#flying on brooms and whatnot only gets you so far!

[grumpygreenwitch]

The Fairy and the Prince #44 + #45

Part 1 - Part 2 - Parts 3 & 4 - Part 5 - Part 6, 7 & 8 - Part 9 & 10 - Part 11, 12, 13, 14, 15 & 16 - Part 17, 18, & 19 - Part 20, 21 & 22 - Part 23, 24, 25 & 26 - Part 27, 28, 29 & 30 - Part 31, 32, 33 & 34 - Part 35, 36 & 37 - Part 38, 39, 40 & 41 - Part 42 & 43 - Part 44 & 45 - Part 46 & 47 - Part 48, 49, 50 & 51 - Part, 52, 53 & 54 - Part 55 & 56 - Part 57, 58, 59 & 60 - Part 61, 62, 63, 64 & 65 - Part 66, 67, 68, 69, 70, 71 & 72

Welp, a little more violence. Tags have been added appropriately, and bear in mind from here on out it’s probably going to stay violent for a while. Edit: It’s complete! The queue runs until February 22, at which point it will be done! At a little over 103K words, so much for a speed-writing exercise XD

He lived, of course.

He went through his classes and his studies and his practices like one of the clever clockworks that were brought to entertain the Court. He went through the motions, and presumably pretended to them well enough, as no one complained of his inattention. Dane and Beli tried to get him to go out on the grounds, to at least visit the Royal Gardens, but Adam refused to go that far, refused to so much as look at the woods. He wouldn't climb so much as a tree. Rumors began to go around that he'd been elf-touched and rejected, that he would soon wither away and die, pining after a fairy-maid that had enthralled him for a lark and abandoned him directly after. As rumors went, it didn't go very far; the visit of the priests ensured that.

Adam didn't cry, he hardly spoke, he ate only because Culli-maid and Trout would harass him into it. Spring rushed headlong toward summer and he didn't even notice. Master Leminy assigned him nearly permanently to clean the stables and the training rooms if only to get him to leave his rooms. Adam suspected the teachers there had been instructed to keep him busy, with whatever kind of sparring they could think of if nothing else presented itself. Yet again, they could only report that the prince did his duties with admirable skill. This time they could also add that he did them with little heart.

The first true days of summer found him sweeping one of the long, narrow storage rooms that abutted the elegant hall where the princes were trained in fencing and dagger-work, sweating. His coat had been hung on one of the pegs and Trout dozed lazily in a pocket, wings twitching occasionally; the pixie could fly short bursts, but could not yet maintain altitude.

A class had just ended, and it occurred to Adam as the princes came and went that they were all younger than him. Camlen had given up his claim to the crown at some point, when his family had shown up to beg him to do so. That left only Sean and himself of the Dowager's first attempt at a King. The thought came and went, impossible to hold onto through the fog of his grief. Dimly he was aware that some of the princes had remained behind, likely the older boys sparring with one another. He was aware of the low give-and-take of their voices, of the clash of their swords. Knowledge, rising from unknown depths, told him they were using true blades, and laughing about it. He had to wonder if Rickard's first lesson would linger on with this new set of princes.

He opened a door and the words hit him when he'd thought he could never be wounded again.

" - would just burn down the woods."

He went so still he forgot to breath.

"You can't just burn down the woods, Liam. The people need those for eating and for firewood and whatnot."

"I'm supposed to put their lives above mine?" Liam's voice was both angry and elegantly disbelieving. "There's the river, right there, let them eat fish. They grow grain, they can eat that. Haven't you heard a thing we've been taught? The Folk in the Woods, they're called."

Adam shuddered violently. Trout suddenly snapped from its drowse when it heard the wood of the broom's handle creak. The prince's hands were closed so tightly on it that his knuckles were the color of ash.

"No one's going to let you burn down the woods, Liam," the second boy's voice scoffed.

"When I'm King, who will stop me?"

"They're the Folk In The Woods, Herringmere. I'm pretty certain they would, if no one else."

I think they wouldn’t, Adam thought. I think they very much wouldn’t, because they aren't really in the Woods, are they.

"I wouldn't give them a choice. Arm a few dozen men with blessed rowan-wood shields and iron-tipped spears, and what are they going to do then?" Liam snorted. "They picked this fight. They started this curse. Do you expect I'd negotiate with them? No, burn it all, I say. No more fairies, no more curse."

No more gracious linden tree. No more wild irises nodding against the still waters of the kelpie's old pond. No more elegant willow, fronds always ready to lift someone to their branches. No more generous cherry trees, sharing their bounty of tart little red fruits. No more songbirds bringing gossip, no more nesting pixies, no more stalking bees back to their hollows to steal a single bite from their hard-earned combs, no more, no more, no more...

Adam had thrown the two halves of the broom aside and was stalking across the exquisite marble floor before he knew what he was doing. He felt so cold that everything, skin and flesh and bone, burned him. He made a beeline for the princes. There were four of them, the three he'd heard and one that had yet to speak. They were all young reeds, grown into their lanky teenage years and quickly becoming refined by their education in the Dowager Queen's court.

"No one," he said, startled to find his voice scratching as if he hadn't used it in days, "is burning down the woods."

They stared at him as if he'd grown two heads, until the second boy spoke. "You're Lestrelle, aren't you?"

Adam turned to stare at him. "I'm sorry I don't know you," he said politely, his manners an instinct that refused to die. "But no one is burning down the woods."

"Oh, come off it, Lestrelle." Prince Liam was a rapier of a young man, lean, as elegant as his voice, blond and pale and sharing the deep blue eyes that said his bloodline was as true as Adam's. He was wearing simple training armor and was swinging lightly an elegant rapier. "Look at you. One would think if anyone, you'd be glad to see that place and the Folk inside it gone."

"I would not," Adam said plainly.

Liam's brows went up. "Well, alright," he replied with a lopsided smile. "I'm afraid only the people interested in the crown get a say on this one, Lestrelle." He moved forward.

So did Adam. His hand shot forward and his palm came to rest on Liam's chest. "No one," he repeated tonelessly, "is burning down the woods."

Liam looked down. He was of a height with Adam, not quite two years younger. "You want to take your hands from me, Lestrelle."

"Liam, don't," the boy who'd warned about the commonfolk needing the woods said nervously.

"Herringmere, leave it. You know he's not well." The other boy was solid, wrought of darker colors; perhaps if the future allowed him to live he'd grow to be somewhat a match to Dane, but on that day he barely managed to be the tallest of those there by a wisp of brown hair.

"I wasn't speaking to you, Macallan," Liam snapped.

"You should listen to your friends." Adam said very calmly. "No one's worth spit on hot cobbles without them, least of all a king."

"What would you know of either friends or kingship, Lestrelle? Last I checked, you're only waiting for your birthday so you can go to the woods and forswear the crown." Liam gave him a mocking, indulgent smile. "They won't burn before then, you don't have to worry."

"Herringmere -"

"No one is burning down the woods," Adam repeated.

"You're not the one to stop me, Lestrelle. Look at you. You're a ghost. Have you even bathed recently? Eaten? Changed clothes? You walk the palace like a shadow. Some fairy-maid bespelled you and sucked you dry and you think -"

Liam didn't get to finish that very dangerous accusation. Adam punched him and sent him crashing to the ground with both the suddenness of the attack and the sheer force behind it. For nearly all his time in the palace he'd been sparring with larger, heavier partners. He'd hardened his hands on a troll. He'd taught a boy twice his size to be fast or regret it. Liam was lucky to still have all his teeth when he hit the marble floor.

The two younger boys scrabbled back. The older prince stepped forward. "Mother-Night, Lestrelle, don't -"

"Give him your steel, Macallan."

"Herringmere -"

"Give him your bloody sword, Connor!" Liam scrabbled to his feet and spat blood to one side, his mouth a crimson bruise, his eyes a storm. "Or I swear to all of you I'll run him through unarmed!"

Prince Connor Macallan swallowed visibly, his hand going to the rapier on his belt.

Adam stared at Liam in distant, absent disbelief. He wasn't asking for anything outlandish. He wasn't asking for the impossible. Everything the other boys had said was true; the woods were needed and more, the woods were not the real problem. But in Liam's eyes Adam saw that this was someone who would never tolerate being told 'no', and everything he'd felt against the Prince Beyond The Woods rose in him like a black, deadly tide. "Prince Macallan," he said mildly. "Not your sword, but I thank you for the thought. May I have your dagger?"

"Against a sword?" The prince sounded aghast.

"It's a rapier," Adam told him simply. "I'm sure you're all very good with yours. They're worthless in a real fight. If I may?"

"You can have mine," the last of the boys, who'd said nothing until that point, stepped forward and drew his dagger, offering it to Adam hilt-first. It was very simple, but a faltering hand had stitched leaping fish on the hilt, a tiny gesture of such love that Adam had to forcibly tear his eyes from the sight of it. It wasn't hard; all he had to do was stare at Liam.

Almost before they squared off, Liam came at him in a classic fencing surge. Adam, apparently the only one who remembered this wasn't a fencing match, merely stepped aside, swatted the rapier aside with the dagger, and punched Liam again, sending him staggering into the ground a second time. Against all his fury, all the immensity of his loss turning into fire inside him, he still didn't want to be cornered into a choice that would be far too costly. If Liam could show any sense, any at all -

The young prince yelled in wordless fury and launched himself at Adam.

Adam ducked and twisted around the rapier. A rapier is a fine weapon, but one of precision and elegance. The blade dances nearly as much as the hand that holds it, and not always in the same direction. Liam was exceptional with it, but Adam, once again, had learned speed from two someones who moved like the boughs of a willow in the breeze, like the branches of a linden tree in the wind, like blood spilling from an unexpected wound or the flood of shadow and death that overtakes a fortress with a blood-hungry howl. To him, Liam was moving as slowly as molasses.

To the other princes Adam was a blur.

Liam fought him first with fury, and then with desperation, but he wouldn't yield. He was the sort, Adam realized, that couldn't give up, that had to be always right, that wouldn't abide defeat or challenge or shame. The older prince slashed the laces open on one side of the younger prince's armor, accepted a long, shallow gash to one arm, latched his fingers on the other set of laces and kicked Liam. The prince went down a third time, too winded at that point to do more than grunt in pain, and found himself hopelessly tangled up in his leather armor.

Adam stood before him, breathing a little hard, and patiently waited for his opponent to disentangle himself and get up. "No one is burning down the woods."

Liam cast aside his rapier, drew his dagger and lunged at him.

Adam caught that wild lunge, twisted the young prince's dagger arm away, and sank his borrowed blade all the way to the hilt past Liam's ribs. Those blue eyes, his own for all intents and purposes, widened in shock and disbelief, pain not yet having caught up with their owner. The younger prince shoved himself away, staggering; Adam hung onto the dagger, which came away bloody, and Liam lifted a hand to catch his side, staring without understanding at the blood that filled his palm. His dagger clattered from a grip gone nerveless.

He crashed to the ground, staring at Adam, unable to understand what had just happened.

At some point the training hall had filled with people, teachers and students both; they'd closed in a circle around the princes, but no one had intervened. The Dowager Queen had made it very clear what sort of life, and death, her princes were to expect.

Adam drew a deep breath. He didn't think Liam would understand, not even at that moment, but there were many around them that might take heed of the younger prince's death. "No one," he said very calmly to those deep blue eyes quickly glazing over in death, "is burning down the woods."

***

Dane found Adam sitting on the stands of the jousting yard, his coat on his lap. He sat quietly by his prince, his hands laced in his lap, and they were silent for a very long time in the golden summer afternoon. "He died quick," the young man said at last. "But then I think that's what you meant."

"I meant for him to listen," Adam explained, feeling weary to his bones. He wanted to regret what he'd done, he wanted to mourn the dead prince, but the cold and black rage that had come over him, that had wanted him to see Canemore in Liam, pulsed like a heart inside him, and he almost couldn't feel his grief anymore past it. It was too sweet a relief and he wouldn't be pried from it. "He had... a dangerous idea."

"Was it a bad one?"

Adam closed his eyes. "No. And yes. Everyone calls them the Folk In The Woods, Dane, but they aren't. They never were. They come through the woods, they come from beyond them. The woods were -" His breath ran out abruptly at the very thought of saying the name and he ducked his head, willingly calling up his rage, allowing himself to wallow in it. "Linden's. The woods were Linden's."

Dane popped his mouth thoughtfully. He was the source from which Adam had picked up the habit. "That's not the sort of thing that's easy to explain to people."

"I know. I tried. But it's like he didn't see me, like I didn't matter. Only what he wanted and what he'd chosen did."

Dane sighed. "It's new to you," he explained slowly, "because you don't do that. You've always seen us, Adam. Me, Culli, Beli, we aren't there like your coat and your bed. We're people to you, we're friends." He shook his head. "That's not how it is for nearly anyone else in the staff of the palace. And you've been saying for nigh on nine years that you don't want the crown, so what's that make you? Not a prince, for sure. Just sort of... staff-in-waiting."

Adam thought on that. It would have been foolish of him to pretend that Dane wasn't speaking the truth. Even so recently as Liam's callous disregard of the immense difficulties the commonfolk would face if the woods were burned, he'd always been aware of a deep divide. He'd just never worried about it because he'd grown used to fording it effortlessly.

He buried his face in his hands and groaned low. "They're only going to listen to me one way, aren't they. They're only ever going to listen to me the one way."

Dane blew out a low breath. "Or you could... leave. Go elsewhere. Forget. It might take years and years, but you're bound to find some peace somewhere. You deserve that much."

Adam smiled wearily at the desperate little wish Dane was making for him. "Dane, that girl better snatch you up, there's not a better man than you in this place, and I'm glad you're my friend," he said, even though he knew that not all the years in his life, nor ten times as many, would ever let him forget what he'd lost. "I can't. Today it was Liam. Tomorrow it'll be someone else." He stared at the beautiful summer world without seeing at all. "This is not what I wanted, Dane."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"So am I." Adam rattled out a sigh. "And it might get bloody."

Dane shrugged. "It's been a relief that it wasn't until now, I won't say it hasn't," he admitted. "But a fight is what we signed up for, back when we got hired on to be your friends."

Adam nodded. Together they went back to the palace. He washed up, dressed neatly, and sent word to the Dowager for a brief inquiry. She received him with tea being cleared away, an oddity from all their meetings before, when the cups and saucers were just being set down as a maid showed him into the elegant sun-room. "Adam."

"Majesty." Adam bowed and sat when given leave. "How does one go about cutting off someone from his sphere of power and influence?"

Her delicate brows rose up. "Not even Eleanor?" she asked mildly.

"I would, if I didn't think my father would take advantage of even that slender thread."

"True," she agreed. "Unfortunately so. And you're certain?"

"That I mean to be King?" he asked, consciously misinterpreting her question. "Yes. I think you've done a good thing, stalling them, the Folk Beyond The Woods. I think you did it at a terrible price, a price that you know no one will ever forgive, least of all you. And I think," he looked at her directly, "I think it's not enough anymore. Not for me."

"Didn't you just kill a boy today for threatening them?"

"No. I killed Liam because he wanted to burn down the woods. No one is burning down the woods. My enemies aren't there. That's what I tried to tell you once before. They are the Folk Beyond The Woods. The Folk In The Woods -" For all that he'd planned so carefully every step of this conversation, Adam found himself faltering, strangled by sorrow that kept on trying to rise above the black flood of his rage. He smothered it savagely. "They wanted to be free of them just as much as we do."

She stared keenly at him for a long moment before reaching for a bell and instructing the maid who answered her to fetch the Court Genealogist.

[victorluvsalice]

It’s Day 2 of our trip through Emmett, Nikal, Julia, and Einstein Brown’s Newcrest Adventures! Day 2 was three things in the game -- Sunday, the beginning of Spring, and pop-up holiday New Skill Day! Perfect thing to come up when one of your Sims has a New Year’s resolution to learn some new skills, huh? In fact, Emmett went above and beyond -- having developed an interest in painting, he earned another skill point in that to fulfill his resolution, and later got another point in Fitness while out on a jog with Einstein to fulfill the actual holiday! (Because it only counts skills you haven’t progressed very far in, you see. . .)

In addition to all this skilling, though, there was also the matter of practicing some magic! Both Emmett and Nikal weren’t far away from becoming Adept Spellcasters, so I had Emmett practice some practical spells in the kitchen (puddles and mysterious floating glasses to Scruberoo, a broken dishwasher to Repairio), while Nikal used her recently-obtained ingredients to try her hand at making a Potion of Plentiful Needs! As you can tell from that beautiful dark blue liquid in the cauldron, it came out perfectly -- good enough that Nikal did indeed make Adept! As her thing is potion-making, I had her choose the “Blender Arm” (speeds up crafting) and “Frugal Combination” (chance that not all ingredients will be used on a potion) perks. That should make alchemy that much easier in the future!

So yes, good start to the day. Was the rest of it just as good?

[one-leaf-grimoire]

Three-Leafed Chaos

Chapter 3/4

Warning: beach shenanigans

"Yami!!! I have bad news!!! Oh- Are you doing something super manly out here?" Magna ran around the corner to see his captain at a blacksmithing iron, pounding metal with a hammer. "Whoa! You are!" He ran up to him. "What are you making!"

"A gift," he said, holding up the short weapon. "It's a traditional Tanto knife from my homeland." He admired how the light was already glinting on the metal. "It's a Tree-Leaf day present."

"Ooh! How awesome!" Magna balled up his fists excitedly. "Who are you giving it to? That girl who got drunk last week?"

"She wasn't just some girl, ya idiot. First of all, she's a Royal official. Second of all..." Yami didn't really know what to say. She's not like other girls? No... that didn't sound right. He hadn't spent enough time with her to know exactly what it was he was feeling. But soon, he would. "Anyway, what's this bad news you mentioned?"

"Oh! Right! It's actually about that girl," Magna began. "I was in town with Luck, and we overheard a conversation with that Lion captain! He was told that the Wizard King and his staff were taking the day off at the beach, so he headed off that way immediately! He's going to go try to steal your girl, Yami!"

Now, that caught his attention. "Shit! That's not good..." The beach was the perfect place to get to know someone better outside of work, and he wasn't going to let Fuegoleon have her all to himself! "Take care of things around here, right?" Yami ordered Magna before turning and running off to find a broom and fly to the beach.

This could actually end very well for me... He thought as he flew. Water, sun, sand... and she'll be frolicking around in a skimpy bathing suit for sure. Yeah, this could actually be really good...

As soon as he got to the beach, Yami realized there was a problem. "...fancy seeing you guys here."

Fuegoleon, Nozel, Jack, and Charlotte were all here already, standing around at the edge of a roped off area of beach. A big sign was posted that said "Authorized renters only." Jack sneered at the sight of Yami. "Ka ka, you decided to come for a dip as well?"

"Obviously, he's here for the same reason as all of us," Nozel corrected, scowling at Yami. "Seriously. As if this wasn't going to be hard enough already."

Charlotte clenched her fists but said nothing. Another competitor... I was looking forward to getting her all to myself.

"I told you, you can't come in," the guard argued with Fuegoleon. "This stretch of the beach has been rented for the day. Maybe you're all captains, but I was told not to let unauthorized guests-"

"Hey! Look who it is!"

They all instantly recognized that angelic voice. Yami braced himself, turning to look onto the beach. There she was, running towards them with a smile on her face and one hand extended in a wave. She was wearing a blue one-piece bathing suit. Despite being decidedly modest... it was almost sexier to leave a lot to the imagination.

"Sir, please let these people in!" she told the guard when she reached them, a little out of breath. "I'm sure the Wizard King won't mind."

The guard couldn't be bothered to argue with her and finally stepped aside, letting the five of them in. "It's great to see you guys again! We've been having a really relaxing time so far, we all needed a break from work," she told them.

Yami gulped, trying to think of what to say. I need to make a compliment... before the others do!

But it was too late. Fuegoleon, being the gentleman he was, swooped in and grabbed her hand. "It's great to see you as well... you look stunning in that suit, I must say." To punctuate the compliment, he leaned down and planted a wet kiss on the back of her hand.

She was obviously shocked at the gesture, but became even more shocked when Nozel grabbed her other hand. "The same goes for me... thank you for allowing us to join you, It's an honor." The words sounded much less natural coming from him, but he still leaned down and kissed the hand he held as well. Yami and Jack rolled their eyes. Royalty was really weird sometimes.

"Oh... thank you both!" she finally replied, blushing a little. "Now... would you like something to drink? Also, you should probably change!"

"Change? Into what?"

A few minutes later, the five captains were standing around awkwardly. Charlotte couldn't remember the last time she wore a bathing suit, but now she was... luckily she found a little slip to wear over it, she couldn't stand the thought of having her crush's eyes all over her. And Yami's too...

"Ooh Charlotte! Your skin is so soft and pretty!" Charlotte tensed up as the other girl rubbed her shoulder enthusiastically. "SO pale, too... can I rub lotion on you!? Please!"

"I-I-I-I suppose so-"

It was too late, she had already moved on. "And Fuegoleon!!! You're so well-built! I thought that all Royals were lazy like the King, but both you and Nozel obviously work out!"

Fuegoleon opened and closed his mouth a couple times, aghast. Nozel pursed his lips together, fighting tooth and nail against an oncoming blush. "Er... thank you?"

"And Captain Jack! You're so tall and lean! Are you really flexible?!"

Jack smirked to himself. "You got it, babe." Yami had never heard the man say anything like that. Jack contorted his arms weirdly. It was kind of gross, but his audience was enamored. "Wow! I've never seen someone's arm do that... and..."

She finally turned and looked at Yami, but froze. Yami tried not to smirk; he knew, in the body department, he had everyone here beat. Hook, line, and sinker... he thought to himself as her eyes wandered over his muscles. "...wow... I've never seen someone with so many muscles!" she finally said, clapping her hands a little. "Can I... touch one?"

There we go! Yami thought victoriously, drinking up the angry expressions from the others. "Sure... go right on ahead." He flexed his bicep, earning a gasp of astonishment. However, just as she was about to touch it, a voice interrupted them.

"What the Hell is going on here?!"

Uh oh. They all turned to see none other than Marx, one of the other advisors, marching up to the group with a sour look on his face. "You five! Don't you have work to do?" he demanded, crossing his arms. It was hard to take him seriously while he was wearing swim trunks, but his voice was still severe. "This is a private event you know!"

"Oh, Marx, it's probably fine!" Marx turned to look at his colleague speak. "After all, I'm sure Lord Julius would be fine with it."

Marx shrugged, looking up and down the beach. "By the way, where did that man go..?"

"Hey! Look what I found!"

The voice came from the water, and everyone instantly recognized it. Yami turned to see none other than Julius running out of the water towards them. He was holding something in his hand, but more importantly...

"JULIUS! WHat on earth are you wearing!?" Marx demanded, his voice higher than normal.

The same question was on everyone's minds. Fuegoleon, Jack, and Nozel couldn't look away, while Charlotte looked pointedly at the ground.

"Oh, this ol' thing?" Julius gestured down at the garment. It was basically underwear, leaving nothing to the imagination. "It's a Speedo, apparently they're all the rage these days! Competitive swimmers wear them to reduce drag, and it really helps me move around!" To prove his point (to everyone's horror), he started to do some stretches and lunges, showing off the hideous shorts tan on his thighs. "What do you think?"

Yami let out a loud laugh, thinking it was hilarious. "You really have no shame!"

"I'll say," Marx grumbled. "We're lucky this area is private... what would the public say if they saw their Wizard King running around practically nude?"

"But, what's that creature?" Julius looked over at the girl, who had managed to drag her gaze off of his toned legs and onto the thing in his hand.

He held out his prize with a grin on his face. "I dove underwater and caught it! It's a crab! It keeps pinching me though- YEOUCH!" The crab's claw snapped down on his finger. Julius swore and placed it on the girl's head while he shook off the pain. She simply laughed and pointed at the crab. "Look at that! It's like a crown!"

... what a weird situation.

Still, the objective of the day remained: spend time with this girl and make her fall in love! With the five of them, it wouldn't be easy, especially since Julius kept butting in. His increased maneuverability allowed him to spend ample time bothering everyone, but they did manage to get a few moments alone with the object of their affection. Nozel created a knife out of mercury and cut open a coconut so she could try some of the juice. Fuegoleon created a sand sculpture of her wearing a bikini (which Julius accidentally ended up trampling while he ran around). Jack threw a frisbee around with her for a while, making sure to pause and teach her some of his techniques. Charlotte let her rub lotion on her, and the two collected sea shells while they chatted.

"So... How do you like it? Working in the Castle at Magic Knights HQ?" Charlotte asked.

"Oh! It's more amazing that I ever would have thought." she responded, pausing to pick up a little shell. "I've met so many cool people... and for the first time in my life, I actually feel like I'm doing something important... I've seen for myself how cruel this world can be, but..." She smiled and clasped her hands together, her eyes shining with pride. "I keep getting little reminders that there's still good... even in places you wouldn't expect."

...wow. She's so earnest about all this, it's refreshing. Charlotte was used to nobles talking about their "duty" and their "importance" and whatnot, while they just did what they always did and preyed on those weaker than them. Yet, there was this girl, just a former peasant, who's words dripped with honesty. I like people like this... people who don't try to hide their true selves. The one to win her heart will be me!

"That sounds nice... I'm truly happy that you ended up in such a position. It seems like the perfect place for you," Charlotte responded with a genuine smile. "You got to meet all of the Captains, right? Not just the five of us here... Did you have any favorites?"

"Favorites?" she laughed nervously. "Well, I would like to say you, Charlotte, but I don't want to seem biased, you know!"

A soft blush appeared on Charlotte's cheeks, but her crush kept talking before she could respond. "They were all interesting in their own ways! Captain Unsworth was so sweet and cheery. We were like Kindred spirits!"

Kindred spirits!? That's exactly what Dorothy said! AAAA, maybe they are on the same wavelength!

"And Captain Poizot was so tall and noble! Oh, and Fuegoleon and Nozel! It's hard to guess that they're related, they're so different! But I liked both of them."

Eek! She even liked Gueldre?!? I can't lose her to a man, I just can't!

"And Captain Yami... he was a bit strange, but he's so muscular! I've never seen anyone with a body like that!"

Charlotte was nearly at her limit by now. So, she quickly changed the subject. I need answers... today's my only chance! "Say, I heard that Three-Leaf day is in a week," Charlotte mentioned nonchalantly. "The Kingdom is in a frenzy over it... do you think you'll give anyone a gift? Or, do you think you'll get something from someone?"

Yes!!! This way I can find out if she likes anyone!

"Hmm..." she tapped her chin thoughtfully. ...cute. "Well, I suppose I'll get some gifts for my coworkers. They're all so nice to me even though I was a servant before. Marx deserves something nice, he works so hard! As for me..." she let out a sigh and let her gaze wander. "...I doubt I will receive anything from the person I like."

