#harry potter fic
DRACO MALFOY X CEDRIC DIGGORY X READER
Something Different | Part Ten
a/n: you know the drill: long wait, long chapter! and things are only getting more messy from here – the next part is gonna be A RIDE.
tag list: @call-me-banana-bandit@pillowjj@truly-insatiable@natsiboo@justmesadgirl@boredoffmebox@jjjmaybank@jejegu@superpowereddonut@irritantive@salemlilly@marshmelloyellow02@puffymints@is-it-really-a-secret @i-mmunity@sebastiansass@hisoldlover@kyobien@averagefangirl21@inurealiyah@fuzzzwald@lesfleursmonet@you-bleed-just-toknowyouarealive @darkqueennyx-blog @cityintexas-dallas @summerconcerto@awesomebooklover17@nicodoesntexist@ashleyriddle @uglymaggot
X
A week passed by without any further discussion of Draco Malfoy, or Y/N’s father. Frankly, the girl was just happy to have Cedric in her life the way she did, meaning the effect of Draco’s cold glares and that growing pit of curiosity she’d buried were stifled almost entirely. Almost. On the blond’s end, it almost seemed as if he had been sure she would come back. So, the longer she didn’t, the more bitter she watched the Slytherin grow. It was only at the end of the week, during which Draco had been especially frigid with the two Hufflepuffs, that Cedric spoke. But, when he did, his words certainly startled his girlfriend.
“I reckon we should talk to him,” he said as they left Potions class.
The sun shone magnificently on the cold day. The girl, folding her arms across her crisp black robes, stopped. The two had just emerged from the dungeons, the air sharp and cool as it snapped against her cheeks. Students in the corridor bustled noisily past without a care, and birds chirped encouragingly from the nearby greenery.
“What are you on about?” the girl asked questioningly.
“Don’t get me wrong, I hate the git,” he added cooly, “but he might know something about your father.”
“So?” she said defeatedly. “I cut him out, remember?”
“Right,” the brunette clicked his tongue, “that’s why I said ‘we’.”
She folded her potions book under her arm with a tilt of her head.
“Huh?”
“If the both of us talk to him, maybe we can get through to him,” Cedric elaborated.
“Cedric, he hates our guts,” she reminded him.
“Not our,” he corrected, “my.”
She grimaced.
“Well it’s true,” he shrugged in defeat.
“I’m not so sure.”
A contemplative silence ensued. Then they resumed walking. The halls emptied as students made their way to lunch, leaving the slow-moving pair in a thoughtful stroll.
“I don’t get it,” she chuckled, “why would you of all people want to help Draco?”
“Simple,” he replied at once, “for you. You deserve the truth.”
The girl sighed, full of so much love for the boy.
“That’s very sweet, Ced” she smiled softly. “But, aren’t you forgetting he nearly killed a girl? And that he’s likely a death eater?”
“Course’ not,” the Hufflepuff grinned. “That’s the only somewhat leverage we have on the ferret. And we haven’t said a word on it.”
“Meaning?” she asked confusedly.
“Meaning,” he stopped, “either he helps you, or we out his misdeeds for good.”
Cedric’s big blue-green eyes sparkled in the sunlight, the boy looking as handsome as ever as he blinked down at his girl. Y/N’s mouth fell into a hard line, the words ringing uncomfortably and weirdly in her ears as she stared up at her boyfriend. She wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that, after all. And then, at once, they were conveniently interrupted by a boy with a mess of black hair and a prominent scar on his forehead.
“Harry!” the girl chuckled in uncomfortable surprise.
“Hullo,” he waved with an on-brand nod of greeting.
Then, not knowing how else but to skip the niceties, he mumbled with a wave of his hand.
“Y/N, have a moment?” he asked distantly.
“Erm,” she cleared her throat, eyes darting to Cedric’s, “is this about Draco?”
The boy-who-lived read the two Hufflepuff’s with a squint, a crease forming between his brow.
“Malfoy, yeah,” Harry said timidly, eyeing Cedric. “Does he–” Harry began.
“I’ve let him in on everything, yeah,” the girl answered Potter’s hanging phrase.
Harry didn’t judge, only observed curiously, a cautious smile dancing on the corners of his mouth. Beside her, Cedric nodded, folding his long fingers into the pockets of his robes. Not revealing a word, the Gryffindor blinked in silence for a second, his green eyes narrowing as the cogs in his brain whirred.
“Ah,” Harry shrugged at last. “Well, erm, that’s good actually. There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. It’s about Katie and that cursed necklace.”
The Hufflepuff pair tensed in anticipation.
“I–” Harry began timidly, “–I think he did it. Malfoy, I mean”
Y/N and Cedric exchanged a silent glance, communicating wordlessly in their wide stares.
“What makes you say that?” Cedric feigned ignorance, moving his eyes back to Harry.
“Well, I’ve already got the itch that he’s working for Voldemort, right? But then I saw him leaving towards the castle looking desperately guilty only moments before she was cursed. And he’s been acting extra offputting this whole week since,” he rambled.
The girl clenched her jaw. His pieces were lining up, even if the latter ones had far less to do with the necklace than Harry knew. Sucking in a breath, Y/N darted her eyes to Cedric’s before responding carefully.
“I don’t know, H…” she tried.
“If the three of us all come forward,” he stammered, “surely then McGonagall or someone would listen, right?”
Probably, actually, he was right. But doing so meant severing ties with the blond for good and making him suffer a deserved but likely ghastly fate. And it also meant losing any chance of gaining intel on her father, she thought. Not that she loved Cedric’s idea morally, either. But, she felt upon his proposal that she couldn’t not try.
“Listen, Harry,” she sighed. “I don’t think it’s best unless we have actual proof.”
Harry frowned, “and have you found any?”
The girl shook her head, hating to let him down like this again. More specifically, she hated that she was keeping secrets from a dear friend.
“Draco and I haven’t been talking,” she told the half-truth.
“Again?” Harry retorted.
She winced.
“Sorry– just–” Harry caught himself, “that git is one hell of an emotional rollercoaster.”
The girl looked at Cedric, swallowing, “I know.”
He looked rather off-put, as his mouth hardened into a faux smile of assurance.
“Well,” Harry cleared his throat, “okay. I suppose you’re right. I can’t go about sounding loony with baseless accusations, even if they are true, so… okay. You’ll let me know if anything changes?”
The Hufflepuff’s made a noise of agreement, staring at the jet-black-haired boy as he pushed his glasses up his nose and made down the corridor with a sigh. She noticed he was looking a little disheveled, what with his laces undone and a rather crumpled set of robes on. Kindly, Cedric gave his friend a pat on the back as he departed, the polite smile fading from his lips as he watched him go. Then, slowly, he turned back to his girlfriend. He didn’t look all the most pleased, but what was there to do? This was them being honest with each other, after all.
“Alright, Ced,” the girl exhaled slowly, bringing each of her hands to the side of his robes as she leaned into his torso, “what do you think I should do?”
…
This time it was Y/N who sent the bird-shaped parchment Draco’s way. On it, she’d written:
. . - Y/N
Of course, what she hadn’t mentioned was that Cedric would be joining. After a rushed dinner of rosemary glazed potatoes and pork in the Great Hall, the pair slipped away into the castle and pattered over to the library. For a second, they stood outside together. The girl wore her robes still, her hair in a high pony and her lips flushed a little red. Cedric stopped, grabbing her gently by the wrist. His blue-green stare moved all over her face, his expression worried.
“You look very lovely,” he offered nervously, rubbing his thumb against her wrist.
Taken aback, the girl chuckled a bewildered thanks.
“You do,” he prodded again, moving his free hand up to brush back the loose pieces of hair she sported.
Then, eyeing her hair with an odd determination, the boy moved his hand to her hair tie, pulling her hair loose altogether.
“Ced?” she questioned, scrunching her nose as her locks fell around her halo face.
“Well, now you just look arguably more beautiful,” he huffed in annoyance, fiddling at her with his long fingers again.
“Ced– what–” the girl was laughing now as she slapped his hand back with a giggle. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” he shrugged through his lie, letting his fingers stay on her rosy cheek, “nothing. Come here.”
Then he brought his lips gently down to hers, the kiss soft and brief. Blinking through her surprise, the girl cleared her throat and stared at the towering boy’s mouth. He looked utterly love-struck, and something else, too. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think he was jealous.
“What was that for?” she mumbled softly.
“Nothing,” he lied obviously, silencing her with a peck to the lips and a grin. “Nothing.”
Struggling to breathe right, the girl came off of his lips once more, breath faltered. Regaining her composure, she smoothed her hands over her little black skirt and cleared her throat with a nod. It was odd, but she wasn’t complaining. Entering the library first, the girl slinked between its opened doors. She knew where to go immediately this time. Brushing past huge wooden oak shelves, focused huddles of students, and warm gas lamps, the girl made her way to the musty and dusty abandoned back corner of the room. Crammed between the two back shelves, she stood alone, just like last time. Recalling her previous encounter there, she reached nimbly for an old blue book on healing incantations, the one she’d skimmed the time before. Flipping it open, she barely had a second to observe its old yellowed pages before Draco Malfoy stood before her. He didn’t hide behind the opposite shelf this time, embarrassed to be seen near her. Rather, he strode quite confidently to her, his long pale fingers glittering as he pushed the book gently down from the girl’s nose with a smirk.
“Hello,” he murmured, icy blue eyes gentle.
She lowered the reading slowly, growing nervous at the proximity. He wore his uniform, too, but minus the robes. His dark emerald tie stood out against the white fabric that clenched to his definite chest. His bright white hair was neatly framed over his head. His pale and sallow features held some smug in them, she noticed.
“Hi,” she cleared her throat, setting down the book.
She gave a nervous glance around. Some nearby students had lifted their heads from the other side of the shelf. She could just make out Cedric’s tall frame approaching from the opposite side. In front of her, Draco hummed curiously.
“I was wondering how long you’d shut me out,” he spoke softly, “before you’d come back.”
The girl’s doe-eyes narrowed. Was he really that full of himself? Or was this him being vulnerable?
“I missed you,” the blond added softly, taking the girl immediately off-guard.
Perhaps it was both, she decided with a swallow. His words and that dark minty smell alike were making her head spin. She wasn’t sure how to reply. In all truth, as much as she was furious with him, this– him– she’d missed. But she couldn’t ever admit that to herself, much less Draco Malfoy. Opting for something curt, she straightened.
“Draco, I’m not doing this.”
His pale brows came together, his pink lips creasing, “hm?”
“We’re here on behalf of my father and nothing else,” she continued, leaning back away from him and into the bookshelf.
Draco’s face grew dark.
“We?” he asked dangerously.
“That’s right.”
Cedric stood behind the blond, both of his hands in his pockets as his hard gaze leveled that of the snow-white boy. Grimacing, Draco tilted his head with a scowl.
“Diggory,” he uttered with dislike.
From behind him, Cedric’s throat rumbled an acknowledgment
The smug Draco wore dissipated, the blond hardening before Y/N’s very eyes. The glitter in his icy eyes melted, a cool gray glaze replacing it.
His hands moved to his pockets, “what is this, hm?”
Cedric stepped around him now, Draco’s eyes dead-set to the girl still.
“What is this?” he repeated, flicking a finger between the two Hufflepuff’s but speaking only to one.
There was a brief silence. The girl felt as if her heart had grown tendrils that were now reaching from her chest to her throat, shutting her down from the inside out. Now the cozy library suddenly felt too hot, and the turning of yellowed pages too loud.
“If you’re going to say anything to me,” the girl said through an unconfident stammer, “it should be something the both of us are hearing.”
The Slytherin pondered this for a moment, his enrapturing eyes glinting devilishly.
“Anything?” he dared, ego consuming him.
The girl swallowed, “to the both of us.”
Draco’s lips split at once – it was as if she was just begging for it.
“Alright,” he decided with cheek, turning to the brunette with predictable spite. “I kissed her.”
He aired it so confidently that the slow stopping shuffle of nearby pages had to be an indication that his words had reached a few perked ears. Draco didn’t seem to care. As the girl swallowed, she thought back to when she’d last been with him, like this. At the time, Draco Malfoy had tried with all efforts to keep the girl a secret, a mindset he’d clearly lost interest in sporting.
Cedric sucked in a breath with a straight smile, “I know.”
And there went his cheek.
“What?” his facade crumbled quickly, his brows lowering on his handsome face.
“I know,” Y/N’s boyfriend uttered, leaning in a little this time, so he could really get it.
“I don’t–”
Draco’s face softened, then grew hard again. His snowstorm gaze was slow as it moved back to the girl’s face. She wore a look of feigned togetherness and a hint of something else… guilt? Her eyes were quick to flee to the floorboards, her bottom lip disappearing beneath the gentle bite of her teeth.
“Did–” Draco began, so soft now that his quivering was hard to place as rage or upset, “did something happen with you two?”
She hadn’t responded, but judging by the Slytherin’s next words, her and Cedric’s expressions had told him enough.
“Right,” he said, and it came as a sour, hurt, laugh. “Well, I suppose you’re in luck then, Y/N.”
Her glossy eyes lifted. His own were right where she’d left them. Buried under the familiar loathing within his demeanor, she sensed a quelled but definite rage, one he barely had on edge.
“I have nothing to say to you,” he uttered, cold and firm, his back straightening.
His stare flickered to the other boy, who folded his arms in silence.
“Diggory.”
“Still feeling cocky?” he shot back cooly, the reply fired instantaneously.
The blond’s nostrils flared, his slender fingers growing tight in unison.
“Right. You must be loving this,” he snarled sarcastically.
“As a matter of fact, I am.”
It was like watching a ticking bomb.
“Ced,” the girl perked up glumly, reaching for his arm, “don’t.”
Two blue-green eyes moved to hers, but they were shrouded in defiance. Before them, the snow-white was shaking. But then, pale fingers trembling as they came undone, Draco Malfoy stopped. That crystalline stare went dim as he turned, various curious eyes and ears tuned into the sight of his swift exit from the library. It was only after he left that Cedric spoke.
“I’m going after him,” he announced coldly, bright eyes forward.
“What?” the girl stammered, pulling her fingertips from their gentle clasp of his wrist. “He’s never going to want to help us.”
“He will,” the boy said, barely giving her a glance as he began striding forward.
“Ced! No! Ce–” the girl tripped on her boots after him.
Y/N went stumbling through a maze of novels, hands still clasped to her own book as she tried to slow the Hufflepuff with a loud library-like whisper-scream. When wandering eyes turned, her mouth closed, the girl straightening her back as a good Prefect might. Palms to her sides, she proceeded to curtly and formally chase her boyfriend through the doors of the library in silence.
“CED!” she hollered the second her feet landed outside the place.
But the boy was practically miles ahead as he hollered down at his target, Malfoy.
“Draco!” he called. “DRACO.”
Cedric’s hand touched his shoulder, and he stopped. The blond looked like he was holding it together by a half of a hair as he turned, his eyes alight with rage and facade tremoring with something more wounded. Very slowly, his lips split.
“Malfoy,” he responded.
There was that voice thick with hatred – she knew it from memory.
“Malfoy,” Cedric corrected himself with a curt smile. “Won’t you hear us out?”
“No,” he responded simply, eyes darting to the girl who came to a halt behind Cedric’s shoulder. “Not you. Not her.”
Cedric’s jaw went stiff, the boy half-turning to cast a pair of sad eyes upon his girlfriend.
“I’ll talk to him,” she tried softly, willing Cedric to listen.
His brows creased. This was grappling with logic and ego.
“Please, Ced. It’s fine.”
Her words were soft, the boy’s demeanor shrinking as he stepped back with a nod, a brown lock of hair falling handsomely over his right eye. His gaze grew defeated as he turned, moving to stand just behind the heavy-breathing Hufflepuff. Sighing with relief, the girl closed her eyes. Bomb diffused.
“Draco,” she began softly, her eyes opening.
He didn’t correct her.
“Draco, I want to know more about my father,” she spoke, stepping closer.
The boy’s ice-colored eyes doubled in size as they moved from Cedric to Y/N, his entire face softening with the like for her that he couldn’t quite hide. He shook his head with a clear of his throat, masking whatever pain was crawling around at the back of his vocal cords.
“Why is he here?” he asked back simply, dodging her plea.
“Because I trust him and I want him to be a part of this,” she responded firmly.
From behind her, Cedric’s back straightened a little.
Draco moved a hand to his emerald tie, pulling at it with unease. He looked unhappy with her reply.
“And because you kissed me,” she added definitely, moving her hair behind her ear with a glance down.
This was the answer he’d both expected and dreaded together. The boy’s lips tightened as he rubbed at his chin, the silver on his long fingers glittering. Next to her, Cedric didn’t move.
“Because you kissed me,” the girl repeated breathily, “which means you can’t be trusted alone around me.”
Draco’s frosty stare glimmered, his slender fingers dropping from his face.
“Because I can’t, or because you can’t?”
He’d asked it so softly, so calmly, that she’d barely caught it.
Feeling her throat close, the girl stammered in a wordless reply.
“Watch your mouth,” Cedric warned, turning a broad shoulder out with a glance at the Slytherin.
But Draco didn’t pay him any mind. Rather, his eyes were still locked to the flushed cheeks of the girl before him.
“Draco please,” she ignored his remark, “I’m ready for this.”
It was true, not that she knew what ‘this’ implied. Knowing more? Absolutely. Vengeance for her mother? Most certainly.
His eyes softened, “Y/N, this is so very dangerous. For bot– all of us.”
Her jaw hardened, “it’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
He tilted his perfect face a little, white locks splaying across the edges of his sharp features.
“This might not work,” he tried.
“Well, then I’ll take that risk too.”
The blond sighed, his jaw pulsating as he shook his head with a sheepish laugh.
“Ever stubborn,” he said with a press of his tongue to his cheek.
The girl suppressed a smile, eyes flickering around nervously. And, for a moment there, Draco looked at ease – happy, even. Hie eyes on the girl’s uplifted mouth, the Slytherin’s smile faded slowly, his stare shifting to the Hufflepuff boy beside her. Cedric was facing him now, wearing a look of mingled stress and upset on his creased brow. As the brunette’s shoulder bumped against his girlfriend’s, Draco Malfoy grew quickly bitter.
“I don’t trust you,” Draco announced simply, his eyes dead-set on his rival.
“I don’t trust you either,” Cedric chuckled, voice thick with distaste.
“Then it’s her or nothing,” he shrugged simply.
“Draco,” the girl chimed, stepping forward.
His crystal stare moved quickly down, hurt visible behind those wide pupils. He took a step forward, lowering his voice for her.
“I do trust you, you know?” he uttered gently, sucking his lower lip beneath his teeth with a shake of his head. “That’s something you earned.”
True, she thought. Trust wasn’t something Draco Malfoy gave easily. But then again, the basis of their trust revolved around a lie she’d schemed with Harry, which of course he had no clue about.
He threw a glance at Cedric as if he wasn’t a person worth actually acknowledging, “but not him. I mean, what would I even get from this? From him?”
“The skin on your back,” Cedric replied flatly, interjecting the exchange before him.
The Slytherin didn’t look too pleased.
“C’mon, Cedric,” the girl moved her head, shaking it.
“I haven’t forgotten about Katie,” Cedric continued calmly. “Watching you terrorize students under my nose isn’t something I could’ve.”
Draco scoffed, “so righteous. And even if that lie were true, what would it serve you, Diggory?”
This was pointless. Even without flat-out blackmail, the girl had found herself on the verge of earning Malfoy’s agreement. What was happening now served no purpose but to quell Cedric of the sting of his challenged ego. She had never wanted it to come to this, not if there was an alternative.
“Stop,” the girl tried, finding herself growing quickly invisible.
Only the light from the cobbled wall’s torches illuminated the deserted hallway as the three stood there, fiercely entangled.
“I’m suggesting that you’ll help the both of us, or I’ll report you to the headmaster myself, and out you as the traitorous death eater you are.”
Cedric looked pleased as he aired out his threat.
“Impressive, for a Hufflepuff.”
Draco’s head tilted, his ice-blue eyes wide with alarm and even horror, like he couldn’t comprehend the words he was hearing from good-boy Cedric Diggory’s mouth.
“Cedric!” the girl hissed quietly, shaking her head in frustration.
Draco Malfoy moved his bewildered stare to the girl, begging a question of her from within his eyes. Was this her idea? Had she been in on it? The answers in her expression told him no, and also somewhat.
“And was this what you wanted?” Draco then asked the girl, bonds of trust fraying quickly.
“No,” she said surely, throwing her boyfriend a disappointed glance. “No, Draco. I just want to know about my father, but… I don’t want to see you hurt, either.”
The bonds somewhat mended, Draco just looked disappointed now. So did Cedric.
“Even if he deserves it,” Cedric worded from behind her shoulder.
She snapped around, “don’t.”
The bronzed boy’s expression fell, his face hardening and ocean eyes moving to the stone ground. Turning back to the blond now, the girl released a sigh of distress, hating every second of what was happening. Timidly, she approached the Slytherin. She came before him, folding her hands into her pockets with a nervous chew of her jutted lip.
“Will you help us?” she pleaded softly, blinking up at the boy through long lashes.
Still stinging, Draco looked down at her with a sense of betrayal festering in his stare.
“Have you left me a choice?” he asked softly.
The girl couldn’t reply, opting for a gentle head-shake of sadness. She could barely hold his gaze, feeling her heart race and blood rush hot against her ears as she tried desperately not to break the guilt-inducing scrutiny of the blond. With no words, she begged of him.
“Okay,” he decided softly, clearing his throat. “I will.”
Cedric perked up, eyes lifting. It had worked. Now, however, Draco acknowledged him.
“But know one thing.”
He swallowed.
“I’m doing this for her,” Draco spoke firmly, stepping so close the girl had to retreat into Cedric’s front with alarm.
The boy’s arm snaked into the girl’s front, holding her arm snugly into the grasp of his large hand. She could feel Cedric’s heart thumping against her frame.
“Not for your sake, or the sake of the skin on my back,” he murmured assertively, confidently. “But for her.”
Cedric tensed, his face hard as he nodded with unenthusiastic understanding.
“Whatever it takes to help her,” Cedric responded calmly.
She felt his grip tighten. From before her, Draco’s eyes fell, resting on hers with a mingled hurt and care. It looked as if there were a million things he’d wanted to say to her, but he had restrained them behind his parted lips.
“We’ll need somewhere to meet,” he said at last, straightening. “Somewhere we can’t be found.”
The girl thought hard, eyes widening as she thought back.
Then, with a clear of her throat; “I know a place.”
…
The two Hufflepuffs had made their way from the Library and to their Common Room in almost absolute silence. It was quiet, save for the clack of their shoes on the ground and the occasional passing set of students chattering. The girl was aware of the silence, of course, since it was paired with the intense and upset stare of one Cedric Diggory. The boy, though keeping his mouth shut, looked desperately like he was fighting for his life. Only when reaching the set of barrels at the entrance to the Hufflepuff Common Room did Cedric dare make a noise.
“Wait.”
A large hand sprung out, its hold gentle as Cedric’s long finger curled against his girlfriend’s wrist. She turned, her eyes blank as she tilted her jaw up, giving him the floor. Cedric’s handsome face looked stricken with regret.
“I shouldn’t have been so–” he tried.
“So eager to get yourself into a pissing contest?” she replied.
“Y/N, he almost killed a girl,” he defended.
“And is that why you said what you did?” she challenged with a raise of her brow.
Slowly, Cedric’s hand moved away, his lashes fluttering as he stood straight. From outside their Common Room, the girl could hear the jovial delights of fellow friends and the wonderful smell of fresh cookies. She craved knowing those two things at that moment.
“No,” the boy admitted, running a hand over the curve of his jaw in agitation. “No, you’re right.”
The girl swallowed, sucking in a breath.
“I got very defensive, I’m sorry. I didn’t need to be that way he just–” Cedric heaved, his head rolling back. “He’s infuriating.”
“I’m aware,” she replied, stifling a tired chuckle. “Ced, I’m aware.”
“No, you d–” the brunette started, stammering and growing quickly flustered. “You don’t see what I see, Y/N. When he– When he looks at you, he does it like you’re a piece of food. Like you’re prey and he’s the predator.”
It sounded ridiculous. She couldn’t help but to snort, her nose scrunching. Cedric involuntarily smiled at the sight, then grew more frustrated yet. His brown locks were becoming messy as he streaked his fingers through them in distress.
“I’m being dead serious,” he tried, “it’– it’s maddening.”
The girl’s smile faltered. What was she supposed to say to that? She pulled nervously at her skirt as Cedric’s big bluish greenish eyes grew sad. He stepped forward, bringing his index and middle fingers to her cheek with a tilt of his head.
“Y/N,” he began slowly, so slowly she could feel his thickly layered hesitation, “are you sure about this? About him? There’s still time–”
“I’m sure,” she answered shortly, blinking through a shaky sigh. “I’m almost certain of it. And I’ve committed now, so, I suppose I can’t run from my past forever… right?”
Cedric’s face softened, “yeah. Right.”
There was a moment of tension. It was somewhat dark in the little corridor and felt cold in comparison to what lay behind the bricked wall. The girl ran her tongue against her teeth nervously, then shook her head. This was right, and everything was going to be okay. Desperate to ease herself of the rigidity of it all, the girl allowed herself a smile.
“And you promise you’ll not go about making trouble?” she said, voice rising with cheek.
The girl’s lips quivered as they split. Slowly, she stepped forward into her boyfriend’s muscular chest. Her small hands moved to his golden-yellow tie, grabbing him by it with ease, and tugging in playful request.
Cedric let out an attractive sigh, lowering his forehead closer to his girl’s.
“Not unless he does first,” he said.
She smacked lightly at his bicep. The boy’s lashes fluttered closed as his forehead came upon the girl’s. Beneath him, she giggled. His lips twitched into a devastatingly gorgeous smirk, his shoulders relaxing from her touch and the sound alone. Eventually, the two and their quiet laughs fell quiet, their breathing low as they embraced each other’s gentle touch. Silence ensuing, the girl’s eyes opened, meeting Cedric’s magnificent ocean stare. He had something clear on his mind.
“Nothing,” he began, his voice wavering. “Erm..”
He pulled away, clearing his throat and curling his arms to his chest with a nervous and adorable chuckle.
“Ced?”
He tried again, smiling anxiously
“Nothing frightens me more than the thought of losing this,” he announced simply. “This. You.”
The girl felt her brows crease and her heart grow three sizes. He was certainly direct, not to mention he had caught her very off guard. Blushing furiously, Y/N bounced to the balls of her feet, grabbing each side of her boyfriend’s face with a flicker of her love-struck stare. Cedric burned red beneath her touch, his lashes fluttering as his dimples creased beneath the girl’s palms.
“Good thing I’m not in a rush to go anywhere,” she teased, smiling into his mouth.
Her lips closed to Cedric’s. They were delightful and soft, just like always. He hummed lowly with content against the girl’s mouth, two hands coming gingerly beneath her chin so as to keep her propped to his level, the kiss slow and drawn. He smelled wonderfully of aftershave, and his skin was perfectly smooth. When at last the two pulled back, it was with a slow and drawn sigh, as well as a lingering smile. Cedric grinned one of those earth-shattering grins of his as he reached for his wand and turned to the barrels before them like he was a little drunk. Taking Y/N’s hand, he tapped at the barrels in order, the warmth and light of the Hufflepuff Common Room spilling invitingly over the pair. Fellow housemates were eager in greeting, and a set of cookies was soon to make its way over to them, of course. Smile fading, the girl trailed after her best friend, the noise around her beginning to ring ever so slightly. The voices grew a little fainter, and the lights a little brighter, Then, amongst the commotion, she heard it. It was soft but present, and there was no denying it, for that was surely the dreadful and indistinguishable sound of a bomb, its ticks growing louder, and louder.
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DRACO MALFOY X CEDRIC DIGGORY X READER
Something Different | Part Nine
a/n: sorry for the winter break delay, buuuut this is super long and some of you are about to be very happy w me (and some of you not so much hahah)! but believe me, there’s still so much im excited to write. <3
warnings: smut!!! SMUT!!!
tag list: @call-me-banana-bandit@pillowjj@truly-insatiable@natsiboo@justmesadgirl@boredoffmebox@jjjmaybank@jejegu@superpowereddonut@irritantive@salemlilly@marshmelloyellow02@puffymints@is-it-really-a-secret @i-mmunity@sebastiansass@hisoldlover@kyobien@averagefangirl21@inurealiyah@fuzzzwald@lesfleursmonet@you-bleed-just-toknowyouarealive @darkqueennyx-blog @cityintexas-dallas @summerconcerto@awesomebooklover17@nicodoesntexist @ashleyriddle
X
It lasted only for a second. Only one. But that second alone was enough to process a wall of various things. First, surprise. Surprise that he’d tried such a maneuver, yes, but also surprise at other things. Namely, how much warmer his lips were than she’d anticipated, for example. And another thing was his force. He’d gone into it with such a hunger, and such a desperation, that he’d entered the ordeal like every second he had on her lips was his last. It was almost like he knew what would come. Gasping into his lips, the girls’ eyes had fluttered open and shut with alarm as a set of long fingers streaked ravenously through the head Draco cradled to his mouth. His breath was short and faltered as he locked a kiss to the girl, his whole body dissolving into her like he’d die if he didn’t. And there was his other hand. It had come up to grab her hand in the air and pull it forward against him, and then pressed her wrist in a cage up against his chest. There, beneath their intertwined hands, she could feel Draco Malfoy’s heartbeat under his hard front. It was racing at lightning speed, she noticed. It was likely as fast as hers. Coming to her senses quickly, the girl’s eyes shot open, and she used her free hand to push her fingers against the blond’s chest. It was such a hard kiss that they both came off of it gasping, Draco’s huge icy eyes were overflowing with desire as a sharp breath detached from his flush lips. He didn’t look guilty in the slightest.
“What are you doing?!” the girl stammered, her eyes doubling in size as she fumbled back in horror.
His chest still heaving, Draco slurred quietly through a love-drunk mumble, “something I should have done long before tonight.”
She was momentarily at a loss for words.
Her jaw unlocking, the girl stammered and pushed the Slytherin from her frame, “what?! I–” she tried.
But she didn’t even know where to begin with that statement.
“I’m with Cedric, Draco,” she huffed at last, her brows knitting as she brought her hands to her hair with anguish. “I mean I’ve barely known you for a month and a half and now you’re saying these things and it’s just– you can’t I mean– y– you have NO right,” she tried.
But her words were coming hard to her.
“That’s not true,” the boy interjected, speaking to her mouth, “I know you.”
He paused, crystalline stare moving back to her eyes with intent.
“I have always known you,” he corrected.
Her hand still in his, the girl yanked her touch free from him with a pang of realization.
“You’re right,” she said stiffly. “You do. Or you did. And you spent five of those years tormenting my every move. But then our sixth year comes around and then you finally decide I’m worth seeing. And– only after I had to beg it of you.”
The Slytherin shook his head, a look of anguish growing in his eyes.
“And only now, now that I’ve finally realized what I want, now you decide to make me the object of your desire.”
Draco’s eyes narrowed with hurt as he retracted his long fingers back into the pockets of his suave black suit.
“Is this some kind of game to you?!” she hissed, growing angry now.
He shook his head, blond locks catching on his brow, “never.”
“Well, it must be!” she spat bitterly, her chest heaving, “or else why would you do this, and why now? Now that I finally have something good.”
He thought about this for a second, choosing what was about to be a layered response. His jaw clenched, his voice matter-of-fact when he replied. Staring at her through his loose light hairs, Draco sighed.
“Because you shouldn’t be with him,” he announced simply.
She felt her heart drop through her chest.
“What?” she mumbled, so softly he had to read her lips to catch it.
He stepped closer, his lids heavy, “you heard.”
Finding her soles glued to the cobblestone now, the girl blinked breathlessly up as he approached.
“And what do you think gives you the right to say that?” her voice came as a whisper.
He took another step. Once more, the scent of fresh mint and his dark cologne went through her, and she remembered coldly what her Amortentia had smelled of as it did. The tall boy towered over her as he arched his frame over hers, blinking longingly into her glossy stare. A long finger, sparkling where a silver ring decorated it, came to her cheek. The Slytherin brushed her flesh softly, making her shiver horribly and flinch at the touch.
“I want you,” he hummed softly, with a tilt of his head.
She swallowed, hard.
“So does he.”
Draco smiled one of his cruel smiles, a large dimple creasing at the corner of his pink lips as he chuckled with amusement. Drawing his hand back to his pocket, he stood straighter.
“Well, I wanted you first.”
She found herself shell-shocked for what seemed like the millionth time today. Arching her head to get a look into those blue eyes, the girl felt her throat go dry.
“You’re lying,” she tried weakly.
“No, you are,” he said, the words coming as a half growl. “I’ve wanted you since my eyes first came upon you.”
“You made my life a living hell,” she hissed in instant disbelief.
“And you, mine,” he retorted cooly, lowering his height so as to stare at her head-on. “I loathed the parts of myself that felt for you.”
Electricity was crackling through her blood now.
“Why?” she said through a short breath.
The blond shook his head.
“Because you fight back. Harder than anyone. You bite at my heels and spit at my nose. Your maddening stubbornness and infuriating passion has made you impossible to not see,” he explained softly, his eyes darting back and forth over hers.
She swallowed again, “and?”
Catching on, the boy tilted his head with a low hum.
“And when I became invisible,” he murmured, sucking in a breath, “you saw me yet.”
She felt her throat tighten, a wave of emotion crashing upon her. It took every ounce of strength she had to act unaffected by the words he spoke. Watching with intent, he opened his lips once more.
“I see you too, you know,” he whispered, his eyes softening. “I always have. Even before you opened your heart to me, truly. It’s why I know the stomp of your boots, the various glints in your eye, and the smell of the lavender scrub that I caught in Slughorn’s first lesson.”
She felt her heart give a slow lurch. He was exposing his truths faster than she could process them. Still, he went on.
“But then you did, and that–” he paused, faltering, “–what was a stifled hunger became a ravenous famishment.”
He bent in more closely, his nose so near to her visage that it almost touched her own. His eyes drooped, mournful as he stared down her lips.
“And we are more alike than you even know,” he murmured his closing statement.
For a moment they just sat in the silence. The girl breathed a rattling breath as she urged her eyes to fight their journey to Draco’s mouth. Her blood was so hot she could feel it against her skin. Her heart raced so fast that the sounds of the night went unheard of. Her words had to fight their way out of her parted lips.
“I–” she shook her head.
Draco urged the words he wished to come from her, but the look in his storm-blue gaze was doubtful.
“Draco…”
He could sense what was next, but there was a surefire way to know, he thought in defeat. Moving his hands back to her high cheeks, his palms engulfing her feminine face, Draco descended on her lips a second time. His lashes fluttered as he curled his fingers against her, gripping her with the passion of a thousand fires as his lips came to meet hers. But they’d barely touched, barely even grazed, before her own were gone.
Her head was turned against the set of cold rings on his fingers. Against them, he felt a harsh tear splatter down against his hand, the moisture sparkling pathetically in the moonlight as he kept his eyes closed, his forehead to the side of her face. Though gone from his mouth, the girl pressed her cheek harder against his forehead, her chest rattling as a massive sob came sharply through her chest – the meaning of which remained unknown to him as she moved her lips slowly against his palms, quivering in his hold.
“I can’t,” she cried, mumbling against his skin. “Draco, I can’t.”
Then he was gone. His touch was devoid of hers just as quickly as it had come.
“I know,” he said simply, his iris’ growing huge as he looked at her in defeat.
The girls’ eyes opened, her mouth bent into a downturned and trembling shape. She just tilted her head in confusion.
“I know,” he said again, sounding cool now. “That’s what makes you a liar, and not me.”
Sadness morphed quickly to anger.
“What?” she breathed in astonishment.
“Because I’m honest about the part of me that craves for something I shouldn’t have,” he said, standing up straight again. “And you’re not.”
Her mouth was frozen open.
“Because we both know what feels wrong and what is wrong,” he added. “But only one of us can admit that to ourselves.”
She managed the only thing she could.
“Go to Hell.”
She snatched herself away from his grip, stepping backward as she drew further with a quiet gasp. Turning her cheek to him, she just shook her head as she made to leave. Eventually, she gave up on adding anything else, her head down as she began to walk.
Draco was unmoving as he watched her go. The boy only smiled with a low chuckle.
“Alright. I’ll see you there.”
She kept going.
“But, if you want to see your father–”
Her footfalls stopped.
“Then you’ll be back.”
Silence.
The footfalls began again.
She was marching back towards the blond now.
“Give me your sleeve,” she demanded.
“What?” the boy recoiled with a laugh of surprise.
“Give me your wrist,” she snapped again, the cries silent now as she threw her hand forward. “Right now.”
Draco snapped his left arm back with realization, his icy eyes narrowing.
“Don’t,” he warned through a low hiss.
“Then show me yourself!” she barked, her despair and fury mingled as she practically yelled it. “Show me you aren’t what I think you are!”
His face was hard and raw, her words slicing his disposition deeply.
“No,” he growled, moving a hand out so as to fend her advances off.
The girl moved into him but had no luck. He was stronger than her and she knew it. With a sigh, he looked down upon her. Draco sucked his tongue through his teeth as he ‘tsk-ed’ her softly.
“No,” he uttered again, softly this time. “I’m not.”
…
“Cedric?”
He was there in the Common Room, much to the girl’s disbelief. The earth-shatteringly handsome Hufflepuff had pulled forward the small table before the fire and was sitting perched on its edge like it was an actual seat. His head had snapped aside the moment he heard her enter, his giant shadow spreading across the plant-speckled walls as he stood. He didn’t say anything.
“Ced?” she said again, approaching him slowly, and with an unbearably heavy heart.
He turned, and it was a tragic sight. His muscular jaw was set forward with the hard clench of his teeth, and his magnificent ocean eyes fought back tears as they sparkled in the firelight.
“I’m going to let you talk first,” he heaved through a struggled breath. “I’m going to let you share your side first, before I say anything. Okay?”
It was a simple enough request. But God, he was fighting back every demon in that stunning and strained stare. The girl noticed, feeling exhausted from the whole night and hanging on by a single and final thread as she nodded with a slow step forward. She padded over the thick faded carpet under her boots and stopped to meet her boyfriend in front of the fire. He sighed, so desperately wanting to touch her, but not allowing himself the permission.
“It started earlier this year,” she began nervously, shoving her hands into her pant pockets. “I had noticed Draco behaving strangely on the train, and I hadn’t thought much of it. But then– then Harry told me about this theory he had. About Draco. Well, he said he thought he was a death eater. And I shouldn’t have touched it, but I did. I gained his trust and his time because I needed to know if it was really true.”
Cedric blinked at his girl with a heavy sigh.
“But then–”
He swallowed, his nostrils flaring.
“–then I gave him my trust,” she said.
Cedric ran his tongue over his lips with a dart of his eyes to the side, “and?”
She sighed.
“And he became the unthinkable,” she decided. “My friend.”
Cedric’s eyes shifted back to her own.
“Your friend?” he asked.
“Yes, my friend,” she said confidently. “And so I couldn’t bear to betray him anymore because of it. I stopped trying to find out the truth about him because I no longer wanted the answer.”
The Hufflepuff shook his head, bitterly reciting the words she’d just heard back to her.
“Draco Malfoy doesn’t want to be your friend,” he dropped knowingly, hurt clear in his intonation.
“I know that now,” she tried, voice wavering. “If I’m being honest, then…” she struggled. “Well, I suspected it from that night when I drunkenly told him about you. About us. Because then he’d said something about how you were foolish for waiting, for not–”
She stopped. Cedric looked unnaturally pale. Shaking her head, the girl faltered.
“But nothing else happened after… that night…” she trailed off.
“After that night?” the boy uttered thoughtfully, sunshine hair falling over his tear-filled eyes.
She opened her mouth, “well he– and then tonight he– he kissed me.”
Cedric looked as if a ghost had passed through him.
“What?” his voice became strained.
“But it was only for a second, and by the time he tried to do it again I’d seen it coming–” she rambled hopelessly.
“Draco kissed you TWICE?” Cedric’s voice dropped dangerously, a dark anger residing upon his facial features.
The girl panicked. This did not look good.
She touched his chest, “y– n– no. No. He tried, but I stopped it both times, Ced.”
Her fingers splayed over his front, she could feel Cedric’s heartbeat running a million miles an hour beneath her touch. He opened his mouth wordlessly before closing it with a slow shake of his head. His huge ocean stare moved first to her hand, then to her mouth, and finally her eyes.
Mouth dry and eyes stinging, the girl whispered softly, “it didn’t mean anything.”
Cedric’s hurt gaze softened momentarily, and he tilted his head to the right with a flutter of his lashes.
“So then why is this the first that I’ve heard of any of it?” he said, for the second time that night.
The girl froze, her throat tightening as her fingers fell from the boy’s front. He stepped back away from her, turning his face towards the fire with a shaky exhale.
“Well?” he spoke to the flames when she didn’t reply.
“Ced–” she began.
He was staring at her again now, his jaw clenched as he struggled to maintain any sense of composure.
“I– I don’t know–” she stuttered with difficulty.
He nodded knowingly, sucking in a sharp breath with a forced smile of his quivering lips and an “okay.”
“No, but–” she grabbed the side of his muscular arm as he turned. “It doesn’t matter anymore, okay? Because I don’t want him. I knew it with certainty when he tried to kiss me tonight and– it was wrong and– I don’t want him, Cedric. Only you.”
Cedric blinked at her through the crystal sheen that enshrouded his eyes.
“I won’t see him anymore,” she pleaded, her words catching on the trip of her voice. “I promise. And I’ll never lie to you about him again.”
His eyes moved to her mouth once more, and then once again back to her gaze. He looked like he was fighting a losing war with himself.
“Do you trust me?” she asked, her voice shaking.
Cedric swallowed the lump in his throat, his nostrils flaring, “I do.”
She sighed, breath turbulent as she stepped closer towards him with a curl of her fingers into his bicep. He watched her with intent, his tongue coming to his cheek as he restrained himself.
“But I can’t–” he cut her off, shaking himself free of her hold.
“What?”
“I trust you,” he said. “I trust your story and your promises but–” he paused. “But it’s not as if it undoes everything. It’s not as if I can forget it, just like that. You know?”
She stared into his helpless eyes with a bow of her head.
“You’re right.”
Still, he stared.
“I just,” he sighed in defeat, “I need some time.”
Running a large hand through his gold-brown hair, the sun-kissed Hufflepuff made to leave, his feet dragging across the thick carpets and hard floors.
“He said my father is still alive.”
Cedric stopped dead in his tracks, his back still turned.
“Draco said my father is still alive.”
Slowly, he turned.
“What?” Cedric gaped with a shocked crease of his brow.
“I–” she stammered, folding her hands nervously together. “When I was leaving, after he– you know– well… he said I’d be back if I wanted to see my father.”
Cedric approached her, his eyes wide.
“What is that supposed to mean? Is he lying?” he pressed urgently.
She shook her head, “I don’t know anymore. I mean, maybe he’s not. Or–”
“Maybe it was a desperate sellout to keep you under his nose,” Cedric finished.
The girl nodded hesitantly. Then, she watched as Cedric’s face melted into an expression of contemplation.
“But your father,” he said slowly, “was a death eater.”
She didn’t move.
“Which would mean,” he swallowed, “that if Draco was telling the truth…” he trailed off with a shake of his head.
“Right,” she whispered.
“Well, is he?” Cedric stepped closer.
The girl clenched her teeth together, “I still don’t know for certain. He won’t let me see his arm, but he also expects me to believe he’s not. He says it’s his father who he heard it from.”
Cedric blinked, stepping back into the firelight.
“And what is it that you think?” he challenged with knowing.
Releasing the deathly grip of her jaw, the girl admitted her truth to Cedric.
“I don’t know about my father, but I do think he’s a Death Eater.”
He nodded slowly, his eyes softening.
“Well then I trust that too,” he said gently.
Within his reach now, she desperately wanted to seek comfort in him, but she couldn’t.
“And so,” he folded his hands into his pockets, “what are you going to do?”
She ran her tongue over her lips with a shrug, “nothing.”
Cedric tilted his head to the side with shock, “what?”
“I told you, Ced. I’m done. I can’t keep chasing these loose ends for a person like that. Not if it jeopardizes what I have with you,” she asserted confidently.
His mouth came open, “but this is your father we’re talking about!”
“Ced, drop it,” she urged.
“But what if it’s true?!” he exclaimed in disbelief.
“So what if it’s true?!” she retorted. “I’d be fighting for a man who stands for the darkest of evils rather than the one who–”
She paused.
Cedric was gazing at her with newfound surprise.
“Who what?” he prodded softly.
The shadows created by the fire’s thick red and gold flames shot smoothly over Cedric’s face. His hands were still tight in his pockets, like he was restraining them there, and his massive blue-green eyes sparkled beautifully. Awaiting her reply, the boy sucked a lip between his teeth with a little sigh of disbelief. Rocking his hips ever so slightly forward as he spoke to the girl’s mouth, his voice lowered.
“Who what?” he said again, dangerously low this time.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, the girl exhaled shakily, her back straightening.
“Who I love,” she said.
There was a moment where everything froze. Cedric didn’t move, nor did she. Aside from the flames, one would’ve thought they were a still moment in time. The boy wore this look of absolute stillness, his eyes dead-set to hers as he just stood there. Then, with that same curious and unreadable look on his face, he approached her. He was coming quickly, his hands drifting from his pockets and into the air as he grabbed the unmoving girl from either side of her face and yanked her forward into his mouth. For a moment she remained still, her lips barely moving as he detached quickly from her, his big eyes filled with emotion now.
Gasping with surprise against him, the girl managed a shaky “what?”
“Kiss me,” Cedric interrupted her with a desperate shake of his head.
“But–” she protested, feeling her stomach tighten at the way he was looking at her. “But you said–”
He didn’t even let her finish this time. His large hands were gripping her again as he lifted the shorter girl against his frame, her body melting into him as they connected once more. Still in shock, the girl’s hands just kind of floated awkwardly in front of her, not knowing where to go. The kiss was fast and short-lived, for he was soon drawing back again. It was so heated and intoxicating that she came off of it with a spinning head, her vision blurred and eyes almost crossing with mingled surprise and appreciation as she breathed against his opened lips. Slowly, she shifted her unsteady gaze to the Hufflepuff’s eyes once more. His chest was heaving lightly against hers, knocking her with each lift as he blinked down at her through a rapidly darkening gaze.
“Now I’m saying kiss me,” he uttered breathily, his lashes fluttering.
It’s not that she didn’t want to, because she did. Oh, she definitely did. It’s just that she wanted to know that it was right. That this was what he really wanted. And not something spurred in the moment only to be regretted later, she thought. Practically reading her mind, the bronzed boy shook his head, rubbing a finger against the curve of her cheekbones.
“Hey,” he uttered softly.
He pecked her lips just quickly enough to snap the girl out of her trance, the tip of his nose brushing to hers and sending a charge of electricity through her whole body and into her tummy. Slowly, she unhinged her jaw, her breath unsteady as she blinked at his storm-blue eyes. Whatever words she’d had were coming to her throat and getting trapped there, the will to speak being so overridden by her other ones that she managed only a quivering breath and helpless widening of her eyes. Any more like this, and she knew she’d be done for. Cedric, reading her again, moved one of his hands to her hanging ones. Slowly, he plucked up her hands in his, and brought them both gingerly in place to either side of his sculpted cheekbones. The girl just watched his eyes all the while, her feet cemented into the floors.
“Okay,” he decided softly, meeting her eyes again.
His lips quivered, his eyes darting between hers so quickly that she spun.
“Now,” he demanded very gently, “kiss me.”
This time it was her who was leaning forward, any sense of rationality gone from her as she stood on her tiptoes and fell into the boy’s lips. They were ever-warm and soft like clouds. Her hands slid from his cheeks and up to his ears as she curled her fingertips into his silky brown hair with a gasp that was stifled by the fast close of his lips over hers. He caught and swallowed her sound as he drew her further into him, their chests hard against each other as the kiss became quick and desperate. One of Cedric’s hands was on the back of her head now, and he was forcing the girl into him, harder. She gasped again, but it was unheard of as he pressed his mouth to hers and held his kiss to her for a long time this time, making her the subject to his passion for as long as they could hold their breaths. Then he’d detached again, only for a second, and their lips popped loudly as they split apart. There was only a moment of hesitation then, in which the girl stared foggily up at the boy and his heavily lidded eyes. There was something ravenous in his visage and she’d barely had the time to grasp that sense of him before he was hoisting her up. Yelping, the girl was pulled upwards, her legs folding around Cedric’s torso as his arms slinked under her thighs and against her back, where he hoisted her petite frame to the one that engulfed her. Kissing her again, the girl’s eyes fluttered closed on instinct. Her hands were drifting further through his locks now, both arms around his neck as she breathed in his warm and familiar scent. They grew tangled, the boy stumbling as he turned her and brought the girl’s back thumping into the side of the fireplace, where he pinned her and descended upon her swollen lips. The stone was hard to her back as he used its placement to his will. The kiss dragged from her mouth, to her chin, to her neck. Soon enough, he had latched his mouth to the flesh at her collarbone and was drawing all kinds of sounds out from her. Suddenly it all felt very real.
“Cedric,” she moaned breathily, closing one side of her fist against her teeth.
He pulled back. His hair was tousled and his lips were red. He looked giddy and insatiable.
“Yes?” he said through a low whisper.
“What–” she gasped, speaking through heavy breaths, “what are you doing?”
He breathed his answer through a touch of his forehead to hers.
“Something I should’ve done before,” he murmured, unblinking as his dark eyes fixated on her lips.
“But–” she tried, fighting against the knot in her stomach, “but what about what you’d said? About rushing things?”
He shook his head against hers, touching his nose to her and flickering his stare upwards.
“You were right about one thing, Y/N. I’ve waited long enough to get you,” he spoke breathily. “And no amount of waiting could make me want you any more than I need you now.”
She nearly fainted at his words, her throat closing as he spoke confidently now.
“I need you desperately,” he spoke softly, his fingers curling against her skin. “And–”
The girl felt her heart stop as he adjusted her so that his eyes were level with her own.
“And I love you too.”
Then they were kissing again. Somehow faster and harder. The girl’s stomach roared as she felt one of Cedric’s large hands grasp the underside of her thigh, a soft growl emanating from his lips as he fastened her to the wall and consumed her with ferocity. As soon as he’d met her neck again, she was moaning once more. The sound made her grow self-conscious as she splayed her fingers over her lips and tilted her skin away from him.
“What?” he demanded softly, his dark eyes perturbed at her motion. “What is it?”
“I–” she said, flustered. “I can’t be making too much noise.”
Her eyes moving up, she indicated at the students above with a tilt of her head. Cedric hummed thoughtfully with understanding as he procured his wand and uttered a sure ‘Muffliato.’ The magic resultingly enshrouded them in a space wherein no one outside of it would hear them, she realized. For good measure, he mustered up a decent invisibility shroud. Bringing her eyes back to his, the girl stared in silence at her boyfriend. A slow smile was spreading across his lips. It was devilish upon his rugged face.
“Now you can be as loud as you want,” he grinned, the words barely making it out as he dived back into her neck.
“Ced!” she exclaimed with mingled surprise and like, her legs tightening around him.
One of his hands slid back. He was fully grabbing her ass now as he ran circles across her collarbones and down towards her breasts with various speckles of kisses and sucks to her skin. She moaned, her breaths short as she curled into him, pressing the side of her cheek to his forehead as she trembled into his lips. When he reached her chest, his nose in the valley between her breasts, he dragged his eyes upwards and stared innocently up at her from beneath the tip of her nose. His hands brushed the edge of her knit black sweater in question.
“Can I?” he breathed through his pink lips.
Her chest was heaving, her hands shaking with nervousness as she gave the boy a little nod. He grinned, releasing her weight slowly as she came back down upon the balls of her feet before him, blinking up at him as she stood against his chest. Slowly, she felt his two large hands snake against her hips, clutch her top, and pull the fabric upward. She felt her throat tighten with nerves as it came over her head, her eyes shutting. When she opened them again, Cedric was staring at her with huge and unblinking eyes.
“What?” she prodded shyly.
He observed first her bright red cheeks and tousled hair, and next, her chest.
“You’re breathtaking,” he uttered, making her grow even more flush.
She had no idea how to reply.
“Thank you?” she tried.
“Come here, you,” he shook his head with a low chuckle, moving a set of long fingers under the girl’s jaw as he forced her chin gently up into his lips.
She sighed with contempt into his mouth, her hands reaching for his loose-hanging sweater. The kiss was so good that her hands struggled, her fingers fumbling awkwardly as she tried stripping the fabric off of the boy who towered against her. His throat rumbled as he laughed into the kiss, making the girl pull back with frustration.
“Want some help?” he offered coyly, making her grumble.
“Please,” she felt her lips split.
He was grinning again as he slid the fabric over his head, coming out with a devastatingly handsome and further tousled look. His bronzed chest was impossible not to notice, what with its definite ripples and the sharp V that protruded from his black jeans. The girl felt her mouth go as dry as a desert as her eyes moved down his torso and to the large lump that stuck out from his pants. Her blood suddenly felt very hot and she was overwhelmed with desire and anxiety. Indiscreetly flickering her gaze back to those huge green eyes, she swallowed.
“Alright?” he asked gently, checking in.
The girl tucked a lip under her teeth, “you’re breathtaking.”
Cedric’s huge white smile flashed as he smiled at the girl, ecstatic as he descended upon her lips one more. His hands cradled her face. Her hands splayed across his chest. The orange-red of the fire cast glows and flashes over their form as the two tangled passionately in one another, feeling each other’s smiles as they went. Then his tongue was in her mouth and hers was in his, the two working in sync at each other as their hands went in each other’s hair and they both went stumbling around. Ravenous, the girl swirled her tongue against his, drawing a moan from the boy that made her feral. He fought back at her neck, a spot he newly learned was easy to dominate. The girl’s lashes fluttered, mouth opening as he engulfed the area just below her ear, his long fingers forcing her hair to the side as he vampirically came upon her. Struggling, the girl moved her shaking hands to his jeans. Fighting his tongue, she tried desperately at the hem of his waistband, and then at his zipper, her fingers trembling. At the same time, he’d reached for her bra, which only made her heart quicken and anxiety double. She felt the jeans loosen as the boy blinded her by now kissing her mouth and blocking her view again. She chuckled knowingly into the kiss, forcing the fabric harshly down his form the best she could. She still couldn’t see, but she knew she’d gotten them down part of the way when a hard protrusion sprung up into her front, level with her torso. Cedric groaned into her lips, and she felt the knot in her body tighten at the noise. The popping sound came again as the two came off of each other’s lips. Their foreheads both glinted with a quickly developing sweat, and Cedric leaned down so that he could press his against her own. When his eyes came open, they were massive and dark. But there was also a profound and overwhelming love in them, which she no doubt mirrored.
