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enhaflixer · 3 months ago

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hogwarts time travel au! traveling to the future and waking up MARRIED PART 2

slytherin!riki x gryffindor!reader PART ONE HERE

warnings: time travel, sex, kissing, lots of kissing, kinda angsty, they have two kids, there are pranks and rivalry and its just real cute im ngl

The night before the department dinner, after the children were asleep, Riki found you in the study reviewing your class notes—a habit you'd developed to avoid embarrassing yourself in front of your students.

"We should probably practice," he said from the doorway, startling you.

"Practice what?"

"Dancing." He shifted his weight, looking uncharacteristically nervous. "If this is a formal department thing, there will probably be dancing."

You set aside your notes reluctantly. "Is that really necessary?"

"These people know us—know our future selves," he pointed out. "If we're awkward or stepping on each other's toes, they'll notice."

You sighed. "Fine. But just a quick run-through."

He nodded, then flicked his wand at the wireless in the corner. Soft, melodic music filled the room. With another wave, he pushed the furniture against the walls, creating a small dance floor in the center of the study.

"Shall we?" He extended his hand formally, a hint of his usual confidence returning.

You rolled your eyes but placed your hand in his, allowing him to draw you to the center of the room. His right hand settled at your waist while his left held yours aloft. You placed your free hand on his shoulder, careful to maintain a respectable distance between your bodies.

"I'm not going to hex you," he said with a slight smile. "You can stand a bit closer."

"This is fine," you insisted, though you knew real couples wouldn't dance with a foot of space between them.

He shrugged and began to lead, moving with surprising grace. After a few moments of stiff movement, you found your rhythm, matching his steps as you circled the makeshift dance floor.

"You're not terrible at this," you admitted grudgingly.

"Pure-blood family," he reminded you. "Dance lessons from age six. Mother's orders."

"That explains why you didn't completely embarrass yourself at the Yule Ball," you said, remembering how he'd danced with Olivia Greengrass for most of the evening.

Something flickered in his eyes. "You noticed me at the Yule Ball?"

"Hard not to notice when someone transfigures the punch bowl into a singing toad halfway through the evening," you countered, deflecting the implied question.

He laughed. "McGonagall's face was priceless."

The music shifted to something slower, more intimate. Riki's hand at your waist exerted the slightest pressure, drawing you incrementally closer.

"People will expect us to dance like we've done it a hundred times before," he said softly. "Like we know each other's movements by heart."

"And how do we do that?" Your voice came out quieter than intended.

"For starters, not like we're afraid of each other." Before you could protest, he eliminated the space between you, bringing your bodies together from chest to knee.

Your breath caught as he adjusted his hold, his arm now encircling your waist completely. Your joined hands moved to rest against his chest, while your other hand slid from his shoulder to the nape of his neck. The new position was undeniably intimate—you could feel his heartbeat against your fingers, the warmth of his skin beneath your palm.

"This is how married people dance," he murmured, his breath stirring your hair.

You couldn't formulate a response as he began moving again, the steps simpler now—less formal waltz and more just swaying together to the music. Your bodies moved in sync, with none of the awkwardness you'd expected.

"See?" he said after a few moments. "Not so difficult."

You made a noncommittal sound, not trusting your voice. Because it wasn't difficult—that was the problem. It felt easy. Natural. As if your body remembered dancing with him like this before, even if your mind didn't.

The music swelled, and Riki spontaneously spun you out and back into his arms. You returned smoothly, your back now pressed against his chest, his arms crossed over your waist, holding you securely. The move had been unexpected but you'd followed his lead instinctively.

"Perfect," he said, his voice dropping to a lower register that sent a shiver down your spine. "You see? Muscle memory."

You turned in his arms to face him again, intending to create some distance, but found yourself caught in his gaze. There was something new there—a heat that hadn't been present in your previous interactions.

"Riki..." you began, not sure what you intended to say.

His eyes dropped to your lips, lingering just long enough to send your pulse racing, before he stepped back, releasing you as the music ended.

"That should be sufficient practice," he said, his voice slightly rougher than usual. "For tomorrow."

"Right," you agreed, wrapping your arms around yourself to ward off the sudden chill of his absence. "For tomorrow."

The next evening found you in the bedroom, putting the finishing touches on your appearance while Riki took the girls to The Burrow. You'd opted for the green gown after all—silk that flowed like water, with a modest neckline but a back that dipped daringly low. Your hair was arranged in an elegant updo, and you'd applied makeup with more care than you'd ever bothered with at seventeen.

The effect, you had to admit, was striking. You hardly recognized yourself in the mirror—this poised, elegant woman seemed worlds away from the student who'd spent most of her time in the library with ink-stained fingers.

The sound of the Floo activating announced Riki's return. You took a steadying breath and descended the stairs, feeling oddly nervous.

Riki stood in the living room, adjusting the silver cuffs of his midnight-blue dress robes. The tailoring was impeccable, emphasizing his broad shoulders and lean frame—clearly, these robes had been made specifically for him. He looked up as you entered, and the expression that crossed his face made your stomach flutter unexpectedly.

"Wow," was all he managed at first, his eyes traveling slowly from your face to your feet and back again. His gaze lingered on the way the deep emerald and black silk draped across your body, the Grecian-inspired cut accentuating your figure while the open back added an unexpected touch of allure.

"Just 'wow'?" you supplied when he didn't continue, turning slightly to show the full effect of the gown.

"Devastating," he finally said, his voice rough. "You look absolutely devastating."

He swallowed visibly, and you noticed with satisfaction that his usual quick wit seemed to have abandoned him entirely. The thought flashed through his mind, surprising even himself—did he have a previously undiscovered kink for seeing you in Slytherin green? The rich emerald color that had once represented rivalry now stirred something entirely different in him.

"You clean up decently yourself," you offered, aiming for casual despite the charged atmosphere.

"The robes that make my ass look fantastic," he confirmed with a flash of his usual humor, though his eyes never left yours. "Ready to convince a room full of Aurors we're madly in love?"

"As I'll ever be," you replied, trying to ignore the nervous flutter in your stomach.

Theodesia's turned out to be an elegant restaurant with crystal chandeliers and goblin-wrought silver place settings. You were greeted effusively by the maître d' who clearly recognized you both and led you upstairs to a private dining room already buzzing with conversation.

"Riki! Professor!" A man detached himself from a group near the bar—Jake, from the Floo call yesterday. He approached with a broad smile, a striking woman with dark skin and elaborate braids at his side. "About time you two showed up. Cutting it close as usual."

"Some things never change," Riki replied with surprising ease, clasping Jake's hand. "Traffic in the Floo network was awful."

"You look gorgeous," the woman—presumably Seera—said, embracing you warmly. "That color is perfect on you. I've been telling you to wear more green for ages."

"I decided to take your advice," you improvised, returning her hug.

"Where are the little menaces tonight?" Jake asked. "With Molly?"

"Yes, we dropped them off earlier," Riki confirmed. "Sara was already eyeing the cookie jar when we left."

His effortless lying impressed you—he sounded completely natural discussing children he'd only known for two weeks.

"Smart move using your anniversary as an excuse for a night off," Seera said with a knowing smile. "Though I still can't believe it's been five years since your wedding. I remember it like yesterday—you two dancing under those enchanted cherry blossoms, looking disgustingly in love."

"Time flies," you managed, leaning into Riki's side as his arm slipped around your waist.

"Speaking of which," Jake said, checking his watch, "we should find our seats. Kingsley will be starting the presentations soon."

The next hour passed in a blur of introductions, small talk, and desperately trying not to reveal your ignorance of people who clearly knew you well. Riki proved surprisingly adept at navigating conversations, deflecting personal questions with humor and redirecting topics when things veered into dangerous territory.

His hand remained a constant presence at the small of your back, his thumb occasionally brushing bare skin through the open back of your gown, sending little jolts of electricity up your spine each time.

Dinner was served—an elegant multi-course affair with wine pairings—as various department heads delivered speeches and presented awards. You were relieved to discover that Riki wasn't receiving any special recognition, though he was mentioned several times for his team's recent successful operations.

"Your husband's quite the rising star," whispered the witch seated on your other side—a senior Auror named Claudia. "Youngest division head in thirty years. Though I suspect he'd give it all up if you decided to have another baby."

You nearly choked on your wine. "Another—"

"Oh, I know, I know," she said hurriedly. "You've said two is your limit. But the way he dotes on those girls... Well, just saying. Never seen a man more besotted with fatherhood."

You glanced at Riki, deep in conversation with an older wizard across the table. The idea of him as a doting father had seemed absurd two weeks ago, but now... You'd seen how he was with Suki and Sara. How natural he seemed with them, how his entire demeanor softened around the children.

Your contemplation was interrupted as Jake stood, tapping his glass for attention.

"If I could have everyone's attention for a moment," he called over the chatter. "As is tradition at our annual dinner, we take a moment to celebrate not just professional achievements, but personal ones as well. And tonight, we have a very special milestone to recognize."

He turned toward your table, raising his glass. "Riki and Y/N Nishimura are celebrating their fifth wedding anniversary this month. Five years of proving that even when you start as sworn enemies, love finds a way."

A ripple of laughter and applause moved through the room.

"For those who don't know their story," Jake continued, "these two spent seven years at Hogwarts hexing each other at every opportunity. Their legendary prank war culminated in what we now affectionately call 'The Great Time-Turner Incident' where they accidentally sent themselves ten years into the future."

Your blood ran cold. Riki's hand found yours under the table, squeezing tightly.

"When they finally managed to return to their time," Jake went on, oblivious to your shock, "something had fundamentally changed. As Riki tells it, 'Seeing a future where we were happy together made me realize I'd been fighting my feelings all along.' Three years later, they were exchanging vows with half the faculty of Hogwarts in attendance."

The room awwwed appreciatively.

"So please raise your glasses," Jake concluded, "to Riki and [Your Name]—proof that sometimes the person who drives you absolutely crazy is exactly the person you're meant to be with."

"To Riki and Y/N !" the room echoed, glasses raised.

You managed a smile, lifting your glass automatically as your mind raced. The Great Time-Turner Incident? Your future selves had experienced something similar—had, in fact, ended up together because of it.

Riki's hand was still clutching yours beneath the table, his knuckles white. He'd clearly reached the same conclusion.

"And now," Seera announced, standing beside her husband, "as is tradition, a few words from our anniversary couple!"