...."the person I like."

!!!

So she does like someone!! It took everything in Charlotte's power to keep from shaking the poor girl down. Calm down! She probably doesn't mean me after all... but I still want to keep trying! "Oh, I suppose I will get a gift for Lord Julius. He's been so kind to me, after all. I think I'll ask for faith in return... there's nothing better to have than the Wizard King's faith, after all!"

Charlotte wasn't even listening at this point. She opened her mouth, not sure what she was about to say, but was cut off by a scream from the water.

"Help!!! I'm drowning!!"

Their heads snapped to look at the noise. It was one of Julius's staff members, a short man, who was flailing around gulping down water many meters off shore. Charlotte gasped. "Oh no! Is there a lifeguard?"

"We don't need a lifeguard!" Charlotte looked down just in time to see the girl go sprinting off down towards the surf, raising her hands. Instantly, with just a flick of her fingers, a slice of water disappeared from the ocean, a path leading to the drowning man. With an oof, he plopped down onto the sandy seabed, traumatized but alive. She ran down the strip of the parted sea, grabbed him by the wrist, and dragged him up to safety.

Yami let out a low whistle as he stood with the other guys, watching. "Wow... she did that so quickly."

"And without her Grimoire, too," Nozel added. "She's truly... special."

"Ka ka, that's the kind of woman I like," Jack said, pointing at her as she consoled the victim. "Quick to act, and competent... you don't come across them every day."

"I'll say." Fuegoleon crossed his arms. "I like a woman who can take care of herself." He remembered how quickly she defended herself on the mission.

"It's not just that she's strong, she's also... so authentic," Charlotte added timidly, drawing the others' gazes. "I mean... she told me that she used to be a servant in the King's service, until Lord Julius found her. She's seen the worst that we have to offer, yet she still hopes for the best in everyone. She's not trying to pretend. She wants to help everyone, and..." her voice trailed off. "...love everyone."

Yami blinked, impressed. Hmm... that sounds like someone else I know.

"Wow!!! That was amazing!!! You can even dehydrate the sea?!?! I've never seen anything like it!!" Julius had appeared out of nowhere and was practically vibrating with excitement. "Here... you deserve this!" He pulled out a gold star and handed it to his eager advisor.

"Hey! Old man!" Julius turned to see Yami stomping over, angry. "I thought Stars were only for Magic Knights? You can't just hand them out like that!"

"I'm the Wizard King, Yami, I can do what I want. And- er-" Julius laughed nervously. "Old?"

Yami rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Come on." He grabbed the girl's hand. "I'm going to teach you how to fish."

The afternoon was getting to it's end as Yami expertly baited the fishing hook, watched with eager eyes. "That's really cool... are you sure I'll be able to do it?" 

"Sure. Here." Without any warning, Yami placed the pole in her hand and grabbed her by the waist, turning her around to face the sea. She let out a small sound of surprise at his strength, instantly blushing. "Here... just like this..." Yami gently took her wrist, guiding her movements. "Ready... go!"

With his help, she flung the pole forward, letting the hook sail through the air and plop into the water a few meters away. "There... that was a good cast."

"Really?" She beamed with pride. "Thank you, Yami!"

Yami felt his heart clench at the sight of her smile. It almost hurt, seeing her so happy... so happy that he was taking the time to teach her something. Yikes... I need to be careful. Something like this is so easily compromising me? He looked away to gaze at the sea. He still wasn't sure what exactly it was about her that he liked, other than her obvious good looks. She got excited about everything, something Yami couldn't be bothered to do himself. Maybe that was it... she couldn't be more than a few years younger than he was, yet she was so much more lively and optimistic... maybe I don't just want her. I need her.

"Yami! Yami! I got one!" She started to desperately reel in the line as something large tugged at the hook. "Ah! It's strong!"

Yami quickly helped her, letting her do the reeling while he steadied the pole. "That's it... just a little longer..."

With one last harsh tug, she ripped the fish out of the water and sent it sailing onto land, where it flopped around pathetically. She squealed with delight. "Yami! It's a shark! I caught a shark!"

Indeed, it was a shark. Yami winced as she just went ahead and picked it up. It's jaws snapped, but there was no way it could bite her from its position. "Wow... your first time fishing, and you catch a shark? I wonder if that's a good omen..." He raised his gaze back to her face, seeing how she was smiling up at him again. ...maybe I should say something... I'll tell her that seeing her so happy makes me happy? No... just say that she has a beautiful smile-

She spun around gleefully once with the shark before cupping her hand in her mouth. "Lord Julius! Come look at this!!!" she yelled.

Yami winced at her words. "Wait, there's something I wanted to-"

Julius was already sprinting over at the sound of her voice. "Ah! What on earth- you caught that?!" Julius's eyes were nearly bulging out of his head. "That was swimming around out there... when I was?" He eyed the shark's sharp teeth.

"No, they really only come close to shore at night," Yami explained bluntly, a little annoyed that his advances had been snuffed out before they began. "Here, give me the shark, I'll boil it down and make shark soup for dinner tonight."

The girl blinked, taking in his words. "...boil it?" she said slowly. She looked down at the shark, then back up at Yami, then at the shark, then at Yami...

Uh oh.

Then she burst into tears.

"I-I- I'm sorry Yami! I don't want it to die! It's such a b-beautiful shark, and so elegant and strong, I couldn't possibly eat it! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

Yami had no idea how to deal with a crying woman and started to panic. "Ah- er- hey, quit crying! It's fine, don't worry about-"

He suddenly realized that Julius was glaring at him uncharacteristically. "Look what you did, Yami! Making her cry? You're not going to make her eat this shark, are you?"

Hey! Stop making this worse! Yami thought to himself. "NO! I mean-" He turned back to her. "Hey, calm down, I was joking, alright? We can release the shark."

She sniffed but stopped crying. "...oh..." She even laughed a little. "A joke? I see... sorry, I didn't mean to break down like that..."

"It's fine. Here." He pointed at the ocean. "Why don't you let it go."

The shark squirmed out of her hands the moment she lowered it into the water, streaking off into the depths. She sighed and straightened up before turning to the two men behind her. "Thanks for teaching me how to fish, Yami! I'm going to go get some ice cream!"

... she looks very beautiful in the sunset.

With one last wave, she ran off down the beach, two pairs of eyes following her. Yami sighed heavily, then heard Julius chuckle. "You really aren't very tactful, Yami."

"Hmm? What would you know about that?" Yami asked, eyeing the older man suspiciously.

Julius just smiled cryptically. "Five people, all going after the same girl..." He shook his head a little. Yami didn't know why Julius knew about that, but then again, Julius knew about everything. Despite being a pain, Yami respected the man, and if he had any advice, he wanted to hear it. "Be careful not to get too caught up in the game. There's no guarantee that she'll pick any of you, come Three-Leaf day." 

... he's right. She might be happier alone than with any of us. "You're going to have to really impress her. But I'm sure you'll do something interesting!" Julius started to walk away, raising his hand in a simple goodbye. "See you, Yami. Or would you like to get some ice cream, too?"

Yami blinked, thinking about his advice. That's right, I need to knock her off of her feet... I don't know if my Tanto knife is enough... "No, I'll pass."

"Your loss!" Julius turned away and took off down the beach, leaving Yami alone with a lot on his weary mind.

[mysweetestcreature]

Meus Amor (Hogwarts!Harry)

(Banner by the lovely @pretty-hazza)

***

Series Masterlist

***

Platform 9 ¾ feels gloomier this year, at least that’s how Harry seems to find it. The worried looks on parents’ faces as they watch their children board the train makes him uneasy, especially when he hears their crude whispers and spiteful glares when he walks past them. “That’s the Styles boy, you want to steer clear of him,” they say as though he isn’t only meters away from where they stand. He chooses to ignore it though, at least that way he can pretend that he isn’t the son of a fucking wanted criminal. 

Usually, he would go and sit with the rest of Slytherins in the large car in the middle of the Hogwarts Express. It’s where all the girls catch up and try to outdo the other on who’s had the most extravagant holiday, and the boys compare their number of summer conquests. However, the turn of events in the last few months have made him somewhat of a hermit. Watching his house get turned upside down had really been the cherry on top to an already dreadful time. The less he interacts with them––or anyone for that matter––the easier sixth year will be.

He finds himself an empty compartment, and carelessly throws his bag on the rack above the bench. When his back hits cushion, he immediately finds himself melting into it, his tense muscles slowly finding ease. He turns his head to stare out the window, the sea of people slowly spreading thin as families disperse as they say their final goodbyes. He remembers his first year, everything had been all chirpy back then. Both his parents had been there to wish him and Gemma a successful school year and making promises to send the weekly care package of Anne’s baked goods and a collection of Desmond’s newly thought-out jokes.

It feels like a lifetime ago. 

And maybe it was.

Lost in his thoughts, he doesn’t even notice that the door has slid open until the clearing of someone’s throat grabs his attention.

“Hi…do you mind if I join you? Everywhere else is full,” a girl he recognizes to be in his year asks. She offers him a soft smile as she leans against the frame, her sparkling eyes leaving him wordless for just a brief moment. He bites the inside of his cheek––so much for keeping to himself––before motioning to the seat across from him. “I’m-”

“Y/n Y/l/n, yeah. I know,” he cuts her off. Y/n nods and falls back onto the bench, her bag cradled in her lap as she plays with the thin straps. Her nose twitches slightly, but she quickly rubs the tip of it with the back of knuckle to maintain composure.

“And you’re Harry Styles,” she says, crossing one leg over the other. Harry gives a curt nod. They’ve had classes together since their first year, but it must be the House boundaries that form somewhat of an awkward divide between them. “Have a nice holiday?” she asks. He stops himself from scoffing at the question. His family is plastered all over The Prophet.

“Don’t keep up with the news?” he cocks an eyebrow at her and leans forward with his elbows steady on his knees. 

She shrugs her shoulders. “My mum’s a muggle,” she proudly admits. “So, I spend my time out of school in Muggle London…haven’t really been caught up to date with all that’s happened since June.” He watches as she digs into her bag and pulls out a large stack of what appears to be pictures, and then hands them to him.

“These don’t move,” he says dryly, shuffling through the deck. Each image is of her, and who he’ll assume are members of her family. 

“Of course, they don’t, silly!” she giggles. His eyes dart up for a second at the sound. “Have you never seen a polaroid before?”

“I don’t often immerse myself in…Muggle culture,” he lets himself linger on one photo in particular. It’s of her posing in one of those weird non-magic rides, with her flashing the photographer with her pearlescent teeth. He looks back up at her, before he reaches forward to hand the pile back. He returns his attention back to the window, watching as the luscious scenery of the countryside pass them by. The fleeting trees only fragments of this shallow memory of a ride. 

“You should! I think you’d find it fascinating,” her silky voice enters his ears. 

His father would have a fit if he were to find out his son had taken up interest in the subject. Everyone in his house would. “Doubt it.” If he remembers correctly, the girl in front of him is a Gryffindor. Explains a lot.

“If you want, I could teach you a few things.” His neck snaps towards her, a prominent crease sinks in between his eyebrows. Was this girl serious? It’s confusing enough that a little Gryffindor would want to share a compartment with him, but now she was offering to educate him on muggle tradition? Harry eyes her carefully, his lips pursing in a straight line. “Now why would y-” but he’s interrupted by the compartment door swinging open once again.

“Anything off the trolley dears?” the old witch asks in her usual spirited tone. Y/n gets up excitedly and looks over the top. She looks like a little kid, her aura uplifting in the presence of cauldron cakes and cockroach clusters. 

“Maybe a chocolate frog…No! Wait, wait…Two pumpkin pasties, please,” she says as she goes back into her bag for some money. Her arm goes deep into it, and she’s biting her tongue in concentration as she searches for her wallet. “It’s the problem with extension charms, can never find a bloody thing!” Her arm goes so far into it that Harry thinks she might fall in. “I just had it,” she reassures everyone. Harry rolls his eyes at how long it’s taking her and stands up to pay the trolley witch himself. 

Y/n turns to pout at him, “You didn’t have to do that.” But Harry simply shrugs. The trolley witch thanks him and proceeds to the next compartment. “How much do I owe you?” 

“Don’t worry about it,” he says evenly. 

She continues to pout as she opens up the wrappings of her pumpkin pasty. Before taking a bite of it, she looks down at the second one in her lap. “At least take the other one,” she holds it out for him to take. “I’d feel much better about it if you did.” And she’s smiling victoriously when Harry concedes. His hand brushes against hers for a brief moment when he reaches over to grab it, and for some reason it has him feeling slightly tingly. 

***

The start-of-term feast is in full swing, and the sounds of silverware clanking against plates is only to be drowned out by the hundreds of conversations happening all around. Y/n sits beside her friend, a muggle-born called Liam, at the Gryffindor table. He’s going on about how his parents were hesitant about sending him back this year.

“I’m telling you, those Death Eater attacks are scaring the shit out of the muggles,” he starts, stuffing his mouth with some seasoned chicken. It’s true. Her mum had been only a few blocks away from the attack on the bridge, having been able to see the structure collapse from her office window. “What’s your dad got to say about any of this?” 

Y/n lets out a defeated sigh. Her father hasn’t told her anything because he doesn’t want her and her mum to worry too much about the situation. He works for the Ministry under the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, an auror. Since Fudge’s resignation in June, he usually comes home late and apparates early the next morning. “I don’t know, Liam. He’s been trying to keep my mum and I clear of anything that’s going on. He’s even stopped having The Prophet delivered to the house.”

Liam gives her a sympathetic look before digging in further into his packed plate. She takes a bit of her own food, looking up to stare straight ahead. The familiar soft brown curls catch her eye from across the room. He’s sitting with just one other person, a blonde Irishman, Niall, she thinks his name is. 

After he had paid for her pumpkin pasties, they did have a rather fluid conversation (it took a little coaxing, but Y/n upped the charm to get him to participate). Of course, he didn’t let her pry too much into his life. It had been all talks about classes and whatnot. She doesn’t know why, but she feels herself drawn to him. Maybe it’s because he’s always been one of the more tolerable Slytherins ever since she’s known––or much rather, known of––him.

She turns to Liam. “What do you know about Styles?”

“Not much,” he responds, taking a long gulp from his goblet. “Only that his father is one of You-Know-Who’s followers.”

“As in a Death Eater?”

“Yeah…Merlin, you really are clueless, aren’t you?” Liam teases. “Why the sudden interest in him?”

Y/n bites her lip and looks down to the napkin spread across her lap. “We sat together on the way here, actually. I didn’t get that kind of vibe off of him.” Of course, she should have guessed that he’d somehow be associated with that side. It’s a world divided these days, and if there’s one thing her father has told her, it’s to be cautious of people. But when she turns back just in time to catch Harry laugh, and she can’t help the adorning smile that lifts her lips up and rounds the high points of her cheeks. 

*** It’s early on a Saturday morning when Harry flies his broom over to the Quidditch pitch. Slytherin isn’t scheduled to practice until Monday night, but he figures he can fit in some individual training before then. Besides, flying is something that makes him forget about all the stresses he’s got accumulated in his head. His mother had sent him a letter yesterday, informing him that aurors had come back to the house to question her and Gemma on the whereabouts of their patriarch. He allows for his mind to go numb as the cold September air flushes his cheeks of any warmth from the castle. The only thing comprehending in his mind are the puffs of breath that he can barely feel on the tip of his nose.

He’s angry. So infuriatingly angry that he’s just waiting for himself to crack. How dare his father be so selfish and abandon them, especially when he isn’t there to protect his mother and sister from Merlin only knows what.

Since his first year, he’s been trying to separate himself from his father’s reputation. But as the fates would have it, he’d been sorted into Slytherin, alongside the children of other Death Eaters. Harry doesn’t hate his house, in fact, he proudly wears the serpent on his robes. It’s the connotation that comes with the territory that he hates.

***

She spots his curls as he walks up the trail leading up to the castle. They have Double Potions together, but he usually keeps to the Slytherin side of the room. Part of her is telling herself to stay seated under the shade of this tree, where she’s been doing some advanced reading for Astronomy. But it seems as though a bigger part of her wants to talk to him again because she finds that her feet are scurrying over to his location.

“Harry!” she hears herself saying before she’s even processed any of her own actions. Harry looks at her, his face neutral as he wipes some sweat from his forehead.

“Y/n…hi,” he awkwardly greets. Harry wipes his face with the towel he’s got draped over his shoulder. He hadn’t expected to run into anyone this early, so he chose not to shower down in the changing rooms. 

“I…um…haven’t gotten a chance to talk to you since the ride here. Classes going well?” she bites her lip and holds her book in her hands behind her back. But then she remembers that it’s been a week, and if she hasn’t had much work assigned, it probably means that he hasn’t either. 

“So far, yeah,” he says, then starts towards the building, signaling for her to follow. “I’m really liking Professor Slughorn, man’s an exceptional brewer.” She nods in agreement, but then struggles to find a way to continue with the conversation. 

They walk along the path in silence, only the sound of the early birds chirping up in the trees fills the void. She hugs her textbook closer to her chest, the hairs on her arms upright in this the chilled morning air. “You cold?” she turns to meet Harry’s seafoam green orbs.

“A little,” she bites her lips between her teeth. Harry unzips the training bag he’s got hoisted over his other shoulder and pulls out a warm-looking black jumper.

He hands it to her. “Here, put this on.” Their footsteps cease in the middle of the trail. She digs her toe of her shoe into the gravel, staring intently at the garment. “C’mon, can hear your teeth chattering.” Timidly, she locks her textbook between her legs as she pulls the oversized jumper over her head. Her hands reach behind her neck to free the hair that’s been trapped under the heavy material. She dares to look up to see his face but is unable to read his expression. Once again, he remains emotionless.

“Thank you,” she blushes, pulling the sleeves to cover her hands. When a strong wind hits them, she doesn’t find herself as cold as she would’ve been in the thin long sleeves she wore underneath. Harry nods his response, keeping his eyes forward as they continue to walk up the path. There’s this feeling in his stomach that he’s not so keen on, it feels airy and fluffy, all the things that he shouldn’t be identifying with. But when he sneaks a peek at her from the corner of his eye, the feeling only persists. She looks so small in his jumper, with its length falling midthigh, making her appear so fragile as the fabric clings to her form. There’s something he finds incredibly endearing about it.

Harry shakes his head to himself, choosing to push any thoughts about her to the back of his mind. 

***

Whenever he’s feeling overwhelmed, Harry goes up to the owlery, where his snowy owl, Artemis, spends her time flocking about with the others. He runs the back of his knuckle down her beak, and she’s purrs into him, happy to be receiving some attention.

“How’re they treating you up here?” he opens up his handful of feed that he picked up in town. “Not starving you, are they?” he coos. She pecks at the food, her wings fluttering to her sides.

When she’s gobbled every last bit up, he’s clapping his hands together to rid them of any crumbs. Then he pulls out a letter from his jacket pocket. “Get this to Gem, yeah?” He ties the tightly rolled up parchment around her leg with a piece of string. Before he can blink, Artemis is off, the full expansion of her wings soars through the clouded sky. He stares out the glassless window, watching as his bird flaps gracefully until her image is lost in the clouds.

In his letter, he tells his sister about his first month back at school. He knows he should be writing more often, but there’s only so much he can talk about to dance around the frustrations he’s harvested towards his father. Gemma doesn’t need the added stress, considering that she’s the one taking care of their mum while he’s stuck out here in Scotland. 

He’s been counting down the days until the Christmas holiday, when he’ll finally be able to see them and get some proper information about what hell has been going on. It’s obvious to him that Gemma’s been holding back because her words give off a little too much of a joyous tone, a major contrast from her usually sarcastic bite. 

Suddenly, he feels something brush up against his ankles and his body stiffens for a moment before his eyes dart down cautiously. There’s a cat that’s draped itself over his dark suede shoes, its wild brown fur shedding on the bottom of his trousers. Harry looks around, but another human is nowhere in sight, which means this feline must’ve gotten here on its own accord. 

“What are you doing here, little lion?” he picks the cat up and strokes over his head and smiles when its rubbing into his touch. His hand runs down its back a few times, stopping when he feels the leather of its collar. He feels for the nametag, moving some of the fur out of the way to make out the words.

“Ashes!” he looks to the door and sees a panting Gryffindor hunched over on her knees, staring at the cat with relieved eyes as she tries to regain breath. “There you are, you bugger!” Y/n walks over to them and reaches for her cat––Ashes, he supposes his name is––and hugs him tightly to her chest. “Oh, Harry, thank you so much for finding him! I’ve been searching for him all morning.”

Harry rubs the back of his neck a small smile gracing over his raspberry lips. “He sort of found me, actually,” he says, petting Ashes gently on the head. 

“Well whatever the case,” Y/n says, her hand touches his arm, “I’m grateful.” And she doesn’t really know what’s possessed her to make this unnecessary physical contact, but it deliciously burns the palm of her hand, despite having only touched the top of his jacket. 

“It’s really not a problem. Got yourself a fine little lion,” he pets Ashes’ head, and Y/n swears her heart must have just skipped a beat. She’s never seen him so soft before (besides when he’s joking around with Niall, but that’s really about it), and she thinks she likes it because the crevices of his dimples become more prominent whenever he smiles widely. “What are you doing here, anyway?” he asks her. Y/n doesn’t even realize she’s been staring until he’s waving his hand in front of her face. 

“I…umm…was going to head into Hogsmeade and thought I’d bring him along,” she lifts Ashes up and waves one of his paws. Harry nods, slipping his hands into his pockets. It’s as though daunting silences always plague their conversations because she finds herself looking around the owlery to lessen the awkwardness she feels inside. But then she’s peering up to meet his breathtaking green eyes, and rush of confidence sweeps over her. “Do you want to join us, maybe?” 

To say he’s taken aback by her offer would be an understatement. He really hadn’t had any intention of going this weekend, since he’d already picked up all that he needed the previous week, but Y/n’s hopeful expression has him fighting off the logical part of his reasoning. 

“Umm, sure. Could use a butterbeer,” he says, and she’s squealing in delight and taking his hand to lead them down the steep steps.

***

They walk in sync, occasionally bumping shoulders as they follow the cobblestone road into town. Many students walk alongside them, chatting about what their plans are for this trip. Y/n’s let Ashes roam free in front of them, only scolding the cat when he’s trotted too far to the side. 

“I love him to bits, but he’s a runner,” she snorts. “Poor thing has been cooped up in the Gryffindor common room for a month. He’s used to being at home where he’s got the backyard to keep him entertained.” Harry lets the information soak in, but he isn’t sure if he’ll ever need it in the future. He hasn’t the intention of getting too close to anyone, especially not with some girl that he’s only been properly acquainted with as of late. Niall’s the only one he can tolerate being around, and that’s just because they’ve been best friends since diapers. But listening as she talks about everything under the sun as though everything has a bit of magic to it, it makes his insides flutter. And dare he say he enjoys it. 

***

The library is great place to study, but also to get away from the Slytherin Common Room. Malfoy’s been wanting to speak with him one-on-one since the start of term, but Harry really can’t be bothered with whatever the platinum blonde haired boy has to say at the moment. They’re friends, well close acquaintances, is more like it. Although, since Lucius Malfoy’s imprisonment, it’s obvious that the younger Malfoy is having trouble coping with all of it. And if what Niall’s told him is true, Draco may be partaking in the grand scheme of the Dark Lord. 

If that is the case, he knows that it’s only a matter of time until they’re recruiting him to join their forces. 

He finds himself an empty table in the back corner, just in front of the restricted section. His bag lands on the table with a loud thump, and he groans as he stretches his aching back. Yesterday, Flitwick had assigned them a six-parchment essay on the history and importance of the Aguamenti Spell. Opening up Standard Book of Spells by Miranda Goshawk, he skims through the long, wordy paragraphs and jots down some useful facts he can include.

***

Four hours of research and complete solitude, and his hand is cramping from having gripped he quill a little to tensely. Harry stares down at his completed sixth piece of parchment, smiling triumphantly as he reads it back to himself. “Invented in…” the words slip off his tongue, his voice a little husky from the dormancy of his vocal chords. He uses the feathered part of his quill to trace out the words, looking for any errors he might have made. 

Once he’s satisfied with the turnout, he gets up and hops in place, stirring his body awake from having been sitting for so long. He walks through the aisles of books and watches as some of them fly to their rightful places on the shelves. He grabs a few that interest him, flipping through the pages. The smell of old paper in their bindings tickles his nostrils in the adequate lighting.

Suddenly, a shriek of his name has him wincing, and he recognizes it to belong to Daphne Greengrass. He carefully peers over his shoulder to see her coming for him in the distance. Dropping the book to floor, he hastily makes an escape. The witch hasn’t left him alone since they hooked up at the end of fifth year. He was drunk on fire whisky, celebrating the end of the O.W.L. exams and she’d been there, and the rest is blur to him. 

“Harry, is that you?” he curses under his breath as the soundwaves carry her voice through the area. He had tried to let her down easy and explain that it was only a one-time thing, a clouded-mind mistake. But she’s tenacious in him giving her another chance to make it worth his while. There are only so many ways he can tell her no without sounding like a complete asshole.

Maneuvering through some third-year students in the reference section, he sees a familiar figure intently reading a small book while her back leans against the shelf. Y/n looks up and smiles as he draws closer to her.

“Hey, how’ve you be-oh!” she gasps when he’s wrapping his arms tightly around her waist and burying his nose in the crook of her neck. She doesn’t know what to do with her hands but hold them loosely on his hips on instinct. Her heart is beating at a concerning rate, and she can only hope he doesn’t feel its pounding against his own chest. “What are you…” but he shushes her before she can fully question him.

Fuck, he thinks as her scent floods his nostrils. She smells like strawberries, or something as mouthwatering and sweet as that. Her body feels so soft as its pressed up against his, and he’s internally scolding himself for having chosen her as his shield. She’s cuddly all over, just as he had imagined when he first saw her in his jumper a few weeks ago. (Not that she’s been drifting in and out of his thoughts or anything…okay, fine. It’s only happened a handful of times.)  

They’ve been talking more frequently since going into Hogsmeade and laughing over a few pints of butterbeer. And one might look at them and consider them to be friends––but something about the title doesn’t sit well with either of them––they talk outside the potions dungeon before class starts. Harry usually arrives fifteen minutes early (he’s got a free period before then) because he knows she’s always at least ten minutes ahead of everyone. 

“Harry? Where’d you go?” Y/n turns her head and sees the tuft of blonde hair float pass them, the scowl on the witch’s face as she glances down their aisle, only to have her vision obstructed by a few floating books, then she’s off to continue her search.

