to knit jumpers for at Christmas,” he took a brief pause then went on, “For the sake of saving time I won’t even begin to tell you what you mean to the twins. My point is;” there was a melancholic type of smile on his face when he paused again, as if he was imagining what it would be like to remember you fondly if you did in fact die for the cause, “What you’re asking is incredibly selfless. And while your mother and father may not remember how wonderful you are, we all will.” Remus chuckled lowly when you shuffled your way back into his arms, squeezing his middle tightly. He slung his arm around your shoulders and delicately pressed his lips to the top of your head. You held so much love in your heart for the man who was currently cradling you in his arms. You debated telling him, you weren’t sure if it was entirely appropriate but after the speech he’d just given you couldn’t have cared less, “Remus?”

“Hm?”

“I love you,” you murmured, looking up at him innocently.

He offered you a toothy smile and breathed out a soft laugh, “I love you too.” With a content nod, you rested your head back against his chest, enjoying his soothing heartbeats against your ear. A melodic hum rumbled against your cheek, a quiet giggle left your mouth when you recognised the melody to the song he was humming. The tune of “Rhiannon” by Fleetwood Mac floated through the bathroom bringing a genuine smile to your lips. The werewolf’s humming was interrupted by another knock against the bathroom door, whoever was knocking didn’t wait for a response before entering the room. Sirius stepped in and quietly shut the door behind him. He didn’t question you and Remus' position in the bath but simply slid into the tub on the other side of you, sandwiching you between himself and Remus. The black haired man let out a heavy sigh and leaned his head back against the tiles.

“The mother hens downstairs are worrying up a storm,” he said in exasperation, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Tonks so riled up about someone’s safety. I tasked Molly with making you some hot chocolate to keep her occupied”

“Maybe I should go back down…” you muttered halfheartedly, begrudgingly peeling yourself away from Remus’ warm body.

Sirius gave you an apologetic look, “I held them off for as long as I could.”

“Thanks,” you whispered, bumping your shoulder to his, making him chuckle. After pulling yourself out of the bath, rather clumsily, you took a second to check yourself over in the mirror.

“You’re glowing, darling,” Sirius all but sang from behind you and you couldn’t stop the slight snort that escaped you.

“That’s one way to put it.”

“If you don’t believe me go on downstairs and ask George what he thinks,” Sirius teased, wiggling his eyebrows and receiving a light shove from his fiancé who couldn’t hide his grin.

“Leave her alone, love,” he chastised weakly, “You look perfectly fine, Y/n. Go downstairs and get something to drink, you need to rehydrate.” A bittersweet smile broke out on your lips, his fatherly tone simultaneously soothed you and left you yearning for what you were in the process of losing. Trying not to dwell on the sad fact, you left the bathroom and slowly descended the stairs.

As you assumed, the second you stepped back into the kitchen, Molly began to fret over you as if her life depended on it. Sipping on the hot chocolate she’d given you, you were reminded of how desperately tired you were. All the crying hadn’t helped ease the heaviness in your eyes either. Every bone in your body felt heavy for that matter, you were struggling to even hold your head up.

“You can lean against my shoulder if you’d like,” George’s voice broke you from your hazed state, you’d completely forgotten he was sitting beside you despite his leg that was pressed against yours beneath the table. You gave him a sleepy but grateful smile, as subtly as you could you scooched closer to the ginger and slotted yourself against his side, letting your head fall onto his shoulder. “Will you keep me awake until Harry and Cecillia get here?” You requested in a slurred murmur, your eyes fluttering between open and shut.

“Of course,” was all he said, he looked down at you adoringly, smiling like an idiot when you nuzzled into his shoulder, your nose rubbing against his neck. Try as he might, George couldn’t pull his eyes away from your drowsy face. “What do you propose we do?”

You shrugged your shoulders lightly, “Just talk.”

“How would you like your new room decorated?” He asked quietly, his head tilted down while he spoke to you, so you could hear him and so he wouldn’t ruin the lulled bubble you’d managed to obtain between you by talking too loudly. A sweet smile grew on your face, a smile that all but knocked all the breath out of George’s lungs when you angled your head to make eye contact.

“Can I have a double bed?” George snorted at your question and shook his head no.

“Nothing smaller than a king. What else?”

You pretended to ponder for a moment, “Can we paint it?” The ginger nodded, taking his bottom lip between his teeth.

“If you want to,” he started, almost sounding nervous, “We could paint it together?” Even in your sleep deprived state you hadn’t missed the vulnerability in his voice, it was the same vulnerability that you’d noticed when he’d asked you to go get a butterbeer with him a couple of months ago.

“I’d love that,” you told him, your answer causing his lips to twist into a pleased smile, “How do you feel about the colour green?”

Immediately, his smile dropped and he let out a disgusted scoff, “Green is a Slytherin colour.”

“You keep forgetting that I don’t get the whole house sorty thing,” you reminded him, not happy with his reasoning for hating your favourite colour. “Besides, I love green, it’s my favourite colour.” You told him truthfully. Not content with his disgruntled facial expression you began to defend your preference, “A lot of beautiful things are green; you’ve got grass, trees, emeralds- did you know that emeralds are really useful for enhancing psychic abilities? It also evokes clarity of thought,” you rambled, willing yourself to be quiet when you registered George’s fond expression.

The look of endearment aimed at you brought butterflies to life in your stomach, effectively waking you up somewhat.

“Do you have any emerald?” He asked, you assumed he was only feigning interest, you didn’t know that he could’ve listened to you go on and on about anything and everything for the rest of his life.

“No, not yet. I should probably get some though.” You said through a yawn. Your breath against his neck made him giggle, it was pure and unsuspecting but you took note of it. Everything about George Weasley felt like sunshine to you, his laugh filled your chest with warmth whenever you heard it, his eyes found yours like a lighthouse, guiding your lost mind back to the present each time your gazes connected. His voice, like his laugh, warmed you up when you were cold, giving you a reason to stay awake when you’d rather just slip away. In conjunction with the sun, even if you couldn’t physically see him, you never doubted that he was always there. As well as all of that, like your favourite tarot card; The Sun, he signified good things, hope that hard times will end with you on top, contentment and happiness. While your thoughts consisted of George’s similarities to the sun, his were consumed with the, in his mind, overwhelmingly cheesily romantic notion that you were the moon and the stars, he would’ve cringed if he didn’t wholeheartedly believe it. Everything that made the night sky magnificent was reflected in you. Like the stars, you were mysterious and captivating. Nothing seemed to compare to your glow or beauty, if you were to ask him what he preferred; you or the night sky on a clear night, he’d happily ignore a blank, starless sky in favour of simply staring at you as you went on tangent after tangent about crystals or tarot cards.

The pair of you were pulled from your musings when Harry rushed through the kitchen door looking unmistakably heartbroken, ever the empath when it came to his best friend, Harry’s heart sank the moment he laid eyes on your form, limp against George’s side. The second you saw him you all but ripped yourself from George’s side and the older redhead felt a surge of irrational jealousy begin to build in his chest at how fast you left his hold in favour of the chosen one. He knew it was ridiculous, he’d heard the way each of you respectively talked about each other, at this point you were practically siblings. But he supposed it was rational to be jealous when you liked someone the way he liked you.

Quickly, you crossed the room to Harry who had his arms already outstretched. He knew you were emotionally exhausted when you didn’t bear hug him. You meekly slid your arms beneath his open zip-up hoodie, tucked your head beneath his chin and didn’t say a word. “I shouldn’t bother asking if you’re okay then,” Harry muttered to himself, leaning his cheek against the top of your head and wrapping his lanky arms around your frame.

“Did Cecillia remember to bring Astra?” You asked, it was all you wanted to know about the night’s events.

“She’s in her cage in the living room, darling,” Cecilia said, walking into the room looking guilty.

“C’mon, let’s go have a chat,” Harry suggested, leading you out of the kitchen and upstairs to his unofficial room. Once inside the room you sat down on the edge of the bed, the blue duvet softly creasing beneath you. Harry plopped himself down beside you and offered you a gesture that was always saved for when either of you felt the other was on the edge of something dangerous. Your hands rested against your lap and he deftly slid his pinky over yours, intertwining your two littlest fingers. It was such a familiar experience; he’d done it when your grandparents died, when you’d cried over failed exams that you worked hard for, and in turn, you did it for him when he’d felt as though he had no place in the world, when he’d open up about his parents and when Cedric died and the ministry dragged his name through the mud you’d find your pinky tangled with his almost every night after he’d sneak over to your place after another nightmare or panic attack. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You shook your head, “Not tonight. I don’t want to cry anymore,” you croaked out, looking straight ahead of you at the grey painted wall.

“I understand,” he said, sighing and dropping his head onto your shoulder, “Let’s talk about something else then.”

“Like what, Haz?”

Harry snorted out a chuckle, “Like the way George looked like he wanted to hex me when you left him to come to me,” he teased, a smug lilt to his voice.

“He wasn’t teasing me, perhaps I’ll go back to him,” you grumbled, ignoring Harry’s childish giggles.

“Yeah you’d like that wouldn’t you?” You smacked his arm lightly with your free hand, doing a bad job of containing giggles of your own. “Don’t worry, since he’s going to be your new roommate there will be plenty of time for “oh George I’m so sleepy, please hold me until I fall asleep”,” you let out a cackle at Harry’s terrible impression of your voice, laying your cheek against his wild hair.

“That is so not what was going on, Haz,” you defended with a tiny smile.

Harry let out an airy, disbelieving chuckle, “Then what was going on?”

“He just said I could lean on him until you and Cecillia arrived and we just started chatting about how I wanna decorate my room,” you explained truthfully and Harry nodded.

“Riveting,” he mumbled sarcastically. Despite his snarky comment, the boy removed his head from your shoulder and pulled you against his chest. “Jokes aside, I’m glad you’re staying with him, I know he’ll look after you for me,” you rolled your eyes at the sentiment.

“I don’t need to be looked after,” you reminded him, looking up at him with a chastising smile.

He rolled his eyes right back at you, jostling you slightly in his arms, “No. But you like to be.”

You threw your head back in laughter, “Yeah, I suppose I do.” You did. You quite like both doting on people and being doted on, you’d grown up in an affectionate family so it was no wonder really.

“It’s getting late. We should get you settled into your new home,” Harry announced, pulling himself and you up from the bed, “I wasn’t going to say anything but you look terrible. You need sleep.”

“Thank you, Harry. Just what every girl wants to hear before moving in with her crush,” you joked, gently hitting your hip against his.

The kitchen was quiet when you returned, it seemed everyone had grown tired from the dramatic events of the evening.

“Ready to go then?” Fred asked, his coat already on and a handful of your bags in his hands.

“As I’ll ever be I suppose.”

After saying goodbye to everyone you, Fred and George traveled to their apartment by floo, to your dismay. The apartment was bare as they’d only just moved in but you could see it had lots of potential for becoming a cozy home for the twins.

As your first night in your new residence began, your aching eyes and tired mind didn’t leave you with any time to dwell on current events, the second your head made contact with the pillow you were out like a light. A dreamless slumber welcomed you for a while until your peace was broken by the all too familiar nightmare.

The first thing you recognised was the burn coming from your wrists. Shackles adorned them and effectively held your hands high above your head, stretching them uncomfortably. Goosebumps painted the expanse of your arms and legs, due to the freezing temperature in the nondescript cellar. A feeling of hopelessness planted firmly in your chest, the feeling only hightening when the familiar echo of footsteps, heavy and loud, drifted from the corridor outside of your field of vision. You knew who was approaching, you’ve lived this before, and so, you held your lip between your teeth and squeezed your eyes shut. The face of the dark wizard who always brought about your intense suffering was, for the most part, completely fuzzy, unrecognisable, featureless and bone-chillingly terrifying. You’d learned over the last two weeks of having this vision that it was less harrowing if you closed your eyes.

“I’ll ask you once more,” The voice was distorted, like it was being heard through a weedy radio, ominously unplaceable, “Where is he?”

You held no control over your voice, as was the norm during visions, as you felt and heard yourself reply, “I’ll tell you once more; I’d sooner die then sell him to you.” You felt your teeth gritting and your jaw clenching while you spoke. Jaw only tightening when the pointed tip of the wizard’s wand stabbed unforgivingly against the column of your neck.

“And die you will, my dear. But not yet-“ your eyes sealed themselves shut and you did your best to shake yourself out of the vision before what you knew was coming took place, as usual, your attempts were fruitless, “-Crucio.” Just like that your body was consumed by pain, the likes of which you’d never imagined possible, until you couldn’t even register yourself screaming anymore.

You bolted upright, clutching at the sheets of your new bed. Laboured breaths left your mouth and you aimlessly gripped at your neck, where the wand had been pressed, and let the tears spill freely. Momentarily disoriented, you’d forgotten where you were. Deep, heavy bursts of air left your mouth as you hastily scurried out of bed and towards the door. Somewhat aimlessly, you gravitated to the door across the hall. A yellow hue seeped from under the frame into the otherwise dark hallway. Light flooded the hall once you managed to fumble the handle down and pull the door ajar, a discombobulated ginger greeting you with half lidded eyes, obviously having been dozing off before you disturbed his peace.

“Sorry,” you rasped once your peace of mind returned to you and you realised where you were. Despite knowing that you shouldn’t have been standing numbly in his doorway, your feet seemed to be rooted in place, you couldn’t have walked away if you wanted to.

“S’alright,” George called out to you softly, sitting up in his bed, his back against the headboard. “You can come in, you know.”

Shutting the door behind you, you nervously shuffled into the room, stopping when you reached the side of his bed. George’s eyes roamed your face and he took notice of your still somewhat panicked expression, he drew his covers to the side and patted the empty space by his side. Something that always intrigued you was people’s preferred side of the bed, some people gravitated towards the left while others were more biased towards the right, but George Weasley? He slept right in the middle. The twin slept with a huge number of pillows, to the point where it was almost laughable, many of which you could only guess he’d smuggled from the Burrow.

Far too wound up to save face, you slid into his bed and didn’t shy away when he guided you into his side and tucked you tenderly beneath his lean arm. His embrace offered a greatly appreciated warmth as the chill of the dank dungeon always lingered long after the vision itself was over.

“What’re you doing up so late?” You asked, your voice gravelly. As you spoke, George effortlessly shuffled your body and his down so that your backs were resting on the mattress and not the headboard. Your head found it’s home against George’s shoulder and your hair was being tentatively twirled between his fingers.

“It’s our first night actually sleeping here. I couldn’t get to sleep,” he explained, his voice low and laced with fatigue. “I’m not really used to having my own room. It’s strange not hearing Freddie snoring or breathing.”

“I get that,” you whispered, “it’s quite comforting knowing for certain that someone is there with you.”

George nodded then. His eyes were glued to your face and he hadn’t even registered his own thought process before his lips were pressing delicately against your forehead. Today had appeared to be the day for laying all your cards out on the table, yourself and George hadn’t danced around your feelings for each other half as much as you usually did when you’d be in each other’s presence. Neither of you had the energy anymore, besides, if today’s events proved anything it was that; things were getting seriously messy as the war built momentum and it was clear that time was something that could very well be running out.

“Yeah,” he regarded you carefully, a little grin growing on his lips, “It is.”

A comfortable silence overtook the room. George’s twirling of your hair never ceased, every now and then his fingers would ghost over your shoulder and you’d catch yourself smiling against the cotton of his shirt as your eyes grew tired enough that they were close to falling shut.

Just as you were working up the motivation to lift yourself up and trudge back to your own bed, George spoke, “You can sleep here if you want, with me,” there was that innocent vulnerability again. There was never an ulterior motive when it came to him, he did things purely for the sake of making others happy, if he felt he could make a difference he simply needed to. Especially when it came to you, he realised.

“You don’t mind?” You asked, daring to peek up at him.

“Course not. I could use some company anyway.” He reassured you, his lips returning to your forehead, only this time the action held far more intention. “You don’t snore do you, love?”

You snorted out a giggle, looking up at the ginger cheekily, mischief dripping from your little grin that forced George’s heart to stutter rather violently and he hoped you hadn’t noticed. “No. But I drool.”

George’s face contorted, his nose scrunching up adorably in disgust, “Do you really?”

“Suppose you’ll have to find out, won’t you?” You teased and he sighed deeply, his disgruntled expression melting into a soft, adoring smile.

“I should’ve expected this, I knew you couldn’t have been completely perfect,” he said, mockingly sorrowful.

You scoffed, pushing his chest lightly, “You’re doing a lot of sweet talking tonight, Mr. Weasley,” you told him and he shrugged innocently.

“Just wanted to see you smiling again, darling.”

“Yeah, well, you’re doing a good job,” you assured him, the bashful yet tired smile that stretched your lips as you gazed up at him proved that you meant what you’d just said. “I like it by the way, the sweet talking.”

At your words, a huge, shit eating smirk grew on the boy’s freckled face. He managed to rearrange your bodies so that you were still tucked under his arm but you were now facing each other at eye level. “I knew it,” he proclaimed cockily.

You raised a challenging eyebrow, biting back a smirk, “Oh did you?”

George nodded pridefully, “‘Course I did. You see, I’m a little bit psychic,” his words forced a booming laugh from your lips, your cheeks hurting from the smile he’d orchestrated.

You shook your head, smile never dulling as you let out a chastising whisper, “oh sod off.”

“I love your smile,” he said suddenly, his eyes widened in horror when he realised he’d uttered the words out loud. The world could’ve stopped in that moment and you wouldn’t have noticed, all you could take in was George’s face, his eyes searching yours for something.

Carefully, you slid from hand from his chest to his red, blushing face. You cupped his cheek gently, moving your thumb against his cheek bone, almost swooning where you lay when he nuzzled against your touch. Working up some Gryffindor courage, George mimicked your movement, removing his arm from around your shoulder and bringing his palm to rest against the curve of your jaw.

As you stared at each other, you weighed up the pros and cons of telling him that you were completely head over heels for him. Your decision, apparently taking far too long, was made for you when George tugged you impossibly closer to him.

“I wasn’t going to tell you… you’ve had so much going on I didn’t want to overwhelm you,” he said, brown eyes boring into your soul.

“Tell me what?”

He took a deep breath, preparing himself for every possible outcome that may spring once the words on the tip of his tongue are spoken aloud, “That I love you.”

[mcmansionhell]

Underground, Part 1

[Author’s Note: A year ago, when waiting for the DC Metro, I came up with an idea for a short story involving two realtors and the infamous Las Vegas Underground House, typed up an outline, and shoved it away in my documents where it sat neglected until this month. The house recently resurfaced on Twitter, and combined with almost a year of quarantine, the story quickly materialized. Though I rarely write fiction, I decided I’d give it a shot as a kind of novelty McMansion Hell post. I’ve peppered the story with photos from the house to break up the walls of text. Hopefully you find it entertaining. I look forward to returning next month with the second installment of this as well as our regularly scheduled McMansion content. Happy New Year!

Warning: there’s lots of swearing in this.]

Underground

Back in 1997, Mathieu Rino, the son of two Finnish mechanical engineers who may or may not have worked intimately with the US State Department, changed his name to Jay Renault in order to sell more houses. It worked wonders.

He gets out of the car, shuts the door harder than he should. Renault wrinkles his nose. It’s a miserable Las Vegas afternoon - a sizzling, dry heat pools in ripples above the asphalt. The desert is a place that is full of interesting and diverse forms of life, but Jay’s the kind of American who sees it all as empty square-footage. He frowns at the dirt dusting up his alligator-skin loafers but then remembers that every lot, after all, has potential. Renault wipes the sweat from his leathery face, slicks back his stringy blond hair and adjusts the aviators on the bridge of his nose. The Breitling diving watch crowding his wrist looks especially big in the afternoon glare. He glances at it.

“Shit,” he says. The door on the other side of the car closes, as though in response. 

If Jay Renault is the consummate rich, out-of-touch Gen-Xer trying to sell houses to other rich, out-of-touch Gen-Xers, then Robert Little is his millennial counterpart. Both are very good at their jobs. Robert adjusts his tie in the reflection of the Porsche window, purses his lips. He’s Vegas-showman attractive, with dark hair, a decent tan, and a too-bright smile - the kind of attractive that ruins marriages but makes for an excellent divorcee. Mildly sleazy.

“Help me with these platters, will you?” Renault gestures, popping the trunk. Robert does not want to sweat too much before an open house, but he obliges anyway. They’re both wearing suits. The heat is unbearable. A spread of charcuterie in one hand, Jay double-checks his pockets for the house keys, presses the button that locks his car. 

Both men sigh, and their eyes slowly trail up to the little stucco house sitting smack dab in the center of an enormous lot, a sea of gravel punctuated by a few sickly palms. The house has the distinct appearance of being made of cardboard, ticky-tacky, a show prop. Burnt orange awnings don its narrow windows, which somehow makes it look even more fake. 

“Here we go again,” Jay mutters, fishing the keys out of his pocket. He jiggles them until the splintered plywood door opens with a croak, revealing a dark and drab interior – dusty, even though the cleaners were here yesterday. Robert kicks the door shut with his foot behind him.

 “Christ,” he swears, eyes trailing over the terrible ecru sponge paint adorning the walls. “This shit is so bleak.”

The surface-level house is mostly empty. There’s nothing for them to see or attend to there, and so the men step through a narrow hallway at the end of which is an elevator. They could take the stairs, but don’t want to risk it with the platters. After all, they were quite expensive. Renault elbows the button and the doors part. 

“Let’s just get this over with,” he says as they step inside. The fluorescent lights above them buzz something awful. A cheery metal sign welcomes them to “Tex’s Hideaway.” Beneath it is an eldritch image of a cave, foreboding. Robert’s stomach’s in knots. Ever since the company assigned him to this property, he’s been terrified of it. He tells himself that the house is, in fact, creepy, that it is completely normal for him to be ill at ease. The elevator’s ding is harsh and mechanical. They step out. Jay flips a switch and the basement is flooded with eerie light. 

It’s famous, this house - The Las Vegas Underground House. The two realtors refer to it simply as “the bunker.” Built by an eccentric millionaire at the height of Cold War hysteria, it’s six-thousand square feet of paranoid, aspirational fantasy. The first thing anyone notices is the carpet – too-green, meant to resemble grass, sprawling out lawn-like, bookmarked by fake trees, each a front for a steel beam. Nothing can grow here. It imitates life, unable to sustain it. The leaves of the ficuses seem particularly plastic.

