#happily impervious to gossip

[startanewdream]

For @hinnyfest, prompt #7 - Getting caught in the act.

Surprisingly rated T. Set during HBP.

***

you know

The whispers finally reached them by dinner time. Considering how his newfound relationship status had been the subject of many debates for the past ten days, Harry was surprised it took all day for the gossip to spread through the castle back to where it had started.

A Second Year girl was stealing glances at them. “His brother caught them—”

“Did he fight for her honour?” Her friend asked, eyes widened. “If my brother saw me like that—”

“No, they are friends… But Romilda said he was pissed.”

“What exactly Romilda said?” Asked another, with his face burning red. “Have they really…?”

“She heard from Lavender who heard from Seamus who saw them talking about it,” said the first girl solemnly. “And what her brother said was that he didn’t want to catch them sleeping together again.”

Harry let out a dismayed sigh. Across the table, keeping a distance from him that looked too proper for everyone and too large for Harry’s taste, Ginny threw him a consoling smile.

“They will be talking about something else tomorrow,” she promised him. “Merlin knows there is enough gossip to entertain them.”

“More than the fact we are supposedly sleeping together?”

“Well.” Her cheeks pinkened as she lowered her head, suddenly busy with her book again. “We did sleep together.”

“Not as how they are making it sound. I will have a word with Seamus about spreading this kind of gossip.”

“Hum.” She didn’t elaborate. There was a small frown on her forehead that made him lean closer on the table, his hand reaching for hers.

“What?”

“I just—you look more nervous about this gossip than all the others. I don’t know—if this is really about my honour or something like this—”

“No, it’s—” His face reddened. Harry wished they weren’t at the Common Room to discuss this, but he also knew he wouldn’t get to take Ginny to any secluded corner that night with all those prying eyes. “It’s also my honour—I don’t want people thinking we were—you know—here.”

He gestured around the Common Room, still filling with people coming back from dinner.

Ginny leaned closer as well, her face a mask. “So the problem is with ‘you know’, or ‘here’?”

“Here,” he said truthfully.

“So if people were assuming you took me to the lake to steal away my precious flower—”

“What? No, I mean—that would also be a problem—I don’t want people talking about us, you know, anywhere!”

She let out a laugh suddenly. “You are too cute when you get flustered, Harry,” she said, moving her chair closer to him and clearly forgetting all about the distance they had cultivated that day. “Don’t worry—Ron knows we just fell asleep on the couch, he won’t spill any gossip to my family.”

“That’s a relief,” he mumbled, still recalling the way Mrs. Weasley had once treated Hermione; if anyone would think he was taking advantage of Ginny... “All this talk and it’s not even true—”

“And did you wish it were?” She asked innocently.

Harry frowned, confused. “What?”

“A true gossip for once. That you and I, you know—”

She was just teasing him, he knew, but still, his cheek burned bright, his mind always easily compelled to imagine any scenario that involved Ginny, and even more, you know.

“Well,” he said slowly, caressing her hand. “What I do wish is that Ron wouldn't catch us then.”

[alwayshinny]

Hinny 💭

The fact that Harry Potter was going out with Ginny Weasley seemed to interest a great number of people, most of them girls, yet Harry found himself newly and happily impervious to gossip over the next few weeks. After all, it made a very nice change to be talked about because of something that was making him happier than he could remember being for a very long time, rather than because he had been involved in horrific scenes of Dark Magic.

- Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, p. 535

[remedialpotions]

Happily Impervious

It’s still May 10 in my part of the world, so here’s my humble offering to @clarensjoy ‘s Hinny Ficfest! Many thanks to Clare for arranging all of this and encouraging me to write. This fic is for prompt #52 - “People are talking about us.”

***

Ginny has just closed herself inside the stall when the door to the bathroom creaks open again, then slams shut with a thud.

“I just can’t understand what he even sees in her,” comes a loud, haughty voice that echoes off the stone walls. “She’s not even that pretty, really.”

“A lot of boys think she’s fit,” comes a second, more timid voice - one that sounds a bit nervous to disagree with the first. “I heard Jimmy Peakes and Jack Sloper saying how-“

“They’re just third years,” interrupts the first voice with irritation, “they don’t know what they’re talking about.”

Ginny’s stomach flips, because she knows this voice. She’s heard it carrying easily over the din of the Great Hall and disrupting the peaceful calm of the Gryffindor dormitories at night. It’s Romilda Vane - attempted poisoner of Ginny’s brand-new boyfriend and actual poisoner of Ginny’s brother - and just the thought of being near her makes her blood boil.

So she’s not sure why she does it. She should just wee and get the hell out of there. But instead, she climbs silently up on the closed toilet seat so that her feet won’t be seen through the gap between the stall door and the floor. Crouching low, barely breathing lest she give herself away, she listens.

“And anyway,” Romilda goes on as a knob turns and water gushes into the sink, “I’d rather die than have all that red hair.”

Oh. It doesn’t exactly come as a surprise, being the subject of Romilda’s vitriol, but Ginny expected something a bit more original than insults about her hair.

“Your hair is way prettier,” the second girl hurries to add, desperation from approval dripping from her words. “I’m sure he’ll come to his senses soon.”

“I hope so,” says Romilda. There is a pause as the water shuts off, and Ginny’s sure they can hear her heart pounding in her chest. “That, or she’ll end up chucking him. She goes through boys pretty quickly, doesn’t she?”

Ginny knows she should probably want to leap out of the stall and tackle Romilda to the ground, but instead she just rolls her eyes. If finally being with Harry means she’s had too many boyfriends - whatever that means - then so be it.

“Maybe when she chucks him for someone else, you can make your move,” adds the second girl, who Ginny now suspects is Romilda’s eternal shadow, Vicky Frobisher. “You could try the love potion again-“

“So I can spend my Saturdays cleaning the owlery with a toothbrush again?” interjects Romilda with such disdain that Ginny can clearly picture the sneer on her face. “It’s not worth it. But you know...” Her voice has dropped low, conspiratorial. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Ginny’s slipped him a love potion of her own.”

Vicky gasps, far too dramatically than the situation warrants, and Ginny’s body shakes with silent laughter. “You really think so?”

“It would explain everything,” says Romilda. “Why else do you think they’re suddenly snogging all over the place?”

At this, Ginny bristles. Sure, there was that first kiss in the common room, and there have been a few corridor greetings that perhaps got out of hand, but for Merlin’s sake, it’s not like they’re Ron and Lavender.

“Plus, she’s got easy access,” adds Romilda. “Her brothers are the ones sending out the love potions, aren’t they? I bet she’s got an unlimited supply.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” replies Vicky, sounding awestruck. “If only you could prove it, then she’d get detention too-“

Romilda laughs - a harsh, mean cackle. “I’d pay good money to see her sweeping up owl droppings.”

It’s not exactly comfortable, perching atop a closed toilet seat, and this foray into espionage is eating into Ginny’s lunch hour. As she peers through the narrow gap between the stall door and the wall, she sees that Romilda and Vicky are quite caught up in applying shiny pink gloss to their lips.

She simply doesn’t have time for this. It’s taking too much time away from Harry, and they’ve got so little time together anyway. And so - even though she still has to wee - she climbs down off the seat, flushes the toilet, and unlocks the door.

The girls are frozen with shock as Ginny strides over to the sink right next to Romilda and turns the tap on full blast.

“Oh, hi there,” Ginny chirps, beaming at Romilda’s stunned reflection in the mirror. “Love that lip gloss on you. It’s very - erm-“ Clearing her throat, she runs a bar of soap over her palms. “Sparkly. Boys like that, do they?”

As she lathers her hands with soap - and she really scrubs, too, just to drag out the moment - a deliciously heavy silence descends upon them. Ginny goes about her business as though nothing’s out of the ordinary, rinsing the suds from her hands and drying them off, but inwardly she delights at the panicked glances between Romilda and Vicky.

“Well, I’d better be off,” says Ginny brightly, tossing her hair over one shoulder and making for the door. “Those love potions aren’t going to brew themselves, are they?”

When she gets to the Great Hall, she finds Harry seated alone at the Gryffindor table. It’s still surreal that she can do the things she does - place a hand on his shoulder as she approaches, lean in for a kiss that he eagerly reciprocates, seat herself right next to him on the bench - and yet somehow it’s natural too, easy, like they should have been doing this for months now already.

“Sorry I took so long,” says Ginny as she pours herself a glass of pumpkin juice. “I got held up a bit. Where’re these two?” She gestures across the table to the empty seats usually occupied by Ron and Hermione.

“The library, apparently,” replies Harry.

“Ron’s spending his lunch break in the library?”

“More like spending it wherever Hermione wants him to.”

“Right,” Ginny chuckles.

Harry’s hand finds her thigh under the table, the warmth of his fingertips burning through the fabric of her robes. “Did something happen?”

“Hmm?”

“You said you got held up, is everything all right?”

“Oh, that.” Ginny takes a sip of pumpkin juice to stall for time. “It’s nothing really, just - people are talking about us. And I happened to... overhear.”

She quickly summarizes the highlights of Romilda and Vicky’s conversation, and by the end, Harry’s shaking his head in disbelief... but he’s also on the verge of laughter.

And it is so good to see him laugh. It’s so good to see this lightness come over him, to see him relieved of the life he has to live. In the face of a truly happy Harry Potter, what’s a bit of gossip, really?

“I’m so sorry,” he says, shifting in his seat to face her as her hand covers his. “I’m sorry people talk about us, that they say those things about you-“

“I’m not bothered,” she tells him plainly, and she’s really not. It’s annoying, but it’s so trivial that it’s not worth the space in her brain. “Not if you’re not.”

His face draws closer to hers, so close that their foreheads nearly touch. “I’m not either.”

Their lips meet - and maybe, Ginny thinks, maybe she will go snogging him all over the place, because if that’s the reputation she’s got then she may as well embrace it - until her recollection of how all this came about triggers something in her brain.

“I’ll be right back,” she says as she clambers off the bench.

Harry puzzles up at her. “You just got here.”

“Weren’t you listening? I never actually got to wee, and now I really have to-“

And she hurries toward the door with the sound of Harry’s laughter flooding her ears.

[cerises-amoureuses]

Firstly, what we need to realise is that Harry was incredibly attracted to Ginny throughout HBP, to the stage where seeing Ginny kiss another boy drove him up the wall. He spent a better part of the year wrestling with his emotions, which is something he didn’t go through with Cho Chang. Of course, this could be because Ginny, being Ron’s little sister, posed an interesting dilemma, but also because Harry’s feelings extended beyond a simple crush. The easiest way to deduct this is to go back to Harry’s infamous first kiss: he did not enjoy it, nor did he express any sort of desire to do it again. But in Ginny’s case, he had barely worked out his feelings for her when he started envisioning himself kissing her. Harry only ever thought Cho was nice-looking, but he experienced a very typical, boyish sort of lust and want when it came to Ginny.

“She began popping up in his dreams in ways that made his devoutly thankful Ron could not perform legilimency.” – Harry, HBP.

It does not take a genius to figure out exactly what he and Ginny were doing in Harry’s dreams. This inneuendo is remarkably suggestive; Harry had begun having sexual, inappropriate dreams about his best friend’s little sister that made him feel guilty and embarrassed. Moreover, note the instances when Ginny and Harry came in contact; they were often punctuated with Harry either feeling a “swooping sensation” or getting so tense that goosebumps erupted on the back of his neck. There is no evidence of Harry ever feeling jumpy by a girl’s slight touch before, which begs the question why it flustered him so physically in the first place. All evidences point to the thick sexual tension that Harry was feeling between himself and Ginny.

Simply put, Harry’s attraction to Ginny had permeated the boundaries of innocent crushes and gone straight to lustful thoughts and wild dreams.

“… He had received a lot more Bludger injuries during practice because he had not been keeping his eyes on the Snitch .. “ - Harry, HBP.

There is little room for argument for one trying to say that Harry was admiring Ginny in all innocence from a broomstick suspended in midair. This is another not-so subtle allusion to Harry’s burgeoning sexual attraction. Being a sixteen-year old boy, it is fairly plausible that Harry was being highly inappropriate, possibly undressing Ginny with his eyes, and he needed the force of a Bludger to snap him out of it. It is ridiculous to insinuate that Harry wasn’t looking a little intently than he ought to at Ginny; how else could he have ignored a Bludger speeding at him?

Quite apart from the fact that Harry described his impromptu mid-common room snog with Ginny in a remarkably heavenly fashion, he also explicitly went on to say that if they had time, they would talk about the Quidditch match. This does not specifically point to anything too scandalous, but it does make very clear that Harry intended on taking Ginny to a deserted area for more kissing. This seems a terribly bold step for two people who haven’t even started dating yet. It speaks a lot about their relationship that they started things off with a good, (presumably) lengthy snog, and jumped headlong into the opportunity to snog some more. It insinuates that the two were already very comfortable with each other, and already moving very fast in their relationship.

If that didn’t scream CLUE!!! enough, the next sure indicator was Harry’s feelings while they were dating. His narration was light, airy and genuinely happy – a dramatic change from the teenage angst that readers had been dealing with since GOF. It might be in my imagination, but I have always thought Harry in that period to be all kinds of insufferable, walking around with a goofy grin on his face and not paying much attention to anything – that lovestruck behaviour is largely hinted at in the books,after all. Hadn’t Professor Slughorn attributed Harry’s detoriating Potions grade to “lovesickness”? This obviously meant that Harry had been displaying visible symptoms of the same, which prompted that line of reasoning. What else could make the Boy-Who-Finally-Got-A-Girlfriend “happily impervious to gossip”?

On a particularly striking instance, Harry states that he was reliving a happy moment spent with Ginny in the grounds – if it was “happy” enough for Harry to dwell on it later, what could they have been doing, one wonders? (Cough, cough). Harry expressed explicit frustration that he could no longer spend time with Ginny, and there a very choice things that would, per say, “frustrate” a sixteen-year old boy.

Perhaps it isn’t overly obvious on skimming HBP, but if one analyses Harry’s narration, as I have, it becomes laughably clear that Harry and Ginny were almost definitely being adventurous. Ginny, for her part, is described as fiery and passionate – nothing in her character suggests restraint or holding back. A war, of which Harry was a main part, was going on in full-swing outside the cosy walls of the castle. It is additionally suggestive that JK Rowling also wrote in a specific conversation where it was revealed to Harry that people often elope during times of war. Ginny herself had commented playfully on it. If taking that step as such a young age wasn’t exactly responsible, the could hardly be blamed for it.

Another compelling argument is the fact that Harry, in particular, was, for want of a better word, especially well-equipped. For goodness’ sakes, the boy owned a legitimate Invisibilty Cloak, the Marauder’s Map and was an active user of the Room of Requirement. While Harry made use of these magical items for relatively noble and innocent purposes – in a non-Voldemort dangered world, what else would students want to make themselves invisible for? Ginny, in particular, doesn’t seem the type to ignore the dual potential of items like the map and Cloak.

Lastly, the dealbreaker was the stiflingly unbearable encounters between Harry and Ginny in DH. If there was slight sexual tension in the air between them in HBP, this was magnified about a hundred times in DH. Not many people choose to dwell on this, but I invite you think for a moment – imagine being boyfriend and girlfriend scarcely two months ago, and having a blissful, perfect relationship. Now, imagine being forced to live under the same roof – two teenagers – when they were so unwillingly forced to break up. They had barely spent a month dating, only to be brutally separated, and then made to live together again? Forget Crucio, there’s nothing more torturous than that.

Every time Harry made eye-contact her, he starts to recall moments spent with Ginny in secluded parts of the grounds, which is possibly the least subtle reference in the entire franchise. Again, he experiences acute, agonising frustration, to the point where he is actively trying not to brush against her while they eat dinner – it sounds almost as if he doesn’t trust himself. Another extremely suggestive moment is when Aunt Muriel makes a comment on the scandalous, revealing quality of Ginny’s bridesmaid dress, and the latter turns around and winks at Harry.