He raises his head just enough for her to feel his nose nudge against her hair. “Is she gone?” he whispers in her ear. The lowness of his voice sends chills down her back. She bites on her bottom lip and nods her head. “Fucking finally,” he breathes out in relief. His hands slowly fall from her and back to his sides. The loss of his heat has her slightly pouting, as she wraps her arms around herself to mimic where his had been.

“Sorry about that,” he apologizes, one of his hands running through his hair, as the other one slips into the pocket of his trousers. 

“It’s fine,” she assures, but she can feel the heat crawl up to the apples of her cheeks. “The least I can do for the favors you’ve done me.” At first, Harry isn’t sure what she’s talking about, but then he recalls the pumpkin pasties and helping her keep warm and then the other day when he had helped her reach for the valerian root, and he’s hiding the smirk that’s threatening to display. “I have your jumper up in my dorm, I’ve just been forgetting to give it back,” she discloses, staring down at her feet. She doesn’t want him to think that she has no intentions of returning it––even though that might be a fair assumption.

She looks up and sees the curve of his lips, his soft-looking raspberry lips. Harry lets out a chuckle. “Keep it,” he says, the concave of his dimples making her heart flutter with bewilderment. “I think you might need it more than I do.” He noticed how cold her skin felt when he had been hugging her, makes him wonder if this girl was even capable of maintaining a decent body temperature. It doesn’t help that now that he’s actually touched her, all he can think about is wanting to keep her warm. 

“You sure?” she asks, her big eyes searching his own. He chuckles again and nods, and she’s giggling and softly clapping her hands together. “Great! Because it’s really comfy and it smells really nice,” she finds herself saying. Harry stares amusedly at the Gryffindor, and he wonders if she’s ever worn it again since he let her borrow it. What he would give to see her swimming around in his clothes again.

*** The next time he sees her is outside of class, she’s sitting with a group of friends on one of the benches outside. At first, he thinks that they’re studying, but the way their squeals carry through the air, he’s sure it’s gossip that’s got them making such a fuss. He lets out a tired huff, looking back down at the reading he has to get done for Defense Against the Dark Arts. Now that’s Snape’s teaching it, it’s gotten much less enjoyable, and much more work-oriented. They’ve just finished up revision on spells learned last term and are now on to practicing nonverbal magic. 

“So, Y/n, a little birdy told me that Oliver Rivers fancies you,” one of the girls’ voices draw his attention from the text. 

“Shut up, he does not!” Y/n hushes them. “He only came by to ask me if I could tutor him with Arithmancy.” The other girls start giggling––Harry doesn’t think he’s ever heard a more obnoxious sound. 

“I heard that he took it because he knew you were!” another one of them comments. Harry can’t help the roll of his eyes. Y/n is way out of Rivers’ league. He knows that the poor Hufflepuff wouldn’t be able to keep up with her, judging from how chatty she had been on the Hogwarts Express. It just wouldn’t work, he’s sure of it. 

***

Y/n’s been glancing over at Harry now and again, more interested in how the mild breeze flaps the top of his hair ever so slightly. His brows creasing as he reads over book with such hardened concentration. She often finds him studying in the library, at a corner table that he seems to have designated as his. Sometimes she thinks about just taking a seat across from him, but it’s as if her courage dwindles down when it concerns him. And she hates it. 

One of her friends tells her that Oliver plans on inviting her to accompany him to Hogsmeade this weekend. “Well that’s a shame because I’m not interested,” she sighs. Her last boyfriend, a Ravenclaw a year above her, had turned out to be straight up git. He had tried forcing her to take their physical affections further, but she made it clear from the start that she wasn’t ready for that sort of engagement. She ended up kneeing him in the balls and slapping him in the face before running out of the dusty broom closet. 

When she thinks over the experience, she realizes that she wasn’t even attracted to him, it was more of the fact that all her friends were getting into relationships and she’d been feeling rather lonely with them giving her rainchecks in favor of dates. So, when the Ravenclaw had asked her out, she’d thrown all caution in the wind and went for it. Since then, she’s promised herself to wait until that perfect guy comes along to sweep her off her feet, much like in those fairytale books she has in her muggle home. 

“C’mon, Y/n! It’s been ages since you’ve been out on date. Can’t tell me there’s not one wizard that’s caught your eye.” 

Y/n glances back up at Harry, the utmost concentration still a permanent resident on his structured features. “There might be someone.”

***

During potions, when she’s not observing her brew, she’s looking over in his direction. He and Niall are joking around as they wait for the thirty-minute cooldown of their cauldrons. Harry’s visibly laughing at how the Irishman imitates their former potions professor’s nasally voice, laying a hand on his stomach as his head falls back from the humor of it all.

“He’s so cute,” she dreamily says. Liam eyes her suspiciously, and she just waves him off as she continues to admire the curly-haired boy. Her breath clogs in her throat when their eyes meet, and he flashes her a small smile. She offers one back, but then puts her head down when he looks away. 

According to Witch Weekly’s quiz, Y/n has got herself a massive crush on a certain Slytherin. On their trip to Hogsmeade last weekend, she dragged Liam into Tomes and Scrolls to pick up various magazines that could help her figure out these feelings she’s been having whenever he smiles at her. 

“You’re so obvious,” Liam mutters, while he mixes his Hiccoughing Solution.  

“Am not,” she counters, but even she knows that that’s a massive lie. “Fine, but I can’t help it! Have you seen him?” The first quidditch game of the season, she and Liam had attended. It was Hufflepuff versus Slytherin, she cheered whenever Harry scored a point. She didn’t know what a fine chaser he was until then. The way he agilely sped across the field on his broom with such grace and finesse, had nearly every girl––and she really does mean every girl––swooning over him. “His eyes, they’re so dreamy,” she gushes, “and his hair, I just want to…oh my gosh, I’m pathetic, aren’t I?” she drops her face in her hands. 

Liam snorts, but rubs her back comfortingly. “Just a bit,” he teases.

From the other side of the room, Harry watches them. A slight pang of jealousy itching the tips of his fingers as he watches how freely Payne grazes his hand over her. He doesn’t know much about him, but from what he’s witnessed just now, he already doesn’t like him. 

“You know anything about him?” Harry asks Niall as he motions over to the other table. Niall follows his eyes and hums in response.

“Payne? Heard he’s wicked smart for a muggle-born. He’s kind of like Granger, except not as fun to look at.” Harry rolls his eyes but prods the blonde to continue. “He’s best friends with Y/l/n, and I know you fancy her.” Niall’s eyebrows waggle, a smirk spread across his face.  

Harry scoffs, “And where’d you hear that?”

“Don’t think I don’t see you giving her lovesick looks during dinner,” he looks over to where Y/n is manning her potion. “Don’t blame you, mate. She’s a looker, she is. Really fit, too.” This earns him a threatening glare from his friend. Niall raises his hands in surrender. “Relax, she’s all yours.” 

***

Harry officially can’t get her out of his head, which is actually quite annoying because now that he’s consciously aware of her, she’s popping up everywhere he turns. Her cute self that makes him feel all weird inside whenever she’s near, it drives him mad. And when he doesn’t see her, he finds himself looking for in the sea of students whenever a class period is up. Right now, he’s living for Double Potions on Mondays because that’s when he gets to be in the same room with her for an hour and half. It seems that she’s the only thing that’s able to make him forget about all his problems back home.

His owl had dropped a letter from his sister yesterday morning. In it, she expressed her grievances about their entire situation, telling him how she feels all their mother does anymore is cry. How he wishes he didn’t have to wait until December to see them, but with the Ministry keeping close tabs on their house, it’s difficult for both Anne and Gemma to leave. His mood had been quite sour, but then he ran into her in the East Corridor, and it’s like the light she radiates washed all bitterness away. 

“Harry, mate, you’ve been looking at the door since we’ve arrived here,” Niall complains, taking a break from conversation with a pretty Ravenclaw that he’s had his eyes set on for ages. “Looking for your girl?”

“No, leave me alone,” Harry mutters back at him, but his eyes never leave the entrance to the Great Hall. He glances down at his wristwatch, 8:23 am, which means she should be coming down for breakfast soon. (Not that he’s been keeping track of what time she usually eats. That would be creepy…) Y/n is seen before heard, the sounds of her blissful laughter reaching his ears before he watches her walk in with the Weasley girl. Her hair floats freely down her back, swaying with each step she takes. One of her knee socks falls down mid-calf, and he groans as she slightly bends down to pull it up. The worst part is that she doesn’t even know the effect she has on him, it’s just her naturally adorable self-that’s getting him all wound up. 

***

Leaves on the trees turn from luscious greens to vibrant shades of red and orange. The crisp autumn weather has students and faculty whipping out their comfy scarves to wrap around their vulnerable necks as they take walks along the grass. The end of October is celebrated with the Halloween feast, where the four grand house tables are to be overflowing with cavity-inducing sweets.

Harry is making his way through the courtyard, navigating his way through a group of Hufflepuffs that insist on walking in a perfect horizontal line. His attempts prove useless, however; and he’s stuck trailing a few paces behind them. “Tossers,” he mutters under his breath in pure annoyance.

“That’s not very nice,” he turns on his heel, a smile forming on his lips when he sees her. “I happen to know one of them, and she’s a saint!” Y/n teases, poking his side. 

“I just want to eat, I skipped lunch to study for a Transfiguration test,” he clutches his stomach when it growls at back at him. She giggles at how cute his face looks when it contorts from what might be the agonizing hunger of a teenage boy. The crowd around them seems to have numbered down to just them and few other students running towards the Great Hall. 

“If you’re that hungry…” she smirks, then grabs his hand and leads him towards the staircase to the dungeons. He doesn’t even bother to question where she’s taking him because his eyes are trained on how tightly her hand is squeezing his. 

Witch Weekly had advised her to do something spontaneous that would catch his attention, so that’s exactly what she’s doing right now. She’s trying to ignore the quickening beating beneath her chest and prays that her hands don’t go all clammy. 

*** It’s when Harry finds them in front of the kitchen that he pulls her back towards him. “We could just eat upstairs, love,” he raises an eyebrow at her, but she’s already tickled the pear, causing the portrait door to swing open for them. The house elves trot about, levitating heavy dishes of food over to specific tables to transport over to their counterparts in the Great Hall. The large brick fireplace providing a good amount of heat to make the room feel nice and snug. He’s only been here once, and that was during second year on a dare. One of the elves skips towards Y/n, giddily hopping in place.

“Miss Y/n! What can Winky do for you?” the house elf––Winky––eagerly asks. She grins widely when she pats her head.

“My friend here is really hungry, so we were wondering if you could whip us up something? It’s much too packed upstairs,” Y/n sweetly replies, swinging their still entangled hands as if it were the most natural thing in the world. 

Winky nods her head and ushers them to a smaller table off to the side of core five. “Winky will fetch Miss Y/n and Miss Y/n’s friend food right away!”

Harry pulls the chair out for her before taking his own seat. “Not what I pictured as a first date, but this is pretty nice too,” he winks, taking a sip from the glass of water that’s appeared in front of him.

“This is so not a date!” Y/n gasps, reaching over to swat his arm. She feels herself turning pink at the thought. 

“So, you don’t want to date me?” he feigns hurt as his lips form a pout. “No! I do! It’s just I’ve been waiting for you to…” her jaw drops at her sudden confession and she’s covering her face with her hands when the triumphant smirk returns to his lips. His head tilts to the side as he gazes at how cute she is while she rambles into her palms. 

“Hey, hey,” he gently wraps his fingers around her wrists to pull them down, so he can get a good look at her blushing face. “I’m only teasing. C’mon, look at me,” he says softly, but she shakes her head as her eyes seal shut.

“I rather not, if you don’t mind,” she mutters, and Harry laughs at how cute she is with her eyes squeezing so tight that he thinks they might burst. He looks down to where he’s holding her hands in his much bigger ones, then lifts them up just centimeters from his mouth. She feels his breath on her skin, until they’re replaced by soft pillow-like sponges. 

Her eyes open up, despite the rest of her body’s protests. She bites on her bottom lip as he continues to ravish the backs of her hands with sweet supple kisses before running his thumbs over the skin. “Go out with me,” he says, eyes twinkling fondly at her as though she’s all that’s important in the world. 

***

This stupid grin hasn’t abandoned her in nearly two days, but she can’t help it! Whenever she sees him giving her looks that make her weak at the knees and holding in the barrel of giggles she’s got pent up in her tummy. Only in passing did she tell Liam because she knows he’d be a little hesitant in letting her go on a date with the son of a Death Eater––he’s sort of like her dad when she’s at Hogwarts––but even then, no one could persuade her otherwise. 

She’s walking up to Astronomy when she sees Harry, accompanied by Niall, exiting the classroom. When their eyes meet, he tells Niall to go ahead, and the blonde boy gives her a suggestive smirk as he passes her on the stairs. Her and Harry stand on the long platform step, letting other students pass them with ease, some shooting them suspicious looks. 

“Can’t wait till Saturday,” he says, his hand slipping to the curve of her waist to prevent anyone from knocking into her. “Pick you up at six?” Y/n doesn’t trust her voice and opts for giving him a sweet nod of the head. He smiles down at her and pecks her forehead. “I’ve got to get to the greenhouse before Sprout has the tentacula attacking me for being late.” 

Biting her lip, she watches him descend down the stairs, lightly bumping into Liam as he rushes to Herbology. Liam raises an eyebrow at the Slytherin before turning up to see his friend’s dazed eyes following the boy’s shadow. 

“You alright there?” he questions, snapping his fingers in front of her eyes. 

“Looks like you’re on something.” Y/n playfully shrugs her shoulders and shakes her head, taking one last look down the stairs before entering the classroom.

***

It’s when he’s coming up staircase to the Gryffindor common room that he realizes that he’s never actually taken a girl out on a proper date before. Sure, he’s had girlfriends and flings of the sorts, but never actually took the time to treat her to anything more than to some candy from Honeydukes or a butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks before they’re succumbing to those pesky teenage hormones. But Y/n is different, she actually makes him want to put in the effort. And even though he said to himself in September that there would be no canoodling with anyone, she’s possessed every inch of him and he’s not doing anything to stop her. 

She’s waiting for him just outside the portrait hole, her fingers fiddling with tassels of her scarf. When she sees him, she’s fighting to suppress the giddy smile that still hasn’t left her. He greets her with a kiss to the cheek and there’s that giggle of hers that seems to have become his favorite sound. 

***

There’s never been a time in his life where he’s felt this happy, with Y/n under his arm as they sit in a booth at Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop. It’s quite cliché, now that he’s taken time to process it. This is the spot where all lovey dovey couples go for dates, so they can snog over tea and biscuits and act as though ‘happily ever afters’ are a thing of the real world. The fully pink interior has it feeling like Valentine’s Day all the time, but that’s the novelty of it all, he supposes. 

He’s never sat in here before, only stopping in to get some coffee to go before heading back to the castle. He likes knowing that his first time is with her. Y/n seems to be enjoying herself because this girl has got quite the sweet tooth on her. Since he’s not a fan of chocolate, he’s given her full reign on filling herself up with any of the desserts that might contain it. 

“Oh my goodness, you have to try this one!” she holds up a piece of carrot cake in front of his mouth. He laughs because she’s just so god damn adorable, but bites into the cake nevertheless. The taste of cinnamon and a dash of nutmeg soothe his taste buds as he chews and then swallows. He hums in approval and opens his mouth up again for her to feed him. 

“It’s really good, love,” he winks, brushing his hand just below her shoulder. His gaze lands on her mouth, where some crumbs have accumulated in the upper corners. “You’ve got a little…” but instead of telling her, he uses his thumb to wipe it all away, the palm of his hand resting on her cheek. “There you go.” 

“What a gentleman,” she teases and brings the teacup to her lips as they wrap around the rim in such delicate fashion that now all he can think about is kissing her and molding their lips together. It’s honestly all he’s thought about since watching her eat that pumpkin pasty on the train.

***

They walk with their hands laced together, a blanket of fallen leave scattering around the cobblestone roads of the town. Sometimes she’ll lean her head on his shoulder, and he’ll nuzzle his nose into her fruity smelling hair when he sees fit. He bets when other people look at them now, they’d think that they were the most loved up pair at Hogwarts––which doesn’t bother him one bit because he’s already admitted to himself that he’s absolutely smitten with her. 

This date is going much better than he had anticipated, all that’s left is to seal the deal with a kiss, so he can actually call her his, and not have to listen to any talk about other boys wanting to whisk her away. But just as he’s about ready to lean down, his eyes spot the same tuft of blonde hair that he just can’t seem to shake off. 

“Harry!” she calls, and he’s groaning into Y/n’s temples. It’s too late to make a run for it. “I haven’t seen you in ages!” Daphne says with her abnormally high-pitched voice. 

“We had class together yesterday,” Harry deadpans.

Daphne tuts her tongue, “Yes, but you’re always so focused that I can never get a word in.” She flips her long hair back over her shoulder and adjusts her skirt so that it’s a bit higher above her knees. 

“It’s why I’m passing,” Harry states, and Y/n buries her face into his shoulder, so she can stifle the fit of laughter. “Find that funny, do you?” he whispers in her ear. Daphne looks at the two with an almost sickened face that Harry can see turning a shade of green.

“What’s going on here” she screeches and crosses her arms over her chest. “What are you doing cozying up with a Gryffindor?” He rolls his eyes because the witch really thinks he owes her any explanation for anything he’s doing. 

“We’re on a date, and you’re kind of ruining it,” he replies and pulls Y/n in the opposite direction, “I’d like to get back to it.” They leave the blonde-haired girl with her mouth hung open as Harry leads them over to one of the less populated areas. 

***

“I don’t think she likes me,” Y/n giggles, her back hitting the wooden fence. Harry shakes his head and leans into her, wrapping his arms around her midsection. “She’s just jealous.”

“Oh?” she feigns ignorance, and he hums to play along. “Is there a reason she should be jealous?” The hopeful expression that’s sketched over her soft features has his insides leaping and now all he wants to do is kiss her when his eyes fall back on her plump lips. 

“Could give her one,” he whispers and his hands cup either side of her jaw, his thumbs stroke over her cold cheeks as he stares longingly at her lips. She swallows at how sultry it is as it replays in her mind. Her eyes are half-lidded as he slowly leans in, allowing for their breaths intermingle with one another before he’s fully pressing up against her. Already, he knows he could spend all day standing here, holding her close as their lips move together in perfect synchronization.

***

“You’re completely whipped,” Niall tells him at breakfast as he shovels scrambled eggs into his mouth. “Never thought I’d see the day.” Since arriving twenty minutes earlier, Harry and Y/n have been giving each other not-so-subtle googly eyes from across the room. 

Harry rolls his eyes and takes a bite from his toast. “Shut up,” he mutters. It’s not his fault that the tables have turned, and Niall is the one without a girlfriend to be all soft around. And yes, Harry knows how soft he is when he’s with her or talking about her to Niall. Just the other day she had sneezed the cutest sneeze he thinks he’s ever heard, almost how a baby does before finding its voice. 

The sound of hooting signals the arrival of the mail, and there’s Artemis with a letter between her talons. He skillfully catches it before it falls into his cereal, but Niall isn’t as lucky because his bird just dropped his package in his breakfast, poor boy. Harry opens up the letter, and immediately he feels all color drain from his face. His hands are practically shaking as he reads through the messily inked words on the paper. 

“What’s wrong?” Niall asks, picking off the last bit of egg from his robes. The letter gets thrown into his bookbag before he’s running a frustrated hand through his hair. “It’s my dad,” he closes his eyes and breathes deeply through his nose. “He’s…he’s been arrested.” The words are bittersweet when he hears them aloud. He’s mad at his father, yes, but to see him get thrown in Azkaban? He can only imagine how his mum is feeling right now. Desmond Styles might not be the perfect family man, but he does love Anne more than anything. 

Niall pats him on the back. “Are you alright, mate?” his tone slightly cautions because he knows that Harry doesn’t really like talking about his feelings. 

Harry’s lips purse into a straight line as he focuses on his breathing. He stares back across the room and sees her giggling at something Liam must have said, and this makes him smile. She’s so innocent to all the bad that inevitably surrounds them, and his connections to that side has him constantly worrying about her. But now that his father is in custody, maybe he doesn’t have to live with that fear anymore. Maybe this is good for him, good for his family, good for them. He turns to his friend, who’s still got a frown of concern on his face.

“Yeah, I think I am.” 

***

Now that they’re dating, he discovers that she’s not so keen on flying. He’d taken her for a ride on his broom, only to see that she had her eyes closed and buried in his back until they landed back on the ground. She says that she’s always been afraid of heights––imagine that, his brave little Gryffindor, afraid––and he’s determined to help her conquer that fear. 

“Do we have to?” she whines, pulling on his hand to steer away from the quidditch pitch.

“Yes, yes we do,” he cheeks and kisses her hand to appease her. “How am I supposed to be romantic and take you on spontaneous dates when my girl’s afraid of flying?” 

A gust of wind hits her face and has her hair flying all over her face, and she lets out a grunt trying to tame the loose strands. “That’s what walking is for and besides, you turn seventeen in February. You’ll be able to apparate us places then,” she argues. Her head falls on his chest and she’s left huffing because this isn’t what she had in mind when he said he wanted to take her out. They could be inside cuddling up in the library or sneaking into the kitchens or just about anything else. 

“C’mon, love. Just one try. If you really hate it, we’ll stop and do whatever your cute little head has in mind.” He mounts himself off the ground, hovering just a few feet. With a grumble, Y/n swings her leg over the other side, then wraps her arms tightly around his waist. “You got to promise me that you’ll actually keep your eyes open this time,” he peeks over his shoulder.

“Don’t push it.”

***

The library is the perfect place to snog his girlfriend (and study too, of course) because being in different Houses becomes an issue when they’re as different as day and night. Often, they find themselves cuddles up in one of the armchairs as they review course material and quiz each other for whatever test one of them has coming up.

“How do you extract pods from a snargaluff?” Y/n holds the notecard to her chest, so he can’t cheat. But that’s not even on his mind right now, instead he’s much more entertained by the smooth skin of her neck as he peppers kisses all over it. “Harry! C’mon, you’ve got a test tomorrow!” she scolds. 

He cups her cheek and brings her face down to meet him. “I’ll be fine, love” he says against her, “been studying for the last three days.” He buries his face back into her neck. “I need a break.” She can’t help the roll of her eyes, but quite frankly she enjoys how his lips feel when they trail wet kisses over her flesh, and her fingers tangle themselves in his hair to bring him closer. 

Her thoughts become lost in his touch, all senses oriented to how amazing she feels whenever she’s with him, whether they’re actually studying––about forty-five percent of the time––or doing this. She knows it’s too early in their relationship, but she knows for sure that she’s in love with him. No one has ever made her heart beat the he does, and call her naïve, but she’s almost positive that this is what love is.

Another reason she knows she loves him is that she’s actually dreading going back home next week for Christmas. It means two weeks of not seeing him and only communicating through letters that his owl will have to relay. 

“Going to miss you,” she pouts when she pulls away. Her thumb runs over his bottom lip to wipe away some of her lip gloss that’s transferred over. Harry kisses it, then pecks her once more before leaning back in the chair.

“I’m already going mad just thinking about it,” he sighs, playing with a small strand of her hair. “We promised to write each other, yeah? I’ll write you every day to tell you how much I miss you,” he cheeks and pinches her chin between his fingers. 

***

What does one get a guy that’s so bloody rich that he probably has two of everything? That had been Y/n’s problem in the days leading up to Christmas break. She’s usually really good at gifting, but Harry’s her first serious boyfriend and she wants their first exchange to be special and thought out. He keeps saying that he doesn’t want anything, and she thinks that’s complete bullshit. When they were walking through Hogsmeade a few weekends ago, she noticed him eyeing some new Quidditch gloves in the window display of Spintwitches Sporting Needs. Maybe he’d appreciate that?

“I need your help,” she walks up to where Liam is studying at one of the tables in the common room. She slams a bagful of galleons in front of him. He dips his quill into the ink pod and opens up the pouch. “Bloody hell, Y/n! What’s all this for?” His eyes pop out of his head as he counts the golden coins one by one. 

“It’s for Harry’s Christmas gift. I need you to buy it for me,” she says, then gives him an award-winning smile that would put Gilderoy Lockhart to shame.  “Pretty please?” 

“Why can’t you do it?”

She blows raspberries into the air and plops down in the seat adjacent to the desk. “Because it wouldn’t be a surprise then, now would it? I don’t go into town without him, so buying it without him knowing would be impossible!” Liam sighs, but puts the money in his pocket. They sit in a comfortable silence as he continues to revise his notes for Divination. (Although, she isn’t quite sure why he’s still taking it considering how much of a joke the whole ‘looking into the beyond’ thing seems to be.) “Not that it’s any of my business,” he starts, his eyes still dancing over his notebook, “but have you told your parents about him?” 

She lets her mouth fall into a frown as she looks at him. She’d written her mum a letter gushing about her boyfriend, but she did fail to mention a surname because Godric forbid that her dad recognizes it and marches straight to Hogwarts to give her a firm lecturing on dating someone so closely associated to the people he works to put behind bars. But it’s not Harry’s fault for having been born into one of the wealthy Pureblood families that have a history of being involved in the dark arts. 

“Of course…” and Liam lets out a snort because he knows her too well to know when she’s bullshitting him. 

*** They’re on the Hogwarts Express back to King’s Cross Station when he tells Y/n that he loves her. And it’s such a relief to her because she was about ready to burst if he hadn’t beaten her to it. She declares it back and throws herself into his arms, causing them to fall back on the bench as they smother each other in sweet kisses. 

For the rest of the ride, he’s got his head resting in her lap while she plays with his hair, her other hand being held right over his heart. He listens to her describe her family’s holiday traditions and whatnot. She describes how she used to believe in this mystic entity called Father Christmas that would leave gifts under the tree, only to find out the heartbreaking truth that it was just her mum sneaking downstairs in the early hours of the evening. 

“It’s a bit creepy, having a long-bearded man break into your house,” Harry scrunches his eyebrows. “And muggle children want him to sneak in? That’s like if Dumbledore were to just appear in my kitchen.” It’s funny to think how he hadn’t any interest in anything from that world three short months ago, but now he’s actually engaging in non-magic conversation. 

“That’s not the point! He’s what keeps their spirits up this time of year,” she pinches his nose. How she would love it if Harry were experience muggle Christmas with her and her family. But of course, he’s got his own family that would want him home with them. She knows enough about them, like how his sister, who’s four years older, is a healer at St. Mungo’s. He’d been more hesitant speaking about his father. 

She outlines the soft lines on his forehead. “Are you going to be okay?” 

“What do you mean?” he reaches up to caress her cheek, he smiles when she leans into him. 

