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kestisvrse · 6 months

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hi sienna ! i love your fics SO SO MUCH you can’t even imagine the sizes of my love for you and your works but your works are always so freaking cute but they’re little ;( can i ask you for a medium or a big fic just about lockwood x fem reader being a couple and write just tooth rooting fluff. actually i’m so sorry for asking you for a big size cause i know how difficult is to write big ones but if you’re being able to write it i would read you masterpiece with pleasure ! *sorry for the mistakes, english isn’t my native language ;( 🪩

a trip around the sun

pairing ⋆ anthony lockwood x gn!reader. fluff. established relationship.

synopsis ⋆ your relationship with anthony lockwood. or love languages with anthony lockwood.

warnings ⋆ reader implied to be shorter, kissing, i think that’s it? let me know if i missed anything!! | wc: 3k

a/n ⋆ do not apologize!!! your english is amazing :) and i promise i’m trying to get into the habit of making my fics longer, school and all that yk! i’m so sorry this took so long!!!

anthony lockwood masterlist

@mitskiswift99 @novelizt @initialchains @eedwardss

♫ - comfortable by keni titus

you had known lockwood for almost two years, him having employed you a little while after george, and lucy joining a year later. in that time you grew closest with the boy, his charm easily able to capture you.

you knew everything about each other, you being the first person he had really opened up to about his family, which had ended with the first and only time you had ever seen lockwood cry.

the point is, you had his back and he had yours, and of course how couldn’t you develop a crush? his natural personality was to flirt with you, sending winks and grins your way in any situation, it was impossible to not like him, you just didn’t expect it to be reciprocated.

march 3rd

february was an odd month to say the least, only because of lockwood.

it started with flowers appearing at the door addressed to you from an anonymous person (lucy immediately assumed it was kipps, which lockwood didn’t take lightly to the suggestion.), and then the love letters, was it slightly creepy? definitely, but that didn’t stop the blush you had when you read the letters that were so romantic it was like they had been written by cupid himself.

you can’t exactly remember how, but one day lockwood subtly revealed it was him sending these gifts, he brushed past it so quickly you almost missed it, grabbing his arm to pull him back down to the kitchen table to question him.

the presents became less frequent, but not because he had told you, but because he started to take you on dates, or giving you the gifts up front. he went all out on valentines, taking you to a nice restaurant that you were positive none of you could afford, but he would brush you off and tell you not to worry about it.

he would hold your hand in the taxi on the way home from jobs, offering you his clothes if you shivered even slightly, lucy was ecstatic for you, while you remained confused, sure he had been touchy or flirty before but as soon as you entered the month of valentines, he acted as if you were dating.

which he had meant to make happen before march, but the nerves got to him as he pushed it farther away, settling for chocolates or notes under your pillow.

but here he stood, outside your room with a bouquet of flowers, asking you to be his.

“what?” you choked out in shock, your hand sealed to the door helping you stand up as your knees weakened.

“will you be mine?” he repeated, a sudden line of sweat covering his forehead.

“you- you’re serious?” you said in disbelief, as he shuffled his weight onto his left foot uncomfortably, expecting rejection.

“yes, yes i’m serious.” he spoke nervously, a lopsided grin appearing on his face, “if you say no it’s fi—“

“no! i mean, yes!” i sigh, “i’m not saying no, i want— i want you to be my boyfriend.” you stammered out, as his nervous grin quickly turned to a cocky one to hide his urge to jump for joy, he stuck his hand farther out for you to take the flowers.

“okay.” he beamed, his cheeks turning a light pink.

you look up at him through your lashes, hiding a smile behind the bouquet in your hands.

march 17th

george was fed up with you and lockwood's little honeymoon phase, shoving you out the door making you two make a journey to arif’s for donuts.

it took you a lot longer than it needed to, walking as slow as possible that a few people had to walk around you, just basking in each other’s presence as you held hands, his thumb tracing over your knuckles.

“we should go for walks together more often.” he suggests, bumping shoulders against yours as you hum in response, grinning up at him.

reaching the steps of portland row, you hand him the box to reach into your pocket and grab your keys, not noticing him staring at your face, as he gave himself a pep talk in his head.

“um- before we go in.” he began, causing you to look up at him, freezing your actions of going to unlock the door, “can…”

you tilt your head at him, moving forward, “what’s wrong?”

“i just..” his eyes flickered to your lips, “i wanted to do it in a more romantic setting, but i really can’t help myself.” his voice lowered as he stared intensely down at you, “can i kiss you?”

he watched as your mouth curved up and your eyes sparkled staring at him, you began to nod eagerly as you brought your hands to his cheeks. his hand slid onto your back as he leaned towards you, meeting each other halfway as a soft kiss was placed to your lips. you could only imagine how red you were as you pulled him closer, deepening the kiss that was meant to have been a peck, but he didn’t decline, attempting to not drop the box of donuts in the awkward position.

but they did almost go flying as the door whipped open, revealing george narrowing his eyes at the two, “sickening.” he said, grabbing the donuts from lockwoods hands and slamming the door in your face.

april 20th

after a very long job, you couldn’t stand to go up one more set of steps to your and lucy’s shared room, feet aching leading you towards lockwoods bed, you quickly changed into a big t shirt he owned and flopped onto the bed. minutes later he joined you upstairs, shocked to see a body wrapped in his sheets, but he crawled in next to you, trying to ignore his red hot cheeks at just the thought of you sleeping in his bed.

but you were too tired to notice, too busy focusing on sleeping as a wave of tiredness took over you.

“g’night anthony.” you mumbled against his pillow, he propped himself up on his elbow, leaning over you to turn the light off, he stared down at you in awe before bringing a kiss to your temple.

“goodnight love.” he whispered, laying down next to you and draping his arm across your waist, pulling you closer to his chest.

after this, lucy got the room to herself most nights.

june 5th

lockwood and co had been busy lately, leaving your anniversary celebration a few days late.

it wasn’t a huge deal for you two, at least it wasn’t as big as a year, so you didn’t mind sitting on the roof, late at night staring at the stars, the only sounds being the wind whistling through your ears and the sound of lockwoods heartbeat through his chest while you laid on him.

you both needed a quiet moment after the hectic weeks you had, finding peace in each other's arms in such a scary world.

when his hand caressed your chin to turn it up towards him, you had expected for him to lean in to kiss you, but he just stayed staring at you, like you were a painting in a museum.

“what is it?” you whispered to him, nuzzling into his shoulder.

“just want to admire you a bit.” he says nonchalantly, taking notice of how it heats your cheeks, “it’s so easy to get lost in your eyes.”

you hit his chest, hiding your face in his neck flustered from his words as you giggle, but he just chuckles, pulling you away so he can look at you again, before leaning down to place a kiss to both your cheeks, you lips, just everywhere on your face, in between kisses muttering about how perfect you were.

“i love you.” he lets slip as he kisses your temple, freezing against you at the realization.

his lips pursed and eyes widened as your jaw dropped, his pupils dilated, waiting for a negative reaction, but he was pleasantly surprised when you beam up at him, whispering “i love you too.” before pulling him by his tie to meet your lips halfway.

august 23rd

the agency never had many free or calm nights, and even if you did it was usually spent with everyone trying to catch up on sleep.

but finally, after so much hard working the past year you all took the week off, leading to your first ever lockwood and co game night.

also the night that lucy learned lockwood physically could not live without you.

lucy and george sat on the armchairs in the living room, you and lockwood in the couch opposite to them as you rolled the dice of some board game you were playing. as lucy stole a biscuit, hiding it from george to see, she noticed the way lockwoods left hand just had to be touching you.

whether it rested on your back, held your hand, rested on your knee, it didn’t matter, his hand was always hovering over you.

she suddenly realized why george had been so disgusted seeing you two together all the time when you first started dating. don’t get them wrong, they loved you two together but lord, anthony was love sick.

you also brought out another side of him, he had his own smile and laugh reserved just for looking at you or laughing at something you said.

lucy didn’t have to hear lockwood say he loved you, it was written all over his face.

october 3rd

you were convinced he had forgotten.

sure, he was very busy lately but it was your 8 months and he didn’t even say happy anniversary. he instead sent you and lucy out to do errands all day.

lucy wasn’t happy to be guiding you around as you pouted and stayed eerily quiet with short responses.

but she tried to ignore your sad tone as she knew what awaited you at home.

“tell me luce!!” you begged, as you both got closer to home her smile brightened and she walked a little faster, “why are you so happy all of a sudden?”

“no reason!” she said, fumbling with the old lock on the door, once unlocked she reached into the bag and grabbed the book lockwood had asked you to pick up for george’s christmas present, “could you go put this in lockwood’s room?”

you groaned but nodded, shrugging your shoes off as you trudged up the creaky steps.

you sighed at the sight of light leaking out under the doorway, announcing he was in his room, and suddenly his gift in your pocket felt very heavy. you frowned before walking to the door, knocking lightly.

you were taken aback at the sound of him pouncing up from his bed and sprinting to his door, opening it only a crack so you could only see his eye.

“hi?” you muttered in confusion, brows stitched together, his eyes crinkled indicating he was smiling, as he ripped the door open.

“happy 8 months.” he breathed, revealing his bed.

your jaw dropped at the sight in front of you, his bed had been littered with letters and gifts for you, letters addressed to you for when you felt sad, or for certain holidays. your favorite chocolates laid in the arms of a teddy bear wearing a crown, he noticed as your eyes glazed over as you stepped into his room.

he met your side, taking the book from your hand to place on his dresser as he shut the door with his foot, his arms snaked around your waist and his chin rested on your shoulder, “m’sorry if i scared you, i wanted to surprise you.” he whispered, looking at you despite your eyes being glued to the bed.

“you- all this— for me?” your sentences were choppy as you tried to remember how to speak, your brain slowly turning to mush at how adorable the whole gesture was.

“of course, love.” he said, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder as he squeezed you closer.

“oh anthony, i love it.” you chuckled in disbelief, a few happy tears slipping onto your cheeks but he was quick to swipe them away, “i got— hold on.” you snapped back into reality, digging in your pocket for the present that had seemed so heavy earlier and now you couldn’t even find it.

suddenly you grabbed hold of the velvet box and pulled it out to reveal to him, “it-it’s not much i’m sorry.” you said, looking bad at the bed.

“you could have given me a kiss as my gift and i would have been perfectly fine.” he assured you, he spoke softly and his voice calmed you so easily your knees almost buckled.

your thoughts were interrupted as he snapped open the box, revealing a silver ring with A.L + your initials carved into it.

he said your name softly, admiring the ring as he slipped it onto his ring finger (not purposefully, but it didn’t stop your heart from beating faster.), “this is more than enough, it’s beautiful.” he said, beaming at you.

“i love you anthony.” you breathed, getting lost in his eyes as he admired you.

“i love you more.”

december 25th

anthony spoiled you enough throughout the relationship, despite getting told off by george for the times you really couldn’t afford it. you didn’t think it was possible for him to find you anymore things to buy or write for you, until christmas.

you all agreed to keep it small, the four of your curled up in the living room playing games and opening small gifts.

and that’s how it went, everyone gave each other a gift or two, and you played games all night, the house echoing with loud laughter when lockwood got caught cheating, or lucy performed a victory dance that almost involved her falling and taking the christmas tree down with her.

it wasn’t shocking that as soon as you yawned and announced you were going to bed that lockwood quickly followed your footsteps, guiding you to sleep in his room instead of the attic with lucy, not that you were complaining.

as you changed into pajamas (aka his t shirt) he ran downstairs to grab you a glass of water, no harm by it right?

so you got comfortable under the covers, fiddling with the hem of the duvet as you heard him climb the staircase.

he wore a cheeky smile as he stood next to you as you lay in the bed, your eyes narrowing as he passed you the water.

“why are you smiling like that?” you asked, biting back your own grin from the nervous look on his face. your thirst long forgotten as you put the cup on your bedside table and sat up, urging him to admit his secrets.

all he did was kneel on the ground which had you very confused, slightly taken aback as you studied him.

until he pulled out three wrapped boxes from under the bed, plopping them in your lap, “merry christmas.”

“anthony.” you gasped at him, adjusting your posture, “what is this?”

“gifts.”

“obviously they are gifts.” you stated, as he chuckled, “i mean why are they here? there is no way we can afford this.”

“i pulled some strings.”

“i hate when you say that.”

“just open them!” he urged.

you rolled his eyes as his eyes lit up in excitement. the first box contained a pair of shoes you had been obsessing over for months, causing a proud smile on his anthony’s face as he sat next to you on the bed as you gasped.

the next box contained two books that lockwood already owned.

“i know i said i would read these but i meant your copies! we cannot afford to be buying books we already own.” you scolded, your jaw dropping.

“relax!” he said, his arm sliding between your back and the pillow, his hand resting on your waist, “they are the ones i own, i just wanted to be fancy and romantic.” he explained, smirking as you roll your eyes again.

“you are something else.”

the third present was smaller than the rest, tearing it open to reveal a box with a necklace inside, you gasped as you realized the pendent hanging to the necklace was in fact a locket, and as you opened it, it revealed a tiny photo of you and anthony that lucy had taken the day of your and lockwood's first date. it was so small that you had to squint your eyes, but despite the blurriness you were able to depict that it had been taken from the second floor window, you and anthony hand in hand as you returned home, wide grins on your faces.

“anthony…” you breathed, the metal of the necklace was shining into your eyes due to the light hitting off it, but you found yourself unable to tear your vision away.

“don’t say we can’t afford it, because i don’t care.” he states, “i want to spoil you.”

reluctantly you look away from the jewelry in your hand to look at him, “i love it.”

before he could respond you tackled him into a hug, peppering kisses all over his face, muttering about how amazing he was as you tried to stop yourself from crying. he just smiled, finally catching your lips with his as you sat over him on the bed.

“i love you.” you whispered against his lips, before you could go back to deepening the kiss he started speaking.

“i don’t think i could live without you.” he said softly, you pulled your head back to get a better look at him, expression softening as his arms wrapped around your back, “i love you more.”

“yeah, not possible.” you responded, causing him to laugh out, but he was quickly distracted with the urge to kiss you again.

#sienna’s fics #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood #lockwood x reader #lockwood and co #anthony lockwood imagine #anthony lockwood x you #lockwood and co netflix #anthony lockwood fluff #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood and co fic #fluff #established relationship #cameron chapman

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morgane-art · 8 months

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Ok so. I just discovered Lockwood & Co. I finished season 1 and learned that it was cancelled. I cried and read the books in a couple of days and now I'm obsessed.

And I have this little headcanon in my mind :

They had a chat one day, around a cup of tea and they talked about pickup lines. Lockwood admitted that he found them really ridiculous and embarrassing.

Since that day, George and Lucy make fun of him with the cheesiest pickup lines ever in the most unexpected circumstances.

George while cooking : You know Lockwood...

Lockwood, looking up from his newspaper : What George ?

George : If you were a vegetable, I think you'd be a 'cute-cumber' *winks*

Lockwood : ...

Lucy, leaning towards him : and if you were a fruit, you'd be a 'fine-apple' *smiling*

Lockwood blushing : STOP IT YOU TWO, IT'S BEEN A MONTH ALREADY-

#lockwood and co #anthony lockwood #lockwood netflix #lockwood and lucy #locklyle #george karim #george cubbins #lucy carlyle

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novelizt · 10 months

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EXPECTO PATRONUM I ☁︎ ANTHONY LOCKWOOD

⚜ PART 2 | SERIES MASTERLIST

GENRE ➺ HOGWARTS AU [slytherin! lockwood x fem! ravenclaw! reader]. rivals to lovers (and a dash of 'everyone knows but them'). fluff and angst.

WC ➺ 13.7k

SYNOPSIS ➺ after a six year rivalry with lockwood, your patronus suddenly matches his when it didn't before.

DISCLAIMER ➺ reader is implied to be shorter than lockwood. appearance of harry potter next gen characters and a few ocs. lockwood calls reader 'sweetheart' and 'my dearest vexation'. prefect! lockwood. (i also headcanon him being a cunning-flirt, so lockwood might read slightly ooc.)

WARNINGS ➺ strained family dynamics (for reader), love potions (misuse of magic), dragons on the loose, wizard duels, and a lot of unpolished dialogue.

NOTES ➺ it's been a long time coming. i hope this finds you when you need it 💙 happy nanowrimo !!

this was originally a one-shot that got split in two. please read part two after this to see their happily ever after 💙

For every Gryffindor came a Slytherin waiting to trouble them. You thought you were in the clear after you'd been sorted into Ravenclaw four years ago. So, you questioned how you had the misfortune of being vexed by a serpent such as Anthony Lockwood.

He boasted the status of being the sole muggle-born Slythern in your year, as well as a colossal thorn in your side. He made it routine to test you. You knew his M.O. well enough to recognize the sound of his footsteps before he even reached you.

"We're learning advanced protective charms in Defence today," he announced like you didn't speed through the syllabus already.

You didn't have to look at him to know he was sporting that lilted smile of his. If you were in a bitter mood, you might have even slung a hex at him.

Luckily for him, you just wanted to get through the day. You quickened your steps. He followed like a parasite.

He even had the gall to bend at the knees to be at eye-level with you, the right side of his mouth curved higher than his left. "Come on, sweetheart. Not even a nod of acknowledgement?"

"If it will get you to leave me be..."

You granted his request and even offered a stiff nod, hoping that would suffice.

You hoped too much because all he did was grin and return to his regularly scheduled goading by matching your stride.

"Away with you," you shooed.

You threw your arm out, aiming for his shoulder. He caught your hand before it even made contact—giving your knuckle a quick tap just to aggravate you.

"I know that trick, sweetheart." He unfurled fingers from yours, slow and deliberate. "Let me walk you, at least. I am a gentleman. Oh– Don't make that face. I really am!"

"If you are such a gentleman, you'd pay attention to my request and leave."

"Suddenly, I'm a barbarian." He shot you a wink that made you wish the floor would swallow you whole. "I could do much worse, you know. Have you heard of oobleck—the stuff muggles are raving about? Bet you'd have a jolly time finding out how to get a non-Newtonian fluid out of your hair."

He feigned a yawn, dropping an arm over your shoulders and giving your arm a subtle squeeze to drive home the fact that he had no intentions of letting you go.

"Arse," was your gracious response.

"Oh, don't be like that. If you are going to play that game, I do have a divine rump. So do you," he said without missing a beat. He played a fool to your slack jaw and widened eyes. "And would you look at that! We've arrived to your classroom. That wasn't so bad, was it?"

If only looks could kill.

Your systems stalled when he dipped his head and planted an ever-cheeky kiss on your temple.

It was futile to throw out a fist to dent that pretty face of his, because he caught your hand before you could even land a hit.

"Cheeky," Lockwood crooned. He tapped your nose before letting you go. You made a show of flicking off the invisible mites he gave you. "Nice try though, sweetheart."

"You—" When you tried to stomp on his foot, he veered out of the way, finessed as a Chesire.

At that point, you knew you were fighting a losing battle. You lifted your chin and crossed the threshold into Potions, ignoring the exorbitant waves and kissy faces he made at you.

Your classmates levelled you with looks of intrigue but you ignored them, too.

Of course, Lockwood had to have the last word. "Remember not to mix up your asphodel and lavender. Wouldn't want another smokey incident, would we? You basically handed me that perfect score."

You tried not to shrivel when a ripple of giggles disrupted the stillness of the classroom.

You threw a nasty look over your shoulder and turned sour when he left, his laugh echoing down the hall. You estimated that he'd be a few minutes late to his class, even if he had to run to make it. Poor chap.