No explanation needed.

Need I dwell on Harry’s absolutely endearing jealousy while Ginny danced with other boys at the wedding? He, quite literally, leans against a pillar, folds his arms, (presumably with a glare on his face) and stares fixedly at Ginny.

One confusing instance, however, was Ginny’s – ahem – birthday present to Harry, in which he says, “And then she was kissing him like she had never kissed him before ...” This could somewhat serve as proof that they never progressed farther than snogging, but this greatly contradicts that aforementioned alusions to the same. It also seems a little naive to assume that they were exceedingly good little children while they disappeared for hours to secluded corners and fondly dwell on those instances to the point of distraction afterwards. No, it is my belief that it had been so long since Harry kissed her that he was automatically prone to over-exaggerating their sudden reprisal.

As I come to my conclusion, a few worthy mentions – Harry’s thoughts just before Voldemort struck him in the Forbidden Forest in DH: “And Harry thought inexplicably of Ginny, and her blazing look, and the feel of her lips on his –“ Alas, he never completed his train of thinking, but it does leave considerable food for thought.

Therefore, one can comfortably assume that in at least one area of his life, Harry acted like any normal boy his age. He had strong, passionate feelings for Ginny, and she unquestionably felt the same about him (“I never gave up on you. Not really. I always hoped …”), and those kind of things are recipes for teenage intimacy. However, anyone clinging to childhood beliefs can also safely predict that they waited. We may never know, but the evident has always been there, just as JK Rowling intended.

What are you thinking? 🤔

[halothenthehorns]

TLTNL- THE SEER OVERHEARD

Remus gave baby Harry to Sirius so that he could take the book. Sirius was happy to oblige, but he hesitated getting too comfortable. They were lucky the kid hadn't kicked up a fuss during the tension in the room as Harry cursed Malfoy, and Sirius didn't think their luck would continue if anything worse were to happen to Harry. He tried to hold confidence as much as he did the little charge as Remus began.

The fact that Harry Potter was going out with Ginny Weasley seemed to interest a great number of people, most of them girls, yet Harry found himself newly and happily impervious to gossip over the next few weeks.

"Only took you a little over six years then," James chuckled.

Harry seemed as blissfully unaware of the teasing comment as he had of every student in that castle, twisting the ring on his finger with a more relaxed feeling than he ever had.

After all, it made a very nice change to be talked about because of something that was making him happier than he could remember being for a very long time, rather than because he had been involved in horrific scenes of Dark magic.

"I guess I can see that point," Lily agreed, still fiddling with her hair anxiously for that to pop up again in an even worse way. The end of the year was approaching, and the idea was now on her mind this very book was the reason Snape was going to end up leaving the school.

Ginny wasn't as pleased, pointing out there had been three more dementor attacks this week, and all Romilda Vane wanted to know was if he had a tattoo of a Hippogriff across his chest.

"Well of course, that's such relevant news after all," Lily rolled her eyes.

"Nah, but I can believe Sirius did," Remus chuckled.

"I always did want a tattoo," Sirius agreed at once, not even joking as his eyes lit with excitement. "Was going to get Prongs to design something cross my chest." He dragged his shirt down to expose his collarbones so he could draw the line.

James seemed likened to the idea at once and began eyeing him critically, muttering about sketches, though Sirius got a bit nervous as he realized he'd just offered his mate up to the idea of being a guinea pig for a bit.

  Ron and Hermione both roared with laughter. Harry ignored them. Hermione asked what she'd said, and Ginny had returned with it being a Hungarian Horntail, much more macho.

Everyone burst out around Harry with laughter for that, except Sirius, who scowled and turned genuinely threatening towards his mate.

"You know I wouldn't," James held his hands up defensively at once, the honesty he was trying to enforce ruined by still twitching lips.

Sirius grumbled a bit but relaxed back again as his mind went through charms for color changing ink implementing into designs.

Harry was grinning now as he asked what she'd spread around Ron had, and his sister returned a Pygmy Puff, but hadn't said where.

Now everyone got a good laugh out of that one, Sirius muttering something salacious about where Hermione might like it.

Ron scowled as Hermione rolled around laughing. He told the two to watch it, just because he'd given his permission didn't mean he couldn't withdraw it-

"Ouch!" Remus yelped on Harry's part. "That's a threat you're going to have to live with the rest of your life as well!"

Harry's smile faltered a bit and he glanced around with a detached expression. It wasn't true depression for his circumstances, he didn't think he could ever feel that with the realization he had the potential to spend the rest of his life here, but the longing for the family he'd left behind had somehow managed to grow in the past hour.

Harry saw that Remus tried to start apologizing for bringing such a thing up, but Harry waved him off with a convincing enough smile. There would be plenty of time to think about that later.

Ginny scoffed about such a thing as permission to do anything. Ron had said himself Harry was better than Michael or Dean.

Ron still grudgingly agreed with this, but that didn't mean he'd sit around watch them snogging in public-

Ginny called him a filthy hypocrite, as he'd been thrashing around like an eel a month ago.

"She's got him there," James said with exaggerated solemnness.

But Ron's tolerance was not to be tested much as they moved into June, for Harry and Ginny's time together was becoming increasingly restricted. Ginny's O.W.L.s were approaching and she was therefore forced to revise for hours into the night. On one such evening, when Ginny had retired to the library and Harry was sitting beside the window in the common room, supposedly finishing his Herbology home-work but in reality reliving a particularly happy hour he had spent down by the lake with Ginny at lunch-time, Hermione dropped into the seat between him and Ron with an unpleasantly purposeful look on her face.

"Oh boy," Sirius went wide eyed in concern, even if he was mostly teasing. "What did you do now!"

"Nothing!" Harry tried to splutter in protest, but he didn't sound very certain himself.

Harry was suspicious at once, Hermione had already told him off once today for distracting Ginny when she should be focusing on her examinations.

"Oh, but there are such good techniques one can implement while studying with a partner," Lily tried to say casually enough, but James gave her a puckish look that ruined the whole thing, and none of the others even wanted know.

She instead began about that so-called Half-Blood Prince.

Lily lost a few shades of color and clasped her hands painfully while all the boys shifted uncomfortably and didn't look at each other.

Harry groaned not this again!

He had not dared to return to the Room of Requirement to retrieve his book, and his performance in Potions was suffering accordingly (though Slughorn, who approved of Ginny, had jocularly attributed this to Harry being lovesick).

"He wasn't even wrong," Harry agreed with such a dopy expression, it could have been James thinking about Lily again.

But Harry was sure that Snape had not yet given up hope of laying hands on the Prince's book, and was determined to leave it where it was while Snape remained on the lookout.

Hermione firmly returned she was not dropping anything until he heard her out. She'd been doing some studying to find out who made a hobby of inventing Dark spells-

"Yeah, like Death Eaters," Sirius said with all the scorn he could muster. Lily brushed her hair across her face and couldn't look at any of them, while James and Harry scowled at Sirius. He wanted to keep scowling without remorse, but felt it impossible to purposely keep hurting Lily just to keep going on about such a waste of air, so relented and muttered a quick apology.

Harry crossly cut in he hadn't made a hobby-

Hermione viciously again called him out on why this was a he?!

Harry repeated the title of Prince!

Hermione was getting angry now as she slammed down a bit of paper in front of him, a very old newspaper clipping.

Harry picked up the crumbling piece of paper and stared at the moving photograph, yellowed with age; Ron leaned over for a look, too. The picture showed a skinny girl of around fifteen. She was not pretty; she looked simultaneously cross and sullen, with heavy brows and a long, pallid face. Underneath the photograph was the caption: Eileen Prince, Captain of the Hogwarts Gobstones Team.

Lily jerked upright again with a gobsmacked expression in place. "Merlin's pants, she did it!"

"Snape's mother then?" James tried to ask without disgust clear in his voice.

She just nodded along without anything further to say, and none of the others really wanted to hear it. Harry most of all felt chagrined for brushing Hermione off now, again, when she'd been so right about everything.

Harry couldn't see the connection until Hermione emphasized the last name, and he shot her down at once.

"Why is that so farfetch'd?" Remus asked in confusion. "I'd think it rather likely in fact, it's as good an explanation as any."

"It was something about that handwriting," Harry said with a shrug. "It may have just been writing spiky D's across my potions grades the past five years, but now I'm looking back realizing why I thought the handwriting looked like a blokes."

"I see what you mean," James said carefully so as not to upset his wife more over this.

Hermione kept going with her explanation anyways, that if she were a halfblood than that would make her a half-blood Prince.

"It's almost hilarious just how close she is," Lily murmured to herself. Eeline had actually been a pureblood, but Tobias had been a Muggle, making Snape indeed fit this exact mark.

Harry insisted he could just tell this wasn't a girl.

Harry scowled at nothing and tried to flatten his hair with agitation he couldn't have had such a realization at sixteen as he had now.

Hermione shot back he didn't think a girl could be clever enough to do this!

"Oh, now she's just being dramatic," Sirius rolled his eyes. "No self respecting bloak would even consider such a thing after being taught by McGonagall all those years, let alone having such a friend as Hermione around after all this time." The Marauder's had always known better, considering how lethal they knew Evans to be with her own wand at a very young age.

"She's hurt she's being dismissed, again," Lily shrugged with some sympathy of how Hermione could draw that conclusion.

Harry became exasperated, pointing out he could not know her for all these years and not think girls were clever? He just knew Prince was a bloke, and this girl had nothing to do with it.

Lily gave a sardonic laugh, but she was the only one who bothered.

Remus was nibbling at his lip and could already draw the conclusion of how Harry, through Hermione, would have understood all this himself in his own time, likely why he hadn't freaked out about the revelation in here like they had.

Hermione was not to be persuaded, declaring she was going back to the library to track the rest of this down, starting with potions awards!

Harry scowled as she left, then asked of Ron if he thought him crazy wanting that book back?

Ron said no at once, the Prince was a genius.

Sirius groaned in pain and clutched at his ears.

"Oh stop," Lily scowled at his theatrics. "You'd be saying the exact same thing if you didn't know, I bloody regret telling you lot right now just so I can keep enjoying seeing you compliment someone other than yourself for once!"

"Oh fine," Sirius sighed as he sat up more properly, giving the baby still comfortably nestled in his lap a little tickle. "I've myself admitted he was a knowledgeable slimy git at least."

Lily clucked her tongue and kept eyeing him while Remus ignored the pair.

Ron reminded Malfoy had healed up fine, Harry agreed, thanks to Snape. Ron asked if he still had detention, and Harry agreed, Snape had even been hinting it would carry on into next year.

"Thankfully he won't be there for that," James said with the same amount of viciousness he always had. Lily's old friend or not, that man was still being a complete arse to his son for the man's own faults. It was maddening Dumbledore hadn't stepped in, nor had McGonagall been any help. No one had ever heard Harry out on his side of that conflict!

He was finding these detentions particularly irksome because they cut into the already limited time he could have been spending with Ginny. Indeed, he had frequently wondered lately whether Snape did not know this, for he was keeping Harry later and later every time, while making pointed asides about Harry having to miss the good weather and the varied opportunities it offered.

"Would not surprise me," Remus agreed in clipped tones. That long nosed tengu would finally hold Potter in detention for as long as he pleased, the wrong Potter.

Harry was shaken from these bitter reflections by the appearance at his side of Jimmy Peakes, who was holding out a scroll of parchment. Harry took it with excitement, seeing it say he was to go to the Headmasters office right now.

Remus went uncomfortably stiff in his seat in surprise, he didn't even need to look up at the others to know they were thinking the same.

"I don't know why, but I did not expect this to be happening so soon," James said what they were all thinking.

"This is a good thing," Sirius at once tried to perk up with excitement. "Means we'll find another of these things, we'll be warned of everything surrounding it. One step closer to be rid of these things fifteen years early."

Remus wished he could so easily agree as he kept going, but all any of them could think was what Harry had lived through to get to this thing. Dumbledore had nearly lost a hand, and Harry had nearly lost his life trying to take out previous Horcruxes. What would this one cost?

They stared at each other for a moment before Ron whispered if he'd really found another?

Harry pointed out he had to go to find out, and was already jumping for the portrait hole.

He hurried out of the common room and along the seventh floor as fast as he could, passing nobody but Peeves, who swooped past in the opposite direction, throwing bits of chalk at Harry in a routine sort of way and cackling loudly as he dodged Harry's defensive jinx. Once Peeves had vanished, there was silence in the corridors; with only fifteen minutes left until curfew, most people had already returned to their common rooms.

And then Harry heard a scream and a crash. He stopped in his tracks, listening, as someone yelled 'how dare you!'

A flair of panic and anger shot through them that very second, too many memories of wannabe Death Eaters having their way in the school, too many instances of coming across something similar. Remus read with a ferocity making it clear that whoever was causing harm in that school would not be lucky when Harry came across them.

The noise was coming from a corridor nearby; Harry sprinted towards it, his wand at the ready, hurtled round another corner and saw Professor Trelawney sprawled upon the floor, her head covered in one of her many shawls, several sherry bottles lying beside her, one broken.

This was not at all what they'd been expecting to hear, and so their heated feeling was tampered off into confusion and unease. Eccentric or not, they still would have thought Trelawney, as a full grown witch, would not be screaming like that in a school full of kids unless something very bad was going on.

Harry hurried forwards and helped Professor Trelawney to her feet. Some of her glittering beads had become entangled with her glasses. She hiccoughed loudly, patted her hair and pulled herself up on Harry's helping arm. He asked what happened, and she began at once in her eccentricities about the Dark portents she'd been glimpsing-

But Harry was not paying much attention. He had just noticed where they were standing: there on the right was the tapestry of dancing trolls and, on the left, that smoothly impenetrable stretch of stone wall that concealed - He interrupted to ask if she'd been trying to get into the Room of Requirements?

She stopped in surprise, suddenly becoming shifty. Abandoning her talk of vouchsafed, she asked how he knew about that, students didn't-

Harry cut in to say it wasn't common knowledge, but what had happened in there? Sounded like she'd been hurt.

Trelawney turned defensive, drawing her shawls tight around her defensively as she half answered about having wished to deposit, certain, personal items...

Harry glanced down at the sherry bottles.

Lily couldn't help a sour expression lighting her face for a moment. She couldn't deny a good drink now and then was nice, but trying to stash away the bottles didn't feel right. Surely the house-elves would clean them up like anything else.

He surmised she hadn't been able to get in, finding this very odd; the Room had opened for him, after all, when he had wanted to hide the Half-Blood Prince's book.

Trelawney was glaring at the wall now as she said she'd been able to get in alright, but there had already been someone in there. She had no idea who it was, but it sounded like an excited whooping.

Harry stared at her before he could ask if it was male or female, and the teacher hazard a guess at male.

"Um, Harry," James tried to say, but even as the caution occurred to him, to warn his son not to get ahead of himself on what he was thinking, they were all sitting there slack jawed for the same idea.

Remus shushed him anyways, reading along hurriedly to see if this was just another student, or a very particular student.

Then she'd called out for who was there, and Harry couldn't help but ask with frustration she couldn't have figured that out without asking?

Sirius couldn't stop a surprised little snort of laughter even as his eyes felt likely to fall out of socket Harry had just stumbled across this!

Trelawney said with dignity the Inner Eye had been outside the realm of whooping voices at the time.

Lily tried for an appreciative chuckle at both of their sarcasm, but it fell flat as her ears started ringing with intensity and disbelief. Had Harry slipped another bit of Felix Felicis to come across all this right now?

Harry quickly went back for the story, asking if she'd discovered who it was?

She said no, everything had gone pitch black and she was hurled headfirst out of the Room.

