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simplyswooningk · 5 years

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The Ancient and Most Noble House of Prewett, Chapter 7 “Pieces, Not the Puzzle”

This chapter is dedicated to @obsessedwithromione, who's support of this story from the beginning lit a fire under me to finish this update which I had been struggling with for weeks. Seventh Son should be updated by the weekend. All the Gobblygook translations are completely my own. Please read and review. :) FFN A03 or below:

Pieces, Not The Puzzle

Bill Weasley was dying to get out of the house. His wife, mother, sister and sister-in-laws (minus Hermione) and all the nieces and nephews had all converged on the place to cook a large Sunday dinner...on Wednesday.

He correctly guessed that it was a ruse to distract Ginny, who had been chained to Harry's hospital bed for what Molly had determined too long. So they were all there, cooking up a feast, or at least what should've been a feast for how long they had been there.

Ginny was quiet, and Bill could tell that she was doing her best to act engaged, but her head and her heart were clearly back at St. Mungo's. He didn't blame her. If Fleur had been laid up, there would've been no magic that could've kept him away.

He knew there was nothing Ginny could do for Harry, and Gryffindors hated doing nothing. They weren't wired to sit and wait. Of course, somehow all of his brothers had managed to get out of this particular event. Charlie had been recalled to Romania, something about baby Horntails being on the loose. Fred had a business trip in New York. He'd almost cancelled, but Ginny insisted on his going, arguing somebody should have some normalcy. Percy had "Ministry Matters to attend to" and as for Ron, well, Ron was in the thick of whatever was going on. He'd seen his brother twice and never more for than a few minutes since it had all started.

He hadn't had any updates, Ron wasn't returning any messages. Bill really didn't' expect him to, but it would have been nice to know that his youngest brother wasn't lying somewhere with a Dark Mark burned into his forehead.

Bill had honestly hoped to be done with Dark Marks and anything Voldemort related. He remembered the First War better than any of his siblings. He remembered the tears in his mother's eyes when Mad-Eye informed her and his grandparents that Gideon and Fabian wouldn't be coming home.

He remembered the funerals, the Dark Marks being burned into the sky and then it was over, like a firework that had burned hot and disappeared into nothing. Of course, the real fireworks began later.

He remembered the parties in the street, the celebrations and the feeling that things were going to be all right again.

He also remembered the conversations that no one thought he overheard or understood, the whispers that maybe He Who Must Not Be Named wasn't as dead as he seemed, the embers of a fire threatening to spark again.

It was the whispers that had hung over his entire adolescence. But then again, he had to admit he'd gotten off easy. When he thought of everything Ron had gone through from his first year at Hogwarts to his current situation, that kid had been through more hell than any of them combined.

He wished there was something he could do to help, something more than decipher curses after the fact.

He didn't like feeling useless any more than Ginny did. But just then being surrounded by all his female relatives and a plethora of toddlers, he felt about as useful as a Blast-Ended Skrewt playing Seeker.

Hopeless as the rest of his brothers in the kitchen, he'd been designated to make sure the children didn't kill each other.

Molly, always very intuitive to Bill, could tell that he was restless. And an idea struck her. Later on, no one could say whether it was coincidence, inspired or fate.

She pulled him aside, and as she couldn't help herself she brushed a long lock out of his hair out of his face. "Bill, we both know there's nothing you can do around her. Cooking has never been your bag even with magic."

Bill smiled at his mother, more so for her benefit than his own amusement. "True," he conceded.

"I've been meaning to ask you something. When I went to Gringotts, I couldn't get the keys to Rubrum or to Mallory House. The goblins said that I was given everything allotted to me. I'm not sure if it's an issue with the ward or, well I don't know. But I was hoping you could look into it."

Bill smiled, happy to have an excuse to get away. "I'll get right on it, Mum," he said, trying and failing to hide his eagerness at the thought of leaving.

With a kiss to his mother and Fleur and a lingering hug for Ginny, he Apparated to Gringott's. The place had been busier than normal. Lots of wizards and witches pulling money from their accounts and going on extended holidays. Bill couldn't fault them. He had a family he wanted to protect.

At the same time, the last thing he wanted was to teach his children was that when things got rough, the right thing to do was to get somewhere and hide. He laughed silently as his own contradictions. He made his way through the larger than average crowd, smiling at people he knew until he was finally at the Vault of Records.

Being a Curse-Breaker, he didn't have much to do with that department unless a magical family was claiming that recently found and un-cursed treasure belonged to them. He had access to the Vault but he had never had a cause to enter it.

The goblins took extra precautions to guard their secrets. All the records were written in Gobblygook. No one but the goblins and the people who the records belonged to could access them. Even Ministry Officials had to get special permission and wards had to be removed.

But Bill was a Prewett, so technically he wasn't breaking any rules by accessing the records, though the goblins probably would've had a bone to pick with him if they knew he was going into the area without their permission.

He entered the vault and his eyes widened. The vault extended endlessly in all directions. Every magical family that had ever existed in the British Isles probably had records there.

He stood at the front of the vault, awestruck for a few moments before remembering he had a job to do. And for that job, there was only one solution.

Magic.

"Accio Prewett records," he whispered. He heard a soft rustling that sounded like the roar of a Slytherin vs. Gryffindor Quidditch match in the deserted room. After a few moments, a massive, weathered leather-bound rectangular book started coming directly towards him. It seemed that goblins still hadn't developed wards that could completely throw off wand magic.

"Arresto momentum," he whispered before the book flattened him. It was the largest book he'd ever encountered. Not to mention the oldest, some of the dust on it probably went back to the days of Merlin.

He conjured up a small table and carefully took hold of the book, holding it carefully, not wanting to damage it. Even though there was special charms placed on the books to keep them from damage, Bill didn't want to risk it. Something instinctive had taken over, something he couldn't quite name.

His eyes fell to the seal of the House of Prewett red and gold, like most Ancient and Noble Houses with Gryffindor lineages and a white jaguar with the words vicit et valium emblazoned across the bottom.

"Victorious are the valiant," Bill couldn't stop himself from saying aloud. He smiled but then a shadow crossed his features. He realized this record was complete. There would never be any more additions to it. The House of Prewett was extinct, snuffed out like a candle in a strong burst of wind.

If he'd had the time, he would have loved to read the whole thing, even it was as almost as old as Gringotts itself. But Bill knew better than most that time was the one thing you never had.

He found the last page of the records. It was a very short page, the goblins' nonsensical alphabet and markings telling an indecipherable tale that he knew by heart.

His grasp of the difficult language was minimal at best. But what he could make out were the dates. Bill remembered that Gobblygook did not have words for the months of the year, and therefore it was all done numerically.

There had been a steady log kept throughout the eighties. One of the notes appeared to be dated April 11, 1981. It took Bill no time to remember that that was right before his grandparents went into hiding. He remembered everything about the war. He peered closer at the record, hoping to decipher a clue.

