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juniperwindsong · 5 years ago

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In Love & War (3/3)

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has been so kind as to comment on this story and even kinder in their patience for how long it took to complete. I’ve never struggled so much to write anything, and I might still be staring at an unfinished draft if it weren’t for the help of the most incredible, @navirosera, who listened patiently to my ranting, raving, and complaining and provided the spark to help me finish. I really can’t thank you enough.

I have posted the remaining part of the chapter at the bottom so it’s in its proper place. If you’ve already read the first part of this, just keep scrolling till it looks new.

Part 3: Quatervois

You hold your left hand up against the glass of the window. The setting sun catches the diamond of your ring, creating lines of rainbow light. It gives the impression your whole hand is sparkling. You smile. It's only a modest sized diamond set against a pale gold band. But it's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.

"Something out there I should be jealous of?"

Arms encircle your waist. A warm body presses against you from behind.

"'Out there'"?" you echo playfully. "Oh, I suppose there is a lovely ocean view. I hadn't noticed."

Felix rests his chin on your shoulder to see what's caught your attention.

"You know, I really ought to get you another one. Something better. With a diamond you can actually see."

You spin around in Felix's arms.

"Don't you dare. I love it. It's perfect."

Felix glances at your hand now resting against his chest. He frowns at the ring slightly.

"Hardly perfect. It's ridiculously small. It barely counts as an engagement ring."

You wrinkle your nose at him. "Then why did you pick it in the first place?"

A hot blush creeps up Felix's cheeks, a sight you find intensely amusing.

"There's a face I don't see often,” you laugh softly.

A change comes over Felix. His eyes widen, and he leans away from you, dropping his arms. He peers into your face intently as if he's seen something he doesn't like. You’re worried you must have offended him.

"I wasn't poking fun," you assure him soothingly. You close the distance he’s created between you, reaching up to take his still heated cheek in your palm. "I like it. Makes you look younger."

Felix's eyes soften. "Do I look old then?"

"Far too old for me." You shake your head in mock concern. "What my friends will say when they discover I've eloped with my prefect, I can't imagine." Your face suddenly clouds. "Why did we elope? Was there a reason? I mean, it was lovely little chapel, but it would have been nice to have my friends there. And Mrs Weasley will be so disappointed when she finds out.”

Felix swallows. “The war, remember?” He hides his face in the crook of your neck. “Everyone choosing sides. We didn't want them to be uncomfortable."

"Oh. Right."

On some level you're aware this doesn't make sense. But the vibrations against your throat send lightning through your body. The answer no longer seems important. You run your hands through Felix's hair as he places hot, slow kisses up your neck, under your chin. When he reaches your lips he murmurs against them: "Let me buy you a new ring. Please."

You shake your head. Your nose nuzzles his with each small movement. "No. This is the one I want."

You’re at a loss for how this sweet statement could cause your new husband to look so unhappy.

"Not again! That's the second time this week!"

The sudden exclamation startles you from your reverie. You lift your head from its resting place against your hand. You’re in the Burrow's kitchen with an irate Mrs Weasley, not a villa in Nice with Felix. The sun setting outside the window had brought the memory back.

Mrs Weasley wads the offensive letter up and throws it into the fire.

"I mean really, and at the last minute, too. So inconsiderate. I suppose that sort of thing is acceptable in France, but you'd think manners would be the same everywhere, wouldn't you? Pass me that cutting board, dear."

You rise from your chair and reach up to pull the cutting board from a high shelf. You could easily retrieve it with magic, but you need the distraction. It's precisely the reason you've moved to the Burrow. Mrs Weasley's strict regimen of conversation and domestic work keeps your mind from wandering. Most of the time.

You offer Mrs Weasley the cutting board, then lean against the counter. You force yourself to pay attention to her diatribe.

“I'm sure it's a phase, but I do hope it will pass soon. Once he grows out of that hair and that earring," Mrs Weasley shudders. "And that's really the most telling, isn't it? Any woman who likes that sort of thing can’t possibly be any good. You don't approve of it, surely?"

You look up from where your gaze has fallen to your hand and shake your head vigorously.

Her opinions safely confirmed, Mrs Weasley returns to the cutting board. She directs her wand to a veritable army of knives that begin dicing vegetables with gusto. "Like I say, very telling. Bill never used to be like this. He would never have dreamed of sending an owl last minute saying he wouldn't be at dinner. I mean really! What if we'd had something important to discuss? What if-"

You stare at the ring on your finger. It's the same one from your memory: a single, small diamond, a band of pale gold. Humble, but an auror's salary isn’t high. And this is definitely the ring Talbott had given you.

You relish the ability to call this memory to mind. You, dusting the curtains in your cheery flat when Talbott suddenly appears behind you. He presses a small blue box wordlessly into your hands. Your heart stops when you open it.

Talbott isn't one for material gifts. You never ask them of him. You had intended, once you were married, to find a simple wedding band to indicate your new status. For Talbott to think of it himself means more than you can say in words. Instead, you spend a long, fervid night showing him.

You close your eyes, savouring the echoes of bliss reverberating through your body. Until a question wheedles its way in like a leech.

Why would Felix have pretended the ring was his? Even for a second? It didn't fit Felix's extravagant style at all. He hadn't been happy with it, that much is clear from your newly remembered honeymoon scene. So why didn't he remove it after obliviating you? Replace it with another?

The inconsistency bothers you. Against your better judgment, you tentatively prod your brain for an explanation. But while your memories from before the fateful spell all seem to be intact, the days immediately after remain fuzzy.

"...talking about visiting her family, and it's much too soon for that. Imagine going all the way to France for a girl he's really only known a short time. I didn't meet Arthur's family until..."

You shake your head firmly, clearing it of unwanted thoughts. You'll never understand what Felix did. You're not supposed to be thinking about him, anyway. You straighten, and interrupt Mrs Weasley mid-sentence.

"Can I do something to help, Mrs Weasley?"

"Oh," Mrs Weasley stops abruptly. "Well, I really only have the potatoes left to mash, and that’s just -"

"I'll do it.”

You walk to the sink before Mrs Weasley can argue. A pot of peeled and boiled potatoes waits expectantly. You tap the masher with your wand and set it to work with vigour. You can feel Mrs Weasley's eyes on you, but you keeps yours fixed to the sink.

After a moment, Mrs Weasley returns to her knives, now scraping the diced vegetables into a bowl. "You know, I was thinking," she says in an airy, would-be-casual voice that instantly puts you on your guard. "I'd planned for four, and it would be a shame to let all this extra food go to waste. Why not invite your young man to dinner?"

The masher spins wildly in the pot, spilling potatoes over the side before you can correct it. Mrs Weasley continues as though she hasn’t noticed.

"It's been some time since you last saw him. And goodness knows, he looks like he could use a solid meal. What he must be eating without anyone to take care of him..."

You remember the assorted debris of take-away strewn about your old flat's kitchen table. A short stab of pain punctures your lungs. Imagining Talbott alone in the ruins of the home you once shared robs you of air.

"Y/N, the masher!"

"What?"

You look up to find the masher dancing across the counter, trailing potato in its wake. You break the enchantment and return it to the pot, then reach for a dish towel. You try to mop up the soggy potato droppings, but your vision is blurred by tears.

The dish towel is plucked gently from your fingers. You look up through wet eyes to find Mrs Weasley peering at you in concern.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N. I didn't mean to press. I understand if you need more time to-"

"It's not that, Mrs Weasley," you say, through sniffs. "I just...I... I miss him. I miss everything."

"You know, dear," Mrs Weasley says delicately, "Arthur and I have had our fair share of rows. Why, I remember one in our seventh year, nearly ended us. I couldn't eat a bite for weeks. But, there's never a problem two people can't solve if they're just willing to talk through it."

You sigh heavily, wiping your hand across your eyes. You let yourself sink into a kitchen chair.

"Talbott doesn't talk, Mrs Weasley. I'm the one who always solves these sorts of problems. I've never minded, but this time...this time I just don't know how."

Mrs Weasley flicks her wand at the masher. It resumes its duties at a more stately pace, and she draws the chair next to yours.

"Talbott is a good man, dear. A bit strange, and - well, I do admit, I'd rather hoped you and Charlie would...well...that doesn't matter now - what I mean to say is Talbott loves you. I'm sure he doesn't expect everything to be just the way it was all at once. But you have to start somewhere or it'll never come right."

You worry your lip between your teeth. You don’t know what Talbott thinks of you right now, and you’re afraid to find out. But Mrs Weasley's arguments chip away at your fear. You do want to see him again. And Talbott is unlikely to come find you himself.

"I suppose I might...send him an owl."

Mrs Weasley's smile is so bright it hurts to look at it.

"Really? Oh, that's wonderful! I'm so thrilled. Here, let me do it. You go get dressed!"

"What?"

"Well, you can't let him see you in that!"

You look down at your clothes: an old house dress of Mrs Weasley's and a jumper of Charlie's, both extremely baggy.

"Mrs Weasley, Talbott's seen me in just about everything."

"Yes, well, a little bit of effort never hurt. In fact, why don't I pop down to Diagon Alley before the shops close and pick up some of those delightful little cakes he liked so much last Christmas. I'll send the owl on the way. Now go!"

It's useless to argue with Mrs Weasley when she's in this state. You climb the stairs, listening to her chatter to herself as she pulls on a travelling shawl. For the first time in days, you manage a weak smile.

You spend a few minutes prodding your wand across an old summer dress from Mrs Weasley's school days. You've never excelled at the sort of charms Andre used to transform clothes into something magical, but you do your best. The end result, if not exactly fashionable, doesn't look as though two of you might fit in it. You run a brush through the tangled knots in your hair, and, after a minute's debate, decide in favour of lipstick.

You feel distinctly foolish.

It makes no sense to be dressing yourself up to meet the man you've lived with since you left school. Even less so to be this self-conscious about it. But Mrs Weasley's excitement has apparently infected you. Your stomach is full of swarming butterflies. It reminds you of your very first date with Talbott.

You cross to the looking-glass and inspect yourself critically. While you may feel like a teenager again, your reflection shows quite a bit more wear. Your face is pinched and wan, like someone recovering from a long illness. You lean in closer, practicing a smile. Something moves in the corner of the glass.

You whirl around, fumbling for your wand. The room is empty. It must have a been a trick of the light. Instinct puts you on your guard, however, and you inspect the room again, more slowly. As your eyes pass the window, you catch a glimpse of something moving in the yard. You blink, and look again, unwilling to believe your eyes.

Felix is picking his way across the long grass, surveying the Burrow with a mixture of distaste and apprehension.

Your brain stalls. Thoughts peter out as soon as they begin. You don't know what to do, what to think, what to feel.

Felix glances up. You know he can see your silhouette in the window. It's in the way his rich brown eyes suddenly catch fire.

"Y/N, I know you're there," Felix calls softly. "I just want to talk to you. Please."

A battle begins inside you. Part of you wants to hurl a curse out the window at Felix. Part of you wants to hide under the bed. But neither of these are in charge of your feet. You're walking out of the room and down the stairs before your brain catches up to what you're doing. It stops you just before you reach the kitchen door. You can't really be considering this. Felix has proven exactly what he's capable of. Walking out there to him is like walking into a snake pit.

Only this time, you know. You're prepared. You're not the girl of a year ago, naively believing she could be just friends with a Rosier. Nor are you his thrall. Your head is as clear as it's ever been. And you have things you want to say. You clench your hand firmly around your wand, and step outside.

You keep your eyes on your feet as you walk. Just taking even steps requires considerable effort. You stop when you see Felix's shoes. It's several seconds before you're able to raise your gaze to his, and then it takes all your self-control to keep your jaw from dropping.

You've never seen Felix this worse for wear. His robes are so rumpled he might have slept in them. His hair is untidy, his nails unclean. There are circles under his eyes as dark as bruises.

Pity, and something else you refuse to name, well up inside your throat. The desire to put your arms around him, to stroke his cheek or straighten his hair, anything to fix his face into something less pained, is overwhelming. You hate yourself for it. You quickly recite every terrible thing Felix has done in your head. But you've never been able to stay angry with Felix when he looks at you like that.

"Y/N." Felix says your name like a prayer. You will your heart not to break. You keep your voice as expressionless as possible.

"What do you want?"

"I - I just want to talk," Felix repeats. "To ex-explain." His impassive mask slips as he stutters. For some reason, this display of nerves inspires you with confidence.

"I already heard your explanations. What else could you possibly have to say?"

Felix rubs his palms against his trousers.

'That wasn't - I mean - I didn't get to...to say everything I needed to. It was all so..." You don't think you've ever seen Felix so lost for words. You grip your wand tighter to stop your hand reaching for him. "I didn't get to explain myself clearly. Explain what happened. Why I...I did what I did."

At these words, your desire erupts into rage. It's almost a relief to finally feel it. You let it boil your blood, vibrate in your limbs. You clench your fist around your wand so tight your knuckles turn white. As if the immensity of Felix's crimes could be summed up in a few simple words.

"You mean, why you obliviated me? Why you erased Talbott from my memories and ruined both our lives?" The bitterness that's festered inside you for weeks spews forth like lava. "You lied to me, Felix! You let me feel like I was going mad! You forced me to marry you, and then kept me locked in your house like a-"

"But I didn't!" Felix's cry is anguished. It only fuels your fury.

"How...dare you! How can you really think I'm that stupid? That I would fall for that? I remember everything Felix! I heard you admit it, and I know I'm not insane. Denying what you've done won't change anything, it just makes you look pathetic.”

Felix flinches as if your word were a curse.

"I'm not denying what I did. I did...obliviate you. And I did lie. But...I didn't force you to marry me."

"Just because you didn't hold a wand to my head doesn't mean I wasn't forced. You can't get out of this on semantics."

"I'm not trying to get out of anything," Felix says quickly. He looks up, staring at a point just near your ear. "Look, I made you forget him...Talbott. I thought...without him to worry about or pressuring you to stay...I could convince you to run. Go visit your relatives in America. But I-I don't know...maybe the spell went wrong. I've never used a memory charm before. But you seemed to forget everything. You weren't sure who you were, or where you were. I was terrified."

Felix takes a step closer. You know you should stop him, but you're hooked to his words. Your anger flounders as you struggle to find this memory, to prove Felix is lying yet again. But all you remember is Felix's wand pointed at you...then nothing.

"I didn't know what to do," Felix continues. "I couldn't just leave you there, or - or send you to another country while you didn't even know your own name. So I...I took you home. With me. I thought...maybe I could figure out a way to undo it. Or something. I don't know, I never had to find out. When you woke the next morning, you were better. Or at least, you knew who you were and who I was. But...I suppose the spell had worked because you didn't remember...Talbott." Felix's fingers twist at his sides. "But then you - you saw the ring and you asked if... we were...engaged."

You look down at the diamond ring on your hand. Something in the way it catches the light reminds you of a moment in the Rosier kitchen: leaning against the butcher's table, your head pounding, a fog across your senses; Felix standing in front of you, as nervous as he is now. You hear your voice ask a question, and you hear Felix's response...

"I didn't know what to say! I didn't know how to explain the ring without mentioning Talbott, and I didn't know what else you remembered or-or how you felt about me. I just...I wanted you. I've always wanted you, so I...I said-"

" 'Only if you want to be'."

Felix's eyes meet yours. There's a soft, eager light in them, as if the memory is something he cherishes.

"You...remember that?"

'I didn't until just now."

You stare at the Felix in front of you, but your mind is faraway. Back in the kitchen, watching Felix wait for your answer. You stood there, your aching mind picking through its tangled memories, sorting through all your moments with Felix. The way he'd always been there for you at school. The way his seriousness made you laugh, and his little touches made you shiver. The decision was as easy as breathing.

"I said, yes," you whisper into the air.

Felix says nothing. He only nods.

The emotions writhing within you evaporate. Anger, desire, everything you've felt toward Felix is suddenly missing. Wind blows, and it sounds like a foreign language. The world around you is as unfamiliar and threatening as a different planet. You don't know how to exist in it. You can only stand, frozen and unsure.