Harry was unable to stop himself asking she hadn't seen that coming?

Trelawney began to remind it had been dark, before she stopped and glared at him suspiciously.

Everyone made an attempt to laugh, but it was all false to their own ears, dying as quickly as it had started. Stomachs still clenched painfully in anticipation, Remus kept going in a rush to see Harry burst in there and see what was happening, finally!

Harry began she should tell Dumbledore about this, he ought to know Malfoy, er, someone was celebrating in the Room.

"What?! You're going to Dumbledore, now!? When you're convinced Malfoy's on the other side of that door, that you now know how to get into!" James was looking at his son like he was afraid he'd lost his mind.

"I was already on my way to see Dumbledore," Harry reminded, his heart thrumming so hard he wondered if he'd swallowed a bird recently. "Now I had someone else as proof Malfoy was up to something, I thought I'd be back with Dumbledore at that spot in seconds and no one could deny what Malfoy was doing."

He probably hadn't meant to put such special emphasis on the word thought, but he had, and they had not for a second forgotten why Harry had been heading there. "Bloody hell," Sirius groaned as he ran his hand roughly threw his hair, before abruptly getting up and going to put the infant away. This just was not going to go well.

When he came back, he was surprised there wasn't an argument going on of what Harry should have prioritized in doing, going after Malfoy or the Horcrux. They just sat stiff and uncomfortable in their seats like they were waiting for a pin to drop of whatever horror was fixing to happen, because it was clear something was. There was no way these two events had occurred at the same time! Sirius couldn't have that.

He launched himself over the seat, knocking into his two mates, and then fell backwards, flopping uncomfortably over them both as he demanded, "so, time for the real, hard hitting question. You never did tell us what Ron and Ginny had to say about that match!"

Harry laughed in surprise, but it was short lived. There was already something teeming away at his innards, promising this was going to be a long, fretful night to come. He should cling to that amusement his godfather offered while he still could, because there wasn't going to be much of it when Remus continued.

To his surprise, Professor Trelawney drew herself up at this suggestion, looking haughty. She said the Headmaster had made his wish known for her visits to be as far and few between. He continued to ignore her warnings-

Her bony hand closed suddenly around Harry's wrist.

She pulled a card dramatically from underneath her shawls and declared the lightning-struck tower. Calamity, disaster, all coming near!

The others seemed to think the same as Harry just had, trying to get in some half hearted laughter now while they still could at Trelawney. Harry could no longer feel any such thing, but instead shivered all the way down to his soul.

Harry agreed, unimpressed, but still said she should speak to Dumbledore.

Trelawney considered it for a second now, clearly likening to the idea of retelling her little adventure.

Harry encouraged he was going to see him right now, they could go together.

Trelawney finally agreed, bending down and scooping up her sherry bottles to dump them unceremoniously in a large blue and white vase standing in a nearby niche.

"That's exactly what those are used for," James absently agreed. It had honestly been a game sometimes to find places where other students might have hidden things, hands coming up with the randomest of items. His personal favorite had been finding some muggle board game and spending the weekend playing that with the Marauders before putting it back behind the tapestry of a dragon wandering around a dungeon. They'd come back the next time and found it gone again.

As they set off together, she told him she missed having him in her class.

"Oh, I'm so sure," Lily said snipply, she did not miss her son being proclaimed with a death sentence every class, even if Dumbledore seemed to have unintentionally taken up that roll instead.

He was never much of a Seer, but he'd been a wonderful Object.

Remus said that with pure agitation, he'd really like to have a word with Trelawney, especially about Harry, but in general how she kept getting less amusing and more aggravating the longer she talked.

Harry did not reply; he had loathed being the Object of Professor Trelawney's continual predictions of doom.

She continued, clearly without noticing, how others so often mocked her for her gift, but would Dumbledore have hired her if he did not believe in her?

Sirius gave an awkward kind of laugh, as the reason she was at that school happened to be the Potters doom, his humor was understandably not carried through.

Harry mumbled something indistinct as she kept going, seeming to enjoy her trip down memory lane now as she recalled the first time they'd met. She was staying in the Hogshead and he had graciously agreed to come down and meet her. She'd been feeling a little funny that day after all. They'd been discussing the future of the subject, and while Dumbledore hadn't seemed very impressed at first things had changed quickly-

Remus did not need Sirius shifting uneasily beside him, Prongs moving to ruffle up his hair or anything else to tell him what he was about to read. Trelawney didn't seem to know when she even made prophecies, but any further recountings of this one would surely make him want to crawl away and die all over again, having to relive what happened to one of his very best friends for the thousandth time over the past week.

Now Harry was paying attention properly for the first time, for he knew what had happened then: Professor Trelawney had made the prophecy that had altered the course of his whole life, the prophecy about him and Voldemort-

as she exclaimed they'd been rudely interrupted by Severus Snape.

Remus froze up, feeling as if he'd just run face first into a brick wall. He only finished saying the name out of sheer force of habit because of course that's what happened next, his mind supplied with bright clarity bordering on madness. It was something they'd only briefly wondered in the past but never gotten much of an answer, how did Voldemort know this as well as Dumbledore? Why, from one of his Death Eaters at the time!

Lily screamed.

She'd done so before, in excitement when she'd discovered a clever new way to brew a potion, in joy when announcing Harry's birth, and so many years ago at her once best friend for so foully calling her the worst thing imaginable. She did so now with pure murder on her face.

She moved fast, much faster than the Quidditch players really would have given her credit for, as Harry only just caught her around the waist and tried to pull her back.

Maternal instinct is likely all that saved his life, as she tried to beat him off with her fists rather than magic. She seemed beyond able to do anything else, as she writhed furiously and screamed mirthlessly about that traitor. It was finally too much, the Dark spells she'd just discovered of his own hand, and now this! If he really had grown to hate her so much, that he would really turn over her life, and the innocent life of the child she had, Severus Snape would not get out another breath.

Harry pleaded with her to think about what she was doing, reminding her she wouldn't get very far even if she did know where she was heading. She either couldn't, or wouldn't hear a word of it.

When Harry did lose his grip on her, she ran headlong into her husbands waiting arms. James held her more firmly than their son had managed, and whispered for her ears alone, "We will find a way to fix this, make it so that Harry never has to be without us again."

She shuddered for several more heart stopping moments before going lax in defeat, allowing herself to be steered back into a seat, clutching at James' chest as if in fear it would melt away the second she let ago, finally feeling every last drop of what she'd been denying for four years. There was nothing left of her best friend.

Sirius was bouncing on the balls of his feet uneasily, well aware he'd never made things easier on her in facing this regard, and so for once in his life tried to advocate for that waste, "I ah, well Lils, I'm sure he didn't know Voldemort was choosing you, remember? The prophecy, Voldemort could have picked a lot of families-"

She gave him such a stone cold glare, the phrase 'if looks could kill' flew through his mind. "He did this to someone! I don't see him turning up on my doorstep to warn me of what he'd heard, no! He went and told his bloody master about this prophecy!" She'd never even wanted to consider what all he'd done as a confirmed Death Eater, much happier thinking it a horrible rumor or tricked into it from one of those terrible friends of his back in school. His Dark Mark had proved that otherwise, but even then she never would have considered him capable of this!

James only tightened his hold on her, whispering nonsense but heart nonetheless as a reminder they would not let this be the end of them. The news of who had done this did not change the out come.

Lily had to believe him, it was the only thing still holding her together in her husbands strong arms. This family would still survive no matter what continued to haunt them from their past.

Remus clutched the book uncomfortably to him for another few moments before finally realizing he didn't have much of a choice but to keep going. Harry's face was stark white in shock, it seemed a miracle he hadn't flew into as much of a rage as his mother, and Remus was uncomfortably aware of where Harry heard this news at sixteen. In the very castle with that acquitted Death Eater, and the man who had done so. Couple that with Malfoy right behind him, on the cusp of accomplishing yet another task on Voldemort's word, and Harry was as likely to explode soon as well as Lily Potter still was.

She described a commotion outside the door, Snape was being forced away by the old barman there who had caught him eavesdropping. After that Dumbledore had been more than willing to give her the job, he seemed to have appreciated the contrast between her and such riff-raff listening at keyholes, probably fishing for tips for his own- then she called for Harry in surprise.

"Oh, yes, that's exactly why he got a job there himself no time later!" Sirius said, near his own hysterics for just how many ways that man continued to ruin their life, still watching Lily struggle feebly in her husbands grip, tears streaming her face, she looked as likely to rip her own throat out from trying to stop herself screaming so much as she would her intended victim.

She looked back over her shoulder, having only just realized that Harry was no longer with her; he had stopped walking and they were now ten feet from each other.

Perhaps his face was white, to make her look so concerned and frightened. Harry was standing stock-still as waves of shock crashed over him, wave after wave, obliterating everything except the information that had been kept from him for so long...

It was Snape who had overheard the prophecy. It was Snape who had carried the news of the prophecy to Voldemort. Snape and Peter Pettigrew together had sent Voldemort hunting after Lily and James and their son...

James tightened his arms so hard around his wife he feared he'd crush her in half, the irony a living beast all around them, laughing at them for two long best friends- for betrayal being the ultimate downfall for all.*

Through numb lips, he ordered her to stay here.

She began in surprise they were going to see the Headmaster, about the Room of-

Harry ordered her to stay here, she looked alarmed as he ran past her, round the corner into Dumbledore's corridor, where the lone gargoyle stood sentry.

"How long do you think she followed that order?" Sirius mock whispered, his eyes already painfully wide as his own feelings for this continued to crash around him. Of all the times he'd wanted to kill Snape, very many of them recent and more permanent than he ever had in school...yet still none more so than as he watched what it did to someone he called a sister. That feeling only pushed him on to continue to be who he was, he'd never let her forget who was around for her now. "A galleon says she stayed there till at least dawn, as authoritative as Harry can be."

Nobody responded, he hadn't really expected them to. It was an errant thought he put no more effort into the moment it passed his lips, watching Moony continue as Harry's destination was made clear. Dumbledore first, then carry on into the man who deserved to be murdered by the child he'd sentenced to death.

Harry shouted the password at the gargoyle and ran up the moving spiral staircase three steps at a time. He did not knock upon Dumbledore's door, he hammered;

"You've far more restraint than I," James said mechanically, already a range of magic available to him still on the tip of his tongue, blowing down Dumbledore's office door to demand what possessed this murderer to allow such a presence around his son. It was the most insulting thing Dumbledore ever could do to Harry in his entire life.

and the calm voice answered 'Enter' after Harry had already flung himself into the room.

Fawkes the phoenix looked round, his bright black eyes gleaming with reflected gold from the sunset beyond the window. Dumbledore was standing at the window looking out at the grounds, a long, black travelling cloak in his arms. He spoke softly he had promised Harry could come along.

Remus had never found it harder to concentrate on their old headmasters words, his mind still back in that corridor, the cacophony of truth tumbling around them no matter how much Dumbledore tried to prevent Harry from finding it out.

For a moment or two, Harry did not understand; the conversation with Trelawney had driven everything else out of his head and his brain seemed to be moving very slowly.

It took him a few moments to process, and then Harry remembered why he had been eager to come to Dumbledore's office in the first place. He asked that another Horcrux had been found, but still with such rage and resentment, now warring with excitement and shock, he was all but speechless.

"A sentiment I wish Sirius would share more often," Remus forced himself to keep up with what his mouth was spewing out by at least doing something even vaguely familiar. He could always count on Sirius for that.

Padfoot flashed him a shaky grin, only just having enough in him to say, "I'll never have that much going on in my head," then theatrically going cross eyed as he 'realized' the joke he'd left himself open for.

Neither Prongs nor Lils took the bait.

Dumbledore took it as fear and promised this as natural, but Harry at once said fear was not an emotion in him right now. He instead asked for details, and Dumbledore said a cave he had been trying to locate for a very long time was finally located, one that Tom Riddle had taken two orphan children to a very long time ago.

Harry asked how it was protected, and Dumbledore said he did not know, but he had suspicions.

That did grab the parents attention, knowing if this had been said at any other time they likely would have grumbled it wouldn't have killed the man to do some scouting before dragging their son into this, but both were still short of breath from the last eruption, Dumbledore talking casually of a bit of Voldemort's soul somehow managed to feel like second fiddle.

Dumbledore hesitated, then said, he had to have a promise from Harry before this could continue.

Harry insisted he was coming before Dumbledore could finish, boiling with anger at Snape, his desire to do something desperate and risky had increased tenfold in the last few minutes.

"That's not a good reason to go!" Lily's snap had Harry flinching and sitting down in his seat in the same breath. She fought to control herself as she faced him, recognizing James' fear and refusing to sound anything like her worthless sister as she spoke again. "Harry, your reckless streak will not be the death of you, I refuse! You should never go do something so foolhardy because your angry at someone else!" She recognized her own words at the same time as Harry's skeptical look had her hunching her shoulders. She didn't quite feel ashamed for her intentions yet, as she still struggled to feel anything except hate, but some part of her still meant what she said. She tried to prove that by patting James' arms around her, finishing on a whisper, "I'm glad I was stopped." She still didn't really mean that either, but it helped to know she would, that she could see it to be true as her husband and son gave just one tiny flicker of relief for her.

This seemed to show on Harry's face, for Dumbledore moved away from the window, and looked more closely at Harry, a slight crease between his silver eyebrows.

He asked what happened, and Harry lied nothing.

"Why?" James rasped in whatever breath he had to spare. He knew he would have been kicking up a storm, screaming as much as his wife had just been. He'd already suffered once in his life realizing a trusted friend lead to his death, now Lily's was just chumming it up around the castle! He demanded to know right now how Dumbledore could justify that to himself, with no one to actually demand it of.

Dumbledore chidded he was never very good at Occlumen-

Sirius made a high pitched screeching noise, like he was trying to hold back his own murderous scream. Dumbledore was using that on Harry, now?! The man was no better than the Death Eater he defended if he could just so casually do that instead of taking the time to talk to Harry!

Remus gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder in full agreement, they really needed to find some better way, some outlet that wouldn't ruin their vocal cords as every new thing erupted around them.

The word was the spark that ignited Harry's fury as he shouted about Snape! Snape had been the one to tell Voldemort the prophecy, Trelawney had told him!

Dumbledore's expression did not change, but Harry thought his face whitened under the bloody tinge cast by the setting sun. For a long moment, Dumbledore said nothing, until he finally asked when he had learned this.

Harry shouted just now, screaming Dumbledore let him teach here when that man had murdered his mum and dad!

Remus did not shout that, but he wanted to. He could still count on one hand the amount of times he'd raised his voice, it was not something he let himself do lightly. Instead, he whispered it hoarsely, as if hoping no one would hear it. What Dumbledore had done, what he continued to do to Harry, it just didn't feel real, of the same man Remus had idolized for so much of his life...

Breathing hard as though he were fighting, Harry turned away from Dumbledore, who still had not moved a muscle, and paced up and down the study, rubbing his knuckles in his hand and exercising every last bit of restraint to prevent himself knocking things over. He wanted to rage and storm at Dumbledore, but he also wanted to go with him to try and destroy the Horcrux; he wanted to tell him that he was a foolish old man for trusting Snape, but he was terrified that Dumbledore would not take him along unless he mastered his anger...

James gave a jerky attempt at a nod, seeing what Harry was thinking and envying his ability to reign himself in. He would not have been able to do the same up there, alone without anyone he could trust around him, unlike here. There really was something to be said, a miracle in all this for the way they were being forced to learn this. He smiled down at his wife and whispered how much he loved her, entirely blaming his ability to spot a light in the dark on her.

Dumbledore spoke quietly, asking to be heard. Professor Snape had made a terrible-

Harry interrupted to shout he didn't want to hear it was some accident!