He saw the word ghyzed which he knew was Gobblygook for "ward" and ljekep which he knew translated to "heir" and figured that this was the log for the ward that had been placed over the Prewett properties by his uncle. Bill fought back a tear and pressed on. To his surprise that was not the last record written.

There were several dated just after the war and all with the same three words qtghad bzelct ldjave.

Bill wracked his brain, knowing he had heard the expression before. He tried to think of when and where.

Then it came to him, it had been an expedition in Thebes where a tomb filled with treasure had been discovered that supposedly belonged to the Caleks, a very old Egyptian family of wizards. But none of them were able to access it. Roughly speaking "qtghad bzelct ldjave" translated into "access attempt unsuccessful". Bill gathered that this was when his grandparents were trying to access the vault after his uncles died.

There had only been three attempts, Bill knew. His grandparents were far too grief stricken to worry about it. They had enough gold on hand to get by and had simply let the matter drop. After all, it only reminded them that their sons were not coming home. Bill remembered life before that. He couldn't help but remember the way it had changed after that.

From his grandfather's laugh to his mother's smile, everything after had been less. He cleared his throat and told himself to press on. He glanced down at the paper one last time, but he paused. He hadn't realized that his hand had been covering an entry.

For a moment he was certain he'd read the date wrong. He blinked, looked at it again, blinked again and stared. It couldn't be right. It was dated the fifth of May 2003. Bill read the entry which read qtghad gjelda; Rubrum ipmae ljekep Prewett ik Prewett.

"The fuck?" he whispered. If he was reading it right it said something along the lines of "access granted, Rubrum key given to the Prewett of Prewett."

Bill didn't know what to think. The last Prewett of Prewett had been his grandfather, who had been dead since 1989. The heirs to the title had been dead for eight years before that.

Were the goblins running some sort of scam? Had they been holding his family's property hostage this whole time? Was that why they refused to give Molly the key to Rubrum. But if they had been holding the Prewett fortune all this time, why had they hadn't held onto the entire thing?

He wouldn't put much past goblins, if he was honest, but it didn't add up. They valued treasure even more so than they did magic. They would not part with a single Knut without an outright vicious brawl, let alone the money that his family had received.

Something was clearly amiss. Bill knew all too well that the goblins would answer no questions. But perhaps they had figured out how to break the wards surrounding Rubrum and were using it for some shady business dealings?

That was his mother's house. It was the seat of an ancient and storied Wizard family. He set his jaw in a firm line. They wouldn't get away with it. Not on his watch.

He returned the ancient book back to its place, his mind flooding with memories of his uncles and the mansion that he'd once been free to roam. If the goblins had decided to commandeer it for some heinous reasons of their own, then damn his career, he wouldn't rest until he'd brought them to justice.

He took greater care exiting the building as the crowds had largely dissipated, but as soon as he was in the middle of Diagon Alley, he Apparated to Rubrum.

The sun was still setting in the background, lighting up the outer grounds behind the house with a dark red hue. Bill hadn't been there since he was a boy. It had lain lifeless and desolate for so long, without the joy and laughter that had once been its hallmark.

He stepped to the gate, its bronzed legs covered in two decades worth of moss and to his surprise, they opened.

He glanced around, a feeling of unease settling over him. Those gates were not supposed to open to anyone, not anymore.

And then from the eastern window, a light came on. Bill's eyes turned to the window in time to see a figure moving out of the window. It happened so fast, he could not tell if it was a goblin or anything else for that matter.

Filled with all the Gryffindor courage that both his lineages imbibed in him, he raced to the door, about to fling a bombarda through it when to his shock, it opened.

Vicit et Validum

Somber didn't even begin to describe the mood in Kingsley's office. No one had even uttered a word since Ron had revealed that Dumbledore's tomb had been robbed. The Aurors on duty didn't remember a thing and everyone surmised that they had been Confunded.

The Elder Wand, The Wand of Destiny, the Deathstick was gone, missing and most likely in the hands of this mystery lieutenant Voldemort had left behind. Nothing made sense. Nothing was going to make sense.

Ron realized he was still holding Hermione's hand. He knew he should've let it go, but he couldn't bring himself to. He felt like he was watching his whole life from the outside. He heard himself telling Kingsley what had happened, but he wasn't conscious of it. He heard Kingsley ask for an update on the interrogation of Yaxley and Lestrange.

"Are they talking?" he asked.

"Silent as stone," sighed the disturbed Minister. "We're thinking of using Veritaserum."

"Don't think. Do it," Ron said. "We've wasted enough time playing this game. We need answers. I'll take a crack at them."

"Ron, I think you may be too involved," Kingsley said with a sigh.

"Fucking hell, Kingsley, at this point, aren't we all?"

"Something doesn't make sense," Hermione said, speaking for what seemed the first time in an eternity.

Ron scoffed. "Understatement of the millennium, 'Mione."

"I'm trying to think, Ronald. Why would they go after Luna and Rolf? Why? I mean Luna was in the Order, but this isn't about any of that. Not really."

Hermione was on to something. Ron thought for a moment, feeling around in his brain for a locked door he barely remembered.

Then it hit him. He thought back to his conversation with Neville, a conversation that had only happened a few hours earlier, but seemed two lifetimes away.

"Because they would know," he said softly, his voice a hair above a whisper.

Hermione turned to look at him. "What?"

"Because they would know. If something strange was going on, they would know. They'd be able to sense it. You know they have a way of knowing whenever something terrible is about to happen. During the War, they went after Luna before because of what Xeno was saying. Whoever's doing this wanted to make sure that they would never get a chance. That's why they went after them."

"But not Xeno?" Hermione was clearly perplexed.

Ron shrugged darkly. "Merlin knows how long those two fuckers had been Polyjucying as Luna and Rolf. They've probably got Xeno under a bloody Imperius."

Hermione fought back tears. She had missing friends, injured friends, dead friends. They'd been going in circles for too long, they'd lost too much. But there was no time to cry.

Her eyes met her husband's. Their thoughts hadn't been more in sync since the day they got married. It wasn't time to decipher prophecies, or search for clues. It was time to fight.

"Kingsley," Ron said turning to his boss. "You've got to let me go down there. I can't just stand here. I've got to do something. If Luna and Rolf are all right, they won't be for long."

Kingsley took a breath. He seemed to weigh his options before speaking. "All right. But the second you lose your cool, Auror Weasley, I'm pulling you out. Are we clear?"

"As a penseieve," Ron said, already halfway out the door. He had no time to waste.

Interrogations weren't his favorite thing. He didn't like spending time with Dark Wizards or their twisted followers. He certainly didn't like listening to their long, nauseating speeches about their sinister plots and even more sinister brains. The whole thing drained him more than three hours of Quidditch in an August afternoon.

But if it meant helping Harry, if it meant finding Rolf and Luna, if it meant putting an end to it, he would gladly listen. He reached for his Veritaserum, ready to shove it down their miserable throats. Legillmency was banned for use in official Auror interrogations or he would've attempted it.

