#five minutes of someone helping him that wasn't merlin and he was done

[weaponizedducks]

the way arthur had his literal wife helping him and out of the blue randomly said I want merlin back where is he

[xviruserrorx]

Title: "Be But Sworn My Love"

I delivered!!! Based off of This post from/for @nextstopparis! Enjoy Roya and everyone else who wanted to see it.

Fandom: BBC Merlin

Relationship: Merlin & Arthur, Merlin/Arthur

Rating: Teen & Up

Warning: None

Word Count: 3,630

A smile grew on his face. "Merlin," He drew out his name.

Merlin's eyes flickered up from his book and gave him an intense glare.

Arthur countered with a smile. He won.

"Merlin?" The teacher called again when he didn't start reading.

Merlin gave the teacher a small nod with a grin, confusing Arthur. He waited to see if Merlin was either going to admit that he wasn't reading the right book or reach into his bag for the correct one, but neither came. Instead, he scoffed lightly as he looked Arthur directly in the eye and smirked.

Continue reading below or over on Ao3

Arthur wasn't having a good week, it was one thing after another of unruly circumstances that only seemed to happen to him. He'd initially put it up to Sunday night when he had neglected to write an essay and left it to be done approximately two hours before the deadline. He had only finished it with five minutes to spare on the clock, though that wasn't the problem.

In the rush to finish, he had fallen asleep and completely forgot to set his alarm for the following morning. As soon as his mother had woken him up that following day, he had thrown on the first thing he saw and rushed out the door. And yet, in all his rush, he had arrived mid-way into his first class, frazzled and with a lecture from the teacher.

The day followed with many missing pencils and pens, along with running into someone and dropping all his books. Granted it was Gwaine, who he lectured as they both picked up his books. Though at least things didn't get worse from there.

But...Tuesday was no better. It had snowed in the middle of the night, leaving everyone thrown off. His alarm had gone off and he had given himself enough time to get ready and eat breakfast but, again, that wasn't his issue.

He had started the car early to warm up but when he went out, he found it was not on. He climbed in and tried to start it, but it sputtered and didn't turn on. His heart skipped a couple of beats as he tried a couple more times. But after too many attempts and many yellings of profanities later, he gave in. Letting his head lay forward on the wheel as he fought back tears of frustration.

He had taken a deep breath and ran back into the house, asking Ygraine if Morgana was awake or had left the house yet. He had received a much grateful no before promptly running to her room, knocking and asking—no, begging for a ride.

With pity, she had agreed. Getting ready herself before she dropped him off and he rushed to class. The bell had rung as he had thrown open the doors. Rules were long forgotten as he ran as fast as he could, down the hallways and up the staircases.

Though not before the sharp turn around the top of the staircase had him tumbling into someone. Papers scattered everywhere of the rather large stack they were holding as they hit the ground.

He normally would have stopped, apologized and helped the person, but he panicked. He fumbled out an apology as he jumped to his feet, not giving the person a second glance as he ran to his class.

Another lecture and warning was received as well as some sympathetic looks from his classmates. The rest of his day did not go much better than the first aside from the news when he returned home that his car started magically working again.

Someone was out to get him. Maybe someone had put a curse on him like the stuff Morgana believed in. Or maybe he just had the worst luck in all of humanity that liked to taunt and tease him out of pure fun.

Nevertheless, Wednesday came. Halfway through the week, he only had to survive three more days, how much worse could it get?

He had given himself extra time for the morning, setting his alarm earlier than the normal time to make sure he was nowhere near being late. All his work was done early in the evening, everything was set out in perfect arrangement so that he wouldn't forget and would be time-efficient.

The day was set up and prepared for him to do good. No weird weather, the car was working, with everything okay, he went to bed at a reasonable time with peace on his mind.

Much as his plan worked, he had time to spare. Texting Lancelot and Gwaine as he took his time eating breakfast. Lancelot teased him about not being late while Gwaine jumped into the conversation halfway in having barely woken up. The man he was, Arthur was jealous of his ability to always somehow be a put together mess of a person.

"Oh, Arthur!"

He turned, hearing his mom's voice calling him.

"Morgana left this for you," She handed him a folded piece of paper from the counter.

He grabbed it and scowled at the messily written words upon the post-it note.

You owe me for yesterday little brother, I had an emergency at work, be a good uncle and take your nephew to school for me.

-love, your favourite big sister

He groaned. Of all days, why today?

Ygraine looked at him, "what's wrong, Arthur?"

"Mom, I'm…" he hesitated to finish his sentence. Mordred's school was on the way to his, plus it was Mordred. As much as he and Morgana disagreed sometimes, he always loved Mordred and was more involved in his life than his and Arthur's father included.

"What does it say?" Ygraine questioned, unaware of the contents of the note.

He shook his head, "nothing, It's okay." He pushed the concern away. "Mordred!" He called as he got up and ran up the stairs. He took them quickly as he rounded the corner till he saw the door with wizard stickers messily placed on the door.

He stopped and knocked before he opened the door. "You ready for school, Bud?" He pushed open the door and was met with a half-dressed four-year-old sitting on the floor. He had his trousers on, though his shirt was missing and so was his left shoe.

Blue eyes looked up at him as he shook his head, "no shoe." He moved his blue sock-clad foot showing Arthur that there was indeed no shoe on his foot.

Arthur scoffed, "I see that, but I don't think that's the main problem here, buddy." He moved to his closet and pulled one of his favourite shirts off the hanger before moving back over to the boy.

"Arms up."

Mordred did as told as Arthur pulled the shirt over his head, quickly getting to work on finding the missing shoe.

"Did grandma or your mom not get you ready?" He asked, searching the room before looking under his bed and finding said missing shoe along with other toys and lost items. He knew one of them had, but what happened between then and him finding Mordred, he didn't know.

He got no answer as Mordred played with his fingers while he tied his shoelaces. "Alright," he lifted him to his feet, "are your teeth brushed?"

With no answer again, Arthur gave him a stern look before the small boy shrugged his shoulders.

"It's okay, go to the bathroom, I'll be there in a second."

Mordred skipped off as he searched the room for what the preschooler needed for the day. He found the backpack and shoved the colours scattered on his bed in, as well as his homework which was just large printed numbers that were supposed to be coloured. He sighed as he zipped it up and glanced at the clock by Mordred's bed.

He was going to be late. Getting up early or not, something just had to happen.

He made quick work of getting Mordred's teeth and hair brushed before getting him out the door and Into the thankfully working car. Trying not to break the law, he successfully dropped Mordred off with minimal repercussions before rushing to his school.

No time was spared checking the clock as he ran out of the car and into the school. Seeing some few people staggering the halls, he let out a sigh of relief. The bell hadn't rung, he wasn't late, finally.

He let his heart rest as he walked to his first class. Glad that he could finally relax so early in the morning and not be in a rush. The halls emptied out as he turned the corner at the top of the staircase, the class just at the end of the hall. He took his time as he reached the door and reached for the door. The doorknob jiggled in his grip but didn't budge. He tried it again to no avail, before he stood back confused.

He pushed the curtain aside as he saw the white of something peak out from under. The words In-Library were scrawled out in black on a paper taped to the door.

He felt his heart drop. No… no, no, no, no, this was not happening! He did everything right, everything as planned, today was supposed to be the day he got off of his streak of bad luck. The library was across the school from his homeroom, walking would take five minutes at the least, but if he ran he would be able to get there in two, maybe less.

He ran off as fast as he could, taking the stairs three at a time as he took the shortest route to the library. His heart raced more as the second he turned the corner from the hallways down to the library, the bell rang. He cursed his stupid heavy bag as he ran the rest of the way, only stopping when he was outside the library, he peaked in.

Lancelot caught his eye from where he was at the back of the tables, he gave him a thumbs up and quickly waved him over.

Arthur took Lancelot's word for it as he sneaked his way in and to the back. There was no teacher and half of the kids were too busy talking or half-asleep to see him as he took the spot next to Lancelot.

He slouched down. "That was close," he sighed in relief. Lancelot patted him on the back as he lightly shook his head.

"Alright," the teacher walked into the room a brief second later, "who was late?"

Lancelot winked at him as he relaxed in his chair. No one saw, only Lancelot and he knew Lance wouldn't rat him out. There was a single second of silence before a voice spoke up.

"Arthur was," some kid chimed in, not even looking up from the book he had his nose dug in.

He shot up in his seat. "Dude!" He hissed under his breath.

"Were you, Arthur?" She looked at him and asked with a cocked eyebrow.

He hesitated before giving in. He sighed, "Yes, ma'am."

"That's the third time this week, once more you'll get a strike on your attendance."

"I know…" he grumbled.

"Thank you for letting me know, Merlin."

The kid looked up from his book for the first time, letting Arthur see his face as he gave the teacher a shit-eating grin.

Asshole…

He left the class the second the bell rang, hardly waiting for Lancelot as he marched out of there.

"Am I gonna have to drag you out of bed myself just for you not to be late, Arthur?" Lancelot came up beside him

He sniffed, "I'm not Gwaine."

"Heard that!" Gwaine ran up beside him with a faux hurt look.

"I would have been perfectly fine today If it wasn't for that Merlin kid," he ranted.

"Oh, Merlin?" Gwaine asked, "He's nice."

"You know him?"

"I told you, he's a nice guy once you get to know him. Lancelot would agree."

He looked at Lancelot who gave him a half sympathetic look with a half shrug of his shoulders.

He scoffed, "Yeah, whatever." He brushed them both off as all three piled into their next class, English.

"Alright, class, we're going to pick up where we left off yesterday." She held up Romeo and Juliet, "Would anyone like to volunteer?"

He looked around with others as no hands shot up and no one said a single word.

"Alright then. Lancelot," she called as his head shot up to attention, "would you be so kind to start us off?"

Lancelot nodded and looked down as he flipped a couple of pages, "scene two?"

She nodded.

He took a breath as he started Romeo's dialogue.

"He Jests at scars that never felt a wound…"

Arthur slouched in his seat as Lancelot trailed off reading the rest of Romeo's dialogue. He was exhausted and wanted to take a nap even though he had just woken up. And now he had to stress about his attendance being marked thanks to asshole number one who ratted him out.

His eyes flickered over said asshole, his nose buried in the same thick book from earlier that wasn't the play they were reading. Arthur looked around thinking maybe it was off to the side but found it not even pulled out. He scoffed, not only was he an asshole but he was a cocky asshole at that. Risking getting called on without even having the right book out that they were all reading and working on.

Arthur felt a small grin grow on his face as he got an idea. It would definitely be a real shame if he was called on and wasn't even reading the right book.

As turns passed he looked ahead to see the longest passage coming up. Gwen read the last of her dialogue as she looked up. He discreetly waved to Gwen, getting her attention and pointing to himself. Pick me he mouthed as she furrowed her eyebrows with a confused look on her face.

"Ar-thur…?" She cautiously said.

The teacher's attention shifted to him. "Can you continue the next part?"

He nodded and looked past the next piece of dialogue which read Romeo's line. He cleared his throat.

"Shall I hear more, or shall I speak of this?"

"Good," she said. "Next?"

A smile grew on his face. "Merlin," He drew out his name.

Merlin's eyes flickered up from his book and gave him an intense glare.

Arthur countered with a smile. He won.

"Merlin?" The teacher called again when he didn't start reading.

Merlin gave the teacher a small nod with a grin, confusing Arthur. He waited to see if Merlin was either going to admit that he wasn't reading the right book or reach into his bag for the correct one, but neither came. Instead, he scoffed lightly as he looked Arthur directly in the eye and smirked.

"Tis but thy name that is my enemy; Thou art thyself, though not a Montague."

Arthur's smile fell as he felt his heart start to pound out of pure anger. What was he doing? That was impossible, he was supposed to get his payback.

Eyes stayed locked as the poem was recited line by line from perfect memory without a single stutter.

"What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot, nor arm, nor face, nor any other part belonging to a man. O, be some other name! What's in a name? that which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet; So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd, Retain that dear perfection which he owes without that title. Romeo, doff thy name. And for that name which is no part of thee take all myself."

Each word hit like an arrow to the heart as the last words fell off of Merlin's tongue with mirth and his head held high.

Arthur tightened his jaw and gripped the corner of the book in his hand harder and harder. He wanted to scream, to throw the stupid book across the room and for it to boomerang back and knock him unconscious for the rest of the godforsaken day—maybe week. He felt himself scoff in disbelief, his head slightly shaking as he tried to control his anger. Though the control was increasingly fading and slipping away.

Almost to antagonize him, Merlin's eyebrow popped up in a quick flick while a smug grin plastered his face. He won, he knew it and now he was rubbing it in Arthur's face.

Arthur had to take a deep breath as his feet dug into the floor and his hands battered the edges of the book in his hands. That little—

"Gee, get a room, you two," he heard someone mumble under their breath. A series of giggles and stifled smiles all followed, some in agreement.

Arthur broke the staring match with Merlin as they both looked at the person who said the comment.

"Gwaine," the teacher chided him.

He held up his hands in defence, "Just saying what we're all thinking Miss."

"What?!" He and Merlin both exclaimed at the same time. They glared at one another.

"I don't even like him!" They both pleaded at the same time, only increasing the laughter in the room and their own individual anger.