It was as difficult to stop his relentless pacing as to refrain from shouting. Harry paused, biting his lip, and looked into Dumbledore's lined face.

Dumbledore requested he be allowed to finish, and waited for Harry to nod before he went on.

Sirius wanted to cover his ears up like a child, yell and scream Dumbledore could not excuse away this one! He only restrained himself by the very basic thread of sanity he still possessed. If the others could hear this, he could.

Professor Snape had made a mistake. He only heard half of the prophecy from Professor Trelawney and hastened to tell his master, but he did not know the parents Voldemort would chose to murder.

Lily almost threw up, as her hand convulsed inside her husbands with anger, still white hot, and not dimming for a second. This in no way made his actions any better, as far as she was concerned. As she'd told Sirius, if not her, than it would have been some other family, and he had not cared.

Sirius was white faced in shock he'd tried to offer the same defense as Dumbledore, and Lily hastened to assure him now, no more able to let him wallow than he had her. The nausea still high, she clutched to the first pleasant memory she could associate, "Remember back when I was pregnant with Harry, and you found me in the kitchen throwing up while James was out."

Sirius nodded slowly, easily latching onto the memory she was offering, but still finding it hard to recall the pleasant feelings being pointed out as he began hesitantly. "A three pound fetus was telling you it didn't enjoy that dublin coddle you had cooking away, I found it quite the accomplishment." He slowly turned to Harry and managed to arrange his features into an almost pleasant callback now, "I banished the lot, my favorite dish, all for you and your mum pup. Then I actually managed to make her some stewed tomatoes without blowing up the kitchen," he finished with unbridled pride.

James wrapped his arms around his wife's abdomen now while Harry managed almost a genuine smile for such a small moment still existing no matter how much others tried to stamp out their life.

Harry let out a yell of mirthless laughter, explaining as if too a fool Snape hated Sirius and his dad! Hadn't anyone else noticed the people Snape hated tended to wind up dead?

Remus had to swallow convulsively before he could keep going in any proper words. Yes, yes he had noticed that...but there must be some way to stop him...

Dumbledore insisted upon Snape's remorse, it was his greatest regret in life and the reason he-

Harry brushed his hand across his scar, across his temple as a flash of memory tried to jump around inside him. He did not believe this, his stomach clenched with further hatred at the very idea, but some small part of him felt Dumbledore's words of truth trying to echo around him, show him this. He happily ignored it, shoved it far away and continued listening with tight lipped fury.

Harry countered he was a very good Occlumens, and Voldemort was just as convinced of the opposite.

Dumbledore did not speak for a moment; he looked as though he was trying to make up his mind about something. At last he said that he still trusted Severus Snape completely.

All five of them felt they could have snapped Dumbledore's neck right then. They wanted to demand it to his face, just what trickery had Snape done to warrant such a thing!

Harry breathed deeply for a few moments in an effort to steady himself. It did not work. He did not, and he said as much. He and Draco Malfoy were doing something right under his nose-

Dumbledore sounded stern now as he said they had discussed this, Harry knew his views.

"And that's all that ever matters apparently," Lily said waspishly, the sickness in her not having been as washed away as she would have hoped by trying to cling to any sort of pleasant memory while hearing of all this.

Harry ignored him, finally saying that while they left the school tonight Malfoy would put his plan into action.

Dumbledore raised a brow, asking what this was, precisely?

Harry insisted they were up to something! Trelawney had just been thrown from the Room of Requirements by him and he was excited about something! Now he was just going to walk out of the school without-

Dumbledore called for enough. He said it quite calmly, and yet Harry fell silent at once; he knew that he had finally crossed some invisible line. His voice remained even but firm he

had never once left this school unprotected, nor would he tonight. He had always and would forever take the safety of his students seriously.

"I was never under the impression you took my safety into account much at all," Sirius said bitterly, for the first time under his breath instead of loud and proud. It still did not escape him of what he was hearing, that Dumbledore had forgiven the ultimate transgression of anyone alive as far as Sirius was concerned. The one who had set Voldemort after his best mate was walking around that castle while Sirius had rotted away without so much as a thought of Dumbledore's time.

Harry took a step back now, abashed as he tried to apologize, but Dumbledore cut across him this would not be discussed further.

Harry was physically chewing on his tongue to stop himself saying in here what more he'd been repressing in that office. He knew he could have spoken freely, without fear of being told they did not want to hear it, but still he refrained. There was no going back, nothing he could have said that would have made a difference and more, would help nothing. He needed to have this done far more than he wanted to keep griping about his headmaster.

Harry bit back his retort, scared that he had gone too far, that he had ruined his chance of accompanying Dumbledore, but Dumbledore went on to say they had things to discuss tonight, and a promise to be made. If Harry still wanted to come along?

Harry said yes at once.

Dumbledore drew himself up to his full height and stated Harry was to obey every command given at once and without question.

Harry said yes again,

"Don't be so ready with that one Harry," James cautioned, not at all as willing to move on from the subject as Harry and Remus clearly were, but feeling he had no choice. It was true, it did no good to dwell on this. They had the information now, and would just have to make a decision about it later, when they actually could. Instead his Marauders mind instantly caught on a flaw of Dumbledore's choice of words. "I wouldn't put it past him to give you an order like stay here for the whole trip."

"What would be the point of bringing me along?" Harry tried to protest, but he had the feeling his dad was right, and Remus confirmed as much in the next breath.

Dumbledore emphasized what this meant, if he were to say hide, run, or go back, he had Harry's word?

Harry still agreed, until Dumbledore used the example for Harry go leave him behind and save himself.

Harry hesitated now, they looked at each other for a moment, before Harry said yes sir.

Remus couldn't help but freeze up for a moment with deep unease. As angry as they all were with Dumbledore, as much as he'd wanted to shake him until an answer came loose, there was something foreboding about this he knew he couldn't get off as he continued, and no matter their own anger, he knew without asking the others were now holding their breath for the same reality suddenly upon them.

Dumbledore said that was that, and to go fetch his cloak. They would meet at the Entrance Hall in five minutes.

"But, haven't you been carrying that around with you all year, on his orders?" Sirius blustered out the question, wondering just how senile Dumbledore could go to forget his own words now, let alone who he put his trust in.

"I think he was giving me a chance to say by to Ron and Hermione," Harry said grudgingly, as the same thought had occurred to him as he was already thinking of seeking them out for his own purposes, and it wasn't a farewell.

Dumbledore turned back to look out of the fiery window; the sun was now a ruby-red glare along the horizon. Harry walked quickly from the office and down the spiral staircase. His mind was oddly clear all of a sudden. He knew what to do.

"At least you have a plan," Remus told him, it was far more than they'd been able to cobble together, constantly reacting to everything in Harry's life, hardly able to accept it as their new life view before another one blew up in their face.

Ron and Hermione were sitting together in the common room when he came back. They tried to ask what had happened, but he dashed up the stairs and into his dormitory, where he flung open his trunk and pulled out the Marauder's Map and a pair of balled-up socks.

"Oh," James muttered in understanding. "Smart," he congratulated his boy. "Always good to have backup." Even now, as Hermione and Ron had refused to believe even up to this moment of what Harry had been saying all year, he too would have trusted them in this moment, he feared by this point even McGonagall would not hear him out. They really were the only ones left to trust.

Then he sped back down the stairs and into the common room, skidding to a halt where Ron and Hermione sat, looking stunned. He explained everything that had happened, and how they would not be here tonight when Malfoy made his move, so he won't expect anyone to be watching as he gestured at the Map. He told them to try and round up members of the DA, anyone who would still look to their coins could be trusted.

Harry felt something in him vibrating with fright, the memory of his last year, of such horrifyingly similar circumstances being presented as his friends were told to go into a fight because of him, what he'd lost.

Sirius grasped his shoulder painfully, looking first to him until their eyes met before looking very forcefully at everyone else. "Malfoy and Snape won't know what hit them."

Harry tried his hardest to believe that, grasping pleadingly at the knowledge his friends would live through this night, and for just a moment he felt it to be true...but it took nothing away of the anxiety still rampant in him for what he was asking them to do. Someone would pay for Harry's mistakes this night, again.

Hermione's eyes were huge with fear, but Harry didn't stop, shoving the Felix Felicis, still wrapped in his socks, into Ron's grasp. Telling them to share this amongst themselves and say goodbye to Ginny for him.

Hermione tried to argue that, but Harry said he didn't need it, he would be with Dumbledore. He'd see them when he got back.

"Yes, yes you will," James agreed with every bit of conviction he had. He and Lily's friends may have failed them, but Harry's never would, just as his brothers still stood by him.

Then he was off, hurrying back through the portrait hole towards the Entrance Hall.

Dumbledore was waiting beside the oaken front doors. He turned as Harry came skidding out on to the topmost stone step, panting hard, a searing stitch in his side.

Dumbledore asked Harry to put the cloak on now, and they exited the front doors.

Remus' chest was pounding uncomfortably, he was worried it was muffling the words coming out haywire from his throat. What Harry was leaving behind was as dangerous as what he was heading towards, there was so much to think of and so many feelings he was fighting off it was as if a huge battle were raging inside him already. There was just an untold number of things that could happen, so he forced himself to just take it one word at a time, that they'd get through it all with Harry in their center.

Dumbledore set off at once down the stone steps, his own travelling cloak barely stirring in the still summer air. Harry hurried alongside him under the Invisibility Cloak, still panting and sweating rather a lot.

Harry asked wouldn't anyone be worried about seeing him leave?

Dumbledore lightly replied he was just going into Hogsmeade for a drink, as far as anyone was concerned.

They made their way down the drive in the gathering twilight. The air was full of the smells of warm grass, lake water and wood smoke from Hagrid's cabin. It was difficult to believe that they were heading for anything dangerous or frightening.

Harry still somehow managed to cling to that feeling in here, this room, where his family's presence breathed from every corner, of the pictures hung along the walls to the soft brown and red colors dominating. He would have been screaming in distress and never stopped long ago if it wasn't for the feeling of sanctuary still alive and well in here no matter what they heard from his past.

Harry asked if they'd be Apparating, and reminded he didn't have a license. He felt it best to be honest; what if he spoiled everything by turning up a hundred miles from where he was supposed to go?

Lily made a wild attempt at a carefree laugh, no one having to wonder anymore at why, she was long past that. She'd made it clear she was not very good at such a thing, she was laughing at herself in full knowledge she might well have accidentally done the same.

Dumbledore promised it would not be a problem, he would assist with that.

They turned out of the gates into the twilit, deserted lane to Hogsmeade. Darkness descended fast as they walked and by the time they reached the High Street night was falling in earnest. Lights twinkled from windows over shops and as they neared the Three Broomsticks they heard raucous shouting.

She greeted him politely, and he in kind.

Harry felt like he should have been distracted by that, he certainly felt a brief shot of puzzlement and worry for her name, but brushed it off just as fast, telling himself to stop being paranoid, the owner of the Three Broomsticks had only ever been a kind face.

He apologized and lightly fibbed he would not be taking her company tonight, he wished for a quieter setting.

She graciously understood and went back inside.

A minute later they turned the corner into the side street where the Hog's Head's sign creaked a little, though there was no breeze. In contrast to the Three Broomsticks, the pub appeared to be completely empty.

Dumbledore looked carefully around before saying there was no need to go inside, and for Harry to take his arm.

On the count of three, Harry turned. At once, there was that horrible sensation that he was being squeezed through a thick rubber tube; he could not draw breath, every part of him was being compressed almost past endurance and then, just when he thought he must suffocate, the invisible bands seemed to burst open, and he was standing in cool darkness, breathing in lungful's of fresh, salty air.

Remus almost didn't want to admit to the fact that he'd finished, because he was afraid of what more was to come. He looked up and met Lily's eyes though, and went to give the book to her without protest. At least they'd hear the rest of this horrifying future together.

HPHPHPHP

* "for two long best friends- for betrayal being the ultimate downfall for all." = and yet the reason Harry ultimately lives... God I love this series!

[accioromione]

So it turns out that J.K Rowling was never the author of Harry Potter- she was actually the main editor, the book was written by a variety of people, but it was decided that she would be a good face for the books, being the main editor however, she was in charge of keeping and and taking out some parts of the books, so she did indeed edit  out some parts from the books, but I have decided to include them in light of recent events, so these moments are now officially cannon.

Half-blood prince (edited copy) 

The fact that Harry Potter was going out with Ginny Weasley seemed to interest a great number of people, most of them girls, yet Harry found himself newly and happily impervious to gossip over the next few weeks. After all, it made a very nice change to be talked about because of something that was making him happier than he could remember being for a very long time, rather than because he had been involved in hor­rific scenes of Dark magic.

'You'd think people had better things to gossip about,' said Ginny, as she sat on the common-room floor, leaning against Harry's legs and reading the Daily Prophet. Three Dementor attacks in a week, and all Romilda Vane does is ask me if it's true you've got a Hippogriff tattooed across your chest.'

Ron and Hermione both roared with laughter. Harry ignored them.

'What did you tell her?'

' told her it's a Hungarian Horntail,' said Ginny, turning a page of the newspaper idly. 'Much more macho.'

Thanks,' said Harry, grinning. 'And what did you tell her Ron's got?'

'A Pygmy Puff, but I didn't say where.'

Ron scowled as Hermione rolled around laughing.

'Watch it,' he said, pointing wamingly at Harry and Ginny. 'Just because I've given my permission doesn't mean I can't withdraw it -'

"Your permission",' scoffed Ginny. 'Since when did you give me permission to do anything? Anyway, you said yourself you'd rather it was Harry than Michael or Dean.'

'Yeah, I would,' said Ron grudgingly. 'And just as long as you don't start snogging each other in public -'

'You filthy hypocrite! What about you and Lavender, thrash­ing around like a pair of eels all over the place?' demanded Ginny.

But Ron's tolerance was not to be tested much as they moved into June, for Harry and Ginny's time together was becoming increasingly restricted. Ginny's O.W.L.s were approaching and she was therefore forced to revise for hours into the night. On one such evening, when Ginny had retired to the library and Harry was sitting beside the window in the common room, supposedly finishing his Herbology home-work but in reality reliving a particularly happy hour he had spent down by the lake with Ginny at lunch-time, Hermione dropped into the seat between him and Ron with an unpleasantly purposeful look on her face.

'I want to talk to you, Harry.'

'What about?' said Harry suspiciously. Only the previous day, Hermione had told him off for distracting Ginny when she ought to be working hard for her examinations.

Half Blood Prince (original copy) aka new canon 

The fact that Harry Potter was going out with Ginny Weasley seemed to interest a great number of people, most of them girls, yet Harry found himself newly and happily impervious to gossip over the next few weeks. After all, it made a very nice change to be talked about because of something that was making him happier than he could remember being for a very long time, rather than because he had been involved in hor­rific scenes of Dark magic.

'You'd think people had better things to gossip about,' said Ginny, as she sat on the common-room floor, leaning against Harry's legs and reading the Daily Prophet. Three Dementor attacks in a week, and all Romilda Vane does is ask me if it's true you've got a Hippogriff tattooed across your chest.'

Ron and Hermione both roared with laughter. Harry ignored them.

'What did you tell her?'

' told her it's a Hungarian Horntail,' said Ginny, turning a page of the newspaper idly. 'Much more macho.'

Thanks,' said Harry, grinning. 'And what did you tell her Ron's got?'

'A Pygmy Puff, but I didn't say where.'

Ron scowled as Hermione rolled around laughing.

'Watch it,' he said, pointing wamingly at Harry and Ginny. 'Just because I've given my permission doesn't mean I can't withdraw it -'

"Your permission",' scoffed Ginny. 'Since when did you give me permission to do anything? Anyway, you said yourself you'd rather it was Harry than Michael or Dean.'

