#if harry could fly he'd be going right back home

[notlivys]

if i could fly is an entire ode to love. i swear to god. like. you are fucking telling me that if you could fly (a superpower mostly known for being sooo desired and having endless stories and fantasies about what would be like to have it) you would be going right back to the person you think of as a HOME (a word that has been forever connected to the concept of safety, peace, sweetness and well-being) ????? its too personal and intimate for me to hear i feel like im interrupting something guys

[avatar-anna]

I swear I could read prof y/n content all day longgg!

Could we get an angst moment? Love a bit of drama hahahaha 🤪😂

prof and h angstttt plsssss

enjoy! xx

The Professor Series

Harry knew Y/n. He knew her favorite authors and composers; he knew her favorite constellations, how she liked to sleep curled up into a ball when she had stomach cramps, and how she took her tea; he knew she wore mismatched socks, that her Southern accent returned when she was tired or tipsy, and that she had a little freckle on her hip; he knew she worked really hard but wanted to try to take herself less seriously sometimes; he knew the things that made her laugh and what she got excited about; he knew what places to kiss to make her blush and that she appreciated when he listened to her lectures before she gave them, even if he didn't quite understand.

It was safe to say Harry knew his love, inside and out.

But the person he was faced with now he almost didn't recognize.

It wasn't uncommon for Y/n to be asked to consult on particularly difficult cases that local police departments were struggling with. Y/n often looked over the case files and any other bits of information as it came in, gave her profile, and that was that. Each case lasted about a week, maybe more, but they always had successful outcomes.

Harry had been away on tour while Y/n was teaching in Cambridge. They missed each other obviously, but Harry started to worry when he didn't hear from her for almost two weeks. A few days wasn't out of the ordinary, mostly because Y/n forgot to respond to texts or answer a phone call, but she usually got back to him within a day or two; if she was working on a particularly difficult case, maybe more.

But this was a whole two weeks. They’d never gone that long without talking to each other. There had been no fights or disagreements that would warrant a silent treatment from Y/n, so it couldn’t have been on purpose. But Harry couldn’t come up with a reason that was good enough for Y/n to not speak to him.

So, despite the pushback from his management team, Harry rescheduled a couple shows so he could fly home and see what was going on. They didn't want him to leave, but Harry couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

Harry arrived at Y/n’s townhouse late at night. The door was unlocked, which was almost as unusual as the mess he found in the front room when he came inside.

He'd never seen Y/n's home in such disarray before. Books were scattered everywhere, takeaway cartons and half finished mugs of tea and coffee littered every surface in her kitchen and living room, and all the curtains were drawn closed, casting the whole space in a stuffy gloom. Harry almost couldn't believe his eyes. Y/n scolded him when he didn't use a coaster, and now there was week-old food sitting on her coffee table.

Y/n was nowhere to be found, though, which meant she was in her bedroom. Harry worried about what he would find on the other side, but whatever was going on with her, she needed him.

She was sitting at her desk, her back to him as she bent over it and read something. She didn't even flinch or turn around when the door opened, like she hadn’t even heard Harry come in.

“Y/n, darling,” he said.

She turned, tired and unfocused eyes landing on Harry without much emotion. “Oh. You’re here. Did you call?”

Harry had never seen her so out of it before. He suddenly realized that Y/n wouldn’t have known what day it was let alone the last time they’d spoken. He felt completely out of his depth, but he tried his best to tread lightly.

“No. No, I wanted to surprise you. How—How are you?”

“Busy,” Y/n said immediately. “I have this really difficult case, so I can’t talk right now.”

He guessed as much, but even difficult cases Y/n had worked on in the past never reduced her to this. Her hair was a tangled mess at the nape of her neck, she only had one sock on, and he was pretty sure she hadn’t changed her clothes in days. Harry was suddenly glad he listened to his instincts and came here.

“I know it's important, love, but so is taking care of yourself,” he said. “Why don’t you take a break and clear your head? We can eat and watch a documentary or something.”

Harry rested his hand on her arm, but he quickly realized that was the wrong move. Y/n wrenched her arm away from him, her eyes lit with irritation.

“Take a break? I can’t take a break! There is no time for breaks,” she yelled. Harry was immediately stunned. Y/n had never raised her voice at him, or anyone else for that matter. “Young women, someone's wife or daughter or sister is dying, and they will continue to die if I can't figure this out, don't you understand that?”

“I know, that, Y/n. Of course I understand, but you’ll have a clearer head if you—”

“Don't baby me! I didn't ask you to be here, so just leave me alone. I need to work, I need to figure this out, I need...”

She ignored him after that, and Harry could tell that he'd been dismissed. He also knew there was no use reasoning with Y/n when she was this upset, so he left her to her own devices and left her alone like she'd asked.

Going back into the living room, Harry began to clean. He picked up and straightened stray books, folded blankets, threw out old food. He found comfort in doing something rather than just twiddling his thumbs while he thought of some way to reach Y/n like this.

Because the truth was as well as he knew her, he'd never seen her like this before, and he didn't know how to be there for her, or how to bring her out of this darkness she seemed to be in. He knew how much these cases meant to her, how much she valued helping people, but this was different. It seemed almost personal.

By the time Harry had swept the floors and washed all the dishes and fed the Emperor and Faye Winter, who had been lounging on their cat tree—they at least seemed unaffected by Y/n’s unusual behavior—Y/n still had yet to come out of her room. Harry knew then that she wouldn't be coming out at all, and that he should probably get comfortable on the couch.

All night he worried about her. Every couple hours or so, Harry would hear Y/n pacing her room or cursing quietly or throwing what sounded like sheets of paper around after crumpling them up. She was frustrated, that much was clear, but all Harry could do was lay on the couch and listen. In the morning, Harry decided to keep giving Y/n space and went about his day like he normally would when he stayed at the townhouse. He sat and read some emails while the cats cuddled him on either side, he went into town to restock Y/n’s fridge, and he kept cleaning up.

And nothing. Y/n didn’t make an appearance the whole day. Not to eat or acknowledge that he was there or say hello to the Emperor and Faye Winter. Harry could hear her shuffling around in her bedroom like she'd done all night, but she never came out. By the time the sun was going down, he started to worry more than he already had been.

The problem was he didn't know what to do. Harry had never dealt with anything like this before. He thought he had a grasp on reaching Y/n and understanding what she needed and how, but she shut him out so fast and lashed out so intensely. This obviously wasn't a typical case, something must've happened to make her react this way, but Y/n wasn't going to tell him anytime soon.

And there was no one who could give Harry insight either. For all intents and purposes, he was Y/n's family. She didn't have relatives she spoke to regularly, not many close friends, no one who might have ever seen her act like this way before. And her mother certainly wasn't an option; Harry didn't want to give her the satisfaction of having to call her at all, and he didn't think she would know anything about this anyway.

All night Harry stayed up brainstorming. He wracked his brain for someone who might know Y/n and how to help. And when he did, he went to work on tracking them down. Harry had decided on contacting one of her old professors after recalling Y/n speaking fondly of one a couple times. It took time figuring out where he was and how to get a hold of him, but he eventually did. Harry called every ten minutes and left message after message with some secretary until he eventually got through.

“This is Dr. Moore.”

He sounded old, but Harry didn’t take the time to wonder what this person looked like. “Hello. My name is Harry, and I believe you know a close friend of mine. Y/n L/n.”

“Ah yes,” Dr. Moore said. “I haven’t heard from Y/n since she only had one PhD. How is she?”

“N—Not great,” Harry said. He proceeded to word-vomit the whole situation, his stress and anxiety about his love's well-being pouring out of him over the phone. “I—I've never seen her like this before and I'm not really sure what to do. She won't talk to me or leave her room. I was just hoping you might know something or had seen her...behave like this before.”

The professor didn't say anything for a while, hopefully gathering his thoughts. “She's rather well-adjusted for someone who has seen and experienced so much,” he finally said. “But you have to understand that she's...different from the rest of us. She has a gift that no one else has or can really make sense of.”

“She’s more than her intelligence, Doctor—”

“I don’t mean it like that, Harry,” Dr. Moore said softly. “She's a genius, she's brilliant, but that doesn't come without its faults. Many brilliant minds suffer from a little madness, Y/n is no different.”

It was like Harry could hear what Dr. Moore was saying, but he didn't want to believe him. “Y/n isn't crazy.”

“I didn’t say she was. But she has a tendency to be obsessive, loses track of time, hyperfocuses on a singular subject. Surely you've noticed that.”

“Yeah, but...It’s never been this bad, I mean, this is extreme.”

Harry didn't like the professor's insinuations, or how helpless he was making him feel. Harry knew Y/n, he knew her. She wasn't mad, she wasn't sick, she just needed a little help.

“I realized quite early on that Y/n never took failure...lightly. For someone like her, being wrong is a tough pill to swallow. Perhaps start there?”

“Right, thanks,” Harry muttered. This phone call was a bust. All it gave him was more stress.

He was about to hang up the phone when Dr. Moore spoke again. “Harry, Y/n is exceptional, and that doesn't come without its own bevy of...adversities. But Y/n is strong, and she has a good head on her shoulders, even after everything she's been through. I imagine just showing that you're there for her will be enough. Don't crowd her, but be close enough to catch her when she falls, as you've already done. Her family was never patient enough to love her the way she needed, I hope you can be that for her.”

Harry hung up after that, not having anything to say to the professor. A glance at his phone told him it was three in the morning, but he got up from the couch and chanced going into Y/n's room anyway.

She was pacing and muttering to herself incoherently, but Harry didn't let that bother him. Y/n noticed him but said nothing, and neither did he. He just got into bed, picked up a book off her nightstand, and began to read.

Y/n was quiet for a moment, and Harry could feel her gaze on him, but he kept quiet, and she eventually went back to pacing. It wasn't easy, but Harry did his best to just ignore her, have his presence known without talking to her directly like Dr. Moore suggested. He hoped that Y/n would come to him in her own time.

His eyes burned, begging him to finally go to sleep, the words on the book in front of him blurred. He was exhausted, but he was determined not to lie down. Not until Y/n was in bed next to him.

“You know, sometimes I find it helpful if I talk about things out loud.”

An invitation to open up, a small one after about an hour of silence. He didn't really expect Y/n to take the bait, but she did, kind of.

“What do you mean?”

Setting his book down, he said, “Well, all your thoughts are swirling around in your head. It might be helpful to just say them out loud, like bouncing a ball against a wall.”

“O—Okay.”

She began to explain in loose terms what she was working on and what her thoughts were about the case. And once she started, it all came pouring out of her. “I—I failed. I gave a profile, they arrested someone, but it was the wrong person. I’m—I’m never wrong.”

“It’s not your job to make the arrests,” Harry said gently.

“People are relying on me! Women are continuing to die at the hands of some monster because I can’t—because I couldn’t—”

Y/n shook her head and went back to her desk, shuffling pages around. Harry sighed. He knew what the problem was, but now he knew for certain that Y/n wasn't going to rest until she fixed her mistake. He didn’t bother trying to convince her that this wasn’t her fault, that would be useless right now. But he had to do something.

Getting up from the bed, Harry trudged over to the desk. He rested his hands on either side of her and rested his cheek on top of her head. “Are you so sure that you were wrong and the police weren’t?” he asked.

“They would’ve found the right person if I was right. I must’ve missed something,” she said, shaking her head.

“More than one person can fit a profile, can’t they?”

Y/n exhaled harshly through her nose. “That’s what I tried to tell local police, but they wouldn’t listen. I’m—I’m missing something.”

Harry kissed the top of her head and began to knead the tension out of her shoulders. “Did you think you were right before?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Give me a percentage.”

“Ninety four.”

Whistling, he said, “I’d take those odds.”

“These are people’s lives, Harry, not a craps table. Lives are being lost because—”

“Because terrible people exist,” Harry interrupted. “You didn’t kill those people, Y/n.”

She wiped at her eye harshly. “I can’t help but feel responsible,” she sniffled.

“I know,” he said. “But I believe in you. I believe you can figure this out. But not by running yourself ragged. You can’t work like this.”

“I can’t sleep,” she said, voice trembling. “I won’t. Not until—”

“Okay,” Harry said.

Harry made himself comfortable on the floor beside Y/n’s desk. He was exhausted, his back hurt from his night on the couch, but he couldn’t go to sleep. Not until she did.

“What are you doing?” Y/n asked him, brows furrowed curiously.

He tilted his head back and gave her a sleepy smile. “You stay up, I stay up.”

Y/n looked like she wanted to say more, but her focus was quickly pulled back to the papers on her desk.

Harry didn’t remember falling sleep, but one minute he was watching Y/n work at her desk and providing noncommittal hums as she bounced ideas off him, and the next he was blinking his eyes open, his body stretched out on the floor. There was a pillow under his head and a blanket strewn across his body, an extra pillow beside him. Y/n was sitting in front of him with her legs crossed, a mug in her hands as she watched Harry sleep.

“Wha—What happened—”

“You fell asleep around 5:15,” she said, taking a sip while Harry sat up. His back popped and strained, clearly not a fan of another sleep on something that wasn’t a bed. “I would’ve carried you to the bed, but you’re a bit heavy for me.”

As his head cleared, Harry noticed that Y/n’s hair was wet and her eyes were clearer. She was in a fresh set of clothes and her desk seemed relatively put together.

“Did you figure it out?” he asked, his voice still scratchy with sleep.

Y/n nodded. “A little while after you fell asleep. I got an email about an hour ago. They arrested the right person.”

“That’s good,” Harry said, squeezing her knee. “That’s good, right?”

“Yeah, I just, um, I just got a different email. From an old professor.”

“Oh.” Well, that didn’t take long. “What did he say?”

“That he had the most interesting conversation with a close friend of mine,” Y/n said. Setting her mug down, she tugged her knees to her chest. “I know what you’re thinking.”

Harry could barely focus on anything but his stiff neck, but he tried to shake his head. “I’m almost positive you don’t.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” she said. “I—I don’t need to be fixed.”

“That—That’s not what I’m thinking,” Harry said frowning. “I don’t think that at all, Y/n.”

“Then why did you call him?”

Harry rubbed at his face tiredly. “I wanted to help you. I didn’t know how, so I asked for some help of my own.”

“I don’t need to be handled like some child.”

“Two weeks, Y/n,” Harry said, voice sharpening the slightest bit. Because for a moment, Y/n had frightened him. Not because he thought she was crazy or mentally unwell, but because he didn’t know how to reach her, and he always knew how to get through to her. “I didn’t hear from you for two weeks, and I come back here and the house is a mess, you’re not eating, you’re driving yourself—”

“Don’t say it!” she blurted. “Don’t say that I’m crazy, Harry. I’m not. I just...get a little sidetracked. I’m not—I’m not crazy.”

Harry could see it in Y/n’s face, then. The fear. She didn’t want him believing what she already believed about herself to some degree. He wondered how many times someone had told her that she was, or implied it. Harry had a feeling no one had ever taught her how to fail, or accept failure. Y/n was exceptional, but she wasn’t perfect, no one was, but she’d been brought up believing her knowledge had no bounds. She was taught how to fly, but no one taught her how to fall, and when she did, they blamed her for not figuring it out herself.

“I don’t think you’re crazy, because you’re not,” he said. “But I do worry when I you don’t come out of your room for a few days. I’m allowed to worry.”

Y/n had been looking down at her lap, but when she finally looked at him, there were tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Harry let the corner of his mouth curve into a smile. “For making me sleep on the couch yesterday? Water under the bridge.”

Y/n’s responding grin was small, but it was there, and Harry found himself wanting to make it bigger.

Joining him on the floor, they both laid back down. Y/n rested her head on Harry’s chest while he wrapped his arms around her. For a few minutes, they didn’t say anything, but before he fell back asleep, he found himself saying, “You know, I know I’m not as smart as you or anything, but I do know a thing or two about work ethic. I can help you find a balance.”

Y/n gave no indication that she agreed or disagreed. For a moment, Harry thought she’d already fallen asleep when he felt her nod. “I’d like that. But I think...I think I need to take some time off. Maybe just focus on teaching for now.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I want to,” Y/n yawned. “I want to scale back. Just teach, travel, maybe get a Master’s degree.”

Harry laughed. Only Y/n would think going back to school for another degree would be considered “scaling back.” But he couldn’t be prouder that she was taking the right steps to treat herself better.