After a minute of silence, Felix continues.

"I know I shouldn't have let you believe it, or - or let it go as far as I did. I should have sent you to America, like I meant to. But... I couldn't help it. I love you. I always have." Felix's hand jerks oddly, as if he meant to take yours before thinking better of it."I told myself it was better this way. That you were safer with me. But...you were right. I did it for myself, and I - I'm sorry. I know it doesn't fix anything, but I am. And, I want...to make it up to you."

This time, Felix lets his hand reach for yours. You make no move to stop him. He strokes your limp fingers delicately, as if they were made of glass.

"I made a mistake, and I - I hate what it's done to you. But I love you, Y/N. You can't pretend I don't. And if you'll let me, I'll spend my life making it up to you."

You can only stare. Your brain has forgotten how to form words. Felix is just beginning to look concerned, when the door to the Burrow's kitchen opens with a bang. The sound breaks your spell, and you rip your hand away.

"Get - off - my - land!"

Mr Weasley marches across the grass toward you, Mrs Weasley and Talbott in his wake. Mr Weasley's wand is stretched out in front of him, but Talbott gets there first. He sends a quick, silent hex flying across the yard. Felix has no time to block it. He throws himself to the ground to avoid the red light, then rolls into a crouch, wand at the ready.

"Come inside, Y/N, quickly!" Mrs Weasley grabs your arm and yanks you away. You let her drag you back toward the Burrow. Your legs are too weak to walk on their own. You watch Talbott hurl spell after spell at Felix, who blocks them as he beats a hasty retreat. He reaches the edge of the Weasley property, and with a last glance in your direction, disapparates.

"Sit here, dear. Let me make a cup of tea." Mrs Weasley pushes you into a chair. "I should never have left you alone, I can't believe I-"

Her prattle is interrupted by the slam of the kitchen door. Talbott tumbles inside, breathing heavily, still clutching his wand. His head swivels until he finds you.

"Why was he here?"

It's the first time in weeks you've stared into Talbott's yellow-gold eyes. They're flashing like you've never seen. You search for your voice. Your brain is still racing.

"What was he doing here, Y/N?"

Talbott stalks closer, his movements rigid. You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. You have no frame of reference for Talbott angry with you.

Mrs Weasley clears her throat. "Now really, Talbott, I don't think that's-"

"He just...came to talk." Your voice is a low rasp, but it cuts cleanly through Mrs Weasley's protests.

"To talk?"

"Yes."

A feral sort of growl escapes Talbott's throat. He turns, kneading the back of his neck viciously. He paces to the kitchen door, then back again, like a caged animal. It's almost frightening. But you're sick of feeling confusion and fear, and you're sick of feeling sorry. You'd rather be angry some more. You stand, letting the rage you couldn't finish venting on Felix flow through you again.

"So you talked?” Talbott spits the words, each syllable tight and clipped. "You talked to him after everything he's done? After you know what he is? He's a Death Eater, Y/N, and a liar. That's who you want to talk to?”

"At least he cared enough to come find me - unlike you." Your words shock Talbott into stillness. “I just disappear, you get some letter that doesn't even sound like me, and you just write me off as lost?"

Talbott is rooted to the floor. He can't move, even as you advance on him.

"What Felix did was terrible, Talbott. But he did it because he loves me."

"You want me to do something terrible to prove I love you?"

"I just want you to do something!"

Talbott's nostrils flare. His upper lip twitches like he's holding back a sneer.

"So, you'd like me better if I were more like Felix Rosier? If I kidnapped you? Cast spells on you to make you do what I want, like a puppet?"

"I wasn't a puppet!" Your vision blurs red, and you lose all control of your tongue. “Felix didn't force me to marry him, Talbott, I wanted to! When I didn't remember you anymore, I realised I was in love with him and I wanted to be with him. That's what he came for. To remind me of that."

The ghost of your words lingers in the kitchen for several minutes, each as long as years. Talbott's face is entirely blank. Mrs Weasley's hands are clapped over her mouth in horror. You don't care. Saying it out loud releases a weight from your shoulders. It leaves you light-headed and exhausted.

"So...you do love him."

It isn't a question. Talbott's voice is resigned. Guilt tugs at your heart, but you can't really feel it. You're too tired to feel much of anything.

"I don't know. I don't know...anything anymore." You fall into the nearest chair. You drop your head into your hands, your eyelids heavy. "I feel like I'm two different people. Like I've lived two different lives. I was happy in both of them, but... I don't know which one I am now. Maybe neither. I don't know how to choose."

Talbott blinks. It draws curtains over his molten eyes.

"You don't have to choose."

He turns and walks away from you, without a backward glance.

There's no reunion dinner that night. Mrs Weasley sends you straight up to bed. You hear her and Mr Weasley conversing in low tones into the wee hours of the morning. You pull the pillow over your head. You don't want to hear what they're saying about you.

It's two days before you're ready to rejoin the rest of the world. Another before you can eat and drink again properly. One more day, and you're participating in conversation, if only to nod or say, "Of course, Mrs Weasley." By the end of the week, you're as close to normal as you were before Felix's unexpected visit.

The days don't bring you any closer to an answer, but they do bring you further from heartache. You find it's easier to turn your mind from memories of Felix now you've confessed your love out loud. It's as if the feeling has lost power over you. Each day, the loss of him hurts slightly less.

The hardest part of your life now is how little you can do for the Order of the Phoenix. Dumbledore's task for you reminds you unpleasantly of your school days: to lay low and let others handle it. You would happily ignore this if you thought you might be useful, but the truth is, you don't know how to help. There's no mystery to solve, no secrets to uncover. Just ones to protect.

Still, you attend each meeting, week after week. You help Mrs Weasley with the dinner beforehand and the cleaning afterward. You pay attention to the news that's shared. You contribute what insight your experiences offer.

But mostly you watch Talbott.

Talbott attends almost every meeting, but you never speak and he never approaches. He sits as close to the door as he can manage, and bolts the moment the meeting ends. He's careful never to turn his eyes on you. You watch him just the same. It’s so long since you’ve been in his presence without something horrible happening. Every movement he makes is mesmerizing, the way it always was at school. His sharp nods, his slow blinks, the tapping of his finger against the table you're sure he's unaware of.

You miss Talbott, you realise. Or maybe you just miss the part of your life he represents; the life you built together. The damage done to it seems irreparable. Though you spend many nights wracking your brain, you can think of no way to fix it.

Talbott may choose to ignore your eyes on him, but Mrs Weasley does not. She, at least, is not content to watch and wonder. She renews her encouragements that the two of you talk. She attempts to seat you together at meetings. You deflect her machinations as best you can, but Mrs Weasley won't be thwarted forever.

One evening she insists on arriving at Grimmauld Place earlier than usual. "It's a large meeting tonight, dear," she explains, a little too airily, "so we'll need to start dinner early. And I promised Sirius I would take a look at the drawing room curtains, he thinks the doxies are moving back in."

Sirius is sitting at the end of the kitchen table when the two of you enter. You call a soft greeting, but he merely lifts a hand and grunts. He's staring at a notebook on the table in front of him, as if waiting for words to appear in it. You light a fire with your wand and set water to boil, then begin chopping onions.

As you work, you notice Mrs Weasley shoot furtive glances at the clock. Her attitude is strangely expectant. Something about her nervous energy raises your hackles. When the doorbell clangs, you have a sneaking suspicion who it might be.

"I'll get it!" she says with entirely too much enthusiasm. You narrow your eyes at her as she leaves.

"Bit early, isn't it?" grumbles Sirius. You don't reply. You're listening hard to catch the sounds from the floor above. You hear the front door open, and the murmur of low voices. Your heart stutters as you recognise them both. Mrs Weasley returns to the kitchen with a stiff Talbott in tow. Her face is practically glowing.

"I'm so sorry, dear, Arthur must have got the times mixed up! The meeting's not for another half hour. We're just getting dinner ready, but there's a good bit to do. Perhaps you might be willing to pitch in?"

Talbott stops moving when he notices you. His head darts about the room, searching for an escape. There's a twinge of heartache at seeing him so desperate to get away from you. You turn back to the onions, face burning.

You hear Talbott mumble something about not being much good in the kitchen. Mrs Weasley ignores this entirely.

"Oh, just a bit of slicing. Nothing too difficult! A simple severing charm will work if you're uncomfortable with a knife."

Mrs Weasley drops a cutting board and several loaves of bread on the table. Even with your eyes down, you can see Talbott's hands in your peripheral vision. You wield your knife with extra care, worried you might sever one of your own jittery fingers.

The only sound in the room is the dull thud of blades on wood. After a minute, Mrs Weasley speaks into the awkward silence.

"Well, while I have you two here, I think I'll just pop upstairs and take a look at those curtains. Sirius," she calls, and you hear Sirius stir. "Why don't you show me which room they're in?"

"It's the curtains in the drawing room, Molly."

"Why don't you show me," Mrs Weasley says slowly behind a clenched smile. You can't see her face, but you're sure her eyes are boring into Sirius. He must have taken the hint. You hear his chair being pushed back hastily.

"Oh! Right, of course. I'll show you."

You close your eyes in a plea for patience. You're not sure whether you want to laugh or cry or throw an onion at Mrs Weasley's retreating back. When you open them again, Talbott is watching you. He looks away as soon as your eyes meet.

How long has it been since you were this close to Talbott? Close enough that you could reach across and touch his cheek, if you wanted. If you were still allowed.

Something changes in the room. It takes you a minute to realise what. The sporadic sound of Talbott's knife has stopped. You glance up and find him staring at your hand. You see thoughts race behind his molten eyes.

"What's wrong?" you ask softly, and feel instantly foolish. What isn't wrong in Talbott's life at the moment? You don't expect him to answer, but after a quick gulp he says, "Your ring." He nods at the naked skin of your fourth finger.

Your blush is almost painful. It's been so long since you wore your engagement ring, you've actually forgotten to miss it.

"I...took it off. It didn't feel right...under the circumstances."

Talbott doesn't reply. His head moves in something that might be a nod or a twitch. His eyes return to his cutting board.

You work in silence. A silence you grow quickly to hate. It feels ridiculous to be this uncomfortable around the man you've known for years, a man you know better than anyone else. You used to be able to read his silences so well, interpret meaning from his every change in posture. But you suppose you're both different people now. Each unsure what the other is thinking.

The tension reminds you of something. When you remember what it is, you can't stop a small chuckle. Talbott's head jerks up, eyes registering alarm.

"Do you remember when we first met?"

Talbott only blinks.

"At the start of third year?" you remind him. "When I decided I wanted to become an animagus, and Tulip said I ought to talk to you?"

"I remember," Talbott says. After a beat he adds, "Why?"

"I was just thinking...I think that's the last time I was this nervous to talk to you."

Talbott's eyes shed some of their armor. You catch a glimpse of the man you remember underneath.

"Why were you nervous to talk to me?"

"You were so...intimidating." You smile. It's a rusty, disused expression on your face now. "And you looked like the last thing in the world you wanted to do was talk to me. I was sure you must not like me for some reason."

It had taken so much courage to seat yourself at the Ravenclaw table that day. You'd defeated a cursed vault, battled yetis and werewolves, and Talbott's piercing gaze had made you more nervous than any of them.

You return to chopping, but Talbott remains still.

"I did like you. I'd fancied you since first year."

The knife slices cleanly through the pad of your finger. Drops of blood sprinkle the onions, but you barely notice. You're looking at Talbott in wonder.

"You never told me that."

"Your finger." Talbott nods at your bleeding hand.

"Why did you never tell me that?"

Talbott doesn't answer. He walks around the table toward you. Your heart beats louder with each step. He pries the knife from your suddenly clenched fist, and takes your bleeding hand in his. He taps his wand to your wound and murmurs a spell. The skin seals back up flawlessly. Talbott returns his wand to his pocket, but he doesn't release your hand.

Your gaze is drawn to his face by an impulse you can't control. Talbott's molten eyes are on your mouth. You watch his lips part, his tongue wet them nervously. But he doesn't speak. He doesn't move. You recognise the symptoms. You know he's trapped in his head. There's no parchment or quill to hand, but that tradition really belongs to two different people.

You lean in to Talbott's face until your lips are a breath apart. You pause, waiting for permission. Talbott hesitates, and your heart stops. Then he closes the narrow space between you. Your lips meet, then meet again. You had forgotten what it feels like to kiss Talbott, or maybe it was never like this before. Your lips tingle, and your skin crawls with desire to be touched. Talbott's mouth is careful, almost reluctant, as if he's sure you'll be gone in a moment. You want to promise him you won't be, but neither of you could believe that now.

When Talbott doesn't draw you to him the way you're used to, you pull away. You search his face for answers. Yellow-gold eyes meet yours, begging for something you don't understand. You've always been the one to figure out the next move, but this time you need his help.

"Talbott." Your voice is a whisper. "What do we do now?"

"I don't know," Talbott murmurs. He closes his eyes so you can't see him think.

"I don't know how to fix this," you admit softly.

You lower your gaze to your hands. Your fingers are still twined together.

"Maybe you can't."

You look up, your heart horribly still. "Is that...what you want?"

Talbott untangles his fingers from yours.

"I want you to be happy. Even...if that's not with me."

You don't know what to say. You open your mouth hoping the right words will appear on their own, when he kitchen door bangs open.

Talbott jumps away from you as if hexed. You look up, expecting to see Mrs Weasley.

It's Professor Snape. By itself, this isn't unusual. Snape is a member of the Order, and he attends every meeting he cannot avoid. It isn't his presence that's cause for concern, it's his unfamiliar expression: one of pale fear. A look you've never seen on the forbidding Professor. The implication leaves you cold. If something has happened to worry Snape...

"What's wrong, Professor?" you ask.

"Potter," and even Snape's voice is missing its usual sneer. "Where is Black?"

You must look ridiculous, you think to yourself, sprinting through the Ministry for Magic alongside Talbott and Sirius in a sundress of all things. At school, there was always time to dress carefully before running into danger. But Harry Potter and his friends are trapped in the Department of Mysteries, and you're determined to help, no matter what you're wearing.

"What are they doing here?" Mad-Eye Moody addresses Talbott as the three of you reach the lifts. "They can't be here. They're not aurors."

Both you and Sirius begin to argue at once. Your recitation of all the dark wizards and dangerous creatures you've defeated is drowned by Sirius' roars of, "I'm his godfather!" Your words reverberate through the huge, empty chamber until Moody slams his staff against the ground for silence.

"There's no time. Just get in!"

The four of you squeeze into the lift where Kingsley Shacklebolt, Remus Lupin, and Tonks are already waiting. The small space throbs with tension as the lift makes its impassively slow descent.

"Isn't there another way?" Sirius barks, slapping his wand against his leg.

"No," says Kingsley shortly.

Moody shuffles about to fix his normal, beady eye on you.

"Seeing as neither of you are aurors, and you ought not to be here in the first-"

"I am Harry's godfather!"

"Then make him your responsibility!" Moody snaps at Sirius. "You, Remus, and Y/N: find the students and get them out. Leave the Death Eaters to us."

You give a sharp nod. Talbott shifts uncomfortably next to you.

The lift finally settles. Your party is out and running before the doors click shut behind you. Moody leads the way through the Department of Mysteries labyrinth, a strange instrument in the hand not holding his wand apparently providing him directions.

"This way!" he calls, leading the group through another door.

Adrenaline courses through you as you run. It's a feeling as familiar as your old school robes. This is your element. For the first time in so long, you’re unburdened by confusion or indecision. When you burst through a door to find black-robed figures surrounding two students, you know exactly what to do.

In front of you, the aurors advance on the Death Eaters. Their spells fill the room with light and sound. You wait until the Death Eaters have turned to face this new threat, then descend toward the dark-haired boys, yanking them into a crouch behind a stone step.

"Where are the others?"

You have to shout to be heard over the noise of the duelling around you. The boy with glasses - Harry Potter, you realise by the scar - rips his eyes away from the fight.

"Up there! They're still in that other room." He gestures at a different door than the one you entered through. "The girls are all unconscious, I think. And Ron - one of those brain things got him. You have to help them!"