'Yeah, I would,' said Ron grudgingly. 'And just as long as you don't start snogging each other in public -'

'You filthy hypocrite! What about you and Lavender, thrash­ing around like a pair of eels all over the place?' demanded Ginny.

‘I mean, a tattoo would look good on you Ron’ Hermione interjected, as her giggles slowly subsided, ‘maybe not a Pygmy puff though’ she added as she grinned. Her grin was replaced with a look of embarrassment after she had realized what she had said. 

‘Oh?’ Ginny asked, now looking at Hermione, who’s face turned pink under Ginny’s look. 

‘I mean, it would give him that rugged, bad boy, look that Bill has, and well, it suits Bill and, well, Ron resembles Bill a lot’ Hermione said, now pink in the face, looking away from Harry, Ron and Ginny.

Hermione was not wrong, Ron did resemble Bill, they had the same tall lanky frame, hair and facial structure. The only real difference was that Bills hair was longer, and he did have a more rugged look to him, and of course, now, his face was scarred. 

Ron looked at her, his scowl was now replaced with a grin, his eyebrows raised, and there was slight a sparkle in his blue eyes. 

‘Hermione, into tattoos? Who would’ve thought’ Ginny said, but Hermione was still looking ahead at the clouds, her cheeks now red, Ron was still looking at her with the same sparkle in his eyes. 

Harry and Ginny exchanged a look and Ginny winked at him, both understanding that these types of exchanges hinted at Ron and Hermione’s complicated relationship. 

‘I’m not into tattoos!’ Hermione said, now regaining her composure, ‘I just said it wouldn’t look bad’ she added, now looking at Ginny but refusing to look at Ron, who was still grinning at her. 

As they moved into June, for Harry and Ginny's time together was becoming increasingly restricted. Ginny's O.W.L.s were approaching and she was therefore forced to revise for hours into the night. On one such evening, when Ginny had retired to the library and Harry was sitting beside the window in the common room, supposedly finishing his Herbology home-work but in reality reliving a particularly happy hour he had spent down by the lake with Ginny at lunch-time, Hermione dropped into the seat between him and Ron with an unpleasantly purposeful look on her face.

[stuckwith-harry]

harry really went through the entirety of reputation (2017)’s emotional arc aka from ready for it...? (“the fact that harry potter was going out with ginny weasley seemed to interest a great number of people”) to call it what you want (“yet harry found himself newly and happily impervious to gossip”) in ONE sentence. i respect that

[sunlit-days]

Harry found himself newly and happily impervious to gossip over the next few weeks. After all, it made a very nice change to be talked about because of something that was making him happier than he could remember being for a very long time.

[ginnyharrys]

“Harry found himself newly and happily impervious to gossip over the next few weeks. After all, it made a very nice change to be talked about because of something that was making him happier than he could remember being for a very long time.”

[madokasoratsugu]

so hmst. ever think of fritz/lucette in a realistic scenario world w/out curses bc i do, way too much (even w my admittedly shitty knowledge of medieval times LMAO). pls have this dumbass meta that got way out of hand at 4.5k words lol..... aka i just really wanted to write forbidden romance about queen lucette and her personal knight fritz :”)))

ao3

happily ever afters are not for someone like lucette.

she is crown princess of angielle, the most prosperous kingdom to enjoy peace for over a decade on the continent and she will make it remain so, no matter what she must do. mother taught her to be unkind and unforgiving, but father’s rule taught her what that would cost. (‘your very life’; and lucette could die of laughter. her life was given to her country the moment the king placed his crown upon hers. her life was given to her citizens the moment she took her mother’s life. her life was no longer hers to live the moment she gave her first cry as a babe. )   

her mother taught her how to be a ruler, her father teaches her how to be a queen - what lucette must be willing to take (land and gold and unworthy men), to give (her future, her dreams, her happiness - but what are they, in the grand scheme of angielle, of her citizens’ days of peace?

what is she worth that they are not?) she knows the answer, through mother’s lessons that bear cruel truth her father never speaks of, but her knight makes her doubt.

jewels and gold lay heavy upon her, with him beside lightly dull in that scuffed armour and pressed uniform. surely, lucette knows, her worth is more than all the citizens in the land, not just for her riches and beauty, but for the blood that runs through her veins, the royal authority she wields with the ease and capability both rulers before her did. (her rule is made of fear and compassion and kind unkindness - blood must be split as must peace reign, one cannot go without another. cruelty is easy, forgiveness is easy, to find the balance is not but lucette rules with perfect grace balanced on that taut line, ready to cut her throat like the executioner’s axe on the council’s ruling at any moment.) but when he smiles, a secret crook of lips and a carefully angled head, the perfect fall of hair over face; the worth of a man tips, unbalances, and she finds herself slip, slip, slipping - and it’s roses and sunbeams and delicate gentleness lucette wishes she wielded instead, pretty and perfect and pure like all fairy tale heroines are, like all knights will rescue and cherish. lucette is a queen, but she is twenty and longing and impervious to the worst and only curse to befall any royal - love. aching, unattainable love for her very own knight.

(‘give none of yourself to them.’ mother gasped, blood dying her lips a beautiful crimson. ‘for they will give nothing back, my love. they took me, but in the end, i return to you.’ lucette cannot draw the blade out, hands tight around the hilt the queen had forced into her hands. in the end, her mother returns to her. and she returns to no one.)

lucette will use every means to claw her way to the crown, every man given to her to escape death even for another day, another hour, another minute. (bent over choking on her own vomit, steel boned corset catching knives and needles; continuous rescheduled trips to the outdoors; after all, men can be so, so inventive in the ways of killing. yet what is suicide but another method of death?) trained poison courses her veins, experimental cuts litter her abdomen, bows and arrows whittled thinly useless; lucette riella britton will give all of herself but her death. her mother might have taught her not to give a life she doesn’t own, her father might have expected her to die for his cause; in the face of both their righteous morals, lucette swallows another bud of aconite. palms pressed against lips, swallowing, relishing the bitterly sweet poison.

fritzgerald aiden leverton is assigned to her at age eighteen. he is clumsy and imperfect and a man by no standard other than the sword, but at fifteen and still feeling phantom daggers in her sides, poisons burning her guts, lucette has no complaints. not in the way he handles himself, not in the way he fights, not in the way he is, charming and captivating and strong. only in the way he intervenes. (“i can’t let you do this.” torch in hand, ready to burn the flowers at a moment’s notice. “would you rather your liege die?” hesitation on one’s part, and the ache of realisation of the likeness of all men throbs through another. “i’ll protect you.” “not forever.” “watch me.”)

in merely two years, fritz has had her entire personnel overhauled; incompetent fools who turn blind eyes to last minute changes in the menu or unnamed guests who request to be let in at balls. natural charisma, an unrelenting tongue and the favour of the king; using everything and everyone at his disposal and then some. throughout it all deflecting swords and arrows and daggers, both others and her own. and it infuriates lucette, how easily he overturns her expectations, her denials and rejections and pessimism and weaves it all into useless, tragic hope a princess like her cannot have. and it enrages lucette, how quickly the knives are turned against fritz instead; ministers’ cutting sharp proposals of misconduct, advisors’ petty contributions, the maids’ gossips, the blade of his own father. and it - confuses lucette, how familiarly fritz still smiles, and calls her title with a lilt that bears no trace of anything, anything at all. (“i can’t let you keep doing this.” roles reversed; the knight heaving a laugh that nearly goes south. “i was trained for this much.” voice muffled behind a gloved hand, face pale, forehead drenched with cold sweat. even water can be deadly, in a castle. “are you disobeying me?” “on this, i will be.” a slightly lowered hand, a mischievous smile, something foreign and insatiable curling, twisting in the princess’ abdomen. “i could have you executed for treason.” “that’s harsh, my princess.” “then promise.” “i promise nothing but to protect my charge, irregardless of cost.” a sword in one hand, her behind the other. fought for and protected and cherished and lucette - crumbles.)

fritz is made of soft and kind things that royalty are not allowed to dream of. wildflowers, the brays of sheep, a bookmarked bird feather. untethered kites, whirl of spinning threads, the first bloom of a morning glory. first, there is jealousy and spite, childish cold shoulders and biting words. knight to e5; restricted, leashed, threatened. next, there is echoing envy, hidden looks of sullen frowns and biten back sighs. knight moved to its leisure, lengths long. then, there is complex, contorting, confounding - (‘they will give you nothing back’), not-quite quiet smiles and lower lips that ache to be bit. knight and queen left. (check.)

feverish and in pain, still he smiles. (“you shouldnt be here.” voice so hoarse his usual laugh is grated to nothingness from tire. “neither should you.” the words come out unintended; meant as a scold, an order, a warning. he is hers to command, but knelt by his bedside, silks spilling around her and rough cotton covering him; imbalanced, neck running an invisible line of red, she cannot find the power. polished crystal cold against her lips, but his chapped ones are warm, so, so warm. fritz swallows the force fed antidote, eyes closing, breathes evening, calming; lucette wonders if he felt as she did when he first arrived before her, like a spring storm.) flushed and oddly turbulent, she finally smiles.

it is a year after the failed coup that lucette hears her mother again, newly crowned. the head knight takes more than just the people’s trust in the royal family - and lucette becomes queen a year after her father breathes his last. ophelia is still in mourning, emelaigne already promised to brugantia, rod too young and too occupied with the patrons of his songs. there is no one else more worthy. again, weighted by gold and jewels, lucette does not meet fritz’s eyes once during the ceremony. (“my queen.” a bow, a light quirk of lips that cannot lift her spirits as it usually does. “i cannot do this.” a sudden low whisper, an afraid admission. “i am not mother. i am not the king. i -.” brilliant, beautiful, ugly red staining her lips, sunken teeth breaking them. a quick thumb wiping the red, then gently, easily, cradling her clasped hands. lucette is nineteen and aching and still feels the grooves of the hilt she’d buried in her mother; but when fritz calls those tightly overlapping fingers a prayer for the dead who do not deserve her nor the forgiveness she still gives, lucette bends over and drips tears onto their hands, and wishes, for the first time in her life, to be worthy of the person before her; holding her gentle and kind and soft in a way lucette is not allowed to dream of.)

fairytales speak of both truth and lies - princes upon white horses will always arrive to sweep their princesses off her feet, but not all princesses have a prince voyaging for their hand. it is those dainty and delightful that do, like emelaigne and her charming prince klaude. lucette is made of too many thorns to bloom into a rose, too many rules and laws to be accepted without hesitation. perfect princes are rare, and only to be paired with the most pure, most perfect of princesses; with a cheerful disposition, an innocent worldview and no blood on her silky smooth hands. lucette does not mourn for her loss, not when she has never wanted such a gain. but during nights, as she flips through the books her sister left her with, she finds herself tracing over the figures of men in shining armour and wonders if the same rules apply to knights, too.

still; knights are dirty and scuffed in tunics and dull metal, too scarred bodies that are meant to wither on a battlefield, with too naive thoughts and too bloodied hands, too alluring smiles and too bright a laughter, paired with gentle eyes and chapped lips and kinder words than she knows, she’s heard; that captures, enamours her to him, to a mere knight who will not lose to any prince; for he is no less endearing or kind or perfect - but lucette is a queen and cannot be galvaning with a born commoner. her father lost the respect of nobles for his flight of fancy, died for it; lucette will not. lucette will - (throughout the coronation, fritz stands beside, decorated in white gold and an ivory white uniform pressed to his form, a one shouldered cape’s strap diagonally bound across his chest that bears a multitude of colourful medals, hair pinned back on one side, showing off a scar that runs over his jaw. he is lightly dull and when he bends at an angle, head tilting and lip curving a secret crooked smile, her chest dips and does not rise for a long, long, long time. the new weight that rests upon her head reminds her to let the breath out.) not.

it takes another two years into being queen before the talk of marriage is tossed upon the table. it’s late, by lucette’s expectations. she’d have thought those ugly vultures would have said something six months after her crowning. a king from a nearby country laughs when he hears of her disdain during a ball, and lets her in on the terror and awe the new queen had inspired into countries since her rule. with time, things have only just become stable, he supposes, a too shrewd guess from a small kingdom’s king. if he and his brothers were not already taken lucette would gladly join hands with them. (“but i am sure that is not what you are concerned with.” the king smiles, knowing. lucette eyes the man said to be the calm before a storm, warned against even neutral as their country’s stance is, and he returns her look with a finger pressed over his lips, keeps his impassive smile. “may fortune favour the lovers.”)

it does not come as a surprise why he is the only one who expresses his support for her. not only is he one of the only royals to have figured out lucette’s little infatuation (“jack of all trades indeed” fritz had whistled nervously when lucette showed him the king’s letter.), in terms of wealth, political and military might, there is only one other country to rival angielle’s. it may be on another continent, but that is of little consequence to a power hungry king, eager to wage war. and lucette knows all too well the easy way nobles and aristocrats alike give up on their futures, so the lack of enthusiasm surrounding her love life other than to increase angielle’s might is something she’s always expected. but the sudden pain in her chest at the thought of marrying another, spending her future without fritz by her side, is not something she had ever expected. (she pulls fritz to her personal library one early evening, for reasons unknown to even herself. it is decided, the date, the venue, the person. letters are being written as she stands, plans being made, people informed and gossip being spread; her heart is thudding painfully and her eyes are sore and her hands shake - “my queen?” “i’m sorry.” it is the only thing she ever seems to say to him, apologies and more apologies, and she wishes she were smarter, prettier, purer, lovelier, more worthy - then fritz is cupping her face and kissing her, and all that fills lucette’s head is longing and love and fritz.)

this is not smart at all. they are in a library, and even with it being reserved to the queen herself and the door locked behind them it is not smart. but in the heat of the moment, hands clutching, roaming, tangling, nothing is clear to the duo but the breathless, flushed person before them. (“are you - are you sure? i can stop.” a silencing kiss, a soft, soft murmur of consent. and the next word he utters is her name, and the happiness she was supposed to have given up on wells up in her in waves, breaking out of her by the returning call of his name.)

everything comes to a promised end after the night. one last, dear memory, and by morning, lucette is in her office, signing the document dismissing fritz as her personal knight, post-wedding. it will be easier for them both. it will be kinder, she convinced herself, as she wept into his chest and he held her, lower lip trembling. (“i’m sorry.” it is not the first time fritz has apologised, but the sorrow that aches in his words is new and vulnerable. lucette shakes her head, burying her face deeper into his chest, his arms tightening around her waist. “thank you.” it is the first time lucette says the words properly, instead of conveying it through action and blushes, and it makes the happiness in her ache as much as the sorrow must in fritz.) lucette’s hands do not shake as she presses the royal seal over the melted wax. once more, she hears her mother’s pained words, and closes her eyes. once more, everything of a queen is taken from her, and she returns to no one.

adding onto her already packed days, wedding preparations only serves to leave lucette with no time for her own at all. the choosing of silks and satin, the decor of the ceremony, the fine details that must go into it, and the continuous correspondence with her soon-to-be allies - the list only goes on and on and on and lucette is glad, if only because she can take her mind off her knight that still fastidiously stays by her side; still there at daybreak outside her chambers, still there late into the night outside her office. the words they exchange are strictly managed, limited, by their incapability to let go and forget. it is sudden jerked back hands, forced down laughter and sealed away smiles. some days they forget, and lucette stills with a held back sigh as fritz brushes a wayward strand of hair away from her eyes, as fritz’s lips linger too long over the back of her hand, as fritz smiles. but they are quickly reminded, as fritz smooths her hair beneath lucette’s crown, as fritz lets go of her hand too swiftly, as fritz turns away. (the hurt grows and grows and grows until it roots itself in lucette and numbed pain wars in her body every second of every day, burning and screaming and killing her. lucette does not think even the death of either parent had hurt this much. she aches and aches for his word, his touch, his smile, to simply be by his side again. buries these feelings, these needs, deeper and deeper and deeper down until she cannot remember them; until she is asleep and wakes up with tear stains on her pillows, her cheeks. presses her palms to her lips, swallows down the screams for a man a queen cannot allow herself to long for, and agonises in the bitterly sweet name she cannot speak.)