“Can you go first?” she asked nervously, brushing her fingertips across the V he sported.
He nodded, slowly, drinking her in.
The girl moved her eyes nervously down, staring not-so-subtly as she brought her fingers to the black briefs he wore. The second her hands touched him, he twitched against her, the member beneath stirring at her interest. Her throat was even drier now. Her eyes went back to his, and he was still staring right at her. He nodded with an adorable half-smile. Reciprocating, the girl moved the last layer of fabric down his legs, her mouth nearly dropping as his huge erection came before her. She was utterly speechless as she moved her lips silently, both impressed and terrified at the thought of fitting him. Cedric, reading her, spoke softly.
“You okay?” he asked gently.
She was back on his eyes now, nodding. Not really sure how else to answer him best, the girl moved her hands to her back and unclasped her black bra, letting her breasts fall free. Cedric’s jaw pulsed as his blue-green eyes flashed down and up at lightning speed.
“That’s a yes then?” he ran his tongue over his lips with a flare of his nostrils.
The girl suppressed a smile, “yes.”
“And you’re stunning,” he flattered her further, moving each of his large hands to her hips.
He pulled her against him, and, feeling his member hard against her front, the girl let a long sigh out. She was fighting with not much luck to keep her composure. Cedric still didn’t kiss her, but only stared. He brought her in closer, and she felt her breasts mold to the front of his hard chest. His eyes grew darker, and he swallowed. He leaned in slowly, offering one soft kiss before retracting.
“I’m going to set you down, okay?” he said softly.
The idea of what was next sparked electric tension in her.
“Okay,” she breathed nervously.
Cedric scooped her up and turned her a little, setting her down on the edge of the large rectangular table before the fire. Quickly, he grabbed a stray blanket and timidly set it behind her, for when she would lay back. That’s when she noticed him shaking, too. The girl blinked up at her gorgeous boyfriend in surprise.
“Are you nervous?” she whispered with a smile and a crease of her brow.
Cedric stared down at her with a sheepish grin, “that obvious?”
“What–” she giggled, reaching for his front like a child, “really?”
He tilted his head, snorting, “why is this surprising to you?”
“Well– cause–” she stammered. “I mean, you’ve done this part before.”
The smile on his face softened, his expression melting as he shook his head.
His voice was infuriatingly low as he hummed back, “not with you.”
Her own smile vanished. The butterflies in her stomach attacked. She was yanking him down upon her lips now, the boy letting a noise of surprise out as he kissed her right back, her weight gong down on the table as she lay flat upon the surface. He stayed kissing her as he brought down the rest of his jeans, and then her own pants. Eyes still closed, the both of them engulfed in the sensation of their hot and bare flesh pressed flush together. That feeling in her stomach was practically pulsing now, and she’d never felt more excited or afraid in her life. She could feel Cedric’s length right up against her thighs, which she embarrassingly noticed were dripping all over him, not that he minded at all. And then Cedric’s long fingers were gripping at her breasts, making her tremble into his mouth. Next they were at her stomach, then along her thighs, drawing goosebumps as they went.
He detached for a second.
“Can I–” he began.
“Yes,” she cut him off and forced his lips back down, the boy smirking into her mouth.
His index finger came to the outside of her entrance, where he dipped it ever-so-slightly in her. The girl clenched and moaned and melted like butter. Groaning at her reaction, he slid in further the next time. She was louder, of course, making him all the more frustrated. He pulled out his finger from her, making her pull from his lips in dissatisfaction, but she was soon made still again when he rubbed his thumb against her clitoris. Her head fell back, the boy grinning again as he ran circles against her sensitive spot. As she lifted her head to look, she saw his own descending. Gasping, the girl recoiled in surprise as she felt Cedric’s mouth close at her entrance, his tongue going first inside of her, and then to his thumb, where he aided his fingers outside of her.
“Shit, Cedric,” she went back again, seeing a set of stars alight before her eyes as her body turned to jello.
He responded by inserting his finger into her. Then, gauging her body’s reaction, he tested another. Her whole body tensed and relaxed, her mouth opening as the boy focused his tongue against her clitoris, and his fingers, which he pumped slowly, inside of her. Dissolving, her fingers grabbed at his hair, tugging him by his golden-brown locks as he hummed against her, sending vibrations through her form.
“Oh my god,” she breathed incoherently, her hair falling around her face.
“You okay?” he stopped for a second, interjecting politely.
“Yes, Ced,” she covered her mouth with an embarrassed laugh. “Yes, please. Please, more.”
His lips glistened as he smiled a “good,” and came back down on her. Her legs grew tight as she clasped both of her thighs to the side of the boy’s head, breathy gasps tumbling from her mouth as his fingers worked rhythmically to the beat of his tongue. Feeling her stomach clench like she was about to explode, the girl trembled and shook, fingers going limp in Cedric’s hair as her head rolled back. As his name fell from her, her lidded eyes caught him staring at her, his iris’ huge and dark as he watched Y/N disintegrate. It felt like a hundred fireworks went off and the rope inside her was cut, the girl shaking as she finished onto and into Cedric with a series of short gasps. Heaving, the girl brought a hand to her burning red face as Cedric snaked back over her with a big grin.
“Alright?” he cooed, dropping a kiss on her nose.
She brought a hand to either side of his face with a giddy chuckle.
“Alright,” she beamed breathily, smiling into his wet mouth.
They kissed like that for a minute, the girl regaining her breath as she consumed him with deliberate slowness. Cedric was glowering when she pulled back, hearts practically shining across his eyes. His eyes then widened suddenly as he felt a hand reach his member, his breath short-circuiting.
“Erm–” his visage melted, looking taken aback and bashful all the same.
“Do you have–” she started nervously.
“Yeah, yeah,” Cedric flashed his canines and dropped another kiss on the girl’s nose as he leaned over the table.
Watching as he fished around for a condom in his wallet, the girl sat up against her elbows, glowing in the firelight as she tracked him with giant eyes. Her long hair fell beautifully across her shoulders and breasts, and her legs hung partially open from where he’d been. As he turned, she blinked slowly at him. Her heart was pounding out of her chest now.
Cedric’s face seemed to fall too, looking ever-serious as his eyes fell upon his girlfriend, splayed out poetically before him. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he sucked in a deep breath and descended over her, the girl’s back lowering slowly in matching the lowering of his. His definite muscles came against her chest, his hand sliding through her hair and against her cheek as he bore into her with those ocean eyes. He smelt of aftershave and sweat as he lay into her, cradling her in silence.
“Are you sure?” he murmured at her lips, his voice low.
She brought a palm to his face, dragging her thumb over his cheekbone with a shaky inhale.
“I am,” she assured, bringing her forehead to his again.
He nodded, moving one hand down, the other still on her face, as he propped his thick member against her entrance, making the girl release a small gasp. His eyes were then back again.
“I love you,” he said a second time, his gaze gentle.
She smiled, kissing him gingerly.
“I love you too,” she whispered back nervously.
And then he was entering her, the feeling slow and drawn out as he moved steadily past her folds. She felt her walls tighten at once, the feeling certainly more foreign and larger than that of two fingers. It only hurt a little, the girl thought as she went straining lightly against him with an extended moan of mingled emotions. Cedric pushed a little further, the girl’s eyes shutting as she pressed her forehead harder against his. He brushed his nose against hers, attaching his mouth to her lips as he extended himself fully now, the girl involuntarily pouring a groan out from her mouth and into his.
“Okay?” he mumbled gently against her mouth.
“Yeah,” she nodded, bringing her other hand to his face as well.
He hummed, kissing her more deeply now as she felt his hips move back. Only, as they came back in, it had hurt a lot less, her walls growing comfortable to his cock now. He drew out again, slowly, then back in again. By the fourth time, she was already mewling incoherently. A various set of mumbles dropped from her lips, the boy devouring them all as he rocked his hips slowly back and forth into the girl.
“Good?” he breathed, moving his lips back to her neck.
“Good,” she echoed breathlessly, her head rolling back.
Cedric used his left hand to grab her neck, capturing the girl in a gentle chokehold as he patterned a set of kisses down her throat. His right hand went sliding down her front and to her left breast, which he molded easily into his large hands, his nimble fingers running circles over the girl’s perked up nipples. Overwhelmed, the girl cursed once, then bit her tongue between her teeth to refrain from being too much. Cedric’s right hand was back, and he was sliding his thumb over her closed lips now as if in permission for her noise, but she fought back with a tilt of her head and a shut of her eyes. Playing her game, Cedric rocked his hips a little faster, and the push as he came in was harder as it clashed the bundle of nerves that the girl had pent up for him. His name bounced out in reply, the girl moving to turn her head back away. With his left hand on her throat, Cedric yanked her gently forward, so that she was forced to keep her face level with his, and so that she couldn’t escape his ravenous stare.
“You can look at me. Talk to me, you know,” he encouraged, sliding his thumb from the corner of the girl’s mouth and right between her lips.
The movement caused her to open her mouth, a desperate moan escaping her as it did. Her eyes fluttered open, Cedric looking incredibly impressed as he grinned. He looked so handsome and devilish in his victory that she couldn’t help but blush furiously at his cheek.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured through a low chuckle, pecking her lips. “Talk to me.”
Her heart racing, she moved her hands to his chest, “faster.”
“Faster?” he echoed with a smile, as if he hadn’t heard.
She dug her nails into his chest in reply.
“Okay,” he scrunched his nose with a laugh, quickening his pace.
Then it was him groaning. And, she realized, if Cedric Diggory moaning her name had the same effect as her moaning his did, then she understood his requests. Her fingers splayed over the boy’s muscles as her mouth came open. Cedric dropped his right hand from her face and moved it instead to her hip. He used it to tilt her up a little more, so that the two were angled against each other as he fucked her a little faster. The repositioning made the clenching feeling only stronger in the girl’s body.
“Fuck, Ced,” she moaned, her voice strained as she writhed beneath him, the pleasure growing overwhelming.
They were so sweaty that liquid dripped over and between their fronts, the girl moving her hands to his bicep for a better grip as he found rhythm in his deepening strokes. The gap between them open now, her breasts rolled and bounced to the beat of his movements, Cedric’s eyes moving up as he fixated on her chest, and then to her trembling mouth.
“More,” she uttered.
He didn’t hesitate at all this time, not a second spared for her as he came into her with more force instantaneously. His hips crashed against hers. Each thrum of his digit into her sent a loud slap of his balls to her entrance sounding. The Hufflepuff boy was dropping hard and sharp profanities left and right, his hands sinking into her cheek and face as he used the spots like pinpoints by which to grab and hoist her. The grip he held there was strong as he fucked her harder, the girl rolling into his palm and hips melting into his grasp like honey. Forehead coming off of his, she couldn’t bear to stay fastened in such a way any longer. Instead, she leaned back again on her elbows, Cedric holding her there by her throat as his cock slid easily in and out of her. Feeling euphoric, the two of them held each other’s gaze next, maintaining it there in their whirlwind of lust. Even then, his beautiful cheekbones, the sweat that ran down his nose, and his pink opened lips were hard to see through the cloud of stars that were growing in the girl’s line of vision. He released her neck now, scooping both of his arms under her back, his hands grasped to her petite frame as he held her there and fucked her into the table. The girl writhed and gasped and squirmed, making him hit harder. The table shook beneath her. Her legs were growing tired. The knot inside of her was next to unbearable. Whining, she begged him further. More. Faster. More. Cedric. And more again. He was twitching as he pounded her now, keeping his length buried deep as he attacked her sensitive spot with a series of several sloppy kisses to her mouth.
“Please, Ced. Ced I’m gonna–” she said, practically crying now as tears sprung from her eyes.
“Good,” he encouraged through a sharp breath. “Good.”
Her eyes opened. He was waiting, waiting to watch her unfold. The only sound was their breathing and the definite slap of his thrusts as she winged something absolutely incoherent into his front and arched her head forward.
He caught her chin against two fingers.
“Come,” he said. “Come for me.”
His words alone could’ve pushed her over the edge. The girl went blind, her eyes open but vision going absolutely black as she began to convulse violently in Cedric’s arms. He cooed and kissed her and held her tight to him as he slammed his hips forward, causing the whole table to slide back as the two hit their highs. The girl collapsed into the high-ringing curse that left her lips, her whole body falling limp and back against the table as Cedric finished in her with a huge groan.
“Ced,” she half-mumbled-half-cried as her head rolled to the side.
She felt him leave from inside of her. They were both filthily drenched, the boy’s skin sticky as he pulled his girl into his open arms and held her gently to his collarbones as she recovered from her orgasm.
“Y’okay?” he sighed, kissing her hair with a shuddered breath.
She pulled back, sweaty hair tangled in his long fingers as she stared foggily up into the boy’s eyes.
“I think I am, yeah,” she grinned with a sarcastic taunt, her lids heavy. “You?”
The boy smiled, grasping either side of her face in his palms with a warm chuckle. He didn’t respond as he laughed, kissing her again and shaking his head in awe.
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DRACO MALFOY X CEDRIC DIGGORY X READER
Something Different | Part Eight
a/n: literally having the most fun writing this rn, thank you all for your support! i know this one is gonna tear many of you to shreds but i am ensuring y’all that there will be smut in the next chapter, though i won’t reveal with whom it’s happening. >:)
tag list: @call-me-banana-bandit@pillowjj@truly-insatiable@natsiboo@justmesadgirl@boredoffmebox@jjjmaybank@jejegu@superpowereddonut@irritantive@salemlilly@marshmelloyellow02@puffymints@is-it-really-a-secret @i-mmunity@sebastiansass@hisoldlover@kyobien@averagefangirl21@inurealiyah@fuzzzwald@lesfleursmonet@you-bleed-just-toknowyouarealive @darkqueennyx-blog @cityintexas-dallas @summerconcerto @awesomebooklover17@nicodoesntexist
X
The next week, they had potions class again. In the few days since their drunken encounter, the girl and Cedric had timidly avoided stepping near the topic. The same went for Draco. The three had seemingly silently agreed not to communicate about that which had occurred between them. It was standard, anyways, given the house duties and crippling hangover the girl had bore just previously. Come class time, Y/N sat at a rickety stool beside Cedric, who took his place happily beside her as Slughorn jovially welcomed his students in. The man wore a devastating purple suit and orange bow tie combination. Today, they would learn to make the Elixir to Induce Euphoria, a sunshine yellow liquid which the professor had set an example of up in a large and bulbous glass vial at the front of the room. Stools scraped and feet scuffed on the dungeon floor as the stirring from the room began to settle. From across the room, the girl made eye contact with the snow-white boy whose icy stare was already settled very obviously to her own. His mouth was hardened into a thin line, his white hair looking neat and smooth over his pale skin. Draco blinked slowly at her, shifted his eyes coldly to Cedric, and then removed his gaze altogether. Feeling as unsure and uncomfortable as his deathly silent communication typically left her, the girl shifted awkwardly in her chair and cleared her throat as Horace Slughorn launched into the usual pre-lesson rant.
“…shrivelfig and porcupine quills,” his voice came swarming into focus. “It will induce a euphoric frenzy in you that will cause you to rejoice with glee, and perhaps even burst into song.”
The class stirred with interest.
“Can you imagine this stuff at the next house party?” a student nearby chuckled quietly.
“Reckon we wouldn’t need it,” Cedric said in reply, speaking to his surroundings discreetly.
The girl’s eyes flickered curiously up to Cedric’s mischievous ones, and they swum blue-green with a sparkle of delight.
“Like we need to bottle a potion for this elixir when we already have empty bottles of the stuff lying round’ the Common Room,” his cheeks creased with dimples as he spoke softly, running a large hand over his mouth in an attempt to hide his grin.
Referring to the alcohol-strewn disaster of a Common Room they’d had to clean up that weekend, of course, the Hufflepuffs in close proximity all bent forward in suppressed laughter. Collectively, a strangled noise of amusement sounded from the table. This included one from the girl, who was taken aback by the boy’s cheek but enjoying it nonetheless as she blew her cheeks up in surprise at him. Giggling mutely, she turned her head back to the professor and kicked Cedric’s foot from under the table. He shrugged with a lopsided smirk and kicked her right back.
“And for today, I thought we’d shake things up a little,” the frog-like man clapped his hands together. “So we’ll be doing this with a little help from a friend! Yes, yes! Do partner up for this class!”
Y/N’s eyes moved instinctively to the bronzed boy beside her, and he was already staring down hopefully at her through his long lashes. In silent question, he flashed his white teeth handsomely at her with want.
“But,” the professor interrupted them, “a rule! Now I know the house rivalries have been getting next to hostile these days, especially between these two.”
Slughorn stopped and wagged a large finger at the Slytherins and Huffelpuffs who crowded around him. His beady eyes landed on the girl, and she couldn’t help but to recall the remark he’d made on the issue upon taking over for her and Draco’s joint detention.
“And so, to bolster our spirits and teamwork, you must pair with someone from the opposite house.”
A collective groan ensued. Nobody seemed particularly enthused about the idea, but Slughorn cheered over their complaints with several flaps of his chubby little hands. The girl felt her stomach lurch as she dragged her eyes forcedly to their next target. Only, this time, upon looking at him, she noticed that he wasn’t doing the same. No, Draco Malfoy’s eyes were fixated on the boy beside her. Turning, the girl felt her throat harden as she watched the events beside her unfold, a mild horror spelling across her face. Cedric had seemingly caught Draco’s stare, and he was holding it unflinchingly with a pulsing jaw and a flare of his nostrils. A large hand clasped at his potions book, his knuckles whitened against it as he stood.
“I’ll get the brat,” he decided, his eyes glued forward still.
“Uh–” the girl’s stool scraped loudly as she shot up, her eyes moving with panic over the two of them, “no!”
Cedric froze, his eyes slow as they tore from Draco’s and resumed their focus on her own.
“No?” he asked with bewilderment.
He couldn’t, she realized, looking up at the boy. There was a quiet and contemplative hatred behind that stare, she deciphered. And, moving to look at Draco’s not-so-quiet-and-contemplative-hatred filled scowl, something dangerous dawned upon her. The handsome and slender framed boy’s light blue contemplation was laced with spite, and glimmered dangerously as he fixated it now upon the girl. If Cedric did anything to rile him up in the slightest, he would undoubtedly weaponize the secret the two shared. Not just of their last encounter, but of any before that. Panicking, and feeling her mouth go dry, the girl placed a hand to Cedric’s chest. She could feel his heart thrumming excitedly beneath her fingertips, and she had to snap twice at him to regain his flickering attention.
“Ced,” she protested, “you’ll only start a row.”
The boy showed not an ounce of care as he forced his tongue over his teeth with a bitter laugh.
“Only if he starts one first,” he grimaced.
“Ced,” she said again, hissing through her teeth now.
Jealousy was a new look on the boy. He sported a bead of sweat on his knit brows, his full lips curved in distaste, and his eyes had hardened with a coldness that softened the instant he looked back down at his girlfriend.
“Y/N,” he repeated curtly.
She shook her head with a laugh of mingled amusement and fear, “you can’t. As house prefects, it’s our job to set an example.”
She felt the tense muscles beneath her touch loosen, Cedric’s brows lowering a little with disappointment. Huffing softly, he gave his girl a defeated nod, and brought his fingers briefly up to her own so as to grasp her small hand in his large one.
“Okay?” she whispered softly at him, blinking with worry up at the boy.
“Okay,” he decided, “you’re right. Okay.”
Taking her hand up in his own, he brought her knuckles briefly to his lips, dropping the faintest of kisses upon her hand with a defeated little smile.
“But if he tries anything–” Cedric began with a flare.
“I will gladly take care of him myself,” she finished, flashing him a confident smile as she drew his hand back to her mouth and returned the favor.
Cedric released a slow sigh, his golden brown locks spilling handsomely over his ocean eyes as he blinked lovingly down with defeat. Letting him go with upset, the girl turned, her back pressed against Cedric’s large front as she took position in line of Draco’s sight. The pale figure of Draco Malfoy held an aura similar to that of a black stormcloud around him. His mouth had curled down with distaste at whatever he’d just witnessed, and his eyes narrowed in frustratingly silent communication at the girl. Clearing her throat and tucking a book beneath her arm, the girl stepped confidently towards her target, her black skirt swinging confidently at her hips as she took her place across from the Slytherin. Beside her, Cedric begrudgingly partnered up with Pansy Parkinson, his narrow eyes attentive to the two as he took his place across the dungeon.
The girl threw her book against the table with a slam, throwing its crisp pages open coolly.
“Shall I start, or shall you?” she said to the pages beneath her nose.
“Hm,” Draco’s throat rumbled. “And hello to you too.”
Her eyes flickered up. The boy before her wore a smug half-smile on his pink lips.
“Hello,” she responded mechanically. “Pass me the Shrivelfig.”
Draco’s long and ring-clas fingers moved slowly, his eyes ever-present on hers as he slid their first ingredients across the faded wooden table. The girl paid him no mind as she began slicing and grinding their materials on her own, her tongue firm against her teeth as she forced a slow breath through her nostrils. Draco eyed her all the while, his cogs turning.
“Porcupine quills,” she commanded.
She could feel his gaze burning through her as he handed over the next ingredients. The girl’s eyes flashed quickly across the room to Cedric, who was peering out of the corner of his eye at the two of them. Swallowing, the girl’s fingers began to tremble. Draco took note, his sharp focus catching the scene before him.
“Why wouldn’t you let your little boyfriend have a go with me?” he asked after a minute of further silence.
Her head shot up, hand dropping as she placed both palms flat against the table before her.
“You too oughtn’t start a row in the classroom,” she spoke her prepared reply formally.
The corners of Draco’s mouth twitched.
“Shall I wait til’ after, then?” he shot back cleverly.
Her teeth came together.
“Draco!” she hissed loudly.
Drawing the attention of a few turning heads, the girl went beet red. Nodding awkwardly with a forced smile, she tugged her long strands of hair back behind her ears and composed herself as she prepared her next attempt at conversing.
“Draco,” she said again, gently this time.
He just smiled. And he smiled with his lips still shut in sly knowing, making her grow all the more furious. This was internal, of course.
“Draco, you really should leave him alone.”
“Oh believe me, I would love to,” the blond scoffed sheepishly, standing. “But it really does seem that he wants to have a word. And who would I be to stop him?”
The girl felt her cheeks flare as Draco began his nonchalant stride over to her side of the table. Ignoring him, and making an attempt to play casual, the girl retrieved their stirring utensil. And, with timid hands, she began to stir the funny-looking fluid beneath them in a clockwise manner.
“Anti-clockwise,” came a smug voice from beside her.
As if it was nothing, she felt the cool movement of the boy behind her. The typical smell of mint and the dark aroma he sported came charging at her lungs, making her head flood further as Draco slinked an arm around her side and plucked the utensil from her fingers before nudging her right out of the way with a bump of his elbows to hers. Stepping aside with a sharp exhale, the girl folded her arms, eyes fixated on the pot before her as the Slytherin stirred their ingredients four times, counter-clockwise.
“Draco,” she tried again calmly, speaking to the fluid under her nose, “I need you to promise me something.
The stirring stopped. Draco let the thing fall from his long white fingers with a blinding flash of his teeth, the boy turning casually to his side as he folded those long arms over the ripples of his black robes, mirroring his subject of interest. At last, the girl met his ferocious ice colored eyes.
“And what might that be?” he asked innocently.
She grimaced, still facing forward as her eyes moved quickly to the big ocean ones that peered at her from across the room. Feeling her stomach lurch, she took her bottom lip between her teeth with a drawn sigh.
“Don’t tell Cedric about the other nig–”
She’d barely gotten a word out before Draco, anticipating her response, interjected.
“Why not?”
Now she turned, facing him.
Blinking desperately at him through her long lashes, she watched the boy’s sickly deviant gaze softened.
“Please,” she uttered quietly.
His jaw pulsed, his hollow cheekbones growing hollower as he sucked a breath between his teeth. He looked torn between choosing pettiness, or letting his soft spot for the girl get the better of his cheek.
He asked the question again, tenderly this time, “why?”
“He already doesn’t like–” she paused, shaking her head and waving her hand in indication at the boy, “–this. Us.”
“Us?” Draco echoed back, the word sounding strange on his lips.
“Yes,us.”
She sighed shortly, lashes fluttering as the two just stared in silence at each other. Draco’s slender form towered over her, the boy restraining himself from edging closer with a dart of his eyes up and above the girl’s head. Moving his large hands to the folds of his pockets, he hummed with soft contemplation.
“Well I don’t like him either,” he decided after a moment.
She almost laughed. What a stupid reply, she thought, fighting the curl of her lips.
“If he finds out,” she phrased carefully, adding, “even if it was nothing–”
“Mm, mhm,” the icy figure nodded casually.
“He’ll be,” she sucked her tongue back, “furious.”
“Oh I suspect so,” Draco swung his hips forward with an infuriating little smile.
“And I’ll never be able to see you again,” she finished.
The attitude vanished from the boy’s visage at once, his face falling.
“Oh,” he spoke.
“Right,” she replied slowly, mirroring the boy with a move of her hands to her pockets.
She looked at the deathly handsome Slytherin, awaiting his reply. But, his mind overflowing, he never did. Rather, he turned back to their pot, looking dejected. Silent in thought, his nimble fingers plucked up their next ingredient, and he got back to work. Not knowing what else to say, the girl cleared her throat, doing her best not to stare too much as she scrutinized him. And so they went on like that, helping one another and working frighteningly in sync at their concoction. Approximately forty-five minutes later, a shimmering sunshine yellow fluid sat before them. From its top, a literal rainbow glow emerged, spilling like fog from the edges of the cauldron before sizzling out over a set of luminescent little pops. As usual, Professor Slughorn made his rounds through the students, inspecting their results one by one. Cedric and Pansy’s, he claimed, was very well done. But Y/N and Draco’s, he scoffed, was spectacular.
“Just brilliant, just brilliant!” he danced, pouring a vial of the fluid into a thin vial before his frog-face.
Giving a cheers to the class, the professor downed a serving of the potion right before them, making his students jitter excitedly.
“It’s all well,” he giggled, slamming a hand to the back of the two students before him in appreciation. “I haven’t any more classes today, there’s no harm in some singing, I suppose.”
The class laughed. Well, except for his proclaimed prodigies, who exchanged a terrified glance. Draco moved his eyes back and forth over the girl’s features, deep in thought. She felt her legs almost jelly at the sight. Anxious, she scanned the faces before hers, and landed on a familiar one. Cedric looked like he was unsure whether to be proud of his girl or devastated by the look of guilt she and her partner wore. Still, he clapped her on, giving her a nervous smile. Even that, she thought as she straightened, made her feel better.
“And so you see how–” Slughorn realized, bubbling, “two students such as these old foes, can– can come together.”
The faces of the Slytherin and Hufflepuff students around them looked equally unimpressed.
“Very good dear girl,” he finished with a beam. “You too, Mr. Malfoy.”
Draco nodded, and the class was dismissed. As the girl made to run, scrambling as she picked up her things, a hand stopped her. Grabbing her frayed and dustied book, Draco’s long white fingers snatched the object out from under her, making her huff. His silver rings glittered beautifully into her face.
“What?” she snapped, not even bothering to feign niceties at this point.
“Not seeing me again,” he said quietly, plucking up the line from which they’d left off.
“Yes?” she said with uncertainty, her heart quickening as Cedric approached the two.
“You say it’s my punishment,” he phrased matter-of-factly. “You say it like it would be me who suffers that consequence, and me alone.”
The girl went still. Her mind fired hot shocks of panic down to her heart. Then her heart came to an abrupt halt, her throat growing hard in turn. The boy read her expression easily, his next words deathly quiet.
“But you fear it too,” he finished.
Dumbfounded, the girl found herself unable to breathe. Looking unsurprised, but confident with his choice of words, the snow-white boy leaned closer, if only for a second. He forced the book between her hands, making the girl gasp sharply as her lashes fluttered up into his dead-set crystalline gaze. She instinctively took a faltered step back, her brows knitting as cement seemingly poured down and through her throat. Muttering softly as he drifted away, Draco Malfoy now spoke vaguely to her mouth.
“Not just me,” he breathed. “You.”
She stared.
“You fear it as well,” he murmured.
…
Two more weeks passed after that. Two weeks in which the weather assumed its frosty autumn bite, and during which time Y/N found it increasingly more difficult to manage the entanglement of lies and meetings which she’d spun between herself, Cedric, Draco, and even Harry. It was Harry who was perhaps the most suspicious. Upon discovering his plan had worked and she’d gained the Slytherin’s trust, she’d had to satisfy his need for Voldemort-related answers with something of a shrug and a “it’s not like I can just ask him to roll up his sleeves.” Promising she’d dig deeper, the girl had continued to meet Draco Malfoy a few times in secret, only there was no sleuthing involved. Rather, they talked. They talked and grew closer. Every few days they’d meet at the Astronomy Tower, which was increasingly hard to get a spot alone at. Finally, come October, it was time for the students’ trip to Hogsmeade. The girl wore a knit black sweater with a striped pair of pants and the typical boot, her hair cascading down freely on that day. Cedric, conversely, wore a striped sweater and black pants, almost unintentionally mirroring the girl. Alongside their friends Julian, Ernie, and Hannah, they visited Zonkos, Honeydukes, and Dogweed and Deathcap. Finally, the two alone headed to the Three Broomsticks, losing their friends to J. Pippin’s Potions on the way.
“Thank God,” the girl breathed, stepping into the establishment.
It was toasty and warm inside. The sloped ceilings glimmered with rings of candlelight, and it smelled deliciously of something roasted. The sounds of chairs scuffing against the gray floors, silverware clattering, and happy chattering sounded from all around. Cedric released his girlfriend’s hand with a content sigh.
“I’ll grab us both a hot butterbeer?” he asked excitedly.
“Sure, thanks Ced,” she beamed.
“Wonderful, pick somewhere out for us?”
The boy bent forward, his chestnut hair flopping over his forehead as he knelt down to drop a kiss to his girlfriend’s forehead. Y/N felt her skin flush with rose, a smile spreading wide on her lips as she watched the boy slink off with a grin. Scanning the place, she eventually noticed a free table up on the second floor, across from the big bar Cedric stood at. Making her way hastily through the bustle, the girl thudded her path towards the stairs, stopping only when her nose came in contact with the front of a crisp black dress-shirt whose scent she recognized at once.
“Ouch, Draco!” she rubbed her face with a scowl, tilting her face up to get a look at him.
His sharp jaw was tilted down so as to scowl back better at her.
“You’ll never learn to watch where you’re going, will you?” he observed.
But his voice was quiet, and tired. Like he didn’t have the energy to be either funny or bitter with her. Instead, his eyes looked drained and tired, his skin somehow even paler than paper, and his lips hung down into a creased line of worry. Noticing her staring, the boy cleared his throat with a flicker of his ice colored eyes over her shoulder.
“You’d better be going,” he muttered. “Don’t want to be seen hanging round’ with me in front of all these people.”
She stiffened, feeling her heart sink at his words. The girl was unsure of whether she should be more upset with his statement or the fact that it was an evident lie to get her off of his trail, whatever that was.
“Oh, okay,” she mumbled unsurely, not moving.
That searing gaze penetrated her still, the boy unmoving as well.
“Draco, is everything alright?” she worded under her breath.
His eyes grew sad, contradicting the stiff nod he gave her.
“Your boyfriend is coming,” he answered in reply, his shoulders straightening.
The girl turned, and sure enough he was right. There was Cedric, navigating through the crowd with two drinks and a rapidly fading smile. His ocean stare fixated first above her head, and then back to her eyes. Turning once more, the girl watched confusedly as Draco slipped off wordlessly away, melting like a black fog into the sea of people.
“Hello.”
The girl snapped back around to Cedric.
“Hi.”
He raised an inquisitive brow, saying nothing.
“Erm,” she fumbled, suddenly at a loss for words.
Luckily, Cedric finished the thought for her.
“He looked rather grim, didn’t he?” he pondered aloud, handing her a drink.
The girl wrapped her hands gratefully around the beverage, taking a sip. The foamy froth hit her tongue first. It was sweet and fluffy like white clouds on her lips. And then the butterbeer. It was like pure delight was seeping into her system, warming her up and making her skin tingle. Cedric mimicked her as he slinked an arm through her side and around her waist, his arm so large it wrapped around to the front of her torso. The girl nuzzled silently against him as he guided her up the stairs, the smell of aftershave and parchment thick on his sweater.
“D’you remember what you told me, about how you thought Malfoy was a death eater?” he asked as the two assumed their seating positions upstairs.
The girl swallowed quickly, feeling the butterbeer struggle against her throat as she covered her mouth with a cough.
“Yes,” she responded flatly, her eyes itching to look at the scratched up table before her.
Cedric’s big blue-green eyes narrowed in observation.
“Well,” he started, “I think you’re right.
She tensed, “why?”
“What you said before makes sense,” he defended, “and the bloke has looked rather down, like he’s carrying the weight of the world on those stupid padded shoulders.”
The girl took a tentative sip of her drink, a nervous smile perching on her mouth as she leaned forward.
“Is this just because you don’t like him?” she joked lightly.
Cedric brushed her off sheepishly, “do you not think he is?”
She faltered, unsure of how to respond.
“I don’t know what to think,” she lied passively, tucking her bottom lip between her teeth.
Cedric read her every movement, his eyes narrowing with a sort of knowing.
“Is that just because you do like him?”
Her heart stopped. Her brain drew an utter blank. Honestly, she’d never seen those words coming. Struggling, the girl stammered and leaned back, her long lashes fluttering.
“Ced–” she began. “Look, no. I mean, not really. It’s not like that.”
The boy tensed, swallowing the hard lump in his throat as he knitted his brows together and shoved a large hand through his brown hair, like her flustered reply had worried him more than he’d anticipated.
“Well, what is it like?” he responded after a moment.
The girl felt her eyes well. He looked so taken aback, so struck. She needed to assure him, but she couldn’t do so as long as she kept up this lie. This lie, whatever it was. That her and Draco were, well, something like… friends. Friends. Even the thought sounded odd in her head. Anyways, she debated silently with herself, she couldn’t do it anymore.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” she said through an extended sigh, her jaw quivering with nervousness, “about Draco and I.”
The door swung open from downstairs with a massive slam, startling her. The occupants of the establishment all jumped in surprise at the sight of Horace Slugnorn in the doorway, the frog-like man paled with worry as a flurry of brown autumn leaves whirled around behind him.
“Get back to the castle!” he ordered.
For a moment, nobody moved.
“A student has been hurt!” he ordered seriously. “UP! NOW!”
…
Things only grew worse after that. On their walk back to the castle, the two moved swiftly, rounding up any students they could. Guiding a crowd of Hufflepuffs behind them, the prefects moved in deathly silence besides one another, their conversation put on an abrupt hold. Cedric said absolutely nothing the whole way back to the Common Room, and so neither had she. After leaving their housemates for a Prefect’s Meeting assembled by Professor Mcgonagall, they’d learned the victim of the recent tragedy: Katie Bell. Apparently she’d been carrying a cursed necklace in a parcel back to Hogwarts, only she’d touched it through her glove and just barely survived it herself. And she has no recollection of what had happened, according to the Professor. As she spoke, the girl turned silently to stare at Cedric. His face had gone unnaturally pale, and his jaw was beginning to visibly shake. Her heart rate rising, the girl fixated her eyes on the boy as she extended a cautious hand to his. Her fingers trembled with nervousness as they tapped his slender ones. And then he stopped. His breath slowing, Cedric, with eyes still forward, closed his long fingers around the girl’s hand.
“I’m going to find Draco,” he’d said the moment they got out.
From down the hallway, the girl could see the backside of the suit-clad Slytherin Prefect, Cedric catching it too and turning briskly in his direction. The boy skimmed easily through the open corridor and its frames that cast triangular flares of moonlight onto the cobblestone ground beneath it.
“Ced?! Hey– oi! Ced!” the girl barked in quiet confusion.
Cedric was displeased as he continued to walk, ignoring his girlfriend with determination setting deeply into his distressed expression. The moon sent ominous sorts of shadows over his knitted brows as he practically flew.
“CED!” she demanded, grabbing at his hand.
He stopped, fuming as he moved his big blue-green eyes down to hers. It was so bad that she swore she could see the cartoon smoke billowing from his nose. And in her haste to call him, the girl had drawn the attention of the nearby Draco Malfoy, who stopped slowly in his tracks to listen.
“What?!” she hissed through her teeth, her little hands struggling to hold his hesitant wrist to her chest. “What are you doing?!”
“He did it,” Cedric fired back, deathly quiet.
“He– what?!” the girl blinked confusedly back.
“He. Did. It.”
“Ced–” she tried urgently.
“Didn’t you?” he interrupted, turning his beautifully pointed nose to the boy before them.
Draco Malfoy’s slender form turned around excruciatingly slowly, a hard and cold smile plastered to his cruel lips. The boy had both hands folded neatly into the pockets of his black suit, and he raised a pale brow with a light chuckle.
“What are you assuming, Diggory?” he murmured through a slow and innocent blink.
“That you gave that necklace to Katie,” Cedric said back promptly. “Didn’t you?”
Flabbergasted, the girl’s mouth fell open. Her hands dropped from Cedric’s wrist as she forced them instead into the pockets of her pants with a stiff sigh of disbelief. Surely it couldn’t be true, could it?
But Malfoy barely reacted, save for an amused twitch of his brow.
“Careful what you go around saying,” his voice dropped dangerously in warning.
“I saw you in the Three Broomsticks earlier,” Cedric ignored him calmly.
“Alright,” the pale boy shrugged, the light from the moon sending a threatening cast of his silhouette down by his feet.
“You left right after Katie did,” Cedric said. “I saw her go.”
Draco stiffened, ever so lightly.
“That doesn’t mean anyth–” he started.
“Katie was cursed by that necklace only about five minutes later,” Cedic completed his thought, silencing the Slytherin.
Draco’s raised brows lowered observantly with dislike, his lips twisting like he had something sour stuck in his mouth. He looked as if he may explode, for a moment. But only for a moment. And then, calmly, his face relaxed.
“I didn’t do anything,” he assured, his cerulean eyes flickering briefly to Y/N’s.
It was almost believable.
Her hands trembled in their pockets, and she held his gaze, feeling her stomach fall at the sight. But, fuck. He was lying. She could just barely read it through the facade, but there it was, the ever so slight quiver of his lower lip, something she’d only learned to be his tell through a month of careful study. Draco, reading her every thought effortlessly, clenched his teeth together, the grip so tight it made his jaw pulsate. His defined nostrils flared, and he brought his tongue briefly to the roof of his mouth so as to hold it hostage in place whilst he thought. At first he looked as if he’d snap back with something clever, but then, his face falling, he thought. She could see the cogs turning as he reflected back on their deal. That he would behave so long as it meant seeing Y/N.
Clicking his tongue, he sighed, “goodnight, you two.”
Cedric was not satisfied by this answer at all. His brows lifting, the boy followed briskly after the nonchalant Slytherin, who once again, came to a slow halt in his tracks. Then he stopped. The girl, extremely overwhelmed, skipped forward.
“Look at me,” Cedric demanded, “now.”
She froze. She looked at him. His face was hard, his lips were curled with fury, and a dark sweat had built against his forehead. The bronzed boy looked absolutely furious as he shot up a hand, pointing his wand in warning against the back of the boy’s suit. And his voice, it was so new. It was so low and threatening that she even found herself growing afraid at the sound.
“Cedric!”
Tensing, Draco sucked in a slow breath, his hands up in defense as he turned cautiously around to face Cedric, who stood just a bit taller over him. The blonde boy’s icy stare moved to Y/N’s, and she could see them visibly struggling to maintain control, a silent battle occurring in the iris’ of Draco Malfoy.
“Admit it,” Cedric snarled through his perfect teeth.
His gaze was wavering now, the rage seeping quickly into his sharp features.
“No,” he responded firmly.
Cedric raised his wand to the boy’s sloped nose, like it was nothing.
“Ced!” she pleaded again, to no avail.
Moving his eyes slowly back to the girl’s, Draco’s face fell. She could read the exact moment he’d tossed his composure aside. His eyes narrowed, darkening as he spoke his next words to the girl.
“I was only in there because I was trying to get a look at your girlfriend.”
Lie. It was a lie. She could tell he was lying. But that didn’t matter, because that wasn’t the point. No, the point was to fuel Cedric’s flames, and it had worked.
“What?” Cedric challenged, his voice barely audible.
“Cedric, please,” the girl tugged gently at his arm now, feeling her eyes grow wet with moisture.
It couldn’t happen like this. It couldn’t be happening like this.
He ignored her.
“Draco–” she tried
But it was as if she weren’t even there.
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Draco shrugged, his voice growing thick with bitterness now as his lips twitched upwards into a sick grin. “Hasn’t she told you?” he continued to the stricken boy, feigning mock shock.
“Told me what?” Cedric said hoarsely, his breath short as he refused to look down at his girlfriend beside him.
“That she’s been sneaking round’ to see me?” he shook his head innocently. “That she came drunk and bustling into my arms after you so brutally dissatisfied her the other week? You know, the day of the quidditch match?”
Cedric tensed. He’d gone shockingly still now, the breath barely coming from his pink lips. The girl, meanwhile, had shut down completely. This simply could not be going worse. Not only had she been blinded by the charm of Draco Malfoy, but she’d been foolish enough to trust in it, and to hide it like a shameful secret from the one person whom she cared for most. And now she watched as he, Cedric, held it barely together before her. The starlight alone revealed in the reflection of the orb-like glaze over his eyes that he was on the verge of tears.
“What?” Cedric winced, lowering his wand at once.
But he wasn’t talking to Draco now. Rather, his gaze was fixated beneath his nose, to the girl who had swung in front of his torso with a touch of her palms to his chest. Her breath rattled as she blinked through bleary tears up at him.
“Cedric,” her voice quivered. “Ced, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please I– I was going to tell you earlier.”
“Earlier?” his voice faltered, his nostrils flaring as he grew hesitant beneath her touch. “Earlier. Not earlier, like last week, or the week before. Not earlier like right after you did it. Because you did, you did do it. And then you lied.”
“Nothing really happened–” she tried.
This made both boys grow visibly tense. Behind her, Draco turned his jaw aside with a hurt chuckle. Before her, Cedric shook his brown locks disbelievingly.
“If that was true,” he said quietly, “why wouldn’t you have told me?”
The girl felt her throat close as she stammered in silent reply.
Cedric’s eyes doubled in size, a single tear hitting his curved cheekbones as he pulled from her touch with a mortified flutter of his eyelashes.
“Right,” he said at once, his face hardening. “That’s what I thought.”
And he drew slowly away. Panicking, the girl began to follow, but he shook his head, his lips plastered tightly to one another now. He had nothing left to say to her. Feeling the knot in her chest pull so tightly that it reached her throat and caused her to release a sharp gasp, Y/N turned. She turned and she listened to Cedric walk away from her. Then, she had one hand to her opened mouth as a mangled gasp of pain hit her lips. A silent and strangled sob burst forth, and she snapped furiously to the snow-white boy who had frozen in place before her. He looked guilty already. Guilty, but with fumes still running from his nose and mouth.
“How could you?!” she said through a quivering breath.
Draco’s icy eyes softened, his shoulders relaxing, “Y/N. He should know.”
“Did you do it?” she cut him off, her voice shaking as she pleaded gently before him. “Tell me he’s wrong. Tell me you didn’t.”
If there was this, at least, maybe it meant there was a shred of a salvageable human in the cold figure before her. Draco’s mouth came apart, his head tilting as the verdict of her question read simply across his features.
“I had no choice–” he tried softly.
“GOD!” she screamed.
It had been so hoarse and so loud that her throat burned, but she paid the sting of it no mind. Instead her hands came flying up, and she thudded them against Draco’s definite front, making him stumble back in surprise, his chest heaving and brows lifting. He looked devastated, his head shaking as he muttered a quiet plea.
“I trusted you!” she said, the words coming out as a half-statement-half-sob.
Tears were streaming down her cheeks now, the light from the sky making them look like little falling stars as they ran down her face and upon her unsteady lips. She hit him again, thudding her fists defeatedly to his chest as she dropped her hands with a shaky cry.
“I trusted you,” she uttered again, more softly this time. “You were my friend.”
The boy’s eyes were turning red as he held back a wall of emotion behind their blue-ness. He scoffed defeatedly, running his ring-clad fingers over his mouth with a pained laugh.
“Right,” his chest heaved as he bit his lip frustratedly, “right.”
The girl, sucking in a deep breath, stood straighter. Her head came forward as she hung it before him, blinking desperately up into his gorgeous stare. She folded her arms against herself in the cold, her hair cascading around her halo face as she awaited his words with a splatter of a tear to the bridge of her nose. Draco looked as if he’d wanted to collect it, but upon meeting her eyes again, thought twice. And he shook his head. His gorgeous blond hair fell messily from its sculpt over his eyes, the sallow boy locking his jaw closed with a horrible and wounded chuckle.
“Right,” he said again, shaking his head now.
The girl felt her breath cut short as the boy stared determinedly at her mouth now, his throat tightening as he forced his eyes back to hers. She was shaking, and her words struggled to leave her. The wind, biting nimbly at her face, had sent a pink flush to her cheeks and nose. And the tears, like diamonds upon her visage, made her twinkle with an ethereal presence in the dark. From between her twitching lips came a slow stream of cool silver air.
“What?” she tried at last.
Draco shook his head, making his mind up now as he moved his focus between her eyes and back down to her mouth.
“Right,” he began again. “Except I don’t want to be your friend.”
She felt the cold of his rings clasp to her wrist, and he was pulling her in before she could stop him. The Slytherin yanked the Huffelpuff forward, and she stumbled on her toes and into the welcoming and familiar minty-dark aroma that enshrouded her. Only, having anticipated her movement, Draco ensured that the girl would no longer meet her nose to his chest. No, he’d stooped down into her this time, his other hand flying to grasp her cheek as the cold of his rings met her skin again. He’d caught her in midair, the movement so swift and effortless that her lips had simply had no choice but to fall into his as the boy’s slender fingers moved to her ear, through her hair, and pulled her flush against him. Any noise she had tried to make was lost, silenced as he devoured it. And as the force of it brought them stumbling back into the shadows, Draco Malfoy tried to make the girl his own.
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Summary: Takes place during Prisoner of Azkaban. Reader is in her fourth year (one below Fred/George) and has been having a rough year because of the Dementors. Fred steps in to help.
Warnings: mentions of anxiety and stress
Word Count: 4,500
A/N: I’ve had this fic idea for a few months now, and finally got around to writing it! Fred is genuinely the love of my life and I hope you enjoy reading! :)
The Hogwarts Library was your favorite place to study. It wasn’t necessarily because you enjoyed the silence more than anyone else, but rather stemmed from your inability to work when other people were around. The moment you broke off from your group of friends’ “study sessions” and started studying by yourself in the library, you fell in love with its quiet yet comforting ambience.
Studying alone didn’t necessarily mean you were lonely while studying. There was an unspoken sense of camaraderie between the regulars who frequented the library most nights of the week. Hermione, for example, had become your unofficial “study buddy” during your second year, with the two of you sharing a table or a couch to do your work on every time you were in the library together. Despite her being a year younger than you, she was one of your closest friends.
Even on nights like tonight, with buckets of rain falling down outside and the wind howling louder than a banshee, the library remained one of the coziest spots in the castle.
It was Saturday, one of the few nights Hermione didn’t come down to join you, and so you’d abandoned your normal desk near the windows in favor of a cushioned armchair near the fireplace (which Madam Pince only lit on nights like this).
You relished the warmth radiating from the fire in front of you, admiring the soft, flickering light it cast on the piece of parchment in your lap. You were taking a break from your half-finished potions essay, transfixed by the rain cascading down the tall library windows like a small waterfall.
You squinted as a dark figure floated into view, brows furrowing as you recognized it as one of the many dementors assigned to Hogwarts’ ground this year. You shuddered, quickly reverting your eyes to your essay.
How ironic, you thought, that you were writing about the Calming Drought when you hadn’t felt calm once all year.
You came from a muggle family, and while many creatures of the wizarding world were still unfamiliar to you, dementors were one aspect you wish had remained secret. They terrified you, to put it plainly.
You hadn’t slept soundly since the first day of the semester when one of them had just floated into the train compartment you were sharing with Harry, Hermione, and Ron. You’d almost passed out right then and there, and you weren’t even the person it was interested in.
You understood why they were there, but you still hated them. You could hardly go anywhere without seeing one hovering lifelessly through a window or lurking slowly over the Quidditch Pitch. As Hermione had said herself, you didn’t need to be near one for it to make you feel absolutely awful.
And while you didn’t like to think of yourself as an anxious person, the dementors’ presence this year had completely degraded your mental state. You were sleeping less, eating less, and trying to cope by putting all your effort into your schoolwork. At least when you were preoccupied with an essay or studying, you’d get a small distraction from the horrible creatures that permeated your everyday life.
“Oi, (Y/n)!”
You jumped about five feet in the air at the sudden noise, essay and quill falling unceremoniously to the floor. You groaned, twisting in your seat and eyes widening at the sight of Fred Weasley approaching you, a concerned look on his face.
“Sorry, love, didn’t mean to scare you,” he apologized sincerely. You gulped, ignoring the term of endearment, and shook your head dismissively.
“It’s alright,” you replied with a wave of your hand. “Just caught me off guard is all.” You reached down to pick up the items you’d launched off your lap. When you sat back up, Fred was walking over with a chair he’d grabbed from a nearby desk. You gave him a small smile as he sat down next to you.
“I’m assuming you’d like help with something?” you teased knowingly. He grinned and nodded.
“Hermione said you were in the middle of writing a potions essay, and seeing as Georgie and I have spent the last week studying for our potions OWL, I figured I’d come ask you all the questions Hermione couldn’t answer for us,” he explained. “If that’s okay with you, that is.”
You feigned offense. “Wow, Hermione first then me? I see how it is, Weasley.”
He rolled his eyes, pulling a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket and smoothing it out on his thigh.
“These are our areas of concern,” he said, handing the paper to you.
“Areas of concern?” You raised an eyebrow as you scanned over the paper, chewing your bottom lip lightly as you tried to figure out what topics you could actually help him with. You glanced up at him, cheeks flushing at the sight of him watching you intently with a small smile on his face.
You’d always been a bit infatuated with Fred Weasley, but then again, who wasn’t? Fred and George were Quidditch legends, insanely popular (but in the truly social way, not the stuck up “I’m better than everyone” way), and quite smart. They were funny but caring, and stood up for anyone who needed it. He was also a year older than you, and thus you regarded him as completely unattainable.
“I understand everything up until this here,” you said finally, pointing at where ‘Draught of Peace’ was written. “I think this is where the fifth year curriculum begins, and obviously I’m not there yet.”
“I will gladly accept whatever help you can give,” Fred replied, grimacing as Madam Pince interrupted him with a loud “Shh!”
You startled again, exhaling quickly and glaring at Fred for causing the reprimand.
“Someone’s jumpy today,” he said, brows furrowing slightly. “You alright, (Y/n)?”
“I’m good, thank you,” you replied, looking down at Fred’s list once again. You went to hand it back to him, only to find him staring at you with an apprehensive look. “What?” you asked defensively.
“Have you been sleeping lately?” he asked quietly. You gulped, realizing you hadn’t concealed the dark purple bags under your eyes before you’d left your dorm.
“It’s just been a tough week,” you replied firmly, shoving the list into his hands and reaching down to gather your things.
“(Y/n)-”
“It’s late,” you stated, cutting him off before he could interrogate you further. “How about we get together to study sometime this week? That way I can find all my essays from this year for reference.”
“That works fine for me,” he replied hesitantly. “Are you-”
“I’m free any day except Wednesday, and Thursday morning because I have a Charms test,” you interrupted again, standing up quickly. “Just let me know whenever.”
He nodded slowly, pushing himself out of his seat as well, concern still etched across his face. You tried to give him a reassuring smile.
“How about tomorrow in the Great Hall? After my Quidditch practice,” he finally suggested. You nodded eagerly.
“Sounds perfect, I’ll see you then.” You gave him a small wave and rushed towards the doors, trying to ignore your heart beating ten times faster than normal and the memory of Fred’s worried gaze.
• • •
When you woke up from yet another night of hardly any sleep, you realized you had absolutely no idea when Quidditch practice was. You had walked down to the common room looking for Harry, but lo and behold, Oliver Wood was already up and annotating a book on Quidditch strategies at nine in the morning.
Practice was from three to five on Sundays, as you quickly found out, meaning you had a whole eight hours to stress about studying with Fred before it actually happened.
You spent an hour trying to fall back asleep and another working on your potions essay, then decided you’d had enough of your own room and went to bother Hermione in her dorm. You found her sitting on the carpet surrounded by a copious amount of notes, with Lavender and Parvati helping her sort through them.
“Transfiguration,” Parvati explained as you sat down to help them. “We have a test on Friday.”
“A bloody hard one, too,” Lavender said, slightly exasperated. “Four chapters worth of short ended questions and two essays.”
“Where’s Kellah?” you asked, realizing the fourth inhabitant of the dorm was missing.
“Interrogating McGonagall about all this.” Lavender jabbed a figure at a stack of notes spitefully.
“Maybe Kellah will convince her to give us all bonus points,” Parvati suggested. Hermione laughed softly, head still bowed over a lengthy piece of parchment in front of her.
“I hear you’ve got a study date with Fred Weasley this afternoon,” Hermione said, glancing up to give you a grin and an eyebrow wiggle. You groaned, blushing as Lavender and Parvati squealed.
“It’s really not that serious-”
“Except that it is!” Lavender all but shrieked. “You’ve liked him for forever!”
“Sweet Merlin, this is your chance!” Parvati gushed, grabbing your hand and squeezing it tightly. “I’m genuinely so excited about this.”
You laughed and shook your head. “I’ll be sure to give you all updates tomorrow, though I can’t promise they’ll be all that interesting.”
The four of you continued to talk about your looming study session with Fred as you combed through Hermione’s notes.
“This’ll be good for you, (Y/n),” Parvati said thoughtfully. “I mean, Fred’s a great guy, he’s always cared about you-”
“Maybe hanging out with him more will help with the whole, y’know, anxiety situation,” Lavender added. You shrugged.
“I mean, I saw him for literally five minutes yesterday and he’s already figured out that I’m not sleeping,” you said, chewing your bottom lip. “And I don’t why but the thought of him knowing everything makes me nervous.”
“Why?” Hermione asked curiously. You shrugged again.