The room erupted in applause and expectant looks.

Riki recovered first, rising to his feet and pulling you gently up beside him. His arm went around your waist, steadying you.

"Thank you all," he began, his voice remarkably steady given the bombshell that had just been dropped. "Five years doesn't seem possible, does it, love?" He looked down at you with such convincing affection that your breath caught.

"Sometimes it feels like yesterday," you managed, finding your voice. "Other times, like we've always been together."

The room sighed appreciatively at your response.

"I won't subject you all to the story of how this brilliant, beautiful woman finally agreed to go out with me after years of turning my hair various colors," Riki continued, drawing laughs from the audience. "But I will say this—Jake's right. Sometimes the person who challenges you most is exactly who you need."

He turned to face you fully, his eyes holding yours with an intensity that made the rest of the room fade away. "Every day with you is an adventure, even when it's just making pancakes with the girls or grading papers by the fire. I wouldn't trade our life for anything."

The raw sincerity in his voice made your throat tighten. This wasn't just a performance for the crowd—there was something real beneath his words.

"Neither would I," you said softly, surprising yourself with the truth of it. "Even when you drive me crazy."

The room laughed again, but Riki's smile was just for you—small, private, and achingly genuine.

"Thank you all," he said, turning back to the audience. "For celebrating with us tonight."

As you both sat down, the room burst into a chant: "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"

Riki looked at you, a question in his eyes. A public kiss hadn't been part of your planning, but refusing would seem odd for a celebrating couple.

"We should," you whispered. "Just a quick one."

He nodded, then leaned in slowly, giving you time to prepare. You expected a brief peck—the bare minimum to satisfy the crowd.

What you got instead was a revelation.

His lips touched yours gently at first, a whisper of contact that sent a shock wave through your system. Then, as if unable to help himself, he deepened the kiss, one hand coming up to cradle your jaw. Your eyes fluttered closed as you responded instinctively, your lips parting slightly beneath his.

The kiss lasted only seconds, but it felt like an eternity—an eternity where nothing existed but the warmth of his mouth on yours and the dizzying sense that something fundamental had shifted between you.

When he pulled back, his eyes were dark, pupils dilated. You could read the same stunned recognition in his face that you felt coursing through your veins.

The room erupted in cheers and whistles, breaking the spell. Riki's thumb brushed your cheekbone once before he withdrew his hand, turning to acknowledge the crowd with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Under the table, your fingers touched your lips, still tingling from the contact. That hadn't been a performance. That had been... something else entirely.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur. People stopped by your table to share anecdotes about your relationship, each one a piece of a puzzle you were desperately trying to assemble. You learned that you'd started dating in your final year at Hogwarts, after returning from your accidental time travel. That you'd worked as a curse-breaker before taking the teaching position at Hogwarts. That your wedding had featured cherry blossoms and fairy lights, with Hagrid sobbing so loudly during the vows that no one could hear them.

When the orchestra began playing a slow, haunting melody, Riki stood and offered his hand. "Dance with me?" he asked softly, all pretense stripped away in that moment.

You took his hand without hesitation, letting him lead you to the dance floor. His arm slid around your waist with practiced ease, drawing you close as you began to move together. All your awkward practice from the night before had vanished—your bodies knew this dance, knew each other, moving in perfect synchrony as if you'd done this a thousand times before.

"Everyone's watching us," you murmured, noticing the fond glances directed your way.

"Let them," he replied, his eyes never leaving yours. "They're seeing what they expect to see—the department's most disgustingly perfect couple."

"Is that what we are?" you asked, the question slipping out before you could stop it.

Something shifted in his gaze, a vulnerability you'd glimpsed only in rare moments. "Maybe not yet. But..."

He didn't finish the thought, didn't need to. As the music swelled around you, he guided you into a graceful turn that made your dress billow around your ankles. When you returned to his arms, you were both smiling, caught in a bubble of shared connection that felt startlingly genuine.

"Happy anniversary," you whispered, so quietly that only he could hear, surprising yourself with the sincerity behind the words.

His eyes widened slightly, genuine shock flashing across his features before his expression softened into something warm and unguarded. For a moment—one perfect, suspended moment—you both forgot that this wasn't really your life, that you hadn't actually been married for five years, that the memories everyone was celebrating weren't truly yours.

"Happy anniversary," he whispered back, his eyes never leaving yours, meaning it in ways neither of you could fully understand.

As you continued to dance, you noticed a small group of witches watching you from the edge of the dance floor, smiling affectionately at what they clearly considered a romantic moment between longtime lovers. Without overthinking it, you leaned up and pressed a gentle kiss to Riki's jaw—ostensibly for your audience, though the flutter in your stomach suggested other motives.

You felt his sharp intake of breath, his arm tightening almost imperceptibly around your waist. When you pulled back slightly to gauge his reaction, the heat in his eyes made your pulse skip.

The song ended too soon, breaking the spell as applause rippled through the room. But as Riki led you back to your table, his hand resting lightly on the bare skin of your back, something had changed between you—something that couldn't be dismissed as merely playing a part.

Through the rest of the evening, Riki remained close—his arm around your chair, his fingers occasionally brushing yours, his body angled toward you in the unconscious way of couples accustomed to each other's presence. You found yourself responding in kind, leaning into his touch, laughing at his jokes, exchanging glances that somehow conveyed entire conversations.

It was frighteningly easy to play the role of his wife, you realized. Too easy.

And that kiss... that hadn't been playing at all.

By the time you said your goodbyes and stepped into the cool night air outside Theodesia's, you were both quieter than usual, lost in your own thoughts.

"Well," Riki finally broke the silence as you walked toward the apparition point. "That was... informative."

"The Time-Turner Incident," you said, focusing on the practical rather than the confusing emotional aftermath of the evening. "Our future selves experienced something similar."

"And it changed everything for them," he added. "Or us. Time travel pronouns are confusing."

You laughed despite yourself. "That's your takeaway?"

"No," he admitted, stopping beneath a street lamp. The warm glow illuminated his features as he turned to you. "My takeaway is that we need to talk about what happened in there."

"The toast? The revelations about our apparent history?"

"The kiss," he said simply.

Your heartbeat quickened. "It was just for show."

"Was it?" His voice was soft, his eyes searching yours. "Because it didn't feel like just for show."

"Riki..."

"I know we're supposed to be finding a way back," he continued. "I know this isn't our real life. But—" He paused, seeming to struggle with his words. "What if Jake was right? What if the person who's been driving me crazy for seven years is actually..."

"Don't," you whispered, not ready to hear the end of that sentence. Not ready to confront the growing realization that your feelings for Riki had become far more complicated than simple animosity.

He studied your face for a long moment, then nodded once. "We should get back. Check on the girls."

"Yes," you agreed, relieved by the return to practicality. "Molly's probably wondering where we are."

He offered his arm for side-along apparition. As your fingers curled around the rich fabric of his sleeve, you couldn't help remembering how it had felt when those same fingers had tangled in your hair as he kissed you—how perfect it had felt, how right.

And how terrifying the implications of that rightness might be.

The days following the department dinner passed in an increasingly elaborate dance of avoidance.

You began waking up earlier than necessary, slipping out of bed before Riki stirred and volunteering for morning duties with the girls. He, in turn, started staying up later, buried in case files at the kitchen table long after you'd retired to bed. The bedroom became a transition space—a place you occupied in shifts rather than together, despite the fact that you still technically shared it.

At breakfast, you'd focus intensely on helping Suki with her cereal or wiping Sara's sticky hands, using the children as buffers. Riki would read the Daily Prophet with unusual thoroughness, suddenly fascinated by Ministry policy updates and Quidditch standings he'd normally disregard. If your fingers accidentally brushed while passing the tea, you'd both flinch away as if burned, murmuring awkward apologies before finding new reasons to be elsewhere.

The kiss—that unexpectedly genuine, heart-stopping moment at the department dinner—hovered between you like an unacknowledged presence, impossible to address yet impossible to forget.

Neither of you mentioned the way you'd whispered "happy anniversary" and meant it, or how his hand had lingered on your bare back during the dance, or how natural it had felt to lean into his touch throughout the evening. Those moments contradicted the narrative you'd both silently agreed upon: that this was all temporary, that your real lives waited elsewhere, that the growing comfort and connection between you was simply muscle memory from bodies accustomed to each other.

In the evenings, you'd grade papers in the study while Riki handled bedtime stories with elaborate sound effects that made the girls squeal with delight. You found yourself lingering outside the nursery door sometimes, listening to his patient voice as he answered Suki's endless questions or soothed Sara with a gentle lullaby. These glimpses of tenderness made avoiding him both more necessary and more difficult.

When you did occupy the same space, conversation remained strictly practical, delivered with exaggerated casualness.

"Suki's daycare is closed on Friday," you'd mention, focused intently on stirring your tea. "Teacher training day."

"I can work from home," he'd offer, eyes fixed on a spot just over your shoulder. "No problem."

"Great. Thanks," you'd reply, already moving toward the door. "I should prepare for tomorrow's lessons."

You weren't hostile—quite the opposite. There was a new carefulness between you, a politeness almost painful in its restraint. You both said "please" and "thank you" with formal precision. You complimented his cooking; he praised your patience with the children. But beneath the courtesy lay a current of tension neither of you was willing to acknowledge.

Sometimes you'd catch him watching you when he thought you wouldn't notice—a speculative look in his eyes that made your stomach flutter. Other times, you'd find yourself staring at his hands as he helped Suki with a puzzle, remembering how those same hands had felt on your waist during the dance, and you'd have to excuse yourself to another room until your heartbeat steadied.

The weekend arrived with blessed relief. Riki announced he had paperwork to complete for an ongoing smuggling investigation—a transparent excuse, but one you gratefully accepted. You responded with equal transparency about needing to revise lesson plans. The mutual agreement to separation was welcome, even as the strained atmosphere grew increasingly unbearable.

By Saturday afternoon, the house felt too small despite its magical extensions. You found yourself wandering into the study, ostensibly searching for reference materials but really just seeking a space Riki wasn't occupying. That's when you discovered a cabinet tucked in the corner that you hadn't fully explored.

Inside were rows of small crystal orbs—magical recordings, similar to Pensieve memories but viewable without immersion. You'd seen similar devices in the Hogwarts archives, used to preserve important lectures and ceremonies.

