#lets unpick Harry again shall we

[looselucy]

Master of None

November 17th “Oi.” Harry gently nudged the side of my stomach with his foot. I was laying with my head at the foot of his bed, flat on my stomach, head resting on my arms, feeling rather sleepy. I’d been expecting an afternoon nap, but it seemed Harry had different ideas. “Mm?” “You wanna sit on my face?”

I immediately whipped my head over my shoulder to look at him, eyes wide, mouth agape. The left hand side of his lips were raised, back propped against the wall behind him, awaiting my answer and looking the complete opposite of coy whilst doing so. “I’m sorry?” I gawped. “You heard.” “Do… Do you want me to?” “Definitely.” I don’t know why I was so surprised, really. Maybe it was down to his blunt delivery, or the fact that Sam had never been too keen on oral; it seemed to be one of those things that was expected from women but a blessing from men. It certainly felt like a blessing then. “Holy shit. You’re dreamy, Harry Styles.” “Is that a yes?” I answered by practically jumping up from my spot, going back to him to straddle his waist and kiss him eagerly, the two of us already nude, which I was thankful for. We’d been like this all week. It felt like I’d practically moved into his place, it was verging on ridiculous. I’d been tempted to say we should have a break, just for a couple of days, but then he’d say something like that and I’d never want to leave his fucking house again. I’d also realised the other day that Harry seemed to know the limit where I didn’t. I thought he’d call a break if he felt it necessary. That Wednesday, I had stormed into our one on one class with one thing my mind, shutting the door and rushing over to kiss him, hot and ready. “Hey,” He had gasped against my lips, slowly taking my hips into his hands and pushing me away delicately. “Hey hey hey, chill out.” “What?” I’d groaned. “C’mon. We’re here for a reason, right? We’ll do that later.” “Or we could do it now.” “That’s not the point of these classes.” He’d told me confidently. “You’re gorgeous, Alf, and any other time, I’m yours. But I still have a job to do here, and that’s to make you strong. To make you feel safe. M’not gunna stop that now. What we do here, it’s important. It needs to stay platonic, okay? As… much as possible.” As much as there was a part of me that had been frustrated by that, at the same time I couldn’t be. He was right, we needed to focus on the real reason I was there having those lessons in the first place, and I liked that he wasn’t letting his dick get the better of him. We’d gotten carried away in that environment once, but that was before we knew we could have each other, almost like he’d grabbed the chance whilst it was there, maybe thinking it was his one opportunity and he had to take it. He knew we couldn’t make a habit of that. He was continuing to surprise me. The class had played out as it normally did, he’d challenged me and taught me and helped me to feel better, and just before the rest of the women arrived, he’d kissed me. It was ideal. So that was what had become of my days. I’d work, I’d nip home, and then I’d go to his. Unless we were at the pub or they had another football game, it was always us, usually at his house and occasionally at mine. We were due to go to the pub that night, but we had a few hours to kill before we were meeting everyone, and I really liked how Harry had suggested to pass the time away. His kissed down my body as he slid slowly down the bed, right down my chest and stomach until he was flat, his palms brushing over then holding onto my hips. My chest already felt tight; in fact, my whole body felt weak, simply because I knew what he was about to do to me. In a strange way, I was nervous. The position I was in almost felt like a vulnerable one, but I knew he’d make me feel at ease as much as he could. I could feel his breath against me, a sign of how eager he was, drawn out and yet quick all at the same time. He nudged upwards slightly, the very tip of his nose teasing my clit, my stomach already twirling, a light curse curling across my lips. “Come to me.” He demanded quietly. Closing my eyes, I gradually lowered myself, leaving little room for air and feeling his mouth on me instantly, his perfect lips imprinting my most sensitive area. He was slow, his hands caressing my skin, his actions so delicate but commanding, the way his mouth moved and jaw clicked utterly dreamlike. Heat tore through my body in waves, woozy within seconds, feeling him fuck his tongue into me like I was the one thing he ever wanted to taste. I could sense my balance tipping, reaching down to find his hands on my hips, placing mine atop his in an attempt to steady myself, find some form of centre. I could faintly feel his scars beneath my palms, the anomalous rise and fall of his skin, noticeably worse on his left hand than his right. He repositioned our hands rather rapidly, entwining our digits and gripping tight. His mouth moved slowly, sensual, so drawn out