He caught Merlin's eyes again before the teacher hushed everyone down, yet with a smile of her own. "That's enough everyone. Merlin," she looked towards him, "choose the next person."

"Gwaine," Merlin called out. Hiding a chuckle with his hand as he shook his head. He looked at him one last time with vainglorious triumph before going back to his book. The spine reading, Le Morte d'Arthur…

Arthur didn't want to admit it, but he sulked the rest of the day. Lancelot and Gwaine laughed and teased him about it, while the latter made things worse with jokes and whatnot. Lancelot offered him much more sympathy but it was a cover for his hidden humour at the situation as well.

He was glad when the end of the day finally rolled around, being able to ditch Lancelot, Gwaine, and the whole blasted school. He wanted to go home, throw himself in bed and cocoon himself in blankets so he could wallow in his own self-pitied misery.

He trudged his way to his car and fumbled with his keys as he opened the door. Much to his non-existent luck, he dropped them on the floor. He threw his head back to the sky before he bent down to get them. Though a hand came into view, black nail polish caught the light as they reached his keys first and held them out.

"Thank—Oh...It's you," his voice fell at the sight of his torment that day.

Merlin plopped the keys down into his hands, "You're welcome." He rounded his car and stopped at the one next to his.

Of course, Arthur had to park right next to him. Out of the whole place, he had to choose that one exact place.

"Enjoy your payback?" Merlin chimed with glee.

He scoffed, "Payback? Cause I was the one who ratted someone out for coming in two seconds late? That was supposed to be my payback to you!"

"Well, it was mine to you," Merlin said with another sassy grin as he got to the driver's side of the car.

"For what?!"

"Oh, I don't know, how about running into me in that hallway, knocking me down and not even giving me a second glance?"

Oh… Arthur really should have stopped to see who it was he had knocked into. He groaned, "I said sorry!"

He smirked, "better luck next time, Pendragon." He opened his car door and moved to get in.

"Wait!"

Merlin stopped and stood with the door open.

"How did you do that, the Romeo and Juliet?"

He scoffed, "I played Juliet's part in a play." He ducked down into the car and turned the keys in the ignition.

Arthur stood for a moment, before cohering his thoughts. He bent down and looked through the open window on the passenger side. "Don't you mean Romeo?"

Merlin gave him a light but humorous soft smile, "Goodbye, Arthur."

He stood back as Merlin pulled out of the parking spot and watched him drive off. He stood, letting his arms fall limp to his sides. Blinked… he felt in a daze. He weakly shook his head as he situated himself and got in his car. He looked at his keys in hand before sticking them in the ignition.

The day was weird, the whole week was weird. Maybe he would ask Morgana about curses, spells and anything else when he could. That started to be the only viable reason for everything in his head.

He got home still in a daze, barely recognizing his welcome hug as his lower half was tackled by Mordred.

Morgana stood in the kitchen, chopping up fruit and vegetables onto a platter. She spared him a glance as Mordred let him go so he could walk over to her.

"How was your day?"

"Fan-fucking-tastic…" he plopped down onto the island chair.

She chuckled, "that bad?"

"You have no idea."

She walked and disappeared behind him with a small plate of what she cut up, presumably giving it to Mordred. A hand ruffled his hair as she quickly reappeared, pushing the rest of the fruit between them, she leaned over across from him.

"Try me."

Granted, he should have known not to tell his big sister something that could be used against him, but to his surprise, there wasn't that much teasing. She took pity on him, though he left out his and Merlin's last encounter. Leaving something only for him and Merlin to know.

Why exactly? He couldn't tell. Words plague his mind for the rest of the day till he laid looking up at his ceiling from his bed in the dark of the night. The small encounter should have faded as did every conversation and non-important memory of the day, but it didn't or maybe he didn't let it.

Something else he couldn't understand. But even when the last image in his mind that night was that stupid smug grin that faded into the soft sweet smile… who was he to say.

[rogue-durin-16]

HIS WARM EYES

Summary: Some members of the Order are reticent about letting in a Lestrange, specially after Snape's betrayal. Whilst taking Harry to the the burrow, an ambush has place. Everything points to Y/n, right?

Pairing: George Weasley x Slytherin!Lestrange!Reader

Genre: angst

Tags:

George Weasley: @meph1stophelian

Permanent taglist: @elia-the-bibliophile @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @skarlettmikaelson

Warnings: blood, injuries, death

A/N: OH MY GOD THIS IS SO LONG AND BAD— I AM GENUINELY SORRY BUT I HAD TO

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

Lestrange wasn't a good name.

It wasn't a good name in the streets, nor in close-doors, let alone amongst The Order.

That's why I couldn't wrap my head around the fact that they had accepted me— well, maybe 'accepted' was a strong word; they had let me in, reticent, weary, but still they had done it. Plus, after Snape's betrayal and Dumbledore's death, no one would think there was a vacant for a Slytherin and a Lestrange.

It wasn't until I found myself exiting the abandoned Grimauld's Place along with the rest of the volunteers to go to Privet Drive, that it dawned on me; they were short on people.

They were so short on people that the Order would have to swallow my name, my family and my House.

That didn't mean they would quiet down their opinions about me being there.

"I'm gonna say it." Fred announced, taking a spot in the living room's corner while Shacklebolt, Arthur and Lupin searched the place.

"Again?" Fleur groaned.

Fred had already spoken his mind about my presence before we reached Potter's house.

His and George's shocked looks had been on me since the very first moment I had walked into the old Black's home, which was understandable; last time they saw me I was joking about joining the death eaters.

Although the shock on their faces had been accompanied by very different emotions on each.

Fred's held reticence. During our school years, he had never liked me; I would dare to say he was scared of me, even.

George's gaze, on the other hand, held hope —maybe even excitement— which was comforting.

In our first year, I had managed to draw George's interest, and for three years he was adamant about Slytherins not being 'all that bad'.

George's friendship was the thread I was hanging on; he was the only thing stopping from taking the easy way and live up to my name.

The thread was cut after he asked his mother to bring me over during Christmas, which ended up in her forbidding him to talk to me. He, being George Weasley, ignored his mom's pleads and twin's scolding and still tried his best to stay close to me, so I did what was right and, at the end of our fifth year, I cut ties with him.

It hurt more than I would dare to admit.

After our drifting apart, I was forced to completely rely on Slytherins. And you see, Slytherins, as 11 year-old George would say, aren't all that bad, but the ones my name attracted were.

They were bad sort —the worst—, and keeping that company around after our sixth year wasn't the best record to have, but Merlin's sake, I was there, I had volunteered— people change.

"Son." His father warned Fred, well aware this wasn't the time, though he obviously wanted to side with him. "Don't start again."

"Someone has yet to tell me why is she here?"

"She has a name." I hissed, unable to stop myself.

"Which is why you shouldn't be here, Lestrange." The name rolled out of his tongue like poison. "She's not one to trust."

"Oi, she's willing to risk her life, isn't she?" George's words seemed to be meant to calm his twin's temper, though his warm eyes did land on mines with a reassuring look.

"Yeah but for whom?" I tried to stay quiet as Moody had asked me too, but Fred was making it quite difficult. "If something goes wrong—"

"Weasley!" Mad-eye's tone was dry as he bursted into the room. "Are you questioning my judgment?" Fred scoffed, but stayed quiet.

"If we're throwing in the surnames, you're gonna wanna know her mum's my auntie." Tonks spoke, folding her arms.

"But you're a Hufflepuff." He was quick to respond, giving me a disgusted look. "She's a Serpent."

"And you're still a mouthful, aren't you?!" I snapped, stepping forward, though Tonks gave me a lazy tug before I could get to Fred.

"Wanna fight, Lestrange?" He had taken a couple of steps in my direction already when George yanked his twins arm.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" He yelled, giving his brother a push. "She's here for Harry! She's helping! What else do you want?!"

"Oh my gosh, Georgie— get over your teen crush already, she's not on our team!" George's knuckles went visibly white, unlike his cheeks, which turned red.

"Are you done making a scene? The three of you." Bill questioned in a calm tone, resting against the window's bench. "I don't fancy the idea either, but we need help, Fred, so shut your mouth because we have things to do."

"Pity, I was enjoying the teen drama." Moody teased before grabbing his flask and the ones who would take the Polyjuice potion moved to stand in line.

"Y/n." George's hand brushed my hand, drawing my attention to him as we stood besides one another. "I'm glad you're here." He whispered with a side smile.

"Missed me much?" I couldn't help but grin back, bumping his arm with mine. I stole a proper look at him and thought I might as well ask before the mission. "So... Teen crush huh?" I wiggled my eyebrows at him, though I could feel my own face flushing.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't fancy George —could someone blame me?—, and the idea of those feelings not being unrequited was very appealing.

He only threw his head back and looked away, the half smile growing wider and more bashful. "We'll talk about it at the Burrow." He assured me, taking the flask with his right hand and squeezing mine with his left.

"If we don't die before that." I was joking, but fear was shaking me to the core.

"We won't." He looked at the potion disgusted and gave me a peeked at me saying, "You have to hear me embarrass myself first." And with a wink, he drank the potion and passed it to me.

Gosh, I couldn't get over the mission to hear him 'embarrass' himself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

GEORGE'S P. O. V.

The first five minutes were calm, despite all of us being on edge. We kept checking on each other, dreading if we lost sight of someone, that someone would banish.

The storm came when we had to dive into the dark clouds.

Funnily enough, I did think it was a literal storm before entering; oh, what I would have given for it to be a literal storm.

Black, cloaked intruders flew among us, making us divide in the pairs we had been assigned to.

Lupin started casting protegos and hexes to everyone that got too close while I tried to take down as many enemies as possible.

A couple of yelled warnings were heard when both Moody and the real Harry had entered the ambush.

"WATCH OUT!" Tonks screamed, flying past me with Ron at her tail. "REMUS!" She made a signal to her husband "ESCORT!" I got the hint; we were supposed to clear Moody's and Y/n's way so it would confuse our attackers while Tonks and Shacklebolt made sure to get Harry out of there.

"ON MY LEFT!" Lupin shouted over the chaos, changing to my right for me to be by Y/n's side.

"WE'RE FUCKED!" She yelled dropping her flight to dodge an Avada Kedavra.

"WE'LL MANAGE!" I automatically dropped my flight with hers too, which was a bad decision, since we had gotten rid of the protection provided by Lupin, Mad-eye and Bill and Fleur.

Soon enough three death eaters came flying towards us.

"STUPEFY!" another Harry with the voice of Fred passed by us, closely followed by my dad.

"GO BACK UP!" Y/n was quicker than me following my father's instructions; when I did though, I realised the little formation we had going on was gone.

Suddenly, all we could hear were screams; it felt as if someone was missing but I blamed it on everyone flying around like a chicken with its head cut off.

Tonks almost crashed against me on her way down; Ron was nowhere near me, nor Lupin.

We were outnumbered, and instead of moving forward, we were stuck in the grey clouds, trying not to die.

It took me a hot second, a crash against a death eater and a couple of hexes to get to Lupin, and even when I did, it was a hard task to keep track of him.

I had just taken out someone in my way when I caught a glimpse of something my eyes refused to believe.

Snape.

Our bloody professor was trying to kill us.

I felt the need to laugh at the situation.

"GEORGE!" It was Y/n's voice snapping me out of it, although her actions shocked me even more.

Y/n casted a spell on me, pushing my broomstick to the left and consequently making me crash against Lupin and lose balance.

Then something happened, something my mind didn't quite process.

At first it felt like a slap, but the pain stung my side as if someone had sliced me with a blade.

I didn't hear my own cry, nor Lupin's desperate 'help'; I didn't feel his hands struggling to take a firm hold of me, nor my own shakily reaching to my side, searching for an injury I didn't want to find.

A second after that, everything was black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

FRED'S P. O. V.

As soon as my father and I apparated in the fields of our home, I ran into the house. For some unexplainable reason, it felt as if something wasn't right.

A couple of steps into the house were enough for that 'something' to strike me. George had been laid on the settee, barely conscious; blood was covering the side of his face, neck and left shoulder, making his hair and clothes stick to his skin.

I was left speechless at the sight, my eyes welling up while I dragged my feet towards my twin.

"Mad-Eye is dead." Bill's words, despite sounding far away, made the gears in my head turn.

Lupin was quicker than me, though, "I told you we couldn't trust a Lestrange!"

"Remus! we don't know—" Tonks tried to calm him down, just to be cut off by Bill.

"Mad-Eye and Lestrange traveled between us and" he gestured at our wounded brother, "Remus and George." His jaw twitching let me know that he was desperately trying to stay calm. "Mad-Eye is dead and my brother just lost an ear, who is it if not bloody Lestrange, Dora?"

"Bill..." Fleur held onto her fiance's arm in an attempt to ground him.

"Did you see her disapparating?" Tonks's point was logical and hopeful.

George would have sided with her.

My eyes fixed on my wounded twin again. He was as pale as a corpse now, and the absence of his ear was way more noticeable now that my mother had begun to remove the blood.

George would have sided with Tonks because he wanted to trust Y/n, and he couldn't even speak because of that same reason.

Since everyone was arguing, they missed the flash of someone apparating near the front door.

I didn't.

Before I knew it, I was running outside with my wand in hand, Lupin and Bill following me instantly when they realised what I had just seen.

"EXPELLIARMUS!" Y/n's wand flew to my hand even before I could properly see her.