“I think that’s a good idea,” he said. He kissed the top of her head as he waited for her to respond, but she didn’t. Y/n kept quiet, her breaths keeping time with his until he realized she was asleep. Breathing a sigh through his nose, Harry stared up at the ceiling and hoped she had a dreamless sleep.

[calmethar]

a little jily ficlet based off this post i made (and thus inspired by the official music video for "almost (sweet music)" by hozier)

happy halloween :)

-------

It's a known law of the universe that James Potter cannot sit still.

He'd always been adventurous and curious, getting up and wandering off in search of something interesting or engaging. Even in class at Hogwarts, he would tap incessantly at the floor with his shoe, not unlike a car engine revving up. The professors and prefects had long lost count of how many detentions James had earned for sneaking out of bed at night and wandering off into an abandoned part of the castle.

Being stuck in Godric's Hollow was killing him slowly, Lily knew. He misses the days at Hogwarts—every full moon on the dot—where he and his friends would sneak off to the Forbidden Forest. She'd written to Sirius about it on at least six separate occasions—if you could visit, it would cheer him up so much. The last time Sirius swung by, he had suggested they take up dancing. James had a good laugh when he heard that, dancing, really, Pads? We're not twelve. But Sirius is—as always—brilliant, so they give it a go.

They found an old wireless tucked away in a cabinet up in the second-floor study that might've belonged to Lily's parents. She wouldn't know; it's not like she can ring them up and ask. They fiddled with it together until they managed to get a signal for some Muggle pop radio station.

"Like this?" James says, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he wiggles and hops around the living room.

"That's not right at all! You're way off beat," Lily manages to reply through her outburst of laughter. Harry, from his seat on the sofa, giggles and claps his pudgy hands together.

"D'you see this, Harry?" James says in mock outrage, pointing at Lily. "Your mum is making fun of me! How dare she!" He grins, and sweeps up Lily in his arms. She shrieks.

"James!"

"Well, if the great Lily Potter would like to show me exactly how I'm not right at all..."

"Right, then," she says, stepping back slightly to clasp both of his hands. He smiles at her, and she smiles back as the opening bars of the next song start.

Tapping out a rhythm against the carpet floor, she leads the two of them in circles around the living room. Their house in Godric's Hollow is tiny in a way that the Potter ancestral home in Devon most definitely isn't, and it shows as they make miniscule steps to avoid crashing into the furniture.

It's not graceful, by any means. Neither of them are formally trained in dance; they step on each other's toes and generally make a fool of themselves. It's inevitable, then, when they careen into a side table, sending James' glasses flying and both of them tumbling to the ground.

Reflexes from both of them results in an extra-fortified Cushioning Charm as they hit the ground, and they look at each other for a split second before collapsing into laughter. Harry joins in from his spot on the sofa, before making the necessary noises and motions that he wants to be picked up.

James, after helping Lily back up, goes over and picks Harry up. He gives him three kisses, one on the forehead and each cheek, which Harry smiles at.

"Are the Weasleys still coming over tomorrow? For Halloween?" James asks Lily. Harry squirms around, as restless as his father, and James readjusts his hold to avoid dropping him. "I know they can't all stay the night, but maybe Harry and Ron can have a sleepover."

Lily nods. "I can talk to Molly when we have them over?"

"Brilliant. Hey, Harry, ready to see your best friend again tomorrow?"

Harry babbles excitedly, waving his hands in the air.

[twoidiotwriters1]

Until The Very End -(WITS Sequel)

A/N: Not edited this is a first draft and it's STAYING a first draft, only two more chapters to go! -Danny Words: 2,199 Masterlist Previous chapter // Next chapter

2014

The next morning Harry woke up feeling like he was made of cement. Bruises had formed throughout the night, and unfortunately, not all of them had been made by Mel. It had been a closer call than he'd led his wife to believe, but there was no point in worrying her when he was back in —mostly— one piece.

The night prior, Mel had given him all the good news he'd missed while being away, as well as some fresh gossip about Reg and Emily Flint he had definitely not expected, but Mel was not at all surprised by it. She was rarely surprised by anything now that she was older, but Harry still took pride in being one of those who could still take her by surprise.

He was home, in bed with the love of his life, and his children were peacefully sleeping in the other rooms, which gave him a sense of unaltered bliss he'd missed. Harry pushed himself sideways to wrap his arm around Mel and pull her closer, but the moment he tried to, his muscles cried out in pain and he grunted, scooting closer instead.

Mel stirred slightly, the movement behind her after so long sleeping alone bringing her out of her slumber. "Harry?" She spoke groggily.

He hushed her tenderly, speaking against her hair. "Go back to sleep."

"Are you hungry?" She asked, her nurturing instincts immediately kicking in as her memory started functioning. "Merlin, I should change the bandage on your face—"

"Mel, shut up," he groaned, "m'alright, I just want to go back to sleep..."

The woman in his hold relaxed, hearing the weariness in his voice. "Very well," she conceded gently. "The children will wake up soon enough and drag us out of bed anyway, as soon as they realize you're back..."

He groaned again, though his chest fluttered with anticipation. He'd missed those lovely youthful brats of his as much as he'd missed Mel. "No..."

Mel's speech relented, as time went by she'd had no choice but to admit that sometimes silence was much better than keeping a conversation going just to hear someone grumble a "you're right". 

They managed to sleep another hour before hasty, thunderous steps came flying up the stairs after the twins discovered their father's travel cloak hanging by the door.

"DAD!" They were shouting all the way to their parents's room. "DADDY! YOU'RE BACK!"

Their door slammed open and in came two ten-year-olds, both with thick light-brown hair and eyes brimming with tears. Mel sat up and blindly opened her arms to tackle the children before they could drop onto their father's beaten body. She trapped them in a hug.

"Wait! Emmeline, James, stop!" Mel groaned, trying to contain them. "Your father is tired! He came home very late last night!" She of course left out the part in which Harry's sleep had been pushed back for another two whole hours as soon as she got her hands on him. 

Harry carefully sat up, rubbing his eyes and reaching for his glasses. In the little time it took him to come out of his drowsiness, two other children had joined the fight, trying to climb over their poor mother to reach him.

"Mellow, s'alright, let them," he mumbled groggily. 

"But..." she glanced at him worryingly. Harry's body was conveniently covered with a long-sleeved shirt so the children couldn't see his injuries, but she knew they were there. 

"Whatever they do, I'll take happily," He didn't need to say it plainly for her to understand. The pain inflicted by the fierce hugs of his sons and daughters would be wonderful torture to him.

Mel dropped the defences, and the twins jumped into their father's arms. The woman reached down and pulled Lily up, while Matthew climbed on his own and sneaked his way in between the twins to cling to his father. All of them were crying.

"I'm alright," Harry chuckled, though his eyes were stinging too. "Have you lot been good to your mother?"

"Proper angels, Dad," James said proudly, burying his face on Harry's shoulder.

"You're hurt, daddy!" Emmeline wept, staring at the bandage over his face like it was something dreadful.

"Just a scratch," Harry dismissed it. "Tripped over a tree branch—you know how your mother is always telling you not to run when there are trees?"

Mel laughed. "You see, loves, your mother is trying to stop you from losing an eye."

Lily's eyes widened in horror. "You're blind, daddy?"

"No!" Mel quickly eased her. "Sorry, love, mummy's being silly..."

Harry chuckled, reaching to pull Lily into the group hug. His arms still burned, but he found the discomfort easy to endure when he was being showered with affection. "I'll be good as new once you're mother fixes my face, and then we can all have a picnic outside. Good?"

The children all jumped and squealed, quickly running out of tears. They kissed his father effusively, and then, in turn, did the same to Mel for good measure, then they entangled themselves from their parents and slipped out the room, with little Matthew hesitating by the door and holding onto the knob gently.

"Would you like me to close the door, mummy?"

Melt always melted at Matty's gentle nature, he looked like Harry on the outside minus the glasses, but he seemed to be taking after his namesakes, her father and Moony. 

"Yes, dear, thank you."

"Thank you, Matt," Harry yawned, lying back on the bed carefully.

The door swung back until it clicked shut and Mel looked over at Harry with a gentle smile. "That was a really sweet thing to do, you know? You could've asked them to let you have this day to recover."

Harry made a face, his eyes still closed. "You think I want to spend yet another day alone after weeks of it?" He snorted. "Fat chance. I want to be surrounded by their screams, so I can feel better about going back to work this Monday."

Mel laughed, nodding with a playful grin. "Ah, you're a smart man, Glasses."

He smiled up at her, reaching for her hand and pulling it up to his lips, gently kissing her knuckles. "Yes, I am. Aren't you happy you married me?"

The woman smiled, lying down and gently pulling his face in for a kiss. "Every day."

"It'll be alright," Ron said lightheartedly as everyone started to gather their things to go to the Quidditch stadium. "Nobody cares about us anymore."

Fred snorted. "Have you been living under a rock?"

"People care," Erick groaned as he struggled to contain his daughters and son. "It's the first time in almost a decade that the lot of us go out together in public."

"One would think they don't care, seeing as we haven't done anything out of the ordinary for almost ten years," Neville said humbly.

"Well, Nev, not to be rude, but that's just a few of us," Anne spoke as she helped Erick get their youngest in line. "Mel, Harry, Ron and Hermione continue to keep us on their toes..."

"Speaking of," George piped in with a smirk. "When are we getting the latest discovery courtesy of our favourite Dumbledore?"

"I believe Uncle Abe is on holiday," Regulus replied teasingly. 

Mel walked past him, slapping the back of his head and pretending it was an accident when her mother started to scold her.

"Alright!" Remus clapped to get everyone's attention. "Time to go! Ted, keep your brother close—Thomas, stop bothering Josie! You Potters are ready?"

Harry had James and Matthew firmly held by the back of their cloaks. "Ready."

Mel was holding her eldest daughter's hand while Regulus had Lily on his back, giggling maniacally. Ron was carrying Rose in the same way while Hugo was obediently following his mother wherever she went without needing to be told to do so.

"Go on, then! Before I get any older!" Emily Sultens urged the large crowd—and after so many years and marriages, their friend group had indeed grown to an impressive size—to leave the tent. 

The Potters stuck together out of habit. The children, even though they weren't fully aware of the amount of fame their parents carried everywhere they went, had been taught since toddlers to stick together in unknown places. Even so, Mel was feeling a type of anxiety she hadn't felt in years.

"Oi," Harry said gently, elbowing her as he walked closer to her. "Ron's right, you know? It'll be alright. We'll have fun, and it's safe," he grins. "And even if it weren't, I would trust you to make it so in an instant."

Mel looked at him and tried to look cheery, but there was a reason why she didn't enjoy attending large events with the children being as young. She couldn't help but think of herself and Harry at their age, constantly bullied and ostracized. 

She wanted nothing more than to ensure her daughters and sons would never have to choose between being happy or being safe. So far she'd believed it was going well, but it was harder to control in places such as this one.

"Are you panicking?" Erick's knowing tone evoked an instant sense of annoyance in her as he approached with Amy and Eliot in each hand. "You look like you're panicking. I bet Fred and George you'd get even worse than I would with the overprotective attitude."

"Flint, you're not helping," Harry groaned.

"And who said I was trying to?" He raised a brow smirking. "But just so you know, Mellow, Skeeter is somewhere around and if she sees you like this she'll write about your decaying sanity and how unfit you are to continue working as the Head of your department."

"She can go—"

"The children," Harry warned her before she could curse.

"It'll be fine," she claimed stubbornly.

"Yes, alright, now to a more important subject," Erick leaned closer and frowned. "Is your brother trying to woo my daughter?"

"Which daughter?" Mel played dumb, but her eyes betrayed her, as well as Harry's inability to face Erick properly.

The man didn't need to hear more. "Bloody hell," he grumbled. "I don't know if I should feel happy, or betrayed."

Mel snorted. "You know Regulus since he was quite literally just born. Be happy."

"Yeah," Harry shrugged. "Could be worse. Emily could've been like Mel and show up at your doorstep with a new boyfriend every summer."

Mel had to refrain from tripping his husband in public.

"Matt!" Ron reached out to catch the young boy before he could fall to his death from his seat. "Merlin's beard, boy, you may look like Harry but you're your mother's son alright!"

Mel stopped shouting at the quidditch players before her to look down at her son, eagerly leaning over the railing just like she tended to do while watching quidditch. The sight made her heart swell. 

"Thanks for saving my son," Mel turned to Ron with amusement while Harry pulled Matt back to his seat and handed him one of the baked brownies Luna had brought for sharing.

"Oh my!" Hermione blushed, nudging Ron and squeezing Mel's wrist. "Look at that!"

She wasn't looking at the game, instead, Hermione had spotted Teddy Lupin shamelessly trapped in quite the snog session with Victoire Weasley. Remus was glancing anxiously at the pair, his ears scarlet red, while Tonks kept smirking and whispering things to him, probably making jokes about the irresistible charm of a Lupin. 

Regulus was dutifully watching Bill and Fleur so they wouldn't stomp Teddy to death. Or he was trying to, at least, because Emily Flint was next to him, and even though her attention was on the game, every time something exciting happened she would hold onto him, making him lose his focus.

"Look at that," Ron repeated, this time with chagrin. "Do you remember how we were at their age?"

"They're all different ages," Mel pointed out to tease him.

He rolled his eyes. "You get my point, you idiot."

"Oi, don't call my wife an idiot," Harry playfully jabbed him, and for a second the 34-year-old men were back to being a pair of teens wrestling to pass the time. 

"Enough!" Hermione scolded them, pulling Ron away with little effort, but he immediately stepped back. "And yes, to answer the question I do. Because we were their age when we attended Hogwarts all together for the last time."

Mel hummed, the familiar tug that always threatened to pull her back into some painful memories coming back with considerable force. "We were also fourteen when we first attended a Quidditch final, and it was also Bulgaria, remember?"

"And Krum was playing," Harry smiled, pulling her by the waist. "And you got jealous because I went stupid over the veelas."

"Fourteen," Hermione hums thoughtfully. "That is Elizabeth's age, is it not?"

"And Thomas..." Ron added in the same way.

Mel added, as if it was suddenly dawning on her. "The twins will go to Hogwarts next year."

They exchanged a look of surprise. Where had the time gone? One day it was just the four of them and the rest of their friends, wrestling in the castle hallways and giggling to each other late at night in the girl's dormitory, and next thing they knew they were parents, watching their sons and daughters flirt with friends thinking their parents weren't watching.

"MUM! MUM, LOOK!" Matthew grasped her wrist and pulled her back to the edge of the booth, pointing at the Brazilian chaser he was a fan of. Mel instantly forgot all her worries.

Next Chapter ->

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[wingedcupcaketimemachine]

The Mystery of the Barnet Clan Harry Potter x Reader Series

First Year Chapter 9: The Mirror of Erised

Pairing: Harry Potter x Fem!Gryffindor!Reader

Summary: Harry discovers a mirror that shows his deepest desire.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 5,796

Story Starts Below Cut

Chapter 1

Chapter 8

Chapter 10

Series Masterlist

Harry Potter Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Christmas was coming. One morning in mid-December, Hogwarts woke to find. itself covered in several feet of snow. The lake froze solid and the Weasley twins were punished for bewitching several snowballs so that they followed Quirrell around, bouncing off the back of his turban. The few owls that managed to battle their way through the stormy sky to deliver mail had to be nursed back to health by Hagrid before they could fly off again.

No one could wait for the holidays to start. While the Gryffindor common room and the Great Hall had roaring fires, the drafty corridors had become icy and a bitter wind rattled the windows in the classrooms. Worst of all were Professor Snape's classes down in the dungeons, where their breath rose in a mist before them and they kept as close as possible to their hot cauldrons.

"I do feel so sorry," said Draco Malfoy, one Potions class, "for all those people who have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas because they're not wanted at home."

He was looking over at Harry as he spoke. Crabbe and Goyle chuckled. Harry, who was measuring out powdered spine of lionfish, ignored them. Malfoy had been even more unpleasant than usual since the Quidditch match. Disgusted that the Slytherins had lost, he had tried to get everyone laughing at how a wide-mouthed tree frog would be replacing Harry as Seeker next. Then he'd realized that nobody found this funny, because they were all so impressed at the way Harry had managed to stay on his bucking broomstick. So Malfoy, jealous and angry, had gone back to taunting Harry about having no proper family.

It was true that Harry wasn't going back to Privet Drive for Christmas. Professor McGonagall had come around the week before, making a list of students who would be staying for the holidays, and Harry had signed up at once. He didn't feel sorry for himself at all; this would probably be the best Christmas he'd ever had. Ron and his brothers were staying,too, because Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were going to Romania to visit Charlie. (Y/N) had decided to stay as well since her parents would be busy working at the Ministry of Magic.