that I could track every single movement he made, each curve of his lips and flick of his tongue its own force to be reckoned with. He created an inordinate sensation inside my body that had never existed before. “You’re too good.” I panted. “Oh fuck. Fuck.” My hips moved, reacting to the pleasure he gave, looking down and finally opening my eyes to see him, and he looked so fucking into it that my rapture increased. His eyes were closed, his skin looking soft, glowing; stunningly beautiful. What I’d found about Harry was that his beauty didn’t seem to tire or become regular, it augmented. Every time I was with him, I noticed it more, different features or characteristics that not just reminded me of his attractiveness, but reinforced it, like it was a lesson to be learnt and understood. I held onto his hands tighter, whimpering when he moaned against me, sucking my crux, his vocal satisfaction so heavy it worked as a vibration and took the experience to a completely new level. I had still yet to become accustom with how good he was, or at least how good we were together. There was a link, straight from my body to his that made each sexual interaction absolutely mind blowing. I didn’t doubt for a second that we could be great with other people, but I knew that something special happened when it was both of us. I had to remind myself to breathe, keeping my eyes trained on him, my grip on his hands tight, immersed in the way he looked as he ate me out with passion and poise. I could feel myself waning, weary and blissed out. His actions were relentless, not pausing or tempering for even a moment. “Har... Harry, I-I can’t.” I was trembling, the responses of my stomach so unfamiliar I hardly knew how manage it. Then, he opened his eyes, his lids bolting upwards so he was looking directly at me, flattening his tongue and tilting his head back so that it ran over me completely, his features slowly revealing themselves until I got to see the striking glisten around his mouth. I was done. With one final, loud moan, my stomach untangled and my orgasm hit, flowing from my body and seeming to drag every bit of energy and equilibrium with it. I lolled my head back, shocked into stillness for a while, my stamina fucking draining from me. I was exhausted. I let go of his hands and fell backwards, landing uncomfortably on his legs before rolling onto the bed, flopping onto my stomach, feeling as though I was almost close to tears. He’d fucked the life out of me with his mouth alone. I could just about hear him shuffling, moving about behind me, but I didn’t have the capacity to look, having a few moments that I wished were hours where my mind was too blank and body too weak to concentrate on anything. The only thing that introduced the smallest bit of life to me was the way my ears pricked, hearing the unmistakeable sound of him tearing into a condom. All too soon his hands were back on my hips, hauling me back to him, on my knees with my head still on the mattress. “Harry, I… I don’t think I can. You’ve killed me.” He snapped his body over mine, kissing all the way up my spine until his lips were beside my ear, whispering. “I promise, m’not gunna last long. I’m so turned on, I won’t fucking last. Please. Please.” Breathless, I nodded, widening my legs for him, wanting to return the favour, grateful he wouldn’t last long and yet also a little eager for what he was about to do. It was a bizarre feeling. He kissed my neck, a way of thanking me, and then he moved back, lining himself and pushing into me with speed, releasing a beautiful bleat of relief as soon as he was inside, already quite obvious that it wasn’t going to last long. I liked that about Harry. Giving pleasure was all part of it for him. He wasn’t just waiting to get some attention himself, being selfish, because giving was his way of receiving, and the more I picked up on all these things, the more grateful I became for the way I’d gone back to our arrangement despite my initial reservations. His thrusts were vicious, each one accompanied by beautiful sounds of sweet fulfilment, one hand reaching up to grab at my hair, gathering it all and pulling it back, forcing my gaze upwards, and then he was done. As quickly as he’d promised, it was over, his body as weak as mine had been, groaning as he fell down to me, quickly kissing my back once again. “Holy shit.” He breathed restlessly. “Told ya.” I was giggling when he fell to his side of the bed, the two of us completely collapsing, me with my face in the sheets and Harry gazing up to the ceiling, taking our time to recover from the experience. I figured we’d spend a good while in silence. Usually after such a vigorous workout, we’d have our time, cooling down, wallowing in the empty space and silence of our comedowns, but something happened that meant that this time, that wasn’t an option. “Shit.” I heard him, opening one eye and seeing the panic in his eyes. “Shit. What the fuck?” “What?” I creaked. “The condom broke.” “What?” “The fucking condoms broke, Alfie. What