When he reached Lestrange's holding cell, he felt a rush of adrenaline building in his veins. He felt like he was closer, like he was nearer to ending this. He thought of the moment when he dropped a stone statute on Greyback's head. This felt like that.

Something told him that he was close, but he had been wrong before.

He had no time to be wrong.

The door opened and he dismissed the young Auror who was guarding Lestrange, who was tied to a chair, with his mouth magically sealed. Ron turned red at the sight of him, fuming with coiled rage. The Auror office had been searching for him for the past five years. His capture should've been a reason to celebrate. Instead, it was a reason to take up arms, to find and fight whoever had brought him out of the shadowy corners he'd been hiding in. Ron took a moment to size him up, fighting every urge in his body not to choke him out.

Ron hated him and he hated himself for hating anyone even if they were a murderous Death Eater. But hating him wasn't going to get him any closer to the truth. Unfortunately, only Lestrange himself could do that.

Rabastan Lestrange hadn't aged much from his years in the war. The evil in his veins apparently came with fountain of youth properties. He had no frown lines, no deep creases, as if he had never known stress. Even years in Azkaban seemed to leave no physical mark on him. Dementors could only do so much damage on the already demented, it seemed.

He seemed calm, nonchalant. It was not his first interrogation by Aurors. Perhaps he thought of it as nothing more than an annoying formality, a small price to pay for the cause.

Ron knew Lestrange thought of him as a blood traitor. He was dealing with a Death Eater through and through. Someone loyal to Voldemort and all the glory he had promised them, a hater of muggles and muggle-borns, someone willing to die just to say that he'd kept magic away from people he thought of as unworthy.

Ron might not have hated him so much if he didn't remember that they were related, that the same blood, the blood of Old Magic ran through their veins. That if it weren't for his parents, that if it weren't for his entire family being decent and honorable, being fucking Gryffindors, he could've been just the same.

Choking back the bile and anger in his throat, Ron tried to harness his fury. He had had a job to do.

He conjured up a chair. There was a part of him that wanted to do this old school and pound the answers out of Lestrange's face. But he knew he didn't have time.

"Aperi," he said aiming his wand at Lestrange's mouth. The former Death Eater's mouth dropped open and Ron quickly poured three drops of Veritaserum down his throat. He poured three more remembering that all the Lestranges had been trained to resist the potion. He sat back down and waited for a moment for the potion to take effect. And if it didn't, Ron still had his fists.

When Lestrange stopped jerking around, Ron cleared his throat. He set his jaw in a very firm line and faced Rabastan Lestrange. This man had tortured Neville's parents, killed countless innocent people and had eluded capture for years. Now Ron had him in his clutches, but he couldn't lock him away, not yet. Especially because there was one thing he needed to know before anything else.

"Where are Rolf and Luna?" Ron asked coolly, restraining himself as best he could. He felt his heart racing as he watched Lestrange struggle to keep his mouth shut.

"Where are they?" Ron demanded as he fought to stay in his seat and keep his hands from Lestrange's neck. "Tell me. Now."

Rabastan did not yield easily, that much was certain. The words came out harsh and choked as if someone was literally grabbing them from his throat.

"They're in the dungeon of my house," came his glassy-eyed, broken reply. Snape's favorite potion had taken effect. Lestrange, with all his loyalty and devotion to his dark cause, was no match for it.

Ron wasted no time dispatching a missive to Kingsley to send Aurors to the Lestrange mansion.

"Who are you working for?" Ron asked, turning to face Lestrange.

"The Dark Lord."

"Voldemort is dead. Who are you working for?"

"The Dark Lord," Lestrange repeated.

"Try again. Who are you working for?

"The Dark Lord's servant."

Ron sat up straight. "Who is the Dark Lord's servant?" He cringed as the words left his lips. It went against everything he believed in, everything he was to use the Death Eater's term of veneration.

"The Dark Lord's servant."

"What is his name?" Ron tried again. He aimed his wand at Lestrange's heart. "Now."

"I do not know his name."

"What is his name?"

"I do not know his name."

"Fuck." Ron looked at Lestrange's face and realized he was telling the truth.

Lestrange was so demented, so blinded to the cause of pureblood supremacy that he would willingly follow someone who claimed to be Voldemort's servant, even if he didn't know who it was. It baffled and outraged him almost as much as it terrified him. Blindly loyal with nothing to lose, there was really nothing these people wouldn't do.

Ron didn't even want to bother with Yaxley. If Lestrange knew nothing, Yaxley knew less. He was a stooge, always had been. He thought for a minute, trying to figure out what else he might be able to get out of him.

"Where is the Dark Lord's servant?"

"In his home."

"The Riddle House was destroyed."

"The servant is his own home."

"Where is that?"

"I do not know. The servant sends a portkey when he wants us. We don't know where we are."

Ron sighed, ready to punch the ceiling. This was getting nowhere. Every rock he uncovered only led to a million more. All he had was a piece, not the puzzle. His attention was called away briefly.

He whirled around to see an all too familiar sight. Lestrange was wrestling on the floor, seizing, foaming at the mouth, clearly in distress.

Ron leapt to the ground beside him, trying to steady his movements.

"Help! Help, get someone in here now!" he yelled as he tried to steady Lestrange's head.

He didn't have a bezoar, he had used it on Neville. As much as he didn't want to save him, he didn't want to lose him either. Lestrange was one half of the only lead he had, he couldn't die. "Help, fucking somebody help!" he screamed again.

Within seconds, three Auors and a Mediwizard rushed in. Lestrange was already turning purple. "Save him! Save him, whatever you have to do," Ron screeched at the Mediwizard.

The Aurors rushed Lestrange out of the room and Ron felt his heart sinking. What kind of world was he living when he was begging for a Death Eater's life to be saved?

But he had no time to wallow. He had to figure out who this servant was. Bellatrix had bit the dust, courtesy of one Molly Weasley. Who else would the sick fucker have trusted?

Minutes later, Ron was trying to pull himself together, so he could gear up to have a go at Yaxley, when Kingsley entered the room. He looked the grimmest Ron had seen him over the past few days and that was certainly saying something.

"Lestrange was poisoned with essence of mermaids' tears," Kingsley said with a sigh. "He's dead. Nothing the healers could do."

Confusion clouded Ron's features. "Essence of mermaids' tears isn't poisonous."

"It is when it's mixed with Veritaserum. He probably didn't even know he had it in his system. Whoever's behind this has probably been dosing him with it in case he was caught. To ensure his silence." Kingsley's voice was laced with disgust and a tinge of fear. Their opponent wasn't above killing his own soldiers.

Ron leaned against the table, his legs suddenly feeling wobbly. Whoever this was, they had thought of it all, they'd mapped out every piece on the board. And he didn't know which game they were playing anymore.

"Did you get anything out of him?" Kingsley asked, the despondency evident in his voice. He sat down beside him and Ron shrugged dismissively, not wanting to think about the past fifteen minutes.

