#i refuse to puss out on this and just leave it at big scar but i dont want to go too overboard

[waywardsalt]

sitting huddled in my little writers hut trying to piece together what kinds of effects i want bellum’s possession to have on linebeck

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

Merlin asks the impossible of Lancelot;

The other knights watch on in horror as Lance refuses to allow Merlin to suffer.

TW: Violence/pain/blood. Assisted suicide (though only because they know he’ll wake up again).

No one had expected Merlin to get hurt.

The servant insists on coming along on every little adventure, never wears armour, and has a bad habit of jumping head first into danger, especially when his friends are in danger... so with the benefit of hindsight, they really should’ve seen this coming; Merlin was always going to be the first of them to die.

~

The Roundtable Knights (Leon, Elyan, Percival, Lancelot, Gwaine), The King, and The King’s manservant were on one of their various wacky adventures.

At this point, none of them really care to remember what it is they were doing; they were too busy trying not to panic at the blood coming from the wound on Merlin’s stomach, and the paleness of his face.

They had been captured by the villain of the week, and all bar Merlin and Lancelot had been shackled to the walls of their dungeon. Merlin was a wounded and slowly dying servant, and was therefor not seen as a danger, and Lancelot, after much begging, was unchained so he could make some sort of attempt to keep him alive.

It wasn’t working.

Everyone had tears in their eyes as they watched one of their dearest friends slowly bleed out, whilst Lancelot desperately tried to keep him awake and stop the bleeding.

The wound on its own wasn’t too bad. Definitely serious, but easily fixable with the right time and equipment. But they had neither time, nor equipment, and Merlin had already vomited once, and begun to shiver.

He had an infection and it was quickly going septic.

As Lancelot shook Merlin awake for the third time in as many minutes, the dark haired servant coughed violently, groaning as Lance rolled him on to his side, allowing the blood to dribble out of his mouth.

When the painful hacking stopped, he rolled back, blearily looking up at the tearful knight:

“Any... guards?”

Lancelot frowns in confusion, willing his tears away. If he lets on how scared he is, Merlin might freak out.... but... Merlin is a fully trained physician at this point. The sad truth is, he probably knew exactly what was happening to him.

The knight glances towards the door quickly, listening, before looking back down at Merlin:

“No, no one’s there.-”

He speaks quietly, in an attempt to stop the others hearing him, but they’re so focussed on the two of them that they hear anyway:

“-But either way, you don’t have enough strength to break us out Merlin, it would kill you.”

The other knights frown, even if Merlin wasn’t... injured, in what world could he possibly be able to break them out? But to be perfectly honest, they’re more focussed on his health right now, and trying not to cry.

Arthur speaks up, his voice shaky, before Merlin can answer:

“Just hold on Merlin. There’ll be a whole bunch of patrols looking for us, we’ll be back home in no time. I’ll even give you a day off, hear me?”

Gwaine clenches his teeth, and the other knights can’t look Arthur or Merlin in the eye. They all know he’s lying. The infection was too serious, even if they broke out right this second, and there was an army of Camelot Red waiting for them upstairs... no amount of treatment would save him now.

He was dying.

Merlin doesn’t even look in Arthur’s direction, still staring up at Lance and desperately trying to keep his thoughts at least vaguely coherent. The knight kept one hand pressed over Merlin’s wound, and moved the other up to his forehead, moving the sweat and hair back from his eyes as he mumbles:

“Check... my boot.”

The knight frowns, wondering if Merlin’s mind had finally succumbed to delusions, but at Merlin’s weak gesture and nod, he reluctantly pulled his hands away, and crawled down to his feet.

He runs his hands firmly down the length of Merlin’s boots, eyes widening when he feels something. He takes the shoe off and a small dagger, only about five inches long, clatters loudly to the stone floor. Lancelot curses and quickly picks it up, eyes zipping to the door in panic, but when no one comes, he relaxes and crawls back up to Merlin’s head.

There was no lock on this side of the door, so it couldn’t be used to break them out, and it was too big to jimmy the cuffs that held the others anyway, but before Lancelot can question Merlin’s insistence, the servant speaks, pain scrawled across his face as he wheezes:

“You... remember that... conversation we had?? Last... last month?”

Tears are falling freely from the other knights at this point; they were all desperate to hold on to hope, but their friend was in so much pain, and no one was coming for them any time soon.

Leon goes to question what Merlin was talking about, but before he can, Lancelot roughly shakes his head, the grip he had on the knife tightening and his knuckles turning white:

“No. Merlin there has to be another way. You... I can’t. Don’t ask me to do that... I... I can’t.”

Lancelot is breathing deeply, and Merlin gives him weak smile before grimacing in pain again; slowly lifting a frail hand to rest on Lance’s knee:

“Please... Lance... please.”

Lancelot lets out a sob, hand clamping over his mouth, and the other knights realise in horror what Merlin might be asking:

“You said you weren’t even sure if it was true... how do you know? What if I kill.... what if it doesn’t work??”

The tears in Merlin’s eyes overflow, but Lancelot can see only a fraction of fear. Mostly it’s just excruciating pain.

Merlin coughs again, blood dribbling over his chin as he groans, before gasping out a desperate:

“Please, Lance... it hurts... it hurts.”

Lance tries to stem the flow of tears from his own eyes, sniffing and taking deep breaths as he bites his lip.

It’s Merlin’s next rasping breath and whimper of pain, that has Lancelot give a shaky nod.

He wraps both of his trembling hands around the hilt of the dagger, holding it over Merlin’s heart.

Arthur yells and Gwaine lets out a pained cry of his own, but no one else makes a noise. This is destroying them, but they also knew that it was... merciful. It might be hours, even days, before Merlin died. But the agony would be cruel, and forcing him to hold on when there was no hope of a rescue would be torture.

Lancelot sobs openly, breathing deeply and shaking his head. He leans forward, pressing his forehead to the back of his hands; still shakily holding the dagger over Merlin’s chest:

“I can’t.”

Another wave of tears escape from Merlin’s clouded eyes, and he uses the last of his energy to move his hand on top of Lancelot’s head, running his fingers through his hair only once before his strength leaves him, and the arm flops to the floor:

“Please.”

Lancelot sits up and takes a fortifying breath, adjusting his grip on the dagger and staring at Merlin’s pained expression. He still hesitates, and his head whips up when Leon roughly whispers his name.

The two knights meet gazes, and Lancelot bites his lip, so hard he feels the metallic tang of blood in his mouth. Leon’s face is a mess, hair knotted and tears from his red-rimmed eyes trailing down his cheeks.

He gives one shaky nod, swallowing before saying:

“Do it. He shouldn’t suffer.”

Percival speaks next, more forceful than Leon, but still shaky:

“He deserves the mercy.”

Lancelot gives a shaky nod of his own, looking back down at a near-delusional Merlin and whispering, this time quiet enough that no one hears him despite their focus:

“If this doesn’t work, I’m going to be so mad at you.”

With that, he firmly pushes the dagger down. They all hear the sickening squelch, but no one can rip their gazes away as Merlin takes in a sharp breath before going completely limp.

His face goes slack, and his body stops trembling. No one in the dungeon bothers to hide their sobbing, as Lancelot rips the dagger out, and angrily launches it at the wall.

He collapses back at Merlin’s side, wiping tears away from his face as he ignores the others, focusing only on closing Merlin’s eyes and covering him with his cloak.

~

Time stretches on.

No one had stopped crying, not for even a second, but the loud sobbing and heavy breathing had stopped fairly soon. They were knights. They would grieve later.

Lancelot didn’t move from Merlin’s side, holding his stiffening hand tightly in his own as he stared blankly at the wall. The others couldn’t bring themselves to look at him, or the body steadily growing cold under his cloak.

None of them had moved, or spoken, or even really made any noise, for hours, so when Lancelot’s head whips down to look at the...  to look at Merlin, everyone’s attention is drawn to him.

He furrows his brows, and tilts his head as he stills, seeming to wait for something.

Elyan clears his throat, going to ask what’s wrong, but is frozen (like everyone else) as a wide grin spreads across Lancelot’s face.

Everyone is taken aback as he rips the cloak away, dumping it somewhere behind him as he puts his hands on Merlin’s shoulders, shaking them slightly and whispering:

“Come on, come on.”

A rasping:

“What are you doing, Lance-”

Comes from Gwaine’s direction, but Lancelot doesn’t even look up at he tells him to shut up.

Lancelot furrows his brow, huffing as he moves his hands down to where Merlin’s wound had been. He lifts the tunic up, and the others look away as he grimaces, before wiping at the skin.

Dried blood and puss comes away on his sleeve to reveal... nothing. The gaping, weeping wound was gone, replaced by a pink scar where the sword at entered him.

Lancelot smiles again, moving back up to Merlin’s head and giving him a gentle slap on his cheek.

At his murmur of-

“You’re all healed, Merlin. Come on, it’s time to wake up.”

-the others look back at him in confusion. At closer inspection, they see that colour has returned to Merlin’s skin, and his cheeks no longer seemed so sunken in.

Confused and desperate eyes rake down his body, and gasps fly up around the room as each of them notice the healed wound.

A chorus of “WHAT?” and “How is that possible?” and “What the genuine fuck?”, among other curses and bewildered questions, burst from the knights.

All of them pull against their chains, trying to get a closer look at Merlin, hopeful tears filling their eyes as they bruise their wrists. Lancelot pays absolutely no attention to them, back to shaking Merlin’s shoulders with one hand, and tugging his hair with the other.

Quick as lightening, Merlin sits up, eyes wide as he takes a deep gasping breath, before promptly choking on the blood still in his throat.

Lancelot sits back with, a hysterical laugh bubbling up from deep within him. He rubs Merlin’s back as the man violently coughs up the congealed blood, before falling back into the knight’s lap.

The others stare on in confusion and shock, as Merlin wipes his mouth with his sleeve, looking up at Lancelot and saying:

“I guess the Druids were right-”

He coughs a bit more, sitting up to support his own weight, before nervously looking at the door and mumbling:

“You don’t think anyone heard that, right?”

Lancelot laughs disbelievingly, putting a firm hand on Merlin’s shoulder (to comfort himself or Merlin, he doesn’t know. Maybe both):

“No ones come in hours, not even when we were all hysterically sobbing at you dying.”

Merlin looks at him with an apologetic grin, the others still not having processed what had happened:

“Aww, you care about me.”

Lancelot huffs, giving him a pointed look, and at the remnants of grief in his gaze, Merlin has the decency to look at least a little guilty:

“Sorry. I know that must’ve been hard. But hey, at least we know for next time!”

Lancelot growls, looking a little angry:

“If this ever happens again... Merlin I swear to the Gods I’ll.... I’ll...-”

Merlin interrupts him with a devilish grin:

“Kill me?”

Lancelot promptly punches him on the arm, yelling:

“YES! And I’ll bloody enjoy it this time, you dick.”

The servant holds his hands up in surrender, muttering apologies whilst still chuckling, and it’s then, that a loud-

“What the FUCK?”

-Explodes from Gwaine.

Merlin and Lancelot wince, before slowly looking to the others. They all stare at them with a mix of shock, confusion, and happiness, but when Merlin looks to Lancelot for support, the knight shrugs his shoulder and gives him a smirk, clearly meaning “you’re on your own lol”.

Merlin shakes his head and gives him a betrayed grimace before looking back a Arthur, who has tears once again building in his eyes:

“So... it’s a very long story but... I’m sort of... immortal? I only found out like a couple months ago and I’ve never actually put it to the test before so up until like... two minutes ago it was just a theory but... yeah. Can’t die. Or I can, but I guess it just doesn’t stick? I don’t really know, I have no clue how this-”

Merlin’s rambling is cut off by Gwaine bursting into hysterical laughter to his side. Arthur continues to stare at Merlin, but the servant looks away, staring at Gwaine in bewilderment as he gasps out:

“Only you... only you, could be immortal and.... and not know how or why. I swear Merlin... what the fuck is your life?”