When they left the dungeons at the end of Potions, they found a large fir tree blocking the corridor ahead. Two enormous feet sticking out at the bottom and a loud puffing sound told them that Hagrid was behind it. 

"Hi, Hagrid, want any help?" Ron asked, sticking his head through the branches.

"Nah, I'm all right, thanks, Ron."

"Would you mind moving out of the way?" came Malfoys cold drawl from behind them. "Are you trying to earn some extra money, Weasley? Hoping to be gamekeeper yourself when you leave Hogwarts, I suppose -- that hut of Hagrid's must seem like a palace compared to what your family's used to."

Ron dived at Malfoy just as Snape came up the stairs.

"WEASLEY!"

Ron let go of the front of Malfoy's robes.

"He was provoked, Professor Snape," said Hagrid, sticking his huge hairy face out from behind the tree. "Malfoy was insultin' his family."

"Be that as it may, fighting is against Hogwarts rules, Hagrid," said Snape silkily. "Five points from Gryffindor, Weasley, and be grateful it isn't more. Move along, all of you."

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle pushed roughly past the tree, scattering needles everywhere and smirking.

"I'll get him," said Ron, grinding his teeth at Malfoy's back, "one of these days, I'll get him --"

“Don’t be stupid, Ron,” said (Y/N), shaking her head, “He’s not worth the trouble.”

"I hate them both," said Harry, "Malfoy and Snape."

"Come on, cheer up, it's nearly Christmas," said Hagrid. "Tell yeh what, come with me an' see the Great Hall, looks a treat."

So the four of them followed Hagrid and his tree off to -the Great Hall, where Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick were busy with the Christmas decorations.

"Ah, Hagrid, the last tree -- put it in the far corner, would you?"

The hall looked spectacular. Festoons of holly and mistletoe hung all around the walls, and no less than twelve towering Christmas trees stood around the room, some sparkling with tiny icicles, some glittering with hundreds of candles.

"How many days you got left until yer holidays?" Hagrid asked.

"Just one," said Hermione. "And that reminds me, we've got half an hour before lunch, we should be in the library."

"Oh yeah, you're right," said Ron, tearing his eyes away from Professor Flitwick, who had golden bubbles blossoming out of his wand and was trailing them over the branches of the new tree.

"The library?" said Hagrid, following them out of the hall. "Just before the holidays? Bit keen, aren't yeh?"

"Oh, we're not working," Harry told him brightly. "Ever since you mentioned Nicolas Flamel we've been trying to find out who he is."

"You what?" Hagrid looked shocked. "Listen here -- I've told yeh -- drop it. It's nothin' to you what that dog's guardin'."

"We just want to know who Nicolas Flamel is, that's all," said Hermione.

"Unless you'd like to tell us and save us the trouble?" Harry added. "We must've been through hundreds of books already and we can't find him anywhere -- just give us a hint -- I know I've read his name somewhere."

"I'm sayin' nothin, said Hagrid flatly.

"Just have to find out for ourselves, then," said (Y/N), and they left Hagrid looking disgruntled and hurried off to the library.

They had indeed been searching books for Flamel's name ever since Hagrid had let it slip, because how else were they going to find out what Snape was trying to steal? The trouble was, it was very hard to know where to begin, not knowing what Flamel might have done to get himself into a book. He wasn't in Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century, or Notable Magical Names of Our Time; he was missing, too, from Important Modern Magical Discoveries, and A Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry. And then, of course, there was the sheer size of the library; tens of thousands of books; thousands of shelves; hundreds of narrow rows.

Hermione took out a list of subjects and titles she had decided to search while Ron strode off down a row of books and started pulling them off the shelves at random. Harry wandered over to the Restricted Section. He had been wondering for a while if Flamel wasn't somewhere in there. Unfortunately, you needed a specially signed note from one of the teachers to look in any of the restricted books, and he knew he'd never get one. These were the books containing powerful Dark Magic never taught at Hogwarts, and only read by older students studying advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts.

"What are you looking for, boy?"

"Nothing," said Harry.

Madam Pince the librarian brandished a feather duster at him.

"You'd better get out, then. Go on -- out!"

Wishing he'd been a bit quicker at thinking up some story, Harry left the library. He, (Y/N), Ron, and Hermione had already agreed they'd better not ask Madam Pince where they could find Flamel. They were sure she'd be able to tell them, but they couldn't risk Snape hearing what they were up to.

Harry waited outside in the corridor to see if the other three had found anything, but he wasn't very hopeful. They had been looking for two weeks, after A, but as they only had odd moments between lessons it wasn't surprising they'd found nothing. What they really needed was a nice long search without Madam Pince breathing down their necks. Five minutes later, (Y/N), Ron and Hermione joined him, shaking their heads.

They went off to lunch.

"You will keep looking while I'm away, won't you?" said Hermione. "And send me an owl if you find anything."

"And you could ask your parents if they know who Flamel is," said Ron, "It'd be safe to ask them."

"Very safe, as they're both dentists," said Hermione.

Once the holidays had started, Ron and Harry were having too good a time to think much about Flamel. They had the dormitory to themselves and the common room was far emptier than usual, so they were able to get the good armchairs by the fire. They sat by the hour eating anything they could spear on a toasting fork -- bread, English muffins, marshmallows -- and plotting ways of getting Malfoy expelled, which were fun to talk about even if they wouldn't work.

Ron also started teaching Harry wizard chess. This was exactly likeMuggle chess except that the figures were alive, which made it a lot like directing troops in battle. Ron's set was very old and battered. Like everything else he owned, it had once belonged to someone else in his family -- in this case, his grandfather. However, old chessmen weren't a drawback at all. Ron knew them so well he never had trouble getting them to do what he wanted.

Harry played with chessmen Seamus Finnigan had lent him, and they didn't trust him at all. He wasn't a very good player yet and they kept shouting different bits of advice at him, which was confusing. "Don't send me there, can't you see his knight? Send him, we can afford to lose him." On Christmas Eve, Harry went to bed looking forward to the next day for the food and the fun, but not expecting any presents at all. When he woke early in the morning, however, the first thing he saw was a small pile of packages at the foot of his bed.

"Merry Christmas," said Ron sleepily as Harry scrambled out of bed and pulled on his bathrobe.

"You, too," said Harry. "Will you look at this? I've got some presents!"

"What did you expect, turnips?" said Ron, turning to his own pile, which was a lot bigger than Harry's.

Harry picked up the top parcel. It was wrapped in thick brown paper and scrawled across it was To Harry, from Hagrid. Inside was a roughly cut wooden flute. Hagrid had obviously whittled it himself. Harry blew it – it sounded a bit like an owl.

A second, very small parcel contained a note.

We received your message and enclose your Christmas present. From Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. Taped to the note was a fifty-pence piece.

"That's friendly," said Harry.

Ron was fascinated by the fifty pence.

"Weird!" he said, “What a shape! This is money?"

"You can keep it," said Harry, laughing at how pleased Ron was. "Hagrid and my aunt and uncle -- so who sent these?"

"I think I know who that one's from," said Ron, turning a bit pink and pointing to a very lumpy parcel. "My mum. I told her you didn't expect any presents and -- oh, no," he groaned, "she's made you a Weasley sweater."

Harry had torn open the parcel to find a thick, hand-knitted sweater in emerald green and a large box of homemade fudge.

"Every year she makes us a sweater," said Ron, unwrapping his own, "and mine's always maroon."

"That's really nice of her," said Harry, trying the fudge, which was very tasty.

His next two presents also contained candy -- a large box of Chocolate Frogs from Hermione, and a large package of Treacle Tart from (Y/N).

This only left one parcel. Harry picked it up and felt it. It was very light. He unwrapped it.

Something fluid and silvery gray went slithering to the floor where it lay in gleaming folds. Ron gasped.

"I've heard of those," he said in a hushed voice, dropping the box of Every Flavor Beans he'd gotten from Hermione. "If that's what I think it is -- they're really rare, and really valuable."

"What is it?"

Harry picked the shining, silvery cloth off the floor. It was strange to the touch, like water woven into material.

"It's an invisibility cloak," said Ron, a look of awe on his face. "I'm sure it is -- try it on."

Harry threw the cloak around his shoulders and Ron gave a yell.

"It is! Look down!"

Harry looked down at his feet, but they were gone. He dashed to the mirror. Sure enough, his reflection looked back at him, just his head suspended in midair, his body completely invisible. He pulled the cloak over his head and his reflection vanished completely.

"There's a note!" said Ron suddenly. "A note fell out of it!"

Harry pulled off the cloak and seized the letter. Written in narrow, loopy writing he had never seen before were the following words: Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well. A Very Merry Christmas to you.

There was no signature. Harry stared at the note. Ron was admiring the cloak.

"I'd give anything for one of these," he said. "Anything. What's the matter?"

"Nothing," said Harry. He felt very strange. Who had sent the cloak? Had it really once belonged to his father?

Before he could say or think anything else, the dormitory door was flung open and Fred and George Weasley bounded in, with (Y/N) trailing behind.. Harry stuffed the cloak quickly out of sight. He would tell (Y/N) later, but didn't feel like sharing it with anyone else yet.

"Merry Christmas!"

"Hey, look -- Harry's got a Weasley sweater, too!"

Fred and George were wearing blue sweaters, one with a large yellow F on it, the other a G. (Y/N)’s sweater was the same emerald green as Harry’s with her initial on it.

"Harry's is better than ours, though," said Fred, holding up Harry's sweater. "She obviously makes more of an effort if you're not family."

"Why aren't you wearing yours, Ron?" George demanded. "Come on, get it on, they're lovely and warm."

"I hate maroon," Ron moaned halfheartedly as he pulled it over his head.

“Come on, Ron,” said (Y/N) teasingly, “Maroon brings out your eyes.”

"You haven't got a letter on yours," George observed. "I suppose she thinks you don't forget your name. But we're not stupid -- we know we're called Gred and Forge."

"What's all this noise?” Percy Weasley stuck his head through the door, looking disapproving. He had clearly gotten halfway through unwrapping his presents as he, too, carried a lumpy sweater over his arm, which Fred seized.

"P for prefect! Get it on, Percy, come on, we're all wearing ours, even Harry got one."

"I -- don't -- want,” said Percy thickly, as the twins forced the sweater over his head, knocking his glasses askew.

"And you're not sitting with the prefects today, either," said George, "Christmas is a time for family."

They frog-marched Percy from the room, his arms pinned to his side by his sweater.

Harry had never in all his life had such a Christmas dinner. A hundred fat, roast turkeys; mountains of roast and boiled potatoes; platters of chipolatas; tureens of buttered peas, silver boats of thick, rich gravy and cranberry sauce -- and stacks of wizard crackers every few feet along the table. These fantastic party favors were nothing like the feeble Muggle ones the Dursleys usually bought, with their little plastic toys and their flimsy paper hats inside. Harry pulled a wizard cracker with Fred and it didn't just bang, it went off with a blast like a cannon and engulfed them all in a cloud of blue smoke, while from the inside exploded a rear admiral's hat and several live, white mice. Up at the High Table, Dumbledore had swapped his pointed wizard's hat for a flowered bonnet, and was chuckling merrily at a joke Professor Flitwick had just read him.

Flaming Christmas puddings followed the turkey. Percy nearly broke his teeth on a silver sickle embedded in his slice. Harry watched Hagrid getting redder and redder in the face as he called for more wine, finally kissing Professor McGonagall on the cheek, who, to Harry's amazement, giggled and blushed, her top hat lopsided.

When Harry finally left the table, he was laden down with a stack of things out of the crackers, including a pack of non expandable, luminous balloons, a Grow-Your-Own-Warts kit, and his own new wizard chess set. The white mice had disappeared and Harry had a nasty feeling they were going to end up as Mrs. Norris's Christmas dinner.

Harry, (Y/N), and the Weasleys spent a happy afternoon having a furious snowball fight on the grounds. Then, cold, wet, and gasping for breath, they returned to the fire in the Gryffindor common room, where Harry broke in his new chess set by losing spectacularly to Ron. He suspected he wouldn't have lost so badly if Percy hadn't tried to help him so much.

After a meal of turkey sandwiches, crumpets, trifle, and Christmas cake, everyone felt too full and sleepy to do much before bed except sit and watch Percy chase Fred and George all over Gryffindor tower because they'd stolen his prefect badge.

It had been Harry's best Christmas day ever. Yet something had been nagging at the back of his mind all day. Not until he climbed into bed was he free to think about it: the invisibility cloak and whoever had sent it.

Ron, full of turkey and cake and with nothing mysterious to bother him, fell asleep almost as soon as he'd drawn the curtains of his four-poster. Harry leaned over the side of his own bed and pulled the cloak out from under it.

His father's... this had been his father's. He let the material flow over his hands, smoother than silk, light as air. Use it well, the note had said.

He had to try it, now. He slipped out of bed and wrapped the cloak around himself. Looking down at his legs, he saw only moonlight and shadows. It was a very funny feeling.

Use it well.

Suddenly, Harry felt wide-awake. The whole of Hogwarts was open to him in this cloak. Excitement flooded through him as he stood there in the dark and silence. He could go anywhere in this, anywhere, and Filch would never know.

Ron grunted in his sleep. Should Harry wake him? Something held him back -- his father's cloak -- he felt that this time -- the first time -- he wanted to use it alone.

He crept out of the dormitory, down the stairs, across the common room, and climbed through the portrait hole.

"Who's there?" squawked the Fat Lady. Harry said nothing. He walked quickly down the corridor.

Where should he go? He stopped, his heart racing, and thought. And then it came to him. The Restricted Section in the library. He'd be able to read as long as he liked, as long as it took to find out who Flamel was. He set off, drawing the invisibility cloak tight around him as he walked.

The library was pitch-black and very eerie. Harry lit a lamp to see his way along the rows of books. The lamp looked as if it was floating along in midair, and even though Harry could feel his arm supporting it, the sight gave him the creeps.

The Restricted Section was right at the back of the library. Stepping carefully over the rope that separated these books from the rest of the library, he held up his lamp to read the titles.

They didn't tell him much. Their peeling, faded gold letters spelled words in languages Harry couldn't understand. Some had no title at all. One book had a dark stain on it that looked horribly like blood. The hairs on the back of Harry's neck prickled. Maybe he was imagining it, maybe not, but he thought a faint whispering was coming from the books, as though they knew someone was there who shouldn't be.

He had to start somewhere. Setting the lamp down carefully on the floor, he looked along the bottom shelf for an interesting looking book. A large black and silver volume caught his eye. He pulled it out with difficulty, because it was very heavy, and, balancing it on his knee, let it fall open.

A piercing, bloodcurdling shriek split the silence -- the book was screaming! Harry snapped it shut, but the shriek went on and on, one high, unbroken, earsplitting note. He stumbled backward and knocked over his lamp, which went out at once. Panicking, he heard footsteps coming down the corridor outside -- stuffing the shrieking book back on the shelf, he ran for it. He passed Filch in the doorway; Filch's pale, wild eyes looked straight through him, and Harry slipped under Filch's outstretched arm and streaked off up the corridor, the book's shrieks still ringing in his ears.

He came to a sudden halt in front of a tall suit of armor. He had been so busy getting away from the library, he hadn't paid attention to where he was going. Perhaps because it was dark, he didn't recognize where he was at all. There was a suit of armor near the kitchens, he knew, but he must be five floors above there.

"You asked me to come directly to you, Professor, if anyone was wandering around at night, and somebody's been in the library Restricted Section."

Harry felt the blood drain out of his face. Wherever he was, Filch must know a shortcut, because his soft, greasy voice was getting nearer, and to his horror, it was Snape who replied, "The Restricted Section? Well, they can't be far, we'll catch them."

Harry stood rooted to the spot as Filch and Snape came around the corner ahead. They couldn't see him, of course, but it was a narrow corridor and if they came much nearer they'd knock right into him -- the cloak didn't stop him from being solid.

He backed away as quietly as he could. A door stood ajar to his left. It was his only hope. He squeezed through it, holding his breath, trying not to move it, and to his relief he managed to get inside the room without their noticing anything. They walked straight past, and Harry leaned against the wall, breathing deeply, listening to their footsteps dying away. That had been close, very close. It was a few seconds before he noticed anything about the room he had hidden in. It looked like an unused classroom. The dark shapes of desks and chairs were piled against the walls, and there was an upturned wastepaper basket -- but propped against the wall facing him was something that didn't look as if it belonged there, something that looked as if someone had just put it there to keep it out of the way.