You twist around, searching for Sirius or Lupin. Sirius is a few rows down, a wide grin on his face as he duels. Lupin, you don't see at all. You cast about for threats, but the boys don't appear to be in immediate danger.

"Stay here," you order them, feeling a bit of a hypocrite. "Wands out, heads down."

Keeping your body low to minimise your target, you sprint up the stairs. None of the Death Eaters have a glance to spare for you, and you make it to the door unmolested. Before you push through it, you can't help but look back, scanning the fight for yellow-gold eyes.

Talbott is dueling a Death Eater nearly twice his girth. You watch, transfixed. You've never seen Talbott move like this. He's usually twitchy, better in the air than on his feet. Now, as he duels, his movements are smooth and precise. He twists to avoid a purple spell, then spins back, sending a stunner of his own. It catches the Death Eater in the chest, and he drops instantly. In spite of everything, you grin.

As if able to feel your gaze, Talbott's eyes find yours across the room. You nod your head at the door to indicate your direction. Then, with a last look at Talbott, you hurtle through.

Desks and shelves and heavy tables indicate the room is some sort of office. Only every single piece of furniture is now overturned or collapsed. You step with caution, but still manage to slip. The floor is slick with liquid. You notice strange, jelly-like objects floating in the shallow pools - the brains Harry Potter had mentioned? You take care to avoid them as you search for signs of the students.

"Hello?" you call softly. There's no answer.

You reach the middle of the room and survey your surroundings. There's a door just ahead; another to the side. You're considering which is more likely when you hear shallow breathing nearby. You ready your wand, then hesitate. It could be one of the students, hiding from you. Ron or Ginny would know you right away, but not the others.

"It's alright," you call again. "I'm here to get you out. I'm a friend. I'm with the Order."

"Well, hello, Friend with the Order."

You whirl around. A tall figure in a black hood emerges from behind a fallen cabinet. Without pause for thought you yell, "Stupefy!" but he easily sidesteps the spell. You cast a quick shield charm, blocking his return attack, then steady yourself for another. But the Death Eater hesitates. His hood flicks to a space over your left shoulder. On instinct, you dive to the side. Red sparks explode through the air where your body had been, thrown by a second Death Eater behind you. His spell hits the other masked figure in the arm and he howls in rage and pain.

"Watch where you're aiming!" he snarls, clutching his injury.

You use the second's distraction to throw yourself behind a desk. You lean back against it, breathing through your nose and thinking past your racing heartbeat. The wreckage of furniture forms an almost unbroken wall for several metres. If you can just make it around without them noticing...

One of the Death Eaters shouts a curse. Red light slams your hiding spot into the wall with a crash. But you're already two desks away, flat against the floor and crawling carefully. Your dress snags as you press close to the wall of splintered wood.

"Just kill her!"

"Rosier said not to kill until we're sure Malfoy has the prophecy. You want to go back to the Dark Lord empty-handed?"

"That's the students, not the Order members.'

These words make your heart stutter horribly. Your hand slips on the wet floor.

"Over there!"

Heavy footfalls sound nearby. You straighten, but only make it to your knees before two hooded figures loom over the desk. There's time to aim a stunning spell at only one. The Death Eater you hit drops instantly, but your stomach still clenches in dread. The other's wand is pointed at your face and his spell is already half voiced.

"Avada-"

You throw yourself flat, your only hope that the spell might miss. You hold your breath, waiting for bright green light.

But the rest of the curse never comes. There’s the thud of a body hitting the floor. Then rapid footsteps. You roll over quickly, wand at the ready.

"Y/N?"

Felix's black hood is thrown back. His rich brown eyes gaze down at you, swimming in fear and relief. You squeeze your own shut to stop yourself staring. It's been so long since you've seen that expression, you'd forgotten how much you missed it. Or maybe you've never been so glad to see it. You take in large gulps of air, trying to catch your breath.

"Are you alright? What are you doing here?“

Felix's panicked words remind your of your mission. You push yourself up with a groan, skin smarting where it's smacked the hard floor. Felix bends hastily, holding out a hand. You hesitate for only a second before letting him pull you to your feet.

It's a moment before either of you can speak. Felix inspects you from head to toe, presumably searching for injuries. You straighten your dress, trying to hide your blush. You wish you were wearing something more substantial.

"I...thank you...I guess," you say at last, to your shoes. You're not quite ready to look Felix in the face.

Felix doesn't answer. You lift your gaze, head buzzing with nerves, and catch him staring at your hand.

"You're...not wearing your ring," Felix says haltingly. An eager light flickers briefly in his eyes. "Are you and Talbott...not-"

Your face contorts in annoyance. You cross your arms to hide your hand.

"Is this really the time?"

Shaking his head as if to clear it, Felix answers, "No. No it's not." Hints of concern reform on his features. "Y/N, you have to go. Now."

"I'm not going anywhere,” you insist hotly. “Not until I find the other students."

"They're safe. Relatively. As safe as I could manage. If the aurors hurry, they can get them out in time.”

"What do you mean, as safe as you can manage?"

"We have them rounded up in another room," Felix explains rapidly, eyes darting nervously to the doors. "I convinced the others we could use them as leverage, so they're not about to be killed. I'll make sure the aurors finds them, I promise. Just trust me."

At the word We, you can't suppress a shiver. It isn't the pleasant sort of shiver Felix usually inspires.

"Trust you?" you repeat, adjusting your grip on your wand. "You're a Death Eater, Felix."

Felix makes a noise of exasperation. He shuffles in place, as if desperate to be gone.

"That doesn't mean I want students to be killed. I'm not a murderer."

"How could I know? You've already proven you're more than willing to lie to me when it suits you."

"That was to keep you safe! " Felix almost shouts in frustration. "Exactly what I'm trying to do now!"

He makes a sudden movement as if to grab your shoulders. You jump back, wand lifting on instinct. Felix freezes. He eyes your wand, and perhaps you're only imagining hurt in the lines of his face. When he speaks again, his words are fast and strained.

"Y/N, I made a mistake. An awful mistake, and I'm paying for it every day I'm not with you. Every day I wake up and realise I have - have nothing." Felix's voice cracks briefly. "I know I deserve that. I deserve for you not to trust me. But you have to believe that all I want in the world is get you out of here alive."

You wish you didn't believe him. It would make everything so much easier. But in spite of his crimes, your instinct about Felix hasn't changed. You can't imagine him ever doing anything to hurt you. On purpose, anyway.

"If that's true," you say softly, "Then help me get the students out. Because I'm not going anywhere until I do."

It's clear from Felix's grimace how much he dislikes this plan. He runs desperate fingers through his hair, searching for cracks in your resolute expression. But your face remains firm. Felix is finally forced to sigh.

"Alright. Follow me."

Felix leads you through the twisting labyrinth of rooms and corridors, most showing evidence of a fight. Doors are splintered or hang off hinges, and you have to watch your feet to avoid scattered piles of broken glass. You're just beginning to be concerned about how far in you are when Felix stops outside a heavy, un-battered door. A low mutter of voices carries from inside.

"Stay here," Felix whispers. Catching sight of your raised eyebrows, he adds, "Please. There are guards. I'll need to get rid of them."

"I can help," you whisper back, but Felix shakes his head. Only your desire to find the students quickly keeps you from further protests. Reluctantly, you lean against the wall out of sight of the door. Felix readjusts his black hood before sweeping into the room.

As soon as the door clicks shut behind him, you press your ear to the jam. You can hear Felix's footsteps walking away, his voice mingling with the others. You lean in closer, trying to make out the words, until a deafening bang from inside makes you flinch. You hear footsteps again, this time coming closer, running fast across hard floor. You grip the doorknob but hesitate, unsure whether to intervene.

Someone shouts an incantation. There's a heavy thud, and a voice cries out in pain. Felix's voice. Without thinking, you grab the handle and fling the door wide.

It takes you only a second to locate Felix, hood askew and blood dripping from his face, on the floor in the middle of the dimly lit room. Another hooded figure looms over him, wand out and aimed.

"Stupefy!"

Your jet of light hits the Death Eater square in the chest. Without waiting to watch him fall, you swing your wand from side to side, searching for enemies. But the only other robed figure you see lies prone beside a door set into the opposite wall.

Felix groans. You step forward quickly, holding out your hand and helping him struggle to his feet. There's a long, clean gash down the side of his face. You're surprised at how sick the sight of the wound makes you.

"Are you alright?"

"I - yes, of course. That was..." Felix rubs the back of his neck, not quite able to meet your eye. "Thank you."

You're saved from thinking up a reply by a muffled cry from behind. Three girls and a boy, all dressed in Hogwarts robes, are huddled against the wall as if thrown there, each trussed up in snaking, black cords. Only one is awake and struggling.

"Ginny!"

You skirt the fallen Death Eater and drop to the ground, using your wand to sever Ginny's bonds. As soon as you tug the cord out of her mouth, Ginny croaks, "Y/N, he's one of them! He's a Death Eater, too!"

You follow her frantic gaze to Felix, standing awkwardly in the background.

"It's alright, Ginny. He's a friend."

Felix blinks, and for a moment his face is filled with the soft joy you love so much to see. Then a door slams.

Felix whirls around, wand raised, and you're on your feet only a second later. But no attack comes; no spells fly. You glance between the doors on either end of the room, but no new hooded figures appear. Instinct suddenly chills your blood and you scan the floor instead.

"Where's...the other one?" you ask haltingly.

Felix's eyes widen as he understands. He shoots a panicked look at the place where the Death Eater had fallen, but his body is nowhere to be seen. Felix sprints to the far door, pressing his ear against it.

"He...must have gone to get the others."

Felix runs his wand across the door frame, sealing it with a squelch. You turn back to Ginny, struggling to stand on what looks like a broken ankle. You mutter, "Episkey" and watch the swelling in the ankle subside, then inspect the other three students. It isn't immediately clear what's wrong with them, but none react when you attempt to use magic to wake them.

"We'll have to carry them," you tell Felix, at your side once more. "You take Ron and I'll get the taller girl. Ginny, do you think you could carry the blonde one? She looks the lightest."

"This isn't going to work." Something in Felix's voice makes your skin crawl.

"Why not?”

"It’s too late. The rest of the Death Eaters will be here in minutes. Even if we use magic to carry them, we'll never make it to the lifts in time."

A leaden weight sinks in your stomach. There's too much truth in Felix's words for you to deny. You cast about for counterpoints, solutions, some sort of foolproof plan, but your brain comes up short.

"Well," you say, forcing yourself to breathe through your panic, "We'll just have to try. Maybe there's somewhere we can hide, or-"

A second slam in as many minutes almost shatters your brittle nerves. You fumble with your wand, aiming it at the door nearest you this time, and almost drop it when you recognise the intruders.

"Talbott," you breathe in relief. "Tonks, Lupin, thank Merlin! The students are here and we've got to get them out. Now. Death Eaters are on the way..."

But Talbott's face steals the words from your lips. He's staring at Felix with eyes so molten they might be made of fire. When he speaks, his voice thrums with suppressed hatred.

"Drop it." Talbott gives a curt nod at Felix's half-raised wand.

Felix's gaze flicks warily from Talbott to Tonks, her wand also lifted, to Lupin, ignoring the stand-off and kneeling to inspect the unconscious students. You notice all three are pale and grim-faced, and you wonder what else has happened. But there isn't time for questions now.

�� "I said, drop it!"

"Talbott, wait!" You step quickly in between the two men. "Felix led me here. He was keeping the students safe."

Talbott doesn't even blink. If it weren't for his reply, you'd wonder if he heard you at all.

"One half-decent act doesn't make him any less of a Death Eater."

"But he isn't helping the Death Eaters, he's helping us! Helping me. He saved my life from a Death Eater that-"

"This isn't about you!" Flame flickers in Talbott's eyes. "This isn't about us. This is my job. We're rounding up all the Death Eaters. You'll have to plead his case to Mad-Eye, if that's what you want."

The thought of trying to convince Mad-Eye Moody to give Felix a second chance makes you blanch. You open your mouth to argue, but this time it's Felix who cuts you off.

"You won't have to worry about in any of that in a minute. A dozen powerful wizards are on their way through that door." Felix jerks his head toward the other end of the room. "I highly doubt you'll be able to round them all up just the three of you."

Talbott spares a wary glance at the far door.

"He's right," Tonks chimes in, her voice uncharacteristically serious. "Let's get the students out first, then come back with Mad-Eye and the others."

Tonks lowers her wand, and moves to help Lupin with the unconscious teenagers. Lupin has already lifted the taller, bushy-haired girl over his shoulder, and uses his wand to levitate the unconscious Ron. Tonks mirrors his spell on the small, blonde girl. She wraps her free arm around Ginny to help keep weight of her still-tender ankle.

"We'll never make it at that pace," Felix says darkly, eyeing the careful way Lupin manoeuvres Ron toward the door. "They'll catch us up before we're halfway to the lifts."

"You're not going anywhere until you drop your wand!" Talbott tries to point his wand around you at Felix, but you move with him, blocking his view. Behind you, Felix snorts.

"And leave myself unarmed when they all surge in at any second? I've betrayed them! They'll spare me about as much mercy as they will you."

A soft sound from the far end of the room suddenly stops your heart. All three of you fall silent as you watch the doorknob turn slowly. It rotates each way once, then stills. You hold your breath, braced for another loud slam, but the door remains closed.

"Tonks," you say into the trembling silence, "You and Lupin, take the students and go."

Lupin is two steps ahead of you. He has Ron through the door already, and waits impatiently for Tonks. But Tonks looks from you to Talbott uncertainly.

"I think...we ought to stick together."

"We'll be right behind you," you say. "We'll give you time to get to the lifts." You try to smile reassuringly, but your mouth doesn't remember how. You can only hope you sound more confident than you look.

Tonks continues to hesitate, until a hard thud on the opposite door makes her and Ginny both jump.

"Come on!" Lupin calls from the other room. Tonks shoots a final, unsure look at Talbott before forcing the eerily floating blonde student ahead of her through the door.

Another thud, then the sound of voices echoes from the other side of the room. The doorknob rattles again, violently this time. The noise seems to shake Talbott from his unswervable anger. His wand wavers before finally abandoning Felix for the far door, his eyes reflecting frantic thought.

"What spell did you use on the door?" you ask Felix, your voice betraying your nerves. Felix's answer is equally unsteady.

"It's a variation on an imperturbable charm. But it's not impenetrable. With enough of them, they can break the spell." Felix's head snaps toward you, mouth set in a thin, grim line. "Y/N, you need to leave. Now. Go with the others."

"That's ridiculous, we stand a better chance with three of us.“

"He's right." Both you and Felix look at Talbott in shock. For the first time since entering the room, Talbott meets your gaze. "You need to go."

"I'm not leaving you," you argue, holding Talbott's eyes. You're close enough that you can watch the fire in them melt into liquid, like a churning yellow-gold ocean.

"Please, Y/N, go." And there's a pain in Talbott's voice like you've never heard. "I can't lose you. Not again."

Your heart breaks gently at Talbott's confession. Exactly as it had when he first managed to pen those words. You wish you could promise him something, anything to assuage his fear. But the far door is shaking now. You've run out of time. You take a breath, steeling yourself for a last stand, the way you have so many times before. Facing death is nothing new for you, but you don't want anything to be left unsaid if it comes.

"Talbott." You close the distance between you in short, measured steps, as though worried he might fly away. "I did get lost...but I found my way back. You led me back. And I'm not going anywhere. Not ever again. I - I promise." Your fingers brush Talbott's softly, asking permission. "Whatever happens, happens to both of us."

Talbott's fingers close around yours on instinct. He grips your hand tightly, all his attention on you as if there were nothing else in the room.

"Do you mean that?"

You can only nod, your words exhausted. But he sees the answer in the spark of your eye.

"Y/N." Talbott releases your hand to reach for your face. He strokes your cheek in careful wonder like he's forgotten how. You close your eyes, reveling in his touch.

"Go."

