rubiedmoon

[rubiedmoon]

A Knight to be Remembered

There are some faces you don’t forget.

Not because of title or station—goodness knows, the castle halls are filled with enough lords and ladies for a lifetime—but because of the way someone looked at you. As if you were seen, truly seen. Not as a servant girl with flour on her apron, but as something more.

That’s how it was with Lancelot.

The first time I met him—years ago now—I was barely more than sixteen. It was during the spring tournament, the kind that drew knights and hopefuls from every corner of the realm. The castle was bustling then, every corridor alive with anticipation.

I’d been running drinks and cool cloths between the knights’ tents, arms full of pitchers, skirts hitched just enough so I wouldn’t trip on the uneven ground. Most barely noticed me. A nod here, a distracted thanks there. I didn’t mind—being unnoticed had its advantages.

But Lancelot… he noticed.

I remember the way he looked up from sharpening his sword as I approached—dark eyes meeting mine, warm and steady. He thanked me with more sincerity than I’d heard all day, and when I laughed (because I’d spilled a bit of water trying to pour with one hand), he smiled.

A kind, beautiful smile.

That small moment stayed with me long after he’d been sent away. I’d heard the whispers, of course. Uther’s decree. The shame of it all. It shouldn’t have surprised me—common blood had little place in knighthood back then. Still, part of me had hoped…

And then, seasons passed.

Now… everything had changed.

Arthur was king. The old ways were crumbling. Lancelot was here again, a knight in truth—honored, respected.

And I… well, I was still in the kitchens more often than not, though these days I had a say in the running of things. I’d grown, too. Stronger, perhaps. Wiser. And I liked to think, still kind.

But even now, I never expected him to notice.

Until he did.

It was the second morning of the summer tourney—a smaller affair, less formal than the grand ones—but still enough to fill the training yard with the sounds of steel and sweat. I was bringing out fresh bread and watered ale for the men between bouts.

And there he was.

Lancelot.

He stood near the edge of the yard, wiping his brow, sword at his side. He looked… well, more seasoned, certainly. Broader in the shoulders. Lines around his eyes that hadn’t been there before. But when he glanced my way—just for a moment—that same warmth flickered behind his gaze.

“YN,” he said softly, as if testing the name on his tongue.

I nearly dropped the tray. “Sir Lancelot.”

A soft smile touched his lips. “Just Lancelot. Please.” He requested, holding up both of his hands as a silent plea to stop with the formalities. “You remembered me?”

“Of course,” I answered before I could think. “You... made an impression.”

He chuckled at that—low, gentle. “It seems the feeling was mutual.”

I felt heat rise in my cheeks and quickly busied myself setting out the bread. But he stepped closer, voice quieter now.

“It’s good to see you. Though you have seemed to change a bit,” he said. Not in the idle way most knights spoke, but with something deeper. Honest. “You seem more certain. More of yourself.”

I looked up, surprised at the words. No one else ever noticed. Not really. Not through the flour and the aprons and the bustle of the kitchens. But he always did.

“I like to think I have,” I replied softly. “More confident in someways. I must admit working with Gwen seemed to help out a lot. But you… you’ve become what you always were.”

A small tilt of his head. “What do you mean?”

“A true knight,” I said simply. “I could see that the first time I ever met you. Obviously Arthur was able to see the same.”

For a long moment, neither of us spoke.

Lancelot’s gaze held mine, deeper now, thoughtful. “You give me more credit than I deserve,” he said at last, voice quiet, sincere.

I shook my head. “No. I don’t. You standing before me now bearing the crest of Camelot on your cloak would speak much otherwise.”

A breath of silence passed between us. Then, as if the weight of the moment caught him off guard, that soft smile returned.

“Yes, well back then I could only be described as a dreamer,” he mused, the faintest warmth in his tone. “It’s good to hear that my dreams were noticed by those who weren’t just me. You were one of the saw the beneath and spoke your mind. I hope… the court hasn’t dulled that in you.”

A small laugh escaped me—half genuine, half weary. “It’s tried. But watching Merlin certainly reminds me to be stubborn when it counts.”

He chuckled again, a richer sound this time. “Good. You’d be wasted among the flatterers.”

Before I could reply, Merlin called from across the yard, waving Lancelot over for the next bout. Lancelot turned, gave a brief nod—then looked back at me.

“Perhaps after,” he said, softer again. “If you’ve time—you could tell me of what’s changed around here since my last visit. Maybe during a walk through the gardens.”

I blinked, heart quickening despite myself. He was asking. Not as a knight to a servant, nor out of politeness. But because he wanted to.

“I’d like that,” I said before my nerves could stop me.

That smile—brighter now—lit his face. “Then I’ll hold you to it.”

And with that, he turned, moving with easy grace toward the field.

I stood there a moment longer, watching him go, warmth lingering beneath my ribs. So much had changed—Camelot, the court, even myself. But some things, it seemed, remained.

And in this small way, so had he.

[rubiedmoon]

Since Always

If someone had asked me back then — back when we were small and spent our afternoons racing broomsticks through the Malfoy estate gardens, or hiding from the elves in the endless halls of YLn Manor — I would have told them Draco Malfoy was my best friend.

No hesitation. No doubt.

We’d been raised side by side, our parents close since their own school days — a quiet understanding between old families, old names. It made sense that their children would be just as inseparable.

And we were.

Even after we came to Hogwarts — sorted into the same house, Slytherin green and silver wrapped proudly around our shoulders — not much changed. We sat together in the common room, partnered in lessons, drifted through the castle like a matched set.

At least, at first.

Somewhere between fourth year and fifth, something shifted. I wasn’t sure when it started — maybe the first time I caught him watching me with something softer in his expression, or when he’d brush my arm in passing and his touch would linger just a second too long.

Or maybe it was me — noticing the way my cheeks would heat when he smiled, the way my heart tripped when he’d lean in a little closer than necessary during a Potions when he didn’t quite understand how to extract juices from a certain insect or plant..

Whatever it was, it wasn’t the same anymore.

Not that we ever talked about it. Merlin, no.

We still passed each other in the corridors — but now, when Draco’s lips curved into that familiar smirk, something gentler beneath it, I would duck my head slightly, warmth blooming across my face no matter how I tried to fight it.

When we sat in the common room, we ended up closer — thighs brushing, elbows knocking, his arm sometimes draped behind me along the back of the couch. If anyone noticed… well, no one dared to ask.

And when I spent time with Harry, Ron, and Hermione — people he never would’ve tolerated before I became friends with them — Draco didn’t pull away. He’d scowl, sure. He’d grumble. But he came anyway, sitting at the Gryffindor table when I asked, enduring their pointed stares and sharp remarks, all for the sake of one quiet thankful glance from me.

It was one of those afternoons — a Hogsmeade weekend — when everything felt different again.

I’d spent the morning with Hermione and Ginny traveling the numerous shops in the main square, but by midday, I found myself in the solidarity of my favorite corner table at The Three Broomsticks, fingers curled around a butterbeer, lost in thought.

“Mind if I join you?”

I looked up — and there he was. Draco, blonde hair tousled slightly from the cold winds, scarf loose around his neck. No sharpness in his tone, no familiar drawl. Just… Draco. My Draco.

I swallowed the flutter in my chest and nodded. “Of course.”

He slid into the seat beside me — not across, never across anymore — and let his arm brush mine. Close. Warm. Familiar in a way that made my heart ache.

“You looked like you needed rescuing,” he said, voice soft.

I smiled faintly. “From my own thoughts?”

“Well that and the fact that you're alone again after spending all day with them,” he said with a slight tilt of his head toward the group of Gryffindors across the room — Harry, Ron, Hermione, laughing over something. “I still don’t know how you stand that lot.”

I nudged his knee with mine. “Because they’re good people. You’d know that too if you actually gave them a chance instead of ignoring them like your father taught you to.”

His lips twitched. “I give them a chance. I sit at their bloody table for you, don’t I?”

That made me laugh — soft, unguarded. “You do.”

“Though I don’t care too much for doing so, I have endured their needless banter and ridiculous antics.”

I tilted my head, watching him. “And yet you keep doing it.”

He met my gaze — and something flickered there. Something that wasn’t teasing, or pride, or performance.

“Because their time matters to you and you matter to me,” he said simply. No smirk. No bravado. Just truth.

My breath caught, the warmth rising in my cheeks impossible to hide.

Before I could think of an answer — before I could even steady my heart — he reached for my hand beneath the table, fingers brushing mine, then lacing them gently together.

For a moment, neither of us said anything.

His hand in mine — warm, certain — was such a simple thing. And yet it sent my mind spinning in a way no spell or potion ever had.

I could feel my pulse hammering beneath my skin, each beat echoing in my ears louder than the chatter of the pub, louder than the clink of mugs and the distant laugh of students.

I swallowed hard. “Draco…”

He looked at me then — really looked at me — and there wasn’t even a hint of his usual mask. No cold aristocratic sneer, no Slytherin pride, no carefully schooled smirk. Just Draco. My best friend. The boy who knew every corner of YLn Manor and every secret passageway of Hogwarts that I would hide in when I felt the need to escape the world and would travel them just to find me. The boy who still remembered I took my tea with too much sugar and couldn’t stand the thick texture of pumpkin juice.

And in that gaze, I could see it — see everything he wasn’t saying.

I took a shaky breath. “You know… if you keep doing that,” I whispered, squeezing his hand slightly, “someone’s going to notice.”

He didn’t let go. If anything, his fingers tightened, slow and deliberate.

“So what, YNN,” he said, voice low, a thread of steel beneath the softness. “I’m tired of pretending I don’t want this.”

The words — simple, so very Draco, and yet… they undid me.

I blinked, heart fluttering. “Since when?”

He tilted his head slightly, lips curving — not into a smirk this time, but into something softer. “Since always, if I’m honest. It just took me a while to realize that wanting you mattered more to me than I cared to admit.”

My breath caught again. And then, before I could stop myself, I laughed — soft, nervous. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

And then — slowly, giving me every chance to pull away — he lifted our joined hands and pressed the faintest kiss to my knuckles. Not showy. Not for anyone else’s benefit. Just for me.

It was that simple touch that unraveled the last bit of distance between us.

I leaned in just a fraction, shoulder brushing his. “You know our parents probably have betting on this since the day we were born,” I whispered with a soft giggle.

“Yeah probably,” he said, with a chuckle of his own. “Who do you think will owe the galleons to who?”

“Ours fathers to our mums. No doubt. And if I’m being honest maybe to Professor Snape too. Something tells me he would have been in on it as well.”

Draco laughed — a real laugh, low and warm — the kind I heard so rarely it made my heart flutter all over again.

“You’re probably right,” he murmured, gaze dropping briefly to our still-entwined hands. “Snape always did have a way of knowing things before anyone else. Our Fathers just might have to make a withdrawal from Gringotts just to pay him.”

Amidst our delightful laughter, a voice called out from the far side of the room — one of our housemates waving him over. He glanced in that direction, lips twitching faintly.

“I should probably pretend to tolerate their company a bit longer,” he said, sighing dramatically. “Lest anyone suspect I’ve actually got a heart under all this.”

I smirked. “Wouldn’t want to ruin your carefully crafted reputation.”

He leaned in slightly, voice low near my ear. “But after… want to meet me by the lake? After dinner?”

I met his gaze, heart thudding. “You’re sure you can brave the cold?”

“For you? Every bloody time.”

I couldn’t stop the smile spreading across my face. “Then I’ll see you there.”

Reluctantly, Draco gave my hand one final squeeze beneath the table before pulling away, straightening his scarf with practiced ease. His usual cool mask slid back into place — but now, there was something softer beneath it. Something only I would see.

As he rose and drifted off toward his friends, I let out a slow breath, fingers brushing the rim of my butterbeer.

The warmth of the fire couldn’t quite match the warmth that still lingered in my chest.

Merlin help me, I thought. I’m completely gone for him.

And somehow… I didn’t mind one bit.

[rubiedmoon]

A Little Nudge in the Right Direction

It was a Hogsmeade weekend, and The Three Broomsticks was packed. Students crowded around tables, coats damp from the light snow outside, cheeks flushed with cold and conversation. Laughter rang out from the far end of the room, where most of Gryffindor house had gathered, and Madam Rosmerta was weaving between tables with trays of steaming butterbeer.

YN YLN sat in her usual spot — the far corner table near the fireplace, close enough to feel the warmth but far enough from the noise to hear herself think. Her butterbeer was warm in her hands, the rim of her mug fogging her glasses slightly as she took slow sips. A book lay open on the table in front of her, its pages gently curling at the edges from the pub’s thick, humid air and possibly the fact it was the third time she was reading that particular book.

She didn’t look up when someone slid into the seat across from her — not until the sound of a heavy sigh broke her focus. Her eyes lifted from the page.

Ron Weasley.

She blinked, surprised. She knew that Harry and Hermione were seated across the room. So the last person she expected to see join her was Ron — especially not with that look on his face.

“You alright?” she asked, quietly setting her book aside.

Ron crossed his arms over the table and scowled into his untouched butterbeer. “Fine.”

YN gave him a look — patient, unbothered, knowing. The kind that said, You can do better than that.

Ron groaned. “Alright, not fine.”

She waited, not pressing, just giving him the space to continue.

“Oh come on,” he muttered finally, glaring at the foam in his drink like it had personally betrayed him. “He put his name in the Goblet.”

YN blinked once. “No, he didn’t.”

“He had to have,” Ron snapped. “His name came out, didn’t it? He’s in the tournament.”

YN leaned back slightly, her fingers wrapping around the mug. “That doesn’t mean he put it in himself. Besides, Dumbledore drew that age line himself and the goblet was charmed to not let underage names come out. There’s no reason his should have flown out.”

Ron scoffed. “You sound like Hermione.”

“Well we’re usually right.”