“You know…with your father and everything…” she hadn’t wanted to say it out loud, but curiosity has gotten upper hand. 

“It’s going to suck for sure, but we’ll get through it eventually,” he gives her a lopsided smile. She nods her head and carries one with looping his curls around her fingers. He proceeds to change the topic to jollier matters, like how he’s excited to give her the present he got her. (She thinks it’ll be owled to her, but he’s got a little something planned.) 

***

“Sentencing hearing for offenses committed by Desmond Styles, resident at 5 Willows Way Wiltshire, England. Interrogator, Rufus Scrimgeour, Minister of Magic. Charges against the accused are as followed: endangering the welfare of muggles, attacking a Ministry official, and casting the killing curse on eight individuals,” Scrimgeour’s deep voice echoes through the courtroom of the Wizengamot. 

Harry, along with his mother and sister sit silently in their pew, lips sealed tightly. A cage erupts from the floor, revealing Desmond Styles entrapped within its confines, spikes surrounding the perimeter. His usually kept hair is untamed and greasy looking, his skin covered in scabs and scratches. From where they’re sat, Harry can even see the dirt under his fingernails. Visibly thinner from when he’d last seen him last Christmas, the man in front of them is nearly unrecognizable. 

“If the defendant chooses to give the names and locations of his allies, then the Wizengamot is to make a bargain for his early release from Azkaban. Does the defendant accept these terms?” All eyes fall on the broken man, once known to be a pillar of wealth and luxury in the community. Desmond remains silent, shooting everyone in the pews dirty looks. He doesn’t event spare his own family any reassurance, growling like an animal when Scrimgeour repeats his question.

“What’s he doing?” Gemma whispers frantically to her mother. “Why can’t he just give them up?” Tears are flooding her eyes as she takes in her father’s appearance. 

Anne croaks out a response that neither Harry nor Gemma can make out. Harry wants to get them out of there, it’s all just too much for his poor mother to handle with all the grief that Desmond has given them in the last six months. 

Scrimgeour narrows his eyes at the caged man, leaning forward in his mighty seat. “If the defendant does not wish to cooperate, it gives us no choice but to send him back to Azkaban.” It’s a threat with intentions meant to carry through with the consequences. Harry holds his breath as he waits for his father to say something, anything to lift the weights he feels dragging him to the ground.

The man persists his silence. 

***

Around three in the morning, she hears a tap on her bedroom window. At first, she thinks it’s some bird or whatever, so she buries her face in her marshmallow-y pillow. But the tapping continues, and she’s forced to open up her eyes that are still heavy with sleep. She feels for her wand underneath her pillow as she casts the illumination charm to reveal the source of such a disturbance. 

“Harry?” she drops her wand and opens up her window to let him in. “Do you have any idea what time it is?” Right away she notices that something is off, and she cups his frigid cheeks in her palms and lifts his face to look at her.  

“He’s getting life,” his voice cracks as he reiterates the words of the Minister had declared just earlier that day. They had come home from the trial, all wordless because what is one to say after something like that? One look at his mother, the desolate expression of hurt and betrayal ingrained in her. “Bastard didn’t even think twice about us.” And for the first time in years, he allows himself to cry. His head falls onto her collarbone and the bitter tears soak right through her night shirt. 

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers to him as she strokes his back and hugs him tight and listens to his bitter weeps. It’s the first time she’s ever seen him so vulnerable, and despite her wanting him to open up more, this leaves her heart to break for him. 

He sleeps with her that night, in its most innocent definition. They lay underneath the covers arms wrapped around one another, inhaling each other’s scents. His eyes are hard, but genuinely tired all at the same time. He holds her close, the only thing that’s keeping him from spiraling down into fits of anger because she’s the only good thing in his life right now. “I love you,” he whispers, connecting their foreheads and rubbing the tip of his nose to hers. 

“I love you,” she whispers back. He releases a long breath and it’s only a matter of minutes until he falls asleep, the glimmer of his tear stains causing tears of her own as she runs a thumb over to the irritated skin. With a kiss to the side of his mouth, she too drifts off.

***

He wakes up the next morning holding her in the same position he had fallen asleep in. Her nose digging into his neck as her arms lazily drapes over his stomach. He smiles to himself when he thinks he’d like to wake up like this every morning. 

Last night, he’d shown a side of himself that not even his family has ever seen before. He’d been taught to never shed emotion in trying times because that signals weakness. And no respectable wizard would be considered weak. However, the trial had ended just as fast as it had started since his father refused to annul his allegiance to the Dark Lord, and the only person he could think to run to, was his girlfriend. Her presence alone allowed him to release all the pain that he’d been feeling, and laying here with her now, he doesn’t feel any of it. 

“Y/n, love,” he coaxes her awake with wet kiss along her jaw and down her neck. “Wake up.” He kisses over her eyes as they flutter open to meet his.

“Good morning,” she snuggles herself further into his embrace, thoroughly enjoying the heat he’s providing her with. 

She feels herself falling back asleep, but then a sudden realization has her eyes popping out of their sockets as she turns in his arms to reach over for the mini calendar she has on her side table. 

“It’s Christmas!” she cheers softy (it’s still a bit early and her parents are probably asleep). She turns back to Harry, a bright smile on her face that melts his heart because she really is just the cutest thing he’s ever seen. “Happy Christmas, Harry.” 

He tucks the hair that’s covering her face behind her ear and leans over to peck her lightly. “Happy Christmas, love,” and he hugs her close. Thankfully, he’s come prepared for today. He reaches over for where he had shed his trousers–– by the side of her bed, into the pocket and pulls out a small velvet box. 

“I, um, was planning on this being more romantic, but I’m already here…and it’s Christmas, so…” he opens up the box and in it is the prettiest ring she’s ever seen. He notices how she’s looking at it with a bit of weariness, so he adds on. “It’s not an engagement ring, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he says sheepishly. Y/n giggles and kisses his cheek. 

“I wasn’t thinking that, silly! It’s just, now this makes my present look like nothing!”

“Don’t say that, I love the gloves.” 

Her mouth falls open in shock. “How’d you…”

“When I went to Hogsmeade before lunch to pick this up, I stopped by the sports shop to buy the gloves, but then Liam was there and told me that I couldn’t. Eventually he told me that you were planning on getting them for me yourself,” he smirks and boops her nose. “I really do love them.” 

***

“Harry, love, can I speak with you for a moment?” his mum corners him when he arrives back at Styles Estate. He’d spent all morning cuddled up with Y/n at her house, only leaving when he heard footsteps out in the hall. 

“Of course, Mum,” he smiles. “What is it?” 

Anne’s lips purse into a thin line as she looks her son over. “I know that all that’s happened yesterday has been tough for you…it’s been tough on all of us,” she starts. She smooths the fabric of her skirt down, her wedding band catching the light and blinding his eyes. “It’s going to take some sacrifices, but there’s a way to get everything back to how it used to be.” 

To how it used to be. What does she mean by that? Harry raises an eyebrow. With Desmond’s imprisonment, there’s no going back to how everything was before then. If anyone were to ask him, he’d want to leave this house with all its memories because the last thing they need is a constant reminder of his father choosing Voldemort over them. 

“What do you mean by sacrifices?” although it’s not his intention, but it comes out as a demand. 

“You see, the Dark Lord wishes to recruit the children of his followers to overthrow the Ministry.” He gapes at her. How would she have known any of this? His mum was never aligned with that world, so hearing this come out of her mouth is beyond controversial.

Become a Death Eater? There’s no chance in hell he’d ever do that! He’s got good things going in his life, siding with a fucking lunatic would ruin all of it. “No,” he says firmly.

“It’s the only way to get your father out of Azkaban!” she yells, “if the Dark Lord takes over, he’ll be freed.” The tears start to trickle from her eyes, but her overall demeanor remains elegantly composed. 

“Then let him rot! He should have thought about the consequences before he pledged his allegiance to him,” he exasperates, a frustrated hand sweeping his hair back. “This isn’t you, Mum. How could even you ask me to do this?”

Anne swallows hard, her voice suddenly strangled under by inner turmoil. There’s a fear in her eyes that pinches at him. She starts to cry, wrapping her arms around herself, “Because we don’t have a choice.”

***

The ring that Harry gave her has a protean charm on it, which is linked to his matching one. It allows for them to communicate with each other when they’re in different classes on opposite sides of the castle. Sometimes she’ll feel it heat up and see cute little messages that he’s sending her while he’s stuck in History of Magic. 

It’s what they use when they want to meet up in various locations to snog because Madam Pince had caught them in the middle of a particularly steamy session in the restricted section and now she watches them like a hawk whenever they enter the library. 

Today he messaged that he’d be waiting for her outside of Charms, and time has never lasted so long. Her fingers tap one by one in repeated intervals as Flitwick explains the history behind the spell that changes vinegar into wine. Liam is fast asleep next to her, his face buried in his crossed arms over the table, soft sporadic snores whistling through his nose. 

“…and that is why if done improperly, the result can lead to an explosion,” Flitwick narrows his stare at Seamus Finnigan, Hogwarts’ infamous explosives expert. Their professor lets out a defeated sigh when he sees that he’s lost nearly every student in the room––aside from Hermione of course, who is scribbling detailed notes down––he pulls his pocket watch out and glares at the time. “Well, seeing as though most of you are elsewhere, why don’t we end class a few minutes early?” Suddenly, everyone is wide awake and buzzing around the room for the exit.

True to his word, there’s her boyfriend leaning coolly against the wall across from the door. One hand stuffed in his robes pocket, the other firmly gripping the strap of his bag. She skips over to where he is and wraps her arms around his neck.

“Fun class?” he smirks before giving her a chaste kiss on the lips. She rolls her eyes at him because the dolt had failed to warn her about how dry this lecture would be (he has this class on Tuesdays); if she’d known, she would have brought her latest issue of Witch Weekly to help pass the time. 

“Impossibly so,” she mutters. He gives her one last peck before he slings an arm around her shoulder as they walk through the current of students. “Where are we going today?” she wonders as they approach the staircase. 

“Was thinking we could go to my room. Niall’s gone off on a date, and Malfoy’s crew is never around until later in the evening,” he tells her.

***

It’s the first time she’s ever seen the Slytherin common room. The atmosphere around it much different from her own house’s. The rough stone walls surrounding every inch of the room. Luxurious black leather couches in the centerground, with emerald green lamps scattered around to give just a bit of illumination. A fire crackles underneath the elegant mantel to keep the temperatures from dropping too low. No wonder Harry always dresses warmly.  

“It’s so dark in here,” she says absentmindedly. There are a few Slytherins sat at some of the desks giving her annoyed glances. One of them goes as far as to shush her, but Harry shoots a warning look at the fourth-year, and he’s staring back down at his parchment, muttering curses under his breath. Harry chuckles lightly as he leads her through the doors to his room. 

“That’s why I’m always with you in the library,” he cheeks. His bed is the second on the left, a poster of the English National Quidditch Team hangs above his side chest, where a small animated picture of him, his sister, and mum laughing sits. The smiles on their faces makes it seem as though they have no trouble in the world. 

Harry drops his bag by the foot his four-poster bed, and plops down on the mattress with a relieved sigh. He pats the spot next to him for Y/n to take, and immediately snuggles into her neck once she’s laid down. She strokes the back of head, while her eyes admire the water of the Great Lake that covers over the frontside of the ceiling high windows. 

“Is it weird sleeping under water?” she asks. She feels him shake his head against her. “It’s just I sleep up in a tower and actually get a view of things from my window,” she starts, “oh! Do you ever see the mermaids swim by?”

His head lifts up, an amused quirk on his mouth. “Yup, they watch me while I’m changing,” he teases. The pout on her lips makes his heart swell up, and he can’t help but kiss over them. “I’m only joking, love,” he says, continuing to ravish her. They move against one another so naturally, hands roaming over the other’s clothed bodies.

When their tongues meet in the middle of their parted lips, an audible moan leaves her, and the sound has the blood rushing down to his cock. He ignores the stirring his pants, his focus now on places hot wet kisses along her jaw and down the slope of her neck. His teeth nibble on her smooth silky flesh, leaving little markings that lets everyone know she’s off limits to everyone but him. 

Using all her strength, she flips them over and straddles his waist. Her mouth reconnects with his, her hands moving up to cup his face. He helps her shed her robe and he sits up high enough to remove his own. The loss of the extra fabric doing well for them both. He sucks fervently on her bottom lip, his hands guiding her hips to grind against his growing erection. “Going be the death of me,” he murmurs into the kiss, letting out a moan when she presses particularly hard against him. 

There’s an ache between her thighs that’s begging to be relieved. And now all she can think about is what it would feel like to have him in between her legs. At this point, everyone in their year is losing their virginities. Most of the girls in her dorm room have lost theirs, and often go into full detail about sexual rendezvous they’ve been on around the castle. Y/n had once said that she would give it up to someone she fully trusts and loves, and she’s positive that that person is Harry. There’s no one else that makes her feel quite like the way he does. 

Her fingers reach down for the buckle of his belt, slipping the strap from its loops. She pulls away from him when she can’t quite get it unfastened. His hands wrap around her wrists, and she looks at him through hazy eyes. 

“We don’t have to do this,” he rubs his thumb over her veins. “I don’t want to push you or anything.” She thinks her heart might burst because he’s just so genuinely sweet, and she leans down to kiss him fully, putting everything she’s got into it. 

Their foreheads connect when they break apart in desperate need for air, his eyes never leaving her plump lips. “I want to,” she husks, and he watches as her bottom lip traps itself between her teeth. “Want you.” And that’s good enough for him. He flips her onto her back and pulls her jumper off. Her buries his face back into her neck while his fingers skillfully work to undo every one of the buttons of her polo. 

He leans back on his knees and slowly slides his palms over her thighs, wanting to familiarize himself with every inch of her body. His fingers tread up to the top of her skirt and pulls down it down past her bum and down her smooth legs.

Gods, he’s excited. He’s been thinking about this for quite some time now––four months and a week to be exact––and now that he’s building them both up for it, he just hopes he’ll be able to deliver. He knows she’s inexperienced, and she’s well aware that he isn’t, but that doesn’t seem to matter at the moment because there’s a tiny piece of him that’s so bloody nervous in the midst of exhilaration. 

Maybe it’s his dick talking, but he’s just so in love with her and how amazing she feels writhing under him from just the touch of his fingers. She’s perfect. There’s not a better word that can describe how he sees her. So maybe it’s not just how painful his erection feels as tries to get her ready for him. It’s that she’s the only person that he can show a full range of emotion to and not feel like a complete ninny afterwards. And he’s never had that with anyone before. 

They’re both amazed at how some certain movements elicit a certain response. Both teens fully naked under his thin sheets, nipping and sucking on whatever they can. His fingers tease her entrance, covered in the glimmer of her arousal as his lips perform their assault on her pulse. She bucks her hips into him, desperate for even the slightest of relief to the tension that’s only continued to grow more intense. “Please,” she whimpers into his mouth. 

“What is it you want, petal?” the new endearment slipping off his tongue so naturally. He kisses the apples of her cheeks, awaiting her response. 

“Want your fingers,” she breathes out in frustration, pulling on his curls to edge him on. A single digit slides past her folds and circles around the rim of her. Her breath catches in her throat when she feels him pushing, only to pull out and continue the pattern. 

Harry can’t wrap his mind around how bloody tight she feels around just one of his fingers. Just the thought of it being replaced with his excited cock has him just about ready to cum all over her stomach. “Need you to relax, love,” a guttural whisper into her ear when she feels her walls flutter around him. “Fuck, you’re so tight.” Another one of his long fingers enter her. The added thickness causing a pleasurable burn to her core. 

Through lustful eyes, he watches the shifts in her expression as he quickly moves his fingers in and out of her. The sweet sound of her little whimpers and moans as he stretches her out makes him feel slightly delirious. And it’s only becoming more prominent when her delicate fingers reach down between them to grasp him and give him a little squeeze. The knot in her belly soon unravels and she experiences a feeling that she’s never felt before that has her toes curling tightly against the sheets. 

“That’s my good girl,” he praises, bringing those two wet fingers up to his mouth.

There’s not a part of her that doesn’t absolutely crave for him right now. She feels herself succumbing to every touch he peppers onto her skin and courses through her veins and electrifies every cell in her body. She’s ready, very much so that she becomes restless and needy for him to give it all to her once she’s come down from her high. Their lips reconnected, his tongue finding its way back into her warm mouth. He feels for his wand on the small table next to them and mutters an incantation that she’s unfamiliar with.

All musing comes to an abrupt end when his tip sliding over her entrance and grazing over her bundle of swollen nerves. He whispers sweet nothings into her ear to distract her from what’s about to come. She sucks in a breath as the sharp pain of him sliding in tenses the muscles in her lower half. “I’m sorry,” he tells her, his fingers wiping over the tears that prickle in her eyes. Once he can’t go any further, he remains still, giving her time to adjust to his size. “I’ll give you a minute.” To control himself, he focuses on his breathing and counts backwards from fifty, just so his thoughts don’t wander around the fact that she’s so incredibly snug around him. 

The initial painful burn eventually subsides, and she signals for him to move. He goes slow for a few strokes, wanting this experience to be all about her and getting to that place for a second time. He pulls all the way out, before slamming back in, his balls slapping against her bum every time. Her fingers dig into the skin of his arm as the sensations from earlier return and encase her body in its wondrous effects. 

“Treating me so nicely,” his fingers interlace themselves with hers and hold them up beside her up. He leans down for a passionate kiss, his movements gradually increasing in speed and force. Her legs wrap around him to coax him even closer once he’s ready to plunge back into her heat.

A feeling of possessiveness courses through him as he feels his orgasm approaching in the distance. There’s a desire of wanting to be the only one to see her fall apart from the amounts of pleasure that eats at her body. He wants to be the last person she’ll ever kiss and say ‘I love you’ to because he’s selfish and wants all of her all to himself. But the feeling of protectiveness is just as strong as he looks into her eyes. He wants––no, needs––to protect her from all the evil in his world. 

Even if it means having to join them.

***

A/N: I’m not really sure where this came from, but I hope you enjoyed it! Talk to me about it here! 

[ink-powered-moonboots]

Somebody To Hold You

So, fanfiction is a thing? I am a massive nerd, and I enjoy writing so I’m pretty sure this was inevitable :D This is my first fanfiction (I don’t know what I’m doing) so it’ll probably be a mess but you never know until you try! So please enjoy, whatever this is :)

Do you ever see something and suddenly get struck with inspiration and you need to start writing right this second! Because that’s what happened with me when I was scrolling through the blog of the majestic @asktheboywholived, and saw a gif of sick teenage Sirius plaintively asking ‘Somebody hold me’ - and that inspired me because dammit somebody needs to hold him! So I wrote this, because Sirius needs to be allowed to be vulnerable sometimes :) We all need some fluff now and then, what better way than a reading some hurt/comfort? Only… I might have gone a bit overboard… hmm… Ah well!

Summary: While living in his new home after being practically adopted by the Potters, poor Sirius gets what he thinks is a cold. Only it’s not. It’s far worse. But all is not lost, finally he has someone to look after him.

Word count: 4,695 words

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters, merely this plot line :)

Warnings: Sickness, abuse, Walburga reaching demonic levels of evil for no reason

Honestly, he should have seen it coming.

It had started with a couple of irritating coughs, just after James and his father had left to visit some old family friends that had practically insisted on seeing how ‘the boy’ had grown. James had wanted Sirius to come too, he couldn’t bear the thought of having to traipse round historical sites and whatnot without his best friend to keep him company, but Fleamont sadly resigned that since the invitation was only addressed to them it would be frowned upon to bring someone else (the friends probably wouldn’t have prepared for an extra guest anyway). James had groaned as they packed to leave, complaining to Sirius all the while. “This is going to be the longest two weeks of my life! I’ll die of boredom Pads!” Sirius had chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder, promising to make sure the Crudely Cannons attended his funeral.

Over the next few days the coughs became more frequent and painful, his nose seemed to be stuffed up and there was a distinct pressure somewhere in the back of his head. Despite all this Sirius tried his best to be his ever cheery self, flying round the garden on his broom to distract himself in the hopes it might clear his sinuses. The boy did miss James quite a lot, but at least he wasn’t completely alone. He had Euphemia to look after him. Speaking of which, somehow Sirius had managed to hide these symptoms from Euphemia because of course he didn’t want her to worry. He reasoned with himself there was nothing to worry about, he wasn’t sick. Sirius Black doesn’t get sick. His mother had drilled that into him very early on, as any form of weakness was a punishable offence in her book. Even as a small child if he so much as sniffled from a winter cold his mother would make him regret it immediately. He could hear her voice even now… So no, Sirius Black was completely and utterly fine.

Only he wasn’t. Not at all.

On the fourth day since the signs had started, Sirius woke unable to breathe. He turned onto his side and gasped for air, his nose completely blocked, and winced as his throat stung as if he’d been forced to eat nettles. Oh Merlin, everything hurt. His senses were all over the place. The light streaming in from behind the curtains burned his eyes; he could hear every single little noise like someone had cast ‘sonorus’ on the entire world- but he couldn’t distinguish any one noise from another which made his head swim nauseously, and there was some kind of weight pressing down on him, crushing him.

The poor boy tried to bury his head into the pillow again to block out the light, but he found he had no strength to do so. He felt an urge to call out for Euphemia, but his mother’s voice echoed in his head as if she were standing over him. ‘If you don’t stop that pathetic simpering this instant-’ He still remembered how Walburga had dragged him out of the Black family drawing room by his hair, her fingernails like claws against his scalp. Sirius moaned as a fresh wave of pain hit him, but resigned to keep his mouth firmly shut. How was it that even now his mother had such power over him? His thoughts drifted back to a familiar mantra. ‘Don’t be a bother. Don’t be a pain. Don’t be a bother. Don’t be a pain.’

So Sirius lay on the bed battling misery and pain alone.

Euphemia glanced at the clock as she poured herself a cup of tea, surprised to see that it was already past eleven. She sighed, rolling her eyes with a smile. How could half the morning have already gone. Time passed so quickly when the house was empty. Her brow furrowed however, when the thought occurred to her that the house was not in fact empty. She hadn’t seen Sirius at all that morning. Where had he got to? She made sure to check the the garden incase Sirius’ broom was missing (perhaps he’d gone to visit someone, but he ought to have left a note), but found nothing out of place.

“How very strange indeed.” She thought to herself as she made her way towards the stairs. Unlike James - who was a true teenager in the way he would happily stay in bed until lunch time if possible - Sirius was usually the first up. Often Euphemia would come downstairs in her dressing gown to find the curly haired boy happily sitting crosslegged on kitchen side munching on a piece of toast, or pass him bounding back up towards James’ room like an excited puppy with an impish grin on his face. So it worried her to find no trace of the boy at so late an hour.

She walked to the door of Sirius’ room and was about to knock, when she heard the almost imperceptible sound of whimpers from inside. Worry flared in her chest as she called out to him. “Sirius?” Receiving no answer, she instantly hurried into the room. She gasped in shock at the sight that greeted her. There on the bed lay the shivering form of Sirius, washed out skin with sweat beading on his forehead, crying. At the sound of the door opening the teenager weakly turned his head towards her, and Euphemia caught the look of suffering on his face.

Her motherly instincts took control as she rushed over to him and gently placed a hand on his cheek, concern growing by the second. She noticed the way Sirius leant into her touch as she wiped away the tears that were already making salt track on his skin. “Oh Sirius…” Euphemia brushed a few rebellious curls away from his forehead as she felt the fever already raging. How on earth had she missed the signs? This sickness had sprung up quicker than anything she’d encountered before, and it troubled her to no end. She knew the boy must be in immense pain to be crying like this. Sirius was stoic like that, he didn’t like to cry in front of people at all- he hadn’t even cried when he’d fallen off the roof.

“Sirius, can you hear me?” She sighed with relief when the lad gave a tiny nod, and smiled down at him anxiously. “What’s wrong sweetheart?”

He struggled to respond with a hoarse voice as if he’d been shouting for hours on end, gesturing as best he could to the window. If Euphemia hadn’t been sitting beside him she wouldn’t have heard him at all.

“Th’ l-light hurts… so loud.”

Despite the vagueness, Euphemia immediately recognised the symptoms of a migraine, and quickly cast a charm on the room to dim the light to that of a candle. Flicking her wand towards the window she muttered “Silencio,” before turning back to Sirius, speaking quietly so as not to cause him more discomfort.

“That should help. What else hurts?”

Sirius opened his mouth in response but chocked back a ragged sob, dragging a hand lethargically across his eyes trying desperately to stop the flow of tears. Eventually he managed to stutter a reply, looking up at her with a wince.

“All- all over, all ‘ver…”

Euphemia couldn’t bear to see her adoptive son in so much pain, she wanted nothing more than to take him into her arms and whisk it all away. She took action, summoning the thermometer from the medicine chest, squeezing Sirius’ arm sympathetically when she read the numbers. It wasn’t quite high enough to send them rushing off to St. Mungo’s but it was far higher than it had any right to be. Next, she conjured a cool flannel and softly began to mop Sirius’ burning forehead, smiling a little at the way his face relaxed as she did so.

“You poor boy.” She murmured, holding his hand with her free one and running her thumb comfortingly over his palm. “How long have you felt like this? You could have called for me.” Sirius looked suddenly guilty as he gazed up at her earnestly.

“Didn’t w’nt t’ bother.”

Euphemia looked completely bewildered, wondering where the boy had possibly got that idea. “Sirius, sweetheart you know you could never be a bother! Especially not to me.”

“But-”

Euphemia fixed him with a stern look, she would have no protest from him on this. “No. Did you think James was a bother when he broke his arm during quidditch? Or when he had mumblemumps a couple of months ago?” Sirius shook his head before stopping as he realised it hurt quite a bit. “Then how is this any different? You’re not a bother to me Sirius. You’re in pain and you need comfort, that’s nothing to be sorry for.”

She drew the sick teenager into a hug, remembering the countless times she’d done this for James. It always hurt whenever her children were suffering. She half smiled at the thought, that there was no doubt about it Sirius was her son too, because of course he was! And he was in pain. She wasn’t going to let him struggle through this alone, he’d already done that for far too long. Euphemia eased the boy back onto the pillows and got up to search the medicine chest when suddenly she felt a weak grasp at her hand. She turned back to see Sirius looking at her with a sense of desperation.

“Please d-on’t go!”

Euphemia shook her head and made her way back to the bed, smiling warmly as she brushed a couple more curls away from the boy’s face. “I’m not going anywhere, lovely. I’m just going to grab some potions to help you feel better, and some breakfast for you. You may not feel like it but you need to eat. I’ll be back before you know it.” With that, she pressed a quick kiss to the top of his head and glided out of the room to fetch the things.