Finally, you were rid of him, but the newly realised smell in the room replaced his slot as your morning vexation. The smell of old parchment, clipped grass, and (much to your bereavement) the Lockwood Stench viscerally assaulted your senses.

You blanched, falling into your seat. "Heavens, did he leave his perfume in here? It smells awful."

As if seeing his face wasn't bad enough, he managed to be the subject of your irritation even if he was absent from the room.

James Potter II, your seatmate and friend, laughed. Eyes crinkling like he knew something you didn't. "He, meaning Anthony Lockwood?"

Your lip curled at the name. Even while preoccupied by your review notes, the smell clouded you. Your attempts to wave away the stench only made it stronger.

It wasn't the worst smell in the wizarding world but you'd rather go through the only class you don't share with him without the incessant thought of him. A huff left you as you came to peace with the fact that your nose would lose its sense eventually.

James's most devious grin stretched across his face. "That's Amortentia over there."

Your breath caught. He jutted a finger at the cauldron that sat at the end of your two-seater desk.

Surely enough, the brew had a pearlescent sheen with curls of peach smoke spiralling into the air, infecting the room with its fragrance. Now that you'd been made aware, your ribs felt too right for your lungs.

Your laugh came out stiff. You coughed, hoping it sutured the cracks in your façade. "I was mistaken then. I only smell the Quidditch Pitch."

James hummed, unconvinced.

—

Time passed slower when you were dying to forget the incident at Potions. Your eyes kept jumping to your watch before the middle of the day had even passed.

Classes had come and gone, and a certainly foul smell clung to the walls of this classroom—as was always the case for Defence Against the Dark Arts. For a moment, you missed smelling the amortentia, then jolted at what other thing that implied.

You knew class started when your peers fell silent, listening attentively on tipped toes. It was every man for himself on days the tables and chairs were pushed to the side of the room.

"On this fine day, we are covering a very tricky, but very utilised charm." The Professor circled the room, inspecting posture and wand grip as she passed.

For a moment, her eyes fell on you, and you stiffened under her gaze. Her lip quirked, like she found comfort in scaring you.

You were made aware that she was a rival of your grandmother's, back in their heyday. You surmised that because she couldn't get one up on your grandmother, she transposed her efforts onto the next best thing: You, and she wasn't afraid to show it.

Her heels clicked, grating your ears as she went on to terrorise a few more unfortunate souls in the way. The vast majority were daft to her impartiality.

She went on a lecture about the charm's importance in the Battle at Hogwarts. You were about to doze off when she slapped her wand against her palm. "Now that the lot of you are in your fourth year, I feel that it is important to know how to cast it in light of grave circumstances."

She waved her wand and muttered a few words before a silvery line jumped from her wand, spinning in the air and illuminating the room before taking on the shape of a rabbit.

The silvery manifestation hopped along with great speed, passing you briskly and making you stumble.

A hand caught your arm before you hit the floor. You were quick to retrieve yourself when you realised that it was Lockwood. You tuned out his mild laugh as you turned away without thanks.

The patronus then skidded to a halt at James's side, speaking in the Professor's voice. "I expect you to know this, Mr. Potter."

It dispersed and a vicious applause shook the room. Even you found yourself wide-eyed in exhilaration. Fighting the fact that the professor was rude, the patronus charm was something you'd been dying to learn way back when.

In the midst of the celebration, your eyes caught Lockwood's, only to find him already staring. There was a pinching sensation in your gut. It forced you to look away. You missed his smile completely.

The Professor ordered the class to break into pairs. Lockwood glued himself to your side before you could blink. He was shooing people away before you could even shoo him away.

"She's got a nasty temper, that one. Wouldn't want her patronus to lunge at you."

"I will have it bite your head off," you murmured, watching a nice Hufflepuff back away. Thus, leaving you alone with the bane of your existence.

"You're too nice for that," Lockwood replied, tapping your side with a half-smile.

"You just said I have a temper."

"With me, yes. But I can handle you."

You had a lot to say about that. The Professor spoke before you could.

"Now," Professor mused. Her voice bounced off the walls in higher vibration. "Using the instructions in your books, attempt to cast your patronus. Remember! The lighter the memory, the more efficient the patronus."

A chorus of turning pages echoed. You and Lockwood withdrew your wands, already knowing which spell to use.

His lips quirked. "Did some advanced reading, did you?"

"You know me so well."

You shook in anticipation, but, after shortly regarding your partner, you refrained from looking too eager.

"Dunderheads first," you urged with false cheer.

The insult flew over Lockwood's head. "Gladly. I like to think my patronus would be a lion."

You couldn't help but snort. "I assume yours would be a housecat with a lot of overgrown hair."

"That would be you."

You had an inkling that he found joy in watching you frown.

After a long while and a generous amount of griping, his wand moved, and he muttered, "Expecto patronum."

A silvery burst of light exploded from his wand. Wisps spun in the air before the dust settled, revealing a crane. It stretched, showcasing several inches of its incandescent neck and wingspan before Lockwood waved his wand once more. The motion sent it in a circle around the room.

It was so majestic, you couldn't pry your eyes away. Other students stared in envy as the crane weaved past other patronuses, nipping at them playfully before soaring back to you.

Wait, not to you... At you.

You found your feet, ready to duck before the silvery bird crashed into you, but it never did. It dispersed before it even touched a hair on your head.

It was an explosion of silver sand. It brushed your cheek with unexpected warmth. The cold seeped into your robes as the darkness veiled you.

"Shame." Lockwood clicked his tongue. "Thought I could freak you out a bit. I couldn't hold it for too long, though."

"Truly a shame," you simpered.

Professor's applause rang out from the other side of the room. Likely for Lockwood's expert execution or his taunting you. Mayhaps both.

"Good work, Mr. Lockwood! Keep practising and your patronus could glide over the Atlantic one day."

"Hear that?" He brightened at the compliment, standing taller as he leaned toward you. "It's your turn, dunderhead."

The number of hexes you could have used . . . You didn't need them. You needed happy thoughts to conjure up a patronus. It was hard enough standing in the same room as Lockwood and Professor Loathes-Your-Guts.

Your inspirations were of holidays and golden scores; your parents' approval; Lockwood falling on his face during Quidditch (your lips twitched at the memory); and the muggle fantasy novels you hid in your room.

A warm feeling shot down your arm, heartening you to mutter the enchantment. The feeling wrapped around your body like a blanket, and when you opened your eyes, your own patronus stared back at you.

It stood metres above the rest, towering over students and patronuses alike. Wisps of silver waved to and fro its body. The only apt description for it was 'colossal'.

"Is that a giraffe?" Lockwood muttered.

"No, It's a pelican." You smiled at his frown. "Of course, it's a giraffe, Lockwood."

You'd never seen one so pretty.

It glowed so bright that Lockwood looked blue in its light. He spared you a look of resignation.

You win.

A swell of pride came to the surface before the patronus wilted away. The space it stood turned black.

Hollers rung out, shaking the bricked walls. A new wave of excitement seized the room. You didn't even glance at the Professor but you could feel her heated gaze on the back of your head. That was victory enough.

—

Three years following that day, you're harrowed by the thought of leaving this place behind. Hogwarts felt like home, more so than the one you shared with your parents.

It was difficult to imagine life without the sky above the dining tables or the constant presence of Prefects scolding lower years.

Soon, your rivalry with Lockwood would fade to the black, too. As far as you knew, the fool was gunning to be an auror. Becoming one yourself wasn't a path you were inclined to take.

You passed the hourglasses of House Points and watched as more trickled into Slytherin's glass, and you felt nothing. The fact that you came to peace with having less points should have been concerning. Your mother would scorn you if she ever caught you thinking that way.

Not wanting to linger, you turned for the dining hall.

You didn't flinch when a weight fell over your shoulders and Lockwood's pretty face invaded your periphery. You should have known he couldn't leave you alone for too long.

"Lockwood."

He grinned. "My dearest vexation."

Your nose scrunched, irritation injected with the smallest feeling of familiarity. "Don't call me that."

"Copy that," He smiled, dragging you closer by the arm around your shoulders. "sweetheart."

It was a lost cause to correct the priss.

"I thought you would've matured by now. Disappointing, really."

"I could be mature, or I could point out the fact that we have fifty points above Ravenclaw."

"I don't mind."

He stalled, and you stopped with him. You didn't really have a choice when he had you under his wing.

He searched your eyes, bewildered. Unsettled, even. "What's on with you?"

You tried to shrug him off but he held fast, fingers practically melded to your arm. "I'm fine, thank you very much. I just don't see the point of upholding this... this–" What was this? You didn't finish the thought before swaying the conversation elsewhere. "We're graduating this year. Might as well set an example for the first-years."

"Our squabbles make it fun for them." On the brink of being offended, he insisted, "They have plenty of examples as is. Kat Godwin sucks the life out of everything, George is best friends with Moaning Myrtle, and Lucy is off talking to the illusive Gray Lady."

You groaned. "That isn't the point."

You made an attempt to shove him, but he caught your hand.

"You have got to start thinking of better ways to express yourself other than hitting or shoving. You should know I always see it coming."

"I can express myself just fine," you respired, yanking your hand away. "But do go ahead. Indulge me. What, pray tell, does that make us?"

Lockwood flourished his free hand as he spoke. "We are 'the arch rivals who makes their problem everyone's problem'. The lower years adore it!"

"Do they?"

In time for your asking, a group of second-years waved at Lockwood, and then to you. He waved back whilst you offered them a terse smile.

One of the girls elbowed her friend. As whispery as her tone was, everyone still heard her. "See? Told you they suit each other."

"They are a couple. Of course, they do," the friend replied.

"Not a couple," you corrected swiftly.

They scurried faster. Before they left the hall, one yelled out, "Just kiss already!"

Despite his matching flush, Lockwood turned to you with a cheeky grin. "You heard them. Let us kiss." He advanced, lips puckered.

You blocked the way with your palm, spreading your fingers until you could push his head back by his forehead. "Yeah– No."

You pried yourself free from his grip to sit with your friends. He didn't fight it, but you weren't surprised that he shouted after you. "But I was right! We have to give the audience what they want!"

"Mr. Lockwood!" Professor McGonagall stood to reprimand him.

You turned away to hide a laugh.

—

The day was lovely. The previous day's rain left a dewy haze in its wake. It was chilly but not cold, and the sun and clouds looked remarkably friendly that morning.

Even then, you didn't know what it was. Your stomach churned for a reason unseen. In the stillness, you could hear a pin drop. You could hear yourself think for once.

Not long after the nagging feeling arrived, you came to the horrific conclusion that Lockwood's absence felt off-putting. You were walking to potions class alone, for the first time in years.

There was no Anthony Lockwood galloping behind you, throwing his arm around you and messing up your hair when you shrug him off. There was no warning as to what your class would be covering that day or a passive-aggressive jab about the most recent Quidditch match.

And, bizarrely, you missed the chaos. You shuddered as the thought struck you.

You held your books tighter and quickened your pace to get to class. When you arrived at Potions, Lockwood-less, your classmates stood to verify the emptiness of the doorway for themselves. Even they were puzzled.

James cocked a brow as you sat and laid out your items without a noise. "Where's lover boy?"

"Using his brain and finally leaving me alone," you responded, wincing at the hint of exasperation in your tone. You didn't mean to sound so dejected, and you definitely didn't intend to slam your things on your desk either. There's a lot of things you didn't intend to do today and 'mentioning Lockwood' was now at the top of that list.

"Mhm," James leaned back in his seat, eyeing you warily. "You don't look too happy."

"I stayed up late doing that essay about counter-potions," you reasoned, having a hard time getting the words out.

James looked pained when you mentioned it. Seconds later, you stifled a laugh when he admitted to forgetting all about that assignment.

Contrary to what you'd promised yourself, Lockwood remained in the back of your mind the entire period.

—

When had Anthony Lockwood ever been interested in Oriana Cai?

That's the first question that popped into your head as you watched him kneel before her with a bouquet of the reddest roses you'd ever seen.

The display was so unexpected, it knocked the air out of your lungs. Your jaw fell slack. James had to pick it up off the ground before you came back to your senses.

In that time, Oriana squealed and clapped, throwing herself forward and strangling the bane-of-your-existence in a hug he enjoyed a little too much. The flowers ended up discarded on the floor.

You had more sense than to gawk. Your chest constricted when Lockwood didn't even acknowledge you as you passed. You shook off the feeling along with the sense of dread you felt from earlier.

His affairs were none of your business, yet, you found yourself thinking about it when you didn't intend to. It's a stake to the heart that his scheduled banter and crude comments were put on hold for whatever that was.

Lockwood had forsaken his seat across from you in favour of sitting with Oriana and her clique. They laughed all through lunch break, his teeth on display, stuck in an unmoving smile.

He looks like a clown, you thought as you skewered a floret of broccoli onto your fork.

You glanced at the professors' table to see if they'd caught onto Lockwood's bizarre behaviour, but they were daft to it.

To any normal person, Lockwood was being a silly boy with a crush. To you, it was abnormal.

Lockwood didn't have the balls to be that forward. How could you say that without sounding obsessed with him?

"If you stare any longer, you might actually burn a hole through his head." James nudged your side and you returned it with a harder shove. "Woah! Cool down, smarty pants. I'm on your side here. I'm just saying, glaring daggers at him won't do much."

"He's being odd," you whispered petulantly.

"I know!" James set his elbow on the table. "What are you going to do about it?"

"Me? Why would I do anything?"

Your eyes landed on Lockwood again. You sucked your teeth before looking away.

James snapped his fingers, forcing you to look up as he pointed an accusatory finger at you. "That. That's why you would do something."

"I don't meddle in Lockwood's affairs. He can do whatever he wants," you said tersely. "If he's so immersed in his romantic life, I might as well get ahead and score more points for my house."

"It bothers you, doesn't it?"

"No." Another unfortunate vegetable faced the wrath of your fork. James flinched. "It doesn't bother me in the slightest."

"If you need me to help, just give me a bell." James vacated his seat, gave your shoulder a firm pat, then went off to check on his cousins, praying none of them caught whatever Lockwood's got.

You stewed in your own thoughts before you gave into temptation and looked at Lockwood for the last time. For lunch, at least.

He blinked rapidly, like there were stars stuck in his eyes. The distorted look on his face dissipated when Oriana popped a wad of gum into his mouth. He chewed and chewed until the colour returned to his face. Redder than before.

You tried to shovel your conspiracies down with your lunch. You even chewed slower to put your focus elsewhere, but you couldn't shake off the dread that roiled in the recess of your mind.

—

"I can extend my essay by three paragraphs," you said to Lockwood in the library, attempting to coax him out of his stupor. "I'd beat your record."

"Yeah." He sighed, daydreaming. He hadn't written anything in his scroll. His competitive spirit died somewhere between his confession and now.

You slid into the seat across from him and waved in his face. He looked right through you, staring at the wall. When you followed his gaze, your expression fell flat.

He wasn't staring at the wall, he was staring at Oriana Cai, again. She wiggled her fingers at him, giggling behind her hand.

The moment she saw you, she didn't even attempt to hide her disdain. Suddenly, the library felt colder than before. For the first time in forever, you couldn't find the right words to explain it.

—

You watched Lockwood's change of behaviour with a scrutinising eye. You managed to pick up on a few things that changed.

First, he was infatuated with Oriana Cai. You caught them snogging the other day and you had to hold your breath to keep your lunch down. So much for decorum.

Second, he'd lost all interest in everything other than his girlfriend. He hadn't mentioned Quidditch in the past week, and he didn't have a modicum of concern for his plummeting scores. It was a scenario you never thought possible.

Lastly, Lockwood had a newly acquired addiction to bubblegum. Not just any type of gum. It was Bombarda of Flavour: Berry Kiss.

With a bit of research, you discovered that BOF was a brand run by Oriana's family. Any sane person would assume that Lockwood was an avid fan of his girlfriend's family business, but you were everything but sane.

When you presented the facts to James, he continued to chew on his liquorice. "And? Where is this going?"

"The sweets are infused with Amortentia," you concluded.

James stopped, stared at his liquorice with distrust, then threw it into a bin. "How can you be so sure?"

"Cai's family runs a gum business. Lockwood's been acting weird since he started chewing the gum Cai brought him. It can't be simple coincidence."

"So, not only are you accusing Cai of spiking gum with amortentia, but her family of being an accessory to misuse of magic as well?"

"They've got to be aware of what she's doing, at least! And they're not stopping her, are they? They're just as guilty," you said fervently.

"Fine," James relented. "How are we going to prove that and save your guy?"

"He's not my guy."

"Sure."

You cleared your throat before sitting down. "We need to steal from the potions classroom."

"You are... insane."

There was a bated silence that followed. You raised your brows at him.

He cracked a smile. "I'm in."

—

Potters had a speciality for breaking rules. You came to that conclusion after James, Albus (James's younger brother), and Scorpius Malfoy managed to steal the ingredients you needed without being caught. They looked quite proud of themselves too.

You wasted no time laying out your theory scrolls and recipe book.

"What's she doing?" Albus asked.

"Saving Lockwood," James answered as-a-matter-of-factly.

"I knew something was wrong with him," Scorpius rasped. "Knew something was up with them too."

You silenced him and ordered James to escort the boys back to their dorm. They didn't go without a fight, but James was experienced enough to wrangle them away.

—

"Lockwood—"

He passed you without a second glance.

Your heart flatlined, but you fought against the feeling and recalled why you were there. You steeled your resolve.

With shining eyes and pulled shoulders, you pivoted and captured his arm. The indifference in his eyes was an arrow passing straight through you.

You had to swallow the lump in your throat to find your voice. "Could you try this for me?"

There was no readily available remedy for amortentia, leaving one with the mere hope that its effects diminish over time. The problem was that Oriana Cai had a continuous supply of bewitching gums intentionally keeping him under her enchantment.

You used all your potions knowledge to concoct a solution that would—cross your fingers—work. It was blended into a scrumptious looking cookie thanks to the expertise of culinary enthusiast, George Karim.

You were worried that he wouldn't even give it a try, but he took the package from your hands.

"Thanks."

He walked away without a second thought. It tore your heart in two, but he accepted the cookie! You raised your arms in triumph, stopping short when he tossed the cookie and its cute wrapper out of the nearest window.

Your excitement plummeted along with it.

—

You took a chapter out of Lockwood's book and persevered. He no longer competed with you to answer the professors' questions, but you took every chance to goad him into a debate. All for naught. He barely did anything anymore.

You tried to cure him several more times with the same anti-Amortentia solution. Three times to be exact: ice cream, soup, and—your most desperate attempt yet—gum.

In the end, he'd throw them all away.

All he would put in his mouth was anything Cai spoon-fed him. It made you want to throttle him.

Lockwood was a capable wizard, and the witch had reduced him to something short of being a man-baby.

On your worst days, you'd reluctantly admitted to missing the banter. Even his annoying grin; the one that rose higher on the right side. The same one that had eluded you since the beginning of term.

The seasons changed. Oriana Cai still had Anthony Lockwood under her thumb.

You melted into the velvet blue couch, sighing to the starlit window of Ravenclaw turret. Even the sheer beauty of the common rooms did little to console you.

You draped your arm over your eyes. "Who knew things were this boring without that pest?"

James, who wasn't even supposed to be allowed into the tower, grasped his chest. "Ouch. What of the rest of us?"

"Rowena!" shouted George. You jumped when he slammed his book shut. "I thought your raving about your books was bad enough. Just tell him you miss him already,"

He was done with you sneaking James in to concoct whatever else you were thinking up. He had lost the plot. At that point, even he was versed in anti-amortentia theory.