“That’s not the point,” he mumbled. “He didn’t even tell me. We tell each other everything, and now he’s just—just what? Off being a bloody champion without even thinking about what that means?”

YN’s expression softened. “Or maybe he didn’t tell you because there was nothing to tell.”

For a moment, Ron didn’t answer. The noise of the pub seemed to press in around them — clinking mugs, bursts of laughter, chairs scraping against the floor.

“He’s my best mate,” Ron murmured. “I just… I thought we were in everything together.”

YN gave a quiet nod, letting the warmth of the butterbeer fill the pause.

“You still are,” she said. “You’re just not in this together. But that doesn’t mean he wanted it that way. You know Harry. He didn’t want this. If you would have just looked at him you could see it in his face, just like I did.”

Ron was quiet again, jaw working, brow furrowed. Then finally, his voice came low and raw.

Then he glanced over at Harry and Hermione, still seated across the pub, their faces low in quiet conversation. There was a space at their table — not huge, but enough.

“I hate when you make sense,” he muttered.

YN smirked, pulling her book back toward her. “That’s why you come sit with me when you don’t know what to think.”

Ron rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitched.

She reopened her book with a small glance at him. “You can sit here as long as you want,” she added. “But you know where you should be sitting.”

Ron let out another breath, then pushed back his chair. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

He stood slowly, lifting his butterbeer with him. For a moment, it looked like he might say more — but then he simply nodded in thanks and turned toward his friends.

YN watched as he crossed the room, his steps hesitant at first, then steadier. When he reached Harry and Hermione, neither of them hesitated. Harry’s eyes lit up, Hermione smiled, and they scooted to make room.

And just like that, the space wasn’t there anymore.

YN turned back to her book, her smile small but certain.

—-------------

The castle was quieter after Hogsmeade visits, like it had taken a long, deep breath after a day full of student noise and now simply… exhaled. The corridors echoed with the sound of footsteps trailing toward common rooms, the occasional burst of laughter, and the low murmurs of those trying to finish last-minute homework in tucked-away corners.

YN had claimed one such corner near the end of the second-floor corridor — the one with the arched window that overlooked the lake. It was dim and quiet, save for the sound of her quill scratching softly against parchment. Her Defense Against the Dark Arts notes lay half-organized in front of her, but her focus wasn’t entirely there. Not really. But it didn’t need to be, she already knew the material.

But the sound of hesitant footsteps made her pause.

She looked up.

Ron stood at the end of the corridor, one hand shoved awkwardly in his robe pocket, the other clutching something she couldn’t quite see. He looked like he’d been walking in circles for the last ten minutes trying to decide if he really wanted to come here.

YN raised an eyebrow, the barest hint of amusement on her face. “Are you lost, Ron?”

The Weasley boy huffed, rubbing the back of his neck. “No. Well—kind of. Not really.”

She set her quill down and gave him her full attention.

“I just…” He trailed off, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “I wanted to say thanks.”

YN blinked, then smiled softly. “For the butterbeer?”

“For being right,” he muttered.

She tilted her head, a spark of teasing in her expression. “Can you say that again? Louder?”

He groaned. “Don’t push it.”

YN chuckled, folding her arms. “Alright. Go on then. Let’s hear it.”

Ron exhaled through his nose, but his tone was lighter now. “You were right. About Harry. About everything. I was being stupid.”

“That’s generous,” she said dryly.

He laughed under his breath, looking at the floor, then back up at her. “Okay, fine — I was being a massive idiot.”

Her brows lifted. “Better.”

“But I fixed it,” Ron added quickly. “I sat down with them. Said sorry. Well—sort of. We didn’t do the whole, you know, emotional talk thing. But I think he got it. Harry, I mean. Hermione definitely got it.”

YN smiled again, this time smaller. “I saw.”

Ron looked down at what he’d been holding — a folded piece of parchment — and extended it toward her. She took it, brow furrowed.

“What is this?”

He shrugged. “It’s not a thank-you note. I’m not that sappy. It’s a list.”

“A list?”

“Of the ten most ridiculous things I’ve said this week,” Ron said, lips twitching into a grin. “So next time I act like a prat, you can remind me of item number four. Or eight. That one’s especially bad.”

YN unfolded the parchment and read the first line: 1. Assumed my best friend betrayed me without even asking him about it.

Her eyes flicked up to meet his. “You really wrote these?”

Ron nodded. “Figured it’s the least I could do. You always say things that make me think, and I… don’t really do that on my own.”

“That,” YN said, shaking her head with a laugh, “is the most Ron thing I’ve ever heard.”

He looked sheepish, but proud. “Well. You’ve got the brains. I’ve got the charm.”

She raised a brow. “You’ve got something, alright.”

He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck again, a faint flush rising in his cheeks. “Anyway, I meant what I said. You’re a good friend. One of the best.”

Her smile softened. “So are you. Well when you want to be at least.” 

They stood there a moment longer, the silence between them comfortable. Finally, YN folded the list and tucked it into her bag.

“You want to walk back with me?” she asked, gathering her notes. 

Ron shrugged casually. “Yeah, alright.”

She smirked as they began walking side by side. 

As their footsteps echoed down the corridor, YN felt that same quiet certainty she’d felt at The Three Broomsticks — the knowledge that while Ron Weasley might not always get it right on the first try… he always found his way back in the end.

And that mattered more than anything.

[rubiedmoon]

Where the Light Fades

Camelot had changed.

I had changed.

Somehow, the stones felt colder, the corridors darker. Every face that greeted me carried the same solemn edge—the lingering weight of Morgana’s betrayal, the creeping shadow of our father’s illness and the mindset he now endured her actions had put him in. The kingdom felt as though it held its breath, uncertain and grieving.

And I was no different.

My sword was heavier in my hand now, my armor tighter across my chest. I could command armies and make speeches, stand firm before my knights, but in truth, it took every ounce of strength I possessed just to stand upright.

But of all my struggles, none was greater than seeing my sister hurt.

YN—my younger sister by only a matter of minutes, yet somehow eternally softer, eternally wiser—bore the burden of this grief in silence. Or tried to, at least.

Every evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, bathing the castle in fading golden light, she met me outside our father’s chambers. I waited for her every day, without fail.

Today was no different.

YN approached slowly, the soft rustle of her gown marking her arrival. The rich fabric, deep sapphire this evening, trailed gently behind her. Her hair was pulled back, curls framing a face too pale from worry and too quiet from heartache. But still, she wore the gown proudly, as if its very elegance could chase away the sadness that haunted our halls.

“You look beautiful,” I said softly, words meant to ease the ache. They were not idle praise. She truly did look wonderful. Our father would have thought so, too.

She smiled faintly, though the sadness never quite left her eyes. “Thank you, Arthur. Do you think he’ll notice?”

I swallowed against the sudden tightness in my throat. “He will. In his own way.”

She nodded, pressing her lips into a thin line. Her composure was always fragile here, and I knew each night took something from her—something I wished I could restore.

We stepped inside together, shoulder to shoulder as we approached our father’s chair. He was still, his breathing shallow. His face was pale. Once proud and strong, now he seemed so small beneath the weight of his blanket that laid upon his lap, so utterly unlike the father we’d always known.

“Father,” YN spoke quietly, kneeling beside the chair, taking his hand in her own. Her voice shook slightly, but her determination held firm. “You should have seen the market today.” She said trying to keep the light tone she would have normally had during their dinner conversation. Though I could tell it was harder for her to do so. “I spoke to the baker a bit while I was picking up some honey puffs for Guinevere and I to snack on while we looked around; he sends his regards. Oh and the seamstress gave me a new embroidery pattern—I’ll show you once I’ve mastered it. It’s a little more intricate than I’m used to but she seems to think I’ll get the gist of it in no time at all. Seems like her confidence in me could rival yours.”

Her voice wavered again. I placed my hand gently on her shoulder, lending what strength I had.

She continued softly, her words trembling now. “Leon says I’m improving in my bowing skills. Maybe soon I’ll outshoot even Arthur on the morning hunts.”

I forced a soft chuckle, hoping the sound might somehow encourage her. But when she glanced up at me, tears already tracking down her cheeks, my heart fractured anew.

She turned back to Father who now looked over at her with a blank look in his eyes, brushing her fingertips across his pale knuckles. “Do you like my gown?” she whispered, voice breaking now as she looked down at the dress she was wearing. “I finished it last night after our talk. Gwen said it has to be the best one I have done thus far.”

I squeezed her shoulder gently. “I was just thinking the same,” I confessed to her quietly. “You’ve done beautifully.”

She lifted her eyes again, looking at me through her tears. “I believe you just as much as I believed her. The red one I did before this one has much more detail and the seams aren’t rigid.” She said with the best giggle she could manage.

“I much prefer this one though.” I admit as I brush a loose piece of curled hair from her face. “It speaks more of the everyday you and not the princess.”

She drew a deep, steadying breath, squeezing our father’s hand once more before gently releasing it. Standing slowly, she turned to me, allowing herself to lean into my embrace.

“We should get you to bed.” I said, kissing the top of her head. “It’s late.”

YN nodded before turning back towards our father, who sat there looking at the two of us with the same blankness as before. She leaned down and placed a gentle kiss to his cheek, just as she had done every night. “We’ll see you tomorrow, father.”

We stood there a long moment, the quiet weight of grief shared between us. Then, gently, I guided her toward the door. Tomorrow, we would return again. And she would tell him another story, share another piece of her life—another hope, another triumph—just as she always had.

The heavy wooden door closed behind us with a soft, somber thud. The corridor beyond felt colder after the close stillness of our father’s chambers. The torches lining the stone walls flickered gently, casting long shadows across YN’s tired features.

Gwen and Merlin waited just beyond the threshold, standing in quiet respect. 

Gwen’s expression immediately shifted to concern as her eyes landed on YN, whose hand still gripped mine tightly, her face streaked with drying tears. She approached with gentle urgency, skirts whispering across the floor as she reached for my sister.

“Oh, YN,” she said softly, wrapping her arms around her without hesitation.

YN melted into the embrace with a deep exhale, the kind that only came from exhaustion too deep for words.

“I’ve drawn a warm bath and laid out your nightdress,” Gwen murmured into her hair, brushing her fingers gently along her shoulder. “Let me help you unwind, hmm?”

YN nodded, not trusting her voice. 

Gwen glanced toward me, offering a subtle nod—she would see to her. I gave a grateful incline of my head in return.

As Gwen led her gently down the corridor toward her chambers, their voices drifted low—a promise of warm tea, soft linens, and at least a few peaceful hours of sleep.

I remained there a moment longer, watching them go.

“That was hard to watch,” Merlin said quietly beside me. I hadn’t even heard him step up, but I wasn’t surprised. 

“She tries to be strong,” I replied, voice lower than I’d intended. “For him. For me. For everyone. But it’s wearing her down.”

Merlin nodded slowly, his expression somber. “She’s doing more than anyone expects. No one would fault her for staying away, but instead… she’s there. Every night.”

I swallowed, the knot tightening again in my chest. “Because that’s who she is.”

“She’s stronger than she looks,” Merlin said gently, casting a glance down the hallway where Gwen and YN had disappeared. “But then, I think you already know that.”

“I do,” I admitted softly. “But even strength like hers can break and that's what worries me,” I looked at him then, brow drawn. “I just hope she doesn’t break before... before this is over.”

Merlin’s gaze softened. “She won’t.” He offered a faint smile. “Not while you’re here for her. And not while she has Gwen—and me too, if it counts for anything.”

A tired smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. “It counts.”

He clapped a hand lightly to my shoulder, a reassuring weight. “Come. You need rest too. Camelot needs you whole.”

I nodded, though my gaze lingered once more toward the direction of her chambers. “In a moment.”

Merlin gave me a knowing look but didn’t press, turning to head back toward my chambers.

I remained alone in the corridor for another minute, the cold stone beneath my boots, the torches burning quietly around me.

Tomorrow would come, and with it, more burdens to bear.

[rubiedmoon]

Princess in the Gardens

There were few places in Camelot as quiet and timeless as the castle gardens. Nestled just beyond the stone walls, they were a retreat from the noise of court life—untouched by politics, war, or whispers of treason. Just sunlight, soft wind, and the gentle rustling of leaves.

It was here that Princess YN Pendragon spent most of her time.

Though a twin to the newly crowned King Arthur, YN couldn’t have been more different in spirit. Where Arthur bore the weight of the kingdom on his shoulders, YN carried the light of it in her smile. Sweet-hearted, endlessly curious, and sharp as a blade when it came to wit or wisdom, she was adored by the people—and quietly watched by more than one knight who passed through the castle gates.

Especially one in particular.

Sir Gwaine had never been the type to be impressed by royalty. Titles bored him. Formality annoyed him. He found more honesty in a tavern brawl than in a council chamber.

But YN?

YN was different.

He saw her one afternoon, seated on a low stone bench beneath a flowering tree, the sunlight catching in her golden braid. A book lay open in her lap, though she wasn’t reading. Instead, she spoke softly to a gardener about crop rotation and soil composition—terms Gwaine had heard thrown about once or twice, but never truly understood. The gardener, a man twice her age, nodded along with something like awe in his eyes.

Gwaine leaned against a pillar, arms crossed, watching from a distance.

“I think you might be staring,” came a voice at his shoulder.

Merlin. Of course.

“I am not,” Gwaine replied without looking away. “I’m... observing.”

“Right. Observing YN like she is the only being in the world.”

Gwaine pushed off the pillar. “I just don’t get how someone like her even exists in a place like this. All the danger, all the lies… and there she is, out there talking to the groundskeeper about plants like they’re poetry all while a book of dangerous magical creatures lay on her lap.”

“Those conversations are like poetry to her,” Merlin said thoughtfully. “She’s always been that way. Quiet brilliance. Arthur says she used to recite battle strategies at age nine and then cry if someone stepped on a bee.”