It was a magnificent mirror, as high as the ceiling, with an ornate gold frame, standing on two clawed feet. There was an inscription carved around the top: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi. His panic fading now that there was no sound of Filch and Snape, Harry moved nearer to the mirror, wanting to look at himself but see no reflection again. He stepped in front of it.

He had to clap his hands to his mouth to stop himself from screaming. He whirled around. His heart was pounding far more furiously than when the book had screamed -- for he had seen not only himself in the mirror, but a whole crowd of people standing right behind him. But the room was empty. Breathing very fast, he turned slowly back to the mirror.

There he was, reflected in it, white and scared-looking, and there, reflected behind him, were at least ten others. Harry looked over his shoulder -- but still, no one was there. Or were they all invisible, too? Was he in fact in a room full of invisible people and this mirror's trick was that it reflected them, invisible or not?

He looked in the mirror again. A woman standing right behind his reflection was smiling at him and waving. He reached out a hand and felt the air behind him. If she was really there, he'd touch her, their reflections were so close together, but he felt only air -- she and the others existed only in the mirror.

She was a very pretty woman. She had dark red hair and her eyes -- her eyes are just like mine, Harry thought, edging a little closer to the glass. Bright green -- exactly the same shape, but then he noticed that she was crying; smiling, but crying at the same time. The tall, thin, black-haired man standing next to her put his arm around her. He wore glasses, and his hair was very untidy. It stuck up at the back, just as Harry's did.

Harry was so close to the mirror now that his nose was nearly touching that of his reflection.

"Mom?" he whispered. "Dad?"

They just looked at him, smiling. And slowly, Harry looked into the faces of the other people in the mirror, and saw other pairs of green eyes like his, other noses like his, even a little old man who looked as though he had Harry's knobbly knees -- Harry was looking at his family, for the first time in his life.

The Potters smiled and waved at Harry and he stared hungrily back at them, his hands pressed flat against the glass as though he was hoping to fall right through it and reach them. He had a powerful kind of ache inside him, half joy, half terrible sadness.

How long he stood there, he didn't know. The reflections did not fade and he looked and looked until a distant noise brought him back to his senses. He couldn't stay here, he had to find his way back to bed. He tore his eyes away from his mother's face, whispered, "I'll come back," and hurried from the room.

"You could have woken me up," said Ron, crossly.

“You two could have at least told me about the cloak,” said (Y/N) irritably.

"You can come tonight, I'm going back, I want to show you the mirror,” said Harry.

"I'd like to see your mom and dad," Ron said eagerly.

"And I want to see all your family, all the Weasleys, you'll be able to show me your other brothers and everyone."

"You can see them any old time," said Ron. "Just come round my house this summer. Anyway, maybe it only shows dead people. Shame about not finding Flamel, though. Have some bacon or something, why aren't you eating anything?"

Harry couldn't eat. He had seen his parents and would be seeing them again tonight. He had almost forgotten about Flamel. It didn't seem very important anymore. Who cared what the three headed dog was guarding? What did it matter if Snape stole it, really?

“Ron may be right,” said (Y/N) thoughtfully, “I can’t imagine that there’d be a mirror with the sole purpose of showing people’s families. It must do something else.”

"Are you all right, Harry?" said Ron. "You look odd."

What Harry feared most was that he might not be able to find the mirror room again. With Ron and (Y/N) covered in the cloak, too, they had to walk much more slowly the next night. They tried retracing Harry's route from the library, wandering around the dark passageways for nearly an hour.

"I'm freezing," said Ron. "Let's forget it and go back."

"No!" Harry hissed. I know it's here somewhere."

They passed the ghost of a tall witch gliding in the opposite direction, but saw no one else. just as Ron started moaning that his feet were dead with cold, Harry spotted the suit of armor.

"It's here -- just here -- yes!"

They pushed the door open. Harry dropped the cloak from around his shoulders and ran to the mirror.

There they were. His mother and father beamed at the sight of him.

"See?" Harry whispered.

"I can't see anything," said Ron.

"Look! Look at them all... there are loads of them...."

"We can only see you, Harry," said (Y/N).

"Look in it properly, go on, stand where I am."

Harry stepped aside, but with Ron in front of the mirror, he couldn't see his family anymore, just Ron in his paisley pajamas.

Ron, though, was staring transfixed at his image.

"Look at me!" he said.

"Can you see all your family standing around you?" asked Harry.

"No -- I'm alone -- but I'm different -- I look older -- and I'm head boy!"

"What?"

"I am -- I'm wearing the badge like Bill used to -- and I'm holding the house cup and the Quidditch cup -- I'm Quidditch captain, too.”

Ron tore his eyes away from this splendid sight to look excitedly at (Y/N) and Harry.

“Let me look,” said (Y/N), switching places with Ron.

“What do you see?” asked Ron, “Are you on the Quidditch team too?”

“Yes,” said (Y/N), “But my parents are there too.”

(Y/N) gazed into her reflection in the mirror. She had won the Quidditch cup, like Ron, but, for some reason, she wasn’t alone. Her parents stood on either side of her looking proud as she beamed.

“Maybe it means your parents will watch you win the Quidditch cup next year,” said Ron moving back in front of the mirror, "Do you think this mirror shows the future?"

"How can it?” asked Harry, “All my family are dead -- let me have another look --"

"You had it to yourself all last night, give me a bit more time."

"You're only holding the Quidditch cup, what's interesting about that? I want to see my parents."

"Don't push me --"

A sudden noise outside in the corridor put an end to their discussion. They hadn't realized how loudly they had been talking.

"Quick!"

Ron threw the cloak back over them as the luminous eyes of Mrs. Norris came round the door. Ron, (Y/N),  and Harry stood quite still, all thinking the same thing -- did the cloak work on cats? After what seemed an age, she turned and left.

"This isn't safe,” said (Y/N), “She might have gone for Filch. I bet she heard us. Come on."

And she and Ron pulled Harry out of the room.

The snow still hadn't melted the next morning.

"Want to play chess, Harry?" said Ron.

"No."

"Why don't we go down and visit Hagrid?" asked (Y/N).

"No... you go..."

"I know what you're thinking about, Harry, that mirror,” said Ron, “Don't go back tonight."

"Why not?"

"I dunno, I've just got a bad feeling about it -- and anyway, you've had too many close shaves already. Filch, Snape, and Mrs. Norris are wandering around. So what if they can't see you? What if they walk into you? What if you knock something over?"

"You sound like Hermione."

“He is right though, Harry,” said (Y/N), “We already had a really close call last night. Do you really want to risk it again?”

"I'm serious, Harry,” said Ron, “Don't go."

But Harry only had one thought in his head, which was to get back in front of the mirror, and Ron and (Y/N) weren’t going to stop him. 

That third night he found his way more quickly than before. He was walking so fast he knew he was making more noise than was wise, but he didn't meet anyone.

And there were his mother and father smiling at him again, and one of his grandfathers nodding happily. Harry sank down to sit on the floor in front of the mirror. There was nothing to stop him from staying here all night with his family. Nothing at all.

Except --

"So -- back again, Harry?"

Harry felt as though his insides had turned to ice. He looked behind him. Sitting on one of the desks by the wall was none other than Albus Dumbledore. Harry must have walked straight past him, so desperate to get to the mirror he hadn't noticed him.

" -- I didn't see you, sir."

"Strange how nearsighted being invisible can make you," said Dumbledore, and Harry was relieved to see that he was smiling.

"So," said Dumbledore, slipping off the desk to sit on the floor with Harry, "You, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised."

"I didn't know it was called that, Sir."

"But I expect you've realized by now what it does?"

"It -- well -- it shows me my family --"

"And it showed your friend Ron himself as head boy, and your friend (Y/N) sharing her accomplishments with her parents."

"How did you know --?"

"I don't need a cloak to become invisible," said Dumbledore gently, "Now, can you think what the Mirror of Erised shows us all?"

Harry shook his head.

"Let me explain. The happiest man on earth would be able to use the Mirror of Erised like a normal mirror, that is, he would look into it and see himself exactly as he is. Does that help?"

Harry thought. Then he said slowly, "It shows us what we want… whatever we want..."

"Yes and no," said Dumbledore quietly. "It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts. You, who have never known your family, see them standing around you. Ronald Weasley, who has always been overshadowed by his brothers, sees himself standing alone, the best of all of them. (Y/N) Barnet, who never sees her parents as much as she likes, seeks their validation and praise. However, this mirror will give us neither knowledge or truth. Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible.

"The Mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Harry, and I ask you not to go looking for it again. If you ever do run across it, you will now be prepared. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that. Now, why don't you put that admirable cloak back on and get off to bed?"

Harry stood up.

"Sir -- Professor Dumbledore? Can I ask you something?"

"Obviously, you've just done so," Dumbledore smiled. "You may ask me one more thing, however."

"What do you see when you look in the mirror?"

"I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks."

Harry stared.

"One can never have enough socks," said Dumbledore. "Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn't get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books."

It was only when he was back in bed that it struck Harry that Dumbledore

might not have been quite truthful. But then, he thought, as he shoved Scabbers off his pillow, it had been quite a personal question.

[drarrily-we-row-along]

He'd taken hundreds of pictures today. Hundreds of pictures of the Christmas cheer around muggle London, the hustling and bustling, the lights and decorations, people dressed up in their winter scarves and hats, gifts piled in their arms. Wrappings and ribbons, bows and bags, piles and piles of gifts. Santas and children, snow, and ice skating. Lights, and trees, and ornaments, and a thousand other things.

Capturing the "Spirit of Christmas" was meant to be a fun project. It was meant to be something that filled the gaping hole in Harry's chest, that let him feel a little bit of joy. It was meant to be a distraction from all that he was missing.

But the truth was that trying to fill the void wasn't working. He was scuffing his foot in the snow when he stumbled across the phone booths, bright red and framed by the lovely snowfall, cathedral windows and gaily decorated Christmas tree filling in the background.

This was it, this was his spirit of Christmas this year, all of the beautiful things in the world couldn't change the desire to reach out, to reconnect and right wrongs. That in mind, he stepped into the phone booth and picked up the phone, dialing a number that he knew by heart.

The phone rang, rang, rang and then a voice, that dearly beloved voice, answered. "Hello?"

"Draco?" he managed, voice hardly louder than a whisper.

There was a pause, too long, too emotionally charged, and Harry's heart stopped in his chest. Maybe it had been too long, maybe Harry's leaving too unforgivable, maybe there was no fixing it.

"Harry?" he asked, sounding like the word caused him physical pain and Harry couldn't believe he'd been selfish enough to call him.

What had he been thinking? Of course Draco didn't want to talk to him. Of course he'd ruined everything. Draco had probably moved on already, he probably-

"I swear to Merlin, Circe, and Morgana, if that is you Potter, you'd better speak up right the fuck now or I will not be held responsible for my actions."

"It's me," he said softly.

There was another pause and he could hear Draco breathing over the phone, the heavy, wet sound of when he was trying to compose himself when his emotions were too big.

"I'm sorry," he said, as fervently as he could manage, letting every ounce of truth ring in those words. "I was such an arse, Draco. I'm sorry that I left, I'm sorry that I thought I needed to go and find myself without you. I'm sorry that I only left a note sitting on the table and that I couldn't even tell you in person."

He could hear the sound of Draco's quiet sobbing, the sound wrenching his heart, twisting it into something painful and unrecognizable in his chest.

"Please," he whispered, "If you think you could forgive me," he added without any real hope that would be possible, "I want to come home for Christmas. I want to come home."

The phone went still, silent, and Harry felt his own tears choking him, blocking his airway and holding his chest tight.

"Where are you?" Draco whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear.

"Muggle London," Harry managed.

"Come home."

Harry didn't wait for any other words, didn't even hang up the receiver, he just apparated straight from the phone booth to the front door of the little house they'd bought together a eight months ago. A house Harry hadn't seen for almost six weeks.

Before he could decide whether to knock or not, the door flew open and Draco assailed him, fists flying as they connected with Harry's chest and knocked him back off the steps. He kept hitting and shoving at him until Harry fell over into the snow in their yard. And then he was straddling his hips and pressing him into the ground, "How dare you?" he railed, "How dare you leave me with nothing but a note, you obnoxious, self centered arsehole!"

All Harry could do was stare up at him, drinking in the sight. Godric he had missed him. Draco was beautiful, his blonde hair slipping out of the braid it was in, strands framing his face. He was wearing one of Harry's Weasley sweaters, the green one with the white H, and he was wearing leggings and socks; soaking through in the wet, cold snow. Harry loved him with a fierceness that bordered on senseless.

"How could you?" he whispered, all the fight draining out of him as tears started to flow down his cheeks.

And Harry couldn't bear it. He sat up, keeping Draco in his lap, and wrapped his arms around him, holding him tight. "I'm so sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry, love."

Draco's long fingers cupped Harry's face and his lips pressed messily against Harry's, tears making everything wet and even messier but Harry wouldn't have had it any other way. He held Draco tightly, so tightly he was afraid the other man might have bruises later, but Draco was holding him just as tightly, as if he might never let go again. And Harry certainly wouldn't be complaining about that.

When Draco finally broke away to breathe, Harry cupped his face in his hands, thumbs brushing away his tears. "Can you ever forgive me?" he whispered.

Draco nodded, tears overflowing once more. "Just promise that you'll never leave me again."

"I promise," he said fervently, with the same honesty as when he'd first started apologizing.

"Good. Because if you do," Draco said, voice very serious and eyes deadly calm, "I will not be here when you get back."

Harry swallowed. That had been a very real possibility this time and he wasn't sure how he would have lived through that. "I understand," he said, leaning in to brush a tentative kiss over Draco's lips.

Draco hummed softly, then seemed to give in, kissing Harry back with just as much sweetness and gentleness as the first kiss had contained desperation.

"You're shivering," Harry whispered against Draco's lips, hands rubbing over his arms and back in an attempt to warm him.

"Come inside," he said, phrasing it more like a question than a command.

He nodded, "If it's alright with you?"

Draco huffed a little laugh and pressed him forehead to Harry's, "I may never let you leave again if you do-"

"I'm sorry," he repeated. "I won't leave you again," he promised. "Just for normal things like shopping and work, but I'll always come back," he swore. "Always, love."

He nodded, nose brushing over Harry's. "I believe you."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief, "Let's go in," he said.

Draco nodded.

And neither of them made any move to get up, too caught in the feeling of one another's bodies pressed against their own. "This is silly," Harry said and Draco tensed in his arms. "I don't want to let go either," he assured quickly before apparating them inside and onto the sofa instead.

Draco cast a drying charm over them and Harry quickly stripped out of his jacket and tossed aside his bag and camera so he could wrap Draco back in his arms more tightly.

They laid on the couch together, pressed thigh to thigh, chest to chest, nose to nose, and heart to heart. Staring into each other's eyes, they re-calibrated themselves to the other, silently promising to bind themselves together.

A promise that would be made official, one year later in their own back garden at their wedding.

[lemoncrushh]

Out of Bounds - Chapter 23

STORY PAGE

Word Count: 2279

Penny and I spent most of Sunday afternoon in the laundry room. Harry had called me earlier, assuring me there had been no unwanted guests at the restaurant the night before. He also hadn't gotten anymore ridiculous phone calls from unknown numbers. Though it was only one night, I sighed with relief.

After putting away the last of our laundry, we ate soup and sandwiches and watched a bit of TV before Penny went to bed early. I got into my pajamas and continued watching an old black and white movie. My phone buzzed when it was just about over. Grabbing it thinking it was Harry, I just about came unglued when I noticed James's name displayed.

J: Just so you know, I will no longer be paying your phone bill nor your car note and insurance after this month.

I inhaled slowly, letting the breath out in the same manner. I supposed I should have seen it coming. Of course he wasn't going to pay for anything having to do with me any longer. After thinking of what my reply should be, I texted him back.

T: Fine. I'll find my own means.

He texted back immediately.

J: Good luck.

I stuck my tongue out at my phone, as though James could see me. I knew I shouldn't expect him to still be paying my way, but he didn't have to be a jerk. I felt like he was mocking me with his condescending tone, although I couldn't hear his voice.

I watched the rest of the movie, and when the credits rolled, I turned off the TV and called Harry.

"Hi, baby," he answered, his voice raspy.