Merlin looks indignant, loudly proclaiming:

“Hey! I might not know how, but I do know why, I’m not that thick, you arsehole!”

Gwaine carries on laughing, and Merlin isn’t sure if the knight actually heard him, but his attention is quickly drawn to Leon, as he asks:

“Ok then... why?”

Merlin winces and bites his lip, looking guilty as he reluctantly says:

“Uh... it’s a long story, and I can say “I’ll tell you later”, but you’ll never ask again and we can all pretend I didn’t just die??”

Gwaine’s laughter gets louder, and he’s joined by Lancelot lowly giggling to himself. Leon shakes his head in disbelief, before beginning to chuckle. Percival stares at Merlin in shock, and Elyan just looks kind of... weirded out? By the whole thing?

Arthur still stares blankly, and if Lancelot wasn’t too busy trying to stop himself from laughing at Merlin’s face, he’d be worried.

It’s Percival’s next words, getting louder as he goes on with a look of realisation on his face, that promptly stops everyone laughing, and breaks Arthur out of his stupor:

“You’re... you can’t be. Oh my Gods you are! You’re Emrys, aren’t you?! The only other immortals are the High Priests and Priestesses, and you definitely do NOT have the time for that so... oh my Gods I’m... you... Emrys?!”

Merlin and Lancelot look at him in bewilderment, the others having their shock slowly overtaken by confusion. After a few moments, Merlin squeaks out a:

“How do you know about that??”

It’s Percival’s turn to look indignant this time, as he responds loudly:

“I grew up with the Druids, with the prophecies! Why the fuck else would I have become so loyal so quickly to Arthur?”

Arthur has just enough focus on Percival’s words to look mildly offended, before the rest of what he said caught up with him:

“Ok! Everybody shut up!-”

Everyone looks at him in shock, and Lancelot gives Merlin a consoling pat on the back:

“-I have a lot of questions, and as your King, all of them are going to get answered-”

Everyone gives shaky nods, though Gwaine looks like he might start laughing again. The King looks to Percival, taking a deep breath and saying:

“-You’re a Druid?”

Percival shakes his head:

“No, but they’re very welcoming of outsiders. I spent a lot of time in their camps as a child, but I was never officially Druid.”

Arthur takes a deep breath and nods, looking back to Merlin as the servant gulps:

“And what the fuck is Emrys? How the fuck are you alive? And.... and... what the FUCK is going on??!”

Merlin nods, muttering:

“Yeah, that’s a fair reaction.-”

Before standing up and saying:

“And I’ll... uhh... tell you later? For now, we really should get out of here. I think they just locked us up and left and hoped we would all starve or something.”

Arthur growls, muttering something about “You WILL tell me later or so help me God...” but Merlin ignores him, instead putting his boot back on, picking up his knife, and grumbling about the state of his clothes.

Lancelot rolls his eyes, following him to stand, and giving him a knowing look. Merlin sighs, biting his lip again as he replies to the Knight’s wordless statement:

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Bloody cat’s out of the bag now isn’t it? None of them have swords, might as well go the whole way. God I’m never gonna wash this out.”

With that, he waves his hand, eyes glowing golden as the cuffs on each of the knights wrist’s fall to the floor, unclasped. Another wave of the hand has the door open, and before anyone can say anything, Merlin speed-walks out.

Lancelot follows him with another roll of his eyes and a fond smile.

At first, the knight thought he’d be worried for Merlin’s safety, but as he walks down the hall after the Warlock, Gwaine’s loud laughter, Leon’s quiet “Huh.” and Arthur’s bewildered “What the FUCK??”, from behind him have him break into another round of disbelieving giggles.

~

THE END

K so I didn’t realise that this had heavy Mercalot vibes until I proof read but,,, I ain’t mad about it ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I hope y’all enjoyed! Head to This List to see what might be up next, and share your preferences :)

Same as always lads, you wanna write it out properly, go for it, credit and tag me✌

@powered-by-notes asked to be tagged in this so🧡

[ethereal-ineffability]

HELL YEAH, DUDE! INFO DUMP ABOUT YOUR OC, OR SO HELP ME!

eyyyyyyyyy. CW for discussion of violent fictional bigots leading to body image issues. Okay so here's the thing. My boy Curio a sweet, kind of shy, well-meaning, socially awkward 28-year-old wizard. Tallish, no muscles whatsoever, big round glasses, kind of stupid facial hair, your standard stereotype.

Except that's not what he looks like, really.

That image is missing a Hat of Disguise (grey irish flat-cap), which he wears constantly, even while sleeping unless he can be sure he's alone. His full first name is Curiosity and what he actually looks like is somewhere around these two pictures, except with broken horns and a helluva lot more faded-over-2-decades facial scarring.

That childhood scarring is the reason why he literally never takes the hat off, no matter what; not because of the scarring itself, but because of what it represents. He grew up with so much baggage attached to his identity as a tiefling because, apart from a very supportive but imperfect and over-her-head single human mother, he had no support network in a small town where he was the only tiefling and almost-if-not-all of the entire town were superstitious humans who were very not interested in examining their biases. The children his age and a few years older were the ones who gave him most of that damage. But there's a reason his mother named him Curiosity; ever since he was old enough to explore, he did so enthusiastically and constantly, and after enough of that (and playing mostly alone) he developed skills that other kids his age didn't have, and he essentially became a gifted child. His mom took advantage of that (and some favors with an old friend) when the bullying got especially bad and got Curio scholarships to send him away to a mage's college in a more open-minded area where he would be protected and taken care of, in exchange for helping with tasks around the college until he was old enough to become an official student. The college became his life. He threw himself into the study of everything having to do with magic - history, mechanics, culture, ethics, etc. - partly as distraction, partly as hyperfixation (I do imagine he's neurodivergent in some way), and partly, subconsciously, as a desperate way to grasp at some sort of explanation for why he exists the way that he does and why the world around him is the way that it is. The enchanted hat was something he got at some point during his time at the college, and it essentially became a comfort item for him, and even though he probably could have gotten by without it with *less* problems than he had in his hometown, he just refused to go without it for years after the fact both out of fear of what could happen again and out of what had become, at that point, a deeply ingrained sense that he was just *wrong* and that he needed to hide himself to avoid burdening others. And all of that is just background for his situation in the current campaign, as a 7th-level wizard who has been traveling with a southern sweetheart druid satyr, a young-looking and mysterious dreamfolk warlock, a puss-in-boots-esque tabaxi fighter, a sweet grandmotherly minotaur barbarian, and a tiefling sorcerer in his late 40's who has a lot of backstory commonalities with Curio, particularly being raised by a single mother, having bad experiences as a kid due to his fiendish heritage, leaving home young, and hiding his appearance when he was younger. (Side note, the sorcerer's player and I *did not plan this*. We both came up with backstories independently, we didn't really have a session 0, and we just now found out how weirdly similar our characters' lives have been, though there's obviously been some differences too.) I started out this campaign by letting all the players know openly that Curio was not human, because I knew I couldn't keep a secret. In the 9 months we've been playing (we had a hiatus for a few, so it's more like 6-7 months of weekly to bi-weekly sessions), the character that's come the closest to figuring it out has been the sorcerer, Turavel, because he has obvious advantages when it comes to picking out which things just don't seem right for a human wizard to do. For example, on top of the weirdness of Curio never taking the hat off, sleeping alone often, bathing alone often, etc., he barely (roll of 15 vs 14) caught Curio tearing up when Turavel was talking about where he came from, and he thought it was weird that Curio could cast things like Hellish Rebuke. (The player, actually, was the only one of us to call this out when it happened, so I made note of it.) At the time (months ago irl, about 2-4 weeks ago in game time), I as the player didn't think Curio's cover had been blown, because I was convinced that Wizards could cast Hellish Rebuke, and I

even informed the player that Curio has fake entries in his spellbook for Hellish Rebuke, Thaumaturgy, and Darkness, just in case anyone ever saw it who also saw him cast those things. But I discovered today while searching for level-up spells for him that I was wrong. As soon as I realized, I sent Turavel's player these messages:

"Looking through wizard-only spells and realized that I as the player made ANOTHER mistake, specifically about which spells would be natural to see a wizard use, which means Curio made another mistake because I'm not retconning anything I said about what he's done. Whoopsie Since you actually called it out at the time (not the latest nat 1, the one time Curio used it before that) I'll be clear with you: Hellish Rebuke is a 2nd level, Warlock-only spell. Curio has the Magic Initiate feat, which might explain why he knows Thaumaturgy which is a cleric-only spell, since his 1st level spell for that feat is Healing Word which is exclusive to clerics, bards, and druids... but if that were the case that wouldn't explain why he can also use Vicious Mockery, which only works with bardic magic. He would have had to have learned Healing Word in a bardic way, leaving Thaumaturgy unaccounted for, unless there's just some explanation other than fiendish heritage or magic initiate that Turavel has literally never heard of before. Maybe there's a bardic college that would allow for the learning of Thaumaturgy? Unlikely. In that case Hellish Rebuke would still be unaccounted for, unless Curio has a secret patron and is a multiclassed warlock/wizard. Occam's razor. And since Turavel's the only one who asked to see his spellbook [in return, after Curio asked to see the spellbooks of all the other spellcasters], help me remember and I'll let you contest me on arcana with advantage to put all this together when we meet next."

And that's where we are. Curio's about to get fully found out because of overthinking and overprotecting himself in ways that weren't necessary, after just casually and confidently trading spellbooks - for strategic study - with the one person in the party who was always leagues more likely than anyone else to figure out what was going on. The same sorcerer who is old enough to be Curio's father and knows almost *exactly* what he's going through, and who Curio would probably be the most ashamed to be found out by, because he would probably be worried that his disguising of his tiefling nature would be interpreted as an insult even though Curio has terrible anxiety about the whole thing and literally can't help it. And I just think it's extra fun that the reason this is happening so soon is because of decisions I made intentionally as a player to make it *harder* to find him out, while truly thinking about what he would actually do. And I swear to god if that roll at advantage doesn't work I'm giving him all the inspiration I've got, because this is too good. I'm excited for the ensuing cathartic drama and for this precious boy to finally start learning how to love himself. p.s. in case any readers haven't picked up by now it's a closeted-trans-youth meets open-trans-elder allegory. This is what happens when you play DnD with other trans people

[sirius-archive]

Chaos Theory Part 6

Pairing: Cedric Diggory x Reader, Draco Malfoy x Reader, Harry Potter x Reader, others. 

Warnings: Swearing 

Word Count: 5641

A/N: I finished this in one! day! can you believe it?? Anyway, some things worth mentioning: a) after this chapter, things are going to start progressing quickly through the months. So far its sort of been day by day but this story has to span over three years so...yeah. I can’t drag it on for too long b) I’m going away for a week so I’m not sure when part seven will be released c) i have redesigned my masterlist! check it out in my description and, finally, d) shawn mendes will be my new cedric for my gif headers! not important but at the same time really important. Anyway, I’ll shut up now. Here. 

Chapter Six: 

Everyone has secrets to hide

The carriage ride up to Hogwarts is silent, tense and almost insufferable.

Ron’s barely spoken a word since his encounter with Draco, and though you weren’t present, you can only imagine how it went down. His mouth is twisted into a thin frown as he fixes a glare on the floor of the carriage, body rigid with frustration. A dark red flush singes the tips of his ears, a result of his sour mood that simmers beneath his skin.

Hermione keeps eying you with a calculating look, as though she’s dissecting your thoughts and body language and tagging each movement carefully. Her lips are pressed together in a thin line like she’s taming her words back into her throat and is silently forcing them into that spot beneath her sternum where all her other secrets lay hidden. She keeps fiddling with the hem of her robes, weaving the fabric between her fingers to stifle her nervous twitch.