That made Gwaine snort. “Of course she did.”

He watched her a moment longer before walking forward, not with the swagger he normally wore but with something softer. She looked up as he approached, her expression brightening immediately.

“Sir Gwaine,” she greeted, seemingly bypassing the fact that her brother’s manservant was standing there with him, rising from her bench with the kind of grace only someone raised among nobility could manage. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Came to enjoy the peacefulness of the gardens,” he said, speaking on instinct if nothing else. “The harshness of the training field can only be combatted with the serenity of this lovely area.”

YN laughed—a soft, lovely sound that always seemed to catch Gwaine off guard.

“I wouldn’t have expected that much of you,” she said, folding her hands in front of her, “I mean from what I remember, you were a reckless rogue. A sword for hire. But here I am to think you’re half as scandalous as the memories seem to paint you.”

“Give me time,” Gwaine grinned. “I am quite sure that I will undoubtedly serve your memory correctly.”

YN tilted her head. “How much time do you think I will have to give you before that happend?”

“Depends. How do you not know I’ve already done something of the sort. Another question being, how many garden visits do I get before you start to catch on?”

She smiled again, but there was no blush, no flutter. Just warmth. The easy kind of fondness that came not from flirtation—but from familiarity. From comfort.

“You’re always welcome here, Gwaine,” she said. “There’s more to learn in these gardens than most people realize. Even for a rogue with a banned tavern list a thousand paces long such as yourself. ”

Gwaine looked around, then back at her. “You think a man like me can learn something from flowers?”

“I think,” she said, meeting his gaze with quiet certainty, “that a man like you already has. Just by stopping to notice them.”

And for once, Gwaine had no clever reply.

They sat beneath the tree after that, her book and Merlin long forgotten, his sword resting beside him in the grass. The breeze carried the scent of lavender and old stone. He told her tales of his travels—half of them true, half of them wildly embellished—and she listened, laughing easily, eyes bright.

The afternoon stretched slowly, gently, as if the gardens themselves had decided to hold time at bay just for the two of them. YN’s laughter blended softly with the rustle of leaves, the songs of birds in the branches above becoming the backdrop to Gwaine’s stories.

She listened intently, chin resting thoughtfully in her palm, eyes flickering with amusement and intrigue as he described encounters with highwaymen and adventures through distant kingdoms. He found himself embellishing less and less as the minutes passed. Something about her steady gaze—the sincerity in it—pulled the truth from him in a way no tavern companion ever had.

“And that,” Gwaine finished, leaning back against the trunk of the tree, “is why the tavern in Arrondale banned me for life. Twice.”

YN shook her head, suppressing another quiet laugh. “The fact that they felt the need to ban you twice says quite a bit, Gwaine.”

He smiled, easy and real. “Ah, but the fact that they welcomed me back after the first banning says even more, does it not?”

She considered this, eyes twinkling. “Perhaps. Or perhaps it says something about your ability to charm people into forgiving you—even when they shouldn’t.”

“I’d say it’s a useful skill,” he replied lightly. “Has kept me alive this long.”

She looked at him closely, expression shifting to something deeper, more curious. “And is that why you made your way to Camelot, then? When the charm no longer worked you just moved your way onward?”

Gwaine paused, realizing the honesty she had pulled from him moments ago was still holding fast. “Maybe at first,” he admitted. “But there was something about this place that kept me from straying far when I left. Something worth staying for.”

Her expression softened even further. “Arthur?”

“Arthur, Merlin, you,” Gwaine nodded. “Even the ridiculous rules of this place grew on me somehow. I came here seeking freedom, but what I found was… something better. Belonging.”

She smiled gently, turning her gaze out across the garden. “I understand. Camelot has a way of claiming people’s hearts, even those who don’t expect it.”

“And you?” he asked softly, shifting so he faced her fully. “Do you feel claimed?”

YN’s gaze drifted back, thoughtful. “No. Not at all. And though I wish to never feel that way, I do not know much of the outside world outside of the kingdom other than that I can find in the numerous books and scrolls in the palace library. I was born to this place, to these walls and gardens. I’ve never known another home. But I suppose I never truly understood it until recently. Not until my father died and Arthur took the throne. He needs someone who understands this kingdom’s people as well as its ruler. Someone who sees it clearly. Someone who can help guide him guide his kingdom into eternity instead of ruin. Not that I would think him left to his own would burn Camelot to the ground. If it wasn’t for him there would have been a good many instances where our Father would have done just that.”

Gwaine tilted his head, eyes warm with admiration. “And who better to stand beside him than you?”

“Perhaps,” she murmured. “Though I admit, there are times I envy the freedom you had when I first met you. The ability to go where you please, do what you wish. Even if it does get you banned from taverns.”

He laughed lightly. “Well, if you ever fancy an adventure, Princess, I could easily show you a few places. Taverns excluded, of course.”

YN smiled. “I think I’d like that.”

They fell silent again, contentment settling between them like the warmth of the afternoon sun. For a while, neither moved nor spoke, just watched the gardens shift in color and shadow as daylight gradually softened to dusk.

It wasn’t until the bells rang softly in the distance that YN sighed, glancing toward the castle. “It seems our time is up. Arthur will be expecting us for council.”

Gwaine rose, offering his hand to help her stand. When her fingers curled around his, he felt a quiet jolt of something rare and comforting—something that had nothing to do with charm or taverns, and everything to do with her quiet strength and gentle spirit.

“Then let us go together,” he said quietly.

She nodded, her smile warm, sincere. “Thank you.”

Together, they left the gardens behind, footsteps echoing softly along the stone path back toward the castle—two souls, each carrying something more from their time beneath the flowering tree than either had expected.

[rubiedmoon]

A Champion’s Promise

The Great Hall buzzed with a strange, electric energy—equal parts awe and confusion—as Cedric stood beside the Goblet of Fire, his name still echoing in everyone's ears. He looked composed, maybe even proud, but YN YLN could see the flicker of surprise behind his steady smile.

From her seat at the Slytherin table, she hadn’t cheered like the rest of them. Not because she wasn’t proud. Not because she didn’t believe in him. But because, deep down, something felt off.

And when Harry Potter’s name came out next—when the room erupted into disbelief and Dumbledore called for both boys to follow him—YN was already on her feet, slipping silently from the bench and into the shadows lining the corridor.

She didn’t wait. She knew where they’d go—down to the antechamber off the Great Hall to speak with the Headmasters. And she knew the hidden corridor that would let her slip in through the back—one she’d used a dozen times before when she needed space, silence, or solitude.

This time, she just needed him.

She waited in the cool, narrow passage, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve as muffled voices filtered through the stone. Dumbledore. Karkaroff. Even Madame Maxime’s low murmur. Then Harry’s voice, uncertain and defensive. And Cedric’s—quiet, calm, but confused.

She waited until the door finally creaked open and the champions began to file out.

And then she moved.

“Cedric.”

Her voice was soft, but he heard it. Of course he did.

He turned instantly, eyes scanning the dim hallway until they landed on her, half-tucked behind the tapestry that veiled the hidden passage. He blinked once, then smiled—gentle, real.

“YNN?”

“Come here.”

He didn’t hesitate. He stepped inside, ducking slightly beneath the low arch as she pulled the tapestry closed behind him. In the sudden quiet, the sounds of the corridors faded into distant echoes.

They stood close—closer than they usually allowed themselves to in public. Slytherin and Hufflepuff weren’t sworn enemies, but they weren’t exactly expected to find each other the way the two of them had.

“I had a feeling you’d be waiting,” Cedric said quietly, his expression softening as he looked at her.

“I was.” Her voice was quieter now, thick with something she wasn’t sure how to name.

He tilted his head. “You’re upset.”

“Not upset, worried,” she corrected, eyes searching his. “Cedric, this is serious. You’re in the tournament.”

He nodded. “I know.”

“No—you don’t. Not really. I’ve read the history. I’ve read the accounts of the last tournament. Cedric, people died.”

His brow furrowed slightly, and his hand reached out to brush against her sleeve, grounding her. “YN… I didn’t put my name in to be reckless. I didn’t think my name would even come out.”

“But now it has. And you have to compete. You’re bound—”

“I know,” he said gently. “I don’t have a choice. But I can promise you I’m not walking into this blindly. I’ll be careful. I’ll be prepared.”

She looked down at his hand on hers, then back up at him, her throat tightening. “You can’t promise me that. You can’t promise you’ll come out of every task okay. You can’t promise you won’t—”

He reached out and cupped her cheek then, not to silence her, but to steady her. “YNN,” he said softly, thumb brushing her cheekbone, “I’m not afraid. I’m nervous, sure. But I want to do this. Not for glory, not for fame—but because I believe I can. And I want you to believe that too.”

Her breath caught.

“I do believe in you,” she whispered. “That’s the problem. I believe in you so much it scares me.”

His eyes softened even more, and he leaned his forehead against hers. “Then don’t let it scare you. Let it remind you that I have something worth fighting through this for.”

She nodded, swallowing hard. “You better write to me after every task.”

That was something they did. It wasn’t everyday they could sneak away and talk about what had happened. So they would write to each other. It wasn’t much but it was enough to get them both through most days.

“I’ll do you one better,” he said, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes with that warm, steady certainty that was so him. “I’ll come find you. Every time. No matter what.”

YN let herself smile, though it trembled at the edges. “You’d better.”

He smiled, then, more earnest than before. “You’ll be there? At the first task?”

“Of course,” she said, gripping his hand a little tighter. “Front row. Hexing anyone who dares doubt you. The first and every one that follows.”

That drew a soft laugh from him. “I knew I could count on you.”

He leaned in then, forehead resting against hers for the briefest of moments. No grand displays—just quiet understanding.

For a moment, they stood there in the dim passageway, breathing the same cool air, the world beyond the tapestry forgotten. The warmth of Cedric’s hand in hers, the other resting on her cheek, his steady presence so close — it settled something in YN. Not completely, but enough. Enough to keep her fear from swallowing her whole.

He squeezed her fingers gently before pulling back just a little, his eyes searching hers. “We should probably get to our common rooms,” he said softly. “Before someone notices we’re missing.”

She nodded, though part of her didn’t want to let go just yet.

He seemed to read the thought on her face, his thumb brushing lightly over her knuckles. “YNN… I’ll be alright.”

She drew a slow breath. “You’d better be.” Her throat tightened. “I won’t forgive you if you’re not.”

That earned a soft chuckle from him — quiet and knowing. “Well, I wouldn’t want that on my conscience.”

Finally, she let out a reluctant sigh and stepped back, smoothing her robes and tugging the sleeve of his into place — a familiar gesture, one she did without thinking.

“Go on, champion,” she said, trying for lightness though her voice wasn’t as steady as she wished. “Before I lose my nerve and lock you in here for your own good.”

He grinned — that real, brilliant smile that always made her heart flutter, no matter how she tried to guard it. “I’d almost let you.”

For one dizzy moment, it seemed like he might lean in closer — like he might actually kiss her — but then the sharp echo of footsteps sounded down the corridor, and the moment slipped away.

He brushed his fingers over hers one last time before stepping past the tapestry, back into the light of the castle.

YN waited a few beats before following — a few steps behind, eyes low, breath steadying. She wasn’t sure when her heart would stop pounding.

Later, when she slipped back into the Slytherin common room, her face was cool, unreadable. No one questioned where she had been — they never did. And when she finally settled in her usual quiet corner by the fire, she pulled a small bit of parchment from her bag.

I’ll see you out there, my champion, she scribbled quickly, folding it into one of their familiar, coded notes.

A faint smile touched her lips — one of those small, secret smiles that only Cedric ever managed to pull from her. With a gentle pet of her owl’s head, she sent him off the note toward the Hufflepuff dorms.

Then, in the hush of the common room, the castle around her settling into sleep, YN leaned back against her chair and closed her eyes for just a brief moment before heading down to her dorm room.

[rubiedmoon]

Let No Harm Come

Most in the castle would say Camelot was safe. The knights patrolled the kingdom. Arthur ruled with fairness. Justice held firm.

But even I’ve lived amongst its borders long enough to know—shadows still linger. Danger finds its way through cracks no wall can hold. And not everyone beneath the banners of Camelot lives in the glow of the court.

She certainly didn’t.

Of common blood, born and raised in the lower town. Her family had been merchants once, but after the fever took her mother, it was just her now. No title, no coin, no claim. Invisible to most within these stone walls.

But not to me.

I saw her.

I don’t know why it began—only that one day, walking the market, I heard her voice. Bright, clear, carrying comfort as she spoke with an elderly woman selling herbs. The way the townsfolk looked at her—respectful, fond—caught my notice.

She mattered to them.

So I learned her name. YN. And from that moment, I always looked for her. In the square, in the narrow lanes of the lower town. A quiet figure moving with purpose, sleeves rolled, hair often in disarray, arms full of baskets or bread.

We’d never spoken. Not properly. A nod here, a glance there. That was all.

Until the day she came running.

It was late afternoon, the sun hanging low behind the turrets. I had just left the training grounds, steps quiet in the long corridors, when I heard it—shouts, fast footsteps on stone.

I turned—and there she was.

YN.

Tearing up the stairs toward the great hall, hair loose, dress torn at the shoulder, dirt streaked across her arms. Her breath came in panicked gasps, her eyes wide with something deeper than fear.

“Help! Please—someone—”

I didn’t hesitate.

“YN!” I called, striding forward. “What’s happened?”

She stopped at the sound of her name, eyes locking on mine. For the briefest moment, recognition flickered—relief. Then the panic surged again.

“I—there was a man—in the alley near the baker’s,” she stammered. “He followed me—grabbed me—” Her voice broke, her hands trembling at her sides.

No one else had moved yet. The guards at the doors only stared, slow to react. They didn’t know her. To them, she was just a girl in torn skirts.

But not to me.

I stepped beside her, placing a steady hand on her shoulder. “You’re safe now. Come with me.”

