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"Have you found her yet?" Dimitri asked on the phone. "Yes sir," the man replied, "We have a clear sighting of her right now." Dimitri thought for a moment. "Describe what she looks like." The man paused. "Well, she has dark brown auburn-ish hair." "Yes go on," Dimitri urged. "Umm, I'm going to get closer. ... Okay, she's very attractive." "I know that." "She has fair skin with clear blue eyes. Her face is very symmetrical and she is very elegant and beautiful." Dimitri smiled. Yes, she was beautiful. Classy he would say but not if she still had that temper of hers. "Good, bring her over to the hotel." "Yes sir." Dimitri hung up. He had tried to tell himself that he was only trying to find her because she had seen the killings but something within him knew that he was only lying to himself. Last night, at the Council Board meeting, when he brought up the killings all the members seemed very shocked. Everyone consented to have an immediate investigation. Dimitri got up and lay down on his bed. Living in a suite wasn't as bad as he had thought. Everything was close but adequately spaced so that the room didn't seem cramped; he had no need for a kitchen anyways. A knock sounded on the door. "Come in," Dimitri said. A tall man with a black suit walked in with two other men following behind him and a girl in between them. Dimitri glanced towards them. Yes, that was the girl. She looked delightfully quite angry. "Good, thank you. You are excused," Dimitri told the men in black. After they left the room Dimitri sat up and stared at the girl. He noted that he still didn't know what her name was. As he eyed her he couldn't help noticing her long, slender legs. The same image of having her legs wrapped around his torso popped into his mind again. Dimitri looked away. What was he thinking? "What do you want with me?" the girl asked. Dimitri was forced to look back at the girl. "I wanted to interrogate you." The girl scoffed. "I didn't know that the vampire prime minister of Europe did interrogations in his bedroom." Dimitri stood up and walked towards her. "I only do interrogations in my bedroom for certain people," he said gently tracing her jawline. The girl jerked her face away. "Hurry up and ask me questions then." "I like to take my time," Dimitri replied stepping forward. He wanted to get closer to her. Meanwhile Alera had no clue why Dimitri had called her to his bedroom. She didn't think he actually wanted to interrogate her but he couldn't possibly be thinking of having sex with her. "I am serious," Alera said, "What do you want?" Dimitri looked into Alera's clear blue eyes. "I want to know your name." Alera paused. "Alera. Alera is my name." "Mmm," Dimitri commented, "What a beautiful name." Alera turned away from him and walked over to the opposite side of the room which was near his bed. Wrong move. Within the second Dimitri had Alera pinned down on his bed. "Get off of me," she demanded glaring into his eyes. Dimitri his body tense. "I don't think I can," he replied huskily. Alera pushed him off. For a moment she was in shock. His chest had felt so good against her hands, she had actually wanted to hold him closer. No doubt his body was impressive. She shook the thought from her head. "I don't care who you are Dimitri Marinescu, prime minister or not. I am not your toy." Alera lifted her chin up to further emphasize her point. "You really don't care?" Dimitri asked approaching the bed again. "I don't care." Dimitri frowned. "You know I think you're missing the whole picture here. Think about this. If you were to be with me even for a little while imagine all the riches and luxuries you would be surrounded with. There is so much that I can offer you." Alera glared at Dimitri. "Do I look like some money hungry bitch? I don't need you, I don't want you." "You don't want me?" he asked raising an eyebrow. Now that was interesting. "What if I was your mate?" Alera nearly fell off the bed. Her? Dimitri's mate? Who was he kidding? "I'm not your mate." "Mm, but you don't know that do you?" he asked getting onto the bed. "I'm not here to discuss mating issues with you. I'm not even slightly interested in sleeping with y-you." Alera could barely finish her sentence. She looked at Dimitri hoping that he didn't hear her stammer. She was wrong. A small grin had appeared on his handsome face. "Yes, as if I would believe that," he said placing his arms one each side of her body. Alera didn't dare shift her gaze. Fine, if he wanted to play with her then she would play with him. Alera sat up and wrapped her arms around Dimitri's neck. She placed a soft kiss behind his ear. Alera felt Dimitri still. At first she thought she had finally got to him but suddenly his lips were on her neck trailing kisses up to her lips. There he kissed her lightly at first but then kissing started to intensify. Alera felt Dimitri's arousal and she wrapped her legs around him, pulling him closer. Dimitri groaned. He reached down and started to stroke one of Alera's legs. Fuck, her legs were so smooth, so soft. Dimitri's hand went back up and grabbed Alera's ass. He started to feel the strong need to get her naked. "Take your shirt off," he muttered to her. Alera ignored him. "Take it off," he repeated as he couldn't tear his lips away from hers. Alera continued to ignore him. "I gave you your chance," he growled. With that Dimitri's pulled Alera up and ripped her shirt off of her. Alera gave a small growl. Immediately she reached for Dimitri's shirt. "Not yet, I want to see you first." "Yeah right," she brushed off. However her hands only got to where his collar was. "Don't make me keep repeating myself," he said in a husky whisper. Alera tried to free her hands from his tight grip but he only them tighter. Alera gave a small laugh, "You like what you see?" she asked noticing his hot gaze on her breasts. Dimitri looked up into her eyes. Alera nearly moaned from how sexy he looked. Her eyes scanned over his face, studying every single detail. She noticed a small scar next to his eyebrow. She was pleased with herself that she could see such minuscule details; but then her job did require her to observe such things. Her gaze then lowered to study his lips. Suddenly she saw his fangs start to elongate. Alera froze. "Get off of me!" she screamed shoving him off of the bed. Dimitri turned around. When he turned back around Alera noticed that his fangs were gone. "Sorry," he muttered. "Get me a shirt," she demanded. Dimitri's eyes paused to stare at the breasts he could have just now been holding. "Now," she said in a harsh almost cruel tone. Dimitri didn't bother to scold her for her informal way of speaking to him, he was wrong and he knew it. They hadn't even had sex yet and he wanted to mate with her? Dimitri walked over to his closet and pulled scanned the many shirts he had. Without thinking Dimitri grabbed his white shirt and tossed it to her. Alera caught it and looked at the expensive material. "Are you kidding me?" she asked, "What the fuck are you thinking? Are you trying to see my black bra?" Dimitri was dumbfounded. He had to get a hold of himself. He turned around and this time threw her one of this dark grey-blue button up shirts. It felt short of the bed. Dimitri was going to retrieve it for Alera but she commanded him to stay where he was. Slowly she bent down, unknowingly providing an amazing view of her breasts to Dimitri. Meanwhile Alera kept her eyes on Dimitri the whole time. When she finally picked up the shirt she slowly slipped it on still cautious of Dimitri. Dimitri let out a sigh and turned around. "I'm done," Alera called to him. He turned back around. An awkward silence followed. "I'm sorr―" "If you're sorry, I don't want to see you ever again," she told him, "All I know about the deaths is that the five of them were Elders, the one that killed them was an Ancient. He had to be an Ancient." Dimitri raised an eyebrow. Not bad for a vampire who wasn't in any special investigations units. Wait, Dimitri thought, Perhaps Alera was in some investigation unit. Then had she been playing him the whole time? "I don't work for anyone if that's what you're thinking Alera told Dimitri almost as if she had read his mind. "How do you earn a living then?" "I've blackmailed about seventeen millionaires and demanded thirty plus million from each; I think I'm good to go for the next hundred thousand years." Dimitri's jaw nearly dropped. "Blackmail? That's very clever." "I figured I had to do something with my brain, it wasn't that challenging," Alera brushed off. A knock interrupted their conversation. "Who the hell would―" Dimitri was cut off. A woman walked into the room. She was tall and very fit, very beautiful. "Who is she?" Alera asked Dimitri. The woman glanced towards Alera. She noticed Dimitri's shirt on the girl and then quickly looked at the bed. Immediately she knew what had happened― the rumpled sheets, the ripped shirt that lay on the floor, the girl wearing Dimitri's shirt. "Were you cheating?" The woman's voice faltered on the last word. "Mariah, let me explain," Dimitri protested taking a step forward. He could nearly feel the rage building inside of the woman. "No, don't come near me!" Mariah screamed losing all previous control. Alera scoffed. Both of them turned to look at her. "Dimitri, I didn't know you were like this. What a bastard. I definitely don't want to see you again." Alera peeked back at her shirt; there was no way she could repair that. "Also take this fucking shirt back, I don't want it," she said hurling Dimitri's blue-grey button-down at the bed. Alera walked over to Mariah. "Give me your shirt." "What?" Mariah asked. "Give it to me," Alera asked again, this time glaring dangerously at the woman. If she wouldn't give her the fucking shirt so she could get out of this place Alera knew it wouldn't be long before she would beat the shit out of Dimitri. Realizing the danger the woman quickly stripped out of her shirt and handed it over to Alera. "Thanks," Alera murmured. She put it on and moved around. The shirt fit comfortably enough. Before leaving Alera stole a quick glance into the mirror, she could see her bra. Oh well, Alera thought, better than Dimitri's shirt anyways. As Alera walked towards the door she threw two punches at Dimitri, one in the stomach and the other underneath his jaw. "Did you have to punch me?" Dimitri muttered. Alera stared at him. "Don't kid yourself." Alera stormed out of the room and slammed the door. She also ripped the door handle off the door. "You're going to have to fix the fucking door handle!" she screamed back at him. Alera threw the handle down at the carpet floor and saw it bounce once then twice. All she wanted to do was get out of this hotel. The elevator would take at least two minutes; stairs would be faster for Alera. What was he thinking, Alera thought. If he was in another relationship with a woman why the hell was he trying to sleep with her? Alera snarled and clenched her fists. She would have to go for a run tonight. After a few seconds Alera reached the ground floor. She opened the door that led to the lobby, walked through the lobby, and out the main entrance. She took a left, walked down a street and when it was relatively quiet with few cars and people around, Alera broke into a sprint. If she ran fast enough she would be nearly invisible. As Alera felt the wind whip past her she breathed in the London air. Of all the places she lived and traveled Alera felt that London was her favorite. The capital was so grand and so full of history, even with the vampires. Alera loved history. She ran for a good ten minutes before she reached her penthouse. Although Alera considered it more of a vacation home, she liked it better than her own home in the US. Inside Alera climbed the stairs and did a quick check on her phone. She noticed one of her colleagues had called her. Alera tapped on the contact and the phone dialed to her colleague. "Alera?" Jessica answered on the other side of the phone. "Yes Jessica, was there anything urgent?" "Yes, the President wants you back in D.C. We think we have a tail on Bin Laden." "What?" Alera exclaimed, "Are you serious?" "Yes, since we can't send you to where he is because of all the sun and how damaging it would be to you maybe you can help us plot out the task." "Roger, I'll be there in about two and a half hours." "See you then," Jessica replied before hanging up. Alera paused. As the deputy director of the CIA for nearly twenty years there were only a select few who knew of her existence as a vampire within the United States government. It was a job that no vampire in the world could know of. She didn't even want to know what would happen to her if any vampire found out she was working with humans, not to mention letting them know of her existence. To this day Alera still didn't know why she continued to work for the CIA; perhaps it was because she found humans to be so interesting. She did in a way care for them as she had been one herself but after living for more than a thousand years she should have gotten over her past by now right? Oh well, Alera thought, there were more pressuring matters to think of as of now. Alera called the London Heathrow Airport. "How may I help you?" a woman answered. "Can you prepare Jet 05TAUS for me?" Alera asked "Yes, password please?" "111664ML." "Okay, it will be ready in about thirty minutes." "No problem." Osama Bin Laden. Ha, Alera thought, finally after nearly ten years of hunting the bloody man down they had found them. It wasn't that she hated the man, but did it really take the CIA ten years to find one sole man? If they had sent her like she offered they would have found the man within the year of the bombing. She knew the language, she could dress as one of them― it was just the skin that was the problem. Alera was too fair; her vampire skin wouldn't be able to take all the sun from where Bin Laden was from. As Alera started plotting out how the assassination would go, or so she assumed it would be an assassination, she recalled the specialized helicopters the CIA had been building for some time now. After all Alera had funded nearly half of the project. Alera knew that it would take her an hour or more if she decided to drive to the airport so Alera decided to run. She opened up her closet and picked out a pair of good running shoes, switched out her black laced bra for a sporty Adidas coral colored bra, a pair of running shorts and a light blue shirt. After she finished changing Alera quickly grabbed the most important things for her traveling use and a new change of clothes and stuffed them all into her training black backpack. Before she left Alera put a hat on and literally tied it right below her chin to keep it from falling off. With that Alera left her penthouse and ran to the airport. She would be there within twenty five minutes. ------------------------------------------ I tried to make this chapter longer, its about twice of the usual length. Enjoy~ Thanks for reading. All comments and feedback are appreciated. Writingfanatic

Arya Arya was bored. Bran had a book on his lap and was reading it with undivided attention. Jon was sitting by Sansa’s side at their father’s desk, teaching her about war strategies. Today, the lesson was about using the terrain as an advantage in the battlefield. If an army could have the higher ground, better for the strike and for the defense. Other way was using forests as fortresses, using the trees to hide and place ambushes. Arya knew all of that. She had learnt during her lessons with Syrio Forel, during her journey with the Hound and as No One in Braavos. She didn’t know all the details of those strategies. Robb and Jon had Ned Stark to teach them about the ways of war. Arya had learnt them instinctively. And now Sansa would have to acquire that knowledge fast. Lucky for her, Jon was a great commander – even Tormund had said so. Arya too had a book with her, but she read only two pages before giving up. It was the history of House Targaryen since Aegon, the Conqueror and his sisters wives, Visenya and Rhaenys. Arya loved that story. She loved that the three of them, even the women, had dragons and used them to fight. Blood was shed, maybe unnecessarily, but it was still amazing. Arya would love to ride a dragon, take him up to the skies only to fall back again to the ground, just like Aegon and Balerion, The Dread did. Would Daenerys ever allow me to ride one of her dragons? Arya felt her chest tighten at the memory of Nymeria. She was big enough now to ride. But that was not her anymore. She was a wild creature now. Despite loving that book, today she felt restless. She wanted to get out of the room and practice. Maybe Gendry would join her in training, like they did every day since their reunion. They wouldn’t talk much, just fight. He had an enormous war hammer and he was good with it, fast with it. Unlucky for him, Arya was faster with a sword. They laughed together. Once, he even pushed the hair away from her face with a surprising sweetness. That made Arya blush, which was not an easy thing. But Arya stayed at the solar. She didn’t want to leave her siblings. Actually, she didn’t want to leave Sansa. Her sister had been in a terrible mood the past week. She was still courteous as ever, greeting every soldier, every lord and every worker in the keep. She smiled and did her duties faithfully. And yet, Arya could see that something was making her unhappy. Her smiles were fake. It was the same expression Sansa wore when she didn’t let anyone read her emotions. It was a piece of armor she wore to survive those times she was taken hostage, kidnapped and worse. But now she was at home, she was safe. It was like Arya herself, or Bran or Jon were her enemies and not her family. Sansa had not told her what was wrong, not even before sleep. Arya would enter their room, and she would be already asleep. In the mornings, when Arya woke, she was already gone. Because of that, Arya hadn’t gathered the courage to tell her sister about Gendry. Somethings were supposed to be told only at night, and only in the safety of the bedding the sisters shared. And Arya wanted to tell, badly. But she couldn’t do that before knowing what was disturbing Sansa. So, she at least stayed with her during her lessons. Jon would sit with Sansa every single day for many hours straight. In a few days, Tormund, Berric and a few men would leave for the Wall. They would be responsible for keeping track of the advances of the army of the dead. When they reached the Wall, a raven would fly to Winterfell so Jon and Daenerys can lead their armies North. The Wall was impregnable, so that gave them time too train, gather more soldiers, build more weapons and strategies – both for the battle North and for Winterfell. Sansa was doing better than she gave herself credit for. Arya had never seen her sister read so much. Everywhere she went, she had a book, parchment and a quill in hand to keep studying. She already knew how to control and convince the northern lords to her will. She already knew how to run a keep. She was the one who summoned the knights of the Vale during the Battle of the Bastards against Jon’s orders – though he was now thankful that she didn’t listen to him. Learning the ways of war was just another step for her to become a true Lady of Winterfell, even more skilled than any other woman who ever lead the North. Besides, Arya and Bran would give all the support she may need. It was almost night when Jon and Sansa finished their lessons for the day, and Arya and Bran had stayed with them through it all. They would all dine together. The books and parchments were put back in their places and their meal was brought to the solar. They were all sitting at the round table in silence, eating and drinking their wine tiredly. Arya was thinking about taking a bath before going to bed and, the next day, she would ride around the keep. She looked through the windows and saw that the snow was falling softly in the air. Hopefully, the weather would be the same come morning. That’s when she noticed Sansa, who was sitting directly in front of the pane and was not touching her food. She was supposed to be hungry, they hadn’t eaten anything since midday. Still, her sister would just push her food with a fork and sometimes sip from her cup. Sansa lifted her face and her sight crossed with Arya’s. The sisters stared at each other for a while, not saying anything. Until the silence was unbearable. “Sansa?”, Arya questioned softly. “Arya”, she answered as if nothing was wrong. But, of course, something was not right. “Is everything alright?” Sansa remained quiet for a few seconds, until she gave up and place both hands of her lap, straightening her back. That was the posture of Lady Sansa. “There is something I would like to run by you. All of you.” Jon placed his fork on his plate, and Bran followed suit. Both brothers looked at each other in confusion and the turned to Sansa to wait for her declaration. “What is it?”, Jon asked after a few moments of complete and utter silence. Sansa stared at Arya when she said the next words. “I would like to name Sandor Clegane Lord Commander of Winterfell.” It felt like the silence that permeated the air could be cut with a knife. Everyone had stopped breathing and was sitting still, not a muscle moving with tension. Arya felt her throat tighten and she had to remember to let the air come out of her lungs. But it was Jon who spoke first. “Sansa, he was a Lannister man before…” “I know what he was”, she cut Jon with a firm tone. “And I know what he’s not. You know it too, Jon, he followed you beyond the Wall.” “Why him?”, Arya asked before Jon could say anything else. Sansa looked back at her sister and gave a small grin. “Jon’s right, he was a Lannister man. Even more so, he was a member of Joffrey’s kingsguard, but he never took any vows. He’ll know Cersei’s army’s strategies better than anyone else here in this keep. He’s probably the best fighter in Winterfell right now, alongside Brienne, Arya and you Jon. The men are growing to respect them, I’ve seen it happen already.” “Yes, he’s a skilled fighter. But he’s still the Hound”, Jon tried to reason with his sister. “He’s not the Hound anymore”, she said nearly angry. “He saved Arya. He took her away from Berric’s men and then he saved her from the Red Wedding. If was still the Hound then, if he was still a Lannister man, Clegane would have given her to Walder Frey and Arya would be dead alongside Robb and mother.” “Sansa…”, Jon tried again. Sansa held his hand in both of hers. She looked him deep in the eyes in assurance. “Trust me, Jon. I know him”, she whispered. “He was my ally in King’s Landing. He protected me many times. Sandor Clegane is a loyal man, even without vows. He doesn’t need them.” “Did you tell him about this?”, Bran asked. “Yes”, Sansa said without looking anyone in the eyes. “He told me to do as I wished.” Bran nodded, but Arya could almost see the thoughts that ran through his mind. She knew he was thinking of looking back into the past to see the Hound’s actions. And she would want to know what he saw after it was done. “I trust him too, Jon”, Arya said looking back at her older brother. “He may be harsh, but he’s a good man. A man with honor.” Jon stood up and paced the room. Ghost, who was sitting by the fire, as if sensing that something was wrong also stood and came to him. He nudged Jon’s hand with his nose, and he petted the wolf. Arya looked back at Sansa and saw the smile that crept through her lips. She already knew the battle was won. “Alright”, Jon said cutting the silence. “I agree. Clegane will be named Lord Commander.” Sansa was smiling brightly now. She got up and embraced Jon in a tight hug. “Thank you, brother.” He hugged her back and kissed the top of her head. “Bran?” “I also agree”, he answered with a knowing smile. “He will do Winterfell justice.” Arya and Sansa retired to their room, walking up the stairs side by side. They changed their clothes and laid down to sleep, with the brazier illuminating the walls warmly. They were facing each other with open eyes. None of them was sleepy. Sansa was not smiling anymore like she did in the solar after the decision of naming Clegane Lord Commander was made. She was gravely serious now, with her eyebrows knitted together in worry. “What’s troubling you?”, Arya asked in a whisper. Sansa opened a sad smile. “Sandor Clegane.” “Did you show him the cloak?” “No. He’ll never know about it.” “But why?”, Arya asked in confusion. Sansa breathed heavily and closed her eyes for a few seconds. “He does not… He does not feel the same way as I do about that night.” Arya nodded softly. “So, you talked to him.” “Yes”, Sansa answered, even though it was not a question. Arya waited for a continuation, but it never came. “And?” “We argued.” Arya waited again. This time, it only took a few moments to Sansa to keep going. “He said I should be afraid. That he would’ve taken what he wanted that night.” “And what did you say?” “That I trust him. And then he got mad.” Sansa was holding her tears back, and Arya noticed it. So, she held her hand bellow the covers tightly. Her sister retributed it and opened the smallest of smiles. “Tell me something about you. I feel like we haven’t talked in ages.” So Arya did. She finally told her about Gendry, about how they talked in the Godswood – but not before she had thrown him to the ground. She told her sister about how he had called her beautiful. Sansa was beaming at this information. “He’s sounds charming”, she whispered in giggles. “I suppose he is.” “What you mean, ‘I suppose’?”, Sansa laughed. Then she noticed how serious Arya had become. “What is he to you, Arya? Is he… more than a friend?” “I don’t know”, she answered, burying her face in one of the pillows. “Maybe.”

The stench was the first thing to assault Marika’s senses, a scent she had first come to know upon the birth of her first daughter. Malenia had been born sick, blotched by red and smelling of stagnation. The sickness had almost consumed Marika from within. Miquella was the easier twin to birth, the first to emerge with healthy cries and a sweet temperament. Malenia had been born silent, small and still, almost thought to be stillborn. The stench clinging to the wind was the very same as Marika slowed to a halt, barefoot and weary as she watched the approach of two battle weary souls. She saw more of Godfrey in the omen’s face, yet his golden eye was hers, so unmistakably hers.    Morgott lumbered forward with uneven strides and spoke to the air, desperate to give his father a lifeline to focus upon. When the omen’s knees finally buckled, it was not the dirt which caught him, but the soft and delicate hands of a woman. A woman he would have only seen enshrined in stone. Gold eyes met one another. Morgott croaked. “Marika?” “...My son,” the mother who had never been a mother in his arduous life spoke, tentatively reaching to hold Godfrey’s face with widening eyes, exhaling his name in a breath, “Godfrey.” Morgott trembled, swallowing his throat as he sent Godwyn a look of unbridled panic. The prince swallowed his shock as quickly as he could manage, rushing forward to haul Godfrey’s unconscious form from Morgott’s back. The wounds upon his stomach were ghastly, carved with surgical precision as Godwyn braced an arm around his father’s stomach to hold the innards within his flesh. Swearing profusely, Godwyn whispered, “Mohgwyn, he did this?” “...His thrall of a surgeon carved Godfrey, yes.” Morgott grimaced, refusing to meet Marika’s gaze as he shook, “Brother, what is the meaning of this.” Morgott jerked his head towards Marika.    “Cleaving mother from Radagon came with a tangible cost of shunting mother into a physical form. T’was necessary.” Morgott remained silent, braced for Godwyn’s own question as the prince countered, “And our father, how long has he been here?” “No more than a day, he trickled in with the last of the refugees from the Haligtree. He needs aid, not questioning.” Morgott moved to help shoulder Godfrey’s imposing form with Godwyn, “...Malenia employed her rot to hold Mohg at bay, the response to contain the fallout must come swiftly lest Liurnia rival Caelid in grotesque mutation.” Marika gripped her borrowed weapon with a tight exhale, “...Radagon will flay us alive if his daughter is abandoned on the field. Let me see to that loose end.” Morgott’s expression darkened, “What of Mohg, shouldst thou find him alive?” Marika tensed, looking Morgott in the eye as she spoke, “Either deem him worth salvaging as I was, or kill him before he debases another one of his own kin.” The cursory force attacking the academy’s alternate entrances were thinly spread and lacking even the Omen Killers in their numbers. The intent had been to pillage, to sunder the community that dared to raise its head from the mud of Liurnia’s bog. One perfumer was easily beheaded by the swing of Lacero, a tarnished swiftly disemboweled by the chilled edge of Adula’s blade across their abdomen. Elia stood in a ring of corpses, the glintstone sword fading into motes of blue as she heaved for breath. Millicent was at her back, head pounding and staggering forward with a low cry. Elia whirled about, catching her shadow by the shoulders as she shifted Millicent to face her, “Are you hurt - I didn’t see them land a strike?” Millicent shook her head, seeing red and smelling rot before she whispered, “M-mother - Malenia, something… something is very wrong.” Elia might have pressed the point, noted the stagnant stench of decay if not for the ballsy antics of a perfumer hefting their decanter of incense. Green motes and wafting smoke of bile yellow made Elia curse, grabbing Millicent as she leapt back several stumbling paces with the imbalanced weight of her sister hefted atop her shoulders. The perfumer’s spreading plume of miasma burned the eyes and nostrils, earning the shambles of their numbers a wide berth from the deadly swordsman. Elia gnashed her teeth, nauseous and backpedaling to the gate itself. Her eyes scanned the thinning battle, not needing to search far before she found Radagon. Much to her chagrin, she found herself grateful for the insistence upon staying close. Miasma was a feeble deterrent from the arcing spear of golden lightning thrust forward. As energy crackled and the scent of burning flesh clung to the air, neither of the three were aware as to their audience. Nepheli had expected to enter the battle with a war cry on her lips and a skull to sink her axe into. She did neither of those things as her eyes widened at the towering form a man only committed to statuary in her lifetime. Radagon. The weight of him being alive must have not hit until now, her chest tight and nerves wired regarding another warrior of legend. As expected, courtesy of Sellen’s extrapolation, Elia was not far from her… husband. Hoisting the familiar and sickly form of Millicent over her shoulders, the woman evaded the growing plumes to haul her companion behind the safety of the gates and few guardsmen which could be spared.    Armed with crossbows and bows, their volleys were thin, keeping stragglers and fools from crossing the academy’s threshold. The twins, Darian and Devin were a bolder sort, familiar with the styles and forms of a perfumer on the offensive. As Nepheli rushed to Elia’s side, the twins entered the fray with an Elden Lord rampaging. Sellen held her position at the gate, the gems of her crown cleaning in tune with her scepter. The raining hail of blades which followed was a lovely imitation of Morgott’s own signature incantation, adapted and fine tuned to thin the stragglers between Nepheli and Elia. Elia had scarcely faced Nepheli before the warrior grasped her arm, hauling her behind the line of archers with a hiss, “One letter in months and I stumble into a battle with a gods forsaken dragon - Boyana, what the hell have you gotten yourself into!?” Elia swore, “Too much to explain, I only pray Stormveil hasn’t seen the same degree of chaos???” Nepheli swore, “Godrick’s boney arse appeared from the ether, otherwise, no. Now what's happened for my father to be dead and his men pillaging your home! ?” “Godwyn took an absurd degree of initiative, Gideon was still making use of the omen killers in whatever affiliation he bargained with the Perfumers. I can only guess he hoped to hold Altus and concede Leyndell to them in some capacity.” Elia exhaled sharply, her eyes falling to the twins as she knelt, setting Millicent down to her knees as the shadow gripped Elia’s armor tightly for support. “I..I don’t know the details, yet everything’s gone to hell in the span of days-” Elia shook her head, cupping Millicent’s cheek as the feverish red blotches scoured her skin. Her stomach sank, “T-This shouldn’t be happening, Millicent, what did you sense???” “Malenia - she…she’s tapped into the rot, it feels as it did in our duel with her.” When the Valkyrie almost ascended in the arena of the Haligtree’s sanctum. Elia’s blood turned to ice as she shook her head in disbelief. Nepheli’s stare was incredulous, “What does that mean, Elia?” Leaden and broken, Elia’s face was pale when she said, “She bloomed.” Darian kept his gaze forward when he and Devin bolted past Boyana, all too quick to sink a sword into a depraved perfumer hefting their decanter to cast another plume. The arc of Radagon’s strike ended with a thundering blow to the stone floor, killing yet another tarnished like a child stomping ants underfoot. Effortless, unswayed by the death at his feet. Radagon had seen many battles and would see countless more, this was a certainty in Darian’s mind as he regarded a figure from legend. That legend which now held his friend as a consort. Gold eyes settled on Darian at his prolonged stare, the battle dying down to the fleeting groans of the dying soon to be corpses of their enemies. Radagon extended a hand then, something almost grateful in his stoic face as he regarded the twins and their bronzed armor. “Twins, fundamentalists even?” The lord asked, his hand still outstretched. Darian tentatively shook it, brows furrowed as he removed his helm, “...In the flesh himself.” He whispered in disbelief. Radagon cocked his head then, casting his attention to Nepheli for a moment, “I am, are you companions of Elia?” “...Yes, we slew Radahn together.” Darian spoke with pride then, “The rumors of you taking her as consort are varied and muddled.” I would very much like the details, for your sake. Those words hung in the air, unspoken yet clear in Darian’s firm tone and Devin’s tensed shoulders, ever ready to follow his brother’s lead. “If its an account you wish to hear, it's one that we can readily give at the battle’s conclusion,” Radagon conceded with a low sigh, as if having answered this question numerous times. Good, let the man be brow beaten for being a firm handed, stubborn edifice of a being.    “Your names, it's not often I see folk still bearing the colors of the Order,” Radagon asked in an attempt to salvage their introductions.   “Darian.” It felt strange to say his name aloud, without an epithet or alias. Simple and bared, his name had once been reserved for a select few. Devin, Boyana, and… Rogier, who had been the one most intimately trusted beyond his own blood. A beat passed before Darian clasped his brother by the shoulder, “My sibling, Devin.” Devin was silent , his gaze lingering on Nepheli and Elia with furrowed brows. With a soft intonation, Devin surmised, “Something seems amiss, given Boyana’s distress.” The announcement shifted Radagon’s countenance in an instant as he rushed towards his wife. Darian and Devin could only observe, hawkish and mildly stunned at his urgency.   Devin cast a sidelong look at Darian, murmuring, “It seems Boyana has a streak for endearing the ordered and the devout to her plight.” The jape made Darian grimace, “No more than Rogier does, hush.” A rare laugh left Devin despite the tension of their circumstances, stalking forward to survey Radagon and Boyana further. Hesitation was clear in Darian’s face and his chest felt tight. He and Boyana had not parted on amicable terms, barely civil in the face of Devin being returned alive from Nokron. The memory of Fia and her quiet wrath still made him shudder in the night, still compelled the instinct to strike or flee. The resentment he felt at having been secondary to the death witch still lingered, knowing who Elia prioritized despite their friendship. With clenched fists, Darian swallowed the bitter tasting emotion, marching after his brother with grim determination. One had to first try before abandoning what remained of their friendship, to deem if it was worth salvaging. He would try for her, and pray she would try for him.

From the moment Sullivan became his grandpa, the sudden lifestyle change was almost overwhelming. All his life he had suffered, tried his best to stay alive and fight for survival. Then almost all of his problems had vanished. Iruma had a comfortable bed to sleep on unlike when he would have to stay at shelters with people all around him or some cold sidewalk. He didn’t have to work odd jobs to be able to have enough money to buy his necessities, Sullivan gave him more than enough to buy what he wanted. Iruma no longer lost sleep, those nights where he had to stay up to make sure no one stole his bag, he could rest comfortably without a worry in the world. And most of all, he didn’t have to worry about food. Food was always scarce for Iruma. Being left to fend for himself often left him to find food wherever he could. That would either be in some dumpster, or he would have to go out and catch it, sometimes begging on the streets for at least a scrap of someones food is how he survived. Sure it wasn’t the most ideal, which probably led to how malnourished he was. Before being taken in by Sullivan, Iruma was practically skin and bones, being compared by other boys his age he was so much smaller than the rest of them. Iruma never knew when he would have the chance to eat again, so whenever he had food he’d eat it like it was his last meal. Of course, ever since being in the demon realm he had tons and tons of different foods to choose from, Opera would always give him delicious meals, though by the fifth plate he’d get told that he shouldn’t eat too much before bed. Most people would laugh at him, tease him about eating too much or how he seemed to never get full. Usually Iruma would blush and retort back that the food was good- which in his defense it was good, but he thought that almost every food was good (even if it wasn’t he’d still eat it, he couldn’t waste food!) But there wasn’t anything else much to it, Iruma was just a boy who ate a lot, teenage boys are like that, he was normal. Until the final exam. The final exam seemed to flick a switch in his brain— in an instant it was like he was in the human world all over again, fighting for his survival. All he could think of was getting past the day, to be hyper vigilant of his surroundings, to eat what he could. Whatever his mentor taught him flew out the window as his only goal was to survive. Iruma did manage to snap out of it— if only a little, but he passed the final exam, but not without a few people raising their eyebrows as some of the people that watched were unnerved by the sudden change in him. “Dude! This is like your tenth plate, save some for the rest of us!” Lied said, a little amazed at how quickly Iruma’s plates were stacking on top of another. “Iruma-chi! You will get fat!” As if to prove her point, Clara pinched Iruma’s little stomach fat. “Did you not eat today Iruma-sama? Is that why you’re more hungry than usual?” Azz asked with a hand on his chin, he was more than certain he saw Iruma snacking earlier, and it wasn’t like the principal who always doted over his precious grandson would let Iruma go hungry. Iruma wiped the crumbs off his face as he held a troubled expression, something that did not go unnoticed as Azz immediately bowed to him. “Wait! I’m sorry Iruma-sama!!! I was just worried about your eating habit! It’s not like you’re going to get fat-“ he nudged Clara who also seemed to be sweating a bit. “Right Valac?” “Yes! Iruma-chi you won’t be fat! Even with eating all those sweets everyday-! Ouchie!!!” Clara yelped as a quick smack to the head shut her up. Trying his best to control his breathing, Iruma heaved over the toilet, sweating profusely as the nausea passed by in waves— god he really shouldn’t have eaten that much. It was so good though, the feeling of eating all the delicious food he couldn’t eat before, he needed to eat it before it all went away. Even if it made him so sick, he needed to finish it, Iruma was never one to waste food. Iruma doubled over as he then wrenched. His throat burned, the stomach acid bubbling up as whatever he ate earlier was now discarded into the toilet. What a waste. He panted, his eyelids felt heavy, too much of his energy was used from him puking so hard. Shaking his head, Iruma knew he had to get back to his friend soon or else they’d worry. With everything he had in him he willed himself up, he flushed the toilet and stumbled towards the sink. Iruma’s eyes were a little glassy, his cheeks were flushed and his usual fluffy hair stuck to his forehead. He wiped his mouth off as well as put some water on his face to clean himself, or what he could. Making himself presentable he took in a big breath and walked out. Kalego was fond of Iruma, though it wasn’t like he’d admit it to anyone. Iruma since the moment he was in misfit class was difficult, Kalego knew that he would have his work cut out for him when it came to the misfit class, especially when it came to someone as troublesome as Iruma. It was strange, from afar Iruma seemed like your typical naive boy, clueless about everything around him, but as Kalego looked closer it became more and more aparent that Iruma wasn’t normal. Of course, it isn’t noticeable at first— you had to look for things, and (un)fortunately for Kalego he knew what signs to recognize. Iruma screamed signs that he was neglected. He furrowed his eyebrows, Sullivan loved Iruma too much, the principal basically worshipped the floor Iruma walked on. But Kalego wasn’t stupid enough to believe that there wasn’t at least something suspicious that was going on, Iruma’s sudden appearance raised many questions such as, why had Sullivan not mentioned having a grandson before? Where were Iruma’s parents? When did the principal even have kids???? How was Iruma’s past life? How—more importantly WHO were his parents? Why did it take so long for Sullivan to have him in his care? All these questions often were left unanswered, Kalego was only his teacher but it didn’t stop him from worrying thinking about Iruma. The signs he exhibited were concerning, even more so after the final exam. But it wasn’t like Kalego could just confront Iruma- or the principal for that matter, he had a sneaking suspicion they wouldn’t tell him the truth anyway. Kalego sighed, this was a worry for another day. When the time came, he’d step in when he needed to.

The following weeks go like this: Stede tries to become the world champion in tattoo aftercare, which is both reasonable to want and possible to achieve. Ed, only laughing a little bit, talks him down from setting an alarm every four hours – even during the night – and sleeping on cling film for the first week. As the redness fades and the itchy stage rears its head, Stede bounces his leg in giddy excitement and sends photos of the shaded areas flaking off.  Every time the itch reminds Stede that he should moisturise again, he feels like a rebel with his secret artwork on his thigh, made all the more special by the man who made it happen.  Every time Ed sees his art piece in person, he takes a second to admire it, then lays a path of kisses up Stede's ink-free thigh and moves on to other kinds of worship entirely.  On one such occasion, Stede is white-knuckling his kitchen counter for leverage, tempting little sleep shorts and tight briefs pooled around his ankles. His other hand is tangled at the root of Ed’s hair. Ed hums around him and takes him to the back of his throat, feeling so pent up himself that his ears might be ringing. He thrusts up against the heel of his hand, relaxing his throat and swallowing around Stede. Every time without fail, it makes Stede whine like he does when he’s close, high and breathy and delightful—  —before he goes rigid for all the wrong reasons and gives a long gasp that sounds like a demon leaving his body.  "Ed!!! I forgot to put the balm on,” he yowls with surprising mental clarity, squeezing and pushing Ed’s shoulders to make him pull off of him. Ed looks up at him, able to count Stede's nose hairs from this angle.  “Love,” he says, indignant, trying to coax him back to it by rubbing the beardless patch of his cheek on the side of Stede’s cock. “You did not just… Stede. You were just there. I had you right at the edge—” “And you’ll have me again. Won’t be a moment.” Stede wobbles away, haphazardly tucked into his waistband. “What the f— what’s ten more seconds,” Ed calls after him, sitting back on his haunches. He fluffs up the pillow protecting his knees, pushing more stuffing under the bad one. When his situation sinks in, his laugh comes as a stuttered wheeze through his nose, and it builds until his frame is shaking with it. “Motherfucker. Stede, you odd fuckin’ duck.” “I heard that,” Stede grumbles, though it sounds fond and sweet. “Turns out I love an odd fuckin’ duck. Hurry back here, my knee’s locking up!”     Date after date, one man takes the other home, calendar permitting. Even when their caresses remain above the belt, Stede loves being home together, scanning Ed’s vinyl records in search of something romantic to sway to, or having Ed look through Stede’s tchotchkes, turning them this way and that while he holds them against the lamplight. When one of them stays over, they fit together so easily, slotting into each other’s arms like they were both made for it. There’s a routine now, with small variations. When Stede feels like reading, he reads out loud. Ed lays on his chest and lets him play with his hair. When Ed feels like being the little spoon, Stede braids his hair beforehand. When they’re at Ed’s, they make use of the flatscreen TV, letting a movie close off the day until Ed is asleep, making Stede’s favourite snuffling noises. Ed rests beside him, warm, content and fully Stede’s, and it’s so easy for Stede’s imagination to run wild. Maybe this could be their future someday. Two mugs beside each other in the cabinet, something soft playing through the speakers. The kids visiting on the weekend. Ed’s beard clippings in the sink. Bickering about who feels like cooking. Ordering takeout if it’s neither. The only thing that needs a trial run is Ed’s touring schedule and how they’ll adapt to it. Stede dreads the moment it’ll rear its head, but he loves the man with his complexities attached, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t at least try to love him from a distance. Alma still eyes both of them like they’re slightly deranged, but there’s affection there, too. Her interactions with Ed go from bewildered, through an awkward feeling-things-out phase, to fond. It just makes Stede’s heart grow in his chest every time he hears them bicker.  “Your tip’s a bit droopy there,” Ed points to her eyeliner wing one Sunday.  To that, she grumbles back, “Seen a lot of droopy tips, huh? You old gays, I swear to God-”  Ed pulls his chair back with the force of his laugh, he throws another one-liner at her, then they’re smacking each other and yipping like wound-up Yorkshire terriers.  When Alma pokes her nail into his ticklish flank, disorienting him long enough to run off, Ed hisses, “Oi, you lil’ shit,” and parkours over the armrest of Stede’s sofa. He grabs a decorative pillow and chases her into the hallway, empty threats and giggling ringing throughout the house.  Stede just looks on, misty-eyed, flipping over the fluffy pancake he learned to make thanks to YouTube.  What a beautiful life it could be, with Ed and the kids by his side.     Louis is… less impressed by Ed’s status. That’s putting it gently. The boy isn’t hostile, but maybe he’s spent too much time with his bearded dragon, only interacting with his surroundings when food is dropped off in front of him. For all Louis seems to care, the rest of the world could come and go, if he still had access to his three favourite things. Maybe it’s that goddamn Nintendo Switch rotting away his brain power. Kids these days, Ed thinks. Fuck it, maybe I’m old after all. “Are you my dad’s Doug,” is the first thing Louis says to him. Ever.  He’s sitting on Stede’s sofa, focused on the game. Something is pinging and jingling. He could be scoring or getting killed.  Ed thinks it’s rude to walk over and look, the boy has to let him in first. In the background, Stede smacks his shin into the edge of his kitchen island. Ed whips his head around. “You alright, love?” “Just fine!”  Ed fumbles for a second, but when he looks at his boyfriend, he finds him straightening up after rubbing his shin, smiling back at him like it’s the easiest thing in the world. He turns his attention back to Louis working his thumbs.  “Well, I mean. It takes some time to become a Doug, right?”  Louis looks at him, head tilted like he’s a pug processing information. It may also be the face of a ten-year-old covertly plotting some mischief. “Maybe if your dad likes me long enough. And strongly enough. Then maybe,” Ed muses, hopeful and soft-hearted. “Yeah, I could be your dad’s Doug.” “Cool,” says Louis, politely neutral.  For an offensively long time, the kid barely perceives Ed at all, to the point where Ed feels demoted to a piece of furniture. He almost trains himself to expect when the Switch will ping next, based on what specifically Louis is doing with his hands— Until the boy looks at him, squinting curiously. “Ed, d’you wanna set some Sims on fire?” Ed blinks. “They’re on my mum’s laptop. But I’m supposed to do Maths.” “Bit of Sims, bit of Maths?” Ed negotiates, mostly to please Stede, still bustling about in the kitchen. Stede, humming tunelessly to himself, bobs his blond head and doesn’t know he’s being addressed. Louis makes a huge deal out of saying “Fine” – he sighs so dramatically, Ed can see all of Stede’s theatrics in him – but he agrees, and he leads Ed over to fetch the laptop. Ed gets the hang of the game soon enough. He even fishes out his phone and takes a photo of a Sims baby being grilled, so he can send it to anti-gay bigots from his band’s official Twitter. His life has handed him lots of absurdities that weren’t on his bingo card for the year. Bonding with his boyfriend’s son over fictional murder never would’ve crossed his mind.     Maybe it’s not visible day to day, but Stede has been blossoming since he came out.  Mary sees it. His therapist sees it. His kids – when they pay attention – see it, too. His job still sucks, and so do his parents, but he doesn’t reserve enough brain space for either. His home life doesn’t suck. That’s all that matters. Also, he learns a lot about pleasure. Courtesy of his brilliant boyfriend, who can even wrap Stede’s nervous fumbling in a sexy scenario. It turns out he likes it silly sometimes. The thing is, Ed can run his mouth like he should be getting paid for it. He riles Stede up and turns him into a puddle of red-faced goo, be it in person or over the phone, silver-tongued and still so filthy with his innuendo. When they collide together, sometimes soft and sweet, sometimes rough and needy, it's delicious – the unselfconscious pursuit of each other's pleasure, the sweat pooled in the dips of their collarbones, the adoring pet names cut off by mewling and pleading. Still, Stede's real favourite moments are when intimacy is light and fun.  It’s being surprised into laughter when Ed slinks his way down his body, pauses to look up with eyes full of promise, then bites him where he's softer and takes off running and giggling. It’s grabbing and repositioning a hand that tickles, then feeling it tickle again – only this time, it’s not an accident. It’s huffing breathy, misshapen laughs at the lewd noise of skin smacking together. Trying to give their cracking joints a break. Slowing down the movements of lube-slicked hands to breathe, come down, chase each other's mouths for a kiss. Rejoicing in the wonderful weirdness of it, the fizzing outburst of pleasure that really must look absurd from the outside, but it doesn't matter when there's such delight to share between their sweaty bodies. There's something special about a face creased by a smile, doe eyes wide and adoring, even when there's still a toy buzzing on the bed sheet. About the way Ed leans in, places a kiss on Stede's mouth, a whisper-soft reassurance when everything is a bit much. Tension diffused by a well-timed joke, a nose pressed to a cheek. "Hey," Ed whispers one evening, before they share one more milestone. Always checking in, always picking up on that concerned furrow in Stede's brow. "You can't disappoint me, love, you know that? You're really special to me."  And when the dark cloud hanging above Stede lifts, when he has more of his usual pep back, Ed adds, "Believe me, mate, I would know. I've kissed tons of fucking frogs in my life and you're a real goddamn prince." Then Stede is rolling his eyes and doing that crinkly face, the one where he's losing against the force of his own growing smile, and Ed makes him laugh until he’s relaxed enough to continue. See, Stede loves the physical aspect, he loves feeling so good that it makes him tremble – but his favourite part will always be Ed’s lips by his ear. Strong arms wrapped around him, a whisper of I love you, a warm body to sleep beside when they quiet down again. All Stede can do is harness the care Ed shows him and try to give it back tenfold. Even when Ed’s bad leg can’t take any more riding and bouncing, and he has to be put on his back — grumbling that he doesn’t want to have sex in a knee brace, and he’s going to be fine in a few minutes, and Stede, don’t go — Stede dotes on him like only Stede could.  He fetches the brace, along with a large vat of tiger balm. He rubs and soothes the joint and peppers Ed with kisses all over. He slides a pillow under Ed’s lower back, changing the angle just so, making his scrappy little top roll up some more – and then he’s between Ed’s thighs again, making him shudder and offer up his neck for kisses, head lolling against the pillow.  Sated and boneless, Ed swipes a thumb over Stede’s lower lip. “See that, sweet? You do know how to make a man feel good.” “Edward, you did most of the work. You made yourself feel good, I was just there,” Stede faux-grumbles before he dips low for a kiss.  “Aw, love, don’t say that. You listened to my pointers so well.” “Yes, yes, rub it in, you shit.” Ed only huffs a laugh against Stede’s mouth.  “Sweetheart. Come here. Don’t—” he says as Stede descends and tucks himself into his shoulder. “Come up here, look at me, love. Just a second.” Stede complies. “I love you,” Ed coos, curling a strand of blond hair around his finger. Then, again, between kisses to the cheek. “Hey. I love you. Don’t be so mean to my favourite guy, hm?” Whisper-soft and reluctant, Stede says, “Okay.” He feels surprised that it came out so easily. “...Alright. I can try.” “I know you got years of shit to unlearn, yeah? Just be a little more gentle. For your sake, not mine. Fuck, you won’t catch me complaining if you wanna hear how great you are. Just… fuckin’ pat yourself on the back sometimes. We both know you deserve it.”  Stede reaches around and tries, mostly to make Ed laugh. It works. “There he is! There’s my literalist little weirdo. That’s my sweet man right there.” The response is a gentle murmur of “you’re the sweet one here.” Then, a heartfelt “I love you” whispered against Ed’s sternum. “I know you do,” Ed whispers. “We’re all gross and sticky and you’re not even complaining.” “Ah, don’t speak too soon, you’ll set me off again.” Pleased, Stede settles down again and they cool off together, the sound of Ed’s heartbeat by his ear keeping Stede grounded. He has half a mind to smack himself upside the head for bringing the mood down, but hey. He’s supposed to be gentle. On the days when he doesn’t feel like trying for himself, maybe he can try for the people who root for him. “Oof,” Ed breaks the silence, arching his back and stretching. “I’m gonna feel that tomorrow.” “Like you asked for.” “Heh. I did.” “You’re welcome.” “We’ll make a professional out of you yet. There’s so much potential,” Ed jokes, giving Stede’s hip a fond squeeze. “And you didn’t get tiger balm on my dick! Ten out of ten experience, would repeat.” “Good.” It comes out as a laugh. “Good!” “Great. Maybe I’ll pencil you into my calendar.” “Lots of suitors outside your door, yeah?” Ed needles him, earning an eye roll. “Good. You should have lots of suitors. It’s what you deserve, sweet.” “Just the one will do, thank you. I’m quite taken with him.” “Think he might be around for some time, then?” “Yes," Stede kisses him, feeling lighter already. "Yes, I think he will be.”     Stede looks at the hand-poked tattoo so often, he almost forgets it wasn't always there. Silly, one might say, but the weird little thing belongs perfectly right above his knee. It’s another puzzle piece in the mosaic of oddities that is one Stede Bonnet with his many facets. Strange critter enjoyer, collector of niche facts, hoarder of many a patterned robe to swish around his legs in the morning.  For this reason, when he's pouring himself a mug of tea on one cosy Alma Weekend, thighs peeking out beneath his floral robe of the day – one of the sluttier variations as Ed would helpfully chime in – the gasp coming from his daughter isn’t expected at all. "Dad," goes Alma Bonnet, while her father shrieks and skips away from the spillage. "What the fuck is this?" "Shit," Stede shouts a few times, each one more maniacal, avoiding burning his foot just in time. It’s a near thing. He somehow sets aside the kettle without burning his hand on the metal casing, then hobbles back towards the kitchen island to clump together some paper towels. Or should he run and get the mop from the storage cabinet? Shit. There'll be time for chit-chat later. Not a second before Stede deals with the scalding hot water on his hand-varnished antique table and dusky pink flooring.      "It's a tardigrade, by the way," Stede says, dumping the last of the soggy paper towels.  His table is miraculously unharmed. So is his skin, though somehow he'd mourn it less than the table. He takes a moment to wonder if that’s a cause for concern. Alma lifts her chin as though she wants to look up from her toast, then reconsiders. "Huh?" "The tattoo." When their eyes meet, her gaze is blank. "Ah. Yeah, that doesn't raise any more questions." "And you didn't think to ask me about it after I finished handling hot water?" "Sorry I didn't time my yelling correctly after my dad got a tattoo!”  Stede doesn’t like how stuffy and uncool her tone makes him sound. Like it’s beyond the realm of possibility for him to do something fun once in a while. He’s proven himself to be all sorts of fun. Hasn’t he? Maybe it doesn’t count if Stede’s boyfriend is the only person in his life who finds him cool. He gestures around as if he’s looking for a segue. “I could’ve burned myself,” he shrieks, still flailing. “I could’ve burned both of us!” She heaves a great big sigh. “Yeah, alright!” A breath. “Alright. I’m sorry.” He doesn’t look back to check if the remorse reaches her eyes, instead closing his fingers into fists and opening them, his breathing slow and even. He grabs the kettle and pours the rest of the hot water into his mug, as much as he didn’t waste. The egg and cress sandwich he carries over to the table looks sadder somehow. Maybe he’s just projecting. Sitting across the table, Alma eyes her father, making a face he doesn’t agree with either. It makes him feel like she’s calling him an idiot having a midlife crisis, without her making a peep. He’d rather be told up front.  ”The hell is that thing, anyway?" In a bizarre mood shift, Stede brightens for a millisecond, before his face falls again.   She doesn’t care, he says to himself, curbing his own enthusiasm. She wants to know why it’s on my thigh.  “It’s a micro-animal. Sorry, it only makes sense between me and Ed.”  She ingests a dangly bit of melted cheese from her toast, looking unimpressed. “Try me.” “He won me a plush tardigrade in a crane game, because he knows I like them, and he always pays attention to the things I like. Which, historically, hasn’t happened much.” He thinks he can hear Alma mutter something in response, but her mouth is full of toast, so he lets it slide. “And the whole evening was such a lovely memory for me. I mean, genuinely, it felt like I finally understood why people watched rom-coms. And then…" Alma is still blinking at him expectantly, trying to follow. "...then I asked him to tattoo it onto me. Hand-poke, they call it, isn't it brilliant?" He pauses too long between hand and poke, like he hasn't been using that term for some time already. “You asked Ed, yeah?” His brow creases. “Yeah.” “It was your idea? Am I following?” “Yes, what—?” “Yeah, okay. Hmmm.” The gaze his daughter is levelling him with… well. He privately calls it her who is the child here face. He understands where she’s coming from, he'll give her that — it was a spur of the moment decision — but somehow he feels good about it.  Somehow, he feels he couldn't regret it, whatever becomes of him and Ed down the line. The joy of that evening was so boundless, he just had to etch it into his very being, carry it around with him wherever he goes. Even if one day they grow apart, it’d be unfair to look back on their time together and frown.  Ed has given him so much. Brought so much joy and levity into his life. Even the fact that Stede fails and fails, then gets up and tries again – it’s so much easier to do with someone else on his team. Someone who doesn’t always expect the worst, like his family used to. "Dad, your face's gone all dreamy again." "Ah. Sorry." "Man, whatever, it's… sweet, actually," she says, slow and careful, like her hair might catch on fire once she speaks it into existence. "Just riddle me this. Ed gave you a tattoo three months into dating… And you still keep saying to me and Louis, telling us like, oh, plan ahead, oh, be level-headed about everything all the time, oh, you must really think about tattoos, don’t just get random stuff—" Stede does not say it was two months in, actually.  “So how does all of that fit together?” “Well, there’s the obvious distinction – and I know you hate to hear it – but I’m an established adult and I’m allowed to be reckless sometimes.” Predictably, Alma performs her famed glare and eye roll combo. "It's not Edward’s name, is it, so where's the problem," he gestures to his thigh, throat feeling tight, unsure of how hurt he really sounds. "Just a fond memory between the two of us. Hell, even if it was his name… I'm old and tired and I'd like to do something silly sometimes. I have been sad and boxed in enough, I've earned the right to be silly!" "Dad, woah," she lays a hand on his forearm, catching him mid-rant before he winds himself up further. "Not everything traces back to your trauma." "But it does," he says, petulant. Alma only looks at him. “You’re literally one sentence away from life is meaningless and we’re all gonna die, if I want a tardi-fucking-something on my thigh, I’ll get one. I am not your Hamish or any other therapist, okay?” Stede wonders how many conflicts Alma has heard Mary de-escalate, if she’s so good at nipping his shit in the bud. Then he remembers the state of his and Mary’s marriage. He rolls his shoulders and breathes, defensive posture sagging back down. "Shit. Gosh, you’re right." Another breath for good measure. If he could see himself from the outside, he’d know just how miserably his face drooped. Like an affronted blobfish.  She gives him a moment. "Darling, I'm sorry,” he says, closer to his natural tone of voice. “I don't know what set me off like that." Alma's gaze softens, though she seems reluctant to let it happen. “Big feelings, huh?” “Yes.” She almost looks forgiving, almost looks like he’ll get off scot free this time, but then her expression hardens and she’s Mary Allamby to the core. “Shoot Hamish a text.” "I have an appointment." “Take your own advice and don’t get a damn jobstopper. Like, on your face or your neck.” “Yes, yes, I know what those are,” he flaps a hand, quieting her down.  “Get… fuckin’ 20 tattoos ‘cause you want them, not because you want to feel something. Do not put them on your face, dad.” “Could you imagine your grandfather’s face, though? Oh, the evil old git would turn puce!” “Dad,” she insists, though the brief upward hitch of her mouth tells Stede he got her. “It’s too much too soon. I don’t want you to, like... wake up in a year or two all messed up.” He exhales through his nose. “Yes, fine. But I am allowed my share of fun.” She mulls it over, then indulges him. “Mm, I guess, within reason. Lots of fun to be found with Ed, yeah?" Stede drops his gaze, but catches himself smiling. "Yeah." They spend a good few moments eating in silence. Just long enough for the fog to lift, for some of the companionship to return. “Now,” Alma conspires, eyeing her smartphone where it rests on the table, “you’re telling me Ed can do tattoos?” Stede’s eyes can only widen in horror before she grabs the phone and legs it.  “Oh, for fuck’s—” he splutters, sounding more like Ed than himself.  He almost skids on one of his decorative rugs, hot in pursuit, and the robe flaps and flutters around him as he bounds up the stairs.     [sword sapphic, 10:23 AM] big news everyone 1 - ed can do tattoos 2 - ed gave a tattoo to my dad [scindapsussy, 10:24 AM] yeah yeah and i’m mentally sound [knife gender, 10:27 AM] [Image attachment: a meme of a monkey, subtitled “neuron activation”] how willing is ur dad to pose for a pic [sword sapphic, 10:33 AM] he isn’t i just found out today  is it so far fetched though i mean. it is. but  it’s no less weird than ed dating him [knife gender, 10:34 AM] bestie  we’ve only just processed that info [scindapsussy, 10:34 AM] ^ speak for yourself babe i haven’t processed shit [knife gender, 10:34 AM] ONLY JUST and now this [Image attachment: a meme of a Sylvanian Families figure in bed, pills and bottles around it, subtitled “unresponsive”] [sword sapphic, 10:38 AM] … [knife gender, 10:40 AM] no i’ll believe the ed bit alone didn’t revengerepublic post about it back in the day too everyone can do tattoos if you give them a needle esp bored musicians but what level of artistry are we talking [sword sapphic, 10:43 AM] mate look up tardigrades [knife gender, 10:44 AM] girl what [sword sapphic, 10:44 AM] or water bears weird lil animal with legs looks like a bug bacteria thing [scindapsussy, 10:45 AM] where did that come from like why the topic change [sword sapphic, 10:47 AM] fucking indulge me it’s gonna come together [scindapsussy, 10:49 AM] ??? [Image attachment: a sample image of a tardigrade] this thing? alma what [sword sapphic, 10:52 AM] yeah this guy it’s not the exact angle but ed tattooed this guy above my dad’s knee  so he can keep his stuffy job but have a weird little creature under there it’s shaded too. a little bit inside the legs and body [scindapsussy, 10:54 AM] ……… your dad sat through a tattoo by his boyfriend in one of the horniest spots to be tattooed [Image attachment: a cat with the word “gay” on its head] [sword sapphic, 10:55 AM] which part is sinking in for you morgan [sccindapsussy, 10:55 AM] ALMA IM STILL AT SQUARE ONE [knife gender, 10:56 AM] ed baby you’re such an Artiste™ [sword sapphic, 10:58 AM] it doesn’t look like a scratcher did it in a garage the fucking thing has shaded little legs like we’re not talking hyperrealism but it’s cute?? [knife gender, 10:59 AM] girl id believe it but you like the UGLIEST tattoos [scindapsussy, 11:02 AM] edward teach career shift era [sword sapphic, 11:04 AM] he could damn guys he could. maybe he’d be less miserable working in a shop [knife gender, 11:04 AM] poor man would mess up his lower back idk is there like postural support for tattoo artists [scindapsussy, 11:05 AM] must be or they’d crack like glowsticks wouldn’t he need a licence to work on clients though [sword sapphic, 11:06 AM] scratch that sounds miserable again  [scindapsussy, 11:08 AM] no but ASSUMING you’re not fucking with us assuming how cute would it be if someday ed had your dad poke a filler tattoo for him [knife gender, 11:09 AM] [Image attachment: two distorted outlines of people, both crying profusely] AWWWWWW me and who I SAID ME AND WHO [sword sapphic, 11:13 AM] hopefully someone with a better concept of hygiene [scindapsussy, 11:13 AM] GET THEM [knife gender, 11:15 AM] hhhHHHHHH i give myself a piercing oNE TIME and everyone shits themself [scindapsussy, 11:16 AM] laurie baby if you’re gonna be a damn fool it takes a friend to point it out to you [sword sapphic, 11:19 AM] which is why i told my dad not to get face tattoos next [knife gender, 11:21 AM] LMAO now that’s a mental image i tell you [sword sapphic, 11:23 AM] like okay. go wild. but not that wild … … … god love really does make people dumber it’s pretty cute not gon’ lie [scindapsussy, 11:24 AM] SHE SAID IT [knife gender, 11:25 AM] SAP CONFIRMED [scindapsussy, 11:27 AM] SAP!!!!! [sword sapphic, 11:29 AM] [Image attachment: a distorted outline of a person throwing up] i resent that remark

Carla Pulling into her drive, Carla disconnected her Bluetooth and grabbed her purse. She put her coat back on and got out of her car. When she closed the door, she leaned back on it and looked up into the night sky to stare at the stars. Sure enough, there was the full, shining moon providing her light. Carla felt energized by the moon, even though she had just worked a full shift. She chuckled to herself and wondered if she was a werewolf or something. She stood upright and went to her house. It was a simple home. She had inherited it from her birth parents that had put her up for adoption as a baby. She was raised by a sweet elderly white couple that she would always call mom and dad. However, she realized they were not her real parents even from an early age. Her skin and hair looked different from theirs, and they were much older than her friend's moms and dads. She didn't mind though; she was curious as to why she was put up for adoption. When she had asked her mom and dad who her birth parents were when she was 13, they lead her into the attic to show her the records from the adoption agency. In the file, under reason, it stated, "in compromising situation, must give child up for her own protection." As Carla thought about her past, which she did often, she took her coat off and went into her bedroom to change into her comfy clothing. Her favorite pair of yoga pants in funky colors, and a loose black t-shirt were her go to items. She had several colors in both, and she was not ashamed. They were worth it, and who would know? It wasn't like she had any guys coming over anytime. Her mind drifted back to the subject of her birth parents. She was shocked when she received a call that they had passed away two years ago. She was required to privately meet a lawyer to hear the will. The part of the will that she was allowed to see simply stated: "To our dear daughter Carla, we leave our first home that your mother and I ever lived in as man and wife. The house is paid in full and we hope you will choose to live there and not sell, but it is your choice. If only it had been possible to raise you as our own, you would have been shown all the love in the world. To lose a child is unbearable, but to also know you were taken care of was a comfort. Your mother and I will love you forever, to the moon and back. 135 Hillview Ranch, Minot, North Dakota." She found herself tearing up as she thought about that simple message that had completely changed her world. They had left her a necklace that had a strange symbol on it, and engraved on the back, it said "to the moon and back". She had an immense curiosity about that address she read at the bottom of the letter. Who lived there, and why did her parents write it in the letter? Did she have family? People that knew her birth parents that were waiting for her to come visit? She thought about it every day, but was too chicken shit to investigate, or make the trip over there. What if they wanted nothing to do with her? She took a deep breath and ran a hand through her loose hair, it surrounded her face in a huge bundle of curls. She shook her lion's mane side to side singing Hakuna Matata as she made herself some tea and turned the tv on. The Hallmark channel had begun dishing out the latest sentimental movies that she loved, and she made it just in time to see one of the movies begin. She rushed to the couch with her tea, wrapped up in her favorite fleece blanket, and began watching the movie, unaware that she had a visitor on her street. Anton She had a very cute house, he thought. She had no neighbors directly around her, she lived alone at the end of the street. Very vulnerable however. He huffed in exasperation, his mate shouldn't be out in the open with no protection, she should be in his sprawling mansion in the Ukraine with hundreds of guards and housekeepers to wait on her hand and foot. But it was still a cute house. Very cozy, just like her, he mused. He had pulled in by the curb, pretty far away so she wouldn't notice him, and watched as she leaned against the car to look at the moon. He loved it. As a wolf, he himself was very connected with the moon as well. She would be perfect by his side. They could have hot sex underneath the moon together. When she went into her house, he pulled further on the street to get a better look at it. It was a single story, small log cabin. He quietly got out of the car and gently closed the door and went to the front of the home, and he noticed that she had sheer curtains in her living room windows. He peered inside and saw her curled up on her side on the couch with her hair wild, a teacup in hand, and some movie on the tv. She was wrapped in a blanket, but her pretty behind was sticking out from under the blanket. So badly did he want to go in there and curl up with her under his arm to cuddle. Go to your mate, she's yours. He mentally quieted his wolf, he couldn't just walk into her house and proclaim his love, he didn't want to scare her. But at the moment, he was scaring himself. He wasn't a cuddling type of man, he was a hit it and quit it man. Returning to his car, he pulled out his cell phone and typed in her address so he could do some research on her. He put his car in reverse and left the lights off as he pulled away. He went over in his head different ways to approach her like a normal person, rather than the customary way of kidnapping your mate and hoping they come around to like you. Since 1803, there had been no female werewolves. A deadly virus had spread throughout all were's and killed all the females. The virus did not kill the males, but it survived in them and prevented them from having female children. But as adaptable creatures, the wolves in them had shifted the mating sequence to human females and mated with them. The wolves knew who they were meant to be with and who would be able to handle mating with a were, but the human side did not. It was up to fate to meet your mate in person, and only then would your wolf reveal to you that she is your mate. Once you mated with a female and bit her during first consummation, her soul was attached with her mates' soul, and the aging process for her stopped, and she died when her mate died, and vice versa. This meant that males were constantly bringing in new human females that had to accept their way of life in order to fully mate. It was hard. So some resorted to kidnapping and hoping that females would accept their love, and some wanted to introduce them to a new life more gently, explaining themselves fully so the female could decide. If a female did not want to live that way, then the male would kidnap her regardless, and try his best to woo her into love, so they could happily live together. This was just the way of life for them. Once a female is mated and has consummated the bond, she goes through one shift, and then no more. The wolf rises, then recedes to protect itself from the virus and death. A human female only shifts once in their lifetime. But this allows them the ability to live and to give birth to were males to keep the population safe from extinction. There were rumors however, of a prophecy made many years back, that a pure female wolf would be born, and would create a new generation of healthy were's. Were's that were immune to this new virus and would make it possible for the population to give birth to females once again. Anton pushed this from his mind. He believed all of that was rubbish. He lived in the here and now, and focused on finding a way to get his own human mate to accept him. He would research her, find out her name, and try to think of a way to meet her like a normal person. So she wouldn't be frightened. Then once they were together for a while, he would open up to her. He figured his plan would be fool proof. Driving back to the hotel, he ran these thoughts all through his head, making himself weary. He pulled into his hotel, and let the valet take his car as he went into the building and went up the elevator and up to his luxury suite. He passed two women in the hallway that gave him lustful looks and cooed to him as he passed, "Wanna have some fun baby?" "Not tonight ladies, enjoy your evening." Not ever he thought, he was done with the women. He only cared about one now. The women huffed and gave a flippant "you too" as he walked away from them. Once he was inside, he quickly undressed and stepped into his bathroom. As he walked by the mirror, he stopped and examined himself. Would she like him? Would she be pleased with what she saw in him? He was a tall man, towering over others at 6'7, and was extremely muscular. He had jet black hair that was always smoothed back, and a light beard over his face that gave him an ever-rugged look. He had sharp features, and dark brown eyes that could be mistaken for black. He was a man who loved tattoos, and he made sure to show it. From his hips to his neck, he was covered in them front to back. Full sleeves covered his arms as well. It intimidated some when they saw him with no shirt on, but women loved it. That was part of the reason why he got them. He had them all done before the change, before his body rejected anything new. Once a were changes, their bodies would never change again. So males go and get haircuts, get tattoos, and make any permanent changes that would stay forever. He preferred facial hair, hence his beard that always returned. He could shave, but 30 minutes later, it would grow back. He didn't mind it though. He wondered if she would. Her face looked to soft and delicate to be rubbed by his rough face. He turned away from his reflection and turned the shower on and stepped in. His mind wandered to her again as he soaped his body up. She had been lying on her side under the blanket, but her ass was sticking out from underneath. She was wearing crazy colored tight pants that outlined her hips beautifully. If he wanted, he could have burst through that door and ripped her blanket off. In his own fantasy, she would have accepted him immediately and grinned when she saw him enter her house. She would have opened her arms up and let him heft her into his arms and let him carry her to her bedroom, where they would fuck each other's brains out. His cock had hardened to its impressive length and he held it in a firm grasp and began to pump. He spread his legs and put his left hand on the wall of the shower and let the hot water run down his body. He imagined her bent over in front of him, shifting her legs back and forth, clapping her ass cheeks together. Her pussy lips would be red and swollen, waiting for him to run his cockhead up and down them to find that hidden pearl of hers. He thought of her on her knees in front of him, sexy lips wrapped around the end of his dick, sucking hard as she pumped one hand up and down him and the other cupping his balls and massaging. He let his head fall back as he started to pump his hips, now thinking of her on her back on the bed with her hands tied to the headboard. His hands behind her knees, pushing her legs towards her chest as her pussy muscles flexed, waiting for him to slide into her hot, tight, juicy cunt. He would lick her in one long, hard swipe, sucking up all of her honey onto his tongue. And then he would spend time feasting on her clit so he could feel her quake beneath him. He would fuck her slow and steady while she was on her back, gradually going faster. Then he would flip her over and fuck her from behind, watching her ass ripple with every thrust he gave her. And she would take it all. She would even slam her hips back on him, throwing her ass back onto his dick. With hard spankings and a hand fisted into her hair, he would bite her neck and make her his. With that final thought, he came, his cum jetting in front of him as he was left heaving, chest rising and falling rapidly. This woman would drive him mad. He lusted for her like no other woman had ever made him lust. He finished washing himself, and stepped out of the shower to dry off. He padded to his bedroom, and opened his laptop, it was time to do some research on his lovely lady.

Raising Stiles had never been easy. He was always so hyperactive, bouncing off the walls with endless energy that John could practically feel buzzing beneath the surface. He and Claudia hadn’t been able to get him diagnosed and medicated until he was seven, seven long, sleepless years, and even after that, Stiles was always somewhat resistant to the treatment. It had taken another two years before they got his dosage right, and by that time they’d lost Claudia, and John had felt lost and confused and frazzled for what felt like forever. By the time he was eleven, hyperactive Stiles was replaced by curious Stiles, the Stiles that wanted to know everything about everything, that just couldn’t let it go when John didn’t know something. Some days, that had felt like just as much work as the Stiles he had to peel off the ceiling every ten minutes. And then when Stiles was sixteen? Whole different ball game. The sneaking out John could deal with; that felt like a typical teenage thing to do. And the lying, to an extent. That was bearable. Teenagers have secrets. As much as John had liked to think that he and Stiles were close enough to be beyond that, he knew he had to make concessions. But then Stiles started turning up at crime scenes, had been involved with kidnapping, seemingly involved with murder? John was a patient man, loved his son to the ends of the earth, but even he could see that something needed to be said. He gave it a year or so, waited to see if it was just curiosity that had him end up in the wrong place at the wrong time, waited to see if it would die down by itself. It didn’t, of course. Stiles kept turning up, getting in trouble, and worst of all, getting hurt. The week before Stiles turns eighteen, John sits him down, is going to have a talk. A good old fashioned ‘what the fuck is happening with you’ talk. Stiles is watching him, guarded, holding himself tightly, and John yearns for the six year old that would swing from his arm in the park. He sends John a small smile, and John sighs. ‘What’s going on, Stiles?’ Stiles paints a surprised and confused look on his face, the one that feigns innocence, the one that John has seen a hundred times before, the one that he cannot be fooled by. ‘Don’t give me that look, Stiles. I’m not an idiot. What’s been happening with you?’ Stiles avoids his eyes, fiddles with his fingers, opens his mouth. And his phone rings. John raises his eyebrows, challenging him to answer. Stiles goldfishes at him for a moment, his hand twitching towards his pocket. ‘Stiles,’ John says, a warning. Stiles’ fingers drift to his side. ‘Don’t you dare.’ Stiles at least manages to look genuinely apologetic as he pulls his phone out and answers it, pressing it to his ear and standing to leave the room. John sighs, runs a hand across his face, and waits. He’s not trying to eavesdrop, really, but he can’t help but catch Stiles’ voice, hushed. But then Stiles never knew how to properly be quiet, even when he was trying. ‘Huh? Really? Wait, so – Sure. Yeah, I think so. I just need to – yeah, twenty minutes.’ John grits his teeth, knows Stiles is going to come in with some excuse to up and run, to get involved with a whole load of shit, and John can’t help but feel himself grow angry. Stiles comes back in with his shoes and jacket on, and John stands. Stiles is already halfway to the door when he speaks. ‘So Scott completely forgot to revise for this test tomorrow, and he’s already nearly flunking economics, so I’m gonna go help him cram, probably stay over and go into school with him in the morning.’ John shakes his head, walks to the door and puts a hand on it, stopping Stiles from opening it. ‘Where’s your bag?’ he asks. Stiles looks confused, before realization hits.. ‘Huh? Oh, yeah, right, I’ll just go grab it.’ John puts a hand on his arm. ‘No, Stiles.’ ‘What?’ ‘You’re not going out tonight.’ John is stern; he’s not the Sheriff for nothing. Although he’d never been great at disciplining Stiles – those eyes managed to look devastated so easily. ‘What, am I grounded or something?’ Stiles sounds incredulous, and John takes it as a personal hit that the idea of him punishing Stiles is so inconceivable. John tempers his anger, tries to stay calm, nearly manages it. ‘Yeah, Stiles, you’re grounded. You’re grounded until next week.’ Stiles’ eyes widen, and he opens his mouth to argue, before shutting it and gritting his teeth, and for a moment, John is looking at himself as a young man. ‘You got any kind of reason for this? Because as far as I can tell, I haven’t actually done anything wrong.’ ‘Maybe, just maybe, I’m sick and tired of you running off at all hours, spending all your time with who even knows, getting hurt, and lying to me. Constantly.’ John’s not shouting, but he’s close. Stiles, on the other hand, is quiet, and John knows that he’s won, won this game that he really does not want to be playing. He continues, says, ‘If you tell me the truth about where you’re going tonight, where you have been going for the last two years, act like an adult for once, then maybe I’ll treat you like an adult, and let you go. If not, you can wave goodbye to any kind of social life between now and when you leave for college, because you will not be leaving this house except for school, do you hear me?’ John hates this, hates shouting at his son, hates shouting at the best thing in his life, but goddamn, he’s never felt this helpless and desperate in his whole life. Besides Claudia. Claudia would know how to handle this. Stiles would’ve told Claudia everything by now. Stiles shifts his jaw, fires bright in his eyes, and John knows he isn’t getting any answers tonight. At least, if Stiles isn’t going out, he’ll be safer. Stiles must know that even if he did tell John everything, he still wouldn’t be allowed out, so instead, he screws up his face in anger, before turning on his heels and going up the stairs. John hears his door close, takes comfort in the fact that it wasn’t a slam, and sinks down onto the couch. He can’t even bring himself to pretend to be surprised when he looks into Stiles’ room at about 11, and finds it empty. - It’s 4:20 am when Stiles gets home. John knows this, because he’s facing the clock when he’s woken. Stiles has all the grace of a herd of elephants. At which point John is suddenly reminded of a 12 year-old Stiles showing him a magazine article about a ballet that was composed for elephants to dance to, and he rubs his eyes absently at the memory. He’s debating whether it’s worth him getting up for, torn between giving Stiles hell or giving up completely. And then he hears a voice, one that is not Stiles’, and he rolls out of bed, ready to face this head on. He opens the door as the two figures reach the top of the stairs, and he double takes, not quite sure what he’s looking at. There’s Stiles, and then, of all people, Derek Hale, and there’s blood, and Derek’s practically holding Stiles up while he winces in pain. John’s heart nearly stops, and he feels the blood drain from his face. Stiles lifts a hand, gives him a half wave, says ‘Heey, Daddio, how’s it hanging? Did we wake ya?’ John hates it, the fake nonchalance, the stupid sarcasm that’s fuelling this rift. He walks towards Stiles, shoots Derek a glare, slips an arm around Stiles’ back, taking some of his weight. He can’t even bring himself to be angry, is quiet as he says, ‘How badly hurt are you?’ He and Derek walk him to Stiles’ bedroom, as Stiles says ‘Not too bad, just some cuts and a sprained ankle.’ He’s lost the swagger, is being serious, finally. They put him on his bed, and John turns to Derek. ‘What happened? What the hell is going on?’ Derek opens his mouth, but Stiles speaks before he has the chance to explain. ‘I think I need to talk to Dad alone, Derek. I’ll be okay.’ Derek looks at Stiles intently, and John can sense some kind of non-verbal communication, because then Derek is nodding, stepping towards the door. John stops him, a hand on his arm. ‘Don’t think I’m not going to want to talk to you too. Tomorrow.’ Derek nods again, says, ‘Yes sir,’ before leaving. John would be lying if he said he doesn't enjoy the fearful look he shoots towards him as he goes. John huffs, goes to grab the first aid kit from the bathroom, comes back, sits on the edge of Stiles’ bed. ‘Where are you hurt?’ he asks. Stiles lifts his shirt a little, and John helps him pull it off the rest of the way. There are a few fresh, fairly deep cuts on his torso, but maybe dozens more scarred cuts. John pulls out the disinfectant. ‘Talk.’ - Stiles is still grounded. - Derek comes back at about 10 the next morning, after Stiles has gone into school, insisting he’s fine, jeez Dad, it’s just cuts and bruises, seriously. They’re sitting at the kitchen table, cups of coffee in hand, watching each other closely. ‘I-‘ Derek starts, before John cuts in. ‘Nope. I talk first.’ Derek nods. ‘I don’t like what Stiles is doing. I don’t like him hanging out with you or any other, Jesus, werewolves. I don’t like him being in danger. I don’t like him lying to me.’ Derek’s quiet, breathing through his nose, little huffs in and out. ‘I also know how impossible he is to control. How much he wants to help people. How he’s nearly eighteen, and soon I won’t have any say over his life whatsoever.’ He leans forward. ‘I want you to promise me two things.’ Derek nods. ‘One. You do whatever you have to in order to keep him safe. In my book, you cannot go too far to protect him. Two. When there are issues that need dealing with, you come to me. I know werewolves are super strong and everything, but Stiles is not, and werewolf or not, your friends? They’re practically children. They shouldn’t be dealing with this alone.’ Derek nods. John sighs. Derek obviously isn’t much of a talker. Except then he does speak. ‘I always do everything in my power to keep Stiles safe. I can’t promise he’ll never be in danger, but I’d rather die than let anything happen to him.’ God, he sounds so sincere. 'I care about him a great deal,' Derek says, looking into his lap as he speaks, as if he's embarrassed about caring for Stiles. Looking up, he continues, ‘and I’ve been wanting to speak to you about this for some time now. Stiles just wanted to keep you out of it; he said you’d be safer if you didn’t know.’ And god, isn’t that just his kid. John gives Derek a small smile, takes a sip of his coffee, and says, ‘I have guns. You can’t die, but I’m sure you can hurt.’ Derek goes back to nodding. - Things, at least, get better. John hates the idea that Stiles has been in so much danger, has nearly died more than once, but he relaxes a little, now that Stiles will actually tell him where he’s going, rather than just mumbling lies as he’s already halfway out the door. After three months of coming to terms with everything he’s been told, he figures nothing could surprise him. He’s wrong. - He comes back from a late shift, and there’s an empty pot on the stove and no Stiles to be seen. John checks his phone, but there’s no missed call or text from Stiles. Yawning, he climbs the stairs and pushes into Stiles’ room. And sees. Oh boy, does he see. He closes the door, wondering if burning his eyes out would actually erase the memory of the sight from his brain. A very naked Derek writhing against a very naked Stiles, sweaty and moaning and panting and – god – he needs a very stiff drink very, very quickly. Twenty minutes later, Stiles is standing in front of him, Derek just behind him, both red faced and awkward, not meeting his eyes. John shakes his head, doesn't want to talk about it yet. It makes more sense than he would've thought, Derek's possessive stance behind his son, the way they tend to gravitate towards each other. John thinks about Derek's previous words, how much he'd wanted to convince him that he cared. He sighs, waves the boys away, Stiles is eighteen, Derek is an adult, it’s fine, I said it’s fine, Stiles. We can save this conversation till morning. And Stiles and Derek are nodding, and Stiles is shooting him a grateful smile as he cautiously retreats back upstairs, Derek's hand in his, cautious whispers shared as they walk. John drops his head into his hands, smiles, laughs, pours the drink down the sink. He’s upstairs and in bed within twenty minutes, and he sleeps easier that night than he has done in a long time. They’re going to be okay. For the first time in a long time, John sleeps easy about Stiles.

Sunday the 31st Exams begin tomorrow so we've spent the last three days studying very hard. I hope I haven't ruined my chances by taking care of Norbert... Today as we exited the library with Harry we stumbled on something...strange. We heard whimpering coming from an empty classroom so we went closer and recognized Professor Quirrel's voice. We hide and saw him leave while straightening his turban. He looked very pale. We peered in, the classroom was completely empty. Harry thinks Professor Snape was the one bullying Professor Quirrel, I think it's ridiculous. (by the way I thought I was done with May so I had written "June" on a new page but this event deserved to be recorded anyway)   Monday the 1st Today it was Herbology and Astronomy. Herbology was questions and for Astronomy we had to draw a map of Jupiter and all its moons. The room we were writing in was sweltering hot. And we had special, new quills for the exams, which had been bewitched with an AntiCheating spell.   Tuesday the 2nd Two more exams done ! Written Defense against the Dark Arts was questions about a bit of everything in the curriculum. In Charms, Professor Flitwick called us one by one into his class to see if we could make a pineapple tapdance across a desk. If I hadn't been so stressed it would have been funny.   Wednesday the 3rd For the Transfiguration exam Professor McGonagall watched us turn a mouse into a snuffbox. Points were given for how pretty the snuffbox was, but taken away if it had whiskers. Mine could have been prettier but it didn't have any whiskers so I should be okay.   Thursday the 4th Today was awful. I wish I could enjoy Potions. Professor Snape made us all nervous, breathing down our necks while we tried to remember how to make a Forgetfulness potion. Tricky.   Friday the 5th History was the last exam ! We had to answer questions about old wizards inventing self-stirring cauldrons. I didn't need to read the chapter on the Goblin Rebellion last night... Since it was only questions I couldn't put as many fun facts as I wanted in it. Anyway, we all cheered when Binn said to put down our quills. By the way, today is my birthday. Happy Birthday me. Yay. At the end of the exam I was close to tears because of how exhausted I was of all the exams and how nostalgic I was of home. Finnigan noticed and asked me what was wrong so I told him that usually on my birthday I wasn't struggling on an exam but browsing muggle music shops with my Aunt and having a picnic in Hyde Park and browsing bookshops, both magical and muggle. I did receive a package and a letter from Auntie but I didn't have time to open them before the exam. After lunch, I met with the others. Hermione and I wanted to go through our exams papers but Ronald said it was making him feel ill. So we just sat by the lake. Fred and George Weasley were tickling the tentacles of the squid. I think he enjoys it. Harry was really stressed about the Stone being stolen by Quirrel but we agreed it was safe as long as Professor Dumbledore was around. Saturday the 6th Last Quidditch Match of the year ! I can't believe I was able to see so many matches ! Gryffindor won, of course. The Slytherin team hasn't mastered yet its new strategy but they'll get there. After the match we had tea at Hagrid. Harry asked him how he got Norbert. He told us he had been to a pub and let some hooded stranger who wanted to play cards and had a dragon egg. I think I should go to pubs if they have strangers roaming with dragons eggs in their pocket. After Hagrid's story they all flew to the castle, in hopes that to speak to Dumbledore. None of us knew where his office was. We encountered Professor MacGonagall who told us the Headmaster was gone because of an urgent owl from the ministry. Ronald and Harry told her it was about the Philosopher's Stone. The books she was carrying tumbled out of her arms. Once her shock had passed she told us we shouldn't know about that and that it was perfectly safe. Moments later we stumbled on Professor Snape who told us we shouldn't be inside on a day like this. It's true that the weather was great but wen exposed to sun for too long I get a lot of freckles. And since I don't want to be abducted bumy the Weasleys when we'll go home, I had a very good reason to be inside. I didn't tell him that. After that they decided they needed to spy on Professor Snape. Hermione and I were to wait outside the staff room and pretend we were waiting for Professor Flitwick because we were concerned about our exams. Of course, as soon as we were posted Professor Snape went to get Professor Flitwick and quickly disappeared. Hermione has the best mark of our year in Charms, by the way. I'm right after her with a Hufflepuff and in third posituon is a Ravenclaw. I asked him how came we beat a Ravenclaw. He answered that Ravenclaws often get distracted in their studies because they discovered something far more interesting to research. Harry and Ronald were supposed to be posted outside the corridor of the 3rd corridor and look out for Professor Snape but I don't know how it went.   Sunday the 7th Harry's inconscious. I'm so mad at him ! After Professor MacGonagall chased him and Ronald from the corridor of the third corridor, Harry decided he had to go get the stone before Professor Snape did because he probably needed it for an evil plan that would doom the school. At least that's what Ronald and Hermione told us. There's no reasonto not believe him because that's exactly what that stupid reckless Gryffindor would do. I have half a mind to kill him for frightening us so much, I lean he wen to get the Stone ?? All right Ronald and Hermione were with him for the first steps (there were several trials tobget to the Stone) but STILL he's the one uncouscious. I'll kill him when he wakes up. Ronald, Hermione, Eileen, Neville and I spent the day at his bedside waiting for him to wake up. Of course he didn't, even when his parents arrived. We've heard all sorts of rumors about what happened but the teachers (nor the Potters) haven't said anything. At night Please, don't let Harry Potter die.   Monday the 8th Harry woke up ! The first thing he asked was why did he had half the candy store on his bed table. And then what his parents were doing there. That boy's sense of priorities... The giant pile of candy was his godfather's doing, at least half of it, I'd say. The rest of it is from us (Ronald, Hermione, Neville, Eileen and I with the help of the other Weasleys in the school) and all his admirers in the school. He seems to have many. Later that day. Harry talked for a while with his parents and Professor Dumbledore and told us what hapoened only once they were gone, after dinner. The person trying to steal the Stone wasn't Professor Snape but Professor Quirrel. I knew Harry was in the wrong when assuming my Head of House had to be evil (that's nice for Slytherins) but I never would have suspected Professor Quirrell who always seemed so frightened by everything. It appears the guy was completely mad. At some point he started walking backwards, told Harry he had Voldemort on the back of his head and started speaking with an high-pitched voice. Completely crazy (there was nothing on the back of his head, not even hair). He also said Professor Snape hates Harry's dad but didn't say why. So that's the new thing Harry wants to investigate. I think I'll have to write to his parents and ask them to forbid him watching cops or detective shows. Anyway Harry was able to retrieve the Stone because, according to Professor Dumbledore, he wanted to find it but not use it. It had something to do with an enchanted mirror, also. Oh and Quirrel tried to harm Harry to get the Stone but he seems to be coated in some magical protection made of love while Quirrel was unable to feel love (Hermione said that's the definition of "psychopath") so he wasn't able to touch Harry without feeling burned. Also Quirrel was the one who bewitched Harry's broom. And all the weird things we've seen him doing are explained by the fact that he thouhgt he had a Dark Wizard on the back of his head. I think Hogwarts should recruit their teachers with more care. Also Hagrid dropped by and started crying because the things he told us cauded Harry to face danger (I think he would have found a way to be in trouble anyway). He offered Harry a wizard camera "so he could take pictures of his friends at school".   Tuesday the 9th Today was the end of year feast. Slytherin and Gryffondor were on a tie for the House cup (Gryffindor had won the Quidditch match but also lost lots if points during the year). Professor Dumbledore gave last minute points: 50 points to Ronald for the "best game of chess ever played" (he turned so red Harry later said he looked like a raddish with a bad sunburn), 50 other points to Hermione for "the use of cool logic in the face of fire" (she hid her face in her arms I think she was crying), 60 points to Harry for "pure nerve and outstanding bravery"(he turned red too), and 10 points to Neville for "standing up to his friends" (he looked a bit stunned as his whole house hugged him)   Wednesday the 10th We have our exams results ! Everyone in our year passed (even Goyle, alas). Hermione has the best results and I'm right behind her ! Today the 2nd and 3rd year had their results too. Tomorrow it will be the 4th and 5th year, and the 6th and 7th will have theirs on Friday.   Thursday the 11th I have the best friends ever. Around 3 today Harry announced we all were invited for tea at Hagrid's and that it would be very rude to not go since it was the last time of the year. We were hanging around in the common common room and postponing packing. For once, Neville joined us. It didn't raise my suspicions because he was looking better with all these days off we had waiting for our exams results. Eileen came and also did Zabini and that was suspicious but they said it was indeed the last time of the year and Harry was right it would have been very rude to not come. When we arrived, Hagrid's hut was very noisy. I wondered aloud if he had some new dangerous pet and Ronald snickered while Hermione started babbling about how it migjt or might not be true. That was the moment I began wondering if they might be hiding something but I didn't have time to ponder on it because two seconds later the hut's door slammed open and everyone began singing "Happy Birthday". "Everyone" included Hermione, Ronald, Eileen, Harry and Neville, who had come with me (Zabini can't sing but he signed "Happy Birthday" when I looked at him) but also Finnigan, Thomas, the Weasley Twins, Pucey, O'Mara and Hagrid. I did cry a little but I think one is allowed to shed a few tears when his friends throw him a surprise birthday party. Finnigan had found a gramophone with the help of Hagrid and had evryone with muggle parents write to them and had them send records issued during the school year. There was Magic and Loss by Lou Reed, On Every Street the last album of Dire Straits, The Soul Cages by Sting, Wish by The Cure, The Future by Leonard Cohen and Human Touch by Bruce Springsteen. He told me he would have rather have them send tapes so he could give them to me after the party (tape player don't work here) but I told him it was perfect like this because it was (and I'm not a big fan of the Cure nor Lou Ree anyway. Even though an album called Magic and Loss played at Hogwarts is rather funny). The Weasley brothers couldn't participate in the records thing so they had written her mother and she sent huge amounts of cake. Pucey and O'Mara got me books about the strategy of Quidditch and broom-shaped candy (do they think Quidditch's the only important thing in my life or are they both big Quidditch nerds ?). Everyone else got me novels, "since I complained so much about the lack of novels at Hogwarts" (I don't know what they're talking about). It was a really really good party. I thanked Finnigan a lot since he madterminded it. He told me he simply had to after seeing me so sad on my birthday. I have amazing friends and I didn't know it.   Friday the 12th I'm going through this journal since the beginning because I've had it almost for a whole year now. I'm looking at the list of goals I had at the beginning of the year and I completed some of them. I'm not top of the year in Potions but I'm top of the half of the class that is Slytherin (that counts, right ?). I did make apologies to Harry and became his friend. I experienced something much better than learning more about dragons: I was there fo the hatchling of a baby dragon and got to be there for his first weeks in this world. I didn't make it into the Quidditch team but I'm almost there. The muggle ear things I had taken in case I was in Gryffindor were useful before the exams. I used my sunglasses almost every time Eileen was around (mostly to annoy her). The socks saved my life. I didn't use at all the books on poetry and chemistry I had packed for Ravenclaw. I think it was a good year.   Monday the 15th I'm back home ! I had so many things to bring back (books, mostly) I thought I wouldn't be able to close my trunk. But the Slytherin Prefect went to help us with a spell.   Wednesday the 17th Dora's home for the Summer ! She's done touring Europe, apparently. Next year she wants to tour America. Or Asia. Or Africa. Or study in France. She's not sure yet. I just hope she'll wait until the end of the Summer to leave...

Ashlyn was overwhelmed for most of the camping weekend. She realized she should have heeded Ali's warnings before she left about their daughter a little more cautiously. She wanted to take on the responsibility of her daughter, but she felt she was making things worse. Leighton was indeed girly and not into grungier things. Ashlyn was in over her head and didn't know how to change it for the better. They arrived Saturday to their camping spot they always took as a family right after picking Leighton up. It was almost 9 and all they had to wait for was Chris to get there with the cooler of food and drinks. At first, Ashlyn had no problems with Leighton and things seemed fine. She hopped out of the truck and even helped bring things over to the campsite. Things seemed great and Ashlyn let out a breath of relief. Then, Leighton had to use the restroom and things went downhill from there. Ashlyn grabbed her little hand and led her towards the woods for privacy. Just as she started to explain to her confused daughter that she would have to relieve herself behind a giant tree, Leighton snatched her hand away and put both of them to her mouth. She was shocked that they had to use the restroom outside with no toilet or anything. She expressed those thoughts to her mother, too. Leighton refused to use the restroom outside and Ashlyn borderline begged her to do it so she didn't have an accident on herself. The nearest restroom was a gas station a few miles away and it more than likely wasn't even as clean as the woods. Leighton refused, diva-ness coming to play, and crossed her arms defiantly. All Ashlyn could so was sigh in defeat and grab her hand to lead her back to camp. Her dad and brother were setting up things when they returned. They both looked up to them and smiled just as Leighton let go of her hand to go ask them about the restroom. She refused to believe that there was nowhere for her to go at, but when her uncle and Papa confirmed it, she just about had a meltdown right then and there. Ashlyn was seconds from joining her, so she picked her up and headed to the truck. She drove her daughter to the gas station restroom to use, but upon inspection, she saw it was really nasty. She drove a few more miles, irritation not at her daughter but at the world seemingly against her, to another gas station another mile away. It wasn't that great, but it was better than the last and she cleaned it up some. Leighton was satisfied enough to use it. With the problem fixed, Ashlyn waited against the wall outside the door and exhaled deeply. That was just one problem. The next arrived when they started building a fire and needed wood. Ashlyn tasked herself with it and asked Leighton to tag along to keep her preoccupied. She figured it would be a great time for them to talk and get to know each other more. Ashlyn grabbed her hand to lead her further into the woods, much to her daughter's detest at being in the mucky area. Just as Ashlyn started talking about what they were going to do, Leighton started screaming. Ashlyn jumped in fright and looked to her immediately. Leighton was caught in a spider web and flailing her arms frantically to get it off, tears of fear forming. If Ashlyn wasn't concerned about her daughter's feelings at the moment, she would've laughed at how cute she looked. Those thoughts washed away when Leighton accidentally poked her eye when she leaned in to help her. After a few minutes of trying to get her to be still and picking the web off of her, they headed back to camp. Mr. Harris and Chris were all rushing to them when they almost made it back to camp. They heard the screams and grew concerned, so they were relieved to see Ashlyn with Leighton in her arms coming back to them. Ashlyn was a soldier and had to endure far worse things than any other person could ever dream about, but she was finding her daughter to be a challenge. Chris gave her an encouraging smile and pat on the back before going to get the firewood. That was the second problem. Lunch time was what Ashlyn hoped would be the thing to smooth things over and get Leighton more involved and liking camping. They had hotdogs all ready and prepped to hold to their fire pit to cook, and hot chocolate on standby to further better Leighton's first camping experience. Things really looked up for Ashlyn when she saw her daughter's eyes go wide in hunger at the sight of the food. It went well and Leighton had fun cooking her hotdog by the fire. She was sitting in Ashlyn's lap, who was seated on a log so she could watch and help her, and they were having fun giggling and eating their food. It made Mr. Harris and Chris smile at the sight of them as they wolfed down their own food. Things were looking up and Ashlyn felt that this was the turning tide of the camping trip. But it was short lived when Leighton had to go to the restroom again. Ashlyn loved her daughter and didn't mind taking her all the way back to the gas station, but she also wanted her to be prepared. She wanted her to know how to take care of herself in case anything happened. She wanted her to know all the things she and Chris learned from their dad on their many, many camping trips they loved. Above all else, she wanted to teach her everything she knew and share something close to her with her. But Ashlyn knew Leighton was 4 1/2 and there would be plenty of time later to convince her of these things. She swallowed her pride, picked her daughter up, carried her to the truck, and drove them back to the gas station. She waited by the door while her little princess sang a happy song as she used the restroom, and she couldn't help the bright grin that swept across her face. She loved her. They made it back to camp, and though Ashlyn was exhausted with all the driving and running in and out of the woods, she was enjoying time with her family. She plopped back down onto her log chair she dubbed as her own, and smiled as Leighton moved to her dad's lap to sit. She admired how close all of her family was with her daughter and it made her heart swell with pride. She knew Ali and Leighton were always safe with them when she was gone, but to see it made her happier. Problem three arose when it was nap time. Ashlyn grabbed her dozing off daughter out of her dad's arms to take to the tent they had set up. She would be sharing it with Leighton and her dad and brother would be sharing the other. They were pretty loud snorers and she was happy that they would be away from them to sleep peacefully. Ashlyn with ease rolled out Leighton's sleeping bag onto their air mattress and laid her on it. Leighton didn't like that at all. It was a cold day and the sleeping bag only provided so much warmth. Leighton didn't know that they would be sleeping outside, even though they were in a tent, and assumed they would go back home to sleep and leave back out during the day. Ashlyn bit back a laugh at her response and sat on the air mattress with her, pulling her into her lap to hold. She let her warmth relax her and held her as she explained what camping was. It took her 20 minutes of explaining and telling her that no bears or anything were going to bother them for Leighton to calm down. It took her another 12 minutes of checking for spiders, bugs, and other animals around the inside of the tent for her to be comfortable enough to lay down. Ashlyn was overwhelmed and trying to not pull her hair out. Leighton was oblivious to it all and stretched her hand out to her. Ashlyn stared at it with a raised eyebrow then looked to her daughter's sleep heavy eyes. She looked exhausted and ready pass out for her nap, but she fought it off as she raised her swaying hand to her. Just as Ashlyn opened her mouth to ask what, Leighton spoke first and asked her to lay with her. Ashlyn's heart bursted with love right then and there in that moment. She almost cried. Ashlyn smiled teary at her, proud and happy at her request, then laid down behind her. Leighton turned around and tucked her little head under her chin, making sure to snuggle close to her and wrap her sleeping bag closer around herself. Ashlyn just froze in place and let her get comfortable, then held her close as she heard her let out a deep breath and doze off. Ashlyn didn't mind laying there forever and holding her little girl. What started out as problem three, turned into the greatest moment ever for Ashlyn. They both ended napping together. Ashlyn woke up 30 minutes before Leighton did and stumbled out the tent to her dad and brother. It was a few hours before dinner and she spotted them down by the water bank fishing, one of her favorite things to do and a big stress reliever. She smiled at the sight of them talking and laughing over a beer as they waited on something to catch their lines. After poking her head in to check on her daughter, she made her way down to them. They already had a seat waiting for her and everything. Chris stood and set her up; chair, fishing pole, and beer in the cup holder of her chair. She smiled in thanks and sat down with a relaxed sigh as she leaned back into it leisurely. Her dad and brother watched her with big grins, knowing this was her favorite thing to do camping, and they all sat back to relax. They held conversation as they fished for their dinner. Ashlyn's R&R carried over back to their campsite as her dad took their catch to clean and prep for cooking. She fed their fire and stared at the flames licking the wood and the smoke filling the air to surround her and stick to her. She inhaled the smell of the wood and exhaled a content and peaceful smile as she opened her eyes back to the fire. Chris watched her the whole time, glad that she could get away and enjoy herself. But problem four arose and Ashlyn remembered her daughter was still there. Mr. Harris was putting out some of their dinner on a grill rack over their fire. Leighton woke up, bleary eyes and fists rubbing them to open them fully, and stumbled out of the tent. Ashlyn smiled at how adorable she looked and stood to go pick her up. Leighton laid her head on her shoulder and wrapped her arms around her neck to rest there. Ashlyn grinned at her movements and carefully sat down on her log to hold her. Things looked like they were going to be ok until Leighton asked what was for dinner and she was showed it. The Harris' never knew her to be a picky eater and she had fish before, but when she found out where it came from and saw her Papa cleaning them, she gagged. Ashlyn immediately stood with her and held her at arms length in case she did actually throw up. Chris grabbed a bag and their dad hid his cooking from her. Ashlyn and Chris rushed to the woods, Ashlyn ahead of her brother and holding her gagging daughter away, just as she puked. Some of it got on Ashlyn's hand and she had to hold her breath and close her eyes to refrain from doing the same thing. She tried to concentrate on any and everything that wasn't the sound or smell of her daughter throwing up or the feeling of her chunks on her skin. Chris came up to them and detoured in the same step the other way when he saw his niece's mess and the parts that landed on his sister. Ashlyn rolled her eyes at her weak brother and set her daughter down slowly and carefully. Luckily, it all hit the ground, part of a tree, and Ashlyn's hand and none on her. She looked up to her mom with an apologetic face to which Ashlyn just smiled sweetly and winked softly. Leighton thought she would be in trouble, but Ashlyn just kissed her forehead and told her she would clean her up. Ashlyn took her beloved new jacket off, thankful she had a sweater on underneath, and cleaned her daughter's face and her own hand off. While they got clean, they looked over to Chris who was dry heaving towards the ground with his hand on a tree. It made them laugh and giggle at how silly he was being. They all 3 headed back to camp after Chris was certain he didn't need to spill his lunch and 4 beers into the ground. They disposed of Ashlyn's jacket in the bag that was meant to catch Leighton's disgust for cleaning later. They walked up on their dad finishing dinner and wiping his hands clean of everything. He gave his daughter a wink as he went to grab his granddaughter to show her dinner in hopes of getting her to eat it. Leighton ended up eating hotdogs again. Ashlyn had an eventful, but somewhat great day camping back at home in the woods that held a special place in her heart. She was thankful for when night time came and they all circled around the fire to just talk and relax. Leighton did most of the talking and informed them about her week between Ashlyn and Ali. Everyone just listened on with smiles and admired how much she loved to talk. Bed time came and Ashlyn went through the same routine she did with Leighton for naptime. This time, though, she didn't care and enjoyed doing it. She laid down with Leighton until she fell asleep, then smiled and cuddled her closer to hold for a little while longer to hold. Ashlyn never thought she would have this moment, or any moments with her daughter for the matter, and relished in it for as long as she could. About 20 minutes into Leighton sleeping, Ashlyn slowly and carefully untangled herself from her and made her way back out. Her dad and brother were situated around the fire, Chris tending to the flames and their dad lounging in his chair and watching. She smiled and made her way back over to her log, and her brother stretched his extra jacket out to her without taking his eyes off his task. They talked for a few hours and enjoyed the scenery and woodland sounds around them. They made a point to ignore and not bring up the reasons they were out there, and instead talked about happier things. They informed Ashlyn with more stories of Leighton growing up, sporting events she missed, family gatherings, and other things. She just listened to everything attentively and took it all to heart. They decided to call it a night around 10 and retreated to their respective tents. Ashlyn was glad she brought extra blankets because Leighton was snuggled up like a burrito in her Disney Princess sleeping bag and had the 2 extra blankets wrapped around her. This was her first time having her for the night and they were sleeping in the same bed. She was about to learn her daughter was a horrible sleeper. After getting ready for bed, Ashlyn crawled in next to her and got inside her sleeping bag. She chuckled to herself as she unwrapped Leighton and the little girl whined in her sleep at being removed from her warmth. She pulled her close and turned to face her as she wrapped them up in the blankets over their sleeping bags. She smiled at her daughter sleeping so peacefully with her mouth slightly opened. For some reason, it made her miss Ali even more. She wanted to share all of this with her. But she pushed those thoughts away before they became torturous and remembered she still had her daughter for all of this. She made it all hurt less. Ashlyn smiled softly as she closed her eyes and yawned silently to not disturb Leighton. She smacked her lips together quietly and cleared her throat a little as she felt sleep catching up on her. Just as she felt slumber land take hold, she felt something cold touch her nose slightly. She stiffened at the contact, furrowed her eyebrows, and slowly opened her eyes. She almost cried. Leighton was asleep, but was now close to her to where their noses touched. Ashlyn couldn't help the fool of a grin that slapped her face. She couldn't even help it when she fell asleep like that. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Morning, Harris'! Wake up, wake up, wake up," Mr. Harris shouted the next morning. Ashlyn awoke with a start and flailed around as she tried to hop out of bed. She stood at attention half asleep before she realized she wasn't at base anymore and she was back home and camping. She rubbed her eyes with her hands and shook her head clear of the sleepy feeling, then looked to her bed. Leighton was gone and she started to panic at the sight of her missing daughter. "Leighton! Leigh! Where are you, Leighton," she shouted, running out of the tent in search as she stuffed her jacket on. "Dad! Where's Leigh-" Ashlyn was stopped short in her tracks at the sight of her daughter sitting on her log and swinging her legs into it. Her dad was finishing a breakfast for them of eggs and sausage links. Chris was stumbling out of their tent half asleep and yawning out loud while stretching widely. Leighton and her dad were looking at her like she had lost her mind, and Ashlyn exhaled in relief at the sight of her daughter. "She woke up when I did. Wanted to help me get breakfast ready," Mr. Harris informed, trying to not laugh. Ashlyn nodded embarrassedly and walked over to her daughter. "Sorry. Got scared," she mumbled with a little blush. Mr. Harris just chuckled as he flipped sausages and finished the eggs. "Good parent," he said quietly. Ashlyn smiled softly at his words as she sat next to her daughter. "Good morning. Sleep well," she asked her. Leighton nodded with a sweet smile and grabbed her hand. "I slept great, Momma! What about you," she asked, playing with her fingers. Chris made his way over for food as he slipped his jacket on. "I slept grrrrrreeeaaatttt," he playfully growled and peppered her face with kisses. Leighton giggled and squirmed under him. "Stop, Uncle Chris! Momma," she yelled and laughed. Ashlyn laughed and grabbed her brother for a noogie. "Leave my kid alone, goof," she teased and mussed his hair. Mr. Harris grinned like a proud fool at the sight of his kids horsing around and his granddaughter laughing uncontrollably at it. He plated their breakfast and passed the plates around as they all settled down to eat. They all ate in mostly silence as their hunger took over and they wolfed it down. Even Leighton was eating more than usual, mostly because she threw up her lunch last night, and was happy to have something she liked. "All done, Momma," she announced, standing and wiping her hands together. Ashlyn nodded and winked at her as she stood. "Good job, honey," she finished chewing and grabbed their trash. "Can we go fishing," she asked out of nowhere. Everyone's eyes went to her like she had grown another little head. Ashlyn was the most shocked at her question. "Uhh, fishing," she asked, slightly amused by her question. "Yeah," she said enthusiastically. "I wanna go fishing with you" Ashlyn looked to her dad and brother who were at an equal loss. "I thought you didn't like it," she replied. Leighton shook her head and grabbed her hand. "But you like it. Please," she asked pleadingly. Ashlyn looked down at her with a confused smile. "A-Alright, I guess," she said unsurely. Leighton cheered and jumped, then ran into the tent to get ready. Ashlyn followed her with her eyes and laughed some at the change of events. Leighton did never actually say she didn't like fishing, she just assumed she didn't after their dinner fiasco last night. She shook her head and blew out a breath of hilarity, then looked to her equally confused dad and brother. They just shrugged and she did, too. "She's full of surprises," their dad stated knowingly. "Yep," Chris agreed, nodding as he drank his coffee. "That's my girl," Ashlyn said softly to herself, smiling like a proud idiot as she followed her to get dressed. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Ashlyn and Leighton were seated in a grassy area near the edge of the water, fishing poles stuck in the ground as they waited on a bite. They had been out there for almost 20 minutes and hadn't caught a thing. Neither one of them cared, though, as they had fun talking and playing around in their seat. Ashlyn sat in one of the chairs with Leighton close and secure on her lap as they waited on the fish to nibble. "Stop, Momma," Leighton laughed and squirmed in her seat. "Gotta say the magic word, Princess Leigh," Ashlyn laughed, tickling her harder. "Please! Please, please, please, Momma," she giggled and tried to grab her hands. Ashlyn slowed her tickle attack and kissed her head. "As the princess wishes," she said in a snooty voice. "You're silly," she laughed and rested her head on her shoulder. Ashlyn smiled and hugged her close. "Silly for you," she responded, pressing a long kiss to the top of her head. They sat there in silence and listened to the water lap up onto the shore. Ashlyn rested her chin on the top of her head as she watched the lake water roll on without a care in the world. It was so peaceful and she loved every chance she had to just break away and come out there to get away for a while. She knew next week was going to be even worse, especially because Ali said she'd talk to Jeff about meeting each other. "Momma," Leighton said quietly. Ashlyn pulled her head back to look at her. "What's up," she asked her, giving her a little squeeze. "Why don't you live with me and Mommy," she asked. Ashlyn froze at her question, holding her a little more tightly and staring more through her than at her. Leighton was just looking down at her shirt shyly, playing with the strings of her pink jacket. She had been wondering this for a while now, but never asked because she was so busy having fun with Ashlyn. She always wondered why her family didn't live in the same home like everyone else's did. "Momma," she asked again, sitting up to look at her. Ashlyn snapped out of her state and blinked her eyes. "Um, it's...complicated...right now, sweetheart. There's a lot of things going on right now," she answered lamely, kicking herself for the generalized answer. "Like what," she asked, confused and needing satisfaction. Ashlyn wished Ali was there to handle this. It was her idea to take time to figure out things. Now, they're daughter noticed. "Dumb grown up stuff. Nothing for you to worry about, babes. Ok," she said with a small smile. Leighton nodded, clearly defeated, and sighed as she laid her head back on her shoulder. She really wanted a better answer than the always replied "grown up stuff", but she knew better than to argue with adults. Ashlyn closed her eyes and released a huge breath on the inside full of frustration, anger, and regret. Her daughter was all she had at the moment when it came to the family her and Ali built, and now she was noticing this mess. "Momma? Are you going to leave again," Leighton asked, voice cracking. Ashlyn's heart constricted and she pulled her close to hold, kissing the top of her head. "Look at me, Leigh," she said softly and pulled back. Leighton refused and wiped at her eyes. It broke Ashlyn's heart to see her little girl hurting. "Sweetheart, look at me. Please." Leighton sniffled and looked up to her, eyes brimming with tears. Ashlyn smiled gently and swiped her thumb across an escaping tear, then tipped her head back to kiss her forehead. She kissed her cheek for a second, then blew on it and made her laugh. Her plan worked and she chuckled through her heartbreak at seeing her so sad. Leighton wiped at her face and looked up to her shyly from under her eyelashes. "Baby, I love you. I fought so hard to come back to you and everyone else. I'm not going anywhere. You've got me forever. Do you hear me," she grinned softly and winked at her. Leighton heard the truth in her words and nodded with a shy and sweet smile. "Yes, Momma," she said. "That's my girl," she said, kissing her nose. "Can I get a hug?" "Yes, Momma," she laughed and hugged her tightly around the neck. "I love you, Momma." Ashlyn's heart mended back together at her words. "I love you more, Leighton," she whispered by her ear then kissed it. Ali was right; they certainly did need to talk.

“Are you out of your Force damned mind?” Yoda chuckled at his young protege’s exclamation even as he doggedly continued on his journey to the temple hangar. “So excitable, you are, young Master Windu.” “Excitable!” Mace Windu repeated indignantly. “Master Yoda, you are either going to get yourself killed or start a war.” “Bah!” Yoda waved a dismissive clawed hand at the young master. “Why a war, would I start, Master Windu? When visiting a former student, I am.” Mace scowled down at the short green Grand Master. “Maybe because you’re planning on flying into Mandalorian space without an invitation or any prior warning whatsoever.” Giggling, Yoda looked up at the Master of the Order with a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Pleasant surprise it would be, I should think, for young Obi-Wan to see his old teacher again.” Grumbling, Mace muttered, “Obi-Wan’s not the one I’m worried about.” “Think the Mand’alor, take offense will he, at my arrival?” Yoda inquired, unconcerned. “I think the Mandalorians will not take it kindly when a powerful Jedi Master shows up unannounced.” The tall, dark master scowled sternly. Yoda hummed, his eyes still twinkling, as they finally came upon his small ship. “Too worried, you are, Mace,” he said helpfully. “Wrinkles you will get, if relax, you do not.” The younger master hit him with a thoroughly unimpressed look and Yoda just cackled at him. “Yoda, you know this is dangerous,” Mace tried one last time to talk sense into the old troll. “What will the Order do if something happens to you?” Pausing before beginning his climb up his ship’s ramp, Yoda gave the frowning younger master a wry look. “Around the Jedi Order has been, long before Yoda was born. Around long after I am gone, it shall be.” When Mace’s frown didn’t lessen Yoda’s expression softened and he smiled at the worried young master. “In good hands, I leave our Order with, young Mace Windu. Faith, I have, that in my absence, do me proud you will.” Unable to argue after that, Mace finally sighed in defeat and gave the stubborn, tiny master a deep bow. “May the Force be with you, Master Yoda. I hope you return safely.” “You as well, Master Windu.” Yoda flashed him one last sharp toothed grin then the green master disappeared inside his ship. As he watched the Grand Master of the Jedi Order’s ship disappear into the atmosphere of Coruscant, Mace rubbed a hand over his bald head. He sure hoped Yoda was right and this trip into their ancient enemy’s territory was the Will of the Force, because there was a massive shatter-point just hovering there. Plus he really didn’t want to have to deal with the paperwork if Yoda came back to the temple in a box instead of alive and cackling an annoying, “Told you so, I did.” * Jaster was in the middle of discussing repairs to the infrastructure of the bio-dome around Keldabe with members of his council when a verd stepped into the room shifting nervously on their feet. “What is it?” he called distractedly, still looking over the blueprints they’d received from some of their engineers. “There’s a Jetii ship requesting entrance to the planet, Mand’alor.” Jerking his head up, Jaster frowned in confusion. “What? Why?” The verd shrugged seeming just as confused. “They spoke oddly, but I think they said they’re here to visit their bu’ad.” “A Jedi,” Jaster repeated dubiously, “is here to visit their grandchild.” When the messenger just nodded helplessly, he asked, “Did they give you any other identification?” “They identified themselves as Jedi Master Yoda.” Eyebrows shooting up his forehead, Jaster wondered incredulously what the Grand Master of the Jedi Order was doing here, because as far as he knew Jedi didn’t have children, much less grandchildren. He could think of only one person on the whole of Manda’yaim that the Jedi Master could possibly be here to see and Jaster wasn’t sure if he was at all comfortable with that thought. It may have been over a year since his sons came back from Melidaan, but Jaster wasn’t sure the Jetiise wouldn’t have changed their minds on looking the other way when it came to Obi-Wan’s little Darjetii ritual. “Direct him to the palace hangar,” Jaster ordered abruptly, standing. “Bring him to the throne room directly.” The messenger confirmed and jogged away. Turning to one of the younger Mando’ade in the room, one he knew that hung around Jango and Obi-Wan fairly often. “Do you know where my sons are?” “Jango and Obi-Wan said they were going to be training with their beskade today.” “Good, make sure they stay there for now.” The young warrior nodded and hurried from the room. With that, Jaster swept out of the room. He had about fifteen minutes to don the rest of his armor and situate himself on his throne. If he was going to have to deal with another Jedi then he was going to do it in full beskar’gam sitting on his overcompensatingly intimidating throne. After situating himself in as leisurely, but strong a pose on his throne as possible, Jaster waited another almost ten minutes before the doors finally opened and in walked the Jedi. Jaster was glad he was wearing his helmet because he was sure he was staring incredulously at the creature limping towards him. He’d heard many a tale and rumor of the wise and powerful Grand Master Yoda, but nowhere in any of the gossip did they mention that the Jedi was barely two and a half feet tall, if that. Nor was there mention of the very large ears, the clawed fingers and toes, or the huge luminous green-brown eyes. The master looked even smaller than he truly was because he was stooped with age. He was also making slow progress forward leaning heavily on a small wooden walking stick. “Su cuy’gar, Mand’alor Mereel,” the very tiny Jedi called in a throaty voice when he reached the bottom of the dais Jaster’s throne sat on. Jaster was a little surprised the Jedi spoke in Mando’a, though his accent was antique. Tapping his chest in an abbreviated salute, he returned the greeting, “Su cuy’gar, Jetii Ba’Alor Yoda.” “Several centuries has it been, since visited Manda’yaim, I have,” the small green creature commented pleasantly. Thrown by the implication of his age, Jaster spoke before he could stop himself, “I hadn’t realized any Jedi have been to Manda’yaim since the Excision.” Nodding solemnly, Yoda corrected, “Before the Dral’han, with my first padawan, I came. Sundari, a small town, it was then. Great forests, across the continent, there still were. From Mythosaur bone, the Mand’alor’s ceremonial armor was still made.” The ancient master looked kindly up at the Mando’ad sitting high above him on his large utilitarian throne. “Mand’alor the Steady, your king’s deed name, then it was.” The air in the throne room was dead quiet, the verde stationed around the room as guards and the few council members Jaster had allowed to attend were all holding their breath. Jaster himself, his heart was pounding in his chest and his throat felt tight. “Vor entye, Ba’Alor Yoda,” Jaster finally spoke, his vocorder in his helmet just barely covering the raspy sound of his voice. “Much of our history was lost with the devastation of the Dral’han. Even the little you’ve just spoken of will be cherished.” Yoda nodded graciously. “Speak more of Mandalore and Manda’yaim, I would be happy to, while visiting I am.” Ah, thought Jaster as he swept his emotional turmoil away for the moment. He was almost impressed by the diminutive Jedi’s strategy. “Why have you come to Manda’yaim, Master Yoda? My techs in air traffic control were somewhat confused on your reason.” He let a bit of wryness tint his words. “I would assume there are more appealing places to vacation if that is your aim.” Yoda didn’t insult the Mand’alor by prevaricating. “Visit my old student, I wish to. For myself, I would see Obi-Wan’s happiness and well-being.” “Obi-Wan has been with us for almost two years,” Jaster stated. “Why are you coming now?” Humming an odd throaty sound, Yoda’s eyes were sharp, but nonchalant when he answered. “Very busy am I, as Grand Master. Prepared, many things had to be, before ready for this trip I was.” Jaster didn’t believe the old creature’s casualness one bit. “I’m assuming the Jedi Temple has holocomms. If you were so concerned about Obi-Wan, why didn’t you call him?” “Not time yet, the Force told me, for Obi-Wan and I to meet again,” Yoda answered plainly and Jaster was not going to buy that. “What does that-” his retort was cut off by the doors to the throne room being shoved open abruptly. * Obi-Wan had just lost his beskad for the third time in a row when Jango called a halt to the spar. “What’s wrong with you today, Getal’ika?” the older boy demanded with a frown. “You’re not usually this useless in sparring.” Huffing at his foster brother, Obi-Wan summoned his beskad to his hand and sheathed it. Taking a seat on the bench off to the side, he wiped sweat from his brow as he pulled out a water bottle. “I don’t know. I’m just distracted. The Force is acting weird.” “Ah,” Jango nodded wisely. “Dini’la Ka’ra osik1.” Obi-Wan snorted and tried to smother a chuckle. “Shut up, Jango.” Grinning at the younger boy Jango came and sat next to him on the bench taking the offered water bottle. “So is it serious, then? Should I drag you to the Goran?” Frowning slightly, Obi-Wan stared off into space trying to concentrate on the odd movements in the Force. “Nah, I don’t think so. There’s nothing really to tell. It just feels like something is coming or is already here or-” He cut off and jerked his head toward the palace. Jango saw his little brother’s eyes widen before he shot to his feet. “Obi-Wan! What-” Taking off at a run, Obi-Wan didn’t wait for Jango to catch up. Now that he was really paying attention he could feel it, a massive, blinding presence in the Force. He’s shocked he didn’t notice it the moment it even entered the sector much less the planet. As he raced through the walls of the palace toward that familiar presence, Obi-Wan was filled with mixed emotions. Excitement, anxiety, and happiness. Out of all those he’d left at the temple, this being was one of the ones that Obi-Wan had missed the most. Passing a startled Mando’ad shouting after him, he skidded to a halt in front of the closed doors to the throne room. Obi-Wan took a split second to suck in a deep steadying breath before he burst through the doors. There standing in front of a fully armored Jaster sitting on his throne was the powerful, ancient Grand Master of the Jedi Order. “Master Yoda!” Obi-Wan gasped out in shock and joy. Turning toward the disturbance, Yoda gave the sweaty, flushed boy a pleased welcoming smile. “Young Obi-Wan, hello there.” Grinning Obi-Wan jogged forward and dropped to his knees before the tiny master. “What are you doing here, Master?” “Not pleased to see your old teacher, are you?” Yoda inquired with a teasing glint in his eyes. Shaking his head, the boy rushed out, “No! No, I am. Very pleased to see you, Master Yoda. But why are you here?” he couldn’t help asking again. Reaching out Yoda placed a clawed hand on the teen’s shoulder. The old master felt a pang when he realized he had to reach higher than the last time he’d seen the boy. “Thought, time it was, that I come to see you. Your studies, progressed, how have they?” Obi-Wan’s face paled then reddened again and he shifted awkwardly in his kneeling position. “What do you mean, Master?” he hedged. Yoda snorted at him. “Think, do you, that expect my ambitious young student to cease learning, I would? No, in the temple or not, expect Obi-Wan to keep studying, Yoda does.” Sighing, Obi-Wan gave the master a reluctant nod. “I’ve tired my best to keep up with my training, Master, but it’s been hard without the resources at the temple.” Humming, Yoda patted the teen on the shoulder. “Good it is, then, that brought teaching materials, I did.” Eyes widening, Obi-Wan stared at the little master afraid to hope. “Master Yoda, I don’t understand.” Expression softening, Yoda said, “After Master Koon’s report on Melidaan we heard, meditate I did. Obi-Wan must learn, the Force told me. Jedi or not, Mando’ad or not, master the Force Obi-Wan will.” A thought occurred to him then and Obi-Wan felt a sliver of dread. “Master, I’m grateful for this opportunity. But I can’t leave Manda’yaim. I’m going to swear the Resol’nare on my 16th birthday. Jaster and Jango are my family now. I don’t want to give up my attachments.” Studying the solemn boy, Yoda hummed again, throaty and so familiar Obi-Wan almost smiled. “So quick to assume, you still are,” the little master said lightly teasing. “Say, did I, that leave your home, you must? That back to the temple, you must go?” “Then I don’t- I still don’t understand, Master,” Obi-Wan said with confusion creasing his brow. “Jedi or not, the Force said. Mando’ad or not. Mando’ad now, are you not?” “Oh!” Hope burst in the teen’s chest, but his grin faded when a small doubt crept in. “But Master Yoda, are you allowed to do that? Teach a layperson the ways of the Jedi?” “Bah!” Yoda burst out and flicked a clawed hand through the air. “Grand Master, I am. What I want, I do.” A hysterical giggle burst out of Obi-Wan and he quickly clapped a hand over his mouth to smother it. Yoda grinned at him, his pointy sharp teeth glinting in mischievousness. “With the Mand’alor’s blessing, stay and teach you, I will.” Gasping, Obi-Wan’s head jerked up to where Jaster had been watching the interaction with mixed feelings. “Oh! Gedet’ye, Jas’buir! Gedet’ye liser Bajurir Yoda arasuumir?2” Jaster just sighed in the face of Obi-Wan’s bright, blue-green eyed pleading. “Of course,” he said and he knew that some of the Mando’ade in the room were smirking at just how well the boy had him wrapped around his finger. “Master Yoda is welcome to stay while he teaches you how the Jetiise use the Ka’ra.” Grin lighting up the throne room, Obi-Wan gushed out his thanks to his guardian. “Why don’t you take Master Yoda to one of the sitting rooms and have some shig,” Jaster suggested so he could get a second to think and discuss this development with his council. “It’s a long trip from Coruscant to Mandalore.” “Mmmm, shig I would like,” Yoda said, his pebbly voice doing nothing to hide his smugness. “Spicy, it still is?” he asked Obi-Wan innocently. The boy wrinkled his nose and chuckled. “Yes, Master, shig is very spicy. Even spicier than your swamp tea.” Shifting from kneeling on both knees to one, Obi-Wan seemed to pause in the process of standing up. Jaster was confused as to why until the little green master basically used the boy’s knee as a step-stool. Yoda jumped to Obi-Wan’s knee then to his shoulder where he settled himself comfortably, one of his clawed hands causally buried in the boy’s messy red hair. The move was so smooth and practiced that Jaster blinked in bewilderment. Obi-Wan just smiled at the ancient master on his shoulder and stood up easy, like the extra weight was negligible. When the teen straightened up to his full height Yoda gave a high pitched chuckle, almost a giggle. “Tall, you have grown!” he said, patting the boy on the head like he was scolding him. “Stones I shall place on your head. Allowed to grow taller, you are not.” Obi-Wan’s cheeks were flushed at the light teasing and his eyes gleamed with happiness. “My apologies, Master Yoda. Though I have been taller than you since I was in the creche.” The venerable master blew a raspberry at that. “Insolent, you are now. Learn that from me, you did not.” The teenager snorted at that. “As you say, Master.” He flashed Jaster one last happy thankful smile before he turned to the doors and walked out, bearing the weight of the ancient green creature on his shoulder like he’d done it a hundred times before. Jaster watched them leave, still teasing and chatting together. Jango had snuck in through a side door and stepped up next to his throne when his younger brother was out of sight. “Is that going to be a problem?” the younger man asked suspiciously. “I don’t get the impression that Yoda’s here under false pretenses,” Jaster admitted grudgingly. Before Jango could argue, Jaster raised a hand to silence him. “Just in case, we’ll keep an eye on them. I’ll talk to the Goran, see if they’ll agree to speak with Yoda and feel him out.” Jango grumbled under his breath and Jaster just wondered how the old Jedi Master’s presence was going to effect things in the future. * Obi-Wan brought Master Yoda to the sitting room near his and Jango’s rooms. Dropping to one knee, he waited patiently for the old master to agilely hop off his perch. The tap of Yoda’s gimer stick on the stone floor was so familiar it caused a wave of homesickness to wash through Obi-Wan. “Make yourself comfortable, Master Yoda,” he said as he moved over to the wet bar at the side of the room. “I’ll start brewing the tea.” Yoda limped his way over to the cushions around the low table near the window and plopped himself down. They remained in patient quiet, until the hot water had boiled and Obi-Wan carried the utilitarian Mandalorian style tea service over to the table. When the tea was poured, Yoda took a sip of his and hummed in satisfaction, then gave a little cough. “Spicy, it is indeed. Spicier than last when I was on Manda’yaim.” Tilting his head curiously, Obi-Wan asked, “You’ve been to Mandalore before?” “Many centuries ago,” Yoda answered. “Decades before the Dral’han, it was.” Obi-Wan was fascinated. He dearly wanted to ask more, but there were other things he wanted to discuss. “How is this going to work, Master,” he asked. “You’re not going to take me as your padawan, are you?” Yoda’s expression sobered and he sighed. “Something I must confess, there is.” “What is it?” Obi-Wan eyed the old master cautiously, worried by his change in demeanor. “Cared for you, I did,” Yoda started, then corrected, “Care for you, I do. Desired you for my lineage, I have, since a crecheling you were.” “What? But-” Yoda held up a hand to stop his words. “Old, I am, however. Too old to adequately care for a youngling, for a padawan. Being Grand Master, much of my attention it requires. Fear I did, that neglect you I would.” Something clicked in Obi-Wan’s mind. “Is that why you kept bringing Master Jinn around?” “Yes,” Yoda nodded slowly. “Struggling he was, thought I did that light you would bring to his life, as light you brought to mine.” Obi-Wan felt warmth at that statement, but it also brought other implications to his mind. He thought back to the sequence of events in his last days with the Order. “I wasn’t supposed to be on the ship to Bandomeer, was I?” “No, originally not,” Yoda agreed, his ears drooping a little and his eyes downcast. Obi-Wan felt a flash of the master’s guilt in the Force. “Knew I did, that a mission Qui-Gon had. Had your posting changed to Bandomeer. Thought that more time my grandpadawan needed, to see your potential.” Stomach sinking, Obi-Wan almost didn’t want to know. “What- what would you have done if you were wrong?” Yoda was quiet for a long moment before he sighed. “Arrogant, I was. Thought my meddling, a good plan it was. Never occurred to me, did it, that go wrong something could.” Biting his lip, Obi-Wan felt a surge of anger that he struggled to stamp down before it could escape. The Mandalorians don’t believe in emotional suppression, nor do many of the other Force sects that Obi-Wan has been studying. He’d gotten very out of practice at emotional detachment. “But what would you have done? If Master Jinn returned without me as a padawan.” He wasn’t as successful at concealing his anger as he’d hoped. His tone had come out tight. A furrow of concern creased at Yoda’s brow as he answered. “Retrieve you, I would have. Brought you back to the temple to search longer for a master. If still you could not find one, discuss your reassignment with you personally, I would have.” It was cruel, Obi-Wan thought as his mind whirled. It would have been cruel of Yoda to bring him back, give him hope then dash it again. He knew though, that was not the old master’s intention at all. Still, it didn’t lessen the hurt inside him. “What’s changed now?” he asked through gritted teeth, struggling to keep his roiling emotions in control. “If you wouldn’t have taken me as a padawan then, why are you here now?” Watching the teen with sad, understanding eyes Yoda said, “Your well-being, to me alone, it will not fall. Mand’alor Mereel, care for you greatly he does. What I can no longer provide, he and his son will give in my place.” When Obi-Wan stayed quiet, thinking that through and still trying to keep his negative reactions from diverting the conversation, Yoda added, “Heartbroken I was, when thought dead, you could be. Immense relief I felt, when learn of your safety we did.” Solemnly the old master finished, “Apology I owe you, for the danger and harm my arrogance and interference caused you.” Sighing, Obi-Wan dragged his fingers through his hair thinking these new revelations over. On one hand he was honored and extremely happy that Yoda thought him worthy of joining his lineage. On the other hand, Yoda’s meddling had resulted in a couple of the most frightening and harrowing weeks of his life. They also lead to him meeting Hondo and eventually Jaster and Jango. Without being on the ship to Bandomeer, Obi-Wan would have never had the opportunity to meet his family. He wouldn’t be here now, on Manda’yaim learning to become a Mandalorian and being loved by his foster family. Perhaps in the end it is all as the Force willed it. “I think it’ll take me some time to really work through my feelings, Master Yoda,” Obi-Wan said and the older master nodded in understanding. “But without you sending me to Bandomeer I wouldn’t be where I am now and I can’t be too angry about that.” He flashed the Grand Master a slightly strained, but genuine smile. “I know your intentions were good and so I forgive you, Master Yoda.” The ancient master’s tense expression relaxed and it seemed as if a weight had lifted off of his stooped shoulders. “All I can ask, that is. Grateful I am for your kind heart.” Blushing lightly, Obi-Wan then put on a stern frown and pointed a finger at the old master. “But no more meddling, Master. I hope this was a lesson for you, too.” Though he nodded gravely in response, Yoda’s eyes held a little twinkle of humor in them. “Meddle more, I will not. At least, not without a second opinion.” Huffing, Obi-Wan rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “I guess that’s all I can ask for.” Yoda shared a chuckle with the young boy, but he soon sobered. “Saddened I was, when missing you were, but through it all, whisper to me the Force did, trained Obi-Wan Kenobi must be.” The teen was quiet then. Both in the Force and before him. Obi-Wan’s blue-green eyes flitted around nervously, guiltily. Yoda hummed knowingly drawing the boy’s attention. “Perhaps Jedi training you have lacked, but other Force traditions in the galaxy, there are, hmm?” Jerking his eyes toward the old master, Obi-Wan eyed his nonjudgmental expression warily. “About the Sith summons, Master Koon spoke to me,” Yoda said, much to Obi-Wan’s alarm. “When asked, believes staunchly Master Tahl does, that the being who performed the summons, the best intentions, they had.” The nexu was out of the bag then, Obi-Wan thought despairingly. Even if Master Koon or Master Tahl didn’t say it outright, Yoda obviously put the clues together enough to come to the correct conclusion. “Master Yoda,” Obi-Wan started cautiously, very aware that old the being before him might be, but still the most powerful Jedi in the temple he was. “I don’t know what to say to defend myself.” Yoda hummed long and thoughtful at that. “Defend yourself, you need not,” he finally said drawing surprise and doubt from the teen. “Trained you must be, specify what kind, the Force did not.” Obi-Wan looked very dubiously at that. “I find it hard to believe you’d approve of me practicing Sith techniques just because the Force wasn’t specific,” he said plainly. Chuckling, Yoda nodded in concession. “Correct, you are. Many hours of meditation and research in the Archives to reconcile this, it took me.” He reached across the low table and placed a kind, clawed hand over Obi-Wan’s tightly clenched fist. “Eventually concluded I did, that more faith in your pure heart I held, than fear of the Dark side.” Throat a little tight, Obi-Wan stared wide-eyed at Yoda’s comforting expression. “Master Yoda,” he began slowly, unsure, “are you- are you saying that you approve of my learning Dark side techniques?” The old master’s nose wrinkled at that, however. “Faith, I have in you. Approve of the Dark side, that far I wouldn’t go.” He shook his head and his mouth curled wryly. “But Jedi you are not. Hold to the restrictions of my Order, you no longer must. My permission to seek your own studies, you need not.” That, Obi-Wan figured, was about as close to a blessing as he was going to get from the Grand Master of the Jedi Order. He wasn’t going to look a gift striil in the mouth. Releasing his fist, Obi-Wan turned his palm over and wrapped his fingers around the master’s small gnarled green hand. Yoda tightened his grip on Obi-Wan’s longer fingers and gave him a soft smile. “My permission, you need not. My acceptance, though, I readily give you.” Breath hitching in his throat, Obi-Wan bit his lips to keep them from quivering as a weight was lifted from his shoulders. “Thank you, Master Yoda,” he was finally able to speak around the lump in his throat. “Your acceptance means a lot to me.” “In the traditional sense, my padawan you may not be, but care for you greatly, I still do.” Yoda gave Obi-Wan’s hand another squeeze then released him. Yoda drummed his claws against the metal of the vambraces around Obi-Wan’s forearm and the heavy air between them was swept away in a blink. “Now, about this wrist guard, tell me you should. Beskar this is not.” If he wasn’t so used to master Yoda’s way of steering a conversation, he would have gotten whiplash, but as it was Obi-Wan was thankful for the subject change. Clearing his throat, Obi-Wan put his other arm on the table next to the first. “The Goran, the Armorer is working on specialized armor for me,” he explained. “Because of how flexible I need to be to wield my lightsaber or use the Force effectively while fighting, they decided that I’ll have to try out different styles before we settle on one. It would be a waste to use beskar for practice armor so the Goran is giving me durasteel pieces.” Humming in interest, Yoda turned Obi-Wan’s forearm over and examined the slim, almost sleek design of the vambraces. They were a much lower profile than the traditional beskar’gam design. The vambraces were so streamlined there was only enough room for a comm unit and heads-up-display controls, much less hidden weapons. “Interested, I would be, to speak with the Goran,” Yoda finally said, his examination complete. “Standard, it once was, for Jedi Knights to wear armor. Some input, I might have for them.” Perking up, Obi-Wan withdrew his arms and finally picked up his cup of cooling shig. “Actually, I want you to meet the Goran anyway,” he said. “A lot of the Armorers are Force-sensitive and are considered the keepers of the Mandalorian Force traditions.” Yoda blinked in curiously. “Know this, I did not. Very interested I would be then, to speak with them.” “They’ve been the one mostly in charge of my lessons in the Force here,” Obi-Wan admitted still a little unsure how Yoda would react to that. “Though it’s been a little difficult to make much headway in terms of technique. I think it has more to do with differences in cultural understanding, than anything else. Though,” Obi-Wan frowned a little, “I am stronger in the Force than any of the other Ka’ra’ade I’ve met.” At Yoda’s prompting expression, he explained, “The Mando’ad traditions and techniques are a lot more uh- subtle, than the techniques I learned at the temple. I’ve had problems using a sledgehammer when I should use a pestle, as the Goran says.” Chuckling at that, Yoda nodded in understanding. “Moderation and fine control, for padawans lessons there are. On this, we will work as well.” Smiling in thankfulness, Obi-Wan then asked, “What other kinds of things will you teach me, Master?” “Lightsaber forms,” Yoda answered much to Obi-Wan’s excitement. “Holo-copies of Master Cin Drallig’s holocron treatise on the seven lightsaber forms, I made. Chose a master of each form, I did, and copied their holocrons, as well. Datapads on Jedi and galactic history, I brought. Guides to the Republic laws and restrictions that effect Jedi and Force-sensitives.” Obi-Wan’s eyes were large and the academic gleam in his gaze glinted with anticipation. Yoda smirked at the look on his young student’s face. “Many things, prepared I did, before making the journey to Manda’yaim.” “That’s amazing,” Obi-Wan gushed, the heavy topics of their earlier conversation forgotten for now. “I can’t wait to start.” * TBC...