"She doesn't miss him," James sighed, bored. "apparently."

"I don't," you said promptly. "Karim, you should be more concerned. Your friend is being spelled into being a muppet."

"I am concerned," George retorted hotly. "But I am so sick of staying up 'till Merlin knows when to find out what you're going to spin into a dish next. I can't even study in peace!"

"We're not that bad, are we?" Looking for backup, you propped your chin over the back of the couch, shooting your most precious smile at your youngsters, Lorcan and Lysander Scamander.

Lorcan shook his head, and Lysander nodded his.

"It's a draw," James chuckled.

Frustration poured from George. "Can you please just find somewhere else to scheme? I want to study and not hear 'Lockwood' every bloody second."

"Fine." You hugged your pile of recipe pages to your chest. "We'll go somewhere we're appreciated."

"Oh, please. Don't go too far. The end of the world doesn't actually exist," George nipped.

James snorted, amused.

You closed the door behind you, finally giving Ravenclaw Tower some much deserved silence.

—

Another crumpled up piece of paper rolled on the rim of the bin before unceremoniously falling out.

You knew your onions, but this was getting tedious. After wasting hours relishing in the staleness of your coffee and the soreness of your fingers, you were just about ready to throw in the towel.

James had left you a bit ago, something about helping Lucy with setting up the flying lesson for the first-years.

They were probably done with it by then and you were still there, trying to brainstorm a method that would knock some sense back into the tosser you called a rival.

About a metre of wasted scroll and dried ink were the results of your efforts. Even then, you didn't reach a plausible solution to your problem.

When you succumbed to your headache and glanced at the clock, the lateness kickstarted your bloodstream. When you stood, you swayed from the dark spots that danced in your vision.

You didn't allow yourself to stay in a haze for too long. You had already missed two and a half classes by the time you broke out of your reverie.

The halls were all empty. You were bound to be in trouble.

You were a punctual student, an excellent student. You were miffed that all it took for you to slip was the absence of a boy. Pathetic. Then again... The boy was what made winning fun.

Your brisk walk quickened to a jog, dreading the inevitability of explaining your tardiness.

"Sweetheart?"

You paused, opening your ears.

Silence.

You scoffed and picked up your stride. Then you heard him again, saying your name. It was odd — odd enough for you to realise that it wasn't a figment of your imagination.

His voice was a trap and you submitted to it too easily. You spun back around to trace the voice and stopped short of the bend. Anyone would have stalled at the rare sight of Oriana Cai angry, her nails sinking into Lockwood's cheeks.

Bile rose to your throat.

Lockwood's back was pushed flush against the wall, he was fervently shaking his head like he was shaking the daze out of his system.

"Quiet!" she commanded him. "Darling, I'm only doing this for us."

His hand closed around her wrist but whatever the potion had done to him left him fatigued. "No, my—" He licked his bottom lip, correcting himself. "She's—"

"Not here! How many times am I going to tell you?"

To your relief, she retracted her nails from him. Your heart started back up when she produced a pack of gum.

"You're better off with me, Ant. I love you, not her. She's nothing but a bitter wench who didn't realise what she had until someone took it from her. See how she only looks for you when we're together? She's selfish!"

"You don't understand," he tried to slap the gum from her hand but she was more sober than he was. For the first time in a long time, the right side of his mouth tipped up. It wounded you. "She needs me. She just won't admit it."

Oriana didn't take it well. Her face bursted in shades of red. Her beautiful features twisted into a grizzly scowl. "None of her!"

"Expelliarmus!"

Your hand quivered as you casted, but your magic did what it was meant to. The gum flew from her hand.

Her glowering face turned to you with killer intent.

"You!" She flew at you. Her billowing robes a thing plucked from your worst nightmares.

Your hand flicked instinctively. "Expecto patronum!"

She shrieked. Your silvery protector crashing against her face.

None of you saw what form it took, but the burst of silver straight into her eyes stunned her long enough for you to run around her and take Lockwood by the arm. His hands quivered; less from adrenaline, more from pure exhaustion. You could almost feel his pulse under your palm.

You coaxed him to muster his strength. "Come on, you barbarian. We need to get help."

The chuckle he let out was pathetic, but it's familiar enough to make you crack a smile. There's your Lockwood after all. He wasn't all gone.

"Knew you'd save me," he rasped. You held him tighter when he stumbled. He held on with what strength he could muster. "You always do."

Not the time to disarm you with a statement like that. An angry stupefy soared overhead, quickly followed by what you assumed was the cruciatus curse. You grunted when an angry zap nicked your side.

You held onto Lockwood and he held onto you, both clattering down the longest steps of your lives. An inspired, deranged girl at your heels.

"Give me my boyfriend back!" She shrieked, casting a fury of spells at you. The echo of the halls amplified her bellows. "He's mine! I earned him!"

He tripped on a lifted tile, leaning on you as you rushed for the landing.

Your heartbeat made it's way to your ears. Every breath felt forced. You pushed ahead, dragging Lockwood's weight down every winding twist in the moving steps.

A very explosive bombarda forced you to stagger back and reconsider your escape route. Only, there was no escape route. The changing stairwells had you and Lockwood trapped on a landing.

Oriana descended like an angel made from her own delusions.

Your lungs struggled to take in air with an unbearable stitch in your aide. Lockwood collapsed to his knees, drained of energy. As his eyes fought to stay open, he clung to your hand like it was his lifeline.

You shifted to hide his crumpled form from Cai.

"You've had your chance, Scarecrow." Cai laughed, on the brink of tears. In her eyes, she was as innocent as a girl who simply had something swiped from her. "He was at your knees for years! Why can't you let him be happy with me? Give him to me, please..."

Your jaw tensed. The lick of anger in your chest stoked to a fire the longer she spoke.

"He's not an object," you managed without spitting flames. "He can feel what he wants, when he wants. If he wishes to walk away from me after all this... I wouldn't blame him. But casting a spell on him? That's not love, Cai. It isn't love. You're trapping him."

Cai's nose flared. "What a saint! Sorry, should I let him grieve something he never had with you? You're blind to not see it. You ruined him! This is the only way. I can help him if you just let me—"

Something moved in your periphery. A mop of black hair, the best wingman in Hogwarts.

You were on the verge of a smile, feeling your adrenaline decrescendo. "Your family, they know what you're doing?"

She grinned. "My family supports my decisions. Contrary to yours, I hear. They agree that you're a heartless witch, and a dose of amortentia should fix him for me."

Your breath hitched. Lockwood clenched your hand, bringing you back.

"For your information," your lip twitched. "I'm an Eagle, not a Scarecrow. Get your house representatives right."

You collapsed the moment a barrier surged around her, her screaming muffled by the incantations.

James came down the steps in stride with Professor Flitwick.

"Not 'your guy', huh?" James taunted, crouching beside you. You offered him a tight-lipped smile.

Professor Flitwick fortified his barrier before he addressed you. "Splendid patronus. You're the first to project your voice and have it travel as far as it did. I expected no less from our ace student. As for Ms. Cai..." He looked at her with pinched brows.. He wasn't sure what to do, really. There had never been a situation that drastic before. "She will be penalised accordingly."

The weight on your shoulders lifted, but a new one came just as quick. You straightened your back to support Lockwood's limp weight.

The warmth of his breath fanned your neck, a feeling that made your stomach churn for all the wrong reasons. He still smelt like the berry-flavoured gum that got him into this mess in the first place.

The same mess that had made you miss a few classes for the first time in six years.

With the last of your energy, you raised a trembling hand. "Professor?"

"Yes?"

"Are we considered tardy?"

He pushed his glasses higher up his nose before replying. "That should be the least of your troubles, you." Professor Flitwick turned to your friend. "James Potter?"

James saluted. "I've got them, prof."

"Please refrain from calling me 'prof', Mr Potter."

"Yes, prof."

—

Madame Pomfrey had a lot to say about the unforthcoming mess that was Lockwood, post-Amortentia.

For the better part of the appointment, Madame Pomfrey concluded that Lockwood wasn't severely altered by the prolonged exposure to love potion. For the worse part, he was advised to sit out of anything too physically demanding until he felt like himself again.

"But how can I feel like myself without Quidditch?" he agonised, as if you beheld all the answers.

You were forced to hear it, seeing as you were roommates until Madame Pomfrey declared you both stable enough to go free.

You buried yourself into the stiff pillows of the medical ward. "A week of rest and observation isn't as bad as the months you were bewitched, honestly."

"Pray, how can it be worse?"

You lifted your head. "Ever read out a lengthy love poem in the middle of the dining hall?"

"No..."

Your lips tipped up. "Yes."

He shut his eyes and splayed his hand over his head, trying to wash out the visualisation of actually doing that for all of Hogwarts to see.

"End me," he rasped.

"If you insist," your smile stretched. "You recited one for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Every. Single. Day."

He slapped another hand over his face. "Oh... what have I done to deserve this?"

"Caught the eye of a loony, apparently. It was horrid. I felt sorry for you."

"Don't patronise me."

You jerked a finger at him. "I earned the right. I got a nasty laceration in my side for you. Unwillingly, might I add."

His arms fell away, honeyed eyes set on you. "Please, if you were unwilling, you wouldn't have tried so hard to save me."

"If I left you for dead, I would be a monster."

"A very pretty one," he chimed.

"So you can still pull that drivel out of your arse. Good to know we didn't lose you."

"Say what you will." He crossed his arms behind his head, smiling like a jester. "I know you have a place for me in that shrivelled, darkened heart of yours."

"My heart isn't shrivelled or darkened," you said defiantly.

He quirked a brow, smirking. "You correct that but not the fact that I have a place in it?"

"You—" You opted to chuck your emptied juice carton at him.

In classic Lockwood fashion, he caught the carton in his hand and waved it triumphantly. "Try again, sweetheart. I know your habits like I know the back of my hand."

You raised a not-so-friendly finger and slid your curtain to hide yourself from his view. Still, you heard his laughter, loud and alive.

You weren't aware of how much you'd missed it until you caught yourself smiling.

—

Anthony Lockwood was the kind of child who would climb up the slide. Not because it was fun, but because he liked the thrill of breaking the rules.

Some things never changed, because he had convinced you to accompany him on a night fly while Madame Pomfrey was off collecting herbs from the green house.

You had flown through the worst weather while playing Quidditch, but it struck you that you'd never been out this late. Not one-on-one with Lockwood, at least.

It was a terrible, unsafe idea, but he had a way with words. He made it seem like a once in a lifetime opportunity. You weren't sure whether that was true, since he did use his prefect status to sneak into places he wasn't allowed into.

You knew that turning around was crossed off your list the moment he broke into the closet and extracted your broom for you.

"I have a hard time believing you've never done this before," you whispered as you took in the sight of the Quidditch Pitch, void of life and light.

It was a haunting sight, but Lockwood had been right about it being a once in a lifetime scene. The moon was the only guiding light, drowning everything in a seductive mauve colour. It brought out the beauty of sparse light and silhouettes, you almost believed you stepped into one of your fantasy novels.

He flashed his teeth at you before he vaulted over the partition and traipsed across the grass. His trusty broom already levitating by his side. "I've never done this with you before, if that's what you're asking."

It wasn't, but you didn't want to know who else would join Lockwood in his idiocy.

You followed suit and mounted your broom, allowing yourself to rise several metres to feel the bite of the nocturnal chill.

"It's an amazing feeling, isn't it?" Lockwood shouted, his two feet still on the ground.

"I'm not going to admit that I enjoy breaking the rules," you responded, flying modest circles while taking in the scene.

While the wind whistled in your ears and tousled your hair, he wheeled a box out of storage and flipped the latches.

You squinted, trying to see what he was doing but his back was covering the contents of the box.

"What's that?"

A golden streak of light veered away from him. Even as the breeze bellowed in your ear, you could hear its tinkling wings.

The Snitch.

"Can't have fun without a challenge," Lockwood said. His boisterous laughter echoed in your ears as he hopped onto his broom and zoomed up, up, and up, already chasing the golden menace.

He passed you, his robes grazing your elbow. You didn't think twice. You gave chase, following the direction you had seen the Snitch blitz to.

Lockwood's curls fought against velocity. You were almost tempted to comment on it before you saw a glimmer in the corner of your eye.

You and Lockwood swerved at the same time. Waves of black, blue, and green flagged through darkness as you bent forward, urging your trusty broom to overtake Lockwood's. You were closing in on the Snitch, stretching your hand to reach for it.

It's buzzing crescendoed in your ears, forcing your blood to pump as Lockwood did the same.

Oh, so close.

The Snitch brushed your fingertips before it zagged. Spinning in the air before rushing right at you.

You bent your body, narrowly missing a Snitch to the nose. The same couldn't be said for Lockwood.

You heard the thump of the collision before you saw him clutching his mouth. It was futile for you to hold in a laugh.

"You alright?"

His glare only made you laugh harder.

"Ouch," he hissed, taking his hand away from his mouth.

You snorted after seeing the damage.

Luckily, nothing was broken, but there was a faint pink smudge across his bottom lip and cheek.

You raised a brow. "You wear lipstick?"

"It's lip balm," he said haughtily, wiping away the smudge. "Is there something wrong with that?"

"No," You held a laugh long enough to reach across to wipe the smidge he couldn't quite swipe away. He stiffened at your touch. You did your best to hold in a reaction of your own. "I just didn't expect you to be a lip balm sort of guy."

"Do I look like a lipstick guy?" he inquired, regaining himself. "Thank you for thinking so, but you can keep your pigmented cosmetics to yourself. They look better on you anyway."

"Complimenting me now? You're sure your noggin's alright, chap?"

"Don't 'chap' me, sweetheart. It makes me feel old."

"I thought you liked the seniority," you taunted. "'Being in seventh-year means the youngest look up to us' and all. Your words, not mine."

"You're a real ray of sunshine, aren't you?"

You gasped, clutching your chest. "How can you say that when the moon is out?"

"Oh, bother." He bristled. "You've shown greater concern for the moon's feelings than you have mine for the past six years. You wound me."

"That's because the moon listens. You never do," you pointed out.

"I do," he replied. "Only for things that matter."

"So, the camel-llama debate didn't matter?"

He ran a hand through his hair. "You're still on that?"

"I always will be. What muggle can't tell those animals apart? You should be ashamed."

"We were eleven!"

"Old enough for you to have admitted defeat, but no! You kept getting them wrong and saying you were right." He pinched his nose as you went on. "Then you started bothering me because you couldn't admit defeat. Now look at us. Six years later and I'm still right."

His eyes met yours, creased with an impending smile. "When we passed the hourglasses, Slytherin was ten points above Ravenclaw."

"You prat—"

Your head was thrown sideways as a flit of gold smashed into you. Your lip pulsed. Luckily, you had the mind to stretch your hand and catch the golden bugger.

The Snitch fought in your grip. Eventually, its wings tucked in. Then, a bated silence. Only for a moment. Lockwood snorted as you massage your jaw.

You gave him a nasty glare. "Not a word."

"I wasn't going to say anything," he lied. "Except, your lipstick smeared."

"Rowena..."

"Here, let me."

He sported a boyish grin as he reached across, mirroring your actions from earlier. You swatted him away and he simply laughed in response.

—

With your feet on the grass, you were glad to be done with your excursion; More relieved that he let you take the win.

You're not sure a bleeding lip was worth it though, but, at least, it was over.

After packing up the Snitch and putting away your brooms (plus making it seem like you two had never been there at all), you started the walk back up to the castle's medical ward.

Somewhere on the cobblestone path, Lockwood had drawn a curious notebook and quill from his robes. "So," he flipped to a page that had been sectioned into two, scored by stick lines. "What have I missed while I was bewitched?"

You eyed the notebook. "Is that... a tally?"

"Yes," he replied. "Now, what did I miss? I had one up on you before my memories went hazy."

"Just start a new one," you urged him.

Thinking of what you achieved while he was out of it was in the same league as winning a race against a slug. There was no fulfilment.

"C'mon," Lockwood cajoled, stepping closer to you. "I've been tallying since fourth year."

You raised a brow. "Fourth year?"

"The class on the Patronus charm inspired me," he replied. "Since we're always butting heads, having a tally made it feel official."

"How do I know you haven't picked your wins and excluded mine?"

"Have you no faith in me?"

"Do you want a real answer?"

He pursed his lips, earning a laugh from you.

"I respect you, you know. Even if you are the way you are," he told you, turning the notebook to show you the tally.

The first column was his score. The second one beheld 'vexation' instead of your name. The scores were neck-and-neck, save for the singular tick on his side that put him in the lead.

He quickly drew one more stick under your column, putting you two at a draw once more. "I'll count this impromptu Quidditch match, on the condition that you won't tell a soul that it was me who snuck out first."

"You must be dedicated," you chortled. "Just count from here on out. I haven't done much, honestly."

He quirked a brow, speaking slowly. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. Why are you talking like that?"

"Nothing. I'm just surprised." He closed the notebook and pocketed it with his quill. "You're usually more competitive."

"That's when I don’t spend an afternoon running for my life, Lockwood."

"You make a fair point."

You were making your way into the thresh of the castle now. The torches warmed the air, thawing the chill as you flounced forth.

There was a peace in the silence and a sweetness in the solitude. You felt Lockwood's hand brush yours and found that you enjoyed it more than you thought. Not that you would say anything about it.

You're not sure whether he caught on to the lilt of your lips before he threw his arm over your shoulders, just like old times.

This time, it felt different. The heat he let off was a juxtaposition to the bite of the night, and you found yourself melting into him even more.

You would have been fine in the quiet, but Lockwood had never been friends with it.

"George told me you were scheming to cure me. How were you planning to do that exactly?"

He kicked a pebble out of your way. You withheld the urge to smile.

"It was an amplified version of a regular love potion reversal. Same one we did research work on last year."

"What did you change?"

"Thrice the dose of rosemary and dried salamander. I also added a touch of pig tongue."

"Wouldn't doubling the wormroot do the same thing?"

"No," you scoffed. "That would expel the fragrance, but it wouldn't counteract the effects of the love potion."

"Doesn't the dried salamander do that?"

"Rosemary thins out the viscosity of the love potion and the dried salamander washes down the magic that messes with your thought process."

He smiled but there was no commitment in it. "Apologies, I'm no love potion whiz."

"Next thing you know, you'll be telling me crushed jasmine will cure insanity."

"I get it, sweetheart. That doesn't explain the pig tongue."

"I was hoping the horrid taste would wake you up from your delusions."

"I think it would have worked."

"It would have," you boasted, "if you had any sense in you to try."

He chuckled, apologising in smiles. Lockwood closed the distance by ruffling your hair. You waved him away, but that did little to stop him.

"You got the higher mark on that research paper," he recalled.

"I did." You glowed with pride. "As is always the case for Potions, and Transfiguration, and Charms—"

"What are you planning to do when we're done with Hogwarts?"

His expression turned dire, like he had been agonising over when to ask the fated question. It might have been a trick of the light, but his eyes glazed.

You considered his question for a moment. "I'm expanding into healing magic." Just envisioning how far your knowledge could go brought a smile to your face. "I'm good at the cardinal subjects for healing. I enjoy them enough to see myself heading in that direction."

"That's serious," he said, genuinely taken by your answer. "You have to be recommended by a professor to take on a role at a hospital or ward, don't you?"

You tried to keep your smile humble. "I already have a recommendation."

He tilted his head so you could see the surprise on his face. "Really? Who?"

"Madame Pomfrey. I'll be her apprentice next year. Hopefully, I'll move to St. Mungo's in a few years."