She nodded, chest still heaving, and I guided her swiftly through the corridors. Past the great hall. Past the curious stares. Straight toward the physician’s chambers.

“Gaius,” I called as we entered.

The old man rose from his work at once, Merlin following close behind.

“What—?” Gaius began, eyes falling on YN. His gaze sharpened. “Child, what’s happened?”

Before she could answer, her legs gave out beneath her. I caught her before she could fall, easing her carefully onto the bench near the hearth.

Merlin was already moving, fetching water, his usual joking manner replaced with quiet urgency.

“She was attacked,” I said, voice low but steady. “Near the baker’s quarter.”

Gaius knelt beside her, gentle hands checking for injury. “You’re safe here. You need not fear now.”

YN clutched the cup Merlin pressed into her hands, still shaking.

“Thank you,” she whispered. Her gaze lifted to mine, eyes wet but clear. “Thank you… Mordred.”

Hearing my name from her lips struck something deep in my chest. I never knew she knew of me like i knew of her.

I only nodded.

“You are safe now,” I said quietly. “I’ll make sure of it.”

And I meant it.

The quiet hum of Gaius’s chambers settled around us—herbs hanging from beams, the faint scent of lavender and sage mixing with the sharper tang of salves. YN’s breathing had begun to steady, though her fingers still trembled slightly around the cup in her hands.

Merlin hovered nearby, a crease between his brows. Gaius worked gently, inspecting a thin red scrape along her forearm where the rough edge of fabric had torn the skin. Putting salve on them if needed.

I stood guard near the doorway. I didn’t trust that the man—whoever he was—would simply disappear into the shadows after this. And if he was still out there... he wouldn’t get another chance.

Footsteps echoed down the hall. Fast. Purposeful.

Arthur.

He entered a moment later, cloak swirling behind him, his expression already tense. His sharp gaze swept the room, landing first on me—then on YN.

“Mordred,” he said curtly. “I heard there was trouble.”

“There was,” I answered evenly. “She was attacked in the lower town.”

Arthur’s brow knit as he approached. To his credit, there was no dismissal in his eyes when he looked at her—just concern. Though she wasn’t noble, and the majority of court would barely give her a second glance, Arthur was not Uther. He had spent enough time among the people to know them.

And by the looks of what was happening before me, YN was one of those people he cared to know.

“YN,” he said, voice quieter now. “Are you hurt?”

She swallowed and shook her head. “Mostly... shaken.”

Gaius spoke up. “A few scrapes. No worse, thankfully. But this was not something she should have had to endure.”

Arthur nodded grimly. “I am aware. Leon and Gwaine are looking for the man as we speak. Lady Helena saw everything and luckily enough, followed YN when she took off. He’ll be caught by nightfall.”

I stepped forward then, voice low. “I’ll help.”

Arthur glanced at me, considering—then nodded once. “Good. I trust your eyes more than most.”

YN’s gaze lifted to Arthur’s, steadier now. “Thank you... Your Majesty.”

Arthur’s expression softened. “There is no thanks owed. You did right to come here. You’ll remain in the castle until this man is caught. Mordred, see to it that you get with Lady Helena for the description then take the west side of the lower town. Leon should be working the east and Gwaine the south.”

I inclined my head. “I will.”

“You are safe here,” Arthur told her again, a rare gentleness in his tone. “No harm will come to you under this roof.”

Something eased in her posture at that—a small, visible breath of relief.

And then he was gone, cloak trailing behind him as quickly as he’d come.

For a long moment after, the room was still. The tension of the encounter hung in the air—unspoken, heavy.

I glanced to YN. She caught my eye and gave a faint, tired smile.

She opened her mouth to say something, but Gaius pressed another warm cup of liquid into her hands. “Drink more,” he instructed gently. “And rest your voice. The king has given orders—there is nothing more you need do now.”

I turned to Merlin. “You’ll stay with her?”

Merlin nodded at once, his usual grin absent. “Of course. You go. Do what needs doing.”

I hesitated for only a moment—torn, strangely, between the duty Arthur had given me and this… this new, unfamiliar pull to stay by her side until she was steady on her feet again. 

I crouched beside her, careful not to startle her. “YN,” I said quietly. She looked at me, the weight in her gaze belying the weariness in her limbs. “I will find him.”

She searched my eyes for a breath—perhaps to see if I meant it. And something must have eased there, because she nodded.

“I know you will,” she whispered.

The words lit a fierce resolve in my chest.

Without another moment wasted, I stood and strode toward the door, my hand briefly clasping Merlin’s shoulder as I passed.

As I moved through the corridors, steps quick but deliberate, I let my mind clear—focus narrowing. The guards had been alerted. The lower town was likely swarming by now. But a man desperate enough to attack in daylight would know the shadows well.

I found Lady Helena with Arthur in the war room—her face pale but determined as she described what she’d seen. Her words were swift, clear: tall, broad, scars on his left hand, a ragged leather jerkin.

She told of the way she looked upon as YN struggled against his hold and the way he had thrown her to the cobblestone street.

I committed every detail to memory, my blood heating with quiet purpose.

And as I descended the stair, sword at my side, one thought pulsed steady through my mind—not born of duty, nor of training.

Born of her.

He will not touch her again.

[rubiedmoon]

A Quiet Kind of Love

If someone had told me, in first year, that I would willingly meet Draco Malfoy behind the greenhouses after dinner one evening... I would’ve laughed in their face. Loudly.

And yet—here I was. Boots crunching against the gravel path, scarf pulled tight against the chill, heart hammering somewhere entirely too high in my throat.

I spotted him immediately. He always had a way of standing out, even in the half-light—leaning against the stone wall like he didn’t have a care in the world, silver-blond hair catching the last of the sun, hands in the pockets of his cloak.

“YN,” he drawled when he saw me. His mouth curved, not quite a smirk this time—something softer. “You came.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” I said, hugging my arms to my chest. “You’re the one who left the note.”

He pushed off the wall and crossed toward me, steps easy. “True. But I wasn’t sure if you’d actually read it.”

I tilted my head. “You charmed it into my Transfiguration book. It was hard not to.”

Draco smirked. “Creative, wasn’t I?”

“Arrogant is more so what I would call it.”

“Only because it works. I mean, come on, YNN, you spend most of your day with your nose buried in that specific book like it will give you all the answers.”

I tried to hold back a smile—and failed. Merlin help me, he always knew how to chip away at my walls. It was infuriating. And... something else. Something that made me keep showing up like this when no one was watching.

“It does since Transfiguration is the one subject I just can’t get a handle on,” I said, brushing snow off the edge of the stone bench. “But why the mysterious note this time?”

He sat beside me, closer than I expected, the brush of his cloak against mine making my breath hitch slightly. “Do I need a reason?”

I shot him a look. “Considering the way you have acted most of the week? Yes.”

He exhaled a soft laugh, tilting his head back to look at the dusky sky. “That’s for appearances. You know that.”

“I know,” I said quietly. “It still gets old.”

His gaze slid back to me, more serious now. “That’s why we meet here so we don’t have to keep up the act.”

For a moment, neither of us spoke. I could hear the faint murmur of voices from the castle behind us, the distant hoot of an owl overhead. The air between us felt thin, charged.

“I hate pretending,” I admitted before I could stop myself. “Acting like this doesn’t matter. Acting like you don’t matter. Bickering back and forth all day like your typical stereotypes.”

His expression softened in a way I rarely saw, the arrogance stripped back, just for me. “Me too,” he said quietly. “But you know how it is. If my father ever found out about this… It’s easier to keep the masks on.”

I looked down at my gloved hands. “It shouldn’t have to be.”

A beat. Then: “No,” he agreed. “It shouldn’t.”

The warmth of his hand brushed over mine, tentative at first. Testing. When I didn’t pull away, his fingers laced through mine—cold from the evening air, but somehow steady.

And just like that, the tension eased. Not gone. Never gone. But lessened—like we were both breathing easier now that we weren’t wearing the masks and had each other.

He didn’t say anything after that. He just let our joined hands rest between us, like it was something we’d done a thousand times instead of… twice, maybe three? I couldn’t remember. I was too busy trying to ignore the way my heartbeat seemed to echo through the quiet space between us.

Draco Malfoy—smug, sharp-tongued, always-ready-with-a-sneer Draco Malfoy—was silent. And in that silence, there was something unexpectedly gentle.

I turned to him slowly, my eyes catching the faintest trace of unease behind his cool mask.

“This is real for you too, right?” I asked softly.

His gaze met mine instantly. “Of course it is.”

The way he said it—firm, no hesitation—made something twist in my chest.

“But we still pretend,” I said, voice low, not accusing. Just... stating what hung between us. “In the hallways. In class. Even when we pass in the library, you act like I’m just another measly half-blood you can’t be bothered with.”

He looked down at our hands. “It’s easier that way.”

I let out a breath, not quite a sigh. “Easier for who? You? Me? Or for the people who expect us to hate each other?”

His jaw tightened. He didn’t like that. “It’s not about hate. You know that. It’s about survival. You think my father would let me live if he knew I actually loved the Gryffindor girl who keeps correcting me in D.A.D.A. and quotes McGonagall like it’s gospel?”

I blinked. “Loved?”

His eyes widened slightly—just a flicker—but it was enough to make him flinch. “I mean—”

“No, you said it,” I interrupted, and this time, I couldn’t stop the smile tugging at my lips. “You love me.”

Draco groaned, dragging his free hand over his face. “Bloody hell.”

“Relax,” I said softly, leaning in just a little, so close now. “If it makes you feel better... I love you too.”

His hand froze, falling away from his face, and for a moment, he just stared—like the words had knocked the air out of him.

“You do?” he breathed, barely more than a whisper now.

I shrugged lightly, though my heart was thundering. “Unfortunately.”

That startled a real laugh out of him—low, breathless, rough in a way I wasn’t used to hearing from him. The sound sent a shiver through me.

“You’re impossible,” he murmured, gaze locked on mine now.

“And you’re insufferable,” I whispered back.

But before I could say anything more, he was already moving—closing the last of the space between us, one hand lifting to brush a strand of hair back from my cheek. His touch was gentle, almost reverent.

He leaned in, slow enough that I could stop him, but I didn’t. I tilted up to meet him halfway.

When his lips touched mine, it wasn’t rushed or fierce—it was soft, aching, full of everything we hadn’t been able to say out loud. A quiet promise in the dim light of the empty room.

When we finally parted, barely inches between us, he whispered, “Tell me you’ll keep meeting me.”

I smiled—this time fully, without hesitation. “As long as you keep leaving notes in my books,” I whispered back, brushing my thumb lightly over his knuckles, “I’ll keep showing up.”

He exhaled a breath he’d been holding and pressed his forehead to mine, voice soft and certain.

“Deal.”

The sky had dimmed fully now, stars beginning to scatter across the velvet dark above the greenhouses. We sat like that for a while longer, quiet but not awkward, hands still twined, cloaks touching, breath fogging the air between us.

The kind of stillness that felt sacred.

And when I finally stood and he walked me back toward the castle—just close enough not to be suspicious—I couldn’t help but glance over at him.

He didn’t look like the Draco Malfoy the rest of the world knew. Not tonight. Not with the starlight in his eyes and that rare softness still lingering in his features.

No masks. No walls.

Just Draco.

And me.

[rubiedmoon]

A Place in Camelot

You know, if anyone had told me I’d end up calling Camelot “home,” I’d have laughed in their face. Loudly. Maybe even bought them a drink for the joke. 

Yet here I am—knight of the realm, favored drinking companion of none other than King Arthur himself, and more surprisingly, still alive. 

But the biggest surprise of all wasn’t the dragon symbolled on my tunic or the sword at my hip. No, that came one morning when the castle gates swung open and she came walking through like the years hadn’t passed. 

YN. 

My sister. 

It had been... gods, how long? Six years? Maybe more. The last I’d seen her was the day I’d ridden off, too stubborn and too wild to stay in the same place any longer. She was just a slip of a thing then—sharp-tongued, clever-eyed, already too good for the life we led. 

I had thought of her more than I’d admit. Wondered where she was. If she was safe. If she hated me for leaving. 

And there she was now. Hair braided down her back, pale blue cloak a little worn and dingy from travel, chin lifted as if daring anyone to ask what business she had in Camelot. 

I was halfway down the steps before I even realized I’d moved. 

“YNN?” 

She turned—and just like that, time folded in on itself. Same stormy eyes. Same wry little tilt of her mouth. 

“Well, well,” she said. “Didn’t think they’d let our kind wear a knight’s cloak.” 

I laughed—because of course she’d greet me like that. “Didn’t think you’d risk setting foot in a place like this. Castle grounds were never your thing, if I recall.” 

She stepped closer, arms crossed. “I heard rumor of a reckless, arrogant knight named Gwaine raising hell in Camelot. Figured it couldn’t be anyone but you and had to come see for myself.” 

“Ah, so you missed me.” 

YN’s smirk softened, and for a moment, the teasing fell away. “Of course I did, you fool.” 

And then her arms were around me, tight and fierce, and I returned the hug without hesitation. Saints, I’d forgotten how small she was against me. And yet she was solid. Stronger than before. 

We stood like that for a moment, the noise of the courtyard fading around us. 

When she finally pulled back, her eyes were shining. “I didn't know if I would truly find you here. But I had to try, nonetheless. If you were here then I thought maybe you had truly found where you needed to be, so I had to try to do that myself.” 

“You’ll find that here just as I did,” I promised, resting a hand on her shoulder. “But to find it, you must stay. No more running.” 

She arched a brow. “And since when did you stop running, brother?” 

“Since I had something worth staying for.” I grinned. “And now—you are to be part of that.” 

Just then, Merlin came trotting up, breathless and wide-eyed. “Gwaine! Arthur wants you in the training yard—” He stopped short when he saw her. “Oh. Hello.” 

I clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Merlin, meet my sister. The smarter one of the family if I must admit.” 

YN offered a hand. “YN.” 

Merlin shook it, blinking. “You have a sister?” 

“Indeed. And, if her reputation is still intact, now your life is about to become much more interesting,” I said, grinning wide. 

Merlin gave me a long-suffering look. “As if it wasn’t already.” 

YN just laughed, and for the first time in years, the sound of it made me feel like a part of me had finally come home. 

“Come on,” I said, tossing an arm casually around YN’s shoulders and steering her toward the training yard. “Let’s introduce you to the rest of Camelot’s finest. Well, those who aren’t me, at least.” 

Merlin rolled his eyes but followed along, clearly intrigued. “Arthur really is waiting, Gwaine.” 

“Yes, yes, I’m sure he is. But he'll forgive me once he meets this one, I assure you.” I replied, squeezing my sister slightly. 

YN elbowed me lightly in the ribs. “Careful. You might oversell me.” 

I chuckled, nudging her back. “Impossible. Besides, if they can tolerate my presence on a daily, you’ll be welcomed like royalty.” 

She made a face. “Let’s not go that far.” 

As we crossed into the training yard, the familiar clatter of swords and shields filled the air. Arthur stood at the far end, arms crossed, frowning slightly as he watched Leon and Percival spar. He turned at the sound of our approach, brows lifting when he saw YN at my side. 

“Arthur,” I called cheerfully, nudging YN forward, “meet my sister, YN. YNN, this overly serious looking man is Arthur Pendragon, king of Camelot.” 

YN inclined her head politely, though there was still a gleam of playful defiance in her gaze. “Your Majesty.” 

Arthur tilted his head slightly, looking between us with an amused curiosity. “Sister? The one you have told me about?” 

“Yes, the exact one,” I answered. “Though I do believe that you will find her more so enjoyable than what I supposed I have told you.” 

Arthur’s mouth quirked into a faint smile. “Considering that she hasn’t to stir an uproar in the local pub yet, I would say that wouldn’t be terribly difficult.” 

YN smothered a laugh behind her hand. “I think you might have failed to mention that, dear brother.” 

Merlin snorted loudly, prompting an amused look from Arthur as well, which only made Merlin grin wider. 

“A story for another time I suppose.” I said with a playful smile.  

The King leans forward towards her. “If he fails to tell you, seek me out. I quite enjoy telling the story myself.” 

The sound of her sweet laugh warmed my heart as she nodded to Arthur’s confession. “I will keep that in mind, sire.” 

Leon and Percival paused in their training, watching with clear interest. Leon approached first, nodding politely to YN. “Welcome to Camelot.” 

Percival, towering above us all, offered a warm smile. “Any sibling of Gwaine is welcome here.” 

YN glanced at me, eyebrows raised. “Do you bribe them to speak highly of you, brother, or do they simply pity you?” 

“I’ll have you know it’s entirely genuine affection,” I retorted. “Mostly.” 

Leon chuckled softly, giving YN an approving look. “If that and his stories of you are any indication, you clearly got all the brains.” 

She smirked and playfully shrugged. “Someone had to.” 

Arthur cleared his throat, pretending to be impatient but failing to hide his amusement. “If you’re quite finished introducing us all, we do have drills to run.” 

YN stepped back, clearly content to watch, and I reluctantly took my place in the line of knights preparing to spar. 

As we readied our swords, Arthur gave YN a sidelong glance. “Are you planning to stay in Camelot for a time, YN?” 

She tilted her head thoughtfully. “I am. Though how long remains to be seen.” 

“Well,” Arthur replied, gesturing toward me with a teasing edge, “if the relaxed mannerism of your brother tells anything, it might be wise to make your stay here more of a permanent one. Perhaps you can even keep him out of trouble.” 

YN laughed warmly. “I’ve learned throughout our lives not to promise miracles, Your Majesty. Especially that one in particular.” 

Arthur’s grin widened slightly. “Wise choice.” 

Percival leaned toward me, speaking low enough for only me to hear. “I think your sister just became Arthur’s favorite.” 

“Not surprising,” I replied, chest filling with an unexpected pride as I watched YN—standing confidently at the edge of our world, as though she’d always belonged there. “She’s always been mine.”

[rubiedmoon]

Warm Mugs, Cold Streets

The Three Broomsticks was warm and crowded, filled with the hum of voices and the clatter of mugs against tables. Outside, snow drifted in slow spirals through the gray afternoon light, piling along the edges of the cobbled streets. Inside, my fingers were finally starting to thaw. 

I blew into my palms and rubbed them together, glancing around the packed room. Students from every house were tucked into corners or clustered at tables, cheeks pink from the cold. Hogsmeade weekends were always like this—half the school piling in to escape the wind. 

“Oi! YN!” 

I turned just in time to catch a blur of red hair weaving through the crowd. George Weasley plopped down across from me at the little round table by the window, snow still dusting his shoulders, a grin stretched wide across his face. 

“You look like a frozen Puffskein,” I said, amused. 

“You should see Fred,” he grinned. “Tripped over a snowbank trying to impress Angelina. I think he’s still buried in it.” 

I laughed and shook my head. “You two are going to freeze yourselves for the sake of showing off one of these days.” 

He shrugged, unbothered. “Worth it.” 

Madam Rosmerta passed by and George flagged her down with an easy smile. “Two warm butterbeers, please.” 

“You didn’t have to do that,” I said. 

George leaned back in his chair, arms folded. “It’s tradition, isn’t it? Whenever I see you here—one butterbeer on me. Can’t have my favorite Ravenclaw freezing to death.” 

I rolled my eyes but smiled. “You’re impossible.” 

“And you’re predictable,” he teased. “Always tucked into some corner with a book. Even though the book seems to be missing today, you’re still tucked away.” 

“That’s because someone needs to pass their exams.” 

George smirked. “Rubbish. You’ve got the highest marks in our year. You could skip half the exams and still beat us all.” 

I shrugged, cheeks warming slightly. I wasn’t used to the attention, and George knew that—teasing me had become one of his favorite pastimes. But it was never mean. It was easy with him, comfortable. We’d been friends since first year, ever since he and Fred pulled me out of a trick stair I’d gotten stuck in. The castle had never quite been the same since. 

Moments later, the butterbeers arrived, steaming and golden. I wrapped both hands around the mug, the warmth seeping into my chilled fingers. 

George watched me for a second, thoughtful now. “You alright? You’ve looked a bit… worn out lately.” 

I glanced out the window, watching the snow swirl. “Just a lot on my mind, I guess. O.W.L.s coming up. Prefect duties. Trying to avoid whatever mischief you and Fred are planning for Filch next since I always seem to walk right into it.” 

He laughed. “Fair. You do have the worst timing for patrols, you know.” 

“Maybe I’m just that good.” 

George raised his mug in salute. “To being that good.” 

I tapped mine lightly against his, the faint clink lost in the noise of the room. For a moment, we just sat in companionable silence—watching the snow, sipping butterbeer, tucked away from the world. 

George drummed his fingers against the side of his mug, eyes flicking toward the window where flakes were starting to fall thicker now. 

“Might be a rough walk back,” he said. “Good thing you’ve got me as your loyal bodyguard.” 

I arched a brow. “Bodyguard, is it?” 

He nodded solemnly, though the grin tugging at his mouth ruined the attempt at seriousness. “Absolutely. The paths are treacherous this time of year. Slippery. Dangerous. Full of first-years chucking snowballs.” 

I laughed softly. “Well then. I’m honored.” 

He gave a mock bow from his chair. “All part of the service.” 

We fell into an easy rhythm again—talking about nothing and everything. About how McGonagall had been particularly sharp in Transfiguration that week. About the new batch of joke products he and Fred were testing (I wisely avoided asking for details). About how absolutely unfair it was that Ravenclaw’s common room had that perfect view of the lake while the Gryffindor tower barely saw anything but sky. 

It was like that with George—easy. He never pressed, never demanded. Just let the conversation drift where it wanted to, filling the space without trying to force it. That’s what I liked most about being around him. 

By the time the butterbeers were nearly gone and the lamps in the Three Broomsticks burned lower, I realized the snow outside had thickened even more. The street beyond the fogged windows was a swirl of white now, students already beginning to bundle up and hurry back toward the castle. 

George noticed too. “Guess that’s our cue.” 

I nodded, tugging on my scarf and gathering my things. George shrugged on his cloak, then offered a hand to help me with mine—something he always did, no fanfare. Just quiet, thoughtful George. 

We stepped out into the cold together. The wind bit at my cheeks, sharp and bright, but with George at my side, somehow it didn’t feel so bad. 

The path was slick, as he’d predicted, the stone steps half-buried under fresh snow. He offered me an arm with an exaggerated flourish. 

“Miss YLN,” he said in his best over-the-top voice. “Permit me.” 

I couldn’t help but laugh, looping my arm through his. “If you insist.” 

“I do,” he replied, eyes twinkling. “If I allowed you to slip and fall, I would never be able to forgive myself.” 

We made our way up the winding path, snow crunching beneath our boots, breath misting in the cold air. The lights of the castle glowed faintly through the storm ahead, a beacon against the gray sky. 

As we walked, George’s voice softened just a little. “Y’know... if you ever need to not think about... well... anything really, you can always come seek out Fred and I. We’ll keep your mind off of whatever it is.” 

I glanced at him, heart warming despite the cold. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

“Good,” he said, giving my arm a light squeeze. “Because you’re no fun when you’re stressed.” 

I let out a small giggle. “Noted.” 

By the time we reached the castle steps, my fingers were frozen, my nose was red, and my cheeks ached from smiling more than I had in weeks. 

George opened the heavy door with a dramatic bow. “Your chariot, milady.” 

“Thank you, good sir.” 

He followed me inside, shaking the snow from his hair, grinning that crooked grin of his. And for one perfect, ordinary moment, I felt lighter again—like maybe this winter wasn’t so cold after all. 

[rubiedmoon]

The Other Potter

If anyone had ever dared ask, they would have been told that YN Snape was simply Professor Snape’s daughter.  And no one dared ask. 

She carried his name, his signature dark hair, and the same intense quiet that made people think twice before speaking too loudly in her presence. So no one questioned it. Not the teachers, not the students, not even the portraits that lined the halls of Hogwarts. 

It was easier that way. 

What no one knew—what no one could know—was that YN Snape had not always been a Snape. 

She had been born a Potter. 

Just like him. 

But while the world celebrated Harry Potter—the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, the Gryffindor golden child—YN had lived a quieter fate. 

Professor Snape had taken her in as a baby, tucked her into a quiet corner of Spinner’s End, and raised her not just with discipline and structure, but something else entirely. Something gentler. Something Harry never got: love. 

He’d never lied to her. From the time she was old enough to understand, he told her the truth. About her name. About her brother. About Lily.  But still, she bore his name. And she wore it with pride. 

Now a first-year Slytherin, YN sat in the middle of Charms class, her robes neatly pressed, her books stacked with meticulous care, wand in hand. She was quiet—always quiet—but her presence commanded respect in that rare way intelligence sometimes did. 

Next to her sat Draco Malfoy, her closest friend. He’d appointed himself her protector early on, long before their acceptance letters had ever come. Other than her father, the Malfoys had been her only constant growing up.  

But not even they didn’t know her secret. No one did. 

Not even Harry. 

The only ones to truly know what happened that night were Severus, Dumbledor, McGonagall and herself. 

She had seen him, of course. Her brother. The moment he stepped into the Great Hall and was sorted into Gryffindor, she’d known him instantly. He looked like her, even if it was just slightly. But it was the eyes that made her breath catch. Lily’s eyes. Their mother’s eyes.  Just like hers. 

Today, Professor Flitwick had rearranged the seating for the day. Why? Anyone could guess but it wouldn’t make them correct. It seemed like a small thing—hardly worth noting—but it was the first time YN found herself with Harry Potter on her left. But Draco still faithfully on her right. No one would ever dare change that. 

She didn’t flinch when Harry sat beside her. But she noticed how his shoulders stiffened, how he glanced at her with that subtle confusion—as if he was trying to place her, but couldn’t. 

Beside him, Ron Weasley slumped into the seat, already muttering under his breath. 

Draco sneered at the arrangement. “Bit crowded on that side of the table, isn’t it? Hopefully you lot don’t break anything trying to levitate a feather.” 

YN shot him a look—sharp, quiet, efficient. “Draco.” 

It was only a name, only one word, but it was enough. He leaned back with a dramatic sigh and said nothing more. 

Harry was struggling.  They all were, really. 

The spell was simple enough—Wingardium Leviosa—but Harry’s wand kept flicking awkwardly, and the feather remained stubbornly still. 

YN watched him from the corner of her eye, fingers twirling her own wand with thoughtful precision. He was trying so hard. That same little crease between his brows that she sometimes saw in the mirror when she studied. 

Finally, she leaned in. Just slightly. Just enough so that only he could hear. 

“You’re flicking too hard,” she said quietly, her voice calm and even. “It’s more of a gentle swish. Like this.” 

She demonstrated with her own wand—graceful, effortless—and the feather lifted neatly into the air without so much as a hesitation. 

Harry blinked. “Thanks,” he said, watching her. 

She nodded, not smiling. “Try again. But slower.” 

Ron looked between them suspiciously, clearly thrown by her helping a Gryffindor but said nothing. 

Harry tried again. This time, the feather gave a tiny lift off the desk. Not much. But enough. 

He lit up. “Did you see that?” he said, turning toward Ron, then glancing back at her. “I actually got it!” 

She gave the faintest nod of approval. “Better. Do it again but with more confidence in your voice and it will be more than a subtle life and drop.” 

And then she went back to her book as if it meant nothing at all. 

But inside, it did. 