There were a lot of things that pissed Obito off.  People who chewed with their mouths open.  When the package of scissors needed fuckin’ scissors. People who were meant to love him, but never did. All of those things sucked the life out of him like the little fuckers that buzzed around on a camping trip. He’d always been a scrappy kid, fighting with anyone who looked at him the wrong way or said something to his mama. He needed to be, to survive out here.  Something that especially pissed him off? When mama wouldn’t let him smash his motherfuckin’ step dad’s face into the side of the goddamn dining room table.  Moments like these were what built him into the man he’d become. Moments like these were what showed him the world would never be kind, not like the little books Kakashi would read to him on the playground, behind the monkey bars. Moments like these proved to him that he had never been more than a worthless speck on this planet. The house was never silent - someone was always screaming, bottles were always smashing. From the start, mama had told him to be good, to stay in his room or on the couch, but never to interfere.  She’d made him promise. Obito was a bad kid, getting into trouble every day, but he never broke his promises. His fingers curled around the edge of the dining room table, knuckles turning white. His mama was being shoved up against the wall, and Obito knew why. He’d seen the beer cans lined up beside the couch; he’d seen the past due bills on the floor. (‘Don’t leave that chair,’ she’d told him, ‘Please, Obito, don’t move.’) He shuddered when she started to cry, his nails bleeding from the force of his grip. Minutes later, the outright sobs as her husband laughed, coated in his drunken stench. “Pathetic.” It was like he couldn’t control his legs anymore. The chair screeched across the tiles. His mother screamed for him to stay back. All Obito could see was red -- all he could feel was red -- it was dripping down his fingers -- pooling on the floor -- he saw the flashing lights -- he didn’t understand -- all he could feel was hate -- loathe -- he had to protect -- the metal around his wrists -- he’s too young, they said -- his mother called the police -- what do we do with him -- father was the victim -- ask him -- the parents said he attacked for no reason -- Obito can’t breathe -- he can’t breathe -- he can’t --      Obito opened his eyes and blankly stared at the ceiling. One of his more recurring memories that only ever came to him when he slept.  He turned to his side, drawing the blanket over his shoulders. His head throbbed. He’d had another fight last night, but his opponent had been merciless, dealing blow after blow right to Obito’s temple before he’d managed to knock the man down by shattering a few ribs. He couldn’t remember much anymore, not like he used to. Obito didn’t remember his birthday, not that it was important. He couldn’t remember addresses or anything long term for the most part, but he didn’t need it.  His life revolved around fighting, healing, and fighting again.  The underground fights weren’t regulated, and there were no measures for safety, nor any requirements to be met. They had no cushioned gloves, only their fists wrapped in tape. There were no mats on the ground to soften their falls, only rough concrete or gravel, depending on the location for the weekend.  Money was under the table, and only cash.  Obito hissed when he accidentally put a bit too much weight onto his wrist as he struggled to find a position to sleep comfortably in, each breath emphasizing the ache in his body.  Exhaustion overtook him.     For the first time, but not the last, he woke up alone. No family was there to pick him up after his sentence had ended, bout after bout in solitary confinement extending his stay - he’d been seventeen when he’d been admitted, so they had simply thrown him back out into the world without any assistance once his sentence had been served. Assault and battery were no strangers to Obito’s record. However, unlike the first time, he learned how to be smart about it, and not get caught. Some people just deserved to be beat into the fuckin’ ground. The only person who had waited for him, and who had visited, was Kakashi. They’d been inseparable since their childhood, and the younger man was the one reason Obito even tried to behave himself in the last few months of his sentence to be let out. Kakashi wasn’t like him. Despite growing up in the same shitty town, his best friend had a different gleam to his eyes, one of hope. Hope that Obito had lost, long ago. Unlike many of the kids in their town, Kakashi had gotten a scholarship in the big city an hour north, and had the chance to escape the torturous loophole they had the misfortune of being born into. Unlike his mother, who Obito had risked his freedom and life for and he’d never seen again, Kakashi forced Obito to come along with him. The area around the college was fine, as anyone would expect from an established university, but the city surrounding it was anything but safe - it was filled with lurking figures, corrupt officials and debatable housing. Still, it was cheap.  Kakashi dove headfirst into his pre-med studies, studying endlessly to try and secure a spot in medical school somewhere far away, a place where he could finally live a nice, happy life. With Obito. He would never leave Obito behind, no matter how many times the older man told him that he would only drag Kakashi down.  Obito tried to find a normal job, but he could never hold onto one for long because of his temper - he’d nearly brawled with a customer at the gas station he worked at because the man had talked down to him. He wasn’t made for this life. He didn’t even feel human anymore.  They lived in their shitty little apartment together, but Obito couldn’t imagine wanting anything but being wherever Kakashi was. Maybe it was selfish of him, knowing he would only ever hurt Kakashi one day like he hurt everyone else, but the younger man was the only one who made him feel alive. Like he had a purpose. To watch over Kakashi, to protect him. As adults, they were able to talk about things that they’d stick their tongues out at as children. Icky topics. Not anymore, though. Not when they knew this bond that they had wasn’t one forged by just a childhood friendship, but by something else. Such a deep love that Obito had never felt before, from anyone.  Kakashi was the sole light in his life. Sure, he was never able to watch the baseball games he wanted because the younger man always hogged the remote to turn on Food Network, but hearing the other rave about the hideous cupcakes on the screen made him happier than seeing a World Series win. Obito had asked him once, if he was afraid. Like everyone else was when they saw his scarred face and imposing body. Kakashi’s nose had scrunched up in the most incredulous way possible, and he’d even laughed. Being compared to a teddy bear hadn’t been the answer he’d expected, but it did make him feel more secure, knowing that the younger man wasn’t scared of him.  That was the day before he’d been on his way to another job interview at the local grocery store, only to be approached by a man in the shadows halfway there.  They liked what they saw. So they introduced him to their lifestyle, their world of streetfighting. Obito was paid to fight like the animal he was. Every ounce of hatred he held for the world could finally leave his system as he beat the shit out of his opponent.  They trained him. Paid him. Bulked him up even further. That’s the way they wanted him: all brawn and no brain. No school would’ve ever wanted him roaming their halls, more beast than man. He wasn’t Kakashi. They trained him until even the sound of the bell sent him into automatic fury - fists beating against flesh, bones cracking, blood dripping viscously onto the asphalt. His first match, Obito had been scared. He’d seen the other fights. Sometimes it was kill, or be killed.     Obito could only breathe in short wheezes as he sat up, palm against his forehead. Another one of these fuckin’ memories. He wanted to escape them, wanted to sleep and dream of peaceful black nothingness. When he pulled his hand away, he saw the blood coating the bandages on his hand and sighed. It was a struggle to stand up, but he managed to do it after multiple attempts. He stumbled his way to the bathroom, the bulb flickering before filling the space with a ghastly white light as Obito leaned on the sink with both hands for support.  He lifted his head and stared at the cracked mirror. His head was wrapped in more gauze, one eye swollen and his lip still bleeding from where it had been split by his opponent’s brass knuckles. There was just blood - everywhere.  Obito opened the cabinet and pulled out some more gauze to rewrap his wounds, nearly dropping the roll when his head ached even worse than before, unable to tear his eyes away from the cotton balls that had fallen out of the first aid kit.     He hissed at the cotton ball pressed to the open wound on his face, only to silence himself at the disappointed look Kakashi gave him. The younger man hated Obito’s job, hated that it consisted of him getting hurt, and hated that he was hurting other people.  (Ever the pacifist, but Obito couldn’t bring himself to pop that hopeful bubble - life consisted of pain and there wasn’t anything anyone could do to stop it.) No matter what, Kakashi always patched him up. Always gave him a kiss. Always made Obito feel like less of a shitty person.  Afterwards, Kakashi was curled up on his chest, the both of them sprawled out on their ragged couch, and Obito was left to suffer with his thoughts, wondering why Kakashi just won’t go. Won’t cut his ties with everything holding him down and seek the perfect life he deserved. But instead, Kakashi told Obito he loved him - and the older man hoped he was telling the truth. Because Obito loved him so. fuckin’. much. Kakashi was too good for him. Obito knew this. The whole damn world knew this. But he was greedy, and would never be ready to share Kakashi with anyone else. (Even if he knew the day would come that the younger man would find someone better, someone who could give him the world, and Obito would be alone - again.)     Obito was heaving, and the sink groaned with the entirety of his weight resting on it. No, he didn’t want to remember this anymore. He didn’t know why his mind liked to torture him with these memories, and these memories only , but he wanted it to be over.  “Stop.” He groaned, grabbing the sides of his head. His knees buckle, unable to keep him up with no added support. Everything hurt.     “Obito, can you promise me something?” Kakashi asked him one night, sleepy in Obito’s arms where he belonged. The older man’s fingers dragged through soft locks of silver hair as he nodded.  “Promise you’ll never kill anyone, okay?” He hesitated, hand resting at the nape of the younger’s neck. His stomach sank. “Promise.” Obito whispered. (Kakashi knew how he felt about promises.)     A tear dripped down Obito’s face, mixing with the blood on his cheek before falling to the floor. Stop. He didn’t want to remember.     “Can you promise me something too?” Kakashi looked at him with those loving, bright eyes and an encouraging smile. “Promise that you’ll never leave me.” It stung to put his soul out on the line, but it was quickly soothed by Kakashi’s soft kiss and the way he nuzzled into Obito’s neck. “Of course, I promise.”     Obito’s heart ached, worse than his battered body. He tore the bandages off of his hands, hoping to feel something other than this agony. Hoping to keep the rest of the memories from flooding back.     Red -- everything was red -- the sound of the bell -- punching -- scratching -- the opponent was on him -- hands around Obito’s throat -- he can’t breathe -- he -- tried -- to -- shove -- him -- off -- he can’t -- the man was too -- strong -- too -- big -- Obito had one last chance. He was losing air.  Obito struck the man’s temple with a force greater than he’d ever known. The skin split, blood coating his knuckles.  He rolled on top -- punch -- punch -- punch -- the man’s face -- unrecognizable -- bruised -- bloody -- disgusting -- and suddenly -- suddenly -- Obito stopped.  Kakashi was here. Why was he here? He could hear him screaming to stop. Kakashi was horrified, tears streaked down his cheeks - that’s what Obito did, he changed people for the worse. He took that beautiful, bright boy and turned him into this. Shaking. Crying. Disgusted. There were no referees in the underground, but the trainer ran to the tangle of their bodies, checking his opponent’s pulse. A flutter that died away. Obito killed him. Obito had broken his first promise. And when he looked up to find Kakashi, he broke his promise too. He was gone.     Years had passed and Obito still couldn’t forget. Unlike everything else, he couldn’t forget this.  His home hadn’t looked the same since. There was broken furniture from his outbursts, torn pictures and dishes piled high. Life had never been the same without Kakashi.  But the younger man had ignored his calls, his texts, and eventually Obito had given up.  From the start he’d known that he hadn’t been worthy of being in Kakashi’s life, and this was what would happen one day.  It didn’t make it hurt any less.  He shoved a shaky, bloody hand into the pocket of his sweatpants, pulling out his wallet, then his phone. Obito wiped the blood from his fingers so that he could grab the picture he had tucked in his wallet, resting it gently on his thigh. Kakashi’s flushed face, smiling nonetheless, after coming home from his volunteering at the pediatric ward, two little bows in his hair after the little kids had insisted on having a tea party. Every time Obito opened his wallet, Kakashi was there, smiling. (Kakashi didn’t need him, but he needed Kakashi.) Obito swiped to the dial, crimson smearing over the screen before calling his own number. To hear it. Kakashi’s voice. ‘Obito, you have to record a voicemail otherwise people won’t know it’s you.’ ‘If they dialed my number, they know it’s me.’ ‘Yeah, but the robot voice is so impersonal! C’mon, just say hi.’ ‘No.’ Another tear dripped down his face, onto the screen as he listened to Kakashi mimic his voice. ‘Hello, this is Obito, I can’t come to the phone right now because I’m too busy being a jerk-’ The sound of a slight scuffle, and Kakashi’s laugh. Then, the end.  Obito dialed his number, again. And again. And again. What had he done? He was alone. Like he always foretold. He was on his way to redialing for the fifth time when a blocky snout shoved its way through the gap the bathroom door made with the wall.  “Tobi,” he breathed as the rottweiler unceremoniously shoved its way into the bathroom, stumpy tail wagging, “Get out of here.” Tobi never listened. The dog whined and nudged at his leg, staring at him with those big brown eyes.     Obito still thought of Kakashi every day. His laugh. His smile. His love for those stupid umbrellas that came with a martini. He wished he could’ve known where the younger man had gone, just to make sure he was happy - and safe. Even with his health deteriorating and the danger growing, Obito continued to fight.   Since there wasn’t a Kakashi to patch him up anymore, he’d become prone to getting infections in the cuts he couldn’t bring himself to regularly clean. Why bother, his body was falling apart anyways. Since directions were hard to remember, Obito took the same route every day - and without fail, each night he’d hear the rattle of a metal chain.  The rottweiler snarled at him from the alleyway, the rusty chain embedded in its neck, fur mangy and nasty. Its water was filthy and the way its bones stuck out so prominently made him wonder who the dog even belonged to. Obito stared at it as it growled - then went on his way. Over the week, he noticed the dog more and more. It had been there for a while, obviously, but he’d always been so deep in his thoughts of Kakashi that he’d been unaware of his surroundings. Now, he’d seen it. Now, he knew of its suffering. Obito had taken to bringing it scraps, and would try to replace the water in its bowl with some from his water bottle, but the mutt would snap at him whenever he got too close.  He stared at it - and then left.  One night, it was pouring and he’d been hurrying home, chilled to the bone.  But when he passed by the alleyway, he didn’t hear the jingle of the chain that would normally come from the rottweiler relentlessly guarding its territory. Obito found the dog, shivering and curled up on the ground, soaked by the same cold rain he was trying to escape. The fighter looked down the street - he was so close to home, to warmth, and he wanted to just forget about this and go. Then, he took another look at the dog. Nobody wanted that damn dog. Just like the world didn't want him. So Obito took off his jacket and walked closer to the rottweiler, noticing the way it tensed, teeth bared. “You’re one ugly motherfucker,” Obito sighed, crouching down a few feet away. Its face was littered with scars, much like his own, and he figured it was once a bait dog, left for dead. It had a lot of wounds that looked infected, but when he reached for the chain around its neck, he only narrowly dodged the sharp teeth aimed for his hand. “I’m trying to help you, dumbass,” he growled, clenching his jaw. Obito ended up sitting in the rain for two hours. Maybe it was how persistent he was, but eventually, the dog allowed him to take the chain off of the hook. Obito was too scared to remove the one from around its neck since it looked too deep for him to handle without injuring the dog further. He wrapped his jacket around the rottweiler and lifted it without much effort - concerning, since it was supposed to be a bulky breed, but the lack of food had turned it into a trembling skeleton. Obito had to walk to the vet clinic, but since it was midnight, there was no one there to tend to the dog. He sat on the curb until morning came, the dog’s head on his lap, the fighter trying to keep it as warm as possible until the vet arrived and the poor thing was treated.  (It cost him so much; the dog had a lot of damage and Obito could only fight enough to pay for rent and food without his body absolutely failing him.) But, he paid and when he walked out of the clinic with the rottie, it stared up at him hesitantly. Obito shoved his hands into his pockets and sighed.  “Come on, we’re going home.” (That stubby little tail didn't stop wagging the entire walk back.)     Much like Kakashi had been his light, Tobi gave him meaning for the cruel world that surrounded them. Obito tucked the photo away and slid everything back into his pockets, using his hand on the dog’s shoulders to give himself a boost from the ground. Tobi was nothing like the image he’d once been - with his glossy black coat and his thick body. No one dared to walk beside them on the street (Obito’s mean mug had been enough of a deterrent, but now with his canine equivalent, people avoided them like the plague). Once up, Obito stared down at the dog, a hand resting gingerly on his bruised abdomen. “Want some chicken, buddy?” Tobi’s tongue lolled out as his tail wagged at a hundred miles per hour, and Obito couldn’t help but smile. He had his purpose. Teeth tearing through white tape, Obito finished wrapping his bloodied knuckles, sweat trickling down his body as he staggered up from his crouch. The loud clang of bars being dropped echoed throughout the training room, harsh breathing coming from the other fighters his coach oversaw. The lighting was as dull as ever, washed out yellow casting down from above, every particle of dust visible in the air as Obito stepped over yet another dried blood stain that had been left on the concrete from last week’s matches.  He rolled his shoulders, thickly corded with muscle, fingers wrapping around the pull-up bar above him. His arms strained as he hefted himself up, chin brushing over the bar, jaw clenched with the brute force needed to lift his own body. The metal structure creaked underneath his weight - the fighter nearly robotic in his movements as he pulled himself up, dropped himself down, and then repeated the process, over and over.  His shirt had long been discarded to the side, torso wrapped in the same tape-like gauze that he’d bundled his hands in, the cuts and bruises from last week slowly healing. Obito grunted, forcing himself through one last pull-up before dropping back down to the ground, bare feet barely making a sound. The fighter sat with his back against the wall of the warehouse and dragged a hand through his damp black hair, long enough now that it was starting to curl at the nape of his neck. His fingers lingered there, thumbing at the locks.     “I like your hair long,” Kakashi hummed, twirling a piece of Obito’s hair around his finger. “Gives me something to pull on.” Obito lifted his head from where it was resting on the younger man’s belly, the both of them sprawled out on the couch. “Yeah? You tryin’ to start something?” He lifted a brow at the cheeky smile that tugged at the student’s lips. “Maybe,” Kakashi’s breath was like a whisper as Obito propped himself up, muscled arms caging in the slender body beneath his.  “Maybe,” Obito teased, softening his voice to match Kakashi’s. “I think I know what you want.” His lips brushed over the curve of Kakashi’s jaw, pulling away when the younger man tried to close the gap between them for a kiss. Obito laughed at the petulant look he got in return, giving that pout a little peck before settling back on his heels, calloused hands rubbing up and down Kakashi’s thighs, hooking into the waistband of those gray cotton shorts and what was beneath to tug them down. This was always his favorite part - Kakashi loved to talk up his actions, but the moment Obito made the move, that pink flush would travel from his cheeks down to his chest, his fingers curled into his own sweatshirt since he couldn’t reach Obito.  “Kakashi, look at me,” Obito growled, fingers sinking into the supple flesh of the younger man’s thighs, admiring the way those eyes were squeezed shut out of embarrassment.  He’d fucked Kakashi against the glass door, on the kitchen counter, in his car, and yet the student didn’t ever seem to get used to Obito’s to-the-point nature. When the other still didn’t open his eyes, the fighter roughly nipped at the inside of those soft thighs, right over the marks he’d left the last time, guiding Kakashi’s legs over his broad shoulders.  “I thought you wanted something to pull on?” He hummed, smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, adjusting his position so that he could kneel on the floor as opposed to the couch, yanking Kakashi’s body closer, mouthing near where he wanted to be.  “Go on,” Obito stared up at Kakashi, who had lifted himself up on his elbows, staring wide-eyed at the feral look in the older man’s eyes. “Pull.” Those whimpers and the accompanying tugs to his hair that came moments later were only to be expected when Obito was on his knees eating Kakashi out like a man half-starved.     He unscrewed the cap to his water bottle, taking a quick swig to alleviate the ache beginning to form in his head from yet another unwarranted memory. One that thankfully happened during training, because any other time would’ve had him hard in seconds flat, but the exhaustion was like a heavy blanket over his body. The years hadn’t been kind to him either in that sense - he’d been offered many things after his fights, but the thought of touching anyone but his Kakashi was like acid in his mouth. It was ridiculous - he had no idea where the other man was, and would most likely never see him again, but his loyalty had always run deep.  As well as the foolish hope that one day, Kakashi would return to his rightful place in Obito’s arms.  It hurt, knowing that in the years Obito had been trying to find him, Kakashi hadn’t come back once, nor ever responded to the messages or the calls. The younger man had essentially disappeared off the face of the Earth and the first few weeks had been hell for Obito, whose entire purpose and livelihood had been making sure that he kept Kakashi safe. He’d break every bone in his body to make sure that not even a scratch ever marred Kakashi’s skin.  The water bottle creaked underneath Obito’s grip, plastic crushed beneath strong fingers, water bubbling out of the open top.  Fuck. He missed Kakashi. He missed that smile, the softest of which was saved only for Obito. He missed that horrible cooking, the way Kakashi would fidget sheepishly after burning yet another pound of chicken. He missed those gentle hands, the way they’d wrap his wounds, tremoring ever so slightly because Kakashi had never been the best at hiding his distress. As if Obito couldn’t see those watery eyes, the shakiness of his voice when the fighter would stumble back into their apartment, chest shredded from barbed brass knuckles, his face nearly unrecognizable from all of the bleeding and swelling.  Obito jerked his head to the side, trying to expel those images of Kakashi. He didn’t want to think of him like that. Didn’t want to remember the way Kakashi would hold onto his wrist for dear life, begging him not to go to the next match.  The fighter rubbed at his face, shoving those memories down deep. Anything else. Literally anything else would be better than that. He peered down at the specks of blood beginning to show through the white tape around his palms, turning his hands over to stare at the darker stains over his knuckles.  If Kakashi were here, he would’ve scolded the older man about reopening his wounds, spouting some doctor talk that went in one ear and out the other.  Obito wondered if Kakashi had accomplished his dreams. More than anything, Obito hoped he did.  Maybe Kakashi was somewhere better than where they’d been - some pretty gated community with a beautiful yard, the type of place someone could walk around without the fear of getting killed.  Anything could’ve happened throughout the years they’ve been apart.  Kakashi was smart, more so than anyone Obito had ever met, and he knew that the younger man would never return to this place. If someone was able to get out, they stayed out. Kakashi would be no different, and Obito wanted it to be that way, if it guaranteed the other’s safety. “Obito.” His gaze remained on the floor even as his trainer walked over, hands stuffed into a tacky purple tracksuit, the end of his cigarette burning bright. The man tilted his head towards the bolted metal doors, brows twitching impatiently.  “You’re up in an hour.” Obito was silent as he watched his coach hobble away over to another one of the fighters, correcting her posture. He stood, ever so slowly, and picked up his belongings before heading over to the locker room, some others already in there as they discussed the previous matches that had already blown over.  One of the participants had died; another one dragged out of the warehouse by their arms to be left in a field a mile away - most likely destined to bleed out unless a kind pedestrian noticed them and called an ambulance. Injured fighters were a liability to the underground ring - the options were either death, finding a spot to call an ambulance from that wasn’t anywhere near the fighting grounds, or dealing with the injuries at home.   Relocating after a busted ring was a pain in the ass. The silver lockers had rusted over years ago, contributing to the creak as Obito opened his own, stuffing his gear into the cramped space before grabbing his mouthguard and heavy chains, draping the latter over his shoulder.  Normally, Obito liked to fight with his bare fists for the cathartic effect, but sometimes if his coach had tipped him off that his opponent was going to use weapons, he knew he had to balance the odds with his own. Knives were his usual choice for their practicality, but the chains were a favorite amongst the observers who placed their bets - the weapon untouched since Kakashi had left.  They’d been stuffed in a corner of Obito’s locker for years, the thick links rustling against each other and his skin as he moved them. In the process, a small folded piece of paper floated to the ground, what appeared to once have been orange now a faded beige. The fighter picked it up, fingers smoothing out the crinkles as he stared at a series of familiar, nearly illegible loops: Kakashi’s handwriting.      With an anatomy test on the horizon, Kakashi had been fretting around the apartment for days, nose stuffed in his textbook and his plethora of colored markers drawing diagram after diagram of all the muscles and their vasculature.  Obito had been trying to eat his cereal peacefully when the younger man had intruded, one hand carrying a stack of neon sticky note pads, the other twirling a pen, eyes gleaming with determination. The fighter had protested for nearly fifteen minutes, but when it came to Kakashi, he was a weak man, and eventually gave in to his demands. “I’m almost done, stop squirming,” Kakashi sighed, tearing another sticky note into multiple pieces so he could write another muscle onto it, smacking it onto the corresponding spot on Obito’s body. At some point during the younger man’s study session, he’d ended up sitting on the fighter’s lap, facing forward, Obito’s hands at that tapered waist. Being able to steal a kiss every few notes was a good enough reward for him, half-lidded eyes watching every single one of Kakashi’s movements, nearly sneering when the younger man paused halfway through putting a sticky note on Obito’s so-called ‘sternocleidomastoid’, instead clearing his throat as he stared down at the thick bulge in the older man’s black sweats.  “You’re hard?” He asked in disbelief - as if a normal man wouldn’t be, with Kakashi sitting on their lap oh so prettily.  “Not my fault,” Obito drawled, raising a single brow, “You’re literally sitting on my dick.” Kakashi groaned, swatting at the hands that tried to creep up his sides.  “Obito, I have to finish studying,” the younger man practically whined, looking torn between his exam prep and choking on his boyfriend’s dick.  “I’m not stopping you,” Obito’s hands rested on Kakashi’s thighs, behaving himself so that they didn’t move, gaze on the other’s lips. “Give me a kiss.” His cock throbbed when Kakashi listened (always so good), those gentle hands cupping the sides of his scarred face, pressing their lips together chastely before Obito deepened it, a hand fisted in soft silver hair. When he pulled away, Kakashi was looking at him with hazy eyes, leaving Obito’s lap so he could sink down to his knees on the floor between the fighter’s thighs, lips parting when the older man’s fingers curled around his chin, thumb rubbing over that plush bottom lip.  Always. so. good.     Deltoid - innervated by the axillary nerve . Obito folded the little sticky note again and slid it back into his locker beneath his shirt, lightly shaking his head to rid the fog from his mind.  Even after all of this time, Kakashi was everywhere.  His coach waltzed in right as he was sliding the lock back into place, frustration clear on his face as he jerked his thumb towards the ring. “How much longer, Obito? We’ve got the sharks waiting.” The fighter didn’t respond, settling the mouthguard over his upper teeth before shouldering his way past his coach, the smaller man letting out a small ‘oof’ as he was nearly sent straight into the wall. Obito left the locker room and took the stairs down into the basement of the warehouse, the lighting even worse than it was up above, nearly pitch black where the steps were save for the lanterns weakly screwed to the cobwebbed walls. The stairs creaked beneath him as he made his slow descent, too dependent on the wooden railing beside him thanks to his previous injuries.  Down here, he knew Hell.  There were countless, packed seats that surrounded the barbwired ring in the middle - all rich, power-delirious men who had too much time on their hands, the smoke from their cigars making the air nearly unbreathable. There were bodies in every square foot of space, money practically falling from their hands as the bookie scampered around, jotting down the bets and prattling off the odds for all the matches that would happen throughout the night. They stared at him like he was an animal - talked about his brute strength and his size as if they were about to buy a bull at the market. It grated him, but in the end, he knew this was the life he had chosen for himself. This was all he was good for.  He stepped through the only gap in the barbwire to stand in his corner of the arena, alert as they brought in his opponent - someone nearly as brutal as he was. They’d fought each other before, years prior, and had nearly killed each other multiple times, which now explained why there were even more sharks present than usual. They wanted to see the blood rain down, rivers of red that would seep out of the arena and pool by their feet. This wasn’t a regulated match, not like the ones broadcasted on TV. They had no rules, no referees, and the only time the matches would end would be through forfeit or death, of their own accord. There were no fancy introductions, no flourish before the beginning of the match.  Only the two of them, staring each other down from their respective corners.  “Kakuzu.” “Obito.” “It’s been a while,” he said, voice low, fingers already tangling in the chains around his neck, tugging on them so they would clatter to the ground, wrapped around his fists. “It has,” his opponent drawled, head tilted back with a sneer, holding onto the handle of his hunting knife, seemingly taking a look around the crowd. “Where’s that pretty bitch of yours?” Red.  Obito lunged at the other man, fueled by his mocking laughs and the fact that he even knew who Kakashi was, remembering him after all of these years. He barreled into Kakuzu’s body, sending them both towards the concrete ground, the other man hissing at the rough scrape against his skin, Obito’s own fall cushioned by his opponent’s body. He quickly rolled off of Kakuzu when he saw the glint of the knife, using the chain around his fist to land a vicious blow to the man’s ribs, the loud crack audible despite how loud it was in the basement. The fighter had only just risen to his knees when his opponent delivered a solid kick to his stomach, sending him back against the barbed wire fence, the jagged edges digging into his skin. Obito ignored the sting as he used the fence to help him stand, one of the barbs buried into his palm as he used his hold to hoist himself, crimson rivulets streaming down his spine. Kakuzu staggered up, one hand clutching at his ribcage with a grimace. He jerked towards Obito with an elbow aimed towards his face, trusting that the man’s instincts would kick into gear - which they did - the hunting knife poised at the perfect angle. Obito realized his mistake too late, barely able to avoid what would’ve been a fatal gash across the neck as he ducked, the knife instead embedded within his shoulder, the textured edges of the blade anchoring it within his flesh. Obito stumbled back, bloodied fingers slipping as he grabbed the hilt of the knife, yanking it out without any concern for his own body. When he was fighting, it was as if he felt nothing and everything at the same time, blood oozing from the wound itself and down the blade, dripping languidly onto the floor. Mirroring Kakuzu’s same smirk, Obito tossed the knife behind him so that it clattered past the barbed wire fence, outside of the arena, leaving the other man weaponless.  He wasn’t sure what had been damaged when he’d been stabbed, but the blood was coming out thickly and his vision was starting to swim - perhaps if he'd been in better shape before the match had started this wouldn’t have affected him so deeply, but his body was a battered mess.  Obito was hanging onto life by a strand.  This time around when he slammed himself into Kakuzu’s body, it was with the full intention to kill the man. They were sent to the ground, Obito’s chains held taut against his opponent’s neck, the other’s face turning a bright red as he struggled to breathe. In an act of desperation, Kakuzu shoved his fingers into the raw gash in Obito’s shoulder, drawing a roar of pain from the fighter as his bandaged hands scrabbled over his wound, bleeding even more profusely than before, widened from the presence of Kakuzu’s fingers seconds before. Obito’s legs felt numb from the shock as he hunched over on the floor, the absolute agony leaving him frozen. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt.  Reddened saliva dripped from his open mouth as he tried to staunch the warmth that seeped between his fingers, hissing with every painful breath as Kakuzu stood, regaining the advantage as Obito remained on the ground. He couldn’t move. The kick to his face sent him rolling to the other side of the ring with how much force it held, the healing scars on the side of his face opening up once again. Obito laid flat on his back as the blood bubbled in his mouth, his vision blurred as Kakuzu stepped back into the frame, neck already showing evidence of chain shaped bruises.  “Motherfucker,” the man snarled down at him, Obito’s own chains in his hand now that his knife had been sent out of the ring.  Another kick to his face. Then, to his ribs. His stomach. His back. All he could do was lay on his front as Kakuzu straddled the backs of his thighs, the chain looped around his neck. The blood that had filled his mouth made it even harder to breath as the chains tightened ever so slowly, his bruised hands trying to tug at the chain in any effort to loosen the cinch.  Kakuzu leaned down, making the chains a notch tighter. “Maybe I’ll find your bitch and give him a good fuck, since you won’t be around.” Obito’s blood surged with fire. His fingers were finally able to slip between his neck and the chains, jerking them forward as he bucked backwards, his opponent not expecting the sudden movement from both ends and tumbling off.  Obito didn’t wait for Kakuzu to get the chance to recollect himself before grabbing the man’s ankle, dodging the kick to his face as he dragged the other closer. Punch after punch, they rolled around on the ground - each of them gaining the upper hand before losing it, so much blood on the floor that no one could tell where some puddles began and others ended.  The thought of Kakuzu - anyone - touching Kakashi, fucking him, had Obito seeing red, now on top of his opponent with one hand around the other’s neck, blows dealt to his face mercilessly until it was nearly unrecognizable. His opponent was so far gone by this point that his arms merely twitched by his sides, weakly trying to reach for Obito’s hands to stop the torture, but all the fighter could do was keep. hitting. him. He wanted to kill Kakuzu. He wanted to feel the blood drip down his fingers. He wanted to make sure that Kakashi’s name was never spoken again. Obito knew that one more blow to the temple would end his opponent’s life, and his fist was poised to deal it, but he hesitated. He thought of Kakashi’s horrified face, that one day. The tears down his cheeks. It was as if he'd seen a monster. Obito’s arm fell to his side as he slowly stood, blood dribbling down his body and onto Kakuzu’s beneath him, the other man’s shallow breaths the only indication that he was still alive as the trainers dragged his opponent’s body out of the arena. He must’ve been a popular bet if the sounds the crowd was making were any indication, lots of pleased mumbles echoing around as he stumbled out of the arena. One of the sharks tried to grab onto his arm as he limped towards the stairs, labored breathing coming out in huffs. The man prattled on about some sort of pay-off if he threw his next match the following week, but the fighter couldn’t hear anything, the words sounding slurred together, his own breaths louder than anything around him.  Obito wrapped the man’s blue tie around his bloody fist, yanking him close. “Fuck off,” he snarled, reddened spit landing on the shark’s face with each word he spoke. He shoved the man back and heavily leaned onto the railing at the base of the steps, staring up at the dimly lit staircase. The fighter bit back a pained groan at the thought of what would surely be a torturous ascent, knees shaking as he took the first few steps up. Making it to the ground level floor of the warehouse felt like a century-long endeavor, Obito’s dull eyes locked on the entrance as he lugged himself towards it, one arm limp by his side, the other curled protectively around his bruised abdomen.  Bloody footprints marked every step he took.  Outside, Obito could finally take a breath of crisp air, sans the smell of copper and sweat. The warehouse was two miles away from his apartment, out on the cusp of town and quiet enough that no regular person would be out on the street at this time of night. The neon lights from the pawn shop across the street bathed him in white and green as he stumbled towards the curb, his knees buckling as he finally succumbed to the pain coursing throughout his body. He couldn’t even react as his cheek scraped against concrete, his injured shoulder taking the brunt of the fall as he laid on his side, a muffled whimper slipping past his lips.  Fuck. Kakuzu normally did a number on him but this was unlike anything he’d ever dealt with before. The blood that had begun to spill onto the ground beneath him slowly became diluted as the first few raindrops fell from the sky, the ones that fell onto Obito’s cheek making clear tracks through the crimson that was smeared over his face.  Then, the dam of the skies broke.  Obito’s eyes fluttered shut. Each wheezed breath felt more painful than it was worth, his throat throbbing from the damage the chains had done. He wanted to sleep. Wanted to listen to the rain and just sleep . Despite what would’ve been a frigid night to anyone else, Obito felt warm. His limbs felt numb.  He wanted to sleep. But he thought of Tobi, of how no one would even know to check on his dog. He was alone, and if he went to sleep now, if he gave up, he’d be leaving Tobi alone too.  Obito tried to prop himself up, but even putting an ounce of weight on his arms had him flopping back down, choking on a hiss as he rolled onto his back, lashes wet. From the rain, or from the involuntary tears, he wasn’t sure. Pathetic. His dog would starve without him, would die a miserable death, all because he wasn’t strong enough to get up. “Tobi,” he whispered, eyes squeezed shut as the invisible weight over him suffocated him even further. His fingers twitched, nails digging into his skin. When he opened his eyes, there were three moons. All hazy. His vision was swimming, eyes half lidded. And somehow, in seconds, a man accompanied the moons. Obito heard some muffled words, then, the stranger crouched beside him. He was seeing double - long, brown hair dampened by the rain, a toothpick balanced between the other’s lips.  “Shit,” the stranger cursed as Obito’s eyes rolled back, his head lolling to the side. The last thing he remembered was a pair of hands struggling to hoist him up, and the feeling of leather as he was tossed into the backseat of someone’s car. Then, black.     Whenever his step father was angry with him, Obito didn’t have many places to go. He wasn’t allowed back inside for the rest of the day - cast out like a dog, scrounging to find someplace safe to sleep. Even though he hated actual school, he loved the playground; it was easy to sneak onto his elementary school’s campus after hours since the only form of security they had was a chain link fence that was scalable even by a fifth grader. Obito shoved his hands into the front pocket of his black hoodie, sneakers filling with sand as he trudged his way towards the swings. Thankfully it hadn’t rained all day, so when he retired to his bed for the night, the slide, it wouldn’t be a cesspool of still water and gnats.  Until then, he wanted to swing.  His cheeks were ruddy from crying during the walk to school - Obito tried to be big and strong, but he was only a child, forced to grow up too fast.  Expecting to be alone, Obito sniffled one last time before quickly wiping away all of his tears. Only a few yards away, already at the swings, was Kakashi, his stuffed Pakkun on his lap.  Obito had to be big. Kakashi needed him. “What’re you doing here, ‘kashi?” he asked, stepping closer, his tiny heart flipping at the small smile his best friend flashed his way.  “She said I was a bad boy,” the silver-haired child answered softly, playing with Pakkun’s ears. “And that if I’m gonna be a bad boy, I can’t have dinner.” Obito clenched his fists. He hated Kakashi’s foster parents even more than he hated his own step-dad. He’d seen the way his best friend had begun to wither away - Sakumo had passed away last year, and Kakashi had been cycled through the system ever since, solaced only by Obito’s presence and the fading memories of his loving father.  Kakashi’s foster family held no qualms against withholding dinner from the younger boy, his already pale skin often looking sickly. Obito had never understood why they treated his best friend in such a way - but then he remembered the way his own mother continued to choose his step-father over her own son.  He wondered if parents were meant to hurt their kids like this. His fingers brushed over the granola bar he’d been saving for his own dinner, pulling it out and handing it to Kakashi. “Here,” he closed Kakashi’s fingers over the snack as the younger boy stared at him with wide eyes, his stomach already grumbling. “I already ate dinner.” A lie, but he’d rather go to sleep hungry than know that Kakashi was doing the same. “Why’re you here, ‘bito?” Kakashi asked as he scarfed down the granola bar, small fingers plucking the crumbs that fell into his lap.  The older boy thought of telling his best friend the details, but he hated to mar Kakashi’s mind with his own troubles. “Step dad,” he shrugged instead, leaving it at that despite the sad look in the other’s eyes. “Doesn’t matter, I’m here with you now. Want me to push you?” Obito was quick to change the subject, lips barely forming a smile as he walked behind Kakashi, gently giving his back a push so that he would swing up and down. He pushed the younger boy for what felt like hours, the both of them basking in the way the swing whooshed and the chains creaked with the movement.  When Obito’s arms began to feel like jelly, they plopped down onto the sand that surrounded the swings, cross legged and using sticks to draw silly little doodles.  “Obito?” Kakashi’s voice was a surprising break in the silence, dragging his stick deep through the sand.  “Hm?” The older boy’s gaze flickered up for a second before returning to his own drawing of a fire truck. He wanted to be a fireman when he grew up.  “One day, when we’re big, can we leave?” Kakashi whispered, and it was only then that Obito noticed that his best friend had drawn a house with stick figures. A family. “I want a big house with a backyard, like the ones in the movies. And a pool. And a doggy like Pakkun.” Obito’s heart twisted painfully. He would give that to Kakashi, he promised himself. He would do it. “Yeah, we’ll go somewhere pretty,” Obito promised, voice filled with determination. “We’ll leave forever.” “But we’re gonna stay together, right?” Kakashi’s voice sounded tiny and it hurt Obito’s little heart knowing that there was even doubt in his best friend’s mind that he’d ever leave. “Forever,” Obito said firmly, holding out his pinky. “Forever,” Kakashi repeated, eyes gleaming with hope as their pinkies crossed.     Forever.  When Obito opened his eyes, it took him a few minutes to realize exactly where he was. The muted sage walls and pristine white equipment were unfamiliar to him, but when he looked down and saw the tubes attached to his arm, he realized.  The hospital. Since he always had Kakashi, and then himself, to patch things up, Obito had never gone to the hospital - he could barely afford to take care of Tobi’s vet bills, so winding up in the emergency room every time he got injured in the fights was out of the question.  The fighter blinked blearily, the slow, methodical beep of the heart monitor next to him the only sound that anchored him to reality as he removed the oxygen mask from his face, frustrated at the way it made him feel, the straps rubbing his ears raw. Obito lifted the thin cotton blanket from his body and stared at the white bandages that were wrapped around him from chest to hip, as well as the intricately looped one around his shoulder, specks of blood visible.  The room felt as if it were closing in on him and he reached for the tubes taped to his arm, all channeling towards the needle in his vein. He needed to get the fuck out of here. Obito yanked the IV out of his arm, a small trickle of blood seeping down his forearm from the rough extraction as he grabbed onto the assist rails at the side of the hospital bed, ignoring the sharp stabs of pain as he turned himself. He only had one foot on the ground before the door burst open, the panicked beeping from the heart monitor obviously having alerted someone that the patient was no longer attached to it.  “Sir, please get back in the bed,” the nurse scolded him, the fighter suddenly acquainted with a head of brown hair and purple cheek marks. “You were unconscious and in critical condition for nearly 24 hours, so you’re still under observation until we make sure you’re stable.” Her voice was soothing, but the underlying threat to her words made Obito reverse the progress he made, legs back under the blanket and reclining his sore upper half against the stacked pillows. His gaze fell to her nametag. Rin. “How’d I get here?” He asked, his voice coming out in a dry rasp to which the nurse handed him a styrofoam cup full of water.  “Lucky enough, one of our paramedics found you!” She explained, taking the empty cup back once he’d chugged the entirety of it. “Genma.” Obito nodded, wincing when he accidentally brushed his hand over his bruised jaw. Rin seemed to have noticed, easily reinserting the IV and fiddling with the pumps to the side, injecting a clear syringe full of fluid into his drip. “Dr. Sarutobi was the one who oversaw you yesterday, but he was transferred to the East side hospital today to help with some overflow patients,” she said, observing the tubing to make sure no major bubbles were visible. “But don’t worry, they sent one of their best residents over to take his place for the time being. He’s young, but we’ve all heard great things about him already, they say he graduated top of his class!” The fighter could care less about what doctor he had - he just wanted to leave. Still, his nurse was rather peppy and Obito couldn’t find the heart to be rude to her, so he merely shrugged, regretting the action when an explosion of jagged heat overtook the area they’d recently stitched. “He should be here shortly to check up on you, I saw him making rotations around the rooms a few minutes ago,” Rin took a step back, hands on her hips and it was only then that Obito noticed the purple scrubs that matched the marks on her cheeks. “Do you need anything in the meantime? They’re serving jello in the cafeteria tonight!” “I’m fine, thanks,” Obito mumbled, plucking at a frayed thread on the blanket. “When will they let me -” The clatter of a clipboard falling to the floor interrupted his question, the both of them turning to look at the open doorway where the resident had silently slinked in. Obito couldn’t breathe. The heart monitor beside him screeched as his heartbeat suddenly spiked.  Years.  It had been years, and Obito had started to accept that maybe he’d never see Kakashi again. Yet here he was. Standing right in front of him. And all Obito could do was stare, at a loss for words. It seemed like Kakashi was suffering the same fate, hands trembling by his sides before he slid them into the pockets of his white coat to hide them.  “Dr. Hatake? Are you alright?” Rin asked, inching towards the resident who’d paled as if he’d seen a ghost.  Even after all this time, Obito remembered all of the little signs. He saw the way Kakashi averted his gaze, how his smile brightly took up his whole face to try and alleviate the nurse’s worry. “Oh, yes, just tired,” Kakashi chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck as he bent down to grab the clipboard. “It slipped through my fingers. Would you mind giving me a moment with the patient, Rin?” “Sure,” the nurse eyed the both of them, seemingly unsurprised since the tension in the room was nearly palpable. She closed the door on her way out, the both of them waiting until they heard the click before their eyes met once more. Obito could see the way the doctor's eyes were already glazed over. He sighed as Kakashi rushed to grab the chart hanging off the foot-end of the bed, quickly scanning the procedures that had been performed and the synopsis of admission. The younger man's knuckles were white from how hard he was gripping the chart, his eyes aflame with every emotion possible as he stared at Obito. The fighter was still reeling. Kakashi was here. Right here. Staring at him with eyes full of hurt, worry and anger. “Obito, what did you do?” Kakashi quickly moved to the side of the fighter’s bed, who didn’t resist as the resident checked his bandages, hopelessly leaning into the hand that was cradling his cheek for the purpose of analyzing the wounds there. “I’m fine,” Obito drawled, everything hurtling back tenfold as he jerked his face from Kakashi’s hands. “What’re you doing here?” The resident looked taken aback by the prodding question, but Obito couldn’t control himself. Kakashi was here, after so long. His heart hadn’t stopped pounding like he’d just ran a marathon, and his stomach was doing somersaults, leaving him on the brink of vomiting. Why would Kakashi be here, of all places, of all the hospitals he could’ve done his residency at? Why did he come back to their town? Rin mentioned he’d graduated top of his class - he could’ve gone to so many better places, so why here? “It didn’t feel right, I couldn’t -” he began, before shaking his head, running a frustrated hand through silver hair. “It doesn’t matter why I’m here, it doesn’t concern you, Obito.” Kakashi’s words were like a knife to his heart, worse than the feeling of Kakuzu’s blade gouging through his shoulder. When the resident tried to turn to face the monitors, Obito grabbed his wrist, yanking him closer to the bed despite the way it sent a pulse of pain throughout his body. “It concerns me when you suddenly show up after all these fuckin’ years,” Obito snarled, their faces inches apart, his grip like iron around Kakashi’s wrist. “You promised, ‘kashi.” Perhaps that was the catalyst to the sudden burst of the resident’s emotions, the fighter helplessly watching as tears spilled down the younger man’s cheeks despite the brows furrowed in anger. “And you promised you wouldn’t kill anyone, Obito,” Kakashi snatched his wrist back, years of pent up emotion spilling out, his bottom lip trembling. Obito’s stomach ached as he sat there, listening to the doctor stifle his sobs for fear of someone outside of the room hearing them. “I couldn’t do it anymore,” the younger man whimpered, rubbing at his eyes, “I couldn’t keep watching it happen.” “It was once, ‘kashi, it was a mistake. He was going to kill me and I-” Obito began, incredulous. Kakashi had only seen him do it once, his head throbbing with confusion at what the resident could’ve possibly meant. He couldn’t believe that the other hadn’t seen it from the life or death standpoint that he had, and the fury started to bubble in his gut, much like it had years ago when he’d arrived at an empty apartment. Why couldn’t Kakashi understand? “That’s not it,” Kakashi hissed through his tears, angrily wiping them away even though they wouldn’t stop falling. “This is why. Every day I had to watch you come home like this, I had to fix you and hope that you wouldn’t die right beside me while we slept. Do you understand, Obito? What it’s like to tell yourself that one day, the man you love might not come home because someone had killed him to put a buck in some sick fuck’s pocket?” Obito did understand. When Kakashi hadn’t returned, hadn’t stepped through the door and into his arms like he did every night, Obito’s world had shattered.  But all he knew how to do was fight. It was all he was good for. It was the only way he could take care of Kakashi. “You wouldn’t listen, when I begged you to stop fighting,” Kakashi’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I couldn’t sleep anymore, especially when you’d come home like this. I’d take care of you and for the rest of the night I’d put my head on your chest to listen. To see if your heart was still beating.” Obito opened his mouth, to say something, anything, but the doctor raised a hand, eyes bloodshot from the tears that continued to spill out. “I know what you’re going to say, ‘bito,” the younger man stared at the bandages wrapped around Obito’s shoulder, and the fighter wanted to shrink under his gaze. “I know you and I know you wanted to take care of me.” “I could’ve changed, we could’ve talked and everything would’ve been better,” Obito rambled, throat squeezing with the tears he was keeping at bay. He had to be strong for Kakashi, he couldn’t cry. Kakashi’s soft hand traced the scars on the side of his face and Obito couldn’t stop the tear that slid down.  “You wouldn’t have, Obito, you can’t,” the doctor’s voice sounded broken, mirroring the fighter’s heart. “That’s what I always loved about you, no one has ever changed you.” But you did, he wanted to say, the words stuck in his throat. Kakashi had been his light, the light that had been stripped away from his entire being for years.  “I’m not brave like you, I’ve always been a coward,” Kakashi said, his hand falling from Obito’s face. “And I couldn’t stand there and wait for the day that I wouldn’t be able to fix you anymore.” No matter the cut, no matter the bruise, Kakashi had always fixed him. Always. Obito tried to reach for the younger man’s wrist again, but Kakashi stepped away, staring at the ground. “I’m sorry, Obito, I can’t. I need to - I can’t. I promise Rin will take good care of you,” Kakashi sounded like he was on the verge of sobbing again, struggling to hook the chart back on the bed through vision blurred by tears.  No. Obito couldn’t let Kakashi leave. Not after he’d just found him again. “Kakashi,” he rasped, stopping the doctor as he reached for the door handle, Obito’s heart aching at the sight of his tears dripping down to the floor. “Do you remember the big house with the pool? One with a dog?” “Obito, don’t -” Kakashi’s voice came out in a strained whimper. “One day, I’ll get you everything I promised,” Obito breathed out, his chest pulsing with pain. “You’ll see.” “I don’t want anything, I just want you to be okay,” Kakashi leaned his forehead against the door and the fighter wished that he could’ve gone back to that day and made everything right so that this wasn’t their destiny. A life without each other. “I’m not dead yet,” he murmured, mostly to himself, knowing that he’d been on the brink of death more times than any human should. Kakashi took a deep breath and shook his head. “I’m going to order some scans, I need to make sure. We’ll keep you here until I know you’re stable,” he hushed Obito’s sound of protest, to which the fighter figured was a step in the right direction from moments prior when Kakashi had been about to delegate all of his care to Rin and some other resident. Still, Obito couldn’t be here any longer. Tobi needed him. “My dog, I can’t,” the older man began, hoping that Kakashi would accept his excuse and discharge him early. Wishful thinking, because the doctor frowned and walked over to the bassinet that held the belongings they found on Obito when he’d been admitted to the hospital. Obito sighed when Kakashi lifted a familiar key, which hadn’t changed in the years the doctor had been absent. “I’ll take care of -” “Tobi.” “Tobi. You need to stay here until we can guarantee it’s safe for you to leave,” Kakashi said firmly, despite the waver to his voice that came whenever he cried.  Obito sighed and met the doctor’s determined, teary stare. He could never say no to Kakashi. Obito was worried. Tobi had a track record of not being the friendliest dog around - he’d nearly bitten several pedestrians before the fighter had found a route to walk on that was nearly abandoned - but he couldn’t even blame the poor thing. He felt the same about people after living on this wretched planet for an entire lifetime, and essentially acted the same way, with his fists instead of teeth.  The rottweiler showed aggression to nearly everyone that wasn’t Obito and the thought of Kakashi getting bit made his stomach flip anxiously, palms sweating every time it crossed his mind. It would be significantly worse in this scenario too since the doctor would be walking into what the dog saw as his own territory as opposed to the streets. It kept Obito up all night.  The first few streams of sunlight that poured through the blinds made his head throb, tossing his uninjured arm over his eyes to try and block out the sudden brightness. Unlike the rest of the city, the hospital had been bustling throughout the twilight hours - filled with the screech of bed wheels and nurses running between rooms to attend to the patients jabbing at their call buttons. He’d even counted the amount of times he heard the ambulances wailing outside, anything that would’ve distracted him from thinking about Kakashi and Tobi.  Hours of mindless thinking and blankly staring at the wall left him with dry eyes and a raging headache, but the latter was the norm for him nowadays. Pain was just something that was a regular part of his life, given his profession.  His mouth still tasted like blood, after accidentally biting his cheek during the fight, so he reached for the cup of water that Rin had left him before she’d gone home, ignoring the tray of food placed there as well.  It looked like shit. The mashed potatoes were stiff and the gravy seemed to be more jelly-like than actual sauce, and the sad excuse for turkey they’d left on the side was still in a solid chunk - with only one functional arm, Obito wasn’t exactly in the best position to be using a knife to cut his own food.  Obito gulped down the water, wincing at the metallic aftertaste. His thoughts had started to drift again, back to Kakashi being at what used to be their home. He wondered what the doctor was feeling, stepping foot into their apartment, barren and only a skeleton of what it used to be. Kakashi had been the light, always finding little trinkets to decorate the place with, pinecones on the table and wildflowers in coke bottle vases, his stuffed Pakkun on a beanbag throne in the bedroom.  Now, the apartment looked abandoned. He also hoped that Kakashi was okay, being there by himself. Back when they lived together, before he’d leave for his fights, Obito would always triple check the locks before he left the younger man at home, alone. Their city had break-ins every night, and their apartment complex was an especially easy target with no form of security nor proper deadbolts - Obito had to install them himself, otherwise he wouldn’t have ever left Kakashi’s side for the sake of his own sanity.   The fighter wasn’t happy knowing that Kakashi would be walking around that side of town by himself either, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. He couldn’t leave, and he didn’t have the right to say anything, not anymore. The doctor had been living on his own for years, and Obito was sure that he’d only upset the younger man if he tried to lecture him while he was doing the fighter a favor.  He was torn between making sure Tobi was taken care of, and tearing out his hair at the thought of Kakashi being alone. None of this would’ve been an issue if he’d been strong enough to walk home in the first place.  Obito clenched his fists over the blanket, frustrated with himself.  When the first few pricks of pain exploded from his knuckles, he knew he’d gone too far, grimacing as the scabs split back open, lightly staining the bandages around his hands. The fighter loosened his grip, leaning back against the stack of pillows propping him up - Rin had been kind enough to bring him some more after noticing how restless he felt while lying down. It made it hard to breathe and every bruise felt amplified in that position, so simply sitting up was the only way he managed to ignore the pain that forced its way past the cloud of medication.  Obito thought of last night. He frowned at the memory of Kakashi’s tears, but even more so when he found himself barely able to remember what had been said, brows furrowed as he tried to focus as much as possible.  Could he change? All he knew was pain, and all he could do was hurt people.  The fighter stared at his reflection in the black screen of the TV mounted on the wall. He was bundled up in endless bandages (which he was thankful for, because he didn’t want to see what was beneath all of them) and his face was so bruised there was barely an inch that wasn’t beaten. What a sad existence. Calloused fingertips traced over a particularly nasty purple splotch on his lower jaw. Kakashi had never answered his question - about why he’d come back. Obito could barely remember the start of his response, a stammered I couldn’t , but the older man wasn’t sure what the doctor had wanted to say. He couldn’t what ? Obito stared at the metal panels that made up the ceiling, his eyelids feeling heavy. Exhaustion crept over his bones despite his attempts to fight it - he wanted to make sure he was awake the moment Kakashi returned, to make sure he was okay.  Unfortunately, this was a fight he’d inevitably lose.     Obito grunted, arms straining under the combined weight of his body and Kakashi’s on top of his back, lowering them to the ground and then up. A drop of sweat trickled off the bridge of his nose as his forehead touched the floor, abdomen clenching as he rose back up, the student like dead weight over him.  Fifty. The fighter carefully flopped to the ground, more concerned with Kakashi accidentally bumping his elbow against the wood more so than any pain that it would’ve caused him, his cheek squishing against the floor as he tried to catch his breath.  The hands that had been resting on his shoulders for stability rubbed over the tense muscles there, a soft kiss left on the corner of his mouth.  “I won,” Kakashi whispered against his ear, to which Obito lifted his head in disbelief, one brow cocked as he looked over his shoulder at the student’s cheeky smile.  “You’re fuckin’ kidding,” the older man huffed, not about to let those fifty strenuous push-ups end up useless. “You said fifty.” “I said more than fifty,” the other replied matter-of-factly, raising a single finger. “So you needed to do at least fifty-one.” Obito blinked, slowly. Kakashi blinked back, even slower. “I’m gonna kick your ass.”  Kakashi yelped and leapt off of the fighter’s back, scrambling to run around the back of the couch, serving as a barrier between the two of them as Obito rose, eyes narrowed. Little brat. “Okay, we can just forget about the bet!” The younger tried to appease him, eyes curved as he sheepishly laughed, hands waving in front of himself. “I like doing the dishes anyways, it’s relaxing.” Obito didn’t answer, footsteps heavy against the wooden floorboards as he strode towards Kakashi, fingers barely brushing over the elbow of the student’ s navy blue sweatshirt. Kakashi’s resultant screech made him laugh, lunging over the couch when the younger man sprinted to the kitchen, grabbing what was now a stale loaf of French bread to use as a weapon.  The fighter snorted, creeping towards the other until his back bumped against the edge of the countertop. Kakashi’s eyes widened when he realized he’d effectively trapped himself, Obito’s smirk growing even more devious. “Bad,” Kakashi thwacked his head with the hardened bread, Obito whining as he rubbed at the spot he’d been hit. The both of them paused, simultaneously taking a look at the bread, then at each other. The student’s forehead rested against Obito’s chest as he laughed, the sound infectious as the older man found himself joining, a warm hand resting over the nape of Kakashi’s neck, holding him in place. Obito’s heart was full of love.     Bleary eyes opened. The apartment always looked so different in his memories. Obito felt like he’d been swimming in colors - so much yellow and green, items strewn all over the place in organized chaos. The sun felt brighter then, glowing strongly enough to fill the entire living room with its light, where Kakashi would curl up with his textbooks like a pleased cat basking in the warmth.  After Kakashi left, he took the sunshine with him.  Their home, or rather, Obito’s, felt devoid of life. It was as if color had been sapped from his world, nothing as vibrant as it had been with the younger man. Everything felt gray, even the sun.  The fighter pressed the heel of his palm against his forehead, trying to shove the headache out of his skull, stomach growling loudly. He looked at the hospital meal at his bedside again, nose wrinkling with distaste. Instead, he plucked the vanilla pudding cup from the tray. He’d just peeled back the foil lid and stuck a spoon inside when Kakashi walked into his room, silver hair all over the place, looking frazzled. In his hands was a leather bag which he set down on the counter near the sink before walking over to Obito’s bedside, quickly checking to make sure that he’d been taken care of. “How’re you feeling, ‘bito?” Kakashi asked, gently taking the fighter’s vitals. “Fine. Did you eat yet?” Obito held out his pudding cup, choosing to ignore the way the doctor’s eyes visibly softened, his heart monitor betraying him once again as the rate hastened. “I brought lunch for later, but you need to eat that,” the doctor chided lightly, firmly staring at him until Obito made a show of lifting the pudding filled spoon to his lips. “Did they not bring you dinner?” Obito snorted, tilting his head towards the small table beside his bed, scarfing down the pudding when Kakashi turned to face the tray. The resident sighed, rubbing a hand over his face as he looked at Obito again, gaze glued to his bandaged shoulder. “I guess they expected you to eat the turkey whole,” Kakashi murmured to himself as he walked back to the leather bag on the counter, Obito glaring at the tray of hospital food as if it had personally offended him. “Open up.” The older man was surprised at how swiftly the doctor had moved, having removed a lunch box from the leather bag and opened a glass container of chicken with noodles in the span of moments that was Obito’s attention lapse. He stared at the fork held in front of his face, a chunk of chicken skewered to it. When he didn’t move, Kakashi brought the chicken closer to his lips, a hand cupped beneath the fork to make sure nothing fell onto his bandages. The younger man urged him to open his mouth with a flicker of his wrist. “You need to eat, c’mon,” Kakashi insisted, smiling when Obito finally took the piece into his mouth.  The fighter was surprised that the food was warm, giving the resident a curious look as he chewed. He was sure that the food would’ve been chilled by now if it had been sitting in a fridge while Kakashi was at work. “Oh, I, uh, haven’t clocked in yet,” the doctor’s cheeks burned lightly with the implications that he had just rushed over to Obito’s room the moment he parked. The older man’s heart flipped and his own face felt warmer than usual knowing that Kakashi must still feel something if he was this worried.  Never mind the fact that he was sitting on the edge of Obito’s bed feeding him.  After a few more bites, while Kakashi’s thumb was carefully rubbing the sauce from the corner of his mouth that wasn’t split, Obito took a good look at the doctor’s hands, relieved when there weren’t any visible teeth marks. There didn’t appear to have been any trouble, but he did notice a few extra black hairs stuck to the resident’s gray scrubs, lifting a hand to pluck one off. It was short and coarse, definitely not human, so he knew they must’ve belonged to Tobi. “Did he give you trouble?” Obito asked, unable to hide the worry in his voice. Maybe Tobi also had something to do with why Kakashi looked particularly disheveled today. “Tobi? He’s a teddy bear,” the younger man looked genuinely confused, finally taking a bite of his own lunch before stabbing another chicken chunk to feed to the fighter. “He looks scarier than he actually is.” Obito blinked. Tobi, a teddy bear? That dog had nearly torn off his arm the first time they met. “Reminds me of someone,” the doctor mumbled to himself, shoving the chicken into the older man’s mouth before he could protest. Obito was glad that his dog was okay - even if he figured he should be at least slightly offended that he saved that mutt’s life and was still treated worse than a stranger waltzing into the house. He wasn’t too surprised, though. Kakashi had a way of mesmerizing every living thing. “I was thinking, last night. We should get a CT scan done on you to see how much damage there is,” Kakashi spoke softly, as if he were afraid that saying it out loud would make it true. “Then we can go see Dr. Senju in the Neurology department.” He’d tuned Kakashi’s doctor-talk out halfway through the first sentence, too busy enjoying his mouthful of noodles. The younger man’s fork scraped across bare glass before realizing the food was done, packing the container away into his lunchbox again, pulling out a granola bar instead. He slid it into the fighter’s hand after opening the foil for him, rising from the edge of the bed to toss the bag back onto the counter. Obito stared at the granola bar.  Kakashi had left the room by the time the older man had regained his focus, biting down on the honey-coated oats before they could crumble onto his blanket. He honestly felt like he couldn’t stop eating, the hunger within him when his body was trying to heal like something untameable.  He had just finished his snack, the wrapper tucked into the empty pudding cup, when the doctor returned, pushing a wheelchair through the room until it was positioned right beside Obito’s bed. He raised a brow, not about to allow himself to be pushed throughout the hospital in that contraption by Kakashi. “I don’t need a damn wheelchair,” Obito grunted, roughened palms gripping the bars of the bed as he slowly swung his legs over, one arm immediately curling over his ribs with the movement, jaw strained as he muffled a pained sound. Taking a deep breath, feet settled on the ground, Obito stood, leaning nearly all of his weight on one arm as jolts of pain slinked up his spine, eyes squeezed shut.  He didn’t need help.  Or so he thought, as he attempted to take another step forward without the assistance of the bed. Obito’s knees buckled as the pain returned tenfold, drowning him in waves of agony through every fiber of his being, black spotting around the edge of his vision.  Kakashi lunged forward and struggled to keep him upright, the both of them stumbling towards the wheelchair before Obito had no choice but to either sit in it or collapse on top of the doctor and bring them both down to the ground. His body was wrecked - and he felt pathetic . He couldn’t even take a step by himself.  Obito could hear the resident trying to quietly catch his breath after the sudden strain on his body, but he couldn’t look at Kakashi, too ashamed of his own weakness. The wheelchair jostled as the younger man grabbed the handles, kicking off the break and pushing him forward, the fighter’s stony gaze locked on his feet, bundled up in bandages that peeked past the fuzzy hospital-grade socks. “You don’t have to do everything on your own, Obito,” Kakashi murmured behind him as they wheeled out into the hallway, swiftly avoiding a collision with a nurse returning a stray IV pole to its designated room. It sounded like the doctor wanted to say something more, but stopped himself after taking a deep breath. Obito didn’t respond. A ball of anxiety grew in his stomach with each door they passed - hearing the coughs and groans of the ill, or the ragged sobs of family members waiting for their loved ones to die. He hated it. Yet again, he cursed himself for being so weak that he couldn’t stand up on his own and get the hell out of this damned hospital. They turned the corner, and Obito’s brooding was nearly palpable.  Kakashi slowed down as they neared the room, completely stopping right beside the door. He rounded the wheelchair, still looking as frazzled as he did earlier this morning and Obito wondered how the doctor could be so nervous when this was something he probably dealt with every week.  “We’re going to do this one without contrast,” the resident explained, using his fingers to comb down the cowlick in Obito’s hair. “It should only take thirty minutes.” The older man had to restrain himself, nearly leaning into Kakashi’s touch. “Alright,” Obito said, not sure what this CT scan would entail, but trusting the doctor nonetheless. If Kakashi wanted to prod him with tens of thousands of needles, he’d let him.  Honestly, if it had been up to the fighter, he’d have been discharged last night. He didn’t care much for what these tests would tell him, because he knew he’d fucked up his body too many times for it to be anything but bad. But if this had been the reason why he’d been able to see Kakashi again, he wasn’t going to take it for granted, no matter how much he hated this place.  When Kakashi wheeled him into the room, Obito stiffened in his chair.  The machine was massive . The room itself wasn’t that big, but the imposingly white contraption anchored in the center of it made his blood run cold, the low hum of its basal function echoing against the sage walls. The doctor had left him for a moment to go talk to the radiology technician in the adjacent screening room, their words silenced by the glass between the two areas.  Obito felt tiny next to that monster of a machine. Something didn’t feel right and it made him restless. Did they want him to go into that? His body felt hot, like he was being restrained but there was nothing holding him down except for his own faulty limbs.  The fighter nearly jumped out of his skin when Kakashi returned, a gentle hand on his shoulder and a concerned look on his face. Obito felt a trickle of sweat slide down his temple.  Kakashi’s hand moved to his cheek, brows furrowed. “It’ll be okay.”     “It’ll be okay,” the older man sighed, patting Kakashi’s messy hair.  It was almost funny - the younger man wanted to be a doctor yet here he was, trembling at the sight of a needle as the nurse approached him, disinfecting the injection site on his arm. “And how’re you gonna stick people if you can’t even look at it?” Obito teased, holding back a laugh at Kakashi’s distressed look. Cute.  “I’m not afraid of giving them,” the student whined, using his free hand to grab Obito’s in a vice grip. “They just hurt.” As someone who had their bones snapped, muscles torn and skin split, Obito would definitely rank shots as one of the least painful things he’d ever experienced, but it made him happy knowing that this was the worst extent of pain the younger man had ever felt. When the nurse poised to administer the shot, Obito took that as his cue to distract the other - raising the hand that was clenched around his own, brushing his lips over the knuckles. Kakashi spluttered, pulling his hand back - surprised and shy that the fighter had done that in front of the nurse. By the time he’d settled down, the woman was already smoothing a bandage over the spot.  Seeing Kakashi pleased with himself afterwards, claiming that he hadn’t even felt it nor had been afraid of it in the first place, had Obito stifling a grin for the rest of the day.  Obito found purpose in Kakashi, for nothing filled every crevice of emptiness with light like seeing the other’s smile.      With the help of the tech, they’d managed to heft Obito onto the table. Since it was only a cranial CT, there was no need to undress even though he was only left in his bandages and the shorts from last night, so there wouldn’t have been much to take off anyways.  The fighter carefully laid down, trying to hide the tremble in his hands as he stared at the huge machine that would soon surround him. Kakashi gave his fingers a final squeeze before he and the radiology technician went into the sealed off room, the tech’s voice coming through the speaker to warn him that the table was about to move. Despite the notice, Obito still jerked when it started to slide him back into the CT machine, his jaw clenched tight. Once inside, he felt trapped.  Even though his lower half was still outside of the machine, Obito was frozen. The scanner began to spin and the fighter had to fist the material of his shorts to keep himself from panicking, his breath coming out in shallow bursts until the procedure was finally over.  It took a while for the scanner to stop whirling around, but when it did, the table pulled him back out. Obito took a few deep breaths to try and calm himself before Kakashi came out, not wanting the doctor to worry if he saw the older man losing his mind over a small stint in the CT machine.  A foolish thought, because Kakashi had always been in tune with Obito’s feelings, no matter how hard he tried to mask them.  When the doctor returned to him and he was back in the wheelchair, the radiology tech had told them that the scans had been sent to the radiologist, but that due to the overwhelming volume of recent scans from other patients, he was unable to determine exactly when the results would be read.  Obito could tell that Kakashi was restless, and that this information made him even more antsy. The doctor had wanted the results as fast as possible , but in a hospital this packed, that had been unlikely from the start no matter how severe the injuries - if they weren’t life or death, they could wait. “That’s fine,” Obito said, cutting off what would’ve surely been some sort of protest from Kakashi. The fighter didn’t need special treatment, not when there were surely patients out there who deserved the energy and resources of the hospital more than he did. This was the result of his own doing, and he could accept that. When they left the room, the older man had thought that the doctor would’ve brought him back to his bed, but ended up confused instead as they continued to the right, further down the hallway. Obito’s fingers mindlessly drummed over the armrest of the wheelchair as they arrived at the automatic sliding doors near the east wing, which opened as they approached.  The fighter squinted as the brightness of the outdoors blinded him, blinking a few times to adjust to the sudden light before taking in the bright greens and reds of the hospital courtyard, a small fountain bubbling in the middle. Kakashi wheeled them closer, until they were right beside the base of the fountain, the doctor sitting on the stone edge with a deep exhale.  “Shouldn’t you be doctorin’ around,” Obito asked, selfish enough to want Kakashi to spend all his time with him but also worried that the resident would get in trouble for glueing himself to one patient when there were so many on the floor.  “I am,” Kakashi picked at the burrs stuck to his shoelaces, and Obito recognized them as the same ones that were stuck to the weeds on the route that he walked Tobi. “I’ll get back to the rest of my rounds soon, the others can handle it for a little while longer.” “I’m afraid I’ll have to confiscate your license, Doc,” the older man leaned back into the wheelchair, head tilting so he could stare up at the blue sky. “Can’t be playing favorites.” “I guess you’re right,” the doctor smiled, one leg propped up so he could rest a cheek on his knee. Obito’s breath caught in his throat. The sun shined down on Kakashi like it had been made only for him, silver hair practically glowing. It was then that he realized he’d been able to appreciate the beautiful colors in the courtyard, the stunning pink of the flowers growing from each bush. Yet none of them could compare to Kakashi with his soft lashes and even softer smile.  Obito smiled back, but inside, he crumbled. He couldn’t bear to lose the light in his life once again.     Five days. For five days, Obito had been stuck at the hospital - the radiologist still hadn’t gotten to his scans, and until then, he’d been forced to stay. The only thing that had kept him sane was the time spent with Kakashi, who would bring him food and take him around the hospital, until the fighter had healed well enough to begin walking short distances himself, leaning on the doctor for support. Tobi was also in good hands - to make the trips to work and back easier, Obito had insisted that the doctor stay at the apartment with his dog. He couldn’t bear the thought of an exhausted Kakashi driving back and forth with a mind fogged by sleep, not when there was a bed right there in his own house. Plus, judging from the pictures the resident had shown him, Tobi seemed to be enjoying the company.  There was something about Kakashi sleeping in what used to be their home that had his heart aching, wishing that this wasn’t something temporary, something that would end once Obito was discharged from the hospital. He sighed, fussing with a loose thread at the hem of the shirt the doctor had brought him from the apartment - glad that his bandaged wounds weren’t as tender anymore so that he could now wear something light over them.  He no longer needed the propped pillows either, able to recline comfortably against the bed, gaze glued to the ceiling as he counted each tick from the clock. Kakashi would be returning soon. Seconds. Minutes. He counted them all. Then, like clockwork, the handle turned, the door opening just a crack before a voice called out in the hallway. “Dr. Hatake!” He heard Kakashi’s hand slide from the knob as he greeted the radiologist, and from the tiny gap in the door, Obito could see a pale folder in the other man’s hands that he then passed to the resident. “I’m sorry it took so long,” the man began as Kakashi opened the folder, skimming the contents. “The department has been hectic, but I wanted to deliver these as soon as I read them.” “Thank you, Dr. Nara. I really appreciate it.” Obito closed his eyes as they began to discuss his results. He knew that if Kakashi walked in and saw that he was awake, he’d worry too much about what the fighter had overheard, so he opted to fake his sleep instead. There was something unreal about listening to people talk about him and his condition as he laid in this hospital bed, waiting. “The symptoms that seem to be recurring and the ones that were present the night of the fight appear to be the result of a severe TBI,” Dr. Nara began, followed by the sound of his finger tapping one of the printed scans. “Notice this swelling near the temporal lobe? It’s most likely associated with his lapses in memory.” “Severe? I just thought -” Kakashi’s voice sounded so small and Obito wanted to wither up. He was the cause of this.  “Judging from the multiple areas affected, this is the result of years of damage. Most contact sports will lead to mild traumatic brain injuries, but in fights like these, there’s no surprise an accumulation of mild and moderate TBIs have modified into a more severe state when left untreated,” the radiologist cut in, voice a bit too unfeeling for Obito’s liking, especially when he could nearly feel the uneasiness rolling off of Kakashi in waves. “But surely there’s something we can do to reverse the damage? Plenty of patients are able to alleviate even the worst of their symptoms,” the resident’s voice sounded so hopeful, which made Obito wish he could be there, comforting him. To protect him from reality. As if this weren’t Obito’s fate. For some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to care that all of this was about him , that his brain was so fucked up that it was leading to his shitty memory and persistent aches. All he could care about was that it was making Kakashi upset, and he wanted to make the doctor feel better.  Dr. Nara sighed. “Only 26% of all TBI patients ever improve, and with the way Mr. Uchiha is currently living his life, he’s more likely to end up dead,” the radiologist said, voice firm. Shattering any sort of illusion Kakashi had built for himself. Obito wanted to knock the man off his feet. “I would advise you to let him know,” Dr. Nara’s voice sounded farther away, as if he had taken a few steps. “One more serious concussion will inevitably lead to a hemorrhage.” Kakashi was silent. “If that happens, he will die, Dr. Hatake.” Obito had known that fighting would be the death of him, one day. He wasn’t surprised, but to hear it said so firmly, so factually , was like an out of body experience, his limbs going cold. Even lasting this long was a miracle after everything he’d put his body through. Still, it wasn’t the idea of dying that scared him. It was the thought of leaving Kakashi behind. Of leaving Tobi.  Obito’s heart ached. The only comfort he had was the knowledge that Kakashi knew of Tobi’s existence and the dog wouldn’t be left for dead if Obito was gone. They’d make due without him. If they had both lived lives without him in it before, then he was sure they’d be fine, if not better, on their own.  Without Obito to put them through more pain. The most pathetic part of the entire situation was that Obito knew he couldn’t stop fighting. Any other human, knowing what the ticket to their death would be, would avoid anything that could put them in a life threatening situation as best as they could. But all Obito knew how to do was fight, so he couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop. It was the only thing that made him feel something , because he knew that soon, Kakashi would be gone again.  And he’d be left with this soul-wrenching loneliness. The unfillable hole in his heart.  He tried not to physically react when Kakashi finally entered the room, closing the door quietly behind him as he laid eyes on the sleeping fighter. Obito could hear the door creak as the doctor leaned against it, distraught with the information given to him by the radiologist, palms pressing against his eyes. Obito heard a muffled sniffle. “What do I do?”  The older man felt his heart sink at that broken whisper - the doctor sounded so hopeless. Obito wished he could tear out his own brain, his heart, everything he had so that Kakashi would no longer have to worry about him, so that no more tears would be spilled over his worthless existence.  Quiet footsteps were the only warning he had that the resident was coming closer, the fighter stilling his body so that he wouldn’t give himself away with a flutter of what were meant to be closed eyes.  Soft hands touched his face. Then, a feather-light kiss to his forehead. Obito’s heart stuttered.  “You’re going to be okay, Obito. I’ll fix you, I promise.” Kakashi’s pinky curled around his own, and it took everything in him to keep his eyes closed. Obito knew this was a promise Kakashi wouldn’t be able to keep. It took a few more days before Obito had been able to walk on his own, for short bursts at a time. Rin had left him a crutch for support and he’d made the effort to take at least one agonizingly slow lap around the hospital every morning until Kakashi would get to work. Within two weeks, he rarely needed the extra assistance and would simply use the walls for an occasional boost as he made his way to the prescribed physical therapy for his damaged muscles. By the third, he felt like he was back to his usual self - still aching, but that was the norm for his body on any given day. Today, the pain in his shoulder and legs had flared up, so he had no choice but to use the crutch again, tucked underneath his uninjured arm as he took stiff steps towards the second floor PT department. He felt like Kakashi was coddling him - for years he never needed any fancy treatment or medicine that wasn’t from the local drug store, but the younger man had a mile long list of all the things he wanted Obito to do in order to ‘properly’ heal.  The fighter would’ve waved it off, if it weren’t for the guilt. He felt like he was lying to Kakashi, after overhearing his conversation with Dr. Nara, but he figured the doctor felt the same way since he was keeping the details of Obito’s condition a secret. Instead, he suffered through the hours of physical therapy and the pills routinely brought to him by Rin, just to plant a seed of hope in Kakashi’s mind that these things were working, that it was healing Obito.  Deep inside, Obito knew it wouldn’t work. Every part of his body was fucked up in some sort of way. When Kakashi had removed the bandages to check on the sutures at his shoulder, the doctor had paused, thrown off by all of the scars littering the fighter’s chest - there had been quite a few back when they were together, but Obito had been particularly reckless after Kakashi left, which resulted in rather painful mistakes. He wondered if Kakashi found them disgusting, if they reminded him of just how monstrous Obito could be.  As was his nature, once inside, Obito walked himself over to the first part of his routine as the physical therapist worked with another patient. He hated being guided and they’d established this on the first day when the fighter had nearly eaten the PT alive for trying to micromanage every breath he took - unless Obito explicitly asked for help, he didn’t want anyone next to him.  Not like he’d ever ask for it in the first place. The beginning of his circuit were the arm rows, so he tossed the crutch onto the soft foam mats that covered nearly every square inch of the exercise facility. He wrapped his hands around the handles of the cable press and slowly pulled them down and outwards towards his hips, biting back a hiss as his sensitive shoulder proved to be just as sore as expected. The blood loss from his injury had forced him to remain bedridden, which led to some atrophy, but if there was one thing Obito was good at, it was building his strength back up.  It was just the way his body was built - he easily packed on muscle, unlike Kakashi, who had always been naturally lean since they were children.  Three sets of fifteen weightless reps left his biceps quivering on the last press, releasing his hold on the handles so that they zipped their way back up to the top of the machine. With a frown, Obito rubbed at the tender muscles surrounding the stab wound - even after three weeks, it still hurt like a bitch.  Kakashi had removed the stitches recently, when the flesh had finally begun to mend completely, and a gnarled, fresh scar had been left in its wake. The fighter slowly made his way through the rest of his circuit - wall angles, external rotations and even some hamstring sets for the weakness in his legs after the prolonged bed rest. The leg workouts were particularly rough today since he’d been having trouble with the pain earlier in the morning, but he plowed through them so he could finish and go back to the courtyard - even though the physical therapist would surely complain to Kakashi that the fighter was rushing through his exercises as opposed to staying for the assigned hour and a half. Obito didn’t see the point in wasting that much of his day when he could finish it all in a fraction of the time. He leaned back against the wall before carefully sliding down to the floor, grunting when he was finally seated. Obito rolled his gym shorts up his leg so that he could dig his thumbs into the sore muscles there, avoiding the fading bruises as his hands slid up and down with the perfect amount of pressure - or, as close to perfect as he could get. Kakashi’s hands were like magic, and comparing his own skills to that of the doctor’s reminded him just how subpar this felt.  “You should be nicer to Gai.” Kakashi’s voice stilled his movements, and Obito fought a smile, trying not to stare at the doctor like the entire universe laid within him as he crouched down.  “He’s a pain in the ass,” the fighter drawled, calloused fingers leaving his thigh as Kakashi batted him away, soft hands rubbing circles into the muscles. Clearly the doctor hadn’t approved of his technique. Every nerve in Obito’s body was aflame, absolutely electrified. Maybe his soul was trying to make up for lost time, but losing his breath every time Kakashi touched him in a very innocent, purposeful way wasn’t making his life any easier.  “He’s doing me a favor, y’know,” Kakashi hummed, palms sliding down to Obito’s calves to palpate the twitching muscles lightly. “The PT department is booked for the whole month, but he fit you in. He’s a really sweet person.” Alright, maybe Obito had an ulterior motive for hating these sessions. He couldn’t stand it when Kakashi talked about the physical therapist in such a way, voice fond and eyes soft, forcing Obito’s heart to twist in painful, envious knots. It was easy to see why Gai had been so willing to squeeze the fighter into the schedule - anything to make Kakashi happy, which Obito understood because he would also claw his way to the trenches of the ocean if it meant the younger man would smile at him.  It didn’t mean his hatred burned any less, though. Even looking at that ridiculous bowl cut and those forest green scrubs had him borderline livid, so it took a great amount of self control to keep himself quiet when he’d see the two of them walking down the halls together, or Gai’s ‘friendly’ hand on Kakashi’s shoulder.  Obito glared at the physical therapist’s back as he helped another patient to perform a squat. Kakashi flicked his shin.  “Enough,” the doctor sighed, dusting off his white coat as he stood, holding a hand out to help Obito stand.  The fighter took it, but purposely used a bit more force than necessary so that when he stood, it tugged Kakashi a step forward, tilting his head down so that their noses were a mere centimeter apart. Pink immediately dusted the doctor’s cheeks, and Obito didn’t miss the way those dark eyes glanced down at his lips, as if by habit.  “Thanks,” Obito hummed, his voice enough to snap Kakashi out of his stupor, the younger man fetching the familiar crutch on the ground, to which the fighter placed it back under his arm, nodding at the other’s suggestion of going out to the courtyard for lunch. That had been his plan initially, but having Kakashi there would make it infinitely better. The older man followed the doctor, only a few steps behind since the crutch made it hard to properly walk over the foam mats. On the way out, Kakashi paused to say a few words to Gai - something about the staff meeting they had earlier - and Obito made sure to glower at the physical therapist over the doctor’s head, eyes narrowing until Gai broke their eye contact. Good, now he knew his place.  Kakashi, obviously sensing a change in the atmosphere, turned to look at Obito over his shoulder, to which the fighter’s sour expression shifted into a small smile. The warm look he received in return made his stomach flutter.     Outside, seated at one of the wooden patio tables with a blindingly white umbrella, Obito watched as Kakashi unpacked the lunchbox he’d fetched from the break room on their way down from the PT department. As was their routine by now, he pulled out a glass container for himself, then took out the larger one at the bottom for the fighter - who, according to the doctor, needed much more food in order to gain his strength back.  Obito flicked the tabs open so that he could stab at the diced potatoes, already halfway through the mound before Kakashi had even opened his own container - he wasn’t sure if the doctor was the one moving like a sloth, or if he was just eating too fast. Either way, the food tasted fabulous so he wasn’t about to wait for it to get cold.  “Where’d you get this?” Obito asked, swirling a steamed carrot through the gravy that dripped off of the barbeque chicken.  “So you’re going to assume I didn’t make this myself?” Kakashi spluttered, almost having the nerve to look offended. The fighter blinked, raising a brow expectantly. “Look, my memory’s shit but I do remember you giving me food poisoning,” the older man snorted as the doctor deflated in his seat, clearly defeated. There was something in the doctor’s eyes as well, as if he were remembering the days before everything had gone astray. “I followed the instructions, I don’t know how that happened,” Kakashi poked at the chicken with his fork, shredding it a bit so that it fell off the bone. “They had some meal prep stuff prepackaged in the grocery store, all I had to do was put this in the oven.” Obito snorted - it was a miracle that the doctor hadn’t managed to catch the place on fire simply doing that too. The fighter had a surprisingly good hand in the kitchen, so back when they’d lived together, he’d been the one doing all of the cooking if only to make sure that Kakashi didn’t end up killing them one day with one of his creations . Perhaps he was thinking a bit too hard about the past, delving into areas he shouldn’t, but the fighter bit back a groan when that pestering ache began behind his eyes, fingers pinching at the bridge of his nose. The warmth of Kakashi’s palm met the tanned skin of his forearm, but even that couldn’t anchor him, ignoring the muffled sound of the doctor’s voice.      “Eggs,” Obito demanded, holding out a hand as Kakashi plucked two eggs from the carton, immediately cracking both of them on the edge of the glass bowl. He crushed the remaining shells and sprinkled them into the container the younger man had left to the side - to be added to the soil of the dozens of plants under the student’s care.  “How much longer?” Kakashi whined, leaning against Obito’s side as he whisked the dry ingredients with the eggs and buttermilk. The fighter shook his head, this would only be the tenth time he had been asked that question, and answering it would only fuel the other’s impatience.  “Weren’t you the one who asked for these?” Obito scolded as one of the student’s hands slid up and down his arm, tracing the definition of the muscles there as he beat the ingredients into batter. “Don’t make me kick you out of the kitchen.” With a huff, Kakashi abandoned his teasing and instead wrapped his arms around the older man’s torso, effectively becoming an inconvenient extension of him. Obito couldn’t even be frustrated, not with the way the student was nuzzling his face into his neck. Obito left the whisk in the bowl so he could hook his hands underneath Kakashi’s thighs, lifting him up onto the nearby counter. The younger man placed his hands on the broad shoulders in front of him, eyes gleaming with the promise of more, most likely thinking that this would be a repeat of the other evening. Even though the fighter would’ve loved nothing more than to have Kakashi’s hands scrabbling for purchase over the smooth counter while he filled him up, he had business to attend to. Namely, the cookies the student had asked for. So, he simply planted a tiny kiss on Kakashi’s lips, and tossed the bag of chocolate chips onto his lap. “Leave that spot and you won’t get any,” he warned, returning to the whisk to check on the consistency of the batter. He needed these to be perfect. By the end of the night, Kakashi had begrudgingly eaten all of the chocolate chips, so they ended up with dough cookies (that he had foolishly trusted the student with shaping, who made them look more like deformed blobs than cookies).     “Obito?”  The fighter blinked the black splotches out of his vision, the headache remaining in their wake. It was getting worse - Obito’s memories used to come every once in a while and only when he was sleeping, but now, it seemed like every little thing triggered them. Even worse, they were only ever about Kakashi, which left him feeling even more empty inside as he remembered the days when everything was beautiful and bright.  He knew whatever was wrong with him was getting worse - he hadn’t really understood the implications behind what Dr. Nara had told the younger man, but judging from the radiologist’s tone and Kakashi’s reactions, it wasn’t good. All he knew was that he was fucked - on the tightrope between life and death, with only a grain of will to live, and only because of the two most important beings in his life.  Then, when Kakashi would disappear again, how would he ever piece himself back together? If Kakashi would take care of Tobi, then maybe it would be better to just let his body take over, rather than prolong the inevitable. It would be better than the emptiness that would surely spread.  “Kakashi,” Obito’s voice was quiet, but strained. “If something happens to me, promise you’ll take care of Tobi.” “Nothing’s going to happen to you, you’ll be better soon,” the doctor looked alarmed by his solemn tone, still trying to maintain that facade of positivity that he’d been holding onto since Obito had overheard his conversation with Dr. Nara. “You’ve already made so much progress.” The guilt continued to gnaw at the fighter’s insides. He couldn’t allow Kakashi to continue stoking that one meager flame of hope, he needed the younger man to be prepared for the inevitable. If the doctor could understand now that Obito’s death was more so a matter of when rather than why, then maybe it wouldn’t hurt him as much when it did eventually happen.  “I won’t,” the older man sighed down at his food, not so hungry anymore. “When it happens, I need you to take him. If they find him, they won’t give him a chance, he’ll be put down.” The animal control officers would only see bared teeth and raised hackles, but they would never give Tobi a chance - they didn’t know the kindness in that dog’s heart, deep down beneath all the years of abuse and distrust. Obito couldn’t bear the thought of Tobi being harmed simply because he was a product of what the world had done to him.  “You’re going to be okay, if we do some more tests and -” Kakashi sounded a bit breathless, and Obito knew the doctor was trying to convince himself of this more than anyone.  “I heard,” Obito cut the younger man off, perhaps a bit too harshly, and he watched as what little hope Kakashi had left slowly crumbled, his face even paler than it normally was. It hurt him to be doing this to Kakashi, but he needed the doctor to be prepared for reality. “I know what Dr. Nara said.” The fighter rubbed a hand over his scarred face as the silence clouded them, making the small space between them feel like miles. It seemed like even nature was caught in their storm, the birds and the trees quiet for once.  Their eyes met, and even after all these years, Obito could read a thousand words from the depths of Kakashi’s sorrowful eyes. Maybe in another life, they would find their happiness, together. “But Dr. Nara said you’d...” Kakashi trailed off, as if he were afraid that saying the word ‘die’ would make it come true. “If you kept fighting, which you obviously won’t.” Obviously won’t. Maybe someone who valued their life a bit more, or saw more purpose in themselves, would’ve found that as obvious as Kakashi. Obito couldn’t bear to look at the doctor anymore, knowing that he was shattering every part of the other’s soul simply because he couldn’t stop. Because he couldn’t imagine living a life without the pain. Because he refused to believe that he deserved any semblance of a life without suffering. Obito was tired. He wanted to give Kakashi the life he had promised him when they were younger, but the only way to do that was to keep fighting - the only way he could produce anything, or make any use of himself was through the fights. He couldn’t do anything else, not when this was all that he knew. “Obito, you won’t,” Kakashi’s voice was shaking even as he tried to remain firm. “Don’t you understand what’s going to happen if you do?” The fighter shook his head, his throat tight. If he spoke, he felt as if he might betray himself and cry. He needed to be strong for Kakashi, even if he was the one also hurting the doctor. “Why can’t you stop?” Kakashi’s palm met the table with such force that the wood quaked, nearly rising out of his seat, eyes already filled to the brim with tears. Obito didn’t have an answer.  “Say something, please,” the doctor begged, the first few tears trickling down his cheeks. Obito wanted to reach over to brush them from his face, but knew his touch wasn’t welcomed, not now.  “I have to,” the fighter said, his voice cold. “For us.” Kakashi stared at him, brows furrowed. Obito knew why. There was no ‘ us ’ anymore, and the doctor would be gone as soon as the fighter was well enough to leave, back to the empty apartment and the repeated voicemails. Back to the broken mirrors and bloody sinks. “How will there be an us if you’re gone?” Kakashi’s voice sounded small, his lashes wet. “Don’t you understand that I -” The doctor’s words trailed off, as if the bared parts of his soul were too much to bear, tucking them back in safely. Obito watched as Kakashi used his sleeves to wipe at his eyes, finally standing up and taking a step back from the table. The miles between them felt like oceans now. Obito felt like he was drowning. “You haven’t changed, Obito. You don’t understand.” Despite the ache in his legs, the fighter stood as well. How could Kakashi expect him to understand when he wouldn’t say it? “Then tell me so I can understand,” Obito’s voice betrayed the anger, the hurt.  Kakashi’s pager went off in a flurry of beeps, interrupting the tense silence that had formed seconds prior. When the doctor checked the messages, his fingers squeezed the tiny device, clearly frustrated. They’d been around each other for nearly a month and yet they kept dancing around what needed to be said.  “They need me,” the doctor turned and hesitated, as if he wanted to say something more. Obito’s heart withered in his chest, and he watched as the younger man shook his head, walking away, back into the hospital. Kakashi didn’t look back. Obito sat down. The unspoken ‘I need you’ hung thickly in the air. Maybe Kakashi was right about all of the procedures. After the ache had subsided in his shoulder and legs the next evening, the fighter had realized that it’d been a long time since he’d ever felt this balanced - perhaps it was the fact that his body had been forced to rest for nearly a month or all of the medication, but it definitely felt nice to be able to walk up and down the stairs without feeling like his legs were going to give out from under him. Obito hadn’t seen Kakashi since their argument the day prior, so he’d made the executive decision that this was the best he’d end up feeling and it was time for him to go home. He missed Tobi and he couldn’t shake the unsettled ball in his stomach that his dog thought that he’d abandoned him. With no sense of time, a month must’ve felt like centuries to the poor animal, even if Kakashi had been watching over him.  Tobi needed his dad.  Rin had been the one to help him through the discharge process (paperwork never made sense to him) and his first few steps outside of the hospital doors left him reeling. It was a strange parallel to the morning he’d been dismissed from the rest of his sentence, life seeming so different after having been locked up in a cell for so long. Cars zipped through the streets and around the drop-off zone as Obito squinted up at the sky, the reds and oranges melting together as the sun sank lower into the horizon. The hospital was four miles away from his apartment - a decent twenty minute drive for most, but nearly an hour and a half walk for the fighter. He was sure that if he’d called Kakashi, the man would’ve dropped everything in a heartbeat to take him home, but after their little fight, Obito was feeling a bit too prideful to ask for anything more from the doctor.  Regardless, Obito liked walking - it gave him time alone to his jumbled thoughts. Rin had given him some papers to take with him detailing some tests that they wanted him to come back for, but if he were being honest with himself, the fighter knew he wouldn’t be back. He’d either end up dead before then, or simply wouldn’t care enough to keep up with this advanced treatment they wanted him to go through. It would give him an excuse to keep seeing Kakashi, but as much as the selfish part of his heart wanted him to continue soaking up every moment he could get with the resident, he knew it would be best if he didn’t. This would give Kakashi a chance to prepare, and then, when they rolled his body through the morgue, it wouldn’t hurt as much. Obito would become another lonely tombstone. The fighter rounded the corner, entering more familiar territory - closer to the hospital, the area was a bit better. There were plants and newer buildings, things that naturally came along with a modernizing city that cared more about its appearance to those visiting than actually tending to those suffering at the cusp. Here, in the portion of the city with looming figures and businesses ran under the guise of something more innocent, Obito felt comfortable. Unlike Kakashi, with his soft smiles and pristine white coat, Obito could never fit in on the other side of town - he was too rough, looked too dangerous. Many other patients, clearly citizens of the newer part of the city, had shuddered when they’d seen the scars on his face, nearly as threatening as the permanent scowl he wore.  Obito dodged a skittering soccer ball as a pack of children ran after it through the street, the squeal of tires and a blaring horn following them. He didn’t have to look twice to know they were alright - he’d grown up here just the same, and the kind of agility that came from playing in a place like this was learned. If any of them had managed to get a few bumps from the hood of the car, they’d learn to be faster next time. The fighter took a shortcut through the alleyway between the abandoned warehouse and an aging corner store, artlessly stepping through puddles of gasoline from tipped over canisters. Exiting from the other end, having cut across the block, Obito was even closer to home, recognizing the pawn shop that the bookkeeper from the fights owned, as well as the bar that many of the other fighters frequented.  The sunset had nearly faded away as the night approached, the street lamps flickering with life as the darkness slowly overcame the city. Obito’s steps were heavy over the cracked sidewalk, already halfway down the street as he debated whether or not he should stop by the gas station near his apartment to grab a stick of beef jerky for Tobi. But no matter how deep in his thoughts he was, the fighter was always aware of his surroundings, so when that hand reached for his arm from the depths of the shadows, he wasted no time in grabbing it by the wrist. Obito twisted the man’s arm behind his back and shoved him face first into the nearest brick wall, his bulky body effectively keeping the other trapped.  “Shit, Obito -”  The man gasped, and it was only then that the fighter noticed the garish tracksuit, rolling his eyes as he released his trainer, who immediately rubbed at his sore arm. Obito didn’t feel bad, the idiot knew better than to just grab him out of nowhere instead of calling out to him like a normal person. He waited impatiently for the other to catch his breath, not in the mood to waste his time on this man when Tobi was waiting at home - Obito couldn’t wait to ruffle those floppy ears and wrestle around with the mutt.  “What the fuck do you want?” Obito growled crudely, prompting his trainer to stare at him with wide eyes. The man was obviously nervous - they never really interacted outside of the ring, and he obviously wasn’t used to seeing the fighter like this, without bruises and blood covering his body. Perhaps seeing him so put-together made the smaller man realize how easily Obito could snap his neck in two, beady eyes staring at the fighter’s tensed jaw.  “There’s a fight, three days from now. It’ll be big,” his trainer licked at his chapped lips, glancing to the side nervously. “You’ve been gone so long they’re practically throwing money at us to bring you back.” A chilled breeze skirted past them, mussing Obito’s hair.  ‘If that happens, he will die, Dr. Hatake.’  “C’mon, I’ll give you a bigger cut,” the man begged, likely having taken Obito’s silence for disinterest, taking a step closer to the fighter. He normally received a 40% cut from every fight, so the offer piqued his interest. He lifted a brow, nodding at the other man to get on with it. “We’ll flip it, 60-40. It’ll be more money than we’ve ever seen,” his trainer looked like he was about to salivate from the thought of all the cash that would be falling into their hands. Obito rolled his shoulders, loosening the tension in them.  “Fine,” he sighed, gaze on the street as a cardboard box was crushed by a speeding car. So long as he didn’t fuck up and managed to dodge most of the blows, he’d be fine. Obito was good , and normally all of his opponents were out within minutes. Kakuzu had been the exception, simply because the man was more of a monster than human, too similar to Obito. Their fights never ended as easily.  His trainer began to blabber on and on about the conditions of the fight and what the stakes were, but Obito couldn’t care less, leaving the man mid-sentence. Three days. That would give him enough time to bulk up some more and spend time with Tobi - he’d be able to play for hours with the rottweiler, a special treat since his body was normally too beaten up to do more than a few rounds of fetch. When he passed the rusted gate of his complex, Obito sighed with relief. It was good to be home.  Obito made his ascent up the flight of stairs, only to pause halfway at the sound of Tobi’s whining, clear as day before it was muffled by the soft click of the front door closing. Fuck. Calloused fingers flexed around the side rail as he listened to the jingling of keys and quiet footsteps getting closer and closer to the stairwell. The fighter stared down at the dirty step in front of him, a silent sigh slipping out when the footsteps suddenly stopped at the top of the stairs, the keys fumbling in the younger man’s hands as he nearly dropped them. “Obito,” the resident was breathless, and the fighter figured that he was surprised that Obito had been discharged without his immediate knowledge. The older man didn’t say anything, still staring at the ground with a stiff jaw as Kakashi descended and met him at the center of the stairwell, only looking up when he noticed just how close the other was, standing on the same step. Obito took him in, greedily soaking up the sight of the doctor in lighting that would’ve made any other human look terrible, but, of course, Kakashi always looked beautiful. “Why did they discharge you?” Kakashi frowned, reaching for Obito’s shoulder to check the bandages, but the fighter caught his hand before he could. “You weren’t ready.” “This is as good as it’ll ever get,” Obito’s voice was low, as if he were talking to a skittish doe. He needed Kakashi to understand. He wouldn’t magically be healed, and keeping him shacked up in the hospital would only be a recipe for disaster. “Kakashi, please. Stop lying to yourself.” Obito released the doctor’s hand and grabbed his face instead. The younger man’s eyes were already watering with frustration. It pained him to know that in all the time they’d been together again, he only ever saw Kakashi with tears in his eyes.  “I’m not, I can fix you,” Kakashi looked desperate, the first few tears sliding down his cheeks. Obito sighed, using his thumb to brush them away, trying to burn the feeling of Kakashi’s soft skin into his fading memory. Guilt filled every crevice of his body, knowing that maybe it would be possible if he listened to the doctor, but he was so incapable of controlling himself that not even an hour out of the hospital, he’d effectively signed his life away. His throat felt tight. “I’m sorry,” Obito whispered, his hand sliding to grab the back of the doctor’s neck, pressing their foreheads together. “I’m fucked, I know, I wish I could’ve been better for you. I’m sorry for putting you through all of this.” He was an animal, a monster. Fucked up enough on the inside that it had managed to spread throughout every fiber of his being. Kakashi deserved to have someone that wouldn’t drag him down, someone who wouldn’t make him ache and suffer.  “I’m fucked up and I don’t know how to change that,” his words were spoken like a secret, their faces so close together. Obito was trying so hard not to let his own tears fall, his breath coming out in shuddered puffs. He hoped that after all of these years, after every fight when he’d come home bloodied and bruised, that Kakashi didn’t think of him as a monster, as something to be feared. “I didn’t want to kill him, ‘kashi, I had to.” With his opponent’s hands closing around his neck, Obito had only two options: kill or be killed. “I don’t want you to hate me,” the fighter’s voice was strained, and fuck, it was impossible to hold everything in. “You were the only thing I ever did right.” Kakashi’s hands cradled his face, fingers pressing against his tanned skin, thumbs stroking over his cheeks. The younger man’s eyes were squeezed shut, but it did nothing to stop the streams of tears. “I could never hate you,” a pained hiccup interrupted the doctor’s words, “I-I was scared, I didn’t know what to do.” Obito’s heart sank. “Not of you,” Kakashi spoke, ever so quietly, as if he’d read Obito’s mind. “I could never be afraid of you. I saw him die and all I could think about was that being you instead.” The fighter tried and tried, but he couldn’t hold it back anymore. His mind felt numb as the first few tears slipped down his scarred cheeks, dripping onto the steps beneath them. That would be him, and he could only pray that Kakashi wouldn’t ever have to see it, that by some grace, he’d never find out. He’d rather the doctor think that he’d run off to the middle of nowhere than ever find out he died doing exactly what he’d begged him not to do. Obito’s heart wrenched at the thought, gently squeezing the back of Kakashi’s neck. It seemed like the sight of Obito’s tears triggered something even worse within Kakashi, his eyes so red and the crying worsening tenfold. He’d always held back his emotions for the younger man for this exact reason, because his Kakashi was too soft, untouched by this dirty world, and he’d known from the start that this would’ve happened. Obito shushed him, daring to kiss one wet cheek as the doctor’s hands held onto his forearms for dear life, as if the fighter would disappear if he let go. He pressed another kiss to the other cheek as Kakashi calmed down with pained breaths - Obito didn’t want to stop, wishing that he could just guide the doctor up the stairs and back to what used to be their apartment.  But he needed to know.  “Kakashi,” he whispered against the younger man’s skin, feeling how he shuddered beneath his fingertips. “Why did you come back?” That night at the hospital, when he’d asked the doctor why he’d returned to their city when he could’ve gone anywhere else, the man had begun to answer him, but stopped himself, as if his words were too much to speak. ‘I couldn’t -’ had been in Obito’s head on repeat since then, thinking of all the possibilities. Pulling away only slightly so that he could look at Kakashi’s face, at those lips reddened by his anxious biting, at the way he melted into the palm at his cheek, Obito felt his heart stutter weakly. He loved him, so much so that it was borderline painful.  “I couldn’t leave you here,” the doctor whispered, staring up at him through damp lashes. It was then that Obito realized he wasn’t the only one trying to keep the promises from their childhood, his throat bobbing as he shook his head.  “You don’t need to worry about things like that,” the fighter sighed, his hand leaving Kakashi’s face to tangle their fingers together. He felt desperate, as if this was his only chance to ever touch the doctor again, because deep down, he knew it was. Obito couldn’t lie to Kakashi, and he knew that by the end of tonight, he’d have to tell him about the fight, even if he knew it would upset the other worse than it ever had before, now that they knew what would happen. “That’s my job.” From the start, Obito had only wanted Kakashi to ever worry about his studies and the things that made him happy - the thought of the doctor worrying about getting them out of here, or of such big, dark responsibilities upset him. He wanted Kakashi to stay innocent, and had fought so hard to try and make sure that the world didn’t turn him jaded, like it had Obito, at such a young age.  “I can take care of us, too,” Kakashi said, fingers tight around Obito’s. He looked so determined, even with the red eyes and the tear streaks down his face, and the fighter wished that he could’ve changed everything, back when they were children. Perhaps, in some other life, Sakumo wouldn’t have died and Obito would’ve had good parents, and all of their dreams would’ve blossomed without all of the suffering they were facing now. But maybe, all of this time, Obito had been underestimating the doctor and his willpower, treating him too delicately when in reality, he’d been the strongest between the both of them, studying and working hard with the intention of freeing them. If only Obito could live to see the day. Pride wouldn’t even begin to describe the feeling deep in his chest as he thought of the younger man in the life they’d dreamed of as kids.   “Obito,” the resident’s hand touched his cheek. “You still don’t understand.” The fighter blinked, his frown growing.  “It was never your job,” Kakashi sounded like he was in pain, tracing a finger over the lines of the scars on his face. “That night, you promised me that you’d make everything happen.”  Whether he meant the night when they were children, or when he’d been admitted to the hospital, Obito wasn’t sure. “You never understood that none of that mattered to me,” Kakashi’s touch left fire in its wake as he spoke, “All I wanted was for you to be here with me. What good will a big home do for me if you’re not there? None of it ever mattered because I had you, even in that apartment, I was the happiest I’d ever been. Coming home to you made me happy, not where we lived.” The doctor took a shuddering breath. “I love you more than anything, Obito, and that will never change. Seeing you come home after a fight -” the younger man paused, his eyes glazing over with more unshed tears, “- knowing you could die any night and I wouldn’t even find out, it just --” “I’m sorry,” Obito murmured, his mind too rattled to say anything else. Whether he was apologizing for the stress he put Kakashi through, or for the secrets he was keeping, he wasn’t sure. “You don’t need to fight,” Kakashi’s grip was borderline breaking every bone in his hands, pleading through his tears. “Please, Obito. You and Tobi can stay with me, I’m almost done with my residency and we’ll leave --” “Kakashi.” Obito snapped. He was suffocating. The guilt ate him from the inside out. He’d always been the one to take care of Kakashi and himself, and he still couldn’t put it behind him to allow the doctor to be the one to get them out of here - Obito needed to do it, for them. But he couldn’t allow Kakashi to keep blinding himself with hope, because if he died during this fight, he wouldn’t be around to pick up the pieces of what he left behind. “I already told you, I can’t,” he began, instantly feeling the way the Kakashi tensed in his hold. “Three days.” He didn’t need to elaborate, Kakashi had been with him long enough to know exactly what that entailed. The doctor’s hands fell to his sides and he looked so numb that Obito wished he could take back everything he’d ever done in his life that led them to this point, turning his head so he wouldn’t have to stare at the endless tears that dripped off the younger man’s face.  He ignored the warmth of his own.  “O-Okay.” Kakashi took a step down, almost robotically. Obito was sure all the possibilities were running through the doctor’s mind, all of which would end the same. The fighter’s death was nearly guaranteed if luck wasn’t on his side, but Obito had enough confidence that he’d be able to come out of the ring with only a few bruises and no hemorrhage to deal with. Whatever novice they set him up against would have to feel the rage of a man holding onto his last thread of life.  Concerned, Obito grabbed Kakashi’s wrist and took a step down with him so they were level again. “Where are you going?” Obito bit out, his heart weeping. Kakashi couldn’t go, not like this, not again. “I don’t - I need to --” Kakashi’s breath was coming out in panicked little bursts, all of the crying making it harder to breathe. Obito held onto him tightly, forcing him to stand still when he attempted to take another step down.  “Please, don’t go,” the fighter begged, and it was only then that he felt a fraction of the pain Kakashi must’ve felt every night when he’d hold onto Obito’s arm, pleading for him to stay home and not go to the ring. “Please.” Obito’s hands were shaking, his fingers curled tight in the fabric of the doctor’s scrubs. He couldn’t go, not like this.  “Kakashi, nothing’s going to happen to me, breathe,” the older man pushed silver hair back from the resident’s eyes. They looked so blank. Too blank. His own breath was coming out painfully. Kakashi couldn’t go home like this, if something happened to him, Obito would --  The doctor’s hands fisted weakly in his shirt, pulling him closer. Years. It had been years since he last felt Kakashi’s lips on his. Tears dripped down the corners of Obito’s eyes, onto the doctor’s hands that cradled his face. The kiss spoke everything that wasn’t able to be put into words.  Kakashi kissed him with so much love. So sweetly, that it felt like goodbye. “I’m sorry,” Kakashi whispered against his lips, his hands falling from Obito’s face. All he could see was the pain in those dark eyes. Obito held onto one hand, but that too slipped from his grasp as the doctor pulled away, descending.  Not like this. “Kakashi,” his voice was hoarse, holding onto the side rail for support as he watched the other leave, the younger man’s hand covering his mouth to muffle his crying, triggered by the fighter calling for him. Once again, Obito felt like his world was crashing around him as Kakashi left, leaving only the taste of his tears on his lips. The fighter’s knees felt weak as he slowly sat down on the steps, staring down at his palms, weathered from the years of fighting. This was it. He just let Kakashi slip through his fingers again, but his heart felt too heavy to get up and go after him, to demand -- Demand what? That Kakashi stay and suffer, knowing that the man he loved was too foolish to stay alive? No, this was for the best. This way, the doctor wouldn’t have to see him covered in gashes and bruises when he came home, he’d only see the aftermath, when Obito would have his hands on the money and show him that this was what he could do for them. He could provide and protect, and his opponent wouldn’t be able to lay a hand on his head. Obito’s fists clenched, tight enough that his nails dug into his flesh. Frustrated tears slid down his cheeks. One, two, then countless more. But Kakashi was right, how would the money matter if he was dead, regardless of the amount? The doctor’s hands would never be marred with such filthy money if he knew where it came from, if he knew that because of it, Obito’s life had been ripped out of him. The fighter felt the bile rise in his throat, shoving the heels of his palms into his eyes - anything to stop those ridiculous tears, angry at himself for being so weak. If he’d been strong enough, he would’ve never fallen this far, Kakashi would’ve still been here, and he wouldn’t be gambling his life away.  Elbows on his knees, Obito laughed, broken and bitter. Would’ve. Everything in his life was a would’ve, could’ve. All because he was too weak to make anything come to fruition, always thinking of what could have been. He dropped his head to his hands, angrily staring at the steps beneath him, watching as the little wet spots formed from the tears that dripped off of his face. Then, he thought of Kakashi. Of that kiss. Of their goodbye. The dam broke, and Obito really couldn’t hold it back anymore, not when years, a lifetime, of pent up agony came bursting through. The first ragged sob shook his core. Obito couldn’t be strong anymore. For two days, Obito tried to function. Moving around was hard when his heart felt like it was heavier than he could withstand, especially after seeing the evidence of Kakashi’s presence in the apartment, from weeks of sleeping over while the fighter was in the hospital. Scrubs in the washing machine, disgusting carbonated water in the fridge, and Tobi’s new toys, scattered all around the living room.  He watched as each petal fell from the wilting sunflowers on the counter.  Tobi looked better than he ever had - his coat was glossy from a bath and the ridiculous bowtie on his collar made Obito think of Kakashi, his wallet open on the coffee table as he stared at the faded picture of the doctor. Little bows in his hair with the brightest smile. The fighter leaned his head back, listening to the way the rottweiler’s chew toy squeaked as he chomped at it, the tiny stub of his tail wagging harder than he’d ever seen. Closing his eyes, Obito sank further into the lopsided cushions, wishing that he could cut his heart out of his chest so that it would stop twisting painfully every time he thought of the doctor, the phantom feeling of his lips. The love of his life. The light of his life.  Dull nails clacked over the wooden floorboards, followed by the thump of Tobi sitting down in front of him. Obito blinked slowly at the busted tennis ball that was dropped onto his lap, softly smiling at his dog’s lopsided panting, lightly tossing the ball so that it would bounce against the front door and redirect down the hall. The rottweiler wasn’t the brightest, so he skidded into the door while running after the ball, otherwise feeling nothing if the way he bolted down the hall was any indication. If Kakashi were here, he was sure he’d have earned a pillow to the head for that. Obito sighed. No matter what he did, Kakashi wouldn’t leave his mind. He thought of that kiss, of how the doctor’s fingers had pressed so firmly against his skin that he felt as if the younger man had been trying to seep into his body, burning every touch into his memory. The fighter’s fingers curled into the soft fabric of his hoodie - the very same one he’d catch Kakashi in, studying on the floor - and he shook his head when he felt the whisper of a headache. Instead, he tangled his free hand in the dangling laces, pulling them tight so that he could feel the material squeeze even closer. If he tried hard enough, he could remember wrapping his arms around Kakashi and burying his face into the neck of this very same hoodie as the younger man squirmed around, trying to escape the tickle of Obito’s hair. He’d watched Kakashi leave again in his mind countless times, wondering how things might have changed if he went after him, or if he’d just picked up the phone and called the younger man. It wouldn’t have been fair, though, dragging him back in when his entire reason was to distance the doctor so that no matter the outcome, it wouldn’t hurt. Still, he doubted himself. All of the tears Kakashi had shed for him every time they spoke made him wonder - he was trying to protect Kakashi, but was he hurting him even more in the process? Kakashi, who always begged him to stay and Obito, who would always leave.  Kakashi, who would always piece him back together with stitches and gauze, and Obito, who tore the doctor’s heart apart at the seams.  He wanted to give Kakashi the world, but as he thought of what the younger man had said, he wondered if maybe he was taking the world away from Kakashi. Obito couldn’t understand it, though. How could the doctor see him - this worthless, monster of a human - as someone who was worthy of love, when Obito continued to drive stake after stake into his heart. His throat felt dry. He wished that Kakashi were crueler, colder. He wished that the younger man would think of himself for once, rather than continuing to break himself into pieces over someone who was as good as dead. Who would be better off dead. His foolish, beautiful Kakashi, with a heart so pure that the world wouldn’t dare to taint it with its retched darkness, so loyal and noble. Selfless. Too selfless.  Tobi dropped the tennis ball by his feet this time. Instead, the weight on his thigh came from the rottweiler’s blocky head resting on it, staring up at him with the deepest brown eyes - kind eyes that Obito loved, even if he liked to call them buggy. The fighter’s palm trailed gently over Tobi’s short snout, up to the space between his floppy ears, crossing over a dozen scars on the way. It hurt to remember what the dog had looked like when he’d first come across him, a breathing skeleton with that rusty chain lodged in his neck. Obito touched the bowtie, sliding it back to the front of Tobi’s collar before gently petting his furry cheek, pulling a soft whine. “I know,” he whispered as the sound of someone walking to their apartment made Tobi’s ears perk up. The past two days had been filled with the rottweiler spinning in clumsy circles every time someone made noise outside the door, waiting diligently by the rug for Kakashi to walk inside. Obito wasn’t sure what had transpired in the month he’d been hospitalized, but he knew he wasn’t the only one who missed the doctor. Kakashi’s love knew no bounds, and Tobi had surely received more affection from the younger man than he’d ever experienced in his entire life.  “Let’s go for a walk,” Obito’s voice sounded hollow, even to himself. Tobi hopped his way over to the front door, wiggling restlessly as the fighter clipped his leash on. Obito took one last look at the sunflowers on the counter, their stems looking even more dry with the streams of evening sunlight casting on them, the second to last petal floating down to the counter. The final petal remained steadfast, holding on for dear life. They were so ugly at this point, he knew he should throw them away, but he couldn’t bring himself to, not when Kakashi had been the one to bring them. Obito tore his gaze away, closing the door.  Tobi always had trouble going down the stairs because of his stubby legs, so they took it step by step. Obito tried not to think about Kakashi when they descended, about the doctor’s hands on his face in this very same spot. Tobi tugged him forward before he could begin to wallow in what the younger man had said that night, all of the hurt laid out in front of him, so vulnerable and trusting, before Obito had proceeded to stomp all over it. He tried to lead Tobi to the isolated route they normally walked, but the rottweiler tugged him in the opposite direction, towards the rest of town as if they hadn’t walked the quieter roads for years. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get the dog to budge, so he reluctantly followed Tobi’s lead, preparing himself for the possibility that the rottweiler would lunge at anyone in a moment’s notice.  They walked past the corner store, the bar, the school. Tobi paid no one any mind, not like when Obito had first tried to take him here - his teeth snapping and mouth frothing. Near the rundown park, the fighter watched as Tobi sniffed at a patch of dried up grass, clumsily trying to eat a fluttering moth. Obito blinked. Then, he crouched beside his dog. Tobi looked so happy. The fighter felt his heart swell with love, a small smile tugging at the edge of his lips despite the heaviness in his chest - this was Kakashi’s doing no doubt. Somehow, some way, the doctor had spread his light to this animal that had suffered for far too long.  Obito wondered if that was how Kakashi felt, looking at him. Did he see a happy, hopeful man instead of this emotionless, cold brute? Surely not anymore. The fighter picked at a piece of yellow grass, twirling it between his fingers. He was so deep in his thoughts that he didn’t hear the crunch of shoes against the ground heading towards them until the kids were much too close, the same ones from yesterday with their wayward soccer ball. Obito jolted into action, immediately grabbing Tobi’s collar and holding him tight, brows knit together as he stopped the kids with an upright palm - were they fucking dumb? “Didn’t your parents ever teach you not to run at a fuckin’ dog? He’s not friendly,” Obito didn’t have the patience for this, the sorrow and anger that had built up now used to lash out at the wide-eyed faces that stared back at him. One particularly spunky boy with shockingly blonde hair rolled his eyes, ignoring Obito’s demands to walk closer with little grabby hands.  “Tobi!”  Figuring that his dog must be ready to eat these kids alive by now, judging from the way he strained against Obito’s hold on his collar, the fighter looked down, mentally preparing before he’d inevitably have to haul up that massive animal and carry him home.  Tobi’s entire body was wriggling, trying to free himself from his owner’s grasp to meet the kids only a few feet away. Confused, Obito let him go, still crouched as he watched the dog bounce over to the children, all of their hands immediately crowding him with head rubs and pats all over his body. The fighter continued to watch in disbelief until the kids got their fill of the rottweiler, Tobi rolling around on his back as they scratched his belly.  “Mr. Kakashi said we can play with Tobi whenever we want s’long as we’re nice,” the blonde kid said to him, over his shoulder with a puff of his cheeks, covered in thin scars. Obito sighed. It was no surprise that Kakashi had managed to win the love of the children here too, but he was still shocked that Tobi, his Tobi, was willingly playing with all of these runts. He sat in the grass, stuck there until it got late enough for the night to take over, the kids singing a reluctant chorus of goodbyes to Tobi as they rushed to get home before their parents started wondering where they were. The rottweiler stared at them as they ran towards the horizon, seated like a watchful guardian until the final child disappeared into their neighborhood. Then, the mutt turned around and trotted towards the silent fighter. “Oh, so now you remember me,” Obito snorted, stretching his legs out after an hour of sitting still. Tobi nipped at his ankles as he stood, wrapping the leash around his fist as they continued their walk - the fighter still trying to make use of this new information. Even after years, it only took a month for Kakashi to barrel through everything and fix it all, again. ‘You’re going to be okay, Obito. I’ll fix you, I promise.’ Kakashi tried so hard. He always did. Yet it seemed like the only obstacle he ever faced was Obito. Obito, who couldn’t let down his guard even for the man he loved more than living life itself. Obito, who refused to listen. Obito, whose own stubbornness would be the reason he got himself killed. Was he really protecting Kakashi like this? By dying for men who wanted to see his blood stain the concrete, all for money that was nowhere near worth the price he’d pay with his life. Obito’s jaw clenched.  Could he change? With the aggression that naturally filled every part of his being? With all of the blood on his hands? They walked down the street, Tobi tugging ever so lightly at the leash as they passed by the pawn shop, ears perked and alert. Thankfully so, because Obito was lost. Lost in a sea of doubt, of whether this pain he felt was even a fraction of what Kakashi suffered through every time he refused to listen. It had broken him, the other night, when he’d finally allowed himself to cry. The absolute hurt that filled him - surely the doctor had felt that every night, waiting for Obito to come home. So many times he’d come home later than what he’d told the younger man, simply because his muscles had ached too much to move, and he wondered -  What had Kakashi felt, then? Thinking he was dead, and being able to do nothing about it. Obito knew that if he were in the doctor’s position, he’d have gone absolutely insane. He knew that if he had been the one to see Kakashi come home, bloody and bruised, he would’ve torn at every inch of himself, and everyone responsible, to make sure it never happened again. He wanted no harm to come to his Kakashi and yet, when the doctor tried to protect him, he lashed out. As was his horrid nature. Maybe, even after all this time, it was hard to believe that someone could love him so purely. He lived his life for Kakashi, but it was now that he understood that Kakashi also lived his life for him. The fighter treated his own life so worthlessly - without knowing that his life meant the world to the doctor. Unfortunately, it had taken too long to understand. After the years of pain, the years of damage. If he had listened and stayed home each time Kakashi had begged him to, everything would have been different. And if he listened now, maybe he’d have enough time to change his future. No more could have, no more would have.  “Fuck,” Obito hissed, staring up at the dark, cloudy sky. Two days. Two days had already passed and by tomorrow night, he’d be back in the ring. Only now, for the first time in his life, he found himself regretting the decision - he needed to show Kakashi that he could change, for him. That after all this time, he wasn’t choosing the blood and the pain over the one thing in his life that had made him feel human. But most of all, Obito had to show himself that he could change.  At night, the ghouls lurked the streets, so it wasn’t hard to find the man he was looking for. Near the warehouse that acted as the cover for their ring, Obito grabbed his trainer by the collar of his neon orange tracksuit, practically dragging him into the nearby alleyway, Tobi trailing behind. The rottweiler was all teeth and raised hackles, exactly how Obito remembered him from the night he freed him, so it was no surprise that his cowardly trainer was rooted against the wall, knees practically knocking together. Obito’s looming figure wasn’t exactly helping, either. “We need to talk,” the fighter said, grabbing Tobi’s leash right as the rottweiler lunged for his trainer’s ankles, the man stumbling a few steps to the right. “I changed my mind.” “Unfortunately, Obito, we already confirmed,” the shorter man said, even though his saccharine-sweet tone implied that it was anything but unfortunate. “It would be bad news for all of us if we upset the sharks. They’ve been swarming ever since they heard you’d be here tomorrow.”  That was as much as the fighter expected, grinding his teeth as he stared his trainer down. Those men were made of money and power, they spent their mornings in stuffy suits but at night, they laid down their money at the expense of lives they deemed lesser. Like Obito, their favorite animal.  “And if I don’t fuckin’ come?” Obito scoffed - he’d always shown up to his matches, so he’d never seen the aftermath of an abandoned fight.  “The ring always wins,” his trainer hummed, those sleazy eyes curving with a forced smile. “We’ll get our money one way or another. In case you’ve forgotten, I found you, Obito, I know everything about your worthless existence.” The fighter clenched his fists, but knew the man was right. He’d been the one who brought Obito into this world and had shown him how to properly fight, but most of all, he knew where Obito lived. He knew of Kakashi.  Surely they’d get their money out of Obito himself, or they’d take everything from him in return. Obito knew he had to play their game in order to get out of the situation as easily as possible. Tobi growled beside him.  “Alright, I’ll fight tomorrow,” he began, trying to figure out how to best ensnare his trainer, using his greed against him. “Tell them it’s my last, I’m sure the fuckers will gag for it.” When his trainer’s eyes gleamed, Obito knew he’d fallen for it. The idea of all the money he could make from marketing it as Obito’s last fight, as something they’d have to come see for themselves - their best fighter leaving them with a spectacular match after leaving them dry for a month. “I like the way you think,” the shorter man sneered. “Make sure you beat the shit out of the kid too, give them a good show.” “Who am I up against?” Obito asked, figuring it would be a new face in the ring since they loved to dangle fresh bait in front of the seasoned fighters so that the audience could have the bloodbath they wanted. Most of the time it was so horribly unbalanced that they’d set him up against opponents half his size just so they could see the absolute force that raged within Obito - the sound of the bell having him lose all humanity. They made their decision to be there, and so did he. “Ah, some brat,” his trainer sounded distant and far too casual, but Obito didn’t have time to sit around and speculate all night. All he knew was that he felt an immense sort of relief knowing that his last fight would be easy - he just needed to beat the absolute shit out of his opponent while dodging any dangerous blows and then it would be done. He’d be done. He’d fix himself, for Kakashi. For Tobi. “Tomorrow, then. After that, I’m done,” Obito said, so firm that he even surprised himself. For once, his decision felt right.  “Tomorrow,” his trainer purred, which made the larger man wrinkle his nose with disgust. “Good luck, Obito.” The fighter watched as the other walked back towards the warehouse, looking down at Tobi when that hideous tracksuit disappeared. Big eyes stared at him, so innocent. “Don’t worry, bud. Your dad doesn’t need luck,” Obito gave Tobi a light pat on the head, guiding him back home. Good luck. He rolled his eyes - with years of experience under his belt and his health better than its ever been, Obito didn’t need luck, especially against some scrawny kid that would surely quiver the moment they saw him lumber into the ring. The first few raindrops fell.     In the apartment, Obito stared down at his phone. Over the past two days, he’d fought against every urge he had to call Kakashi - to beg him to come, to apologize, to tell him everything that he hadn’t been able to put into words that night. He knew the doctor deserved better than that - he needed to think before he called, otherwise he’d just shove them right back into another disaster of a conversation that would surely leave Kakashi even more hurt than before. He couldn’t bear the thought of having the doctor cry over him again, nor the sight of him walking away, so he put his phone back down onto the table, the illuminated screen and the dull lamp in the corner the only things that lit up the otherwise pitch black apartment.  Outside, the storm raged. Rain pelted the windows with a force stronger than Obito had ever seen before, with howling winds and the occasional flash of lighting. When he’d first taken Tobi in, the dog had scrambled to hide underneath the bed at any sight of rain - which most likely reminded him of his days before he lived with Obito - but now, the rottweiler was comfortable enough to sleep curled up on the couch cushion beside him despite the roaring rain. Obito, on the other hand, was unsettled. The last time it had rained this hard, he’d been on the brink of bleeding out on the sidewalk - only for destiny to bring Kakashi crashing back into his life, much like the lighting that crackled across the sky. Electrifying.  That was his Kakashi. The fighter stared at the window as yet another bolt pierced the sky, unforgiving. His rough fingers pet the soft black fur near Tobi’s neck, anchoring himself in the apartment even as his mind traveled lifetimes away. One more fight. Somehow, knowing this was the last made him even more nervous than before.  ‘The ring always wins.’ It did. The ring had stolen more lives than Obito could count on his hands, the blood of all its victims staining deep into the ground on which it was built. It would continue to win, and Obito knew there was still the possibility that it wouldn’t let him walk free, that it would sink its claws into him and drag him down, back to where he belonged. There was never a guarantee in the ring - even if he was pitted against some wiry punk. It’d only take one solid punch from that kid to the right spot on his head and he’d be done for. Maybe a concussion, maybe a hemorrhage. But so long as Obito kept his guard up and wrecked his opponent before they could even lay a hand on him, he’d have nothing to worry about. He’d done this long enough, he knew how to finish these matches before they even started with only one look, pinpointing every weakness in seconds.  Thunder rolled so loudly that Obito swore the apartment shook on its foundation, Tobi’s head lifting from his lap, ears swiveling around. The dog stared at the door, intently. “It’s okay, just the storm,” the fighter comforted the rottweiler, patting his side. Tobi ignored him, whining softly. Then, Obito heard it, muffled by the sound of the pouring rain. Another knock. Brows furrowed, Obito wondered which of his crazy neighbors decided it would be a good idea to knock on his door during a vicious storm, keeping Tobi at bay with a stern command, the dog obediently remaining at his spot on the couch. The fighter rolled his shoulders as he walked towards the front door, swiftly unlocking it before he twisted the knob, face set in a frustrated grimace as the door swung open. He opened his mouth, ready to voice his annoyance when his gaze landed on soaked silver hair, then the shivering body in black scrubs.  “Kakashi?” Obito’s heart stammered, the doctor’s name only a whisper of an exhale. Dark eyes stared at him from underneath wet hair. The fighter barely had time to breathe before one of Kakashi’s hands grabbed the front of his hoodie, the other curling around the back of his neck. This time, the doctor didn’t need to yank him forward.  Obito met him halfway.  Unlike the kiss on the stairwell, so painful and short lived, this one was full of every ounce of longing stored deep in their souls. Obito kissed Kakashi like it was the only way he could breathe, his rough hands holding the doctor’s face steady as they stumbled backwards, the younger man kicking the door shut. Every square inch of Kakashi’s body was soaked from the raging storm, and it was only then, out of the worry that bloomed in his chest that the resident would get sick, that he pulled back. Obito’s apprehension nearly melted away when Kakashi blindly chased after his lips, only to be held in place by the older man’s strong grip.  “Did you drive here? Kakashi, you’re s--” Another heated kiss silenced him, the doctor’s nails scratching spine-tingling lines down the nape of his neck. Even in the darkness of the apartment, Obito could see the desperation in the doctor’s eyes as he pulled the fighter down for a soft, numbing peck. A lifetime of being together made it easy to read what Kakashi needed - he didn’t want to talk, he was trying to fill the hole that Obito had left in his heart the other night. Maybe the resident had begun to overthink, and needed something more permanent than that fleeting goodbye - something as indefinite as their bodies as one. “I need you,” Kakashi whispered against his lips, lashes fluttering as Obito brushed his wet hair back. Years ago, those words would’ve sent the fighter into a frenzy - one that would end up with him hauling the younger man to the nearest surface so that he could fuck the life out of him - but he knew what this entailed, this time. Obito’s heart ached, wishing that he could tell the resident that this would be his final match, that he was trying to be better, but he didn’t want to see the hope return to those eyes when there was no guarantee he would come back tomorrow. Instead, he rubbed a thumb over that soft bottom lip. He would give Kakashi what he needed. Anything he needed. Obito pressed their lips together, greedily soaking up every whimper that slipped out of Kakashi as he pressed him against the front door. He pushed his hands underneath the doctor’s scrub top, the wet material clinging to the pale skin beneath, breaking their kiss only so that he could pull it off of the younger man’s body, his silver hair ruffled in the process. Fuck. Obito stared at the smooth skin in front of him, awed - the memories hadn’t done it justice, being able to look at Kakashi like this after so long had him barely holding onto the threads of his sanity. His warm hands moved over the doctor’s abdomen before trailing up to his chest, weathered fingers pulling at the younger man’s nipple just to hear the gasp that followed.  Some things never changed, like that telltale blush on the doctor’s cheeks as he removed his hoodie, the soft black material joining the soaked top on the floor. It was even easier to crowd Kakashi up against the door like this, his hands resting on the younger man’s hips as he brought them back together, his lips returning to the corner of the resident’s mouth. Kakashi wasted no time in meeting him for another kiss, even as his cold hands roamed over all of the fighter’s exposed skin, muscles twitching with every touch. Knowing that Tobi was still on the couch, and the fact that he wasn’t going to fuck Kakashi against the door if this was going to possibly be his last chance to have the other like this, Obito slid his hands from the doctor’s hips to underneath his thighs.  With a secure grip, and Kakashi’s legs tightening around his waist, Obito was able to stagger his way down the hall and towards the bedroom, anything but elegant as the younger man’s fingers tangled in his hair, lips unrelenting. The moment his knees met the edge of the bed, the fighter settled a hand at the small of Kakashi’s back, laying him down on the mattress so that he could take off the rest of their clothes in a hurry. The doctor’s eyes were heated as he watched, propped on his elbows as his gaze traveled from Obito’s face down his chest, the older man interrupting him by finally joining him on the bed. The rain continued to pour unbelievably hard, a crack of lightning basking the room in its white glow, and Obito struggled to swallow, taken aback by the way Kakashi looked spread out on his bed, with his parted lips and messy hair.  He bracketed Kakashi’s body with his own, forearms on either side of the doctor as he kissed up the length of his neck, leaving little bites and bruises behind. Obito remembered every sensitive part of his body, paying special attention to the small spot beneath Kakashi’s ear, teeth grazing the flesh as the younger man arched underneath him. Every little kiss he left behind spoke greater volumes than words ever could, absolutely reverent. The love that filled him at the mere sight of the younger man suffocated him, so to have him here, like this again, made the fighter feel like every atom in his body was vibrating, fingers nearly shaking as he used one hand to stroke down Kakashi’s side to his thigh.  The doctor, clearly overwhelmed, turned his face so that he could steal another kiss, Obito granting him whatever he wanted, relishing in the small gasp against his mouth as he palmed the soft flesh of Kakashi’s thigh. He used that opportunity to deepen their kiss, his hand sliding further down so that he could palm over the curve of the doctor’s ass, using his hips to knock the younger man’s legs further apart. Despite how focused he was on touching Kakashi’s body, the doctor was getting his fill as well, nimble fingers dancing down Obito’s abdomen, tracing over all of the scars that laid there before going further. Obito hissed at the hand that wrapped around his dick, unbelievably hard from the moment he’d had Kakashi up against the door, breaking their kiss as Kakashi started to stroke his hand up and down.  There was something beyond him, something possessive, that made his want spike as he watched his own precum drip onto Kakashi’s belly, reminding him of all the times he’d fucked the doctor against the wall, the couch, the counter, and had pulled out just in time to paint the younger man’s back or chest with his cum. His. “Touch yourself,” Obito’s voice sounded dark as he watched the cogs turn in Kakashi’s head, so clouded by arousal that it took him a few moments to understand, reluctantly removing his hand from the fighter’s dick to wrap it around his own instead, tugging lightly. The older man leaned over to grab the lube from the nightstand beside the bed, rummaging around in the drawer for a few seconds longer than normal because his gaze was glued to the scene in front of him. Kakashi’s legs always started to close whenever he touched himself, and he was sure the doctor felt shy, having Obito stare at him like this even if they’d done much worse years ago. He used a hand on Kakashi’s knee to spread his legs open again, a lubed finger gently pushing into the younger man’s hole, his skin on fire as the doctor keened, body clenching around Obito’s finger. So tight.  It seemed like he hadn’t been the only one who couldn’t bear to be with someone else, even after so long.  Obito leaned down for another kiss when he slid the second finger inside, pumping them in and out, angled a little more each time until Kakashi bucked against him, moaning into the kiss. When the third was added, he could tell that the doctor was close by the way he clenched down on his fingers, so he sat back to knock Kakashi’s hand away, his dick throbbing at the sound he received in return. He replaced the younger man’s hand with his own, but instead of stroking him, he squeezed the base right as his fingers fucked straight into that spot. The fighter ignored the ‘please, please, please’ as Kakashi panted, trying to squirm away from those unforgiving fingers, but he only released his hold on the doctor’s cock after he removed his fingers. Kakashi whimpered at the loss, but Obito swallowed his sounds with a heated kiss, blindly reaching for the lube so that he could rub it over his painfully hard dick. With one hand sliding underneath Kakashi’s shoulders and the other pressing the head of his cock against that tight hole, Obito waited until the doctor whined against his lips and looped his arms around his neck before slowly sinking in. So hot, so tight. The fighter took a sharp breath as Kakashi clenched around him again, head tilting back and exposing that beautiful, smooth neck to him, his little sounds no longer muffled by Obito’s mouth. Halfway in, the older man took the time to suck more marks onto Kakashi’s skin, giving him some time to adjust to the stretch. It only took a minute or two before the doctor was rocking against him, trying to sink further, to get even closer, and Obito always gave Kakashi what he wanted, pressing one last kiss to the doctor’s pulse before pushing the rest of the way in.  Kakashi’s nails scraped down his neck and over his shoulders with his little gasps as Obito thrusted in and out, the smack of their flesh together barely heard over the rain splattering against the windows, the doctor’s moans the only thing loud enough to echo in the bedroom. The fighter grunted as he started to fuck into the doctor faster, his heart fluttering at being so close, so connected to Kakashi, having their skin touch, being so deep inside the other.  “I love you,” Obito said, so quiet that it was nearly lost in Kakashi’s whimpers. He knew the sounds the doctor would make when he was getting unbelievably close, as well as the way he began to tighten around the fighter’s dick, so he buried his face in the crook of the younger man’s neck, thrusting even harder and faster into the pliant body beneath his. It took only a few more before Kakashi’s nails were digging into his shoulders, hard enough to break the skin, his back arching ever so beautifully as he came, untouched, white all over his chest and belly, some of it even getting onto the fighter’s tanned skin. Obito wasn’t too far behind thanks to the sounds the doctor was making, as well as how tight he felt, and he buried himself deep into the younger man as he came, pressing another kiss against Kakashi’s jaw as his cum filled the other.  It took them a long while to catch their breath, Obito nuzzling into the warmth of Kakashi’s neck as the doctor’s hands combed through black hair, ever so lovingly. The fighter didn’t want to move, as if staying still like this would allow him to live in the moment forever, but he had to, eventually, because the younger man was too sensitive to still be spread apart on his dick. He carefully pulled out, watching as his cum oozed from Kakashi’s hole, hands on the doctor’s thighs to stop him from closing his legs before he even tried.  “Obito,” Kakashi whined, voice sore from the moans that had been fucked out of him, his face red with embarrassment. The fighter didn’t say anything, simply using a thumb to push the cum back into the doctor’s hole as the other squirmed, satisfied with his work. Using a rag from the nightstand, he carefully cleaned the younger man’s belly before tossing it onto the floor with the rest of their clothes, flopping beside him on the bed, finally able to catch his breath. Not even a second later, he felt Kakashi’s long legs tangle with his, a mess of silver hair on his chest as the doctor listened to the steady beat of his heart, Obito’s fingers twirling in his wet hair just to hear Kakashi’s pleased hums.  “I love you, so much,” the doctor whispered into the darkness as his lithe fingers traced circles into Obito’s warm skin. Kakashi touched him like each press of their skin together was being burned into his memory, every patch of flesh something new to be charted. It took a bit of work, considering he had the doctor on top of him, but the fighter managed to draw the blanket over their bodies, wanting to keep the younger man warm since he’d just made his way through a thunderstorm before being taken apart on Obito’s dick. The fighter’s knuckles ghosted down Kakash’s spine, simply basking in the younger man’s presence - almost as addicting as a drug after what had felt like an intense withdrawal for two days. After tomorrow, if fate was on his side, he’d never have to worry about being apart from the doctor again, nor would Kakashi ever have to suffer like this, waiting for him at home. This would be the last time.  “Please don’t go,” Kakashi sounded like he was only moments away from falling asleep, Obito’s arms secure around him, sharing their warmth. The older man gently shushed him with a kiss to his temple, wishing more than anything that he could tell him not to worry, because after tomorrow, everything would be better, just like he’d promised. Obito waited until Kakashi’s breathing settled before allowing his own sigh to escape, staring up at the ceiling. His life had always gone the wrong way, but if Kakashi had managed to find his way back, then maybe Obito was lucky enough, and that luck would extend to his fight tomorrow night. Just one last time, and he’d never ask for anything ever again - Kakashi was all that he needed to make things right.  Even though he knew it would be hard thanks to the dread in his gut, Obito tried to get some sleep, focusing solely on the warmth of the doctor’s body on top of his.     Early in the morning, the sound of Tobi’s paws had him lifting his head ever so slightly, watching as the dog stood petulantly in the doorway, obviously upset that Obito had stolen his person away from him before he’d even had the chance to greet him. Squinting, the fighter realized that the storm had ended overnight, the golden rays of sunlight streaming through the blinds into the room, Kakashi moving slightly in his arms, which automatically had his grip tightening to keep him in place. Sometime during the night they’d shifted, Kakashi’s face buried in the pillows, sleeping like a log, per usual, with Obito curled around his side.  The bed dipped with the weight of the rottweiler as he hopped on, sitting at the foot of it. Obito’s thumb gently swept over the curve of Kakashi’s cheek, down to his lips, before leaning close to press a soft kiss to the bridge of the younger man’s nose, carefully leaving the bed so that his movement wouldn’t wake the other. He needed to leave before the doctor woke up, because he couldn’t bear the thought of him holding onto his arm again, nor did he want the other to find a way to the ring again after they’d switched locations from the last time. Obito would leave, and then be back by the end of the night. Hopefully, Kakashi would stay with Tobi until then.  Tobi took advantage of the sudden space on the mattress next to Kakashi, snuggling up next to the doctor who didn’t seem to wake up at the exchange. Obito dressed as quietly as he could, taking his fighting gear with him so that he could shower at the ring, shouldering his bag and shoving his feet into his sneakers before pausing at the doorway to the bedroom. Obito’s fingers squeezed the strap of his bag, heart full as he stared at the two lights in his life, resting together, safe and happy. He’d be back before they could even miss him.  Once he was ready, having collected all the things that he needed, Obito unlocked the front door. He glanced around his living room, at the dog toys scattered everywhere, and at the barren sunflowers, the last petal having joined the rest on the countertop. He’d fix that all when he came back - some new flowers for his doctor, and a tub for his spoiled Tobi. He’d fix it all, when he came home. Ever since Obito had left the apartment, time seemed to be at a standstill. No matter how quickly he wanted the hours to pass so that he could get the fight over with and go home, it was as if every minute were decades long. He’d spent most of his time warming up for the match tonight, languid stretches and short bursts of exercise that normally would’ve had him aching by the end of it, but ever since he’d been discharged from the hospital after a month of rest, he’d felt better than he had in years. The pull-ups and barbell weights were like nothing to his body; the muscles easily taking everything he packed on.  It was during these warm-ups that Obito had noticed Genma lingering around, except this time around, he was inside of the warehouse instead of outside like when he’d found the fighter on the curb. There was something odd about the paramedic being here, as well as the fact that he’d found Obito perfectly in time, almost as if he’d seen what had gone on during the match. Obito leaned against the wall, taking a swig of water as his dark eyes remained on the paramedic, who shuffled closer to the girl the fighter had seen preparing for her match the last time, before he’d nearly had the life strangled out of him with his own chains. He raised a brow. Ah, that was why. It seemed like Genma had his own Obito to worry about as well. Even if Genma couldn’t have known about his past with Kakashi the last time he dragged his half-dead body into the car, he surely did now, so Obito made sure to leave the main area quickly. He didn’t need Genma poking his nose where it didn’t belong, or even worse, telling the doctor his whereabouts, not until after the match. Inside the locker room, Obito toed off his sneakers and the rest of his clothes from this morning, thinking of Kakashi still curled up in their - his - bed at home, praying that the younger man hadn’t woken up, even if sleeping in until the evening was a stretch, even for Kakashi. Still, ignorance was bliss so he ignored the phone he’d stuffed to the back of his locker, knowing that if he picked it up, there would be countless messages and calls from the doctor.  Until he won, until this was over, he couldn’t bear to see the messages, not if Kakashi would be pleading and begging for him to come home.  Obito carefully turned the knob, wincing when ice cold water spluttered from the showerhead against his heated skin. Clear rivulets streamed down his chest to his fingertips as he stood there numbly for a second, rubbing at the scar over his shoulder, the roughened flesh unyielding beneath the pressure. He wished that his trainer would’ve told him exactly who he’d be going against rather than a vague some kid but Obito supposed that would be enough to prepare. There would be no need to bring any weapons out, not if he was going to be treating this inexperienced brat like a sack of bait, but he still needed to be on his toes. Novice or not, one good blow to the head would more likely than not be the end for him.  Obito tilted his head back, letting the water stream over his face, hands pushing through black hair.  The last time he’d fought some kid, he’d left the brat holding onto life by a strand of mercy. The sharks had loved that fight, which was why Obito figured they wanted something like this for his last match, and had practically pleaded for him to kill the kid, but for some reason, he hadn’t been able to. Just like he hadn’t been able to kill Kakuzu, even though the other fighter had been ready to choke him to death. Whenever he tried, all he could think about was Kakashi that night, years ago. So he simply left them dangling, one blow away from their end, but alive nonetheless.  The fighter stepped out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist as he walked back towards his locker, feet making wet slaps against the ground. When it was time to get dressed, he always wore the same knee-length black shorts for every match - his trainer called it an identifying factor, as if the scarred half of Obito’s face and the rest of his body wasn’t identifying enough. He’d definitely taken his time in the shower, judging from the bustle outside of the locker room. Everyone was getting ready for their fights, meaning the sun had finally set, and the sharks were starting to creep in, the creak of the steps as they descended to the basement too familiar to his ears. He heard a few of them already wagering bets with the bookie and scoffed. Of all the things they wanted to spend their money on, it was this. He’d take their cash, regardless, but he knew that if he had been born into their position, there were a lot of better things he’d be using all of that wealth for. Namely, making Kakashi happy.  Obito slowly wrapped his ankles and hands in white tape - preventative measures to make sure he didn’t end up fucking himself over in the ring with a misstep. Once done, he gave his fists a strong clench, watching the tape cling over his knuckles as he opened them back up, satisfied with his work. Still, no matter how hard he tried to distract himself, all he could think about was what awaited him outside the locker room. Warming up, showering, wrapping himself up, none of it worked. Even if Obito was damned good at what he did, he was still nervous, mind filled with thoughts of Kakashi and Tobi, as if he couldn’t stop for a second to instead worry about what his plan was - the fastest way to take this kid out so he could haul ass out of here.  It was hard though, when he didn’t know who he was up against. Some of the younger fighters here had a lot of stamina, while others had brawn. He needed to know in order to adapt to their styles, but he supposed the split second he’d have before the match started would be enough - he was significantly more experienced than them, and had that on his side. Obito stood, rolling his shoulders as he took a deep breath. It was time to go.  Back in the warehouse, the fighter had to weave his way through a sea of their usual audience and the friends they’d dragged along, other bloodthirsty sharks waiting to see their fellow humans rip each other apart. He was trying to find his trainer, to see if the man had found out any last minute information, but it was nearly impossible with this many people trying to make their way down one set of stairs, the line backed up into the main area, forcing Obito to remain by the barbells. He eyed them all with disdain as they stared at him as if he were a panther locked up in a cage, ready to pounce.  Obito rolled on the balls of his feet. Wouldn’t that be nice? To give them a little taste of what went on in the ring? The fighter ran his tongue along the edge of his teeth as he thought of how pleasant that would be, to have the sharks bleeding out on the floor, to have them finally see the result of their perverted, violent desires. If they wanted it so bad, they could come experience it first hand through Obito, his fingers itching to close around their throats mercilessly.  A soft hand touched his back. Obito would recognize that touch anywhere, in any lifetime.  The fighter whipped around, both of his hands grabbing onto Kakashi’s upper arms. To his credit, the doctor didn’t flinch, nor did the defiance melt from his eyes.  “What’re you doing here?” Obito hissed, brows furrowed as he looked the younger man up and down, glad that not even a hair was out of place. Kakashi shouldn’t be in these parts. “Wait, how did you find this place?” “Genma,” Kakashi replied, unfazed as he shook himself out of Obito’s grasp, now the one to grab onto the fighter’s forearms as he tried tugging him forward, as if to lead him out of the crowd and towards the exit. “Let’s go, I’m not letting you throw your life away. I’m sick of just standing by.” Obito didn’t budge, even as Kakashi tried his hardest. The fighter sighed - after this match, he’d have Genma’s head for this, but he supposed he should also thank the man for allowing him this opportunity to see the doctor before he went down for his match. Obito reached for Kakashi, wrapping one arm around his shoulders and one hand behind his head, pulling him close until the younger man’s cheek was resting against his bare shoulder. He could feel the flutter of Kakashi’s lashes against his skin, and nuzzled into the silver hair beside his face, breathing him in.  “It’ll be the last one, I promise,” Obito murmured, feeling Kakashi’s fingers curl against his sides, hugging onto him tighter. “One more, and I’m never coming back.” “All it takes is one,” the doctor whimpered against his chest, his arms like iron around Obito’s midsection, as if that would stop him from going down to the ring.  “You think some shithead kid has a chance?” Obito took a step back only so he could cradle Kakashi’s face in his palms, pressing a chaste kiss to the tip of his nose, then his lips. “Nothing’s going to happen.” Kakashi squeezed the life out of his wrists as he stared at the fighter with watery eyes. Obito pressed another small kiss to his lips. “He won’t touch me,” Obito felt confident, even more so now, knowing that he needed to be strong with Kakashi here, panicking over him, yet again. “But I need you to stay up here, alright?” “But, Obito -” Kakashi began, but was shushed by yet another kiss.  “I don’t want you to see me like that,” Obito whispered against his lips. He never wanted Kakashi to see him fighting like an animal ever again, especially not when he’d be beating this kid to within an inch of death. “Stay here with Genma.” He could feel the paramedic tentatively approaching them from behind, and even though he still wanted to wring the man’s neck, he appreciated the fact that he’d be here to take care of Kakashi. Just in case. The last of the sharks had finally made their way down the stairs, so Obito knew it was his time - the first match of the night to get everyone’s blood rushing. Lifting Kakashi’s hands, Obito pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “I love you,” the fighter allowed Kakashi’s fingers to slip from his hold, falling limply by his sides as the doctor tried to take a step closer, but Genma held onto his arm. Obito’s eyes met the paramedic’s, and he could see how worn he was, from years of seeing the ring and its effects. “Thank you.” Genma nodded, holding onto Kakashi tighter as Obito turned, his heart wilting as he heard his name falling from the doctor’s lips, so pained. Begging. But he had to. He couldn’t anger the ones with power, not when they knew everything about his life. He couldn’t put Kakashi in danger like that, and after this, he’d never have to hear that bullshit ever again. No more threats to the things that meant the most to him, no more fighting, no more pain. Most importantly, he’d never have to watch the man he loved break down into pieces over him. It would all be over.  Obito made his way down the wooden steps, the darkness cloaking him. There was always the weird halfway point between the warehouse and the underground ring that had absolutely no sound funneling from either end and he was left alone to utter silence. It allowed him to reflect. He would either be freed by his own hands, or by death. The fighter’s heart pounded in his chest as the bustle from downstairs entered his view, the poor lighting over the ring showing him that, even though a month had passed, they still hadn’t cleaned anything up from the matches that had gone on in the meanwhile. He could even see the blood that stained the concrete from his previous match, a ghost twinge of pain in his shoulder as he remembered the feeling of that blade being twisted in his flesh. His sudden appearance had the sharks circling the bookie like they were ready to feed, the man taking all of the money shoved his way as he scribbled down their bets, their eyes on every languid step Obito took.  It seemed like they were feeling very generous today, now that they were finally seeing him in his prime. They could tell by the way he moved that today would be an especially good fight on his part, and he saw the way they pulled their wallets out to increase their wagers, their eyes on every line of muscle on his back as if it’d tell them the secrets to the brute force housed within him. Obito stepped into the ring, surrounded by all too familiar barbed wire.  He scanned the crowd for his trainer but there was no sight of that neon tracksuit anywhere, his jaw clenching with frustration. Dumbass. The kid still hadn’t shown up, it seemed, but as the fighter looked over the crowd again, he noticed two figures stumbling down the dimly lit steps, his shoulders tensing and his eyes aflame as he walked to the edge of the ring, the barbed wire nearly pricking at his tanned skin. Genma was still trying to hold onto Kakashi for dear life but it seemed like the doctor wasn’t above dragging the paramedic downstairs with him, brutally shouldering his way past every shark so that he could get closer to the ring. “I told you to stay upstairs,” Obito snarled, loudly enough so that Kakashi would hear him over the crowd, placing a palm against the doctor’s chest so that he wouldn’t be sent forward when one of the sharks bumped into him, otherwise keeping him from being gouged by the fence.  “I’m not leaving you,” Kakashi growled back, overpowering Genma’s weak ‘I tried’, the paramedic still holding onto the doctor’s shoulders. Frustration, love, whatever it was, Obito fisted a hand in Kakashi’s hair and kissed him hard . When he pulled away, he could tell that Kakashi was holding it all in, his fingers practically branding the fighter’s wrists. He could only hope that if things started getting violent, Genma would have enough willpower to turn Kakashi away so that he wouldn’t have to see the brutality Obito was capable of, especially to some punk kid. Obito’s thumb stroked over Kakashi’s cheek. One more time. This would be the last. “Touching.” Obito stiffened. He knew that voice, the blood in his veins freezing as he listened to it, purred from across the ring. The look in Kakashi’s eyes told him everything that he needed to know. This wasn’t some scrawny little kid. He should’ve known from how pleased his trainer had looked that night, and Obito could only berate himself for being so stupid and hopeful. Of course they wouldn’t save his last match for some stupid kid that could be tossed around back and forth - they wanted something memorable. He could tell that Kakashi was beginning to panic from the way his gaze darted back and forth between Obito and his opponent.  “Don’t be afraid,” Obito murmured as he squeezed Kakashi’s cheek. It was hard to be convincing when he himself was afraid. “I’ll be okay.” Obito finally turned to face his opponent. Kakuzu looked worse than he’d ever seen him - clearly having suffered greatly from the injuries Obito had dealt him during their last match. The man’s jaw looked deformed, as if the bones hadn’t properly fused back together, and there were stitches everywhere. Worst of all was the lopsided grin on his face, as if he was thirsting for blood. Obito’s blood. The fighter could smell the absolute hatred rolling off of his opponent in waves, hungry for revenge against the man who had done this to him.  Obito took a deep, shuddering breath. Fuck. He slowly circled his way back to his corner of the ring, feeling trapped by the way Kakuzu’s piercing green eyes followed his every movement before settling directly on the scar he’d left on his shoulder. That smile grew even wider, almost like a promise as he reached for the weapon strapped to his thigh, pulling out the very same knife from their last fight, giving it a little twirl. Obito had walked into his own execution.  Weaponless and sorely unprepared for an opponent he had no idea he’d be facing, Obito knew Kakuzu had the upper hand. It would be a miracle if he survived, let alone won. Obito’s muscles tensed as their little audience hushed, his gaze locking with Kakuzu’s from the other end of the ring. His opponent’s hand tightened around the hilt of his knife. The bell rang. And Obito saw red.   Like two feral beasts clashing, they lunged with the full intent to kill. Knowing that he had the disadvantage, Obito tried to quickly think of a plan that would get him out of the ring in one piece, even if his odds were looking abysmal. He moved swiftly on his feet, dodging the flurry of punches his opponent threw at him from each side, the glint of the blade catching in the lighting of the bulbs swinging above them. Kakuzu swung again, and this time, his punch came dangerously close to connecting with the side of Obito’s face, the fighter’s wrapped hand instinctively raising to catch the other man’s fist in his palm, a mere inch away from his jaw.  In all of his years of fighting, Obito had never been a defensive fighter. His style was better suited for the heat of constant attacks, and he only ever defaulted to defense when he knew things weren’t looking too good. Playing offensively would only be asking to be socked in the face, and he’d have to save that for when he knew Kakuzu was already going down, as some sort of final blow. Until then, especially with Kakashi nearby, he’d have to keep his attacks to a minimum and figure out a way to even out the power imbalance between him and his opponent. Obito ducked as another punch sailed over his head, side-stepping so that he could back away from Kakuzu, placing some distance between them as the other man struggled to regain his balance, the stark difference in their healing bodies evident.  Using the opportunity of those precious seconds to his advantage, Obito scanned his opponent, only then noticing the other knife strapped to Kakuzu’s left thigh, not in use, yet. The fighter felt a surge of hope - if he could get his hands on that knife before Kakuzu thought of wielding double blades, then he’d regain the upper hand. Even if he had to be extra cautious to not aggravate his TBI further, the rest of his body was in much better condition than Kakuzu’s, which would give him better range to use the weapon as well. Obito licked his lips, brows furrowing with determination. He had to get that knife, one way or another.  Obviously frustrated by his body’s lack of coordination, Kakuzu’s rage returned tenfold. Rather than rushing at Obito with his fists, he seemingly remembered the knife poised in his hand, violent slashes coming the fighter’s way. In order to avoid the blade as it sliced through the air in front of him, Obito took a step back for every step forward from his opponent, their movements so in tune that it was only when they reached the perimeter of the ring that the tip of the knife made contact with Obito’s skin. The barbed wire had dug its way into the back of the fighter’s thighs, giving Kakuzu the split second chance to whip his arm forward one last time, the blade lightly nicking the tip of his nose and the corner of his eye. Obito barely dodged the attack, and he knew that if he’d waited a moment longer, his eye would have been done for. The thin cuts already stung from the sweat on his skin and the vague pain reminded him that each minute he wasted running around the ring with Kakuzu hot on his tail meant less stamina in the end. Gritting his teeth, Obito knew that he’d need to do something now if he wanted to get that knife. The fighter quickly rounded his opponent, intending to disorient the other man with the rapid movement, which seemed to work because by the time Kakuzu turned, he wasn’t able to prepare as Obito lunged for him, a hard fist meeting that deformed jaw. The guttural snarl Kakuzu released in return was beyond animalistic - it was monstrous.  The punch gave Obito the chance to tackle his opponent to the ground, counting on that unhealed injury to leave Kakuzu in enough pain so that he could do some more damage while they were both down. Unfortunately, the other man was also fighting for survival and the sake of his own blood lust, so Obito’s plan failed the moment Kakuzu’s back hit the ground, his opponent’s knee raising just in time to shove against his abdomen, launching Obito off. It sent the fighter’s body skidding a few feet across the concrete, his right side taking the brunt of the scrapes, flesh stinging as blood bubbled at the surface. He barely had enough time to gather his bearings before Kakuzu’s heel smashed into his face, his nose cracking from the force of the other man’s kick, head whipping back.  Obito’s ears rang the moment his skull struck the concrete, the blood dripping from his nose into his open mouth as he silently wheezed in agony. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. The fighter’s vision was swimming as he struggled to orient himself, rolling to the left when Kakuzu tried to kick his face in again - with his opponent standing above while he laid sprawled on the ground, Obito knew if he didn’t do something soon, he’d be slaughtered in seconds. This time, he was ready when Kakuzu reeled his foot back, catching the man’s ankle in one hand and using the other to grab onto the strap that kept the knife adhered to Kakuzu’s thigh. Using every ounce of strength in him, Obito yanked the man towards himself, gravity working in his favor as his opponent toppled forward, towards the ground where he sat.  Even though black clouded a lot of his vision, Obito’s fingers were nimble in the precious moments that Kakuzu had no control over his fall, unlatching the knife from the holster and pulling it out before scrambling to the side before Kakuzu could fall on him. Palm on the concrete, Obito used the ground to shove himself back up onto unsteady legs, pinching his broken nose between two fingers before snapping it back into place so that he could breathe, even through the tang of the blood that oozed out. His opponent didn’t waste much time in following, his heaving breaths matching the vicious look in his eyes once he’d realized that Obito had been trying to get his hands on the other knife the entire time. With the both of them armed, things would only get more brutal.  They circled each other like bloodthirsty predators, Obito’s slick fingers clenching tight around the hilt of the knife to make sure that it wouldn't slip out of his grip now that he’d worked so hard to get his hands on it. He ignored the pang of guilt in his gut that came from thinking of how Kakashi was seeing him like this again, soaked in blood that was either his own or Kakuzu’s, with dark eyes that only promised death. Still, like the last time, he had no choice. He had to kill Kakuzu if he wanted a chance to survive - if all the damage dealt to his head wouldn’t put him six feet under first. His vision was still swirling so he knew he was essentially fucked in that department, but he could only hope that he’d be as lucky as he was throughout his fighting career and that Dr. Nara was wrong. Maybe even with all of the damage, he’d be able to bounce back. He just needed to win. Bent on ending this match so that he could return to Kakashi and leave this lifestyle, Obito took the offensive again, his blade catching on Kakuzu’s skin with every swing of his arm. One particularly deep cut had his opponent nearly tripping on his own feet, which gave Obito the opportunity to fist a hand in Kakuzu’s hair. He used his hold to keep the man’s head steady as he brought his own leg up to knee him in the face, listening to the spine-tingling crunch that it produced as his opponent ignored the pain and held onto Obito’s raised leg with a vice grip. Thrown off his balance, Obito was forced to fall back as Kakuzu’s weight tipped them, the other man landing on top of him, fueled by the vengeance he was desperate to obtain. The wind had been knocked out of his chest from the fall, so there wasn’t much Obito could do as Kakuzu threw punch after punch at his face, using both his bloodied fists and the hilt of his knife. The fighter felt as if his brain was rattling in his skull, lip splitting open with a particularly nasty swing at his mouth. Everything hurt. Obito was nearly paralyzed by the pain, only able to reciprocate once Kakuzu twirled the knife in his hand, the blade now facing towards him. He narrowly avoided what would’ve been a stab to the ribs by using his own knife, the blades clanging against one another, Kakuzu’s nearly slipping out of his hand. Obito wasted no time and stuck his blade into the nearest flesh available, which happened to be his opponent’s gut, pulling the knife back out as the other man howled and scrambled back. With Kakuzu’s weight off of his chest, Obito was able to stumble back up onto his feet, eyeing the other man who had retreated to the other end of the ring, nursing the copiously bleeding wound in his abdomen. Obito could tell that the stab wound, along with the other injuries he’d inflicted on his opponent throughout the match, were beginning to force the other to slow down from the blood loss - something that was taking a greater toll on his damaged body more than it was affecting Obito. Nonetheless, they were both bruised, bloody and absolutely exhausted , unable to escape their fates when surrounded by barbed wire and a crowd absolutely rabid for the fight in front of them. The sharks were loud, all of them trying to talk over each other in their excitement, trembling at the thought of their bets. Their voices made Obito’s head throb and it was then that he wished he could just hear Kakashi; that he could spare a second to look back and see if the doctor was okay, but he knew that if he glanced away, his opponent would take advantage of his moment of weakness. Obito’s fists clenched by his sides as he tried to catch his breath, neither of the men moving from their corners. There was so much blood everywhere - on the fence, smeared all over their bodies, and in puddles on the ground - that Obito couldn’t tell where it began or where it ended. He felt faint, but the adrenaline gave him enough power to remain standing as he tried to ignore the way his vision seemed even blurrier than before, or how his body ached everywhere.  Despite his injuries, Kakuzu charged again with a snarl. His movements were off, delusional from the blood loss, so his swings were broad and high, the blade biting at the surface of Obito’s chest, then higher. They both stumbled a step back, then came towards each other with a force unmatched. They were so tired that they knew this would be the final opportunity before they collapsed from the extent of their injuries and it was left to a matter of who bled out first. Their blades met with a screech of metal. Again. Again. And again. Then, Obito’s knife slipped down as Kakuzu’s went up. The fighter felt the slice of the blade across his skin, but it was soon overshadowed by the sight of his own knife lodged deeply in Kakuzu’s chest, so deep that it was stuck between flesh and bone. Kakuzu stumbled back, hands reaching to clutch at the knife buried in his chest, his blank gaze rooting Obito to his spot. But what unnerved him the most was the faint smirk on the man’s lips as he collapsed, knees buckling as he slowly crumpled to the ground.  Obito stared at his opponent’s body, limp on the floor. He could feel the warmth of his own blood dripping down his fingertips, as well as the rivers that streamed down his chest. He won, yet for some reason, everything felt wrong. He couldn’t breathe. Obito had killed before and he’d never felt this way, and he wondered why he was reacting this way - he had wanted to kill Kakuzu for the sake of his own life and his freedom. Why couldn’t he breathe? Why couldn’t he move? Was he this tortured by the thought of the very same things he’d been doing for years? Obito continued to stare at Kakuzu’s body.  Time felt so slow, and everything sounded so muffled. He couldn’t breathe.  Using what little energy he had left as his body fought to try and gasp in any air, Obito turned around. Even through his haze, he could hear someone scream - Kakashi, he recognized - but it sounded like it was swaddled in cotton. Instantly, he felt the guilt surround him. He knew that Kakashi must’ve finally laid eyes on the mess that was Kakuzu’s dead body, must’ve taken a look at Obito and had seen the monster that’d caused it. Obito’s knees shook weakly, struggling to keep himself upright. He couldn’t breathe.  Obito choked, the blood gurgling from his mouth onto the floor beneath him. Tentatively, he lifted a hand to his neck and finally felt the blood that profusely spouted from the gash there, realizing then the reason for Kakuzu’s obscure smile. He’d been happy that neither of them would leave that ring. Now, Obito knew why he couldn’t breathe, and why his entire body had felt slick with blood. Now, he knew why Kakashi had screamed.  Kakuzu had slit his throat. Obito didn’t have to be a doctor to understand the gravity of his situation. Everything sounded so far away. He wasn’t sure what was happening but he knew that the sharks were panicking, the entire crowd attempting to make their way up the stairs all at once, his cloudy vision catching sight of Kakashi trying to weave his way through them to get into the ring, Genma flanking him, phone at his ear. Obito’s legs betrayed him as he put two and two together, knowing that the paramedic was calling the ambulance which meant that the ring would be busted alongside its arrival. Obito keeled over, and this time around, his head smacking against the concrete didn’t even hurt, not when the rest of him felt so battered. He couldn’t breathe.  The lightbulbs swung ominously from the roof as Obito blinked, ever so slow. They reminded him of the moon, that night he’d collapsed on the curb. And much like Genma had eclipsed his view of the moon then, Kakashi’s distraught face did the same, this time. Obito choked on the blood spilling out of his mouth, each splutter sending crimson everywhere.  “Obito, Obito, look at me,” Kakashi whimpered, his hands desperately smearing the blood away from the fighter’s face. Obito wanted to lean into his touch, but found that it was hard to do anything when each strangled breath he took felt like he was drowning in his own blood, a violent cough sending another splatter of blood over his own torso. It didn’t make much of a difference - he was already soaked in it.  “Obito, please,” the doctor’s tears mixed with the blood on his face as he tried to staunch the blood flowing from the gash with his bare hands. The fighter let out a wheeze as he tried to move, wanting to comfort the younger man. “Don’t move, okay, don’t move, they’re coming. Please, Obito, just wait a little longer,” Kakashi’s body was wracked by sobs as he applied pressure, but Obito knew it was futile.  By the time they got here, he’d be gone. He was losing too much blood, too fast. Obito could barely hold onto reality with each wet breath that filled his lungs with more and more blood, eyes threatening to roll back. Instead, on the brink of what he knew was his end, he chose to appreciate what little time he had left with the entire purpose of his being. With his Kakashi. With his head in the doctor’s lap, he tried to bask in the warmth that surrounded him and the feeling of Kakashi’s touch, even if it was in the form of the doctor’s blood soaked hands around his neck.  “Obito, don’t close your eyes,” Kakashi begged, his voice barely piercing through the fog of the fighter’s mind. So tired. He felt so tired and the doctor’s warmth was so inviting. “Don’t leave me,” he whimpered, which forced Obito to open his eyes a little further, his hazy gaze meeting Kakashi’s. I’d never, he wanted to say, but he supposed that would be a lie. Because he was, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t speak, not with the blood in his mouth, down his throat, filling him from within.  Obito took in another choked breath. It felt like he was beneath the surface of the ocean, trying to claw his way up but never quite reaching it. Truly, he understood how cruel fate could be. He’d been one step away from spending the rest of his life with Kakashi, finally at peace, but a flick of Kakuzu’s wrist had ended it all in one fell swoop. He hoped that Kakashi would be okay.  The fighter weakly lifted a hand, wrapping his blood stained fingers around the doctor’s wrist to gently pull it away from his neck with what little energy he had left. He could feel the way the life was draining from his body, numbing him inch by inch.  “N-No, Obito, I need to stop the blood,” Kakashi begged, tears streaming down his cheeks. Obito shook his head, slowly. He hoped that Kakashi would be okay, without him. The fighter coughed, blood splattering over Kakashi’s forearms.  He hoped that whoever had the privilege to love Kakashi next would treat him well. Out of all the things that were rushing through his mind, knowing that he was toeing the line between this world and the next, the one that stood out the most was the fear that Kakashi wouldn’t have anyone to watch over him, to love and revere him. It scared Obito to think of the doctor with someone who wouldn’t treasure him, who wouldn’t give him the life he - they’d - dreamed of.  Obito hoped that the next man wouldn’t take Kakashi’s love for granted, like he had.  The things he’d sacrifice to have a second chance, to be able to kiss Kakashi and tell him how much he loved him. To be able to wipe away every single tear that dripped off of his face, to hold him. He tried to speak, but it caused more blood to leak from the edges of his mouth, making him gurgle on his words. I love you, he wanted to say, over and over again, so that Kakashi would never forget. Obito blinked, heavily, and a tear slid its way from the corner of his eye. No matter how much he’d promised himself that he’d be ready to die, he found that he wasn’t. But it was too late to think of the value of his life, of how much living meant to him when he had the doctor by his side.  Kakashi was saying something to him, but he couldn’t hear anything through the muffled fog. His vision darkened at the edges and he knew that his body was slowly giving up, head beginning to loll to the side. He didn’t have much time left. He could see Kakashi’s I love you through his bleary gaze, treasuring each word that he read from the doctor’s lips. He wished he could hear the younger man say it, one more time. Knowing it would be useless to try and speak again, Obito’s fingers brushed over the doctor’s wrist that he held, moving to his knuckles.  Then, to his slender fingers, painting them red. Obito curled his blood soaked pinky around Kakashi’s. And hoped that Kakashi heard every unspoken I love you.  Throughout his life, Kakashi had been surrounded by death. His mother had died before he could ever remember her and his father committed suicide years later, after the depression had sunk so deep into his bones that he could barely lift a spoon to eat. It’d sent Kakashi through a cycle of foster homes, his life a blur as he tried to come to terms with Sakumo’s death - being so young, he’d thought his father would return for him one day, to hold him in his arms again. Even when he’d neglect himself, he always remembered to take care of Kakashi, brushing his hair with the utmost love and packing his lunch for school with small notes. All of which the doctor still had, some of the last memories he had of his father.  Living in this town, he’d seen countless people die on the streets - curled up in an alleyway after a particularly frigid night, or another corpse hidden underneath a dumpster after a brawl that went too far. Then, as a resident in the only hospital near his childhood home, he’d become uncomfortably familiar with the sight of body bags rolling out on beds, too familiar with the guilt that came with not being able to save someone.  Kakashi knew death all too well.  But it didn’t mean he could deal with it any better, now.  He sat cross-legged in the grass, the cemetery eerily silent as the wind whisked by, the blades of weeds tickling over his ankles. Kakashi’s hand brushed over the gravestone in front of him, wiping away the fresh moss that was starting to flourish over the etched name, a few of his tears wetting the cracked stone. Years, and he still couldn’t get over it. Another tear trickled down his cheek. It was hard, being surrounded by so much darkness and pain. The only thing that had kept him from slipping too deep had been Obito; the bond that they’d shared since the moment they’d met on the playground as children, when Obito had looped their pinkies together to drag him all around the park. It’d been in that exact moment that he’d known that Obito had been his savior, had reached deep into the pit of his heart and pulled him back up, sent the breath of life back into his soul. Back then, Obito had been the light of his life, and still, would forever be.  There were many things that Kakashi wished he’d been able to fix. But unlike a broken bone, some things weren’t able to heal. For years, he’d seen the decline of Obito’s health, the way he’d stagger into their apartment, blood dripping from his mouth and the wounds all over his body. Almost like that night, the one whose memories kept Kakashi awake past midnight, jolting up in a cold sweat, remembering the blood - so much blood - and Obito’s glassy eyes, the way that his pinky had curled so tightly around the doctor’s before going limp. He couldn’t help the whimper that slipped out of him at the thought, shaking his head to dispel the images from nearly two years ago, ones that felt so fresh every time he thought of them. Images that would return every time he walked down that street, past what used to be the warehouse but now had become another run down grocery store - but no amount of tile or boxes could ever erase the blood that had permanently soaked the foundation beneath. They’d never be able to hide all of the deaths that had happened in that basement, unjust and out of control. If he’d tried a little harder, then maybe Obito would have never gone to the match.  He could remember standing there, during the fight, like it was just yesterday. The way he’d been frozen in place, chilled to the bone at the sight of the man he loved more than life itself fighting to the death, each fist or stab feeling as if it had been aimed at him personally. Genma’s hold on him had been like iron, and while he’d been furious at the paramedic in the moment, now, he was thankful. In the end, if he’d done something, he would’ve only distracted Obito, and surely that would’ve gotten him killed in seconds. At least the fighter had the chance to do something, even if they’d been doomed from the start. Kakashi’s hand stilled over the gravestone, using the other to rub at his wet cheeks. Life had truly been cruel to them. Sometimes, he thought of what might’ve happened if they’d been born into lives that had been basked in light from the start - he was sure that Obito would’ve been full of smiles and jokes, like the small slivers of it that would show when they were alone. They would have gotten married, and he was sure that Tobi’s soul would have found them again in some other form, bouncing around their big house.  Kakashi smiled, weakly. Their families would have been different too. Obito’s mother would have loved him fiercely enough to protect him always, and Sakumo wouldn’t have taken his life, instead, they’d both come over to their house for dinner and play with their grandkids. That would have been nice. The doctor’s heart twisted, painfully.  “I wish you could’ve seen it,” he whispered, staring down at the gravestone. The wind rushed past him again, but this time, his eyes closed, if only to imagine loving, warm arms around him. “I wish ... I wish I could’ve taken you with me.” Kakashi had been surrounded by death and suffering his whole life in this accursed town, but now, he would find peace. His residency had finally finished and he’d accepted a position at a hospital far away, an entire plane ride across the nation to escape the dark tendrils of agony that suffocated him every time he walked through this town. He’d even put the down payment on a beautiful home.  The one with the pool, and the big backyard.  “You would’ve loved it,” Kakashi’s knuckles were red from the way he brushed them back and forth over the gravestone. “Tobi’s excited.” He could imagine the rottweiler running to the fence and back, and maybe Kakashi would teach him how to swim in the pool, even if that dense body looked like it would sink in seconds. The doctor laughed softly at the thought. His lovely Tobi, who wouldn’t have to suffer anymore either. He’d be at peace, living a life full of love and light.  Kakashi tried to hold back the sobs, but couldn’t. His legs shifted up so that he could wrap his arms around them, face against his knees, wishing that he could’ve had even a fraction of Obito’s courage and strength. Instead, here he was, crying over things that would never, and could never, change. He managed to stifle his sounds into mere sniffles as the grass crunched behind him. The doctor quickly wiped his tears away with his wrist as the other man crouched beside him, a calloused thumb catching the tear that he’d missed.  “You okay?” Kakashi meekly nodded, but the dam burst again when dark, worried eyes met his own. The doctor snorted at himself, running a hand through his frazzled silver hair.  “It’s been over twenty years but I feel like I’m abandoning him,” the doctor said, so quietly that he barely heard himself. “I don’t want to leave him.” The doctor leaned into the arm that wrapped itself around his shoulders as the other sat beside him, drawing him closer.  “You aren’t, he’ll always be with you. Right here.”  Kakashi caught the hand that poked at his chest, pulling back. Like always, his gaze fell to the jagged scar on Obito’s throat, his fingers lifting to gently touch the roughened skin. Even though two years had passed since the fight, he couldn’t believe that Obito was still here, in front of him. The scar reminded him constantly of how close the fighter’s life had come to slipping through his fingers, soaked in the older man’s blood, but by some sort of miracle, he’d survived.  It hadn’t been Obito’s time, and Kakashi knew that none of them could have changed the man’s fate. It’d been destined from the start.  Obito had always been good at fighting. So it was no surprise that he’d fought for his life as well.  He’d been in critical condition for weeks, and the healing that came after had been hard , much worse than anything they’d seen before. It’d been made more difficult since they had to deal with both the significant blood loss and the aggravated TBI, but Kakashi hadn’t left his side for even a second, putting every ounce of energy he had into making sure that Obito made it. He would’ve gouged out his own heart if it meant that Obito would’ve survived.  Obito shivered under his touch, able to read the look in Kakashi’s eyes like he did every time the doctor woke up in a panic, when he’d have to spend hours reminding the other that he was okay, that he was alive.  And that he’d never have to worry like that ever again. Kakashi’s heart leapt as the older man lifted his hands from the scar to his lips, kissing his knuckles softly. “You ready? Our flight is an hour,” Obito murmured, tilting his head towards the parking lot. “Tobi’s been pacing since you left the car.”  “Yeah,” Kakashi breathed, even as his heart ached. He hoped that Obito was right, that Sakumo would continue to watch over them even so far away. The doctor turned back to the gravestone, pressing a kiss to the tips of his fingers before using them to trace over Sakumo’s name once more.  “I love you, dad.” He wobbled back up onto his feet with Obito’s help, taking a step towards the car before noticing that the older man wasn’t following him. The doctor looked over his shoulder, holding out his hand for Obito to take. Obito did take it, but only to give it a gentle squeeze. “Go on, I’ll be there in a second,” Obito smiled, watching as Kakashi made his way to the lot, Tobi’s little barks breaking the silence as he shoved his head out of the open window with relief that the doctor had come back.  Obito turned to face the grave, his hands stuffed in his pockets. He’d only been a little older than Kakashi when Sakumo had died, but he’d known the man’s kindness all the same, and was thankful to him. For both his own heart, and for bringing Kakashi’s light into his world. “I’ll take care of him, I promise.”     A year didn’t feel so long while adjusting to their new life, not when they’d been waiting for this exact moment since they’d first dreamed of it that night on the playground. It was exactly as Obito had imagined, and not a single day passed by where he didn’t find himself reeling at his own reality. They’d escaped. No more fighting, no more pain. Best of all, he was able to warm himself in Kakashi’s light every day, listening to him laugh at Tobi’s antics or playfully bicker with him over his terrible cooking.   It was a life that Obito had once thought that he’d never deserve. But he’d been able to atone the pain within himself - he’d fought for this life and had earned it.  He’d been ready to die for this chance and wouldn't ever take it for granted again. They had their house, their pool. The lush backyard that Tobi never stopped rolling in. The hurt child locked deep in his heart had nearly been healed, knowing that they were finally safe. That they did it, no matter how impossible it had seemed at first.  Complete healing would take a lot more time for the both of them, but Obito knew that as long as they had each other, everything would be okay. But he knew that broken little boy within him had finally found peace in the life he shared with Kakashi. Especially when he’d slide into his uniform every morning, the Konoha Fire Department emblem staring back at him through the mirror. Just like he’d wanted, all those years ago.  Obito was happy, something he never thought he’d ever feel, not to this extent. “You’re thinking too much,” Kakashi hummed, fingers combing through Obito’s hair. “I can practically see the steam coming out of your ears.” The water in the tub sloshed around as Obito adjusted the doctor’s legs, the younger man having switched from leaning back against the firefighter’s chest to sitting on his thighs so that he could face him. Kakashi’s wet, bare chest was right in front of him, so Obito couldn’t resist pressing a kiss to his sternum as the doctor’s hands continued to fuss around with his hair until he pulled back with a satisfied hum.  Obito raised a brow, feeling the suds drip down the side of his face. After three attempts, it seemed like the younger man was finally satisfied with the soapy mohawk he’d given Obito, planting a loud kiss on the firefighter’s unamused face. “So handsome,” the doctor crooned, eyes gleaming mischievously until Obito’s fingers dug into his sides, his yelp echoing in the bathroom. Unfortunately for the younger man, he had nowhere else to go, not when he was surrounded by the bathtub and Obito’s arms anchoring him down on his lap. The firefighter’s palms swept down from Kakashi’s hips to his thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he hiked the doctor closer. Completely naked like this, Kakashi couldn’t hide the flush of his pale skin, nor his arousal as their cocks rubbed against each other.  Bathing together always ended like this, even if Kakashi insisted that this would be the time they’d be able to keep their hands to themselves. As if that ever happened.  “Is Tobi in the backyard?” Obito asked as he nibbled along the curve of Kakashi’s neck, the younger man’s hands running through his hair, effectively ruining the spikes he’d created earlier. When the other didn’t answer, too busy rutting against him, Obito grabbed him by the waist, halting his movements. “I asked you a question.” “Yeah,” the doctor whimpered at the way Obito’s voice dropped, leaning forward for a kiss. Obito allowed their lips to brush ever so slightly before he pulled away, smirking at Kakashi’s petulant huff. He settled one arm over each side of the tub, shrugging his broad shoulders. “I thought we were just taking a bath, isn’t that what you said?” Obito held back a grin at the way Kakashi’s eyes narrowed. He loved to tease the younger man, just to see how frustrated he could get. He waved his hands nonchalantly with a flick of his wrists. “Don’t mind me.” The firefighter leaned further back against the curve of the tub, closing his eyes as if to ignore the doctor on his lap in favor of relaxing. He fought the smile that threatened to blow his cover as Kakashi fell for it as easily as he always did, the younger man’s hands greedily brushing over his thick shoulders down to his forearms. Kakashi squirmed on his lap, seeking any sort of friction, before kissing at the sharp angle of Obito’s jaw, moving lower to slowly lick at his pulse before sucking on the skin there.  “Obito,” he panted against the older man’s ear, whose fingers curled around the edge of the tub for mercy. It seemed like he wasn’t the only one who knew how to tease to get what he wanted. The firefighter struggled to swallow as Kakashi’s lips brushed over the scar on his throat, tilting his head back to allow him more access, only to nearly bang his head against the tub when the doctor’s fingers wrapped around his dick. “ Obito, touch me, please.”  Fuck. Heat pooled in his belly at the way Kakashi practically moaned in his ear, his cock twitching in the other’s grasp as he lifted a hand to grab the back of the doctor’s neck, tugging him forward for a kiss, ignoring the pleased smirk against his lips. He loved it when Kakashi melted against him while they kissed, the younger man steadying himself by holding onto Obito’s shoulders as he stole every breath out of him. He nipped at the doctor’s lips when he drew back, not stopping until he was sure they’d be swollen.  Taking a good look at Kakashi now, he was right. The doctor already looked fucked out, his reddened lips parted and his pupils blown out, his cock unbelievably hard next to Obito’s, the water threatening to spill out of the tub with the way he bucked his hips, trying to rub against the older man. Obito’s hands slid to the doctor’s ass, squeezing tightly as a finger crept between, lightly brushing over the younger man’s hole.  He sucked at Kakashi’s neck, the spot already purpling as the doctor tried to grind back against his finger, the tip occasionally dipping in but never quite pushing through.  “Mm,” Obito hummed against Kakashi’s skin, giving the younger man’s ass another squeeze before pulling back. “I love you.” “If you loved me, you’d fuck me,” Kakashi deadpanned, obviously not pleased with Obito’s slow pace as he huffed. “I’m not going to fuck you while you’re covered in soap, get in the shower,” the firefighter snorted, giving Kakashi’s thigh a light smack as the other got out of the tub on wobbly legs, his cock painfully hard and oh so pretty against his belly as he turned the shower on, waiting for the water to warm. Obito joined him after he pulled the bath plug, pressing up against Kakashi’s back, arms wrapping around the younger man’s torso as he kissed his neck, enjoying the rub of his cock against the curve of Kakashi’s ass as the other touched the water spraying down. Deeming it warm enough, the doctor practically dragged him into the shower, the frosted glass door sliding closed behind them. Kakashi looped his arms around Obito’s neck, the firefighter’s arm curling around his waist as he kissed him just as deep as he wanted, exploring his mouth.  The doctor kept stealing more and more kisses as Obito tried to rinse him off, hungry to taste more of the younger man’s skin as the water streamed down his back and over the curve of his ass. It was taking longer than usual thanks to the way Kakashi’s fingers kept teasing over the head of his cock, his damp silver hair hanging in his eyes so innocently that Obito was two seconds away from covering his face in cum as the doctor sank to the floor. Obito washed the soap out of his dark hair as Kakashi licked him from base to tip, his abdomen clenching when the younger man spent extra time laving at the spot just beneath the head. His shoulders took the brunt of the spray from the shower head as he shifted forward, just enough so that when Kakashi took his dick into his mouth, it went a little deeper than usual, the doctor moaning around the stretch before sucking.  It took every ounce of restraint that Obito had to not fist his hand in Kakashi’s hair and fuck his mouth raw, groaning as the younger man bobbed his head up and down, cheeks hollowing out around the thick cock in his mouth.  “C’mon,” he growled, tapping Kakashi’s cheek so that he would pull off, his dick pulsing when the doctor did, a thin strand of precum linking his bottom lip with the tip of the hard cock inches from his mouth. Eyes a little defiant, Kakashi gave one last kitten lick to the head. Obito exhaled, sharply. He was going to fuck the life out of Kakashi.  Obito didn’t even give the doctor a chance to complain about his sore knees as he turned the shower off, a hand around Kakashi’s neck as he pinned him against the steam covered glass, lips pressed together in a devouring kiss. The doctor choked on a whine as Obito bit down on his plush bottom lip, going a little lower to then bite down on his jaw. He’d never get tired of marking every inch of Kakashi, peppering a few apologetic kisses over the blossoming bruise there.  Their wet bodies dripped onto the tile as they stepped out of the shower, Obito holding onto the doctor’s wrist to guide him, tugging him back when Kakashi tried to step into their bedroom. The younger man flashed him a pleading look, almost tortured that they weren’t in bed already, but the firefighter wasn’t about to spend another hour trying to drag Kakashi out of the soaked sheets once they came down from their high. It happened much too often, and Obito had learned his lesson with his sleepy doctor.  Instead, he used his grip to drag Kakashi closer to the bathroom counter, the steam already beginning to fade from the wide mirror. Obito’s gaze met Kakashi’s through the glass, stroking his palm over the doctor’s belly, shifting his hips forward so that his cock could rub against that soft ass.  “Bend over,” Obito murmured against the younger man’s ear, revelling in the way that Kakashi immediately obeyed, his forearms flat against the marble top, face even closer to the mirror this way as the firefighter rubbed a hand up and down the doctor’s back, covered in faded hickeys. In this position, Kakashi was more pliant, so that when Obito’s hands found their way to his ass to spread him, he didn’t even protest as the older man stared at his hole, thumb pressing in to watch the way it clenched around him.  He’d fucked Kakashi for hours last night, so he knew that the doctor would still be a little sore, movements gentle after he’d snatched the lube from the cabinet, slick dripping down his fingers and over the younger man’s hole. It also meant that the prep would be easy, two fingers slipping in without much resistance, giving them a few pumps before sliding in a third. Obito angled his wrist, and after a few strokes, grinned when the doctor moaned against the counter, his face buried in his folded arms, hole clenching around the thick fingers there. It took four fingers before Obito knew Kakashi would be ready for him, slowly pulling out his fingers and relishing the needy whimper that left the other at the loss. Obito rubbed the tip of his cock over the doctor’s hole, holding it steady as the younger man rocked back against him hard enough to have it slip in, drawing a groan from the both of them. The firefighter used one hand to hold onto Kakashi’s waist, the other fisting in wet silver hair to draw the doctor against him, his back bending in a beautiful arch as Obito’s cock sank deeper until his hips were flush with the younger man’s ass. Kakashi’s chest heaved with his pants, tears prickling at his eyes from the angle as Obito slowly dragged his cock back out before slamming back in, allowing him to adjust with a few thrusts before he set an unforgiving pace. “Look at yourself,” Obito hummed, voice too sweet for the filthy slap of their skin together. “So pretty.” He knew that Kakashi would listen, the doctor’s eyes flickering to the mirror to watch as Obito fucked into his ass, body jolting forward with every thrust. Judging by the younger man’s whines, he wouldn’t be lasting much longer so Obito released his waist to slide a hand beneath them, quickly fisting the doctor’s cock. Kakashi came with a pitched moan, warmth dripping over Obito’s fingers as he thrusted a few more times into the tight heat surrounding his dick, groaning as he spilled into the doctor, a few lazy thrusts following just to fuck his cum deeper into the younger man. The sound of their panting filled the bathroom as they tried to catch their breath, Obito dropping a few kisses to the doctor’s shoulders, a hand carding through silver hair to soothe the aftermath of the strong grip he had on the strands earlier. Kakashi didn’t lift his face from the cradle of his arms, slack against the counter. “Kakashi,” Obito cooed softly, pulling out of the doctor carefully. “Hey.” He patted the doctor’s ass, snorting when he didn’t move. “Mm, five more minutes,” Kakashi mumbled as Obito turned him around to clean them up with the towel, long limbs tangling around the firefighter’s torso, hugging onto warm skin blissfully. Obito kissed the side of his head, ruffling the doctor’s slowly drying hair as he finally guided them into the bedroom, barely managing to dress the younger man before he slipped under the covers. By the time Obito put his sweatpants on, the doctor had seemingly realized that the older man hadn’t followed him to bed, his head poking out from the sheets.  His eyes roamed appreciatively over Obito’s bare chest, arms outstretched with his silent demand. Unable to resist per usual, the firefighter walked over to the edge of the bed, pressing a kiss to Kakashi’s forehead before avoiding the doctor’s hands, knowing that if they grabbed a hold of him he’d be trapped. In turn, the doctor whined.  “I’ve got to get Tobi,” Obito laughed, leaving another kiss on the corner of Kakashi’s mouth as the doctor sank against the cushions, seemingly placated. Out of the bedroom and down the long hall, the firefighter crossed the sweeping living room, nearly tripping over Tobi’s faceless stuffed otter in the process, the internal fuzzies strewn all over the floor. Again. The rottweiler was notorious for destroying all of his stuffed toys, but Kakashi couldn’t seem to keep from buying him more.  Sliding the glass door to the backyard open, Obito placed his hands on his hips, staring his dog down. Tobi was seated so politely by the potted sunflowers, ears perking up at the sight of his owner, prancing over without a care in the world despite Obito’s stern look, channeling the power of a thousand fathers. Tobi’s stubby tail wagged happily but Obito was sure that he’d realize just how much trouble he was in once he came closer and got a good look.  “I’m not mad, Tobi, I’m disap-”  Tobi trotted straight past him and Obito’s voice trailed off, offended as he followed the rottweiler back into the house, grumbling the entire way back to the bedroom. The dog picked up the detached face of his stuffed otter in the hallway before barreling his way into the room once he’d seen Kakashi laying in the bed, leaping onto the mattress with violent wiggles. Obito stood in the doorway, arms crossing over his chest.  “Your son is a murderer,” he drawled, hiding his laugh as Kakashi greeted the rottweiler with just as much excitement, arms looping around Tobi’s thick neck before the dog flopped on top of him, knocking the wind out of the doctor. “He’s a baby, Obito,” Kakashi huffed, pressing a loud smooch to the crown of Tobi’s head. “He can do no wrong.” Despite his raised brows, Obito felt his heart swell. Seeing Kakashi and Tobi together, in their beautiful home that they shared with him, it still didn’t feel real. The firefighter walked closer, dropping onto the bed beside them, shoving Tobi’s slobbery face out of the way so that he could steal a kiss from Kakashi. When the doctor’s fingers curled against his face, he smiled. Obito was complete. 