"Funny," he jested, bumping your hip with his. "What would she say to the bludgers you've batted at me?"

"Your insults about me are tantamount to nothing in her eyes. She adores me."

"Because you're a kiss-up?"

You stopped, jabbing a finger at his chest. "Because I have wit."

His lips lilted into that smile you knew so well. The right of his mouth rose higher than the left, short of turning into a smirk. "You have a lot more than wit, sweetheart."

Your heart did unspeakable things. For a heart-stalling moment, you forgot to say something back.

You looked at him, he looked at you. He was closer than you'd thought. Lockwood was unfairly dashing in torch light. Windswept hair, sweat on his brow, and everything.

He seemed to drift closer and closer, but it's you who inched forward. The lesser the distance, the more honest you felt.

His eyes dipped to your lips and—

A shriek, high and shrill, broke the spell. Both you and Lockwood leapt apart. You dusted off your cloak and he rubbed his nape.

The shrieking voice returned. "Dragon!"

Dragon?

You lurched for the entrance. You couldn't see much in the mouth of the castle. Neither could Lockwood, but you felt it. The buzz before the chase, the stacking of adrenaline and the thrill of trouble creeping up on you.

Your eyes locked with his, and you knew you're thinking the same thing.

When the winds of a Romanian Longhorn flattened the trees and blew out the torches, it was the flag at the beginning of a race. You and Lockwood were running for it.

—

You found that sprinting in the dark was akin to swimming upstream. You'd tripped over several roots and rocks, and you still haven't found which pocket you hid your wand in. It was a humbling experience, being in the throes of losing something with extension charms in your robes.

After furiously tapping himself down, Lockwood found his. He flicked his wand and yelled into the air, "Accio Brooms!"

"Why didn't we do that earlier?"

Lockwood flashed a smile. "We have an excuse to destroy the storage room door now."

You were on the verge of yelling. "How would we explain why we're out here?"

"Don't think too hard, you'll hurt yourself." He made another gesture with his wand before a glow illuminated from the tip of it — lighting up the path. "We'll cross that bridge when we get there, sweetheart. We have a dragon to catch."

As the Lumos rose in intensity, the path turned treacherous. The cobbled walkway was turning into pointed stones and angry branches. The trees began to move, contorting into all sorts of grotesque shapes and snares.

Lockwood had taken the lead, taking the brunt of their greedy clutches. You had to grab the back of his robe to make sure he didn't get snatched away by the foliage.

You would have buckled at the wooden stakes that bent toward you if your brooms hadn't snapped through their grappling, snapping inferior splinters before you found your grip.

The uptake was sharp, desperate to get away from the furious trees. You clung to your broom and swallowed down the urge to retch.

Lockwood, who had levelled beside you, looked fine. You would have thrown a rock at him if you weren't turning green.

He set a hand on your back, rubbing slow circles as he surveyed the area. You appreciated the gesture.

"It's heading for the Quidditch Pitch. If we get there fast enough, we can trap it there. Easier to manage in a controlled area."

"It's a dragon, Lockwood. It would burn the place down." You straighten up ever so slightly. "On top of that, it's a Romanian Longhorn."

"I know. Endangered species. We'll have to be cautious. She could turn us into a kebab." His lips tilted into a smile. "I wager we can tame her in less than an hour."

You exhaled the last of your nausea. A grin forming on your face. "Think half."

"Ambitious, aren't we?"

You flew forward, seeing the whiskers of fire curling in the distance. "Scared, serpent boy?"

There were flames in his eyes as he sped ahead, robes soaring behind him. "Never!"

—

"You distract her. I stun her," Lockwood prompted as soon as the Quidditch Pitch came into view.

Metres above you, the Longhorn huffed plumes of smoke down on you. You tried to be quiet, but you did have qualms with Lockwood's plan.

"You're the faster flyer, why am I the distraction?"

He pointed at his chest, like that was the answer. "I'm still recovering."

"That's rich!" You still haven't found your wand and the tosser was playing sick. "You dragged me out here to fly thirty minutes ago. Don't give me that."

"What? I can't hear you!" He veered further from you. "You're the most capable witch of our age. There is no one else I'd do this with!"

He was gone from sight before you could bump him off of his broom.

Then again, you'd rather die fighting than die a sitting duck. You angled your broom up, zooming into the beast's sight before it spotted Lockwood.

Its breath was sulphur against your skin, fighting the chill but lighting a spark of fear. Its pondering yellow eyes circled on you before its mouth creaked open.

"Lockwood, work quickly!"

In a dragon chase, one must remember three things: your size advantage, the dragon's breath hurt as much as its fire, and the dragon can and will play dirty.

You were an agile flyer, ducking whenever the strokes of its inner fire hurled for you, but even you had to exercise all of your flyer's knowledge to evade its claws. A swipe, a lick of flames, a swipe, another swipe — it was practically toying with you.

The only good thing that came with it playing with its food was the fact that you had lured it right where you wanted it.

The Quidditch Pitch was gargantuan compared to the juvenile specimen. You just hoped the place wouldn't go up in flames.

You hadn't seen Lockwood in a good minute, almost believing he'd shirked you, but then you glimpsed a flicker of serpent green in your periphery and ease up.

Before long, the dragon grew tired of the play and decided that she wanted to sink her teeth into something real.

You felt a nip at the end of your broom and zagged in the air. You steadied your mount before feeling your blood rush faster.

She was snapping at you. You chanced a glance and found the black in her eyes flattened to slits, hunger dancing in the embers of them.

"Lockwood!" you cried, narrowly dodging an eager claw. "Double time!"

"I found a soft spot! Give me a minute!"

"We don't have that much time," you surmised based on the increased momentum of the beast's strikes.

After a full turn-around to swing her tail at you, you dove. Nose aimed right down to the grass. You didn't even want to look back and see how close she was.

Gravity would be on her side but pulling up now could mean flying right into her furnace of a mouth. You didn't know which gruesome death was the lesser of two evils.

In the distance, you heard Lockwood. "Stupefy!"

The dragon nipped on your broom once more before you felt a tug on your robe. Your grip slipped, your broom flew in the opposite direction. Leaving you to crash and roll into the grass, ignoring the pain of carpet burn as you helped yourself onto your feet.

You didn't get far before your legs collapsed, your whole body weight crashing on your shoulder. You were never the type to go down without a fight. You kept kicking in a desperate attempt to escape the giant.

"Lockwood!"

"Wait for me!"

You felt its breath. Molten and fear-rushing, melting the hair on your legs as you watched your own reflection in its eye.

And then, its head hit the ground and its jaw lulled. Craning open but never snapping, just barely missing your foot as you pulled your limbs towards yourself.

The lines on Lockwood's face were deeper when you laid eyes on him. When he saw that you were alright, his expression flipped like a switch. A smile formed on his face, like you didn't almost lose your life.

He hopped off of his broom and approached.

"I didn't know you could look scared."

"I was almost a dragon's dinner," you spat.

You didn't fight him as he hooked his arms under yours and hauled you up. He kept an arm around you while the feeling returned to your legs.

He chuckled in a way that could make anyone believe he was faultless. "Sorry. It was a bother finding a soft spot. This big girl has pretty solid armour for a juvenile."

"That is the last time I ever follow your instructions. I knew getting mixed up with you was a death sentence."

"Yet," he chirped, brushing off the soot remains of the edges of your hood. "you're standing here, alive."

"I regret trusting you."

"No, you don't." He flourished a hand at the slumbering beast. "Just look at what putting your heads together did."

"It won't stay asleep forever," you whispered.

Just standing there, right at the alcove of its jaw, felt like standing on the tightrope of death. Suffice it to say, you wanted to be elsewhere.

You tasted the sweet, cool air as you replenished the oxygen in your lungs. Annoyance crept in as you realised that, despite your best efforts, you were still heaving. Adrenaline refusing to crest.

You tried to shove Lockwood but he had caught your arm. "Had to wait 'till the last minute, didn't you?" you nipped.

"I just told you, it's not easy to look for a chink in a dragon's scales. Be optimistic. I could have let her take your legs."

"You wouldn't."

"You're right, I wouldn't, but it's nice to imagine that I could be spiteful."

You snorted, trying not to flinch as the beast blinked its bleary eyes at you. "Let's put the big guy to sleep. Whoever takes care of him must be worried."

"She's a lady," Lockwood corrected.

You forced a smile. "My apologies, I didn't have the time to check in the midst of my near-delimbing."

"Easy mistake." He shrugged. "How about we tie up those loose ends?"

"We would've had it done by now if you stopped chattering."

"Last I checked, you were chattering back."

"You—"

The dragon blew out a warm breath, chilling you. You would've crumpled if Lockwood wasn't holding you up.

"Never you mind," you rectified. "You know the Sleeping Trance Charm, don't you?"

He balanced you on one arm, his hold snaking around your waist. With his free hand, he raised his wand at the dragon. "How to Pacify A Dragon 101. Of course, I do."

"Semi-circle motions," you reminded as the giant gold eyes blinked at you.

"I know that already, sweetheart. You know," Lockwood trailed off. His eyes landed on you. You ignore it for the sake of your already racing heart. "We make a pretty good team."

You allowed yourself a smile. "When you're not being insufferable."

"You always think I'm insufferable."

"So, you are self-aware."

"Oh, shut up." He didn't sound like he meant it.

The world must have been pitted against you, because the drowse in the dragon's eyes disappeared before Lockwood could even mutter the spell.

Its jaws widened, and Lockwood pulled you back just before they snapped. Half a foot from taking a chunk out of you and Lockwood.

"That's not good," Lockwood grunted. He accioed his broom closer. By how hard he was pulling you, you assumed he was trying to get you to clamber on as well.

That would be dooming the two of you. Being a singular target was like turning yourselves into a barbeque.

You pushed him away, catching the panic in his eyes for a moment.

You threw your arms out, signalling him away. "Go!"

Lockwood stalled, hand on his broom. "But—"

"Go!"

He mounted reluctantly. Taking off to grab the Longhorn's attention while you were squabbling for your broom.

When you found it, your worst fears were confirmed. The world really did want you dead.

Your broom was snapped clean in two after colliding with the base of the highest hoop. Mourning your trusted companion wasn't an option, because the dragon had spotted you. Its neck craned, rearing like a snake before it struck.

You tapped your pockets, desperate to find your wand. Not in that pocket, not in that one—

At long last, you fished it out of your most unused pocket. You pointed its end at the beast but a flash of green and silver disrupted your vision.

A tug on your arm and the feeling of rising winds brought you to the present. Lockwood had grabbed you and given you a seat on his broom, saving you from a very fiery end. The patch of grass you were standing on was charred to a crisp.

"Calm down, sweetheart. I can feel you shaking." His mouth was at your ear. You shrunk even more to hide from his view.

Your heart lurched as the Romanian Longhorn roared. You leaned closer to Lockwood, feeling the steady lub-dub through his shirt. It sang your anxieties to repose.

"We need a new plan," you told him, trying to keep your mind in one place. "I don't think she'll fall for another one of our two-person schemes."

"We're one broom down, so, how do you suggest we do that?"

You two watched as the Longhorn stretched its wings, kick starting your panic.

Lockwood leaned forward and tapped your leg. "Hold on tight."

Your hands on the broom fastened until your knuckles turned bloodless.

With renewed determination, he said, "We have to try the Sleeping Trance Charm again."

"While it's wide awake?"

"I'm sorry, would you like to ask her to sit and make it easier for us?"

You pinched his arm in response. The gesture was returned with Lockwood twisting his broom to have you two dangling upside down. One hand jutted out and grabbed Lockwood by the cloak.

"Lockwood, you prat!"

"Say sorry."

"You — Gah! Sorry!"

He smirked as he righted the broom.

Given a new perspective, you wheezed. "We have to do something before it burns down the whole pitch."

"We could summon the rest of the brooms," Lockwood suggested.

He flew higher as the Longhorn swiped for your legs.

"That would just make a mess. She can burn them. Then we'd have a bigger mess to clean up, plus a debt to whoever owns those brooms."

"Well..." Lockwood looked down at the dragon. "I could offer a special deal on pens to rack up enough pounds to pay it back."

"Pens?"

"A muggle writing device. Better and cleaner than ink and quill," he quipped. "I sell them to earn a few pounds. Don't give me that disapproving look, I gave you one for your birthday."

You reeled. "That's what it was? I didn't think 'pens' looked like that. They're supposed to be made of metal, no?"

"The archaic ones, yes. Now, there are plastic, ballpoint pens."

"Why are we talking about this? We can be turned into crispy bacon at any second now."

"Sweetheart, it's either we sacrifice the brooms or we turn into bacon, as you so nicely put it."

Your heart lurched. "My mother would kill me if we fell into debt, Lockwood. Thinking about it now, she'd behead me if she finds out about this mess."

He was genuinely perplexed by the fear that laced your voice. "I thought you were from a pureblood family."

"I am!" You trilled, sounding like you needed to prove something. "But things aren't that easy. Things are earned."

"They would understand. This is a life or death situation here!"

"No, I– Just– We can't."

"Okay..." He did his best to calm you down. It didn't help that he could practically feel the dragon's breath at this distance. "We ditch that idea. How's a firework charm?"

"Yes! Good idea."

You readied your wand. Only to stop short as silver-blue figures circled the dragon. It didn't take a genius to spot a patronus, a handful of them. You spotted a silvery cat crash into the dragon's side.

A non-corporeal patronus materialised at your side, speaking with the voice of Professor Flitwick. "Do your best not to use explosives. Her caregiver's orders."

More patronuses rose like shrouds of smoke and magic, disorienting the dragon in the midst of them. Some were fully manifested, some were faint — like they had been casted by a novice.

One look down confirmed your thoughts. Students and teachers alike were casting patronuses to keep you and Lockwood from turning into Dragon Dinner. Others were busy casting a large-scale protego to isolate the creature.

The Romanian Longhorn's only choice was to fly higher and higher. Lockwood followed, strategically hiding behind patronuses as they passed.

"You have your wand?" Lockwood inquired as the air began to thin. Breathing was a task you had to do consciously to stay awake.

"Of course, I do."

"This is our chance," he told you. He poised his wand.

You raised yours, too. "I'll cast a patronus to hide the glow of the Sleeping Trance Charm."

"Here's to hoping we keep all of our limbs."

He eased closer. You readied yourself, going through all of your best memories. You didn't go back to thoughts of your favourite books or your academics—No. Your mind kept circling back to your earlier moments with Lockwood: the sneaking out, the snitch, that moment at the threshold...

Blue sand trickled from the tip of your wand. Kicking up magic that twisted into the form of a crane. Your brows furrowed as you muttered the enchantment again, only for the patronus to stretch its wings and soar towards the dragon.

You threw a glance at Lockwood from over your shoulder. "I told you I would cast the patronus."

"You are," Lockwood quipped. He did a terrible job of hiding his smile, voice pressed like he was using the last of his air to say it. "That's your patronus."

"No, it's yours." Your tone lacked conviction, and substance — seeing as the crane did burst from your wand.

Lockwood chanced a glance at you, giving you a glimpse of that smirky smile that you'd recognize even in another life. "Have something you need to tell me, sweetheart?"

"Piss off," you said. You pulled his cheek forward, forcing him to face the winds of the dragon he was supposed to be charming. "Focus on what you have to do!"

"We'll get back to this."

He aimed at the dragon and muttered, "Dormitus."

Its eyes were locked on your patronus, following its path, unaware of its eyelids drooping and its waving wings slowing.

Slowly, the dragon began to lose altitude. Closer and closer to the ground as students and professors scuttled out of the way.

The winds dissipated as it laid its scaled head on the grass, finally quelled.

You expelled a breath you were holding in. Lockwood did the same, you felt his chest flush against your back as he laxed.

Lockwood landed a ways away and dismounted first, helping you off but never actually letting you go. Your connected hands dropped between you as you both took the time to calm your heartbeats.

A deranged laugh slipped from your lips. "If you weren't such a danger magnet, you'd have a promising future as an auror."

He looked at you, a confusing mix of disbelief and hope on his face. "You mean that?"

You shrugged with a lipped smile. Not even his habit of looking at the floor could hide his smile from you. You could see it clearly as the sun rose higher.

The moment of peace was interrupted by the furious shuffling of boots on grass. You raised your heads and spotted the unmistakable figures of Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick, and Hagrid.

"There you are." Lockwood said charmingly, casting a smile to match. "We were just about to come and ask what we should do about this—"

McGonagall called you both by name. Even you flinched at her vehemence.

"Why, I never!" She looked between you, clear aggravation carved into the lines of her face. "In all my years, I have never seen such a display of recklessness! You could have died. How could we ever explain that to your parents?"

You watched Lockwood's smile widen. A precursor to him saying, "Professor, with all due respect, my parents are dead."

Professor McGonagall was speechless, momentarily at a loss.

You took the chance to fill in the silence. "And I do believe Mr. Harry Potter has done worse."

Her eyes hardened as she wound her cloak tighter around herself. "I apologise for my earlier statement, Mr. Lockwood, but this kind of disobedience and endangerment cannot be tolerated. I expect you both to know where this is leading."

"Cleaning the toilets?" you two said in sync.

"Worse," Professor McGonagall looked quite proud of herself. "Detention."

You and Lockwood sobered.

"Professor, I'm a prefect," Lockwood reasoned. "And still in recovery."

"And I'm your best student," you chipped in. "Certainly, that means something."

McGonagall tipped her chin. "Then you'll be pleased to hear that the pair of you are the first to make it to detention with those accomplishments." Her tone turned frosty. "Friday evening. You know which room. Good day."

You were still reeling when Professor Flitwick motioned to his mouth. "You two should clean yourselves up, lest some misunderstand the smudges on your lips."

Hagrid flashed you two a friendly smile as you and Lockwood disconnected arms to swipe at your lips.

—

Detention didn't last too long. After a good three debates where you and Lockwood vaulted between being friends, being enemies, and being on the brink of committing murder, the kind, ghostly professor in charge let you free for his own sanity.

—

By the time you two returned to your regularly scheduled programming, Cai had been expelled and given a fancy room in St. Mungo's. Lockwood was properly compensated by the BOF company, and the pair of you received an additional fee to assure your silence. You gave your word, but one, James Potter, never made the pact. He reported the happenings to his father and promptly had the company shut down for misuse of magic.

Best wingman, indeed.

In the aurora of a half-realised friendship, you allowed Lockwood to keep his arm on your shoulder as a form of gratitude. He took every chance he got to practise his privilege.

He pulled you closer, practically nuzzling your hair. "You do appreciate me, after all."

"Barely," you replied.

The admission was enough to bring a smile to his face. If you got too soft, he'd assume you transformed into someone else entirely.

Lockwood, himself, had returned to his usual self; disputing you in class, outdoing your word counts, and (a recent development) stealing your quills to replace them with pens. How the professors didn't notice was beyond you.

You missed the banter and the thrill of the competition, but not the dingy smell of the DADA classroom. It was as pungent as always.

"Seventh years." The Professor's tone was different compared to the hundred lessons you've had before this. Dare you say she even sounded melancholic. There's a gaggle of students that laughed about it but she was more lenient, she said nothing to them. "This is your last year in Hogwarts and your last year under my tutelage. This year, we focus on practicality and efficiency. Using your knowledge against another witch or wizard."

She flicked her wand and the crowd parted, pulled in opposite directions by invisible hands.

Gasps rang out, friends clung closer to each other, and you grabbed Lockwood's sleeve when you were shoved aside. His arm dropped to support your weight by the small of your back.