Bistro sets scatter the ‘yard’ (if one can call it that), and there’s plenty of outdoor activities – a parquet dance floor complete with pole and disco ball, a putt putt course, an outdoor grill made to look like it’s nestled in a rock, but in reality better resembles a baked potato. The pool and hot tub, both sculpted in concrete and fiberglass mimicking a natural rock formation, are less Playboy grotto and more Fred Flintstone. It’s a very seventies idea of fun.

Then, of course, there’s the house. That fucking house. 

A house built underground in 1978 was always meant to be a mansard – the mansard roof was a historical inevitability. The only other option was International Style modernism, but the millionaire and his wife were red-blooded anti-Communists. Hence, the mansard. Robert thinks the house looks like a fast-food restaurant. Jay thinks it looks like a lawn and tennis club he once attended as a child where he took badminton lessons from a swarthy Czech man named Jan. It’s drab and squat, made more open by big floor-to-ceiling windows nestled under fresh-looking cedar shingles. There’s no weather down here to shrivel them up.

“Shall we?” Jay drawls. The two make their way into the kitchen and set the platters down on the white tile countertop. Robert leans up against the island, careful of the oversized hood looming over the electric stovetop. He eyes the white cabinets, accented with Barbie pink trim. The matching linoleum floor squeaks under his Italian loafers. 

“I don’t understand why we bother doing this,” Robert complains. “Nobody’s seriously going to buy this shit, and the company’s out a hundred bucks for party platters.”

“It’s the same every time,” Renault agrees. “The only people who show up are Instagram kids and the crazies - you know, the same kind of freaks who’d pay money to see Chernobyl.” 

“Dark tourism, they call it.”

Jay checks his watch again. Being in here makes him nervous.

“Still an hour until open house,” he mutters. “I wish we could get drunk.”

Robert exhales deeply. He also wishes he could get drunk, but still, a job’s a job.

“I guess we should check to see if everything’s good to go.”

The men head into the living room. The beamed, slanted ceiling gives it a mid-century vibe, but the staging muddles the aura. Jay remembers making the call to the staging company. “Give us your spares,” he told them, “Whatever it is you’re not gonna miss. Nobody’ll ever buy this house anyway.” 

The result is eclectic – a mix of office furniture, neo-Tuscan McMansion garb, and stuffy waiting-room lamps, all scattered atop popcorn-butter shag carpeting. Hideous, Robert thinks. Then there’s the ‘entertaining’ room, which is a particular pain in the ass to them, because the carpet was so disgusting, they had to replace it with that fake wood floor just to be able to stand being in there for more than five minutes. There’s a heady stone fireplace on one wall, the kind they don’t make anymore, a hearth. Next to it, equally hedonistic, a full bar. Through some doors, a red-painted room with a pool table and paintings of girls in fedoras on the wall. It’s all so cheap, really. Jay pulls out a folded piece of paper out of his jacket pocket along with a pen. He ticks some boxes and moves on.

The dining room’s the worst to Robert. Somehow the ugly floral pattern on the curtains stretches up in bloomer-like into a frilly cornice, carried through to the wallpaper and the ceiling, inescapable, suffocating. It smells like mothballs and old fabric. The whole house smells like that. 

The master bedroom’s the most normal – if anything in this house could be called normal. Mismatched art and staging furniture crowd blank walls. When someone comes into a house, Jay told Robert all those years ago, they should be able to picture themselves living in it. That’s the goal of staging. 

There’s two more bedrooms. The men go through them quickly. The first isn’t so bad – claustrophobic, but acceptable – but the saccharine pink tuille wallpaper of the second gives Renault a sympathetic toothache. The pair return to the kitchen to wait.

Both men are itching to check their phones, but there’s no point – there’s no signal in here, none whatsoever. Renault, cynical to the core, thinks about marketing the house to the anti-5G people. It’s unsettlingly quiet. The two men have no choice but to entertain themselves the old-fashioned way, through small talk.

“It’s really fucked up, when you think about it,” Renault muses.

“What is?”

“The house, Bob.”

Robert hates being called Bob. He’s told Jay that hundreds of times, and yet…

“Yeah,” Robert mutters, annoyed.

“No, really. Like, imagine. You’re rich, you founded a major multinational company marketing hairbrushes to stay-at-home moms, and what do you decide to do with your money? Move to Vegas and build a fucking bunker. Like, imagine thinking the end of the world is just around the corner, forcing your poor wife to live there for ten, fifteen years, and then dying, a paranoid old man.” Renault finds the whole thing rather poetic. 

“The Russkies really got to poor ol’ Henderson, didn’t they?” Robert snickers.

“The wife’s more tragic if you ask me,” Renault drawls. “The second that batshit old coot died, she called a guy to build a front house on top of this one, since she already owned the lot. Poor woman probably hadn’t seen sunlight in God knows how long.”

“Surely they had to get groceries.”

Jay frowns. Robert has no sense of drama, he thinks. Bad trait for a realtor.

“Still,” he murmurs. “It’s sad.”

“I would have gotten a divorce, if I were her,” the younger man says, as though it were obvious. It’s Jay’s turn to laugh.

“I’ve had three of those, and trust me, it’s not as easy as you think.”

“You’re seeing some new girl now, aren’t you?” Robert doesn’t really care, he just knows Jay likes to talk about himself, and talking fills the time.  

“Yeah. Casino girl. Twenty-six.”

“And how old are you again?”

“None of your business.”

“Did you see the renderings I emailed to you?” Robert asks briskly, not wanting to discuss Jay’s sex life any further.

“What renderings?”

“Of this house, what it could look like.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Jay has not seen the renderings.

“If it were rezoned,” Robert continues, feeling very smart, “It could be a tourist attraction - put a nice visitor’s center on the lot, make it sleek and modern. Sell trinkets. It’s a nice parcel, close to the Strip - some clever investor could make it into a Museum of Ice Cream-type thing, you know?”

“Museum of Ice Cream?”

“In New York. It’s, not, like, educational or anything. Really, it’s just a bunch of colorful rooms where kids come to take pictures of themselves.”

“Instagram,” Jay mutters. “You know, I just sold a penthouse the other week to an Instagram influencer. Takes pictures of herself on the beach to sell face cream or some shit. Eight-point-two million dollars.”

“Jesus,” Robert whistles. “Fat commission.”

“You’re telling me. My oldest daughter turns sixteen this year. She’s getting a Mazda for Christmas.”

“You ever see that show, My Super Sweet Sixteen? On MTV? Where rich kids got, like, rappers to perform at their birthday parties? Every time at the end, some guy would pull up in, like, an Escalade with a big pink bow on it and all the kids would scream.”

“Sounds stupid,” Jay says.

“It was stupid.”

It’s Robert’s turn to check his watch, a dainty gold Rolex.

“Fuck, still thirty minutes.”

“Time really does stand still in here, doesn’t it?” Jay remarks.

“We should have left the office a little later,” Robert complains. “The charcuterie is going to get –“

A deafening sound roars through the house and a violent, explosive tremor throws both men on the ground, shakes the walls and everything between them. The power’s out for a few seconds before there’s a flicker, and light fills the room again. Two backup generators, reads Jay’s description in the listing - an appeal to the prepper demographic, which trends higher in income than non-preppers. For a moment, the only things either are conscious of are the harsh flourescent lighting and the ringing in their ears. Time slows, everything seems muted and too bright. Robert rubs the side of his face, pulls back his hand and sees blood.

“Christ,” he chokes out. “What the hell was that?”

“I don’t know,” Jay breathes, looking at his hands, trying to determine if he’s got a concussion. The results are inconclusive – everything’s slow and fuzzy, but after a moment, he thinks it might just be shock.

“It sounded like a fucking 747 just nosedived on top of us.” 

“Yeah, Jesus.” Jay’s still staring at his fingers in a daze. “You okay?”

“I think so,” Robert grumbles. Jay gives him a cursory examination.

“Nothing that needs stitches,” he reports bluntly. Robert’s relieved. His face sells a lot of houses to a lot of lonely women and a few lonely men. There’s a muffled whine, which the two men soon recognize as a throng of sirens. Both of them try to calm the panic rising in their chests, to no avail.

“Whatever the fuck happened,” Jay says, trying to make light of the situation, “At least we’re in here. The bunker.”

Fear forms in the whites of Robert’s eyes.

“What if we’re stuck in here,” he whispers, afraid to speak such a thing into the world. The fear spreads to his companion.

“Try the elevator,” Jay urges, and Robert gets up, wobbles a little as his head sorts itself out, and leaves. A moment later, Jay hears him swear a blue streak, and from the kitchen window, sees him standing before the closed metal doors, staring at his feet. His pulse racing, Renault jogs out to see for himself.

“It’s dead,” Robert murmurs. 

“Whatever happened,” Jay says cautiously, rubbing the back of his still-sore neck, “It must have been pretty bad. Like, I don’t think we should go up yet. Besides, surely the office knows we’re still down here.”

“Right, right,” the younger man breathes, trying to reassure himself.

“Let’s just wait it out. I’m sure everything’s fine.” The way Jay says it does not make Robert feel any better. 

“Okay,” the younger man grumbles. “I’m getting a fucking drink, though.”

“Yeah, Jesus. That’s the best idea you’ve had all day.” Renault shoves his hands in his suit pocket to keep them from trembling.  

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[helnjk]

All I’ve Ever Known - G.W.

George Weasley x fem!reader

last of my oneshots for my showtunes fic list, based on the song All I’ve Ever Known from the musical Hadestown! i’ve had so much fun with this series of fics, i hope you guys have enjoyed reading them xx 

Word Count: 2.8k 

Summary: george finds her extremely intriguing, the way she spends her days drawing and creating art. maybe one day he’ll pluck up the courage to talk to her. 

Warnings: mentions of food, mentions of bullying/exclusivity, stereotypical slytherin biases

lyrics are bold and italicized 

–

I was alone so long 

I didn’t even know that I was lonely

Y/N sat by herself at the end of the Slytherin table, pushing what was left of her meal around her plate. She could hear the different conversations flowing around her, the ones including her fellow housemates moreso, but as usual she wasn’t involved in any of them.

She could hear Malfoy sneering to his little crew about something or other that Potter did to irritate him that day. She could hear Adrian Pucey discussing the latest Quidditch plays they had used at training that day. She could hear a couple of first years anxiously discussing the topic of their exams the next day. 

All around her were signs of companionship and community, yet she was left utterly alone. She wasn’t stupid. She knew why she had been outcasted from her house the moment she got sorted. 

“Isn’t she muggleborn?” 

“What a disgrace to Slytherin.”

“The Sorting Hat’s made a mistake with that one.” 

Over the years, she had gotten used to how those in her house treated her–holding her at arm’s length. She had spent many nights in her first year crying herself to sleep because of how all-consuming the loneliness had been, but now at her seventh year, she was numb to it all. 

She knew who she was: A talented muggleborn witch and a proud Slytherin. She didn’t need validation from anyone else. And anyways, most of her time was spent out on the grounds with her sketchpad or in the Room of Requirement painting. 

Loud laughs from the Gryffindor table spurred her out of her thoughts. The Weasley twins had pranked their younger brother, and it seemed like their younger sister was an accomplice to the crime as well. The rest of the red and gold house was watching on amusedly, no doubt accustomed to similar situations. 

The Weasleys were a well known family at Hogwarts. How could they not be? With their fiery red hair and their big personalities, it was a given that they caught the attention of almost every student. 

Y/N admired how they just fit right in with their house, their second family. Of course, a lot of it had to do with the fact that they were so comfortable with the Hat’s placement. Their whole family was sorted into Gryffindor, she could remember, albeit slightly foggily, the older Weasley siblings in leadership roles when she was younger. 

Her eyes lingered on George’s laughing figure for a second longer than the rest of them. She was always intrigued by the younger twin. They seldom had classes together, but from what she could gather, he was just as observant and perceptive as he was mischievous and quick witted.  

As bodies began to take their leave from the Great Hall, a rough shove to the shoulder nearly made Y/N fall onto the floor. Her eyes snapped up to the offender and she saw the unbecoming sneer of Malfoy. Crabbe and Goyle were snickering not so quietly behind him as he stared down at her. 

“Whoops,” he jeered, “Sorry to disrupt your staring at the blood traitors and gryffindorks. Maybe you’d be better off with the lot of them.” 

With a huff, Y/N gathered her things and strode out of the hall without so much as a second look behind her.  

It's like I’d known you all along

I knew you before we met

And I don’t even know you yet

All I know is you're someone I have always known

She was drawing again, George noted.

It always baffled him how she was always alone. Usually students at Hogwarts drifted about their days in groups or pairs; it was rare to see someone spend most of their time by themselves. Growing up with 6 siblings, and having a twin, George was so used to the chaos and noise that came with it that he couldn’t picture what it was like to go about your day solo.  

His eyes drifted towards her figure sitting on a blanket out in the grounds. She was blissfully unaware of her surroundings, or more to the point, the person staring at her like a bloody idiot. The weather was slowly transitioning from autumn into winter, and he could tell that she was trying to milk the last few warm days. 

It was no secret to him that she preferred to sketch out in the sunny grounds, but Hogwarts being situated in the Scottish countryside made it so that her window of opportunity to do so was limited.

He was so focused on how her brows furrowed in concentration and how her lips pursed ever so slightly when she made a mistake, that he didn’t notice Fred’s many deep sighs. This caused his twin to take one final deep breath and exhale as loudly as possible. 

“What’s got your wand in a knot then?” George asked, taking his eyes off of Y/N and turning to face his brother. 

“Finally noticed that I exist, have you?” teased Fred. 

“Oi, just get on with whatever you want to say!” 

He merely laughed, “If you want to talk to the snake, just do it!” 

George had the audacity to act as if he didn’t know what Fred meant, “What in Merlin’s name are you on about?” 

“Don’t be daft,” Fred smacked him lightly on the back of the head, “You’ve been pining after that Slytherin bird for months, just go and talk to her already!”

“Was I that obvious?” 

With a frustrated groan, Fred shoved his twin in the direction of the girl. George stumbled for a second and checked to see if she had seen, she hadn’t. He sent a glare at the redhead over his shoulder, before dusting off his trousers and donning a confident facade. 

As he strode across the courtyard, his hands grew increasingly clammy and his heart began to beat erratically in his chest. There was no turning back now, though, as he approached the girl. 

His shadow blocked the sun from Y/N’s notebook and she looked up, not expecting anyone to get so close to her. 

“Erm, hello,” George waved awkwardly as he towered over her figure.

She blinked a few times before replying, “Hello. Can I help you with something?” 

“Mind if I join you?” 

George’s question rang through the still air for a moment as Y/N processed what he had just asked. No one had ever wanted to keep her company as she drew before, she wasn’t quite sure how to react. Just before the moment turned even more awkward than it already was, she gave him a swift nod. 

The tall, lanky redhead folded his legs beneath him as he made himself comfortable on the path of grass next to her. He had to stop himself from grinning too wide, “I’ve seen you around, you know.” 

She merely raised a confused eyebrow in his direction. 

“Not-not like I’ve been stalking you!” he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck and feeling his ears turn hot, “I’ve just noticed you like to draw out here, especially when the weather’s warm.” 

“Oh,” she mumbled, brushing her hair behind her ear. 

“I’m sorry, did I make you uncomfortable?” 

George’s gaze on hers was so sincere, she kicked herself internally for not saying the right thing to him, “No you’re not! Don’t worry. I’m just not used to people paying much attention to what I do. I mean, I’m not that interesting.” 

She felt small under his analytic gaze, but something in her kept her from looking away. 

“Well I think you’re plenty interesting from what I’ve seen,” He shrugged nonchalantly, “Tell me about your drawings!” 

He had said the magic words and the pair of them dove into a conversation. Y/N couldn’t contain her excitement, as she rarely had the opportunity to speak about something she was so passionate about. 

“These look bloody brilliant,” George murmured in awe as he flipped through the pages of her notebook.  

Y/N’s face warmed at the compliment, “Thanks.” 

All I’ve ever known is how to hold my own 

But now I wanna hold you too

For nearly every day after their first encounter, George made it a point to talk to Y/N. Whether it be along the hallways on the way to class, during meals (he would take her hand and drag her to the Gryffindor tables, much to her bemusement), or out on the grounds while she drew. 

Most of the time, he would talk and talk and talk as she listened quietly. A soft smile would always grace her lips as she observed him and how he spoke so highly of his family and how he was so excited for the shop he would be opening with his brother. The tone of his voice and his large grins always made her feel included in whatever it was that he talked about.

“Hello love,” George smiled down at her before plopping down on the soft grass to her right, “Reckon we’re on the last few days of good weather.”

His eyes raised skywards as the overcast clouds floated above them, hers did the same. 

“It’s alright,” she shrugged, sending him a small smile, “We’ve made the most of it, I think.”  

The pair sat in relative silence, as silent as it could be with one of the Weasley twins, as Y/N built up the courage to show George what she had made for him. With a deep breath, she plucked something from her school bag that lay strewn across the grass and held the parchment to her chest.

“George?” 

“Yeah, Y/N?” his eyes trained on her nervous figure and his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “Everything alright?” 

She nodded her head swiftly, “Yeah everything’s perfect! I just wanted to show you something that I made.” 

Slowly, she smoothed out the parchment in front of them. She observed George quietly as he took in the sketch she had made. His eyes scanned it over once, twice, three times before they met hers again. 

“Is this…” He mumbled, taking the sketch into his hands to look closer.

“You’ve just been so excited about your joke shop that I–I made a logo for you guys,” she smiled sheepishly, “It’s pretty bare bones, but I wanted you to see it. I won’t take offence if you don’t like it!” 

George stared at her, mouth slightly agape. This was one of the sweetest things anyone had ever done for him, and she did it out of the kindness of her heart. Without a second thought, he threw his arms around her and quickly pulled her to his chest. Y/N let out a little ‘oof’ as she collided with him, heat spreading throughout her body. She was thankful that she was basically smushed on his chest, at least then he couldn’t tell how flustered she got at his display of affection. 

“So d’you like it?” she asked shyly, looking up at him. 

“I bloody love it!” 

Y/N let out a breath that she didn’t know she was holding, the pair of them grinning at each other. 

Later in the day, George all but dragged Y/N into the Gryffindor common room in search of Fred. His brother was sat on one of the couches by the fireplace, chatting idly with Lee. The sound of parchment hitting him square in the chest rang through the relatively empty room. 

Fred’s hands immediately held onto whatever George had placed on him, and his eyes lit with joy as he realized what he was looking at. 

“Bloody hell!” he exclaimed, “Is this what I think it is?” 

George took a seat next to his brother, his hand tugging Y/N along to take the seat beside him, “Yep. Our Y/N here has made us a logo for Wheezes.” 

“This is brilliant, Y/N! Thank you!” 

For the second time that day, she found herself wrapped up in the arms of a Weasley twin. Slightly used to it, she just laughed the show of affection off and patted Fred slightly on the back. 

“Happy to help,” she smiled. 

–

As the seasons turned from autumn to winter, Y/N found herself spending more and more time with the red headed twins. She found their enthusiasm for their joke shop infectious, always chipping in with ideas of her own for products, or sketching up prototypes for them to look at. 

Slowly, her days were filled with laughter and warmth. 

It was a little jarring at first, spending so much time with people who actually cared about her, people who wanted to hear what she said and see what she created. It surprised her, really, how quickly she had become accustomed to being around them. 

After a while, though, she found herself wanting to spend as much time as possible with George. She lived for the routine that they had formed, spending most of their breaks and meals together. 

It struck her on a seemingly ordinary day, the realization that she was falling for him. 

Y/N and George were at a far corner in the library, discussing how the product designs she made could be tweaked a little. He was hunched over the parchment, tracing his fingers over the soft lines of charcoal on the parchment, smudging it just a tad bit and getting some of the pigment on him.

“I love the way you drew…” 

George had said something or other about the design, but Y/N couldn’t focus on anything except the way his arm flexed as he spoke. From the corner of her eye, she kept glancing at him, noticing how the glow of candlelight cast soft shadows on his face. The freckles on his cheeks seemed to dance in the flickering light, and looking at the constellations on his face made her breath hitch in her throat. 

She couldn’t quite place why her heart was raging in her chest, as if she hadn’t spent most of her days with the red headed boy anyway. 

And then it hit her. 

Her eyebrows shot up at the sudden awareness of her feelings for George. Oh sweet Merlin and Morgana, she thought. 

You take me in your arms

And suddenly there’s sunlight all around me

“George!” 

Y/N’s voice rang through the relatively empty hallway as she raced to meet her friend. The friend that she might have been in love with. The friend that she spent hours and hours of her day with, trying to ignore the bubble of feelings that wanted so badly to burst in her chest. 

The redhead who was on his way back up to his common room paused mid-step as he heard her voice. He spun on his heel, turning just in time for him to see her barreling towards him, waving a piece of parchment above her head. 

When she nearly collided head on with him, he instinctively wrapped his arms around her waist and steadied her, “Woah there, Y/N. There’s no need to try and kill me.”

She huffed, catching her breath slightly, “Sorry, I’m just so excited!” 

“Are you going to tell me what you’re excited about, or?” he teased, cocking his head to the side. 

With a grin on her face, she shoved the piece of parchment she was holding into George’s hands, “I just figured out how the general design of the Wonder Witch products should look like! See here there’s a–”

“Godric I love you.”

Both bodies froze at the statement. George immediately felt his whole body get hot, no doubt tinging his cheeks and the tips of his ears red. Y/N’s mouth was slightly agape, her mind whirring with all kinds of thoughts as she tried to comprehend what had just come out of George’s mouth. 

“What?” she asked, unable to form a proper sentence. 

George took a deep breath, there was no going back now, “Erm, yeah. I fancy the hell out of you, Y/N. That wasn’t the way I would’ve preferred to tell you but, I do–I do love you, yeah.” 

“Oh, Georgie,” Y/N whispered. 

Taking her answer as a rejection, he nervously rubbed the back of his neck, “It’s alright that you don’t feel the same way, I don’t want this to ruin–”

Instead of replying, she threw her arms around his neck and pulled him in a hug, “I love you too, you silly boy.” 

The nerves got the better of her, and her words were slightly muffled as she whispered them into his chest. 

“Come again?” 

“I love you too, George!” 

A wide grin spread across his face as he looked at the girl in his arms. He felt like he could fly with how happy he was. Everything he needed was right in front of him, and he would hold her close for as long as he could. 