"I didn't wake you, did I?" I asked him.

"No, I was reading through our report."

"Oh," I replied with a yawn.

"Sounds like you're about to fall asleep," he remarked.

"Yeah, I am. Just wanted to hear your voice."

"Oh," he said, a smile in his tone. "That's nice to hear. Everything alright?"

I sighed audibly. "Yes and no."

"Tell me," he murmured.

I told him about James's texts, trying my best not to show any emotion. I knew Harry was always there for me, but I didn't want to lay any burden on him, like I thought he needed to pick up the pieces.

"Hmm," he sounded.

"I know I shouldn't be upset," I scoffed at myself. "I'm being ridiculous."

"No, you're not."

"Yeah, I am," I commented, running my fingers through my hair. "I can't expect him to be nice to me. At least he's somewhat civil."

"Tisa, you have every right to feel whatever it is you're feeling," Harry said in a warm tone. "Yes, you asked for the divorce. But that doesn't make it any easier. Of course he's going to throw shit at you to make you look like the bad guy and himself the victor."

"You're right," I agreed, sighing once more, deciding to drop the subject. "So what about you?"

"What about me?"

"How was the rest of your day?"

"Excruciatingly dull," he announced.

I laughed out loud. "I miss you already."

"I miss you, too. Come over."

"No," I chuckled. "It's late, and I'm already in my pajamas."

"Ooh the sexy ones?" he inquired.

"Nope. Sorry to say, but those are packed away."

"Bugger."

I laughed again, feeling the tension dissipate from the few minutes of talking to Harry. He always knew how to make me feel at ease, and I was eternally grateful for that and for him.

"Goodnight, Harry," I said.

"Goodnight, my love. See you in the morning."

The next couple days seemed to fly by, but not without discomfort. Harry had to work Monday evening, and as soon as he got home, he notified me that he saw two of the men that James had been seen with at Mikado's the night he'd come home drunk, but James wasn't with them this time. He also said that he'd asked Brian about the man that had been with Justine - the man who'd handed me the divorce papers. Brian apparently was able to put two and two together. He said a blonde had come in a couple weeks ago, and he thought she'd looked familiar, but couldn't place her. After Harry described her, Brian remembered Justine from our night at the bar. He said this time she was with a tall, dark-haired man who kept buying her drinks until they both stumbled out of the bar. He hadn't known if they had come together, or if they'd only just met then. He then said that just a few days later, he recognized the man again when he came in with the lunch crowd. He was with a couple other men, all dressed in suits, seemingly having a business lunch.

I wasn't sure yet what all of this meant, but in talking with Harry, we both gathered that one of the men at that luncheon must have been James. And that these other men were either colleagues or clients of his. I wondered silently if one of them was Nelson Whitcomb, James's boss. I still didn't know who this mystery man was, however, and how Justine fit into all of this.

On Tuesday morning, I met Harry outside of Sociology class, circles under my eyes from being sleep deprived. I had tossed and turned the entire night after ending our phone call. Looking like he hadn't gotten much more sleep than I had, without a word Harry pulled me to him and kissed me. I sighed as I leaned into him, letting his arms and lips give me the comfort I craved.

"Give me a break," I heard a voice declare behind me. I didn't even bother to turn around. I knew it was one of the mean girls. I wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of even a glance in her direction.

Harry rubbed my back as he gazed into my eyes. I could sense he was proud of me for not putting up a fight. He had been right all along. They weren't worth it. He was worth it. He was all I needed.

Professor Crawford gave us another free day to work on our papers. Harry and I were essentially finished with ours, so we spent the period discussing plans for Thanksgiving. We hadn't really discussed it prior, except for a brief mention that night when I'd confessed my love for him. And back then, it had seemed that I might still be with James at this point, and Harry was going to give me some time to think things through. All of that had changed, and I was now on my own living with Penny.

Because Thanksgiving is obviously an American holiday, I asked Harry if he had ever celebrated. He said he had, usually with friends. The previous year Zack and Alison, whom he'd been dating at the time, had gone home to their prospective families, so he'd spent the day watching parades and Christmas movies at home by himself. The thought of him doing that gutted me, so I promised I would give him a proper Thanksgiving, even if it just ended up being us two.

When class was over, I followed Harry outside. I could feel Leslie and Charice behind me, but again I didn't turn around. Just as I stepped through the doorway, I saw Liz standing with her arms crossed. I fought the urge to say or do something, even just roll my eyes, but I kept my cool and took Harry's hand as we continued to walk down the sidewalk.

We kissed and said goodbye at our usual spot, then I drove back to Penny's. Still completely exhausted, I collapsed on my couch-bed and took a nap. I was awaken an hour or so later by the ring of my phone. Picking it up, I saw Justine's name on the screen. Curious and a bit peeved, I swiped the screen to answer her call.

"Justine," I said after clearing my throat.

"Hey, Tisa!" she exclaimed as though she was excited to speak to me. "How's it going?"

"Um..." I stammered, trying to collect my thoughts. "Okay I guess, all things considered."

"Oh, yeah," she said, lowering her voice. "I heard about you and James."

"Oh, you did?" I asked, although it was more like a statement.

"Yeah, I'm so sorry."

"Wait, what?" I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I shook my head, incredulous.

"Well, I knew you weren't happy, but divorce is hard. Remember, I've been there."

"Oh. Yeah." For a moment I thought perhaps she was trying to be the friend she should have been to begin with - the shoulder that I had needed before.

"Are you still seeing Harry?" she inquired.

"Yes," I replied flatly, furrowing my eyebrows. "You knew that. You just saw him Mikado's."

"Oh yeah," she giggled nervously. "I forgot I called you."

"Uh huh."

"I was kind of drunk," she confessed.

"Yeah." I decided then we needed to get all of this out in the open. I needed some answers. "Justine, who was that man you were with?"

"What?" she asked.

"The man you were with at Mikado's. Harry said you were with someone. Was that the man you're seeing? Drew, is that his name?"

"Oh! Yeah, that's Drew," she answered.

"And how does he know James?"

"How..." Justine began. I could tell she realized she had been caught. Caught in exactly what, even I wasn't sure yet. But I knew the truth was unfolding. "Um...Drew is...a friend of James's."

"Uh huh," I repeated. "That's quite a coincidence isn't it?"

"How so?"

"Well, that you would happen to work with a man who also happens to be a friend of my husband's, excuse me, soon-to-be ex-husband's. And that you would start dating him just after I confessed to you my affair with Harry. That suddenly he's being seen at Mikado's where Harry works. And...that he happens to be the same man who served me my divorce papers."

Silence echoed between us until Justine finally said, "That is a coincidence."

I groaned loudly. "Oh, c'mon Justine, what gives?"

"Nothing!" she exclaimed.

"God dammit, Justine!" I yelled through the phone. "I thought you were my friend!"

"I am your friend!" she cried. "That's why I called you. I miss you!"

I buried my face in my hand, trying my best to keep my composure. This whole fiasco had a story to it, and I was going to get to the bottom of it.

"If you're really my friend," I continued, "you'd tell me what the hell is going on."

Justine let out an exasperated breath. "James called me."

"What?" I shook my head again. "When?"

"I don't remember exactly. I think it was after you told me about you and Harry when we were at El Toro's."

"Wh-Why would he call you?"

"Well...I think initially he was checking up on you. I think he had suspected something was going on, and because you had said you'd been with me, he wanted to make sure. I assured him we had been together, but I could tell he was worried. I asked him if he wanted to talk about it. So we met for lunch."

"Wait, back up. How did he get your number?" I asked.

"He said he found me on your Facebook. My job is listed on my profile. He called my office."

"Oh God!"

"So, we had lunch," Justine continued. "And he told me he was afraid he was losing you. He said he wasn't sure if there was someone else or not, but that you were different somehow. He seemed really sad, Tisa."

"Ugh," I scoffed. "Then what?"

"I swear, I didn't tell him right away..."

"You told him?" I cried.

"No, no I didn't!" Justine promised. "He figured it out on his own."

"How?"

"I don't know exactly. I guess he just suspected something and knew you spent a lot of time with Harry."

"So he said something to you?"

"Yeah," she admitted. "He asked if I'd heard about this Harry fellow. I didn't want to lie to him, Tisa."

"Well, you could have, Justine! Especially since I'd confided in you!" I was beyond livid at this point. Fuck friends. Fuck Justine. Fuck James.

"Should I tell you the rest, or are you too mad at me now to listen?" Justine asked, trying to turn the tables.

"Oh, no!" I exclaimed. "You're going to tell me fucking everything now!"

"Calm down," she insisted.

"I will not calm down! You don't have the right to tell me to calm down, Justine!" I was standing now, pacing the floor. I wanted to throw my phone across the room or punch a wall or something. I had never been so angry.

"No," I heard her say. "I can't talk to you when you're like this. Besides, I have to get back to work."

"Damn it!"

"Do you want to meet somewhere tonight and talk?"

I took a deep breath and let it out. "Fine."

We agreed to meet at the coffee shop around the corner from Penny's apartment at six o'clock. I hung up the phone and tossed it on my pillow. I wanted to talk to Harry, but I knew it probably would be best to wait until my anger subsided. I swallowed hard, feeling a knot in my stomach. I just wanted all of this to be over with. I wanted the truth to come out, my divorce to be final, and to live happily ever after with Harry. But I knew that was too much to ask.

MASTERLIST | KO-FI | FEEDBACK

[notlivys]

seeing hl fall in love directly in front of our eyes is so dear to me actually. the initial admiration and crush harry felt for louis was unmistakably reflected in his eyes: the way he looked at him and the sparkle that lit up whenever louis did something uniquely his own -and how beautiful it is when the people we love do something so them-. and later it wasn't just his eyes but everything about him and his demeanor showing the way he was so in love already: how he touched him, how he sought his approval in a certain way, and how he seemed to be daydreaming every time louis' full attention was directed to him. but of course tho, how could not he? when you're in love nothing beats the feeling of being reciprocated—the relief of knowing you're not alone in this. how could harry not feel that relief when every time louis looked at him, he realized he wasn't alone in the cruel environment where they fell in love?

falling in love may make you want to fly high until you hit the horrible wall of reality but if harry could fly he'd be going right back home to louis and i think that's love in its purest form <3

Larry Stylinson Analysis -- Heart eyes

Let’s hone in on an important aspect of Harry and Louis’s relationship – the heart eyes.

Seguir leyendo

[heartofspells]

Masterpost

@wolfstarmicrofic

Prompt: country road

"Sirius, stop!" calls Remus.

Sirius ignores him, continuing down the road in front of the cottage he'd once felt so at home within. Now he feels faded, a pointless entity, like the ghost Remus has been calling him for over a week. His head throbs, sending an ache through the backs of his eyes, and he squeezes them closed, still not halting in his steps, though they become a bit staggered, giving the other man an opportunity to catch up and grip his shoulder, spinning him around.

"What do you want?" he snarls in Remus' face, glaring at him with eyes that could melt most others to puddles of themselves, but Remus doesn't seem fazed by the intense anger shining from their grey depths.

"I want you to stop," says Remus patiently, quietly. "Just stop and think for a second. I'm not even sure where you think you're going."

"Where else would I be going?" demands Sirius heatedly, wincing around the cymbals clanging in his head. "St Mungos! I'm going to find myself. Maybe – fuck. Maybe this is just some fractured connection. Maybe if I – I don't know! Touch my own arm or something I'll sort of absorb back into me. That doesn't even make sense, but I don't know what else to do!"

Remus stares at him, his hand still gripping Sirius' shoulder. A couple walks past them, casting Remus odd looks at his stance and the fact that he'd seemingly been talking to himself only moments ago, but both men ignore them as the couple increase their pace.

"That's a stupid idea," says Remus finally, and Sirius opens his mouth to retort, eyes narrowing, but the other man stops him. "I know you don't know what to do or what's happening, but this isn't a book, Sirius. It's not some Muggle film where everything just slots back into place so easily. Something clearly happened to you, and until someone figures out what, I think you're stuck like this." Sirius begins to deflate under Remus' hold until he continues, saying, "And you're going the wrong way."

Sirius suddenly jerks away from him, Remus' arm dropping back to his side like a useless log. "I know that," he bites out, "and I don't care. I just need – I need – I – fucking Merlin on a tea table!" He shouts the last bit at the ground, blood rushing into his face forcefully, his head throbbing harder, skull feeling as though it's ready to split in half.

"What do you need?" asks Remus, still soft, little judgement in his voice. "What do you need, Sirius?"

"I don't know!" cries Sirius, eyes snapping back up, landing on the other man briefly before he's spinning on his heels. "I need answers! I need my life back! I need to talk to someone other than you, someone who doesn't despise my existence – "

"I don't despise your existence," denies Remus quickly. "I just…wasn't expecting your existence. It's been an adjustment…"

But Sirius isn't listening anymore, his words falling into a void where they don't matter anymore. His eyes have landed on an object gleaming in the light beside the cottage. The black of it is glossy and smooth, the chrome perfect and blinding. The bars at the top are expertly positioned at just the right height, something Sirius had fought with, using several different charms to get them adjusted. He can hear the rumbling of sounds even as it stands still and alone, abandoned just like him, images of chilled nights spent on a country road and the smell of pine and grease invading his senses.

"Do you see that?" asks Sirius, cutting through whatever Remus is saying. The other man follows his gaze to the bike, frowning in confusion. "That's mine. It's my bike. I've had it for years. Found it not long after I left Hogwarts. It was rubbish. James told me not to buy it, said I'd regret it, but I knew. I could tell what was beneath the surface of something so neglected. I spend ages fixing it up, giving it the life it deserved. I took care of it. Even charmed it to fly. Harry always loved going up with me."

Sirius angles his head in Remus' direction but never removes his eyes from his bike. "And there it is, untouched and unloved. I'm sure Lily or James protected it, but I doubt they do anything with it." He stops and grits his teeth together. "It's mine, and it's here. Same as my jacket that I'm still somehow wearing. Same as all my other clothes and books and photos. Everything that's ever meant anything to me is here. And so am I, but I'm not, am I? Not really. They can't see me, can't hear or touch me. They're my family and I'm just…gone. Dead."

Remus steps forward, pushing into Sirius' line of sight. "You're not dead, Sirius," he says firmly. "You said so yourself. They said it too. You're not dead. You're not a ghost, and I'm sorry for all the times I've called you that because you aren't."

"You're not hearing me," snaps Sirius. "You're not hearing one word. I am nothing! To everyone that has meant anything to me, I don't exist except for laying useless in some bed in the fuck-off ward of a hospital where no one cares! And now I'm stuck with you, someone who doesn't know me and would rather I didn't exist at all." Remus rears backwards a little as though slapped, something hurtful flashing across his face, but Sirius doesn't care. "I don't want you. I don't need you. Take my fucking flat. Enjoy it. Apparently, I don't need it anymore. I just want my family back."

Remus stares at him, not speaking, mouth pulled into a thin line, brown eyes guarded and calculating. Sirius growls under his breath.

"Piss off, Remus!" he shouts. "Go! Get the fuck out of here! You don't want me and I don't need you!"

The other man's gaze never falters from Sirius' face, but his own expression hardens after a moment. "Fine," he mutters, and then Remus is turning on his heel, his disappearance and the sharp crack signaling his departure.

As soon as he's gone, Sirius feels as though a boulder is falling onto his chest. His air is sucked from his lungs, his bones feel brittle and pliant. Everything turns soft. He nearly screams as the worst pain he's felt so far rips through his head, turning his vision white and then black. And then he's being pulled through the tightest of tubes, the sensation far worse than Apparition has ever been. Everything goes dark after that.

[cowboylikedean]

Are you still taking haylor asks? I have this theory that T didn't know about gravity of H's real feelings . She thought he only came back for sex and didn't want to commit(tour speeches). But only after hs1 did she believe he wasn't kidding. But she wasn't gonna leave her 'gorgeous' man for this. That is why the whole unfinished thing lingers. Because if they simply had an open conversation instead of letting ego come b/w they might have had a shot

I was the haylor anon. It just occurred to me when I was watching wonderland live 2018. She kinda looked emotional. Almost tearfull. The comments were full of swiftgron

Hey anon, I'm combining your asks! So short story, YES!!! I absolutely think that she didn't know the strength of Harry's feelings. I think when MITAM was released and she heard If I Could Fly, there was a moment of like "..... eh I mean seriously dude? Right now you're completely defenseless? You've let your guard down? If you could fly, you'd be coming right back home to me??? Despite the fact I gave you a shot?? okay, i guess."