My rushed march came to a halt when I was a couple of feet away from her, making Bill bump into me; she was as pale as George, maybe more.

She took a seemingly calm, deep breath before attempting to walk.

Luckily, I saw the pools of blood on her shirt and stepped to reach her before she could touch the ground.

"Oh my..." Lupin covered his mouth with both his hands and Bill stood frozen at the sight of the girl in my arms. "MOLLY!!" my old professor yelled at the top of his lungs, going as livid as me.

We shouldn't talk on impulse, I told myself, rushing into the kitchen with Y/n in my arms. A series of gasps and regretful whispers broke the silence while I laid her on the dining table.

"Y/n?" George's trembling voice was heartbreaking, and, as my dad forced him to stay on the couch, I prayed the girl in my arms would survive.

"Oh Lord..." My mother muttered, examining her. It wasn't only her shirt stained with blood; her left leg and arm were too. "Oh dear..."

"She took the blow." Lupin ran his hands through his hair, understandably stressed. After a couple of seconds, her turned to my dad and commanded, "Get him up. Quick— go get him up." His eyes stared right into my soul and I dreaded the worst, but still obeyed and helped my dad drag George to the dining table.

I heard Lupin telling Bill something about Sectumsempra, and my heart sunk.

She took the blow.

"No..." George's murmur was close to a cry, but it was enough for Y/n's eyes to snap open.

"George." tears were effortlessly streaming down her cheeks at the sight of him. "You're... A-alive..."

"Please stay" My brother fell on his knees, reaching for Y/n's bloody hand with his own. We all looked away to give them some kind of intimacy, except from my mother, who was still trying to fix the poor girl.

I heard them both whispering sweet nothings with shattered voices until only one of them died out. I looked over to Tonks, whose eyes were gleaming with tears, and then to Lupin.

I couldn't bring myself to look at George.

After a moment of intense sobbing, my dad managed to pull my twin away from the corpse, and we carried him back to the settee.

I stayed with him the night, holding his hand and assuring him it was not his fault, but I knew my words would have little effect on his state; after all, he had been in love with Y/n for years.

All those years he had spent trying to convince all of us that Y/n was a good person, that we should give her a chance; all those years begging our mother to bring her over because she wanted to see our home.

Now her body was lying on our kitchen and I knew none of us would forgive ourselves for misjudging her.

READER'S P. O. V.

"Nervous?" A tall, redheaded kid appeared besides me; I supposed he didn't know my name by the warmth and curiosity with which his eyes stared at me.

"Aren't we all?" I replied with an anxious laugh.

He seemed to think for a moment before nodding. "Fair point, though I'll probably go into Gryffindor." He assured me with a proud smile, causing my head to cast down. "What is it?"

"Oh nothing," I shrugged, aware I would not be able to befriend that sweet boy with warm eyes. "I think I'll be sorted into Slytherin."

"Nonsense!" His intentions had been obviously to reassure me, but when he realised his response only made it worse, he added. "It'd be wicked to have a Slytherin friend, though." My eyes widened at his words; did he just— "I'm George, by the way."

"I'm Y/n."

"That's a very pretty name." Professor Mcgonagall led us into the Great Hall, and before I knew what was happening, George's hand was holding mine. "It'll be fine."

The lighting of the Castle changed once the Great Hall's doors opened; a bright, white light seemed to be coming out of it.

"Wait!" My hand gripped George's before he could leave my side. "Can you hold my hand? I-I'm scared." My voice no longer sounded like a 11 year old.

For some reason I didn't comprehend, my eyes were watery, making the view in front of me blurry.

"Don't be scared, darling." When I turned to George, I didn't see a kid; it was him, in the expensive suit I had seen him mere hours ago. "I'm here."

I just nodded and, swallowing my fear, took a step ahead, and then another one, and another, until I reached the Great Hall.

[wellpresseddaisy]

Ringing the Changes

Pt. 2

Sirius strode toward Gryffindor tower and McGonagall's office. He finally felt like he'd found some purpose in his existence. The Black ring on his finger warmed as if it approved of his decisions. No longer would he follow along in Jamie's wake. As Heir of House Black, he had a responsibility to stop bullying, to stop harming others. He ought never have forgotten his family history.

As a Black, he stood in the space between worlds. He would hold the line, hold the wards between the worlds, and hold back the slow decline of the magical world. He knew mother was wrong—the Muggleborn didn't destroy or weaken magic—but their world view shouldn't automatically become the magical view. They had reasons for their traditions.

He'd stand with the Prewetts and the Weasleys and the Quinlans and the Ogdens and all the others who were called.

Cissa's hand never wavered on his arm. What did she really mean? He knew she wanted him to change. She wanted the possibility of sanctuary. She wanted a way to weasel out of Lucius' choices if she needed to. And Merlin would she need to. He could...feel the way things would go. He'd always had that; he'd ignored it for the past few years, though. Jamie didn't much like that, either. He didn't care for anything that smacked of Divination, for some reason.

Sirius loved all of that. Tarot, tea leaves, rune casting...all of it grounded him, let him feel the magic around him. Crystal gazing and scrying never worked as well for him. He needed a physical thing to run through his fingers, to hold.

He stopped before knocking on McGonagall's door. Cissa's hand tightened on his arm and pulled him back slightly. The door stood cracked open. He heard a soft murmur of voices, and then louder:

"I don't care anymore! I never should've come! I should've stopped at home and gone to work with Da. I wish they'd bound my magic! I do! It would be better than living in this misery!"

Snape. He'd done that, or helped to do it. He'd pushed a brilliant (he may not have liked Snape, but you couldn't deny his brains and talent) magical to wishing he'd had his magic bound. Sirius shuddered. To wish that...to want that part of you ripped out...he felt a bit ill and knew he had to intervene.

"Don't wish that. Please don't wish that." He found himself standing before McGonagall's desk, between her and Snape and Lily. Lily? Hadn't she said she never wanted to speak to Snape again?

"What's it to you? You should be happy I want to go." Snape spat. Lily patted his arm.

Cissa drifted over to the window behind McGonagall's desk and leaned against the sill. McGonagall joined her after a moment. He trusted Cissa enough to know she'd explain.

"Because it'll kill you." Sirius swallowed hard. He had to humble himself. "It'll kill you and that would be such a waste. I've been an absolute swine to you, and I'm sorry. Sorrier than I think I knew. You haven't done anything to deserve what's been done to you. I ought to have said this months ago. I almost killed you. I don't...I don't expect forgiveness, but I need to make amends."

"And what's that? A promise broken in five minutes?" Snape sneered at him.

He deserved that.

"No. By calling my grandfather here and introducing you as someone House Black should sponsor as a House Scholar. And stopping the bullying, but grandfather is the big bit."

Snape gaped at him. Lily blinked, confused by the interaction. It wasn't common, not now, but the old Houses used to sponsor scholars in the absence of a university system. He couldn't think of anyone doing it now. But House Black would. They had the funds and the space and the libraries.

Professor, may I?" Sirius turned, gesturing to the fireplace.

"You may, Mr. Black."

He turned to the fireplace and knelt down. Lily whispered, quick fire, to Snape behind him.

"The Stronghold," he called as he tossed Floo powder in. It lit green as a House Elf popped a head in.

"Master Sirius?"

"Hello, Dally. Could you call grandfather, please?" The whispering behind him never stopped.

"Dally will."

Sirius waited, fidgeting with the sleeve of his robe as he knelt there. Honestly, they had to come up with a better communication system. Kneeling in a fire with your arse hanging out didn't really strike a dignified note.

"Sirius? Has something happened?" Grandfather's brows creased in concern.

"Not to me, yet." Which probably didn't help the situation. "It isn't an emergency, but could you come through?"

He stepped back and waited just a moment before grandfather stepped through, elegantly for such a tall man. Sirius nearly matched him in height now, but he still felt taller. He took in the room as he brushed his immaculate robes: Cissa and Professor McGonagall by the window; Snape and Lily still seated, although Snape went an odd shade of pale and hauled Lily to her feet when he saw the older wizard.

"Good afternoon, your grace." Snape's voice cracked, skittering up and down the register, and he looked as if he'd like to sink through the floor.

"Grandfather, Professor McGonagall kindly allowed use of her Floo," Sirius explained.

"My thanks, Professor. I have a feeling we might need to speak, later."

"Oh, yes." McGonagall answered, sounding bemused, annoyed, and furious in equal measure. "Quite a few things have come to light this morning."

Well, that was his goose well and truly cooked.

"Grandfather, I have dragged the House of Black into disrepute. The magic accepted me as Heir, but I must make amends to those I've wronged. This," he gestured toward Snape. "Is Severus Snape. He is top of our year, an accomplished brewer, and has started spellcrafting. House Black ought sponsor him as a House Scholar. I believe he shows great promise. And I think nothing less will suit, given the damage I've done him."

He knew grandfather would turn him inside out later, but he appreciated the man's restraint in the moment.

"Mr. Snape...you'd be Eileen's boy, yes?" Grandfather, thank Merlin, turned his attention to Snape.

"Yes, your grace. She was Eileen Prince at Hogwarts."

"And a brilliant witch. If you have half her promise...come, speak with me for a moment." Grandfather had a way of making orders sound like a kind suggestion. Snape responded to his warm tone and went to him, allowing himself to be drawn back to the fireplace.

Lily grabbed his wrist and yanked. He stumbled toward her.

"What do you think you're doing?" She hissed.

"Trying to make amends. I...Cissa…" he trailed off. "It's true, Lily. I've been a swine to him and this is what he deserves. Not me being Hogwarts Biggest Bastard. And I thought you weren't speaking to him?"

"Yes, well." She did that flouncy girl thing with her hair and lifted her chin. "Once I'd cooled down I started asking questions. It seemed so coincidental that Mary and Dorcas just knew he'd gone around using...you know...to all the Muggleborn students when I'd never heard him before. I'm not…I don't think I've forgiven him completely yet, but I'm not writing off a friend for that. Not when he apologized as soon as he could."

They lapsed into silence. Would Jamie ever forgive him? Taking the Heir's ring put paid to the Auror Corp and all their other dreams. He'd have to learn estate management and the Wizenmagot and all the things he'd thought were a load of rot. But maybe, just maybe they meant something. Maybe he could do something good out of all the muck he'd fallen in.

"You should do a Charms mastery," he started. "Flitwick would go bonkers with joy if you asked about it."

Lily snorted. "And pay for it with what, Sirius? We're not all of us made of money. A mastery is expensive."

"Then let me sponsor you. If grandfather follows tradition, the allowance...I could manage it." He didn't know why, exactly, but all this felt right.

"I'm not looking for a handout." Lily snapped. Prickly as Snape about monetary things.

"It isn't. It's me realizing that some things are more important. This...it feels right, now." He bit his lip. "I don't know how to explain. Everything's been so...topsy-turvy the last few years. It...this feels like a calm sea after a storm."

Grandfather and Snape finally turned back to the rest of the room, Snape looking like all his Christmases had come at once.

"I'll write your mother to explain and have the proper contracts drawn up. I think House Black shall be well pleased in you."

"Thank you, your grace." Snape squeaked and pressed his lips together.

"Professor, shall I return later?" Grandfather turned to Professor McGonagall.

"If you have the time. I'd like to keep you apprised of goings on." If she went any drier, they'd be under buckets of sand.

"Six o'clock, then? Sirius, we will talk later. For now, bear the consequences of your actions with grace." The stern reminder had Sirius flushing.

"Yes, sir. I'll see you...er...before you go, there is something that shouldn't be kept a secret any longer." A split second decision, and he hoped it was the correct one.

Between one moment and the next, Sirius slipped into Padfoot. He sat and raised one paw for grandfather.

"Mr. Black!" Professor McGonagall scolded. "What have you been doing?"

He hunkered down and hid his muzzle under his paws.

"You...it was you being Avery's Grim!" Severus sounded like he wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or be outraged. "He's been on about it for weeks!"

He peeked up at the other boy and tried a doggy grin. Snape bit the inside of his cheek.

"You will be registered at once, Mr. Black. Am I quite...oh, for Merlin's sake I will not scold a dog."

Sirius turned back to himself...his human self? He wasn't quite certain how it worked.

"James is a stag and Peter is a rat. I...I'll make sure I'm registered, Professor."

"And I'll ask what you've been doing later, with your grandfather."

Who, when Sirius looked over at him, looked delighted even as he moved to the fireplace.

"I'll take my leave. Let your mother know to expect a letter, Mr. Snape. We'll meet with my solicitor to finalize everything. Cissa, will you join me? You can fill me in on your morning."

"I will, your grace. Thank you." Severus practically glowed.

"Yes, grandfather. Perhaps, once I give you a precis, you'd accompany me to meet the Potters?"

Sirius watched him and Cissa go and felt bereft of protection. Not that either would actually protect him from the consequences.

"Mr. Black...I've had an interesting morning with Mr. Snape and Miss Evans." Professor McGonagall began. "You just made it considerably more interesting. Mr. Snape, Miss Evans, if we could have the room?"

He remembered too late that her animagus form was a cat. Was this how it felt to be a toyed-with mouse? Would asking if she ate mice be impertinent? Most likely. Snape and Lily scarpered.

"Er…?" He managed.