“I guess I just don’t want him to be upset, or worried.”
“(Y/n), Fred would never be upset with you,” she said reassuringly.
“I think it’s romantic that he’s all in-tune with your emotions,” Parvati said wistfully.
“And he cares,” Lavender sighed, staring at the carpet emotionally. You rolled your eyes.
“Thanks, guys.”
• • •
At 2:30, you tried to convince yourself that you were heading down to the common room to relax, not to catch a glimpse of your favorite Weasley twin on his way to practice. That was a lie.
Fifteen minutes later, Fred Weasley ambled down the steps with the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, laughing loudly with George while Oliver trailed behind them muttering something about maturity. Fred’s face lit up as he caught sight of you curled up on the couch and smiled at you brightly. You gave him a small wave in return, hoping he wouldn’t be able to see the faint blush on your cheeks.
“I’ll see you later!” he called on his way out of the room. George paused in the doorway to give you an exaggerated wink, giggling when you glared at him before turning to catch up with the rest of the team.
You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, cursing your quickened pulse and sweaty palms - he’d only been in the same room as you, for Merlin’s sake, there was no need to get so worked up.
And yet Fred had all your nerves on edge as the clock on the wall ticked closer and closer to five o’clock. You pulled out your potions textbook and a spare piece of parchment, deciding to make a few notes for later.
At some point you dozed off, your lack of sleep catching up with you as it often did in the middle of the afternoon. You’d become a frequent napper in the last month or so, finding it easier to fall asleep when it was still light out. Today, however, was not the best day for one of your four hour recovery naps.
You woke up with half an hour to spare before you needed to be in the Great Hall. You went back up to your room, gathered your typical study things and changed out of the pajamas you’d been in all day, opting for a sweater and a new pair of sweatpants instead. This time, you made sure to dab concealer under your eyes, erasing all evidence of your insomnia before you left Gryffindor Tower.
There were only a few students sitting in the Great Hall when you got there. You took a seat in the middle of the Gryffindor table and inspected the baskets of assorted snacks in front of you as you set your bag down.
One of the first years, a girl named Amara, pushed a basket of pumpkin pasties towards you from her seat across the table. She gave you a shy smile. “I know you like them.”
“Thank you, Amara,” you said, grinning at the young Gryffindor and grabbing two of the pasties.
“What’s that about?” she asked as you pulled your textbook out of your bag.
“Potions,” you said, setting the book on the table in front of you. “I’m helping Fred study for his exams.”
“Fred Weasley?” Amara asked with wide eyes. You chuckled.
“The one and only.”
As if on cue, Fred made his way through the doors of the Great Hall, head turning as he scanned the room for you. He grinned as his eyes met yours and hastened his pace just a little bit. Your heart skipped a beat, admiring the way his sweatpants hugged his legs and the slight flush to his face.
“Hello, love,” he said, sliding into the seat next to you. You gave him a small smile, eyes widening as he wrapped an arm around your waist. If he noticed the blush tickling your cheeks he ignored it.
“And hello to you, too, Amara,” he continued, giving her a wave. “You look lovely today.”
She squeaked, face turning a bright shade of red as she scampered down the bench towards her classmates. You rolled your eyes, giving him a playful slap on the shoulder.
“You’re a menace,” you scolded.
“Sure am,” he replied proudly, removing his arm from your waist and clasping his hands together on the table in front of him. “So, potions.”
You nodded, flipping open your textbook to the Wit-Sharpening Potion (which you’d bookmarked earlier). “This is the first thing in the fourth year curriculum.”
“Which is where Hermione left off,” he added with a nod.
“I’ve already read it over,” you explained, pointing at some of the annotations you’d made earlier. “So we can review it together and then you can copy down all the important bits to study later.”
He looked down at himself and then gave you a sheepish look. “Do you by chance have something I could write on?” he asked. You sighed, reaching into your bag to grab a piece of parchment and a quill.
“You’re going to be the death of me, Weasley,” you said sarcastically.
“Oh, I hope so,” he replied cheekily, giving you a heart-melting grin.
You spent the next hour or so guiding him through the effects and recipes of each potion. He actually did a surprisingly good job at paying attention, taking detailed notes and only interrupting every once in a while to point out Amara staring at the two of you from a distance.
“She’s so cute,” you remarked softly, watching her gossip energetically with her friends.
“She reminds me of you when you were a first year,” Fred said. You gave him a confused glance.
“What do you mean?”
“Very enthusiastic, easy to rile up,” he explained.
“Now I understand why you and George pulled so many pranks on me,” you groaned, turning the page to the chapter on Skele-Gro.
“It’s was our job to terrorize the new students,” he said, raising his hands in defense. “Peeves’ orders.”
“Uhuh,” you said sarcastically, unable to keep the grin off your face.
“This is the stuff Madam Pomfrey gave to Harry last year!” Fred said excitedly, pointing at the book. You grinned and nodded.
“Yes! Now what’s it made of?” you asked, covering the ingredient list with your hand.
Fred’s nose scrunched as he concentrated. “Erm, puffer fish, and an arm bone, and…spiders?”
“One spider,” you corrected, lifting your hand off the page. “And a bunch of other things.”
“Chinese chomping cabbage, five Scarab beetles…” he mumbled, scribbling onto his parchment as he squinted at the list.
“Invented by Linfred of Stinchcombe,” you added.
“Funny name,” Fred chuckled.
“Which one?” you asked. “Linfred, or Stinchcombe?”
“Both.”
You giggled softly, gaze trailing upwards as the light emitting from the ceiling changed from a pale yellow to a deep blue. The floating candles gleamed brightly against the dark night sky. Despite the change, there was still enough light shining on the tables for you to be able to work.
“Lovely nighttime ambience,” Fred remarked from beside you.
“You sound like you work in real estate,” you replied, gaze moving from the ceiling to the large window at the front of the hall.
You inhaled sharply, noticing the all-too familiar silhouette of a dementor floating just beyond the glass.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Fred asked softly from behind you. You hardly noticed the hand he rested gently on your arm, focused entirely on the dementor hanging in the air like a twisted puppet.
“Dumbledore said they weren’t going to come on the school grounds,” you muttered.
Fred followed your gaze to the window, and you felt him stiffen behind you. “Ah.”
You turned back around in your seat, knocking his hand off you, and cleared your throat as you looked back at your notes.
“I think we can move on, yea?” you said, flipping to the next chapter.
“(Y/n)-”
“Antidotes,” you announced, clapping your hands together dismissively. “Very specific healing potions-”
“(Y/n)!” Fred interrupted, reaching out and covering your hand with his own. You sighed, finding yourself feeling oddly uncomfortable under his concerned gaze. “What, Fred?”
“Exactly, what the bloody hell was that?” he asked, a bit harshly.
“What are you talking about?”
“The dementor!” he said exasperatedly, frown deepening as you shivered. “(Y/n)?” His voice was much softer this time.
“I don’t like talking about them,” you said finally, shutting your eyes and taking a deep breath. “They scare the shit out of me.”
“Are the dementors why you haven’t been sleeping?”
Your eyes snapped open, giving Fred an incredulous look. “I’ve been sleeping just fine, thank you.”
“I hope you don’t think last night in the library was the first time I’ve noticed,” he said softly. Your heart skipped a beat. “All year you’ve seemed…more reserved. Tired. You yawn all the time, I hardly see you eat.”
“I’m just…stressed,” you managed, glancing at the pumpkin pasties you’d set aside earlier. The dementor had taken your appetite away completely.
“It seems more serious than that,” Fred muttered, placing his hand on top of yours and squeezing gently.
You sighed, glancing down the table to where Amara and her friends were staring at you intently. “Could we continue this conversation elsewhere?” you asked quietly. Fred nodded, helping you put your things in your bag.
“When did it start?” he asked as the two of you walked towards the doors at the end of the Great Hall.
“It’s been all year,” you admitted, cringing at the way Fred exhaled sharply. “I didn’t know you noticed.”
“Of course I noticed,” Fred said, pushing the door open for you. “You’re worth watching.”
You blushed and followed him down the corridor. “Where are we going?”
“I was thinking the kitchens?” he said. “It’s warm there, plus the house-elves are just starting dinner.”
Fred stayed by your side as you walked down the stairs, hand brushing against the back of yours lightly every time he took another step down. You bit your lip, imagining how it would feel to get to hold his hand.
“How was Quidditch practice?” you asked softly, breaking the silence. Fred looked down at you and gave you a small grin.
“You really want to know?”
You nodded.
“Absolute shit,” he replied, emphasizing every syllable. You stifled a laugh as his brows furrowed in frustration. “Wood has been up in everyone’s business for weeks trying to get us to learn this new play. You know who invented it?”
“Who?” you asked curiously.
“The Pride of Portree!” he said exasperatedly. “They’re bloody professionals, and Wood can’t seem to understand how we’re not performing as well as they are.”
“Wood’s a bit of a lunatic when it comes to Quidditch,” you agreed.
“A bit is an understatement,” Fred snorted, stopping at the fruit bowl painting that concealed the entrance to the kitchens. “Do you want to tickle the pear or should I?”
“Don’t think I’ve ever been asked that before,” you laughed. “You can do it.”
Fred reached out and gave the two dimensional fruit a tickle, grinning as it turned into a door handle. He pulled it open. “After you, m’lady.”
“(Y/n)!”
You grinned and waved hello to Krafty, one of your favorite house-elves.
“Hello, Krafty,” Fred called, pulling the door shut and coming to stand beside you.
“Mr. Weasley,” Krafty said, giving a slight bow. “Krafty must go help work on dinner!”
You glanced up at Fred as the house-elf scurried off. “I didn’t know you knew Krafty.”
“George and I come here all the time to steal food before bed,” he explained, grabbing your hand and tugging you towards one of the tables. “We know quite a few of these guys.”
He sat down and patted the bench next to him, grinning as you followed suit and rested your head against his arm.
“Comfortable?” he asked. You nodded.
“Your mother’s sweaters are always so cozy,” you mumbled. “I stole one of Ginny’s old ones to sleep in.”
Fred chuckled. “I’ll just ask her to make you one.”
“I don’t want to burden her,” you whined.
“She loves you, she won’t mind.”
“I miss your mum,” you said. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen her.”
“You should come visit,” Fred suggested. You shrugged, sitting up straight. “Maybe.”
Fred reached around your back and grabbed a roll out of a basket behind you. You gave him a confused look as he forced it into your hands.
“Would you please eat this,” he said. “I haven’t seen you eat a full meal in weeks and it’s starting to make me nervous.”
“Sorry,” you mumbled, taking a small bite of the bread.
“I don’t mean to make you feel bad,” Fred said softly, “it’s just that you have to eat.”
“It’s not like I’m trying not to,” you explained. “I want to eat, but I get so…so nervousthat I stop being hungry.”
“Because of the dementors?” he asked.
“Yea.” You cringed at how small your voice sounded.
“Why do they freak you out so much?” he asked genuinely. “I mean, they’re creepy and all, but you seem more affected by them than most other people.”
“You remember how one came into our compartment on the Hogwarts Express?” you asked. “At the beginning of the year?”
Fred frowned and nodded. “Don’t think Ron slept for two weeks.”
“Yea, well, I haven’t really slept since then,” you muttered.
“(Y/n), it’s been months,” Fred said incredulously, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. “I genuinely have no idea how you’ve been functioning this whole time.”
“I know it’s bad,” you sighed, leaning into his chest and trying to ignore the way his caring tugged at your emotions. “But it’s just…so dark in my room at night. And I’m always the last one awake and I feel so alone, and then I’m just reminded of how lonely and terrified and coldthe dementor made me feel.”
“You have to sleep sometimes,” Fred said, pulling you in closer to him. “I read somewhere that you’ll die if you don’t sleep at all, and you’re clearly alive.” He pulled back and gave you a once-over. “Well, kind of.”
You snorted. “I take a lot of naps.”
“Is it easier to fall asleep during the day?”
“Yea, and I can hear people moving around and talking and stuff, so I don’t feel as isolated I guess,” you said. Fred hummed, thinking to himself.
“Would it be okay if I proposed a rather outlandish and potentially polarizing solution,” he said finally.
“Uh, sure,” you replied, motioning for him to speak.
Fred cleared his throat. “You could, y’know, if you wanted to, come sleep with me. Only if you were okay with it, of course.”
You were sure you’d heard him wrong, eyes bulging as a faint blush appeared on his cheeks.
“Jesus, (Y/n), don’t look at me like that,” he teased with a nervous chuckle. You blinked, trying to force your face into a more normal expression.
“You…you want me to sleep with you?” you asked.
“Not sexually!” he clarified quickly. “Just like physical sleeping, and I could keep you company so you wouldn’t feel lonely.” A pause. “Unless you’d prefer sexually.”
You felt your face turn increasing shades of bright red, stuttering for an answer as he grinned at you adoringly. Your eyes widened as he reached out and grasped your thigh gently, staring down at his hand and then back up at him.
“Would this be a bad time to tell you I fancy you?” he asked quietly, his eyes searching yours for any trace of an answer.
“No,” you managed breathlessly. “This is a perfect time.”
His lips were on yours in an instant, your eyes fluttering closed as one of his hands came up to cup your jaw, the other resting on the small of your back, coaxing you closer to him.
You sighed, wrapping your arms around his neck as he slipped his tongue into your mouth, kissing you senseless and caressing your face with his thumb.
And suddenly you remembered you were still in the kitchens. In the kitchens snogging Fred Weasley.
“Fred,” you murmured, pulling back and taking a deep breath. You opened your eyes, relishing in the sight of Fred panting, his eyes still closed. “Fred, we have an audience.”
He opened his eyes slowly, blinking at the small crowd of house-elves watching you from a distance, all donning shocked expressions. “Krafty! Doesn’t (Y/n) look ravishing this evening?”
Krafty blushed furiously, turning around and hurrying away with the platter he was carrying.
“Fred Weasley!” you scolded.
“I wasn’t completely joking, you know,” he muttered, looking back at you. “You look gorgeous. Absolutely stunning, inside and out.”
You blushed. “I, erm, fancy you too,” you said, realizing you hadn’t said it back before. “In case you were wondering.”
Fred grinned, pushing himself to his feet and reaching down to help you stand up. “Let’s take this back up to my dorm, yea? We can make tea and look at that potions book a little more, and then maybe you can spend the night?”
You looked up at him, beaming at the thought of spending a night in Fred Weasley’s arms, and potentially sleeping well for the first time in months. “That sounds marvelous, Freddie.”
Fanart by Natello on DeviantArt
Summary: Reader is a friend of Percy’s who spends Christmas at the Burrow and attracts the attention of one enamored Charlie Weasley.
Warnings: none
Word Count: 4,300
A/N: A fun Christmas-y one because ‘tis the season! I’ve been in love with Charlie since the ripe old age of ten years old so this was a fun one to write. Feel free to like and reblog, enjoy! :)
One of the few perks of working for the Ministry of Magic was getting the whole week before Christmas off. Most witches and wizards used this time to catch up on holiday shopping and spend time with their families, but you were absolutely dreading the upcoming break.
It was the Friday before Christmas week, and you were eating lunch in Percy Weasley’s office.
Both of you had been best friends at Hogwarts, and had started working at the Ministry together after graduating last spring. It was genuinely fantastic being able to see him every day, even if your job filing paperwork in the Office of Misinformation was far less thrilling than being Bartemius Crouch’s personal assistant.
“So, how’s the promotion been?” you asked between bites of your sandwich, gesturing to the room around you. “New office, better proximity to the coffee machine.” Percy chuckled.
“It’s definitely more than I expected,” he admitted, looking around the room with you. He’d just moved into the next space a week and a half ago, and this was the first time you’d had your daily lunch here.
“It’s also definitely better than your old cubicle,” you pointed out. His eyes widened and he nodded, giving you an exasperated look.
“I wasn’t going to complain about it, but that situation was not ideal,” he said. You laughed, remembering Percy’s many complaints about the constant flow of traffic throughout the Department of International Cooperation and how difficult it was to get work done.
“And how’s Crouch? He’s still treating you well?”
Percy nodded and gave you a small smile.
“He’s really great, actually. Obviously a bit busy with all the Triwizard Tournament stuff happening at Hogwarts, but he still makes an effort to show me how to do things and introduce me to people.”
You grinned, reaching across the desk to give him a high-five. “You’re making your way up there, Perce.”
“Thank you, m’lady,” he said, straightening up some of the paperwork he’d been working on. “And how about you, how’s your job been?”
“Oh, same old, same old,” you said dismissively. His brows furrowed.
“I thought you were going to talk to Buttons about a new position?” he asked seriously. You shrugged. Your boss, Lois Buttons, was a lovely old witch, but very scatter-brained and easily overwhelmed.
“I didn’t want to give her one more thing to worry about before Christmas, you know?”
Percy sighed. “(Y/n), you’re never going to get into a different division if you don’t ask. They’ll just promote you and you’ll be stuck there forever.”
You bit your lip. “I mean, that wouldn’t be terrible,” you lied. “The process of actually coming up with explanations for magical incidents seems interesting.”
“But you’ve wanted to work in the Beast Division since our third year,” Percy insisted. You looked down at your hands, slightly embarrassed, and Percy sighed. “Listen, I don’t mean to push, but if you want it I think you should go for it.”
You nodded slowly.
“I can talk to her, if you’d rather not,” Percy added. “Plant the idea in her head.”
“Oh, Percy, I don’t know if I could ask for that,” you said, brows knitting together.
“Well, the offer stands regardless,” he insisted. “After the holiday, we can discuss how we want to go about it.”
Your stomach dropped at the mention of the upcoming break. Percy seemed to pick up on your change in mood.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked sincerely.
“Well, even if I wanted to go home, my parents won’t be back from vacation until Christmas Eve, which means I’ll be spending most of next week alone,” you admitted. “And you know I don’t really like ongoing periods of solitude.”
Percy nodded, then gave you a confused look. “You said…even if you wanted to?”
You sighed and nodded. “You know my parents aren’t the most agreeable people.” Percy snorted.
“That’s an understatement.”
Your parents were both muggles who disapproved of anything magical whatsoever. Thus, they harbored a not-so-small amount of disdain for your current life path. Any time you spent with them was miserable.
“So I’m not really looking forward to, you know, a week of being alone with nothing to do and then a few days of close contact with Mr. and Mrs. Ebenezer Scrooge.”
Percy chuckled at your joke, leaning back in his chair thoughtfully. Suddenly, his face lit up, and he slapped his desk triumphantly. “I have a solution!”
You jumped, and Percy gave you an apologetic look.
“Sorry,” he said meekly, rubbing the back of his neck.
“It’s ok, it’s ok,” you said, relaxing back in your seat and gesturing for him to continue.
“Why don’t you spend Christmas at the Burrow with all of us, like you did during school,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
“Oh, Percy, I wouldn’t want to intrude, I’m sure your poor mother is already stressed enough-”
“(Y/n), stop,” he interrupted. “I genuinely won’t hear it. There’s no way me or anyone else will be able to enjoy Christmas knowing you’re miserable and lonely. You’re coming.”
You blinked, processing his proposition, and a small grin spread across your face.
“Okay,” you said slowly. “I like this idea.”
“Success!” Percy cheered.
“When do we leave?” you asked, still smiling.
“Later tonight,” Percy said, picking up a quill and looking back down at the paper in front of him.
“Tonight?” you asked incredulously. “Percy, I have to pack!”
“I’ll apparate to your place and then we can, y’know, apparate there together,” he said, waving his hands around as he spoke.
“Alright, well, see you tonight,” you said, standing up to leave and feeling ten times better about the week ahead of you.
“See you tonight! And close the door on your way out!”
— — —
Walking into the Burrow with Percy felt overwhelmingly like coming home. It took all of five seconds for Fred and George to wrap you in a bone-crushing hug, and you found yourself whirling between conversations with Harry, Ron, and Hermione as the twins helped you bring your bags upstairs.
“You’ll be staying with Ginny and I,” Hermione said excitedly, squeezing your hand.
“Oh, Mione, that sounds lovely,” you gushed, pulling her in for a hug. “It’s so good to see you.”
“You as well,” she replied, pulling you in closer.
“Roomies!” Ginny shrieked, bolting in the room and tackling you both. The three of you burst into laughter on the ground.
You ran into Percy on your way down the stairs.
“They whisked you away so fast, I had no idea where you went,” he chuckled. You grinned.
“I still haven’t said hi to your parents so I’m on my way to do that now.”
“Mum’s in the kitchen!” he called as you continued down the stairs.
You walked through the doorway that connected the living room and dining room and immediately encountered Mr. Weasley.
“(Y/n)!” he cried, setting down the stack of plates he was carrying to give you a proper hug. “Oh, it’s lovely to see you! You’ll have to pardon the mess. Molly, (Y/n)’s here!”
You grinned as Mrs. Weasley raced into the dining room, apron on and wooden spoon in hand. She pushed her husband out of the way to greet you.
“(Y/n), darling,” she smiled. “It’s absolutely lovely to see you, happy holidays!”
“Happy holidays, Mrs. Weasley,” you replied, hugging her back happily. “Thank you so much for letting me come visit.”
“Oh, dear, it’s not a visit when you’re practically part of the family!” she insisted as she pulled away. “Come keep me company in the kitchen while I cook.”
You happily obliged, following her into the kitchen where you found Bill and Charlie standing around the cluttered wooden table. Your pulse quickened almost immediately.
Bill was six years older than you and Charlie was four, and while you hadn’t spent too much time around them while you were at Hogwarts you’d always been intimidated by the eldest Weasley siblings.
“Hey (Y/n),” Bill said warmly, giving you a quick wave. Charlie looked up from the dough he was kneading and smiled brightly.
“Hi,” you said a little nervously, giving them a small smile before following Molly over to the stove. “Can I help you with anything, Mrs. Weasley?”
“Why don’t you help Bill and Charlie make the bread,” she suggested. “You can make your own batch of dough, Merlin knows we still won’t have enough loaves.” You grinned, grabbing a clean bowl from the countertop and heading over to Bill.
“All the ingredients are here,” he said, gesturing to the mess on the table in front of him.
You nodded, clearing a little spot for you to work and setting your bowl down.
“How’ve you been, (Y/n)?” Charlie asked.
“Oh, uh, pretty good, how about you?” you replied, scanning the table for the flour and salt. “How’s Romania?”
“Oh, it’s fantastic,” Charlie said genuinely, eyes lighting up a little. “We just took in a few rescues, and they’ve just started adjusting which is great-”
“Oh, the Hebridean Blacks, right?” you interrupted. Charlie gave you a surprised look and nodded.
“Yea, actually, how did you know about that?”
“I read it in the paper,” you replied sheepishly, adding some yeast to your bowl.
“(Y/n) works with Percy at the Ministry, you know,” Molly said from behind you.
“Really?” Bill asked, looking over at you.
“Well, not with him,” you clarified. “I work in the Office of Misinformation, so different departments.”
“You like that job?” Charlie asked, brows furrowed. You shrugged again.
“It’s not really what I want to do, but I’ll take it.”
“Well, what is it that you want-”
Charlie was cut off by the twins storming into the kitchen demanding when dinner would be ready. Somehow, they managed to whisk you away from your spot at the table on their way out, giving Molly some excuse about needing you for “academic purposes” (which was most certainly a lie). You gave Bill and Charlie an apologetic look as the twins dragged you behind them.
— — —
The Burrow had always been your favorite place to celebrate the holidays, with its charming, cozy atmosphere and the surplus of people. That being said, you weren’t completely free of work in the days leading up to Christmas. You and Percy had spent a few afternoons trying to get things done in the living room, but the hustle and bustle of everything had made it difficult.
That was what had led you to staying up until one in the morning, filling out paperwork on the couch by yourself with a nice cup of tea. You were sure you’d regret it in the morning, but at least you’d gotten the last of your work done. Unfortunately, you weren’t sleepy in the slightest.
Some time ago you’d traded accident reports for your Dragonology book, fantasizing about working for the Dragon Research and Restraint Bureau as you did. One day, when you worked up the courage to ask for a division transfer, you’d get that job. Hopefully.
Your head snapped up as the stairs creaked softly, eyes meeting those of Charlie Weasley as he made his way into the living room. He winced, giving you a sheepish smile.
“Sorry to scare you,” he murmured.
“No worries,” you replied softly, watching as he made his way over to the couch.
“This seat taken?” he asked, gesturing to the spot next to you. You shook your head, sliding over to give him more room.
You sat in silence for a bit, sneaking glances at the built redhead on the other side of the couch more often than reading the book on your lap. His eyes were closed, head tilted back slightly and a peaceful look on his face.
“You couldn’t sleep either?” he asked finally. You shook your head, then realized his eyes were still shut.
“No, I was staying up doing work and then I wasn’t tired when I finished,” you answered. “How about you?”
“Romanian time is two hours ahead of here,” he said. “Not a humongous difference but enough to ruin my sleep schedule.”
“Traveling always makes me need to nap,” you said. Charlie chuckled.
“Is that where you vanished to the other day when you fled the kitchen?” he asked.
“Oh, no, that was top secret Weasley Twins business,” you teased. “Absolutely confidential.” Charlie gave you a knowing look, and you blushed slightly. “There mayhave been some napping after the top secret business was done.”
“I knew it!” he grinned, lifting his fist up in an exhausted triumph.
A comfortable silence fell over the room, save for the clock ticking and the fireplace crackling.
“You said you finished your work, so what’s that?” Charlie asked, sitting up slightly as he gestured to the book in your hands.
“Oh, uh, personal reading,” you said, showing him the cover. “For fun.”
His eyes lit up as he read the title. “Dragons! I know those!”
Your heart skipped a beat at his lopsided grin.
“Yea, they’re quite fascinating, and really beautiful I think,” you said, eyes trailing over the illustrations on the page you were reading.
“Great minds think alike,” Charlie smiled, giving you a wink. You blushed, looking away from the smirking redhead in front of you.
“So, just a casual interest or something more?” he continued. You bit your lip, thinking about your answer.
“I’ve always wanted to do something with dragons,” you started finally, smiling faintly as Charlie physically perked up. “Care of Magical Creatures was like my thing in school, it was a natural progression of interest. I won’t say you weren’t an inspirational factor, but we don’t need to get into all that.” You could’ve sworn you saw a slight blush on Charlie’s cheeks.
“Well, you work in the Magical Creatures Department now,” he said. “It can’t be all that hard to transfer into the Beasts Division, and then try to do something more specialized.”
“It’s honestly probably not that difficult, but I’m terrified to talk to my boss about it,” you admitted.
“Why?”
“She really likes me, and if I transferred I’d be working with completely different people. I don’t want her to think that me asking to leave has anything to do with her at all, you know? What if she took it personally?”
“But do you like your job now?” he asked. You shook your head immediately.
“Not at all.”
“Then why not go for it?” he suggested. “What’s the harm? And if you decided you didn’t like it, you could always go back.”
You sighed. “I’m not nervous about that, I’m nervous once I get a taste of it, I’ll want to do what you do.” He opened his mouth and closed it, having no quick response. “Do you ever regret going into such a niche field?” you continued.
“Not at all,” he answered with a shake of his head.
“Even though it’s far away and kind of dangerous?”
He flashed you a devious grin. “That’s half of the appeal.” A beat. “Why are you nervous about wanting that kind of a career?”
“My parents wouldn’t like it,” you shrugged. His brows furrowed.
“They’re both muggles, right?”
You nodded. “And they really don’t like anything magic. Like at all.” Charlie gave you a confused look and you continued. “Don’t like my job, didn’t like me going to school or my friends. Definitely wouldn’t like me running off to a place like Romania to work with Dragons.”
Charlie nodded thoughtfully. “I can see why you have inhibitions. Though I must say, it takes an insanely compassionate person to account for thoughts of people who don’t have their best interests at heart.”
“Thanks, Charlie,” you murmured, blushing at his words. You pressed yourself back further into the couch.
“And obviously I don’t want to tell you to disregard your parents,” he said. “That would be shit advice. But at some point you do have to prioritize what you want.”
You nodded, eyes widening as you glanced at the clock on the wall.
“Sweet Merlin, it’s two o’clock!” you hissed, scrambling to your feet as you gathered all your papers from the coffee table. Charlie gave you a concerned look as he leaned forward to help you.
“Sorry to leave in the middle of the conversation, but I promised your sister I’d go Christmas shopping with her in the morning,” you explained, thanking him as he handed you a stack of filled out paperwork.
“Very kind of you,” he said with a smile. “Have to get your beauty sleep, though I’m sure you don’t need it.”
You blushed and murmured a goodnight as you walked past him, halting when he grabbed your hand. You looked down at him with wide eyes.
“I think you’d make an amazing Dragonologist, (Y/n),” he said lowly, looking up at you through his lashes as he pressed a slow kiss to the back of your hand. You could hear your heart pounding in your ears. “Sleep well.”
You squeaked out a response as he dropped your hand and rushed up the stairs. Your heart was still pounding as you closed the bedroom door behind you, relishing in the memory of his calloused hand on yours.
— — —
The first half of Christmas Eve was spent tidying up the house and helping Molly in the kitchen. Much to your chagrin, Ginny forced you and Hermione to take a break and join in on the annual Weasley Quidditch game.
You had absolutely no skill on a broom, and Hermione wasn’t that much better, so it was no surprise when you were both picked dead last.
Harry and Ginny were team captains (“To fuel the tension,” Fred had whispered to you with a smirk), and Ginny had picked Charlie to be her seeker. Fred and George were split so each team had a beater, and you wound up on Harry’s team with Ron, George, and Bill.
“(Y/n) can be the keeper,” Harry said as you discussed your team’s strategies. Ron gave him an offended look.
“Bloody hell, mate, you know that’s my best position!”
“But if (Y/n) is keeper she doesn’t have to fly around much,” Harry retorted with a tilt of his head. “And then we might actually have a chance at winning.” Harry gave you an apologetic look as you scoffed.
But he was right - Ron was still fantastic as a chaser, and you were terrible overall.
His strategy was primarily offensive, his reasoning being that if they kept the quaffle on the other side of the pitch, you wouldn’t have to do too much actual defense.
You tried your best, but Ginny was practically unstoppable when it came to scoring.
“Get your head in the game, (Y/n)!” Percy teased as he tossed the quaffle at you. You screeched and swatted it away with your hand. Your eyes widened as you watched the quaffle fall to the ground.
“Holy shit, I did it!” you shouted, laughing with Percy as you flew around the goalposts.
Your celebrations came to an end when Ginny snatched the quaffle and threw it straight into your chest, knocking you off your broom.
You yelped in surprise, closing your eyes and bracing for impact with the ground when you were caught by a rather sturdy pair of arms.
You opened an eye tentatively, blushing at the sight of Charlie with an attractive smirk on his face.
“That was a nice block,” he said. “And an even nicer fall. Very graceful.”
You struggled to find words as he reached out and caught your falling broom, quirking an eyebrow as he looked back down at you.
“Uh, thank you,” you stammered, relishing in the feel of his body against yours as he landed on the ground and set you back on your broom.
“No problem,” he said with a wink, taking off to scold Ginny and leaving you speechless on the ground.
“What in the name of Merlin was that?” Percy asked with a shocked smile as he flew down to check in on you. “I had no idea you’d been seduced by my older brother.”
“He hasn’t seduced me,” you groaned as you lifted off the ground. “Not too much, anyways.”
By the time dinner was done, you were completely exhausted from Quidditch, helping Molly, and your impending food coma. You collapsed on the couch dramatically, hugging your legs to your chest as you watched the twins try to rope people into a game of exploding snap.
You grinned as Charlie moved to sit next to you, ignoring Percy’s suggestive eyebrow wiggle from his seat across from you.
“How’re you feeling?” he asked, scooching closer to you as more people sat down on the couch.
“Like I might explode,” you groaned, pulse quickening as his thigh touched yours.
“Just like the cards!” Charlie said, pointing at the game in front of you. You laughed at the wide grin on his face.
“Very nice joke,” you said in a posh voice, clapping your hands together softly. “Ten points for execution.”
“Thank you, thank you, I came up with it myself,” he said, winking at you as he stretched his arms over the back of the couch.
You blushed, hyper aware of his arm behind you. “You have to stop doing that,” you said exasperatedly, a small grin on your face.
“Doing what, sweetheart?” he asked with a smirk. You rolled your eyes.
“The winking, it gets me all flustered,” you stated matter-of-factly.
“Oh, and why’s that?” he teased, leaning towards you slightly.
“Because it’s extremely attractive and I think Percy would probably spontaneously combust if I snogged his older brother at a family function,” you said innocently, leaning in and grinning as his cheeks turned bright red. “Trust me, Weasley, two can play at this game.”
“Noted,” he grinned, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and pulling you into his side. “Let me know if this is too much.”
You shook your head, giving him a small smile as you rested your head on his chest. “This is perfect.”
You hoped he couldn’t feel how fast your heart was beating, deciding instead to focus on the feeling of his muscular torso under his sweater. A couple years working with dragons had definitely changed his physique, though he’d always been on the more muscular side. You dragged your fingers down his chest, slowing to a stop in the middle of his stomach, and felt his breath hitch.
“Careful,” he murmured, bringing his spare hand up to engulf yours. You grinned up at him, biting your lip as his calloused thumb traced small circles on the back of your hand.
“I am being careful,” you retorted. “I’m just…admiring.”
“Admiring?” he said, giving you an amused look. You nodded.
“Oi lovebirds!” Fred called, “you two playing exploding snap or not?”
You rolled your eyes, glancing at Fred and shaking your head.
“Afraid not, Freddie.”
“Sorry, mate,” Charlie added. “Maybe tomorrow night.”
“It’s snowing!” Ginny exclaimed, jumping up from the floor and racing over to the window. “Look!”
You grinned, leaping off the couch to join her. Sure enough, snow was falling softly outside, a light dusting already covering the ground.
Charlie pushed himself off the couch, walked over to stand behind you and rested his hands on your hips. You glanced over your shoulder at him, giving him a warm smile, before returning your attention to the developing winter wonderland in front of you.
“I’m going outside,” you declared, wiggling out of Charlie’s grip to grab your coat off the hook by the door. “Want to see the snow up close and personal.”
Charlie raised an eyebrow then shrugged, reaching for his own coat and slipping on his boots.
“You like the snow, huh?” he asked with a smile as he followed you outside.
You nodded gleefully, meandering around the porch as you inspected the amount of snow.
“I’d say this is a good centimeter or so,” you said thoughtfully, bending down and grabbing a handful.
“Is it?” Charlie asked teasingly. You nodded, spinning around and hurling your newly formed snowball at him. He dodged it easily, laughing loudly as he stepped forward and pulled you closer to him.
You smiled, wrapping your arms around his torso and resting your forehead on his chest. The two of you stood there for a moment, swaying in the cold air.
“If I’m being too forward you can tell me,” Charlie said finally, “but I’d really like to take you out for dinner before we both go back to work.”
You looked up at him brightly. “I’d love that, Charlie, really.”
“And then, maybe if you’re not too busy, you could come visit me in Romania sometime and see some dragons?” he suggested, gazing down at you. You nodded and snuggled in closer to him.
“The snow is gorgeous,” you said softly, committing the soft “thump” of his heartbeat to memory.
“Like you,” Charlie replied quickly. You pulled back and swatted his chest playfully.
“Charlie Weasley, are you trying to flatter me?”
“Maybe,” the tall ginger murmured, bending down to rest his forehead against your own. You sucked in a breath, overwhelmed with the proximity of your face and his, and how easy it would be to just lean forward and…
“You said something about snogging earlier,” Charlie said cheekily.
“Want to take me up on that offer?” you suggested breathlessly. He grinned, reaching up to cup the back of your head as he pressed his lips to your firmly. Your eyes fluttered closed, relishing in the feel of his mouth on yours for a moment before parting your lips to deepen the kiss. You moved your hands up to his broad shoulders, pulling him in closer to you.
And as the two of you continued to kiss in the snow, you realized this Christmas wouldn’t be half as bad as you had thought.
IT WOULD MEAN SO MUCH
If anyone sent some requests/AUs for any kind of short fanfic/piece they want written, i wanna practice my writing :( , fandoms i can do are in the hashtags
CHARACTER MOODBOARD: remus john lupin
❝It’s not your fault that our wedding was postponed, well it partly was but it’s not as though you can control when you almost die. No, Donna and I have postponed it because it seems that I’m not the only one with unresolved feelings for Sirius Black.❞
RISE OF A SUN/FALL A STAR | make them gold
CHAPTER UPDATE:46 || WHO ARE YOU REALLY?
… Apparently all the professors were told by Dumbledore to pass the message along to Aurelia because on the way up she passed Professor Flitwick and Professor Sinistra both tell her a similar message. And Aurelia finds herself very uneasy and angry by the time she gets to his office. She doesn’t understand why he wants to speak with her, she hasn’t done anything wrong.
Entering the office she’s met with sight of Dumbledore and Umbridge — ah, fuck this can’t be good. Aurelia shakes in both anger and nerves as Dumbledore and Umbridge leer at her, they both look feverishly excited about something and that makes Aurelia feel very queasy. She scuffs her feet against the ground, biting her lip and she wants to stand tall but she feels very small “Why am I here?”
“Did the professor who told you I needed to see you not tell you why I’ve requested to speak with you,” Dumbledore questions, sounding slightly exasperated as he spares a glance at Umbridge, Aurelia shakes her head.
Dumbledore doesn’t look like he’s going to explain but it’s not like he would get the chance to because Umbridge clears her throat and pulls out a long black envelope with the Ministry of Magic emblem on it in gold ink. …
READ HERE ON AO3||OR WATTPAD
Any relevant content warnings are included in the tags/notes of each work. Please check tags and full synopses for more details. Inspirations/prompts are credited in the relevant fic.
Almost a Fresh Start (2.3k words) [Hermione/Draco] - Hermione can’t sleep, so she goes to the Astronomy Tower to do some homework only to find that Malfoy is already there and working on the same essay as her. But for once, they can talk. Written as part of SOFTober 2020.
And Where’s the Purpose of Symbolism? (7k words) [Hermione/Draco] - Draco hates working at the little coffee shop on his campus, but when he returns a dropped book to an incredibly articulate woman, his days become a lot more interesting.
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Scars That Heal (110k words) [Hermione/Draco] - A novel-length fic following Hermione as she returns to Hogwarts post-war to complete her eighth year. Struggling with PTSD, anxiety, and the altered state of her parents, she ends up in an unlikely alliance with Malfoy as he battles his own demons. Although this story is centred around recovery, it deals with many dark themes and was the first fanfic I ever wrote; take care as you read. Trigger warnings are listed at the start of each chapter, and support resources are listed in the foreword.
A Little Less Broken (77k words) [Hermione/Draco] - Incomplete. The sequel to Scars That Heal, following Hermione and Draco as they begin their adult lives, working in the Ministry and realising that there is far more to recovery than what they can offer each other. The themes and explorations of recovery are a lot lighter in this story, but there are references to events from the first story and those same themes are still touched on. Trigger warnings are listed at the start of each chapter.
She Drinks Coffee, He Drinks Tea (1.6k words) [Hermione/Draco] - A short exploration of the contrasts between Hermione and Draco, and how their differences make them better for each other. Mostly based on personal headcanons. Written as part of SOFTober 2020.
Take My Breath Away (6.8k words) [Hermione/Draco] - It’s the eighties, and Hermione is determined to have the prom night that every movie she’s ever watched has promised her. But when the guy who’s pursued her all this time ends up dancing with someone else, Hermione finds herself alone on the school balcony with someone she never thought she would talk to - or dance with.
The Lead (5k words) [Hermione/Draco] - As a leading journalist, Hermione is intrigued by rumours of a huge donation made to a Muggle-relations charity under the name of Draco Malfoy, so she goes to investigate and report. However, the Draco that she meets is not the one that she expected to find. Written as part of SOFTober 2020.
Under Freshly Painted Ceilings (4k words) [Hermione/Draco] - Hermione attends a masquerade ball held at Hogwarts, and starts talking to a man who seems to be everything she might want - until he takes off his mask, and she finds out that she has been dancing with her enemy all evening.
food for thought | draco malfoy
summary;after spending the night of the yule ball with renowned slytherin, draco malfoy, you catch his eye at breakfast. the boy seems to be hell-bent on seeing into your thoughts, and so you let him — but now you think he might’ve seen too much.
tagged;@partr1dge<3
word count; 1k
give or take a few words maybe like exactly 23 idk i don’t have specifics
content;use of legilimency and occlumency, sexual themes, choking if you use a magnifying glass, i really came for draco’s childhood trauma + mental issues… my apologies, mentions of love (gross but also will they,won’t they?).
a/n; this is a rewrite of “last night”, something shitty i made ages ago !! anyway absolutely brilliant title god my mind is so powerful ugh </3 food ??? breakfast. for ??? thought??? occlumency, legilimency !!! i’m so sorry, i rewrote pretty much every word(including this authors note, is it that obvious?) at 5:30 am, it’s not amazing, but i’m sleep deprived and on my period so safe to say i did tear up for absolutely no reason.
you and draco both said that you’d never speak of what ensued in his dormitory the night of the yule ball. and you obliged. and you both swore it would never happen again. and you nodded your head. it was a mutual, meaningful agreement, and post-orgasm, it had seemed like a brilliant idea. no consequences, no ties between you two, being from different houses.
but it was extremely difficult to stick to your word when your legs still ached from the night before.
and his breathy groans, hot air fanning over your ear as he railed into you senselessly, wouldn’t push out of your mind.
and the bruises trailing down from your neck to your waistline were constant reminders of his tongue tracing over them, blowing on them, teasing you to all hell.
every time you blinked, the images flashed beneath your eyelids.
every time you inhaled, you missed his hand squeezing over your throat, restricting air.
and merlin, any slight brush against your own skin made you jump, thinking of his body on yours, skin on skin, sweat, clammy hands, your arched back, the veins in his hands, his jaw, his collarbones.
in the great hall, you made your way to your table for breakfast alone, and gnawed at your bottom lip while playing around with the food on your plate, famished, yet still so full of racing thoughts and fresh memories. his hands on your thighs, the way he sighed your name, your nails digging into his back, leaving little crescent moons over it, and his shoulders, and his hips, too. again and again and again.
looking up from your plate to scan the empty room, your eyes met draco’s ones, his irises a stormy grey, pupils dilated, and you inhaled sharply, looking away. you’d gotten up early, as if it would stop suspicion rising if you seemed like you hadn’t had a long night. it seemed as if he’d done that too, sat alone just the same.
merlin, you could feel the burn of his gaze, it made your body freeze and your cheeks heat up. he was looking right at you, right into you. you could feel it, the thumping at your temple that wouldn’t cease, the throbbing behind your eyelids. he was attempting to penetrate into your thoughts.
as if he hadn’t penetrated enough of you within the twenty-four hours, for fucks sake.
in need of a distraction, you turned your attention to the fork still lazily dancing across your plate, the cold handle twirling beneath your fingertips. it didn’t feel fair, what he’d done to you. turning you into a mess, mind hazy. giving you a taste, then taking it away immediately, albeit that being exactly what you’d agreed on. and although he really had given you absolutely everything the night before (or rather, this morning), it still felt like a neverending tease, with all that need careening through your veins.
swallowing harshly, you straightened up in your seat, pulling at the hem of your skirt, playing with a loose, dark thread. christ, he was still trying. the headache never seemed to stop, so persistent, so demanding, a feeling you knew well through conversations with dumbledore. but this headache clouded your mind, unforgiving, begging to be let through. it wasn’t asking for permission.
looking up once again, keeping your body still and your breath steady, you stared right back. taught ruthlessly by your grandmother, you’d always kept your mind shut from peering intruders. yet he was so fearlessly determined that you could feel it through his magic, snaking its way right through you, searching for any slight weaknesses in your armour. a strand of white hair fell over his forehead as he tilted his head slightly, jaw clenching. he wasn’t giving up.
draco malfoy always had something to prove. he was always so sure of his own success, so much to the point of insecurity, of doubt. it was a troubling mix of brashness, arrogance, and cowardice sprouting from the child rooted deep inside him, desperate for assurance and acceptance.
but it wasn’t your pity that led you to allow him to break through.
it was your need for him to know something you weren’t so sure you could admit verbally. you were thinking of him. that was all.
so, you stared straight into the silver of his eyes and let him right in.
his hands digging into your hips. the sheen of sweat over his entire body, glistening. the faint bruises he left on your wrists. you begging him to go harder.
him obliging.
his eyes were clouded over, as if in a trance, flitting through your memories.
but using legilimency was as much a curse as it was a blessing. because he could feel everything you felt too. the lust, the want, the pain filtering through the pleasure. and he could feel every little thing you’d noticed about him; the mole above his left knee, and the other on his waist, and the few freckles beneath his eyes, and the scar he had just above his eyebrow that you’d never really noticed until you’d tipsily placed wet kisses over his hairline.
for what felt like hours, you let him in, until he decided he’d had enough.
he was blinking quickly, brows furrowed, pale cheeks now flushed pink. he clumsily stood up from the slytherin table, pushing aside his plate of food, and stormed, flustered, out of the room, much like the boy who’d kissed you the night before. all tongue and teeth, all desperation, all emotion. but it was just for the one night. that was all.
and you felt foolish.
because you realised, he’d felt everything.
that in those moments, you thought you might’ve even loved him.
the boy, all tongue, and teeth, and hands, all pale skin, all desperation. it was certainly something entirely worthy of love.
!
summary ✰ it’s the night of the slytherin bash, and, intoxicated, you almost blurt out all your relationship troubles to pansy and the boys of slytherin.
tags ✰ @partr1dge<3
word count ✰ 3.4k
content ✰ alcohol,weed, rip. mill’s hairbrush, a big party, drunk/high people and reader, mentions of sex, mild(but just as serious) sexual assault, boyfriend being pushy, arguments, gaslighting,guilt-tripping, pansy lowkey admiring the reader and vice versa, pansy taking off your makeup for you.
a/n ✰ yes we’re having a lil party moment right on shedyool <3i think i made draco too hot in this like have i forgotten this is a pansy fic ?? and i’ve been listening to the playlist on repeat for some inspiration but now all the songs are stuck in my head yikes… anyway, happy reading :))
letting out a short yell, you bolt out the way of millicent bulstrode being chased by her own hairbrush in your dorm room, falling backwards onto your bed, then leaning up on your forearms to watch in amusement as she squeals.
“stop it, stop it!”
pansy crosses her arms, leaning in the doorway for a moment before speaking calmly despite the urgent situation, “mill, i already told you not to try any beautification spells for tonight. they take a certain finesse that you clearly…” she eyes the hairbrush, which has somehow grown teeth, “lack.”
daphne fervently attempts to throw millicent’s wand to her, having lost her own somewhere in the room, ducking whenever the hairbrush swings too low by her head and yelling encouragement to her as she wails.
“it’s gonna bloody eat me!”
you glance over to pansy, your lips quirked but still fighting the brighter grin that tries to force its way upon your mouth, one brow raised. she looks back with a smirk, raising her brows lazily, then pulls out her wand at last.
sure, you have yours, but come on! this is quality entertainment.
muttering a spell under her breath, the hairbrush rises, letting out a sharp, plasticky sound, teeth gnashing at the unknown force which has suddenly halted its rampage. then, thin, dark cracks begin to show upon its surface as it travels higher and higher into the air, finally letting out one last high-pitched sound before exploding into hot pink shards of plastic onto the wooden floor of the room.
millicent makes a lacklustre attempt of trying to catch certain pieces that are still falling, whining about how it was her favourite hairbrush. daphne drops the wand and falls back onto her duvet, exasperated, and you watch ahead in shock.
“blimey, pansy, couldn’t you have just done ‘finite’?” you ask, eyes wide.
“’s not nearly as much fun,” she grins, bounding over to the large, dark oak wardrobe in the corner of the room, “now, ladies. what are we going to wear for the slytherin bash?”
“i bagsy y/n’s black dress!” daphne pipes up, bouncing to sit cross-legged on her bed.
“no, you bloody well don’t!”
you look in the mirror of the vanity, tucking back a few strands of hair out of your face and looking down at your silky emerald dress, the neckline dipping a little at your chest, the straps thin.
“whatever, i actually might look better in the green, anyway.”
slinking out from the bathroom, daphne fixes the button on the back of the dress she’s wearing, the black fabric clinging to her skin, “you definitely do.”
“you’re just saying that to keep my dress, aren’t you?”
“maybe so. but you’re still very pretty.” she pecks your cheek and sits on her bed, fixing her curled hair in a compact mirror and swaying slightly to the thumping music already playing downstairs.
pansy pulls at her dress, leaning onto the vanity and applying a thin coat of red lipstick over her lips, looking at you through the glass “she’s not wrong. you look nice.”
you swallow, blinking at your reflection. you’ve brushed your brows, applied some blush, and a little smokey eyeliner, but nothing much. you don’t mind letting your skin breathe a little, anyway.
“thanks, pansy.” you eye her loose, sparkling, red dress, neckline dipping so low on her chest that you feel the sudden need to look away, instead focusing on her light-green eyes which never actually ceased intensely tracking the movements of your iris. “so do you.”
“right. thank you.”
millicent finishes tying her hair up, avoiding using any muggle products and therefore resorting to something simple, clipping it back with a claw accessory, “okay,” she starts, and you and pansy quickly look away from each other, “so, are we going or not? can’t be too late, they’re still missing the life of the party!”
“mill, you pass out after three hours during almost every single party.” daphne blinks.
“what’s that saying, here for a good time but not a long time?” pansy snickers, zipping up her black boots.
millicent rolls her eyes playfully, crossing her arms. “shut your gobs, the two of you! now let’s go!”
locking the door quickly on your way out so you won’t have to deal with any arseholes doing it in your bed like last time (well, at least they were having a whale of a time), you bid goodbye to your dormmates who all part ways, immediately grabbing a bottle of firewhiskey from a large table in the corner, looking over at the youthful atmosphere suddenly claiming such a place as the slytherin common room.
pouring yourself a shot, although you’re awful at doing those, you hold your nose (as if that’s going to help) and gulp down the alcohol, finishing by setting the little glass down and placing your hands on the table full of drinks in front of you, hair falling down into your face.
feeling a hand on your waist, you tense and stand up straight, not relaxing much when your boyfriend kisses your cheek and whispers a ’hello’ into your ear.
“ben!” you exclaim, turning around and smiling at him, though not genuinely, “i didn’t know you were coming.”
“some guys in the year above invited me, unlike my own girlfriend.” he teases, gripping you by the waist and pulling you closer, and your nose scrunches at the sharp stench of beer on his breath. putting two and two together, considering how he’s slurring his words, you realise he’s already tipsy.
“right, sorry!” you genuinely are, though if he hadn’t showed up, you wouldn’t mind much, “i didn’t really find out until the lesson before my free hour, and, well, you wanted us to go to your room, so —”
“oh, yeah. how could i forget?” he leans in, almost stumbling over his own two feet as he gets even closer to you, pulling you to him by your waist and kissing your neck, making you push your head down a little. the party having only just started, people are still piling in and the lights aren’t turned off just yet.
you push him by the chest, gently, “it’s still early, benny. not now.”
ignoring your wishes, he nibbles at your neck, and you bring your shoulder up in discomfort, “but don’t you want a repeat?” no, you really don’t.
“ben, just, back off, please.” you push a little more firmly now, shaking him off, and going to grab the bottle again to pour yourself another shot of firewhiskey as an excuse to not stay so close to him. but clearly that tactic isn’t great, because he pushes up from behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist tightly.
“come on, this party’ll be lame anyway. your room’s empty, right?” you freeze as his lips meet your throat once more, swallowing before finding it in yourself to stretch your shoulders back, and push his arms from your waist, quickly pouring the shot and keeping it in your hand, just in case you need to spill it on him as a distraction.
if he’s gonna be pushy, he could at least be decent in bed.
well, at least, that’s your cynical view on it.
“ben. no. my — my friends are here, and i… i don’t want to leave them all alone.” you fiddle with the shot glass in your hand, brows furrowed, and he exhales loudly before shrugging his shoulders.
“if you don’t want me then you could’ve just said so.”
your eyes widen, “no, i didn’t mean it like that, just that… just not tonight.”
“well, it kinda seems like you’re not interested. but whatever, y/n, it’s fine.” as you try to reach out to him, he walks over to his friends, and you lean against the table, gulping down the firewhiskey and wincing at the burn in your throat.
shit.
“come on, y/n! they’re dimming the lights now, i wanna dance!” daphne bounds over to you, dragging you by the arm before you can protest.
and you oblige.
two hours in, you’re tipsy, worn-out from all the dancing, yet still going back between the many students for more adrenaline. grinning as a song you love comes on, you regroup your dormmates in the crowd, grabbing them by their hands and all winding your hips to the beat, millicent giggling and falling over her feet, daphne tearing away from her boyfriend to join with a smile on her face. pansy isn’t very giggly when drinking, you’ve noticed. in close settings, sure, but in big parties like this, everyone so close, air hot, green lights strobing across the common room… she just dances. raising her hands above her head, swaying her hips, twirling her friends around by their fingers — it’s almost sensual. well, to anyone else. not to you.
pansy eyes you as you spin — the exhilarated grin on your face from being able to shrug off everything burdening you, everything weighing atop your shoulders. and she realises that she likes the shine of the strobing lights against your skin, your nose and cheeks gleaming, eyes a little bloodshot and chest glistening from all the alcohol in your system, and all the dancing. and when you and pansy finally get off the dancefloor to join the slytherin boys on the sofas, she likes the way your eyes tear up a little after taking a long drag from the joint that’s being passed around.
“this isn’t laced with anything, right?” you clear your throat to speak over the music, passing it back to theo, head dizzy. you watch the lights entangle themselves between little clouds of smoke, and wonder which cloud is yours.
“what do you think i am, a drug lord? no, it is not laced with anything.” he rolls his eyes, leaning back on the sofa.
blaise elbows him, looking at you and pansy who are both sitting next to each other, “don’t mind him — you know he gets bitchy when he smokes.”
“do not.” theo huffs.
“yes, you do.” draco deadpans, snatching the joint from his hands and inhaling the smoke, blowing it upwards from his bottom lip.
you chuckle, stretching to settle comfortably into the sofa and tapping pansy’s bare thigh subconsciously, to which she tenses, “i feel like nott’s always a bitch, regardless.”
“not wrong there.” theo winks at you, rubbing at his eyes. your head feels like it’s spinning, and you giggle again, leading blaise to do the same.
“what’s so funny, y/l/n?” pansy raises her brows nonchalantly, crossing her legs and studying you at her right. she’s taken the joint between her plump lips now, inhaling deeply for a second, then blowing it up into the air.