Langa likes seeing the way Reki burns when he’s around him – the way his smile lights up the room, the way his eyes shine, and the laughter that permeates the core of his very being. Langa adores it all. There’s also the way he burns when he’s only around him, on moonlit nights at the skate park facing the sea, in the dim yellow glow of Reki’s workshop, and in the dark quiet of Reki’s room long after everyone else has gone to bed. There, Reki manages to surprise him time and time again. On the night the sun shone again for Langa at the skate park, he recalls the way Reki’s eyes had gone soft, and the red flush that spread across his features blooming like a hibiscus flower over his skin. He had never been this red before, and all Langa had done was to speak the truth, to express himself honestly in the way that his mother had told him to. Those feelings had washed over Reki like water rushing from a broken dam and Langa was left wondering if Reki’s face would feel as warm as they looked under his hands. Over time, Langa learns that the same shade of apple red starts to reappear whenever he leans in too close, and one day, he gets close enough that his nose brushes Reki’s cheek and Reki immediately lifts a hand between their lips, amber eyes wide, pink reaching the tips of his ears. “Wait, Langa – ” The blush sits high on Reki’s cheeks, his breathing trembling as Langa raises his gaze from where they had been trained on Reki’s lips to his eyes. Langa leans in closer still, gently brushing his lips over the tips of his fingers. The air is heavy and Langa starts to feel warm all over when Reki slowly lowers his hand, his gaze following the movement until he’s staring at Langa’s lips, eyes half-lidded, lips slightly parted. Langa learns that when their lips touch, the flush on Reki’s face travels down to his neck. He traces the path of crimson from his cheek to his jaw and down to his collarbone with his fingers, listening to the way Reki’s pulse rushes, thundering in time with his own. Everything is warm and pleasant – from the way Reki’s breath caresses his cheek to the way their tongues meet. And then Langa starts touching him, hands slipping under his uniform to map out his back, running fingers over his spine and muscles, tracking the way heat travels over those areas, warming under his touch. They do this often enough after the first time it happens – always at the end of evenings spent in the skate park – and they climb into Reki’s room each night, skin and hair damp with sweat, breathless with laughter. With adrenaline still coursing through their veins, Langa cages Reki in with his arms by his side, and they kiss with the door locked – sometimes against the bed, other times on the floor or pressed up against the wall – the only source of light spilling in from Reki’s window. Each time they do this, Langa’s body is still tingling with the high from skating together, ecstatic, beating with the kind of joy only Reki can draw in him. Each time they do this, Langa’s hands roam to new areas along Reki’s chest and back, applying varying degrees of pressure to coax new sounds from him – from quiet, stuttering gasps to low, shaky exhales – until the adrenaline settles, their foreheads pressed together as they share the same breath. Eventually his hands are not enough, and Langa begins pressing his lips to Reki’s neck, locating his pulse and feeling the way it flutters, heat radiating from every inch of skin he covers. Tonight, Reki’s uniform and headband are already lost in some corner of his room, fingers tangled in Langa’s hair as Langa kisses him against the side of the bed, pushing his hoodie up to his chest to rest his hand over where his heart would be. It’s beating fast, and Langa likes to think that it beats for him – the same way his beats for Reki. He’s pressing soft kisses to the corner of his lips, the way he knows Reki likes it, before his lips find their way to his neck and his hand brushes over a nipple. Reki instantly shudders, his body warm – feverish, even – as he tips his head back, and Langa almost climbs into his lap, rising on his knees as he chases him. “Langa,” Reki gasps when his knee brushes against his crotch, jerking himself upright, and Langa draws back in surprise at the sound as Reki claps a hand over his mouth. They stare at each other, and even in the darkness, Langa can see the way Reki has gone beet red, his chest heaving as he tries to form words to fill the silence and drive away the giant elephant in the room. Reki is hard. It’s not a big deal, Langa thinks, because each time they do this, his pants get uncomfortably tight too. They’ve just never addressed it, content with making out like they always have. He figured they’d eventually get here somehow, and would cross that bridge when they came to it. “S-sorry,” Reki stutters, looking like he wishes the ground would swallow him up. Despite his obvious embarrassment, Langa can’t help thinking about how pretty he looks, the red on his cheeks blending with the red of his ruffled hair and unfocused eyes. When he drags his gaze down to the space between them, he sees Reki’s favourite purple boxers peeking over the top of his pants, clashing with the colour of his flushed skin. Langa swallows, feeling himself warming up as well. It’s like the thrill he feels when he does a flip in the air and the corresponding drop as gravity pulls him back to the ground – magnified tenfold when he sees Reki on the ground, watching him, smiling as he waits to see what he does next. It sets free a flurry of butterflies in Langa’s stomach, along with something much hotter, burning within him and warming his skin. Langa wraps his arms around him, pulling Reki to his chest. Reki’s heart beats loudly, his fingers curling into the back of his shirt. Langa’s hips are pressed against Reki’s thigh in an attempt to convey the exact state he’s in. “Would it be all right if I touched you?” Langa whispers, and he feels Reki shiver, breath hitching at the suggestion. “Yeah.” Langa sighs into Reki’s ear, turning his face so that he nuzzles his cheek, then his neck, as his fingers dance by the waistband of Reki’s boxers. He’s burning up again. And then in a tentative voice so quiet that Langa thinks he imagined it, Reki adds, “Can I also…?” Langa draws back slightly on his knees, brushing Reki’s red locks away from his eyes. “Go ahead.” He kisses Reki again – slow, wet, thorough – as their arms bump while working open each other’s pants. Then there’s the quiet slide of the zipper, an unfamiliar heat between his legs and Langa gasps against Reki’s mouth. Reki loosens his grip. “Sorry, did that hurt?” “No,” Langa whispers, wrapping his hand around Reki’s, feeling lightheaded when Reki adjusts his grip and the pleasant pressure from seconds ago returns. “Not at all.” As Reki begins to build a steady rhythm, Langa slips his fingers under the waistband of Reki’s boxers, smearing wetness over the tip and Reki’s eyes drift shut, making a sound far too close to a whimper. And when Langa starts to work his shaft, he’s immediately distracted by the look on Reki’s face, unable to take his eyes off him as he watches his lips part as he exhales, brows furrowed, leaning back heavily against the bed. “Why do you keep looking at me?” Reki asks when he notices Langa watching him, raising a hand to shield his face, visibly self-conscious. “Because,” Langa says softly, pressing his lips to Reki’s fingers like he did the first time they kissed. “I like you, Reki.” Reki twitches in his hand and Langa raises his eyebrows, which sparks another wave of panic. Reki’s eyes go wide before he squeezes his eyes shut. “Ah… That was embarrassing…” Langa smiles, leaning close to touch their foreheads together. “Look at me, Reki.” He knows he’s probably all flushed – he certainly feels flushed – pink colouring his pale skin, the way he looks after a good long run down the snowy mountains back in Canada. And he wants Reki to know that this is all because of him. Reki cracks open an eyelid before he blinks at him, eyes travelling over his features. “Langa…” Langa continues to stroke him and Reki responds in kind, and this time, he sees Reki watching him too, half-lidded eyes cataloguing the way Langa looks when he gets breathless from his ministrations. Reki matches his pace as they feel each other out, discovering what coaxes out the whimpers and whines and makes it difficult for either of them to stay quiet. With Reki’s breath hot on his cheek, they shift against each other – lips and hands brushing over warm skin, fingers curling into and clutching at fabric – until they are moving in tandem, hips rocking, the space between them melting into a mess of huffs and breathless sounds. It doesn’t take long before Langa hears the crescendo in Reki’s breathing, his strokes erratic, and Langa leans in, burying his face in the crook of his neck, breathing in the scent of sweat, the sea and Reki. Langa jerks against him, gasping just before Reki makes a helpless noise, tilting his head back onto the bed, face turned into the sheets as they tremble and shiver against each other, hot, slippery cum spilling between them. Langa isn’t sure how long they stay in this position as they catch their breath – with Reki leaning against the bed and Langa resting his head on his shoulder, mind foggy, bodies warm – but eventually, they laugh, a mix of muffled sounds as they curl into each other. They clean up, wiping away the mess with tissues and slowly readjust their clothes. After everything is returned to its proper place before they came crashing into the room, Langa goes to pick up Reki’s headband from where it lies in a corner, pulling it over Reki’s head carefully, arranging his hair, brushing it out of his eyes before pressing his lips to the last remnants of the red flush on his face, kissing the memory of the warmth on his cheek. And when Langa draws back to look at him, it’s Reki who reels him in again, eyes burning bright like the stars that light up the Okinawa sky as he kisses him softly on the lips.

It’s a criminally beautiful night; the sea of stars overhead seems to glow even brighter than usual. They bathe the men below them in a cold light, the overhead luminescence casting their features in sharp relief. The fire, though, contained in its small dugout pit, warms them, its soft orange light catching on their flushed cheeks and dark eyes. Crickets chirp all around them, singing their songs in celebration of another consecutive nightfall. The smell of wine permeates the air, mingling with the scent of burning wood and hot bāozi—all in all, it’s a rather pleasant aroma, and the sounds of camaraderie only add to the atmosphere. “I can’t believe you’re drinking,” Jiāng Chéng says with a delighted incredulousness. “That’s breaking...what...five of your Lán precepts?” Zéwú-jūn is sitting beside him, and what had once been a respectable distance between them has gradually decreased to the point where their thighs are almost touching. His smile is radiant and he’s prone to laughing over the slightest little thing that amuses him; something Jiāng Chéng is quickly becoming fascinated by. Lán Xīchén is not so free with his smiles anymore; his eyes don’t sparkle with repressed mirth. His serenity seems to be a balancing act between coldness and calm, whereas before... Well. Jiāng Chéng remembers the riotous dance his heart had done when the great, virtuous Zéwú-jūn acknowledged him way back then. Seeing him like this almost makes Jiāng Chéng feel like a teenager again; he’s threaded through with bittersweet nostalgia and vicious longing. It’s with the past laying heavy and thick on his tongue that he says “I used to have something of a puppy crush on you.” He doesn’t realize he’d verbalized the thought until Lán Xīchén is invading his space, clasping his knee with a familiarity that Jiāng Chéng isn’t quite certain is presumptuous. Zéwú-jūn’s hand is warm, big, and his long fingers splay across Jiāng Chéng’s kneecap and rest there, just barely digging into his skin. “Really?” His eyes light up and he seems both shocked and pleased. “Oh, come on,” Jiāng Chéng says, glad he can blame the sudden heat in his cheeks and the bit of embarrassment creeping into his tone on intoxication. “You’re listed as the most eligible bachelor in the cultivation world. You’re irritatingly well-mannered, intelligent, handsome...who wouldn’t have been a little enamored?” Suddenly feeling very foolish, he pushes Lán Xīchén’s hand off of his knee. The revered, venerated, legendary Zéwú-jūn pouts. “‘Have been?’” His heart thrums like a live wire that’d just been cut loose, shrieking static; Zǐdiàn responds, tongues of purple sparks licking along Jīang Chéng’s wrist before he extinguishes them. “Zéwú-jūn,” he starts, but Lán Xīchén shakes his head, and his long, dark hair sways with the moment. Jiāng Chéng goes quiet. “How many years have we known each other, Jiāng Wǎnyín?” “Don’t make me feel old,” he grumbles. The heavy weight of the years that’d come before sobers them for a moment, then Zéwú-jūn tosses back the remainder of his wine; Jiāng Chéng can’t help but follow the long, elegant line of his throat as he does, entranced by the sight of a lone mole that kisses his skin. “Jiāng Wǎnyín!” Snapped out of his alcohol-induced reverie, Jiāng Chéng blinks once, twice, and then refocuses his attention on Lán Xīchén’s dark brown eyes, glittering in the firelight. Hmm. That’s not much better. “What?” He snaps, adopting his trademark scowl, hoping it’ll be enough to redirect Zéwú-jūn’s attention from the fact that he’d been openly ogling him. Jiāng Chéng makes a mental note that he won’t follow to imbibe less. Lán Xīchén beams at him, and Jiāng Chéng is only human; he’s only a man (who happens to be underneath the same sky and by the same fire as Zéwú-jūn, sharing his space and sharing his warmth), and Jiāng Chéng resigns himself to the knowledge that a tiny portion of his heart, even as stubborn and guarded as it is, still declares itself firmly, patiently promised to Lán Xīchén. “Seriously, why are you looking at me like that?” Lán Xīchén’s joviality only seems to grow; despite (or perhaps even because of) Jiāng Chéng’s feigned annoyance. “You should call me Xīchén,” he says, casually as anything, as if he had just remarked about the weather, as if he was unaware of the way he’d just flipped Jiāng Chéng’s world upside down. “Absolutely not, that’s too—“ “What about Huán-gēgē?” Lán Xīchén’s voice lilts, playful and teasing, and Jiāng Chéng’s face feels as though it’s been set ablaze. “Lán Xīchén—“ “There.” He looks immensely satisfied with himself. “That wasn’t so difficult, was it?” Jiāng Chéng shoots him a dirty look. “You’re not nearly as innocent as everybody says you are.” “Innocent?” Something about his smile changes; his countenance shifts in a way Jiāng Chéng would be hard-pressed to describe, although the way his heart threatens to give out is fairly telling in and of itself. “Oh, Jiāng Wǎnyín, who’s been telling you such things? Who’s put that idea in your head?” “I—“ Jiāng Chéng begins, with every intention of scoffing and reminding Lán Xīchén of his reputation as a bastion of morality and grace, but the chance is taken from him. Lán Xīchén puts his hand on Jiāng Chéng’s thigh and the words die in his throat before they’d had a chance to live. “Jiāng Wǎnyín,” he says, voice smooth as silk, “would it shock you to hear that I once had something of a puppy crush, myself?” “Huh?” Jiāng Chéng stammers; his thoughts come to a screeching halt. At this moment, Lán Xīchén is the sole occupant of Jiāng Chéng’s world. “Oh, I’m sure I was much less inconspicuous than I’d thought myself to be at the time.” He hides a smile behind his hand, but soft laughter slips from his mouth, just loud enough for Jiāng Chéng to hear it. “After the Sunshot Campaign ended, when we’d both grown into young men, I held much admiration for you. You were bold, sharp-tongued, demanding respect as if it was your birthright, casting the battlefield in electric purples...I think I can hardly be blamed for being a little infatuated.” Jiāng Chéng’s brain stops working. Lán Xīchén had said all of those sweet, pretty words, brimming with earnestness, and his hand was still on Jiāng Chéng’s thigh. “Why didn’t you say anything?” He manages to ask, still working through both his surprise and a fierce rush of unbridled joy. “I couldn’t ascertain if there was even a chance you may have felt the same, and we weren’t very close at the time.” Lán Xīchén’s face falls, as if he’s saddened by the very thought there had existed a time before Jiāng Chéng had carved out his own space in Lán Xīchén’s life, at first with an impulsively sent letter—a response soon arrived and they’d ended up becoming resembling penpals—and visitations had followed. Briefly, Jiāng Chéng shares in his sorrow. “Well. I’m glad we’re close now,” he says, placing his hand atop Lán Xīchén’s where it still rests on his thigh before he can talk himself out of it. “And you’re stupid for thinking I didn’t reciprocate, by the way; I was constantly looking at you, wanting you to look at me, too. Wanting you to acknowledge me.” There’s a silence between them, sparking feelings wonderful and heady and hopeful. “And do you still?” Lán Xīchén wants to know. He leans closer, putting his other hand on Jiāng Chéng’s shoulder for support. “Do I still?” “Want me to look at you,” he breathes, voice whisper-soft. “Want me to acknowledge you.” Jīang Cheng has to stop himself from ruining the moment with a semi-irritated “what do you think, Zéwú-jūn” and instead, in a very rarely made decision, holds his tongue. He allows himself a moment to admit to himself what he’s always known, then says “I don’t think I really ever stopped.” “Jiāng Wǎnyín,” Lán Xīchén replies, almost wounded, eyes widening, lips parting around a silent sound. His countenance is quick to change, an exuberant smile spreading across his handsome face and red warmth on his cheeks (though that, Jiāng Chéng thinks, could be attributed to the wine). “You like me,” Lán Xīchén says wonderingly; then, in a more teasing manner, “you like me, Jiāng Wǎnyín.” “Shut up,” he snaps, “do you want the whole camp to hear you? Besides, who said that? You’re putting words in my mouth.” Lán Xīchén gives him an extremely exaggerated frown. “You don’t like me? Jiāng Wǎnyín, how cruel of you to lead me on that way!” “Be quiet,” Jiāng Chéng hisses, throwing a glance over their shoulders in a desperate bid to be certain none of the other cultivators were within earshot (or close enough to see how they were essentially holding hands against his thigh). “You really are stupid; of course I do—how could I not—“ He cuts himself off and takes a deep breath. “For someone so renowned because of his many talents and virtues, you can be incredibly foolish.” “I’m foolish,” Lán Xīchén agrees immediately, “for not kissing you. May I? Will you let me kiss you?” Jiāng Chéng has a fleeting, terrible thought that perhaps this is all some kind of wildly self-indulgent dream, but when he pinches himself, he doesn’t wake up back in Lotus Pier. An irritatingly breathless yes is on the tip of his tongue but something curdles in his stomach, ruins the glorious euphoria shared between them. “You’re...you’re drunk,” Jiāng Chéng says, swallowing around a sudden lump in his throat. Had Lán Xīchén even meant anything he’d said, or were these simply the ramblings of a drunk looking to escape the ghosts of the men he’d loved for an evening? It was known quite famously throughout the cultivation world that Láns only loved once. “Hardly—“ That’s all Lán Xīchén gets out before Jiāng Chéng interrupts him. “Ask me tomorrow,” he says, and he hates himself for it, hates the look of disappointment taking over Lán Xīchén’s bright, smiling face. “Ask me tomorrow when we’ve gone back to absolute sobriety and I’ll give you anything.” Jīang Chéng is achingly gentle when he removes Lán Xīchén’s hand from his thigh. He stands up and bows deeply to him. “Goodnight, Zéwú-jūn.” He doesn’t allow a longing look back—Jiāng Chéng knows himself rather well, and all Lán Xīchén would have to do is meet his gaze for Jiāng Chéng to decide to stay. I’m foolish, for not kissing you. May I? Will you let me kiss you? No, Jiāng Chéng thinks derisively, bristling with anger directed at himself for being naïve enough to believe there was ever a world that Lán Xīchén could return his feelings. I’m the foolish one, for giving my heart to someone who can’t accept it. — Sleep hadn’t come easily the night before. Jiāng Chéng had finally begun dozing about an hour before the Lán disciples awakened, and although they’re rather quiet, Jiāng Chéng has been molded into a light sleeper by both time and circumstance. He hears them begin to rise and get ready to greet the dawn, and once Jiāng Chéng is awake, he generally can’t fall back to sleep—he grits his teeth and resigns himself to being up for the day. Coincidentally, by the time he’s dressed and finishing his breakfast preparations (and if others notice that he’s making enough for two, they wisely stay mum), Lán Xīchén stumbles over to him. It’s rather evident that he’s hungover; his hair is a little messy and his forehead ribbon is crooked—Jiāng Chéng’s traitorous heart squeezes painfully at the endearing sight. “What is that?” He murmurs, rubbing the last of the sleep out of his eyes. “And what happened—why does my head hurt so much?” “Leftover bāozi,” Jiāng Chéng says brusquely. “Some fruit. And yesterday’s báizhōu.” “That’s the first question answered,” Lán Xīchén replies, cocking his head. “And the second?” Jiāng Chéng sighs. He turns in Lán Xīchén’s direction and shoves food at him. “You were drunk,” Jiāng Chéng tells him curtly. “And you don’t even—whatever. It doesn’t matter.” He bows lowly and when he goes back to a fully standing position, his expression looks frosty. “Zéwú-jūn.” Jiāng Chéng doesn’t stomp away, but it’s a near thing, and Lán Xīchén feels his heart sink in his chest. Something is clearly wrong—had he said something untoward while he’d been under the influence? Had he done something to offend Jiāng Chéng in some way? — It’s when they’re getting ready to leave in order to go their separate ways and travel back to their respective homes that Jīn Líng stalks over to him in a way that’s eerily similar to his uncle. The juniors had accompanied them but had mostly stayed in their own corner of camp, laughing and whispering amongst themselves. He bows, but it’s clear it’s out of respect for etiquette and not for Lán Xīchén, who bows in return. “What did you do to jiùjiu?” He demands, a harsh frown already etched into his face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lán Xīchén says honestly, trepidation turning his stomach. “Zéwú-jūn,” Jīn Líng says indignantly, shaking his head. “Do you take me for a fool? You two were shamelessly...” He looks lost for words. “You were pretty close last night before jiùjiu stormed away. This morning, he didn’t even threaten to break my legs when I asked him what was wrong!” Shameless? Pretty close? Distantly, Lán Xīchén registers that his ears are burning. What had he done last night? He curses himself, not for the first time, over his ridiculous intolerance for alcohol. “I’m sorry,” Lán Xīchén tells him sincerely, and he is; he’s kicking himself for not remembering what’d happened, for forgetting the reason behind their closeness. “I’m not the one you should be telling that to,” Jīn Líng sniffs, turning away. “Go talk to jiùjiu.” He walks off without another word, whistling for Fairy as he goes. Lán Xīchén is left behind to process it alone. — They’re getting close to the place they’d all agreed to separate, perhaps ten minutes out, when Ōuyáng Zizhēn makes his way over to Lán Xīchén, uttering a quiet “Zéwú-jūn” as he bows. “Yes?” He intones politely, growing wary when Ōuyáng Zizhēn doesn’t pick up where he left off. Another tense moment goes by before the youth speaks, having apparently cemented his resolve. “Um, I didn’t hear what the two of you were talking about last night, but I know that Sāndú Shèngshǒu is a hot-headed, strict, and short-tempered Sect Leader, but something about him seems softer around you.” He bows again. “I know I’m overstepping and I humbly ask Zéwú-jūn to forgive my transgressions.” Could what Ōuyáng Zizhēn said be true? Lán Xīchén would be taken aback by the junior disciple’s boldness, but he knows the youth well enough by now (the group of friends he belongs to counts two Láns amongst them, after all), and he feels no offense at Ōuyáng Zizhēn’s unsolicited wisdom. “I will talk to Jiāng-zōngzhǔ,” Lán Xīchén says, and the junior disciple smiles in relief. “Thank you, Zéwú-jūn,” he blurts out, perhaps a little too overzealously. “This will make Jīn Líng so much easier to deal with.” Lán Xīchén covers his mouth to hide his smile. Oūyáng Zizhēn bows once more before hurrying back over to his fellow juniors, immediately beginning to whisper to them and gesticulate wildly. He tactfully pretends not to notice. They’re only a few minutes away from breaking apart into groups based upon Sect, but Jiāng Chéng is walking fairly quickly and Lán Xīchén can practically feel the anger (which he guesses is the secondary emotion, capitalized on to mask Jiāng Chéng’s hurt) rolling off of him in waves—in all honesty, Lán Xīchén is unable to take an educated guess on whether he thinks approaching Jiāng Chéng will make things better or worse. But...he had promised, hadn’t he, not just one, but two junior disciples that he would speak with Jiāng Chéng, and lying goes against his code of conduct. “Jiāng-zōngzhǔ!” Lán Xīchén calls, causing a few heads to turn his way. Jiāng Chéng’s isn’t one of them. He tries again. “Jiāng-zōngzhǔ!” Jiāng Chéng whips around, uttering a slightly terse “what?” “I have a matter of relative importance to discuss that I neglected to speak with you about.” Jiāng Chéng’s expression doesn’t change, exactly, but his eyes are flinty. “I’m afraid I have to accompany my disciples back to Lotus Pier,” he says evenly. “Now, if it’s a truly important matter, Zéwú-jūn is welcome to accompany us.” The disrespect has Lán Xīchén’s lips setting into a thin line. Jiāng Chéng has been standing in place long enough for Lán Xīchén to catch up to him, and the air between them is tense. “Jiāng Wǎnyín.” His voice is soft; it’s only meant for their ears alone. “Jiāng Wǎnyín, what did I do to anger you so much? Jīn Líng told me we’d been shameless and close before I did something to make you storm away.” “Jīn Líng told you that?” Jiāng Chéng snarls, looking back over his shoulder where the juniors were clustered behind them some meters away. “I’ll—“ “Break his legs?” Lán Xīchén supplies, smiling wryly. The atmosphere becomes a little less icy, and Jiāng Chéng scrubs his hand over his face. “You were drunk,” he says, voice dipping almost despairingly. “We’d both said some things and I’d thought—no, it doesn’t matter what I’d thought. You weren’t in your right mind.” Lán Xīchén’s heartbeat quickens. “And what did I say, Jiāng Wǎnyín?” He can tell Jiāng Chéng is extremely resistant to that idea; his fists clench by his sides. “Like I said, it doesn’t—“ “Matter?” Lán Xīchén replies, sharper than he’d intended. “On the contrary, I think it matters very much. I cannot truly hold myself accountable until I’ve learned what I’ve done to offend you so.” The conversation ends, to both Lán Xīchén’s regret and Jiāng Chéng’s relief, because they’d arrived at the agreed upon place for everyone to part ways as each Sect returned home. “I meant what I said. Come to Lotus Pier if you really care so much. Otherwise, we can just forget about it.” Before he has time to protest, Jiāng Chéng is striding away and issuing various criticisms to his disciples. Lán Xīchén allows himself the indulgence of hissing a quiet “fuck” before hurrying over to his own disciples. — He didn’t get a chance to fly to Lotus Pier at any point during the following two days, having business that required his utmost attention and precision to attend upon his return to Cloud Recesses. He’d sent a letter to Jiāng Chéng explaining the situation he’d found himself in, but in the end, Lán Xīchén doesn’t waste time waiting for a reply—the urgent matter had been resolved to a degree that he was comfortable with letting one of his senior disciples finish up in his stead. Unannounced, he arrives in Lotus Pier around midday; he’s been once or twice before when he was younger, accompanying his uncle with Làn Wángjī to learn more about how relationships between Sects are maintained, but that had been a number of years ago—this time, Làn Xīchén allows himself to marvel at the beauty and vibrancy Lotus Pier possesses simply because he can, because he wants to, and not because his duty has demanded it of him. A senior Yùnméng Jiāng disciple meets him shortly thereafter, bowing low. “Zéwú-jūn, it is an honor for Yùnméng Jiāng to have you here in Lotus Pier. I am Zhū Huā.” “The honor is mine,” Lán Xīchén says, smiling at the woman before him. “I’m pleased to be here.” Zhū Huā looks satisfied with his answer. “Come, I will bring you to Jiāng-zōngzhǔ. He’s currently taking lunch in his rooms.” “Then please lead the way.” The walk to Jiāng Chéng’s rooms is silent, but it isn’t discomforting—Zhū Huā does not seem to be a woman of many words, and that suits him just fine. The quietude is broken only when she stops outside of what must be Jiāng Chéng’s quarters, bows with a polite “Zéwú-jūn,” fixing him with some sort of knowing look he doesn’t quite understand before turning back and leaving the way they’d come. Anxiety bubbles up in his stomach and his cheeks feel warm, but Lán Xīchén presses on and knocks smartly at the door. “Come in,” Jiāng Chéng calls distractedly, clearly in the middle of something. He takes a deep breath and slides the door open, removing his shoes and toeing them into a neat line before stepping further into the room. “Jiāng Wǎnyín,” He says, aiming for amiable, and judging by the way Jiāng Cheng drops the scroll in his hand onto the floor, he’d managed it. “Zéwú-jūn,” Jiāng Chéng replies, and the surprised look he’d just displayed shutters; he adopts a neutral countenance. “I had just finished my response to your last letter.” “Zhū Huā had told me you were eating lunch,” Lán Xīchén tells him, for a lack of anything else to say. “She’s correct. I hadn’t been expecting you, but far be it from me to be anything less than a gracious host for Zéwú-jūn.” “It’s truly not necessary.” Jiāng Chéng shoots him an unimpressed look. “We may not have as many rules as you Láns, but I will take it as a slight against my skills as a principled host if you don’t even deign to drink tea with me.” Lán Xīchén gratefully accepts defeat and sits beside Jiāng Chéng, who pours him a cup of tea. “This smells wonderful, Jiāng Wǎnyín,” he says, daring to smile at him. “Of course it does,” Jiāng Chéng agrees gruffly. “It’s the finest tea in all of Yùnméng.” Lán Xīchén doesn’t know what to say to that, so he inclines his head. “Why are you here?” “You told me to come to Lotus Pier if I really wanted to know what happened,” Lán Xīchén answers quietly. “So, I’m here.” “You’re here,” Jiāng Chéng repeats. Lan Xīchén nods and takes a sip of his tea. The flavor is rich and full-bodied; it’s pleasing to his palate. “Jiāng Wǎnyín,” he murmurs, setting his cup down. “What did I do to damage our relationship so much? Won’t you tell me, so I can make amends?” Jiāng Chéng meets his eyes. “Do you remember anything from that night? Do you remember starting to drink by the fire with me?” Lán Xīchén racks his brain, but the only thing he recalls is reaching a spot they’d all agreed to make camp at. Knowing it’s not the answer that Jiāng Chéng wants, yet refusing to lie, he says “I don’t, but I’d like to hear about it.” Jiāng Chéng sighs, despondency made plain on his face. “I told you I used to have a sort of puppy crush on you. You asked me to call you Lān Xīchén—“ He opts out of telling Lán Xīchén had also asked him to call him Huán-gēgē, or that he’d admitted to currently liking him; Jiāng Chéng’s pulse skyrockets at the very thought of doing so. "You said...you’d felt the same about me. And then...” Lán Xīchén can barely breathe. “And then?” “You asked if you could kiss me.” For a moment, time stands still; reality is fixed on this singular instance. Lan Xīchén’s only focal point is the man beside him. “What did you say?” He asks, pretending his voice doesn’t waver. “That you were drunk,” Jiāng Chéng says quietly—try as he might to mask it, the hurt he still feels is audible. “And that if you asked me for anything come morning time, I’d give it to you.” Lan Xīchén almost chokes on his heart (it feels thoroughly entrenched in his throat). Jiāng Chéng has to look away so he can breathe through the thick anticipation wafting through the room. “And would you still?” The words come out hushed; he doesn't know how he finds the strength to continue. “And would you still give me anything I asked from you?” Jiāng Chéng closes his eyes, squeezing them shut. “Yes.” He feels a dizzy, giddy rush break over him like a crashing wave. “Jiāng Wǎnyín,” he says. “Jiāng Wǎnyín, please look at me.” Miraculously, he does. There’s an apprehensive look on his sharp, striking face. “Jiāng Wǎnyín,” Lán Xīchén repeats fervently, effusively. “Will you allow me to make up for my unintended slight? Will you allow me to hold you? Will you allow me to kiss you?” “Yes.” Jiāng Chéng’s voice is tremulous. “Yes, obviously, what are you waiting f—“ Lán Xīchén grasps the front of Jiāng Chéng’s robes and pulls him closer before catching him in a kiss: it’s wonderfully imperfect, as all first kisses are—Jiāng Chéng feels sparks zinging down his spine, reminiscent of when he unleashes Zǐdiàn. It isn’t painful, but he’s hyperaware; every point of contact between him and Lán Xīchén feels electric. “I’m sorry,” Lán Xīchén murmurs in between kisses. “Shut up,” Jiāng Chéng replies, chasing Lán Xīchén’s lips with his own, and then, for a little while, there is nothing more to say. A knock at the door has them scrambling gracelessly back to their original positions; by the time Jiāng Chéng tells Zhū Huā to come in, he and Lán Xīchén look mostly normal, save for their kiss-bruised lips and mildly mussed hair. “Jiāng-zōngzhǔ, Zéwú-jūn.” She holds a tray with food that has clearly had its usual spice level lowered in an effort to be considerate to Lán Xīchén’s tastebuds. He accepts the tray for her and she bows to the both of them. “I’d thought perhaps Zéwú-jūn might be hungry after his travels, so I had the kitchen make him something that wouldn’t singe his tongue.” “That is most kind of you, Zhū Huā,” Lán Xīchén says, smiling at her. She quirks her lips at him in return, yet she looks to be almost smirking. Zhū Huā turns to look at Jīang Chéng; they have a wordless stare-down in which he inclines his head and Zhū Huā coughs to hide a snicker before she bows again, leaving as hastily as she can while still being respectful. The minute the door is closed, Lán Xīchén leans back in. “What was that about?” “Nothing,” Jiāng Chéng answers grumpily, frowning and wrinkling his nose. “Jiāng Wǎnyín, haven’t we had enough secrets between us?” He’s playing dirty and he’s more than aware of it; what’s worse, Jiāng Chéng is hopelessly charmed by this playful, teasing side of Lán Xīchén. “You’re so annoying,” Jiāng Chéng grumbles, resolutely ignoring the flush painting his cheeks that can’t be blamed on the summer heat. “Fine. She’s never said as much outright—she knows I’d break her bones if she did—but she knows how I feel about you.” “Oh?” Lán Xīchén is beyond intrigued. “How can you tell?” Endearingly, Jiāng Chéng scowls even harder. “She started giving me these crooked little smiles every time I entrusted her with getting my letters sent.” The to you goes unspoken, but decades of being Lán Wàngjī’s brother has made Lán Xīchén fluent in the art of reading between the lines. “And you did nothing about it?” He’s enchanted by the visual of the fearsome Sāndú Shèngshǒu being cowed by one of his own disciples. “Acknowledging it would mean she’d won,” Jiāng Chéng grouses, “so I gave her my best murderous glare and my iciest silence. How do you think that went?” “I think your Sect has the perfect Leader,” Lán Xīchén tells him. “They’re very fond of you.” “Shut up,” Jiāng Chéng replies immediately, but he looks faintly pleased. “I have to do everything around here.” He’s rolling his eyes even as he pulls Lán Xīchén in for a warm, tender kiss. “Jiāng Wǎnyín,” he says, at first just because he loves the way it feels on his lips, and again when he regretfully breaks their kiss. “Jiāng Wǎnyín, you should know that I don’t do these kinds of things casually. When I love, I do it ardently and completely. Do you understand?” “You’re so embarrassing; how can you say that so earnestly?” Despite his words, Jiāng Chéng’s face has lit up. “What do you want me to say, that you have my heart or something? You should already know the answer to that.” As mortifying as it feels to have the entirety of his feelings known, it’s also intensely relieving. He feels like he’s free-falling. He never wants to stop. Lán Xīchén’s lips have curved into the widest, most radiant smile Jiāng Chéng has ever seen. “Oh, Jiāng Wǎnyín...you are my heart.” Jiāng Chéng’s answering smile outshines the sun. — FIN.

The clouds have rolled back in by the time they leave the temple the next morning, sullen and gray to match the mood of the party. They avoid the village, the smell of decomposition and rot overpowering, instead circling around the temple to return to the cove. Jamedi leads the way back, followed by a scowling, taciturn Avantika, with Yasha and a whistling Molly behind. Caleb stays at Fjord’s side, watching him for any of the foul mood that affects the others, but instead Fjord seems contemplative, his brow occasionally furrowing as they trudge through the jungle. Vandran brings up the rear, scowling and itching at the many bug bites that have arisen on his skin.  A couple of hours into the afternoon, Fjord turns to Caleb and says, “Hey, mind if I ask you a question?” Intrigued, Caleb cocks an eyebrow. “Go right ahead.” Fjord takes a moment, exhaling slowly, before speaking. “When you said I could have the crystal back once I understood its power,” he says, quietly enough that the others can’t hear, “did you mean that? Or was that just somethin’ to convince me to give it back to you?” While Caleb was expecting the question, it’s Fjord’s casual assumption that Caleb would trick him that blindsides him. “No,” Caleb mutters, gaze focused on the trodden path in front of him so he doesn’t trip over a fallen tree branch. “I meant it.” “But you think it’s dangerous.” Fjord frowns at him. “Aren’t you worried it’s gonna corrupt me or something?” Caleb thinks very carefully about his next words, conscious of Molly and Yasha several feet in front of them and Vandran stomping behind. “I think it is very powerful,” he says. “Power is dangerous in the wrong hands. But in the right ones…” Surprise widens Fjord’s eyes and softens his jaw. “And you don’t think mine are wrong?” “I don’t know,” says Caleb frankly. “Maybe time will tell. But you have honor, and you take responsibility for others, and there is… there is an openness to you, and honesty, that I frankly did not expect among the members of your profession.” Wincing slightly, Caleb watches Fjord for his reaction. “Well, I am… honored to hear that.” Genuine gratification warms Fjord’s voice. “And grateful to have your trust.” “Oh, I don’t trust you, not yet,” Caleb clarifies, brushing aside a drooping bough to keep it from hitting his face. “I don’t trust any of these people yet.” Fjord strides steadily beside him, the faintest trace of disappointment pulling his dark brows together. “That’s too bad.” “Is it?” Stepping over a fallen log, Fjord shrugs carefully. “Trust is important in a crew.” “Again, with the crew –” “Well, yeah.” Fjord glances at Caleb, condensation beading his forehead and neck. “You’re stickin’ with us, aren’t you? At least for now. That makes you part of the crew.” Caleb rolls this around in his mind, absently swatting away a mosquito. Crew. It both fills him with anxiety and a strange sense of comfort. “I suppose.” “And I get that we didn’t meet under the best of circumstances, but I hope that you will learn to trust me, in time.” Caleb’s stomach curls as he tries to decipher the hidden meaning, to work out what implied bargain Fjord’s words contain. But he sees nothing but honesty in Fjord’s eyes. “I hope so too,” says Caleb hoarsely. Fjord smiles and claps Caleb on the shoulder. “Glad to hear it.” -- “Ahoy, Captain!” shouts Ingvas from the deck of the Tide’s Breath, waving as the longboat rows closer. “Glad to have you back!” Captain Vandran waves one hand up at Ingvas, scratching irritably under his open shirt collar. On the oars, Fjord glances over his shoulder at the approaching hull, shoulders heaving and injured arm burning as he rows. Across from him, Caleb squints up at the ship as well, wind teasing his hair, coat wrapped tightly around himself. Off of starboard, Fjord can just make out Avantika’s longboat making its way through the swells towards the Squall-Eater, bearing not only Avantika and the crew she came ashore with, but Yasha as well. Fjord’s not sure if he’s sorry to see the mysterious pale woman go or not; she still kind of gives him the heebie-jeebies, but he recognizes a strong fighter when he sees one. Hooks on ropes descend as Fjord maneuvers the longboat up against the Tide’s Breath, and he and Captain Vandran get it secured. Wood creaks as the boat is winched up, the ocean dropping away underneath them as they get hoisted up to the deck. Ingvas holds onto the prow of the longboat to keep it from rocking as Fjord swings himself over the side, boots landing solidly on the wooden deck. “How did it go?” Ingvas asks. Other crew gather as well; Fjord spots Sabian edging up close, sharp gaze flitting from Fjord to Captain Vandran. “Well…” Fjord hovers to see if Captain Vandran needs assistance climbing out, but he manages on his own just fine, although he clutches his still-healing side with a scowl. Caleb disembarks as well, adjusting his coat sleeves. “Not a total loss,” and swinging his pack off, Fjord crouches and pulls out the gold jewelry they took off the slaughtered yuan-ti on their way back, scattering it on the deck. “This ought to be worth a pretty penny.” Ingvas whistles, bending down to scoop up an arm band, rough-cut emeralds set into the heavy gold. “I’ll say.” He wipes a bit of dried blood off with his thumb. “Is this the haul?” “Aye.” Scowling, Captain Vandran stumps past, roughly tapping Ingvas on the arm. “With me, bo’sun, I need some of your casting capabilities.” “Should I…?” Caleb raises his eyebrows, taking a hesitant step forward. “Not your kind of casting, Widogast.” Captain Vandran and Ingvas retreat to the captain’s quarters, crew glancing curiously after them. “Cap’n get injured?” says Nahra, a red scarf tying back her long, coarse black hair. “Took a hit to the side, he’ll be fine.” Fjord grimaces, flexing his bandaged arm. “We all got a little banged up.” Divastiss, ship carpenter and surgeon, comes forward, blue tattoos curling over his face and hands. “Let me see that,” he says, prodding at Fjord’s arm. With his halfling height he’s only about a head taller than Fjord kneeling on the deck. “Come on.” They head below decks to Divastiss’ corner of the galley, Fjord sitting on a low stool that slides back and forth slightly as the Tide’s Breath rocks on the waves. When Divastiss removes the bandages and sees the deep bite marks, he whistles. “What did this?” Fjord stifles a wince as Divastiss investigates the wounds. “You wouldn’t believe it.” “Oh, I wouldn’t, wouldn’t I?” “You ever heard of a hydra before, ‘Vasti?” Divastiss narrows his eyes. “You’re lyin’.” “I ain’t.” Fjord launches into retelling their adventure from start to finish, emphasizing the fight with the hydra but leaving out any mention of the Uk’atoa crystal, or the midnight confrontation with Avantika. By the time he finishes, Divastiss has fully abandoned examining the wounds and stands with his arms folded and mouth slightly agape, gaze fixed on Fjord. “So that’s that.” “Damn,” says Divastiss, with another low whistle. “Sounds like you’re lucky to make it out in one piece.” “Yeah,” Fjord agrees heartily. “How was everythin’ back here?” Uncorking a half-full bottle of rum with his teeth, Divastiss sighs. “Quiet, for the most part. Well. We caught Sabian trying to get into your quarters.” Taken aback, Fjord frowns. “What? Why?” Divastiss holds the bottle out to Fjord, who takes a swig. It burns going down, and Fjord grimaces. “Not sure. Caspa was on watch, she saw him trying to jimmy the lock.” Taking the rum bottle back from Fjord, Divastiss considers it before drinking as well. “He had some story about personal affects of his being left locked in your quarters on accident, but, well…” Divastiss pours the rum over the bitemarks in Fjord’s arm and it stings like hell. Fjord growls and clenches his teeth, hands fisting. “None of us believe that.” “What the hell does he want in my quarters?” Fjord grits out. Shrugging, Divastiss corks the rum bottle and rummages in his kit for a needle and sutures. “Couldn’t rightly say. You know him better than I do, you’ve been sailing with him longer.” “Known each other longer than that, we were at the same orphanage.” Fjord prepares himself for the bite of the needle piercing his skin; when it comes, he hisses and grabs the seat of the stool, stomach clenching. “Always thought it was some joke of Fate we ended up on the same ship.” An extra length of sutures held between his pursed lips, Divastiss raises an eyebrow as he slowly threads a wound shut. “I figured you two had beef, just didn’t think it my place to ask,” he says around the sutures. “We never really…” Fjord considers what to say, wanting to keep talking to keep his mind off the stinging pain. “We got close because nobody else liked us. We were both the weird outcasts, so the only way to survive was to stick together. I think sometimes he still gets mad I was able to get out and make my own way first.” Divastiss’ eyebrow cocks higher. “Mad, or jealous?” Fjord blows out air uneasily. “You’re tellin’ me.” With a snap, Divastiss ties off the first length, tugging at Fjord’s skin, and Fjord grunts. “He thinks he should have been made quartermaster instead of you, you know,” says Divastiss conversationally. “Wait – what?” demands Fjord, twisting to look at the halfling, who clucks at him not to move. Baffled and outraged, Fjord faces front again. “How come I didn’t know?” Divastiss shrugs. “I’ve been quartermaster over six months and this is only just comin’ up now?” “Figured Cap’n was running you busy enough as it was, didn’t want to add more to the pile.” Divastiss starts sewing the second wound shut, Fjord wincing as the needle pierces his skin. “Changebringer knows you couldn’t have done anything about it.” “Yeah, I would have liked to know, though, so at least I could keep an eye out.” Fjord scowls, wondering just how much else Sabian had been up to behind his back. “This the first time he tried to get into my things?” “That we know of, yeah.” Fjord reaches for the bottle of rum, uncorking it and bringing it to his lips. “Fuckin’ fantastic.” -- That night, Fjord sleeps and does not dream. -- They swing back to Nicodranus to sell off the yuan-ti jewelry, Fjord returning triumphant to the ship with hundreds of gold pieces. “Don’t spend it all at once,” jests Fjord, handing Caleb his share. Twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven. Caleb tucks the gold securely in his money pouch, and although he tries to keep a triumphant smile off his face, he can’t help his lips curling up. “Oh, I have plans,” he says. Wearing an illusory face, Caleb slips into the crowd along the Wharf Load, following the flow of traffic into the city. Keeping a weather eye out for any promising shops, he lets intuition guide him through various streets until he spots an apothecary, a mortar and pestle painted on the sign swinging above the wooden door. Perfect. Caleb steps in. The middle-aged woman behind the counter, her cloud of brown-gray hair bound up on her head, smiles cheerily at Caleb as he enters. “Hello, dearie,” she says, knitting needles moving in her hands. “What can I help you with?” “Yes,” says Caleb, counting out twenty gold pieces on the counter. “I need charcoal, and your finest incense, as much as you have, and herbs. And a brass brazier if you have one.” She has everything but the brazier, but knows a nearby pawn shop that does. Half an hour later, Caleb walks back to the Tide’s Breath with his coin purse significantly lighter but a small brass brazier in his arms, slightly tarnished with starburst-shaped holes punched in the sides, linen pouches of charcoal, incense, and dried herbs carefully nestled inside. “What’cha got there, wizard?” calls one of the crew as Caleb trots back up the gangplank onto the Tide’s Breath. Beside her, the master gunner, Sabian, watches Caleb with interest. “Doin’ some magic?” Caleb ignores this, heading below decks and finding a secluded corner of the hold where he can sit himself down and start arranging his supplies. First he sets the brazier up, keeping the area around it carefully clear. Inside the brass box, he lays out the charcoal in an even layer, and with a snap of his fingers and a spark starts it smoldering. Then Caleb carefully picks out sticks of incense, their sweet, herbal scent filling his nostrils, and lays them down on top of the charcoal in a precise pattern. As the incense starts to send lazy white curls of smoke up into the air, Caleb sprinkles the herbs over. They catch and burn almost immediately, turning to orange flakes. Closing his eyes, Caleb inhales deeply over the brazier, the smoke burning in nose and throat, and exhales slowly out his nose. He settles himself cross-legged and begins to slowly chant the arcane words under his breath, creating a doorway to another plane. Seventeen minutes in, Caleb hears heavy footsteps approaching and opens his eyes to Ingvas cautiously approaching. “Hi,” says Ingvas, raising an apologetic hand. “Didn’t mean to disturb you.” “No, that is quite all right.” This spell takes a long time, long enough that Caleb does not need to actively concentrate on it throughout. “Is there something I can help you with?” Ingvas flushes, rubbing the back of his neck, surprisingly self-conscious for so large a man. “Actually, uh, I was wondering if I could watch you work,” he says. “I won’t bother you or nothing, I’m just real curious since I’ve never had any – well, I ain’t trained like you are.” “I, uh, sure,” says Caleb, scooting back a little further against the wall so Ingvas has room to sit down beside him. “You are more of an instinctual caster, no? Nature magic?” “Aye.” Ingvas grins, rubbing his beard. “Had the gift ever since I was a child. My momma hoped she could send me to a school, but we never had the money for it. Not that any of those schools would have accepted the son of a whore anyway.” The incense smoke undulates and folds over itself through the air. “School is overrated,” Caleb murmurs. “But you went to one, right? That’s where you learned your craft?” Ingvas watches him curiously. “I went to the Soltryce Academy in Rexxentrum,” admits Caleb. “Many years ago. It was good place.” “Well, of course it is, that’s why everyone wants in,” says Ingvas, matter-of-fact. “What’re you casting?” The burning charcoals glow orange-to-gray, radiating a gentle heat. “Find Familiar.” Faintly suspicious, Ingvas says, “That’s witchcraft, ain’t it?” “Not more or less than anything else you and I do.” Caleb raises his eyebrows at Ingvas, who shrugs and acquiesces. “It is more arcane than anything else.” Ingvas leans over and sniffs the smoke appraisingly. “And you get a little animal companion, yeah?” “My cat, Frumpkin. I lost him when I was arrested.” Face lighting up, Ingvas says, “Oh, I wouldn’t mind a ship’s cat. You’ll want to watch that around the quartermaster though, he’s allergic. Unless maybe that don’t apply to magic cats.” “I do not know,” murmurs Caleb, stirring the charcoal, not a fan of this new information. If he sort of half-closes his eyes and loses focus, he can just see the arcane ley lines beginning to appear in the corner of his vision. “Where is your mother now?” “Oh, still on Darktow,” says Ingvas cheerily. “She’s getting a little older now so I always save some of my share to give to her, got her set up in a nice little apartment so she doesn’t have to work anymore. So maybe I’m not the grand mage she hoped I’d be, but I’d say we’re getting by all right.” Caleb braces himself for the inevitable “What about your parents?”, but the minutes stretch on, the ship creaking and rocking amongst the sound of surf on rocks. The ley lines shimmer slightly stronger, smoke drifting along them as the incense burns down. “Well,” says Caleb at last. “That is good. Other students from better schools have made it out much worse.” He gestures at his own ragged and tar-stained coat. “Ah, but you’re free now, aren’t you?” Ingvas shifts to a more comfortable seat, crossing his legs. “Things aren’t so bad after all.” The ley lines deepen, reaching far into the Fey, and an impossible distance away Caleb feels them reach their target, a faint but happy meow reaching his ears. Caleb smiles. “No, they are not.” -- Fjord enters Captain Vandran’s quarters to find not only the captain, but Caleb and Avantika inside as well. “Well,” says Fjord, shutting the door behind him. “Didn’t realize we were havin’ a parlay.” Like a magnet, his gaze goes to the little wooden box sitting on Captain Vandran’s desk, and among the sound of waves against the hull he imagines he can hear it whispering to him. “Take a seat,” says Captain Vandran, and Fjord tears himself away from the box to pull up the one remaining stool in the cabin, making the third point of the triangle between Avantika and Captain Vandran. Caleb stands off to the side, leaning against the wall with his arms folded and a brown spotted cat draped around his shoulders. Fjord’s nose immediately tingles wildly and he screws it up against a sneeze, his throat closing. “Can we – can we not have the cat in here – allergies,” he says, to Caleb’s raised eyebrows. Scowling, Caleb snaps his fingers and the cat vanishes in a burst of purple-pink glamour. “Fine.” “Now,” says Captain Vandran, seated at his desk, and Fjord doesn’t miss how he carefully pulls the little wooden box closer to himself. “Before we head back to Darktow, we are gonna have a conversation about this here crystal and what we intend to do with it next.” Smiling, Avantika leans on the back two legs of her chair, looking from Captain Vandran to Fjord. “Have any more dreams?” she says. Both Caleb and Captain Vandran frown at Fjord. “Dreams?” says Caleb. “Yeah, I, uh… I’ve been having some strange dreams, lately.” The wooden planks under Fjord’s boots are a deep brown, waxed and scuffed to a dull sheen. “About that crystal. I think.” Captain Vandran tilts his head, frown deepening. “What kind of dreams?” As Fjord tells them about sinking into dark water and the gaze of the great yellow eye, and the deep voice commanding him to listen, Captain Vandran’s expression grows more and more dire. “Well, no wonder you can’t keep your hands off the damn thing,” he mutters, and says to Avantika, “You been havin’ dreams like this too?” Feathers in her hat bobbing, Avantika nods. “What about you?” This is to Caleb, who shakes his head. Dissatisfied, Captain Vandran grunts. “How come the two of you are so special?” Avantika shrugs. “Some people are just chosen,” she says airily, and Caleb snorts. “It was Avantika’s dreams that lead us to the temple,” says Fjord, not about to let her off the hook. “Have you been havin’ any more dreams?” The side of her mouth curls up as she eyes him. “One or two.” “And where do these dreams lead?” says Caleb darkly. Grinning like a shark, Avantika says, “Into the depths.” -- “I don’t like it,” confesses Fjord, seated on the steps to the quarterdeck as the Tide’s Breath sails out of Nicodranas under a crimson sunset. “At least with this ruined temple we were on solid ground and there was a decent chance of loot even if we didn’t get this orb thing sorted. But this? The Diver’s Grave? We’ll all be drowned.” Caleb leans on the railing, his arms folded, gazing across the deck of the ship. “What is the Diver’s Grave?” Fjord sighs, his elbows on his knees. “Region of the ocean northwest of Darktow, notorious for sinking ships. They say the ocean floor is so thick with the masts of drowned vessels it looks like a forest.” “And full of ghosts, no doubt,” Caleb mutters. “Hey, you don’t joke about that.” Fjord glares pointedly at Caleb; he’s never seen a ghost before but he’s not about to take chances with the undead. “If there’s anywhere that has ghosts, it would be down there.” The wind ruffles Caleb’s hair, his eyes clear as glass in the ruby light. “And sharks, no doubt.” “Sharks and giant squid and sea dragons and all sort of toothy things ready to tear us into pieces. I’ve heard stories of a sea hag, lying in wait at the bottom of the ocean to curse any who venture near with her one evil eye.” Fjord laces his fingers together, heels drumming nervously on the stairs. “And how the hell are we supposed to breathe?” “I can handle that,” says Caleb. Fjord raises his eyebrows. “Now that’s impressive.” Caleb shrugs. That brings to mind something else, and Fjord fiddles with the leather cord wrapped around his wrist, deciding how to phrase his question. “Ingvas said you studied at the Soltryce Academy.” Slow and measured, Caleb answers, “I did.” “How long were you there for?” Caleb’s profile turns hard as stone. “A little over a year.” “That’s it?” says Fjord, chewing a callus on his thumb. His tusks, recently filed down, twinge a little. “You must’ve crammed in an awful lot.” “I moved on to… private tutelage.” Caleb’s voice rasps like Fjord’s never heard before, dark and bitter as ichor. His arms folded across his chest, Caleb squints into the bloody sun, light glinting on his copper hair and the hard bones of his cheek and nose. He reminds Fjord of a hawk, somehow, soaring high and lonely above the rest of the world. Sighing, Fjord laces his hands together again. “See, here’s the thing,” he says slowly. “You had an expensive training. You’re good at what you do – real good. And yet somehow you ended up in rags and chains in a Concord brig before throwin’ your lot in with a bunch of pirates. So what happened that you went from a star student to ship’s mage on a ragged privateer?” Fjord fixes his gaze on Caleb, watching for any shift in facial expression. “And does it have somethin’ to do with the way you went all catatonic after setting that man-o-war on fire?” A muscle in Caleb’s jaw twitches, but he remains silent, the wind toying with the ragged edges of his scarf. “You know, we used to have a sailor on the crew, decent fellow, but he’d had a terrible bite from a dog when he was a kid and ever since then the second he got near one, he’d clam up and turn the color of bone, kind of like you did.” Fjord pauses, adds quietly, “When you’d get burned, Caleb?” “You know,” says Caleb suddenly, rounding on Fjord, “if I have, it is none of your business –” “Sure it is,” says Fjord. “You’re on my crew, aren’t you?” Caleb freezes, mouth slightly open, blue eyes wide, freckles scattered across his face. The Tide’s Breath creaks and rocks as she glides over a wave, water splashing against her hull. “I was, ah… All right, I thought I was going to be something, someday, a long time ago, and now I don’t,” he says, hoarse. “I’ve made mistakes in my life. I’ve harmed people. I had a chance, and I fucked it up.” This, Fjord understands, and it is oddly reassuring to find Caleb on not-so-different ground from himself. “I appreciate you sharing that. But we’ve all harmed people, here.” The wind steals the bitter laugh from Caleb’s lips. “Not like I have.” “Now how do I know that if you won’t tell me what you did?” Caleb stares at him. “You know, I am beginning to like you, do not fuck it up.” An absurd affection for this caustic, weedy ginger wizard surges up in Fjord, and he laughs. “I’ll do my best,” he swears. “And listen, it don’t have to be today, but if someday you could tell me why your past is so checkered in flame, I’d appreciate it. And I’ll trade you my story in return.” “God,” says Caleb, and rubs at his face. “Ja. Maybe someday. I will have an answer for you that is better than this, I promise.” “That’s all I ask.” Sighing, Fjord stretches out his legs in front of him. “Of course, that means we gotta survive whatever the hell is waiting for us in the Diver’s Grave first.” A thought occurs to him as he thinks back over the parlay earlier today. “Was it just me, or did Avantika seem like she really wanted that orb?” “More than usual, you mean?” Caleb remarks dryly, leaning back against the rail. “Yeah.” It was the hungry expression on her face that raised the hairs on the back of Fjord’s neck; it made him think of the orphanage on lean days, when kids were so desperate for a meal they’d do just about anything. “Wonder if she’s affected by it same as I am?” Caleb sighs heavily, chin propped pensively on one hand. “What do you do with the orb, have your dreams revealed that?” “Mine ain’t,” says Fjord. “Can’t speak to hers.” “Mm.” Brow furrowed, Caleb considers his scuffed boots. “As much as I have my reservations, I would rather you have it than her.” He pauses and adds reluctantly, “I fear what she would do with it.” Intrigued, Fjord asks, “Why?” Even more unwillingly, Caleb answers, “She reminds me of myself.” For someone so cagey about his past, Caleb sure keeps revealing a lot about himself, Fjord thinks, but decides not to comment. “Yeah, I ain’t keen on her havin’ it either.” “So then, how about this?” Caleb turns to Fjord, hands pressed together in front of himself. “Do you and I agree to work together, that you have the orb on you, and Avantika does not get it?” Considering, Fjord nods slowly and says, “I could be amenable to that.” “You seem clever, I think we can manage it,” mutters Caleb to himself. Fjord chooses not to take offense at this. “I think we should be able to, yeah.” He clears his throat, drawing his legs back up, and braces his elbows on his knees. “You seem to be good at looking out for yourself.” “Well, some days more than others, but you catch my drift.” “I do,” says Fjord, looking up steadily at Caleb. “And like I said before, I hope you learn that you can trust me.” “Ja.” Caleb huffs out a deep breath, shadows pooling under his jaw as the sun dips below the horizon. “I would like to. Let’s make it work.” Smiling, Fjord holds out his hand, and Caleb hesitantly takes it, his scarred grasp fitting against Fjord’s callused hand. “We’ll make it work.”

    The storm had hit, and the wind that was strong earlier had gotten stronger. Houses had started closing their doors and windows, stalls had finished cleaning up, and had started calling it a day even though they were not supposed to close just yet, but they had to because of the storm. Raindrops had started pouring slowly and calmly, but the wind is making it harmful for the people outside. While all of this are happening, two kittens hugged each other closely and snuggled in the wall and trashbin that they had found earlier and became their 'new shelter for this storm' "Noona, I'm scared" the red kitten said as he nestled into his older sister "Don't worry, it will pass soon. We just have to stay here for a bit" the older silver kitten said as she lick her brother's fur to ease his nervousness  "mhm. I really hope it's just for one night" the red kitten whispered and closed his eyes for a bit. It's cold. 'It's so cold as if it's already winter... I really hate rainy and winter seasons' Hong, the young red kitten, thought in his mind.  "I hope so too" Ohn, the older one, responded to his brother's whispering   While the two kittens are talking and making each other feel warm, they didn't notice a certain luminous ball floating a few feet above them   "haa, why did I decide to leave that place again?" Kim Rok Soo mumbled to himself as he started looking for a place to rest for a bit. He's not tired, but he feels sleepy.  'Is this how souls get tired? I guess I have been up for 2 whole days that I also needed to rest even just for a bit' Kim Rok Soo thought and sighed as he slowly lowered his dimming body. His light, which is currently emitting a yellow color, is starting to go dim again.   "I think I only have at least 20 to 30 minutes left" Kim Rok Soo said and was about to float upwards when he heard two children talking   "Noona, I'm scared"  "Don't worry, it will pass soon. We just have to stay here for a bit"   Kim Rok Soo looked down, but he did not see any children around. Just a red kitten snuggling on the slightly bigger silver kitten 'I guess this really is a fantasy world, seeing that even cats have such unique colors'   "mhm. I really hope it's just for one night"  he heard the child's voice again, but this time, he saw the kitten opening its mouth "... the Cat just talked..." Kim Rok Soo whispered "I hope so too" the silver kitten opened its mouth as well 'The red seems to be a young boy while the silver one is a girl... Are they perhaps a member of the Cat Tribe?' Kim Rok Soo analyzed the two kittens and slowly flew down   "Noona, do you think the food that we have is enough to last for the whole storm? It might not only just for today but for the whole week just like last time" the red kitten said "I'm not sure Hong. We should eat it little by little so we can at least make it last for three days." the silver kitten replied   'What are the Cat Tribe members doing here in the western continent? Aren't they supposed to be in the east?' Kim Rok Soo thought, he didn't read anything in the novel about Cat Tribe members being here in the Western. Much more in the Henituse Territory. "That's not the problem right now. Kids shouldn't stay outside when there's a storm coming" It's too dangerous.   Kim Rok Soo went down to the ground and made himself known, making the two kittens alert    "what... Noona what is that?" The red kitten said in an alarmed and panicked tone "I don't know..." the other said and covered the younger kitten behind her "hello" Kim Rok Soo said in a calm voice, trying not to scare the children any further "Noona it's glowing like a candle" the red kitten said while trying to get close to the floating luminous ball "Hong! don't get too close! It might be dangerous!" The silver kitten warned the younger "You kids have to find somewhere safer to stay. It's dangerous out here" Kim Rok Soo said. He's basically running out of time now too. The Henituse Castle is at least 10 to 15 minutes away "Noona, it's not moving..." the red kitten said "I don't think it's magic. But still, stay away from it Hong. It might be dangerous!" "..." "Can you kids even hear me?" Kim Rok Soo said and moved closer to the red kitten who was already in front of him "wah! It moved!" the red kitten said and ran back to his older sister "I told you to stay away from it!" "... They can't hear me..." Kim Rok Soo said in a sighing voice 'There should at least be a way to find a shelter for these two kittens...' Kim Rok Soo thought and slowly flew towards the kittens   'If I remember clearly, which I do, I passed by Cale Henituse just a few minutes ago... He may be a trash but he should at least have sympathy towards small children. I mean kittens'    Kim Rok Soo had decided. He will lead these two kittens to Cale Henituse. Even if Cale doesn't take them in, there are still a lot of safe and better places in the castle than this... Trash filled alleyway   Kim Rok Soo started floating in circles, telling them to follow him "eh? does it want to play?" the red kitten, Hong, Said happily. 'No I don't...'  Kim Rok Soo swayed his round body left and right and flew in a circle around the two kittens then flew towards the exit of the alleyway "Does it... Want us to follow him?" The silver kitten said 'That's right' Kim Rok Soo nodded his body up and down  "Don't trust it Hong, it might be a bait" the older kitten said in a warning voice 'It's understandable. They're from the Cat Tribe, there might be people who wants to use them...' Kim Rok Soo shook his body from left to right again and repeated the thing he did earlier. 'I never thought that I would end up playing charades with kids in my age. haa'     Then again, trusting a strange shining ball of light is not really something common in the world. So it took Kim Rok Soo some time till he managed to persuade the kittens to follow him. By that time, the wind and the rain had already gotten a lot stronger than it was earlier, and Kim Rok Soo's light had started dimming down tremendously   "uhm... little ball? Are you okay? your light..." The silver Kitten, who introduced herself as Ohn, asked in concern. They ended up following this ball of light because the trashcan they were hiding in ended up falling, making the trash inside it spill everywhere. Now all three of them have nowhere to go The ball of light didn't say anything, it's not like it can, but only nodded its round body as if saying 'yes' Even if it tells them that it's okay, it's obvious that it's not. It's floating and flying slowly and lower than their kitten form now, and it's light... If you're going to compare it to it's light earlier, the one right now is much dimmer, as if it's already fading. "If you tell us where we're going then we can help you! We've been here for some time now! So we also know the way around here!" Hong said cheerfully while following the ball "Hong, I don't think it can talk..." "oh..."   Kim Rok Soo is in panic. It's not obvious but he is, if he ends up falling asleep right now then these two kittens will be in danger. 'I'm the one who pulled them out of their hiding spot, so they're my responsibility' Just a few more, he was sure that Cale should be just around the corner. Unless Cale decided to run home or ended up riding a carriage, then that truly is a problem.   'Just a few more...'      The kittens were just running, following the small ball of light and looking around the place they were going through "Noona, this looks like the way to the big castle!" Hong exclaimed while still looking around "That's right, it is..." "say little ball, are we going to the castle? Commoners can't go to the castle-" Hong didn't finish what he was saying when he saw the ball of light suddenly falling, its light was completely gone "Little ball!" Hong shouted in panic. He really trusted the small ball, it didn't have any vicious intention towards him or his sister, and it's also not made by magic, aside from that, it's also warm. Just like his sister. "little ball, are you okay?" Ohn also joined her little brother in checking the little ball that was just hiding them earlier Ohn poked the small blub of ball with her nose, trying to check if it's okay or if she would gain any reaction from it "oh no... little ball?" Hong also tried waking it up by shaking it with its paws. As this was happening, the wind suddenly grew stronger, making the ball roll away a few feet away, making both children meow in panic as they tried to run after it. But when they were at least a few inches away, the 'little ball' bumped into someone's feet   "what in the fuck is this..." the owner of the said feet said in a grumpy tone        

They develop a routine after Lena gives Kara books on how to paint and supplies her with art materials. They’ve crossed a few things off her list but painting is the priority since Lena’s encouraging her to harness her skills. Kara looks at her painting and smiles. It brings her peace, she finds, when her brush strokes the canvas. According to Lena she seems to have a knack for art. Of course it occurs to her that her dark haired friend isn’t entirely objective because she never seems to run out of praises when it comes to her. The older girl then says as long as it makes Kara happy she should keep doing it. Her first work is a sunset along the horizon of the ocean with a reddish hue over the sky instead of the usual yellow. To Lena, it’s a form of expression. Kara supposes it is but mostly it’s a reminder of the red sun from Krypton. Lena gushes about the colors and talks about how vivid it is. The next day Kara sees it on the other end of her friend’s room on the wall near the masterpiece that Lena moved from the study because her magnanimous friend is going out of her way to make certain her guest is inspired. She’s even set up the Kara’s easel near the balcony. The blonde can see the ocean with a tilt of her head and the masterpiece when she looks behind her workstation. Kara doesn’t know what she’s done to warrant such treatment from someone of such obvious importance because while Lena doesn’t talk about her family, the Kryptonian deduces they are wealthy and influential judging from the size of her vacation home and the way the boys on the beach all but ran. She looks at her friend whose brows are knotted as she concentrates on her book. Unlike most people who read fictional tales Lena likes to read about sciences and math. Because of Kara’s father’s previous occupation, she can understand the basics between the different theories and problems sprawled out on the paper. Science doesn’t interest her as much as the arts. But even the arts can’t compare to the feeling she gets when she’s observing the look of fascination on Lena’s face. These past few days have been spent with minimal conversation because Lena wants her to concentrate, wants her to master her craft, and she wonders then what Lena’s craft is. So far all their time has been spent with Lena focusing on Kara’s needs and desires which Kara appreciates. But Kara finds herself thinking about her friend. She thinks about what types of activities Lena participates in, what foods she likes, and how beautiful her eyes are. She’s curious about Earth, about its customs, languages, and everything about it really. But as she spends more time with the dark haired girl, she finds herself wanting to know more about her. She wants to know her friend, perhaps more than learning about the new planet. Kara places her brush down and moves off her chair. With determined steps, she decides it’s time for a break from their routing on Lena reading while she paints. “Done already?” Lena asks as she feels the couch dip beside her. “No.” Kara looks at her half finished painting before settling her sights on her friend and fidgeting a little in her seat. “What is it?” Lena can sense Kara wishes to ask her something. “You still have not shown me what you mean when you say tinker.” she remarks tentatively as green eyes look up from the pages of what seems to be a rather large textbook to focus on her. “Finish your painting and I’ll show you.” she encourages with a smile. “Later.” she declares because there’s a more pressing matter she must attend to. “What about you?” Kara moves closer to her friend who promptly shuts her book. “You have yet to show me your list.” she gently reminds. “Perhaps it will inspire me to finish,” it’s partly true. “And I would like to see the activities you wish to do.” baby blue eyes struggle to hold those emerald eyes but her torso slacks from left to right as she fidgets. “I wish to know what interests you.” she manages to part with her truth. Lena sets her book down and heads over to one of the nightstands located on each side of the spacious bed. “Honestly there isn’t much on here.” she warns as she takes her place near Kara and hands the shorter girl her list. “I can’t really think about anything I really want to do,” Lena stares into those baby blues who regard her with such interest. “Other than spend time with you.” the sincerity in her voice causes Kara to break out into a large grin. “I want nothing more as well.” Lena threads their hands together, giving Kara a soft squeeze, as the girl begins to read the two things off her very short list. “I have watched movies.” Kara informs after reading the list. “Do you enjoy it?” there’s a hint of trepidation in her tone, like the answer to the question could make or break Lena’s summer. “They are quite enjoyable!” she loves watching people play different roles. “Well have you had a movie marathon?” it’s the first thing she wants to do with Kara mostly because she wishes to show her the Star Wars movies. “Marathon?” “Movie marathon.” Lena clarifies. “Watch movies consecutively with some snacks, traditionally copious amounts of junk food are involved.” “I have not done this yet.” the Danvers usually put one movie on weekends before going to bed and they all share a bowl of popcorn. She gazes upon her friend. “And you have not as well?” it’s a little hard to believe because there’s films located near her entertainment system. “Well, not with a friend.” she’s spent an ample enough time in her room watching various movies. “No?” she finds it hard to believe Lena doesn’t have people flocking to her. “I find it hard to believe you are not surrounded by people who wish to spend time with you.” she says as much. “I’m rather picky about the company I keep Kara.” she confesses. There’s no denying she’s had plenty of offers to hang out but she suspects they have less to do with her and more to do with her last name than anything. With the exception of Lex, who strived for the relationship they now have, experience has taught her that everyone who wants to spend time with her wants something. “I am lucky that you chose me then.” because her friend has a choice and she always seems to choose her but for Lena choosing Kara seems inevitable. “If anyone here’s lucky, it’s me.” because Kara doesn’t want anything but to spend time together. Because Kara wants to know her likes, dislikes, her interests, and passions. “I’m the lucky one.” she’s fortunate to have found a true friend. “But you are so wonderful and helpful and I have…” “You have been honest Kara and it’s more than enough.” Lena murmurs. “I’ve not known you long but I’d like to think I know you well enough.” she brushes Kara’s bangs back. “You have no agenda,” because she knows the blonde isn’t just there for her lessons and food. “You care.” she observes because there’s now way those baby blues can glimmer if she didn’t. “So much,” about everything but most importantly Lena can feel that Kara cares about her. “And you’re incredibly sincere.” she smiles when Kara’s cheeks redden. “You’re what I’ve been missing in my life, someone I never thought I’d find.” she confesses, hoping to put her at ease, as she continues to hold Kara’s hand. “I only wish to be the one you deserve.” “You already are, Kara.” “I wish to make you as happy as you make me.” Kara declares her new resolution. “You have given me knowledge and you have helped discover a hidden talent!” she gestures to her painting. “Which activities would bring you happiness?” Kara questions while she’s gently squeezing Lena’s hand as she tries to control her emotions. “I really can’t think of anything at the moment but I promise I’ll add things along the way if you do the same.” Kara nods her head enthusiastically because they’re agreeing to communicate each other’s desires. So far Lena wants to have a movie marathon and go swimming in the ocean. All that’s left for Kara’s to do list is ride a bike like she’s seen Alex do, fly a kite like she’s seen on television advertisements, and learn how to swim so she can join Lena in crossing off this activity. “I would prefer to do something indoors right now though.” Lena’s content to be in her air-conditioned room because it’s much too hot to function outside today. But thanks to Kara’s Kryptonian physiology she isn’t bothered by heat. “Then let us have the movie marathon!” “Any particular genre suggestion?” “What would you like to watch?” because Lena’s been such a treasure and she’s more than happy to learn more about her friend. “Well,” Lena looks at her watch and smirks. Kara’s been at her place for a half hour and she usually comes right when the Danvers adults leave for work. “I suppose we could watch the original Star Wars trilogy.” Lena takes her lower lip between her teeth, an adorable habit that demonstrates her hesitancy, Kara observes. “If you want.” she’s glad her voice doesn’t crack with apprehension. “Star Wars.” Kara repeats. “It sounds interesting.” “Let’s get some snacks then.” Lena remarks as she pulls Kara off the couch before they head off to the kitchen to gather their provisions before watching the movie. The theme begins to play and Lena tries to reign in her excitement, not wishing to influence Kara’s overall reaction of the movie. The speakers blast that familiar tune and Lena watches her friend from the corner of her eyes. She doesn’t miss the way Kara becomes somber when Alderaan is blown into nothingness. Before Kara can even shed a tear, there’s a hand on hers. She looks at Lena who glances back and forth between her and the movie, the question of whether or not she should stop it is clear in her eyes. The blonde threads their fingers together in an attempt to assure Lena she wants to continue. And there’s this emptiness she’s sure Princess Leia can sympathize with. But like Leia she chooses to focus on what’s ahead. She remembers Lena’s words, basks in the warmth from her Earthling’s hand, and keeps her eyes locked on the screen because she refuses to look back today. Because today she wants to know about Lena, about her interests, about anything her friend wishes to share. Because today she’s willing herself to move forward. Because Krypton is gone and no amount of dwelling over her misery will bring everything she’s known back from oblivion. Because Lena is here to ease that ache she feels when she thinks of family. Because if Leia has her Rebellion to push her to fight Kara has Lena and today she’ll focus on the friend she’s gained instead of the home she’s lost. “What about the next movie?” the Kryptonian asks, bouncing off the edge of her seat, mood lifted after the epic space battle that had her gripping the edge of her seat. “You said it is a trilogy correct?” the question earns her a nod. While she finds the plot entertaining, she’s mostly curious about what happened to the masked man adorned in a leather ensemble and black cape. “I wish to know what happened to Darth Vader!” she springs up and down, unable to mask her excitement. “I’m really glad you like it.” Lena admits and Kara understands her hesitation earlier. “It’s one of my favorite films.” the blonde regards her friend with perhaps the fondest look. “It is important to you.” Kara deduces. And the denial is on the tip of Lena’s tongue but she holds it back because Kara’s observation should be rewarded with the truth. Because Kara will not judge her for her passions like others do. “It seems foolish.” Kara shakes her head because nothing about Lena can ever be foolish. “But I guess I just was always wishing there’s more to this universe than just us.” a lonely girl’s dream turns into reality. “I don’t mean the bit about aliens among us.” she clarifies and doesn’t miss the way Kara stiffens. “Oh?” Kara squawks, her voice wavering, as her nerves get the better of her. “I mean I think it’s cool that there isn’t just life on Earth.” she elucidates because it seems her friend is having a mini panic attack. “I just mean there’s more than this,” hands gesture toward the air. “There’s endless possibilities.” she thinks of the lightsabers and travel between galaxies. “Regardless of where we’re from we can do anything.” because Han was a criminal and Luke was an untrained youth striving to live up to his father’s legacy yet the two still managed to win the battle. “I don’t like limitations I suppose.” the Kryptonian relaxes as she focuses on Lena’s musings. “The science is off for the most part.” Kara observes and Lena offers no protests. “But it is entertaining and the premise is relatable,” the underdog rising to the occasion is something she can connect to. “I can understand why you like it so.” “That’s just the tip of the iceberg.” because Kara’s yet to discover Darth Vader’s origins, his struggle with darkness, tragic downfall, and redemption. “Lena,” Kara calls, her tone gentle. The dark haired girl pauses her movements. “If there is something you wish to do with me all you have to do is say so.” because she’s incapable of denying Lena. “Even if I do not like the activity I will always enjoy spending time with you.” she can sense this is the cause of the dark haired girl’s apprehension earlier. “And if there is anything you wish to express, I will be here to listen.” Kara knows how hard it is for her friend to share these little pieces off her self and appreciates her efforts. “I suppose I’m just not used to partaking in these heart to heart talks.” she’s not used to sharing her feelings, preferring to keep them to herself. “But I’ll keep that in mind, Kara.” she’ll try because the last thing she wants is for those baby blues to look at her disappointedly. They begin the second movie and Kara accidentally tears a pillow she was clutching because Vader has just confessed Luke’s parental lineage. Sensing her friend is about to freak out about such a trivial matter she reaches out and plucks the damaged pillow. She chucks it clear across the room and scoots closer to her friend. She slips her arms around Kara’s shoulders and draws her close. She smiles when she relaxes against her and the Kryptonian is surprised that she doesn’t accidentally crush Lena but thinks it’s because the taller girl’s calming her as she curls her fingertips against her luxurious blonde locks. After gathering more provisions, they begin the last of the original trilogy. Lena’s gaze continues to drift between the television and the girl in her arms. She’s glad that Kara enjoyed herself and is even more ecstatic that the girl seems to genuinely like the movies. It should terrify her, how much she craves Kara’s approval, but as the honey blonde sighs contentedly in her embrace she finds she can’t bring herself to worry. Especially since the blonde seems to share this particular affliction. “That feels nice.” Kara murmurs, feeling utterly relaxed as Lena’s nimble fingers massage her scalp. The movie has ended but neither has moved from their seats. Both linger, knowing they’ll have to part sometime but neither wishing to instigate a separation. The blonde thinks about things they could do together that guarantees close proximity because being near Lena just makes Kara forget. Being with her friend let’s her focus on the moment. She forgets about appearances. She forgets about trying to appear human because Lena doesn’t mind if she asks questions or makes mistakes. “It does.” Lena’s never really been big on cuddling but she just wants to wrap her arms around Kara and shield her from hapless idiots who wish her harm. “There is something I wish to try.” Kara begins and Lena listens. “The Danvers and I were watching this movie,” the dark haired girl let’s her friend continue. “And there was this couple that were sharing something called a milkshake.” a fond smile finds itself to Lena’s features. Of course the activity is food related. “And these two shared it with two straws,” Kara wonders if Lena will think this is a strange request. “And then they rubbed their noses together and,” the blonde inhales. “I apologize if I caused you discomfort! It is just that being here in your arms made me remember that scene and I just thought it would be nice to try with you.” she rambles. Lena’s brow quirks up because she knows about romantic inclinations though they’ve never been of interest for her. She doesn’t bother to inform Kara of the inferences of this action. She tells herself it’s mostly because Kara’s eyes are so bright as they shine full of optimism and that it has very little to do with that warmth that settles in her chest when she’s with her friend. “I believe we have the ingredients downstairs for a proper milkshake.” Lena finds herself particularly excited to help Kara cross this off her list. They head to the kitchen where the dark haired hostess releases her friend’s hand. Kara watches as Lena makes them a chocolate flavored milkshake. The older girl pulls out two straws from the drawer after placing a cherry on top of the whipped cream. She sets it in front of Kara. Green meets blue as Lena takes her straw between her lips, tilting her straw so she can angle closer to her friend. Their noses graze and Kara blushes. “I apologize for the unorthodox request.” the Kryptonian remarks as Lena regains her personal space. She looks away in embarrassment. She doesn’t know what possessed her to ask because now her heart’s beating erratically and she misses the feel of Lena’s skin against her own. No doubt she’s abused her hostess’s kindness with her absurd request. “It just seemed like the appropriate way to end today but it may have been a mistake.” Suddenly she feels warmth on her face as Lena’s hands gently cup her cheeks. She guides Kara’s face to look upon her own. Blue meets a green that’s sparkling wish such tenderness. Lena brushes their noses together once more and Kara gasps once more. Her hands linger against Kara’s cheeks when they part, preventing the blonde from looking away as she holds her gaze. “You really need to stop apologizing so much.” “You really do not mind?” she squeaks when Lena enters her space once more, noses brushing against each other. “No.” they’re close enough to feel enough each other’s breaths but far enough apart to get a clear look on each other’s features. Kara’s lost in a forest of green while Lena drowns in a sea of blue. “I really don’t mind.” she stresses. “I happen to like being close to you Kara.” “I prefer it.” Kara admits with her face ablaze. It’s unclear how long they remain standing together with Lena holding Kara’s reddened cheeks between her hands and the grandfather clock down the hall chimes. “It’s late.” she checks the clock on the microwave. Kara’s never stayed this late before. Reluctantly she steps away, giving Kara her space once more. “Do you want a ride?” Kara glances at the clock and deems she has time to speed back to the Danvers household because the Danvers will still pick up dinner before they head home. “I will walk.” “Are you sure?” because it’s dark out and she’d hate for anything to happen to her friend. “I appreciate the offer but I do not think it would be wise for you to meet the Danvers.” Kara responds gently. “Not that I do not want you to meet them! They are very congenial people!” she assures after realizing how she may have come across. “It is just that they are particular right now about who I spend time with and I would hate for them to limit our time together.” “It’s alright Kara.” Lena understands the need for secrecy all too well. She isn’t sure how the girl’s foster parents will react when they discover that Kara’s new friend is none other than the despicable Lionel Luthor’s adopted spawn. Also there’s no telling what Lionel will do if he discovers that she’s actually enjoying herself in the middle of nowhere. No doubt he’ll stick her somewhere even more remote, perhaps the furthest corner of Siberia if he has his way. “They think I should strive to assimilate completely before I make friends.” what Kara means to say is that they wish for her to act like a regular Earthling instead of the alien she is. They say she lacks control and doesn’t know enough about her new planet. “They do not think I am ready.” to accept the changes and learn how to control her powers. “Kara, you are more than capable of handling whatever is thrown your way.” “With you beside me, I can.” Lena, her most gracious friend, has become her pillar of strength and comfort. “You don’t need me,” because in Lena’s opinion Kara doesn’t need any help. Sure she’s teaching her about things but she hasn’t done anything Kara can’t do for herself. She’s merely speeding up the process. “But you have me.” for as long the innocent blonde wants. Lena links their hands together while they walk back to the front door. When they reach the entrance, she gives the shorter girl’s hand a soft squeeze before releasing it. Kara throws her arms around Lena and pulls her in for a warm embrace. Her strength surprises the taller girl who chuckles because everything about Kara is just adorable. Lena squeezes her back and when Kara’s grip loosens she takes the opportunity to graze their noses for the last time today. Kara blushes before she takes off and Lena can swear the girl’s skipping down her driveway. She watches as the girl pause and she quickly tries to remember if her friend has forgotten something. The blonde turns and even from the distance, Lena swears she can see them sparkle with unbridled mirth. “Lena,” Kara calls out. “You have me as well!” she remarks before turning back around and sprinting off into the distance. The dark haired girl smiles as she continues to watch her friend’s fleeting form. There’s a seed that’s planted in her, she knows, and she grows determined to let it sprout. Without a doubt in her mind it will if Kara’s warm light has anything to say about it.

Xingqiu prides himself on his self-restraint, but Chongyun could elicit sounds out of him that he would forever deny. They hadn’t seen each other in a few years, Chongyun went to a land far away to train and Xingqiu busied himself with writing his memoir and dealing with his guild’s bureaucracy. The last time they met, Xingqiu stole a goodbye kiss from Chongyun, and when Chongyun returned the kiss Xingqiu moaned against his will and he had to control his urges that wanted to drag Chongyun to the nearest surface available. The kiss was never mentioned explicitly in the letters, but Chongyun often mentioned his fluttering heart and his longing. Xingqiu would reply with more risqué stuff, things he read in the books hidden in the library’s restricted sessions. When they finally see each other again, Chongyun standing at his door, sky blue hair still short and wavy, taller and stronger, donning white garments that look a bit tight around those newly defined muscles and carrying a duffel bag. Xingqiu’s lips quirk slightly upwards and he ushers him inside. Xingqiu makes Chongyun drop his duffel bag and his claymore somewhere in the living room and immediately drags him to his quarters. When they get to his room, Xingqiu grins at Chongyun’s flushed face and pushes him against the bed. “You have no idea how much I missed you,” he admits, situating himself on top of Chongyun’s thick thighs. Xingqiu’s hair, longer now, falls on Chongyun’s shoulders as he leans down to kiss him.  Chongyun returns the kiss faster than the last time they kissed as if he also feels the hunger that has been consuming Xingqiu’s whole being those past years. Xingqiu moans softly and Chongyun trembles slightly. “I yearned for you,” Chongyun murmurs against his lips, “the tassel and the letters were the only things that kept me sane,” he presses a kiss to Xingqiu’s jaw, his neck, suckles on his earlobe. Xingqiu takes Chongyun’s shirt off, enjoying the feeling of those hard muscles under his fingers. “You look good enough to eat,” Chongyun says. His tongue plays with Xingqiu’s earlobe before he bites it softly, the hand resting on his thigh tightening for a second before he’s looking for the clasps to undo Xingqiu’s robes. His other hand was on the back of Xingqiu’s neck, holding him close. Xingqiu hums, grinding down on Chongyun’s lap, fingers still exploring the expanse of his chest, refamiliarizing with old scars and tracing new ones. He lifts for a moment, helping Chongyun strip him of his outer robes and his undershirt. They kiss more, Xingqiu softly swaying his hips and feeling Chongyun’s matching hardness through their trousers. Xingqiu bites Chongyun’s lower lip and sucks on it hard, feeling elated as Chongyun whines.  “I want to eat you too,” he says, getting off Chongyun’s lap and pushing him towards the headboard. Chongyun goes without complaint, half-lidded eyes fixated on Xingqiu. Xingqiu takes off his shorts and underwear and crawls towards Chongyun, his face is burning but the look on Chongyun’s face makes it all worth it. He kneels between Chongyun’s legs and removes his baggy trousers and his boxers. He feels giddy as he stares at Chongyun’s cock, it’s rosy and standing proud on top of those thick thighs. Xingqiu licks his lips before turning his gaze to Chongyun’s reddened face. Xingqiu approaches carefully, grazing his fingers on Chongyun’s thigh and watching as his cock twitches. He touches Chongyun’s balls first, caressing and pressing slightly, watching for reactions.  “Xingqiu,” Chongyun gasps when Xingqiu finally wraps his cock with his hand.  Xingqiu looks up at him and smirks before leaning down and licking Chongyun’s cock. It tastes different than what the books described but still tasty. It twitches under his hold, spurting a drop of precum on his lips. He doesn’t know if he can fit all in his mouth but he tries, mouthing around the tip and then going down until it hits the back of his throat. He hears a choked sound and tries to look up at Chongyun, who is grasping the sheets as if his life depended on it.  Xingqiu sucks him at a slow pace. One of Chongyun’s hands rests on top of his head, fingers threading his hair and holding, Xingqiu hums around the cock. His own cock is hard and leaking, but he can’t stop tasting Chongyun, relishing in his mewls and rapid breathing. He speeds up and Chongyun’s hold suddenly tightens on his hair and he stops. He gives a final lick before inching up and clashing his mouth against Chongyun’s in a deep, dirty kiss. Xingqiu reaches for the lube he keeps on his bedside table and pours some on his fingers to prepare himself. He had been practicing with a wide variety of toys for a couple of years now, but even his biggest dildo wasn’t as big as Chongyun and he is excited. Chongyun’s eyes are dark and misty, he holds Xingqiu’s hips with one hand, the other reaching up to twist Xingqiu’s nipple before he suckles it. Xingqiu moans, loud and unabashed, two fingers stretching himself while his other hand clasps Chongyun’s shoulder for support. “Can you... get me the…” Xingqiu gasps as he inserts a third finger, “the lube”  Chongyun frowns for a second and Xingqiu gestures with his head to the right. Chongyun grabs the bottle and hands it to Xingqiu.  “You okay?” Chongyun asks before pecking Xingqiu’s lips softly Xingqiu nods, “just… overwhelmed,” he admits, kissing back fervently. He removes the fingers from himself and lathers a good amount of lube on Chongyun’s cock, giving it a few strokes.  “Xingqiu, please,” Chongyun whispers against Xingqiu’s throat, he licks it as if it were one of his icecreams and pants some more as Xingqiu stops his strokes and slowly sits down on Chongyun’s cock. It’s big, Xingqiu realizes his prep was not enough, his fingers were long but slim, next time he’d make Chongyun finger him… and maybe eat him out too, that’d be good. Chongyun’s grip on his hips becomes so tight it’s painful, but Xingqiu likes it, he relishes in watching the self-control dissipating from Chongyun. Xingqiu finally fits all of it into him and lets out a relieved sigh, resting for a moment on top of Chongyun’s thighs. The hand that was on his chest reaches up to caress his face and, while staring into those darkened blue eyes, Xingqiu sucks Chongyun’s thumb into his mouth, moaning around it when Chongyun thrusts up. “S-sorry,” Chongyun stutters and Xingqiu feels delighted with how much Chongyun is forcing himself to keep still. Xingqiu places his hands on Chongyun’s chest, forcing him to lay down. He channels his strength on his thighs and, taking a deep breath, he swivels his hips. Chongyun wails and tries to move, but Xingqiu stops him with a look and a shake of his head. Chongyun whines, hands bruising Xingqiu’s hips and body visibly trembling.  “Good boy,” Xingqiu whispers, sliding his fingers to Chongyun’s pert nipple and grazing it softly before pinching.  Xingqiu takes advantage of Chongyun’s open mouth and licks it, thrusting his tongue deep and swallowing his moans as he speeds up, riding Chongyun in earnest. His thighs burn with the effort and his lower back is hurting like hell, but the pleasure and satisfaction at having Chongyun turn into putty under him compensate it all. His cock is snug between their bodies, rubbing against those strong abs at every thrust. “Please,” Chongyun pleads against his mouth, struggling to keep still. Xingqiu laughs but it sounds like a gasp, he feels the pleasure beading in him and knows he’s close too. “Move,” he allows, intertwining his fingers in the hairs on the back of Chongyun’s head, watching as Chongyun’s eyes sparkle a bright blue for a second before he uses his hold on Xingqiu’s hips as support to thrust up. The first thrust is so strong it makes Xingqiu see stars. Chongyun’s pace is erratic and hard as if he was desperate, and Xingqiu loves it, he feels boneless as the pleasure that was building reaches its breaking point. He climaxes, clenching around Chongyun as his release drips all over their chests and mixes with their sweat.  Chongyun lets out a guttural sound but keeps thrusting even as his come fills Xingqiu’s insides. Xingqiu feels overwhelmed but he doesn’t want it to stop, biting his lip hard and clawing Chongyun’s shoulder as he keeps up the unforgiving pace.  Xingqiu tilts his hips slightly so that Chongyun’s thrusts hit just right. His cock is spent and overly sensitive but it twitches as it rubs between them persistently. Xingqiu feels a wicked type of pleasure as he bites down hard on Chongyun’s sweaty throat and Chongyun whines. Xingqiu sucks the bruised skin and bites a higher spot, closer to Chongyun’s jaw, and that earns him another whine and a harder thrust as Chongyun comes once again. Chongyun stops moving, his hold on Xingqiu’s hips becoming lax. Xingqiu feels incredibly full and dirty and deeply satisfied. He rests his head on Chongyun’s chest and caresses his dirty stomach, scoops up some of the come there, and offers it to Chongyun. Chongyun, breathing heavily, blinks at him and sucks his filthy fingers. Xingqiu’s cock twitches again, but now that the adrenaline is slowly leaving him it only feels painful.  “Later,” he murmurs. Chongyun nods, caressing Xingqiu’s face before pulling him into a kiss. Xingqiu makes a face as he lets Chongyun’s cock slip out of him, feeling the pain of the stretch and the discomfort of being empty again. He makes a mental note to buy anal plugs and a bigger dildo the next time he goes to Liyue Harbor. “We should bathe,” he says, getting up from the bed. “Tired,” Chongyun bemoans, sitting up and reaching for Xingqiu with his hands, “want you.” Xingqiu gives him a small smile, “I really need to clean myself, look at what you did,” he gestures to his sticky thighs, “I look like I was attacked by slimes” “I can clean you,” Chongyun proposes, eyes darkening as he licks his lips. Xingqiu, despite himself, blushes. He leans down for a kiss and allows Chongyun to caress his buttcheeks. “Next time,” Xingqiu promises. Chongyun grunts but doesn’t say anything else as Xingqiu drags him to the bathroom.