"As a start, you're off the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Your free time will be taken up with near-permanent detention. To serve it, you'll be acting as my assistant."

"Your…" he hadn't heard of anything like that before.

"I require assistance with organization, marking the younger year essays, and the like. Your time is now mine, outside class, Mr. Black. You'll be given ample time to study, don't worry about that. You've had your fun."

"Yes, professor." He answered as meekly as possible. Had grandfather known?

"I'm also going to suggest something similar for your compatriots. I assume you've used this to carouse with Mr. Lupin?"

How did she know?

"Yes, professor. It's...it's easier for him with friends. I think he thinks of us as pack, maybe. It's fuzzy for him, but better with company." He fidgeted under the weight of her stare.

"I'll speak to the Headmaster about allowing you to spend time with him. I don't think I need to tell you how dangerous it is, that you would do any of this without supervision? Or how disappointed I am?"

"No, professor." Throat tight, he blinked hard. "I...I've been following along the past few years and it has to stop now. I can't...the magic chose me, Professor, and it has to be for a reason."

"I certainly hope that's true, Mr. Black. Now, come over here and take a stack of essays and a rubric. You'll start with the first years."

Sirius went to her desk, not sure what he felt. The next two years might be significantly less fun for him, but maybe that would be for the best?

[askdracomalfoyofficial]

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮

Note: The paragraphs that are in italic are the thoughts he is thinking —

TW: Mild thoughts of killing her. Swearing. Possession. Nothing to serious, but thought I would put this before-hand. Enjoy!

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

It all started after I had called you a Mudblood. You see, my father taught me all about blood-status, pure-bloods being the highest form of witch or wizard. Magic comes easy to us, our veins are filled with it. We have control over it. Then theres you, someone who has Muggle parents, making you just that. How you had a outburst of magic is something I'm currently questioning. I can certainly see you being someone who's Drabble around with it, study it in your books.

But my father warned me about people like you. Warned me that your blood is dirty, and anyone whom surrounds themselves around you, or even do much as become friends with you is a blood-traitor.

Anyone under us, we don't care for.

Yet, there was something about you that had always piqued my interest somehow, someway or another. I can't tell you what it is, Granger. But, Merlin… I don't know how you are our Brightest Witch of Her Age became such a thing for a Muggle-born. You and your swatty ways, always raising your bloody hand in class every two, three seconds. Basically… dissecting the answers or things the Professors would teach us. God, how I wished I could cut your hands off, or cast a silencing charm on you so your mouth stops moving, you annoying wrench.

The witch with unruly messy mop on her head. Tame your fucking mane, Granger. Get some tips from Pansy for all I care, maybe then… you'd learn something. But, you're not someone who cares about appearances are you? You're the first girl I know to not. Doesn't surprise me.

He breathes out a sigh.

I bloody fucking hate you. You have no idea. I want to wrap my hands around your throat, and watch the life leave your eyes but not as much as I want to run my fingers through your hair, grab a fistful and yank your head back just to crash my lips onto yours. To make you feel the hate I have for you, to make your lips swollen. To have my tongue vigorously dance with yours, a duel to win. I want to press my lips to your neck, find your pulse and feel it beat against my lips then suck your breath from you. Suffocate in your aroma, to smell your hair and taste the salt of your skin against my tongue.

“For instance… I smell,” she leans her face more over the steam. “Freshly mown grass, and new parchment, and–“ Her words trailed off as she started to realize who it was.

Thinking about it is repulsive, thinking about you, specifically is repulsive. I’m thinking about all this, while you're smelling your Amortentia, and I bet what you're smelling is that daft bimbo, Weaselby.

Ah, the lovely Amortentia. The most powerful love potion that there is. It has a smell for each and every individual according to what attracts them.

Draco adjusts his stance, hands finding a home in the pocket of his trousers. Eyes on her, more so the back of her head, watching while she smells the steam that swirls endlessly up towards her face, and the way her hair grows with the humidity. In a way, it matches the way his had been tousled at his fringe. It looks as if someone had ran their fingers through his own hair and ruffled it up. Hers just looks like straight bed head, yet not taken care of.

His brow raised, looking through his lashes at her.

Weaselby smells like mown grass, well that's quite bloody disgusting. And, you're telling me that's what attracts you?

A scoff slipped out from somewhere in the room, and for a moment he panicked because he knew it came from him the moment Blaise lifted his eyes to look at him with a brow of his own raised. But, Draco's eyes were on the back of her head, which in that moment he regretted because she turned around and automatically met his. Jaw muscles worked as it snapped shut, clenching his teeth together.

Don't look at me like that. Who do you think you are?

Professor Slughorn dismissed the class, he hurried to get his things situated and left the room without so much as a second glance back at his fellow classmates; including her. But he could feel the way that her eyes bored into his back, setting his skin ablaze.

Eventually, Blaise caught up to him. “What was all that back there, mate?”

“What? What do you mean was all that?” He stopped in his tracks, and lifted his eyes to meet Blaise’s but grew uncomfortable and looked away, ah, the stone wall was helping particularly well in this moment.

“Why did you act that way after Granger smelled her Amortenia?”

Merlin! He wasn't going to let this up. Fucking always so observant.

“Because what she smelled was ridiculous.”

“No, what is it really? You can't possibly think I'm that stupid, Draco.” He persisted.

Draco’s eyes gravitated back to him. Jaw tight. “What would you like me to say, Blaise? Is there a specific thing you're expecting me to answer with? Because whatever you're trying to get out of me, isn't there. So, I suggest that you stop while you're ahead.” Was what he left the conversation with.

Blaise, if I told you anything, you'd think that I’ve gone bloody mental, shit, I'm beginning to wonder myself if I did.

All through the years I’ve been watching Hermione Granger, bullying her and her friends because I get amusement out of the looks on their faces. How I know that I piss them off, and I'm good at it. There was once a part of me who loved to watch her cry, to bathe in those tears that fell down her cheeks, those very cheeks I want to grab in my hand and attack her jaw with my lips.

Draco shook his head as if he were trying to dismiss the thoughts, dismiss the way he was feeling and thinking as they weren't quite appropriate.

This year was so utterly fucked. I just want it to be over.

He made his way through the corridors, retreating from Blaise and dipping around the corner. He needed some down time, perhaps the library would do some good. Settle down with a book, in a far corner sounded lovely.

An hour gone by, and he'd been so enveloped in multiple books because he couldn't just decide on one and he needed to distract his mind from the interaction with Blaise, and Hermione interfering his thoughts.

But low and behold, she came into the library. Of course! The know-it-all loved to read just as much as he did.

Oh, you got to be fucking kidding me.

Draco rolled his eyes, clenched his jaw tight and pretended to read but every so often his gaze would lift to where she was. She was huffing loudly, even two exasperated sighs left her mouth. His teeth gritted and the muscle in his jaw worked.

After a couple of moments, perhaps five minutes gone by of her continuing with her loud outbursts of breathing, huffs and sighs he had enough of it all. Draco slammed the book shut, picking up the others and went to return them to their slots. When he was done, he approached her. Shouldering the frame of one of the bookshelves.

“Do you need to be so loud? This is a library for a reason.” His voice was cold, like a cool breeze brushing through the space between them. By the looks of it, he could tell that when he spoke that he had startled her.

She turned around mid-way while pulling out a book. Her chocolate-colored eyes lifted to meet his with a glare. Her head tilted to the side, and a retort was just waiting to leave her mouth. Draco had noticed this when he seen her lips twitch.

“Do you wish for me to apologize to you? Because,” she scoffed, crossing her arms with the book over her chest and under one arm. “You won't be getting it.”

“Who said anything about you apologizing?” His brow raised. “It's the fact that you are in a library, being loud with just your breath.”

Hermione looked around them. “Seems to me like we're the only ones in here, Malfoy. So —” she put the book back and moved down the shelf more, opposite of where he was standing. “I don't really see a problem here, you're just always bothered unless it's you doing something someone doesn't like.” She retorted, rather calmly.

How are you always able to handle your composure when around me. Yes — keep going down the aisle, pretty soon you'll be stuck in that corner.

Draco’s jaw snapped, his throat clicked. He hadn't really observed the room when he came in, but she was right about it being empty and the only ones in there being them. What a situation to be in.

“And you breathing loudly happens to be something that I don't like. I wouldn't be standing here right now if otherwise.” A hand slipped from across his chest, as his index finger lifted from the light fist he held, raising it like he were thinking before taking a step closer, slowly. “I am always bothered by you. Your presence is insufferable. Anywhere I go, I always have to see your face, I'm repulsed by it.”

It's true, I am always bothered by you. You are insufferable, but I am sure I could put you into your place; if you'd let me. I may be repulsed by your face, but I can't help but also like looking at it, at those lips —

She laughed manically, like what he said was the most hilarious thing she'd ever heard, or perhaps she had seen right through him. Hermione stopped what she was doing with the books, what book was she trying to find anyways? Her body shifted, feet angled towards him and arms remained crossed over her chest.

“You're the only one who thinks these things, and quite frankly they do not bother me.”

Man, you are bloody stubborn — not as much as I am.

He stepped closer, a hand coming up to grip onto the edge of the shelf. His own height towering over her own, blocking out the library light from her face. They were now sharing each other's exhaled breathes, and he knew she could feel the way his ghosted along her face. She didn't at all seem bothered by his presence now crowding her, backed into the corner of a bookshelf. He was looming over her.

“They don't bother you?” He asked and his tone dripped sarcasm. She shifted uncomfortably. “Do tell me, what does bother you then?”

“Why would that be something you're curious about? Since when did you care about what bothers me or not?”

Draco smirks, his head turning to the side while his eyes fell to the door of the library. Tongue grazing the bottom of his upper teeth. “You're right,” he turned his head back, glaring down through his lashes. “Why would I care? I don't care for someone of the liking of you.”

With that — he leaned down towards her more, for a moment he looked as though he were going to kiss her. But it was just to give a look of intimidation before his weight pressed into the hand that gripped the shelf to push himself off. Hands finding their way back into his trouser pockets.

I fucking hate you. I fucking hate you so much and you already know that don't you, Granger? Because I make it known, it's all over my face whenever you look at me, whenever we run into each-other. I hate you, yet I want to fucking kiss you, I want to do these things to do you that I, when I was younger couldn't see myself doing. Let alone have never done with a witch before besides Pansy, she always knew how to keep my best interests in mind.

I want to have my hands in your hair, tangled in my fingers and watch as your curled locks fall through. I want my hand around your throat possessively, let my thumb graze along your jaw and down the front of your throat like I'm thirsty for you and just want a little taste.

I want to have your clothes pooled at your feet while my eyes roam your naked canvas, I want to take in every scar, beauty mark, freckle. I want to do it all.

I want to trace the pads of my fingers down your spine, to your tailbone and trail them around to your hips.

I want to do so much to you — I want to possess you.

But then I'm reminded just by looking at you that you're a Muggle witch, and I fucking hate you, you're repulsive and insufferable. A know-it-all swat, who just can't keep her fucking mouth shut.

I'm conflicted, my stomach is in knots and this'll be the one thing that takes me to my very grave.

[wreckofawriter]

Games (soulmate au)

Pairing: Fred Weasley x reader

Word count: 2,382

Warnings: Making out?

Request: hi! It’s me again, could I request a Fred Weasley soulmate au? The type where their soulmates first word’s to them is tattooed on their body? Please make it fluffy and cute, thank you! :)

A/n: I am so sorry this was late. I had a grad party I forgot about! Also I'm probably going to have the other request out on Wednesday I'm so sorry but I have another grad party 2mmaro and I wont have time to write. Hope you guys like it!

The words in Fred's ankle had always been, well controversial at his household. His mother sure didn't like them. George thought they were hilarious. Ginny thought they were almost sad, sad that was how him and his soulmate would meet. Ron agreed with George, Percy thought they were ridiculous and his other brothers thoughts were pretty neutral. Fred simply thought they were odd. And as he looked down at the words, he couldn't help but smile, this was going to be one interesting person.

You snickered watching as your seeker checked his hair in the mirror again.

"You know Malfoy maybe if you spent less time putting grease in your hair and more time practicing then we would be winning for a change."

He whipped around glaring at you. "That's not very good team spirit y/l/n." He seethed.

"And since when are Slytherins known for their teamwork?"

He rolled his eyes and snatched his broom from the rack and joined the rest of the team in the horseshoe they had made around their captain.

You glanced around trying not to look as bored as you were. You have heard it a thousand times before; kick Gryffindors ass. Nothing new, except for the fact that your seeker was almost ok and theirs was amazing. Which meant it was basically up to you to score a shit ton of points before the snitch was caught. It was all quite stressful.

As you walked out onto the pitch you heard a mix of boos and cheers, the former as always, over powering the latter. You ignored the crowd and boarded your broom. You flew a couple feet in the air and waited for the whistle. When you took a deep breath and then sped upwards. If everything went right Montague should have the quaffle ready and waiting for you. And he did. You snatched the pass and made your way toward the goals where you could see Wood waiting.

You ducked under a bulger, dodged some girl in a red uniform and made for the large hoops. You reached for the quaffle tucked under your arms and shot it in the far left hoop. It soared through and you whipped around to get back to your position.

The game had been going for hours. It was hot and sunny and you had already ditched your outer layer. Currently you had scored 160 points, you were doing pretty well. All together your team had 210 points while Gryffindor was 50 points behind. Things were looking up.