And then HS1 is released and he's SERIOUSLY pining and it's ALL about her and I think she heard Woman and was like "... this really fucking hurt him and he has real regrets." and then THEN she heard FTDT and she was like "OH, I'm the big heartbreak of his life, like that's me. I'm his all consuming pain he can never escape."

But you're right, by that time, like it was too late. She's not going to leave Joe to try to make it work with Harry, especially since Taylor really is the kind of person who is like "if you're not there when it counts, how can I count on you to be there in the future?" So by that time, there wasn't even a question of "am I going to get back with Harry" there was a "I wish he'd gotten his shit together and we could have seen..." but over the years, I think it became less of that and more of like, genuine annoyance. She is the love of his life so far... it's almost like that didn't matter when it mattered so it shouldn't even matter but it does.

And as for Wonderland, I see her getting emotional on the bridge when she says that she reached for him but he was gone... And yeah I think it's just sad frustration more than anything..

There's all this empty and lost potential. And those of us who love haylor (who are halfway sane) have all said that that lost potential is so captivating that we're always starved for more, on the edge of our seat. Every new piece of information makes it more frustrating and we, and them, are here forever in torment.

[always-andromeda]

viii. sound of a love song | Joby Taylor x fem!Reader

Joby Taylor x fem!Reader

Word Count | 4,659

Summary | You're fed up and heartbroken. And the only way you can of getting through it involves Joby Taylor and a bottle of rouge.

Author's Note | full disclosure, this is one of my personal favorite chapters in this fic. even fuller disclosure, this was the point where I was listening to harry's house on REPEAT. so shout out to grapejuice for being a such an inspiration for this chapter.

Warnings | slight sexual references, angst, pining, alcohol, nothing else I can think of!

Through the grapevine you heard that William was back in town. It didn't worry you that he hadn't let you know directly. He always had a laundry list of people to check in with before he could spend some time with you. That's why this time you were going to him.

You were sure Will would like the wine and flowers. He loved bragging about all the taste notes and undertones. Sometimes you swore he was making half of it up just to make you feel stupid. But he was smart, always saying things with the intention of it flying right over your head. You approached the control room, the brown paper wrapped around the roses rustling in your grasp. 

Will had been so quiet. Managing wasn’t easy, especially with temperamental musicians. And if he was working with a kid of one of his dad's friends, of course his time would be taken up getting that in motion. You were well aware of the type of people his family were friends with. Country club types who went golfing every weekend and had high expectations. People who expected him to have passive income and a pretty girl on his arm by forty.

You imagined Will had been so busy that showing up so eager would please him. Especially after the last phone call. It had been close to a week since then and you'd managed to stay independent. Mostly. He didn't have to know how much you'd been around Joby. Besides, nothing had happened in those weeks. Nothing as catastrophically terrible as the hickey. And that had already faded. So you were confident as you entered the studio he rented out. 

Peering through the glass door of the control room, you choked on your breath. Will was reclined back in his rolling chair and had a head of auburn hair in his lap. She bobbed up and down and you watched as Will’s own head lolled back in pleasure. One hand tangled in her hair and the other gripped the armrest. For a second, you were frozen, not quite processing what you were witnessing. As soon as the girl looked up at him with a smirk and wanting eyes, you snapped out of your daze. You couldn’t get out of there faster as the horror grew within you. Not again.

Part of you wanted to go home and cry your eyes out until you didn’t care about the image anymore. But wouldn’t that be letting him win? Spending the night wallowing in self pity wouldn’t do anything but give you a runny nose and that ever growing feeling of dread; that feeling that in the end, Will would end up hurting you more than he'd ever helped you.

Fine, if you didn’t want to be alone, you could call any one of your friends. They would pool together and take you out for a good night. Or you could all stay at home and talk shit about your inconsiderate asshole boyfriend. But that wouldn’t satisfy you either. And it would all get back to him anyways.

Though it was the first time you'd seen it, that wasn't the first time it had happened. You'd found flirtatious texts and seen him getting cozy with other girls before. But he always shrugged it off as part of the job. Sometimes you just have the schmooze your way through a room. The excuse seemed so stupid now. And you'd taken it without a second thought.

You sat in your drivers seat, clutching the steering wheel hard and let yourself realize that it would never end. The wretched cycle would continue and you would always be on edge. You looked at the roses and the bottle of red wine on your passenger side seat with disdain and came to a terrible conclusion. 

Fuck walking the line. And with that, you drove off towards your new destination.

You’d been there before, but the Motel 6 felt different this time. That first night you had been unflinching when telling Joby he could stay with you for the night. Maybe you had just been too tired to think of an alternative. Maybe now you had the sense to be nervous of what he’d think about you coming to him this time. Would he think you were so desperate? Would he tease you? But none of that mattered, you desperately wanted his company.

You stood at his door, seeing the soft light inside filtering through the curtains. You used your knuckles to gently rap on the door and waited a few seconds in complete silence. His car was parked outside so you knew he was there. You banged louder with your fist and shouted his name. You rolled your eyes when you heard a loud thump and some shuffling inside. Finally the door opened, revealing Joby, hair disheveled.

His eyes still bleary, his mouth hung open. Scowling, you pushed past him. The second knock had woken him with a start. He was already teetering on the edge of the mattress but you had startled him so much that he had tumbled to the floor. He didn’t think it would be you on the other side of the door. He would’ve been a bit self conscious at how terrible he looked but judging by the look on your face, you had other things on your mind besides his appearance. Besides, you'd seen him in worse states by now.

You set down a bouquet of roses and a bottle of wine on the bedside table with force. “Surprise,” the word was fraught with irritation.

Carefully, as though he were diffusing a bomb, he settled next to you on the bed and kept his voice low, “Did I miss an anniversary or something?”

The dumb comment earned him a quick sniff from you and a quiet, “You’re so stupid.”

“Seriously, what’s the occasion?” He tested the waters more.

Oh, yeah, today is watching my boyfriend get his dick sucked by a client day!

You decided on replying, “It’s been a long day and I wanted to…unwind.”

Joby knew there was more to the statement but tried not to push the issue. Instead, he let himself soak in the fact that you’d had a hard day and had deliberately gone to him. He wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve that high of consideration in your mind but he was honored nonetheless.

Blowing a cautious breath through his teeth, he reached across you and picked up the bottle of wine. The label was black and red with a decorative picture of a tree. He couldn’t lie, he wasn’t much of a wine guy. He really preferred harder liquor. He remembered the handful of times he’d gotten wine drunk in his life…it wasn’t pretty. But he wasn’t about to turn you down on the drink. Not with how upset you looked.

“Let’s crack this baby open then.” He looked at you expectantly and you jumped, going to reach into your purse. You pulled out a corkscrew and handed it to him. With a bit of little effort and pursed lips, he uncorked the bottle with a pop, suddenly realizing there was nothing for him to pour it in.

“I didn't bring any wine glasses,” You huffed. Because William had some in his office. For special events. So much for that.

“That’s okay, we can just take turns,” Joby shrugged and passed the bottle in your direction, “Ladies first?”

You grabbed it and took a long swig. Joby tried not to dwell on the ruby red droplets that leaked from the corner of your mouth, over your chin, down that unblemished neck, and disappeared behind your blouse. If he did, he would've only let himself be disappointed that the hickey he'd given you was now gone.

You handed the bottle back to him, "I hope you don't believe in cooties." You added.

His lips curled slightly and he took a large gulp of his own. He swirled the liquid around his mouth before swallowing. It was rich, plummy, with an edge of dark chocolate. Underneath it all was a note of the lipstick you'd left on the rim; he could've gotten drunk off that waxy, smooth flavor alone. The wine was a little too bitter and fruity for his taste, but he could tolerate it for tonight. He'd tolerated more unpleasant things for you already.

"What do you think?" You asked. If it had been Will, he would've launched into a full break down of every flavor and insulted you for not being able to get any of it. Knowing Joby, however, you'd be lucky if he'd even really tasted any of it before it ran down his throat.

He stared at the bottle for a moment, squinting to read the label. "It's...alright."

"You're kidding." You scoffed in disbelief, "You think it's that awful?"

"No, really, it's good. Why? How much did you pay for this?" Moving to sit against the headboard, you groaned, head smacking the wood with a little bang. Joby did the same and nudged your shoulder. You retreated into yourself even more, drawing your knees up and hiding your face in your hands.

"If I tell you, you'll think I'm stupid." You muttered.

"No, I won't. C'mon, now I really gotta know how much you paid for this."

You sighed, facing him but not quite meeting his gaze, "Two hundred dollars..."

Joby dissolved into laughter, "Two hundred fucking dollars? Jesus, I think this is the most expensive shit I've ever drank in my life." He leaned into you and whispered, that shit-eating toothy grin already spread across his face, "You know, if you really wanted to get me drunk, you could've just gotten some of that ten dollar shit from the liquor store on the corner."

"What makes you think I wanted to get you drunk?" You bit your lip, already perking up. He was warm, welcoming, and wily.

Joby never felt more like himself as he slid his arm around your waist and continued, "Shit, you don't just want me drunk. You're tryna’ romance me." He motioned towards the roses still sitting on his bedside table. "You just wanna take advantage of little old me, huh?" He poked your side.

You shied away from the underhanded move, "Hmm, that's been my plan all along." You chuckled wickedly.

Part of him wished that really had been your plan. He couldn't deny the red heat flushing his cheeks as you two shared the bottle and talked about meaningless shit. Everything quickly became tangled. Your legs and his, strings of words that went unfinished, and lingering touches that would’ve formed knots in your stomach if you thought about them any longer than the intoxication allowed. But at the center of it was a fact you couldn’t ignore now, not as his body thrummed against yours. Knowing the conversation would turn sentimental as you got deeper into the bottle, you decided you'd put that point off for as long as possible.

As soon as you had downed the last sip, you were getting up and dragging him with you. "I saw a playground on the other side of the motel. I want to play on the swings."

"Let me put on my jacket," He replied faintly. You were glad he was going with your plan, you didn't feel like arguing with him tonight. He let you drag him outside and around the building. Almost the entire way you were giggling lightly and Joby couldn't help but grin. The playground was almost an extension of the decrepit motel, looking like it hadn't been taken care of in years. In the motel's heyday, you could've seen a small family taking their children out to play on a sunny afternoon. Any hint of that past was long abandoned. You finally let go of his hand and plopped down on a swing with rusty chains. The sun had begun to set, casting a soft orange light over the dilapidated playground.

You squinted at him, waiting, "Are you gonna come over here and push me?"

Joby raised a brow, "You can't do it yourself?"

"I can, but it's so much more fun when someone else does it." You gave him those glossy, pleading eyes and broke out a pout.

Trudging behind you, he grabbed the seat on either side of your hips and whispered mischievously in your ear, "You want fun? You better hold on." Before you could get another word in, Joby pulled back as far his arms would allow him and let go, shooting you forward and into the sky.

You screamed, "Joby! You asshole!"

"I told you to hold on!" He laughed, full and . When you came swooping down, he caught you and continued to push, over and over, reducing you to a fit of giggles and screams. He could've done it all day, the drunken mellowness fully bloomed in his chest as your presence engulfed him.

After a little while, you jumped out of the seat midair, barely landing on your feet and swaying in the wind. But you managed to keep your balance so you wouldn't fall face first into the wood chips. Once you were sure you'd caught your balance, you turned and flung your arms into the air as though you were a gymnast. Joby was speechless at your dismount. Before he could get a good look at you, you were off, bolting down the hill toward the trees in the distance.

"Bet you can't catch me!" You screamed back at him. 

"Fuck," He cursed under his breath. You were really expecting him to do this? Of course that's exactly what he'd do. The wind blowing his hair back, he dashed after you. With his burning smokers lungs, he ran out of breath quickly but kept pushing himself to just run. Ultimately, his legs were longer than yours and he caught up to you sooner than you thought he would. He captured the middle of your torso and swiveled you around before lifting you in the air.

You lightly thumped his chest with your fists, kicked your feet fruitlessly, and shrieked, "Joby, put me down!"

"You wanted me to catch you! You didn't think I was fast enough, huh?" His chest was aching, still finding it hard to catch his breath. You noticed and gave up with your struggle, resigning to wrapping your own arms around his neck and burrowing your chin into the crook of his neck. Slowly he lowered you until your shoes found the ground again.

You drew back from where you'd placed your head in the crook of his neck. By now, both yours and his breath was visible as it got colder. Joby's chest heaved for a while. His legs felt as though they were about to give way underneath him. He became very aware of how close you were to him, your fingers leaving sparks on the nape of his neck. You curled the hair there around your digits. His own hands were still on your sides. He longed to feel the feverish burn of your skin. Even though you were so close, there were just enough barriers that it drove him wild.

Once the burn in his lungs had started to subside, you spoke in that teasing voice, "Sorry, I should've thought twice before racing an old man."

That competitive streak in him rose instantly, "You think I'm an old man?"

Scrunching up your face and pinching your thumb and index fingers at him, you said, "Just a little bit."

With a new fire, he tickled your sides. You doubled over quickly, trying to squirm away from his relentless attack. But he only went down with you, pinning you to the dying grass by resting on his knees, straddling your thighs.

"You don't get to call me old and get away with it!" He taunted, “I’ve got you now

Between howls of laughter you repeated his name. Your grin was wider and more genuine than he'd ever seen. So he carried on, doing his best to make sure you kept that look on your face, chasing the butterflies that erupted in his stomach.

You were trying to grab at his hand, begging for him to ease up. That was when he let you clasp his wrists and bring them back to lie on your hips. He became acutely aware very quickly how precarious this set up was. He'd pictured himself being in this position a few times, but not in this context. Below him, your pupils were dilated, and your lips were swollen as you breathed through them softly. He wanted to kiss you more than anything; he was in the most optimal setting to do so. 

So easily he could picture himself leaning down and breathlessly crashing his lips to yours. He imagined you tangling your fingers in his hair again and gasping into his mouth as he ground into you. Your lips looked so tempting, stained pink from the wine. Fuck, the wine. He would be the slimiest guy ever to do that to you while you were both drunk. While you were clearly upset. He thought back to the last time he was drunk like this. How angry you'd been with him and how he'd been working for your forgiveness ever since. He wasn't going to make the same mistake twice. He removed the thought and quickly shuffled to get off you, choosing to lay on his back upon the grass.

Facing the open sky, you were speechless. You could've sworn that you were on the edge of turning a new page. Breaking some sort of boundary. Your core had already begun heating up at the thought of him taking control right then and there. Already craved the cold air against your bare skin and his hands and lips alleviating the chill. You thought you’d caught his dark eyes wandering as if he could devour you. The embarrassment hit you quickly and left you sniffing back a few tears. It was all so stupid. Going to him, drinking with him, making him run after you; all of it was so incredibly foolish. You knew better than this.

"Why did you bring that stuff? The wine…the flowers…" He finally plucked up the courage to ask what had been in the back of his mind the whole time. 

You were quiet, trying to keep your breath steady before you stated, "I think Will is cheating on me." Even though you knew it for sure, you didn't want Joby to think that. That would only give him a concrete reason to pummel Will next time he saw him.

"Oh," When you'd said you had a long day before, he wasn't expecting that to be the reason. But of course it was. The only time you'd ever want him was when your boyfriend was being a dick. Joby should have felt humiliated realizing how much of a last resort he was. But really, he felt honored you'd even consider him a choice at all.

He couldn't fight his curiosity. "What makes you think that?"

If he was going to ask...fuck it.

"I saw him getting his dick sucked in his recording studio."

"Shit," Surprisingly, he wasn't as angry as he thought he would be. Joby had connected the dots weeks ago. Maybe this is what would make you do the same. "What are you going to do about it?"

"Nothing, it's fine...I just needed to get everything out before-"

"Nothing? If you saw what you saw, then...then you gotta say something to him about it."

You chuckled, "No, I really don't need to say shit to him. I'll just get over it and everything will be fine." You sounded vaguely upset but mostly tired.

"It doesn't seem like you even care." You must have cared, he reasoned. If you didn't, you wouldn't have gone running to drown your troubles with him. You were just avoiding it.

"Will doesn't care. Why should I?" Tears were just starting to fill your eyes and you blinked them back quickly.

"How long have you been with him?" He didn't think you'd ever told him that bit. You didn’t talk about Will at all with him.