You looked up and he was smiling down at you, the right side of his smile higher than the left. Familiar. Though, he was rather close.

You opened your mouth to complain, only to shudder at the sound of glass breaking. The chandelier above fell, and Professor proceeded to transfigure it into a glass cage of sorts.

She looked pleased with herself as the crystalline cage settled into a dome shape, resting both hands on her wand as she beamed at the parted crowd. "Today, we duel!"

You covered your ears at the sheer volume of your classmates' bellows. Several students looked forward to this day. They could finally let loose and cast spells like they were meant to. The girl to your right bit the end of her wand, looking a lot like a panther ready to lunge.

You grimaced and sent your prayers to Rowena Ravenclaw to save you from the hungry ones.

"Looking forward to it?" Lockwood asked, glueing himself to the spot next to you, chivalrously blocking you from the onslaught of moving bodies.

You could barely see him because the lights have been dimmed to bring all eyes to the duelling cage. You didn't know why you were even searching for his eyes in the first place.

"No," you finally answered. Your eyes landed on the cage, catching the faint veins of blue shift in and out of existence around it. Kind of like the webs of light at the surface of muggle pools. You would have missed them if you weren't squinting. "I aspire to be a healer. This is the type of thing I advise against."

He caught on to the magic, too. "Don't stress too much. The cage is enchanted to snuff out all malignant magic to avoid injury."

"How do you know?"

"That's a large-scale protego charm. Knowing the professor, she tweaked it to limit anyone who goes too far." He nudged your side. You heard the smirk in his tone. "Not bad for an aspiring auror, right?"

"Right," you agreed.

You didn't expect him to sputter. You shushed him when several heads turned your way.

"What was that?"

He patted down his robe, like it would help him collect himself. "That was surprise, sweetheart. I didn't expect you to agree with me."

"Are you suggesting that I'm unnegotiable?"

"No," he answered. "You simply... oppose me most of the time—all of the time."

"You're very easy to oppose. I just pick the choice that has a lower mortality rate. You always seem to be doing dangerous things, Mr. Lockwood."

"I'm Mr. Lockwood now, huh?" That smile again.

"Yes, you are."

"Could you call me that more often?"

His smile made you conscious. You crossed your arms over your chest, like that would protect you. "Why?"

"I like how it sounds," he replied. "I'd do just about anything to hear it again."

"Hm..." Your eyes drifted to the sparks of spells being swished back and forth. The cage turned into a mirrorball. "Win your match."

Lockwood drew himself up to full height, rolling his shoulders back with a confident grin. "Easy."

"Really? Easier than being love-spelled by a fangirl?"

Your stomach turned. That's how you knew you'd said something wrong. Your stance changed. You almost hit yourself for saying something so uncalled for.

He opened his mouth to defend himself but the Professor's voice cut through his.

"Anthony Lockwood and James Potter versus Daria Thomas-Finnigan and..." She dragged the silence on, smirking as she finally uttered your name. Professor Loathes-Your-Guts clearly, still, loathes your guts.

The room divided into two once more; those cheering for Slytherin and Gryffindor, and those cheering for Ravenclaw. The energy could rival that of a Quidditch match.

"May the best team win," was Lockwood's cold farewell. He was gruff and unjesting—a complete departure from his usual visage that it scared you. He had never been so forbidding to you, even as rivals.

He and James entered on the right wing, and you and Daria entered through the left. The circle under you lit up blue. The Professor's magic gripped you, encompassing your whole body.

Lockwood had been right. Professor kept strict tabs on everyone in the cage, and you regretted stepping in when you looked across the way.

Both Lockwood and James were ready to kill. It was an exaggeration, but you'd never seen either look so deathly competitive.

Daria's hand on your shoulder reeled you back to the present. She graced you with a smile. "Gryffindor might have good fighters but we've got something better." You were tempted to say 'female anatomy' but she spoke over your thoughts. "We've got brain."

You drew your shoulders up and gripped your wand fiercely. You faced forward as the Professor yelled, "Start."

⚜ PART 2 | SERIES MASTERLIST

SWEETHEARTS ➺ @kiyasoup @toddandersondupe @locknco @onecojg @avdiobliss @mentallyillsodapop @mitskiswift99 @mischivana @bella-rose29 @wordsarelife

⌠ @novelizt 2023 ⌡

#— ❨ 🌺 ❩ 𝐋𝐈𝐙𝐙𝐈𝐄'𝐒 𝐔𝐓𝐎𝐏𝐈𝐀 ₊˚.༄#lockwood hogwarts au #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x you #lockwood and co fanfiction #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood x you #anthony lockwood fanfiction #anthony lockwood angst

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lewkwoodnco · 10 months

Text

buy me presents! - Lockwood x Reader

A/N: jealous!lockwood, gift giving (lockwood's version), I like to think I'm funny hehhe, maybe maybe veeery borderline crack fic? this is MY christmas present to myself and I WILL indulge in my favourite tropes so if you saw me kicking my feet like a thirteen-year-old, no u didnt. (I needed a concrete holiday for this so i used christmas but its all the same hehe) I've thrown the schedule out the window, it'll be a christmas miracle if all 12 fics even get written so happy holidays!!!!! wc 2.6k!!

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST

She was sitting at the kitchen table, agonising over the horribly organised financial records of Lockwood & Co. As tedious as it was, she enjoyed the work the most out of the four of them, and had taken on the extra role of being somewhat of an accountant. She had lightly teased him about receiving a boost in her pay until she saw their dismal financial situation. The joke stopped being funny alarmingly quickly after that.

Lucy was hurrying through some last-minute packing, while George was trying to locate their train tickets, sporadically yelling through the house for Lockwood. She didn't have quite the heart to tell him that Lockwood had unfortunately escaped hours ago, winking at her as he had shrugged his coat on while she had been looking particularly ragged in the sea of receipts.

She hears the front door open, and after a minute or two, Lockwood walks into the kitchen, rosy-cheeked from the brisk morning air.

"How are the accounts?"

"Terrible. The only thing more astonishing that these bank statements is the fact that we somehow haven't gone bankrupt..." she presses a few more keys of her calculator. "...yet."

George yells again and they wince in unison.

"How long has that been going on?"

"Long enough. He's going to leave you here if you don't find him soon."

He sighed. The three of them were getting ready to leave for the holidays. Lucy was going back North to visit a friend, Lockwood and George were headed to George's for the holidays. She would have come to, but they were already at the max capacity and she had waved off their worries smoothly, since she had spent most of her Christmases alone as an agent. So, as much of a fuss Lockwood kicked up about it, she'd be celebrating Christmas in a cheery if empty 35 Portland Row.

"Are you sure you'll be alright on your own?"

"One of us has burnt a house down and it's not me. I like my chances."

"Still. Christmas, all alone?"

George yelled again, his voice entering a new octave.

"Christmas with peace and quiet, more like. You know, maybe they'd have space for me if you weren't bringing your mountain of hair products for you fancy hair."

He pulled his gloves off with a lazy smile.

"You think my hair's fancy?"

She rolled her eyes as Lockwood revealed a small delicate pastry box, sliding into the seat in front of her. She had had a feeling it was coming from the way he had been lingering in the kitchen.

"What's this?"

"Red velvet doughnut with those tiny candy cane sprinkles you like."

She traced the box longingly, feeling torn. "I thought Arif was fully booked with Christmas orders."

"He made an exception for you."

She raised her eyebrows.

"I might have...tipped him extra."

"Lockwood."

"You're going to be alone for the next week. It's the least I could do."

She looked at him sternly. Lockwood had the particularly bad habit of impulsive spending. She had carefully broached the topic of gift-giving with him before; namely, after the time he purchased an ornate decorative set of glass robins which she had casually expressed a vague interest in in passing. She tried to explain how gestures like that made her feel obligated to him, and he tried to explain it was the least he could do, given how much of their accounting work she shoulders. They never reached a satisfactory conclusion, and though he did tone it down afterwards, she would still come across the occasional trinket adorned with a frilly bow in her belongings.

It was this very spirit, in fact, that had inspired her to tediously and secretly work on creating a snow globe of 35 Portland Row for him. She couldn't find anything commensurate to the loving thoughtfulness behind each of his gifts, so the next best thing was one decent, homemade, meaningful present. Even though he was going away, she still wanted him to receive it on Christmas, so she had passed it to George. It had been a bit of a nerve-wracking decision, especially if she was being too forward, and she had a pair of snowmen socks at the ready for a backup, but now the snow globe was tucked safely in George's trunk and there was no going back.

"The least you could do is save your limited funds for things that actually matter." She pointedly flips her notebook close.

He reaches out towards her face but gets interrupted by Lucy yellnig at him from somewhere in the house for blocking the stairs with his bags. He scrambles off apologetically, nearly tripping over himself as her threats grow more vivid.

Their reserved cab, courtesy of George ("flagging down a cab one week before Christmas? In this economy?"), arrives and the four of them start piling way too much luggage in it. Just as they're about to leave, Lockwood hesitates and turns to her.

"It's not too late for me to stay."

She pushes him out the door, waving to the others as Lockwood stumbles clumsily down the steps.

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

"Y/N!"

"Lockwood? Hello?"

"Ho - How have you been?"

"What?"

There's a lot of commotion at the other end of the line. She had been waiting for them to call the past few days, and was eagerly settling down to hear all about the festivities. She can hear a thousand different sounds overlapping and the thuds of footsteps criss-crossing, mixed in with some familiar threats from unfamiliar voices. Huh. Though it did make sense that of all the things George might have inherited from his family, it would be this.

"Just a moment." She hears the kerfuffle die down and the crinkle of the telephone wire shifting. "Sorry, had to find a closet. Now, where were we?"

"Sounds busy."

"Oh, it is. But it's nice, meeting George's family. Had to fight them off with a stick to get to the telephone, though."

He hears the smile in her voice. "I can see that. So what have you been up to?"

"So much. Too much. Y/N, you cannot repeat this to George but...they take Christmas far too seriously."

"Really?"

"We spent an entire day picking out the tree. I am sick of Christmas cookies and it's only my second day here."

She frowned. "I told you to pace yourself."

"My fingers - oh, my poor fingers - worn down to the bone stringing popcorn and cranberries together."

"What's the popcorn for?"

"Hell if I know! They make Christmas look like an extreme sport."

She tried to suppress her smile, putting on a grave voice. "You have my sympathies."

"Good. Though I suppose it hasn’t been all bad. I liked the ornament painting. Plus, Belinda’s been helping me loads.”

“…Belinda?”

“George’s cousin. George’s somehow even busier than I am and I haven’t got a clue what’s going on sometimes, so she’s been a real help.”

“That’s nice,” she says bitterly. An uncomfortable silence follows.

“So, I was just saying, earlier, that I hope you're not feeling too lonely."

She lets him trail off, unhappily aware of how the only life and excitement the house had seen in the past three days was emnating solely from the telephone. She hadn't expected it to be this difficult to have a quiet Christmas.

"Oh, I'm fine." She stares at the Santa Claus figuring opposite her cynically. Saint Nicholas, indeed. "Just having a whale of a time with...Nicholas, here."

"Nicholas?"

An impulse brews in her head. It's a poor one, but she's got nothing to do, and it's Christmas.

"Yeah, Nicholas. I met him at the Christmas market. He's amazing, really."

"...Nicholas."

"Yeah."

"Never heard of him."

"He's a little bit older. I wouldn't expect you to know him."

"Hm."

"Anyway, I've hardly even noticed you've left, since we hang out together so much."

"So, you're spending time...with him?"

"Oh, he's not here right now. He's been a bit busy today at his..." she cast her eyes around wildly, landing on a a porcelain figurine of some grinning elves. "...workshop."

"Workshop?"

"He carves wood. He's a wood carver. You should see some of the ornaments he makes. He's great with his hands."

"I'm sure he is."

Lockwood gets too irritable to continue the conversation much further and they hang up soon after. By the time they were done, the sun had set and the house was in complete darkness: the perfect atmosphere for brooding. So what if he'd rather spend Christmas with girls like Belinda? She didn't care. Good...riddance.

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

A few days later, she collects the mail and finds an envelope addressed to her in Lockwood's narrow, slanted handwriting. She rips it open like a kid on Christmas morning, but her smile twists when she sees the Christmas card inside. There's a picture of George's entire extended family-and-friends, and Lockwood's hunched over in the corner, next to a girl with effortlessly pretty hair. They're wearing matching sweaters. Not the whole family, just the two of them. While she had always reluctantly accepted the occasional gift from him with an appropriate amount of embarrassment, nothing could have prepared her for the sight of undeniable proof that he just might do the same for others. Picking out a present, spending his money, on her? Disgusting.

It's enough to make her jam it forcefully under the telephone. Next to it, she spies the slip of paper with George's personal telephone number jotted down, in case of an emergency. She drums her fingers impatiently while the phone rings, eyeing the clock while she adds in the time difference. She feels so stupid over the snow globe now. What on earth had possessed her? If she's lucky, Lockwood might have gone to bed by now and she just might catch George-

"H'llo?" Lockwood's sleep-roughened voice strains through the static hum.

"Nothing, go back to sleep."

"Y/N?"

"You're dreaming. Hush now. Good night-"

"Y/N." He sounds wide awake now, and she can hear him start to sit up. The plainness in his voice starts to fade as he gets steadily mroe assertive. "Is something wrong?"

"No, everything's fine. I didn't realise it would be so late for you. Listen - is George there?"

"He's helping with the caramel apples."

"Ah. Do you think you could tell him to phone me when he has the time?"

"Oh, no worries, I'll see him at dinner later. I can pass the message."

She swears internally. "Oh it's nothing. Just wanted to have a chat, see how he was doing."

"He's doing fine."

There's an awkward silence. She can tell he's barely convinced, and the discomfort from the Christmas card prickles at the back of her neck.

"Get anything in the mail?"

"I haven't checked," she lied, clenching the card in her hand. Stupid, lousy card. It was ridiculously childish but really; her acquired expensive taste was his fault for encouraging it in the first place. "I've just been so busy with Nicholas, you know."

"I see."

"Why? Did you mail something over?"

"Just a Christmas card. No big deal."

"Aw. Thanks." She wants to curl up and die. The snow globe was most definitely overkill. She should have gone with the socks.

"Did Nicholas get you anything?"

"He really only goes by Nick."

She can hear the distaste in his voice. "A nickname. How...quaint."

"We went to see The Nutcracker, and took a walk in the park, if you really must know." It had been more like her sitting alone in the park, miserably tossing the pigeons with small kernels of roasted chestnuts.

"Oh. Did he...get you a gift?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"I don't. He just sounds like a..." His voice changes and she can tell he's pulling some kind of face. "...like an interesting person."

"He is."

"Good."

"Great."

"Glad we cleared that up."

They fume at each other through the phone for a while.

"I talked to George, by the way. He doesn't remember a Nicholas either."

"Yes, well, that's because...he doesn't stay here. In London. No, he's part of a, whaddyacallit, travelling group with the, er, Christmas market."

"Like...a circus?"

"...yes."

"Well. As long you're having fun..."

"I am. So much fun." She had a white-knuckle grip on the telephone. Why was she tearing up?

"Merry Christmas, Y/N," he whispers. His voice somehow still manages to sound soft and measured over the telephone, as if he were sitting right next to her. And even through the telephone, he sounds sad.

"Merry Christmas Lockwood."

She pulls the card from under the telephone, staring at the family picture. She flips it and sees a short message scrawled hurriedly at the back.

'Thinking about things that matter. Thinking about you.'

The dial tone reverberates through her skull.

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

She wakes up suddenly the next morning, and she can't figure out why. It's so cold and quiet that it takes her a minute to remember that it's Christmas Eve. She has approximately two seconds to wallow in self-pity before the racket starts back up. Someone's knocking firmly at the door, loud enough to make her head pound, interspersed with some heated yet unintelligible conversation with someone else.

She opens the door and almost immediately gets the wind knocked out of her. It's Lockwood, wearing a ridiculously tinseled Santa hat, hands full of shopping bags. There's also a majorly peeved George standing behind him, carrying their bags and, surprisingly, even more shopping bags.

Lockwood hands her one of the bags, which she numbly takes, before pulling her in for a hug, and it all happens so quick it takes her a minute or two for her mind to catch up with what's happening.

"L-huhh? George? Wha- Aren't you supposed to be -"

"Surprise! Couldn't bear the thought of you having to spend Christmas all alone. Close the door behind the presents, George, you're letting the cold in."

George grumbles something about his mother never letting him live this down and where he can stick the presents. She gapes at the presents in alarm, dizzy at the sight of the avalanche of multicoloured bows.

"These can't all be for me. Right? Right?"

Lockwood bulldozes past her as if she hadn't even said anything. "Unless, of course, Nicholas is here! Is he?"

"Lockwood, wai-"

"I wonder if he got you these many presents. I'm sure he tried his best, of course, poor chap."

"Will you stop, for a minute?"

"That's his jacket, isn't it? He stayed the night, didn't he? Wait." He stops so abruptly and looks so crestfallen that something tugs at her in her chest. "He stayed the night?"

"Lockwood." A lot had happened in the past minute, but she was finally caught up. Even though she knows it's her fault for making him up in the first place, she never meant for it to get this far. "Nicholas isn't here, because there is no Nicholas. It was a joke. I'm spending Christmas all alone, I had to do something. I made him up for kicks.

George throws his head back and starts laughing, dropping the shiny shopping bags around the two of them, laughter fading as he wades his way to the kitchen. Now that he's calmed down, even Lockwood has enough decency to look slightly embarrassed.

"Dear God, don't tell me you came all the way back over Nicholas."

"I...I didn't. I had...all these presents..."

It's a lame excuse, and even he realises it when he looks at her face. He stands there for a very long minute, and then very suddenly walks to his room, leaving her surrounded by the sea of bags and frenzily wrapped presents. He turns stiffly at his bedroom door with a mildly stern, completely unabashed expression on his face. She has to bite the inside of her cheek to stop from grinning.

"Merry Christmas."

TAGLIST: @mischivana @dangelnleif @avdiobliss @mitskiswift99 @elenianag080 @houseoftwistedspirits

#lockwood and co #lockwood and co netflix #fanfiction #lockwood & co #fanfic #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood x y/n #anthony lockwood x you #anthony lockwood imagine #sabrina carpenter #fruitcake #buy me presents #side note i am so obsessed w writing huhhhhhhhhhhh any and every time i can #love tacking on an infinte amount of 'h' at the end #thats how much i have no idea abt whats going on at any time

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thisgameissonintendo · 1 year

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✨ super slomo lockwood winking aesthetic ✨

#lockwood #lockwood and co #lockwood and co netflix #lockwood & co #lockwood & co netflix #l&co #l&co. netflix #netflix #cameron chapman #anthony lockwood #ruby stokes #lucy carlyle #locklyle #gif #gifs #lockwood gifs

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aislinrayne · 6 months

Text

[𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱] [𝔖𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱]

𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: Anthony Lockwood makes it through a late and relaxed morning, a leisurely afternoon well suited to reminiscing, and the earliest part of a normal evening before his luck runs out.

ℜ𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤: M

𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: They're idiots, your honour, unrequited pining (it's requited, they're just stupid), language, canon typical violence, only proof-read while sick

𝔄𝔲𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔯'𝔰 𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢: I love me a good miscommunication trope, and coming up with ideas on how to make long-term mutual pining work is way too much fun, so finally figuring out both angles of what these two lovebird's dynamic was going to be was a major driving force behind this re-write hehehe I'm not sorry This chapter fought me every step of the way, and I had to split it into two parts so it wasn't outrageously long, but in the end I'm incredibly happy with the result! Chapter three will take place only a few minutes after the end of this.