You were headed towards the hoops once again the quaffle locked securely under your arm. You were about to shoot when out of nowhere something hit you straight in your side.

You dropped the quaffle and tipped off your broom with a scream. You managed to keep your feet wrapped around the handle and was hanging there attempting to reach your arms up. When you finally did, the pounding of your heart on your ears stopped and you could hear shrieking laughter.

You turned to see Fred Weasley pointing and laughing at you.

You flashed a brilliant shade of red before shouting, "If you don't shut up Weasley I'll shove that bat up your ass."

His smile dropped. A look of absolute astonishment replaced his joyful features. He felt his heart stop. You flew away with a scoff and an eye roll, you had no clue what you had just done to that boy.

For the rest of the match Fred could simply not focus. He hardly hit any blunders and most of them were completely off target. George scolded the boy and tried to get his head back in the game but it was helpless. He wanted to say something to you but what? What could he possibly say, "Oh hey what's up, your my soulmate by the way." It was all so stupid.

Gryffindor lost when Draco caught the snitch and Slytherin was celebrating in there locker room as Oliver almost killed Fred in their locker room.

"What the hell!" He yelled at the red head. "You couldn't hit a thing this whole match!"

"Look I'm sorry. I was distracted." Fred apologized.

Oliver didn't seem to care for his apologies at all. "You were doing fine." he sighed, "And then suddenly you knock y/l/n off her broom and you cant hit the broadside of a barn with a bludger."

"Look Wood, I'm sorry." Fred apologized again trying to make it sound sincere although his thoughts were elsewhere.

"What in Merlin's name could have made you so distracted any way Fred?"

Fred paused, the whole team was listening there was no way he was saying anything. "I just umm was?" He raised his eyebrows, hoping that his captain would buy it. Which of course he didn't.

"What eas it Weasley?" Oliver practically growled

Fred cast his gaze downwards trying to aviod eye contact with anyone.

"I swear to Merlin Wweasley if you don't tell me what gave Malfoy a free ride to the snitch I will-"

"She's my soulmate alright!?" Fred yelled his patients wore through.

"Wait, y/l/n is your soulmate?" It was George talking this time. His eyes were wide and mouth slightly agape, he was mimicking the rest of the team.

"Yeah." Fred looked down blushing a bit, he wasn't used to these situations. "But she doesnt know so don't tell her." He added quickly.

"Alright, sorry for laying into Fred." Oliver said.

"Its fine." He waved it off. He then turned to George panick in his eyes.

"How is she my soulmate?" Fred asked his twin desperate for an answer. They were now sitting in the Gryffindor common room eating candy they got from honeydukes.

"I don't know mate, but I wouldn't be too concerned. I mean she's hot." George pointed out, stuffing a chocolate frog in his mouth.

"Yeah but she’s Slytherin." Fred groaned.

"It probably won't be that bad Fred, you are destined to be together."

"How are we destined to be together? I mean we sure as hell aren't best buds." Fred said popping a fizzing whizbee in his mouth.

"So what," George started his voice muffled by chocolate, "You'll get along, just wait till Ron finds out he'll flip."

"Ok then what should I do?" Frdd asked

"You have to talk to her idiot." George pointed out.

"WWhat do I say?" The older twin asked.

The younger just shrugged, "Wwhatever you say will be on her ankle anyway so just try and make it romantic."

"Alright." Fred said still quite unsure on what to do.

You sat in potions trying not to laugh your ass off as Angelina a girl from Gryffindor totally ditched her potion.

You had finished ages ago and were simply waiting to be dismissed. You glanced down at your watch. Five minutes.

You had been anxious to get back to the quidditch pitch. You had to get in some more practice before the next match. You were playing hufflepuff and wanted to stick iit to Cadwallader. You had five gallons on the fact you would score more points then him in the upcoming match and you'd don't lose.

So when Snape finally said you could go you practically slept from your seat in excitement.

You sprinted down the hallways as quickly as you could only run striated into someone. You fell backwards landing hard on your butt and letting out a yelp of pain. You book bag had slid across the floor and hit the opposite wall of the thin hallway.

"Oh Merlin, are you alright?" A voice asAsked and you about passed out. Those were the words on your ankle. You looked up to see a mess of red hair with matching red robes and red cheeks. His eyes seemed to glow in the candlelight as he stuck his hand out for you to grab. You felt the heat rise in your face as well, since when was Fred Weasley so attractive?

"Shit, I said something didn't I." He looked upset, as he pulled you to your feet. You felt your face grow even brighter at contact with his surprisingly soft hands.

"Uh yeah ya did." You practically whispered your y/e/c eyes big as golf balls.

"So then you know?" He asked fidgeting with his robes.

"Know what?" You asked completely bewildered by the things that had happened in the past minute.

"That your my soulmate." He laughed.

"Yeah I guess I know that." You said your mind was going crazy. Fred Weasley was your soulmate? What? I mean sure he's incredibly good looking and funny and smart and great at quidditch but, what?!

"You probably don't even know which twin I am." He laughed a bit although the idea of his soulmate not knowing who he was hurt. "Im-"

"Fred." You finished for him. "I know who you are."

"Really?" Fred asked eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Yeah I do. Wait, how did you know o was your soulmate?"

Fred blushed as your y/e/c eyes gleamed up at him. Your y/h/l y/h/c hair framed your face beautifully and he was suddenly struck with how attractive you are. Your face was dusted pink and it made you look incredible. "Well umm, remember when I knocked you off your broom yesterday?"

"Vividly" you answer eyes narrowed a bit, your arms now crossed.

"Well afterward you said-"

"If you don't shut up Wesley I'll shove that bat up your ass." You finished for him again doing your best to contain the laughter inside you. You failed miserably and burst with giggles. He thought it was the most amazing sound to ever grace his ears.

"Wait wait wait," you managed to squeak out still giggling, "Is that seriously tattooed on your ankle?"

"Yep." And to prove it Fred pulled his sock down and showed you the words printed on to his pale skin

You burst in a wave of fresh laughter, "I'm sure your mom loves that." You said between laughs.

"Glad you find my misfortune so hilarious." Fred said rolling his eyes playfully.

"Oh come on. If it was me with those words on my ankle you would be losing your shit." You pointed out still laughing.

"Your right, I should have said something closer to, 'Look where the fuck your going." As payback." He smirked and you burst into laughter once again.

"You should have!" You were crying with joy at this point, "It would have been one hell of conversation starter!"

Now Fred was laughing too, his smile bright. He looked down at your giggling form and he was once again talking by your beauty. Your eyes shining with tears and gleaming with joy. Your extremely soft looking lips a light pink color were stretched into a wide slightly lopsided smile.

As he stared your laughter died out and you had looked back up at him, you blushed a bit to find his gaze on you, "Like what you see Weasley?" You asked a cocky smirk on your lips.

"In fact I do." He said smirking right back and leaning down a bit to be somewhat level with your eyes.

"Well you aren't exactly ugly." You bit your lip as you did so and Fred about lost it. Keep it cool he reminded himself. So instead he placed his hand over his heart dropped his mouth and blinked a few times feigning hurt.

"That's what I get as a complement?" He asked in fake surprise, "I'm offended."

"Ever the dramatic Weasley." You smirked.

"I am quite a good actor." He said leaning closer to you, you could feel his breath on your cheek and your smirk dropped. He had to know that he was doing right? That wasn't fair.

"Im good at more than acting though." He winked, smirking as you blushed a deep crimson.

You attempted to stay on track, "A-and what else might you be good at? I haven't seen much." It would have been fine if you didn't stutter but damn he was really close to you and smelled like a mix of smoke and chocolate. It was completely infatuating.

"Oh, you'll see plenty." You wanted to smack the smirk off his face. He was playing with you, but you weren't in the mood for games anymore.

"Oh shut up." You whispered face burning. With that you yanked him down to meet you lips. He was clearly taken off guard but kissed back quite quickly once your lips moved against his. He quickly pushed you up against the wall and grabbed your waist. Your hands found their way to his fiery hair, it was surprisingly soft. You felt his tongue glide against your bottom lip and you opened your mouth, granting it access.

When he pulled away your lungs were burning and you gasped for air.

"I hope you know this doesn't change anything on the pitch." You said.

"Of course, I'm just going to have to make sure not to hit your face with any bludgers. Wouldn't want to ruin its beauty, would I?" He winked.

"What every weakness you show I will use to my advantage." You smirked shrugging.

"I like the sound of that." He winked again.

"Keep it up and you will only be able to blink with one eye." You said eyebrows raised.

"Winking won't do that." He pointed out.

"Yeah but me poking one of your eyes out will." You deadpanned.

"Has anyone ever told you your a little scary?" Fred asked as he leaned in again.

"Yep-" you were cut off by his lips.

"Y/l/n!"

You pushed Fred off of you to see Malfoy standing a few feet away a disgusted look etched on his face.

"Captain wants you, so get the Weasel’s tongue out of your throat so you can actually talk." He scoffed

"I'll see you later." You whispered to Fred. Before walking towards the platinum blonde. "You call him weasel again and I will cut your tongue off and make you eat it." You flashed the now terrified boy a cheeky smile and walking towards the pitch the young seeker sulking at your heels.

"See ya later Mouthful!" Fred shouted saluting the boy as he walked out the door.

Masterlist

[emachinescat]

The Neglected Neckerchief

A Merlin Fan-Fiction

by @emachinescat ​

@febuwhump ​ day 21 - torture

Summary: A group of bandits torture Merlin in front of Arthur for their own entertainment, using Merlin’s beloved neckerchief against him in the cruelest of manners.  Now, Arthur must struggle to come to terms with a traumatized Merlin, whose neckerchief has been replaced by a ring of bruises.

Characters: Merlin, Arthur

Words: 4,730

TW: strangulation, panic attacks

Note: Based on my drabble series from “Moments” by the same name. Sorry for no cover/header picture today. I'm sick and doing the bare minimum. I will add one later when I feel up to making one!

Keep reading here, or on AO3!

If you enjoy, please consider liking, commenting, or re-blogging, and you can follow me for more content like this! :)

Arthur had never understood his servant's attachment to that ratty triangle of fabric he wore around his neck. When he had first met Merlin, in fact, Arthur had downright hated it. He'd pestered his servant about it on many occasions, questioning the practicality, the fashion, the function of the neckerchief. Of course, Merlin never failed to follow up with a clever retort, but he never really answered the question, and eventually, Arthur got bored of teasing Merlin for his clothes and moved on to something else.

As the years passed, however, Arthur's derision for the odd neckwear faded, and before long, he found himself associating the neckerchief with Merlin himself. It got to the point where seeing Merlin without the accessory felt strange, and before he knew it, the prince realized that he actually liked that stupid scarf – though he would die before he admitted it to Merlin.

Now that he was older, perhaps a bit wiser than he had been as a young prince, King Arthur had a feeling that it wasn't so much the neckerchief that he'd grown to like, but the person who wore it. And since Merlin and his neckerchief were one and the same, it stood to reason that the king would have grown fond of it as well. Not that he would ever admit his affection for his servant out loud, either, of course. Not in so many words – or any words, really. That just wasn't how his relationship with Merlin worked.

Indeed, somewhere along the way, Merlin's neckerchief had become as much of a staple in Arthur's life as the servant himself. And yet, in the span of one bandit attack during a morning hunt, that all changed.

It had started off, as these things often do, as a normal patrol. It was a beautiful day, bright and warm, the sort of day where you would never expect anything horrible to happen. And yet –

It had been a week since the hunt turned to hell, and Arthur could still recall it so vividly that he might as well have been experiencing it all over again. Those five minutes of torture had branded themselves so deeply into his mind's eye that every time he fell asleep, he would go back – back to the forest, to the bandits and their laughter and their hands holding him back, holding him down. Back to the sounds. Oh gods, the sounds. Gagging, choking, panicked breaths, a mouth gaping open like a fish's, searching desperately for air that wouldn't come. Blue lips, still chest, and laughter. And, of course, in the center of it all, Merlin's beloved neckerchief.

***

One Week Ago

"Looks like we got a fine catch today, gentlemen!" The short, ugly brute of a bandit grinned at Arthur, half of his teeth rotten and the other half missing all together. "Is this a knight of Camelot we've stumbled upon?"

Arthur was relieved that they hadn't recognized him to be the king, at least. He tried to be as inconspicuous as possible on his outings, having Merlin hold on to the royal seal if they were going anywhere outside of the citadel – bandits generally ignored servants and focused on the more important looking people, after all. It was a clever trick, provided Merlin didn't lose the seal. So far, he'd kept up with it well enough on their journeys, and this time, it seemed to be paying off, as these bandits thought they were playing with just another knight and his servant.

But that didn't change the fact that Arthur and Merlin had been taken off guard, ambushed, and tied hand and foot by a band of ten morally bereft, muscle-heavy monsters who wouldn't know hygiene if it crashed into their thick skulls. Arthur had been shoved to his knees and held there by four men, who still struggled to keep him still. Two other men had done the same to his servant, but other than the usual bumps and bruises from fighting a losing battle, neither Arthur nor Merlin were hurt.