the fuck?” He shot upright. “Shit. What should we do? Holy shit.” “Harry, calm down.” I huffed, closing my eyes again, shaking my head. “What should we do? Do we… Do we need to get the morning after pill? Does it cost? Do you need money?” “Don’t worry about it.” “I’m sorry, I… I can’t help it! We need to be safe. For fuck sake, Alfie, we need to-” “I can’t have kids.” I opened my eyes and said bluntly, which finally shut him up. His face dropped, silent for a few moments, taking in what I’d just told him, though I wasn’t sure it quite went in the first time. “What?” He gasped quietly. “I can’t have children. So honestly, don’t worry about it. No need to panic, because… I literally couldn’t get pregnant if I tried, so… lay back down. Relax.” He did as I’d instructed, laying down beside me, but keeping his eyes on me, with this look on his face that was somewhere between utter shock and feeling sorry for me. I closed my eyes again, blocking that look from my vision. It was a look I’d seen before, one I’d grown tired of. “Is it… Is it like… slim chance, or no chance at all?” He asked. “No chance. My ovary is fucked, basically. The doctors told me it was my tubes... Something… I dunno, it was years ago when I found out. I was born with an abnormality, and I’d have to have major surgery to even stand a chance. It’s not really an option for me.” “Shit. I’m sorry.” He spoke softly. “Don’t be. I mean… even when they told me, I wasn’t upset.” I opened my eyes to address him properly. “I’ve never… had that desire in me, y’know? That thing that made me crave having a baby. It’s not really something I want from my life, so I’ve always been okay with it.” He nodded, still seeming solemn, but like he understood at least. The only thing that had ever bothered me about it was the thought of my future with someone else. I think that was one of the other reasons I’d stayed with Sam for so long, because I knew he was okay with it. He was the same as me, he didn’t see children in his future, so it was okay! But I hated the thought of falling for someone and getting serious and them distancing because they wanted a family and I didn’t. Other than that, it had never really meant anything to me. I knew I didn’t need that to be fulfilled and happy with my life. “I know what you mean. Doesn’t appeal to me either, to be honest.” Harry admitted, sharing one of the few very personal things I knew about him. “Really?” “Nah. I think… families are complicated. Too complicated. I don’t think kids are everyone’s happy ending, and that’s okay. It shouldn’t be so expected of people.” “I agree.” I didn’t know whether he was saying that thinking he was making me feel better, like he thought on some level it really did bother me, but he seemed honest enough. I think maybe I was just surprised by such honesty from him, such a revealing statement. I felt like I’d learnt more about Harry in the last minute than I had in the last few months of knowing him. “Shit. That got deep quick.” I joked after we’d been quiet for a while. “Yeah, pretty much.” He chuckled with me, looking back to the ceiling. “So there’s no need to worry about the condom. Also, I vote we both get checked out, and once we see we’re both clean, we fuck the condoms off completely. I’m on the injection anyway to stop my periods, and I fucking hate condoms.” “I do too. Yeah, deal.” We shook hands haphazardly. “We’re always on the same page, me and you. It’s good.” “It’s working well, innit?” I grinned. “It’s working very well. Even better than I expected. I’m thriving.” He leered. It did seem perfect. I’d expected problems to arise almost instantaneously, but we’d yet to face any. There were no suspicions, nothing was too complicated, it was all going so bloody smoothly. The sound of a phone ringing burst our bubble, Harry quickly recognising it as his own, leaning down off the side of the bed to retrieve it. He went still for a while, staring at the name of whoever was calling him, like he’d frozen. I moved, sitting myself up, Harry staring for so long that he missed the call completely. “Everything alright?” “Uh… Sorry, I need to call them back.” He began to clamber off the bed. “I’ll be back in a minute.” “Okay.” I watched him as he walked out of the room, holding the phone to his ear and storming off to the far end of the corridor, out of earshot, soon talking quietly to ensure I couldn’t hear a word, looking rather miserable from what I could see. I lay back down, granting him the privacy he so clearly desired, but questioning who was on the other end. It wasn’t only down to the way he’d reacted to the call, but the call itself. I’d never seen him take a call in all our time together, I didn’t know of him really having other contacts, people from his past, friends or family; it seemed he’d come to Rosebury and built his existence around our village and us, and everything before that was forgotten. It seemed to me, that Harry was on the phone to his history, or some form of it. And he didn’t seem happy about it.

