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braveclementine · 10 months ago

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Chapter 2

Warnings: None. However, future chapters will contain sexual content so readers that are under the age of 18 may have to skip those chapters (Please keep note of the warnings).

Copyright: I do not own any Wizarding World characters that J.K. Rowling wrote. I do however own Elizabeth Kane (main character) and Trang Nyguen (best friend). There should be no use of these two names without my permission. I also do not condone any copying of this.

🤎🤎🤎🤎🤎🤎🤎

𝕴 𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖐𝖊𝖉 𝖆𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉 my little bedroom with a strange feeling in my chest. My trunk, owl, bag, and broom were already downstairs but I'd wanted to stay up here a little longer. I'd only spent a week here after all, and I was already leaving.

It looked so unchanged from when I'd lived here at eleven years old. The bed in the corner was the same size since Dad changed out my crib for a bed. The sheets were pale pink with roses on them, faded with age. The lace curtains in front of the singular window. The bookcase crammed full with books, the desk that held books and a few pictures in frames, the wardrobe with all my clothes in it. The pink phonograph on my desk, the box of music discs under the desk. The posters of the Beatles or Quidditch teams or singular flyers on my walls.

The only difference was a small shelf that I'd screwed into the wall that held carved figurines of different animals or magical creatures that Hagrid had carved for me every Christmas and birthday.

I felt so detached from this room. It didn't feel like my room. It felt like the room of someone who had died and I was visiting. I shivered and hurried out of the room, closing the door gently behind me with a firm snap.

Dad was downstairs, reading. Trang was home.

I went into the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea. It was 10:30 at night, and Dumbledore would be here in fifteen minutes. I dunked a tea bag in the cup, making my way back into the living room. I sat down on the couch next to dad and put my head on his shoulder. He put an arm around me.

I didn't get to see what he was reading because he snapped the book closed and tossed it lightly onto the ottoman. We sat there in silence until there was a knock at the door. Dad got up off the couch, his warm arm leaving my shoulder and I stood up too.

Dad opened the door. I sipped my tea, waiting.

"Hello Remus." Dumbledore said in the other room.

"Would you like to come in Professor?" Dad asked.

"Yes, I think I shall." Dumbledore said, and stepped through the door and smiled over at me. "Hello Elizabeth."

"Hello Professor." I said softly. "Are we- are we going?"

"In a near minute. I will discuss more of the matters at Harry's house, but I do want your father included in a bit of this discussion." Dumbledore said.

Dad and Dumbledore came into the living room. Dad sat back down on the couch next to me and Dumbledore sat in a rocking chair in the other corner of the room. Dad liked telling me that was the chair he rocked me in when reading me bed-time stories. I liked remembering those nights, especially in the winter when he would put the fire on and the flames would crackle and pop as he read fairy tales. I would constantly ask if the characters existed, because magic was real, and he would laugh, a laugh that would fill the room and make me feel warm and special.

"I know you've both suffered over the loss of Sirius and it should be said, as gently as possible that Sirius left you and Harry everything that he owned. He split everything quite evenly between the two of you, though he made sure you got the grand piano and Buckbeak." Dumbledore's voice brough me back from the past.

I swallowed hard and grabbed dad's hand who squeezed it back. "He also, left most of his books to you Remus, knowing you'd probably make more use of them than Harry, though he did say Harry gets first dibs."

Dad nodded, a hard look on his face. He might cry in front of me, but he wasn't going to cry in front of Dumbledore.

"Hagrid. . . Hagrid can have Buckbeak." I said faintly. "I believe you would have said he'd be rechristened Witherwings?"

"There really is no keeping secrets from you." Dumbledore said with a small smile. "Hagrid will be delighted."

I gave the faintest of smiles.

"I believe that is all." Dumbledore said. "If you don't mind, Remus, I will gladly move the piano-"

"No." I said softly, frowning. "No, the piano needs to stay there. . . for- for some reason. I- I'm not sure why but it should stay there."

"Well then, I suppose that's that then." Dumbledore said gently, getting to his feet. "And Remus, I understand your frustration with Greyback. I'm afraid however, I'm going to have to ask you to keep at it."

"Of course." Dad said in a determined voice. "I've got some of them, of course, but Greyback's more persuasive towards their natures."

"Yes." Dumbledore said softly. "A shame. Well, Elizabeth, we mustn't keep Harry waiting."

I hugged dad and kissed his cheek. "I'll come back for Christmas."

He kissed my temple and I got up and went into the front hall with Dumbledore. "We'll send these to the Burrow." Dumbledore said and with a wave of his wand, he sent the luggage away. Dumbledore opened the front door and I turned back to see dad, standing in the hallway, his hands in his shabby robes and I quickly darted back and gave him another hug.

"I love you dad."

"Love you too sweetheart." He mumbled and then I darted back after Dumbledore.

"Can you apparate?" Dumbledore asked as we walked down the street.

"Er- no, but I've done side along apparition a lot."

"Good, please take my left arm."

"What are you going to do when we have Harry as well?" I asked curiously, grabbing his left arm.

"We'll figure that out when we get there." Dumbledore said with a chuckle, turning on his heel. I closed my eyes and felt my feet leave the ground and in a split second, we were on a different street.

I saw Dumbledore nod to a window, and I glanced over and saw Mrs. Figg's face disappearing from a window.

"She was the witness at Harry's trial." I said as we walked down a street.

"Yes." Dumbledore said warmly. "She's watched over Harry for his entire life."

I wondered how that had been for her. Watching Harry grow up, knowing nothing about the magical world that he was famous in. I wondered if she ever felt like telling him. I wondered if he would have believed her.

We walked down the street and I looked at the houses with distaste. We were in one of those neighborhoods. Identical houses, identical lawns, identical mailboxes, and nearly identical cars although they were different colors.

"Why do Muggles always want to be the same as their neighbors?" I asked curiously, a bit put out with the neighborhood. I hadn't seen it when I'd come with the Order to save Harry last year.

"Comfort, I believe, and perhaps simplicity." Dumbledore said and we started up a sidewalk to a door. It was number 4 Privet Drive. He put out a light. He rang the doorbell.

I could hear shouting inside, a man's voice. Probably my lovely Uncle Vernon. Then the door opened and a large, fat man was standing in front of the door.

"Good evening. You must be Mr. Dursley. I daresay Harry has told you I would be coming for him?" Dumbledore asked. I heard feet on the steps.

Uncle Vernon looked from Dumbledore to me. His mustache was black and he had very tiny eyes for such a large face. He was wearing a puce dressing gown in the color of burgundy. I wondered if all Muggles had such bad taste.

"Judging by your look of stunned disbelief, Harry did not warn you that I was coming, However, let us assume that you have invited us warmly into your house. It is unwise to linger overlong on doorsteps in these troubled times." Dumbledore said and stepped over the doorstep, motioning that I should follow so I did. Dumbledore closed the front door behind me.

"It is a long time since my last visit, I must say, your agapanthus are flourishing." Dumbledore said, peering over his half-moon spectacles at Uncle Vernon.

"Wotcher Harry!" I said, grinning up at him and winking. He smiled back.

"Ah, good evening Harry. Excellent, excellent." Dumbledore said, smiling up at him.

"I don't mean to be rude-" Uncle Vernon finally spoke.

"-yet, sadly, accidental rudeness occurs alarmingly often. Best to say nothing at all, my dear man. Ah, and this must be Petunia." Dumbledore finished gravely.

I peered at the kitchen door which had opened and saw my Aunt Petunia wearing rubber gloves and a housecoat over her own nightdress. She must have been cleaning the kitchen or something though I wondered why she was doing so, so late at night. Perhaps Muggles this peculiar were nocturnal. Her face held nothing but shock.

"Albus Dumbledore. We have corresponded, of course." Dumbledore said to Aunt Petunia and I gave him a brief, curious look. "And this must be your son, Dudley."

I glanced behind Dumbledore to see my rather large Cousin Dudley looking around the living room door. His hair was blond and his head was rather large. Then again, his entire body was rather large. His mouth was gaping in what I was pretty sure was fear.

There was a bit of silence and then Dumbledore said, "Shall we assume that you have invited me into your sitting room?"

Dudley scrambled out of the way quickly as Dumbledore passed him and I followed. Harry jumped down the last few stairs and also followed us. Dumbledore had settled himself in an armchair near the fire.

"Aren't- aren't we leaving, sir?" Harry asked in an anxious voice. He had a pair of trousers in one hand and a telescope in the other.

"I see you didn't pack." I muttered out of the corner of my mouth. He grinned sheepishly.

"Yes, indeed we are, but there are a few matters we need to discuss first. And I would prefer not to do so in the open. We shall trespass upon your aunt and uncle's hospitality only a little longer." Dumbledore said calmly.

"You will, will you?" Uncle Vernon asked, entering the room with Aunt Petunia at his shoulder and Cousin Dudley behind her.

"Yes. I shall." Dumbledore said simply and I grinned. Suddenly the sofa shot over, knocked the knees out under the three Dursleys and zoomed back into place. "We may as well be comfortable." Dumbledore as pleasantly.

"Sir- what happened to you-?" Harry started, noticing Dumbledore's blackened hand.

"Later, Harry. Please sit down." Dumbledore said.

There was only one arm chair left. Harry offered to let me sit in it but I shook my head, sitting on the arm instead.

"I would assume that you were going to offer me refreshment but the evidence so far suggests that that would be optimistic to the point of foolishness." Dumbledore said and with another flick of his wand, a bottle and six glasses appeared in midair and tipped generous amounts of liquid into each one and then floated to a person in a room. "Madam Rosmerta's finest oak-matured mead." Dumbledore said, raising his glass to Harry.

"I don't know if I'm allowed to drink this." I said, taking my glass and looking at the liquid.

Dumbledore chuckled. "I'm sure Remus won't mind if you try it one night."

I took a sip and found it to be very bubbly and delicious, a bit like a sharp, sparkling juice and found that I liked it immensely. The Dursleys, however, were trying to avoid their glasses which were starting to tap them on the head as they hadn't taken it.

"It's not poison." I said though I was trying very hard not to smile. I had a sneaking suspicion that Dumbledore was enjoying himself very much.

"Well, Harry, a difficulty has arisen which I hope you will be able to solve for us. By us, I mean the Order of the Phoenix. But first of all I must tell you that Sirius's will was discovered a week ago and that he left you and Elizabeth everything he owned, divided completely down the middle though he left Elizabeth the piano and Remus, Professor Lupin, all his books, though you are supposed to go through the books first if there is anything you want to read."

"Oh, right." Harry said a bit dully, "No, Professor Lupin can have all of them."

"This is, in the main, fairly straightforward." Dumbledore went on. "You both inherit a reasonable amount of gold to your accounts at Gringotts, and you both inherit all of Sirius's personal possessions, divide them together how you want. The slightly problematic part of the legacy-"

"His godfather's dead?" Uncle Vernon asked loudly from the couch and I flinched. He attempted to beat away the wine glass, "He's dead? His godfather's dead?"

"Yes." Dumbledore said, a bit coldly. "Our problem is that Sirius also left you number twelve, Grimmauld Place."