(Warning: This chapter has physical abuse and sexual abuse mentioned in details.) A young teen around the age of sixteen was lying on his bed in the fetal position crying. His uncle had just beaten him for something that Dudley had done. Dudley had been upset that one of his favorite shows had been canceled and punched the t.v. Harry had been upstairs working on his chores. His uncle had come home and saw that the t.v was broken. He demanded Dudley to tell him what had happened. Instead of telling the truth Dudley told his father that he was watching t.v and Harry had come down stairs and punched the t.v. Vernon's face had turned a violent shade of purple. He walked up stairs to see that Harry was cleaning the bathroom. He grabbed his nephew by his neck and dragged him to his room. A frightened Harry was wondering what he had done wrong. When they reached his room he threw Harry in. "What did you think that you were doing punching my t.v, Freak?" His uncle hissed.   "I-i didn't p-p-punch the t.v." Harry stuttered.   "Are you calling Dudley a liar, boy?" He asked angrily. Without waiting for a response he punched Harry in the face. The teen landed on the floor with a loud thud. He bit back a whimper of pain.   "Pull off your shirt." Vernon commanded.  Harry did as he was told. He knew what would happen if he didn’t. His uncle stared at his scared body. He drank in everything knowing he was the one to cause it. He licked his lips and wished he had time to play. "Now turn around." He told Harry as he started to take off his belt.   Harry turned around and braced himself for the pain. His uncle whipped his back until the metal from the buckle cut him enough to make him bleed. Harry didn't scream knowing that he would get a longer beating. His uncle then took out a pocket knife and reopened the word FREAK on his abused back. He walked out of Harry's room. (Two weeks later on Harry's birthday) It was midnight and Harry was awake.   "Happy Birthday to me." Harry whispered softly to himself.   He was now seventeen and he was still a puppet to Dumblefuck, still a prisoner to his uncle and he wanted to be free. Suddenly a blinding pain engulfed Harry. A green light filled the room. Harry felt as if white hot pokers were stabbing every inch of his body. He bit his lip to keep himself from screaming and ended up making it bleed. After what seemed like forever the pain stopped and Harry fell unconscious. "Boy get up those freaks are here to pick you up." A nasal voice from downstairs said.   Harry slowly walked down the stairs. He saw that it was Bill, Remus, and Sirius. He smiled when he saw them.   "Hey Harry." Bill said and hugged Harry.   All three frowned when Harry flinched.  "Go get your things cub." Remus said while trying to figure out what was wrong with Harry. Soon Harry was downstairs with his trunk and ready to go. Bill shrunk his trunk and put it into his pocket.   "Hold on to me Harry." Sirius said.  Harry did and when Sirius put his arm around his waist he once more flinched. That caused Sirius to frown and look at his godson in concern. The raven haired teen suddenly felt as if he was sucked through a straw. It was a good thing that he was holding on to Sirius or he would have fallen. Harry was suddenly hugged by two twin bodies. He flinched and the twins noticed. "Harry our..." "dear brother..." "it is..." "wonderful to..." " see you ." Harry laughed at their antics. They walked into Remus's house. He was pulled into the kitchen and was forced to sit down. He flinched as he saw five people look at him.   "What?" Harry asked.   Sirius kneeled down next to Harry and gently took his chin and forced Harry to look at him.  "Harry why do you keep flinching when we touch you?" He asked. "I don't flinch." Harry denied.   "Harry please tell us." Harry started to cry as he closed his eyes.   "Harry will you let me look into your memories?" Sirius asked.   Harry just nodded. He couldn't speak as he was too choked up. Sirius lifted his wand. "Legilimens" (Just wanted to warn that down below contains various descriptions of abuse.) {Age 4: A four year old child was making breakfast for two fat whales and a woman that looked like a horse. Harry was standing on a stool making sure the eggs didn't burn and forgot about the bacon. When the bacon started to burn his uncle stood up and walked over to the four year old.  "You burned our food you ungrateful freak." He hissed. "S-sorry Uncle Vernon." The four year old said. His uncle took his hand and put it in the flame. Young Harry cried and started to twist and turn trying to get away from the flames. "This will teach you to burn my food freak." The man sneered at him. Age 6: Six year old Harry was cowering away from his uncle. His uncle grabbed a hold of his arm and wrote the word FREAK. Next he started to punch and kick Harry. Sometime later he tore off Harry's shirt and turned him around. He took off his belt and started to whip him. Harry was screaming and that just made him whip the child longer. After Harry started to bleed he carved FREAK into his back and threw him in his cupboard. Age 10: Harry was forced into the shower and told to be quick. His uncle stood across the shower watching Harry with a hungry look. He stripped and went into the shower shocking Harry. "Touch me or I will beat you within an inch of your life." Harry looked up confused.   Seeing his nephews confusion he grinned and grabbed Harry's hand. Vernon placed his hand on his erection  He started moving his hands up and down his penis.  Suddenly he grabbed Harry's head and forced him down until his head was level with his penis. "Suck" He commanded and started to thrust into Harry's mouth.   Harry gave a muffled cry at the pain. It was ignored. His uncle came after a couple more thrusts.  "Swallow." Harry swallowed the white cum. "Good freak." Age 14: Harry woke up naked and tied to the bed by a belt with his stomach on the mattress.  His uncle was in view but seeing that his nephew was awake he smiled. He walked out of sight.   "Well freak I finally have a good use for you." Harry felt the dip of the bed. His uncle suddenly thrusted into him. Harry felt as if he was splitting into two. He felt as if his bum was on fire. After what seemed like forever his uncle finally came inside him. His uncle took a knife from the nightstand and carved SLUT under where he had carved FREAK and WHORE under where he had carved SLUT.  He looked at his work. "Seems perfect for you slut. Now clean up this mess you made."} (The warning has ended here.) "Oh Harry." Sirius said while tears flowed silently down his cheek.   He swept Harry up into a hug. Harry buried himself in Sirius's chest while sobbing hard. He eventually cried himself to sleep. All their hearts broke for him. Sirius picked up Harry and walked him upstairs into his room. When he came back down the others were looking at him. Sirius sat down.   "Harry was mentally, physically, and sexually abused." He said so quietly the others strained to hear it.   They all gasped. "Merlin no wonder he was flinching." Bill said as he sat down.  "That is it we are adopting him and going to America where your cousin lives Sirius." Remus was pissed.   No one and he means no one harms his cub. The twins were pale and looked sick. They ran upstairs to Harry's room and snuggled into him on either side. Their arms were thrown protectively around him. (Next day) Harry woke up warm. He opened his eyes and saw Fred. He looked over his shoulder and saw George. Fred noticed that Harry was awake.   "Morning little brother." He greeted. "Morning Fred. Um Sirius told you didn't he?" He looked ashamed. "Yes." He wasn't going to lie to him. "You don't hate me?" George had woken up and answered when he heard what Harry asked Fred.   "No Harry we don't hate you. We will never hate you. You could not fight your uncle. We saw him and we both know that you couldn't." Harry started to cry and the twins wrapped their arms around him. They spoke after he had calmed down. "Come on..." "little brother..." "let's go..." "down to..." " breakfast ."  They said the last part together getting a laugh out of Harry. They went downstairs and sat down. Remus placed a plate down in front of each of them. No one spoke as they ate. Soon Harry finished his breakfast. "Harry?"   "Yes Remy."   "You do know that I am in a relationship with both Siri and Bill right?" He asked. "Yes."   "Well we were wondering if all three of us could adopt you?" He asked. "Really, you want to adopt me? Why?" It was Bill who knelt down next to Harry.   "Of course we would want to adopt you. You are a great person Harry." Bill told him. Sirius and Remus stood behind him, nodding in agreement.   "Yes I want you to adopt me." He hugged them. Remus gave Harry the papers. Since Harry was legally an adult in the wizarding world he had to sign the papers. Harry read it over before signing them. Then Bill, Sirius, and finally Remus signed the papers. Once it was all signed it glowed gold before disappearing. The gold glow meant that the adoption had gone through. "You are now Harrison James Alexander Orion John Potter-Lupin-Weasley-Black.  Wow that was a mouth full." Harry giggled at that. "Harry James Black for short." Sirius said breathlessly.   "Harry, we are moving to America in a place called Forks, Washington. Sirius' cousin Billy lives there."  Remus said. "Forks? Is there a place called knife or spoon?" Harry asked, causing Remus to crack a smile and the twins to fall to the floor laughing. Bill chuckled next to Sirius. "No." Sirius snorted in amusement. "So we are moving away? No more Dumbles, Granger, Ronald or Ginvera?" Harry asked. "That's correct." Sirius confirmed. "Yes." He said in relief." When do we leave?" "In a few hours after we heal you." Remus answered.   "Okay." All was normal in the Cullen household. Rosalie was watching her husband, Emmett, play video games. Jasper was in his room reading. Esme was in her kitchen cleaning. Her husband, Carlisle, was in his study doing paperwork. Edward was playing piano and his wife, Alice, was organizing more shopping trips in the living room. She let out a gasp when a vision hit her. Everyone stopped what they were doing and surrounded her.   "What is it Alice?" Carlisle asked calmly.   "I don't know. I see four people moving in. Some of it is black though. Sometimes there are two black spots in separate places or one big black spot. How frustrating." She said. "Who cares."  Rosalie said. Everyone ignored her. Alice was trying to figure out why she was seeing these black spots. She gasped when she figured it out. The rest of the Cullens surrounded her again.   "Carlisle I think I know why I am seeing these black spots. It might be a person or two people and they are probably werewolves or they are shapeshifters." If they weren't human or vampire she couldn't see them. "We will check them out when they get here." Carlisle said. "When are they going to arrive Alice?"   "Tomorrow." Carlisle nodded.  "We should kill them not check them out." Rosalie said. "Rose, they could be different just like us. They might not be a threat to us or anyone in town." Alice said. "Whatever." The blonde turned back to her husband. [We should just kill them if they are mutts.]   After a few hours Edward was getting sick of these thoughts and Jasper was getting sick of Rosalie's emotions. Carlisle had gotten called back to the hospital the rest were hunting. Rosalie was pissed she was being ignored. [This is so stupid to let them live. We should kill them.] She thought as she went to the garage. [Doesn't she ever shut up?] Edward thought. [Why do I have to be the one who reads minds? Why, why why?] The Cullens were on edge for the rest of the day. They were wondering what was going to happen. Jasper was going over strategies just in case something happened.  Alice was upset about being blind when it came to those two people. She was certain that the black spots were two people. She knew that three of them were redheads and two of the three were twins. The fourth person had black hair. She wished that she could see the other two. (With Harry and Lupin) Harry walked upstairs with Remus. He was the only one who had healer experience. They walked into Harry's room. He wanted to give his cub some privacy and he knew he felt comfortable in the bedroom. It was a safe place to him. "Strip down to your underwear and lay on your back." Harry did although he was nervous and scared.   When he stripped there was no mark. Remus went through a list of reasons as to why that would happen. Seeing the shimmer around his cub made him come to a conclusion. "Harry do you know anything about glamours?" He asked. "No, why?" He asked in confusion. "I think that your magic has put a glamour around you to hide your true appearance. Finite Incantatem." Remus gasped as the glamour faded away. Harry's hair grew to his shoulders with streaks of forest green. Looking through his glasses everything went blurry. His eyes turned brighter. His lightly tanned skin turned pale, almost as pale as a vampire. His ears now had a slight point in them.  His skin was now flawless. The famous lightning bolt scar was now gone too. Remus was stunned.  "Um cub you're an elf."   "What?!" Harry looked at his new dad in shock. "You are an elf." He repeated. "What? How?" The teen looked very confused. "You must have come into your inheritance on your birthday." Remus informed him. Harry recalled what happened after midnight hit. "Oh I was wondering why I was in so much pain that night." He had assumed it was from his injuries. "I believe that is why you were in pain. Not only was it changing your appearance but also healing you. Since you are already healed you may get dressed."  He said, happy that his cub wasn't forced to bear the scars anymore. "Okay." Harry got redressed and took off his glasses since he noticed that he could see just fine without them. They both made their way back to the kitchen. The occupants in the kitchen gasped when they saw Harry.   "What happened to you pup?" Sirius asked. "He came into his inheritance. He is an elf. What kind I do not know yet. I have an idea because of his hair and scent but I could be wrong."  Remus answered. "Oh."   "How do we find out what kind he is?" Fred asked? Suddenly the plant in the window started to grow and flourish. Bill was the one who noticed.   "Harry is an earth elf." He said. "How do you know Bill?" George asked and Bill pointed to the plant that was now beautiful.   "Oh."  "Come on we are leaving now before Dumbledore figures out that Harry is not at his relatives." Bill said. (Their new house in Forks) They arrived at their new house sometime in the morning. Harry had fallen asleep and was cuddling up against Fred. Remus, Bill, Fred, George, and Harry were in the mustang while Sirius was on his motorcycle. Remus carefully parked the car. Fred gently shook Harry's shoulder.  "Hey sleepy..." "head we're..." "at our..." "new house." "Time to..." "wake up..." " now ." The twins said, making Harry laugh. They walked into their house. The living room was done in gryffindor colors. The walls were done in blood red. The carpet was a lighter shade than the walls. The two couches and the armchair were a darker shade than the walls.  The wood on the couches and the armchair was a dark cherry. The pillows were the shade of gold and red. The fireplace was also a dark cherry wood.  There were pictures of trusted family and friends on the mantle and walls. The curtains were also the shade of gold. The stairs were to the right of the room.   "Wow, this is amazing." Harry stated while looking around in awe. "The kitchen and the garden belong to Harry." Harry grinned at that. "The basement belongs to the twins." The twins cheered. "The door with a large paw print painted on it belongs to Sirius." Remus told them. "Hey!" Sirius yelled in offense. Remus ignored him. "The door with a sphinx and a pyramid painted on is Bill's." Bill smiled. "The study and library belongs to me." Remus stated. "Each bedroom door upstairs has the person’s name on it. If you do not like the color or how it is arranged then think of how you want it and it will change to that." Everyone went to their rooms to unpack. Harry entered his room. His room was done in earth colors. He giggled at this.  His walls were done in a forest green. The carpet was done in tree trunk brown. He thought of a tree that had leaves reaching the ceiling and it appeared just like Remus said. His bed was in front of the window. The sheet was a light brown and the blankets were a light green. He thought of vines as a pattern for the blanket and it also appeared.  The wood of the bed was a light oak. The curtains were also a light brown. His dresser, nightstand, desk, and bookcase were also light oak wood. The two lamps on his nightstand were light green and in the shape of a leaf. There was a computer on the desk. He loved it. He saw two doors. One he assumed was his closet and the other he assumed was to his bathroom. Harry started to put away his things. Luckily Bill had taken him shopping before the left and then proceeded to burn his rags much to the amusement and relief of everyone else. He put his clothes, books, and other items away. He then put his trunk at the end of the bed. Harry was still tired so he changed into a pair of purple shorts and a matching tank top. He crawled into bed and fell asleep. A few minutes later Sirius went to check on Harry and smiled at him when he saw that he was asleep. He took a picture and left the room. His, now legally adopted son, looked adorable curled up sleeping. He was also happy when he noticed the smile on Harry's sleeping face. DING-DONG (Cullen's house) "They are here Carlisle." Alice said. "Alright let's go. Alice you lead the way." Carlisle said. "Okay."   They all ran through the forest until they came to the house. They all smelled a werewolf, humans, and something else.  The humans smelled different, but still could be identified as human. They were all confused about the last scent. They ran till they were at the front door. Carlisle rang the doorbell. DING-DONG Remus walked downstairs when the scent of vampire hit him. [They better feed on animals or they are dead.] Remus thought before opening the door. Standing at the door were seven vampires. "Hello. I am Carlisle Cullen and this is my family. We are here to make sure that the humans in Forks are safe."   "Nice to meet you. I was going to ask the same thing. Oh by the way I am Remus Lupin-Black. Please come in."   They all entered the living room. Sirius and Bill walked down the stairs. "Carlise these are my mates Bill Weasley-Lupin-Black and Sirius Black." He introduced them. They were surprised that he had two mates. Carlisle pointed to each person stating their names. As they heard their names they either said hi, hello or nodded their heads.   "This is my mate Esme. These two next to her are Rosalie and her mate Emmett.  The two on the floor are Edward and his mate Alice. The male next to me is Jasper." "Nice to meet you all. Sirius where is Harry?" Remus asked. "Asleep in his room until the twins find him." The three males grimaced.   The Cullens were confused. "FRED, GEORGE!" A male voice yelled. The twins came into Harry's room. They looked at each other and grinned. They dove onto Harry's bed and started to jump on it. Harry was jolted awake. He looked up into the grinning faces of Fred and George. "FRED, GEORGE!" The Cullens looked at the ceiling in surprise. Two people ran by them as fast as they could. They had neon purple hair, crying that they were sorry. A few minutes later Harry calmly walked down the stairs. Jasper had realized why the last scent that he had smelled had smelled really good. When he saw Harry he knew that he had found his mate.   "Harry, why did you change the twins' hair purple?" Remus asked. "They woke me up Remy." Remus shakes his head. "Harry, these are the Cullens.  Cullens this is our son, Harry."   Harry waved then he walked into the kitchen quickly. [That was rude he didn't even look at us and what is that smell?] Rosalie thought, making Edward grimace.   "Don't take offence to Harry, he is very shy." Remus told them. "It is okay. What is he? He smells different." Esme asked.   "Harry is an elf." He told them. "Oh." Harry walked into the kitchen and was amazed. It was white with blue accents.  He was in love with it at first sight. He saw that it was already stocked. He took out the appropriate ingredients for pumpkin pie. After it was put into the oven Harry casted a spell to alert him when the pie was done. He went outside to the garden. As soon as he enters the garden, all of the plants perk up and start to grow or bloom. Harry decided to plant some food plants so that they wouldn't have to shop for food as often. He heard Remus talk about how Harry was the only one going to school.  After a while the spell alerted him that the pie was done. He turned the timer off.  He quickly washed up. He took the pie out and put it on the counter near the window. He looked at the clock and noticed that it would be lunchtime soon. He decided to make chicken, potatoes, and green beans. When it was done he brought it to the dining room. The dining room was dark oak wood. It was accented by teal. He set the table then went to the basement door and knocked.   " What ?" Twin voices yelled.   "Lunch is done."   " Okay. We will be up in a second ."  Harry went back into the living room.   "Lunch is ready."   The Cullens were surprised at how soft Harry's voice was.   "If you want, I could get some blood pops for you. They are made with animal blood." The Cullens were surprised again. Edward was a little upset with not being able to read his mind. He liked knowing what people were thinking so that he could plan in advance. If someone wanted to attack he would be able to prevent it. He liked it because it meant he wasn't invading Harry's privacy. "Sure, that would be lovely dear." Esme answered.   Harry went back in the kitchen to get the blood pops. When he came back he placed the box on the coffee table and went back into the dining room.   "Please join us." The Cullens followed them into the dining room. When they entered the dining room the twins and Harry were already seated and plates filled. The twins had a large amount of food while Harry had barely a handful of food. The rest of the family sat down and started filling the plates. The Cullens sat down with the blood pops. As a doctor Carlisle was concerned with the amount of food Harry wasn't eating  Jasper was trying to control his urge to claim his mate and was concerned about how little his mate was eating. Edward was cringing at the images that he was getting from Jasper's mind. Harry was sick of being stared at, but after so many years at the Dursley's he didn't speak up. The room was filled with conversation. After everyone was done Harry cleared the table and put the leftovers away.  He cleaned the dishes, put the pie in the fridge, and went back to gardening.   "We really must be leaving." Carlisle said and with that the Cullens left. (Next day) Harry was up at five am cleaning and when it hit seven am he started to make breakfast. He wondered what Ron and Hermione were doing. He scolded himself for it.  The twins had told him that Ron and Hermione were being paid to be his friends. {"Harry?"   "Yes George?  Fred?"   "We have to..." "tell you that..," "Ron and Hermione..." "are being paid..." "to be your..." "friends by..."  The twins looked at each other and nodded. " Dumblefuck. " "WHAT?!"  Harry cried. The twins pulled Harry into a hug.   "Molly, Ginny, and..." "Ron are being..."  "paid. They wanted..."  "you to marry..."  "Ginny and then..." "they were going..." "to kill you..." "now that Moldyworts..." "is gone. Everyone..." "else doesn't know..." "yet. That is..." "why we are..." "going to send..." "them a letter..." "when we get..." " to Forks ."   Harry laughed at their antics through his tears. He felt so betrayed. The twins just held him. They hated to see their brother/nephew like this. They were always the ones to calm him down. Harry also noticed they called Molly by her name instead of calling her mum.} Harry’s thoughts shifted to Jasper. He knew he was his mate, his dominant. Just thinking about it scared him. He knew that he should be glad that he has a mate, but was still scared.   [What is he like? Is he like uncle Vernon? Will he hate me for being a freak? Will he hate me for being a useless whore?] The poor elf could not stop these thoughts. He finished making breakfast and set the kitchen table. By the time he was finished setting the table everyone had come down. They began to eat.   "Harry I bought you a motorcycle to take to school." Sirius grinned.   Harry grinned back. "Be careful getting to school." Remus said.   Sirius pouted prompting a laugh from everyone else. Harry went upstairs to get dressed. He put an emerald green button shirt with a black vest that he left open. Next he put on a pair of black jeans and emerald dragon hide boots. He wore the emerald choker Bill gave him for his birthday before 4th year. He grabbed his backpack and his leather jacket and went into the garage. He took off for school. When Harry arrived at school he was being stared at by most of the school's population. He was starting to panic when he put up his mask. He pulled off his helmet and pulled out a green ribbon from his jean pocket and tied his hair in a low tight ponytail.  Harry secured his bike and helmet with magic before walking to the office. "Excuse me madam, my name is Harry Black I'm a new student here." He said to the secretary. "Oh yes here is your schedule and a map of the school."   "Thank you." Harry left the office.   As soon as he stepped out a short girl with curly brown hair and blue eyes appeared in front of him. "Hi, I am Jessica Stanley."   "Harry Black."   Harry was disgusted by the way she fluttered her eyes. She was so obvious in flirting that it was sick.   "Would you like me to show you around?"   "No thank you I will manage." With that he left leaving Jessica in shock. The Cullens had arrived when Harry was in the office. Jasper was pissed to see Jessica flirt with his mate. They were all relieved when he rejected Jessica's offer. He knew that getting his mate would be hard. He was worried when he saw that Harry kept flinching every time someone had come close to him.   "Rose, look at Harry." She did and also noticed the flinching. She frowned and wondered why. Harry looked at his schedule and saw that he had art. He was the first one to arrive in class. The teacher pointed to four seats in the back near the window and he sat at the desk next to the window facing the front. Harry took out his sketch pad. He was drawing Hogwarts. It was the front of the school. It was drawn as if someone was looking down. Rose, Jasper, and Emmett were also in art first period. When they walked into the classroom they noticed Harry was at their seats. Jasper sat next to Harry. Emmett sat in the seat across from Jasper, and Rosalie sat in the last seat.   "Good morning Harry." Emmett said while Harry jumped.   He didn't notice them. He stared up at them with wide eyes.   "G-good morning." He picked up his sketch pad he had dropped.   Emmett just laughed. Harry went back to drawing. Jasper frowned when he felt Harry's fear. Everyone was staring at Harry and he started to panic. He took a deep breath and he calmed down. The class began when the teacher had walked back into the classroom. (The Burrow) Dear Dad, Bill, Remus, Sirius, Harry, and us are in America. DO NOT TELL MOLLY. Molly, Ronald, and Ginvera are not who you think they are. Molly has been giving you love potions and they are trying to get Harry to marry Ginvera so they can get his money when they kill him. Dumbles is in on it too. Charlie and Percy know. That was why Charlie never comes over and Percy apologized to you and not Molly. Dumbles pays them and Granger to be nice to Harry. Molly to be the mother figure, Ronald and Granger to be friends, and Ginny to be a friend then wife. Please come to America. The port-key is the letter. To activate say Spoons.You will understand why spoons when you get here.  With love, Fred and George He quickly packed his things. He wrote a letter saying he wanted a divorce and Ron and Ginny to be disowned. He now knew why he felt that something wasn't right and the twins’ letter made him realize what. "Spoons." He felt a tug at his navel and disappeared. (Forks High school) The next class Jasper and Rosalie had Calculus with Harry. Jasper had tried to talk to him but Harry was too shy and frightened. He didn't want to have Harry to be scared of him. He wanted to be with him. Rosalie wanted Jasper to be happy and was pissed when Harry wouldn't talk. She was pissed and wanted to know why he was being rude. She had forgotten all about the flinching. Harry's next class was gym which he had with Edward and Alice. He made sure to stay away from them. He didn't know them. He was too scared to find out what they were like. He didn't like how Edward kept trying to get into his mind. He knew Edward was frustrated, but he didn't like it when people entered his mind. It was his mind dammit.  Finally the bell rang. It was time for lunch. Harry went outside and ate his lunch. (Cafeteria) "Where is he?" Jasper demanded.   "I don't know. He ran off after class." Alice said.   Jasper's face fell. Rose was getting sick of Jasper being upset about Harry who didn't care. She stood up to find him. She walked towards the strange scent that belonged to Harry. He was sitting at the table in front of the school. He was drawing again. She walked over to him and sat down.   "Why are you ignoring my brother?" She demanded. Harry jumped and fell off the bench, hitting his head on the ground. He whimpered in pain. Harry then stared up fearfully at Rose. He picked up his things and ran to his next class leaving a confused vampire. (Weasley-Lupin-Black-Potter house) Arthur landed in front of a beautiful house. Sirius was outside polishing his motorcycle.  "Good afternoon Arthur." He greeted. "Good afternoon Sirius."   "How did you get here?" Sirius asked. "The twins set a letter and the letter was a portkey."   "Oh, come inside." Arthur followed him inside.  The six men spent the time getting Arthur his room and a place where he can play with muggle things. After that they were talking about getting jobs.   "I can get a job at the local library, Sirius can work at his cousins garage, and Bill can stay here and do whatever." Remus said.   "I can get a job at the police station and do something with paperwork." Arthur said.   "We will stay at the lab and continue to invent new things and send them to Lee to sell at the shop." Fred said seeing as his twin fell asleep next to him.  (After school) The rest of the day went well. Jasper was in the rest of his classes. Harry was again avoiding him. Jasper had found out what Rose had done and was mad at her for confronting his mate and concerned for Harry. He was going to ask Carlisle for advice.  As soon as the bell rang Harry went to his motorcycle. Harry took out the ribbon, because he didn't want to lose it. He hopped on his bike and went home. When he came home he saw Arthur.   "I am glad you had gotten the letter." Arthur pulled Harry into a tight hug which caused him to flinch.   Arthur frowned. "Me too Harry, me too."   Harry went inside to do homework. Arthur went to find someone to tell him why Harry was flinching. Harry was hoping Arthur would not hate him for what his uncle did. He loved Arthur and did not want to be hated by him. He was in the garden trying to focus, but he was afraid to leave and see if Arthur hated him. He was also worrying about Sirius' cousins and their friends coming over tonight. He had already started dinner and dessert. Harry shook his head and went back to gardening. Arthur had found Bill in the living room reading a book about Egyptian tombs. "Bill?" His son looked up from his book. "Yes dad?" "Do you know why Harry had flinched when I hugged him?" He asked. "He was abused mentally, physically, and sexually abused." He answered. "Oh Merlin, please tell me you paid them back." Arthur begged. Bill smirked causing his dad to wonder what he did. "Well..." {Sirius, Remus, and I went back to number four Privet drive after the twins left the room. Sirius knocked on the door. "What do you freaks want now?" Petunia Dursley asked. "You have the boy now leave." Sirius pointed his wand at her. She paled and backed up. We walked in and went into the living room where the two wales were. "GET OUT YOU FREAKS!" Vernon bellowed at us. Remus sneered "No. We came to pay you back for the abuse on our godson." The Dursleys paled. Remus cast a binding spell. All three Durselys were scared knowing that they were doomed. Sirius took Vernon, Remus took Petunia, and I took Dudley. Sirius cast three spells on Vernon. Remus cast one spell on Petunia and I cast two spells. "Vernon Dursley, all food you eat will be awful and you will get sick. If you say or even think the word freak it will show up on you and it will be very painful. Lastly you will never have sex or you will feel Harry's pain and your pathetic dick will shrivel off." His smirk was cold. Sirius and I could tell that Mooney was close to the surface. "Petunia you will always feel Harry's pain no matter what you do or take to get rid of it. Oh and the pain you feel will be all of it whether you caused it or not." He smirked evilly at her. Dudley was pale and you could tell he was in pain from what I had cast. "You will forever feel the pain you caused Harry and if you ever bullied anyone else you will feel the pain of your victim." I cast two more spells. "Oh and all three of you will be claustrophobic and afraid of people. Bye-bye now." We left after that.} "Good they deserve it all." Arthur was very proud of his son and his son in-laws. He left to go find Harry to reassure that he still loved him and nothing was going to change that. "Harry is in his garden." Bill told him. Arthur entered the garden and was amazed. Sirius had told him that Harry was an earth elf and he read about them, but Harry's garden was beautiful. He saw Harry was watering some of the plants. "Harry?" Harry turned around. When he saw that it was Arthur he dropped the watering can and ran into Arthur's arms. "I'm sorry please don't hate me." He pleaded. Harry sobbed breaking Arthur's heart. He wrapped Harry in a tight hug. "Oh Harry I could never hate you." He assured him. Arthur just held him while Harry cried. He rubbed comforting circles on his back to help calm him down. When the elf stopped crying he looked up at Arthur with a watery smile. "You finish dinner and I will water your plants, okay?" He asked. "Okay." Harry walked into the kitchen. Harry was happy. Arthur still loved him. Now all he had to worry about was the guests that were going to arrive. He knew they were going to be bigger and stronger than him. He wished that he could be normal for once, but all he was and will always be is a freak. He had finished dinner and dessert. He had the dining room table set by the time the doorbell rang. A few minutes later a person in a wheelchair and seven giant boys and a woman came into the dining room. Sirius told them to sit down. Harry left to go get the twins, Remus, and Bill. Bill and Remus came in first, then the twins, and finally Harry. As soon as Harry sat down they started the introductions. "I am Sirius Black, Billy and Jacob's cousin. The man on my right is my husband Remus. He is a werewolf. The red head on my left is my other husband Bill. The two redheaded twins are Fred and George. Next to the twins is our son Harry. The last redhead is the other redheads' father, Arthur." They all said hi except for Harry who just nodded. "For those who don't know I'm Billy Black. The kid next to me is my son Jacob. Next to him is Sam, Paul, Jared, Quil, Embry, Seth, and last Leah." They nodded when they heard their names. "Well dig in." as soon as the words left Sirius the shape shifter started to eat at an alarming rate. "Bloody hell, don't..." "you have manners?" "Leave some food..." "for the rest..." " of us ." The wolves looked down in shame. Everyone else except for Harry laughed while he looked like he was going to be sick. The boys started to eat at a slower pace. An owl landed on the table in front of Arthur. A few seconds later Hedwig landed next to Harry's plate. Both opened the letters. Arthur read his. Dear Mr. Weasley, We have received your letter and in two weeks you are required to come to the ministry to sign the divorce papers and to officially disown Ronald William Weasley and Ginvera Margaret Weasley. Sincerely, Madam Bones. He folded the letter and put it in his pocket. The owl took a few pieces of chicken and flew off. Harry read his letter after Hedwig flew off. Dear little brother, I hear that you are in America. That is great. There are pictures of Molly after she had read the letter from the ministry about dad divorcing her and him disowning Ginny Ron. Oh and Percy is on dad's side. He and Penelope Clearwater are getting married.  He will be sending invitations. I am also seeing Oliver Wood. DO NOT TELL FRED AND GEORGE! I do not need them to tease me. With much love, Charlie Weasley Harry looked at the pictures. Molly was red faced with her jaw wide open.  Another was her screaming and pulling at her hair. The last one was her having a temper tantrum. She was jumping up and down, sending curses everywhere. He finally fell out of his chair laughing.  Everyone was looking at him strangely. "Pup you alright?" Sirius asked.   He just pointed at the pictures. George and Fred picked them up and looked at them. They handed them to Bill and started laughing. Bill passed them to Sirius, who passed them to Remus. After Remus passed it to Arthur all three of them started to laugh. Arthur joined in after seeing the pictures. After the laughing fit was over they finished eating even though the wolves and Billy were confused and still looking at them as if they grew another hand. Billy started up a conversation with Sirius.   "Oh Sirius, there are also vampires here."  Billy stated.   "We know.  They came here to make sure the citizens of Forks were okay.  One of the vamps is a seer.  She couldn't see Remus because he is a werewolf and Harry an elf."  He told him. Harry left to get the dessert while they talked. Once he was in the kitchen he started to take deep breaths.  He couldn't help it.  He didn't like being in a room with so many people for long.  He was still scared.  He grabbed the pies and walked back into the dining room.  After dinner was done the wolves and Billy went home and everyone started getting ready for bed. (Cullen's House) When the Cullens came home Esme asked them how their day went.  Jasper just glared at Rosalie.  Oh he was pissed.  How dare she?  She probably ruined his chances.  He was trying to take it slow.  He knew something was wrong with Harry, he just didn't know what.  Esme who saw the glare knew something had happened. "I told you already I am sorry.  I just want to see you happy.  You were so depressed when he wasn't in class."  Rose said, trying to defend herself.  "I didn't know that he would run off looking frightened." "There is something wrong with him and you probably made it worse."  Jasper said.  "I pointed out to you at the beginning of school that he flinches anytime someone touches him."  Rose was ashamed of herself.  How could she forget? "I am truly sorry Jazz.  I forgot about the flinching."  Rose apologized.   Jasper's face softened.  Her emotions were apologetic.   "It's okay Rose.  Thank you for caring."  He went up to his room.  He truly wanted to be with his mate, but would wait until his mate was ready. It was a few weeks later since the wolf pack was over.  Harry was still on his guard around people.  He stopped flinching when he expected to be touched.  Fred and George were the only two that he was really comfortable with.  They made sure of that.  It was Sunday.  They laid in the twins' room cuddling on George's bed.  Since coming to Forks the twins were able to really be themselves. They had gold streaks through their hair making it really look like fire.  Their hair was also spiked.  They started wearing tight clothes.  Their room was done in ocean blues and sea greens.  What most people didn't know was that Fred was gay and George was straight. Fred and George were trying to get Harry to talk to his mate.  They knew he was scared thanks to his uncle.  "Harry you should..." "give your mate..." " a chance ." "I guess I should, but I am scared.  What if he is like my uncle?" He bit his lip. Fred and George were heartbroken hearing their little brother thinking that everyone was going to hurt him and afraid to even talk to them.  They wanted to find the Dursleys and kill them slowly and painfully. "Harry if he is like your uncle we would kill him, but your mate is the person who will protect you not harm you."  Fred said.   "Really?"   "Yes really."  George said. "Don't worry little..." "brother your mate..." "will never let..." "anyone touch someone..." "as cute as..." " you ." Harry blushed when he heard that.  He thought that the twins were joking.  [Me cute, yeah right.  I am an ugly freak who is unloved and unwanted.]  He thought sadly. "Harry we know..." "what you are..." "thinking and you.." "should stop. You..." " are gorgeous ." The twins ended up falling asleep talking.  Harry Left their room and went into his garden. (Cullen residence) It was driving him crazy not talking to his mate.  It had been four weeks, fifteen hours, and three seconds since he met Harry.  He wanted to know what was wrong with him to help.  He wanted to know why he flinched when people touched him.  He wanted to know why Harry was scared of people.  He wanted to know everything about Harry.  He decided to talk to Carlisle.  So Jasper called him. "Hello Jasper."  "Hello Carlisle.  May I ask you a question?" He asked. "Of course you may son." He was always happy to help one of his children. "How should I approach Harry?  He always shies away from others." He asked. "Try talking to him in class or ask one of his fathers for help.  They know him better than we do." He answered. "Thank you Carlisle." "You’re welcome Jasper." Jasper left the house to go talk to one of Harry's fathers.  He told Esme where he was going. (Weasley-Lupin-Black residence.) Harry was watering the roses when he heard the doorbell.  He put down the watering can and went to answer the door.  He was surprised to see his mate at the door. "Um hi."  Harry said. Jasper smiled.  "Hello Harry.  May I talk to you?" He was nervous.  "Um sure." The green eyed elf had moved aside and let Jasper in.  He shut the door and led Jasper to the living room.  Harry sat down on one couch with his hands clasped in his lap.  His hair was hiding half his face and was staring at his feet.  Jasper sat on the other couch looking straight at Harry.  Jasper spoke first. "You do know that I am your mate right?" He asked. "Yes."  Harry spoke softly.  If Jasper hadn't been a vampire he would have strained to hear him. "What is your favorite color?"  Harry looked up surprised. "Um Purple." He answered. "Mine is dark blue.  What is your favorite flower?" He asked. Harry knew that Jasper wanted to get to him, but he was scared.  What if he did not like him? "Lilies."   Jasper really wanted Harry to ask him stuff back, but was going to be patient.  He was lucky that he was even talking to his mate.  He only came to talk to one of Harry's fathers.  He was happy that Harry answered the door and ecstatic that he was letting him talk to him. "I like poppies.  What is your favorite food?" He asked. "Apples." The first time he bit into one he thought he had tasted heaven. "My favorite food is bears." He could see that Harry's lips turn up slightly. "What is your favorite animal?" "Snakes." Nagini and the basilisk were the only ones he disliked. "Mine is bears.  Do you have control over anything?" He asked. "Earth." "Do you control nature, rocks, or both?" Was his next question. "Both." The elf answered. "I can manipulate emotions." He told him. " Hello Harry, Jasper ."  Harry and Jasper turn to see The twins coming down the stairs. "Harry could you..." "leave so that..." "we can talk..." "to Jasper?" Harry nods while he stands and goes into the kitchen.  Jasper was annoyed.  He didn't want Harry to leave.  He also was wondering what the twins wanted to talk to him about.  Judging from their faces it was serious. "Jasper what are..." "your intentions for..." " Harry ?" "Love and protect him." "Good answer.  Now..." "if you hurt..." "him we will..." " kill you ." "Oh and he… "is a chocoholic."  With that they got up and left.  Harry came back out with a glass of ice water and a blood pop.  He handed the blood pop to Jasper, then took a sip of water.  They talked a bit more until Sirius came home.  Sirius was surprised to see Harry alone with anyone but family. "Goodbye Harry I have to go now.  See you at school." The blonde vampire said. Harry just nodded.  After Jasper left Sirius sat down next to Harry.  Harry snuggled up to Sirius. "Are you okay Harry?" He asked his cub in concern. "Yeah.  Jasper is my mate and the twins told me to give him a chance." He said. "You should give your mate a chance.  Just remember that if he does hurt you Remy, Bill, Fred, George, and me will kill him." He kissed his forehead. "I know.  It's just hard not to think that he might be like Vernon." He admitted. "I know cub, but the fact that you are trying shows that you are healing." He said. "Siri can you tell me about mum and dad?" He asked. "Of course." Arthur walked out of the room. His heart broke for him. He just hoped things would turn around for him. He walked to his room to change out of his work clothes. Yesterday had been a bad day but the interview made it better. {Arthur walked into the police station ready for his interview.  He was being interviewed to do paperwork for sheriff Swan.   He was happy to actually be free.  He had found out that his wife had forgotten to give him a love potion for the past week. Now he was free from their influence.  He now was in contact with Percy and knew the real reason why he left.  He was saddened to know that two of his children were corrupted. He was glad that the twins had contacted him and saddened by what had happened to Harry.  He was happy to know that while Harry would flinch when being touched he still would hug Arthur. The secretary at the desk escorted him to where the interview would be.  He entered the room and sitting there was a man who he thought was his mate.  He had short chocolate brown hair and a mustache. He had chestnut brown eyes.  From living in a place where there was barely any sun he was pale.  He looked to be in his early forties. Charlie had looked up when the door had opened and a tall man walked into the room.  His skin was as pale as his.  The man had flaming red hair and hazel eyes.  He looked to be around the same age as himself.  For the first time since his ex-wife he was attracted to someone. "Hello I am Charlie Swan.  You must be Arthur Weasley." Charlie stood and shook the other's hand. "Yes.  It is a pleasure to meet you, Sheriff Swan." He managed to say evenly. "Please call me Charlie." He said with a smile. "Then call me Arthur." He smiled back. "Okay.  Well let's get started shall we." He said. For the past hour Charlie had asked Arthur questions.  He had come to a decision that he would hire Arthur. "Well Arthur you have the job." He told Arthur. "Thank you Charlie." "See you tomorrow at seven am." "See you then bye Charlie." "Bye"} Arthur was glad to have a job. He was also glad that he met Charlie Swan. He just hoped he was right about the man being his mate. Unfortunately years of love potions had messed with his magic and his mind. (Cullen residence) Jasper walked into the house and walked up to Carlisle's study.  He knocked on the door. "Come in Jasper." Carlisle said. "Did you talk to one of Harry's fathers?" "No, I talked to Harry." Jasper told him. "Really?"  He was surprised. "Yes, I asked if he knew we were mates and when he said yes I asked him questions to get to know him better.  He only gave me an answer, but at least he talked to me." He had a smile on his face. "That's true.  Hopefully he accepts being your mate." He was happy for his son and just hoped it worked out. "Hope so.  Half way through talking to him the red haired twins asked my intentions and then threatened to kill me." Jasper said with amusement. "They seem really protective of him." The older blonde commented. "Yes, I want to know why." He admitted. "It might explain why he barely eats or why he flinches." His doctor instincts were in overdrive whenever he thought about the elf. Jasper contemplated this.  He stood and said goodbye to Carlisle and went to his room.  He hoped that Harry would continue to talk to him. (Percy Weasley's flat few weeks ago) Percy had received a letter from the twins. He was beyond pissed after reading the contents. How could Molly, Ronald, and Ginevra do that to Harry? He never trusted Dumbledore and that was why two years ago he was against him. He had been ashamed and angry with himself for what he had said about Harry and that was why he went to the infirmary after the events of M.O.M to apologize. He was happy when Harry forgave him. Soon he had thought of Harry as a little brother. A soft voice broke him from his thoughts. "Is something wrong Percy?" He gave the letter to his fiancé, Penelope. She read the letter. When she was done she wanted to kill Molly, Ronald, and Ginevra. She looked up at Percy. She opened her mouth to say something when she heard a knock at the door. She went to go answer it. At the door was Charlie Weasley. He looked murderous. "Hello Penelope. Is Percy here?" He asked. "Yes." Penelope stepped aside and Charlie stepped in. "He is in the living room. Would you like anything to drink?" She asked him. "No thank you." Penelope nodded and left. Charlie walked into the living room. He saw his younger brother pacing. Percy looked up and saw Charlie. "Did the twins send you a letter too?" Percy asked sitting down in the armchair. "Yes and that's why I am here. I am going to send a letter to tell him whose side we're on." Charlie said sitting on the couch. "I am on Harry's and dad's side. Tell Harry that me and Penelope are getting married and will send out invitations soon." He said. "Okay." "I am also going to ruin them." He told him. "That will be easy. Dad is divorcing Molly and disowning Ronald and Ginevra. If we tell the Daily Prophet why, people would turn on them and Harry's other friends will make life hell for them. Plus a lot of what they did was illegal and the ministry will most likely take action. Harry might not realize it but there are many people in the ministry that care about him." His older brother confirmed. "Perfect." They both grinned at them. (Harry's Garden: Present) Harry was playing back his conversation with Jasper. He was glad that he had listened to Fred and George even though he was still scared. He felt better. Harry was thinking about Jasper's voice and how soothing it was. Hedwig sat on Harry's shoulder after dropping the newspaper on his lap. He gave her an owl treat. She nipped his ear affectionately before grabbing the treat in her beak and flying off. Harry read the newspaper and couldn't believe what he was reading. The articles were all about what his so-called friends and headmaster did to him. He stood up and walked into the living room. The only other person in the room was Arthur. He sat down next to him and snuggled into him. He showed Arthur the newspaper. The man took it and read it. "This is Percy's doing. He wants to make sure they pay for them hurting you." Arthur said. "Good. Dumbledore, Margaret, Ronald, and Ginevra will pay. Percy will make sure of that. Plus he is making up for how he treated me two years ago." Harry said. "That's true. Guess he was right about not trusting Dumbledore." He was still guilty despite not being in control of his actions. "Mmmm." Arthur looked down to see Harry had fallen asleep. Sirius had told him about this morning. He was glad Harry had talked to his mate. He had hoped Harry would continue talking to him. (Hogwarts) It was lunch time at Hogwarts when the mail arrived. The people who received the Daily Prophet were shocked. They turned and glared at Dumbledore and Ronald, Granger, and Ginevra. Albus Dumbledore was furious. First he lost the boy and now everyone knew what he did. Severus Snape was smirking. Finally Albus wouldn't keep blackmailing him. Minerva Mcgonagall and Poppy Pomfrey looked murderous. They could not believe it. Albus turned and saw that everyone was glaring at Ginevra, Ronald, Granger, and himself except for Severus who was smirking. "You do not honestly believe this do you? Why would I do this to young mister Potter?" He asked, trying to portray an innocent old man. "Do NOT lie to me Albus. I saw your face when you read this. I hope they fire you." Minerva said through her teeth. "How could you do this to a sweet boy like Harry? I am glad he left." Poppy said. A soft dreamy voice was heard in the quiet room. "The puppet cut the strings and now the puppet master is losing all of his puppets. Soon all will cut their strings and be free of his manipulations." Everyone looked at Luna in shock. The only ones who know of her visions are Neville and Harry. She knew where Harry was and wasn't worried. She looked at the head table, giggled, and went back to eating. Kingsley and Mad-eye entered the Great Hall. They both liked Harry. He would always ask if they were okay and if there was anything he could do for them. He was always putting others first. They both felt protective over the young male and thought of him as their little brother, just like all the Weasley. "Dumbledore we are placing you under arrest." Kingsley said. "I am afraid you can not do that. You see everything in the Daily Prophet is a lie." He told them. "We were sent by the minister, Madam Bones. She was sent proof of ALL your crimes." Mad-eye informed him. Poppy knew that he would cause a disappearing trick. She raised her wand. "Stupify." Minerva had the same thought and raised her wand and shouted. "Petrificus Totalus." Albus dodged Minerva's spell, but was hit with Poppy's. Kingsley quickly cast a stronger version of Petrificus Totalus. They tied Dumbledore in magical ropes quickly and then turned to Ginevra and Ronald. "Mr and Miss Prewett please come with us.  You too Miss Granger." Ginevra and Granger did as they were told, because they were too scared to say no. They stood up and followed Mad-eye as he dragged Dumbledore. Ronald told them no, that Potter deserved what he got.  Kingsley stupefied him before he tied him up and also dragged Ronald out. "All students will go back to your dorms immediately. The rest of your classes are canceled." Minerva said. All the students left. All who knew Harry wanted to kill Dumbledore and the Prewetts. Harry always helped the younger years no matter what house they were in. He never started fights and would only insult someone when they had insulted his parents or friends. "Did anyone know about what Dumbledore did to Harry?" Minerva asked. All the teachers shook their heads. They all liked Harry except for Severus. He only saw James and not Harry. Harry would always ask to help the teachers. They hope that Harry didn't think that they were in on it. Poppy loved Harry as if he was her grandson. He was sweet and always came to see her when he wasn't hurt. The only problem was that whenever she scanned to see his injury three-fourths of it would come up blank. She was glad he left. Away from the manipulations of his teacher and friends. Two owls flew into the great hall. One flew over to Severus and the other over to Minerva. They accepted the letters and the owls flew off. Severus was in shock. Potter told him that he was the deputy headmaster now. Minerva was also shocked. Seeing the looks on their colleges they were curious. "Harry is the heir to Gryffindor, Slytherin, and Ravenclaw. He just made me headmistress and Severus deputy headmaster." They all were shocked. Harry had three of the oldest blood in his blood and just made Severus deputy headmaster. (Prewett Residence) Molly was furious. How could her own son do this to her. First Harry disappears, then her husband divorces her and disowns two of their kids, and now her son tells everyone what Albus, Ron, Ginny, and her did. After all that she did for him. [After all that I did for Arthur, Percy, and Harry this is what I get. I don't think so.] She thought. [I will make them pay. I still have the key to one of the Potter faults. I will drain him of that money.] She laughed. [That brat didn't even know he is rich or that he is Godric Gryffindor's heir.] She was startled out of her thoughts when there came a knock at the door. She quickly answered it to find Tonks. For the first time since she had known her she had a blank, emotionless face. Behind that blank, emotionless face, Tonks was beyond being furious.  When Harry had first met Tonks he had asked her why she wanted to be called Tonks.  She told him her first name and told him how she hated it.  He said that he would make sure to call her Tonks.  He always seemed to know if she was upset or sad, because when she was he would always do something to make her happy again.  She also liked how he was always putting others first instead of always thinking about himself.  Harry was also the first person to figure out that she was in a relationship with Kingsley and supported her.  She felt very protective of Harry and felt that Harry was her little brother.  When she was ordered to arrest Margaret Prewett she was overjoyed, she was happy to arrest that bitch. "Margaret Prewett, you are under arrest. Come with me." Tonks told her. "WHAT! NO!" Margaret screamed. She was about to say something else when a powerful stunning curse hit her. Behind her was Charlie and Oliver. They knew from Percy that she was being arrested and Charlie knew that she would resist. "Wotcher Charlie, Oliver." Tonks grinned. Oliver nodded and Charlie said hello. Charlie put his wand away. Because he worked with dragons he was more powerful and that was how they knew Margaret would be unconscious for a while. "Do you know where Harry is?" Charlie asked. He wanted to visit Harry. He helped him whenever he was injured thanks to the dragons. He would also tell him if the twins were going to prank him. He knew that Oliver was fond of him too. He had helped Oliver with quidditch and helped him keep the twins in line. "No, sorry boys. Write Bill and ask him or even the twins." She said. "That is a great idea. Why didn't you think of that Charlie? We could have visited Harry by now." Oliver glared at his boyfriend. "Like you came up with a great idea." Charlie said. Tonks giggled. She conjured ropes that tied up Margaret. Before she left she told the boys one more thing. "Oh, before I forget Dumbledore, Granger, and the other Prewetts were arrested already. Dumbledore and the Prewetts were arrested during lunch at Hogwarts.  Oh and when you find out where our little brother is could you please tell me, Kingsley, and Mad-eye.  We would also like to visit."  "Thanks Tonks and don't worry I'll tell you three." Charlie assured her. "Don't thank me, thank your brother.  Oh and thanks." Tonks said. With that she left dragging Margaret with her. Charlie spotted something glittering on the floor where Molly had been. He went over to pick it up. Oliver followed. They both saw that it was a gold key with a Griffin engraved on it. Oliver gasped. "That's the key for Gryffindor's vault." He said. "It was." Charlie was still pissed about it. "What?" Oliver was confused. "A new key had been made. Had she tried to use it she would have been arrested." Charlie informed him. "I don't understand." Charlie smiled at him before telling him of what happened at the bank. At least what the twin's letter had said. {Before Sirius, Remus, Bill, Fred, George, and Harry left for America they went to Gringotts to switch their vaults to the American Gringotts. They also wanted to know if Dumbledore, Margaret, Ronald, or Ginvera had stolen money or heirlooms. Harry walked up to the podium with his new family. He knew that it was wrong, but he felt that the Weasleys deserved any money they stole for putting up with a freak like him. He felt bad for them, because they were always getting hurt from being near him. "Stop thinking about..." "those horrible thoughts..." "Harry. Start thinking..." "of our new..." " life ." Harry smiled up at the twins. He was happy that they were coming with them. They always knew how to cheer him up or calm him. They always knew when he was thinking horrible thoughts. "Hello Griphook." Harry said when he saw him. "Hello Mr. Potter-Lupin-Weasley-Black. Please follow me." They all followed Griphook into an office. They all sat in the chairs around the desk. Harry was dragged into Bill's lap. He curled up and snuggled into his chest. "Now we received a letter stating that you think that someone has been stealing from your vaults." Griphook said. "Vaults? I thought that I only had one." Harry was confused. "No you have seven vaults and access to one, Mr. Potter-Lupin-Weasley-Black." He corrected him. "What?" Harry was confused. If he had seven vaults, then why hadn't he known. Sirius and Remus were in shock. "Your guardian was Albus Dumbledore until you were emancipated from entering the tournament. We sent letters to you, but my guess is that you never received them." Griphook informed them "That bastard." Remus growled. "What are my vaults?" Harry asked. "One of your vaults is a trust fund for Hogwarts. Then you have the Potter, Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Pervell, and Evens. You have access to the Black vault as its heir." Griphook answered. "Wow." Everyone was shocked. "As the heir to Gryffindor, Slytherin, and Ravenclaw you own three-fourths of Hogwarts." Harry was speechless. He owned most of Hogwarts. He made a mental note to send a letter to professor Mcgonagall and professor Snape. "To retrieve the head of house family rings and keys you must place a drop of blood in this basin and stick your hand in." Griphook told Harry. Harry did as he was told. He pulled out 7 keys and 7 rings. "If you want one ring just think it and it will happen." He heard Bill say. Harry did and a platinum ring with mini family crests around an emerald. Harry slipped it onto his finger. He put the keys in his pocket. "I will go see if anything has been stolen from your vaults." Griphook said. "Thanks Griphook." Griphook nodded before leaving. Harry sighed and snuggled further into Bill's chest and fell asleep. The other occupants in the room smiled fondly at him. An hour later Griphook came back just as Harry was waking up. He gave Griphook a sleepy smile. "I am sorry to say that three of your vaults had been stolen from. The Potter vault of fifty thousand and forty-seven Galleons, one Sickles, and ten Knuts. The heirlooms are the Potter consort ring, ten necklaces, five bracelets, and a Potter circulate. From the Evens one million Galleons. From the Gryffindors two hundred million two hundred ninety-four thousand and one hundred nineteen Galleons, eleven Sickles, and fourteen Knuts. Gryffindors heirlooms are Godric's sword, two hundred necklaces, fifty rings, Gryffindor's circulate, and the whole collection of Gryffindor's defense books." " Holy fuck. " The twins cursed. Everyone stared at Griphook in shock. That was a lot of money and heirlooms from three vaults. "Are you able to retrieve all this back?" Bill asked. He knew that they could bring back stolen money and heirlooms, but this was a lot. "Yes, we can. Even though this is a lot we will be able to retrieve them all." Griphook said, giving them all a smirk that sent shivers down their spines. "We will be moving to Forks, Washington in America. We would like our vaults transferred to the American branch." "It will be done. The owners of the vaults will have to sign these." He handed them the papers and they all signed them. "We will owl you when everything is recovered." They nodded and left.} "Dear Merlin." Oliver gasped. "Yeah. The goblins were tracking where the money went and who were the ones to withdraw from the vaults. They were also tracking which day the heirlooms and books were withdrawn and by who. I believe they are also tracking down the goblin who took them to the vaults to see how the theft was allowed to happen in the first place. Fred and George said that they are ready to get it all back in about two week." He said. "Wow." His boyfriend was stunned. "Yeah." He said sadly. "Let's go home." "Okay." (Weasley-Lupin-Black-Potter Residence) Harry was in the garden planting yet another lily.  Since his talk with Jasper he had been receiving different types and colors of lilies.  They were now all planted in his garden.  This lily was a purple Stargazer Lily.  Harry felt guilty for not giving anything to Jasper.  [Mmmm.  I know what to give him.]  Harry thought while smiling.  [This will be a thank you for all the flowers he has given me.]  Harry wandlessly summoned his sketchbook, pencil, and colored pencils.  He started to draw out the picture that was in his head.  After he finished drawing he started to color and smiled when it came out right.  He carefully ripped the paper out of his sketchbook and summoned a box.  He placed his drawing in there and picked a midnight blue poppy from his garden.  He cast a preservation charm on it and put the flower on top of the drawing.  He then summoned a piece of wood and transfigured it into a small bear.  The eyes of the bear were amber and the light wood turned into very light brown almost blonde fur.  He set that next to the flower and closed the lid.  He wrapped the box up and then wrote a thank you note for all the flowers and placed it on the lid before he tied a ribbon on it.  He walked upstairs to get ready for school. Today he braided his hair and tied it with a dark red ribbon.  He put on a blood red button up shirt and black jeans.  He wore blood red converse shoes and a black jean jacket.  He carefully placed his present to Jasper into his backpack and went downstairs to make breakfast.  Remus came down only to find Harry dancing and singing while cooking breakfast. Remus was happy to see his cub happy.  He hated himself for not saving Harry sooner and was angry at those who hurt him.  He snickered at what he was seeing, gaining Harry's attention.  Harry squeaked and blushed in embarrassment. "Great show cub."   Harry's blush deepened. "H-hi Remy."  He managed to stutter. Harry went back to cooking before the food burned.  He set the table and called everyone down.  He sat down to eat.  He was really hungry.  He placed two eggs on his plate, 5 pieces of bacon, a strawberry pancake, and a glass of orange juice.  By the time he was finished filling his plate his family was sitting down.  They were happy to see he was starting to eat more. When he had finished, he put his plate into the sink, grabbed his bag and headed to school after checking the glamor on his ears. (At school) Harry had started coming early so that he didn't get stared at.  He was happy to see that the Cullens were already there.  Harry parked his motorcycle, took off his helmet, and took out the gift from the bag.  He slowly made his way over to Jasper, who smiled when he noticed Harry.  As soon as Harry reached Jasper he handed him his gift.  He had all the Cullens's attention.  Jasper grabbed the gift and much to the surprise of everyone and Harry himself, Harry kissed Jasper on the cheek and ran off to his first class. Jasper just stood there with his hand over the place where Harry's warm lips had been.  He broke out of his trance though when his family started to laugh.  He remembered the gift and looked down at it.  He saw a letter sticking out from under the ribbon.  He opened the letter and read it. Dear Jasper, Thank you for the flowers, they are lovely.  They are now in my garden.  I hope you like your gift.  It is a thank you gift for the flowers. Love, Harry Jasper unwrapped his present and opened the lid.  Inside was a small bear, a dark blue poppy, and a picture.  The picture was of a light brown almost blonde bear in a field of dark blue poppies.  He loved it.  He put the lid back on and placed the box with his gifts in his backpack. (After school) Harry had avoided Jasper all day.  He figured that his mate was disgusted with him.  He was waiting for the Cullens to leave so that he could.  He had seen the silver volvo race away and made his way to his motorcycle.  He stopped when he saw Jasper standing there waiting for him.  He sighed and walked up to him. "Hi Jasper."  Harry was glad that he didn't stutter. "Hi Harry.  Thank you for the gifts.  I love them."  He smiled brightly causing Harry to blush. "Y-you're welcome."  Harry suddenly found the ground interesting. "Thank you for the kiss."  He was amused at how red Harry had become. "You're not disgusted by it?"  Jasper stared at Harry confused. "NO! Of course not.  I loved it."  Harry looked up startled. "Really?"  He asked innocently. "Really."  The blonde smiled at Harry still confused. "Would you like to come over?"  He asked quietly. "I'd love to."  Harry saw Jasper's eyes light up when he saw the motorcycle and Harry had an idea. "Would you like to drive?"  Jasper looked over at Harry in shock. "Are you sure?" He asked. "Absolutely." Harry got on back after putting on his helmet and Jasper sat in front.  Jasper pulled out of there at high speed towards Harry's house.  Harry wrapped his hands tightly around Jasper's waist.  Jasper grinned as he was riding a motorcycle and Harry was hugging him. (Weasley-Lupin-Black-Potter Residence) Jasper slowed down before he entered Harry's driveway.  Harry had gotten off first, then Jasper.  Harry gave Jasper his bag and started for the house.  Jasper smiled and walked after Harry.  He stopped when he felt a wave of passion.  He was about to tell Harry, when Harry opened the door and started laughing.  Jasper walked up to Harry to see what he was laughing about when he saw sheriff Swan and Arthur Weasley sitting on the couch with tomato red faces.  Jasper started laughing too. "Sorry to interrupt grandpa."  Harry smirked. "Funny Harry, real funny."  Arthur said while glaring at them. "Do I need to give you THE talk boys?"  He asked, snickering. "Ha ha, funny Harry."  He said while trying not to smile. "I could get Remy in here.  REMY CAN YOU COME IN HERE PLEASE?"  Harry yelled. "Harry what are you doing?"  Arthur asked.  He looked at Harry and saw a mischievous look in his eyes. Remus came into the living room.  He saw sheriff Swan and Arthur on the couch red painted on their faces, Harry and Jasper at the doorway.  Harry had a smirk on his face and a mischievous look glittering in his eyes.  Jasper also had a smirk on his lips. "May I ask what is going on?"  Remus was curious since Harry was not acting shy. "Could you give them THE talk Remy."  Harry asked innocently. "Of course.  Go do your homework Harry, Jasper."  He said as a smirk appeared on his face.. "Okay Remy."  Harry grabbed Jasper's hand and walked upstairs giggling. "Now Arthur, remember to have safe sex."  Remus said as he walked away laughing. "You're not even funny Remus." The red haired wizard growled. "Grandpa?"  Charlie was confused. "My son is seeing Remus and Sirius.  Sirius adopted Harry and so now it is a joke about me being a grandpa." He answered. "Oh." and with that said Arthur and Charlie went back to snogging. (Harry's room) Jasper looked around Harry's room loving it.  This was definitely Harry's room.  He sat down on his bed.  Harry sat next to Jasper.  Harry again turned shy. "Your room is beautiful." He told his mate. "Thank you.  We should do our homework, then we could hang out in the garden." He said with a blush. "Sure Harry." Harry and Jasper worked quietly on their homework.  They both kept sneaking glances at each other.  Every time Jasper would sense Harry staring at him he would look up and Harry would look away.  Harry would sometimes feel Jasper looking at him and would look up, but Jasper had already looked away.   Jasper had finished first and waited for Harry to get done.  When Harry was finished he put his stuff away, grabbed Jasper's hand again, and led him to the garden.  Jasper was in awe.  Not even Esme's garden was like this.  Everything was in bloom. "Wow Harry, this is beautiful." He complimented. "Thank you."  Harry said smiling. Harry and Jasper sat down on two of the chairs.  They talked or rather Harry listened to Jasper's stories of when he was turned, when he met Alice, when he met the Cullens, and the stories of the places they lived in.  Harry smiled as he listened.  He could tell that Jasper really loved his family. Towards the end of Jasper's stories Harry fell asleep.  His head fell onto Jasper's shoulders and Jasper looked down grinning.  He picked Harry up and carried him up to his room.  He tucked him in, leaving a note on his nightstand, he left. (Weasley-Lupin-Black-Potter Residence) Harry woke up a couple of hours later.  He noticed Jasper was gone and was disappointed. He then noticed a note on the nightstand.  Picking it up he realized it was from Jasper. Dear Harry, I had to leave, but thank you for letting me come over. Love, Jasper. Harry smiled.  He went down to the kitchen to get a drink.  He poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice and sat down at the kitchen table.  Soon Arthur walks in with slightly mussed up hair, causing Harry to giggle.  Arthur glared at Harry playfully before grabbing a glass of pumpkin juice. "Is he your mate, grandpa?"  Harry asked quietly. "I think he is.  After so many years under the influence of love potions I can not tell anymore." He sighed. "Maybe professor Snape will help.  He did after all help us win the war and is a good man from what mum's diaries tell me." He suggested. "Maybe.  It doesn't hurt to ask."  Arthur looked at Harry.  He looked happier since Jasper came.  "I am glad that you are happy, Harry." "Thank you, grandpa."  Harry drank his juice before continuing.  "I took the twins advice and gave Jasper a chance and I'm glad I did.  He is so sweet and kind to me."  He blushed. Arthur got up, kissed Harry on the forehead, and left to go owl professor Snape.  Harry finished his juice and magically had his and Arthur's glass be washed and put away.  After they were put away, he started dinner. (Cullen Residence) Jasper Cullen arrived home with a smile on his face.  His family noticed and wondered what put him in such a good mood.  After Jasper put the gifts Harry had given him in his room, he went into Carlisle's office to tell him about his day.  Carlisle was amazed with the progress that his son made with Harry. "Seems whatever Harry was going through he is starting to heal and I think that you are helping him heal." He answered. "How am I helping?"  Jasper was confused. "By being kind and showing him love.  I called his father, Remus, to ask what was wrong with him." He said. "What did he say?" He asked. "He said that it wasn't his place to tell, but to tell you that if you wanted to help heal him, then all you need to do is shower him with love." He answered. "I plan to."  With that said Jasper left to make plans for Harry. Carlisle smiled at Jasper as he left.  He was glad that Jasper wasn't lonely.  His wife and him hated seeing him so alone, while everyone else had mates.  Finally his mate had come and he was helping Jasper just as much as Jasper was helping Harry. (Jasper's room) Jasper's room was done in navy blue and a light wood color.  Unlike the rest of the family, Jasper didn't have a bed.  He didn't need one.  He was thinking about getting one so that Harry had something to sleep on if he ever came over.   He placed the picture that Harry drew him over his dresser after he put it in a frame, placed the bear on top of his desk, and placed the blue poppy in a vase on top of the dresser next to the drawing.  Jasper's phone rang and he picked it up after seeing that the caller was Harry. "Hello Harry."  Jasper purred his name. "H-hello Jasper."  He knew by Harry's stuttering that he was blushing. "Why are you calling?" He asked. "I was wondering if tomorrow you would like to come over?" His mate asked after a few seconds. "Love to." He said. "Great.  Bye Jasper, see you tomorrow."  "See you tomorrow." Jasper smiled after Harry hung up.  He was going to call Harry and ask him out on a date, but he would do that tomorrow.  He was still going to give Harry his gift.  He was going to give it to Harry today, but decided he would give it to Harry if he accepted to go out on a date with him.  Jasper laid down on the couch in his room, grinning.  He was imagining what tomorrow was going to be like. (Twins' room) After dinner the twins and Harry went back to the twins' room.  Harry was smiling through dinner.  The twins wanted to know why, especially since their dad and Remus seemed to know what was causing Harry to smile. "So Harry, We..."  Harry could tell that Fred was the first to speak. "wanted to know..."  George took over for Fred. "what has made..." "you so happy..." "and smile throughout..." " dinner ."  And as usual they finished together. "Well I gave Jasper three gifts and he came home with me after school."  He told them. "So what happened?"  George asked. "Well we saw grandpa and sheriff Swan snogging out on the couch."  Fred and George looked at Harry and then themselves in shock. "No way!"  "You're kidding!"  They exclaimed at the same time.  Harry giggled. "Yup."  Harry said happily and the twins could see that Harry was smirking.  "I teased grandpa and I will give you the memory later." The twins looked at Harry and started laughing. "I went upstairs with Jasper.  We did our homework and talked for a while, before I fell asleep."  Harry took out a note and showed the twins. "Aw..." "how..." " cute. " Harry shook his head and snuggled into the twins and fell asleep. (Twins Room) Harry was still asleep in the twins room the next morning.  The twins had finally decided to make muggle pranks and sell them to muggles and set up a wizarding prank shop in the nearest wizarding area.  They were discussing where and how they were going to set up their new stores. "I think we should set it up in Port Angela, Gred." George suggested. "That's a good idea, Forge.  We have enough money to set up two stores.  One in the muggle world and one in the wizarding world." He agreed. "Love it." He smiled. "Shhh.  You're too loud."  Harry threw pillows at them. " Hey !”   They grabbed the pillows thrown at them then pounced on the bed.  They started a pillow fight that left the room and downstairs where Bill and Sirius were.  Harry hit Sirius with a pillow and the twins hit Bill. "Why you."  Was all Sirius said before grabbing a couch pillow and joining in. Bill glared darkly at the twins causing them to gulp and back away.  Bill also grabbed a couch pillow and joined in.  They continued to do so until Harry had gotten an idea.  He glowed a light green as he was using a lot of power and four vines slowly wrapped around their ankles lifting them up. " Hey! "  They all screamed causing Harry to giggle. "He he, now you are all my prisoners." He said evilly. "Get us down brat.  NOW!"  Sirius demanded.  Harry looked like he was thinking about it. "Nope."  He said as he shook his head.  Suddenly he smirked causing the others to blanch.  "REMY, GRANDPA, CAN YOU COME IN HERE PLEASE?"  He cast a silencing charm on them. Remus and Arthur came into the living room only to bend over laughing.  Remus stood and the others could see tears coursing down his cheeks. "Yes, Harry?" He asked. "I have to change since Jasper is coming over, but I need you both to watch my prisoners." He smiled at the werewolf. "Of course cub.  I will take Bill and Sirius and Arthur, you can take Fred and George." He chuckled. "Sure." Harry let them down, but made sure that they were stunned before leaving the room giggling.  Remus dragged his husbands upstairs and Arthur dragged the twins outside.  Before leaving the room, Arthur made the room clean itself and the twin's pillows were put back in their room. (Harry's room) Harry was glad that at home he didn't have to wear a glamour.  His hair was tied up into a high ponytail and was tied with a silver ribbon and he put in diamond stud earrings.  Harry was dressed in a tight silver button up shirt, tight black jeans, and silver dragon hide boots.  Harry went into the bathroom to examine himself.  He thought he looked okay so he went down stairs just as the doorbell rang. He answered the door only to freeze.  Jasper is in a tight black muscle shirt.  His jeans are also tight.  Harry's mouth went dry and he was aroused.  Jasper was also affected by Harry's appearance.  He could see every muscle on Harry's chest and legs.  Jasper felt Harry's arousal and that increased his own.  Jasper swallowed a ton of venom before speaking. "You look very beautiful Harry." The vampire complimented. "T-thank you."  Harry was surprised that not all the blood had gone south as he blushed.  "You look handsome too." "Thank you." "Um, please come in."  He moved out of the way and Jasper walked in. "You look much cuter with your elf ears out."  Jasper said when he passed Harry, causing him to blush even more.  He thought that his mate was very cute when he blushed. Harry led the way out into his garden.  Even though there was barely any sun, the plants grew and bloomed beautifully.  Jasper was amazed.  His gold eyes widened when he noticed Harry glowed light green for a second, before more of the flowers bloomed and more began to grow. "Wow." "What?"  Harry asked, wondering why Jasper was looking at him wide-eyed. "You glowed light green and the flowers began to grow and bloom." He informed him. "Oh.  That is how my family and I found out what my powers were.  I'm an earth elf, and if earth elves are around nature or plants, then they start to grow and bloom.  I didn't know that I glowed though." It was a good thing he was careful outside his home. Jasper just nodded causing Harry to giggle knowing that Jasper was stunned.  The blonde noticed and playfully glared at him.  Harry noticing the glare, stuck out his tongue.  Jasper shook his head. A brown owl flew down and rested on Harry's shoulder holding out one of his legs.  Harry took the letter and the owl flew off.  Harry opened the letter and read it.  He paled as he read it.  The letter fell to the ground as the elf began to shake.  Harry fell to his knees, crying.  Jasper also dropped to his knees, putting his arms around Harry, sending him calming feelings.  Harry's head landed on Jasper's shoulder, falling asleep.  Jasper picked him up bridal style, he also picked up the letter, and carried Harry inside. Jasper walked into the living room where Bill was sitting reading a book.  Bill looked up to see the vampire carrying an unconscious Harry.  The redhead jumped to his feet in panic. "What happened?" He asked. "I don't know.  An owl came and Harry took the letter from its foot.  Then the owl took off and Harry read it.  He went pale, fell to the ground, and started to shake.  I sent him some calming feelings and he fell asleep."  Good thing he was a vampire and didn't need to breathe or else he would have been gasping for air. "Where is the letter?"  Jasper gave it to him. "Go lay him down on his bed and stay with him in case he has a nightmare."  Bill ordered and Jasper nodded then went upstairs to do what he was told and Bill read the letter. Dear Potter, If you think that you are free from us then you are wrong, Freak.  Once Molly, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Albus are free, we are going to come and find you.  We will teach you a lesson you won't forget.  If you think that your uncle was bad, you are in for a real surprise.  I'm going to fuck you so hard that you will never be able to sit again.  Then all of us are going to carve what you really are into your skin and whip you so much that your back won't have any unblemished skin.  Then we will use the cruciatus curse on you.  I don't know what the other's will do to you, but you can bet it will be awful.  Before we leave I will cast a spell that will make you relive all your worst memories.  Oh and we will continue to visit until you die.  Now doesn't that sound like fun. No? Well you deserve it, Freak.  How dare you get them arrested and how dare you get me fired.  Can't wait to see you.  You will be seeing us soon, as I plan to break the other 5 out as soon as possible. See you soon Freak, Your torturer. [No wonder Harry was scared and who the fuck is this? Better contact the rest of the family and contact the Aurors.]  Bill thought as he went to the fireplace to floo the aurors and reached in his pocket to grab the cell phone so that he could call everyone home. (Harry's room) Jasper laid Harry on the bed and sat down at his desk. He was worried about his mate.   [Please don't let Harry have nightmares please, please, please.] Unfortunately his wish was unanswered. [I was running away from my uncle.  Dudley broke aunt Petunia's expensive vase and had blamed it on me and now I was in trouble. I ran and ran farther ahead of my uncle, but tripped on the glass shards of the vase and landed on them.  I now had cuts on my hands and knees since my pants were already ripped.  My uncle grabbed me and started walking towards the basement. Uncle Vernon threw me on the ground and my head smashed against the floor painfully.  He tied my hands together and then put the collar on that was chained to the floor.  He told me to count every time the whip hits me until I reach one hundred.  I did and after the third hit the buckle started to cut me.  I was starting to get dizzy and my vision blurred before fifty hits.  I knew that if I fell and closed my eyes it would be worse.   "One hundred!"  I screamed. He stopped and walked until he was in front of me.  He pulled down his pants and I panicked.  I didn't want to do this again.  He told me to suck and I knew what would happen if I didn't so I did.  He grabbed the back of my head and started to thrust in and out of my mouth painfully.  Oh god it hurts.  Why did this always happen to me? "You better swallow all of it or else."  Uncle Vernon threatened, so when he came I swallowed all of it. "You're such a freak.  Bet you love to suck my cock you sick little slut." Uncle Vernon turned and left.  I heard a click and knew that he locked me down here until later so that he could do it all over again.] Jasper felt Harry's panic and pain and was trying to wake Harry up. "Harry, wake up.  Come on Harry, you have to wake up.  It is only a dream."  Jasper said as he gently shook Harry. Harry opened his eyes and saw that Jasper was leaning over him.  Harry scooted over and patted the spot next to him.  Jasper seeing this laid down next to Harry and was surprised when Harry put his head on Jasper's chest and fell asleep feeling safe. (With the twins at a Cafe) Fred and George were sitting at one of the tables in a cafe in Port Angeles.  They were discussing plans for their shop.  They agreed with Harry that it should be opened to both Muggles and magical folks.  George would work on the muggle side of the shop and develop new muggle pranks, while Fred worked on the magical side and develop magical pranks.  They would still share ideas with each other. Fred was also trying to figure out why Jacob was avoiding him.  He knew that Jacob had imprinted on him when the pack was over at dinner.  Every time he saw Jacob and Jacob saw him, Jacob would run the other way.  It was very frustrating. George sighed as he watched his brother.  He knew how much pain his brother was in knowing that his mate was avoiding him.  He was pissed off at Jacob for ignoring Fred.  Fred's phone rang. "Hello?"  "Fred, I need both you and George home asap."  Bill demanded through the phone. "Why?"  Fred said in concern. "Harry received a letter and he panicked.  I don't know who wrote it, but it is sick and I am calling everyone home." His brother answered. "Okay, George and I will be home soon." Fred said before hanging up the phone. "What's happening?" George asked. "Harry received a letter that caused him to panic and according to Bill it is sick and we are going home." George just nodded and both stood up and left after paying. (With Charlie and Arthur) Arthur and Charlie were at the police station sneaking glances at each other when Arthur's phone rang. He quickly answered it. "Hello." "Dad, I need you to come home asap." Bill said. "Why?"  Arthur was worried by Bill's desperate tone. Bill explained what happened. Hearing Harry's reaction put him on edge. He really wished fate would stop picking on the poor boy. He had been through enough. "Fine, I'm leaving now." Arthur stood up and went over to Charlie. "Charlie I have to go home.  It is a family emergency." Arthur told him. "Alright. Is everything alright?" Charlie asked in concert. "No, but hopefully it will be." He replied truthfully. "Call me if you need anything."  Arthur nodded and left. (With Sirius and Remus) Remus was about to leave work and go home with Sirius when his phone rang. Remus saw that it was Bill and answered it. His gut twisted knowing that it wasn't good news. "Hello Bill." He greeted. "Remus is Sirius with you yet?" Bill asked. "Yeah he is standing next to me, why?" The twist worsened. "I need both of you to come home asap." He told them. "Why?" He asked. Bill explained what happened. Remus paled causing Sirius to wonder what was wrong. "We're leaving right now." Remus said before hanging up. "What's wrong?" Sirius asked. "Bill said that we need to get home, because Harry received a letter and he panicked.  He said that it was sick." "Fuck."  Sirius and Remus left. [Harry was back to when he was a five year old child who was made to clean up the living room.  He was dusting when Dudley pushed him into his aunt's expensive vase.  Harry had tried to catch it, but it smashed on his tiny hand, cutting him.  His uncle who was in the kitchen since it was Sunday, heard the noise and went into the living room to see what had happened.  Dudley saw his father and went to him and started screaming and crying. "H-he tried t-to hit me."  Dudley sobbed as he pointed at Harry who was holding his bleeding hand. "BOY HOW DARE YOU TRY TO HIT DUDLEY AND HOW DARE YOU BREAK YOUR AUNT'S EXPENSIVE VASE!"  Vernons face was quickly turning purple.  "WE TAKE YOU IN AND FEED YOU AND THIS IS HOW YOU PAY US BACK?!  WELL,  I'LL SHOW YOU BOY!" Vernon grabbed his nephew and dragged him up stairs.  Dudley smiled and turned on the t.v.  Vernon dragged his nephew up to Dudley's second bedroom.  He threw Harry on the ground and started to kick and punch the child.  Harry passed out and Vernon picked him up and took him down stairs.  When he reached the cupboard he threw Harry into it.  The scene changed when Vernon slammed the door. The scene had changed to when Harry was six years old and was cowering away from his uncle.  Vernon grabbed a hold of Harry's arm and wrote the word FREAK on it with a knife.  Next he started to punch and kick Harry.  After Vernon was satisfied with that he tore off Harry's shirt and turned him around. He took off his belt and started to whip him.  Harry was screaming and that just made him whip Harry longer.  After Harry started to bleed from the metal buckle he then carved FREAK into his back and threw him in his cupboard.  The scene changed again. This time it was when Harry was twelve and was sleeping on his bed the day before Vernon's aunt arrived.  He was awakened by his uncle smacking him.  His uncle stood above Harry watching him with a hungry look.  The same look he gave Harry when he wanted Harry to suck him.  Vernon pulled down his pants and placed his penis near Harry's lips. "Suck or you know what will happen." He demanded. Harry did what he was told, for he knew that his uncle would whip him.  Vernon thought that this was the only good thing that the little freak was good at.  Soon Vernon started to thrust his cock in and out of Harry's mouth causing Harry to choke.  Vernon kept this up until he came. "Drink it all up and then clean me up, freak."  Harry did as told and soon the scene changed. This scene was when Harry was fifteen years old and only him and Vernon were home by themselves and Harry was forced to do chores naked.  Harry hated that his uncle forced him to do this.  Harry knew his uncle was watching him, but was surprised when he felt a hand on his ass. "Bend over the couch now."  His uncle ordered.   Harry did as he started to panic.  Every room he cleaned, his uncle would rape him.  He was in a great deal of pain, but if he complained it would result in him getting whipped then raped.  His uncle entered him forcibly and then proceeded to fucked him.  After his uncle was done Vernon turned back to the t.v and Harry went back to cleaning.] "Harry, wake up.  Wake up."  Harry heard a familiar voice say as someone shook his shoulder. Harry opened his eyes and saw the worried face of his mate.  He was touched to see the amber eyes look at him with concern.  It was nice to know that there was actually someone that cares about him and was always surprised when he saw it. "Are you alright?" He asked. "Yes I am, Jasper."  Harry leaned over and kissed Jasper's mouth quickly, surprising his mate. Jasper smiled at his mate and kissed Harry back swiftly and softly.  Harry giggled and snuggled into Jasper and fell back to sleep again.  Hoping that this time he wouldn't get a nightmare, but a good dream about Jasper, him, and his family. (Down stairs when Harry was dreaming) Bill, Sirius, Remus, Arthur, Fred, and George were all sitting in the living room as Bill read the letter out loud.   "WHAT THE HELL!"  Fred and George screamed at the same time Sirius and Remus screamed "WHAT!" and Arthur gaped at his eldest son. Bill had a feeling this would be their reaction.  All six were furious and wanted to murder whoever sent their son/grandson/nephew that letter to make him like that.  They were going to find out and were going to send a letter to whichever auror came and then make sure that Harry was well protected.  They all knew that the Cullens would help them especially Jasper. Remus called the rest of the Cullens and Sirius had contacted the American Ministry of Magic and then contacted the British Ministry of Magic. Everyone else sat in the living room tense and angry.  They couldn't understand why someone could be that cruel to someone as sweet, kind, and polite as Harry.  They decided to tell Harry about the protection that he would receive, but not what would happen to the sender of the letter.  They knew that Harry wouldn't approve of what they would do, but they knew that the man will deserve what they will do to him. "Hello?" "Hello, Mr. Cullen this is Remus." "Oh hello Remus. Please call me Carlisle." "Sure, but I need you and your family to come over soon." Remus said. "Why?"  Carlisle was confused as he heard the panic and rage in Remus' voice. "Harry received a letter and freaked out." Remus informed him. "Will be there soon." Carlisle told him. "Thank you." "You're welcome.  Bye." "Bye." Remus turned back to the family and told them that the Cullen's would be there soon.  Sirius finished the fire call to both ministries.  Arthur went into the kitchen to get the blood pops for the vampires and drinks and snacks for everyone else. (Cullen's house after the phone call) "Everyone come into the living room, please." Carlisle said. "Honey, what is wrong"  His wife said as soon as they were in the living room. "Harry received a letter and according to Remus, Harry freaked out.  Remus wants us to go over there." He told his family. "Of course."  Esme said and they all got up and left. (Harry's room) Jasper was running his hand through Harry's soft hair.  He was glad that Harry didn't have another bad dream.  He hated to see and feel Harry in pain.  He wished he could take away Harry's pain, to only bring him happiness. "You feel nice, Jasper."  Harry said sleepily as he nuzzled his chest. "Thank you Harry and you feel good also."  Jasper said as he chuckled. Harry lifted his head and looked at Jasper.  Amber eyes locked with emerald eyes, before Harry leaned down and kissed Jasper sweetly.  Jasper smiled as Harry's lips left his and then leaned up and kissed Harry back. Harry opened his mouth and Jasper took the invitation and slipped his tongue inside Harry's mouth.  Jasper explored and memorized the inside of Harry's mouth.  Harry moaned as he felt the ice cold tongue explore his mouth.  Soon Jasper's tongue started to dance and mingle with Harry's. Several minutes later Harry needed to breath.  Harry then leaned back down and bit Jasper's lower lip.  Jasper opened his mouth in surprise.  He couldn't believe Harry bit his lip.  Harry took the open mouth to his advantage and slipped his tongue inside Jasper's mouth and returned the treatment that Jasper gave him.  When Harry's tongue touched Jasper's, they both started to battle for dominance.  Jasper decided to do what Harry did earlier in the kiss and bit Harry's lower lip and thanks to the fact that Harry is an elf the venom didn't hurt Harry or try to turn him.  In fact the venom made Harry moan with pleasure as it entered his bloodstream.  Harry's blood entered Jasper's mouth and he started to suck for more and more of the blood.  He had never tasted anything as delicious as this before. Harry gave Jasper control after the bite.  Harry squirmed with pleasure under Jasper's administrations and they both groaned with pleasure when their hips connected.  Both grinded against each other frantically.  Neither Jasper nor Harry wanted this to end. Harry never experienced this pleasure before.  He loved the feeling and was glad that it was Jasper that was giving him this feeling.  Unfortunately it ended with a loud voice. "JASPER, HARRY, STOP THAT!  I DON'T WANT TO SEE IT ANYMORE!" Edward yelled. Harry's face went redder than Weasley hair and Jasper knew that if he could blush than he would have.  Harry quickly cleaned the blood off his face and took Jasper's offered hand.  Harry and Jasper fixed their appearance on the way out. Both Harry and Jasper could hear Edward being scolded by Esme.  Harry hid behind Jasper since he remembered the letter and Harry felt safe with Jasper.  Jasper sensing Harry's emotions pulled Harry into his side and put his arm around his shoulders.  Harry looked up at Jasper and smiled sweetly at him. As they walked in Jasper glared at his brother.  Harry on the other hand had a mischievous grin on his face.  He glowed a light green and next thing anyone knew Edward was hanging upside down.  Around his feet were vines.  Everyone was laughing when they saw Edward. "Opps, sorry Edward."  Harry said as he gave him wide innocent eyes. Edward just scowled at Harry and quickly escaped while Harry was distracted.  Jasper sat down with Harry on his lap.  Harry snuggled into Jasper's chest.  The girls awed at the cute picture the boys made. "Now the reason why I called you all here is because of this letter."  Bill said as he handed the letter to Carlisle. Carlisle took the letter and read it to the other Cullens.  When he finished all the Cullens were furious.  Jasper was worse.   [Who the hell thinks that they can threaten my mate and get away with it?] Jasper thought the same time Rosalie thought. [When I find out who sent this Jasper and I are going to torture him to death.]  Edward grimaced at everyone's thoughts even though he was thinking the same thing. Harry had fallen asleep before Bill started talking.  He snuggled closer to Jasper and all of Jasper's anger left him.  He cuddled Harry as their family talked about what they would do.  It was decided that Jasper would stay with Harry at night and when Jasper couldn't watch Harry someone would be there to take his place. The Cullens except for Jasper left and Jasper carried Harry back to his room.  Harry's family went to bed after they warded the house and Harry's room. (Harry's Room) Harry woke up to Jasper stroking his hair.  He lifted his head from Jasper's chest to look at Jasper's face.  Harry leaned in and kissed Jasper sweetly. "Hi." Harry said after the kiss. "Hi." Jasper said back chuckling. "What time is it?" He asked. "It's six o'clock in the morning." He answered. "Oh, I am going to take a shower then."  Harry got up, grabbed his clothes, and went into the bathroom. Jasper quickly went home to change and was back before Harry turned on the shower.  He finished both his and Harry's homework before Harry came out of the bathroom.  Jasper felt the venom pool in his mouth at the sight of Harry. Harry was wearing a tight sapphire blue long sleeve button up shirt.  His dark blue jeans hugged his hips.  His long black hair was in a tight braid tied with a blue ribbon.  His elfish features were still showing. "I'm going to go make breakfast.  If you help me, I will give you a blood pop." Harry said with a smirk. "Cute." "You going to help or not?"  He said as he crossed his arms and tapped his foot impatiently. "I'll help cutie." Jasper replied while smirking. Harry smirked back and grabbed Jasper's hand and pulled him out of the room and towards the kitchen.  Together they made breakfast for Harry and his family.  Soon the boys came into the kitchen following their nose and stomach. "Good Morning everyone." Harry said cheerfully. "Morning Harry." Came six sleepy replies.  Harry smiled as he ate his breakfast.  Jasper was happily sucking on a mountain  lion flavored blood pop that Harry had given him.  The rest piled their plates full of food and stuffed their faces.  Jasper could feel that Harry was content and knew the reason was because he was eating with his family and mate.  He was happy knowing that he had helped make his mate happy. Soon breakfast was done and Harry and Jasper left for school.  Before they left the house Harry had applied the glamour much to Jasper's dislike.  Harry let Jasper drive his motorcycle since he knew how much he wanted one of his own.  Harry also let him since he loved holding Jasper tightly. They arrived at school before anyone else, including the rest of the Cullen "children". Harry got off the bike first then Jasper.  Jasper handed Harry the keys and kissed him.  Harry giggled slightly and kissed him back.  Just as Jasper was about to kiss back, Harry moved his lips away.  They kept doing this until they both heard the sounds of cars and pulled away from each other. (Before Lunch in the hallway.) Harry was walking to the cafeteria when three people stood in his path.  Those three people were Mike, Jessica, and Lauren.  Mike slammed Harry into a locker as Jessica and Lauren laughed. "Well, if it isn't Fork's newest fag."  Mike said. "Yeah, you're a disgusting freak."  Lauren said. Jessica went over to where Mike had Harry pinned against the locker and hit him hard. "Not only are you a sick little fuck, but you turned Lauren's future husband into a faggot as well."  She said to Harry.   Mike slammed him into the locker harder and then Lauren took Jessica's place and hit Harry.  Her ring cut his left cheek, causing it to bleed.  Harry had yet to make a sound.  He was staring at the three human teenagers in fear.  He couldn't move and he had stopped breathing.  "I don't know what you did to MY Jasper, but it ends today."  Lauren said as she smacked him again causing another cut to appear on his face.  "You will stay away from MY future husband or else we will kill you, faggot."  After she said that Mike started to punch and kick Harry. Harry blocked his face as the punches and kicks continually hit him.  He curled up into a familiar defensive ball.  He started to have flashbacks of when HE used to beat Harry to an inch of his life before HE threw Harry into the cupboard under the stairs. (With Rosalie) Rosalie was walking to the cafeteria for lunch when the scent of blood caught her attention.  The blood smelled weird, just like Harry's and her eyes widened.  She ran as fast as she could to Harry led by the scent of his blood. When she arrived in the hallway where Harry was she saw red.  Those three idiots were beating up her brother's mate.  She quickly went over to Harry.  The three didn't notice her and it was only the fact that she was in school that she didn't kill them.  She pushed them away from Harry, "What the FUCK do you three think that you are doing?"  She asked them snarling. They looked at her in fear and ran off.  Rose quickly looked at Harry, picked him up, and ran to Edward's car.  She placed Harry in the front passenger seat and hot wired the car.  She drove out of the parking lot and sped off to the hospital as fast as she could.  She had to get Harry to Carlisle.  She grabbed her phone and called him. "Hello Rose." Carlisle answered. "Carlisle, meet me in front of the hospital right now."  She told him. "What is wrong?"  He asked as he heard the panic in her voice and knew something was wrong. "I was on my way to the cafeteria when I smelled fresh blood and immediately recognized it as Harry's.  I quickly followed the scent and came across Harry being beaten up by Mike Newton while Jessica Stanley and Lauren Mallory were watching."  She told him without taking a breath. "I'll meet you out there." He hung up. Next she called Jasper.  She knew that Alice wouldn't see it since she could not see elves. "Hell-" Rosalie interrupted before he could even finish hello. "Jasper, come to the hospital immediately.  Harry's hurt."  She hung up and stopped the car. Carlisle was at Harry's side at once.  He took a look at him and quickly took him out of the car.  He ran into the hospital with Rosalie right behind him. (With Jasper) Jasper was a little worried.  He knew that Harry should have been here by now and he wasn't.  His cellphone rang and he picked it up noticing that it was Rose. "Hell-"  He was interrupted by Rose's panicked voice. "Jasper, come to the hospital immediately.  Harry's hurt."  She hung up and he left as quickly as he could with humans around with his siblings on his heels. He couldn't believe Harry was hurt.  He was angry with himself.  He couldn't believe he let Harry get hurt.  He was supposed to protect him.   Whoever hurt him will pay dearly for whatever they did to him. He knew that Rose took the car so when they were out of sight from the school they ran as fast as they could to the hospital.  When they arrived they saw Harry's family get out of the car.  Together they entered the hospital asking for Harry. (The hospital) Before the receptionist could speak Rosalie spoke.  Her family were shocked to see how sad and awful she looked.  It was obvious that whatever happened to Harry had affected her badly. "Dad is taking care of Harry."  She said and then turned and looked in the direction Carlisle took Harry. "What happened?"  Remus asked. Rosalie asked them to sit and when they were settled and a spell was casted so that nobody heard what she said, she explained what happened a second time.  Harry's family were angered by what they heard and the Cullens were also affected by what happened. "How did you know that something happened?"  Rosalie asked Harry's family. "Harry has a friend named Luna who happens to be a seer.  Her powers are different from Alice's."  Bill said as he put a calming arm around Remus's shoulder and a calming arm around Sirius' waist.  "She only sees the future of those she cares about.  She thinks of Harry as an older brother."  He explained. "Sometimes she has visions and sometimes just a picture or a feeling. She saw Harry in a hospital bed and contacted us." Carlisle came into view before anyone could respond.  Bill canceled the spell so that the doctor could hear them. "Ah you're all here, good."  He took an unnecessary breath.  "Harry is healing nicely.  He has several cuts and bruises.  He healed the more severe wounds and injuries on his own." Everyone breathed in relief.  They were thankful that Harry was going to be alright. "You may see him now, but he is still unconscious." He informed them. "Thank you Carlisle."  Remus said. "You’re welcome.  Oh and I called sheriff Swan so that those three will be punished for their crimes against Harry." He said. They all nodded and went to see Harry.  They were sad when they saw how Harry looked.  His long black hair billowed around his face.  His skin was almost as white as the sheets he laid on.  His face was littered with bruises and cuts. Jasper was at his side in an instant.  They could all tell that he wouldn't leave Harry's side until Harry woke up and even then he would probably never leave.  Harry's family sat close to the bed and Jasper's family sat along the wall.  They stayed like that until sheriff Swan came. "Rosalie Cullen may I have a word with you, please?" He asked. "Yes sir." Rose stood up and followed the sheriff out. When they were outside the room sheriff Swan waited for the doctor to join.  Carlisle stood next to Rose as she was questioned. "Miss Cullen can you tell me what happened?" He asked. "Yes sir.  I was walking to the cafeteria for lunch.  I heard someone scream and went to see what happened."  She took a breath before continuing. "I saw one boy kicking Harry as the two girls watched.  I ran over to where they were as fast as I could and pushed them away from Harry and asked them what they thought they were doing.  They ran away and I picked Harry up and took him to Edward's car.  I drove to the hospital and called Carlisle so that he could be there when I arrived." "Do you know who the teens are?" He asked. "Yes sir.  They were Mike Newton, Jessica Stanley and Lauren Mallory." She answered immediately. "Do you know if there was anyone else there?" He asked. "No, but the school installed security cameras a month ago." She told him. "Thank you for your time.  The information you gave me will help me with this case, miss Cullen."  He smiled at her and the doctor before leaving to get the security footage from the school so that he had more evidence against the three teens. Rose went back into the room with Carlisle.  He checked Harry before going to check on his other patients. (With Bella Swan) Bella was sitting by herself when she saw all the Cullens stood up and quickly left.  She turned back to her food and started eating again. [I wonder why they left in a hurry.  I could tell they were worried.  Whoever Jasper Cullen talked to on his phone must have been about the new kid Harry Black.]  She frowned in worry.  She hoped nothing was wrong. She knew her dad was dating Arthur Weasley and knew that he was legally Harry's grandfather through adoption.  She was going to formally meet him tonight at dinner.  From what she heard from Arthur, he was a shy, but sweet person who put others ahead of himself.  Bella was looking forward to meeting him and was hoping that Harry would be her friend. Bella finished her lunch and threw it away.  She then went to her locker to get her afternoon school supplies.  She was about to turn the corner when she heard Jessica's voice.  Her tone made Bella stop and listen.  "Shit what are we going to do since that Cullens bitch saw us beat the shit out of that faggat?"  Jessica asked.  Bella heard it and took out her phone and started to record the conversation. "I don't know.  I think that it is only her word against ours and they have no evidence we will be able to get away with it.  I doubt that the freak will speak against us."  Mike said although he didn't sound so sure. "We better not get into trouble over this.  That faggot Harry Black had it coming.  If he wasn't a sick fag or if he didn't steal my Jasper from me he would have been just fine.  All we did was teach him a lesson."  Lauren sounded so sure. "You're right Lauran we really didn't do anything wrong."  Mike said and he sounded more confident than last time. "You both are right.  We will get away with it, especially since I doubt that bitch even thought to learn our names." Jessica said. "Yeah thats right Jessica.  She was probably too full of herself to even bother."  Lauren said and all three left to go to their classes as the bell rang. Bella stopped recording and called her dad. "Bells I can't talk right now, I'm busy." He said apologetically. "Dad, I recorded something you need to hear.  It's about Harry." Bella said quickly. "Come to the main office at your school immediately."  Her father ordered in a tight voice. "Okay."  She hung up and walked towards the main office. On the way there she was biting her lip as she worried about Harry.  She just hoped that he was alright and no serious damages were caused.  She practically ran the whole way and if it wasn't for the fact that she was so worried, she would have been surprised by the fact that she hadn't stumbled or fell once. Her father was standing outside the main office waiting for Bella.  She hurried over there and gave him her phone.  He replayed what she had recorded and felt himself get angrier and angrier as he listened to those three.  He had yet to see the video, but had the feeling that he would want to kill those three when he did. "Thank you Bells.  I am going to have to take your phone with me as evidence, but this will help Harry." Charlie told his daughter. "I don't care about my phone.  I am more worried about Harry."  She took a deep breath before continuing.  "I know I haven't met him yet, but from what Arthur told us and from what you said about him I feel as if I already know him." Charlie looked at his daughter proudly.  He was glad that she had grown into a mature adult.  He hugged her quickly before entering the main office to get the tapes.  He had called before he had gotten there and the principle gave his permission for him to have the tapes.  Bella was still outside when her dad came back out.  "Bells?" "Do you know if Harry is okay?" Asked the worried brunette. "Yes I do.  Doctor Cullen said that he was fine.  He just has several bruises and cuts." He answered. "I'm just glad that Rosalie Cullen found him before they did anything more severe." Bella said in relief. "So am I sweetheart, so am I."  He hugged her goodbye and left and she went back to class after getting a pass from the secretary. Carlisle was checking on Harry when he opened his eyes. "Where am I?" Harry asked before he caught sight of a white ceiling and groaned. "Never mind. I know where I am. A bloody hospital." Carlisle chuckled. "Yes, Harry you are in the hospital.  Do you remember what happened?"  Carlisle saw that Harry's eyes darkened. "Yes, three of my classmates beat me up for being gay and dating Jasper."  Harry whispered. "Harry, what your classmates did was wrong and it most definitely was not your fault."  Carlisle said in a stern voice so that Harry would understand that he meant every word he said. Harry nodded and looked away.  Carlisle smelled the tears and hugged Harry.  Harry was surprised but hugged back. "I am going to go get your family.  I made them go get something to eat and I made my family go get change.  They will be back soon."  Carlisle left. (Hospital Cafeteria) Harry's family were forced to come down to the hospital cafeteria by Carlisle.  They were not happy about leaving Harry, but knew that the doctor was right that they needed to eat.  They were furious with Harry's classmates for what they did to him and they better hope that the police find them first. Bill looked up to see Carlisle and motioned for the others to be quiet. "Harry woke up.  You may go back to his room." He informed them. "Thank you Carlisle."  Remus said.  "Could you please tell Jasper and Rosalie for us?  We know that they would like to know that Harry is awake."  Carlisle nodded and Harry's family went up to Harry's room. (Cullen residence) Jasper quickly ran upstairs to his room to shower and change.  Just as he finished putting on his shirt his cell rang.  He answered it. "Hello?" "Jasper, Harry woke up.  Tell Rose too."  Carlisle hung up. "Rose, hurry up.  Harry's awake." Jasper said. Both he and Rose were out the door and in Rose's car at the same time.  Rose drove as fast as she could to the hospital. (With Sheriff Swan) Charlie sat with one of the officers reviewing the taps.  Thanks to Bella they had a recording of what was said after the crime happened and they had a video tape of it as well as the tape of the actual crime. "Man, I can not believe anyone would do this to another person."  Officer Andrews said. "Me either, John, me either." He agreed. They were both horrified by what they were watching.  John turned off the tape as Charlie phoned the judge for arrest warrants. "Thank god, for Dr. Cullen's daughter or else that poor boy would probably be dead."  John said. Charlie nodded and talked to the judge.  The judge heard the recording and granted them arrest warrants for all three culprits.  Charlie and John left along with officer Riley Weber. (Hospital) Sirius was the first to enter Harry's room.  When he saw Harry's emerald green eyes he ran over to his son and hugged him. "Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry.  We brought you here so that you wouldn't get hurt and yet here you are in a hospital bed.  I'm so sorry, pup.  I'm sorry I failed you."   Sirius just kept apologizing. Harry hugged his dad back.  "It's okay daddy, it's okay."  Sirius was shocked to be called daddy. Remus and Bill also hugged Harry and they also apologized. "Sorry cub." "Sorry Harry." "It is okay papa, father."  They were shocked when they heard Harry call them that. Fred and George were the next to be surprised.  Harry looked over at them. "Don't even dare apologize big brothers."  They were ecstatic to know that Harry thought of them as big brothers and immediately attacked Harry with hugs. Arthur smiled at the scene.  He already knew what Harry thought of them all.  He saw the looks on Harry's face when he looked at them.  He grew up in a big family.  He knew that Harry just healed even more since he told them what he thought.  He stood in the doorway a little longer before he too joined the others in hugging his grandson. Soon after the family were done hugging, Jasper and Rosalie arrived at the doorway.  Harry, who had already heard them, looked towards the doorway once his family detached themselves from his person.  Harry smiled at Jasper and in a blink of an eye Harry was wrapped up in Jasper's arms. Rosalie hugged Harry and Jasper since Jasper refused to let go of Harry.  She also pecked Harry on the cheek. "Thank you, Rosalie."  Harry said softly as he cuddled further into Jasper. "You're welcome Harry.  You are my brother's mate and a really sweet person."  Rose said as she sat down next to the twins. Harry nodded and laid his head down on Jasper's chest and fell back to sleep knowing that he was safe and protected thanks to the people in the room.  Everyone smiled at the peaceful look Harry gave off and Jasper rearranged them so that Harry was more comfortable. (Next Day at Forks High School parking lot: Morning.) Every student was in Forks High School parking lot when two police cars entered.  They all watched as sheriff Swan exited one police car and officer Anderson and officer Weber exited the other.  Mike, Lauren, and Jessica paled the moment they saw them.  Everyone watched silently as the three cops walked up to the three who beat up Harry.  Sheriff Swan arrested Mike, officer Anderson arrested Lauren and officer Weber arrested Jessica. "WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?"  Screamed Jessica as they were led to the police cars. "Mike Newton, Jessica Stanley and Lauren Mallory you are under arrest for the assault of one Harry Black."  Sheriff Swan said and then he read them their miranda rights. As soon as the police cars left the parking lot and was out of sight the whole student body broke out into whispers. Rosalie texted her brother, father, and mother to tell them what had just happened. (Hospital) Harry woke up to Jasper gently stroking his hair.  Harry lifted his head from Jasper's chest and gave him a kiss.  Jasper gladly kissed back. "Good morning my wonderfully gorgeous mate."  Jasper said. Harry giggled his reply.  "Good Morning to you too." Jasper kissed Harry's nose.  He was glad that Harry was better than before.  He was afraid that Harry would push Jasper away and distance himself from everyone.  Thankfully that was not the case.  Harry snuggled his head into Jasper's chest.  He was happy that Jasper still wanted him after what had happened.  Why would Jasper want a freak for a mate?  He was glad that Jasper still wanted him. They both sat up when they sensed Carlisle and Harry's family coming.  Harry quickly sat in Jasper's lap and snuggled into him.   This caused Jasper to laugh as he tightened his arms around Harry and nuzzled his hair. "I see that..."  Fred started to say when he walked into the room. "you are feeling..."  George chimed in. " much better, Harry ." Harry's only response was snuggling closer to Jasper.  This caused everyone in the room to laugh. "Harry, I am sorry to have to tell you this, but you have to get off Jasper so that I can examine you." Carlisle said. Harry nodded and moved off Jasper and sat down next to him.  Carlisle examined Harry after that.  When he was done, Harry crawled back into Jasper's lap and cuddled into his chest. "Harry you may go home today.  After one of your fathers signs release forms, then you may go home."  He left the room and Remus followed to sign the release forms so that they could bring Harry home. (With Charlie and Percy) Percy was having dinner with Charlie when an owl dropped a letter in front of both of them.  They looked at each other and grabbed the letter that was on their plates. Dear Charlie/Percy I hope that you are doing well, my son.  I have written this letter to inform you that yesterday when Harry was at school he was beaten up badly.  Three of his classmates didn't like the fact that Harry was gay nor the fact that Harry was in a relationship with Jasper Cullens.  Rosalie Cullen found them beating Harry and scared them off before getting Harry to her father at the hospital.  He is doing well, but I was hoping that you would come to visit him.  I know that it would make him Happy to see you.  This letter is a portkey.  The password is knife. With great love, Arthur Weasley Charlie and Percy looked at each other before calling out the password. "Knife."  They both felt the familiar tug at their navels.  Soon they landed in front of the Black residence.  Arthur was there to greet his sons. "Hello boys." "Where is Harry dad?" Charlie asked. "He is at the hospital, but he should be home soon.  Remus told me that they were getting papers signed and then they would drive him home." He answered. "Is he going to be alright?"  Percy asked. "Yes, he only has a few bruises and cuts.  Thanks to him being an elf he heals faster than a muggle or wizard.  They should be healed by tomorrow." He said. "Thank Merlin."  Charlie said. "Come inside and have some tea while we wait for Harry to come home."  Charlie and Percy nodded as they followed their father inside. When they saw the living room, both shook their heads.  Arthur saw this and chuckled. "As you can see Sirius decorated this room." He said. "We can tell."  Both said. Arthur chuckled again before he motioned for them to sit and continued to make his way to the kitchen.  They sat down on the couch and they both swore that it smelled just like the couch back in the Gryffindor common room.  Soon Arthur came back with some tea and handed a cup to both of them. "So, how are you two doing?" He asked them. "I am doing well.  Oliver and I are getting married on winter yule." Charlie informed him. "That is wonderful." He was really happy for his son. "Yeah it is.  Oliver is planning on asking Harry to be his witness.  Percy already accepted to be mine." He was going to ask Bill but he felt that Percy needed it since he was still guilty over abandoning the family. "That is perfect.  What about you Perce?" He asked his third child. "Penelope and I are getting married during the summer solstice.  Charlie accepted to be my witness and Penelope has one of her best friends being hers." He told him. "I am happy for you both.  Not to mention proud." The red haired father told them. "Thanks dad."  They both said. "Alright you two stop imitating your brothers."  Arthur said.  "It is really creeping me out."  This caused all three to laugh. Harry walked through the front door and Percy saw that Harry was using magic to keep himself from freaking out. He had seen Harry do this when he was picked as the fourth Hogwarts champion. Thankfully the Cullens had to go hunt since they hadn't fed since Harry was taken to the hospital. Percy waited until Harry was alone to talk to him about it. Harry went into his room to take a nap and Percy followed him.  Harry turned around when he heard his door open and close again. "Percy?" Harry looked at him in confusion. "Harry why are you using magic to stop yourself from freaking out?" Percy asked. "I don't know what you are talking about." The elf immediately denied. "Yes you do." He said, refusing to back down. They had a staring contest before Harry looked away.  Percy walked up to Harry and hugged him.  Harry hugged him back, burying his head into the older male’s chest. "I don't want Jasper to leave me."  Percy's heart broke when he heard that. "Oh, Harry.  I think that Jasper will understand." The teen didn't say anything. "Harry reverse your magic." Harry nodded and reversed the magic that kept him from freaking out and immediately started.  He cried into Percy's chest. The redhead put up a silencer and started to comfort his little brother.  He led Harry over to his bed and laid down.  He transfigured Harry's clothes into pajamas.  Harry fell asleep crying.  He tucked both himself and Harry into bed. Percy knew how hard it would be for him to talk to Jasper and be near him now that magic wasn't stopping Harry from panicking, but it was for the best.  It would help Harry recover if he actually felt the way he was supposed to and not magically happy and fine. Charlie walked upstairs to Harry's room.  He, like Percy, noticed the magic and went to check on Harry.  He opened the door and saw that Percy had gotten to their baby brother first and helped him out. "How is he doing?"  Charlie asked in a whisper. "Better.  I convinced him to reverse the magic that he placed on himself." Percy said quietly. "That's good.  It is the only way he is going to heal.  Why did he do it though?" He asked. "He didn't want Jasper to leave him."  He answered, causing Charlie to look at Harry with sad eyes. "Poor Harry.  I really want to kill everyone who has ever hurt him and made him think that if he doesn't act a certain way then the people he loves will leave him." He admitted. "We are in the same boat Charlie." He said. "I am going downstairs so take care of him." He said. "I will.  He is after all our baby brother." Percy said. Charlie nodded and then headed downstairs leaving Harry and Percy in the bedroom.  He warded the door so that no one could get in, leaving Harry to rest in peace and silence for a little while. (Cullen residents) The family came home after hunting.  They all went their separate ways except Jasper who followed Carlisle into his study. "Carlisle may I speak to you?" Jasper asked. "Of course." "It's just Harry seemed way too fine after what has happened.  First the letter and then the beating.  I know that something isn't right.  I can't even feel his emotions." He told Carlisle. "That does sound strange.  Next time you see Harry ask him about it.  Let him spend time with his family for a few days then go and see him." Carlisle said. "Alright."  Jasper got up and left.  Carlisle hoped that everything would be alright with his son.  Jasper went to his room and picked up the blue poppy that Harry had given him.  He took a deep breath, inhaling the flower's scent.  He then laid down on his bed hoping that Harry would tell him what was wrong. (Black residence) Charlie decided that he would make dinner for his family.  Since he lived on the dragon reserve he taught himself how to cook.  While it wasn't as good as Harry's, it was still nice. He went into the kitchen and started while everyone else did their own things.  The twins were out shopping for a place to start up their prank shop.  Remus was in the library reading with Sirius taking a nap on his lap.  Bill was outside watering Harry's plants and Arthur was on the phone with his boyfriend. Harry woke up just as Charlie had finished dinner.  He lifted his head and noticed that Percy had fallen asleep.  He gently shook him awake. "What?"  Percy asked sleepily. "GUYS DINNER!"  Charlie screamed. "Oh."  He said and got out of the bed. Harry also got out of bed when he noticed that he was in pajamas.  He looked at Percy in confusion. "How did I get into Pajamas?" He asked. "I transfigured your clothes." Percy answered. "Oh."  Harry changed the pajamas back to the way they were. They both went downstairs and into the kitchen.  Harry looked around and when he saw that the kitchen was still clean and nothing was burned he led Percy into the dining room. "Thank you for not ruining my kitchen Charlie." Harry said. "You're welcome baby brother." He smiled at him. They sat down and they all ate.  The twins and Bill gave Charlie a look of surprise. " This is actually good ."  The three said in surprise. Charlie gave them a hurt look and Harry glared at the three.  He shot a stinging hex at them. "Don't be mean to Charlie.  At least he can cook and not ruin my kitchen." Harry scowled. " Sorry Harry, sorry Charlie ." The three said, realising they hurt Charlie's feelings. "That is better." They ate silently throughout the rest of the meal.  When they were done Harry went out to the garden to take care of his plants.  Thankfully Bill took care of his garden when he was in the hospital. The twins went to their prank lab and Bill, Remus, and Sirius went to the bedroom.  Charlie and Percy followed Harry to the garden and Arthur went to his muggle room.  When Charlie and Percy saw the garden they looked around in amazement. "Wow, this is so beautiful." Charlie said breathlessly. "It is amazingly gorgeous."  Percy said. "Thank you. If you want you may explore my garden." He said. "Thank you Harry and we will."  Percy said. "We definitely will." It was a week later before Jasper saw Harry again.  Percy and Charlie had gone home and Harry had finally found the courage to go over to Jasper and tell him the truth.  He had a feeling that Jasper was going to be angry when he heard the truth. He just hoped he was wrong. Harry used his elven speed and ran over there.  Before he could knock on the door Jasper had it opened.  Harry looked at Jasper then looked away. The empath looked at his mate in confusion.  He reached out his hand and placed it on Harry's cheek and turned his head towards him. "What is wrong, Harry?"  Jasper asked. "I have something to tell you and I know that you will be angry at me for it."  Harry said as his eyes glistened with unshed tears. "I couldn't be mad at you."  He said sincerely. "I had used magic so that I wouldn't freak out and so that you couldn't read my emotions.  I didn't want you to leave me." He admitted. "Oh Harry, I’m not mad, a little upset but not mad.  You shouldn't have used magic because it is healthier to let your emotions out instead of using magic to keep you from feeling what you really feel.  I would never leave you." With all that said he took Harry into his arms and gave him a comforting hug as Harry cried. Jasper led Harry up to his bedroom where he laid Harry on the bed.  He laid down next to him and pulled the blanket over them both.  Jasper then proceeded to pull Harry into his arms and cuddled him. "Harry it is okay to freak out after what happened to you, okay?" "Okay."  Harry snuggled closer to Jasper. Jasper rubbed circles into Harry's back.  He was glad that Harry told him the truth.  They cuddled until Esme called Harry down for some lunch.  Harry grabbed Jasper's hand and dragged him downstairs so that Harry could eat. Emmett was amused when he saw Harry push Jasper into a chair and sat on him.  Jasper glared at Emmett when he felt his amusement.  He then began to feed Harry. After lunch Harry and Jasper sat in the living room.  They watched movies with Rose and Emmett.  Harry sat on Jasper cuddling into his chest.  Half way through the third movie Harry had fallen asleep. [Harry was back at school standing at his locker.  Suddenly he heard a familiar voice, one he had never wanted to hear again. "Hello again Freak."  Vernon Dursley said with a vicious smile. Harry was immobilized in fear.  Vernon advanced on Harry and soon three more figures appeared behind Vernon.  Next came Luaran, Mike and Jessica.  They were laughing cruelly as they too advanced Harry.  Behind them was Dumbledore and a shadow.  The shadow was the person who sent a letter.  They too advanced Harry. Harry stood there as they continued to close in on him.  They continued to laugh and they had started to say awful things to him. "You deserve this Freak for being such a slut."  Vernon said. "I'm going to make you pay for stealing Jasper from me."  Luaran was the next to speak. "Faggots need to be killed for liking the same gender as themselves."  Mike said as he looked at Harry in disgust. "Being a fag and stealing Jasper from Lauren was a horrible thing for you to do and so you must be punished painfully Fag."  Jessica said after Mike with the same look of disgust. "Your parents would be upset with the way you turned out Harry.  They would also be very disappointed with you because you had me fired and thrown in Azkaban." "I told you that I would free Dumbledore and soon I will free everyone else you had imprisoned.  You know that you deserve everything we are about to do."  The shadow said as they had finally closed in on Harry.] "Harry wake up! It's only a dream."  Harry heard Jasper say as he shook him gently to wake him up. Harry opened eyes to see Jasper's worried ones right in front of his face.  Jasper could both see and feel Harry's pain.  Harry saw that Edward, Esme, and Rose were standing behind Jasper.  He saw that they were also worried.  He saw that Edward also had a knowing look on his face.  That meant that he had seen Harry's nightmare. Harry's eyes glistened with tears as he jumped into Jasper's arms.  He started to cry as Jasper wrapped his arms around Harry.  It broke Jasper's heart to see Harry like this and to feel his pain. "It's okay Harry.  Let it all out."  Jasper whispered into his ear.  "You will feel better afterwards." "I'll go make Harry some tea.  Edward, Rose give Harry some space." Esme said. The two nodded then left.  They went to go find Alice and Emmett.  The four were going to help Harry's family find the person who sent Harry the letter.  Jasper was going to help before he realized that he would be helping by being near his mate and keeping him calm. "Here you go sweetie."  Esme gave Harry the tea to help calm him down. Harry nodded in thanks.  The tea plus Jasper using his gift calmed Harry down. "Harry, I know that you don't want to talk about it, but it might help if you tell me about your dream."  Jasper said to Harry. "Okay."  Harry said before he told Jasper his dream. "Oh love, with everything that has happened I am not leaving you alone at all.  Even if I am not with you either my family or your family will be with you."  He then kissed Harry's forehead. Harry smiled at his mate before he cuddled into his side, laying his head on his chest.   Esme smiled and took a picture.  She went back into the kitchen and started to cook dinner for Harry. Harry and Jasper had sat on the couch cuddling for a while before Harry fell asleep to Jasper telling Harry about his past.  Jasper smiled and hoped that Harry wouldn't have any more nightmares. Luckily for them both Harry had no more nightmares.  Jasper woke him up for dinner and then Jasper took him home.  Harry smiled at Jasper and kissed him on the cheek. "Goodnight Jasper." "Goodnight Harry." "Jasper tomorrow is the trial and I want you to be there at my side." Harry said to him. Jasper smiled at Harry.  He leaned down and kissed Harry's lips.  When the kiss ended Jasper placed his forehead on Harry's. "I will be at your side forever Harry." He said. Harry looked up at Jasper.  "Promise?" "I promise." He said. "Good."  He moved his head and then kissed Jasper sweetly before going inside the house. Jasper knew that Harry wouldn't always be calm tomorrow, but hoped that him being there would help.  Jasper went home.  He wanted to question his siblings about what had happened.  He hoped they were closer to finding that bastard. Harry had no idea what everyone was doing though.  When he went upstairs to bed no one told him that they were trying to find the person who sent him the letter.  All Harry knew was that he was afraid of the trial, but knew that Jasper would be there. Harry woke up to someone caressing his hair.  He opened his eyes to notice that he was on a familiar chest.  He lifted his head and met beautiful gold eyes that belonged to his mate. "Morning."  Harry said sleepily. "Morning."  Jasper slurred in his southern accent. "I sent a letter to my old school healer.  I asked her if she could come here so that I could talk to her.  She has training in mind healing and I think that it would be good if I talked to her about all this." He admitted. "I think that talking to someone would help you heal.  I am glad that you are seeking out help."  Harry nodded before laying back down on Jasper's chest. "When is the trial?"  Harry asked. "Noon today."  Harry nodded and cuddled in more causing Jasper to smile. (Hogwarts) Madam Poppy Pomfrey was helping Severus identify the love potion used on Arthur Weasley.  Poppy was amused by the fact that Harry continued to surprise Severus.  First he surprised him with making Severus deputy headmaster and then when he sent Severus rare potion ingredients that he had grown himself.  The ingredients were top quality causing Severus to drop his mouth in shock.  Finally Harry had suggested that Arthur write to Severus for help.  It meant that Harry trusted Severus with the life of someone he cared about. After he received the letter from Arthur, Severus had stared at the letter for a moment in shock.  He turned to Poppy and gave her the letter and asked for help.  She agreed and had sent a letter asking Arthur for a vile of blood. After receiving the blood Poppy ran a potion identifying test.  The problem with the test was that there wasn't one love potion in the blood, but seven different types.  The test only gave what the ingredients of the potion were and not the potion names.  That meant that they had to identify what ingredients went to different potions. Poppy gave the test result to Severus and together they read through many potion books to solve their problem.  They had managed to identify three of the seven potions in two days.  It was on the third day that Poppy received a letter from Harry. Dear Poppy, I was wondering if you could come to Forks, Washington for a bit.  You see I had received a letter that scared me and was beaten for being gay and in a relationship with a person that one of them liked.  I know that you are trained in mind healing and wanted to see if you could help me.  Please write back to me. Sincerely, Harry Black Poppy looked at the letter and sighed.  That poor boy never gets a break.  She grabbed some paper and replied back that she would go over there this weekend.  She sent the letter and turned towards Severus who was busy trying to identify the other four love potions. Poppy sighed yet again and she finally gained the attention of Severus.  He saw the sad look on her face and stopped what he had been doing. "Is something wrong, Poppy?" He asked. "Yes."  She handed over the letter. Severus read the letter.  He handed it back when he was done and scowled at the table.  Harry didn't deserve all the pain.  Why couldn't Fate leave Harry to be happy instead of bringing pain to the poor boy constantly? "Let's hurry up and identify these potions so that I can make a reversal potion."  Severus said as he turned back to the book. Poppy just nodded since she knew that he was hiding his feelings.  He cared about Harry and she knew it. "Come with me when I go. I am sure that if Harry knew about your past then he might be able to heal more and so would you." She suggested. "No." He immediately rejected the offer. "Why not?" She asked. "That mutt is there." Severus said. "He will behave." She assured him. "How do you know?" He asked with a raised eyebrow. "I know because Harry once told me that he wanted to apologize to you but didn't know how.  From what I heard he believes that there is no way that he could ever make up or be forgiven for what he did to you and how he treated you while you both were in the Order." She told him. "No." "Stop being difficult." Poppy said. "No." He said. "Fine."  Poppy went back to the book in front of her. (Trial) Harry and Jasper arrived at the courthouse a few minutes before noon.  Harry and Jasper held hands as they walked to the room where the trial would be.  They sat down in between both of their families. Jasper sometimes thought his gift was a curse and a blessing.  The reason being that he could feel the emotions of the people all the time and he couldn't shut his gift off.  At least he could calm his mate down.  Today though he was able to feel only Harry's. Harry laid his head on Jasper's shoulder.  Jasper wrapped one arm around Harry and they waited for the trial to begin.  The three defendants entered the court with their lawyer causing Harry to pale and bury his head deeper into Jasper's shoulder and Jasper to tighten his arm around Harry. "All rise for the honorable judge Wilson."  A court official said. Everyone in the room stood up.  The judge nodded and sat down making everyone else sit down too. (After the trial) Harry sat in the car in relief.  The three were found guilty and would be spending a long time in prison. Harry was glad that this nightmare was over. He hoped that the other nightmare would soon be over too. An owl flew into the car and landed on Harry's lap. It dropped the letter and flew out of the car.  Harry picked up the letter and opened it.  Harry smiled softly when he noticed that the handwriting belonged to Poppy. Dear Harry, I will come over this weekend so that we may talk.  I am so sorry that bad things keep happening to you and hope that things will just get better.  Please tell Arthur that we are making progress on the reversal potion and he should be getting it soon.  I also wish to give you congratulations on finding your mate. Love, Poppy Pomfrey Harry was happy that Poppy agreed to see him. He wanted to be healed and he also wanted to see the person who he thought of as a grandmother.  He knew that he had made the right choice when he asked Poppy for help and was glad that he was going to be able to see her. Harry then realized something and dropped his head into his hands.  Jasper looked at his mate and cocked his head to the side. "Something wrong?" He asked. "Poppy said that she would see me this weekend and I just realized something." Harry answered. "What?" He asked. "That she might tie me to a hospital bed for the rest of my life."  Harry said in despair causing everyone in the car to laugh.  "It's not funny.  She threatened me last year that if she found out that I was in the hospital again she would tie me to the bed and make sure that I could never leave." He pouted as they laughed louder.  "Jerks."  He muttered under his breath. "Now Harry if you weren't always in the hospital wing then she wouldn't keep tying you to the hospital bed. Not that it works."  Remus said to Harry. "HEY!  It's not my fault that some psychopath tried to kill me every year." Harry defended with a pout. "Next time don't go looking for trouble."  Bill told Harry with a grin. Harry gave him an innocent look.  "I wasn't looking for trouble, father. It finds me." "Uh huh."  He said unconvinced.  "That's why you were in the hospital wing three hundred and twenty six times in six years." "Yup."  Harry and Bill stared each other down before they broke out laughing.  Soon the whole car was laughing. When they arrived home Harry went over to Arthur.  "Grandpa?" "Yes?" "Poppy said that her and Professor Snape are making progress with the reversal potion." He informed Arthur. "That is good.  Oh that reminds me.  Charlie and his daughter are coming over for a visit Saturday." The older redhead said. "Okay." Harry grabbed Jasper's hand and walked inside.  It calmed him when he was touching Jasper and even though Jasper was cold it filled Harry with a warm feeling that Harry really liked.  They walked into Harry's garden.  Jasper sat down and enjoyed watching Harry tend to his garden. Bella was both really excited and really scared.  She was finally going to meet her father's boyfriend and his family.  She saw them in the courtroom but all that did was make her more nervous.  There were so many of them and she found herself developing a crush on one of the red haired twins. Charlie kept sneaking glances at his daughter.  She was as usual silent but he could tell something was wrong.  He wanted to ask her but Charlie figured that he had no right since he didn't raise her.  He sighed quietly before he pulled into the driveway of Arthur's house. Arthur was outside waiting for them since Harry kicked them all out except for Jasper.  No one knew why but he did.  Sirius was in the garage working on his car while Bill and Remus went to a wizard book store to get books.  Fred and George were working on their store.  Harry was in the kitchen working on lunch and Jasper was helping. Charlie exited the car just as Arthur reached them. They shared a quick kiss before they turned towards Bella who managed to get out of the car and walk around it without stumbling. "Arthur this is my daughter Isabella.  She prefers to be called Bella.  Bells this is Arthur my boyfriend." Charlie introduced them to each other. "It is a pleasure to meet you Bella." "It is nice to meet you too."  They said to each other as they shook hands. "Sorry to say but we are going to have to wait a bit before we can go inside.  Harry kicked everyone but Jasper out of the house and said that he would call us when we can go in. He did say that we can go into the garden though." He told them. "That would be fine." Arthur led the two to Harry's garden. Charlie and Bella were shocked and surprised when they saw the garden.  It was rare to see flowers grow that well in Forks that weren't native.  They got very little sun and a lot of rain.  This garden was magnificent.  Everything was in bloom and beautiful. "Wow."  Charlie said at the same time that Bella said "Amazing." "This is Harry's.  Not only are there flowers here but also vegetables that Harry grew himself." He told them. Arthur left out magical plants and plants that shouldn't be growing in Forks.  It would be hard to explain how it was possible and that magic exists.  Harry put a glamour over them so that they couldn't see those plants. "Harry did all this?"  Charlie asked in awe. "He did."  Arthur said proudly. Harry walked out into the garden and made his way over to the trio.  "The others should be back soon and Sirius is already inside.  Lunch is done so come inside and wash up."  He turned and left. They followed Harry inside.  They washed their hands and sat down in the dining room just as the rest of the family came home.  They too washed and sat down except the twins who helped him and Jasper bring in the food. Those who knew that Jasper was a vampire were confused when they saw that he had a plate of food in front of him.  What surprised them was the fact that he was eating it and seemed to enjoy it. What they didn't know was that Harry had been researching and found out that there were restaurants in the magical community that serviced magical creatures' needs.  He sometimes forgot that Britain was one of the countries that were biased against magical creatures and had many laws against them. Harry had called one of the restaurants to ask questions.  The restaurant was located in Witches alley.  It was a magical community in Port Angeles.  Harry told the owner about Jasper and the man told him all about the menu directed towards vampires.  He told Harry that the meals tasted just like the meal would to a human.  It would be made from blood but taste like human food. Harry was then told they had a recipe book at the bookstore dedicated to the art of cooking for a vampire.  He then told Harry that they delivered food to wizarding homes and Harry agreed. Harry ordered and then started to make food.  Harry told Jasper all about it when he was cooking.  Jasper smiled and asked for the address so that his family could go there sometime.  The others, like Harry, didn't know this either. From the looks that they were getting Harry knew that they had a lot of explaining to do.  Now was not the time though since they had company.  Harry shot Arthur a look and started to eat while Arthur smiled and introduced them and his boyfriend's daughter. "Bella this is my son Bill and his lovers Sirius and Remus."  They nodded their heads and said hello even though they were irritated with always having to be introduced as lovers when they were mates and married to each other.  "The two next to them are Fred and George."  They said hello and Bella had to stop herself from staring at one of them and he had a hard time not staring at her.  "Last is my grandson Harry and his boyfriend Jasper.  Everyone this is Bella."  Harry and Jasper said hello and Bella said hi back. Throughout lunch Harry and Fred noticed that George and Bella kept sneaking looks at each other.  Harry and Fred looked at each other and grinned.  They hoped that the two were mates and that way George would get to be happy like the rest of them. Bella was a little disappointed since she never had a chance to speak to Harry.  He was either talking to Jasper or one of his fathers.  She was thrilled that she was able to speak to George though. When lunch was over they retired to the living room.  Charlie was still shocked that they didn't have a t.v.  Bella didn't notice since she was sitting next to George causing her to blush slightly. "Thank you for your help Bella."  A soft voice said to her and she knew who it was. "My help?"  She asked the emerald eyed boy. "You recorded the three, gave it to your father, then testified in court."  Harry told her as he hid behind his hair. Bella smiled at him.  "Of course.  To tell you the truth when I heard what they said I had hoped that Rosalie Cullens would hit them or something." "Bella!"  Her father scolded but the smile on his face contradicted the effect. Jasper laughed.  "I tell her that.  I bet she will be happy to hear that she wasn't the only one who thought so." Bella grinned and then stuck out her tongue at her father much to the amusement of everyone else in the room.  They laughed as Charlie rolled his eyes at his daughter. "Real mature Bells." He said. "I know."  Charlie shook his head smiling as everyone else laughed harder. "Anyway when are you guys going to get a t.v?"  Bella finally noticed that the family was indeed missing a t.v. "Never."  Harry said as he looked at Charlie's face in amusement. "Why not?"  Charlie would deny later that he was pouting. "We don't need one.  See people have this thing called conversation."  Harry said cheekily. The others laughed and his family was glad that he was doing better.  Charlie's pout deepened. "Well I still think you need a t.v."  Charlie said, causing everyone including his daughter to roll their eyes at him. Soon Charlie and Bella left.  Bella was thrilled that she was able to get to know Harry and George better.  When they got home Bella sat down and looked at her father.  She bit her lip but figured that telling him about her crush would help. "Dad?" "Yes Bells?" He looked at her. "I well...I...um..IhaveacrushonGeorgeWeasley." She spoke quickly. "What was that Bella?  Could you say that slower?" He asked. Bella took a deep breath.  "I have a crush on George Weasley." "I know." Her dad said. "Huh?" She looked confused. "At the trial you kept blushing and when he sat next to you earlier you turned bright red." Charlie told her. "Oh."  That caused Bella to blush in embarrassment and her dad chuckled.  "What should I do?" "Tell him.  Maybe he likes you too and if you don't tell him then you might never know." He said. "Thanks dad."  Bella said smiling.  "I'm going to go finish up some homework and then call mom."  She got up, kissed her dad on the cheek, then went upstairs. Meanwhile back at the Weasley-Lupin-Black-Potter house they all turned towards Harry and Jasper.  Remus spoke first. "Explain why Jasper not only had food but how he was enjoying it." "I was doing research so that Jasper could taste human food when I came across an advertisement of magical restaurants that cater to the needs of magical creatures.   Turns out that there are restaurants around different parts of the world that make food for vampires." Harry told them. Jasper continued.  "Harry called up one of the restaurants and told the owner about me.  They make food that tastes like blood and human food.  For example the food that I ate earlier actually tasted like pork.  Harry ordered it from the restaurant since it offered deliveries." "They also have recipe books that are full of recipes for vampire food." The elf said. The others were in awe.  They couldn't believe it.  Harry of course shocked them even more. "Since Britain is one of the few countries in the magical community that is biased they don't have these types of things.  Papa did you know that there are books on lycan’s and their magic?" He asked. "No."  Remus answered, surprised. "Neither did I.  I'm going to the bookstore in Witches' alley if you want to come with me. They have books on everything. Elves, vamps, lycans, veelas, sirens, and so much more.  They have books on things that are banned back in Britain.  They have books on Egypt father." Harry babbled in excitement. Everyone smiled at Harry's excitement.  "I'll come with, cub.  Are we doing it before or after your appointment with Poppy?" "After." Harry got up and pulled Jasper with him.  "I'm going to tend to my garden." The others looked at each other and smiled.  Harry was doing well and was even going to get help.  They soon left to go do their own things. Harry had gone to bed and Jasper left to spend time with his family.  The rest of the family gathered in the living room.  They were waiting for both the aurors of the American ministry of magic and the aurors of the British ministry of magic to arrive.  As long as they didn't go after the person they were allowed to help out. Soon the fireplace flashed green and a witch and a wizard entered the room.  They were wearing dark red robes with a silver badge attached.  It was obvious that they were American aurors.  The older one had salt and pepper hair, a well trimmed beard, and green eyes.  The younger had long blond hair and hazel eyes. "Hello I am auror captain Ash and this is auror Johnson." He introduced himself and his partner. "Hello."  Remus greeted back. "We have been assigned to the case since we are specialized in working between ministries and auror Johnson also specializes in tracking handwriting and letters." He told them. "It is a pleasure to meet you both." He said. Soon Kingsley and Mad-eye came into the living room.  Once the introductions were out of the way they got down to business. "We need to know everything that happened with the letter."  Mad-eye growled. Remus nodded and told them everything.  "We want to go after them but we know that we would only get ourselves into trouble and that would harm Harry further.  I know that the others have tried to track down the person but they haven't made any progress." "When you called us you gave us the letter.  I analysed the letter and know that the ink it was written in is very rare.  It is made in Britain and is made from the tears of a shadow phoenix and the blood of a baby black unicorn."  Auror Johnson told them, causing a lot of them to be shocked.  "Do you know anyone who could afford that type of ink?" "Actually yeah."  Arthur said.  "Percy was once an under secretary to the minister.  He told me once that minister Fudge had used that type of ink at work.  He remembered since he had to buy the ink for him once a month." Auror Johnson nodded and wrote down the information.  "Did he also use a griffin feather quill?" "Yes." "Both were used to write the letter."  She turned towards the British aurors.  "I would be able to match handwritings if I had a sample." "We can get you one and send it."  Kingsley told them. "Good." "We have tightened security of the prisoners as well as have a magical camera in place to help monitor the prison."  Mad-eye told them. "We will keep you informed but remember that if you pursue any suspects it will put this case in jeopardy."  Auror captain Ash told the family. "We promise we won't." Remus promised. The American aurors left.  Kingsley was the next one to speak. "Leave the case up to us.  Oh and tell Harry that we will be visiting soon." Mad-eye said. "We will."  Sirius said and they watched them go before they all went to bed. (Cullen Residence) Jasper was being amused by a pouting Emmett.  Jasper told them of the decision to let the aurors handle the letter writer and Emmett wasn't happy about it.  He was enjoying the tracking they had started and now he had to stop. "Grow up Em."  Jasper said as he turned towards Rosalie.  "Charlie Swan and his daughter visited Harry today.  Harry thanked her for her help and that was when she told us that she wished that you would have hit them." "HA! I told you people that I wasn't the only one."  Rose said to them smugly. "Oh and Harry found out that there are magical restaurants that cater to magical creatures.  They have special menus for vampires.  Harry ordered a dish from them and it tasted like both the meal and blood."  His words caused them to freeze in shock.  "Tomorrow Harry, some of his family, and I are going to go to a wizarding community to get books from the bookstore.  They have recipe books for vamps." "That is wonderful."  Esme said. Jasper told them the address to one of the restaurants.  "I figured that sometimes we could go there since that restaurant caters to non-magical folks and it has special magic to suppress blood lust." "It will make us seem more human."  Edward concluded. "Exactly." "Oh Jasper this is wonderful." Esme  Jasper nodded and went up to his room while the others returned to their activities. (Next day- Black Residence) Harry woke up and laid in bed instead of getting up.  He stared up at the leaves swaying in the wind.  He was nervous about his appointment with Poppy.  He was scared of talking about HIM and what he had done. He rolled out of bed and had gotten dressed for the day.  He decided to dress in comfortable clothes.  A teal long sleeve shirt and loose faded blue jeans.  Harry tied his hair into a loose ponytail.  He put on white socks and walked downstairs to start breakfast. He made pancakes and bacon before he placed it on the table.  He then made some orange juice, coffee, and tea.  Once they were done he placed them on the table and sat done.  Just as he was serving himself the others came in. "Good morning."  He said greeting them. They mumbled out incoherent responses before they grabbed their food and began eating.  Harry giggled at them as he began eating.  His family always cheered him up even when they weren't meaning to. "Poppy should be here soon."  Harry informed them.  "I....I hope that you all s-stay."  Harry mumbled as he blushed and looked down at his food. Sirius stood up and walked over to him.  He kneeled down before he placed his finger under Harry's chin and lifted his head so that Harry was looking up at him. "We would be honored to stay for your session with Poppy."  Harry teared up before he threw himself at him. "Thank you daddy." "You're welcome." They finished their breakfast and went into the living room.  After a few minutes the floo activated and Poppy walked out. "Good morning everyone." "Good Morning gra-Poppy." Poppy raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything.  She sat down across from Harry and began the session. Poppy was shocked and horrified when the session ended.  Of course she didn't let it show since it was neither professional nor helpful.  What shocked her even more was when Harry came up to her and hugged her. "Bye grandma." Poppy stood there for a few seconds before she responded.  "Bye my dear grandson."  She turned and left. The twins said goodbye to Harry before they left.  They had a building to buy after all.  Sirius too had to leave since he had to go to work.  Arthur also had to go to work so he said his goodbyes and left. Harry, Bill, and Remus waited a few minutes before Jasper arrived.  Once he did they left for Witches Alley.  Jasper was uncomfortable with the side apparation and for once since he became a vampire he became dizzy. Once they all arrived they were in awe of what they saw.  It was nothing like the shopping areas back in Britain.  Heck some of the witches and wizards were in muggle clothing and there were magical creatures there too. They wandered around trying to find a bookstore only to realize that there was more than one.  They decided to split up.  Harry and Jasper went into Mike's magical bookstore while Remus and Bill went into Book Haven. Harry and Jasper found books on Lycans, elves, and vampires as well as different recipe books.  They bought a few before they left for the next book store.  Remus and Bill found books that they  bought.  They bought so many books that when they went home they surprised the others. They never knew that there was so much information out there.  It made them realize just how biased and restricting Britain really was.  They bought at least a hundred books and there were still more books filled with information.  It made one wonder why magical creatures tried to live in Britain. Harry and Jasper went to make dinner while the others put the books away.  After dinner Jasper left with the books that he had paid for while Harry and his family started on the other books. Harry and the twins were reading about elves and their magic while Bill had a book about Egypt.  Remus and Sirius had books of lycans and their magic.  Arthur had grabbed a random book and found that it was about vampires and different potions they can take to become pregnant.  He was writing them down so that he could ask Severus about them. (The next day- Severus' office) Severus was in his office trying to figure out the last love potion given to Arthur.  So far they were all very powerful.  Just as he was about to throw the book in frustration he came across a page of illegal love potions.  The first page had the final potion. The potion was illegal because it required blood.  He quickly grabbed his notebook and wrote it down.  Next he tried to figure out a reversal potion.  He spent hours on it before he figured it out.  He knew that if he was right, the only way to find out was for Arthur to try it and he wasn't sure what the consequences would be. He stood and floo called Poppy to inform her of his discovery before he went to his lab to make the potion.  Poppy on the other hand went through her office grabbing different potions for different scenarios. The potion would take three days to finish and it gave Poppy time to prepare.  She then sent a letter to Arthur before she went back to preparing. (Britain's Ministry of Magic- Ministers office) Minister Bones was in her office working on many bills.  Her aurors had told her about the leniency of America and realized what was wrong with their government.  While America had barely any creature laws Britain had thousands.  She decided to fix that. Minister Bones was getting rid of many bills while adding others.  She also was going to create magical daycares and primary schools.  She then was adding laws to inspect a muggleborn and muggle raised home so that no child may be abused.  The schools would also educate them in wizarding ways as well as educate purebloods on muggle ways.  Magical creatures would also be allowed in those schools as well as Hogwarts.  Minister Bones was determined to change the magical communities in Britain for the better. It had been a long three days for the Potter-Lupin-Weasley-Black family.  All waited for the potion that Severus was making. They all wanted Arthur to be better again.  The illegal potion had to be removed quickly because it was causing Arthur to become sick.  Arthur couldn't hide that he was sick any longer. He had been hiding it so that he didn’t cause worry. Harry laid curled up on Arthur's bed and snuggled into his side and had refused to leave for school.  He was there for when he puked and when he became too sick to walk.  Harry even fed him when he couldn't find the strength to do it himself. The rest of the family paced outside his door for the first two days and now that sat in the living room staring at the fireplace. They all jumped up when the fire flared and Poppy came out with a medical bag.  Next Severus came out with a bag of his own and the family led the way to Arthur's room. Their hearts stilled when they saw the condition that Arthur.  He was very grey with dark circles under his eyes.  He was as thin as Harry used to be and his hair looked very dull.  At the moment he was puking into a garbage can with Harry rubbing his back. Harry was crying silently.  He saw the two and mouth 'He is puking up blood now.' That made them spring into action. "Harry I need you to move so that we have more access to Arthur."  Severus told Harry gently. Harry nodded and got off the bed. He ran into his father's arms who wrapped his arms tightly around him.  Poppy and Severus shut the door and began to work.  Every hour they were in there the family grew more and more worried. Finally the door opened and Poppy walked out.  Harry noticed the beaming smile and launched himself into Poppy's arms. "Thank you grandma." He said. "You're welcome my darling grandson." She kissed his cheek.   Harry ran inside and hugged a very shocked Severus.  "Thank you professor.  Thank you." Severus hugged him back.  "You are welcome Harry.  He is sleeping right now.  Make sure that he only has liquids for a while since he won't be able to stomach much else right now." "Okay." "I am also leaving behind some nutrient and vitamin potions.  Make sure that he takes those twice a day.  Once in the morning and once at night." He said. "Okay." He nodded. Severus went to leave but he turned back to Harry.  "If you ever need to talk Harry just floo to my office.  I know what it's like to be abused so I understand what you have gone through." "Thank you professor."  Harry said as he looked at Severus in a new light.  "Are you busy?" "No." He now had a teaching assistant and now that he saved Arthur he was free for the moment. "Would you like to see my garden?" The elf asked. "Sure."  With that Harry and Severus left the room. Sirius stopped them before they could go any further.  "Snape, thank you for your help with Arthur.  Also I wanted to apologize.  Even though there is no way that I could ever make up for what I did, I want to say sorry for almost killing you." Severus nodded.  "You are welcome and I do forgive you.  You thought that it would be a funny prank until you realized what you had almost done.  Poppy told me how you wanted to apologize and when I thought back on it, I realized how much you had changed."  Severus left with Harry who was smiling at his dad proudly. When they entered the garden.  Severus knew that Harry grew rare plants because of what Harry had sent him but the garden was simply amazing and downright gorgeous.  Severus stared at it speechless. "This is amazing and gorgeous Harry." He complimented. "Thank you."  Harry said as he beamed a smile at him. Harry grabbed Severus' hand and brought him over to a section of the garden that Harry used to grow potion ingredients. Harry giggled at his stunned expression. "Harry is that a lunar daisy and a solar poppy?"  Severus asked when he saw the new addition to Harry's garden. "Yeah.  Apparently since I am an Earth elf I can make plants grow without seeds.  All I need to do is imagine a plant and it will grow.  I remember in third year you were upset because the apothecary shop was out of those ingredients and they couldn't find anymore so they couldn't sell them anymore."  Severus stared at the elfling in shock.  "They went from rare to almost extinct. The plant is now protected so I decided to grow them and the American Ministry of Magic said that if I make enough of them they will allow them to be sold and used." "Wow." He gapped. "Yup."  Harry giggled.  "I grew tons of them and they planted them in different countries so that they could be grown and sold.  I wanted to give you some since mine are the only ones in bloom and I know that you had to stop with the potions you were trying to create because they needed those plants in them."  He handed him a box that had Severus in shock by the contents. "Thank you Harry." "You're welcome." "I have to go back now Harry but I will see you soon." He said. "Okay bye then."  Harry hugged him and this time Severus wasn't shocked. "Bye Harry."  Severus hugged him back before leaving. Harry went to the kitchen and began making chicken noodle soup.  Once it was done he called the rest of his family except Arthur to dinner before he filled a bowl with broth only and another bowl with the soup before he put the bowls on a tray and went upstairs. Bill, who was on his way to get dinner, saw Harry and opened the door for him.  "Thank you Bill." "You're welcome.  Tell Percy and Charlie to get their arses out and eat." He said. "Okay father."  Bill grinned when he heard that. Harry entered the room. He smiled when he saw Charlie and Percy asleep next to Arthur.  He set the tray down and went to wake them up. "Hey it is time for dinner." He told them. "Okay Harry." Percy said as he sat up. "Kay little brother." Charlie yawned. They stood up and stumbled out of the room causing Harry to giggle.  Harry then turned and woke Arthur. "Grandpa it is time for dinner."  Harry grabbed the tray and placed it on the bed between them before sitting down and set the tray up so that they both can eat together. "Thank you Harry."  Harry smiled and they began to eat. Harry placed two vials down in front of Arthur.  "Severus said that you have to take these twice a day.  Once in the morning and once at night.  Once is a nutrient potion and the other is a vitamin potion." "Okay."  He quickly took them before glaring playfully at Harry who was laughing at the faces that he made.  "How are you feeling?" Harry asked. "Much better." He answered truthfully. "Good.  Can I call Charlie and tell him?" He asked. "Yes." "Yay!"  Arthur smiled at Harry who, for once, was acting childish. As soon as Harry finished his dinner he called Charlie.  "Hello?" "Hi Charlie." "Hi Harry.  How is Arthur?" He asked in concern. "He is doing better so you can come over anytime and see him." Harry told him. "Okay thanks.  I will be over soon." He said before hanging up. "Okay." He said. "He is coming over soon." "It will be nice to see him.  I am going to tell him I am a wizard since I now know he is my mate." He informed his grandson. "He is?"  Harry's eyes sparkled happily. "Yes."  He gently hugged Arthur. "I'm glad for you grandpa." He said. "Thank you Harry." He kissed his cheek. "Of course." He smiled. "Go see Jasper." He said. "Huh?" He looked at the older male in confusion. "Ever since you found out that I was sick, you haven't left my side nor this house.  Go see him." He explained. "Okay."  Harry grabbed the dishes and the tray before leaving. He brought them down to the kitchen and handed them to Charlie who was washing them.  He quickly thanked him before going upstairs to get changed.  He was only in a pair of loose sky blue pajama pants after all. He changed into a dark brown long sleeve shirt and a pair of beige slacks.  Next Harry put on a light brown sweatshirt that had a werewolf on the back and a pair of light brown striped socks before he put on a pair of dark brown sneakers.  After that he put his hair into a braid before he tied it off with a brown ribbon.  He then put on a pair of small gold hoop earrings and the gold pendant that had a lily engraved on it that Harry had found in his family vault. Harry put his glamour on before going downstairs.  He made sure that Remus knew that he was leaving and where he was going before he went into the garage and grabbed his motorcycle.  He waved at Charlie Swan before he left. Harry had just parked in the Cullen driveway when Jasper ran out of the house and greeted him with a kiss.  Harry blushed before kissing him back. "Hello Harry." "Hi Jasper." "Mom made you those brownies."  Harry's face lit up. "Chocolate chip brownies with strawberries on top and drizzled with chocolate sauce?" He asked in excitement. "Yes."  Jasper chuckled and led him inside as Harry canceled the glamour. "YAY!"  The house full of vampires laughed. Harry turned puppy eyes at Esme who handed the brownies to Harry as soon as she met the eyes.  Harry immediately started to wolf them down.  He moaned at the taste causing Jasper to shift.  The rest of the vampires either smirked or laughed at Jasper. "Thank you Esme." "You're welcome."   Harry and Jasper went upstairs.  Meanwhile the rest of the family had left to hunt and that was when Alice was hit with a vision.  She gasped at what she saw and so did Edward.  They told the family before they called a meeting so that Jasper, Harry, and his family could hear the vision. (With Arthur and Charlie) Charlie waved at Harry as he left before he entered the house and went to Arthur's room.  Charlie forced himself not to react to Arthur's looks. "Hey Arthur. How are you feeling?"  Charlie asked as he entered the room and kissed Arthur on the forehead. "Better.  I have something to tell you." He told him. Charlie sat down.  "What?" "I know that this is going to sound crazy but I am a wizard."  He looked shocked and only stared at Arthur.  "I would do magic but since I was sick I am not allowed.  I can prove it though.  BILL!"  They heard running before Bill barged into the room. "Everything okay?" He asked in concern. "Yeah.  I wanted to know if you could use a spell to prove to Charlie that I am a wizard?" He asked his son. "Sure."  He took out his wand and pointed it at the empty glass on his nightstand.  "Accio glass."  The glass flew into Bill's hand. "Wow." Charlie gasped. "Yup.  I will go fill this." The younger redhead said. "Thanks son."  Bill nodded. Charlie and Arthur sat there talking for a while until Percy entered the room.  "Dad, we are going to the Cullen's for a bit.  Alice had a vision and they wanted to tell us and it is important.  We will keep you informed." "Alright." He looked towards his father's boyfriend.  "Take care of him while we are gone okay." "I will."  Percy nodded before leaving. "Alice?"  Charlie asked as he turned towards Arthur causing him to explain.  "Ah." "You okay?" He asked. "Just a lot to take in." He answered. "I bet.  Harry found out when he was eleven and he is still getting used to it." He said. "Tell me more about this world."  Arthur did and soon they both fell asleep. Everyone but Arthur were sitting in the Cullen's living room.  All eyes were on Alice as she stood in the middle of the room and waited for her to tell them her vision. "As you know that while we were out hunting I had a vision.  My vision took place in a prison.  I watched as a man, who looked like an obese whale, escape." She informed them. Jasper flinched at the emotions he was feeling.  From Harry he could feel fear and pain.  The rest of Harry's family, he could feel their anger and rage.  Whoever this man was he had hurt Harry and Jasper was going to make him pay. "I saw the vision in Alice's head and recognized him from Harry's nightmare.  He is Vernon Dursley right?  Harry's uncle from marriage who hurt Harry?" Edward asked. Harry only nodded before he climbed onto Sirius' lap and buried his head in his chest.  Jasper was glad that he did as he clenched his hands into fists.  He didn't want to scare his little mate.  He was angry that someone had hurt Harry and he knew that Harry would get scared if he was near people, especially males, who were angry.  It was all that man's fault. "Well after he escaped another fat man in a green suit and bowler hat walked up to him.  He handed him a ticket and told him where Harry was." Alice informed them. Harry's family went still.  That description matched the ex minister's.  Percy stood up and went over to the Cullen's fireplace and began to cast a spell. "What is he doing?"  Esme asked, confused. "He is making your fireplace connect to a floo network so that he can contact both the American ministry and the British ministry.  Alice just described the ex-minister who had helped Dumbledore keep Harry at the Dursleys." Remus explained. "Oh." Soon both ministry aurors were at the Cullen's residence.  Alice recounted her vision. "Do you know the date or time that it happened?" Kingsley asked. "No."  Alice said after a few minutes. "Kingsley, have Tonks call the muggle prison that Vernon was sent to.  I want to know if he is there or not.  I then want you to find and watch Fudge." Alaster ordered. Kingsley nodded before he made his way over to Harry. "Don't worry Harry.  We will get them.  Just remember that not only does Moody have your back, but so do I, Tonks, your family, a coven full of vampires, Sirius' cousin and those wolves, and a bunch of women at Hogwarts who are very scary as well as Severus.  You are well looked after."  Harry giggled and gave the person he thought of as a big brother a hug before Kingsley left. "I am going to make sure that the others stay where they belong."  Mad-eye said as he turned to leave only to be stopped by Harry hugging him. "Thank you."  Harry mumbled. "You’re welcome."  Mad-eye said as he hugged him back and left. Harry quickly went back to sitting on Sirius' lap.  "We will monitor the air lines and other muggle transportation.  We would also like to put up protection wards around your house lord Black." Sirius nodded.  "Okay." The aurors left and Esme went into the kitchen to go get snacks.  They were startled when both Harry and Edward began laughing.  Harry was laughing so hard that if it wasn't for Sirius holding him he would have fallen off the couch. "May we know what is so funny?"  Bill asked. They had to wait for the two to calm down.  Harry had to wipe the tears off his face and was trying to regain his breath so it was Edward that told them what was so funny. "Harry was thinking about all the people who actually love and care about him and he was stunned to know that there were so many.  He was thinking about sending a letter to Poppy and Minerva when a thought entered his head."  Edward stopped and chuckled as he remembered.  "He was thinking of just locking Dursley in a room with the two women." "What is so funny about that?"  Remus asked, confused. The twins quickly grabbed Harry and put up a silencing charm and soon they too burst out laughing.  They took off the silencing charm and cuddled their little brother. "I can..." "actually see..." " that ."  They said between laughs. That gained raised eyebrows from those who didn't know what was so funny.  They looked at the four that were laughing and wondered what it was.  Edward heard their thoughts and finally told them. "You all know that Poppy always threatens to tie Harry to a bed the next time he ends up in a hospital bed.  Harry thought that if Dursley was locked in a room with them then Poppy would tie him to a bed and then use potions and spells on him.  Then Minerva would be next."  Edward smirked at the elf who had become a little brother to him.  "Harry thought that she would use her transfiguration skills to get revenge and she used it on certain areas." Everyone that wasn't laughing already stared at a still giggling Harry and burst out laughing.  "That isn't all."  Harry said and that caused everyone but Edward and him to stop laughing and stared at him. "There is more?"  Emmett asked. "Yup!"  Harry giggled.   "If there is anything left of him I thought that we could then lock him in a room with Esme and Rose.  We all know what they would do."  Harry said and that caused more laughter. "Damn straight.  If I ever get my hands on that low life bastard he won't live long."  Rose said with a smile scaring most of Harry's family making them glad that she was on their side. They looked at Esme who gave Harry his snack first, kissed his cheek and gave the rest of them their snacks.  The vampires were really glad that Harry found that restaurant because now they could eat with the rest of them. "I would make him suffer.  He wouldn’t get out of the room alive though."  Esme said as she sat next to Carlisle. Harry smiled at her as his family stared at Esme in shock.  What they didn't know was that Esme had told Harry her story to help him recover.  Rose had done the same. "If there is anything left of him we give him to you all."  Harry told them as he stood and went upstairs to go take a nap. They were all shocked when Percy stood up and followed after him.  From the looks of it Percy looked angry. "Percy?" "He is doing it again only he is doing unconsciously."  They were all confused.  Harry had just made it to Jasper's door when Percy reached him.  Harry looked at him confused.  Percy grabbed his arm and pulled him inside. "Harry your magic is limiting your emotions." He informed him. "What?  Percy I swear I'm not doing it on purpose."  Harry told him as tears pooled in the corner of his eyes. "I know.  I am telling you so that you are aware and can stop it." Percy reassured him. "Thank you." If his brother hadn’t told him it could have ended badly. "You're welcome little brother.  I know that you have sessions with Poppy  so tell her about this and maybe professor Snape as well.  They both are healers so they know more about magic than I do so they can tell you what happened and how to handle it." He suggested as he hugged Harry. "Severus is a healer?" Harry asked in shock. "It is required to become a certified healer to become a potions master." Percy informed him. "Oh." "Take a nap Harry."  Percy said and Harry curled up on the bed and fell asleep. Back downstairs the vampires and those with sensitive hearing were telling those without sensitive hearing what had happened.  They were all confused as to why he was angry.  When he came down they asked and Percy answered. "I was angry because from what I know of this type of magic.  It is called emotion magic."  Bill looked at Percy in shock. "He is using emotion magic?" He asked. "Yeah.  Before he was using it on purpose so that he didn't feel Cedric's death and then to stop himself from feeling negative emotions from the incident a few weeks ago.  Now he isn't aware that he was doing it." Percy told them. "Crap.  That is bad." Bill paled. "I know.  It is why I was angry." He sighed as he sat down. "What is emotion magic and why is it bad?"  Sirius asked. "It isn't bad if used properly.  It is magic that is used in court during emotional trials to keep people calm and in their right minds.  Harry didn't know he was using emotion magic but he was using his magic to manipulate his emotions.  That branch of magic is draining and if one is doing it unconsciously they won't know to stop or replenish their magic and so it will drain.  They won't know that their magic is draining either."  Bill explained to them. The wizards in the room paled.  "That means that if they don't know their magic is draining they won't get help and they will either lose their magic permanently or die."  That caused the vampires in the room to stare at the wizards in shock and Jasper to run to his room and be with his mate. "I will contact Poppy and tell her.  We have to go check on Arthur and some other things so make sure Harry eats when he wakes up." Sirius said knowing his son was safe. "We will."  The wizards apparated out. "Poor Harry.  I think that I will make him an apple pie."  Esme said and went to the kitchen to go bake. The rest of them went about their day.  Alice and Rose left to go shopping.  They wanted to finish their surprise for Harry.  Edward and Emmett watched their mates with amused smiles as they played video games. (Unknown place) A horse stopped at the edge of a forest.  A cloaked figure got off the horse, grabbed the reins and led the horse into the forest.  Soon they came to a village.  Even though the elves nodded their heads the figure kept on walking.  He made his way to what looked like a castle made out of trees. Once there he stood in front of two figures.  One was a blond haired man and the other was a man with light brown hair.  They were both clothed in what looked like royal clothes made out of nature and crowns adorn their heads.  Each had green and brown streaks throughout their hair. "Your majesties I have found the elf who came into their inheritance." He said. "Who is this elf and why wasn't he in one of our villages?"  The blond haired elf asked. "He is Harrison Potter now Harrison James Alexander Orion John Potter-Lupin-Weasley-Black.  He lost his parents at the age of one and lived with his mother's sister and her family.  He was abused sexually, mentally, emotionally, and physically."  The cloaked figure said in anger.  "When he turned sixteen he came into his elven inheritance and when his three fathers came and adopted him.  He now resides in Forks, Washington in America.  The young elf also found a mate in a muggle vampire who drinks animal blood with his coven." "What else?  From the looks of it it isn't good."  The brown haired elf asked in concern. "It isn't."  The cloaked figure said and then explained what had happened. "I want you to get into contact with the elfling and his family.  Tell them who you are and I want you to teach him about us, his magic, and the way of our people."  The blonde said as he wrapped his arms around the brunette. "As you wish King Terra."  The cloaked figure turned and left. He made his way home to gather the necessary items before he left.  Soon he was on his horse and leaving to go see the young elf.  He couldn't wait to actually meet him instead of watching him.  The wind blew his hood off and revealed long midnight black hair streaked with green and brown.  He was pale from his time in the forest and had light brown eyes.  He quickly grabbed his hood and placed it back on his head.  He didn't want anyone to see his face before Harry. Soon they were in Forks.  He made his way to Harry's home even though he knew Harry was at the Cullen's house.  He also knew that he wouldn't be able to see Harry until his parents allowed it.  Harry was very special to them and they were very very protective of Harry and he knew they had a good reason but he valued his life and didn't want to die, thank you very much. He knocked on the door and soon it was answered by Sirius Black.  "May I help you?" "Yes.  I am Alexander Wood an earth elf."  Alex said as he shook Sirius' hand.  "It has come to our attention that your son had come into an elven inheritance and he is now an earth elf." "Yes he did." He confirmed. "I am here to teach Harry about elves, his magic, and his way of life. If you allow it of course." Alexander said. "I see. Come in." Sirius was surprised. "I cannot right now but I was hoping for a meeting soon." He said. "Tomorrow is good for us." He told him. "Then I will see you and your family tomorrow."  Sirius nodded and Alex left with his horse and Sirius went inside to inform the rest of the family. Harry awoke from his nap to find Jasper cuddling him.  Jasper was pressing really close to him and was running his fingers through Harry's hair.  Harry turned and looked at him. "Hey."  Harry said sleepily. "Hey."  Jasper responded and gave him a peck on the lips. "Perce told you didn't he?"  Harry asked after a few minutes. "Yeah." "I see.  Just remember that if you can't get a reading on my emotions or my emotions seem off just tell me that way I can stop.  When I first did it Percy explained to me what I was doing and what could happen." He informed his mate. "I will darlin'."  Jasper said in a southern accent that caused Harry to giggle.  "Come on Esme has made food for us." "Okay."  They both stood up and went downstairs. When they got to the table Esme immediately placed food down in front of them.  They said thank you and began eating. "Before I forget Sirius called.  He said that you should come home because another elf visited and he wants to teach you things and Sirius wanted to talk to you about it before you meet him." Esme told Harry. "Okay I will leave after eating then.  Thank you Esme." "You're welcome dear." Once they finished eating Harry and Jasper left.  After the vision there was no way in hell that he was going to leave his mate alone and he wanted to make sure that this elf was safe for his mate to be around even if they hadn't met him just yet.  If he wasn't then the elf was going to pay. Once there Harry got off the bike and grabbed Jasper's hand.  Even though he wouldn't be meeting the elf yet he was nervous and scared but at the same time excited.  He was unknown and had a high possibility of wanting to harm him but he was also another elf.  He could help Harry with his powers as well as his knowledge on elves.   The books at the store only described types, how to identify them and their type, and what had happened to elves in the past.  To Harry that wasn't that helpful. As they entered the house they saw Arthur and Charlie.  Harry quickly went over and hugged his grandfather.  He was excited to see him up and about even if he was sitting in the living room. "Does he know?" Harry asked. "Yup." "Hello Charlie." He greeted as he canceled the glamour. "Hello Harry.  You're right Arthur he looks better when he is showing his eleven features."  Harry blushed and sat down next to Jasper on the loveseat.   "Thank you. Anyway where is dad?  Esme said that he told her that an elf visited wanting to teach me and dad wanted to talk to me about it." Harry asked. "He is upstairs with Remus and Bill.  They will be down soon." Arthur answered. "Okay." Just as he said that his parents barreled down the stairs.  Sirius went over and sat near Harry while the others sat down near them. "Daddy?" "Before we talk about the elf we have some great news." Sirius said. "What?" He asked. "Bill is pregnant and you're going to be a big brother."  He said as he grinned at his son. Harry looked between his three parents before he looked at Bill.  "Really?" "Yes really." Harry ran over to Bill and hugged him.  "I'm so happy for you father." Bill wrapped his arms around Harry.  "Me too Harry, me too."  Bill was really relieved since he wasn't sure what Harry would think.  He didn't want Harry to think that they were replacing him with a baby of their own.  Harry was actually happy that he was going to be a big brother.  He was finally getting his family.  Harry vowed then and there that his baby sibling was going to get the childhood that was stolen from him. Harry quickly hugged his other parents.  They too were happy with how well Harry was taking it.  They were glad that Harry knew that they could love him still even if they were having a baby. The expecting parents were congratulated by everyone else before they sat down and began discussing the elf that arrived. "How do we know that he is safe?"  Jasper asked in concern for his mate. "When we moved here I put up wards that kept out people who has the intention to harm.  They work on everyone and only the caster can take them down.  The best part of the wards is that if someone inside the wards becomes dangerous to the occupants here they are teleported outside the wards." Bill explained. Jasper nodded in relief.  "Good." "I wanted Harry to always have a safe haven to go to no matter what."  Harry smiled at Bill. "Who was he?"  Harry asked. "He said that he was an Earth elf like you Harry and he said that his name was Alexander Wood." Sirius said Harry's eyes widened.  "Did you see what he looked like?" "No he wore a cloak, why?" He asked in confusion. "In fifth year we did a lineage potion and to see if we did it correctly we had to test it.  On dad's side it had many names.  About four generations back Alexander Wood appeared.  Dad also had a picture of him in the vault." He explained. Those in the room stared at the elfling in shock. "Could he be the same Alexander Wood from your family?"  Sirius asked after he recovered from the shock. "I don't know.  If you didn't see what he looked like then I don't know until I see him." Harry said. "True.  What do you want to do cub?"  Remus asked.  "We are having a meeting with him tomorrow." "No matter who he is I want to learn about my powers and about elves in general.  If he means no harm then he can teach me, right?" He asked. "Right.  Then tomorrow we'll see what happened." Bill answered. Harry nodded and said goodbye to Jasper.  He had been called away by his sisters for something and was going to help them out.  Harry then went to his garden to go collect some more potion ingredients for Severus. Arthur had told Harry about the potion that allows vampires to become pregnant when he was sick.  Harry decided to collect the ingredients and a letter to see if he would brew two.  Harry knew that both Esme and Rosalie wanted to have a baby and this would help. Harry also wanted to learn how to make this potion.  Harry knew from Jasper that there were a lot of vampires that wanted a child and couldn't so Harry wanted to help fulfill their wishes. Meanwhile Jasper arrived at the store that Rose and Alice were at.  They were making a spare room into an art room for him as well as the part of the yard connected to the door into a garden for him.  They wanted Harry to feel welcome and they wanted to do this for him. They decided to paint the wall Harry's favorite color and the problem was that they didn't know it.  They also needed help with picking out things that were to Harry's taste and they couldn't decide on it.  They knew that Jasper would be able to help. Jasper quickly grabbed a purple sample and gave it to Rose before walking over to the art sets and picking out one.  Alice put that into the cart with the easel that was picked.  Soon the cart was filled and the trio left the store. They then went to a gardening store and bought seeds, gardening equipment, fertilizer, and fences.  After that they went home and the women went to work while their mates and Jasper watched them.  They only helped when the women gave the instructions.  They were all amused by the bossy women.  When they were done Esme went down and cooked dinner and then they all went to do things. (Next Day) Harry woke up earlier than usual.  He was nervous about the meeting with the other earth elf that could be his great grandfather.  Many things ran through his head and in an attempt to stop them Harry got out of bed and went to work in his garden. As he worked he slowly began to relax and forget about the meeting and the fact that his uncle might have escaped thanks to ex-minister Fudge.  The twins had also woken up early.  They knew that Harry would be worrying and they wanted to make sure that he couldn't. They frowned when they saw that his room was empty and went to look in the kitchen and garden to find him.  They found him in the garden tending to his plants.  They smiled when they saw how relaxed he was.  It made them happy to know that their little brother/nephew was happy. They both walked over to him and gave him a hug.  Harry smiled before turning and hugging him back. "How are you feeling?"  Fred asked. "Nervous and scared." Harry admitted. "Don't worry about Fudge or your uncle.  Last we heard was that he did indeed escape but he hasn't taken a plane yet or a boat.  Moody has sent those with muggle knowledge to patrol the muggle world and the rest are patrolling the wizarding world.  Moody won't let either of those two fat arse bastards get near you."  George said. Harry nodded and snuggled closer to them.  "I know but why can't they just leave me alone?  Why do they hate me so much?" "Oh..." "Harry." "We don't know." Fred said. "Whoever hates you are idiots." George told him. Harry smiled at them before he left their embrace and went to the kitchen to begin making breakfast.  The twins followed and sat down at the table. "Is Jasper coming over?" George asked. "Yeah.  He wants to be here when we have that meeting with Alexander." He answered. "Cool.  Did Severus reply back?" Fred asked. "Not yet."  Harry said as he placed a plate in front of them. "He will probably say yes.  He was the one to create the potion and Britain banned it so he will want to brew it again."  Fred said as he cut his waffle. “Especially if more muggle vampires want it.” "I hope so.  Esme and Rose helped me so much and I want to help them out anyway that I can." Harry told them. " We know baby brother ." Harry just smiled and went back to finishing up breakfast.  The rest came down and began eating.  Bill groaned when he saw that Harry had placed a prenatal potion down near his plate.  He should have realized Harry would begin helping as soon as he heard.  Everyone else just laughed at him especially when he drank the contents and he made a face. "Thanks Harry." "You're welcome father."  Harry said with a soft smile. Harry quickly washed the plates and went upstairs to change.  He put on a light purple long sleeve shirt, grey sweatpants and a pair of purple socks.  He pulled his hair into a loose ponytail.  He had just walked downstairs when the doorbell rang. He made his way over and found that it was Jasper.  He pecked Harry's mouth in greeting causing Harry to blush.  Jasper chuckled and walked into the house and closed the door.  Since the elf wasn't  there yet Harry and Jasper decided to read another of the books that they bought. Harry was reading a book on babies.  Jasper smiled knowing how excited Harry was at becoming a big brother.  Jasper was reading a book on empathy.  Jasper was lying on the couch with Harry lying between his legs and using his stomach as a pillow.   Jasper was running his hand through his hair and dislodging most of it from the hair tie. They stayed like that until the doorbell rang again.  Everyone walked into the living room as Remus answered the door.  Alexander Wood was allowed to enter and stood in front of Harry. "Hello Harry I am Alexander Wood."  With that he grabbed the hood of his cloak and pulled it down and revealed his face. Harry gasped.  This was the same man he saw in a photo in his dad's vault.  He had long black hair that had green and brown streaks.  His eyes were the same light brown eyes.  Harry also took note that he and this man looked a lot alike. "I am sure that you might have noticed the similarities.  I am your great grandfather." Alexander told him. Harry and his family just stared at him in shock.  No one knew what to say until Harry recovered and asked an important question. "Why weren't you in my life before now?"  Tears pooled in Harry's eyes causing his great grandfather to pale. "Well...." "Well that is because I thought that you were dead and I couldn't feel your magic." Alexander admitted. "Why would you think that I was dead?" Harry asked. "I was visiting a muggle town to retrieve a young elfling that was orphaned the night that you were attacked.  I returned and the place was on fire.  I went inside to check and only found your parents' bodies and a pile of ash in your crib."  Harry gasped.  "I removed their bodies and gave them a proper earth elf burial before I sent my magic out to search for yours.  You see since you have elf genes in you I would have been able to connect my magic with yours.  For some reason I couldn't connect with your magic and when that happens it usually means that person is dead.  I went back to the forest and grieved over the loss of my family." They all stared at the older elf in shock.  This brought some facts that none of them knew into the light.  They weren't even aware that James knew this man. "So you wanted me?"  Harry asked.  He was afraid that this man was going to say that he didn't want a freak like him. "Of course I wanted you.  You are my grandson."  Alexander told him. He sighed when he saw that Harry didn't look like he believed him.  How he wanted to go find the Dursleys and kill them slowly and painfully before killing the rest that caused his little elfling harm. "After I grieved I stayed out of the wizarding world and became a teacher to young earth elflings.  It was on your birthday that I felt your power.  I left to go find you.  When I did, I watched to see whether or not it was you." He told him. Jasper wrapped his arms around a shaking Harry and pulled him onto his lap.  This action caused Alexander to smile.  He was glad that Harry had such a good mate. "When I was sure I went back home to inform our kings." He said. "Our kings?"  Harry asked. "King Terra and his consort are the kings of Earth elves.  I reported the information and they told me to come here and teach you.  I would have done it anyway but this just means that no one can make me leave." He said. "Oh.  How come?" He asked. "There is a treaty between earth elves and the ministry of magic.  To force me away is a violation of said treaty.  That and since you yourself are an earth elf you fall under our laws and then they would be breaking our laws and the treaty." He explained. "I see."  Harry said.  He had finally stopped shaking and began to relax. "I now get to spend time with you and make up for the time that we lost.  I also get to teach you what you need to know about earth elves and everything." He smiled at his grandson. "Okay." "First we will get to know each other.  Once you are comfortable with me then we will begin your lessons." He said. "Okay." "How about next Saturday you and your family can come to my house that I have here and have lunch with me?" Alexander suggested. "I like that idea."  Harry said shyly. "So do I." Alexander said with a grin.  "I have to leave now.  I have to go stock up on food that I can't grow."  His pout caused Harry to giggle. "Bye grandpa Alex." Alex smiled.  "Bye my little elfling." He left and Harry went over to Bill and handed him a vial.  "I told Poppy that you were pregnant and then asked her a bunch of questions.  She said that you need prenatal potions and handed me some." "Thanks Harry." "You're welcome father." Harry then grabbed Jasper's hand and walked out of the living room and into the garden.  He gave Jasper a watering can and soon the two were watering the garden in silence.  Jasper gave his little mate the chance to think. (Unknown Location) A small man in a green suit and bowler hat approached a cell. He quickly opened it and then entered.  He soon was standing in front of an old man in black and white striped jumpsuit.  Around his wrists and ankles were shackles. "You came." "Of course I did.  Hold on and I will free you in just a second." Fudge said. The old man smirked as he nodded and after a few seconds the shackles were removed.  He stood and stretched.  The other man handed over a wand. "Where is the boy?" He asked. "Forks, Washington in America.  I freed his uncle to distract them so that the brat will be vulnerable." He eagerly told his master. "Good."  The man said with a smirk and soon both men left. Poor Harry had no idea what had just happened. (With Luna) Luna was getting ready for bed when the vision hit her.  It was so intense that her knees gave out and she clenched her head in pain.  When it was over she ran to the bathroom and emptied her stomach. Once her stomach was empty and she wasn't lightheaded anymore she went to the sink and rinsed out her mouth.  She then left the bathroom and went to her things.  She grabbed a journal and began writing her vision down.  It disappeared once she finished.  She hoped they found it soon. Luna then brushed her teeth and laid in bed.  Unfortunately, the vision kept her awake. (Unknown Location) Fudge walked over to his master and handed him a potion vial.  The man took it and sucked it down.  Fudge grabbed the vial back. "Feeling better master?" He asked. "Yes I am." "Good.  Do you require anything else?" "Not at this moment.  Remember that we leave tonight." He told Fudge. "Of course master." "Soon you will pay Potter, soon you will pay." The old man vowed. (The twins) The twins were in their room.  It was George who noticed that the journal was glowing. "Fred look."  George pointed to the journal causing Fred to look and grab it. "It's from Luna."  Fred read it and turned green.  He handed it over to George before going over to the garbage can and began puking. George read it and made his way downstairs.  He handed the book to Sirius before running back upstairs to check on Fred. "You okay?" He asked in concern. "Am now." "I gave the journal to Sirius." "Okay.  Let's go downstairs then."  George nodded and wrapped an arm around his brother and together they went downstairs. They saw that Sirius had called in the rest of the family.  Arthur saw how pale Fred was and quickly went over to his son. "Fred what is wrong?" He asked. "I read the journal." He answered darkly. "The journal?" Arthur asked in confusion. "We gave Luna a journal and we kept one.  It was so that Harry could keep in contact with Luna during the school year.  Luna wrote her vision in it and Fred read it.  I read it too and it was horrifying."  George explained. Fred sat down and wrapped his arms around a confused Harry.  Fred just nuzzled his hair and comforted himself that Harry was still alive and well. "Fred?" Harry asked, worried for his brother/uncle. He didn’t respond except for bringing Harry onto his lap and tightening his arms.  Harry was very confused as were all except George. "George?" "Yes?" "What is the vision about that is making him need to reassure himself that I am safe?" He asked. "I can't say Harry.  I....What that vision is about makes me sick."  George told Harry honestly. Harry nodded and curled into Fred.  Based off of his reaction and from what he just learned from George he didn't want to know.  He really wished that these bad things would quit happening to him. "What does the journal say Sirius?"  Arthur asked in concern. Sirius took a deep breath and opened the book and read the contents.  Judging by how much Sirius paled the others knew that it was worse than what they had been imaging from the twins' reaction.  He swallowed and opened his mouth. "Luna had a terrible vision.  One that needs to be reported immediately." He said. "Why?!  What was the vision about?"  Bill said causing Harry to wiggle out of Fred's hold and walk over to him. "Whatever the vision is about will be handled by the authorities.  No matter how horrifying it is you mustn’t worry about it.  It isn't good for both you and the baby.  The vision will help to keep me safe.  Plus, if we tell grandpa Alex he will help and from what I have learned from our lessons, no one should piss off an elf, especially when they are near their element."  Harry said, hugging his father. Bill hugged his son back.  "Thank you Harry I needed that." "I know.  Why don't we go into the kitchen while they talk?" He suggested. "Okay."   They left and the others took turns reading the vision.  Sirius in the meantime floo called the ministry once again.  Soon the journal was handed to the aurors.  The oldest one began reading it out loud. "Guys I just had a vision and it was horrible.  I ended up puking once it ended.  Here it is:" "Guys I just had a vision and it was terrible. I ended up puking once it ended.  Here it is: It took place in an unknown location.  It was dark and there was a large fire pit in the middle.  I could see the stars and the moon.  There wasn't a ceiling or walls.  I think I saw a tent though. Fudge entered the picture dragging in a moving sack.  He kneeled in front of a cloaked figure that I noticed once he kneeled.  Fudge began to speak like he was a death eater in front of the dark lord. He said "Master I have brought you Potter like you asked." The cloaked figure removed his hood.  Guys it was Dumbledore.  He smiled at Fudge and after sending a stunning hex at the bag he beckoned for Fudge to come closer. "Very good my pet.  You may suck my cock as a reward." He said. "Thank you master."  With that I was forced to endure that horrifying and disgusting act. Once that was finished Fudge was sent to go grab an 'item.'  Meanwhile he grabbed Harry out of the bag and tied him to a tree.  Fudge exited the tent holding a box.  He quickly handed the box to Dumbledore.  He opened the box and pulled out a collar that he put around Harry before waking him up. "Hello Potter." Dumbledore said and once he saw who was in front of him, Harry paled. "No!  This can't be happening."  Harry cried out. "Oh but it is, boy."  Dumbledore said.  "Fudge come here." "Yes master."  Fudge walked over to his master. "Would you like to explain to Harry about his collar?"  It was then that Harry felt the collar that was around his neck and he paled more. "Yes master I would." He nodded. "Then go head."  He caressed Fudge's cheek. "That collar is a slave collar."  Harry paled even more.  "That means that whatever master orders you must do."  He informed, gleefully. "No!"  Harry's eyes were wide with fear. "Oh yes." "My pet is correct.  Let me demonstrate."  He moved closer to Harry.  "Kiss me."  Harry began kissing him.  "See you can't refuse." "Wow master that was hot." Fudge moaned. "It was.  Now Harry, watch."  He backed away and stood behind his other pet.  "Bend over." "Yes master."  He pulled down his pants and Dumbledore did the nasty with him.  Harry looked ready to puke. Once they were done Dumbledore untied Harry.  "Do not run away." Thanks to that damn collar Harry was forced to listen.  I can't go into detail but Harry was raped by both Dumbledore and Fudge.  That is my whole vision.  Once I was able to, I was in the bathroom puking.  Please you have to make sure that this vision never comes to pass." Everyone was silent.  The journal was given to the American aurors.  Kingsley broke the silence. "I will go to miss Lovegood to retrieve the memory.  Maybe get a clue on the location." He said. "I am going to Azkaban."  Moody growled out.  "If that man is out there will be hell to pay." "We are monitoring all modes of transportation.  So far Dursley hasn't turned up but I will add Fudge and Dumbledore to the list." He said. "Thank you."  Sirius said faintly before leaving to go cuddle his son. They aurors left.  Arthur left to go inform his other children.  Remus went to his son and mates.  The twins held each other before going to see Harry. Harry on the other hand was very worried.  First Sirius wrapped his arms around him then Remus did the same.  It made Harry want to know yet not want to know. "Dad?" "Don't ask me Harry.  I can't."  Harry nodded in understanding before breaking away and making some tea. "Okay.  Grandpa Alex said that he was on his way and Jasper will be here soon." The elfling said. "Great.  How are you doing honey?"  Sirius asked Bill. "I'm fine.  I don't want to know do I?" He asked. "No you don't." He agreed. "Alright then.  I won't ask either." He had to think about the baby. "Thanks." "Of course love." Arthur entered the kitchen.  He hugged Harry tightly before grabbing the tea cup handed to him.  He thanked him and sat down. "Your brothers and their partners are coming.  They should be here soon." He said. "Okay." "They are bringing Luna over with them." Arthur told him. "Then I will make up the guest bedroom."  The doorbell rang.  "I'll get it." "No let me."  Arthur said. "Even though there are wards up you guys are going to be overprotective, right?" Harry asked. "RIGHT!"  They all said causing Harry to groan but they all knew he was glad that they were. "Great." Jasper entered the room and hugged his little mate.  From the emotions from the room he wasn't going to hear what the vision was going to be about just yet. "Want some tea?" Harry asked. "Sure." "Then you are going to have to let go." He said as his lips twitched. "Right." Despite the situation the others laughed. The bell rang once again and this time Remus went to answer it.  This time it was his grandfather.  He entered the room and briefly hugged Harry and kissed his forehead. "I am sorry that I am late.  I went to the ministry to see what happened.  I had a feeling that you wouldn't be able to tell me."  He noticed his son's mate.  "I will tell you follow me." "Okay." Harry just stared before sharing a look with Bill.  Bill shrugged knowing it was useless.  Harry nodded and began making more tea.  He then gave Bill a sandwich and tea. "Thanks Harry." "You're welcome." The fireplace in the living room roared before five people walked out.  Arthur had sent them a memory and by some miracle the letter and memory reached them quickly.  They were horrified.  Luna rushed to the person who she had the vision about. "Luna."  She began sobbing.  "Sh. It's okay.  I'm safe." "I saw it all." She managed to choke out. "I know little sis.  I'm sorry that you had to see that horrible vision." He said. She continued to cry.  Harry guided her to a chair and quickly made her some tea.  He hoped that this would calm her down.  He really didn't want to know what her vision was about if she was like this. "Here drink this."  He put a calming draught in it. "O-okay."  After drinking the tea, she began to calm down.  "Thanks." "You're welcome."  He turned towards the other four.  "One hug at a time."  Oliver beat them to it. "None of that will happen to you." He said. "None of what?" Harry asked his old team captain. "They didn't tell you?" He asked. "They couldn't."  He nodded and sat down next to the twins.  "I can understand that." Charlie was next.  "I am so glad that we know in advance.  Although I wish Luna didn't have to see it." "Me too." She said. "Go hug the other two and I will finish making the tea." He said. "Thanks."  Charlie nodded and Harry hugged Percy. "You are a trouble magnet."  Percy accused. "Sorry?"  Harry said with an innocent look. "I don't buy that." He said. "You should.  It's not like I do it or like it." He pouted. Percy's face softened.  "I know." He released Harry and allowed his wife to hug the youth.  She didn't say anything.  Penelope just soaked up his presents. Jasper reentered the room again.  He grabbed his mate and took him out of the room.  The others wanted to protest but they knew Harry needed and had a right to know.  So they were silent as Jasper explained what happened. "What are you doing?"  Harry asked as he was dragged into his bedroom. "I am going to tell you what Luna saw in her vision." He said. Harry swallowed.  "Okay." Jasper sat down on the bed and brought Harry onto his lap.  He then told Harry.  When he saw how green his mate was he took him to the bathroom. As soon as he was in front of the toilet he began throwing up. Jasper rubbed his back.  He pushed and kept Harry's hair out of his face.  He was also keeping an eye on his emotions to make sure that he didn't use that emotion magic. "Shh.  I know darlin', I know."  He whispered in Harry's ear in comfort. It was a while but Harry quit puking.  He handed Harry a glass of water.  As Harry washed the vile taste from his mouth Jasper whipped his face.  Harry leaned against him. "Why does it always happen to me?" He asked. "I don't know darlin'." He hated it as well. "I'm going to call Poppy later." He said. Jasper kissed his head.  "That is a great idea.  You should also talk to Severus." "I will." "Let's get more food into you."  Harry nodded and soon he was carried into the kitchen. "Okay." As soon as he was in his chair Bill had hugged him. "If that bastard gets anywhere near my son I will hex his balls off and feed it to him through a thin straw."  He hissed. Harry kissed his cheek.  "Thanks father." "You're welcome sweetie." "Here you are Harry.  It is chicken dumpling soup."  Charlie said.  "I figured you might need it." "Thanks Charlie." "You are welcome baby brother." Harry turned towards Jasper.  "Where is the rest of your family?" "They will be here after they finish eating at that restaurant near the diner." He answered. "Okay.  Dad did you get the guest rooms set up?" Harry asked since he didn't get the chance. "Yes I did pup." Sirius answered. "Did you show them where they are staying?" He asked. "Not yet.  I wanted to make sure that you were alright." He answered. said. "No I'm not but hopefully I will be. I plan on calling Poppy and Severus after I finish eating." Harry said. "Good.  You may all follow me.  Jasper you may stay with Harry tonight." He said. "Thank you, sir." He nodded. "Harry?" "Yes grandpa?" He looked at the man. "I will be in your garden if you need me, okay?"  "Okay grandpa." Harry finished his soup and put the bowl in the sink.  He went to the living room and fire called Poppy. Harry, Jasper, and Luna were in the guest bedroom that Luna was using.  Harry refused to leave Luna and Jasper refused to leave Harry.  They all sat in the room as Luna told the two the changes that magical Britain were going through. “So Britain is setting up magical schools?”  Harry asked her. “Yeah.  When Kingsley and Moody were talking to minister Bones she realized how bad our community was.” Luna said. “That’s great.  What about the bans and laws?” Was Harry's next question. “They are being looked into.” She told him. “About time.” He said. “Right? At least this minister isn’t stupid.” Luna said. “Madam Bones never was.” Harry said. “So true.” Luna yawned. “I’m going to take a nap, okay?” “Alright. If you need us we’ll be downstairs.” Harry told her. “Okay.” They left as she fell asleep. (Reservation) George was furious as he hunted down the wolf shifter known as Jacob Black.  He had avoided his twin long enough.  As soon as he spotted him he shot a stunner before he tied him up.  The other shifters stared at the two in shock. “We need to talk, Jacob.” George hissed. “About what?” Jake asked, still stunned by what just happened. “About you imprinting on my brother but ignoring him.” He answered. “WHAT!” Jake was staring at Sam.  His alpha glared at Jacob. “I need an explanation and I need one now.” Sam demanded. “At the dinner, the one where we met you all, this,” George hissed and pointed his finger at Jacob. “Imprinted on my brother. Now he has been ignoring Fred.” “I see. Please let him go so that I can talk to him.”  Sam told the angered redhead. “I will call you when I finish. In the meantime could you fill the others in on what is going on with Harry?” “Yes I can. Thank you.” It calmed him to know that the others didn’t seem to agree with what that mutt was doing to his brother. Sam nodded before he dragged Jacob away from the others.  He had to make sure that they were too far away to be overheard.  Meanwhile George began to inform the rest of the wolves on what had happened.  Even though they didn’t like the leeches they were glad that they were protecting the young elf.  Each found that it was too hard to hate Harry.  He had managed to worm his way into each and everyone of their hearts. “As much as I hate to say this,” Paul began. “but maybe we should have a meeting with the bloodsuckers and the rest of Harry’s family.” “Bring it up to Sam.”  Jared said. “It has merit.” “I will.” (With Sam and Jake) Once they were far enough away Sam dropped Jacob and glared at him. “You better have a good reason for ignoring your imprint?” “I...I’m so confused.” Jacob admitted. “What do you mean?” He asked. “I never liked boys before.  Now my mate is male and not only that but he is the dominant one.” He answered. Sam gave him an understanding look. “I see.  That is very confusing.  Why didn’t you come to me?” “I wanted to come to terms with it.  At first I was hoping that it was wrong and then I was trying to deny it.  I stopped when every time I saw Fred I felt the need to bare my neck in submission.  I..” He trailed off. “It’s alright Jake.  I get it now.  I believe that you should talk to your imprint.” Sam said. “A-alright.” Jacob swallowed. “Don’t worry.  As your Alpha and your friend I will come with you.” He told Jacob. Jacob visibly relaxed.  The relief was clear on his face.  “Thanks.” “Of course.” “When are we going to do it?” He asked. “I think now would be the best.” Sam told him truthfully. “O-okay.” “Let’s go.” He untied Jacob. They walked back to the others.  George looked furious as he looked at Jacob.  Sam looked at the only red haired person around. “George?” “Yes?” “Jake and I are going to talk to Fred.  I hope that you will join us.” He said. “I will.” He confirmed. “Great. Let’s go then. We will talk later.” He told the rest of the pack before they all left. It wasn’t long until they were at the house. George showed them to the living room.  He left to go get Fred.  The others sensed the situation and left to go get privacy.  Fred and George sat on one side while Jake and Sam sat on the other. Sam broke the silence first. “I hope you both listen to Jake and not interrupt him as he explains everything.” “Alright.” “That’s fine.” “Whenever you’re ready Jake.” Sam said. “Before I met you I had believed that I-” Bill and Harry entered the living room. Jake stopped talking when he saw them. Harry tilted his head before ushering Bill into the kitchen. Jake stared at the door. “It’s okay. Take your time.” Fred soothed his mate. Jake took a deep breath. “Ever since I became a shifter I had dominant instincts. I also never looked at a guy like that before. When I met you for the first time I wanted to get on my knees and present my neck to you. Now I want to do it everytime I see you.” Fred and George’s eyes widened. “ You thought that you were dominant ?! You never liked a guy like that before ?!” “Yes to both.” “No wonder you were scared and confused.” George realized. “I…” “No it’s fine. If you never had those feelings for males nor had submissive tendencies until now your feelings are natural.” Fred assured his mate. “Y-your not mad?” Jacob asked. “No I’m not.” Fred assured him. “Good that’s...good.” Fred looked at his mate and turned towards the kitchen. “Harry!?” “Yeah?!” “Can you come here?!” He yelled. “Okay.” Harry said as he entered the living room. “What’s up?” “Can you help Jacob?” He asked. “Of course I can. What can I do?” Harry looked at Jacob with a smile. “It’s your choice to tell him Jake.” Fred told him. “Harry is good to talk to about this after all.” “Oh, well okay….well...you see….um, yeah……” “It's okay Jacob. Why don’t we go to the kitchen and relax.” Harry said warmly. “It will just be us two.” “O-okay.” Jacob stood and followed Harry into the kitchen. Harry had him sit at the table. “Are you hungry?” Harry asked. “Yeah, actually I am.” “Great what would you like?" “Can I have a hamburger please.” Jacob answered. “Coming right up!” “Thank you.” Jacob spoke softly. “It's no problem.” “Your ...your not going…going to ask?” He asked. “No.” Harry replied. “Why?” “You're not ready.” He told his cousin kindly. “How do you know that?” He asked in confusion. “Because you didn’t already tell me.” Harry answered. “I don't….understand." The shifter looked very confused. “If you were ready you would have said something to me already.” “Oh.” “Here you go.” “Thanks. Do elves eat meat?” He asked Harry in curiosity. “Yes we do.” “Even Earth elves?” He asked. “Yup. Only animal elves don't eat meat.” The raven haired teen said. “Wow.” Harry chuckled. “We have a lot of books if you want to read them.” “I can?” “Of course. You’re my cousin.” “Thanks.” “Your family. I would do anything for you.” That was what made Jake’s decision to tell him. “I never knew that I was gay or submissive.” “Really?” That confused Harry. “Yeah. I was always attracted to girls and always had dominant urges.” Jacob told Harry. “I see.” Harry didn’t like where this was going.  “As soon as I saw Fred everything suddenly changed. I had some submissive urges. I..I wanted to get down on my knees and present my neck to him.” He looked away from his cousin. Harry realized exactly what had happened. “That's confusing. That couldn’t happen...well unless…..” He trailed off. “Unless?” Harry signed. “Unless a family member used magic to make male descendants to always be dominant. Only a soulmate could break it.” “Why would they do that?" He asked, confused. “So that they could keep their control of the money and power.” Harry replied. “What does being submissive have to do with that?" “In the past all money and power of that family would have gone to the dominant partner. They used to see submissives as females and therefore not allowed to be incontrol of the money and the power.” He explained. “Oh I see.” “Yup!” “So...how…” He wasn’t sure what to do now. “How what?” “How do I handle all this?” “Follow your instincts.” “I never had those instincts.” He said. “Well now you do. Have they ever steered you wrong before?" Harry asked. “Well no.” Harry smiled at his fellow submissive. “Then listen to them.” “Okay. Yeah you're right. I mean they are there to help guide us.” Jacob said. “Good. Now here is some apple cinnamon pie with vanilla ice cream.” “Yummy.” “Hehehe.” Harry giggled. “Did you just giggle at me?” “Yes.” “I won't start doing that will I?” Jake asked in concern causing Harry to laugh. “I don't know everybody's different.”  “That’s true.” “It is indeed.” “Thank you Harry.”  “It's not a problem. You are family after all.” Harry said honestly. Jake took a bite of the pie. “Hmm.” He moaned in pleasure. “This is good.”  “I know.” “Do you have any books on….” “On?” “On submissives, submissive wolf shifters.” “I have a book on submissives and a book on wolf shifters.” Harry smiled. “Yes you can borrow them.” “Thanks.” “You're welcome Jake.” “Can I…” He looked at Harry seriously. “Can I ask you something?” “Sure.” “Why do those people back in England want to hurt you so much?” His cousin was so sweet that it truly baffled him. Harry looked at the table. “I….don't know.” He whispered. “How?” “What?” “How could they hurt you?” He asked. “I don't know myself.” “They must be really sick in the head. Don't worry though. Sam, me and the rest of us shifters won't let anyone hurt you.” Jake assured him. “Thanks.” Harry gave a small smile. Jake grinned. “You’re my cuz. Of course I would help.” “Again thank you.” “Like I said, it's no problem.”  “So are you going to come around more?” Harry asked. “Yeah.” “Good.” “So what's Fred’s favorite food?” Harry giggled at that. “Grilled cheese and tomato soup.” “Thanks.” “Of course.” “Can you show me how to make the tomato soup the way he likes it?” “Sure.” “Thanks.” “My pleasure.” Bill looked at his twin brothers. Both were grinning in happiness. He wondered what had happened as he raised an eyebrow at them. “What's going on? What did you two do? Who did you prank?” He asked. The two gasped and grabbed their chests in mock pain. “ That hurts big brother. ” “Sure it does.” Bill said unimpressed. “I've known you both your whole lives. I know you two are up to something.” “It hurts that…” “you don't trust….” “ us .” “My eyebrows were spelled off thanks to one of your guys's pranks.” Bill reminded them. Fred and George chuckled. “ True .” “Answer my questions.” He demanded. “Fine.” George pouted. “You're no fun.” “I was once blown out a window.” He said. The two menaces grinned. “ Oh yeah. We forgot about that. ” “Tsk.” He glared at them. “Anyway we aren't pranking anyone. We are just happy.” Fred told him. “Why?” He asked. “Fred and Jake finally talked to each other.” George said. “I know the reason he was avoiding me.” Fred told his older brother. “I had gotten sick with the situation.” George explained. “So like the hot headed idiot he is,” “I went to go see Jacob.” “He was going to talk but his temper got the better of him.” Fred said as he shot his twin a fond look. “Oh Merlin.” Bill groaned. “What did you do George?” George grinned as he told his oldest brother everything. Fred added in a few things once in a while. Bill listened and when they finished he put his face in his hands. “You two are ridiculous.” He said once he lifted his head. “ Why thank you dear brother. ” The three laughed after that. Jacob left the kitchen. Harry was behind him. Harry sat down next to Bill. Jacob stood in front of Fred. He was blushing. “Be at my house this Saturday.” Jacob said. “Okay.” Fred was stunned. “Great.” He left. “That wasn't how we practiced that.” Harry said amused. Bill looked at his son in confusion. “Practiced what?” “Asking Fred on a date.” “Oh.” Bill and George chuckled. “Fred?” Harry looked worried at the black look Fred had on his face. “Yeah?” “Are you okay?” He asked. “Yeah, why?” He asked back. “Because you have a date with your mate and you're just sitting there with a blank look.” Harry to him. “Oh.” “Is he broken?” Harry asked. “I think so.” Bill answered. “George?” “I think he is in shock.” Fred suddenly jumped up scaring the three. “YES!” He screamed in excitement.  “That's more like him.” George said. “George? Harry?” “Yeah?” George looked at his twin. “Yes Fred?” “Thank you.” “No problem my dear twin.” Harry hugged Fred. “No thanks needed.” “Bill?” “I'll help you with an outfit for Saturday.” He said to his little brother. “Thank you.” “You're welcome. I'm glad you're happy.” “Me too.” They all laughed at that. Fred was thankful for his family. (With Jacob) Jacob would lie and say he wasn't panicking but he was too busy doing just that. He had told his mate to come over on Saturday. Sure he agreed but what would Fred think of his house. Jacob's home was smaller than Fred's. Most of the furniture was handmade. Everything there didn't cost much. Nothing was expensive or extravagant. He was, for the first time, embarrassed. He felt awful for being embarrassed. He didn't know what to do. “Jake?” It was his dad. “Oh hey dad.” Greeted absently. “Are you okay?” He gave his son a concerned look. “No.” “What's wrong?” “I…” He stopped. He felt his guilt deepen. “Jake?” He told his dad what had happened. “I'm not used to these feelings.” “I bet. Sirius was right about our discarding family being fucked up.” Billy said. “I...I feel like the house might embarrass him despite the fact that I'm proud of our work on it.” “Oh.” Billy was unsure of what to say. “I think it's from the spell being broken and my feelings being messed up.” Jacob said. “Maybe.” “Harry said it might happen. I just feel so guilty.” He said. “Don't be. I understand.” He rolled over to his son and hugged him. “Did Harry mention what to do?” “He said to talk my feelings through and that eventually they will settle.” Jake told him. “Good.” “Yeah.” Billy pulled out of the hug and looked his son in the eyes. “Want some advice?” “Of course.” “Relax. Follow your instincts.” He told his son. “That's what Harry said to do.” Jacob said. “He is correct.” “Thanks dad. “ He smiled at the man. “You're welcome.” Billy smiled back at him. (With Mad Eye) Moody watched the guard. He was acting nervously and refused to look the man in the eye. “Prisoner Albus Dumbledore is still in his cell sir.” The man lied. Mad Eye scowled at the lie. “Do I look like I was born yesterday?” “N-no sir.” “Then why do you think you can lie to me?” He growled. “I'm not lying.” He squeaked. “Take me to his cell.” He ordered. “Um…” “Is there a problem?” Tonks asked as she walked over to them. “This man thought he could lie and now is trying to come up with an excuse as to why he can't take me to Dumbledore’s cell.” Mad-eye explained. “Not true.” The man denied. “Then take me to his cell.” The auror ordered again. “I...well...you see...um….” “I see what you mean.” Tonks said. “I'll watch him. Get another guard.” He told her. “NO!” The guard yelled as he lost color in his face. Unfortunately for him his scream called the attention of the other guards, especially the captain. He walked over to them. “What is going on over here?” The captain asked. “Nothing sir.” The guard said immediately, raising suspicion.  Moody scoffed at him before answering the captain. “A vision was sent to us. The contents of it show Dumbledore escaping with Fudge’s help. They capture Harry Potter and hurt him. We were sent here to make sure Dumbledore was still here and to inform you. This guard here said he was in his cell. I can tell he was lying and is refusing to show me to his cell. He doesn't want another guard to take us there either.” The captain frowned. “I see. Pander!” A guard came over to the four. “Yes sir?” “Take auror Moody and auror Tonks to Prisoner Dumbledore’s cell.” He ordered. “Yes sir.” He turned and looked at the two. “Please follow me.” “Thank you.” Moody said grateful to be away from the idiotic guard he had been talking to. “You're welcome.” “My office Lancet.” The captain ordered.  “Yes sir.” The man said. Tonks and Mad Eye followed the guard. Dumbledore was kept in maximum security due to his crimes. It took a bit but they soon arrived at his empty cell. “ Fuck. ” The three cursed. “I need to report this. Lancet had to have helped. It is the only way.” Pander said. “We know.” Tonks said. The three returned to the lobby area. Pander reported the escape. The captain knew since he had gotten it out of Lancet. Tonks went to report it to the minister. Moody checked the tapes. He found what he needed before he collected it and left. The guard was now in a cell of his own awaiting trial. Fred walked up to Jake’s door. He took a deep breath before he knocked. He was a little nervous but very happy to have a date with his mate. It didn’t take long for the door to be answered. “Hi.” The shapeshifter greeted. “Hellp Jake.” He smiled at him. “Please come in.” He moved out of the way. “Thanks.” He entered the house. “Wow.” He gasped as he looked around the room. “A lot of this looks homemade.” “It is.” He confirmed. “That’s so cool.” He grinned. “R-really?” Jake was shocked. “Yeah. I love homemade furniture. To me they look amazing. Did you make any?” He asked. “Yes. There is some furniture in my bedroom that I made.” He said proudly. “Cool.” He grinned at him. “Thanks.” He blushed. “You’re welcome. Oh right. Harry found this book on submissives. He said chapter ten is about submissives believing they are dominants.” He held it out to him. “Thanks. I’ll have to thank him later.” He took the book and quickly put it in his room. “You’re welcome and Harry already said you’re welcome.” Fred told him. “Oh okay.” The wolf still planned to thank his cousin later. “Wait. I know that smell.” The redhead sniffed. “Harry showed me how to make it.” He blushed. “Yes!” He cheered. “Now I have two people I can con to make it for me!” He cackled. “Excuse me?” Jacob looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “Nothing.” He quickly said. “I’m telling Harry.” He said. “What?” He looked at him in shock and confusion. “Conning people? Really?” He shook his head in mock disappointment. The wizard spluttered. “What?” “I’m so shocked right now. Have you conned Harry?” He asked. “No!” He may have joked but he would never do that to Harry. [I would never break my promise to Harry nor would I ever act like them.] “I don’t believe you.” Jake shook his head once more. “I-” “Maybe I shouldn’t let you eat.” He said. He smiled teasingly at the redhead. Fred pouted at him. “You’re so aren’t funny.” He muttered. “I couldn’t help it.” The dark haired male chuckled. “I bet.” Despite the pout he was happy to know that his mate was comfortable around him enough to tease him. “Let’s eat.” He said. “Alright. Do you need help?” He asked. “No. Go sit and I’ll bring it.” He told him. “Okay.” He smiled at him. Fred sat down at the table Jake had set up earlier. The shapeshifter brought the food over. He served Fred first and then himself. The reason was that he wanted to make sure the older boy had food. With his wolf metabolism he could eat all that he made. They both tucked in and began eating. It was the redhead who broke the silence. “I figured that since this is new we could start off slow and small.” He said.  “Thank you.” The native teen smiled. “Of course.” He loved his mate’s smile and was already planning ways to make it happen a lot more. “Would it be okay if I asked how you met Harry?” Jake asked nervously. Fred smiled fondly. “That’s fine.” “Okay.” He was relieved it was an okay question. “We first saw each other on the way to Hogwarts. It was our third year and his first year. You see for those who weren’t raised in the magical world there is a barrier in Kings Cross. It leads to the magical station. It was actually the first time we used the muggleborn entrance. Usually we just flooed. George and I saw him before we went through the barrier. He talked to Molly first.” He began. “Molly?” He had heard that name before. “She’s our mother.” He said emotionlessly. “Oh.” He didn’t like how he sounded. “Yeah. Anyway we met on the train a few minutes later. He was struggling with his trunk. George and I helped him with it.” He could never forget how small and thin Harry looked. “That was nice of you both.” He said. “Thanks.” Fred smiled at him. “We were worried because of how small and thin he was. Then we saw his scar.” “Scar?” He never saw any thanks to Harry’s inheritance healing them. “There was a lightning bolt shaped scar over his left eye.” He said. “Oh.” “After we left him we went to Molly. The minute we described how small he was she changed the subject. We didn’t understand at the time but she was making sure we couldn’t say  our suspicions as well as make sure Ron knew where he was.” He scowled at the memory. “S-she knew?” Jake was sickened, horrified, and angry by that. “Yeah she did. She always stopped us from talking so that others couldn’t hear and do something about it as well as say that she was never told.” He said. “That’s awful.” He said. “I know.” He looked sad for a few minutes before the emotion was replaced by anger. “That was when Ron made his move.” “Made his move?” He asked. “After learning where Harry was he went to the compartment. He lied and said that all the other compartments were. He then talked about how evil Slytherins were. He was nice to a boy who was abused and used to people being mean to him.” The redhead told him. “To manipulate him.” The shapeshifter realized. “Exactly.” “Wow.” He felt for his cousin and was glad he was away from those bastards. “That was our thoughts when we found out.” They also felt guilty for not realizing it. “How did you and George become friends with Harry?” He asked. “Later that year actually.” Fred said. “Really?” He asked. “Yeah. Ron had been a jerk to Harry and the poor kid was almost in tears.” It had pissed him off especially when they told Molly and was told that they needed to stop lying about their brother. “What did Ron do?” He asked. “It was a few weeks before Halloween. My brother was very lazy and hated doing his own work. He asked Harry if he could copy his potion homework and Harry told him no. He knew that the professor would catch them and he didn’t like the idea of helping Ron cheat. Ron didn’t like being told no so he called Harry a freak.” He told him. “That’s a strong reaction to being told no. Why would he call Harry a freak for that?” The younger male asked. “At the time we didn’t know but now we know it’s because he knew about Harry’s home life. He knew that the Dursleys called him a freak and hoped that by doing so he would get his desired results, copying the homework.” He answered. “What an ass.” He said. “He was and Molly allowed him to be.” The wizard said. “So what happened after that?” Jacob asked. “We found him hiding in an alcove trying to not cry. We took him back to our dorm. We tried to get him to see that if Ron acted that way just because he was told no then he wasn’t a good friend. Unfortunately Harry didn’t see it that way. He thought he himself was the bad friend. He ended up crying himself to sleep.” He said. “Poor Harry.” He hated that his cousin had to go through that. “Indeed. He ended up in our dorm a lot when he was upset. If we weren’t there then our friend Lee would comfort him.” He made a mental note to call Lee. [Lee would love Jake and I know Harry misses him.] “Sounds like you three were great friends to Harry.” He commented. “We were. After that he would excuse Ron’s behavior, blame himself, and let Ron copy from him. He would then redo everything so that Ron wouldn’t get into trouble. Molly didn’t believe us and anytime we went to tell the teachers we suddenly forgot. Dumbledore made sure we couldn’t talk.” Fred said sadly. “At least he had you guys.” The urge to go to Britain and rip these people appart was getting stronger. “That’s true.” He sighed. “Are you close to those who didn’t betray Harry?” The shapeshifter asked. “Yeah. As twins there weren’t many who could tell George and I apart. Molly, Ron, and Ginny never tried. Dad couldn’t until recently and that was because of the potion. Bill and Charlie could when we were three. Percy had a harder time but managed when we were eight. Lee took a year and Harry took two weeks. Our older siblings sometimes acted like they couldn’t just so that we could have fun when we pretended to be the other. Lee and Harry did the same.” He told his mate. “Cool.” He knew he could do it because he imprinted on Fred and not George. “Yup. So you and your dad made most of this furniture?” He asked, changing the subject. “Yeah.” The dark haired teen confirmed. “Could you show me?” He asked. “Really?” He asked in shock. “Yeah. Not only does it sound but I just love handmade things.” He said. Molly never actually made those sweaters. She would use some of the money she stole from Harry and pay someone to do it. Before that she actually took credit when a distant cousin sent them. She wanted to look good. She had to pay for them when the cousin stopped sending them when they never heard from the family. Fred wished he had met them but they had died from the dragon pox two years ago. “Our next date.” Jake promised with a smile. “Cool.” Fred smiled back at him. “Yeah.” They finished eating. The two did the dishes before sitting on the couch talking. Jake told him how he first learned he was a shapeshifter and Fred told him about his first year in Hogwarts. When the date ended Fred kissed his mate on the cheek before leaving. Both were really happy that the first date was a success. (Unknown Location) “Did you get it?” Dumbledore asked. “Yes master. Here is the collar you asked for.” Fudge said as he held it out. “Will it work with his creature status?” He asked. “Yes master.” He confirmed. “Good. Have they found Dursley yet?” He asked. “No. I did as you said. I cremated his body and buried the ashes under the tree over there.” He said. “Good. Come here. You deserve a reward.” He purred. “Thank you master.” He practically drooled. (With Alex and his Kings) “King Terra?” Alexander went over to them. “Yes Alexander?” The king looked at him. The elf took a deep breath. He then told his kings about the vision Luna had. Both kings looked pissed off and sickened. It took a few moments before Terra spoke. “They plan on enslaving an elf?” He didn’t bother to keep the anger out of his voice. “Yes sir.” He said. “Did the seer get a good look at the collar?” He asked. “She did and sent me this.” He handed over the sketch. “Perfect. This would only work on elves. I have a plan.” He smirked. “Thank goodness.” He breathed out a sigh of relief knowing his grandson was going to be safe. The man told them his plan. His mate and Alexander smirked. It was a brilliant plan. “That’s perfect.” Alexander said. “Thank you.” He said. “Go inform your family and I’ll inform Aquilo.” “Yes my king.” He bowed and left. (Weasley-Lupin-Black-Potter House) Fred had come back from his date really happy. The next morning he decided to stay home and work on some products. He was feeling really inspired. George decided to go see if he could bump into Bella. He really liked her and hoped he could get to know her more. Arthur was taking a nap. He was still adjusting to not having the love potions in his system and his body was healing from the aftermath. Sirius and Remus were out shopping. The two wanted to get the nursery done. Bill was in the library reading a book on male pregnancies. Harry was in his garden with Rose. She loved being able to hang out with him and she was using his garden as inspiration for a few clothes she was making. Bill, Sirius, and Remus had told her she could babysit once in a while and she was excited. Now she was making the baby some clothes. She just was sketching for the moment until she learned the baby’s gender. Once she did then Rose would make them. “Thanks for letting me come over.” She said. “Of course. You are family.” He told her. That made her grin widely. Ever since she met the elf her family had been stronger than ever. First he made Jasper smile, then he helped them when he learned that there was a way to make food catered towards vampires and even got the location of restaurants that catered to them, he was having potions made that would allow them to get pregnant, and finally by getting them jewelry that had glamours on them to make them look like they are getting older. He was a miracle to her family. “That’s right.” Rose said. “How is everything going?” “Good and bad.” He admitted. “They found out that Dumbledore did indeed escape. The guard that helped was one of his sex slaves.” He still went green at that. “So far both the minister and Dumbledore are still out there. They haven’t found my uncle yet and they believe he is either dead or being protected by magic since the tracking charms stopped working. Severus is almost done with the pregnancy potion and has been a huge help to me. I am also excited to be a big brother.” He told her. “Those men won’t get to you.” She promised. [I’ll kill them if they try.] “I don’t see how. Not only do I have a bunch of protective family members but I also have the American and British aurors around guarding me, a coven of protective vampires, and a pack of protective wolf shifters.” He smiled. “That is true. So did Severus say when the potion is done? Esme can’t wait.” Neither could she but she had to wait until after she graduated from both high school and college.  “He said it will be done in a week.” He told her. “That’s great.” She smiled. “Yup.” He smiled back at her. “We are going to be amazing older siblings.” Rose told him. “Yes we will.” He agreed. Knock Knock “I’ll get it.” She said. “Okay.” Harry was amused that she wasn’t going to let him open the door just in case. [She knows about the wards and yet she still can’t help herself.] He felt lucky to have so many people care about him. He remembered a time when he was all alone. Now he practically had a village around him. He loved it. The green eyed elf smiled as he continued tending to his plants. “Hello Harry.” It was his grandfather. “Hi grandpa.” He was quick to hug the man. “What did they say?” He asked. “They have come up with a plan.” He told them. “I’ll call the others.” Harry said. “I’ll call my family.” Rose said. “Okay.” The two called their family in. Harry also called the wolves. It didn’t take them long to arrive. They were now scattered about the living room. Harry was sitting on his mate’s lap. Sirius and Remus were on either side of him. Bill was next to Sirius and Rose was standing behind Jasper and Harry. They were looking at Alexander. “As you know I went to my kings about the vision. They weren’t happy. He did identify the collar. It would indeed work on Harry since it was made to enslave elves. If it were put on a non elf it wouldn’t work.” He told them. “King Terra came up with a plan. Harry will come to the forest and Aquilo will take his place. He is a shapeshifter that can change into anyone. He would not only look, sound, and act like Harry but he would have the same magical signature while he is in that form.” “Since he’s not an elf the collar won’t work.” Harry said. “Exactly. Once he is with them he will call his mate and the aurors. Jade is very skilled in warding so she will be able to stop them from leaving and from using magic.” He told them. “Thank you.” Harry leaped off Jasper’s lap and hugged the man. “You’re welcome.” He hugged his grandson back. “When will Aquilo arrive?” Sirius asked. “Soon. Harry I want you to pack a few weeks worth of clothes.” He said. “Okay.” He went upstairs and Jasper followed. “So we have to just wait around for them to act?” Remus wasn’t too happy. “Unfortunately yes. Since Fudge and Dumbledore are hiding somewhere no one can find that is our only option. I wish there was another way as well.” He said. “As long as my son stays safe I guess.” He said. “Just remember that outside of this house to treat Aquilo like he is Harry. I know that Jasper will have a hard time but he must act that way. It would look suspicious if Jasper disappears or treats Harry any differently. Luckily the most Harry and Jasper did in public was hug, hold hands, and a few kisses on the cheek so it shouldn’t be too bad.” Alexander said. “He can do it.” Carlisle said. “He would do a lot to keep his mate safe.” “Good.” (With Harry and Jasper) Harry began packing a bag. Jasper sat down on the bed and waited. He didn’t like the plan since it took Harry away from him and he had to pretend Aquilo was his mate. He understood why though. He didn’t like it but he would do it for Harry’s sake.  “Jazz?” His beautiful mate sat down next to him. “Yes darlin’?” He looked at him. “Are you okay?” He asked. “No.” He wasn’t going to lie to him. “I’m sorry.” He looked down at his lap guiltily. “Hey.” He made Harry look at him. “None of this is your fault. You never asked for this.” “I know but it just feels like it.” He admitted. “It’s not though. I’ll miss you.” He said. “I’ll miss you as well.” The elf kissed his cheek. “Come on. Soon you’ll be back.” Jasper said. “I hope so.” He muttered. “You will.” The two back downstairs. Harry said his goodbye. Aquilo arrived and turned into Harry. Alexander took his grandson and left. Soon everyone went home. Aquilo was given a spare bedroom. It was quiet for the rest of the day. (Weasley-Lupin-Black-Potter House) A week had passed since the switch. Almost everyone was quiet. Aquilo kept to himself in the guest room. They all acted like he was Harry when they were outside the house. Bill missed his son a lot and kept himself busy with preparing for the baby. He just wished Harry was there. The elf would send gifts but it wasn’t the same. Jake came around a lot to cheer up his mate. Everyone was hoping Dumbledore and Fudge would make their move. It would not only bring Harry home but the stress of having this loom over them would end. Dumbledore and Fudge weren’t the only problem. It turned out that Ginny, Hermione, Ron, and Molly had escaped. Dumbledore had been freed by Fudge with the help of the guard. A few days before Tonks and Mad-eye had gone to Azkaban the guard freed them. Muggles then took their place. They had been homeless when they were kidnapped by Fudge and forced to take polyjuice potion. The day the aurors went to Azkaban the muggle taking Dumbledore’s place had died due to heart failure and a replacement hadn’t arrived. Since the guard had been caught and arrested no one was giving the muggles polyjuice to the muggles. They had changed back. No one had noticed until a guard was handing out food. They then reported it. The minister was pissed. Not only with the fact they escaped but also with how they were treating the criminals. They still had rights and being fed every once in a while wasn’t okay. The fact muggles were also being mistreated and used wasn’t good either. When the family was told no one was happy. Now they had three four other people to worry about. It was starting to feel like Harry was never coming home. They all wondered why it was always Harry. “Bill?” Remus walked up to him. “Yeah?” He was in the library at the moment. “I brought you some food.” He said. “Thank you.” He said. “You’re welcome.” He placed the tray on the table. “Did you hear anything?” He asked. “No. Aquilo says that he still feels like he is being watched but that’s it.” The werewolf answered. “I see.” He said. “Yeah. Luna hasn’t had any more visions.” He said. “As much as her visions could help I am glad. I don’t want her having to see what those sickos are planning.” The last time she spent most of her time having nightmares and he knew that she was still having them. “Me too.” He said. “How’s the baby?” That made Bill smile. “Good. They still like kicking my bladder.” “Sirius said he added a bathroom that connects to the library.” He told his mate. “Good. It’s getting harder and harder to make it to the other one. I was starting to think I was going to have to live in it.” He joked. “So was I.” He laughed. “Tomorrow we find out the sex of the baby.” He was excited but sad. “I know. I wish Harry could be here as well.” Remus said. “Yeah.” He teared up. “Oh honey.” He was quick to hug Bill. It took a bit to calm the redhead down. He then ate the food Remus brought him. Said werewolf kept his arms around him. He too needed the comfort. The waiting game was hard on them all. Sirius wondered in. He took the tray and empty dishes downstairs. He then returned to them. He joined in the hug. They stayed like that for a while. (With Jasper) Jasper was sitting laying on his bed. He really missed his mate. Pretending that Aquilo was Harry made him feel wrong and every time they held hands or when he kissed him on the cheek he felt guilty. No matter what Harry said made him feel any less guilty. Knowing that it was keeping his mate safe was the only reason he continued. “Jasper?” It was Carlisle. “Yes?” He looked at him. “I was just checking in on you. I know how hard this is for you.” He said as he sat down on the bed next to him. “I- I’m not fine but I will be when everyone is caught and Harry comes home.” He said. “I bet. Aquilo did say he was being watched so hopefully soon they make their move.” He said. “I hope so.” The empath said. “We all do.” He said. “Jasper, come to the garage.” Rose said. “Why?” He asked as he sat up. “Harry sent a gift.” She said. In a flash Jasper was out of his room and in the garage. He found his sister standing next to a huge present. A large tag said that it was for Jasper from Harry. He went over and carefully unwrapped it. Once the ribbon was removed the box fell away. It revealed a Harley. It was silver and black. Jasper grinned when he saw it. “Very nice.” Rose praised. “Yes it is. He knew I wanted one.” He said. “Guess he’s feeling guilty as well.” She said. “Yeah.” He would work on that. [It’s not his fault these freaks can’t leave him alone.] “Are you going to give it a test ride?” She asked. “Definitely.” He hopped on and soon was off. “Finally. I figured he was going to become a hermit. He only leaves Harry’s room when he has to.” She said. “I know.” Esme said. “I can’t wait for this to be over. They have another week before I take things into my own hands.” She said darkly. “Me too.” She agreed. “I’m in.” Alice said from her perch near the piano. (With Harry) Harry loved the forest. He felt at home and that was due to all the nature around him. He missed his family and his mate though. He couldn't wait to go back. He wanted this nightmare to be over. He didn't understand why these bad things kept happening to him. It really did seem like every time something good happened to him or when he was really happy life took a turn and something awful happened to him. 'Why does Fate hate me?' He asked as he laid down on the bed. 'What did I do to her to make her hate me so much?' “Harry?” It was king Ben. “Yes?” He looked at the brunette. “May I come in?” He asked. “Of course.” The king entered his room. He sat down at the chair near the desk. He gave Harry a kind look. “I wanted to see how you are doing.” He said. “I love being here but I miss home.” He admitted. “I bet.” He said. “I’m also feeling guilty.” It was hard to talk about his feelings but Poppy had told them during their sessions that it was healthier to talk about them then to bottle them up. “I understand. You feel like this is all your fault.” He knew the feeling well. “Yes.” “When I was a child I lived here in the forest. Terra and I were best friends and we knew we were mates. One day a witch came around. She was studying Herbology and wanted to study the plants that grew here. She had taken a liken to me. She became obsessed. When I was eleven she kidnapped me. Luckily my mom managed to get to me before she could do anything. After that the witch was always watching. She waited for her chance. A year later she captured Terra and tortured him.” He told the younger elf. Harry gasped. “Oh my.” “His parents had rescued him a month later. I blamed myself. I still do whenever I think about it.” Ben told him.  “Despite the fact I have told him it wasn’t his fault.” Terra said from the doorway. “He didn’t have her torture me and I was the one who went after her in hopes to stop her.” “I can’t help it.” He said sheepishly. “I know.” He walked over and kissed Ben’s forehead before looking at Harry. “I came to check on you and-” “My kings!” It was Jade, Aquilo’s mate. “Aquilo was kidnapped. We are now waiting.” “Good. Be prepared.” He ordered. “Yes sir.” She ran off. “Finally.” Ben said as he hugged Harry. “Indeed. I shall go inform Alex. Are you okay Harry?” He looked at the teen. “Yeah. Just nervous and worried.” He admitted. “Don’t be. You and your family are safe. Aquilo and Jade won’t let them escape.” The blonde elf said. “Okay.” He gave him a tight smile. “I’ll be back.” He said before leaving the room. “This will work.” Ben promised him. “I hope so.” The green eyed elf said. “I really hope so.” (With Aquilo) The shapeshifter went to the human school. His guard was up as he waited for those sick assholes to make a move. It was taking too long. He wanted them put away and not freely out there. They would pay for hurting a child. He went over to Jasper. Once more he held the vampire’s hand. It was odd and he didn’t like it but he did it anyway. Like usual the school day went by slowly and without much drama. At lunch he went to the bathroom. At long last they finally made their move. As he washed his hands a fat man hit him with a stunner from behind. It didn’t affect him but Aquilo acted like it did. He fell to the floor. He looked at the man, scared. “I told you Potter.” The man smirked. He was put into a sack and taken away. He had lowered his mental shield so that the telepathic vampire knew. He also alerted his mate. He then waited. He was picked up and a crack was heard. He felt like he was being sucked through a straw. After all these years he hated apparating. The sack he was in was thrown to the floor and he was dragged. The shapeshifter waited and an hour or two later the man stopped dragging him. He was picked up once more. “Damn you are heavy.” The man huffed as he began walking. ‘Wait until you realize I’m not Harry.” Aquilo thought smugly. A few more hours passed. The man huffed and puffed as he carried the sack. Eventually he was dropped and another voice was heard. “Is that you my pet?” Dumbledore asked. Aquilo met the man once. They had been teens then. He didn’t like the man then and now he hated him. He did recognize the voice. He quickly alerted his mate. It was time. “Yes master. I have him.” The man said. “Good job Cornelius.” He praised him. Aquilo wanted to gag. He soon felt Jade’s presence and then her magic. The wards were now up. He was then shoved out of the bag. He came face to face with Fudge and Dumbledore. They smirked at him. He gave them a frightened look. “N-no.” He gasped out in fake horror. “I told you Potter.” Fudge said. “Now you will pay for what you did.” “Indeed he will. Go get the collar.” Dumbledore ordered. “And alert the others.” “Yes master.” He turned and left. “Oh the things I will do to you Potter.” He licked his lips. “You won’t be doing anything to me.” Aquilo said. “You talk bravely now but you won’t have a choice.” He chuckled. Fudge soon returned with the others. In his hand was the collar. The shapeshifter felt the presence of others. The sickos in front of them were too busy staring at him in hunger and revenge to notice. Fudge handed the collar off to Dumbledore. The man put it on Aquilo. He then stepped back and smirked. “Kneel before me, Potter.” He ordered. “No.” He glared as he stood. They all looked at him in shock. They couldn’t believe that the collar didn’t work. Dumbledore glared at Fudge. “You told me this collar would work!” He hissed. “It was supposed to.” He flinched back. “It would have, had I been Harry.” Aquilo said as he shifted back to his natural form. Black hair turned to a dirty blonde. Green eyes lightened up and gained a slight brown hue. Pale skin turned tan. He grew taller and filled out more. He smirked at their shock. “Gotcha.” He said. “No!” Dumbledore yelled and tried to apparate away. Thanks to the ward nothing happened. The elderly wizard was shocked. They were soon surrounded by aurors. Jade walked over to her mate. Kingsley glared at Albus and sent a spell at him that shattered the wand he was holding. “I don’t think so. You are all under arrest.” He said. “How?” Granger asked. “A seer had a vision of the collar and reported it to us. With the help of the American aurors and the Earth Elves we were able to set this up. Aquilo, a shapeshifter able to transform into anyone, took Harry’s place. We waited and when Fudge kidnapped Aquilo he used his bond with her to bring her here. She set up wards to stop you from escaping. Cuff them.” He ordered. There was a struggle but the aurors managed to get the cuffs on all of them. Each fugitive felt the effects. Dumbledore realized what the cuffs were and paled. Kingsley smirked at him. “I’m assuming Dumbledore, you know what these cuffs are. For those who don’t please let me explain. These cuffs bind your magic. If they are removed the binding on your magic stays. Nothing can be done to reverse it. You all can no longer use magic. We can’t have you escaping again.” The group paled. “Take them away.” Some aurors grabbed them and took them away. Kingsley looked at the others. “Search this place. I want nothing magical left. Don’t forget to look in the trees and in the ground.” Were his next orders. “Yes sir.” They bowed before getting started. “Thank you Aquilo, Jade.” He said. “You’re welcome. Here.” The shapeshifter handed the collar over. “Now if you will excuse us we must go inform our kings and Harry.” “Of course.” He watched the pair leave. “Please let this all be over. We just need Vernon.” Kingsley said to himself. “Boss! Over here!” Auror Allen called. Kingsley went over to him. “What is it?” “I found a body sir. Spell confirms it is Vernon Dursley.” He answered. “I see. So that was why we couldn’t find him.” He said. “Yes sir. They had killed him and buried him here. My guess it was to keep our attention on him and not on them.” He said. “Indeed. Take his body back. You know what to do.” He ordered. “Yes sir.” Kingsley walked off. He checked in with his other officers. He was relieved. It seemed like the nightmare was over and Harry was finally safe. He just hoped it stayed that way. If anyone deserved a break it was Harry. (With Harry) Harry was once more sitting in his room alone. He was waiting to hear news. He hoped it would be good. His grandfather soon entered the room. The man was smiling. He went over and hugged him. “It’s over. They were all arrested. They had their magic bound and are now in a cell awaiting trial. Your friends Alaster and Tonks are guarding their cell. No one is taking chances.” He revealed. “Really?” He asked happily. “Yes really. You can go home now.” He knew his grandson was missing his mate and family. “Yes!” He cheered as he hugged Alexander back. “Indeed. Get packing. You’ll be leaving tomorrow.” He said. “Okay.” The two broke the hug. Alexander left his grandson to pack. As he did Harry’s gut twisted. It made the black haired elf frown. He wondered what his gut was trying to tell him. He sighed and decided to pack first and then tell his grandfather and the others. He knew better than to ignore his instincts. He sighed again and wondered why Fate and Destiny hated him. Once he finished packing he left his room and went to go find the others. He quickly told them what they were feeling. It worried them but there wasn’t a lot they could do. Everyone that was involved were now arrested and could no longer use their magic. “Don’t let your guard down.” Terra said. “We’ll all keep an eye out.” “Okay.” He said. “Now don’t be a stranger. We all expect you to visit with your mate and family.” He said. Harry smiled. “We will. I promise.” “Good. We will all miss you.” He said as he hugged the young elf. “Goodbye Harry.” Ben hugged him next. “I’ll miss you all as well. Goodbye.” He said before he and his grandfather took off. (With Bill) Bill was in the garden. He had been taking care of it since Harry left. He was very happy. They had gotten word that Dumbledore and the others had been arrested and his son was now safe. An idea came to his head. He went to the library. “I knew you would be here Remus.” He smiled. “What is it?” He was happy to see a smile on his pregnant mates face. “I decided to get Harry a present. Want to come with me?” He asked. “Of course. Where are we going?” He asked. “That nice gardening shop in the magical alley. You know the one across from the twins’ magical shop?” He asked. “That sounds great.” He smiled back. “Great. Let’s go.” He said. “Alright.” He said as he put his book down. The two called Sirius to let him know that they went shopping before they left. Because of the pregnancy they used muggle transportation. It didn’t take them too long to reach the alley. Just as they were about to enter Remus was hit from behind. It knocked him out cold. Bill wasn’t given a chance to react before he too was knocked out. Two figures exited the shadows. No one could see their faces due to the hoods concealing them. The taller figure wore black while the smaller one wore pink. The taller figure picked Bill up. The two soon disappeared. The figure dressed in pink dropped a note. Their fingers itched to do more but managed to stop themselves. They soon disappeared. (Weasley-Lupin-Black-Potter Household) The minute Harry entered the house he knew something was wrong. Remus was sitting on the couch. No sounds escaped him as tears ran down his cheeks. Sirius was sitting next to him. His arms were wrapped around the other as he cried into his shoulder. Arthur was holding onto the twins as they cried into his shoulders. Charlie and Percy were standing behind the couch that the twins and Arthur were on. Harry couldn’t see their faces but he could tell they too were crying. “What’s going on?” Alexander asked. “Bill’s been kidnapped.” Arthur said. “Remus and Bill had gone shopping. Remus was knocked out and when he woke he found Bill missing and a note. The aurors have it. He said that it was written on plain white paper and in pink ink. All it said was that they would be in the place she had been kidnapped and tortured. There was no signature, just a pink cat stamped on." "What?" Alexander was confused. 'Pink? Cat? Umbridge?' Harry wondered. 'I feel like it's her. That means the Forbidden forest.' "Harry?" Percy looked at him. "No one knows what that means. Do you?" "No." He lied. "Damn." He cursed. ‘I need to confirm it’s her.’ He thought. ‘Then I will show her that  going after my family was the wrong thing to do.’ “I had hoped.” Arthur sighed.  “I’m sorry.” He felt guilty for lying. “Unless you helped with the kidnapping none of this is your fault.” Charlie said as he hugged him. “Why don’t you go unpack. Charlie agreed to make dinner.” Percy suggested. “Okay.” He grabbed his suitcase and went upstairs. Harry entered his room and locked his door. He laid down on his bed and closed his eyes. He learned that as long as the plant has eyes he could use his powers to look through them. When Umbridge had been taken by the centaurs he had spotted some weird looking plants. They had eyes and were watching them all. He later learned they were called spy plants. The reason was that they spied on people and reported back to their owner. Salazar Slytherin had planted them when they were building the school. The reason was so that they would report back any suspicious behavior. He just hoped that he was wrong because Umbridge hated gays just as much as she hated magical creatures. He was hoping he was correct because at least then he knew where his father was. The green eyed elf closed his eyes. He took a deep breath and concentrated. It took a few times before it worked. He nearly gasped in horror. His father was tied to a chair. Fenrir Greyback was in a silver cage in front of him. He looked feral. Next to the cage was Umbridge. She smirked at the redhead. Next to her was Lyall Lupin, Remus’s father. He really wished he could hear what was being said. The teen opened his eyes. They glowed green and he made his decision. He snuck out and went to the forest. He called up Jasper. A few seconds later his boyfriend was hugging him. He hugged him back. “I’m so happy you’re back.” The blonde vampire said. “Me too. I need your help.” He explained the situation. “We should tell the others.” He said. “I know but I also need to set an example. No one messes with me or my family. I can’t sit back anymore. Doing so is putting others at risk. I’m done with being a victim.” He said. “I want you to come with me. It is stupid to go alone and if I tell the others now they will stop me. Please help me save my father and my little sibling.” Jasper sighed as he saw the pleading look in his mate’s emerald green eyes. “Okay. Alice had probably already seen this and so has Edward.” “Luna too.” He said. “You should still tell them.” He urged. “I will. When it is too late to stop me.” He said. The empath’s phone dinged. Jasper checked the message. He wasn’t surprised to see it was from Alice. He was surprised with what she texted him. “What is it?” Harry asked. “Alice says that we need to leave now. Percy is on his way to check on you. She and Edward will delay them as long as they can.” He answered. “Let’s go then.” He said. “Okay.” (Weasley-Lupin-Black-Potter Household) They watched Harry walk upstairs. Percy frowned as his gut told him something was up. Charlie looked at him. “What’s with the look?” He asked. “I feel like Harry lied to us. I think he does know what that letter meant.” He answered. “Why?” Remus asked. “He would have no reas- nevermind. If he did lie he was doing it to protect us.” “My grandson does have that way of thinking.” Alexander said. “He would sacrifice himself for Bill and the baby.” Sirius agreed. “I’ll go check on him.” Remus said. He stood up and went to Harry’s room. He found the door locked. He quickly unlocked the door and opened it. He breathed out a sigh of relief when he spotted his son lying on his bed. His eyes were closed. He figured Harry wanted to be by himself. He needed to process all that happened. He would give him that alone time for a few minutes. Then they would be there to comfort him. They would also make him see that the kidnapping wasn’t his fault. He relocked the door and shut it. He returned to the living room. “He’s still in his room. He needs some time to process.” He told them. “Poor kid. Why does the world seem to hate him?” Arthur asked. “When will they stop trying to harm him?” “I have no clue.” Sirius said. ‘My poor pup. Please don’t let anything happen to Bill, my unborn child, or to Harry.’ “I’m going to make dinner.” Charlie said as he wiped his tears. “Need any help?” His father asked. “Sure.” The two left the room. Percy took his dad’s place. He held his brothers close. An hour later Arthur told them dinner was ready. Percy volunteered to go get Harry. His heart stopped when he saw that the room was empty. A note was left on the bed. He picked it up and read it. I’m sorry. I lied before. I know who took Bill and where he is. I am going to go get him. No one messes with my family. Love,  Harry “GUYS!” He yelled. Soon the others ran into the room. “What’s wrong Percy? Where’s Harry?” Sirius asked. “Here.” He gave him the note. “Shit!” He cursed after reading it. “Harry did lie. He knows where Bill is and who kidnapped him. He’s gone to take care of it himself.” That caused them all to curse. Alice Cullen had entered the room. She ran around them and then sat on Harry’s bed. Their wands were in her hands. Edward blocked the doorway. They looked at the vampires in confusion. “What the hell are you two doing?” Fred asked. “Give us back our wands.” George demanded. “No. Harry and Jasper are going to get Bill.” Alice said. “Harry decided he was no longer a victim. He is going to show everyone not to mess with him or his family.” Edward told them. “He wants to and needs to do this. He knew you all would stop him if he told you.” She said. “He also knew that going alone was a stupid idea. That’s why he took Jasper.” “Of course we would have stopped him. He is in danger if he goes.” Sirius hissed. “Did you see what happened beyond him going?” Remus asked. “No.” “Then you let my son go without knowing if he was going to succeed? If he was going to get hurt? If my mate and unborn child gets hurt?” He growled as his eyes turned amber. “Yes.” Alice didn’t flinch. “He would have found a way to escape. At least this way he has Jasper.” That made them all stop. They realized Alice didn’t have a vision of them stopping Harry. They just made him leave without someone to watch his back. Sirius looked at the pixie-like vampire. “Who took them and where are they?” He asked. “Deloris Umbridge and Lyall Lupin.” She answered. “My father took my pregnant mate?!” He asked in shock. “Yes. The two took him to the Forbidden forest.” She said. “Why?” He asked. (With Harry and Jasper) Harry managed to get his hands on a port-key to Hogsmede. It didn’t take them long to arrive. Jasper took a few minutes to adjust and the two were off. The vampire carried and he ran to the forest. Before entering he placed Harry down. The elf entered with his mate a distance away so that he could watch Harry without being detected. It didn’t take the teen long to arrive. “That was fast.” Umbridge said in surprise as he entered the small clearing. “You took my father.” He answered coldly. “Why?” “You ruined everything. First you got me fired from Hogwarts and then from the ministry. I was arrested and so was Cornelious. Thanks to you Cornelious was made into Dumbledore’s sex slave. Now he can no longer do magic and is once more imprisoned.” She told him. “That wasn’t my fault. You both broke the law.” He answered. “You must pay for what you did. This time I won’t have you mess anything up. You will die and since we have this freak you won’t fight back. If you do then this werewolf scum will be released. He will kill your father.” She smirked. Harry smirked back. He glowed green. Vines wrapped around Fenrir, Umbridge, and Lyall. They stared at the teen in shock. Well Umbridge and Lyall stared in shock. Fenrir tried to escape the vines. It was hard when his hands and feet were trapped and his head was forced to stay where it was. “What the?!” The pink clothed woman exclaimed in shock. “I’m so sick of being the victim.” He said. “Dumbledore didn’t touch my family because he knew that I would do so much to get them to safety as well as get them justice. Listen up bitch . No one fucks with my family.” “Y-you c-can’t do anything to m-me.” She stuttered. “You’ll find that I can. You see Bill legally adopted me. As an elf I have every right to get retribution anyway I see fit.” He smirked. “No.” She lost all color in her face. “Oh yes. Don’t worry though I won’t kill you. I just get to tell the aurors what your punishment is after they arrest you. I think taking your magic away and having you work for a werewolf pack or for any magical creature.” He said. This time she had nothing to say. She just stared at him in horror. He was going to bring her worst nightmare to reality. Soon she began to struggle. It only made the vines grip on her tighten. Harry turned to look at Lyall. “Why did you help her?” He asked. “To make that disgusting werewolf committ suicide as well as stop any spawn of his from being born.” He answered. “I thought you accepted Remus being a werewolf.” He said. Lyall laughed. “Never. Dumbledore paid me to not kill him and pretend like we loved him.” “What?” Harry glared at him. “Remus was sick as a child. He had a rare disease. Magical cancer. A tumor grew on his magical cure.” He shot Fenrir a disgusted look. “One day a werewolf found him. He knew that I was a werewolf hunter. He changed my son to get back on me. The change cured Remus. I managed to run that freak off before I realized my son was gone and a monster took his place. Dumbledore stopped me from killing him. He told me he could use him. Paid me a lot of money to not kill him and pretend to care about him.” “You are a bastard.” The green eyed teen said. “Good thing you won’t be around for long. Be glad I don’t kill you.” A vine covered the man’s mouth. Harry couldn’t stand to hear another word leave his mouth. He then went over to Bill. He pulled off the tape and untied him. “Oh Harry.” He hugged him tightly. “I’m glad you’re okay.” He hugged him back. “Me too.” He said as Jasper walked over to them. “How did you find us?” “Well…” He told him what happened. Bill pulled back and glared at his son. “While I am glad this worked out you shouldn’t have snuck out and came here like you did.” “I know.” He said. “As long as you know.” He sighed. ‘I don’t know if I should punish him for this since he did save us.’ His hand went to his stomach.  “The aurors will be here soon.” Jasper said. “Good. Hopefully they bring a healer. They dosed Greyback with something to make him like this. Apparently he didn’t want to kill me. He changed Remus as a child to save him not to get back as his father. He was going to take his back to his pack. The only reason he helped Voldemort was because the man held his cub hostage. Well the second time. The first time was because he was promised a change in werewolf laws. When he went after you he realized how deranged the man was. He was captured by Lyall when he protected his cub.” The redhead explained. “I see.” Harry was stunned by all that he learned. “I feel the same way.” His father said. “There are two people approaching. Both are female.” Jasper told them. “Harry! Bill!” They heard two females yell. “Over here Poppy, Minerva!” Bill yelled. “Shit.” He groaned. “What is it?” Harry asked in concern. “I think I’m in labor.” He answered as he grabbed his stomach. “Crap.” He said. Poppy and Minerva ran over to them. The scene before them made them pause until Poppy caught Bill’s look. She ran over and began casting a spell. “He’s in labor. Help me get him to the hospital wing.” She said. “Alright.” The Scottish witch transfigured the chair into a stretcher. “Nice.” Tonks grinned as she entered the scene. “Thank you. Bill’s in labor.” He told her. “Let them down and go with him.” She said. “Okay. Bill said they gave something to Greyback to make him feral.” He gave her a quick version of what his father told him. “Gotcha. We’ll get him looked at.” She said. “Thanks.” “Of course Harry.” She grinned at him. She went over to Umbridge. Kingsley went over to Lyall while Mad-eye and another auror went over to Fenrir. Harry let them down. The two were arrested and Fenrir was subdued. They took the three away as Jasper, Harry, and Minerva followed behind Poppy and Bill. It didn’t take them long to arrive at the castle. The redhead was taken to the hospital wing. He was placed on a bed. Minerva and Jasper waited outside. Harry stayed with his father. He gave the man encouragement and held his hand as he pushed the baby out. A few seconds later Sirius and Remus barged in. They hugged their son before going to their mate. (Outside the Hospital Wing) Minerva eyed the vampire. She wanted to make sure he was the perfect mate for her lion. She knew that Harry was no longer her student but she didn’t care. Once a lion always a lion. Jasper noticed her looks but didn’t say anything. Harry had spoken fondly of her and decided to wait for her to speak first. “Harry told me you are his mate.” She said. “Yes ma’am I am.” He said. “If you hurt him I will kill you.” She warned. He smiled at her. “I accept that.” “Good. Now what-” She was interrupted by a crowd of people running towards them. “That didn’t take any of you long.” “Is Harry okay? Bill? We were just told they were here.” Sirius asked. “They are both fine. Bill is in labor.” She answered. A second later Remus and Sirius entered the wing. The rest sighed in relief and sat down. They now waited for the baby. Arthur looked at Jasper. “Thank you for looking after Harry. Next time, and I really hope there isn’t a next time, don’t let Harry leave without talking to us first. We understand why he needed to go but it was dangerous and it could have ended badly.” He said with a glare. “Yes sir.” He bowed his head. “I was just afraid he would sneak off again had I tried to make him.” “I know. That didn’t stop us from worrying.” He said. “I understand.” He did. “Good.” Hours passed before the door to the hospital wing opened. An exhausted looking medi-witch gave them all a smile. “You may enter now.” She said. She managed to get out of the way just in time. Jasper and Minerva stayed put as the mob of redheads entered the room. They spotted Harry and each took turns hugging and scolded him. The elf hugged back. Remus had already told him he was grounded for a while. The man was grateful it had all worked out but Harry had been reckless and needed to be punished. The black haired teen accepted the punishment. After they were done hugging Harry they hugged Bill. Each of them were happy to see that he was okay. He did look drained but he had been in labor. “Where’s my new grandchild?” Arthur asked, causing four people to laugh. “What?” “Here is your new grandson.” Sirius said as he handed the baby over to him. “He’s beautiful.” He breathed out in awe. The baby looked just like Bill did as a baby. He had the baby blue eyes but a full head of red hair. He leaned down and gave him a kiss on the forehead. “His name is Orion Remus Sirius.” He told his dad. “And this is Lily Jamie Lynn.” Remus said as they showed them the other baby. “TWINS!” Most of them shouted. “Yeah. Turns out I was carrying twins.” Bill said. “Wow.” “Yeah.” He smiled. “Sorry everyone but Bill and the babies need to rest.” Poppy said. “Alright.” They pouted. “You can come back tomorrow.” She told them. Minerva showed them to the guest room. Remus and Sirius stayed in the hospital wing. Poppy was monitoring them due to the stress and trauma the three went through. Harry was happy. Not only was he now a big brother but he knew that no more trouble was coming his way. He fell asleep in his mate’s arms. (Weasley-Lupin-Black-Potter household) Three months had passed since Bill had been kidnapped. He and the babies had returned home after a week and everyone fell in love with the twins. Harry adored his new brother and sister. He helped out as much as he could. He could spend hours just staring at them. Remus had been horrified after he learned the truth. The monster he had been afraid of had actually saved him and wasn’t actually a monster. The real monster was his father. It turns out Fenrir only bit a child when their parents gave them permission or so that he would get custody and take them away from the abusive environment. The werewolf hadn’t been declared a threat until after he had bitten Remus. Albus had done it.  Fenrir had been taken to a hospital that specialized in Weres.  They healed him up and got the drugs out of his system. He gave his statement and requested to talk to Remus. He told the sandy haired man that there was no rush and they could talk whenever the younger werewolf was ready. It took awhile but Remus set a meeting with Fenrir during the weekend. Sirius would be there for him and so would Harry. Lyall and Umbridge had been punished. The ministry followed the law and allowed Harry and Remus to decide. Both had their magic sealed. Knowing Umbridge would open her mouth and get herself killed she had a spell placed on her to keep her from saying anything foul. She was then sent to work as a servant for a werewolf pack. She was then made to keep huts cleaned, clean the food, and get supplies when necessary. She was fed and not abused or physically punished. If she broke any rules she was forced to write lines and an apology letter. Remus made the suggestion that they do the same with Lyall. They did and he was given to another werewolf pack. A ministry official checked in on the two every month. They made sure the two weren’t mistreated and that they were behaving. Some had been upset with the decision. Despite what the two had done they didn’t like a witch or wizard being ordered about by halfbreeds. No one protested though. The icy green eyes that glared at them stopped that. They had been pacified after they learned that the two would still be monitored. At the moment Harry was in the garden with his new siblings and parents. They were in their bassinets. Harry had placed them in the shade and he was rocking them. Bill was napping on one of the lounge chairs. Sirius was in his animagus form. He laid in the sun. Remus was in the lounge chair next to Bill. He was watching his kids with a smile. "You're spoiling them." The werewolf teased. "It's my job." Harry said. "Is it now?" He asked with a raised eyebrow. "Yes, yes it is." He nodded before he smiled. "Okay then." He smiled back at him. "Oh hello Severus." "Remus." He nodded at the werewolf. "Hello Harry." "Hi Severus. How are you?" He asked. “I’m good Harry. You?” He asked despite already knowing that answer. “Good.” He grinned. “That’s good. I just came by to drop off these potions.” He showed him the three vials. “These are the vampire pregnancy potions you asked me to brew.” He said. “I must admit that it felt really good to brew my own creations again.” “Thank you and I’m glad. When the twins told me you created them and then they had been banned from Britain I was upset. The excuse used was a load of crap. Vampires having babies isn’t a danger since their mental growth isn’t stopped. Plus they aren’t as strong as newborn vampires or immortal children and are easier to calm down.” Harry snorted. “Indeed. I do have a favor to ask.” The potion master said. “Ask away.” He said. “As you know Minerva and I had the school searched after we were put in charge. The last place we want to search and clear out as well as preserve any history found is the Chamber of Secrets. Could you come and open the entrance up for us this weekend?” He asked. “Sure.” He agreed. “Thank you.” He gave the vials to Harry. “I’ll see you then.” “Okay. Bye.” He said. “Goodbye.” He turned and left. “Will you be okay going?” Sirius asked. He had shifted when Severus left. “Yeah. Despite the fact that some of the people involved were paid or using me and I nearly died there I know that I will be safe. Severus, Minerva, Jasper, and I’m sure one of you will be there. The basilisk is dead and has been for years.” He answered. “Damn right one of us will be there. You, my son, are a magnet for danger on a good day.” He gave him a look.   Harry blushed. “I know.” “Good. Now hand me Orion. He needs a nappy change.” He said. “M’kay.” He handed his brother over. (Cullen Household) Jasper was in his room reading when his phone dinged. He checked it and smiled when he saw it was from Harry. He read it before sending a text to his family. He wasn’t amused when he saw that Harry had added that the news he wanted to share was good and not to freak out. He hated that Harry needed to clarify. He prayed that Fate and Destiny stopped using his mate as a plaything. With a sigh he stood up. He put the book he had been reading away. He then left the bedroom and went to the kitchen. He prepared a snack for them all. He was very grateful that his mate had found out that there were vampire-safe foods. It never failed to make him wonder how they never stumbled across that on their own. They had been around longer than Harry and yet they had been ignorant of it all. It was nice not having to hunt all the time and he had a better time managing his bloodlust. For the vampires he set out some cookies and a variety of sodas and juices. For Harry, Jasper began slicing apples. He loved the look of pure joy on Harry’s face whenever he ate them. He then poured some juice into a glass.  His family returned home. They wondered what it was that Harry wanted to share for them. Jasper was no help since Harry hadn’t told him. A few minutes later Harry arrived. He grinned and kissed Jasper. “Good afternoon.” He greeted him. “Good afternoon Darlin’.” He drawled before kissing him again. “Stop distracting him Jaz. I want to hear the good news.” Rose said. Jasper glared at her causing Harry to giggle. The glare did nothing to the blonde beauty. She just smirked. With a sigh Jasper sat on the couch. Harry sat down next to them. Edward tilted his head when he realized Harry was blocking his thoughts. “So I learned a few months ago that my old potions professor had created a potion that allows vampires to get pregnant.” That got him a few gasps. “It had been banned in Britain. They claimed the child was just as dangerous as an immortal child. Other countries had done research and found the exact opposite. They are just a bit stronger then immortal children and are way easier to calm down. Recently the ban on the potion was lifted. I asked Severus to brew a few and he happily agreed.” He pulled out three vials. “Just know that you can only use the potion once. That means you can only get pregnant once. There is still a chance of miscarriage. If you do have a miscarriage there are no more chances of having a baby. I have the research on both the potion and the effects as well as the research done on the babies.” He pulled out two journals and placed them and the vials on the table. Everyone was silent after that. Carlisle was the first to react. He grabbed the journals and read through them. Once done he handed them to his mate. He then hugged Harry. “Thank you.” He said into raven colored hair. “You’re welcome.” He hugged him back. “This means that after we graduate and get married there is a chance Emmett and I can have a baby?” Rose asked. “Yes.” Harry confirmed as Carlisle returned to his seat. “Thank you.” She hugged him. “You’re welcome Rose.” He said. “Thanks bro.” Emmett hugged him next. Esme snapped out of her shock and hugged him as well. After that Alice and Edward hugged him. The telepath admitted that he and Alice both wished they were human at times so that they could have kids. They had thought it was impossible but now it wasn’t. They decided to celebrate before Carlisle took Esme to the island. Harry looked at Jasper. “I do have something else to tell you.” He said. “Oh?” He looked at his mate. “This weekend I will be going back to Hogwarts.” He told him the reason why. “Of course I’m going with you.” Jasper kissed him. “Your dad’s correct. You manage to attract trouble without meaning to.” “I know.” He pouted. “I love you.” He smiled as he kissed his mate’s pout. “I love you as well.” He kissed him back. (With Harry) It had been decided that Sirius would go with Harry. The green eyed elf wasn’t upset by it. He knew his parents were worried and considering his past it was more than understandable. Plus he loved that he had people that cared for him. It also helped that not many wanted to mess with Harry. Not only did he prove that he wasn’t going to put up with being a victim anymore but the fact that his mate was a war seasoned vampire didn’t help. “Ready?” Sirius asked a few minutes before they were meant to leave. “I am.” Harry said. “Me too.” Jasper confirmed. “Good.” He nodded. [I just hope Harry’s luck doesn’t come into play.] He wasn’t sure his heart could handle his son being in danger. So far it was peaceful and Sirius wanted it to stay that way. He mentally shook his head clear of those thoughts as he grabbed the port-key. Harry and Jasper grabbed on. “Courage.” Sirius said and the three were whisked away. They ended a couple feet away from Hogsmeade. They walked to the castle. Minerva and Severus met them at the gate. The feline animagus hugged Harry before hugging Sirius. Harry hugged Severus. He returned the hug stiffly. He was still not used to hugging the boy he used to hate. “It’s so good to see you both.” Minerva said. “How are the twins?” She asked as she shook Japser’s hand. “ Perfect .” Sirius and Harry answered at the same time. “Of course they are.” She laughed. [So good to see them both happy.] “Just remember to send me a letter the day they turn eleven.” Severus said. “Why?” Sirius asked in confusion. “So that I can retire.” He answered bluntly. “Of course.” He said as they all laughed. “I’m not joking. I have taught all seven children Arthur sired. The worst were his twins. I’m sure your twins will be worse than their uncles. The reason is that they are part Weasley, part Black, and part Lupin.” He shivered as he thought about it. “Not to mention their older brother will have rubbed off on him.” “ Hey !” Two people shouted in offense. “He’s not wrong.” Minerva said to Sirius and Harry. “I know but he didn’t have to say it.” Harry pouted. “Yeah.” His dad agreed. “We should get going.” Severus said before he turned and walked towards the castle. “He’s correct.” Minerva said and soon they followed. The five entered the castle and made their way to the third floor girls bathroom. To Harry’s relief Myrtle wasn’t there. It wasn’t that he disliked her, it was that she made him feel uncomfortable. “She moved on.” Minerva said. “What?” They looked at the witch in confusion. “Myrtle. After you defeated Voldemort and Dumbledore was arrested she moved on. According to Nick she had justice for her murder and decided to go bug her former bully.” She answered. “That’s nice. I’m glad.” Harry said. “Indeed. Ready?” She asked the teen. “Yeah.” He walked over to the sink and looked at the snake. Open. Just like before the sinks moved apart and revealed an opening. They all looked down. Harry gained a thoughtful look. After the event he had wondered something and now was his chance to see whether or not he was correct. “ Stairs. ” He hissed. To everyone’s surprise and amazement stairs had appeared. Jasper had been filled in and Severus and Minerva had been told what happened. No one mentioned stairs. They looked at Harry. “I wanted to see if I could. I noticed that almost everything down there seemed to respond to parseltongue. I just couldn’t imagine Salazar Slytherin nor Riddle jumping into the pipe.” He said sheepishly. “Good idea.” Severus complimented. “I can’t imagine it either.” “Thanks.” Harry blushed. “Well let’s go. Just remember to be careful. Thanks to Lockheart it’s unstable.” “We know Harry. You told us.” Jasper used his gift to help calm his mate down. “I know. Sorry but it’s harder than I thought.” He admitted. “We can still stop here.” Minerva reminded him. “No. I want to do this.” He said in determination. “Okay.” She said. They walked down the stairs. They all examined the grimy area. Four of them gasped when they spotted the shed snake skin. They estimated the skin to be at least twenty feet long. That meant the basilisk was even larger when Harry fought it. Harry was surprised that the skin was still there and in the same condition as it was when he was twelve. The four turned and looked at Harry. “What?” He looked at them in confusion. “You are never leaving my sight again.” Sirius said as he hugged his son close. “Mine either.” Jasper agreed. “If it makes you feel better most of my ‘adventures’ here were encouraged by Dumbledore, Granger, Ronald, and Ginerva.” He said. “No. That doesn’t make me feel better.” Sirius said. “I tried.” He shrugged. “Up ahead is the collapse.” They walked until they came to a closed off area. There was a tiny hole that Ron had dug out. Harry would no longer be able to fit through there. It made the elf realize just how small he had been back then. Harry and Jasper stepped back and let the others work. They couldn’t just make the rocks disappear without causing a bigger collapse. Instead they were moving rocks and turning them into columns to help with the support. As they worked Tonks and Kingsley arrived with a person in a robe that covered them from head to toe. Harry realized the person was an unspeakable. “Wotcher’ Harry.” Tonks grinned at him. The elf smiled and hugged her and then Kingsley. “Hey Tonks, Kingsley.” “Harry.” The large auror hugged him. “Hello again Jasper. Keeping my little brother out of trouble?” The metamorphmagus asked as she stuck her tongue out at Harry. “Hey!” He pouted. “I am.” Jasper smirked. “Don’t play along.” His pout deepened. “Sorry darlin’.” He kissed the pout. “Liar.” He muttered. “I’m sorry but could you keep it down. This spell requires my full attention.” The unspeakable said. “ Okay .” The four said. They were quiet as the person worked. They were making sure the area was secured and safe. No one wanted to have a piece of Hogwarts collapse, especially on them. It took a few hours before the unspeakable stopped. “All done.” He told them. Harry led the group to the next door. They soon spotted the wall that had two serpents carved into it. To Harry their emerald eyes still looked alive to him. Open . He hissed. Just like they had done years ago the serpents parted as the wall cracked open. The halves slid out of sight. Harry took a deep breath before entering. He held onto both his dad’s hand and his mate’s hand. Flashbacks to that night flashed before his eyes. Luckily they were chased away as cold hands touched his face. “It’s okay love. You’re safe.” Jasper assured him. “I-i know. It’s been five years and the basilisk is dead. What hit me so hard was the fact that it looks like it recently died.” He said. “Mr. Potter is correct. Odd. The corpse should be decaying. Hmm I wonder if there is a preservation charm in effect.” The unspeakable said. “Indeed. Harry, since you are the one to kill it you have a claim on it. May I harvest it for ingredients?” Severus asked as his eyes stared at the beast. “Sure.” He shrugged. “We should look around.” Kingsley said. “You’re right.” Tonks said. Harry, Jasper, and Sirius hung back as the rest searched the chamber. The vampire hugged his mate close as he stared at the large snake. He couldn’t believe it. It had to have been at least twenty six feet. His poor mate faced that when he was twelve. Harry had been correct when he said he was lucky to have survived. The golden eyed empath thanked Fawkes for saving Harry. “I can’t believe you faced that thing.” Sirius said. “You were twelve.” “I know. My only regret was going to Lockhart. I shouldn’t have listened to Ron and listened to my gut. My plan was to tell Minerva. Ron said Lockhart since that phoney said he knew where the chamber was.” He hated how dumb he had been. “Never leaving my sight again.” Sirius repeated. “Mine either.” Jasper’s grip tightened. “I’m fine with that.” Harry said. “Good.” His mate kissed him. Severus had entered Salazar Slytherin’s mouth. He soon exited shock. He motioned for all of them to go over to him. “What’s wrong?” Minerva asked. “Once you get past the next the basilisk made there is another room. It’s Salazar’s lost library.” He told them. Only Jasper was confused. The rest stared at the potion master in shock. There had been rumors of the Salazar’s library but it had never been found. After he left Hogwarts his chamber had been searched. Nothing remained. The rumor was that the library would be filled with books written by the man. The books would contain all his knowledge on potions as well as potions he had invented and never released. Some books also contained information on parselmagic and snakes. Many believed the library didn’t exist but now they knew where it was. “Mr. Potter.” The unspeakable looked at him. “Yes?” He looked at the person. “You are the Slytherin heir, correct?” They asked. “Yes.” He confirmed. “May I have permission to enter? I want to make sure it isn’t booby trapped as well as get a chance to look through the books. I would love to see the knowledge that was once lost to us.” They said. “Of course. I plan on giving the potion books to Severus anyway. As for the parselmagic I want to translate those and publish anything that isn’t evil.” He said. “Thank you.” They bowed to him before entering. “You’re giving me the potion books?” Severus asked in surprise. “Yes. You would understand them better than me and I know you could make a lot of progress or make new potions with that knowledge.” The green eyed teen said. “Thank you.” He turned but Harry saw how his eyes glistened. “You’re welcome.” He nodded. The unspeakable removed many booby traps. After that the books were removed and placed into a bag. The group finished up and went back upstairs. They went to the headmistress’s office. The unspeakable made a log of all the books. It was decided that they would take them back to the ministry. The potion books would be studied and once they finished they would give the books to Severus. Harry would take the rest with him. He would translate them before sending them off to the ministry. The spells and potions would go through a process to see if they were accepted or if they were banned. If accepted they would then be published. Harry would receive the money since it was his ancestor that created them. After that Harry, Sirius, and Jasper returned home. The chamber was sealed away. (With Remus, Sirius, Harry, and Fenrir) Remus, Sirius, and Harry made it to the cafe. They decided on neutral grounds. They saw that Fenrir was already at the table waiting for them. He looked to be very nervous. They ordered and grabbed their drinks. The three walked over to him. The older male caught their scent and stood up. “Good morning.” Fenrir greeted them. “ Good morning .” They greeted them back. “Thank you again Harry. You really saved me.” Not only by getting the drugs out of his system but also stopping him from harming an innocent, pregnant wizard, and stopping the aurors from convicting him. “You’re welcome.” Harry smiled at him. They all sat after that. There was an awkward silence as they stared at each other. No one knew how to really get the conversation started. So many misunderstandings and lies needed to be talked about but the four didn’t know what to say. Finally Fenrir cleared his throat and spoke. “You are looking better.” He said to Remus. “Yes. Well Harry’s mate is a vampire, a muggle one. He wanted to see if there was a way to get him to eat food and came across a restaurant. They pointed him to a magical alley that had several bookstores. We bought many books. Made me realize just how biased and restrictive Britain was. The books really helped me to accept my wolf. It also helped me to learn that the wolfsbane potion was killing me. Severus, a potion master, had once made me his version which was actually one that helped to calm me down since I had no back. He had come up with it after learning what the original potion did. His version was denied but he never stopped brewing it until I wasn’t a professor at Hogwarts. He had taken out the ingredients that were poisonous to werewolves and replaced them with ingredients that actually helped. He is actually going to represent his potion now that the laws are being fixed and the master of the potion guild has been replaced. The previous was a man under Dumbledore’s thumb.” The words escaped him and he couldn’t stop talking. “I-i see.” Fenrir stared at him. “Britain wasn’t always like that. Dumbledore’s great great great grandfather on his mum’s side lost his eldest child. He had been attacked by a rogue werewolf. He banded together with a few wizards and witches who lost their children or family members who had been killed by werewolves. That was when the laws began. It was to keep us in control. After that it became a slippery slope. More and more magical creature laws were created. Spells and potions that would help us were banned as well. I didn’t know a potion master had altered the original wolfsbane potion to help us and not slowly kill the consumer.” “I didn’t know that.” Harry said.  “My great grandmother was sick. Her father had gone to an alpha and pleaded with help. She changed her. Her grandfather didn’t accept that it was agreed upon. He would have rathered her die than become a werewolf. He killed his son and claimed a werewolf attack. My grandmother told me.” He explained. “That’s horrible. So you’re a born werewolf?” He asked. “I am.” He confirmed. “What happened the night you bit me?” Remus asked. “I want to hear it from someone who was there that night. I don’t mean to offend but I would like an oath so that I know for sure that you are telling the truth.” “Okay.” He nodded before making the oath. I, Fenrir Marshall Greyback, swear upon my magic that everything I am about to say is the truth.” He glowed gold. “That day I had been taking care of a rogue werewolf. One of my betas had learned he planned to attack a small village. You had been at the park nearby. I noticed how sickly you looked and your scent proved it. After I took care of the werewolf your mother approached me.” He told him. “What?” That shocked them. “My mum came to you?” Remus asked. “She did. She told me about your cancer. She asked me to change you. I told her that you would come to live with me and she agreed. She wanted you to be healthy and I did tell her she could visit you.” He said. “I didn’t know that.” He said. “That’s because she had been imperioed by your father.” He informed him. “WHAT?!” He yelled in shock. “Papa, calm down.” Harry placed a comforting hand on his arm. “S-sorry.” He took a deep breath. “It’s okay. What I’m telling you is a lot.” Fenrir said. “Would you like me to continue?” “Yes I would.” He confirmed. “Okay. Well after we agreed we had gone back to your house. Your father wasn’t home. Unbeknownst to us our conversation had been overheard. You see I didn’t go alone when I dealt with the rogue werewolf. I had taken one of my best fighters with me. It turned out he wasn’t loyal to me at all. He had been in Dumbledore’s pockets. The man wanted to recruit werewolves but knew that the ones he had couldn’t be controlled. He wanted a recently bitten child so that he could manipulate them easier. That was how Dumbledore and your father found out what I was to do. I bit you since you were really sick. I didn’t think you would survive travelling to my pack. My plan was to turn you and then take you with me. That obviously didn’t work out. After biting you, they attacked. I fought with the traitor. Dumbledore changed your memories and your father used the imperious charm on her so that she couldn’t fight nor tell you the truth. I killed the traitor and when I returned there were wards keeping me from entering.” He told them. “Wow.” Harry said. [Poor papa.] He squeezed his shoulder. “I found out that the ward was around you. No one in my pack could talk to you. Sending letters didn’t work either. Eventually Dumbledore and your father killed your mother. They made it seem like she had been attacked by werewolves to further your hatred with them.” He finished. “I’m sorry.” Remus stood and left. Sirius bit his lip before following his husband. Harry looked at Fenrir. “Thank you for telling us this.” He said. “You’re welcome.” “How is your son? I heard Voldemort had kidnapped him so that you would continue to serve him.” Harry asked. “He’s fine. Draco Malfoy had found him in the basement and snuck him back to us. That boy was horrified by the truth of his father and the dark side.” He said. “Thanks for asking.” “You’re welcome. I have heard of Malfoy jr changing sides.” The elfling sighed. “Well I should go. I hope to see you again.” “Me too.” Harry stood up and left. He returned to his home. Fenrir took a port-key back to Britain then went back to his pack. He hugged his son close. (Weasley-Black-Lupin-Potter Household) Remus had run all the way home. He went up to his room. He sat on the bed and hugged a pillow close. Tears streamed down his face. Fenrir had shattered everything he knew and he wasn’t sure how to handle it. Sirius soon entered the room. He was relieved that he found him. He made his way over to the bed and hugged him close. For years he had thought his parents had loved him and that he had been attacked by a monster. Now he learned that only his mum had loved him and she had been betrayed by his father and killed. The monster turned out to be a werewolf trying to save him and his father was the monster. It was too much. He wished he could deny it but he did have Fenrir make an oath that he would tell the truth and he had. Eventually he fell asleep. Bill had entered the room. “What happened?” Harry had told him that Fenrir had revealed the truth and it was very shocking. He told him to talk to Remus. “Here’s the short version. Remus’s mum asked Fenrir to turn Remus in order to save his life. One of Fenrir’s betas had betrayed them and that was how Lyall and Dumbledore learned about Fenrir changing Remus. Lyall imperioed his wife and then later killed her. Dumbledore put wards up to keep Fenrir and any werewolf from contacting them. He also changed Remus’s memories so that he would believe he had been attacked.” Sirius told him. “Fuck.” He went over to his mates. “Poor Remus.” He snuggled into him. “Indeed.” He agreed. “Where are the twins?” “With Harry. He sent me up here.” He answered. “Ah! Good.” He said. “Yeah.” (Cullen Household) Jasper sat on his bed. He was forcing himself to not pace. His mate was with a werewolf and his instincts were yelling at him. He wanted to go to his mate and take him away. He had these feelings when he realized Harry was living with a werewolf. It took a lot out of him to ignore those instincts. The reason he did was because he knew that by doing so would cause a rift between Harry and himself. It didn’t stop him from worrying. Usually he would talk to Carlisle but he had taken Esme to Esme island. They were hoping to get pregnant and Carlisle loved pampering Esme. Jasper did hope they were able to conceive a child. Any child would be lucky to have them as parents. With a sigh he stood up. He went to his bookcase and grabbed a book. He sat down at his desk and began reading or at least he tried to. It was hard for him to concentrate. He sat there for hours staring at the same sentence. He jumped when his phone rang. He checked it and was happy to see it was Harry. “Hello.” He greeted. “Hey Jasper.” He greeted him back. “What’s wrong?” He asked in concern. “Remus asked Fenrir about the night he turned him and there was more to the story then we could have imagined.” He said. “Is Remus okay?” He asked. “No. He’s going to need some time to allow the information to settle.” Harry replied. “I see. Do you need me to do anything?” He asked. “Yes. Could you come to the store with me? I’m going to need a lot of chocolate.” He said. “Sure. Are you making Remus his comfort food?” The empath asked. “Yes I am.” He confirmed. “I’ll be there soon.” He said. “Okay.” He hung up the phone. Jasper put his phone in his pocket and left. It didn’t take him long to arrive at Harry’s house. His mate smiled and kissed him. “Hi.” Harry breathed out. “Hi. Ready to go?” He asked. “Yeah.” “Great.” He smiled. Since they were going to the store they took the car. The two got in and took off. They went to the store. The two grabbed the necessary ingredients. Jasper shook his head when Harry admitted that he had a coca plant growing. They checked out and went home. They took everything to the kitchen and began cooking. ‘This is nice.’ Jasper thought. ‘Hmm.’ A plan formed in his head. It didn’t take the two long to get everything prepared. Now it all had to cook. Harry smiled at him. “So I have a surprise for you.” He said. “Oh?” He looked at his green eyed mate. “Close your eyes.” He said. “Okay.” He said in amusement and did just that. Harry grabbed his hand and led him to the garage. He let go and stood in front of him. “You can open them now.” He said. Jasper did just that. Harry moved to show that there was a motorcycle. It was the same as Harry’s, a Harley Davidson. While Harry’s was black with red accents, this one was silver with blue accents. The vampire looked at the bike in shock. “Surprise!” Harry yelled. “This is for me?” He asked. “Yeah. I’ve noticed how much you liked mine so I got one for you.” He said. In the blink of an eye Jasper was kissing Harry. “This is perfect. Thank you.” “You’re welcome. As much as I would like to continue this I do have to go check on the brownies.” He said. “Okay.” He went over to his bike. The elf rolled his eyes fondly at that before he went back to his kitchen. He checked on the brownies and then on the candy he put in the freezer. (After the cakes, brownies, cookies, and candy is finished) Remus finally left his room. He could smell lots and lots of chocolate. He followed his nose to the kitchen. He gasped at the sight before him. Different desserts made out of chocolate filled the room. His son was putting the cookies into a container. He looked up and smiled at his father. “Hi papa. Feeling better?” He asked. “A little. What’s all this?” He asked. “Comfort food.” Harry answered. “I see.” He went over and hugged him. “Thanks Harry.” “You’re welcome. What would you like?” He asked. “Some of those cookies.” He said. “Okay.” He summoned a plate and put some cookies onto it. “Here you go.” “Thanks cub.” He sat down at the table and began eating. “You’re welcome.” The two sat in silence. Remus ate as Harry put some of the chocolate confections he made away. Sirius and Bill entered the kitchen. Their eyes went wide. It seemed that their son went overboard. They shook their heads as Harry handed them some cookies. “ Thanks Harry. ” The two said as they sat down next to their mate. “You’re welcome.” He smiled. “Did Fenrir say anything after I left?” Remus asked. “Not really. I asked how his son was doing and then he left.” Harry answered. “I see.” He bit his lip.  “It’s okay papa. We understand. It might take awhile for you to come to terms with what we learned.” He put a hand on his shoulder. “Thanks cub.” He pulled him into a hug. “You’re welcome.” A month had passed since Remus had learned the truth about his parents. It took him some time but he managed to accept the truth. Being with his family helped. Remus had contacted Fenrir. They had agreed to keep in contact. The older werewolf was going to help Remus learn more about his werewolf heritage and also was going to teach him how to handle the twins since they were also werewolves. Born werewolves handled the full moon differently then those that had been changed.  Remus and the others figured that out when the babies had changed that first full moon and didn’t seem to be in any pain. It made everyone relieved. They had been worried but were glad that the twins weren’t going to be in pain during the change. Severus had come by. He talked to Harry about Malfoy. The teen had really turned his life around. He felt like he was ready to talk to Harry. The elfling agreed. Severus and Sirius would be there and so would Jasper. They would meet during the summer holidays. Malfoy was busy between school and going through his family’s finances. His father had left them a mess after funding Voldemort’s holocost.  At the moment Harry was at Jasper’s house studying for the upcoming exams. Carlisle and Esme had come back from their vacation a few weeks prior. Despite not knowing whether Esme was pregnant or not the couple looked happier and relaxed.  “Would you like a snack break?” Esme asked Harry and Jasper. “Yes please.” Harry moaned. “My poor brain needs a break.” “I bet. You’re not only studying for your muggle exams but also for the N.E.W.T.s, correct?” She asked as she walked into the kitchen. “Yes. Unfortunately for me my exams happen all at the same time.” He groaned. “It’s only thanks to Jasper that I have been able to manage.” “Don’t worry dear. I’m sure you’ll do fine.” She said. “I hope so.” He sighed. “Here you are. Don’t stress so much over the exams. That won’t help you so much and you’ll end up freaking out. Just relax dear.” She said as she put the snack on the table. “Thank you.” He said warmly as he grabbed the juice. “You’re welcome dear.” She smiled. Harry and Jasper ate their snack. Jasper then took his mate outside for a walk. His mom was right and Harry really needed a break. Being in nature would help Harry relax. It did work. “Thanks Jasper.” “You’re welcome love.” He kissed his forehead. “I’m so happy you came into my life.” He said. Meeting Jasper had really changed his life. Fate and Destiny seemed to have it against him but Jasper gave him the strength to keep going, to stand up for himself. He had learned to be more than a victim and a survivor. He learned to actually live his life. He wouldn’t change it for the world. “Me too.” He said. Harry coming had broken a routine. Before he went to school, hunted animals, and lost himself in his emotions and history books. Now his family was more like a family. They could actually eat like a family, at home and out in public. Harry gave his mom and sisters a chance to be moms. He was loved by an amazing person. He would fight like hell to keep that. “We should get back.” Harry pouted.  “After school ends I want to take you on vacation. I want to take you to Hawaii. I already asked your parents and they said we can go.” He said. “Yes!” He exclaimed as he jumped on the vampire. “Great.” He smiled. The two went back to the house. They continued to study for a couple more hours before Jasper took Harry home. The elfling talked to his parents. The plan was that Harry would talk to Malfoy and then he would go to Hawaii for the vacation. His grandpa Alex would be going as well. He was only going to keep an eye on the charms they would place Jasper under. The charms would allow Jasper to be in the sun without any worry. (After Exams) Harry finished both his muggle exams and his magical ones. He was proud to say he passed them all. He managed to get As and Bs in his muggle courses and all Os in his magical ones. Everyone else was proud of them as well. They had gone to Edward’s, Rose’s, and Emmett’s graduation. A small party had been held. The seventeen year old had been packing when Jasper called him. He wanted his mate to come over for a quick visit and his family had to come as well. He and the others did. They were now sitting in the Cullens’s living room. “Thank you all for coming.” Esme said. “Carlisle and I have some news.” “Esme is pregnant.” Her mate said. That statement started a chain reaction. Everyone went over to the couple and congratulated them. The Cullen “Children” were happy to be getting a new sibling. Rose and Alice immediately began planning the nursery.  “Thank you all. Severus Snape has sent us to a specialist in muggle vampire pregnancy.” Carlisle said. “The pregnancy will last only six months and the child will grow twice as fast as a human child. It will stop aging when they turn twenty.” “We were given books.” She said. “We’ll read them.” Emmett promised. “Good.” She smiled at them. “We also have a gift for you Harry. A congratulations for not only passing your N.E.W.T.s but also getting all Os. You worked really hard and we are proud of you.” She gave him a wrapped gift. “Thank you.” He had learned not to argue with them since they wanted to give him gifts even if they didn’t have to. The young Earth Elf carefully unwrapped the gift. He opened the box and nearly gasped. It was a locket with the Cullen/Hale family crest. He looked up at them in tears. “Thank you so much.” He said. “Of course.” Carlisle said as he took the locket and put it on Harry. “You are a member of this family. Now have fun on your vacation.” “I will.” He hugged them all and left with Jasper. (Britain) Harry and Jasper had arrived in Hogsmeade. They made their way to a small cafe. Severus and Malfoy were already there. Harry quickly greeted Severus with a hug. The man was still surprised by the hugs but like always he hugged the teen back. Malfoy was surprised by the hugs but was more surprised that he didn’t feel jealous like he usually was. In the past he would have been jealous of anyone who was close to his godfather. He was happy that he seemed to have grown out of it. The hug ended and everyone sat down. “Thank you for meeting with me.” Malfoy said. “You’re welcome. I needed to apologize anyway.” He said. “That day on the train when I refused to shake your hand I had no idea that I had insulted you.” “I know that now. I’m guilty of believing those books. I thought you were a spoiled brat that was raised in our ways. After the articles came out and Dumbledore and a few of your friends had been arrested I learned the truth. Our past interactions made sense.” The blonde said. “I’m sorry for how I treated you in the past.” “I forgive you. We both were wrong.” Harry smiled. “Yeah.” He smiled back. “I also apologize for my father’s part in hurting you.” “It’s okay Malfoy. You aren’t responsible for your father’s actions. Only he is.” He said. He nodded. “I always looked up to him. When I found that child in the basement I was horrified. I don’t care that the child was a werewolf, you don’t tie a child up in chains and lock him in a cage in the basement. You don’t feed him once a day.” He shook his head in disgust. “Unfortunately there are people out there that won’t care whether or not the person they hurt is a child. They enjoy causing pain.” He said, speaking from experience. “Right.” He looked down at the table when he heard Harry’s tone. “What matters though is that you helped that child.” The elfling said. “Harry’s correct, Draco. You could have left and ignored what you saw. You could have helped your father but instead you chose the innocent child and saved him. That shows what a good person you are.” Severus said. “Thanks uncle Sev, Harry.” He said with a blush. “You’re welcome.” The two said. “Unfortunately Draco we must leave now if we want to be on time for your appointment.” Severus said. “You’re right. Great grandpa must be rolling over in his grave at what grandpa and father have done with the estate, money, and business.” The blonde muttered. “I hope it gets all figured out.” Harry said. “I know that Sirius, Remus, and Bill had a tough time setting my estates out. Dumbledore and the others did a number on them.” “Thanks.” He looked nervous. “Do you mind if I write?” “No I don’t. Write to me all that you want.” He said. “Thanks. Bye Harry.” “Bye Draco.” With that Draco and Severus left. Jasper hugged his mate. “How are you feeling?” He asked. “Better.” He said. “Good. Ready to go to Hawaii?” He asked. “I am.” The elf said with a grin. “Great.” (With Harry and Jasper) It was decided the two would take the Cullen’s private jet to Hawaii. Harry had never been on one and Jasper wanted him to experience it. The two left the cafe and took a port-key back home. They quickly grabbed their bags. They took a car to the airport. Alexander was there waiting for them. “Are you two ready?” Alex asked them. “I am.” Harry said. “Me too.” Jasper said. “Good. Let’s go then. I’ll apply the spells once we land.” He said. “Okay.” The three boarded the plane. They took their seats. In an effort to give them privacy Alex sat on one side of the jet near the front. Harry and Jasper sat on the other side towards the back. They buckled in and soon the jet took off. “I can’t wait.” Harry said. “This will be my first time going on vacation and going to a beach.” “Yeah.”  Jasper and Alex reigned in their anger. They both hated hearing how Harry grew up. Alex just wished that he had known his grandson had been alive. Harry would have grown up in a loving environment. It was too late to change that now. Instead they were focusing on making the elfling happy and loved. “I’ve never been to Hawaii either.” Jasper said. “It will be odd to not see you sparkle in the sun.” Harry said. “It will be odd being around others when the sun is out.” He admitted. “I bet.” He giggled. “Did you tell your parents about the plan?” He asked, causing Alex to look over at them. “Which one?” He asked as he subtly gestured towards his grandfather. “The plan about the greenhouse.” The vampire answered. “Yeah. They thought it was a great idea. Neville asked if he could come work with me.” He admitted. “That’s good. Do they have a college for herbologists?” He asked. “No. For our chosen career we find masters in that field and become their apprentice.” Harry explained. “Once the master feels their apprentice is ready they send them to the ministry to take a test given to them from both a ministry official and a member from the guild of that mastery. If they pass they become a master in that field. I really hope I explained that correctly and well.” “Yes.” He said. “Good. I was confusing myself.” He admitted. “Ah. Well I understood what you were saying.” He assured his mate. “Good.” He smiled. The rest of the trip they talked about siblings. Jasper was excited that he was soon going to be an older brother. When they landed Alex applied the spell. When Jasper stepped out into the sun he didn’t sparkle once. The trio went to the hotel. Jasper and Harry shared a room and Alexander had his own. Once they were unpacked Jasper took Harry to one of the beaches near the hotel. Alex went off on his own. “It’s beautiful.” Harry gasped. “It is.” Jasper agreed. “Let’s find a place to set up.” “Okay.” He said. The two set up their spot before Harry ran into the water. Jasper took a minute to admire his mate. He was in a pair of tight dark red swim trunks. They really showed off his legs and butt. He swallowed the venom that pooled in his mouth before he joined Harry. ‘I can’t wait for later tonight.’ He thought. The two planned to complete the mating that night. Since Harry was able to use magic outside of school they figured it would be the perfect time to mate. Jasper just hoped that he didn’t do anything that would cause Harry to freak out. After all that his mate had been through he didn’t want to put him through more. Harry and Jasper played in the ocean for a while. The two had fun. Harry especially since he never played in the ocean before. Afterwards they had dinner and they returned to the hotel. Alex only came by to check on his spellwork. He then went to his room. Harry and Jasper did the same. “Are you ready?” Jasper asked. “I am. Just nervous.” Harry admitted. “That’s okay. Tell me to stop whenever you need to. If you are uncomfortable tell me to stop.” He said. “I will.” He promised. The blonde searched his mate’s eyes. He nodded when he found what he was looking for. He walked over to Harry and brought his hand to Harry’s cheek. Slowly he leaned in and kissed him. Harry kissed him back. The kiss was sweet at first but turned into more a few seconds later. Harry wrapped his arms around Jasper’s shoulders. The vampire’s had gone to the back of Harry’s head. Fingers carded through hair as it pushed to bring the two closer. Jasper’s other hand grabbed Harry’s hips. He began leading the elf to the bed. Once there he gently pushed Harry into the bed. The green eyed boy landed and he smiled up at the vampire. He grabbed Jasper and pulled him on top of him. He began kissing him. Jasper grounded down against his mate’s erection. Harry moaned loudly. He broke the kiss and quickly put up a silencer. He then went back to kissing Jasper. Said vampire pulled back to remove Harry’s shirt. “Beautiful.” He breathed out causing Harry to blush. Jasper leaned in and kissed Harry’s neck. The teen moved his head to present more of his neck. The blonde began sucking and nipping at the milky white skin. Harry moaned beneath him. Harry’s hands slipped underneath Jasper’s shirt. He began running his hands over Jasper’s back. The vampire liked the feeling of his mate’s hands on him. He quickly pulled back and removed his shirt. He then went back to Harry’s neck. He kissed a path to one of Harry’s nipples. He kissed it before taking it into his mouth. Harry moaned as his nipple was sucked. Jasper used his hand to play with the other. “Yes.” Harry moaned out. “Feel good?” The empath asked into his nipple. “Yes.” He answered. “Good.” Jasper nipped at the nipple before switching to the other. His hand played with the sensitive nub. He slowly drove his mate crazy. When he was satisfied with how red Harry’s nipple was he began moving down. He kissed and licked a path to Harry’s belly button. He kissed it once more he moved down and was stopped by the waistband of Harry’s pants. “May I?” He asked. “Yes.” He said breathlessly. Harry lifted his hips to help Jasper remove his pants. His underwear went with them. Jasper swallowed his venom when he took in Harry’s erection. His mate was very beautiful. He leaned down and kissed the tip. Harry moaned out. A few seconds later Jasper took him fully into his mouth. “Fuck!” Harry cursed at the feeling. Jasper smirked at that. He was loving that he was giving his mate this much pleasure. He hollowed out his cheeks as he sucked. He then proceeded to give Harry the best blow job he had ever received in his life. He bobbed his head up and down. Harry’s hands went to Jasper’s gold hair. He gripped the hair as his head tipped back. Jasper’s left hand held Harry’s hips down just in case. His right hand messaged his mate’s scrotum. As his head bobbed he used his tongue to follow the vein on Harry’s penis. Slowly he drove his mate crazy.  It didn’t take long for Harry to be pushed over the edge. “I’m… coming.” He panted out. Jasper swallowed him down to the root. He gave a powerful suck and Harry came with a shout. The vampire swallowed the whole load. “Delicious.” He smirked when he released the now soft organ. “I’m glad.” He said sarcastically. The blonde chuckled as he grabbed the lube. He looked at his mate once more. “Ready?” He asked. “Yes.” Jasper lubed his finger as well as Harry’s puckered hole. Slowly his finger entered Harry. He stretched Harry like that for a minute or two before adding a second finger. The elf squirmed beneath Jasper as the vampire scissored him. Once he was satisfied he added a third finger. He wanted to make sure his mate was properly stretched before he entered him. “Jasper, please.” He begged. “In a second.” He kissed Harry’s thigh. His mate had been hurt a lot in the past and he wasn’t about to add his name to the list. He removed his fingers once he was sure Harry was ready. That was when he had found Harry’s prostate. Harry tilted his head back as he screamed out in pleasure. The elf moaned at the loss. Jasper chuckled as he put the condom on and some lube. He looked at his mate as he aligned himself with Harry’s hole. “If you ask if I am ready one more time I swear I will leave you here and finish myself off in the bathroom.” Harry snapped. Jasper chuckled. “Okay.” Slowly he entered his mate. He watched his face as he continued to inch in. Soon he was fully sheathed. He waited for his mate to be ready. Harry’s eyes were closed as he tried to get used to the discomfort. His hands went to his neglected penis. As he worked his penis the discomfort he was feeling began to disappear. He opened his eyes and looked at his mate. “I’m ready.” He said. Jasper kissed him before he pulled out of Harry. When all that was left was his tip he pushed back in. He continued thrusting in and out slowly. Pleasure soon began to blossom in Harry. He panted as he pulled Jasper close. His face was against Jasper’s neck. The vampire soon picked up the pace. The tip of his penis hit Harry’s prostate. Harry screamed once more in pleasure. He was a moaning mess as his mate continued to hit his prostate. His thrusts became harder and faster. He was beginning to lose control. His hands took over pumping Harry’s dick. It didn’t take long for Harry to come. “Jasper!” He screamed out. As Harry covered their stomachs and chest with cum. Jasper thrusted a few more times before he too came biting into Harry’s neck. The vampire pulled out and rolled off his mate. Harry laid there panting. Kissing Harry’s cheek Jasper went to the bathroom. He grabbed a washcloth and got it wet. He cleaned himself off before returning to his mate and cleaned him off. Jasper checked the bite mark. He was relieved that it was healing nicely. He hadn’t meant to bite him. His instincts took over. He did feel the bond between the two strengthen after he bit his mate. Once he finished he put the washcloth in the hamper and returned to his mate. He smiled softly when he found Harry sleeping. He kissed his forehead and tucked him in. He then laid down next to him. The vampire was happy they had finally mated and now all he had to do was marry his precious mate and all would be complete. (With Jasper and Harry) The next morning Harry woke in Jasper’s arms. He smiled happily. He loved waking up this way and hoped to continue to do so. He lifted himself up enough to kiss Jasper. The vampire kissed him back. “Good morning. How are you feeling darlin’?” Jasper asked him. “Good.” He said. “Are you sore?” He asked. “A little.” He admitted. “I’ll get you a potion.” He said. “I’m fine. Just a little sore. I don’t need the potion.” He assured. The blonde blinked at the wave of lust he felt. He smirked afterwards. He was happy that Harry was comfortable with him. He would have to thank Poppy. Those therapy sessions had done his mate a world of difference. He quickly kissed Harry. “Problem dear?” He asked. “Yeah. I’m hungry.” He smirked back. “Oh?” “A nice sausage will do.” As he grabbed Jasper’s dick. “Sausage?” He snorted. Harry blushed. “Shut up and let me suck you.” “You may eat my sausage anytime you’d like.” He chuckled. “I’m never going to hear the end of that.” He muttered. “Probably not.” He agreed. “Shoot.” He pouted. “Sorry darlin’.” He just grinned. “Liar.” Jasper kissed his mate’s pout. He thought it was adorable. Harry soon began to kiss him back. His hand resumed touching Jasper’s penis. He broke the kiss and scooted down until he was eye level with Jasper’s dick. He kissed the tip. The vampire watched as Harry swallowed him down to the root. That impish elf made sure to keep eye contact. Jasper moaned at the feeling. The teen licked the vein underneath as he bobbed his head up and down. When he reached the tip he licked at the precome. When he went down he lightly scraped his teeth against his skin. “Oh God Harry. That feels really good.” The blonde moaned. Harry smirked around his mouthful and kept going. Jasper twisted his hands into the sheets. He wanted to grab Harry’s hair but didn’t want to accidentally hurt him. “I’m going to come.” He warned him. Just as Jasper had done to him the night before Harry swallowed him down to the root. He gave a powerful suck. Jasper came with a shout. Harry swallowed as much as he could. “I can taste your venom.” He commented. “Really?” That was a surprise.  “Yeah.” “Huh.” “So how was that?” He smirked. “It was wonderful darlin’. Now I need to return the favor.” He said. Jasper pulled his mate up and kissed him. He could taste himself and could taste the venom as well. He made a mental note of that. Instead he flipped them over so that he was on top of Harry. He kept kissing Harry as his hand went between them. He grabbed his mate’s erection and began pumping. He kept this up until his mate came. The two laid there for a bit. “We should take a shower.” Harry suggested. “We should.” Jasper agreed. The two stood up and made their way to the bathroom. They took a quick shower and got into some clothes. Today would be the day they went shopping. They would shop in the non-magical part of Hawaii and then the magical part. Harry was so excited. He hoped to not only pick up a few recipes but also a few plants. Jasper was happy to see how excited his mate was. As they left the room they found Alex waiting for them. “Morning Grandpa.” Harry greeted as he hugged the man. “Good morning sir.” Jasper greeted. “Good morning Harry, Jasper.” His nose twitched as he hugged his grandson back. “Apparently a really good morning.” Harry blushed. “We mated last night.” “I see.” He said as he let Harry go. “Well congratulations. You did use protection, right?” “Yeah. I took the birth control potion.” It was more effective than muggle birth control. “Good. Alright let me reapply the spell and then you may go.” He said. “Okay.” Jasper said. “I really hope they can figure out how to set a glamour to a bracelet soon.” Harry pouted. Since Jasper was a muggle vampire there was no magic on him that kept the charm going. Severus was trying to make a perminate charm that would work for the Cullen family. So far he hadn’t figured it out. He did love the challenge though. “I bet.” Jasper said. “Alright. All done.” Alex said. “Have fun you two.” “We will.” Harry promised. The two left the hotel and went to the designated shopping district. They started at the bookstore. Both searched through the store gathering what they found an interest in. They checked out and went to the next. They each manage to purchase a few things from each store they were in. Both were thankful for the charmed bags they had brought with them. They were bottomless and weightless. It meant that they could put as many things into a bag as they wanted. The two then went to the magical section. They both purchased a few things before they went back to the hotel. They dropped off their things in the room before going to a restaurant. Alex was already there. The three ate dinner there before going back to the hotel. Jasper and Harry sorted their things before Harry went to bed and Jasper read his new book. The rest of their trip was spent on the beach, taking in the sights, or their hotel room. Alex was only in his room at night. The two had no idea where the man was and didn’t ask. They figured that if he wanted to know where he was he would have told them. The trio then returned home. (With Bill, Sirius, and Remus) The three were getting the house ready for Harry’s return. Fred and George were at their stores and Arthur was at work. They were mostly trying to keep their mind off the fact that Harry and Jasper had probably mated during this trip. They didn’t like it because in their eyes their son was always going to be too young to mate. He was forever their baby. They only stopped to eat, take a break, and take care of the twins. None of them wanted to accept that Harry was now mated even though they liked Jasper. Despite that they still added space for Jasper. They added a private room for him to use. Soon Arthur came home. He saw the three and sighed. “I did that too when you first left.” “What?” The three looked at him.  “When Bill got the job at the bank I spent a few days getting it ready for his return.” He said. “Really?” Bill asked. “Yes. Your mum allowed it since that meant less work for her.” It still hurt thinking and talking about that woman. “Of course she did.” He scowled. Bill loved his mum and always would but she had been a bad person and was now paying for her crimes. He loved his youngest two siblings but they had broken the law. He couldn’t stand to talk about them without getting angry just yet. The wounds they left were still fresh and it would take a long time for them to heal. “When did you stop?” He asked. “When you came home during the holidays.” Arthur admitted. “It reminded me that you still loved me and that you still needed me.” “So what you’re saying is that even though our pup has mated he will always love and need us?” Sirius asked. “Yes. That and this place can’t get any cleaner.” He teased. Sirius stuck his tongue out at the man. Arthur chuckled at that. He felt really lucky that he was able to be a part of this great family. He just hoped they were going to be happy about his news. He wanted Harry to be here before he told them. There was a knock at the door. “I’ll get it.” He said. “ Thanks Arthur/dad .” The three said. The redhead went to the door and answered it. To his surprise it was Luna Lovegood. She was a day early. She smiled at him. “Hello Luna.” He greeted her. “Hello Mr. Weasley. I know that Harry isn’t back yet but my flight arrived earlier than expected.” She explained.  “I see. Flight?” He asked. “I wanted to experience flying in an airplane.” She said. “Ah. Well come in.” He said. “Thank you. Congratulations by the way. Don’t worry I won’t tell anyone.” She said. “Why thank you.” He said. “You’re welcome.” She said as she stepped into the house. “Your room is the same as last time.” Arthur told her. “Alright.” She went to that room. Arthur returned to the others. “It was Luna. She took an airplane here and it arrived early.” “I’ll text Harry and let him know.” Bill said. “Okay.” Twin cries rang out.  “Sirius and I will feed the twins.” Remus said. Bill sent a quick text as Remus and Sirius fed the twins. Arthur then stole his grandchildren and took them to the garden. They had all noticed how at peace they seemed to be there and wondered if they had a gift or if they felt their brother’s magic there. Either way they loved being out in the garden. (With Esme, Carlisle, and the healer) For the past few weeks Esme and Carlisle had been seeing a healer. Severus had introduced them. She specialized in non-magical vampire pregnancies. So far everything was going as planned. Esme was pleased. She couldn’t wait to be a mother again. “The pregnancy is still progressing as it should. Have you had any cravings?” She asked. “Actually yes. I’ve been craving human blood.” She admitted. “That’s to be expected. It’s more potent than animal blood. Have you been drinking some?” She asked. “Yes. We managed to get some donated blood.” Esme answered. “I figured it was okay since you told her to listen to her body.” Carlisle said. “Good, good. That will help the baby grow. They will still need human blood until they are ten and even then they will need to drink it once a week. They can switch to animal blood full time when they are twenty one.” The healer informed them. “The books didn’t say much on that.” He said. “That’s because most vampire diets are strictly human blood.” She answered. “Ah! That makes sense.” He said. “There are a few animal drinkers that have had babies. I’ve dealt with seven of them.” She assured him. “I know. Severus told us. I’m just worried.” Carlisle said. “Most fathers are.” She smiled. “Well everything is good here. I shall see you both in a couple weeks.” “Alright. Thank you.” Esme smiled brightly. “You’re welcome.” They all said bye to each other before the healer left. Esme kissed her mate before going off to the kitchen. She warmed up a cup of blood before drinking it. She then sighed. “What’s wrong dear?” Carlisle asked. “Just a little sad. Alice said that Jasper and Harry were now mated. I’m happy for them but now it feels like now that I’m having a baby Jasper is leaving us.” She admitted. “Oh Esme. Jasper isn’t leaving us. Even if he moves out he will always be our son.” He said. “I know.” She said. Carlisle hugged her from behind and kissed her neck. “It will be alright dear. Jasper will be back tomorrow.” “I know. Doesn’t stop me from thinking that way.” She said. “True. Just talk with Jasper. It will help.” He said. “Alright. Thanks Carlisle.” She turned around and snuggled into his embrace. “You’re welcome Esme.” He kissed the top of her head. (With Luna) The blonde unpacked her bag. She smiled as she changed clothes. Now she wore faded jeans and a silver t-shirt. She pulled on some socks before putting on a pair of black work boots. She then pulled her hair into a ponytail. “Time to meet my mate.” She smiled and skipped out the door. “Oh hello Luna.” Bill greeted her. “Hello Bill.” She greeted him back. “Are you leaving?” He asked. “I’m going to explore the town.” She said. “Okay. You still have that cellphone Harry gave you?” He asked. “Yes. I’ll call if I need you.” The blonde said. “Alright. Have fun.” He said. “I will.” She said knowingly before she left. Luna made her way to La Push. Soon she was surrounded by trees. Knowing it would be a bit before her mate found her she wondered. A ding alerted her to a text. *Hey Luna. Dad said you got in early. Text me when you meet him. Oh and tell him I said hi.- Harry* *Okay.- Luna* She giggled before putting her phone away. She was glad that she had told him about her vision. He had told her where her mate lived. Had she not told him she would have canceled her visit. Oh she couldn’t wait to meet the person she was meant to be with. It was exciting. They wouldn’t have gotten to get to know each other otherwise. “Hey!” A voice called. “Hello.” She said as she turned to look at her mate. “Whoa!” He exclaimed when he imprinted on her. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Luna Lovegood, a friend of Harry’s.” She introduced herself. “I’m Seth Clearwater. I’m kinda a friend of Harry’s.” He said. “Oh you are his friend. You two may not hang out often but the loyalty, support, and feelings between you two are strong. Friends don’t have to see each other on a daily basis to be friends.” She said knowingly. “I guess.” He said. “What does your wolf form look like?” She asked. “You know?” He wasn’t too shocked since he could smell that she was magical. “Yeah. Just like I know that we are mates.” She said. “By the way Harry says hi.” He stared in shock. Just because she knew he was a shifter didn’t mean she would know they were mates and yet she did. Suddenly he realized why her name was familiar. “Luna? As in the girl that had that vision of Harry getting kidnapped?” He asked. “The same.” She said tightly. She hated remembering that vision. “Oh um, sorry.” He didn’t mean to upset his imprint. “It’s okay. Just don’t like remembering that vision.” She said. “I understand.” He said. “So your wolf form?” She looked at him. “One second.” He said. He ducked behind a tree and removed his shorts before shifting. He then returned to Luna. She smiled when she saw him. “You’re gorgeous.” She said as she ran her fingers through his fur. Seth gowled, pleased with the compliment. He was happy that she wasn’t afraid of him. He loved feeling her fingers through his fur. After a few minutes he ran behind a tree and shifted back. He pulled back on his shorts and returned to Luna once more. “What now?” He asked. “I have a couple hours before I need to go back to Harry’s. Why don’t we hang out and get to know each other.” She suggested. “Okay.” He agreed. “Great.” She smiled at him. (Airport) The private jet soon landed. The three exited. Their luggage was already shrunk and in their pockets. They went to the car waiting for them. Remus had driven to the airport to pick them up. The minute he saw his cub he exited the car and went over to him. He hugged him tightly. “I missed you so much.” He said. “Me too.” “Congratulations.” Remus said despite not liking the fact that his son was now mated. “Thanks papa.” He smiled at him. “Thank you.” Jasper said. “Well let’s get back. Everyone is waiting.” He said. “Okay.” They entered the car and Remus drove them home. They entered the house and received a warm welcome. Harry of course greeted his brother and sister first. He smirked at Sirus’s pout. “Hello Lily. Hello Orion. I missed you two.” He said. “I have something for the both of you.” He took a blue bag out of his pocket and unshrunk it. He pulled out two stuffies from it. They were both dolphins. One was bright blue and the other was light pink. He gave Orion the blue one and Lily the pink one. The twins grabbed their new stuffies and cuddled them. “I’m glad you liked them.” He said. “And I’m glad that my son hasn’t even thought of hugging me yet.” Sirius grumbled. Harry giggled before going over to Bill. “Missed you dad.” “I missed you as well.” He chuckled. “Hey!” Harry then went around hugging everyone. Sirius was last. The man sat on the couch and pouted. When Harry finally got to him he laughed and hugged the man. The man tried to resist hugging him but failed. He hugged his son close. “I missed you pup.” He kissed his forehead. “I missed you too.” After a few minutes Sirius released him. Harry smiled and took out the bags. Jasper did the same. Harry unshrunk them. The elf smirked at Luna. “This is for you.” He said. The blonde grabbed the bag. “Thank you. I can’t wait to wear this for my date with Seth.” “I thought so.” “Want to share with those that have no clue what Harry got you?” Sirius asked sarcastically. “Okay.” Luna pulled out a hair clip. It was a light purple scallop shell. It seemed to sparkle in the light. It would match the dress she had been planning on wearing. “It’s beautiful.” Rosalie commented. “It is.” Luna agreed. “This is for you papa.” He handed Remus a bag. “Thanks cub.” Remus pulled a few books out. One was on Hawaiian lore. Another was on the History of Magical Hawaii, one on magical creatures from Hawaii, and the last was on historical sights in Hawaii. He drooled as looked at them. Harry smiled knowing that he loved his gifts. “This is for you dad.” He handed Bill a bag. “Thanks kiddo.” He smiled. “You’re welcome.” Bill pulled out books on magical Hawaiian tomes and archaeological sites. There was also a book on recently discovered ancient spells and recently created spells. As much as he loved his children he was missing work. He didn’t care where he worked as long as he could work. These books would help keep him up to date. “Thanks Harry.” Bill hugged his oldest son. “You’re welcome.” He looked at Sirius. “This is for you.” “Thanks pup.” He took the bag before kissing Harry on his forehead. “You’re welcome.” He grinned. Sirius took out a few Hawaiian candies and a few shirts. He then pulled out a miniature motorcycle, a miniature speedboat, and a few motorcycle parts. He smiled at that. “How’d you know I needed these parts?” He asked. “I called and checked in. Papa mentioned it and when I saw them I bought them.” Harry answered. “Thanks.” He smiled widely. “Yup!” He then looked at the twins. “Here you go.” The two grinned and grabbed the bag. They each pulled out pranks. Some were Hawaiian based magical pranks and some were just ordinary common muggle pranks. They then hugged their nephew/brother. “Thanks.” They both kissed his cheeks repeatedly. “Aw you’re welcome.” He said. Harry grabbed another bag. He handed it to Arthur. He smiled and thanked his grandfather. He pulled out a few things. One was a guide book. The rest was a few muggle things. “I love them.” He said. “Good.” He smiled. “Oh this is for Charlie.” “I’ll make sure to give it to him and I’ll give Bella hers.” He said as he was handed another bag. “Thank you.” He smiled brightly. “You’re welcome.” “Now here is your gift Charlie.” He said. “Thanks Harry.” He said. He pulled out a book first. It was on Hawaiian dragons. He smiled at that. The next thing he pulled out was a few figurines of dragons native to Hawaii. Finally he pulled out two tickets. They were for a trip to Hawaii. “What?” He looked confused. “For you and Oliver. You said that you wished you guys could go to Hawaii for vacation but neither of you could afford it so I bought you both tickets.” He said. Charlie smiled and put his gifts back in the bag. He then swept his nephew up into a hug. He loved how thoughtful he was. “Thanks Harry. Oliver will be so excited.” He said. “Good.” His cheeks hurt from how wide his smile was and he didn’t care. “Now put me down so that I can give Percy and Penelope their gifts.” “Okay.” He grinned and put him down. Harry went over and handed a bag to Percy and Penelope. They smiled and took them. Percy found several books on the history of Hawaii. He also found several baby outfits. He gave Harry a shocked look. “How?” He asked. “I saw you in the library reading pregnancy books. Whenever Penelope visited she drank non-alcoholic drinks and avoided certain foods and activities.” Harry said. “I also noticed how you were acting around her as well as the others today.” “We were going to tell you tonight. She’s in her third trimester and we told the others this morning when they offered Penelope wine.” He said. “You all know how to ruin a surprise.” He pouted. “Sorry.” Harry giggled. “No you’re not.” He said. “Nope.” He said before looking at Penelope. She smiled and kissed his cheek. She then took out her own gifts. One was a beautiful purple dress with light purple flowers. There were a few baby clothes. Finally there was a frame decorated with different kinds of shells. “It’s for your sonogram picture.” He said. “Thanks Harry.” She said. “You’re welcome.” He smiled. Harry then went over to Carlisle and Esme. Jasper had already given them some gifts. For Carlisle he had given him a book on herbs as well as a book on healing. He may not be able to use magic but he was fascinated by it. For Esme he had given her a few cook books for vampires. For the baby he picked up a blue jellyfish stuffy and a few clothes. Harry had given Carlisle a book on the history of vampires. He also gave him a baby blanket and a baby book. Both had baseballs and baseball bats on them. For Esme he had gotten her a  few seeds to plant in her garden. He gave her a box full of scrapbook materials. He knew she wanted to do more. “Thank you sweetie.” She kissed him on the cheek. “You’re welcome.” “These are wonderful.” Carlisle said. “I’m glad you like them.” He smiled. “This is for Rose and this is for Emmett.” “Thank you.” The two said. Jasper had given her a few shoes and some dresses. Harry had given her a few more clothes, keys, and a few pieces of jewelry. She gave a confused look at the keys. “I know you love cars and Jazz has told me you also like boats. Those are keys to your new speedboat.” He handed the rest of the information over. “Thanks.” She squealed and scooped him up in a hug. “You’re welcome.” He smiled brightly. “Your turn Em.” “Okay.” He grinned. Jasper had given him some new games. Harry went a different route. He had given Emmett some candy that he could eat since it was made from blood. He also gave him a few movies. “Thanks Harry.” He said before popping a piece of candy into his mouth. “Yum! Strawberry.” “You’re welcome. Now this is for Alice and this is for Edward.” He said as they took the bags. “Thanks Harry. I love them.” Alice smiled. “Seers.” Harry muttered. “Thank you.” Luna and Alice said at the same time. Harry rolled his eyes as Alice took her gifts out. Jasper had gotten her clothes, shoes, and jewelry. Harry had gotten her a book on seers. He figured it might help her. Luna had suggested it. He also got her a jewelry box that played music when she opened it. The song that played was the song Edward had written her. Jasper had gotten Edward some new music and a new CD player. He also got him a book on telepathy. Harry had gotten him a book on classical music as well as a wristband that would block his telepathy if he needed it. The vampire put it on immediately. “Thanks Harry.” He said in relief. “You’re welcome.” He said. “Wait, I thought things like that couldn’t be used by non-magical vampires for very long.” Esme said. “It was.” Alexander spoke up. “It came out the day before we left. A charms master in Hawaii managed to figure out how to make it work for non-magicals. I don’t know the full details but we tested out their glamour jewelry and it worked for Jasper. They should be at your house by tomorrow.” “Severus will be pleased.” Sirius said. “Yes he will.” Harry agreed. “I hope he likes my gifts.” “I’m sure he will.” Remus assured him. “Did you get Jake anything? I’m heading over to his place in a little bit if you did.” Fred asked. “I have gifts for a lot of people on the Res.” He said. “That’s fine. Label them and I shall make sure they receive them.” He said. “Okay. Thanks.” He smiled. “You’re welcome.” Harry quickly wrote the names on the bags before handing them over to Fred. The elf then went into the kitchen to get something to eat. He really hoped Billy and the others liked his gifts. Fred left after that. (La Push) Fred had called ahead to let them know he was dropping off some gifts from Harry before he and Jacob hung out. Billy told him to come to his house. He soon arrived. Jacob was waiting outside for him. The younger male smiled and went to him. “Hey.” He said. “Hey.” He got out of his car and went over to his mate and kissed him. “I missed you.” “I missed you as well.” He said. “Help me get these bags inside.” He said. “Okay.” Together the two grabbed the bags and took them inside. The two distributed the gifts. They then sat down on the couch since it was the only one free. Each opened their gifts. Fred watched their reactions and looked to see what Harry had gotten them. For Billy he had gotten him tickets to a football game and a few wood carving books.  He also gave the man a new carving knife and wood from three different magical trees. Moon wood, Sun wood, and dragon wood were said to make the carvings very powerful and Harry knew Billy wanted to help protect his tribe and Forks. This was a way to do so. Fred had seen these and explained that to Billy. The old man smiled. “Please send my thanks onto Harry. These are great gifts.” He said. “I will.” The redhead promised. Harry had given Jacob a book on wolf shifters, a cookbook, and a few photos Harry had taken. Fred noticed that he gave all the wolves a book on wolf shifters. Sam was given a book on alphas. The others he had given them books on subjects they were interested in. Seth was given a personal handwritten book. Fred snickered when he saw that it was a book on Translating Luna’s unique language to English. He was going to need it. “How did Harry know that I had been making surfboards?” Quil asked as he held up a guide to making different types of surfboards. “He just does. He’s very observant and can learn so much from just a small conversation.” Fred said. “Heck it took him no time at all to tell Fred and George apart.” “Oh.” Quil blinked. “Wow.” “That’s Harry.” He said. “We’ll have to thank him next time he’s here.” Sam said as he began reading through the book. “Yes we will.” Billy agreed. (Luna and Seth’s date) Luna hummed as she waited for Seth to arrive. She sat on the front step. It wasn’t long for the shifter to arrive. He was dressed in a dark purple dress shirt and black slacks. He complimented the light purple dress Luna wore. He was also carrying a bouquet of blue and purple lilies. He blushed as he handed it over. “Thank you.” She said. “You’re welcome.” He said. “Let me just go put these into water.” She said. “Okay.” She quickly went inside. She smiled when she saw a vase filled with water waiting for her in the kitchen. She quickly put them into the water. Luna then returned to Seth. “Ready?” He asked. “I am. I can’t wait to see the Rose Garden Cafe.” She said. “I hope you like it.” He was happy he had read that book Harry had given him. “Hmmm.” They got inside the car. Leah drove them to the cafe. It gave her time to observe the girl. Too bad Luna was truly an unique person. It took a long time to begin to even understand her. Leah was very confused by the time she dropped them off. Luna liked Leah though. “Hello Seth.” One of the waiters greeted. “Hey John.” He greeted back. “This is my date, Luna.” “Nice to meet you Luna.” He said as he shook her hand. “Nice to meet you as well.” She said. “Your table is this way.” He said. “Thanks man.” Seth said. John took them to a table and handed them menus. He took their drink order and left. Luna examined the area. She loved the different roses she saw. She also was happy to see a few flower fairies hanging around out of sight. “So what do you think?” Seth asked. “I love it.” She giggled. “Good.” He breathed out a sigh of relief. “Why were you worried?” She asked. “You're different from most girls I know and I wasn’t sure you would like the place. A girl in my class complained about it and many of my male friends said they regretted bringing their dates here.” He admitted. “Why?” She was generally shocked. “It’s not fancy enough for them.” He answered. “People shock me.” She said. “Me too. I love this place.” He said. “Well then we simply have to visit whenever we have time.” She said. “Good.” He grinned at her.  The rest of the time the two talked. She told him about her parents, how her classmates treated her. She soon came to her first meeting Harry. “Many people think I met Harry in his fifth year and my fourth. Truth is I met him my first year and his second year.” She said. “Why don’t people know that?” He asked in confusion. “Assumptions based on what they see. They didn’t see us talking before that.” She said. “Oh.” “Anyway Harry had been walking back from one of his detentions with that fraud when he found me, crying. My classmates stole my things and at first I didn’t care until I noticed my locket was missing. It used to be my mum’s. I couldn’t find it anywhere.” She said. “He asked me what was wrong and I told him. He escorted me back to the dorm. Next morning professor Flitwick handed me a locket and one of my classmates was put into detention.” “Harry went to him?” He asked. “I believe so. He’s never confirmed it. He just hums whenever I bring it up before changing the subject or handing me food.” She said in amusement. “Huh.” “After that if my stuff was stolen I could just mention it to him and it would later be returned.” Luna told him. “That’s nice of him.” He said. “He’s a nice person.” She agreed. After that the conversation was about Seth. He mentioned his dad and how sad he was that he died. How close he was with his sister and mother. How Sam never treated him like he was a baby. He even talked about how he felt about the Cullens. She was surprised but pleased that he didn’t automatically hate them just because they were vampires. When she went back to Harry’s house she had a big smile on her face. She excitedly told Harry about her date. He was happy for her. (Harry’s highschool Graduation) Harry’s senior year at Forks High was uneventful, thankfully. He and everyone else was very grateful for it. Now he was in chairs waiting for his turn to be called. His family and friends were there watching the ceremony. It was hard to keep the smile off his face. He was truly happy. Soon his row was called and he stood up and followed them. When his name was called he walked onto the stage. He grabbed his diploma and shook hands. He even smiled for all the cameras. He returned to his seat. Soon the graduation was over. Harry went over to his family. They hugged and congratulated him. Jasper then kneeled down in front of him. Harry gasped out and so did the girls before they squealed. “Harry Potter will you do the honor of marrying me?” He asked as he presented the ring. “Yes!” He said before Jasper stood and kissed him. Jasper put the ring onto Harry’s hand. The ring was simple yet gorgeous. It was fourteen karat gold. There was a square cut emerald in the middle. The design was masculine. Harry loved it. Soon Alice and Rose pulled him away. They gushed over his ring as well as congratulated him. Emmett and Edward teased Jasper since they noticed him pouting as his mate was stolen. Soon Harry was passed around the large group. He did manage to get Miracle, Esme and Carlisle's baby. He snuggled her. “How about we all go back to our place to celebrate.” Esme suggested. “Sounds good to me.” Sirius said. “Me too.” Harry chimed in. “Let’s go.” She said with a huge smile. The group drove to the Cullen residence. Many females had sighed when they witnessed the proposal. They wished they were marrying one of the boys. They felt it was unfair that all the attractive ones were gay. It was so sad. The group soon arrived back at the house. Esme went to the kitchen to cook while Carlisle fed Miracle. Alice couldn’t contain her excitement for long. “When do you plan to get married? Where? Can I plan? What do you plan on wearing? Can I plan?” She asked. “Ahhhhhh!” Harry stared at her wide eyed. “Back off.” Edward said as he grabbed his wife and placed her on his lap. “They were just engaged. Give them a minute before you get on their case.” He rolled his eyes. “Fine.” She pouted. “They’ll pick me to plan it anyway.” Rose said confidently. “Excuse me?” She raised her eyebrow at her sister. “You heard me.” She smirked. “Oh we’ll see about that.” She said. “Yes you will.” Harry leaned in close to Jasper. “I’m scared.” “Me too.” He agreed. “Shh!” Alice pouted. “Here you are Harry.” Esme handed him a plate. “Thank you Esme.” “You’re welcome.” Esme then passed food around to the others. They all talked about many things. Harry was very happy. He was engaged to his mate and he was going to start his apprenticeship soon. His siblings were growing up happy and healthy and his family wasn’t done growing yet.  After the dinner Harry and the others went home. Jasper and him then went to bed. (A few months later) Harry was a very busy elf. He was working on his herbology mastery and planning a wedding. He was also planning a baby shower as well. He was very happy especially when no one tried to attack him, his family, or his friends. At the moment he was meeting with Rose and Alice. The two were helping him plan the wedding. Today they were discussing flowers. He had a rough idea what he wanted. Jasper would be meeting with them later to help them finalize. He had to finish up with his classes at the college he was attending. “I was thinking dark blue poppies and purple lilies.” Harry admitted. “I do believe those would look nice together.” Rose said as she made a sketch. “Me too.” Alice agreed. “Here is a sketch of what the arrangements could look like.” The blonde said as she showed Harry. “I like it.” Harry said. “Me too.” Alice agreed. “So do I.” “Hopefully Jasper likes it as well.” Harry said. “I’m sure he will.” Rose reassured him. “He will love anything you come up with.” Alice said. “Thank you.” He smiled at them. “Sorry I’m late.” Jasper said as he entered the room. “Hi.” He kissed Harry’s cheek. “Hi. What do you think?” He asked as he handed the sketches over. “These are wonderful. I love the combination of our favorite colors and flowers together.” He said. “Great.” He smiled. “Which sketch do you like the best?” Rose asked. “I like the third one. The way the flowers are mixed together look great.” He said. Rose grabbed the sketch pad and circled the third one. They wouldn’t need a florist since Harry was growing them himself. Now they just needed to know where all the flowers were going. The four planned it out. All the while Alice teased Harry about wearing a dress. She really wanted to make one but only if Harry felt comfortable. The raven haired elf rejected the idea. She pouted but accepted his decision. “How about-” Alice began. “Not going to happen.” Jasper said. “Fine.” She pouted. Once they were done Jasper took Harry home. Draco was coming over to talk. The two had become close friends and it helped that Paul had imprinted on him. The older wolf spoiled Draco but also called him out on his crap. Draco seemed to sooth Paul’s temper. Harry was helping Draco cook a meal. The blonde wanted to make his mate a home cook meal and had asked Harry to help. He had agreed. Jasper was happy that Harry had true friends and not the fake friends he had before. His mate was happier and that made him happy. The blonde was already at the house. He was waiting for Harry in the kitchen. He huffed when he spotted the two. “Well it’s about time.” “Chill Draco. I was planning my wedding.” He rolled his eyes. “I better be invited.” He warned. “Of course you are.” He said. “Good. Now teach me to cook.” He demanded. “Okay.” He chuckled. The two got to work. It was a lot of trial and error. Eventually Draco managed to make a good steak and potatoes. Harry helped him put them into containers. The blonde left after thanking him. Harry smiled as he watched him leave. “He will never change.” He said. “He really isn’t good at sharing his emotions is he?” He asked. “No he isn’t.” He said. “Now that we have some free time let’s go to your garden.” He suggested. “Okay.” It was finally time for the wedding. Alice and Rose were helping him get ready. He was very nervous. He had no idea why. He was already mated to Jasper. That bonded the two together in a way marriage couldn’t and yet he was nervous. “Are you okay Harry?” Alice asked. “Yeah. Just nervous for some reason.” He answered. “So were we on our first wedding day.” Rose admitted. “Really?” He asked. “Yes really. It is just nerve wrecking standing in front of those we love and care about and professing our love to our mates.” She said. “It’s not just that though.” He admitted. “What is it?” She asked. “Everything has been going so good that I’m scared the other shoe is going to drop.” He answered. “Don’t worry. There are so many people here that will stop anything and anyone trying to destroy your big day.” Alice assured him. “That’s right.” Rose agreed. That made the elf smile. “Thanks.” “You’re welcome.” The two said. Knock Knock. “Come in dad.” Sirius entered the room. “Hello pup. Do you two mind giving us some privacy?” He asked the two female vampires. “Sure.” The two said before leaving. “Thanks.” He turned and looked at his son. “Wow pup. You look gorgeous.” Since he was submissive he wore white. Instead of a dress he wore a white suite with dark blue accents.  “Thanks.” He blushed. “You’re welcome. How are you feeling?” He asked. “Excited but nervous.” He answered. “I bet. I felt the same way. Your mum and dad had too.” He said. “Really?” He asked. “Yes really. I believe those feelings are normal for anyone getting married.” He assured Harry. “Good.” He said. “Once you are in front of each other that feeling should leave you.” He said. “Okay.” He smiled at that. “Before your parents went into hiding your dad came to me. He wanted me to give you something on your wedding day just in case he wasn’t alive to do so.” He said as he handed over a wrapped box. “He did?” Harry teared up. “He did.” Harry carefully unwrapped the box. He opened the lid and gasped and what was revealed. Inside was a gold pocket watch. Engraved on one side was the Potter crest. He removed it and found that engraved on the other side was a message from his dad. It read; I love you Prongslet. “Wow.” He gasped. “Your parents loved you very much and would be so happy to see you now.” Sirius told him tearfully. Harry placed the pocket watch in his pocket before he hugged his dad. It felt like his parents were there watching him. He really hoped they were proud of him. The hug lasted for a few more minutes before Alice barged in. She glared at Sirius. “How dare you ruin my work. Now I have to apply some makeup so no one noticed that he cried.” She huffed. “Sorry.” He didn’t sound it. “Liar.” She pouted. He smirked before leaving. Alice wiped Harry’s tears and applied some makeup. She then looked him in the eye. “Ready?” She asked. “I am.” He confirmed. “I’ll let them know.” She said before leaving. Harry took a deep breath before leaving the room. Soon he was greeted by Luna, Jacob, Oliver, and Penelope. The girls were wearing light purple dresses. The bottom part ended just before their ankles and showed off the silver high heels. The top of their dresses was a tube top. Luna wore a silver necklace with a spoon on the end. Her earrings were also spoons. Penelope was wearing a teardrop amethyst necklace. On her left arm was a silver bracelet and she also wore amethyst stud earrings. Jacob and Oliver were wearing black suits with light purple accents. Oliver’s suit displayed his baby bump. Harry looked around in curiosity. “Emma is with Percy.” Penelope said. “Oh.” He pouted a little. “How are you feeling?” She asked. “Nervous but excited.” He said. “I bet.” She smiled. Alice, Rose, Emmett and Edward entered the room. Alice and Rose wore similar dresses as Luna and Penelope except their dresses were dark blue. The boys wore a black suit with blue accents. They too went into position. Alice stood next to Luna. Rose stood next to Penelope. Emmett stood next to Jacob and Edward stood next to Oliver. Remus came in. His suit was dark grey. He smiled and stood next to his son. After that Bill entered the room with the twins. Lily was the flower girl and Orion was the ring bearer. Bill was holding onto the ring at the moment. Soon the music began. The group began walking. The minute Harry entered the room and saw Jasper his nerves went away. He felt his chest warm at the sight of his mate. Jasper smiled when he saw Harry. In no time at all Harry was standing in front of Jasper. The vampire grabbed his hands and held them. “I love you.” He said. “I love you too.” Harry said. “Greetings everyone.” Alexander said. He was going to be the one officiating the marriage. “We are here today to wed my grandson to his soul mate, Jasper.” [Now that I’m in front of Jasper I don’t feel nervous at all.] He thought. “Who gives Harry away?” He asked. “His fathers and I do.” Remus said as both he and Sirius stood up. Bill was already standing. Alexander smiled. “Soul mates are something many people wish for and some manage to find. Harry and Jasper have been lucky to meet each other. Their love has conquered many trials in their life. Now they are here to bond each other in yet another way.” “Grandpa?” He stared at him. “What? That’s all I could think of for the last part.” He blinked at him. “Ugh!” The smile on his face ruined the groan. “Well give each other your vows.” He said. Harry shot him a nast look. He loved his grandpa but this was ridiculous. He could see and feel Jasper laughing. He shot him a look as well. He got a smile in return. Harry rolled his eyes at that. “Sorry but I haven’t been to a wedding before.” He said. “I just did some research.” Elves did bonding ceremonies. It was similar to weddings but not identical. He wasn’t knowledgeable on technology so he used books and articles to help. He got the gist of it though. “Harry since the day I met you there was a connection. I grew to love that caring heart you have. You seem to glow when you are in nature or around your family. I promise to cherish you, love you, protect you, and care for you to the best of my abilities everyday. I promise to be your best friend.” Jasper said. “It took me a bit to trust you. When we first met I had learned of the betrayal of people I loved and trusted. Everyday I am so happy and grateful that I did trust you. You have helped me heal and showed me how strong I really am. I promise to love you, cherish you, protect you, and care for you to the best of my abilities everyday. I promise to be your best friend.” He smiled. “Anyone stupid enough to protest this union?” Alexander asked, making many people laugh. “Good. Do you Jasper Christopher Whitlock-Hale do you take Harrison James Alexander Orion John Potter-Lupin-Weasley-Black as your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, to love until death do you part?” He asked the honey blonde vampire. “I do.” He answered immediately as he took the rink from Bill and placed the silver band on Harry’s finger. “Do you Harrison James Alexander Orion John Potter-Lupin-Weasley-Black take Jasper Christopher Whitlock-Hale as your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, to love until death do you part?” He asked his grandson next. “I do.” Harry took the ring from Bill and put it on Jasper’s finger. “Then I pronounce you husband and husband. Please shorten your name Harry instead of adding to it.” He said, making everyone laugh. “You may now kiss.” Harry and Jasper gave a short and brief kiss. Everyone cheered. Harry and Jasper smiled at each other. They were now married. A new chapter of their life had begun as the old chapter closed. Ten years had passed since Harry and Jasper. Charlie Swan and Arthur had gotten married. The two were very happy. They became foster parents. Harry’s past inspired them to try to make sure that many children would know what it was like to be loved and wanted. They took in babies to teenagers. Many of the kids that lived with them ended up going to the best colleges out there and making something of themselves. With Harry’s help they bought a bigger house so that they could help more children at once. They now had a four bedroom, three bathroom house. They usually had three foster kids at a time. Some lasted until they were adopted and some stayed until they went to college. It made the two very happy to see how well their kids did. They currently had three teenagers living with them. Two boys and a girl. The girl was a recent addition. All three were magical. The oldest boy was a weretiger. His family abandoned him. He had been fourteen when he had arrived at the house and now he was sixteen. He planned to work at Harry’s greenhouse. The second male was fifteen. He had arrived at their house the year before. He was a neko. His parents died and he had no family. He was shuffled from foster home to foster home. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to be. The girl was thirteen and was a shifter. Her form was a fox. The wolves helped as best as they could. Her mom had given her up for adoption when she was a baby. She had been a teen mom and knew she wasn’t in the position to raise a child. Unfortunately she hadn’t been adopted and stayed in the system. Thanks to Draco the Weasley family’s reputation and lordship had been restored. He had ended the blood feud. He even found the reason for it. Armand Weasley and Cedrella Malfoy had been arranged to marry. Cedrella was in love with Atticus Cast. Armand knew and broke the contract so that she could marry him. He was also in love with Olivia Bennett. The families weren’t aware and assumed it was due to the Malfoys only being able to produce one child and on a rare occasion two. That caused a blood feud, especially when Armand married a day after he broke the contract. Draco had made it public that both parties wanted the contract broken and that the contract allowed it if both parties agreed. Arthur was given the lordship back. It would pass to Bill when the time came. Bill, Sirius, and Remus didn’t have any more kids. The twins were their world. Sirius taught them the fun of pranks but made sure they never used them to bully. The twins turned out to be werewolves. Remus would have been horrified before. Now he wasn’t. Since they were born werewolves they wouldn’t know the pain of the transformation. They had been going to Hogwarts for a few months. They both enjoyed it. Lily had long black hair and amber/blue eyes. Her face was scattered with freckles. Her brother also had black hair. His eyes were an amber/grey color. He had a few freckles. Their personalities were mischievous and outgoing. They never used pranks to bully others and helped others, especially those that were being bullied. Bill had gone back to work now that the kids were in school. Despite the years away he was still one of the best. Harry occasionally went with him on a job when his parseltongue was needed. Sirius’s garage was very popular, especially after he hired Jacob and Paul. The two were very good mechanics. Remus was head librarian at the library. He made reading fun for the kids and helped to acquire more books. Remus and Fenrir had developed a strong relationship. The older werewolf and helped Remus with his wolf and now helped the twins. His son and the twins were great friends. They were going to school together. He helped the twins with their pranks. Charlie and Oliver had moved to Hawaii. They had loved it so much. Oliver played for the Hawaiian Quidditch team. Charlie was head dragon tamer at their dragon reserve. The two were blessed with children. They were the proud parents of ten year old triplets and they were all boys. They all had brown hair and eyes. They named their sons Adam, Tyler, and John. They, like Fred and George, were mischief makers and constantly getting into trouble. They enjoyed pranks but whenever Harry was around they would follow him around his garden, green house, and kitchen helping him. When his aunt Muriel died Charlie had become Lord Prewett. Draco had helped Arthur, Bill, and Charlie learn the roles of being a lord. Bill needed to learn since he would one day be lord Weasley. Percy was now the minister of magic. He took the job seriously and made sure to never become power hungry like Dumbledore and Fudge. Penelope was head healer at St Mungo's hospital.  Percy and Penelope’s daughter had grown into a beautiful child. She had long red hair and blue eyes. Freckles covered Emma’s face. Her best friend and mate was Miracle Cullen. Emma had a talent for dancing. Ballet was her life. Hogwarts had advanced and now had magical dance classes. Emma was eleven so she couldn’t take those classes for two more years but she was in the ballet club. Percy and Penelope had another baby five years ago. Their son, Tristan, was an energetic boy. He had blonde hair, blue eyes, and a face full of freckles. He loved running around the yard and playing with his bouncy balls. More often than not he ended up with skin knees from falling down. Fred and Jacob had gotten married. The couple lived on the reserve. Jacob taught the younger generation of shapeshifters. Fred ran the muggle side of the prank shop. Jacob also worked at Sirius’s garage as a mechanic. The couple had been blessed with four children. The older two were twins and the younger two single births. The older two were twin girls, Sarah and Jenny. They were eight and both looked like female versions of Jacob except with blue eyes. Both girls were shifters like Jacob. Sarah was loud and energetic. She loved basketball and surfing. When she was in her wolf she would run around the forest and play with some of the other shifters. Jenny was quiet and shy. She was usually found up in a tree reading. In her wolf form she would be lying in the shadows watching the others. Their third child was a boy named Billy. He was Jacob’s spitting image with Fred’s personality. He was seven and loved following Fred around his store. So far he showed no signs of being a wolf. The youngest child was a little girl. She was born a year ago. Jade had red hair and brown eyes. She was a quiet baby that only cried when she needed to be fed or changed. She also was a terror at night when there was a storm. She hated them. George and Bella had gotten married four years after Harry and Jasper. They were also blessed with twins. Their twins were boys. They had red hair and brown eyes. They also had a face full of freckles. They were three and seemed to be hyper. George ran their magical prank store. Bella had become a doctor, a pediatric doctor. She wanted to help children thanks to Harry. She worked in the same hospital as Carlsile. At the moment she was pregnant with their son. Carlisle and Esme were able to stay in Forks thanks to Harry. Everyone seemed to think the couple was aging beautifully. Their eleven year old daughter was very beautiful and smart. She had long blonde hair and amber colored eyes. Since she was a vampire she went to a school that catered to her creature side. She went to Valley View Elementary School for Magical Creatures. The town believed it was a private school. She had her father’s compassion. She also had the ability to heal others. Emmett and Rose pretended to go to college. They had traveled the world again. This time they visited magical areas that they didn’t know about before. When they returned they got “married” and then had a baby. It was a girl. They named her Ella. She was three and had blonde hair and amber eyes. Rose finally knew what it meant to be a mother and she loved it. Ella loved playing dress up with her mom. She seemed to have inherited her father’s strength and her mom’s beauty. Rose was a stay at home mom and Emmett was an architect. They enjoyed these roles they never had before since they moved around alot and never had kids before. They truly felt normal now. Edward and Alice had gone away for college. They had actually done what Rose and Emmett had done and traveled to the magical areas they never knew about. When they returned they “married” and got jobs. Alice helped her mom design homes and Edward was a concert pianist. A year after Ella was born the couple learned they were pregnant. They had a two year old son named Max. He had black hair and amber eyes. He loved listening to his dad. His power was the ability to read souls. Alexander visited his family often. He had returned to teaching young elves. He also gained a lover. His mate had died long before Harry was born and he found companionship with an elf who had also lost her mate. She loved his family just like he loved hers. Sam and Emily had married. They were also blessed with children of their own. They had two sons and two girls. Bryce, Henry, Levy, and Carrie. They had dark brown hair and eyes. Bryce was nine, Henry was eight, Levy was seven, and Carrie was a newborn. Bryce and Henry could already shift into their wolf forms. Jared and his imprint, Kim, had no kids either. The pair didn’t want any. They were happy being the fun aunt and uncle. Embry had imprinted on a girl who moved into town. Jasmine and he were planning their wedding.  Leah had imprinted on Simon. He was an elf that had come to Forks to talk to Harry. He now lived with her on the reservation. She was pregnant with their first child. They didn’t want to know the gender. Quil was still waiting for his imprint to be of age. Clair was twelve now and she still thought of him as a friend. She still made him dress up as a princess and have tea parties.  Seth and Luna had gotten married and were now expecting a baby. Luna already knew she was having a girl. Seth had become a veterinarian and Luna helped Harry in his greenhouse. Neville also worked in Harry’s greenhouse. He had married Susan Bones. They had moved to America after Harry offered Neville the job. Susan worked as a preschool teacher at a nearby magical school. She wasn’t able to have children of her own but that didn’t stop her from adopting two children. They were muggleborns that had been abandoned by their parents. Alexia and Andrew were twelve and went to Hogwarts. Alexia shared her dad’s love of plants while Andrew loved potions. Draco had managed to fix the smear his father and grandfather and placed on the Malfoy name. He moved to the reservation to be with Paul. They had married and Draco was currently pregnant with their son. He had become a potion master but was currently not brewing potions due to the dangers it possessed to his pregnancy. Harry and Draco had become close friends. The two talked often and regularly visited each other.  Severus had retired the year Lily and Orion turned eleven. He now ran his own potion shop. It was very popular. Severus bought most of his ingredients from Harry. They talked for hours about it. Harry always made sure to give him very rare ingredients first. Severus was able to create many potions because of it. The man had fallen for a potion mistress. The two were happy with each other. Harry and Jasper were very happy. Jasper now taught history at Harmony High School for Magical Creatures. He enjoyed teaching. Best part was that he didn’t have to hide during sunny days. His students and fellow staff members were unfazed when he sparkled in the sunlight. They also respected that he was mated and never hit on him. The magical art teacher flirted with him but it was harmless. She flirted with all the adults and when Harry was around she flirted with him as well. Harry had completed his mastery and had opened a greenhouse. He also opened a store to sell the plants he grew. It was very popular. Severus, his lover, and Draco were his favorite customers. Neville helped him out a lot. The boy had a gift for growing plants. Luna helped him in the greenhouse as well. She mostly worked in the store though. The couple didn’t have any plans on starting a family so soon after they had gotten married. That changed a year ago and the couple began trying. Even if they didn’t have any children in the near future or at all they would be happy. The couple also knew that they could always adopt. They were just grateful for what they had and that people had stopped going after Harry. After what happened to Dumbledore and the others they knew better. Harry and Jasper loved hanging out with their siblings, nieces, and nephews. They loved spending time with Harry and Jasper. At the moment Harry was making dinner. Jasper and Harry were having the whole family over.  They did this at least once a month.  Adam, Tyler, and John were his little helpers. Jasper was setting up the huge table in the garden. Charlie and Oliver were setting up the play area for the younger kids.  “Adam?” “Yes uncle Harry?” He asked. “Go get Jasper or one of your dads.” He said. “Okay.” He put the whisk down and left the room. A few minutes later he returned with Charlie and Oliver. They took one look at the elf and went over to him. “What’s wrong?” Charlie asked. “I suddenly got very dizzy.” He said. “Okay. I’ll take over cooking and Oliver will help you to the couch.” He said. “Okay.” Charlie took over cooking as Oliver put his arm around Harry and led him out of the kitchen and into the living room. He helped Harry to lay down. He then took out a mirror and called Penelope. He told her what was going on and she promised to be there soon. Jasper came in after hearing Oliver call Penelope. He went over to his mate. He sat down next to him and ran his fingers through his hair. Penelope soon came out of the fireplace. She went over to Harry and began scanning him. A scroll appeared and she found the problem. She smiled at her brother-in-law. “Congratulations Harry. You’re pregnant.” She said. “Two months infact.” “Really?” He smiled. “Yes really. I’ll go get you some prenatal potions.” She said. “Okay.” Harry sat up and kissed Jasper. They were finally going to have a baby. Oliver pretended to gag but the huge smile on his face ruined it. Harry stopped kissing Jasper and hugged Oliver. “Congrats Harry.” He said as he hugged him. “You too Jasper.” “Thanks.” The two said. “Daddy?” It was John. “Is uncle Harry okay?” “I’m fine John. Come here.” Harry said. John ran over to his uncle. Harry picked him up and sat him on his lap. Harry hugged him close. “I was dizzy and your aunt Penelope checked me over. I’m going to have a baby.” He told him. “I’m getting a new cousin?” He asked in excitement. “You are, love.” He said. “Hopefully.” “Hopefully?” He asked. “I could lose the baby.” He said. “Oh. I hope not.” He said. “Me too. Now aren’t you supposed to be helping your dad make dinner?” He asked. “Oh yeah.” He jumped off Harry's lap and ran into the kitchen. “Dad! Uncle Harry’s pregnant!” “That’s one way to tell people.” Jasper said dryly. “Yup.” Oliver agreed. “That’s my son for you.” “Should have expected that.” Harry said. “True. Excuse me.” He left. “Here you go.” Penelope said. “Thanks.” Harry grabbed the vial and downed it. “Yuck!” He made a face. “Gross but good for the baby.” She said. “Can someone get me some water or juice?” He asked. “I will.” She said. “Thank you.” “You’re welcome.” Jasper and the others basically put Harry on bedrest and took care of dinner. The others noticed the suspicious behavior and wondered. When Luna arrived their suspicions deeped when she congratulated Jasper and Harry. Sirius was the first to ask. “What’s going on? Why did Luna congratulate you both?” He asked. “I know that we aren’t supposed to say anything now but I’m pregnant.” He said. All at once the couple was congratulated. Harry looked at his family and smiled. He remembered always wishing for this and now he was happy and with people that loved him. He couldn’t wait to see what the future would hold.