“I am getting wrecked tonight.” Niall sighed. I could tell everyone wanted to make a night of it, because we’d found ourselves in The Royal Rose, and karaoke was on the cards. We’d only been there around an hour, none of us quite drunk enough to take the stage quite yet, except maybe Lincoln, who had already been and searched through the songbook a total of six times, meaning it wouldn’t be too long. There was a very drunk man already up at the front singing a rather painful rendition of Bat Out of Hell, giving it his all whilst simultaneously looking as though he could nod off at any moment. “I’ve never noticed how long this song is before.” Louis grated, the two of us leaning back against the bar. “Like, I knew it was long, but fucking hell.” “I think he’s doing a beautiful job.” I quipped. “He’s murdering it in his own special way, isn’t he?” He smiled, taking a speedy sip of his pint. Lincoln bounced over us, clearly very excited, clapping his hands together and landing directly in front of us with a thud. “Right, that’s it, I’ve decided… I’m gunna sing Penny Arcade by Roy Orbison. That’s it. That’s the one. Oh my god, it’s gunna be great.” “Great choice!” I beamed. “Terrible choice!” Louis disagreed. “Lincoln, that is one of his worst. He had so many great songs and you’re gunna go with Penny Arcade?” “It’s an anthem.” Lin folded his arm, unimpressed. “It’s not.” After giving Louis a quick middle finger, he ran off to make his request, darting around tables like a madman. “I love that boy.” I cooed. The door opened, myself and Louis turning our heads instinctively, seeing that Harry had finally arrived. With how late he’d been, and the odd call he’d taken earlier in the day, I’d half expected him not to show up. It wasn’t long after the call that I’d left Harry’s home, sensing his low mood and allowing him space. He wasn’t on the phone for long, but whatever had been discussed had changed his mood rather greatly. I’d pretended it wasn’t something I’d picked up on, and left as casually as I could. It genuinely surprised me to see him. I smiled as he headed towards us, hands dug into his pockets, clearly still not quite himself. “Time d’ya call this?” Louis grinned. “Sorry.” Harry apologised sweetly, asking for a pint as soon as he’d got to the bar. “As punishment, you’re up next on karaoke.” Niall stepped into the conversation, Chloe and Libby sat on one of the tables just in front of us, Lin still excitedly talking to the DJ. “I don’t think so.” Harry snorted. “C’mon, you’re Harry Styles, jack of all trades, good at everything, best looking lad in Rosebury-” “Rude.” Louis huffed. “Defender of women and man after my heart. I bet good money you can sing.” “Jack of all trades, master of none.” Harry shrugged, then going to pay for his drink. “Fine, alright, you’ve pulled my leg, we’ll do a duet.” Niall sighed. “I think we could take on Islands in the Stream. Sound good to you?” “It’s not happening.” “I’ll go request it, darling. Don’t worry, you stay here and enjoy your pint. Warm up them vocal chords.” He winked, already on his way to make the request. “Niall!” Harry yelled, being ignored. “NIALL!” “Sorry, mate.” Louis sniggered. “Looks like you’re Kenny Rogers for the evening.” “What? I don’t even get to be Dolly?” He whined. “Niall is always Dolly.” I huffed. We’d all had to sing Islands in the Stream with Niall at some point, so if anything, Harry should have seen it as an honour; it was like his true initiation into the group. But usually, such a duet would take place at someone’s home or in the streets at a ridiculous hour, drunk out of our minds. Harry was sober and he had an audience, which made his proper welcoming to our team a difficult one. Harry paid for his drink, not looking too enthralled by his current situation, but at the same time, I could already see that it had cheered him up, his attempts to force the smile off his lips rather weak. Chloe and Libby got up to join the conversation fully, Chloe standing at my side whilst Libby immediately started poking fun at Harry for his upcoming karaoke session. “I hear you’re taking on Islands in the Stream?” She sniggered. “Apparently, but I don’t want to! I’m kinda… musically inept.” He carped. “Are you fuck.” I sniggered. “And how the hell would you know, Alfie Hunter?” He raised a brow. “Because-” I stopped myself just in time. I was about to go on a rant, how I’d seen the piano in his dining room, the worn down acoustic guitar in his spare room; I was about to say all that out loud to a group of people who knew Harry was private about his home and we wouldn’t be invited around any time soon. Thankfully, I caught on, shutting myself up for a few seconds before changing the course of my sentence. “You… You’re just one of those annoying people, I can tell. One of those dickheads who’s good at everything.” “Not true.” He fought. “Totally true. You’re gunna get up there and sing and you’re gunna be good, I can see it coming.” “You’ve got a nice voice.” Libby said. “Even the way you talk is nice.” “AND,” Niall joined the conversation again, likely having made the request and doomed Harry to a duet. “The face of a Greek god.” “Fucking hell, just got everything going for ya, don’t ya?” Louis confounded. “Got everyone bloody drooling.” “Are you jealous, Louis?” Chloe leaned into his ear. “Nah, I’m just saying, it’d probably be easier if you all to just got on your knees and kissed his arse.” “With