"They've been left a house?" Uncle Vernon as greedily and I had to remember that I was in a Muggle house with the magical trace on me and that he was my uncle so that I didn't pull my wand out and hex him. Even still, it took quite a bit of willpower.

"You can keep using it as headquarters." Harry said, giving me a swift glance, "I don't care. You can have it, I don't really want it." I nodded in agreement.

"That is generous, we have, however, vacated the building temporarily." Dumbledore said.

"Why?" Harry asked.

"Well, Black family tradition decreed that the house was handed down the direct line, to the next male with the name of 'Black'. Sirius was the very last of the line as his younger brother, Regulus, predeceased him and both were childless. While his will makes it perfectly plain that he wants you two to have the house, it is nevertheless possible that some spell or enchantment has been set upon the place to ensure that it cannot be owned by anyone other than a pureblood."

"What a surprise." I said with a roll of my eyes while Harry muttered, "I bet there has."

"Quite, and if such an enchantment exists, then the ownership of the house is most likely to pass to the eldest of Sirius's living relatives, which would mean his cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange."

Harry and I both sprang to our feet at the same time and said, "No!"

"Well, obviously we would prefer that she didn't get it either. The situation is fraught with complications. We do not know whether the enchantments we ourselves have placed upon it, for example, making it Unplottable, will hold now that ownership has passed from Sirius's hands. It might be that Bellatrix will arrive on the doorstep at any moment. Naturally we had to move out until such time as he have clarified the position."

I had sat back down on the arm of the chair by now.

"But how are you going to find out if I'm allowed to own it?" Harry asked, still standing.

"Kreacher." I said.

"Yes, it's quite a simple test." Dumbledore said.

"Will you get these ruddy things off us?" Uncle Vernon bellowed.

I replied, "If you drink them, they go away."

Dudley reached out and took his in a hesitant hand and took a faint sip. Then he drank the entire thing. I was mildly surprised.

Dumbledore raised his wand and the leftover glasses from Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon disappeared. "Oh, I'm so sorry. But it would have been better manners to drink it, you know. You see," Dumbledore turned back to us, "If you have indeed inherited the house, you have also inherited-"

There was another flick of the wand and there was a loud crack and Kreacher appeared with bloodshot eyes and covered in his grimy rags. Aunt Petunia let out a hair-raising shriek that made me jump and Dudley raised his feet off the floor, and holding them up to nearly his head. Uncle Vernon asked, "What the hell is that?"

"Kreacher." Dumbledore said simply.

"Kreacher won't, Kreacher won't, Kreacher wont!" The house-elf was shouting as loudly as Uncle Vernon had been, stamping his ugly feet and pulling on his bat-like ears. "Kreacher belongs to Miss Bellatrix, oh yes, Kreacher belongs to the Blacks, Kreacher wants his new mistress, Kreacher won't go to the Potter brat, Kreacher won't go to the werewolf brat, Kreacher won't, won't, won't-"

"As you two can see, Kreacher is showing a certain reluctance to pass into your ownership." Dumbledore shouted over him.

"I don't care. I don't want him." Harry said, a look of disgust on his face.

"Won't, won't, won't, won't."

"You would prefer him to pass into the ownership of Bellatrix Lestrange? Bearing in mind that he has lived at the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix for the past year?"

"Kreacher, shut up!" I shouted.

Kreacher grabbed his throat, his mouth working furiously and his eyes bulging and then threw himself face forward onto the carpet while Aunt Petunia whimpered and beat the floor with his hands and feet.

"Well, that simplifies matters." Dumbledore said cheerfully. "Elizabeth, at least, is owner of Grimmauld Place and of Kreacher. Perhaps we should check if you are also, owner, Harry."

"Er-" Harry stared down at Kreacher, looking thoroughly put out. "Kreacher stand up."

Glaring, Kreacher stood up, still silent and we both looked at Dumbledore. "Sirius knew what he was doing." Dumbledore said pleasantly.

"Kreacher." I said and his bloodshot eyes glared at me with hate. "I want you to go to Hogwarts and work in the kitchen there with the other house-elves."

Dumbledore and Harry both gave me a look of surprise and then Kreacher was gone with another very loud crack. "Interesting choice, Elizabeth." Dumbledore said.

I shrugged my shoulders, "It was the command I foresaw Harry giving before, I just wanted to speed the conversation up."

"Lovely." Dumbledore said. "I believe that is that Harry, Elizabeth has already said Hagrid may keep Buckbeak."

Harry nodded, "Hagrid'll love that."

"Now then, is your trunk packed?"

"Erm. . ."

"Doubtful that I would turn up?" Dumbledore asked.

"I'll just go and -er- finish off." Harry said hastily, picking up his trainers and telescope and escaping from the living room. I slid off the arm of the chair into the seat, waiting.

Aunt Petunia spoke once Harry's bedroom door closed, "You're- you're his sister?" Both Uncle Vernon and Dudley looked at her in shock.

"Yes." I said, not bothering to hide it.

"Harry doesn't know, of course." Dumbledore said warmly. "It is not time for him to know."

Aunt Petunia and I looked at each other for a long moment and she looked away, looking down at her hands. For once, Uncle Vernon was speechless and Dudley was staring at me with an unusual expression on his face.

After 10 long minutes, his trunk and other things could be heard being placed by the door and then he entered the living room again, hesitating near the entrance way. "Professor- I'm ready now."

Dumbledore and I stood and Dumbledore turned to the Dursleys and said, "Good. Just one last thing, then. As you will no doubt be aware, Harry comes of age in a year's time-"

"No." Aunt Petunia said.

"I'm sorry?" Dumbledore asked politely.

"No, he doesn't. He's a month younger than Dudley, and Dudders doesn't turned eighteen until the year after next." Aunt Petunia said.

It took even more self-restraint not to snort with laughter. Dudders?

"Ah, but in the Wizarding world, we come of age at seventeen."

Uncle Vernon muttered something that I didn't catch.

"Now, as you already know, the wizard Lord Voldemort has returned to this country. The Wizarding community is currently in a state of open warfare. Harry, whom Lord Voldemort has already attempted to kill on a number of occasions, is in even greater danger now than the day when I left him upon your doorstep fifteen years ago, with a letter explaining about his parents' murder and expressing the hope that you would care for him as though he were your own."

Here, Dumbledore paused and while his voice stayed light and calm, I recognized the fact that he was extremely angry. "You did not do as I asked. You have never treated Harry as a son. He has known nothing but neglect and often cruelty as your hands. The best that can be said is that he has at least escaped the appalling damage you have inflicted upon the unfortunate boy sitting between you."

I glanced at Dudley and turned around as I erupted into silent giggles, vivid images of Harry trying to do all the things he'd done in the past five years if he was like Dudley.

"Us- mistreat Dudders? What d'you-" Uncle Vernon spluttered and fell silent. My giggles increased at the name, Dudders.

"The magic I evoked fifteen years ago means that Harry has powerful protection while he can still call this house 'home.' However miserable has has been here, however unwelcome, however badly treated, you have at least, grudgingly, allowed him houseroom. This magic will cease to operate the moment that Harry turns seventeen; in other words, at the moment he becomes a man. I ask only this: that you allow Harry to return, once more, to his house, before his seventeenth birthday, which will ensure that the protection continues until that time."

The Dursleys said nothing and I watched Dudley struggling on the couch, trying to figure out when he'd been mistreated. Aunt Petunia looked flushed. I wondered if she regretted not treating Harry better. I wondered how she would have treated me.

"Well, Harry. . . time for us to be off." Dumbledore said. "Until we meet again." He said to the Dursleys. I quickly followed him out of the room.

"Bye." Harry said quickly and then left.

"We do not want to be encumbered by these just now. I shall send them to the burrow to await us there. However, I would like you to bring your Invisibility Cloak. . . just in case." Dumbledore said.

Harry extracted his cloak from the trunk with some difficulty, trying to hide how badly packed the trunk was and both Dumbledore and I looked away politely. Dumbledore's lips were twitching behind his long beard as though he was trying not to laugh.

Then Dumbledore waved his wand and Harry's things vanished. The front door was opened and we stepped out into the cool, misty darkness.

"And now, Harry, Elizabeth, let us step out into the night and pursue that flighty temptress, adventure." Dumbledore said and he led us away from Harry's house.

Harry and I walked in silence on either side of Dumbledore. Harry seemed awkward and almost embarrassed with each step. Perhaps he was thinking about his last conversation with Dumbledore and remembering that he'd destroyed a number of his possessions and had shouted at him a bit.

"Keep your wand at the ready, you two." Dumbledore said brightly.

"But I thought I'm not allowed to use magic outside school, sir?" Harry asked as I slipped my wand out of my pocket.

"If there is an attack, I give you permission to use any counterjinx or curse that might occur to you. However, I do not think you need worry about being attacked tonight."

"Why not, sir?"

"You are with me." Dumbledore said simply and I laughed.

"We'll be fine." I said confidently, twirling my wand in my hand. "No trouble whatsoever."

"Why aren't you wearing shoes?" Harry asked.

"Oh!" I said brightly. Indeed, I was barefoot, walking on the dark blacktopped street. "Well, ever since I got back the use of my legs, I've decided not to take anything for granted. You'd never realize how different surfaces can feel, even two different streets can feel, until you really notice. But I reckon I'll start wearing shoes again once I go back to Hogwarts."

Dumbledore sounded amused when he spoke again, "This will do. You have not, Harry, passed your Apparition Test."

"No." Harry said. "I thought you had to be seventeen?"

"You do. So you will need to hold on to my arm very tightly. My left, if you don't mind- as you have noticed, my wand arm is a little fragile at the moment. Elizabeth, please take my shoulder."

I put a hand on his shoulder and held tightly while Harry grasped his arm. There was a familiar pressure about my entire body, though it was much worse than before, probably because I wasn't apparating properly. It felt as though my eyeballs were being pressed into the back of my head and as though there were bars of brick wrapping around my chest.

Harry was gulping great lungfuls of air and I took a few deep breaths myself. "Are you all right?" Dumbledore asked, looking down at Harry. "The sensation does take some getting used to."

"I'm fine." Harry said, rubbing his ears. "But I think I might prefer brooms. . ."

I laughed and Dumbledore smiled, drawing his cloak around him tighter. It was chilly for the start of July. "This way."

"So tell me, Harry. Your scar. . . has it been hurting at all?" Dumbledore asked.

"No and I've been wondering about that. I thought it would be burning all the time now Voldemort's getting so powerful again." Harry said, his hand touching his scar briefly.

"I, on the other hand, thought otherwise." Dumbledore said. "Lord Voldemort has finally realized the dangerous access to his thoughts and feelings you have been enjoying. It appears that he is now employing Occlumency against you."

"Well, I'm not complaining." Harry muttered.

"We should continue Occlumency though." I piped up. "Just in case."

Harry shuddered.

"Professor?" Harry asked.

"Harry?"

"Er- where are we exactly?"

"Budleigh Babberton." I replied.

"Sorry?" Harry asked.

I sighed. "Budleigh Babberton. Professor Dumbledore needs to get a Professor for Potions."

"Potions?" Harry asked. "Snape's gone?"

"Professor Snape, Harry. No, I've given him a different position." Dumbledore said, seeming lost in thought.