it is a week before the wedding, six months since the night, when a pain strikes lucette’s chest. it is the last of the celebratory balls prior to her wedding, and with a hand twisted into her chest, lucette finds herself wracked with pain she’s forgotten in the midst of her heartache; dressed in complacency and a plain wired corset, lucette curses, loud and uncouth, angry and tired and drowning sadness. everything swims in her vision, blurring, hazing, and lucette cannot tell the difference between this night and the ones of the previous six months; tears are gathering in her eyes, her gut is twisting, her every bone is threatening to shatter and she slides down the side of her bed, the need to live warring with the screaming need to simply let everything come crashing down and end. she has betrayed her mother, her father, her kingdom, her love - lucette has given all of herself over and over and over and she suddenly understands her mother’s last words not as chains but as warning sirens; lucette feels the grooves of the hilt like the petals of aconite, and remembers death is her own to take. (but before she can truly make it so, someone is hauling her up, forcing her into a stagger into the lavatory; gloves clattering metal as they hit the rocks, fingers are forced down her throat - vomit spilling out and lucette is made to live another day. when she runs out of liquid to expel, there is a cold cloth gently wiping her mouth, a worried gaze staring down at her. lucette is the one to turn away, this time. “you should have left me.” she says, throat raw and scratched from the scorching bile, from crying senselessly for the man who she leans against. fritz holds her with his clean arm, presses those lips she’s longed for for days and nights now against her crown, murmurs, “never.” lucette bites down on her lip, tastes beautiful red and bites harder. “leave me.” pushes him with an arm, forcing distance between them. “leave me!” a scream that does not break under the weight of the words, a sob that doesn’t translate. the warmth leaves her, his reluctant footsteps fade, and the emptiness of death is all that remains; long tipped from balance, lucette bows down into her skirts that billow silk around her, muffled cries spilling out of her cold, cold lips dyed crimson.)

the days pass by in a giant mass, and lucette lets herself be pushed along with the changing days, performing her role as well as any queen should. returns to being lucette riella britton, a queen, a monarch, a beloved ruler worthy of the titles she’s earned and the country she governs; wills herself to forget about lucette, a queen, a monarch; a woman unworthy of the love a clumsy, imperfect man by every standard he is measured by blessed her with. (with her own hands, lucette kills the cherished, protected, beloved girl; kills her weakness, her happiness, her mother and father both had taught her she is not allowed to have in their own ways, in their own deaths.)

lucette sits by her window, the outfitting of the day done. maids’ dismissed early, servants ordered not to disturb her until dinner, lucette’s gaze flits over the dust that catches in the setting sun, gloved hand fingering the multiple strands of pearls that lace her neck (“so you never forget.” her fiance had written in the card of the gift, sadistic in his connotations behind the choker, the collar.), and thinks of her inherited kingdom, the inherited grudges. closes her eyes, and forces herself to breathe. to not think of what another would have gifted, would have said, would have laughed and blushed in the way she delights at the new treasure (a roadside store pendant, a cut flower, a fluttering kiss). breath hitching, suddenly unclasping the latch of the choker, tossing it onto the vanity with a loud clatter. the burst of frustration quickly gives way to deflated resignation, and lucette puts away the accessory in a drawer. it would not look good if she damaged a wedding gift on the eve of the ceremony itself.

reaches up to undo her hair, when there’s a sudden bang, then a crash, and frenzied yells mixed with the clanging of swords and armour meeting floors. lucette stares at her door, jumps as a masked man barges in, and sweeps her onto one arm, the other outstretched and wielding a familiar blade. lucette barely has time to speak, to think; the man moves faster than her thoughts can, than her trained knights do. the cries for help not leaving her, instead bubbling, incredulous laughter nearly does; as the queen clutches tighter onto her kidnapper whose hair blends seamlessly into her gown, pure white and silver. (he is made of soft and kind things that royalty are not allowed to dream of, lucette knows, but forgets that even the gentlest of creatures turn into beasts when what they protect is threatened, forgets that fritz’s hands are dyed with the same beautiful crimson that her mother and her had both tasted, forgets that fritz is aconite - elegant and deadly and the only one she has given her death to.)

“you are not happy.” fritz says plainly, when they reach the stables. he knows his queen like the back of his hand, that his poor disguise is nothing to her, that her calm command over the past months is nothing but a poor facade to him. still, duty bound, royalty, the crown heavy on her head, lucette cannot answer. is not allowed to. the horse whinnies, and fritz shushes it fondly, strokes it’s mane. the saddle upon it is adjusted for two. “lucette.” he says, with a lilt that bears no trace of anything, anything at all. “it’s your choice. i will not blame you for anything. i never have.” under the rising moon, his smile does not wane; sure and gentle and accepting and whole. and it dumbfounds lucette, how effortlessly he comes to her aid, frees her, loves her, and asks for nothing but her happiness in return. (it is the same as when she was fifteen, when she was seventeen, when she was nineteen, and now twenty-one. it is the same. it always has been.)

her life is not hers to live, but her heart is hers to give. (”take me away.” lucette says, a whisper so loud it is a command that makes fritz’s lips curl in a wolfish fashion, as light as lucette feels, even clad in jewels and gold.)

now, there is simply love, a smile that has always stayed, always yearned, and a girl who has lost her bite, perfectly imbalanced. knight to queen. (checkmate.)

yet in the end, queens are queens, as knights are knights. happily ever afters are not made for a royal whose smallest sigh can bring an end to another’s empire; in these stories, tales of a knight who absconded with his queen is not a fairy tale to be told.

in the end, people will tell tales of the day angielle’s queen returned with the body of her knight who met his tragic end saving her from a daring abductor, of the inauspicious day angielle’s queen both murdered and married. he tried to take their queen from them, the people will say, and so their queen took his life in return. people will tell tales of the courageous knight who gave his life to take back their queen, who died for his kingdom. people will mourn and cry for the country’s loss of a brilliant soldier, but not for long enough; but not as long as the queen. people will tell tales of angielle’s brave queen, who loses her knight and her husband months apart of each other, and still rules with the grace and authority of those before her - unlost to grief, to pain. a worthy queen, a blessed queen, a queen to guide and rule and lead even alone, people will say. truly, even with all the tragedies that surround, lucette riella britton was a woman who was born to bring angielle to heights no kings have witnessed, people will say, already forgetting their past cruelty to their young queen in the face of prosperity she brought.

people will continue to spin tales and stories, but only one will read the truth by candlelight in his chambers (he earns the right not by being king jack albrecht cygnea, but by being the only friend the lonely queen had, the only one who had offered his kingdom, his hand, not as a prize but as solace), the hand pressed aconite a testament to its truth. (the letter writes of lucette riella britton, a woman loved by fritzgerald aiden leverton’s, truth. she begins her tale by clearing up the mysteries that surround. the king who tried to own her who dies by her schemes. the identity of her kidnapper. the truth of her escapade. she tells of the second life that she ends with a knife pressed into her hands, the first life she ends willingly. she gives her life to him, he gives his death to her. it is only poetic, it is only right, it is the only solution a queen and a knight can find, in this society that will not allow them to be together. he had forgiven her for sinning by doing the same himself, so to this man who has loved her from the very beginning, to the very end, she gives all of herself that he takes; from queen to woman to wife. then, years later now, with her kingdom secure in the hands of her nephew, she forgoes her title with death given to her by her sweetly bitter aconite, reclaims the name ‘lucette’, and finally returns to him.)

[fortitude-sakura]

Masochism

Prompt: Emotional masochism is the only thing she knows. Rating: T

It was no secret in the village that Haruno Sakura’s heart was wholly dedicated to Uchiha Sasuke, much to the chagrin of other male shinobi.

Whispers followed her, a trail left behind as she graced them with her beauty, intelligence and work ethic. 

“He probably has someone else.” giggled the gossipy nurses who apparently didn’t have patients to attend to.

“It’s such a pity she’s not yet married.” sighed the lady at the sweet dango store that Sakura liked to frequent after a long day at the hospital.

“What’s so great about the Uchiha? He’s a traitor in any case.” grumbled the jealous shinobi who harboured secret fantasies about making Sakura their own. 

These whispers, impervious to the winds, somehow made them to Sasuke’s ears. He had noticed an increase in the number of stares and finger pointing and it was coming to a point where he couldn’t just ignore it anymore.

---

When he came back to Konoha, the village idiot wouldn’t give him the time to confront Sakura. 

“Oi! Teme! Let’s go get ramen!”

He’s unable to refuse him as Naruto rarely accepts ‘no’ as an answer, especially from him. However he also conceded that talking to Naruto might also give him insight into Sakura, who up until now, was someone who he thought he understood. 

Ichiraku had transformed from a rickety little ramen bar to a proper restaurant, complete with booths that afforded them some privacy, much to Sasuke’s relief.

“So, are you going to visit Sakura-chan?” Naruto asked casually through a mouthful of ramen and tonkotsu soup.

He paused, his chopsticks halfway to his mouth. “I’m not sure.” he said carefully, “I don’t want to... give her the wrong idea.”

Naruto peered at his best friend suspiciously. “Whaddaya mean?”

“She deserves to be happy.”

  I just don’t think it can be with me. 

He didn’t have to say it out loud. Naruto knew what was hidden underneath his statement.

He returned his attention back to his ramen (which was deliciously nostalgic, but he won’t ever admit that to anyone). If he wasn’t so focused on eating, he would have heard Naruto mutter something under his breath.

“If only you knew, teme.”

---

He decided to pay her a visit anyway. He hadn’t meant to lie to the dobe, but he changed his mind as his feet led him away from his own apartment. His dusty, empty, lonely, cold apartment. 

She wasn’t at the hospital according to the nurses, whom he’d suspected had stopped gossiping about the very person he was asking after. As he left, he heard the topic of their gossip change.

“Isn’t that Uchiha Sasuke?”

“He’s a lot more handsome in person!” 

“Why did he want to see Haruno-san?”

He headed over toward the sweet dango shop that the nurses said that Sakura frequents often after work. He poked his head in and scans the place quickly. He can’t see her and was about to leave before a warm voice spoke.

“Are you looking for someone, dear?” the lady at the counter smiled at him, “If you’re looking for the pretty doctor, she went home about 15 minutes ago.”

How she knew who he was looking for, he didn’t bother asking. He gave her a curt nod and left quickly.

“She must have been waiting for him.” hummed the lady at the sweet dango store, happily as she adjusted her displays.

His impatience to reach her resulted in his walking much faster than usual. His weaving and bobbing through the crowd drew the eyes of many. He felt the whispers ghost past him. Distasteful (and somewhat jealous) sounding whispers.

“Why is he in the village? Don’t tell me he’s looking for her.”

“She’s too good for him anyway.”

He ignored them, after all there is only one person he’s interested in hearing the opinion of.

---

He gave the door a soft rap with his knuckles. A few moments passed and he knocked on the door again, slightly louder. 

When she answered the door, her face was blank with shock.

“Sasuke-kun... when did you come back?”

“A few hours ago.” he said stiffly. “Can I come in?”

“Of course.” she said, opening the door to let him in. “Have a seat."

She busied herself making some tea and preparing snacks for her unexpected guest. He didn’t plan on staying long, but out of politeness he let her pour him a cup of tea.

“What brings you back this time?”

“I’ve heard things.”

“What things?” she asked, not meeting his gaze as she sat down with her own cup of tea.

“That.. you’re still...” he paused, not knowing how to ask her.

Ask her if she’s still in love with me? God, I sound conceited.

“What I do with my feelings shouldn’t be your concern, Sasuke-kun.”

He was further shocked into silence. She knew what he was going to ask. That’s how well she knew him. 

But she shouldn’t. She should be getting to know others. Others more worthy of her.

(But he would never admit there wasn’t a single person out there who he truly felt worthy of her anyway.)

“Why are you torturing yourself, having feelings for someone who might not ever return them?” he asked slowly. His fingers traced the rim of his teacup

A pregnant pause settled between them before he heard a sharp intake of breath.

“Because maybe I’m a masochist.” she said. She looked at him with what he could only describe as the saddest smile he’s ever seen grace her pretty face.  “Maybe I keep doing this to myself because at it’s all I know. Do you think I have a choice in who I have feelings for?”

Tears began to trickle down her face and her chin trembled, trying to contain her true feelings. Her arms were crossed tightly, as if trying to hold herself together physically because it was the only thing she could hold together right now.

“Believe me, if I could choose, I wouldn’t condemn myself to this.” she said quietly as she stood up and turned away from him. “You’re probably tired from travelling, you should go home and rest.” 

He stood up and thanked her for the tea but didn’t make the move to leave. He just stood there. 

This beautiful, ethereal, intelligent, strong woman, reduced to nothing more than heartbreak and tears before his own eyes. He had so believed that leaving her so that she could be happy was the best thing to do. His believed that his feelings had come to fruition far too late, that he was never really deserving of her unwavering affection and love anyway and so it was best to just leave her. In his want to be selfless, he had ended up being selfish by not only denying his own happiness, but hers as well.

Perhaps it was time to forgive himself and allow himself to indulge in her affections? 

He moved behind her, quickly and with a tentativeness he had never felt, his fingers crept slowly to her hips before slowly advancing to her middle and pulling her gently towards him. He felt her stiffen up against him, unsure of what was happening or what to expect to happen next. 

He rested his forehead on her shoulder before mumbling “I’m sorry.”. It was the only thing he knew how to say to her now.

“For what?” was her reply.

“For making you wait so long. For hurting you.”

He felt her turn towards him and look at him. Her inquisitive stare looked like she was scanning him for bullshit. He was never one for pretty words or lies. He was painfully honest. When she was satisfied that he was being genuine, her arms reached out and pulled him in for a hug. 

He felt a burst of joy and warmth in his chest, the kind that makes you warp into a puddle of happiness. It was a foreign sensation but he didn’t hate it. His arm wrapped around her waist to pull her in closer, so that she was flush against him. He turned his head and planted a soft kiss into her cherry blossom hair.

He’d be damned if he let her go again. 

[startanewdream]

wholesome harry giggling while he's in love? sign me upp!!

Harry happily-impervious-to-gossip, happier-than-he-could-remember-being-for-a-long-time, is all canon and I will always remember this ❤️

[magterrific]

Signed and Stored

t, ~4k, inspired by the premise of a piece of the world

The origins of Per Manibus Ad Astra are a mystery. All that's known is that the artist, James Kirk of Starfleet acclaim, painted his masterpiece during his retirement before squirreling it away, never to be seen again until after his death. The subject has long been assumed to be his former chief medical officer, Leonard McCoy, who served with Kirk aboard the Enterprise. The two were close friends from their time at the Academy until their deaths. Following a divorce early in his life, McCoy was a confirmed bachelor, one who replaced romance with work- his contributions to medicine are, to this day, vital to our understanding of many extraterrestrial illnesses. It's no wonder his longtime friend and serial womanizer took him in. Kirk always had a soft spot for his less popular friend, and the two moved in together following their retirement from Starfleet. Speculation ran rampant at the time, but the friends neither embraced nor denied the rumors...

Joanna rolls her eyes. She knew reading the biography would be a bad idea; none of them has ever gotten her dad's relationship with Jim right. There was no reason to think this one would be any different. She had hoped that maybe someone who seemed to love the painting as much as this author did would see the real meaning of the painting, though. The way the stars morph painstakingly into the knuckles. The days of detail in the fingernails. The way the curves of the heels of the hands have been painted and repainted tens, maybe hundreds, of times.

It's a little odd to think of her father like this, as the object of someone's adoration, but Jo knew him when he was with Jim. He was like a different person entirely- hopeful and soft and always one eye roll away from a smile.