pleasure.” Niall played. We were all laughing, including Harry, and I got so much pleasure seeing how happy we were making him, how much he was cheering up. It reminded me once again that Harry had moved somewhere and actually managed to find and make real friends, finally. We’d become this unit of people who could pick him up when he was down and I loved that, I loved that we could give him that, show him what it was like to have a real network of people around him who could make him laugh, people who cared about him, wanted the best for him. I couldn’t imagine what it was like, to have gone so long without that, but I truly hoped that he could see he’d found that in us, and he’d cherish it. “Testing, testing, one two.” We heard Lincoln’s voice from the front of the room, each of us turning to cheer him on. He was waving at us like a fucking child who’d just been dragged up onstage at a pantomime as the DJ introduced him and the song he’d chosen, all of us screaming and hollering like his bloody groupies as soon as the track started. “A light shone in the night some way ahead…” He began, adding in his own movements to accompany the song. Libby, Niall and Chloe started dancing together gleefully, myself, Louis and Harry still leaning against the bar, Harry a little dumbfounded. “Holy shit, he’s really into this, isn’t he?” He gawped as Lincoln performed a rather dramatic air grab. “Yeah, he takes it pretty seriously.” Louis laughed. “I love it. I could watch him do this all night.” I commented. “If it was just Lincoln doing song after song, I’d love it.” “The light I saw in the night was the penny arcade. COME ON!” We all joined in for the chorus. “Step up and play each machine seemed to say, as I walked round and round the penny arcade.” I pushed forward to dance and jump around with the other three idiots, loudly singing along and giving it our all. Louis and Harry remained up against the bar, too cool or sober to join in with us, clapping along and taking in what I imagined was a beautiful sight, the four of us flouncing around like fools with Lin at the front of the room spinning around as he sang. “Just ring the bell on the big bagatelle and you'll make all those coloured lights cascade. And music played, at the penny arcade. Yes it played and it played, played all the time, ROLL UP AND SPEND YOUR LAST DIME!” I felt so bloody happy, surrounded by my favourite people, being silly. The last time we’d gone to karaoke night, I’d still been with Sam, and I remembered we’d gotten into an argument before Lin was even drunk enough to take the stage. It felt nice to be there and to feel weightless, finally. I was so happy. The antics continued throughout the song, the lot of us shooting some life into the place, almost disappointed when it was over. We gave him a well-deserved round of applause, to which he bowed, followed by a quick curtsy, and then he was running back to us, everyone gathering around him excitedly. With no warning, Harry took my jumper between his fingers, dragging me back to him, out of the crowd, my back slamming against his stomach. He leaned down, whispering in my ear. “I’m staying at yours tonight, yeah?” I turned around to face him, creating a little distance so if anyone was to turn around and look, our conversation wouldn’t look suspicious. “Yeah, if you want.” “I want.” His eyes stalked up and down me, pulling me back to him. “Need another taste.” “Shh!” I cried as quietly as I could. “Someone’ll hear you!” “Wanna have you sat on me again. Grinding. Wanna feel you cum on my lips.” I pushed at his chest, stomach twisting, just in time before Niall leapt towards Harry, who was looking so frustratingly innocent, no one could ever guess at the filth he’d just been sharing with me. “C’mon, Styles, we’re up.” “Do I really have to?” He tried to protest one last time. “You really have to.” Niall took Harry’s hand and yanked him out of his place, pulling him to the front of the room so they could sing together, leaving me still feeling a little woozy. I certainly didn’t want to wish my evening away, not when I was having so much fun, but fuck, I really wanted to take him home. I tried to snap out of it as the DJ presented the two of them, stumbling back towards the team who were eagerly awaiting what was bound to be an interesting rendition. The music began, Niall stepping from side to side as Harry awkwardly lifted the microphone to his lips, eyes fixed on the screen, genuinely looking restless and anxious. He needn’t have been “Baby, when I met you there was peace unknown, I set out to get you with a fine tooth comb, I was soft inside, there was somethin' going on.” His voice, as we’d predicted, was lovely. Soft, gravely, deep, beautiful. We’d been expecting it, but then at the same time it felt bloody ridiculous, that it really was another thing Harry could add to his list, another talent, another way in which he was absolutely brilliant. “Oh fucking hell, he really can sing!” Louis blurted as the song continued. “I bet he’s got a big dick as well, it’s an absolute joke this.” I laughed loudly, hanging my arm around his shoulders and giving him a little squeeze before we started swaying from side to side, enjoying that for the first time, Niall was finally singing Islands in the Stream with someone who could actually harmonise with him. I never confirmed Louis’ suspicions, despite being fully aware of just how accurate his statement was.