Bakuhoe: Well, this is just fucking great. Some fucking extra from a lower class hit me with their shitty quirk, and now I’m stuck with fucking dog ears and a tail. I look at the mirror in my room and glare at my reflection. Two dog ears were poking out my head between my spiked hair. A tail sits at the bottom of my tail bone curled up. Both of the annoying extra appendages had the same color and texture as my hair. I let out a low grumble and the ears twitch slightly.                 I need to go to class and explain to Aizawa what had happened. Shitty extra making me get fucking dog ears and a tail. (we all know they are Pomeranian ears and tail) I get dressed in the uniform, of course leaving out the tie that thing fucking sucks. I sigh and head out of the door. Everyone else was already in class. I of course was late because of this shitty quirk. I reach up and scratch my new dog ear finding it to be just as soft as my hair. Well at least it won’t be itchy. Walking into the classroom I’m greeted by the stares of those shitty extras.                 “Bakugou-“Aizawa starts before looking at my head and the tail now slightly swaying behind me. “Some shitty extra from a lower class got me with their quirk, “I explain before anyone could ask, “They ran away like a coward before I could ask any questions.” He stays silent before sighing and saying, “Just sit down we’ll figure this out later.” I grunt and sit down in my regular spot, still feeling eyes on me. “What are you extras looking at!” I yell, sending small explosions from my hands, making them all turn towards Aizawa. This is going to be a long ass fucking day. I sit in class not bothering to pay attention to Aizawa. I shouldn’t have to listen to him teach what I already fucking know. I start thinking and remember that me and Shitty Hair have to study tonight. “Bakugou, “I hear Aizawa say. I turn towards him and say, “What?” “Control your tail.” I let my usually glare turn into a confused face and look at my tail to see that it was wagging and making a thumping noise against the chair. How did I not notice that? I feel heat start to rise to my face and I grab my tail holding it in my hand so then it couldn’t move. I turn back towards Aizawa, the glare back on my face, and he returns to the lesson. Stupid shitty tail.   Kiripima:                 Holy crap that looks adorable. Bakugou just walked into class and now he has dog ears and tail. Aizawa tells him to sit down and surprisingly Bakugou does without another word. The class was staring at him before he yells at us.                 I quickly turn away and try my best to pay attention to Aizawa’s lesson. Well at least I tried my best to. Later in the day Bakugou’s tail started to wag making it thump on the chair. I could see Aizawa getting annoyed before he tells Bakugou to stop his tail. Bakugou’s ears quirk in a way that looks like a confused puppy. Holy shit that was adorable. My poor heart.                 I could see a small hint of a blush appear as he grips his tail making it stop. He turns back towards Aizawa and the lesson starts back up.   Bakubabe:                 Fuck I hate this shit. I’ve had to stop my tail from wagging several times and my ears keep twitching. The bell rings signaling that lunch was finally hear. I feel a tap on my shoulder and see Shitty Hair standing there.                 “What do you want Shitty Hair?” I say as I start to get up.                 “Nice to know that your happy to see me, “Shitty Hair says pointing to my tail.                 I look to see that it was wagging, and I could feel that my ears had perked up too.                 “Fucking hell, “I say as I grip my tail tightly making it stop.                 “It’s fine you know. Also, I was just wondering if you want to eat lunch with us, “he says giving me a blinding smile.                 “Fucking fine, “I respond keeping my tail from wagging.                 “Cool bro! Follow me, “he says as he walks out the door.                 This is going to be fucking interesting.                 Of course, them fuckers decide to touch my ears! Why the fuck wouldn’t they!                 “Bakuuuugou!” Denki whins, “please! They look so soft!”                 “Fuck off! You’re not touching them!” I yell sending small explosions from my hands.                 “Whyyy?” he whines, yet again.                 “Because you’re not gonna fucking touch them!”                 I hear a small snicker coming from behind me before I feel a hand rub one of my ears. My body tenses before relaxing, closing my eyes slightly. Kirishark dododo:                 I’m happy Bakugou agreed to come to lunch with us. Although now I kinda feel bad because Mina and Denki keep bothering him to touch his ears.                 I eat some of my food while watching them banter. Danki keeps whining to touch Bakugou’s ears and Mina sneaks up behind him. This isn’t going to end well.                 She touches one and Bakugou tenses for a moment before he relaxes, his eyes closing slightly. Holy craaaap that cuuuute. He was calm for a few seconds before his eyes snap open, realizing what he just did.                 “Fuck off Pinky!” he yells before getting up and walking out of the lunchroom.                 “You guys, now he left, “I say looking at them accusingly.                 “I was right! His ears are so SOFT, “Mina says, “I wanna touch them again.”                 I sigh before going to find Bakugou. Usually when he leaves the lunchroom he will just go back to the classroom and waits until Aizawa sensei and the rest of the class come in. I walk back to class and see that Bakugou was sitting in his desk with his arms crossed and resting his head in them.                 I walk over to him making him lift his head up immediately at the sound of my feet. I could see his tail start to wag before he grabs it again.                 “Sorry I should have expected they would do that, “I say scratching the back of my head sheepishly.                 He grunts before laying his head back down on his arms. AngryPomeranian:                 I leave the lunchroom and walk back to the classroom. Stupid extras and touching my fucking ears. And it felt good to god dammit! I walk over to my desk and sit down crossing my arms and laying my head down. For some reason I’m pretty sure this shitty quirk is making me fucking tired. I reach my hand up and touh my ear. Of course it doesn’t feel nice when I fucking do it. (I’m trying not to make his sound wrong but it still sounds wrong)                 I sigh before closing my eyes and trying to get a little sleep before the rest of the shity class enters. I hear footsteps and I shoot my head up to see who it was. Of course Kiri- Shitty Hair came to get me. He always does.                 I could feel my tail start to wag but I force it to keep still.                 “Sorry I should have expected they would do that, “he says waling over and rubbing the back of his head.                 I grunt in response before laying my head back down in my arms.                 “Are we still going to be able to study tonight?” he asks.                 “I’m not injured or anything fucker, “I growl out.                 “I guess, “he says.                 I lift my head back up and turn towards him making eye contact with him.                 “You know I can tell you wanna fucking touch them, “I say pointing to my ears.                 “Sorry they just look soft, “he says sheepishly.                 I think for a few moments before sighing and saying ,”You can touch them tonight when we’re at your room, but only if you focus in class today.”                 “Really?” he grins.                 I nod my head and he pumps his fists saying, “I won’t let you down!”                 “You fucking better not, “I say before some of he shitty extras start to enter the classroom.                 “See ya Bakubro!” he says going back to his seat. Kirisunshine:                 I’m happy Bakugous going to let me touch his ears. I feel giddy for the rest of the day trying my best to focus in class. It seemed to drone on and on today. I could see Bakugou steeling glances at me to make sure that I was paying attention.                 We are almost done with our last class of the day then I can spend some time with Bakugou. I’ve had a crush on him for a while, but I don’t wanna tell him because it might ruin what we have now. Even if he can’t be mine I would still like to stay by his side in some way.                 I hear the bell signalling the end of class and I spring out of my seat before heading over to Bakugou.                 “Ready?” I say, grinning.                 “I’m changing into something else before I come over, “he says getting out of his seat and walking out the door.                 I follow him and say, “Ya me too.” Bakuuu:                 I make sure he pays attention for the rest of the day, and he surprisingly did. When the bell rang, he went over to me and we walked back to the dorms together. He of course was talking the whole time swinging an arm over my shoulder.                 We arrived at the dorms and head to our own separate rooms that by each other to go change.                 I change into some black sweats along with a black tank top with a skull on it.                 I walk out of my dorm and go over to his knocking on the door.                 “Come in!” I hear his voice say, muffled.                 I walk in only to be met with a shirtless Kirishima only wearing some red basketball shorts. Holy shiiiiit! He’s fucking hot!                 “Sorry I was trying to find a shirt but it’s to hot for me to want to wear one, “he says, scratching the back of his head.                 “It’s fine, “I say calming down the blush that was starting to dust my face.                 “When can I pet your ears?” he asks as we both sit down on his bed.                 “When we’re done studying, “I say before taking out some of the things I know he needs help with.                 “Deal, “he says with a grin.                 We study for about an hour, Shitty Hair seeming more motivated today then ever. He catches on well and we finish faster than ever.                 As we put our books away he asks, “Can I pet your ears now?”                 I sigh sitting on the bed facing him and saying, “Fine.”                 He gives me another one of his famous blinding smiles before reaching up and softly touching one of my ears.                 “Wow. They are so soft, “he whispers before sitting crisscross like me and scooting closer.                 I could feel myself relax slightly and my tail starts to slowly sway back and forth. I was about to stop it when Shitty Hair speaks up.                 “You know you don’t have to always stop your tail from wagging, “he says before mumbling, “I think it’s kinda cute.”                 I could feel a blush spread across my face as he continues to pet my ears, seeming to think that I didn’t hear him. I let my tail wagging slightly faster, and I don’t stop it this time, enjoying the feeling of my ears. Kiri:                 I really wanna pet his ears. As we put our books away I ask, “Can I per your ears now?”                 He sits crisscross on the bed across from me saying,  “Fine.”                 I smile widely before softly touching his hears.                 “Wow. They are so soft, “I whisper before I mirror him and scoot closer so I could reach better.                 I could see him visibly relax as his tail starts to wag back and forth. He reaches to stop it but I interrupt.                 “You know you don’t have to always stop your tail from wagging, “I say before mumbling, hoping he wont hear, “I think it’s kinda cute.”                 I continue to pe his ears, feeling how soft and thinking that it reminded me of his hair. It looked like it would be spikey but it turns out to be the softest thing ever when you touch it.                 Bakugou relaxes, closing his eyes, and yawns. Oh dear lord help me. He’s so cute.                 “Didn’t you say you were tired earlier Bakugou?” I ask continuing to pet his ears.                 He makes a humming noise in agreement his head slightly bobbing and his face no longer giving away his signature glare.                 “Bakugou you can just sleep here if you want, it’s Friday so we can sleep it too, “I say keeping my voice soft.                 He hums agreeing, probably too tired to disagree. I look at the clock and see that it read 10:00. Bakugou usually goes to bed around 8:30 no wonder he’s so tired right now.                 I stop petting his ears and hear him growl in disapproval. I chuckle and get up to turn off the lights. When I get back to the bed Bakugou had fallen over with his face buried in a pillow. I smile softly and crawl in bed, moving Bakugou so that he was on one side and I was on the other. I reach up and pet his ears some more making him relax greatly and his expression soften as he fell asleep.                 “Goodnight Baku, “I say placing a light kiss on his forehead before going back to my side and falling asleep. Bakagu:                 Warm. And comfy. I snuggle further into the pillow I was laying on and relax as something pets my ears.                 Wait. Pillows don’t have body heat, nor so they have arms. Fuck.                 I spring up and look to see that I was laying on Shitty Hair.                 “Mornin’ Baku, “he says still half asleep.                 Holy shit his morning voice is hot. Wait! Nope! Nopenopenpe!                 I feel a blush rising on my face as I try to get up, only to be pulled back down by Kirishima.                 “Five more minutes, “he mumbles as he places his hands on my back and on my head, keeping me in place and trapping my arms under my body.                 “Shitty Hair let m go, “I say giving him my best glare.                 He doesn’t respond only letting out soft snores. I sigh knowing that I’m not going to be able to escape his grip and relax onto his chest. I close my eyes again and slowly feel myself fall back to sleep. DaddyShark:                 I wake up feeling groggy, and something on my chest. I look down and see Bakugou laying on my chest and sleeping. I’m surprised he didn’t wake up yet. His face was relaxed looking almost angelic with the light from the window casting a glow over him.                 I reach up and pet his ears and see his tail start to wag even though he was asleep. When I quit he grumbles scrunching his face before lifting his head up.                 His eyes are still closed as he lifts his head up. He lifts his arms and rubs the sleep form his eyes before looking at me. I could see his ears quirk slightly, probably meaning that he was confused.                 It takes a few seconds before his face turns red and he shouts, “Fuck!”                 He tries to jump off the bed but I hold him in place, wrapping my arms tightly around his waist.                 “It’s fine Bakugou. I had you stay here because you were to tired to go back to your dorm. We probably just moved in our sleep, “I explain trying to get him to calm down.                 “Why the fuck didn’t you just carry me to my room?” he asks tilting his head, his ears quirking to the side also.                 I open and close my mouth a few times trying to think of a good explanation but stop knowing Bakugou would figure out if I were to lie.                 “I wanted you to stay, “I mumble not daring to look at his face.                 I could feel him stiffen before feeling his head hit my chest.                 I look to see that he was burying his face hit my chest his ears folding back, his human ears visibly red. I feel better knowing that he wasn’t going to get mad at me.                 I hug him tighter burying my face in his har before saying, “Bakugou can I kiss you please?” BakuBlushing:                 “Bakugou can I kiss you please?”                 Kiss. He wants to kiss me?                 I feel my face get hotter as I slowly nod my head keeping it buried in his chest.                 He chuckles making me move with it as he says, “You kinda have to lift you head.”                 I don’t move and I feel him set a hand under my chin lifting my head up. He grins, probably because of my blushing profusely, and runs the hand that was on my back up until he could run it through my hair and touch my ears. I relax and he slowly closes the gap between our lips connecting them. It was soft and loving. Way better that I had imagined a kiss would be. He removes his lips from mine and smile at me.                 “Bakugou will you be my boyfriend please?” he says giving me a hopeful look.                 The blush becomes hotter on my face and I nod my head before burying my head back into his chest.                 “Yes!” he says before hugging me tightly, “Now I can love you, and I promise to always treat you well.”                 “You fuckin’ better, “I mumble hugging him back.