Sirius must have been the worst sinner and the best saint in a previous life. The worst sinner to have earned this awful sickness, complete with dramatic fever. And the best saint to have Euphemia there to look after him. What had he ever done to deserve a guardian like her? She was patient and kind, always ready with a bright smile and warm hugs. The opposite of Walburga.

Sirius couldn’t fathom why Euphemia was being so nice to him. Every instinct he had was telling him that he should feel ashamed for making her waste her time on him, that he was disgusting and weak. The mantra kept going round in his head ‘Don’t be a bother. Don’t be a pain’, he knew he should keep to himself and man up, push through it. He hated himself for crying in front of Euphemia. Honestly, he was pathetic! It wasn’t even that bad. He’d dealt with worse things before, and when he saw that look on her face- that look of pure worry. After everything she’d done for him all Sirius ever did was make her worry? Ungrateful, he should be ashamed- but oh god everything just hurt so much! It was like he was freezing and on fire at the same time (he chalked that one up to the fever), his chest felt full of pins and what had started as an all-over ache was now just searing pain. Waves and waves of it, over and over.

When Euphemia had come back into the room, she’d presented him with a small bottle of ‘J. Pippin’s Pain Reliever Potion’ which dulled the burning sensation a bit, and offered him some toast.

“I’ve sent an owl to the family physician, just in case he thinks this is something serious. He’ll aparate here in the afternoon to check you over. And I’ve sent word to the boys to tell them you’re not well, they’d be terribly upset if I didn’t let them know.”

He nodded as he took tentative bites of the toast, just incase his body rejected the idea of food and caused its unwelcome return. Euphemia smiled as he’d finished and took the plate from him, glad that he’d managed to keep it down. “You need to keep your strength up, to help your body fight off this blasted illness.” Sirius chuckled quietly, earning a bigger smile from his guardian, when all of a sudden a rush of drowsiness crept up on him. His eyelids began to droop as he lay back down, his limbs feeling ten times heavier. Just before his eyes shut, he looked sheepishly up at Euphemia.

“Thank you Mu- Mrs Potter.” Sirius just managed to catch the word before he made the mistake, looking like a kicked puppy. While momentary panic flickered in his mind, Euphemia simply smiled kindly and tucked the duvet around him, not even batting an eyelid.

“There’s nothing to thank me for Sirius. Go to sleep, the more you rest the quicker you’ll feel better.”

And just liked that the darkness of sleep took over.

Nothingness. Endless, gaping nothingness.

No up, no down, no sense of time. Nothing.

The nothingness began to shift, shadows growing and ebbing, transforming into a dark, crooked room.

Ebony walls gilded with silver stretching up and up, almost endlessly, on which gruesome pictures and contorted portraits hung. He could feel their cold stares upon him. Watching every single move.

There was no heat, no warmth to this room.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood. This room, far too familiar and yet completely unknown. Fear, so much fear, seeping out of every corner and sinking deep into his skin. He’s shaking, eyes wide, breaths fast.

Frantically looking around, no sight of anything, and yet there was a presence here too formidable to hide.

Every instinct was screaming ‘Run- run!’ Escape. He needs to escape. Quickly, get out. He sprints for the great, heavy door that materialises opposite the fireplace. Grabbing the handle, shaking and pulling with increasing desperation- the door won’t open. It’s sealed shut. Get out, get out! He claws at the panelling- kicks it- hearing footsteps louder than drumbeats echo behind him.

Approaching, advancing, hunting.

Out, out, OUT!

Suddenly she surges out of the shadows, pouncing upon him with a hideous smile. He tries to back away but he’s fastened to the spot, unable to move as she stalks closer. A demonic figure revelling in the fear of her prey.

“My pride and joy, how marvellous to see you again!”

The grin on her vampiric countenance chills him right to the core. He’s in danger. Absolute danger.

“You thought you could just run away?” She spits the words at him, so much venom dripping from her voice. He sees her wand drawn, poised to cast.

“How pathetic.” Suddenly there are claws gripping him by both arms, scratching into his pale flesh like barbs, trapping him tighter the more he struggles against them. Her voice reverberates off the walls, surrounding him, roaring in his ears.

“PATHETIC, SPINELESS LITTLE FREAK! HOW COULD I RAISE SOMEONE SO WEAK?”

The insults keep coming in an onslaught of hate, each one punctuated by a new hex, a new sting more brutal than the last, making him cry out in pain.

“Such an insubordinate disappointment. To think you were once a worthy heir to the noble and most ancient house of Black! Now look at you, disgrace to the very name! I should have disposed of you long, long ago- but now I think I’ll just enjoy this moment. I finally get to break you down, bit by bit- I will destroy you like you destroyed our legacy!”

He didn’t know when he became aware of the gaunt figures of Regulus and Orion watching, emotionless. He couldn’t understand why, why were they just standing there- please, please wouldn’t they just help him? Surely they couldn’t just let this happen? Right?

“Reg please-” His voice was stolen from him as tears spilled over, reaching in vain for his little brother, who just smiled in return. A cold, dead smile that didn’t reach his eyes. And his mother just cackled.

“Oh look, the whiney brat is crying! How moving.”

CRUCIO!

Walburga’s gleeful shriek was drowned out by his screams as agony coursed through every cell of his body. Wild electric pain, scorching him from the inside and oh god! He screeched and howled, unable to speak as he writhed, the cacophony of laughter and his own screams rising louder and louder until-

HELP!

Euphemia bustled around the landing, searching for a hot water bottle as she tried to distract herself. Sirius had been resting for a good couple of hours, and she didn’t want to disturb him however she couldn’t help but worry. She’d never seen him ill before, and it concerned her that he hadn’t come to her earlier. She knew he was a strong boy, almost always full of boundless energy but he often closed himself off when it came to needing help. She got the distinct impression that it wasn’t he didn’t want it, more that he felt he didn’t deserve it. A side effect of living with his family, she guessed. The woman didn’t know much about what had happened to Sirius, but she had discovered enough to know that it was unforgivable what they had done to him. She couldn’t bear to think that such a sweet boy had been put through-

Shaking the thought out of her head, Euphemia finally found the hot water bottle hidden on the top shelf in the linen cupboard. She chuckled at the realisation that Fleamont probably misplaced it, he never did know where anything went in the house. Taking it down, she was about to fill it up when she noticed something else on the shelf. A certain red and gold blanket, neatly folded in the corner. She smiled brightly as she pulled it down and felt the soft fabric in her hand. It was no ordinary blanket, it was the Potter family ‘Get Better Blanket’ as it had been dubbed by four year old James. Euphemia herself had made it way back when Fleamont had a cold just after they had got married, and it had been imbued with a comforting charm. Whenever carefully snuggled under the blanket the user would have that wonderful warm feeling one gets from a really good hug, so that they could be comforted when they needed it most. Ever since then it had been used whenever one of the Potters got sick (James frequently used it even when he was perfectly healthy), and today she decided to put it to work again.

Suddenly- there was a noise of distress from Sirius’ room, and Euphemia rushed through the door to see what was wrong. She dropped the water bottle from her hand in alarm, the scene before her nearly breaking her heart. When once he had been peacefully sleeping, Sirius was shaking and thrashing on the bed, struggling against some unseen horror. And he was screaming, the poor boy was screaming incoherently, tears streaming from his closed eyes. Instantly Euphemia was by the bed, freeing Sirius from the sheets he was tangled up in and tried her best to wake him.

“Sirius, Sirius it’s ok! It’s a nightmare Sirius, wake up!”

She tried to coax him back to the world of the waking, but didn’t seem to get through to him. He was trapped with whatever terror he was seeing. Euphemia held both of his shoulders firmly, trying to ground him to reality, and abruptly became aware that he was pleading, begging for help. There was so much despair in his cries that Euphemia felt herself begin to tear up as she listened to him.

“Please- please h’lp… Help! St’p it- Stop p-please! Moth-er! PLEASE!”

In that moment Euphemia swore she could have apparated to Grimmauld Place and hexed Walburga into the ground. She had caused Sirius so much suffering, treated him like he was dirt and she thought it was nothing- Getting ahold of herself, Euphemia shut all thoughts of that monster out as she settled on the most important task at hand- looking after her boy.

“Sirius, wake up sweetheart. It’s ok, it isn’t real.”

He tried in vain to scramble away from the curses, but it was draining him so much-

‘-wake up sweetheart-‘

That voice, he knew that voice.

‘Sirius come back to me-‘

It was a gentle voice, and still it cut through Walburga’s onslaught. Where was it coming from?

‘It’s going to be alright Sirius. You’re not alone, I’m here. Focus on my voice darling.”

Focus. Focus. The shouts and laughter began to ebb away as he became aware of someone holding his shoulders- the touch wasn’t harsh, it was merciful, it was rescue!

His eyes flew open, the darkness crawling away as he wildly looked around him. Where was he? Where did Walburga go- was she still here? What was happening! His vision was unfocussed, the walls were spinning. He scrambled back against the headboard, hands up to protect himself from any attacker-

“Easy, easy Sirius, it’s ok. It’s over.”

Looking up, he saw the kind, smiling face of Euphemia. Her gaze was full of relief and care as she put a hand to his cheek to calm him, murmuring softly to chase away the remnants of his horrific hallucinations. Without a second thought he threw himself at her, clinging to her desperately as if she might fade away and return him to that hell. He couldn’t control himself as he sobbed, burying his face into her shoulder. His entire body shook with each shuddering breath he tried to take, he couldn’t feel anything other than pins and needles all over.

Euphemia simply wrapped her arms tightly around him and held him close to her, hushing him as he broke down, her heart aching for him. She tucked his head safely under her chin as one hand reached up to run soothingly though his tousled curls.

“Shhh, it’s alright Sirius. You’re safe, I promise you you’re safe. You’re at Potter Manor, there is no one here to hurt you sweetheart.”

“It- It hurt s-so much!”

“I know, darling I know. But it’s gone now. And I will make sure that you are never, never hurt like that again. Shhh…”

Euphemia rocked the inconsolable teenager as she held him, wishing there was something more she could do. She settled that offering comfort was the best thing for now, she didn’t care that her collar was soaked through, Sirius was far more important. Fear still radiated off him in waves, but his breaths became less panicked as she rubbed his back fondly, whispering soothing words to him.

Safe, he felt safe. He’d forgotten what it felt like, but the secure, protective embrace cast away all those terrible images, those who had hurt him before were banished to the far reaches of his mind as he focussed on the present touch, filled with genuine affection that he had missed out on for all those years. The feeling of safety washed over him, and he never wanted it to end. He didn’t care if he was weak, he didn’t care if he was pathetic, he just needed comfort. He was terrified that Euphemia might just disappear if he opened his eyes and discovered it wasn’t real, so he kept them screwed shut as he whispered.

“I was- I was s-so scared Mum! P-please, please don’t leave me Mum!”

Euphemia felt her heart squeeze, and pressed a kiss to Sirius’ head as she spoke, with a conviction behind her voice that had always been there. “I won’t leave you Sirius. I’m not going anywhere darling. I am staying right here, and I’ll always be here if you need me. I never abandon my sons.” She paused, looking down at him lovingly. She hoped he understood she was telling the truth. “You will not be alone again Sirius, I promise. You have me, James, Fleamont. We are your family, sweetheart and we love you more than you realise.”

They sat like that for what felt like hours, until Sirius’ tears had subsided and calm returned as he settled back into bed. Euphemia had started to sing under her breath, an old lullaby she only half remembered, when the door swung open and a disheveled looking James barrelled into the room. When he saw his brother huddled under the ‘Get Better Blanket’, with red rimmed eyes and a hand clinging to their mother’s, he quickly ran over not even bothering to take off his coat as he took in the sight of Sirius.

“What’s wrong with him? Is he ok? What happened?!” The questions spilled from James’ mouth, almost jumbling the words as he stared worriedly. This was a far contrast from Sirius’ usual persona. The cocky, mischievous trickster armed with a smirk, never phased by anything and always coming up with some new hair-raising scheme. He looked so- vulnerable, and James didn’t like it. Euphemia turned to him and smiled warmly in greeting, giving him a reassuring kiss on the forehead to stop his panicked words.

“James, calm down sweetheart. Don’t upset yourself. It’s alright, Sirius just has a bad fever- there is no need to panic, dear.” Easier said than done, James’ hands fidgeted as he sat himself down at the foot of the bed. Sirius blinked blearily as he felt the bed shift under a new weight, looking across to see a blurry figure with signature crows nest hair. A smile made it’s way to his lips as he tried to focus.

“J’mes?”

The boy in question perked up, a smile of his own forming. “Yeah, it’s me Sirius. Pleased to see me?”

Sirius was slightly worried he was hallucinating again, confusion crossing his features as he tried to sit up again but was eased back by Euphemia. He tilted his head like a puzzled puppy as he croaked. “What- what are y’ doing here? S’pposed to be… somewhere.”

The teenager pushed his glasses back up his nose as he shuffled a little closer to Sirius, placing a comforting hand on his knee. “You mean with those stuffy old friends of dad? I left them behind. I got a letter from Mum saying you were sick, so I grabbed my broom and flew all the way back here. Dad’s on his way too. His friends were far too boring anyway.” He laughed, patting the sick teen’s knee as he looked towards the window in case Fleamont just so happened to be landing in the garden. But Sirius was still confused.

“Won’t you g’t in t-trouble?”

James turned back to him with his own look of bafflement, grabbing Sirius’ free hand and squeezing it tightly.

“Since when have I ever cared about trouble? Of course I was going to come back, you’re way more important than those annoying potioneers! When I heard you were sick I was really worried about you Pads. I still am really worried. Brother’s care about each other you know?”

This earned a tired but honest smile from Sirius, and he returned the squeeze on James’ hand.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

James practically refused to leave Sirius’ side for the duration of his illness until he was back to his confident troublemaking self (which thankfully took only a few days), keeping him company and watching over him when Euphemia was forced to attend to chores. He’d read to him when his throat was too strained to speak, he’d entertain him with his usual non-stop chatter, or just simply lie beside him and hold his hand when he was disorientated and delirious.

If there had been any doubt in Sirius’ mind that he was accepted, it was banished with the knowledge he had a kind father, a doting mother and a loving brother. He truly was part of the Potter Family.

[stuck-to-tmr-coz-newt]

Green & Yellow -chapter 4

Authors note: Okay, I know it has been almost a year, please don’t hate me, and please don’t hate the story. I never wanted to stop Green and Yellow because I have so many ideas for the plot but not enough time. For those of you whohaven’t read it, this is a TMR AU in Hogwarts! the reader is in Slytherin and Newt is in ;Hufflepuff. Please read the first few chapters here!

  chapter 3 ; chapter 2; chapter 1

“ Ms L/N, I said the potion needs to be sky blue, not military green”

You banged your face into the table in defeat. Potions had never been your strongest subject, while you found it quite cool and useful, you were more of an instinct person and precision was never your strength. Hence you’d often fumble during class. While in theory you were perfect, in practicals, your clumsiness took over.

“That’s the third time! HOW do you keep fumbling!?!” said Brenda from the next table. 

“Well” you gritted your teeth “Maybe I wouldn’t have, if my partner could be more of a help!” 

You looked pointedly at Minho who had been least bothered about the potion, instead he was half asleep, and occasionally talking to Thomas. You were so ready to smack him to his senses had the professor not been there. 

“ It’s funny how his whole personality changes between classes doesn’t it?” Newt whispered across your seat.

 You smiled, it was true. During Defence against Dark arts class Minho would pay full attention and even get pissed at people who disrupted the class at the slightest. Minho was very selective about his subjects, unfortunately those subjects were very few in number, the extra ones he had to take he paid barely any attention to (such as herbology and history of magic, which to be honest, you weren’t pretty great at either)

“ Minho, wake up! We can’t fail in practicals, we already have herbology for that.”

 Minho lifted his head and gazed at you 

“What the shuck is that Y/N, it looks like klunk.” 

“Well” you spat “ Maybe if like the others I had an extra pair of hands helping, it wouldn’t look like ‘klunk’!” 

“Fine woman!” Said Minho 

“ Hakuna your Tata’s, I’ll help you!” a few of your classmates giggled around you, but you ignored them and you restarted the preparation of the potion

Half an hour later class got over, you managed to make a potion which was almost sky blue with a little green in it. Minho told the professor that it was because of your and his dedication to Slytherin but the professor let you go because it had the desired effect…Sort of…

“Ugh why do I always mess up something in potions?” You whined 

“Because” said Brenda “ You always have Minho next to you or as your partner. Why don’t you try sitting with me or Aris? We’ll help you” you hugged Brenda “Aww thanks Brenda, next time definitely” she sighed

 “ That’s what you say every time ” 

You ignored the comment and went for your next class. Soon lunch came and you Brenda and Rachel headed for the dinning hall. A petite silky black haired fourth year girl from your house came up to you.

“ Sorry to bother you, I was just wondering, if, you would be going for the dance at Hogsmeade with Minho”

“Hogsmeade dance? That’s coming up” you replied a little confused 

“ Yes, two weeks from now remember?” said Brenda “It happens once in every two years, we didn’t have it last year.” 

You scratched your head “ Oh right, I completely forgot about it” you looked at your junior “ Yea no we haven’t decided anything yet, you can go take him”

 The blonde blushed and walked away quickly murmuring something along the lines of “ it’s not like that b-baka”.

“You sure you’re not going with him?” Asked Brenda. “ Why are you asking that, is it a rule that I must go with Minho for the dance? ”

“Well, it’s just that you went with him in first year and third year” said Brenda as she grabbed a juicy piece of chicken leg. 

“Yea but,” you said as you munched on a cheese croissant “that was because we didn’t find anyone else !”

 Brenda snorted “Every year at least two guys asked you out for that dance but you’d say no! And Minho was quite popular in third year so don’t give me that shit!” 

You shrugged and looked across the house tables “ Yea well, nobody worthwhile asked ”. 

Brenda followed your line of sight and saw Newt talking to a few oh his house mates. “Well, if they don’t ask, suck up your pride and ask the worthwhile ones, stop being such a snooty Slytherin”

You blushed and turned to Brenda “Hey!!” But she just laughed. That evening you went to the grounds to fly. It had been a while since you had taken out your Firebolt and the breeze was just perfect for a good ride.

You placed your Firebolt on the ground

 “Up”

 It zoomed into your hand. You smirked 

“someone’s eager” and you jumped onto it and zoomed up. 

You flew upwards till you reached a good altitude and had a good view of the grounds and the castle and then you started flying around aimlessly. Occasionally taking a few swivels and turns. You zoomed past Hufflepuff’s tower and that was when you heard someone call out your name

“ Y/N! Over here!” It was Newt. 

He was flying behind you with a bright smile on his face which made you almost bang into a half open window.

“Newt! How nice to see you up here” He caught up to you and steadied his pace with yours

 “Yea well, I saw something interesting fly past my window, so I decided to go check it out”

 You laughed “You flew out through your window?!?”

 He shrugged “Yea well, Maybe Thomas has really rubbed off on me..” 

 “well it’s fine, I wouldn’t mind some company”

“ Well then love, I’ll be the gentle man I am and accompany you on this magical ride.”

 You smirked “okay” and then you zoomed ahead leaving Newt to eat your dust. “Bloody hell!” He laughed and quickly zoomed after you.

The two of you flew around playing cat and mouse, Newt usually caught up to you, but just as he’d think it was over you’d take a deep turn or just randomly stop mid air for a second and get out. 

“Shucking hell, you’re a lil minx on the broom” 

You laughed and winked at Newt 

“Should that be a problem for you? You’re part of the quidditch team aren’t you?”

“ Yea well” he replied and flew above you “ I ain’t a seeker, and also” he suddenly appeared right in front of you almost nose to nose

 “ I’m wondering, why aren’t you?”

You blushed at the close proximity between the two of you. His eyes reflected yours “ What pretty eyes he has” you thought, “Warm, yet a hint of some hidden emotion, and his lips, they look so kissable”  But before you could think further his husky voice broke your line of thought. 

“Y/N, why don’t you join the quidditch team?” 

You cleared your throat and tried to fly passed him but he kept stopping you. 

“Na-ah, not letting you go till you tell me”  

You huffed “Fine, it’s because I don’t want to lose and I don’t like playing by the rules”

 "Wow, now you sound like those rotten rich Slytherin brats”

“ I maybe rich and I am from Slytherin, but I’m not rotten you shank! ”

 You then reached your hand out and stroked Newts cheek catching him off gaurd and then flew past him

 “ I just don’t like having rules to follow when I’m flying! It’s the time I feel absolutely free!” 

Newt followed “So what? You can fly otherwise, there’s another thrill to flying as a team in coordination and helping each other” 

You sighed “You don’t get it do you” and you slow lifted your feet upto the broom “What the-” said Newt in shock. 

“My broomstick is the only partner I want when flying, it helps me clear my mind” you were standing on your broom stick, surfing the wind. “

She’s one wild rare creature muttered newt as he positioned himself below ready to catch you.

You smiled “ No need for that Newtie” then you jumped from your broom.

 You heard Newt tell your name as your broom fell towards the ground, 

“ Y/N, I’ll catch you!” he yelled , but to his surprise you landed right back on your Firebolt with a smirk plastered on your face. 

“Bloody hell how-”

 "The Wesley’s jokes shop, the old man George is really sweet to me!“ 

He ruffled his hair “Well love, no more surprises, you almost gave me a heart attack there”

You gave him a toothy grin “Well you asked-" 

 Newt nodded "I think I get it, although, if you don’t want people to fly with why did you agree to fly with me?" 

You blushed "Because you’re special…One of the special people I mean”

 "Well” he replied “ Am I special enough to be a possible dance partner?”

 You blushed, thoughts about the Hogsmeade dance came to your head, but before you could respond some one yelled

 "Newt!“ It was Thomas

“There you are! What are you doing? If you two head and further y'all will reach the castle barriers!”

“Sorry mate” Newt replied “Didn’t realize we had wandered that far!”

The two of you flew towards the ground. Thomas was standing with Teresa, she smiled politely at you and you smiled back. Thomas smiled at you

“Hey Y/N, so you’re the girl Newt jumped off the window for”

Newt punched Thomas on the head in embarrassment as Teresa giggled

“ Shut up Tommy” 

“Ignore Tom, he doesn’t realize what he says”

“It’s the truth! he jumped out through his window room when he saw her fly by!”

“ Yea, but you make it sound like I jumped to my death”

“I didn’t say that!”

“ It’s implied Tom”

You smiled “ No wonder Minho likes hanging out with them” Then Thomas shifted his attention back to you 

“ By the way Y/N, I didn’t know the two of you were close, the two of you have been talking a lot recently, especially since the last time we visited Hogsmeade.” 

Newt seemed a little hesitant to answer that so you replied non-chalantly

“ We were friends since third year Thomas, it’s just that you kept hogging all of Newt’s time “

Thomas snorted “ You mean Minho hogged yours”

“He really does not” you said in defense “Especially since third year, it’s well known he’s part of the ivy trio or whatnot”

Teresa smirked “ Is someone jealous?”

Newt frowned at that comment, but you paid little attention

“No my point is, Minho and I aren’t the problem,rather your attachment to Newt. Did you know there were rumors going around that the two of you are a couple? They even gave you a ship name, Newtmas”

Newt and Thomas started blabbering on how that wan’t true, and how there was a logical explanation for both of them being caught in the bath at the same time (even though they were in different houses) and Teresa commented on how Thomas almost got expelled for that. You laughed at the comments and protested being passed among the three when you felt someone walk up behind you.

“Min?” you turned to see Minho smiling with his latest edition of the firebolt which his father had gifted him.

“Hey Y/N, funny to see you here! didn’t know you were joining us.”

“Joining y’all where?”

“To the dead heads” said Thomas

“You mean the forbidden forest?”

“ Yea… but there’s an explanation”

“which is”

“We can’t tell” said Teresa in a tone which hinted no more should be said. 

You looked at her suspiciously and then at Minho.

“Min?”

“ It’s nothing, she’s right you should stay out of it”

You sighed “Newt?”

Newt gave you half a smile “It’s nothing, just some stupid stuff, we’l catch ya later eh love?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, you knew they were hiding something from you but you walked away. They were the ivy trio +one what did you expect? but deep inside a little part of you wanted to be accepted by them, just like Brenda.

“ This is silly” you thought to yourself, “Minho is and probably always will be one of my best friends, and Newt… well Newt and you were slowly getting closer, and that was good enough right?” but then you remembered Brenda’s words

“Well, if they don’t ask, suck up your pride and ask the worthwhile ones, stop being such a snooty girl from Slytherin”

You laughed “Snooty Slytherin girl eh? well won’t that be news when she asks the Golden boy of Hufflepuff”

Meanwhile somewhere in the dead head-

Thomas walked pushed a thick branch ahead to allow Teresa to walk through

 “ Do you guys think we should have told Y/N? I mean she seemed kinda hurt”

“ I don’t think so” said Teresa “ She’d get us into trouble”

Newt scoffed “ And you’ve never almost gotten us into trouble Teresa? honestly I think we can trust her. We shouldn’t have left her like that after Minho blabbered some part of it out”

“Give it a rest” said Minho “ Focus on where we’re going, Y/N will be fine, she’s used to me being like this”

“Speaking of you and Y/N” Teresa gave Newt a quick look and continued ”Are you going with her for the dance in Hogsmeade? ”

“ Haven’t thought much about it” replied Minho “ But yea probably, we always go together”

Newt gritted his teeth “ But what is some guy asks her this time to go with him?”

Minho laughed “It’s lil Y/N, guys always ask her, but she’s not interested in them, pretty sure she’ll say no and I’ll end up taking her anyway. Its been like that since we were five, I had to scare all the boys who bullied her because they found her cute. Though she never realized that, she just cried because they pulled her pony tail and took her toys”

Before Teresa or Newt could continue the conversation though Thomas stopped them “ Okay guys, I think from here on we need to be really quiet okay? now lets go” Teresa and Minho nodded following silently behind Thomas, but Newt stood in his position for a moment,just staring down. 

“Buddy, you coming?” asked Minho

Newt snapped out of his thought and nodded “Of course mate”

[moonbelt]

»the infinite possibility of us

↳   somewhat soulmate au | college au | lowkey lost-friends to lovers au

pairing » kim taehyung | reader

genre » soft angst + fluff + sexual themes + warlock!taehyung

word count » 14.787

author’s note » this was born out of a need to read something magical bc i am positively obssesed with soulmate aus

Let's get the first misconception out of the way: you are not a witch. Or at least you're not the most conventional one or one with any type of materializing and brewing powers and the whatnot. You do have some magical prowess, that cannot be disputed, but you cannot, in fact, fly on brooms, make actual use of frogs' feet or use a cauldron to prepare anything but regular plain store-bought soup. You can, however, see true love —soulmates if you will.