“think it’s the weed.” you giggle once more, eyelids heavy, leaning your head onto her shoulder — you two are much more friendly when a little bit intoxicated and high. more so you, than her.
draco leans back into the armchair he’s sitting in, looking over to the corner of the room and spotting your ravenclaw boyfriend drinking with his friends in the corner. and, being significantly less of an arsehole with something in his system, draco decided to be polite.
“how’s the boyfriend, y/n?” you chuckle at this, smiling softly and lifting your head up from pansy’s shoulder.
“myboyfriend is an absolute, grade O, cockhead.”
the whole group is still for a short moment, exchanging varying levels of shock and amusement, before turning back to you. draco speaks again, “is that so?”
“mhmm.” you nod lazily, as if your head is too heavy to hold up, pointing over at him from the other side of the room, “ben sucks. he’s awful. if i could, i would — well, i mean, i could, but if i really could, i’d —”
“right, i think that’s enough of that for tonight.” pansy takes the joint from between your index and middle finger, interrupting you and attempting to change the subject considering your tipsy and high state. she’s been through enough non-sober confessions in her lifetime to know best.
“no, i mean it. and it would be worth it if he would actually fuck m—”
“i said, enough.” pansy presses, trying to save you any embarrassment. being good enough friends with the slytherin boys of your year since you all first arrived, you know there’ll be no judgement or rumours spread around. but, still. better not to air out all of your dirty laundry, or whatever the americans say. well, that’s what ’sober you’ would say. and right now, you’re completely ready to confess how shitty your boyfriend is, to reveal the dialogue that usually only stays in your head.
“come on, pansy, the people wanna know.” blaise raises his finger to her, grinning. the boy loved drama; he wasn’t a sharer, but certainly a listener.
“i, the people, do not care.” draco raises his finger as well, slouched in his seat.
“and i, the people, say you’re not gonna let y/n humiliate herself. if she really wants to say this, she’ll do it when she’s sober.” pansy frowns, standing up and gripping your arm, passing the joint over to theo who was watching the scene casually.
“usually you love this stuff!” theo raises his arms lazily for emphasis.
“well, she’s my friend.” pansy gives him a blink stare.
”blah, blah, blah, parkinson.“ you slur you words a little, and she scowls, ”i’m ready to say it. ben rowen is shite in and out of the be—“
she muffles your voice with her hand, forcing you to get up and follow her to the dormitory calmly, as you attempt to yell through her fingers, instead practically humming. it’s not a messy, nor embarrassing scene – you’re at least sober enough to know better, and no one’s paying attention anyway, not with the beat of the music thrumming through the room, vibrating the floor beneath your feet. but you’re not sober enough to control your urge to break down and admit that you desperately want to break up with your boyfriend, even though you think you still love (the old, fake) him, even though you’re scared to break his heart.
seeing the scene from across the common room, ben strides over with a purpose, and the boys on the sofa snort at his actions. ”what happened?“ he tears pansy’s hand from your mouth (thankfully, you’re not wearing lipstick), to which she scrunches up her nose, clenching her jaw and glancing to the side impatiently.
”yourgirlfriend had a little too much to drink and smoke. she’s going to bed.“
”she can just stay with me.“ he seems over his annoyance from before. shame his annoying personality continues to linger, you think.
pansy eyes him up and down rapidly, grip still firm on your arm. there’s something about your boyfriend, especially considering your change in behaviour around him, that pisses her off. you’re looking between the two of them with wide eyes, considerably amused. ”no.“
”what do you mean,no?“ you notice now that he’s much, much drunker than before. the boys are still watching, leaning forward to hear over the music. well, theo and blaise are – draco gives the ’altercation’ a glance before setting his focus on the almost-finished joint between his fingers.
”i thought ravenclaws were meant to have an IQ of at least more than ten — no, means, i will not let her stay with you, she’s going to sleep it off.“ you look over to the sofas and give a look the boys, half-grimacing, half-grinning.
”listen, i’m the boyfriend here —“
”are you? because i don’t recall you ever being present the entire party.“
”what the fuck is that supposed to mean, i was just over —“
”with her, i mean. why don’t you go drown yourself in some more of that beer you obviously like so much,“ ’ouch’, blaise mouths, ”and i’ll take care of your girlfriend, who… y/n?“ you stop making frantic pointing gestures to the boys to ‘translate’ what they were saying since the boys couldn’t lip read, turning your attention to the people in front of you.
”yup?“ you shrug, tilting your head up at her, being just an inch or two shorter.
pansy closes her eyes, sighing, then shakes her head, feeling a little wobbly herself, ”nevermind. let’s get you to bed, huh?“ she shoots daggers at ben, whose nostrils flare as you’re guided to the girls dormitory. he goes after you two again, but is quickly halted when draco’s voice raises over the music.
”perhaps you should let them leave, rowen. just head elsewhere — don’t be an arse.“
ben sighs in exasperation, making his way to the group, but draco sticks his leg out through the gap between the armchair and the sofa on which you were just sitting, making your boyfriend stumble back.
”that wasn’t an invitation.“ draco deadpans, although the corner of his lip quirks up as he takes a sip of firewhisky and raises his brows.
instead of casting a quick makeup removal spell, pansy opts to lean you against the bathroom sink at a safe distance, using a cotton pad and cleaning off your eyeliner and any sweat or blush left on your skin. you know, just in case the spell doesn’t go well, and you end up being eaten by a magic cotton pad.
you close your eyes, gripping the cold sink behind you loosely as pansy wipes warm water over your skin.
”done.“ she nods, expressionless, as your eyes flutter open, easily casting ’incendio’ on the cotton and not bothering to watch as it crumbles into ash on the floor. she certainly has a flair for the dramatics, and you can’t help but think she’s picked it up from draco malfoy.
you look into the mirror to smooth down your hair, eyes bloodshot, lips swollen from the firewhiskey (and a little from when pansy pressed her palm into them). she tosses pyjamas at you, and you wobble a bit when they hit your side.
”change.“
”okay, sergeant.“ you snort as she shuts the door, clumsily picking up the shorts and sweater she’d thrown.
shrugging off your dress, you call out from inside the bathroom. ”why did you get mad at ben?“
for a beat, there was silence, until she called back. ”because he was being a 'cockhead’.“ pansy mocked.
”and why did you make me leave?“ you pull up your pyjama shorts, squinting down and trying to tie a little bow at the front, rather unsuccessfully, ”i was having fun.“
”well, you were gonna embarrass yourself, y/n. i only helped you out.“
after slipping on your large sweater, you peek your head out the door, seeing her tie her raven hair back into a tiny ponytail, most strands falling out due to the length of it (or lack thereof). she’d done a makeup removal spell on herself.
”you’re going to bed, too?“ you murmur, furrowing your brows.
”yeah, tired.“ she lies, sorting out her bed covers.
you bite the inside of your cheek before deciding to ‘confront’ her, “and, pansy?” her movements still, “i didn’t need help. they’re my friends, and i wanted to tell them —”
she turns around, cutting you off with a challenging look that makes you step fully into the doorway, “tell them what?”
you swallow. nevermind. maybe she was right to drag you out of the party. maybe she was right to have cut you off, instead of letting you indulge into your history and your barely-there sex life.
feeling like you’re being frowned upon by authority, you duck your head sheepishly and clamber into bed, glancing over to millicent who has seemingly collapsed onto her bed and blacked out.
“is… everything okay with you and — you and ben, though?”
“yeah. i don’t know what i was saying. he just pissed me off earlier and i started… talking shit.” you lie through your teeth.
“right.” she flicks off the lights with her wand, back turned to you as she sits on her bed, pulling off her dress and slipping into a big shirt. the lamp on your bedside table that she turned on beforehand faintly casts the room in a warm glow, and through the darkness you can see the pale skin of her back as she pulls it down. your eyes dart away, deciding to focus on the ceiling, instead, “and you’re really okay?” she turns now, and relief washes over you — relief that she didn’t turn sooner.
you eye her as she gets under her covers, propping her head up with her hand. you bury yours sideways into the pillow, wrapping the duvet tightly around your frame. “yeah. you?”
“yes, y/n. now, sleep off all that shit in your system. and lie on yourside, not your back.” you listen to what she’s told you plenty of time before, and lean over to switch off the lamp, the entire room pitch black.
“'night, pansy.”
“goodnight.”
without me? | ron b. weasley(request)
summary;you and ron say goodbye.
tagged;@partr1dge<3
word count; 1.6k
content;this is really fucking sad, arguing, angst galore, making out, mention of horcruxes, no foreplay y'all i’m sorry, unprotected sex (let’s say she’s on birth control), sad sex(smut), riding, fluff/angst.
a/n;i know this is serious but now i can’t stop thinking about all those fuckboy memes like “a haha….. fuck, without me?” also this physically hurt me to write !! i’m sorry anon, this is way too sad, and i know you mentioned them having their first time, but i hope you don’t mind that i changed the story a little so they were together for the ‘last time’!!
you and ron had been arguing, and yelling, and crying, for hours now. it wasn’t intense, nor heated. it was cold, it was brash, it was heartbreaking and earth-shattering. you could feel a harsh weight in your chest much akin to a gaping hole that made your limbs feel heavy, and your head hot. that made you feel utterly weak. your face felt warm and swollen from all the tears that had run down it, and his cheeks were flushed pink, face blotchy.
you think, now, that you weren’t really that angry, just desperate. you just wanted an excuse, to create an argument, an argument that could very well have been your last. and you wanted to make him feel the way that you did, being left here while he went off to get himself killed, at least a little bit. but not too much. merlin, you wouldn’t have wished this feeling of hopelessness on anyone else.
ron weasley had a strong heart, so strong that it chipped away at himself with every person he loved. his friends, his family, you.
and he had a strong head on his shoulders, determined, courageous, yet burdened by endless insecurity.
and you loved him.
your voice cracked for what felt like the millionth time, as the argument reached its shallow peak, where you two were just silent, before finding another reason to argue again, “why can’t i just go with you, please, ron?”
“you wouldn’t be safe! i’ve told you this, it’s bloody dangerous!”
“you say that as if i haven’t always gotten you out of something dangerous! i was there when you got those stupid scars up your arms, i was there for you —”
“i know, i know—”
“merlin, ron, i’m always there! i’ve always been there when you do stupid shit with harry and hermione!” you pointed to your side, as if an invisible audience were observing you, “why on earth is it — is it up to you to decide now that you want to protect me?”
“because i don’t want you to get hurt, not because of me!”
“well, you’re doing a pretty fucked up job of that.”
you both swallowed, then sighed heavily, sitting down on his bed. he sat, hands clasped in his lap, body tensed. you pressed your hands into the mattress, leaning over it and letting your hair fall down into your face. this was so messed up. reaching over silently, without looking up, you took his hand in yours.
“don’t go,” you croaked, “i love you.”
“i love you too.” he whispered, not trusting his voice not to crack if he spoke any louder. but he didn’t give you an answer. he didn’t need to. you both knew there was no turning back on his decision, that it was something he had to do, that it was something you’d have to accept.
sniffling, you finally lifted your head, looking over at him with tears blurring your vision. you picked up his hand in yours, brushing your lips over it, and shutting your eyes.
he took you in his arms, gently grasping your jaw and kissing you softly. when he pulled away, you carefully pushed him back to you, fingers ghosting the nape of his neck as you both tilted your heads, breathing ragged, cheeks wet. you could taste the salt in your mouth as your tongue swiped over his, not in a battle for dominance, but a cautious waltz of need.
you climbed into his lap, bending down to meet his lips, arms wrapped tightly around the nape of his neck, desperate to just be close. he clutched your waist, kissing down your jaw to your neck, not feverishly, tenderly — he wanted to memorise every piece of you, and guard it with his life. for you, he would. for you, it was worth it. it was worth everything.
sliding down your tank top to your hips, he placed more wet kisses to your exposed breasts, paying attention to the way your chest rose and fell, licking over your nipples and suckling gently on the buds as you slowly rolled your hips into his.
you didn’t want to think of it as a goodbye. but he’d left you no choice, informing you just a day before his departure that he’d be going to hunt for horcruxes to help his friends. and it was such a selfless thing to do, and it was so ron, running into a battle with no armour on. it was an act of wavering courage. yet you couldn’t help but feel fury burst through you, entangling with your worst fears, your pity, your desperation, your sadness.
you wanted to keep ron weasley protected, away from everyone else, away from hurt, away from the trials of life and death. it was unrealistic, but you craved it nonetheless, and you let that want course through your veins, blood burning. you could feel it in your wrists, at your pulse, at your throat, in your stomach, simmering. these were shallow, scalding waters that you waded through, knees giving in, heart giving out.
he moved you to the centre of the bed, taking off his shirt and letting it fall to the ground; you studied him for a moment, broad shoulders, freckled skin — you thought he was beautiful. then you eyed his arms as he leaned over you, covered in deep, white scarring, circling up to his bicep, the cause of the scars even having lashed out at his waist, licks of ivory decorating the sides of his torso. and, pulling your tank top and shorts down, his eyes devoured all the newly exposed skin too.
you didn’t speak — you couldn’t speak. your hearts were still aching and this was merely a distraction, a last dance.
he trailed desperate kisses down to your waistline, then hooked your panties down, kissing over your inner thighs, making you squirm. then to your hips, and your waist, lengthening the distance between you and what you wanted most.
not wasting another second, he kicked off his own pants and underwear, and slowly dragged the head of his cock over your slit.
he found his voice somewhere, buried in the pit of his stomach.
“are you ready?” he rasped, swallowing.
“mhmm.” you nodded, and wrapped your legs around him, hands grasping his shoulders as he eased himself in, just like he’d done many times before.
you groaned quietly together, closing your eyes and savouring the feeling one last time. you clenched tight around him as he set a slow pace, hips gently thrusting against you, both letting little moans slip from your mouths, throats dry from all the shouting and crying. the feeling of fullness enveloped you as he thrust in as deep as he could go, making you gasp and wrap your arms around him tighter.
“so good for me, love. feels so good.” he muttered between pants, the words only making you pulse around him tighter. you had a bizarre urge to both cum and hold off as long as you could so this would go on as long as possible, as long as you needed him on you, inside you.
the sex was soft, bittersweet, filled with random kisses, both rolling your hips against each other. sometimes with ron, it was urgent, needy, desperate, brutal. and despite feeling all of those things at once, you grasped onto each other and never picked up the pace, clammy hands and warm skin, quiet groans and pounding hearts.
“ronnie, i wanna ride you.” you mumbled against his lips, as he allowed you to ease off him, finally straddling his hips once he was slouched against the headboard. you lazily rocked your hips against his, dragging your soaked folds over his shaft, finally letting up and sliding onto his cock once he pinched at your hips and gave you a desperate look.
“fuck, y/n. so tight around me, riding me like that.” he groaned, warm breath fanning over the shell of your ear as you wrapped your arms around his neck for support, head buried in the crook of it, bouncing steadily and moaning every time the new position made the thick head of his cock hit your g-spot.
“i love you.” you groaned, hips meeting his and no longer bouncing, just rocking back and forth, rolling your hips against his slowly.
“i love you too. so fucking much. never wanna leave you.”
“don’t.” you sniffled again, eyes filling with tears once more.
“i don’t want to.” you began riding him properly again, slowly, as he met your thrusts, rutting up into you. the crack in his voice was evident, and you avoided sobbing again by pressing your head even further into his neck, kissing the pale skin softly.
moaning, you bit your bottom lip, “i’m gonna cum, baby.”
“cum for me.” he breathed as you obliged (without much choice), body twitching as your orgasm washed over you powerfully, eyes screwed shut, thighs squeezing against his.
sensitive, he kept rocking up into you slowly, shallow moans building up from the back of his throat, voice raspy, “gonna cum, shit.”
you felt the sudden warmth as he pumped load after load of cum into you, and you kept your eyes closed, holding onto ron tighter than you thought possible as his trembling hands caressed your waist.
“can we stay like this, a sec’?”
his cock began to soften inside you, and he mumbled against your shoulder after a moment, “yeah.”
so you just held each other, breathing and hearts slowing down.
you mumbled into his neck. “promise you’ll be safe?”
you could feel him smile softly against your shoulder.
“if it means coming back to you? i promise.“
—
you’ve been tormenting the malfoy family for what feels like forever.
it’s become a kind of game at this point, a game everyone is involved in. the malfoys pretend they don’t expect your presence, and you pretend you are tormenting them because you don’t like them. it’s back and forth, back and forth, and you’ve been doing it too long to back out now.
it starts the same way every time - the gate is open, and they pretend it’s because they forgot to close it. nobody mentions the fact that lucius malfoy hasn’t forgotten a single thing in his entire life. nobody mentions draco’s blonde head peaking out from behind the living room curtains, waiting for the arrival of a person he claims to despise.
you stroll in with the ease of someone who owns the place, smiling and waving at the white peacocks that have become so familiar with your presence by now that they don’t even make a noise upon seeing you. they lift their graceful heads, and then they bow them again - it’s as simple as that.
you knock on the door, grinning even wider when you hear narcissa’s faux exclamation of, “who could that possibly be?” you know for a fact that draco has warned her of your presence already, that all three of them have been expecting your arrival since they woke up this morning.
and then the door opens, and narcissa stands there in all her glory. such a tall, graceful woman, and you tell her that on a daily basis, making her blush because you are her favourite little Mudblood, and she lets you get away with things like that.
you lean against the door frame, spinning your wand between your ringed fingers. narcissa glares at you without speaking, her jaw working as she inspects you.
“evening,” you drawl. “how are you today, my dear?”
her nostrils flare. “how many times have we told you to stay away from our home?”
“oh, plenty of times. i’ve quite lost count.” you straighten, craning your neck to see over her tall frame, into the hallway beyond. standing in the foyer, just as you predicted, just as he always does, is draco. you give him a wave before turning back to face his mother. “is he alright? i haven’t seen him much at school recently.”
“my sons wellbeing is none of your business.”
draco appears at his mothers elbow. “you can tell professor snape i’ve been feeling ill.”
you smile - draco giving you orders is moreso his way of answering your questions without looking like he gives a shit. you appreciate it, this code you two speak in, because in all truth, you doworry about the malfoy boy quite a bit.
you met him in school, your very first year at hogwarts. you were crushed beneath adrenaline, having found out about your powers only a few weeks before being shipped off to this strange and wonderful new school. you had a wand, and a robe, and there was a giant man ushering you into a tiny boat, ready to take you to the future.
and then draco appeared, and he knew who you were. he must have looked through the first year list, must have looked you up and realised you were a muggle-born. he did his research, and that was the first point of respect he earned off you.
“let them in, mother,” draco says now. “the elves made too much food anyway; might as well put them to use whilst they’re here.”
you give a mock bow. “much appreciated, malfoy.”
he snarls, before mother and son turn on their heels and lead you into the home you have become so familiar with these past few years. you’ve traced these walls with your fingers a thousand times before, and you do the same now. upstairs, you hear the elves marching around, putting stuff back where they belong, chuntering amongst themselves; silently, you wonder where lucius is.
draco and narcissa lead you to the kitchen, where stacks upon stacks of food are set up along the grand dining table. draco hands you a glass of water before gesturing to the plates and saying, “dig in. and be grateful we haven’t got the ministry involved.”
“the ministry?” you raise a brow, taking a long, loud sip of your water before continuing. “draco, what would the ministry possibly do? you’ve been letting me into your home for years - it’s starting to get a little old hearing you say you don’t want me here.”
draco blinks, startled.
narcissa steps in, grabbing the water from your hand and slamming it upon the table. “we don’twant you here. the last thing we need is some filthy mudblood knocking on our door at all hours of the morning.”
the word doesn’t even sting any more - it’s a wound that has been closed long enough now to no longer hurt. so instead, you smile and say, “very true, narcissa. i’ll have my water back now, if you please.”
narcissa growls, turns and walks out of the kitchen. she always does this. it’s become part of the routine.
you grab the water yourself and take another sip. draco continues staring at you, a habit he adopted only recently. you remember the first time he did it, the first time it was more than a glance, more than an accidental brush of eye contact between you; he was standing on the opposite side of the kitchen, those slim fingers tapping a rhythm against the expensive granite. you and lucius were chatting, lucius asking - yet again - why you’re here, why you can never leave them alone, why you aren’t at school. you were going to answer, but draco’s gaze was burning a hole into the side of your face, and you truly felt as if you had no choice but to pack it in early and go home, just to recuperate.
you’ve gotten better with it. you don’t have any plans of storming out any time soon, though his gaze still makes your face heat up and your stomach squirm.
“so, you’ve been ill, have you?” you begin. “i won’t lie, draco, you look pretty spritely to me.”
“i wouldn’t expect you to understand,” draco shoots back. “you should just mind your business.”
“i never asked you what was wrong. i was just saying - seems like you’re looking for a muggle excuse to get out of going to school.”
draco glares, though the expression has less effect now that he’s taken to never taking his eyes off you, no matter what his emotions towards you are in the moment. “i’ve told you not to call me that.”
“didn’t call you anything.”
“you called me a muggle.”
you narrow your eyes in faux confusion. “i said your excuse was muggle.don’t blow it out of proportion, mate.”
he throws his hands up, turning away for what feels like the first time since he laid eyes on you. “why are you here this time, y/n? what could you possiblywant from us now?”
“i’ve never wanted anything from you.” you inspect the endless plates on the table. “although i will pinch a scotch egg, if you don’t mind.”
draco watches as you reach across the table, picking at the assortment of foods. you don’t break the eye contact, because that’s what he wants you to do. he wants you to show some sign of intimidation, some sign that he has wriggled beneath your nerves in the same way he manages with everyone else. you’re determined to show him you’re not afraid of the malfoys, have never been afraid of the malfoys, and that’s exactly why you’re here. you wanted something, and you were willing to go to the highest rank to get it.
“you know, if my father finds out about what you get up to, you’ll be sent to azkaban with a life sentence.”
you freeze, scotch egg halfway to your mouth. “so you’re bringing that up now, are you?”
“i’m just warning you.” draco shrugs, the sleeves of his black blazer stretching against the motion. “one day you’re going to walk in here, and he’s going to know. he’s going to see it in your eyes that you’re guilty.”
“he’s going to figure me out.” you scoff. “you really think the sun shines out of your father’s arse, don’t you? he’s not as smart as he likes everyone to think, draco. i’ve been running circles around that man for years now, and he’s none the wiser.”
“and what if i tell him?”
the room falls silent. your heartbeat rings in your ears. you hate talking about this with draco, because you never know whether or not to take his threats seriously.
he folds his arms over his chest. “you’re lucky i haven’t blabbed yet.”
“are you threatening me, malfoy?” you lean forward, lowering your voice to a purr. “why don’t you tell me the real reason you’ve taken two weeks out of school, hm? then we’ll both have stories to tattle to the ministry.”
draco pales. he glares at you for a moment longer before the kitchen door opens, and narcissa malfoy strolls inside once again. you straighten up, schooling your expression into one of immediate calm, like not a single thing is wrong. you pop the remaining scotch egg in your mouth and say, “i should get out of your hair now.”
narcissa simply scowls.
you give her a grin, nod at draco once before walking out the door, trying to ignore that blue-eyed gaze still burning into the back of your head.
—-
it gets easier over time.
all of it does, really. the guilt becomes non-existent, and the act itself becomes second nature after a few good attempts. you’ve nearly been caught a handful of times, and you know if your actions were to come to light, you would be expelled from hogwarts in a heartbeat; not even dumbledore could show you mercy, no matter how much he likes you.
it’s easiest when the streets are full. muggles are so careless, clumped together with wallets jingling in their pockets, unprotected. they don’t even think about what might go wrong, don’t even think a wizard may be lurking amongst them, ready to snatch their belongings right from their person.
you don’t need it, of course. muggle money means nothing where you come from, but there’s some wizards and witches who would pay hundreds of galleons in trade for the things collected off muggles. it’s a black market kind of situation.
tonight, you are dressed in a black hoodie and jeans, wand stowed in your back pocket. you don’t need it; you’ve mastered the magic-free manoeuvres of sneaking things from people, and you use such skills to your advantage tonight. a man by the name of richard carpol has put in a request for a muggle passport - an irish one, preferably, but he’ll take anything you can get your hands on.
you search for what feels like hours before zoning in on the dark red booklet peaking out of a teenagers jacket pocket. their source of ID, you assume, and you feel no guilt whatsoever when you stroll past them and pluck the book free. you stuff it in your hoodie pocket before picking up your pace, ducking into a dark alleyway.
you flip it open - it’s a british passport, but richard will still pay. he’s not a picky customer, which makes your night ten times easier.
you make your way back to hogwarts, waving at people in hogsmeade before you disappear for the night. you sneak into the slytherin dormitory with no problems, stuffing the passport beneath your mattress. you wriggle beneath the sheets, ignoring pansy’s insistant questions about where you have been, if you’ve seen draco, how you managed to sneak past filch - she asks this every night, and you have never replied. you just fall asleep, another day successful.
—-
“he’s back.”
like he’s some kind of god. you nearly roll your eyes, the whispers repeated over and over again throughout morning breakfast. all around you, the slytherin table is alive with anticipation, waiting for draco malfoy to stroll in through the double doors, head held high in that way it always is.
you knew draco was returning before anyone else did, as he told you the night before in a fit of faux rage at the sight of you in his bedroom, yet again. you had offered to leave, leaned casually against his mahogany wardrobe, and it could almost be considered hasty the speed at which he rushed for his door to close it, uttering a quiet, “no, you’re here now, so you might as well stay.”
but now he’s back in school, and you’re sick of him. you haven’t even seen his face once, but the whispers and the praise from your house mates is enough to set your teeth on edge. it reminds you that there is indeed a draco living outside of the malfoy manor, a draco you cannot tease and torment as easily.
“i saw him in the common room this morning putting his robes on. i think his parents got him new ones,” a fellow slytherin whispers. “and his hair has been cut a little shorter - he looks so grown up!”
you snicker into your porridge, smothering the noise to no avail. the slytherin girl singing draco’s praises shoots you a glare before noticing who you are; her glare folds in on itself, and she quickly retaliates by pretending she didn’t hear your snicker in the first place.
breakfast ticks by, and it’s only near the end does draco finally decide to grace the dining hall with his presence. the double doors open, and the chatter amongst the slytherins falls short almost immediately. you’re ashamed to admit that even you look up at the speed of light, catching one of the first glimpses of draco malfoy as he returns from what many people assumed was the dead.
his fangirl certainly wasn’t lying, you notice; his hair hasbeen cut shorter, and he doeslook plenty grown up. he walks with a fresh confidence that makes you want to roll your eyes - it’s not like he needed a further confidence boost. his robes are clean, brushing the floor. his eyes are trained on the head table, though they linger there for only moments before snapping to where you are seated.
you raise a curious brow. he blushes, looks away, and takes his seat next to crabbe and goyle, both of whom clap him on the back like he’s just returned from war.
you ignore him the rest of breakfast, which is a rare action for you. you used to revel in tormenting him, coming face to face with him at every corner just to give another snide remark; it was a game back then, back when the two of you were younger and felt as if you could get away with it.
breakfast ends shortly thereafter, and you hurry to gather your things. swinging your bag over one shoulder, you duck your head down and escape into the crowded corridors, losing yourself amongst the sea of black clad students.
but you’re a fool to ever think you - of all people - could escape draco’s magnificent return to school. his cold fingers wrap around your wrist before you have a chance to turn the corridor to your next class, stopping you in your tracks. part of you wants to spin around and punch him, just floor him in front of everyone, show him that you’re not just some silly person showing up on his front doorstep every other night.
instead, you slowly turn and give him a smile, one of your big ones to let him know you don’t mean it, that you’re being hostile.
his face is set in stone, that frown so perfect and soft looking it makes you want to sob.
“where are you off to in such a hurry?” he asks, keeping his voice low because god forbid anyone catch him speaking to you.
“class,” you reply. “so kindly let go of me, malfoy.”
“not until you tell me where richard got another muggle passport to sell.”
you freeze, though you knew this would be coming eventually. richard is one of your best customers, but he’s not very bright; he’s never understood the concept of subtlety when it comes to the trading of muggle artefacts.
“he has a new one, does he?” you say. “good for him. his collection must be getting awfully big by now.”
draco scowls. “my father is starting to get very suspicious, y/n, and i don’t know how much longer i’ll be willing to cover for you.”
you pry your hand out of his grip, nearly stumbling from the momentum. “is that a threat?”
“it’s a warning,” he says. “i might not like you, but i don’t need you going down for something like this. people know we’re familiar with each other, and i don’t want you tarnishing my family name.”
you scoff. “your family name has been tarnished since you-know-who was in power.”
“shut up. don’t talk on things you don’t understand.”
“all i need to do is pick up a history book.”
draco scowls, those blues eyes ablaze. you’ve seen this look on him when he’s speaking to those gryffindors he hates so much, when a teacher takes someone else’s side over his own. you’ve seen this look on him plenty of times, but never aimed at you; for some reason, his expression is always so soft around the edges when trained on you.
“i’m trying to do you a favour,” draco mumbles. “because i’m serious when i say my father will snap you in half if he finds out you’re the one providing these artefacts to the dark market.”
“i’m not afraid of lucius,” you reply. “and i think you’re kind of forgetting the fact that your father actually likes me. at least a little bit.”
draco’s eyebrows fly up in amusement. “what’s given you that idea?”
“the fact that i’m still allowed in your house after all these years.” you grin, basking in the way draco’s own smile fades at the realisation you have indeed recognised this behaviour within his family. “yes, malfoy. you all try so hard to convince me i’m the scum of the earth, but the truth is, you appreciate my company. the truth is, you make me tea every time i visit. the truth is, you’re all a little fond of me, whether you want to admit it or not.”
his face pales even more, a feat you didn’t think possible until seeing it with your own two eyes. it’s a delicious win, a point for you in a competition you didn’t even realise you had entered.
“you’re delusional,” he mumbles. “you say you picked up a history book, then you must know how my family feel about your kind.”
“my kind?” you raise a brow, feigning ignorance just to annoy him. he hates outstretched conversations, especially with you. “are you talking about half-bloods, or pickpockets? oh! or people who can run circles around you without fear?”
you don’t give him a chance to reply, because quite frankly, you’re done with this conversation. you’re done with him for today. you prefer it when you’re in control of your daily draco interactions.
you turn on your heel and leave, rushing for your next class even as he calls your name. you can’t believe the nerve of him, approaching you like that, telling you to quit the job that’s gotten you off the streets, that’s helped you fund an education for yourself. these robes you’re wearing, the books you read in class, the wand that is an extension of your arm by now - all of it was funded by you, from your own pocket. just because the business is ruthless, not some posh, clean dealing that malfoy is used to, doesn’t mean it’s any less important.
you want to shove that explanation down his throat, just so he’ll finally look past his own privileged little bubble. you hate admitting it, but the truth is, draco wouldn’t be so bad if he wasn’t so blinded by his upbringing. he knows how to be nice - you’ve seen it before, experiencedit before, though you never talk about those experiences with anyone. there have been a few times where draco has seen you walking past his house, soaked to the bone from the rain, and he’s let you in, warmed you up by the fire, placed a hot chocolate in your hand. he’ll insult you and call you stupid and claim he wants you out of his house as soon as possible, but he was still the man who made the move to get you out of the rain.
your feelings for draco are a jenga tower. built up to full form, but slowly, pieces get chipped away until the entire thing is falling, and you have to rebuild it and try again.
you don’t know why you keep rebuilding it after so many disasters, but as he calls your name at your retreating back, you can feel yourself already putting those blocks back together.
—-
charms class really is a pain.
flitwick is nice enough. he’s patient, which is good, and very much needed when it comes to your skills in the classroom. you’re an intelligent person, always studying because you want to be the best. you loveseeing the look on draco’s face when he looks over and sees you’ve got a higher grade than him. it gives you such a thrill.
but charms is your downfall, because nothing makes any sense. flitwick explains the spell, and the hand movements, and he leaves you to your own devices, and you always somehow end up messing everything up.
today, all you’re doing is tossing a pillow to the other side of the room. it’s a simple spell, a simple gesture, and yet you still manage to smash a window in the process. flitwick merely sighs, explains the charm again, and gets you to repeat the process until you’ve got it right.
it takes a while. you don’t like it when things take a while.
by the half hour mark, sweat is running down your face, and your teeth have been gritted for so long it’s starting to hurt. you throw your wand down on the table, rake your hands through your hair and say, “i’m taking a break.”
“please do,” flitwick grumbles, rubbing the spot on his head where a vase smashed into his skull, thanks to your handiwork.
you slump down on one of the pillows you have failed to charm and run a hand along your brow. it’s actually disgusting how much energy gets taken out of you from doing such a simple thing. it’s also very confusing, considering you’re able to master the most difficult spells in defence against the dark arts without so much as a second thought. why tossing a pillow to the other side of the room is getting to you is both a joke and a mystery.
as you pull yourself together, savouring your moment of rest, someone slumps down next to you. you glance over, an eyebrow raised at bailey o’boyle, a boy you’ve done business with a few times in the past. he was only dabbling in the black market at the time, too young to understand what it was actually all about, but you weren’t going to be the one to ward him off, not when he had a good few galleons with your name on it.
he looks at you now with a smile, big and dopey, just as it always is.
“can i help you?” you ask.
“yes.”
you wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. he just keeps staring at you.
you grit your teeth. “with what?”
“i need an electric scooter.”
you raise a brow. already the word ‘electric’ has got your attention, because that’s not something the wizard world is very familiar with. what bailey is doing right now is forming a business deal. you’re not usually a fan of bargaining in the middle of class, but since you have nothing better to do…
you turn, ducking your head and lowering your voice. “what the fuck do you need an electric scooter for?”
“to sell,” he replies. “i’ve got a man who collects them. he’s willing to pay big money, y/n. big, big money.”
you like the sound of that.
“i’m a pickpocket, you know,” you say. “it’s not going to be easy pickpocketing an entire scooter from a muggle.”
bailey shrugs. “i said i’d see what you could do. but if you’re not up to it…”
your eye twitches; you hate that phrase. realistically, you know this is far beyond your expertise. you steal wallets, and passports, and house keys, tiny things you can sneak away without detection. trying to get something like an electric scooter from a muggle without being caught is close enough to impossible that even the lure of galleons isn’t enough to convince you to do it.
still, of course you’re going to think about it. there are many different side streets in muggle london that you could go down, and if you do it at night, the shadows could be used to your advantage. nobody would even bat an eye if you wore-
draco grabs your wrist and pulls you from the floor.
you yelp, stumbling into his chest. he lifts you like you weigh nothing, and you’re more surprised at his strength than you are at his actions.
bailey’s eyes widen. he stutters, trying to feign innocence, but neither you nor draco are interested in him any more. you whirl on malfoy, shoving him away.
“what the hell?”
“what the hell, is right.” he grabs your arm. “come with me.”
you struggle against his grip, but truth to be told, you’re not really putting up much of a fight. you’re still in shock at how easily he was able to lift you, at the feel of his fingers around your upper arm.
he drags you from the classroom. flitwick being flitwick doesn’t even bat an eye; he’s probably relieved that’s two more students he doesn’t need to worry about.
in the hallway, draco finally lets go of you. you jerk away so fast your back hits against the wall. draco raises a brow, but he still looks furious. his nostrils are flared, his face is pale, and god,he keeps clenching his fists like he wants to wrap his hands around your throat.
god help you, you kind of want him to. just to know what it feels like.
“again,” you say. “what the hell?”
“i knew you were stupid, y/n, but that’s bad even for you.”
“excuse me?”
“you do realise blaise was listening to every word you and bailey were saying in there?” he shakes his head, jaw clenched. “i was trying to talk over you, but your loud mouth is quite difficult to ignore.”
you blink. firstly, wow.bargaining in class really isn’t a good idea, and you really should have known better.
but also, wow,draco actually tried helping you out.
you swallow and fold your arms over your chest. “i had it under control. blaise isn’t gonna do shit.”
draco laughs. “blaise’s dad is in the ministry, idiot.”
“stop calling me that. i’m smarter than you!”
“do you understand what i’m telling you, y/n? if blaise says a word about what he heard to his dad, that’s you done. there’s no getting out of that.”
a chill runs down your spine. draco glimpses the movement, and you swear his features soften slightly.
“i just can’t believe you were so careless.”
“why do you even care?” your voice is quiet, barely above a whisper. you kind of hope draco doesn’t hear it, but his eyebrows shoot up, and his cheeks gain a tiny red tint that lets you know he doesn’t really know the answer to that question.
you swallow, looking up to meet his eyes. “why do you care, draco?”
“because.” his throat bobs. there is a moment of hesitation where you think he’s going to tell the truth. maybe he’s going to shock the world and just tell the god damn truth, but then he clears his throat, pulls his shoulders back and says, “i’ve already told you, y/n; if you go down, you’ll tarnish my family name. i can’t have that.”
your insides wilt like his words are acid being poured down your throat. you laugh a little too loudly, a bark more than anything close to amusement. it’s so vicious, so filled with hatred that draco actually flinches away. in that moment, you want to give him a real reason to flinch, a real reason to be afraid.
but you don’t, because he’s the boy who pulled you out of the rain.
instead, you shake your head and say, “tell flitwick i’m ill. and don’t bother talking to me ever again. let me handle my own business, thanks.” and without another word, you rush down the hallway to the dorm rooms, refusing to look back at him. this time, he doesn’t call your name, doesn’t chase after you in that hopelessly stupid way you want him to. of course he wouldn’t.
you throw your robes off the minute you burst through the doors of your dorm. it’s empty besides a fellow slytherin’s cat laying on the bed. the black and white feline lifts its head at the sound of you, and you ignore it’s confused little mews as you scramble into your own bed, pull the privacy curtain over and bury your head in your pillow.
you hate him. you really, really hate him, and that’s not even an exaggeration. he’s the worst person you’ve ever met. he’s this tormented little shit who thinks he has every right to throw his anger at everyone else, just because he isn’t tough enough to stand up to mummy and daddy. he’s so desperate to stay in line with everything his parents say, and it’s ridiculous. it’s embarrassing. it’s a cowards move.
there are so many things you wished you said to him before storming off, but there’s always that moment of hesitation when it comes to anything you want to say to draco. you either have to check it’s not too nice, and even when it’s mean, you have to check it’s not going to actually upset him, because you don’t want to do that either. you don’t know why. you should spit in his face for the shit he puts you through, the confusion he makes you feel. and he doesn’t even care.he just carries on being a little prick, like nothing is wrong in the world.
but surprise, surprise, draco. not everyone can live a lavish life, worry free.
—
you manage to ignore draco for the rest of the day. it’s easily done, considering draco doesn’t like to make a big deal out of the fact that you two actually have history; he likes to pretend he associates only with people of the purest blood, the most talented wizards, ones that come from the old families.
but he can’t keep his eyes off you.
he knows he’s hit a nerve. the way his eyes follow every movement you make, the way his jaw ticks when you don’t even give him the time of day - he’s not a stupid boy, as much as you like to tell him he is. he can see when he’s upset you.
classes drag in the rest of the day, and it’s a massive relief when you’re finally released from the confines of lessons, free to do whatever you want. after stealing a bit of food from the dining hall, you head up to the slytherin dormitory; you like it best when it’s empty, when you can just sit with your own thoughts for a while. you need it today, because today you actually let yourself be a normal teenager, and you hate it. you hate the feeling of hormones and overreactions, but sometimes it’s hard to help it. sometimes you need to let yourself feel emotional.
alone in the dorms, you reach under your bed and pull out your handy box of trinkets. most of the contents are just things you’ve stolen that never found a home - a penny from a london sidewalk, an old napkin with a mystery person’s phone number scribbled on it, a black and white photo of a couple standing in front of the ocean. however, tucked away amongst those simple, boring things is a green emerald - one you stole from the malfoy manor a few years ago.
you got it from draco’s room, because you weren’t meant to be in there, and you wanted to let him know that you had, in fact, been in there. the emerald was stitched into the collar of one of his shirts, all expensive looking and wasted. you nearly scoffed at the sight of it - when would draco ever get to wear something so glamorous anyway? plus, the emerald looked far too heavy to be confined to a shirts collar; it would be very uncomfortable, you assumed.
that’s why you grabbed a knife and cut the stitching to shreds, plucking the emerald from it to claim as your own. you tossed the shredded shirt back into draco’s wardrobe, tucked the emerald into your pocket and then walked out, content with the knowledge that draco would be yelling at you in due time once he noticed his missing jewel.
but the yelling never came.
draco knew you had stolen it. again, he isn’t stupid. his shirt was shredded, and the jewel was missing, and it was obvious who had done it - the known pickpocket who was strolling through his house every other night.
he just never said anything, like he wanted you to keep it, like he didn’t mind it was in your hands now.
you stare at it, legs crossed beneath you. you’ve always prided yourself on how little you care for expensive things - you don’t complain that you haven’t got much, that you grew up poor, never able to afford the grand things draco has. but you still handle this emerald with so much care, flipping it round in your fingers, looking at every curve and delicate groove in it’s cut.
the dormitory door opens. you trust it’s just someone who’s eaten too much and wants an early night, so you don’t panic or falter. you listen to their footsteps patter across the room, the thumpof their robes hitting the floor, followed closely by their shoes. you listen to their privacy curtain screeching open, their sigh of annoyance at something you can’t see-
and then draco pops his head round yourprivacy curtain.
you yelp, fumbling with the emerald. it slips from your fingers, however, and crashes to the floor at draco’s bare feet. he stares at it as you curse, an eyebrow raising, and you don’t even try and hide it. you just let him stare, arms folded over your chest, annoyance brewing in your stomach just at the sight of him.
finally, he slowly looks up. “mine, i take it?”
“good guess, rich boy. can i have it back?”
he picks it up and tosses it into your lap. you’re pleasantly surprised at his cooperation, but still keep that frown on your face.
“what do you want?” you ask, violently stuffing all your belongings back into the cardboard box.
“you weren’t at dinner,” draco replies. “i wanted to make sure you weren’t causing any more trouble.”
you scoff. “oh, trouble, yes. tarnishing the malfoy name. the end goal for us all.”
draco stares at you, lips pursed. his gaze is always so warm,a physical thing that makes your skin crawl. “that comment bothered you, did it?”
“nothing you say bothers me, draco. it just baffles me how you can be so dense sometimes.”
“ouch. that one hurt.”
you roll your eyes. “why are you here? i have nothing to say to you.”
“you don’t have to say anything. i just wanted to make sure you’re alive.”
“not like you care, though, is it?”
draco’s nostrils flare. his throat bobs, eyes tracing the length of your throat like he’s a hungry vampire. his lower lip slips between his teeth, the expression startling you. he looks like he’s trying to reel himself back, like some unwanted emotion is fighting for dominance in his brain.
“you’re really stubborn, aren’t you?” he asks after a moment.
“you think?”
“i still don’t know what i did to piss you off so much.”
you bark out a laugh. “no, of course you don’t. god forbid a malfoy is self-aware for once.”
he groans. “can you not just make things simple?why do we have to go around in circles like this? it’s a waste of time!”
“is that meant to be an apology?”
“how can i apologise when i don’t even know what i did?” he’s starting to sound desperate, like this conversation is taking the life from him.
you lean back, pulling the box into your lap protectively. in truth, you don’t even know how to word why you’re so upset - it makes sense in your head, but articulating it to someone else is just going to make you sound stupid, maybe even a little delusional. you should know draco by now, people will say. you should know what he’s like, that he cares for no one besides himself. getting upset over him showing his true colours is stupid, a waste of time and energy.
but you look into his blue eyes right now, wanting nothing more than for him to just understand.understand what, you don’t even want to admit, not to yourself or anyone else.
“you hurt my feelings,” you mumble.
draco inhales sharply. “i didn’t think i could do that. i never thought you’d let me.”
“well, you did. congratulations.”
“jesus, y/n, it’s not like i wantedto. what did i even say?”
you stare at him. he stares back. the ball will drop eventually, you know, because draco is smart, smarter than you’ve ever given him credit for. he examines your expression, and you watch the moment his eyebrows start to relax in realisation, the frown form on his face. it makes anxiety coil in the pit of your stomach, because maybe this is just a little too vulnerable. maybe letting draco figure this out on his own was a bad idea.
but it’s too late now. he draws back slowly, hands curled around the privacy curtain until the fabric is creasing and knotted in his fingers. “wait…”
“go, draco,” you demand. “i have shit to do. business to take care of.”
“y/n-”
“go, draco!”
he stares at you a moment longer before running a hand through his hair and walking out the room. you wait till the door is closed, and then you wait till his footsteps can no longer be heard, and then you throw the box of trinkets to the ground, watching the emerald slip across the wooden floor.
—
the streets of london always look a little different when you’re angry. a little more violent. a little more real.
muggle london in itself has always felt like a very hostile place to you, but when you’re angry, things get clearer. you notice the vomit stain on the curb, the neglected baby pram in the bush, the beer bottles smashed beneath window sills. it becomes a different place - it just depends on how you’re feeling.
tonight, you are angry, and everything around you is angry, too.
you just want a set of car keys, not the actual car. muggle car keys sell at a good price, depending on who you’re dealing with. nobody has requested them, and usually you don’t go out unless asked to do so by a client, but tonight, you just want to be out.you want to be away from the wizarding world. you want to cause havoc with your fingers in the best way you know how.
it’s busy. it always is. you can guarantee that almost everyone around you has car keys in their pocket - that’s why global warming is so bad. some of them even wear them around their neck, dangling from multicoloured chains with little souvenirs banging against their chests. those would be so easy to just rip off and run away, but you’ve decided to be subtle, which means your eyes are trained on the bulges in people’s coat pockets. so many of them, so careless.
a man in a tracksuit seems like the best option. you follow him for ten minutes, keeping your head down, before he finally breaks away from his group of drunken friends. he laughs to himself, stumbling just the perfect amount - he’s drunk, but not drunk enough to be falling over himself, which makes slipping your hand into his pocket a pretty easy deal.
you go for the kill, quickening your pace, dipping your hand into his pocket-
he grabs your wrist, and before you even have a chance to blink, you’re on the ground.
a gasp is ripped from your throat at both the shock and the pain that spears up your spine. the guy is yelling, stumbling back, and holy shit, if he doesn’t shut up right now, the whole of london is going to be on you.
gathering as much strength as you can, you roll onto your side and push yourself to your knees. “hey man, calm down. sorry. i thought you were my friend.”
“did you just try and rob me?” he yells.
“no! no, of course-”
“you psycho bitch!” he lunges for you, all drunken vowels and grabby hands. you have no idea what to make of his intentions, you just know you’ve fucked up, and you need to get out of here.
his hands slam into your shoulders, knocking you on your ass. a cry escapes you, but not from the pain. a tiny snapsounds from your back pocket, and you know without having to look that your wand has just broken in half - yet again. dumbledore is going to start getting very suspicious.
“son of a bitch,” you growl, before raising your hands. “listen, hey. i’m sorry. i’ve said that already. you need to calm down before-”
“before what?” he howls. “you kill me? are you threatening me?”
your eyes widen. “no! would you just-”
the man opens his mouth to say something else, but his words are sucked back in when a hand wraps around his arm and yanks him back. you wince at the sound of his head cracking against the tarmac, but you don’t get a chance to comment before draco is kneeling beside you, one hand cradling your head, the other resting on your knee. his touch alone is enough to spread warmth through your previously frozen limbs, and you hate that. you hate it so much.
you tug your knee from his grip. “what the hell are you doing here?”
“are you bleeding?”he runs his thumb along your bottom lip. when he pulls away, his fingertip glows with a red liquid.
“oh. i guess i am.”
“christ,y/n. do you ever just…” he closes his eyes, taking a moment to redirect his anger. it’s an amusing sight, and you almost smile until you remember you’re mad at him. forever mad at him.
you jerk your head out of his grip, too. “i’m fine. stop worrying.”
“clearly i have to, or else you’re going to get yourself killed.” he glances over his shoulder, where the drunken man is struggling to sit up, still slurring protestations. “by a muggle.”
“he wouldn’t have killed me,” you grumble. “although my wand isbroke, so maybe he would have.”
draco’s eyes widen. you wave him off before he has a chance to chastise you again - in truth, you just want to get out of here, car keys be damned. hastily, you push yourself to your feet, wobbling only slightly, but draco must see this tiny action as a full-on collapse risk, as he wraps an arm around your waist and tugs you close, grumbling curses under his breath. you’re such a pain in the arse, apparently, and god,he wishes he wasn’t stuck with you all the time, and he’s so baffled by the fact you’re still alive, it’s probably all thanks to him, blah, blah, blah.
you listen to him rant the entire way back to malfoy manor. you don’t argue his choice of location, because you can see narcissa standing in the doorway, hand over her mouth, eyebrows raised in genuine surprise, and you already know she’s got a cup of tea waiting for you in the sitting room. you almost smile, but that would ruin the effect.
she rushes out to meet you and draco halfway, immediately grabbing your face and tilting your head back and forth. you can taste blood on your teeth.
“what happened?” she breathes, but doesn’t give you a chance to reply. “draco, take them into the lounge.”
“oh, the lounge,” you coo. “you arespoiling me!”
“be quiet,” draco hisses, doing as his mother says. he tosses you unceremoniously onto the plush sofa, and you have to ignore the inappropriate thrill that shoots up your body.
narcissa appears not ten seconds later, a steaming cup of tea in her hand. you give her a grin, which she rolls her eyes at, even as she sits beside you and brushes your hair away from your face. you take a sip of the tea, smile in thanks, and then lean your head back.
“sorry about this.”
narcissa sighs. her breath tickles your cheek, smelling oddly of incense. “i don’t know what we’re going to do with you, y/n.”
“put me down.” you make a stabbing gesture into your arm and mouth lethal injection at draco. he purses his lips, clearly not taking the joke in stride. “i didn’t mean to worry you so much.”
“you’re always worrying us,” draco hisses, which earns him a sharp look from narcissa. he meets his mothers eyes and his shoulders deflate. he runs his hands down his face. “you’re just … always doing something.”
“i know,” you mumble. “sorry.”
“draco, don’t stress them out,” says narcissa, which surprises you; you’ve always known narcissa has a secret soft spot for you, but she’s always tried her hardest to keep it just that - a secret. yet here she is, combing your hair back, giving you a cup of tea, telling her son to treat you nicely. it’s like you’ve entered a different world. “i’m gonna go and make some calls. keep them comfortable, okay?”
draco nods, lips still pursed, forever displeased. you used to laugh at that expression on his face, but now it just makes you feel bad.
narcissa leaves the room, and then it’s just you and draco. you watch as he watches you, eyes never wavering, shoulders never relaxing. he’s got his arms folded over his chest like he’s keeping guard.
“i meant it, you know,” you say. “i didn’t mean to worry you. i thought it would be an easy job.”
“who are you doing business with now? bailey again?”
“no.” you look down, surprisingly shameful. “it was just for myself. i needed out of the castle, and…” you shrug. “you know me. i can’t do anything easy.”
he scoffs. “yeah, i know.”
“so i’m sorry.”
draco closes his eyes and rubs his temples. the rings on his fingers glisten beneath the fancy lights. his knuckles pop, the veins in his arms protruding. “please stop apologising.”
you blink. “alright.”
“you act like i don’t understand why you’re doing all this, but i do.” he looks at you, hands dropping to his sides. “just because i don’t have to do it myself, doesn’t mean i don’t understand. why else do you think i haven’t stopped you?”
your breath catches. you raise a brow, tilting your head cruelly. “you wouldn’t have been ableto stop me. you think i’d listen to you?”
“yeah. i think you would.”
you reel back, jaw dropping open. “excuse-”
“you always act like you hate me, but you forget you’ve been coming to my house for years. you forget i’ve known you since we were eleven. you forget that i don’t just put up with anyone. i’ve had time to figure you out, y/n, no matter how much you like to pretend i haven’t.” he folds his arms and leans against the door. his hair is rumpled, along with his shirt and jeans. so casual, so unlike himself. “but earlier on, in the dorms… you surprised me with that one.”
your stomach curls. oh, good god, he’s bringing that up now. you’re sat here with a busted chin and a potential criminal charge, and he’s bringing thisup. you could headbutt him.
despite your glare, he continues. “i knew you didn’t hate me, but i never thought… i never thought you likedme, you know? especially not-”
“don’t say it.”
his lips twist. “i have to.”
“no you don’t.”
“do you love me?”
your heart falls into the pit of your stomach, which is answer enough for you. love is such a strong word, and you could easily say no, that what you feel for draco is nothing more than a little crush. he’s got the nice blue eyes, and the money, and the perfect hair. he’s got a smile that lights up rooms. it’s a crush. you fancy him, and that’s all there is to it.
but love sounds pretty accurate. moreaccurate, actually.
you swallow. draco watches the bob of your throat, and you watch his. above your head, the massive clock ticks, ticks, ticks.
slowly, he reaches forward and swipes his thumb over your chin. it stings just a little, but you’ve felt worse pain, so you let him do it without jerking away.
“cat got your tongue?” he whispers.
you shiver. “i don’t… i don’t know what you want me to say.”
“it’s not about what iwant. i was asking a simple question. just give me the truth.”
“you want the truth?”
he inhales, hesitates, and then nods.
“yeah, draco,” you whisper. “i think i love you.”
slowly, draco draws away. his eyes never leave your own, that frosty blue colour reminding you of the winter sky, or a cold december morning. you remember all those christmas’s at hogwarts when draco would stay at the castle, waking him up because you thought it would annoy him to have your face be the first thing he sees. you always commented on the dreary smile that played on his lips when you did that, and he would always say, “i thought you were someone else.”
but that dreary smile is returning, pulling across his face, and it doesn’t falter. right now, there is no mistake. his eyes are on you, and he knows it is you, the person who has apparently made his life a living hell for so many years. you’re the ache in his spine, the one he can’t wait to get rid of.
but you’re also the one he rescued from the rain.
you’re the one who cursed hermione granger when she punched him in the nose.
you’re the one who’s just confessed your love to him.
shit.
“don’t look at me like that,” you say, voice hoarse. “don’t pretend you didn’t know.”
“i didn’tknow,” he says immediately, like he’s desperate for you to know he was clueless. “did you know?”
“kind of. i wanted to ignore it-”
draco shakes his head, waving a dismissive hand. “no, no. did you know that i love you, too?”
you open your mouth, but no words come out. your brain just short circuits, taking a second to catch on to what he’s said. that dreary smile is still playing at his lips, and you’re waiting for the moment it turns into a sneer, a mocking little smirk.
it doesn’t.
“oh right,” you mumble. “no. i had no idea.” you pause. “are you taking the piss out of me?”
he laughs, a rare and pleasant sound. he approaches you, kneels at your side on the sofa and cups your head in his hands. you melt into him, even though every instinct in your body is telling you to pull away, to runaway, because this is nothing more than false hope. he’s playing a trick on you. you’ve annoyed him to breaking point, and now he’s found the perfect chance for revenge.
but his hands are so warm, and nice, and your cheek dips into his palm so easily, like it belongs there.