The word startles both of you. Talbott let his hand fall abruptly. You turn to face Felix, unable to hide a slight blush. Talbott's mere touch has made you so dizzy you can't comprehend Felix's meaning right away.

"What?"

"Go. Both of you, go." Something has changed in Felix’s voice. It's no longer nervous. It's no longer anything. It's empty and lifeless, like the voice of a corpse. "I'll distract them. Tell them some story. Buy you enough time to get to the lifts."

You shake your head slowly. "No...Felix, that's...there must be some other-"

Felix takes your chin delicately in his hand, and your voice trails away. You feel Talbott shift beside you, but Felix moves no closer. His empty eyes merely wander your face, as if trying to memorise each part of it.

"Y/N. Let me do this. For you. I-" His voice cracks like dead leaves. "I never meant to hurt you."

The pounding on the far door intensifies. The heavy wood splinters, and light pokes through from the other side. If anything else can be seen, your vision is too blurry to catch it. You close your hand around Felix's, trying to blink back the tears. There's so much you want to say to him. To this man who handles you so delicately, looks at you like treasure, loves you like you're the only thing in the world that matters. But you aren't sure there are words to explain how you feel. You can only nod, and say inadequately, "I know."

Felix releases your face, then locks eyes with Talbott.

"Keep her safe."

Talbott's jaw tenses once before he manages a short nod. He grasps your hand again and tugs you gently toward the door.

You take a last look at Felix Rosier, watching you walk away from him.

"Go," he says once more.

Felix turns to face the oncoming noise. And you turn and run the other way, Talbott at your side.

You don't stop running until you reach the lifts. Talbott guides you back through the labyrinth of rooms, never loosing his grip on your fingers. There's no sign of Tonks, Lupin, and the students, and you can only hope distantly that they've made it out alright. Once inside the lift, you throw yourself against the wall. Your breathing comes in short, painful gasps and hot tears still threaten the corners of your eyes.

"Are you alright?" Talbott's voice is so quiet you almost miss it under the sound of blood pounding in yours ears.

You glance up at Talbott, blinking through your tears. He stands stock still, eyes alert and tense. You choke back a mad laugh. It reminds you forcibly of teenaged Talbott: the awkward, anxious boy you fell in love with almost instantly, whose stillness hid such depths and inspired the best in you.

"Yes," you answer honestly, wiping your eyes. "I'm - I'm alright." You take a shuddering breath, trying to settle your swirling thoughts. "Talbott... I-"

There's no time to worry about finding the right words. Talbott takes your face in his hands and stops you with a kiss like wildfire. He clutches you to him, dragging his hands across you artlessly, trying to pull you into him until you occupy the same space. It's a closeness you've craved for so long, and your hands are no less wild. You can never have enough of this. Enough of him.

You tear your lips away, gasping for breath, but Talbott won’t release you. You're forced to speak against his neck as he clings to you for life.

"Talbott, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." You repeat the words over and over. You can't think of anything else to say. Talbott's head shakes where its pressed against yours.

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

"What?"

You struggle to ease Talbott’s hold on you just enough so you can meet his molten eyes.

"You've always come after me. All the time I've known you, our whole lives - I run and you come find me. And the one time you needed me to come find you, I didn't. I was...too afraid." Talbott tangles his fingers in your hair, closing the fraction of space between you again, until his forehead rests against yours. "But this time, I promise...I won't let you go. Not ever again."

For once, it's you that can’t give your thoughts voice. When the lift doors open, you and Talbott are still clasped together, speaking softly in a language that communicates feeling better than words ever could.

Epilogue

"Good morning," you whisper huskily in your husband's ear.

He groans without opening his eyes. You giggle softly, trailing breathy, teasing kisses up his neck, under his chin. His lips part, inviting yours into a lazy, lingering kiss. When you pull away, his eyes remain firmly shut.

"You're sleepy this morning," you murmur.

Talbott cracks an eye. "You know, some people sleep in on their honeymoon."

"Really?"

"Mmhmm. Some people even enjoy it."

You trace his collarbone with a finger. You can hear Talbott's breath catch.

"Strange. I enjoy my waking life a lot more than dreams."

Talbott stirs, at your touch or your words. He rolls you over in his arms until you're pinned beneath him. You revel in the sensation of being very slightly crushed by the body you adore.

"What's so great about it, then?" Talbott asks in dry amusement. "The smell of the sea, or the sound of the waves, or the room service that means we never actually have to get out of bed?"

You grin, and shake your head against the pillow. "None of the above."

"Really?"

"Really." You trail your fingernails lightly up and down Talbott's back, savouring the feel of his warm skin. Talbott shudders under your hands. He locks eyes with you, his molten, yellow-gold stare saying everything you love to hear. He leans down to murmur against your lips:

"What then?"

You smile. Your mouth meets Talbott's and you say in between tantalising kisses:

"I'm Mrs Talbott Winger. I'm your wife. I'm on my honeymoon - in the middle of a war, where we're being constantly hunted - but...I'm with you. So I'm better than safe."

Talbott's only response is another kiss, but you know exactly what he means.

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juniperwindsong · 5 years ago

Note

I don't know if an anonymous vote counts but I feel as though I'll be burnt on a stick of I publicly stated that I want her to end up with felix I also wanted to say that I absolutely adore your writing you are a hidden gem.

Whoever you are you made my day just so you know

#asks #anon #thank you #i really needed this #ive never had so much trouble writing an ending

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juniperwindsong · 5 years ago

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Look I’m new to the Talbott fan club, but if you think that MC didn’t buy him this album and this song wasn’t his secret jam then you’re wrong and I don’t know what to say.

#talbott winger #likes #kajagoogoo #change my mind #am i making a soundtrack for my story instead of finishing it?#yes of course #instead of writing #headcanon accepted #hphm #hphm fanfiction #hogwarts mystery #white feathers

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juniperwindsong · 5 years ago

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Today’s writing mood is brought to you by

#jk rowling #ending my story #in love & war #got me like this #i always hated ending anyway but this...#felix rosier #talbott winger #fanfiction #procrastinating #anything to keep me from actually writing this down

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juniperwindsong · 5 years ago

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Above is my formal apology for anyone I’ve offended with my story In Love and War. I feel terrible that this story has had an adverse impact on people.

I love fluffy fics as much as anyone, but I also like to explore the darker side of love and relationships. I know that’s not what some people want to read, so I apologise if anyone stumbled across this hoping for something else and was hurt by what they read. If you have a suggestion for a tag you think would be appropriate that I can apply to this story to prevent people finding it and being triggered, please let me know.

#apology #i am really truly sorry #this story did not seem dark in my head #and my endings are always happy i promise

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juniperwindsong · 5 years ago

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In Love & War (2/3)

Part 2: Retrouvaille

You look down at the parchment in your hands, then back at the dilapidated building in front of you. The numbers match. This is the place. And a more unlikely setting for a casual conversation, you can’t imagine. You have to walk several flights of stairs to reach the top flat. You knock tentatively on the stripped-paint door, but it swings open at your touch. In spite of the sun shining behind you, the room within is shrouded in darkness.

The thought of what Felix would say if he knew where you were and what you were about to do stops you before you enter. Felix, so all-consumed with your safety he thinks of almost nothing else. To walk into such an obvious trap after everything he’s done for you feels like a betrayal of the highest order. But the darkness ahead doesn’t frighten you nearly as much as the dark gaps in your memories. You're convinced now something is wrong, something is missing from your mind, and you cannot shake the feeling that Talbott Winger will be able to shed light on it.

And if it turns out to be a trap, well, it's been a long time since you had a decent duel.

You light your wand and push past the creaking door. It's a studio loft flat, the entirety of which could fit inside the Rosier mansion's second-best dining room. Your light arcs across the walls, scanning the dark for potential dangers. There's a worn but comfortable-looking sofa, soft curtains fluttering gently over the windows, and cheerily painted picture frames decorating the peeling walls. It might have been quite homey once, you think. Only now nearly everything is coated in a thick layer of dust and debris. A table near the kitchen alcove is piled high with used dishes and old fish-and-chip wrappers. You wrinkle your nose at the smell of stale food. There's a noticeable absence of animals or insect life, however, and you wonder whether the flat is entirely abandoned after all.

Movement at the corner of your vision makes you jump. You look up, wand gripped tightly. A wavy pattern of light dances across the wall behind the table. A strange, flickering light, like the reflection of water. You step closer, searching for the source, when a picture hanging at an angle captures your attention.

Even beneath the layers of dust, you recognise the yellow-gold eyes of Talbott Winger. A teenaged Talbott Winger, standing awkwardly at the edge of a group of young people wearing Hogwarts robes. As you stare, one of the other teenagers grabs Talbott's hand, dragging him closer. The students all smile and wave toward the camera, and Talbott's friend leans over to kiss his cheek. Several of the students cheer and Talbott's face turns a fiery red, but he smiles in spite of himself and doesn't pull away.

You inspect Talbott's cheeky companion with interest. You squint at the face, trying to make it out beneath the dust and dirt. Something about them is painfully familiar. The figure turns to face the camera again, and shock like a thunderbolt roots you to the spot.

“Y/N.”

You whip around to find Talbott lurking near the door watching you. His wand is held at his side, but it doesn't occur to you to be afraid. Your head is reeling at the photograph's implications.

“What is this?” You gesture at the picture.

Talbott does not reply. He’s once again the self that seems most natural on him, brooding and silent.

“Why am I in this photo? Why am I -“ You glance back at the picture to confirm what your mind is struggling to accept. You - a teenaged you, dressed in school robes - leaning in to kiss Talbott's cheek as you wave to the camera.

“Were we.... together? At school?

Talbott is still unwilling, or unable, to answer. He takes a few wooden steps toward you. You gather your wits enough to point your wand at his chest.

"Stop!" you demand. You rake your free hand across your scalp, grappling for an explanation. "This is...some sort of trick, isn't it? You're trying to get information from me. About Felix.”

Talbott only shakes his head. His eyes look almost as panicked as you feel.

"Then why can't I remember you? Why can't I remember any of this? Why doesn't anything make sense?"

"Your husband," Talbott pronounces the word with disgust, "is lying to you."

Your heart skips a beat.

"That's...quite an accusation." The tremor in your voice belies your arch words. A light has clicked on in your head, but you don't want to look at it.

It makes sense. It's almost the only thing that makes sense. Felix's refusal to answer questions, to explain anything to you, to let you go anywhere... You've always known he was hiding something. You simply trusted him enough to let it go, at least for the time being. But lying? You picture your husband's adoring eyes and careful hands cupping your face. It's impossible to imagine Felix doing anything to hurt you.

"Alright then. What is he lying about?"

"Everything."

Talbott takes a tentative step, eyes asking yours for permission. You hesitate. Then you lower your wand. You hold your breath as he walks, but Talbott stops on the other side of the table. He pushes aside greasy newspaper wrappings to reveal a stone basin underneath.

"A Pensieve?"

You've seen one just like it in Dumbledore's office. You wonder if it isn't the same one, it looks so similar. What is it doing here?

"I don't know what he's done to you, but I think it's a powerful memory charm," says Talbott. He takes a small vial from his pocket and empties it into the Pensieve. "So you're not going to believe me if I tell you. But I think if I show you...you might remember."

The contents of the basin begin to swirl. Talbott takes a step back and stares at you pointedly. You understand what he wants you to do. But it's madness to put yourself in such a vulnerable position with this man you cannot remember. You shouldn't even be considering it.

You stare at the swirling basin. It’s filled to the brim with memories. And memories are everything you’ve been missing for so long. You approach the Pensieve, and, without letting yourself think anymore, plunge your face inside.

Tendrils of liquid mist writhe about you as you sink in a swirl of light and colour. Fragments of memory play out quickly in front of your floating body: you see yourself, a ridiculously young you, watching in awe as a gawky yellow-eyed boy becomes a bird in the middle of the Hogwarts courtyard; then a version of yourself only slightly older peers anxiously through a gap in a bookcase, hands fiddling with your hair, until the young Talbott on the other side whispers, "My answer is yes," and you watch your own face light up in unrestrained joy.

Another swirl of mist turns the room into starlit sky, and the teenage you and Talbott are perched on the edge of the courtyard fountain. Talbott's hand inches across the stone toward yours. You meet him halfway, grinning furtively, your fingers just brushing his before Talbott grips them tightly, as though you might run away at any second. Then the courtyard morphs into a greenhouse, stars still winking overhead, and you're holding hands with Talbott across a table. The teenage you holds her breath, and you can feel your own present-day chest suddenly still, as Talbott leans over and places tentative lips on your cheek.

You reach up to touch your own, older cheek as if the imprint might still be there. Then your fingers brush your lips. There's a burning there, as well, and you suddenly know where the next memory will be just before the swirling mist subsides.

The owlrey, at sunset. You and Talbott sit cross-legged on the straw, books spread out between you. You're supposed to be studying, you remember, but you can't keep your eyes off the boy next to you. He's staring at his book with all the appearance of unflappable focus. Then he darts a glance at you from the corner of his eye. The younger you smiles. In a rush of boldness you can feel as well as see, the younger you presses your lips to Talbott's in the whisper of a kiss.

Echos of exhilaration, and a sudden horrible fear that you've gone too far, rush through your veins as if the moment were happening to you again. Then Talbott reaches for your teenage self, yanking you closer, his mouth open in a desperate, un-practiced, entirely un-self-conscious kiss. Your first kiss.

You remember it now. You close your eyes, but the scene continues to play behind your eyelids. Your awkward teenage fumbling with lips and teeth and tongue, interspersed with giggles and later with breathy sighs. That kiss had meant everything to you. It had lulled you to sleep at night for so many years. It was the memory that inspired your patronus. How could you have forgotten it?

You open your eyes again. Images continue to flash in quick succession and your dizzy brain tries desperately to keep up. There's you and Talbott in the library passing notes to each other between the bookcases; laying out on the grass with Talbott, your fingers intertwined, watching the stars and sharing secrets; stolen moments with Talbott in the owlrey, discovering each other's bodies slowly and sweetly; Talbott cradling you against him at Rowan's funeral, ignoring the whispers and raised eyebrows of the students around you; Talbott's burning face and pleased smile as you kiss his cheek for your graduation photograph.

Each moment ignites a flame of recognition inside you. You try to remember everything all at once, itemize every moment you've somehow forgotten. But your head feels like it's breaking under the barrage of memories.

Then the mists converge and settle into a scene more still and focused than the others. A slightly older Talbott stands stiffly in the middle of an empty studio flat. You recognise it as the flat you've left your body in. Only it's less dusty and dirty, and there's sunlight streaming through open, curtain-less windows.

You look around for your younger self, but Talbott is alone. These must be Talbott's memories then, not yours. He's rubbing the back of his neck so hard he might wear the skin away, and shooting panicked looks around the empty room. His yellow-gold eyes dart to a window. You can tell he's fighting the urge to take flight. Then the door to the flat swings open noisily. It slams against the wall and a rain of plaster sprinkles to the floor.

"Whoops!" you hear your own voice say. A you, slightly older than the graduation photo and with different hair, staggers into the flat. There’s a tower of boxes balanced in your arms. "Guess we'll need to fix that."

You flash a grin at Talbott, but it fades when you catch sight of his expression.

"What's wrong?"

Talbott says nothing. He figdets with the pocket of his trousers and doesn't meet your eye.

Carefully, you tip your boxes to the floor. You take slow, deliberate steps toward Talbott, as if approaching an extra skittish bowtruckle.

"You don't...I mean...you've not changed your mind, have you?"

If anything, Talbott looks more anxious than before. He shakes his head so violently hair swings about his face. He stares at you, mouth opening and closing soundlessly like a baby bird. Your younger self considers this for a moment. Then you take a deep breath and say, "Okay. Hold on."

Pointing your wand at the boxes, your younger self murmurs, "Windgardium Leviosa,” levitating them carefully to the middle of the room. The boxes settle into even columns until they form a wall about waist height. You dig through the top box and come up with parchment and quill. Then you slide down one side of the cardboard wall. Your hand sneaks around to pat the space on the other side.