Kaeya glitters when he enters the Angel’s Share. That isn’t a metaphor or Diluc’s imagination. He’s literally glittering. Something shines on his chest, like diamonds embedded in that sinful V of skin he leaves perpetually exposed. Diluc catches the glint from the corner of his eye and it takes all of his willpower not to turn and look. Kaeya slides onto a stool at the bar, right in front of Diluc. “Hey, Sunshine, got anything good for me today?” Kaeya says. Diluc has no choice but to face him and that’s when he sees it. Kaeya wears his usual collar around his neck, but something is affixed to the loop at the center, a delicate silver chain studded with icy diamonds tinged with blue like chips of glacial ice. The chain trails down his chest, nestled between his pecs. Diluc can just barely catch the way the chain splits near the bottom. Part of it continues downward, but two other loops branch off, disappearing into either side of that deep, deep V. “What do you want?” Diluc grits between desperately clenched teeth. Kaeya perches his cheek against his fist. “Something hot. Something that’ll burn on the way down. Give me the good stuff.” “It is hardly noon,” Diluc says. “Should you be drinking already?” “I’m off duty,” Kaeya says. “I have the whole day to spend however I like. And maybe how I like is a little spicy today, hm?” He slips one finger along the silver chain, playing idly with the jewelry, and Diluc gets a better look at the way those two loops branch off. They veer toward either side of his chest, shifting in a way that suggests they curl back upward. Diluc swallows. He spins, trying to concentrate on the alcohol stacked behind the bar. He chooses the absolute worst swill he can find, a bottle so bad he leaves it sitting on the floor. If Kaeya wants to burn, he’ll fucking burn. Kaeya recoils a bit from the smell of the drink Diluc pours for him, but he just swirls the alcohol around and dutifully takes a sip. It makes him sit up straighter, which rattles that glittering jewelry spilling down his chest. “Wow, Luc, really not holding back today, huh?” Kaeya says. He actually rubs his chest, as though soothing the burn. Kaeya’s hand slips into one side of his open shirt and he massages a peck. And that’s when Diluc sees more. The silver chain curls around, almost cupping his chest. And then it curls back up – to where it’s attached to a silver barbell that’s pierced right through Kaeya’s nipple. The heat barrels into Diluc. He clenches his teeth to keep it at bay, but surely his face is glowing by now. The other side of the chain must extend to the other nipple. Merciful Archons, Kaeya really strode in here wearing a silver chain that’s attached to his throat and both nipples. The way it cascades down his chest, that little peek at the piercing – it can’t be accidental. Diluc knows Kaeya better than anyone; this was choreographed from the moment Kaeya entered the Angel’s Share. Diluc walks away. “Luc, where are you—” Diluc spins, silencing Kaeya with a look. Kaeya sobers a little, the teasing dropping off his lips. Diluc knows he’s probably glaring, eyes hotter than that swill he served Kaeya. The longer he stares the more he’ll make Kaeya burn. “Come,” Diluc says. He does not look back as he strides away. # Kaeya glitters before him, spread out on the bed wearing nothing but that gods damned silver chain. Diluc trails his fingers along it and Kaeya shivers beneath him. The Angel’s Share is dead in the afternoons. Kaeya is his only customer - was his only customer. They are not exactly doing business anymore. Thus, when Diluc stomped upstairs and flung open the door to an empty room, he had to wait only a moment before Kaeya came rushing in after him. “You interrupted my work for this,” Diluc says. “Technically, you did the interrupti—” Diluc silences him with a glare. Kaeya lies there docile on the bed, entirely naked, quivering from the light brush of Diluc’s gloved fingers. Diluc is still dressed. He discarded only his heavy jacket, suddenly too hot. He kneels between Kaeya’s spread legs, exploring the outrageous jewelry splayed over Kaeya’s chest. Sunlight slashes into the room. Irritated, Diluc climbs off the bed, leaving Kaeya there squirming, and throws every blind and curtain shut. It casts the room into darkness, but a mere flick of his fingers and Diluc summons flames. He lights the candles beside the bed and on the desk. An orange glow splashes over Kaeya, warming all the cool tones of his skin and hair and eye – and the jewelry. The fire glints against the silver and blue. Those shards of crystalline glacial ice almost seem to melt, perfect teardrops of silver beading on his bare chest. Diluc stands beside the bed and tugs off a glove with his teeth. Kaeya’s mouth parts as he watches, blue eye intent on every inch of skin Diluc exposes. It’s just a hand, just a single hand, but Kaeya’s throat bobs as Diluc reveals long, clever fingers. Diluc suppresses a smirk; he knows Kaeya likes those fingers, likes all the things they can do to him, likes the way they feel inside him. Today, he will have to wait. First, Diluc climbs back onto the bed and crouches between Kaeya’s legs, ignoring his hard cock and going instead for his throat. Diluc traces along the lacy silver at Kaeya’s neck, just barely skimming his fingers along the chain. Then he follows it down, down, into the dip between Kaeya’s tits, the hollow where the chain falls like silver water spilling between rocks. Kaeya’s chest is far softer than that, Diluc knows, but it’s toned enough to give the impression of stony solidity. The chain goes even farther down and Diluc follows it, bumping over the diamonds set among the delicate length. The end splits again over Kaeya’s torso, veering off in opposite directions to encircle Kaeya’s slim waist. The lacy silver shifts and rattles as Kaeya drags in deeper and deeper breaths, clearly holding back as Diluc makes his slow exploration. Diluc tugs, just a little, just a gentle pull at the end of that silver tether, and Kaeya barely bites back a whine of distress. Good distress. He shifts beneath Diluc and Diluc glares up at him. “Lie still.” Kaeya is chewing his lip bloody, eye glazed over, but he nods and goes a bit calmer beneath Diluc’s touch. Diluc makes him wait. He sits there merely watching, merely appreciating the way the silver compliments Kaeya’s skin, the way the blue draws out the cooler tones, the way the chain slips into the ridges of his abs as he pants. He really is beautiful, but Diluc dares not say it. Kaeya knows it all too well. Isn’t that why he came here today, to leverage that absurd appeal against Diluc, knowing he’d give in? Diluc walks his fingers back up Kaeya’s torso, actually stepping with his fingers to draw out the slow process of returning to Kaeya’s chest. Kaeya whimpers at every tap, but holds admirably still as ordered. Diluc meets the place where the chain splits at Kaeya’s sternum, the crossroads where it veers off in four directions. And now, at last, he follows the loops. He slides a finger along one, the slightest brush of pressure but Kaeya’s hips shift. Diluc ignores him for now, following the loop to where it meets the barbel pierced through Kaeya’s nipple. He couldn’t tell down in the bar, but it isn’t a mere bar of silver. There are little blue jewels at either end and it is these the chain actually connects to. Even pressing on the chain gently tugs the whole barbell. How very interesting. Diluc explores the other side the same way, fingers brushing along Kaeya almost accidentally. Diluc focuses everything on the chain itself, like he’s inspecting it for sale and has forgotten Kaeya entirely. The pointed neglect leaves Kaeya moaning under his breath. Diluc hears it, but he doesn’t chide Kaeya for it, not yet. Let him teeter toward the edge. Let him whine and squirm and burn. Diluc will leave him this way for as long as it suits him. Though it is getting harder to wait. As much as Diluc wants to draw this out, to torture Kaeya into a weeping mess of need, his own desire is starting to pulse in his pants. Every little touch of that chain earns him a reaction. Kaeya must have gotten pierced fairly recently because he’s exquisitely sensitive. Gods, how Diluc yearns to yank on that chain in earnest and get a real reaction out of him. Soon, he promises himself. Soon. Just a little more first, a little more to leave Kaeya dancing on the edge. For now, he bends down. His fingers retreat, but only so he can replace them with his mouth. Kaeya groans as Diluc toys with the dangling chain with his tongue. It is cool like ice, but heat sloughs off of Kaeya’s skin just beneath. Diluc follows the chain downward first, to the second crossroads, the one that sends a loop out around Kaeya’s waist. He flicks the chain around with his tongue, then sucks it into his mouth. The motion tugs on the whole chain and Kaeya’s hips hitch, but it’s not enough, not yet. It doesn’t break him. Diluc will just have to try harder. He kisses his way back up, allowing himself this moment of softness. Kaeya’s skin is flushed beneath his lips. His abs push up against Diluc’s mouth as Kaeya gasps in deeper breaths from the attention. Kaeya tries to roll his hips higher, but Diluc holds them down with one hand and continues making his way upward. He returns to the crossroads, the pivotal breaking point in this whole affair. Diluc licks along one of the loops, following the chain around the curve of Kaeya’s tit. At the lowest point, the biggest dip in the chain, Diluc curls his tongue around the silver and pulls. He can’t manage much – he’s just using his tongue, after all – but Kaeya bucks under his hand, nearly breaking Diluc’s hold. Diluc just presses him down harder. He lets the chain go suddenly slack before tracing the rest of the trail. Diluc stops when he reaches Kaeya’s nipple. It is hard and bright, rising with each ragged breath. Diluc looks up. Kaeya’s cheeks are glowing. He’s chewing on one finger, watching Diluc with a heady mixture of desire and raw fear. Diluc descends. He pulls the barbell and the nipple into his mouth, sucking hard. No preamble. No build up. He dives straight to the heart of the matter, tasting flushed skin and cool metal all at once. This time, Kaeya does manage to buck free. He slams his hips up at Diluc, writhing on the bed. One hand flies to Diluc’s hair, curling tight as Kaeya moans from deep in his chest. Diluc pulls off with a pop, dragging that nipple with him as long as he can. Kaeya groans the whole way, closing his eye and arching his back. His nipple is bright and slick when Diluc draws back. Kaeya pants for breath, cock straining, almost as bright as his nipple. He’s still clutching Diluc’s hair, hand claw-like as he clings with desperation. “Luc,” he gasps out. “Luc, please.” Oh, it’s so sweet when he begs like this. Diluc nearly smiles. This will do. This is sufficient. Besides, the whine in Kaeya’s voice has Diluc’s dick nearly popping the seams of his pants. He’s drawn this out long enough. “Get up,” Diluc says. “Go get whatever you need.” Kaeya leaps to obey, rolling off the bed and scrambling for his discarded clothing. Diluc knows he had oil with him somewhere. He always does. Diluc ignores him, undressing without hurry, even as Kaeya returns to the bed and slicks up his fingers. Kaeya watches every button Diluc undoes and slides his fingers into himself. Kaeya huffs, rocking on his own hand. It’s a sight to behold, but Diluc does not speed up, taking each button on his vest with deliberate slowness. He even folds the vest when he gets it undone, then starts on his shirt. Kaeya is nearly crying on the bed. His throat bobs. He swallows, swallows again, like a man dying of dehydration. Diluc just slides his shirt off and folds it before setting it neatly atop his vest on the table beside the bed. Then he starts on his pants. Kaeya whimpers, eye trained on Diluc’s waist. It makes Diluc pause, just a moment. Kaeya’s hand is pumping faster and faster behind him. He’s getting too excited. The idiot will get himself all worked up far too quickly and then he’ll be oversensitive before Diluc’s even had a chance to come. Oh well. It’s not Diluc’s problem. Kaeya should know how this goes by now. He adds his pants to the pile – folded, of course – and then the final stroke, the final punch to Kaeya’s gut. Diluc releases his hair, tugging out the tie restraining it so it spills loose around him. He doesn’t personally understand what all the fuss is about, it’s just hair, but the sound Kaeya makes is so high, so agonized, that Diluc’s dick twitches. “Please,” Kaeya rasps. And finally, Diluc indulges him. In short order Diluc is on his back on the mattress and Kaeya is climbing over him, angling Diluc’s cock at his hole. He’s wet from the oil, but Diluc wonders how much it was even necessary with how easily Kaeya takes him. He even sighs as he sinks down Diluc’s cock, as though his body was incomplete without a dick in it. Kaeya plants his hands on Diluc’s chest, grinding down to sit on Diluc’s hips, thighs spread on either side of him. The candlelight spluttering throughout the room splatters against Kaeya, fire filling the cool grooves of his skin. It traces every contour of his body, the cut of his abs, the muscle corded in his thighs as he braces, the tantalizing swell of his beautiful chest. The way Kaeya arches his back only makes his tits more spectacular right there above Diluc. He starts to rock, moaning from his own motions. Shameless. Diluc would sneer, but he can’t with Kaeya’s tight heat gripping him. And the jewelry. The firelight glints against the silver of the chain connected to Kaeya’s throat and nipples. As Kaeya sways his whole body the chain slaps against his skin. The fire melts over it, a fall of molten heat splashed against the icy shards decorating Kaeya’s body. The blue stones glint like icicles about to crash into Diluc and rend his skin. Kaeya glitters as he rides Diluc, shining with wet, melting ice speared through his nipples and dripping silver down his chest. Diluc doesn’t dare look away. He digs his fingers into Kaeya’s powerful thighs and watches him bounce, watches his tits shake from every punishing plunge down Diluc’s cock, watches a silver haze of starlight and jewels, of ice and fire and steam, shift like a heavenly veil of lace cascading over Kaeya’s body. “Beautiful.” Perhaps Kaeya hears him. Perhaps it’s mere happenstance. Either way, Kaeya moans just then, arching his back even more, curling his body around Diluc. His nails bite into Diluc’s skin. His head is thrown back in ecstasy. His ass slaps against Diluc as he takes him over and over, like he can’t possibly get enough. Diluc wants to give him more. He reaches up, manages to get his hands on ass and hips. The next time Kaeya rises up, Diluc brings him back down himself. Kaeya nearly shrieks, withering forward so Diluc can get a better grip. Diluc jerks his hips up, dragging Kaeya up and down. They work together to slam Kaeya down Diluc’s cock, to press until the heat consumes them both. Kaeya is leaning so far forward that the jewelry brushes Diluc’s chest now. It is cool as snowflakes melting against his skin, bright droplets like tears pattering down to cool the flames boiling inside him. Diluc frees a hand. It costs him something in power, but Kaeya keeps up the pace and intensity, happy to skewer himself hard and fast on Diluc’s cock. Then Diluc uses that hand to find delicate, lacy silver chains. He pulls. Hard. Kaeya does shriek this time, a cry that the whole tavern would be able to hear if there were anyone here but them. Perhaps some unfortunate passerby on the street detects it. Perhaps someone running mid-day errands catches that absolute wail of pleasure. Diluc doesn’t care. Kaeya clenches around him so hot and tight and close. Diluc clings to that silver chain, clings and pulls. He drives his hips upward and does not come back down, not for some time, not until the heat finally explodes. Kaeya whimpers and whines. His cum is somehow cooler than Diluc’s raging heat when it splatters onto Diluc’s skin. Diluc hardly notices. He’s too busy filling Kaeya utterly, pressing into his heat as every drop pours out of him in a joyous rush. He does not let go of the silver chain the entire time, does not release it at all until Kaeya sinks into a shivering, limp wreck atop him. The jewelry gets smashed between them. It is cool. It prickles Diluc’s chest. Yet he does not move to fix it. His cock slips out of Kaeya as they adjust, but they do not get very far, lying tangled in each other and the fog of their passions. # It is just an aberration. Like every time. It is just a fluke. This is what Diluc tells himself when he washes off the cum, when he dresses, when he ties his hair back up. This is what he tells himself as he leaves Kaeya still naked and exhausted in that room, telling him he better tidy up and get out before guests arrive in the evening. Kaeya waves and grunts and it’s good enough for now. Diluc returns to the bar and tries not to think about silver jewelry dangling from flushed skin, but every ice cube in every drink dredges up the memory. He barely gets through the evening rush – he botches more than one drink order and has to offer a free replacement as compensation. At some point, Kaeya slips out quietly, offering nothing more than a curt wave. It is a relief. Kaeya must be thoroughly fucked out to leave without pestering him. By the next day Kaeya has evidently recovered. Diluc is making his rounds through Mondstadt, picking up new dishes to refresh the ones that are habitually broken, a new broom to replace the one with barely any bristles left, some fresh flowers for the tables. That’s where Kaeya finds him, pondering Flora’s offerings at the stall near the gates of Mondstadt. A hand claps down on Diluc’s shoulder and Kaeya leans in far too close. “Buying flowers for someone?” Kaeya says. “For the tavern,” Diluc drawls. “Aw, I thought they might be for someone special,” Kaeya says. “Come on, I know you have a heart in there, Master Diluc.” Kaeya peers past him, leaning over more, and Diluc catches a glimpse of his chest. He’s wearing a loose shirt – because of course he is, when does he not – and Diluc spies a glint of silver under the folds of billowy white fabric. Gods, he’s still wearing the jewelry. His nipples have to be achingly sensitive and he’s still wearing it. “Calla lilies make good gifts,” Kaeya says. “Oh, but you can’t go wrong with a good windwheel aster. Perhaps the cecilia’s, if you’re feeling especially romantic.” Diluc grits his teeth. Flora is eyeing them and backing away like she’s preparing to run from a fight. “Do you have some reason for interrupting me?” Diluc grits. Kaeya straightens up and faces him. It places his back to Flora and makes that jewelry a little less obvious, though Diluc can still see the chain trailing down from his choker and nestled between his tits. “Huh?” Kaeya says. “No, not really. Can’t I just want to see you, Luc?” “I am busy,” Diluc says. “Surely you can spare a moment for your dear brother in arms,” Kaeya says. “You are my brother in nothing,” Diluc says. “Now, that’s just cruel,” Kaeya says. He lays that hand back on Diluc’s shoulder and leans in. “Just when I thought we were finally getting closer. You know, really bonding at last.” He chews at his lip, eye sweeping up and down shamelessly. “Pounding out our disagreements. Putting our differences to bed. Kissing and making up. Riding out—” “Enough.” Diluc’s hand slips into Kaeya’s shirt. He finds the loop connecting the chain to the nipple – and he pulls. Kaeya’s eye flies wide. His face flushes instantly. A clipped whimper squeezes between clenched teeth. And then he’s down, crouched on the street hugging his arms around his chest and hiding his face against his knees. Flora flits to his side, even as Diluc turns away. “S-sir Kaeya, are you OK?” Flora says. Kaeya just groans. He’ll be fine. So Diluc presumes, at least. He’ll find out later, perhaps, with Kaeya resplendent in the firelight, ice dripping down his chest. Glittering.

Kagami was feeling awful when he woke up. His whole body ached, especially his lower back. Kagami's face automatically heated up, he remembers vividly how he had asked Aomine to fuck him. He'd never been a very sexual person, so it was strange to think one bastard changed everything. Speaking of Aomine, where the hell was he? By now Kagami was used to waking up with a body next to his and a tan arm surrounding him. Red eyes cracked open and he let loose a groan, stretching a bit to move sore muscles. His head swam a little when he sat up fully and he gripped at his forehead. Eyes widened as he noticed that finally that the soul string was gone, that was why Aomine wasn't there anymore. Kagami frowned, so right when its gone Aomine leaves? Anger and frustration shot through him, but almost immediately after happiness and glee waved over him. It was the strangest feeling, half of him was so angry but the other half wasn't. Right then the door burst open. Kagami looked over to see a pleased grin plastered over Aomine's face. He grumbled, "whats got you so happy Ahomine?" Aomine didnt answer his question. "Still in bed I see?" He said it so smugly that the redhead scowled, he knew what he was implying.  "Kami, I practically see your ego getting bigger. And I just woke up asshole, of course I'm still in bed." To his shock Aomine laughed, "you're cute when you're grumpy." Then stepped over and placed a heated kiss on his lips. Kagami gaped at the simple action while Aomine started throwing clothes. "Get up lazy bones." Aomine snickered.  "You of all people have no right to call me lazy." Kagami still took the clothes he was handed to put them on.  He stood up, stretching again once he was fully clothed. Kagami's anger was abating now he knew Aomine didn't just leave him there. The thought that since the soul string was gone they technically could go back to before passed through his head. Frowning, he watched Aomine say he was going to breakfast and that Kagami should join him if he wanted. Aomine left with a lethargic wave.  It was only a couple minutes later when Kagami decided to stop moping. An idea popped into his head. Instead of going to breakfast (his stomach was making too many weird flutterings to really eat anything) he thought he could finally go practice a bit more. Grabbing an extra sword (seriously how many did Aomine collect?) he set out to an empty training ground.  Kagami went through his usual routine of stretching and jogging before starting to work with his sword. It felt good to have a little time to himself, just to think. These past few days had been strange and exciting for him. When he first met Aomine he had hated the guy, but after yesterday... Obviously Kagami didn't hate him, in fact he knew that there was an attraction between them (he really could not dispute it after how wantonly he acted). Even thinking about it made him blush. He went to his next stance, slashing to the right then repeating. Although he didn't admit it, he was jealous the day before, much to his own shock. Why Aomine of all people? What was it about him that made Kagami act this way? Admittedly Aomine was very attractive, there really was no lying about that. But that didn't explain why he would get so angry at Moriyama. Honestly he felt a little bad about how rudely he had acted towards him. Plus when they had went to see Kuroko for his second magic lesson he had even acted rudely to him. He had to remember to apologize for that. He exhaled noisily before shaking his head to clear the thoughts away. Thinking was not something he was good at. Its not like it would matter  anyways, Aomine would most likely kick him out of his room and back into the Soldier's Quarters. He sighed, it made his stomach twist but there was still that strange happy feeling in the back of his mind that wouldn't go away.  "Tch, what am I even thinking?"  "Yes, Kagami-kun, what are you thinking?"  Kagami instantly tensed and flinched so hard he dropped the sword. Usually he would have just let it drop like he was taught to, but his mind was a mess that morning. So he did the stupidest thing possible, and his arm shot out to try and catch it. But luck was not with him that day and it sliced his hand open, with a yelp he ended up dropping it anyways. "FUCK! Kuroko you little bastard!" He roared as he grabbed his hand.  Kuroko blinked at him, "that was dumb Kagami-kun. A trained warrior shouldn't ever let go of their weapon even when surprised." Kagami just ignored the patronizing blue haired male, hissing at the pain in his hand.  "Got a cloth on you or something?"  Kuroko looked at him amused, "I have magic Kagami-kun, of course I do, I'll even do you one better." He merely waved his hand for a space pocket to open, and pulled a bandage out.  "Oh. Yeah, right." Kagami rolled his eyes, "Yeah well thanks." The light bluenette smiles a bit and moved closer so that he could start to bandage Kagami's hand. He was about to say a little healing chant over it to stop the bleeding but to his surprise the bleeding was already stopped. His hand glistened a little with white light, but Kagami didn't notice any of that.  "Hey... Um," he started sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. Kuroko only nodded at him to continue as he started covering the small slice. Kagami place his uncut hand on his small shoulder. "Im sorry for yesterday. I was kind of an ass."  Kuroko finished, and looked up with a tiny, knowing smile. "It's alright, no harm done." A relieved smile bloomed on the redhead's face. "Great!" "But..." Kuroko's blank eyes looked up at him intensely, "A milkshake would put you back in my good graces." Kagami gulped, the little bastard didn't forgive him at all! He knew that was a threat and nodded immediately.  The redhead was going to ask Kuroko what he wanted when a vicious growl came from a distance away. He didn't even have any time to blink before a dark blue blur pushed him behind them and growled again at Kuroko. Even Kuroko was shocked to find a seething angry Aomine between them, barring his fangs at the lighter blue haired male. "How dare you hurt him. Come any closer and Ill rip your fucking throat out." Aomine snarled it so fiercely that even Kagami flinched from behind his back. Indescribable waves of anger came over Kagami, but why was he even upset? Struggling to not snap at the male he gritted a question out through his teeth.  "Aomine, what the hells the matter?" Kagami was a little perturbed, what was going on here?  Aomine didn't glance back as he answered, "he hurt you, I felt it. And I smell the blood." Kuroko's eyes got a gleam in them. "Kuroko didn't hurt me, I... Uhh, accidentally cut myself on my sword." Kagami blushed at how stupid that sounded. "He even helped me bandage it, see?" He held up his hand over Aomine's shoulder. The tenseness faded from his form, and the rumbling from his growling was quieting as he looked at the wrapped up hand. Kagami felt calmer now. All these changes of emotion were driving him insane. Aomine finally backed off from Kuroko, and gave him an apologetic look. He moved so he was beside Kagami and took his hand so he could inspect it better.  "You guys had sex."  Kagami instantly sputtered, "WHAT THE HELL MAKES YOU SAY THAT?" Kuroko even said it like he already knew. How did he even get to that conclusion, plus, where did it even come from? Aomine just nodded at the question, that grin coming back to his face.  "Whats it to you Tetsu?" Kuroko sighed aggravated. Aomine and Kagami shared at look, if Kuroko showed emotions that usually meant something was up. "Aomine I warned you. Didn't I tell you to take precautions?"  "What are y--," Aomine's blue eyes shot open and he inhaled sharply. His eyes flickered to Kagami who was annoyed at being the only one out of the loop. "But... That takes SIX days! Not three!"  The light blue haired male's eyebrow twitched. "And I distinctly remember warning you that because of your soul bond at the time it may affect you differently. It shows how strong it is already if you are feeling when he's hurt." Kuroko turned to Kagami, "how are you feeling today? Anything different?" Kagami blinked, then thought about it. "Uhh, now that you mention it I've had these strange emotions lately, like I was annoyed this morning but then half of me was randomly happy. It keeps happening." Aomine groaned next to him and put his hands in his hands.  "Fuckkkk."  "Huh? Whats going on?" "Congratulations Kagami-kun, you are now Aomine's mate."  Kagami groaned, rubbing his eyes. When he sat up he instantly gasped, he had fainted! Oh Kami, this all had to have been a nightmare! He found he was in Aomine's room, he looked down and realized he was fully clothed. So it  obviously couldn't have been a bad dream. Shit. "Finally. Thought you'd never wake up," a voice drawled from next to him. Kagami glanced at Aomine.  "T-that was all just a joke right? Right?!" Kagami wasn't proud that his deep voice cracked.  Aomine grimaced, "afraid not Bakagami. I checked your bite, its definitely that."  Kagami paled, "B-but... How? Why?" He gripped his head, as if in pain.  "Tetsu said that it was those damn soul strings. Usually it takes six days for a mating ritual to be complete."  "How the hell did we do a mating ritual? Huh you idiot?!" He ran his tan fingers through his silky blue hair, "Well its all your damn bloods fault, its... Hard to resist." Kagami scowled, his hand tightening on his yukata. "Explain. Now." "To... Mate, one has to drink the same blood from the same person for six days, and none others. On the final day, they mate physically too. It just so happens that we did it the same way with half the amount of time." "We can just get rid of it, though, right?"  Aomine sighed, "Its not that simple baka." "And why is that?" Kagami was not happy, not at all. "Well usually it'd be fine, and its a relatively easy process but..."  The redhead glared at him, "but what? Tell me." "I had Tetsu look at our bond. Somehow, the damn soul string fucked everything up. It actually gave a little piece of our souls to each other when we mated. Usually that happens over the course of years, same with all those feelings your getting, which are mine, and my ability to sense when you are in danger, plus the heightened protectiveness. In a normal situation we could have broken it easily, but since our souls are entwined... We'll both die if we separate." Aomine said it so seriously, blue eyes unwaveringly staring at Kagami, that he had no choice but to believe him. The redhead promptly fainted for the second time that day. 

Marnie was anxiously manning the front desk when you came in. She was picking at her cuticles and bouncing on her feet as if the floor were covered in hot coals. “Oh, Y/N. Have you been to the Saloon this morning?” she asked. “Was Shane there? He didn’t come back last night. I’m sure he’s fine, it’s just--” “He’s fine, Marnie,” you cut her off, doing your best to give a reassuring smile. Her brow instantly relaxed. “Oh, good.” “He’s back at the farm house, resting up.” Before Marnie could question it, you explained the situation. “He was in a really bad way last night, Marnie. I mean, really bad. He’s fine now, but it wasn’t something he would’ve wanted Jas to see.” “Oh, dear. When will he be coming home?” You bit your lip. “I’m not sure. Soon, I think.” “Thank you for coming by to tell me, Y/N. You’d better be getting back to him, right?” She was trying to hide it, but you could see that Marnie was angry. She was twisted up with worried and frustration, just like you. You wished you could tell her that you understood, that you came just as close to heartbreak as she did when Shane did this to himself. You settled for giving her a quick, quiet hug. She was warm and smelled like hay. Without knowing why, the smell made you want to cry. Shane was asleep when you made it back home. You took the hour or so of peace that you had left to give Reid his breakfast and cook something up for Shane. You woke him when it was ready, with a soft shake on the arm. “Five more minutes,” he grunted. “Shane, wake up,” you whispered. “I’ve got your favorite.” That stirred him. He opened his eyes, expecting a pizza and beer. He didn’t know how he could still want beer, feeling as awful as he did, but damn if it was all he could think about. It was a cruel awakening when he discovered the bowl of soup being waved under his nose. “What the Hell is that?” “Veggie soup. Bottoms up.” “Not hungry.” “Just try it.” “No.” “You sound like my two year old. Just open your mouth.” Begrudgingly, he did. With a smirk, you spooned a mouthful of broth into his mouth. At first he made a face, and then he relaxed. His eyes widened and he looked back to you, gaping. “That’s what I thought,” you said. “Can you feed yourself now?” Shane nodded and took the bowl from your hands. His fingers brushed yours for the barest second and you could have sworn you saw Shane flinch. You sat beside him as he slowly sipped the soup, avoiding the chunks of vegetable in favor of the broth. You couldn’t help a beam of pride. It was a special recipe that you’d gotten from Evelyn as a baby shower gift. It quickly became a house favorite, especially in the colder months. Shane always asked for it when he was feeling under the weather. “Gah, my head,” he groaned with a wince. “Are you alright?” You leaned in to touch his arm on instinct before you caught yourself and pulled back. “I’m fine. It’s just this headache.” He set the soup aside and cradled his head in his hands. The pain had been bad enough before, but something about this room, this house, that soup. The farmer. Something about all of it was like a million hot pokers to his brain. You bit your lip, thinking back to what Shane had said last night. My head hurts all the time. There’s something wrong with me. There’s gotta be something wrong with me. With my head. Were you doing this to him? He’d never had headaches like that before. You felt ill. “What about you? How are you holding up?” he asked, slowly recovering from the bout of pain and straightening himself, still wincing. “What?” was your startled response. His laugh was weak, the way it always was when he was hungover. “How are you doing? With Reid and, uh, the baby and everything.” He seemed uncomfortable with his own question. “I’m fine. I should get you some more water.” Shane’s brow furrowed. “You look tired. Are you...” He paused, unsure if it was his place to say. Shane couldn’t explain why he wanted to ask after you. He didn’t know where all this worry was coming from. It wasn’t like him. It had to be because you were taking care of him, right? That had to be it. You were frozen, reading his face. “Have you slept?” “I will,” you assured him with a tired smile. “I just,” he stopped again. You were hovering in the doorway, holding your breath. “I don’t want you wearing yourself out trying to take care of me. I’m really not worth it.” “Maybe not,” you shrugged. “But I’m going to anyway.” “Why?” Why would you bother saving me? You weren’t sure how to answer. He was looking at you now, watching you. You got that same feeling you had that night at the Saloon on his last birthday when you’d gifted him the pepper poppers. That feeling that he was seeing you for the first time. You thought for a long time about how to answer him. You couldn’t be honest, could you? You didn’t know what telling Shane the truth would do, but you weren’t ready to find out. “You remind me of someone I love.” Shane’s face fell. “Your ex? Reid’s dad?” “Yes.” Shane shook his head as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “I don’t get that.” “Get what?” You were instantly defensive, aware of the irony in defending Shane from himself. Then again, isn’t that what you’d always done? “Why you’re still hung up on him,” he grumbled, taking back the soup just to have something to do with his hands. He kept his eyes cast down, avoiding your reaction. “Someone like you, you deserve so much better than some trash bag who doesn’t even stick around to help you when you need him.” “I’m fine, Shane. I can take care of myself,” you said gently. “But you shouldn’t have to!” he snapped. He quickly realized how heated he’d gotten and mumbled an apology. “Sorry, I just...I don’t know why I got so worked up just now.” “It’s fine,” you said, suddenly distracted by a sharp kick in your abdomen. You winced and rested a hand on your stomach. You still hadn’t gotten used to the feeling of your little human running around inside you. It had been the same with Reid. Luckily, they’d both been pretty still with few exceptions. Just your luck, one such exception had come up, now of all times. “Whoa, are you okay?” Shane asked, uncharacteristically alert and full of concern. You smiled. “I’m fine. Surprised is all.” Shane raised an eyebrow, begging an explanation. “She’s kicking,” you offered. “She? It’s--she’s a girl, then?” You shrugged. Shane’s eyes were wide. If his head was still hurting, he seemed to have forgotten for a moment. You decided to indulge yourself just this once and pretend that things were normal. Shane was just your sick husband and you were talking about your baby. The thought made you unreasonably happy and then unfathomably sad. “I don’t know for sure,” you said. “I haven’t asked Harvey, I want to be surprised. It’s just a hunch, I guess.” “If it is a girl, what are you going to name her?” Shane was leaning forward in his place in bed, enrapt in the conversation. It really was like nothing had changed. “Y/N, obviously,” you drawled. It was a joke Shane liked to make when you were pregnant with Reid. “If it’s a girl, we should name her Y/N. If it’s a boy, also Y/N.” The Shane of the present smiled that sideways smile that never failed to make you melt. “Now that’s not half bad.” You baby kicked again, but you were more ready this time. Shane noticed the shift of your hand the little flinch in your fingers and directed his gaze awkwardly to your stomach. You couldn’t help yourself. You asked, “Do you want to feel?” Shane blushed deeply and shot his eyes in the opposite direction. “N-no, I wasn’t--Uh, I mean, I didn’t mean to--Damn it.” Before you had time to think about it, you took Shane’s hand in yours and placed it against your stomach. The baby spun around in place, flexing her new limbs blindly. You watched Shane. He was in awe. His eyes were pointed to you, but his gaze was far away. It was as if he were seeing through you and straight to his daughter. He’d looked just like that when you’d had Reid. That same lost and amazed look. As if hearing his name from inside your head, Reid started crying in his bedroom. Shane seemed to remember where he was and with who and removed his hand. Almost immediately you missed the warmth of him. The firmness of his hand in yours. It was the closest you’d been to him when he wasn’t dead drunk in longer than you could remember. “You should probably get him,” Shane mumbled. You nodded, snapping back to reality. As you left to tend to your son, Shane was left with the strangest feeling. It was unlike anything he could recall feeling before, but nevertheless he was sure he’d felt it. There was no memory attached to the familiar sensation, only a tingling in his spine and the near-constant ache in his mind. Something about that farmer...

Natasha knew that her circumstances had impacted how she develops friendships with the people around her. When she was forced to undergo training in the Red Room, it kind of messed her up psychologically. Worst of all, she learned not to trust anyone. That was the first rule when becoming a spy.   When it came down to it, she had a lot of pride. Pride in herself and her abilities. She never wanted to be proven wrong or belittled when she has to skill to beat out anyone. But through her time in the Avengers, she had begun to ease up. She’s not gonna lie, it wasn’t easy. Being trained to always be paranoid by those around her put many strains on her relationship with the team. Steve was the one that started to break the walls down around her.   But it was Peter Parker, Spider-man, who ultimately made all of her walls fall down.   That kid, Tony’s kid, was like a ray of light. She was convinced that if everyone in the world was like Peter Parker, the world would be a better place. He brightened up every room that he walked in. In every mission, he gave one hundred and ten percent. Funny enough, he also had a knack for the whole self-sacrificing gimmick that Tony also seems to have. To this day, she’s not sure if he picked that up from Tony or just developed it on his own.   Most important of all, he made the team better. They seemed to get along much better when Peter was around, as if he is the binding piece that keeps the team together. Much to Peter’s dismay, though, the team had become extremely protective of him. Including Natasha. It was as if she had some sort of maternal instinct over the kid that she had never experienced before.   So that’s why she was here, on a Friday afternoon, leaning against the outside of her car in front of Midtown Tech to pick Peter up from school and take him to the compound upstate this weekend. Happy was originally going to have to pick him up, but with Natasha already being in the city, she happily volunteered. Knowing that Peter didn’t know that she would be the one picking him up, she was excited to see his reaction.   It was five minutes after the bell rang, and she knew that he would be out any second. Just as she was about to get out her phone to text and make sure he was okay, he walked out the door with this friend (she thinks is named Ned?), and immediately catches her eye. She can see the excitement in his eyes, but it is quickly erased by a boy cutting Peter and Ned off, stopping them in their tracks.   Natasha furrowed her eyebrows, trying to see what was going to come from the interaction. The boy seemed to be taunting Peter, and then he proceeded to knock his books out of his hands and kick the books down the steps.   Should she do something? She weighed the options. If something happened to the kid on her watch, Tony would have her neck. But, at the same time, she wanted to give him space and give him a chance to tell her what had actually happened before she made assumptions. Watching Peter grab his books from the ground and say goodbye to Ned, Natasha headed to the other side of the car to get in and wait for Peter. She heard the car door open, and before she could get a word out, Peter’s cheerful voice filled the air.   “I didn’t know you were picking me up today, Nat! Wait, is there a mission?” Peter asked worriedly.   Nat chuckled at the teenager. “No mission, Peter. I was in the city and thought I could save Happy the trouble of driving all the way to the compound.” She took note of his mood. The boy didn’t seem bothered by the interaction that happened on the front steps of the school in the slightest.   Peter exhaled a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God. I stayed up super late finishing an English paper, and that makes me slower in combat.” Natasha laughed at the comment, knowing that the change in Peter’s abilities from no sleep would probably only be noticeable to him. Then, a good idea struck her.   “Well, it’s the weekend, isn’t it? You up for a little treat?” She smirked at Peter.   Peter scoffed. “Uh, always.”   Natasha laughed and pulled out onto the freeway, heading to their next destination.   *****   Twenty minutes later, Natasha was watching Peter stuff his face with food at one of their favorite diners. She had never seen someone eat as much as he did since Steve, and she still found it entertaining to this day. Today, though, she was trying to figure out how exactly to bring up what she saw happen at the school today. She sighed, deciding on trying to coax it out of the teenager.   “So… anything exciting happen at school today?”   “Um—I don’t think so? MJ told me about this book that she started reading at lunch today, and it intrigued me and freaked me out at the same time.” Peter shrugged.   Okay, that’s not the answer that she wanted. Being the impatient and pushy person that she is, she decided to cut to the chase.   “Peter. I saw what happened after school today on the steps.” Peter stopped eating and looked up at Natasha and shrugged once again. “It’s no big deal.” Then, he went back to eating.   Nope, Natasha was not going to let this slide. “Peter, he hit your books out of your hand and kicked them away. And I could tell that he was probably saying some not so nice stuff to you and your friend.” She paused, trying to choose her next words wisely. “Why didn’t you defend yourself?”   Peter looked out the window for a couple of seconds, then back at Natasha. “You really wanna know?” She nodded.   Peter looked down at his lap, fidgeting with his hands. “I don’t know, I guess I just don’t think it’s worth it, you know? He’s always giving me shit about not having an actual internship with Mr. Stark because he thinks it’s not real, which—I mean—technically it isn’t, but I can’t just tell him that I’m Spider-man. He got mad because I wasn’t reacting to what he was saying, so he pushed my books out of my hands. I promise, it’s really not a big deal.”   “You still didn’t answer my question though, Peter. Why don’t you talk back to him? I mean, I get why you can’t physically fight him back, but you can still use your words.”   Sighing, Peter continued. “I could defend myself, but I don’t feel the need to. My truth is my truth. I don’t have to tell him that I hang out with the Avengers every weekend to feel better about myself. I have people that care about me, like May, Ned, MJ, and the rest of the team. I guess… I just want to be the bigger person, you know? I don’t want my pride to get the best of me and think that I have to brag about things that I should be thankful for.” Peter then went back to eating his food.   “You know, you’re one of the wisest people that I’ve ever met. And you’re sixteen.”   “Uh, thanks. I guess?”   Natasha smiled and went back to eating her food. Once again, Peter Parker was teaching her another lesson that she didn’t know that she needed. “Eat up, kid. You need to be prepared when I wipe the floor with you in training later.   Peter scoffed. “Oh, you’re so on.”   Natasha made a mental note. Don’t let your pride get the best of you. She didn’t think she would forget those words from Peter for a long while.

Ed wakes up one morning with his cheek pressed into the familiar warmth of Stede's neck. His mouth curls into a smile, a natural response to having his love so close, and he pitches his hips forward so their thighs can touch, too. Exhaling a blissful sigh through his nose, he walks a hand up Stede's side – a featherlight touch, awash with affection – before he puts his arm fully around Stede, anchoring himself to him.  He’s so weak for mornings like these, when he and Stede can rise slowly. Ed can rub his eyes and blink them open to find his sweetheart there, listen to his steady breathing as he rests, smooth back the golden hair flopping into his eyes. Ed can rouse him with kisses and whispered adoration, or let him have a lie-in to his heart's content, grinning from ear to ear when Stede cuddles closer, reaching for Ed even in his sleep. Sometimes there’ll even be a cute grumble or a wet smear of a kiss, a hand patting down the sheets until it finds the softness of Ed’s. It’s a Saturday. Stede can take his sweet time and get up when he wants. No need to jump out of bed in a rush, his hideous alarm sound blaring from the bedside table, scrambling for clothes and other necessities while Ed hurries downstairs to get breakfast going. No risk of tangling his feet in the sheets, toppling to the floor like a felled tree.  This time, Ed isn't rattled by the awful Radar noise cursed by mobile users worldwide, like he was a few times prior, when he didn't want to sleep without Stede on a Sunday night. He doesn't open his eyes to a wall of text from Izzy or Jackie, alerting him of the latest commotion on Twitter, scolding him for not being involved enough in promo. What's there to promote if the tour is over and their online store link is right there? He doesn't wake up to Alma listening to metal on her soundsystem, or to Louis shouting at his Playstation downstairs. Both of those are charming noises in their own right, reminders of his and Stede's increasingly overlapping lives – but you can only be startled awake by the sweet sounds of Powerwolf so many times before you pound your fist against the wall. Lost in thought, Ed takes a moment to admire the man beside him. His eyes trace the curve of Stede's shoulder, then landing on the freckles scattered over his bicep – more loosely spread out towards his elbow, densely packed below the short sleeve of his pyjama top. A bit delirious with it, he thinks about kissing a path up Stede's arm, like a Victorian gentleman's courtship ritual. Stede would probably titter and press his face into the pillow, rendered all bashful by Ed's lingering gaze, and they'd giggle over it and roll around together, just the sort of romantic playfulness Ed never thought he'd experience. He was always too clingy, too needy, too much. Now he has Stede to match him, to yes, and? his silliness.  Ed blinks rapidly and seeks a distraction, lest he should go all soft so early in the morning.  Gosh, those are some pretty fucking freckles.  They've slept beside one another quite a few times, yet it feels like every time Ed looks a little closer, he finds one more thing to fall in love with.  When he has eyes for anything other than the gentle rise and fall of Stede’s back, Ed realises they must've moved around quite a bit in the night. He's ended up as the big spoon somehow – not how he remembers laying down to sleep – and the sheets are slipping halfway off of the bed, the closer end kicked down to the level of Stede's knees. One of Stede's legs is positioned forward, like he tried to roll away from the absolute furnace that is a sleeping Ed with grabby hands, but Ed must've latched onto his back like a little jetpack, nuzzled into him and kept him close. That’s cute as fuck, Ed thinks, then breathes a laugh.  Look at him, doe-eyed and smitten, as though he’s waiting for Prince Charming to bestow a kiss on his hand. Traipsing around on respectable dates in respectable places, hand in hand on the dinner table, saying tell me about cephalopods with genuine fucking interest. Mid-2000's, self-medicated, three-day-bender-on-someone-else’s-tour-bus Ed would laugh in Current Ed’s face. There was a time when he’d dread this conclusion, but years into his life-altering burnout, he actually thinks it's a good thing.  Young Ed was a fucking dick with a God complex, just the way Izzy wanted to keep him. Just the right demeanour that would advance their career. In a way, it was the armour he needed – a foul-mouthed frontman decimating all competition, hurtling towards fame and fortune with his friends. Pockets full of pills because he didn’t want to turn down free shit, a metric tonne of dick from strangers, since that was freely given, too. Giving his mum reasons to worry about his drinking, bending over for the no-good ex-bandmate who secretly filmed it and posted it online.  Sadly, though, every time he flew closer to the sun, the comedown left him hollow. He looks back and sees a reckless kid thrown into a scene that could’ve eaten him alive, a painted-on costume, a fucking caricature from a fear-mongering campaign. Rock music is the devil. Mums against Edward Teach, he imagines with a derisive snort. Stede’s mum certainly would’ve been on board. Now, with this outgrown farce in the bin, Ed can explore who he is more. He can have a partner who loves him, whom he loves in return. He can wake up beside him, build a life together, feel like he’s making a home with someone and laying down roots. He’s tried it before, but to no avail. It never felt like the right fit. Long after his natural bravado fizzled out, after years of painting it on alongside his stage make-up, after several crises and mental health interventions and clawing at the walls of hotel rooms, he’s come much closer to realising what he wants from his life. The once muddled mental image is clearer, like a thick fog started lifting. He wants a future with Stede. He wants a space full of bickering and banter to welcome him home from tour. He wants the warm embrace and the steady heartbeat of the man he loves, their trinkets mixed together on every flat surface, a hug and a teary-eyed welcome home after they reconnect at the airport. His hand on Stede's thigh as Stede drives him home, and Ed keeps zoning out against the passenger side window, but when he comes to, he sees his love beside him every time without fail. Sometimes he's still surprised that he might get to live this dream, but he knows better than to question it, better than to pull it apart at the seams. All he wants to do is bask in it. Maybe latch onto Stede's back some more, place his hand on his chest or his middle, feel him breathe deep and even while he minutely shifts against the mattress. Stede stirs and blubbers something Ed doesn’t catch, golden-haired head pressing deeper into the pillow. Ed noses at the back of his neck before laying a kiss there, a softly-spoken good morning, the familiar scratch of beard hair. His kisses grow sloppy and playful, earning a sleepy huff of laughter, and he pulls away just enough to ease Stede onto his back – or, more accurately, halfway on top of Ed’s own body. Despite his indignant squeak, Stede melts like putty in his embrace. Ed can almost hear the smile paired with his pleased exhalation. Fuck, how he loves him.  Ed’s hands wander, affectionately stroking over Stede’s chest, pulling the hem of his shirt into place where the slight fuzz of his happy trail peeks out, tracing the shape of his body with reverent touches. He could stay like this for hours, right here in his happy place, cradling Stede in his arms until either of their stomachs grumble and Ed’s leg goes numb under Stede’s warm weight. Stede lays a hand on top of Ed’s, keeping it there. A beat. “Darling,” Stede mumbles, slurred and sleepy, “there’s no fucking way you’re comfortable like this.” Ed nudges his face into his love’s shoulder and snorts a muffled laugh. Stede’s filter must still be off if he’s a little sweary. “I mean it, I’m half-on top of you—” “I know, I put you there. What a way to go, hm?” “No, pet, I’m squishing you into the bed,” Stede half-heartedly struggles against him, though he could easily slip free if he wanted. “Yeah, you are,” Ed purrs, arms locked tighter around Stede’s waist. “Come and squish me harder, put your back into it.”  The heat behind it makes another laugh bubble out of Stede, and he pretends to squirm away from their cuddle arrangement, while Ed keeps mouthing at his bare collarbone where his neckline slips down, aiming to tickle the side of Stede’s neck— “You guys are fuckin’ gross,” Alma deadpans, her voice making them jerk apart and freeze in place.  When Ed turns to her, wide-eyed, he sees her standing in the doorframe of Stede’s bedroom, politely looking at the opposite wall, oversized teacup in hand. In lieu of sleepwear, she’s wearing a thrifted t-shirt fit for a big, broad bear, and a pair of old leggings – presumably also thrifted, since the print screams 2012. There’s an amused curl to her lip, but her voice sounds like she doesn't want it there.  “Really, like, at least wait ‘til I grab my headphones. God.” Ed faces Stede again. They exchange a look of horror. Stede appears to be wide awake now, embarrassed down to the tip of his toes. “Sorry, kid,” Ed says, cringing at his delivery right after. Stede’s lips curl inwards to contain a near-hysterical laugh. Alma raises her mug to her lips, takes a long sip and turns on her heel. “There’s tea downstairs,” she points out, stepping just outside Stede’s bedroom, unwilling to see or hear any more canoodling. “I left out the sugar bowl.” “Oh, thanks, mate,” Ed brightens, though she won’t see the gratitude in his face. “Thank you, love you,” Stede calls out after her. “Yeah, yeah.” Both men can clearly see her dismissive hand wave in their mind’s eye. “Same. Have fun or whatever.”  The door clicks shut. They wait with bated breath, presumably long enough for Alma to leave the house entirely if she wanted, then curling into each other and snorting mortified laughs. Their giggles build and build until Stede goes pink down to his chest and puts his face in his hands. “Fuck,” Ed wheezes, coming up for air and flopping onto his back. He tilts his head sideways to look at Stede lying beside him, just as breathless. “We never learn, do we, sweetheart?” “Seems we don’t,” Stede leans over and steals a little kiss, pausing for emphasis, “pumpkin.” Ed looks at him for a long moment, a besotted expression blooming over his face, and he can only manage oh, you fucking— come here— before he’s being pressed into the mattress and kissed more firmly, with Stede’s thighs planted on either side of his waist. He huffs a happy sigh against Stede’s mouth, slides his fingers through the hair at the back of his head, and he hopes to feel this way forever. He will readily accept Alma going bleh in the background if he can keep kissing Stede awake for years to come. “Would it be wise,” Ed asks after they’ve swapped enough kisses, with Stede cuddled in his lap, “to get her better headphones for her birthday? I mean, over-ears, can’t hear a fucking thing from outside, good bass if it helps—” Stede squints, even though the corner of his mouth lifts and betrays his amusement. “There’s clearly an ulterior motive at play, you won’t fool her.” “So what? You say she blogs and talks about music all day every day – two gifts in one, Stede! We’ll have our fun and Alma won’t hear it!” Stede smothers a giggle against Ed’s shoulder. “Yes, Ed, there’s nothing like a gift that says stay in your room, I’m kissing your father—” “No, see, that’s where my gift for your birthday’s gonna come in.” “Yeah?” “Yeah, a light-up sign on the door that says wooing in progress, and it’s gonna be chartreuse like your plant pot outside, mate, I know you don’t fuck around when it comes to colour matching—” When Ed pauses his scheming to take a breath, Stede lifts his head from Ed’s shoulder and meets his gaze, eyes shining. There’s a wobbly smile on his face. “What,” Ed’s own lip curls upwards. Stede drops his gaze, so Ed jostles him and pokes at the side of his waist. “What, love?” “You might need to rethink your gift,” Stede says with a quiet sniffle. His lip quivers before stretching into a grin so large, his face almost can’t contain it. His next breath is a wet little huff. "I’m already quite wooed." Oh, Ed’s heart could grow three sizes. He doesn’t know where the mood shift came from, but fuck it, he understands. He’s so gone on this sweet man, it overwhelms him, too. He loops his arms tighter around Stede’s waist, pulls him in and tells him as much. By the time Ed finishes cooing over him and peppering him with kisses, pressing a sweet smooch to each closed eyelid, the tea downstairs has gone cold already.  When they sit at the breakfast table in their robes of choice, long forgotten tea mugs topped up with steaming hot water, Ed casts a fond glance towards Stede from above the cereal he pilfered from Louis. He watches Stede scrunch his nose and pout about the steam clinging to his glasses, and he feels completely at home.  Ed catches Alma video chatting with her friend in the living room, in the middle of mutual homework help, and the friend is unmistakably sitting in front of the Blackbeard flag – a tongue-in-cheek merch item from a deluxe vinyl release, sold about three albums back. He pops up on the edge of the frame, asking Alma if she wants to get takeout with him and Stede later, barely able to hold back a laugh when Alma’s friend squeals a greeting. He scuttles away with a devious grin. He could get used to the life of a cryptid stepdad, startling the local youth by cropping up out of nowhere.  Suck it, Izzy, this is my new idea of fun on the job. Later that day, when Stede offers him a separate house key, it’s Ed’s turn to get the heart flutters, blubber something horribly romantic and scramble into Stede’s lap. Alma, merciful as ever, doesn’t say ew this time.     Ed has been a little restless lately. Pacing up and down his flat, pent up energy simmering in his veins.  He looks at himself in his mirror with more attention than he’s given his appearance in the years prior. More than his usual perfunctory scrub down, feelingless shower wank optional. A use of grooming products where necessary, mostly down to muscle memory when his psyche wouldn’t cooperate. He’s riding a high of emotions, most of them fucking fantastic, and what is there to do about it, if not a change of style? He said it to Stede about tattoos one day. No rules. You can look however you want. His hand itches to grab the beard clippers, symbolically kick his dumb persona to the curb, show Izzy and whoever the fuck that there’s a person behind it. A person who needs to switch things up sometimes, like people tend to do. I can look however I fucking want. He’s been playing with the idea for some time now. It only took the right circumstances for him to find himself here today. Just yesterday, he was finally introduced to Mary and Doug, with Stede setting up a short interaction so as not to overwhelm Ed. The former of the pair flounced into Stede’s house, dressed in the sensible outfit of an artist who needs free range of motion, appearing incredibly ballsy despite her petite frame. She looked Ed up and down to proclaim a proud, “Wow. Stede, you dog, how did you land a man like this?” Ed was prepared to defend his boyfriend’s honour, but when he saw the easy amusement painted across Stede’s face, the way him and Mary reached for each other like old friends, he liked her from this moment onwards, laughing bashfully and dropping his gaze as she called him something like dreamy of all things.  “Look how happy they are, Doug,” Mary said, right in front of them, blunt and unashamed in her assessment of their general vibe. Ed could only throw a coy little smile at Stede and link their pinky fingers together. These goddamn Bonnets and ex-Bonnets. They’d be the death of him.  Doug introduced himself to Ed shortly after, appearing behind Mary. A kind-faced man, obviously in sync with his partner, though to Ed he seemed much more… well… plain oatmeal than his Stede.  All a matter of personal taste, of course. He seemed to fucking love Mary. God bless. Proffering his hand for Ed to shake, Doug glanced at him with a tinge of – was that a sliver of tamped-down interest or had Ed hit his head? No, there was clearly an appreciative tilt of the eyes there. An unspoken you're off limits, I know that – but respectfully, I would. It seemed like most Bonnet-adjacent people were queer. From what Stede had shared about his family, Bonnet Senior would blow his head off if he knew how deep it went. Good. It was all the old fuck was good for. Swapping out the kids between households, the four of them shot the shit in the hallway for a good few minutes. Ed and Mary got on like a house on fire, with Mary comfortably ribbing him about things, tittering oh, our girlfriend would love to hear this— (Damn. Ten points to Ed for his queer Bonnets theory.) —and you guys are so sweet together and tell me, does Stede still hog the bed?  (“He does,” Ed said, besotted. “Doesn’t bother me, though. I just sleep right on top. Like a little weighted blanket.”) Meeting them was sweet and fun and felt like another step towards a new beginning, chatting to someone as Edward himself, not the fucking idiot costume he’d wanted to shed for years.  Now, charged up by this new connection, reassured even harder that he’s on the right track, he ties his hair back more carefully than ever – mindful of every loose wisp that could slip free – and he retrieves the beard clippers.  He covers the sink with old newspapers, invoices he’s already paid, and band promo garbage he should’ve tossed in the trash back in 2009. A breath in, a silent plea that he doesn’t find himself hideous later – a pang of hope that Stede doesn’t, either – and he flips the switch to on.   He trims the length of his beard with one of the longer attachments, unwilling to scare himself with the state of his own face, before taking the leap and doing another pass with a shorter one. As he works, the curve of his jaw reveals itself bit by bit, and he rubs the cheek he hasn’t seen in so much detail in years, wondering if Stede will like the way it feels against his palm. Nope. Bad Ed. Go back. Stede is number two on the list. He can get used to the new visual later.  It’s Ed who needs a change here.  He takes off such a volume of beard hair, he can actually see his face shape. He can emote more. There’s more salt than pepper in the short beard that remains, but it’s not a bad look.  He looks refreshed, somehow. He tries on a smile for size, imagines kissing his boyfriend with fewer bristly loose ends in the way… yeah, this could be fun for everyone involved. Once there’s a mountain of clippings in front of him, different shades of grey, Ed turns his head and tilts his jaw this way and that. Assessing himself again, shaking out the loose bristles, checking if he achieved an even trim. He finds himself quite handsome with this shorter trim, paired with his hair in a bun. Even more so when he removes the hair tie, shaking out the long waves to their full dramatic potential. He feels optimistic about the man he sees in the mirror. He has kept just enough length to still feel like himself, but he’s taken a weight off. Not only hair, but history. Who knows how many years ago he was this close to clean-shaven. There’s a faint breeze tickling his bare neck where his long beard used to cover it. It feels foreign. Bizarre, even. He may as well have a sign beside the hinge of his jaw, saying, To one Stede Bonnet, please place kisses here, now that it’s more on display. Therapeutic makeovers sounded like bullshit to him, but fuck it, maybe there’s something to them. Maybe this change marks a happier chapter in the life of Edward Teach.     When Stede is standing on Ed’s doorstep in the evening, he makes a noise like he just saw his favourite moth. No, I raise you one better: like the worldwide population of said moth was coincidentally down to three, and he of all people had it land on his finger, the lucky sod. His eyes shimmer. It’s not down to his spectacles this time. Ed knows he’s attractive, alright? He has a mirror. He wouldn’t have been so cocky with it in his younger years, he wouldn’t have pulled so many men with a wink and a hair toss. He plays it up on stage for good reason, he fucking rocks a distressed little crop top, and he must confess his arse does look pretty damn smackable when he slips into some well-tailored leathers. People have given him the eye. They probably will again. Not to jerk himself off here. But Stede is the first man to look at him with something akin to heart eyes. Stede is the first man whose posture slumps slightly under the weight of his joy upon seeing Ed. He adores Ed in such an obvious, visceral way, it’s like he walked straight out of an old-timey cartoon, steam rolling out of his ears when he receives a cheek kiss. He should’ve come equipped with a hammering heart animation, or a long, waggly tongue, or… Ed knows lust inside out, but adoration like this? It all came along with Stede, wrapped in a package of boundless enthusiasm and sweetly clumsy flirtation. It came along with Stede, who is still staring, wide-eyed, mouth slightly open. Every time Ed thinks he can’t love him more, he’s already bursting with it, Stede just pulls some shit like this.  God. Ed wants this, always. But maybe not out in the hallway. “Hi,” Ed says, amused and besotted at once. Stede just bumbles over the threshold and crashes their lips together, door clicking shut behind him, and he starts to walk Ed backwards so they can kiss against something. It’s not the best decision. Ed’s hallway is pretty long, the walls lined with decorations and eclectic touristy clutter. There’s not much of a blank surface to press him up against, not for the duration of a long and awkward walk. Realising this, Ed starts giggling in the middle of a searing kiss, blindly grappling for whichever part of Stede to get his attention.  “Hey, you,” he rubs his nose against Stede’s once they come to a halt, laughing when Stede immediately takes his face in his hands and smooths his thumbs over it, marvelling at the closely cropped scruff. “Good surprise, I take it?” “You look beautiful,” Stede enthuses, still stroking the short bristles on Ed’s cheeks. They’re no less full and no less lovely to the touch, something even Ed can agree on. He spent the first half-hour post-trim rubbing his face. “God, you’re gorgeous, Ed. You always are, but now I can see more of your face—” “Eh, this old mug,” Ed flaps his hand. “None of that! Don’t disparage my boyfriend, you horror. You could pull off any style, darling, and it still feels so nice to the touch, bet it’ll still tickle my skin the way I like—” He pauses here to rub his cheek against Ed’s, startling a giddy laugh out of him, making him cling to Stede’s shoulders. The frantic kisses raining down on Ed’s face slow to a stop, only followed by a soft smooch to Ed’s bottom lip. “I mean it. You could pull off anything.” “Heh, now I’m tempted to do something more out there, pick you up on a date in a dress.” “I said what I said,” Stede smiles, unwavering. “Anything, you stunning man, and you are so fucking stunning—” Ed, not immune to his love swearing and sliding his hands down to the small of his back, feels his cheeks heat and furrows his bottom lip between his teeth. He’s angling for another kiss, looking at Stede with eyes full of intent, and he gets what he wants. “I have to ask, though, why now of all things?” “It’s been cooking up there for a while,” Ed points to his temple. “Just felt like the right move. Oh, also Fang reached out today, he wants to gather around and talk shop. It got me thinking about my image, willy-nilly, then I was holding the clippers.” “Back to work, then?” Ed thinks out loud, “Not yet…? At least I think so. More of a social call, me and the boys at the bar. Should probably go, find out where they’ve been the past few months.” “Of course! Just let me know when, so I can grab your favourite breakfast spread in advance, have it on hand nice and fresh for the morning. And a hangover cure. My colleague has something he swears by. Maybe I’ll get a second duvet laundered in case I fall asleep before you, and I hog the whole thing again, ha—” Silence falls as Ed processes this. “You’d… like me to come home to you after?” “Only if you’d like… unless you want to sleep alone for a change?” No, Ed immediately wants to say. I could live in your pocket, sweetness, the only reason I haven’t asked is because I’m trying to pace things. And also maybe sound less insane. His facial expression does all the talking. Why the fuck would he willingly sleep alone, if there could be a warm armful of Stede right there? “That’s a no,” Stede says with a pleased chuckle. “Then of course you can stay. You have a key, after all.”  “S’pose I do,” Ed can’t help but smile back. “Then we can decay on the couch together. You’ll tell me about your friends… or you and me can drink some more and you’ll wreck me at Uno. Well, unless it’s the working week, then I’ll be dead asleep—” “Don’t need to drink to lose,” Ed teases, laughing when he earns a smack on the arm. “Oh, you pest,” Stede narrows his eyes, failing to mask the twitch of his lip. “I was going to say that you could spoon up to me later, but if you insist on being a dick…” “Stede,” Ed huffs and rolls his eyes, this close to stomping his foot, but his heart soars every time they bicker. Every time, it leads to kisses. He’s developing a Pavlovian response to that haughty bitchy tone and he wouldn’t have it any other way. I’m glad my exes were shit, Ed thinks. I wouldn’t have ended up here.     They set the date for next Friday. Ed figures he should wear something interesting for his outing with his bandmates, if he’s already making a statement with his trimmed beard – the clippings of which, bizarrely, he was made to dig out for Alma to sell on eBay. Never had he been more ecstatic to find a pair of yellowing nitrile gloves at the back of a drawer. He’s not out here googling costume departments, or skin-walking someone he isn’t and never will be. His single pair of red Converse is still the brightest item in his wardrobe. Still, if he slips into a pair of jeans that makes his arse say come hither, if he painstakingly buckles a harness over a button-up shirt – several thin straps across his midriff, two more running down his sides – he’s allowed the indulgence of looking fine as fuck for his own pleasure. Then he realises he might look too much like he’s going to a discreet kink event, but taking off the harness would destroy the vibe, so he adds another layer and calls the outfit complete. He should be slipping into his shoes now, if he wants to make it on time, but fuck it. This isn’t a business meeting, he’s not gonna get scolded.  An idea crosses his mind as he’s walking past one of his cabinets, a sturdy number that comes up to his waist. On a whim, he sandwiches his phone between two award statuettes from years past, then spends an embarrassing amount of time angling it right and picking a pose. He suggestively pulls aside one half of his unzipped jacket, letting the body harness peek out with all of its fastenings – like a kinky little ladder for Stede to help him out of – and he sends the picture. Stede spends a long moment typing, stopping and starting over. Ed doesn’t pocket his phone until he receives a response. Darling, Sorry, I really needed a moment: 😳❤️🔥 Are these the right ones? Stede Ed laughs so hard, he has to throw his head back. depends what are you trying to say love Ed, I’m saying I need to take a deep breath and count down from ten to calm myself down. You know exactly what you’re doing. Suddenly I wish you weren’t going out at all, instead having me come over. Have fun, my darling. Come home to me safely. Love you the most, Stede Ed stares at those four words. Come home to me.   Someday I will, for real, he thinks. Between the two of them, their home decor choices would go from charmingly cluttered to mental, but he’ll be damned if a chartreuse plant pot keeps him from holding on to the beautiful feeling that’s taken root in his heart.  There’s no opinion on bidets that would separate them now. No ugly clay mug on a shared desk is more important than Stede. psh love you more if you say more isnt possible im coming over and fighting you wait i was setting up a joke  what sort of fish mouth wrestles again Love, I can’t believe you remembered that. You sweet man, you really listen.  It was the Sarcastic Fringehead. Looking forward to mouth wrestling later. A snuggle would be nice, too. With utmost adoration (ha, try to beat this one), Stede damn i was gonna say floppy haired fuck but that didnt sound right EDWARD Warn me next time!!! Signed, The floppy haired fuck with tea up his nose now 🤣 dont think i can top that huh? im taking your adoration and squaring it no fucktupling it HA Ed’s gonna be fucking late but he’s having too much fun here.  Stede is already typing. Ed imagines him levelling up their little game, he pictures his adorably pursed lips as he concentrates, he wishes he could roll over and just kiss him about it. He considers doubling down on the banter himself, K-Oing the guy with romance, but the group chat pings and snaps his train of thought in half.  Fang says he’s at the shisha lounge early, grabbing an elevated booth towards the back, with soft pouffes to sit on and a wall divider for privacy.  Maybe it’s Stede’s influence but man, Ed is really feeling some overpriced tea right now. He hopes it’s gonna be a good evening, him and the crew, spending a good hour puffing on a shisha. Maybe some matcha balls as a snack. Two or three cocktails with curly straws, going down smooth as butter ‘til they hit all at once. okay gotta get going now see you later love <3 That said, Ed grabs his phone, keys and wallet, and goes on his merry way.

Serrit’s always figured feeling vaguely uncomfortable in your own skin is just part of being a Witcher. He’s old enough that he can’t really recall much of his childhood, before the Grasses made him a monster only slightly less vicious than the ones he hunts, but pretty much as long as he can remember, he’s felt like there’s something...sort of wrong. Not damaged - he’s as fit as any other Witcher, apart from the inevitable scars, and he’s certainly not missing any important things like fingers or knees or anything like that. Just...off. Like a note just barely out of tune, or the way his brothers’ scents go sour when they’ve had a dose of Black Blood. There aren’t any women in Gorthur Gvaed, deep in the mountains of Tir Tochair. The Viper School doesn’t take girl-children, and no human woman would want to spend any time in a keep full of Vipers, vicious as their kind tend to be. So Serrit doesn’t actually encounter a woman until his first year on the Path, and then - well, humans don’t take well to being stared at by Witchers, so Serrit gets good at watching human women out of the corners of his eyes, pretending he’s looking at something else entirely. They’re sort of fascinating, and not, he comes to realize over the course of a dozen winters’ worth of gossip with his brothers, in the same way the other Witchers find them fascinating. He doesn’t particularly want to fuck them. He just - they’re so soft, and their hair is usually longer and sometimes a little shinier than men’s, and their skirts go swish in a way that sounds a little like a snake’s hiss. He thoroughly baffles a whore in Novigrad by paying her fee without complaint (high though it is, for the risk of serving a Witcher) just for the opportunity to look at her. Her curves, her soft skin, even the way she carries herself, her center of gravity and the way she walks, are nothing like the way his brothers look. Nothing like the way he looks, though Serrit does mostly do his best not to really see his own reflection, or pay much attention to what he’s doing when he’s bathing, apart from making sure to get all the ick of travel and monster-hunting off. It’s not desire, what he sees when he looks at her. Serrit knows desire well enough. It’s something maybe a little closer to longing. Well, no Witcher could ever be so soft-handed, so soft-skinned, so soft. She’d be dead in a single day upon the Path. Perhaps he’s only jealous of the fact that she doesn’t have to spend her life traveling and killing things and usually getting stiffed on the payments, and that softness is simply the most obvious physical sign of the difference between them. (That doesn’t feel right either, but Serrit can’t imagine what else it could be.) He does decide, a few weeks later, that while there’s no way he could ever have soft hands and unscarred skin again, he could - he could maybe grow his hair out. If he keeps it tied back, it won’t be that much of a liability in battle, and he’s quite skilled enough to compensate for any minor advantage it might give his opponents, monsters or men though they might be. He doesn’t bother hacking his hair short with a dagger for the rest of the year, and by the time he makes it back to Gorthur Gvaed, it’s down to his shoulders. It brushes against his skin gently when he lets it out of the tight braid he’s learned to keep it in, and it feels...sort of nice, really. Also he can hide a spare garrotte in the braid, which is the excuse he uses when Letho gives him a curious look. Letho shrugs and doesn’t mention it again, and Auckes just nods almost approvingly and doesn’t say a damn thing, and none of the other Vipers even care enough to notice. He teaches himself to sketch, mostly so he can make a bestiary of the monsters he’s killed. He’s not fool enough to draw the men he’s killed, but he does draw women: that whore from Novigrad, from deeply embedded memory, and then others, women he passes on the Path, peasants in the fields and merchants’ wives in the towns and barmaids sashaying between the tables. He gets quite good. His brother Vipers, when they discover his talent, offer to pay him for sketches made to their specifications, and he makes a fair little bit of coin each winter, drawing women in seductive poses, curvaceous and lovely, wide-eyed and wanting. He’s just as glad he’s alone in his room, one winter about thirty years after he gains his medallion, when he looks down at the figure he’s been absent-mindedly sketching and discovers it’s himself. Well. Not quite himself. Himself, but softer. Himself, but female. Hair worn loose around his shoulders, face a little less angular. A hint of curves, not the lush sort of body a wealthy merchant’s wife or an expensive whore might have, but the layer of padding that a reasonably successful peasant might accrue. Breasts, small enough not to interfere with his fighting style, but unmistakable all the same. A thatch of hair between his thighs, and no prick to be seen, and hips a little broader than his own truly are. He stares for a while at what he’s drawn, what he hadn’t even realized he wanted until his own traitorous hands sketched it out onto the page. He looks until he’s memorized every line and curve of it, this impossible desire, and then he very carefully tears the page out of his notebook and feeds it into the fire on the hearth, watching as it burns away to fine grey ash. * He keeps sketching, because it’s useful to have the bestiary and anything that can make him a little spare coin is welcome, but he is very careful never to let himself get lost in his own head again, never again to draw that other shape he does not have. He almost cuts his hair, almost shaves his head like Auckes - the way the hair brushes against his shoulders, gentle and soft, is a reminder of the drawing, the impossibility, the longing for what he cannot have. But a Witcher’s life has few enough pleasures, and Serrit likes his hair. He keeps it long. It’s a small enough indulgence. He hunts, and he kills monsters and men alike, and he trades stories and drawings for rough jokes and hard coin with his brothers in Gorthur Gvaed each winter, and life goes on. He accumulates some interesting new scars, and some hair-raising new stories, and learns to make a seven-stranded braid. He drags Letho out of a dungeon once, and joins Auckes on a hunt for a clutch of slyzards which nearly kills both of them. He spends one long summer chasing a fucking barghest from one side of the continent to the other, and when he finally catches the damned thing it’s to discover a damned Wolf has killed it. He isn’t sure, even at the time, how him trying to punch the damned Wolf turns into the two of them rolling about on the grass, kissing like they want to bite each other bloody, clawing at each other as viciously as their namesake animals might. He’s even less sure how he ends up rolling over and letting the damned Wolf have him, but he has to admit the fucker is good at it. It’s...a lot better than the few times he’s shelled out coin to convince a whore to let him share her bed. A lot better. It’s not quite right, but it is good. So he doesn’t slit the damned Wolf’s throat when the fucker has the audacity to fall asleep next to him - who does that? Who falls asleep next to a Viper? Gods-damned idiot would deserve it if Serrit killed him, for fuck’s sake - but he does take a lock of flame-red hair from the Wolf’s shaggy head, and takes the barghest corpse, too. He spent the whole damn summer chasing it, he can damned well get the fucking reward, and fuck the Wolf anyhow. He’s not surprised when the damned Wolf catches up to him in town, growling about losing out on his bounty. He’s also not surprised when their argument turns, by some implausible alchemy, to fucking again on the rickety old bed in the filthy inn room which was all Serrit could afford. And somehow, he’s not surprised when they meet again, and again, as the years roll by. The damned Wolf - Gweld, apparently, and Serrit starts using his name after a couple of years, because ‘damned Wolf’ is a bit much to snarl in bed - always seems oddly delighted to see Serrit, though he does growl a bit when Serrit steals his kills. But for a Witcher, he’s a remarkably good-natured sort of fellow. Serrit hasn’t spent a lot of time with good-natured people, and distrusts it on principle, but the damned Wolf hasn’t tried to knife him in the back yet, and is a damned good fuck, so he...sort of maybe likes seeing that head of shaggy red hair every so often. Maybe goes looking himself, a few times, when it’s been a couple years between meetings. Gweld doesn’t die, and neither does Serrit, which is about as much as a Witcher can ask, and Gweld isn’t fool enough to try to make their meetings any more than they are, any more than two compatible Witchers spending a little time finding what pleasure they can on the Path, so Serrit doesn’t have to stab him somewhere nonfatal and then spend the next several decades carefully never crossing paths with him again. So that’s alright. It’s not quite right, nothing is ever quite right, but it’s...it’ll do. * It’s forty autumns after Serrit’s first year on the Path when he saves a harvest festival from a half-crazed leshen, and the humans decide that the proper reward - aside from the coin, which they do give him - is to spend the entire festival bringing him drinks. This town apparently specializes in a sort of plum-based alcohol which is potent enough to be a close cousin to White Gull, and Serrit has...a little too much. Maybe a lot too much, given that he can’t actually remember the latter half of the evening, and wakes up in his room at the inn the next morning wearing a much-battered crown of wheat stalks and a skirt. He gets up, and maybe he’s still a little drunk, because he doesn’t tear the skirt off right away. He’s alone in the room, anyhow, there’s no one to see if he maybe walks back and forth a little. The skirt goes swish around his ankles, and he finds himself swaying a little as he walks, just to see how it works. The fabric is a little heavier than trousers, soft against his palms, and his calluses catch against it. There’s no one to know but him if he unbraids his hair and does a little twirl and watches the skirt and his hair swirl out in near-identical arcs. And then he stands there in the middle of the floor, staring at the blank wall - staring at nothingness, and trying hard to think of nothing at all. There’s no point in thinking about what you can’t have; every Witcher learns that lesson young. The skirt comes with him when he leaves, though. It’s good fabric, and well-made; he might be able to sell it for a little coin, or maybe rip it up for bandages if he needs to. Somehow or other, he doesn’t end up ripping it up or selling it. It lives in the bottom of his pack until he gets to Gorthur Gvaed, and then it ends up stuffed at the very bottom of his clothes chest, and he doesn’t think about it. He’s very good at not thinking about things, when he needs to be. * He’s well into his sixties when the summons to Kaer Morhen comes, and apart from everything else about the whole thing, the most interesting part is meeting the Cat Witchers. Well, three Cats in specific: Dragonfly, and Vesper, and Rach. Female Witchers. Serrit’s heard rumors, now and again, that the Cats took girl-children, but he’s never realized any of them made it through the Grasses, much less the other Trials. But Dragonfly and Vesper and Rach are unmistakably female, and unmistakably Witchers. Serrit manages to spar against all of them, that first winter, and finds them as fierce and fast and deadly as any of their brothers. There is no softness to them, no delicacy; they are all whipcord and scars, the same as any other Witcher. But they are women. It makes something deep within him shiver with longing, to know that it can be done: one can be a woman and a Witcher both. He can’t, obviously. But...but it’s possible. He doesn’t exactly befriend the three Cats - Vipers and Cats tend not to get on too well - but he finds himself sparring with them more often than random chance can explain, in the months and years that follow the Witchers choosing to follow the White Wolf. They’re fast and sneaky and dangerous, and it’s good training, but also - also it’s an odd, painful pleasure to see them fight, to challenge himself against their skill. He does befriend Zofia, when she arrives, or more accurately she befriends him. She’s purely human, utterly untouched by any sort of magic or mutagen, but she’s a warrior all the same, skillful enough to impress even Vipers, stubborn enough to stay at the keep even after she learns that she will never be faster, stronger, deadlier than even the least of the Witchers in the Warlord’s army. She’s blunt and honest and utterly uninterested in foolish contests of strength, and she gets on with the Vipers surprisingly well - with Auckes and Serrit and Letho, at least. Most humans don’t care for Viper Witchers, but she seems comfortable enough in their company, and Serrit...he won’t say he studies her, precisely, but he pays attention. To the way she wears her hair, the way she dresses, the way she walks. The way she knows herself to be a woman and a warrior both, and doesn’t even bother scoffing at Clovis’s stupid taunts. She tells good stories, too. She won’t speak about the time before she became a mercenary, and none of the Vipers pries - a person’s pain is their own, sometimes the only thing they truly have - but she has a wonderful hoard of tales about her comrades-in-arms, the people she’s met and the things she’s seen and done. It’s the first time Serrit’s had a friend who wasn’t also a brother, and even among the Vipers, Letho and Auckes are the only two he’d truly call friends. Vipers don’t make friends easily. Serrit wouldn’t even necessarily call Gweld a friend, for all that he and the Wolf have been fucking whenever they meet for years on the Path, and now that they’re in the same keep, end up in bed together at least a few nights in every week. The Wolf is friendly, sure, but Vipers don’t trust easily. It’s one thing to share a bed and a good fuck, another to share any sort of actual intimacy. Three friends is already more than most Vipers ever have; Serrit figures trying to add a lover would be just idiotic. Then Auckes and Zofia become lovers, and Serrit decides he really shouldn’t bother to predict anything anymore. * It’s an utterly unremarkable evening about three years after Ard Carraigh when Zofia, who has been telling stories of the stupidest shit her old comrades-in-arms used to get up to, to the riotous approval of a couple dozen Vipers and Cats and Wolves, mentions offhandedly and without any particular emphasis ‘that time I had to patch Dorian up after he got himself stabbed in the leg, and I spent half a minute panicking that someone’d cut his damned balls off before he remembered to tell me he’d never had any to begin with.’ Thank fuck, someone else asks for clarification. Serrit is too busy trying to keep his breathing and his heartbeat calm and even. Zofia shrugs and allows as how Dorian’s parents thought they had a daughter. And then she launches into a story of one of the apparently extremely reckless Dorian’s other misadventures, and Serrit goes and steals some of the Manticores’ fucking awful berry-flavored White Gull and holes up in his room and drinks the whole fucking bottle. It takes that much before he’s drunk enough to look down into the depths of his own soul, to the dark corner where he keeps the memory of that burned drawing, the feeling of the skirt swishing around his ankles, the longing he’s never been able to articulate. How the fuck did this Dorian do it? Just - switch? Well, presumably it involved running away to join a mercenary company, which isn’t really an option Serrit has. Very carefully, like he’s creeping up on a fucking leshen and a single wrong move is going to get him mobbed by every creature in the damned forest, Serrit tries to imagine telling his brothers - Telling her brothers - Nope. Serrit goes and steals another couple of bottles of White Gull, and after about another half bottle, feels up to trying that again. Telling her brothers that she - More White Gull clearly required. Telling her brothers that she’s a woman. The thought aches like a healing wound. Would it be worth it? Would her brothers laugh and jest, or claim there are no female Vipers - that she cannot be woman and Witcher both? Would they seem to acknowledge her, and then begin to treat her differently, as though she is not still and always the same person she has ever been, deadly and vicious as all her School are? Or would they shrug, as Zofia’s mercenary comrades apparently did, and call her ‘sister’ - does she even want to be called ‘sister’? - and go on as they have always done? She cannot do as Dorian did, and leave everything behind to remake herself among strangers. A Viper she is, and a Viper she will always remain, and she swore herself to the White Wolf’s noble folly - Vipers may not be as prone to oaths as Griffins are, but Serrit keeps her word when she’s given it. She finishes off the rest of the White Gull, and wakes in the morning with a splitting hangover, and apparently smells enough like frustration and pain that nobody even talks to her until dinner, and by that point she’s decided to just...wait a while, until she can think about this without being too drunk to stand, until she can open her mouth and just say what she wants without the words drying up on her tongue the way she’s sure they would right now. ‘A while,’ for a Witcher, can be quite a long time indeed. In part, this is because it’s very nearly impossible to keep a secret, in Kaer Morhen, if you ever speak it aloud. Serrit is reasonably sure that Letho and Auckes and Zofia, at least, would take her truth in stride, but she doesn’t want to deal with everyone else in Kaer Morhen having opinions on it, so it’s easier to just...not. She’s got plenty of practice at not thinking about things - about this thing specifically - and though it’s a bit harder, now that she’s admitted to herself why it is that she’s always felt that discomfort in her own skin, it’s not that hard. If it’s an injury, it’s a minor scrape at worst, one of the ones that ought to heal over in less than a day, leaving no scar behind. An injury that’s reopened half a dozen times in every passing day, unknowingly, by those who call her ‘brother,’ but still. Minor, in the grand scheme of things. And a Witcher is used to dealing with pain. Zofia asks her, once, if she's well - picks a good time to do it, too, early one afternoon when everyone else has gone off on their own errands, and Zofia and Serrit, locked in a friendly Gwent match, are the only ones in the great hall besides the maids scrubbing down the tables, who are far enough away not to hear. Serrit considers all her options, and decides she doesn't want to lie to Zofia. Not about this. "Y'know your friend," she says at last. "Dorian." Zofia nods. Serrit swallows. "Did you ever meet anyone who went the other way?" Zofia considers that, chin on her fist. "Guess I have now," she says at last. "You want I should call you 'sister,' then?" Serrit shakes her head. "No. Not yet. I - not yet. But." She shrugs. "Now you know." "Now I know," Zofia agrees. "Tell me if you do want anything to change." She plays another card, and Serrit returns to the game with immense relief. Saying it aloud, even once, is - well, it's a strange relief. It solves nothing, it changes nothing, but it's a relief all the same. And she has plenty of other distractions, too. The White Wolf takes Caingorn, half the cities of Redania, the northern half of Aedirn; Serrit enjoys the battles, enjoys using her skills to their fullest. She enjoys the hunting, too, being sent out with a handful of other Witchers to cleanse the White Wolf’s lands of monsters; there’s a pleasure to going into a hunt knowing that she has allies at her back, that whatever they face - even a leshen, even a whole nest of endregas - will be no match for their swords and Signs. Kaer Morhen acquires servants (baffling), a tiny child (loud), and then more mages (worrisome), and then one of the mages fixes the horror of the Trials and then the old mages stick their big feet in their mouths, and Serrit joins the howling mob which tears the sadistic fuckers limb from limb. Letho acquires a small child who calls him her uncle and apparently thinks he’s delightful. The White Wolf acquires a bard, and the bard causes all sorts of fairly entertaining chaos. Some days - some weeks - Serrit is almost too busy to even notice the faint ache of an injury she can’t even explain to her brothers, one which never bleeds and never heals. * Serrit doesn’t think about mages much. She stayed the hell out of the way of the ones in Gorthur Gvaed - the Trial of the Grasses was quite enough to teach her that she wanted nothing to do with them - and she’s continued to stay out of their way in Kaer Morhen, both the old School mages before their massacre and the new Wolf-sworn mages, who are much less sadistic but still mages. Magic’s about the only thing a Witcher can’t cut with either silver or steel, so Serrit dislikes it on principle. Sure, Triss Merigold is decent people, and Seraphina spends most of her time helping the Cranes invent new bizarre weaponry, but still. Mages. Fuck ‘em. And then the bard gets turned into a kid for almost a month, and then he gets turned back, and Serrit sits there staring at the re-aged bard that night at supper and thinking as hard as she ever has in her life. If a sorceress can turn a man to a child and back again - if the rumors about the mages choosing their own appearances when they graduate from their schools are correct - if they can do that - Serrit stares so long that Letho nudges her shoulder and gives her a genuinely worried look, and Serrit shakes herself and turns to her meal, but the thoughts whirling through her head are too loud to let her stay for the music after supper. She retreats to her room, and locks the door - she doesn’t usually bother; no one intrudes upon another’s territory, here - and digs through her clothes-chest until she finds, down at the very bottom, folded up into a tight wad, the skirt she acquired so long ago. It’s still in decent condition. She shakes it out and looks at it for a long time, then swears and kicks out of her trousers and pulls it on. It swirls around her ankles just the way it did the first time, heavy and soft. She lets her hair down, and shakes her head to make the ends of it brush against her neck and shoulders. And, for the first time, she tries to imagine what it might be like, to feel comfortable in her own skin. To not feel that edge of wrongness every time she looks down at herself. To tell her brothers to call her sister. The Grasses burn fear out of Witchers, but Serrit thinks this coldness in her gut might have been fear, if she were human still. She sits down by the fire, and takes out her notebook, and for the first time in decades, lets herself draw that impossible shape - herself, as she should be. Every scar is in place, every mark of her years on the Path and in the Warlord’s army; the figure Serrit draws is Witcher and woman both, herself as she should have always been. She does not burn the page, this time. The next morning, she goes to Yennefer. She’s never tried to explain it before. It takes her a while to find the words, and she’s ready to storm out if she has to - ready to draw steel if she has to. But Yennefer listens, violet eyes calm as stone, scent utterly unreadable - fucking mages - and frowns, and nods. Yennefer warns that it will hurt, but what does a Witcher care about pain? She warns that she cannot strip away the mutations, cannot make Serrit human again, but Serrit doesn’t want to be human. Fuck that. She just wants to be right in her own skin. Yennefer warns that she cannot make Serrit fertile, but Serrit’s never cared about that. If she ever wants a snakeling of her own, she’ll take a trainee as an apprentice or something, like the Bears and the Griffins do. Yennefer nods again when Serrit says as much, and asks her what she wants to look like. Serrit swallows hard, and pulls out her notebook, opens it to the last filled page. Yennefer looks for a long, long moment, and, slowly, smiles. It takes three days for Yennefer to prepare for the spell, and Serrit spends all three of them doing her best to exhaust herself on the sparring grounds, taking on any challenger. She even goes three rounds against the fucking White Wolf, which is a very effective way to learn humility. No Witcher should be that strong and that fast and that sturdy. It’s fucking annoying, is what it is. Also exhausting, though, which is what Serrit needs. Letho and Auckes and Zofia give her worried looks each night, but Vipers don’t exactly have heart-to-hearts, and Zofia has a finely honed sense of when it’s safe to ask questions and when questions would probably result in attempts at stabbing, so she doesn’t say a thing. On the fourth day, Serrit turns up at Yennefer’s workroom again, and lies down where she’s directed to, and tries very hard not to think of the last time she laid down on a stone table for a mage to change her forever. It does hurt. It’s not as bad as the Grasses, but it does hurt, burns like fire running along every nerve. Serrit closes her teeth on the strip of leather Yennefer gave her and does not scream. The spell goes on for...a while; Serrit’s genuinely not sure how long. Long enough that she’s shaking by the end of it, and little formless sounds are snaking their way out around the leather strap. Long enough that her hands are clenched into fists so tight her knuckles creak, and she almost regrets that Yennefer didn’t strap her down. Not long enough to make Serrit regret doing it, though. The pain ebbs all at once, like water draining from a broken cup, and Serrit sits up and looks down and sees - Herself. Herself as she ought to be. It’s a relief as sharp as the pain was, and almost harder to bear. Serrit clenches her hands on the edge of the table and shakes with it. Yennefer, in a display of surprising empathy, turns away and waits for Serrit to pull herself back together. Serrit thanks her as best she can - it’s not eloquent, but it apparently suffices. She goes back to her rooms, and finds a tunic and a pair of trousers that work well enough - apparently she’s going to have to go bother the seamstresses; her shoulders are still just as broad, but the tunic hangs differently, and the trousers fit oddly, too - and heads down to dinner. No point putting this off. Her Schoolmates go silent as they see her approaching, and Serrit wraps her fingers around the handle of her favorite knife, its hilt still solid and comfortable in her hand, and waits to see how many people she’s going to need to stab. Ivar considers her quietly for a long, tense moment. “Huh,” he says at last. “Curse, or on purpose?” “On purpose,” Serrit says. Her voice is a little higher than it used to be; the words feel odd in her mouth, but she likes the way they sound. Ivar nods and raises his mug a little. “Guess every snake needs to shed its skin once in a while,” he says. Serrit nods back, and takes her usual seat, and the Vipers begin their usual mealtime chatter all around her. Zofia offers her a small smile, and a quiet murmur: “Let me know if you’ve got any questions, yeah?” Letho nudges his shoulder against hers and shoves a platter of venison over so she can reach it more easily. Auckes says, thoughtfully, “Guess we can’t say it’s only the Cats that accept women anymore, sister.” That’s all the fuss there is, which is frankly exactly how Serrit prefers it. There’s really only one other person whose reaction Serrit is even a little worried about. She goes looking for Gweld after dinner, and finds him waiting at the end of the Wolf table, watching her approach. She glares at him, daring him to say something worth stabbing him for, and he grins the same way he always does when she glares. Stupid fearless ass. “Well?” she demands. He looks her up and down, and his grin gets softer somehow, less mischief and more genuine joy, and he says, “You look...right.” ...Guess she’s not stabbing him today after all. She glares at him a little more, just on principle, and then goes off to find the Cats and figure out what the hell has changed about her center of gravity, and how much she’s going to have to change her fighting style because of it. * It takes her two weeks to get used to her new center of gravity, the slight but unmistakable changes in the shape of her body and the way it moves, but she does get used to it, and after two weeks of relentless training, is back to being able to beat Letho one bout in three, which has been her benchmark since they were trainees, so many decades ago. She puts herself back on the hunting roster, and goes out after a kikimora infestation, and comes back without even a scratch, feeling immensely pleased with herself. She lets Gweld flirt her into bed again, and finds to her mild annoyance that he’s just as good at it now as he ever was before her transformation, and just as enthusiastic, too. It’s not natural for a Witcher to be so good-natured. She feels...settled, in a way she never truly has before. Comfortable. That nameless longing has faded into nothingness, and the constant scraping pain of being called ‘brother’ is gone like a cut long-healed, and she is… She is Serrit of the Vipers, who has shed the skin which did not suit her, and now wears the one she has always ought to have.

"I can't believe you did that to me." John was the one who broke the silence that had been hanging in the air ever since his father had left the restaurant. He was standing on the curb outside in the cold New York night, freezing his ass off in a dress that made him hate his entire being and existence with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. The black shawl was pulled tightly around his arms. "I couldn't take what he was saying, I had to say something," Alexander said, immediately getting defensive. John knew pushing him would only cause his walls to go up higher, but he was angry and sad and disappointed and just about every other emotion in the book. He couldn't think clearly, just wanting to yell and yell about how hurt he was and how much pain Alexander was putting him through. So he pushed, he pushed against the defensive walls that Alexander was putting up. "So you out me to my father? A man who had literally just called transgender people abominations and suggested that those subject to violent transphobia and even more often violent transmisogyny deserved to die? What were you expecting to happen, Alexander! For him to go 'Oh shoot! I've made a mistake! My son, come to me!' and suddenly, poof! He's no longer a transphobic dick?" John yelled at his boyfriend, the anger evident in every syllable. He was shaking, from anger or the cold he couldn't say. "It was idiotic and not your place to do that to me." Alexander was shocked by the amount of venom in his boyfriend's voice. He had heard it before, at a Black Lives Matter rally on campus that was interrupted by several white dicks who chanted 'All Lives Matter' at the demonstrators and a handful of other similar occasions, but not like this. Not towards him. He had to take a breath before trying to find the words to respond. "Look, you know how my mind works, how my mouth is simply along for the ride," he said, moving to take his jacket off. His boyfriend was standing there in a weak dress violently shivering, he needed to do something. "I didn't even realize I had said it until the damage was done and then you just can't take that stuff back. I knew this dinner was a bad idea." He moved to wrap the jacket around John's shoulders. He pushed Alexander away. "Don't touch me," he spat. "You have no right to fucking touch me right now. You can't even say I'm sorry? You have ruined my life in a three hour window and your first reaction isn't to apologize. It's to defend yourself. I can't believe I'm dating you right now. I can't believe I love you. Go home, Alexander. Don't wait up." He turned around, walking away from the restaurant and away from Alexander who stood there for a long moment, shocked by what had just happened. It wasn't until John was about a hundred feet away that he managed to do the decent thing and shout, "I'm sorry!" at his fleeting figure. Alexander climbed into his car and quickly turned on the heat, watching John for as long as he could before the other disappeared into the night. He was worried, fucking terrified that John was going to end up hurt or lost or god knows what by morning, but he couldn't go after him. That's what John had asked of him and after a night like tonight, he could at very least respect that much. "Slow down, slow down, mon ami. You are speaking too quickly, I cannot understand." "Pier 94, I'm at Pier 94. Laf, please come get me." There was a cracking sob through the phone line. "Herc and I will be there in moments, mon cher. Is Alex with you?" "No." Lafayette thought it wise not to question him much further after that and instead dragged Hercules to help him on the rescue mission. He didn't know much, having missed nearly everything that John had said when he was explaining it over the phone to him mostly due to the sobs coming from the other, but it had to have been because of dinner with his father which was why it was worrying that Alexander wasn't with him. Hercules drove and Lafayette was quick to text Eliza, knowing that she would be the most likely to get through to Alexander should he be in a similar state of distress as John was. To Eliza Schuyler: herc and i are picking up john from pier 94 To Eliza Schuyler: i think something happened at dinner To Eliza Schuyler: pls check on mon petit lion he’s not with john From Eliza Schuyler: I’ll see if I can get ahold of him and keep you updated. From Eliza Schuyler: Thanks for keeping me in the loop, I’ll tell Peggy. From Eliza Schuyler: Tell John I love him by the way. To Eliza Schuyler: will do mon ami It didn’t take long for them to get there and Lafayette hopped out of the car as Hercules went to find decent parking. For a second, he was worried that he had misheard John, gotten his location wrong somehow, but then he spotted his friend in a long blue evening dress and flimsy shawl, his hair hanging low and thoroughly messed up. Peggy would be more than a little disappointed that her handiwork was reduced to this. He was leaning against the railing overlooking the Hudson, eyes unfocused and hot with tears. Lafayette came up next to him, leaning against the railing in a similar manner. “Herc is looking for parking,” he said softly, watching John for his reaction. When he glanced his way, Lafayette offered him a soft smile before moving to rest a hand on his shoulder. “You look like you’re frozen, mon ami. Here.” He pulled off his jacket and wrapped it around John’s shoulders as he sniffled. “You’re about to be freezing too,” he muttered, a slight hiccup in his voice. The sobs seemed to have subsided since earlier and he was no longer in a panic, just sad and tired. Lafayette gave a slight chuckle, hoping to put John at ease. “We shall be heading out here soon enough,” he murmured and rubbed at his arms a little absentmindedly, the long sleeved shirt he was wearing didn’t fight the cold the way the grey peacoat he had wrapped around John did, but it was better than sleeves of John’s dress. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he was quick to check it. From Hercules Mulligan: no luck with parking, i’ll swing by where i dropped you. From Hercules Mulligan: i’ll be there in five minutes give or take, be ready. To Hercules Mulligan: d’accord !!! He was about to put his phone away and get John moving towards where Hercules was going to be picking them up when his phone buzzed again, this time it was Eliza. From Eliza Schuyler: I’m with Alexander at his apartment. He’s a mess, but at least he’s able to form coherent thoughts. If John asks, he’s fine. From Eliza Schuyler: How’s John? To Eliza Schuyler: ah john is currently crying his eyes out at pier 94 To Eliza Schuyler: do not fret tho because i am with him and ill take him to my place. To Eliza Schuyler: he hasnt said what happened yet but i do not think he wishes to see alexander right now. From Eliza Schuyler: Understandable. Alexander won’t say what happened either. From Eliza Schuyler: Let me know when you know? To Eliza Schuyler: oui will do He tucked his phone back into his pocket and looked to John, surprised to see him staring at him. He offered him a smile and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, keeping John close for a long moment before speaking. “It is a gorgeous night,” he murmured and pressed a chaste kiss to John’s cheek. His makeup was smudged, half of the foundation seemed to have been rubbed off and his freckles were visible under smears of eyeliner. He looked like a mess. “Beautiful but very cold. Herc is bringing the car around, let’s go.” John nodded and the two of them walked towards the street. There was no sign of Hercules’ waiting car when they came to the spot where Lafayette had hopped out and so the frenchman simply pulled his friend into a tight hug. “It’s a cold night, mon cher,” he murmured when he felt John tense up in his arms. “I might as well hold you until Herc gets here to keep you warm and safe.” John chuckled softly and gave a nod, burying his face into Lafayette’s chest as they stood there in the cold night air. His shivers started to subside and Lafayette did his best to hide his own involuntary shakes. Having a warm body up against him helped though and so they weren't too bad on their own. Absentmindedly, he went to work with the fingers of one hand in John's hair, trying to undo the mess that hastily trying to rip out the bun had done. Hercules was there soon enough and Lafayette lead John to the car, getting into the back seat with him so he wouldn't feel excluded or alone. Herc didn't say anything about it and was soon driving towards the apartment he and Laf shared. "Mon ami, feel free to lie down if it will help you relax," Lafayette said softly. John took him up on the offer and loosely buckled the seat belt over his lap before kicking off the heels and curling up in the back seat with his head resting on Lafayette's lap. His eyes shut as Lafayette adjusted the jacket on top of John and ran his fingers through his hair. The car ride was quiet as they headed to the warmth of the apartment complex. "Ah, mon ange cheri," Laf whispered to the near sleeping boy in his lap. "We are here, let us get you inside and out of this dress." He didn't want to bring up the idea of talking about what happened tonight to John again, hoping he would bring it up on his own. Laf managed to get the groggy John out of the car, Hercules grabbing the heels left in the back seat. It didn't take long for them to get inside so they didn't force John to put on the shoes to go inside the building. They were quiet, Lafayette's arm wrapped around John's shoulders as they headed to the apartment. Once inside, Hercules immediately went to grab a tshirt and sweats for John while Lafayette took him to the bathroom to start getting him out of the dress. He let Lafayette pull the shawl and coat away, even though he was still very much freezing, but refused to take the dress off all the way until he had clothes to replace them. Luckily Hercules came with the clothes in hand. In no time at all John was nearly drowning in his friend’s large tshirt and sweats. “Oh, mon cher,” Lafayette murmured, looking John over. “Let us clean off the makeup that is all over your face before sending you to bed. We can talk about where you will sleep afterwards.” John gave a nod and Lafayette had him sit down on the closed toilet seat while Hercules took the dress out of the bathroom, hanging it up with car. He couldn’t let such a beautiful gown get ruined after all. Things were quiet in the apartment as Lafayette worked on cleaning up John’s face, offering the boy a smile as he wiped away the layers of makeup. He had resigned that he would likely learn about what had happened between Alexander and John at dinner tomorrow which was why he was surprised when John spoke up as he was working on removing the eye shadow. “Alexander… The reason that I’m here instead of at home is because… He outted me. My dad… My dad knows I’m trans because of Alexander’s big mouth and he couldn’t even say the words ‘I’m sorry’ until I sort of… pushed him to. God I’m so fucked,” John said, his voice barely above a whisper. Lafayette slowly pulled the makeup wipe away from his face. “Oh, John,” he whispered and the tears from earlier were back in John’s eyes. He was trying to hold himself together as best as he could, wishing he could just be angry at Alexander instead of hurt and upset. Anger was a feeling that he could handle, could get out by punching things or people, but this hurt, this betrayal… It didn’t quite work like that. It ripped him raw. Lafayette moved and quickly wiped away John’s tears and the remaining makeup. “Here, let us go sit on the couch, oui? I shall turn on a movie and you can try and relax. We shall figure out what to do in the morning,” he said and John gave a nod, getting to his feet and wiping his own eyes this time. It was a relief to be out of that dress and free from the makeup. Before stepping out of the bathroom, Lafayette grabbed a hairbrush. The two of them quickly settled comfortably on the couch, similarly to how they’d been curled together on the car ride over. Lafayette flipped through the options Netflix had to offer and eventually turned on a documentary on sea turtles. Turtles and drawing seemed to be John’s silent passions that he never really told his friends about, they just kind of guessed. It was nice to have them indulge him though. Lafayette gently worked to brush John’s hair as he watched the documentary, Hercules eventually joining them, sitting at John’s feet and letting his legs drape across his lap. His hands rested gently on his calves and absentmindedly rubbed designs into them. The gentle touches and assurances that he wasn’t alone soon lulled John to sleep. Once Lafayette was certain he was asleep, he and Hercules were careful about pulling away and replacing Lafayette’s lap with a pillow. The turned off the tv and laid a blanket over him before going into the other room. “Alexander outted him to his father,” Lafayette murmured softly, as if scared his voice would wake John up in the living room. “God fucking damn it.” was all Hercules could seem to say and the two of them allowed themselves to turn in soon enough, not needing to stay up anymore than John did. As Lafayette was changing into more bed appropriate clothes, his phone buzzed; Eliza. From Eliza Schuyler: Alexander is finally asleep. From Eliza Schuyler: He didn’t tell me what happened though. To Eliza Schuyler: he outted john to his papa. To Eliza Schuyler: henry laurens knows john is trans. From Eliza Schuyler: God fucking damn it. Lafayette didn’t feel the need to respond past that and he quickly popped his head out to check on John who was still sleeping peacefully on the couch. All bases covered and everyone now in the know, Laf finally allowed himself some much deserved sleep. He’d deal with Alexander in the morning if he had to.