“you’ve always been kind of not smart in my eyes,” he says.
your eyes widen. “hey!”
“kidding. i’m kidding.” he chuckles, running his thumb along your lower lip. “but you’re not doing your intelligence any justice right now. i thought i was making my feelings pretty clear.”
you glare; he knows full well he hasn’t made his feelings clear. neither of you have. you’ve spent the past seven years pretending to hate each other.
he grins. “okay, maybe i didn’t make it so easy. but you didn’t make it easy for me, either.”
“i still don’t believe you.”
he raises a brow. “why?”
you shrug. “it just doesn’t seem possible that someone like you could fall in love with someone like me.”
his eyes soften. “wow. maybe you arenot very smart.”
before you have a chance to protest, he kisses you. just like that, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, or maybe like it’s an action he’s been waiting to do for years, and now he’s finally got the chance. that’s what it’s like for you, this coil unravelling in your gut after years and years and years of ignoring it’s existence.
you run your hands through his hair, tugging on those pesky strands at the back that always stick up because he refuses to wear anything other than collared shirts. he growls into your mouth, pulling you closer, closer, closer, until your legs are tangled with his, and his fingers are tracing a line down the centre of your throat. he stops at the hollow, just to feel the bob of your throat as nerves spiral through you. he grins against your mouth, pulling away to see the shock in your eyes.
he’s so proud of himself. he’s made you a mess.
you smile awkwardly, trying to regain some amount of composure. he watches you, heavy lidded, one hand still clutching your knee as the other curls around your throat, just where your neck and shoulders meet. the way he stares at you, it’s like he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it.
“so,” you begin. “you’re worry wasn’t actually just for your family name, was it?”
draco sighs, plonking his forehead against your own. “no, y/n, it wasn’t. my worry was losing you. which i very nearly did tonight.”
“don’t be so dramatic. i wouldn’t have died.”
“you could have.”
“but i wouldn’t have, because that guy was drunk, and a muggle, and-”
“are you two arguing again?”
you and draco jump apart as narcissa storms into the lounge, wand clutched to her chest. her narrowed eyes are firm on draco.
“i told you to keep them comfortable!” she exclaims. “can you not put your differences aside for ten minutes?”
you grin, teasingly running a finger along draco’s spine. “yeah draco. listen to mummy.”
he growls, but turns to narcissa and says, “sorry, mother. you know how y/n gets.”
“yes, i know,” narcissa mumbles. “but they’re injured. now, let me take this phone call, and then we’ll set up the guest bedroom. can i leave you alone for ten more minutes?”
“yes,” you and draco both reply immediately. narcissa hums, and walks out.
draco immediately spins, grabs your wrist and pulls you to him, slamming his lips to yours. you laugh against his mouth, melting into the embrace for only a second before pulling away and saying, “she’s trusting us to behave for ten more minutes, draco. this isn’t behaving.”
“oh, fuck that,” he scoffs. “come here.”
you let him pull you closer, closer than you have ever been with him before, because you’ve always been so convinced he never wanted you more than a few feet away from him. suddenly, everything draco has ever said to you is reconstructed in your mind, every action, every little look.
you wonder if he’s doing the same.
➴ Summary: Based on the One Direction song “she’s not afraid”.
➴ Pairing: Sirius Black / fem!reader (3rd pov).
➴ Warnings: None I can think of.
➴ Wordcount: 1.1K
➴ Requested: Yes. By anon.
➴ Tagged: @angelaiswriting@jj-maybnk@figlia–della–luna
➴ Author Note: I can’t believe an anon forced me to listen to a 1D song but you know what… them lyrics was good. I hope you like it, it’s angst as fuck for some reason.
Sirius Black watches from a corner, drinking something he can’t remember the name of, but that is strong enough to make him forget the pain growing inside of him.
She dances and laughs, and spins around with people she has never met before. She makes the room gravitate towards her, as if she’s the light those people need to live. Men and women stop in their tracks to look at her, smile and speak as if an old friend was.
She doesn’t fear the attention. She’s not afraid of this, no.
When she’s tired, all she does is look towards the corner Sirius spends most the night in. She has tried to get him to dance before but he refuses, because he knows she doesn’t want people to know that when the night ends, he will be the one taking her home. This is their secret.
Sirius is the first to leave the place, walking a couple of streets to where he parks his bike. He is often tempted to show her what it can do, but he can’t expose himself and his magic like that, no matter how much he trusts her. He just can’t.
After a few minutes, she sneaks up behind him, kissing his neck and laughing. She spins around like she’s still on the dance floor.
“What’s wrong, babe?” She whispers against his mouth.
I want more, he thinks, but never again will he speak those words. He knows the consequences.
He shakes his head, “nothing.”
Another laugh, one kiss in the dark that gets her moaning, and she’s against his back on the bike passing the streets of London like… magic. He can hear her breathing and feel it fall against his neck. She moves a little bit closer to him, making his heart go wild.
He isn’t sure for how much longer he’ll be able to take it. Almost afraid his heart will give out. She is killing him each time she kisses him, each time she welcomes him to her house, then closes the door on his face after he asks for more…more…more. He should know better.
There’s nothing she’s afraid of, except for falling in love. Sirius can see the fear present when he holds her hand, when he hugs her after climax. When he tells her that he’s in love with her, begs for a chance to prove to her their relationship is fate, all she has to tell him is…
…”No. It’s not real. Come back to the real world. Goodnight.”
Sirius turns off the bike and she gets off. She runs up to her doorstep and opens the door, going in. She leaves the door open for Sirius to come in after her.
He could turn on the bike and go home. He’s tired of showing her he knows her worth and he’s not with her for a game. What more can he do? How can he stop this madness from occurring if this madness is keeping him alive? He’s weak. He can’t help it.
He goes in tonight. He’s fallen again.
_______________________________________________________
“I think it was her friends. Told her that I’d break her heart and she doesn’t want that to happen.” Sirius tells James while the two are shopping for the summer vacation.
James, who doesn’t know and doesn’t bother to learn how to hold back, laughs at his friend. It’s not an uncommon thing to see… not since Sirius met her. “It’s not her friends. Just like a month ago she was not testing you to know if you knew her worth. You’re a fool, mate.”
Sirius shoves James, but he knows his friend is right. He’s done all he could to be there for her and take that fear from her heart but nothing’s worked.
“I can’t help it, James. I love her. Nothing’s going to change that. Each night she calls and tells me all of her dreams and I know I want to be there with her when she makes them happen. But, I also know that she won’t let me. It’s killing me, James.”
He turns his face when he sees the pitiful look that Prongs is giving him. “We can tell. Mum tells me about the late night calls. She also told me the phone has not rung in almost a week.”
Sirius nods, sighing and letting his head fall down. It’s his fault.
A week ago he again told her he loved her, he hasn’t talked to her ever since. He misses the late night calls and the talks of hopes and dreams. He misses her, plain and simple.
“We’re in the middle of a war,” Sirius whispers all of a sudden, “and I’m here, worried about some girl that will never love me back. I’m a fucking idiot.”
“Love is complicated, would it not be, I know a few hundred thousand artists who would be out of business.” James tells him, grabbing a box of cereal Sirius hates. “Even if we weren’t at war, she still would exist. You still would be hurting over her. This has to end, Sirius.”
Sirius watches as James goes to the checkout. He runs up to him, “I’ve got something to do.” As he receives approval from James, Sirius takes off.
It’s past midnight during mid-winter, London is covered in snow and the golden lights that illuminate the streets reflect upon it, making it seem as if the ground and the top of the houses are glowing. This is such a beautiful sight that Sirius needs to take in, forgetting for a few moments what he’s going there, and the war, and all the pain.
“Sirius?” It’s her voice that brings him back. Making him turn around in surprise. Some people walk past them, some have tears running down their faces. Sirius looks behind her and sees the cinema closing up, with a big poster of a new horror movie at the front.
She loves horror movies. She’s not afraid of them. No, she’s not afraid.
He clears his throat. “Was it a good movie?” She nods, smiling. He fights himself to not get lost on that smile and let his lips speak the words his mind is begging him to speak.
“I can’t keep doing this. I know I’ve said this before, but I can’t.”
She’s holding his hand before he’s gone, because each time he’s told her he can’t do this, she’s been back at his door.
She’s kissing him before he can’t react, but when he does, instead of pushing her from him, he brings her closer to him.
She’s so afraid of falling in love…
➴ Summary: He had a chance to change, why did he discard it? Part II (Final).
➴ Pairing: Sirius Black / fem!reader (3rd POV).
➴ Warnings: Angst, cheating, underage smoking.
➴ Wordcount:1K.
➴ Tagged: @angelaiswriting@jj-maybnk@figlia–della–luna
➴ Author Note: Thanks for the request! Look at me writing. Unbelievable.
A few months have passed since she first discovered Sirius cheating on her with Marlene. It’s now Christmas and she’s packing all her things to go home, forget the burning hell she has been put through by the two people she had once loved the most.
You know, the rumours, the whispers and stares, it was all too much at first. She tried to hide in corners until people had passed and then she would go to her class. Too ashamed to face the classmates that pitied her. Until she realized there was nothing to be ashamed of, or to be pitied for. She hadn’t been the first girl to get cheated on and she wouldn’t be the last. It had happened and she needed to learn how to move on, ignore people around her and focus on herself. She took baby steps, with Lily and Alice always with her, and slowly but surely she had grown out of it. Now she can finally say she’s happy and over it.
Sirius, on the other hand, is like a dog that wouldn’t let go of his favourite bone. Rumour has it─and by rumour she means Remus telling her everything─that he hasn’t been with anyone since she broke up with him. Marlene tried to approach him a couple times but was rejected, and with the entire school knowing what she had done, it was safe to say she wouldn’t be dating or befriending anyone anytime soon.
She sighs, turning around on her heels and walking up to her closet to grab the last piece of clothing left. There’s a knock on her door.
“Come in!” But no one enters. “Come in!” She screams again, thinking the person behind the door has not heard her.
When her door remains closed and the silence falls upon the room, she lets out a frustrated sigh and walks up to the door, opening it wide to see what’s going on.
Her scream is loud enough to have alerted the entire castle─but she hopes no one comes─.
She grabs Sirius’s fur and pushes him inside, scoffing when he lets out a whine. After checking the hall’s still empty she closes the door and turns around, almost letting out another scream at the sight of Sirius’s naked body.
“Put something on, asshole!”
“Well, fine. But unless I’ve grown a third nipple, it’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”
“Before! When I wanted to see it, Sirius! Now I don’t, so put something on before I kick your ass out of the window.” She can’t believe she needs to explain this again.
Sirius taps her shoulder a moment after. Not knowing what she was expecting, she has to laugh. He has covered himself with her sheets. This man is unbelievable.
He clears his throat: “can we talk now?” She sighs.
This is not the first time Sirius has tried to talk to her about how much he has changed.
But she didn’t want to hear it the first hundred times and she doesn’t want to hear it now.
What can she do? Tell him to go? There’s a chance he won’t. Just give him five minutes, let him explain once again and ask him to leave. It’s worked before, it’ll work now.
“Fine,” she tells him while walking up to Alice’s bed and sitting down. “Speak.”
Sirius sits down on her bed─good thing he’s using her sheets, now he can’t get too far from her bed─and once more clears his throat as if it’ll make his words more believable.
“You’re going home for Christmas?” He asks, confusing her. Before she can answer his mouth is moving again and more and more words leave his throat: “Remus told me because Alice told him. It’s not that he tells me things! It came up in the conversation we were having so please, don’t get upset with him.”
She blinks one, two, three times. Unsure of what’s going on, she takes a couple seconds to take in his rambling and making out the meaning behind it. She is unable to make it make sense and the little patience that she has is growing out.
Is it her fault? Should’ve she told him to fuck off? Perhaps it’s because she keeps giving him the chance to explain himself although she knows nothing is ever gonna change. Is she leading him on? That’s the last thing she wants to do. Hurting is not in her nature. It’s never been.
“Sirius,” she calls his name while running her left hand through her hair. She inhales, gives herself time to think about her next words. It’s time to let things turn clear as water. “You didn’t go through all the trouble of morphing on school grounds, sneak around the castle and up here to ask me to not be mad at Remus. So tell me, what was the actual reason?”
She has taken him off guard, being so blunt, her voice so calm. She’s not upset with him, or resentful, she’s at peace and holds no grudge against him. “I…” he begins, the sound of his voice lingering in the room for a couple seconds before he finishes: “To be honest, I came here to ask for another chance…”
“Sirius─”
“…No, no. Let me finish. I came here to ask for another chance because I thought that to fix all of this mess all I had to do was change. But, that’s not it, right?” She shakes her head. “I made a mistake, now I can’t ask the girl whose heart I broke to risk it being broken again. So if it’s not too much to ask for, I’d like for us to be friends, like before. Because whether it’s as my girl or my best friend, I don’t want to find out what life without you is like.”
“We can’t be friends like before, Sirius. Before is gone. I’m not the person I was then. I like to think neither are you. But I’m sure we can work something out, as long as you promise to not come naked into my room ever again.”
“Oh, no I can’t promise that.” Sirius grins, tilting his head right.
She laughs. “Yeah, of course you can’t. Asshole.”
➴ Summary: He had a chance to change. why did he discard it?
➴ Pairing: Sirius Black / fem!reader (3rd POV).
➴ Warnings: Angst, cheating, underage smoking.
➴ Wordcount: 1.2K
➴ Tagged: @angelaiswriting@jj-maybnk
➴ Author Note: No, I’m not in a Harry Potter phase. I am simply posting unposted fics while I manage to finish new ones. You may call it lazy, I call it genius.
Out of all the times Sirius could’ve chosen to cheat he had to do it first week of school. As if walking in on Sirius and Marlene making out in the Common Room hadn’t been humiliating enough, now she had to put up with the gossip, gazes and laughs for ten months. Fantastic.
She scoffed, drawing a long breath of the cigarette between her lips and breathing out the smoke short after, watching it disappear into the wind and fixing her gaze on the moon. Most of her friends warned her about Sirius Black, but she didn’t listen. She thought his intentions were honest, that he had changed and was worth fighting for; in that moment she realized she had been an idiot, a puppet he had used to have some fun and prove himself irresistible. But that wasn’t the worst part, no. She could get over a heartbreak; most people did through their lifetimes. No, the worst part was that Marlene had been her best friend - hell, she even considered her a sister. Somewhere deep in the back of her mind, she had been expecting Sirius to pull something, hell she even had been surprised it took him so long, but Marlene?
Was she supposed to expect her best friend to betray her like that, even after been friends for ten years? She didn’t know where she went wrong with them, if she had been so horrible to deserve such pain. But one thing was clear, it hurt like hell.
“Enough,” she said out loud, hoping if she did so she’d follow her advice and let it pass. She couldn’t keep thinking about it. She wouldn’t find an answer because there wasn’t a question. Sirius must had been tired of being in a relationship and Marlene must had been a liar all along but she hadn’t noticed. Letting herself fall back against the grass, she finished her cigarette and killed it, throwing it to the side. She had pitied herself enough, now it was time for people to do it - which, she was sure had begun.
It wasn’t as if those two treacherous bastards had thought about backstabbing her in secret to spare her from the public humiliation. She had been one of the last students to go into the Common Room after classes, she was well aware she hadn’t been the first one to see them.
It would be fine, she told herself. Ten months wasn’t that long of a time and before she knew, it would’ve passed. She’d graduate and she would leave Sirius, Marlene and the pain behind as if it never happened in the first place. Yes, it was going to be hard and she would have to put up with a lot of shit and it was going to come from friends, other students and even some of the professors (she was sure Minerva would give Sirius detention twice as much as a form of revenge for hurting her), but there was nothing she could about it. Even if it was going to be fine in the end - and she knew it would, the path there was going to be painful.
She heard footsteps coming from her side, but she didn’t bother to look up to see who it was. It was stupid, weird even, she knew he didn’t care about her feelings - that much had been proved, but she also knew he would look for her to apologize because he couldn’t fathom the idea of someone thinking he was a horrible person for the wrong reasons.
He sat down next to her, looking forward. He seemed tense, nervous even. She couldn’t bother herself to hide the pleasure his discomfort brought her and allowed a humourless laugh to escape her lips. He sighed next to her, forcing his gaze up to avoid looking at her.
She didn’t know when the tears had started to fall, she just knew she didn’t had the strength to wipe them off her face and so, she let them run hoping that he wouldn’t notice.
“I,” he started but stopped right after, the words getting caught in his throat. She couldn’t look at him even if she wanted. He took a deep breath that came out ragged right after. “I came to apologize, and if I have the chance, to explain what happened.”
“You were gonna shag Marlene when I walked in. That’s what happened,” she explained for him. It came out as harsh as she felt the words and he winced. “You can apologize now.”
Sirius turned around, the moonlight was right behind him and so it was difficult to distinguish his features, but even in that moment, from her position on her back she could see the storm that were his eyes, and the redness around them; as if he had been crying too.
He took a breath before speaking, clearing his throat to get rid of the soreness. “I don’t know how it happened and I didn’t want it to happen. It was a mistake and I am, believe it or not, sorry. Marlene had been flirting with me since school started again and then this morning I was in the Common Room waiting for James and Remus and she started talking about how she loved me first and it wasn’t fair that we weren’t together; next thing I know she’s all over me. I know the damage is done but, that is the truth and you had to know.”
His voice came out ragged, sore. He had wasted his throat out prior the conversation. It was for a moment she doubted, until she heard him sniff; that and how he pursed his lips together told her all she had to know. Indeed, he had been weeping as well. She cried for a lost love, for a friendship that had meant nothing, but what did he wept for? What had he lost?
No, she thought. It couldn’t be, even if the thought made her skin tingle. Sirius Black didn’t, and had never loved her. If he had done so, then he wouldn’t have done her like that.
“Now I know,” she said while nodding, breaking apart from her thoughts. Her own mind driving her insane. Her voice cracked and it made Sirius aware that she was sobbing. He tried to touch her but she stopped him, slapping his hand away. “Just leave.”
It was a simple request. Leave. He had broken her, it was painful enough to know she had to see him in the halls, in class, in the Common Room, the last thing she needed was for him to pester her until she forgave him. She couldn’t, not in that moment. The wound was fresh, her heart was ripping apart and she had trouble breathing.
She wanted him to leave, but he didn’t. She sobbed out loud, shaking. It was in that moment she knew, she had reached bottom. It was one thing he knew about her sadness, another to show him how her hopes and dreams for them had died.
Sirius wrapped his arms around her waist, bringing her closer to him. He buried his head in the crook of her neck, kissing the exposed skin.
He wasn’t leaving anytime soon.
➴ Summary:Sirius promised to take care of baby Harry, but things can never go accordingly with him.
➴ Pairing:Sirius Black / fem!reader (3rd POV).
➴ Warnings:Language(?)
➴ Wordcount:1K
➴ Tagged:@angelaiswriting@jj-maybnk
➴ Author Note:Requests are open until the 15th.
If she killed Sirius but didn’t use magic, would she still go to Azkaban or to a muggle prison?
Azkaban was a horrible place and she wouldn’t risk being imprisoned there - although he was making it difficult to think about the consequences, but a muggle prison? She wouldn’t think twice before kicking his ass into the afterlife.
“You’re not listening to me, huh?” She was. Much to her own despair, she was.
Grunting, she got up from the couch and walked up to him. Sirius felt her anger and it scared him enough to make him walk backwards until he hit the wall.
Standing at arm length from him, she cleared her throat. “So, let me get this straight - James being the idiot he is thought that to make our uncle-aunt-nephew night more interesting, it would be fun to use the cloak for hide-and-seek?” Sirius nodded. “And I dared to leave for a second to get some water, so instead of using his actual blanket to wrap him up and put him to sleep- like I asked… You wrapped him up with the cloak and… lost him?” Another nod.
Even if it meant going to Azkaban, murdering him sounded like an appropriate response. But first, she had to find the four months old running through her apartment… being invisible.
Sirius didn’t lose him on purpose, alright, but he still did. He was old enough to understand that giving a child a cloak that would make him invisible was not a good idea at all but there she was looking for an invisible kid after his parents entrusted them with his well being.
“Fine,” she sighed. “Let’s split. You look through the kitchen and living room and I will check the bedrooms and bathroom. Be careful while walking, use a stick or something.”
Before he could agree or disagree - which he wouldn’t, she left for the master bedroom.
She walked with caution through the room, taking steps so small it got her wondering if she was moving at all. She wanted to see the comical part of the situation, imagine Harry running around and the two of them searching like idiots - it did sound fun, but it was also dangerous and what scared her the most was that, it didn’t seem like Sirius understood that. He was so used to be reckless, to not think about the consequences of his actions that sometimes he’d put other people in danger without realizing. Of course, Sirius didn’t want people to get hurt, but he needed to start thinking before he acted, otherwise it wouldn’t be long until he found himself in a dark corner, with no escape option whatsoever.
Kneeling down, she checked under the bed but all she found were her sneakers. Since she had checked the rest of the room, she got up from the floor with a long sigh. After exiting the master bedroom, she went into the guests’, carefully opening the door and stepping inside. Repeating the same process again, with no sign of Harry there either. Now, even more worried than before, she sat down in the bed and tried to think. Where would have Harry possibly go? Their apartment wasn’t big and all windows and doors were locked with magic and locks to ensure their safety with the ongoing war. He couldn’t have gotten far, right?
She looked towards the crib Sirius was supposed to put him to sleep and then a thought entered her mind. What if? Oh, Merlin! She scolded herself for not thinking about it earlier, then she ran towards the living room, where Sirius was still searching through for the child. Upon seeing her running around, all colour disappeared from his face.
“Be careful! You could step on him!” He caught her in his arms, forcing her to a stop.
She had the gift to laugh at the most inconvenient of times - hell, she couldn’t attend funerals because she would laugh the pain off. However, this time as she fell into his arms, shaking as she laughed and laughing even more as she watched Sirius’s confused face, she had a good reason. All the time she had worried Sirius had lost Harry, however, she had missed one important detail. When was the last time he saw him?
“I can’t believe I’m being the mature one but… I don’t think this is a laughing matter.”
“Sirius,” she shook her head and took a breath before continuing: “when was the last time you saw Harry before losing him?”
He thought about it for a moment, then replied: “when I wrapped him with the cloak.”
“And where was that?”
“In the room, where his crib is.”
She nodded. “Right, and now explain to me how could a four months old jump from his crib without us noticing? Or at least without me noticing?”
She waited for a few seconds and then, boom! Realization hit him right in the face and he let go of her and sprinted towards the room. Still giggling she followed him, a bit slower though. She had run enough for one night - and one life as well. When she reached the door to the room, Sirius had Harry in his arms - the baby was still asleep, unaware of the mess his uncle had just created for a simple distraction. Sirius was relieved, kissing him on his head and whispering words she couldn’t hear from where she was standing.
It got her thinking… She was sure as hell going to wait until he grew at least one brain cell before having children. Next time - and she was sure there would be a next time, he’d end up losing him for real. It was bad enough it was happening to her nephew but, her own kids? Oh, hell no, then she would murder Sirius without thinking twice and then her babies would grow up without parents because she would go to Azkaban. She couldn’t let that happen.
“Love!” Sirius called her out of her thoughts, smiling at her. “I didn’t lose him! You should have a little bit more of faith in me from now on!”
You know what? No children also sounded good.
Vaincre
February (part two)
Sirius took Remus’ hand across the center console, and let out a breath when Remus squeezed it.
“Maybe…” Remus began. “Maybe I should take it off?” He looked down at the ring, the diamond catching the sunlight. “God, I don’t want to, but maybe just for today.”
“Non, non,” Sirius shook his head, eyes on the road. “I don’t think anyone would want you to feel like that.” Sirius, eyes still sad, sent a smile Remus’ way. “I also don’t want you to take it off.”
“I know, but, maybe…” Remus sighed and rubbed his eyes. “God, I have fucking, like…emotional whiplash or something.”
“Tell me about it,” Sirius mumbled and threw his blinker on. He looked tired. They’d stayed up late, very happily, and then even later still once Remus had made the mistake of checking his phone before bed. “Merde, I…I really didn’t think…”
“I mean, maybe it’s one of those loan trades, you know?” Remus said. “That makes the most sense to me, Tremz’s contract had, what, one more season on it? He was about to be a free agent, the Rangers were looking for a solid winger for their top line and we’re slumping hard.”
“Loan doesn’t always mean we get him back, though,” Sirius said. “And I want him back.”
“No, but it means new blood, a mix-up. We’ve seen teams coming right off of a Cup do this before. I wouldn’t be surprised if management thinks we needed a kick in the ass.”
“This isn’t a kick in the ass,” Sirius sighed as the arena came into view. “This is a kick in the teeth.”
Remus brought Sirius’ knuckles up to his lips and kissed them. “I know. I know it is. I’m not trying to reason it out, I just…”
“At least one of us can see reason in it,” Sirius raised a few fingers off of the steering wheel at Ned, who manned the parking lot booth. There were fans at the gate, as always, but Sirius gave them a shaky smile only. Remus saw a few holding up Tremblay jerseys and looked away.
“Do you think Finn and Leo are in?” Remus asked as the jerseys disappeared from his rear view mirror.
“I don’t know…I don’t even want to think about them. What—what do we even say to them?” Remus watched the way Sirius’ hands flexed on the steering wheel, watched his chest rise and fall tightly. “And Dumo. And…practice is just going to be horrible—who thought this would help us?”
“I’m so sorry, baby,” Remus said softly. Remus knew he was part of that us, but this was still Sirius’ team. Sirius shouldered more weight than he did, and always would when it came to the team’s wellbeing. And he had a point. The Lions, anyone had to admit, had been more or less unchanged for much longer than any other team in the League. It was unheard of, boarder-line strange, how little trading had been done in the past five years. Kasey had been acquired of course, but Cole and Leo were products of the draft—no switch-arounds necessary. And then there was himself, an entirely different and even stranger case.
Remus had always admired it as a PT, how tightly-knit a group the Lions were, but it had always scared him a little, too—especially when he’d really started to get to know Sirius. Bonds like that didn’t break easy, and they would never break in the way hockey expected them to. No one on this Lions roster would ever have an easy go of friends-one-day-old-teammates-the-next. Logan wasn’t a Ranger now. He was a Lion in the wrong sweater. Remus was worried because he wasn’t sure Logan, especially Logan, was going to be able to stop feeling that way like the League expected him to.
“This isn’t happening,” Sirius breathed as they pulled into their spot near the elevators. He all but yanked the car into park. “I’m talking to Coach.”
Sirius, without a proper family, had woven one around him through what seemed like sheer willpower and skill. He was good enough to make those around him even better. It was why the lines worked and stayed the same. Remus wondered just how much pull Sirius might actually have. He also worried about what Sirius would put himself through if he couldn’t turn this around.
Remus sighed and then slipped off his ring and put it into his pocket. For now, it was for the best. He pushed out of the car after Sirius.
“And say what?” Remus said, jogging a few steps to where Sirius was waiting for him, palm up. Remus laced their fingers together. Sirius frowned at his fingers.
“Just for now, sweetheart.”
“I don’t know,” Sirius sighed. He ran a hand through his hair, said something low and frustrated in French that Remus didn’t catch.
“Sirius,” Remus tugged him to a stop in front of the elevator. Sirius glanced down at Remus’ look of warning, but his jaw remained tight and defiant. “Don’t put this on yourself.”
“It’s not on me,” Sirius said. He jammed the elevator button and looked down at Remus. “It’s on them. And I’m going to make them see that.”
When they reached their floor, even the hallway was quiet, not to mention the eerily still locker room. Remus pushed the locker room door open first, and some of the boys looked up and straight at Sirius. Remus felt the way Sirius’ posture changed, shifting into his role, but his hand tightened around Remus’. He was scared. He wasn’t sure how to lead them, or where. Logan’s absence was in the air like mist. Leo and Finn were in their stalls, Logan’s empty one, a blaring light beside Finn. Leo was studying Sirius carefully, whereas Finn didn’t look up at all, just focused on the roll of tape he was wrapping a stick with as it went round and round. With a jolt, Remus realized he was wearing Logan’s necklace. He kept glancing at his phone, face-up in his stall beside him. Remus caught Leo’s eye, finally, but when he took one step forward, Leo shook his head minutely, sent him a shaky smile, and dropped his gaze, shadowed by the brim of his hat. He didn’t want to talk. Remus didn’t blame him.
“I already can’t take this. I’ll be right back.” Sirius didn’t exactly whisper and earned himself more than a few curious looks as gave Remus’ hand a squeeze before letting it go and banging back out into the hallway again, where the coaches offices were.
“Sirius,” Remus couldn’t help but hiss out, but he was already gone. Remus closed his eyes briefly. He turned back to the room and cast a quick glance around. Leo, Finn, looking like wrecks. Sullen faces. Pascal, tired eyes and watching Remus carefully.
“Hey, Loo.”
Remus looked and found, with relief, that Thomas was standing by the coffee cart. He tried not to walk over too quickly. Thomas looked sad, too, but really his face shared Remus’ worry more than anything else.
“I love our boy,” Thomas said, nodding into the direction Sirius had just left in. “But what the hell was that?”
“He thinks he can talk sense into…well.” Remus wasn’t even sure he should say it. “He thinks he can get Logan back.”
“Can he?”
They both turned to look at Finn, who was standing now, brown eyes alert, almost a little wild. Remus couldn’t stop glancing at Logan’s necklace around his neck.
“Can Sirius do something? Because if he can—”
“Finn,” Leo said quietly from behind him. He reached out for Finn’s sleeve but Finn pulled away.
“If he can, he should. If he has any pull, he’s gotta use it.” Finn’s voice was firm, fiery. “Logan belongs here—”
He was cut off this time, not by Leo, but by the door opening. Kota Takahashi walked through.
If the locker room had been quiet before, it was soundless now. Kota had an expression on his face like he regretted walking in, his footsteps slowing to a stop just inside the door. He looked at Finn, and Finn looked back, brown eyes hard. Remus was struck by how much he didn’t look like himself. He’d never seen Finn be anything but kind except on the ice, which was different. Now, Finn turned on his heel sharply, swiping his phone up out of his stall before brushing out of the room without a word.
Kota adjusted his bag over his shoulder uncomfortably. “Uh. Hey, guys.” His eyes found Kasey. “Winter.”
Kasey stood, a little awkward with one goal pad already strapped onto his leg, and reached out a hand. “How’ve you been, Kota?”
Their voices seemed loud in the room and Remus’ brain raced for something, anything to say. The two must have been on the Rangers together, and Remus opened his mouth to ask about it, when he remembered. The Rangers probably weren’t the best topic right now. God, it felt like they were all at open sea.
“Been all right,” Kota said. His eyes darted after Finn. “You know. Short flight, all that.”
“Right,” Kasey smiled, but it was shaky. “Well, welcome to Gryffindor. We should grab a drink tonight.” He looked at Remus. “Loops? T?”
“Hell yeah,” Thomas said and strode forward. His smile lit up the room, as usual. Remus all but felt some of the misty dimness subside. Thank God for Thomas Walker. “What’s up, man, welcome to the team. We’ll show you all the best spots. You like pool?”
Kota seemed to feel the tension ease, too, just a tad. “Absolutely, if you like losing.”
“Oh-ho,” Thomas laughed. “Well, if it’s me you’re challenging, that might be a good bet.” He jerked a thumb back at Remus. “But don’t go making words at this guy, he’ll flatten you with that table.”
Remus couldn’t help but smile at that. “Come on, T, he might be a secret champion, we don’t know. Hey, Kota, nice to meet you.”
Remus watched Kota look him over. He didn’t take it personally. He’d felt the same stares from across the ice. Guys were curious about him, and he knew that the rumors of favoritism or worse flew around the League. But Kota shook his hand and smiled easily.
“Nice to me you, Lupin. Where’s your other half?”
Remus narrowed his eyes a little, saw Thomas do the same. He thought it was kind of sloppy form when people they didn’t know in hockey referred to Sirius and his relationship rather than their professional roles. But he decided that Kota might mean nothing by it, might just be nervous.
“The Captain’s talking to Coach,” Remus replied.
Kota raised an eyebrow. “You always call him that?”
Remus crossed his arms. Two strikes. “When I’m in this room, that’s what he is.”
“You should probably call him that, too,” Thomas said, a little more friendly, tag-teaming with Remus’ cooler look. It worked, the read each other just like on the ice. Remus felt a flood of warmth because of it.
Kota, to his credit, looked taken aback. “I—oh, no, yeah, I…of course. I didn’t mean…” he looked at Remus, then at Thomas, then away and to his stall. “Um.”
Leo was sitting stiffly in his locker, staring at the place Finn had just been. Remus watched him blink once, twice, shoulders rising and falling in a sharp breath, before he stood and threw on a shaky smile.
“Hey, Kota, I’m Leo. Welcome to Gryffindor.” His accent seemed stronger from lack of sleep, Remus thought, the way Sirius’ got, too. His words drawled sweetly but Remus could see the effort it took. Leo wasn’t that much younger than him, but Remus suddenly felt a familiar swell of pride, the same he got for Julian sometimes. That smile of Leo’s must have been killing him.
“Hey, Knut, right?” Kota smiled. “Looks like we’re seat mates.”
“Looks like,” Leo nodded.
“Uh,” Kota glanced at Finn’s empty space. “Guess you guys’ll be missing Tremblay around here, huh?”
Leo went a little pale.
“Most,” Evgeni’s deep voice came, and he gave Kota’s shoulder a hard pat as he passed, headed for the ice. “We drink tonight. You impress.”
“That was an invitation, not a threat,” Jackson smiled appeasingly and shook Kota’s hand as he followed Evgeni. “Even though they always sound a little similar coming from him. See you out there.”
Kota sat down heavily in Logan’s seat, looking a little dazed.
“We miss him, yeah,” Leo said quietly from beside him. “But we’re real glad to have you.”
Finally, Remus thought when the locker room doors opened again. Some of the team had already made it out onto the ice as Sirius followed Coach back through the doors. Remus widened his eyes at Sirius a little, hoping where the hell have you been? came across clearly. Sirius looked back, eyes stormy. Obviously, he hadn’t been as successful as he had hoped.
Kota was on his feet again in a second, looking at Sirius the way they all did. Almost hungry, awe-filled and excited. I’m going to play with Sirius Black, he’d probably said to someone. His partner, maybe, or his parents. Sirius fucking Black.
“Takahashi,” Coach said. “How you doin’? These guys giving you trouble?” He looked back at Sirius when he said trouble and Sirius stuck his hands in his pockets.
“Uh,” Kota said, then laughed a little. “No?”
Coach arched a brow, smiling. “Yeah. You sound real sure about that.”
“C’mon, we’re all making plans!” Kasey said. “That’s all, Coach, that’s all.”
“Yeah? Well, why don’t you all plan to get your butts out on the ice in twenty, okay?”
“Yes, Coach,” Remus chorused with the rest of them, then gave Sirius an elbow to the ribs.
“Kota,” Sirius said, stepping forward. “How was your flight over?”
“Short,” Kota said again, a little breathlessly. “Hi. Captain.”
Sirius blinked, then began to smile. “Oh, uh, you can just call me Si—”
Thomas clapped loudly. “We gotta get to that ice, boys. Let’s go, Captain!”
Kota all but jumped back to his stall to get changed, and Remus tapped Sirius lightly on his back to get him to follow him away.
“Really?” Remus said when they were alone. “What the hell was that, walking away—”
“It’s one year,” Sirius said in a low voice to Remus. “It’s a one year contract, and it’s meant to get the Rangers into the playoffs this year. If the Rangers make the playoffs, we get two of their first round picks.”
“Well…” Remus sighed. “Okay. Now you know. But you’ve got a new player in there who, thanks to Finn, really already knows just how welcomed he is here and—”
“Well, management should know how important Logan is here,” Sirius cut him off. “Regarde—Look at the fans, even, it’s all over fucking Twitter, no one is happy. C’est—It’s a bullshit move.”
“All right, I know, I know,” Remus said, and stroked a hand up and down Sirius’ arm as Sirius rubbed at his eyes. “I know, baby. I miss him, too.”
“Sirius?” They looked up to see Finn there, half-dressed in his padding.
“What did they say?” Finn said. “I—look, if the Rangers don’t make the playoffs, maybe he can come back.”
Sirius looked at Finn quietly for a moment. “Maybe. But Finn…”
Remus reached into his pocket and touched his ring nervously. “Guys, we have no control over this.”
“We can keep them out of the playoffs by playing better,” Finn said flatly.
“That’s ridiculous,” Remus said. “We’re not the only two teams in the Met Division, Finn.”
“We could at least try—”
“Quoi, and we weren’t trying before?” Sirius snapped. “Go get dressed, Harzy.”
Finn looked like he wanted to argue, looked like it took some effort to turn back to the locker room. Remus looked up at Sirius.
“You okay?”
“Let’s just go,” Sirius sighed and then leaned down to kiss Remus’ temple. “See how Kota plays, I guess.”
“Be nice,” Remus said. “It’s not his fault.”
“I’m always nice,” Sirius said, a smile creeping onto his face.
“You’re intimidating,” Remus said, and leaned up for a light kiss.
“What happened with the Captain thing?” Sirius murmured into the kiss.
“Nothing,” Remus said. It wasn’t really a problem—if it was, then he’d tell. “Now, come on before Coach makes us do sprints.”
~
“We didn’t lose that game,” Percy was saying, beer in one hand, the other pounding on the bar table. “It ran away.”
Logan watched as Will snorted into his own glass. “That’s not how it works, Perc.”
The bar was loud and crowded, but Logan preferred it that way—at least while he was tucked into a booth between teammates. It was classic. Logan recognized it as one of Finn’s favorite places, all license plates and two dollar bills covering the walls. The booths were of red, cracked leather and there were softly buzzing neon signs on the walls that said things like Pabst Blue Ribbon, to NOQUITNY. They were recognized by almost everyone who walked in, but beside a few cheers and back slaps, they were left alone. Maybe that’s why the boys frequented this place so much. The beer pitchers were cold and the owner, a guy fondly referred to as Lenny who remembered Logan all the way back from college, had a tan, kind-eyed face that made Logan think of Pascal.
Logan checked the clock then took out his phone.
I miss you, he typed out. He wasn’t sure why that was easier to write than anything to Leo or Finn, but it was. Pascal replied immediately.
We all miss you very much, Logan. You’re playing so well!! Celeste wants to send you some things so get us your address when you can
And then, a second text: Also we’re taking you down in April
Logan clicked his phone off and ran a hand over his face. He realized that he was smiling. Dumo. God, he missed Dumo.
It felt almost like old times with Percy on his left and Will on his right. And there was Alex, who was a mean, trick-of-the-light version of Finn. Luke and Saint had joined, too, and he knew Fox and Miller and some of the other guys were around here somewhere. It was okay like this. He was okay like this. People talking around him. They were fresh off of another win that was bringing them closer and closer to the play-offs, which he knew was why he was here in the first place, even if it didn’t feel like those wins even belonged to him. The Rangers had been willing to let go of two first round picks for him. And he was playing well. Being met with the roar of Madison Square Garden was any little kid’s dream. But then he’d go home at the end of the day, after the adrenaline wore off, and he’d be alone again. Finn would call. Leo would text. But something in him just couldn’t face it.
Logan flashed a smile to Percy when their eyes met, but ducked his head down a little, taking a sip of his beer.
“No, no, no,” Percy was still on the old Harvard game they’d been talking about. “Wisconsin—those hits Wisconsin used to hand out were lethal and dirty. We could’ve stole it in penalty minutes but—”
“You do know how long ago that game was, don’t you?” Logan replied, hoping to get Percy to stop looking at him like that, like he could see right into Logan’s brain.
Alex scoffed. “Oh, like you ever forget a game, Tremzy.”
Logan let a small smile creep onto his face. He figured Alex remembered parts of Logan and Finn’s Harvard days as well as they did. Logan had all but lived at their New York place during the first part of their summers.
“I guess I don’t,” Logan said.
“Hey, when we play Gryf in a few weeks, we gotta get Harzy out with us,” Percy said. “I mean, c’mon, how fucking perfect is this? The gang’s back together. The O’Hara brothers, us—”
“We’re feeling real included right now, Perseus,” Saint piped in dryly.
Percy just laughed and stole Saint’s hat—which Logan was pretty sure had actually been on Luke’s head at the beginning of the night—and placed it over his thick blond curls.
“You can come, too!” Percy said. “Finn’ll get a real kick out of you.”
Logan couldn’t help but smile at that. He was right. Finn would like Saint. He was loud and sarcastic and had the locker room in stitches most of the time, even Logan. Even Luke, who seemed to spend most of his time scowling at anyone and anything—except Saint. Or, usually, especially Saint. Even now, he narrowed his eyes at Percy and snatched his hat back, but returned it to Saint’s head instead of his own.
The truth was, Logan missed Gryffindor more than anything…but he liked this team. They had the same tight-knit nature as the Lions did, looking out for each other off ice as much as on.
“Wonderful,” Saint rolled his. brown eyes. “I love being invited so people can get a kick out of me.”
Percy waved him off and slapped Logan on the back instead. “Tremzy, come get the next round with me, eh?”
Logan supposed that he did want another beer. He was feeling loose. Relaxed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt that way. It was like a bad headache had finally cleared up to a small ache behind the skull.
“Ouais,” Logan said. “Yeah, let’s go. Fries, too?”
“Fuck yes,” Luke said as he stretched out an arm along the back of the booth behind Saint. Logan’s eye caught on how his fingers brushed along the back of Saint’s neck, dipping below the collar of his t-shirt for a flash of a second.
Logan knew that move. He knew that move all too well. Half of Logan’s life was that move. When Saint saw him looking though, he didn’t flinch. He smiled, arching an eyebrow that was almost challenging. Yes? it said. And?
Logan followed Percy up to the bar.
“So,” Percy reached for one of the bowls of peanuts at the bar and popped a few into his mouth. His Star of David caught the light of some of the neon signs—bright blue and red. “What is it, are you and Harz not close anymore or something? Because, frankly, that’s hard to imagine.”
Logan felt his own eyebrows rise in surprise. “What?”
Percy shrugged, leaning on his elbows the way Logan was. It was nice to be around someone his own height for once. And Percy was just as scrappy. They made a good team with Alex as their center.
“Every time I bring him up, you, like…flinch or something, I don’t know.”
Logan straightened, flexing his wrists against the slightly sticky wood bar top. “I—no, we’re, y’know.”
“FinnAndLogan?” Percy smiled.
Logan laughed. “We’re really close.” He cleared his throat. “Guess I just miss him.”
“Been a while since you played without each other.”
Logan looked down, picking at a lone napkin that had a wet glass ring on it. It came apart easily in his hands. “Ouais.”
“Maybe us Harvard boys aren’t supposed to be apart, eh?” Percy said, and then stayed quiet for a while when Logan merely nodded. The bar tender was still busy, hung up with a crowd that looked like a bachelorette party. Percy tapped out a few different rhythms on the bar, reminding Logan that he played guitar. Logan had fallen asleep lots of nights to the soft, electric chords coming from the room below him in Harvard’s OKN house.
“I’m sorry, Tremz,” Percy finally said, more quietly. “You’ve been having kind of a hard time with this trade, haven’t you? I can see it. Morgy can, too.” Percy knocked their shoulders together. “We know you, man, don’t forget.”
Logan bit down on the inside of his cheek hard. “I’m okay. Hockey’s hockey.”
“Bullshit.” Percy leaned in. “I know it’s been a while between us, but I was there when Finn and Will graduated. It hit you harder than it hit me, and Will’s my best friend in the whole world.”
“I…” Logan said. He could feel himself drawing in. This was getting too close for comfort. “What do you…”
“I’m just saying I’m here for you,” Percy said, and finally the bar tender noticed them. He tapped Logan on the back. “And I know Morg and Hazard are, too. That’s all.”
“What can I get for you, gents?” the barman said.
“Another round, Mike,” Percy said, and with a pointed look at Logan, “And some fries.”
Logan gave him a shove and smiled, and just like that something eased again, right back into place. Logan didn’t have a lot of positive emotions associated with the phrase likeno time passed at all, but he was more than happy to feel that way with Percy.
“C’mon,” Logan threw an arm around Percy’s shoulder. “I’ll kick your ass a bubble hockey.”
Logan looked around his new apartment as he closed the door, easy with a pleasant buzz. He felt good, with laughter left over in his mouth. The second the door closed behind him though, the quiet was so loud that it rang. He kept expecting something different, but it was always this. Quiet. The warm smell of beer and fries was left by the door as he hung up his jacket, like Leo would have wanted. He swallowed and tried to keep it with him. It had felt good to talk to Will and Percy again. Alex was as fun to be around as he always remembered. Saint had such wild stories that Logan wondered if he’d lived another life before hockey. Logan clung to it as he kicked his shoes off. He went to his electric kettle and flicked it on before opening the cupboard above it. It was bare except for a box of mint tea. This part felt okay, too, now. Methodical. Familiar. The kettle boiled and Logan drew another long breath in before letting it out again.
He was tossing his teabag when his phone began to ring. Finn’s face lit up his screen. It was a picture from Logan’s freshman year of college, Finn’s sophomore. Finn was slumped low in a library chair and looked exhausted, but happy. Logan wanted to kiss the purple beneath his eyes, wanted to touch the way his hood pushed his hair forward. Logan stared at it and stared at it until it went to voicemail. A text followed, almost immediately.
Night, Lo xoxoxoxoxoxoxo love you so much
The tears sprang up so fast that it actually pulledthe corners of Logan’s mouth down a little, drew his eyebrows together. He blinked hard. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe Percy’s words from earlier, but the feeling from the bar—lighter, something beginning to ease off of his shoulders—disappeared with a snap. He missed them so fiercely it burned.
Hope the apartment is okay. Leo says not to leave your towels on the bathroom floor.
Logan definitely had left his towel on the floor, wet. He rubbed at his eyes, feeling hopeless at all of it all over again. Living alone. Being alone. Even at feeling okay. Was he really doing better if the feeling could vanish just like that?
Finn’s texts were nearly a steady stream. Logan didn’t reply. He wantedto. He could picture it. Went to your favorite spot tonight. Had Italian with the boys last night, Leo’s is better. He’d told him he needed time but he wasn’t sure Finn had completely understood. Not talking didn’t mean Logan wanted to be talked at. He wanted to grab Finn by the shoulders and shake him. And kiss him.
Please call, was the last thing Finn had said before he’d left. Please.
Maybe it was guilt that was eating at him, too.
Logan sipped his tea and leaned against the counter, staring around the space. The furniture wasn’t theirs. The refrigerator was take-out leftovers. Logan couldn’t look at anything without choking up. When he was alone, he had constant goosebumps but he couldn’t seem to shiver. Eventually, Leo’s text came, too. Leo, who was probably having trouble sleeping. And Logan wasn’t there.
Good game tonight <3 Leo’s text came in.
Neither of them pushed him to call or text back exactly, but the unspoken words were there. More imagined responses flitted through Logan’s head. I miss our midnight talks. God, he missed everything about Leo.
Logan held the phone to his ear and tried to will the lump in his throat away. The phone only rang once.
“Hi, Lolo,” Noelle chimed. “How’s the big apple treating you?”
Logan dropped to an elbow against his kitchen counter and inhaled a sharp, hitching breath. “Noelle…”
“Oh,” Noelle whispered. “God, Logan, hey…” she sounded like she was moving away from other people, closing a door. She switched to French. “I know. I know, Lo. Go ahead. You can cry, you’re all right. I’m right here.”
Logan pressed his forehead into the crook of his arm and fought away the tears. “It’s been—I need to be okay by now. I can’t do this, what if I can’t do this?”
“You can. Logan, you’re doing it, of course it’s going to take time.” Noelle had what Logan liked to think of as her big sister voice on. It wasn’t so different than her captain voice. “What do your boys say?”
Logan had known in making this call that he would run straight into that question. And he’d made the call anyway. Your boys. But they felt so far away.
“We haven’t talked.”
He was met by a silence that made him rub at his eyes fiercely. It brought spots to his gaze as he looked around the dim kitchen. A siren was whining down a street somewhere nearby.
“You haven’t…” Noelle began. “Logan.”
“Don’t look at me like that,” Logan sighed.
“First of all, you can’t even see me,” Noelle scoffed. “And second—Logan. What the hell?”
“Ican’t.” Logan was surprised by how hoarsely he said the words. “Noelle, I…”
Logan grit his teeth against the fresh wave of tears that threatened, hung up the call, and dropped his face into his folded arms, willing himself not to cry. He ignored her both times she tried to call him back.
~
It was getting better, but not by much. Maybe this is what it was now, Remus thought. Back and forth, like any homesickness and grief. Springing between okay and not okay with only time to rely on to make it better. The next week felt like five. Remus could tell the coaching staff was noticing, too. Everything was stilted. Finn couldn’t make a shot—but Leo couldn’t seem to miss one. The fuel of Logan’s absence seemed to bring different things to different people. Sirius took breath away with insane angled shots, Finn delivered hits like never before, but he was scrappy about it. The littlest comment sent him off the rails, taking stupid penalty after stupid penalty. And then, Sirius would go in after, defending him. They played 4 on 3 more than Remus even wanted to think about. Still, they were winning games now. Six in a row so far and still running hot.
Remus stood by Leo’s goal when Coach blew the whistle between scrimmages at practice. He didn’t push, and Leo didn’t respond to his presence for a few long moments, but finally he let out a breath. Remus had a feeling he was holding it all in. Remus skated a little closer, watching as Leo shoved his mask up and took some water, then pushing it back down again. He traced another line around the crease.
“Do you know he stayed with Alex for a couple weeks, but he’s got his own place now?” Leo finally said, as if they’d been talking already.
“Oh?” Remus replied, trying not to sound too overly interested. “No, I didn’t. Sirius has tried to reach out, but…That’s nice. Do you have pictures?”
“No, he…” Leo chewed on his lip for a second. “He sent us, like, one text.”
Remus nodded, taking that in. He looked over to Finn, who was getting an earful from one of the assistant coaches. “What do you mean, ‘one text’?”
Leo looked down, tracing the blue crease of his goal with his stick. “Nothing. He…he won’t really talk to us.”
Remus’ heart sank. “You mean…since he left?” he asked softly. He had been so long.
“He warned us,” Leo added quickly, and kept his mask down. A barrier. A shield. “We’re not—like, we understand. Well,” he sent a glance towards Finn, now giving the coach back just as good. “Iunderstand. But still. It’s been so long…and my birthday…”
Leo cut the word off halfway through, as if he wished he hadn’t said it. He gave his head a hard shake.
“Well, I thought he’d call, at least.”
“Oh, Nutty,” Remus said again. He couldn’t imagine getting traded and not calling Sirius the second he got to wherever he was going. “Well…I mean, I don’t know. Lo’s very…”
“Scared?” Leo supplied. “Stubborn?”
Remus bit his lip. “Well, I’d say give him time, but…” Three weeks was a long time to hear nothing. Even thinking about going that long without talking to Sirius made him want to shake the thought from his head.
“I know,” Leo’s voice came out frustrated, and he glanced up apologetically. “Sorry. Sorry, I don’t want to take any of this out on you.”
“It’s okay,” Remus said, skating closer. “Seriously, I won’t take anything personally. Especially not now. Especially when I think Finn just tried to take my head off with a shot.”
Leo’s expression seemed to get heavier. “He’s really not doing well. And I’m okay, but I…I get out three plates for dinner.”
Remus put his glove on Leo’s shoulder. “Aw, Leo…God, I’m so sorry.”
Leo just shook his head with a slight smile, blue eyes blinking away tears.
“I just wish…I do understand, I just…” He sniffed and jumped a little as Thomas called Remus over for face-off. “We’ll be okay.”
“I know you will,” Remus said. “But, like…it’s okay to hurt about it, you know? Or not understand. And…” Remus shrugged. “Maybe it’s okay to give Finn a piece of your mind.”
Leo actually laughed a little, then sniffed. “I think I’m getting there.”
Practice was a little brutal once Remus skated away. Finn nearly broke a stick as Leo blocked shot after shot of his, Sirius collected an even hat trick against Kasey, but it all finally came to a peak when Finn shook Remus up against the boards in a hard—and not entirely clean—hit.
“Fuckingwhoa,” Thomas called out, voice echoing in the empty stadium, just as Coach blew a shrill whistle that made all of them duck their heads.
“O’Hara!” Coach barked. “I see another hit like that in practice, I’m gonna sit you so hard next game you’ll put a hole in that bench!”
Remus rolled his shoulder out, glancing up at Finn’s stony expression. Finn didn’t reply, and didn’t so much as glance at Remus as he skated away—straight for the locker room, Remus realized. They still had fifteen minutes.
Remus heard the familiar sound of Sirius’ skating stop sharply next to him. His hair peaked out of his helmet in dark, sweat-slick strands and his eyes were wide, watching Finn retreat. “Loops. Merde, Re, are you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Remus said, putting a glove on his arm. “Just surprised me mostly.”
“Lupin?” Coach called out.
“I’m fine, Coach.”
“Yeah, he’s damn lucky you’re fine,” Thomas grumbled. “What the fuck. Season’s finished at this rate.”
“Don’t say that,” Remus began as Coach blew the whistle again.
“All right, I think we’ve all had enough for one morning. Hit the showers, boys. Be ready for video review later.”
Remus felt the tension thicken as the team skated off the ice. He looked up at Leo when he tapped his shin with his stick. His blue eyes looked almost mournful.
“Are you okay?” Leo asked. “I can’t believe…I don’t know why he…”
Remus made sure his smile looked real and not worried. “I’m okay. Really, I am.”
Leo didn’t look convinced, but he filed back down the tunnel with the rest of them in silence. That silence was only broken when they made it into the locker room to find Finn already half-undressed.
Before anyone could so much as mutter a word, Sirius had Finn by the straps of his chest padding, pushed up against the edge between his own and what was now Kota’s stall.
Remus had to bite his own tongue to keep from yelling Sirius’ name. He had to let him do this.
“You want to push your own team around?” Sirius all but growled. “That’s really what you want to do?”
Finn tried to shove Sirius away but he wouldn’t budge. Remus saw his eyes dart to Leo, but Leo had his eyes down, unstrapping his own padding. Remus guessed Leo thought Finn needed this, too. Kota looked a little wide-eyed, but kept his distance with the others.
“You’re just mad ‘cause it was Loops—” Finn shot back, and Sirius gave him another firm push.