Curious, and perhaps a bit desperate for distraction, you selected one labeled "Suki's First Steps." Perhaps watching family memories would help you better understand the life you were temporarily inhabiting—or at least provide a reprieve from the uncomfortable tension that had settled over the household.

You placed the orb in the viewing stand on the desk and tapped it with your wand. Light bloomed from the crystal, expanding into a three-dimensional projection. There was your future self, sitting on the living room floor, arms outstretched toward a wobbly Suki who couldn't have been more than a year old.

"Come on, sweet girl," your voice encouraged. "Come to Mama!"

Behind the camera, Riki's voice: "She's going to do it this time, I can feel it."

Sure enough, Suki took one hesitant step, then another, her little face a mask of concentration before breaking into a delighted giggle as she tumbled into your waiting arms.

"She did it!" the recorded you exclaimed, scooping her up and spinning her around. "Riki, did you get that?"

"Every second," came his proud reply. The camera moved closer, capturing your radiant smile and Suki's chubby hands patting your cheeks. "Our little prodigy, walking at ten months."

The projection faded, leaving the study quiet again. You sat back, a strange melancholy washing over you. These were your memories—would be your memories—yet they felt like glimpses into a stranger's life.

"What are you doing?"

You startled, turning to find Riki in the doorway, a mug of tea in his hand.

"I found these recordings," you explained, gesturing to the cabinet. "I was just... curious."

He hesitated, then entered the study, setting his tea down. "Anything interesting?"

"Suki's first steps." You smiled faintly. "She was early, apparently."

"Not surprising," he said, the first hint of normal conversation between you in days. "She's rather determined about everything."

You nodded, relieved by the break in tension. "Want to see another?"

It was an olive branch of sorts. He recognized it for what it was, settling into the chair beside yours. "Sure. You choose."

You returned to the cabinet, scanning labels. "Baby's First Quidditch Match," "Sara's Naming Ceremony," "Holiday in Greece." One caught your eye, labeled simply "The Surprise." Intrigued, you selected it.

The projection revealed your future self in the kitchen, setting up what appeared to be a camera. You wore casual clothes, hair pulled back, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you adjusted the angle.

"Is this recording?" On-screen you leaned close to the lens, then stepped back, satisfied. "Perfect. Operation 'Prank the Prankster' is a go."

You quickly arranged several items on the counter—a potion vial with a mysterious pink liquid, a book titled "So You're Expecting: A Magical Guide," and what looked like a sonogram image, though you carefully hid these under a dish towel. Your recorded self was practically vibrating with suppressed excitement.

The kitchen door opened, and Riki entered, setting down a grocery bag. "Got everything, including those weird pickled radishes you suddenly can't live without."

"My hero," recorded-you smiled, reaching up to kiss him with easy affection. "Hey, can you help me with something? I brewed a potion and I need a second opinion."

"Is it for those bizarre cravings? Because the clerk at the apothecary already thinks I'm running some kind of illegal lab with all the ingredients you've been sending me for." He began unpacking groceries, oblivious to your barely contained grin.

"No, it's for a special project." You casually removed the dish towel, revealing the blue potion. "It's supposed to change color based on certain... conditions."

Riki looked up, intrigued but suspicious. "What kind of conditions? This isn't like the time you made me test that 'harmless' potion that turned my eyebrows purple for a week, is it?"

"Would I do that to you?" you asked with exaggerated innocence. "I just need you to verify the color. What shade of pink would you call this?"

He approached reluctantly, peering at the vial. "I don't know... fuchsia? Why does it matter?"

"Because," you said, sliding the book into view, "according to page 94 of this particular guide, cerulean fuchsia means it's a girl."

For a moment, Riki just stared at the book, his brain not quite making the connection. Then his eyes darted to the sonogram image you'd nudged forward, back to the potion, then finally to your face.

"Wait..." he said slowly, realization dawning. "Are you... is this... are you pranking me right now?"

You bit your lip, torn between laughter and tears. "Well, yes, I'm pranking you. But also no, because..." You reached into a drawer and withdrew a pair of tiny Slytherin green booties. "I'm actually twelve weeks pregnant."

The sequence of expressions that crossed his face was extraordinary—confusion, shock, disbelief, and then pure, unadulterated joy. He let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

"You—" he started, shaking his head in amazement. "You used a prank to tell me we're having a baby? That's—"

"Fitting?" you suggested, eyes dancing with mirth. "Given our history?"

He didn't answer with words. Instead, he closed the distance between you in two strides, lifting you off your feet in a spinning embrace that made you laugh and protest simultaneously.

"Careful! Morning sickness is still a thing!"

He set you down immediately, but his hands remained on your waist, his eyes searching yours with wonder. "We're actually having a baby? You're not just pranking the prankster?"

You took his hand and placed it gently on your still-flat stomach. "We're having a baby," you confirmed, tears spilling down your cheeks now. "Suki's going to be a big sister."

The look of pure joy that transformed his face made your throat tighten just watching. He dropped to his knees, pressing his forehead against your stomach.

"A baby," he whispered, voice choked with emotion. "Our baby."

Then he looked up at you, eyes shining with tears and laughter. "I can't believe you out-pranked me for something this important."

"Had to make it memorable," you replied with a watery smile. "Got you good, didn't I?"

He rose to his feet, cradling your face in his hands with such tenderness it was almost painful to witness. "You got me good," he agreed softly. "Best prank ever."

The kiss he bestowed upon you was reverent, his hand drifting down to rest protectively over your still-flat stomach.

"I love you," he murmured against your lips. "I love you so much."

The recording faded, leaving you and present-day Riki sitting in stunned silence. The intimacy of the moment you'd witnessed felt almost invasive, like you'd eavesdropped on something sacred.

"That was..." Riki began, then cleared his throat. "That must have been when you—they—found out about Sara."

"Yes." Your voice sounded strange to your own ears.

Neither of you seemed to know what to say next. After a moment, Riki reached for the cabinet. "Mind if I choose one?"

You nodded, grateful for the distraction.

He selected an orb labeled "Wedding Night Promises." Before you could suggest something less potentially intimate, he'd placed it on the stand and activated it.

The scene that materialized made you both inhale sharply. A hotel room, clearly luxurious, with rose petals scattered across a massive bed. Riki lay on his back, dress shirt unbuttoned, hair disheveled, and his face adorned with lipstick marks in the same shade you'd been wearing in earlier wedding photos you'd seen. The camera appeared to be held by him at arm's length, capturing both his face and you as you leaned over him, adding another kiss to his jawline.

"You missed a spot," recorded-Riki said, pointing to his left cheekbone. "Can't have an incomplete masterpiece."

Your future self laughed but obliged, pressing your lips to the indicated spot and leaving a perfect imprint. "Better?"

"Much," he said with a satisfied grin. "But this area is still tragically unmarked." He tapped the corner of his mouth.

"You're ridiculous," you told him, but leaned in to place another kiss where he'd pointed.

"And here," he continued, touching his other cheek. "Symmetry is important in art."

You were laughing now as you worked your way across his face. "Are you planning to have me cover every inch?"

"That's the general idea, yes," he confirmed without a trace of shame. "I want everyone at breakfast tomorrow to know exactly what my wife thinks of me."

"Your wife thinks you're insufferable," you teased, but contradicted your words by pressing a lingering kiss to his forehead.

"You know," he said, his free hand playing with a strand of your hair, "you were so beautiful today. When you walked down the aisle, I forgot to breathe."

You paused in your kisses, visibly touched by his sincerity.

"Who told you to stop?" he protested immediately.

"I thought you were being serious for a moment," you said, shaking your head with fond exasperation.

"I am being serious," he insisted. "Deadly serious about how stunning you looked. That dress..." He gave an exaggerated sigh. "And your hair with those little flowers woven through it. I've never seen anything more perfect."

You rewarded him with another kiss, this time at the corner of his eye.

"And when you started crying during your vows," he continued, his voice softening, "it took everything I had not to just drop to my knees right there."

"Stop," you murmured, clearly embarrassed. "I was a mess."

"A beautiful mess," he corrected. "My beautiful mess. Forever, as of today."

You leaned in to kiss him properly on the lips this time, but he turned his head slightly. "Not yet. I still have unmarked territory here." He pointed to his chin.

You rolled your eyes but complied, adding another lipstick mark.

"What are you doing with the camera, anyway?" you finally asked, looking up with mock exasperation as you pulled back.

"Documenting," he replied, voice warm with affection and something deeper. "So you can never deny how utterly irresistible you find me."

"As if your ego needs more inflation," you teased, but your expression was impossibly tender.

"Actually," Riki's voice grew serious, "I wanted to record a promise."

Your future self settled beside him, head propped on one hand. "A promise?"

"I know we did vows today," he said, camera steady on both your faces. "But there are things I wanted to say just to you. Not for an audience."

The raw emotion in his voice must have affected your future self as it did you now, because her playful expression softened into something solemn and attentive.

"I promise," he began, "that no matter how busy we get, how many cases I take, how many students you teach, I will never go a day without making sure you know how much I love you."

He shifted slightly, making sure the camera still captured both of you. "I promise that every morning when I wake up next to you, I'll remember how lucky I am that you saw past the idiot who turned your hair pink and found whatever was worth loving beneath."

Your future self's eyes had filled with tears, but she remained silent, letting him continue.

"I promise that when we fight—and we will fight, because we're both stubborn and opinionated and that's part of why I love you—I will always fight fair. I will never go to bed angry. I will never use your vulnerabilities against you."

His voice had grown husky. "I promise that when we have children, I will be the father I wish I'd had, and I will cherish every moment of creating a family with you."

Your recorded self was crying openly now, tears sliding silently down your cheeks.

"And I promise," he finished, his own eyes suspiciously bright, "that fifty years from now, I'll still look at you the way I'm looking at you right now—like you're the greatest adventure of my life, and I'd fight a hundred time-turner accidents to end up right here with you."

The recording ended as your future self leaned down to kiss him, the camera tumbling forgotten to the side.

In the study, you became aware of wetness on your cheeks. You were crying, you realized with distant surprise. Beside you, Riki's breathing had gone shallow, his knuckles white where he gripped the edge of the desk.

Neither of you spoke, the weight of what you'd witnessed pressing the air from the room.

Without discussion, you reached for one more orb—this one labeled "Baby Talks with Papa, Night 213."