You struggled to remember exactly when you'd met William. He'd always been around at various gigs until one day he pulled you into a trailer backstage and fucked you into his couch. Between grunts, he said you were the prettiest girl there. You weren’t trying too hard. It wasn't your typical deal but you liked his bluntness in the beginning. He wasn't afraid to touch you and it made you feel so much better about yourself.

Then he said he could help you with your career. He could make things so much easier for you. With him as your boyfriend, he was your first connection. The first person that could vouch for you and got you the majority of the work you'd done. But in the years since he was far more interested in exploring other things; he simply decided that he'd already unearthed all your secrets, harvested all of your naivete for all it was worth.

"About...four years, I think?"

"Fuck. So that's why you stay, isn't it." He asserted. You laughed almost manically again and Joby turned to send you a quizzical look with his furrowed brow.

"To tell you the truth, I don't know why I stay. I mean...we don't live together or anything. We barely spend time with each other outside of playing shows and recording and meetings." The slow tears were falling from the outer corners of your eyes and melting into your hairline. "He doesn't even kiss me unless we're in public. And I've never let him meet my family and I've never met his. It's all a fucking…performance." You sputtered a laugh still as if it was the funniest joke you’d ever heard.

Joby swallowed the hard lump in his throat. He wished he could take you by the shoulders and shake you until you could see things exactly how he did. But he listened. You softened your edges for everyone. And even if it did take a bit of alcohol to wrench the jagged truth free, he was hooked on every word that could possibly come out of your mouth.

"I'm not sure if he even likes me anymore, you know? I look at him and I feel like I'm just in his way. And I fucking hate it sometimes. Because we were good at one point. I know it doesn't seem like it but there were these little times we had where I could've seen myself being with him forever."

You really did mean it. Back when you had both been interesting to each other, he wanted to know everything about you. He was only occasionally mean back then; made little snide remarks that could pass off as harmless jokes. And when he bit too hard, he apologized and you'd usually end the night having sex. That was the pattern for a while. Now, him knowing you so well made it more difficult. He knew exactly where to sink his teeth in. Knew how much pressure to apply. Knew exactly what the mark would do to you.

"Joby..." You waited a beat for him to look at you again before setting your last rambling thought free, "I don't even like myself when I'm with him. It's part of the reason why I haven't taken him to my family. Knowing how they are...how he is with me...he would just judge them. He wouldn't care one way or another if it hurt anyone. So I keep him away from all that stuff. I don't want him ruining any of it."

“You shouldn’t feel like that, though.” Joby seemed to be pleading, begging you to shatter the walls you’d built.

“I guess not. I don’t know. It’s just better to keep work and family separate.” You realized exactly what you had suggested as soon as it left your mouth. You thought Joby would laugh. But he didn’t. He just sat and simmered in the unpleasant silence with you. That was the root of the problem, wasn’t it? William was more work than anything else.

"Take me to your family." Joby breathed. He wanted to regret the statement but he couldn't bring himself to. God, he wanted to know you. He wanted to hold every part of your life in his hands and cradle the pieces the way they deserved to be.

"Really?" You smiled back at him through a sob.

"Yeah, I want to meet your family. I want to meet the people who made such a great fucking person." His brows lowered, accentuating how serious he really was.

"It would just be my mom and my siblings..."

"Even better! I'm fantastic with moms." He blurted out.

"Oh, really?" You said playfully.

"Not like that!" He thought for a second, fumbling with his necklace chain, "Actually, maybe like that, I haven't tried- fuck, whatever, my point is that I...I want to meet your family. I swear, I will be so polite and so nice. I'll get dressed up again, I'll take the nail polish off, whatever I gotta do to show your folks that you've got decent people in your life." You were giggling again and he relished in the sweet sound.

You reassured him, "You don't need to dress up. And I'll repaint your nails."

Slurring his words he got playfully indignant, "Why would you repaint them? I'm perfectly capable of doing it myself."

"Oh, Joby, honey, you do such a messy job.” You tapped the tip of his nose with your index finger. And he couldn’t even try to miss the name you called him. It only made him wonder how long you two could keep tiptoeing on the line between being strictly platonic and romantic. Because he was sure that friends weren’t this intimate.

“Fine, you can paint them.” He resigned, though you wouldn’t have had to say another word to justify it.

"So...when will we go?"

"Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? They're a few hours away."

"Fuck yeah. Bright and early tomorrow morning. We can just keep driving until we get there. We can make it a whole thing," He pinched the bridge of his nose, "A fuckin' road trip. We can make it a road trip. Whaddya think of that?"

"Okay." You were quiet, laying on your side and looking into his brown eyes. They fit so well on his angular face and the way they were fixed on you made you want to tear up again.

Joby whispered almost inaudibly, "That sound okay?"

You nodded slowly, eyelids fluttering.

"C'mon, if we're heading out early, we should probably go to bed." You picked yourself up first and held out both of your hands to bring him with you. You stumbled pulling his lumbering figure up, but he supported you with a hand drifting on your hip. Leaning into his jacket, you reveled in every bit of heat from him as he led you back to his room.

With there being only one bed, Joby placed a lumpy, stained pillow down the middle. He didn't want there to be any chance for either of you to cross the line in the middle of the night. You weren't upset about it exactly. There was a craving for him to get closer lying defiantly in your bones. You wanted him to wrap himself around you and be engulfed in his scent; the wine and cigarette smoke and exhaustion that you took solace in. His hands touching your midriff and nagging at your skin. You wanted to turn around and just say it to him.

But that was just the wine talking, you convinced yourself as you submerged your head in your pillow and tried to ignore Joby's soft snores.

Taglist | @lokis-army-77 @angelicbruhl @pierres-new-spectacles@trelaney @babiezo @diveintothedanoverse @hollyisaberry @oddjacque

Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist!

[localwebslingers]

"...you know how confident you sound about that, right? Six months?" Peter asked him. It wasn't like it was a secret that the Osborns were rich. Very rich, he'd been in the manor that was here several times in his early childhood. It sounded like Harry came from the same kind of wealth back in his world. Still, dinner with the Queen of England in just six months or less seemed insane and like an optemistic guess. Then again, Peter at one point didn't think guys with metal wings were going to fly around giving him headaches stealing whatever they could get their claws on.

"Okay, but you have to come with me suit shopping because I'll have no idea what to look for. I have a jacket and slacks, and even I know that's way under dressed." he conceeded, smiling some again as he waited for Harry to grab the rest of the pile. Two people was definitely the better way to go about this. Peter smiled a little and shrugged, "Hey, baking is still a science. Maybe we'll find a really good blueberry pie recipe that clears up how to get part of it to work. You never know."

Peter lead the way over to the elevator and managed to hit the button for it to get them downstaris. A very understanding looking librarian patiently checked the books out for them under Peter's student ID and he was leaning on the front door to hold it open for Harry not long after. It was dark out, cooled down from earlier in the day, and already the number of students around had dropped notably. Likely in dorms studying, at home, or attending whatever event was going on that night.

He followed after Harry and fell in step next to him, "Are you planning to hang out around the lab longer once we get all of these back?" since he'd mentioned not sleeping again for a while, Peter imagined tht was what he'd meant, "Or are you going to check out the night life?"

\\ @inhcritance \\

"Not necessarily." Harry commented, picking up the offered papers and taking a quick look at them. "In any universe in which I have enough money to get you a fake passport and impress or bribe the proper people, we can have dinner with the Queen in less than six months."

Maybe less than three, if he played his cards right, and if he focused on it.

"The problem would be dealing with the aftermath and the cloud of people wanting to know exactly why we'd done that. But we could do it."

And it was an entertaining thought experiment, and a small distraction from the usual concerns, and his exhaustion... Which had certainly been enough for him to end up finding a recipe book, and only notice now. Still, he picked it up, balancing the stack on his other arm and... Bad idea, and he put it back on top immediately, holding the papers with both hands.

"A perfectly fine idea." He replied, tone not particularly sharp. "This way I can miss my kitchen even more. And," he added, "you never know the secrets recipe books hide."

It could be an easy entertainment, for all he did really miss cooking. Then again, he was no stranger to homesickness, these days. And he knew it'd get better when the whole ordeal with the serum had gone by, so all he needed was to get through it.

"Maybe it contains all the answers we need." He added, as he pretended to look through a shelf to let Peter go first, and avoid balancing his stack of papers to get through the door.

@localwebslingers

[k1ng0fn0b0dy]

Baby Brother 💛

(TransMale Reader but it's technically not an important detail)

(He/They Pronouns)

(1000+ Words)

Description: You're bored so you randomly decide to visit your baby brother. How were you supposed to know George was streaming?

[Read the rest under the cut]

{《☆》}

You were hanging upside down on the couch, scrolling through Tumblr. Today was a slow day. Nothing fun was happening, not even anywhere else.

Twitter was dry, Tumblr was the same as always, no one cool was on Snapchat, and so your boredom had you practically one foot in the grave.

Scratching under the edge of your binder, you spotted a brilliant piece of artwork that sparked an idea.

It was George, with those streamer friends of his, watching a movie and cuddling.

Oh, you were so ready to rewatch all of the Harry Potter movies. George was such a nerd about them too, so he'd probably be fine with you barging into his apartment with no warning as long as you brought food.

Grinning, you got up. It was a shaky start since your head was now pissed at your previous upside-downness. Picking up your keys, you picked up an old hoodie off the coat rack you barely use and started driving to Taco Bell.

{《☆》}

Maybe you should've thought it through. That thought only hit you after you broke into your baby brother's home. (Was it really breaking into if you had a spare key?)

Or, more accurately, the thought came to you when you opened George's door and came face to face with a camera and computer that was showing, what you assumed, was tens of thousands of people your face.

"Oh shit," You backtracked instantly, shutting the door behind you. George was still staring in dumbfounded shock, his previous shrieks tampering out.

"I'll be right back." He rushed out of the room after double-checking he muted and shut his camera off.

"Y/N! What the hell!" George yelled. He wasn't angry, probably. Just concerned. (Or maybe both)

"I-I'm sorry!" You stammered. "I didn't know you were streaming. I-,"

George groaned, annoyed. "You should have called if you wanted to come over. Now everyone knows about you!"

"I know! I just-," You hesitated, frowning down at your shoes. "I wanted to spend time together. I didn't mean to interrupt or-, yeah... I'm sorry."

"I-, it's okay." George sighed. "I'm sorry too, it's just, the stans aren't always the nicest. They can get, weird. I don't want that happening to you."

"I don't want that happening to you either," You said. And wasn't that just the sweetest. Your baby brother wanted to protect you. You opened up your arms for a hug, which George happily gave.

You were taller than George, actually. By multiple inches. He was practically burrowed into your chest. It was painfully obvious when you two were hugging. You set your chin on his brown mop of hair.

"So," You started. "I had come over for Taco Bell and movie night but since I interrupted your stream, how about you go finish that. I can wait here."

George hummed, frowning when you tried to pull away. Your baby brother's face twisted pathetically, guilt-tripping you with his puppy eyes. "Or you could come with me when I end it? They already saw you and I don't wanna let go."

Smiling, you held him for another few seconds before starting the awkward shuffle towards his room.

{《☆》}

"Hello," You say into the mic, glancing over at the words flying by in all caps. "I'm Y/N."

"HOT VOICE"

"PRETTY MAN FROM EARLIER???"

"DEEP VOICE HOT"

"I AM SIMPING"

"AWOOGA AWOOGA AWOOGA"

"FACE CAM???"

"Chat, give me a second to get my camera back on." George said, briefly moving away to reveal you both to the stream. Withing seconds, your nervous face is smiling at the stream. "So this is Y/N! They're my older brother and if anyone says anything weird about him I will ban them from chat.

"Protective 'Gogy'?" You laugh, reading out chat. "What the hell is a 'Gogy'?"

George flushes, swatting the back of your head.

"Hey!"

"Anyways," George smiled innocently, still leaning on you fully. "We should probably unmute and undeafen on Discord, Dream and Sapnap will be worried."

"What the hell kinda name is Sapnap? Or Dream?" You laugh, teasing George, who rolls his eyes. "I didn't pick their names, Y/N"

"Okay, so-,"

"GEORGE!" Someone yells. "Where the hell were you?"

George sighed, giving you a pleading look. Grinning, you leaned closer to the mic.

"Hello, boys."

"What the hell?" Someone shrieked loudly. The previous guy seemed so startled that they knocked multiple glass bottles off their desk. "Who are you!?!"

"I'm Y/N," George settled next to you, resting his head against your shoulder. "And I'm George's kidnapper-, ow, sorry, I'm his brother."

"Oh,"The first voice says, embarrassed. "I'm Dream."

"And I'm Sapnap," The other confidently cut in. They both sounded so American. "You have a hot voice."

"Sapnap!" Dream laughed, an odd wheezing noise that you think you remember George telling you about. "That's his brother."

"And?" Sapnap defends himself, "Am I wrong?"

A pause. You can't help but laugh. George is just reading chat, picking apart the conversation as the public reacts. "Y/N, tell them we're leaving. I want to watch the fourth Harry Potter movie first."

"Of course, bubba," You smiled, ruffling his hair. "Alright fellas, while I'd love to stay and be flattered more, me and George are gonna go have a movie night."

"Oh, bye!" "Byeee!"

{《☆》}

"Have I ever told you how much I love you?" George grins up at you, holding the bag of Taco Bell in his lap. You just nod, chuckling as he splays onto his couch and watches you set everything up.

Maybe you spoil him too much...

"Y/N! Hurry up! I'm getting bored." Your baby brother pouted.  Yeah, you definitely spoiled him too much. But then again, it wasn't like your parents were going to.

"Alright, alright," You sat down on the couch, instantly getting an armful of George. He was scrawny enough not to be too uncomfortable though.

As the movie started, you were glad that you came. At least now you have the discord of a hot Texan man and Taco bell, things couldn't have gone better.

{《☆》}

[Hello, I am going to go burn a house down, go be gay and do crime!]

[-L0v3, k1ng]

Masterlist

[multi-fandom-tickles]

Coochie Coochie Coo!

Ben may be a good guy, but he can't just let his kidnapping go unpunished...

Warning: Harry is both a pirate and Scottish. This disaster pirate swears a lot.

"Coochie coochie cooooo~" The pirate crooned, bursting into mad giggles when Ben flinched away from the hook stroking his neck. He readjusted his body, leaning on the mast that Ben was currently tied to.

Ben knew it was stupid, but he couldn't pay attention to what else the pirate was saying. His eyes narrowed, eyeing up the pirate's - Harry, Harry Hook's - bare arms. Muscular, scarred, the red coat sleeveless and more than likely too small to fit his broad shoulders if the frayed edges around them suggested anything. If only he wasn't tied to this mast, it'd be so easy to slip his hand into those oddly hairless underarms, teach the cocky pirate a lesson -

Uma's sudden appearance distracted him from his thoughts, and with a sigh he stopped imagining. It was no use, anyway.

When would he get the chance to tickle Harry Hook?

***

Turns out that chance would come sooner rather than later. Although not quite as thoroughly as Ben would have liked.

"Hiya!" Harry grinned madly, the young King acutely aware of the sword not even an inch away from his neck. Despite his initial hesitation, his training kicked in and he swung, the pirate's own sword colliding with his so hard he could have sworn he saw sparks fly. Hook was so close Ben could see the water trailing down his body, hear the dripping from his sodden clothing. Oddly enough - to Ben's slight amusement - the raccoon eyes were still perfect, and the king had to exert every ounce of self control to keep from bursting into hysterical giggles.

He managed to lead the pirate on a bit of a dance, unable to keep a small proud smile from gracing his face. While the pirate had experience and brute strength on his side, Ben had all the techniques and fancy movements. This meant that, despite the two of them being relatively well matched, Ben had a slight tactical advantage. So when he managed to get Harry's sword stuck in the ladder, he couldn't resist. He looked right into the pirate's red eyes, and tickled the underside of his chin, before sneakily poking his underarm too.

'Coochie coochie coo~" He couldn't help but tease him back, watching as the red quickly bled away revealing bright blue eyes. He watched, feeling a weird sense of pride as Harry squirmed away and the corner of his lips turned up instinctively.

Oh yeah. He was ticklish.

He was almost sad when his friends dragged him away from the pirate and off the Isle. It would have been so fun to make him squirm.

Oh well. One day.

***

It had been a few months since all of that had happened, and honestly, Ben had nearly forgotten about his quest.