“You know that’s not true,” Sirius said. “You’re taking stupid penalties in games, and you’re taking your problems out on everyone else like this whole situation isn’t effecting the rest of us, too. You’re not the only person in this room, and every person here fucking loves you. So stop acting like you’re alone. I’ve been there. It’s not true.”
And that was it. Sirius turned away to his own stall, placing his helmet down evenly and pulling his jersey over his head. Slowly, the others followed. Remus’ throat felt dry as he looked at Finn. His brown eyes were cast down and unfocused, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Remus began undressing slowly, too, but when Sirius headed towards change room, he jogged after him.
“Hey,” Remus said, catching him around the arm.
They were both sweaty, but when Sirius turned towards him and wrapped him up in his arms, Remus didn’t care. Maybe they both needed a moment away from it all, away from Kota, who was nice enough but a constant reminder of how heavy this season now felt without Logan. Away from Finn’s snapping remarks and Leo’s sad eyes. They needed a moment away from wondering how they were going to ever bring up their engagement. A moment away from feeling guilty about how damn happy they were.
“Was that too much?” Sirius asked, dropping a kiss to Remus’ head.
“No, he needed that,” Remus whispered. “All this just makes me think about…” He couldn’t even say the word trade. He was a player now, just like any other. Sirius wasn’t going anywhere but that didn’t protect him, nor should it.
“Non,” Sirius shushed him softly. “No, I wouldn’t let that happen.”
“It’s not up to you,” Remus pulled back to look at him.
“I’d go on strike.”
Remus let out a slight laugh. “No, you definitely wouldn’t.”
He felt Sirius smile against his temple. “Non, maybe not.” He wrapped Remus up tighter. “But we’d be okay.”
It was so close to what Leo had just said that Remus had to squeeze his eyes shut and let out a steadying breath through his nose. He looked up at Sirius, wanting a kiss. “I know we would be. But I’d want to call you every night, okay? Just so you know.”
Sirius leaned down, brushing their lips together. “I’d want to call you every hour.”
They jumped a little when Finn came around the corner and stopped dead, looking at them with wide eyes that quickly dulled. It was like he was making a bad habit of simply tucking the emotion away. He was fiddling with Logan’s necklace.
Remus felt Sirius pull away a little as guilt flooded him.
“Sorry,” Finn said, eyes down, and pushed around them to the showers.
“Merde,” Sirius breathed, looking after him.
“Tremz isn’t calling them,” Remus whispered. “At All Stars, you—baby, you got to get him to call them. I get not wanting to in the beginning, but I don’t think it’s helping anyone. Not anymore.”
Sirius frowned. “He’s not calling them? Why?” He nodded quickly when Remus just looked at him. “Okay, d’accord, you know what I meant. God…” Sirius pressed a soft kiss to Remus’ mouth. “Is that what brought this on?”
Remus bit his lip, then nodded.
“No wonder Finn’s so…God, maybe I was too harsh. I didn’t know that.” Sirius looked after the direction Finn had gone. Remus pressed his cheek to Sirius’ chest and felt him take a long, slow breath. “All right. Yeah, I’ll talk to him. I still think we can get him home.”
“Sirius, that’s not helpful for anyone right now,” Remus closed his eyes, holding him tighter. “Especially you.”
“But if I can convince—”
“You can’t,” Remus said. “Hey, listen to me, you can’t.” He pressed both of his palms to Sirius’ cheeks. “And, baby, you frankly shouldn’t be able to. You know those rumors flying around about you getting me this spot? Yeah, well, the Lions made a whole big thing about you not having any pull then, so they’re sure as hell not gonna give any to you right now.”
Sirius closed his eyes, which made him look sweet with his cheeks pressed between Remus’ palms. Remus had to lean up and kiss him again.
“I know,” Sirius whispered. “I just—he’s like my brother. But I know.”
“And maybe don’t fight with Finn again.”
“Then get him to stop tempting me.”
“I know,” Remus pressed up for another kiss. “Look, you’ll be at All Stars next week and all the guys will get a much needed break.”
Sirius’ fiery expression melted into a smile. “You’re coming with me to New York, you know that, right? I have plans.”
Remus wound his arms around Sirius’ neck. “Hmm, plans?”
Sirius smiled into their next kiss. “Plans.”
~
Leo watched Finn’s eyes dart to his phone every time the screen lit up. They had settled down on the couch to watch the All Stars opening red carpet. It all looked too bright, the commentator’s happy tones, the pump-up music. Leo had Finn tucked against his side—he’d finally stopped fidgeting, getting up and sitting back down again—but neither of them could deny that the couch felt empty. It had felt that way for three weeks.
The phone screen on the table lit up again, a news alert, and Finn’s body tensed as he leaned forward a little to check it.
“Sweetheart, I don’t think…” Leo began hesitantly, stroking Finn’s hair back from his face. They hadn’t talked about how practice had been going yet. They hadn’t talked about Sirius’ talk-down.
Finn just pressed himself harder into Leo’s side.
“You…you can’t be angry with him for not talking to us,” Leo whispered. “He’s—we all have to just…deal with this, and if that’s how he’s—”
“Yeah, I got it,” Finn said shortly, and pushed himself up from the couch. “I’m going for a run.”
“You shouldn’t,” Leo sighed, closing his eyes. “Baby, it’s dark—first of all—and second, we had a tough practice today and we have a game tomorrow.”
“Well, I’m going to,” Finn was already tugging his shirt over his head.
“No, Finn,” Leo said and stood. “No, you’re not. Tomorrow, fine, at morning skate, but no, not right now. You need to rest. Plus, the show’s about to start.”
“I don’t know if I want to watch him interviewed,” Finn mumbled as he disappeared into the bedroom.
Leo looked back at the TV. Truthfully, there was nothing Leo wanted more than to catch a glimpse of Logan walking down the red carpet, or suiting up in the All Stars locker room beside Sirius. Anything.He’d take anything, he missed Logan so bad it hurt.
“Finn,” he sighed, and pushed himself up from the couch. He’d expected to have to pry the running shoes out of Finn’s hands, but when he got to the bedroom, Finn was just sitting on the bed, elbows on his knees. The position made Logan’s fleur-de-lis swing lightly from his neck. Leo stared at it. Sometimes, when he couldn’t sleep and Finn was, as usual, soundly full under, he’d reach out and touch it where it rested against Finn’s chest, or, if he was on his side, against the mattress. It didn’t exactly put him to sleep, not with the lump it brought to his throat, but it helped all the same.
Leo took another step towards the bed. “Finn—”
“At All Stars, we could’ve—” Finn said suddenly standing back up. “What’s that all about? That’s not a fucking phone call that’s too hard to deal with.We’dbe there. We’d be there in the fuckinghotel room with him, all together, why doesn’t he—” Finn’s voice broke and his bare shoulders seemed to curl down a little. He pressed his hands over his face and Leo pushed forward, putting his hands on Finn’s waist, trying to steady him. Finn was shaking his head, brow pinched. “Why doesn’t he want us there, I…I don’t…”
“You know that’s not true,” Leo said. His voice wavered and he fought to control it. “You know he wants us there, it’s just—put yourself in his shoes. It would be torture. Finn, it would be torture, for me at least, to know that you two were together and I wasn’t there. God, I hate it, too, but I get it. It’s horrible but I getit.”
“I’d want a week with you!” Finn said. “And not to mention your fucking birthday like—at least then he should—I would’ve fucking—”
“Well, Logan’s not you,” Leo said, more firmly than he’d meant to, but, God, Finn was so sad, so angry, all the time. It was getting to Leo, too. His birthday. Leo crossed his arms over his chest and took a step back. “You’re the only one here who’s had to leave the others before and I…” Leo pressed his lips together, sniffing. He closed his eyes and took a breath. “Look, you don’t have to watch, but I really want to see him, so…join me, don’t join me. Whichever.”
And he turned back towards the living room.
It only took a few minutes for Finn to walk back into the living room and stand uncertainly by the couch until Leo lifted the blanket for him. He let out what sounded like a relieved sigh and tucked Leo into his side this time, pressing a gentle kiss to his temple.
“I love you,” Finn whispered. “God, Le, I love you. I know I’ve been…”
Leo rubbed a hand over Finn’s chest, his soft t-shirt and the bump of the pendant, but didn’t take his eyes away from where they were showing Logan and Sirius, standing beside each other on the red carpet. They weren’t smiling exactly, but their shoulders were close. Leo swallowed. He would have given anything for the three of them to be sitting on this couch right now.
“I love you, too,” he whispered, and tilted his head to rest against Finn’s shoulder just as the camera zoomed in close to Logan.
“He looks—” Finn said quietly, voice breaking off. “Oh, Lo…”
They both leaned forward. Logan’s cheeks looked a little sunken. He had darkness beneath his eyes. He had his hands deep in his pockets and his brown waves of hair were free and tussled. His green eyes darted around, like they couldn’t settle. Leo pressed a hand to his chest. He’d never seen Logan look like that. Almost frail, the pink of his cheeks tender. Had he been working himself too hard? Had he been sleeping?
“No,” Finn whispered, and pushed up again, hand rubbing the back of his neck. “No, I can’t watch this.”
Leo faintly heard their bedroom door close, but he felt frozen there on the couch, knowing Logan couldn’t see him but somehow silently begging him to look at him, to know he was there.
~
They hadn’t said anything at first. Logan had requested they wait to see each other, really see each other, until the first day’s opening events were done, and, really, Sirius didn’t want cameras around, either. One moment Sirius had been standing in Logan’s hotel room doorway and the next they were hugging. It was such a relief, when Logan started speaking French. Sirius was so choked up right now he wasn’t sure he felt like managing English. It felt like it had hugging Regulus again. He didn’t want to lose another brother.
“Tremz,” Sirius whispered. “Merde…”
“I can’t believe this,” Logan breathed as they pulled away. His dark green suit looked brighter against the ugly red carpet of the hallway. “God, Cap—I mean…”
“Don’t you dare stop calling me that,” Sirius said. “Fuck, nothing’s the same without you. I can’t tell you how hard it’s been.”
“Come in,” Logan all but pulled him in and shut the door. He thought of Remus a few doors down. He’d almost asked him to come, but something in Sirius was thinking of last year’s All Stars and how it had been Logan to talk some sense into him. He wanted it to be just the two of them for now.
“Tell me,” Logan said, and Sirius’ heart hurt at the strained note of pleading in his voice. “Please. I just—just tell me.”
“It’s…” Sirius began haltingly. How in hell was he supposed to tell him about Finn? “Well, Leo is… But Finn…” Sirius didn’t know how to say it. “Finn’s not doing so well right now.”
Logan’s green eyes were big and almost terrified. “And—Leo?”
“Hides it better, but I keep find him just staring at your stall. I can’t imagine…I mean, when he’s at your home…”
“And Kota?”
Sirius tilted his head, grimacing a little. “Kota seems nice enough. But Finn’s being a real ass, I’m not going to lie.”
Logan blinked and Sirius almost felt bad for bringing it up, but part of him knew Remus was right. Logan needed to know. “To Leo even?”
“To everyone.”
“He’s upset with me. Him more than Leo, I think,” Logan bit his lip, ran his hand through his hair. “I told them not to come this week.”
“Ouais…I know about that.” Sirius nodded. “Why—”
“Are they angry?”
Sirius hesitated before answering. “Well, I think you have to do what’s best for you right now.”
“That’s not an answer,” Logan sighed. “Cap, I…I just…” Logan shook his head, eyes on the floor. “I just started, like, being hungry even. Sleeping through the night. Seeing them, spending a week with them…I don’t think it would be…good. Not now. Merde, I love them, but I don’t want to lose my appetite when I’m not with them.”
Sirius sat down slowly on the bed, rubbing his palms together. “I understand. Really, Tremz, I get it.”
“Then what?” Logan sighed.
Sirius shook his head. “Nothing, I just…”
“Non, I know that look, you’re not saying something.”
Sirius couldn’t help but laugh a little. “Well, first, I’m proud of you. I can’t imagine how hard this has been. Oh, and don’t let me forget I have some cookies from Celeste for you. Apparently Katie packed her backpack, said she was coming with me to see you.”
“Oh,” Logan just offered a shaky smile. “Katie…”
It was the same smile Logan had been giving on the carpet all day, to the cameras and fans. Today had been an exhausting one, but Sirius knew that he’d be feeling a whole lot worse right now if Remus hadn’t been by his side through it, holding his hand.
“Second,” Sirius said. “How the hell are you playing so well while feeling like all that?”
Logan blew out a breath and sat down, too. “I can either get Coach Gallant to give me more minutes or sit on the bench and feel sorry for myself. And…” Logan sighed, voice smaller. “Who knows, you know? It’s a one year contract and if they want me for a playoff run and I help get it for them…maybe I’ll have a little more say next time.”
Sirius winced. “That’s a pretty big gamble. But that’s also what Finn said.”
“Really?” Logan asked. “Oh.”
“He’s really not doing well,” Sirius said again. “I…”
Logan waved him on. “Just tell me, Cap.”
Sirius huffed out a laugh. “I’m that obvious?”
“Always have been,” Logan shrugged. “Well. Not always, I guess.”
Sirius took another breath. “I know you aren’t calling them.”
Logan shrunk into himself a bit then, and Sirius felt guilty but not enough to back down. Logan looked away.
He had lost a little weight, Sirius had noticed on the carpet. Not enough to be very noticeable, but Sirius had spent hours and hours with Logan. His cheeks looked a little sharper. His lips were chapped, eyes tired.
“Cap…” Logan shook his head.
Sirius put a hand on Logan’s knee. “Tremz, I know how it was with you and Finn. I’ll never feel what you two felt, I know that, and it must have been so, so horrible, but have you…have you thought about how this doesn’t have to be all or nothing in the way that Harvard was?”
Sirius felt Logan hold himself very still. Sirius was being truthful when he said that he couldn’t imagine what Finn and Logan must have gone through. He’d only truly fallen for Remus when they’d started seeing each other. To feel the way he did about Remus for years and not be able to do anything…he couldn’t begin to imagine.
“Is Loops with you?” Logan asked.
Sirius sighed a little at the topic change but nodded. “Yeah. We thought we’d make a trip of it. Together.”
Logan shot him a look. “Did you kick him out of this talk?”
Sirius laughed. “A little, yeah.”
Sirius paused. He thought of the ring that sat prettily on Remus’ finger. They’d been so dead-set on not rubbing the news into the Cubs’ faces, but maybe…maybe it wouldn’t hurt. Maybe it would help. For Sirius, marrying Remus was the ultimate sign that life, hard and brutal sometimes, worked out.
“Tremz,” Sirius began, and ran a hand through his hair. He wished now that he’d taken the time to change out of his suit. It felt too hot and tight. Logan looked back at him expectantly. He really did look so tired. It made Sirius want to tuck him into his side. God, he hoped this was the right thing to say right now.
“I finally did it,” he said, and Logan tilted his head for a moment before his eyes widened. “I asked Remus to marry me.”
“You did?” Logan said breathlessly. “You finally—the ring?”
Sirius laughed. “I completely forgot about the ring actually.”
Logan laughed, too, reached out and gripped Sirius’ hand, then he blinked and a tear fell. He curled into himself a little. He touched his own wet cheek. “Oh, sorry, I—Oh.”
Sirius felt himself tearing up to. “Don’t you cry, I’llcry.”
Logan nodded, and then he didn’t seem to be able to speak. He buried his face in his hands. His next breath was a sob.
“Hey,” Sirius said softly. “Tremz, hey…” He squeezed Logan’s hands. “No, I…I’m sorry, I thought it might help to see that things do work out and—”
“Non, I’m so happy for you—I’m sorry—”
Sirius didn’t know what to do but sit there and let Logan squeeze his hands so hard that it hurt a little.
“We were going to come out,” Logan’s words were all tangled up with tears. “We decided—maybe an hour before I got the call.”
“You were—” Sirius felt his heart lurch. A moment later Logan was sort of listing to one side and Sirius pulled him in against his chest. “Oh my god. Oh God, Logan…”
“I wanted to,” Logan cried, clutching at Sirius’ suit jacket. “I finally wanted to and then…”
“I’m sorry,” Sirius said through tears in his throat. He felt Logan’s seeping through the thin cotton of his shirt. “That’s not going to be the last time you want to. Don’t worry about that, Lo, don’t worry.”
“I miss them so bad,” Logan said. “I miss them.”
“Call them,” Sirius said, and realized he was pushing his fingers through Logan’s hair, the way he did with Remus. It felt right with the way Logan leaned into it. “Logan. You know them. I know it’s hard, but you know them. They love you so fucking much. Do you really think seeing their faces, hearing their voices, will be harder than this?”
“I don’t know,” Logan said. “Saying goodbye was so horrible, I…”
“That’s because you’re acting like you’re never going to see them again. It’s a three hour drive or something. You can do that in a day off. It’s not the best, but you can. You can.”
Logan let out a breath and sat up. He wiped at his eyes, dark eyelashes clumped together with tears, and looked at Sirius. “Ouais…” He wiped at more fresh tears. “Ugh. I’ve never cried so much in my life.”
Sirius ruffled Logan’s hair again and then let them sit for a few minutes. He reached up and loosened his own tie, then did the same for Logan, who sent him a grateful look.
“Sorry about your shirt.”
“I could care less about this shirt,” Sirius said, and looked at Logan’s bare throat. “Gave Finn your necklace.”
Logan just nodded and touched where the missing piece would have hung. He sat up a little straighter, scrunching his nose a little, blocked up. “Is Loops just waiting for you?”
“He can entertain himself,” Sirius laughed, and put a hand on Logan’s shoulder. “You’re really important to us, Tremz.”
Logan cracked a smile. “Does he want to watch a movie with us?”
“Absolutely.”
Logan’s smile reached his eyes this time, which he gave another firm rub. “All right. I’m going to get out of this suit.”
“Ouais, me too.” Sirius had one hand on the door when Logan’s phone lit up. Finn, Sirius could see. A picture that looked like it was from Harvard. Finn looked much more like Alex now.
“Want me to give you a bit?” he asked carefully.
When Logan didn’t reply right away, Sirius shut the door again. They watched the phone ring out together.
“D’accord,” Sirius sighed. “Meet up in ten?”
Logan was quiet for a long moment. Sirius watched his eyes dart to the clock, then away. Finally, he straightened. “Non. You two go enjoy yourselves. I have something I need to do.”
Sirius’ chest flooded with relief. “Okay.” He slapped Logan’s shoulder. “Good.”
~
Finn couldn’t help himself anymore. Leo was in the shower, water loud, and Finn pressed his phone harder against his ear.
“Hi,” he whispered to Logan’s voicemail. He’d not yet left a message. He couldn’t help it. Maybe it was seeing him, and not just on Youtube in a press interview (which he and Leo had been watching maybe too many of), but seeing a live feed of Logan walking and talking to other people. How tired he’d looked, how lonely. “Lo, I…I know you said you couldn’t—“
Finn had to stop for a moment, get his breathing under control. He didn’t want to cry. He was so tired of crying, of feeling this way.
“But I need…I can deal with you being in New York. I—I can do that, I really can, but I can’t do this again. I can’t do the silence again, please, please, please…”
His breathing hitched and he covered his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I said I wouldn’t do this, but please call us. It’s just—so hard like this, Lo, it’s so hard—”
His nose was running horribly. Leo would know immediately he’d been crying but Finn wanted nothing more than to sink into Leo’s arms after this.
He let out a long breath. “God, I’m sorry. I love you. Fuck, don’t listen to this, okay—”
He hung up and tossed the phone onto the bed, resting his head back against the pillows. He shouldn’t have done that. Logan had asked him not to do that, not to do any of what he’d been doing. But when he’d left Harvard, Finn hadn’t said a thing after that single, horrible phone call and it had been hell. How much deeper could they sink? Apparently some ways.
He listened to Leo humming softly to himself for a moment before pushing himself up from the bed and cracking the door to the steamed up bathroom.
Le? Can I come in?” Finn asked over the steam, and he saw Leo’s silhouette freeze at the sound of his blocked up nose.
“Oh, sweetheart, of course,” Leo said. “C’mere.”
The second Finn was undressed and stepping onto the wet tile he was taking Leo into his arms.
“I called him, I’m sorry…”
“Finn—” Leo began, holding him tight. “No, it’s okay, it’s okay.”
It felt good, just to breathe each other in, skin on skin. Finn ran his hands up and down Leo’s back, just as Leo did the same for him. He took a deep breath, gathering himself, and leaned back to look at Leo. He pushed his blond hair away from his eyes.
“I’m such an asshole—”
Leo shushed him gently, pressing three gentle fingers over his mouth.
“I just want to hold you, okay?” Leo said. “And I want you to hold me.”
Finn loved him. Finn loved him so much. He nodded, and let Leo tuck his face back into his neck, pressing him close beneath the shower’s warm spray.
~
Sirius shut the door to his and Remus’ room in New York and sat down heavily on the bed. He brought Remus’ hand up to his mouth and kissed where he had replaced his engagement ring. Sirius didn’t like it, but it probably was for the best that he’d taken it off for the red carpets. At least for now, until they told the team officially.
“I think he’s going to call them,” he said, and Remus’ shoulders visibly loosened.
“Yes. Good Logan.”
“Yeah,” Sirius wrapped an arm around Remus’ waist. “Re, they were going to come out.”
Remus’ eyes widened and he dropped his forehead to Sirius’ shoulder. “Oh my god. Aw, Leo…I knew there was something else he wasn’t saying. Oh my god, I can’t even imagine…and when Logan was asking me about it…”
Neither of them found more words, just sat on the cool hotel sheets. Remus started twisting his ring around his finger at one point and Sirius watched the flash of the diamond as it came round and round again.
“Okay,” Sirius said, and pressed a kiss to Remus’ temple. “I love Logan, I miss him, but right nowI’ve had a camera in my face all day and we deserve to celebrate,” Sirius tugged Remus closer. “I’m going to start us on our Pre-Wedding Honeymoon New York City Itinerary.”
Sirius took delight in nothing more than the smile that slowly broke over Remus’ face.
“Oh?”
“Mhm,” Sirius said, and pressed a gentle kiss to Remus’ mouth. “Get your coat.”
“Mycoat?” Remus laughed. “It’s like eleven at night!”
“What, there’s no where to go at night? Come on, allez.” He pulled Remus up and right into another kiss. “I’ve been thinking so much about Tremz, of course I have, but…” Sirius sighed. “All I want to think about is you.” He let his next kiss linger. “You and you and you.”
“Hmm,” Remus’ smiled. “Where are we going?”
Sirius pressed the words into his mouth along with kisses. He tucked Remus up against his body and turned them in a slow circle. “Dancing.”
Remus’ laugh was light. “Sirius Black is taking me dancing?”
“He is,” Sirius smiled into another kiss. “And he can’t wait.”
If Sirius had learned anything from his life so far, it was to seize the mome
Closure Part 2
Pairings: Young! Sirius Black x Reader
Warnings: Angst, heartbreak, sad feelings, smidge of violence, smut, swearing, unprotected sex, 18+ only !
Word Count: 2k +
Summary: Good or bad, sometimes all you need is closure.
Feedback is always greatly appreciated, come tell me what you think. This work is not to be reposted on any other site without my permission, thanks x
Tags:@the–real-wombat@sleepylunarwolf@strangenerdsstuff@ashkuuuu@dottirose@fairywriter-oracle@miraclesoflove@daddy-padfoot@angelastein2010@addled@wanna-see-my-lease@weasleybeb - If you want to be added to the tag list you can use the link on my masterlist or you can send me an ask and let me know
It was all coming to the surface, everything before and after the breakup, all of the feelings the two of you had buried, squashed down and tried to pretend didn’t still exist. The flood gates were open and good or bad the two of you needed closure.
“Don’t walk away from me!” You snap with a roll of your eyes. “You have something to say Sirius so just say it for fucks sake.”
Sirius’ shoulders tense as you follow him into the kitchen, his back towards you. He picks up a glass from the bench, turning it over a couple of times in his hands before flinging it into the sink with so much force you jump, the glass shattering on impact. He braces himself on the bench, hunched over the sink, his tone short, clipped and dangerously low. You’d almost rather him yell at you.
“Say? There’s nothing to say. You fucked off y/n, you left. You packed your shit and didn’t look back,” He turns to look at you, a humourless laugh ringing in your ears, a flash of lightning illuminating the few tears on his cheeks. “You never gave me a chance to say anything…”
You shrunk back, wrapping your arms around yourself as you looked at the floor. You knew heartbreak, but this felt different. This was raw, excruciating… like someone had attached you both to a live wire and turned the voltage up to high. The two of you stood there, opposite sides of the room, breathing heavily. You felt some of your anger soften, replaced with the desire to walk over there and wipe the tears off his cheeks. You thought you were doing the right thing by leaving, you and Sirius were destroying each other day by day, bit by bit. There were things you couldn’t work through, issues that ran too deep.
Neither of you had spoken in over a week when you left. You had selfishly tricked yourself into thinking that leaving was going to be the best for both of you. A clean slate. Instead you protected yourself from getting hurt while doing the exact opposite to him. You step towards him, closing the distance while reaching out with your hand. Sirius shrinks back from your touch but doesn’t stop you from cupping his cheek, your thumb gently tracing the line of his jaw.
The scruff on his face scratches enticingly at your skin and it’s a sensation you didn’t realise you missed until now. Sirius breathes deeply and closes his eyes, lips parted, hands twitching by his side. He takes a long, slow breath, then another and another and you can see some of the tension slip away from his body.
“I’m sorry,” You whisper the words but they feel louder as they cut through the quiet.
When Sirius doesn’t say anything you go to draw your hand away, surprised when he reaches out and holds your wrist. He leans further into your touch as the tears slip silently down his cheeks, catching in the palm of your hand. Everything around you seems to pause, the walls around him coming down, the bitterness you’d held onto easing. It’s like you’re both standing on the edge of a cliff, staring down into the void, waiting for the other person to say ‘jump’first.
A couple of minutes pass, a few more breaths mixed together in the air and you jump. Repercussions be damned.
Pushing up on your toes you kiss him, pressing yourself against his chest. His mouth is as soft as you remember, his lips moulding against yours with little adjusting, like there hadn’t been any time at all between your last kiss and this one. Sirius doesn’t move right away, stuck frozen in shock. It takes you mumbling another sorry into his mouth to get a reaction. When he kisses you back it’s hard, full of want and regret. His hands find home on your hips, fingertips digging into the soft, supple flesh. You rake your fingers into his hair, your nails dragging over his scalp, drawing a deep groan from the back of his throat. He pushes you back until your back hits the wall behind you, his knee pressing between your legs to hold them apart. You nip playfully at his bottom lip, sucking it between your teeth before soothing away the sting with your tongue, tasting the salt from his tears. The kiss deepens as the two of you become entangled fully, hands roaming over bodies, rediscovering lost intimacy.
When you pull away Sirius moves his lips to the juncture of your neck, peppering kisses over your skin as your chest heaves. Wrapping your arms around his neck the two of you stumble and giggle until you’re back in the living room. You can see him better in here, his face not shrouded in shadow. He looks at you, candle light dancing in his bright grey eyes, your heart thumping wildly inside your chest. A light blush covers your cheeks as you glance up at his swollen lips, heat spreading through every inch of your body as you draw his lips back to yours, parting your lips so his tongue can slip inside your mouth.
He drops to the couch, keeping you in his arms, your knees digging into the cushions either side of his hips. You edge your fingers under the hem of his t-shirt, his stomach flexing as you flatten the palm of your hand and slide it over his skin. The kiss breaks as he reefs the shirt over his head, eyes dark and needy. You sit back on his lap and bite the corner of your lip, feeling that familiar stirring of arousal settle in the pit of your belly.
Sirius sits forward, his nose almost bumping yours as he toys with the edge of your shirt, your nipples hard through the fabric. You open your mouth, swallowing a moan as he pulls it up and over your head, exposing your heated skin to the cool air. You resist the urge to cover yourself back up as goosebumps erupt over your arms and back, Sirius’ eyes roaming over you hungrily. He brushes his fingers up your sides and across your ribs, stopping just below each breath. He watches your reaction as he circles a nipple with the tip of his finger, dragging it agonizingly slow over the hard little nub. You squeeze your legs around him in anticipation, feeling him harden beneath you. Dropping your hand down you run it over the front of his sweats, teasing him with feather light touches. You quiver as he flicks out his tongue, wetting his lips.
You want to draw it out, savour the breathy moans and light touches, but you need him, all of him. Now.Sirius pinches a nipple between two fingers as he drags a thumb over your lips with his other hand. You gasp and arch forward, subconsciously rolling your hips to create the friction you’re craving.
“Want you,” You simper. “Need you…Siri.”
The nickname tumbles from your lips and seems to spur him on, his lips re-attaching to your neck as he sucks a dark mark into the flesh. He hooks an arm around your waist, lifting you up enough that he can shimmy his pants down, his cock slapping thick, heavy and hard against his stomach, glistening with precum at the tip. There’s another lump in your throat as you listen to the obscene noises Sirius makes, pumping himself gently, and it makes you want to slip off his lap and suck him greedily into your mouth.
You don’t. Instead you wrap your hand around his base, taking over his movements as you enjoy the weight of him in your hand. Sirius’ head rolls back on the couch, his hands still holding you as you slide over him, smearing the precum with the pad of your thumb.
“Nuhugh, stop, stop…” You slow your actions, smiling at the obvious effect it has on him. “I want - I -”
He doesn’t finish his sentence, trailing off as you readjust yourself, pulling your panties to the side - incredibly thankful you hadn’t bothered to put pants back on when you got dressed. Sirius lines himself up, keeping still as you sink down onto his length until he is fully rooted inside of you, stretching you out comfortably. He grunts deeply, dropping his head to your shoulder as you dig your nails into his upper arms, your whole body humming in pleasure. Slowly you begin to rock your hips, tangling your fingers into his hair and tugging on the curls. Neither of you are in any rush, happy to keep it slow, pouring everything you couldn’t put into words into your touches.
Sirius snaps his hips up as you move, thrusting deeper each time, his cock sliding over just the right spot each time. You feel full and content, something you hadn’t for months and it makes you realise how much you missed him, how hard it was to be away from him. His name tumbles from your lips over and over as you feel that coil deep in your belly tighten, your eyes finding his again as your legs tremble. There’s a thin sheen of sweat around his hairline, his cheeks flushed. He snakes a hand down between your bodies, his finger finding your clit, your body convulsing with pleasure as he rubs a tight circle over the bundle of nerves. You cry out, leaning forward until your forehead is pressed against Sirius’, his lips finding yours again as he picks up his pace.
It builds and it builds and it builds and -
“Oh fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!”
You drag out the word in a whimper, tumbling into euphoria, your orgasm bursting white behind your eyes. Everything else fades away except for the feeling of Sirius, the sound of his moans as he gets closer to his own end. His movements slow down considerably, his hips barely moving when he grunts out something you still aren’t coherent enough to hear, his teeth scraping over your shoulder. He empties himself inside of you and the sensation brings his name back to your lips, his arms tightening around you, keeping you pressed against his chest.
You’re too blissed out for the next few moments that you miss when Sirius pulls back out of you, turning around to lay you on the couch as he stands up, tucking himself back into his pants. He gives you a soft, genuine smile and you return it, watching him walk back up the hallway. You miss his warmth immediately, shivering as you curl in on yourself. He comes back with a warm washcloth, cleaning up the mess left on your thighs. When he’s done you reach for him, tugging him back down, snuggling into him as he runs a hand up and down your spine. When he sighs you feel your stomach sink, a feeling of dread overtaking everything else. You hold your breath as you peak at him from the corner of your eyes, waiting for what you know is coming.
“So I guess we should talk about what just happened.”
“…Yeah,” You mumble.
You feel sick and suddenly very self conscious. You’re still lying there against him, mostly naked and now you wished you’d paid attention to where he threw your top earlier. It’s the pin you didn’t want to drop, the reality that the two of you are still very much broken up, whatever just happened doesn’t change that. Sirius has been quiet long enough now that your body feels rigid and tense while you wait for him to say that you need to go, that this was a one time thing to help you both move on, to get closure.
You don’t even know how to articulate that that’s not what you want anymore, hell it wasn’t even what you wanted to begin with, but staying here and fighting with him seemed like the worse option at the time.
You try and pull away, ready to shut down and protect yourself but Sirius senses the shift in your mood straight away, holding you against him tighter. He looks down at you, hooking his thumb under your chin when you refuse to meet his eyes, frowning at the expression on your face.
“I don’t regret it,” He says seriously. “I don’t, it’s just…” He cuts himself off with a sigh. “It was so hard when you walked out y/n, I didn’t know what to do with myself… I can’t go through that again and I don’t think you can either.”
“I don’t know what you’re trying to say,” You reply, almost too afraid to know the answer.
“I’m saying we gotta be in or out, all the way, no going back and changing our minds.”
This time it’s you that’s quiet, the hurt and bitterness bubbling back into your system as you mull over his words. It’s not like his wrong… you know that, but the ultimatum leaves you feeling conflicted.
“We broke up for a reason Siri… those issues, they’re all still there. Nothings changed; what makes you think we can work through it this time?”
“Maybe we can’t,” He replies. “Maybe we can… all I know is that I love you.”
“…I love you too. I’m just not sure it’s enough anymore.”
Sirius tugs you back onto his lap, his face buried into your hair as you wrap your arms around him, wishing that you didn’t have to let go. You lay there, locked together as the storm outside eases, the thunder disappearing into the distance with the lightning. All that’s left is the rain, like the sky outside is openly weeping for the both of you.
Saying goodbye was never easy…
The Boy with the Unspeakable Name (Ch1)
Fandom:Harry Potter (and the Chamber or Secrets)
Fic Summary: Tom Riddle may have won his battle with Harry in the Chamber of Secrets, but there were a few unforeseen consequences; loss of Tom’s memory being the most obnoxious of them. Is it possible to stop Tom’s past from becoming his future? Or is the young Tom Riddle doomed to repeat his mistakes?
Notes:I’ve actually had this idea ever since the first or second time I read Chamber of Secrets. Though Tom has never been my favorite character, I found young Tom interesting, and I always thought things would have gone differently if he had come back when he was Harry’s age. I was always curious if he could have been redeemed if things had gone this way. Now, I know JK Rowling purposely wanted to create an irredeemable villain, so she wouldn’t have redeemed him even then, but I wanted to write a fic playing with that idea myself.
Despite having had this idea for a long time, I didn’t write it because I was afraid I’d bite off more than I could chew, and wouldn’t finish. But this last time I read Chamber of Secrets, I decided I’d just go for it. I’m still afraid I won’t finish, as this is the longest premise of any of my fics posted, (and I haven’t finished any of my other, shorter, long fics…) but I didn’t want that to stop me from at least trying out the idea. Even if I don’t finish it, at least I’ll have something to show for it!
All that being said, if you like this fic and do want me to continue please consider commenting, and/or reblogging. Sometimes one comment can mean the difference between me continuing, and me leaving the fic behind. It really helps to know people are interested.
Above art from the internet.
Chapter 1:
He didn’t know how fitting it was.
Tom Riddle didn’t know just how fitting it was that the first two things he sensed after waking up were the sound of crying, and the stench of blood.
He didn’t remember how much of his past—or perhaps one could call it his future—was comprised of tears, blood, muffled screaming, and the words avada kadavra! hissed in a cold, high voice that was surely not his own.
Right now, he didn’t remember much of anything at all.
Sixteen years or sixty, he remembered none of pain, the loss, or the victory.
All he knew in this moment was that world was damp and cold, it smelled like death, and someone was weeping.
That was the world to him; an ink spill on living canvas. A hole made in screaming pages.
The sound of weeping was the first thing he knew in this new life—(or this old life, made new)—it echoed and filled the place—whatever the place was—like the slow drip of water in an empty cave; tiny on its own, mistakable in a crowd, but sharp, vast, and overpowering when the world was hollow.
And the world did feel hollow.
He did not wake to a warm, dry hospital bed, a fire, and a heap of get-well cards. His family did not surround him, showering him with love and gratitude, asking what he did and did not remember, and what had happened to their sweet boy. No one held up pictures, pointing to the scenes and people within them fervently demanding remember?!, praying amnesia would leave him sooner rather than later.
Instead he woke to a place in which every sensation burned: cold searched for weaknesses in his damp cloak and slithered across his skin; the smell of blood bored into his nostrils, enough he could almost taste it; and the longer he heard the wailing it burned in his ears too.
Burned because it hurt his heart not just his ears? Because it was sad? Because it mattered, and he needed to know what was wrong?
Surely not.
Burned because it was annoying, and he wanted to shut it up. Burned because it wasn’t a nice sound to wake up to, and whoever they were ought to have more courtesy for orphan boys who just wanted to wake up in peace.
Everything burned because something about feeling, sensing anything at all, was…oddly unfamiliar. Not strange as in a new way; it was like something he once knew well that had been forgotten, left behind for a while, like nostalgia.
And if simply living was this foreign…how long had it been since he was last alive? How long had he been a ghost? And what brought him back to his body?
He opened his eyes.
Sight didn’t change the impression he had received from his other senses; mostly it just added ‘dark’ to the list of not-very-nice things the world was made of. And due to this fact, sight didn’t burn nearly as much as his other senses. Still, the world was crisper, more colorful, somehow, despite its drab nature…
He was in a chamber, a dungeon of sorts—probably underground. Stones and statues, turned brownish-green in the humid atmosphere, lined the walls. Snakes poked their heads out at him from the walls, their eyes glittering as if they’d come alive at any moment. And before him was a particularly large statue of a man.
But, as he sat up, his clothing—long, black robes, with a green patch on the chest—clinging to him uncomfortably, there were a few things sight showed him worth noting:
The first, most obvious, was the gigantic snake lying beneath the statue some ways down the chamber, its scaly green tail glistening in the low light. It was clearly dead; lying still, its belly up. There was blood where its lifeless eyes had been scratched blind, and a hole in the roof of in its gaping mouth, one of its front fangs missing. This was most likely the source of the foul smell. How long had it been dead? Couldn’t have been long, considering the other things around the room…
The second, what may have once been a book. This one was very close to himself. Its pages were ripped out of their bindings, in shreds, surrounding him like fresh snowfall. The leather cover had many holes and gashes in it, apparently made by the missing fang, which also lay beside the book, blackened ink on its tip—(but can words bleed?)—the book mutilated beyond repair. This was one of the strangest sights. It was almost as if someone—probably the person crying—blamed it for their problems and took their anger out on it, before that anger became the sorrow that resonated through the chamber now.
The third was a gleaming orange and red bird, long tail feathers unfurled on the floor, like a flame, its head held high, sitting quietly beside the mourner. It didn’t look like it didn’t belonged in such a grim place—like a rich person walking in a slum.
There was another glittering thing beside him: a silver sword with jewels encrusted in the hilt. This was likely the cause of the snake’s death, especially considering it had blood coating it.
A little way from it was a pile of raggedy brown fabric. …He couldn’t quite tell what it was supposed to be.
The sixth: the source of the crying, a boy. He had unruly black hair, and his black robes—(the same robes, he noted, that he himself was wearing, or very similar)—were christened with the blood and slime of beasts—(and maybe men, he couldn’t know)—and ink. He was possessed by the demon that was tragedy; his entire form shaking, heaving, whether from sadness or rage, or both, only time, and a healthy dose of good questioning would tell.
The last thing of note, and what was most likely the source of the tears: a corpse. A girl specifically, with red hair—almost as fiery as the bird’s feathers—ashen skin, and, once again, the black robes—(must be a uniform of some sort). Perhaps they were at a school? Quite a dreary school it was, if so. She was small, apparently young.
The scene was both a lot, and not much, to go on.
Three living things—one without memory, another without peace—two dead, and four inanimate, one of the inanimate things more mauled than any of the living or dead.
His mind started to provide theories about the scene,
Theory one:
The snake had killed the girl, the boy had taken up the sword and killed it in outrage.
Made sense, but that still left the diary, the bird, and himself. As well as the pile of fabric…
He didn’t see the bird having a big role in this; his best guess was that it belonged to the boy, as it seemed loyal to him, sharing his grief, and that its role was the scratch marks on the snake’s eyes, helping the boy defeat it.
Theory two: The girl had written something in her diary the boy didn’t like, perhaps something about he himself. He had torn the diary apart, and in a jealous rage sent his pet snake after her, but regretted it after the snake went too far and killed her, and decided to kill it after all.
Theory three: Reverse of roles; the diary was the boy’s, and she had found it, and he was either mad she found it and tore it, or she had after finding something she didn’t like in it, potentially about him, and the offended party let loose the snake.
Theory four: The snake belonged to neither of them, it was by accident they happened to wake it, or stumble into its home while fighting about this diary.
But why did they find an underground chamber the best place for an argument? Did they live here? Was this a normal place for them to spend time? Like some sort of secret hideaway? Were they in hiding fromsomething?
Four(a): Or else were they on some quest to find it—was the snake guarding treasure? Did the diary hold the map to it, and they tore it simply to keep anyone else from finding it, or else falling into the same trap?
Theory five: The diary was his own; not the boy’s or the girl’s. He had some relationship to one or both of them that went awry.
Five(a): The snake was his own, and he had set it loose on the girl for some reason, perhaps he was the jealous and angry party here.
Theory six: The snake didn’t kill the girl.
Six(a): She was already dead or dying before the snake even arrived. Maybe the snake’s venom, or something else about this chamber, was meant to cure her and failed.
Six(b): The boy killed her. Perhaps in his aforementioned jealous rage he had took the sword to her himself, and now he regretted it.
Six©: He himself killed her.
He sat up, blinking at the dreary universe. The boy didn’t hear him, just kept on crying. It was a very tiresome noise to hear so constantly.
He reached over and, quietly as possible, drew the diary closer. What made its disfigurement all the stranger was that every page he could see appeared blank. People didn’t usually have qualms with blank diaries—it was the words that people were so touchy about.
When he lifted up the cover, he could see beneath the gashes a name: Tom Marvolo Riddle.
The sight of the name sent a curious sensation through his stomach; he didn’t remember who it belonged to, but the name set a fire boiling in his gut, a bubbling, swirling, writhing fire within him. A fire that threatened to destroy everything around it too.
He looked up at the mourner. Was that his name? Or was the girl, in fact, a very petite, long-haired boy? Did the diary belong to no one present, and it was the secrets within, not the owner, that mattered? But there were no words at all, let alone any secrets…
Or…was it perhaps his own? His own name that he didn’t even remember.
Sitting here theorizing wasn’t going to get him any closer to the truth.
It didn’t seem like a good idea to disturb the boy in his grief, but he didn’t have much choice—losing your memory is an ordeal of its own, you know.
He got to his feet—this sensation too didn’t feel completely mundane to him. Everything felt nostalgic—like in some fond childhood he walked, and smelled, and saw, and heard, but as he grew up, sense left him, and he forgot what it meant to be alive. His damp clothes clung to his body, making him shiver.
His footstep broke the atmosphere; the first new sound in the stagnant place, the pieces of peace cutting through the tears. The boy gasped—the kind of raw gasp, full of dread and despair, one takes when they realize the dragon is awake.
But the dragon in this particular chamber was slain…
His slow steps filled the chamber, an ominous repetition, the ticking of a clock.
When he got close, the boy’s hand wrapped around the hilt of the sword, the metal twinkling in the dim light, scraping and clattering on the stone as it moved.
“I’d stay back if I were you,” his voice was soft but solid, dangerous, wet with tears, shaking with rage, hoarse from screaming.
He stopped. He didn’t know what that meant, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to find out.
Hmm…What to ask? ‘Why’s that?’ ‘What happened here?’ ‘Who are you, who was she, and, while you’re at it, who am I?’
The scene was still fresh; if he touched the embers it might reignite.
“And…If you were me, what would you do?” he decided to ask. Speech, words forming on his tongue, felt odd too… but it was the sound of his voice that caught him most off guard…why? Had he been expecting to hear something different?
It was an odd question; he could tell the boy wasn’t expecting it. He paused. Then he scoffed,
“I’llnever be like you.” Then his voice grew quiet and dangerous, “But if I were in your place…I would run. As far away as I could, and as fast as I could, before I found out what the famous Harry Potter is capable of when you take something important from him.”
An even odder response.
The boy turned. One of his most defining features was the circular-rimmed, cracked glasses he wore. That, and the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead, which was red and irritated. Seeing this scar, for some reason, made ire rise in Tom’s throat too. His glasses shielded eyes of a bright green which also heralded from a distant memory.
Bright, but dark. A green that pierced the veil of shadows, yet reflected the rest of the world. He wondered if he had ever seen such hatred in someone’s eyes before, in that past he didn’t remember. They burned as bright as the bird by his side, bright as the girl’s hair. They were bright enough to set the chamber ablaze, dark enough to enact the threats in all the room’s corners. Yet his name didn’t immediately come to mind.
Harry Potter. That was what he said his name was. Once said aloud, the name was more familiar than sensation itself; a burning scar upon his mind, never quite healed. The name was rage, and humiliation itself to him…though he couldn’t place the source of these emotions; no memories came to mind.
They were enemies.
Only two names he knew so far, and both sent the same sort of mad fury through him. Curious.
He couldn’t be more than twelve years old. Twelve years old was quite the young age to be defeating monsters, watching girls die, and to hold such hatred in one’s eyes. Very young to be so hated by he himself.
He was just a kid. Did this Harry Potter really deserve all this?
Why did they hate each other so much? Was it normal for him to hate twelve-year-old boys?
Come to think of it, how old was he himself? He sounded young, not much older than him. But he didn’t feelyoung.
Why did he hate him so much?
It was starting to look like Theory six© might be the most likely.
He didn’t take his advice. He didn’t know much about himself, but he didn’t think he was one to take people’s advice, especially not that of his enemies. In ignorant defiance he took a step forward.
“Stay back!” Harry Potter barked, as vicious as a loyal guard dog.
That same hatred he felt buzzed behind his words.
Another step.
He held up the sword.
“I’m warning you.” Tom knew the threat in his voice was very real.
Yet he came closer. Close enough to see the face of the girl.
He didn’t recognize her. Predictable, but aggravating. He had hoped that perhaps seeing her would bring him to his senses. Alas, she was just a dead girl.
He leaned in closer.
“DON’T YOU DARE TOUCH HER!!” the boy’s words, along with the sword, were at his throat without a second to spare.
He simply flicked his gaze to him; no sign of shock or emotion at his outburst on his features.
The world must burn for this boy too. Burn, not because of sensation itself was strange, but because what he felt was currently was too much to bear.
Hatred, horror, heartbreak…hell. It all blazed and overflowed in his eyes.
He backed up one step, then another, and kept backing away until the sword was no longer close to his skin. Harry could have easily followed him, keeping the threat alive, but it seemed staying by the girl, protecting her lifeless body was his highest priority—Why? What could he possibly do now that she was dead? Was he prone to mutilate dead girls? Was his touch repugnant enough on its own to warrant such violence?
The anger was still white-hot, but confusion was in the boys’ eyes too now.
Yes, six© seemed pretty likely.
So, how had he lost his memory? He himself didn’t seem hurt in the slightest physically, he didn’t even have so much as a spitting headache to tell him he’d knocked his head hard enough to lose his memory. It didn’t appear as though he and the boy had dueled, despite the indication they were opponents, and the sword in his hand. Nothing indicated how he could lose his memory, or why…or, come to think of it, why he was still alive.
If it was true he had killed her, that they were enemies, why hadn’t Harry killed him in his sleep? He surely had the chance, in the midst of all the wailing. Why didn’t he walk up to him, send that sword through him and be done with it? Why didn’t he fight him, run him through, now? Tom was clearly unarmed, and Harry was likely the one who killed the snake, clearly he had the upper hand, the power to do so. It all made too much sense.
He could tell he wanted to.
…The diary. It must be connected to everything. Would it reveal the truth of the situation, and his lost memories? Everything seemed to trace back to it. From the looks of things, it was the source of the scene…and it was the most confusing part of the scenario. If he started with it, perhaps he could get somewhere.
He sauntered back to it, crouched down and picked up the mangled cover, staring at the name, the holes where someone—presumably Harry—had stabbed it, a few blank pages hanging limply out of the binding. But why would he hurt an inanimate diary?
“Who’s Tom Riddle?” he asked.
The Boy with the Unspeakable Name (Ch9)
Fandom:Harry Potter (and the Chamber or Secrets)
Fic Summary: Tom Riddle may have won his battle with Harry in the Chamber of Secrets, but there were a few unforeseen consequences; loss of Tom’s memory being the most obnoxious of them. Is it possible to stop Tom’s past from becoming his future? Or is the young Tom Riddle doomed to repeat his mistakes?
Notes: Hey! So sorry for the delay, once again!!
I’ve learned I really can’t make any promises based on how fast I’ll get these out XD But I have actually already started on the next chapter–in fact it’s one I’ve been excited about for a long time, so I started on it a while ago–so that’s a good sign at least, haha.
I’m very VERY excited to share this one with you!! I hope you guys enjoy it as much as I do!!
I hope you guys like it!! As always, it’s your comments, and interest, that keep me writing!! <3
@toms-wifeOkay if I tag you??
If anyone else wants to be tagged on future chapters don’t hesitate to let me know!!
Chapter 9: On the Topic of Souls, and Other Such Oddities
Snape marched towards the Headmaster’s office, his cloak swishing about his heels. It was the next morning after everything had happed, and he couldn’t say the little sleep he got left him feeling refreshed. Numerous meetings, and even more numerous questions have a way of making one altogether restless.
And, in the end…an innocent girl was dead. It isn’t easy to sleep after such news, even barring the politics of it all.
When he entered he got the feeling that Dumbledore had just been speaking with the portraits, as words trailed off, and Dumbledore, standing in the middle of the room, turned to him like he had been about to make a very good point. The portraits too looked down at him in—if he wasn’t mistaken—an annoyed way.
“Ah, Severus. Welcome. We were merely discussing if lemon drops or chocolate frogs are better. Theodore moved that chocolate frogs are more pleasingly sweet, but I think the best sweets have a bit of tang to them. Would you like to weigh in?”
Snape raised an eyebrow. The glare the portrait gave showed there was more than a small chance the matter they were discussing was something weightier than that.
When Snape didn’t comment, Dumbledore moved on;
“Please, take a seat.” He gestured to the chair in front of the desk. Snape reluctantly swept around and sat in it.
Dumbledore walked over to a side table with a strange contraption on it, which quickly revealed itself to be a sort of odd teapot, as he proceeded to pour the steaming liquid within it into a teacup. He retained his calm, pleasant demeanor, but Snape could tell the previous day weighed on him too: there was a slight shake to his motions, and his eyes held a heaviness that his smile couldn’t mask.
“Sir…would it not be better to do this another time?”
Dumbledore gave a knowing smile. “You’re not suggesting that I am getting old, are you?”
“No, merely that such news takes a toll on all of us.”
“Many things take a toll, Severus.” He gestured to the tea to ask if he wanted a cup, Snape gave a small nod. “It is if we decide to let that toll keep us from crossing the bridge that matters.”
The headmaster brought the two cups over and he took his place on the opposite side of the desk.
Snape paused before speaking. “I assume you have brought me here to discuss the sentence of the boy with the unspeakable name.” He took a sip of tea.
“You know what they say about assuming, Severus.” He lowered his glasses. “But in this case you are correct. And it’s not so unspeakable, in fact, I encourage you to call him by it.”
Snape resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
“Before I endeavor to divulge my carefully-laid plans,” Dumbledore spoke, putting a handful of sugar into his tea. “I would like to hear your thoughts on the matter: what do you think we ought to do with the young Tom Riddle?”
“Permission to speak freely, sir?”
“It’s the only kind of speaking I endorse.”
“I think we should dispose of him as soon as possible. He’s too dangerous, too clever. It’s inevitable that he’ll get his memory back even if we attempt to do everything in our power to shield him from it—perhaps before we so much as try.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying!” One of the portraits burst out and a few others nodded in agreement.
“Keeping him alive is like keeping a ticking time bomb as a pet,” Snape continued, “thinking a little love is enough to keep it from exploding. He’s nothing more than a liability.”
Snape’s dark eyes flicked to Dumbledore, who had been listening pleasantly, with his hands folded on the desk.
“But…”—Snape drew the kind of long breath one takes when they know they’ve lost the fight before it starts, and exhaled—“something tells me you disagree.”
Dumbledore smiled. “It seems you know me too well.”
“Sir…need I remind you of your meeting with him as a child? You once told me you wished you’d been more careful, more cautious, more discerning when dealing with him in the past.”
“Thank you, but my memory has not proven faulty just yet.”
“If that’s true then I also don’t need to remind you of the things I’ve seen him do first hand. Actions that do not make me partial to the idea of keeping him alive.”
“Quite the contrary, it is for that exact reason that I am trusting with this situation.” He paused, looking at him over his half moon spectacles and saying meaningfully. “You and no one else.”
“‘Trusting me with this situation’?” He drummed his fingers on the armrest.
“Is that not what you would call telling you all this?”
Snape said nothing, taking another sip of tea. That was true too, he was sure, though this was one of those moments in which he could tell Dumbledore meant something more than just that.
Dumbledore stood, walking over to the window as if he had all the time in the world, and he wanted to enjoy some sunlight.
“That boy is not Voldemort,” he murmured, taking a sip of tea.
Snape raised an eyebrow. “Respectfully, Sir, I beg to disagree.”
“That boy is merely a young Tom Riddle: a teenager who looks like who Voldemort once was when he was young, and who has some of the personality of Tom riddle, and who, if given the right parameters, could become Voldemort. But he is not Voldemort now.”
“All he needs to become the Dark Lord again is to get his memory back, something which I do not think will prove altogether difficult.”
“Perhaps. But there is something else. After giving it careful consideration I find that my theory is sound.”
“What theory would this be?”
He paused, gathering his words. “It is my understanding that a door, once opened, can be walked through in either direction.”
Snape remained silent, waiting for him to tie the statement to their situation.
“What if I told you that our dear Ginny Weasley may not be dead?”
“I would say that is something we’d all like to hear, but that it would be wiser not to put your faith into fairy tales.”
“As I expected.” He turned, smiling. “However,” he began taking careful steps towards Snape, looking at his feet, “it is my personal inclination that the method by which he returned to the land of the living had a fatal flaw.”
“Which is?”
He looked up at him and stopped, saying meaningfully, “It required a young girl’s life.
“You see,” Dumbledore continued, “he will have assumed, of course, that her soul was destroyed in the process of bringing him back to life—her life merely energy to use up. But what if, as it were, he assumed wrongly? In my experience, human souls are far more resilient than that. What if, much like she poured herself into the diary, her soul was simply”—He took an extra teacup off the table—“poured into a new vessel:”—he poured the tea from his cup into the empty one—“The form of Tom Riddle himself.”