The present-day you smiles as you watch Talbott take the proffered seat. You know what this is. It’s the ritual the two of you invented at school, whenever Talbott's anxiety robbed him of speech. What others often mistook for haughty silence, you discovered was really Talbott trapped in his own head, too overwhelmed to explain his thoughts aloud. So you wrote him notes. You left them in the owlery, or his schoolbooks, or slid them between bookshelves in the library to where he waited on the other side. You let him write, at his own pace, everything that was on his mind, until the panic subsided and he could speak again.

As you watch, your younger self scribbles a single word on the parchment, then slides it back to Talbott. You don't have to look to remember what it says.

Hey

Hey yourself, Talbott writes, sliding the parchment back.

You don't seem excited about moving day. Is it the flat? I know it's rubbish, but I can fix a good bit of that.

Talbott grimaces before writing in his careful hand: I don't mind about the flat. It's ours. It's perfect.

So why the long face?

This time, it takes Talbott minutes before he's able to pen the words, I'm afraid, and push the parchment toward you.

Of what?

Talbott's hand-writing is now a hasty scrawl. What if some dark wizard I'm tracking comes looking for me and finds you instead? What if I'm not here to help you?

Your younger self grins. Talbott, I outduel you every time. I'm more worried about you going to work without me.

The corner of Talbott's lips twitch before his face clouds again. What if you change your mind later?

I won't.

The next words come slow and shaky. Talbott presses the quill so hard to the parchment ink bleeds through.When he's finished, Talbott tosses the parchment aside. You have to stretch your arm around the boxes to reach it.

I don't want to lose you.

And you remember without having to look the little pinpricks of tears in yours eyes as you read this. You set the parchment down and crawl around the boxes to Talbott's side. You settle yourself across Talbott's lap, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pressing your forehead to his.

"You aren't going to lose me. I promise."

Then Talbott's hands are everywhere at once: roaming through your hair, down your arms, across every bit of your body he can reach. His mouth takes yours like a drowning man fighting for air. Even now, so many years later, you can feel your heart stop with the force of that kiss. There's nothing gentle or careful about his clutching fingers or his hungry lips. It's a primal, animal sort of need that makes you gasp and tremble and wrap your legs around him.

Talbott pulls you harder against him, as close as you can possibly be, but it isn't close enough. It never is. Not after you've removed every layer of clothing separating you, nor when he pins you to the ground, your frantic movements testing the integrity of the floorboards. You always need more of him. It's why you can make a promise like that with such certainty.

What on earth could have induced you to break it? What could possibly have made you forget this moment?

The memory melts into mist again, and when it reforms you see a different face smiling at a version of you not much younger than you are now. A face with rich brown eyes, and a superior smirk you know by heart.

"Rosier, this is a surprise!"

Your exclamation echoes into Flourish and Blotts where Talbott, examining a book, looks up sharply.

"Indeed. It's been a long time, Y/N. It's a pleasure to see you again."

Felix takes your hand and offers it a kiss, accented by a mock bow. He winks, and you laugh at the little display.

The scene shifts again, and now you're watching yourself and Felix chat across a table at an outdoor cafe. Only you’re watching from the rooftop of a building a block away. You wonder why, until you spot a great eagle next to you, piercing yellow-gold eyes fixed on the you down below. You squint in the same direction, wondering if you can get closer. Except, as you take in the cafe's coloured awning, you realise you know this memory already. You've thought of it before: catching up with Felix for the first time after you graduated.

You can see Felix's lips move, but the words are muffled. Talbott must have been too far away to hear anything clearly. Felix reaches across the table to stroke the back of your hand. You remember the way the casual flirtation made you shiver. He says something Talbott can't hear, but you remember the words exactly.

"Perhaps I could take you to dinner sometime. I'd love to hear more. I've...quite missed you, Y/N."

And your own reply as you pull your hand gently away. "That...sounds lovely, Rosier. Felix. But I'm afraid I am seeing someone already."

You offer an apologetic smile which Felix accepts with grace.

"Of course. Maybe, as friends then? If you're comfortable?"

But Talbott can't hear this exchange. He can only see your eager nod and the brief embrace you and Felix share before parting.

"We were just friends," you whisper to the eagle, but of course, he can't hear that either. He takes off from the building in rapid flight, wings beating the air violently. And the memory congeals into mist once more.

Scenes continue to play before your eyes. You watch time pass in snatches of moments, but you take in very little of what's happening. Because something has clicked in your brain, and your mind is finally supplying forgotten memories of its own. Talbott, wandering the flat you share, taciturn and brooding. Nothing you do or say can cheer him. Your questions go unanswered, your notes ignored. You remember your growing frustration and concern with your distant partner. His change toward you hurt. You can still feel the ache, like a bruise against your chest. It was as if all the years you had spent carefully building trust with him had never happened. You couldn't understand it.

But with Talbott's memories to fill in the gaps, everything makes sense.

You never mentioned your lunch with Felix to Talbott, nor any of the meetings that followed. You knew Felix's Death Eater family would have made any friendship between him and Talbott impossible. So you kept it hidden. You thought. Guilt sours your stomach until you're afraid you might be sick. What must Talbott have thought of you?

The sound of your own voice raised in frustration snaps you back to the scene in front of you.

"You have to talk to me!" you cry, fingers fisting in your own hair. "I have been so patient, Talbott, but I can't drag words from you all the time. You have to help me! You have to tell me what's going on in your head. If you don't love me anymore, then just say so! Anything is better than this."

"Of course, I love you," Talbott mumbles. He's edging toward the window, retreating from the fight. Usually, this would make you stop and think through your actions carefully. The last thing you ever want to do is scare Talbott away. But this time, angry agitation courses through you. You can still feel the echo of it bubbling in your veins, keeping your better judgment at bay.

"Then why? Why would it be so awful to be married? We've lived together for years, I don't understand why it's so different."

Talbott's yellow-gold eyes plead with you to hear what he cannot say. You understand now the fears he could not put into words. But your younger self only waits impatiently, arms crossed, while Talbott shakes his head.

"We just...can't."

The memory shifts again, and you're watching yourself from a great height. Rain pelts from the sky in angry bullets. They seem to pass right through your strangely floating body, but they run heavily off the wings of the eagle next to you: Talbott, gliding soundlessly above your younger self, as you sprint across the Rosier estate to the manor house. You rap hard on the front door. It takes only a moment for it to open and a surprised looking Felix to allow you to dart inside.

Talbott circles the manor several times, you floating along beside him, before he catches sight of light and movement in a ground floor window. He dives, and you dive with him. You know you can't actually be hurt in someone else's memory, but still you squeeze your eyes shut as the ground hurtles toward you. You don't reopen them until you hear the scrabbling of talons against ground. Talbott settles himself in the shadows beside a window looking down onto the butcher’s table in the kitchen you know so well. The two of you watch as Felix pours you a cup of tea, and your younger self pours out your heart.

This time you can hear words between your sobs: almost incoherent confessions of how worried you are about your partner and how confused you feel about your relationship. Which means Talbott must be able to hear them too. He must also hear Felix when he finally speaks into the silence that lingers in the wake of your rambling.

“Y/N, do you think...if you hadn’t met him, hadn’t dated him at school...would you have considered...me when I asked you? As something more than a friend?"

Your younger face scrunches up in confusion. "I don't know. Maybe. I mean, I confess, I did fancy you a bit in my first year. Or, did you know that already? I wasn't much good at hiding it."

Felix's face turns bright red.

"I did not," he replies carefully. He tries to hide his blush behind his tea cup, but you see it and giggle around wet hiccoughs.

“There’s a face I don’t see often.”

Felix grins sheepishly. "Then, I suppose I ought to confess that I...I quite fancied you as well."

Your younger self nearly chokes on a sip of tea. "What, when I was 11?"

"No, I mean...for the last few years. Now, in fact."

You stop laughing, and Felix continues hastily.

"I know this might not be the best time to say it, but...it seems like there never is a best time. I've waited for years. I didn't want to - I mean - I wanted to wait until you weren't with him anymore, but Merlin knows when that will be. It doesn’t seem like anything he does will induce you to leave him. But he doesn't appreciate you, surely you can see that now? How could any man be so cold to you? Make you worry like this? Make you wait?"

"So...this whole time..." your younger self says in growing agitation, rising from the chair. "We weren't really friends? You were just...waiting for me to break up?"

"Of course not. I mean, of course we were friends. Are friends," Felix says, standing quickly. "I - I misspoke. I just thought...maybe it would help you to know...you have other options." He runs a hand through his hair. "This was the wrong time.”

"Yes, it was."

"I apologise," says Felix quietly. He looks so unhappy you wonder how your younger self can stand to be so cold to him. It's hard to remember a time when Felix, carefree and smiling, wasn't at the forefront of your desires. But, as you watch your younger self flee the house, you know that in spite of everything Felix had to offer, you had only ever been in love with one person.

"Talbott!"

The memory blurs into another, and your younger self is startled to see Talbott waiting for you in the street outside your flat. It's still pouring, and both of you are soaked to the skin. But Talbott is babbling, something you've never seen him do, and you're too shocked to suggest adjourning somewhere dry.

'I'm sorry," he says, taking your hands and clenching them between his own. "I'm so sorry. I know I'm - I can't say the things I mean. Even when I need to, when it's most important. But I do mean them. I mean... I love you."

"I love you, too," you're quick to assure him.

Talbott shakes his head, water flicking from the ends of his sopping hair. "I've never understood that. It didn't seem real, and... I think I've just been waiting all these years to lose you somehow. But I don't want to lose you. And I certainly don't want to be the reason why I lose you."

Your jaw goes slack. You know you ought to say something in response, but shock has frozen your tongue. This might be the most emotion Talbott has ever confessed at one time. He takes your stunned face in his hands. "What I’m saying is... I mean, I'm asking if you'll marry me."

A little bubble of joy grows in your chest. A bubble you force yourself to pop.

"Talbott, no. I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I said. I just...I love you, so much. And the way you've been recently... I know you're hurting and I don't know why or how to help and it hurts me too, but... you're never going to lose me. We don't have to be married for that to be true. I'm yours, I'm always yours. I promise."

Talbott presses his mouth to yours in a crushing, breathless kiss. His lips know a language that communicates feeling better than his words ever can. You inhale his need for you and return it in kind. The rain dripping into your nose forces you to part for air.

"Please marry me," he whispers into your hair. "I want to. I want you. I want...us."

You can feel the joyous bubble expand within you, pushing everything else aside. Until there's no room for confusion or sadness or fear.

"Do you really mean that?"

Talbott can only nod, his words exhausted. But you see the answer in the spark of his yellow-gold eyes.

"Then, yes!" You cling to Talbott as though the rain might sweep him away. "Yes!"

Tears leak from your younger eyes, lost in the rivers of rain. It's a moment before you realise your older self is crying as well. You sob quietly into your hand, even as the mists swirl about once more, carrying away one of the most meaningful moments of your life. Lost, for so long. Like you promised Talbott you would never be.

How? the word pounds against your aching brain. How? How?

The rain fades into mist and the mist reforms into the inside of your flat. In spite of the light shining through the parted curtains, the room is oddly shadowed. There’ s something different about it. Something is missing you can’t quite put your finger on.

You hear a choking noise and turn to see Talbott, sitting at the table. There's a piece of parchment in his hand. His yellow-gold eyes are liquid, and as you watch, a tear rolls down his sharp nose. He makes another strangled choking sound, and you realise he's crying. Your memories may still be settling, but you're certain you've never seen Talbott cry before. The sight wrenches your heart from your chest. You want to throw your arms around him, even though you know he can't feel it.

Instead, you stare at the parchment in his hand. It begins, Dear Talbott, and it ends in your signature. The writing looks like yours, if a bit tidier than you usually bother with. You scan the contents of the letter, eyes widening with each line. You're leaving? You've changed your mind? You're marrying Felix Rosier, instead? You can't recall ever even thinking these things, let alone writing them down. A phrase jumps out at you from the parchment: You've never appreciated me, I see that now. The words are horribly familiar...and you blanch as you remember where you heard them.

The memory starts to dissolve. You glance around desperately. You want to re-read the letter again. You want to be absolutely sure before you allow the shadow in your mind to take full form. But the flat becomes the entryway to the enormous manor house you know so well. Beside you, Talbott steels himself with a breath, then pulls the bell.

The door opens, and Felix's wand appears first. He holds it just low enough to keep the minimum requirement for civility, but the threat is unmistakable.

"What do you want?" he asks Talbott coolly.

"I want to see Y/N."

Felix's eyes flick briefly over his shoulder as if checking for something. He replies in a lower voice:

"She has no wish to see you."

"I don't believe you."

"Believe what you like."

Felix attempts to close the door, but Talbott throws his shoulder against it. He squares up to Felix as if he might simply push past him. Neither man is particularly brawny, but Talbott has the height advantage. Their scuffle is quickly solved when Felix pokes his wand directly into Talbott's chest forcing him to step back.

"You did something to her, didn't you?" Talbott says, yellow-gold eyes bright with fury. "You wrote that letter. You...you kidnapped her."

A brief, hard swallow is the only indication of guilt Felix betrays.

"It hardly matters. It's over between you either way. Y/N is safe now, that's what's important. There's nothing you can do."

"You don't care about her safety!" Talbott's voice is almost a shout.

'Don't you dare!" Felix suddenly snarls, shocking both men into a short silence. Felix composes his face and continues more quietly, "Her safety is all I care about. And if it had mattered more to you, perhaps things would have been different."

The glint of concentration in Talbott's eyes is a look you've seen before. You know he's thinking quickly, debating his next move.

"You won't get away this," he finally says, his voice a soft and venomous hiss. "I won't let you."

"Is that a threat?"

"It's a promise."

Without another word, Felix pushes the heavy front door closed. Just before it slams shut, you see a figure dart down the corridor behind him. You recognise your own wide eyes make contact with Talbott's in surprise. Then the mists swirl about you again. This time, they envelope your body like a whirlpool lifting you up, up, up...

Until you’re stumbling out of the Pensieve, reeling and gasping for air. You lean over the table, gripping the edge until your knuckles turn white. You take deep, slow breaths, your eyes closed. Your mind is whirling, frantically sorting through everything you've seen, everything you now remember.

Felix, you realise, and your insides twist sharply. Felix had done something to you. What? Your battered brain supplies a forgotten image of Felix's wand pointed at you, his eyes full of fear and pleading. His mouth moves frantically, but the memory still lacks sound.

Your own name being called tears you from your vision. You turn carefully, leaning against the table for support. The sudden recovery of everything your mind was missing is wreaking havoc with your body. Your knees wobble. You feel dizzy and seasick. And the sight that meets your eyes does nothing to settle your symptoms.

"Y/N!"

Felix says your name again, but he isn't looking at you. His eyes are on the wand Talbott aims at his chest. There are notes of concern in Felix's voice, but his wand arm, pointed at Talbott, is entirely steady. The two men watch each other, tensed for action. Both shoot quick glances your way, but neither can do more without dropping their defence.

"Are you alright?" Felix calls over his shoulder.

You blink, but don't answer. Your mind throbs so badly your vision blurs, but for once you know you can trust it.

"You lied to me." Your voice comes out a croak. You briefly wonder how long you've been in the Pensieve.

"What?" Felix sounds panicked.

"You did this to me," you say slowly, the words leaving a terrible taste in your mouth. You don't want them to be true. But the sound has caught up to the picture in your head of Felix's wand pointed at you. You can hear his spell clearly. "You...obliviated me. You made me forget. How...how could you do that?"

Felix tries to step closer, but Talbott sends a hex at the floorboard near his feet. With a snarl, Felix throws a curse back at Talbott. Talbott ducks and weaves to the side just in time. The spell hits the sofa, sending it flying against the wall with a crash. Both men straighten, and raise their wands at each other once more.

"Stop it!" you yell as loudly as your pounding head will allow. You hold your own wand out, but your arm shakes too much to be menacing. You fight a wave of nausea threatening to capsize your stomach. Both Talbott and Felix turn to you in concern. Felix is nearest. He shuffles backward toward you, still keeping his wand on Talbott.