The projection revealed a darkened bedroom—your bedroom in this house. Your future self lay on your side in bed, clearly pregnant, with Suki fast asleep beside you. Riki knelt on the floor, his face level with your rounded belly, his mouth close enough that his lips occasionally brushed the thin fabric of your nightgown.

"—and that's why Mama's wrong about the Holyhead Harpies' chances this season," he was saying softly. "But don't tell her I said that. She's very sensitive about quidditch, especially now that she can't play."

Your sleeping form shifted slightly, and Riki froze, waiting until you settled before continuing his one-sided conversation.

"Anyway, little one," he murmured, one hand spread reverently across your stomach, "your big sister finally learned to say 'dada' properly today, which is excellent timing since I was starting to worry she'd call me 'baba' forever."

He paused, smiling as something—presumably the baby—moved beneath his palm.

"That's right, kick for your dada." His voice dropped even lower. "You know, when your mama told me she was pregnant with you, I cried like a baby myself. Don't tell anyone that part. Aurors have a reputation to maintain."

The tenderness in his expression was almost painful to witness.

"I hope you have her eyes," he whispered. "And her courage. And her laugh that makes everything better even on the worst days." His thumb traced small circles on your belly. "I hope you don't have my impatience or my tendency to act before thinking. But maybe a little of my charm wouldn't hurt."

A barely audible chuckle escaped you. "Are you corrupting our unborn child again?" your drowsy voice asked, one hand reaching down to touch his hair.

"Never," he protested with mock innocence. "Just telling her about quidditch."

"Him," you corrected sleepily. "It's definitely a boy."

"We'll see," he replied, pressing a kiss to your stomach before rising to slide into bed beside you. The camera, apparently charmed to follow him, captured how he gathered both you and sleeping Suki into his arms, creating a protective circle. "Either way, they're going to be as perfect as their mother."

"And as humble as their father," you murmured, already drifting back to sleep.

The recording faded to darkness, leaving the study in crushing silence.

You realized you were still crying, tears flowing unchecked down your face. You couldn't look at Riki—couldn't bear to see if he was affected as deeply as you were by these glimpses into a life that felt both impossible and inescapably real.

When his hand found yours, you nearly jumped. His fingers twined with yours, grip almost painfully tight, as if he needed an anchor in the emotional storm these recordings had unleashed.

"I wouldn't have thought..." he began, his voice hoarse. "I never imagined I could be that person."

Summoning your courage, you turned to face him. The raw vulnerability in his expression broke something loose inside you—some final defense against the truth that had been building since you first woke in this timeline.

"I never imagined you could be either," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "But you are. With the girls. Every day, I see glimpses of him—that man in the recordings."

His thumb brushed over your knuckles. "And I see her in you. The way you know exactly what Suki needs before she asks. How you sing Sara back to sleep after nightmares."

"This isn't real," you said, but the protest sounded hollow even to your own ears. "We're just... playing parts."

"Are we?" His dark eyes searched yours, more serious than you'd ever seen him. "Because it doesn't feel like playing anymore."

You couldn't answer—couldn't find words for the confusion swirling inside you. This was Nishimura Riki, your nemesis, the bane of your Hogwarts existence. Except... he wasn't. Not entirely. Not anymore.

"I don't know what's happening to us," you finally managed. "I don't know who we're becoming."

"I think," he said slowly, "we might be becoming the people in those recordings. The people we're apparently meant to be."

The thought should have terrified you. A week ago, it would have. Now, it filled you with a complicated mix of fear and something dangerously close to hope.

"What if we get sent back?" you asked, giving voice to the question that had been haunting you. "What happens to... this? To them?" You gestured toward the orbs, the tangible evidence of a future built on love rather than animosity.

"I don't know," he admitted. "But I'm starting to think McGonagall might have been right."

"About what?"

"About this being an educational opportunity." His smile was rueful. "I'm definitely learning things about myself I never knew."

You found yourself returning his smile, fragile though it was. "Like the fact that you apparently cry at pregnancy announcements?"

"Like the fact that I can make pancakes with faces and that I apparently give excellent pep talks to unborn children," he corrected, a hint of his usual humor returning. "The crying is clearly fake news."

The tension broke, a small laugh escaping you. Riki's expression softened, his hand still holding yours.

"I don't know what happens next," he said quietly. "McGonagall said we only have fourteen more days before we get sent back. Two weeks to reconcile the person I was with the person I apparently become." His eyes met yours, something vulnerable and urgent in his gaze. "But I do know one thing."

"What's that?"

His eyes met yours, steady and certain. "I don't hate this life. I don't hate it at all."

The simple admission hung between you, weighted with implications neither of you was quite ready to explore fully.

"Neither do I," you confessed, the words both frightening and freeing. "And that scares me more than anything."

From upstairs came the sound of Suki's voice, calling for her father to come see the tower she'd built. The moment broke, reality reasserting itself.

Riki released your hand reluctantly. "Duty calls," he said, rising from his chair. At the doorway, he paused, looking back at you. "For what it's worth... I think we could do worse than becoming those people."

He left you sitting among the scattered orbs, each one a window into a future that felt less impossible with every passing day. The wedding night promise echoed in your mind: I'd fight a hundred time-turner accidents to end up right here with you.

Maybe, you thought as you carefully returned the recordings to their cabinet, that wasn't such an outlandish sentiment after all.

That night, after the emotional revelation of the memory orbs, neither of you mentioned the pillow barrier that had separated your sides of the bed for the past three weeks. When you emerged from the bathroom in your pajamas, Riki was already in bed, staring thoughtfully at the ceiling.

"Are the girls asleep?" you asked, hovering uncertainly at the edge of the mattress.

He nodded. "Suki made me read 'The Fountain of Fair Fortune' twice. Said Grandma Molly does all the proper voices."

You smiled despite yourself. "And do you?"

"I try," he admitted with a self-deprecating shrug. "My Amata is apparently 'too growly.'"

The shared moment of normalcy eased some of the tension between you. You slipped under the covers, careful to maintain a respectful distance, and turned off the bedside lamp with a wave of your wand.

For several minutes, you both lay in silence, the events of the day—the memories you'd witnessed, the glimpses of a shared future—swirling through your mind. You were acutely aware of Riki's presence beside you, his breathing, the faint scent of his soap.

"Do you think they're happy?" you asked suddenly, your voice sounding loud in the darkness. "Our future selves, I mean."

Riki was quiet for a moment. "They look happy," he finally said. "In those memories... they seem genuinely happy."

"It's strange," you murmured. "A month ago, I would have said there was no possible future where you and I could..."

"Be anything but enemies?" he finished when you trailed off.

"Yes."

"And now?"

You turned onto your side, facing him though you could barely make out his profile in the dim light filtering through the curtains. "Now I'm not so sure."

He turned to face you, and you could feel his gaze even if you couldn't clearly see his expression. "Me neither."

Neither of you spoke again, but the silence had changed quality—no longer awkward, but contemplative, almost comfortable. You weren't sure who moved first, or if perhaps you both did, but somehow the space between you shrank until your head was resting against his shoulder, his arm curled around you.

"Is this okay?" he whispered, his breath warm against your hair.

"Yes," you replied, relaxing into his embrace. It should have felt strange, being held by Riki, but instead it felt... safe. Right. As if your body remembered this comfort even if your mind didn't.

You fell asleep like that, wrapped in each other's warmth, the barriers between past and present, enmity and affection, blurring with each shared breath.

The sound of crying woke you sometime in the deepest part of the night. Sara's distressed wails coming through the baby monitor. Before you could fully register what was happening, Riki was already sitting up.

"I've got her," he murmured, his voice rough with sleep. "Go back to sleep."

You watched through half-lidded eyes as he padded from the room, the gentle concern in his movements so different from the arrogant boy you'd known at Hogwarts. Your body felt cold where his warmth had been, and you found yourself missing his presence with unexpected intensity.

Unable to fall back asleep immediately, you listened to the monitor as Riki entered the nursery.

"Hey, little star," his voice came softly through the speaker. "Bad dream?"

Sara's cries subsided to hiccupping sobs.

"Shh, it's okay. Daddy's here." The creaking of the rocking chair told you he'd settled in with her. "Let's not wake up the whole house, hmm? Your mama needs her sleep. She works so hard, you know."

The tenderness in his voice made your throat tighten. This wasn't for show—he didn't know you were listening. This was just Riki, caring for his daughter, speaking about you with genuine affection.

"Should we sing our special song?" he continued. "The one that always makes you sleepy?"

And then, to your astonishment, Riki began to sing—a gentle lullaby in Japanese, his voice low and surprisingly melodic. You'd never heard him sing before, never imagined he could sound so... vulnerable.

When the song ended, Sara had quieted completely.

"That's my girl," Riki murmured. "You know, you have your mother's smile. All sunshine, even at midnight."

He fell silent for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice had changed—softer, more introspective, as if he were confessing something even to himself.

"I never thought I could feel this way about anyone," he said quietly. "Your mama... she was always special, even when we were kids. I used to drive her crazy just to see the fire in her eyes when she'd yell at me. Stupid, right? But I didn't know how else to get her attention."

Sara made a small cooing sound, as if encouraging him to continue.

"And now... now I see how amazing she is. How strong and brilliant and kind. The way she takes care of you and Suki, the way she teaches her students..." He sighed. "I'm not sure I deserve any of this, little star. But I think... I think I want to try to be worthy of it."

Your heart raced as you absorbed his words. This wasn't the Riki who'd turned your hair pink during exams or charmed your quills to write love poems about himself. This was a man—one who'd grown from that boy, who'd learned to love and care and put others before himself.

"Time to sleep now," he whispered to Sara. "Dreams of chocolate frogs and flying carpets for you."

You quickly sat up as you heard his footsteps approaching the bedroom. Some tide had turned inside you, some barrier broken by his unguarded words. You'd spent years pushing him away, and now all you wanted was to draw him closer.

When he entered the room, his silhouette outlined in the dim hallway light, you didn't hesitate. You crossed the bed in two movements and met him at the doorway, your hands finding his face in the darkness.

"You're awake—" he began, but you silenced him by pressing your lips to his.

For a heartbeat, he froze in surprise. Then his arms encircled you, pulling you against him as he responded with a fervor that stole your breath. This wasn't like the careful, public kiss at the dinner—this was something raw and honest, years of tension dissolving into something entirely new.