Harry stares out the window, watching the rain and refusing to meet your eye in some sort of silent protest against you. He’s hard to read when he’s like this; silent and solemn and withdrawn into those deep, dark crevices in his mind. You think about reaching out and covering his hand with yours but think better of it.

Guilt plucks your ribs. You should never have left them.

It feels stupid, starting the school year like this. As a group, you’ve been through worse things. You’ve all faced bigger enemies and worse life-threatening circumstances. Why should a couple of secrets stand in the way of a friendship that has endured so much danger?

“So, what were you guys talking about before I arrived?” You ask, curiously glancing between Ron, Hermione and Harry. Harry bristles ever so slightly.

“We were just speculating about what Charlie and Bill were banging on about earlier,” Ron replies, hastily.

“Draco mentioned something too,” Harry snips, his voice clipped and cold.

“Something is supposed to be happening?” You ask, and Harry shrugs.

“I wish they’d just tell us already,” Ron whined, “I’ve had it with all this secrecy. Just spit it out already.”

“We’ll probably find out tonight,” Hermione deduces, and the carriage sinks into silence again.

Lightning forks across the sky, flooding the carriage with white light before evaporating in an instant. Raindrops feel like bullets pounding on the roof, trying to get inside.

“I can’t wait to eat,” you blurt, cradling your stomach, “The welcoming feast is all I’ve been thinking about...”

“Oh yes,” Hermione agrees, the beginning of a smile tickling her lips, “and I can’t wait to watch the Sorting Ceremony!”

“Welcoming the first years,” you smile fondly, “Merlin, remember our first year?”

“How could I forget?” Hermione sighs, “That was the year we first learned Wingardium Leviosa!”

“So you’re not going to mention the fact that our Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher was a fraud with You Know Who attached to his head like some sort of evil fungus?” Ron snaps, coldly.

Hermione narrows her eyes and speaks carefully, composedly, “Well, yes, I thought that was fairly obvious though-”

“Aw, remember Norbert?” you interject, hurriedly, “Remember watching him hatch?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, distantly, “Remember how hard it was to smuggle him out of Hogwarts?”

“Ooh and you impersonated the Bloody Baron to keep Peeves off our tracks? That was so clever...”

You catch a hint of a smile ghosting across Harry’s face, though it’s obscured by the low light, “We still got in trouble, though,”

“It was worth it,” you say, thinking back to Hagrid's concerned face, “I can’t imagine what sort of trouble Hagrid would have gotten into if he was discovered. And Norbert was such a cute, little baby...”

“That ‘cute little baby’ nearly killed me,” Ron snaps, fingers grazing the scar on his hand.

Hermione scoffs, “I think that’s a bit of an exaggeration.”

“Uh, no, not really,” Ron barks, indignantly, “Unless you forgot about the part where I was in the Hospital Wing for weeks after that thing poisoned me with its tiny, little devil fangs.”

“Ron, he bit you out of self-defence.”

“Well maybe if Hagrid were more strict-“

“-Don’t blame Hagrid for your own stupidity-“

“-Oh, so now I’m stupid?”

“-Well, only a fool would try to feed a dragon at night.”

“We’re nearly there!” You exclaim, deliberately raising your voice over Ron and Hermione’s argument. You point out of the window to the Hogwarts castle, using it as a distraction from the knot tugging in your stomach.

A heavy silence looms over the carriage again. Ron and Hermione have turned away from each other, both of them stubbornly staring out of the window. You glance at Harry who glances back at you uneasily, and though it’s only a brief exchange, a shimmer of hope bursts inside of you.

Harry looks away, unaware of your hovering fingers that draw closer to his hand, reluctant to touch the skin of his knuckles. Before you can make contact, the carriage rolls to a stop and, to your regret and dismay, the opportunity passes.

The carriage doors fly open, and Ron and Hermione slip out wordlessly. Harry gives you a side glance before climbing out himself. You follow his lead and quicken your pace to catch up with him and Ron. The four of you bow your heads to avoid the rain and climb up the flight of steps hastily. By the time you reach the great, oak doors, you are completely soaked and shivering against the cool air.

The doors swing open and you all pile into the entrance hall, dripping wet as you slip and slide across the floor. The doors close shut behind you as you crowd around the entrance hall, waiting for Professor McGonagall.

“Hey, (Y/N),” says a meek voice from behind you and Neville Longbottom’s shy, dimpled face comes into view, “How were your holidays?”

“Hi, Neville,” you beam, “They were...eventful. Thanks for asking. How were yours?”

Neville glances at his feet, “The opposite, actually. I had to help Nan with her bunions. They’re the size of golf balls and the only thing that helps shrink them is this cream made from mandrake puss and garden-knome salvia. Then I had to poke a hole in her bunions and–oh my god, why am I telling you this?”

Neville smacks his forehead with such a loud slap, it nearly startles you. He winces and rubs the red mark emerging right in the middle of his forehead, “You probably don’t want to hear that.”

You chuckle at his bashful expression and loop your arm through his, “It’s okay. But before I forget, I should thank you for sending me your Herbology book. It worked miracles.”

“Oh, it was nothing,” he murmurs, fumbling with his robes, “Just helping a friend in need.”

“Well it certainly helped me, big time,” you say, giving him an encouraging smile, “I’m absolutely rubbish at Herbology but that book really helped me with my essay. I have it in my trunk so when we get back to the castle, I’ll give it back to you.”

“Nah, you can have it,” Neville shrugs, not meeting your eye, “I mean, if you want it, that is..”

You consider him fondly in the low light, clamping your bottom lip between your teeth thoughtfully. Neville glances at his feet, ducking his chin to hide his blush.

“That’s very generous of you…thank you.”

Neville shrugs again, all sweet and bashful, an adorable, pink flush rising up his neck.

“So,” Neville starts, scratching the back of his neck, “How come you weren’t with Harry today, in the compartment? I missed you...”

“Oh, I was sitting with...another friend,” as you say it, a thought pops into your head and you perk up a little straighter, “Hey do you know anything about Noah Underwood?”

Neville’s brows furrow in thought, “Not really. He’s in Slytherin and he’s a muggle-born. Oh, and he hangs around the greenhouses a lot.”  

“He does?” You ask and Neville nods. You beam at him and wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a hug, “Thank you so much!”

Neville freezes at first, but his shock fades as he hugs you back, “No-No problem.”

“Hey! (Y/N)!” A familiar voice calls out to you from behind and you turn, finding Harper Shacklebolt charging toward you. The editor and chief of The Howler looks harried but determined and strikingly beautiful as she shoves a sixth-year Ravenclaw aside to reach you. Her braids are pulled back into a bun worthy of McGonagall’s praise, and she has the kind of fierce passion in her dark eyes that could strike fear in the hearts of all the boys around her.

“Hi Harper,” You smile, untangling yourself from around Neville’s shoulders “How were your holidays?”

Harper nods dismissively, “They were fine. Listen, we’re having a meeting this evening after the welcoming feast in the Newsroom. Be there at eight thirty. There will be a few announcements and new members joining us.”

You nod and wave as she charges off, slipping into a second-year Hufflepuff as she leaves.

Beside you, Ron and Harry are engaged in a whispered conversation. You try to lean into the conversation, easing yourself closer slowly, slowly, slowly...

And then you’re slipping.

Harry catches you before you can hit the ground, his hands flying to your waist and holding you close. You’re close enough to feel his heart hammering in his chest, sending shockwaves down your spine. Harry tears his hands away from you a second too late. Beside you, Ron snorts a laugh and reaches over to pat your head affectionately.

“Sorry, (Y/N),” Neville splutters, blushing furious shades of red, “I–er–I didn’t mean to bump into you– I’m such an idiot–”

“No it’s okay,” you breathe, voice trembling as the warmth from Harry’s touch ghosts over your waist, heating your skin beneath your clothes. Neville opens his mouth to apologise more but he doesn’t get the chance.

Professor McGonagall dashes our of the Great Hall, nearly colliding with a student. 

“Well hurry up you lot,” She snaps, ironing her hands down the front of her robes as she composes herself, “The Sorting Ceremony will begin in ten minutes time and we have a very important announcement to make!”

***

The Howler’s Newsroom is alive with excitement.

Seven loyal and dedicated members of the weekly newsletter crowd around, chatting animatedly about the exciting announcement. It’s wonderful being back and seeing all the friendly faces that you have known since you joined last year. You watch them all with mild interest.

Anthony ‘Ant’ Goldstein, comic artist for the newsletter, hovers near the door looking exasperated as he listens to an excitable Colin Creevey, a new member to the team.

Standing next to Harper is Daisy Tate, a Slytherin in Harper’s year and also Head Photographer. She seems to be staring down at something, her stoic expression as bland as ever.  

Next to Daisy stands Troy Hammond, the Head Artist, who always has acrylic paint under his nails and a paintbrush tucked behind his ear. Troy has always been a kind and gentle person, always willing to sit and listen if you ever have problems, and he often finds himself doing so a lot. He also happens to be one of Cedric’s best friends...

Go figure

The last two members of the team are actually sitting on either side of you; Padma Patil, a Writer like yourself, and Dean Thomas, an artist. As you and Padma murmur excitedly, Dean sketches a quick portrait of you and Padma, the tip of his tongue poking out from between his lips as he concentrates.

“So that’s what all the fuss was about,” Padma’s eyes shimmer as her smile grows, “A Triwizard Tournament! How exciting!”

“I know!” You grin, twirling your quill in your hand, “My mum always used to tell stories to Luke and I when we were kids. Never thought it would happen though it’s a shame about Quidditch.”

“Yes, terribly,” Padma muses, but her smile reappears, “We’re going to have so much to write about this year in the Howler!”

“Indeed,” Harper says, and everyone falls silent at the sound of her voice, “Which is precisely what this meeting will be about. Before I continue, though, we will be introducing some new members to our team.”

Harper strides toward the door and pulls it open, and Juniper Cross enters. The Hufflepuff head girl looks startlingly beautiful with yellow flowers pinned to her thick Afro and a radiant smile drawn across her face. You hear the whole room exhale a breath of admiration in her presence.

“She always looks so lovely,” Padma whispers, equal parts in awe and envy of Juniper, “I think she uses that special antioxidant cream every night.”

You bite your lip as Juniper grins, standing next to Harper.

“Ah I’m so excited to be joining the team,” Juniper cheers, voice kind and sweet as honey, “I can’t wait to get to work with you all!”

“Don’t you have Head Girl duties or something?” Anthony blurts, and Harper shoots him a glare.

Juniper smiles gracefully, “Yes. But my role in this team will not be as predominant as the rest of you. With both Professor McGonagall blessing, I will be Head of the Astrology section of the newsletter.”

“Astrology section?” Anthony’s brows furrow, “Isn’t that just staring into a tea cup and hoping for the best?”

To everyone’s surprise, Juniper actually laughs.

“Don’t worry, at first I had my doubts about Astrology but then I discovered that some people have the gift, while others...” she trails off,  looking pointedly at Ant, “...Don’t. I find that it’s those who don’t have the gift that are sceptical, possibly because they’ve come to the realisation that Astrology chooses you, you don’t choose it.”

Ant quietens at that, having taken Junipers point seriously.

“Since we are on the subject of those with the gift,” Harper pipes up, stepping forward, “We also have two astrologers who will be joining the team.”

You are surprised for a second time in five minutes as you watch Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil enter the room. Parvati meets your eyes and waves excitedly. You grin back at her and Padma gives her a thumbs up. As Lavender and Parvati introduce themselves, you lean into Padma.

“I didn’t know Parvati and Lavender were joining the team,” you whisper and Padma stifles a giggle.

“It was a secret,” Padma murmurs back, “Sorry I didn’t indulge you.”

“You’re forgiven.”