  ---xxx—   Neliel   She knew Ichigo was back, but knowing and experiencing it were two very different things. There was never any warning, never any reiatsu to feel. The first time she saw him, his back was to her.    The cold desert wind tugged the ends of his hair, ripples of motion over a still pool she thought shouldn’t be disturbed. He was as unmoving as the night; no breath, no life, she wasn’t even sure he was real. Until he turned to face her.    For a split second she was struck by the unsettling feeling that she wasn’t facing a person, but something that had never known a name, had never known existence as she knew it at all. Then the moment passed and Ichigo smiled, playing at being something he most certainly was not. He must have seen her fear, but he made no mention of it. “It felt wrong not to see you,” he said.   She blinked, as if she didn’t understand how he could feel anything, let alone ‘wrong’, then inhaled sharply to cover her mistake.   A hand fell to her shoulder and she jumped, a steel grip tightening over her sword hand before she could draw. Grimmjow .    “Easy, goat,” he growled. “Easy.” Quieter, he said, “I know it’s weird. He knows. It’s fine.”   Not okay , simply…fine. An unavoidable fact, but one neither were thrilled to acknowledge. She let out a harsh breath, pushing aside her fear. Ichigo would have to be blind not to notice, and from the predatory focus in his eyes, he was anything but.    “You’re different,” she said, feeling that was a pathetic, pointless thing to say. Grimmjow let her hand go and she twitched away, keeping them both in sight. If they took it personally, they didn’t let it show.   “I know,” Ichigo said gently, as if her response were expected. He sank down to the sand to sit, just a little too smoothly, and too quickly to be human or hollow.    Nel whispered, “Harribel didn’t mention this.”   Ichigo didn’t move, looking to Grimmjow to speak for him. The former arrancar turned intense blue eyes onto her, looking for all the world like a bored wildcat. He said, “I know it’s hard to ignore. I feel it, but we share a soul. Can’t imagine what it’s like from the outside.”   She knew she was no pushover, but standing between the two of them was a weight she hadn’t realized could exist. She jerked her head to the side, a twitch wrought of tension that she wished to shake. She went against all her instincts and closed her eyes, letting out a long, slow breath.    There was no heartbeat to reassure her, no motion, no life, no reiatsu. Only trust.   Her hair tickled her nose, her cheek, the hiss of sand beneath her boots shifting and as unreliable as she could expect.    She opened her eyes and neither had moved, respecting her self-imposed moment of weakness.   Ichigo studied her, seeking something unknown. He spoke slowly, thoughtful. “Maybe it really is different for you.” Nel and Grimmjow both gave him a confused, expectant look. He canted his head to the side, as if listening. “I changed you. It was different than making a conduit, or an arrancar. I messed with you to put you back together.” His brows fell. “Pesche, Ishida, and Shinji too.”   “So?” Grimmjow asked.   Ichigo’s eyes never left hers. “What do you feel?”   “Afraid,” she admitted. She swallowed, trying to place why. Ichigo looked the same; wicked horns, black stripes, black hair, burning eyes…but she felt a disquiet. “You remind me of it. Of Alteza.”   “You’re not a conduit,” Grimmjow said flatly. The subtext was clear. She shouldn’t be able to sense Ichigo at all, she should be as ignorant as everyone else.   “You don’t feel that ?” Nel hissed, her eyes never straying from Ichigo’s.   Grimmjow spoke his thoughts aloud for all their sakes. “I share Kurosaki’s soul, that could have something to do with why I don’t.”   That was a very good reason. She swallowed, trying to smother instinct, and asked, “Is this because you fixed my mask?”   Even at a distance, she thought she could see his jaw tighten. “‘I’d need to see Ishida, maybe Shinji, to be certain.”   “Why?” Grimmjow asked, and he sounded deeply annoyed.   “Because what I did to them was arguably more invasive than making a conduit or an arrancar. I’m curious,” Ichigo said. “And concerned.”   “What about Starrk?” Grimmjow asked.   “What about him?” Nel asked.   “Kurosaki put him back together.” Grimmjow answered, “Seems pretty invasive to me.”   “You did?” Her eyes widened. They didn’t talk, Starrk was a reserved arrancar, but she saw how much he’d hurt. That Ichigo could just fix him seemed impossible.    Kurosaki interrupted her thoughts with a slight shake of his head. “Starrk didn’t react like this when he came to. It must have something to do with me and how I changed, what happened to me when I was gone.”    Not asleep, not recovering, he was simply gone.    “I’ll get used to this,” Nel said. “Right?” She sounded as distraught as she felt. She didn’t want to be afraid, but maybe this was the appropriate reaction, maybe she should fear him. Ichigo must have noticed the doubt on her face, but he said nothing. “I’ll go. If you want to see me, just ask.”   “Ichigo…”   He smiled sadly, and she didn’t understand how he could. “It’s not your fault, Nel.”   Grimmjow had leveled a hard look at Kurosaki, looking to anyone that didn’t know him like he wanted to murder something, but Nel saw the concern in his eyes.   They both vanished before she could say goodbye, and she was ashamed by how much relief she felt in their absence. She stood there for a long while, analyzing her own reaction. She knew Ichigo was powerful, but this was the first time she’d felt small.   Her nerves settled, but her heart was still in turmoil. She turned and left to find Candice. She didn’t want soft words and reassurances, she wanted all the blunt honesty she had to offer. That would make her feel better.   —xxx—   Kurosaki Ichigo It hadn’t been pleasant to see the fear on Nel’s face. There was a bone-deep terror in her that he hadn’t seen very often. Terror like that came from understanding exactly what he was. People could guess, but they couldn’t even sense his power, let alone the Gods and their vestiges inside of him.    Grimmjow knew, but he was different, crazy even. He’d been on the other side of death, he’d faced it in his claws and by his hand and intentions and mistakes and never faltered. No one sane could do that.   He was lying to himself so much he was beginning to lose sight of the truth. There were still large parts of him that weren’t his own, and tiny pieces in him reveled at her terror. It was a glimpse into what he could become, so he didn’t regret feeling it. Embracing it was what would change him to where he couldn’t go back.   “Humans have such a shallow understanding of ‘self’. Such fear of becoming.”   Did I ask your opinion?   “No, but you will listen.”   A chill like the creep of death slid beneath his skin, as shinigami stirred and settled closer to his awareness. Like pressing his hand to the surface of water, there was almost nothing separating them.   Somehow, he thought Grimmjow noticed. The arrancar took a small step back, the shine of a cold sweat on his skin. Fear ; a justified fear.   “We are death, and all living things recoil from their undoing.” Ichigo thought he sensed amusement. “Even your pet.”   ‘I’ll change him.’   “Perhaps.”   Ichigo decided to ask. ‘Will those I touched always fear me?’   “Power leaves traces, fingerprints on the entropy of their reality. These scars do not fade easily. You experience it still, I could not remove the God's hold over you. ”   ‘So that’s a yes.’   There was no answer. Ichigo’s eyes lifted to Grimmjow’s, the fear in them twisting his heart. He didn’t deserve terror, but sometimes there was no helping it.   “Why?” Grimmjow whispered, “Why do I feel that… thing and I didn’t before?”   “It’s making a point,” Ichigo answered. He spoke just as softly, worried any louder might snap the tension Grimmjow had wound up around himself so tightly. Inwardly he said, ‘Your point is made. Leave me be.’   There was silence and the sickening lurch in the loss of a looming presence. There and then hidden, but not gone. It should disgust him. It had before. Now he felt the ‘physical’ sensation and little more. Unnatural. Nel was right.    Ichigo blinked, tilting his head. “Better?”   “Yeah…” his posture slowly eased, but his shoulders were still squared up, defensive. “What kind of fucking point?”   “The kind I won’t forget.”    Grimmjow’s brows fell, sensing the deflection. Neither had to say it aloud, and Ichigo didn’t want to.    He was something new, something old, and something that was never intended to exist.    He forced a small smile. “It’s nothing I didn’t already know.” He turned, gesturing with a short jerk of his chin. “Let’s go see Ishida.”   —xxx—   It wasn’t a trip Ichigo was looking forward to, but he’d intended to speak with Ishida all along. He found the quincy asleep. Ichigo fully intended to leave, to try again later, but Ishida jolted awake, heart pounding. He felt it like he held his heart in his hand…in a way that was unmistakable and invasive, but he wasn’t sure he knew how to withdraw.   Through mortar, plaster, drywall, and wood, Ichigo saw Ishida’s spirit flare with wakefulness and unease. He grimaced and knew Grimmjow sensed Ishida’s flare of reiatsu, if not the nuance and reason.    Ichigo stood on the street and waited, eyes closed as he focused. There was a lot to filter in the living world. Hueco Mundo was oppressive in a singular, hungry way. It was a silent scream in the dark, but the living world held all the subtleties and nuances of millions, billions of living things. It was distracting as always, and Ichigo wanted to be sharp.    He heard the gentle click of the front door, shoes on pavement. Ishida said nothing, but the question hung between them unanswered. Ichigo looked at him, head tilted askance. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”   For once, Ishida had nothing scathing to say in response. He was dressed for bed, arms crossed like he was cold, but it was a warm, muggy night.    Fear.   Ichigo spoke carefully, considering his reasons. “I’m not here as Kurosaki Ichigo.” He stepped forward, closing the distance between them with purposeful shunpo, fast enough that Ishida flinched, guard raised. Ichigo reached for the quincy, fingertips hovering above his heart. He could see it beat, could feel the strength of his life through die konigin. The weakness, the pain.    “I can help you.”   “Did I ask?” Ishida hissed. Blue eyes looked no less bright in the dark, not to Ichigo. Ishida’s anger hadn’t faded in those five years, not a bit. But his soul was frayed, weathered by power it wasn’t fortified to contain.    Ichigo took another step closer, catching Ishida by the arm before he could retreat. There was no such thing as escape when it came to him, but he didn’t want to chase down the man that had once been his friend. Ishida’s fear escalated into panic at that touch, but he hid it very well. Ichigo was impressed. “It’s what she would have wanted,” Ichigo said.   Fury flashed in Ishida’s eyes and he moved to attack. Ichigo caught him with ease, hands firm on his wrists, ever careful not to break him. He leaned in, speaking quietly near his ear. “You’re dying, I’ll fix you. That’s all there is to it.”   “I don’t want your help.” Ishida’s voice wavered with emotion, Fear, rage, disgust. His old friend might have been there once, but no longer. They were strangers. A quincy, and…a God. For what good titles did either of them.    Ichigo felt pity for him, for reasons beyond himself, for his friend, his enemy, his…he wrapped his arms around Ishida, pulling him into a tight embrace. For a moment, he didn’t feel like himself at all. This was a child of the light, suffering, scalded by a power that never should have touched him. He held Ishida, a hand on the back of his head, the other tight over his back, and for some reason, Ishida returned it.    For that moment, Ichigo wasn’t his distant relative, he wasn’t Ichigo, or a shinigami freak. He was a direct link to an uncaring God. They held each other tight, Ichigo’s grip careful, but tight, and Ishida's growing increasingly harsh and desperate.    “I’m sorry you had to wait,” Ichigo whispered, but the words didn’t feel like his own. He sank into Ishida’s soul, the quincy’s legs slowly buckling as he did. He reached deep, seeking frayed edges to soothe and draw into himself. It was all too easy, but Ishida was only human. He collapsed in his arms, his fragile soul on the brink of shattering.    Ichigo lowered him to his back, working as swiftly and gently as he knew how. Personally, he was angry with Ishida, but he wouldn’t let that stop him. He meant what he said. It’s what Orihime would have wanted.   That overrode any and all of Ishida’s complaints.   “What are you doing?” Grimmjow finally asked.   “Shinigami caused this,” he amended his statement quickly. “No…I did. In one way or another, Ishida got caught in the crossfire. When I let Shinigami in, the Gods scrambled to replace me, to destroy me and the parasite that stole me from them. They latched onto Ishida as a host because das licht was so strong inside of him. That was also my fault.”   “So what did you do to him now ?” Grimmjow pressed.    Ichigo lifted Ishida with an arm beneath his knees and another behind his shoulders. “Halted the spread of die Konigin in his soul, healed what I could. He’s strong, he’ll survive this.”   Grimmjow stood in front of him, eyes flicking from Ishida, back to his face, thoughtful. “You don’t sound certain.”   “But I wish I was.” He stared at Ishida, through him and into him, at all of the places he’d reinforced his soul. “I really don’t want anyone else to die because of me.”   “I know,” Grimmjow whispered. He took a step back and said, “Come find me when you’re done.” He vanished through la sangre and Ichigo was left standing alone in the street, Ishida in his arms. Maybe because Grimmjow had once been a conduit, maybe because la sangre lived through his soul, a ghost of a slumbering God’s will, but he understood this wasn’t something that needed an audience.    Ichigo brought Ishida inside and sat on his bed with him. He didn’t need to hold him, but something inside and apart from him needed to. That or something far less gentle. Die Konigin wasn’t known for tender loving care. It was his own will that guided those impulses into something far tamer.   He found Ishida’s cell phone on the nightstand and called Ishida’s father. It was a brief conversation, one that ended the moment Ichigo spoke. Clearly, Ryuken hadn’t forgotten his voice.    The quincy was home in what was likely less than an hour and Ichigo hadn’t moved. Neither had Ishida.   The man was breathing hard when he stepped into the bedroom, his eyes falling briefly to his son in alarm. Ichigo felt him reach for his power, but he didn’t call on it, his eyes snapping up to Ichigo’s in thoughtful calculation. “Why are you here?”   “Loose ends,” Ichigo said. “Five years is a long time for a human to suffer the touch of a God.”   Ryuken growled, “He trained, he’s stronger. His reiatsu should have been strong enough to withstand the worst of it.”   Ichigo answered smoothly. “I see that. It helped.” He didn’t need Ryuken angry, he asked a leading question. “Was that your idea?”   “Yes…I saw the effects of the Gods on you , I assumed this wouldn’t be much different.” He clenched his jaw, struggling to voice his fears. “Is he…”   “I did what I could. He’s okay, but he’s recovering.”   “I don’t see anything wrong with him.”    There was a note of distress in the man that Ichigo thought he might understand. Ryuken was a doctor, he was used to fixing people and being able to understand what was wrong. In this, he was blind, and Ichigo had seen too much to want to know what it would be like to suddenly lose it. “You wouldn’t,” Ichigo reassured. “It’s his soul that needs the rest. He’s unconscious, but it’s nothing I did, the body and soul aren’t independent of each other.”   “How can you know this?”   Ichigo looked at Ishida and hummed thoughtfully. “I don’t think I do. Maybe you noticed something similar in Ishida. He might not have been a proper host, but die Konigin was still trying to seep in through the cracks.”   Ryuken admitted. “He seemed different, but any one thing would have been enough to explain that.”    Ichigo thought he heard the accusation in his tone, and it was a valid reaction. A lot of this was his fault, he’d gladly take responsibility if it made Ryuken feel better. Ichigo bent over Ishida, tightening his grip. He thought it might have made Ryuken nervous, because he shifted his weight, struggling to keep still. Ichigo pretended he didn’t notice. “The Gods have a sneaky way of imposing their will. A desire, a stray thought, an impulse.”   “You say you’ve done what you could, so why are you still here?”   A sad smile crossed Ichigo's face, his eyes still trained on the burn of Ishida’s life. “Slumbering or not, die Konigin is possessive.” He looked up at Ryuken. “I feel compelled to stay.”   “You have no reason to.”   The quincy was watching him like he had a loaded gun to his son’s head. That wasn’t unreasonable. “I understand you fear me,” Ichigo said, “and I understand you don’t want me near your son, but this isn’t easy for me.”   “What isn’t?”   Heavy doubt. Ichigo’s smile was small, but more genuine. “Turning a blind eye. His life is mine.” His eyes snapped back to Ryuken’s. “As is yours.” It wasn’t a threat, but Ryuken stiffened, taking it that way. There wasn’t anything Ichigo could do about that. He looked back down at Ishida. “But his connection to die Konigin is stronger, more visceral. It’s hard to let go.”   He stood, crossing the distance to Ryuken in swift strides. “Take him.” Ryuken was quick to listen, as if worried Ichigo might change his mind. It was a valid worry. Ichigo put distance between them at a speed that startled the quincy. From the corner of the room, Ichigo asked, “The other quincy sought him out?”   “Yes.”   “And?”   “Ishida ignored them. Much to their irritation.”   Ichigo dipped his head in a nod. “Did he say why?”   “My son isn’t stupid, he couldn’t do what they asked of him. Using that thing’s power strained him too much. I don’t think he’s used it since you disappeared.”   “Wise of him,” Ichigo hummed. He tore his eyes from Ishida and said, “If he doesn’t wake up in the next few days, tell me.”   “You don’t keep tabs?”   “I try to afford people privacy.”   Ryuken snorted under his breath. “Do you?”   Ichigo sighed with the long-suffering patience of knowing mistrust. “Do you want me to tell you I can find you anywhere you go, that I can feel your heartbeat from a different plane of reality? It rarely makes people feel better to know.”   Ryuken seemed a shade paler. “But it’s the truth?”   “If I concentrate, if I want to find you, I will.”   The quincy struggled to take his eyes off of him to look at his son, unnerved by what he saw, or rather, what he didn’t see. “You’re right, I don’t feel better.”   Ichigo took a small step back, alluding to the fact he was going to leave. He came and went too quickly for anyone to notice, he was trying to be courteous. It paid off when Ryuken stopped him. “ Wait . How do I contact you if he won’t wake up?”   For a moment, Ichigo was going to tell him to call Kisuke, but he realized he hadn’t talked to the man yet. That would be awkward if he wasn’t welcome. There were any number of ways to get his attention, but they weren’t tangible nor reassuring. He hesitated, then lifted a hand, crafting das licht into a coin not unlike the one he’d made for Grimmjow. Now nothing more than a pretty keepsake, Grimmjow held onto it with a single minded focus he couldn’t blame him for one bit.   This coin was white, not too unlike what Adaliz had crafted for her conduits. The face of this coin was blank, and as he rubbed his thumb over it, it formed into scales. Something to give it meaning, to reassure the holder it wasn’t useless. He set it on Ishida’s night stand and said, “Put your power into it, and I’ll come.” He thought to clarify, adding, “For any reason.”   He turned, but Ryuken stopped him again. “No apologies?”   Ichigo turned back to regard him and his unconscious son. He felt guilt, but it would never show on his face. He tilted his head and asked, “Would it help?” “No.”   “There you have it.” He left before Ryuken could talk more, because he didn’t really want to hear it. Couldn’t hear it.   He appeared a small ways away from Grimmjow. He was simply waiting; anxiously, if the stargazing was anything to go by. He kicked his legs to sit up from his sprawl, giving him a thorough once over. The silent question hung between them, and Ichigo took up a seat beside him on the sand while he decided if he wanted to answer.   “Ryuken is afraid. I don’t blame him, but his reasons give me pause.”   “Can’t imagine that bastard would voice his reasons. How do you know?”   “His questions.” Ichigo wrung his hands, but it wasn’t an anxious move, he just needed to feel something solid, even if it was his own hand. Grimmjow noticed, slipping his hand between his own. Ichigo squeezed, carefully, grateful. “Am I too distant?”   Grimmjow looked away, and when a moment passed, Ichigo knew he was taking his question seriously. Very seriously.    “You’ve always been distant, Kurosaki. Always. I think the only person, if you can call him a person, that really understands you, is Zangetsu. I know more than most, but there’s still a lot you keep from me.” He glanced at him before Ichigo could find offense. “Habits. I do it too, it’s normal to keep secrets, to hide pieces of ourselves so we don’t get hurt.”   Grimmjow’s eyes fell to their hands. “Yeah, you’re distant. It’s hard to remember you were ever human, especially now, and that scares people, but you can’t help what you are. Let us be scared, Kurosaki, you can’t do more than what you’re already doing. You could be the terrifying tyrant you think you’ll become, but I don’t think it’ll happen. Don’t break yourself trying to reassure the world that you won’t.”   “Couldn’t I do more?”   “Like what?” Grimmjow growled. “Kill yourself? Again? You do enough.”   “Can’t help that it feels like an excuse.”   Grimmjow left his hand trapped in Ichigo’s and stood just to sit in front of him, face to face. “If anyone on this god-forsaken planet doesn’t make excuses it’s you, so shut the fuck up.” His tone was less scathing than usual, but had no less force behind it.    Ichigo gave him a tiny smile. “Sure, I’ll take your word for it.”   “You should.” Grimmjow changed the subject, and his grip on Ichigo’s hand, claws teasing the underside of his wrist. “How’s the kid?”   “Hanging on. If I was asleep for any longer…”   “Don’t think about it like that,” He snapped, tone too hurried not to have taken that statement to heart. “You weren’t, he’s fine.”   Ichigo followed Grimmjow’s path his claws scraped with his eyes, and Grimmjow froze, catching himself. His claws had carved bloody trenches between tendons, and Ichigo was slow to let it heal. He hadn’t been here and Grimmjow wasn’t okay, they both knew it. Ichigo whispered, “Sorry.”   Grimmjow exhaled in a tight sigh and let the apology go. “Did you intend to help him before you saw him?”   It would have been easy to lie, because Ichigo preferred the lie to the truth. “I don’t think so,” he admitted. “I’m still not immune to the influence of the Gods. Their influence runs just as deep as it did before, but now it’s…subtle.”   Grimmjow’s eyes narrowed and his grip tightened on his wrist. Ichigo watched his blood well around his claws, but it didn’t spill onto the sand, it sank back into him. Grimmjow dug his claws deeper, grating against bone and pushing aside tendons. Then blood dripped to the sand in a small rain, and Grimmjow’s focus fell to the blood, removed but consuming. He might as well be leagues away.   The pain was present, but distant, and therefore easy to discount. Ichigo’s eyes never left Grimmjow’s, narrowed blue so stark against black. His hair was messy, mostly in his face, and he looked tired. Exhausted.    Prodding his hollow, Zangetsu appeared behind Grimmjow, slipping his arms around him, one resting on the hand slicing deep into Ichigo’s own.   Grimmjow blinked, but stared at the blood slicking Ichigo’s skin with shallowly concealed interest and distress.    His hollow spoke low and slow, like easing a tightly wound animal. “What aren’t you telling us, koneko?”   He sounded hoarse, lying. “Who says I’ve got anything to tell?”   Ichigo looked at him, brows furrowed, and finally understood. He swiped his hand over his face and whispered aggresively, “ Fuck …how did I not notice?”   Eyes torn from the blood he’d drawn, Grimmjow’s attention snapped up in distress. “What do you mean?”   Zangetsu understood when he had, and they both wondered how it had taken so damn long. “Don’t play dumb, Grimmjow. I’m so close to you, I didn’t see it.” Grimmjow leaned back as if to run, looking trapped, but Zangetsu pressed close to his back, holding him still.    Ichigo voiced aloud what they both already knew, not allowing it to fall between the cracks. “While I slept, Alteza turned to you as a host. It’s why we’re so drawn to each other, so volatile when we touch. There can’t be two.”   From the defeated look on Grimmjow’s face, he wasn’t supposed to find out. At least not right then. Ichigo reached for him with both hands, holding his mask too firmly for Grimmjow to wiggle out from Zangetsu’s grip. “Now you have to tell me, Grimmjow. The truth.”   Zangetsu had his arms around Grimmjow’s middle, laced over his hollow hole, forehead pressed to his upper back. Grimmjow squirmed, one hand lifting to pry Ichigo’s hand from his mask, the other wrapped around one of Zangetsu’s wrists. “You weren’t supposed to know.”   “Why?” The question came out louder than Ichigo had intended.   “Do I need to pick a reason?”   “You couldn’t hide that from me, not for long, why try?” Ichigo demanded.   “For a few days without guilt, or pity? Do I need more reasons?” Grimmjow sounded desperate, he had the wild eyes of a trapped animal, and that wasn’t what Ichigo wanted at all.    “I know,” Ichigo soothed, “I understand.”   “I know you do,” Grimmjow snapped.   Ichigo’s voice was even softer. “Tell me.” —xxx—   3 years and 4 months ago Grimmjow   No matter his grief, he could only spend so much time alone in the dark waiting for Kurosaki to wake. Time passed and Kurosaki was always as he’d left him. Hair spread out in a halo on blackened sand, he looked dead. Dead. Gone, still, unmoving.   What stopped the fear from gaining traction was the terror that crawled up his spine in Kurosaki’s presence. He felt alive, his instincts reacted as if he were. He felt dangerous and Grimmjow trusted his instincts.   That truth didn’t help him now. He was tired, restless, bloodthirsty; the list went on, and no answer was a good one. He knew from Kurosaki himself that his proximity to Alteza put his instincts in overdrive, but he didn’t think the whispers and darkness would be so…tempting.    Harribel knew Kurosaki wasn’t coming back anytime soon, and had carried on as if he didn’t exist. Smart, but Grimmjow couldn’t do that. Kurosaki haunted his nightmares, his heart, his very soul. There was no peace, no escape.   The proof reared its head on his fifth attempt at making an arrancar. Normally it was a success and this time it technically was. But Grimmjow had felt her heart, what made her move and feel and exist, and was repulsed. He hadn’t understood when Kurosaki had killed his own creation, ripping its throat out with careless claws.   Now he understood. He knew her, her motivations, her joy in death and suffering, and it made him sick. He tore her to pieces, arrancar or not. It was so easy, her tendons ripped like cloth, bones snapping like twigs. He enjoyed it, the blood soaking him from head to toe was proof of that.    There was nothing left but a mangled pile of meat, and it still wasn’t enough. He pulled his hands from the bloody mess of brain and blood and bone, and the arrancar around him shifted into the walls, damn near pissing themselves.    It must have been a few minutes at most. The blood was still spreading. It touched his feet, and he took a step away in disgust. He looked at his hands, soaked in it, sticky and warm.    He was no stranger to death, to blood and gore and the ugly nature of it all. This was a shock. This wasn’t his choice . He curled his hands into fists, eyes snapping to the arrancar that called his name.   Who? He narrowed his eyes, hunting for a name to go with her face. Loli. He knew her. The bitch Kurosaki should have killed, that was it. The girl that mourned Aizen.   He pretended that loss of control hadn’t happened, that he wasn’t about to lose his shit and scream and scream and scream.   “She deserved it.”   His voice sounded rough even to him. Like he had been screaming.   He wiped his arm over his face, feeling the blood dipping from his cheek. He felt he’d made the mess worse. He was drenched, it was all he could smell. Bloodbloodlbood. It felt right, righteous . He didn’t want to stop. He wanted to devour every arrancar in that room.   They must have sensed it, because the fear was thick enough to bite, to strangle like a living thing. He wanted to hunt, chase, kill.   No.   No.   This wasn’t him, these desires weren’t his own, and he should have known. Should know.   He growled, “Get out.”   The arrancar didn’t need more of an invitation. They tripped over themselves to scramble away and they didn’t stop running. The distance was nothing. Pathetic. He wanted to give chase and eviscerate them. He’d feel better, and who could judge him?   Nobody. Nobody alive could hold him to trial, but he paused.   Kurosaki.   He would care, he would know and he would judge. Would he find him wanting? Lesser?    He collapsed in a puddle of blood, arms wrapped around his head. The whispers were loud. Growing, growing, and vicious. He dug his claws into his head, holding himself like it would keep the whispers out.    Who knew how long he might have stayed that way if he hadn’t been interrupted. Nel's voice cut through the whispers with ease, bright and full of life she had no right to have.    “Grimmjow?”   He looked at her, panting, like the air was thin and he couldn’t get enough of it.   She moved slowly. Smart of her. She settled onto the ground, legs crossed. She wouldn’t be able to run like that, couldn’t flee, couldn’t escape. She must have known, because she wasn’t devoid of fear, it was a bitter bite in her scent, clouding her normal confidence in a way he hadn’t thought possible. She spoke slowly, cautiously. “This happened to Kurosaki too, didn’t it?”   He didn’t respond, and shockingly, she broke eye contact, looking at the wall. “I remember. Harribel confronted him, but in the end, it was you. You pulled him back.”   Grimmjow tightened his jaw, scowling at the opposite wall, ignoring the gore before him.   She spoke softly, “I can’t be that for you, but he isn’t here.” By the time she finished, her voice was nearly nonexistent. It was hard to hate her for the truth. He wasn’t there, and he wasn’t coming. He was alone.   His hand slapped to his face, and he grit his teeth through a scream he wouldn’t let loose. He hated the loss of control, the slipping reality.    Her voice fell flat in the empty room. “She deserved it? Tell me why.”   It wasn’t a confrontational question, but a soothing one. One asked by someone that truly wanted to know.   He spilled his guts in bits and pieces. He couldn’t keep it in without assimilating it into who he was. He wasn’t her. He wasn’t. He didn’t cause suffering for the sake of it. He wasn’t a monster. Not like this.    Nel listened in silence to the words, short and choppy, with little to no context, but she listened. She shared the burden.   It was hours before she dared to move, straightening to pace over, extending a hand down to him.    By then the blood was dry, tightening his skin and soaking him from head to toe with the reek of death and fear. He took her hand without comment, and she went with him to get cleaned up. It was pathetic, that was what the hollow in him said. He could have used la sangre to devour the blood, it would have been so easy, but he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t willingly reach for it when he was struggling so badly to recoil from it.    He was Grimmjow. He was himself, he knew who he was.   Neliel didn’t judge him for his silence, for his pain. She was silent company for something he thought he wanted to suffer alone. She didn’t judge him, or pity him. She was simply there.    She couldn’t replace Ichigo. Never. But she was there, and she saw him fall, saw him crumble beneath a weight he hadn’t understood until Ichigo wasn’t there to bear it.   He fell.   —xxx—   Szayel didn’t take Kurosaki’s absence well.   In fact, he went fucking ballistic. Not quickly, not in a way anyone wanted to notice. Slowly, the arrancar withdrew, until Harribel was sending Grimmjow to check on him. Of course, she sent him. He wouldn’t die. He wouldn’t disappear and reemerge a freak, when they reappeared at all.    He found the lab dark, but his eyes adjusted to all darkness with ease. He saw several dead hollows piled in the corner, smelled heaps of blood, even if he didn’t see any, and saw no trace of Szayel. He closed his eyes, focusing on la sangre, seeking those tied to its darkness, and found him.    Beneath.   He looked down, then with a tug on la sangre, was below the level he stood on, several levels down actually.    It was even darker, but his eyes adjusted easily. Unnatural with the ease of it, but not in how he felt about it. The dark felt like home, safe, comforting. He found the arrancar crouched in the darkness, pulling fragments off of a fallen hollow’s mask, one shattered shard at a time. The hollow twitched with each fragment stolen, but made no sound, a living corpse.    Grimmjow got the arrancar’s attention with a crude greeting. “Bitch.”   Szayel looked up beneath hanks of dirty, greasy hair, and said nothing.   “Harribel wants to talk to you.”   The arrancar ignored him and went back to removing broken shards of mask, but this time he muttered. “Says the perfect, changed hollow.” He hissed beneath his breath. “ Different . Not one of us.”   “How would you know,” Grimmjow hissed.    Szayel surged forward and Grimmjow caught him with ease with a hand around his throat, throwing him into a wall. The arrancar threw his hands up, as if in surrender, and smiled wide, the white showing around his eyes in manic glee. “You’re special, you’re like him, like the first.”   “Crazy bastard,” Grimmjow hissed. “Is being a conduit not enough?”   In the dark, pink hair looked sickening. Szayel pushed up on his hand, gripping his wrist with a wide-eyed smile. “I can see it. You’re like him. You are complete.”   Grimmjow tightened his grip, forcing the smile off his face with pain and a lack of air to breathe. His drool wet his hand, making his grip slippery. “Trade then.”   It would have been easy to kill him. Easy, like flipping the bottle cap off a soda.   Kurosaki hadn’t wanted that. He hadn’t wanted more death.   He pried his fingers from his throat, damp with fear-sweat, drool and blood. He grimaced, watching the hacking, gasping arrancar collapse at his feet. He left and refused to call it fleeing. He ran to the darkness, the silence, to Kurosaki’s still silhouette on the sand, and he screamed.   ---xxx---   present Kurosaki   Grimmjow spoke with halting pauses, long stretches of silence between words that mattered, and Kurosaki was patient. He spoke of Neliel, of Szaeyel, of pain and rage and violence and the fear he didn’t know who he was. Ichigo knew that fear well, his heart ached to hear it from Grimmjow.    He listened with no interruption until Grimmjow stopped speaking. Only then did he reach for him, slowly, cautiously at first, to be sure it was welcome. Grimmjow leaned into his touch, so Ichigo reeled him into an embrace. From his angle the hug was awkward, encircling his neck and head, mussing his hair.   Grimmjow said nothing, he barely breathed, but his embrace was returned hard enough any human would have been begging for mercy. His fingers dug into his sleeves, his teeth grit tight, and Ichigo felt the turmoil in his heart.    He’d missed much. Things Grimmjow hadn’t wanted to burden him with. He had no apology good enough, because there was nothing he could have changed, no future either of them could have shared to avoid this.   Grimmjow held him tight, head pressed to his chest with no sign of letting go, and Ichigo let him. It was always awkward with most of his chest simply gone, he didn’t think either of them were used to it. It was as uncomfortably unfamiliar as affection. Neither came by it easily, it always seemed to come hand in hand with pain.   He ran his fingers through his hair, petting and teasing tangled strands. Grimmjow wrapped his arms around his head and shoulders and let his tension slip, sliding steadily into a comfortable state of trust. Nothing mattered but the press of Grimmjow’s temple against his collarbone, his breath hot on his skin.    Zangetsu’s hand fell to the back of his neck, tangling his hair above the collar of his kosode. It was a loose comfort, a reminder he was there. This was something Ichigo alone understood, felt, but now Ichigo understood Zangetsu’s helplessness. He couldn’t fix this, but he could be there.    “Not trusting yourself is…”   Ichigo let out a harsh sigh. “I know.” Not knowing why he’d done something, or known something, it was a quiet terror he still didn’t know how to fight.    “I don’t know why I hurt you,” Grimmjow said. Ichigo could hear his teeth grit in his tone. “ Fuck .”   Reasons were everything when you couldn’t trust that they were your own. Ichigo moved his hand from the back of Grimmjow’s head to his mask, following the valleys of rough, blackened teeth. He was a predator cursed with the heart to question why he killed, and it was his fault that he had to. Ichigo said, “I won’t let it happen again.”   “You can’t promise that.”   Ichigo tightened his grip on Grimmjow, pushing him to his back. Grimmjow didn’t fight him, he just looked…tired. Ichigo knew it wasn’t all his fault, that would be his ego claiming credit for things he’d merely set into motion. He also realized his confidence wasn’t misplaced, tilting his head to regard the darkness in Grimmjow’s soul. “I can,” he asserted. He dipped down, hands smoothing up the underside of Grimmjow’s wrists to trap his hands against the sands, his palms calloused beneath his own. He kissed him, light, chaste, holding back the insane urge to bite. He knew Grimmjow felt it too, he licked his lips when he pulled back.   “What am I?” Ichigo asked, the question gently chiding, leading Grimmjow to the answer he already knew.   The doubt on Grimmjow’s face started to be replaced with something closer to hope. “Godeater,” he whispered.   The smile on Ichigo’s face didn’t feel reassuring, it felt wicked and right. “For better or worse.” He kissed him again, deeper, but this time he took . He felt for the darkness he knew he would find mixed into his soul, the vestiges of Alteza that he recognized in himself, but he only took those pieces too close to the surface. Silky threads of influence he knew Shinigami would never have the nuance to devour without his own desire there to shape what he wanted. Alteza needed to remain in Grimm, he couldn’t take it all, or even a lot, not without leaving his soul broken and barren.    He felt Grimmjow tense beneath his kiss then turn away, breathing hard. That left his mask within easy reach, so Ichigo kissed the fragment instead. He asked, “Hurts?”   “Feels…strange.” Ichigo leaned back enough to look at him, waiting for more. Grimmjow tried harder to explain. “Possessive, invasive. It’s strange . Like you’re pulling thoughts from my head.”   “Not an inaccurate way to describe it,” Ichigo said. He promised himself he’d be honest, so he gave his impulses a voice. “It’s delicate work. Shinigami isn’t suited to it.” He turned Grimmjow’s attention back to him with a hand on his cheek. Grimmjow’s eyes on him were questioning, maybe even a little fearful.    Ichigo held him by the throat, gentle, and mused, “I don’t think I’m suited to it either, but I need you alive.” He tightened his grip only a fraction and hissed, “ Need it , and you’re mine, inside and out. Alteza doesn’t use you, can’t have you. It makes you, nothing more and nothing less.”   Grimmjow was very still, swallowing beneath his hand. “Talking crazy, Kurosaki.”   Shinigami spoke in the back of his mind. “You understand, that is not insanity.”   If the monster was agreeing with him, maybe he should be concerned. He couldn’t find it in him to be worried. He laughed and it felt more like an angry sob. Zangetsu didn’t interfere, but he felt him nearby, watching. “I killed a lot of people to keep you alive, I won’t hurt you.”   Grimmjow’s brows fell, almost in disappointment. “I’m not scared of you, Ichigo.”   “Then you’re stupid. A stray thought could kill you.” He bared his teeth and dropped his head to Grimmjow’s. “Alteza doesn’t own you, I do. I do.”     He felt Grimmjow’s hands in his hair, a soothing touch, but a careful one. “Yeah, you scary bastard, I’m yours.”   Ichigo couldn’t bring himself to pull away. He liked being close to him, the simmer of power in his skin so similar to his own. Not alone, he wouldn’t be alone, and the Gods wouldn’t take from him again. He felt a glimmer of self-awareness and murmured, “I can devour the overreach of a God in you, but maybe it comes with a cost.”   “What cost?” Grimmjow asked.   “Holding back. Finding a reason to let it go. I’m one more step away from what I used to be. I like it, it feels right ,” he sighed under the rising tide of power he didn’t think had limits.   “Then don’t do it. I’ll be fine.”   Ichigo laughed, leaning away from his touch even if it was the last thing he wanted to do. He put gentle emphasis on his words. “ You will.” He pushed his hair out of his face over his shoulder, a gesture based in habit rather than any conscious will. He stood, pacing to be rid of some of his anxiety. It didn’t seem to help, the simmering desire in his core only growing. He stopped when Zangetsu appeared in his path, meeting him evenly.   “It’s been one day,” Ichigo whispered. “One in millions.” And his need to destroy was clawing, it bore down on him with an intensity that would terrify anyone who knew.    “It is your nature,” Shinigami whispered.   “Yours,” Ichigo hissed.   “Ours.”   His eyes slipped back to Grimmjow. He was on his feet, balanced like a cat ready to flee. He was watching him with concern and a little fear. Ichigo’s eyes fell back to Zangetsu. His hollow knew his heart inside and out, he’d understand why. “Stay with him.”    He left, sending himself to a place Grimmjow couldn’t follow.    He went to the outer worlds, a place that shouldn’t exist, reality outside of time, and lashed out at the infinite dark with a scream that had no voice. It wasn’t a scream of rage, he didn’t know what he felt, if he could call it feeling at all. This place existed outside of everything, and here he wasn’t himself. He thought that should terrify him, to look and see not a hand, but pure, hungry energy. It didn’t, it only solidified to him that he didn’t know who he was.    He hoped he knew, he clung to it with everything he had. —xxx—   Grimmjow   Kurosaki left, and the panic he might not come back tightened his throat and chest in a painful squeeze. He grabbed Zangetsu by the front of his kosode and yanked the impassive hollow in close. “What the fuck was that?”   “Identity crisis,” Zangetsu said. It almost sounded sarcastic, but the look in his eyes was deadly serious. He looked…pained. Grimmjow didn’t usually see so much emotion on his face, he thought Zangetsu might have let the front slip for his sake.   “Is he…” Okay? Sane? He couldn’t think of a way to finish that sentence in a way he wanted answered, but Zangetsu answered anyway.   “No.”   The squeeze in his chest became a painful vice. Grimmjow’s grip on Zangetsu loosened now that he was sure this wasn’t going to be just one more thing hidden from him. “Did I do this?” His voice sounded quiet, even to him.   The look on Zangetsu face softened. “No, koneko.” He lifted his hand to cover his fist, uncharacteristically reassuring. “I think you helped. You might have kept it at bay until now.”   The ever-looming, unnamed ‘it’. “Kept what at bay?”   “Instinct,” Zangetsu said. He didn’t sound happy, he looked like he might be sick. Whatever he was feeling from Kurosaki must have been something else. “His desire to keep you safe borders on insanity. You give him clarity in a mess of power he doesn’t know what to do with.”   “I’m not the only one that cares about him, why does it hinge on me?”   Zangetsu smiled, and it had a ghost of the mania he’d seen on Kurosaki only moments before. “You keep asking, and our answer will never change. You know violence, and now you know the Gods. You understand. No one else can say half as much.”   He did understand, but it still didn’t feel right that Kurosaki’s sanity would hinge on him .   Zangetsu uncurled his hand from the front of his kosode. “If his sisters were killed, he wouldn’t kill people to cross timelines and put their soul into their own corpse.”   Grimmjow’s expression twisted, swaying back with an uncomfortable twist in his guts. “You don’t pull punches do you?”   “You’re here , in spite of it all. You deserve the truth.”    Here, despite and in spite of everything, even when he was given his chance to run and never look back.   Grimmjow looked away, reaching for his own sword for once. He ran his fingers over the hilt, squeezing hard. Thanks to Kurosaki, he didn’t feel that alien rush of instinct and impulse he knew wasn’t his own. He didn’t feel that unnatural pressure towards violence and blood. Not at the moment.    Kurosaki really had taken it from him; Eaten the parts of the darkness in him that whispered too loudly. He didn’t understand how, but he had, and it was infuriating that Kurosaki couldn’t help himself.    All he felt was himself, his own sorry soul muddled with Kurosaki’s own at the edges of his mind. He felt the godling in dreams and phantom pain, but Grimmjow knew he was more himself than he’d been in years.    He was afraid, and it was all his, but there was nothing to kill or tear down to fix it. His fear wasn’t for himself, but for what he might lose. “He’s coming back, right?”   “He didn’t want to hurt anyone. He’ll be back.” Zangetsu answered with confidence that Grimmjow knew was real. He knew what Kurosaki looked like when he lied, and after suffering more than a few lies, he knew Zangetsu. This was real.   “What can we do,” Grimmjow asked.    “Wait,” Zangetsu said. His tone was deceptively impassive, but the concern was present in tense shoulders and wired reflexes. Kurosaki’s hollow sat like a graceful cat, then laid back with his hands behind his head to look at the stars, if that’s even what they were.    Grimmjow sat beside him because he didn’t know what else to do. More than a few moments passed with nothing but shifting sand and silence. “I wanna know what he’s feeling,” Grimmjow insisted. “Tell me.”   “No.”   “I’m not some fainting flower. Tell me.”   Zangetsu gave him a pitying look. “Yer not, but there’s no reason to. You already know.”   Brows furrowed, Grimmjow looked away from Zangetsu. He supposed he did know. He’d woken up more than once with an overwhelming sense of helplessness. He loved Kurosaki, but nobody had taken from him as much as he had. He’d taken his heart in his hand and squeezed, he’d made him question his sanity and who he was.    The Gods did the same to Kurosaki. It was a vicious cycle, but Kurosaki took the worst of it and still hadn’t shattered. He did it for him, for his family, the world, and maybe that’s why he still loved him.    He felt a profound sense of dread, and it wasn’t going away anytime soon.   He clenched his teeth so hard it ached and laid on his back, his head on Zangetsu’s stomach. The hollow tolerated it, maybe even liked it. Grimmjow folded his arms over his chest, glaring up at the sky, at the writhing darkness he knew lay beyond their world. It felt petulant to hate something that didn’t even perceive him, not in any conscious way. He hated anyway.    Zangetsu’s hand tangled in his hair, much more gently than he expected. Reassurance for one of them, or both of them, he supposed it didn’t matter much. Grimmjow asked, “This won’t break him, will it?”   For an uncomfortable amount of time, Zangetsu said nothing. Grimmjow worried he wasn’t going to at all, but he finally spoke, and he sounded confident. “Not now.”   Not yet. But it would, eventually. There wouldn’t be cracks, he’d shatter, and he really would be a monster.    ---xxx---   It was hours before they saw Kurosaki again. He appeared with such speed and ease, it was like he’d always been there. He looked at his own hand, palm first, then turned it over, focused on it like he hadn’t expected to find it there. Kurosaki looked deeply unsettled, turning wide eyes on Grimmjow.   Jumping to his feet, Grimmjow stayed put, waiting for Kurosaki to come to him. With someone so dangerous, that was the smart route, and the only considerate one he could give. Kurosaki had tightly wound control, but he wouldn’t push it. Grimmjow asked, “Where’d you go?” Because he clearly wasn’t okay. Asking would only be insulting.   Kurosaki looked between him and his hollow. “I fed the monster.” He didn’t elaborate on how or where. He couldn’t stop staring at his hand, and Grimmjow wondered if he saw something they couldn’t. The godling flexed his fingers, studied claws and spoke while he grounded himself. “I thought it was a hunger that could be sated. I was wrong.”   Struggling to hide the dread in his heart, Grimmjow asked, “How bad is it?”   “It’s…” Kurosaki closed his eyes, disappointment heavy in his voice. “I’m going to do a lot that I’m going to regret.” When he opened his eyes he looked less shaken, more like the cautious, calculating hybrid he knew. He walked up to Grimmjow and made a concerted effort not to touch, Grimmjow saw it behind bright golden eyes.    He looked, long and hard, lingering on everything about him that was different. Grimmjow avoided mirrors, didn’t like them, didn’t like who he saw, didn’t recognize himself, but he knew that’s what Kurosaki was doing. He studied all the parts of himself darkened by Alteza’s touch, all the things Kurosaki had done to him. He just didn’t understand why he did it.   “Nothing’s changed,” Kurosaki said, as if confirming it with himself. “Just my perception of it.” His eyes lifted from Grimmjow’s hands, back to his face, and it seemed to be difficult. “I’m sorry I scared you.”   “I’m not scared of you,” Grimmjow answered on reflex.   “I know.”   Oh. Sometimes Kurosaki read him like a book, but it was also possible he heard it from his own inner spirit. He forgot they were the same person at heart.   “Nothing’s changed,” Kurosaki repeated, sounding a bit more confident. Grimmjow lifted his hand to his face, but let his hand hover there, silently asking permission. Even without touching him, he felt the heat radiating from his skin.    Kurosaki let out an annoyed sigh and closed the distance between them. His palm pressed lightly against his cheek. He was hot, really hot, like the light that burned behind his eyes was the impossible heat of a star. He was so still, Grimmjow could be fooled into thinking he’d be cold, but that was never true. He traced the dark swath of the stripe on his cheek, following it to his neck. “Your hollow says I’m helping, but I’m not doing anything.”   Kurosaki growled in the back of his throat and leaned in to steal a kiss. It was rough, his tongue burned where he touched, his lips tingling with the loss of power when he pulled back. “I told you, nothing’s changed. You’ve always been my anchor.” His eyes lost focus, looking into him. “I see more than I ever did, but you’re still you. You help.”   “If you say so.”   Kurosaki quirked a grin that was almost believable. He waved a hand and said dramatically, “I have spoken.”   Grimmjow rolled his eyes, startled by a quiet snort behind his right shoulder. He hadn’t realized how close the hollow was.   Zangetsu raised a brow. “Getting sloppy, koneko?”   “I dunno,” Grimmjow snapped as he turned around, incredulous, “Are you a threat?”   The smile on the hollow's face was lazy. “Aww that’s cute, you trust me.”   Grimmjow narrowed his eyes. “I’m not cute.”   The hollow ruffled his hair and Grimmjow snapped his teeth at his hand. His teeth clicked shut on air. Zangetsu's laughter was bodiless for an instant, reappearing behind his wielder. Even amused, the pair cut a threatening silhouette.    He was used to seeing them together, but Zangetsu didn’t often stay so close to Kurosaki when he wasn’t guarding him or someone else…or less than innocent activities. Kurosaki’s hollow remained at his back, just as much his shadow as Grimmjow knew he himself was.    Raking a hand through his hair, Grimmjow muttered, “That’s enough grim conversation for one day, what do you wanna do ? You don’t have to eat, sleep, or babysit me, there’s gotta be something ?”   Kurosaki stared for a long moment, then tilted his head a fraction. That innocent action looked just as terrifying as it always did. Kurosaki admitted. “I can finally do whatever I want, and I have no idea what I want.”   Grimmjow chuckled airly. “Most people keep a mental list.” It was sort of sad though. It meant Kurosaki hadn’t expected to be able to ever use that list. “If you’ve got nothing, I’ll ask some questions.”   “What kind?”   “Leading ones,” Grimmjow said. “Do you feel like seeing other people?”   Kurosaki smirked. “I’m so boring you’re breaking up with me? Wow.”   “You know what I mean,” Grimmjow scoffed, “But for someone with limitless power you are kind of boring.”   Kurosaki’s lips twitched into a small pout, which looked ridiculous on him. “You wound me.” He answered him seriously. “You’re the most I can manage right now.”   He didn’t elaborate on what that meant, Grimmjow could only guess. He asked, “High activity or low?”   “High.”   Quick answer, which was really what decided it. “Spar with me, then. I know I’m embarrassingly unchallenging, but I miss it.”   Kurosaki smiled slow and genuine. “I missed it too.” He tilted his head at Zangetsu standing just behind him. “Fight together with Zangetsu, we’ve never really done that before.” He drew the sword on his back, the wrap spiraling loose with a thought. “I won’t use any power, it’ll be…” He fought for the word. “More fair.”    Because it would never be fair. Kurosaki’s last chance at a fair fight died with him five years ago in soul society. But maybe it could be fun?   Zangetsu was suddenly beside him again on his left, leaving him open to draw. His presence was unusual beside him, no matter whether the hollow had been all over him only hours ago. The hollow was always confronting or stalking him, it was rare, if ever, he’d ever stood there to support him.    Either he read his mind or his posture because Zangetsu spoke the sentiment aloud. “I ain’t used to it either.” He drew his own sword, the mirror of what Kurosaki carried in white and black.    Drawing Pantera, Grimmjow jumped straight into his segunda etapa. Blue reiatsu spread over the dunes like tongues of fire, flickering out into hungry swirls of power. To any hollow it might look impressive, but he’d seen Kurosaki devour Gods and destroy entire chunks of the world. It was a pretty lightshow, and he’d come to terms with the gap in their power. He didn’t like it, but he accepted it.  He sank into a comfortable crouch, tails flicking idly behind him.    It was a slower start than their usual; Grimmjow knew Kurosaki was barely comfortable in his own skin, let alone having a solid grasp on his limits. So he waited for Kurosaki to move first.   Move, he did.   So quickly, instinct couldn’t even flinch in time to see Zangetsu gripping Kurosaki hard by the hand, stopping his wielder's claws short of a pale throat. “Dial it in, aibou,” he said softly.    For a second, annoyance flashed across Kurosaki’s face. Either because he had misjudged or he had to hold back at all. If he was testing himself against his hollow first, he must really be uncertain. Grimmjow didn’t get to contemplate before Kurosaki was holding his sword out to Grimmjow point first. He gestured with it minutely. “Touch the edge.”   Grimmjow scowled at him from his crouch.   “Safety first,” Zangetsu drawled.   “Oh for fucks sake,” Grimmjow grumbled. He straightened, raising a claw to the sharpened edge of the sword. He hesitated, nervous despite his bluster. He tapped it, and the ringing tink of a claw against steel was strangely quiet compared to the jolt he felt flash through his own power. It wasn’t unlike kissing him, and from the sudden draining of Kurosaki’s tension, he wondered how badly that could have gone.   It didn’t seem to matter how well it went, because Kurosaki spun his sword in hand and stabbed one into the ground, dropping the second. They wedged into the sand and Kurosaki said, “Easier this way. You fight unarmed in this form anyway.”   Grimmjow bared his teeth in a grimace. “I hate getting the kid gloves.”   “Stop whining and fight me.”   Grimmjow lurched forward, swiping with claws and reiatsu, and Kurosaki spun out of reach with the calculated grace of something unreal. He moved into Grimmjow’s blind spot, hand outstretched, and Grimmjow caught his wrist, surprised that Kurosaki had adapted to a speed he could react to in one move. He was good, the best, and it was always a pleasure to witness.    Pulling Kurosaki by the wrist, his other hand shot out for his throat. Kurosaki dipped his head, blocking with an angled horn, his own hand finding Grimmjow’s throat instead. Grimmjow froze, Kurosaki’s palm tight but not restrictive. His tails flicked and he bared his teeth in a snarl.   He had already forgotten Zangetsu was there, he was startled to see the hollow’s sword appear over his shoulder, resting against the hollow of Ichigo’s throat. Kurosaki let Grimmjow go, taking a swift step backwards.    Grimmjow moved first, snapping and snarling. Zangetsu got into Kurosaki’s blind side, corralling him towards Grimmjow’s claws with a wall of steel. It was distracting to watch how effortlessly Kurosaki seemed to deflect their attacks. It was beautiful to witness, and through the entire exchange, Kurosaki levied no attacks of his own.   Kurosaki left his back open to Zangetsu’s attacks, focusing more on Grimmjow. He briefly wondered why, but their exchange was too quick to think of much at all. His reactions were instinct alone, there was no discipline, and in return Kurosaki did the same. Dark hair followed his actions and obscured his silhouette like shadows, making him difficult to read.    The smile that stretched Grimmjow’s face was mirrored by Kurosaki and his double. He snapped his teeth at Kurosaki any chance he got, and to his surprise and joy, so did Kurosaki. He should have gotten a handful of his kosode, but the bastard fled, moving through la sangre so he’d have a glimmer of a hope in hell of following. It was easier to give chase when his reflexes were bound tighter than a bowstring. Grimmjow chased, Zangetsu getting a grip on a tail to get pulled along with him. He squinted into blinding sunlight and skid to a halt in the sand. He hissed, “For fucks sake, where are we?!”   “Distracting, isn’t it?” Ichigo purred, suddenly very close. Grimmjow blinked rapidly and found Kurosaki’s claws less than an inch from his throat, his silhouette nothing but a wavy shadow in the light.   “Cheater,” he snarled.    Instead of humoring him with an argument, Kurosaki answered his question. “The Sahara. If I was going to cheat I’d have lured you into the snow.” He skipped backward when Grimmjow swiped at his face, putting a hundred paces between them with a single step.    Rising heat made his outline ripple against a bright, cloudless backdrop. Even in blinding sunlight, the light seemed to shy away from him. If the glare bothered the godling at all, Grimmjow thought he hid it well. Kurosaki watched him with the same wide-eyed intensity as he had in the dark.  It was hot , the sun sank into dark fur and made him consider curling up for a nap. The only desert he’d ever known was hueco mundo and the differences were extreme. He felt the distant screams of die konigin as he always did in the living world, but they were so familiar they were easy to ignore.    He felt Zangetsu's hand on his shoulder, shoving him to the left, a wordless order to circle Kurosaki from both sides. Grimmjow snarled in defiance, but did what the hollow wanted. He flickered into movement, using the steep wall of a dune for leverage to kick off of, closing the distance to Kurosaki in a heartbeat.   Zangetsu gripped his sword with the cloth wrapped around his hand, spinning it in a wall of steel and power that kept Kurosaki from moving back. Kurosaki caught Grimmjow’s attacks head on, the overflow of his reiatsu rushing over the godling like water. He still didn’t attack, merely defended.    One strike put Grimmjow’s arm right through the hole in his chest, and before he could recover, Kurosaki spun, taking his arm with him and jerking Grimmjow’s nose right into the back of his head. That hurt like a bitch, eyes watering, and to his shock, Zangetsu covered him. In that opening where he was stunned, the broad edge of a blade stabbed into the sand, separating Kurosaki from him. Zangetsu fought his wielder with a sudden feral ferocity that kept him focused on the hollow entirely. Smearing blood from his face, Grimmjow picked up the blade and tossed it to Zangetsu. The hollow didn’t need to look to catch it, swinging it down in a move loaded with enough blackened and red reiatsu to cleave apart a mountain. Kurosaki threw up a wall of power at an angle, deflecting most of Zangetsu's attack into the sky. It took a lot of time, relative to the speed he’d been at before. It left an opening for Grimmjow to pounce, teeth sinking into his shoulder above the joint of his armor. He got his claws into his chest and lower back and would have ridden anyone else to the ground. Hands fisted in his hair and fur, tearing him off and whipping him around and onto his back. Grimmjow hit with a winded wheeze, coughing on his own lack of air. The attack left Kurosaki open, Zangetsu’s blades crossed over the back of his neck like a guillotine. In that time, his hair finally caught up to his actions, settling over his shoulders and around his face. Kurosaki sank to a crouch, tension gone, a wild smile on his face. “Good job.”   Grimmjow responded with a cough and choked words, “I think you broke something.”   Zangetsu sheathed his swords, Grimmjow saw the silhouette of them in his shadow, but Kurosaki blocked out most of everything above him. The hybrid’s smile didn’t falter as he agreed. “I did.” He circled around and offered him a hand up. Grimmjow took it with a grimace, pulled to his feet with a bit of a stagger. As far as losing went, Kurosaki had been almost gentle.    The godling rested a hand on his side, the pain spiking for an instant before it was gone entirely. Grimmjow twisted, not so much testing his range of motion or Kurosaki’s handiwork as he was reminding himself there was no pain, there was no need to overcompensate.    “I don’t think that went too badly,” Zangetsu said.   “Did I even break skin?” Grimmjow asked.   Kurosaki blinked at him and tugged at the collar of his kosode to check. “I don’t know, did you?”   “You don’t feel it?”   Kurosaki’s skin seemed unmarked, but it was still a possibility that he’d done some damage and the hybrid hadn’t noticed. He gave up checking and shrugged. “Yes and no. It’s like being too distracted to notice.”   “Dunno if I’m insulted or not,” Grimmjow grumbled.    Kurosaki smiled. “Be flattered. I was distracted by you .”   Grimmjow blinked, and then Kurosaki was on him, hand tight around a furred ear, tugging hard to bare his throat. Grimmjow growled, “Smooth.” His kisses held more teeth than not as he moved from his collarbone to the underside of his jaw and Grimmjow thought to ask, “You gonna behave enough to follow through?”   “Maybe,” Kurosaki hummed. He readjusted his grip, tugging again on his ear, and Grimmjow bared his teeth, yanking his head from his grip. He kissed him on the lips just to bite him, sharp teeth shredding his tongue. It healed, but his blood still burned his lips like capsaicin. Kurosaki cut his legs out from under him, throwing him to his back on warm sand. He was almost indignant, but the heat sank into fur and skin and he changed his mind. Outside of a fight, when he had a minute to consider how he felt, it really did feel good. It sank into his bones and he stretched underneath Kurosaki, tails curling. Kurosaki’s silhouette blocked out the sun and he grinned down at him in amusement. “Comfortable?”   He thought his rumbling growl of contentment was answer enough. Nobody else would catch him making that sound and still live to tell the tale. He asked, “Why here?”   Kurosaki shrugged, but clearly, his indecision was faked. “It’s different. No bad memories.”   That was true, it was a blank slate. Nothing but bright, unforgiving heat. Grimmjow sat up on his elbows, sand burning enough to itch his hierro. “It suits you,” he mused. “If you aren’t going to or can’t follow through, I’m up for round two.”   Kurosaki considered him with a hum that sounded more like a growl. “I’ll take round two regardless.”   “You’re a fucking tease.”   “And you’re a wildcat,” Kurosaki growled. He stole a quick kiss, then disappeared from on top of him. No matter the distance between them, Grimmjow could feel Kurosaki’s eagerness as he sank into an easy crouch.    Zangetsu drew the shorter blade and casually tossed it to him. Grimmjow caught the blade, spinning it in his hand. Outside of a battle, it was easier to feel the thrum of power in the weapon. It felt like Zangetsu, and the eager violence shivering in the blade was as much a comfort as Kurosaki’s claws in his skin.   He gave the hollow a curious look and Zangetsu explained. “Should get used to it.”   “I think I already am.” Zangetsu smiled a rare, real smile. “I meant for me.” He spun the huge blade from his shoulder before him with an arc of dusty sand, like it weighed nothing. “Aibou is right, you’re a wildcat. Your soul will take some getting used to.”   Grimmjow glanced back down at the short blade, feeling the way the ambient power settled around him. It reminded him of Pantera, it was a very real comfort. Pantera didn’t fight him when he needed power, when he wanted reiatsu sharpened claws and fangs. This wasn’t so different. He leaned forward, blade parallel with his forearm, eyes flicking to Kurosaki.   “After you, koneko.” —xxx—   Kurosaki Ichigo   Sparring was always a risk, even more so with the Gods and Shinigami at his back, but it wasn’t something he was willing to give up. Especially not with Grimmjow. He recognized that for a while it had been an outlet for his anxiety, and then it had become an excuse to be close to Grimmjow. Now it was an excuse to admire. Grimmjow was powerful, deadly, he’d made damn sure of that.   Grimmjow sometimes failed to realize how dangerous he could be. He lingered on his failures and shortcomings as often as he himself did. It took a fight that forced him to rely on instinct rather than thought to get him to forget those things.    He fought like an untamed monster, and it always brought a smile to his face. It made it all the more satisfying when he managed to subdue him at all. He and his hollow fought well together, but it was always inevitable that Grimmjow would lose. Ichigo hoped he’d made it worth his while, pushing Grimmjow until his breath sawed from his lungs in desperate gasps.    Ichigo dragged Grimmjow through la sangre, arm twisted back between his shoulders. The motion forced him to his knees and Grimmjow snapped his teeth in irritation, ears flat, struggling for a heartbeat before he stilled, realizing he was good and caught. He panted hard, head quirked to the side, observing their surroundings. “Now where are we?”   “Resort,” Ichigo said. He let Grimmjow go, smoothing a hand up his spine and across strained muscles. Grimmjow’s ears twitched along with the snap of his tail as he straightened, rolling his right shoulder as torn muscle healed. Zangetsu appeared between them and offered some critique. “Trust me next time. Wouldn’t have caught you if you’d let me take the hit.”   Grimmjow let out an annoyed growl. “ I do. Got carried away.” He turned, looking around the open stone patio. “How’d you find this place and fight?” “Don’t feel bad,” Ichigo said. “I kind of already knew about it.”   “It’s fancy,” Grimmjow grunted. A small pool surrounded by palms was just beyond a set of lounge chairs and a bedroom with doors that that stretched from floor to ceiling slid open entirely, leaving the view of the desert completely unhindered. “We stealing it?”   “Unless you’d rather fuck on sandpaper.”   Grimmjow tore his eyes away from the room and got a fistful of his kosode, yanking him into a breathless kiss. “Sounds awful. Why would you even say that?”   Ichigo chuckled, even more amused when Grimmjow got a grip on him, manhandling him to his back on the bed with a burst of sonido. “I’m the one that caught you , yknow?” Ichigo reminded.   “You’re still feelin’ guilty, you’d let me get away with murder right now,” Grimmjow muttered, pulling his clothes off in annoyance.    Ichigo caught his hands, leaving his clothes in disarray. “That’s true on any given day, but I feel like spoiling you.” Grimmjow jerked his hands in his grip, failed to free himself, and hissed like an offended cat.    Ichigo smiled, but it was Zangetsu that voiced the obvious. “Don’t know why you’re wasting your time stripping him when all you’ve gotta do is tell him what you want.”   Grimmjow glanced at Zangetsu, realization dawning on him. He looked down at Ichigo and his expression turned wicked. “All of it. Off.”    Before he complied, Ichigo dropped Grimmjow’s wrists. Power flickered over his skin and left him bare, a flicker of nervous unease always present when he did so. It was getting easier, but it still left his nerves on a hair trigger.    Zangetsu appeared on the bed near the headboard, feet depressing the oversized mattress. He flipped the larger blade around, then stabbed it into the wall. Ichigo craned his neck to inspect the damage with a grimace and Zangetsu scoffed. “If they can afford a pool in the desert, they can afford to fix a wall.” He took the loose fabric that cascaded from the end of the pommel and sat cross legged, holding his hand out for Ichigo’s. Grimmjow was watching with feline interest, but it piqued as he realized what Zangetsu was doing. “That’ll leave your hands free,” he said, an edge of excitement in his voice.    Zangetsu dipped his head in confirmation. “All aibou needs is a reminder.”   Ichigo raised his hands above his head and Zangetsu bound them with the fabric in single-minded ease. Ichigo furrowed his brows up at him. “Did you practice ?” “No, I’m just naturally good at everything.” He tied off the wrap, tight enough to cut off any mortal’s circulation, but it was more than a simple knot. Zangetsu rolled his eyes under the continued scrutiny and relented, “Yeah, I practiced.” He scowled down at Ichigo. “You squirm. I’d have to for this to work at all.”   Grimmjow had a gleam in his eye like he was taking notes. “Always been good at restraining Kurosaki, figures you’d be good at this too.” “Someone has to be,” Zangetsu muttered.   Tugging the binds, Ichigo was pleased to find they weren’t just a suggestion, he’d have to flee or fight to be rid of them, two things he didn’t intend on doing. His attention snapped back to Grimmjow when he sensed the dip in his reiatsu, a telltale sign he was dropping out of segunda etapa. He snapped his knees tight around his waist. “Wait! Stay like this.” From the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips, Grimm was pleased, but he still asked, “Why?”   “You haven’t been on top all..fangy and furry before.”   Grimmjow cocked his head and pressed for more. “That’s it?”   Ichigo sighed and his eyes briefly flicked toward the wall, feigning nonchalance. “Fine, there’s lots of reasons, but I’m losing patience.”   The smile Grimmjow leveled at him was full of sharp-toothed lust. He crawled over him, a hand sliding up and over his ribs so delicately, Ichigo shivered. Grimmjow teased a kiss, but didn’t dip close enough to touch. “Liar,” Grimmjow whispered, a smile settling across his features. Ichigo had already lost the plot, but Grimmjow was there to remind him. “Don’t know anyone else with patience like yours.”   A hiss sharpened Ichigo’s tone. “My longstanding patience doesn’t apply to prolonged affairs.”   “Doesn’t it?” Grimmjow smiled. He closed the distance for a kiss, jaws parted as he pressed his tongue inside, taking control of their kiss with comfortable ease. Ichigo thought Grimmjow enjoyed taking control just as much as he liked to give it up. Familiar fears always hovered, ready to surface, but they were becoming easier to ignore.    He felt his heart pound in his ears, not that he understood how that could be. Not dead, not alive; something new. The sound drowned out the Gods and his own whispered insecurities, grounding and pleasantly mundane.   With that single long and hungry kiss, Grimmjow had his attention. His weight settled between his legs, the warm press of fur soft against his skin. His arrancar might not be as soft as he thought he was, not when pain felt so fuzzy and distant, but at that moment he might as well be covered in down feathers. It was a pleasant contradiction compared to the bite of sharp teeth and the taste of his own blood on his tongue. Grimmjow nipped hard then chased the taste of his soul down his throat, hips moving far too slowly to satisfy their building lust.    Between the two of them, Grimmjow needed to breathe first, panting against his lips. “I’m not gonna lose it this time. I’m not.”   It sounded like he was talking just to remind himself to hold back, which wasn’t a bad idea. Ichigo’s question was genuine. “Does it matter if you do?”   “If I’m too out of it to remember, then yeah, it does.” He nosed along his jaw, breathing his scent deep with a strong roll of his hips.    With new motion, Ichigo realized he could feel the growing swell of his cock against his own. He drew in a sharp breath, legs squeezing his hips tight. “Is that why you’re going so slow?”   “I don’t want to, but I don’t think that’s all me.”   That wasn’t an unreasonable fear. Ichigo admitted, “You’re still a host, I didn’t fix you yet.”   “Thought so,” Grimmjow growled, forcing his hips down hard and slow, face buried against his throat. “I’m having a lot of insane thoughts right now.”    Ichigo groaned under his breath and Grimmjow latched onto the sound, he heard it in the way his breath caught. He repeated the exact same motion in the hopes of hearing it again. Ichigo let a louder groan slip free and couldn’t leave that comment unanswered. “I’ll be the judge of that.”    “No matter how many times I hold you down, I still can’t believe you let me do it.”   Zangetsu answered faster than he could, his voice low and husky. “When you’re everywhere, when you dominate, there’s no way to mistake you for anyone else.”   Grimmjow’s growl was thoughtful as he leaned back, Ichigo could still feel the gust of his breath when his hand tightened around his throat. His palm was lightly furred, warm, strong and full of purpose. His grip kept tightening until his claws scored his skin and raked bloody trails. He squeezed until his breath was cut off and he didn’t relent.     Zangetsu put a voice to what he felt. “We know your hands, your fangs, your power. It’s a comfort in the same way Pantera comforts you.”   Grimmjow didn’t tear his eyes away from Ichigo’s. “I hurt you.”   “I said it was a comfort, but I didn’t say why.” Grimmjow’s eyes flicked up to meet his hollows until he got an answer. “You’re harsh, abrasive, and familiar.”   Blue eyes returned to his own, wide with predatory interest, but tempered by obsession. It was too encompassing to be love, it was a possessive yearning Ichigo knew he felt too.    Lungs screaming and vision starting to blur, Ichigo found it was shockingly easy not to fight, to give in. He blinked through darkening vision, but he felt he was conscious longer than he should be. Then he realized if he thought about it, he didn’t miss the lack of air, it was pain he could deny.    He stared up into blue eyes and heard every word, no matter if they were spoken so quietly. “Anyone else would be halfway to dead and you’re not even fighting.”   And he never would, not against Grimmjow. The instinct to live was still present, but the fear of death wasn’t. It was an unsettling contradiction. One that Grimmjow didn’t hesitate to follow with pleasure. His hips rocked against Ichigo’s, grinding his cock against his own, but the pressure around his throat abruptly stopped, his hand moving from his neck to fist in his hair, forcing him to arch and bare his throat.    It didn’t matter if Grimmjow couldn’t hurt him, his instincts still thrilled at being vulnerable. Ichigo’s voice was smoother than he thought it should be given the pressure that had just been tight around his neck. “I’ll only fight you if you ask, and take the risk if you insist.” He knew he wasn’t lying to Grimmjow or himself about that. He missed the joy of sparring, but it was difficult to hold back, he wouldn’t do it without prompting. That was true for most things those days.    It wasn’t the answer Grimmjow wanted, but he wasn’t surprised by it either. “Only you could make me so pissed off, horny, and insecure at the same time.”   Ichigo winced. “I’ll only claim credit for two of those.”   “Yeah, yeah,” Grimmjow growled . “Heard it before.”   His estigma were dark and jagged swashes beneath his eyes, even in the glow of sunlight bouncing off of white linen. His hair was longer, fuller and much more unruly than his own. Grimmjow was a wild thing, Ichigo didn’t need the added bonus of furred ears and tails to know that. It was in the reflexive bunch of muscle and the bright gleam in his eyes. They weren’t cold and calculating; they burned with a yearning desire for violence.    When Grimmjow looked at him there was more than predatory amusement, but even sharing a soul didn’t make him any easier to read. For an arrancar so insistent he was simple, he was full of complex nuance that kept Ichigo guessing.   Grimmjow’s voice was rough with lust and restrained violence. “Always so careful with me. It’s infuriating.” A smirk flitted across Ichigo’s face. “I can take some frustration.”   “You’d love that, wouldn’t you? Such a selfish martyr,” Grimmjow hissed. His voice was dripping with both derision and pity. “Never did break that habit, did you?”    The baritone growl of his words raced up Ichigo’s spine and promised pain, the anticipation of it tightening his jaw. They’d had their taste of soft words and the comfort of a proximity, but he knew Grimmjow still had the same desire and need for claws, fangs, and force. Ichigo fought Grimmjow’s hold on his hair and leaned forward. “I know what you want. Take it from me.”   —xxx—   Grimmjow   Kurosaki’s voice somehow rang with both an order and a request, the gentle cadence of those words sparking such heat, he knew the meaning struck him harder than he hoped it would have. He ached for Kurosaki’s approval, and he’d just been gifted an open invitation. After he’d nearly come apart at the seams just hours ago, he didn’t expect that. But Kurosaki was at ease.    With how composed he was, Grimmjow nearly second guessed if he’d choked him out at all. The look on his face was too soft for someone that should be unconscious. He looked up at him with so much trust it should have been sickening. He kissed the godling hard and brief, just enough to taste the lingering burn of his blood on his lips.   When he pulled away, he readjusted, separating himself just to flip Kurosaki to his stomach. He readjusted his grip on his waist, taking a moment to follow the curve of solid muscle along his sides and back before he lifted his weight, helping maneuver him up onto his knees with his arms still securely tied to the wall. Kurosaki’s muscles flexed, shoulders and back tense as he held up his weight with his knees and lower back. He glanced back, but his attention was quickly drawn back to Zangetsu when his hollow straddled his tied arms, sinking to his knees to sit on his forearms. That forced Kurosaki to fold his arms beneath his weight, his head dragged down against his hollow’s crotch.    Grimmjow could smell the jolt in Kurosaki’s arousal, feel it in the swell of his ribs as he sucked in a harsh breath. His own heart hammered in response, very aware of where Zangetsu intended to take this. The spread of Kurosaki’s back and shoulders was just as special as having his throat. Nobody got to stay at Kurosaki’s back, especially when he was so vulnerable. Nobody but him.    Grimmjow brushed his hair from bunched muscle, gathering up black hair that fell like spilled ink to pool over his neck onto white sheets. The gap through his chest gave him a look at the bed and his hollows folded legs.    He tore his eyes away from Ichigo’s broad back to catch Zangetsu’s eye, and the hollow appeared to have the same idea. He leaned back, hands dragging hard lines along his sides to grip his hips. He squeezed, spreading his hands wide to dig his fingers into the curve of his ass. His thumbs pressed down into muscle and flesh hard, palms full of the meat of his ass as he traced the tapering curve of dark markings. He spread his cheeks and Kurosaki’s muscles rippled in a sinuous wave, spreading his knees enough for Grimmjow to take notice.    The godling was far less nervous than he’d been in recent past. He used to tremble, but now his tension was contained. His hollow’s participation might have had something to do with the burst of confidence, but he’d like to think Kurosaki was getting used to him.   It had been hard to notice from his angle, but he realized Kurosaki hadn't’ been idle. He was nuzzling and mouthing his hollow’s cock through his pants. If his horns pressed against Zangetsu’s thighs hurt, the hollow hid it well. All Grimmjow saw in his eyes was dark lust.   Zangetsu fisted his hand around a horn, forcing his wielder's head back at an uncomfortable angle. He undid his pants, pulling the tie free. He didn’t bother undressing once he had his cock in hand. He stroked it once and Kurosaki let out a heavy rush of air, jaws parting. Zangetsu fed it to him in one hard thrust of his hips.    He bottomed out with that thrust and held Kurosaki down, his hand slipping from his horn to the back of his head. Jaws parted and nose flush to Zangetsu’s lower stomach, there was no hope Kurosaki had air. Zangetsu lazily raked his claws through his hair, holding him there in a firm caress. Kurosaki shifted, cock too far down his throat to make any sound of pleasure or protest.   Zangetsu got his attention with a hiss. “Don’t forget to fuck him.”   It took that moment for Grimmjow to realize he was so distracted watching, he’d stopped moving entirely.  He bared his teeth, ears back. “I’ll fuck him when I feel like it.”   Instead of the argument he expected, Zangetsu smirked. “That’s more like it,” he muttered.   Sharp teeth hidden again, Grimmjow snorted and turned back to Kurosaki. He rubbed the back of his fingers up along the cleft of his ass, pressing the joints of his fingers up against his tensing hole, careful of his claws. Kurosaki sides trembled beneath him and Zangetsu asked, “What’re you scared of? You’re sharp, not deadly.”   “Didn’t wanna cut him to ribbons,” Grimmjow growled, “So sue me.”   “Your consideration is thoughtful, but unnecessary.” Zangetsu growled back. He reached out with his free hand, grabbing him by the jaw and mask. “If he didn’t want your cock, he wouldn’t spread his legs like a slut.”    Grimmjow felt his cock throb in appreciation, his eyes flicking back down to Kurosaki’s back, following the valley of his spine to his ass. He already knew what it was like to be balls deep inside him, and this was essentially permission to hurt him. Zangetsu much have felt the message was received, because he let him go, his hand returning to Kurosaki’s head, holding him still.    For his own sake rather than Kurosaki’s, he was generous with the lube. Kurosaki might get off getting fucked dry, but he’d skip it if he could. It felt cold to him, but Kurosaki didn’t seem to notice, he didn’t even flinch. One hand spreading his cheeks, he lined up his cock, the tip slowly spearing his hole. He leaned forward, forcing the head in with a grunt of pain and pleasure. He was so fucking tight .    He couldn’t help but watch how his cock split him open, inch by agonizing inch. Kurosaki tensed, but not enough to indicate he was in considerable pain. There was no blood, so Grimmjow stopped worrying once the thickest length of his shaft was inside him, strangled by impossibly tight heat.    The hybrid even spread his knees further, opening himself up to take him deeper. Zangetsu caressed his head in silent praise, rocking his hips into his throat as he watched.   Grimmjow bottomed out, both hands on Kurosaki’s ass, squeezing hard enough to leave bloody trails as he panted, waiting for the pleasure to level out before he came right then and there. Grimmjow asked, “Is he talkin’ to you?”   Zangetsu smirked, his usual bluster curbed by flushed cheeks and arousal. He dipped his head in reluctant confirmation. “You could call it that. The only thing he’s thinkin’ about is trying not to choke and your cock.”   “Is that a good thing?”   The hollow gave him a withering look and pushed Kurosaki off of his cock. The hybrid gasped, coughing and panting for breath. Every exhale was laced with a deep moan, loud and shameless. Zangetsu caught his head by the jaw, pressing his thumb into his mouth and pinning his tongue. Kurosaki’s groan was agonized, twitching away from his hold, but Zangetsu held him firm. Grimmjow’s hips snapped forward, trying to thrust deeper inside. It knocked a pleasure filled yelp from his chest, his hole actually loosening its stranglehold around his cock. “Fuck, he’s feelin’ everything you’re feeling isn’t he?”   Zangetsu growled, “ Yes . He’s gonna cum if you don’t do something.”   Grimmjow almost didn’t believe him, not until he grabbed Kurosaki’s cock and balls in hand. He was stiff, drooling pre, and his balls were tight in anticipation. That was flattering as all hell, but he hadn’t even started fucking him yet. Grimmjow got a grip on his balls and squeezed hard. Kurosaki’s jerked where he was skewered, clenching around his cock with a soft sob. Grimmjow moaned, unsure if he could decide which part of that was hotter. He ordered, “Choke him on your cock again. I wanna hear it when he bites you.”   Zangetsu faltered, jaws parted with a deep groan, torn between pain and pleasure. He heard him, there was recognition on his face, but it was slow going. He stuffed his cock back between Kurosaki’s lips, wet and sloppy with drool. Grimmjow leaned forward over Kurosaki’s back and growled, “Kiss me.”   To his shock, Zangetsu complied, pressing wet lips to his own. Grimmjow squeezed Kurosaki’s balls again, digging in claws, and Zangetsu flinched at what had to be the press of Kurosaki’s teeth. He whimpered, jaws parted and panted, more passive in a kiss than Grimmjow had ever known. He smelled the arousal on him, thick and heady. They were both getting off on it enough that Zangetsu had nothing clever left to say.   Grimmjow reluctantly parted from their kiss for leverage. Grimmjow jerked Kurosaki’s cock a couple of times, drew his cock nearly completely out, paused, then thrust back in. Kurosaki gagged on Zangetsu’s cock, turning away to choke before Zangetsu could recover. The hollow dragged him back down, holding his cock down his throat.   He was hot and tight and the pressure drew a groan from Grimmjow’s lips. He let that pleasure settle, his cock throbbing and close to an orgasm he bit back. He was determined to last, to give Kurosaki what he wanted. As soon as he could move, he withdrew, hands tight on Kurosaki’s hips to pull him back onto his cock.   Thrusting hard and fast, Grimmjow fucked Kurosaki, and got to watch Zangetsu come undone in front of him, knowing Kurosaki was feeling the same. Every thrust of his hips was accompanied by the obscene slap of skin and the clash of panting breath. Zangetsu fucked into his weilder’s throat with both hands clenched in his hair, the wet squelch of his cock going straight to Grimmjow’s groin. He felt the barbs along the base of his cock catch inside Kurosaki’s hole, thrusting harder as if that could get him deeper.   Zangetsu grunted with each thrust, jaws parted in gasping breaths. Kurosaki’s hair was mussed and tangled in his grip, clenched in sweaty palms as he held Kurosaki’s head still. He fucked into his face hard and fast, his rythm much faster and far more staggered and broken than Grimmjow’s own. Kurosaki was loose enough beneath his hands that each thrust slid him closer to Zangetsu, bending his back and raising his hips. Kurosaki was completely malleable in their hands, using what little control he had left to crush any instinct to resist. He was too damn good at that.   The hollow abruptly stopped thrusting, hands tight in Kurosaki’s hair. “We’re gonna cum, too close. Hurt him.” Grimmjow didn’t stop, panting hard as he registered just what the hollow meant. Something about making him cum without technically being touched was arousing. “You wanna cum at the same time so bad?”   Zangetsu inclined his head, hair falling into his eyes and over his shoulders to drape across Kurosaki’s as they both heaved for breath. “Aibou does. Wants to feel you.”   Grimmjow punctuated his words with hard thrusts of his cock. “Kinky slut.” He got a grip on the lower curve of his hollow hole and dragged him back, pulling his ass back tight against his crotch. He muttered, “Can’t imagine how much he feels.” The godling could barely stand in a city without sensory overload, he wasn’t so sure he envied him.    Zangetsu confirmed that thought with a soft groan. “He feels everything.”   Kurosaki rocked his hips, eager for more and clearly too far gone to be ashamed of it. It was hard to keep still, so Grimmjow stopped trying. He rolled his hips forward slow and deep, feeling his pleasure stretch longer, dragging him closer to orgasm. He squeezed Kurosaki’s balls until Zangetsu grunted in pain. The hollow met his eyes, glassy and distracted with lust, but the silent request was obvious.   Grimmjow leaned forward over Kurosaki’s back and their lips crashed together, desperate and biting. Zangetsu tasted like pure power, dark and so very much like his wielder. The hollow bit him, groaning loudly into his mouth. Pleasure spiked and he felt the warm flush of orgasm throb in his blood. He came, cock throbbing, and Kurosaki shuddered, tightening around him.    Zangetsu leaned back to breathe, head thrown back with a deep moan. Seemed like Zangetsu was just as loud as Kurosaki when he pushed him far enough. For some reason that felt like far more intimate knowledge than anything else they’d done.   Grimmjow stroked Kurosaki’s cock, hand twisting around the head, and he felt the heat of his cum spill into his hand. It burned, even with his hierro, and he grit his teeth through it, but he didn’t stop his slow attentions. There was no doubt he was as oversensitive as any mortal, Grimmjow didn’t let up, stroking him until Zangetsu sucked in a sharp breath, hips flinching. He seemed like he was reluctant to pull out, drawing his cock from Kurosaki’s throat slowly, like any faster would draw out a yelp.    Kurosaki coughed, choking up fluids and bile, but he didn’t sound as breathless as Grimmjow expected. He was more relaxed then he was when they started, thoroughly fucked out, but he still somehow managed to feel frightening when he twisted to look back at him over his shoulder.    Kurosaki kept his eyes on him while Zangetsu moved off of his arms and untied him. Grimmjow drew his hand back from his cock to grasp his waist. He dropped out of his segunda etapa and pulled out slowly, but Kurosaki’s breath still hitched. He missed the searing heat of his body, but it was too much for too long.    No matter if Kurosaki had been tied up the better part of an hour, he wasn’t stiff or sore, but he still panted for air, which seemed more like habit than necessity. Grimmjow flipped Kurosaki to his back and behind dark sclera and yellow eyes, he caught that rare and honest vulnerability he worked so hard to find.    Zangetsu wrapped his arms around Kurosaki, pulling him back between his legs and up against his chest. The proximity was a comfort, that much was clear from the way he eased. Grimmjow’s hand trailed up his neck to his face, but Kurosaki beat him to it, swiping the back of his arm across his face to wipe away drool and who knew what else.    The second his arm was clear, Grimmjow fell into a kiss, deep and biting. The godling tasted bitter, but it was obscured by the sting of power. He broke away, panting harder than when he’d started. “Can’t believe you put up with all that.”   A blush colored the streaks of Kurosaki’s cheeks not obscured by dark markings. “You know I like it.”   And who knew why, but Grimmjow couldn’t complain in the least. He licked his lips and sighed. “I really didn’t hurt you?”   Embarrassment heated Kurosaki’s face even further and he looked elsewhere even as he protested, “No! No…was just different.”   That was a very big understatement, and he sensed it had a lot to do with Kurosaki’s identity crisis earlier. He should definitely be dead, he hadn’t gotten a lick of air in what must have been at least twenty minutes, and pain hadn’t seemed to exist at all. Grimmjow wasn’t even sure if pleasure felt the same. Zangetsu's reaction helped to at least assuage those fears, and from the look on his face, Kurosaki really was fine, just overwhelmed. That he could do something about. It was a long and lazy hour spent cleaning up, interspersed with soft touches, quiet words, and patience. Kurosaki wasn’t just shy, but distracted and thoughtful. Zangetsu remained for awhile, but faded back into Kurosaki’s soul when it was clear his weilder’s nerves had settled.    Kurosaki followed Grimmjow to bed, cleaning the sheets with a thought. It wasn’t a perfect job, some of the sheets simply failed to exist, but it was a lot less work than hunting down clean sheets and giving a good impression of maid service.    He counted himself lucky that Kurosaki remained naked, he got to admire when the godling fell back on white linen and stretched. He arced like a bow, muscle tensing in a ripple, and it was like watching a dragon stretch. He was unreal, a God pretending at mortality, and it was a disguise that didn’t quite fit.   Grimmjow sat on the edge of the bed, one leg folded underneath him, and watched Zangetsu appear from nothing, sitting beside his wielder. The hollow doubled over, draped across Kurosaki. One hand stroked up and over his throat to tip his chin back. They looked at each other for a long moment, and he knew he was excluded from whatever they had to say. It wasn’t unusual, and pressing for answers rarely yielded results.    He couldn’t be jealous, it wasn’t like he shared every emotion and thought that passed between himself and Pantera. It happened, it was intense and real and always very private. He didn’t blame Kurosaki, he was flattered he was witness to it at all.   Embracing a loud sigh, Grimmjow flopped down, bare cheek resting on Kurosaki’s calf. Kurosaki understood the reason for the sigh and said, “You’re not missing anything.”   “That’s literally a lie, but it’s fine.” And it was.   It was Kurosaki’s turn to sigh. “You’re not. Zangetsu is worried, what else is new?”   “Should I be worried?” Grimmjow asked.   “No,” Kurosaki answered softly. “You’re here, you’re real.”   The implication in those words didn’t pass by unnoticed. Grimmjow listened to Kurosaki exhale and there was no more motion, no more sign of life beyond the simmering roil of his power. Unsettling, but a reality he was beginning to accept. Kurosaki feigned life more than he experienced it those days.    He tilted his head, his cheek pressed up more comfortably against Kurosaki’s leg.“ You don’t need to say it.”   “I don’t,” Kurosaki agreed. “It doesn’t make a difference.” Grimmjow had nothing to say about that so he stayed there, enjoying the soft tug in his hair as Kurosaki pet his head. It was gentle and methodic, enough to lull him to sleep more quickly than he expected.    He blinked awake alone on cold sheets, the room dark and cast in vibrant blues. He sat up and a blanket slipped off his shoulders to pool around his waist. He looked around and found himself almost face to face with Zangetsu. The hollow’s eyes flicked towards the door in answer, but he said nothing. Zangetsu wrapped a hand around his bicep and squeezed, the pressure disappearing along with him. He was left sitting alone in the dark, so he slipped from the bed and gathered strewn clothes to at least get half dressed. Then he left to follow Zangetsu’s directions.   He found Kurosaki sitting on the wall surrounding the pool, the silver cast of moonlight glinting off horns and armor. He was always so still. A cold, dry breeze tugged wisps of his hair along with it, and Grimmjow flickered into sonido, settling down to sit side by side with Kurosaki.   Sharp, golden eyes flicked to his, so much more vulnerable than he’d ever seen him around strangers. The godling was afraid and was trying so desperately to hide it.   Grimmjow’s left shoulder was flush against Kurosaki’s, his heat scorching even through both of their clothes. He held out a hand, palm up, and Kurosaki took it, squeezing tight, but ever careful not to hurt him. Grimmjow squeezed as tightly as he was able, allowing Kurosaki a guage for his own strength, and Kurosaki squeezed a little harder.    It was difficult to find the words. Grimmjow licked his lips, staring down at were their clawed hands interlocked. “You don’t have to be okay.”   Kurosaki smiled, but it trembled, unsteady with the weight of the lie. “I know.”   Grimmjow held his hand and reached out with his free hand to draw him into a tight embrace. He pulled Kurosaki into his chest and squeezed, his hand tight over the back of his neck. It was an awkward embrace, but Kurosaki hardly seemed to notice.    “I’ll be okay,” Kurosaki whispered into his shoulder, his breath hot against his skin.   Grimmjow wasn’t sure if he continued to speak it aloud as a promise, or to reassure himself. It was sad, he always hurt when Kurosaki sounded like that. He rubbed the back of the godling’s neck, pulling loose strands of hair into tangles around his fingers. He knew it wasn’t a wasted effort, because Kurosaki’s weight sagged against him, slowly reliquishing his grip on control.   Grimmjow started, “Did you leave Zangetsu…? Nevermind.”   Kurosaki read him like a book. “Did he choose to stay with you while you slept, or did I ask? He chose.”   Grimmjow swallowed, unsure what to say. He felt a hand smooth over his shoulder with a rough confidence that could only belong to Zangetsu. His hand on the side of his neck was just as feverish a Kurosaki’s. The hollow dipped down, loose hair sliding over his shoulder to block the light of the moon. “Aibou doesn’t control me. When I choose to do something, it’s my choice alone.”   “Wasn’t always.”    Grimmjow tensed when claws dug into his throat, tilting his head back. Zangetsu was too close to see him, no matter the angle. The hollow pressed warm lips to his, kissing him upside down. It was an odd sensation, but still clearly the hollow. Zangetsu clarified, “We want the same thing, our desires overlap.” Zangetsu’s fingers slipped up along his throat to his mask, and Grimmjow dropped his chin, trying to turn away from his grip. The hollow held him tight by the mask, halting his escape, and whispered, “Don’t forget I was the one that sacrificed you to Alteza. Aibou disapproves, but he’s never controlled me.”   Zangetsu vanished, leaving Grimmjow alone with Kurosaki and his thoughts. He murmured, “Why is he like that?”   “Confrontational?” Kurosaki mused, shifting to more comfortably slot against his side. “We’re one and the same, I’m not so different.”   “You hide from me, Zangetsu doesn’t.”   Kurosaki grunted noncomittally and glanced up at him. “Only with you, and that’s recent.”   A frown split Grimmjow’s expression and he glanced down at him. “Why?”   Kurosaki sighed, and after a long moment, he sat up and faced him. “Because I love you more every day, and I don’t want to see you so miserable.” He scoffed, his palm settling on his bare cheek only long enough to warm his skin, then it was gone. “You can’t make me change my mind, it isn’t really a conscious thought. I don’t want to see you so sad.”   “You’re a bastard, you know that?”   Kurosaki smiled, the turn of his lips and narrowing of his eyes soft and sad. “I’ve got you to tell me.”   Grimmjow kissed him, quick and chaste, and tugged Kurosaki into his lap, one arm behind his shoulders, the other beneath his knees. “You’re coming back inside.”   “I guess I have no choice,” Kurosaki intoned blandly.   “Of course not. You might not need sleep, but I do. I don’t wanna wake up alone.” Kurosaki inhaled. “No, Zangetsu doesn’t count. It’s both of you or neither.”   Kurosaki’s mouth shut and he smiled softly. “And you call me needy.”   “Let’s not start counting points now,” Grimmjow snapped, “You’d never catch up.”   “I suppose that’s true.”   “Sure as shit is true,” Grimmjow grumbled. He carried Kurosaki inside to the bed and dropped him from so high up he bounced. Kurosaki laughed, the sound so genuinely carefree Grimmjow’s chest ached.    He godling quickly caught his breath-if it was ever lost at all-and lurched forward to grab him around the waist and drag him down. Grimmjow found himself flattened to Kurosaki, cheek squished against the edge of the void in his chest.    Grimmjow sighed as if he were upset, but smiled and relaxed against him. It wasn’t perfect, but he had more than he ever thought he’d deserve, and more than he ever thought he’d need.   He tipped his head back to kiss beneath Kurosaki’s jaw, but Kurosaki’s grip was tight enough that he only managed to rub the bridge of his nose along his neck. “Love you more than I’ve ever loved anything.”   For a long moment, Kurosaki said nothing; it was more vocal than they were used to. He carded clawed fingers through mussed hair and gathered his thoughts. “I know I love you, but it’s so much more than that.” He exhaled and Grimmjow could feel him reach out for Zangetsu to steady his thoughts,   “I killed for you, ripped time apart for you, tore my soul in two…Most of it was selfish, or from fear. I really didn’t expect love in return.”   A long, patient sigh fell from Grimmjow’s lips. He situated himself so he could meet Kurosaki’s eyes, tearing himself out of a tight grip. “Neither did I. Couldn’t explain why , but ya got it.”    He pressed his palm to Kurosaki’s cheek, tracing a teardrop swash from the corner of his eye. The hybrid smiled wide, eyes narrowed in happiness.   “Would be more believable if ya cried.”   “Fuck you,” Kurosaki murmured, half hearted.    “Yeah, yeah.” Grimmjow dropped his bare cheek back to his chest, arm draped over his stomach, and held him. It felt good to have Kurosaki in his arms, after so many nights spent without him, or in uncertainty. Kurosaki idly drew his fingers through his hair, the feeling buzzing up his spine and fizzing out over his shoulders. It was good, and he trusted Kurosaki so much, it was only moments before he was asleep.   This time when he woke, Kurosaki was right where he left him. It was almost eerie how similar his position was. Any difference seemed to have come from accommodating his own squirming in the night. Grimmjow stretched, arching his spine and curling his fingers in a motion Kurosaki had often dubbed cat-like. Fucker. He yawned and sat back, legs folded under him.    It was bright in the room. Light reflected off of pale pavement and bounced around the space, making it less shadowed and more like diffused direct sunlight. It was warm, but that might have been from sleeping on Kurosaki’s chest.    “Slept well?”   “Better than I have in awhile,” Grimmjow admitted.   Kurosaki’s smile was wide, looking almost strange on his face. “Good. You seemed tired.”   “Do I smell guilt?” Kurosaki looked up and away, comically over-deflecting. Grimmjow snorted and leaned in, smoothing a hand up his thigh until it was close enough to his groin to be suggestive. “You give me compelling reasons not to sleep.”   A laugh bubbled out of Kurosaki’s chest and he dipped down to steal a kiss, leaving Grimmjow’s hand where it was. “Cheesy. I’m not going anywhere anytime soon, you’re not missing anything.”   Grimmjow snorted even louder. “No offense, but I don’t believe you.”   Kurosaki kissed him again, pushing him back by the shoulder so he was on top, weight flattening his back to the bed. Kurosaki leaned in, lips close to his collarbone and horns close enough to scrape. “Then I’ll just have to convince you.” —xxx—   Kurosaki Ichigo   It was well into the afternoon when they both tired of their oasis retreat. It was dry, hot, and sand found its way everywhere, but this was real in all its irritation, not a mass of reishi to absorb and destroy.    Technically, Ichigo could obliterate the matter of the living world, but he refused to take the chance to alleviate mild discomfort. There was a very real risk he’d take a layer of skin off with his efforts.   It was an unusual request given the circumstances, but Ichigo decided he wanted to ask for time alone. Grimmjow blinked at him, not upset, but confused.    “You just said you weren’t going anywhere.”   Ichigo rolled his eyes. “Not permanently.”   Grimmjow asked, “Why?” Then he clarified, “Why time alone?”   Kurosaki looked down and to the side in habit, thinking. “I…want to know exactly what place you have in my life.” He glanced back up, rapidly adding. “That isn’t quite right. I want to feel the world without you.”   The look on Grimmjow’s face wasn’t hurt, even if he seemed prepared to be. He merely seemed curious as he reiterated. “Why? Is that uhhh…safe?”   “If it isn’t, I’ll find you. I need some distance for the same reasons you do, I think.” He reached out for Grimmjow, smoothing a hand over his chest to rest fingertips on bare skin. “You had years to pull your self out of me, even with Alteza sinking into you like a host. I’m still piecing together who I am. Do you understand?”   To Ichigo’s surprise, Grimmjow gathered him up into his arms and placed a firm and demanding kiss on his lips. It was a long, welcome moment before he pulled away and explained, “I get it. I don’t have to dog your every step anymore, you do fine without me.”   Kurosaki grimaced. “I don’t know about that.”   “I do,” Grimmjow said it with such confidence, Ichigo was tempted to believe him. “So…how long?”   “I don’t want to just up and leave,” Ichigo said, “I’d rather leave you my ‘nights’.”   Grimmjow smirked. “I see how it is, I’m just the booty call.”    He jumped when Zangetsu grabbed a handful of it, startled. “It’s a nice ass,” his hollow said. He hopped up onto the retaining wall, deciding to stay tangible.    Grimmjow frowned, “Should figure both of you would get your kicks sneaking up on me.”   Zangetsu flashed teeth in a smile. “It’s amusing, keeps ya on yer toes.”   Ichigo said, “I might be away, but he wants to stay with you.”   Grimmjow’s brows furrowed, looking at the hollow with suspicion. “Why?”   Zangetsu said, “He’s too close, I’m not close enough. Gotta get a feel for your soul.”   “Do you have to?”   Zangetsu leveled such an intense stare at Grimmjow, Ichigo saw him fidget. He could answer all these questions, but this was between the two of them. He and Zangetsu had been blurring the lines for long enough that he didn’t need to question why he did things. Sparring together had uncovered some issues Zangetsu didn’t want to leave untouched.   His hollow finally answered, “No. But if you’re gonna fuck us I’m going to make you go through the whole shinigami treatment.”   “I ain’t a shinigami.”   “But you’re sure as shit bound to one,” Zangetsu snarled. “Get used to me, cause I’m not goin anywhere.”   That forced Grimmjow to swallow whatever he was going to say, retreating back to Ichigo. “Where are ya gonna go?”   Ichigo shrugged. “Nowhere in particular. I’m going to avoid anywhere too familiar for awhile.”   Grimmjow eyed him. “Yeah?”   He was suspicious, and he had every right to be. The familiar kept him grounded, it reminded him who he was. Going someplace he didn’t know was risky, they all knew it. Ichigo gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “If it’s too much, I always know where to find you.”   “Don’t push it,” Grimmjow warned.   Ichigo dipped his head in acquiescence. “I won’t.” He lifted his hand in a small wave. “Don’t have too much fun without me.”   The look on Grimmjow’s face escalated from worry to thoughtful, his eyes slipping back to Zangetsu. His hollow said, “You can always ask me how he is. Relax, koneko.”   Grimmjow growled, low and inhuman. “Yeah, yeah.” He gave Ichigo a jerk of his chin, shoving his hands into his pockets. “See ya later.”   —xxx—   Grimmjow   Kurosaki vanished, and he left without using la sangre. Grimmjow had no idea where he went, which brought some level of anxiety. Which meant Kurosaki was fucking right, this was good for them. It spoke volumes that he was the one to suggest it. He grumbled, “Fucking codependency.”   Zangetsu hummed. “At least you’re aware.”   Grimmjow turned, stepping through the darkness into Las Noches. This was familiar, and a welcome break from heat and blinding sunlight. The breeze brought a chill that helped settle his nerves. He felt Zangetsu close behind him, his presence always like a blade at his back. He turned to face him and demanded, “So what the fuck do you mean, get a feel for my soul?”   The hollow watched him, eyes narrowed and thoughtful. He looked a lot like Kurosaki that way. He took the sword from his back, the wrap coming undone to leave the blade glowing in the light of the moon. He offered Grimmjow the hilt. He’d held Zangetsu as a weapon before, and it was always a bit strange. He wasn’t really a sword guy, for one, and for another, they weren’t that close. He could look at Kurosaki and know if he wasn’t right, but Zangetsu was more difficult, no matter if they were the same or not. He closed his hand around the handle and held it, watching Zangetsu for some sort of cue. “Okay? Now what?”   “What do you feel?”   Grimmjow looked back at the blade, brows furrowed. “Power, your presence.”   “But that’s all.”   It was possible he was projecting, but Zangetsu almost sounded disappointed. Grimmjow asked, “Should there be more?”    Zangetsu disappeared, reappearing at his back, his hand wrapped around the hilt, holding Grimmjow’s hand firmly in place. He was just as hot as Kurosaki, burning with power and energy he could barely contain.The hollow’s breath tickled the back of his neck and he spoke slowly and deliberately. “You share Kurosaki’s soul, you should feel what he feels, you should sense my feelings and intent. You can take his power like it’s your own, it shouldn’t be any different with me.”   Grimmjow frowned, focusing harder and coming up with nothing. He felt the thrum of power, his instincts knew what he held was dangerous, but that was all. Frustration leaked into his voice. “Why can’t I?”   “That’s what we’re going to figure out, koneko.”

Hell. Jack couldn’t say he wasn’t used to it. He knocked back against the dumpster and let the dizzying lightheadedness flood through him as his skull cracked against steel. It was always a weird sensation, cheek blows, like free falling but with more pain. Way more pain. At least his nose wasn’t broken. Yet. A fist in his hoodie and he was lifted up into the familiar bearded face of Borewit. “How are you this strong?” Jack slurred through the blood in his mouth and stars in his eyes. “You’re like, one big wrinkle with legs?” The wizened old man snarled at him and cocked back his fist for another blow, but was stopped by the gentle, restraining hand of the woman behind him. “Cutting it close this year, Frost.” The woman, Uroda if Jack remembered, scolded softly. She didn’t seem like much, plump little milk maid, but she easily pulled Borewit back from him and let Jack slump down. The dumpster behind him was full and there were bags piled around, scented glad bags, it all smelled like Febreze and garbage. The pile he was slumped on had some hard plastic inside and it was poking into his thigh uncomfortably. “It’s three days to Easter, you must have known we were coming.” “Of course he did,” the third member of their little gang kicked one of the stack of pizza boxes tossed in a corner out of the way and crouched to retrieve his boxcutter, “when has Winter ever willingly relinquished its hold? Uroda, you are too soft.” “L’inglesou,” Jack barely managed the name through his swollen mouth, swallowing down blood and fear, “what brings you here?” He should have known Borewit had a powerhouse, no way the old creep could have taken him on his home turf alone. Damn, and he had been doing so well, three more days and old cottontail would have been too busy to sick his bloodhounds on him, this was as close to Easter as he had ever gone. After the Equinox tonight he had planned to hide out in a Glacier, maybe make his own. Maybe an Iceberg. He’d not really thought that far ahead, what with the darting all over the globe trying to throw off old cottontail’s fanclub. L’inglesou removed the chipped razor from his box cutter, broken when he had thrown it like a knife to distract Jack from Borewit’s ambush. “Desperate times.” He didn’t look towards Jack as he answered, simply tossed the broken blade on the ground without care and slid a gleaming new one into place. “As Uroda said, Easter approaches and with it Spring.” He tested the blade against his thumb and a bead of blood welled. “You cannot be here when it arrives.” “Actually I was planning a vacation, figured I’d hang out on the Ross Shelf, combat global warming.” Jack inched his foot over to try and toe his staff closer under the guise of adjusting his seat on the pile of trash bags, but Borewit snarled and grabbed him up again, giving him a little shake, which wow was not good for his poor head. His brain was like one big sore thumb after being smashed in a door. “Enough banter.” Borewit kicked his staff away and slammed the lid of the second, smaller dumpster down. This one was foul smelling and had a metal top, probably bear proof, which didn’t exactly work when you threw all these bags on the ground people, get with the program. Still, it hurt when Borewit smacked him on it. “We do this now, the moon rises, Spring will be upon us soon.” Jack resisted, trying to twist away but Uroda gripped his feet, the vines that twisted around her arms slithering down to bind him. L’inglesou smirked, “Nothing personal Jack,” he hopped easily up onto the dumpster, heedless of Jack’s thrashing, and tucked his box cutter away; drawing instead a wicked looking dagger he crouched and began to cut through the hoodie and shirt he wore, uncaring if he nicked Jack along the way. In fact his eyes held a familiar gleam every time he did, a hideously sadistic pleasure that Jack had seen five years ago as the loa had ripped into the body of a spring spirit pursuing him, before gutting Jack himself. “You really bare no scars.” L’inglesou’s voice was near awed as he brushed the now blood stained fabric drove Jack’s heaving belly, where his work had once been done. “We have no time for your perverse games,” Borewit snapped, struggling to hold Jack’s arms above his head, “cut him to ribbons after he’s dead, but kill him now.” L’inglesou’s sharp eyes slid to Borewit with such a look that had him shutting his mouth with a clack of teeth. “I do not take orders from decrepit old gods with no power,” he replied smooth as a blade, “who hides in his trees and answers no calls and still thinks himself a forest god.” He slid the sharpened edge of his dagger up Jack’s torso and turned his eyes to enjoy the line of red, thin as a claw scratch, that seeped in its wake. “This is not an offering made hastily, I will not present Spring with the slovenly mess he is used to.” Jack snarled and kicked at that, fear spiking, he’d been through his share of slow killings and did not fancy a repeat. “Not meaning to offend,” Uroda spoke up from his feet where his desperation had given new life to the frost coating her vines, “but I can only keep him thawed so long.” She hunched her shoulders as L’inglesou turned his thin glare towards her. “Due respect, but neither of you are actually seasonal, and” she added under her breath, “I’m not as strong as him.” “No shame in the truth,” Jack quipped around clenched teeth as the blade bit into him just above his navel, he could feel the cold line of blood slide down like a crawling insect across his skin. “Shut up!” Borewit snapped, and did what Jack was hoping for, releasing one of his hands to slam a closed fist down on his face. Only Jack arched his neck to the side, taking the clip on the ear. It hurt, like pressing a side of his face to a furnace, but he pushed through the pain and the disorienting chiming buzz to buck, unseating the loa and wrenching his bound feet out of Uroda’s hands, kicking her in the face with both heels. He’d barely been able to roll to the side before L’inglesou’s hand hooked the tattered remains of his hoodie and hauled him back, laughing breathlessly as he summoned ropes of barbed wire to chain Jack firmly, painfully to the dumpster. “You could have done that all this time?!” Uroda shrieked through her gushing nose, unlike Jack’s it was most certainly broken. “Yes.” L’inglesou smirked over his shoulder at her. “But I looked forward to seeing him hurt you.” “You disgrace of a voodoo sp-” Borewit didn’t get to finish that sentence before one of L’inglesou’s spare razor blades were in his mouth, the thin square of metal bisecting his tongue. “You will not speak to me thus.” He said quietly, deadly. “Neither of you are worthy of this, you presume too much because you caught him first.” He straddled Jack again, hand sliding up blood slicked skin. “You never would have caught him without me, he would have eluded you as he has the others. You have no part in this holy rite.” Between the old god’s gurgling and Uroda’s whimpers he turned back to Jack, dismissing the rusted metal wire that had gagged him like the bit of a horse bridle. “So pristine,” his harsh voice went guttural, a throaty whisper that was near reverent as his long-nailed fingers traced runes across pale skin in blood. “Is it every year? Do you return, renewed, untouched and undefiled every year?” “If I-“ Jack grit his teeth against the pain as those fingers dug into one of his cuts to catch more blood to draw. “If I knew you wanted a virgin sacrifice I’d have gotten la-“ his snark was cut off on a high, embarrassing whimper as L’inglesou followed the lines of his runes with his knife. “I would castrate any who would touch you,” L’inglesou swore as if he was holding something cherished and protected, as if he wasn’t carving designs into Jack’s chest. “You are so perfect, Spring’s favored lamb,” he brought the dagger up to his face, eyes a fevered obsession as they watched the gleam of red gore that slicked the blade, “I would taste your blood if I was worthy,” his tongue peeked out to wet his lips in thirst, “I would carve you open and dig out your heart.” He clutched the dagger to his breast like a newborn babe and turned his face up to the moon, who crested the brow of the rooftops to witness the ritualistic death. “I would bathe my throat with your blood, flood my stomach and drown my own heart” “F-flatterer.” Jack growled. His eyes rolled back to Jack, uncaring of the sprite’s struggles against the barbwire even as it gouged red craters into his skin threatening to undo the delicate carving of his Veve, but it mattered not, because the moon was high and Spring arrived. All that was left was to end the life of Winter and deliver his offering to the gates of the Warren. “I would answer any call that left a bowl of you for me to sup, and forgive all but the most grievous of insults for a taste of you.” His eyes wheeled back to his blade with a longing sigh, shifting it with a gentle turn of his wrist to catch the glint of pale light. “But the makers of our world, who keep us from the black mire that would hallow us out and leave us as twilit smoke trailing a darkened candle wick, they chose you as fuel to keep that flame alight.” L’inglesou cupped Jack’s cheek tenderly, pressing a kiss to his brow. “May we meet again my lamb,” he prayed, then reared back to strike. “Get off of him!” A high feminine screech shattered the subdued murmurs of the alley as a blur of motion, an object, collided with the loa’s dagger. Jack could hear Borewit’s roar of rage and Uroda’s shrill offended shout, but all he could see was the impossibly slow roll of L’inglesou’s needlepoint pupils from the impact of his blade on the ground to the culprit who had dared to intrude on his sacred moment. There were other noises, the impact of body against body, the grunt of exertion, voices full of insult and fury, but they were muted by the buzzing in his ears as the full force of this powerful and lethal loa billowed like heat waves off pavement. “G’day mate.” The low roll of words jerked Jack’s eyes from his capture to the movement of a person beside them, soft grays and vibrant green. “Sorry to lob-in on yer little party, but I’m a mite pressed for time.” He brandished a boomerang at L’inglesou and his voice went hard and clipped. “Move.” L’inglesou’s face, instead of contorting in rage, stretched into vibrant glee, his razor thin lips pulling back into such a smile that Jack’s body instinctively seized in terror. “With pleasure,” he whispered adoringly, then stabbed down, a new knife appearing in his hands like liquid steel from the shadows of his shirtcuff. Even braced for the pain Jack’s mind blanked, it was a hot, breath stealing strike to his chest and the force of it rattled down his ribcage. The only thing he could think, through the roar of blood in his ears, was ‘he missed.’ He’d had a heart blow before, a single arrow to his chest, and had felt nothing but surprise before death had taken him, it was the clipped attacks that hurt, the ones that bounced off ribs and sliced at arteries. He lived long enough to feel it, the overflow of blood that welled up and over and down, long enough to see the joyous triumph in L’inglesou’s eyes as they closed in bliss and he dissolved into smoke above him, long enough to hear the last strangled shouts of Bunnymund. They didn’t make sense to him though. So he didn’t pay them any mind.  

The old grandfather clock ticked slowly and loudly in the otherwise silent living room. Dean had always loved that clock. It was an antique passed down over generations, his mum had always said, and in the vastness of the Gryffindor common room he'd missed the comforting tick-tick-tick it constantly flicked. Dean missed the whole living room when he was at Hogwarts for that matter. He'd spent so much of his years growing up within its walls that it had become synonymous with safety and comfort. All of it was achingly familiar – the large fireplace that consumed most of one wall beneath pictures in simple frames standing testimony to the years of his family's growth. The wide, dark couches of which all of them had their own designated cushions – not officially designated but simply always assumed. The modest television with Keira's mess of video games wedged beneath the standing cabinet, the coffee table stacked with more coasters than would ever possibly be needed given that the small size of the room would hardly be capable of fitting so people in it. As Dean sat on the couch on his cushion alongside every member of his family in their own seats, he catalogued the room. He recorded every detail as he'd been recording those of each from all morning, even if it was so committed to memory already that he would likely never forget it. He didn't know the next time he would see it, after all. The weight of Seamus' most recent letter sat heavily in his pocket, seeming to burn a hole through the denim of his jeans. The tone of the writing, the rapid, slanted scrawl that was even messier than Seamus' handwriting usually was, bespoke his urgency and fear as readily as the words themselves. "… fucking insane, Dean. The whole house was on fire. I don't know if any of them made it out, but when the Aurors finally came they said they found bodies. I don't know how many, but people actually died. That was barely a street away, Dean, and it fucking terrified me. Lincoln was a Muggleborn, I'm sure of it, so that would make that the third one this week…" Seamus didn't say it expressly, but Dean knew he was scared for him. That he feared for Dean as much as Dean was terrified for his situation, for his family, for Seamus in return. That thought ached, stinging with a sharp vicious and unshakeable pain. He wished he could have seen his best friend, his dearest friend who had become so much more than that, before he left. The last time he'd seen him… had it really only been three days ago? It felt like longer. Dean regretted that he hadn't realised earlier. He regretted that he'd been so blind to what now seemed like very obvious clues that Seamus meant more to him than simply a friend. If Dean had realised sooner, if he'd realised the utterly obvious that was so obvious he constantly kicked himself for not realising, they would have had more time together. Just a little more time But they wouldn't. Not now and not for perhaps a long time. Dean knew what he had to do. He knew, even if it pained him. Even if it hurt so terribly to leave, to turn away from both Seamus and his family. Seamus would be horrified when he got the letter Dean had already posted to his brother's house, the letter that told him he had to go, and that he was sorry but Seamus wasn't going to come with him. Dean couldn't drag him into that. Just like he couldn't drag his family into it, either. "So you're telling us," Andrew said slowly from the couch opposite him, breaking the static silence had statically pervaded since Dean's explanation, "that you honestly think it would be for the best if you left?" Dean swallowing tightly, fighting back the pain that pleaded he retract his words. The expression on his mum's face, the disbelief in Andrew's words and the wide-eyed stares he beheld from his siblings hurt enough as it was. He nodded tightly. "It's for the best." "It most certainly is not," his mum hissed. She was sitting rigidly straight, eyes narrowed as they had been since Dean had first started speaking. There was a subtle shift, now though; not confusion but anger tightened her expression. "Dean, that is not going to happen." "It is," Dean said. He swallowed once more, glancing between his mum and Andrew once more. "I'm telling you, not asking for your permission." "This is ridiculous," his mum said. At her side, Andrew was frowning and nodding his fervent agreement. "I don't understand," his youngest sister June said in her eternally quiet voice. "What's happening? Dean, are you really leaving?" Dean turned towards her, towards Keira and Millie alongside her. They were all staring at him with varying degrees of confusion, worry and fear. Millie didn't appear to have blinked at all for the past ten minutes. He wished he hadn't had to tell them. He wished he didn't have to hurt any of them. "Yeah, June. I have to go away for a little while." "But why," June began, only for Dean's mum to override her. "You're not going anywhere, Dean." "Mum," Dean sighed. "No, Dean. Whatever you think, whatever misguided sense of martyrdom you're striving for –" "It's not martyrdom," Dean said. "It's logical. I can't stay here if it's going to put you all in danger." "What's martyrdom?" June asked plaintively. Her question passed unnoticed. "You can, and you will," Dean's mum said. "We're a family, Dean, and we stick together. Through anything and everything that pits itself against us." Her voice was as forbidding as her gaze, and Dean had bowed before before. Not often, for Julie Thomas wasn't one to aggressively assert herself on frequent occasion, but Dean knew that when she did she didn't take no for an answer. Not this time, though. This time Dean wouldn't yield. "I know. And I would, at any other time. But not this time, Mum. It's way too dangerous for me to stay here." "Can we all go somewhere else, then?" Millie asked. Andrew nodded. "Yes. If we can't stay here then we'll just go somewhere else." Dean shook his head. "It doesn't work like that. I know I'll have to go underground, into hiding –" "We'll go with you," Millie cut in shortly. " – and I can't bring you all into that." He shook his head again. "I won't." "You're being selfish, Dean," his mum said, her voice hard and almost cold. To anyone else, she might have sounded cruel. Harsh, even. Unforgiving. But Dean knew otherwise. He knew his mum had realised he wasn't going to budge, so she was pulling out all stops. It's not going to work, he thought to himself. Not this time. "Maybe," he said, lifting his chin defiantly. "But I need to do this." "No you don't, Dean," Andrew said. He leant forwards in his seat, reaching a hand across the distance between them. "You don't have to do this, and certainly not alone. Please, don't be so stubborn." Andrew really was Dean's dad in all but blood. In many ways, that only made the situation even harder. Dean shook his head. "But I do." "Dean –" Millie began. "I'm a wizard, and You-Know-Who's Death Eaters will come after me when they find out. Not all of you." "You don't know they will though, do you?" Andrew asked. His brow was wrinkled in a worried frown that hadn't eased for a full half an hour. "There's no guarantee that they'll come after you." "They're hunting down Muggleborns," Dean explained, not for the first time. "But… but didn't you say that you thought your Dad wasn't?" Keira asked tentatively. "Didn't you say you thought he was a wizard too?" Dean nodded heavily. He was exhausted from talking, exhausted with trying to push for something that he physically ached to avoid. It was going to happen, he knew; he just wished his family would accept it so they didn't have to part on a bad note. "I think so. Maybe. But there's no way to prove it." "But surely they can't just convict you, even if their prejudice was somehow warranted," Andrew said, straightening and his frown deepening further. "It's unjust and immoral –" "You-Know-Who doesn't exactly have an accurate moral compass," Dean said heavily. He'd heard all of the stories, after all. He knew well enough. "He doesn't care who, just what. The best thing I could do is disappear." "You're not going anywhere, Dean," his mum repeated for what could have been the hundredth time that morning already. He drew his gaze towards her for the hundred-and-first. "You're just a boy. You will not go gallivanting off on your own." "I'm legally an adult in the Wizarding world," Dean said with a weak smile. "I don't care what legalities apply in your world," she snapped back. Actually snapped, and it was that more than anything that told Dean how worried she was. "I'm your mum and that means that until I consider you capable enough, I'm the one responsible for your wellbeing." "So who's responsible for yours?" Dean said. "Because You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters, they don't just go after Muggleborns. They go for their whole family. I'm not going to put you all in danger because of me." "We can protect ourselves," Andrew said quietly. "Not against magic." "Then we'll seek higher order. Government protection –" "And if the government is corrupt?" Dean interrupted. He'd been reading the Daily Prophet. He knew what had happened to Scrimgeour after his brief and fiery term. The ex-Minister had been disposed of when the Ministry infiltrators had finished with him. If the Wizarding Ministry was no longer safe, Dean didn't have much hope for the Muggle one. Wizards had magic. How could Muggles possibly hope to stand against that? "We'll come up with something, then," Andrew reattempted. "If we have to, we'll go into hiding with you." "And destroy your lives?" Dean shook his head. "No. You and mum would have to quit your jobs, Andrew, and Millie, Keira and June would have to drop out of school." "There are more important things that work and school," his mum said, and her voice had grown harsh. Dean had to close his eyes at that. He'd known they would respond like this, that his family would stop the world to make sure he was alright, that he was as safe and protected as humanly possible. They were simply like that, and always had been. It was one of the countless things Dean loved so much about them; in their family, family came first. It was one of the things that had baffled Dean so much about Seamus' family. Or most of Seamus' family. Another sting speared through Dean's chest at the thought of leaving. At least Seamus would have Eoghan. "I'm not going to do that to you," he said quietly, shunting thoughts of Seamus from his mind out of sheer necessity. "And again I'm telling you, not asking for your permission." "Dean," his mum began. "Mum." Dean opened his eyes and met her stare for stare. Seamus had always said he looked like his mum, that they shared their eyes, and for the resistance in her own that he could see he could believe that. They really were alike. Both utterly unwavering in their decisions. "I've got to leave before school starts back." "You're not going to school?" Andrew asked, a touch of surprise in his voice that alleviated his frown slightly. "I thought that, since you got your books and all –" Dean shook his head. "No. No, I don't think it's safe for me. Not at Hogwarts." "Not at Hogwarts?" His mum ground out, voice harsh. "You always said Hogwarts was the safest place in the world." "Well, it was until Headmaster Dumbledore was killed by the person who's now taking his place." His words clearly stunned them all. That little fact Dean had managed to keep from them; they'd known Dumbledore was dead, as it was impossible for them not to be aware of the fact, but the rumours as to how it had happened had remained only rumours. Or at least they had for everyone but those associated with the Order of the Phoenix. They knew the truth and, being Harry's friend as he was, Dean knew too. He'd known Harry for long enough, known him to be proven right when others deemed him wrong, to put his confidence in him. "This is madness," Dean's mum said. "How is such a disaster even being able to occur?" "Honestly?" Dean replied, feeling the heaviness even more profoundly for the despair of the situation. "Because the people who would police it are under Death Eater control now, would be my best guess." "This is dangerous. What about the students going back to school? Does Seamus know?" Dean winced. Of course Seamus knew about Hogwarts. Dean knew that Seamus knew, and it hurt terribly because he also knew that Seamus was going back anyway. Dean didn't want that. God, but he was so scared for Seamus returning to school. But just as Dean knew he had to leave, had to disappear – for both his own safety and for that of everyone who knew him – Seamus said he had to go too. That with the pureblooded family as he had, with having already enrolled as he'd done, it would be more suspicious for him not to. "Besides," he'd said on the day they'd gone to Diagon Alley together, wandering the streets so closely that their arms were practically glued together. "Someone's got to go back as representatives for our year, right? Otherwise it'll be just Neville, like." "I don't think that's really the right reason to go back," Dean had replied with a frown. "Maybe not," Seamus laughed, and it had almost sounded genuine. "But I've still got to. Got to stick around for the rest of the younger kids going back, like. Right?" Dean hadn't known what to say to that. He knew Seamus was scared, and that neither of them were fighters. The previous year, when the Death Eaters had invaded and they'd been so utterly helpless, had more than proved that. What could Seamus – what could either of them – possibly do? But Seamus had stuck to his decision. Just as Dean knew that he would stick to his own. "Seamus knows," he said quietly, finally his thoughts. "He knows, but he also knows he's got to got back anyway. Just like I know I've got to leave." "You do not, Dean," his mum said once more. It was beginning to sound like a broken record they played over and over. And endless revisiting of the same conversation. "You're not going anywhere." As Dean met her gaze, as he turned to Andrew with his quiet, steadfast determination then drew his eyes to his sisters, he knew they wouldn't stand for it. He knew they wouldn't let him leave, not even for their own safety. I knew they wouldn't, he thought, pressing his lips together to stifle the beginnings of a heartfelt sob. An actually sob, because it was so… it was just so... I knew they wouldn't just take it. Dean hadn't wanted to resort to drastic measures. Really, he hadn't. It would have been so much easier if his family had known he was going and had accepted it rather than thinking of him as a runaway. But there was no other option, and the acceptance that tightened his gut told Dean that he'd known it all along. "If that's how you feel about it," he said, surreptitiously slipping his wand from his pocket, "then I'm sorry." It was apparent that none of them knew what he was talking about. That none of them guessed he would ever do such a thing as to use magic against them. It hurt Dean even more to simply contemplate it, but he knew what he must do. They wouldn't accept it, otherwise. Forcing it upon them was his only option. "Dean," June whispered quietly from his side, her eyes wide and dark as she met his gaze. "Please don't leave." "I'm sorry," Dean said, speaking through the catch in his voice. Then he raised his wand. Half a minute later and Dean was standing in the middle of the living room in which his family lay slumped against one another in a magical sleep. Not knocked out, for Dean couldn't do that to them, but definitely asleep. They would wake up in an hour or so, and that would be more than enough time for him to get away. He would have Apparated halfway across the country by then. He spared only a moment to look upon them, upon the frown his mum still wore even in sleep, Andrew where his head rocked on her shoulder, and his brother and sisters slumped like limp dolls with calm, quiet breathing. Dean wished he could take a snapshot – or better yet, paint a picture – to remember them by. He'd miss them sorely and he didn't even know how long he'd be gone. Would he ever come back? Dean wasn't sure if he'd survive a war of the Wizarding world. He was, after all, effectively a Muggleborn. It was a struggle to turn from the living room, but eventually Dean managed. With slow steps that rapidly grew into a run, into a flight of escape, he lept up the stairwell to his room, snatched up his rucksack that he'd stashed earlier that morning with the bare essentials, and took off from the house. Breaking into a run as he hastened down the footpath from the front door, bypassing his family's minimalistic front garden and spilling out onto the road beyond, Dean didn't look back at the house he'd grown up in, the one that still held his family that would wake so soon to find him gone. He was leaving them. His family, his poor mum, Seamus… At midnight the previous night, Dean had received an owl from Seamus with the news of his neighbour Lincoln Viscount's death. Less than twelve hours later, Dean had made his decision and was fleeing home. It was the best decision, even if it hurt to do so. It was the right one. Eoghan wrapped Seamus in an embrace so tight that for a moment Seamus couldn't breathe. He was far from the only one on the platform who did such; even in the smothered view that Seamus had over his brother's shoulder he could see every family squeezing their children with engulfing hugs as though they longed to never let them go. "I can't believe I'm letting you go back to school," Eoghan muttered in his ear. He drew away slightly, affixing Seamus with a wavering stare. "I just can't believe I'm so stupid as to let you convince me this was okay." "Don't be so hard on yourself, like," Seamus said as easily as he could manage. "You know that I'd go anyway even if you didn't want me to." Eoghan sighed, the sound barely audible over the surrounding noise of the crowd. "Yeah, I know. You're a stubborn little shit, like." "No less than you are." "I don't think that's a good thing, you know." "Probably not." They shared a rueful smile before Eoghan was locking Seamus in an embrace once more. In the tightness of his hold, Seamus could feel every tremble of terror, every ounce of dreadful fear for what was to come as it echoed Seamus' own to a T. He was scared. Seamus was so terribly scared, and it wasn't just because he was leaving Eoghan behind – though that did frighten him given that Eoghan worked in the Ministry. What if something happened to him? He was right in the snake pit. Seamus was scared for so many things that he could barely let himself acknowledge them. He was scared to leave Eoghan, true, but he was scared to return to Hogwarts even more. To live under Snape as their headmaster who he knew was a Death Eater, the Death Eater who had killed Dumbledore. He was scared of what would become of him and all the rest of the kids who returned alongside him. Would the remaining teachers at the school be able to protect them from the threat of the Death Eaters and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's forces? Seamus was terrified of what was happening to the world as it seemed to be tearing apart at the seams. And he was scared of what had happened to Dean. Even now, days after Dean had disappeared with only a fucking letter sent to Seamus to explain his decision and it's necessity, he still couldn't believe he was gone. Seamus knew he had to go back to Hogwarts, though he had to convince himself of that time and time again, but he would have dropped that need in a heartbeat to be with Dean. How could he just up and leave me like that? Seamus thought, not for the first time nor even the thousandth. He'd had that recurring thought at almost every second since Dean had left, and it only grew more and more desperate with each repetition. He regretted many things, but not being with Dean sat primary on that list. He regretted that they hadn't spent more time together when they could have over the holidays; that he hadn't simply held Dean's hand more, or listened to him laugh, or watch him draw. That Seamus hadn't told Dean his feelings a long, long time ago so they could have had that time. He regretted that he hadn't known until the day they'd climbed from the Hogwarts Express that Dean had even a shadow of Seamus' feelings for him to return. Seamus regretted many things, but first and foremost: why did Dean have to leave so shortly after Seamus had realised how much he loved him? Squeezing Eoghan in return in the fiercely tight embrace, he was only shaken from his thoughts and the hold by the bellowing toot of the train behind him. Five minutes it meant, he knew. Eoghan knew too, for he finally managed unlocked his arms and take a step away from Seamus. He sniffled, almost as though he was about to cry, and Seamus didn't blame him for a second. It was always emotional at the moment. For all of them. Crying… there was nothing embarrassing about that anymore, no more than it was for Seamus to admit he was scared. Everyone was that, too. "You take care of yourself, like," Eoghan said, affection ringing through the conspiratorial Gaelic he slipped into as he ruffled Seamus' hair. His smile stuttered only slightly. "If I don't hear from you for a week, I swear I'm taking the first portkey I can get my hands on to Hogsmeade." Seamus failed in his attempt to chuckle. "Yeah, alright. You write to me too, like. Same goes for you." "Yeah, I hear you." Eoghan nodded. Then he patted Seamus' shoulder and urged him towards the train. Seamus turned, reaffirming his grasp on the handle of his trunk, and made his way through the clogging crowds to the nearest carriage. He was almost at the carriage when he heard his name called out in a voice that wasn't Eoghan's. Not Eoghan's but familiar nonetheless. Incredulously, Seamus made a slow turn, eyes bliwing. He barely caught a glimpse of his dad before he crashed into him. "Thank God, I thought we might have been too late to see you," he said, crushing Seamus to him in a clasp that winded him like a blow. Seamus was frozen. He was unable to even recoil from the sudden and entirely unexpected arrival of his dad. He hadn't spoken to him – to any of his family besides Eoghan, Caitlin and Aimee – in months. That his dad was here… "Dad," he struggled pronounce through his dad's embrace. "What are you doing here?" "I'm sorry," his dad choked into his shoulder. "I'm sorry I – I'm sorry everything's gone so wrong. I'm sorry that I can't do better, and that everything happened –" "Seamus!" His dad's gushing was interrupted by another cry, and a second later Seamus' mam was crashing into them both and wrapping her arms around them. Seamus hadn't even the breath to exclaim in redoubled surprise – because his dad was one thing, but his mam entirely another – as she crushed them in her grasp. "A leanbh, I'm so sorry," she said, and as Seamus managed to twist enough to see her face he could make out the tears already springing from her eyes. "We're so sorry." "Mam, what are you –?" "We did terribly, Seamus," his dad said, still speaking into his shoulder. "I know we did, and I'm sorry I – that we couldn't be better." Seamus was stunned. He didn't know what to think, let alone what to say. The last time he'd seen his parents he'd hated them. Very definitely hated them, too, because they were his parents and they should love him no matter what, regardless of his sexuality. In the months since then, Seamus had grown only more grounded in his opinion on the matter; that he shouldn't have to change for them, nor for anyone else. That they should have stood by him throughout. What was going on? Seamus didn't know how to handle it. He hadn't prepared for it even slightly, and in the midst of the terror that already gripped him in an incessant hold, it was all too much to even attempt to understand the why. If Seamus were to hazard a guess, it would be that they were terrified by the war as everyone else was and wanted to make amends, but even that was incredible. His family was proud, his mam especially so. That she was bending her neck at all was… "What's going on?" Seamus finally managed to ask. His mam had managed to get a hold of herself just a little. Enough that she stood a little taller, that she was able to wipe a hand across her face and smear the tears flowing, though her other still clutched Seamus' shoulder as though she had no intention of letting go. "I'm sorry, Seamus. We have made a disaster of this. Of everything." "What do you -?" "We'll try to fix it," she continued as Seamus' dad nodded into his shoulder once more. "I'm not – the family, they won't… it will be a struggle, like, but we'll fix this. We'll change this for you, Seamus." Before Seamus could even think to grow affronted, to exclaim that he wasn't going to change no matter what, she was continuing. "We'll change for you, Seamus. I'll – I'll make sure we can accept it, like. You shouldn't have to change who you are, even if – even if there are some in our family who will always have a problem." Then, quite unexpectedly, she leant towards him and pressed a fierce kiss on his cheek. Seamus didn't know what to say. He realised his eyes were blurry but didn't know what to do about it. He'd abandoned his family because they'd abandoned him first. How was he supposed to respond to the thought that his mam and dad might be prepared to pave their way back to him? Seamus didn't know. He didn't know anything. And the resounding toot of the train meant he didn't have the time to think about it. His parents clearly realised it too, for his dad drew away at the same time as his mam leant in to press another rough kiss against his cheek. His dad clasped a hand around the back of his head and held it tightly. "I'm sorry we didn't come sooner. We didn't, like – we weren't even sure if you were going to go back to school this year." "Of course I am," Seamus said numbly. His dad nodded, face tightening in pain. "I know. You look after yourself." "Stay safe," his mam said from his side, her arm tightening in a final squeeze. Seamus left them in a daze. He still didn't know what to say, what to do, how to think, so he didn't say anything. Still, it was with many a glance over his shoulder in the direction his parent stood, both in tears now, as they waved goodbye with trembling fingers. Over their shoulder, just a little way back, Eoghan stood and watched them before raising his gaze to meet Seamus'. The question was clear in his eyes. Forgiveness? Seamus didn't know if he could do that. Not so suddenly and not with such an unexpected change of heart. But just the sight of them standing there, struggling to hold themselves together and actually there, told him that he couldn't hate them either. Maybe he never truly had. The heart was such a fickle thing. Even more so when rocking on a boat of near constant terror. Climbing the steps of the carriage with an awkward tugging of his trunk, Seamus made his way inside. He wasn't entirely sure who he expected to see as he trundled his way through the hallway, passing cabins that were just noticeably barer than they had been in previous years. Seamus wasn't even entirely sure who from his year was returning. Dean… Dean wasn't, and that seemed to be the worst absence of all. Wayne too, Seamus knew, and Harry, Ron and Hermione. Who else? He found his friends. Surprisingly, it was all of his remaining friends, already packed in the cabin together. More surprisingly than that, alongside Susan and Hannah, across from Parvati and Lavender as her constant companion, sat Neville, Ginny and her blonde-haired friend Luna Lovegood who Seamus remembered from their DA meetings. At the sight of him at the door, Susan raised her head instinctively. She was beckoning him inside in an instant, and though it was a tight fit, they made it so. "You came?" Neville asked as Seamus took a seat beside Parvati. He sounded almost questioning, as though he was clarifying that Seamus was indeed staying for the long haul. Seamus nodded as, with final toot, the train rocked into motion. "Yeah. I came." "Few enough of us," Ginny said quietly. Seamus glanced towards her vaguely, his mind still on his parents though he struggled to turn it away. He didn't dislike Ginny, he knew, even when he'd resented her for dating Dean. Seeing the sombre cast to her expression he felt only sorry for her. Not only her brother but also Harry, her boyfriend, had all but disappeared. How would that be? Shit. It would be absolute shit. Seamus was having enough trouble with the realisation that Dean was gone and he couldn't help him. Really, he almost begrudged his parents showing up, despite what it possibly meant; he didn't need something else loaded on top of his already struggling thoughts. To the familiar swaying of the train picking up speed, they fell into idle if subdued conversation. About the summer, though it held a falsely jovial ring to it. About Ginny's brother's wedding – which had been crashed, Seamus recalled awkwardly just after he'd raised the subject. What a horrible end to a wedding. Susan spoke about Wayne, having caught up with him the most recently out of them all. Hannah fell into a half-hearted discussion with Neville about Herbology, though it seemed very forced, and for once, Lavender and Parvati weren't a mess of giggles, though they did their best to keep up rapid-fire conversation. Seamus was grateful to them for that. It gave an impression of normalcy. Half an hour into the trip, they might have even passed into a vague semblance of comfort had not the tall, looming figure of an unfamiliar man appeared in their doorway. He didn't quite pause in step, but the way he walked was slow enough that his appearance drew the abruptly silenced attention of all the cabin's occupants. Seamus felt his blood run cold at the sight of the man. He was ridiculously tall, with wide, sloping shoulders and dark hair slightly receding. Anarrow-eyed gaze and thin mouth tipped downwards as though disgruntled with what he saw as he turned his gaze briefly upon their cabin through the glass window of the door. He was a big man, enormous even, and could likely break them all into pieces with his fists as easily as he could blast them with the wand he held in his hand. There was a moment in which they all stared, the strange, unfamiliar man and everyone in Seamus' cabin. Then the touch of downturned lips quirked slightly, cruelly, and the man raised his wand to tap beneath his eye before pointing it at them indicatively. The message couldn't have been clearer had he spoken: I'm watching you. Then he passed. The dark cloud of his presence, however, didn't leave with him. "Who was that?" Lavender whispered into their frozen silence. Seamus shook his head. "I've never seen him before but… you don't think, like –" "He couldn't be, surely," Susan said, though she didn't sound convinced. "Surely," Hannah breathed in barely a whisper. "Surely not." Not a one of them believed their own words for a second. They didn't need to have looked to the man's forearm for evidence of a skull and snake tattoo. Somehow, instinctively, like a rabbit recognising the threat of a fox, they knew what he was. Seamus abruptly couldn't find anything else to say, in comfort or even conversation. His confidence that they'd be able to survive that year had abruptly waned and it didn't seem likely to wax again.

The next morning dawned clear and hot, with enough humidity that Min could've swam through it without touching the ground. She woke up alone, wonderfully sore and battered again, her body a mess of frazzled nerves, smells and senses. She crawled out of her little tent, squinting her eyes at the sun. When she tried to put weight down on both arms, she tumbled to the dirt with a cry. "What, what is it?" Sergen asked from nearby. "I...I'm not sure," she said, wincing. Looking over, her healed shoulder had swollen up to half again it's normal size; trying to move her arm or even flex her fingers sent waves of unpleasant heat up her neck. "My arm...my shoulder hurts again." "What? Let me see." He walked over, taking a firm grip on her swollen forearm. Just the touch of him burned like touching a sun-baked rock; Min screamed and crouched down in the dirt. "No! It hurts!" She squeezed her arm with her good hand, whimpering, missing the bliss and pleasure of the night before. Why did that have to end so that pain could take its place? But then, pain and pleasure were always constant with each other. Perhaps this was the price she had to pay for last night's pleasantries. "Get up." His voice was firm, yet it somehow lacked the impatience from before. "We can't tend to it here. My people can help, but we must make it there first." Min bit her lip, nodding. While she wanted to curl up on the ground and wait for the pain to subside, instead she pushed to her feet, took a sharp breath while cuddling her injured limb to her chest. "Let's go. Please." Something on his face said she'd made the right choice. That mattered to Min, maybe more than it ought to have. What unfolded next was one of the most agonizing days in Yasemin's life. Traveling while holding her arm made for slow going, but she swallowed her complaints and kept Sergen in sight and in front of her. Every step was difficult, and every time her arm was jostled and shaken, it put more fire in her veins, made her sweat more, made her shake harder, which just made the pain worse. It was midday when Min had no fight left in her. At the bottom of a dry river bed she slid to a stop and dropped to her knees. Her eyes were clouded over with sweat and tears; her entire side was burning with fire. It was so bad she wondered if cutting the arm off would've been the better choice. "No, we can't stop!" he said, circling back towards her. "We're so close now." He reached down, took hold of her uninjured arm and tried to pull Min to her feet. She screamed, then turned her head and vomited, bile and water spilling into the stones at her feet. Min sagged in his grip, a rag doll with nothing left. "Can't...can't go on." She whimpered. "Hurts too much!" She was certain that Sergen would leave her—it would be a sad, unwelcome end to her story. But instead, the wolf-man bent down and, as gently as one could, he laid her across his shoulders. When he straightened, it jostled her arm. Min shrieked. Then he started running, and she was shaking too hard to cry out anymore. The pain didn't go away, but thankfully, before her arm could burst into physical flames, she blacked out. "Mama! S-sorry Mama..." — Min opened her eyes and saw a hand-sewn ceiling over her head. It was still daytime, but the light came as though from far away, until she slowly turned her head and saw it was coming from underneath the hem of the tent. It reminded her of her mother's hut, but this tent was made of some woven fabric. She was lying on a bed mat and covered with a matching blanket that was wonderfully soft. But where was she? Min had a dozen questions. A hundred of them. But before any of that, she said: "W...water." Her throat was so dry that she barely recognized her own voice. "Ah, she awakens." The voice belonged to a woman. "M-mama?" "Shhh." The woman's face came into focus; it wasn't Erden, but someone even older—her hair was pure silver shot with white and black streaks, cut short to just above her shoulders. The only thing she wore was a , a necklace of beads and adornments just like the one her mother wore—hers had animal teeth as decoration, strung between beads of polished wood and ivory. "Here now," the old woman cooed, sliding a hand under Min's head, lifting it, while a small bowl of clear water was pressed to her lips. Min felt as weak as a newborn kitten, with barely enough energy to breath and to swallow what she was offered. "Careful now!" the old witch woman said, pulling the bowl away. "Too much and you'll spit it all up again—silly girl." "What... Where..." Min closed her eyes for a moment, summoning up the strength to open them again and speak. "Where is...Sergen?" "Oh, gone, by now." "W-what?!" Min felt her stomach drop and she pushed up to one elbow, eyes wide with sudden fright. The sudden jerk of movement left her upright but incredibly weak; she almost toppled over. The old witch stared at her for a second, then started sputtering with laughter, slapping her bare leg from the force of it. She had a loud sort of laugh, and was so amused with herself that she had to wipe a tear from her eyes. "Oh! Oh, child, mercy!" Cackling for a moment longer, drumming her hands on the rug under them until she wiped both eyes dry. "No. No, dear, he's close-by, I promise. I only sent him away for some rest after he sat up all night tending to you." Min blinked, confused. "Sergen...sat with me? All night?" "He's quite protective of you," the old woman said with a sly smile. "And..." She leaned in close to Min, nose right in below her navel, taking a deep, long breath. "...given that he laid with you, and recently, I'd guess—" She took another hard sniff, nodding in the affirmative "—I suppose that explains that." Min took a breath, slowly pushing up to a seat; she felt warm all over, especially after what the old woman was referring to. Her strength was returning, albeit slowly, but even the effort to sit up made her head spin. "Explains what?" "Easy, child, ," the old witch said affectionately, squeezing Min's shoulder. "You've been through quite an ordeal, my lovely, what with fighting off a bout of infection and deep magic the way you did. It's a miracle you're alive at all." Min rubbed her eyes, testing both hands. Her injured side felt sore, same as before, but now she took a closer look at her injured limb. The swelling was gone, but her forearm and shoulder were covered in fine, dark lines, swirling out in dream-like circles from a round lump of scar tissue in her shoulder nearly the size of her palm. Fearfully, gingerly, Min touched and probed the flesh. "I...I don't feel anything," she said, her voice soft with horror and fascination at the same time. "That is the curse's effect," the woman said in a sad, small voice. "It numbs pain and suffering, making the bearer all but invincible! But it also corrupts the body and soils the soul. Someone bearing that curse will fight and never falter until the heart bursts in his chest; he'll never feel death's approach until it's too late. I've done my best to seal its power, but it can't be banished from you so easily as that." "But...I thought that—" She coughed, cleared her sore throat. "Sergen said he healed me." "He said that?" The woman snorted. "Twat and twaddle—'healed you' indeed. Licking a wound closed is a valuable enough talent to have, I'll grant him that, but not even the children of Kelash are skilled enough to cure your ailment. injury was far more dangerous than some mere flesh wound." She reached down, touching Min's cheek with evident tenderness. "I'm just relieved he got you here in time." Min looked over at her. "You called it 'deep magic?' My mother never taught me such a thing. Who are you, witch woman?" "Ah, me." The woman smiled, and Min thought it was a beautiful smile. Her breasts were full and lovely. She had a firm belly, and bore a thin, soft strip of silver hair above her mound, between her crossed legs. Her smoked-ivory skin was smooth from her neck to her knees, with just the slightest tracing of darker veins across her calf muscles. "Such manners. Yes, deep magic—you may call it , a force of chaos and madness. Such magic is very dangerous, my pet, dangerous." The old woman shook her head. "But come, more of that later. For now, introductions! I am Ilay—Erkin's wife; mother of Selin and Sait, my pride and joy; witch woman of the this tribe, and one of magic, in that order." Ilay's smile was a mother's smile, warm and loving. Min instantly liked her. "Ilay, then." Min knelt respectfully, hands folded on her lap, as her mother taught her to kneel before an elder witch. "I am Yasemin, a witch of , although not full-grown yet." Min would not be her own woman until she wed, or had children. Until Erden, as both mother and tutor, declared Min a full-fledged witch woman, she was still as a child—an apprentice. "Truly?" Ilay's eyes widener slightly, then she rolled her eyes. "That man. Goddess save me." Ilay rubbed her temples, as though struggling against a sudden headache. Min tipped her head, too puzzled to respond. "Sergen," Ilay said. "Brave to a fault, a warrior as this tribe hasn't seen since I was a little girl on my Papa's lap, but..." She snorted. "The man lies with you, drags you across near-half the Witch Wood, and never bothered to ask you your own name!" "Oh." Min bit her lip. "I hadn't thought of that." "Yes, I wonder why." Ilay's smile was sly and knowing why made Min felt herself go red, from one set of cheeks to the other. Ilay laughed again, leaned over and pressed an affectionate kiss to the young woman's cheek. "As my mother often said, it's the way of young things to fawn over one another—and then fondle one another after." She winked and handed Min the bowl of water to finish. "Welcome, Yasemin." Min finished her drink, savoring the water's coolness on her tongue and sore throat. "Min, please." "Min, then, even better!" Ilay pushed to her feet, looking down and offering a hand. "Can you stand, sweetling?" She was a pale beauty, soft curves and shining hair. Whoever Erkin was, he was a lucky man. Min nodded, taking Ilay's hand and standing under her own power. Her legs trembled for a second, but held. "If I might, Ilay...may I trouble you for something to eat? I'm awfully hungry." "'May she trouble me for something to eat,'" Ilay said, forcing a huff, as though offended. Then she smiled, blunting any perceived offense, pressing a hand to Min's cheek as tenderly as her own mother ever had. "You are one of us, my dear, for long as you remain here. Of course you may eat. Come this way, let's find you something for your empty belly." Ilay took the young woman's hand, fingers laced together, and gently pulled her out of the tent and into the world beyond it. The camp was a simple one of hand-sewn tents, gathered in close proximity together for protection, Min guessed. A rudimentary pen nearby housed several milk-making animals called , a breed of wild goat that lived within the confines of the Witch Wood. She heard the sound of children playing nearby, but the smell of smoke and cooked meat got her immediate attention when her stomach began to growl. Ilay laughed. The sound of it made Min blush again. "Sorry." "Don't be—my Sait had eyes bigger than his stomach growing up, so I know the look well." Ilay led the way through the camp, leaves crunching under their feet and Ilay's necklace clicking and rattling gently, bouncing across her bare breasts as they walked together. The camp wasn't particular busy at that time of day. She spotted several women sitting together and working, mending the torn fabric on a spare tent, talking together while bone needles rose and fell with a regular rhythm. A couple of men passed by, paying Ilay and Min no mind as they talked, absorbed into some deep conversation. Above the roof of the nearest tent, Min saw the telltale trail of smoke creeping into the thick branches overhead. As they approached, Min saw three figures seated around the fire, two men and a younger woman. The men were broad like Sergen was broad, with wide shoulders and large hands, with thick patches of hair in places it almost looked like fur. The older of the two, his head and shoulders covered in grey curls, had fingers as thick as sausages. The younger man and woman were both blonde—he was stirring something in a small metal pot with a carved wooden spoon, which he used to test and taste his concoction. The woman sat cross-legged on the ground, eyes closed, but it seemed to Min that she was upset about something. The men were related somehow, Min was sure of it: they stood with the same position, carried their weight the same way; their bodies were of a similar thickness and masculine form, right down to the hair on their chests trailing down to the curls between their legs. And if Ilay was a beauty, the younger woman was stunning, a younger mirror of Ilay in body and face—they both had pale, round breasts with wide hips, and a matching strip between their legs, although the younger woman was a natural honey-blonde. Min was fascinated by the sight of the other men, standing there, emerging from her dreams after so many years. But even that was nearly smothered by her feeling of awkwardness at the young woman's features and stunning figure, on par or maybe even more beautiful then Min's own mother. "Ah, my dear." The older man reached out a hand, and Ilay took it in her empty one. They shared a kiss, a long show of affection, and the man followed it up by brushing her cheek with his other hand. "Welcome back." "Erkin, my love." Ilay smiled and pulled Min closer, linking their arms together. "This is Min, Sergen's chosen—she's to be our guest." "Truly?" Erkin gave a little huff, then smiled at Min. "Welcome then, my dear." He took a slight sniff of the air and paused, as though contemplating something. "Min," Ilay said, "this is Erkin, chieftain of this tribe, and my mate." "Ah, thank you. Sir. For having me." It was one thing for Sergen to be close-by, mostly because he'd run roughshod all over her fears and uncertainty about the opposite sex. Now another man was standing in front of her, just the way her mother had described them: fleshy, long-limbed, brutish and so strange-looking in comparison to a woman. The woman seated on the ground snickered, which soured some of the beauty of her face. The younger man stirring the pot frowned at her, shushing her with a gesture. To Min's surprise, it worked instantly—the beauty went quiet and looked down, obedient and compliant. If Ilay noticed the exchange, she didn't say anything. "And these two are my children, though long-since grown: Selin, my beauty, and Sait, my strong one. Sait is our Speaker, who memorizes and recites our laws and our stories." Ilay left Min standing next to her husband and greeted both children with a tender kiss on the mouth, though not as long-lasting as the one Erkin received. "Thank you, Mother," Selin said with a smile. Min noted that while the mother wore a , the daughter did not. "Mother," said Sait, his smile softer, yet more genuine somehow. He was taller than Min but not by much, and practically dwarfed by his grey-haired father. "The poor girl is famished," Ilay said, drawing back to Min, taking her by the hands, sitting her on the ground between Ilay and Selin; mother and daughter both sat cross-legged so Min felt obligated to do the same. Her own mother only required Min to kneel during their lessons, so perhaps it wasn't something to be concerned about. "Yes, Mother," Sait said, and fetched a bowl and spoon from a nearby flat stump that served as a table. Erkin took a seat opposite his wife, his own legs crossed as well—perhaps that the significant part, that they were across from one another. "So, Sergen found you out in the wilds, did he?" the chief asked, thick hands resting on his knees. Min tried not to stare at the soft flesh between his legs, or the mass of bristling, grey hairs that it lay nestled within. "He did," she said, looking around the camp, or what she could see of it. "Have I been here long?" Ilay patted Min's leg as if to comfort her. "Sergen showed up yesterday afternoon, carrying you and looking as though he'd run the whole way without stopping. It took the remainder of the night and into the morning to tend to your injury until you were fully out of danger." The older witch brushed her fingers up Min's tattooed arm and shoulder. Sait sat next to his father, across from Min, and offered the bowl and spoon with a smile. It smelled of meat and spice, of heat and thick sauces, and after she took one tentative bite, Min couldn't stop eating. "Perhaps I should go check on Sergen to see that he's resting comfortably," Selin said in a deliberate, sly manner. "Selin. Sergen chose Min, so no more talk of that," Ilay said, her tone more of warning than scolding. "I could smell it plain as if he'd whipped out of cock and showed it to me—if could tell, so can you." "So he chose a human." Selin shrugged. She stretched both arms above her head, thrusting her bare breasts out with a deep, exaggerated groan. "He can always change his mind." "Can he?" Min said, the spoon poised before open mouth. "Oh yes," Selin said, leaning in closer with a long, happy smile. "Wolves are often known to change mates when it suits them." "That's enough, Selin." Sait's voice was harder than his mother's. "Well, the girl deserves the right to know how we wolf-men do things, doesn't she?" Selin let her hands fall, her stretch finished, running her hands down either arm and over her full breasts. She cupped them critically, looking down at her own bosom with a thoughtful frown. "Change mates." Min let the spoon fall back into the bowl as her appetite was quite taken away. "He..." She looked over at Ilay. "You said he chose me. Is that what you meant? As a ?" Ilay threw Selin a look that Min couldn't decipher, then reached out to touch the young witch's cheek. "As Selin says, that the way of the Kelash—they take a mate of their own choosing: wolf, witch...there are even human women here with us, as well. They choose to stay if they wish it." Just thinking about it made Min's stomach do a flip. "And if they don't?" "They leave us and return to wherever they choose. is the most common reason a wolf may choose more than one mate in his lifetime." "And some may have the choice made for them," Erkin said. He sat an elbow on one knee, chin in his hand, and smirked at his mate. Ilay coughed, throwing her head back. "Well, yes, on some rare occasions, a woman might choose the wolf for herself instead...even a witch woman, for instance." She coughed, toying with her necklace, as if she were self-conscious on that particular subject. "But those times are rare, I'm sure." "Yes, quite rare," Erkin said with a toothy grin. The tension of the moment was broken, and Selin stood up, walking off with a little sigh and a shake of her head. Sait immediately reached over, taking Min's hand. "Forgive my sister, please. She was upset when Sergen rejected her the last time—she still hasn't forgotten it." The old witch sighed. "My daughter can be very bitter when it suits her." "She acts out because she thinks it'll get my attention," Sait said. He sounded resigned more than angry at admitting it. Ilay reached across, gently nudging her son in the shoulder. "Some days I wonder if woman will get your attention," she said. "I'd like to tend to some cubs that belong to my own offspring . You could do far worse than a pretty girl like Selin." "Mother..." Sait eyed Min, then looked back. "Not in front of our guest, please. I've said plenty of times that I'll know the woman I want when I see her, and not before." "Alright, alright." Ilay raised both hands in surrender. Erkin seemed to think that exchange very funny, for some reason, given the jiggling in his bare belly and the shaking of his shoulders. "But I don't understand," Min said. "Sergen told me you all were under attack—that you somehow needed my help to stop..." She searched her memory. "...to stop someone named San, and the Bhalot." It felt as though a cold wind blew over the camp. The old mates and their son looked at one another, and Ilay curled an arm around Min's waist, drawing them close together, hip to hip. "Take care how loudly you speak of the bear tribe, dearest," she said in a softer tone. "The situation is dire and dangerous," Erkin added. "But Sergen is my kin, kin, and if he said you would help us, I believe him." "But why? Why me?" Min rested her head against Ilay's shoulder, closing her eyes for a moment. So many thoughts and emotions were boiling and swirling inside of her and she didn't know what to say, or to feel. Min felt a hand on her leg, saw Sait's kind face and gentle smile when she opened her eyes. "You are one of us now—my father and mother are good judges of character. If Sergen has chosen you, and if you will stay with us, the tribe will welcome you." "May I... May I speak with my..." She swallowed. "My mate first?" All three of them nodded, almost in sync. Ilay kissed the top of Min's head, rubbing her back; she was tender and loving, reminding Min of her mother. It made her miss Erden, wishing she was there. "The curse, the sickness that Sergen tried to heal can't be lifted unless it's creator is slain, but I've found and isolated it—it won't trouble you again so long as the spell in your flesh remains." "Then who is its creator?" she asked, taking Ilay's hand in hers, pulling it into her lap. She hoped that pleased the older witch. Erkin answered her: "The creator's name is San, who you spoke of—a witch herself, and a powerful one. She and the bear-men are hunting our kind. We don't know where she came from, but she seems to have made our annihilation her one goal, whatever else may come. That seems to be why she works with the bears." He shook his head, perhaps in disbelief. "She became the mate of Ustal, their chieftain, and uses some dark magic to make them unstoppable. In the last year, they've killed dozens of my people." He sighed, turning his head to look around the small camp. "We are all that remains." It was a solemn, sad moment. Min wanted to turn and run, to flee all the way back to her mother's hut, hide under the blanket and never come out again. But that was impossible now. She'd become part of a larger world, a reality she's never known about just days ago. What Min wanted to do was to promise that she would help, that she would stay and fight by any means necessary. But she didn't. Her mouth tasted like ashes, and she slowly handed the bowl back to the chieftain's son and stood up, letting Ilay's hand go. "I will go and speak with my mate on this. Which tent is he resting in?" "He always stakes his claim at the far end of the camp," Sait said, pointing the direction Selin had gone. "Shall I show you the way?" "No, thank you. I should try to find it myself. Thank you for the food, it was very good." Ilay patted Min on the hip in a silent goodbye. Erkin and Sait both bid her farewell with a nod. Nodding as well, Min turned on heavy feet and walked in the direction Sait had pointed to while her heart pounded in her chest and her hands curled tight at her sides. The camp seemed like a homey, happy sort of place. She tried to imagine herself there as one of them: sewing torn tents, tending to cooking fires, rocking little ones to sleep. It was so different from the isolated life she'd lived. Min wished her mother was here. She was so distracted that she almost missed the tent flap ahead of her opening before Selin stepped out, all long legs and pale flesh, round hips and lovely eyes. When their eyes met, it seemed that the other woman was pleased with herself, and if Min could make an educated guess, she knew whose tent the woman had just stepped out of. "What are you doing?" Min stopped several paces distant, scowling at the woman. "What were you doing in there?" Selin flipped her hair back, snorted. "Are you going to accuse me of something?" "If that's the tent I think it is, I'm accusing you of being somewhere that you aren't wanted, for one." The blonde didn't even flinch. Min heard the familiar sound of bone cracking and reforming, and Selin's right hand was suddenly twice as long, spindly fingers outstretched, each tipped with an angry claw. "My father," she said, "is chieftain of this whole tribe. I go where I to go." Well. That certainly explained why Selin wasn't wearing her own , at least. Or perhaps wolf-women could be witches too...but Min would have to worry about that later. She was aware then that the sounds of the camp had died down—there were hurried footsteps behind her as people approached, but no one spoke up or interrupted. Even the general noise of the forest itself was muffled, as though even the birds in the trees didn't want to be heard. Min tipped her head again, hardly believing what she was seeing. "I am a here. A Do all of your people act as rudely as you, Selin?" "Only when a stranger deserves it, you worthless waste of a good fuck." Selin sniffed, curling her lip. "Why Sergen chose to stick his cock between legs, I'll never know." "Selin!" It was Ilay's voice. "Stop that this inst—!" With an upraised hand, Min herself stopped the older woman from speaking further. She didn't need or want someone else to defuse the situation;Selin was looking for a fight. It was up to Min to find a way to end things before they got worse. Min focused on Selin's claws, that misshapen hand that would tear her face off if the other woman got a chance. She spoke softly, curiously, as she inspected their every detail: the narrow digits, the thickened knuckles, the claws turned black with sharpened points. "You wolves heal very quickly, don't you?" Selin smirked, flaring her fingers open like a fan; the claws clicked and scraped on each other. "Faster than can do anything about it." If a wolf-man—or -woman—could initiate the change at will, that likely meant it was controlled by the will, the power of the mind. Min kept her hands away from her head; it was a bad habit, her mother said. Her eyes went blue as swelled in her skull and Min touched Selin's mind with hers. It was a vulgar, wild, lecherous place, the sort of psyche Min might have enjoyed another time: she saw thoughts of debauchery, of lust and physical hunger; flashes, images of Selin with Sergen, with men she didn't know, thoughts of Sait, Ilay and Erkin, all jumbled and tangled together like vines on a tree. Selin frowned, took a step closer. She visibly winced. "What are you doing?" Min didn't answer. It reminded her of how she'd first learned to use her powers as a child, touching the minds of birds, small beasts, even insects—they were lower intellects, simple things that barely noticed her presence. Selin most certainly did notice that presence now, and the look on the woman's face said that she didn't appear to like it very much. A quick search found the bestial piece of Selin's psyche, where woman and wolf were one, which also controlled Selin's physical transformation. With a thought, Min reversed the effect, like pouring water back into a cup. Selin gasped, then screamed in shock and pain as her bones began to shatter and reform again. She clutched her wrist, watching in disbelief as her clawed fingers shrank and changed back to admittedly pretty hands with pretty fingernails, but they certainly didn't look very threatening. She looked at Min next, tucking her hand under her arm, as though that was enough to block the young witch out. "If I ever catch you in his tent again," Min said in a soft voice, "I'll break your fingers so many times they'll never grow back." She wanted to glare but kept her face passive instead—that would, she hoped, be more frightening. The chieftain's daughter fled. After a moment, Min closed her eyes, took a calming breath, hoped that she wouldn't start shaking. Nobody behind her said a word—hopefully that meant she hadn't broken some kind of tribal decorum about threatening anyone. Before she could lose her nerve, she walked to Sergen's tent—her tent, tent—lifted the flap, and stepped inside.

Fjord floats in dark cold water, naked. He has no breath, and so therefore no time, and he drifts with no thought or care. WATCHING. Yellow light floods Fjord as the great eye opens. Suspended in its gaze, Fjord stares into the slit pupil that stretches taller than him. “What do you want from me?”  LEARN. GROW. CONSUME. “Do you want me to take the orb?” POTENTIAL. The water rushes past Fjord, blasting him, though he does not move with the current, the golden light still shining through the bubbles. Visions crowd his eyes – sunken ships carpeting the sea floor, a ghostly hand parting a curtain of seaweed, an empty stone basin with ancient runes carved in the rim. As suddenly as it started, the barrage stops, and Fjord gasps despite the water filling his lungs. “Is that – is that where I’m meant to go?” CONSUME. “I –” says Fjord, and in a sudden panic he wakes up. Panting, Fjord sits up in his bed. The half-moon shines through the window of Fjord’s cabin on the Tide’s Breath, his shirt drenched and his face and neck dripping with sweat. Gasping for air, Fjord wipes perspiration off his face and leans back on his hands, his heart hammering like he ran a mile. Needing fresh air, Fjord gets to his feet and pads barefoot out onto deck, sighing as the evening breeze cuts through his damp hair and the sweat on his bare chest and back. Darktow rises above the docked Tide’s Breath, torches glimmering along the road to the Plank King and on various buildings in the city. Only then does he notice the dark figure standing at the prow of the ship. Fear sticks Fjord’s breath in his throat and he freezes, trying to piece out who it is. Too small to be Caspa. Too tall to be Divastiss. Too slender to be Captain Vandran. Fjord waits, counting out fifteen seconds, but the figure does not move. “Hello?” says Fjord, approaching slowly. No response. Cautiously, Fjord walks up, close enough now that he can make out the coat and hood covering the figure from behind. He thinks he knows them. “Caleb?” The figure starts and turns, and sure enough, it is Caleb, with circles carved under his eyes and a deeply haunted expression etched on his face. The cat, Frumpkin, nests inside his hood across his shoulders, eyes gleaming in the dark, its tail curled around Caleb’s neck. “Ah,” Caleb rasps. “Fjord. I could not sleep.” “I had a feeling as such.” Fjord leans his elbows on the railing next to Caleb, gazing across the docks. “Bad dreams?” After a long, long moment, Caleb nods. “Ja,” he mutters. “Yeah,” sighs Fjord. “It’s the night for it, it seems.” Caleb’s eyes flash in the moonlight as he glances at Fjord. “What did you dream?” “I was underwater again, and it was just dark, and cold, all around me… and then there was that big yellow eye, like all the other dreams, just watching me.” Fjord clears his throat, his sinuses prickling, and he ignores the cat looking at him. “Except this time it had more to say.” Caleb answers a moment too slow, as if wrenching himself back into the conversation. “What did it say?” Sifting back through his memory of the dream, Fjord says, “Watching. Learn. Grow. Consume. Potential.” “Hm.” Caleb says nothing more, and Fjord lets the silence last, listening to the waves lapping against the boat and the docks. The breeze that drifts by carries the sharp scents of salt and seaweed, and every now and then a distant shout rises up from Darktow. A faint rumbling emanates from Caleb’s hood, and Fjord looks over, startled, before he realizes it’s the cat, which looks back at  him coolly, claws kneading and flexing into Caleb’s shoulder. “You asked, the other week, what my story is,” says Caleb suddenly, harshness clipping his syllables. “I have been thinking about that, and it is time I tell you.” He says it like he’s pronouncing a sentence on himself. Frowning, Fjord says, “You don’t – you don’t have to if you don’t want to.” “No, if we are going into this together, you need to know – what sort of man you are working with.” Caleb forces the words out. “I need to know if you can trust me.” “Okay,” says Fjord, gentle. Trying not to spook the hawk. Caleb takes a deep breath, his hands gripping the rail so tight his knuckles whiten. “I am going to tell you the story of how I murdered my mother and father.” Oh. Letting out a slow breath, Fjord laces his fingers together and reminds himself not to judge before he’s heard the whole story. From the look on Caleb’s face, he’s doing more than enough judging anyway. “When I was younger, I grew up in a small township outside of Rexxentrum called Blumenthal,” Caleb continues, forcing each word out. “My mother’s name was Una. My father’s name was Leofric. Everyone was very excited about me when I was young. I was bright, and confident. People used to say I glided through life and everything just worked for me.” Fjord pictures a child Caleb, freckles dotting his round face, his eyes bright above a gap-toothed smile. It’s hard to reconcile with the grim man beside him. “As I got older, it became clear that I had a – a knack for the arcane. Everyone talked about this Soltryce Academy, maybe I would go there someday. It’s, uh – the way they do things at that Academy, they don’t take all-comers, they look for the diamond in the rough and every couple of years they find one. But when I was a young man, adolescent, really, they found three of us. Another boy and a girl, and we were accepted.” “Who were the other two?” asks Fjord quietly. “Their names were Astrid and Eodwulf, they were from Blumenthal as well.” Caleb’s throat bobs as he swallows. “Anyway, we went there. I studied for a year. I worked so hard. It came easier to me than the other two, but they were also very accomplished. There were other students from other parts of the Empire there, and a little over a year of, of learning all they had to impart, I met a man named Trent Ikithon. He became our teacher.” The name doesn’t ring a bell for Fjord. “Who was he?” “One of the Cerberus Assembly, you know, the people who oversee magic across the entire Empire. He handpicked all three of us again, and we left the school proper and went with him to a home out in the countryside where he trained us. It was a good time,” says Caleb, with bitter nostalgia. “We believed in the Empire, we were going to keep it strong.” “Caleb,” says Fjord quietly. “He was cruel.” Caleb continues, relentless, his voice drifting out across the moonlit bay. “He hurt us a lot. Made us go through extreme circumstances, but we got strong. I also fell in love, but that’s another story,” he adds, as an afterthought. Curiosity burns at Fjord, but he bites down on it; there’ll be time to ask later. “We rose through the ranks,” Caleb says. “It was the Empire over all, and eventually, he wanted to test our allegiance, so strangers were brought in – traitors.” His voice shakes, turning dark. “Disgusting people, traitors to this empire, and we killed them.” A chill creeps along Fjord’s back. “And you were just – you were children?” “Teenagers, ja.” “And he made you do that?” “We wanted to.” Sourness twists Caleb’s voice, his face etched with disgust and pain. “A few months of this, of studying, of a little bit of torture, a little bit of murdering dissidents and traitors and deviants.” With a sick, sinking feeling, Fjord knows where this is going. “And then one day they brought in your parents, didn’t they.” “No.” Caleb exhales shakily, the cat on his shoulders flipping its tail back and forth. “We were ready to graduate, and the last test of our allegiance was – I’m getting ahead of myself. I went home, I went on a trip home and visited my parents and when I was there, in the middle of the night, I awoke and overheard them talking, and went to the stair and listened to them talk about revolution and tearing the Empire down, and I felt disgraced and shame for my family. My mother and my father, who were so wonderful to me when I was a child –” his voice wavers, breaking “– and were so happy for me to go to the Academy and believed in the Empire so much. I went back to the school and when the three of us were summoned and told what was expected of us, I knew what had to be done.” Fjord wants it to stop, he wants it to be over, sick horror fills his gut but he stays silent and listens, bearing witness to Caleb’s pain. “We went to Eodwulf’s home first, and we stood by as he killed his parents. We went to Astrid’s house, and had dinner with them, and she poisoned them. Then we went to my home and we grabbed a horse cart, and in the middle of the night, placed it against the door to the home and I set it on fire.” Caleb’s voice cracks. “So that’s why you have a hard time with fire,” says Fjord quietly. “Caleb, I am so –” “I am not done yet,” says Caleb, hard and sharp as a knife. “As soon as I heard my mother and father screaming inside… I was so sure, I was so sure, until I wasn’t, and I broke a bit.” Fjord frowns. “Broke?” “Ja.” Caleb rubs a hand over his face, cups his throat. “I went to an asylum for a number of years. I-I-I-I broke. I broke. I don’t remember so well what happened to me there. It was quite a number of years. Years later, a woman was there, and she, another patient, put hands on me, and she took the clouds away. She took it all away, and not just my madness, but the –” Caleb stops, swallows, forces out “– the fake memories that Ikithon put in my head of my parents.” As Caleb pauses, his meaning slowly sinks in, and Fjord’s horror turns ice-cold. “It was a false memory?” “Yes, but it doesn’t matter –” “Wait wait wait, hang on, of course it fuckin’ matters –” “No, no, it doesn’t, because I still wanted to do it when I did it.” Caleb’s eyes burn into Fjord’s, leaving no room for quarter. “I should have – it doesn’t matter. I’m a disgusting person. Anyway, all that gone, just like that.” He snaps his fingers. “I ran. Not right away; I pretended like nothing had changed for several weeks. She went stark raving mad fifteen minutes later herself, the woman who helped me. I killed one of Trent’s people there, and took this.” He pulls out a charm on a leather cord from under his shirt, the cat shifting restlessly. The charm itself is a small, crude thing, bone and metal twisted around each other. “This has been keeping me hidden for years. For five years.” Fjord lets out a long, slow breath. “Then how’d you get arrested?” A little sad laugh cracks Caleb’s dour exterior. “I was trying to break into a library, believe it or not. Looking for… well, it doesn’t matter now. I got caught, I lied, I said I was from Nicodranas, they were going to send me there for trial.” Caleb shrugs. “And now here I am.” Brittle tension radiates off of him as he awaits Fjord’s judgement. “That’s terrible, Caleb,” says Fjord quietly. Caleb’s rigid posture slumps slightly for the first time, judgement received. “Yes, it is.” “No, I mean –” Fjord hastily amends his statement. “That’s terrible that it happened to you.” Caleb glances at him with a strange and dreadful expression, the hint of tears glimmering in his eyes. “I did it –” “Caleb, you were brainwashed, you were lied to –” “It was my hands!” His voice echoes harshly on the water, fire in his eyes, and the cat stirs restlessly on Caleb’s shoulders. Easy-like, like gentling a horse, Fjord reaches out and touches Caleb on the arm. “It was,” he acknowledges. “But it weren’t your choice.” Caleb shivers. “You don’t know that,” he mutters. “No, I think I do.” Fjord takes that Caleb hasn’t shaken his hand off yet as a good sign. “Caleb, I’ve served under a number of men, and I know what it’s like when the person in authority doesn’t have your best interests at heart. Not that it was ever as bad as what you went through, but enough that I understand.” Clearing his throat, Caleb wraps his coat around himself. “You said you would trade your story for mine,” he says hoarsely. “I did, didn’t I.” Fjord sighs, leaning back on the railing, not entirely sure how to follow after Caleb’s tale. “I don’t know if there’s that much to tell. I grew up in an orphanage, never knew my parents, the headmaster gave me my last name. It wasn’t an easy time, I got picked on a lot – half-orc, y’know, and I was kind of a – misproportioned kid, shall we say –” “Is that why you file down your tusks?” asks Caleb. “Because they would tease you about them?” Fjord stammers and stares at him, cut short. “You noticed?” “People’s teeth don’t normally get shorter overnight,” he says, too quietly to be a dig. “Oh,” says Fjord. “Huh. Yeah. Anyway, when I was fourteen I got myself onto a ship as a cabin boy, started working my way up from there. Fell in with Vandran and his crew about six years ago, he’s been a great mentor. Made me quartermaster about half a year ago. And, well, that’s about it.” He smiles a little at Caleb. “Much less eventful than mine,” murmurs Caleb wryly, which is what Fjord was thinking but didn’t want to say. Yawning, Fjord rubs at his jaw, the sweat on his skin dried cool. “Well, listen,” he says. “I appreciate you telling me, Caleb. I appreciate the trust you put in me, and I hope to repay that someday.” A muscle twitches in Caleb’s jaw, his eyes unreadable. “Thank you.” “So what’re you trying to do now? Get revenge on Ikithon?” Caleb lets out a long, slow breath, staring out over the water. “Survive.” -- The voyage to the Diver’s Grave is unremarkable, no weather worse than a mild shower. Though the Squall-Eater and the Tide’s Breath travel together, Caleb sees no more of Avantika on his ship, which he can only be relieved for. The orb stays with Captain Vandran, locked in his iron-bound chest; Caleb keeps an eye on Fjord, too, but he seems content to leave the orb where it is. If Fjord asked Vandran to have the orb and was rebuffed, Caleb doesn’t know. When they arrive in the vicinity of the Diver’s Grave, the sky is a cloudless, pristine blue, and the ocean so deeply indigo it becomes purple in the shadow of the Tide’s Breath. Somehow this perfect weather is more ominous to Caleb than anything else, as if it hides the truth of what lies below. Most of the day is spent in ship’s business, the two vessels crawling over the area and sending crew to dive down, attempting to find the center of the grave. By the time Vandran and Avantika are both reasonably sure they’re over it, the sun has begun to dip towards the horizon, too late in the day for any extended investigation. “Wigogast, come with me,” says Vandran, clapping Caleb on the shoulder, Fjord behind him. Caleb shoots a curious glance at Fjord, who shrugs, and they follow Vandran into his cabin. Sighing, Vandran shuts the door behind them. “So the plan is for Avantika and you two, and I’m guessing that Molly fellow and who knows who else to go down, bright and early tomorrow, and investigate.” He sighs, leaning against his desk and folding his arms. “How do you boys feel about going down now, tonight?” Fjord’s eyebrows shoot up. “At night?” “Sure, you can make light, can’t you?” Vandran gestures vaguely at Caleb. “I want you to go down ahead of Avantika, scout everything out before she sees it. No surprises tomorrow.” Caleb immediately starts running through spells in his head, cataloguing what he knows, what he will need to know, what he will need to be prepared for. “Ja,” he mutters. “Okay. How much earlier before?” “Now?” says Fjord. Immediately, Caleb cuts him off, saying, “No, I need time to prepare, to go through my spells, maybe… give me some time to rest, and then I will be ready.” Fjord and Vandran exchange looks. “Before dawn,” says Fjord. “Wee hours of the morning. We can go down for a few hours, check it out, then come back up in time to join the official party?” “Ja,” says Caleb. “All right.” Fjord squares his shoulders. “Sounds like a plan.” -- Fjord takes the chance to snatch a few hours of sleep as well, secretly hoping that another dream will provide him more guidance. But his sleep is restful and unbroken, and he comes to consciousness to rapping on his door, instantly alert. “Hello?” “Ja, it is me, can I come in?” “Wh- hang on, yeah,” and Fjord fumbles to pull on his shirt. He crosses his little cabin in only a few steps and opens the door to Caleb. “It time?” “Almost, but before, I was wondering –” Reaching inside his coat, Caleb pulls his two books out of their leather holsters and very cautiously holds them out to Fjord. “Do you have a chest or something to put these in? I don’t want to take them under the water.” Even in the moonlight, Fjord can make out the wariness on Caleb’s face. “Yeah, of course,” says Fjord, and eases the books out of Caleb’s hand. Caleb hangs on a second longer than he needs to, his fingers lingering on the worn leather. “I’ll put ‘em right here,” and he makes a bit of a show out of unlocking his own iron-bound chest, placing the books inside, locking the chest again, and returning the key on its leather cord to his neck. Caleb huffs out a breath. “Right,” he says. “Actually, ah…” and he steps inside the cabin and strips off his coat as well. Heat rises to Fjord’s cheeks. “Uhhh…” “What?” Caleb shoots him a dry look, folding his coat up and tossing it on the bed. “No sense taking this down either.” He unbuckles his leather book holsters as well, placing them with a bit more care, and loops his scarf more securely around his neck. “Right,” says Fjord, internally cursing himself for being an idiot. “Yeah. Makes sense.” He armors up, pulling on his leather vest and bracers and boots, and buckling his long knife at his waist. “Ready?” Now dressed in shirt and trousers and boots, spell pouch hanging from his belt, Caleb nods. “Let us go.” As they walk out onto the deck, the moonlight etches their shadows clear behind them, dim blue light washing over the Tide’s Breath. As they cross the deck to the rail, Caleb rolls his sleeves up, revealing bandages covering his arms from palm to elbow, wrapped and tied firmly in place. Fjord thinks of fire, and says nothing. Captain Vandran stands at the rail, and as they approach, he nods to them. “Ready?” Fishing a leather cord out of his pocket, Caleb ties his hair back in a short ponytail, a faint orange light shimmering around him briefly, and nods once to Vandran. Fjord climbs up onto the rail and pauses, holding onto the rigging. “Captain, should I be takin’ the orb down with me?” He can’t help the eagerness that creeps into his voice, and maybe that’s why Captain Vandran squints and says, “No, not now. Like I said. No surprises.” Squashing his disappointment, Fjord says, “All right. Caleb?” Caleb pulls something out of his spell pouch – a short bit of straw, it looks like – and cups his hands around it, bringing his hands up to his mouth. A tingle ghosts over Fjord’s skin and the air on his tongue briefly dips cold. Seemingly satisfied, Caleb nods and tucks the straw back in his pouch. “That should do it,” he says to Fjord, climbing up onto the rail beside him. A thrill of excitement runs through Fjord as he looks at the dark water below them. “How long will it last for?” “Twenty-four hours.” “Perfect.” Fjord salutes to Captain Vandran and dives, pushing off the ship with his arms stretched above his head. He arcs through the air for a moment before hitting the water with a splash, sinking in to the velvety blue-blackness. While he’s still by the ship, Fjord takes an experimental breath, forcing himself to open his mouth and inhale deep. Bitter brine floods his mouth and nose and for a moment his body fights it, and his lungs burn and he chokes, and then – The discomfort eases, and Fjord exhales and inhales cautiously. He can feel the liquid swishing through his mouth and nose, and it’s strange as all hell, but he can breathe. A splash sounds, dissipating through the water, and a golden glow blooms at the edge of Fjord’s vision. Heart suddenly pounding, he whips around, but it’s only Caleb, swimming downwards with his four little globes of light trailing him. An octopus jets along at Caleb’s side, its tentacles curling, soft skin patterned with the same tawny spots as Caleb’s cat. “Is that –” Fjord starts to say, and stops at the strangeness of his words reverberating through water rather than air, his syllables deepened and elongated. “Is that octopus your cat?” Caleb nods, strands of hair that escaped his ponytail floating around his face. “Let us go.” His voice too is distorted and warbled. They swim downwards, Caleb’s lights illuminating specks and bits of matter drifting through the sea water. The Diver’s Grave is a reef, the ocean floor treacherously shallow, and after several minutes of descent Fjord begins to see the shapes of shipwrecks rising from the sandy floor. The reef itself is further ahead, and Fjord points in that direction before kicking through the water, Caleb following. Being able to breathe takes some of the edge off the exertion, but all too soon Fjord’s shoulders begin to burn as he breaststrokes through the water. Glancing back at Caleb, he shouts in alarm at his suddenly-grotesque face before realizing the octopus has wrapped itself around Caleb’s head, face over the top part of his like a mask. “What the hell?” says Fjord. Caleb hangs in the water, bemused. “I can see through his eyes,” and he points at the octopus. “He sees better in the dark than I do.” “Huh,” is all Fjord can say to that. “Handy.” They continue on towards the jagged black shape of the reef, angling towards the sea bed. A school of gunmetal-gray fish swims alongside them, attracted by Caleb’s dancing lights, and Fjord keeps a sharp eye out for sharks. Eventually they alight on the sea floor, clouds of silt rising around their feet. “Where next?” asks Caleb. LISTEN. Letting instinct guide him, Fjord skirts around the side of the reef. Behind a jagged outcropping, a black gash yawns in the rock, a faint but distinct current flowing into it. “This way,” says Fjord. Caleb draws up beside him, the lights floating around him and glinting eerily off the glassy eyes of the octopus on his head. “Oh boy,” he says, very quietly, the water carrying his syllables. A hoarse screech sounds behind them and cold claws grab Fjord by the throat from the back. Choking, Fjord grabs the knife at his waist, stinging pain piercing his neck. Before he can get the blade free a thick, slimy tail scaled in blue-silver wraps around him, pinning his arms to his body, spiny fish fins flared. Like a cloud, his crimson blood blooms in the water around him, and the thing yanks him backwards, off the ground. A burst of silver-white energy streaks past Fjord. The thing holding Fjord shrieks, tail constricting. Fjord snarls and kicks, but the claws pressing into his throat tighten, and the edges of his vision darken – Two more spells shimmer past, illuminating the black water, and the thing shudders and howls with the impact, white sparks bursting around Fjord. With a final gurgle, it goes limp, and Fjord hurriedly pries its grip off, kicking away the body. “What the hell,” he says, and turns to see the corpse of a horrid fish-man hybrid floating in the water, its face whiskered and carp-like but its torso muscular and human, all covered in blue and grey scales. Caleb stands on the sea floor in a circle of amber light, one hand still upraised to cast the spells. Taking a deep breath, Fjord says, “Thank you,” and swims back down to land beside Caleb. “Appreciated.” Expression unreadable behind the octopus mask, Caleb looks at him. “We should check the tunnel before we go in to make sure nothing is there to ambush us.” “Good – good thinking,” says Fjord, who to his private chagrin had been fully intending to walk right in. “How do you wanna do that?” The octopus disengages from Caleb’s head and swims towards the tunnel, long tentacles pulsing behind it as it expels water, pushing itself forward. Caleb’s eyes have turned an eerie flat blue-white, and his hand drifts out to the side, fastening on Fjord’s sleeve as the octopus disappears into the dark gash between the rocks. For what feels like a long, long time Fjord waits, listening intently for any other approaching mermen. The watery, ambient sound of the ocean fills his ears, and a faint, aching moan that might be a whale echoes from a long way away. “Nothing,” says Caleb, his eyes returning to normal. “It is clear, let’s go.” Drawing his knife, Fjord strides forward, slow but determined through the water. Clouds of silt and sand stir up around his and Caleb’s feet, faint flecks glinting in the mage-light. As they enter the tunnel, the octopus swims forward to wrap itself back around Caleb’s head, suckered tentacles curling firmly in place. Coral covers the reef, strange multicolored fingers and fans waving faintly in the current, anemones like fleshy alien flowers. Further into the tunnel, though, the coral gives way to seaweed, thick, slimy, and deep brown-green. It should be terrifying – the low visibility, the eerie quiet, the movement of the seaweed out of the corner of his eye – but the adrenaline humming in Fjord’s veins is the thrill of the chase, not the chased. If whatever entity that guides him and Avantika forward – this Uk’atoa – has sent him here before her, then any secrets here are for him, him and Caleb – Caleb shouts, stopping short as a ghostly figure drifts directly out of the wall and across the tunnel in front of them, disappearing back into the other rock face. Heart pounding, Fjord freezes. Even after the apparition is gone, he thinks he can still see where it was, the echo of its pearly white visage floating in his minds’ eye. “Told – told you there were ghosts,” he manages, clearing his throat. Raising an eyebrow, Caleb snorts and looks pointedly down at Fjord’s hand clenched on his arm. Cheeks warming in the cold water, Fjord lets go; it’s hard to tell, what with an octopus covering his face, but it looks like Caleb flushes a little too. “Scared?” says Caleb. “No,” retorts Fjord automatically. “You?” “Yes,” says Caleb, but it’s not an admission, it’s a challenge. He takes another step forward and another, copper hair trailing behind him. Fjord follows after, now fully expecting skeletal hands to shoot out from behind the curtain of seaweed and grab him any moment, and he stays as much in the middle of the tunnel as possible. Not long after, though, the tunnel splits, paths leading left and right with a large, tangled clump of underwater vegetation at the junction. “Which way?” asks Caleb. LISTEN. Closing his eyes, Fjord thinks back on his latest dream, tries to picture the little yellow crystal at his heart, leading him onwards. If he turns to the right, the water flowing through feels ever so slightly colder. “This way.” He glances behind at Caleb just in time to see long tendrils of seaweed snake out from the clump and wrap themselves around Caleb’s wrist and neck. Shouting in wordless warning, Fjord darts forward, Caleb choking and digging his heels in as the seaweed tries to drag him back in. Fjord’s knife trails bubbles through the water as he slashes through the tendrils, dark green pieces hacked free. With another two swipes, Fjord frees Caleb from the seaweed and drags him clear, down the right tunnel. “You all right?” says Fjord, panting, and only then realizes he has an arm barred across Caleb’s chest, Caleb’s back flush with Fjord’s front. Hastily, Fjord lets go and steps away. Methodically, Caleb adjusts and tightens the bandages wrapped around his arm. “Fine,” he says. “Do you think we tell Avantika about that one or not?” “Maybe we leave it as a surprise.” This next tunnel is narrower, and lined with seaweed as well. As Caleb and Fjord continue down it, more dark tendrils reach out towards them like so many hands, phantom touches just brushing their skin, not quite close enough to ensnare. “Hsst!” says Caleb, holding Fjord back, as a dark figure flits across ahead of them. Fjord holds his breath, waiting for an attack. “Ghost or merrow?” he mutters. “Or neither?” says Caleb darkly. Keeping his hand firmly on his knife, Fjord walks forward. The tunnel meanders, deeper into the rock, and if cold whispers across the back of Fjord’s neck he tells himself it’s just a current in the water. After about ten minutes, he catches a glint up ahead of something reflecting Caleb’s light and stops short, throwing out a hand to halt Caleb too. “See that?” he whispers. Caleb nods. They both stand in silence, waiting, the water in Fjord’s ears mimicking the muffled pulse of his own heart. “I think we go forward,” he says slowly. Caleb brings up his hand in a familiar gesture (it surprises Fjord briefly, that he already knows Caleb’s mannerisms so well) to start sparks around his fingers before scowling, only his mage lights illuminating the water around them. Fjord can’t help but laugh, and Caleb scowls at him too. “All right, let’s go,” he says, and strides forward. As Fjord approaches, the glinting resolves itself into coins, mounds and mounds of them filling a rough-walled cavern not much larger than Captain Vandran’s quarters. And not just coin – precious gems shine red and blue and green among the metal, and not just weapons of all shapes and sizes but cutlery, dishes, and other trinkets make up the piled loot as well, all with a thin patina from the silt and saltwater. From the middle of this bounty rises a crude pedestal, topped with a roughly-hewn bowl of stone, and an even cruder throne has been hacked into the opposite wall. As Fjord takes a step forward, the ground crunches. With dawning horror, Fjord looks down and realizes the ground between him and the treasure pile, over a yard of it, is covered in bones. Humanoid bones. It was a ribcage under his foot that snapped. Caleb mutters a curse under his breath. “This ain’t a good place,” says Fjord, stating the obvious. Caleb kicks off the wall, swimming to avoid the bones underfoot, and touches down lightly by the pedestal. “This is old,” he mutters, the water bringing the words farther than air would have. “Ancient.” And he stands over it, occasionally moving his fingers in complicated gestures. Only then does Fjord notice the rust-red stains on the basin of the bowl and the carved runes spiraling around the rim. “Caleb…” he says slowly. LISTEN. Cold fingers prickle the back of Fjord’s neck, and he starts and looks around, but sees nothing. With dawning horror, he cranes his head to the rock above them. A dark figure clings to the ceiling, her long tangled black hair floating around her face and emaciated form, and Fjord catches the gleam of a single, terrible yellow eye. “Look out!” he shouts, pointing his knife up at her, and Caleb jumps back just as the hag launches herself downwards at him. She lands on the pedestal, bony arms and legs splayed out, and grins a grin of sharklike teeth. Grabbing a handful of coins from the floor, Fjord hurls them at her, hoping to distract her, but they don’t make it as far as he hoped in the water, instead falling slowly at the pedestal’s base. With a shriek that chills Fjord’s bones, the hag swipes at Caleb with impossibly long fingers, but the orange light flares around him and her claws scrape off it as if off a shield. Fjord charges at her and slashes straight for the ribs with his knife, but she twists away, jumping off the pedestal and to the wall, disappearing among the hanging tangle of seaweed. Hissing under his breath, Fjord darts up beside Caleb. “Where’d she go?” “There – no – there!” Caleb turns, his back to Fjord’s, his finger tracking a ripple in the seaweed curtaining the walls. The same silver-white magic he used to blast the merrow crackles on his finger, ready to fire. Their shoulders pressed together, Fjord rotates with him, watching frantically not only for the hag but for any ghosts. The hag bursts out of the seaweed four feet to the left of the last visible movement and Fjord yells, slashing wildly as she crashes into him. Blood pours into the water as she knocks Fjord off his feet, dragging him through the water, his knife digging into her clavicle. White sparks burst off her as Caleb strikes, and she shrieks. Growling, Fjord twists his knife into her, the blade scraping against bone, and kicks furiously into her bony torso as she drives him up towards the seaweed-covered wall. The slimy tendrils tickle the back of his neck, reaching for him, curling around his arms and throat – Amongst all the salt and brine, the medicinal taste of licorice lingers on Fjord’s tongue, and he frowns before sudden adrenaline floods his system. He headbutts the hag right in her ugly face, kicking her savagely, and everything he does is just a little bit faster and he kicks off the wall and propels them through the water, slamming her into the basin and his knife drives down her ribcage and carves a line through skin and bone as her dark blood floats into the water and she screams as her claws scratch down Fjord’s front and her eyes are yellow yellow yellow like the orb and POTENTIAL booms in his mind and Fjord takes his long knife and drives it into her throat, up under her chin. She gurgles, and her claws pierce Fjord in her death spasms but the pain barely registers under the haze of adrenaline. Chest heaving, teeth bared, Fjord holds tight and watches her eyes go glassy and still, her mouth hanging open, hair waving gently in the ocean current. “Fjord,” says Caleb quietly, as if from a long distance away. CONSUME. The water vibrates around him and Fjord swivels his head, looking around for the source of power in the room. Surely, among all these gems – “Fjord!” and Caleb grabs him by the front of his shirt, dragging him off the pedestal. “Look!” The sudden energy drains out of Fjord and he hangs limp in Caleb’s grasp, supported by the water. “God,” Fjord mumbles, the pain of his wounds reasserting itself, blood dissipating in the water around him. “Was that – d’you do that?” “Ja, it’ll wear off,” and Caleb pats Fjord on the cheek. Dazed, Fjord tries to wrap his mind around this as Caleb lets go of him, leaving floating, and strides over to the pedestal and pushes the hag’s body away. It floats up against a wall and is immediately entangled in the seaweed Pulling himself together, Fjord swims over and realizes that the hag blood spilled over the basin has not floated away, but instead been drawn into the stone bowl, clinging to the sides. Some of the runes around the edge glow crimson, and with a queer thrill Fjord realizes that similar runes on the cave walls have lit up the same dull red, just visible through gaps in the seaweed. “What do these say?” says Fjord, awed. “You can read ‘em, right?” “I could, but they are not a language,” Caleb murmurs, running his fingers over the runes on the bowl. “These are runes, they are… they are meant to channel, to tap into some greater power…” LISTEN. If Fjord holds his breath and pays attention, he can feel the magnetic pull on the edges of his consciousness, back towards the throne. He approaches slowly, wary for any sudden threat, but nothing jumps out at him from the dark vegetation. A red velvet cushion lies on the stone seat, the plush fabric half-blackened and disintegrating with wet. Using his knife, Fjord tears through the velvet like paper, revealing a soft golden glow among the down filling. Pale fluff drifts into the water as Fjord reaches down and seizes the round, yellow crystal – His hands are not his own, but human, rough and callused. His body is not his own, clad in worn leathers and many belts. He is no longer underwater but in a desert, lips dry and stinging, throat parched, the sand dunes around him bleached pale as bone under a night sky and a crescent-thin moon. Black blood pools from the body lying on the ground in front of him, sinking into the sand. The sword in Fjord’s other hand drips blood as well. CONSUME. With a gasp Fjord comes back to his surroundings, the orb burning in his hand. “Fjord?” says Caleb, concerned. “Found another one of these,” says Fjord huskily, holding the orb out to him. “I think – I think maybe you should take it, I just had a vision, and –” CONSUME. The urge to seize the orb and drive it into himself grips Fjord, and his hand jerks towards his abdomen before he resists, gritting his teeth. “Take it!” CONSUME. Caleb’s eyes widen and he rips the orb out of Fjord’s hand before Fjord can grab it back. “A vision of what?” “I – I wasn’t myself, I was in a desert, and there was – there was a body, I think – I think I killed him –” Frowning, Caleb pulls a small paring knife from his belt and tears off a scrap from his shirt sleeve, wrapping the orb in the fabric. “Did you know who they were?” “No.” Sighing, Caleb tucks the orb into his component pouch, and for a brief moment Fjord experiences the wild urge to tackle Caleb and take the crystal back. “Well, I guess we got what we came here for,” he says. The octopus uncurls and curls one tentacle lazily around his ear. “Avantika will be pissed.” “Yeah, she will.” Fjord can’t help feeling a little satisfied. Caleb straightens his shoulders, taking one final look around the room. “It will be dawn soon, we should go back.” “Wait wait wait, hold on.” Stepping back up beside the stone bowl, the runes still glowing red, Fjord says, “We’re just gonna leave this pedestal?” The octopus draws back, revealing Caleb’s face, as he turns back and frowns at Fjord. The golden light of his globes diffuses through the water, warm and dim. “What are your goals, Fjord?” he says quietly. “Well, uh, that orb, I guess,” says Fjord. “I dunno. Just seems a shame to leave this behind.”   Caleb’s frown deepens. “You think it has something to do with the orbs? Do you think this releases Uk’atoa?” “I don’t think so,” says Fjord slowly. “Look at the stains on this altar, it’s been used a number of times. Think we’d have heard about Uk’atoa bein’ released by now.” Fjord’s palm itches, whether for the altar or the orb he’s not sure. “Aren’t you the least bit curious about what this pedestal does?” The corner of Caleb’s mouth curls in a cautious smile. “Yeah, I have some ideas and I am curious, but I want to know what you intend.” His eyes find Fjord’s, burning blue-gold. “What do you want, Fjord?” Fjord exhales slowly, water flowing out of his mouth. “Control,” he says. “I want to be the master of my own destiny.” “And will this –” Caleb nods at the pedestal “– help with that?” “Dunno,” says Fjord. “Aren’t you the least bit curious about what a little drippy-drip might do?” A canny gleam kindles in Caleb’s eyes and a hungry expression crosses his face, his gaze fixed on Fjord. “I’m always curious,” he says, low. “Can I count on you to return the favor?” Fjord steps up to the pedestal across from Caleb, both hands gripping the carven stone. “Always,” he says, and means it. Not breaking eye contact, Caleb takes the paring knife back out, slices it across his palm and through the bandages, and slams his hand down inside the altar. The dull red light swells around his hand, more runes illuminating as Caleb’s bright crimson blood joins the dark blood of the hag in the bowl. Fjord cuts his own hand on his long knife, bright pain slicing through his skin, and watches as the blood flowing from the wound coalesces in the water and is drawn into the basin. More and more runes on the walls illuminate, turning the light in the chamber sanguine. By now the basin is about two-thirds full, and Fjord starts to feel a little heady with adrenaline and blood loss. He looks up at Caleb, who grins back at Fjord, illuminated from below by the red light of the runes, face pale but eyes alight with a wild glitter. “This bowl needs a lot of blood,” says Fjord. “How far are you willin’ to take this?” “How far are you?” Fjord squeezes his hand, the blood oozing out between his fingers and flowing into the bowl. “I’m just tryin’ to provoke some chance here.” The level in the bowl slowly rises as Caleb looks down at his own sliced hand, and Fjord wonders if some kind of magic pulls the blood out of him faster than it would flow on its own. “I am following your lead here,” says Caleb, low and rough, and the intensity of his gaze transfixes Fjord. “This is your quest. I have things that I need to do that are not here, and I am going to need help.” His voice drops on the last word, the burr in his tone sending shivers up Fjord’s spine. “I understand,” says Fjord, and holds his still-bleeding hand out across the bowl. Caleb stares at it for a long, long while and then brings his own two hands together, wringing them together to eke blood out, before clasping his cut palm solidly to Fjord’s. The mingled blood from their hands dissipates and coalesces again in the bowl beneath, the thick red liquid rising, and Fjord tightens his grip on Caleb, who grips him back, the red gleam reflected in his eyes, hair floating around his head and the octopus curling a tentacle around his neck. “So do I.”