When you finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, his forehead rested against yours.

"What was that for?" he whispered, his voice unsteady.

"I heard you," you admitted. "With Sara. What you said."

His body tensed slightly. "Ah."

"Did you mean it?" you asked, your hands still framing his face, thumbs tracing the line of his jaw. "About wanting to be worthy of this? Of us?"

In the darkness, you felt rather than saw him nod. "Every word."

"I think..." you began, then gathered your courage. "I think maybe you already are."

For a split second, Riki went utterly still—like the admission physically struck him. Then, his exhale came out ragged. That was the only warning before he closed the distance, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss, all pent-up longing, confusion, and overwhelming hope released at once.

You melted into him, letting go of everything you’d clung to since you woke in this impossible timeline: your rivalry, your assumptions, your fear. Because beneath your fingertips, you felt Riki tremble. He was as affected by this as you were.

His mouth slid over yours, hot and searching, stealing your breath. His hands dropped from your waist to your hips, fingers digging into your flesh, pulling you flush against him. The moment your body pressed to his, he made a low, desperate sound at the back of his throat—like he’d been starving for this touch.

“God, you drive me insane,” he muttered between kisses, voice muffled by your lips. There was no space left between you—no air, no doubt, just heat and him.

When you whispered his name—Riki—he groaned, deep and guttural, a hand sliding under your shirt, up the curve of your spine. His palm was hot and possessive on your skin. It felt scandalous and necessary all at once.

Your kiss turned filthy, teeth clashing, tongues tangling, a push and pull of half-formed moans. Riki lifted you without warning, guiding your legs around his waist. You could feel how hard he was, the pressure against your core dizzying.

You gasped into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound, sucking on your bottom lip until a bolt of sensation sparked through your entire body. Your fingers twisted into the soft hair at the nape of his neck, tugging, and he growled—a low, feral noise that spurred you both into something deeper.

He backed you against the wall, one arm braced beside your head for support while the other stayed locked around your hips. You rolled your hips to meet his, eliciting another ragged groan from him.

“Careful,” he murmured, breaking the kiss for a desperate breath. His forehead rested against yours, eyes heavy-lidded, blown wide with desire. “I don’t have much self-control left.”

You swallowed hard. “Then don’t.”

It was all he needed to hear. Riki claimed your lips again, this time slower, deeper. The slide of his mouth was hot and wet, an intimate dance that sent tingles down your spine. You curled your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, never close enough.

When he finally carried you to the bed, it felt like the world had narrowed to just heartbeats and frantic breathing. He lowered you onto the mattress, crawling over you with that same mixture of filth and reverence, as if he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to worship you or ruin you. Possibly both.

You watched, chest heaving, as he peeled off his shirt, exposing the lean lines of his torso. A slight flush stained his cheeks, but his gaze never left yours. You fumbled with your own top, but your fingers trembled too much. Riki’s hands caught yours, guiding them aside, then took over—slowly, carefully lifting the fabric away. His eyes traveled down your newly exposed skin, and he exhaled shakily.

“You’re--” he started, then stopped, swallowing back words he couldn’t say. Instead, he leaned in to kiss a path down your throat, teeth scraping lightly, tongue soothing the small bites he left.

Goosebumps flared over your entire body at the quiet, open-mouthed kisses he pressed to your shoulder, your collarbone, the swell of your chest. The friction was maddening, each press of your bodies a reminder of the tension building below your stomach.

He slid his hand under the waistband of your pants, and your breath hitched. The filthy edge returned, overshadowing any last trace of caution. A ragged moan escaped your throat when his fingers brushed lower, teasing. Even fully clothed, the sensation threatened to snap whatever fragile composure remained.

“Riki,” you whispered, voice choking on raw need. The sound of his name seemed to unravel him.

His eyes lifted to yours, dark with want, but also swirling with something dangerously close to tenderness. You pushed a shaky hand through his hair, pulling him in for another deep, sloppy kiss. Tongue, teeth, shared breath—you both devoured it all.

Suddenly, he groaned, half-cursing. “We shouldn’t—”

“We should,” you interrupted, barely able to think straight. Because if you stopped now, if you allowed sense to creep back in, you might never let yourself have this again.

He pressed his forehead to yours, each pant of air mingling. “You’re… you’re all I can think about.”

A desperate laugh bubbled from your lips. “Same.”

His mouth captured yours once more, thoroughly, like he needed to memorize every corner of you. With a growl, he moved against you, and you felt everything—every ridge, every hard line straining through his pants, pressing right into your hips. An electric jolt shot through you, drawing a high-pitched gasp from the back of your throat.

You felt him smile against your lips, a grin that was half cocky, half wrecked, before he nipped your lower lip again. He guided your hand down, letting you feel just how hard he was—a silent confession of how far gone he’d become. A dizzy wave of heat flooded you in response.

Then, all at once, the kiss slowed, shifting from ravenous to agonizingly tender. His movements became deliberate. His tongue slid over your lips, gentler now, coaxing you to let go of tension you didn’t know you were holding. You shuddered, letting your eyes drift shut, melted by the softness that peeked through the lust.

When he finally pulled away, both of you breathless, he rested his forehead to yours, voice trembling. “You don’t hate me at all, do you?”

A smile trembled on your lips. “Not anymore.”

He made a sound halfway between relief and longing, then carefully laid you back against the pillows. You felt him settle against you, one leg between yours, the rhythmic press of his hips leaving you dizzy and clinging. He kissed you again—soft, consuming—like he planned to stay there forever, tasting your every breath.

Your heart pounded at the realization that you had two weeks left in this timeline. Two weeks before you’d return to being seventeen, to the version of yourself that loathed Nishimura Riki. But in that moment, with his body heavy and warm over yours, with his tongue gently lapping at your bruised lips, none of it mattered.

All that mattered was that, for now, he was yours—and you were his—and the dark weight of your previous hatred had turned into something far more potent: raw, desperate desire, laced with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

So you let him kiss you until you were lightheaded. Let him press you deeper into the mattress, let your bodies align in a flush of friction, let the sweet, filthy moans echo between your parted mouths. Because if time was running out, you’d take every second you could get.

Two weeks left. Two weeks before you returned to the rivalry, the misunderstandings, the wide chasm you once thought separated you. Maybe you’d lose these memories. Maybe he would too. But for now, you poured yourself into him, letting the lines between past and present blur, letting the possibility of something more overshadow every bitter word you’d ever exchanged.

And when you finally made your way back to bed, tangled in each other’s arms, the question of hatred or love no longer loomed so large. In the hush of that moment, with your lips still buzzing from his, the only thing that mattered was him—Nishimura Riki, the man who had once been your enemy, but who now kissed you like you were his only future.

But now you knew what could be. What might be, if you chose a different path.

And for the first time since waking in this strange future, you weren't sure you wanted to go back at all.

Morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a golden glow across the bed where you lay entwined with Riki. For a moment after waking, you felt only contentment—the warm weight of his arm across your waist, his steady breathing against your neck, the comfortable fit of your bodies together.

Then memory rushed back—the memory orbs, his confession to Sara, the kiss that had changed everything—and your eyes flew open.

Riki was already awake, watching you with an expression you'd never seen before. Gone was the cocky smirk of your school nemesis, replaced by something softer, more vulnerable, yet somehow more intense.

"Good morning," he said quietly, his voice husky from sleep.

"Morning," you replied, suddenly self-conscious. In the light of day, the boldness that had propelled you into his arms last night seemed both distant and startlingly real.

You made to move away, to create some space to collect your thoughts, but his arm tightened around your waist.

"Don't," he murmured. "Please."

You stilled, acutely aware of everywhere your bodies touched—his legs tangled with yours, his chest pressed against your side, his fingers splayed across your hip.

"About last night," you began, not entirely sure what you wanted to say.

"I meant every word," he interrupted, his eyes never leaving yours. "Everything I said to Sara, everything I... showed you afterward." A faint flush colored his cheeks at the memory of your kisses, but his gaze remained steady. "The question is, did you?"

You took a breath, searching for the right words. "I think I've been fighting this—whatever this is between us—since we arrived. Maybe longer."

"Me too," he admitted. "It seemed easier to hold onto who we were than to acknowledge who we might be becoming."

His fingers traced idle patterns on your hip, the casual intimacy of the gesture making your pulse quicken.

"I've been holding back," he continued, his voice dropping lower. "Trying to maintain some distance, some semblance of our old rivalry, because it felt safer than admitting how much I've come to..." He paused, seemingly unwilling to name the emotion. "Care about you. About this life."

You understood completely. You'd been doing the same thing—clinging to old animosities as a shield against these new, terrifying feelings.

"But I don't want to hold back anymore," he said, his expression growing determined. "We have two weeks left in this timeline, and I don't want to waste another day pretending that I'm not falling for you."

Your breath caught at his directness. "Riki—"

"No, let me finish." His hand moved from your hip to cradle your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone. "I know this isn't how either of us expected things to go. I know we're supposed to hate each other. But I can't keep acting like a reluctant houseguest in what's supposed to be our life together."

The intensity in his eyes made your heart race.

"From now on, I'm going to be the husband you deserve—the one you see in those memory orbs. The one who looks at you like you're the most extraordinary thing he's ever seen. Because right now, you are."

You swallowed hard, overwhelmed by his declaration. "What exactly are you saying?"

His smile was slow, confident, yet tinged with a vulnerability that made it utterly disarming. "I'm saying that with your permission, I'm done holding back. I'm going to court you properly, the way a man should court his wife—with everything I have."

The old Riki—the boy you'd known at Hogwarts—had never looked at you this way, had never spoken with such sincerity. This was the man from the memory orbs, the one who promised forever on your wedding night, the one who spoke to his unborn child with such tenderness.

"Are you sure?" you asked, needing to know this wasn't just the influence of your surroundings, of playing house in borrowed lives.

"I've never been more sure of anything," he said. "The only question is... will you let me?"

The vulnerability beneath his confident words touched something deep inside you. This wasn't just about physical attraction or the strange circumstances that had thrown you together. This was Riki—proud, stubborn, brilliant Riki—offering his heart with no guarantee you wouldn't break it.

"Yes," you whispered, the word feeling like a leap from a great height. "Yes."

The smile that illuminated his face was like sunshine breaking through clouds—radiant and transformative. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to yours.

"You won't regret it," he promised. "I'm going to make these next two weeks so incredible that when we go back, you won't be able to look at me without remembering."