“Thank you Lavender, Parvati,” Harper nods to both of them and they flinch as though she had narrowed a wand at them, “Now, our final member of the team will be joining the Photography department, so please welcome –”

Your eyes travel from Harper to the figure standing in the doorway, and with a slight shock, you realise exactly who the newest member of the team is...

“– Noah Underwood.”

Anger you didn’t realise you had flares inside of you, prior feelings of pity vanishing completely. How could someone possibly encroach on your privacy and then throw you into a week of emotional turmoil by sending a strange letter to you? The past week of conflicting emotions is a direct result of him and his stupid camera. Your fingers curl into fists beneath the table.

“Noah Underwood?” Padma hisses, eying him shrewdly, “The loner from Slytherin? What is Harper thinking?”

“Apparently, he’s a good photographer,” you snip, thinking back to the picture sitting in your pocket, and you can’t even hide the frustration from your voice as you study him closely.

The first thing you notice about him is how confusingly, annoyingly attractive he is, despite being freakishly tall and gangly, which is perhaps the reason why he slouches. He’s still wearing that black beanie that he hasn’t taken off his head since he first came to Hogwarts, and peaking out from beneath it are thick curls of raven-black hair. He’s also not wearing his Slytherin robes, which you find odd, but Noah is odd anyway so you figure it fits. Over the top of a black v-neck, Noah is wearing a leather aviator jacket that is a size too big for him, and black jeans.

“Can’t argue with that logic,” Dean whispers, “I’m glad Colin won’t be the only photographer on the team. It’s bad enough having to share a common room with him.”

Padma giggles into her elbow, and Harper’s eyes snap straight to her, drilling her with a glare. Padma coils submissively.

“Introduce yourself, Noah,” Harper orders, and Noah shrugs.

“I’m Noah,” he says, apathetically, his hands jammed into his pockets, “And I like photography more than I like people.”

There is a beat of silence, everyone slightly stunned by Noah’s blunt remark. Harper thoughtfully fiddles with the gold locket hanging from her neck.

“Good,” Harper nods, approvingly, “We’re not here to be friends, we’re here to work so you should fit right in.”

“Except fitting in isn’t really his ‘thing’,” Padma murmurs, and Dean snorts beside you.

“Alright, everyone take a seat,” Harper barks, and everyone rushes to their seats, “Our meeting will now begin.”

***

Noah is out of the door before you even get a chance to talk to him.

You feel rude as you give hurried apologies to your friends and shoulder past them, rushing for the door. To your surprise, he’s riding a skateboard down the corridor. It looks..strange, like it shouldn’t belong here (It doesn’t, but thats not the point.) 

“Noah,” you call, and he skids to a stop, stepping off his skateboard and turning to face you as you approach him in long strides, “I’m (Y/N) And–”

“-I know who you are,” Noah interrupts, studying you intently.

“Right. Anyway, I need your help with something.”

Noah cocks an eyebrow in mild interest as you reach into your pockets and retrieve the photo, thrusting it into his grasp with slightly trembling hands.

“You took this photo, and I want to know why.”

Noah studies it, his face a mask of apathy, completely unreadable despite your best efforts. As his eyes move across the picture, you can’t help but notice how unnervingly dark they are. In fact, his eyes are so dark, you can’t tell where his irises end and his pupils begin. They’re the kind of dark that makes you wonder how many souls he’s absorbed, and the way they glint in the light suggests he’s probably lost count.

Finally, he sniffs and hands it back to you.

“I don’t know what this is,” Noah finally snips, his voice a lot deeper than you remember, “It’s not one of mine. I wasn’t at the Quidditch World Cup.”

“I don’t believe you,” you say, sternly, folding your arms across your chest.

“I don’t care if you believe me. I wasn’t there.”

You glare at him, fists clenching the inside of your robes. He is a blank slate, not even an inch of emotion flicking across his face despite the fact that you’re accusing him of something he may or may not have done. You try to even your emotions, trying to keeping your face a calm and composed canvas.

“If you weren’t there, then why was this photo identified as one of yours?” You ask, jutting your chin at the photo in his hands.

“Who identified it?” Noah queries, and you press your lips together tightly.

“A source.”

Noah scoffs, indignantly, “Well, whoever they are, they’re wrong,” Noah sighs, handing you the photo, “My muggle camera went missing and, like I already told you, I wasn’t at the Quidditch World Cup.”

“Well, where were you?”

“Is this an interrogation?”

“Does it matter?”

Noah gives a derisive snort, “Yes. It does. To me, the person you’re accusing of stalking. So if you don’t have any hard evidence, I’m going to go back to my common room.”

“Why? So you can retreat into your room and sulk?” You snap, hands resting on your hips.

There is a moment where it looks as though Noah is going to smile. Instead, he shakes his head.

“Yeah. That’s right. Because that’s what I do when people stereotype me as the weird, lonely photographer who obsesses over pretty girls...”

You exhale a shaky sigh as you realise that he’s right. It was wrong for you to allow your pent-up emotions to overwhelm you. You roll your shoulders, relaxing into your robes.

“Okay, fine. I’m sorry, that was wrong,” you murmur, glancing at your feet, “You said that your camera went missing. When did you first notice it was gone?”

“At the end of last year,” Noah answers, folding his arms over his chest, “Someone must have pinched it on the train back to Platform 9 3/4. I've printed out fliers and I’m on my way to Professor Snape right now to inform  him.”

You nod carefully, taking mental notes. It’s hard to tell if he’s lying, having such a perfectly trained expression.

“Okay. Thanks, I guess,” you murmur, folding the photo and slipping it into your pocket. Noah shrugs, dropping his skateboard, and you turn, starting back toward the Newsroom.

“Oh, and (Y/N),” Noah calls and you pause, “You wanted to know where I was on the day of the World Cup?” 

You spin around and face him, mildly interested as you nod. Moonlight pours through the glass-stained windows and soak him in a ghostly silhouette, like a dark angel standing in the corridor.  

“I was in London, visiting my sisters grave,” He murmurs, coldly, regret bleeding into his words like scarlet-red blood. 

He quickly turns away and rides off before you can say another word, leaving you speechless, guilt climbing into your gut and curling up there like a beast. 

***

“So, how was the meeting?”

Hermione sits crossed-legged on her bed, running her fingers through Crookshanks fur.

“Don’t tell anyone yet but we have a new Astrology section making its debut next week,” You say, as Nightshade curls up at your side. You smirk at Hermione’s exasperated scowl.

“I thought Harper Shacklebolt was more dignified and logical than that,” Hermione snips, agitated by the new discovery, “It doesn’t matter, I still admire her. Anything else?”

“Well, we also have new members,” you start, reaching into your bedside table and grabbing a small handful of cat treats for Nightshade, “One of them is Noah Underwood.”

Hermione gasps, “Really? Merlin. Did you-“

“-Already one step ahead of you,” you giggle as Nightshade begins to nibble her treats from your cupped palm. Her tongue is slightly serrated, and it tickles as she scrapes it along your soft skin, “Noah wasn’t even at the World Cup, he was visiting his sisters grave on the day which made me feel bloody terrible for drilling him as though he were a criminal. But he’s still a suspect.”

Hermione stands and pins his name to your pinboard, her brows knitted together in contemplation as she studies the board.

“So he has an alibi,” she sighs, as Crookshanks curls himself around her leg, “Did he say anything else?”

“Well, he told me that his muggle camera went missing on the way home from Hogwarts,” you recall, standing and meeting Hermione in front of the board. You scribble ‘Missing Camera’ onto a piece of paper and pin it beneath his name, “So either someone stole it or he’s lying.”

“Well, do you think he’s lying about his alibi?” Hermione asks, glancing at you thoughtfully.

You cock your head as you study each letter of his name, mulling Hermione’s words over, before murmuring, “I don’t trust him, but I don’t think he’s lying.”

Hermione nods, satisfied with your response. You both stare at the pin board for a moment longer, lost in your thoughts. The sound of girlish giggling sounds from behind your closed door, sweeping up the dormitory staircase like a sickly-sweet breeze, and you approach the board.

“A mouse does not trust a hungry snake,” you murmur in Latin,  pressing your wand to the board and watching as the pinboard vanished into the wall. Hermione glances at you, impressed.

“Nice charm work,” she smiles.

“Thanks,” you chirp, “Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs gave me the idea.”

Hermione opens her mouth to comment further, but Lavender and Parvati burst in before she can.

“(Y/N),” Lavender manages through giggles, “You have a visitor.”

Parvati giggles and whispers something to Lavender, which provokes girlish laughter to bubble from Lavenders lips.

“Okay,” you sigh, and Hermione gives you a pleading look. You smile at her apologetically, “Thanks, Lavender.”

Your curiosity piqued, you give Nightshade a final pat and leave your room, descending the staircase and entering the common room. Neville and Ginny smile at you from their game of Wizard Chess as you pass, and you flash them a smile.

“Where are you off too so late at night?” Ginny asks, a single brow raised teasingly.

“Someone is waiting for me outside,” you reply, grinning at her expression as the portrait door swings open, “It’s probably just some weirdo-“

You stop mid-sentence, a burning blush creeping up your neck.  

“Hi, (Y/N).”

Cedric Diggory’s perfect smile beams at you, eyes shimmering, hands lazily wedged into his pockets.

“Oh, Cedric, H-hi,” You splutter, stupidly, feeling like a bitch for the second time tonight, “I didn’t mean what I - I mean - I don’t think you’re a-”

“- A weirdo?” Cedric mimics, his smile stretching into a grin, “I know. I probably am a weirdo for visiting so late in the evening but...I wanted to see you.”

“Me too,” you smile, your heart clumsy and foolish and swelling in your chest, “I mean, I wanted to see you as well...”

Cedric laughs, and the sound plucks every single heart string in your chest as though it were an instrument designed just for him.

“I’m glad,” he reaches over and tentatively takes your hand, “I want to show you something.”

You bite your lip, chewing your nerves away, fingers intertwining with his and soaking in the warmth of his skin.

“Well, go on girl,” the Fat Lady snaps from behind you, “Before I figure out a way to leave this painting and take off with such a charming, young man.”

A gentle, romantic shade of pink kisses Cedric’s cheek, “I appreciate the compliment, Ma’am, but I could never betray the trust of the beautiful girl I’ve come to like...” he gazes pointedly at you. You twirl a ribbon of hair around your finger, hoping your cheeks are not as red as they feel.

“Such a gentleman,” you hear the Fat Lady swoon from behind you as Cedric leads you into the night.

***

The Prefects Bathroom looks as though it’s been stolen from a romance novel and pinned in front of your eyes.

Floating candles hover in the air, scenting the bathroom with a subtle fragrance that changes the more you breathe in. It’s like Cedric’s bottled a cauldron of Amortentia and poured it into each, individual candle.

Rose petals have been sprinkled artistically across the floor, creating a trail that leads to a chocolate fondue machine and a large bowl of fruit and marshmallows. There is a bottle of what you can only assume is sparkling cherry-apple juice, a sweet delicacy enjoyed only by the richest of wizards and witches, and a personal favourite of yours (how did he know? Could he get any more perfect, the bastard).

Your eyes are drawn to the most touching feature in the room; An elegant bouquet of fire lilies. It’s a memento from your and Cedric’s past, a personal touch that has your heart swelling, overflowing the confines of your ribcage like a bubbling love potion inside the cauldron in your chest.

You bite your lip and inhale the sweet scents, releasing a sigh of satisfaction as you store the moment deep inside your lungs like a Polaroid picture.

“Wow” You finally sigh, reduced to moonstruck awe and admiration of Cedric’s dedication, “You really went all out didn’t you?”

Cedric regards you warmly, “I guess I’m just a hopeless romantic. Besides, I wanted to give you the best, that’s what you deserve.”

Cedric tugs his bottom lip between his teeth like he’s blurted too much, and your cheeks ache as your smile widens on its own accord.

“So...” you trail off, stepping closer to him and teasing him with a smirk, “Did you fancy a late night skinny dip?”