Not surprised but still let down by the book, she closes it and puts it back on the shelf.

She hasn't visited Dad and Jim in a while. Maybe she'll stop by and see them on her way home.

  Leonard finds Jim sitting at the kitchen table. Jim has a cup of coffee and a muffin in front of him, but he hasn't touched either. Instead, he's frowning at his laptop.

It isn't difficult to guess what he's frowning about.

"Put that thing away," Leonard says tiredly as he slides into place opposite Jim. "You know it will only upset you."

"But-"

"But nothing, Captain. The gossip rags are just that. Rags. Put them out of your mind." Jim bites his lip, and Leonard sighs. "Are you painting today?"

Jim nods quickly. "If you don't mind."

Leonard shakes his head. "You know I don't."

"You've got the clinic at two, right?"

"Yep. I should be back by 10:30."

"Guess I should hurry up and get my stuff ready, huh?" Jim asks. "Is here good?"

"Here's fine. You mind if I eat?"

Jim shakes his head. "So long as you can do it one handed."

"I can do anything one handed," Leonard replies easily, waggling his eyebrows.

Jim rolls his eyes.

  When Leonard gets home one night the following week, Jim is still awake. He's sitting slouched on the couch, watching a holovid.

"Welcome home," he calls without looking away.

"What are we watching tonight?" Leonard asks as he takes off his coat. "Tell me it's not another murder mystery."

"It's another murder mystery."

Leonard sighs. "You're such an old man."

"Shh. It's just getting good."

"They never get good."

"Bones...!"

Leonard sighs and mimes zipping his lips. It gets him a shove as he drops onto the seat next to Jim, but that's fine. Jim is happy, Leonard is exhausted, and the murder mystery is bizarre. It's a great evening in.

The shifting lights of the holovid paint Jim's face in a shifting rainbow. It's mesmerizing, which explains why it takes Leonard as long as it does to figure out that some of the color isn't shifting.

"You got paint," he tells Jim tiredly, "on your ear. How did you get paint on your damn ear?"

Jim shrugs.

"Jim."

"Yes?"

"Jim, look at me."

Jim glances to the side, not moving his head.

Leonard groans. "Come on, then. Let’s see the damage."

Jim turns his head slowly, revealing bit by bit the impressive sweeps of color all over the other side of his face. There doesn't seem to be any particular pattern or logic to it, so Leonard is forced to assume Jim just forgot he was holding a brush and painted his own face by accident.

"You look like a child."

"You look like a child," Jim echoes petulantly.

"God above, Jim." He gets to his feet with a grunt. "I'll get the solvent."

Jim doesn't reply, which Leonard takes as silent acceptance. Normally he wouldn't care what Jim does to his face, but they've got a Starfleet function in two days.

When he returns, the lights are up and Jim is sitting up expectantly.

Leonard gets to work with a sigh. For the most part it's just a matter of rubbing the solvent in and letting it do the hard work, but things become more delicate around Jim's eye. The solvent is powerful, and Leonard doesn't want to blind Jim by accident.

"Take it easy, mother hen," Jim says at one point, clearly amused.

"You take it easy, Captain Cock," Leonard mutters as he carefully wipes the solvent and paint away from Jim's eye. "What, you can't crash starships anymore, so you make a mess of yourself instead? Is that what's going on?"

"Something like that."

Shaking his head, Leonard moves onto the other delicate area: Jim's mouth.

"I'm not your mom, you know," he says. "It's not my job to clean you up."

Jim doesn't reply immediately. Instead, when Leonard flicks his eyes up to check, Jim studies him steadily. His eyes are soft, and Leonard quickly looks away.

It isn't until he finishes with Jim's mouth that Jim says, voice soft, "I know you're not. You're a hell of a lot more."

Leonard clears his throat. They don't talk about this. It went without saying that Jim would be following him back to Georgia when they retired, just like it went without saying that Jim would be his roommate again. It all goes without saying.

Sometimes, Leonard wishes it didn't.

He finishes shortly after. Jim takes the washcloths and the solvent and puts them away. Leonard listens to the sounds of Jim washing his face, trusting Jim to know to be thorough. That doesn't stop him from taking Jim by the chin when he returns and checking his work. The color isn't gone entirely, but it's faded. Nothing a little makeup won't cover, and Lord knows Jim, for whatever reason, has plenty of that. Even if he didn't, Leonard doubts anyone would kick up a fuss. Not at James T. Kirk. Not over a few splotches.

"Better," he says anyway and releases Jim's face.

Jim gives him a soft smile and reclaims his seat. "Any idea who did it?" he asks, gesturing at the paused holovid.

"None whatsoever."

"I bet it was Lilian."

It was Lilian, as it turns out. Leonard isn't surprised. Jim's good at figuring people out; it's one of the reasons he was such a good captain. Still is, really. He keeps in contact with the surviving crew members. Leonard doesn't, but then, the crew didn't adore him like they adored Jim. Their captain was a king, relentless and impervious. He was the force that stood between them and death, and they bravely out their trust at his feet.

Leonard did it, too. He let himself be overruled by Jim at crucial moments because he trusted his captain.

But here, in this quiet life, Leonard has become the captain, and Jim is the one tentatively putting his trust, his life, in someone else's hands.

They go to bed in their separate bedrooms like they always do, and Leonard takes a cold shower to ward off the Georgian heat. By the time he gets to bed, he isn't thinking about Jim or space or anything that isn't the warm brush of smooth sheets. It's better this way.

  Jim is a massive flirt, has been for as long as Leonard has known him. Even for him, this is excessive.

The delegate from the alien planet the Federation is courting is beautiful and nearly indistinguishable from a human, save the orange tinge to her skin and the fact that her hair is made of thick, ropy tentacles rather than hair. And, unlike most human women, she is falling for Jim hook, line, and sinker.

Leonard mentally shakes his head and moves away. He spots Sulu and Ben a few yards away; with them is a beautiful young woman who can only be Demora.

Leonard smiles at her, and she shakes Sulu's arm, gesturing with her head at Leonard.

Sulu immediately gestures him over, and Leonard goes happily. He's always gotten along well with Hikaru. Their helmsman served as a quiet voice of reason when it came to the feats Jim was always pushing for him to perform.

His husband is the louder of the two- as if to prove it, Ben calls Leonard's name and pulls him in for a friendly hug. Over his shoulder, Leonard sees Hikaru and Demora roll their eyes.

When Ben lets go, Hikaru holds out his hand for a less invasive hello, which gets its own eye roll from Ben. Demora goes for a gentler hug than her father.

"I was talking to Jo last week," she says brightly as she steps back. "I had no idea she was going for Starfleet, too."

Leonard groans. "Yeah, she decided she wants to get some practical use out of her xenoanthropology degree. God knows why she had to choose the 'Fleet, but that's what she did." He pauses. "Don't tell me you're thinking about joining."

"Hell no," her fathers say in unison.

Demora snorts. "No, I'm happy to keep my feet on terra firma, Uncle Leonard."

"Smart girl," Leonard mutters.

"They're breaking out the food," Ben says suddenly, pointing to the far corner.

"Ben!" Hikaru hisses, grabbing his husband's hand. "Please."

Ben just shrugs. "You knew who you were marrying."

Leonard smiles. "I better check on Jim. Lord knows we don't need him accidentally getting married or something."

All three Sulus shake their heads, well-versed in the Kirkian proclivity for finding trouble as they are.

It takes a little work, but eventually Leonard does find Jim. He's still sitting with the alien woman, the two of them pressed comfortably close.

Leonard's gut clenches, but before he can make his escape, Jim spots him. "There he is!" he calls, pointing at Leonard, thus scrapping all Leonard's hopes of not having to spend the evening playing reluctant wingman.

"Hello," he says as he joins the two. "Leonard McCoy."

The alien holds out her hand, which Leonard gamely shakes. "My name is Thalia." She gives him a smile. "Jim was just telling me about you. He says you are a gifted doctor."

Leonard nods. "It was job to be, yeah."

"My people have begun to experience a strange illness- this is what brings us to your Federation. Many people have said you have the mind to find a solution."

"I'd be willing to consult," Leonard says hesitantly. He looks to Jim in confusion. Jim knows Leonard doesn't practice that kind of medicine anymore. It's all flu and broken arms for him these days, and he's happy that way.

Jim merely returns his look steadily.

Thalia continues, "We will be in touch, then. It was good to meet you." And with that, she gets to her feet and walks away.

Leonard rounds on Jim immediately, but Jim is ready for him.

"It affects their children," he says before Leonard can begin. "Almost solely children. You can't expect me not to want to give them the best. Not when it's kids."

Leonard deflates. Jim's always had a soft spot for kids. "You still should have told me first."

"I couldn't find you."

"Did you even look? I was right over there with the Sulus."

Jim's eyes narrow. "Sometimes, Bones, you can be a real ass." Then he leaves, too, and Leonard finds himself standing alone.

He refuses to apologize. Jim has dumped him for women countless times. Why should Leonard have thought this time would be any different?

  He takes the shuttle home alone, grabs a taxi alone, and goes to bed alone.

It feels like the early days after his divorce. Just Leonard the gaping hole where someone else is supposed to be. He wasn't at fault the first time, and he isn't at fault now. It's funny, though- Joss told him he was too sweet, and Jim says he's too bitter.

Somehow, Leonard just isn't what anyone is looking for.

  Jo calls the next morning.

"Why's Uncle Jim here?" she asks the moment they've finished exchanging hellos.

Leonard rubs at his temples. "Sorry, sugar. We had a fight. I don't know why he decided crashing at yours was a good idea, but I'll talk to him about it when he gets back."

"He was pretty hammered, Dad," she says softly. "I've never seen him like that."

"I'll talk to him about that, too," Leonard promises, fists clenching.

Jo tilts her head. "You do mean talk, don't you, Dad? 'Cause I don't want you yelling at him."

"Funny, I thought I was the adult here."

"Dad..."

"I'm allowed to be angry, Joanna. He knows better than to disrupt you. Or he ought to."

"It's Sunday, Dad. It's not like I have classes or anything."

"That's not the point, and you know it."

She groans and puts her head in her hands. "I don't know why I bother," she says through them. "Just... please be gentle with him, Dad. Please."

Leonard's never been good at keeping his girl from what she wants. "I'll try, all right? That's the best you're gonna get."

She nods quickly- as bad as Leonard is, she isn't much better. Always was his girl from the moment he first held her.

"I think he's waking up," she says a moment later. "I'll talk to you soon, Dad. I love you."

"Love you, too, sweet pea."

The call ends, and Leonard lets out a breath. This is going to be a challenge.

  He takes a taxi to the shuttle area and pays to have the driver wait while he fetches Jim.

Leonard spots him right away. Jim looks like seven kinds of hell, and some of the anger in Leonard's chest dissolves. At least he isn't the only one who isn't having a good time.

He walks up to Jim and puts arm around his middle. "Come on, then. Let's get you home."

Jim nods miserably.

The ride home is quiet. Jim isn't up to talking, and Leonard doesn't want to start a fight with a stranger to witness it- especially given Jim's current state. It would just make him look cruel. And feel cruel, if he's honest.

He helps Jim into the house after he pays the driver, who gives him a sympathetic wince.

Jim is a lot of man to half-drag up the steps, but Leonard manages it. He even gets Jim all the way to the couch before he lets go. Jim lands with a satisfying "oof".

Leonard leaves him there and goes to put on more coffee. It's good stuff, always is now that they're on earth. They can afford luxuries like good coffee now. Good coffee, a sense of safety, and all the admirers any hundred men could want.

That's more Jim than Leonard, but Leonard gets by. If anything Jim tends to get sweeter messages- they compared, and Leonard has definitely gotten more underwear. He blames it on being a doctor. There's something about authority that makes people act out.

He returns to the living room when the coffee'a done. "Did you eat yet?" he asks as he hands the mug over.

Jim shakes his head, eyes fixed on his shoes.

"Do you want me to make something?"

Jim shrugs.

"I'm really trying to be nice here, ya know," Leonard says, an edge of frustration creeping into his voice. "Jo asked me to be kind, and I'm trying to do that, Jim. I really am. The least you can do is not make it harder."

A wet laugh bubbles out of Jim. "So that's why you're nice to me, huh? I always wondered."

"What're you talkin' about?"

"I always wondered," Jim tells his feet. "Why would Bones want me to live with him? Why would he keep putting up with my shit? Of course it's for Jo." Several things click into place at once in Leonard's mind, but Jim isn't done. "It's never just for me, is it? Not even with you."

Leonard swallows hard and takes a step closer to Jim. He squats down despite the warning creak in his knees and looks up at Jim's face.

"What do you want, Jim?" he asks.

Jim's lips twitch. "Too much."

Leonard puts his hands on Jim's thighs, just above his knees. "You never know until you ask."

Jim slumps forward. "Some things can't be asked for, Bones."

Leonard shrugs and, on a whim, stretches up and presses a kiss to Jim's lips. They're dry but smooth, and Leonard immediately wishes he'd done this years ago. Jim opens his mouth, and Leonard licks his way inside. Jim tastes first like coffee, then like staleness. It's not a great first kiss, but as he pulls back, Leonard doesn't regret it.

"You kissed me," Jim says, sounding dazed.

"Sorry it took so long," Leonard tells him. "Been wantin' to do that for a long time."

Jim nods and puts his hands over Leonard's. "I'd say let's do it again, but I think I'm gonna hurl."

He does, in fact, hurl five minutes later. It's disgusting, and Leonard only just convinces himself not to make Jim clean it up himself, even though he ought to know he shouldn't be getting hammered at their age. Or any age. But especially not at their age.

They spend the rest of the day on the couch. Leonard sits on one cushion while Jim stretches out with his head in Leonard's lap. Leonard scratches Jim's head and idly plays with his hair while he reads, and everything is good.

  "I swear to God, Bones. If you don't stop moving, I'm going to hit you with something."

Leonard tries to tell Jim to go to hell, but what comes out is a squeak as he squirms away.

"It tickles!"

"How am I supposed to paint you if I can't get a feeling for your hands, huh?" Jim asks. "Just give me another minute."

"Another ten seconds and I'll wet myself."

"So long as you stop moving, I don't really care."

Leonard bites his tongue and tries to ignore the ticklish feeling of the bristles of Jim's brush sweeping over his knuckles.

His efforts are made worth it later, though, when Jim finally puts his supplies away and pulls Leonard in for a kiss. It's soft and sweet and comfortable, and Leonard shudders with how much he loves Jim.

  Jim finally finishes his painting after years of tinkering with it. He's practically vibrating with excitement as he leads Leonard from their bedroom to the kitchen, and as always, his mood is contagious. Even if Leonard hadn't spent years waiting to see the one painting Jim would never show him, he would be happy to hurry through the hall one step behind Jim.

When they get to the doorway, Leonard expects to be stopped, for Jim to insist he close his eyes, but Jim does none of that. He simply tugs Leonard forward and into the kitchen where the canvas is waiting

Leonard's first thought when he sees it is No.

"What do you think?" Jim asks, nervous. "I'm still not sure about the colors-"

Leonard grabs him by the collar and hauls him in for a kiss. It's rough, their teeth clacking together painfully, but Leonard doesn't care. He backs Jim up against the refrigerator and kisses him until Jim is gasping and clinging to him.

"It's too much," Leonard says.

Jim shakes his head. "It's just right."

"Jim..."

"Leonard." He smiles sweetly. "I love you. You know that?"

Leonard shivers. "I love you, too," he says, voice rough. He squeezes Jim harder, but Jim doesn't complain. He lays his head on Leonard's shoulder and runs his fingers through Leonard's hair.

"I need a nap."

It's a stupid thing to do, but Leonard can't help scooping Jim up in his arms and carrying his laughing, squirming ass all the way back upstairs to their bedroom.