Arthur may not have been injured, but he was angry, mostly with himself. He'd known it was a bad idea to go on a hunt without any of the knights or guards to accompany him. He'd let Merlin come along because he knew that the obsessively loyal servant would have followed him anyway, and he'd much rather have Merlin by his side so he could keep an eye on him instead of being forced to listen to him thrashing around in the undergrowth making a racket while trying to be stealthy. As Athur had been reminded by his council many times, he was king now, and he had a responsibility to think not only of the safety and well-being of his people, but of himself as well. That meant no more running around in the forest on hunts or patrols without a guard. That meant telling the council where he was going to be at all times so that they would know to send someone after him if he didn't get back in time.

But Arthur had had enough. It had been a month since his father's death, and he was stifled in the castle. Even when he wasn't in Camelot, people still surrounded him on patrols and hunts, and even when those people were some of his closest friends – the knights – he often felt like he was being smothered, and his skin crawled at the thought of having to sit through one more council meeting or supervised hunt. He'd needed to get away. He'd told Guievere where he was going, of course. And then he'd grabbed his servant, all but dragging him out of the castle at the break of day, and they'd passed a pleasant enough morning, with Merlin scaring away half the prey. But as with most good things in King Arthur's life, this too had to end. The ambush had been unexpected and swift, and Guinevere wasn't expecting him back until evening – they were on their own.

As casually as he could, Arthur implored the bandits, "You have me, a knight of Camelot. My servant is of no use to you. Let him go."

The short, stocky bandit who seemed to be in charge considered this for a brief moment before crossing his tree-branch arms across his chest. "So he can run back to your coward king and bring a rescue party? Not likely."

"We're miles away from Camelot," Arthur pressed. "You could be long gone with me before he brings anyone back."

From the corner of his eye, Arthur watched Merlin frantically shake his head. Arthur ignored him, and prayed that the idiot would stay silent. All it would take would be Merlin saying "Arthur" one time, and the bandits would realize their mistake – and quickly seek to rectify it. Thankfully, Merlin seemed to be aware of the situation, and for once, blessedly, kept his mouth shut.

The leader ambled forward, brow creased as if thinking were incredibly painful for him. "You seem awfully keen to protect that servant of yours. Most knights don't give a damn about the help if their own lives are in danger. What's so special about that one?"

Arthur maintained eye contact with the brute before him. "I care about all those I have sworn to protect as a knight."

"Oh, that's rich!" A chorus of laughter from the surrounding bandits grated at Arthur's nerves. "Nah," the man continued, casting a glance over his shoulder at the skinny servant who glared defiantly back. "With those pretty blue eyes, I reckon he's more than just a servant."

"Yeah," called one of the bandits forcing Merlin to kneel. "The knight's consort I'd wager."

The leader swivelled back to face Arthur. "Is that it, Sir Knight? Is he your consort?"

Arthur didn't answer.

"Oh, now you clam up." The bandit leader seemed genuinely disappointed that he didn't get an answer. He peered at Arthur through slitted, suspicious eyes for a few charged seconds. Then he threw back his head and laughed.

"Well, lads, why don't we have a bit of fun before we head out?"

Arthur glanced at Merlin, and saw the servant looking back at him with wide, uncertain eyes. To Arthur's surprise, Merlin didn't look scared. In fact, Arthur thought that his servant appeared to be more conflicted than anything, like he was trying to make a difficult decision. Baffling as that was, it was hardly the most important thing on Arthur's mind at the moment.

The leader signaled to the men holding Merlin, and then everything went to hell.

One of the men lashed out with frightening speed for someone of his size, landing a devastating blow in the center of Merlin's back at the very second the servant was released. Arthur watched the kick connect, heard the pained cry, felt the thump as Merlin sprawled face-first onto the forest floor, hands tied behind his back, unable to move, barely able to breathe. Arthur had received similar kicks before, and he knew all too well the terror-inducing breathlessness that accompanied such injuries. He'd rarely wanted to kill someone as much as he wanted to kill the bandit who had inflicted such pain and panic on his servant.

But they weren't done yet. It got far, far worse.

The leader of the bandits stepped forward then, and squatted at the feebly stirring Merlin's side, still facing the king. Every muscle in Arthur's body tensed; his heart pounded deafeningly in his ears. Something very bad was going to happen, he could feel it in every fiber of his being. He'd seen enough violence and war and bloodshed, enough monsters, to know that this was far from over.

The bandit leader reached over and fingered the fabric of Merlin's neckerchief – he'd worn the blue one today. Arthur watched the idea form in the man's head even as Merlin began to recover a bit of his breath and attempted to squirm away from the bandit's touch. "Interesting fashion choice," the leader commented, sarcasm slathered generously on each word. "Makes my job easier though."

He clenched his meaty fist around the back of Merlin's scarf, and, keeping his eyes trained on the knight before him, slowly pulled up.

To Arthur, the world had slipped into slow motion. It was like the minutes just before a storm, when nature held its breath, birds forgot how to sing, and all of creation readied itself for the violence to come. He watched, horror coursing through him, as the first waves of realization and then panic dawned on his servant's dazed face. Blue eyes bulged wide, mouth opened in a soundless scream, and still, the bandit pulled.

The bandit took his time. He was in no rush. Arthur could see from the wild, glassy glint in his beady green eyes that he was relishing the control he had over the situation, over the man he was strangling. He never looked away from Arthur, not even when the agonized choking, coughing, gasping, hacking sounds began in earnest. Arthur, for his part, tried to ignore the man, and, as much as it hurt him, tore at his soul and twisted his stomach, the king kept his eyes on Merlin, trying to offer him comfort, reassurance, anything. Until Merlin's eyes started to dim, and his eyelids drooped as if a heavy weight had been tied to them, and the frantic heaves of his chest grew weak, and he knew Merlin was dying.

Despite his resolve to remain strong and unaffected, and despite his hopes that the bandit leader would grow tired of his cruel game if he thought Arthur was not emotionally invested, Arthur lost control. It had become clear to him that the man torturing Merlin did not care if he elicited a reaction from his other prisoner. He was tormenting – killing – Merlin because it was fun for him; the pleasure had written itself into his bright eyes and twisted smile. And Merlin was going to die.

Arthur lunged forward, a feral yell bursting from the deepest part of himself, and even with his hands bound behind his back and his ankles tied together, he nearly managed to shake off all of the four men holding him – and then three more added to their number, and Arthur found himself face-down just feet from Merlin, who was all but unconscious, barely fighting to breathe, and the pressure of the bandits on top of him was crushing. Arthur barely felt it beneath the weight of his failure.

The bandit leader now loomed over both master and servant, and to Arthur's surprise, he eased up pressure, releasing his grip slightly on Merlin's neckerchief and allowing the servant to drag in desperate, halted breaths, his eyes now bulging. Merlin coughed, deep, raw sounds grinding out from a shredded throat. Arthur could see a terrible, angry red line circling Merlin's neck, just beneath the neckerchief.

"Merlin – are you all right?" Arthur kept his voice low, hushed.

Tears were streaming down Merlin's cheeks, whether from fear or lack of oxygen or pain, Arthur didn't know. He tried to speak, and his voice hurt to hear; he sounded like his vocal chords had been slashed. "Aarrrrr…"

"Shhh," Arthur soothed, partially out of concern for Merlin's health, partially out of fear that Merlin would reveal Arthur's true identity. "It's okay, it's okay. Just breathe, okay? I'll find a way out of this." And Merlin looked at Arthur with such unmitigated trust in his gaze that Arthur felt like running himself through with his sword, because he had no plan. He had no hope. Surely, Merlin could see that, even in his state. Arthur had seven bandits piled on top of him, holding him motionless. The guilt crashed into Arthur with all the force of a battering ram into a fortress door. This was all his fault.

"S'not … your … fault," Merlin heaved out with great difficulty, and Arthur's blood ran cold. He was certain he hadn't said that out loud. How had Merlin known? It hit him – Merlin had known that Arthur was blaming himself because he knew Arthur.

The moment shattered as the bandit leader butted in, voice loud and abrasive, sending chills of fury across Arthur's flesh like an attacking army. "Now that you've got your breath back, Merlin, let's start from the top."

Arthur watched Merlin's eyes go wide with fear, and Arthur must have been giddy with it himself, because he could have sworn he saw a tiny bit of gold swirling in their depths right before the neckerchief was tightened and the imagined flame died out, and only terror remained.

The second time was just as slow and measured as the first. The bandit applied pressure in the tiniest increments, and this time, Arthur got a front-row view of the light leaving his friend's eyes. The noises were even worse up close, the coughs and gasps taking on the helm of death rattles. Merlin thrashed at first, trying to escape, to breathe, to do anything, and his lips lost color and turned blue, and now he was barely moving, barely breathing, and this time, the bandit leader had no intention of stopping.

Merlin's head and shoulders were now being held aloft by only the fabric around his neck, and his struggles ceased completely, his chest stilled.

Arthur squirmed desperately beneath the hold of the seven bandits, but even the adrenaline screaming through his body was not enough to throw them off. He could fear hot tears on his cheeks, knowing that if Merlin was not dead now, he would be soon. Arthur had been tortured before – it wasn't a common occurrence, but it had happened. And yet, nothing had prepared him for the kind of torture he had endured – was still enduring – in watching his closest friend die slowly and painfully, terrified, right in front of him. Arthur wanted to rip the men who were doing this limb from limb. He wanted to slowly squeeze the life out of the one strangling Merlin.

He wanted them to be strangling him instead.

All seemed lost – and would have been, if a Camelot patrol hadn't heard the commotion from a distance and come to investigate. There were six men, and they had the element of surprise. One moment, all was anguish and torture and the gut-clenching quiet that came at the end of life. The next, a short, fierce battle raged all around him. As soon as the bandits loosened their grip on him and Gwaine cut him free, Arthur joined the fight, catching the sword tossed at him by Elyan.

He ran through the man who had tortured his servant personally, with the same level of twisted glee and intimacy with which the man had strangled Merlin. It was so much more than he deserved.

Once the bandits had all been slain and lay scattered on the forest floor, Arthur raced to Merlin's side, slamming to his knees beside the servant. His hand shook so badly as he felt for the beat of Merlin's heart that Elyan had to take over, and his dark eyes were grave as he looked back at Arthur and shook his head.

"No," Arthur said simply, refusing to believe that Merlin was truly gone, that he had watched his friend die terribly before his eyes. "No, check again."

"No time for that," Gwaine snapped, falling to his knees on the opposite side of the servant and bending over the prone body. The blue of Merlin's lips was almost as vibrant as the color of the neckerchief that had so cruelly been turned against him.

The next few minutes passed in a blur of anxiety, disbelief, and finally relief, as Gwaine breathed for him, Arthur pounded on his chest, and Percival carried him home.

***

Merlin hadn't worn his neckerchief since that torturous day. He was sullen and nervous, jumping at small noises and avoiding Arthur, and refusing to wear anything to cover up those ghastly bruises.

He hadn't been able to talk for nearly a week after he'd woken up; Gaius said he was lucky that his windpipe wasn't crushed. But even after, Merlin barely spoke.

And gods, those bruises.

They encircled Merlin's pale neck like a grotesque mockery of the very scarf that had caused it. They had reached the stage where the very edges had started to yellow, but the inner ring was black, mottled with red and blue. Just looking at it hurt, and it was a constant reminder of the torture Merlin had gone through … and that Arthur had gone through, watching him. Arthur could not fathom that Merlin would prefer to walk around with those bruises in plain sight – surely they had to trigger bad memories as much as, if not more than, the neckerchief?

It was stupid, but Arthur couldn't stop himself thinking that when Merlin wore his neckerchief again, it would mean things were back to normal. That he was okay.

And so Arthur had a neckerchief made out of the finest material Guinevere could procure in the market. It was silk, so soft to the touch that Arthur wouldn't have minded falling asleep in it. It was a deep, Camelot red, and so light it was almost weightless.

When he presented it to Merlin, yesterday morning, the servant's eyes had twitched down to it, and where Arthur had thought he'd see gratitude, maybe even a hint of a smile, he saw only trepidation. Merlin had rasped a pained, "Thanks," then grabbed the scarf by one corner like it was a serpent poised to strike and shoved it into his pocket, out of sight. He hadn't worn it since.

"I don't understand," Arthur said to his wife over dinner, distress clear in his voice. "I replaced it."

"He's just not ready," Gwen soothed, though her brow was knit in worry.

"It's of a much finer material than his old one," Arthur insisted, as if he were trying to convince Gwen that Merlin should wear it.

"You have to be patient with him, Arthur. What happened to him was… traumatic. He has to come to terms with it in his own time."

Arthur scrubbed a hand over his face. "I just can't stand looking at his bruises."

Gwen squeezed his hand, her eyes sad and wise and more beautiful than anything that Arthur had seen. "I know it hurts," she said, "and I mean no disrespect, but… Arthur, this isn't about you. It's not about your discomfort, it's not about the pain you went through seeing Merlin be hurt like that."

Arthur opened his mouth, unsure of what he was going to say, not even knowing if he was going to argue or agree with her.

Gwen held up a hand. "I'm not saying that what you went through was unimportant. I can't even imagine watching…" She trailed off, shuddered. "But you can't expect Merlin to wear something that causes him so much pain and fear, just because it makes you uncomfortable."

Arthur knew she was right, and told her so. He would have to find a way to look past the bruises, for now.