"He's working for the Dark Lord's Servant, that's all I know. And he doesn't...didn't know who that was. Rolf? Luna?" he suddenly remembered.

Kinglsey's mouth turned up into the smallest of smiles. "I got a report from the Aurors in the field. They are unhurt for the most part. Missing locks of hair mainly. We're bringing them here immediately."

Ron wanted to feel more relief than he did. He was chuffed that Rolf and Luna were safe. But he couldn't bring himself to feel anything besides rage and frustration. He forced a smile.

"That's good news. We could use more of it." He felt like an absolute knob, he loved Luna and Rolf dearly, but their being safe was only temporary, everyone's safety was only temporary. If they didn't stop this, no one would be safe again.

"That we could," Kingsley agreed. Ron felt as if he was searching for something to say. As the Minister, it was Kingsley's job to reassure and shore up the community in trying times. Kingsley, however, didn't seem to have the words then and there, which was fine with Ron.

As far as he was concerned, there were none that could be said.

"Fancy a go at Yaxley?" Kingsley asked after several still moments. "He's no Death Eater, you might be able to crack him."

"Do you think whoever's doing this stupid enough to give fucking Yaxley information? "

"No stone unturned, Ronald."

"Constant vigilance, sir," Ron replied with a weak smile. A genuine smile had been hard for him to crack lately.

Kingsley studied the young Auror for a moment. "Take a breath, Ron," he told him.

Ron eyed his boss curiously. It was honestly the last thing he'd expected from the Minister.

"You've been running since this began," Kingsley pressed on. "Keep at it like this and you'll find yourself in a hole no magic can pull you out of."

Ron sighed. "Kingsley, I doubt that whoever the hell is doing this is taking breathers. I can rest when this is over."

Kingsley exhaled a soft, dry chuckle. "That's exactly what I expected you to say. You Weasleys are a damn stubborn bunch."

Ron laughed. "That we are. But I would not have it any other way."

"Neither would I. Take a moment, then. Gather your thoughts. I'll have one of the interns bring Yaxley in about fifteen minutes."

Ron nodded and Kingsley left the room. Ron noticed that even his normal walking gait had increased, like he had no time even to walk normally.

Maybe he didn't, Ron thought darkly. Ron looked at his watch. Fifteen minutes seemed an instant and an eternity. He realized he didn't even know where to start. The pieces of the puzzle that he had didn't seem to belong to each other at all.

He was missing something. Yaxley wouldn't be very helpful, he knew, but the times were well past desperate.

"Constant vigilance," he whispered to himself as he tried to put on his game face, determined not to let the events of the last few days shake his resolve. He had to figure it out, he couldn't stop until he did.

He only hoped that he was heading even remotely in the right direction.

Meanwhile, Hermione, unable to sit still, had asked for permission to examine the personal effects that were found with Yaxley and Lestrange. She didn't know what to expect, she just knew she couldn't wait around to hear about an interrogation she wasn't allowed to be a part of.

She was given a separate room where their wands and personal items had been laid out for her. Part of her didn't want to go near their wands, especially Lestrange's. She couldn't imagine (and didn't particularly want to) what horrors that twisted, gnarled piece of wood had caused.

There were at least three vials of Polyjuice potion, two bottles of Dreamless Sleep, several empty potion vials, a ring that bore the Dark Mark, and a black weathered, leather-bound book.

Something about it looked familiar, like she'd seen it before. The book had been placed on its back and she turned it over. The markings on it were faded, but she thought she could make out some sort of bird and what appeared to be a large cat, a cheetah perhaps. Something was telling her she'd seen it before. She couldn't place it, and it didn't make sense. Why would she have seen a book belonging to a Death Eater?

She couldn't tell if she was acting in harmony or against her better judgment when she opened it. Her heart sank when it became apparent the pages were completely blank. Her mind immediately went to Tom Riddle's diary. Better not to fool with that, she reasoned very quickly and put it aside.

Then again, she paused. Lestrange was dead now. If his memories were contained in that book, they could be very useful. Before she could examine the rest of the items, a memo came through: Rolf and Luna were at the Ministry. She leaped up from her chair, eager to see her friends. She was going to give Luna the biggest hug of her life. As she exited, she couldn't say why, but she took the book wit her. For some reason, she didn't want it out of her sight.

When she reached the room where Luna and Rolf were being examined, she paused. Something about the thought of seeing Luna injured and newly escaped from Death Eaters brought back memories she did her best to keep buried.

She couldn't let her mind go there, not back to Malfoy Manor, not to the screeching and soulless tones of Bellatrix's voice, not to the stabbing, relentless pain of the Cruciatius Curse pounding through her whole body.

The only part she ever let herself even think about for a moment was how she survived, how she put Bellatrix's threats, her voice, her wand, her knife and her curse all out of her mind.

His voice, screaming with rage and aching with concern as he called her name. She had focused on that, his voice, her name. There was nothing else, nothing else at all. She had focused on nothing but Ron's voice and she'd survived the worst experience of her life.

If she tried hard enough she could almost hear him calling her that moment.

"'Mione. 'Mione. Hermione."

She looked up and right into her favorite pair of eyes, which were now clouded with concern. She colored slightly when she realized he had been calling her name. He was standing right beside her. He was always there beside her.

HIs concern was evident. "You all right, love?"

She nodded. "I just...I just don't want to see Luna like that."

His eyes filled with understanding at her words. He knew what she meant.

He took her hand in his and squeezed it lightly. "She's alive, that's what matters. For everything else, there's a cure. "

She smiled up at him. "You're right. You're always right."

His eyes widened and a roguish grin crossed his features. "What did you just say? Who are you and what did you do with Hermione Granger? You're an impostor, you are."

Hermione smiled despite herself. "Shut up, before I take it back."

"Can't take it back, it's already out there."

She rolled her eyes as he gently kissed her forehead.

"Let's go in yeah," he said with a smile. "We can't avoid it forever."

"Yeah," she said, intertwining his fingers wit hers. "Wait, did you get anything from Yaxley?"

"Haven't had a chance yet. Wanted to see Rolf and Luna first."

Hermione nodded, she'd dropped everything when she heard they were at the Ministry. In times like these, every second one could get with their loved ones was absolutely priceless.

Whatever was behind the door and whatever Rolf and Luna had to say, Hermione couldn't avoid it. She didn't want to. She squared her shoulders and braced herself to see her friends. Bad memories be damned. There were worse things to be than a survivor.

Stepping into the room, relief filled Hermione when she saw that Rolf and Luna looked rather unscathed. Physically, anyway.

"Hello, Hermione. Hello, Ron," Luna said her in usual airy voice. That one single sound caused a waterfall of relief to flood through her veins. She took a long look at them. They looked tired, and she could see bruises on their wrists. Luna's hair, instead of its usual light blond, looked ashen. Bu her eyes looked bright and she had a smile, though it was nowhere as large as it normally was.