"Anyways," I said. "Horace Slughorn is his name and he likes to collect er- people, in a way. Dumbledore will explain more when we leave his house."

"Ah." Harry said in a distasteful voice and then asked, "Professor, why couldn't we just Apparate directly into this person's house?"

"Because it would be quite as rude as kicking down the front door. Courtesy dictates that we offer fellow wizards the opportunity of denying us entry. In any case, most Wizarding dwellings are magically protected from unwanted Apparators. At Hogwarts, for instance-"

"- you can't Apparate anywhere inside the buildings or ground." Harry answered quickly. "Hermione Granger told me."

"She is quite right. We turn left again."

"Sir, I saw in the Daily Prophet that Fudge has been sacked. . ." Harry said.

"Correct, he has been replaced, as I am sure you also saw, by Rufus Scrimgeour, who used to be Head of the Auror office." Dumbledore said.

"Is he. . . Do you think he's good?" Harry asked. I remembered that Trang had asked a similar question only two days ago. Blimey, that seemed like a long time ago.

"An interesting question. He is able, certainly. A more decisive and forceful personality than Cornelius."

"Yes, but I mean-"

"I know what you meant. Rufus is a man of action and having fought Dark wizards for most of his working life, does not underestimate Lord Voldemort." Dumbledore said but did not seem to be more talkative about the subject.

"And. . . sir. . . I saw about Madam Bones."

"Yes. A terrible loss. She was a great witch. Just up here, I think- ouch." He'd pointed with his burned hand.

"I tried to warn Susan." I muttered suddenly. "But it was to late, I'd foreseen the murder to late."

"She defended herself wonderfully Elizabeth. I do not believe a warning ahead of time would have deterred her from leaving home." Dumbledore said gently.

"Sir- I got a Ministry of Magic leaflet by owl, about security measures we should all take against the Death Eaters. . ." Harry said. He sure had a lot of questions but I didn't blame him.

"Yes, I received one myself." Dumbledore said, smiling. "Did you find it useful."

"Not really." Harry said honestly.

"No, I thought not. You have not asked me, for instance, what is my favorite flavor of jam, to check that I am indeed Professor Dumbledore and not an impostor." Dumbledore said and I giggled.

"I didn't. . ."

"For future reference, Harry, it is raspberry. . . although, of course, if I were a Death Eater, I would have been sure to research my own jam preferences before impersonating myself."

"That's disgusting," I blurted out and then blushed, "Sorry Professor, I didn't mean that. I'm more of a grape jelly sort of person."

Dumbledore chuckled. "My food tastes have always been a bit different than most."

"Er. . ." Harry said again, looking slightly discombobulated. "Right. Well, on that leaflet, it said something about Inferi. What exactly are they? The leaflet wasn't very clear."

"Corpses." I said. "Dead bodies that are bewitched to do a Dark Wizards bidding. A bit like zombies. . . I suppose in a Muggle sense of the word."

"That's correct." Dumbledore said. "Inferi have not been seen for a long time, however, not since Voldemort was last powerful. . . He killed enough people to make an army of them, of course. This is the place, Harry, just here. . ."

I had a vivid image of a dead Madam Bones doing work for Voldemort and gave a violent shudder.

"Oh dear. Oh dear, dear, dear." Dumbledore said.

The front door was hanging off its hinges as though the house had been broken into. I snorted. "He's faking it." I led the way inside, not bothering to even have my wand out. Dumbledore and Harry quickly followed behind me as I stepped over the threshold.

"Lumos." I lit my wand and led the way through to the sitting room. I paused for a second, appreciative of the destruction in the room. A grandfather clock was in pieces, a piano was on its side, there was a chandelier that appeared to have fallen. There were fragments of glass everywhere along with strewn piano keys. I lifted my wand higher and saw blood on the walls.

Then I approached the armchair, laying on its side and said, "Hello." I poked the armchair with my wand, a bit hard.

"Ouch!"

"Good evening, Horace!" Dumbledore said pleasantly, coming to stand next to me.

"There was no need to stick the wand in that hard. It hurt." Mr. Slughorn said, getting to his feet.

"My apologies." I said, lowering my wand. "I was afraid that if I did not stick it in with just the right amount of force, you wouldn't reveal yourself."

"What gave it away?" He grunted at Dumbledore, probably figuring that it was his plan for one of his students to stick a wand in his stomach.

"My dear Horace, if the Death Eaters really had come to call, the Dark Mark would have been set over the house." Dumbledore said, looking amused, "Of course, I can't take all the credit, Elizabeth here simply walked in and found you. I assume she probably foresaw the incident long before we even arrived on the street."

Mr. Slughorn looked at me with some sort of greed in his eyes, "The Dark Mark. Knew there was something. . . Ah well. Wouldn't have had time anyway. I'd only just put the finishing touches to my upholstery when you entered the room. A seer, ay?"

"Something like that." I muttered with distaste.

"Would you like my assistance clearing up?" Dumbledore asked.

"Please." Professor Slughorn said, putting his hand in his pocket.

I waved my wand around before either of them could bring theirs out. The furniture flew back to its original places; ornaments reformed in midair; lanterns soared onto side tables; silver picture frames flew across the room, back to the walls; torn books repaired themselves, putting themselves back on bookshelves; and dry wall flew back, fixing the holes on the walls.

"How old are you?" Mr. Slughorn asked with scrutinizing eyes.

"Fifteen almost sixteen." I chirped.

"What kind of blood was that, incidentally?" Dumbledore asked over the chiming grandfather clock.

"On the walls? Dragon." Slughorn shouted over the grinding sounds of the chandelier being repaired.

The piano was fixed with final plunks of the keys and then they turned to face each other over the silence.

"Yes, dragon. My last bottle, and prices are sky-high at the moment. Still, it might be reusable." I turned my attention away from the walrus like man and sat down on the newly improved sofa, staring at the stationary pictures on the wood desk.

"Oho, Oho!" I looked up to see Slughorn's eyes were now on Harry.

"This, is Harry Potter. Harry, Elizabeth, this is an old friend and colleague of mine, Horace Slughorn." Dumbledore said, making the introductions. I noticed he did not say my name. What was the meaning behind that?

"So that's how you thought you'd persuade me, is it? Well, the answer's no, Albus." Slughorn pushed past Harry and kept his back to us.

"I suppose we can have a drink, at least? For old time's sake?" Dumbledore asked.

"All right then, one drink." Mr. Slughorn said ungraciously.

Dumbledore smiled, directing Harry to sit in an armchair in the middle of the room.

"Hmpf." Slughorn said "Here-" He thrust a drink at Dumbledore and thrust the tray at Harry. Harry took a drink and passed the tray to me.

"Well, how have you been keeping, Horace?" Dumbledore asked.

"Not so well. Weak chest, Wheezy, Rheumatism too. Can't move like I used to. Well, that's to be expected. Old age. Fatigue. Can't move like I used to. Well, that's to be expected. Old age. Fatigue." He said at once, showing off all his flaws.

"And yet you must have moved fairly quickly to prepare such a welcome for us at such short notice. You can't have had more than three minutes' warning?" Dumbledore asked.

"Two. Didn't hear my Intruder charm go off, I was taking a bath." Slughorn was, half irritated and half proud. "Still, the fact remains that I'm an old man, Albus. A tired old man who's earned the right to a quiet life and few creature comforts."

I'd been looking around the room so I knew what he meant about 'comforts'. There were chocolates and drinks and books and soft chairs and plump cushions. If I was retired, this was exactly the type of life I'd finish my life off with, though I'd probably replace the chocolates with those sour candies from America that Trang usually sent me every year for Christmas.

"You're not yet as old as I am, Horace." Dumbledore said.

"Amen." I muttered and then quickly took a sip of the drink. It was not as good as Madam Rosmerta's drink. I put the cup back down on the coffee table.

"Well, maybe you ought to think about retirement yourself, reactions not what they were, I see." Slughorn said, his pale eyes were resting on Dumbledore's hand.

To my amazement, instead of hiding his hand, Dumbledore showed more of it. "You're quite right, I am undoubtedly slower than I was. But on the other hand. . ." He shrugged and spread his hands wide and I noticed that there was a very large ring on one of his fingers.

The ring was ugly and clumsy looking. It looked as though it were made of gold. It was probably goblin made and extremely old. There was a large black stone set in it, perhaps an onyx? Of course, there were also black diamonds, black sapphire, black pearl, obsidian, black spinel, black Zircon, and so many other black gems and stones that could have been a possible centerpiece. There was a crack going down the middle of it.

I watched as Mr. Slughorn's eyes rested on it and he frowned as though he recognized it from somewhere. And I realized then that he must've seen the ring before, that's why Dumbledore showed more of his hand then less, to reveal the ring, to show it to Slughorn. . . for some reason still unknown to me. But I was sure it would be more clear eventually.

"So, all these precautions against intruders, Horace. . . are they for the Death Eaters' benefit, or mine?" Dumbledore asked.

"What would the Death Eaters want with a poor broken-down old buffer like me?" Slughorn demanded, tearing his eyes from the ring.

"I imagine that they would want you to turn your considerable talents to coercion, torture, and murder. Are you really telling me that they haven't come recruiting yet?" Dumbledore asked, very briefly touching his glasses.

"I haven't given them a chance." Mr. Slughorn said after a moment of silence. "I've been on the move for a year. Never stay in one place more than a week. Move from Muggle house to Muggle house- the owners of this place are on holiday in the Canary Islands- it's been very pleasant, I'll be sorry to leave. It's quite easy once you know how, one simple Freezing Charm on these absurd burglar alarms they use instead of Sneakoscopes and make sure the neighbors don't spot you bringing in the piano."

I thought about how Sirius had been living in a cave, living off rats to avoid capture. I wondered if things would've ended up different if he'd been like Peter Pettigrew. He could've gone to a pet shelter, someone would've adopted him, he'd be alive. . .

Would I have done that? I was a cat, was I not? Would I have been content to be some little girls' pet for the rest of my life? No, I doubted I would've done that.

"Ingenious, but it sounds a rather tiring existence for a broken-down old buffer in search of a quiet life. Now, if you were to return to Hogwarts-"

"If you're going to tell me my life would be more peaceful at that pestilential school, you can save your breath, Albus! I might have been in hiding, but some funny rumors have reached me since Dolores Umbridge left! If that's how you treat teachers these days-"

I snorted in distaste as Dumbledore said, "Professor Umbridge ran afoul of our Centaur herd." I felt a twinge of annoyance. 'Our Centaur Herd'? "I think you, Horace, would have known better than to stride into the forest and call a horde of angry centaurs 'filthy half-breeds'. His eyes twinkled in my direction as though knowing what I was thinking.

"That's what she did, did she? Idiotic woman. Never liked her." Mr. Slughorn said.

Harry and I chuckled but Dumbledore and Slughorn looked at Harry. "Sorry." Harry said hastily. "It's just- I didn't like her either."

Dumbledore stood up suddenly and Mr. Slughorn looked up hopefully, "Are you leaving?"

"No, I was wondering whether I might use your bathroom." Dumbledore said pleasantly.

"Oh, second on the left down the hall."