One touch with any body and you can envision can see decades down the line, maybe not even that far ahead, to when they'll meet The One they are destined for. The person that the stars and the universe have decided to attach to them for all eternity. It's a funny thing, love is. It's not supposed to be tangible. It is meant to be felt, breathed in, experienced and lived in, but you wouldn't really know that considering your ill-fated fate of having never fallen in love. Or rather your inability to.

It's like your organ is defective. You have the ability to see true love, the greatest of magic this world has to offer (at least this is what you tell yourself) and yet you can never seem to see any love like that for yourself. And sure, you believe that love comes in different forms. You love your family dog, Dex, you love your sisters, you love (the term is loose here) the supernatural. You love trees and the smell of rain. But the kind of love that cannonades through your entire body? Nah. You've seen it when you touch people and perceive the one they're going to be with. You understand it in their eyes and in their smiles in the few whatever seconds you get in the vision. But personally, you can't really explain it without cliché descriptions.

And look, you're not complaining. It's ah-mazing watching the people you match end up together and ride into the sunset, guaranteed to a lifetime of happiness and forever and lazy mornings together. It would be infamously weird, not to even mention horrendous, if a self-proclaimed love doctor doesn't believe in love at all. Truly, your heart infinitely swells just at the memory. And you love what you do. You see it as an obligation to use your gifted talent to help others even though there's no physical way you can help yourself.

It's a side effect of being able to see soulmates, you've since discovered. No matter how hard you run your palms across your arms, you see nothing. Blank space, endless oblivion, no love in sight. More often times than not, it leaves you in a bout of loneliness and the ever-present feeling that you'd end up alone. Imagine that. A matchmaker alone living with twenty-four dogs. Not that there's anything wrong with dogs but. . . It's the principle of the situation.

Think about the good things! You force yourself to remember your well-thought mantra instead of falling deep into the pit of never-ending why's. Once you fall into it, it takes a strong level of self-awareness to bring you back out.

Anyways, you're not a witch. No matter how long you hang around the Witchcraft practicing folk, you're always reminded about your shorthanded-ness. Your sister, Ionia, takes the head of the circle during this coven meeting (as she does in every gathering, she isthe leader so it's only natural.) Your family's coven (sans you) is made up of thirteen Wiccans, all who sit in the circle in the middle of the renovated "conference" room.

Really, it's just the living room with all the sofas pushed out to the edges, far enough not to disrupt any witchy stuff happening in the center but close enough that you and your other sister, Sara, can push them back into place once the meeting is over.

Today the topic is on determining if it is necessary, in the words of coven member Park Jimin, for magical folk to keep living under the radar of other species. Other species meaning regular non-magical humans. It's the most debated subject you've heard to date. Why must witches and other mystic beings hide from mere humans? The word mere used with insurmountable contempt and disdain.

You already know the answer Ionia is going to give in return. In fact, you could write a whole book on Ionia's stance on the matter. Although not all supernatural creatures are as righteous as your sister, Ionia truly has her moral compass hanging on her version of the good spectrum. And just like every other night, you are not allowed to partake in the discussion happening in place. You have a lot you want to say but alas, you cannot speak out of turn. That would be un-magical of you. If anyone gets that drift.

Being a seer of love gives you no brownie points in your family's line of outrageously strong witches. As it so happens, the witchy bloodline skipped you. It's taken years for you to come to with the fact that your parents weren't exactly expecting someone so... powerless. Their own kid no less. Just to be clear, there's absolutely nothing wrong with you predicting (with a hundred percent accuracy of course) another person's love. It isa good type of magic. Maybe not the kind of magic written in the grimoires and spell books littering your house, but it was a great magic nonetheless. You swear on it.

It doesn't matter what anyone says, you know your magic is enough. However, it is not enough to land you a say in Beyond Dark coven's politics. In fact, you're not even among the coven. You're more of an honorary member. Like you've made emphasis on before: you're not a witch, warlock, whatever. You're not it. You simply get a pass at being here since it's held in your living room and has been led by your family for centuries. And your sisters can't exactly kick you out once a week, you'll riot.

Another win for genetics! But you guess it could be worse. Imagine not being born with a speck of spectacular at all. Oh, the horror. You are glad the witches and warlocks in Beyond Dark don't go around wearing that absurd black pointed hat that a few other Wiccan folk have yet to dissolve from their attires. It makes it way easier to blend in. You're also happy that the meetings are held at your house. It gives you a good reason to be more than necessarily invested in witchy affairs.

"For the last time, Jimin," Ionia sighs out. It gets tiring, repeating the same explanation ever so often. "Our abilities are like every other thing; money, lust, power. They can be abused if used in the wrong situations and besides, we're not supposed to go around rubbing in our talents in humans faces. However great they may have been, look at what happened to our ancestors."

Ooh, she's pulling out the witch trial card. Ionia only ever does that when she's frustrated. Most times she likes to pretend that most of the founding witches and warlocks weren't murdered by conniving humans. It's like she's playing a game of erase-the-memory with herself because everyone else remembers it. The laws of witchcraft would never let anyone try to forget it. But Ionia does her damn best and you'll admit, she's pretty good at it too.

Jimin huffs back into the floor, his butt sinking deeper into the cushion pillow. He shouldn't feel too bad. Being a new member of the coven, he has no idea how things work. He'll come to learn that Beyond Dark, although unconventional in its ways, has certain traditions that have never been breached. Like the fact that the head of the coven has always hailed from your family —hence Ionia's leadership. And most times, what she says goes.

The meeting ends soon after that, Ionia promising to hold the next one the same time next week Thursday as usual. You're too busy silently pushing the couches back into place, listening in on the stray ending conversations of other people when there's a knock on the front door. Sara looks up at you as she drops a wooden table back into position near the TV. "You expecting anybody?"

Shaking your head, you release your grip from the back of a brown sofa. "No. You?"

"Nope." Sara turns to Ionia who's deep in a gesticulation match with warlock Namjoon, the somewhat vice leader of Beyond Dark. "Hello? Miss Leader?"

Sara gets a special kick out of annoying your eldest sister but you can't say it's not funny. Sara and Ionia are amazing witches and even amazingly more older sisters. There had been a time when you'd hoped your magic would grow exponentially enough so that you could be on the same league as them but, that never worked out. You would never be able to win in a physical fight with Ionia, so you stick to petty things like getting on each other's nerves.

Ionia rolls her eyes. Being the first born, she likes to have this air of nonchalance and reduce most fights to child play. Which it is. It's just fun child play and sometimes you wish Ionia would be able to see that. But all the magic in the world can't remove the stick up her ass, so there's that.

You go back to arranging the living room with Sara. The person at the door is obviously not for you. You're not allowed to have anyone over on Thursday nights. Coven meetings are serious business, even if half the time all they do is talk about failed experimentations with frog's skin or plain supernatural gossip.

You avoid coming in contact with anyone as you put back grimoires into shelves unless it's absolutely necessary. No reason to go on a trip of finding out their soulmate unless they explicitly ask you to. Especially when they're already dating someone. Fuck, that's the worst. They get positively angry when you tell them that what you see in your vision isn't the one they are currently with. You can handle being called a lot of words but a fraud isn't one of them. If there's anything in your life you can bank on, it's your abilities and right now your inner gut senses are going haywire telling you to raise your head up from the uninteresting journal entry about the dangers of Horned Wasps on a full moon.

Although your power isn't the greatest, other things considered, you don't go around hiding it. Any supernatural can take one look at you and know you have magic abilities just not enough. Word has gotten around the rumor mill that you are a "teller of love," their words not yours.

On a good day, you could get twelve requests to reaffirm someone's fears of never being alone. On a bad day, ten of those people leave you with more insults about you being more of a stupid whack than a love teller. Understandably so, you didjust tell them that their current partner was a no-go. Is there ever going to be a way to let down people easy? If there is, you don't know it.

It's when you place back the leather-bound book and scan around the room for anything amiss that you see him. Your eyes almost slide past him but, you stutter and then freeze in holy-hot-guy headlights. The second your eyes connect, hot stinging sensations zip line through your body, making your breath catch in your throat. The experience is so unnerving and not to mention unexpected, that all you can seem to do is only stand there, staring at him with your hand unsteadily raising to your chest where your heart is struggling to break free.

A current crackles between the two of you, effectively raising the hairs along your spine to prickly attention. Strangely, the guy has his mouth agape, staring back at you, as if he too feels this bizarre kick. Which must be inherently wrong; no one, regardless of gender, has ever gaped at you. And you've never felt this concrete emotion in your chest before with anyone. So yeah, maybe it's just that you happen to be staring at him and he just also happens to be staring at you too. The only problem is, he isn't turning away.

Even more, stranger is it feels as if you've known him for years. Which is ridiculous considering you can swear you'd remember if you'd met him before. Even though he does look vaguely familiar. A guy this beautiful can't be easily forgotten. And guys this gorgeous can't be easily hallucinated either.

You don't know why you feel this pull, but you don't like it. Nor do you like the way something inside you gives a little —almost illogical —delighted squeal, as if you've been mentally scanning for men and have just found the perfect one. Which again is ridiculous because it doesn't matter who it is. If you have to touch your crush and find out that they have someone at the end of the line that's not you, well let's just say, that's the ultimate buzzkill.

Moreover, he's not the type that you usually used to date. Not that you really have a type. You dated safe guys, guys who you knew weren't really invested in you. Which was fine. You weren't inherently devoted to them either.

But this particular guy might not be your normal type, but his eyes are so magnificently captivating that it makes you stall for a moment too long. You have no idea what color they are, you can't see from this far back, but they are a commanding pair beneath arched, dark brows. And even from your position, his long lashes are visible. Fates, those eyes are picturesque. And formidably daunting. You feel his stare slither through your body like a slow, hot stroke. And shit, he's staring at you like he knows you and like you should know him too. And now you're wondering why you're having a hard time deciphering how.

He's talking with Ionia and Namjoon and you know, you can feel it somewhere in your bones, that he is a warlock. A powerful one at that. The aura bathing around him is far from little and it is far from unused. For some reason, he missed this meeting and if the sly-apologetic smile gracing his face is anything to go by, he wants forgiveness.

You scoff, Ionia has a wand-shaped button wedged up her ass. There's no way she'll let him off the hook. Even if Namjoon persuades her too. That's just the way your sister is. So, imagine your shock when you see her smile back at him, give him a pat on the back, and then turn to the rest of the dwindled congregation and say:

"Everyone, this is our new coven member; Kim Taehyung."

From somewhere in your receded memory, you remember that Beyond Dark had been looking for a new witch to replace Ms. Orland who passed away a few weeks ago. Odd numbers are widely recognized as bad omen within the witchy community. Thirteen wiccans just isn't how the coven rolls. And here is the new materialized fourteenth member.

You'd been expecting an oldie to replace Ms. Orland. What's the saying? Old for old? What you hadn't been expecting is this. He's tall – not ridiculously so but you can tell that he has some giant blood mixing in his bloodstream. He has to at least be six foot four or more. He looks comfortably at ease with his skin and massive, broad shoulders yet perfectly proportioned muscles. And by Fate, he is gorgeous. Glinting brown eyes, chiseled features, sun-kissed skin. A dark green, backward baseball cap covers most of his light brown hair. It's on the longer side, you notice, with ends sticking out the back and tickling his collar.

As if he feels the strong emotion rising between the two of you, his cheek twitches. He takes one step forward into the center of the living room and flashes everyone in attendance a half-lopsided grin that can rival any type of paralyzing spell. And even though he's looking at everyone else, the goosebumps on your arms can't seem to calm the heck down.

"Hi," he says and you swear three witches die at his voice.

By Gods, his voice is a smooth luscious rumble that sends hot shivers zapping through you. You shoot your gaze downwards and stare at your converses as if they are the most interesting thing in the world. It doesn't matter how you feel. Whatever this thing is, is something concocted by your mind to play tricks on you. You've long since come to terms with the fact that having a relationship is out the cards. Oh, but did you try though. You'd tried the serial dating thing but it was kinda hard to kiss someone when the only thoughts swirling in your head were those of someone else. Ugh, someone drag you away from this pit before you get buried.

Like magnets, the few witches around gravitate towards him. Sara nudges your shoulder to get back to work and you grumble all the way as you do it. But even then, you can't shake the uncanny feeling in your chest that you've seen him before. Possibly a face in the crowd that you don't remember? No, worse. What if you've seen his face among the countless people you've come in contact with in your visions? A horrible impression sinks into your chest.

Not that its much effort, but you do your best to not cross eyes with him again. None of that jittery, knees buckling nonsense. You know better than to get invested. In fact, you should already be prepared to live life with your twenty-four dogs in solitude. You can hear his voice though, the charming timbre vibrating throughout the room. And you can't really focus on anything else.

"Do you remember him?" Sara breaks you out of your self-induced trance.

"Huh?"

She uses a thumb to point at Taehyung's general direction. "Him."

You shake your head and squint your eyes, confused. "Am I supposed to?"

"He can't be that forgettable." Sara runs her words in circles. "Doesn't his name ring any bells?"

"Ter, spit it out already."

Holding out her arms in surrender, your sister flops down on the soft cushion of the sofa. A deliriously mischievous smile lighting her lips. "He was our neighbor like ages ago. You know back when we lived in Mom & Dad's house? Tae and his older brother lived next to us. Oh, shit, you really don't remember? You had the biggest crush on him when you were, like, ten."

That's not possible. That's not absolutely fucking possible. You have stellar memory. While some people can forget what they had for breakfast a few hours ago, you could remember things in clear perfection. Well, not much of faces because you've seen far too many in one lifetime, but everything else? Heck yeah. You could remember the shape of the pizza you had on your eleventh birthday. A rectangular one. See? Flawless memory.

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did. You were ten. I was seventeen. I'm sure I have better recall of that, hmm?"

You roll your eyes. Sara is most definitely pulling your legs. There's no way you would have forgotten this crushof yours. And you use the term crush loosely. "Delusional much?"

She shrugs, black hair cascading down her shoulders at the action. "Anyways, Namjoon is Taehyung's brother's friend. Taehyung needs a new coven considering his last one got disbanded by internal disputes and well, voilà."

Here you are indeed. Your lips twist up into something snarky. "So, what? You want me to run to him and rekindle whatever misplaced crush I had?"

"Misplaced?"

"Obviously. I'm not destined to be with someone. He is. Whatever crush," you crook your pointer and middle fingers to emphasize on the word. "I had was stupid. It's not possible and I'm not playing a losing game."

Sara cocks her head to the side. "You still believe that?"

It's not like you have a choice. You refuse to give your heart to someone and then have it handed back to you bruised, battered and crushed. You believe in love, clearly. However, you don't believe in pushing fate. And if your fate is a life without the romantic type of love then... it sucks. But, you will learn to adapt. You have to learn to. Jealousy is an ugly thing and you don't want it feeding into your blood. Now if only your heart could get the memo a little quicker.

Searching for any kind of way to get out of this conversation where all your limits are being tested, you pull at the braided blue bracelet on your wrist. "You're in charge of dinner today. Are we having anything good?"

"Shit," Sara sits up straighter, and you know she completely forgot that today was her day to feed your meager trio of a family.

"Yeah, shit."

"I could order pizza?"

"Like what we had yesterday? And the day before that?" You tap your lower lip for emphasis and dramatics. "Oh! And the one prior to that too."

She reaches up and smacks your shoulder a little bit too hard and you wince but don't allow the smile slip off your face. "Shut up. Do you have something better in mind?"

For a bunch of spectacular witches, your sisters are hopelessly lost in the arts of cooking. You guess years of brewing potions could do that to you. Even with their age, burned toast is the best they can do. But you weren't exactly affluent in the cooking side of things either so you can't judge. Correction: you can't judge a lot.

"Yup," you grab your phone from your back pocket and check the time. Eight fifty-four. Nice. "Vee's is still open."

Sara's eyes start to mist with tears. "I could cry."

Honestly, you see where she's coming from. Food at Vee's could make anyone weepy by sheer amazedness alone. Vee's is a local restaurant that has a beautiful cuisine to match its equally unique name, but the main keeper though? It's open bright and early until sometime around one a.m., which is a blessing. Gods know how long these coven meetings run along for. You're not surprised with the amount of gossip they could talk about but you're so glad it's over earlier than usual.

"I'll get us take out." You offer solely based on the fact that you don't want to be in the same vicinity as the new warlock that's making his rounds talking to people. With this new information reeling in your brain, you don't want to be around him anymore. You're on a mission to deny, deny, and deny this connection to the grave.

"I love you," your sister says as she places an arm on your shoulder. "You're my favorite."

You laugh at that, checking your pockets for your wallet. "I'm always your favorite."

"As long as you don't tell Ionia."

"Don't tell me what?"

Sara makes a choking sound in the back of her throat that sends you into another fit of laughter. Ionia has materialized right behind her, arms across her chest and her face tilted to the side like she knows something the two of you don't. You do a mock salute to the two of them, excusing yourself from the sibling rivalry that's about to happen. "Bye!"

None of them stop you as Sara flies deep into trying to explain to your eldest sister that she meant absolutely nothingwrong with her statement. Ionia won't buy it, but whatever. You feel a pair of eyes digging deep into the side of your head but you will yourself to not look up and instead, sneak out from the front door. Well, not really sneak as much as you slink around bodies unnoticed except by this one person.

The night air is cool against your arms and you're thankful that it's almost winter. There's only so much humidity you can take. You nibble on your bottom lip as you begin the way to Vees.

Taehyung. Taehyung. Taehyung. Why on earth can't you remember him? Yeah, okay let's assume you believe your sister's revelation. You should be able to remember things that happened when you were ten. Heck, you recall a whole lot of things that happened when you were eleven. Your parents had fought in The Great Wiccan War and had sacrificed their lives, along with thousands of others, for the safety of the witches and warlocks at home. They fought against the hatred of other supernatural beings paired with influential humans that wanted the same magic, the same power. They wanted everything without actually being of witchcraft practicing folk. Ironic and disgusting at the same time.

You may not be a witch but the memory stings just as much. But now that you try to dig deeper into your valve of memories, nothing else pops up. Nada. Zilch. Empty. And the more you try, the more you start to feel a headache popping up. In fact, now that you're actually indulging, you realize that all your memories from then are fuzzy. The only reason you know your parents fought in the war is because your sisters told you... Now that you try to evoke a picture of your parents from memory, you find out that you can't. And the admission leaves you more disturbed than before.

The lights of Vee's bring you out of your reverie and you sigh in relief. Vee's has an old retro feeling that sinks into your bones and makes you love it the more you stand in it. And oh gods, the food. Good food to put you out of your sour mood and also, you hope, help you stop thinking about Kim Taehyung for more than godly normal. You take your usual place in a pale blue booth situated near the window and wait for someone to come over.

The place isn't fully packed but it isn't exactly empty either. People in their lonesome inhabiting too-big booths just like yourself. Ah, you wish Sara had come along with you, but then she'd talk your ears off... but then again that seems a lot better than being left alone in your thoughts. Your thoughts aren't being amicable tonight.

A girl with a high ponytail asks you if you want anything and after explaining to her with utmost care the way you take your coffee, she zips away with your order. You use the heels of your palms to rub your eyes. You are so not going to bed tonight. Your sisters can wait a few hours before dinner. If they get really hungry, they can order pizza. A win-win for everyone.

It's as you wait for your cup of caffeine that you hear the little ding of the door sound and against every feeling in the pit of your stomach, you look up.

Ah, the Fates are most certainly after you tonight.

You're not a firm believer in coincidences, but this has to be somewhat by chance because, in the past years, you've never come across him in this diner before. In fact, you've come across him twice today more than you've ever encountered him in ten years. His eyes scan the diner and light when he sees the person working behind the counter.

"Jungkook!" the grin on his face is wide.

Jungkook, you guess, looks up from his notepad and shoots him an equally wide smile. Gods, so much smiling is going around you feel your cheeks burning from the impacts already. "I thought you couldn't make it tonight?"

"Was in the area and thought I'll bless you with my beautiful face."

"Oh, that'sthe reason. Guess the triple-decker pancakes aren't a viable option?"

Taehyung barks out a laugh before responding with something witty yet apologetic at the same time. While you take a closer look at Jungkook and see it. The difference in magical abilities. He definitely isn't a warlock or anything of that caliber, but he looks about thisclose to being on the elf spectrum. Elves aren't tiny, you know this, and he undoubtedly isn't smallish-ly built. But the pointiness of his ears gives it away.

Like an intervention, your coffee finally makes an appearance. You thank the girl and manage to pull a smile as you take it. One sip. That's all you need to get through this bizarre night. You sink deeper into the booth's seat, willing yourself to banish with the air. Alas, that doesn't happen. Alas, Taehyung eyes meet yours in a colossal of moments.

You don't know why but you decide to glare, arching one brow in the same way Ionia does when she's peeved with something you've done. Having been on the receiving end of this look, you know firsthand about its effectiveness... On most people. This guy though? The barely veiled amusement in his eyes expands instead of contracting. In retaliation, he raises one of his own eyebrows. Taunting you.

This time he whispers something to Jungkook before making his way to you. You curl your fingers into a fist in a dire attempt to stop your body from squirming. You're not fazed by him. Not at all. Nope –

"__." His voice is low and steady and oh' how it blitzes your eardrums.

And then through the murkiness of your memories, it hits you square in the chest: this inaudibly amused, slightly introspective look, you've seen it before. In fact, you've seen it countless times. In your dreams maybe but in real life too. It's like watching a movie replay in your mind. Days spent behind a house in the backyard. Bandanas tied around your foreheads. Fuck, you've seen him before. Regardless of what Sara said, you believe her prior. You doknow him. Not in the same way though. The guy playing in the film in your mind is too young, too skinny, too short, too familiar. The guy in front of you now is a hundred ways different.

The glare slips off your face. Replaced by something indescribable because you're not sure what it even is. Luckily, he speaks again.

"Is this seat taken?"

Even if it was, you think you would have a hard time telling him no. You nod your head, not trusting your voice just yet. Smiling, he takes the seat opposite you, his frame eating up space. You pluck a menu from the side of the table and pretend to mull over your order. You know the whole menu like the palm of your hand, but that does nothing to deter you from staring at anything but his face.

Without looking up, you take a hasty sip of your coffee. "So, Taehyung," you air his name out for the first time. "It's been a while."

When he doesn't answer immediately, you pull your gaze up. His expression is guarded and you have the sudden urge to dive under the table and never be seen again. So much for trying to come off as cool, calm and collected. The three C's which you are not.

He blinks, dragging his focus from your lips to your eyes. "Tae."

"What?"

"My name," he clarifies. "I go by Tae."

"Ah," you fiddle with the corner of a laminated menu. "So, I'm not allowed to call you Taehyung? Is that only for friends or something?" It's a joke but you're not positive your delivery is executed properly.

He shakes his head but doesn't jest or twitch, just keeps his attention steady on your face. "Didn't mean it that way. If you want to call me Taehyung, then go for it." Before you can ask him why he had insisted on Tae in the first place, he cocks his head to the side and continues on. "I was under the impression that you'd forgotten me."

Holy-crapping-shit. "And what made you think that?"

"Sara."

"Bitch," you mutter on your breath. Of course, Sara would be the one to cast your dirty laundry out to dry. She probably told him all smug-like too. Ugh, you want to drink a sleepiness potion right about now. Just pass out for the rest of the day. But potions like that are ridiculously expensive... demand and supply and all that.

Taehyung laughs now. "Lovely vocabulary."

You shrug, for some reason feeling easier in your skin than before. "I take full credit."

"As you should. It's a hard thing having siblings."

Finally, an ally. "Tell me about it. If I had more powers, I'll challenge them to a duel or something."

At your statement, he furrows his eyebrows. "You're not a witch?"

"You can't tell? You can't see the insurmountable difference between your level and mine?" You don't intend to come off as insulted as you do, but this topic gets you on edge faster than any other.

Taehyung shakes his head, not sure how to approach this. "I mean I know you have magic but I didn't go around weighting it against anything.

Oh, how you wish the rest of the supernatural community were as open as him. You deny the butterflies cocooning to life inside your belly. You rake your teeth across your bottom lip, contemplating if you should just tell him. Then your ears burn as you realize you just brought his undivided attention to your mouth. Like some goddess of sexuality has possessed your body, your tongue snakes out and wets your lips. His gaze snaps to your mouth, and his eyes narrow.

Damn, you feel it again. That measured, heated sizzle fighting to burst out from your lungs. It's like the air around the two of you is charged. So impossibly electrocuted. This guy makes you wet with just one look and it's ridiculously unbecoming of you but you don't know to fight the feeling. Or rather, you're not sure you want to.

You flatten your hands against the table and force your body to cool. Is it just you, or is he a little bit closer? Close enough that you can see his eyes are a sharp shade of brown, lighter around his cornea before expanding out with a starburst pattern.

"I'm a matchmaker."

"A match... maker?"

"No, no. Matchmaker. Together. You've never heard of a matchmaker before?"

Tae leans back into the cushioning of the booth, his tongue poking the side of his cheek for a moment. "The type that can see true love?"

Pride blossoms in your chest and spreads to your cheeks. That's the only conceivable reason as to why you're now grinning like an idiot. "The one and only."

"Ooh," he says in admiration, clapping his hands together. "That's amazing."

"I aim to please." Crossing one leg over the other, you take a mock bow. You're enjoying yourself, which is a shock because you never thought you'd be this comfortable with someone other than family. You don't want to get ahead of yourself but a tingly buzz lights across your skin and your brain short-circuits before it can get the message.

"How does it work though? Can you look into someone's eyes and just tell?" Taehyung runs his fingertips across his jaw as he nods his head. "Like in That's So Raven except what you see is visualizations of their future lover?"

For a second you get caught up in the movement, in the strong line of his jaw and his long, nimble fingers. You can't remember ever thinking about guys' fingers in terms of sexiness before, but Taehyung —Tae — definitely has sexy fingers.

You shake your head, fighting the heat creeping up your body. In your life, you've never met someone that actually wants to know about what you can do. It's always been a that's-a-cool-story-but-not-really reaction. This is highly unexpected and you can't believe how easily drawn you are to this guy. He's virtually a stranger.

"That'd be cool. One touch," your fingers that are splayed on the tabletop are dangerously close to his that are interlocked together. If you shift just a breath away... "And I'll know."

Shit. You really don't know what the hell you're doing. Because it sounds a great deal like flirting to you. Instinct tells you that flirting with Kim Taehyung isn't something to do flippantly. And there's the fact that you know he's not the one for you. You know this, you know this, so why is your chest suddenly pounding a smidgen too loud?