Before you could respond, the patter of small feet in the hallway announced Suki's approach. With a rueful smile, Riki pressed a quick kiss to your lips before rolling away just as the bedroom door flew open.

"Mama! Daddy! It's pancake day!" Suki announced, launching herself onto the bed. "You promised!"

"Did I?" Riki asked, catching her mid-bounce and tickling her until she shrieked with laughter.

"Yes!" she insisted between giggles. "With chocolate chips and strawberries!"

"Well, if I promised, then I better deliver," he said, setting her down and ruffling her hair. "Why don't you go pick out your clothes while Mama and I get ready?"

"Okay!" She darted from the room as quickly as she'd arrived, leaving a whirlwind of energy in her wake.

Riki turned back to you, his expression soft. "This is what I want," he said quietly. "Not just now, in this borrowed time, but someday. For real. With you."

The simple sincerity of his words stole your breath. This wasn't a declaration of undying love—it was something more grounded, more honest. A recognition of possibility, of potential.

"We should probably get up," you said, not quite ready to examine the way his words made your heart swell. "Before Hurricane Suki returns."

He nodded, but before you could move, he caught your hand. "Just one more thing."

"What's that?"

His eyes crinkled at the corners, a hint of his old mischief returning. "I hope you realize that as your properly devoted husband, I now have full license to be utterly, embarrassingly romantic at every opportunity."

You groaned, but couldn't suppress your smile. "I'm already regretting this arrangement."

"No, you're not," he said confidently, pressing a kiss to your knuckles before releasing your hand. "But you might when I start serenading you at breakfast."

"You wouldn't dare."

His answering grin was pure Nishimura—challenge accepted.

As you headed to the bathroom, you couldn't help but marvel at the strange path that had led you here—from bitter rivals to reluctant co-parents to... whatever you were becoming now. Something new, something unexpected, but something that felt increasingly right.

Two weeks left in this timeline. Two weeks to explore what might have been—what might still be, if you were brave enough to reach for it when you returned.

For now, though, there were pancakes to make, children to wrangle, and a husband who had apparently decided that making you blush was his new favorite pastime.

And for the first time since arriving in this future, you found yourself looking forward to whatever came next.

The days after your mutual decision to embrace this borrowed life took on a bittersweet urgency. Each morning, the calendar on the kitchen wall served as a silent reminder—crossing off another day meant one fewer remaining before your inevitable return.

At first, Riki stayed true to his word about courting you properly—leaving wildflowers on your pillow, preparing your favorite meals, stealing sweet kisses when the children weren't looking. It was charming, thoughtful, and absolutely maddening in its restraint.

By the fifth day, your patience had worn dangerously thin.

You found yourself hyperaware of his presence—the way his shoulder brushed yours when you passed in the hallway, how his fingers lingered when handing you a cup of tea, the sound of his voice reading bedtime stories to the girls. Each small interaction sparked something within you, a slow-burning heat that grew more difficult to ignore.

At night, you'd fall asleep in his arms, your bodies pressed together in increasingly intimate arrangements, only to wake tangled even more closely. Yet he maintained a gentlemanly distance that made you want to scream.

On the sixth day, you both clung to Sara a few seconds longer during morning goodbyes. On the seventh, Riki spent an hour teaching Suki a charm to make paper butterflies, carefully recording her delighted laughter with a memory orb. Neither of you acknowledged the reason for this sudden preservation of moments—the looming reality that soon these children wouldn't be yours anymore.

At Hogwarts, you found yourself distracted during lessons, your mind drifting to Riki—wondering what he was doing, if he was thinking of you, how his hands would feel on your skin if he ever abandoned his infuriating self-control.

The breaking point came on the eighth day.

You'd returned from work to find Riki in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up as he prepared dinner, humming a tune you recognized from one of the memory orbs. The simple domesticity of the scene—this man who had once been your greatest rival now cooking in your shared home—hit you with unexpected force.

"Where are the girls?" you asked, setting down your teaching bag.

"With your parents for the evening," he replied, turning to offer you a warm smile. "I thought we could use a night to ourselves. Maybe stargaze in the garden after dinner? The Cassiopeia constellation is particularly clear this time of year."

Stargazing. Another sweet, thoughtful, perfectly restrained activity.

Something inside you snapped.

"No," you said firmly, approaching him with determined steps.

His smile faltered. "No? I thought you liked astronomy—"

"I don't want to stargaze, Riki." You reached him and took the wooden spoon from his hand, setting it aside. "I don't want to be courted anymore."

Hurt flashed across his face. "I don't understand. I thought—"

"We have six days left," you interrupted, your voice steady despite your racing heart. "Six days before we go back to being seventeen and all of this disappears. I don't want to spend them pretending we have all the time in the world."

Understanding began to dawn in his eyes, but you needed to be absolutely clear.

"You keep treating me like we're starting from the beginning, but we're not. We're already married. We already have children. We already love each other in this timeline." You stepped closer, eliminating the space between you. "I don't need courtship. I need you to be present with me—right here, right now—while we still can be."

His breath caught audibly. "What exactly are you saying?"

"I'm saying fuck the courting," you replied bluntly, satisfaction coursing through you at his shocked expression. "Everything you do—every look, every touch, every sound you make—lights a fire in me, and I'm tired of pretending otherwise."

For a heartbeat, he remained perfectly still, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your skin tingle. Then, with a muttered curse, he closed the distance between you, one hand tangling in your hair while the other pulled you flush against him.

The kiss was nothing like the careful ones you'd shared before—this was raw, desperate, years of tension finally finding release. You responded with equal fervor, your fingers digging into his shoulders as if afraid he might pull away.

He backed you against the kitchen counter, his body pressed against yours in a way that left no doubt about how much he wanted this too. When you finally broke apart for air, his eyes were dark with desire, his breathing ragged.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice rough. "Because if you are, I won't be able to go back to just holding your hand."

In answer, you reached for your wand and cast a quick charm toward the stove, extinguishing the flames beneath the pots.

"Dinner can wait," you said, taking his hand and leading him toward the stairs. "We can't."

Your heart was still hammering from the last kiss, your mind spinning with the realization that you didn’t truly hate him—Nishimura Riki, your longtime rival, the one person you were supposed to despise. But after waking in this future and discovering your lives entwined? All that bitterness had morphed into a pulse-pounding tension you could no longer deny.

Riki’s sharp intake of breath was the only warning before he crashed his mouth into yours, claiming your lips with a force that stole every coherent thought from your head. He gripped the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair, pulling you closer until your chests were flush. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, sucking it between his own, making you gasp into his mouth. You tasted something raw and electric on his tongue—years of pent-up rivalry fueling a desperate kind of need.

When you finally broke apart, panting, he pinned you with a dark, unwavering stare. His cheeks were flushed, eyes dilated with hunger you never imagined seeing from him.

“If we do this—” he started, words low and ragged, “there’s no coming back. I can’t go back to just ignoring you, or acting like we’re not…”

You swallowed, heart thudding. “I don’t want to ignore it anymore,” you whispered, the confession surprising even you.

He let out a sound—somewhere between a curse and a prayer—and grabbed your wrist, leading you to the bed. Each step felt like a collision of hearts, the air heavy with unspoken promises. The second your back hit the mattress, he hovered over you, breath coming in harsh pants. His body pressed you down, hips snug between your thighs, letting you feel just how achingly hard he was through his clothes.

“Fuck,” he muttered, dragging his mouth along the line of your jaw, the curve of your neck, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses that had you shivering. “You feel so good… can’t believe we waited this long.”

You barely got a chance to respond before he slid down your body, fingers deftly working to peel away the barriers between you. Clothes were tugged off with clumsy urgency—your shirt up over your head, his hoodie tossed aside. His mouth followed a path down your torso, teeth scraping lightly, tongue soothing the marks he left behind.

By the time he settled between your legs, you were trembling with anticipation, your head spinning from the low, filthy groan he let out at the sight of you. He pushed your knees apart, lips skimming the inside of your thigh, sending jolts of pleasure right through your core.

“Riki…” you moaned, voice cracking.

His name seemed to snap something in him. With a growl that bordered on feral, he lowered his head, pressing his mouth to your center with no hesitation. The first stroke of his tongue was slow but deliberate, an experimental lap that had your toes curling. He moaned softly against you, the vibration making you gasp, and you dug your heels into the bed, hips bucking upward in a silent plea for more.

He gave you more.

Open-mouthed kisses replaced gentler licks, each one wetter, louder, dangerously addictive. Your breath caught when he focused on just the right spot, swirling his tongue, then flattening it in a heavy, dragging motion that left you whimpering his name. His hands crept up your thighs, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your skin as if to anchor you—as if to keep you from floating away under the intensity of his mouth.

“You taste… so fucking good,” he murmured, half to himself. Heat coiled low in your belly at the filthy timbre of his voice.

He licked, sucked, nipped lightly—alternating between decadent slowness and feral bursts of pressure—making your mind go blank. Every moan or sob of pleasure you gave him, he seemed to swallow greedily, redoubling his efforts. Your fingers knotted in his hair, nails scraping his scalp, urging him closer.

When you rolled your hips against his face, desperate for friction, he groaned, a shamelessly erotic sound that sent sparks through your entire body. He pressed his hand against your stomach, keeping you pinned as he focused his tongue with maddening precision. Your vision blurred; your only tether to reality was the slick, relentless glide of his mouth and the thunder of your heart.

“Oh God,” you gasped, head thrashing on the pillow. “Riki—”

He hummed in response—a rumble that made your thighs shake. The sensation built, rising to a point you were sure you couldn’t handle. Your breath hitched, eyes squeezing shut. You were so close, the tension in your muscles near bursting.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, momentarily pulling back to suck a bruising kiss along your inner thigh, before returning to lave his tongue exactly where you needed.

That was all it took.

The coil snapped. Your body arched off the bed, a ragged cry tearing from your lips as the orgasm crashed over you—long, pulsating waves of ecstasy that left you gasping for air. Riki held you through it, unrelenting until the last aftershocks made you shiver, your mind wholly surrendered to sensation.

By the time the world drifted back into focus, you realized he had kissed his way up your trembling body, peppering lazy kisses on your skin. His face hovered over yours, eyes half-lidded, mouth glistening with proof of what he’d done. A flush colored his cheeks, and his breathing was ragged, as though he’d been lost in it as deeply as you were.