Dumbledore strode from the room and once the door closed behind him, there was silence. Slughorn got up as though he needed to do something and crossed towards the fireplace, warming his massive backside against it. I wondered if he was bigger than Cousin Dudley.

"Don't think I don't know why he's brought you." Slughorn said suddenly and Harry looked at him. "You look very like your father."

"Yeah, I've been told." Harry said.

"Except for your eyes. You've got-"

"My mother's eyes, yeah." Harry said.

"And you." Slughorn said, looking at me and I looked up at him. "You look like your mum too. But you got your dad's eyes. Guess you two mixed up your eyes when you were born."

I didn't bother to correct him, and when Harry opened his mouth I sent him the briefest shake of my head.

"Hmpf. Yes, well. You shouldn't have favorites as a teacher, of course, but she was one of mine, your mother. Lily Evans. One of the brightest I ever taught. Vivacious, you know. Charming girl. I used to tell her she ought to have been in my House. Very cheeky answers I used to get back too."

"Which was your House?" Harry asked.

"Slytherin." I answered for him.

"Oh now!" Slughorn said, giving me a curious look, but noticed the expression on Harry's face too. "don't go holding that against me! You'll be Gryffindors like her, I suppose? Yes, it usually goes in the families. Not always, though. Ever heard of Sirius Black? You must have done- been in the papers for the last couple of years- died a few weeks ago-"

My heart seized in my chest and I steadied my breathing by taking a large gulp of whatever the fuck I was drinking.

"Well, anyway, he was a big pal of your father's at school. The whole Black family had been in my House, but Sirius ended up in Gryffindor! Shame- he was a talented boy. I got his brother, Regulus, when he came along, but I'd have liked the set."

"I'm in Hufflepuff." I said softly.

"Hmm." Slughorn said, not really listening, he was pouring himself more drink. "Your mother was Muggle-born, of course. Couldn't believe it when I found out. Thought she must have been pure-blood, she was so good."

"One of my best friends is Muggle-born and she's the best in our year." Harry said a bit defensively.

"Funny how that sometimes happens, isn't it?" Mr. Slughorn asked.

"Not really." Harry said in a cold voice.

He seemed surprised, "You mustn't think I'm prejudiced! No, no, no! Haven't I just said your mother was one of my all-time favorite students? And there was Dirk Cresswell in the year after her too- now Head of the Goblin Liaison Office, of course- another Muggle-born, a very gifted student, and still gives me excellent inside information on the goings-on at Gringotts!"

He was bouncing up and down now, seemingly glad Dumbledore wasn't around. He pointed at the fixed photographs. "All ex-students, all signed. You'll notice Barnabas Cuffe, editor of the Daily Prophet, he's always interested to hear my take on the day's news. And Ambrosius Flume, of Honeydukes- a hamper every birthday, and all because I was able to give him an introduction to Ciceron Harkiss, who gave him his first job! And at the back- you'll see her if you just crane your neck- that's Gwenog Jones, who of course captains the Holyhead Harpies. . . People are always astonished to hear I'm on first-name terms with the Harpies, and free tickets whenever I want them!"

"And all these people know where to find you, to send you stuff?" Harry asked.

Mr. Slughorn's smiled dropped off his face and I wished that Harry'd kept his mouth shut. "Of course not, I have been out of touch with everybody for a year." He shrugged, "Still, the prudent wizard keeps his head down in such times. All very well for Dumbledore to talk, but taking up a post at Hogwarts just now would be tantamount to declaring my public allegiance to the Order of the Phoenix! And while I'm sure they're very admirable and brave and all the rest of it, I don't personally fancy the mortality rate-"

"You don't have to join the Order." I said quietly. "Many of the teachers there aren't in it."

"I reckon the staff are safer than most people while Dumbledore's headmaster; he's supposed to be the only one Voldemort ever feared, isn't he?" Harry added and Slughorn gave a bit of a squawk and a shudder at hearing his name.

"Well, yes, it is true that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has never sought a fight with Dumbledore, and I suppose one could argue that as I have not joined the Death Eaters, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named can hardly count me a friend. . . in which case, I might well be safer a little closer to Albus. I cannot pretend that Amelia Bones's death did not shake me. . . If she, with all her Ministry contacts and protection. . ."

I was a bit irritated with him by now. So he thought contacts was what kept people safe? Knowing the right people? Bloody hell!

Luckily, the toilet flushed at that moment and Dumbledore opened the bathroom door and came back into the room.

"Oh, there you are, Albus." Slughorn said, jumping. "You've been a very long time. Upset stomach?"

"No, I was merely reading the Muggle magazines. I do love knitting patterns. Well, Harry, Elizabeth, we have trespassed upon Horace's hospitality quite long enough; I think it is time for us to leave." Dumbledore said.

Harry jumped to his feet though I got off the sofa a little slower, setting my glass down.

"You're leaving?" Mr. Slughorn asked. Despite the fact that he'd smashed the house so that we would think him dead, and despite the fact that he had wanted us to leave a long time ago, he seemed quite disappointed that we were leaving now.

"Yes, indeed. I think I know a lost cause when I see one." Dumbledore said.

"Lost. . .?" He seemed agitated.

"Well, I'm sorry you don't want the job, Horace. Hogwarts would have been glad to see you back again. Our greatly increased security notwithstanding, you will always be welcome to visit, should you wish to." Dumbledore said, raising his left hand in farewell.

"Yes. . . well. . . very gracious. . . as I say. . ."

"Good-bye, then."

"Bye." Harry and I said and we headed for the front door.

"3. . . 2. . . 1. . ." I muttered under my breath loud enough for Harry and Dumbledore to hear.

There was a shout from behind us, "All right, all right, I'll do it!"

"You will come out of retirement?" Dumbledore asked, turning to face Slughorn who was now standing in the doorway of the sitting room.

"Yes, yes, I must be mad, but yes."

"Wonderful. Then, Horace, we shall see you on the first of September."

"Yes, I daresay you will." Slughorn grunted. We set off down the garden path and then we heard him shout, "I'll want a pay raise, Dumbledore!"

Dumbledore chuckled as the garden gate shut behind us. "Well done you two."

"We didn't do anything!" Harry said in surprise. "and why'd you stop him from saying that you weren't my sister?" Harry asked me.

"Because." I said. "If you didn't notice, Harry, he likes to collect people. What was the harm in letting him think wrongly so long as it made him take the job?"

"Oh." Harry said, frowning.

"Did you like him?" Dumbledore asked, frowning just the slightest. Despite knowing that it wasn't time to tell Harry yet, he seemed quite disappointed that I wasn't telling him.

"Er-" Harry said.

"I don't know." I replied honestly. "Sometimes, I think I could like him, and then he says something, and there's an extreme feeling of annoyance."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Horace, likes his comfort. He also likes the company of the famous, the successful, and the powerful. He enjoys the feeling that he influences these people. He has never wanted to occupy the throne himself; he prefers the backseat- more room to spread out, you see. he used to handpick favorites at Hogwarts, sometimes for their ambition of their brains, sometimes for their charm or their talent, and he had an uncanny knack for choosing those who would go on to become outstanding in their various fields. Horace formed a kind of club with his favorites with himself at the center, making introduces, forging useful contacts between members, and always reaping some kind of benefit in return, whether a free box of his favorite crystalized pineapple or the chance to recommend the next junior member of the Goblin Liaison Office."

It made me thing of a spiderweb or a food web. There was something in the middle and everything branched out from there.

"I tell you all this, not to turn you against Horace- or as we must now call him, Professor Slughorn- but to put you on your guard. He will undoubtedly try to collect you, Harry. You would be the jewel of his collection; 'the Boy Who Lived'. . . or, as they call you these days, 'the Chosen One'. No doubt, he'll try to collect you as well Elizabeth, mostly to your striking resemblance to Lily Potter despite not having a true relation. And of course, once he sees your skills on the Quidditch field and your brain in the classroom, he won't even care you're not related. This will, do." Dumbledore said, stopping.

I quickly put a hand on his shoulder, grabbing it tight and there was that horrible sensation again. I think I preferred Apparating with Dad.

"Professor, I know that you want to have a private conversation with Harry though, of course, I know most of the contents of the conversation." I said lightly. "I'll just er- go into the Burrow, shall I?"

"That you may." Dumbledore said. "I'm sure Molly will let you in right away. Harry, if you'd follow me."

And so, I headed to the back door that led to the kitchen and knocked. "Who's there? Declare yourself!" Mrs. Weasley's voice said through the back door.

"Er- Elizabeth Kane." I said awkwardly.

"Elizabeth, dear! Oh, what a fright. I didn't think you'd show up till tomorrow!" She opened the door to let me in and I walked through.

"Um Dumbledore and Harry are finishing up a er- private chat." I said. "Oh! Wotcher Tonks!"

She gave me the briefest of smiles as she was the one I'd picked the line up from. I immediately felt awkward. She didn't seem to be able to meet my eyes either.

Mrs. Weasley sighed. "I suppose you know what's going on, Elizabeth?"

"Er well yeah." I muttered, sitting down at the table across from Tonks. "He won't er- budge. Not that that means anything." I said with a roll of my eyes. "I already saw the wedding ring and I know he marries you I just can't see when."

"Is it really just because he's a werewolf?" Tonks asked softly. I took her in. She looked shabby, just like dad. Her hair was brown now, the same color dad's fur might've been. I knew her patronus had changed to a werewolf now too.

"Yes." I said solidly. "He's afraid too, of course. He doesn't want to open his heart, he thinks he'll end up hurting you."

"Have you told him that you foresaw it?" Tonks asked, sounding both hopeful and also not.

I shook my head. "I don't want either of you to feel that you married because I told you I saw it. He'll come around, just give him some time, okay?"

At that moment, there was another knock on the door. "That'll be Dumbledore and Harry." I said to Mrs. Weasley who hurried to the door and opened it to let them in.

"Hello, Professor." Tonks said. "Wotcher, Harry."

"Hi, Tonks." Harry said.

I looked at Tonks. She looked ill. She almost looked how dad looked before full moons. Had she let herself get bitten? No, surely I'd have seen that! And that would definitely ruin things for her being an Auror. No, she was just sad. I could understand that.

"I'd better be off." She said, jumping up and grabbing her cloak, pulling it around her shoulders, "Thanks for the tea and sympathy, Molly."

"Please don't leave on my account." Dumbledore said, "I cannot stay, I have urgent matters to discuss with Rufus Scrimgeour."

"No, no, I need to get going. Night-"

"Dear, why not come to dinner at the weekend, Remus and Mad-Eye are coming-?" Mrs. Weasley started.

"No, really, Molly. . . thanks anyway. Good night, everyone." Tonks hurried past Dumbledore.

"Well, I shall see you at Hogwarts, Harry. Take care of yourself, Molly, your servant." Then Dumbledore left as well and Mrs. Weasley closed the door behind her and steered Harry by the shoulders into the full glow of the lantern.

"You're like Ron. Both of you look as though you've had Stretching Jinxes put on you. I swear Ron's grown four inches since I last bought him school robes. Are you hungry, Harry?"

"Yeah, I am." Harry said, sounding surprised.

"What about you Elizabeth?"

"A little bit." I said.