Rolf looked wearier than she'd ever seen him and she'd seen him wrestle a Blast-Ended Skrewt. But other than a nasty bruise under his right eye, he seemed all right.

They looked nowhere near their best, but they were breathing.

"Bloody hell, you guys look like shite," this from a ginger who always had a certain way with words.

Hermione shot Ron a glare, but he didn't meet her eyes once. He was too busy grabbing Rolf by the shoulders and embracing him fondly.

"You all right? Are you hurt? Do we need Healers?" Ron gave Rolf and Luna a firm hug and a once-over, trying to make sure there wasn't any damage done. On the outside at least.

"Rolf, that's a nice shiner you've got," Ron said taking out his wand. "But I've seen enough bruises in my life. Sanas pellius," he gave his wand a quick wave and watched Rolf's black eye disappear. If only every scar was so easy.

"Thanks, mate," Rolf with a smile. Ron and Hermione settled into chairs across from them.

For a moment everyone was silent, Hermione conjured up tea tray and busied herself pouring everyone's cup.

Everyone stirred and sipped and stirred and sipped again. Luna put her cup down slowly. She met her friends' eyes and took a breath.

"You want to know what happened, but you don't want to ask." She wasn't asking a question. Luna never asked questions, she already seemed to know. Hermione was relieved that that hadn't seemed to change.

Ron put down his teacup. "We have to ask, we have to know what happened."

Rolf placed an around Luna's shoulder. "It was last month," he said as if he wasn't quite sure of dates anymore. Hermione didn't blame him. She'd been feeling the same way since this whole thing started.

"We were making unicorn and veela hair bracelets for the Boggarts," Luna chimed in, her eyes far away as if she was watching the scene from a giant television inside her mind. "It keeps them in good spirits."

"We heard a bang from outside," Rolf added quickly. "We thought it was the nifflers getting lose. Those buggers are damn impossible to catch one you lose them, so we both hurried out. But it was just Xeno. Or at least we thought it was Xeno."

"Rolf thought it was Dad, but I knew something was wrong. I've known something was wrong for a while. That's why I've been using my mother's Occlumency spell, to see if I could figure it out."

Hermione raised an eyebrow "Your mother's spell? Is it different from...regular Occulmency?"

"Oh yes, it allows you to enter the minds of all the wizards around you. I've been using it ever since I got the feeling that something was not quite right. All the wrackspurts were disappearing and they don't do that unless there are tons of wizards whose ears they'd rather not enter about. I knew something was wrong."

"Luna dear," Rolf said. "Perhaps we should stay on subject."

"Of course, Rolf dear. Well, I knew it wasn't my father and whoever it was must've known that because before we could move, we were Stupefied. They took us somewhere dark and gray."

Ron nodded. "The Lestrange Mansion."

Rolf shook his head. "No, they moved us there later. But where we were at first, there was a window, I could see a cemetery and a large oak tree."

"Was anyone else with you? Ollivander?"

Rolf shook his head. "No, it was only us. Everyday a very old house-elf would come with porridge and take a lock of our hair. We were tied up and without our wands so there wasn't much we could do. I figured they were using it for Polyjuice."

Ron nodded. "They were. They used it to set a trap for Harry."

"For Harry?" the little color that had returned to Luna's face drained in an instant. "Is Harry all right?"

Ron cursed himself. He hadn't meant to say that. His friends had just been through hell. They didn't need to feel worse. "He's on the mend. Is there anything you can tell us, about where you were, anything you remember?"

Rolf shook his head. "They gave us Dreamless Sleep. We were out of it most of the time."

"There were Ps on the bricks," Luna said suddenly.

Bloody hell, she's still Loony, Ron thought. His face must've shown his thoughts because Hermione elbowed him.

"Ps, Luna? Like the letter?" Hermione asked slowly.

Luna nodded. "I remember, in every corner of every brick there was a P inside an upside-down triangle. It was chiseled into all of them."

This time, Ron and Hermione couldn't help themselves from exchanging a glance. They looked over at Rolf for confirmation, but he merely shrugged. "I can't say either way. But I've learned never to doubt Luna."

Hermione silently agreed with Rolf, but she honestly didn't know what to make of what Rolf and Luna had to say. It wasn't much to go on, if anything at all. She was sick of cryptic messages and dead ends. She wanted answers.

So did Ron. He mulled over what Lestrange had said. Perhaps Rolf and Luna had been in the home of Voldemort's servant, whoever the fuck that was. A very old house elf and bricks with the letter 'P' chiseled into them.

"What happened when they moved you?" Ron asked.

"It was only a few days ago," Rolf said. "By then I had stopped eating the food they were giving us because of the Dreamless Sleep. I was trying to conjure up a quail or two and hide it away when two men with masks on their faces stormed in and started dragging us away. I tried to fight them off, hence the shiner, but the next thing I knew they were pushing us toward a portkey which took us to the Lestrange mansion."

"How'd you know it was the Lestrange mansion?"

"Rastaban Lestrange wasn't exactly trying to hide it. He greeted us as his guests before having us locked away."

Ron scoffed. "Sounds like a Lestrange."

The wheels in Hermione's head were turning. "When was this exactly? Do you remember?"

"Two days ago."

"When the wandmakers went missing," Ron and Hermione said at the same time. They looked at each other again.

"Rolf, Luna," Hermine sated quickly. "We're so happy you're all right. But we better let you get some rest now. Feel better and if you remember anything at all, please let us know. Kingsley's taking personal responsibility for you. You'll stay here until this over. Xeno too."

Ron and Hermione soon left the room, more perplexed than ever. Ron briefly related Lestrange's rambling's about Voldemort's servant and his home.

"You think that's where Rolf and Luna were originally taken?" Hermione asked as they made way to Kingsley's office. They wanted to keep him up to date before returning to their assignments.

Ron nodded. "Maybe, but I'm not sure of anything right now."

"But why move them?"

"Who knows? Maybe because they're holding the wandmakers hostage as well. Maybe because Lestrange wanted to toy with them. At this point, all I'm prepared to admit is that I don't have the fucking foggiest clue what's going on."

Hermione shrugged. "Agreed."

Ron noticed the book Hermione was holding. "What do you've got there, The Abridged Hogwarts: A History?"

"Very funny, Ronald. No, it's a book Yaxley had. It's very old and it's blank, but I can't shake the feeling it's a clue."

Ron looked more than a little aghast. "A blank book? Better be careful with that, love. It could be cursed or...worse."

Hermione knew he was right. But for some reason, the notion only made her grip it tighter.

They arrived at Kingsley's office to see the welcome site of Molly Weasley. Her and Kingsley were clearly having a chat, and Molly clearly was bearing gifts as she was clutching a large picnic basket.

"Mum, what are you doing here?" Ron asked as he moved to greet his mother, kissing both of her cheeks.