Pondering this for a moment, Snape looked away. As he did, Dumbledore returned to his seat once more.
Snape wanted to dismiss the theory right away, and intended to. However, the more Dumbledore explained it, and the more he thought about it…it wasn’t baseless. However—
“You are assuming a rather large amount with little to go on. We can’t base our decisions on a theory, especially one so far-fetched as the idea that the simple method of revival was enough for the soul of a young girl to persist.”
Far-fetched, perhaps…but then he thought of what he saw when he read the boy’s mind yesterday. The wall in his head. How there seemed to be something trapped behind it. Something alive.
“No, but we can let theories inform our decisions. If there is that chance, do you not think it worth exploring?”
“Are you proposing we let the young Dark Lord live on the very small chance we can salvage her soul from the brink? Or else that her presence within his soul will cause him to …what? Grow a heart? Forgive me but that sounds like a hopeless endeavor. Lamentable as the situation may be, we can’t sacrifice all of wizardkind for the soul of one little girl.”
Dumbledore sighed, and there was a heaviness to it. “No. I am afraid that it is unlikely the poor Ginny would be able to return to her original state. I am unsure if her soul is even fully intact. Or, further still, she may not be entirely aware of her current predicament herself either. When speaking of souls, it’s difficult to discern where consciousness resides. It would be unwise, however, to dismiss any of these options entirely either. Rather I am proposing that the presence of her soul is a variable with unprecedented possible outcomes.”
“This is the Dark Lord we’re talking about. I don’t think one little girl’s presence—be it within his soul itself—is going to make much difference.”
Dumbledore smiled. “You of all people should know it is unwise underestimate the influence of one little girl.”
Snape’s eyes widened, unable to keep himself from reacting to that. He turned his head away.
“The Dark Lord is incapable of love, of human emotion,” Snape muttered softly.
“Perhaps. However, personally I like to refrain from making such bold statements about even the cruelest of men. But, even so, it is for precise reasons such as those why I believe the simple presence of someone who is capable of love, of human emotion, within his soul, could make all the difference. As long as there is more holy water than plain, the whole vat becomes holy.”
Snape sighed, looking away. “It is a gargantuan risk for something that is nothing more than an educated hypothesis. What if you’re wrong?”
“Then I will face the consequences.”
“Then we all will face the consequences. Those consequences could easily be the destruction of all of either wizard or muggle-kind—or both. What would you do then?”
Dumbledore sighed. “You seem to be rather caught up in that.”
“I’m more surprised to find that you’re not. Unless there is some way to guarantee he won’t repeat his past sins, then I cannot entertain the thought of keeping him alive.”
“I think we may be able to work something out.”
Snape’s eyes narrowed. “This isn’t some misguided journey to erase your past sins, is it?”
“No.” Dumbledore smiled pleasantly. “It’s a misguided journey to try to erase his.”
“Think for a moment! If you are wrong, is there any reason you have to keep the Dark Lord alive, if not for the thought that perhaps Ginny Weasley yet lives within his soul? Any at all?”
“Oh yes, several in fact.”
Another eyebrow raise.
Dumbledore leaned forward on his desk. “I think you are underestimating the gravity of the opportunity we have been given. An opportunity which I do not believe will present itself again. We have been handed a young Tom Riddle—without memory, no less. Tom Riddle, who has yet to commit the crimes of his previous self.”
“Tom Riddle, who already exhibited little to no regard for others’ well-being! He felt no compassion upon seeing a corpse!” Anger reached his voice, he was very close to slamming his fist on the table.
“Yet he has hurt no one.”
“He’s only been around for a day.”
“A day which Voldemort could have easily spent hurting and killing as many people as he wished.”
Snape looked away. “One amnesic day does not determine the capacity of a life.”
“No, you are correct about that. But…try to imagine for a moment. Do you understand what kind of asset it would be if we were able to get a young Tom Riddle to come over to our side? If we could save him from becoming who he once was…it could save us all.”
“You’ve made this mistake before.”
“I’ve made this decision before. My mistake was in the fact that I did not realize just how much evil such a young boy was capable of. I know now what that boy could become—and already has once—and that it will take much more than a watchful eye to save him from the darkness lurking in his own heart.”
“Do you realize just how easy it would be for him to fall back into that darkness?”
“Which is why I want to keep him alive. To try to prevent him from making the mistakes of his past self. The key difference here, is that there is a chance he has light in him now, in the form of Ginny. If that’s true, we need only water that seed.”
“You don’t know that there’s light in him!” Snape stood abruptly sweeping around resting his hands the back of his chair.” At best that’s an informed hunch! Are you really willing to base such an important decision on that?! The only way to guarantee he won’t make the mistakes of his past self is to prevent him from making anydecisions at all!
“Where’s the fun in that?”
Snape blinked. “Is that all this is to you? A bit of fun?” He spat.
“Of course not.” His smile dropped at last, along with his eyes to the desk. “A young girl’s life has been lost. I’d prefer not to lose another.”
“Even if that other life is the life of the Dark Lord?”
“It is not the life of the Dark Lord.” He traced his finger along the rim of his teacup. “It is the life of the young Tom Riddle, who is entirely unaware of the crimes of his previous self—or anything much at all. He has shown no immediate inclinations to harm others, even if he is a bit insensitive. Forgive me, but I do not think it right to simply dispose of him.
“There is another thought that gives me unease as well.” Dumbledore seemed unsure he wanted to say it aloud. He folded his hands and looked at down. “If it turns out that my theory is correct, and Ginny isn’t dead after all…if we decide to dispose of him now, we, and not he, will be the ones who killed her.” The words were altogether too soft.
Snape ran his hand through his hair. “So what do you propose we do with him? Keeping the young Dark Lord alive, and a secret, will be much more difficult than simply killing him.”
“Oh I’m not denying that. If all goes according to plan, there are a number of portraits and other such lingering spirits we will have to inform of the situation.” He eyed the portraits, which folded their arms, harrumphed and looked away.
“And you’re actually proposing that we teach him magic? To the point where, when he does remember who he is, he’ll have the means at his disposal to destroy us all?”
“If we don’t teach him magic, if and when he regains his memory, do you not think he would seek out those means on his own anyways? At least this way we’re teaching him in a controlled environment, where we know where he is, and how much he knows at any given time—not to mention we can decide how much caution to exercise in the smaller details of the situation.”
“Even so…we can’t place a sixteen-year old who knows nothing of magic in first year classes.”
“Nor am I proposing that we do so. I intend to have someone teach—or remind, rather; I think he will be quick to pick it back up—of the basics over the summer. It may not be an easy task to get permission from the ministry to allow a boy under seventeen to do magic over the summer, but I think I may be able to come up with something. Either that, or we may be able to hope they assume the one doing the magic is the wizard who already lives in the house.”
“You’ve told me he has a penchant for flattery that caused many teachers to let their guard down around him. I don’t think I have to tell you why I don’t think it wise to have just any wizard teach the young Dark Lord.”
“I fear you underestimate me, Severus. You really think I would choose just any wizard teach to him? In fact—if you’ll permit my saying—he’ll have a teacher who is rather stern, and won’t find himself so easily swayed by flattery.”
“And who is the lucky contestant?”
Dumbledore gave him a look strangely similar to the smirk of a mischievous schoolboy, running his fingers along his wand.
“I did tell you I was trusting you with the situation, did I not?”
Snape’s eyes widened. He took a step back as if he’d been physically hit.
“No.”
“You asked me if I was proposing that we teach him magic,” Dumbledore elaborated, “and, for the summer at least…Actually I’m proposing that you teach him magic.”
Snape rarely found himself struck dumb but in that moment he was at a loss for both words and actions. For a moment he wasn’t entirely convinced he hadn’t been placed under a powerful confundus charm.
“During the school year, of course, he’ll learn here.” Dumbledore continued. “That is, if aforementioned summer goes smoothly.”
Snape blinked, shook his head, as if trying to remove a wrackspurt. The only thing he could ask was:
“Why me?”
Dumbledore frowned. “I thought I’d made that rather obvious. Because—as you so well proved over the past few moments—no matter how kind, how flattering, how clever, he appears, you will always keep in mind who and what he is. And, if he shows any signs of becoming his past self—or future self, as it were—you will not hesitate to do what is necessary.”
“Is there a reason you can’t do this, Sir?”
“Oh, I’m an old sap, Severus. For all we know I might grow attached to the boy.”
“And you want me to…what?” He spat. “Invite him cordially to stay in my home,” He held out a hand and bowed, “feed him, coddle him, tell him what a good little boy he is,”—he clapped his hands—“all the while teaching him all sorts of dangerous spells?!”
“No. I will inform him of the situation. Then after that I am suggesting you take him to your house—you don’t have to be too terribly cheerful about it, merely as amicable as you are able—feed him, provide him a place to stay over the summer. I’m not suggesting you coddle him—though kindness is a virtue—rather give him both praise and criticism, and each in moderation. That you teach him the basics of magic, and the spells you think would be useful, but not terribly dangerous. I trust your judgment there wholeheartedly.”
Snape stared at a speck of dirt on the ground as if that could tether him to this moment, breath weighing heavy on his chest, his mind splintering into fractals of thoughts. How could Dumbledore possibly expect this of him?
“I feel like I’m forgetting something…” Dumbledore stroked his beard in thought. “Oh!” He held up a finger. “Yes. Harry will be staying with you as well.”
Snape jerked his head to look at him, and this time couldn’t hold back:
“WHAT?!”
“I’ll admit, it’s a bit—the poor boy has been through a lot, he won’t be fond of the idea—but I think it’s important that he and the young Tom Riddle become…Well let’s put it this way, I don’t think Harry giving him hateful glares in the hallways at school will help the situation. Currently both he and you seem to have more than enough of those to spare.”
“Oh yes, and forcing us all to live together will certainly solve that problem!”
“While it’s true that living with someone can indeed increase one’s distaste…I do find that living with someone forces you to build a bond of some sort with them, and sympathize with them, in ways you would never have otherwise.”
“You’re asking the three people in this school who have the greatest distaste for each other to spend three months in a confined space!” He spat. “Not only do I think the boy would likely kill one of us before the summer is over, I’d be surprised if we don’t all end up killing each other halfway through June!”
“Or…perhaps the three of you will come to a new understanding about each other.” Dumbledore was as calm as ever. Snape wanted to wipe that smug look of his face.
“I don’t see than happening any time soon.”
“You might be surprised.”
Snape leaned against a pillar, running his hand over his face. He knew from the beginning that he wasn’t going to win this argument, but this was more than a loss, it felt like a slap in the face.
“Don’t you understand?” Dumbledore resumed his previous argument. “Tom Riddle never had a single friend—even at this age his ‘friends’ were all merely supporters and worshippers. If he and the boy destined to destroy him—who will most certainly neither blindly worship nor support him—were to become something even remotely close to friends it could make all the difference. And I think Harry is the only one who can truly change him.”
“The Dark Lord doesn’t make friends. Even without memory I don’t believe he’ll have any inclinations to form attachments—especially not to someone like Potter. He himself said he feels hatred at the sound of Potter’s name.”
“Need I remind you once more this is not the Dark Lord we’re speaking of? Memoryless, and with the presence of Ginny inside him—who already has an affinity for Harry—I think there is at least some chance his opinions on Harry, as well as concepts such as friendship itself may change. He did mention that he hates the sound of Harry’s name, as well as mine, yes. However, when I asked him if it made him sad that he had no friends, for a brief second he said yes.”
“He corrected himself immediately afterwards.”
“In all my years teaching the boy, I never saw a single moment’s hesitation, especially on a question like that.”
Snape let out a breath.
“Doesn’t Potter need to stay with his aunt and uncle?” Snape rubbed his temple, feeling defeated, voice breathy, “His mother’s protection—”
“Oh he will stay with his aunt and uncle at first, still. However, I was discussing it with the portraits, and considering the strange situation, I find the rules may be a little different, don’t you?”
“Oh yes, have him live with the Dark Lord! That will keep him very safe!” Snape sighed, slumping in his chair once again, holding his head in his hand.
“It is not one of my safest ideas, I’ll admit. But you’ll be there, of course. And you haven’t given me reason to doubt that you’re up to the task of protecting him, should the need arise.”
“You expect too much of me. There is only so much I can do.”
“It is true you can only be so many places at once. But if I did not think you were capable of accomplishing such a task, I would not ask in the first place.”
“This is lunacy,” he breathed into his hand.
“I hope I haven’t fallen prey to madness just yet. But I will not rule out the possibility.”
Dumbledore paused, standing back up and walking around the desk. “I understand if you need more time to mull it over. I often find after jarring news a walk and a good bottle of mead do wonders.”
“I only have one guest room, Sir,” Snape muttered.
“Harry can sleep on the couch.” Dumbledore said pleasantly. “He’s very small, I’m sure you’ll barely notice him.”
Snape glared at him through his fingers. “…I think I’ll notice him.”
“You haven’t answered my most pressing concern. What’s to say the boy won’t get up and kill us both in our sleep?”
“…That doesn’t sound much like Harry at all.”
“The other one.”
“We will need to discuss what protections we should put in place, certainly. But you and I are both very smart, very skilled wizards. It would be disappointing if, putting our heads together, we are unable to come up with something.”
There was a long moment of silence. Snape put his hand in his hair, thinking of all the things that could go wrong, and had gone wrong before…or at least just how much annoyance such a living situation would provide, even if there was no real danger. No matter how much chaos may occur over the school years, his summers at least had always been quiet.
His next words were soft, but thick with emotion. “I don’t think it wise for him to live with me, Sir. I don’t think I could ever feel any kindness towards the man who killed her.”
“But,” Dumbledore’s voice was as gentle as a moth’s wing beat, no annoyance or exasperation in his tone at the fact that he had to keep repeating himself, “he is not the man that killed her. Not yet. And you have the unique chance of saving him from becoming that man.”
“Not a chance that could save her.”
“No, you’re right, that chance has long since passed. But you can save hundreds of other men and women just as kind as her.”
“No one is as kind as her.”
Dumbledore knelt down beside him, putting his hand on his arm, a certain twinkle in his eyes. “If you give it a chance…I think you may just find that Harry is.”
His Butler, and the Problem with Magic (Ch1)
Fandom:Black Butler | Kuroshitsuji x Harry Potter and the Chamber of SecretsCrossover
Fic Synopsis: Life at Hogwarts isn’t all bad…usually. But when Valentine’s Day rolls around, and Lockhart throws an extravagant ball, the number of couples at school the next day skyrockets, and Sebastian finds himself a new object of devotion…Can Ciel save his butler from the spell on his own?
Character Focus: Ciel (Sebastian, Undertaker, Harry, Grell)
Notes:This is a fic I wrote for @elegantkittycat for a Valentines day secret-santa-style event I made a few years ago!
Yes, I’m aware there are typos in this chapter. I intend to fix them at some point.
If you’d be willing to comment and/or reblog, it would mean more to me than you know!! They really really help motivate me to keep writing.
Chapter 1:
The great hall, quite frankly, looked like Valentine’s day threw up on it. Those lurid pink flowers from lunch still lined the walls, but now bright streamers glided across the ceiling, big, shiny hearts fluttered in the air, reflecting mood lighting, and bubble hearts popped out of bouquets of roses, (each flower cut into hearts). The ceiling itself not only continued to drop confetti, but was blighted by puffy clouds that read the same banalities you could find in every Sweetheartsbox;Be Mine, and True Love, and XOXO. (The clouds may have actually read that outside too, but Ciel didn’t want to check.) The burly cupids from earlier in the week lumbered about the room, continuing to pelt people with off-key music, and cards that only the most hopeless and idiotic of romantics would provide, filled with the same empty statements the clouds read—(every once and a while a howler burst forth, and the actual band would come to a shrieking halt at “YOU’RE REALLY CUTE”).
Lockhart had insisted a Valentine’s day ball was in order—(a lurid end to a lurid day)—and remarked with a toss of his perfect hair and blinding smile that it would be ‘just the thing’ to brighten everyone’s moods.
The fact that Lizzie had been the first (of many, mind you) to offer her decorative expertise and assistance may or may not have contributed to the overall… valentines-day-puked-and-so-will-I vibe of the room.
Currently, said mission to lift the general spirit was failing; aside from the few school lovebirds, (who were already widely despised and avoided, without school-sanctioned and overly sugary displays of affection) most people took this as the perfect opportunity for your daily dose of sulking at the sidelines, and contemplating if magic was quite worth this amount of suffering. Not least of all Ciel, who was currently propped against the wall behind the food table. (Lizzie had pried him away from his brooding earlier to dance, but now he happily returned to the indent he’d made in the wall). He had made many attempts throughout the evening to sneak a piece of chocolate cake, but Sebastian always magically appeared to slap his hands away whenever he got too close.
Most people would have stayed in their dorms, given the chance. Lockhart, however, had sent everyone cards with his kissy face on them, telling them flirtatiously not to dawdle, and his commands got more sugary, and insistent, (not to mention awkward) the longer they stayed indoors, and floated over their heads until they dragged their butts to the ball. This was particularly affective at making sure everyone was there, because the girls melted for his voice, and the boys wanted to shut him up as soon as possible.
“Isn’t this wonderful, Ciel!” A certain Indian prince put his arm around the earl’s neck and noogied him.
“Wha—No!” Ciel struggled like a fish out of water. Upon release he wiped his hands on his dress robes (the robes Sebastian had thrown together for the event—his ‘thrown together,’ of course, looked like others ‘spent-months-laboring-over-this’)—as if he didn’t want to catch Soma’s contagious happiness. “And I’d thank you to not touch me so casually!”
“I’m sorry Ciel, it’s just seeing all this love in the air makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside!” he spun around, “Doesn’t it do the same for you?”
“That’s called acid reflux.”
Soma pouted.
“Ciieel!” Lizzie’s hug was a torpedo. She snared his hands and spun him around, “Come dance with me!”
“Ack…I just danced with you ten minutes ago! How many times do I have to dance with you before you’re satisfied?!”
“Don’t you want your fiancé to be happy?” Her green eyes, (which were already big), became the puppy dog eyes of a little girl who wants an expensive toy.
“Don’tyou?” he grumbled.
“I’ll dance with you, Elizabeth!” Soma came to the rescue. “It would be an honor to dance with such a lovely young lady!”
She blushed—“Oh please! It would be more than an honor to dance with a Prince!”—and curtsied, shooting Ciel an icy look, before joining the dance.
The young earl folded his arms over his chest and rolled his eyes.
As if that wasn’t enough sappiness for a lifetime, cloying words floated to his ears:
“Oh Professor Michaelis~!”
Ciel’s brow twitched.
“Come now Lavender, that wouldn’t be fair, would it?”
“Ahh, he’s so noble!” came a not-so-whispered consensus.
Ciel jerked his head to see the group of girls crowding around his butler, like birds to sunflower seeds in the park.
Rather than sharing his annoyance, and refusing their advances, Sebastian shimmered with flattery and flirtation. A few of them offered him boxes of chocolates and other sweets, which he took with flowery compliments, but surely had no intention of eating—it didn’t take a love expert to know they were all laced with love potions. (Or maybe he could eat them anyways; the jury was still out if love potions had any affect on the demon…some magical methods worked on him and others didn’t).
Ciel’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, “Don’t you have better things to do?!” he shouted over the throng.
Sebastian chuckled. “Mr. Phantomhive, don’t you know it’s rude to question a teacher?”
Ciel growled.
“These lovely ladies took time out of their day to offer me gifts,” the butler’s calm voice carried across the room. “It would be rude to refuse them.”
There was a syrupy sigh from the group.
“Ugh,” Ciel gave the opposite kind of sigh, and turned away before he gave into the urge to murder.
A familiar laugh at his side made him turn.
“What’s so funny?” he asked the Undertaker.
“Oh nothing much,” Undertaker forwent his usual dog biscuits for a piece of cake, “I just find your sour mood rather humorous.”
“You know me, I’m always in a sour mood.”
“Can’t argue with that,” he said, his mouth full of cake, “but,” he swallowed, “it seems the atmosphere of love and joy has put you in a particularly foul state of mind,” he pointed a black nail at him.
“I just don’t find romance being thrown in my face to make for a very fun evening, that’s all. One of Lizzie’s cutsey rampages is enough for me…but this?” he shuddered.
“Well, some would say it’s sweet. That it makes them feel happy and romantic.”
“When I rise to power, those people will be sterilized.”*
He laughed. “Always the life of the party, you are.”
“What? Are you one of those people?”
“I wouldn’t say so. But seeing you in such a state is worth all the romance any day.”
“Glad I could be of service,” he grunted.
Undertaker set down his plate and twirled in front of him, then leaned forward and spoke behind his hand, “What do you say we make this party…a party?” he reached into one of his drapey sleeves and pulled out a vial, teasing it in front of his face.
A quizzical look from Ciel made Undertaker whistle in the direction of the nearby punchbowl.
Ciel sighed and rubbed his temple. “Spiking the punch…really? Isn’t that a little too cliché, even for you?”
“I prefer the term ‘failsafes.’ Even you have to admit, the atmosphere could use a little…” he glanced around the room, “spiking. Besides,” he leaned in close and whispered, “this isn’t alcohol, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“…What is it then?” Ciel moaned, eyeing the ex-reaper.
He stood back up to his full height. “I’m not one to spoil the punchline before I tell the joke.”
The young earl sighed, “You really think we should deprive people of their misery? I’m not one to interrupt some good, old-fashioned sulking.”
“The general idea is that those who are miserable would like to…not be.”
“They also say that misery loves company. Misery and I, for instance, have quite the close relationship.”
As if called by them saying ‘misery’ too many times, Lockhart’s pretty face showed up.
Ciel coughed to cover his distaste.
“Ah Undertaker! Good to see you here! Everyone’s loving the party aren’t they?”—He gestured to the glowering room—“It’s so wonderful to see all these young people in love!” he gave a throaty chuckle.
“Well, I wouldn’t say everyone.” Undertaker had a way with honesty.
“What makes you say that? Did someone tell you they weren’t enjoying it? We can’t have that!”
“It’s not so much anyone specific, but—”
“…What’s that you have?” his eyes fell on the vial that Undertaker had barely tried to conceal. Despite Ciel’s theory that Lockhart was dumber than a bag of rocks (even if the rocks were magic), it didn’t take long for the truth to dawn on him, “Spiking the punch are we?” He held up an accusatory finger, “Naughty naughty. I would have expected this from one of the students, but shouldn’t a man of your stature know better?”
“What stature?” Ciel snorted.
“What’s that, Dear Boy?” Lockhart leaned forward.
Undertaker put his hand on Ciel’s head, covering his vision with his sleeve. “The young Er—student was just about to say that a man of my stature is not one to shy away from a little fun.” he put his other hand on Ciel’s shoulder, his grip a little too tight.
“I hardly think it’s ‘a little fun.’ We don’t want any students getting hurt, nor do we the party ruined, now do we? All it takes is one slip of the foot and someone ends up in the hospital.” He held out his hand, expecting him to hand over the vial.
“On second thought, do it,” Ciel whispered out of the corner of his mouth. “I’ll be the kid who winds up in the hospital. Anything to get me out of this hellish party.”
“What are we up to?” Dumbledore joined the conversation. It appeared as though Lizzie had got to even the headmaster, as he had bows in his beard and hair, though he didn’t seem to mind much.
“I regret to inform you that our dear Undertaker has intents to spike the punch.” Lockhart said like he was a student tattling.
“Ah,” the headmaster said casually, popping a heart candy in his mouth and burping out a heart, “(Pardon me). Well you can’t blame him for trying to bring a little…sprucing up, to the room, can you?” he lifted his hands and smiled genially.
“Are you saying that my party is not of the highest caliber?”
“Oh we aren’t denying that you have an air for the grandiose, Gilderoy,” he began cutting the cake with his wand; “Mr. Phantomhive, would you like some cake?”
Ciel glanced at Sebastian, who was currently preoccupied, and tried not to smirk. “I’d love some, thanks.”
Dumbledore cut him a huge slice, handing it to him gracefully, as if he were dropping a tiny lemon sherbet into his palm instead of a mountain of chocolate. Ciel inclined his head in gratitude, (and made sure to eat a big bite when Sebastian was looking, and the incense on his face was worth it—he, of course, couldn’t do anything butler-like with the headmaster and another teacher standing there).
“Don’t beat around the bush Albus!” Lockhart cut back in, “What is it you’re trying to say?”
“No one denies your party-throwing skills, dear Professor Lockhart.” He stood, placing his hands behind his back, “But your em…” he cleared his throat, “other skills can sometimes be rather lacking…”
“I’m shocked, and hurt, Dumbledore.” He put his hand over his heart. “Shockedandhurt. I’ll have you know that I won ‘best party-thrower’ in three”—he held up three shaky fingers—“countries! I think that should more than make up for any spoiled brats who can’t see fun even if it’s standing in front of their face!”
“Was he talking about me?” Ciel murmured to Undertaker, without a hint of hurt in his voice, “I feel like he was talking about me.”
“And what countries were those?”
As they argued, Dumbledore inclined his head towards the punch bowl.
It was Ciel’s turn to be shocked. Everyone knew their headmaster was rather eccentric, but he didn’t take him to be so reckless. He’d expect this from Undertaker… but Dumbledore? He thought he had at least a little ‘responsible-grown-up’ in him (even though Undertaker was definitely a lost cause).
Ciel turned to stop the ex-reaper, but now a dotted outline remained where Undertaker previously had been, and a second later he saw a long-nailed hand appear above the punch bowl.
Ciel facepalmed.
Any desire he had to drink said punch, as well as be at this party at all, had gone into the negatives.
But, eh, at least he had cake now. So maybe it wasn’t all bad.
“Young Master!” Sebastian snatched the plate from his hand, “How many times have I told you—!”
“Oh, so now you can walk away from the girls?” Ciel spun to his butler, whose arms were full of assorted treats. (Ciel, of course, knew he’d probably have walked away sooner if it weren’t for Lockhart and Dumbledore).
He tapped his foot on the ground (which somehow didn’t imbalance the tower of sweets), “I won’t allow it. You’ll get a tummyache.”
“I’m not a child!”
Sebastian raised an eyebrow at his whining. “That may be…but regardless, you have a delicate composition.” He leaned over and set Ciel’s unfinished plate in the ‘dirty’ pile. “Sweets of this size will certainly impair your gastrointestinal health.”
Ciel looked from side to side, hoping no one was listening, feeling his face grow hot. “Delicate!”
“Would you prefer a different term? Fragile? Frail?”
“I’m not a vase!”
“Tender?”
“I’m not a steak!”
Sebastian looked over his professor-glasses at him as if to say Do you think you’re talking to someone else?
Ciel groaned, giving his butler the victory.
Sebastian set his armful of gifts in a pile along the wall. Clapping his hands clean and wiping his brow.
“What, are you tired?” he mocked, knowing full well the demon couldn’t get tired. “Is having a bunch of high-school-girls fawn over you exhausting?”
“Well, now that you mention it…” Sebastian joked back, feigning thought.
He rolled his eyes. “Come on, let’s get out of—”
A mischievous idea curled itself around his brain.
“You must be thirsty,” he said in a mockingly-concerned voice, trying to lean sideways on the table by the punch (but he almost fell over, and had to catch himself).
Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “Well, I don’t really require hydration like you humans do.”
Ciel gave him a look as if to say No, go ahead, I won’t mind. You really do look exhausted.
“But I suppose it couldn’t hurt….If you insist.”
“Oh I do.” He smirked as he watched Sebastian pour himself a cup.
More likely than not it wouldn’t have any affect on the demon, but, presented with the potential, he wasn’t going to deny himself a few hours to imagine what it might be like if it did.
“Why are you looking at me like that, Young Master?” he asked before raising the cup to his lips.
“Oh…I’m just enjoying the party.”
That didn’t clear things up. Sebastian’s brow furrowed, but, after taking a sip, he didn’t have time to ask because—
“The party has arri-ved~!” a certain familiar voice sang.
Ciel was starting to wonder if this was God finally deciding to punish him. Both master and butler felt like they were going to be violently ill, and simultaneously had a thought something akin to that’s my cue to leave! Before they could even make the first step, however—
“AhhSebas-chan!”
They winced, turning slowly to see Grell waving a princess wave at the butler over the crowd, while Ronald followed suit, nodding and blowing kisses towards the girls.
“All this love in the air,” Grell materialized beside them (they jumped a little), and crossed his hands over his heart, staring blinkily into the ceiling, “Kinda gets you thinking, doesn’t it.” He sidled up beside the demon.
“If you mean thinking about ending your life, indeed, it does.” Sebastian showed him no mercy.
“Playing hard to get, are we? Ah! How saucy!” he slapped his shoulder playfully,
Sebastian sighed, folding his arms over his chest, trying to ignore the nagging presence.
“Ciel! Ciel! Are you going to introduce me to your friends?!” Lizzie and Soma arrived at his side, as if hopeless romantics were coming out of the woodwork.
“They’re most certainly not my friends.” He cleared his throat.
“What’s that supposed to mean, Old Chap?” Ronald asked, “We may not be close, but I thought all those times we tried to kill each other meant something.”
Lizzie stared at Ronald, inching slowly away.
“Oh that’s just…a joke we have,” Ciel defended weakly.
“Oh…” Lizzie looked away, then recovered quickly, “Well, anyhow, you didn’t tell me Prince Soma was such a lovely dancer!”
“How was I supposed to know?” he grunted, “I’ve never danced with him!”
“Don’t be so rude, Ciel!” Soma defended her, “Please, you were like a—what are those dancers called? That’s right, a ballerina! —You were like ballerina, Miss Lizzie.”
“Don’t be so modest! Ciel, should take a page out of your book!”
“What page?” Ciel demanded, “The one on being a spoiled brat?”
“Sounds like someone’s already read that one,” She punched his shoulder. Her attitude changed in a second again, “I’m so thirsty!” She reached for the punch ladle.
“Wait—NO!” Ciel grabbed her wrist.
She blinked. “What are you doing?”
“I—uh” his face was a thermometer slowly going into the red, “I just umm…You don’t want to drink that.”
“I don’t?”
“No…yeah…it uh, tastes like uhh… cat pee,” he started to pull her away.
“How would you know what cat pee tastes like?” Ronald’s butted in.
“Maybe a cat peed in my mouth one time, you don’t know my life!”
“I’m having a hard time believing a nobleman such as yourself—”
“I just don’t think she should drink it, that’s all! Is that so inconceivable?!”
“Sorry! Sorry! Sheesh,” he shook his head, “you Nobles are pieces of work!”
Ciel rolled his eyes, turning back to Lizzie. “Why don’t you go back to your dorm?”
“But… I don’t want to go back to my dorm.” Lizzie pouted, “I’m having fun! …Or at least I was,” she murmured.
“…Look I’m sorry. I’ll-I’ll dance another number with you, okay?”
As they walked out onto the floor, he watched the other students drink the unassuming punch over his shoulder.
*****
At the risk of sounding even more cliché; the day started like any other. Ciel got up before the other boys in his dorm to a chilly February morning, and started his routine—an aspect of which was speaking to Sebastian about today’s mission and objectives before classes began. Their current mission had to do with the Chamber of Secrets—such as figuring out where it was, if it existed at all—and the heir, who they were, and how to dispose of, or join them, accordingly. At this point, they had little to no leads. With his day robes on, and homework and books in hand, he slipped out into the hall.
He’d soon wish he stayed in bed.
Once the common room door closed, his day-from-hell would begin.
For a magic school, not much happened day-to-day. Well, that wasn’t true, Harry Potter added some…pizzazz. But it was still a school, and once you get used to the magic…normal-school-things happen.
Today was one of those days which reminded him that this was not a normal school.
Sure it was the day after Valentines Day, but did those Huffpuffs have to kiss in the hallways?
And guess what? You there, standing in the hall, blocking everyone’s way? Yeah, you. There is a perfectly nice wall behind you, just waiting to be leaned against (ignore the judgmental painting in the background).
And why did anyone who wasn’t in the throws of *shudders* youthful passion have this glazed look in their eyes, like they’d eaten pot brownies for breakfast?
Most of the time, the few students who were awake at this hour chatted and giggled, inflicting the general populace with the daily gossip, at which, sure, he would still roll his eyes and groan, but it was at least better than kissing and clogging up the hallway (as well as each other’s mouths).
He was relieved to finally reach Sebastian in the The Defense Against the Dark arts classroom.
This was one thing that was no surprise, as he shared the teaching position of the class with Lockhart—(no easy task, as they were both divas who didn’t enjoy sharing spotlight, and one was totally incompetent, and the other was as overqualified a professional chef at a kids easy-bake bake off. But their even-keeled headmaster had to give them each equal time teaching. At the beginning of the year, after it was decided which classes would get which teacher, some students begged the heads of houses to reconsider putting them in Sebastian’s class. Sebastian, amicable and excessive as ever, decided to host extra classes after school to satisfy the disappointed students).
“Alright, shall we pick up where we left off?” Ciel marched towards Sebastian, throwing his books on the nearest desk.
However, unlike his usual, attentive I-solved-all-our-problems-overnight-here’s-the-solution self, the butler stared out the window…he didn’t even pay his master immediate attention.
Said master tapped his foot impatiently on the ground and snapped, “Oy, Sebastian!”
“Mm?” the demon faced him, slowly.
Again, there was that glazed look. Like he had been in a donut factory.
“Young Master, I… didn’t hear you come in.” His eyes darted around the room.
“You bloody well didn’t,” he continued to tap his foot, muttering, “Demon hearing my ass.”
When Sebastian didn’t use said demon hearing to reprimand him for swearing, he knew something was wrong. He stopped being aggravated for a second and looked a little closer.
There was a smudge on his glasses. His hair was sticking up in front of his forehead, and there was some cat hair on his robes (probably from a clowder he kept in his room).
He was…imperfect. His appearance, while still practically impeccable by human standards was sloppy by Sebastian’s. His attention, divided.
And that was reason to worry.
Ciel leaned over the desk and snapped in his face. “You can ogle photos on your own time!”
Sebastian looked at him, but every time he focused on him, as if magnetized, his eyes reeled back to a photograph on the desk.
“Do you think…do you think he could like me?” Sebastian said in a strangely uncertain voice that didn’t sound at all like him.
“Huh?”
He had never known Sebastian to be uncertain of, or fascinated by, anything, and, more importantly, he had zero regard for whether or not people liked him. He also never pried his concentrations from the missions, especially not for something so trivial and/or emotional as photos.
Ciel walked around the desk to get a good look at it. He thought it might be Lockhart, as the room was crawling with his glimmering face. Instead, in a shattered case—(Ciel thought he might hurl)—the demon fixated on a picture of Grell.
The young earl vaguely remembered Grell giving it to him—mentioning passionately something about it being a way for him to be with him at all times, with hearts in his eyes. At the time, Sebastian had rolled his eyes, said, ‘is there a version of this when I can see you at no times?’ and tossed it into the drawer with enough disregard that the glass had shattered, and (now this is just speculation) hoped to never look at it again.
For what unholy (or holy, by demon standards…no, it definitely wasn’t holy) reason would Sebastian return to it now? And what’s worse, how could a picture of Grell possibly distract him from the task his master had placed before him?
Was it possible that all those pictures, cards, the cheesy lines, and sappy gestures, all the maudlin advances, had finally made it through to Sebastian?
Hell no. He’d watch the world burn before that happened.
Hang on a minute, let’s check.
Nope, still snow on the ground.
Okay, more plausibly, did he lose his mind?
Let’s tone it down a little; Maybe this was a—albeit not funny—joke?
“What are you on about?”
The demon picked up the picture. “Grell.” He rushed towards Ciel, putting the picture in front of his eyes—“Get that out of my face!”—“Do you think he’d ever want to be with someone like me?”
The earl began to laugh, a fake, loud laugh, then abruptly stopped.
“Very funny, Sebastian, you like Grell. Can we get back to work now?”
Sebastian grabbed a book off his table and Ciel had to duck to keep it from hitting his head.
“What are you on?!”
“I may be cleverly witty when the situation calls for it, but I am not joking, Young Master! And I’d thank you to treat my beloved one with respect!”
Ciel blanched, his eyes glued open, swallowing the bile that rose in his throat. “You mean this,” he pointed to the situation at hand, the words soft and enunciated, a nervous laugh behind them, “This isn’t a joke?”
“No!” he cradled the picture, “I think Grell’s the most lovely person I ever met.”
He waited for the butler to burst into laughter.
…and he kept waiting.
He knew more than anyone, neither master nor butler pulled stunts of this caliber.
Ciel grabbed one of the scrolls on the wall and wacked his butler over the head with it.
“Quit playing around! We don’t have time for children’s games!”
“I don’t understand, Young Master,” he rubbed his head (as if that could possibly hurt the demon). “You aren’t insulting Master Grell, are you?”
“No, I’m insulting you, you twat!”
He swiped the picture from him (hurt flared in the butler’s eyes). “You see how the glass is shattered here?”
He placed his hand over his heart. “Who would do a thing like that to such a perfect face?”
“You, you bloody idiot! Don’t you remember?” he smacked his head with the paper again, making it crease, “When Grell gave you that you tossed it into the drawer and said you ‘wanted to see him at notimes.’”
“Me?” he snatched the picture back, holding it tight to his chest. “No, I would never!” he said like Grell was the purest little ray of sunshine, and Ciel said he’d kicked a puppy yesterday.
“No, what you would never, is return said…” he cleared his throat and didn’t finish the sentence.
“I don’t understand, Young Master. Here I am, bearing my heart. Why must you squash it?”
His eye twitched. “To remind you you don’t have a heart!”
“I—”
“Shut up! Just shut up!” he slammed his hands on the desk, “There’s no way this can be real!” he slumped onto the desk and ran his hand through his hair, looking more deranged than the one who was actually delirious, “Why, in all that is—How—Why would you ever—?!”
“Be careful, Young Master, don’t let that anger fester; it’s bad for your health.”
And it dawned on him.
He slammed his palm into his forehead.
The punch at the party—it was so obvious. Undertaker had even told him it didn’t contain alcohol.
“Young Master, are you saying our love is not real? Are you insulting master Grell?” his voice became a sickening tone.
Ciel now fully understood the situation: Sebastian, having been given a love-potion—(turns out they did work on him…or, even if they didn’t, maybe Undertaker made some extra-potent, mutant variety that did)—and Grell being the first person he saw (or heard) after taking it, fully believed Grell to be his one-true-love.
And as he watched a shadow (much bigger than the demon’s human shape) spread across the floor, he realized he believed it enough to attack anyone who stood against said love. Even his master.
The young earl knocked into desks as he scrambled way, his outward attitude towards the situation performing a 180:
“Uh, no no! No, no, no! I believe you!” he grabbed his bag, “There’s nothing weird or horrifying about you being in love with Grell at all. I just was a little…mmmm surprised!” his voice went up an octave. He shoved a desk into the space between them, “That’s all?! I’ll…I’ll just be going, now! You uh…you go back to…what you were doing!” he gave him a thumbs up (something he’d never done in his life) as dashed out the door.
After getting some ways down the hall, he doubled over, breath sharp and fast, piercing his side, his thoughts whirring around.
He’d wanted to mess with Sebastian, but he, first of all, hadn’t thought it would work, and second of all, hadn’t meant to mess with him this much—especially not in a way that affected him. This wasn’t fun or funny, this was just…gross. And now he had to fix it, when, had he left the situation alone and not given Sebastian the punch in the first place, he’d have his demon butler to help him, and the predicament would probably be solved in less than a day.
Now when he saw the students making out, or walking around dazed, he understood the full ramifications of Undertaker’s little stunt.
Speaking of which…
He heightened his pace until he was rushing through the halls, speeding past dreamy eyes, and cuddly couples.
Everyone,everyone had been at that party. Not only had the whole school been at that party, the punch was one of the few things available for the sweaty and thirsty dancers to drink. Even the sulking folks, who didn’t intend to dance, surely wouldn’t have had a problem grabbing a snack or two, and, well, a cup of punch to go with it. Now instead of one night of suffering in a lovebird’s playground, the whole school could be set to pop music. And, like the villain in a fairy tale, it was his job to break apart the happy couples.
And his first order of business was to find the mastermind who put them together.
Undertaker performed many of the odd jobs around, and often made it a job to make things odd (but Ciel of course knew that his primary function was probably to make dead bodies disappear discreetly). He and Peeves were overly chummy, and their pranks could sometimes be unbearable…but neither had ever attempted something of this magnitude before.
He was close to Filch’s corridor—
When the bell rang.
In the pandemonium he had forgotten today was still a normal school day.
“Sebast—” he began, hoping for an easy way not to be late, but remembered that his butler was …otherwise occupied. He grit his teeth, clenched his fists, and hurtled towards the transfiguration classroom.
*****
“Mister Phantomhive!” snapped a clipped voice as he swung open the door, gasping for breath. “I thank you not to be late! And while you’re at it, not to disrupt my class while in session!”
“Sorry—” he clutched at his side, “Professor— McGonagall.”
“Usually,” she ran her fingers along her wand, stretching out the word, “I would give you detention. However, as it seems you are not the only one…out of sorts this morning” she drummed her fingers on the podium, giving Ciel a moment to look around the room—There were always a few latecomers, especially during first period, but the number of empty chairs rivaled the number of students present—“I will let you off with a warning.”
“Thank you,” he coughed—“Professor.”—And slumped at his desk like an old sock.
Thankfully not everyone had been affected by the spiked punch. Certain kids in class had that far-off look in their eyes, and a few even kissed in class (they were definitely sent to detention, though, of course, nothing much mattered to them but their newfound love). There were also teachers who had starry looks, and instead of giving them genuine lessons, muttered trite words about love, like a broken radio that only plays emo songs. There were, however, others who acted just as confused, annoyed and shell-shocked as Ciel at the current predicament. Clearly they had either found something else to drink at the party, simply not drank anything, or escaped the festivities somehow.
McGonagall was clearly among the unaffected, and while he was grateful for a little normalcy, he might have traded her for someone a little more lenient, and liked to see how her disposition changed while under the affects of love.
Throughout the day, he told the few students who were still awake and alive to the world that someone had spiked the punch with a love potion the previous night. This seemed to give them relief that they weren’t going crazy, still, none of them had any idea what to do about it. Love potions weren’t exactly considered an important course in potions class, especially not with a teacher like Snape—(in fact, a certain Ravenclaw had asked how to make a love potion in class on Valentine’s Day, and later Ciel saw that Ravenclaw mysteriously lost ten points). Some worried for their friends, while others eyes lit with an impish glint at the realization that—as long as they didn’t insult their ‘true love’— they could do anything to mess with their friends.
He had to give Undertaker at least a little credit: that day was one of the most memorable in his entire time at Hogwarts:
During transfiguration, on multiple separate occasions, students, instead of transfiguring their hamsters into dominoes, transfigured them into rings, and flowers used to profess their love, or even propose to Professor McGonagall herself. She only looked down her nose, and demanded where this talent had been the entire semester, and wracked up a body count of detention-bound students.
In Herbology, while not nearly as exciting as others, Professor Sprout went on and on about how amazing Neville was—(whenever he passed him in the hallway that day Neville looked as red as plants they tended to…He probably hadn’t had much of anyone else to talk to at the party).
If Divination wasn’t enough already, Trelawney made them look into their futures and see their potential for romance (…it was hard to tell if she was under the spell or not), and it was both worth noting, and a source of personal pride that she looked into Ciel’s and saw lots and lots of hate.
And best of all, during potions, which was his last class of the day, Snape looked like he was ready to kill someone…and got close when Lockhart burst in and proclaimed that he simply couldn’t take it anymore, that they were made for each other. (Out of all the the crazy, embarrassing things that happened that day, this was the one Ciel guessed would be the most difficult for either of them to live down).
Hilarious confessions aside, Ciel was relieved to find that the potions master was at least trying to counteract the curse himself, by having them make antidotes and anti-love potions, and drink them (allegedly, lots of students refused to drink them in earlier classes, so he had to forgo their Latin name and call them “Happy Sunshine Potions,” which was quite possibly the best string of words he’d ever heard Snape say, and the unaffected students looked like chipmunks holding in their laughter in when hearing it). Although this was another teacher Ciel would have liked to see under the affects, he was guessing the net worth of breaking the curse would be far greater.
However, as far as he could tell, currently, Snape’s attempts to douse the proverbial fire were ineffective. (Yet another reason to think Undertaker’s love potion was some mutant version).
At each break he had, Ciel attempted to find Undertaker—(Except at lunch, when everyone was screaming that Draco was running around, and in increasingly boisterous and/or risqué methods, trying to declare his love for Ron Weasley. While Harry and Ron were also running around, either avoiding him at all costs, or messing with him. It was, first of all, difficult to get around the crowd, and, second of all, not something to miss.)—But Undertaker had an ongoing disappearing act that had nothing to do with magic. The one thing Ciel knew, was that the old coot couldn’t have left; he’d want to see every glorious minute of the chaos he wrought, so Ciel wasn’t giving up on finding him.
After school, hungry, tired, and desperate (especially after a run-in with Peeves, through which he earned the ex-reaper’s location, but also a cluster of lipstick marks on his face) he finally found Undertaker back in the Divination Classroom (of course he just had to pick one of the tallest, most tiring towers to climb). The room was cold, and Trelawney was nowhere in sight.
The pretty, setting sky over the frosty roof outside didn’t provide an iota of solace.
Ciel rolled up his sleeves, his anger a newfound immunity to the cold, and, with fingers curled into fists, marched up to him.
“You.”
The Undertaker, resting against the windowsill, turned to the seething boy, grinned, and spoke as if this was no more than an ordinary meeting.
“My, Young Earl, looks like you’ve been getting busy.”
“Wh—?!” he remembered the marks on his face and rubbed them off on his sleeve as Undertaker cackled.
“You seem awfully upset about something,” Undertaker continued, “Don’t want to let it fester—as your butler would say.”
“You spiked the punch with a love potion.” The boy growled.
“Did I?” he put a finger on his chin as if thinking, “I can’t seem to recall.”
Ciel’s brow twitched. “You bloody well know you did, I watched you. Now tell me how to undo it.”
“How do undo it, you say? And why would we want to do a thing like that?”
“I am in no mood for your games.”
Undertaker shrugged. “‘Fraid I can’t help you then. You know the rules; no payment, no information.”
“The whole school is a joke! That’s your payment!”
He contemplated it. “Sure you wouldn’t like to give an old man a good chuckle?”
“I’mcertain.”
He sighed. “I suppose you got me there. To tell you the truth, I hadn’t quite got to the whole undoing it part.” He twirled his hand in the air like the ringmaster in this show.
Ciel blinked, emotion flickering as he spluttered, “How can…? But you—? I—? What?!”
He laughed, and the Undertaker’s nonchalance and disregard made anger jumpstart his tongue.
“Youmade it, didn’t you?” he kept his voice low, and his hand on the wand in his pocket, marching forward, “You can at least tell me how you made it. Then maybe I can unmake it.”
Undertaker tapped his chin, as if knocking around the marbles in his skull, “Don’t much feel like it.”
“You don’t feel like it?! Listen here—!”
He no sooner pulled out his wand than it was in Undertaker’s hand. He hadn’t even noticed Undertaker draw his own wand.
Undertaker ruffled his hair as he walked by, dropping the boy’s wand back into his pocket, “Part of the fun is figuring it out for yourself, Young Earl. Didn’t anyone ever teach you that?”
He headed down the stairs, leaving Ciel standing alone, angry breaths steaming up the chilly classroom.
*****
When Ciel trudged back to his dorm, all the energy he had used to run around that day had given up the ghost. He barely noticed the smooching and starstruck kids in the hallways anymore, and didn’t have the energy to send even a derisive snort their way.
Sebastian was supposed to be the one running around trying to find answers. These menial tasks were beneath him. Hard work, and running around, looking for answers, was no suit for a fourteen-year-old boy to wear. Oh, Ciel would devise a particularly difficult and useless task for his butler to accomplish once he—or someone—finally broke the curse.
Caught up in thoughts of needless revenge, he ran into someone in the hallway, sending both their books to the floor.
“Sorry!” The boy called.
As they both crouched down to pick up their fallen items, Ciel looked up to see unruly black hair, crooked glasses, and lightning-struck forehead.
“Harry Potter.”
“Yeah…?”
“Sorry, I don’t believe we’ve formally met. I’m Ciel Phantomhive.” He held out his hand.
“Nice to meet you,” Harry smiled, taking his hand.
“Likewise—er, sorry about your books.”
“It’s alright. I seem to have some bad luck with that lately! At least ink didn’t spill all over everything this time.”
“That happened?”
“Yeah…It happened yesterday actually.”
“Oh, that sounds awful.”
“Nothing a little magic couldn’t fix,” he shrugged.
They both returned to their task.
“It looks like you haven’t been…love-ified,” Harry noted.
“You seem to have your wits about you as well.”
“Lucky us…Draco wasn’t so lucky though,” he laughed. “I heard someone spiked the punch at Lockhart’s Valentine’s day ball.”
“I heard that too.”
“A perfect end to the night, huh?”
“Hehe…yeah…”
Ciel turned to the next book, about to hand it to Harry.
Here’s the thing, about dark magic.
It has this sort of…pull. The more you use it, the more sway it has on you.
A pure soul looks at a dark object and feels uneasy, but doesn’t know why.
Someone who has participated in the dark before, let it creep in and corrode the soul, is attuned to the darkness. Like a resonant frequency, a humming in the back of their mind, putting them on the same wavelength, (and if they listen too long, they might shatter). They may not always know what it is, or does, and sometimes they wont recognize why something has this aura, but they will know that an object is not just that, in as much as darkness is not just the absence of the light.
Ciel Phantomhive was no ordinary student. While he may have learned from the teachers at Hogwarts, the reason he was here was at the request of the Queen, not for learning, and his most informative teacher, was Sebastian. Before they arrived at Hogwarts, Sebastian, going above and beyond as always, made sure he knew more spells than half the students in his year. More importantly, however, fear of the dark had long left them both. Knowing dark magic, they surmised, would put them ahead of their enemies (not to mention their friends…well, if you could call them friends), and could be a powerful trump card were the situation to call for it.
When Ciel looked at this diary everything slowed. Like in a movie, when you can hear your heartbeat, and the camera zooms in. From the moment he saw it he knew it would be both silly and dangerous to think it was merely a diary. One may pour their soul into the words dear diary, but the Something that lurked beneath it’s pages was far more than the heartfelt and trivial adages of teenage boys and girls. There was something living in those pages.
He knew it was alive. Unlike other dark artifacts, which gave off a hint, a whisper of more-than-I-seem, this was more than a whiff of untapped potential, or forbidden mystery; the resonant darkness, rather than a faint, inanimate hum, was a Horror singing old-fashioned lullabies to himself in the darkest corners of the pages.
Ciel was tired. Tired of running around, tired of searching for a cure, tired of doing all the work himself. He wanted an easy way out. That’s how he’d always been. People who like to take the long way ‘round don’t make contracts with demons.
So, in a moment of weakness…
…or a moment of strength
He slipped the diary into his own bag.
*****
That night, despite being interested enough in the book to steal it, he hadn’t had any energy to begin figuring out what that darkness was, meant, or could do. Nor did he have any energy to spend on figuring out the antidote to the plague himself. In fact, he had had so little regard for either, that he ignored the dumb looks of his roommates, slipped the diary into the chest at the foot of his bed, flopped facedown on top of his covers (screaming into his pillows for good measure), and went to sleep.
The next morning wasn’t much better. He woke up with a splitting headache, the love-zombies were still up to their shenanigans—(he half hoped it would end in the morning)—and when he tentatively checked on Sebastian, the demon had traveled further down the Grell-obsessed rabbit hole than before.
When Ciel entered the teacher’s lounge (it had taken a moment to find him) the smell of flowers smacked him full in the face. Unlike some of the teachers present, Ciel was unimpressed, and quite honestly queasy, to see that he had moved on from admiring the picture of his affection, to creating his own; or rather than a picture, a bust made of flowers of none other than his…erm lady-love, Grell.
Just like Sebastian, he was attentive to detail; only the freshest of flowers for his beloved, and each component of Grell’s complexion was a different flower: the coat was made of red Amaryllis’, the vest, brown orchids, the shirt, white hydrangeas, the face was pale dahlias, the eyes were green carnations, and the hair was, of course, roses. He wondered if Sebastian went far to find all of them, though knowing him he probably ran to the finest flower shop in Paris at 1:00AM that morning for them and was back before anyone could wonder where he’d gone.
Yes, quite far gone. But not far enough to forget the ‘offense’ Ciel had caused to his new master the day before.
Or perhaps Ciel had caused him new offense by blurting out “What the devil is this?!” upon seeing his labor-of-love.
If it was good idea in general for the public not to talk to the young earl, today, it was an inescapable rule: if people didn’t give him a wide berth, they learned quickly he was not in the mood for human (or reaper, or demon) interaction.
Wasting his time before class on pointless attempts to slap the delusion out of his butler was idiotic. So he headed to the library to actually try and make some progress, and picked up a book on love potions—(Madam Pince was too busy writing love poems to scold kids like him for going into the restricted section. Knowing this was a rare opportunity, he grabbed several more books he’d had his eyes on while he was there.)—with the intent to read up on counter curses every spare minute he got, not excluding during certain classes overtaken by horny teachers.
More students were missing from classes today, and those who weren’t were either more randy than before, or losing patience and brain cells every second they were around those afflicted. The teachers who were still in possession of their faculties—namely McGonagall, Snape, Vector, and Flitwick, (Madam Pomfrey was too, but she wasn’t present)—made an announcement at lunch, in front of their dreamy-eyed headmaster, that they were trying their best to find a solution to the problem presently.
While it was comforting to hear they weren’t sitting on their asses, and it would save him a hell of a lot of trouble if they did solve it, he didn’t expect they’d figure it out anytime soon. If Snape couldn’t figure it out on his own, he wasn’t sure they would have much luck, even together. Even if he had had faith in them, he wouldn’t have stopped his own research. He and Sebastian always did it their way, this was personality, not practice—(he’d learned from a young age he couldn’t rely on anyone else)—and a setback, even one that kept his butler from his work, wasn’t going to stop him.
It was during a disappointing lunch that he saw a flash of red in the doorway to the great hall. At first he thought nothing of it—it was probably a banner some kid made to impress their one-true-love, or a bunch of heart-shaped balloons, or a leftover decoration—it didn’t matter, he was going to try his best to eat, and read, in peace.
Until the ‘banner’ came inside to steal his food.
When he finally realized who it was, he practically screamed;
“Grell!”
“That’s my name darling, don’t to wear it out,” he blew a kiss, sitting up on the table.