"So Hermione's here?" Harry asked as a large orange cat jumped up onto his lap.

"Oh yes, she arrived the day before yesterday. Everyone's in bed of course, we didn't expect you two for hours. Here you are-"

She poured Harry some onion soup. She poured me Chicken Noodle. I was immensely pleased.

"Bread, dear?"

"Thanks Mrs. Weasley." Harry said.

"I'm alright." I said.

"So you persuaded Horace Slughorn to take the job?" Mrs. Weasley said, sitting down in front of us.

Harry nodded.

"He taught Arthur and me. He was at Hogwarts for ages, started around the same time as Dumbledore, I think. Did you like him?"

I snorted and Harry gave a jerk with his head.

"I know what you mean. Of course he can be charming when he wants to be, but Arthur's never liked him much. The Ministry's littered with Slughorn's old favorites, he was always good at giving leg ups, but he never had much time for Arthur- didn't seem to think he was enough of a highflier. Well, that just shows you, even Slughorn makes mistakes. I don't know whether Ron's told you in any of his letters- it's only just happened- but Arthur's been promoted!"

"Congratulations." I said, watching Harry choke on his soup so that he could burst out with watering eyes, "That's great!"

"You two are sweet. Yes, Rufus Scrimgeour has set up several new offices in response to the present situation, and Arthur's heading the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects. It's a big job, he's got ten people reporting to him now!"

"What exactly-?" Harry started.

"Well, you see, in all the panic about You-Know-Who, odd things have been cropping up for sale everywhere, things that are supposed to guard against You-Know-Who and the Death Eaters. You can imagine the kind of things- so-called protective potions that are really gravy with a bit of bubotuber pus added, or instructions for defensive jinxes that actually make your ears fall off. . . Well, in the main the perpetrators are just people like Mundungus Fletcher, who've never done an honest day's work in their lives and are taking advantage of how frightened everybody is, but every now and then something really nasty turns up. The other day Arthur confiscated a box of cursed Sneakoscopes that were almost certainly planted by a Death Eater. So you see, it's a very important job, and I tell him it's just silly to miss dealing with spark plugs and toasters and all the rest of that Muggle rubbish." Mrs. Weasley said.

"Well, he can always have a hobby." I said genially.

"Is Mr. Weasley still at work?" Harry asked.

"Yes he is. As a matter of fact, he's a tiny bit late. . . He said he'd be back around midnight. . ." She turned to look at her clock.

The family clock was a fantastic clock and I wondered where she'd gotten it or who'd made it. It had all of her families names on a spoon and it would hang where it should be: work, hospital, school, home and a few others. All nine hands were pointed at mortal peril right now.

"It's been like that for a while now ever since You-Know-Who came back into the open." Mrs. Weasley said in a false casual voice. "I suppose everybody's in mortal danger now. . . I don't think it can be just our family. . . but I don't know anyone else who's got a clock like this, so I can't check. Oh!"

Mr. Weasley hand had jumped to traveling.

"I think I'll go to bed now." I said, getting up from the table. "Good night Harry. Good night Mrs. Weasley. Tell Mr. Weasley I said hello." I kissed Harry's cheek and then headed up the stairs. Mrs. Weasley didn't even have to tell me where I was sleeping. I was going to be sleeping with Hermione and Ginny.

I slipped into the room and found that the cot had already been made up for me and my things were in the corner of the room. Sadie was sitting up on the wardrobe and swooped down to meet me, hooting quietly so as not to wake Ginny or Hermione who were both sleeping peacefully.

"Safe hunting." I whispered and she swooped out the window. I climbed into bed and fell into a dreamless sleep.

⬅️➡️

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eviesaurusrex · 3 months ago

Text

ᴄʜᴏꜱᴇɴ ᴡɪꜱᴇʟʏ | ʙ. ʙᴀʀɴᴇꜱ

Mobster!Bucky Barnes x Reader

summary: 5 incidents in which Bucky gets proven how lucky he is to have found you.

word count: 6.7k

warnings: MDNI, fluff, mobster typical themes, illusions to violence, more fluff, cursing, talks of marriage, starting a family etc., pregnancy, phantom pain, allusions to smutty time, slight dirty talk, my Google Translator skills for all things Russian, children, not perfetly proof-read

author’s note: Am I in my mobster era now? (Please don't try to strangle me when I butchered the Russian parts. I had only Google Translator as my trusty helper ;_; Dividers are made by @enchanthings-a and @strangergraphics!

Russian translations:

малышка (malyshka)—baby

милая (milaya)—darling

“Every day I wake up next to you, I pray to the gods and thank them for the love you give me. Every day I spend with you is more than I deserve. Every day I call myself lucky that you love me back, my dear. I love you more than anything in the world, more than the world, more than life itself. You are my everything. Thank you for making me the happiest man on this planet.”

“Should I stop telling you how good you feel around me? How good you take me? How perfect you look, all filled up with my cock and already pregnant with my baby?”

Привет, папочка (Privet, papochka)—Hello daddy

Привет, солнышко (Privet, solnyshko)—Hello sunshine

The first incident that proved him to have chosen wisely when following his heart for the first time in his life was when James Buchanan Barnes—fearsome crime lord, bratva leader, king of New York City’s underworld—found himself in the aftermath of a crossfire after a deal gone south. His doctor had just arrived to check out the gunshot wounds littering his arm and shoulder, and in his opinion, everyone made too much of a fuss about it.

He was fine. He made it out with barely any scratches.

“Nine gunshots, only one bullet I have to remove. This is a new record, Mr. Barnes.”

… a few scratches; he had to give him that.

On the other hand, his entire left arm had been reduced to nothing but a pile of scrap metal, so perhaps Bucky had been hit rather badly if he took that into account. He wouldn’t because he had to be okay, invincible even. The world he was born into was a cruel one that reprimanded one’s weakness with downfall and despair, and he had to uphold the legacy that had been bestowed upon him the moment his father took his last dying breath in the same car crash that had taken his arm. He had people to protect—his associates, partners, workers, everyone that he considered friends or even family.

Topped by only one person, one woman, who sat above them all on a throne he had created for her right next to his. Not beneath him, not a step below—right fucking next to him.

Speaking of which… The commotion outside their bedroom sounded a lot like the whirlwind he deemed to be the love of his existence, and cursing above his breath, his eyes moved a second from the slightly opened door toward the doctor holding the single bullet between a pair of forceps.

“Don’t you dare step in my way.”

Her voice rushed like opium through his veins, making the mobster forget about the burning pain of holes inside his body.

“I can’t let you in there. Not now. The doctor is with him, you don’t want to see that,” Steve’s voice echoed through the hallway, probably stacked with high-towering security men. Just as high-towering as the blond was, and still, his girl did not show fear. No, not her. Never her.

A scoff was heard, and the physician beside him chuckled under his breath as he started to clean the wounds meticulously. Even Bucky showed a rare hint of emotion around other people than her when a grin parted his lips for a moment. “You’re his second. He is his doctor. I am his girlfriend. Think again if you want to continue standing in my way, Steve. I’m not above using brute force to get to him.”

Hearing that from a woman stopping not even close to all their eye levels would be laughable with any other person, but her? Everyone knew she would move heaven and hell in order to get wherever he was. He had learned this the hard way and would never dare leave her behind again, not when she demanded to tag along.

She really is a wonder.

Bucky wasn’t sure if he had spoken those words out loud, his mind starting to struggle with the blood loss and pain seeping deeper than necessary into him.

Shuffling before the door made the brunet open his eyes again. “Fucking hell, woman…” The hardwood door opened, and he could see the woman ruling his world without even starting to grasp the extent of her power over him, turning toward his second in command. “I hope you don’t kiss your mother with that mouth, Rogers,” she spoke sweetly before she finally turned, her eyes immediately finding him on their shared bed.

Worry creased her forehead, brows deeply furrowed, eyes jumping from his shoulder to his injured arm, then right to the one missing. Without another heartbeat, she rushed through the grand but still cozy room, showcasing her taste because Bucky had let her redecorate this entire fucking house as soon as she had agreed to move in with him—after much persuasion on his part. He wouldn’t have given a fuck if she would’ve decided to paint every single wall a screaming yellow if it would’ve made her happy.

“Hey, милая.” His raspy voice from all the shouting broke a bit at the signature endearment for her, and he wished to reach a hand out to her, but the lack of his arm was jarringly apparent. So all he could do was watch her carefully settling down onto her side of the bed, scooting over the mattress, a warm, soft hand cupping his cheek while the pad of her thumb started to caress his cheekbone. “Hey, love,” she returned the greeting with a smile, worried gaze flicking to Dr. Strange. “How bad is it? And don’t you dare try to sugarcoat me like Sam bloody tried on our way here. I do possess eyes, you see that, right?”

Dr. Strange nodded while preparing the stitching material. “I have removed one bullet from his shoulder. Nine shots in total. I’ve cleaned them and will stitch them as soon as the anesthetic takes effect.” Bucky could see her nodding at the doctor’s explanation and tried to nuzzle closer into the palm of her hand. “Milaya?” She finally looked down on him. “I’m okay, ‘promise. They busted m’arm, though.”

His words turned slurred, slowly but steadily, and he focused on her soft smile that was always entirely reserved for him and baby kittens. He could live with that sort of competition.

“We will talk later, but I promise I’ll take a look at your arm, and in case there isn’t anything left to save, I’ll make you a new one, James.” She pressed a gentle, loving kiss to his sweat-covered forehead. “Now relax, my love. I’ll be here when you wake up.” Her voice echoed in his ears when the drugs finally kicked in, clinging to the sound of her.

Yes, he had been smart enough to ignore his stupid rule of not letting anyone get closer than necessary. She proved him right every damn time.

The second incident that proved him to have chosen wisely when following his heart for the first time in his life was on a regular day in December. Snow fell softly outside the grand brownstone they had chosen to spend the holidays at rather than the house outside the city. His girl had wanted to finally spend Christmas in the buzzing city again, and he had ordered their things packed and moved within a blink of an eye.

Now, everyone enjoyed their little piece of heaven surrounded by their families. Yelena and Natasha had returned to Russia for the holidays, Steve spent time with his own wife, while Sam had decided to go south to see his parents and check in with a few associates while he was already there.

Meanwhile, the feared bratva mobster, leader of the darkest pits of New York’s underworld, watched his girlfriend-soon-to-be-fiancée add a few more pieces they had picked up at Tiffany’s today to their Christmas tree, humming to the soft tunes of an old record wafting through the living room. His blue eyes, usually so menacing and threatening, rested with a loving expression on the woman he had sworn to protect with his life, one arm thrown over the back of the comfy couch he had spent a fortune on—but his queen fell in love with it at first sight and couldn’t find anything better suiting. Not that she had to. The shining black Centurion Card had been pulled out of the inside pocket of his black suit jacket the second Bucky had seen that look on her face.

He would buy her anything in this world, spoiling her rotten until she’d drown in pretty things.

“I think we need more lights,” she stated in a mumble, almost to herself, before turning toward him. “Don’t we? We need more lights, yes.” And so it was decided, and he smiled at her turning back when she started to roam through the red holiday box to find the last remaining string of colorful fairy lights. “No, wait.” Lifting a dark brow, the man watched her reach for the small package he had eyed since they’ve returned instead, all wrapped prettily and neatly.