Since this is where the 'slight au' part comes into play, I'm curious to see what you guys think of the world building in this one! Please feel free to leave any comments or questions if I was a bit vague on something, or if you just want to know more about this little headcanon universe of mine

𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 ℭ𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 5.17k

⇠ 𝔓𝔯𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔬𝔲𝔰 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯

The sun has only just begun its descent towards the horizon, but the chill on the wind already cuts to the bone. In spite of the numerous layers of suit and coat, it bites into Anthony’s flesh.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” a woman calls out to him, loud enough to be heard over the chorus of cafe patrons hiding from the cold behind steaming cups of tea and coffee.

“I think I’d be better off not doing anything you would do, Luce,” he shoots a wink at her over his shoulder, holding the door open with his elbow to shoot a two-fingered salute at the ginger woman beside her laughing unabashedly at their playful bickering.

Lucy mutters a retort under her breath, a particularly colourful string of insults if the swat on the arm it earns from her girlfriend is anything to go by.

The door swings shut behind him, abruptly cutting off the sound of Norrie chastising her partner about ‘publicly decent language’ and leaving him with a pep in his step as he wanders towards Regent Street in the general direction of his favourite rapier shop.

Something about afternoon tea with his best friend and her girlfriend always leaves him feeling reminiscent, the water-colour splashes in soft shades of orange across the horizon only serve to heighten the feeling. His short walk to Mullet and Sons allows him some time to indulge.

A lot had changed in the six years since Lucy had joined himself and George at Lockwood & Co.. For one, they’d gained quite the reputation. Fittes and Rotwell were still most people’s first choice, but now you’d be more likely to hear their little agency recommended than Bunchurch or Tendy’s. He’ll admit, initially it seemed as though they were going to become infamous rather than renowned; between the disaster at Sheen Road, the disaster at Combe Carey, the disaster at–

Well, you get the point. It hadn’t looked promising.

Their luck had begun to change with the case of the Bone Glass, then eventually Aickmere’s, but it hadn’t felt like nearly enough. Those days had been filled with anxiety. Worst of all was the fear of his Talent fading, the uncertainty of what his life would look like without the thing he’d based every choice he’d ever made on. How was he supposed to survive in a world in which he couldn’t See? He’d been terrified of running out of time to achieve his dreams, petrified he would fail his family by never achieving anything worthy of their name. It was safe to say he hadn’t been in the best headspace.

The fear almost overwhelmed him as time rushed on towards his eighteenth birthday, made all the more unignorable by his experience watching Quill Kipps lose his own Sight. And while they’d found a solution for the retired Fittes agent in the form of Fairfax’s Ghost-Vision goggles, there was no replacement for the real thing.

And then the daunting milestone had come and gone with no discernible difference.

George was the next oldest. Over the course of that year his Talent faded slowly, then all at once. He hadn’t minded overmuch, the library had become preferable to being in the field somewhere around their fifth arson-related-incident. In his defence, Mrs. Manfield flying across her lawn like a bat out of hell screaming about her antique doily collection being smoke-stained would have been enough to traumatise anyone.

The following year had gone quite flawlessly, if he did say so himself. With George as their dedicated researcher, and Lucy and Anthony’s competitive spirits driving them to never fall behind each other in skill, they were capable of taking on a significantly larger number of cases. If they needed additional hands in the field for any particularly challenging jobs they’d enlist either George or Kipps with the aid of the goggles.

But by her nineteenth birthday, Lucy actually seemed upset that her Talent refused to fade. The boys had been confused by this at first, and while Lockwood had the sense to leave it alone, George had continued to question her. They’d found out the full story of how she’d come to be an agent when she’d finally broken down. She’d never chosen this life, and even though she loved her time with Lockwood & Co., she’d always been comforted by the notion that this life of fighting and fear had an expiration date. In contrast to his own relief and excitement at the prospect of never losing his Talent, she felt nothing but trepidation. George was watery eyed by the end of her confession, his lips pressed tightly into a thin line to prevent them trembling. Anthony felt like he might be sick. By the light of the numerous mismatched candles on Lucy’s lopsided birthday cake, they made a pact to pretend as though her Talent was fading, and phase her out of the agency within a year's time.

A few short months later, the first headline popped up in a small gossip rag. It wasn’t even one of his top five. Someone had taken notice of his remaining Sight at his advanced age, but hadn’t yet noticed their attempts to fake Lucy’s waning Listening.

In the days after the first article's publication, the obnoxiously loud business phone began ringing more often. Then, another article in a larger paper. Followed by another, then several more.

Anthony had to restrain George from ripping the phone’s cord out of the wall after one too many interrupted naps. The researcher moved in with Flo not long after, but still kept his room mostly furnished for the evenings he worked far too late to make it to their flat safely.

By the time their story had been told often enough for the media to lose interest, they had gone from having enough cases to keep them busy to too many to keep up with in what had to be some kind of record time. In light of the extra attention they had considered hiring another agent, but their options were slim and the thought of bringing in a child to fight their battles was surprisingly difficult to stomach. Anthony made a mental note to apologise to Barnes after that realisation, gaining some perspective on the man who’d tried so desperately to keep them away from the front lines.

Time felt more like an undefeatable foe in the six months that followed than it had at any previous point in his life. How was he supposed to keep taking on cases without anyone to watch his back in the field? Would he end up alone in this bloody house yet again? Despite the thoughts that haunted his darker moments, he knew he would let Lucy leave without any fuss. Even in the last weeks of her employment he knew he could never be selfish enough to ask her to stay. Though, had he known–

A street sign reading ‘Half Moon Lane’ interrupts him from his stroll down memory lane, heralding the end of his journey. The old building slumps under the weight of time. Even the paint on the window is chipped, almost removing the ‘Sons’ in Mullet and Sons. Although the storefront's outward appearance borders on decrepit, they have undeniably the highest quality rapier’s in London. The hinges shriek as he pushes the door open, alerting the proprietor to the presence of a customer.

“Ah, Mr. Lockwood! A pleasure, as always. How can I help you, my boy?” emerging from the back room, the white haired old man beams upon recognising him.

“Mr. Mullet, please, the pleasure is mine! I believe one of my agents placed an order with you recently? I’m here to pick up for her.”

After confirming her name and the details of the order, the old man teeters his way back into the room he’d just come from. When he emerges again, he does so with empty hands and a deep frown upon his face.

“It appears one of my sons has caused a touch of a mixup and sent your employee’s rapier home with another agent. I can place another order with our supplier, but I’m afraid it won’t arrive until the end of the month,” his tone is apologetic, but Anthony still has to fight the urge to groan in frustration.

“Mistakes happen, Mr. Mullet. We’re only human after all,” thankfully, he’s had plenty of practice schooling his tone over the years, “that being said… we’ve made commitments for this evening. I can’t very well ask one of my agents to walk into a haunted house unarmed.”

“Of course, I understand completely. Since you’ve been doing business with us for so long, I’m willing to offer a percentage off of any of our in stock models as a token of our apology.”

It’s a gracious offer, one Anthony is happy to accept. He defers to the expertise of the older man, allowing him to lead them from option to option within the dimly lit store.

Trying to choose such an essential tool for her without her input is a surprisingly daunting task, and he finds himself quickly overwhelmed. Searching for something to distract him until he can ground himself properly, he lets his eyes wander freely over the different kinds of metal glittering from mahogany shelves before they fix on a single standing display across the room. Driven by curiosity, he approaches the case to inspect its contents. What he finds nearly steals the breath from his lungs. Laying on a scarlet velvet cushion is the most beautiful rapier he’s ever laid eyes on. It has a fine silver blade, connected to an intricate swept hilt inlaid with gold leaves that wind around the counterguards and down the central ridge. When his eyes travel to the pommel and find her birth stone caged within golden vines, he begins mental preparations to re-mortgage the house. Thankfully, when Mr. Mullet wanders over to find him staring transfixed at the weapon, he gives him a knowing smile and cuts the younger man a deal he almost feels guilty accepting.

When he departs the shop, rapier tucked safely into a cloth wrap, the sun is dangerously close to the horizon.

Uttering a quiet prayer to the powers-that-be, he scans the area for a payphone. Luck is on his side today and he finds one rather quickly, tucked into a nook beside a cafe a few shops down. As he makes a beeline for it with purpose, he comes aware of the hairs on the back of his neck standing slowly to attention. At first it’s easy to brush it off as a result of the temperature, but the closer he gets to the booth the more the sensation builds. It feels like someone’s watching him. Stepping into the silver-glass encased rectangle, he lifts the phone from the receiver before pausing. Thinking quickly, he puts on his best thoughtful expression, pretending to have forgotten the number he needs to call as an excuse to let his eyes wander his surroundings. The droning of the phone waiting for input makes the entire situation feel even more unnerving.

Nothing glaringly obvious jumps out at him; no nefarious stalker in a trench coat peers at him from some dark alley, no one stares at him over the top of an upside-down newspaper. All his eyes can find is folks hurrying into their vehicles before the threat of darkness grows, shop workers locking their doors and flicking off their lights.

Scoffing at himself for allowing his paranoia to get the best of him, he dials a night cab. Though he’s quite certain he’d imagined the threat, he still refrains from mentioning his destination out loud. He hadn’t made it as far as he had by throwing all caution to the wind. Just… most of it. Before he can waste too much time chastising himself any further, he slams the phone back into place and turns with purpose to wait for his ride in the safety of the cafe.

Honestly, it’s a good thing he’s so dramatic. If he hadn’t insisted on doing the most theatrical spin, complete with the billowing of his coat as he exited the box, he wouldn’t have startled the man watching him from behind the corner of a nearby bookstore. The balding head disappears as the body it’s attached to ducks behind the brick wall. Anthony has several options, but very few of them are good. He quickly decides his best course of action is to pretend to be unaware of the man’s presence, electing to continue on to grab himself a tea whilst he plans his next move.

Watching the brilliant orange and scarlet glow of sunset, Anthony finds himself observing the comings and goings of vehicles outside the shop window. There’s an unusual amount of traffic for this time of day. He’d expect to see a large number flocking to their homes, seeking safety from the threats that come with darkness. But to see even two or three vehicles stop to park alongside the road this time of night was unusual.

The arrival of his cab shakes him from that train of thought, jumping the tracks straight to figuring out how to make it to Mrs. Roland’s house in decent time without being followed. He hadn’t seen another sign of the man since, but he’s not convinced the danger has actually passed. With a huff, he draws himself out of the comfortable chair. The cold air is no more forgiving now than it had been before. Allowing the warmth of the night cab to envelop him, he instructs the driver to begin a complex route to their destination in the hopes of losing those tailing him.

The sky is pitch black by the time they arrive, but his efforts seem to have been successful. While he’d thought for a moment one of the cars that started up as he’d exited the cafe might have been following them at first, there’s no sign now of anyone suspicious following behind.

Stepping out of the cab onto the curb, he takes a deep breath and tries to sort his thoughts before he dares to step foot into the house. Why, precisely, would somebody have him under observation? For once in his life, he can’t think of anyone who would have reason to. Pulling up the sleeve of his coat to check the watch on his wrist, he curses under his breath at the time. There’s going to be a lot of grovelling in his very near future. It’s nearly thirty minutes past six. She’s going to kill him, and he can’t even fault her for it.

He’s about to rush into the house when a set of headlights comes into view at the top of the street, nearly blinding him before cutting to blackness at the sight of his silhouette.

Bloody hell, that is the final straw. He’d done quite a fine job feigning ignorance until this point, but he has to draw the line at this level of obviously shady behaviour. If they’re this incompetent he can get to the bottom of the matter without the need for secrecy or strategy. He straightens to his full height, setting his jaw and turning to walk with confidence towards the sleek black car now parked roughly a hundred feet ahead of him.

The sound of glass shattering fills the quiet night air before he can make it more than halfway, stopping him dead in his tracks as he listens for any further sign of danger. Usually, the thought of his associate in any form of peril is more than enough to send him spiralling into an – admittedly unnecessary – protective frenzy. However, considering all elements of the present situation, he finds himself torn. Their interview with Mrs. Roland prior to the acceptance of the case had left them both confident the Visitor is a Type One, which she’s more than capable of handling herself, and if he doesn’t chase this lead down now–

An unholy shriek echoes down the street, sending chills down his spine.

Sketchy stalker-mobile be damned.

He turns on a dime, long legs carrying him across the lawn as if chasing his own shadow as the headlights behind him reignite and light his path. The golden beams veer away, the car pulling a sharp u-turn to flee the scene. If he wasn’t so worried, he’d probably be frustrated. He almost can’t stop fast enough to prevent himself from running face-first into the door when the handle refuses to turn. Swearing loudly, he jiggles it again to ensure it isn’t just stiff before he risks causing property damage. The screaming is making it hard to think, but he can’t quite put his finger on what about it is making him feel so unnerved. When it finally hits him, property damage is the least of his concerns. Barely audible beneath the unnaturally shrill sound, her scream is hoarse and pained.

He takes a full stride back, rocking his weight back on his left leg and lifting his right. His foot hits its mark directly beside the lock, the full weight of his panic-aided-strength sending it flying open. He can’t help but wince at the crunch of drywall, likely from the knob on the far side embedding itself in the wall, but he doesn’t waste any further time on it before striding into the house. Dead ahead, an electric lantern sitting on the kitchen counter bounces light off of the shining tiles covering the majority of the space. To his left is a small dining room with only a mid-sized table, four chairs, and a plethora of obnoxiously colourful paintings on the walls. Deciding having both hands free will be more conducive to survival, he dumps the cloth bag containing her new rapier on the table and rushes towards the commotion.

Between his relief at seeing her unharmed and the sheer comedic value of the expression on her face as she slides around the corner with arms flailing, he almost bursts into hysterical laughter. Thankfully, his self preservation instinct is strong enough to encourage him to duck behind the wall while he gets himself under control. Under normal circumstances he would let her exit the house rather than practically jumping out at her, but he can’t be sure there isn’t someone still waiting outside. And as a small bonus, if she’s already mentally signing his death certificate, he can’t make it any worse by making an entrance. He feels a grin spread across his features despite a valiant effort not to enjoy this too much.

“Sorry it took me so long, darling. Traffic was atrocious,” he has to bend to wrap an arm around her middle, but that doesn’t stop him. Instead of lashing out or screaming again, she catches him off guard by completely relaxing into his hold. A spark of protectiveness flares beneath his breast as the back of her head falls to rest on his collarbone and she lets out a shaking breath. In stark contrast to her usually unflappable nature, she trembles like a leaf. There’s no way a simple Type One put her in this state.

It takes all of his willpower to peel his arm from her waist, to offer her the only shield he can by tucking her safely behind him. He takes a deep breath in through his nose, exhaling slowly through pursed lips and drawing his rapier. It’s not enough to eliminate the intoxicating effect of her proximity, but it dampens it enough he can think clearer.

“Anthony John Lockwood, you fucking asshole! The sun set half an hour ago!” the rage in her tone fills him with relief, not even the impact of the flat of her hands against his back can take away from it. He’d obviously prefer if she were calm, but he’ll take anger over despair any day.

“Any idea what kind of Visitor we’re dealing with? Or what the Source could be?” he breezes past her outburst, not having to look over his shoulder to know if looks could kill he’d be dead on his feet.

He knew this routine like the back of his hand. She’d be angry at first, call him every name in the book, and then they’d move past it and get the job done.

Except there’s no scoff, no retort, no rapid fire insults, no reply of any kind. The silence is deafening. Taking back every scathing remark he’s ever made about Orpheus’ lack of restraint, he caves to the impulse and glances over his shoulder. He’d been right about the look, at least. The incredulous fury painted across her face might have been comical in another place, on another day. But there, just beneath the surface, was something he hadn’t expected to find; betrayal.

Shit. He’s really fucked up this time.

“Y’know what? Figure it out yourself,” the venom dripping from her tone feels like knives in his chest, “you would have had to if you’d been a minute later anyways.” Time comes shuddering to a halt. His pulse is deafening as it thunders in his ears. If he’d put her life in legitimate danger – regardless of the circumstances – he’d never forgive himself.

“What do you mean? What happened?” he manages to choke around the lump in his throat that feels suspiciously like his heart, turning to face her fully and reassure himself by searching every visible inch of her for any sign of injury. The urge to reach out and touch her, to feel her body beneath his hands and know for sure she isn’t being stubborn enough to hide some kind of fatal wound from him, is so strong his fingers burn.

After a few incidents involving him turning into a lovesick moron at the slightest touch from her early on in her employment, she’d gone to great lengths to avoid any form of contact with him. He’d come to terms with this, resigning himself to the idea of a life spent admiring her from arms length. So while she hadn’t seemed too opposed to having him in her personal space tonight, he had no intentions of pushing any farther and making her uncomfortable.

That was the plan, at least. But when screaming pierces the air once more, the colour drains from her face, and he watches her cave in on herself in an attempt to hide; he feels like this counts as extenuating circumstances. He takes a single large step forward, arms reaching towards her in unison. Her hands are over her ears, head tucked into her chest, elbows tight to her ribs. He allows his upper body to curl at the edges and cage her against him, hugging her head to his chest to muffle the noise.

Then, it stops. It’s hard to decide if the ghostly howling or ensuing silence is louder.

“You okay?” he murmurs the question, reluctantly releasing her to rest his hands on her shoulders and leaning down to try to catch her gaze in the low light. There’s merely inches between their faces when her unfocused eyes finally lock with his own. It’s hard to breathe without acknowledging they’re breathing the same air, but he files that thought away for later. He concentrates instead on tracing every one of her features with his gaze, every tensed muscle and line that may offer him some insight into her condition. She squeezes her eyes shut, blinking like she’s just woken up. When she finally focuses on him, her pupils blow wide as dinner plates. Her lips part, her small gasp the only disturbance in the air as he involuntarily holds his breath.

A sharp stab of heartbreak courses through him as she steps back abruptly, raising her palms in surrender. His poor heart stops dead for the umpteenth time today when he spots the dark spot on her hand. She tries to drop her arms, to move to put more distance between them, but his sense of urgency outweighs his better judgement as he grasps her tightly by the wrist. The chill of her skin beneath his does nothing to assuage his concerns as he pulls her across the kitchen to the light, ignorant to her protests through the haze of his anxiety. Their proximity to the light confirms his fear, and the crimson red of fresh blood staining her skin has his stomach rebelling against him. As soon as he drops her wrist she pulls it away and clutches it to her body, glaring daggers at him. He makes a mental note to beg for her forgiveness later, reaching for her face and watching shades of red begin to decorate her flesh as she reaches new levels of infuriation. Her skin is sinfully soft beneath the fingers that turn her towards the light and brush against her cheek, tucking the hair behind her ear to give him a better view. A cold blanket of righteous fury settles over him at the sight of the narrow crimson river running sluggishly down her neck, using his thumb to swipe it away. Murderous thoughts fill his head at the sight of the stain left in its wake, doubling in intensity at her expression when he shows her the smear of red highlighted by its contrast against his pale skin.

“Now will you tell me about it?” any attempt at a playful tone is harshly undercut by the tremor of rage in his voice, but she still laughs with less nerves than he’d expected.

She studies him closely, but he stares right back, too focused on making the bloody thing pay for hurting her to be self-conscious under her scrutinous gaze. After a short minute of this, understanding blossoms across her face.