--------------- 

After lunch, YN didn’t follow the tide of first-years heading toward the dungeons with nervous chatter and rumbling stomachs. She didn’t need to. Her route was second nature by now, every shadowed hallway and worn stone step etched into memory like the lines in her father’s grim expressions. 

She slipped through the heavy classroom door just before the others would arrive, a silent wisp of black robes and quiet purpose, and made her way into her father’s adjoining office without knocking. She never had to knock. 

Inside, it was cool and still, lit only by the soft flicker of enchanted lanterns that hung low from the arched ceiling. The scent of crushed valerian root, musty parchment, and aged wood clung to the air—familiar, comforting. Shelves of bottled ingredients lined the walls, each one labeled in her father’s sharp, meticulous handwriting. The desk in the center, dark and organized, bore no personal touches save for a single framed photo of her as a toddler, sound asleep with a children’s book open on her chest. 

She eased into her usual seat tucked into the far corner, setting her bag down without a sound. This wasn’t unusual. It was how she always preferred Potions—alone, focused, ahead. While her peers struggled with instructions and cauldrons in the classroom next door, YN was given her own pace. Her own stillness. Her father checked in periodically, just to be sure she was comfortable, that she was engaged with what he was teaching the rest. And she always was. 

Today’s lesson was a simple Infusion of Wormwood. She had brewed it multiple times already and had no interest in wasting the time on another. She finished the infusion quickly then pulled out her Transfiguration text and turned to next week’s chapter, quill poised and notes already halfway started before the rest of the class had even uncorked their potions kits. 

She didn’t look up when the door creaked open. She knew it wasn’t her father—he never creaked. His entrances were always a glide, a presence felt more than heard. 

“Er... hello?” 

The voice made her glance up. 

Harry stood awkwardly in the doorway, clutching a small piece of parchment in one hand and looking around the room like it might try to bite him. She blinked once and then quietly returned her gaze to her notes. 

He hesitated. “Um. Professor Snape sent me to get powdered moonstone. He wrote down exactly where it is but…” He glanced helplessly at the jars lining the walls. “I think he speaks in riddles or something.” 

YN didn’t sigh. She didn’t scoff. She didn’t even pause long enough for him to feel embarrassed. 

She simply rose, stepped around the desk, and crossed the room with practiced ease. 

“Top shelf, fourth cabinet, back row, third jar from the left,” she said smoothly. 

Harry looked up at the cabinet—one of the taller ones—and then at her, expression slightly skeptical. “That specific, huh?” 

She pulled the stool from beneath the shelves, climbed up with the grace of someone who had done this many times, and retrieved the correct jar. A soft tap of her wand removed the protective charm on the latch, and then she hopped down and handed it to him without a word. 

He stared at it, blinking. “You really did just… know exactly where it was.” 

“I know where everything in this office is, Harry,” she said simply. 

Harry opened his mouth like he wanted to ask something else—but thought better of it. His eyes flicked over her again, more curious now than confused. “Thanks… again.” 

She gave a small nod and turned back toward her desk. 

Harry lingered a moment longer, eyes shifting from her to the shelves, to the quiet hum of the room that seemed different from the rest of the castle. Calmer. He seemed on the edge of saying something more—but whatever it was, it died before it reached his lips. 

“Right. Well. I’ll, uh… go bring this back,” he mumbled. 

And then he was gone. 

YN returned to her book. But her quill didn’t move. 

Instead, she sat still for a long moment, staring at the page but not reading it. 

She had just resumed writing when the door to the office opened with its usual, nearly soundless glide. There was no need to look up—YN knew the cadence of those steps, the soft rustle of robes, the faint hum of magic that always seemed to follow him in. 

Professor Snape  entered the room with the same quiet authority that made most students sit up straighter or forget how to breathe properly. But YN remained still, steady. 

His gaze swept the space, as it always did, but it lingered on her first. It always did. He wouldn’t say it aloud—he never did—but there was an almost imperceptible check-in in the way his eyes flicked to her desk, her posture, the open book before her. Not hovering. Simply aware. 

“You’re already past this week’s material,” he remarked, voice low and even—not a question, a confirmation. 

YN gave a small nod, tapping her quill lightly against the page. “I’m reviewing Professor McGonagall’s notes for next week’s Transfiguration lesson.” 

His eyes narrowed slightly, though not in disapproval. It was more thoughtful, as though cataloguing her progress. “And your infusion?” 

“Completed,” she answered smoothly. “Cooled and stored in the second cupboard, labeled and sealed.” 

There was a pause—brief, familiar. The kind of silence that often passed between them when he was deciding whether to speak further or let the moment pass. 

“I trust your solitude has not been interrupted?” he asked at last, voice carrying the faintest edge of another meaning beneath the surface. 

She hesitated only a moment—not because she meant to conceal anything, but because she wasn’t entirely sure how to place the moment herself. 

“Potter came looking for powdered moonstone,” she said, voice calm. Her eyes didn’t leave the page. “He couldn’t find it. So, I took a moment to help him.” 

Snape remained silent for a long breath. Then: “I sent him with a detailed description.” 

“He didn’t understand it.” Her gaze flicked up, meeting his. Calm. Certain. “Said he thinks you write in riddles.” 

He studied her for a beat. That silence never unnerved her. He had always been this way—even when she was young. Others found it unsettling. She found it comforting. 

He nodded, almost to himself, and stepped farther into the room. His hand brushed the corner of the parchment nearest her, straightening it by a fraction—a small gesture, meaningless to anyone else, but she recognized it for what it was. A quiet expression of care. Of presence. 

“I’ll have the others clear up in the final ten minutes,” he said after a moment. “You may stay here and continue your work. Minerva said you had already turned in all assignments for her this week, so you needn’t waste your time in there today.” 

She nodded once in gratitude. He expected no more. 

But at the door, he paused—his back still to her. 

“You did well,” he said quietly. “Guiding him.” 

For a moment, YN’s breath caught—the warmth of his praise settled deep within her chest. 

“Thank you,” she said softly. 

Snape nodded once and swept from the room, black robes trailing behind him like the retreat of a shadow. 

[rubiedmoon]

More Than a Lady

Being the sister of a knight of Camelot wasn’t always what it was cracked up to be.  You’d think it would be all admiration and respect—envy, even. And while there was some of that… there was also the weight of expectation. 

Everyone assumed I should behave a certain way. Walk with my chin just so, wear silk instead of linen, sit at feasts and bat my lashes at noblemen with fat coin purses. They wanted me to fit the mold. A proper lady of the court. 

But that wasn’t me.  It never had been. 

I was a free spirit, always had been. My brother, Leon, knew that better than anyone. He’d been the one to teach me how to string a bow. How to track a stag through the woods. He never stopped me when I followed him and Prince Arthur on their hunts—if anything, I think they enjoyed my company more than half the noble knights who showed up trying to impress the prince. 

King Uther himself had once seen me sparring in the yard with the others. Rather than disapprove, he’d surprised us all by acknowledging my skill aloud—and more than once, had asked for my presence at council meetings. To “observe,” as he put it. But the looks he would often point my way as if asking of what I thought, would tell otherwise. Nonetheless, it was no small gesture and everyone knew that.  

Of course, that only raised the expectations around me. Higher than most ladies at court, in fact. Because I didn’t act like them. I didn’t glide through the halls in gowns of velvet and brocade. I didn’t flatter noblemen or compete for favor. 

And truthfully, I was fine with that. Morgana seemed to understand. Gwen too. The three of us had found an odd sort of friendship in that way—we didn’t quite fit, so we fit together. 

It was one such afternoon, the three of us strolling the corridors of the castle, when it happened. 

We’d just rounded the north wing, laughter still soft between us, when voices drifted ahead. Familiar ones. 

I stopped in my tracks.  Leon’s voice. 

But he wasn’t alone. A woman’s voice—light, melodic, laced with practiced sweetness. I didn’t recognize her at first. 

“…it’s just rather unbecoming, don’t you think?” the woman was saying. “For a lady of standing to run about with the knights like… some common girl.” 

Gwen shot me a look. Morgana arched a brow. 

I stepped quietly toward the curve of the stone wall, pressing close. The others followed. We could see nothing—only hear. 

“She is my sister,” Leon replied, tone cool but polite. “I would ask you to mind your words.” 

“Oh, but I meant no offense!” the woman insisted—though it was clear she meant exactly what she’d said. “It’s simply... well, everyone talks, you know. It reflects poorly. A young woman ought to know her place.” 

There was a pause. The kind of pause that comes when my brother’s temper is being very carefully reined in. 

“She knows her place,” Leon said at last, voice steady but sharp as steel. “That being right where she is. Make no mistake about that. If the King himself can acknowledge that than so should everyone else. And if the court’s whispers trouble you so deeply, perhaps you would do better to busy yourself elsewhere. YN is worth ten of any court gossip. And if you were to ask me, if there would be more women like herself, than it would not be so off putting to the rest of them at court. If anything, I find it as a sort of jealousy amongst the others of you. Keeping to the expectations of those who have come before you and not daring to challenge the traditions of them. She has done just that and instead of the women of the court following that of her march, you decide to fall back and let whispers flow like it is something she should be ashamed of when in the most of reality she should be anything but. And she is. Which is why that nerves you all so much.” 

I blinked, warmth blooming in my chest despite myself.  Morgana grinned. Gwen covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. 

We lingered only a moment longer before Morgana seized my hand, tugging me gently back the way we’d come. 

“Well,” she said once we were out of earshot, eyes dancing with mischief, “it seems your brother thinks rather highly of you.” 

“He always has,” I replied with a shrug, though my heart was lighter than it had been moments before. 

“I should hope so,” Gwen added warmly. “You deserve nothing less.” 

I smoothed my skirts, shaking off any trace of the eavesdropping warmth still coloring my cheeks. Morgana’s sly grin didn’t fade—if anything, it sharpened—and Gwen gave my arm a small, encouraging squeeze. 

“Shall we?” Morgana asked, voice light with mischief. 

“We shall,” I replied, lifting my chin. “Like proper ladies of the court.” 

That earned a soft laugh from both of them. Together, we turned and strolled back the way we’d come, this time with purpose—straight toward the voices we’d just been listening to. 

Leon and the woman came into view as we rounded the corner, the noblewoman still standing a little too close to my brother, fluttering her lashes with practiced sweetness. Leon looked vaguely exasperated—though, to his credit, still the perfect knight. 

I caught his eye first. A flicker of surprise crossed his face, quickly smothered under that calm, polished composure of his. Morgana and Gwen flanked me on either side, both looking the very picture of innocent courtly grace. The woman turned at the sound of our approaching footsteps, her smile faltering when she saw us. 

I let no sign of what we’d overheard show on my face. Just smiled—pleasant, warm, entirely unaffected. 

“Brother,” I greeted with cheerful ease. “I didn’t expect to find you here.” 

Leon gave a short bow of his head. “YN. Lady Morgana. Gwen.” His gaze lingered on me, just a fraction longer than necessary—a shared understanding. “Out enjoying the afternoon?” 

“We were,” Morgana replied smoothly. “And you?” 

Leon’s mouth quirked slightly. “Enduring it, in a manner of speaking.” 

The woman, recovering her poise, dipped a shallow curtsy toward us all. “Lady YN,” she said, voice all honeyed politeness now. “How charming to see you.” The glimmer in her eyes, though, was anything but charming. 

I returned her smile with one of my own. “And you, my lady. I do hope you’re finding the company of my brother to your liking.” 

There was an unmistakable tension beneath those words—a subtle dance of courtly edges. Morgana’s amusement was barely concealed. Gwen, always the peacemaker, offered a gentler smile that seemed to diffuse some of the strain. 

“Well,” I continued breezily, turning my gaze back to Leon, “we were about to walk the down to the lower market. You both are more than welcome to join us.” 

Leon, with the barest glance toward the now-slightly-flustered noblewoman, nodded. “I would be glad to.” 

The woman hesitated, as if weighing her chances of salvaging whatever conversation she’d been trying to spin. But after a breath, she dipped another curtsy. “Perhaps another time. Good day to you all.” 

And with that, she turned and drifted away down the corridor, her steps just a touch quicker than before. 

As soon as she was out of earshot, Morgana let out a quiet, wicked little laugh. “I do believe you’ve won that round, YN.” 

“It wasn’t a game,” I replied, though my smile betrayed me. 

Leon looked at me then, his gaze full of brotherly warmth. “You heard.” 

I gave him an innocent look. “Heard what?” 

He shook his head, though the faintest smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You’re impossible.” 

“And you’re too good to me,” I murmured, slipping my arm through his. “Thank you.” 

“Always,” he replied simply. 

We strolled on, the four of us—Morgana with her knowing smirk, Gwen with her soft grace, Leon at my side. And for the first time in a while, I felt lighter. Stronger. As though no expectation—not from the court, nor its whispering tongues—could truly touch me. 

[rubiedmoon]

Where Magic Breathes

There are few places in Camelot where one can truly breathe.

Not within the stone walls of the castle, where eyes are always watching, and certainly not within the city streets, thick with whispers of fear and superstition. For those of us born with magic—real, dangerous magic as King Uther would have it—it is a life of caution. A life of silence.

I learned that lesson young. Gaius, my father, made sure of it.  "Never draw attention, YN," he’d warned me countless times. "A careless spark could cost you everything."

And so I did as he asked. For years, I buried that part of myself. Smiled when spoken to, worked quietly in the physician’s chambers. A dutiful daughter. A careful girl.

But the magic... it never left. And it never would.

That is why, when the sun stretched low in the sky and most of Camelot’s folk had turned to their supper, I would slip away. Past the market stalls, through the east gate, and into the woods where no patrols ventured.

The forest beyond the walls was old. Wild. And mercifully empty of prying eyes.

It was the only place where I could be me.

I remember this particular evening well. The air was thick with summer warmth, the leaves whispering secrets to one another high above. I stood in the small glade I’d claimed as my own, palms outstretched, feeling the hum of life beneath my skin.