Scooting across the soft carpet toward where he sat, his girl smiled up at him, holding the small present out to him before folding her hands over his muscular thigh, waiting patiently. “It’s not your Christmas present, but I saw it and… and I needed to do this. To have something for our tree.”

Their first real tree as a couple. The past three years, they had been too busy during the holiday season, barely being at home, not to mention the little time they would’ve had to go out, find a tree, and decorate it, so it would be appreciated as it deserved. This year, however, Bucky craved the comforts of their home, and he wanted to start collecting memories like this.

He bent over to her, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead, hand cupping her cheek tenderly, the little gift almost vanishing in the vastness of his hands. “Thank you, моя милая.” How in all the hells had he become so lucky in finding this woman who now grinned up at him with unabashed happiness? “Open it! Open it already!” And he obliged, feeling giddy himself as she almost bounced on her knees, unwrapping the small box and opening the lid to reveal a perfectly crafted snowflake ornament, a picture of them together in Central Park during the worst snowstorm the city had witnessed in over a decade placed inside the clear crystal. Their smiling faces, almost hidden behind scarves and beanies, angled to one another, her lips pressing a snow-filled kiss to the corner of his smiling lips.

It was perfect.

She was perfect.

Gods be damned, but in that moment, when his eyes found hers again, he felt the overwhelming urge to drop down on his knees and ask for a lifetime together. But he wouldn’t. He had it all planned out, and he used to stick to his plans. He was patient beyond compare, but not when it involved this woman before him. So instead of caving to this sensation, Bucky carefully placed the crystal snowflake onto the coffee table in front of him and pulled his girl up into his lap in one smooth motion, wrapping her in his strong arms, fingers—both flesh and metal—tangling in soft strands of hair or gripping the soft black fabric of the hoodie she wore which once belonged to him.

“Каждый день я просыпаюсь рядом с тобой, молюсь богам и благодарю их за любовь, которую ты мне даришь. Каждый день, который я провожу с тобой, больше, чем я заслуживаю. Каждый день я называю себя счастливчиком, что ты любишь меня в ответ, моя дорогая. Я люблю тебя больше всего на свете, больше мира, больше самой жизни. Ты — мое все. Спасибо, что сделал меня самым счастливым человеком на этой планете, малышка,” Bucky rasped in Russian with his forehead pressed to hers and eyes intimately locked, watching the shy smile he loved so dearly spreading on her lips and making her eyes twinkle.

“I don’t know if you have insulted me just now, proclaimed your undying love for humble me, or started the dirty talk earlier than usual, but either way, I don’t mind.” Her fingers wrapped around his chin to pull his face closer to hers, lips touching when she added in a breathless whisper, “It sounded hot, so keep talking dirty to me, love.”

Giggling, his girl accepted the tender kisses of chapped lips to her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, her lips. He felt the uncomfortable pull on his skin again when Bucky smiled at her, his split lip still not entirely healed after a punch he couldn’t dodge in time. Under her care, it will have vanished until next week when the photographer planned to take a few pictures for their first Christmas postcards.

Bucky still struggled to grasp how his life had turned in that particular manner. He never thought he’d be one for domesticity and familiar bliss, but with her?

He was all in.

The third incident that proved him to have chosen wisely when following his heart for the first time in his life was when James Buchanan Barnes, invincible mob boss, returned home in the dead of night in a frantic temper, his entourage strolling behind him, accepting his orders with grave faces and solemn nods.

“Don’t let him out of your fucking sight. Track him as soon as he leaves his godforsaken home, track him inside his own walls, hell, track when he takes a piss. I don’t fucking care!” His booming voice echoed through the foyer, and with another deep growl, he handed his weapons to Sam; two remained in the holster, hugging his broad shoulders. He wouldn’t take them off, not until the threat was decimated under his foot. “We’ll do a 24/7 surveillance on him, boss. He won’t come near her,” Steve promised, knowing damn well what would happen to all of their heads if they couldn’t protect her.

Bucky bared his teeth in disgust. “You better not fuck this up, Steve.” This would be his first and only warning, and the blond knew that, so he nodded and retreated into his office, knowing damn well that sleep would be nothing but a pleasant memory for a while—he wouldn’t be alone, though. Everyone knew how their boss got when his queen was threatened by others. Those threats had already started to grow in numbers as soon as the underworld learned of their engagement, and outsiders trying everything to get in and on good graces with certain families smelled a quick victory.

How wrong they were in those foolish assumptions.

Sam watched his boss almost anxiously while he desperately tried to cool off, fists pressed against the pretty surface of a pretty sideboard she had most definitely chosen.

“I will kill him. I’ll kill them all if I have to.”

At Bucky’s deep rumble, Sam could only hum in agreement. He would be right at his back, killing all who wanted to harm anyone he cared for, especially those inside this building.

“I could reach out to our associates in Louisiana, get some more backup and gunpower. There’s this kid who’s a marvel with tech. Maybe he can come up with a discreet solution for the in-house surveillance,” Sam suggested, knowing damn well how excited Parker would be when he finally allowed him to tag along, currently bored out of his brilliant mind at college. Bucky looked up and over his shoulder, icy blue eyes resting on one of his best men—and friend. But the creaking above their heads let him pause in his answer, and both men stared up the stairs, knowing who eavesdropped at the railing.

Bucky sighed deeply. “We need to work on your stealth skills, малышка,” he spoke up and waited for her steps to pick up and for her to shuffle down the stairs. She did in a pair of cozy yoga pants, a large hoodie hanging on her form—the one he had worn before changing into his suit this morning—and fluffy socks with reindeer and candy canes printed all over them, her hair wrapped in a messy bun on the top of her head, strands framing her face. In her arms throned a king amongst pets, and white fur littered the soft fabric of his hoodie where she held Alpine close to her chest.

His heart ached at the sight of her in the best possible way.

Her eyes wide with worry—not for herself, but for him and all his men—jumped between Sam and himself as she reached the second to last step and waited there.

“I didn’t mean to, but… I heard voices and thought you’d come home, but then I heard everyone talking and it was kind of too late to go back to bed anyway, so I figured I could… learn a bit.” Bucky started softly shaking his head, his outgrowing hair tickling his cheeks. “You meant eavesdropping, малышка. That’s the word you’re looking for here,” he deadpanned, and one corner of his mouth slightly lifted at the sound of her quiet laugh, her fingers comfortingly petting the white fluff ball currently purring at the attention and headbutting her hand for more.

With another sigh, he stepped up to the stairs, raising his gaze to his all-ruling queen, and he felt the tension in his shoulders slightly disappear when her hand came up to his neck and rested there comfortingly, fingers playing with the soft strands of his dark hair. “I’ll be alright, James,” she whispered, and he wasn’t sure how she could say that with such certainty when not even he felt so sure. “We’ll be alright, I just know it. Nothing and no one will keep me from you, from becoming your wife and living a very happy life with the man I love more than anything in this world, giving him the cutest fur babies and children the world has ever seen.” Bucky sucked in a breath, and after gently putting down Alpine, he pulled his soon-to-be wife in a bone-crushing hug, wrapping her legs around his hips with ease. “We will live until we turn old and grey and can look back at all the memories we made along the way, annoying our children and grandkids with endless, embarrassing stories,” she continued to whisper against the soft, tattooed skin of his neck and yes, he could see all that and more, too.

It was easy with her to picture this picture-perfect life—and he would do anything to make it a reality. He wouldn’t stop at murder and anarchy, not when it came to her.

So when he slightly turned to Sam with his woman in his arms, ready to put her back to bed, he only needed to mouth the words, and it was done.

Do it.

The fourth incident that proved him to have chosen wisely when following his heart for the first time in his life was during one of those forsaken nights.

He woke with a startle and a groan escaping him involuntarily, the dark bedroom embracing him, a soft, warm body tucked into the expanse of his back, slow breathing fanning across his heated skin. His hand shot up with another groan leaving him, cupping the stump where once had been an arm, feeling the same agonizing pain he had felt in that car all those years ago, almost bleeding to death after a rivaling family had tried to kill them all off.

Unfortunately, he had survived—and the revenge had been brutal the moment he had recovered enough to go on a killing spree.

Trying to breathe through the crashing sensations, Bucky tried to move as quietly and carefully as possible, not wanting to wake the woman sleeping peacefully beside him because she needed all the rest she could humanely get. But the pain was blinding, the feeling of warm blood flowing down his skin so real, he could’ve sworn there was still an arm to lose, and his fucking legs were still tangled in the damn blanket!

With a frustrated huff, the mobster tried to just roll out of bed in a desperate attempt, not minding falling face-first to the floor, but the blanket didn’t budge, and suddenly, an arm snaked across his waist, and a warm hand rested on his muscular abdomen.

“D’not go…”

The sleepy mumble pierced through the agony, and usually, Bucky always obliged to his wife’s every demand, but not now. Not this time. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t crumble in front of her. She needed him to be strong and capable. He had to protect her and the little plum. He couldn’t show weakness, not even in the comforts of their own home. Word would get out, the pit of New York City would smell blood, they would come and kill her in front of his very eyes, make him watch when the life would vanish from her breathtaking eyes, taunting him, before they would end his life as well, releasing him into the bliss of afterlife where he would search for her, and—….

“Bucky? What’s wrong?”

Her voice, now sounding more awake and aware, startled and pulled him out of his spiraling thoughts, and he could feel the mattress dip and move when she sat up and scooted closer to him. “Hey…” A soothing hand started to rub over his back. “Talk to me, love. C’mon, handsome, I can only help when I know what’s bothering you to such an unholy hour.” Her teasing made him almost smile—almost. But the pain returned in full force, and his hand gripped his shoulder even tighter.

“Phantom pain. It’s nothing I can’t handle, malyshka. Go back to sleep, you need it,” he rumbled quietly, his legs finally escaping the trap that was their blanket, and the man sat up, feet hitting the floor. He attempted to get up in order to leave her to the quietness of their room, but his wife had nothing the like on her mind. She held him back and scooted off the bed. “Stay. I’ll be right back.” Blinking into the dim light of her bedside table, he reached for her and tried to get up. “I’m fine, sweetheart. Go back to—”

She shushed him gently and pressed a finger to his lips. “I said Stay. I mean it.” With that, his woman granted him a serious glance before she patted into the adjacent bathroom, one hand cradling her already quite prominent bump, and all Bucky could hear was rummaging sounds in their cabinets and a quiet mumbling.

“Your papa is a handful sometimes, little one. Prepare yourself because I need you in my corner, okay? Okay.”

Smiling through the irritating pain, the mobster waited for her to return and watched her closely when she finally left the bathroom and patted back to their bed, a bottle of lotion in her hand. “You think you need the mirror, love?” Bucky glanced at the full-length mirror in their walk-in closet shrouded in darkness and decided with a soft shake of his head. “Maybe later if it’s not getting any better,” he mumbled in defeat, accepting the loving kisses pressed to his right temple and lips. “Just let me know, yeah?” He nodded at her request, and blue eyes watched her like a hawk when she settled right next to him, on the side of his missing arm, a squirt of lotion already between her soft hands warming it up.