“Fuck,” he muttered, leaning down to brush his lips over yours in a sloppy, hungry kiss. You tasted yourself on his tongue, a heady reminder of how intimate you’d just been. You let out a weak moan, arms wrapping around his neck to pull him close.

Your heart pounded, and for a moment, you just breathed each other in—sweat, sweetness, the faint tang of desperation still clinging to every shared breath.

“You okay?” he murmured, running a hand gently down your side. There was a tenderness in his tone that caught you off guard, considering how filthy the moment had been just seconds ago.

“More than okay,” you managed, voice cracked with leftover tremors. You shifted, still dizzy with pleasure, arms and legs like jelly.

A soft, relieved laugh escaped him. He nuzzled your cheek, pressing another lingering kiss to your jaw. “I’m not done with you yet,” he teased, though his voice held a trace of nervous sincerity.

You swallowed, letting your fingers tangle in his hair. “Then don’t be,” you replied softly.

And just like that, the tension began to build again, a quiet, throbbing promise of more. Because if there was one thing this impossible future had shown you, it was that Nishimura Riki was no longer just your rival—he was the man who could unravel you with a single stroke of his tongue, and you never wanted him to stop.

Later that night, lying tangled together in the sheets of your shared bed, you traced idle patterns on his chest while he played with your hair. The desperate urgency had given way to a peaceful contentment that felt all the more precious for its transience.

"I've been an idiot, haven't I?" Riki murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Wasting time with flowers and stargazing when we could have been doing that."

You laughed softly. "To be fair, the flowers were lovely."

"Not as lovely as you," he replied, his expression growing more serious. "I just... I didn't want to push. Didn't want you to think I was only interested in the physical aspect of... us."

"I know," you assured him, propping yourself up on one elbow to meet his gaze. "But we don't have the luxury of a normal courtship timeline. We're doing everything backwards and on an accelerated schedule."

He nodded, his fingers continuing their gentle exploration of your hair. "Speaking of backwards—is it strange that I feel like I'm falling in love with my own wife? Like I'm both meeting you for the first time and rediscovering someone I've known forever?"

The casual mention of love should have frightened you. Instead, it felt right—inevitable, even.

"Not strange at all," you said softly. "I feel the same way."

For a moment, you both lay in comfortable silence, absorbing the weight of the admission.

"What happens when we go back?" he finally asked, voicing the question that had been hovering between you for days.

You sighed, settling your head against his shoulder. "I don't know. Will we even remember this? Or will it feel like a dream we can't quite recall?"

"I'll remember," he said with fierce certainty. "I refuse not to. Even if I have to brew a memory potion or create my own pensieve."

"And then what? We go from this—" you gestured between your entwined bodies, "—to being seventh-year students again? From parents to teenagers?"

"We find each other again," he said simply. "Maybe not right away. Maybe we need time to grow into the people who can truly appreciate each other. But we find our way back."

The conviction in his voice made your throat tighten with emotion. "How can you be so sure?"

His answer was immediate and unwavering. "Because now I know what's possible. And I'm not willing to live in a timeline where we don't end up together."

The remaining days passed in a blur of intense emotions. By unspoken agreement, you both devoted your days to Suki and Sara—memorizing their laughs, recording their milestones, storing away every precious moment with the girls who had somehow become your children in every way that mattered.

But the nights—the nights were for each other.

On those nights, once Suki and Sara were sound asleep, you and Riki would quietly slip away to your bedroom, hearts pounding with an almost desperate urgency. Each evening blurred into the next, infused with a need to capture every last second of this borrowed future.

It began the moment you closed the bedroom door. He crowded you against it, mouth searching for yours, a low, heated groan rising from his chest. You gasped at the contact—your bodies pressed tight, as if you had to make up for all the time lost in the past.

Clothes were peeled away in hurried, clumsy motions. The bed beckoned, but neither of you reached it immediately; you made it halfway across the room before Riki’s hands gripped your hips and he lowered you to the soft rug, the raw ache of your kiss fueling every frantic thrust. It was urgent and wild, a crash of breathless moans echoing in the dim light.

After you unraveled beneath him, panting, he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, eyes reflecting a jumble of relief and longing.

The second night, you found each other in the very early hours, awoken by Sara’s soft cries—but once she was fed and settled, you and Riki lingered in the bed, half-lidded with sleep.

He coaxed you onto his lap slowly, fingertips tracing lazy patterns along your spine. The way he kissed you—soft, indulgent—made your entire body tingle. This time, the pace was slower, sweeter, each roll of your hips drawn out, every shared breath reverent. When you let go, he followed seconds later, whispering your name like a vow.

A random pillow fight after Suki fell asleep turned into a tangle of sheets on the living room floor, laughter morphing into sharp gasps when you straddled his lap, feeling him already half-hard against you.

He murmured something about you being the most infuriating person he’d ever loved, and you answered by kissing him with a grin. Before long, your back hit the cushions, his lips traveling down your neck, your chest, leaving you breathless. You tried to keep quiet—worried about waking the girls—but the desperate friction of your bodies made you moan louder than intended. Riki chuckled, pressing a finger to your mouth, but his own voice shook with suppressed groans.

The release was quick and intense, your nails leaving faint crescents in his shoulders, both of you dizzy from the risk and thrill.

The next day, once Sara and Suki were tucked in, you coaxed Riki into a late-night shower, the water cascading over your entwined bodies. The steamy, cramped space made every movement more intimate.

He pressed you to the tile, nipping along your jaw, water drenching your hair as he lifted your leg around his waist. Each slick slide of his hips was both filthy and tender, the warm rush of water muffling your shared gasps.

You bit your lip, fighting to stay balanced, but Riki pinned you gently, murmuring soft curses at how good you felt. By the time you both tumbled out, the bathroom mirror fogged beyond recognition, your limbs trembled with a mix of exhaustion and satisfaction.

On the final night, you could almost feel the looming separation weighing on you both. That awareness fed a fierce, almost frantic edge to your lovemaking—hands clutching, mouths hungry, as if you wanted to burn the memory of each other into your very souls.

Riki rolled you onto your stomach, pressing open-mouthed kisses down your spine, his breath hot against damp skin. You whimpered his name, already aching for the inevitable end that lurked in tomorrow’s sunrise.

When he finally slid inside you, the cry you let out felt like a broken confession, the tears threatening at the corners of your eyes. Every thrust reverberated with the ache of goodbye. When you came apart, you clung to him like a lifeline, and he followed with a ragged moan, arms wrapping around you, holding tight as though he could shield you both from time itself.

Every touch, every whispered confession, every moment of connection was infused with an almost desperate intensity, as if you could somehow store enough memories to sustain you through the separation that loomed ahead.

On your final night, you lay awake long after Riki had fallen asleep, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest. In just a few hours, you would return to your original timeline—to being seventeen and full of misunderstandings and rivalry, with the entire story of your lives together yet to be written.

Would you remember this? The way his eyes crinkled when he smiled at you across the breakfast table? How his hands felt, strong and sure, when he pulled you against him? The sound of his voice singing lullabies to Sara or patiently answering Suki’s endless questions?

You traced the lines of his face with gentle fingers, committing each detail to memory. Whatever happened tomorrow, you wouldn’t regret a single moment of the time you’d spent in this borrowed future—this glimpse of what could be, if you were brave enough to reach for it.

As dawn approached, you finally closed your eyes, your body curved protectively around his, as if you could somehow shield him—shield both of you—from the inevitable separation that morning would bring.

Six days had become five, then four, then three, until finally you’d arrived at the last day of your borrowed time together. Tomorrow you would return to being students, to being rivals, to being separate.

But tonight—tonight you were still husband and wife, still partners, still two people who had found each other across time and circumstance.

And that, you decided as sleep finally claimed you, was something worth fighting to remember.

Your heart pounded as reality settled over you. You were back at Hogwarts—in the Room of Requirement, specifically, which had transformed itself into a bedroom much smaller than the one you'd shared for the past month. Morning sunlight streamed through unfamiliar windows, illuminating your school uniforms draped over nearby chairs.

School uniforms. Not adult robes. Not your teaching clothes or his Auror gear.

"We're back," you whispered, the words barely audible.

"The girls," Riki said, his voice cracking. "Suki. Sara."

The names hung in the air between you, impossible weights on your hearts. You wrapped your arms around yourself, suddenly cold despite the warm room. "They're not... they don't..."

"They don't exist yet," he finished, his face ashen. He looked younger, you realized with a jolt. The subtle maturity that had marked his adult face was gone, replaced by the smoother features of a seventeen-year-old. Still handsome, but less... weathered.

You touched your own face, feeling the slight differences. No fine lines around your eyes. Fuller cheeks. You looked down at your hands—no faint scar from where you'd burned yourself making potions with Suki. No wedding ring.

"It's like it never happened," you said hollowly.

Riki stood abruptly, pacing the small room. "No. It happened. It was real. I remember everything." He turned to you, eyes wild. "You remember too, right? Please tell me you remember."

"I remember," you assured him, your voice steadier than you felt. "Every moment."

The relief on his face was palpable. "McGonagall said we would. She said the displacement would resolve itself naturally, but our memories would remain intact."

"McGonagall," you repeated. "We should talk to her. She'll know—"

The door burst open before you could finish. Professor McGonagall herself stood in the entrance, her stern expression softening slightly at the sight of you both.

"Ah, good. You're awake," she said crisply. "I see the temporal spell has resolved itself as expected."

"Professor," you began, a thousand questions crowding your mind. "The future we saw—"

"Is one possibility, Miss [Last Name]," she interrupted gently. "One of many possible futures that may come to pass."

"But it felt so real," Riki said, his fists clenching at his sides. "Those people—our children—"

"They may still come to be, Mr. Nishimura," McGonagall said. "Or they may not. Time is not fixed. The future you glimpsed was formed by choices neither of you has made yet." Her gaze sharpened. "The question is whether your experience has taught you anything about the consequences of your actions."

You exchanged a glance with Riki, a silent understanding passing between you that would have been impossible a month ago.

"I believe it has, Professor," you said quietly.

"Good." She nodded briskly. "Then perhaps this entire ordeal was not without value." She checked her watch. "You've missed breakfast, but there's still time to change for your first classes. I suggest you both make haste."