–

General taglist: @expectoevans​ @george-fabian-weasley​ @gxthsanrio​ @slytherinscribbles​ @harpyloon​ @nuttytani​ @mesmerisedangel​ @amourtentiaa​ @hufflepuff5972

Weasley twins taglist: @whizboingies​ @pineapplesandpinas​ @papapapadumb​ @mrs-g-weasley​ @a-castle-of--glass​ @hey-there-angels​

[midgardianweasley]

GEORGE WEASLEY X PLUS SIZE READER MY SOUL NEEDS IT IT NEEDS IT NOWW

ofc ofc bestie, i hope it’s okay <33

All of your bodies are absolutely beautiful guys <33 

All of you

George Weasley x Plus Size fem!Reader

Summary: It’s summertime and Y/N is spending her weeks at the Burrow with the Weasley family, invited by Molly and her boyfriend of 5 months, George. The family all decide to go to the local lake to cool off from the sun, Y/N isn’t confident with her body/stretch marks and says she just wants to stay home to avoid anyone else seeing them. George notices and convinces her that her body is beautiful the way it is.

Warnings: Body insecurities, stretch marks, anxious thoughts

Word Count: 1769

Message/ask if you’d like to be added to the taglist lovelies <3

Over the past week at the Burrow, the sun had been blazing, heat becoming a common frustration in the home. They had all tried everything they could to try and cool down, extra ice in their drinks, standing in front of fans, they’d even played quidditch so that they could feel a slight breeze, the air proving to be unhelpful by being at a complete standstill, the humidity was unbearable. Everyone was gathered in the living room, scattered around the room to avoid any possible extra body heat. Even Y/N and George who were always sitting together at any given opportunity had sat themselves a good couple of feet away from the other, the thought of being cuddled up with George had made Y/N grow incredibly warm. Upon hearing Fred groan about how boiling he was for what felt like the millionth time in the last half an hour, Ginny had had enough.

“Fred, for the love of Merlin, will you shut up?”

“I can’t help it! It’s like a bloody fire in here” He argued, tilting his head back against the sofa, quickly regretting it when feeling the fabric against his neck.

“We’re all feeling it Fred! we’re all hot, we’re all bored, we’re all agitated, you repeating the same thing over and over, isn’t helping.” You could hear the frustration in her voice, quickly replaced by the sound of Arthur Weasley standing up and walking around frantically

“Right, we’re not sitting around here for any longer, everyone, pack some swimming gear, we’re going to the Lake!” He announced, everyone cheering, everyone except Y/N. The thought of showing more skin than normal, sent a bolt of anxiety through her. She hadn’t felt comfortable in her own skin for a long time, imagining herself in a swimsuit had made her internally cringe. She was so used to wearing jeans and at a push, a short sleeved t-shirt, knowing what lay beneath. Y/N had never been a fan of her stretch marks. Her parents had always told her that they were signs of her growing, that it wasn’t anything to be ashamed of. She had always viewed them differently. Over the years, she had seen plenty of girls show their stomachs, their legs, and she hadn’t seen them. Or if she had, they weren’t like hers, their ones were white or clear or smaller. She thought something was wrong with her body. Why were hers not white? Why were hers a mixture of red and purple? She was soon brought out of her thoughts by George standing in front of her, placing his hands on her hips gently before speaking.

“You alright Love? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost” He chuckled

Y/N and George had only been dating for about five months, being close friends for a previous two years. He wasn’t aware of Y/N’s insecurities about her body, she always appeared so confident, she hadn’t let it show so to not bring any attention to it. Y/N stepped away slightly when feeling his hands lie on her hips, feeling him touching where she knew the marks where. Trying her best to ignore the frown on his face at the sudden loss of contact, she spoke up quietly.

“Y’know George, I think i’m gonna sit this one out, I’m not feeling so good.” She lied, briefly meeting his eyes but not maintaining the contact for long. His eyebrows furrowed slightly at her comment.

“Oh. That's okay, I’ll just go and tell mum we’re stay-” He went to leave, but Y/N caught his wrist, gently tugging him back.

“No no, you go have fun Georgie, I’ll just see you when you get back”

“Are you sure you want to stay? Will you be alright on your own?” He questioned, not entirely convinced by her suggestion, she seemed okay when they were all sat down? She never gave up an opportunity to spend time with his family?

“Of course my love, you go and cool down. Tell everyone i’m sorry though, I was excited to go” She lied through the grit of her teeth, pulling a tight lipped smile. ‘There it was’ George thought. Over the years, Y/N had a tell for when she was lying. Her smile was always different when she was telling the truth. This one didn’t quite meet her eyes, why was she lying? He didn’t mention it, he didn’t want to cause a scene or embarrass her, so with a simple nod of his head, he kissed her cheek and waved her up the stairs, going over to Fred when he’d heard the door click shut.

“Hey mate, where’s Y/N gone?” Fred asked, looking around to see if he’d just missed her in the flurry of people gathering their things together.

“She’s just gone upstairs, you lot crack on, we’ll follow after you guys.”

“You sure? I can get mum to go up if she needs some, y’know, woman to woman discussion.” Fred spoke awkwardly, unsure of how to help.

“Nah mate, we’re good, i’ll head up. Honestly, you guys go ahead” George waved him off, watching him meet with the rest of his family, Harry and Hermione included as they were staying with Ron for a bit during the holidays. When he saw them all walking off on their way to the lake, he ran up the stairs, taking two stairs up at a time, coming face to face with his door, he raised his fist and knocked gently.

“Come in?” Y/N spoke with a hint of confusion, she was so sure she’d heard the downstairs door shut. George opened the door, popping his head round first before stepping in, briefly seeing Y/N pull down her top, hoping that he hadn’t seen her stomach before approaching her. Deciding to keep his hands to himself this time, he began to speak. “What’s the real reason you don’t want to go?” He spoke, with only concern and love in his voice.

“I told you, i’m not feeling well.”

“I know what you told me love, but I also know when you’re lying, I want to know what’s troubling you so I can help.”

“It’s nothing you can help with.” Y/N spoke, but quickly jumping backwards when she’d caught eye of George beginning to reach out again. He picked up on her reaction again.

“Have I done something princess?”

“No, you haven’t done anything Georgie.” She sighed, feeling defeated knowing that he could read her like a book but had come to the conclusion that it was something against him.

“You can talk to me you know, if it is something I’ve done, I-”

“It’s not aimed at you, I just, I don’t like it.” She spoke, causing George to tilt his head slightly, not entirely sure what she meant. Seeing this, she spoke again.

“I..I don’t like people touching my stomach, or my hips, or my legs.”

“Is there a reason why? If you don’t mind me asking, you don’t need to answer, but i’m here to help if you do”

Y/N thought about it for a few minutes, George standing silently, giving her time to think it over. Instead of speaking, she lifted her top slightly, not a lot, but enough for George to see what in his eyes looked to be like red and purple lightning bolts. He looked fascinated by them. Shying under his stare, but not pulling her top down yet, Y/N mumbled

“They’re called stretch marks, if that’s what you’re wondering.” George looked up at her

“And you don’t like them?”

“No.”

“How come?” He spoke, being patient with her responses. She sighed again, taking a minute before answering

“They look weird, almost angry. They’re not faded and white like other girls. They just make me feel like my body is..wrong. I don’t know how else to explain it” She spoke, feeling vulnerable under his eyes, knowing he was looking at them, something she had always avoided. George’s gaze fluttered between her stretch marks and her eyes, feeling fully captivated by her. “May i?” He spoke, indicating that he’d wanted to touch them, she hesitated, but eventually nodded her head, trusting him to not judge her. He softly stroked them with his thumb, feeling slightly proud that she was letting him be this close to her, not just physically, but emotionally. He knew she felt vulnerable, she was trusting him with her insecurity. Because of this, he chose his next words carefully.

“I think they’re beautiful”

“George-” She went to reply, but he quickly cut her off

“No no, just listen to me for a minute, okay?” She stopped speaking, taking this as a sign to speak, he continued. “I think they’re beautiful. They’re a sign that you’ve grown. That your body is changing, a sign of something good. They don’t have to look like everyone else’s, your body, and every mark on it, is unique to you, just like your personality. All of it makes you the Y/N we all know and love. I know not everyone has seen them, but I can guarantee nothing would change if they were to see it. These are nothing to be ashamed of.” He spoke, still stroking the marks. Meeting her eyes again, he saw tears falling and heard quiet sniffles.

“Hey hey, what’s with the tears, Princess? did I say something wrong?” She smiled and chuckled softly

“Not a thing Georgie, I’ve just never heard of anyone speak of me so fondly before. Do you mean all of that?”

“Of course I do my love. Every word. I understand if you don’t want to go to the Lake, but, I think it would be a nice idea. You don’t need to wear anything you’re uncomfortable with, just having your company would be enough for us.” Wiping her tears while speaking. She shook her head.

“I think i’ll go, but I’ll just go with what i’m wearing, if that’s okay. I don’t want to wear a swimsuit.”

“That’s absolutely fine, princess. Whatever you like.” George smiled, about to turn to lead both of them out, before he was tugged back again. She leaned up to kiss him, just a peck, but it spoke a thousand words.

“Thank you for staying and helping me Georgie, it means the world to me.”

“Anything for you.” He spoke, kissing her again before the both of them walked out hand in hand, ready to go to the lake and meet the rest of the family, hopefully without Fred’s grumbles.

Taglist: @horrorxweasley @dracofknmalfoy @gaycatlord-stuff

[forzalando]

The Perfect Arrangement | George Weasley | Pt. 1

Pairing: George Weasley x F!Reader AU: Bridgerton!AU Word Count: 2.1k Warnings: Bridgerton spoilers, mentions of alcohol

Summary: As a woman in the early 19th century, you’ve been told all your life that marriage should be your ultimate goal, however, you do not share that sentiment. When the insufferable George Weasley devises a plan that may solve your problems, how can you say no?

A/N: hi friends! this will be a multipart (probably 3-4 parts) George fic inspired by Bridgerton. i’m so excited for it and i hope you all are too :) thank you for reading!

The start of the social season had been, as you had expected, the topic of conversation around the ton for the past few weeks. It was impossible to go anywhere without hearing whispers of who would snag an engagement in the next few months.

Particularly, people had been interested in who the Queen would declare the “diamond of the season”. Your mother was positively convinced it would be you, but you had other plans in mind for your life other than parties and dresses and loveless marriage. However, when the Queen took one look upon your face, she quickly declared you incomparable, as she had done the same for Daphne Bridgerton, now the Duchess, a few years prior, and your fate was sealed.

As a member of the distinguished and esteemed Y/L/N family, and as the eldest daughter, you had a trivial, yet necessary and important role to play, even if you longed to free yourself from it. Your mother and father, as wonderful as they might be, had high expectations for you, and you would not and could not let them down.

Your mother fluffed your hair and primped your dress in preparation of the Danbury Ball, admiring you fondly and gushing about how beautiful you looked.

“Maybe your luck will be as wonderful as the Duchess, her love match was indeed unprecedented but oh so joyous. Do you think your fortune might align with hers, dear?”

“Mama,” you sighed. “I have no interest in a life like the Duchess’s. All the parties, teas, and properness. Besides, there isn’t another Duke for me to marry.”

“I did not mean that you would have to marry a Duke to share her fate; only that you may marry for love.”

You huffed as you turned away from the mirror. In truth, you had no interest in marrying for love, or marrying at all for that matter, but the duty of an eldest daughter was set in stone.

All too soon, you arrived at the Lady Danbury’s spectacular first ball of the season; the sea of gowns and tailored coats causing a queasy feeling to settle in your stomach, and you wished with all your might that anything at all would ruin the festivities.

A glass of champagne was placed in your grasp and you let your eyes wander around the room; Lady Eloise Bridgerton, a close friend of yours, donned a similar look on her face though her mother enthusiastically tried to get her to waltz across the dance floor.

Glancing to your left, you noticed Lord Farley, a rather grotesque older man, eyeing you up and down; his beady eyes causing the queasy feeling to return and for your feet to take off in what could almost be considered a sprint.

When he was no longer in your line of sight, you began to slow down your gait, but a shoulder roughly bumped into yours and an unattractive yelp escaped your lips.

The unmistakable chuckle that followed your outburst made you groan due to your detestation of the man you knew you had bumped into.

Lord George Weasley; a man, nay, a boy, with hair of fire and a wit to match. You had known him for years as you were the same age and his sister Ginevra was the best of friends with your younger sister.

“I want to believe, Miss Y/L/N, that you would not take such drastic measures to capture my attention, but I must say I am flattered nonetheless,” George teased, his hand reaching out to steady you as you recovered from the collision.

“Mr. Weasley, I believe you to know me better than that,” you spoke with gritted teeth as you swatted his hand away. “Besides, there are plenty of young women here that would kiss the ground you walk on. Might you bother them instead?”

“Ah, but where is the fun in that? I’ve noticed that you still have room on your dance card?”

“I always have room left on my dance card.”

You tried to step around George and escape his company, but his impossible height made it so easy for him to evade your attempts.

“Is that by choice or because you’re just so pleasant to spend time with?” he inquired with a smirk.

“Suppose a bit of both. Now, if you would be so kind, I’m quite parched and would love another glass of champagne.”

“Perfect, I shall accompany you.”

George Weasley, you surmised very early on, was nothing but a flirt. You wouldn’t go so far as to call him a rake, because as far as you knew he was an honorable man, but he was also most intolerable with his boyish charm, sense of humor, beautiful eyes…

Yes, you were quite sure that he was entirely intolerable.

“Have you told your mother you have no interest in procuring a husband, yet?” he mused, breaking you out of your trance as he carefully handed you a glass of champagne.

“Don’t call it procuring as if it’s a transaction. And no, I haven’t. Do you think I’d be standing here alive if I had?”

“Good point,” George hummed as his eyes surveyed the room, no doubt searching for the next woman so unlucky enough to be graced with his presence.

“How is your family?” you asked as you sipped on your flute of bubbling liquid.

“They’re doing well, thank you for asking. Work has been a bit hard on Dad but – ”

Before George could finish, a man approached you and bowed; taking the hand not holding the champagne flute and pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

“Miss Y/L/N, would you like to join me for a dance?”

You noticed George looking on angrily at the sight before him, probably because his ego couldn’t take the interruption.

“I’m flattered, Lord Rainier? I believe?” When you received no objections, you continued. “As I was saying, I’m flattered by your offer but I simply must decline. I am feeling a bit ill and all that spinning might make me sick.”

“Yes, yes, of course, Miss Y/L/N. Perhaps another time?”

You gave him a small, soft smile and let out a sigh of relief when he walked away. Turning back to George, you urged him to continue. While you held him in contempt, or so you told yourself, you did enjoy his family as they were all simply lovely.

“You were saying, George?”

“Right, work has been a bit hard on Dad, after his accident a few months ago. He’s been doing better but Charlie had to take a break from his travels to come home and help out since he’s the eldest. Fred and Angelina are expecting again, if you haven’t heard. They’re hoping for a girl this time.”

“Maybe if you were more like your brother you’d be married and having children by now,” you teased.

He gasped and clutched his hand over his heart, drawing the attention of anyone near.

“You wound me, Y/N.”

Much to your dismay, you laughed at his actions, devastated that you gave him the satisfaction of knowing he was entertaining you. However, the moment was short lived as another man interrupted your conversation.

“Miss Y/N, I must say you are looking exquisite this evening. It would be a shame for your dress not to take a twirl on the dance floor. Might I accompany you?”

You tried not to groan when you noticed a line forming behind the man currently asking for a dance.

“Actually, Lord Beverly, I’m feeling a bit warm. I was just about to go outside for some fresh air.”

“I shall accompany you, then.”

“Without a chaperone? Goodness, no, please find another young lady to dance with. There are certainly many that would be delighted at the chance.”

You looked around Lord Beverly to see at least four other men waiting for their chance to ask you for a dance, and the thought of making up more excuses made your head spin. You graciously bid Lord Beverly a good evening, and turned on your heel towards the nearest exit.

In your haste, you did not notice George following you into the gardens.

“Well, you sure like to let them down easy,” he joked.

“George!” you cried. “We can’t be seen alone, are you daft? Trying to ruin me and my family?”

“Calm yourself, my Mother is just right there.”

You looked a bit to George’s left and saw his wonderful mother keeping a careful eye on the two of you, graciously leaving the attention of her husband to ensure that none would suspect foolery between you and George.

“As I was saying, it’s awfully obvious that you do not want any man to court you. Your mother will realize well and soon enough of your…aversion to marriage.”

“The only reason you know that is because you eavesdropped on a conversation I had with Eloise. But yes, I have no desire to marry, and I’m quite certain I never will. I’ll have to fight off suitors and think of a million excuses until I’m considered a spinster and men no longer want me.”

Silence enveloped you both as a tear slid down your cheek. You hastily wiped it away, hoping that George hadn’t seen, but of course, you were not so lucky.

“Is the idea of marriage really that upsetting to you, Y/N?”

“All those men, all they want is a woman to wear on their arm and to give them children. That’s what a woman’s life is in marriage. A husband doesn’t care about his wife’s passions, desires, intellect, among other things, and I can’t bring myself to entertain the idea of a life that has no room for my happiness.”

George was quiet; pondering your response and your feelings, when he was suddenly struck with the most brilliant of ideas.

You see, Mr. George Weasley was in love with Miss Y/N Y/L/N, has been for several years in fact. He couldn’t tell you exactly when or why, but he knew that the fluttering in his chest and the way his whole world became brighter when she entered a room meant that Y/N was more than just someone to engage in friendly banter with.

“I’ve thought of an idea,” George muttered, piquing your interest.

“Whatever might it be, Mr. Weasley?”

“Your…situation, can only go away if men were to believe you were taken, correct?”

“Yes, I suppose, only I can’t fool them into thinking that. It would become quite suspicious when I’m seen alone everywhere. And, there’s no way I could ever fool my parents.”

“Except you wouldn’t be alone, you’d have me!”

“I don’t believe I’m following your idea, George.”

“Marry me.”

You choked and sputtered on your own spit, unable to take a breath through your coughs and gasps. George’s hands flew to your shoulders to steady you, helping you to breathe easier and calm yourself down.

“George, you must be joking,” you said quietly.

“I am as deadly serious as I could ever be. Not a real marriage, of course. Real in every sense of the word in terms of legality, but not real as in, well, us together. I’ll spend this social season courting you, and at the end of the season I’ll propose. We’ll get married in a few months’ time, and then we can travel the world, doing whatever our hearts desire.”

“Why on earth would you want to marry me?”

“It’s quite simple. You need to get the eligible bachelors of the ton to leave you alone and you never want to marry because your husband would restrict your freedoms. I, as your husband, wouldn’t dare. You’re not entirely awful, I suppose there are far worse people to spend my life with, even if you utterly despise me, and marriage, real marriage, isn’t something I want either.”

You looked at him quizzically, searching for signs that he’d had far too much champagne or had gone completely mad in the head, but he looked right as rain, and your mind was spinning.

“I find it hard to believe you do not want to marry, after all the times you’ve said you cannot wait to marry the woman you love.”

“Honestly, the woman I love is….unattainable, I’ll put it that way. I won’t ever love anyone but her. I’m also waiting for an answer, it’s not every day you have to have a discussion after a proposal.”

“You’re sure this will work, Mr. Weasley?”

“How hard can it be to pretend to be in love with a woman as beautiful as you?”

“I always knew you were a flirt, but God, do you lay it on thick.”

George looked at you expectantly, almost a glimmer of hope is his eye, but as quickly as you thought you’d noticed it, he looked away.

“My answer is yes, George. Let’s fool the ton, our families, court, get married, and then travel the world platonically.”

“That sounds like the perfect arrangement, darling.”

@theweasleyslut @vivacesole @weasleyclaw @nuttytani-reblogs @theweasleysredhair @hufflepuffbaby9 @theboywhocriedlupin @swellwriting @fortisfiliae @thoseofgreatambition @woakiees @wildfire-whizbangs @gcdric

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[stylesnews]

Like most good stories, Harry Styles’ video for “Treat People With Kindness” starts with Fleabag, specifically with a meeting at Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s hit London theatre run, which became the launchpad for the joyous black and white video, released on New Year’s Day.

Working with a team now synonymous with Styles' videos (choreographer Paul Roberts and stylist Harry Lambert, to name a few), it was directed by brothers Gabe and Ben Turner (part of the production company Fulwell 73), whose work has spanned One Direction videos ("Steal My Girl", “History”) and Styles' solo track “Golden” and who produced the documentaries I Am Bolt (2016) and Hitsville: The Making Of Motown (2019).

Here, Gabe and Ben tell us the story of when Harry met Phoebe and how “Treat People With Kindness” came together.

Gabe, you tweeted that the video was shot at the beginning of last year. How did it come together?

Gabe Turner: Harry and I went to watch Phoebe do her live Fleabag show in London. We met Phoebe and she was the kindest, most delightful person ever. The next day I was watching dance videos randomly and one of them was this Nicholas Brothers video from the 1920s. It was two brothers dancing. I said to Harry, “You and Phoebe, question mark.” And he messaged back saying, “Treat People With Kindness”. Then he called Phoebe and was like, “I've got this song. I want to do a video. What about me and you doing this dance routine?” And she was like, “Great." And then the two of them called Paul Roberts, the choreographer.

Ben Turner: This isn't always how our life is. This isn't the regular process. But once the touchpaper got lit, it just went off. Every now and then something comes along where all the dominoes fall perfectly.

GT: Harry and Phoebe worked with [choreographers] Paul Roberts and Jared Hageman. The four of them rehearsed all the time, remotely, wherever they were. Whatever projects they were doing, the choreographers would go with them and work on their steps. We would get sent video updates for them as they were rehearsing and learning. We were like, “This is amazing.” We had been to the Troxy for the Bugsy Malone Secret Cinema, so we were like, “That would be a great place to do this.”

You make it sound easy.

BT: That momentum that Gabe's describing, that's what made it easy. It was plenty of hard work, but once it started, it just came together.

What was the turnaround like for the video? BT: We just did it fast, in the space of a few months.

GT: There is a process for how music videos get made. Directors pitch for them, they come up with their creative, present it and there’s a process to go through. This one was already happening before any of that process. It was pure art from Harry and Phoebe, going, “We're going to connect and make this amazing thing and it will come out when it comes out.” As a creative to work in that way is totally joyous. You're just facilitating greatness.

What was it like to shoot?

BT: This is also easy, in a way, because the choreography means that [Harry's] going to be here at this point and there at that [point]. You knew exactly where they were going to be in the room. We went back and forward a bit on how to weave the story into the choreography so it wasn't just a dance routine. By the time we got onto set, that was quite well planned. The nice thing is being more prepared, you can try to feed in a bit of latitude to things. I know because we've worked with Harry for a long time that the camera doesn't just love him. The camera wants to marry him and run off with him and probably never come back. So we know to give a little bit of space for that to happen. Obviously to have Phoebe there with him as well is totally bonkers. And, again, the camera loves her. It was exciting for us to talk about how to execute things with someone who we admire so much.