“I told you to wake me up if it’s happening again,” his wife scolded him quietly, her incredible hands massaging the hurting stump of his shoulder. At first, it hurt like hell, but the more she kneaded and caressed, the more bearable it got. “You need your rest, milaya,” he returned with a lingering glance down her form, eyes equally heavy with worry and love when they settled on the little bump he had grown to love so dearly, it almost hurt.

Bucky felt her eyes on him in return and opened his arm when she stopped what she was doing to climb into his inviting lap, straddling him comfortably. Taking his hand into hers, she pushed the warm skin of her husband under his shirt she wore to sleep and placed his palm right on top of the soft curve before continuing.

“Not more than you need it, too. You’re running the mob empire, not me.” Her voice reminded him softly, and he let his forehead fall onto her shoulder, eyes closed, thumb caressing the warm skin of her bump, hoping, praying, he would feel something, anything. But according to all the books he had read so far, it would take a few more weeks until he could feel the slight movements their child did inside his wife. “And you’re growing a whole fucking human,” Bucky returned and got shushed again. “Watch your language, Barnes. I don’t want their first word to be anything obscene.”

But she couldn’t fool him. He heard her smile in the scolding.

A comfortable silence settled between them, then, reminding Bucky yet again why he had felt so good around her the second she had walked into that room in the hospital, only raising a brow at the sight of six buffed men clad in black suits, armed with more guns than one human could possibly need, and him sitting in the middle of it all—disheveled, still hurting, ice cold. She had smiled, wearing those ridiculous blue scrubs, and he had spotted a splash of blood on her light grey sneakers when she had come closer, pointing it out in almost something resembling disgust. Still, she only had rolled her pretty eyes at the pitiful attempt of an insult.

She hadn’t given a single fuck about those intimidating men—including him—all towering multiple heads above her, tattooed, guns always visible, the rough Russian language floating through the room occasionally. And he had respected her for that, even though he didn’t bother to be nice at first. In hindsight, Bucky would’ve earned a beating from his mother if she had been still alive. She had raised him better than treating a beautiful, kind, intelligent, and compassionate woman like he had initially treated her. But after a while, Bucky had felt how she had snaked her way into his thoughts, catching himself repeatedly thinking about her over the course of his day, starting to anticipate the next appointment to get his prosthetic measured, built, and adjusted, always looking forward to seeing her face.

She hadn’t given a flying fuck either when he finally revealed who he was and what he did, only cocking her head to the side in question and asking him, “Will you or one of your guys kill me after our time is over?” And when he had shook his head, denying those thoughts, she had smiled brightly, before turning back to the prosthetic arm she had crafted for him. “Then we don’t have a problem. Everyone has to earn their money somehow, James.” That was also the first time anyone had called him by that name since his parents had died, and he had fallen for her right then and there, ready to kneel at her feet and surer as hell that he would make her his queen.

“Don’t count on that, malyshka. Everyone around here is using filthy language, and do I need to remind you of certain… situations where the little plum currently has to listen in? Or do you want me to stop? Мне перестать говорить тебе, как хорошо ты себя чувствуешь рядом со мной? Как хорошо ты меня принимаешь? Как идеально ты выглядишь, вся заполненная моим членом и уже беременная моим ребенком?” He felt the pain slowly but steadily subside under her knowing and well-versed hands, feeling them stop in their magic as the huskily whispered Russian words flowed effortlessly over his lips, feeling her squirm in his lap.

Leaning slightly back in order to have a better look at his face, his wife bit her lower lip, making now the feared bratva leader squirm underneath her, his hand protectively pressed into her lower back, not daring to let her fall off of him. “You are a very evil man, James Barnes,” she hummed with almost a purring edge to her voice, making him grin as cocky as possible. “You married the worst of the bunch, malyshka—and you like it. You can’t hide it, not from me, never from me. Not when I’m balls-deep it that deliciously tight…—” Her lips pressing against his made him moan deep in his throat and stop taking altogether. Forgotten was the pain of the past. It still bothered him, somewhere in the back of his mind, but her scent, her taste, the feeling of his wife against him made him forget about it.

The past was the past, and now, only the present and the future held importance to him.

Lifting her with one arm with ease, the mobster carefully moved her to the middle of their bed, hovering above her and watching her pretty face with a loving gaze. “You’re my everything,” he dared to whisper. “You both are.” He felt her hands cupping his face tenderly as if he wasn’t the killer everyone feared across the East Coast as if he was something precious even though he was broken beyond repair. “And you are ours, Bucky.” She kissed his cheeks, the tip of his nose, his lips, and his left shoulder without disgust, without apprehension, but with deeply felt love.

As if he was perfect the way he was.

The fifth incident that proved him to have chosen wisely when following his heart for the first time in his life was after a business trip to Sicily that had taken too long for his liking, even though the business was good and the newly knitted connections invaluable. But it had made him leave his family for far too long than humanly tolerable, not even the many FaceTime calls had eased the sting in his heart.

“Make sure Enzo receives the gift for his wife and put a little something for him inside as well. Perhaps the Yamazaki Single Malt?” The 55-year-old whisky sure would make a fine gift for the young leader of the Sicilian Mafia, remembering an evening here and there when both men had shared a glass of scotch.

Steve walked beside him as they left the car and made their way over the sidewalk and behind the gate of the old brownstone in the best area in New York City. The cherry trees along the road were in full bloom, and the spring breeze was pleasant enough that the Barnes considered taking them all out for a day in Central Park. Work could wait after two weeks away from them. “Sure thing, Buck. I’ll call Stark to get a bottle,” the blond nodded and opened the door for his boss after walking up the stairs before entering the family home as well, happy sounds wafting through the air already.

Bucky visibly relaxed when he heard his family without a phone between them and handed Steve the concealed guns. They had made a rule for the house, and everyone obliged happily because everyone had been wrapped around their little fingers since the day they were born.

And no one would dare to go against Mrs. Barnes.

“I don’t want to be disturbed for the next couple of weeks, so handle everything and only bother me with situations that need my explicit attention,” was the last order the mobster could get out before the sound of small feet erupted from the living room and barreling toward the foyer.

“Papa!”

“Dada! No, waits for meeee! Annie, pwease! Mommyyyy!”

Bucky laughed as his eldest rounded the corner in full sprint, her little legs carrying her as fast they could, and the tall brunet crouched down to catch her little body. The little girl, resembling so much his wife, looked at his face with bright eyes, hands pressing against his cheeks and squishing them with an adorable chuckle.

“Привет, папочка,” she greeted him shyly, stumbling over her sounds and pronunciations, but Bucky kissed her little cheeks with such enthusiasm that her insecurities vanished in an instant. “Привет, солнышко,” the father returned with a kiss to her forehead and watched the questioning expression morphing onto his daughter’s face. Her tongue poked out between her lips, eyes wandering to the ceiling, brows drawn together in concentration—just like his wife. But then, she looked at him again, leaning closer as if she wanted to conspire with him. “What does that mean, papa? Yelena didn’t teach me that word yet,” she whispered, and Bucky laughed again, feeling almost crushed by the happiness he felt at that moment. “It means sunshine, my sunshine.” It made her smile as brightly as the sun outside the windows before she waved at Steve. “Hi, Uncle Stevie. You can go now. Papa is mine; you can have him back in… a long time.”

Nodding to underline her case, the almost six-year-old looked expectantly at his second in command, and Bucky turned with her still in his arms, looking just as expectantly as her. “You heard the little lady, Steve. Off you go,” he teased, and the blond shook his head with a smile, bowing before them. “As you wish, Princess Anastasia.” The girl huffed and showed the blond giant her tongue. “It’s Anya, Uncle Stevie! You always forget!” Chuckling, Steve took her hand and shook it apologetically. “You are right; my apologies, princess. Enjoy your time with your father.”

And with that, he left for his office, leaving the two in the foyer when they heard another set of steps.

“Anya, next time, wait for your brother, please,” Mrs. Barnes scolded the little girl gently, a smile on her lips and the little boy on her arm. His son nodded, holding his stuffed bunny at its long ears. “Yesh, waits for me, Annie! Dada!” More excitement echoed through the home as the small boy started to wiggle in her arms, and Bucky rushed over to her, catching Elijah before he could plop out of her embrace. “Careful, little troublemaker,” he laughed and held him with his other arm, hearing Anya scoff quietly. He threw his wife a questioning look, and in return, she only rolled her eyes at their children, softly shaking her head and taking Anya to her.

“They had a… falling out earlier.” Anya scoffed again as if her mother understated the entire ordeal, wanting to be put back on her feet, and hugged her mother’s hips closely. Elijah leaned his head against Bucky’s shoulder, bunny pressed tightly into his chest, watching his sister. “He ruined my homework! Miss Pepper said she’s suuuuuper excited for my solar system model, and then, papa, Eli just banged his stupid bunny on it!” Angry tears gathered in her eyes, almost rolling down her pretty face. His youngest looked positively undisturbed as he watched his sister unraveling over her homework, and Bucky sighed.

“Bunny s’not shtupid. Annie’s plant-… plants-… planets! Annie’s planets looks ugly, dada. Not pretty like mommy,” Elijah stated with confidence, making the tears finally spill over Anya’s cheeks. “I hate you! You’re not my little brother anymore!” And with that, the little girl pulled away from the soothing hands of her mother, almost tumbling over the stairs as she ran upstairs, a loud bang echoing through the house when she closed her door with force.

Another sigh escaped Bucky and his wife alike, both parents looking down at their little boy who started to chew on his bunny’s ear. “Honey, that wasn’t very nice to say,” she reprimanded her son and took him from Bucky when he stretched his little chubby arms toward his mother, keeping a hand on his little back. “Annie is sads?” She nodded and kissed the dark mob of hair her son had inherited from his father, just like the blue of his eyes. “She’s upset, baby, yes. We will give her a moment to calm down before we’re going upstairs to apologize, yes?”

Elijah nodded with tears in his eyes, and the father couldn’t hold back, so he gently cupped his youngest head and pressed a lingering kiss onto the wild dark curls. “Can me and bunny asks Miss Melina fors cookies?” Smiling, she pressed a kiss to his cheek before putting him onto his small feet. “But only one, baby!” He was already on his way, chanting for cookies.

In an instant, Bucky pulled his wife into his arms, capturing her lips with his, a rumbling moan escaping him at the taste and feel of her. “Two fucking weeks are too long, malyshka,” he stated with another lingering kiss, fingers tangled in her hair. “Tell me about it. Try to manage two kids who switch between being the bestes of friends and each other’s enemy number one multiple times a day.” Taking her in more closely, Bucky could see the dark circles under her eyes and the tight muscles around her lips. His thumb swept across the dark circles, and his lips followed to kiss them better. “I’m so sorry, milaya,” he murmured with another kiss to her forehead and felt her hand hitting him against the back of his head. “Don’t be ridiculous. You had to be there, and we had to stay here with school for Anya and Eli’s first day at kindergarten. We managed. I wouldn’t mind if you take over bedtime duty for a while, though.”