Cedric snorts a laugh, watching you with glittering eyes, “Not exactly.”

You grin wickedly at him, maintaining eye contact as you carefully peel back your robes, “Well I do.”

A rosy blush blossoms on Cedric’s cheeks, “Oh, I-I guess this is happening, then.”

You laugh as you whirl around, your back to his chest, “Do you mind unzipping my skirt?”

“Not at all,” he murmurs, voice warm and low in your ear, and a shiver drips languidly from each vertebra in your spine like long, amber strands of honey. He fiddles clumsily with the zip before finally triumphing and tugging on it gently. Once the zip is undone, he steps away and turns around, giving you privacy as you strip down to your underwear and climb into the large, golden bath.

You sigh and close your eyes as the warm water soaks into your skin, rejuvenating your muscles. The water shifts and ripples around you and you open your eyes, finding Cedric by your side. He’s close, though you can still make out the defined muscles of his torso, occasionally flexing in the water. He’s an amalgam of masculine strength and gentle softness, strong but unassuming, certain but meek and oddly vulnerable. It’s disarming, and it makes you feel like he’s giving you control, reassuring you that he’s willing to stay within any boundaries you have carefully constructed.

In short, he’s the handsome gentleman every teenage girl dreams of having.

“I hope this is okay,” Cedric murmurs, shyly.

“Okay?” You echo, smiling broadly, “This is perfect, Cedric. It’s exactly what I needed.”

Cedric smiles and pours you a glass of cherry-apple juice. For what feels like hours, the two of you sit and enjoy each other’s company, laughing and joking and indulging in the fondue treats. The outside world seems to melt away like you and Cedric have created a pocket of your own universe where everything is whimsically romantic and surreal and seeped in sepia and nothing like the corrupt reality outside of this bubble that is threatening to devour it.

For the first time in a week, you finally feel calm, like Cedric is a home not build from bricks or marble but a home built by teenage dreams.

“Thank you, again,” you sigh, savouring the taste of chocolate on your tongue, and Cedric flashes a warm, genuine smile.

“It was nothing. Seriously, all of this is nothing compared to–” Cedric stops, bites his lip and smooths it over with the tip of his tongue.

“Compared to?” You watch him as he sighs, conceding.

“Compared to how you make me feel.”

You blink at him, wondering with a feeling of dread whether this is all a dream, and you pinch yourself just in case. When you realise it’s not, you smile, the weight and length of it nearly splitting your face in half, your heart feeling like an overgrown pumpkin from Hagrid's patch, because this is real, and nothing really matters anymore, none of it, because he’s moving closer and so are you and he’s bending down and you’re reaching up, and he’s raising a hand to your cheek and you’re parting your lips, waiting, yearning for that earth-shattering moment when your lips will finally meet, and Merlin this is not a dream, not anymore–

A peel of gleeful laughter fills the air.

You and Cedric wrench apart, startled by the intruder, who floats over to you grinning for the first time in what you suspect has been many years.

“So the pretty girl has found someone who’s willing to kiss her,” Moaning Myrtle sneers. She narrows a glare on you when she recognises Cedric, “And it’s the handsome one, too.”

“Could we have some privacy, please Myrtle?” You snap, acutely aware of the flimsy pieces of underwear you’re currently wearing.

Myrtle’s bottom lip quivers, “I get awfully lonely here by myself, yet you have all the boys drooling over you like you’ve cast a spell on them. It’s simply not fair.”

“I’m-I’m sure you’ll find someone, Myrtle,” Cedric offers, expression kind and hopeful.

Myrtle heaves a sigh, “Someday, maybe,” her gloomy, transparent face suddenly lights up with glee, “But I’ll relish in telling the Boy who Lived that the girl he’d die for has found someone else to go on adventures with.”

You steel your spine and look her directly in the eye, speaking firmly, “Myrtle, please. I think it’s time you left.”

Myrtle sighs, defeated, her eyes welling up with tears, “Fine! I will! But, just so you know, I’ll be his shoulder to cry on...metaphorically speaking.”

And with that, Myrtle disappears into the pipes, her wails echoing through the bathroom.

***

Cedric drops you off with a goodbye kiss on the cheek that makes you feel like a burning sunset; warm and beautiful and seeped in daydreams.

You manage to float up the stairs to the girls' dormitory without tripping, creep into your bedroom, and change into your pyjamas without waking anyone, a skill you’ve practised since knowing Harry Potter.

The girls are already fast asleep, curtains drawn on the four-poster beds and curled beneath the sheets. Hermione is even muttering in her sleep.

Climbing into bed, you pull the sheets right up to your nose and grin goofily, thankful that no one can see you. Your churning anxiety doesn’t seem so overwhelming in this moment, Cedric washing away your fears like a river of holy water. And, though you’re life may be shrouded in mystery, at least Cedric can be your guiding light, the single truth you can cling to.

You fall asleep smiling, oblivious to what the next few weeks have in store.

tagging: @marauderskeeper @weaselby418  @acciorinn  @hervench @harrvjpotter @depressed-octopods-art @romanofftasha @moonpeachs @emi-loser @steph-fowlie @lilulo-12 @randomfangirl17 @asofslytherin @seunlight if i have forgotten to tag you, please tell me! sorry if i have. i love you. also if you want to be tagged, pls send me an ask :)) thanks for reading babes

[stardust-and-blades]

Shatter: part 2

This comes in two parts since I couldn’t condense it in one damn post like a hEATHEN

Part 1

Summary: Keith and Lance are set up on a mission to gather supplies within a small town. It was meant to be an easy errand, one they have done before. But the situation turns dire when Keith ends up getting bit and doesn’t tell the team. Nor Lance.

-----------

When Keith was awakened, an hour had passed and Lance was gone. Curious as to where he went, Keith lifted himself on his elbows, set to find him and the rest of the team when he was hit by a bout of nausea and a sharp pain on his side. He clasped a hand over the bite, collapsing back in place and trying to push the sickness down. Shove back in the dark corner it came from. 

But it pursued, much like the zombie who bit him. It came it waves, clashing and swirling until he was dizzy with sickness. His vision spun, the room’s colors combining all at once and his sense of reality shifting upside down. He fell off the bed, landing hard on his bite. He ignored it, clawing for the small trash can at the foot of the bed, his knees shaking and his chest heaving to expel the little food he ate the day before. Even when he was dry heaving did the nausea continue, solace in ridding himself of the toxins never arriving. 

By the time Lance returned from his trip to the kitchen--a tray filled with powdered eggs, fruit, and water--Keith was still on the floor, his head laying on the cool wood of the bed and the trash can close to him. Lance, seeing his face far paler than usual and shivers running down his body, put the tray on the dresser and knelt in front of Keith.

“Jesus, Keith. You look horrible.”

“Thanks.” Keith croaked out.

Lance placed the back of his hand against his forehead, grimacing as he retracted it. “You are burning up.” He grabbed the blanket they were using and wrapped it around Keith’s shoulders. Keith felt hot. But also cold. It was strange, it almost being like a bad case of the flu. Keith wanted to stand up. To proclaim he was fine, yet his body remained unresponsive, the fatigue hitting him at every chance he made to move his limbs. 

“There must have been something in the water...” Lance mumbled, frowning. “I wouldn’t be surprised if there was e-coli or some other parasite in there.”

Lance trailed off, a thought coming to him. It darkened his eyes, his aid slowing as he calculated the contents of the water. Keith did not need to ask. Did not need to hear, because he could read Lance like a book. And i he wasn’t careful, Lance would figure out Keith’s secret in no time.

He couldn’t allow that. He had to be strong. Be a warrior. Be ready for later, even if it hurts.

“The water didn’t have the virus.” Keith said, tired but confident. “If it did, we all would be infected by now. We bathed in it. Used it as a survival tactic when we weren’t in towns or homes. It’s probably just a stomach flu.”

“I don’t know...the food bank was pretty old. The corners looked as if moss was growing in from the constant moisture.”

Keith shrugged. “Then maybe it is e-coli. Either way, it’s treatable. We did score a slew of medication.” Keith said, smiling weakly to ease Lance’s nerves. “I’ll be fine. You worry too much.”

Lance searched his face. Analyzed him for flukes in his story, ready to call his bluff. But as his search came up dry, he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Only because you’re reckless. I’ll go get some medication from Hunk. He should know which one could help.” He tightened the blankets around Keith for emphasis. His eyes screaming for Keith to stay. “You, mister, need to get back in bed.”

“I’m fine--” He again tried to stand up, but only toppled over, his legs jelly beneath him. Lance caught him, laying him on the creaky mattress and tucking the annoyed boy in. 

“You are obviously not fine. Stay here. I’ll be back in a jiffy.” 

He turned to leave.

“Wait--Lance?”

He stopped, hand on the edge of the doorway and an eyebrow curved upwards, a question mark above his head. “Yeah?”

Keith rested against the pillow, watching Lance. Taking in his pulsing light. His sky blue eyes. The little scar he got on his eyebrow from when they first met, Keith almost chopping his head off thinking he was a zombie by how quiet he was. Keith would laugh at the memory if they weren’t burning at the edges. Flittering away with his time, the hourglass he thought to last at least two years dramatically shortening. His vision began to waver once more, but he took a breath and gave the best lovestruck, sweet, adoring gaze. Something he wanted to leave Lance with. The last image of him. Not as a dying comrade, but as the lover he spent the best of times with.

“I love you.”

Lance was stunned into silence, never seeing such a look from Keith before. Not this intense. Lance wondered why it made him both giddy and sad, as if there was an unspoken secret between them. A kiss with far too much feeling. A glimmer of nostalgia mixed with loss. Lance couldn’t pinpoint it. Even when his heart melted and froze at the same time.

Lance shook the thoughts away and, as if controlled by another source, walked over and kissed the top of his burning head, not caring for the sweat and noise of surprise.

“Love you too, Keith. Get some rest.”

Then, he was gone.

----------------------

Lance eventually came back with Hunk, the two checking Keith again and giving him some medication. Keith took it, hiding the pills under his tongue and burying them underneath the mattress when they left. They would make him more tired than usual, and he needed to have energy for tonight. 

For tonight, he and Shiro would be gone, a note for the others to find. To tell them Shiro would be back.

And he will.

Just not with Keith.

In the meantime, Keith spent as much time as he could with the others. Pidge stopped by to play pokemon with on her nintendo 3DS, the young girl figuring out how to charge it up and use it like in the past. Hunk brought food, but also suggested Keith come down to the living room for a fun game of charades. It was difficult, but he managed to make his way down the stairs, his violent shivers covered by the heavy blanket.

Lance remained by his side, holding his clammy hand as Pidge and Hunk acted out whatever they were trying to convey, the others shouting guesses and groaning in defeat when Pidge thought of a ridiculous one that only she would know. Hunk was a little easier, though only because Pidge continued to stunt the players. Keith himself worked to contribute, stating his interpretations and proclaiming them cheaters when they withheld points. The day was filled with laughs, curiosity, and fun. Feelings they hadn’t been able to achieve since the outbreak. Since Pidge lost her brother and father. When Hunk was separated from his family during the quarantines, him and Lance victims of families being torn apart. 

As for Shiro, he kept a brave face like Keith. Continued the fatherly figure and told them when to quiet down and when it was time for bed, always on guard for zombies, yet allowing himself some joy by the chuckles ravaging his chest as Lance made a silly impression of Pidge. 

By nightfall, they all had passed out in the living room, refusing to go to bed until their love for charades and board games died down. Hunk was sprawled out on the couch, limbs draping over each edge. Pidge was curled in on herself on the floor, her glasses lopsided on her face as she drooled on the carpet. 

And Lance, sweet Lance, was resting his head atop Keith’s, snuggled up to him like he did when they slept next to each other.

“Are you ready?” Shiro asked quietly. Keith didn’t need to ask if he was alright. His knuckles white from his harsh grip on the gun strapped to him and the shine in his eyes spoke volumes.