Merlin was avoiding Arthur – there were no two ways about it. He got to work early, woke Arthur, and then ran off to do the rest of his chores. Finally, at the end of week two, Arthur cornered him in the armory.

"Merlin." Arthur's face was serious, his eyes uncharacteristically concerned.

"Sorry, Sire, I have work to do," Merlin said stiffly. His voice still sounded as if it were being painfully squeezed from him. He tried to leave, but Arthur caught his arm, pretended he didn't see Merlin flinch.

"For the love of… if I give you the day off, will you stay and talk to me?"

Merlin's eyes were wide and his scowl looked more pathetic than annoyed. "I suppose I have little choice in the matter."

Arthur's heart constricted. "Merlin, I—"

"Look, I'm sorry I haven't been wearing the neckerchief," Merlin blurted, avoiding Arthur's eyes. "I just… I know you we retrying to help, but… Hold on, I'll go get it right now," he flustered. His cheeks were red and his eyes bright.

"Merlin, stop."

Merlin stopped.

"I realize I haven't been fair to you," the king said slowly, carefully. "I haven't been patient. What happened was… wrong. Do you need to talk to me about it?"

The dam broke.

Arthur had never seen Merlin cry like this before. He'd seen tears in his friend's eyes on various occasions, but never had he witnessed the choking, uncontrollable, full-bodied sobs that were now wrenched from the depths of Merlin's soul. At first, Arthur stood, uncertain, terrified that he was going to say or do the wrong thing, but then he thought of Merlin, and tried to imagine what he would do for him if the king were in this situation. A strange calm descended over him, and he gently took Merlin by the arm and guided him to the nearest chair – Arthur's chair, the most comfortable one in the room, the one he never let anyone else sit in, not even Guinevere (she had her own, anyway).

He eased Merlin down, knelt beside him, and wrapped one arm around his servant's shoulders, and just held him while he released all of the pain and frustration and fear and trauma he'd been skirting around for weeks. Arthur felt the hot sting of a tear mark a course down his own face, and he didn't brush it away. He felt, like Merlin was feeling – felt the pain of the torture inflicted on them both, felt the violent sobs shaking Merlin's wiry frame, and finally, felt the tremors ease and stop all together, but he didn't withdraw his arm. He might have even squeezed a little bit tighter, as if assuring himself that his friend was still there, still breathing, despite how hard those bandits had tried to kill him.

Finally, Merlin shifted awkwardly, and Arthur became acutely aware of the fact that his arm was still around the servant's shoulders, and he withdrew with a start, backing away with haste.

Merlin turned to look at him, and his eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, the bruises on his neck still visible and angry, and tear tracks streaked down his face. Arthur watched him apprehensively, afraid that Merlin was going to say something emotional that Arthur wouldn't know how to respond to, or worse, openly acknowledge the unusual level of tenderness that had permeated that moment. Instead, Merlin quirked a watery half-smile and simply said, "Thank you."

Relieved, Arthur smiled back. "You're welcome. Feeling better, are we?"

Merlin gave a small, almost timid, nod. "A little bit, actually. I think."

Desperate for some return to normalcy, chest warm with the hope that Merlin really would be okay, someday, Arthur folded his arms across his chest. "Then get your scrawny arse out of my chair."

Merlin actually laughed then, and settled in deeper to the comfortable seat. "Sorry, sire," he said. "I think my scrawny arse is stuck here until further notice."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. Merlin blushed. "I… I don't think I can stand right now," he admitted, and Arthur noted with concern that Merlin's knees were indeed trembling. Merlin was trembling.

Arthur rolled his eyes like it was some great inconvenience. "Fine," he said. "Laze about like the useless servant you are. I'll fetch Gaius."

Merlin surged forward at this, almost fell flat on his face. "I don't need –" He broke off as Arthur shoved him back in the seat. "Gaius."

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "You were saying?"

Merlin had never looked so much like a sullen, scolded child.

***

When Arthur returned, Gaius not far behind him, he was shocked to find that Merlin was still where the king had left him. Even more surprising was the fact that Merlin held the silk neckerchief that Arthur had gifted him, almost reverently, gazing down at the fabric with a faraway look in his eyes.

"Merlin, where did you get that?" Arthur asked.

"My pocket."

"You've been carrying that around all week?"

Merlin didn't answer, but he didn't need to – it was obvious that he had been.

Arthur heard Gaius shuffle through the door behind him, but did not turn. He kept his eyes on Merlin, who continued to contemplate the scarf like he had never seen anything like it before. "Merlin, you don't have to wear that," Arthur said in a rush. "I just thought–"

"I know," Merlin interrupted, and that's when Arthur knew his servant was on the mend, because a Merlin who lacked all decorum and propriety was far more normal than one who was actually good at being a proper servant. "But, it's nice. And I was thinking, I've never owned anything so fine." He paused. "But I think I'll leave it at home when we go on hunts and patrols from now on." He gazed up at Arthur imploringly.

The king felt Merlin's eyes on his front and Gaius's on his back. He looked Merlin straight in the eyes and said, "You don't have to wear anything you don't want to, Merlin. If you never wear a ridiculous triangle scarf again, that's completely fine. Don't do it because you feel like you have to. You won't hurt my feelings."

Merlin grinned – a full, mischievous smile that Arthur hadn't seen in far too long. "When have I ever given you the impression that I care about protecting your feelings, Sire?"

Arthur tried to look stern, but ended up laughing out loud. "Fair point," he conceded.

He and Gaius watched with bated breath as Merlin tied the new neckerchief very loosely around his neck. A moment of tense silence, then –

"Does this make me look like a prat?"

"Merlin!"

Arthur knew that the ordeal wasn't over just because Merlin had put on the neckerchief. There would still be nightmares and anxiety and days where Merlin couldn't stand to have anything touch his neck. But this was progress. This was hope.

For this one moment, this was Arthur and Merlin, as they had always been, and all was well with the world.

For now, that was more than enough.

[whumpookies]

Merlin one shot, bit of humour can be found here

"No boat huh?"  Matthew muttered, scratching his head in slight confusion 

It was one thousand years later, and what would have been water was now fields, yet the Isle of the Blessed still sat on a hill in all its glory- the same hill that Talia and Matt stood facing. 

"No boat. That’s global warming for you," Talia shrugged easily as she placed down her longbow, making Matthew roll his eyes 

"So, what are we doing here?" Matthew asked as he sat on the hill looking down to the isle.

"Remember the last time we were here?" She asked, joining him sitting on the hill, their knees touching as they leaned back.

"Screaming vale, Doracha, cranky old woman, scarification of a soul to close the vail, Lancelot being an idiot, you warning the old hag..sure hard to forget, really. Why?" Matthew grinned cheekily. 

"Well, time for..revenge," she smirked. 

Matthew blinked..and blinked. "We're what?"

"Going to get revenge, well we ain't but..you’ll see," she half shrugged, laying back into the grass enjoying the rays from the warm sun.

"How? Or should I say why?" Matthew asked, looking over to her.

"Because I promised Lancelot I wouldn't get revenge...back then...didn't say anything about helping get revenge." Her eyes closed, unable to see the disbelieving look Matthew gave her. "You know he's gonna have kittens knowing what we're doing." She shrugged again, standing brushing the grass off her shoulders, Matthew following her actions. 

"That's why we'll tell him after we deal with the old crone," she grinned before grabbing Matthew's collar, dragging him down the hill towards the island.

"Just how are we doing this?" Matthew muttered climbing down the embankment.

"With a dragon." She answered, following him down the silence followed as Matthew stared at his best friend in shock. "A...dragon?"

"Yes, Merlin let me...borrow Kilgharrah"

"Borrow?" His eyebrows rose skywards, scepticism gracing his features. 

"Okay, not borrow...more like the dragon has it in for the hag, so we made a deal." Talia rolled her eyes before continuing along the field as Matthew huffed, "I don't want to know do I?"

"Nope." She answered, snickering. They carried on towards the Isle of the Blessed with a sense of mischief in their hearts.

"Just how did you get our swords and the longbow past the airport checkpoint?"

"You're really asking that now, Matt?"

"I'm curious, it’s not like you can say 'Hey officer, don't worry, just going to get revenge on Cailleach the old hag, then call a dragon, watch him eat her. Just ignore the swords, oh please don't check the blade, it's sharp. Oh look there goes your finger, don't matter if you hurry, it can be sewn on again!" Matthew counted off on his fingers, sarcasm dripping off his words.

"You finished?" She asked, rolling her eyes, once again asking herself why to the heavens. Surely deities were listening.

"Oh no, I've just started!" she sighed before clambering up the steps of the dry dock. "I actually said we're part of a cosplay team…"

"You what?!" 

"Now I bet you wished you never asked!" She cackled, walking down the dock, leaving a groaning Matthew. 

"You have no idea," he sighed.

It was as if time had stopped. The walls were damp, cobwebs spread in abundance, corridors dark until they spotted the light at the end of the tunnel leading to the altar. "How are we getting the old crone to come here? Not like we're sacrificing anyone...why are you looking at me like that?" Talia grinned at a very worried looking Matthew. "Don't worry, no scarification needed. Luckily Merlin knows a few tricks nowadays."

"Yeah, well he could at least get a haircut and a shave!"

"I think he's got the wizard look right down" she glanced over at him. 

"I still think Tolkien met him."

"What, to get the whole Gandalf look down?" She asked slightly confused

"Hell yes! Come on, both Merlin and Tolkien's characters have the beard and long hair… plus look what happened when you asked him to dress up at Samhain!" Matthew grinned, shaking his head. 

"Yeah..that was interesting," she agreed, her forehead creasing slightly.

"Tal, he declared Gandalf as a half-baked wannabe with a guilt complex the size of Albion."

"Point taken," she chuckled, shaking her head.

"Then Lancelot laughed that much he nearly passed out."

"Wait till this year at Halloween you'll love it…"

"If you say Merlin and Lancelot as themselves, I'm so going to be there to watch," Matthew said. 

"Nah, I gave up on that, thinking Harry Potter and Dumbledore." 

The laughter echoed down the empty passageway as they broke into the altar area; it was still large and lush with green grass swaying with the wind.

"You know Talia if this place wasn't linked to the old religion it would be perfect"

"I've nothing against the old religion, just the old hag with a god complex."

"Well let's do this, it's gonna be a long drive back."

Walking around the altar, Talia's hand running along the cool stone as Matthew stood leaning against the wall watching her. 

"How are we doing this?" He asked. 

"Easily, Cailleach is listening to the old hag and is too nosy not to! You ain't getting a sacrifice to some old hag. So come on let's have this out!" She yelled the last part, her voice echoing around the walls as she jumped up on the altar, sitting on the edge. 

"Are we really pissing her off?" Matthew asked.

"I don't get pissed off," the voice croaked behind him. 

"Bloody hell, you old cron don't do that!" Screeched Matthew in a high pitch voice that would make an opera singer jealous as Talia doubled over laughing. Cailleach stood behind the young man all in her dark glory. 

"What do you want, guardian?" She said.

"Oh come on, Cailleach. No hello? It's been, what, one thousand five hundred years, give or take a year...or ten," Talia shrugged, grinning ear to ear as she crossed her legs on the altar."The last I saw of you guardian...you threatened me, and I don't take well to threats," Cailleach accused, her eyes squinting at her.

"I don't take well to you trying to kill Arthur, Merlin or Lancelot," Talia shrugged easily, surprised  by her anger

"It is not killing.."

"Really? A sacrifice to close the veil isn't killing?. Don’t you have enough souls in the underworld?"

"Not yet," she grinned, looking to Matthew 

"Dream on hag, we're taken," Matthew muttered, walking over to Talia by the alter, sword in hand. 

"So it seems that you are, child." Cailleach mourned at the loss of another soul joining her.

"See, I promised someone I wouldn't get revenge on someone else." Talia brought the conversation back on track. "Lancelot." 

"Yes Cailleach, Lancelot, but I spent the day with a very large green-scaled dragon and it seems he still holds a grudge," she smirked, evilly sitting forward. 

"Oh look, Talia, I think it just dawned on her?!" Matthew laughed as Cailleach searched the skies above her as the wind picked up.

"So it seems Matt. Heads up hag, we've got a visitor!" Jumping down, Talia grabbed Matthew, dragging her friend towards the wall as wings came into view. 

"Done my part. Good luck Cailleach," Talia yelled over Kilgharrah's arrival.

"Amazing how hard it is to get a dragon to meet the gatekeeper," Talia muttered as she pulled Matthew into the gatehouse. 

"We are not gonna watch?" Matthew asked.

"Have you ever seen a gatekeeper and dragon go at it?"

"Well...no."

"Me neither, but Kilgharrah said to stay out of the…" A crash and crackle of magic hitting something stopped them.

Both looked to the door. 

"I think I get why now." Said Matthew worriedly looking over at her before a crash followed as rocks flew past the doorway. 

"Oh, that's one pissed off dragon." 

Talia nodded, sitting on an abandoned table. "Wouldn't you be? That old hag nearly killed Merlin, tried to stop the path of Arthur."

"Let's not forget the whole vail crap." 

Sparks struck the door frame as Matthew jumped back. "Oh, the whole Veil needs a blood sacrifice and all that crap. She has real issues with wanting blood." 

Fire bombarded the area passing the door; the heat could be felt with ease. 