"Take another step and I swear I will kill you."

You glance up at Talbott. You know from the set of his jaw and the glint of purpose in his yellow-gold eyes, he means exactly what he says.

"No." Both Talbott and Felix drop their wands a fraction, looking at you in varying degrees of surprise. "I want him to explain." You keep your face as expressionless as possible as you fix your eyes on Felix. "I want to know why you did this."

For once, Felix doesn't blush. Instead, colour drains from his face until its almost translucent. And when he speaks, his voice is as unsteady as your legs.

" Y/N, I swear, I didn't want to do it. But I had to! You wouldn't see reason. The Dark Lord, he - he considered you a threat. Ismelda Murk, she told him everything about you - everything you did at school. He wanted you dead, or on his side. I told you to leave...to run...to stay safe. But you wouldn't. You - he -" he spits the word in Talbott’s direction, "insisted you stay and fight.

"And for good reason," you say hotly. "The Dark Lord has to be stopped. He's evil."

"That doesn't matter!" Felix shouts. "This isn't about good and evil, it's about alive and dead. All I wanted was to keep you alive. You wouldn't listen to me, and I didn't know what else to do. I just wanted to keep you safe."

Felix's eyes are anguished, but you feel no compulsion to comfort him. Ice creeps through your veins, freezing your heart, shattering your sympathy.

"No you didn't." Your voice cracks with brittle fury. "You didn't care about keeping me safe. If you did, you would have just wiped my memory and sent me to France or America or somewhere he wouldn't find me. You didn't do this for me. You did this for you." Your voice rises in volume until you're almost shouting. "I chose Talbott. You wanted me, and I picked Talbott and you couldn't stand it."

"Because it's foolishness!" Felix bellows. A shower of red sparks erupt from his wand. "He's a frightened little bird, he can't keep you safe! He flies away at the first sign of a fight. I took you from him, and he didn't even attempt to come and find you. The way I would have. The way I always-"

Talbott's curse is completely silent. Purple light hits Felix in the chest and he falls heavily to the floor. He lays still, eyes closed, and you gasp in spite of yourself.

Talbott sprints the length of the flat in a second. He throws your arm about his shoulder, and half-drags you past the unmoving Felix.

Your stomach heaves as you ask, "Is he-"

"He's not dead," Talbott says viciously. "He's not worth anyone's soul."

You can't reply. Each step you take increases your risk of being sick all over Talbott, so you focus on your feet. Picking up one after the other. As you stumble out the door, you cannot help but look back. The sight of Felix crumpled on the floor sends a crack through your heart's icy veneer.

You want to tell Talbott to stop. You want to come up with a plan; something that will fix everything, the way you always do. But your mind is too exhausted to think anymore. You close your eyes and let Talbott wrap his arms around you, hoisting you down the stairs. When he reaches the bottom, he clutches you against him and disapparates.

You sleep. You don't know for how long. You're looking for someone, someone calling your name. A voice you know... a voice you trust. A face swims into focus and you smile as you recognise it. Then it points a wand at your chest, and the spell echoes over and over in your mind. Obliviate. Swirling mist wraps itself around your body, trapping your arms and legs, constricting your chest, your throat. You're sure your head is about to explode.

You jerk into consciousness, breathless and sweating. You fumble for Felix to wrap yourself in his arms, but the bed next to you is empty. And entirely too narrow to be yours.

Then you remember. You're in the house of an escaped convict who, it was explained to you, had been falsely convicted after being framed for murder by his purported victim, both of whom were also unregistered animagi. And somehow, that's only the second strangest revelation you're wrestling with.

Your wrap the blanket around you and take stock of yourself. Your head still hurts miserably. Most of your body aches as well. But your mind is the strongest it's been in a long time. Sleep has cleared away the last vestiges of fog. You know exactly who you are and what has happened to you. It's a cruel irony then how much you wish the last 24 hours were just an awful dream.

There's a knock at the door. You have no desire to talk to anyone at the moment. You open your mouth to say so when a voice calls, "Y/N, are you up?"

The tension in your shoulders eases a fraction as you recognise who it is.

"Yes. Come in."

The door creaks open slowly and Bill Weasley sidles inside carrying a tray.

"Mum wanted to make sure you ate something. She didn't get to feed you last night, and you know how she is. Thinks you might starve to death overnight."

The sound of Bill's nervous prattle is immensely comforting. Bill, the big brother you wish you'd had. Bill, whose advice you value above anyone else's. For him, you're able to manage a weak smile.

"I don't know if I can stomach anything just at present. But I might take a cup of tea if you have it."

Grinning in relief, Bill sets the tray down on the bed beside you. You take the steaming cup and hold it against your chest.

"So, how are you feeling this morning?"

"I'm..." You want to say fine, but your mouth can't even form the words. You simply stop talking and squeeze your eyes shut again.

"Yeah, that's sort of what I figured."

A few minutes gentle silence rests between you. You sip your tea, hoping the warm liquid will settle the roiling in your stomach. Deep down, you know it's futile. It isn't really your stomach that's sick, it's your heart. But you don't know how to deal with that problem just yet, so you focus on Bill instead.

"What are you doing here? Why aren't you in Egypt?”

"Oh, I took a desk job to help out the Order. You knew that, didn't you?"

You shake your head. Bill flushes, rubbing his neck awkwardly. "Oh. I guess it might have been after you..um..."

It's Bill's turn to trail away.

"I imagine I've missed quite a bit," you say as casually as you can, raising the cup to your lips again.

"Yeah, but...there'll be time to catch up on all that later. Mum isn't going to let anyone bother you till you’re well again. She's been terribly worried about you, you know. I mean, everyone has, but...when Talbott said you'd run off with that Death Eater, I thought Mum was going to march right up to the house herself and drag you out by your ear."

Bill chuckles, but you can't join him.

"How could anyone think I'd really done that? Joined You-Know-Who?"

Bill's face falls. He shifts in his seat uncomfortably. "No one liked it much. It didn't make any sense. But the way Talbott explained it you'd left some letter saying you...you loved him. And love can make people do pretty mad things."

You can't say anything to that.

"Do you...want to talk about it?"

You shake your head.

"Alright. I'll leave you alone, then."

Bill pushes off from the bed. He sets the tray of uneaten food on the bedside table, and starts for the door. His hand is just turning the knob when you call him back.

"Bill?"

Bill doesn't answer. He doesn't have to. He scoots onto the bed next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. You lay your head against his chest, and sob.

For days, you keep yourself locked in the dusty bedroom of Grimmauld Place. Food is brought to you, occasionally by Mrs Weasley or Bill, but you pretend to be asleep whenever they arrive. You wait until after they've left to choke down what food you can stomach. You know you need to eat, but hunger and thirst have both abandoned you.

Occasionally, you hear the sounds of gentle knocking or whispered conversations outside your door. You recognise the voices of your friends, wanting to see you, and Mrs Weasley shooing them away. You're glad for it. You aren't ready to speak to anybody.

Your ailment isn't a mystery to you. You know you're heartbroken, you just don't want to think about why. What does it say about you that you wake each morning craving the presence of the man who tricked you, lied to you, erased your memories? You can barely stomach the knowledge yourself. You don't want to think about what anyone else would say if they knew.

Instead, you sleep as much as possible, and wait for the pain to subside.

You're lying in bed one afternoon, letting the little sun the window permits warm your bones, when you're startled by the sound of shoes outside your door. You close your eyes, hoping whoever it is will see you sleeping and go away. But the door doesn't open. A scraping, scuffing noise reaches your ear. It stops, and the hall is quiet once more.

You wait for a count of ten, then roll over in bed and open your eye just a crack. Something is laying on the floor. Curious, you sit up. It’s a piece of parchment and a quill, stuffed under the crack in the door. You leave the shelter of the bed and tiptoe across the room. You pick up the parchment and read the word, Hey.

For the first time in days, you smile. Turning, you slide down the door and settle onto the ground. You listen to the breathing on the other side, and close your eyes.

This is what it felt like to be you, before Felix. When the only place you could ever imagine yourself, the only place you wanted to be, was with Talbott. The mysterious, awkward boy who tugged at your heart strings. The man that settled your soul and set fire to your body. To be back-to-back with Talbott again is the comfort you desperately needed. It's returning to your own bed at the end of a long, tiring day.

You turn to the parchment on your knees.

Hey yourself, you write and stuff the parchment and quill back under the door.

You can hear the faint scratch of the quill, then the parchment returns.

How are you feeling?

You mark out several answers before deciding on, I don't know.

That makes sense. Talbott leaves a few lines of space before, I've missed you.

You smile sadly. I missed you too.

Really? His reply is an eager scrawl.

Really. Even when I didn't know what I was missing, I knew I was missing something. And after I saw you in Diagon Alley, I knew deep down it was you. Even if I didn't know why. Somehow, this doesn’t seem like enough, so you add, I’m sorry.

It's not your fault, Talbott sends back. His handwriting is even. No ink blots or shaky pen strokes, nothing to suggest the statement is hard for him to admit.

I know, but I'm still sorry.

This time, Talbott's reply takes longer to reach you. So am I. I should have figured it out sooner. I should have known you wouldn't have left like that. I should have come after you.

You hesitate. But the whole point of the ritual is to communicate the things you need the other to know, but are too hard to say out loud. So you let yourself write, Why didn't you?

You can hear by the quill, stopping and starting again several times, how hard it is for Talbott to admit.

I did once. When you first got back from France. I did a fly-by of the house. But you were with him. You looked happy.

You stare at the words. You wonder what moment Talbott had caught you in. You and Felix reading in the study, glancing at each other over the tops of your books? Together at the piano, where you took every opportunity to brush your fingers against his? Dancing in the ballroom? Laughing in the kitchen? Or wrapped around each other in one of a million places all over the house? It makes your face burn to think of Talbott seeing you like that.

"Were you?"

You start at the sound of Talbott's voice as he whispers the words from around the closed door.

"Was I what?" you ask quickly.

"Were you happy?"

You release a long, deep sigh. "I...I don't know. I thought I was happy, but... I wasn't myself."

"Did you really...love him?" The word twists Talbott’s voice. You know how hard it must be for him to say.

"We were just friends, Talbott. I know I should have told you a long time ago, I just-"

"No," he interrupts, "I mean - when you...forgot me. Did you love him then?"

You don't know what to say. "He...he was very kind to me." It isn't really an answer to Talbott's question. But it’s all the confirmation he needs.

"Do you love him now?"

The answer sits on your tongue, heavy and uncomfortable. You want to spit it out, to confess. That’s what the ritual is for. But you can’t force it from your mouth. You sit frozen, unable to speak. You wonder if this is what it’s like to be Talbott.

“Even after you know what he did to you?” Talbott says, unable to keep bitterness out of his voice. “Even though he's a Death Eater?”

"He's not just a Death Eater," you snap. You only realise how defensive this is until it’s too late. There’s no sound from the other side of the door. Talbott’s breathing seems to have stopped. "I mean, he doesn't want to be a Death Eater. He's just...frightened."

Talbott doesn’t answer. You hear shoes slide against the floor. Then footsteps echo down the hall. You strain your ear until the only sound left is your own thudding heart beat. You have to close your eyes again to keep the tears from spilling.

You've spent days so lost in your longing for Felix, you forgot how badly you miss Talbott as well.

Part 3 | Masterpost

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juniperwindsong · 5 years ago

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juniperwindsong · 5 years ago

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In Love & War (1/3)

Look. I could apologise for interrupting my WIP with an entirely too long, three-part Felix x Talbott x Reader Insert love triangle set post-Hogwarts (somewhere in HP Book 5) and featuring some minor adult situations (all Tumblr appropriate), but I’d be lying to all of us. I’m not sorry. This is literally the most fun I’ve had all quarantine.

Part 1: Dépaysement

The sound of curtains being drawn wakes you. Light pierces the back of your eyelids and you squeeze them tight. Your dream was uneasy, but you aren't ready to leave it just yet. You were looking for someone, someone calling your name. The face dissolves in the last dregs of ebbing sleep. You're sure you know it from somewhere...the name is just on the tip of your tongue...

"Good morning," murmurs a husky voice near your ear. Soft lips, curved in a smile, tickle your jawline, making you shiver. For a moment, the voice occupies the same space in reality as the face from the dream, a place for things familiar, but momentarily forgotten.

You open your eyes. The eyes that stare back are a deep brown, almost black. The sharp, pale face behind them is so close the snub nose nearly touches yours. Your mind searches for identity through a drowsy haze. A name swims to the surface.

"Felix?" you ask tentatively, voice hoarse with sleep.

The brown eyes ignite in pleasure at hearing their name. The man - Felix, your mind reminds you - brushes hair away from your face. He leans closer, eyes on your lips, but you tilt your head away before he can reach you. You're not sure why. It's an instinct, not a decision.

Felix freezes for a moment. Then he smirks, ever so slightly. It's a delicious expression on him, and you shiver again.

"Why so shy this morning?" he asks, stroking your cheek with the back of his fingers. Your eyes flutter shut at the sweet sensation.

Why does your head feel so strange? You try to recall where you are and why you're here...but the memories float just out of reach. When you re-open your eyes, Felix is watching you closely. There’s something like worry in his face.

"I don’t know," you answer honestly. "My head feels...strange. I'm...not sure who I am this morning."

It sounds like madness when said aloud. You tug your mouth into a grin, hoping to pass your odd remark off as a joke. You’re relieved when Felix’s smirk widens.

"Champagne clearly does not agree with you."

Felix leans forward again, and this time you stay put. You let his lips meet yours in a lazy, warm kiss that he deepens into something breathtaking. It does nothing to help your befuddled brain, but your body is certainly awake now. It, at least, seems to know exactly where it is. And what it wants. Felix drags his lips from yours to trail open kisses up your jaw toward your ear.

“You're Y/N Rosier," he murmurs between kisses. "You’re my wife. You're in our home. And you're safe.”

At these words, memories stir to life. You remember those same rich brown eyes standing in front of an altar, laying out in warm sand near lapping waves. Your wedding, your honeymoon in France. How could you have forgotten? The memories are there in your head, as real as print in a book, and yet they have a dream-like quality to them. Perhaps you are still dreaming, you think, as Felix’s fingers run through your hair. Or perhaps you simply drank too much last night.

"Are you alright?” There’s definite concern in Felix's voice now.

“Of course,” you assure him. You reach up to tuck stray hair back into place where it's fallen across his forehead. “Sometimes I just wake up with you and it feels like the very first time.”

Felix’s shoulders relax, and a genuine smile graces his sharp features. His eyes glow with an almost childlike joy. A pleasant lurch in your stomach reminds you you’ve seen this face before. It’s the face you always want to inspire in him. The face you love.

"Well, I suppose that's appropriate for our first morning here." Felix sits up, glancing around the sunlit room. "I do miss France but I must say, it's nice to finally wake up in our own home." He slips from the bed and disappears behind a nearby door.

You push yourself up as well, taking in the enormous four poster bed, the walls covered in austere tapestries, the wide windows overlooking a gloomy English landscape.

"Our own home," you echo. Nothing has ever looked less like home to you.

Felix's voice carries from the adjoining room. "I know it wasn't exactly your first choice, but I still think it's the best place for us right now. It's closer to the Ministry, and its wards are ancient, very safe. And my mother is perfectly comfortable at the French estate. I know it's larger than what you're used to, but-"

You let Felix's voice drift in one ear and out the other. You swing your legs over the side of the bed and test your feet against the ground. Your limbs don’t seem to be afflicted with the same wobbling uncertainty as your mind. They support you just fine as you slide to a floor as icy cold as it looks. The entire room is chilly you realise now you’ve left the warmth of the bed.

You glance around for clothes. The floor is bare except for heavy rugs, and the chaise lounge by the empty fireplace does not look as if it's ever tolerated any such indignity as clothes being tossed across it. You notice a dress form standing nearby, an emerald dressing gown hanging neatly upon it. You pull it on and note how perfectly it fits. It must be yours, though the colour and material strike no familiar chords.