GT: When you go to the Troxy there's a hidden stage at the top. Ben had an idea of coming down from the hidden stage to reveal Harry, then setting a scene up of [Phoebe] at the top. She was brilliantly collaborative in discussing what kind of role she was going to play.

What notes did you talk through with Phoebe about her character? BT: This song's called "Treat People With Kindness”, so it feels like there's a distance to cover in the narrative. You start on the Marsellus Wallace shot, out of Pulp Fiction. We wanted to get a sense that this was a kind of tough guy and there was the opposite of people being treated with kindness around the place. But the conversation went from [Phoebe] being a character that stood up to him to, actually, if you look at it, [she] wipes a tear off of his eye, which is so beautiful.

GT: Ben was just obsessed with casting the back of people's heads for the first shot.

What makes a good back of the head?

BT: I'm talking about how many folds of skin at the top, the optimum shape. Someone [said] that Bruce Willis had a fantastic shaped dome of a head and it really turned me on to the shape of a bald head, because it can be really beautiful.

GT: I find a lot of the music videos that we do, there'll always be a shot from a film that inspires something.

Aside from breaking the fourth wall at the end, the Pulp Fiction shot and the Nicholas Brothers, what other reference points or Easter eggs did you include?

BT: We love the Marx Brothers, Danny Kaye and those physical comedians. I love Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire. We’re also obsessed by Bugsy Malone. Busby Berkeley... I don't think there was much Busby Berkeley in this. GT: At the end there's a tiny bit, but Busby Berkeley has actually been used as a reference in quite a few music videos. We love that stuff. But we didn't want to go too into that symmetry and the choreography, because it didn't feel as fresh. What have you learned from Harry, after working together for so long?

BT: He's on a really interesting journey and we are lucky to be a bit of that journey with him. It's really rewarding to dip into that and try to facilitate some of that as we go along. There's a lot that he's in touch with that I'm not. I'm quite a lot older than him. I'm not as cool as him.

[official-weasley]

Meant to Be (Charlie Weasley x OC)

What happens when Bill brings home a girl and Charlie is completely awestruck by her?

WARNINGS: Mentions of sex and alcohol and getting drunk.

CHAPTER 4

Charlie

No matter how much I tried I wasn’t even halfway when I heard mum calling us for dinner. I stood up and moaned from the pain. This chair was killing me but it was better that I just stay in my room than talk to Rhylee.

I made my way downstairs. I was surprised at how quiet the afternoon was. The twins came out of their room as I got to their floor, giggling. I was waiting for an explosion or a fire or something but nothing happened so I followed them down into the kitchen.

We all sat down and since my dad spent the entire morning working on something in the garage I decided to talk to him. I wasn’t at all surprised that he was playing with the plugs he was collecting. I always found his obsession with Muggle artifacts rather amusing.

After dinner, I went back into my room and buried myself in my work. I wish the formal part of my job was as fun as the practical part. I loved working with dragons but writing reports on what I do every month was a pain in my arse.

I lifted my head when I heard a knock on the door.

“We’re leaving now, Charlie.” Mum poked her head through the door. “Are you sure you can’t come with us?”

“I tried, mum. But I still have so much to do.” I sighed.

It pained me how sad she sounded.

“Alright, dear. I understand.” She smiled. “Rhylee’s staying behind too. She’s in Ginny’s room, working on something.” She added and gently closed the door behind her as she left.

Rhylee’s in Ginny’s room. That was great news! It means I can go work downstairs and make myself some coffee. I grabbed all my papers and rushed down the stairs the second I heard them leaving. The kitchen table was much bigger than the one in my room so I was excited I would be able to spread all my papers across it and make it easier for myself when I search for different pieces of parchment.

I made myself a big cup of coffee because since I have been working on this for 5 hours and felt as if I got barely anything done, I knew it was going to be a long night for me.

—

“Oh, dear Merlin, you scared me, Charlie!” I jumped up in my seat and turned around. I saw Rhylee standing in the living room, her hands on her chest. “I thought I was alone in the house.” She continued, trying to calm herself down.

“I thought Bill told you I’ll be here.” I couldn’t help but laugh.

The look on her face was priceless.

“He forgot to mention it, I guess.” She tried to laugh too but was still a bit shaken.

She slowly made her way to the kitchen.

“Can I just make myself some tea?” She stopped next to me.

“Why don’t you sit down and I’ll make it for you.” I offered.

She smiled appreciatively and sat down. She couldn’t help herself from peeking at my papers.

“How come you didn’t go with your family?” She asked.

“Because I am an idiot that leaves his reports until the last minute before they have to be handed in.” I replied, putting a kettle on and getting her a cup.

“Don’t like to do paperwork, huh?” She chuckled.

“I dread it.” I opened the cupboard where mum usually has tea leaves. “It’s the only thing I don’t like about my job.”

“I feel you. It’s a real party breaker.” I turned to her.

She was leaning on the table, watching me.

“Why did you stay behind?” I asked even though I was there this morning when she got the letter.

I was just making small talk and I didn’t like the way she was looking at me.

“I had to fill out the paperwork for the new dragon we are getting. We thought he was coming on the 30th but he’s arriving in two days.” She sounded so excited. It made me want to be there when they receive him even more. “I feel bad for miscalculating, though.” She exhaled.

“What do you mean?” I gave her the cup with tea.

“Thank you.” She smiled and put the cup to her lips. “I already finished and I know they left two hours ago but now I wish I just went with them and would stay up late and fill out the forms then.”

“I have plenty of reports to finish. You can help me.”

Why did I say that?

I just wanted to make her feel less guilty for staying behind but the idea sounded way better in my head. I didn’t want her to be here. It would be better if she went upstairs!

“Sure!” She put her cup down and clapped her hands.

Why did she have to sound so excited about this? I was torturing myself at this point. I hate Bill for bringing her here and I couldn’t wait to go back to Romania to be as far away from her as possible. She was making my brain fuzzy.

“How can I help you?” Her question made me stop staring at her.

“Well, you can help me set this pile by date.” I pointed at the pieces of parchment on the left side of the table. “Meanwhile, I’ll write the report for Ren.”

“Ren?” She lifted her head from the papers and looked at me.

“Our Romanian Longhorn.” I explained the name.

“Oh.” She chuckled. “I thought you were talking about your girlfriend.”

Why did she sound relieved?

“Ehm, no.” I said quickly and scratched my head.

The last thing I wanted to do was talk about relationships with her.

“Are you single?” She asked out of the blue.

“Mhm.” I mumbled, trying hard to keep my eyes on the report in front of me.

I hope she’s not expecting me to ask her the same question. I couldn’t see the expression on her face but I could see that she nodded.

Why did she even care?

Please stop talking to me and let me bury myself in work so I can stop thinking about you, Rhylee!

—

I pressed my fingers into my eyes, lifting my head and putting down my quill when I heard a tap on the window. It was an owl, a letter in her beak.

“What do you have for me, little friend?” I gently took the envelope from her and rushed to the pantry to get her some treats. “Wait here.”

I was so into work that I don’t even know when it started snowing. I looked at my watch. 4 hours! We have been working for four hours without speaking. Thank Merlin for that!

However, my family should be back by now.

I grabbed some treats and quickly returned to the kitchen. I gave them to the owl and got a cute hoot in return and then I went to open the letter. I recognized mum’s handwriting at once. I rushed through the letter, making sure nothing bad happened to them.

Charlie,

you have probably noticed how much snow has fallen. Ron and Ginny had an idea of us staying in the village for the night.

We don’t want to apparate with them being so young and with all the snow I don’t know how it is around the house.

Be a dear and check the window in Fred and George’s room and make sure it’s closed.

We’ll see you in the morning.

Love, mum

They are staying in the village? They’re coming back in the morning? Was I cursed? Why was this happening to me!

“Is everything okay?” Rhylee asked gently.

“It’s from my mum. They are going to stay in the village. Too much snow has fallen for them to walk back and they don’t want to apparate with my siblings.” I explained.

“Oh.” Was all she said.

This was the first time I didn’t know what to make of her face.

“Well, we still have work for another two hours.” She smiled at me, pointing at the papers.

I just nodded and sat back down. I was overreacting. This was fine. We were just working. She was helping me with my reports and we made small talk. It was rather nice. I enjoyed her company even though we weren’t talking at all. There was no awkward silence or tension. It felt as if we were doing this for years. Maybe that’s why I felt so weird about it.

It shouldn’t feel like this. Should it? I shouldn’t feel like this. It was obvious she grew on me and I only knew her for like two days. But Bill didn’t mind that I was staying behind so it really was harmless. It was just my mind messing with me.

—

“I can’t believe we actually did it!” I closed my ink bottle, looking at the now neatly folded piles of reports. “It only took us…” I looked down at my watch. “…6 hours.” It was five minutes past eleven.

Great, we can just go to sleep now!

“I think we deserve to celebrate!” Rhylee obviously had other plans, her eyes beaming.

She had that playfulness in her eyes again.

“What are you proposing?” I smiled weakly.

I can’t just tell her to go back into Ginny’s room. It would be rude. Bill said to make her feel comfortable in our home.

“You have some alcohol in this house?” She bit her lip.

Alcohol? She was joking, right?

“I’m not sure. I can go check.” I said slowly.

That was a lie. I knew that dad always had at least two bottles of Fire Whiskey in the garage just in case we would get unannounced guests.

I dragged myself in there. This was wrong. I was not good with alcohol. I became too honest. What if I tell her that Bill fancies her! He would kill me!

I took my time looking for the whiskey. I was hoping she would change her mind if I took too long and would just go to bed.

Of course, it was just my luck that I came back and she was sitting on the sofa, two empty glasses in front of her on the coffee table.

“I took the liberty to find some glasses. I hope you don’t mind.” She grinned.

I like that she felt at home here and that she was so relaxed but at the same time, I couldn’t help to think that she wasn’t acting like this around Bill and it made me feel guilty that she did so around me.

I poured us both some whiskey and sat down next to her, keeping some distance between us. She bent her leg, sat on it, and turned to me.

“So now what?” I asked awkwardly.

Hopefully, we won’t just sit here in silence and drink alcohol.

“Well, we have a whole bottle of Fire Whiskey, obviously we have to get drunk.” She laughed.

“Obviously.” I chuckled nervously.

“How about…” She brushed her lips against her glass. “We play Never have I ever?”

“Never have I what?” I blinked at her.

“You never heard of it?” Why were her eyes sparkling? I just shook my head. “I see you had no Muggle-born friends at Hogwarts.” She laughed.

“Never have I ever is a drinking game where one person says something they have never done before and if the other person has done it they drink.” She started to explain. “So for example you could say never have I ever played this game and I would have to drink because I played it before.”

“Okay.” I said slowly, taking a sip of my whiskey.

“I’ll go first.” She sat closer to me.

“Never have I ever peed in the shower.” She said.

“What?” I laughed.

“Oh, relax. This is just a warm-up for the real questions.”

What did she mean by that? I slowly took a sip from my glass and she did the same.

“Your turn.” She grinned.

“Never have I ever got a tattoo.” I really didn’t know what to ask.

I didn’t even know if I was playing the game correctly. She drank.

“You have a tattoo?” I raised my eyebrows.

She rolled up her sleeve and revealed a small tattoo of a dragon egg.

“It’s beautiful.” I said.

I wanted to run my fingers over it but I knew I would be crossing the line.

“I got it when I got my job at Gringotts.” She explained, looking proudly at it. “You don’t have any?”

“I have enough scars as it is.” I chuckled.

—

We played a few rounds. Throwing never have I evers at each other about our school days and dragons. This was fun. I really was overreacting. We were just playing a friendly game and getting tipsy. The Fire Whiskey bottle was almost empty and I felt more relaxed which was nice since I didn’t have the power to overthink her every word.

“Okay.” She pursed her lips. Thinking of the next one. “Never have I ever had a one-night stand.”

This just went from an innocent drinking game to questions I wasn’t comfortable with.

I would’ve loved to play this game with my mates back in the Sanctuary. We would get drunk in 15 minutes knowing each other so well. Playing this game with my future sister-in-law and talk about sex was wrong on so many levels.

The fact that I was so attracted to her was even more wrong and her eyeing me like that didn’t help my cause.

How am I supposed to get out of this? It looks like I don’t know how to have any fun. She must think I’m pathetic and my eyes probably look like they are going to fall out of their sockets at any moment now.

Just relax, Charlie.

Just play along. I took a sip and so did she.

“Never have I ever pranked someone.” Perhaps if I change the topic to more innocent things she would get a hint.

I took a sip immediately. She didn’t.

“Really? You never pranked anyone?” I teased her.

“Hey, I don’t have two brothers that have a room full of fireworks!” She defended herself.

“You just don’t know how to have fun!” I teased some more.

“Never have I ever broken up with someone.” She ignored my remark.

We both drank now.

“Never have I ever forgot to file a report by the end of the month.” I continued.

Neither of us drank this time.

“We really are workaholics aren’t we?” She giggled.

“I think that’s obvious since we stayed behind on Christmas Eve, working.” I smiled.

“Never have I ever slept with a co-worker.” She really has to stop with the sex questions.

She’s killing me. I took a big sip. I was not drunk enough for this. She didn’t drink but raised her eyebrows at me instead.

“What?” I asked and poured us both more whiskey, emptying the bottle.

“Nothing, nothing.” She raised her hands in defense but I could see she was amused.

“Never have I ever lied to my boss.” I finally said, after a few seconds of us staring at each other.

“Oh, come on, Charlie.” She rolled her eyes playfully. “Stop it with the innocent never have I evers!” She poked me in my shoulder.

“Alright.” I took a deep breath and looked down at my glass.

What is she expecting me to say? I was screaming in my head. This was so unfair. I wanted to know her better. I wanted to play along and ask all these dirty questions but I couldn’t. I can’t and why was she not seeing this. What was she playing at!

I was way too relaxed for my liking and I knew that I have to come up with something that isn’t as boring.

“Never have I ever liked my brother’s friend as much as I like you.” I blurted out.

No! What have I done!

I knew drinking was going to be a bad idea. I’m too honest when I’m this drunk.

I looked up at her and I hated that I couldn’t read her expression. Her lips were slightly parted. She didn’t drink. She didn’t even move. She was just looking at me. It looked like she was debating something in her head and never have I ever wanted to know what a girl was thinking more.

“Well, I obviously can’t drink to that.” She put her glass down and sat closer to me.

I didn’t know what to do. I felt as if someone hit me with a stunning spell. She looked at me and leaned towards me.

Was she trying to kiss me? Please tell me that is not what she is trying to do! This seriously can’t be happening to me. I never had problems getting a girl and I never backed out from kissing one but this was wrong and it can’t be happening.

The whole night she has been sending me mixed signals and I pretended to ignore them and I tried to interpret them as friendly even though I knew what they meant.

Did she forget she came here with my brother? Did she not come here because she fancies him? What was going on?!

“Oh, I’m sorry.” She quickly pulled away. “Did I misinterpreted the signs?” She looked embarrassed.

If she only knew how well she read me. I wanted to kiss her so badly.

“No, it’s just…”

Why didn’t I just say yes? Why can’t I lie when I’m drunk?

“You’re not a virgin are you?” She leaned closer again. “You drank before when I asked about one-night stands.” She got even closer.

I was screwed. What am I supposed to do? She completely cornered me and I have never had a woman come on to me this strongly. She wasn’t shy at all and I was loving it.

No! Snap out of it, Charlie!

You can’t do this. You can’t do this to Bill.

How am I supposed to get out of this? I can't tell her the truth. I can’t tell her that I can’t kiss her because Bill fancies her. I can’t tell her that I am trying to resist this only because of my brother. Bill would kill me if I told her that.

I was panicking.

I am panicking.

Why did I have to be a workaholic and stay at the Burrow? I should’ve just went with my family to see the lights. Looking at the lights, that was innocent. The thoughts in my mind weren’t.

If she had any idea how much I wanted this. How drawn I was to her. How much I wanted to kiss her and how much I wanted to explore her body with my lips. I wanted to feel her naked body against mine and ran my fingers through her hair. I wanted to make her feel good and see that gorgeous smile on her lips.

Oh, dear Merlin, what have I gotten myself into!

I can’t see a way out of it and the worst part was that I didn’t want a way out. I wanted to do it and I was beginning to feel my body giving up on resisting her. I wanted this so badly. She was so beautiful and I couldn’t deny the connection between us any longer. I felt like I was going to explode. I felt like I was in a desert and her lips were my oasis.

I leaned closer to her. I am too drunk to resist her. I am too drunk to care if she can hear how fast my heart is beating. I am too weak to say no to her and I am drunk enough not to care what Bill will do to me when he finds out tomorrow.

I just have to kiss her. I have to see what this energy between us is. I have to explore it. And me not having sex for 7 months wasn’t helping.

I put my hand on her neck and gently pulled her closer. Our lips finally touched.

Dear Merlin, everything that is magical! Her lips were so soft and smooth. She tasted like Fire Whiskey mixed with mint tea. The kiss sent shivers down my spine and I felt as if I was on fire. I have never felt like this before.

This was insane.

Insanely good.

Nothing should feel this good. This should be illegal.

I couldn’t help my curiosity grow as our lips parted and our tongues met. If my eyes were open she could see how they rolled back into my skull. Just kissing her was pure ecstasy.

I grabbed her leg behind the knee and pulled her on my lap. I have to her now.

Bill can kill me later, right?

[fanfictionfansmiction]

hii! i was just wondering if i could a request a ron imagine where he really likes the reader and he does what he does to fleur in the movies and yells at her to go to the ball with him? and ginny is like comforting him how she was in the movies but reader runs after him and they’re all in shock bc she actually wants to go with him and liked him back? (i’m sorry this is long, i’m bad at explaining)

This is my first request!! Very exciting, so I have written this based on what you said rather than watching the clip from the film so it might not happen exactly the same as that but I hope you enjoy it anyway it was really fun to write so please do send in more requests! 

Word Count: 1594

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Ron was never great with his expressing his feelings, especially when it came to you. He was always saying the wrong thing or saying the right thing the wrong way. It wasn’t always like that though you two were close for a long time and you even considered him your closest friend. Ron kicked himself every time he saw you and acted like an idiot and so did his friends.

“Ron why don’t you just go and talk to her?” Hermione said reading the paper not looking at Ron or Harry as she did but still sensing Ron’s pining look that was laid upon you sat with your Hufflepuff friends. Ron only groaned in response pushing his breakfast around on the plate.

“Obviously, it’s because he can’t talk to her or he’ll just die it’s so embarrassing she’s just so beautiful and perfect what could he possibly offer her.” Harry imitated Ron. “I’m sorry mate but this has been going on too long and its painful to watch, if you don’t do something about it in the next two days, I’ll…” Harry trailed off thinking of an appropriate threat for a friend. “Or I’ll tell Fred and George about it.” There that seemed good enough. Harry looking fairly pleased with himself started to eat his breakfast assuming that would be the end of it today. Ron rested his head in his hands feeling sorry for himself.

“But what would I talk to her about?” Ron asked his two friends hoping for a helpful response. Neither had any response, Herimone who now seemed to be filling out the crossword puzzle and Harry who was instead thinking about his own love life. No such luck for Ron instead Ginny sat herself next to Hermione stealing a sausage off Ron’s plate and munching on it.

“What’s everyone’s plans for the Yule Ball then?” she asks holding eye contact with Harry who chokes on his orange juice. Pleased with his reaction she grins looking at her brother. “Ron who’s your date?”

“He’s just about to ask them.” Hermione announces folding up the newspaper now more invested in the whole situation, shooting Ron a pointed look. Harry, happy to have Ginny’s eyes off him agrees with Hermione.

“Oh, this’ll be great. What’s the plan Ron?” Ginny asks filling a glass scoffing at the thought of her brother asking the object of his affections out on a date, successfully.

“Instead of thinking about it he was actually just about to ask them now. Weren’t you Ron?” Harry says nudging Ron’s arm.

“Hermione will you- “

“You aren’t getting out of it that easily Ronald. We all know who you want to ask. Besides, I already have a date. You’re on your own with this one.” She responds her eyes drifting over to Viktor who was already looking at her.

“Stop being a chicken Ron and go ask them.” Ginny says commanding the same power as her mother. Ron shakily stands whipping his sweaty hands along his trousers. He takes a deep breathe in and makes his way to where you are sitting with your Hufflepuff friends. For a moment Ron thinks about turning back because what is the worst Ginny could do if he didn’t ask. What could Fred and George do that would be worse than rejection? A quick turn of his head told him that no matter how scary rejection was his little sister would be worse. Besides that, you had already spotted him focusing your attention on him. Your friends still talking to you, but you were looking at Ron and he felt his face light up. It had been a while since you had looked at him, properly looked at him.

“Hello Ron.” You said with a large smile on your face lighting up your eyes.

He breathed you name, and his heart hammered in his chest. He remembered his sweating palms and his friend watching him and your friends watching him and you looking at him with those sweet eyes. Any drop confidence he had just drained out of him and he felt stuck. To make matters worse your friends began whispering and giggling. Why didn’t he plan out how to ask you? What if when he asked you couldn’t hear him. Or what if when he asked you burst out laughing revealing you already had a date a much better date. A date who asked you with flowers. He should have brought you flowers.

“Everything okay?” You ask bringing him back to the room. Ron’s throat felt dry.

“WOULD YOU LIKE TO GO TO THE YULE BALL WITH ME AS MY DATE. WELL, IT DOESN’T HAVE TO BE LIKE A DATE DATE WE COULD GO AS FRIENDS.” He burst out far louder than he intended. Clapping his hands over his mouth confused at how he managed to produce such a loud volume. This did it all your friends laughed and so did the entire room at this strange outburst. He could see how pink you had gotten mouth opening and closing like a fish looking around at your friends who all seemed extremely amused. So, he apologised and immediately began powerwalking out of the hall because running out would be far more embarrassing.

He didn’t stop walking until he felt he was far enough away from the sound of everyone’s laughter. Laughing at him. Why did he do that? He asked himself. In the morning sun out in the courtyard he kicked a tree really regretting embarrassing you in front of all those people. He didn’t even realise he was talking to himself until someone interrupted him.

“Finally found some good company?” Ginny said leaning against the tree.

“What do you want Gin?” Ron asked croakily not realising he had been crying.