"Making sure the two of you eat something," Molly said with a smile. "You've been running nonstop since this whole mess began. Here," she said as she opened the basket with her wand and began to lay out a spread. "I brought roast pork and asparagus."

"Oh, bless you, Molly," Hermione said with a smile. "I hate to admit it, but I'm rather starving at the moment."

"Of course, dear," Molly said. "I brought tea cakes as well because I know how much the two of you—" Molly had looked up, gone white and nearly toppled over the basket with the start she'd made. Her jaw hung wide open and her eyes were filled with shock.

"Mum?" Ron asked. No answer. "Mum? Mum, what is it?"

Molly didn't look at her son. Her eyes were fixed on Hermione's hands. When she did finally speak, her voice was a trembling whisper.

"Hermione, where in Merlin's name did you find Gideon's diary?"

#fanfiction #hermione x ron #Harry Potter #post-war #romione

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chocoluckchipz · 6 years

Text

Forbidden Love That Wasn’t - 2

< Previous Read on A03, FF.net. WattPad

Adrien had hoped that he wouldn’t dwell on the fact that Marinette had been in love with him for years. It was a shocking discovery, to a degree, as it wasn't the first time a girl had had a crush on him, and it had never especially bothered him before. Not this time, though. This time it was different. This time it was Marinette, someone too dear to his heart to just ignore and eventually forget about. This time it didn't seem like just a crush as well.

Adrien survived the dinner at Kagami's purely on an autopilot, years of training in etiquette coming in handy in front of Kagami's mother, who barely differed from his father in her attitude. He barely slept at night, though, and found himself terrified to get out of the bed the next morning. As Gabriel's leading model and his only son, Adrien couldn't miss his work, especially not right before the Fashion Week. Marinette, as his father's protégé, couldn't do that either. Usually, Adrien looked forward to their frequent random meeting throughout the building but not today. Today Adrien wasn't sure if he was ready to face her yet, not when he didn't think that whole feelings ordeal through. Yet he had to go.

Grouching, Adrien rolled out of bed and got ready, a tiny hope sprouting in his chest. If he remembered correctly the last days before the big show were always extremely hectic. For him, it meant countless hours of catwalk practice with his colleagues, multiple last-minute fittings to do the necessary alterations and even photo shoots. Clothes, changes, cameras, makeup, shoots, ramp, walks, lights… Typically it would all fuse into a single mess of activities and Adrien would just blindly going through the motions. Marinette would probably be just as busy. He knew his father, he’d make her work to her limits at times like those. Therefore, there was a high chance that they wouldn’t even see each other or at least they wouldn’t have time to talk when they did. He could survive that until he could give it more thought and come up with a plan of action.

Except that didn’t happen. The first person whom Adrien noticed upon entering the building was Marinette. And not an angry to a sobbing or even a pouting Marinette but a smiling one with his customary morning baked goods from her parents’ bakery in her hands. Adrien gawked and looked at his empty ones. He completely forgot! It was their tradition ever since Marinette had started working at Gabriel – she would bring him treats, and he would pick up her favourite coffee from a little coffee shop by his house. Then they would meet here at exactly seven in the morning and do an exchange before riding an elevator together to their respected floors. This little ritual of theirs was the highlight in Adrien's day. Only today his hands were empty. In his mental hassle, Adrien had forgotten, and even if he would remember, he would've probably assumed that Marinette wouldn’t have wanted a coffee from him anymore. Yet she greeted him with a smile.

“Good morning, Adrien.”

“I’m sorry. I forgot your coffee,” Adrien blurred out, accepting a box with two croissants and two eclairs inside. “Double?”

"I didn't know if you'd be having breakfast with Kagami, so I brought extra for her just in case." She smiled again, and Adrien felt his heart tightened. "And don't worry about the coffee. You seem to have had little shut-eye, so I'll make myself some at the staff room."

“How did you know?” Adrien murmured following Marinette to the elevator.

"If you're asking if it shows then no. Not much, but unfortunately for you, I know your pretty face too well."

She smiled yet again, and Adrien felt the corners of his lips lightly twitch. He could never resist smiling with Marinette. The elevator door opened and they stood in silence waiting for people to exit. They kept quiet riding up, their usual carefree chatter never staring. Despite the smiles, the air felt tense, and Adrien didn't know what to say so he just took one the croissants and pretended he could stomach it. Marinette didn't say anything either until he reached his floor. Then she wished him a great day with a smile yet again.

Like usual.

Like nothing had happened.

Like Adrien, the love of her life, hadn't announced yesterday that he was dating another girl and broken her heart in the process.

Adrien felt baffled. Shouldn't Marinette be upset? Shouldn't she be showing the signs that not everything was okay and fine? At least a little? Maybe Nino was just pulling his leg, and something entirely different had happened to Marinette yesterday, and they just wanted to keep him in the dark for some reason? Adrien bit into the last treat into his box. Something obviously wasn't right. He'd need to investigate into that. He'd watch Marinette at work and talk to Nino more time because things didn’t add up and he wanted to know what was going on.

An opportunity to observe Marinette more closely came slightly faster than he'd hoped. About half an hour after he'd showed up for his fittings Marinette entered the room and immediately headed his way.

“Bonjour again, M Agreste,” she said playfully and bowed. “Your personal slave has arrived.”

"My what?" Adrien almost choked on air. Marinette laughed and gave him a pat on the back.

“Sorry,” she smiled after making sure he was alright. “Maybe my word choice was a bit too much. I am just a bit exhausted to think about my wording-”

“I see you’ve already briefed him in,” Nathalie’s voice sounded from the side. “In that case, I’ll leave you two to it.” She vanished as fast as she’d appeared.

Adrien blinked. “Briefed me in on what?”

"You don't know?" Adrien shook his head, so Marinette explained. "The girl who usually fits your clothes fell ill and won't be able to make it for the next few weeks, so your father asked me to do the final fittings for all of your clothes now and assist you during the runways- and all of the photoshoots and I think he also said whatever you need me for. Basically, as I said, I am your personal slave, M Agreste, the next ten days or so."

"Isn't it a bit below your position?" Adrien frowned. Marinette was Gabriel's protégé, not just any regular employee. Gabriel personally handpicked her to bestow all of his knowledge upon amongst a huge crowd. To be honest, he wasn't even looking for a protégé. He just saw Marinette's designs and loved them. Adrien was super proud. Marinette deserved it. She was that talented. Why he would reduce her to a simple seamstress position was beyond him.

“I guess.” Marinette shrugged. “But who am I to argue with the boss? Now if you don’t mind - less talk, more work. We have a lot of it. So, scram and start doing something.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Adrien saluted and went to change into his first outfit. They spent most of the day together, laughing, chatting, working and just having a great time, easily slipping back into their usually carefree ways. Adrien was wary at first, but when Marinette didn't give him any hints that she was even the slightest upset with him, he relaxed. Marinette looked happy and content. She smiled, as usual, her banter was just as friendly and carefree as always. Like nothing had happened, like nothing between them had changed. By the end of the day, Adrien was more or less assured that Nino had lied to him and Marinette had cried for some other reason than of a broken heart from Adrien. That was why the first thing Adrien did when getting home late in the evening was to confront his friend through a text message.