Bucky grinned happily at the prospect of spending time with his kids, feeling the love only a father could feel coursing through his body. “Of course, love. We’ll get you something nice on our stroll over Fifth and let the kids play in Central Park while you enjoy a book, alright? I’ll pick up a few new bedtime stories as well, so you will not even be remotely needed and can enjoy bath after bath. Would that make my wife happy?” Sighing, she leaned heavily against him, gathering strength through his strong body supporting the weight resting on her shoulders during the worst and most exhausting days—which they have had many in the past two weeks. “Sounds lovely. But don’t you dare spend a fortune on me again!” Her warning was unnecessary because Bucky would spend a fortune on his wonderful wife, and she knew that as well. “Please,” he chuckled and pressed another heated kiss to her lips, his fingers cupping her chin tenderly. “I’ll buy whatever you want, milaya. Perhaps we could even get something for us.”

He loved his wife in pretty clothes, but he loved her especially dearly in pretty lingerie he had no qualm of ripping off her gorgeous body the second she’d appear before him, reducing the masterfully crafted pieces to lacy shreds on their bedroom floor. The first time he did that, he hadn’t gotten the opportunity to pull her to bed, receiving a scolding he had gotten the last time, probably as a boy. She had been royally pissed at his antics, mourning the pretty set she had bought for their first night together. The next day, she received a delivery of all the pieces she had eyed at the shops and saved online, making her closet filled with more lingerie than a regular woman would need in her entire life.

Only that she wasn’t a regular woman with a regular man. He could buy her anything and in any quantity possible, so he wasn’t one to hold back when the urge to see this goddess of a woman naked made him growl and impatient—and even a tad jealous of the fabric touching her skin instead of his hands and lips.

“You are the worst of the bunch, Barnes. Seriously.” Exasperated, she looked up at him, her cheeks warming under his touch, and Bucky nodded with a serious expression. “I am insatiable when it comes to you, malyshka. And you thrive on the power you have over me.” Eye-rolling, she shook her head again, winding out of his arms and smacking his ass with a teasing smile. “Stop being a seventeen year old horndog and move your sexy backside up to your daughter. She’ll listen to you more than me after two weeks filled with my constant presence. I’ll see what I can save from her project, and stopping Elijah from munching on too many cookies…”

The last part was barely a mumble, already distracted by whatever thought wandered through her beautiful mind, and Bucky watched her retreating back with a smile before shrugging out of his suit jacket. Throwing it over the stair railing, he made his way to his eldest’s room, softly knocking at the door littered with pictures and posters of her favorite animals and characters—he could even see the remnants of a glitter pen—and knew how lucky he could count himself when he was allowed to enter his sunshine’s room.

He had the perfect wife, two healthy, wonderful children, and had found happiness despite the way his life had taken.

He had indeed chosen wisely.

author's note: Tysm for reading my silly little writing. As usual: likes, reblogs, and comments are so much appreciated! I love to read your thoughts <3

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mrk236547789 · 5 months ago

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A servant boy to a rich family has been the Eldest's son's little toy ever since he was hired, he would bring him to his own room for some 'privet cleaning' and he would be up there for hours. After one cleaning the servant becomes pregnant and the son find out and wants to help him, one night he goes into labor but survives until his shift is over. The son drags him to the living room thinking his parents are going upstairs to bed, to their horror the parents come down and they have to hide in the closets. The Son uses his phone as light and they pull down the servants pants to find the heading crowning, The son has to cup his hands over the crowning head to keep it from coming out and his parents finding out in fear that they'll punish both of them. They have to stay like that for another 2 hours until his parents finally leave and go to bed. The whole time the servant is pushing, unable to stop himself and the son has to was him suffer as he hold the head in place to keep it from being born.

In the bustling kitchen of the grand estate, the servant boy, Jasper, scrubbed pots with a brisk rhythm, his thoughts drifting to the quiet solace of his tiny room above the stables. It had been a long day of polishing silverware and dusting chandeliers, and his hands ached with the promise of a blister. The rich aroma of roasting chicken wafted through the air, a stark reminder that his meal would be the cold, leftover scraps from the Eldest son's plate.

The Eldest, Charles, had always treated Jasper with a peculiar mix of entitlement and affection, often inviting him to his private quarters for "special" cleaning duties. Jasper had learned to dread those moments, his stomach tightening as he approached the opulent chamber. But tonight, a strange sensation grew within him, a heaviness that was more than mere exhaustion.

As Jasper finished up the dishes, the kitchen staff had already retreated for the night. He took a deep breath and climbed the stairs, the burgeoning secret in his belly feeling heavier with each step. Upon reaching Charles' room, he found the door ajar, the light within casting a sliver of yellow across the hallway's gleaming floor.

Charles looked up from his desk, his eyes widening in surprise. "Jasper, what are you doing here?" he asked, his voice a mix of concern and curiosity. Jasper swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest.

"I... I think it's time," Jasper managed to croak out. "The... the baby."

Charles' expression shifted from confusion to horror as realization dawned. He had noticed Jasper's changing shape over the past few months, but he had hoped the servant would find a way to deal with it without his interference. Now, it was staring him in the face—or rather, about to emerge from between Jasper's trembling legs.

"Ok let’s go to the living room my parents are sleeping now," Charles whispered urgently, his eyes darting to the staircase that led to the family's private quarters. He knew they couldn’t risk his mother and father discovering Jasper in such a compromising state. The living room was a safer bet, with its plush couches and thick curtains that could muffle any sounds of distress.

The journey was an eternity, Jasper's painful steps echoing through the silent corridors as he leaned heavily on Charles for support. The chandeliers cast dramatic shadows on the walls, making the grand paintings seem like silent judges watching their frantic passage. They reached the living room and Jasper collapsed onto the floor, his body trembling with the effort of holding back his cries.

Then they heard Charles parents coming into the living room, their voices muffled but unmistakable. Jasper's eyes widened with panic as he gripped the edge of the couch, his body convulsing with the effort of keeping his baby inside. "Quick, into the closet," Charles hissed, his own heart racing. They stumbled towards the large mahogany wardrobe, the Eldest son's collection of fine coats and tailored suits hanging like a barrier between them and discovery.

Jasper's water broke with a soft gush as they tumbled in, the cold floorboards against his bare skin offering no comfort. Charles fumbled in the dark, his hand brushing against Jasper's distended belly, feeling the baby's head pressing against the world. He cursed under his breath and pulled out his phone, the screen casting a bluish glow over the cramped space. The servant's pants were soaked and he knew they had to act fast.

"We can't stay here," Jasper whispered, his voice strained. "The baby's coming now."

“Wait till hey leave, okay?" Charles pleaded, his voice strained with fear. He knew his parents’ wrath would be severe if they found Jasper like this. With trembling hands, he shone the phone light on Jasper’s exposed hole, the baby’s dark hair peeking out. Jasper nodded, gritting his teeth as another contraction hit.

“Stop pushing," Charles whispered, his voice laced with desperation. "Just hold it in."

Jasper's eyes squeezed shut as he bore down, the pain unlike anything he had ever felt before. The pressure was unbearable, and his body seemed to have a will of its own. Each contraction felt like a monstrous wave trying to drag him under.

“I can’t," Jasper whimpered, his knuckles white as he gripped the edges of the closet. The pain was too intense to ignore.

Charles put his hand on the bay’s head to hold it there the best he could, his heart racing as he felt the warmth of the baby’s skin and the sticky wetness of Jasper’s body. Jasper's cries grew more desperate with each contraction, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The light from the phone cast eerie shadows on their faces, highlighting the sweat that beaded on their foreheads.

Outside the closet, the muffled sounds of Jasper's labor were almost drowned out by the ticking grandfather clock. The plush carpet muffled the occasional thump against the closet door as Jasper's body protested his confinement. They could hear the murmur of his parents' voices, the clink of ice in their drinks as they settled in for a night of leisurely conversation.

Charles rubbed Jasper's back in a clumsy attempt to soothe him, his mind racing with the gravity of the situation. He had to think of something, anything to help Jasper without alerting his parents to their secret. The minutes stretched on, each one feeling like an hour. The tension in the air was palpable, a silent scream trapped in the confines of the closet.

Finally 2 hours later the parents went to bed. Jasper felt the last wave of contraction subside and took a deep, shuddering breath. The relief was momentary as the next wave began to build, and he knew he couldn't wait any longer. With trembling hands, Charles helped Jasper out of the cramped space, his own legs feeling like jelly from the strain of the last two hours.

They moved quickly to the couch, the soft cushions offering a modest reprieve from the cold floor. Jasper lay down, his body already pushing the baby out. "You're doing great," Charles whispered, trying to keep his voice steady as he hovered over Jasper, the phone still casting its pale light. "Just a bit more."

Jasper's face contorted with pain as the baby's head began to emerge. The sight of his son, born in the quiet secrecy of the night, filled Charles with a mix of fear and a strange, protective love. He knew he couldn't let Jasper go through this alone. "You can do this," he murmured, his hand hovering above Jasper's trembling thighs, ready to offer support or comfort where needed.

The baby's cry pierced the quiet of the night, echoing through the cavernous room. Jasper's eyes rolled back in his head, his body trembling with the effort. "It's a boy," Charles said softly, awe in his voice as he caught the tiny, slippery body. He quickly cut the umbilical cord with a piece of string and a knife from his pocket, tying it off with trembling hands.

Jasper collapsed back onto the couch, his breath coming in shallow gasps. The baby squalled, a healthy sound that filled the room with life. "We have to clean up," Charles said, his mind racing. They couldn't leave any evidence of the birth. With swift, efficient movements, he gathered up the dirty towels and the afterbirth, stuffing them into a plastic bag he had brought from his room.

Jasper's eyes met Charles' in the dim light, a silent plea for help. "What do we do now?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"We'll take him to your room," Charles decided, his mind racing with the logistics. "I'll bring some blankets and hot water." He placed the squalling baby in Jasper's arms and rushed out of the room. Jasper held the newborn tightly, his heart swelling with a love that washed away the pain. The baby's tiny fists waved in the air, and Jasper couldn't help but smile through his tears.

When Charles returned, Jasper had managed to sit up, cradling the baby against his chest. His eyes searched Charles' face for some sign of what to do next. "We'll figure this out," Charles assured him, placing a gentle hand on Jasper's shoulder. "But for now, let's get you cleaned up."

They moved quickly and quietly, Charles supporting Jasper as they climbed the stairs to his small room above the stables. The cold night air hit them like a slap as they stepped outside, but the urgency of the situation kept them moving. Jasper's room was sparse, with a single bed and a wooden cradle that had been hastily assembled from a pile of discarded crates. The clean, soft blankets Charles brought were a stark contrast to the rough wooden floor.

The moon cast a silver glow through the small, dusty window, illuminating Jasper's exhausted face as he lay back on the bed, the baby still in his arms. Charles hovered over them, a mix of emotions playing across his features—fear, excitement, and a fierce determination to keep this secret safe. "What do we do now?" Jasper asked again, his voice weaker than before.

"We can't let anyone know," Charles said, his voice low and serious. "We'll say you fell ill and I brought you to your room. We'll have to keep the baby hidden." He glanced at the cradle, knowing it was hardly suitable for a child born into such a precarious situation. "We need to think of a plan, Jasper. One that keeps you both safe."

#mpreg #giving birth #mpreg birth

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