[the-starryknight]

The Pleiades Were Watching Too Rated: M | Major Character Death | 1k

For the 2021 Summer Writin' Challenge: Week 3 (still time to join us!!) Prompt: A Bonfire, Trope: Found Family, Craft: Future Tense, Characters/Objects: A tattooed old lady (well, this one's a stretch) Summary: A house. A marriage. A love story. He'll pour every memory out, vial by vial, back into the earth. It's easier that way. Thanks to @sweet-s0rr0w for the wonderful beta on this!

Tomorrow, he will go to the Obliviator. He’ll sit in the overstuffed leather armchair and tap his fingers against the old metal studs on the arms. The office will be too orange, fluorescent and cheerful, with a wallpaper pattern left over from the seventies.

Harry will spend the first twenty minutes of their session complaining about how no one wants to forget happy things, so it makes no sense to decorate like this will be anybody’s happy place.

And the Oblivator — “Maia,” she’ll remind him, “Call me Maia, Harry” — will look old enough to be the original decorator with big hair and bright clothes. Harry will spend more time staring at her inked, psychedelic forearms instead of her eyes as he complains; it’s easier to pretend he’s not really there, to lose himself in the incandescent tattoos instead of grief.

“Where shall we begin today?” she’ll ask him, even though she’ll know the answer.

“July seventh,” he’ll say, “2007.”

She’ll make a note on her clipboard like they don’t see each other every day anyway. Her notes will list out the seven years they’ve already finished, their corresponding memories in vials on her shelf.

Those were the worst years, because he felt the memories most viscerally, but Maia is good at her job and it’s more of a dull ache now. Harry could think about those years if he wanted, but it’ll be more like looking into someone else’s Pensieve than remembering.

And so he’ll talk about July seventh, and the bonfire by the beach. He’ll tell her what it felt like to watch the stars wake up, the fire’s sparks bright orange against the bruise-black sky.

There will be parts of this memory that can stay: the feeling of Ginny finally, finally touching his arm and laughing with him like they were friends again, the way that Ron looked in the firelight, orange from head to toe and happy, and the brush of Charlie’s hand as he passed over a beer, like Harry could be one of them, like he was allowed to call them family.

But the Draco parts, those will go. He’ll describe every detail of bringing a beer over to Draco, where he sat alone by the fire because the Weasleys hadn’t warmed to him yet. Harry will remember — just for a moment, in the safety of her awful patterned walls — the feeling of Draco’s knuckles against the back of his hand.

“I told him he was fucking gorgeous in the firelight,” Harry will say. “Just like that. Fucking gorgeous in the firelight, like we’d both forgotten about Vincent Crabbe and the war and all the bridges we burned between us.”

“And had you forgotten?” she’ll ask, tapping her pen against the clipboard, and she’ll be right to ask. As if they could ever forget; they carried the war with them to bed and back and found sharing the weight made it all easier.

It’ll feel like such a stupid detail to want to erase, but he’ll tell her about it anyway: the way that Draco’s eyes lit up gold by the flickering flames as he taught Harry the constellations. Harry will tell her about messing them up just so Draco could correct him.

He’ll tell her how Draco won the Weasleys over with the Pleiades and his story of the seven siblings in the sky. He’ll tell her how that night changed everything, because suddenly Draco was allowed to stay.

She’ll lean over and hand him one of her sterile bottles.

He’ll unspool the memory at wand-tip, letting it sink into the vial, viscous and bittersweet. He’ll press the cork in and that’ll be that. It won’t get rid of the memory, but it’ll feel a little lighter, like unpicking a knit blanket one stitch at a time.

“Obliviate,” she’ll cast, and that’s when peace will come. The memories will feel like fingerprints on glass in his mind until they finish the whole process and wipe him clean.

Each moment Maia erases will sit in the vials in her office till they’re done, just in case there’s a mistake. There won’t be a mistake, though, and when it’s over, Harry can take the vials and do whatever he wants with them.

“Most people prefer to keep them,” she’ll remind him, and he’ll roll his eyes. “You might change your mind.”

“I won’t,” he’ll say again. “I gave him every trace of love I had. I don’t have any left without him.”

“You have your friends,” she’ll try, but they’ll both know it’s futile. “Your Ron, your Molly, and the others.”

The Weasleys’ love will last, as deep as ever, but it won’t be the same. Draco’s not in his future, so he won’t be in his past anymore.

He’s going to destroy every vial.

He’s going to pour them out onto the fresh dirt where they put Draco, and he’s going to watch the silver sink into the soil and he’s going to forget every second they had together. He’ll forget the laughs, and the touches, and the feeling of Draco’s hands on his hips, in his hair. He’s going to forget the taste of Draco on his tongue, sweat-slick and sticky after too long in bed. Every argument, every anniversary, every birthday spent by the water, by the fire, it’ll all go into the dirt, laid to rest with him.

But for tonight, he’ll curl up in the too-big bed and press his nose into the pillowcase. The sheets won’t smell like Draco anymore, but if he turns his head just right, he can pretend.

He can look out the big window and stare at the too-bright stars and count the seven sisters, and pretend that Draco’s next to him, counting with him. He can pretend that if he says their names out loud just right — Alcyone, Electra, Merope — the silence of Draco not-correcting him won’t feel so loud.