A breath in.

A breath out.

The petals of a wildflower began to tremble. Slowly—oh so slowly—it lifted from the earth, floating weightless in the air. A second joined it, then another, until a soft ring of color spun around me like a tiny, fragrant dance.

I laughed quietly, the sound light and free.

A sharp rustle drew my attention to the edge of the trees. I froze, magic dimming instinctively. My heart thundered in my chest. But then—

“Don’t stop on my account.”

Merlin.

He emerged from the shadows, arms crossed, a tired but amused look on his face.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. “You shouldn’t sneak up like that.”

He shrugged, stepping into the clearing. “It’s hardly sneaking when you always seem to know when I'm here. Well, I supposed, this time being the exception.” His grin softened. “Besides, I like watching you work.”

I arched a brow. “You mean when you aren’t running after Arthur or scrubbing the floors of the council chamber?”

Merlin groaned dramatically. “Don’t remind me. I’ve spent the entire afternoon polishing armor. You’d think I was the only servant in the entire castle.”

I laughed then—genuine, unguarded. Merlin always had that effect on me. Of all people in Camelot, he was the only one who truly understood. The only one I didn’t have to hide from.

After all… he was like me.

Born with magic. Burdened by it.

“Come here,” I said softly, reaching for his hand. “You look exhausted.”

He hesitated a moment—Merlin never did like admitting when he was worn thin—but finally stepped close. I took his roughened hand in mine and let my magic pulse faintly, soothing the ache in his tired muscles. His shoulders eased, breath slowing.

“That’s cheating,” he murmured, though his eyes were warm with gratitude.

I smirked. “Call it what you will. But if it helps, you have no need to complain.”

For a while we stood there, saying little. The glade was quiet except for the distant rustle of leaves and the faint chirp of birds settling for the night.

“You’re getting stronger,” Merlin said after a time, watching as I coaxed a sprig of ivy to curl up a nearby branch.

“So are you,” I replied. “Though you never let yourself just be here. Not really. I mean we are alone here, Merlin. You are more than welcome to let your magic flow free here.”

He gave a wry smile. “Sometimes it’s hard to forget what’s at stake.”

I nodded, my gaze drifting upward toward the fading light. “One day… perhaps it won’t be like this. One day we won’t have to hide. I hoping it will be like that when Arthur takes the thrown.”

Merlin’s expression turned thoughtful. He looked at me then—not as someone he just lives and works with—but as an equal.

“One day,” he agreed softly.

And though we both knew that day was still far off, standing there together beneath the ancient trees… it didn’t feel quite so impossible.

The last of the sunlight slipped behind the canopy, casting the glade into soft twilight. The wildflowers drifted gently to the earth, the spell fading like a lullaby’s last note. Above us, the first stars blinked through the deepening blue, scattered like tiny hopes across the sky.

I glanced toward Merlin, who was already watching the heavens. His face was softer in the low light, the tension that usually framed his brow eased for once. But even here, in this sacred quiet, I could feel the moment closing. The world would come calling again, as it always did.

“It’s getting late,” I murmured.

He nodded. “Gaius will be wondering where we are.”

I smirked. “He’ll say he’s not. That he trusts us. Then proceed to scold us for letting supper go cold.”

Merlin chuckled. “Sounds about right.”

We gathered our things in silence, the path back well-worn by now, our feet moving in time. The forest shifted around us, no longer wild but familiar—an old friend whose secrets we’d learned to respect.

When the castle walls came into view through the trees, I felt my chest tighten with the weight of the return. The stone. The silence. The masks we wore.

But Merlin reached for my hand, and I let him.

We slipped through the east gate and wound our way back through the courtyard, passing guards with smiles and slight nods of our heads to each other. By now they had grown accustomed to seeing us out at this time. They never questioned anymore. Which I was always grateful for.

The physician’s chambers were warm when we stepped inside. A low fire crackled in the hearth, casting golden light across the familiar shelves of dried herbs, parchment scrolls, and clinking glass. The smell of thyme and boiled potatoes hung in the air.

And there, standing at the table with his back to us, was father.

Without turning, he said, “I trust the stars were worth missing the first call for supper.”

Merlin and I exchanged a look. I bit my lip to keep from laughing.

“They were quite brilliant tonight,” I offered, stepping further inside. “Always so bright this time of year.”

Gaius turned then, eyes narrowing, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward ever so slightly. “And I trust neither of you did anything foolish while admiring them?”

“Define foolish,” Merlin said as he dropped into a chair, reaching for a hunk of bread.

“Anything that might end with you being chased by guards or banned from the castle kitchens—again,” Gaius replied dryly, ladling stew into bowls.

Merlin held up his hands. “No such chaos this evening. I swear it.”

“And you?” Gaius looked at me.

“I was careful,” I said honestly, taking the seat across from Merlin. “As I always am.”

He set the bowls in front of us, his gaze lingering on mine for a moment longer. There was worry in his eyes—there always was—but also something softer. Pride, maybe. Or the quiet kind of love that didn’t need words.

“Well,” he said, settling into his own seat, “eat before it grows cold.”

We did. The warmth of the food seeped into our bones, chased away the chill of the forest and the thoughts that often followed us home. We spoke little, but that was alright. It was enough to simply be here, safe. Together.

Later, when the fire had burned low and the castle slept around us, I would lie awake in the little cot up  in the loft where I preferred to be, listening to my father’s soft breathing down below.

And I would think—not of fear. Not of hiding.

But of ivy that listened, of stars that waited.

And of a future that still had hope in it.

[rubiedmoon]

Where We Begin Anew

It had been a long day of drills in the training yard, the sun still lingering high but casting that hazy gold that made the stones of Camelot seem softer. My arms ached from sparring, my shoulders heavy with the pride and weight that came with wearing the red cloak of a Knight of Camelot.

A title I’d never thought to hold. Not truly.

And yet—here I was.

Arthur had seen something in me I had not dared to hope for. And in return, I had sworn my sword, my loyalty, my very life to him and this kingdom.

I should have been thinking of that as I walked down through the lower town. I should have been thinking of the drills ahead, of the threats to Camelot, of the life I had now.

But one cannot always choose the thoughts that come unbidden.

It happened in a single breath—one step, one glance down a narrow lane—and my world shifted.

There, weaving through the crowded street with the grace and surety I remembered all too well, was a figure I had not seen in years.

A young woman, basket in one hand, her dark hair braided and looped behind her head, a familiar stubborn tilt to her chin.

YN.

My sister.

She was older now—of course she was. The child I had left behind had grown into a young woman. And yet the sight of her stole the very air from my lungs.

I stopped in the street, too stunned to speak. Too stunned to move.

She was walking toward the castle, her pace purposeful.

What in the name of the gods was she doing here? In Camelot?

I took a step forward—then another—then quickened my stride until I reached her side.

“YN,” I breathed, my voice low with disbelief.

She turned, startled at first, but then her eyes widened. Recognition bloomed across her face like sunrise after a long night.

“Lancelot?” Her voice caught, soft with shock, then steadied. “Is it truly you?”

I nodded, still unable to believe it myself. “By all the stars… how are you here?”

Her gaze flicked over me—taking in the cloak, the crest, the sword at my hip. A faint smile touched her lips.

“You wear the colors of Camelot now,” she said softly. “A Knight. I had heard rumors… but I never thought—”

“And I never thought I would find you here,” I said, voice rough with all the emotion pressing behind my ribs. “I thought you were still in Eldryn. With Master Halwen.”

Her smile faltered for a breath. “Much has changed.”

I looked at her—truly looked. The same fierce spirit burned in her eyes, but there was more now. A quiet strength. A weight she hadn’t carried before.

“How long have you been in Camelot?” I asked.

“Only just arrived. Came looking for something new but I found you.” Her chin lifted a fraction, as if daring me to judge her for it.

But all I felt was shame.

Shame for leaving her behind. For thinking she’d stay that young girl in my memory.

I shook my head. “I should have come back sooner. I should have found you.”

Her expression softened. “You went to make your way in the world, Lancelot. You did what you had to. And look at you now.”

She smiled again—wider this time. Warmer.

“Though, I must say…” she added, teasing, “you could have written.”

I laughed, the sound raw but real. “I deserve that.”

And gods, I wanted to say so much more. To tell her how much I had missed her. How often I had thought of her face when the nights grew long on the road.

But I only said, “Will you… will you let me walk with you? There’s so much I wish to know.”

YN’s smile brightened. She slipped her arm through mine, like no time had passed at all.

“I was hoping you’d ask.”

We walked in step through the winding streets, YN’s arm tucked into mine like it had always belonged there. The noise of the market faded behind us, replaced by the familiar echo of our boots on worn stone and the fluttering of flags overhead.

I couldn’t stop looking at her. Couldn’t stop marveling at how the years had changed her without dimming the light in her eyes. There was pride in the way she carried herself now. Confidence. But still, beneath it, the girl I remembered—the one who used to patch up my bruises after training with Master Halwen—remained.

As we neared the castle gates, the guards posted there gave me a curious glance, their eyes flicking to YN with curiosity. I gave them a nod and kept walking, keeping her close. I didn’t want to waste a second of this.

“Don’t worry you’re with me,” I said. “You could walk into the king’s hall and ask for a seat, and I’d make sure it was given.”

YN gave me a sidelong look. “Always the dramatist.”

“And yet, not wrong,” I added with a grin.

Before she could retort, a familiar voice called out from the corridor ahead. “Lancelot! There you are. Arthur’s looking for you—something about the new patrol routes needing adjustment.” Merlin’s lanky form rounded the corner, a handful of parchment in one hand, his expression halfway between harried and exasperated. But when he spotted YN, he stopped dead in his tracks.

His eyes widened. “Wait. Who—?”

“Merlin,” I said, straightening with a quiet sense of pride. “Allow me to introduce my sister. YN.”

Merlin blinked. Then again. “Your… sister?”

YN offered a polite smile. “The one and only.”

“I didn’t know you had a sister,” Merlin said, clearly recalibrating his entire mental map of who I was.

“To be fair,” YN added, “he hasn’t exactly been the most communicative of brothers.”

I groaned. “Are you going to bring that up with everytime?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” She winked at me.

Merlin laughed. “You’re welcome here, YN. Especially if you’re going to keep him in check.”

“I do my best. But I make no promises.”

Before Merlin could make some other cheeky remark, a loud bark of laughter echoed through the courtyard, and Gwaine strode into view, swinging a sword over his shoulder. “There you are, Lance. I was beginning to think you’d fallen into a well—” He stopped mid-stride when he saw YN. “Oh. Hello.” He grinned. “Who must you be?”

“She’s my sister,” I answered a bit too quickly.

Gwaine raised an eyebrow. “You sure? Because that sounds like a cover for a very different situation.”

YN chuckled. “No need for dramatics. We share blood—though I can’t say I’ve inherited his flair for self-sacrifice.”

Merlin snorted. Gwaine looked absolutely delighted.

“Well, this just got interesting,” he said, offering a playful bow. “Welcome to Camelot, Lady YN.”

“Just YN,” she said. “I’ve never been much for titles.”

Gwaine opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by the sound of footsteps—firm, even, familiar.

Arthur.

He appeared at the far end of the courtyard, eyes scanning until they landed on me. And then on her.

He slowed. A faint crease appeared between his brows—not suspicion, but curiosity. Always the observant one, our king.

“Lancelot,” he greeted, nodding once. Then he turned his gaze on YN. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

I stepped forward. “This is my sister, sire. She’s just arrived in Camelot.”

Arthur’s eyes lingered on her a moment longer. Then, he extended a hand, surprisingly warm. “Welcome. If you are anything like your brother, I have no doubt Camelot will be better for your presence.”

YN took his hand with a quiet grace. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Arthur smiled faintly. “I hope we’ll have the chance to speak again. You’ve already caused quite the stir, it seems.”

“I have that effect,” she said, and even Arthur gave a low, amused laugh.

When he turned to speak with Merlin and Gwaine about the patrol routes, YN leaned into me just slightly.

“You’ve done well here, Lancelot.”

I looked at her, heart too full to speak for a moment.

“So will you,” I whispered back.

And together, we stepped fully into the castle—for the first time not as strangers to this place, but as part of something greater. Part of Camelot.

[rubiedmoon]

Hufflepuff After Hours

You’d think that after two and a half years at Hogwarts, I’d have figured out the trick to navigating the castle after dark. Apparently not.

“YN YLN,” I muttered to myself, turning down yet another corridor that looked nothing like the way back to the Hufflepuff common room. “Smartest witch in your year, completely hopeless at directions. Brilliant.”

I hugged my books tighter to my chest and kept walking. The torchlight flickered over the stone walls, making shadows dance and stretch in strange shapes. It had been a long day—two essays due, a particularly grueling Potions lesson (Snape no doubt testing the others who just could not pay attention to save their lives), and now, after staying too long in the library, I’d lost track of time. Madam Pince had practically shooed me out, and here I was—wandering like a first year.

I was just about to consider sitting down and waiting for morning when a familiar voice called out:

“YN?”

I turned quickly, relief flooding through me when I spotted him—Cedric Diggory. Tall, kind-eyed, fifth-year Cedric. If anyone could make getting lost in a giant enchanted castle feel less embarrassing, it was him.

“Cedric!” I exhaled. “Thank Merlin. I think I’ve officially walked the entire third floor twice.”

He grinned, jogging over. “Out late studying again?”

I nodded sheepishly. “Lost track of time. And then… well, apparently my sense of direction hasn’t improved since first year.”

Cedric’s smile was warm, no teasing in it. That was one of the things I liked about him—he never made me feel small. Not for being a third year, not for being buried in books, and certainly not for getting turned around after curfew.

“Well,” he said, offering me a small bow, “lucky for you, I happen to be a seasoned castle guide. Shall I escort you, Lady YLN?”