Behind the dress form is another door, slightly ajar. When you push it open, you find a small chamber filled with a stunning assortment of robes; every-day robes in every conceivable colour and style, expensive dress-robes, even a small section of well-made muggle clothes. You can tell just by looking each item is tailored to your specifications. You wrack your muddled brain for memories of picking them out or purchasing them, but nothing comes to mind.

"Y/N?"

Felix’s voice is nearby once more, and you step back into the bedroom. Felix is waiting for you, dressed in immaculate black. You stare at him blankly, trying to remember what he was saying before you became distracted.

"Look,” Felix sighs, coming to stand next to you and taking your shoulders. “If you truly detest it here, we can find something else soon. I just-"

"No." You shake your head. "No, you're right. I'm sure I'll get used to it. It's just...new."

You glance back at the dressing room.

"Where did I buy all those robes, do you remember?” you ask as casually as possible. “I can’t quite recall."

Felix raises his eyebrows. He places the back of one hand against your forehead.

"Remind me to make a note of last night's vintage. It was clearly far too powerful for you."

You roll your eyes and swat his arm playfully. Felix catches your hand and brings it to his lips. He kisses your fingers slowly, lips lingering exquisitely over each knuckle, as if he'd rather do nothing else all morning. Another heady rush of sensation thrills you. Standing becomes as hard as thinking. You sway slightly, but Felix wraps an arm around your waist to draw you against him.

"Are you sure you'll be alright for the day? Perhaps I should stay... I could send an owl to-"

"Of course I'll be alright," you assure him quickly. "Where are you going?"

"To meet the Dark Lord, of course. Then the office.”

"What?"

“You know I'd much rather be here, but I really ought not to leave it any longer. I haven’t sent an owl since we first arrived in France and I’m sure the department’s in shambles without me. ”

“No, I mean... what do you mean about the Dark Lord?”

For the first time this morning, it isn't confusion driving your question, but alarm. This is a name you have no trouble remembering. Events of the last year rise to the fore front of your mind. The return of the Dark Lord after the Tri-wizard tournament; the Ministry's refusal to acknowledge his return; Professor Dumbledore summoning you and others to a secret meeting of the Order of the Phoenix.

"Our honeymoon is over and I swore I'd report in for instruction as soon as I was back in the country, which technically should have been last night, but..."

"Felix... the Dark Lord...you can't seriously... you're not joining him?"

Felix sighs, dropping your hand and rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration.

"Y/N, please don't start this again. I know your concerns, but we've discussed this. He's coming to power, whether we like it or not, and this is the only way to ensure your safety.”

“But...” You struggle to form a coherent argument around the fog in your brain. You can’t remember having such an important discussion before. How could Felix have talked you into supporting something like this?

“What about the Order of the Phoenix? Why can’t we join them? Why haven’t we joined them?” you ask, wondering how this has never come up. You remember that meeting in Dumbledore's office...was it months ago? Or longer? The Weasley's had been there...you can see Bill's face clearly. Other faces lurk in the background of your memory, hidden in shadow.

“Y/N, we’ve already been through this,” Felix says in mounting frustration. “They won’t permit me to join. My father was a Death Eater. They don’t trust me. And even if they were to make an exception, we would be more of a target for the Dark Lord then. He would never forgive a betrayal like that. The Death Eaters aren't a club you can just quit. My father was one, and that means I'm expected to be as well. If I refused, he would stop at nothing to find me, or find you first to punish me. I thought you understood.”

Felix looks so pained, you stumble over your own further protests. You raise a hand to his face, stroking your thumb over his sharp cheek. Felix leans into your palm. His eyes are shut tightly against some inner battle you cannot see.

“Felix. I just...don’t want you to get hurt.

Felix takes a shuddering breath and meets your eyes again, his expression grim.

“I don’t want you to be hurt. And as long as we’re on the winning side, we won’t be. I know you don’t like it, and it isn't what I would prefer, but it's not up to us. All we can do is stay safe until this war is over.” He leans down to kiss you, a gentle apology of a kiss. “I’m sorry it’s like this. But things will clear up soon. Once the Dark Lord has the Ministry, he'll have other things on his mind. We can go back to France, or anywhere you like. I promise."

The sound of a clock chiming somewhere in the house makes Felix look up.

“I have to go. I’ll get away as soon as I can.” He catches your chin in his hand, tilting it up to face him. His eyes burn with something that turns your bones to water. "I love you," he says. It's more than a platitude or a reminder. It’s almost an oath.

"I...love you too," you say. You must. Why else would you be here?

Once Felix is gone, you sit back on the bed, clutching your head in your hands. You rap your knuckles against your skull, trying to knock whatever's come loose back into place. What's wrong with you? Why is your memory all bits and pieces? Drink, you suppose, combined with a whirlwind few months. Maybe this happens to everyone just arrived from their honeymoon. Perhaps a solid course of action will help put you back together.

The Rosier manor doesn't seem like the sort of house made for walking about in one’s bare feet, so you return to the dressing room and inspect your options. You choose the simplest robes you can find. They feel strange on you, in spite of the perfect fit. After washing and dressing, you stare at yourself in the full length mirror. It's you, and yet somehow, your own reflection looks unfamiliar. Well, you suppose, in many ways you are a new person. You're Mrs Rosier now. That thought inspires confidence in you. You stand up straighter and take a steadying breath. This is your home, and your first order of business should be to explore it.

You spend the morning wandering the manor. You start to count the rooms, but lose track somewhere on the third floor. There's bedrooms and bathrooms, libraries and studies, and some rooms with no discernible purpose at all. You inspect the conservatory and the solarium, and briefly consider tackling the expansive grounds before your growling stomach urges you to find the kitchen. You discover it in a ground floor dining room, hidden behind a door almost indistinguishable from the surrounding wall.

The kitchen is a bright, spacious room, full of high windows that allow more sunlight to drift in than in the rest of the house. The familiar sounds of pots and pans scrubbing themselves at a sink and a pot bubbling over the fire go a long way to cheering your uneasy spirit.

"Madam is wanting something?"

You look down to find a small, elderly house-elf dressed in an assortment of elaborately tied linen dinner napkins.

"Oh! Yes, please. Breakfast would be lovely. Or lunch. I'm not sure of the time."

'"Miam-Miam is making a luncheon for Madam, certainly. What is Madam wishing to eat?"

"Oh, anything's fine. And, um, you can just call me Y/N. Madam sounds....a bit formal."

The house-elf purses her tiny lips in obvious disapproval.

"Is Madam wishing to be served in the breakfast room or the upstairs dining room?" she asks stiffly, managing to stress the word Madam just enough for you to notice.

"Actually, could I just eat here, please?"

You ask the question politely enough but don't bother to wait for a reply before seating yourself in a chair at the wooden butcher's table. The house-elf’s mouth works soundlessly. You can see her desire to maintain the house's strict traditions going to war with her need to defer to her masters.

"I won't tell anyone, I promise," you say to the elf.

Miam-Miam's face is pinched and unhappy, but in the end, she returns to the pot over the fire, murmuring under her breath in French.You feel a little guilty for putting the elf in this position, but something about the kitchen feels more inviting than any other part of the house, and you don’t want to leave it just yet. You wonder why this room is uninfected by the dream-like quality that’s pervaded the rest of your morning. Perhaps kitchens in general are just comforting, you think. You lay your forehead against the table and revel in its wonderful solidness.

"Madam is feeling ill?"

Miam-Miam is back. The narrow squint of her large round eyes is more suspicious than concerned.

"I'm alright. Just can't seem to find my head this morning."

The house-elf wrinkles her tomato-like nose. "Miam-Miam is not understanding. Is Madam having headache? Miam-Miam would be making a potion for headache, but Miam-Miam is not having the ingredients. If Madam is permitting Miam-Miam to visit Diagon Alley-"

You lift your head, inspired.

"That's a wonderful idea! I think I'll pop down to Diagon Alley for a bit."

You expect some push back from the old-fashioned elf at the idea of Madam doing the servant's shopping, but you're surprised when her eyes widen in horror.

"No, Madam must not! The Master will not be liking it! Miam-Miam is going. Madam must stay in the house where it is safe."

"What's unsafe about Diagon Alley?"

Miam-Miam is unable to offer any specific dangers, only continues to shake her head and repeat: "Master will not be liking it."

"Master will be fine," you say firmly. The decision made, you stand and glance toward the fireplace. Sure enough, there's a small glass jar on the mantle containing the household floo powder. You walk to the fire and use your wand to lift the hot, heavy pot out of the way. Miam-Miam hovers just behind you, protesting all the while.

"Please, Madam, please. Master is not liking you to go!"

You ignore the elf, and toss floo powder onto the fire. As you step into the flames, you turn to reassure the poor house-elf, now wringing her dinner napkin dress in distress.

"Don't worry, Miam-Miam. I'll be back in a bit. Diagon Alley!"

Wandering the streets you've known all your life does wonders for your sense of self. As you glance into stalls and shop windows, memories hail you like familiar friends: meeting Rowan for the first time; buying your first wand, and then your second; lurking in Flourish and Blotts whenever you could to search for messages from your brother. You even remember where to find the sneaky little niffler that lurks outside the bank. You used to drop him galleons whenever you passed just to see him creep out and snatch them when he thought no one was watching.

You lean against the brick wall beside the niffler's hideaway and close your eyes. You breathe in the familiar air and let your mind put all the memories together in the right order, like puzzle pieces, until they begin to form a complete picture. You came here often with friends when you were at school, and even after. Scattered images of laughing and eating with people fit comfortably in your head, though the faces are still dim and shadowy. There’s Rowan for sure, you can picture her clearly, but who else? Felix? That seems right. You can picture Felix's face smiling at you outside Flourish and Blotts...you see him take your hand across a café table - where you met him again for the first time after graduating Hogwarts!

You open your eyes, searching for the café to inspire the rest of the memory, when you catch sight of someone watching you from a doorway.

At first, all you can see are his eyes. Behind the eyes, you're dimly aware of a face with a long, sharp nose, and dark skin with strangely layered hair. But it's the eyes that command your attention. They’re a hazel that's nearly yellow, flecked with gold, as piercing as a blade but with an ocean of depth beneath.

You realise you're staring, and you blush. You look away, feigning interest in a stall of bats. It's a minute before you feel brave enough to look at the doorway again.

The man is still there. And there can be no mistaking it this time: he's staring at you as well with those intense yellow-gold eyes, his mouth very slightly open. He must see you looking back at him, but he doesn't turn away. Doesn't move at all. He stands, alert and tense, like a bird of prey that's sighted a mouse. You suddenly remember Miam-Miam's warnings about Diagon Alley being unsafe.

But you're Mrs Felix Rosier, you remind yourself proudly. And before that you were the Hogwarts Cursebreaker. You pull yourself up to full height and step into the street, walking confidently toward the strange eyes and the man behind them.

"Can I help you?" you ask as soon as you're within hearing distance.

The man continues to stare. He blinks once, his head cocked very slightly to the side. Then he says your name. It’s quiet, but his voice carries across to you easily, stopping you in your tracks. You know that voice...You can't place it, but you're so sure. It's just on the tip of your tongue...

"Who -" you begin to ask, when someone else calls your name from behind. This one you recognise instantly. You turn to see Felix almost sprinting down the street toward you. He grabs your arms and pulls you against him, staring wildly about as if expecting a barrage of curses from every direction.

"What are you doing here? Are you alright?" he asks in a low, fierce voice.

"What? I'm fine."

You turn back to look at the place where the man had been, but he's gone. You glance hurriedly around at the milling crowds of people, in the windows of nearby shops, down the alley's side streets. But those yellow-gold eyes are nowhere to be seen.

"What is it?" asks Felix sharply.

"There was someone there just a moment ago. He was watching me."

"He?" Felix repeats, his voice heavy with panic. "Who? Who was it?"

"I don't know. I thought I recongised him, but...I'm not sure."

"Did he speak to you?" Felix's grip on your arm tightens until you're forced to yank it away.

"No! Felix, what's wrong?"

Felix's eyes sweep the street once more. He runs a hand across his hair distractedly, smoothing it flat and trying to regain some of his usual calm.

"Nothing," he says. His voice is entirely unconvincing. "Come, let's get you home."

Part of you wants to argue. You feel so much more comfortable here. You're not quite ready to go back to the manor and all it's strange surreality. But Felix's obvious alarm worries you, and you don't want to fight him when he's in this state.

The two of you apparate together back to the Rosier property. Felix doesn't speak the entire walk to the manor house. You shoot occasional sideways glances at him, but he doesn't seem to notice. His eyes are agitated and far away. Once you’re safely inside, Felix stops in the front hall and faces you.

"Why?" he asks simply.

"Why what?"

"Why did you leave? I came back and found you gone, do you have any idea how worried I was?"

His voice is loud and strained, just short of yelling. Your own temper flares within you.

"I'm sorry," you say, crossing your arms. "I didn't know a requirement of marriage was staying inside the house all day waiting for my husband."

"It's a requirement of keeping you safe," Felix snaps back.

"What am I in danger of?" you cry in exasperation. "You know I've survived dragons and curses and assassins, right? What in Merlin's name is lurking in Diagon Alley that's so much worse than all of that?”

Instead of rising to a fight, Felix's anger fizzles out. His whole demeanor seems to crumple under your biting words, and he looks down at the floor in something like defeat. Guilt builds like bile in the back of your throat. It hurts you to see Felix so despondent. You close the distance between you and reach up to fix his wilting hair. There's no sarcasm in your apology this time.

"I’m sorry. I wasn't trying to worry you. I just don't understand what you're so worried about."

Felix's reply is to pull you closer, clutching you to his chest with desperate arms. You can feel his heart beating frantically. You take deep, slow breaths, hoping to infuse him with your own calm. When you look up, his eyes are swimming with some fragile emotion you don't understand.

"Y/N, our world is impossibly dangerous right now. I know you've fought more than your share of battles, but this is different. Anyone... everyone you know...even your friends, could be out to hurt you now. Because of me." He strokes the shell of your ear with his thumb. "I'm so sorry. You’re married to a man with enemies. And there's no way for us to know who to trust. Please, for my sake, just stay here where it's safe."

"For how long?”

“I don't know," Felix sighs. "The Dark Lord does not confide his plans in anyone, but I doubt it will take long. And once he's in power, things will be different."

This isn’t a answer to inspire much comfort in you, and you turn away. Your head is bursting with questions and fragments of memories, none of which make sense. Why would you ever have agreed to this? It doesn’t sound like you at all. Trapped inside this enormous house, unable to do anything useful, and somehow on the side of Death Eaters?

You look back at Felix, an argument on your tongue. But before you can say anything, Felix’s lips find yours. It's a needy, starving kiss, as though it were years since your last instead of only this morning. His hands slide down your back, frame your waist, caress your hips, easing your body forward until you're flush against his. You can't help it. You melt against him, stroking the muscle of his chest through his robes. For the first time that day, you feel truly and perfectly alive.

And you think, this must be why.

Life in the Rosier manor takes some adjustment, but after a few days you settle into a routine. You breakfast late and spend a leisurely morning reading and relaxing on the upstairs terrace. Then there’s lunch, and a long walk about the grounds. The estate is massive, and you take your time exploring every inch of it. The elaborate hedge maze is a particular favourite. You spend three days attempting to map it before you realise it changes on its own at random intervals, making it impossible to solve.

But by far the best part of your married life is your new husband.

Felix escapes his ministry job to be with you as often as he can. Many mornings, he leaves for work late, having chosen a blissful lie-in with you instead. He sneaks home to lunch with you almost every day, and he's back at half-six each evening like clockwork. While home, he's never absent from your side.

Felix takes pride in showing you the Rosier Manor’s many secret passages and hidden rooms. He instructs you in French, when you mention off-hand a desire to learn. And after discovering it was always a childhood wish of his, you teach him to play the old, dusty piano in the music room. Your evenings are filled with music and dance, and your nights are always long and sleepless. Even quiet afternoons spent reading in the library, you often catch Felix watching you subtly over the top of his book, as though worried you might disappear.