“I want you to know that you are an idiot but its also okay. You very easily could have never asked her, never spoken to her again. Never given her idea of how you felt but you did. And I hate to say it Ron but not everything is going to go as you want it everyone doesn’t always like you back. It’s okay that she didn’t want to go with you there are plenty of others who might. It’s okay if she doesn’t see you that way you know, that right?”

Just as Ron opens his mouth to respond someone else does.

“I never said I didn’t want to go with you Ron.”

Ginny grins once again watching as her brothers face lights up and she sees the hope return to his body. She walks away leaving the two of them some time alone.

Ron says your name like a wish. Like he doesn’t really believe you’ll be there when he turns around. But you are and he sees the blush still on your face. And that you’re breathless like you ran after him all that way. Ron wants to say something to say anything to you, but he doesn’t. Thankfully as it finally gives you the space to say how you feel.

“I just wasn’t expecting you ask me Ron. You haven’t spoken to me properly in weeks, I thought I did something to upset you. My friends only laughed because we were literally just talking about you. I was planning on asking you to Yule Ball myself. Look Ron I really like you and not having my close friend there to talk to and to laugh with was really strange.”

“I really like you too. I just never thought you felt the same way.” Ron closes the space between you.

“That’s because you never asked.” You laugh placing you hand on his cheek. Another flush of red taking over his face. His eyes look down not sure enough of himself to meet your gaze. Placing your other hand on his other cheek you say, “So ask me Ron.” Ron smiles lopsided and goofy looking at you still rather nervous.

“So, I was wondering if you wanted to go to the Yule Ball with me? As my date.” He breathes.

“Oh, I’m not sure what day is that on again?” You tease taking your hands away from his face feigning deep thought, causing him to laugh with you relaxing him. “I’d love to go to the ball as your date Ron. Maybe before then we could go on a little date.” You ask playing with the collar of his shirt.

“Wasn’t that his line.” You hear Harry add from behind you. Ron shoots him a look of humorous disapproval.

“As much as I’m annoyed that he was watching that I have to agree with him. I think I was supposed to ask you that.” He says now looking at you so intensely you almost forget how to talk.

“Why because he’s the guy?” Ginny adds.

“How archaic.” Hermione adds.

“Sorry mate we just had to see how this plays out.”

Ron shakes his head with an infectious laugh, he snakes his arm round your waist holding you closely.

“Fred and George just wouldn’t believe you without eyewitnesses, really I’m doing you a favour.” Harry laughs.

“How about we go somewhere a little more private to plan this date.” You say gazing up at Ron with delight.

“That sounds perfect.” He says before kissing you soft and sweet.

“Okay now it’s weird.” Ginny says, “Let’s leave these lovebirds alone. Have fun you two.”

Ron smiles down at you and you feel relief flood through you. The two of you this close, sharing space in the universe together felt righter than anything you’d ever known before.

[wiypt-writes]

Riding High

Ch11: I’m Thankful for Chicken Nuggets

Chapter Summary: It’s Thanksgiving and Mary’s eating chicken nuggets.

Chapter Warnings: Bad Language words. SMUT (NSFW, no under 18s thanks!)

Chapter Pairings:  Frank Adler x OFC Fliss Gallagher

A/N: Yeah yeah I know it’s the wrong time of year but hell, we’re all on lock down so the days and months don’t actually exist anyway at the moment… The Boat Company used here IS an actual company in South Pas, but I got no idea who runs it so this is completely made up- roll with me here.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Fliss Gallagher and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Riding High Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Chapter 10

 “Good morning, Handsom.” Fliss smiled as she held her phone between her shoulder and her ear as she continued to fork up the bedding in the stable.

“Morning sweetheart.” His soft voice hit her ear.

“Happy Thanksgiving!”

“Back at ya.” He chuckled softly “You at the yard?” “Yeah, been here a few hours now.”

“Do you need a hand with anything or…” “That’s really sweet but there’s not much left to do.” she replied, honestly “They’re all out for the day and are staying there until tomorrow morning so I’ve just a couple of stables and then some paper work to sort out before I pop back this evening to do a check.” “Ok so, once you’re done for the morning you’re free for a while?” “Yeah, why?”

“Mary had an idea.” “I did not!” Fliss heard the seven year old scoff  “It was your…” “Ok, WE had an idea,” Frank conceded and there was some scuffling and Fliss could imagine he was holding Mary at arm’s length as she made a grab for the phone, “that maybe you might wanna come join us for dinner if you have time.”

“You mean your Thanksgiving dinner of chicken nuggets?” Fliss grinned “How could I turn that down?”

“Cool, just head over when you’re done.” “I might need to head home and shower.” She looked down at herself. “I’m filthy and probably don’t smell great either to be honest.” “You can change here if you want.”

Fliss paused, she had a spare change of clothes in her car. Well, a pair of sweats and a different polo shirt. She normally kept them there just in case of a downpour.

“Erm, sure, if you don’t mind…” “No of course not.”

“Alright, then, I’ll see you in about two hours or so?” Fliss smiled.

“Great.” Frank replied “See you soon.” ******

Fliss didn’t bother knocking. She opened the door to the apartment and was immediately barrelled into by a flurry of blonde hair.

“Hey!” she chuckled, dropping her bag. “Wanna let me get inside first Stack?”

Mary stepped back and Fliss straightened up and smiled as Frank walked into the kitchen.

“Hey, Beautiful.” he smiled, dropping a kiss to her lips. Mary sidled off into the main room, a smirk on her face.

“I stink.” Fliss warned “I mucked out twelve stables today.”

“Yeah, you’ve smelt better!” Frank laughed as she snorted. “You know where the bathroom is. Fresh towels in there. You need anything out of this or…” He gestured to her bag, as he went to pick it up.

“It’s just my clothes so…”

“I’ll put it in my room.” He smiled, giving her another kiss. “I would offer to come scrub your back but…” he inclined his head to the main room and Fliss gave a snort.

“Calm down, Sailor” she teased “Plenty of time for that later.”

“Promises, promises.” He grinned, picking her bag up and heading through to his room. He dropped her bag onto his bed, glancing round. He’d attempted to tidy a little bit after the realisation she’d actually never been in his room before. After their night together the previous week they hadn’t managed another night alone, Fliss being a little ‘uncomfortable’ at being together like that when Mary was literally outside the door and to be honest, it wasn’t something Frank was particularly happy about either. It had never bothered him before, because Mary was never there when he brought a girl home but this was different. That said, he knew he was going to have to find somewhere bigger soon, Greg had warned him it would likely be a condition of him being awarded Guardianship. He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t concerning him a bit, living pay-check to pay-check didn’t leave him a huge housing budge but he’d work something out, he always did.

Pushing the worry from his mind, he closed the bedroom door and headed back into the room. Mary was sat on the rug looking at the instructions to the new lego kit he had bought her for Thanksgiving.

“Sussed it out yet Stack?” He asked and she gave him a withering look. He bit back the laugh that was bubbling in his throat and sat next to her, taking from her, trying to figure the instructions out to make the Storm Trooper helmet, Star Wars being her latest obsession.

“That’s upside down…” She rolled her eyes, taking it from him to turn it the right way up.

“My bad.” He shrugged, looking at it again. “Ok, so…this piece…and we need one of these…” Together they began to pull together the elements they needed for the first section and the next time Frank looked up was when Fliss walked into the living area, a little shyly, wrapped in a towel. Her long, auburn hair was piled up on top of her head and her shoulders were speckled with water. She smiled as she padded past to his bedroom, Mary not even looking up as Frank watched her with his eyes as she closed the door behind her, giving him another smile. There was something so simple, so domestic about the situation, Frank couldn’t help but feel a warmth in his chest.

Roberta was right, he definitely had it bad.

“When we gonna give Fliss her present?” Mary asked, looking up at Frank.

“After dinner.” He said “Which reminds me, best turn the oven on.”

“Would be a start.” Mary agreed.

Frank rolled his eyes and stood up, heading into the kitchen. Shoving the stuff in the oven, he returned and found Fliss was now sat with Mary who was showing her the instructions.

“I LOVE Star Wars.” Fliss grinned, “So does my Dad. He has a Cinema Room in the house upstairs and a poster from every single Star Wars film on the wall. I’ll show you later tonight.” “A Cinema Room?” Mary asked. “Like, with a huge screen?” “Yeah. It’s pretty cool. When I finally get round to buying a house I’m gonna build one too.” “Do you think I could watch something in there tonight?”

“Mary,” Frank started to warn her but Fliss smiled.

“Frank it’s okay.” she said. “And yeah, course you can. If you have a favourite DVD we can take that or you can pick. We have loads on the hard-drive and Sky.”

It wasn’t long before they were sat round the small kitchen table which had been pulled into the living room to allow them more room. Frank and Mary both showed Fliss their favourite thing to eat in the world- Chicken Nugget Sandwiches. After a sceptical look, Fliss leaned over to take a bite of Frank’s as he offered it and gave a small laugh announcing that it was actually pretty good. After a large slice of Chocolate cake each that had been made for them by Roberta, they collapsed onto the sofa, Mary once more on the rug, Fliss groaning about the “food baby” she was growing, rubbing her hand over her stomach.

“Hey Frank?” Mary looked at him. “Is it time now?”

It took Frank a moment and then he realised what Mary was talking about. “Oh, yeah, hang on…”

He hopped off the sofa and headed into his bedroom, pulling the small gift bag from his dresser. He walked back into the living room and sat back down, shyly handing it to her.

“You got me a gift?” Fliss’ eyes went wide.

“Yeah.” Frank shrugged.

“You really shouldn’t have…” Fliss looked at him. “I didn’t get you two anything…” “That’s not the point of giving a gift.”  Mary looked at her sternly. “You don’t give to receive, right Frank?”

“Right.” Frank nodded, leaning back on the sofa, looking at Fliss “And I wanted to…” he gestured between him and Mary where she was sat, Fred crawling into her lap, “…we wanted to, say thank you for everything over the last few months.” Fliss smiled at him and then Frank saw a childish excitement cross her face “Can I open it now?” He nodded, glad she was going to as he wanted to see her face when she did.

With delicate fingers she gently undid the ribbon that the woman at the store had wrapped it with and her mouth dropped open when she saw the white box which was emblazoned with the Pandora name and logo

“Frank,” she looked at him, before she opened the box and stared at the contents. She blinked before her hand gently covered her mouth as she saw the silver charm bracelet that was inside.

“I thought it was time you started a new one, for new memories.” He said gently as she reached into the box and took out the bracelet which held a single charm in the shape of a boat.

Fliss swallowed, and her eyes filled with tears. “I…” She took a deep breath and Frank frowned as he saw her struggling for composure.

“Hey,” he said, turning sideways on the sofa. His hand gently rubbed up her arm and she fell into him, pressing her face to his chest as he wrapped his arms round her.

“You made Fliss cry. On Thanksgiving.” Mary deadpanned, throwing a ping pong ball for Fred.

“Why don’t you go do that outside?” Frank asked. “Stay on the step.” Mary shrugged and stood up, doing as she was told.

“You ok?” He asked Fliss softly as his hands rubbed at her back. He placed a kiss to the top of her head and she nodded taking a deep breath.

“Sorry, that was…” she sat back, wiping her eyes. “Absolutely fucking ridiculous…”

“You do like it right?” he asked, suddenly feeling a little nervous.

“Baby, I love it.” She smiled at him, and he felt his chest swell not only at the fact she liked the gift, but that was the first time she’d used that particular pet name, and he kinda liked it. “I just, well, I can’t believe you remembered about my bracelets.”

He shrugged as she reached out to gently cup his cheek.

“Thank you.” she smiled softly, leaning over to kiss him. He happily leaned into the kiss, his tongue snaking into her mouth, sliding against hers as she met him movement for movement before there was a light cough and Frank groaned, resting his forehead against Fliss’ as he turned to look at Mary.

“What?”

“Need another ping pong ball. The last one flew under Roberta’s BBQ and I aint going under there…spiders and stuff.” She headed to the box at the back of the room, dug in and retrieved a net of ping pong balls, digging one out.

“Wanna go outside?” Frank asked and Fliss nodded. He stood up and held out his hand, pulling her up with him and they headed out after Mary.

A little while later, after a game of tag on the lawn which resulted in both the girls tackling Frank to the floor in a huge tickle fight, Fliss noting that he was ridiculously ticklish and filing it for future reference, they headed back inside, grabbed their things and after an almost tantrum from Mary who wanted to bring Fred and Frank refusing, they headed off in Fliss’ jeep for the yard to do the final checks for the evening. They were just about to head up to the field to make sure all the horses were settled and the waters were topped up when Bill walked onto the yard.

“Shouldn’t you be with mum getting stuff ready for the party?” Fliss frowned at her Dad, surprised to see him.

“Are you joking!” Bill scoffed “You know what she’s like.” He coughed and then put on a light, airey voice “Bill, those champagne flutes are grouped in threes, not fours. No, those plates don’t go there, they go there. What are you doing with that cheeseboard, the grapes go in the middle…”

Frank felt his eyebrow raise slightly as Fliss laughed. Champagne, cheeseboards? This was not the type of party he was used to, at all.

“Oh don’t worry.” Fliss clocked his face. “It descends into debauchery and chaos after about an hour, mum just likes to play the part of hostess with the mostess…”

“I like cheese.” Mary piped up.

“Good, we got plenty of it.” Bill said. “But, anyway, I dropped by for a reason. I picked something up earlier this afternoon that I think you might like.”

“Me?” Fliss frowned, but before she could say anything else Frank’s attention was taken by a man who was walking down the side of the barn. He slightly taller than Frank, quite stocky and had a shock of dark brown hair and looked ridiculously like Bill. Fliss gave a little shriek and ran towards the man, throwing herself into his arms as he laughed, twirling her round slightly before he dropped her to the floor.

“That’s her brother.” Mary supplied and Frank gave her a look.

“Yeah I kinda figured that.” He rolled his eyes. “How do you know anyway?”

“Saw a photo of him.” Mary shrugged.

Frank turned his attention back to the two siblings and Fliss was now looking between her father and her brother, confusion on her face. “What, I mean, how, why are you here?”

“In New York for a stag do on Saturday.” Steve replied “Thought I’d take the chance and pop down here for a day or so.”

“Does Mum know you’re here?” she asked.

“Yeah, she does now.” he laughed “There were a few tears when I rocked up.” “Frank made Fliss cry before.” Mary said, and all attention turned to Frank who hung his head and let out an audible groan.

“Seriously?” He looked at her as Fliss burst out laughing.

“Because I was happy.” She said, shaking her head “He bought me a new Pandora.” Frank didn’t miss the exchange of looks between father and son, both wearing identical expressions of surprise which morphed into soft smiles as Fliss moved and slid under Frank’s arm.

“Frankie, this is my brother Steve.” she smiled, as Steve stepped forward, holding his hand out. “Or Steeb, Steeby…whatever you want to call him.” “Nice to meet you.” Frank smiled as Steve shook his hand, his grip firm.

“Likewise.” Steve smiled “Heard a lot about you.” He then turned to his left and looked down “And you must be Mary.” “Yup,” She smiled, looking at him “Did you bring your kids?”

“Mary.” Frank warned gently as he looked at her, shaking his head.

“What?” She asked, “I was just asking a question. I wanted to meet them.” “No, not this time.” Steve smiled “Just a flying visit. But they’re coming over for Christmas so I’ve no doubt you’ll get to see them then.” He straightened up and smiled at Fliss. “Where’s that grumpy ginger Nag?” Fliss narrowed her eyes “Don’t you talk about Heidi like that. She’s in the top field.”

“I thought he was talking about V.”  Bill mumbled to Frank who gave a snort, and then looked at the man, the pair of them bursting into laughter. By the time they had composed themselves, Steve and Fliss were stood, watching the pair of them, hands on their hips in almost identical poses.

“They do this all the time.” Fliss shook her head. “Come on, I’ll take you to see H. I was on my way up to check them all anyway. You coming Stack?” she looked at Mary. Mary grinned and ran forward, linking her hand into Fliss’.

Frank miss the eyebrow raised on Steve’s face, before the man smiled softly, dropping an arm round Fliss’ shoulder, pressing a kiss to the side of her head.

*****

Fliss changed quickly when they were home into a pair of jeans, a strappy top and a pair of sandals before the three of them walked over to the house after another near argument about getting Mary to leave the bucket of lego she had brought with her in the annex, which Fliss cleverly managed to avoid with the mention of the Cinema Room.

The house was busy, not packed but busy, and there was no way Frank was going to remember everyone’s names. But he smiled and shook hands as Bill introduced him to people, and he was surprised to find he felt at ease. Most of the people were older than him and Fliss, bar her brother of course, and it was a different circle and class of people he would normally mix with but he certainly didn’t feel like any of them were looking down at him, a stark contrast to how he used to feel at his Mother’s parties.

Well, they weren’t really parties, more like a gathering which rich snobs used to brag to other rich snobs about how much money they had.

“And this is Mike, Martin and Keith.” Bill said, nodding to the final three men, one of whom was giving Fliss a hug.

“You look great!” She beamed at him “How much weight have you lost now?” “40lb.” the man called Keith nodded and Fliss grinned.

“That’s awesome.”

“All down to the golf.” He smiled, gesturing to Mike, Martin and Bill “These guys drag me up there regularly enough.” “Frank hates golf.” Mary said. “Says it ruins a good walk.”

There was a pause as Frank groaned, wanting the ground to open and swallow him. He glared at Mary who looked at him, frowning.

“What?” She asked as Bill suddenly began to roar with laughter, the other men joining in.

Frank shook his head and looked round. “It’s just not my thing…”he said, by means of an explanation. “I prefer playing basket ball or baseball.”

“Each to their own.” The man called Martin beamed. “To be honest when I was your age I hated it too. Was far more into drinking and women.” “Frank likes that too.” Mary said, and Frank then really did give her a look.

“Shut up.” He said, but of course she didn’t as the men continued to laugh.

“Although I’m glad he finally got together with Fliss, because she’s my favourite. Miss Stevenson would not have been a good choice.” Frank groaned again and he felt Fliss beginning to chuckle besides him.

“Miss Stevenson?” Bill asked.

“We don’t need to hear about that…” Frank said, his neck growing hot.

“She’s my teacher.” Mary nodded “She stayed at our house one night. I wasn’t supposed to be there but I saw her coming out of the bathroom wearing Frank’s sheets and…” “Ok, Mary, why don’t we go and see the Cinema Room.” Fliss hastily cut her off as the three men were now all howling with laughter.

“Oh, okay.” she shrugged, before she pondered something “Why was she in your sheets Frank, and not in a towel like Lissy was before?”

At that Bill arched an eyebrow and Fliss felt her cheeks grow warm “I had a shower, I’d mucked twelve stabled out.” There was a pause before she recovered and steered Mary out of the room.

Frank grimaced and looked back round as Bill patted him on the shoulder, wiping tears of mirth out of his eyes. “I bloody love that kid.”

“She’s yours if you want her.” Frank said. “I could gift-wrap her for you. Just say goodbye to your private life being private.”

Thankfully the Cinema Room kept Mary out of the way, especially when she had a stash of popcorn, sweets and soda to keep her occupied. For the next few hours Frank stuck mostly by Fliss’ side, talking to people, chatting to her brother a bit about his job and the business he had taken over from Bill, his kids, but Frank got the impression the man was being a little guarded with him. He was polite enough, and wasn’t being rude but he wasn’t overly warm either. But he supposed that was understandable. She was Fliss’ big brother after all.

Mary came down a few hours later and tugged on Fliss’ hand. Fliss went with her and Frank headed into the kitchen to grab himself another beer after being told by Verity to “stop asking and just go get”. He turned round, flipping the lid off, almost bumping into Bill.

“Sorry.” He apologised to the man who smiled at him as he held the fridge door open.

“There’s someone who just arrived that I want you to meet.” Bill said, gesturing for Frank to follow him. With a slight puzzled frown, he did as he was told and wandered through to the large lounge where a number of people were congregated. 

“Frank, this is Alan Maxwell.” Bill introduced a short, stocky white haired man who was wearing a pair of modern thin-rimmed glasses and a cream blazer over a dark polo necked shirt and dark jeans. Frank took him in, noting his outfit probably cost more than Frank’s entire wardrobe.

“Hi.” Frank smiled, shaking his hand “Frank Adler”

“The boat mechanic?” Alan asked.

“Yeah.” Frank looked at him then to Bill, frowning a little.

“Alan’s in the Repair and Retail business.” Bill offered and Frank gave a nod of understanding.

“I own MarineMax in St Pete’s” Alan smiled.

“Oh on Gulfport?” Frank looked at him and Alan nodded.

“You know it?”

“Yeah, you could say that.” Frank scratch at the back of his neck “I errr, I applied for a job once but I didn’t have the relevant experience so…” Alan looked at Frank for a moment, “How long you been a mechanic now?”

“Over six and a half years.”

“And you’re freelancing?” Frank nodded.

“Good success rate?”

“Over ninety-eight percent.” Frank said. “I mean, I only do one boat at a time because I’ve been juggling my hours around Mary for the last 7 years but…” he shrugged “I have regulars who come back so I must be doing something right.” “Could you get references?”

“Yeah.” Frank nodded “Pretty sure I could.”

“Hmmmm.” Alan looked at Bill who inclined his head towards Frank with a smile.

“I told you, I’ll vouch for him.” he shrugged “He’s sleeping with my daughter after all.”

“Jesus Bill.” Frank groaned as the two men laughed.

“It’s a compliment” Bill smiled “If I didn’t trust you I wouldn’t let you within three foot of her”

“Thanks, I think.” Frank looked at him taking a drink of his beer.

“Come see me next week.” Alan looked at Frank, pulling a card from his wallet and handing it over “I may have a position you’d be interested in.”

“I errr…” Frank was temporarily sideswiped by the suggestion “I…that would be…”

“I know it will be different to freelance but it’s a full time job, full package of benefits and a negotiable wage plus bonus scheme.” Alan said, “I’m not a huge outfit, but I pay my guys well.” Frank nodded, placing the card in his pocket “I’ll stop by.” “Just give me a call the day before and I’ll make sure I’m around.”

“I will.” Frank nodded. “Thank you.”

Frank made his excuses, realising he hadn’t seen Fliss for a while and headed off looking for her. He moved from room to room, realising there was no sign of her or Mary. He headed into the kitchen and then poked his head out of the large bi-folding doors which led onto the large raised decking area which spanned the length of the house.

“Hey.” Frank spotted Fliss’ brother leaning on the railing, lit cigarette in one hand, beer in the other. “You seen Lissy?”