You can tell that he wants you to find out about his soulmate but you don't want to. If you do then this, whatever this is, won't happen anymore. You'd be forced to crawl back into your shell and hope for something else – someone else. Somewhere deep in your bones, you know this feeling isn't going to come back. You didn't feel like this with any of the boys you dated in high school. You didn't feel it with Yoongi, your previous boyfriend that you parted with because you found his soulmate in the flesh. Nothing good is going to come out of testing the fire that is Kim Taehyung and yet, you can't stop yourself from diving in deeper.

"Anywhere?" He inquires, his voice as whispery as yours.

"Anywhere what?"

He licks his lips, leaning forward on the table with his elbow. "Do you have to touch a specific part of the body?"

You blink continuously. Is he... still flirting? You can't tell anymore. "I don't know. I haven't tried before. Usually, it's the arms."

His lips quirk up. "You should find out just how extensive your abilities are."

"Is this some spazzy way to get me to touch you?"

A hint of a dare flashes in his eyes. "There are a few other people in here. You could go ask them. But I figure since we know each other..."

"Barely."

"You'd rather ask a stranger?"

"You're assuming I really care that much." He's also assuming that he isn't as much as a stranger as everyone else in this diner.

His grin is blindingly white. "I know you're curious." His gaze flickers to your hands. "You're fiddling them with the want to know. You used to do that a lot when we were younger."

Huh, you didn't remember that. You honestly thought it was a habit you acquired sometime in high school. You smooth your fingers to prove a point and exhale roughly. He's watching you. Patient. Calculating. Tempting.

Your fingers clasp around your coffee mug and you down it all in one go. Fuck, where's the waitress? You haven't ordered anything substantial and you have a feeling in your gut that any moment from now it's going to growl loudly. Instead, you growl at him. You swear something else is possessing your body this night. You're never like...this. You are a sophisticated guru of love. That's what you are. So why, oh why, are you staring at him like you'd actually go through with what he's planning?

Your gaze flicks down from his eyes to his lips. His perfectly carved lips. You definitely want to know the feeling of his lips on yours. Wild and impossibly stupid. Taehyung must notice your diverted attention but instead of calling you out, he simply arcs an eyebrow at you. "C'mon then."

By Fates, Gods and every godlike being in the universe, this cheeky bastard is totally playing you. And here you are tumbling deep into his trap. Because you cannot look away from his face now. More specifically his lips, which are parted marginally. An innocent incitement? No. It's dare. A fucking dare.

Shit. You've never been exceptionally good at ignoring dares. No matter how shorthanded you are. You just keep pushing and pushing. A fatal flaw, you realize now.

Perhaps there truly is something unthinkably wrong with you because you slide out of your side of the booth and move over to his side before you can change your mind. Suddenly, your nose is inflamed with the scent of pinewood and mint and something else you can't pinpoint. You decide to claim that distinct smell as Tae.

One of his forearms is still placed on the silver table and your eyes lock on it. You hate that your hand trembles as you skim your fingers along his sinewy muscles. And you hate even more how loud your heart is beating. So loud that you can't even hear yourself breathe. Are you even breathing?

You're expecting to feel the burst of light that transports you into a vision but all you see is spazzing static. Like it's struggling to come to fruition. This... this isn't right. You should be able to see a thousand flashing pictures of him and his future beloved. How come all you're getting is unclear feedback? You almost draw back from shock. It's not possible that you can't see the end of his line, is it? What would that even mean? That he doesn't make it to the point where he meets his soulmate? Is his soulmate even alive? Your mind is racing for something to justify why everything looks so bleak behind your eyelids. But Taehyung remains perfectly still, his other arm nonchalantly draped on the edge of the booth behind you, his body turned toward yours. However, you don't miss the way his breathing shudders faintly.

Somewhere deep inside of you, you're desperate to show yourself that this thing between the two of you isn't possible. You need to see his soulmate. You need to be reminded that no matter what, he and you aren't on the same wavelength. Can never be on the same wavelength. Your hands rise from his skin and you hesitate, shy almost by what you want to do. Shit on ice. All you're going to do is touch a bit of his face. Why does it feel like you're about to rip a part of your soul and hand it to him in his palm like it's a corded silver platter?

Annoyed with yourself, you close the distance between your bodies.

You glance up at him and search through his eyes. He gives you nothing back. So, you rage on. Running your fingers up his jaw, across his cheek. Little fireflies spark at your touch, sending prickles of awareness over your skin, up your clothed thighs. You swallow hard and press your legs together. Can he tell? You're too apprehensive to check his eyes so, you keep your focus on his face.

This is a mistake. The air between the two of you is changing now, shifting to something tighter, closing in on your airways. A buzz hums through your bones, and his expression draws into something intense, his focus never waivers from yours. In this instant, you know him. You know him. All of him. You feel like you've known him your whole life like you've been anticipating for him to come back from wherever he has been.

Suddenly sensitive, your own lips part slightly. Somehow, your body has moved closer. You can't help yourself, dammit. You trace the bottom crook of his bottom lip with your forefinger.

Thunder of the Wicked Witch of the West, this is a grave mistake. Not only has your mind melted into a puddle of nothingness. You're getting an influx of information transmuting straight to your head. Befuddled memories suddenly coming out of years induced haze. You see Taehyung and you see someone else. You see them holding each other's arms, you see the look of pure adoration in his eyes. Fuck show me their face! But instead the fog clears, and you come back to the present.

In a daze, you feather your fingers across his lips again. The contrast between his soft yet firm mouth sends a bolt of pure, shocking want straight to your heart. You want to be that person in the vision. You've never felt this type of attachment with any of your previous requests. You've never felt the upending strings in your chest come undone. You've heard of intense connections, but you've never experienced one before... until now. There's no other word for what is happening in this moment. No other way to rationalize your actions. You follow the upper curve, and holy shit, you can't stop imagining his mouth moving over your skin.

You should stop. You are a pro-freaking-fessional. You should absolutely demonstrate some self-restraint. You tell yourself this even as you keep at tracing his mouth, the corners of it, his chin. Tae breathes lightly through his parted lips, and each exhale sends a little gust of soft heat over you.

You want him to push just a little bit closer and close the distance completely. But he won't. Not when his slim, slender hand has fallen to your hip, branding you, his fingers clasping in such a way that's a little possessive as it is protective.

Colorful city lights strobe in from the big paneled window, lighting Taehyung's face in a way that makes it turn to liquid gold. What the fuck am I doing here? Like some masochist, killing yourself slowly. You shouldn't be here, stealing the spotlight of someone else. But the idea of leaving is as dreadful as asking you to cast a reducio spell. Not happening.

You want to — no, you need — to feel more. And that need takes a mind of its own. Your whole body vibrates with a please, please, please as you feel his sharp intake of breath a nanosecond before your lips slowly graze his. Gods. Good gods, that's good. Actually no, the word to be used is phenomenal. His lips are silky-firm, lusciously smooth. You do it again, this time touching the corner of his mouth.

You press into his mouth, greedy, needy. You've never acted like this before. It's like some succubus of lust has taken control of your body and you can't do anything about it. Your thumbs bracket the corners of his face as you taste him. A small whimper sounds between the two of you. You don't know if you let it out or he did. There's no way it's you. You've never whimpered in your life. But then you make another one and fuck, it doesn't matter. You've become positively obsessed with his mouth, taking kiss after kiss.

His tongue dips inside and you swear you see stars dance and spark behind your eyelids. He groans as he uses a hand to tilt your head and deepen the kiss. His hand on your waist is like liquidized fire, searing your skin. Gods, this is bad. This is really bad. Kisses aren't supposed to be like this. You've done it countless times with countless people, but it has never affected you like this. The vibrations of his deep, low, almost feral moan send a throb through your body. Suddenly you want to knock the baseball cap off his head and run your hands through his hair. But before you can do so, you break apart for air.

And it's now, with the cool air-conditioned breeze of Vee's blowing over your glowing face that you realize where exactly you are. You all but jump ten feet in the air to get away from him. Taehyung isn't a warlock. NOPE. He has to be something else. Maybe an incubus? You're inhumanly mortified over the way you downright jumped Tae.

Another wave of embarrassment floods through you when you realize the stares of the other patrons inhabiting the diner.

Shit. It isn't never been your style to do public showings.

Slowly, oh' so slowly because the embarrassment™ is too much, you look up to catch his gaze. Unexpectedly though, his expression isn't smug. It's more thoughtful and a bit gentle. "So, what did you see?"

You're not sure you can remember. You're not sure you want to be honest and tell him you don't know. "Be honest, did you do all this simply for me to kiss you?"

"No." He refutes your question, but his focus drops to your throbbing lips. "Truthfully, I just wanted you to touch me."

His words leave you more breathless than the kiss and it takes you a long moment to get your brain up and running. You have no idea what to do with yourself. And now let's get another misconception out of the way: you love physical attraction (not that you have that much experience.) But you don't do this. You don't make out with guys who aren't at all your type. You don't kiss almost-perfect strangers. And you absolutely do not hit on a person that asks you to find their soulmate. That's just asking for tons and tons of awkwardness.

When you don't say anything in return, Taehyung sighs dejectedly. Like you just rejected him or something. But you're having a tough time coming to terms with everything. Taehyung's soulmate isn't you. At least, you're eighty-eight-point eighty-eight percent sure. You didn't get a clear view of the face, but it can't be you. You won't entertain the thought only to have it pulled under your feet later. But then, why the fuck is your heart beating so deafeningly loud that all these arguments swirling in your head no longer make any sense?

"I'll walk you home," Tae says quietly. Your face snaps to his, and he recoils. "And no, your sisters didn't ask me to do that." He glances at the window for a second. "This is all me."

"Okay."

Home sounds like a way better plan. The only problem is that you want to go alone and not have to face Tae any more than you already have. Sultriest kiss of your life or no, this is something you cannot do again. Kim Taehyung is dangerous to your convictions in many ways. And you know, you just know, that come what may, he can become an addiction if you take another taste of him. And we all know that's not something you genuinely want.

The local university prides itself on having extremely hard, very-possible to bring you to tears Math classes. So, it was staple reasoning that everyone came to class to pick out the best seats. Today, however, Ionia had needed you to drop some packaged stardust (store-bought glitter actually because stardust does not exist! No one has flown to the stars and survived long enough to crush one) to a delivery drop-off.

Your sisters' magical shop is the only thing connecting them to the human world and although more than everything they sell is authentic, sometimes clients just want the most inane things. Like who thinks stardust would actually give them supernatural tendencies? The supernaturals themselves don't even believe in stardust. Hard to believe in something that hasn't been proven or fact-checked.

You take a seat near the back of the class and pull out your notebook, pencils, and a calculator. You might hate math with every atom of your being, but you'll hate failing this class even more. The professor is running later than usual, and seats are filling up faster and faster. You begin twiddling with the edge of a ruled paper to pass the time.

"__?"

Jerking up your head so fast that dark spots dance in your vision for a hot second, you wonder if you heard wrong. Thinking it was the professor, you're ready to answer when you realize the voice that spoke was deeper, laced in an intrinsic feel of confidence and molten-syllables. The voice takes ahold of your spine, making it prickly straight and goose-bump museum-worthy. Surely the voice you'd heard couldn't possibly be the one it really was. No, Gods no, not him. He cannot be in this class. He wasn't here last week, but you also hadn't paid attention last week... or the week before that. Shit.

And even as these thoughts run wild in your brain, your traitorous body waves a yellow happy flag in the command center.

Preparing yourself, you turn and come face to face with your weekend tormentor, the best kisser of your life, your ex-childhood friend. Kim Taehyung. Of all the universities loitered around the city, of all the courses, of all the seats... this time there's no cap on his head, a black beanie takes that spot, but his wide brown eyes twinkle. There's a knowing humor in his gaze that it tugs a smile from the tips of your lips.

And you shouldn't be smiling. The last time you'd been in the same vicinity as him, you had practically mauled his lips with yours. Holy fuck. This is embarrassing as hell. You bite your tongue and will yourself to push all thoughts of kissing far, far away from your mind. You already spent all weekend trying to justify your actions to no avail. You can't spend the next fifty minutes doing the same thing.

"What are you doing here?" You ask, dropping the pencil from your grip.

"I'm in this class. Have been all semester. What are you doing here?"

Instead of replying to him verbally, you raise your Mathematics textbook up from the desk and show him. It's weird that you hadn't noticed him before. He stands out... in more ways than one. Everyone seems to gravitate towards him as if he's the center, even though the desk you're currently at is at the way back. Weird but not Tae doesn't seem to mind it. He flops into the free seat next to you and begins to slowly pull out his belongings.

This is the point you should apologize. You know this and yet you can't fight the words out. Like something is holding your vocal box tight and wouldn't let go. You clear your throat. You have to apologize and let him know that his soulmate is out there and there's a high chance it is not you. So, whatever this is needs to stop. It needs to stop before you embarrass yourself further.

"So, I was thinking," Tae is the first to break the silence. "How accurate are your visions?" When he sees the offended look on your face that's bound to be there because how dare he question your talents? He adds quickly. "Not that I won't believe whatever you say. I'm a mere warlock, after all, you're the real magic maker."

Not really but flattery gets him somewhere. You shrug your shoulders, attempting to calm the nervous feeling budding up your lungs. Your visions are more than accurate... when you actually get to see them. Taehyung is a whole new variety that you haven't seen before. And you've seen too many supernatural things for this to be such an issue. But here you are.

"Usually I'm a hundred percent sure, but with you, I'd say eighty something."

His eyebrows shoot up. "Eighty? Does that make me special?"

"A little. I think I need more time to... touch you."

Oh no that came out so wrong and your eyes widen when the full implications of your words register in your head. Did you just pose an innuendo to this guy? Holy shit, Sara was right when she told you last night that you were fucked. Clearly, you can't trust your lips to say anything meaningful if this is the kind of bullshit it spits out when it's in control.

You fumble to take your words back to whence they came. "I don't mean it like that. I mean, I do need to touch you, just not like that."

"Like what?" Tae asks, genuinely confused.

Take your vocal chords out and incinerate it. "Nothing."

He laughs, and it only reminds you that he has an amatory laugh. All at once, you want to go back to that night in the diner and stay in there for a while. You desperately want to go back to the time when you hadn't peered into his foreseeable future.

You wish you hadn't seen him paired up with someone else because you want this. You've never felt this before. Is this what you preach to the masses that come to your door? This overwhelming feeling that's threatening to tear through the butterflies beating in your chest? Maybe. You wouldn't know. But damn have you missed out.

"So, you didn't see anything? Not even a hand?" The laughter is still bubbling through his voice as he makes his inquiry.

"All I can say is that you have a soulmate. Somewhere out there, there's someone made just for you."

Taehyung nods his head, turning your statement over in his head. "Neat." He taps his neatly-cut fingers on the polished desk, creating a light rap sound. "What happens if this person isn't someone I want?"

Unintentionally, a scoff leaves your lips and you barely manage to not roll your eyes. "That's not going to happen."

"Okay. But if."

"If and only if, then I guess you get to do whatever you want. Fall in love with whoever, but they might not fall in love with you back."

"Isn't love supposed to be greater than that?"

Maybe. Possibly. Yes. But there's a system to this thing. The universe and the Fates decide who you end up with, although they couldn't be worried about the semantics of things. Of course, they've paired almost everyone up with someone else. They haven't paired you... yet. But as you've said: it's all semantics.

With a bustle of heavy panting and almost splayed papers, the professor finally makes an appearance in the classroom, walking in a straight bee-line to the front. "Sorry, sorry. Parking." He says as an excuse and a reprieve because every car-driving being on campus knows how hellish it is to find parking space at these hours and honestly, in general.

At the end of the time bracket, you take extra time with packing up, detergents have nothing on you with the way you clean off shaved rubber from your desk. A stupid giddiness flitters through you when you realize that Tae is waiting for you instead of charging out of the classroom.

So, what if the talk about the possibilities of love put you through a hard loop? You've heard of people rejecting their soulmate, but it doesn't add up. Why would someone do something fatal like that? For who? Who would ever be worth the risk?

It's when you're rising from your chair, one hand firmly placed on the desk that your fingers accidentally slide and brush against Tae's. The heat of his fingertips sends tiny fractures of awareness over your resolve. Maybe you don't know that much about love as you think you do.

You won't – can't– pretend there isn't attraction skittering between the two of you. And even though every bone in your body is telling you to let it go, you know your body and mind are not on the same page. Never have and probably never will.

"Are you busy after this?"

"Um," you wrack your head for anything you have yet to do but come up with nothing. "Not really. Why?"

You shouldn't be looking at his lips. Heck, maybe you shouldn't even trust yourself with just talking with him. Gods know how forgone you already are.

"There's a gig I'm playing in a few hours and..." You've never seen Tae get flustered before but holy the reddening of his cheeks is too cute too ignore. "If you're free then, I was wondering if you'd come?"

"You're in a band? That's illegal, you can't be both a warlock and a musician. It's unfair to humans."

Speaking of things, you shouldn't do, flirting with him is definitely Type A on the list. And another thing, Taehyung shouldn't be both cute and sexy, it's unfair on the bits of your soul that are being affected right now.

When he doesn't answer your pseudo-question, you grin. "Are you blushing, Tae?" You reach out and poke his cheek, all while he stretches out and catches your wrist safely between his fingers. The action is so fast that for a moment you forget to exhale.

Mathematically, you know time cannot freeze. Magically, you know Tae wouldn't have had the time to cast a time-stopping spell without you noticing. But forever it is worth, time completely stops. His liquid gold eyes scan your face before everything blurs out of focus.

In this foresight, you see Taehyung on a small stage, you have no prior knowledge of musical instruments, but you know that it's a bass guitar resting across his frame. And you see his smile, it's brightening by the second and it blitzes straight through your chest because he's aiming it at you. Or no, you don't know, he could be directing it at his soulmate somewhere in the crowd. But in this moment, it's you.

Hope sparks in your veins, something you hadn't given yourself the opportunity to believe in. And beneath your haze, you know he feels it too. You can see it in his lightning eyes and the swift beating of his heart against his chest. This is why you shouldn't touch, much less have kissed, Tae. Because now you can't stop rerunning it in your head. You know what he tastes like now. And what he tastes like is sweet, sweet addiction.

"So, what about it?" Taehyung asks in a low, vibrating voice. And he must sense your palpable confusion because he adds. "My band's performance. Will you be there?"

"Time and place. I'll be there." What's the harm in that? It's not like you're going to fall head over heels for him. You have more sense than that. You are a guru of love. You know everything, you tell yourself. And what this is, is deep infatuation and you can definitely chase the zings away with cold, cold, cold water.

Famous last words, right?

It feels like the grand inspection as your sisters and stable coven member, Hoseok, scrutinize your attire in the middle of the living room. Suddenly, you feel highly inadequate in your ripped black jeans, turtleneck sweater, and coat. You think you look good, but the looks of horror on Ionia and Sara's face beg to differ.

"You can't possibly want to go meet the love of your life in this," Sara's voice borders on disappointment and disgust.

"I mean, the jacket is kinda cute." Hoseok raises a flag in your defense.

Ionia spurts out a laugh at that remark, effectively tearing the flag to pieces. "I could lend you my halter top? You know the gold one?"

You love your family and your friend, you truly do. You'd take on a winged fire dragon for them. But you can't believe you set yourself up for this interrogation. Asking them to help you get ready for this non-date, was a disaster ready to happen. And there's no one to blame but you for wanting extra validation.

Biting your tongue to prevent a snarky statement that'll only cause this conversation to drag out longer, you calm yourself by exhaling a deep breath. "It's winter, dearest sister. Unless you want me back in a body bag, let me wear this jacket in peace," then you swivel your attention to the other hawk in the room. "And Sara, please for the love of everything, Tae isn't the love of—"

Ionia cuts through your monologue. "It's September!" Just as Sara wiggles her eyebrows goofily. "Tae, huh. Guess you guys are closer than I thought."

Instead of deigning either comment with a response, you turn around and grab your phone and keys from the sofa, safely tucking them in the back pocket of your jeans before glancing back at the trio. You pity for Hoseok who got dragged into staying with them as they practice new incognito spells.

"Have fun babysitting them, Hobi," you call out, raising a fisted palm to your chest in salute. "I pray for your safety."

Hoseok chuckles even as he uses a hand to reciprocate your salute. "I can handle it."

You make it a pointed effort to not say your goodbyes to your sisters before running out of the house. It's a fifteen-minute walk to the bar that Taehyung's band is playing at and you want to be there deathly on time. Not because you want to see his face again so quickly, of course not, but rather because this is what good friends do. Or at least what they should.

You are going to go there and be the most supportive person in the crowd. You vow on it. You'll be good. You wouldn't dare to wish for things you can't attain again. You'll allow the fates to work their magic on whoever that's meant for Tae. If it happens to not be you, then...

"Oh, fuck it." You say aloud, dunking your cold fingers in the pockets of your navy-blue coat.

Continuing the route to the bar in the silence of your mind, you realize that your brain actually does know how to shut up, just when it's on its own terms. And you guess, neither your head nor your heart wants to think about the possibility of you and Tae getting together. Sadly, because the probability is so low that it feels like your wishing on a goddamn star for a miracle.

You reach there faster than you anticipate with ample time before Taehyung's group is scheduled to go on stage and now you wonder if it's okay for you to just walk in? Well, of course, it should be. But what if he's busy entertaining his fans? You find it hard to picture him without any. With his killer smile and rumbling voice, it would be hard not to fall. You rub your palms together in a bid to warm them up faster but also to stall the inevitable meeting. You pace outside the bar, wondering if it's possible to cancel now.

Something bumps into your shoulder and you almost topple over from the impact but fortunately, someone catches you by your forearms, keeping you upright and saving your face from an impromptu make out with the cemented floor. It's a brief moment but you're thankful for wearing a coat today. Nothing worse than having a moment of seeing their love life in the middle of the pathway.

The first thing you notice about the person that caught you is the impish point of his ears and then the floppy coffee-colored hair on his forehead. You're in the process of thanking him and apologizing for putting him in this situation when he lets out a loud surprised sound from deep in his throat. You swear it sounds like a squeal.

"You're that lady from the diner!" He sounds excited for some reason, so you look up from your boot-clad feet and focus on his face.

"What?"

"Vee's," he says. "I work there. And your friend, well I guess our friend, Taehyung was with you the other day... Unless I have the wrong person. Then, I am so sorry for this inconvenience." He looks completely mortified at the possibility of this happening.

The corner of your lip lifts up as your mind remembers him. "Yeah, I guess that's me. My name's __. by the way. You're Jungkook, right?"

He nods as his face brightens up like he was a switch that can be so easily accessed. His smile puts you at ease though, at least you know someone in what seems to be a mass of people if your peeking through the glass door is anything to swear by.

"Oh, you haven't seen Taehyung tonight, have you?" Jungkook asks as he pulls the bar door open and lets the smell of alcohol, perfume, and other unidentified scents weave their way to where you stand.

Shaking your head, you drag your palms against the rough pattern of your jeans before you walk into the loud bar. People are everywhere and its impossibly hard to find any free space. You're about this close to breaking away and walking back home but then you remember that Jungkook is right behind you and he'll most likely snitch you out to Taehyung when he gets the chance.

You sigh out as Jungkook takes a step beside you. You scan his outfit and notice the black muscle tank top that he has on and then you notice the glittery glint of three silver earrings dropping from his left ear.

Before you can scan any lower, he bends his head a little. "We go on in about ten minutes." He chortles out above a whisper but a decibel lower than the chatter around the two of you.

"We?" Your eyebrows dance across your forehead.

"Of course." He shoots you a grin that is supposed to be heart-melting, and it is. Just not in the same way Taehyung's affect you. Now you wonder if this is how it's going to be; you consistently comparing everyone else to Taehyung. "I'm the drummer after all."

"That's so cool."

"I know," Jungkook mock bows at your compliment. "Anyways, I have to get backstage or else I owe the rest of the band lunch for a month." He gags at the prospect before he's waving at you and weaving his way through the horde of people. People stop and stare as he jogs past, they move away and create a river just for him to pass by and then they regroup into clusters and squeal and gossip about him.

It's an odd thing to notice but he doesn't look the least affected by it. But now you feel like the only sober person in this bar. You bite your lip as you keep your head down and scramble for a good position to see the stage.

There's a real problem though. The place is packed so full that you have to stand at the back just to be able to breathe. But there's so much anticipation swelling in your veins at just the thought of getting to hear him perform. You fold your arms across your chest, waiting for anything to happen. And its when you're not paying acute attention, fiddling with apps on your phone, that the screams of other people jolt you into the present.

The chants are loud and deafening and overpower the anxious feeling in your chest. And then as your eyes are filtering across the stage, they connect with his. It should be impossible for him to be able to see you all the way from where he stands in the center. It should be impossible for him to even know where you are in this colossal of bodies. But his gaze is unwavering and the knowing smirk gracing his face is anything short of accidental.

You check around your surroundings for anyone that he could be looking at but there's no one that looks anything other than a fan or a casual drinker. You peer up at him, this time holding his gaze with your own and his smile breaks forth. It lights a galaxy inside you.

"Hello everybody, I hope everyone has been having a good night so far," he starts. He looks across the crowd in front of him as they scream for him before he checks back on you. "We've been working on a few songs since the last time you saw us and quite honestly I'm a little bit nervous to perform it in front of you guys tonight."

One of his bandmates, a fair-headed lanky boy rolls his eyes at his statement and like telepathy, Taehyung laughs into the mic. "Lemme guess, Yoongi just rolled his eyes right now." Yoongi rolls his eyes again but smiles as he turns around to tune his guitar.

You're blown away by the level of comradery they have. All four of them. Jungkook is behind the drum set, blowing kisses to the girls up front and distracting them from Tae's speech. The one behind the keyboard looks mightily model-like in nature. With a piercing gaze and soft breached smile, he looks into the crowd with a relaxed ambiance.

"As usual we have JK on the drums, Jin on keyboard," Jin bows and waves and you put a palm to your chest to prevent its palpitations. He's ridiculously pretty. "Yoongi doing whatever the hell he does with that guitar." His statement earns a laugh from everyone listening, including you. Yoongi himself doesn't find it as hilarious though, he scrunches his nose and shakes his head. "I'm Taehyung and thank you for coming out to listen to Indie Magic Tendencies."

He throws one last toothy smile into the audience, rubbing his palms together before then grabbing the mic with two hands. "Before I forget, today's performance is dedicated to a special friend of mine in the crowd right now."

An electric wire grapples around your chest, forcing you to stand up straight and cease breathing as he continues, this time with his focus on you. It's like he's calling you out. "I'm not trying to bend your beliefs or go against what you think the world wants. But sometimes two people have to really, really, want each other to be for the universe to listen."