[Adrien: Marinette doesn’t look heartbroken, Nino. What’s really going on?]

Nino’s reply came almost immediately.

[Nino: She’s always put your happiness above her own]

[Adrien: What’s that supposed to mean?]

[Nino: Marinette always did what was best for you, Adrien, at the expense of her own happiness. Do you remember the scarf your father gave you back in lycée?]

[Adrien: Yes. The blue one. I still have it]

[Nino: Well then check the signature, because it was Marinette had who made it for you, and when you showed up the next day all happy because you thought it was from your father, she didn't say anything to keep you happy. Or that time when you lost that book and your father grounded you? Ever wondered why he suddenly changed his mind about your school attendance?]

[Adrien: No. Not really? Why?]

[Nino: Marinette found your book and went to your father and told him you were innocent because she stole it from you. Heck, even that first date you took Kagami to? She went along only because you asked her to, despite being heartbroken to see you on a date with another girl. That’s how much you mean to her, Adrien. She is probably hiding her true feelings now too, to keep you happy.]

Adrien put his phone down and plopped on his bed. He closed his eyes and tried to remember everything he knew about Marinette, sought to evoke from memory every moment of not only today but in general, every moment he spent with Marinette and compare them to how he saw her treat others.

And suddenly he saw it. Little differences he never paid particular attention to before because that was how best friends were supposed to treat each other. Right? Apparently not, and to prove himself wrong all he had to do was to compare himself, Alya and Nino, Marinette’s other best friends. Her eyes had never lit up so bright for them as they did for him. Her smile for him had been different – softer yet a bit nervous. Her voice would match, and sometimes she would even stutter. That was adorable. Marinette would often straighten up and try to subtly fix her hair and clothes. She would hold herself differently and seemingly would enjoy his company more than that of the others. How could he not notice it before?

His phone beeped.

[Nino: Listen, bro. I'm not trying to guilt you or anything. It's a complicated situation, and there is no easy solution. But you made your choice and we all, including Marinette, respect it. Kagami is cool, and if she makes you happy, we are all aboard that ship. But feelings are messy and unpredictable. Neither you nor Marinette can control who you like, BUT she’s your friend first of all, and she’s doing her best for you. She always did, and I'm sure you can you return a favour and do the same for her, right? Just give her some time, be her friend, and I'm sure it all will get settled.]

[Adrien: Of course. Thanks, Nino. Gtg now. Ttyl.]

Turning his phone off, Adrien wished goodnight to Plagg, who seemed to sense his unsettlement and kept quiet for most of the day, and crawled into his bed in hopes of falling asleep. Yet his thoughts were far from resting because as he was analyzing Marinette's behaviour, her crush was not the only thing that had become apparent. Today Marinette's smile was tenser than usual, her chatter was all over the place, and somehow, she seemed overly chipper, probably trying too hard to blind him to what she was really feeling. He noticed it now - Marinette was not exactly herself today either. Adrien grew up in the world where “fake it til you make it” was a part of mandatory education. He knew the difference. It pained him to see it in Marinette who was one of the sincerest people he knew. Everything to make him happy, Nino said? Adrien sighed and shut his eyes. He needed to rest and think about this properly on a fresher head. If only he could.

The next day started almost identically only today he brought Marinette her coffee and happily exchanged it for another double dose of sweets. They had another day of fittings to get through, and this time Adrien paid better attention. By the end of the second hour his fears were confirmed, and now there was not a doubt in his mind that Marinette did love him and she did everything possible to make him happy, even hiding her pain under a perfectly manicured smile and fooling him with her happy babbling. And yet, despite everything, Adrien had not once felt being blamed or accused by her. Quite the contrary, in Marinette's presence, he felt strangely calm and happy. It was only when she left the room that the gloomy thoughts attacked.

Just after lunch something that Adrien had ever expected, something he would never forget, happened. Even before they could resume his fittings, Nathalie interrupted their work and announced that Adrien is needed for an important, last-minute photoshoot and Marinette would have to stand in for his partner because none of Gabriel's models were available at such late notice. None of Marinette's protests that she wasn't a model and could never possibly make it happen worked. Nathalie only stated that M Agreste felt like her education would greatly benefit from visiting the other side of the camera and experiencing not only the designing of clothes but also modelling it to the world.

“Either way,” Natalie stated at the end. “You either take this rare opportunity M Agreste is willing to give you and learn a valuable lesson or prepare to be dismissed from this company. Gabriel Agreste does not waste his time on persons unwilling to do whatever it takes.”

“Come on, Mari,” Adrien gently put a hand on her shoulder. One of his best friends was already feeling like crap because of him, he didn’t want his father to make her even more miserable and possibly cause her to lose her job. He had to help. “It’s just a couple of pictures. I’ll help you.”

"I don't think I really have a choice," Marinette nervously chuckled and followed Nathalie. Upon arriving in the studio, though, both Adrien and Marinette almost died inside. The photoshoot was beach themed, and nothing but a couple of swimming trunks for Adrien and a few different bikinis sets for Marinette were to be worn. Marinette gulped, Adrien leaned closer and whispered,

“Think of it as a beach day out with a friend. We went to the beach together quite a lot, right? This is just like that.”

"Yeah," she whispered back. "Only there were no cameras and no so many dressed people around, and we weren't the only ones in the swimming suits."

"You'll get used to that after a while-" Adrien was going to add something else, but their makeup assistants arrived and whisked them away into different directions. When Adrien re-emerged back on the stage, Marinette was already there, dressed in nothing but a red, polka dot bikini. Her face was covered with a pinkish tint already, but as soon as her eyes locked on nothing-but-a-black-swimming-trunk-on Adrien, it changed to crimson. On his side Adrien unexpectedly found himself paying attention to Marinette's figure. Somehow, just like her feelings, he didn't notice that before either. Well, Adrien always knew Marinette was beautiful and worked on her body hard, but he had never really noticed just how good she looked until now. Especially in his Lady's themed outfit.

Trying his best to not stare, Adrien composed himself and did what he had promised – guided Marinette through the shoot. It wasn't that hard. There were no overly intimate moments. They just had to show a pair being happy to be soaking up the sun and having fun at the beach. Still, Marinette didn't look very comfortable at all, seemingly bothered by the lack of coverage and the novelty of being in front of the camera. Despite that, she managed to do a great job, and Adrien was proud… as well as finding himself unable to sleep most of the night again. This time for a little bit different reason, though. Marinette was his friend. She was the kindest, smartest, the most amazing person he had known. He couldn't think about her in that way. He couldn't imagine all of the perfect curves of her body and remember every touch they shared. He just couldn't. Especially not since he had an official girlfriend.