“She was in the living room last time I saw her.” Steve said chuckling slightly, shaking his head.

Frank frowned at the man’s demeanour and Steve noticed, and smiled. “Sorry, just seems strange. Hearing someone else call her Liss or Lissy other than the family.”

“Yeah, well, I kinda picked it up from Bill and it stuck.” Frank smiled.

“Yeah she doesn’t suit Felicity.” Steve shook his head “Although that’s all he ever fucking called her. Apparently nicknames were deemed too common.” “Yeah well, he’s a dick.” Frank shrugged

“No arguments here.” Steve looked at Frank. Frank watched as the man studied him for a second, clearly thinking about something before he returned to leaning on the rail of the decking, looking down over the huge garden area as he took a final drag from the cigarette, before stubbing it out in the fire bucket to his right.

“Okay,” Frank stepped outside, “let’s have it.” “Have what?” Steve asked, looking at him.

“The big brother lecture. The one where you threaten to rip my head off if I hurt your sister.” Frank said as Steve gave a huff of a laugh.

“Well, rest assured I will.” Steve looked at Frank as he too leaned on the railings. “But Dad says you’re a good bloke so, that’ll do for me.” Frank nodded and took a pull of his beer. “I have no intention of hurting her, in anyway.” he said, his voice loaded with meaning and Steve sighed.

“I know.” he said gently “I just, well, I worry.” “Understandable.” Frank nodded, and it was. He got it, he really did.

“I hated that fucker.” Steve shook his head, “right from the start. Smarmy assed, stuck up Yank. Sorry, no offence.” Frank laughed “Non-taken.” he waved Steve’s apology away.

“I know she’s only actually my step-sister but well she was only two when I met her and…”

“Blood doesn’t make you family.” Frank nodded. “If you ever meet my mother you’ll realise that.” “Yeah, Fliss wasn’t very complementary of her.” Steve snorted.

“She called her a cold hearted bitch to her face.” Frank raised an eyebrow as Steve laughed.

“I shouldn’t be pleased at that.” Steve smiled. “But not long ago she wouldn’t have been brave enough to be that outgoing.” “Oh she certainly isn’t backwards in coming forwards.” Frank shook his head

“Something he managed to suck out of her.” Steve sighed.

“You know, I’d love to get that fucker alone in a room” Frank glowered. “Five minutes, that’s all I’d need.” “Get in line.” Steve shrugged, “Behind me and dad.” “Yeah, Fliss said something about there being a queue.”

“The day she said she was moving to Boston to be with him full time, it was the worst day of my life. And Mum and Dad’s” Steve took another drink. “But we knew if we tried to stop her it would give him the perfect excuse to turn her against us. So what could we do but support it?” He hung his head slightly and Frank’s brow furrowed at the man’s open display of vulnerability

“I wish we’d done more, you know, anything, but we didn’t know how bad things had got. Not that he was hurting her, not like that.” “None of it was your fault.” Frank looked at him. “Or your parent’s. Or Fliss’”

“No, I know that but it doesn’t stop any of us feeling guilty.” Steve sighed. “But, anyway, it’s in the past now. That is until he goes for parole, which he will.” Frank shrugged “We’ll greet that when it happens.”

“Yeah?” Steve looked at him. “You ready for all that? Because I guarantee what she’s told you, well it won’t even scratch the surface, Frank.”

“Are you asking me if I’m gonna bail when the going gets tough?”

“Suppose I am, yeah.” Steve looked at him.

Frank took a deep breath and exhaled through his nose, quelling the frustration that was brewing at the man’s questioning, reminding himself that he had a right to worry, a right to be concerned. He’d feel the same if it was Diane in this position.

“Look, Steve, I know she hasn’t told me everything. And I’m not gonna push her to either. It isn’t important to me to know every sordid little detail of what that cunt did to her. What is important is that she’s happy with me, and that she feels safe and knows that I’d never hurt her like that and I sure as hell won’t abandon her when the road gets a little bumpy. She was there for me through a very bad time recently and, well…” Frank shrugged, “even if we decide that what we have isn’t working I’d still be by her side.”

Steve’s face remained passive for a second before it split into a grin “I don’t think there’s any worry about that, Frank. From what I’ve seen this afternoon and this evening, Lissy’s besotted. In fact, I’ve never seen her like this before.” Frank felt his cheeks flush a little and he looked down “Yeah, well, the feeling’s mutual.”

Steve opened his mouth to say something else but they were interrupted.

“My ears burning?” Fliss asked, eyeing the two men up.

“I was just making sure his intentions are honourable.” Fliss rolled her eyes with a snort “his intentions are honourable? What are you, like ninety?”

Steve shrugged “No, but I’m three years older than you and still your big brother Titch.” “Whatever, Steeby.” She moved over to where Frank was stood and slid under his arm. “Quit with the 3rd degree or I’ll tell Mum you’ve been smoking.”

“You wouldn’t!” he said in mock horror as she raised an eyebrow. Steve turned to Frank and raised his eyebrow, jerking his head towards his sister “Sure you know what you’re letting yourself in for?”

Frank laughed “her bark is worse than her bite…owww!” he said, as she nipped his arm.

“Sure it is.” Steve winked as h pushed himself off the railing and headed inside.

“Was he being an ass hole?” Fliss watched him go before she turned to Frank and he chuckled, pulling her closer.

“No,not at all.” he said, dropping a kiss to her lips “Where’s Mary?”

“With Dad in the living room with the guys from the golf club.” she said, shrugging.

“No doubt revealing more of my dark secrets.” Frank groaned.

Fliss laughed “Nah, she’s got her lego. Bill and her will have some kind of building contest going on no doubt.”

“I told her to leave those in the annex.” Frank shook his head. “She did. I took her to get them.” Fliss shrugged

“Seriously?” Frank looked at her, rolling his eyes.

“What? She was bored and wanted something to do.”

“You’re a pain in my ass.” he said, his arms circling her and she grinned as he dropped a kiss to her lips.

“Hush, Sailor, you love it.” she smirked against his mouth.

“Yeah, yeah I do.” he muttered, pulling her closer for a deeper kiss.

******

It was about midnight when the party started filtering out. Mary was crashed out on one of the sofas so Frank suggested they call it a night and Fliss, feeling the effects of a fair amount of alcohol, agreed. They made their goodbyes and Frank easily scooped Mary up and the three of them made their way, a little slower than usual, to the annex.

Once they’d roused Mary and she’d changed for bed Frank tucked her in, in the bed in the spare room and she was flat out before he even closed the door. He headed into Fliss’ room and laughed as she was led on the bed with her legs over the edge, feet flat on the floor. She was wearing just her bra and jeans, and her arm was bent over her eyes.

“My jeans are too tight.” she said.

“What?” Frank laughed.

“I can’t be bothered to take them off.” She leant up on her elbows and ginned at him “Wanna help me out Sailor?”

“Happily.” he grinned, and moved towards her but she stopped him.

“Ah ah.” she pointed to his polo-shirt. “Off.” With an arch of his eyebrow he reached back and grabbed a fist full of his shirt, pulling it over his head. “Better?”

“Yup.” she nodded as he moved towards her, gently dropping down and undoing her jeans. With a tug he pulled them down over her thighs, his hands softly tracing up her skin as she sighed, before his lips met hers.

“You were a hit in there.” she smiled gently, her fingers tracing the muscles on his arms as he propped himself up over her.

“Yeah?” he asked, gently shifting so that she moved with him, laying further up the bed.

She nodded. “Charmed the pants off all the posh bastards you did, Adler.” “There’s only one person I’m interested in charming the pants off.” He quipped and she laughed, shaking her head.

“Smooth.” “Is it working?”

She glanced down. “Nope, they’re still on.”

“Guess I’ll have to use my hands then.” He said, and with a quick move down he slid them over her ankles and gently pressed his lips to her knee, trailing soft kisses up the inside of her leg, nipping at the inside of her thigh. Fliss gave a soft sigh as he moved, his short beard scratching at her skin as he moved, her hands fisting in the sheets. When he reached his target he gently placed a long lick up her entrance. Instinctively, one of her hands fisted in his hair before she hastily moved it and Frank paused, reaching up, and placing it back where it had been.

“I like it.” He peeked up at her, a cheeky look on his face before he dropped his head back down and Fliss’s head fell back against her pillow as she gave a shaky moan.

She couldn’t remember the last time a man had gone down on her. John had certainly never done it, making it clear from the start he found it disgusting, but still happy to shove his dick in her mouth when he wanted a blow. But Frank ate her out like a man starved, moving his mouth as he paid attention to how her body reacted and when he found her spot, she gave a cry, her back arching off the bed, and she felt him double his efforts, his lips and tongue teasing her, in a delectable way. Pleasure lanced through her entire body, the heat rising from her very toes and as she felt her orgasm rising her fingers tightened on his hair and he gave a low moan at her touch, which vibrated through his mouth right against her clit and that was it. Her hips bucked upwards as she came, hard, her knees tightened slightly around his head, her arm flying to her mouth to stifle her loud moan.

Working her through her release, Frank moved back, stripping off the remainder of his clothes before he crawled up her body again, kissing his way up from her naval to her chest. She arched her back and he reached around to unhook her bra before he set his attention to her breasts. Fuck, he could listen to the noises and whimpers she was making all day but after a week he was aching for her.

“You got any…” he started to ask softly and she nodded, her hand gesturing to her bedside table. He paused and pulled open the drawer, and had to smirk as he saw the new, full packet of condoms in there. Pulling one out he opened it, whilst Fliss gently gave his dick a stroke causing him to hiss slightly, his fingers fumbling on the foil and she grinned.

“Something distracting you, Sailor?” “You know damned well what’s distracting me.” His voice was almost a growl as her hand moved over his whilst he rolled the latex down.

Her giggle turned to a moan as he buried himself inside her, his entire body feeling coiled like a spring, and his thrusts began slow, and deep before soon she was begging for more and he picked up the pace, each movement rolling against her spot, causing her to breathlessly whisper his name as he buried his face into her neck, nipping and biting at that spot that drove her wild. At some point she moved, gently pushing on his shoulders, and he understood, rolling onto his back. She straddled him, pulling her long hair over one shoulder as she leaned down to draw him into a deep, sultry kiss before she sank down onto him, taking him in.

“Fuck, Lissy,” he said, his hands gently gripping her hips as she began to move, rolling her pelvis, “God you feel so good.” She preened at his praise, yup, she definitely had a praise kink, and her pace quickened as she leaned forward again to kiss him, a moan falling from her mouth as he raised his hips to meet hers, his fingers tightening on her hips. Frank looked up at her, her mouth slack, lips plump, freckles still visible in the soft light from the outside lights, breasts bouncing softly as she moved.

“So beautiful.” He whispered, sitting up and she cried out at the change of depth as he pulled her close, thrusting up into her.

“Frankie, I’m…” and with a low whine her head tipped back as her release washed over her for the second time that night, a slow, deep burn which left her slack in his arms, as she collapsed forward. After a few more desperate thrusts he was right behind her, clinging to her, his face buried into her shoulder, his own groans stifled in her skin.

They stayed like that for a little while, both recovering, hands softly dancing over skin before he leaned up to give her a soft kiss.

“Thank you.” She whispered and he pulled back, frowning a little.

“What for?”

“For making me feel good. For making me feel wanted.” She swallowed, tears filling her eyes and Frank let out a sigh, his arms curling round her, pulling her close, his own chest tightening at her words as he understood instantly that it was clearly something she wasn’t used to.

“You deserve it.” He spoke softly, , “Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise.”

She moved back, her hands cupping his cheeks as she gave him another deep kiss, her lips curling into a smile and Frank smiled back, before he kissed her again.  

***** Frank woke the next morning and, as he blinked, he realised he was alone. Sitting up he rubbed his eyes, and could hear soft voices from elsewhere in the annex. Grabbing his phone he looked down and with a start realised it was past ten.  Running a hand over his face, he climbed out of bed, grabbed his bag and retrieved a clean pair of boxers and a t-shirt before retrieving his jeans which were now folded and placed over the back of the chair by Fliss’ vanity unit. After sorting himself in the bathroom he made his way downstairs and found Fliss and Mary sat outside in the small yard, an array of breakfast items on the table. Fliss long hair was pulled into a messy pony tail and she was wearing an oversized shirt and a pair of denim jeans. Even like that she looked effortlessly gorgeous.

“Morning.” He greeted, stepping out onto the decking and Fliss smiled at him.

“Hey.” She smiled, accepting the kiss he dropped onto her cheek before he sat down next to her. “Sleep well.”

“Hmmm I was tired for some reason.” He quipped, causing her to grin.

“Fliss says I can go ride Monty today.” Mary looked at Frank. “Is that ok?”

“It’s not your week for a lesson.” Frank spoke.“And it’s Friday.”

“It’s ok.” Fliss smiled. “The riding school is shut. Joanne’s done the morning shift so we can just go up this afternoon. I need to work Cap and Bronson but she can ride if she wants.” “Please.” Mary looked at Frank who sighed.

“I’ve gotta nip to the boat yard.” he looked at her. “Got some guy who needs a motor looking at and I said I’d meet him today.” “I don’t wanna go to the boat yard.”  Mary pouted.

“It’s okay, she can come with me.” Fliss offered “I don’t mind, honestly.”

Frank hesitated, he didn’t want Fliss to think she was obliged to take Mary. He knew that the pair of them came as a package but still.

“You sure?” Frank asked. “Roberta would normally take her but she’s not back until tomorrow.”

“Yeah, its fine.” Fliss nodded “She can help me and Joanne.”

“Okay then, yeah, you can go.”

Mary grinned and turned her attention back to her book.

“You want breakfast?” Fliss asked, moving to stand.

“I’ll get it. You stay there.” Frank offered, but Mary suddenly jumped up.

“No it’s okay, we made you something special…” With that she shot into the kitchen.

“Special?” Frank looked at Fliss, and she grinned as his lips met hers.

“Yeah.” she nodded to Mary who emerged from the kitchen, giggling. Frank gave a snort of a laugh and shook his head as she thrust the box of Special K into his hands.

“Thanks…” he deadpanned, rolling his eyes.

**** Chapter 12

[hldailyupdate]

How the joyous ‘Treat People With Kindness’ video came together

Directors Gabe and Ben Turner on how Fleabag became the launchpad for Harry Styles' ‘Treat People With Kindness’ music video

Like most good stories, Harry Styles’ video for “Treat People With Kindness” starts with Fleabag, specifically with a meeting at Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s hit London theatre run, which became the launchpad for the joyous black and white video, released on New Year’s Day.

Working with a team now synonymous with Styles' videos (choreographer Paul Roberts and stylist Harry Lambert, to name a few), it was directed by brothers Gabe and Ben Turner (part of the production company Fulwell 73), whose work has spanned One Direction videos ("Steal My Girl", “History”) and Styles' solo track “Golden” and who produced the documentaries I Am Bolt (2016) and Hitsville: The Making Of Motown (2019).

Here, Gabe and Ben tell us the story of when Harry met Phoebe and how “Treat People With Kindness” came together.

Gabe, you tweeted that the video was shot at the beginning of last year. How did it come together?

Gabe Turner: Harry and I went to watch Phoebe do her live Fleabag show in London. We met Phoebe and she was the kindest, most delightful person ever. The next day I was watching dance videos randomly and one of them was this Nicholas Brothers video from the 1920s. It was two brothers dancing. I said to Harry, “You and Phoebe, question mark.” And he messaged back saying, “Treat People With Kindness”. Then he called Phoebe and was like, “I've got this song. I want to do a video. What about me and you doing this dance routine?” And she was like, “Great." And then the two of them called Paul Roberts, the choreographer.

Ben Turner: This isn't always how our life is. This isn't the regular process. But once the touchpaper got lit, it just went off. Every now and then something comes along where all the dominoes fall perfectly.

GT: Harry and Phoebe worked with [choreographers] Paul Roberts and Jared Hageman. The four of them rehearsed all the time, remotely, wherever they were. Whatever projects they were doing, the choreographers would go with them and work on their steps. We would get sent video updates for them as they were rehearsing and learning. We were like, “This is amazing.” We had been to the Troxy for the Bugsy Malone Secret Cinema, so we were like, “That would be a great place to do this.”

You make it sound easy.

BT: That momentum that Gabe's describing, that's what made it easy. It was plenty of hard work, but once it started, it just came together.

What was the turnaround like for the video?

BT: We just did it fast, in the space of a few months.

GT: There is a process for how music videos get made. Directors pitch for them, they come up with their creative, present it and there’s a process to go through. This one was already happening before any of that process. It was pure art from Harry and Phoebe, going, “We're going to connect and make this amazing thing and it will come out when it comes out.” As a creative to work in that way is totally joyous. You're just facilitating greatness.

What was it like to shoot?

BT: This is also easy, in a way, because the choreography means that [Harry's] going to be here at this point and there at that [point]. You knew exactly where they were going to be in the room. We went back and forward a bit on how to weave the story into the choreography so it wasn't just a dance routine. By the time we got onto set, that was quite well planned. The nice thing is being more prepared, you can try to feed in a bit of latitude to things. I know because we've worked with Harry for a long time that the camera doesn't just love him. The camera wants to marry him and run off with him and probably never come back. So we know to give a little bit of space for that to happen. Obviously to have Phoebe there with him as well is totally bonkers. And, again, the camera loves her. It was exciting for us to talk about how to execute things with someone who we admire so much.

GT: When you go to the Troxy there's a hidden stage at the top. Ben had an idea of coming down from the hidden stage to reveal Harry, then setting a scene up of [Phoebe] at the top. She was brilliantly collaborative in discussing what kind of role she was going to play.

What notes did you talk through with Phoebe about her character?

BT: This song's called "Treat People With Kindness”, so it feels like there's a distance to cover in the narrative. You start on the Marsellus Wallace shot, out of Pulp Fiction. We wanted to get a sense that this was a kind of tough guy and there was the opposite of people being treated with kindness around the place. But the conversation went from [Phoebe] being a character that stood up to him to, actually, if you look at it, [she] wipes a tear off of his eye, which is so beautiful.

GT: Ben was just obsessed with casting the back of people's heads for the first shot.

What makes a good back of the head?

BT: I'm talking about how many folds of skin at the top, the optimum shape. Someone [said] that Bruce Willis had a fantastic shaped dome of a head and it really turned me on to the shape of a bald head, because it can be really beautiful.

GT: I find a lot of the music videos that we do, there'll always be a shot from a film that inspires something.

Aside from breaking the fourth wall at the end, the Pulp Fiction shot and the Nicholas Brothers, what other reference points or Easter eggs did you include?

BT: We love the Marx Brothers, Danny Kaye and those physical comedians. I love Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire. We’re also obsessed by Bugsy Malone. Busby Berkeley... I don't think there was much Busby Berkeley in this.

GT: At the end there's a tiny bit, but Busby Berkeley has actually been used as a reference in quite a few music videos. We love that stuff. But we didn't want to go too into that symmetry and the choreography, because it didn't feel as fresh

What have you learned from Harry, after working together for so long?

BT: He's on a really interesting journey and we are lucky to be a bit of that journey with him. It's really rewarding to dip into that and try to facilitate some of that as we go along. There's a lot that he's in touch with that I'm not. I'm quite a lot older than him. I'm not as cool as him.

(12 January 2021)

[whatstheproblembaby]

Fic: Points of Contact

PG-13, 2325 words, intended to be a character study but just kind of turned into a pile of fluff and banter? /shrugs

Also on AO3.

As much as she loved a quiet meal at home with her family, Shelagh appreciated their monthly invitations to dinner at Nonnatus House. The little ones were in ecstasy, surrounded by all of their favorite adults, who had no excuses not to play with them. She herself got to enjoy a meal in which she only had to cook one of the dishes, and now that Cyril and Fred were part of the guest list, she knew that Patrick looked forward to a little time with “the lads,” as he was (unfortunately) wont to call them.

She felt a smile blossom across her face as she re-entered the dining area from the kitchen, fresh cup of tea in hand. The others had adjourned to the parlour, where they were waiting for Doctor Who to start. Patrick, Cyril, and Fred had all dragged dining chairs to the far side of the room and were chatting away animatedly, though Cyril kept turning his gaze to the television every so often, clearly not wanting to miss a moment of the show. Sister Monica Joan was on a low stool, no more than a foot of space between her and the screen. Her focus, though, was on the children, who were listening somewhat attentively to her explanation of what to expect from the programme. Violet had had to step out on council business, so Sister Julienne and Phyllis had commandeered the armchairs, leaving the rest of the nuns and nurses to pile onto the sofa or sprawl out on the surrounding floor. Shelagh scanned the space, trying to see where she could squeeze in, when a gesture between Trixie and Sister Frances stopped her cold.

Trixie had perched on the arm of the sofa, one arm draped across Sister Frances’ shoulders. Even that level of public affection was a surprise to Shelagh, who hadn’t realized that Trixie’s comfort with casual, friendly touches extended past her fellow resident midwives, but Sister Frances’ response was the real stunner.

Sister Frances leaned contentedly into Trixie’s loose embrace, tucking her head as best she could onto Trixie’s shoulder and throwing her right arm over one of Trixie’s legs. She showed no fear of being caught doing something improper - indeed, Sister Julienne looked on with a smile as Sister Hilda finished relating an anecdote and the whole sofa burst into laughter.

Shelagh felt her breath catch. She only realized she had been hovering in the doorway a little too long when a concerned “Shelagh?” came from Patrick’s side of the room.

“Forgot to add milk,” she quipped, raising her cup and hoping the laugh she added at the end sounded less forced to everyone else’s ears. She turned and headed back to the kitchen, where she rummaged through the refrigerator with unseeing eyes.

A religious Sister is holy and separate, Sister Adelaide’s voice swam up from her memories. She rejoices and mourns with the community she serves, but she is not of the community. She cannot confuse the comforts of being a sister of man with her higher purpose fulfilling God’s commands with her Sisters in Christ.

Shelagh pressed her lips together wryly as she imagined Sister Adelaide’s reaction to the current display in the parlour. She knew her former instructor in the religious life had since passed on, but she hadn’t realized quite how different the lessons for the newer Sisters would be.

“My love, are you sure you’re all right?” Patrick reached down and took her teacup, setting it on the counter before securing both of her hands in his. “You’re taking an awfully long time to add milk to your already milky tea.”

“Maybe I want the extra calcium,” Shelagh said, smiling up at him. “These old bones could use some shoring up.”