You're not present as Jungkook reaches up and grabs his mic to say, "and here's our song: let me." You're not present as the slow and even smoother voice of Taehyung and Jin slithers into the ears of the patrons in the bar. You don't even notice as the loud cheers of the fans decrease into a low mumble as if they too are holding their breath. You can't make sense of anything going on around you in this moment because of the insanely loud thump of your heart as it struggles to beat in your chest.

You'd become dismissive of the idea of love in relations to you. It's awfully hilarious that you are realizing this now, with the one person you would love to spend forever with in front of you. You've hidden behind this notion that the Fates decide everything. And although the Fates, in all their gloriousness, mean no harm. Why does it have to be you? You've seen countless people that did not stick to your assigned pairings that go on to have rewarding lives with each other. Even though you are right, you are also wrong?

Why do you have so much love to give but nothing to receive? Why do you have to be the only abiding by rules that no one else sees? Why do you have to be graceful and accept this stalemate that has been placed upon you?

Everyone — witches and warlords, elves and faeries, vampires, and lycanthropes – they all believe in this innate magic. Magic that sprouts from the trees like water before spraying into the air. Magic that swims far deep within you and drowns out everything. You've been taught to only reach for things that are given to you. Never step outside your jurisdiction. You are not a witch. You don't have a mass of reserved magic. What you have is fleeting. One touch one memory. It's not fixed. You shouldn't wish for more. Shouldn't long for it either.

And for a while, you've been completely fine with it. It's not like someone had shot through your axis and shaken your atmosphere before. Taehyung's arrival has shown you the other side that you haven't been attuned to. This unreasonable want for something — someone. And the unbearable need to attain.

You bite your lip and slink deeper into the shadows, hoping that for whatever its worth, Taehyung doesn't have excellent eyesight because you're this sure that your myriad of conflicting emotions is highlighted in bold across your face.

Pulling out your phone from your coat pocket, you open the messages app and do what any other sane person would do in this situation. You text Sara.

Can I ask you something?

Her reply is almost instantaneous. Shoot.

What's your take on the whole Taehyung situation?

Lmao. You hear her laughter ringing in your ears. What situation? According to you, there's nothing there. Remember? All that "I'm destined to never find love" bs you were talking about?

You want to burn. Actually, no. You want to hide. Forget about that. This is serious, okay! I really like him. It's weird and I've never felt this way about anything, absolutely nothing. And I know he likes me too, it's just... ugh.

Sara: Okay relax. First of all, liking him is good. Him liking you back is a bonus, be happy!

Typing a fast response, you prod the inside of your cheek with your tongue. You're not helping at all.

Sara: Hahaha, well you haven't told me what to exactly help with so....

It's obvious. He has a soulmate out there and I don't. What about ten years down the line and he finds them and suddenly I'm like a discarded chew toy. I don't want that.

Sara: fuck that noise. Soulmates are just people, __. You think you just find someone and immediately want to be with them because some god told you so? Heck, no. you like Taehyung, right? You just have to figure out how much you like him. And I'm not saying your abilities are whack or wrong, but sometimes you just know, you know. You know who you wanna to be with and who knows? Maybe the fates will listen. Idk

You try not to laugh at the irony of her and Taehyung saying essentially the same thing. This is a serious conversation and you shouldn't be laughing but the irony isn't lost on you. You turn off your phone before dunking it back into your pocket. Sara's right; fuck that noise. You're gonna do it. You're going to walk up to him once he finishes sweating up that stage with his sexy as sin voice and mad good guitar skills and tell him –

There's a loud ping! as your phone chimes with a new message. Reaching into your pocket, you see the new text Sara has sent you.

There are a gazillion people in the universe. You've met a thousand and then some extra since the day you were born. But there's only one person that you can connect with on a deep, natural level... there's only one Kim Taehyung. And if it's him? Why do you have to settle for someone else?

It's almost fitting that as you see the shining behind the puzzle maze, the crowd cheers in a deep mix of squeals and cries as Indie Magical Tendencies wrap up their set for the night. Jungkook has taken Taehyung's previous position and is thanking the crowd for coming out. Grinning wide and eyes shining brighter. And then you're frantically searching the stage for Taehyung but he's not there anymore.

Your confidence is waning. This is a bad idea. Your testing fate. It's never gonna work out anyway. You're going to be disappointed in a few months when everything turns lackluster and boring and you'd wish you had listened to your head instead of your heart.

Then suddenly, he's in front of you, as if you conjured him up from thin air. You know that's not the case but it's nice to believe. He opens his mouth to say something you'll never know because you beat him to it faster.

"I need to talk to you." The too-full establishment makes it hard to hear yourself so you add, a little bit louder this time. "Let's go outside."

He hears you and soon his long fingers are searing into your skin as they wrap around your wrist and lead you out the back door. You don't pay attention to the looks, or the sighs, or the gasps. You're focusing your energy on trying to see his soulmate and still, you see nothing but static. It doesn't matter anyway, you realize, you're about the most selfish person on the planet. Or at least that what you think.

Outside is colder as the night has finally settled but it doesn't feel as bad with him next to you. The back of the bar is a dumpster heaven but at least its quiet and you can hear the loud badump! of Tae's heart, it's rivaling yours. You lean against the brick of the building, needing the extra support.

You start. "I-I intended to listen to your voice tonight, but it really was nothing but an intention because I couldn't listen."

His fingers release your arm as he raises them to his chest in faux hurt. "Yikes, my voice isn't that bad –"

"Your voice is amazing!" You are quick to say. "It's because of what you said earlier. This — everything, is new to me. I've never felt like this for anyone."

"Neither have I."

"But you're you," incredulity laces your tone. "There's no way you haven't. You're cool and calm and a wizard that knows how to play the fucking guitar and sing and you're beautiful. Like insanely. You could projectile vomit on someone and they'll thank you."

He laughs at your wordy compliment. "Sure, it's possible that other people have felt that way about me. But I can't remember ever falling so hard for someone else before."

"What about soulmates and the future and..." your voice is weak, your resolve weaker and he capitalizes on that.

"When you touch me you don't see anything, do you?"

Your breath stutters in your throat and you choke on it which pushes you into a coughing fit. Ah shit, this is embarrassing as hell. Taehyung is kind of laughing at you, kind of looking concerned for your wellbeing until the last of the cough wheezes past your lips. You curl your fingers at your side as you look up at him. You take nervously calming breathes to gain your voice back.

"I don't. I see you laughing, and I see that you're happy, but I don't see th—"

"Exactly! To say or even think that one can or should wait for their entire existence for this soulmate to come around is an oxymoron, an impossibility. People eventually always get sick of waiting. I'll probably get sick of waiting. No one waits forever for someone they don't even know."

"But—" Your admonishment is shallow on your lips.

"I choose you."

He says the words with such confidence that it leaves you flustered, and with your brain desperately searching for something to say. But all that leaves you with is your mouth opening and closing before remaining agape. Your body is heating up, you don't know to calm down. You don't want to.

"What if you had a soulmate?" You are fighting the expansion of your cheeks because he's looking at you like this whole situation is funny and maybe it is. You're fishing for comments and he accepts the bait.

"I don't care," Tae says. "I would have found you again. I would have done something. I don't know, conjured up some daemon from the netherworld and sold my soul." He has a way with words, even the most terrifying thing doesn't sound so bad when it leaves his lips.

You think this to be the end of his spiel, but Tae doesn't stop there. It's as if he's trying to convince you with every bone in his body that there is magic between the two of you and he doesn't want to stand around doing nothing when he can so clearly feel it.

"And what about soulmates? What do you think my chances are of finding a shared soul in this hell of a universe? What if I've already met them but didn't do anything about it because I was banking on a particular trigger I don't feel? I'll be fortunate if I can find just one person who'll be able to put up with me for the rest of eternity.

"Only twice in my life have I ever felt this inexplicable, nearly transcendental pull to a person. But it wasn't two, it was only one. It's only been you. I don't know what's happened to make your memories of our childhood befuddled, but that doesn't even matter. In the end, I want to make it work with you. I want to take you out on dates, I want to learn what makes you laugh the hardest, I want to be with you, __. But if you truly do not feel the same as me, I'll go. I'll find that soulmate, that's not supposed to be you, and hope, whatever happens, happens for the best."

His face is deathly close to yours, breath fanning against your heating cheeks. His words have the ability to break you undone but put you back together again and again. You should be selfish. Here he is in front of you, pouring his beliefs and soul and you should too. You don't have to hide behind barricades you placed for yourself. You want him. You want to experience this. You—

"Okay."

"Okay?" His eyebrows crunch, a lithe smile appears.

You nod your head vigorously. "Okay! Let's do it. Fuck the fates. I want you too. And you'll be sorely mistaken if you think, or if they think, I'll stand here and aide you in leaving me. I can't explain it either, but I feel it. It's not something I can express."

"It's not something you have to express. You either know or you don't."

"You're right." You agree. "I also know that now that we've cleared all that up, I'm a hundred percent down with making out with you right now. Just putting that out there. You know, if you were, uh, wondering."    

"Really?" Taehyung asks, moving closer to you till you're backed up hard against the wall. "You want to kiss me in the back of semi-smelly pub?"

You shrug your shoulders as Taehyung reaches up with his fingers and caresses your cheek. He has really sexy fingers you notice for the millionth time. "Can't you do some hocus pocus spell and do some invisibility cloak or something? I mean, you're a warlock."

"Hm, I could do all of that. But that's going to take like, what, three minutes? I could just take up your offer and," he bends his head low and places feathers with his lips all across your jawline. Little fledglings of heat spark up from his touch. But then the tips of his sweaty hair tickle your cheek and you pull back in laughter.

"You know what?" He has his arms wrapped around your waist and a confused pout on his lips. "We should restart." Taehyung nods his head agreeing. "Yeah, I should probably take you out on a proper date before I get handsy."

"We literally kissed the first day we met each other."

"But that was for an experiment. A hot one. But an experiment no less. That doesn't count as our first kiss."

You laugh as the two of you break apart and you stare up at him as you try to regain your breath. He looks ethereal and you wonder how you look in his eyes. You reach up with your fingers and push his hair back so that it doesn't tickle your face again and then you push up and place your lips firmly against his.

There's no all-consuming fire that melts your bones in one sweep. Instead, there are high definition images screening through your mind showcasing the two of you. Together. You see yourself and you see him and you see bits of your life in between. And you look happy. You look deliriously so. Taehyung maneuvers your body closer and you get lost in him. Your thoughts scatter and you forget your own name but the feel of Taehyung's concrete chest against your own, with his own heart beating out of sync places a smile on your face.

Breaking apart from him is a challenge that you don't want to complete if not for the nagging in your lungs for air. Your mind is frazzled, your face heated and your chest full.

"I saw your soulmate."

"Yeah?" He whispers out. "I already know who it is."

You giggle. "You do?"

"Of course. I can see it on your face," he pauses then nods his head once. "It's you."

a/n » this was long and im very thankful to everyone who reads this and i hope you really enjoyed it bc i had so much fun writing it! :) thank you so so much for reading >.<

⇢ masterlist

©️ 2018 kai, moonbelt [aka high-on-food]

[grumpygreenwitch]

The Fairy and the Prince #44 + #45

Part 1 - Part 2 - Parts 3 & 4 - Part 5 - Part 6, 7 & 8 - Part 9 & 10 - Part 11, 12, 13, 14, 15 & 16 - Part 17, 18, & 19 - Part 20, 21 & 22 - Part 23, 24, 25 & 26 - Part 27, 28, 29 & 30 - Part 31, 32, 33 & 34 - Part 35, 36 & 37 - Part 38, 39, 40 & 41 - Part 42 & 43 - Part 44 & 45 - Part 46 & 47 - Part 48, 49, 50 & 51 - Part, 52, 53 & 54 - Part 55 & 56 - Part 57, 58, 59 & 60 - Part 61, 62, 63, 64 & 65 - Part 66, 67, 68, 69, 70, 71 & 72

Originally posted 1/4/2023. Don’t forget that tonight there’s an update for new chapters!

He lived, of course.

He went through his classes and his studies and his practices like one of the clever clockworks that were brought to entertain the Court. He went through the motions, and presumably pretended to them well enough, as no one complained of his inattention. Dane and Beli tried to get him to go out on the grounds, to at least visit the Royal Gardens, but Adam refused to go that far, refused to so much as look at the woods. He wouldn’t climb so much as a tree. Rumors began to go around that he’d been elf-touched and rejected, that he would soon wither away and die, pining after a fairy-maid that had enthralled him for a lark and abandoned him directly after. As rumors went, it didn’t go very far; the visit of the priests ensured that.

Adam didn’t cry, he hardly spoke, he ate only because Culli-maid and Trout would harass him into it. Spring rushed headlong toward summer and he didn’t even notice. Master Leminy assigned him nearly permanently to clean the stables and the training rooms if only to get him to leave his rooms. Adam suspected the teachers there had been instructed to keep him busy, with whatever kind of sparring they could think of if nothing else presented itself. Yet again, they could only report that the prince did his duties with admirable skill. This time they could also add that he did them with little heart.

The first true days of summer found him sweeping one of the long, narrow storage rooms that abutted the elegant hall where the princes were trained in fencing and dagger-work, sweating. His coat had been hung on one of the pegs and Trout dozed lazily in a pocket, wings twitching occasionally; the pixie could fly short bursts, but could not yet maintain altitude.

A class had just ended, and it occurred to Adam as the princes came and went that they were all younger than him. Camlen had given up his claim to the crown at some point, when his family had shown up to beg him to do so. That left only Sean and himself of the Dowager’s first attempt at a King. The thought came and went, impossible to hold onto through the fog of his grief. Dimly he was aware that some of the princes had remained behind, likely the older boys sparring with one another. He was aware of the low give-and-take of their voices, of the clash of their swords. Knowledge, rising from unknown depths, told him they were using true blades, and laughing about it. He had to wonder if Rickard’s first lesson would linger on with this new set of princes.

He opened a door and the words hit him when he’d thought he could never be wounded again.

“ - would just burn down the woods.”

He went so still he forgot to breath.

“You can’t just burn down the woods, Liam. The people need those for eating and for firewood and whatnot.”

“I’m supposed to put their lives above mine?” Liam’s voice was both angry and elegantly disbelieving. “There’s the river, right there, let them eat fish. They grow grain, they can eat that. Haven’t you heard a thing we’ve been taught? The Folk in the Woods, they’re called.”

Adam shuddered violently. Trout suddenly snapped from its drowse when it heard the wood of the broom’s handle creak. The prince’s hands were closed so tightly on it that his knuckles were the color of ash.

“No one’s going to let you burn down the woods, Liam,” the second boy’s voice scoffed.

“When I’m King, who will stop me?”

“They’re the Folk In The Woods, Herringmere. I’m pretty certain they would, if no one else.”

I think they wouldn’t, Adam thought. I think they very much wouldn’t, because they aren’t really in the Woods, are they.

“I wouldn’t give them a choice. Arm a few dozen men with blessed rowan-wood shields and iron-tipped spears, and what are they going to do then?” Liam snorted. “They picked this fight. They started this curse. Do you expect I’d negotiate with them? No, burn it all, I say. No more fairies, no more curse.”

No more gracious linden tree. No more wild irises nodding against the still waters of the kelpie’s old pond. No more elegant willow, fronds always ready to lift someone to their branches. No more generous cherry trees, sharing their bounty of tart little red fruits. No more songbirds bringing gossip, no more nesting pixies, no more stalking bees back to their hollows to steal a single bite from their hard-earned combs, no more, no more, no more…

Adam had thrown the two halves of the broom aside and was stalking across the exquisite marble floor before he knew what he was doing. He felt so cold that everything, skin and flesh and bone, burned him. He made a beeline for the princes. There were four of them, the three he’d heard and one that had yet to speak. They were all young reeds, grown into their lanky teenage years and quickly becoming refined by their education in the Dowager Queen’s court.

“No one,” he said, startled to find his voice scratching as if he hadn’t used it in days, “is burning down the woods.”

They stared at him as if he’d grown two heads, until the second boy spoke. “You’re Lestrelle, aren’t you?”

Adam turned to stare at him. “I’m sorry I don’t know you,” he said politely, his manners an instinct that refused to die. “But no one is burning down the woods.”

“Oh, come off it, Lestrelle.” Prince Liam was a rapier of a young man, lean, as elegant as his voice, blond and pale and sharing the deep blue eyes that said his bloodline was as true as Adam’s. He was wearing simple training armor and was swinging lightly an elegant rapier. “Look at you. One would think if anyone, you’d be glad to see that place and the Folk inside it gone.”

“I would not,” Adam said plainly.

Liam’s brows went up. “Well, alright,” he replied with a lopsided smile. “I’m afraid only the people interested in the crown get a say on this one, Lestrelle.” He moved forward.

So did Adam. His hand shot forward and his palm came to rest on Liam’s chest. “No one,” he repeated tonelessly, “is burning down the woods.”

Liam looked down. He was of a height with Adam, not quite two years younger. “You want to take your hands from me, Lestrelle.”

“Liam, don’t,” the boy who’d warned about the commonfolk needing the woods said nervously.

“Herringmere, leave it. You know he’s not well.” The other boy was solid, wrought of darker colors; perhaps if the future allowed him to live he’d grow to be somewhat a match to Dane, but on that day he barely managed to be the tallest of those there by a wisp of brown hair.

“I wasn’t speaking to you, Macallan,” Liam snapped.

“You should listen to your friends.” Adam said very calmly. “No one’s worth spit on hot cobbles without them, least of all a king.”

“What would you know of either friends or kingship, Lestrelle? Last I checked, you’re only waiting for your birthday so you can go to the woods and forswear the crown.” Liam gave him a mocking, indulgent smile. “They won’t burn before then, you don’t have to worry.”

“Herringmere -”

“No one is burning down the woods,” Adam repeated.

“You’re not the one to stop me, Lestrelle. Look at you. You’re a ghost. Have you even bathed recently? Eaten? Changed clothes? You walk the palace like a shadow. Some fairy-maid bespelled you and sucked you dry and you think -”

Liam didn’t get to finish that very dangerous accusation. Adam punched him and sent him crashing to the ground with both the suddenness of the attack and the sheer force behind it. For nearly all his time in the palace he’d been sparring with larger, heavier partners. He’d hardened his hands on a troll. He’d taught a boy twice his size to be fast or regret it. Liam was lucky to still have all his teeth when he hit the marble floor.

The two younger boys scrabbled back. The older prince stepped forward. “Mother-Night, Lestrelle, don’t -”

“Give him your steel, Macallan.”

“Herringmere -”

“Give him your bloody sword, Connor!” Liam scrabbled to his feet and spat blood to one side, his mouth a crimson bruise, his eyes a storm. “Or I swear to all of you I’ll run him through unarmed!”

Prince Connor Macallan swallowed visibly, his hand going to the rapier on his belt.

Adam stared at Liam in distant, absent disbelief. He wasn’t asking for anything outlandish. He wasn’t asking for the impossible. Everything the other boys had said was true; the woods were needed and more, the woods were not the real problem. But in Liam’s eyes Adam saw that this was someone who would never tolerate being told ‘no’, and everything he’d felt against the Prince Beyond The Woods rose in him like a black, deadly tide. “Prince Macallan,” he said mildly. “Not your sword, but I thank you for the thought. May I have your dagger?”

“Against a sword?” The prince sounded aghast.

“It’s a rapier,” Adam told him simply. “I’m sure you’re all very good with yours. They’re worthless in a real fight. If I may?”

“You can have mine,” the last of the boys, who’d said nothing until that point, stepped forward and drew his dagger, offering it to Adam hilt-first. It was very simple, but a faltering hand had stitched leaping fish on the hilt, a tiny gesture of such love that Adam had to forcibly tear his eyes from the sight of it. It wasn’t hard; all he had to do was stare at Liam.

Almost before they squared off, Liam came at him in a classic fencing surge. Adam, apparently the only one who remembered this wasn’t a fencing match, merely stepped aside, swatted the rapier aside with the dagger, and punched Liam again, sending him staggering into the ground a second time. Against all his fury, all the immensity of his loss turning into fire inside him, he still didn’t want to be cornered into a choice that would be far too costly. If Liam could show any sense, any at all -

The young prince yelled in wordless fury and launched himself at Adam.

Adam ducked and twisted around the rapier. A rapier is a fine weapon, but one of precision and elegance. The blade dances nearly as much as the hand that holds it, and not always in the same direction. Liam was exceptional with it, but Adam, once again, had learned speed from two someones who moved like the boughs of a willow in the breeze, like the branches of a linden tree in the wind, like blood spilling from an unexpected wound or the flood of shadow and death that overtakes a fortress with a blood-hungry howl. To him, Liam was moving as slowly as molasses.

To the other princes Adam was a blur.

Liam fought him first with fury, and then with desperation, but he wouldn’t yield. He was the sort, Adam realized, that couldn’t give up, that had to be always right, that wouldn’t abide defeat or challenge or shame. The older prince slashed the laces open on one side of the younger prince’s armor, accepted a long, shallow gash to one arm, latched his fingers on the other set of laces and kicked Liam. The prince went down a third time, too winded at that point to do more than grunt in pain, and found himself hopelessly tangled up in his leather armor.

Adam stood before him, breathing a little hard, and patiently waited for his opponent to disentangle himself and get up. “No one is burning down the woods.”

Liam cast aside his rapier, drew his dagger and lunged at him.

Adam caught that wild lunge, twisted the young prince’s dagger arm away, and sank his borrowed blade all the way to the hilt past Liam’s ribs. Those blue eyes, his own for all intents and purposes, widened in shock and disbelief, pain not yet having caught up with their owner. The younger prince shoved himself away, staggering; Adam hung onto the dagger, which came away bloody, and Liam lifted a hand to catch his side, staring without understanding at the blood that filled his palm. His dagger clattered from a grip gone nerveless.

He crashed to the ground, staring at Adam, unable to understand what had just happened.

At some point the training hall had filled with people, teachers and students both; they’d closed in a circle around the princes, but no one had intervened. The Dowager Queen had made it very clear what sort of life, and death, her princes were to expect.

Adam drew a deep breath. He didn’t think Liam would understand, not even at that moment, but there were many around them that might take heed of the younger prince’s death. “No one,” he said very calmly to those deep blue eyes quickly glazing over in death, “is burning down the woods.”

***

Dane found Adam sitting on the stands of the jousting yard, his coat on his lap. He sat quietly by his prince, his hands laced in his lap, and they were silent for a very long time in the golden summer afternoon. “He died quick,” the young man said at last. “But then I think that’s what you meant.”

“I meant for him to listen,” Adam explained, feeling weary to his bones. He wanted to regret what he’d done, he wanted to mourn the dead prince, but the cold and black rage that had come over him, that had wanted him to see Canemore in Liam, pulsed like a heart inside him, and he almost couldn’t feel his grief anymore past it. It was too sweet a relief and he wouldn’t be pried from it. “He had… a dangerous idea.”

“Was it a bad one?”

Adam closed his eyes. “No. And yes. Everyone calls them the Folk In The Woods, Dane, but they aren’t. They never were. They come through the woods, they come from beyond them. The woods were -” His breath ran out abruptly at the very thought of saying the name and he ducked his head, willingly calling up his rage, allowing himself to wallow in it. “Linden’s. The woods were Linden’s.”

Dane popped his mouth thoughtfully. He was the source from which Adam had picked up the habit. “That’s not the sort of thing that’s easy to explain to people.”

“I know. I tried. But it’s like he didn’t see me, like I didn’t matter. Only what he wanted and what he’d chosen did.”

Dane sighed. “It’s new to you,” he explained slowly, “because you don’t do that. You’ve always seen us, Adam. Me, Culli, Beli, we aren’t there like your coat and your bed. We’re people to you, we’re friends.” He shook his head. “That’s not how it is for nearly anyone else in the staff of the palace. And you’ve been saying for nigh on nine years that you don’t want the crown, so what’s that make you? Not a prince, for sure. Just sort of… staff-in-waiting.”

Adam thought on that. It would have been foolish of him to pretend that Dane wasn’t speaking the truth. Even so recently as Liam’s callous disregard of the immense difficulties the commonfolk would face if the woods were burned, he’d always been aware of a deep divide. He’d just never worried about it because he’d grown used to fording it effortlessly.

He buried his face in his hands and groaned low. “They’re only going to listen to me one way, aren’t they. They’re only ever going to listen to me the one way.”

Dane blew out a low breath. “Or you could… leave. Go elsewhere. Forget. It might take years and years, but you’re bound to find some peace somewhere. You deserve that much.”

Adam smiled wearily at the desperate little wish Dane was making for him. “Dane, that girl better snatch you up, there’s not a better man than you in this place, and I’m glad you’re my friend,” he said, even though he knew that not all the years in his life, nor ten times as many, would ever let him forget what he’d lost. “I can’t. Today it was Liam. Tomorrow it’ll be someone else.” He stared at the beautiful summer world without seeing at all. “This is not what I wanted, Dane.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“So am I.” Adam rattled out a sigh. “And it might get bloody.”

Dane shrugged. “It’s been a relief that it wasn’t until now, I won’t say it hasn’t,” he admitted. “But a fight is what we signed up for, back when we got hired on to be your friends.”

Adam nodded. Together they went back to the palace. He washed up, dressed neatly, and sent word to the Dowager for a brief inquiry. She received him with tea being cleared away, an oddity from all their meetings before, when the cups and saucers were just being set down as a maid showed him into the elegant sun-room. “Adam.”

“Majesty.” Adam bowed and sat when given leave. “How does one go about cutting off someone from his sphere of power and influence?”

Her delicate brows rose up. “Not even Eleanor?” she asked mildly.

“I would, if I didn’t think my father would take advantage of even that slender thread.”

“True,” she agreed. “Unfortunately so. And you’re certain?”

“That I mean to be King?” he asked, consciously misinterpreting her question. “Yes. I think you’ve done a good thing, stalling them, the Folk Beyond The Woods. I think you did it at a terrible price, a price that you know no one will ever forgive, least of all you. And I think,” he looked at her directly, “I think it’s not enough anymore. Not for me.”

“Didn’t you just kill a boy today for threatening them?”

“No. I killed Liam because he wanted to burn down the woods. No one is burning down the woods. My enemies aren’t there. That’s what I tried to tell you once before. They are the Folk Beyond The Woods. The Folk In The Woods -” For all that he’d planned so carefully every step of this conversation, Adam found himself faltering, strangled by sorrow that kept on trying to rise above the black flood of his rage. He smothered it savagely. “They wanted to be free of them just as much as we do.”

She stared keenly at him for a long moment before reaching for a bell and instructing the maid who answered her to fetch the Court Genealogist.