"Damn, should have bought marshmallows," Said Matthew bemoaning the loss of a good crispy marshmallow.

"Next time."

"I'm bringing the sausages as well then!" She shook her head as Matthew watched the show as close to the door as possible.

"Well, the old hag needs a peg knocking out of her." 

"Duck!" Matt yelled, boards, bursting, showering bits of wood in all directions.

Talia ran to the door shouting around it. "Kilgharrah get a move on you overgrown lizard! That almost killed us!" 

Matt stood brushing debris off his coat moving away. 

"Bit close," he sighed. 

"Just a bit." 

With the table upturned, they sat behind it, flashes of lightning and flames, crashes and bashes, debris flew past the door frame or closer allowing them to duck, roars covered ears and magic was yelled as it all continued...

"How long?" Talia groaned heavily.

"Three hours and five minutes, in other words, five minutes from the last time you asked." 

"Damn"

"Tal, tell them to quit," Matt moaned whilst cleaning his nails with his sword.

"And get my head blown off?"

"Come on, it's getting late, Merlin can only keep him busy so long!"

"Your point?"

"I'm bored, hungry and they’re being.." he pointed to the door as a lightning bolt struck close by, "...idiots, and they’re going to get us killed!"

Sighing heavily Talia stood, brushing herself off and stormed to the door. "If I die, I'm haunting you!" She muttered before diving out the door quickly as a whip.

Matthew listened intently to the point of straining his ears above the yells of casting, roars and the odd flame until…."THAT WAS MY CLAW!" A deep booming voice Kilgharrah echoed.

"Well if you weren't such an arse, I wouldn't have to stab it, you stubborn bloody dragon! And don't you start either you old hag!"

Matthew snickered, leaning against the wall, shaking his head as laughter rippled through him, whilst trying to listen as Talia continued to rant.

"...yes, I know! Get over yourself, Cailleach or I'll run you through old woman…."

Matthew shook his head, wiping the tears away "...oh trust me, I go to that underworld and I'll haunt you so much that you'll be begging to kick me out.."

He had to agree, she probably would. Talia could be annoying as hell, that was for sure.

"..Yea you're pissed at each other, I get that but come on! When Arthur gets released from Avalon you both need him, so give it a bloody rest! Don't start, you overgrown chicken...and don't you start you wrinkled old pug!"

The second bout of hysterical laughter struck the young man bracing himself against the wall, only Talia would insult a dragon and the gatekeeper of the underworld.

"...Right, that's it!!! I'm calling a truce till next Samhain. You, Kilgharrah, home till Merlin wants you, and Cailleach back till the underworld…no, not Halloween, that my bloody time you get Samhain the eve of Halloween!"

Attempting to catch his breath, Matthew began gathering his and Talia's things.

"Yes, I promise I'll call upon you next bloody Samhain...just...behave till then!"

Matthew cleared the doorway as Kilgharrah flew off, no sign of Cailleach could be seen.

"Finished venting?"

"They are like bloody kids I tell you! I ain't cleaning this mess!" She vented, walking over to her friend gathering her stuff from him. 

"meh, we’ll just call Merlin on the way back; he can clean it up," Matthew reassured as the two made their way back out of the old palace.

"Next year we'll bring Lancelot and Merlin. It'll be fun," Talie said. 

"Only if we bring camp stuff and food," he replied. 

"Deal"

"Cool. Hey, can we stop by McDonald's on the way back? I'm starving," Matthew asked as Talia rolled her eyes. 

"Sure, Merlin wants a happy meal anyway"

[wreckofawriter]

It's Never Fair

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Muggleborn!reader

Word Count: 2,057

Warnings: Mentions blood, torture and being held in captivity. Angsty.

Request: Hi! Can I request an imagine where the reader was trapped in the malfoy manor at one point and kind of has ptsd and claustrophobia, and years later she's working at the ministry and so is draco. they get stuck in an elevator and she has a panic attack and Draco helps her and she reveals why she has ptsd and claustrophobia? sorry the request is so long!

A/n: Okay so I changed it a tiny bit because i was struggling but it's pretty much the same thing anyway, hope u guys like it!

Darkness consumed you as you lay in that cold cot again. You could feel the fear seeping through your pores as your body shivered with cold. Your sobs echoed off the walls of the small room, your own voice bounced back at you driving you mad. You leaned over the side of the cot and wretched over the side. You hadn't eaten in days; there was nothing for you to throw up. You could taste blood in your mouth and feel it running down your arm. You went stiff hearing footsteps descending to the dungeon.

"No please no." You begged pulling yourself into the corner, "Please dear Merlin no." You knew what was coming and you wanted to do anything to get away from it. You could already feel the pain that would be cursed upon you in a matter of minutes. 

You screamed out when the door opened slowly revealing the platinum blonde you were cowering from. You felt his cold hand clasp around your wrist and-

You awoke with a hoarse scream, a cold sweat covering your shivering body. You felt tears prick at your eyes as you attempted to slow your breaths. 

Once you finally calmed down you glanced at the clock that sat beside your bed. You sighed pushing your blankets off you and heading towards your bathroom. 

You took a quick shower, attempting to wash away memories with the warm water. You got dressed in silence, eat breakfast the same way. You then apperated out front of the doors to the ministry of magic. 

You entered the building, the scent of fresh ink and burning wood greeting you. You walked quickly down the hallway greeting the security guard showing your identification card and heading towards the elevators. 

You had always hated elevator, well that's not true. You hated elevators since an extremely terrible 4 months five years ago.

They made you feel like the walls were caving in on you, everytime you entered one you could feel your heart rate pick up and your breathing quicken, they made you want to vomit. But climbing seventeen flights of stairs every morning simply wasn't an option so you suffered in silence telling yourself it would all be over soon and you would step out into the hallway and you would be free.

You were relieved when the first elevator to rach you had only one other person in it. This wasn't too rare considering it was only 5:00 in the morning. 

You offered a small smile to the stranger barley offering a glance before you entered the small space taking a deep breath and pressing the button with a small '17' engraved onto it. 

You then retreated to the corner and tried to focus on anything besides the lack of space. You listened to the hum of the elevator and found yourself glancing at the stranger beside you. 

His hair was a brilliantly white blonde reminding you of someone you attempted to forget. His stunning grey eyes were glued to a piece of paper he was reading, his jawline sharp and precise. He was so familiar yet so different. 

It wasn't until the door opened and a woman with dark hair entered the elevator that you realized who it was. 

Your hand flew to your mouth to cover the gasp that fell from it. The woman glanced at you in confusion, you mumbled an apology to her before she exited the elevator and you began to move upward once again.

Your eyes moved back to Draco. He look much different than he had in school, his face was less mocking and more calm. His eyes softer, kinder than before. 

Your thoughts were cut off by a sudden jerk of the elevator before it stopped moving completely. 

Your eyes darted to the door willing it to pop open and reveal, a long hallway with high walls, blue and gold carpeting covering its floor. It would smell like oak wood and old papers and you would be free. The doors granted no such dream and instead plunged you into a nightmare.

You could feel your breath quicken as you glanced around the tiny room suddenly feeling like you were running out of oxygen. 

"What the hell?" Draco grumbled next to you, walking to the buttons pressing a few before giving up. 

He sighed loudly and turned to you, he had been aware of your presence before, but he had never looked at you. He was immediately taken aback by your beauty. 

Your y/h/l y/h/c hair framed your face neatly, your y/e/c eyes wide and slightly panicked. You were wearing a tight navy blue pencil skirt with a white buttoned shirt, the top button undone. You looked strangely familiar, like he had known you years before.

He gulped, the idea of being stuck in a confined space with you making him blush.

"Looks like we're stuck between floors, they should come get us in an hour or so." Draco saw your eyes widen and fill with fear. 

"S-stuck?" You stuttered out you felt your throat tighten, fighting against your words.

"Yeah, they should get us out soon though." Draco explained confused by your reaction. 

Your heart was racing and you could feel the room shrink around you, the lights seemed to dim as your head pounded behind your eyes. 

Suddenly you were back on that cot, tired and hungry and scared. Your sobs echoing off the cold walls, bouncing right back at you like a broken record. 

You slid to the floor, hands on either side of you gripping the carpet that felt so much like that dreadful mattress. 

"Are you alright?" Draco asked in confusion as a sob wrenched from your pink lips. But you couldn't hear him, all you could hear was the sound of footsteps on the cold stone stairs. You could hear the way they echoed off the walls mixing with your cries to create a sick symphony of personal horrors.

He was at the door, there was a click of a lock, the squeak of the hinges reminding you of a high pitched scream. The door clanged harshly onto the stone wall. 

"No no no, please no." You begged. 

Draco looked at you, unsure of what to do. 

He walked over to you bending down to your level, his hand grabbed your wrist, his cold hands closing around you.  

"Get away from me Lucius!" You screamed your voice raw, filled with fear. 

Draco released you immediately, he stumbled backwards, leaning against the cool metal wall of the elevator. 

His eyes widened as you shrunk away from him in fear. You had said his father's name. You had called him his he father, now he felt like crying. Why would you call him his father? Then it hit him. 

You looked so similar because he HAD known you. You had gone to Hogwarts with him, and you had spent 4 devastating months in his house. 

He never really got to see many of the prisoners, he avoided them as much as possible. But you he remembered because you were different. You had tried to flee. 

You had almost made it too, but you were caught which meant you had to suffer. His father would drag you upstairs and his aunt would torture you.

 He never saw it but he heard it. He would slam his ears shut and squeeze his eyes closed but he would still hear your gut wrenching, heart breaking screams below him as he sobbed on his bedroom floor. 

And now here you were cowering away from him sobbing and shaking your eyes glued shut, just as you had cowered from his father. 

Anger and resentment filled him as he looked at you. He saw what his father had done, his aunt had done. What HE had done. It wasn't fair, none of it was fair. 

Draco took in a shaky breath and began to speak, "Y/n your okay, your in an elevator, your safe, no one is going to hurt you, I'm not going to hurt you." 

Your eyes opened slowly, darting around in a panic. 

"Y/n look at me." Draco spoke calmly. 

Your eyes darted to him planting themselves onto his grey ones. Although they were the same color they were so unlike his father's his stare didn't make you shiver in fear, they made you want to sigh with relief. 

"Ok I need you to take a deep breath." Draco took a step towards you, but was afraid to take another. 

You took a shaky breath in, feeling the oxygen fill your desperate lungs. You held it staring to those kind stormy eyes. 

"Now let it out." You followed the man's instructions, the breath leaving your body in a shudder.  

Draco continued to help you breathe calmly until your breaths came slowly again. 

"Can I come sit next to you?" He asked cautiously. 

You nodded and he walked over to you sliding to the floor, placing his arm carefully around your shoulders. 

You nuzzled closer to him, needing the warmth he radiated. Draco blushed bit at the action but said nothing of it. 

"I'm sorry." You whispered after a few minutes of silence and drying tears. 

"For what?" Draco murmured softly.

"For calling you your father." You replied voice quiet. "You're not like him." 

"You don't need to apologize y/n." Draco mumbled feeling ashamed of who he was. "I do." 

"For what?" You asked mimicking his words. 

"For not stopping them, I remember you, I remember what they did to you, what happened to you, what you went though and I-I just sat up in my bedroom and shut my ears. I did nothing." Draco choked out, feeling you go stiff beside him, "And I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry." 

The silence in the room was deafening, finally after what seemed like a very long time you spoke. 

"I heard what you did for Harry." You paused feeling Draco's eyes dance across your face, "You didn't identify him and you knew it was him, I know that you knew. And maybe you didn't stop your parents from doing what they did but what you did do that counts as something. It has to." 

Draco felt a tear slip from his eye and slide slowly down his cheek. 

"It's not your fault Draco, you were just a kid." You turned toward him, a sad smile placed upon your delicate lips.

"But that's not fair, you were just a kid too." Draco sighed, tucking a loose piece of your hair behind your ear and leaning closer to you. 

"We were all just kids. And it's never fair." You placed your hand onto his place cheek and wiped the tear from it with your thumb. "It's never fair." 

You were so close now you could feel his minty breath tickling your face. You leaned just a bit closer, your eyes fluttering shut your lips brushing for the slightest second before the elevator began to drop. 

You pulled away quickly, your face brilliantly red. Draco cleared his throat loudly as you both stood and straighten your clothes. 

The doors slid open and a breath of relief filled you. 

"You guys okay?" Asked a man who you were assuming fixed the elevator. 

"Yeah, we're fine." You answered, before stepping into the lobby and taking a deep breath in. You were about to walk away when you heard your name. 

You turned to see Draco rushing towards you. He stopped just short of you "What's up Draco?" You asked. 

"Umm- well- I-" he huffed before mumbling, "You know what just screw it." 

His lips were on yours in a flash, the kiss was soft and sweet. He tasted like mint and dark chocolate, his hands gripping your waist lightly as yours wrapped around his neck. 

You pulled away, red and flustered.

"Will you go to dinner with me tomorrow night?" He asked seeming not to notice the strange glances the pair was getting. 

"S-sure." You stumbled over your words, making you flare another shade of crimson. 

"Great, I'll pick you up after work." He smiled before turning and leaving. 

Yous told there for a second unsure of what to do next. Finally, you began to make your way back over to the elevators.

Masterlist