Keith nodded, carefully removing himself from Lance, leaving behind the blanket. Leaving what he worked so hard to preserve, his soul screaming for him to stay. To die here, surrounded by friends. Yes, he would turn. But Shiro would kill him in time. He wanted to stay. He wanted to stay goddamnit--

“Lets go.” Keith said, his movements sloth-like as he reached behind a dresser for a bag. It held some items he would like to be buried with. Not including the knife, since he left it by Lance, a horrible gift to give. But one that would serve a purpose. Do what Keith wasn’t able to do.

They left the house. Their goal was to make it to a quiet field in the back woods where the gunshot would not be heard. if he were to die, he would die a human. As long as his humanity remains intact, regardless of his arms and legs decaying, if he could keep ahold of his human side Shiro would be able to take him out easily.

The whole time they walked, though, his movements slowed. His legs creaked with an incredible amount of difficulty, his breathing labored. He kept a hand on his side, pushing down to relieve the growing pain spiking across his abdomen. God, it hurts. His vision split in two, and Keith swore the river up ahead disappeared. 

Keith leaned against a tree, sweat coating him from head to toe. He checked the bite again, sure enough it engulfed in a disgusting, rotted green and puss yellow, the veins popping out with infection from his side to his chest. 

“Shiro...” Keith said, struggling with words. “I can’t...I can’t go any farther. My legs. My body. It--”

“Shhh,” Shiro cooed, rubbing his back in comforting circles. He was just as scared as Keith, but had to be the big brother. The example. The strong one. His chest shuddered; an iron chain squeezing his heart enough to produce an extra layer of shine in his eyes. He wanted to protect Keith. Take way what he was feeling. But all he could do was bend down in front of Keith, back to him and arm extending for him to take. 

“Your body is shutting down. Climb on my back, we aren’t far enough.”

“Are you sure?”

He nodded, eyes kept forward. “Yes.”

Keith was hesitant, but seeing his legs wouldn’t lift him past a couple of inches, he wrapped his arms around Shiro’s throat. There was a struggle, Keith’s strength severely depleted. Shiro hiked one arm around to capture his leg and leaned farther forward, allowing all of Keith’s weight to fall on him. 

He didn’t mind. Keith didn’t weigh much to him. In any other circumstance, Keith would grate on how he felt like a toddler. Now Shiro only wished he would so much as talk, the boy’s skin ice and his breathing ragged.

“Thank you.” He mumbled, closing his eyes. He felt so tired. 

“Mmmhm...”

They continued on their trek, the crisp leaves beneath Shiro’s soles being the only sound in the sleeping forest. Among the carnage, the forest was serene. safe.

“Hey, Shiro?” Keith whispered, Shiro only able to hear is too soft voice because he was next to his ear.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think Lance will blame himself?”

Shiro stopped, glancing at him. “What?”

Keith covered his face with Shiro’s neck, hiding from the surprised lilt. “You heard me.”

Shiro took a second to mull it over, his steps resuming at a slower pace. They knew the answer. But Shiro didn’t want to say it.

“I think he will mourn.”

Keith dug his nails into his wrist.

“I was a fool to fall in love.” He said, his fire crackling to life. “I shouldn’t have kissed him when we were surrounded. I shouldn’t have held him close to me when he had nightmares. I shouldn’t have let him come close to me, touching my soul. I should have let him hate me. If he did that, he wouldn’t mourn.”

Shiro shook his head.

“I think you’re wrong, Keith.”

“How?” His voice broke, a vase tipped over and water spilling out. “How could I be wrong? I’m leaving him, Shiro. I’m breaking his heart. When he wakes up, all he is going to have left of me is the stupid knife. We live in a dying world, and here I am slamming down the last nail on the coffin where our hope was. It hurts to think about him hating me, but it would have been a better option. Hatred breeds survival. A safety net over the heart.” Blood seeped from his nails. “To lose someone you hate is easier than losing someone you love.”

“Is it, though?” Shiro questioned. “Say you and Lance never fell in love. Say you let him despise you with every fiber of your being. You let him call you names. You let him isolate you. You let him leave you behind in the school we were trapped in. Allow him to do every despicable thing your brain can think of. But while you may believe you would have spared him pain, that route would have caused a worse turn of events.”

“How?”

Shiro, for once after leaving the house, looked at Keith with tender eyes. “He would have lost his humanity. Through you, I believe he learned to love being alive. There is me, Hunk, and Pidge, but you were the one to unlock his affection for the days we have remaining. He may hurt after this. But at least he will be able to feel. To be human. To let hatred consume you, you might as well be one of the undead.”

“I’m not so sure he would agree...”

“You know Lance. Which would he rather have? Hatred in his heart, or love?”

Keith did not say anything, being an answer enough. They arrived at their destination Shiro carefully unlatching Keith’s arms. Keith crawled to the tree, Shiro offering his help but the boy ignoring him. As he leaned against it, he seem to deflate; his eyes fluttering closed and his chest rising at an unnatural slow pace. He shivered, a remaining leaf withering away from the approaching snow. 

He was exhausted. All his energy has been sapped, despite not doing much. Shiro should be the one tired, yet here Keith is, struggling to breathe. It was like a cloth had been cast over his lungs, plugging in every crevice. in invisible tar suffocating him. 

Though Shiro knew his fate, he still put a blanket over Keith. He wiped the sweat from his brow, checked his wound, and shook off his jacket for Keith to rest his head on. It was a vain effort to ignore the inevitable, but he still tried being the big brother he swore to be. 

“You don’t need to do that...” Keith said, hollow and soft.

“You looked uncomfortable.”

He was delaying the inevitable. Keith was blunt, but didn’t think he’d have to be this blunt.

“Shiro, I’m going to die. Please don’t sacrifice more than you already had.”

And there it was. The realization the walk and the small discussion being their last settling in. his skin blanched. His eyes averted to the gun, his shoulders hunched and quivering. He denied the reality of the situation, and he would continue until he lifted the pistol to the middle of Keith’s brows. 

He thought he could do it. Could give Keith one last gift by him not allowing him to turn. But his hands wouldn’t move. There was dust in his eyes, Shiro vigorously wiping them away though they grew in size. This was the straw that broke the camel’s back. He couldn’t kill him. Couldn’t stare at those dark, heavy eyes and clean their slate to a matte black, the vibrancy sucked out. He couldn’t do it. 

Something touched his shoulder. Keith was grabbing the gun, nudging Shiro lightly.

“Go. I can do it myself.” He said. “I have enough energy.”

“But--”

Keith held up a hand. “Like I said, you sacrificed enough. It was stupid of me to ask you to take up the responsibility. You’ve done well in taking care of us, now I should give back to you.”

He gave him a last, weak smile. 

“Go. Thank you for everything, Shiro.”

Keith began to cry, hard and shook to the core. He fought against the tremble in his throat, it aching from the pull to reel in his bottled up emotions. Before, he kept them to himself. Silent. Just short of a trembling sigh, an expert in locking away the darkness behind iron doors. 

But in his last moments, he wanted to be as human as possible. Even if that meant crying.

“Tell everyone thank you. And that I loved them. You and the others were the best family I could have gained.”

“Keith, no. I can stay. You don’t have to be alone--”

“GO!” He roared, clutching the weapon closer. “Don’t make this any harder than it is. Please...just go.”

“Why must you insist on being alone so much when you hate it?”

Keith jumped, the voice not belonging to Shiro. The two whipped their heads around, three figures emerging from the trees. On the left was a man with a bandana, brown irises filled. On the left was a girl with large round glasses, her vision clouded by specks of water.

And in the middle was a taller man, tear tracks carved deep into his cheeks, a thin, crumbled note in his palm.

“Lance...?” Keith felt like he was punched in the gut. “Hunk? Pidge? What are you doing here?”

“I can’t sleep well without you near me, remember?” Lance said, unsteady. “I woke up, and suddenly you and Shiro were gone. We thought there were zombies you were fighting, but it turns out...turns out...” He dug the heel of his palm into his eyes. “Goddamnit, Keith. Why didn’t you tell us? Tell me.”

Keith didn’t say anything. Couldn’t look at either of them. To think he was sneaky. He should have known he couldn’t hide the bags under his eyes and the glaring signs of the disease.

“Keith, please say something.” 

He bowed his head lower. “You shouldn’t have come.”

“Shouldn’t have come?” Lance said, dangerously low. “Shouldn’t have come? Oh yeah because that is a great fucking idea when the people who love you would have woken up in the morning wondering where you were. Because it is a fantastic idea for us to stumble upon an emotionally wrecked Shiro. Because it is a wonderful idea for him to lead me to your corpse without having the chance to say goodbye or to have one last kiss or to at least say ‘I love you’--!”

Lance’s voice grew with each sentence, bordering on screaming. But he really wasn’t angry. No, he was bleeding. Keith has a physical wound, but Lance’s chest was drenched in red, tears of blood drenching the soil in a dark crimson. Spreading to the others, encircling around Shiro and Keith, the two respectively hurting with him.

Keith too bled out, wishing to staunch the wound. To take it away, say it was all a sick joke. 

Life is not kind.

“I’m sorry,” was all Keith could say. “I’m so sorry.”

“We want to be there for you, Keith,” Hunk said. “We are your friends. We understand why you did it, but not informing us is equivalent to the time Shiro went missing with Matt. We were stressed. Worried sick. We couldn’t fathom anything else but finding you. With keeping us in the loop, at least we could have closure.”

Pidge stepped closer. Her calm, cool facade had broken, the adult side of her stripped away for who she really was. An innocent child thrust into an apocalypse.

“I remember Matt shoving me in a closet,” She said, hushed. “I remember the groans and moans of the undead. I remember the decaying children chasing after me in the school, Matt noticing I was unable to shake them off. I remember him telling me he would be back, his dopey, stupid smile being the last thing I saw between the cracks of the closet, the loud crackle of a pot and spoon echoing down the hallway. It grew faint. So faint, it became one with silence. And that silence was the only remnant of my brother, never reuniting. Never seeing the family blonde hair in a messy ponytail.”

She sniffed, her armor relinquishing its stability, cracks formed and bursted out to reveal a small girl begging for her family back.

“You’re an idiot if you think by you disappearing you would relieve us of such despair. Either way, you’re gone. Either way, we lose someone we love. The least--the leas you could have done is hugged me close and said goodbye like the brother you are to me! Give me the chance to do what I couldn’t with Matt. Stop trying to protect us and let us love you, you fucking dumbass!” 

She ran into his arms, the gun casted aside for him to catch her. She held onto him for dear life, crying into his neck. “I don’t care if you turn right now, let me have this. Please let me have this...”

Keith never thought the brains--the steel in their team would be crying over him. For her to be reduced to a puddle of tears, despite being known for her high end mental shields and knack for staying logical even in the most stressful, time crunched situations. Keith forgot how scared she was.

Keith forgot about the love they all held for him.

He held her close, and soon the others joined, surrounding Keith in enough love, his heart was full. his two best friends, his brother, and the love of his life were there. Yes, he was dying. But he still thanked the universe for allowing him the short window of true living. One he hadn’t fully embraced until now, death knocking on his door to remind him of what he had. 

He will be leaving them behind. But they will be fine as long as they had the few blessed minutes together.

“I love you all.” He said. “Thank you for reminding me what it means to be alive.”

“Please don’t go,” Lance begged. “Please, we can fix this.”

“Lance...” Hunk said, sympathetic, but realistically speaking. “We can’t...his bite isn’t on a part of his body we can remove.”

“Where is it?”

Keith shut his eyes, reminded of his wound pulsing with infection. “It’s...It’s on my side. My waist.”

“We can search for a cure--”

“Lance, we don’t have enough time.” Hunk reasoned, hating the fact he cannot state the opposite. “Keith is already at a stage where he can’t move. The most we have is thirty minutes before--”

Just then, Shiro threw a hand out, silencing Hunk. The four of them directed their gaze to him, confused.