With that, she turned to leave, then paused at the doorway. "Oh, and ten points from both your houses for the reckless spellcasting that caused this mess. Try to remember that magic is not a toy, even when provoked by..." she glanced between you, "...strong emotions."

The door closed behind her, leaving you alone with Riki once more.

An awkward silence descended. He looked so different in his rumpled school uniform, his prefect badge slightly askew. Yet his eyes were the same—the eyes that had gazed at you with tenderness as you fell asleep in his arms just last night.

Except it wasn't last night. That version of him—that version of you—was more than a decade away.

"So," he finally said, his voice carefully neutral. "What happens now?"

It was the question neither of you had fully answered even during your last night together. What would you do when you returned? How could you possibly navigate the strangeness of being seventeen again, with all the memories of an adult life together?

"I don't know," you admitted. "Everything's different. But also the same."

He took a half-step toward you, then stopped himself. "Is it... are we...?" He couldn't seem to complete the thought.

You understood his hesitation. In the future, you had been equals—partners in every sense. Here, now, you were just teenagers again. The depth of feeling, the intimacy you'd shared, felt both precious and impossible in your current bodies.

"I think," you said slowly, choosing your words with care, "that we can't just pick up where we left off. We're not those people yet."

Pain flashed across his face, but he nodded. "You're right. We're not."

"But," you continued, needing him to understand, "I don't want to go back to hating you either."

Hope bloomed in his eyes. "I never really hated you," he confessed. "Even before all this."

"I know." You managed a small smile. "You were just trying to get my attention."

He laughed, a sound that made your heart ache with its familiarity. "It worked, didn't it?"

"A bit too well." You gestured around the room. "Got us thrown ten years into the future."

"Best mistake I ever made," he said softly.

The sincerity in his voice made your breath catch. This was still Riki—your Riki—just younger, less certain, with all the growing up yet to do.

"We should get to class," you said, not because you wanted to leave, but because staying felt dangerous—like you might forget all the reasons why jumping back into your relationship was a bad idea.

He nodded, reaching for his school robes. "Right. Wouldn't want to lose more house points."

You gathered your own robes, hyperaware of him just a few feet away. "Riki?"

He looked up, a flash of vulnerability crossing his features. "Yes?"

"Maybe we could..." you hesitated, then pushed forward. "Maybe we could talk later? After classes?"

The smile that lit his face was so reminiscent of his older self that your chest ached. "I'd like that."

As you both prepared to face the day—the first day of your new, old lives—you couldn't help feeling that this wasn't an ending at all. It was a beginning. A chance to build the future you'd glimpsed, but this time with your eyes wide open.

Suki and Sara might not exist yet. The house with the magical extensions, the teaching career, the shared breakfasts and bedtime stories—all of it lay in a potential future, one you might or might not reach.

But as you caught Riki's eye one more time before leaving the Room of Requirement, you felt something settle in your heart. A certainty that hadn't been there before your temporal displacement.

Some paths were meant to be walked together, even if the journey began again.

The day passed in a blur of familiar yet suddenly strange routines. Sitting in classes you'd once taught, surrounded by peers who had no idea the person beside them was mentally a decade older—it was disorienting to say the least.

You caught glimpses of Riki throughout the day—across the Great Hall during lunch, passing in the corridor between Charms and Transfiguration, in the library during your free period. Each time, your eyes would meet briefly, a world of understanding passing between you before someone would interrupt or you'd have to move on.

News of your overnight disappearance and return had spread, of course, but the details remained vague. Most assumed it was just another chapter in your long-standing rivalry—a prank gone wrong, perhaps, or a duel that had sent you both to the hospital wing. No one could have guessed that you'd spent the missing hours living an entire month in your future.

By the time classes ended, anxiety had settled in your stomach like a lead weight. You'd told Riki you'd meet him by the lake, away from the curious eyes and gossip of your housemates. As you walked down the sloping lawn toward the water's edge, you spotted him already waiting, skipping stones across the still surface.

He looked impossibly young in his school robes, his tie loosened and hair slightly tousled by the breeze. Yet when he turned at the sound of your approach, the look in his eyes was anything but childish. It was Riki—your Riki—the one who had held you through the night and promised to find you across time.

"Hi," you said, stopping a few feet away, suddenly shy.

"Hi," he replied, letting the stone in his hand drop back to the ground. "You came."

"I said I would."

An awkward silence fell, the weight of everything you'd experienced together—everything you'd lost—hovering between you. The easy intimacy you'd developed over the past month seemed both immediate and impossibly distant.

"This is weird," he finally said, running a hand through his hair.

You laughed, the tension breaking slightly. "So weird. I keep wanting to check on the girls, and then remembering..."

"That they don't exist," he finished, pain flashing across his features. "Yet."

That single word—yet—contained so much hope, so much uncertainty.

"I went to Defense Against the Dark Arts and kept wanting to correct Professor Mays," you admitted. "I almost offered to demonstrate the Shield Charm variation I'd been teaching my fifth years."

"I sat in Potions thinking about a case I worked on last week—will work on in a decade, I guess." He shook his head. "Time travel pronouns are still confusing."

Another silence, less awkward but weighted with things unsaid.

"So," you ventured, "what happens now?"

Riki took a deep breath, as if gathering his courage. "That depends."

"On what?"

"On whether it was all just the circumstances," he said, his voice low and intense. "Whether what happened between us was just because we were thrust into those roles, or if it was something real. Something that could exist here, now."

Your heart began to race. "What do you think?"

He stepped closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "I think I've been falling for you since fifth year, but I was too stubborn and immature to admit it. I think aggravating you was the only way I knew to get your attention. And I think seeing who we could become together—who we are together—just brought to the surface feelings that were already there."

His raw honesty stole your breath.

"What about you?" he asked, vulnerability evident in every line of his body. "Was it real for you?"

You thought about the last month—the confusion, the gradual understanding, the growing affection that had blossomed into something deeper. Had it all been circumstantial? Just two people playing the roles they were thrust into?

"At first, I thought it was just the situation," you admitted. "That we were just adapting to the reality we found ourselves in."

His face fell slightly, but he nodded, accepting your words.

"But then," you continued, needing him to understand, "somewhere along the way, it changed. It became about you—not future you, not my supposed husband—just you, Riki. The way you were with the girls. The way you looked at me. The person I saw beneath all the bravado and pranks."

Hope bloomed in his eyes, cautious but undeniable.

"I want to be your boyfriend," he blurted out, the words tumbling over each other in his haste. "Not in ten years. Now. Here." He stepped forward and took your hands in his, his grip almost painfully tight. "I don't want to be anyone else's, and I don't want you to be anyone else's either."

The intensity in his gaze nearly buckled your knees. This was Riki stripped of all pretense—raw, vulnerable, offering his heart with no guarantee you wouldn't break it.

"Kiss me," he whispered, his voice dropping to a plea. "Kiss me, kiss me, please. I've been thinking about it all day—wondering if it would feel the same, if you'd taste the same—"

You silenced him the only way you could, closing the distance between you and pressing your lips to his. The kiss was different from those you'd shared in the future—more hesitant, less practiced—but the spark was the same, the connection immediate and electric.

His hands released yours to cradle your face, thumbs brushing your cheekbones as he kissed you with increasing certainty. You curled your fingers into the front of his robes, anchoring yourself to him.

When you finally broke apart, both slightly breathless, he rested his forehead against yours, unwilling to let you go completely.

"So," he murmured, a smile tugging at his lips, "is that a yes?"

"Yes," you confirmed, your own smile breaking free. "But on one condition."

"Anything."

"No more turning my hair pink during exams."

He laughed, the sound lightening something in your chest. "I make no such promises. Besides, you looked good with pink hair."

You rolled your eyes, but couldn't maintain your stern expression. "We're going to have to tell people, you know. Our friends. Our families eventually."

"Let them talk," he said, unconcerned. "They'll get used to it. Might even win a few bets—I'm pretty sure half the school has money on when we'd finally figure things out."

The casual way he spoke of your relationship—as if it was inevitable, as if you were always meant to find each other—settled something inside you. The future you'd glimpsed might not happen exactly as you'd seen it, but the essential truth remained: you and Riki belonged together, in any timeline.

"So," he said, taking your hand as you began to walk back toward the castle, "think we'll name our first daughter Suki when the time comes?"

"Don't push your luck, Nishimura," you warned, but you squeezed his hand all the same.

He grinned, unrepentant. "Just planning ahead. I've got a lot of memories to make real."

His eyes gleamed with mischief as he leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper only you could hear. "Speaking of memories... are you planning to keep me 'thoroughly fucked' in this timeline too? Or was that just a future perk?"

"Riki!" You glanced around, mortified though no one was within earshot.

"What?" he asked with exaggerated innocence. "It's a legitimate question about our relationship parameters."

You elbowed him, but couldn't completely hide your smile. "You're impossible."

"And yet, you're dating me now." His grin widened. "Just wondering if I need to earn certain... privileges again, or if there's a temporal grandfather clause."

"You're definitely earning everything from scratch," you informed him primly.

"Challenge accepted," he replied without missing a beat. "Though I do hope you'll give me hints. Like whether you're wearing the same slytherin green underwear from our future, or if I need to charm them off you to find out?"

"You wouldn't dare."

His laugh was warm and intimate, sending a shiver through you that had nothing to do with the evening chill. "No, I wouldn't. Not without your permission." His voice softened. "I remember what you like. What we like together. And I'm looking forward to rediscovering every bit of it—properly this time."

As the castle rose before you, warm light spilling from its windows into the gathering dusk, you felt a curious mixture of loss and hope. You had lost a life, but gained a future—one that you would build together, step by step, choice by choice, with all the patience and passion that your journey had taught you.

fin.

TL: @ziiao @seonhoon @beariegyu @somuchdard @ddolleri @zzhengyu @annybah @elairah @dreamy-carat @geniejunn @kristynaaah @zoemeltigloos @mellowgalaxystrawberry @inlovewithningning @vveebee @m3wkledreamy @lovelycassy @highway-143 @koizekomi @tiny-shiny @simbabyikeu @cristy-101 @bloomiize @dearestdreamies @enhaverse713586 @cybe4ss @starniras @wonuziex @sol3chu @simj4k3 @jakewonist @azzy02 @addictedtohobi @cherrybeomm @urmomdotcom5678 @jaeyunsbimbo @yongbokified @changbinniescurlyhair @en-whims

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