“Through the living room, down the hallway - mind the runner, it’s slippery - the primary haunting is in the bedroom. Husband’s name was Harold Roland. There’s a painting on the left wall, initialed ‘H.R.’, psychic imprint like I’ve never seen. Twenty quid says that’s the Source,” she pauses, lost in thought with her eyes fixed on the ground, “Oh! And it’s probably obvious by now, but it’s definitely a Screaming Spirit.”

He can feel the corners of his lips quirking up as she drops the stubborn attitude.

‘Good girl,’ he wants to say.

“Your rapier is on the table,” he says instead, turning his back on her under the guise of watching the direction they’d heard the screaming from. In reality, he’d just needed an excuse to hide his blush and re-centre himself.

He’s so busy shaking the offending thoughts from his head and cursing himself out for allowing his mind to wander into unsafe territory that he’s completely blindsided by the burst of other-light lighting up the living room like a flash bang. He’s still blinking the blind spots from his eyes when rapid movement in his peripherals alerts him to the potential danger. The ringing of iron fills the air as he draws his rapier, muscle memory taking over despite his still spotty vision as he slices clean through the centre of the spectre mere inches from his face.

Behind him, the sound of her drawing her own blade drains anxiety he wasn’t aware he’d been feeling. As she takes her place beside him he admits to himself that nothing in this world feels more natural than having her at his side, trusting him to keep the Visitor at bay whilst he trusts her to strategize.

Despite being the newest member of their agency, Anthony trusts her instincts more than even his own most of the time. He’d figured out not long after she’d joined that she had a particular balance of empathy and intelligence - and a sixth sense he couldn’t really explain - that made her an asset in the field. Of course he’d never been dense enough to phrase it like that to her face, not after sticking his foot in his mouth with Luce all those years ago.

Her posture shifts almost imperceptibly, but it’s enough to tell him she’s finished piecing together a plan. All he can do now is hope she’s feeling generous enough to let him in on it.

The crisp clean sound of her new rapier sliding into its sheath suggests he might be out of luck. He’s considering whether or not it’s worth asking her directly when his brain sputters, then stalls. She steps back far enough he has no warning of her proximity until she presses herself completely against him, the surface area of her chest displacing against the back of his ribs in a way that leaves him feeling a little dizzy. As much as he really, really enjoys her hands dancing along his sides and hips, he can’t help but question her truly terrible timing as he fights to keep his blade in the air to ward off their ‘friend’.

“Follow my lead,” she says. It takes a while to filter through the dial-up connection that is his mind at that moment. He regains his composure just as she hurls the salt-bomb over his shoulder, realisation dawning on him in a flash similar to that of the silver fulminate as it collides with the ghost before him. So that’s what she’d been up to.

She’s off like a bullet the second the apparition dissipates, shooting past him and into the other room. In a rather impressive manoeuvre, she tucks and rolls to land on her side parallel to a horrifically sunny loveseat before shoving her arm beneath it as though searching for something. Of all of the things he could possibly expect for her to retrieve, a silver-net was not one of them. He adds that to the list of questions he has for her once they get this situation under control.

She’s back on her face and hurdling across the house like a bat out of hell when Mr. Roland decides to make another appearance in the form of a pair of ghostly arms emerging from the white walls. A stone drops in his gut when he realises there’s no way he can reach her before the grasping arms of the apparition wrap around her shoulders.

“DUCK!” he hollers, an iron taste filling his mouth. She immediately dives for the floor and–

He loses sight of her past the walls of the hallway.

The pounding of his heart drowns out the noises that follow, his legs carrying him across the house on autopilot. The cold air stings every inch of exposed skin as he closes the distance to the active haunting, but it’s not nearly as cold as the blood in his veins when he spots the telltale sparkle of silver on the rug outside the bedroom. He ducks to grab the net and sweeps through the doorway just in time to watch her body fly across the room.

Even the brutal screaming had paled in comparison to the sound of her head hitting the bed frame.

𝔑𝔢𝔵𝔱 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 ⇢

taglist (if your name is in bold, it wouldn't let me tag you!): @tessas4 @chloejaniceeee @shakespearseclipse @ettadear @kassandra1000 @stardust611 @ell0ra-br3kk3r

𝔉𝔬𝔯 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔞𝔤𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱, 𝔱𝔞𝔭 [𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢]

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frogserotonin · 2 years

Note

Hiiii, I badly need more Anthony Lockwood x reader on this app so could you do one where reader joins the agency and there are immediate sparks between her and lockwood (he's always flirting with her, he always does small things for her and he always protects her first in a mission) and one day he gets really injured trying to save her during their missions and at home she's really worried when patching him up and they end up confessing to eachother after they have a mini argument. Then they kiss and make up or makeout 😘

god yeah anon, i get what you mean, the reason im writing is literally bc i need more fanfic 😭 i have read every fucking lockwood x reader on here and ao3 if ya'll want anything written just ask :D - lots of love, mars

everything - anthony lockwood x reader

warnings: violence, ooc, kissing, cursing

You weren’t exactly sure when it had started, this weird tension between you and Anthony Lockwood. It was an odd thing that the both of you left unspoken about, despite the numerous jokes, comments and questions from Lucy and George.

Maybe it had been when you’d first joined the agency. When he’d opened the door to see who was knocking and gone completely slack jawed at the sight of you, before collecting himself and adorning his prize-winning smirk.

“Well hello love, how may we help you?” he’d said, casually resting against the doorframe.

“Are you Lockwood of Lockwood and Co?” your cheeks had reddened from the cold and nothing else. Most definitely not because of the casual pet name he’d thrown in.

“That would indeed be me.” he nodded, easy smirk still resting on his lips. “I assume you’re here for an interview then, come on in and we’ll get you sorted.”

After you’d passed the interview with flying colours, he’d told you how much he looked forward to working with you with a wink and a charming toothy grin. Even now, your heart rate went up a considerable amount every time you saw that fucking smile.

Maybe it had been your first case, when you and Lockwood had had to hide from a very persistent Type Two and you’d dragged Lockwood into the nearest open room and shoved him into the wall. You’d pinned him there with one hand on his arm, pressing it to the wall, and the other over his mouth. Afterwards he’d tried to charm his way out of your teasing his red face.

You didn’t know when it’d started but far out, you knew that it was there and that if nothing happened soon you might just kiss him the next time he speaks.

~~~

“George, Luce, angel, we’ve got a new case.” Lockwood called from the hall, placing the phone down and smiling widely. (Damn that smile, it made your heart weak and your brain fuzzy) “We’re going as soon as possible so it’s best we get ready as fast as we can.”

And that was that. You all packed the necessities, like you always did. You all loaded into a taxi and waited patiently until you were at the clients house, like you always did. Lockwood checked with you to see if you had everything you needed, like he always did.

“George!” Lucy called from her place halfway up the stairs. “Come with me, we need to check out the drawing room you read about.” You almost missed the wink she directed your way.

Great, now you and Lockwood were alone. Fan-fucking-tastic.

“Shall we?” he offered his hand and pulled you towards some of the creepier looking closed doors, not-so-discreetly pulling you behind him. Slowly he opens the furthest door, nothing happens. You open the second door, and suddenly you’re thrown against the wall.

“Y/N!” Lockwood cried, pulling his rapier out and swinging it at the ghost that’d materialised. For a bit he succeeded in pushing it back, allowing you time to reorient yourself, before he too was thrown away from the ghost, his rapier landing near his head. You groaned and hauled yourself up, grabbing your own rapier and stabbing at the ghost. It disappeared, then reappeared behind you, causing you to swing around wildly, accidentally putting yourself in the ghosts close vicinity. You felt your limbs start to lock up as you held eye contact with your doom, hoping and praying that Lucy and George had found the source and were covering it with the silver net. The ghost moved closer and closer to you, and you silently mourned all the things you never got to say.

And then, just as you’d accepted your fate, Anthony fucking Lockwood pushed you out of the way. You didn’t have time to dwell on that though, the both of you rolling in opposite directions so as to avoid the ghost swiping at you, before disappearing. You sat up and looked at Lockwood, catching his eye and sending a wobbly smile his way.

“You okay?” he asked, voice a bit strained. You nodded and asked him the same question.

“Yeah…I’m good.” he said, lying through his teeth.

“The fuck you are.” You forced your sore body to stand up so you could walk towards him and check him for injuries.

“Y/N! Lockwood!” Lucy ran towards you, halting your endeavour. “Are you two okay?”

~~~

The taxi drive home was awkward and tense. You fought a raging battle against the urge to call him out for being injured, to ask him what was wrong.

When you got home you dragged Anthony into the kitchen and sat him down on a chair.

“Tell me where the fuck you’re hurt right now or I swear I will find out what your worst fear is and make it real.” Lockwood chuckled.

“Love, I’m fine, really.”

“Don’t lie to me, Lockwood.”

Then silence and a slight guilt and still, somehow, that damned fucking tension. So you, do what any normal person would do and pull his jacket off, immediately spotting where he was injured due to the blood staining his white shirt. More silence and more guilt, that stays in the air while you wrap his cut.

“I’m sorry-” He starts but you’re quick to cut him off.

“If you were sorry you’d stop throwing yourself at danger at every given opportunity. You’re so fucking reckless, all the damn time!” You didn’t mean to start berating him but now you couldn’t stop, because he did need to hear this. “Do you know how much you worry us? Do you think George and Lucy and I like seeing you get injured? Goddamn it we care so much about you. Why do you pull these stunts?”

You only now realise how close your faces are. You could feel his breath on you face.

“I don’t think you realise how deeply I care for you.” he whispered, voice husky and low. “You are...everything. I can't breathe when you're not around me and I can't think when you're near me. I would set the entire world aflame if you asked me to. You're the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing I think about before I sleep. I love you so much it hurts my heart and my head and my entire being."

You didn't know what to say to respond to that. You were a mess. God maybe-

Fuck it.

His lips were soft against yours. His hair between your fingers, softer. His hands on the sides of your face, gentle. You were kissing him and he was kissing you and you were losing your mind.

"Darling, you drive me insane." he whispered against your lips, matching smiles painting both of your faces.

"I love you too, idiot."

"Of course you do."

#anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood #lockwood and co #lucy carlyle #george karim #mars's fanfiction stuffs ✨

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bella-rose29 · 1 year

Text

Little Kipps

Lockwood had no idea just how lovely somebody related to Quill Kipps could be.

Might make this a mini series (translation: I am definitely making this a mini series)

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: swearing (i think that's it)

Tag list: @augustisintheair, @el-de-phi, @karensirkobabes, @tournesol77, @wordsarelife

Please let me know here if you'd like to be added to my Lockwood tag list <3

Quill Kipps was the most insufferable, annoying, arrogant, conceited man Anthony Lockwood had ever had the misfortune to meet.

So how on earth did he have such a lovely sister?

Y/n Kipps was everything that her older brother was not; kind, funny, caring, beautiful (not that Lockwood spent much time considering how attractive Kipps was, it was Y/n he couldn't tear his eyes away from given she was practically a goddess). In Lockwood's eyes, she was perfect, and in an ideal world he'd try and ask her on a date.

This wasn't an ideal world, however.

The first time that he'd met Y/n was after a case gone only slightly wrong, but involved Kipps' team showing up. Lockwood, George and Lucy had everything under control, of course, but he couldn't deny how grateful he was for the extra supplies of flares when the Fittes team turned up. Walking over to the pavement after the sources were contained, he sat down rather unceremoniously, then groaned when he saw Kipps headed his way, a smirk on that stupid face.

"Alright, Tony? I think it's time you considered giving up and leaving the jobs to the real agents, yeah?"

"Oi! Don't be rude, Quill. He did actually save your sorry ass out there! Biscuit?" Both boys startled at the new voice, and when Lockwood saw the girl that had approached them, packet of digestives in hand, he lost his breath.

"He did not," Kipps grumbled, taking a biscuit and munching on it like an angry rabbit. She turned and offered the packet out to Lockwood, who took one with a grateful smile.

"I did, actually. Remember when I told you to duck? You looked around for a quacking bird instead, so I had to shove you to the ground." Now it was Lockwood's turn to smirk, and the delighted laughter that came from the girl made his heart lift.

"Shut up, you pointed and I thought 'That's just the kind of stupid thing that Tony would do, see a duck and get distracted on a job that's clearly out of his depth'."

"Quill?"

"Yeah?"

"Please stop talking."

Lockwood watched the two of them talk, and wondered how they knew each other. She was clearly close to Kipps, but why he had no idea. Surely nobody in their right mind would willingly spend time with the guy?

"Why are you even here? You should be home," Kipps said, worry creeping into his voice. Lockwood's brow furrowed, and he wondered if they were maybe dating.

"Yeah, well mum's being a bitch again, and I have a rapier, so it's not like I'd have died, is it?"

"She's being a bitch again? I thought you said she'd stopped?"

"Sorry to interrupt, but maybe have this conversation where other people can't hear you? It just feels like it's about to get deep and as much as I would love to spend more time in your company," he sent a wink in the girl's direction, delighted when she blushed lightly, "I don't think you really want a stranger listening in," Lockwood said, charming smile working its way onto his face as he stood, brushing off the back of his trousers.

"Oh, yeah, of course! Sorry. Another biscuit for the road?" She offered the packet up, and who was he to say no to her? Taking a second biscuit, Kipps scoffed.

"Yeah, okay. This," he pointed a finger at Lockwood and the girl, "is never happening again."

"What? Have you finally lost your mind Kipps?"

"Nope. Good night." And he turned and walked off, dragging the girl with him. Lockwood stood staring dumbly at their backs.

"You okay, Lockwood?" Lucy's voice surprised him, and he nearly dropped the biscuit.

"Who's that girl with Kipps?"

"Why, got a crush?" she teased, then seeing his face her jaw went slack, eyes lighting up with glee. "Oh my god you do, don't you! GEORGE! GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE!" Lockwood groaned, knowing that no matter what he said now, his colleagues would refuse to believe anything else.

"What? Why does Lockwood look like that? And how come he has a biscuit and I don't?"

"He's got a crush," Lucy said, and then George's eyes lit up.

"It's not a crush, I'm just curious why she's friends with Kipps," he explained, taking a bite of the biscuit.

"Oh, that's his sister," George piped up. "She's quite often in the Archives, does research on the beginning of the Problem like me. Pretty sure she's a freelance agent, our age. She mentioned she doesn't like the big institutions, but she has a rapier, so I'm just guessing."

"His sister?" Lockwood wilted a little. Kipps would definitely never let Lockwood anywhere near her now.

"Yeah. Her name's Y/n. And Kipps is super protective of her, so good luck asking her out or even looking in her direction while he's nearby."

George and Lucy walked off, taking the kit bags with them and loading them into the back of a night cab. Lockwood trailed after, still thinking about her.

"Y/n," he mumbled, and he decided he liked the way her name sounded.

~~~

The next time he saw her, he was in Arif's corner shop topping up on groceries. He'd just entered the bread aisle when the bell on the door dinged, and she walked in. She saw him, and a smile formed on her face as she waved.

"Hi! Lockwood, right? You look a lot better in daylight, I've gotta say," she said, coming over to where he stood. "Wait, not like that, I just meant that last time I saw you you'd just finished a job, not that you didn't look good, you're quite cute, oh my god I'm gonna stop talking now." She'd gone bright red as she rambled, and Lockwood was sure that he was the same.

"You're quite cute too," he replied, and where had that come from?! "Anthony Lockwood, yeah. I don't think I caught your name, though?" He knew exactly what her name was, but he didn't want to come across as a creep.

"Y/n, Quill's my brother. Oh, don't get that bread, that won't be any good."

He looked at the loaf he was holding and frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Uh, look at the use by date? It's for tomorrow?"

"Oh. Well there's three of us and none of us have had breakfast yet, and we can all eat for England, so I'm sure it'll be fine." She laughed, and he couldn't stop the smile coming onto his face. "You know George Karim, right?"

"Yeah! Do you know him too?"

"He's at my agency, has been for a while now."

"He did mention that, actually. Lockwood and co, right? Cool! Yeah, we quite often end up in the Archives together. Oh, I had something for him as well, but I left it at home," she slapped her hand on her forehead. "I'll bring it round later if that's okay? He said it was important for a case you're going on soon but he didn't have the time to research everything, so I said I'd help out."

"Yeah, anytime today," he smiled. "The next case we have is tomorrow night, so I'm going to assume it's that one." She nodded, then turned to leave.

"I'll see you later then," she waved, going off into a different aisle, leaving Lockwood to stare after her longingly.

~~~

That afternoon, Lockwood was reclining in his usual armchair in the living room, watching Lucy and George play cards with an amused look on his face.

"Stop winning! This is so unfair!" George was not happy, it was safe to say.

The doorbell sounded, loud and obnoxious, and Lockwood leapt up to answer it, reassuring the others that he would be just fine on his own, and George should keep playing. Lucy gave him a knowing smirk, which he chose to ignore, and when he opened the front door to see Y/n, he smiled brightly.

"Oh, hi! Is your doorbell meant to be that loud?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes. Just in case George is home alone and asleep. He's completely unresponsive when he is." She laughed, and Lockwood felt a heat crawl up the back of his neck. "Did you want to come in? I just put the kettle on."

"Tea would be amazing, thanks. And actually I wanted to talk to George about something I found this morning after I saw you," she said, coming inside and shrugging off her jacket.

"He's just-"

"OH COME ON! YOU'RE CHEATING!"

Lockwood was cut off by George himself, shouting at a laughing Lucy in the other room.

"He's in there," he gestured towards the door, then took her coat, hanging it on the stand. "I suggest you leave him a while though. Kitchen's this way if you wanted tea? I'm not sure how you take it."

"Oh, right!" She was so chipper it was infectious, and she was so different to her brother and his usual grumpy face that Lockwood had no idea how the two of them were related. She poured her tea, chatting the whole time about the papers she'd brought over, and Lockwood severely hoped that George would listen to her later or read the notes because he had been half paying attention and half thinking about how beautiful she was.

"Lockwood?"

"Hmm?" Shit.

"I asked how long you'd been here? It's a beautiful building."

"My whole life. It was my parents' house." He swallowed, fighting back the emotion that inevitably came with thinking about his family.

"Did they move out?" She seemed so genuinely confused and was so lovely the rest of the time he was surprised that he felt able to talk about it with her.

He shook his head. "My parents died when I was 6. My older sister died three years later."

"Oh. Oh. Lockwood, I'm sorry if-"

"It's alright, really. You didn't know, love." He offered up a smile, mind going blank after his use of the pet name. Where the fuck had that come from?

Her resultant blush was worth it, though, and Lockwood had just opened his mouth to say something when Lucy burst in.

"I won!" She declared, doing a victory dance. "I won, I won, I won! Oh, hi!" She waved, seeing Y/n leaning against the counter, cup of tea in hand. "Y/n, right? Kipps' sister?"

"Ugh, yeah. That's me," and Lucy and Lockwood shared a look at the girl's tone.

"Why do you sound put off by that? I mean, it makes sense, 'cause your brother is a monumental tw-"

"Lucy," Lockwood hissed, warning glance sent her way.

"A monumental twat? Yep, I know. But I'm always 'Kipps' sister', or 'Little Quill', which is infuriating, because I'm a better agent than him, and far better looking!"

"I agree on both fronts," Lockwood said, winking at Y/n. Where was all this bravery coming from? Normally he was hopeless around girls he genuinely liked.

"Y/n! You're here!"

George had entered the kitchen now, taking his mug from the counter and collapsing into a chair.

"Hi Georgie," she waved, laughing as he almost fell off the seat. "I've got those papers for you, I was just telling Lockwood about them."

"Yeah, you might wanna repeat all of it to all three of us," George said with a smirk.