“Love potions, huh?” in his horror, Ciel hadn’t even noticed Ronald had stolen the book (as well as a sandwich).
“Ooh!” Grell called, leaning in closer, raising his eyebrows. “Is somebody looking to trick some poor soul into loving him?”
“No! No, in fact I’m trying to un-romance someone, thank you very much.” He stood.
“That shouldn’t be too hard…for you.”
Ciel rolled his eyes.
“So, not that crushing the dreams of others isn’t in your repertoire, why do you want to do that?”
“It may be difficult for you to understand, but some of us don’t look for romance in every guy they meet,” he stole the book back from Ronald (who was starting to to look too interested for the young earl’s comfort.)
“Now that’s just rude,” Grell folded his arms over his chest and put his chin in his hand. “But, I’ll choose to ignore your impotence,” he turned, becoming more animated, “because you’re in charge of my Sebas-chan. Speaking of love,” he said the word like it was fine caramel, “where is my precious Sebas-chan?” he looked around, casting his eyes towards the blank spaces at staff table.
“He’s—”
Before the sentence could fall on his tongue, the words snagged on the mental image of Grell and Sebastian canoodling like schoolboys.
“NO!”
That caught their attention.
“I mean uh—” he coughed, “No…He’s uhh…I…”
He could barely think with these images making him sick to his stomach. He set down what was left of the lunch he was no longer hungry for, trying to shove his brain into the mode where it could formulate a cunning plan.
“Well? Spit it out, boy! We haven’t got all day! Some of us have plans. I, for one, have a hair appointment this afternoon,” he fluffed his crimson locks.
“You know what?” Ciel chose a more confrontational approach. “I don’t have to tell you where Sebastian is.”
“You don’t have to, darling, you should wantto.”
“No. You know what? I don’t want to. And you know why I don’t want to?”
“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”
He had to think of something fast. Something clever. A good excuse.
“Why don’t you ever want to spend time with me?” he slammed the book on the table.
So much for that.
“Huh?” Grell, Ronald—(and Ciel’s own brain)—responded upon hearing the words.
“Yeah. You heard me.” It wasn’t the best plan—hell, it wasn’t even a good plan—but Ciel was committed at this point, and came up with a plot fiercely in his mind, “That’s right. It’s always ‘Sebastian this’, ‘Sebastian that’, but what about me?!”
“What about you, brat? You’ve never shown any interest in me. What happened to ‘we’re definitely not friends?’” he mocked his voice.
“….That’s what I say to my true friends.” They definitely weren’t convinced, so he added, “I’m only nice to my fake friends.” (Ronald lifted his head like a dog being told he was a good boy all along).
“Regardless if you’re telling the truth—which, I don’t believe you are—what makes you think I’ll give you the key to my heart now, after you threw away your chances? That’s no way to treat a lady!”
“I…I never had the chance to,” he looked away and hugged himself, trying to look pitiful, “what with you fawning over Sebas…chan,”—it made him sick to speak the nickname, but not as sick as he would feel if they found each other— “you never even pay me any mind.”
“What’s there to pay mind to?”
Ciel bit his tongue, and tried not to let that get to him, reminding himself everything could and would be far worse.
“Hey, hey!” Ronald stepped in the middle, noticing the rising tension of the scene, “There’s a simple solution after all; why don’t you and Mr. Sutcliff go for a walk today? That’s not too much to ask, right?” he turned to Grell, “You’ll still have time to see Sebas-chan before your appointment.”
“I suppose,” Grell bit his nails, ruining his manicure—which he quickly realized, and petted them as if to say ‘forgive me!’ “But I’d better get some quality time with my Sebas-chan!”
“Does that sound alright with you, Mr. Phantomhive?”
The thought of spending any amount of quality time with the reaper was repugnant. But not more repugnant than certain other thoughts and predictions his brain was happy to provide.
“Yes, that sounds just fine.”
“Then let’s get this overwith,” Grell stepped dramatically off the table, twirling his high-heeled shoes in the air.
Ciel’s thoughts exactly.
But there was something he had to do first.
“Erm, Ronald, would you mind doing something for me while we’re on our walk?”
Grell put his hands on his hips, suspicion and curiosity in his eyes.
“Uhh sure—I mean, that depends on what it is”
He pulled Ronald aside, towards the wall, out of earshot of the red-haired reaper.
“I just need to buy some time,” he whispered, “Will you please get Sebastian out of the teacher’s lounge for me.”
“Um…” he glanced between the two of them. “I suppose I could. May I ask why?”
“No you may not.” When Ronald seemed less than happy with this response, he added, “I can pay you back. Money, sandwiches…whatever you want.”
“Well, when you put it like that,” he grinned.
“Alright, Grell,” he cleared his throat, “it appears as though you and I will be going for a nice walk together.”
“‘Nice’ would be pushing it.” Grell muttered.
Ciel couldn’t agree more.
*****
The scene reminded him too much of a Thomas Kinkade painting; the snow covered trees and grounds, the faint chirping of birds, the pitter of small animals in the snow, the patter of kids playing, as well as more than a few romantic escapades displayed for all the world to see—like everything else in this sugarcoated nightmare, it was so sweet and was sickening. Ciel spent great lengths trying to avoid the mystic hellscape that was ‘outside,’ and whenever he found himself forced into its grasp, he remembered why.
Well, he supposed it wouldn’t have been so bad…if it weren’t for the blithering idiot beside him.
“Yeesh… love really is in the air around Valentine’s day.” Grell commented in the direction of the kids kissing by the frozen river.
“Oh? I thought romance was…your thing.”
“WhenI’m involved! Not these ragamuffins slobbering all over each other,” he shuddered.
They spent a while in awkward silence, before Grell spoke, “So, what do I have to do to get you off my back, Brat?”
“Ohh just spend a little quality time with me,” Ciel sang, putting his hands behind his back and stepping in front of Grell like a mischievous schoolboy. “That isn’t too much to ask, is it?”
Grell looked away. “I better be Carlos’ last customer today; my hair’s going to be a mess by the end of this.”
Ciel laughed fakely.
“So…” Ciel tried to think of something to talk about, “tell me about Carlos. Is he…cute?”
“Oh come on!” Grell stomped in front of him, “You can’t possibly mean any of this! You’ve never shown any amount of interest in me. I may be prone to fantasy, but I’m no fool!” he crossed his arms and looked away, then his green eyes trailed to him suspiciously, “What are you plotting?”
“Plotting?” Ciel laughed again, “Why so sinister?”
“Oh things are always sinister when Sebas-chan is involved,” he said ‘sinister’ like a radio announcer telling you that sinister is what you want, “usually it sends tingles down my spine! But this is just…” he looked down at the earl, his lip curling in distaste, “freaky.”
Ciel tried to ignore the fact that they were on the same brainwave today.
But he could see that he wasn’t going to fool him for long if he didn’t do something.
“Well…” Instead of formulating a suitable answer, he subtly pulled his wand from his robe pocket sliding it behind his back, and cast a little nonverbal spell that sent a snowball hurtling at the back of Grell’s head.
“Hey!” Grell spun around to two kids playing on the bank. “Which one of you imbeciles did that?! Haven’t I suffered enough?” he held up a split end of his hair.
The kids glanced at each other, confused.
“Now Carlos will have to give me the extra treatment to cover this!” he took a strand of hair and petted it.
Ciel smirked.
Messing with the reaper seemed both more effective, and more enjoyable, than chatting, so whenever a risky topic came up, he had a little extra fun avoiding the subject (goodness knows he needed it)—until enough time had passed that, if Ronald had done his job, Sebastian would be out of the teachers’ lounge, and they headed back into the school.
“Sebastian’s right around the corner.”
“He better be, Brat, after the hell-walk you took me on.” Ciel tried not to laugh when he looked at Grell—the sticks in his frazzled hair, the smeared mascara and lipstick, the muddy clothes (he had eventually stopped trying to protect or fix his appearance).
Ciel gave the fake laugh again, opening the door.
Despite requests and expectations, Sebastian was right around the corner.
There the demon remained (apparently he had been there all day) with a finished bust of the reaper sparkling beside him, not to mention a few more, smaller art pieces of the Redhead in different poses of increasing erotica.
Ciel felt all the anger that had been briefly soothed by messing with Grell re-entering his body with ferocity.
Why hadn’t Ronald removed him from this place like he asked? All he asked for was one simple thing, and he couldn’t even do that. Well, maybe it was his own fault he had put his trust in someone so incompetent as Ronald. Whoever’s fault it was, this encounter, and the memory of it, might just stain his brain forever, and someone was surely going to pay for it.
He turned towards Grell (the real one). Both his eyes and mouth were open wide, focused on the statue of himself, leering down at him with a flirtatious grin.
When the butler emerged from behind it, and saw Grell, he too froze, but in the quiet, reverent way the hot dude does when they see their love in romantic movies.
Ciel wanted to grab one, or both, of them and wrench them away from each other—exorcise the romantic spirits out of them (it’s an odd day when you want to exorcise a demon out of a demon), and maybe wring their necks—but he knew that would be met with more than a little resistance, (and using the Imperius curse in the teacher’s lounge would be more than a little conspicuous), and there was something rather mesmerizing about the scene; like a horror movie you can’t bring yourself to look away from.
Sebastian closed his eyes, giving a small smile before rushing to grab a rather large bouquet (likely made of the leftover flowers) and bowed, presenting them to Grell.
“For you, my darling Mr. Sutcliff.”
Ciel covered his eyes with his hand.
“For…me?” Grell’s words were distant and confused.
Rather than taking them with honors—Ciel saw between his fingers—however, he took a step back.
Sebastian held them higher. “Only you.”
Grell glanced between master and butler, and his hands shook as he took them (then his arms sagged with the weight).
Ciel shut his eyes tight, waiting for hell.
Soon the scene would turn into the amorous novel Grell always dreamed of, and that would be it. They’d find love in each other…or what passed for love when it comes to love potions. Should Ciel leave now and spare his mind the eternal horror? Or should he wait and just make absolutely sure that’s what would happen? Maybe there was some sick part of him that was even curious what would happen.
His patience, however, was rewarded;
“Get away from me you freak!” Grell threw the flowers across the room, and rushed to hide behind Ciel. “What the hell have you done with my precious Sebas-chan?!”
This time it was Ciel’s mouth and eyes that dropped open, staring, dumbstruck, like a bird that had hit a window.
Grell had flirted with Sebastian from the moment he met him (to be fair, he did this with pretty much every attractive guy he came across, still…). There were times when master and butler could use this infatuation to their advantage, but most of the time it was just a gigantic nuisance. Luckily, Sebastian shared Ciel’s distaste for the reaper’s advances, and never returned them. Since it had seemed impossible, before today, Ciel hadn’t had much time to imagine what Grell would do if the butler returned his affection. Not one of the sickening scenarios his mind had provided today had Grell rejecting Sebastian. Grell had always appeared superficial enough that Ciel guessed he wouldn’t
His Butler, and the Problem with Magic (Ch2)
Fandom:Black Butler | Kuroshitsuji x Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets Crossover
Fic Synopsis: Life at Hogwarts isn’t all bad…usually. But when Valentine’s Day rolls around, and Lockhart throws an extravagant ball, the number of couples at school the next day skyrockets, and Sebastian finds himself a new object of devotion…Can Ciel save his butler from the spell on his own?
Character Focus: Ciel (Edward Midford, Grell, Lizzie, Snape)
Notes:I bet you all thought I forgot about this fic didnt you? SIKE! I forget nothing.
(By the way, I’ll definitely repost chapter 1 of this as well, in case you guys forgot about it XD)
I was informed that Valentines day with this coming Sunday and I couldn’t believe it. I had been wanting to work on multiple valentines fics and I thought I had weeks left to write them XD So in light of that, I knew I had been slowly chipping away at a chapter 2 of this over time, so I decided to check it out and see how much work I had to do to make it postable in time for valentines day. To my surprise, the chapter was pretty much ready to go! So at long last, here it is!!
I really hope you enjoy it!! If you do, I implore you to consider commenting and/or reblogging!! I assure you its much much more likely this fic will get a chapter 3 if I know that people are interested in reading more <3
@elegantkittycat Tagging you in case you’re still interested in reading more!!
Chapter 2:
Ciel jerked his hand away as the cauldron sizzled, muttering curses under his breath—(the normal kind, not the magic kind). Usually Sebastian managed their clandestine dealings and he didn’t have to worry about burning his fingers off.
His conversation with Tom Riddle had left him with a list of ingredients, and a method of combining them into a potion that would allegedly cure Sebastian and others of this ailment.
He was fully aware trusting strange voices in diaries wasn’t the best decision he could make on the career path of life, but considering he had found no other options, and a whole lot of annoyance, he didn’t have much to lose. Besides, Sebastian was a demon, so even if it was supposed to make your eyes pop out or something, he’d probably be okay.
Ciel looked down the instructions and grimaced, reaching over for the next ingredient, trying not to look directly at it.
Despite the potions classroom being the main place to get potions, and potion making materials, he was not in the potions classroom. This late in the evening, Snape probably would have killed him. He was in a room on the seventh floor which Sebastian had found last May. It seemed to hold within it whatever the person walking by it required.
He dropped the last ingredient in, raised his wand, muttered a very complicated spell and sighed.
The only thing left to do was wait. It had to brew for twenty-four hours, which meant it wouldn’t be ready until six o’clock the next evening. Twenty-four hours was too much time with a love infested school to deal with.
Ciel packed up his stuff and headed out into the hall—making sure to check for Filch first. He was almost back to his common room when—
“CIEL PHANTOMHIVE!”
He nearly tripped and toppled to the ground taking all his supplies and homework with him.
As he righted himself, he jerked his head up to observe the source of the disturbance: a tall, blonde boy, a few years older than Ciel, sporting his Gryffindor robes as if he was the reincarnation of Godric goddamn Gryffindor himself.
Ciel had the displeasure of knowing this boy.
“Edward?!” he growled, recovering his dignity and dusting himself off. “Are you trying to kill me?!”
“That depends,” he said in a low murmur that seemed to hide waves of anger.
He marched up to his future-brother-in-law, stopped far too close, and stared into Ciel’s eyes like he could bore into his brain with his gaze.
“What. Did you do. To my sister?”
“What did I— ?” Ciel blinked, rivalling anger disappearing in the face of concern. “What?”
Edward was the son of the proud, and not to mention handy-with-swords Marquess Midford, and all this noble, virtue-loving, God-fearing, paladin energy was often channeled into being protective of his younger sister Lizzie…who also happened to be Ciel’s fiancé.
“Lizzie. What did you do to her?!”
“Yes, I’m familiar with to whom you’re referring!” He pushed him back, “What’s wrong with her?!”
It was Edward’s turn to blink. “You don’t know?”
“You may or may not have noticed I am otherwise occupied! I’ve been running around trying to save my butler from this hell, thank you very much!”
“Oh,” his eyes flickered.
Ciel looked up at him, then blinked. “You think I caused this?!”
“Well you don’t exactly foster an atmosphere of peace and calm, now do you?”
“I’d thank you to have more confidence in me in the future! For your information, Undertaker caused this!”
“Undertaker?! Oh that slimy bloke hasn’t seen the last of me!” He turned, putting his fist into his palm, beginning to march out of the room.
Ciel lazily grabbed the sleeve of his robe, pulling him back. “Hunting him down isn’t going to get you any answers—and will likely make you more frustrated. Believe me, I’ve already tried. Now, if you’d be so kind, I’d like to know what’s wrong with my fiancé.”
Edward rubbed the back of his head. “Well…”
“Tell me, Edward.” It was Ciel’s turn to stare him down. Apparently it was effective, because Edward couldn’t meet his gaze.
“Well…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I went to go say hi, and I found her sitting in the common room, staring out the window. She barely took any notice of me. And when she did she started spitting prattling nonsense about this man she met,” he said the last words like men were the most revolting things in the planet. “Naturally I assumed this was a newfound appreciation for you, or she simply was admiring Lockhart like she usually does.”—Ciel made a face at this—“But apparently…not.”
Ciel blanched. He was about to speak, but Edward continued:
“When I learned it wasn’t you, I told her to have some decency, but it was as if she couldn’t even hear me!” His air of forced calm broke. “Apparently she’s madly in love with some—some—some idiot!”
“She’s… what?” The words were soft.
“I said—”
“I heard what you said!” He grabbed his robes.
Some third years walked by at that exact moment and stared at them. Ciel released him, and he and Edward paused and waved awkwardly. After they passed, Ciel continued in a shout-whisper.
“How the hell did this happen?! I specifically made sure she stayed away from the punch at that party!”
“The punch? What punch?”
“The punch Undertaker spiked!”
“Undertaker spiked—?! Oh…Maybe she drank some when you weren’t looking? You can’t have been keeping her under constant surveillance, can you?”
“I was watching her very closely, she couldn’t have!” He said, realizing his usually-more-than-adept butler was quite possibly compromised at the time. “When did these symptoms start? The morning after Valentines Day?”
“Um,” Edward put a hand to his chin, thinking, “I…I’m not sure.”
“Oh you’re just useless aren’t you?”
“More useful than you! If you knew it was spiked at the party, why didn’t you tell everyone?! Or try to stop him?!”
“It seemed like a harmless prank!”
“What are we up to?” Snape’s greasy form appeared, cutting the scene.
“Nothing, Professor Snape,” Edward said quickly. “We were just—”
“I wasn’t talking to you.” He folded his arms and stared down his hooked nose at Ciel. “Your detention is to take place tomorrow evening at six o’clock. Meet me in my office. Try not to earn yourself another one before then.”
“Yes, Sir.” Ciel said softly.
Snape’s black robes swished passed them.
“So Lizzie—? Wait, did he just say six o’clock?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Damn it!” Ciel groaned, leaning against the bannister.
“What’s wrong?”
He waved him off. “It’s none of your concern.”
Edward folded his arms and glared at him.
“I’m working on a potion to try to neutralize this whole…love mess.”
“I’d say that’s very much of my concern! You have the antidote?!”
“I said I’m working on it. It’ll be ready at six o’clock tomorrow evening—six o’clockexactly.”
“I guess you’ll have to get it after you get back.” Edward shrugged.
“It’s a very delicate potion I have to—Ugh Nevermind.”
After a pause Edward asked, “…And you’re sure this antidote will work?”
“I’m not sure of much of anything. The only thing I am sure about is if the potion doesn’t kill me, if I’m late to his detention, Snape just might.”
*****
As Ciel sat down to breakfast he made the silent resolve to quickly finish the potion at six o’clock, then speed to the dungeon as fast as possible, taking the bottle with him to his detention, and hurry to Sebastian right afterwards. Snape wouldn’t be happy, but, despite what he said to Edward earlier, the worst he’d do was give him another detention, or take a large sum of house points. And he wasn’t so strict he’d make students empty their pockets, so he shouldn’t notice while he sat sitting for a few hours cleaning viper guts off potion bottles. There was no telling what this potion would do if he left it for however long detention was, so it took priority. And even if his detention went into the night, that would be the perfect time to test it—the demon wouldn’t be asleep anyways.
Ciel was currently trying to make his seat in the great hall a little corner of peace and calm, and block out the chaos in the rest of the hall, setting down his knife properly, trying to ignore the food flying across the hall, when—
“Oh, Brat~!”
Ciel sighed resignedly as his least favorite redhead came swinging into his vision.
“What are you doing back here so soon?” Ciel grumbled, holding his scowling face in one hand, sticking his fork aimlessly into his eggs with the other.
“And when I came all this way to see you, too?!” He turned up his nose in disgust. “I couldn’t possibly get my beauty sleep after I saw my Sebas-chan in such dire straits.” He pulled a scroll out of his jacket pocket, “So I was up all night thinking of ways to get him back to his sexy self!” He unrolled its impressive length, the end landing in Ciel’s eggs.
Ciel couldn’t help but skim through some his ideas, if nothing else for a good laugh.
They ranged from the more simple and reasonable Find the spell, and make a counter curse,andBash his head in, to the not-so-reasonable Maybe true loves kiss will work~?
“What’s this?” Ciel squinted at a particular line. “‘Put that brat he calls “master” in mortal danger’?”
It was starred and underlined several times.
“Oh you noticed that one did you?” He said in fake innocence. “That’s one of my personal favorites!”
Ciel’s eyes lidded.
“And how exactly would putting me in mortal danger solve the problem of my butler being in love with you?”
“For some reason—can’t see why—Sebas-chan is very attached to you—”
“Sure, it has nothing to do with the contract we made.”
“Yes, yes.” He waved him off. “Well he’s very against you being in any sort of danger. See the idea,”—He put a nail on the table— “is that if we put you in mortal danger his primal demonic—”—he said the word in a way Ciel was not fond of—“inclinations will override the spell and snap him out of it.”
Ciel blinked, staring down at the line of text.
The worst thing was…that actually made some smidgen of sense. You know, in a sadistic kind of way.
“And how would you propose we do that? You know, without actually killing me?”
“Oh all part of the fun. I have a number of ideas as to how we could push you riiight up to the edge! It’ll be delightfully diabolical. Of course, if it doeskill you, well…” he turned away and muttered, “All’s well that ends well, as they say.”
“Not that that doesn’t sound fun…” Ciel stood, pushing the list away. “I’ve found my own way of breaking the spell thank you very much.”
“Oh?” Grell blinked, intrigued. “Have you now?”
“Not that its any of your business, yes.” He brushed himself off, gathering his stuff, “If you’ll excuse me, I have my own business to attend to.”
“Well when that fails don’t hesitate to come crawling back to your favorite reaper Grellypoo ~!” He rolled up the scroll.
“You’re not even my fifth favorite reaper!” He threw over his shoulder.
“But at least I’m on the list!”
*****
Due to the fact that little real learning was happening on either side—unless you count learning too much about various students and teacher’s romantic habits—they had decided to cancel classes for the time being. This gave the teachers more time to devote to finding the cure as well.
Ciel decided to take this time to ascertain the validity of Edward’s statement the night previous and visit Lizzie.
She was a Gryffindor like her brother. Visiting the Gryffindor common room wouldn’t be first, or even last, in a list of things he wanted to do…but he’d half to bear it.
As he walked up the stairs he bumped into someone. At first they apologized and continued walking but soon the other person called back:
“Hey, I ran into yesterday didn’t I?”
Ciel turned to see none other than Harry Potter.
“Yes?”
“Did you happen to see a diary? Like when you were helping me pick up my stuff?”
“The great Harry Potter keeps a diary?”
Harry rolled his eyes. “It’s not my diary. Just adiary.”
“A diary that just so happened to find its way into your bag?”
“Well…yeah.”
“Sorry to say, I haven’t seen it.”
“Hmm…Alright. Thanks anyways.” He waved as he continued down the stairs.
As another Gryffindor left, he slipped into the common room.
Lizzie was sitting in a chair against the window, just like Edward said she would be. She rested her hand on her chin, her elbow on the table, and watched the rain fall.
“Lizzie!” he ran up to her.
“Oh…Ciel…it’s you,” she said in a dreamy, nonplussed tone.
“Yes it’s me. What happened? Have you completely lost your senses?!”
“No I’d say my senses are in tact thank you. And I’d thank you not to ask a lady such an impolite question.”
“Sorry but…what happened? Why are you—?”
“I don’t know. I just, of a sudden, found him to very attractive one morning, and I’m having trouble thinking of much else.”
“Who?” He sat in the chair across from her.
“That’s not really of your concern, is it?”
“It is when I’m your fiancé!” He said a little too loudly, making Gryffindors turn towards him.
“Mm…” She muttered like it wasn’t an issue.
“Lizzie, I tried to make sure you didn’t drink that punch at the party! How did this happen?!”
“Party?” She paused, and for a moment he wasn’t sure she was even going to continue the conversation. “…Oh I don’t know. I seem to faintly recall the most beautiful man I’d ever met saying I simply must try it.”
His eyes widened. “Someone gave it to you directly?! Who?! Why?!”
“I’ve already tried that, I don’t think you’ll get much luck. She won’t tell me either.” Edward arrived at his side, then leaned over and whispered, “I think she knows we’ll come after him.”
“I was going to opt for slow psychological torture,” he muttered back, “but I’d like to hear more about your method.”
Edward tried to suppress a smile.
“And you really love this man?” Ciel asked Lizzie.
“Oh, with all my heart!” She seemed to gain a rush of energy.
He sighed, realizing more questions would be futile, and getting up.
“Alright well…” He ran his hand gently over Lizzie’s fingers. “I-I’ll see you soon.”
“You’ll give me the potion as soon as you can, right?” Edward demanded.
“I’m going to use Sebastian as a test subject, but, if it works, then this will be my next stop.”
“The password is ‘chocolate frog.’ Feel free to wake me up. I can’t stand another minute knowing Lizzie is in love with some-some lunatic!”
“We’ll figure it out, don’t worry.”
*****
Ciel carefully held the porcupine quills, and gingko leaves over the cauldron, dripping them in one at a time, stirring counterclockwise with his other hand, glancing continually back to the instructions.
Finishing off the potion was proving no easier than making the rest of it, but at last, it gave a final sigh, and turned a foggy white.
Ciel gave his own sigh of relief, before using tongs to dip and fill the bottle beside him, making sure to clean off the sides of it—(it was a good thing he used a towel to do so, because the stray drops burned through the fabric).
He held up the bottle, staring at the potion. At long last. Finally, after three days of slow torture, he’d finally be rid of this curse, and the world could return to its normal state—demon butlers included.
He slipped one into his robe pocket and the moment he stepped out of the room, he sped off towards Snape’s dungeon for his detention without a moment to clean up the rest.
He hadn’t intended to burst through the door, but he found himself doing that a lot over these past few days.
Snape’s black eyes narrowed upon his panting form as if he were a worm to bottle. Then they flicked to the clock.
“You’re late.”
“I’m sorry, Professor, I—”
Snape held up a hand to stop him. “The last three days have been longer than the past few months, and am not interested in feeble excuses, Mr. Phantomhive.” He glided around his desk, but instead of setting him up at a desk, he marched past him, swung open, and exited the classroom.
Ciel paused a moment, leaning over to the side, watching him exit, a quizzical look on his face, before deciding he wanted him to follow him.
“Where are we going, Professor?” He asked as he caught up—(not altogether happy that he’d have to do more walking after the run he just made).
“Your detention is to take place in the Forbidden Forest tonight.”
Ciel’s eyes widened.
Snape raised an eyebrow. “Is our dear Mister Phantomhive afraid of the dark?”
He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I’m just a little surprised, that’s all…due to it being forbidden and all.”
Snape smirked. “Most of the time, yes. But on some extra special detentions we may take students inside.”
He was right: The Forbidden Forest wasn’t exactly a common detention spot, though it wasn’t unheard of either. What was more surprising was that Snape taking him there. Usually Snape’s detentions consisted of pickling rat brains, or cleaning octopi suckers off desks. Not that he’d been to very many of his detentions—he’d always been pretty good at potions. It was this godforsaken spell that had reduced him to a less-than-model student.
“Professor, may I ask what exactly will we be doing?” He asked as they traversed the grounds, the trees growing ever closer.
“You will be coming with me to gather a rare flower that lives in these woods.”
Ciel gave a curt nod. It was a moment or two before he asked, “May I ask what it’s for?”
“I am a potions master, Mister Phantomhive. I encourage you to use your brain.”
“I understand that. But what potion is it for, Sir?”
“I am attempting to remedy the spell that has plagued the school.”
Ciel fell silent at that, resisting the urge to tell him he already had the solution in his pocket.
They arrived at the edge of the forest, the trees reaching towards them with gnarled claws, the darkness like curtains for a stage set.
“Lumos.” Snape spoke, and Ciel drew his wand and did the same as they ventured into the shadows.
The trees seemed to taunt them, to whisper about them, to dare them to come any closer, any phantom sound at home here.
After more than a few minutes walk in silence—quite possibly half an hour—Snape stopped and spoke: “They should be around here, nor should they be difficult to spot. Look for a glowing blue flower.”
Ciel made a move to venture off in search of them, but Snape grabbed his arm, warning:
“Don’t wander off where you can’t see me.”
Ciel nodded before venturing into the trees, scanning the ground for anything glowing, or blue, continually glancing back to make sure he could still make out the figure of his teacher.
It wasn’t long before he saw something glowing, and ran up to it. …It turned out just to be a mushroom.
As he sighed disappointedly, and stood back up, he saw two beady eyes staring at him from the darkness.
His heart began to pound as he stared, unsure if he should back up, stand his ground, play dead, or attack, the ghost of a certain name forming on his tongue.
He never had to fear beady eyes, bandits, or bullets with Sebastian around. This was the first time he felt real fear in a long while.
A black spectral horse reared out of the bushes, its eyes aglow with more than just a reflection of the dark.
It stepped towards him in slow, calculated hoofbeats, flaring its nostrils a little too frequently for his liking.
He’d read about these before.
He continued backing up, as the thestral didn’t seem like it planned on stopping its pursuit anytime soon.
“Mister Phantomhive,”—Snape’s voice was low, warning—“I am aware you likely don’t see anything but—”
“I can see it.” He continued his reverse walk.
Snape gave him a short glance like he had a newfound respect for him.
These creatures only appeared to people who had seen death, and he was sure the look in his parents’ eyes that night sufficed. But they didn’t commonly act like this.
Snape lifted his wand, casting a nonverbal spell, and the thestral fell to the ground with a bloodcurdling whinny too much like a scream, ropes binding its legs.
Ciel let out a relieved exhale as Snape joined him.
“Are you alright?”
“I’m fine…Thestrals…they aren’t commonly…aggressive, are they?”
“No.” Snape muttered softly, gazing for a moment at the now-helpless creature, then turned sharply to Ciel, pointing his wand at him. “Empty your pockets.”
Ciel jerked his head to the professor, saying a little too loudly, “What?!”
The thestral fought against the binds, and Ciel took a step back.
“I said, ‘empty your pockets.’”
“Why?!”
Snape flicked his wand, and his pockets’ contents excavated themselves of their own volition.
Snape grabbed the potion from the air, and let the rest of spare quills and things fall helplessly to the forest floor. He held it up and stared at it, observing the contents, his emotion as imperceptible as always. Then he lifted the cork, sniffing it. His eyes widened and he jerked to look at Ciel, his eyes almost more terrifying than those of the thestral, and definitely not holding a look his eyes had ever contained for him before.
“Where did you get this?” He whispered.
“Excuse me?”
He lifted the potion up, and violently smashed it on the ground, the contents breaking out with a puff of smoke, spilling helplessly onto the forest floor.
“NO!”
Snape grabbed his arm as Ciel made to reach for it, as if to save the unsalvageable.
“I said—” he grabbed both his arms, forcing him to look at him. “Where. Did you get that?”
“Sir…. I don’t understand…”
Snape’s face was far too close to him for comfort.
“Listen to me and listen to me very carefully. That potion is more than dangerous—it’s banned in every major country. It’s not something I could easily mistake. If you were to use it, you wouldn’t just die an excruciating death, it would rot you from the inside, and leave you open to the possession of any vile spirit in the vicinity. A fourteen-year-old boy such as yourself shouldn’t be carrying it around in his pocket,” he spat. “And I’d like to think that you didn’t know what it was when you gained possession of it. Now.” His grip tightened on one of his arms, his nails digging in, as he put his wand to his throat with the other enunciating each word, “WHERE. DID. YOU. GET. IT?!”
The Boy with the Unspeakable Name (Ch10)
Fandom:Harry Potter (and the Chamber or Secrets)
Fic Summary: Tom Riddle may have won his battle with Harry in the Chamber of Secrets, but there were a few unforeseen consequences; loss of Tom’s memory being the most obnoxious of them. Is it possible to stop Tom’s past from becoming his future? Or is the young Tom Riddle doomed to repeat his mistakes?
Chapter 10: Missing
When Harry woke up, Ron wasn’t there. There was only one day left of term, and his stuff was still by his bed, so Harry assumed he hadn’t gone home early, still…
The previous evening Harry and Hermione had stayed up a while, sitting silently by the fire, and the silence was far more comforting than words ever could be. When he went back to his room, he didn’t get much sleep that night. He knew he wouldn’t. And when he did, his dreams were fraught with snakes, and screams, and the color red.
When he woke up and turned over, hoping to see that Ron had made it back safely, and an empty bed greeting him…the pit in his stomach grew teeth.
He’d lost Ginny. He didn’t want to lose Ron too.
How much time had Ron spent with Ginny before someone came to fetch him?
Did Dumbledore take the Weasleys down there? Did they see her lying there all—?
What did they do with her body?
No. He shouldn’t think about those things. There was nothing he could do about any of it even so. Spending too much time thinking about it was only going to make him sad, and anxious, and angry.
When he went to the common room Hermione was standing by the window and—
And Ron was sitting in front of the couch, staring at the fire, his eyes glazed.
He felt a rush of relief at the sight of his friend. Just knowing he was okay—or at least there—was enough to soothe the thing gnawing at him at least a little. He made a move to run towards Ron but paused. He should probably talk to Hermione first. She could let him know if he’d rather be left alone. The last thing Harry wanted to was upset Ron further
“Well, there is one bit of good news.” She said softly as he arrived.
“What’s that?” Harry asked, wanting nothing more.
She pointed out the window.
He came to her side and looked out. Hagrid’s hut had smoke billowing out of the top.
“Hagrid’s back.” She gave a weak smile.
Whaddya know? That was good news.
“We should go see him.” He smiled back with the same weakened quality.
“Definitely.”
His smile slowly faded as he looked back at Ron.
“Have you tried talking to Ron yet?”
She looked over at Ron too, and nodded. “He…he doesn’t seem to feel like talking.” She mentioned softly. She looked at her hands and started fidgeting. “Percy hasn’t left his room. …And we-we don’t know where the twins are.”
The thing in his stomach writhed and churned.
“Do you think it’s a bad idea to try to talk to Ron?”
She shrugged. “He might be more likely to talk to you than me.”
He nodded, and made his way over and sat on the carpet beside Ron.
“Hagrid’s back.” He offered softly.
Ron didn’t say anything.
“Hermoine and I are thinking maybe we could go see him later. We thought you could come too.”
“Mm.” Ron grunted.
Harry, seeing that Hermoine had assessed the situation rather well, turned his attention to the fire. For a while he just sat there and didn’t say anything, unable to bring himself to leave his friend’s side.
“You-You wanna come down to breakfast with us?” Hermoine asked softly after a while.
“Not hungry.” Ron finally spoke, though his voice was distant.
Hermoine looked at Harry and bit her lip, clearly unsure how to proceed.
“Why don’t you go down to breakfast, Hermoine?” Harry offered. “Bring me back some sausages or something.”
Hermoine opened her mouth, likely about to say she’d rather stay, but nodded.
“Sure you don’t want anything, Ron?” She asked as if pleading with him to get up and go with her.
He didn’t reply. Hermoine looked at Harry. Harry tried to give her a reassuring, I’ll-hold-down-the-fort, look, but he wasn’t sure he accomplished it, as she looked nervous, and a little hurt as she turned to leave.
For a while Harry just sat with Ron in silence. Harry knew it was best to wait for him to speak; prodding him with questions, or else annoying him with answers, wouldn’t make him feel better. He knew from experience. So they sat in silence, the common room slowly draining of activity as the other Gryffindor’s went down to breakfast.
“You know,” Ron said a few minutes after everyone had left. “There…There was this one time when some neighbor kids…they bullied her.”
Ron didn’t say who, but Harry knew immediately.
“She came home crying. The next day we—Bill, and Charlie, Fred and George and me, I mean—were out for blood. I don’t know what we would have done to them, but it wouldn’t have been pretty. But…when we got there one was sitting there holding his bloody nose, and the other one ran away screaming when we arrived, smelling faintly of urine. And there was Ginny,” a smile crept onto his face, along with tears to his eyes, “standing there with her hands behind her back, not crying or anything.” The smile broadened. “Turns out Ginny had punched him. Mom was furious. Said we’d filled her head with violence. We’d never been so proud.
“She had the sweetest laugh.” Ron murmured. “Fred and George would would tease her and prank her. Sometimes she’d get upset, but she’d always shake it off. A few times she even pranked them back. One time they had an all out glitter war. Wish you could’ve been there. My underpants sparkled for weeks.
“…You know sometimes I think she was gutsier than all of us combined.”
He paused a moment, his smile sloughing off his face, his eyes traveling somewhere far from here.
“I can’t believe I’ll never hear that laugh again. Funny how that is. I never noticed how pretty it was before.”
“She sent me one of those valentines this year, you know.” Harry swallowed. “I thought it was silly at the time but now…” Harry bit his lip.
“Now you can’t stop replaying it in your head.” Ron’s words were cracking.
Hermione came back a little while later with breakfast—enough for Ron, even though he said he wasn’t hungry—citing that she tried to pick the best sausages she could find, and that she couldn’t remember what kind of jam that they liked on their toast, so she just grabbed them all.
When the topic of going to see Hagrid came up again, there was no debate, and barely any conversation. They were walking across the grounds to Hagrid’s hut before they could put much thought into any other options.
The sight of Hagrid’s face was like aloe on an intense sunburn, and they could almost convince themselves his hug squeezed all the sadness out of them. They asked how Hagrid was doing—he said he was a little worse for wear, but they couldn’t keep him away for too long—and tried to avoid any dangerous topics. When they walked back up the grounds, they did so feeling a little lighter, like the day might be a little brighter from here on out.
They were barely back inside the castle when a voice behind them severed that notion:
“Potter.”
Harry nearly jumped at the sound of Snape’s voice, not to mention the image of him materializing from the corner like a bat.
“The Headmaster wants to see you.”
Harry looked at Ron and Hermione, and they gave him looks that were fearful, sympathetic, and curious all at the same time.
Harry knew he couldn’t refuse, and also wanted to know what Dumbledore wanted to talk to him about, and if it was about Tom, so allowed himself to be escorted to the office. He could get there just fine by himself, but it seemed Snape thought if he didn’t watch him he’d just run off.
Snape was silent the entire time, but when they arrived, he spoke rather harshly:
“Let me make clear that I am not thrilled about this either.”
And with that ominous proclamation, he shut the door.
*****
Harry sat there, sure time had stopped moving. The clock on the wall had stopped ticking. His body had been doused in ice. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Could barely breathe.
The whole summer with Snape. The whole summer with Snape. The whole summer livingwithSnape. Not just having lessons with him—two hours summoned straight from hell, as far as he was concerned—but actually living with him, in the same house, occupying the same space, at every hour.
Harry dreaded the summer, hated going back to the Dursleys for any amount of time, and two months always seemed like a lifetime. Last year he’d sat at the window dreaming of what it would be like to stay with one of his own kind. At this prospect, however, he thought he’d rather live with the Durselys for the entire year than spend even a week in the same house with Snape.
After what had clearly been a longer-than-natural amount of silence Harry asked feebly.
“But…” The words sputtered on his lips. “But-But why?”
“If we are going to make any strides at reforming the young Tom Riddle,” Dumbledore explained, “in addition to confirming he does not intend to make the mistakes of his predecessor, we must help him relearn magic over the summer. It is imperative that we have someone watching him at all times as well. He needs to stay with someone who is trustworthy. Who will not hesitate to act if he shows any signs of returning to his old ways. I thought professor Snape would be uniquely suitable for this job.”
Whatever Dumbledore said Harry didn’t think Snape was trustworthy, or suitable to teach kids of any age. Though he wouldn’t say the image of Tom hanging upside down getting an incorrect answer was unappealing. Still Snape would probably grow to favor him like he did Malfoy. Which brought him to his main concern.
“I understand that, Sir, but what I was wondering is why I have to live with him too?”
“As Voldemort has now returned in such a form, the rules for your summer arrangements may have changed a bit, don’t you think?”
Harry blinked. “You mean about me needing to stay with my aunt and uncle? That’s great! Then why can’t I stay with Ron?! Or…Or you?!” he gestured to Dumbledore. The words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself.
Dumbledore smiled pleasantly. “I am flattered you would be interested in living with me, Harry. But, on that account, I find it would be much more advantageous if you and the young Tom Riddle were to become…” He paused a moment, clearly being careful about choosing his words. “friends. Or something approximating the like.”
The word surged and burned down from his ears down through his blood, curling his hands into fists.
“Friends?!” Harry shot up, the chair groaning against the floor. “You want me to become friends with the guy who murdered my parents?!”
“I know I am asking a great much of you, Harry,” Dumbledore said calmly. “And if you think I am asking too much of you, I will understand, and attempt to discern another way to go about this situation. But please try to look at the big picture. For one thing, we would like to try our best to keep the identity of Tom Riddle between you, myself, and professor Snape—as well as a certain number of portraits and ghosts.” He gestured to the portraits, who crossed their arms and glared at him. “It would be rather telling if, well…” He paused again. “Forgive me, but your attitude towards him is not overabundant with kindness.”
Harry couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He was being asked to live with both the teacher he hated most in this school, and the young version of the literal Lord Voldemort, and it was all because of that very hatred. Because Dumbledore thought living with them would make him hate them less, as opposed to the answer Harry thought much more likely: that they would all come out of this hating each other a hundred times more.
“Kids hate each other all the time! I hardly think that’s something that needs a drastic remedy! You told him yourself he was a bully—it would be weirder if I wasn’t glaring hatefully at him! Why is this any different?!”
“You yourself know full well why it’s different.” Dumbledore never ceased his calm, cool tones. “This isn’t just any childish rivalry, nor do I think things will remain that way, if they continue on as they are.”
“Again! Why would you ask me to—?!”
“Because hatred of this brand corrupts even the purest of souls. It is one thing that everyone is capable of falling prey to. Kind people would never think of torturing or killing innocents, but hate, well…there is always evil in the world. And kind people struggle with the presence of this evil most of all. It is the mark of a good soul to be appalled by evil. However, we cannot allow that evil to infect our own souls with hate, lest we become like the very thing we are fighting so hard against.”
Harry swallowed. Whatever Dumbledore said, he didn’t much care if his soul was ‘infected by hatred’ as it were.
“If we intend to allow the young Tom Riddle to live,” Dumbledore continued, “I cannot in good faith allow things to go on this way. If you continue to hate him as much as I see you do now…it is my belief that you will certainly become the rivals you were always destined to be—or perhaps I should say, you once were.”
“What’s wrong with that? Why shouldn’t we be?! Why are you defending Voldemort?!”
“But he is not Voldemort. Remember Harry,” Dumbledore walked around the desk to stand in front of Harry. “At this moment the boy in the hospital wing is not, in fact, the man who murdered your parents. He is not the man who tortured so many. He is not the evil warlord, twisted by his own depraved experiments. I am not asking you to become friends with that man, nor would I advise it. However, he is a boy who might become the man who murdered your parents, if he falls upon the wrong path again. That is to say, if we fail to lead him down the proper path. I am asking you to try to become friends with boy he was before he became a killer. That boy right now is merely a boy like you. One who is, yes, a bit cold and self-serving, a bit too cunning and clever for his own good, but—though he will not admit it—who is also unfathomably lonely. That it why it is so crucial that we do our best to give him the proper guidance and support he so desperately needs. Just think about it. I won’t force you. But please note that your presence in his life may be the distinction between success and failure.
Harry slumped back in his chair. “You’re placing an awful lot of pressure on me, Sir. What makes you think you can lead him down the right path?”
“Oh I don’t have any delusions about leading him down the right path myself. As I’ve said, I think you, Harry, can lead him down the right path. And, most likely…only you can.”
“Why me?”
“Professor Snape can teach him magic, can try to discern the workings of his mind and if he intends to return to his old ways, but Tom Riddle has never been one persuaded to change by authority. On the contrary, he is prone to manipulate authority to his will rather as much as his peers—a trait, I imagine he will likely pick back up quickly. Hence why I have specifically chosen Professor Snape for this task. He is particularly resistant to flattery and the like. I would do it myself but something tells me his past hatred of me is not so easily forgotten. But as for someone who can be a more positive influence, rather than a disciplinary one, I think you would fit that role rather well.”
“If he doesn’t listen to you, why would he listen to me?! Did he ever listen to his classmates—let alone someone younger than him?!”
“When Tom was at school yes, he was surrounded by obedient followers who would not hesitate to throw themselves headfirst into danger for him. But Harry I believe you are uniquely suited to such a task, in no small part because you are aware of his past sins—or perhaps we should say, his future sins. Your awareness of what he is capable of, in tandem with your kind, resilient spirit makes you particularly adapted to helping lost souls such as Tom, and guiding them back to the light.”
“But this isn’t some lost soul! This is Voldemort we’re talking about! You really think someone like that is capable change?! Of compassion?! Of-Of anything?!”
“It is precisely because this is Voldemort that it is imperative we try. What would you prefer? That we stand idly by and watch him become the same man he was, without even attempting to reform him? We have a unique opportunity to rewrite history, to try again. I find opportunities of this nature do not come around twice.”
“We…” Harry paused. Swallowed. Not sure he should say what he was thinking. “We could…We could…get rid of him…Then the threat would be over…”
“Oh? But didn’t you yourself make the decision not to kill him in the Chamber, even when you believed he was still Voldemort? And have I not already told you my thoughts on the that decision? I, for one, am very grateful you didn’t. If you did, we wouldn’t have the opportunity we have now. Besides, we need not split young souls such as yours with such acts. Would it not make us uncomfortably similar to Voldemort if we decided to kill a defenseless boy without memory?”
Harry sighed. He was feeling less and less grateful for his decision by the day.
“I know it is a great burden I am placing on you.” Dumbledore added. “But it is also the greatest compliment I can give: that I have full faith that you could reform even the darkest of souls.”
Something in Harry wore out. His words were soft: “He killed Ginny.”
Dumbledore blinked up at him.
“I am not entirely certain that he did.”
He jerked up his head. “What?”
“Lord Voldemort, unlike with most other incidents, didn’t use the killing curse upon her. Instead, he used a very unique method to return to the land of the living, one that required a young girl’s life.”
“Exactly! That’s what killed her!”
“Do you understand what I’m saying? It required her life. Voldemort would have assumed this meant that her life was used up in the process, but what if it wasn’t? What if her soul was not destroyed, but transferred?”
“Transferred?” Realization hit him as soon as he asked the question, and horror twisted in Harry’s gut. “Y-You’re telling me that Ginny’s soul is inside—?!”
“It is my theory at least.” Dumbledore spoke as if they were discussing what to have for lunch. He folded his arms in front of him. “Whether it is fact, or nothing more than an educated hypothesis, only more research will yield the answers.”
Harry sat on the edge of his seat, thinking hard.
Ginny might still be alive. Her soul at least. Alive but trapped in the body of Tom Riddle. Hope and horror enacted a bloody duel in Harry’s gut.
“Do-Do you think we could save her, Sir? Get her out, I mean.”
Dumbledore sighed. “I am not certain but, considering as her body is already—”
“What if we could preserve her body?!” He stood up. “You know, make it so, if we could just get her soul out then…”
Dumbledore looked down, running his hand over his beard. “I hadn’t considered that.”
“Then maybe—maybe we could return her soul to her body!” He began pacing. “She could go back to living with her family! She’d be—”
Dumbledore held up a hand to stop him.
“It is a …possibility, but a possibility nonetheless. We must remember that this is nothing but a theory in the first place, and the prospect of preserving her body on the slim hope that we might be able to retrieve her soul from his body—if it is even there in the first place—would be rather a lot to put her family through.”
Harry was barely listening, his brain moving a thousand miles an hour. “We just need to find a way to get her soul out! There must be some way! Then everything can go back to normal!”
Dumbledore paused. “Before we make any decisions, I am wondering if perhaps we ought to consider another route as well.”
“What’s that?”
“Being unsure if we will be able to salvage her soul from its current state, I’ve been considering the possibility that the presence of her soul within Tom would grant him a level of compassion he has not previously exhibited. This is something which I have already seen exhibited during our previous conversation with him. While I am unsure we can return her soul to her body, this is something that, if my theory is true, is already in place. It is one of the reasons why I believe we might be able to reform him.”
Harry allowed himself to consider this a moment. The presence of Ginny’s soul within Tom…In some ways it was more appealing than simply viewing Tom as Voldemort, still, he didn’t much care for the thought of her trapped within the body of his parent’s murderer. It felt gross and wrong.
“I also must say that, due to her life being the thing that allowed him to return to life, I am unsure we could remove her soul without killing him.”
Harry wasn’t sure that was such an unwanted side effect.
Ginny was still alive. That changed everything. The prospect of living with either Snape or Tom made him feel sick. But both? He’d likely be needing a barf bag. However, at this prospect he felt a little more up to the challenge.
So he agreed to live with them over the summer, not to reform Tom, but to save Ginny.
*****
Considering it was the Leaving Feast, and he hadn’t done a very good job of eating well the past few days, Harry decided it was time to have dinner in the great hall. Ron could only say no to his stomach for so long, so he came with them.
When he entered the room his stomach sank. Last year the room was decorated with the colors of the house that won the Quidditch cup, but today they black, he knew why.
He found his place at the Gryffindor table and tried to ignore the questions fluttering around about the color of the banners.
He also tried to ignore the heat he felt as his back. It was as if he was being watched, but not just that, it was as if whoever was watching him could shoot laser beams out of their eyes. He was pretty sure he knew who it was, and sure enough, as he turned around he found it was coming off the potions master. He didn’t think it was possible, but Snape’s usual distaste had amplified tenfold.
He turned back to his food and tried not to exhibit that same distaste.
What he didn’t ignore was the sight of Percy and the twins at the table. Percy’s eyes looked just as veiled as Ron’s had, and he looked a bit green. When Fred saw Harry, he gave him a small nod, as if thanking him for his service, and George put his arm around Ron—something Harry had rarely, if ever, seen him do—and Harry tried not to feel worse.
After they’d finished dinner Dumbledore walked up to give his end-of-year speech, he said a few of the things Harry remembered him mentioning last year, then proceeded:
“This feast is a time for both celebration and loss this year.” He folded his hands in front of him.
“This year has been a strange one for Hogwarts. Throughout it many of you have no doubt heard the rumor that the Chamber of Secrets had been opened, as well as seen the strange messages and incidents that gave credence to this rumor.
“Well I will inform you, if it is not already clear, that the rumor is indeed true. The Chamber had been opened. And I thank whatever higher power might be out there that, for the most part, petrification was the only real consequence.
“I am even more thankful to inform you at this time, that the threat has ended.”
There was a general consensus about the room that this was a good thing, though the celebration was tinged with curiosity at what had happened.
“We can thank none other than Harry Potter for this.” He gestured to Harry, and too many heads turned for Harry’s comfort. “With the help of his friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger”—Ron tried to make himself look small, and Hermione waved awkwardly—“they were able to discern the mystery of the Chamber of Secrets, and defeat its monster. The Chamber will bring no more harm to any of you.”
More cheers and clinking of glasses.
“However, as some of you may have heard by now, that victory came at a great cost. Harry arrived as fast as he could, and fought his hardest, but—through no fault of his own—our dear Ginny Weasley, who had been taken by the heir of Slytherin into the Chamber itself tragically…” He paused now, taking a deep breath. “lost her life.”
The room was simultaneously spiked with loud gasps, exclamations and cries, and hushed as if a dampener had been placed over it.
“Those of you who knew her know she was fiery, brave, kind, and compassionate, possessing these and many other qualities that embody Gryffindor. We have lost a wonderful girl, who could have, in time, become a great woman.”
Harry bit his lip, looking down, trying not to let those words make his mind wander. He felt a squeeze at his hand and turned to see Hermione, holding his hand, as well as Ron’s, turning to each of them sympathetically. Ron was staring at the table.
“The heir of Slytherin had been working through her by virtue of a diary. Seemingly innocuous, she did not realize this diary was in actuality an object of extraordinary dark power.”
Anger rose in Harry’s gut when he thought of the boy in the he himself had seen in the diary, the one who had framed Hagrid, and lured Ginny in with that famous flattery Dumbledore mentioned earlier. He hoped he wasn’t listening now.
“Harry did everything in his power to keep her alive, and risked his own life several times over the course of the night, but in the end…” He trailed off. They all knew what it meant.
I couldn’t save her.
“Slytherin’s monster is no more, and the diary through which the heir of Slytherin worked has been destroyed. But Ginny Weasley’s memory lives on. Her body will not—as the writing on the wall so crudely and cruelly proclaimed—lie in the Chamber forever. Her body will return home with her parents to receive a proper burial.”
“Ron, you’re hurting me,” Hermione whispered, and Harry turned to see Ron relax his grip on her hand a little.
“A spirit like hers is not one so easily lost. Those of you who knew Ginny, do not let the pain of this incident cause her soul to fade from memory. Let her sprit live on in your hearts. Let the part of her that lives on in each of you guide you in your darkest moments.”
At this Harry wondered if Tom was indeed there, and the words were intended for him specifically. Though, when he looked around, he didn’t see him anywhere.
“I ask you not to pester the Weasleys, nor Harry, too much with questions about this incident. They have been through a lot and should be allowed to grieve in peace.”
At the painful, distant looks from each of the Weasleys present Harry wished more than anything he could tell them the truth of the situation, that Ginny was still alive it was just…a little more complicated than that. That he was going to everything in his power to save her. Yet he could do nothing but sit there silently, feeling sick.
And after a few more closing words, he left them all with the silence in the room, tragedy hanging over all their heads like the black curtains draped across the room.
*****
It was with a heart heavy as coal, a lump in his throat that hadn’t left since the feast, and the gnawing pit in his stomach that Harry packed up his things that day. He’d be going to the Dursleys first, still, but just knowing that he wouldn’t be able to talk to Ron, to make sure he was okay, and that he’d be living with Snape very soon didn’t make him at all eager to leave—not that he would be anyways.
He was then reminded of another boy who once wanted to stay at Hogwarts over the summer, and internally smacked himself for thinking that way.
It was a quiet ride on the train, too quiet. Even Fred and George, who usually never stopped cracking jokes, had developed an interest in their own shoelaces. Hermione tried to cheer everyone up by suggesting they practice disarming spells. They did so without much real heart–though Harry found he was getting rather good at them, even so. Still trying their best to enjoy what few moments of magic they had left, they then played Exploding Snap, and lit off the rest of Fred and George’s Filibuster fireworks. All of these things helped distract them at least a little, but nothing could fill the emptiness that threatened to swallow them, the emptiness that spawned from the seat where Ginny was supposed to be.
Commission for @drarry-fifiand@cluelesspigeons for cluelesspigeons’s fanfic! This is based on a scene from the story, although a bit more symbolic :D with our beloved Harry and Draco dressed up as the sun and the moon ♥ and you should all go and read the story btw, it’s really amazing and worth your time!! Thank you so much for the commission, it was a total pleasure to draw this for you! ♥♥♥♥
Fanfic on Ao3 ‘As tender is the moon, so fierce is the sun’ by clueless_pigeons
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