Soon enough, he’ll forget that they ever shared this bed. It’ll be easier that way.

Read The Pleiades Were Watching Too on Ao3!

Past weeks: I. Let it Come to Them (Fluff) | II. By Merlin's Hand, Save Him (Action)

[junker-town]

4 years ago, we predicted the top 100 NBA players of 2017. Weeeeeelp

Welcome to Yikesville, population us.

Four years ago, six SB Nation NBA writers predicted who the top 100 players would be in 2017. It went about as well as can be expected.

We’re taking this opportunity to review where we got it right and where we went wrong. Of course, to assess how we did in 2013, we need a top-100 ranking for 2017. I went ahead and put that together with input from the SB Nation NBA team.

It’s all pretty subjective, so take everything with a grain of salt.

Without further ado, let’s begin this torture session.

Current top-100 players we didn’t pick in 2013

We left 42 players who are actually in the top 100 in 2017 off our projected list in 2013. The biggest miss: Karl-Anthony Towns, who is No. 9 overall in 2017 but went unpicked four years ago. This was before he’d played a college game. As you’ll soon see, that didn’t stop us from picking some far less worthy teenagers.

Three other top-20 players went unchosen in 2013: Draymond Green, then a second-rounder backing up David Lee, Rudy Gobert, an incoming rookie picked late in the first, and Isaiah Thomas, who ... yeah. You can include us among the millions of NBA-adjacent people who underrated Isaiah Thomas.

We missed a number of players who hadn’t yet played in the NBA in addition to Towns and Gobert, including: Nikola Jokic, C.J. McCollum, Kristaps Porzingis, Devin Booker, Joel Embiid, Clint Capela, Myles Turner, Gary Harris, Steven Adams, Robert Covington, T.J. Warren, D’Angelo Russell, Andre Roberson, and Rodney Hood.

As noted, it’s really hard to know what teenagers will do in the league four years out. As noted, this didn’t stop us from picking largely the wrong teenagers. (We’ll get to them in a minute.)

We also missed on a few guys who were fighting for their careers in 2013. These include JaMychal Green, Khris Middleton, James Johnson, Jae Crowder, even Patrick Beverley to a certain extent. We missed on a few old fellas who have hung on longer than expected: Pau Gasol, Zach Randolph, and Dirk Nowitzki.

We missed on Dion Waiters, a fact for which I shall never forgive myself.

Perhaps the most interesting name left off our list is Kyle Lowry. In 2013, Lowry was 26 and coming off his first season in Toronto. Lowry shared top billing with Rudy Gay in that disastrous combination.

The Raptors had a slow start the following season, and a fire sale seemed likely. Masai Ujiri spared Lowry but flipped Gay for spare parts and Toronto took off, never to look back. Lowry’s numbers and stock soared. It did not look like that was going to happen circa 2013.

Hassan Whiteside is another player who completely changed his fortunes since 2013. Heck, even two years ago he wouldn’t have made a best-of-2017 projection list. What a story!

Like Lowry, Goran Dragic is another mid-tier point guard we didn’t expect to get really good by 2017. He did, and we’re all richer for it.

We missed a couple of role players who have hung on and found ways to be mighty valuable late in their careers that we didn’t project in our top 100. These include Trevor Ariza, Robin Lopez, and Andre Iguodala.

No one expected Joe Ingles. No one ever expects Joe Ingles.

Players we underrated

Of course, in addition to those 42 guys we completely whiffed on, we had some players who went way lower than they ought to have. Not counting those guys we’ve already discussed, we had six players who are at least 50 spots better than we projected four years ago.

Tops on that list is a divisive player who has continued to excel at certain key aspects of the game: DeAndre Jordan. He went No. 100 in our 2013 projections but came in at No. 26 in my 2017 list. Jordan’s an All-NBA center in a league moving away from the paint. He can’t shoot, but there is still more to basketball than that.

Then there’s Giannis Antetokounmpo, who we ranked at No. 79 in 2013 but came in at No. 8 today. In fairness, Antetokounmpo hadn’t played a single NBA minute at that point. We had only a few clues pointing toward his eventual excellence. Overall, Towns (age 17 in 2013) and Antetokounmpo (age 18) were our biggest misses in terms of players we underrated.

Others big names who enjoyed rises include Klay Thompson (picked No. 83, actually No. 16), Paul Millsap (picked No. 91, actually No. 27), Kemba Walker (picked No. 96, actually No. 32), and Gordon Hayward (picked No. 80, actually No. 18).