The next day brought little relief as the first thing in the morning Nathalie had found them and declared that Gabriel didn't like yesterday's photos so the shoot would have to be urgently redone. For Marinette's education's sake. Today. With a few adjustments, he felt were extremely necessary. Specifically – swimwear would be replaced by lingerie.

"You'll need to go two directions—" the pair vaguely heard Nathalie give instructions to the photographer, "The girl teasing, and I quote him ‘the hell out of the oblivious idiot and a sensual near kiss that would make him hold his breath and wish for a cold shower. He needs to survive, but a near-death experience is welcome'. End of quote. Any questions?"

Adrien swallowed and looked at Marinette. How was he supposed to play an oblivious idiot? He'd never done that before, and he doubted he could do that now when he still remembered every perfect curve of her body. And what was that nonsense about cold showers? He did quite a few intimate-ish photoshoots before, and none of them had put him in that desperate of a state. Plus, Marinette was his friend. His father knew that. He couldn't expect him to- Adrien shook his head and glanced at the said friend again. She didn't look to be faring any better as she was nervously glancing his way. "I can't do this," she mouthed to him, her face bright crimson red. "No way. I can't."

“We’ve got a coach for you, Mlle Dupain-Cheng,” Nathalie commented, coming up from behind to stand in front of the terrified girl. “M. Agreste understands that this is your first time doing such a shot and seeing how unnatural you looked in the pictures from yesterday, he is willing to facilitate you as much as needed. Marcel would be arriving shortly to teach you the art of seduction and to help with the photoshoot.”

Adrien was certain Marinette was going to faint any moment. He was about to combust himself, so he reached over, grabbed her hand and said, "Marinette? I can talk to him. I am sure we can find someone else if you aren't comfortable with this-"

"That won't be happening, Adrien," Nathalie interfered. "First of all, M Agreste had left for the day and requested not to be disturbed by anyone, including you. Secondly, even if he were present here, do not forget that this is a part of her education and until she passes his standards photoshoots won't stop. I saw yesterday's pictures. You two looked good together, but there has to be more spark to make it really work, more emotions, more fire. That's why he asked Marcel to come today, and unless Mlle Dupain-Cheng wants to say goodbye to her fashion career permanently, she'd better do it."

“Are you threatening her?” Adrien looked scandalized. “Nathalie, you can’t do that!”

"I certainly can, Adrien." Nathalie raised her eyebrow. "Marinette signed a contract with your father that granted him almost unlimited powers over her professional activities over the next few years, and he wants her to do this photoshoot. Frankly, I don't see why this is such a big deal? Of course, we can always replace you and give her another partner. You father just felt she'd be more comfortable with someone she knows, but if you don't want to help her, I'd be more than happy to bring in Antonio. He'll be free in an hour."

Adrien almost growled. That bastard of a playboy-extraordinaire Antonio was not touching Marinette. He’d be damned if he’d allow that.

"I'll do it," he seethed through his teeth but Nathalie didn't seem to pay any attention to him already as she looked at Marinette and continued.

“I said it repeatedly, Marinette. This is a part of our education. How can you understand fashion more intimately and be at the top of your game if you don’t dip your toes into every sphere of its domain? All Gabriel wants is to make you, Marinette, an extraordinary designer, someone who would not just sweep this world by storm but someone who would become an icon and a legend for generations to come. He thinks you have that potential if you’d be strong enough to do whatever it takes. The question is - do you think you can do it?”

With every word, Adrien saw Marinette's face transform. It went from reflecting an absolute horror to mirroring a steely determination in a matter of a minute, and by the end of Natalie's speech Marinette made up her mind.

“I can do this,” she said. “Just like you said it, Adrien - it’s just a couple of pictures. Not a big deal at all. Where do I go to put this on?” She grabbed the first set from the hanger. It was a red bra and panty set with black lace detailing. Marinette looked at it and added. “Before I change my mind.”

"This way." Nathalie motioned to the side, and soon Adrien was also pulled away in the opposite direction.

The next couple of hours were one big slow torture because all of the pieces his father selected were perfect on Marinette, as if tailored-made especially for her, to accentuate hers and no one else's features. Breathtaking. It rendered Adrien speechless even from the sight alone. Besides, Marcel proved to be an expert and transformed a shy and somewhat innocent, naive image of Marinette he had, into a sexy seductress Adrien had never thought possible. Under her new teacher's guidance, Marinette completely disarmed him. She made his breath hitch, and his heart skip a beat more than he cared to count. She touched and teased him so expertly that his face and ears seemed to obtain a permanent crimson blush and everything but her vanished in thin air. About halfway through Adrien found himself unable to even focus on his own moves, losing himself in the feeling of merely holding her close and taking that in. His thoughts blanked on everything but how tender, how soft her skin felt against his, how sweet and addictive her smell was. The way her breath burned his skin he would never forget and the moment she locked her eyes on him just before that final near kiss Adrien died.

"Yes!" he vaguely heard Marcel, and the photographer let out a cry of victory. "Yes! Perfect! That's what we are looking for! Great job you, guys! You are free to go."

Marinette immediately pulled away, and Adrien exhaled. She shyly smiled at him and quietly apologized before dashing away to change into her regular clothes.

“You can go now, Adrien,” his assistant called. “The shoot is over.”

He nodded and slowly headed back to his changing room, hoping that his Father was as willing to accommodate him as he seemed to be inclined towards Marinette and there really was a cold shower somewhere in the building with his name on it. Once inside, though, when no one was looking, Adrien, brought his trembling fingers to his burning lips. Was Marinette's apology due to the way she made him feel during the shoot because he knew she had noticed. Heck, the whole set had noticed! Or was she apologizing for that brief moment when their lips touched just before it was all over? He couldn't be the only one who noticed that either, right?

Adrien sat down and groaned, running his hands through his hair. It was hard to judge because, despite her newfound boldness, Marinette was just as crimson as him all throughout the experience. She was still his awkward, clumsy Marinette and not all of her moves were as smooth as Marcel wanted them to be. But still, none of the other models he had ever worked with, even the more professional ones, had ever held such overwhelming power over him. He didn't expect that. He was baffled by it. In a matter of hours, Marinette managed to completely erase any thoughts of any other woman from his mind and by the end of the session he was utterly lost to the girl who was just a friend.

How was he supposed to behave around her after this and how was he supposed to look Kagami, his official girlfriend, in the eyes after today? He hadn't lied when he said he would do his best for their relationship. He did. He really tried, but while the spark was barely alive between the duo, a sudden thunderstorm developed between Marinette and him. His knowledge of how exactly Marinette felt toward him wasn't making it any easier.

Quietly Adrien swore under his breath and got to dressing. He had a dinner date with Kagami tonight. They wanted to coordinate their activities for the start of the Fashion Week in three days, and this mayhem would have to wait.

Next >

#miraculous #fanfiction #adrienette #aged up #fltw #Adrien deserved that and you can't tell me otherwise

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