“I’m not even going to respond to that statement, in order to not incriminate myself in the process,” Patrick said with an echoing smile. The love in his eyes still caught Shelagh off-guard, even after years of marriage. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I’m fine, Patrick,” Shelagh said tenderly. “The times have changed, that’s all. Now, we’d better get back to the parlour before Sister Monica Joan turns all of our children into mystics and Romantic poets.”

Patrick huffed out a laugh. “You know I’m going to ask you to explain what you mean by that first statement later.”

“I will. I just need a little more time to process it for myself first.”

Shelagh noticed the sensation of Patrick’s hand on the small of her back a little more acutely than usual as he guided her back to the party, marking how he removed it once they were properly in mixed company. Later, too, she became aware of how there was always a careful space left for her amongst the women, close enough to ensure she was included, but not so small that she was nudged playfully in the shoulder or brushed by someone crossing their legs to the other side.

The warm weight of her son in her arms at the end of the evening was her anchor. Teddy was dozing off by the time they left, and May and Angela weren’t too far behind. Thankfully, Sister Julienne offered to carry Angela out to their car to keep Patrick or Shelagh from having to make two trips down the stairs.

“Thank you for inviting us to dinner. We always have such a lovely time,” Shelagh said, rocking Teddy as she waited for Patrick to settle May in the back seat of the station wagon.

“The pleasure is all ours, Shelagh,” Sister Julienne said. She reached out and squeezed Shelagh’s arm once, maternally. “You know you’re part of our family. You are always welcome here.”

Shelagh just smiled, unsure of what her voice would do if she tried to respond aloud. By then, Patrick had secured May, so she focused on getting Teddy into the car next without waking him or disturbing the girls. Once all was in order, she and Patrick wished Sister Julienne a good night and waited for her to get back inside safely before they drove off.

In the car, Patrick started to say her name, but Shelagh cut him off by sliding across the bench seat and dropping her head on his shoulder.

“Get us home, Patrick. I’ll explain once we’ve got the children squared away for the night.”

The ride home was quiet, the soft sound of the radio the only real noise as Patrick navigated the streets of Poplar. Shelagh eventually shifted so her hand was resting loosely on Patrick’s above the gear shift, to allow him to manoeuvre the car better, but she stayed close by his side as they unloaded their children and got them in bed, earning a pleased yet confused look from her husband.

“You’re tactile this evening,” he observed mildly, wrapping his arm around her shoulders as they walked down the hall to their own room.

“I’m tactile plenty of evenings,” Shelagh replied, handing Patrick his pyjamas from the wardrobe before fetching her own. “I just don’t always allow myself to act on it.”

“Because of-” Patrick broke off, freeing himself from his vest before continuing, “Because of something I’ve done? Shelagh, I’m so-”

“Not because of you, Patrick,” Shelagh said decisively. “Quite the opposite, in fact. But I’m not explaining while you’re changing - I don’t want you to smother yourself with your own clothing!”

They separated long enough to get their pyjamas on and wash up for the night, giving Shelagh one last moment to collect her thoughts.

“Come here,” Patrick said when she reentered the bedroom, holding his arms open from where he sat on his side of the bed. “If you’re still allowing yourself to be tactile, that is.”

Shelagh slid under the covers and into his arms gratefully. “I’m going to try. I don’t want to display too much affection in public, but...I think I may have been holding myself to old-fashioned standards.”

Patrick just raised an eyebrow, looking down at her with curiosity.

“Tonight, at Nonnatus, I saw Trixie and Sister Frances cuddle up to each other without a second thought, and I didn’t know what to do for a moment,” Shelagh explained. “When I was a Sister, casual physical touch was not encouraged. One was supposed to focus on one’s commitment to God to find sustenance and support. Perhaps after one’s life vows, or at a funeral for another Sister, there could be a quick embrace, but on a typical day, there should be space between one and one’s Sisters on the sofa at recreation, and one should not even think about touching or embracing a layperson unless they were experiencing labor, bereavement, or a medical emergency.”

“Really?” Patrick asked. “I’ve always thought of the Sisters as the most nurturing community presence - but now that you say that, I can’t count many times I’ve seen them actually offer a hug. An encouraging squeeze of the arm, perhaps, or a parcel of food or clothing if it serves.”

“We were expected to love as God loves, of course,” Shelagh said. “But there were ways we could do that while staying ‘holy and separate.’ Or so I was taught.”

“It would appear that whichever Sister was in charge of your lessons isn’t instructing anymore.”

“No, she’s long gone, may she rest in peace. And perhaps this new embrace of - well - embracing others is more of a Nonnatus trend than a result of any teachings from the Mother House. Still, it caught me by surprise tonight.” Shelagh tucked her head into the crook of Patrick’s neck as she finished speaking.

Patrick kissed Shelagh’s temple. “Because you were uncomfortable?”

“Because I was jealous,” Shelagh replied. She closed her eyes briefly to hide her embarrassment at saying so, but when she straightened up and looked at Patrick again, she saw nothing but understanding in his eyes, emboldening her to go on. “I spent ten years of my life keeping my distance from other people, believing it was the right way to show my devotion to God and my vows to Him. Still, I saw every moment I could have hugged a frightened mother and didn’t, or every moment I refrained from comforting one of the resident nurses at Nonnatus. I didn’t even let you hold me in public for the first year of our marriage because I was afraid everyone would think I was so starved for affection that I left the church the first time a man so much as looked at me. And now the Sisters can just casually curl up with the nurses on the couch in the parlour?”

Shelagh couldn’t restrain her frustrated tears any longer. Before the first of them were even finished trickling down her cheeks, she found herself wrapped in Patrick’s arms, her head cradled against his shoulder. He murmured soothing nonsense in her ear, assuring her he was in no rush for her to pull herself back together.

“I’m sorry, Patrick, I got you soaked,” Shelagh said once she was finally able to sit upright again.

Patrick wiped her cheeks with his thumbs. “You’ve done nothing wrong. I see the reasoning behind what you were taught as a Sister, but good intent doesn’t make up for years of you suppressing instincts that are now being supported by that very same institution.”

“Thankfully, I’ve also had years to work on retraining myself,” Shelagh said, a tentative smile on her face. “You’ve been quite helpful there.”

Patrick’s forehead crinkled. “I have?”

“Maybe not in so many words, but you reached for my hand when I was still afraid to name what I was feeling for you. You wrapped me in your coat when I was lost and cold on the road back to Poplar. You’ve held me time and time again as I’ve cried without me having to say a word - not five minutes ago, even! You have shown me that physical affection can be simple, natural, and meaningful, and it doesn’t diminish the quality of our love or our professionalism.”

“And here I thought I was merely capitalizing on my chances to show my devotion to my lovely wife,” Patrick said, squeezing Shelagh’s hands where they lay in his own. “I’ll always be here if and when you reach out, Shelagh.”

“I know, Patrick. I’ve always known that.” Shelagh leaned up to kiss her husband at that. “And I’m going to let myself reach out to you and to our friends more. I don’t want to give people a show, of course, but I’ve barely let myself hold your hand in public out of concern for propriety. I think we’re still within the bounds of good taste if we go a little beyond that, don’t you?”

“I should say so,” Patrick said, pressing another kiss to Shelagh’s smile. “But I could have a hidden agenda.”

“A hidden agenda? I’m not sure what you mean,” Shelagh teased, rolling onto her back and pulling Patrick on top of her.

“Let me explain.” Patrick leaned down and proceeded to illuminate his agenda quite thoroughly, adding a few items to Shelagh’s own in the process. When they had finally finished, Shelagh curled up with her head on Patrick’s chest, feeling sleep begin to claim her.

“Somehow I don’t think I’m going to add any of what we just did to my ideas of what’s appropriate in public,” she murmured, laughing softly. “But I’m happy for some things to remain just for us.”

“There’s a time and a place for everything,” Patrick agreed.

The last thing Shelagh felt before drifting off was a light kiss to her hair, an action she was all too willing to repeat the next morning as they opened up the surgery. The almost comical look of shock on Miss Higgins’ face in result gave her another reason to keep pushing her former boundaries - after all, where else was she going to find this level of amusement?

[rosaliepostsstuff]

Chapter 13 - Of varying challenges, unexpected outbursts and nightly excursions

series masterlist

warnings: mentions of food and eating, sexual references, alcohol and underage drinking

word count: 3706

tags: @gloryekaterina ; @thatguppienamedbae ; @sagittarius-flowerchild ; @scoobiessnacks ; @pandaxnienke ; @harrysweasleys ; @ickle-ronniekins ; @hufflepuff5972 ; @calmspencer ; @izzyyy-1 ; @amourtentiaa ; @thisismynerdyself ; @hufflepuffalice ; @barneswidow ; @lumos-barnes ; @slytherclawbitch ; @weasleygrapes ; @famdomhideout ; @mollenniumfalcon ; @accioweaslcy ; @freddie1978 ; @weasleysprofessionalhoe ; @lunarlovegoodx ; @lalasunny ;

Morning took you by surprise. You couldn’t remember laying in bed much before falling asleep, or the very moment itself. It was almost as if you blinked, though when you opened your eyes it was 8 hours later.

All of last evening felt surreal. How could it be? After weeks, or months even, of emotional swings, you’d finally confessed to George? And he confessed back? Your best friend of over 6 years..?

You couldn’t fully cross out the possibility of the last couple of months being a wild fever dream.

“Morning,” Alicia muttered sleepily, following with a yawn. “You awake..?” “Mhmm… good morning,” you replied.

Angelina was already up and dressed. She was sitting by her desk, and once you saw her mischievous smile when she turned to you, you knew last night really had happened. Because this girl was just as excited about you getting the boyfriend of your dreams, as yourself.

When you walked down the stairs, the boys were already there – Fred and Lee sitting on the back of the couch and George standing in front of them. They were laughing about something, you were graced with the sound and the sight of George’s laughter the moment you stepped into the room, for a lovely start of the day.

Once Fred noticed you, you waved at them as a greeting. George’s facial expression mirrored yours - a dreamy smile, widening with every second and every step you took in his direction. Fred and Lee left, having said hi to you, muttering teasingly about letting the lovebirds have a moment to themselves.

“Morning,” you said, beaming at him with your arms outstretched. You didn’t particularly lean in to kiss him when you approached him, but George clearly went in for a hug. “Morning, love,” he replied, squeezing you tight against himself. You felt a tiny pang of disappointment in that millisecond; wondering, whether you should’ve kissed him yourself right away if you wanted to, or if maybe, he’d kiss you in a moment. Being in a relationship was a new thing to you on its own, let alone being in a relationship with George.

Yet he leaned back with a shy smile, his hands were slowly sliding back along your sides, probably ready to let go, perhaps to take your hand. He looked as if he was about to say something, but he didn’t, noticing you glance at him expectantly without even knowing. “Hmm..?” he mumbled and you felt yourself blush a bit. You couldn’t really give this one a surprise kiss, either, with his height. So you looked at him cheekily, puckering out your lips.

You saw the realisation flash through his gaze, then a glimmer of his confidence exhibited in a small smirk. He leaned in and kissed you sweetly on the lips.

“I keep forgetting I can just do that, now,” he chuckled, before giving you another kiss on the cheek. “Not only you can, but I’d also say it’s encouraged,” you said shyly, lowering your gaze for a moment and biting on your bottom lip. He gave you an appraising sort of look with a defiant smile, standing back straight.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, giving your waist a light squeeze before letting go, to take one of your hands as the two of you went on your way to the Great Hall. “Did you sleep well?” “I did, actually. Very well, even. And you?” you questioned back with care. “Mhm,” he nodded, “wanna hear what I dreamed of?” You giggled. “I don’t know, do I?” you quipped, giving him a suggestive look.

He choked a laugh, looking at you surprised. He cleared his throat, before explaining himself – “it was all decent.”

“I’m worried he’s just saying that,” you admitted to Fred and George, sitting by the breakfast table. Lee sat separately, with his girlfriend, so you were left alone with those two.

In the beginning, you found yourself speaking to George quietly, sometimes even in a whisper. You were conscious about how you referred to him, as did he, avoiding pet names that would otherwise slip your tongues. For a while you ate mostly in silence, Fred’s eyes kept glancing between you and George as if looking for some physical changes in you; like huge, flashing letters saying ‘I’m in a relationship’. Yet no matter how hard he looked, the two of you looked just the same as 24 hours before – excluding your facial expressions and general demeanour.

This prompted you to try and shift the atmosphere a bit, thinking of a new conversation topic. That’s how you started talking about how the three of you disappointed Lee as a group of friends when he wanted to introduce his girlfriend to you officially. Since then, you had all apologised, and Lee being himself – did not hold a grudge for long, but you still felt bad.

“Why would he,” Fred shrugged, “if he says he forgives us, then he forgives us.” “Granted, he did call us a couple of interesting names in the privacy of our dorm room-“ added George, to which Fred quickly interjected “-and interestingly, he seems to have left you out in that,” turning to you. “… To his own luck,” muttered George. “Anyway, he had his rant, he’s not hiding his feelings.”

“Nonetheless, we should probably make up for it. And we still haven’t even met the girl,” you pointed out. “True…” George agreed. Fred craned his neck, looking around the great hall. “You think they’re eating in a broom cupboard? I can’t see him anywhere… and I wanted to see what she looks like…”

“Let’s just meet up in the Three Broomsticks, then,” George proposed. “… treat them both to loads of butterbeer..?” you added. “Yeah,” he mumbled, clearly finding this the best solution. “Freddie?” He shrugged. “Sounds good to me.”

With that bit settled, you were still left with a whole day on your hands, torn between your sense of responsibility – with a few homework assignments left to do, and there was always some studying to be done – and spending time with your boyfriend.

“D’you have any plans for today..?” you asked George. “Nothing in particular, why?” “I should do some schoolwork…” “We’ll probably just hang about, mess around…” George pondered. “… do some work, make some business…” added Fred. “Yeah.” “I think I’ll go to the library after lunch, then,” you decided, practising some self-discipline.

Almost a couple of hours of sitting in the library passed before you started to seriously doubt your self-discipline. The assignments you still had to do seemed less and less grave, you were more and more sure, that the time you had left was more than plenty. Just a bit more, and then we’ll take the rest of the afternoon off – you told yourself, planning out your presentation for ancient runes.

Sucked into your work, used to people walking around the library to access the books they needed, you hadn’t noticed a familiar pair of footsteps approach you.

“Everything going well?” George asked, sliding into the seat next to you and effectively startling you. “Good Merlin!” you exclaimed, yet cautious enough not to attract Madam Pince’s attention. George rubbed your shoulder apologetically with a sheepish smile. “It’s… alright,” you answered, not mentioning the fact that you were about to give up. “Want any help?” “Help..? You want to help me with my homework? And how’s yours going?” you snickered. You had usually been the one to nag George about completing and handing his assignments in, as both he and Fred thought that their presence in class alone exceeded expectations. “I’ll have you know that I’ve been on top of my homework lately, handing everything in, on time, like a good boy,” he defended himself, holding a hand over his heart, as you hummed in acknowledgement. “Thank you, Georgie, I’ll be fine on my own with this.” “’kay then, I’ll just keep my girl company,” he concluded.

You felt your heart flutter at being called his girl, thinking this would really take some time getting used to. And you knew one thing for certain – you’d have to do some more work now.

The next day, more like usual, you woke up before the boys. Not all that hungry, you decided to hang out on your own in the common room a bit, in case they did come downstairs before the time for breakfast would be over.

Fred was the one to wake up first, while George slept in on a Sunday morning. He walked downstairs and the two of you went to have breakfast on your own.

Once you were sitting by the table, you felt one thing hanging over you – no matter how awkward it may have seemed.

“You know he thought we were going out?” you blurted out without providing further context at first. “Like, you and I, actually seeing each other,” you muttered as if the concept was possible only in some totally alternate universe.

Fred snickered quietly. “Thanks, love.” “Oh, you know what I mean.” Fred smiled to himself at how much he did know, that George thought him and you were a thing; the image of drunk George trying to fight him still quite fresh in his mind. No point in telling you that. “Yeah. Being a teenager in love seems like a real pain in the ass, makes me glad to be single.” “Really..?” you asked with a hint of disbelief in your voice, and Fred shrugged.

And you realised, that suddenly, all that pain in the ass was irrelevant to you. Being a teenager in love meant the constant possibility of stupid misunderstandings and pointless jealousy, causing so much emotional pain – you’d gone through so much of it in the last months, yet the morning you woke up as George’s girlfriend, all of that seemed tiny in comparison to the happiness and excitement that love brought. It seemed irrelevant.

Excitement made your heartbeat slightly faster, as you made your way to the Three Broomsticks with George and Fred – about to meet Lee and Tara, his girlfriend.

You had been informed, or rather threatened, by Fred, that should you and George act too couple-y during that meeting, successfully making him an absolute third wheel, he’d convince Tara that you’re actually a throuple. Neither you nor George would put it past him and you’d rather spare yourself the awkwardness of explaining to the girl that your boyfriend’s twin brother is just a nutter.

When you arrived, Tara and Lee had already been inside, saving a booth. You immediately recognised the girl, and as the conversation slowly unravelled, you understood more and more, why the relationship had been secret for so long.

Tara was a 7th year Hufflepuff who you shared a few classes with, yet you’ve never exchanged a word with her. Mostly because of the fact that the girl kept to herself. She was clearly very shy, especially if one’s used to being friends with George, Fred and Lee. She warmed up, though, and you quickly saw just how sweet of a personality she had. You had to keep yourself from ‘aww’-ing, seeing her and Lee together. Though you couldn’t help wondering - how the relationship came about.

“Soo… how did the two of you meet?” you decided to ask and you could see the girl blush a bit. “I… I lost a bracelet in the quidditch stands once, and as I kept looking and looking for it, Lee came to help me,” she explained. “I thought she was cute, I couldn’t not try my luck. So I kept going after her in class until she agreed to go out with me.” “I thought you were nice, I was just… shy,” Tara giggled melodically and you couldn’t fight the grin off your face. At some point during that story, George’s hand snaked behind your back to rest on your waist and you felt content.

Going back to the castle you concluded, you wouldn’t mind if Tara made a permanent addition to your regular group of friends.

On Tuesdays, you had charms before lunch. George had moved to sit next to you permanently and behind you, past Alicia, Angelina and Fred, sat Tara next to Lee.

Charms lessons were never particularly organised, Professor Flitwick, even though a brilliant teacher, did not have the talent of keeping a class quiet, like Professor McGonagall or Snape, for example. Most times, the lecture part of the class was somewhat civilised – most people were listening to whatever Flitwick was teaching (at least with one ear).

But that day, no one seemed to pay attention to the man pouring his heart out at the front of the class. Students were chatting, reading magazines, playing exploding snap or practising spells – completely unrelated to the lesson’s topic.

You were guilty as well, charmed by George’s handsome face you sat pretty much with your back turned to the Professor. You were giggling at your boyfriends jokes as he held your hand upon the desktop, playing with it. He even brought up the topic of Valentine’s Day coming up in less than two weeks, when an unlikely event happened.

Professor Flitwick had had enough. You were quite sure you had never heard him produce a sound as loud as when he yelled at you all. His usually immaculate hairstyle became dishevelled as he let go of all his pent up emotions.

Once he was done shouting, the class was silent like never before.

“It is high time you all learn some self-discipline and organisation and do something productive in your 7th year, NEWT-level class. You will make groups or you may work alone if you like, and for next week’s class, I want each group to invent a charm. I expect to have each group’s composition on my desk, by tomorrow afternoon,” he instructed sternly. “Class dismissed.”

With your jaw still slightly opened, you glanced to your side at George. His eyebrow was raised and he seemed almost impressed. Turning to your friends at the back, you involuntarily spoke in almost a whisper, even as most people were already shuffling out of the classroom. “Do we work together? The five of us..?”

Inventing a spell was quite simple, but still not easy. It’s not something that’s taught usually, either. Tara, Lee, Fred, George and you were currently sitting around a table in the library, trying to come up with what kind of charm you could even invent, for a start.

“That’s rubbish… there’s already a charm for everything..!” Fred complained, tapping his fingernails on the table. He was right, everything you came up with already had a charm for it. “Let’s invent a charm that you can use instead of having to shower,” Lee proposed with enthusiasm. “Good luck with that. If it were so easy, you think no one would’ve invented it already? There’s a scouring charm, but no charm for washing your own stinky body?” you said pessimistically. “How about a charm you could dry your soaked robes with? There’s the hot air charm, but what if we made something that would make the water just vanish, or evaporate instantly?” George elaborated. “But what if you miss? Especially while we’re inventing it, we’d need to test it, and what if you hit yourself instead of your clothes..?” Tara interrupted, her face showing slight terror as she was probably imagining the possible outcomes.

“We need something simple…” you muttered, deep in thought, and deep sighs from everyone around followed.

Instead of sitting in a circle, sighing without any outcome, you decided to start with some theory. You all shuffled around the library, looking for books with information on inventing spells you could learn something from. It was quite a sight, seeing Fred and George buried in books. With all that new knowledge, you decided to call it a day, planning to meet up again over the weekend, hoping to come up with some ideas over time.

Friday evening marked a whole week since you and George had started dating. Angie and Katie thought it’s been far too long since you had some proper girl time, so you decided to have a little slumber party.

You were just finishing up setting up the pillows and blankets so that the four of you could sit comfortably on the floor in the middle of the room, when Alicia stepped inside, clutching a few fire-whisky bottles in her hands.

You stared at her with your mouth slightly open as Angelina emerged, clicking her fingers in approval. “Don’t you have some quidditch practise in the morning or something?” “Nope,” she replied defiantly, looking at you with mischief written all over her face. You could’ve expected it to be that type of girls’ night.

The alcohol burned the back of your throat in the beginning, but as the conversation went on, you started enjoying the warming sensation and the fire-whisky began to go down like a soft drink.

“But hey, hey hey… elephant in the room,” Alicia pointed her finger upwards, looking at you. “… hooow is it, dating your perfect boy?” Angelina asked, draping an arm over your shoulder and accentuating the last couple of words. You giggled dorkily at the thought. “It’s… awesome.” “Just awesome?” “Shh- shh… how’s his kissing?” Angelina questioned further, lowering the tone of her voice. Your face went even hotter if that was possible. “Ugh- it’s out-of-this-world. Seriously, I didn’t think snogging could feel this good,” you replied, a bit abashed, thinking dreamily of your boyfriend's lips in your drunk state.

“And have you…” Angelina trailed off. “…tried the hokey-pokey..?” Katie butted in, wiggling her eyebrows. “…the dance of the beast with two backs..?” giggled Alicia. “Gosh, no! You perverts..!” you laughed at them. You felt slightly nervous at the mere thought of doing such things with George. “I’m still getting used to holding hands and kissing after being in the friend zone for so long, I think I’d end up with a heart attack..!”