I laughed, falling into step beside him. “I would be most grateful, kind sir.”

We wandered through the corridors, Cedric leading us with the ease of someone who actually paid attention during the first-year tours. It was quiet at this hour—the sort of hush that made the castle feel different, almost secret.

“So,” he said after a moment, “what were you studying this time?”

“Charms,” I replied. “Professor Flitwick assigned an extra-credit essay on the history of Summoning Charms, and I... got a bit carried away.”

Cedric chuckled. “That sounds like you.”

I tilted my head at him. “And what about you? Out practicing again?”

“Guilty,” he admitted with a grin. “We’ve got a big match against Slytherin coming up, and I couldn’t resist a few extra laps.”

There was something so easy about talking to him—no pressure, no expectations. Just Cedric being Cedric. I think that’s why so many people liked him. Why I did.

Before long, we reached the familiar barrels that marked the entrance to our common room. I let out a sigh of relief.

“Home at last,” I said, then looked up at him. “Thank you, Cedric. Really.”

He gave a soft smile. “Anytime, YN. Though maybe next time... try to leave the library before curfew?”

I grinned. “I make no promises.”

Cedric chuckled at my reply. “Didn’t think so.”

He tapped the correct barrel in rhythm, and the entrance swung open with a soft creak. We ducked inside, the familiar warmth of the Hufflepuff common room washing over me like a cozy blanket after the long, frustrating evening.

It was quieter than usual—most everyone was already off to bed—but a few were still scattered about. Someone was curled in a chair by the fire with a book, two fourth years were halfway through a sleepy game of wizard chess, and the air smelled faintly of honey and something sweet drifting up from the kitchens below.

I sighed, shoulders finally relaxing. “I swear, this place always feels like home no matter what kind of day it’s been.”

Cedric gave a little smile. “That’s because it is home.”

I glanced up the girls’ staircase… then down at the stack of books I was still clutching to my chest. I knew I should go to bed—Merlin knew I needed sleep—but the thought of reading by the fire for just a little longer was awfully tempting.

Cedric must’ve caught the look on my face because he laughed quietly. “YN... you’re not seriously thinking of opening those back up, are you?”

I bit my lip and shrugged. “Just for a little while.”

“Of course.” He huffed out a chuckle and shook his head. “Mind if I keep you company?”

My heart did this silly little flutter that I tried very hard to ignore. I kept my tone light. “Not at all.”

We settled by the hearth, sinking into the old, squashy couch that always seemed to mold perfectly around you. Cedric stretched his legs out, one arm draped casually along the back of the sofa. I curled up with my feet tucked under me, books in my lap, though… I wasn’t exactly reading anymore.

The fire crackled quietly in the background, filling the space between us with a warm hush.

After a few minutes, Cedric leaned in a little. “You really do work too hard, you know.”

I glanced at him, cheeks going pink. “I like knowing things.”

He smiled, eyes warm. “That’s one of the things I like about you but also makes me think you were better suited for Ravenclaw.”

I blinked, fingers frozen on the corner of the page. My breath caught for a second. Had he really just—?

I looked back down quickly before my cheeks got even redder. “Well... someone’s got to balance out all the Quidditch players in this house.”

That made him laugh. “Hey now, I happen to be multitalented.”

I smiled, glancing up at him again. “Quidditch captain and castle tour guide?”

“And conversationalist,” he said with an exaggerated wink. “At your service.”

I couldn’t help it—I laughed. Soft and real. He just had this way about him, this easy charm that made everything feel lighter.

We stayed like that for a while. Cedric watching the fire, me half-reading, half-talking, entirely too aware of how close he was sitting next to me. The common room was so peaceful at this hour—no pressure, no expectations. Just Cedric.

At some point, my eyelids started growing heavy. I tried to blink the sleepiness away, but it crept in, warm and soft. My head dipped lower… and then, without really meaning to, I felt my cheek come to rest against something warm. Cedric’s shoulder.

I must’ve dozed off, because the next thing I felt was the gentle tug of him easing the book from my lap. He shifted ever so slightly so I could lean into him more comfortably.

I heard him murmur, voice low and fond, “You’re hopeless.”

But he didn’t move. He stayed right there beside me.

And even half-asleep, something in my heart quietly hoped he would.

[rubiedmoon]

Politeness Optional

Everyone at Hogwarts knew who YN YLN was. You couldn’t not know her.

Smartest witch in her year—no contest. Maybe even the smartest in the whole castle, if Professor Flitwick’s proud twinkle had anything to say about it. A Ravenclaw through and through, with a quick wit, sharper mind, and the kind of effortless charm that made her as well-liked in the common room as she was respected in the classroom.

Even the Slytherins nodded in respect when she passed—some of them even smiled, which was rare enough to be considered an event in itself.

But if you asked Fred Weasley—prankster, troublemaker, eternal thorn in Filch’s side—he’d tell you something else entirely.

YN YLN? That was his best friend.

That was the part that made Fred grin the widest: not the detentions, not the fame, not even the perfect test scores she racked up without breaking a sweat. It was the way that, when all the noise faded, she always saved a seat for him in the library, or let him drag her into the kitchens at midnight for secret butterbeer raids, or sat beside him in the stands at Quidditch matches—nose in a book but always there.

Today was one of those days. The Quidditch pitch was empty, save for Fred soaring lazily in the air, bat in hand, while YN sat on a blanket spread across the grass, parchment in her lap, quill scratching steadily while her Potions book lay off to the side just within her eyesight.

“Oi!” Fred shouted, circling around and swooping low. “You ever look up from that thing, YLN?”

Without looking up, she replied evenly, “Fred, I am not the one who needs to practice my aim. One more swing like that and you will have hit Harry in the back of the head with the Bludger instead of towards the other team.”

Fred grinned. “Harsh. And here I thought Ravenclaws were supposed to be polite.”

YN’s quill paused. She tilted her head just enough to meet his gaze—eyes bright, mouth twitching at the corner.

“We’re supposed to be of a knowing mind, Fred. Politeness is purely optional.”

Fred laughed, the sound echoing across the pitch. He loved this. Loved her—not like George always teased him about, but in that rare, golden way when you know someone’s got your back, no matter what. In a castle full of rivalries and house points and drama, YN was Fred’s constant.

After a few more loops around the sky, Fred touched down and flopped onto the blanket beside her, broom tossed carelessly aside.

“You do know,” he said, cheek propped on one hand, “with all the knowledge you have seemingly stored within the endless halls of your brain, you could really rule the world if you wanted.”

YN glanced at him, eyebrow raised. “World domination is far too time-consuming. I have exams.”

Fred snorted. “See? That’s why we’re friends. You’ve got the brains. I’ve got the charm.”

This time, her smile bloomed for real—warm, soft, the kind that not many got to see.

“And that is to mean… what exactly?” she questioned playfully.

“Well, we’re unstoppable, of course.”

YN huffed out a laugh and shook her head, quill poised over her parchment again. “Unstoppable,” she echoed. “Fred Weasley, you can barely make it through one week without a detention.”

He gasped in mock offense, clutching his chest like she’d struck him. “How dare you! I’ll have you know that I’ve gone two full weeks without one.”

“That’s because you were in the Hospital Wing with a cursed nose-biting teacup,” she pointed out without missing a beat.

Fred grinned, entirely unbothered. “Details, details.”

YN returned to her notes, but the familiar warmth of his presence at her side tugged at her focus. It always did. No matter how lofty her academic ambitions were, somehow Fred Weasley always had a way of pulling her back down to earth—and reminding her to actually enjoy it once in a while.

“Oi,” he said after a pause, softer this time, voice lacking its usual teasing lilt. “You’ve been at that for hours, YNN. Even your notes are starting to look tired.”

She blinked, glancing down at the parchment. He wasn’t wrong. Her usual elegant script had started to slope, and she’d copied the same potion ingredient twice without noticing.

With a sigh, she set her quill aside. “Suppose I lost track of time.”

Fred nudged her shoulder lightly with his own. “Come on, then. One break won’t kill you. Besides, you promised me a game of Exploding Snap, remember?”

YN gave him a sideways glance. “I believe you promised me you wouldn’t cheat this time.”

His grin turned devilish. “I would never.”

“That’s a lie.”

“Alright, maybe sometimes,” Fred admitted, laughing. “But not today. Today, it’s a fair match. Honest Weasley honor.”

She snorted. “Is that a thing?”

“Absolutely,” Fred said with a wink, already rummaging in his bag for the battered deck of cards. “But if it’ll make you feel better, you can shuffle.”

YN shook her head again and leaned back on the blanket, eyes tilting up toward the endless stretch of sky. The sun was warm on her face, the air filled with the faint scent of grass and broom polish.

These were the moments no one saw—the quiet ones. No pranks, no tests, no pressure. Just her and Fred, two friends beneath the blue sky.

[rubiedmoon]

A Knight's Distance

There she was again. Moving through the lower town with that quiet purpose of hers. 

It was always the same: a basket in the crook of her arm, sleeves pushed past her elbows, a stubborn wisp of hair falling into her eyes that she never quite managed to keep pinned. And somehow, without ever glancing at Gaius’s list, she remembered everything—every name, every ailment, every blend of tonic and tincture that needed delivering.

I watched her from the edge of the market square, lingering near the blacksmith’s stall under the guise of buying a new blade oil. Truth be told, I wasn’t in need of anything. Except perhaps… her.

She didn’t notice me—not yet. She was too focused. Her gaze sharp, but kind. Intent on her task, but never so much that she couldn’t stop and ask a child how their cough was faring, or a bent old man if he needed help walking home.

She made it look easy. Like she belonged. Like the weight of Camelot never touched her.

I envied that about her.

And yet… I loved her for it, too.

I didn’t dare speak of it—not to Merlin, not to Gwaine, and certainly not to her. What could I say? That the knight with a fate soaked in blood and prophecy had fallen for the healer’s apprentice with wildflowers in her hair and earth beneath her fingernails?

I was not meant for soft things. Not anymore.

Still… I followed.

At a distance, always. Just close enough to see her smile when someone thanked her. Close enough to hear her hum sometimes, soft and distracted, like the world hadn’t broken yet. Maybe for her, it hadn’t.

She turned the corner by the baker’s shop, heading toward the last cottage on the lane—Martha’s, I think the older woman’s name was. Old widow. Bad joints. Gaius had brewed a poppy elixir for her two days ago.

YN didn’t knock. She never needed to. People trusted her. They let her in.

I leaned against the sun-warmed stone of the wall, waiting for her to emerge. When she finally stepped out again, I didn’t have time to move before her eyes locked with mine.

Damn.

I straightened too quickly, too stiff, trying not to look like I’d been following her like some lost hound. Her brows lifted slightly, not in suspicion—never that—but in quiet amusement.

“Mordred,” she greeted, brushing her palms on the front of her skirt. “Come to help, or just lurking?”

I blinked. “Neither. I… was just passing through.”

A half-smile pulled at her lips. “Right. You’ve passed through every route I’ve walked today.”

Caught.

Heat crept to my face faster than I could temper it. “You noticed.”

“I always notice.” Her voice was soft now. Not teasing—gentle. Understanding. “You could walk with me, you know. I wouldn’t mind.”

I hesitated. “Are you sure?”

YN tilted her head toward the road. “I have just a few more deliveries. The company would be greatly appreciated. You can even carry the basket.”

I moved beside her, careful to match her pace. When I reached for the basket, our hands touched, and she didn’t pull away.

Neither did I.

The basket was heavier than it looked—laden with small jars, cloth-wrapped parcels, sprigs of dried herbs. I took it gladly. Anything to be of use. Anything to stay near her a little longer.

We walked in step down the dusty lane, the bustle of the market fading behind us. The rhythm of her stride was easy, unhurried, as though time bent a little differently when she moved through the world.

For a while, we didn’t speak. The silence between us wasn’t awkward. If anything, it felt… comfortable. Like words weren’t needed when the air was warm and the sun played in her hair.

YN broke the quiet first, glancing at me sidelong. “You always watch from a distance. Why is that?”

There was no accusation in her tone. Only curiosity. And kindness. Always kindness.

I shifted my grip on the basket, searching for words that wouldn’t sound foolish. “I didn’t want to intrude.”

“You wouldn’t,” she said simply. Then, after a pause: “But that’s not the real reason.”

She was sharper than most would guess. Sharper than I gave her credit for.

I drew a breath. “I… don’t always know how to be. Not here. Not with…” I trailed off, unable to finish.

Her gaze flicked toward me again, softer now. “With someone who doesn’t wear a sword on their hip or one that does not wield the same power as say of you and Merlin?”

I gave a short laugh. “Perhaps.”

“You don’t always have to play the part of a knight, Mordred,” she said quietly. “Not with me at least.”

Those words settled into something deep inside me—an ache, and a longing I barely understood.

We turned down another path, this one quieter still. The stone cottages gave way to small gardens, trailing vines, and the low hum of bees. Ahead, an old man waited on a bench beneath a crooked tree.

YN called a warm greeting as we neared. I watched her kneel before him, check the wraps at his knees, offer gentle reassurance with a touch to his arm. She left him with a vial of tonic and a promise to return soon.

I could only stand back and marvel. For all my skill with blade and shield, it was her hands that truly healed.

When she rose again, we resumed our walk. This time, her shoulder brushed mine—an easy, familiar thing.

And for once, I let myself hope.

“You asked why I watch,” I said quietly. “It’s because… when I look at you, the world feels lighter. And I forget, for a moment, what I am supposed to be.”

YN stopped. Turned fully to face me. Her eyes, bright as the sky above, searched mine with a look that made it hard to breathe.

“You are you, Mordred,” she said softly. “That’s all you should ever need to be.”

The weight of the basket in my hand was forgotten. The noise of the town faded to nothing.

In that moment, with her standing so close, I wanted—more than anything—to believe her.