“Guys,” Shiro said, a warning in his tone. “Listen.”

They did. The color drained from their face.

The grass was shifting. The forest was no longer vacated, several packs of humanoid figures out in the distance, the moonlight providing a glimmer of what was coming. 

The hanging jaws. The exposed, decaying teeth. The wretched stench of decomposed flesh. The stringy, loose hair, eyes clouded with disease and the desire to feed overwhelming.

They were no longer alone.

Keith, leaving no time to hesitate, firmly pushed them off him. “You need to leave, now. That much means there is a horde nearing. Get in the truck and drive off, it should have enough gas for the next town over. “

Pidge opened her mouth, ready to fight him on the matter. But she realized why exactly they were crying. Why they were there, and her eyes immediately went to his bite. Keith lifted her face to meet his, not wanting her to focus so much on his injury. 

He smiled, a brother looking down on his sister. “Don’t make Matt’s sacrifice be in vain. You’re smart. Get these guys to a safe place for me.”

Her eyes still glistened, but a new brand of determination took over. “Right. Hunk, Get our supplies set when we book it to the house. Shiro?”

“Yeah?”

She took one last look at Keith, her squeezing her wrist and processing what he was saying through his expression.

“Grab Lance.”

Lance shoved himself away from them, not liking what it meant.

“W--Hell no! I’m not leaving without Keith!”

“Lance, we don’t have time for this.”

“The fuck we do. We can’t just leave him for dead.”

“Lance--”

“NO!” He screamed. “What kind of people are we if we leave him here? What kind friends are we if we run away? They will tear him apart. He can’t so much as stand up, there is no way he is going to be able to fight them off like he used to. The least we can do is bring him with us and take him somewhere safe. Have our last moments in a safe environment. Whether it is at the house or a couple blocks down, I don’t care, but we are not leaving him to them.”

“Lance,” Keith said, stopping his tirade. It was hard, but Keith dragged himself in front of his love. The words on his tongue was poison, the ache shockwave down his throat, constricting it into the familiar sensation he had the day he was bitten. He fought the rope around his neck, swallowing as he stared deep into the blue gems he came to adore with a fiery passion. 

He cupped Lance’s face in his palms, requesting his attention. He wiped the bubbling drops from his eyes, the flow increasing as Lance read what Keith desired to convey.

“Keith, don’t. Please don’t.” He gripped Keith’s wrists hard enough they should hurt, but Keith had gradually lost his sense of pain in his nerves. He was fighting down sleep; fighting the shut down in his veins. He had to get this out. Get Lance out. If he fought anymore with the others, it could be too late for them and himself. He would be damned before he witnessed their demise because of him.

“Lance, listen to me, please.” Keith quietly said. “You need to listen to Pidge and leave now. They won’t devour me. I’m one of them n--”

“No you’re not!”

“Yes I am.” He stated, hard and to the point. “I am infected. I am in the last stage before being completely consumed by the virus. There is nothing you can do. You can’t find a cure in thirty minutes, and you can’t lug me around to find a safe place for me to die, because you wont make it. You are my skilled sharpshooter, but you’re not a miracle worker.”

Right there is where it finally hit the both of them. Slapped them hard in the face, Keith’s voice choking up and Lance’s loud crying reduced to a silent suffering. Keith wished he could go with them in confidence. But he could not. He had a job to do, and the job did not involve them.

But oh how he wanted to savor the last few seconds he had with his beloved, making everything he say count to the very last period.

Though Lance fought it, Keith kept his eye contact, gently settling his extremely hot forehead to Lance’s cool one. 

“My beloved Lance,” He started. “You are strong. You are smart, sweet, and so, so, so strong. I would give anything to have one last night with you in our bed. One last hunt with you, one last meal. But time is not on our side. I will cherish the moments we had together while we could, whether it was when we were stuck in a garage for two days because of a horde, or we were hand in hand along a beaten path in the middle of a field, soaking in the sun and summer air. You made me smile when I thought I wouldn’t be able to. You brightened my life when there was nothing but black and white. You were--are--my shining beacon. Now I need you to be that beacon for the team. I need you to guide them out of the darkness you did with me. I’m sorry I can’t stay. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Keith, please...”

“Remember what I taught you. Go with your gut, it is what kept us alive so far. Find your family. Find the remnants of the CDC and search for a cure. Promise me that. Promise me.”

A sob escaped Lance, his hands forcefully removed from Keith’s wrists and something being pushed into his palms.

He looked down. It was Keith’s blade.

“I can’t...I can’t take this.”

“You can, and you will.

“Please...” Lance continued to beg, whether it was towards Keith or to the heavens, he cared not. Whoever was listening, don’t rip them apart. They found each other. They finally found a piece of hope in all this destruction. Revived the part of Lance that was confident and sly, resisting to be in a comatose state of thinking like he was after the outbreak. 

He woke up. But now it was like he was being forced to go back to sleep again, cracks lining his mind.

Gingerly, Keith lifted Lance’s head up and kissed him. He was soft; light, a feather gliding atop Lance’s lips. The last piece of a bird flying away, a single strand of life leaving a sliver of what once was in its wake. 

And Lance kissed back, knowing it would be his last. Sensing the separation, the pull as the doomed lovers are split apart. 

He didn’t think he could cry harder, but he did, his heart shattering.

Keith forced himself away, and with one last tear-stained look, he smiled and whispered “I love you.” 

His eyes were sunken in. His skin an ash grey. His hair limp, and his veins popping out, his lips being the only sign of living by its small rose color.

Next thing Lance was processing is his entire body being flung towards Shiro, the boy weak but enough strength to attempt to send Lance to safety. Yet, as Shiro caught him, Lance gripped Keith’s hand, shaking his head.

“No. No I promised I wouldn’t let go.” Lance said. “I won’t let go.”

Keith gave him a squeeze and pulled away.

“Keith, don’t do this!” Lance couldn’t hold on. The boy in front of him his literally slipping through his fingers. He clawed to stay connected. To hold the warmth which kept him sane. But as Shiro inched farther away, as Keith remained sitting against the tree, his lids blinking in slow motion and his hand limp, Lance was unable to achieve the impossible. 

Their fingers brushed one another, and then...

Then he was gone.

The last image he saw was Keith clasping the gun at his side, the undead surrounding him in a trapped circle. The enemy moving in, Lance screaming his throat raw and fighting against Shiro, none of his efforts slowing the one armed man.

By the time they arrived at the house, a gun shot was heard in the distance.

As the gun shot reverberated throughout the forest, it was followed by a whimper and a howl. 

A howl so deafening, the team was sure his soul was stripped away from him.

The glass shards of his heart reduced to ash, and his memories a torture device, the events of the night on repeat.

He was shattered. 

[the-jade-cross]

Flame of the Heart - Chapter 6

“Zuko!” Shira cried.

She was seated in a prison cell, freezing to death when Zuko was brought in. His uncle was at his side as were two guards. She tried to stand up, but the chains held her down. Zuko rushed over to her side and wrapped his arms around her. She noticed that the left side of his face was bandaged up and she bit her lip. How bad was it?

“I’m so sorry,” She whispered to him, “I wasn’t able to stop him…” Zuko shook his head and took her face into his hands, “Nonsense! You stopped him before he could hurt me twice! That is more than anyone has ever done for me.” “What have they done to you child?” Iroh inquired softly, giving her a sad look.

Shira shook her head, “Nothing yet…. The Fire Lord will be here soon to give me my punishment.” “I wish I could stop this,” Iroh sighed, “But I have no power to and the Fire Lord is determined.” Zuko turned to his uncle, “Could you give us a minute?” the old man nodded and stepped out of the cell with the two guards, leaving the two kids alone to themselves. The moment he was out, Zuko grabbed the girl’s hands in his and looked into her big blue eyes.

“I’m going to get you out of here!” he said, “I’m not going to let my father touch you.” Shira smiled and shook her head, “There is nothing anyone can do Zuko. Don’t get yourself killed trying to do something that will never be resolved except by fire.” Zuko bit his lip to hold the tears but they were too strong and he bowed his head so she wouldn’t see him cry. Shira reached over and touched his unbandaged cheek.

“Zuko…. Let me see your burn.” Zuko’s head shot up, “No! You’ll hate it! It’s ugly!” Shira smiled sweetly at him, “Please? Unless it’s still healing…” Zuko shook his head, “It’s scabbed over but…. It’ll scare you.” The girl didn’t seem to listen and slowly began to unwind the bandages. When she finally removed it, Zuko’s other eye looked at her, full of pain and misery…. And disgust. Not at her but at himself.

Shira smiled kindly at him, but her tears were beginning to flood through. He was just a boy and his father had done this to him!

The girl looked around the cell and saw that her cup of water from her prison meal was still there. Reaching over, she grabbed the cup and saw it was half full. Carefully to note waste the water, she poured it onto her sleeve and began to carefully wash around the burn, careful to not irritate it. Zuko let out a shaky sigh at the cool feeling but soon his eyes fluttered closed and he relaxed at her soft touch.

When she finished, she had wiped away most of the excess puss and ooze that had formed underneath the bandaged and now it looked less red and enflamed. Placing the cup down, she slowly reached up with her hand and cupped his cheeks in her hands, careful of his burn. Zuko hadn’t yet opened his eyes when suddenly he felt something soft and warm touch his face…. On his scar.

His eyes flew open and he realized that Shira had just kissed his burn!

“S…. Shira?” he whispered.

The girl slowly pulled away and looked up at him, “You’re still handsome you know?” Zuko’s eyes widened at these words but before he could say anything in return, the prison doors opened and Iroh stepped in.

“Zuko, we must leave. Your father will be here any minute. You don’t want him getting angry because you haven’t left yet.” Zuko turned to Shira and would have done something else but the two guards entered and dragged Zuko out of the cell. The cell doors slammed on him and Zuko grabbed the bars.

“Shira…. I will find the Avatar and return. I promise.” The girl smiled and nodded, “Farewell Zuko.”

Zuko was then dragged off by his uncle but didn’t realize what Shira said until they were halfway to the docks.

“Wait…. she said goodbye!?” the boy whispered, loud enough for his uncle to hear, “Why would she do that?” Iroh sighed, “You didn’t really pay attention to your history lessons did you Prince Zuko?”

Zuko snapped his head in his uncle’s direction, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Iroh replied, “That what Shira knows is that light and plant benders were seen as keepers of the peace. They were the next strongest thing compared to the avatar for they possessed two bending abilities at once and sometimes a third. Your father’s father… my father, slaughtered the last of the light and plant benders. They were known as the Benders of the Inner Flame, or more commonly known as Peace Benders. However, Peace Benders do not get their powers from their parents. They are just naturally born with the power, no matter if their parents were fire benders, water benders, air benders or earth benders or even no bender at all…. Whenever my father found another Peace Bender, he had them scarred and then banished to the far reaches of the earth.” Zuko felt his heart stop at those words, “Scarred…. What do you mean by that?” Iroh sighed and shook his head, “Zuko, there is nothing we can do to stop him….” But Zuko was already gone, rushing off the docks and back to the gates of the city. However, the gates had closed by then and he knew that if he tried to go in he would get killed…. But he didn’t have to wait long till the gates opened and out road three guards on horses. Two of them flanked one of the guards who had someone strapped to the horse behind him for the person was to weak to hold on themselves.

Zuko watched with his heart in his throat as they road past…... then he saw it. Even though the person was wrapped in an old white sheet, concealing everything, he could see the wisps of blond hair…. Shira.

The boy was about to follow when Iroh grabbed him from behind to hold him back from doing something foolish.

“It’s too late Prince Zuko…. We cannot do anything now.” Zuko lifted his tear-filled eyes to see what he had hoped he would never see in his lifetime again. Through the white sheet, blood was seeping through…. Ozai had given the girl her punishment…. And in the form of a Z…. for Zuko.