Four more stars went at least 20 picks lower than they should have in retrospect. Jimmy Butler (picked No. 58, actually No. 10), DeMar DeRozan (picked No. 73, actually No. 25), Damian Lillard (picked No. 42, actually No. 15), and Kawhi Leonard (picked No. 24, actually No. 4), have all become stars, if not superstars.

Players we overrated

With that many underrated players in our 2013 exercise, just as many had to be overrated, right? We sure have some doozies. Since 42 players in the top 100 right now didn’t get picked in 2013, that means 42 players we did pick did not end up in the actual top 100.

One of the most striking whiffs was Derrick Rose, who went No. 5 when we did this exercise in 2013 and is now outside the top 100 players. As it turns out, Rose wasn’t over the injury hump in 2013. His slide was just beginning.

There are a number of younger players who were picked four years ago that sit just outside the top 100 today and could arguably be in there. These include Derrick Favors (picked No. 27), Greg Monroe (No. 28), Tyreke Evans (No. 48), Nikola Mirotic (No. 63), Thad Young (No. 66), Kenneth Faried (No. 70), Marcus Smart (No. 71 — he’s basically No. 101 or 102 on my list today), Rudy Gay (No. 90), and Terrence Ross (No. 93).

You can debate where these players land in today’s NBA, but none of them is a huge, incredible stretch as a player in the 75-100 range. Some other names, however, are.

Deron Williams (No. 32), Joakim Noah (No. 62), and Kobe Bryant (No. 72) were picked. Nope.

Jahlil Okafor (No. 29), Andrew Harrison (No. 56), Dante Exum (No. 57), Ben McLemore (No. 65), Tyus Jones (No. 68), Alex Len (No. 87), and Ivan Rabb (No. 95) were picked. Nope.

Rabb is the only guy picked four years ago who still has not played in the NBA, with the exception of Isaiah Austin (No. 99) who was diagnosed with a genetic disorder called Marfan syndrome during the draft combine process.

Chris Bosh (No. 39) was incredible until he suffered a career-ending illness related to blood clots. The league suffers without him; one imagines that he’ll find a way back into our lives soon.

Controlled substances took two more out of the mix: Larry Sanders (No. 43) and O.J. Mayo (No. 88). (Go Bucks.) Injuries hampered the development arcs of Michael Kidd-Gilchrist (No. 49), Chandler Parsons (No. 54), Nikola Pekovic (No. 77), and Andrew Bynum (No. 82).

But the king of this list is none other than Anthony Bennett, who went No. 31. The 31st-best player in the NBA is a fringe All-Star. Bennett, in retrospect, was a fringe NBA player.

We did have a number of players who were simply picked way too high in 2013 who still find themselves among the top 100 players of 2017. The biggest example was Julius Randle, who shockingly went No. 14 four years ago and now rates at No. 99. Jonas Valanciunas went No. 18. He comes in No. 92 today. Dwight Howard went No. 15 and I have him at a controversially high No. 81. Nerlens Noel went No. 25 — again, All-Star level — but is really at No. 89.

The other players who landed at least 50 spots lower than where projected: Serge Ibaka (picked No. 19, actually No. 71) and Jabari Parker (picked No. 26, actually No. 76, but I still believe).

At the time we published our picks and banter in 2013, Andre Drummond, at No. 3 over Russell Westbrook, James Harden, Anthony Davis, Kyrie Irving, and other stars of the time, drew a heavy amount of attention and disagreement. This turns out to have been fair. Drummond is actually the No. 33 player in the league by my accounting.

Who we got right

Of the 58 players we correctly put on the top 100 list four years ago, there were 22 whom we picked within 10 spots in either direction of their actual 2017 ranking.

This list includes most current superstars, including Durant, LeBron, Anthony Davis, Chris Paul, James Harden, Russell Westbrook, Paul George, John Wall, and — narrowly — Stephen Curry.

We nailed a bunch of tricky second-tier stars too, including Nicolas Batum, Al Horford, Marc Gasol, Bradley Beal, DeMarcus Cousins, and Eric Bledsoe.

The most impressive good pick might have been Harrison Barnes, coming off his rookie season. He went No. 40 in our future draft. Barnes is the No. 41 player on my 2017 list.

Another solid pick was Dwyane Wade, who was chosen No. 60 due to skepticism about his age arc; he’s actually the No. 55 player in the NBA by my accounting now. Cody Zeller was picked No. 86 before he’d played an NBA minute and ends up as No. 79. Nikola Vucevic was picked No. 69 and ended up No. 61.

The lesson

The big takeaway from this review: The future is unknowable.

As such, we will never be undertaking a project like this aga—

Wait a minute, we did it again?

Oh, hell.