In his defence, those months had been very long. The whole Uma debacle, shortly followed by Audrey's possession and then the removal of the barrier and then finding homes for all the Vks now in Auradon and making arrangements for the adoption of younger VKs and finding places for older VKs to live and adjust... He'd barely had a minute to himself, to be truthful. All his relationships were suffering for it. Mal and himself had broken up yet again (she just couldn't handle being queen - Ben could understand. Sometimes Ben thought he couldn't handle being king), and she, Evie, Carlos and Jay were out exploring the world. They didn't need him anymore. He didn't have any real friends except Doug, Jane and Lonnie - all 3 of which had left with the Core 4.

Ben wished he could have gone too.

Not that he didn't enjoy being king. He just...

Wasn't enjoying being king.

And now it was supposed to be the summer holidays, his friends had abandoned him (he really didn't hold it against them) and the only other people still in the school/castle because they didn't have a place to go were Uma and her boys.

Speaking of her boys...

"God facken dammit!"

Ben turned around, seeing Harry struggling with the Tourney equipment. He was trying to manhandle it all into the shed they stored it in, and he couldn't help but grin a little at the pirate's struggle.

"'Do me a favour, lad,' he said, 'it won't take long,' he said," The Scottish teen scowled, getting bopped on the head by another piece of equipment, "I dinnae see 'im dealin wi' this shite!"

"Need any help?" Ben called out, heading down.

"Nah, Beastie, I'm doing perfectly facken fine." Came the accented drawl, "Totally not getting pissed off more 'n more by the facken minute, no sir."

The King rolled his eyes. "That's a lot of words for yes."

Harry growled but Ben ignored him, helping the pirate manoeuvre all of the equipment in with minimal head bops. It still took a good ten minutes, and by the time they were done Harry's eyes had a pink tinge.

"Next time that Coach bastard asks me for a favour I'm runnin in the opposite direction. This wasnae a favour. This was a facken challenge."

Ben chuckled. "I'm surprised you didn't realise what a mess this shed is. Don't you play Tourney?"

Harry cackled. "Do I 'ell. That's a wee boys game is that."

"It's quite fun." Ben defended his favourite sport. "When you're not getting shoulder barged by Jay, that is."

"I still think I'll pass on that." Harry rolled his eyes. "Gil seems to enjoy it, but that's as close as I'm gettin to that."

"Really? I'd have thought you'd have been into it." The King half-frowned.

"Nah mate. And I willnae join ROAR either - before ya get started on that. They won't let Uma join, and I only train wi' me Captain."

"Maybe that's why I beat you on the Isle," Ben half-joked, leaning against the wall of the shed. It was strange, how comfortable he felt with the pirate, despite their last proper conversation having been while he was tied to a mast. "I can't even count how many people I've battled. Granted it wasn't in a fight to the death, but still."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Ya didnae beat me, ya rat bastard scunner."

"That's a new one." Ben laughed. "And didn't I? I seem to recall our fight ending with your sword caught in a ladder."

"Well, clearly yer brain's broken. Get it checked out, savvy?"

"I'm a king, Harry - I have medical checkups monthly. And I seem to recall a little something else about our fight too." Ben's grin turned mischievous. He had his chance, and honestly - he needed a bit of play time.

"Oh really? Do ya now?" Harry cocked a curious eyebrow.

"Y'know, I never really got my revenge for that kidnapping..." Ben smirked, "Not very kingly of me, letting that behaviour go unpunished."

"I dunno what ya think ya got on me but-"

The king didn't let him finish, poking at Harry's sides and reveling in the surprised yelp the pirate let out. He grinned evilly as Harry's eyes widened in panic.

"Beastie, don't you daRE -!"

Ben tourney-tackled the Scot, sitting on his waist to keep him pinned to the floor. Harry's hands went to try and push him off, so the king pinned them with his knees, leaving the other boy open to attack.

Ben grinned innocently at the younger teen, who seemed surprised at the ease with which he was taken down.

"And this is why Tourney is useful."

"Let me go, ye bastard! Yer gonna regret thi- no wait!" Harry broke into giggles as Ben's nimble fingers started to tickle across his neck.

"Mmm, I don't think I will regret this." Ben grinned down at him, laughing as the pirate bit the air next to his fingers. He felt more relaxed right now than he had in months - he didn't want it to end that quickly. "What was it you said to me? On that mast? Some sort of tease... Hmm..."

While Ben was pretending to remember, he slowly skittered his fingers down to Harry's abdomen. Down his shoulders (the collarbones got a small squeal, which made Ben laugh a little), down his chest and ribs, down his sides...

Harry's breath hitched when Ben's fingers settled on his stomach, and the Kings grin widened.

Bingo.

"Ahh! I got it now!" He leant down, close to Harry's face, crooning the same words the pirate had said to him a few months prior.

"Coochie coochie coo~"

He dug into Harry's stomach, the pirate flailing beneath him as panicked laughter fell out of his lips. Ben was pleasantly surprised by the sheer squeakiness of it - he had been expecting Harry's traditional mad cackle, or something like it. To hear Harry squeal and snort and squeak was unexpected - in the best way possible.

"Wow!" Ben couldn't help but chuckle, "Your laugh is very cute! You should laugh like this more often!"

"FAHAHACK OFF!" Harry shrieked, bucking as Ben started to attack his hips. "STAHAHAP!"

"Mmmmm, no. This is fun!"

"SHIHIIIIIIT!"

Ben giggled, slowing down his tickles until the pirate was giggling quietly. He let Harry catch his breath, grinning widely when blue eyes met brown.

"Having fun?" He asked, noticing Harry's face had gone pink. "I honestly didn't think you'd be this sensitive."

"Le-lehet me gohoho, savvy?" Harry managed to get out between giggles, squeaking as the soft tickles made their way back to his sensitive neck. "Uhuma will be lookin for me-"

"Oh, don't worry about me, Harry." Came a distinctly feminine voice from the entrance to the shed. Ben turned, pausing his efforts to see a smirking Uma at the entrance.

"Captain!" Came Harry's betrayed voice. "How long have ye been stood there?"

"Oh, long enough." The sea witch made eye contact with the young King, smirk taking on a more malicious light. "By the way, you missed his ears and thighs."

"UMA!" The betrayed cry was the last thing that Harry could say for a while.

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 166: Saudade

(Suadade: a feeling of longing, melancholy, or nostalgia that is supposedly characteristic of the Portuguese or Brazilian temperament.) cw? this is a little bit spooky at the end. It's going to need a part 2.

Harry had been sitting beside the hospital bed for so long that he'd gone deaf to the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor. He'd been here so long that he knew perfectly the charm that would turn his hospital chair into a cot, he knew each of the doctors and nurses by name, and he knew that if he asked nicely they would give him the razor and let him shave Draco's face.

It was okay most of them time.

Or at least he tried to tell himself that it was okay. Or that it would be. The hours since Draco had been hit by a stray curse had turned into days, days had turned into weeks, and before he knew it Harry had spent nearly two months at Draco's side.

In those seven and a half weeks, Draco hadn't moved a muscle; hadn't blinked, hadn't squeezed Harry's hand, hadn't done anything.

It bothered Harry, when he allowed himself to think of it, Draco being so still, being so quiet, it wasn't like him. He busied himself with all sorts of things, talking to Draco like at any moment the other man would open his mouth and talk back.

"Hi mate," Ron said from the doorway and Harry looked up from the book of Robert Frost poetry he'd been reading aloud.

"Hey," he said, levitating the bag of yarn and knitting supplies for the blanket he'd been working on off of the other chair so Ron would have a place to sit. "How are you?"

"I think the better question is how are you?" Ron replied.

"Oh, you know," Harry said, his fingers automatically reaching for Draco's, "We're here," he added with a shrug.

"Do you think-" Ron started before he broke off and looked away.

And Harry very much did not like that look or that tone of voice. "Do I think what?" he asked carefully.

"Dr. Miller said she'd come to talk with you about end-of-life measu-"

"We're not there," he interrupted.

(Read more below the cut)

"Right," Ron said, nodding slowly, "Only, she seemed to think-"

"We're not there yet," he growled.

Ron blinked at him and Harry could see the concern in his eyes but couldn't bring himself to accept it. "Mate, you haven't left the hospital in weeks."

"And?"

"You've got things outside of this, you know? A job, a home, family, a life."

"He is my life," Harry managed through the tears that were slicing his vocal cords to shreds and stinging the back of his eyes.

Ron took Harry's hand in his, "Your godchildren miss you. Hermione and I miss you," he added. "Work has been a nightmare without you-"

"I can't," he said. "Ron, don't you get it?" he asked desperately. "He is my life," he repeated. "He is my family. He is my home. I can't leave him. I can't-"

"Harry," he said, voice soft and sympathetic in a way that Harry couldn't stand, "Don't you think he's already left you? The odds-"

"I don't give a flying fuck about the odds!" Harry shouted. "Out," he said, angrily swiping at the tears on his cheeks. "Get out."

"Harry-"

"Get out," he repeated, loud enough that one of the nurses poked her head in.

"Everything alright, love?" she asked Harry.

He looked away, clenching Draco's hand in his.

"Perhaps you'd better go," she said gently to Ron.

Ron sighed, "I'm here when you're ready," he said, clasping Harry's shoulder for a moment.

And Harry burned with anger, with disbelief that Ron was so ready and willing to just let him die, to kill him for all intents and purposes. He didn't say a word as Ron left, just flicked a hand at the door to close it behind him.

"Draco," he whispered helplessly, clutching his hand in both of his and bringing it to his lips to press a kiss to his knuckles. "I can't," he whispered through his tears, begged really. "Please."

He let the tears slip down his cheeks unchecked, waiting.

"Please," he repeated. "I can't do this without you. We have so much to do still," he whispered, choking on the words, choking on his dreams, on what their life was supposed to be. "Come back to me," he pleaded. "Come back."

Harry held his breath, waiting, but nothing changed.

----------------

He fell asleep on his cot next to Draco's bed, arm stretched across the space between them so he could hold the other man's hand. His dreams had been strange in the hospital, time never worked quite right and Harry often woke gasping with the feeling that he was suffocating.

Tonight, though, he fell asleep and the next thing he knew, he was in a meadow outside of a little cabin with a stream running by it. He looked around, listening to the sound of the birds chirping in the trees nearby, the water babbling in the brook, and he took a slow deep breath of the clean air.

"I wondered if you'd show up," a voice that Harry would recognize anywhere said.

And for a moment, he kept his eyes closed, let his heart pound in anticipation before the inevitable disappointment.

"Open your eyes, love," he whispered as fingers brushed over his cheek.

Harry blinked his eyes open and there Draco stood in a pair of white linen pants and an untucked pale blue button up that he'd left partially unbuttoned. His long blond hair was elaborately braided, little braids all worked into one larger braid. And his face was covered in freckles, Harry ached with the desire to kiss each and every one. Merlin, he wanted to hold the other man and never let go, but he couldn't seem to even move.

"It's alright," Draco whispered, fingers tracing his cheek, "You can touch me."

He cupped Draco's hand in his and turned his head to press a kiss to the center of his palm, breathing in his scent, feeling the warmth of his skin.

Draco slipped his fingers through Harry's, "You don't have long," he murmured.

"What?" Harry asked, looking up at him. "What do you mean?"

"The connection," he said, like he wasn't quite sure it was the right word, "It's tenuous. You shouldn't really be able to be here at all, but you've always had an annoying penchant for breaking the rules."

"What?" he repeated, grasping at Draco's words and trying to hold them, "Tell me what you mean," he begged. "Where are we?"

Draco shrugged one shoulder, "I'm not really sure. But I know you're not meant to be able to get here."

"How do I get you out?" he asked next.

"I don't know," Draco replied.

"What do you know?" he asked desperately, because he needed something to go on.

Draco brushed his hair back from his face, "Your hair's getting long," he said softly.

"Draco," he prompted, "What do you know?" He clutched his hand in his, "You've been here for weeks, surely you've figured out something."

"I can hear you sometimes," he said. "Like this afternoon," he added, leaning down to kiss Harry's head.

Harry stared at him, waited for him to say something useful.

"Whatever the barrier is between here and there, it gets thin sometimes," he said. "I can hear you, I can feel you," he added, "But you can't hear me. And I don't know how to find you," he continued softly. "I tried," he said, "I really tried. But there's no way out," he said. "I can't get past-"

The world started to shiver a bit and Harry instinctively clutched Draco's hand tighter.

"You're going to have to go," he said as he peered past Harry, into the woods.

Harry rose to his feet and looked over his shoulder at where Draco was looking but he couldn't see anything. "What is it?" he asked, apprehension tingling in the tips of his fingers.

"I told you that you shouldn't be here," Draco whispered, fingers clutching Harry's arm, "You have to go."

"Why?" Harry asked, turning to look at Draco once more, "What is it?"

Draco's eyes met his and the look in them struck something dark deep inside of Harry, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. "You can't stay," he repeated.

"Draco," Harry said, cupping his cheeks, to draw his eyes to his own, "What is it? What are you afraid of? What's out there?"

Grey eyes met his and he opened his mouth to speak but it was too late. The world started to dissolve around the two of them.

"No," Harry said, clinging to the other man, who began to slip through his fingers like sand. "Draco, no!" he cried. "I'll find you," he promised desperately. "I won't let you go. I'll-" he snapped awake, gasping for air like he'd been holding his breath underwater, with Draco's hand still firmly clasped in his.

He sat up and moved closer to the other man, pressing a kiss to his forehead, his cheek, the little mole on his neck, the knuckles of his hand. "I love you," he said, hoping he could hear him or feel him, "I love you so much, Draco," he said, pressing his forehead against the other man's. "And I will find you. I promise."

---------------------------

Welp. This is going to need a part 2

Day 165: Genderqueer | Day 167: Favorite Mug

[blackcurlsgreeneyes]

Harry's entire focus was on Neville. It made him physically sick to see his friend trapped in the clutches of the woman who was the reason that he, like Harry, did not have the home and family he was supposed to. He knew Neville loved his grandmother, but it still mattered. And now, the bitch had her hands on him, wand pressed to his throat.

He didn't even get to reply, to tell Neville not to goad her, before she turned the Unforgiveable curse on him. Harry took a jerky step forward, stopping only when Lucius' wand snapped back to level at him, and he saw that the Death Eaters holding his friends looked just as ready to wield torture--or worse--on them to stop him.

Harry did not know what to do. If he'd had the damn thing, there would be no choice left; he would give her to her instantly to save Neville, beg and plead and offer his damn self if they let the other six go. But all he had was a bluff.

And then, he was saved. They all were. He heard the whistling sound, saw the blackened orb flying down from the top of the room, and it struck Bellatrix in the head with so satisfying a sound that Harry didn't blame Ron for being unable to help a surprised bark of laughter.

Bellatrix fell, the orb shattered, and Harry watched as the figure that the smoke formed--vaguely possible female, humanoid, but purely black--shrieked, and then dissipated before Lucius' horrified face.

Before the man could react to Taylor's taunt, two more doors burst open high above the dais. Five more people sprinted into the room: Sirius, Remus, Moody, Tonks, and Kingsley. Harry could only assume that Snape had understood him, and had raised the alarm to the Order. Better late than never.

The Death Eaters turned at once, recognizing a greater threat, and in a flurry of movement the teenagers broke loose, and dived for cover. Through the darting bodies and the flashes of light, Harry could see Neville crawling along. He dodged another jet of red light and flung himself flat on the ground to reach him. “Are you okay?” he yelled, as another spell soared inches over their heads.

“Yes,” Neville said, though he was shivering. "It's fine."

Harry twisted around, scanning in panic; Tonks had gotten herself between Ginny and Luna, and the Death Eaters, casting spells primarily to shield the girls. Ron had gotten to Hermione, Remus and Kingsley protecting them, and Harry could hear Moody barking at them all to get out of the chamber.

He kept turning his head left and right, and finally spotted Taylor with relief. But it was short-lived; Bellatrix was on her feet again, and then turned her enraged gaze after the girl who'd caused her current bloodied state.

“Dubbledore!” Neville shouted, his sweaty face suddenly transported, staring over Harry’s shoulder.

“What?” Harry followed his gaze; sure enough, m, framed in the doorway from the Brain Room, stood Dumbledore, his wand aloft, his face white and furious. He began descending, and was at the bottom of the steps when the Death Eaters realized he was there. There were yells; one of the Death Eaters ran for it, scrabbling like a monkey up the stone steps opposite.

But while Harry took comfort in the Headmaster's arrival, he turned again to try and find Taylor, needing to be sure that Bellatrix hadn't gotten to her in the chaos.