"Oh, why?"

"Lockwood can't concentrate around girls he has a crush on," Lucy chipped in, hiding her smile behind her tea.

Lockwood himself stood dumbly, staring at his colleagues as his face went bright red.

"Uh... what?" Shit. Now Y/n thought he was weird, and he'd never have a chance with her.

"George, wanna play me at cards again?"

"Ugh, but you always win! It's not fair!"

"George!" Lucy said through gritted teeth, and hauled him out of the room. Lockwood heard his cry of pain as Lucy jabbed her elbow into his ribs.

"Sorry, I don't know why she said that, it's-"

"So you don't like me?" At her frown, he rushed to rectify it.

"No! I mean, yes! Wait, I do like you," he sighed, and dragged a hand over his face. "I do like you, and I'd like to take you on a date at some point if you'd let me."

When she didn't say anything, instead just standing and watching him over the rim of her mug, Lockwood tensed, already preparing to take it back.

"You're ready to deal with the fallout from my brother, right? Because when he finds out that we've gone on a date he's gonna lose his shit."

Nodding so fast he thought his head might fly off, Lockwood let a smile come onto his face. "Absolutely. So you'll go on a date with me?"

"Yes, I will go on a date with you, Lockwood. Here's my number," she picked up a pen and wrote it on the thinking cloth, "call me when you're free. If you get answer phone I'm probably in a meeting or on a case, but most of the rest of the time I'm available. Thanks for the tea!" She went to wash up her mug, but Lockwood stopped her, flushing when their fingers brushed.

"I'll do that, don't worry about it."

"Oh, alright then. See you, Lockwood." And before she left, she pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"See you," he replied, still in a daze.

Kipps was definitely gonna kill him.

Part 2

#anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood #lockwood & co #lockwood netflix #lockwood and co #anthony lockwood x you

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athenasnina · 2 years

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there’s so much said abt the portland row trio and their dynamic. and even more abt the pining between lockwood and lucy. but there’s not nearly enough talk abt lockwood and george. their relationship ya’ll. it just warms my heart.

whether you ship it or see it as purely platonic, doesn’t even matter. because these two guys love each other without question. charming and confident lockwood offers george, a neurodivergent boy and self proclaimed outcast, a home, friendship, and a chance to research the subject that brings him joy. and in return, george gives lockwood his acts of service of cleaning, cooking, along with his unparalleled research abilities.

but more than even those things, george is aware of just how unhealthy lockwood is, telling lucy that she must learn to say no to lockwood’s reckless choices and crazy schemes, lest lockwood only get worse. george understands that in lieu of no longer having any family, lockwood needs george and lucy to keep him in check before he gets himself killed. he understands that they are lockwood’s family now, just as lockwood has been for them. and when it’s george’s turn to need saving, lockwood is ready, no hesitation, no irritation. george is in danger, his family’s in danger, and he immediately prepares to save him.

and the winks omg

these are for george and it’s so cute

this kid is thankful for and proud of his friend, and then said that there’s no better reason to die than to protect him. just... the utter devotion and care they have for each other. the acceptance and appreciation of each other’s differences. THEY LOVE EACH OTHER SO MUCH AND I HAD TO SCREAM ABT IT!

#i love them a lot your honor #i have a mighty need for more gifsets of these two #lockwood x george #anthony lockwood #george karim #lockwood & co #lockwood and co

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ukulelevillainwrites · 1 year

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who follows the rules anyway?

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9

complete

pairing : anthony lockwood x she/her reader

summary : y/n gets fired from Fittes and seeks refuge with George, only to find out he works with the worst guy she's ever met

word count : 3.5k

notes : this is my first fanfic ever, the set up is a little slow but bear with me, the series will be a compilation of all my favorite tropes and in general everything i love to read in l&c fanfics, it's heavily inspired by everything i've read so far so thanks to all the amazing writers out there <3, a lot more happens in the second part that i will upload right next to this one

She wasn’t entirely surprised when she heard that George Karim had gotten fired from Fittes. He did a great job on the few occasions she got to work with him, but he always seemed to take his research too far. She remembered warning him several times.

“Supervisors aren’t as open-minded as I am, you’re gonna get in trouble if you keep bringing up your theories about the Problem to every person you interact with!”

“But don’t you find it weird how research has come so far and yet the Problem keeps growing? The official story tells us that an unidentified event caused it but what if it’s still going on? Wouldn’t you want to know what that was so we could finally put an end to this?”

When he put it that way, y/n couldn’t help but agree with him.

“Sure, I guess but it doesn’t justify going up to the fourth floor when it’s clearly closed to agents still in training!”

“Keep your head in the sand if you want but I’ll get to the bottom of this, I know I’m getting closer already.” George said with a proud smile on his face.

She’d laughed. He was stubborn but she found it endearing.

He had bragged about his latest discoveries after a case the both of them had been working on. It wasn’t the first time. They got along well and took the habit of grabbing an early morning snack on their way back from work. He would mostly tell her about his most recent theory, either about the Problem or his latest obsession, which could take a few hours. But y/n didn’t mind, she thought he was good company and it helped her relax after a case. Though aside from those few moments they didn’t spend that much time together. Especially since y/n became part of Quill Kipps’ crew.

A month ago, she had gotten the good news coming back to work after a weekend visiting her parents in her hometown south of London. She was ecstatic, her roommate El too. Especially El actually. Because they had such a huge crush on him. y/n didn’t quite understand it, but she did admire his career. He had a remarkable reputation among other Fittes agents and being part of his team would certainly boost her career as well. She had her heart set on moving up to management and someday become a prominent figure of the Fittes organization. But to reach this goal she’d need to be as remarkable as Kipps, better even. She wanted him to notice her, to see how great her Touch was but most importantly how organized and responsible she could be under pressure. She needed him to think she could be a great leader and sought his attention on every occasion. Because of that she and George drifted apart, going from work friends to acquaintances that simply exchanged passing hellos at the archives or the Fittes headquarters. Before she even thought of reaching out to him, he was gone.

“Did you hear?” El had asked her as she walked into their shared room.

“Heard what?”

“That annoying guy finally got fired!”

“What George? He wasn’t annoying he was sweet!”

“You have weird tastes in friends.”

“Yes, I do.” She told them with a wink.

“But do you know what happened? Most supervisors were pissed and wanted to involve the cops!”

“What? Why?”

“Because he tried to break into an office! They caught him trying to pick the lock! How crazy is that?” El seemed to relish the drama of the situation as their face lit up with a smile that seemed inappropriate under the circumstances.

“That is crazy but as much as I love to gossip, I really need to get some sleep.”

y/n got ready for bed and set her alarm for the following day. She had to do some research at the archives with her teammate. They would join Kipps later at the client’s house. It shouldn’t be too difficult since it seemed to be a Type One but she really needed to impress him. She had to be the perfect agent: quick, focused and perfectly prepared. Even though she was always very professional she still needed some rest.

y/n was a heavy sleeper and had very vivid dreams. Ever since she was a child, she had some of her nights disturbed by complex dreams that felt so real she would wake up exhausted the next morning as if she hadn’t slept at all. It hadn’t happened in quite some time, but that night y/n wouldn’t get much rest. She found herself in the middle of the woods, barefoot, standing in a clearing. The ground was covered with an emerald green moss that felt soft beneath her feet. She looked around but couldn’t see much beside the shadows of the surrounding trees. A thick fog made it hard to see where she was. Disoriented and lost, she started walking towards the nearest tree but, a few steps in, her right foot sank in ice cold water. She realized she was in the middle of a pond, stuck and unable to reach the shore. A frog jumped into the water behind her and made her turn around. A girl was standing in front of her. Her auburn hair was slightly curled, and her bangs delicately framed her brown eyes. She was slightly smaller than she was, about the same age, her face showed no emotion at all.

“Find me.” She said in a neutral tone.

y/n furrowed her brow, not understanding what she meant. As she opened her mouth to ask her to explain the girl repeated

“Find me.”

Without moving she somehow floated above the pond and retreated into the woods. She mouthed the same words one last time before the fog engulfed her. y/n woke up with a jolt, disoriented and terribly thirsty. What was that about? she thought. She didn’t have time to ponder since she hadn’t heard her alarm and was already late to meet up with her colleague.

“I’m so sorry I’m late Bobby I hope I didn’t make you wait for too long…”

“It’s fine but hurry up. Kipps insisted on gathering as much information as possible.”

“Really? But everything indicates a Type One right?”

“The problem isn’t with the dead but with the living. Didn’t you pay attention to who our client is?”

“Mrs Overton? What about her?” Bobby had an exasperated look on his face and sighed heavily. So much for being the perfect agent today.

“Her husband owns Overton Watches and basically runs a luxury empire and she is on the board of the Sunrise Corporation. She and her husband are close friends with Penelope Fittes and we cannot screw up this case otherwise our team will probably end up at the bottom of her list next time she needs trustworthy agents.”

Oh, I’m not rested enough to deal with that.

“Okay then, let’s get to work.”

They spent the whole day at the agency’s archives. The Fittes database did help a lot to find more information about the Overtons’ house but overall, it was a pretty boring case. The house was old, dated back the 1800s, it belonged to Mrs Overton’s ancestors, one of them died because, well, they had to at some point, and felt like coming back. This great grandmother didn’t live any kind of extraordinary life and decided to haunt the place in the same unremarkable way. Y/n had trouble staying focused. The case was not fascinating, far from it. Her mind drifted and came back to her dream. In hindsight it wasn’t that disturbing. It was just her brain making stuff up. But she couldn’t shake the feeling she had felt when the girl had spoken to her. There was something magnetic about her voice and it had an intensity that didn’t match the lack of expression on her face. It bothered her. Why couldn’t she stop seeing her face?

Bobby got up to put back some newspapers and the sudden movement next to her brought her back to reality. Right, the Overton case. Everything indicated a Lurker, so y/n wasn’t too worried about tonight. She could still make up for today’s start. Plus, her talent would probably be the most useful. This unseemly case might serve her after all.

As she walked back to their table after putting a book back on its shelf, she accidently bumped into someone.

“Oh I’m so sorry!”

“It’s okay don’t worry.”

“George? Hi! What are you doing here?”

“I came by to pick up the rest of my stuff…”

“Oh right… I’m so sorry about all this.”

“Don’t be I kinda deserved it anyway. Though I still think I was right.”

“About what?”

“Mrs. Dufour stealing sources. It’s pretty obvious she can’t afford to live the way she does on a supervisor’s salary, and she always looks like she’s plotting something. She reminds me of relic men. I never liked her.”

“Well to be fair you don’t like a lot of people… it looks like I missed your last hyperfixation… but it seems like a stretch and accusing her of something like that… Was it really worth getting into that much trouble?”

“I’m not chipper about it, but I’ll be fine. I already found something else, a friend I can still work with, maybe you know him. We live in-”

But y/n wasn’t listening. Bobby was calling her, telling her that they had to get moving to get to their client’s house before sundown.

“I really have to go George I’m sorry. But I’ll miss our walks filled with your crazy theories.” She said with a smile.

“If you want to come by for tea, we’d be happy to have you. 35 Portland Row, don’t forget!”

“Sure, I won’t! Good luck!”

“Thanks, you too.”

She hurried to catch up with her colleague. She really was going to miss him even though they weren’t that close she had grown used to seeing him around. But she couldn’t believe his theory about Mrs. Dufour. It sounded like he wanted to see evil everywhere and was looking for something to distract himself with. A made-up scenario that justified why he disliked her at the same time. Nothing more.

----

“Good evening, Madam, we are a leading team from Fittes. We were assigned to make your house safe again by Miss Fittes herself.”

Kipps always had a very humble way of introducing them to their clients. As proud as y/n was of being on his team, she didn’t feel entirely at ease with his elevated figures of speech.

“Yes, I was expecting you. Penelope told me she put one of her best teams on my case. I was very flattered.”

“Well, we do not want to appear overly confident, but we will be most efficient to take care of your problem. May we come in?” she asked.

“Of course, please. I suppose your supervisor will be here too?”

“Yes, Mrs. Dufour will be here shortly.” Kipps answered.

y/n abruptly turned around to look at him.

“Mrs. Dufour? What happened to Mr. Fowler?”

“He got called by DEPRAC to deal with some details on the last case we did. You know, the one where it only took you two minutes to find the source after Bobby and I spent a half hour looking for it. It was really impressive I was glad you were here.” He told her with a wink.

She felt herself blush. She wasn’t used to being praised and certainly not by a prominent agent like Quill Kipps, even after a month of working together she still felt flustered. Maybe that last case made up for the horrible impression she gave him on her first week. And she was going to keep proving him how great she was.

The praise was so unexpected it made her forget who their supervisor was for a moment. What were the odds that on the same day George told her about his suspicions she had to work with this potential traitor? She could not let George’s wild theories cloud her judgement. She was here to do a job, a relatively easy one given their research, and she was going to make a wonderful impression on both Kipps and this high-profile client. She took the lead and went inside.

As they stepped into the house, they were greeted by a white marble entrance furnished with glass cases displaying various clocks and watches, certainly a history of the famous Overton watches and mechanisms. The sun was already setting, it hit a crystal chandelier which reflected golden light over the walls. The pieces shone behind their glass. Their client guided them through the hall into the kitchen were teacups and biscuits had been served. Mrs. Overton took a seat and the three agents followed. She seemed at ease with the situation even though the young adults she had in front of her were here to rid her of a ghost. She sat at the head of the table, perfectly in control as if this meeting was a business reunion like any other. She was in her late fifties; her hair was silver and styled in an elaborate hairstyle. She looked both serious and relaxed at the same time. She was aware of the risks but wasn’t worried about the situation, like she had total faith in the team in front of her.

“While we wait for Mrs. Dufour maybe you could tell us more about what has been troubling you?” asked Kipps.

“I believe the haunting began about three weeks ago. My husband started feeling uneasy when he got home, and I felt the same fear shortly after. We never saw or heard anything we just feel watched.”

“I’m sorry to hear that Madam.” y/n tried to comfort her.

“The research we did on your house indicates that it’s been built in the 1800’s and never left your family is that correct?” Bobby interrupted.

“Yes, I inherited it about 2 years ago, but we only moved in this year.”

“We believe the haunting might be caused by one of your ancestors, a certain Emily Abbott, could you tell us anything about her?”

“I’m afraid I’ve never heard of her before…”

“So, you wouldn’t have any idea what her source might be?”

“You might have a late night ahead of you. When we moved in, we kept most of the furniture that were already in the house. For all I know any of these pieces could be the source.”

That wasn’t good news. Hopefully with her Touch y/n could save them some time. They could start at the bottom of the house and work their way up, going from room to room as she touches different objects hoping for some result. As she organized the night in her head the front door opened.

Mrs. Dufour immediately filled the room with her presence. Mostly because she spoke at length and didn’t let the team finish asking their questions. She thanked Mrs. Overton for waiting for her, ushered her out of the house and gave them her directions for the night. Not even Kipps could object. She wanted him to stay nearby while Bobby and y/n were to explore the house to see if they could pick up anything. She felt for Kipps, this seemed like a monumental waste of time for him. But they couldn’t do much about it, agents were supposed to follow their supervisor’s instructions, they were in charge after all.

They searched the house until midnight, making rounds, going up and down the floors, looking for potential sources or trying to pick up any kind of psychical activity but came back downstairs empty handed. How was she supposed to impress anyone with a case like this? y/n and Bobby went back to the kitchen to report the lack of activity to Mrs. Dufour.

“We’ve searched the entire house three times but unfortunately none of the objects we picked up gave any sign of psychical activity, the visitor hasn’t shown up yet and Mrs. Overton couldn’t give us more information. I’m not really sure what more we could do for now.” Bobby looked defeated. Or bored. Probably the latter, it was an exceptionally boring case. y/n was growing tired at the lack of action. It made her mad that someone could hire one of the best teams in London to take care of such a benign problem just because they had money and connections while hundreds of homes were threatened by harmful Type Twos and couldn’t do anything about it.

“Do I really have to tell you two how to do your jobs? Keep looking and take this seriously. I hope you realize who our client is, I can’t allow any mistake tonight.” Her authoritarian tone made y/n see why George disliked her. Clearly, they must have gotten into a few arguments on several occasions. But she couldn’t understand what would make him think that she could steal sources. She seemed to take her job very seriously. Sure, she was a pain but that didn’t mean she was a criminal.

“I’ve got something here! Bobby, y/n join me in the hall.” Kipps called.

They drew their rapiers and walked slowly into the hall. Kipps was looking at a corner where shadow had gathered. There was a faint, almost indistinguishable human shape lurking there. But it didn’t move, and it didn’t seem to want anything more than just stand there.

“I’m going to keep an eye on it while you two look for the source.” Kipps told them without averting his eyes from the dark figure.

“But what more can we do we looked everywhere already.” Bobby said with a sigh.

“Well,” Kipps turned to her. “y/n, got any ideas?”

She didn’t answer. She hadn’t heard them as she was lost in thought. Mrs. Overton hadn’t mentioned anything about the display cases here. But she should have. There were marks on the walls behind them, and again on the marble floor. It was a clear sign that bigger and heavier furniture had been removed to make room for new ones. That change alone could have triggered the ghost. And since they were behind glass, they hadn’t tested any of the objects on display. Though they were all Overton Watches so, clearly, they didn’t have anything to do with Mrs. Overton’s ancestors. Another dead end. She lingered in front of the central display, slowly losing hope. If such a ridiculously small case was too much for her, what was she even doing here? Sure, the two guys accompanying her weren’t inspired either, but she was disappointed in herself. She had dealt with dangerous situations without flinching, but a Lurker case was getting the best of her. That was embarrassing. She rested her hands on the case and looked down at the watches. There were four watches spread across a silk white sheet surrounding a bigger, more ancient clock. They didn’t seem that impressive. Why were people making such a big deal out of them? The clock on the other hand was more ornate and had required skilled craftmanship. The mechanism was apparent and intricate. It was still working which was most impressive. A golden crown rested delicately upon a mother-of-pearl dial, the needles moving steadily around. Right beneath the number 6 was engraved something almost unreadable. She squinted to see better. The initials EA were written in golden letters.

“I’ve found it! The source! It’s this clock right here!”

“Nice work y/n. Keep an eye on the ghost I’ll take care of the source.”

They switched position and she kept her eyes on the shadow as Kipps tried to get the clock out of the display.

“I can’t get to it, it’s locked. I’m gonna have to break the glass.”

“No! Don’t do that Mrs. Overton would be livid. Bobby go get Mrs. Dufour and Kipps don’t touch anything please.” She said with her back to them, her eyes still staring at the corner.

“Did you find the source? What is it?” Mrs. Dufour asked, suddenly in a hurry.

“We have reasons to believe this clock is the object causing Mrs. Overton trouble.”

“That’s really nice work Mr. Kipps congratulations.”

“I much appreciate your praise, but it has to go to y/n. She found the source. As we don’t have a key, I offered to break the glass, but y/n thinks it would upset our client.”

“Well thank you Miss y/n for using some common sense. We cannot break anything in this house.”

“We could drape a silver net over the case and come back in the morning to pick up the source.” She offered.

“I think it would be best. Thank you again for your prompt judgement here.”

“It was my pleasure.” She blushed. It was nice to have her efforts acknowledged, no matter how small. This supervisor might have been a stickler, but she recognized good work, it was enough to satisfy her. This case turned out pretty well after all.

#lockwood and co fic #lockwood and co #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x y/n #lockwood x reader #lockwood x y/n #x reader #lockwood and co imagine #who follows the rules

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