  Jim never tells Leonard why he doesn't share the painting even with their friends. He just gets this knowing look and shakes his head. It's the same look he gets when Leonard asks about marriage. And Leonard, well, Leonard is happy. He knows Jim isn't going anywhere. And so what if it's years of effort hidden away in their attic? Jo will find it when they're gone. She'll know what to do.

 ​

Joanna finds the painting when she's cleaning up the attic. Dad and Jim left all sorts of things squirreled away, and she's only just beginning to make her way through the mess when she trips over something- probably another box of love letters- and finds herself face to face with a box simply marked "Bones".

There are lots of things Jo doesn't know about her dad, and that's fine with her. But whatever this thing is, it's big and carefully wrapped and might be something worth sharing at the memorial.

She brings it downstairs carefully, meticulously protecting it from corners and stairs and low hanging ceilings. Once she manages that, she lays it down on the kitchen table and, scissors in hand, sets about opening it.

She knows the moment she sees them that those are Dad's hands.

Tears spring to her eyes, and she has to walk away. It's only been two weeks.

This is a side of Jim- and it can only be Jim who painted this, considering Dad hated paint- that feels way too personal for her to be looking at. But look she does. She take in the stars coalescing into hands and feels another wave of tears prickling in her eyes because Jim loved the stars more than anything.

More than almost anything.

She donates the painting to the Starfleet museum but doesn't tell the curator about the letter she found tucked behind the canvas. Not because she doesn't want to, but because in the letter, Jim asked her not to.

We've done our time here, Jo. Once you find this, you'll know we've boldly gone to where so many have gone before. Feel free to do with this what you want; just don't tell anyone anything about it except that you found it in our attic. Bones would hate to be known as the man from Kirk's painting or whatever nameless moniker they would give him.

Be brave and love without hesitating, just like your father did.

Yours, Jim

She likes to read the theories about the painting. All sorts of experts have studied it, and they've all got varying theories, some wild and some painfully close to the truth. A few have talked to her, but even if Jim hadn't asked for her silence, she wouldn't have been much help. Dad and Jim weren't Captain Kirk and Dr. McCoy to her. Jim liked drinking out of Dad's cups, just because it annoyed him, and Dad- Well, Dad lit up whenever Jim was around. He was happy, even when he was grumbling about backwash, and Joanna can't say she ever saw him like that before Jim became a permanent part of his life.

Smiling to herself, she guides her bike toward the cemetery. Jim's going to get a kick out of the latest book.

[arriyire]

Learn to Fly - A Fairy Tail Fic Ch. 2

Summary: The world is split into two realms - the mortal and the spirit. In this world, demons attack humans and the winged protect them. When Levy gets shoved headfirst into the spirit realm, she will have to adjust her whole way of living and learn to deal with a moody dragon winged Gajeel. AU vaguely based on the manga plot.

Rated: T

Chapter 2

Elsewhere another pair of dragon-like wings flexed. The wingspan alone distinguished the owner from Natsu – never mind the metallic black colouring, or the small iron studs littered across the edges in between 3 razor sharp metal spikes, evenly spaced along the top of each wing.  Gajeel sighed as he rolled his shoulders; his foes lay fallen at his feet, as he turned they began to disappear into dust slowing dispersing into the air.

"Weaklings." Gajeel huffed; demon hunting just didn't give him the same thrill any more, there was just no challenge in hunting down three new demons barely formed. They didn't even have any control over their magic and Gajeel barely had to resort to any of his more advanced moves deciding to fist-fight his way to victory. As he turned away he came face to face with a large white-winged ebony cat that hovered close by; sword and guard up.

"Well that took no time at all" Panther Lilly muttered as he lowered his buster sword and looked around in slight disbelief.

"Hmph can say that again" Gajeel replied, Lilly noted how disappointed the iron dragon looked - this had been the third mission in a row which had been ‘too easy’ by the man’s standards. Granted anything that didn’t leave him in a hospital was too easy so Lilly wasn’t going to complain.

"I'll have to have a few rounds with Salamander if I'm gonna get a proper workout, Gihi” Gajeel suddenly grinned to himself, the prospects of a decent fight putting him in a terrifyingly good mood. Lilly simply sighed; of course he wouldn't stay down for long, the Exceed allowed his body to shift to his smaller form and began drifting in the direction of home.

"Let's go then; Mira promised there would be a new delivery of kiwi today." Both Lilly and Gajeel took to the sky and in the direction of home. It wasn't long before the two soon entered a friendly, but by no means gentle, race to see who would make it to the guild first. Taking advantage of the changing air currents Lilly gained a small lead, using his more flexible body to move with the air, but it was a trivial thing to the wings of a dragon. Strong muscles contracted, shooting Gajeel forward and in front of an unhappy Lilly.

Before the Exceed could attempt a comeback the race was over with Gajeel crashing through the guild's main door, narrowly avoiding a collision with several other guild members, before landing rather roughly in the middle of the hall. Lilly floated by soon after, humoured by the fact no-one had even batted an eyelash; this was Fairy Tail after all, it took more than an almost-crash landing to cause a scene.

The place was rowdy as ever; people were talking, drinking, flying, brawling and everything in between. As Gajeel dusted himself off and made his way to the bar, he noted the fire dragon slayer being lectured by a pissed off Erza – clad in her standard (or casual? Gajeel wasn't sure) armour. Her wings were a combination of various sword-like feathers sharp and poised for any unfortunate soul who wondered too close. They were flared out in anger as she scolded Natsu for yet more damage done to the building. Only when he saw her pointing to the ceiling did Gajeel notice the gaping hole in the roof from where Salamander had decided to nosedive into the guild. He grimaced; Natsu would be too busy fixing that under Titania's watchful glare to have any kind of brawl with him – not that that had stopped him before.

Gajeel ordered his usual drink from the bar and watched as Mira turned to grab a glass. As soon as she turned her back, Gajeel heard the tell-tale noise of Salamander and the Ice Princess trash-talking - in front of Titania no less, earning yet another metal-clad scolding from the woman.

"Dumb-ass’" Gajeel sneered. He briefly considered not perusing his goal of kicking their collective asses. Two on one would definitely give him the challenge that he desired. But with Erza's continuous surveillance it was more likely he would get his ass kicked for causing a fight. In spite of this, the itch for a good brawl outweighed any common sense he had. Slamming back his drink and Gajeel began to make it way towards the heated argument still occurring between the three winged ones.

Lilly continued to sit happily munching on kiwi and chatting to the ever smiling demon-winged barmaid Mira, their conversation had inevitably turned into a gossip session about the occurrences that had occurred while he had been away. He interrupted briefly to question where he partner was storming off to; upon realising it was to his inevitable doom Lilly merely continued his pleasant conversation with Mira. One day the man might learn not to pick a fight but today was clearly not that day.

However before Gajeel could even make it half of the way there, a low cough caught his sensitive ears. A swift glace to the end of the bar showed an apparently sleeping Makarov, crossed legged on the bar top and a large wooden staff in-hand. The guild-master was a short elderly fellow, and while his bee-like wings and sleepy posture may fool some people; Gajeel, unfortunately, knew better. With an overdramatic sigh he redirected himself to sit on the closest barstool to the snoozing master and waited for what he knew would be a day-ruining conversation.

After a brief moment Makarov apparently 'woke up' and smiled at the scowling man, impervious to his moody temper "How'd the mission go?" He innocently asked.

"Too easy, they didn't stand a chance, Gihi" Gajeel allowed himself to grin back at the master, before his gaze darkened. "Cut the crap old man, what's happening now?" Gajeel's gaze moved upward and focused on the ceiling, something big was coming he could feel it in the air.

"I was hoping you could answer that for me." Makarov paused and looked up alongside the iron dragon; the hole Natsu had conveniently provided allowed them to see the gradually darkening sky. Blue's mixed with orange as the sun began to set - sadly such beauty was lost on the two men who spoke of more sinister things.

"The council have reported a huge surge in demon sightings, but few attacks – it's like he's being picky about who they go after." He continued, keeping his voice low in an attempt to not to draw too much attention.

A moment of silence passed as Gajeel offered no input to the master's statement. As Makarov realised Gajeel was actually refusing to speak on the subject in their current environment, he decided they should move to his office where they could discuss more freely. As they slipped out of the guild hall Makarov noticed a few of the more nosy members taking a keen interest in their movements. ‘No wonder Gajeel elected to stay quiet’ Makarov mused, appreciating the man’s consideration, this was not a matter for his family; yet.

As they both entered a small but cosy looking office, the master repositioned himself cross-legged on his desk, while Gajeel leaned against the far wall deep in thought. After a long pause Gajeel spoke up. "Jose hasn't contacted me in a long time. Last I heard he wanted me to 'build up trust' while he attempted to plot with Hades and Ivan" Gajeel said while Makarov let out a sigh in response.

"I imagine he will want an update soon" Gajeel added, almost reluctantly.                                                    

"He will know that we know about his movements, he isn't exactly subtle" He resisted the urge to groan in despair. The master felt helpless; there must be something they were missing. "What about the demon dimension?" This had to be their end goal, Makarov was certain, demons craved power and that was the biggest source of it. As an added plus Jose had always being vying for the attention of the larger more powerful demons; what better way to get it?

"Nothin' so far" Gajeel replied, equally frustrated at the lack of information. "Sorry old man – they've been limiting contact, might be getting suspicious" Gajeel offered a rare look of sympathy – he knew the stakes here, a lot of humans/winged could get hurt if they failed to stop whatever they were plotting.

"Can't say I'm surprised, demons aren't known for their trust and companionship." The pair sat again in silence before the master spoke up again "I'm sending you to where most of the sighting have occurred – let Jose know we've given you a patrol area for a few months as a sign of trust, maybe he'll get you involved in whatever they are searching for." Makarov nodded to himself

"Is this an actual sign of trust?" Gajeel ventured, his hands sure as hell weren't clean but this was the second chance that could save him from the edge. So what if he was a little hopeful?

"I've trusted you from the start, brat. Forgiven however…" Makarov's voiced faded, the threat clear as the wrinkles in his skin.

"Whadda ‘bout Lilly?" Gajeel asked, slightly uncomfortable with the death glare coming his way. Saying that, he was also concerned for his cats safety – sure the badass feline could easily take care of himself; but he wasn't about to go getting him mixed up in something he shouldn't be involved in.

"Take him if you wish; you can split up the area observe more of it while giving him the space to get out should things turn hairy. He would be a useful messenger as well." At Makarov's reply the tension was gone but not forgotten. Gajeel grunted in response and turned to leave; somewhat disappointed that his brawl would have to wait. As he prepared to leave Makarov spoke once more. "Gajeel… Take care; things are going to get harder." The old man was staring upwards now deep in thought when he heard the door close. "Damn brat…" He muttered to himself.

Gajeel took a moment outside the office door – he looked down at his fellow guild member's and felt a slight pang of guilt (yes the big bad iron dragon felt guilt). The feeling did not last long, now was the time to do some right, not sit in self-pity. Deciding not to waste time he stormed past the bar grabbing Lilly by the scruff of his neck before further storming out the main door. Along the way Gajeel spied an opportunity for a bit of tension release, slamming Natsu's face into the plate of flaming chicken he was gorging on (He probably deserved it, Gajeel justified). Laughing as Natsu screamed threats to his backside; Gajeel spread his wings and headed home.

The Exceed; clearly unhappy at being treated like a ragdoll, struggled out of Gajeel's vice like grip to fly alongside him. "Mind telling me what the rush was? I was rather enjoying my kiwi juice." Panther Lilly huffed; annoyed their break was cut short.

"New mission, we're going on a month long patrol" Gajeel replied rather bluntly his facial expression giving nothing away to the flying cat.

"Any more detail?" Lilly ventured as Gajeel landed on the rocky outcrop of their home, Lilly followed closely behind as they entered the cave  watching him with every predatory instinct he had as Gajeel stuffed extra clothes into a duffel bag dumping it by the entrance to their humble abode (or as Lilly likes to call it their 'scrapyard')

"None you need to know. Be back later." Gajeel left without a second thought leaving Lilly to himself. Panther Lilly stared after him for a while before walking to his "bedroom".

Their home was a large cave in a cliff side which over looked a valley. The cave itself was loosely divided into typical rooms, while the door was a gaping hole; Gajeel conjured a metal sheet to cover it during the cold night. Currently it was currently left open due to the summer winds keeping the place plenty warm and no demon was stupid enough to come wondering into "dragon's lair" as Gajeel liked to put it. Said 'lair' was basically an open plan flat, they had a functioning kitchen, bathroom and lighting courtesy of magic of course. Gajeel's bed lay at the back of the cave and was an unruly mess surrounded by several piles of scrap metal which he claimed were 'sorted'; although by what Lilly would never know. Fortunately it was relatively contained around his space – many an argument between dragon and Exceed led to an understanding of sorts in regards to his excessive hoarding.

Lilly's smaller bed; which lay to the left side of the cave, however was pristine; his few belongings were kept on either the side shelf or the set of draws nearby. All kept in military perfect condition of course. When it was clear Gajeel would be longer than an hour, Lilly decided to make sure they were prepared for their patrol. Grabbing a few pairs of spare shorts, he proceeded to re-sort the bag folding everything and ensuring they would have everything they would need; Gajeel never was one for proper planning.

The little Exceed wasn't stupid; he knew Gajeel was working on something for the master. He didn't know what or why but that was to be expected. Gajeel wasn't going to involve him if he didn't need to be involved. The Exceed let out a sigh as he zipped up the bag. "I've got a bad feeling." he muttered to the open room.

Gajeel sat on the cliff edge above their cave, overlooking the valley. He tried to be patient, but with nothing but the wind to keep his company it didn’t take long before he felt antsy. He was thankful for the quite evening to a degree, the warm air helped calm him and made it easier to focus on the task at hand - he had a part to play after all. A slightly flicker to his right told him it was show time, turning towards a holographic image as it began to form Gajeel maintained a stoic front. After a few seconds a clear thought projection of a tall slim man in a rather jester like get up appeared; thin black bat-like wings sprouted from his back.

"Ah, Gajeel wonderful to see you!" Jose grinned as his dark eyes gleamed demonically; his red pupils studying the man in front of him. Gajeel felt the hairs on his neck stand on end, instinct shouting that something was wrong; clearly something had put this guy in a good mood.

Gajeel grunted in response, waiting for whatever instructions the malicious man had for him.

"Chatty as always..." Jose's face fell slightly at Gajeel's lack of enthusiasm, still he wasn’t deterred. "Well, I won't waste your time. I'm sure Makarov as spotted our movements." His lips curled back to form a cruel grin. "Tell me… what are his next steps?" He practically purred like a rattlesnake before it struck you down.

Gajeel weighed up the form in front of him for a moment, Jose must have discovered something; he was grinning like Mira when she had blackmail and a reason to use it against you. "The Fairies are all in a panic. They're spreading themselves thin trying to find what you're looking for." Few white lies were sure to stroke the demons ego after all the feeling of being powerful was all they craved. "I'm going on patrol where the sightings have been, been told to find out what's going on" Gajeel continued – he grinned evilly as he spoke. Oh, he knew how well he played the part of the villain.

"Really? All on your own? He must really trust you!" The man grinned chuckling Gajeel practically heard the glee in the madman's voice. "I shall not waste this opportunity; you will cover our tracks keep Makarov from suspecting anything, soon we shall be more powerful than ever!”

Gajeel maintained his stoic appearance; it was time to get some answers. "Found the damn door? The hell you even looking for now, then?" Gajeel said, he tried to look uninterested while keeping his ears sharp.

"Why, the key to it of course!" Jose proudly announced.

Full fic here - I own nothing except a vague plot, feel free to review/ask/be inspired and share with me anything you find :)