The boy covered his face with his arm and tearing out of his uncle’s arms, he rushed back to the docks without looking back.

Iroh sighed and looked at where Shira was tied onto the back of the horse. The blood seeping through the sheet, revealing the shape of her whip marks: Z.

“The poor child,” he sighed, “She deserved better….”

*************

Zuko groaned as sunlight streamed into his bedroom on the ship. Rolling over, he pulled the blanket up to hide the light from his face in an attempt to fall asleep again. However, the sunlight refused to give up and kept shining in till it reflected off of Zuko’s sword propped in the corner to shine in his face.

“STOP IT ALREADY!” He yelled, throwing the blanket aside and catching the pillow on fire in a fury, “Just go away!” He slammed his fist into the wall, almost making a dent when Iroh hurried in.

“Prince Zuko? What happened?” his uncle asked with concern.

Zuko growled at the wall before slumping onto his bed with his back to his uncle. Iroh glanced at the sunlight in the window and Zuko’s shaking shoulders. This was a familiar sight. Iroh had been with Zuko through the whole of his banishment for the past six years. The sunlight was just another one of those reminders that one of the few things Zuko had to smile about in his childhood was long gone: Shira.

Losing his mother and then losing Shira was the last straw for Zuko. He refused to be up on deck unless absolutely necessary if the sun was shining. He hated the very sight of sunlight in the morning and the one-time Iroh brought a potted plant into his room to lighten the place up, he almost had a mental break down.

Iroh was the only one who knew this side of Zuko and Iroh was the only one Zuko trusted to talk about it or to even have a break down in front of. Sighing, Iroh closed the shutters till it was almost dark in the room before lighting a few candles.

Coming over, he sat down on the bed and placed a hand on his nephew’s shoulder, “Everything alright Prince Zuko?” “Why uncle?” Zuko whispered, his voice hoarse and barely a whisper. “Why did she have to leave….” Sighing, Iroh shook his head, “I don’t know Prince Zuko… but what I do know is that there are times to mourn but there are times to be happy for the person’s sake.” “What are you talking about?” Zuko cried, “How can I be happy when Shira is dead!?” The old man smiled, “Because she would want you to be happy. That is what will make her the happiest is seeing you happy.” “So you’re saying I should move on from her?” Zuko asked, his voice cracking.

“Not if you don’t wish to.” Iroh replied. “I can never move on from your aunt…but she wouldn’t want you to be in pain whenever you think of her.”

Zuko groaned and slammed his head into the wall, frustrated. Iroh smiled and patted the boy’s shoulder before leaving him to his thoughts.

“Uncle… I think I know how we can find the avatar,” he muttered.

********

Zuko stormed into the inn with his uncle hot on his heels. There was a crowd of people cheering on an arm-wrestling match that was taking place at one of the tables.

Zuko shoved through and finally found the person he was looking for. June.

“There you are,” he grumped, placing his hands on his hips at the woman.

“Oh, look who it is!” June hummed, not taking her eyes off the man she was competing against. “Prince Grump and Uncle Fatso.” Iroh chuckled at the nickname given to him but Zuko just glared, “We need to talk.” Finally June won the match and collected her pay from the people who had bet against her. She dragged the money across the table toward herself.

“So, what do you need me for?” “I need you to find someone,” Zuko replied, still talking like he was ready to kill everyone present. It was his new usual…. And new as in the past six years.

“Oh, did Prince Grump lose his girlfriend?” June taunted.

“I’m not grumpy!” Zuko protested.

June smirked and glanced between the two before shoving her earnings into a bag which she slung onto her back, “On one condition. My partner has to come with me.” “Didn’t think you were the type to have partners,” Zuko glared, becoming suspicious.

“She’s not really my partner,” June explained. “More like an acquaintance but I bring her along whenever I don’t trust someone. And I don’t trust a fat uncle and his bratty nephew.” Zuko was about to jump at her but Iroh held him back, “We would love to meet your partner.” June smirked before looking up at the rafters. That was when the two became aware of a presence up there, hidden in the shadows and so still that someone would think it were a statue.

The person slowly rose to their feet slowly and stealthily like a cat before jumping. Zuko didn’t flinch but his hand instinctively heated up just in case. The person that landed on the floor next to June was not what either Iroh or Zuko were expecting.

A girl, probably about Zuko’s age whose attire, style and looks didn’t seem to match any benders or even that of the gangsters at the inn. She was petite for her age, slender but her body had matured for a young girl of 16, already beginning to look like a woman. Her long jet-black hair falls to her waist and looks incredibly healthy for someone who does not live the high life. She keeps it down except for two pins which hold most of her hair out of her face other than two long strands that frame the sides of her face.

She is fair toned, unlike Zuko and looks almost pale compared to him. Her bright blue eyes are bluer than the sky and full of bright fire, shadowed by thick long black lashes.

Her outfit almost reminds Zuko of a firebender for the color is a deep maroon, but the style is completely off from anyone. She wears a pair of maroon pants tucked into thigh high maroon boots with black straps. She wears a short sleeve maroon top that comes down just above her belly button, showing a strip of her waist. She has sleeves that are the only feminine things about her outfit. They’re lacy and thin almost giving the sense of a breezy attitude. Wrapped about three times around her neck is a long scarf. The shorter end falls in front of her while the other end falls behind her, almost to her knees but she doesn’t seem to care about the length. What Zuko does notice about her are the cars. Her arms are littered with scars all over and you can only see them if you’re close enough. Her palms are strong and calloused from hard work.

The girl flipped her black ponytail out of her eyes and flashed a smile which seemed to light up her whole face.

“Hi, I’m Raven.”

************

Zuko eyed the girl Raven as she helped June saddle up the shirshu. There was something about the girl that Zuko could not place. She wasn’t like any person that he had ever met. There was one thing about her that was like every other bender. Her black hair and red attire suggested fire bending, but her blue eyes and pale tones suggested water bending. Her calloused hands and firm stance as well as her muddied and worn boots were like those of earth benders… but then her light footed, lighthearted attitude and breezy behavior was like that of an air bender. Who was she?

The girl swung her bag up onto her back before jumping up onto the creature as if she was made of air. She reached down her hand to June who took it and the girl pulled her up with ease. The girl then turned to Iroh before holding out her hand to him. Zuko walked over and gave his uncle a boost while Raven pulled him up. The old man sat behind June while Raven sat at the back, a space between herself and Iroh for Zuko. She reached down her hand but Zuko brushed it off.

The girl shrugged her shoulders and leant back so Zuko could climb up and sit down. When he had, she touched his waist where she was going to wrap her arms around him but Zuko stiffened and shot her a warning look. Raising her hands in surrender, she placed her hands on his shoulders and Zuko couldn’t help but realize how gentle her touch was.

June drove her feet into the creature’s side, and he charged off.

“So Raven,” Iroh called back, “how did you end up in the company of June?”

Raven smiled, “It’s kind of a long story. To put it simply, I was forced into a coven where weak people are sent to strengthen them up. No one has ever survived… until now.” “What is the place called?” Zuko asked, having not heard of such a place.

“Ducranah,” Raven replied, her face grave.

“You survived Ducranah?” Iroh asked, his eyes widening as he looked back at her.

Raven shrugged, “Barely. June found me shortly afterwards.” June nodded as she urged her beast on faster, “she was half dead, broken in so many different ways. It was a miracle she survived the night. She had a fire in her that kept her alive… but she still won’t tell me what it is.” Raven chuckled. “That’s my secret.” June shook her head ruefully before returning to steering the beast. Zuko looked back at Raven.

“So… What did you become after you survived?”

“A fugitive,” the girl replied. “I have lived on the run for the past two years. I have been making yearly trips to Ducranah to rescue kids who are put there against their wills because they do not fulfill other people’s wishes.” “You do not agree with the Ducranah goal?” Zuko asked.

He had never heard of the place before and it sounded horrible, but he didn’t know enough about the place to know more than the opinions of one girl he had just met.

“Of course not,” Raven replied. “Just because you do not meet other people’s expectations doesn’t mean you should change yourself to be something you’re not. You should be who you are and do your best. Being yourself is enough and if anyone wants something more than what you can give, they have a serious issue.”

Zuko felt his lips turn up at this statement but he covered it, turning to face forward so the girl wouldn’t see it. She sounded so much like Shira it was almost scary… but this girl wasn’t Shira. Her face was slenderer and more mature, her chin, cheekbones and nose more pointed than the soft round features of Shira. Her hair was longer, sleeker and black while Shira’s was long but fluffy and blond. The girl’s body was also different. She was older than what Zuko remembered Shira as but whenever he imagined Shira growing up, she would always come out as petite, soft and slightly plump in the face and chest like she had been the last time Zuko saw her. This girl was slender, tough with strongly built arms and legs, a rounded chest and strong shoulders though her body was still very feminine.

The one thing the two had in common were the blue eyes. The color of the sky… but Shira’s eyes were gentle, soft with a faraway look in them and reflected the moon and stars. This girl’s burned like blue fire, were shrouded by long black lashes that gave her a mysterious look. They were gentle but tough and determined with a sort of electricity in them like she would shock anyone that came too close.

No, this girl wasn’t Shira. Who knows if Shira survived… but this girl could never and would never be Shira. Zuko knew that much.

Suddenly June pulled her beast up in the middle of a town.

“It seems like your girl spent a lot of time here,” June observed.

Zuko hopped off the beast and held out the necklace to its nose. The beast lifted its head into the air and sniffed before turning back to the gate.

Zuko climbed back up but this time behind Raven and without thinking, wrapping his arm around her waist to hold on. As the beast charged off, Zuko became aware of where he had put his arm when he felt the girl’s stomach tense while keeping her balance.

‘How much did this girl go through?’ he thought to himself, ‘it’s like she’s built of muscle! She is able to stay on this beast with only her legs holding her on, as well as keeping my weight on.’

Zuko couldn’t seem to get this thought out of his mind until they pulled to a stop on the trail and Zuko hopped down. Raven peered around Iroh to see two kids, a girl and a boy standing there.

“That’s her?” June asked. “No wonder she left you! She’s too pretty for you!” Raven chuckled at this, earning a glare from Zuko but she ignored it.

“Where is the Avatar?” Zuko insisted, glaring at the two.

“We’re not telling you!” the girl yelled back, her eyes burning with fury. “We separated.” Zuko glared at them before grabbing them both by the wrist, “We will see.” With that he dragged the two kids over to the beast and threw them up to Iroh. The old man planted the two kids in front of him between him and June. Zuko climbed on up behind Raven who still had a smile on her face from June’s observation earlier.

“Not a word,” he hissed in her ear, wrapping his arm around her waist again.

Raven just smiled even when he squeezed her waist to try and get his message through. “It was no insult your highness. I just find it amusing that June thought the girl was your girlfriend.” Zuko frowned, “How did you know she wasn’t.” Raven turned and gave him a look as if to say, ‘are you serious?’. Zuko suddenly felt really stupid but he didn’t know why.

“I have never heard of a firebender who would even hold any respect for a water bender, let alone like her enough to date. Besides, she looked ready to rip your head off. I’m not stupid.” Zuko’s eyes widened at her statement. Geez she was straightforward and blunt! That was not what Shira would have said. This girl is definitely nothing like Shira! What were you thinking Zuko?

He had wandered off in his thoughts so much that he didn’t realize that Raven had pressed a blade to his neck, “And loosen your grip Mr. Grumps.”

Zuko felt himself begin to sweat from fear. The girl’s eyes flared up like fire and her face darkened a warning as she said this. How did that knife appear in her hands anyway? She was holding it steadily and it wasn’t even shaking!

He quickly loosened his grip and the girl relaxed before slipping her knife back and holding onto Iroh’s shoulders.

Zuko ran his hand through his hair and sighed. This girl was going to be a handful!