After that, the fire-whisky drained quickly. You got bored with party games, and when someone, not quite clear who, suggested getting some snacks from the kitchens, suddenly everyone was on board. It was past curfew, you slipped out of the almost deserted common room and the sight of empty castle corridors apparently woke up the sense of adventure in your drunk group of friends. Naturally, even though you tried to keep quiet, you weren’t really aware of how loud you were still being. And you weren’t even going in the right direction, not that any of you had noticed.

But when Katie thought she’d heard a noise, all of you panicked. You ran for your life for a while, just to realise you had lost your friends after a few minutes. Terrified, you walked up to a corridor intersection to scope your way out, when you heard someone running from behind you. It was dark and you forgot to bring your wand from your room, you pressed your back against the wall, feeling your heart about to stop.

Then a hand grabbed you by the wrist, pulling you towards one of the corridors. “Come on..!” whisper-yelled a familiar voice, bringing a bit of comfort, even though you still had no clue what was happening. George dragged you into a broom cupboard some distance away, quickly locking the door behind you.

He loosened the panicked grip on your wrist and stood fully facing you know in this tight space, holding his hands up on the wall above your shoulders. “Georgie..?” you whispered, still not fully certain. “That’s me, baby, but shh…” he shushed you, and a second later you could hear quick, uneven footsteps behind the door, then slowly fading away. Whoever that was, only passed by the door.

“Georgie?” “Hmm?” “I’m very drunk,” you blurted out, suddenly feeling the need to be completely open and honest with him. He held in a laugh. “I… I‘ve noticed.”

Since he was standing so close anyway, you wrapped your arms around his middle. Your head fell to rest against his chest on its own, feeling sudden tiredness wash over you. His hands slipped down the wall to wrap around you too.

“Why were you wandering around the corridors in the dark?” he asked. “We tried to get some snacks from the kitchens.” “You realise you’re on the complete opposite side of the castle..?” he said, to be met with silence. “…Nevermind.” “How did you find me?” “Fred, Lee and I were setting something up when we heard you all in the distance. Then I saw you run off in the other direction for no reason, so I ran after you.”

You felt stupid now, trying your best not to think just how stupid the sober you would be feeling the following morning.

“I think we should be clear now. Follow me and try to be as quiet as possible,” he instructed, before opening the door, checking the perimeter and leading you out – holding your hand tight the whole way.

When you stepped into the common room, you saw the rest of the girls already there, waiting with Fred and Lee. “Right, I think you’ve all had enough adventures for one night, don’t you think?” said Lee with a raise of his eyebrows, turning to them. They all just murmured in reply, clearly as embarrassed as you were, then made their way to the dorms.

“I think he’s right, love,” George said to you softly, squeezing your hand lightly, and you nodded, looking down at the floor. “Will you go to bed now?” “Yes, I will.” “And Y/N/N?” You hummed sleepily. “Next time you drink, try to stay in one place, I don’t want anything happening to you, alright?” You felt further embarrassed, but his concern warmed your heart. “I’ll do my best.”

“I love you,” he whispered, cupping your face and giving you a lingering kiss on the forehead. “Good night.” “Good night Georgie, I love you too…” you replied, not really wanting to go to sleep just yet. But he let go of you after that, so with a slight pout, you shuffled back to your dorm for the night.

[hhoriginalworks]

crying in a yule ball dress | f.w

The Yule Ball was the only thing that anyone seemed to talk about. It came around faster than you expected, and you were somewhat over the build-up. It was just a dance, and you would have rather stayed in your room and read a book while your friends ran around like chickens without their heads. But your friends never let you off that easy, which meant you were attempting to smile as your friends took pictures of this 'momentous occasion.'

"Come on, y/n, smile," Angelina begged, looked at the picture where your face was set in more of a grimace than a smile. "Oh, we're late! Fred will be waiting for us."

"Oh, poor him," you drawled sarcastically, straightened the lavender fabric. "At least, his friends aren't shoving him into four-inch heels and forcing him to parade around like a circus elephant."

Katie Bell rolled her eyes, pushing you out of the dorm and mumbling about how you were ungrateful. Maybe you were a little ungrateful, but no one should be grateful for some sorry excuse to get dressed up. "Hey, Lee," Katie sweetly greeted, looping arms with the Gryffindor. "You don't mind that y/n and I are sharing you, do you?"

"Are you kidding me? I get to have two of the most beautiful girls on my arm the whole night. Not to mention that I would do anything for you," Lee shamelessly flirted, too focused on Katie to notice the kissing noises the twins were making.

"Lee, you're off the hook. I'm going stag." You shot the boy a subtle wink, watching his face glow at your comment.

"If you insist, y/n. I would have been glad to have you as my date," Lee replied, mouthing thank you when Katie looked into her purse for lipstick.

You swiftly brushed the boy off, following the three couples to the Great Hall that had been transformed into an elegant ballroom. "Oh, let's join the slow dance," Alicia urged, pulling George onto the dance floor with a smile.

You watched your friends disappear into the crowd, leaving you alone and slightly bitter. Despite your feelings, you understood. Angelina, George, Fred, Lee, Alicia, and Katie were all outgoing people, who all couldn't quite grasp the idea that you liked being alone. So, you left the crowded room, trying to push the thought that if you had said yes to some Beaubaxtons boy, you could be out there too.

"You wouldn't enjoy it, even if you had said yes," You said aloud, reminding yourself that you would have been just as miserable with a date.

You found yourself on the Great Hall balcony, picking at the ivy that grew up one wall and buried deep in your thoughts. Then, as random as being struck by lightning, you felt pressure pile onto your chest. Maybe it was the fact that your school years had been uneventful- despite being in your 6th year- or it was that you were sitting on the balcony floor alone, but you starting to tear up.

"Oh, Merlin, please no. Not tonight," you sniffled, wiping the hot tears running down your cheeks. "You couldn't even wait until you were in pyjamas?"

"Need company?" You hurriedly wiped the stray tears off of your face before turning around to face Fred Weasley. "Y/N, if you wanted a dance with me, you could've just asked. No need to cry."

You let out a forced laugh, turning back around. "I'm not going back."

"I know."

"You don't need to stay here with me, Fred."

"I know."

You let out a frustrated sigh, pulling at the silver clasp that kept your hair up. "Well, if you're not leaving, you might as well sit down," you grumbled, scooting over some. "I know that a stone floor isn't exactly comfortable, but-"

You stopped when Fred wordlessly sat beside you, his legs stretched out past yours. "So, what do we do now?"

"What do you mean?" You asked, shaking your head as the boy impatiently looked around for something to do. You had known Fred since first-year, but the sight of him trying to stay quiet still amused you.

"You came out here to get a break, right? So, what do we do to pass the time? You know so that when we're heading back, the corridors aren't crowded." You stared blankly at the redhead, unsure of how to answer.

"Um, usually I'm alone, Fred," you admitted. "I just pass the time by, well, um, I guess, by thinking."

"Boring," the redhead quipped up. "Let's play 20 questions."

"We've known each other since the first train ride, Weasley. I imagine we know plenty about each other," you chuckled, amused by the idea that Fred Weasley wanted to get to know you.

"No, I've known you through Angelina, Katie, and Alicia. I don't know you, y/n," Fred explained, drawing out his words for effect. "I'll start. What do you fear most about the future?"

You rolled your eyes at his question. "Wow, Weasley, you don't want to start off with something milder like 'when did you lose your first tooth,'" you joked, earning a chuckle from Fred.

"I only have 20 questions, y/n. I'm not wasting it on rookie questions," Fred laughed, tossing his head back. "Just answer it, y/n."

You shrugged- he made a valid point, and you couldn't argue. "The war, I guess. I'm a half-blood, so I worry about my mum whose a muggleborn. My turn, Weasley. What do you want to do with your life?"

You let out a small breath you didn't realize you were holding when Fred didn't push any further about your answer. "George and I want to start our own joke shop, like Zonko's, but with stuff that we've invented. We just don't have the money, which I guess is the story of our lives."

"I'll invest," you said. "I mean if you guys needed it. We've been friends, or at least friends through friends, for ages now. Besides, from a business standpoint, you two are brilliant."

"You'd really invest?" Fred repeated, turning to look at you. "Let's be honest, y/n, you hardly know us. How do you know that we won't fail and burn your money."

"I guess," You started, "I don't know. It's just money either way. It's your turn, by the way."

Fred turned light pink, extremely flattered by your words. "Why were you crying?"

"Wow, not even to our fifth question," you stated, unimpressed. "Not even a little build-up for suspense?"

"Nah, you don't seem like the build-up type," Fred shrugged, leaning back on his elbows. "Well, answer it already. I'm getting better looking, but not younger."

"I wish I had done more," you mumbled, slightly embarrassed. "We're leaving Hogwarts next year, and well, I have nothing to show for it besides a few good grades. I'm not like you or George or Angelina. I haven't made an impression on anyone."

"Well, I don't-"

"You don't what, hm? You don't think you've made an impression? Please, Weasley, everyone is dreading you the moment you and George walk out of here," you interrupted, tossing your arms in the air. "Hell, I am dreading the moment you leave. You're the only that I enjoy about Hogwarts."

The moment you snapped your mouth shut, the air surrounding you and Fred seemed to have stilled. "I, um, didn't mean anything by that," you whispered, blood rushing to your cheeks as the redhead remained silent.

"Actually, before you interrupted me, I was going to say you've made an impression on someone," Fred mumbled softly, breaking the silence.

"Yeah, like who?" You scoffed, doubting that anyone would remember the girl who spent her time in the shadows of the most outgoing Gryffindors.

"Me," Fred confessed.

You opened your mouth, wanting to say something, but no words seemed genuine enough. So you did the only thing that came to mind, you placed a kiss on the redhead's cheek. It was fleeting and gentle, but it said more than any sentence you could form.

[issabangtanfic]

[Jungkook] The Windmill House (Chapter 8)

Masterlist

Synopsis: When for once rich doesn’t rhyme with Christian Grey.

Pairing: Jungkook x OC

A/N: Feel free to submit a cover! Tell me what you think in my inbox! Enjoy!

-

Swinging my bag over my shoulder and tucking it under my armpit, pick up the large box containing my brand new set of portfolios I just picked up from the printing store. The box obstructing my vision, I trust my instincts to guide me to the office. I close my trunk with one free hand and walk a few steps, peeking to the side of the box to watch for the steps before the double doors.

I give one of the doors a great push with my feet, but it comes back too fast and slams right into me as I try to walk in. Squealing, I lose my balance and send the box flying, falling onto my butt spectacularly.

“Damn it.” I mutter to myself, looking at the dozen of my portfolios scattered next to the tipped box. I reach for one but almost grab two leather shoes.

“I can’t believe how clumsy you are.” Mr.Jeon crouches down before my eyes, all grey suit and sickening looks. I nearly jump.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, my face a mix of horror and surprise.

“I came to pay my consultation fees.” He explains, pricking up each of my photo books and stacking them. I give myself a mental slap and help him clean my mess.

“You forgot to charge me.” He adds. Yeah, that was a detail I wish no one would have noticed.

“Did I?” I feign surprise, and he answers with a soft chuckle. ’S’all good now.” He says reassuringly, getting back up with a cheetah’s ease. He stretches a hand down to me.

“I always pay my debts.” He declares.  I take his hands and try to ignore how it feels around mine and he helps me up, before handing me my box.

“Do you think you’ll be okay with this?” He asks once I can’t see him anymore, and I hear him press the button for the elevator.

“Yes, thank you.” I murmur, so glad that my crimson face is hidden from his view by the cardboard box.

“Have a good day.” I hear him say to me as I step in. Please go away. I punch the third floor button.

“You too.” I choke out as the doors close. I sigh deeply. Please let this be the last of last times I see this man.

“Hi everyone.” I call once I enter the office.

“Morning. You just missed Mr. HotButtocks.”  Jade teases, eyebrows wriggling. Oh, please.

“Who she forgot to charge for the consultations.” Fred chimes in before I can answer, appearing behind Ava with a bunch of folders in his hands. Oh, crap.

“Well, it wasn’t-“

“Save it. He tipped. A lot.” He cuts me off. I almost sigh in relief. “What’s all this?” He asks me.

“Port folios.” I reply, starting to walk to my office again. This is getting heavy.

“Need help?” I hear Ava call after me. I look at her over my shoulder.

“I got it! It’s pancakes that I need Ava!” I retort. When I turn my head back and make a turn down the hallway, I bump into a firm chest,  sending my package flying once more. The content pilled on the floor, I look up to the man in front of me.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” The tall, platinum blonde asian guy says, crouching down to clean the mess. 

“It’s okay.” I reply, more intrigued by the reason of his presence than anything.  I join him on the floor, quickly throwing my portfolios back into the box.

“Kim Namjoon.” He pauses to streatch his hand out.  “I’m the new architect.”

The new architect?

“I’m Maya Fair. Nice to meet you.” I reply, shaking his hand. 

“I had no idea Fred had hired someone.” I tell hm, unable to hide my surprise.

“He thinks it could be plus for the company to have both designers and architects.” My new colleague says to me. It’s not a stupid idea.

“He also told me you would be my partner.” He adds, lifting himself off the floor with the bax in his arms.

“Partner?” I repeat, rising to my feet.

“We have our first client who asked for both a designer and an architect.” He says as I open the door to my office. We’re already starting?!

“It’s 10 ten in the morning.” I gape at him. I’m sure Fred hasn’t communicated on it yet, how would anybody now we have an architect?

“It’s good friend of mine.” He clears up as we both step into my office. Oooh.

“Oh, Maya.” Fred calls from outside the door.

“I see you’ve met Namjoon.” He smiles at the newest employee.

“Yes, he just told me about the two-in-one.” I tell him.

“Then, you’re fine. I gotta go. Bye!” He sings, nearly pirouetting his way out of my office. Namjoon and I both chuckle at him.

“Where should I put this?” He asks, my package still in his hands,

“I could take advantage of your height and have you put it up here.” I propose, pointing at my unused top shelf reserved for my drawing equipment.

“No problem.” Namjoon replies, placing the box on the shelf with ease and grace I could never have.

I thank him warmly and ask him about our appointment today.

“It’s at 2pm, downtown near the design museum. Should we take my car?” He proposes. I don’t mind not driving for once. This two-in-one package has its perks.

“Sure.” I reply.

“I’ll leave you to it, then. See you.” He greets before leaving my office. Taking a cleansing breath, I slide behind my desk, ready to get to work.

“Cute, right?”

I look up and see Ava standing in my doorway, hip jutted ou and a plate of pancakes in her hand. I chuckle rolling my eyes.

“What about Eli?” I shoot back.

“No one’s above Elijah. But he is cute, right?” She replis, walking over to my desk. Ava is addicted to men, it’s crazy. I grab a pancake and shove it down my throat.

“M’yeah.” I mumble. He is cute, but the. real snack is that pancake for me.

“He’s from Seoul, graduated from Barlett, and worked with people like Emma Thomson and the Beckham’s.” She gives me his whole resume without me asking, raising her eyebrows in excitement. So he’s high class, huh?

“Aren’t we a little small for him?” I raise a brow, and Ava replies with a clueless shrug.

“You know, Maya.” She trails off. “I had no idea Jeon was putting you through all this.”

“It’s fine, Ava. Really.” I reply dismissively, reaching out for a second pancake. 

“It’s all behind me now.” I reassure her.

“I can’t wait to get back to work actually.” I say excitedly.

“Well, I’ll let you do just that.” She declares, turning on her heels.

“Thanks for the pancakes!” I say to her back before she exits the room.

-

“Miss Fair?”

I lift my head from my scribbles and see Mr.Namjoon standing in the doorway of my office.

“It’s Maya. We’re colleagues.” I give him a warm smile that he returns immediately.

“Okay well, you can call me Joon if you want. ” He says to me.

“Joon. Is it time?” I ask him.

“Yep.”

“I’ll be there in a minute.”

“I’ll be outside.” He says before closing the door and ambling off. I quickly gather my belongings, my portfolio, my tablet and my note bad, before joining Namjoon at the elevator.

“Who are we meeting?” I ask him.

“Choi Minah. A friend from Seoul.” He explains. I’m meeting a lot of Korean people these days. From Mr.Jeon to him to Mrs.Choi.

“Oh.”

“She’s a designer for Alexander McQueen.” He tells me, though I don’t really know what to do with this information.

“Interesting.” I say to myself. So he’s a high-class architect bringing us his high-class clients. Why did he settle for us? We are way too small of a company.

-

“A round apartment in a square building?” I utter once we're out of the appointment. Miss Choi has been very friendly with us, she's easy going, funny and very elegant as I had imagined, but she's also very edgy.

She likes vintage decors, clothes and even vintage movies. She lives in the wrong century. Her requirements were...disruptive. Not impossible to realize, just very...interesting.

“Rita doesn’t do conventional.” Namjoon explains as we walk back to his car. We both know that's an understatement. She's unique.

“Had the building been round she would’ve wanted a triangle house.” He muses.

“If she’s opting for minimalism I won’t be much help.” I retort. The project sounds amazing, but I don't see how I can ring much to it. Namjoon might as well have gone alone and asked for advice if be needed any.

“Of course you would. You’ve done plenty of such projects.” He counters.

“How do you know?” I ask, squinting my eyes at him. He gives me an embarrassed smile.

“I borrowed one of your portfolios.” He admits. 

“Borrowed?” I repeat. When did he do that.

“It fell out of your box.” He says. I lift an eyebrow. What a sneaky dude.

“I was going to give it back, I promise.” He says reassuringly. Oh, whatever.

"Well we could trade portfolios. I'd like to see your work." I tell him.

"I'll get you- Oh.” Namjoon freezes and stops in his tracks, eyes glued to a sign. Looking in the same direction, I realise we’re in front of the design museum, and he is reading the colourful banner above the entry.

“An RCR exposition?” He says under his breath.

“What’s that?” I enquire, clueless.

“Rafael Aranda, Carme Pigen dnd Ramon Vilalta, three of the best architects in the entire world." He nearly gushes, a smile stretching his face. Well, if you say so…

 “I knew they were in London to work on a house, but I had no idea they would have an exposition here.” He mumbles to himself, frowning deeply. I read the sign.

“It’s the last day.” I remark. “Do you want to have a quick look?” I propose, and he directs his frown to me.

“Shouldn’t we get back to the office?” He says. Well, we can always take the long way home.

“Fred won’t know.” I say reassuringly, I always make pit stops between meetings if I ever have to.

“I don’t know if I should be doing this on my first day.” He mumbles, scratching the back of his neck.  Don’t tell me he’s a bootlicker!

“Oh, come on.” I refrain an eye roll. “We can be out in ten minutes. Plus, it’s your last chance.” I argue, and that seems to do the trick.

“A quick look then.” He says quietly, refraining a smile to hide his excitement. 

Jeez, he must really love these guys. As an interior designer I’ve always been interested in architecture. I have always admired the way our ancestors have pushed the limits of what we could build, of how they could create entire spaces that tell stories. 

Namjoon. and I walk into the museum and amble in the middle f the exhibit. For someone so excited about these architect, my colleague seems to be skimming over each model and picture quite fast, almost as if h was looking for something.

“It’s there.” He nearly gasps, stopping in front of a replica of a cubic, rainbow-gradient coloured building.

“El petit Combe.” He says. I take a closer loo at the colourful yet minimalistic square.

“They made this in collaboration with Lego’s.” He explains to me. Now that I know that, I’m less bothered by all the squareness of the place.

“Playing with Lego’s is actually what made me want to be an architect. Before my parents would start buying me equipment to draw plans, I would use Lego’s to build models.” He explains to me. What a lovely story. And what a ingenious kid he must have been! I remember doing the exact same thing with Lego’s whenever I wanted to change the layout of my bedroom, but when I was a teen.

“And this actually is a school in Spain.” He says, pointing at “El Petit Combe”.

“Imagine going to school in a Lego building.” He whispers to himself. His passion for architecture is nearly palpable, the excitement in his eyes visible and almost contagious.

“Are they building a Lego house in London? Is that why they’re here?” I enquire, which makes him chuckle.

“I wish.” He says, walking away from his favorite piece. I follow him to wards the back of the room to see the rest of the exhibit. “I haven’t been up to date with the project, but I think they’re finishing their Mesh Manor.”

“Mesh Manor?”

“Ever heard of the Mesh House in Hampstead?”

I shake my head, and he fishes his phone out of his pocket.

“It looks like this.” He says, showing me a picture. Ah, mesh as in mesh textures in modelling softwares!

“They’re using the same concept but making it their own. On a bigger scale.” He explains. “Speaking of the devil.”

He stops in front of a replica of what would be the manor. My brain can’t really wrap itself around the idea of having such a big building built like this. The scale of this project is huge. But it doesn’t feel at all like a manor, just like a manor-size piece of contemporary art.

“You can hardly call this a manor.” I remark.

“It fits the definition.” He retorts. I mean, yeah, if it comes with enough land.

“I wonder what the inside looks like.” I muse. I am currently imagining luxurious minimalism, which of course would fit but which I am also bored of.

“I’m curious to see what they were trying to express with this.” I tell myself. “I hope it’s not minimalism.”

“Well, you could see for yourself.”

When I snap my head towards Namjoon, he’s reading a leaflet he found next to the description of the replica.

“They’re doing an inauguration party.” He tells me. Oh, do they?! I could go with Sidney. She loves acting fancy.

“Certified designers and architects only.” He mumbles. Oh, that kind of party?! 

“Proof of employment should be sent to this e-mail address for an invitation to be sent to you.” He reads. That is super selective. Well, it’s a high class project carried out by high-class architects. 

“Dress code: suit and tie or cocktail dress.” He finishes. That sounds a lot of fun, but I can’t go with my baker of a roommate.

"Would you like to go with me?” He proposes. 

What? He’s already asking me out on a date. I have nothing against him, but I’ve had enough os testosterone for at least a month. Hell, I’m so fucking blind I hadn’t noticed he was interested in me.

“Not as a date though.” He adds quickly. i blink up at him.

“I’m really not trying to ask you out.” He says. If we weren’t on the same page I’d be offended.

“But if we both enjoy architecture, we can have a good time.” He explains, and I hide my relief. This could be fun. 

“Sure!” I nod vigorously. “Sure. It’ll be fun.”

He grins, eyes almost disappearing.

“Perfect.” He pipes up. Looks like I have a not-a-date this weekend. "We should get back to the office now."