It's moments like these in which you understand your decision to stay here, to marry a man in service to the most feared dark wizard in modern history. The thought that your husband is a Death Eater still churns your stomach, and you spend much of your alone time formulating careful arguments and plans of escape. But these always end with a wretched Felix, close to tears, terrified that flight will mean your death. No matter what you say, you're unable to convince him otherwise.

Occasionally, you try plotting out the sequence of events that led to your marriage, but your memories continue to be elusive. You remember a good many dinners and outings with Felix. You think they took place before your French honeymoon, but it's hard to place them in time exactly. You wonder whether you ought to mention this to Felix. In the end, you decide against it. Madness is a reputation you’ve fought for so many years, and the stigma of it still haunts you. Felix is the last person you want to look at you with that mixture of pity and wariness you've seen from so many others.

There's one memory, however, that refuses to fade: those yellow-gold eyes from Diagon Alley. For some reason, your dreams are constantly haunted by the image of this man and his simple utterance of your name. His eyes stir something to life inside you, a deep, slumbering something you don't understand or cannot remember. It isn't exactly a pleasant feeling, and when you wake from these dreams you snuggle closer to Felix, letting his warm, solid arms anchor you to reality. But you cannot keep from wondering who the man behind the yellow eyes is. You're sure you've seen him somewhere, though where continues to elude you.

You're mulling this very question over in the garden one day when a noise from behind makes you jump. Animals are rare on the grounds, and Felix is never one to creep up behind you unawares. You draw your wand instinctively, turning to face the sound. You nearly drop it when you watch those same piercing eyes and the dark-skinned man who owns them step out from behind a willowy tree.

For a moment, neither of you move. You know you ought to feel fear. This is obviously the danger Felix has warned you about. No one who's a friend sneaks onto one’s property unannounced. But even as you point your wand at the man’s face, you find yourself lost in his yellow-gold eyes. There's something almost frantic in them, like a person trapped behind glass screaming words you cannot hear.

You lower your wand without thinking. In spite of Felix's warnings, you can’t bring yourself to feel afraid. Your mind may be confused, but every other part of you is convinced this man means you no harm.

"Who are you?" you ask. "What do you want?"

The man doesn't answer. He only stares. The intensity of his eyes is difficult to look at directly and you drop your gaze to his bony neck instead.

"Are you here to kill me?"

That shakes the man from his silence. The yellow-gold eyes widen a little before he answers, "Is that what he told you?"

"Who?" you ask in confusion. "My husband?"

The man's whole face twists momentarily in an expression of disgust. His features straighten quickly, inscrutable once more, except for the eyes which seem to be pleading with you for something.

"You don't know me." It's a statement, not a question. But the more he talks, the more you're sure this can’t be true.

"Should I?"

"Yes."

There's a pause in which you wrack your brain desperately for a memory you’re sure is hidden somewhere, but you cannot find it. You're forced to shake your head apologetically. “I'm sorry. I don't."

The man shuffles his feet as if uncomfortable with this answer. “We were...at school together,” he says.

Armed with this bit of information, you cast your mind back to your school years. You search for those eyes in classes, Quidditch matches, cursed vaults. They’re nowhere to be found. But perhaps that’s not so unusual.

"School was so long ago,” you say, “and so much has happened since then. I don't know how much you know about me, but school wasn't exactly the happiest time of my life. I guess I've tried to put all those memories behind me.”

The man says nothing. He blinks those molten eyes and stares. His fingers twitch as if itching to wrap around something. You tighten your hold on your wand again, but he makes no other move. He seems to be trapped in indecision. And despite being an intruder in your home, there's some instinct urging you to soothe the man’s obvious distress.

What's your name?" you ask gently.

A look of deepest pain crosses the man’s face, as if he's bleeding from a wound you cannot see. It makes your heart ache for some reason.

"Talbott Winger," he answers.

There's a strange upset in your perception. The garden around you seems to shimmer as if it were really a backdrop you could rip away to reveal a more substantial world behind it. You can no longer feel the ground underneath your feet. You wonder if you're falling or floating. Your head swims with nausea. From far away, you hear someone call your name. You wonder where they are, where you are, and how you can get to them.

Then you feel hands on your face. They anchor your mind to your body once more. You're aware of your back lying against hard ground, and a throbbing pain in the side of your head. You realise your eyes are closed. You open them.

Brown eyes stare back at you in fear, and you feel a quick pang of disappointment. For some reason, you expected them to be yellow-gold. But it's Felix. He lifts you gently until you're sitting upright. You're still in the garden, only the sky is darkening. You stare about you for the man - Talbott, your brain now promptly supplies - but see no one else.

“Y/N!"

You only realise Felix has been speaking when he calls your name again. His voice is trembling.

"What's wrong?" you ask.

"What’s wrong? That's what I'm asking you! How long have you been out here? What happened?"

"I was...walking and... I don't know. My head hurt and I... I fell, I guess."

For some reason, you think it's best not to mention Talbott Winger yet. You know how worried Felix will be, and there’s no reason to upset him until you discover what Talbott wants. You think - or perhaps, you hope - you’ll see those yellow-gold eyes again soon.

For several days, you’re disappointed. You now spend all your mornings and most of the afternoons out on the grounds. You return regularly to the tree in the garden where you saw him last. But Talbott Winger does not re-appear. Sometimes you worry the encounter was a dream, your grip on reality being so tenuous these days. Only, somehow, apart from Felix, those yellow-gold eyes are the closest thing you have to a solid, reliable memory.

You're forced to wait a full week before you see them again. You’re in the kitchen one evening instructing Felix in the art of rolling an even pie crust. You’ve finally bullied Miam-Miam into relinquishing the dinner preparations just this once, and Felix, exceptionally amused, has agreed to be your sous-chef.

“You’re sure I’m doing this properly?” he asks with a wry grin.

The sight of your typically decorous husband, shirt sleeves tucked up to his elbows and flour dusting the tip of his nose, makes your heart soar. You live for these sweet moments; where the world contains only the two of you, with no thoughts to spare for the war raging outside. You smile, and lean across the table towards Felix. There’s just enough time for your lips to meet in the promise of a kiss when the sound of the front door bell reverberates through the house.

Miam-Miam rises hastily from her little stool by the fire, but Felix stops her before she can reach the kitchen door.

“No. Let me.” He wipes his hands quickly on a dish towel and strides past the sullenly-still elf. You follow him to the door, but Felix shakes his head.

“Wait here,” he commands. Catching sight of your raised eyebrows, he adds, “Please. Let me see who it is.” Felix doesn’t wait for you to agree. He slips out the door and pulls it shut tightly behind him. You listen to his footsteps walking away. You count to ten, then follow anyway.

Miam-Miam’s echoing protests make it difficult to hear the conversation floating down the hall from the front door. You think you can make out two distinct voices. You walk through the dining room and approach the front hall as quietly as possible. Scattered words in Felix's most imperious tone reach your ear.

"It's over...safe now...nothing you can do."

You hesitate, uncertain whether to risk the hall where very little furniture exists to hide behind. Then the other voice speaks, loud enough to be clearly heard, "...don't care about her safety..." and your heart leaps in your chest as you recognise it.

"Don't you dare!" Felix snarls. You've never heard him so furious before. You hesitate briefly, but your desire to see the visitor, to be sure it's who you think, is overpowering. Cautiously, you tiptoe into the hallway. The other voice is a low, venomous hiss now. You have to strain your ears to catch the words.

"...away with this. I won't let you."

"Is that a threat?" Felix asks.

"It's a promise."

Felix starts to push the heavy front door closed and you throw caution to the wind. You run the last few steps forward just in time to see yellow-gold eyes on fire with fury, before the door slams shut on them.

Felix spins around quickly, startled by your sudden approach.

"Who was that?" you ask before he can get a word out. You fully expect Felix to be frustrated, even angry with you for refusing to stay safely in the kitchen. Instead, he blushes brick red. He runs a quick hand across his hair, as though you've caught him doing something shameful.

“No one.”

You cross your arms, arch one eyebrow and say, "Felix," with all the skepticism such a ridiculous answer deserves. Felix has the decency to look abashed, but still refuses to speak. He looks so lost you can't help but sigh and come to his rescue. You take his hand and squeeze it in support.

“Felix," you repeat more gently. "Tell me what’s going on. Who is that man? What does he want?”

Felix presses your hand to his face, drawing strength from your touch. He keeps his eyes closed as he answers, “Just...someone from the ministry. An auror. He doesn’t...like me. But he shouldn’t have followed me home." Felix exhales forcefully, then opens his eyes. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again." He twines his fingers between yours and tries to lead you back down the hallway. "Whatever happened to dinner?" he asks, in a voice laden with false cheer.

You're not remotely convinced that's all there is to it, and you're determined not to let the issue go. But you decide to wait until Felix is in better spirits before you demand answers. You return to the kitchen. Felix makes an attempt to recapture the light-hearted mood from before the unwelcome visitor. But his smile is more like a grimace. And more than once you catch him staring into space, lost in troubled thoughts he refuses to share.

That night you take particular care with Felix. You trail delicate kisses down his jawline, tracing his throat, his jutting collarbone. Your every movement is slow and measured as you follow the thin path of dark hair leading you from his chest to his abdomen. You assure him of your love using your lips and your tongue and the heat of your mouth. When you're finished, you crawl back up his body and rest against his still heaving chest, waiting for his heart rate to settle.

"Y/N," he pants.

"Felix."

"You know I love you?"

You smile against his skin. "So I've heard."

Felix rolls to his side so you slide off his chest and into his arms. He cups your cheek. It's hard to make out his eyes in the dark, but his voice is pleading.

"I know how hard all of this is for you. But you know it's because I want you to be safe. Because I love you. Our world is such a mess right now, and the thought of you caught up in it...running for your life, or hurt, or..." He swallows the next word. "I can't bear it."

You stroke the back of his hand where it holds your face. His touch is light, as if he thinks you might crack under his fingers. Felix is always so careful with you. It touches the part of you burdened by years of fighting battles for others with so little help or thought for your well-being. But you're not as delicate as he thinks.

"I understand," you assure him. "But you know, if you want me to trust you, you have to trust me. I'm not exactly incapable. I know it's a been a while, but I did manage to survive seven years worth of curses and monsters and Merula Snyde."

Felix rests his forehead against yours with a quiet chuckle.

"I know."

"So trust me."

"I do."

You take a deep breath and steel yourself to ask your burning question.

"Then...who is Talbott Winger?"

"What?"

Felix jerks away startled. Even in the darkness, you can see heat rising in his cheeks.

"That man who keeps coming by here. I know that's his name. Who is he?"

"Keeps coming by..." Felix repeats. He pushes himself up, and you follow, concerned at his change in demeanor. "Has he been here before? What did he say to you? Did he try to-to-"

You cut off his increasingly hysterical questions with a hand to his shoulder. "It's alright. I was fine. He just - he was here last week, out on the grounds. He wouldn't say what he wanted. He mentioned that we went to school together, but I don't remember him at all. Though I feel as though I should."

Felix's relief is palpable. His shoulders collapse in a slow, heavy exhalation. He pushes hair back from his forehead.

"There's no reason for you to. You can't be expected to remember everyone you went to school with. You had so many friends, and he was never exactly popular."

"So, you remember him?" you ask. Your own heart is now pounding with excitement; you're not sure why.

"Yes," Felix admits. "He was one of those that never trusted Slytherins. He had quite a grudge against anyone with the remotest Death Eater affiliation. It's only become worse now he's an auror. He's sure I know something about the Dark Lord's return, he follows me constantly. I wouldn't put it past him to try to force information from you."

"But I don't know anything -"

"I know that. But he doesn't. He's not your friend, Y/N, no matter what he says. That's why it's so important for you to stay here."

You bristle at the implication. "Do you need me to repeat my CV? I think I can handle one auror on my own just fine."

For some reason this inspires a smile in Felix.

"I don't doubt it."

He falls back against the pillow, pulling you down with him into a kiss, long and comforting. You can feel Felix relax beneath your lips. You come up for air and he murmurs, "Promise me, if you see him again, you'll stun first and ask questions later."

You hesitate for a moment, hovering over Felix's parted, eager mouth. You can't argue with his words, but you can't discount your instinct about Talbott either: that he wants something from you, and it isn't to hurt you. You know Felix won't understand this, so you make the only promise you know you can keep.

"I promise....I'll be careful."

You know your promise will be put to the test, but you still aren't prepared for Talbott to appear again only the following morning. You're sipping coffee on the terrace when a shadow blocks the sunlight briefly. You jump up in shock, coffee shaking in your hand, as an eagle lands hard on the railing. And when the bird abruptly transforms into the yellow-eyes and dark skin of Talbott Winger, you nearly drop the cup altogether.

"Y/N," says Talbott. His voice is strained and urgent, but you're too preoccupied to consider why.

"You're...a bird?" you ask with wide eyes. You're certainly surprised, but your mind doesn't seem about to collapse in on itself the way it had when he told you his name.

"An animagus," Talbott explains. His eyes dart nervously. "Look, I haven't much time. We need to talk, but we can’t do it here. Can you get away if you need to?"

"Excuse me?" You pull your dressing gown about you, trying to muster up a bit of dignity. "I don't think you're in a position to-"

"Can you get away?" Talbott repeats, talking over you. "Or does he have you trapped here?"

"I'm not trapped," you answer heatedly. "I'm here because it's safe. It's...dangerous right now." You echo Felix's words, trying to ignore how childish they sound.

"Then meet me here." Talbott thrusts a scrap of parchment forward, keeping as much distance between you as he can. You have to stretch out your arm to reach it. "Make sure you're not followed."

You gape at him. His nervous tension is so different from the still, silent Talbott you've been carrying about in your memory. It's almost harder to adjust to than the idea of him as a bird. You know you should be asking more questions, demanding answers, or simply stunning this blatant intruder. But the same strange feeling of familiarity that stopped your hand before prevents you taking any such action. You merely stare, waiting for your slow-working brain to catch up and explain to you why you're so sure about Talbott Winger.

You expect him to fly off again at any second, but Talbott shuffles his feet awkwardly as if he'd rather not leave.

"Y/N, are you...safe?"

"Of course," you reply automatically.

'I mean, he hasn't - he isn't -"

But before Talbott can articulate his question, you hear a door slam open from inside the bedroom and Felix's voice calling for you. You jump violently for the second time that morning, coffee sloshing over the side of your cup. You can only think of one reason why Felix would be back so quickly, and you turn to tell Talbott to go. But he's nowhere to be seen. You hear a loud beating of wings from overhead, and look up to see the enormous eagle climbing steadily higher. He's already a dark spot on the horizon when Felix bursts onto the terrace, out of breath, sweat undoing his severely slicked hair. It's such an unusual state for Felix you don't have to pretend to be concerned.

"What's wrong?" you ask quickly.

"There was a breach," he pants. "In the border wards. Someone got in."

"I didn't notice anything..." You swing your head about as if searching for potential intruders. You're careful to avoid eye contact with Felix, afraid it might give you away.

'Are you sure?" Felix stumbles across the terrace to you. He inspects you up and down as if searching for injuries.

"Of course," you find yourself saying for the second time in as many minutes. A quick trickle of guilt runs down the back of your throat. You know you ought to tell Felix of Talbott's attempt to lure you from the safety of your home. Instead, you close your hand about the scrap of parchment. You wrap your arms around Felix to hide your clenched palm. He holds you against him, head resting briefly on your shoulder while his breathing returns to normal.

"I have to get back," he says finally. "Will you stay in the house? Please? Just for today. I'll set up new barrier spells tonight, but for today just...please," he begs you. "I won't be able to focus otherwise."

Quickly, you think through your options. Merely keeping something from your husband is one thing, but you're reluctant to break any promise outright. So you choose your words carefully.

"I suppose I could agree to that," you say, with an exasperated eye roll and a dramatic sigh. "Just for today."

It works. Felix smiles in relief, and pulls you into a kiss full of unspoken gratitude. It’s as fiery and spine tingling as his kisses always are. But, knowing what you’re planning on doing as soon as he’s gone, you feel too guilty to fully appreciate it.

Part 2 | Fanfiction Masterpost

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