“Aye, Kaminari’s not dead!” Sero cheered when the two walked into the common room. Much of the class was gathered on the couch, looking up from their various activities at Sero’s call. “Still looks like shit though.” “Thanks, dude,” Kaminari sniffed. The walk from the school to the dorms had resulted in a very stuffed nose, a killer headache, and an intense desire for a nap. “Sorry for making you guys worry.” Mina smiled. “Just be sure to take better care of yourself okay? Now you should definitely go to bed. You look ready to pass out.” The blond nodded meekly turning towards the stairs. Kirishima shadowed after him, wanting to make sure he actually made it up to his room without passing out. (He may have just carried the other up the steps but neither of them really discussed it.) “Is there anything you need right away, or just want to sleep?” Kirishima asked as they walked into Kaminari’s room. The blond shook his head. “Nah, just gonna sleep. Thanks, Kiri. You’re a great bro.” Kirishima beamed. “Thanks, bro! Call me if you need anything, okay? You shouldn’t be moving around too much until you’re feeling better.” “Yeah, yeah. Go on, mom. I’m going to sleep now.” He shooed the other from his room. He made his way over to his dresser, digging around for his comfiest pair of sweatpants and the softest, worn t-shirt that he kept just for when he was sick like this. Kaminari had just pulled his shirt off when the door opened. The blond froze, staring wide-eyed at Bakugou. The other scanned him up and down, making Kaminari flush and cover himself reactively. “Bakugou, what are yo--?” “Brought you some fuckin’ medicine,” Bakugou said, lifting up a shopping bag. “O-oh thanks.” Kaminari quickly pulled on his t-shirt. Did he go and buy it just for me? “If you want to just leave it there…” Bakugou ignored him as he worked the box open and measured out a dose and handed it to Kaminari. “I want to make sure your dumbass actually takes it,” he explained when Kaminari stared at him, though he couldn’t seem to meet his eye when he did. Cute, Kaminari thought as he swallowed down the disgusting medicine. He shivered. “Ugh. That’s nasty.” “So is your face right now. Go the fuck to sleep.” “Aw, you do care about me.” Bakugou froze, mouth opening like he was going to shout at Kaminari but he stopped. Instead, he simply rolled his eyes and walked away. “Whatever. Just don’t die. Or do. Doesn’t matter to me.” The door closed with a bang and Kaminari couldn’t help the flighty, happy feeling that was bubbling up in his chest.   The medicine didn’t take long to take effect and as soon as it did, Kaminari was out. The next thing he knew, his room was completely dark and while his body still felt heavy from the lingering effects of the medicine, he did feel somewhat better. At least he didn’t feel like his head was about to explode anymore. Fumbling, he pulled out his phone to text Kirishima. To BROck: I lived bitch From BROck: that’s great dude! So glad for your continued existence Kaminari smiled, laying his phone down for a moment and debating going back to sleep. The phone buzzed just as he was starting to drift off. From BROck: dude warning theres a blasty boi coming your way The blond frowned, trying to understand what Kirishima was trying to tell him. Just as it clicked in his head, the door was thrown open and once again, Bakugou entered his room without any sort of warning. “Oi, Pikachu, sit up. Time to fuckin’ eat.” Kaminari debated pretending to still be asleep but then the most delicious scent he had ever been blessed enough to smell wafted over to him. He sat up, blinking in the light when the other flicked it on. As soon as he could see again, Kaminari focused in on the tray that was balanced somewhat precariously in Bakugou’s hand. “You brought me food?” he asked. “No, I thought I’d eat this in front of you.” Bakugou rolled his eyes as he handed Kaminari the tray. “You haven’t fuckin’ eaten all day, so don’t give me some bullshit about not being hungry.” The blond’s stomach growled as he looked down at the bowl of soup that he knew to be the source of the amazing smell. “No problem there.” He took a bite, finding the taste just as good as the smell. “Holy shit, where did you get this?” “Family recipe,” Bakugou said proudly. “My mom used to make it when someone sick and it isn’t that hard so…” “Thanks, Bakugou,” Kaminari said, trying to fully express how much he meant it. “For this and everything else.” Bakugou looked away and, maybe it was just the fever making him hallucinate, but Kaminari was pretty sure he was blushing. “Not that big of a deal. Just eat your damn soup.” He turned to leave, but Kaminari didn’t want to be left alone just yet. “Wait!” he said. “Stay? Please?” He blinked up at the other, trying to look as pitiful as he could. The explosive blond stared at him for a moment before frowning and walking out the door. Kaminari tried to pretend that he wasn’t disappointed. He took another bite of soup, finding that even its warmth did little alleviate the hurt. Just as he was debating texting Kirishima to come and join him, the door opened. Bakugou said nothing as he went straight for Kaminari’s desk chair and sat down, opening up the book he had just gotten from his room. Kaminari smiled, saying nothing as he continued eating.   By the time he finished the soup, Kaminari felt ready to sleep again. He yawned as he set the bowl aside. Bakugou looked up from his book. “Finally done?” he asked as if Kaminari had forced him to sit there the entire time. The sick teen nodded, flopping back onto his bed. “Sleepy times.” “You should take another dose,” Bakugou said, followed immediately by the sound of him measuring it out again. “Sit up for a second.” Kaminari whined but sat up obediently. The medicine was just a gross the second time as the first, but the shadow of a smile on Bakugou’s face made it somewhat worth it. “There’s more soup downstairs if you want more of it at any point. Just let me know,” Bakugou said. “’Kay.” Kaminari yawned; the medicine was taking effect faster this time. When Bakugou reached over to take the soup bowl, the blond caught his sleeve, weakly trying to pull the other into bed with him. “Stay with me,” he said, a slight whine entering his voice. “You’re fuckin’ needy when you’re sick, you know that?” Bakugou asked. The blond shrugged, tugging slightly harder. “Yeah, but you’re cute all the time and I have to suffer because of that, so make it up to me.” Bakugou stared at him for a long moment before sighing. “Whatever.” He let the bowl go but started to move away from the bed, much to Kaminari's chagrin. “I’m just turning off the light, you dumb fuck,” he snapped when Kaminari continued to cling to him. “I’ll be right back,” he said more softly. Darkness enveloped the room. Kaminari felt the edge of his bed bend down as Bakugou sat down. He scooted over, giving the other room to lay back. As soon as Bakugou was settled in, Kaminari moved back, laying mostly on top of the other. He hummed happily as he snuggled in against the warm, firm chest. “If you get me sick, I’ll kill you,” Bakugou said as his arms came up to loosely wrap around Kaminari. “S’okay. I’ll take care of you.” “Go to sleep dumbass.” Kaminari smiled as he drifted off, warm and secure in Bakugou’s arms.

“You should go purple.” “I am not going purple,” Keith hissed, raking his fingers through his hair in a frustrated manner. “Why not? Keith, show them who you are rather than hiding behind – ” “I’m not hiding! It’s just…It’s bad enough that I have to introduce the McClains to my furry father, my mentor in the Blades who won’t go anywhere without his hood, Sendak who is practically that uncle you tell kids to stay away from, my great aunt Allura, who has ears like an elf – and let’s not forget you.” Shiro blinked, sitting straighter on the bench. “What about me?” “Ignoring the scar across your face and the alien right arm,” which was now white and silver with the blue accents of Altean tech, “you’re also married to my great aunt. You’re practically my uncle and brother. Oh, quiznak. My side of the family is the space equivalent of the Beverly Hillbillies.” Shiro did not want to know which one he was. Letting out an exasperated sigh, Keith resumed his prowl, trudging back and forth on the edge of the warm water that slithered up onto the golden beach. Dressed in comfortable swimming trunks and a red T-shirt that stretched over his muscles, with his short mullet tied back in a ruffled tail, Keith once more reminded Shiro that he was no longer the scrawny thirteen year old who hated the world from underneath a curtain of too-long black hair and sported a chip infinitely bigger than his shoulder could carry. The last decade matured Keith into a practical and compassionate individual, able to care and love with all his heart, even if he kept it sheltered and safe within the hands of a select few. He certainly carried a level head and grew into a capable and confident second-in-command of the Paladins of Voltron, but that short fuse still burned pretty quickly. So Shiro did what he did best, what every leader did best – damage control. “Don’t you think you’re blowing this a little out of proportion?” Keith stopped dead in his tracks and pinned Shiro with a dark scowl. “How would you feel if your son returned after more than seven years in space and brought home a furry purple alien whom he’s been dating for the last three?” “I would assume it’s no different than finding out your own little brother is a furry purple alien after knowing him for two years, but then again, who am I to judge?” That sizzled the flames of Keith’s anger. “Not to mention,” Shiro continued in a soothing tone, “my little brother never actually told me he was an alien. He just relaxed enough in my presence to show me. At least Lance will be introducing you as such.” Right on cue, Keith’s head drooped, and Shiro could just imagine his adorable ears following suit. Keith struggled for the words, obviously searching for an adequate apology, and like a forgiving older brother, Shiro let him off the hook. He reached out, warm metal fingers circling Keith’s wrist and gentling tugging him onto the bench. “Hey, I’m not mad. Really. I might have been a little hurt when I first found out, but that was years ago. And I understand you being afraid to tell me. You hadn’t told anyone, and you worried how I would take it. It made sense, Keith.” Keith sighed, burying his face in his trembling hands. “But you are not the McClains. You’re – You’re different. You always have been.” Shiro couldn’t keep the indulgent tone from his voice. “I’ll take that as a compliant.” Keith’s bitter glare held no heat. “You know what it is. But the McClains – they never asked for this. Lance told me how proud they were of him when he got into the garrison, but they never thought he’d be gone so long. I mean, Shiro – they’re normal people.” “And just what are you?” Keith flinched as if hit, then averting his eyes with a crestfallen expression. “I’m a purple alien who came from two warring nations and was chosen to pilot one of five legendary warships that’s shaped like a cat. Oh, and I joined a mysterious society that worked ten thousand years to destroy Zarkon’s reign.” Shiro shrugged a shoulder. “That sounds more normal to me than Lance’s family.” “Shiro – ” Shiro sighed and wrapped a comforting arm around Keith, unnerved by the wire-strung tension in his little brother’s shoulders. “Hey. Seriously. It’s going to be okay. The McClains are going to love you.” “Sure, you can say that,” Keith snorted, gloved hands twisting in his lap. “Everyone automatically falls in love with you.” “Weren’t you just tell me how my scar and arm – ” “Yeah, but then you open your mouth and charm them all.” What the hell? “I don’t charm any – ” Keith pinned Shiro with a stern glower. “Oh, please. Don’t give me that. It’s me, Shiro. I know all your tricks.” Okay, so maybe Shiro knew his way around a diplomatic conversation, and his smooth facial features and deep voice didn’t hurt the cause. And yeah, he sported sculpted muscles and a taut body even before Haggar gave him all those physical… improvements. “I don’t have any of that,” Keith continued, still forlorn. “I-I guess Lance likes what he sees, y’know? Or at least, that’s what he says, but I-I just can’t – I’m not good with all the rest, Shiro. I –” “— might have helped save the universe no less than five hundred times in the last seven years or so.” Shiro tightened his hold, tucking Keith under his arm. “And you love Lance. His family will love you just because of that.” They sat in comfortable silence, the calming rhythm of the ocean waves lulling them to relative peace. The endless horizon glowed in the rays of the dying sun, and the shimmering stars glistened in the cool palate of night. No matter how many planets they visited or how many sunsets they saw, Shiro never saw one quite as spectacular as those on Earth. There was just something special about being home, but as Shiro found himself on the receiving end of a searching gaze, he was reminded again that home wasn’t necessarily Earth. “There were times I never thought we’d see this place again,” Keith murmured, elbows resting upon his thighs. “I always wanted to, y’know, but sometimes – the mission…” That was true. The tireless clashes, the seemingly never-ending string of battles, the Galra’s relentless determination for death and destruction – perhaps the only thing more stubborn than Zarkon himself were the Paladins of the Voltron. Shiro rubbed Keith’s back warmly, following his gaze toward the darkening heavens. “Hm. When I was a cadet at the garrison, all I wanted to do was go into space. See everything, explore.” “Fly.” “That, too,” Shiro laughed. He was a pilot first and foremost and loved every second of being behind the controls of a ship. His eyes fell to his metal hand along Keith’s shoulder, bringing it back into his lap and flexing the shimmering fingers. “I always knew there was something out there, calling to me. I just…didn’t think it a large black cat.” Keith’s genuine laughter was a gift as was his blistering warmth against Shiro’s side. “I didn’t see that coming, either.” “There was a lot that we never could have imagined.” The Galra. The Alteans. Their lions. Their powers as the guardian spirits of the elements. Matt and his Druid-ness. The Blades of the Marmora. The Rebels of Pollux. Lotor. Each other. “I still can’t believe you got laid in space,” Keith chuckled, and Shiro felt no remorse about slapping him upside the head. “Millions of miles away from home, and you still managed to score. How is that possible?” “Hey, I got married in space,” Shiro reminded, wiggling his ring finger, complete with said shimmering merchandise, in front of his little brother’s face. “You were the one who got laid in space.” Shiro enjoyed the fierce blush that spread across Keith’s cheeks and down his neck – he was so much fun to tease – but then Keith ducked his head, studying his still gloved hands with a serious countenance. “Do you ever regret it, Shiro?” Shiro blinked, taken back. “Regret what?” Keith shrugged, fidgeting with the edge of his gloves. “I kinda wonder sometimes, y’know? Like if you didn’t go to Kerberos, or the Galra hadn’t attacked your crew. Or if they hadn’t taken your arm – we would never have went into space. We would never have formed Voltron and fought the Galra. I – I might not have found my dad or the Blades, and you – ” “ – would never have met Allura,” Shiro replied, once more appealing to the rapidly darkening sky. The words refused to come, and Shiro didn’t chase them. The events of his year as a Galra prisoner replayed in his mind, sending a fierce shiver through his body. He must have spaced out or something – that happened every so often – because the next thing he knew, Keith was lacing their fingers together in a silent apology. Shiro eventually found his voice, though it came out raw and broken. “I-I don’t know. I think about that a lot, actually, especially when I wake up and see Allura lying next to me.” God, that was a sight he would never tire of, and her scent – so fresh and flowery. He relaxed completely in her arms, her curly hair tumbling about his cheeks with reassuring caresses. “I can’t imagine my life any other way. Besides, I’m – I’m not sure we ever had a choice in the matter. I’d like to believe in free will, but – I think all this had to be more than just coincidence. I almost have to believe it was fate.” Keith nodded, eyes hazy with his own wondrous thoughts, and Shiro couldn’t help but ruffle his hair. “It really doesn’t matter, Keith. It happened, and – and I am glad it did. Maybe not the time I was tortured by the Galra – ” “ – or gutted by Haggar –” “ – that too – ” “ – or locked in the astral plane for almost a year – ” “ – yes, well, thank you for bringing that – ” “ – or when Lotor challenged you to duel for Allura’s hand, and then she – ” Shiro slapped his human hand over his brother’s mouth, effectively stopping his ramblings. “Yes, I get it. Thank you for the thorough recollection.” When Shiro released him, Keith’s eyes shimmered with a feral glint of a rabid cat, but that wasn’t what worried Shiro. “So what brought all this on, kiddo?” Holding his anger for a few seconds longer, Keith finally surrendered with a loud sigh. “It’s just…Lance and I never really got along in the garrison. What if – What if we’d never formed Voltron? What if the Red Lion would have picked someone else? What would – would we still have, y’know, gotten together? But it’s like you said,” he added quickly, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter because it happened. And we’re here now.” Shiro clutched Keith’s hand again, and it was like the anchor to reality he desperately needed. His eyes drifted to the pier not too far away and a tiny house above it – a pizza shack – where music played and tacky Christmas lights hung from the gutters and railings. “Y’know what scares me the most?” he murmured, the gentle ocean breeze all but swallowing his words. “Not ever forming Voltron or finding the Black Lion or even marrying Allura. When I think about when my life began – it was when I met you, kiddo.” Keith’s eyes shot up with such intense emotion that Shiro felt their heat. He ignored the warmth of his own cheeks to continue. “You were my family first, Keith. I-I know I wouldn’t have survived the Galra’s torture if not for you, and – and everything that came after. You always kept me grounded. You always supported me. Even before the Galra – you were always there for me. After break-ups. After exams. During mission training when things got rough – you met me afterwards or brought me meals during exercises. I-I don’t think I ever thanked you for that.” “That’s nothing to thank someone for, Shiro,” Keith assured, hand tightening. “That’s what family does.” Yes, it was. Their family grew to include the Paladins, the Alteans, others as well. He fell in love with Allura, looked out for Pidge, encouraged Lance, cooked with Hunk. He learned about the ways of the universe with Matt and helped Coran with maintenance on the ship. He wouldn’t deny that he even came to see Sendak as a quasi-parental figure, someone he could go to for advice and who would listen to his troubles with (little) judgment. Thace and Kolivan, too, and so many others – and throughout it all, there had always been Keith, standing next to him, ready to take on the universe just because Shiro was. Perhaps that was what maimed Shiro the most. Throughout it all, he always knew he never had to go through it alone, but Keith – God, Keith had that lonely year after Kerberos and then there was another period of time, right after their first major blow to Zarkon. The team hadn’t known if Shiro was alive or dead. If it had been reversed, Shiro wouldn’t have been able to function, and from what Allura and Lance told him later, Keith barely managed. In fact, the only thing that kept Keith going was the hope that somewhere, somehow, Shiro was still alive and could be saved. He had been right. Without Keith pushing so hard to find him – Shiro shuttered to think what might have happened to him in the astral plane. “Thank you,” he finally said, but Keith punched him, actually punched him on the arm. “Ow!” “Stop that,” Keith chastised, left fingers still threaded with Shiro’s metal ones. “I told you. You don’t thank people for that.” He grew quiet then, eyes running over the now darkened sky. “Without you – my life would have been different. I – I don’t know what would have happened, but – Shiro, you adopted me.” Shiro’s eyes blew wide. “Y-You found out about that?” “You were gone for a whole year! Of course I found out about that.” Hands trembling in tight fists, Keith looked like he was willing to take another shot at Shiro. “What were you thinking?” “That I wanted to keep you safe.” Closing his eyes, he could imagine the prickly Keith, all mad and huffing at him for wanting to talk about contingency plans. “I wanted to be there for you, even if I couldn’t physically be with you.” “I didn’t want the damn money, Shiro! I just wanted you back!” “Yeah, but if I couldn’t come back, I wanted to make sure you would be okay.” “I wouldn’t have been okay.” Shiro wasn’t surprised by the shimmering tears that suddenly stained tracks down Keith’s face. “I wasn’t okay.” Shiro knew that. He drew his little brother close, his arms wrapping tightly about Keith’s shoulders in a reaffirming hold. It allowed Keith to rest his head in the cleft of his chest and hide his tears in Shiro’s shirt. They never truly talked about it, even after all these years, but Shiro knew the truth – Keith had been expelled because of him in some way. Shiro went through the physical manifestation of hell, but Keith went through something far worse – the manifestation of his worst fears. “I’m sorry, Keith.” “I missed you so much,” he choked, and Shiro’s heart ached something fierce and terrible. “A-And one of my professors, he said – he said you’d…the way you…went…” Through the sobs and hiccups, Shiro only caught bits and pieces of the actual event, but Shiro heard enough. His hands tensed in Keith’s shirt. His eyes set on a point on the horizon, and anger ripped through his veins as if he fought against Zarkon himself again. To say such terrible things to a teenager, to his own little brother…and they were lies. Eight years later, the pain remained, sharp and fierce, and Shiro wasn’t sure how to alleviate it. Perhaps he never could, but Shiro took solace that during the worst moments of his life, Keith hadn’t been completely alone. “It must have been difficult,” Shiro murmured, lips pressing against the soft strands of Keith’s temple, “and I’m glad Blue was there with you, even if you didn’t know it at the time.” It played well into the belief of fate – how Blue led her future paladin’s lover to her hiding spot and kept him company during Shiro’s missing year. Black stepped up the second time, welcoming Keith into his cockpit for comfort and strength – even if a jealous Red wouldn’t accept another pilot. Keith snorted but refused to lift his head just yet, clutching fingers ensnarling the front of Shiro’s shirt, face pressed against Shiro’s shoulder as if to hide from the world and his own pain. It took long moments, scalding hot tears seeping through the cloth, but eventually Keith relaxed, going limp and heavy in Shiro’s arms. Shiro sighed and just held on. He’d do so for as long as Keith needed. Though Keith maintained his human form, Shiro slid his fingers along the base of Keith’s hairline and then up behind his right ear, scratching. At first, Keith tensed, but then he leaned into the touch. It was a conscious motion as Keith began to rub his cheek against Shiro’s shoulder and let out a deep, enjoyable purr. He went “full-purple” then, as Pidge called Keith’s Galra form, and spread his scent on Shiro again. It was a comfortable ritual of assurance, of reclamation, for both of them, and though Keith’s scent changed over the years, incorporating accents of Sendak’s and Thace’s scents, he still enjoyed spreading his unique aroma across Shiro and the Paladins, marking them as his pride. Shiro lifted his hand to trail his fingers through Keith’s hair, calming him, soothing him. “I’m here, kiddo, and I’m not going anywhere ever again.” It was a lofty promise. Accidents happened every day, but the Galra Empire had been defeated. Zarkon was gone. Lotor was banished to a realm not even Shiro himself could escape, and Haggar retired to a small rock to live out what was left of her existence. They could finally relax and celebrate. They’d won, and the universe was free once more. One of Keith’s yellow eyes peeked up from Shiro’s shoulder. “So…what happens now?” Shiro sighed, his thumb sliding back and forth behind Keith’s ear. “Well, they’ll always be missions. Until all the commanders and sentries of the Galra Empire are captured and brought to trial, they’ll still be battles to fight. And they’ll always be places that need Voltron’s help for diplomatic disputes and natural disasters. We were chosen to help the universe, Keith, not just defeat the Galra Empire.” “So that means we’ll always be…away?” His ears twitched irritably for a moment. Shiro knew Keith didn’t mind living in space, but they’d just gotten back. And Lance surely wanted to spend time on Earth. They all did. “Well, maybe not right away,” Shiro conceded, “and Coran wants to study Earth. It started here. I was born here. Hunk and Katie, too. You were brought here. Alteans landed here and eventually, their children’s children’s children had Lance. Somehow, we came together here, on Earth. Coran thinks there’s something about the planet we haven’t discovered yet.” “You have a point coming beyond that, don’t you?” Keith knew him too well. “Well, Allura believes it will be easier to maintain the Voltron Alliance if we have a headquarters, some place where people can find us or at least reach out to us.” Shiro paused, enjoying Keith’s widened eyes and twitching ears that came from excitement. “Allura would like the headquarters to be here, on Earth.” “Really?” Keith gripped Shiro’s shoulders so tightly, Shiro had to fight not to cringe. “Yes. It’ll allow us to be close to home while letting Coran do…whatever Coran wants to do.” “Home?” Keith sat up now, falling back onto his hunches on the bench. His fingers twiddled with the bottom hem of his shirt. “Shiro…Lance wants to stay here for a while. In Cuba. With his family.” Shiro shrugged, dismissing the sharp pain that seized his heart. “Okay. That makes sense.” “But…what about us?” Keith’s ear begged to be scratched as they drooped, and Shiro indulged them both with tiny strokes. “I can make wormholes, Keith. So can Allura. We’ll just have to set some new ground rules; that’s all. Like you better come home every Wednesday for dinner and alternating Thanksgivings and Christmases. Allura doesn’t know our traditions, so we can still have grilled cheese and decorate the desert willow.” Keith snorted. “Like she’s going to live in that shack for you.” Shiro shrugged with a smug smile. “There’s a big enough plot of land to put the castle.” That caught Keith off guard, and Shiro wanted to laugh, would have laughed, if not for the clawed hand that landed on Keith’s fluffy mop. Keith smacked it, growling up his father. Thace ignored him. “Are you two ready? I believe we’ve kept the McClains waiting long enough.” Shiro had to smother his laughter at the Hawaiian shirts and pedestrian swim trunks upon the former Galra commanders and the leader of the Blade of Marmora, though Kolivan’s hood hung off the back of his neck. At least Allura appeared somewhat normal with her luscious hair pulled back in an attractive ponytail, but she also wore a plaid shirt over a tank-top with tight cut-off shorts. Hm. They were truly the space version of the Beverly Hillbillies. The music grew louder the pier, and as Shiro stood, Keith’s skin brightened and his eyes darkened until he once more took his human shape. “Are you sure you don’t want to go purple?” Shiro encouraged one last time. Keith threw him a true grin. “No. This is who I really am, Shiro.” Not Thace’s son or Kolivan’s apprentice – but Shiro’s brother. Human. Shiro drew Keith close once more, murmuring against his temple, “I really don’t deserve you.” The darkness stole Keith’s blush, but it didn’t take his earnest whisper, “What if they don’t like me?” Shiro didn’t need to ask whom, and it hurt to hear the undeniable fear trembling in Keith’s voice. He loved Lance with all his heart, and just the thought of losing him, of Lance’s family not accepting him, was almost too much for Keith to bear. But he didn’t have to alone. “Then they’ll have to deal with me,” Shiro assured, hitting Keith’s shoulder with his own, “not to mention your purple dad and Kolivan and your great-aunt-slash-sister-in-law, and even Sendak back there.” Sendak let out a derisive snort but didn’t protest. “And you keep forgetting, they’ll have to deal with Lance, who loves you more than anything in the universe, kiddo.” That deflated Keith’s fear quickly or at least allowed him to gather enough strength to continue. Shiro snatched his shoulders and pushed him to the front, jumbling Keith in a familiar if irritating manner, but it kept Keith occupied until they stepped onto the pier and Lance ambushed them. Keith hesitated, taking a half-step backwards, but Lance wouldn’t have it, locking his arm with Keith’s and dragging him before the onslaught of familial bliss. Lance began in English, beaming as he introduced his “totally hot alien boyfriend” – “Lance!” – before switching to Spanish and repeating. He alternated between the two Earth languages as he gestured behind Keith. “And this is Keef’s purple pack. That’s Thace, Keith’s dad who is part of a super-secret society of pirates-slash-ninjas. And that’s Kolivan, Keef’s mentor in said society. He’s super serious and – yeah, don’t ask to try on his hood. Over there – the human-looking guy – ” “I am human, Lance. “ “ – with the white lock and badass scar is Shiro. He’s Keith’s bro.” He switched to Spanish for a second, and Shiro heard a few words he understood, like “hero” and “garrison.” Shiro’s cheeks warmed, and Lance quickly switched back to English. “Shiro’s also the Black Paladin and our leader. He, y’know, looked after us in space.” Lance’s mother immediately came forward, latching onto Shiro’s hands. She drew him into a tight embrace of relief and gratitude, smiling a tender grin that spoke louder than any words could. Shiro understood the basic phrases, such as “thank you” and “my family.” “The elf is Allura. She’s Keith’s, like, great-great-great aunt, and she’s married to Shiro. Don’t ask, and the large scary looking cat is our mascot, Sendak. Don’t worry. He’s really fluffy and really protective of Shiro and Keith.” Sendak let out a snarl, but it lacked any heat and sounded more fond than exasperated. Lance’s father shook his head but welcomed Keith into the family with a hand shake and then a longer embrace, wrapping the younger and slightly shorter man in his arms. Lance’s mother seized Keith’s cheeks and kissed them both. She muttered a few soft words, too low for Shiro to hear, but Keith’s expression was so precious and vulnerable that he committed it to memory to cherish. Then the touching scene shattered when Lance clasped Keith on the shoulders and encouraged, “Hey, hey, hey! Keith, go all purple and fuzzy!” “What!” Keith shrieked. “Lance, no!” “Come on! My mom wants to see it. Come on. Comeoncomeoncomeon!” Lance gave an insistent tug to Keith’s arm with each word. Keith couldn’t say no to Lance for long, even though his face burned with a fresh and vibrant blush. When he shifted, it was a slow, deliberate process to show Lance’s family, and then he stood before the McClains, large purple ears twitching and amber eyes glowing with fear and wonder. Keith ducked his head, nervous and exposed, when Lance’s mother reached out to ruffle the fur upon his cheek. She laughed when his ears involuntarily shuttered, and when she spoke to Keith in her native tongue, Keith asked without looking away, “What did she just say?” Lance pulled him close and whispered, “She says I’m right. You’re pretty when you’re purple, too.” Keith’s bright red chased away all the purple from his cheeks. Hearty laughter rolled through the group, dispelling all Keith’s ill-placed fears, and a festive mood swept across the pier. The party music blared again, and Lance’s uncles began to dish out the pizzas from their shack. Lance paraded Keith before every single one of his family members, much to his reserved partner’s dismay, while Hunk and Pidge tinkered away in the shack over a soda machine malfunction. (They might reprogramed it to send radio-like commercials about the pizza shack to spaceships passing by the planet, but Shiro couldn’t be certain of that.) Coran, Colleen, and Sam sat at the edge of the pier with Lance’s father and aunt, nursing drinks and good-natured conversation. Coran took one sip of his beer and spat it out almost instantly, then went on a tirade about the drink’s taste and lack of uses. (“Nunvill is also great for the hair and complex! What is this good for?” “…your mood? Try some more,” Lance’s aunt pressed with a laugh, and Coran listened.) Thace traded stories with Lance’s mother, while Kolivan taught Lance’s older brother how to hold a blade correctly. Sendak ended up pinned to the ground by a pack of wild young humans, who fluffed his hair and climbed all over his large arm like it was a jungle gym. As the night wore on and the Christmas strands served as the only light on the pier, Matt wove quintessence, captivating the crowd with purple fireworks and sparkles that danced over the gathering. Shiro watched it all with a sad smile, sitting off to the side and working his way through his second beer. Allura slid her arm about his waist and gifted him with a radiant smile and a gentle kiss. “You must be proud, Shiro. Look at the wonderful family you have gathered about you. I cannot think of a more loving environment in which to raise a child.” Yes. Perhaps the paladins were not their “children,” per se, but they were so young when they found the Blue Lion and shot off into space. It was hard to believe that Hunk had been the oldest of the younger paladins, barely seventeen, and Pidge – geez. She’s been only fourteen. Shiro, himself, had only been twenty-five and entrusted with the lives of children, but he’d taken his duty seriously. He’d tried to be more a leader than a commanding officer, more of a brother than a father. He wanted them to feel comfortable coming to him over anything, from safe sex talks to movie night selections, and he thought he achieved the ultimate goal. The young paladins had grown up under his, Allura’s, and Coran’s care into capable, independent, strong – and perhaps most importantly – compassionate adults and warriors. Shiro’s eyes drifted to Keith as he held Lance’s hand but hung off Hunk, elbow hitched upon the taller Paladin’s shoulder. He smiled – perhaps not bright and beaming – but easy and full of mirth at Pidge as she babbled animatedly with Matt. Keith was no longer the bitter, resentful child who hated the world for leaving him abandoned and alone, who sought companionship but wasn’t sure how to find it. And somehow, he had. They had. From a simulator ride to the far reaches of space, Keith and Shiro found each other and then others, the Paladins and Allura and Coran, the Blade of Marmora and the Rebels of Pollux – even Slav, Shiro would admit. They found their family. Shiro snorted. If he’d only known it would take rocketing into space, captured by hostile aliens, and bonding with a metaphysical, robotic lion to find it – no, to keep it. That was what it took to keep Keith and all the paladins safe, and suddenly, Shiro knew the answer to Keith’s question. Yes, he would do it all over again if this was the result – a party on a pier with his brother, his brother’s partner, the love his life, and their families. All the torture was worth it for this one moment of absolute bliss. Keith caught him staring and after a quick squeeze of Lance’s hand, came to collapse next to Shiro with a sigh. “You know what I was thinking about the other day?” “Wait. …nope, still haven’t developed telepathy.” Keith kicked him hard in the leg. “You owe me something.” Shiro leaned back to even with the cross-armed Keith. “Yeah?” “Well, you’re going to spend a few weeks here, right? With Lance and his family and me. And then you and Allura are going to park the castle by the shack. Well, maybe Allura can drop us off in Houston.” “Houston? What’s in…” Oh. Oh. Tears immediately stung Shiro’s eyes, and he ducked his head to hide his suddenly tender expression. “You remember that?” “How could you forget?” Keith snapped, incredulous. “Or is it not as exciting now that you share a metaphysical bond with a flying alien warship and can form wormholes and enter the astral plane?” “Are you kidding?” Shiro snagged Keith by the collar and dragged him into a one-armed hug. “I have been looking forward to these lemon-filled blueberry pancakes for six years now. They better still serve them.” “Are you sure?” Keith asked, gaze uncertain underneath that dark curtain of bangs. “Because we don’t have to if you don’t want – ” “Keith. You picked me up like you promised…” and saved my life. “It’s time I held up my end of the bargain.” Keith maintained his uncertain gaze for a long moment before his face broke into a wide, brilliant smile, one of the most radiant expressions Shiro ever saw him make. And yeah, it had all been worth it just to see that. *^*^* Three Weeks Later Shiro dropped the aviator sunglasses onto the bridge of his nose and glanced out the jeep’s windshield at the colorful landscape. The warmth of the Texan sun ensconced them in a reassuring embrace, reminding Shiro that they were home. The Paladins had made it back to Earth, and he and Keith were together again. It seemed like a lifetime ago they were making plans for this, and at the same time, it seemed like yesterday. They deserved this – a new adventure, not as dangerous but just as exciting as their missions in space. “You have it all mapped out?” From the passenger seat, Keith glanced up from his phone and nodded. “First stop is in seventy-five miles. There’s this diner with some – hey! Traitor!” Red, in her metaphysical form, somehow managed to fit under the jeep’s dashboard, her large paws slapping Keith’s thighs. She snapped her jaws over Keith’s phone and tore it from his grasp, much to Shiro and Black’s delight. Dropping the slobbered phone to the ground, she covered it with her haunches and refused to let Keith retrieve it. She pressed her face into Keith’s abdomen and readied for the trip, miffed that they’d chosen another form of transportation for their road trip. After a huff of laughter, Black settled his chin upon Shiro’s shoulder, ready to enjoy the drive to Santa Fe from his backseat den. “Don’t worry, Keith.” Shiro ruffled Red’s fur, causing her to purr in pleasure, and then shifted the jeep into drive. “It’s not like trying to navigate a blue sun and two black holes. We’ve got this.” Keith grunted and sat back in his chair with his arms crossed, avoiding Red’s gaze as she gnawed on the hem of his jacket. “I would have brought you a doggy bag, y’know.” Shiro laughed and stepped on the gas, the jeep’s tires tearing through the gravel of the NASA Space Center in Houston and onto the roadway. Behind them, the Red and Black Lions followed closely behind, protective and vigilant of their precious paladins. *^*^* Year One Even before he heard the loud thud and subsequent curse from the gear box, Shiro felt the unusual energy that flowed in waves, sometimes lapping at his cheek and other times drowning him in its strong undercurrent. The thick, heady sensation threatened to choke him, filling the simulator’s cockpit until he could barely breathe. He strained to focus on his flight test – the first of many during his final year as a cadet at the garrison – but that exasperatedly frightened shout jerked Shiro completely alert. “Hey, who’s back there?” he yelled. When the boy’s head popped up, Shiro registered the orange, white, and gold uniform of a garrison underclassman. The twin violet irises stole Shiro’s rapt attention, thrumming a strong and vital cord in the very essence of his being. He knew those otherworldly eyes, knew this boy on a visceral level, even if he couldn’t place where they’d met. Emotions swept through him, one after another in an endless stream of faith and fate. Protect. Cherish. Guide. Save. Love. “Hey, what are you doing back there?” Shiro demanded. “I – I was just – I wanted to see the – ” “It doesn’t matter,” Shiro clipped. “Get in the engineer’s seat and take care of the stabilizers.” “I don’t want to be an engineer,” the boy snapped, loud and brash, fists balled and trembling at his thighs. “I came here to fly.” “Don’t worry, buddy. I’m sure you’ll get your chance.” The simulator suddenly started to shake and shutter. “Right now, I need you to get in the engineer’s seat and keep this bird together.” With a whine and huff, Keith fell into the engineer’s seat and tugged the monitor close. Shiro walked him through the systems checks, much to the boy’s displeasure, and once the ship entered smooth sailing, he allowed a cocky grin to overtake his face and opened the throttle. The boy yelped, clinging onto the bottom of his chair. “Better strap yourself in, buddy,” Shiro called over his shoulder. “I’m going to take you on the ride of your life.” The End

 Shallan was delirious when Adolin carried her into the screened off private dining alcoves of The Sign of the White Boar.  She vaguely remembered being held, limbs sprawling awkwardly, in his arms – she felt immensely heavy, yet somehow simultaneously wrung out and empty.  Adolin bore her weight with ease; impressions of her surroundings flashed by disjointedly, one after the other: smooth skin against smooth skin, her cheek against his neck, cologne that smelled of orange pith mixed with the Kharbranth spice markets, red hair against striped blond.  Soft and indistinct they were, these blurred combinations of colour and sound; the dullness of sensation was as if she were face-down in the bathtub screaming and screaming in a way that could not be heard.  Her weary mind feebly tried to understand, to analyse, to conclude, but such exertion was beyond her; it was as if her mind and her body were now divorced from each other, and both of them were completely removed of her.  So she rested her head on Adolin’s shoulder and watched with a queer sense of complete apathy as a scene unfolded in the inn.  The scrape of chairs as the guests and patrons stood for the Duke as he burst through the door, only to see that he held a swooning lady in his arms.  The Duke’s physician, calling for blankets and warmed bricks and hot tea.  The noise and bustle of a busy establishment drawn to sudden stillness and then returning to action with twice the volume. Shallan watched; she would have felt bemused if she could feel anything more than indifference.  The warmth of the Duke’s body was all too quickly withdrawn; she was settled, lolling, on a chair and folding screens were dragged all around. Her tartan was placed on her lap; a man’s overcoat was draped over her shoulders.  She watched everything, was impassive to everything.  Until Kaladin waved a small phial filled with white crystals under her nose. It burned worse than ether vapours.  Oh.  Ether vapours.  White crystals – spirits of hartshorn.  The leaden fatigue in her limbs remained, but she regained awareness and clarity.  She could understand speech now, instead of seeing moving mouths and hearing syllables: now she could link them together and comprehend their meaning.  “Shallan? Miss Davar?” she heard.  Kaladin was in the chair in front of her, looking at her face. He had one scarred hand on her wrist, feeling for her pulse.  The other held the phial of smelling salts.  “Oh. It’s you,” said Shallan.  It seemed appropriate.  “You could have asked to see my sketches.”  He dropped her hand.  He seemed about to say something nasty, but then thought better of it; he relaxed and leaned back in his chair.  “You would have refused,” he replied, simply.  “You … are right,” said Shallan finally.  She couldn’t think of anything better to say.  The disinterested lethargy was retreating to the edges – she was functional now, if rather sluggish in her cognitive reflexes.  “I endeavour to make it a habit."  Kaladin hadn’t lost anything of his penchant for sarcasm, even if she had.  “Why did you do it, then?”  “It is rare to encounter a person who possesses such skill and eye.  Every man can destroy, most can reproduce, but the ability to create beauty is rare.” He paused for a moment, then looked away.  “You drew my portrait: seeing it reminded me of an artist who took my likeness … three or four years ago.”  It was a long speech for a usually taciturn man.  It seemed this subject held great significance to him – perhaps she could tease it out of him.  “Did you knock him senseless too?” Or not.  Kaladin did not smile.  “He was my brother.”  “The question still stands … well, it would if it could.”  He looked down at his hands.  There were white traces of scars running down the wrist and into the sleeve, and shiny pale lines in stripes across his palm.  His hands could not be called slender or delicate – they were, after all, the hands of a working man – but they were long-fingered with neatly trimmed nails; there was a surety and confidence to the way he used them to measure her pulse or dig through his kit bag.  His movements were economical and measured; she could discern no trembling or hesitation in them – or him.  “Of course not,” said Kaladin at last. “He was a woodcarver, a sculptor. When he carved miniatures of my face with frightfully cheery grins onto my bedposts one morning, I admit that such a thought crossed my mind.”  The line of his lips, usually set sternly, seemed less grim for a moment.  There was no smile, of course: there never was, but Kaladin now almost seemed wistful – as if underneath the ill-humoured disposition there was buried someone who remembered, very faintly, a time long ago when he had no burdens but his own.  It was far from gaiety, no, that could not have been – could never have been – expected.  It was just the merest of indications that Kaladin could be something other than perpetually unpleasant.  Shallan was quiet.  She found herself thinking that Kaladin did not have an annoying voice; he possessed a deep voice and with his accent marking him as one properly educated, he would not have been so irritating on first impression had he managed to speak without impudent cheek or presumptuous disrespect.  She would have liked to listen to him reading aloud – they would have to be another’s words, of course – thankfully.  She did not speculate how Adolin’s voice sounded when he read; she could not begin to imagine Adolin reading aloud.  Adolin.  “The incident,” she spoke, trying to find the words.  Thoughts, disoriented from the swooning episode, were tumbling back into place haphazardly.  She recognised only some of them.  “Does Adolin think it was an accident?”  “An unfortunate one, but yes.” Kaladin had returned to his usual tone; it sounded like derision hidden – not entirely successfully – behind impassive professionalism.  “What if he were to be informed that it may have been … otherwise?”  “Blackmail, Miss Davar?  How very charming – you do move fast.  What do you want?  My support in pressing your suit?”  He seemed amused at the prospect.  “No.  You’re a doctor.”  “…The last I checked.”  “You are familiar with the arithmetic progressionals for ether dosing, then?” asked Shallan.  This was a risk here: she was venturing into dangerous territory.  She was counting on his being a true medical professional in his role of physician – the occupation required that practitioners be willing and capable of holding confidences as a necessary part of their duties.  The progressionals were a series of mathematical calculations that factored in a user’s size and density – measured through displacement in a bathtub – along with the length of time they wanted to drift, the temperature and humidity of the room, and the purity of their distilled ether.  There was a minimum to induce unconsciousness, and then a series of stable or descending concentrations to either extend the drift-time or awaken the user.  The safest and most reliable way to successfully drift ether was with these calculations: the frolicking dandies had usually hired someone for the numbers whilst the lower classes had gone without.  Shallan had been the one to calculate and prepare for her brothers.  They could not have done the same for her.  “The formulae?” said Kaladin, taken aback.  Unexpected emotion flickered briefly across his face.  “How would a lady … Are you implying—”  “Be my watcher.”  A driftwatcher was the informal title of the person who measured and poured the ether, applied and changed the cloths, and watched the drifter while he dreamt. It was a title that conveyed great trust and intimacy; it was as intimate as the connection between a patient and his personal physician or principal and his bodyguard.  A watcher was expected to prevent others from taking advantage of his charge the drifter whilst insensible; there had been legal disputes in the past when wills or contracts had been altered in the delirium of waking-drift.  “No.”  “But—”  “There are oaths I must adhere to.  Ether does not mark the body, but using it – in that way – marks the spirit.  I will not knowingly do harm – even to someone as insufferable as you.  I believe that harm to the spirit is just as damaging as harm to the flesh,” said Kaladin, his voice flat and toneless.  It was a refusal, pure and simple.  He disapproved, of the use, if not her desperate urgency for it.  It still felt like a blow to Shallan, heavy with ringing finality.  She tried for another angle.  Kaladin did not respond well to brazen lies, she’d discovered, to her embarrassment.  The whole episode in the carriage was an unwanted reminder of that.  She did know from that instance with the aluminium forks that speaking disconcerting truths could unbalance him.  “You cannot mark a spirit which carries all the marks that could possibly be borne,” she said.  She could scarcely forget that her outward appearance was none too pristine either: her hair had been a mess since the morning, and her skirts were spattered with mud that had now dried and crusted.  “Ether drifting,” said Kaladin, “is still the most wretched and reprehensible of vices. Why do you want it? What did you see?”  “I … had a family.”  “Everyone has a—”  “A family in which all the children were loved.”  Kaladin paused for a moment; he bit back what he was preparing to say.  Then he said: “The Duke will be all the family you need, Miss Davar.”  He did not meet her eyes.  She thought she saw pity in him.  Was he ashamed to see her descend to this state?  He had, no doubt, thought her just another pretty thing to hang on the Duke’s arm, for as long as she was still pretty enough to catch his eye.  Now, perhaps, he finally saw the wretch in her that he recognised in himself.  Her face was flushed – from shame or anger or something else, it was impossible for her to guess.  She still felt the sting from his refusal; she wanted comfort, but she was so very very far from home and Malise was dead, and Mother was dead, and Father was dead, and the sensible part of her mind was unresponsive – it might as well have been dead too.  All she had here was Kaladin and he had no kindness in him to spare – least of all for her – and she found that she could not be kind to him now.  “As he is for you? Is it enough?” she spat.  She felt dark triumph, which was immediately followed by regret.  Too far.  She wanted to use truth to unbalance him, not drive him away completely.  “I…” he began. Then he rose to his feet.  “We will continue this later.”  The screen by the door had been slid back.  Adolin stood in the doorway, holding a tray with a tea service; there were three cups and three saucers. There was a serving woman in an apron pushing a trolley to their alcove; she unloaded a large pie with flaking shortcrust, a wooden platter of sliced tenderloin that dripped pinkly in the middle, mustards and pickles and cheeses, a basket of sliced bread, and a large earthenware flagon sloshing with ale.  The bottom level had their table settings.  Adolin set down the tea tray.  He nodded to the serving woman, who wiped her hands on her apron in acknowledgment and bustled away.  Kaladin glanced around their alcove, met Adolin’s eyes and stepped away.  He slid the screen closed.  “Heralds,” remarked Adolin, turning over two teacups and pouring.  “Can the two of you be left alone without re-enacting the plot of some absurd serial?”  Shallan ran a hand over her face; it felt uncomfortably warm and there were wet spots in the corners of her eyes.  Perhaps it was the pickled onions.  Could pickled onions even draw tears?  She did not know.  But she was aware that she looked terrible, and felt terrible; she had said things that she wished she hadn’t, and shown too much of herself when she had been told – and knew for herself – that one must act a certain fashion if one wanted to attract the gentlemen.  It wasn’t honest, but when were gentlemen attracted to honesty?  They thought they were, but it wasn't true: the very existence of cosmetics and elaborate corsetry was proof to the otherwise.  She forced a smile.  “I sincerely doubt it, sir.  Perhaps our chaperon needs to be chaperoned.”  Adolin returned her smile, and took a sip of his tea.  “It seems our Shallan has returned to herself.  Are you feeling better?”  “Yes, I’m not going to vomit on you.  You can come closer; I promise I shan’t ruin your clothes with drool,” she said.  Well, if she had given Kaladin reason to revise his impression of her from foreign title-hunter to manic ether-wretch, there was no reason to treat Adolin similarly.  He did not seem a bad man; his presence encouraged her to exaggerate the light-hearted side of her character to the point where she felt she was entirely light-hearted.  Perhaps he lacked Kaladin’s acuity, but he was good-humoured through and through, and one need not play verbal racquets to enjoy his company.  “I wouldn’t mind if you did.”  He waved a hand in her direction; she looked down and realised that she had his fur-collared overcoat on her shoulders.  “It’s only clothes, after all.”  “‘Only clothes’?”  Shallan said, with a genuine smile.  “The Kholinar Duelling Club would revoke your membership immediately if they heard that.” Adolin laughed – that delightful hearty guffaw – and slid to the edge of his seat; he took her hand.  “I think you’re more important, Shallan.  Even if you don’t think it’s true.”  This was why she liked Adolin.  He said things he felt, and they were things he truly meant.  She mused on the possibility that he found her joking honesty equally attractive, even if he could not whole-heartedly approve of her reliance on sarcasm.  “Hah, they were right,” she laughed.  She tilted her head – something she had practiced in the mirror to Jasnah’s tutelage.  “You do know how to flatter a girl.”  “‘They’?  What do ‘They’ presume to know about me?”  “They say you don’t embrace girls unless you really like them, and…”  “…And?”  “And you reserve your kisses for the girls that you are truly fond of.”  “Well, whomever ‘They’ happen to be, they seem to know me awfully well.  There are – were – very few for whom I reserve my kisses.”  “Those lucky girls,” remarked Shallan dryly.  She picked up her teacup and took a sip.  “I am certain they are much to be envied.”  “I – Damnation! – I am fond of you.  There.  Does it satisfy you, woman?”  “Not quite,” said Shallan.  She was smiling, and her ears were going red. But she liked Adolin; she liked how the red of her ears matched the flush appearing on his cheeks, how he bit his lip and looked down even as he attempted to counterfeit the suave ladies’ gentleman she saw that he could never have been.  “Ah,” he said, after a while.  He took a deep breath. “I see. Uh…”  “Are you going to tell me that I have nice hair?”  “I was going to ask if, um.  If it was all right with you, and I don’t mean to be too bold or anything...”  “I shall close my eyes if it helps,” said Shallan, and did so.  She felt something in her chest twine itself in and out of her ribs with sheer gleeful exultation.  No cagéd doves, yet.  But there was some other creature inside her that stole her breath away and made her forget she even needed to breathe.  She sensed Adolin draw close to her, felt the slight stir of his exhalation against her lashes, and the warmth of his body.  She kept her hands in her lap, over the tartan.  She didn’t want to scare him away prematurely.  There was the lightest brush against the side of her mouth, where it met her cheek, then it was gone.  She waited.  Nothing else happened.  She opened her eyes.  Adolin was back in his seat, dipping a biscuit into his tea.  Was that it?  Was that all?!  This “first kiss” wasn’t worth writing home about, let alone telling Jasnah!  “If that was fondness, sir,” said Shallan, with an exasperated sigh, “I would hate to see affection.”  Adolin looked up; the biscuit was in the air, en route to his mouth.  “Are you mocking my, ah, technique?”  Shallan reddened, and, gathering her courage, swept a lock of hair behind her ear.  “No. I mean, yes.  Just close your eyes, please.”  She didn’t wait to see if he did.  She got to her feet, rather wobbly; the tartan dropped to the floor.  When she stumbled over to Adolin’s chair and all but fell into his lap, the biscuit dropped also.  She threw one arm over his shoulder, and drew the other hand through his hair.  It was as soft and fluffy as she’d imagined – though never expected.  Then she kissed him.  It was gentle and soft at first, all hesitant bumping noses, but she then pressed against him, wanting more.  She wanted comfort, she wanted contact, and she took it from him all at once.  It was the kiss she had wanted as her first kiss, and not some half-hearted peck of the type one shared as a child with the hall boy or scullery maid when no-one was looking.  He returned her kiss with passion, and she felt the coolness of his hand against her burning cheek, and felt the smooth slide of his seal ring’s golden band, and the roughened skin of his callused palm catching on the unruly hair curling against her temple.  She pulled away from him, finally – all too soon.  He took a deep breath and his eyes opened.  There was a smile on his face; it matched her own, just like the flushed cheeks she supposed the both of them sported.  She became aware that it was not as comfortable as she had once thought, to sit on a man’s lap – she hadn’t thought knees would be quite so bony – and adjusted her position.  At that, Adolin suddenly gave a strained cough and cleared his throat.  He turned his head away; he did not look at her face, but pulled her close and laid his head against her shoulder with his ear on her collarbone.  “I heard someone once say that ten heartbeats of a beating heart is all it takes to form a bond between two,” he said, softly.  He was silent; they both were, for ten heartbeats, and then ten more.  “Perhaps it’s not such a silly idea.”  Shallan sighed, then gingerly got to her feet.  Her legs were wobblier than before; she staggered back to her chair and sat down heavily.  Adolin’s stomach grumbled with hunger.  They both laughed rather loudly, and suddenly that single perfect moment was over.  She did not regret that it was over, nor that it hadn't lasted for ever.  But something was different between them now; there was still a tension between them, a humming expectation that did not want to go unanswered.  It was a different sort to the anxious hesitation that had been between them at the start of the pavilion luncheon.  This sensation was strange in its raw newness, and Shallan had never felt it before, nor had Jasnah ever mentioned anything close to it – but it was not at all unpleasant.  “Should we invite Kaladin back for lunch?” she asked.  “That would be a good idea. Um. Excuse me,” said Adolin.  He stood, adjusted his neckcloth which had been pulled askew – it didn’t help – and tugged down his waistcoat. He slid back the screen, and stepped out.  Shallan took the opportunity neaten her own appearance.  A minute later, Adolin returned, Kaladin following.  Kaladin plucked a bread roll from the basket on the trolley, and bit into it, eyes darting from her still rumpled appearance to the tartan on the floor.  Shallan flushed, then bent over and picked it up.  “Oh—!” she exclaimed.  “Watch your step! There’s a soggy biscuit on the floor.” Kaladin gagged, then coughed.  A piece of half-chewed bread flew out of his mouth and landed next to the aforementioned biscuit.    ***    They had their long-delayed luncheon.  It was what the proprietor of the White Boar would have called a huntsman’s lunch, or a ploughman’s, or the name of some other charmingly rustic occupation; whatever would have enchanted the romantic rural sensibilities of the inn’s patrons, who were mostly middle class Courtlea townsfolk rather than genuine labourers.  The only thing the meal had in common with a real farmer’s meal, thought Shallan, as she spooned mustard next to her venison and mushrooms, was that they both contained copious amounts of bread and meat.  She did not think it likely that a farmer’s noon meal had more than one type of bread and one type of meat.  She and Adolin – what was the situation with their … understanding, now?  They were courting, yes, more than assuredly so.  She had not expected that she would be so taken with him: Jasnah had given her a brief description of her cousin’s character during their journey, and Jasnah was rarely very complimentary on the subject of men’s characters – at least those men who were currently alive and breathing.  Jasnah had not mentioned the glowing red eyes or black blood of storybook monsters – she had rather more tact than that – but Shallan had been expecting the worst.  And what she had gotten was, well, Adolin.  Their table conversation passed by her; Kaladin kept turning the subject to one of military matters with which she was unfamiliar – he mentioned the names of people she did not know, and locations she had never visited; he lacked the grace to introduce either of them to her knowledge.  She would have felt more excluded had Adolin not occasionally paused to inquire about her opinion; they exchanged shy glances and tentative smiles over the ale flagon, and she could feel his foot tap against hers under the table now and again.  It was almost like a second, unspoken conversation hidden under the first, to which Kaladin – to her great satisfaction – was not privy . It was entirely possible that he noticed hints of it, but Shallan found she could not care.  Luncheon drew to a close; Adolin was the first to rise.  His napkin was deposited on his plate; he took a last swig of ale.  “Shall we return, then?  Unless there was something anyone needed from the village while we’re still here…?  No?  Kal, could you escort Shallan to the carriage?  I should settle the bill with the innkeeper,” he said, plucking at the buttons of his waistcoat.  He had eaten quite a lot, Shallan observed.  He always seemed to eat quite a lot during his meals, and then when the next mealtime rolled around, he ate quite a lot then, too.  Shallan gathered her tartan, and on second thought, folded Adolin’s overcoat over her arm.  Kaladin rose from the table without a word, slid back the screen of their dining alcove, and made his way to the door, stepping pointedly around the abandoned biscuit on the floor.  She hurried after him, maladroit limbs still weakly soft from the earlier … incident.  “Doctor!” she called, as he pulled open the door.  “Kaladin!”  He did not hold it open, and it swung back into her face until she caught up the knob and pressed after him.  There was an inner door and an outer door, to retain heat during winter.  Such a style of building was common in the north; she had expected that it would be rarer here in southern Anglekar, but an inn or tavern with guests entering and leaving regularly would need more than one door if it aimed to conserve coal and firewood. Shallan seized Kaladin’s elbow when he had paused to unlatch the outer door.  He did not turn around.  “I have considered your … proposal.”  “And?”  “You were someone’s watcher once.”  “The formulae ? Of course.  Three someones.”  “If I were to refuse you,” he said in a low voice that could not be overheard, “you have knowledge enough to seek the drift on your own.”  He did not push her arm away, and he had slowed his pace slightly – she was grateful for that.  The rain had ceased for now, but the cobbled stable yard was shiny with rain water; it was littered with slick patches of horse doings churned into mud by moving carriage wheels and stepping feet.  There was a queer tone in his voice.  This subject seemed to draw forth memories; his last comment gave the impression that he’d had prior encounters with drifting or driftwatching.  Shallan took a risk.  “Whose watcher were you?”  She thought she had missed the mark, but she felt the arm of his that she held twitch and pull away almost imperceptibly.  He did not, however, pull away – nor did he shove her away or throw her to the ground as she was almost afraid that he might.  So, she had struck the mark in this.  “That’s none of your concern, Miss Davar,” he finally said.  “Past experience has taught me that an immediate refusal does nothing to deter the determined. Ask in a week’s time.  Perhaps by then, the Duke’s regrettable … attachment will be enough for you to reconsider.”  “The Duke is a good man, but he cannot give me my family.”  “He can save them from the workhouse.  Do not abandon good sense in favour of false illusions.”  There was coldness in his voice – no judgment, but no empathy either.  ‘It is for your own good’ were the unspoken words he likely wanted to say, but everyone knew such words did nothing to discourage improper behaviours in the truly obstinate.    Shallan was silent as the coachman was summoned and their carriage brought around to the front of The Sign of the White Boar.  The workhouse, she thought.  He knows the details of my current predicament; he knows about my family.  How much does he know about me?  Does he know about – about Father?  No: no-one could know about Father.  They had … taken steps to make sure, double-sure of it.  It had been six months since she had left Loch Davar to seek Jasnah Kholin: not one of her brothers would have let the information leave the estate; she had given Wikim the pages of charted progressionals she’d calculated for Jushu – he could watch and ensure that Jushu stayed at home instead of going out; no-one would have heard his drift-waking rambles…  It had all seemed like a game – acting the Lady Shallan to Jasnah’s Countess – sunning in Kharbranth’s best hotels like dandies on their Grand Tour – meeting Adolin and living in his palace where the rooms were painted and named with different shades of blue.  But it wasn’t a game, was it? – it was all for her family, for the house on Loch Davar that she had called home.  Had called home.  Was it still her home?  It was a prison.  The consequences of her actions were falling into place now, one by one.  She had not really considered them; the endgame had always been in the fuzzy distance; she’d waved over them with a cursory ‘Jasnah will take care of things as she always does’.  But success in saving her brothers – success that seemed all too possible now: that would mean she could never be anything more than a guest – an honoured one, of course – to her childhood home.  She found she was gripping Kaladin’s arm very tightly as the coachman aligned the carriage and unfolded the steps.  He did not pull away or complain.  She took a deep breath and closed her eyes and leaned against him, her head resting against his shoulder.  She did not want him to see her crying.  He had already caught her at a disadvantage twice to-day.  “You sound just like Jasnah,” Shallan managed to choke out into the lengthening silence.  There was a curious panicked sob to the end of that; she was afraid – afraid – and those yearning doves tucked beneath her ribs cringed inside her.  “Miss Davar,” he said, in a surprisingly gentle tone.  It did not sound like him; she was so used his being sarcastic or derisive.  “You do know how to flatter a man.”          

When Barty woke up the next morning, he dreaded the moment he would have to knock on his master’s bedroom door. After all, his master and his … guest must be feeling extremely thirsty and hungry after their … vigorous physical activity the previous night. He was curious to peek inside, but at the same time, he really didn’t want to see the state of the room or the people inside it. Therefore, he tasked his kind and loyal house elf Winky to check if his master and Miss Aya were awake and presentable for him. “Young Master’s master and his guest are still sleeping,” she informed him when she popped at his side again. “Thank you, Winky,” he said, smiling, “we’ll leave them sleep until lunch.” “Whatever you say, Young Master,” she squeaked excitedly. “Young Master?” “Yes, Winky?” “Should Winky tidy the room a bit before they wake up?” Dammit, now Barty really wanted to take a look inside … just a tiny look. Curiosity getting the better of him, he peered into the room, barely sticking his head through the door crack, and was immediately assaulted by the strong smell of sweat and sperm. He had to back away to take a deep breath of fresh air from the corridor, before looking inside again. ‘Yeah,’ he thought to himself, ‘they had plenty of sex last night, alright.’ Besides some bloodstains (Wait, bloodstains? Why were there bloodstains on the sheets?) and dried up sperm on the covers and Miss Aya’s trousers and panties on the floor, the room looked … normal. Okay, the mirror was out of place and next to the bed (he really didn’t want to know what it was used for), but other than that, it looked pretty tidy to him. “It looks tidy to me, Winky,” he told the house elf a bit confused. “It definitely needs some fresh air and bedsheets, but other than that, I don’t see anything out of place.” “The tray and its contents are lying on the floor on the other side of the bed, Young Master,” informed him Winky. “The lady’s clothes are also all over the place and in different conditions too.” That confused Barty. “Conditions?” “Yes, half of the lady’s clothes are intact and half are ripped and torn,” explained the house elf. ‘What were they doing?’ went through Barty’s mind. He knew they had sex, but just what kind of sex if there were ripped clothes and bloodstains involved. He could feel a headache coming. “Alright, Winky, tidy a bit, but make sure you do it quietly,” sighed Barty. “We don’t want to wake them just yet.” She bobbed her head once and disappeared again. Barty let out a sigh and massaged his temples. “I need a drink.” … It was past two in the afternoon, when Aya started shifting, slowly waking up. When she started rubbing her eyes and stretching, her limbs rubbed against another set of limbs. She stiffened and her eyes flew open. Her gaze landed on a pale chest peppered with smooth snake scales and occasional hickey or two, here and there, that rose and fell. She swallowed as she remembered the events of the night before. Though the memories were slightly hazy in her mind, her body had no problems recalling all the touches, kisses, licks, bites and scratches Voldemort and she exchanged the night before. Her pussy felt sore, her thighs were sticky, and her womb still felt so full of Voldemort’s cum, she was probably going to feel their lovemaking sessions for days if not weeks to come. Her eyes flitted to Voldemort’s face and saw him wide-awake with a tense jaw and flaring nostrils, glaring at the ceiling. He probably recalled everything from the night before as well … and he wasn’t exactly happy about it. “This wasn’t supposed to happen, am I right?” she asked tentatively. “No,” he managed to snarl, breathing heavily through his slits. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”  He sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees and face buried in his hands. “This shouldn’t have happened.” “I know we didn’t plan it … that it was … unexpected and uncontrollable, but I’m not bothered that it happened,” she said gently, trying to soothe him by stroking his shoulder. “In fact, I liked it very much.” She leaned into his ear. “So much so that I wouldn’t mind repeating it many times more,” she added in parseltongue and Voldemort wanted to moan. Images of all the different positions they did it in flashed before his eyes and some of the words he said to her in throws of passion and arousal. He wanted to bang his head against something. Where did all that talk come from anyway? Why did he say all those things to her? He let out a frustrated sound and rose from the bed, showing her his back and backside. In the last two rounds, she got bold enough to leave some scratch marks on him as well. “It doesn’t matter, whether you liked it or not,” said Voldemort, exasperated. “What matters is that neither of us was in control of our actions and words last night. “ “And what do you want me to do about it?” she asked from the bed, confused as to why he was so bothered by the fact they had sex. “It’s not like we can erase what happened,” she reasoned, “and I can’t just simply forget it either.” “If you can’t forget it on your own, then I will gladly obliviate you,” he offered, looking at her from the corner of the eye with a sneer. At this, her expression darkened and she pushed herself off the bed. She was at his side in a blink of an eye, grabbing him by the arm and turning him towards her. “Don’t you fucking dare mess with my head, Voldemort, do you hear me?” she snarled viciously in all her naked glory. “If you want to forget or act like nothing happened between us, fine, act like nothing happened,” she hissed. “Maybe if you repeat that lie enough times inside your head, you will start believing it, but you will not erase last night from my memory. I won’t allow it,” she said fiercely, “because no matter how it happened, I want to be able to remember it, dammit!” There was a pop and Barty’s house elf appeared in the middle of the room with a tray full of food and drinks. “Winky apologizes if she came at the wrong moment,” she said in a squeaky voice as soon as she noticed they were naked and in the middle of talking, “but Winky’s master thought you were hungry and thirsty.” Aya turned to the house elf with a gentle smile. “Don’t worry, Winky,” she told her, “You’re not interrupting anything.” She took the tray from the elf’s hands and walked to the bed. “Miss,” said the elf tentatively, “should Winky get you something for those wounds?” Voldemort looked at Aya’s body. He took in the hickeys peppered all over her shoulders and chest. The teeth marks on a spot between her shoulder and neck. The scratches on her back, hips, belly and thighs. The dried semen on her inner thighs, belly, boobs and ass. He really left all those marks on her, didn’t he? He should probably be horrified by the sheer amount of marks marring her skin, but instead, he felt incredibly aroused for some reason. What was wrong with him? Oh, there were many things wrong with him; this was probably just one of those things that made him fucked up beyond repair. However, he couldn’t comprehend why Aya wanted to remember being intimate with him. He was old and definitely not the epitome of good looks. She glanced down her body as well. “No need, Winky,” she assured her, “but thank you anyway.” The house elf left and Aya sat on the bed, next to the tray, taking a sip of water. Voldemort still hadn’t moved from where he was standing. “Come eat, before it gets cold,” she beckoned him gently, but he simply stared intently at her. “Why?” he asked her instead. She looked at him,  confused. “Because it’s been hours since we last ate,” she offered. “I know that,” he said in a frustrated tone. “What I want to know is why you would want to remember …” he swallowed hard, “having sex with me? Or keep those marks marring your body?” She sighed, before standing up and walking up to him again. “Because it was wonderful, that’s why,” she answered with a smile and tenderness shining in her eyes. “It might have been my first time ever kissing and being with someone, but I enjoyed every single moment of it, especially because it was with you.” He frowned. “You’re fifteen,” he protested, “a minor, and I’m over sixty.” “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Voldemort,” she complained. “So what if you’re over sixty? Since when does age matter to an immortal being such as yourself? If it doesn’t matter to me, why should it matter to you?” “I could be your grandfather,” he insisted. “But you’re not my grandfather,” she said with finality. “So it doesn’t fucking matter how old you are and just because I’m still a minor that doesn’t mean I’m below the age of consent, which, in case I need to remind you, is fourteen in the wizarding community. As for the marks, they are proof of our lovemaking and I want to treasure every single one until they fade on their own,” she concluded, smiling. “Now, come eat,” she beckoned him again, this time taking his hands in hers and gently guiding him towards the bed, “because Winky put a lot of effort into making this and it would be bad manners if we let it go to waste.” They sat facing one another on either side of the tray. Aya began eating her part eagerly, but Voldemort hadn’t touched his yet. She stopped mid-bite to look at him from under her lashes. “Are you going to eat by yourself or do I have to feed you?” she said in her no-nonsense voice. Grumbling, he started eating his dish. They ate in silence, but far from being comfortable or companionable, it felt tense and awkward. Voldemort only ate half of what was on his plate, before quickly locking himself up in the bathroom. … Once there, he leaned over the sink, breathing heavily. He looked at his reflection and, apart from his deformed, hideous face, saw his neck, shoulders and chest covered sparingly in Aya’s love bites. He traced them one by one, until stopping abruptly and cursing himself. He twisted his torso a bit to inspect the shoulders and saw scratch marks on his shoulder blades. Before he lost himself in admiring Aya’s marks on him, he went to take a bath. As the warm water soothed his tired body, he closed his eyes and tried not to think about anything. That resulted impossible as his mind, even when he was trying not to think at all, began generating images, words and sounds from the night before. He felt himself harden at the memory of Aya’s moans. Her kisses and touches. The feel of her pussy wrapped around his dick. He cursed, but since he probably wouldn’t be able to will his erection down and he couldn’t return to the bedroom next door sporting one, he did something he never in all his life thought he would do … pleasure himself. He let one of his hands reach down, and wrap itself around his length. Then, after a few experimental tugs and pumps, he let his head fall back, while his other hand tightly grabbed the edge of the tub. “Aya,” he whispered her name, as he let the image of her naked form blossom and stay behind his eyelids. She was squirming and whimpering, while he nestled between her thighs and pushed himself inside. He bit his lip to muffle the moan coming from his throat as he recalled how soft and warm her pussy was. “My Aya.” He continued to stroke his dick as he let Aya’s sounds of pleasure wash over his ears and the sight of his dick disappearing inside her pussy every time he thrusted into her heat inundate his mind. “My sweet Aya.” His breathing became shallow and laboured and his hand picked up speed as he neared completion and the Aya in his mind as well. Just before he came, he squeezed around his cock, imagining Aya’s pussy clenching and spasming around it, and recalled how his name sounded on her lips when she was consumed by pleasure and passion. That image and sound alone pushed him over the edge, but what really had him cumming was the fact that he was the one who made her squirm, moan and whimper like that; that he was the one who made her cum over and over again; that it was his name she cried as pleasure overwhelmed her and no one else’s. Growling low deep inside his throat, he gritted his teeth and came, hard. For a few seconds, he forgot how to breathe as his groin throbbed and pulsed, spurts of cum filling the tub. It would have been better if it were Aya’s pussy instead of his hand, but as he came down from his high, he cursed himself for letting himself be carried away by want and desire, while also cursing Aya for bewitching his mind and senses. Yes, this predicament was all her fault. He should never have let her mess with the incantation. He was experiencing too many strong emotions. Emotions he had never felt in his life and was now experiencing them for the first time, and he was not happy about it. Not happy at all. He would have to do something about it. He needed to get Aya out of his mind as soon as she was gone. He couldn’t let thoughts of her muddle and cloud his mind. He was a Dark Lord, for Salazar’s sake! He tortured, killed, sowed fear and caused suffering to other people. He didn’t do emotions! Especially not this kind, where all he wanted to do was kiss and make love to Aya. … While Voldemort was panicking over his newfound emotions, Aya finished her meal and glass of water. She had yet to go to the toilet ever since she went in the middle of the night with Voldemort’s help. She let out a sigh and searched for her phone. It had apparently fallen out of the pocket when Voldemort stripped her of the clothing and was lying somewhere on the floor. After picking it up, she looked at the time. The clock on her phone read 15:36. “Shit,” cursed Aya under her breath. Less than two hours before the cup became an active portkey again, and she would have to return to Hogwarts … and she was still naked, covered in dried sperm and with a massive urge to pee. And Voldemort was still in the bathroom, doing God knew what. ‘What is taking him so long?’ she thought with a frown, pacing the room. ‘And then they say that women spend ungodly amounts of time in the bathroom.’ As soon as she finished that thought, some of the sperm trickled out of her vagina. She let out something between a hiss and a gasp. Not sure how much longer she would be able to hold it in, she walked to the bathroom door, her hand raised, ready to knock, when the door opened and she almost collided with Voldemort. She let out a surprised sound and placed a hand on her chest. “Finally,” she sighed, “I was just about to knock and ask you what was taking you so long.” He tensed. “I was bathing,” he said coolly, trying to sound dismissive and nonchalant. She squinted at him not quite believing him, but she wouldn’t push it. “If you say so,” she shrugged instead. “Now, if you don’t mind, I need to pee … urgently,” she said, moving past him and closing the bathroom door behind her, so she could finally do her business. … While Aya bathed, Voldemort dressed in some black self-resizing robes Barty had bought for him a few days before the ritual. When he was ready, he called for him. “You called, my Lord?” he said, peeking through the door crack. “How much longer until the portkey reactivates?” Barty pulled out his watch. “An hour and twenty-six minutes, my Lord,” answered Barty. He nodded. “You will escort Aya back to the graveyard, then take care of Ludovic Bagman. Make sure everyone involved in this matter had their memories modified. Nobody must suspect anything,” he instructed to the younger man “… not even Dumbledore … especially not Dumbledore,” he added with a dark and grave expression. “You will return here as soon as you’ve taken care of everything, is that clear?” Barty straightened immediately. “Of course, my Lord,” he saluted. “Leave everything to me.” Voldemort nodded. “Good … Be ready to leave in one hour.” Barty bowed and excused himself. Just as he was about to close the door, he said hesitantly, “My Lord … should I tell Winky to change and clean the bedsheets?” Voldemort stiffened at the comment. He glanced towards the crumpled bedsheets covered in smeared dried blood and seed. “No,” he snapped, feeling agitated for some reason, “you will do no such thing.” This time he snarled. Barty looked unsure and … extremely confused. “Then what should we do with the sheets?” he asked tentatively. “Nothing,” he hissed impatiently at Barty. “You will leave them as they are … is that understood?” Barty gulped. “Perfectly, my Lord,” he hurried to assure him. Why his master would keep the dirtied sheets was a mystery to him. But then again, what his master did with his belongings, didn’t really concern him. Alone, Voldemort returned his gaze to the damned sheets. He approached the bed, sat on it and ran his fingers over them. He reached for the pillow where Aya rested her head during their lovemaking and buried his slits into it, inhaling deeply, seeking her scent. What in Salazar’s name was he doing? Why was he doing this if he was adamant on forgetting her? He should have accepted Barty’s offer to clean the sheets, or better yet set them on fire. That way he wouldn’t be tempted to do … whatever he was doing right now. He heard humming from the bathroom … or was it singing? He walked to the door and pressed his ear to it. He didn’t have a clue what melody she was trying to imitate, but as long as he got to hear her voice it didn’t matter to him. She continued with the same melody for a while, until she switched to another. Again, he didn't know what she was singing, but there were mentions of the Addams Family and what kind of people they were. When she got tired of singing about them, she started singing about ... Duck Tales?  An amused smile tugged on his lips as he listened to her emphatic singing. It wasn’t bad at all. It was actually really good and he could listen to her singing all day … He blinked and wiped the smile off his face. ‘No, no, no!’ he told himself with hands splayed against the wood and his forehead mutely banging on the door. ‘Stop thinking about her.’ Bang. ‘Stop listening to her.’ Bang. She changed songs again. This time, she sang about someone called Sailor Moon and their feats fighting evil and winning love at different times of day, how the person doesn't back out from a fight, that she is a loyal friend and that she is someone very reliable and that protects others. From there, she changed  the song and started singing about something called Pokemon and how she wanted to be the best of the best and that she will catch all of the Pokemon ... whatever those were, and that she will travel everywhere to understand the Pokemon, because that was her destiny. It was safe to say that Voldemort felt more than a little confused. By the time she finished singing, he heard water splash, meaning she was getting out of the tub. He quickly moved away from the door and went to stand by the window overseeing the hill and the local graveyard, wearing an impassive expression and looking into the distance. He heard the door burst open shortly after and he heard her let out a loud, content sigh. “That was refreshing,” she said happily and he peeked at her from the corner of his eyes. She stood naked at the door, with her hair twisted in a towel and her hands on her hips. He immediately looked away, feeling a tingling sensation in his groin. “Do you have to be naked?” he hissed through his teeth. She looked at him with a confused frown, then looked down at her naked body, and back at him again. “What?” she prompted. “It’s not like you haven’t seen everything already last night,” she said nonchalantly. “Well, I don’t know about my birthmarks,” she added in a thoughtful tone, “with how dark it was I doubt you managed to spot all of them, so now is your perfect opportunity to get a good look at every major one,” she said with a toothy grin. Against his better judgement, he looked at her. “For example, here,” she said, stepping closer to him while holding her right breast up, “I have one birthmark on the underside of my breast; another on the other breast towards the armpit.” She turned a bit to show him. “Then I have two rather close marks on my left hip near the stomach, see?” She pointed at them and he followed her with his gaze. “Then, I have a rather large one hidden between my pubic hairs, near my vagina, but I think you saw that one when you pleasured me with your mouth.” He almost choked at the thought of how her pussy felt under his mouth and against his tongue. He could feel his dick getting hard again, his erection straining against his robes. “Then there’s also a few of them all over my back and legs. I think the biggest one is this one over here, just above my butt,” she said, showing him her left arse cheek and just above it was the birthmark. Voldemort’s mouth went dry yet at the same time he felt like drooling. He forced himself to look away, before he would reach for her and carry her to the bed over his shoulder like a caveman. “I’m sure your birthmarks are very interesting,” he said in a stiff and cold tone, “however, I think you should get dressed.” She walked to the bed where she left her phone and looked at the time. It was 16:02. “There’s still a little over an hour before the portkey becomes active again and I can get dressed in two minutes,” she said matter-of-factly. “So I don’t see why I should rush getting dressed.” She sat up leaning against the headboard, her phone in hand and legs crossed at the ankles. He wanted to snarl. How could she be so sexy and delicious, yet so infuriating at the same time? Music started to come from the device in her hand. She touched it a few times, each time producing a sound effect. He was tempted to see what she was doing, but that would mean getting closer to where she was and his erection was still raging hard inside his robes. She started to swipe her index finger across the device and weird squelching, cutting and fizzing sound effects were coming from inside it, and Aya had all her attention on it. Every now and then, a loud explosion could be heard and Aya swiped her finger furiously. Occasionally she would gasp, cheer … and curse for losing an apple? Less than two minutes after she started doing … whatever she was doing, she exclaimed, “No! I lost! And I was doing so well too.” She leaned her head against the wall and let out a frustrated sound. When she looked forward again, she noticed him looking at her. “Do you want to try?” she said, turning the device towards him. “It’s a muggle phone game called Fruit Ninja. The goal is to cut as many fruits as you can in the air before they fall down … And you have to avoid the bombs. You are allowed to make two mistakes, the third one will get you a game over,” she explained. He still had a constipated look on his face, but she could tell he was intrigued. She moved a bit towards the centre of the bed and patted the edge. “Come here,” she encouraged him gently with a smile. Reluctantly, he left his position at the window and approached the bed with measured steps. Once at her side, he joined her in bed and she pressed against his side. He felt goosebumps under his robes as he stiffened at the warmth of her skin that seeped through the fabric. He swallowed hard, but did his best to breathe as normally as possible while looking at the device with the muggle game. “Hold it firmly with one hand,” she instructed him, and he obeyed, stiffly. “Okay, not that hard,” she said, when she saw how firmly he was squeezing the sides of her phone. “Just so that it doesn’t go flying halfway across the room when you’re swiping your finger over the screen,” she elaborated. She touched “the screen” a few times, until she told him, “Okay, get ready. And don’t forget to swipe your finger over the fruits to cut them and avoid the bombs.” A watermelon appeared on the screen and he swiped the pad of his finger over it. The watermelon split in half before his eyes. His eyes widened. What magic was this? Another watermelon appeared and he repeated the motion. This one too split in half. More fruits appeared. A shiny strawberry, coconut and a green apple. He cut open all of them. The first bomb appeared and he let it fall. A banana, a pear and a peach appeared. He sliced them in half. A pineapple appeared next with a bomb close by, but he managed to cut the fruit without touching the bomb. Aya watched his awed expression and grinned. For a first-timer playing a muggle phone game, he wasn’t doing bad at all. He was nearing 50 hits and Aya felt that a pomegranate would soon make its appearance. “When you see a pomegranate, smash it with as many swipes as you can, because it accumulates hits.” On hit 72, a pomegranate came from the right and Voldemort spammed the shit out of that pomegranate, getting to 19 hits, which were added to his total at the left top corner of the screen. “Nice one,” she praised with a smile. He encountered some difficulty when he passed 118 hits where a bunch of fruits and bombs mixed together. He successfully avoided the bombs, but let a kiwi fall down uncut. He hissed a curse under his breath. It surprised her just how invested he became in such a short amount of time. It wasn’t even two minutes since he started slicing the fruit, yet he was so focussed on getting all those fruits cut open. She supposed it felt satisfying and therapeutic in a way. He lost at hit 138. “Not bad,” Aya praised him. He gave her back the phone. “Are you sure this is muggle technology?” he asked intrigued. “Aha,” she grinned. “What kind of magic have the muggles invented?” He looked and sounded both awed and impressed as well as terrified. “It’s not magic, Voldemort,” she chuckled. “It’s science … and technology. Although I suppose it looks and feels like magic.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Pretty impressive, ha? Maybe it would be good if you implemented some of it in your Dark Lord business,” she suggested. “I’ll have to investigate it a bit, yes,” he agreed. A beat of silence stretched between them. “Do you want to play another round or do you want to try a horror game next?” asked Aya. He shrugged. “I don’t really care.” ‘As long as it distracts me from you,’ he added in his mind. Aya bit her lower lip and her expression turned mischievous. “Or …” she began, eyeing him like he was some delicious candy, she wanted to eat, “I could show you what kind of fucked up things I like to read, during summer holidays especially.” Judging from her expression, it probably wasn’t a good idea to let her show him what kind of reading material she enjoyed while the school was not in session. “I think I prefer a Horror game.” She pouted. “You don’t even know what it is,” whined Aya in protest. “I don’t need to,” he said with a blank expression, “to know it’s not wise to look at.” “Fine,” she said pursing her lips. “Which Horror game should we play?” “You’re asking me?” he said with a quirked hairless eyebrow. “Well currently, I only have three different Horror games on my phone; most of them are for either the computer or the consoles.” “Which three?” “Five Nights at Freddy’s, Neverending Nightmares and Fran Bow.” “That doesn’t mean anything to me, Aya,” he reminded her. “In the first one you work at a pizzeria as a night security guard from midnight to six in the morning for five nights, that’s why it’s called Five Nights at Freddy’s,” she explained. “You have to survive the attack of the establishment’s animatronics that are possessed by vengeful child spirits after their corpses were stuffed inside them when the serial killer in the game had killed them.” “In the second game, you are living a nightmare within a nightmare within a nightmare, that’s why it’s called Neverending Nightmares,” she continued explaining. “It’s been a while since I played it, but I do remember it has multiple endings and that the character you play is someone who’s dealing with the death of his child, I think, and for some reason he thinks his wife is his sister throughout the game. At some point, you get chased by a giant deformed alien baby and there’s also a section inside a mental institution … fun stuff,” she concluded. “Now in the third one, you play a young girl called Fran Bow who encountered the corpses of her parents. She tried to flee, but ended up in an asylum. At some point, you get access to the pills called Duotine that allow her to see into another plane, which is usually extremely bloody and disturbing. Anyway, you have to escape the mental institution and then find what actually happened to her parents.” Voldemort just stared at her with an unreadable expression, studying her face. “What?” she prompted him. His eyes searched hers and then flitted briefly to her lips, before looking away. “Nothing,” he said dismissively. “All three games sound interesting.” “I know they all sound interesting,” she said, “but which one do you want to play before I return to Hogwarts?” She looked at the clock on her phone. It read 16:14. “We still have approximately 45 minutes before I need to get dressed and start going down the hill towards the cemetery.” He really didn’t care, but if he already had to choose one, he would choose … “Fran Bow, then,” he sighed. She beamed at him. “A good choice.” … After starting the game, she nestled closer to him so her legs pressed against his, and she could rest her head on his shoulder. He held his breath, only half-aware of what was going on the screen for the first couple of minutes. When the music changed from cheerful and idyllic to something that evoked dread and created tension, he finally managed to get his body under control and concentrate on the game. It looked promising, especially when severed heads and intestines started to fall from the top of the screen and everything was covered in blood. Aya flinched a few times at a couple of jump scares and he would be lying if he said he didn’t react to some of the disturbing imagery. (That one child with his head open and brain on display really stuck with him for some reason. Or the fat kid in front of the television where, if you touched his head under the influence of the pills, it exploded into bloody pieces.) As they navigated through the first chapter, where their goal was to escape the asylum, Aya read out the dialogue lines in different voices, then either laughed or commented on them. There were a few lines that made both of them grimace (in Aya’s case even shudder) in disgust, especially those alluding to sexual assault. All the inmates at the asylum were kids, for Salazar’s sake! He might be fucked up in many ways, but even he would never condone such atrocity, regardless of a person’s age or sex. When it came to dialogue options, both of them chose sassy and snarky remarks, especially when speaking to an adult character (for some reason the nurses reminded him of the matrons at the orphanage where he grew up), but tried to talk as much as possible to the other kids at the asylum to gather information about escaping the institution or finding out more about the kids as well. It felt satisfying pouring hot coffee on the security guard (as well as telling him to go kiss his own arse) who had previously demanded a kiss from their protagonist in exchange for the office key. “Disgusting bastard!” exclaimed Aya just before choosing the dialogue option that insulted him. When they reached the reception where they had to deactivate the alarm, Aya looked up the code for the alarm on the internet. “It’s been a while since I played this so I don’t remember and we don’t have the time to use our brain meat to figure out the code,” she explained. He only shook his head in amusement. After escaping the asylum, Aya handed him the phone to navigate the maze while she dressed and dried her hair. From his peripheral vision, he observed the entire process. She had just finished braiding her hair when someone knocked. Probably Barty. “Enter,” instructed Voldemort with eyes on the smartphone screen. The door opened and Barty’s voice came from the doorway. “My Lord, it’s five o’clock,” he informed him. “In twenty minutes the portkey will reactivate.” As the screen flashed the title of the second chapter, Voldemort lifted his eyes from the phone, looked at Barty and nodded. He got up, walked around the bed, and handed the phone to Aya with an impassive expression. She accepted it with a smile and tucked it inside her trousers. They gazed into each other’s eyes without saying a word for what seemed like an eternity, before Aya said, “I guess this is where we say ‘until we meet again’.” “There won’t be ‘until we meet again’,” said Voldemort coolly. She furrowed her brow in confusion. “What? Why?” she couldn’t comprehend why he wouldn’t want to meet again. “I thought-” she began, but a knot formed in her throat, cutting off her voice for a moment. “What happened to me being your queen? Our plans to change and rule the wizarding world?” “I changed my mind,” said Voldemort stiffly, turning his back to her. She let out a baffled sigh. “Why?” she inquired. “Because we had sex?” “That was a mistake,” he snarled, still facing away. “A mistake that will not happen again … I think it’s best if we don’t see each other ever again.” Aya felt a pang in her chest. “Maybe for you, because it’s certainly not best for me.” She was tempted to say more to him, but she didn’t want to push him even further away from her. Instead, she just shook her head in disbelief. “Let’s go, Barty,” she told him, walking towards the door. “We wouldn’t want to miss our ride to Hogwarts.” “Of course.” Barty nodded, before following her. She paused at the doorway, glancing at Voldemort. She wanted to tell him to take care of himself, but even those words were stuck in her throat. Resigned, she left the room with Barty closely behind her. As soon as Voldemort heard the door close, he looked at it and let out a shaky breath. A part of him, a big part of him, wanted to go after her, throw her over his shoulder, rip the clothes off her body and lock her in his bedroom, where no one would be able to take her away from him. It took all of his will and self-control not to give into his recently awakened baser instincts and desires. ‘Let her go,’ he was saying to himself. ‘It’s for the best.’ … Neither Barty nor Aya said a word until they reached the graveyard. As they stood and waited by the cup, she asked him, “How much longer until it becomes active again?” in a lethargic tone. He took out his watch. “Five minutes and twenty-six seconds, Miss,” he answered. She nodded, disheartened. A minute passed before she broke the silence again. “Barty,” she began, “I know you answer to Voldemort, but could you do me a favour?” “Depends on the favour, Miss,” returned Barty. “Take care of him,” she told him. “Make sure he doesn’t skip meals … that he doesn’t overwork himself … and that he goes out in the sun from time to time.” “I can do that, Miss.” “Good.” She nodded. “… And could you maybe send me a letter every few days telling me how he is and what he’s doing?” she added. “Without his knowledge, of course.” Barty looked at her, gobsmacked. “You want me to spy on my master for you?” She shrugged. “He’s been spying on me; I think it is only fair that I spy on him as well.” Barty looked unsure. “I don’t know, Miss. I’ll have to think about it.” “When you make a decision, you know where to send the letters.” As the last minute was ticking down, Barty uncorked a vial and drank from it, grimaced at the taste and began changing into Ludo Bagman. As he said, “Now,” looking and sounding like Bagman, she touched the cup and felt the pull from the afternoon before. … She landed on the grassy Quidditch pitch just outside the maze. There wasn’t an instant applause from the public, who was either still recovering from the memory modification charm or was too stunned to see her holding the cup after barely 20 minutes since the task started. As her friends and parents started to cheer loudly, the rest of the audience joined them. Hufflepuff ended up being the loudest group among Hogwarts students, with Slytherin closely behind, although Ravenclaw and Gryffindor also cheered because the victory went to Hogwarts and not to Durmstrang or Beauxbatons. Aya forced herself to smile as genuinely as possible as to not arouse suspicion in her family and friends. She lifted the cup high in the air and let out a cry of victory. Soon, her loved ones began trickling down the stands onto the pitch, hugging and congratulating her. “What did I tell you, ha?” she said excitedly. “I told you I would win the tournament, and I did it, dammit!” Sirius and Severus pulled her into a bear hug, kissing her head. George and Fred, rallied the rest of them into a closely-knit group, and then proceeded to throw her in the air a few times, with Aya squealing both excited and slightly terrified of landing painfully on the ground. Luckily, her friends’ arms were strong enough to hold her weight. Bagman’s voice resounded through the pitch, drowning the cheers of the crowd. “And we have a winner, ladies and gentlemen! Miss Aya Potter-Snape-Black from Hogwarts!” More claps and cheers followed. “But the tournament is not over yet. There are still three champions fighting their way through the maze to reach the centre.” Ten minutes later, Viktor transported outside the maze. He looked a bit dishevelled and sweaty, with a bit of dirt marring his face. Cedric arrived 25 minutes after Aya, dirty, sweaty and with a slightly singed and torn uniform. Fleur arrived five minutes after him in a similar state, closing the final task. Bagman joined them on the pitch with the rest of the judges as well as the headmasters of the three schools. Polordhus erected a three-step podium. The four champions formed a line. “Now, ladies and gentlemen, before we all leave for the end-of-the-term feast back at the castle, we need to close the official part of the tournament,” he announced. “There is only one winner, normally, in these types of competitions; however, the efforts of the rest should not be overlooked. For that reason, give a round of applause to Cedric Diggory from Hogwarts and Fleur Delacour for achieving third place both with 249 points.” Cheers resonated through the pitch, as the two mentioned champions bowed to the audience and stepped on the lowest step on the podium, with all the ministry officials and headmasters shaking hands with them and receiving a charmed floral wreath. “In second place, with 272 points, Viktor Krum from Durmstrang.” Durmstrang male students were the loudest by far, who, even though they didn’t win, were still proud of their champion. Viktor stepped on the second highest step and waited to shake hands with all the officials and headmasters as well, before receiving a slightly bigger enchanted floral wreath for his efforts. He would probably give it to Hermione. She was better suited for flowers than he was. “And now, in first place, with 318 points, Aya Potter-Snape-Black from Hogwarts. Congratulations to all the champions!” Deafening cheering and whistling erupted again as Aya stepped on the highest step in the middle, her hands raised high in the air and her face adorned with a wide smile. She bowed. She received a floral wreath, the biggest of the other three, from Polordhus, who then shook her hand. From the Minister, she received her monetary prize of one thousand galleons. And from Bagman (Barty), she received a small version of the Triwizard Cup. She shook hands with Crouch and the headmasters. “One final picture for the press.” All four champions faced the cameras and smiled. Then, after a few, she invited the other three to join her on her step for one last picture, before leaving for the closing feast. As the crowd started to leave for the castle, Barty disguised as Bagman noticed that Dumbledore looked confused and absentminded. He approached him. “Everything alright there, Headmaster Dumbledore?” he asked with a hand on the shoulder. Dumbledore’s confused gaze met his inquiring one. “Maybe it’s just old age, but … what date is today?” he asked tentatively. “June 25th 2016, sir,” replied Barty happily. “Twenty-fifth?” exclaimed Dumbledore in surprise. Barty nodded. Dumbledore frowned in confusion. “Is something the matter, Headmaster?” inquired Barty. “I don’t know why, but for some reason June 24th pops in my mind for the third task not June 25th.” ‘Did my master’s memory charm not work completely on the old coot?’ wondered Barty, concerned. “Oh, don’t worry, Headmaster,” he said happily, “twenty-four, twenty-five … they are almost the same thing, really. Since they are so close, some might get confused.” Dumbledore continued to look lost. “Indeed … but I thought that since the other two tasks were on the twenty-fourth, that the last one would also be following that same pattern. Barty nodded in a thoughtful manner. “Yes, I see your confusion, but I’m afraid we always planned to have the last task on the last day of the term, before the feast. It felt right to close it on the last day of school.” Dumbledore nodded slowly with a blank stare. “You’re right,” he said after a while. “It does make sense.” “Headmaster,” began Barty tentatively and with a hand still on his shoulder, “I don’t want to sound rude, but I think you should consider retirement. I think the stress is getting to you,” he said with fake concern, then turned and walked away, mentally sighing in relief. ‘That was close.’ … Following the feast, the music and lyrics from We are the Champions by Queen sounded throughout the Great Hall as Aya’s friends and the muggleborn or muggle-raised students sang in unison at the top of their lungs, especially the chorus. Hufflepuffs held each other’s shoulders and swayed in the song’s rhythm. As the song ended and they were sent to their dorms, Aya and her friends decided to do a special celebration in their secret room, before retiring to bed. There, she took the opportunity to do something she meant to do from the beginning. She cleared her throat, loudly. “Hush, peasants,” said the twins importantly, “our Quadrawizard Queen is about to speak.” The rest of her friends quieted down, refreshment in hand. “I want to thank you for all the support you’ve shown me on this journey,” she started, raising her glass of water, “for never doubting me, for believing in my abilities as well as my innocence when it came to the whole participation thing.” All of them smiled. “I did decide to go through with the competition, despite not entering it willingly, and come out on top … I suppose it’s nice to look at the trophy,” she said, twisting the cup in her hand, “maybe I’ll use it for drinking, who knows. It would be a waste to let it sit on a shelf, collecting dust.” Her friends laughed and chuckled at that. “Money is always nice to have,” she said, weighing her money pouch, “and I can think of a lot of things I could buy with this amount of money, especially games and other geek-related things. But I think I should think like a businesswoman and invest it into a business that, right now, doesn’t even exist, but I’m sure will become a huge success in the near future.” She turned to the twins. “Fred,” she said ,nodding at him, “George,” she did the same with him, “I want you to have this money and open the shop you’ve been dreaming about.” The twins wore shocked expressions on their faces. “Aya,” breathed Fred. “Are you sure?” finished George. She grinned. “I’m sure. I know just how much you wanted to enter this competition to earn the money so I said to myself ‘if you somehow ended competing, you might as well win the money for the twins’.” She placed the pouch in their hands and they looked at it as if it was an early Christmas present. A moment later, they fell before her on their knees and pressed their foreheads to the floor. “We don’t know how to repay you,” said Fred. “But if you ever need anything from us, just say so,” said George. “All of our services are completely at your disposal.” “And totally free as well.” She laughed good-naturedly. “I appreciate it. And you can repay me by being successful. Make sure to put my investment to good use and multiply it.” They lifted themselves up from the floor. “Of that-” began Fred. “Have no doubt,” concluded George with a smirk. … As soon as she fell asleep with the horcruxes pressed to her chest and manifested in her own mental landscape, she lay on her side in the foetal position on an empty patch of ground. She felt confused stares of Tom, Ramses and Moriarty on the back of her head. “Aya?” ventured Tom, getting closer. “Is something wrong? Why weren’t you with us last night?” She kept quiet. “Well …” began Marvolo, “do you want to hear the long or the short version?” Tom, Ramses, and Moriarty looked confused. “Start with the short one,” said Tom. “Aya had wild, hot sex with Voldemort the Noseless Snake-hybrid all night and enjoyed it.” Tom stumbled back in shock. He turned to her, horrified. “Aya?” he called her carefully. “Is that true?” She didn’t answer. Why bother? Her silence was answer enough for Tom, who looked on the verge of collapsing. Ramses and Moriarty held him upwards. “Well that would explain all the earthquakes and fireworks that lasted for hours and hours on end,” commented Moriarty in a casual tone. “Aya … I know you have weird tastes, but why on Earth would you consider Voldemort as a viable option to have sex with and enjoy it? What happened with marrying a Demon Lord?” “Oh, he looked plenty demonic to me,” said Gaunt nonchalantly. “Red eyes, snake scale patches on his skin, no hair whatsoever, snake slits for a nose … yeah, plenty demonic,” he concluded. “Unfortunately, our resident Demon Lord regrets what happened and behaved like an asshole this morning, even when it was obvious he liked it as well,” commented Marvolo. “Ugh,” complained Gaunt, “don’t remind me. I think I will be forever scarred by all the moans and the words he said to her.” “Did you watch it?” asked Ramses half-curious, half-disgusted. “Of course not!” they said indignantly and simultaneously. “It was painful enough to listen, imagine if we watched as well,” said Gaunt and both he and Marvolo shuddered. “I felt it coming even before it happened,” said Marvolo. Having somewhat recovered from his shock, Tom asked, “And why did he act like an asshole, if he enjoyed the sex just as much if not even more?” “Apparently they both lost control over their bodies and minds and actually didn’t know what they were doing,” replied Marvolo. Tom turned to her again. “You’re not going to say anything?” he prompted her. “What do you want me to say, Tom?” she snapped, facing him. “Yes, I had sex with Voldemort and I liked it. I don’t care how it happened. I don’t care if I was conscious of my actions or not. I don’t care if he resembles a snake more than a human. In fact, I think he is the sexiest, most attractive and desirable man I have ever seen and met. I want him to be my husband and the father of my children. I want to spend every day, for the rest of my life, with him, showering him with my love.” All five horcruxes looked stunned at her. “L-Love!?” they choked out. Only Moriarty remained calm and quiet. She sighed and rolled her eyes at their melodramatic reaction. “Since when?” they wanted to know. “You never mentioned being attracted to Voldemort.” She shrugged. “I don’t know how or when it happened, but I do know that I want him like I’ve never wanted anyone in my life.” They were speechless, and she returned to her sulking. “I know he doesn’t like it when he’s not in control, especially after spending fourteen years without a proper and functioning body,” she mumbled, “but he didn’t have to be such an asshole about it.” Her voice cracked a bit at the end and tears welled in her eyes. She sniffed and wiped a few stray tears away. “I know I probably shouldn’t take his words to heart and that he probably didn’t really mean them and that it was panic and fear talking … but they still hurt, dammit.” She blinked her tears away. The horcruxes exchanged awkward looks. The landscape clouded even more, a thunderbolt sounded and black ink started to drip onto the land and them. Moriarty cleared his throat. “Okay,” he said, “let’s talk about something more cheerful.” “You just don’t want any ink,” grumbled Aya under her breath, fighting back tears. “True,” he allowed, “after all I have to spend here all the time, but there is something I wanted to show you.” She sniffed and turned her head towards them. “What do you want to show me?” “Come and see,” he said enigmatically. She frowned sceptically, but pushed herself off the ground and walked up to them. He gently intertwined their hands and guided her away from the sweets into blank limits of her landscape. The rest of the horcruxes followed. He stopped in front of a giant black door secured with metal chains and numerous padlocks. Three small, faint lights like fireflies framed the door, one light on either side and the third one above it. They all stared at it. “This wasn’t here before,” said Aya. “The door appeared shortly before the earthquakes and fireworks began. Then as the fireworks faded away, these three faint lights remained.” As Moriarty talked, Aya approached the door to examine it closely. “I don’t know what they are supposed to be,” he continued, “but they have a pulse. A really faint one, but you can feel it if you concentrate.” She stretched one of her hands towards one of the lights, and as she got closer, she felt it flicker with life and warmth. She started a bit, but repeated the same gesture with the light on the other side. It looked to her as if the lights were aware of her presence and were happy to feel her. She climbed the door to reach the third one and almost gave a heart attack to Voldemort’s horcruxes. When she was back on solid ground, she turned to them. “What do you think is behind the door?” Moriarty shrugged, while the other four complained, “How should we know?” “Maybe help me tear down the chains so we can all see?” she suggested. No matter how much they pulled nothing seemed to budge the padlocks or loosen the chains. “Why not just knock,” suggested Gaunt and proceeded to bang on the door, but nothing happened … At least at first. “Look nothing is going to budge the door,” reasoned Tom, “why don’t we return to where we came from and-” The door began to vibrate and the chains and padlocks began to rattle. He jumped and let out a yelp of surprise. They observed the commotion for a while, bracing themselves for something, what exactly they didn’t know, but after a few seconds, it settled again. “What the hell was that?” cursed Marvolo slightly out of breath and clutching his chest. “You’re asking us?” said Gaunt in a similar posture. “Look,” said Ramses, “nothing is going to happen with the door. Why waste energy unnecessarily, when we could be doing something else?” The younger three horcruxes agreed and started to move towards the sweets again. Just as Aya was about to follow them, she thought she heard something call out her name. She stopped and listened. A few seconds passed before she heard it again. She approached the door and pressed her ear against it. “Aya.” A whisper full of longing reached her and she felt a tug in her chest. “Come to me Aya,” lamented the voice. “I want you … I need you.” She closed her eyes tightly to stop fresh tears from escaping as a knot formed in her throat. For some reason the voice sounded like... “I’m here, Voldemort,” she whispered in a broken voice, “I’m right here.” A sob escaped her and tears flowed freely from her eyes now. She collapsed on her knees in front of the door, sobbing uncontrollably. Voldemort’s voice called for her one more time and she woke up abruptly, clutching her chest with laboured breaths. Her cheeks were wet. It took her a few seconds to realise she was still at the dorm and that it was still dark outside, but she felt too restless to sleep. She tried to calm herself down, but only more tears came. She muffled her sobs and left the bed. She hurried to the bathroom, where she locked herself and slid down to the floor, pulling the knees towards her chest, resting her elbows against the knees and the heels of her palms pressed against her closed eyes. “Voldemort, you idiot.” A fresh batch of tears slid down her cheeks. “I want you too.” She hiccoughed three times. “I want you-” Hic! “So much.” Hic! “… I love you.” … As she said goodbye to her friends on the platform, Luna took Aya’s hand in hers and pushed something in it, then hugged her and whispered into her ear, “Act normal and only read it alone. Preferably in your room, although I suppose a toilet will also do the trick.” When she returned to 12 Grimmauld Place with Severus and Sirius, she excused herself and went to the toilet. Once there, she took out the folded letter Luna gave her and read: Don’t feel too down because of his words. They are meant for him more than for you. Give him time to sort out the storm of emotions the ritual and you have awoken in him. It might take him a while, but he’ll come around, though I think too much waiting won’t be good neither for him nor for you, so I suggest a slight push by the end of the next month, when he will crave you enough to accept that he’s fallen irrevocably in love with you. Another piece of advice. From now on, try to avoid travelling by wizard means. It will be bad for you. In a few weeks’ time, it should be clear why. Oh and I suggest re-reading the book Hannah gave you as a birthday present in your second year. That book holds the answer to why you and he behaved the way you did on the night of June 24th, though I feel everything began much earlier, but reached its peak during the ritual … or rather after it. Should you feel the need to talk, I’ll be waiting for your owl. Papa and I don’t have plans to go anywhere until after your and Neville’s birthday, so feel free to visit whenever you feel like it. Your friend, Luna As Aya reached the end of the letter, she realised with dread, Luna knew about her and Voldemort, because the ‘he’ in the letter couldn’t be anyone else but Voldemort. She re-read the first two paragraphs. Was Voldemort really falling in love with her? Her heart fluttered at that thought and she wanted to smile, but even if he loved her, he would probably never admit it aloud. He had a reputation to uphold after all. And what did Luna mean travelling the wizard way will become bad for her? Too exhausted to think, she returned downstairs to the dining room where she ate dinner with her parents. After the meal, she kissed them goodnight and went to bed, hugging Voldemort’s physical horcruxes to her chest. … 25 June 2016, Riddle Manor, 20:31 Barty apparated on the Manor patio. As soon as he entered the front door, his house elf Winky was waiting for him with an anxious expression and wringing her thin fingers. “Winky is sorry, Young Master,” she squeaked. Barty felt something cold and heavy settle in the pit of his stomach. “What happened, Winky?” “It’s your master, sir,” said Winky, “Winky left him dinner, but he didn’t even touch it. He keeps sitting in the same position, without moving at all. He looks like a statue.” Barty hurried to the first floor, jumping stairs two at a time to get to his master’s room as quickly as possible and see what Winky was talking. His bedroom door was slightly ajar, but no sound came from inside. He carefully opened it and announced his arrival. He found him sitting at the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees and his forehead resting on the palms of his hands, looking at the floor, and his pet snake, Nagini, wrapped around him, hissing softly. “My Lord,” he said carefully, but there was no reaction. “I did as you asked. Everyone, even Dumbledore, is convinced the task was meant to take place today and I returned Ludovic Bagman to his house.” No response. “My Lord?” Slowly, Voldemort looked up at him with an impassive expression and just stared blankly at him; though to Barty it felt almost as if he was looking right through him. “Barty,” he rasped after what felt like an eternity. “Yes, my Lord?” prompted Barty. “I want you to obliviate me.” Barty’s eyes widened. “What exactly should I obliviate from your memory, my Lord?” asked Barty, unsure. “Last night,” he stated blankly, “today … everything to do with Aya.” “My Lord,” Barty cleared his throat, “I don’t want to go against your orders and wishes … but I think such massive memory modification will not be good for you,” said Barty carefully. “Then how do you propose I get her out of my mind?” he snarled, wild look in his eyes. “Because I have her stuck in here,” he pressed his index finger to his temple and tapped it harshly a few times, “like a disease that no matter how much I try to will it away it won’t go. And I can’t let thoughts about what happened between her and me last night cloud and muddle my mind and hinder me in my plans.” “Well …” began Barty, thinking of an alternative to erasing his master’s memories, “what about the Pensieve, my Lord? You could pull out all the memories you want to get rid of, and put them either directly into the Pensieve or into memory phials. Then, put all of them somewhere where you won’t be tempted to look.” When he finished explaining his suggestion, Voldemort’s eyes illuminated. “Yes,” he breathed, “you’re right, Barty … I should use my Pensieve to get her out of my mind. I’ll do it tomorrow, first thing in the morning.” Barty smiled. “I’m glad I could help, my Lord.” … After forcing himself to eat a few bites of dinner, Voldemort fell into restless sleep, where he dreamt of Aya again. Her smell, her body, her kisses, her touches, her voice, her smile and laughter. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was aware it wasn’t real, that it was only a dream, but regardless he called out her name a few times. Before he lost himself in the memories, he took every recollection, any physical proof of his interaction with Aya, and instructed Barty to lock it up and it didn’t matter where, as long as he didn’t know where to look for it, in case he would be tempted to do it anyway. For the first few days, this tactic worked wonders, but before the week was even out, Voldemort felt restless, as if he was missing something extremely important, but no matter how much he tried to recall it, he just couldn’t pinpoint what he longed for. There was a name present in the back of his mind, but it was foggy and unclear. He tried distracting himself with mountains of paperwork, reviewing the laws that Dumbledore implemented during his absence, while constantly being pestered by either Barty, his house elf or Nagini to eat and drink, but no matter how much work he put himself into, there was a nagging feeling inside his head and most importantly his chest. As he was reading the reports from his freed Death Eaters that formed his inner circle, he came across a name several times that made him feel … weird, confused, and excited. “Aya,” he said it aloud as he traced those three letters on a report about Snape and his adoptive daughter. “Aya Potter-Snape-Black.” An alarm went off in his mind as he had an epiphany. This was it! This was the name that kept nagging at him. That was what he had forgotten. An image of black hair and emerald-green eyes flashed in his mind as he tried to recall what she looked like. If she was so important to him, why had he forgotten about her? He vaguely recalled using a Pensieve to store something inside. Something precious. Memories of her? Why would he get rid of the memories? Were they unpleasant? He searched for his Pensieve, but couldn’t find it. Where was the blasted thing? He was sure it should be in the manor somewhere. He panicked. He called for Barty and asked him for his Pensieve. Reluctantly, Barty led him to the basement, where there was a locked chest and a giant cupboard. Inside the chest, there were letters, all addressed to him and signed with the same name, Aya, as well as other things, such as a handmade card with a slightly reimagined dark mark, a hand-knitted black and green scarf, a small snow globe, a picture of a scary costume, a picture of a stunning beauty between Severus and Sirius Black, a newspaper clipping of an interview and a letter to the press, and a pillow and bedsheets covered in … dried bloodstains and … dried semen? Inside the cupboard was his Pensieve and the shelves were lined with memories from different people but about the same person, Aya … And there, a tornado of thoughts swirling in the liquid, were his thoughts inside the Pensieve itself. He collected them string by string and inserted them into his mind again. They were slightly out of order, but the force of emotions he had gotten rid of was so overpowering, so overwhelming, he fell to his knees, gasping for air. Barty was instantly at his side, but Voldemort stubbornly continued to collect his memories and, Salazar, were there many memories to collect. Halfway through the process, he recalled why he wanted to get rid of them in the first place, but it was better knowing why he felt so anxious and restless, than to feel lost and confused. Indisposed and overwhelmed by the amount and force of the memories, he retired to his bedroom with Barty helping him. He ordered him to levitate the chest to his bedroom and his Pensieve and all the memories to his office. Barty agreed with a defeated sigh. The next day, he summoned Augustus Rookwood, who had infiltrated the Ministry by impersonating the Head of the Department of Mysteries, and the Lestrange brothers, who were still posing as American transfer Aurors. He needed to get his hands on the entire prophecy concerning him and Aya. Rodolphus would provide him with some Polyjuice base, Rabastan with some hair from a random muggle businessman and Augustus would let him inside the Department and lead him to the shelves with the prophecies. It was the perfect plan and no one at the Ministry suspected anything. Placing the prophecy securely inside his pocket, he left the Ministry and apparated straight to his office at the manor and locked himself inside to listen and study the prophecy in solitude and peace. Slightly apprehensive, he placed the orb on his desk, sat behind it, and listened: The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... And the Dark Lord will mark them as his equal, but they will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... A heavy feeling settled in his stomach as the female voice faded away and her last line remained stuck in his ear. Was that it then? One of them would have to kill the other? No, he couldn’t imagine Aya willingly wanting or trying to kill him, and he had long since lost any desire to do it as well. He listened to the prophecy again, and as he listened, he wrote down everything. After making sure, he had everything written down, word for word, he smashed the prophecy never to hear the eerie female voice again. Then, he proceeded to study it line by line, word for word, trying to interpret it in different ways. In ways that would suit him the best. After all, weren’t prophecies all about interpretation? Or better yet, he could just simply ignore it. … On July 4th, he assembled a meeting with his inner circle, though he had his reservations with summoning Severus … for several reasons. Knowing he was Aya’s adoptive father made him want to ask him about her well-being, how she was doing, if she was happy without him … things like that. On the other hand, the report the Lestrange brothers provided about him made him think he had fallen under the influence of Dumbledore and that his loyalty might have been swayed to the opposite side. He wanted to interrogate him, maybe submit him to a few crucios, but he doubted Aya would appreciate it. Knowing just how she reacted when someone attacked her Mud- Muggle-born friend, told him she would subject him to a similar treatment. Therefore, no. No matter how tempted he was to either brutally sift through Snape’s head or torture him, he would refrain himself from doing anything. His most faithful immediately responded to his call through Barty’s mark, with Severus arriving with delay. “Ah, Severus,” he greeted him with deceiving calm from his place at the head of the long table, “it is nice to know you still respond to my call, although with a slight delay.” He could see Severus stiffen as he bowed and approached the empty seat between Barty and Lucius on his left hand side. “I apologise, my Lord, I was … slightly occupied at the moment of your call,” he said apologetically. “What or who could be more important than me Severus?” he prompted. “The school term has ended more than a week ago or is there something you wish to tell me?” Severus swallowed hard and was lost for words. Voldemort took pity on him and simply told him to take a seat. When all of his inner members were present, with a few exceptions (he would have to track them down and torture them, just before killing them off), he started the meeting. “Welcome, my friends,” he said solemnly. “Most of us have seen each other very recently, while with some,” he said, referring to Severus, “we’re meeting for the first time in over a decade.” Severus stiffened, but remained impassive. “Those of you who have been closely aiding me in my quest to recover my body know that it’s been a little over a week since I got it back and that we are now going to continue our work towards change … but in a slightly different way from the first time.” “This time there will be no open attacks, no terrorism. Instead, we need to be subtle, silent … like snakes. We will infiltrate our enemies from within and slowly take over. We will study our surroundings for weaknesses; gather information and strike when our prey will least expect it. For that purpose, no one must suspect a thing. My return must remain a secret. Should Dumbledore even suspect I’m back, because one of you accidentally let it slip, I will personally take care of the traitor myself. Is that clear?” He levelled them with his unnerving red look, but lingered on Severus, who paled. “Yes, my Lord!” they chorused. “Good,” he nodded, satisfied. “Moving on, we need to address another issue … Aya Potter, the Girl-Who-Lived. Although I hear she now goes by the surname Potter-Snape-Black.” He observed Severus’ reaction through his peripheral vision and saw him hold his breath. “As you know, there is a prophecy concerning her and me. A prophecy that states she will ‘vanquish’ me with a ‘power I know not’, because, according to the woman who told the prophecy, ‘either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives’.” He turned to Severus. “What do you suggest I do Severus?” he asked him. “After all, you were the one who overheard the first half of the prophecy and are now responsible for … the Girl-Who-Lived.” Severus looked on the verge of collapsing. He cleared his throat. “I say you shouldn’t concern yourself with her being a danger to you and your rule,” he said in a measured voice. “How do you know that?” “She readily helped you acquire the stone, my Lord.” “She could still turn against me and stab me in the back,” insisted Voldemort. “She isn’t like that.” Voldemort glared at Severus, his breathing laboured. “Would you swear on your life and magic that she will not become a threat to me and my cause, Severus?” “Yes,” said Severus with confidence and unwavering look. Voldemort regarded him some more, before sighing and addressing all of his followers. “Aya Potter-Snape-Black is to be left alone,” he said darkly. “None of you is to go near her with the intent to harm or kill her, unless I instruct you to do so. The person who will disrespect my orders and go against them in a misguided attempt to please me will face my wrath.” A black, dense energy emanated from Voldemort’s form, filling the dining room, making it difficult to breathe. “I hope I made myself clear, because I hate repeating myself. The person who so much as touches a hair on her head or tries to curse her … I will make sure they are punished in the most gruesome way possible, and then I will display the remains for the rest to see not to go against me.” All of them swallowed hard as the black energy kept constricting their respiratory tract. When they nodded, the energy evaporated and all of them inhaled deeply. He concluded the meeting with a “We already have Azkaban and dementors under our control, now it’s time for other branches of wizarding society to fall as well. Wait for my orders on how to proceed with our plans to overtake the Ministry and the Wizengamot. You are free to go.” As Severus was about to leave, he called after him. “You will remain behind, Severus.” He noticed him tense at those words. “No need to be so tense,” he chuckled darkly, trying to sound reassuring, but only ended up sounding threatening, “I simply want to have a word with you in private. Away from prying ears and eyes.” He gestured towards the seat. “Sit.” Severus gulped, but otherwise obeyed. “Tea?” he offered. “A cup is waiting for me at home, my Lord,” Severus declined in his most diplomatic fashion. “We were just about to have some afternoon tea, when you called for me,” he explained. “Well, then, excuse my rudeness for interrupting your family time.” Severus wasn’t sure whether the words were genuine or sarcastic. “No tea then?” “No, thank you.” “A pity.” A beat of silence stretched between them. “What did you want to talk to me about, my Lord?” inquired Severus tentatively. Mostly, he wanted to talk about Aya, ask him about her … but instead he decided to ask him about his loyalty. “Are you still loyal to me and my cause, Severus, or have you defected to Dumbledore’s side?” Severus stiffened, but remained silent. “Do you remember asking me to spare that Mudblood friend of yours?” “Yes, my Lord.” “Despite not being long in my service, you proved to be reliable, competent. Your request baffled me, but I wanted to award your services and honour your request.” Severus’ eyes widened in surprise. He stared at Voldemort. “When I went to where the Potters were hiding with their child, I tried to spare the woman,” narrated Voldemort. “I gave her three warnings. Three opportunities to step aside so that I could kill her child. But she begged and pleaded, and kept shielding the baby. I suppose any decent mother would do that. So, after the third warning, to get to the child I had to go through the mother first.” “You could have stunned her,” said Severus in a measured voice, but his jaw and throat were twitching. “I could,” admitted Voldemort, “as I could have stunned the father, but then I ran the risk of them coming after me in revenge and why bother letting them live to be a nuisance, when I could be free from their annoying opposition.” There was no regret in his voice and Severus didn’t know what to make of it. “Was she so important to you, you would defect to Dumbledore, Severus? Have you gone to him for aid?” After a long beat of silence, Severus said, “Yes,” he looked Voldemort straight in the eye. “I went to him, asking to protect Lily.” Voldemort remained impassive. “Why him?” Severus shrugged. “He seemed like the best option at the time.” “No matter what he says or how he presents himself to the world, Dumbledore is even worse than me, Severus,” said Voldemort. “For all his talk of light and dark, right and wrong, good and evil, his … greater good,” he spat, “Dumbledore is nothing but a master manipulator and puppeteer who never does anything out of the goodness of his heart … or did he offer free protection and services when you went to him, Severus?” Severus averted his eyes and Voldemort smirked gleefully. “I won’t punish you for going to him,” said Voldemort after a while, and earned a shocked look from the Potions Master. “However,” his look turned hard, “that being said, from now on, you continue to work for me, not him. You will not help him in the slightest. You will not report anything to him about my return or my plans. If he asks you anything, you say you never felt your mark tingling or burning. Is that clear?” Severus gulped, but nodded. “You will not report to him, but you will report to me. If he becomes too suspicious or starts asking too much, you will let me know immediately or as soon as you’re able.” “Yes, my Lord.” “I mean it, Severus,” he warned him. “This is the first and only time I will let it slide. Don’t give me a reason to hurt you.” With that, Severus left and Voldemort let out a loud sigh. … For the next few days, thoughts of Aya distracted Voldemort to the point where he would just stare at a page, trying to read it, but no matter how much he read, he wasn’t really sure what he just read, so he kept re-reading the same sentences or paragraphs over and over again, but no matter how many times he read them, he just didn’t understand a word of what was written. Putting the papers down, he started pacing his office. If he was a mess right now, it was because of Aya. If he was thinking about her … if he was craving her, it was because she messed with the potion. This entire thing was her fault! If he hadn’t allowed her to change the wording of the last line … If he had stuck with his original plan, nothing of this would have happened! Oh, who was he kidding! Even as he read the original incantation, he couldn’t bear the thought of hurting Aya … and even though he was concerned over what might happen if the original incantation was changed, he preferred the changed version, where she offered her blood willingly, to forcing it out of her anytime. And yet, he was hurting her right now with his attitude. He sat in his chair and gazed at the Birthday card and the Basilisk snow globe on his desk. He opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out her letters and the pictures he had of her. He should destroy everything. He should have set it all on fire the same day she left the manor. But something was stopping him. Determined not to think of her, he even went as far as getting himself drunk on fire whiskey that afternoon, even though it tasted like shit to him, and he ended waking up with a head-splitting headache the next morning. He didn’t really remember what he said to Barty, when he helped him get to bed, but he sure as hell remembered everything he said and did to Aya during sex. The same bed he was sleeping in every night. He should have considered changing rooms, sleep somewhere, where he couldn’t be reminded of their time together, but something kept him from doing it. It was as if he wanted to remain there and torture himself with the memories of something that will probably never happen again. Sighing in resignation, he lay on his back on the bed. He closed his eyes and welcomed the images that assaulted his mind. Images of his night with Aya, which were hazy at first, were now becoming clearer in his mind. He thought to himself, if he couldn’t keep her out of his mind, if he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about her, he might as well let memories he had of her wash over him, and for the first time in over two weeks of trying to escape her, he indulged in his fantasy and pleasured himself, while chanting Aya’s name. … Luna’s letter calmed Aya down … if only a bit. She still felt anxious and somewhat depressed. However, not one to wallow in self-pity, Aya was determined to stay positive and distract herself by doing the things she liked. She felt in the mood for Police Academy and Home Alone movies, and Sherlock Holmes and Super Mario videogames. In between watching films and playing games, she was slowly making her way through the book Luna mentioned. For now, she still hadn’t found anything that might explain how Voldemort and she ended up having sex just like that. She was doing fine in keeping herself distracted, until July 4th. Severus, Sirius and she were in the drawing room about to have their afternoon tea, when Severus flinched and hissed, and let go of his teacup, which shattered with a muffled crack. Sirius and Aya were immediately concerned. “What’s wrong, Severus?” inquired Sirius. He noticed his lover was clutching his marked forearm. “It burns,” Severus managed to say. “He’s calling.” Sirius paled. “Will you go?” “I have to go.” “Go where?” asked Aya. “To V-Voldemort,” choked out Sirius. Her heart stopped for a second and she fought to keep her reaction under control. What does Voldemort want with her father? Will he hurt him? He better not touch a single hair on him or try to curse him. She might be in love with Voldemort, but she wouldn’t let him hurt her father. Sirius refused to let Severus go, but released him anyway, after Severus promised to return to him in one piece and no major damage, because otherwise he just might track that bastard down and kill him with his bare hands. Looking back now, Severus was gone less than 45 minutes, but the wait felt like an eternity had passed since he apparated away. When he returned, looking like he had before he left, just slightly dazed, Aya and Sirius heaved a sigh of relief and then proceeded to bombard him with questions about the meeting. Aya soaked up every word that concerned Voldemort. It seemed he was in good health, had made some progress in his domination of wizarding world from the shadows, got his hands on the entire prophecy and threatened to cause severe bodily harm to anyone who would want to harm her. That part made her feel warm and excited from within and she fought back a smile that wanted to spread across her face. She only hoped neither of her fathers noticed how happy she felt hearing about Voldemort, because she wasn’t ready to tell them about what happened on June 24th. For the next several days, she was only half-successful in keeping herself distracted from thinking about Voldemort, but by the end of the second week, she was thinking about gaming, reading and not much else. However, stray thoughts about Voldemort popped up in her mind from time to time. One day, mid-July, the horcruxes expressed their concern over the fact she only seemed to eat a meal a day. “Well … with the summer heat, I don’t really feel hungry, and because I’m not studying, I also don’t feel the constant need to eat or snack on something, but it can also be the enthusiasm and adrenaline that I sometimes experience during gaming, where I would forget to eat, drink and sleep, because I’m so invested in the videogame.” Following that discussion, she realised that not only she ate far less than usual, but some of the food and smells also made her nauseous and dizzy. Sometimes she felt dizzy at random times during the day and whenever that would happen, she decided to take a nap. She also felt more tired than usual. It was probably the heat that made her feel sleepy and tired all the time, but she somehow still felt tired even after sleeping more than 16 hours a day … and her breasts felt sensitive, sore and … was it just her or did they feel heavier and larger? She was vaguely aware that she should have had her period already, but thought the delay was mostly due to stress and agitation, until a week before her birthday, she finally considered the possibility of pregnancy. She did have sex with Voldemort after all. Many times and without any sort of protection. Did it happen, while she was fertile? She wasn’t sure, but it was definitely a possibility. While she was debating whether to go buy a pregnancy test at the Chemist’s, she found what she felt was the answer Luna mentioned in her letter. It was a sub-chapter called “Virgin Blood & the Regeneration Ritual” under a chapter titled “Virgins & Magic Rituals”. Determined to get rid of her doubts, she decided to go and buy a pregnancy test or two … maybe even three just to be on the safe side. She could go to a laboratory and pay for a blood test as well, but it would have to be done in secret. She could only be absent so much time at once before Severus and Sirius started suspecting something was off with her. “Siri, Sev,” she called from the corridor, “I’m going to the supermarket to buy some pads for the period.” “Okay, pup,” returned Sirius from inside their room. She did buy a pack of hygienic pads, just to cover up the fact that she also bought three different home pregnancy tests. The woman at the pharmacy eyed her with a mixture of pity and judgment as if trying to say, ‘Poor thing, so young and already facing motherhood’ and ‘The youth these days don’t think about consequences of unprotected sex’ at the same time. She didn’t need neither sentiments, thank you very much! It’s not like she was dying nor would her world be ending if she did end up pregnant with Voldemort’s child at sixteen! It was far from ideal, what with Dumbledore still in positions of power and Voldemort operating from the shadows and her having two years of basic magical education remaining, but she could hire tutors or even do self-study. It’s not as if she would abandon her education just like that. However, higher education would have to wait for at least a year maybe two or more; she did want to spend as much time with her baby, if it did turn out she was pregnant. “It’s for my sister,” she said with a straight face instead, “she asked me if I could get her a few tests, while she’s at work.” Whether the woman behind the till believed that bullshit, she didn’t know nor did she particularly care. She was never going to see that woman in her life again, so it didn’t matter what she thought on the subject. Back home, she hurried to her room, where she read the instructions with care. The most awkward part of it all would be peeing inside the cup. She didn’t remember when the last time she did it was and how in the hell she even achieved it. The next important step would be to take the test in the morning as soon as she woke up to make sure her urine was concentrated enough for the pregnancy tests to sense the pregnancy hormones. She planned to put all three tests in the cup one after another and let all those juicy hormones soak into them. She would probably get the same results in all three cases, but if the morning urine was the best for this type of testing, she could do all three pregnancy tests at the same time. No need to make it into a three-day ordeal. … On July 27th, at 9:38, she went to the toilet and peed into a glass (unfortunately, they didn’t have plastic or paper cups), then dipped all three pregnancy tests into the liquid for the required amount of time, capped them, lined them up, and waited for the results to show. The first one read ‘YES +’. The second one displayed two vertical lines. And the third one read ‘Pregnant’. She was pregnant. She was pregnant with Voldemort’s child.

The Foxes, after losing the death match, are officially out of the running. They have the rest of February off, until March and spring practice starts. During the in-between days, Kevin makes good on his promise to teach Nathaniel how to play striker. Nathaniel starts learning the position, and is immediately frustrated by it. Jean laughs, and Kevin painfully starts picking up a racquet himself. One day in early February, Jean and Nathaniel run to the court, getting there before Kevin and Wymack. They change out and start playing one on one. When they stop for a break, Jean asks, “Did Kevin say he wouldn’t be here today?” “Kevin’s a rat. I’m pretty sure even if he wasn’t going to be here today, he wouldn’t tell us, just so we’d come all the way out here and practice anyway.” “Sounds like somebody’s bitter.” Nathaniel sends a ball straight at Jean’s head. Jean will duck, he’s got good reflexes. “I hope you know you’re going to hell.” Nathaniel gives him a smile. “After you.” Jean rolls his eyes. He starts, “So – ” and then the door to the court slams open. Kevin storms in. Nathaniel and Jean exchange a look as Kevin starts setting up one of the eight Raven fundamental drills. Jean’s raised eyebrow asks, do we know why he’s pissed? Nathaniel’s eyeroll says, when do we ever. Nathaniel runs over to where Wymack is standing by the door. Wymack says, “He let the world know that you three are here at Palmetto.” “Oh,” Nathaniel says. “So he’s scared.” Wymack picks up a racquet and walks onto the court. “With all you’ve told me, I would be, too.” “Don’t worry, Coach. Everything’ll be fine.” “Kid, you’re a whole bucket of crazy.” Kevin is like this for days – angry, scared, angry that he’s scared, scared that he’s angry. He goes in circles and starts to curl back in on himself, but it’s different than the first few days of Christmas break. This time, Kevin focuses on exy. He pushes himself and Nathaniel hard, choosing to focus on this instead of the inevitability of what is to come. “I feel like I’m going to die,” Nathaniel says, collapsing on Jean, who is sitting on Wymack’s couch. “Kevin is going to kill me. And himself.” Jean shoves him off. “Maybe you should eat some actual sustenance.” “Like, when was the last time he worked us this hard?” “He’s not working me that hard.” “You’re not learning a new position.” “Sucks to be you. Go get some yogurt.” Nathaniel squints at him. “Why’re you grumpy?” Jean doesn’t reply. Nathaniel pokes him. “Jean.” Jean looks at him. “When is Riko going to respond?” Nathaniel drops the teasing face. “I don’t know,” he says. Jean looks away. “We shouldn’t have left.” “No, that’s not true. You know this was the right decision.” Jean closes his eyes. Nathaniel walks into the kitchen and gets a yogurt. He comes back and sits next to Jean on the couch and eats it. It’s slimy, and the aftertaste leaves him nauseous, but Jean gives him a small smile. It’s not until they get a package addressed to Wymack, the return address for Castle Evermore, that Kevin snaps. Well, he doesn’t snap. He goes into the bathroom and pukes. “Let me open it,” Nathaniel tells Wymack. He takes a knife and slits the tape. It is the carcass of a raven, in all its bloody glory. Its left wing has been torn off by force, and its beak is stuffed with orange and white confetti. It has not been cleaned. “What the hell,” Wymack says. Nathaniel breathes in through his mouth. “I hate that bastard.” “We have to go back.” Jean says. Kevin is still retching in the bathroom. “No,” Nathaniel says forcefully. “We’re never going back there.” “Nathaniel is right,” Wymack says. “You’re not going back. You’re with us now.” Jean just shakes his head and walks out of the kitchen. Nathaniel looks at Wymack. “It’s going to get worse,” he says. Wymack tells him, “There’s already been some vandalization, a couple riots. It’ll be ok, kid.”  Nathaniel sighs. He fills a glass with water and takes it to Kevin in the bathroom. Kevin takes it, sips it, and then looks at it as if it’s personally offended him. “No,” Nathaniel says. “I am not giving you alcohol, it’s one in the afternoon. We’re going to go to the court, and we’re going to practice.” Kevin groans. But he hauls himself upwards, and walks into the kitchen with Nathaniel. “We’ll go,” he says. “Watch Jean,” Nathaniel tells Wymack. “We’ll practice on our own today.” Wymack looks at the two of them. He almost looks sad, a funny expression on a burly old guy with heavy tattoos. “Alright.” Nathaniel and Kevin run to the court. It’s a sprint for Kevin and a fast jog for Nathaniel, and it makes him feel better about the large breakfast Wymack forced upon him. Even at the court, Kevin keeps going. Through all of February, he practices and practices. Nathaniel gets a brief reminder of how Kevin used to be – cruel and cutting, criticizing Nathaniel’s every effort. It frustrates Nathaniel to no end, and when Jean practices with them, he tries his best to stay out of it. But March begins, and the Foxes return to the court. Their alliances shift – none of the senior group, save Seth, come back, since practices after the season ends are optional for those graduating. Matt sits with Dan and Renee on one couch, and the other is taken over by the cousins. Allison sits with Seth in two of the chairs. And this time, Nathaniel, Jean, and Kevin sit at the front of the room, Kevin holding a racquet. “What the fuck does he think he’s doing?” Seth asks. “You think we can scrimmage with just one striker?” Wymack looks at them all. “Nathaniel and Kevin will be playing offense from now on.” “He’s left handed,” Allison points out, like this should be obvious. “And Nathaniel’s a backliner.” “Yeah,” Wymack says. “And while your sorry asses were sitting on a couch the whole month, they were out here practicing. Even had Jean to play against them. Now let’s get moving.” “This is gonna be fan-fucking-tastic,” Seth says with a snort. "I can't wait."  It goes almost as horribly as their first week with the Foxes. Nathaniel gains good experience playing with a whole team, but he knows that the Foxes are judging him and Kevin, and they’re coming up short. Kevin, despite the long days of practice, is still badly off in his aim, and Nathaniel is just an amateur. Seth and Kevin scream at each other, and the team spends the whole week angry and off-kilter. And then Kevin scores on Renee. He almost looks surprised when he does, and so does everyone else. Nathaniel can feel a small smile curving on his lips, and he glances at the backline, where Jean is nodding. “No way,” Seth claims, and then Kevin does it again. Suddenly Dan stops looking resigned, and starts looking thoughtful. “Nathaniel,” she calls to him during a water break. “Get over here.” Nathaniel jogs over to her. “Look,” Dan says. “I know you’ve got no experience. But here’s what I’m seeing. With strikers, there’s the ones who can draw all the angles around someone’s height so that everything is perfect – that’s Kevin. That’s someone who’s spent years on this position, who’s tall enough that he’s got a lot of reach, and who’s good enough that he can calculate exactly where someone’s weak spot is. You don’t have the time, or the height, but you’ve got instinct. You know exactly where to push a backliner. It doesn’t show until you’re out there playing, but you’ve got it.” Nathaniel stares at her. After a month of Kevin’s harsh words, hearing something encouraging is a little strange. Dan smacks him on the back when he doesn’t respond. “What I’m saying is, keep it up!” “Oh,” Nathaniel says. “Uh, sure thing.” “Wilds, Wesninski!” Wymack shouts. “Back on the court!” “What’d she want,” Jean asks Nathaniel quietly between plays. “She was giving me some advice.” “Oh, yeah?” “Yeah,” Nathaniel says, and a smile curves on his face. “They’re not the Ravens, but Kevin’s right. They could be good, especially with Dan as their captain.” Jean tilts his head. “She’s a good leader. They’re all just…really dysfunctional.” He makes a face as Seth and Kevin begin yelling yet again. To their surprise, Andrew is back on the court the next week. He gets in goal, and Kevin, who had been scoring more consistently on Renee, can’t get anything in. This actually makes practice better – Kevin shuts up and stops responding to Seth. He even holds back on critiquing Nathaniel during team practice, focusing only on his own shots. “You’re like a rat,” Andrew calls to Kevin one day, lazily smacking the ball all the way down the court. “Exy’s the shiny center of your tiny world. Isn’t it awful that you just can’t get it?” Jean snorts. Nicky freezes and looks at him. “Oh my god, you have emotions. I thought you had the whole brooding, bad boy vibe going – ” “Pay attention, Hemmick!” Kevin rebounds the ball off the wall and blows past Nicky. Jean’s not close enough to check him, and Kevin takes the shot. The goal lights red. “Holy shit,” Dan mutters, standing near Nathaniel. “Holy shit.” Andrew looks just as surprised as the rest of the Foxes. He looks at Kevin, and taps his racquet against the ground. Then he makes eye contact with Nathaniel across the court, and Nathaniel feels a grin spreading. “What’re you guys doing? Get moving!” Wymack shouts, and everybody unfreezes. Nathaniel watches out of the corner of his eye as Kevin squares up with Andrew. He’s calculating his limits – the lines that he needs to shoot within in order to score. And then he does it again. They reset. Nathaniel crosses the ball to Kevin, and Kevin smashes it into the goal. “Hey monster, you gonna keep letting those slip by you?” Allison asks cattily. He sends a ball flying at her heels. The next ball that Kevin rockets at Andrew, Andrew catches. The manic grin is gone, and now he just stares at Kevin. Nathaniel really hopes this isn’t about to become another argument between them. Andrew throws the ball back out, and when Kevin takes another shot, he blocks it. And in between blocking every shot that comes at him, Nathaniel sees something. Andrew smiles, just a little. Careful, Nathaniel thinks to Andrew. People might start thinking you care.     Wymack sets the contracts down in front of the three of them at breakfast one Friday. “Talked to the team,” he says gruffly. “You three just have to choose whether you want to play for us or not.” Jean stands up with the forms and walks out of the room, leaving his smoothie at the table. Kevin stares at the papers, like they’re a lifeline and a curse all at once. Nathaniel says, “Give me a pen.” He’ll need all summer to get up to a Class I playing level, but it’s too late to go back on this particular decision. If the Moriyamas are going to kill them, signing to play for the Foxes won’t make a single difference, not this late in the game. He forces himself not to judge Kevin and Jean for their lack of a spine. (In the end, they sign, and that’s all that matters.) After practice, Andrew catches Nathaniel on the way out. Nathaniel is immediately wary. “Well, little rabbit, guess you’re not here to hide anymore.” “I’m a fox now,” Nathaniel says. Andrew laughs. “A knife, a rabbit, a fox. So many faces. Do you know which is the truth?” Nathaniel doesn’t respond. “I hate liars,” Andrew muses. “But! A congratulations is in order. You and your merry men are one of us now.” “What he means,” Nicky says, sliding into the conversation, “is that we’re inviting you out to party tonight!” Nathaniel was right to be wary. “All three of us?” “I’m assuming they wouldn’t go on their own,” Nicky says. “That’s true,” Nathaniel replies. “It’s settled then!” Nicky smiles at him. “We’ll pick you up around nineish?” “Sure,” Nathaniel says. As he walks towards Kevin and Jean, Dan grabs his arm. “Don’t go.” “What?” Nathaniel attempts to extricate his arm from her grasp. “Don’t go.” Dan repeats. “You don’t know what they did to Matt, earlier this year.” “We’ll be fine,” Nathaniel says. “Don’t worry.” When Nicky shows up at nine with bags of clothes, Jean sighs heavily. “Why am I doing this again,” he mutters. Kevin glares at the clothes. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Nicky laughs. “Kev, honey, we’re going to a club. For once, try acting like you don't have an exy-sized stick up your ass.” In response to this, Kevin makes an enraged noise that causes Nathaniel and Jean to laugh. For Nathaniel, Nicky chose skintight black jeans and a mesh black shirt that sort of drapes over him. He glances in the mirror. The scars from his childhood, while faded, are visible underneath, but Nathaniel thinks that in the chaos of the club, nobody’s going to look too closely. Besides, Nathaniel thinks, the scars remind people that he’s dangerous. When he walks out, Nicky whistles. “Hot damn, boys. God has blessed me tonight.” Jean and Kevin are dressed similarly. Kevin looks wildly uncomfortable, and Jean looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here. Nicky grins at them. “Alright, let’s get moving! Don’t want to keep Andrew waiting.” “This is possibly one of your worst ideas yet,” Jean mutters to Nathaniel in the car. Nathaniel has to admit that Jean may be right. Nicky conveniently forgot to mention that while there are six of them, Andrew’s fancy car only has five seatbelts. So Nicky’s driving, Andrew’s sitting shotgun, and Aaron, Kevin, Nathaniel, and Jean are crowded together in the back seat. Even though Aaron and Nathaniel are both very small, they’re squished by Kevin and Jean, the six foot giants. “I agree with him,” Aaron says. “This is awful.” “Shut up,” Andrew says through clenched teeth. “Nicky, pull the fucking car over.” Nicky glances at him, swerving, and pulls over on the nonexistent shoulder of the highway. Andrew opens the door and pukes into the dark, dry heaving like he’s going to cough up his lungs. “What the fuck,” Jean says. Andrew pulls himself back into the car and slams the door shut. His hands are shaking. Nobody says anything. Nicky speeds down an exit ramp and into Columbia. They pull into a restaurant called Sweetie’s. Nicky drops them at the door and goes to grab a parking spot. It’s relatively busy, for a Friday night, but they’re seated quick enough. Andrew grabs a pack of crackers from the salad bar and starts hostilely munching his way through them. “Now who’s the rabbit,” Nathaniel says to Andrew, laughing to himself. Andrew glares at him. When Nicky comes and sits down, the waitress appears to take their order. “Just the ice cream special,” Nicky tells her, smiling beatifically. Right before she walks away, Andrew stuffs the empty cracker packets into her apron. “Why’re we getting ice cream?” Kevin asks. “I’m not eating ice cream.” “Shut up,” Jean and Aaron tell him at the same time. They side-eye each other. “I hate this fucking family,” Aaron mutters. Nicky, meanwhile, is looking at Andrew with concern. Andrew’s hands are shaking on the table. “You’re coming off your meds,” Nathaniel says, having a realization. “No shit, Sherlock,” Andrew forces through clenched teeth. “I’m starting to lose track of all the pet names you’ve given me,” Nathaniel says. Aaron makes a gagging noise. “Can I talk now?” Kevin asks grumpily. Before anyone responds, a waitress arrives and passes out bowls of ice cream, and then puts a large pile of napkins in the center of the table. Andrew sifts through the napkins to find small packs of powder. He hunches behind Kevin’s large frame and pours one into his mouth. “Uh, try the ice cream!” Nicky says to Nathaniel and Kevin. “I’m not really hungry,” Nathaniel says. He pushes his bowl over to Jean, who glares at him and pushes it back. Andrew breathes out roughly, and then sits up straight and takes a spoonful of ice cream. Whatever drug was in the packets seems to have dulled his withdrawal for the time being. Nicky keeps up a stream of conversation as they eat, but Nathaniel mostly tunes it out, watching Andrew. By the time they’re done, all the packets have disappeared into his pockets, and when the waitress brings a check, Nathaniel sees Aaron clip a couple bills to it. Their second destination of the night is a nightclub called Eden’s Twilight. There’s a long line out the doors, but the cousins ignore it. They pull up to the front, where Aaron hops out and greets the bouncers with an intricate handshake. He returns with a parking pass for Nicky, and then he and Andrew usher the other three out and through the doors. They skip the line entirely, and Andrew gives the bouncers a two-finger salute as they walk in. Inside, the club is pounding music and flashing lights and a lot of people dressed in a lot of leather. The first floor is crowded with people dancing, and the second floor is more a balcony than anything. A dais wraps around the dance floor with tables and chairs, and Nicky leads them to an empty table. Jean grabs Nathaniel’s arm. “Why are we here again?” Nathaniel says, “I wish I knew. Just be careful what you drink.” Jean nods. They hurry to catch up to the cousins and Kevin, who are sitting down. Andrew grabs Nathaniel and drags him over to the bar. “Andrew!” One of the bartenders crows. “You’ve brought some poor saps along with you.” “Give us the usual,” Andrew tells him. The bartender flashes Nathaniel an easy smile. “What about you?” “I’m good,” Nathaniel replies. “Too good to drink with us?” Andrew asks. Nathaniel just looks at him. “Don’t drink. Nothing against you guys, just don’t enjoy the feeling.” “Liar.” Nathaniel huffs. “I don’t drink my calories,” he finally says. “There it is,” Andrew says. He picks up the tray of drinks that the bartender slides them, and then he heads back to the others without another word. Back at the table, the cousins start drinking at an alarming speed. Kevin can’t resist, and he tries keeping pace with them. Even Jean picks up a glass, although he doesn’t enjoy alcohol quite as much as Kevin. Right before Andrew hands out the packets, he declares, “We will not be talking about exy.” This seems mainly aimed at Kevin, who frowns and says instead, “What’s that?” He motions to the packets. “Cracker dust,” Nicky says. “Gives you a little rush. Want one?” He smiles at Nathaniel. Nathaniel shakes his head. “It’s not bad for you. We’re not that stupid. Just makes life a little more interesting. C’mon,” Nicky wheedles. “I want to see which way you swing, pretty boy.” “Nicky,” Andrew says sharply. “I don’t swing. Give it to them,” Nathaniel says. Nicky shrugs, and hands packets to Jean and Kevin. “Are you sure?” Kevin asks. He hesitates for a moment, but he’s never been able to resist a drink in his life. Nathaniel doesn’t think he’ll say no to this either. Jean looks askance at it. “No,” he says. “Just give me a drink.” “Stingy children,” Nicky says, and exchanges Jean’s dust for a shot glass. Andrew gives Nathaniel a cold smile as the other four knock back drinks and dust. “You’re not an angel,” Andrew says. “So why’re you pretending to be one?” “I told you,” Nathaniel says. “I value my control too much.” Andrew takes his own dust, and then reaches over and runs a finger across Nathaniel’s pronounced collarbone, which sticks out of his skin where his shirt has fallen down his shoulder. “This isn’t control.” He gives Nathaniel a look of scorn. “What did I say? I hate liars.” After a minute, Nicky and Aaron grab Jean and Nathaniel. “C’mon, let’s go dance,” Nicky says. Aaron gets Jean away, but Nathaniel grinds his feet in. “Kevin coming?” “He needs to talk to Andrew!” Nicky has to shout as the music changes to something with a pounding beat. Nathaniel glances over his shoulder. Kevin’s drunk, but not that drunk. “You already got your conversation with Andrew,” Nicky adds. “Now it’s Kevin’s turn.” Nathaniel hesitates, which is just enough time for Nicky to get him down onto the dance floor. The grinding bodies and flashing strobes make it feel like a nightmare, but Nicky is grinning. “Welcome to the family!” He shouts. “What?” Nathaniel yells back. Nicky drags him close and says, “Family’s who Andrew chooses to protect.” “What about Jean and Kevin?” “Oh, Aaron likes Jean. Jean’s here to stay. But Kevin?” Nicky points to their table. “That’s why he’s up there talking to Andrew.” Nathaniel’s contemplating the fact that Aaron enjoys Jean’s company, when he sees Andrew’s hand shoot out and grab Kevin’s neck. He starts to move, but Nicky grabs him. “Leave them be!” Nicky shouts. “Just enjoy the ride.” He grabs Nathaniel’s face and drags him in as if to kiss him. Nathaniel’s fist flashes out and into his eye socket. “Don’t try that on me. I told you: I don’t do drugs, and I don’t swing.” Nicky recoils, holding his face. “Fuck, Nathaniel.” Nathaniel gives him a razor-edge smile. “Don’t touch me.”   Nicky raises his hands. “Ok, ok, truce, I won’t forget again.” Nathaniel turns and fights his way back towards the stairs. He gets up on the dais and walks towards the table. “Andrew,” he says, and he knows that cruel expression is still on his face. “Nathaniel,” Andrew says. “Kevin and I are just about done with our little talk here.” Nathaniel looks at Kevin. Kevin’s drunk, but he looks reasonably coherent for once in his life. “He told me what you agreed on,” Kevin says. “He’s going to protect us.” Andrew laughs, says, “We were just sorting out our little differences, Nathaniel. Down, boy, no need to attack me.” “He’s going to play,” Kevin says, earnestly happy in the way that he can only be when drunk. “He gave me his game, just like you and Jean did.” Andrew sighs loudly. “Boring! That conversation is over now, no need to rehash it for Nathaniel here. What did I say earlier? No exy talk.” “But – ” Kevin protests, and Andrew shoves a drink into his hand. “See,” Andrew says, and smiles at Nathaniel. “All is well!” “Is that why you brought us here?” He asks Andrew. “Partially,” Andrew replies. “Oh?” “And to scare you,” Andrew says, smiling like a shark. “Did it work?” Nathaniel smiles back, all teeth and danger. “You just tell Nicky that next time he tries to drug me, I’ll cut his tongue out.” Andrew blinks and goes quiet for a long minute. “Well,” he finally says. “You might be interesting yet.”

The atmosphere in the cafe was tensed as Nie MingJue walked into the cafe, his eyes landing on Jiang Cheng, who greeted the older man with a nod of the head. Nie MingJue narrows his eyes at Jiang Cheng before approaching Lan XiChen, greeting the other with a quick hug. Nie MingJue eyed Jiang Cheng suspiciously as he stood beside Lan XiChen, minding his own business. Lan XiChen sat there sipping his tea as they waited for Jin Guangyao to show up. “I didn’t realize you knew Jiang Cheng, XiChen.” Nie MingJue said finally as he took a seat at while he rubs his stubble filled chin. Jiang Cheng raised an eyebrow at the older man but did not say anything. “Uncle thought it’d be wise to hire a bodyguard with the recent incidents.” Lan XiChen said as he place the tea cup onto the table. His fingers lingering on it a bit longer than expected, while he looks like he was pondering a thought. “And this shrimp is expected to protect you?” Nie MingJue said gruffly. Jiang Cheng’s lip twitched. He wants to scowl, he wants to challenge this man that questions his ability, but the fact that his client glanced at him stopped him from changing his expression. “Ms. Wen said he’s the best.” Lan XiChen said softly. “Well then, how are you? Did you sleep last night? You look like shit.” Nie MingJue said as he waves for the waitress to stop by their table. Lan XiChen continues to play with his tea cup and didn’t say anything. “When was the last time you actually slept through the night?” Nie MingJue asked as he narrows his eyes at Lan XiChen. “The night before.” Lan XiChen said softly. Jiang Cheng watches as Lan XiChen’s ears dust in a light shade of pink. The night before... was with him... Nie MingJue noticed the difference in Lan XiChen’s response and furrowed his brows at his friend. “You went home with someone?” Nie MingJue asked, when Lan XiChen nodded, the older man’s anger flared intensely. “Are you stupid?! You’re dealing with a stalker and you went home with a stranger?! What if he was a psychopath?!” Jiang Cheng bit his cheeks so he would not shout or change his expression. It was a struggle to hear himself being berated as if he wasn’t there. Jiang Cheng looks away from the two as they continued their conversation, focusing on studying the surrounding and finding the quickest escape route. “I am fine! He was... it’s was fine. Da-ge you’re overreacting.” Lan XiChen protested, stopping midway when he realize that Jiang Cheng was very much in the room. Jiang Cheng could tell that by the man’s tone, he was getting upset. “... am I?... you... did the fucker forced you?!” Nie MingJue demanded as he slams his hand on to the table causing the table settings to rattle. Lan XiChen looked at the older man in horror before shaking his head vigorously. “No!! Of course not!! Da-ge you’re being overprotective. I’m fine!” Lan XiChen said exasperated, he then glanced around the cafe, seeing if anyone was paying attention to them. When his eyes landed on Jiang Cheng, his eyes widen in horror seeing the intensity at which Jiang Cheng was gazing at him. “Please da-ge, lets not talk about it here.” Lan XiChen plead as he hid his face in embarrassment. “Tell me his name. I will go break his legs and make sure he doesn’t say shit about it.” Nie MingJue angrily said. Meanwhile, Jiang Cheng was fighting an inner conflict as he listens in on the ridiculous conversation the two were having. He doesn’t know if he’s offended that Nie MingJue would think he’d forced himself on Lan XiChen or if he should laugh at how embarrassed Lan XiChen was. Opting to take the higher road, he coughed into his fist, catching the duo’s attention. “Da-ge look, even Jiang Cheng is embarrassed from hearing this. Please just drop it.” Lan XiChen said. Nie MingJue glared at Jiang Cheng who returns the glare with a look of indifference. Nie MingJue sat back in his chair, still determined to figure out who Lan XiChen took home for the night. Jiang Cheng inwardly laugh at how determined Nie MingJue was. Suddenly, Jiang Cheng felt a pair of menacing eyes staring at him as an unnerving feeling settled in his stomach. His hand automatically reached into his jacket, grabbing on to his gun as he gaze around the room his eyes landing on a short man that glared fiercely at him for a brief second before a sickeningly sweet dimples filled smile crossed their face. “This is not ov—“ “Da-ge! Er-ge!” The short man said cheerily as he walks up to Nie MingJue and Lan XiChen, a light bounce in his steps. Jiang Cheng narrows his eyes at the shorter man, taking in every aspect, imprinting his face into his mind. There was something about this man that didn’t sit right with him. That smile was too forced for his liking. Those dimples were too perfectly... dimpled for it to be a good thing. “Pssk da-ge, er-ge, who’s that man? Why is he glaring at me. Do we need to call the police?” “A-Yao, don’t worry about him. He’s my bodyguard that uncle had me hired.” Lan XiChen said as he pats the man on the back. A-Yao... so he’s the Jin Guangyao. ‘Jiang gongzi can you talk? I have information on that Jin Guangyao.’ Jiang Cheng makes a slight humming noice, indicating he’s acknowledge Wen Ning’s question and for him to proceed. ‘He’s Jin Guangshan’s illegitimate son with an escort. Apparently he had recently adopted the name Jin Guangyao. He was previously called Meng Yao.’ As Wen Ning continued to detailed out Jin Guangyao’s personal life, Jiang Cheng began to pity the short man. Abandoned by his father, his mother raised him until she mysteriously died. Her death was ruled as inconclusive as to whether she was murdered or if she had killed herself. Jin Guangyao by the luck of his dead mother met Nie MingJue, they happened to have dated for a while before it was broken off. Who broke it off remains to be determined. Their strange friendship came about as Lan XiChen found Jin Guangyao’s life story to be quite pitiful, and had forge this friendship or whatever the fuck it is between the three of them. Rumor has it that the relationship broke off due to Jin Guangyao having fallen for Lan XiChen but that was never confirmed. Jiang Cheng pinch the bridge of his nose as Wen Ning continues to talk about Jin Guangyao and his relationship with the two. He is going to have to talk with Wen Ning about providing to him gossips instead of facts later on. “Where did you get this information from?” Jiang Cheng asked under his breath, too soft for others to hear, but loud enough for Wen Ning to pick up. ‘Nie gongzi provided to me the —‘ ‘Yo, Jiang-xiong! Why are you investigating my da-ge’s ex?’ Jiang Cheng was definitely going to have to talk with Wen Ning later on about this. ‘Ah my apologies, Jiang gongzi, Nie gongzi is here in the office after elder Nie gongzi dropped him off here.’ “Nie Huaisang, you keep your mouth shut or I will tell your da-ge where you hid your porn collection!” Jiang Cheng threaten softly, as his eyes landed on Nie MingJue, who was blatantly watching him. Jiang Cheng narrowed his eyes at the older man before returning his gaze to study how they’re both interacting with Lan XiChen. Unbeknownst to him, Jin Guangyao had been studying him out of the corner of his eyes as he shifted the way he had sat to appear more open towards those he spoke to. The luncheon continued for another hour as the three of them talked animatedly with each other. Mainly Jin Guangyao talking animatedly with Lan XiChen while Nie MingJue was the elder brother watching everything. What Jiang Cheng did notice that was kind of strange was that Lan XiChen did not seem to have said anything about the stalker to Jin Guangyao like he had with Nie MingJue. As they parted with one another, Jiang Cheng could feel himself being given the once over. A scowl instantly appeared on his face as he locks eyes with Jin Guangyao, who immediately gave him his doe eye innocent look as he bats his eyes at him. Jiang Cheng scoffs in disgust before returning to his trademark glare reserved for Wei WuXian and now this fake ass of a person. After Jin Guangyao had left, Nie MingJue stopped Jiang Cheng as the three of them walked Lan XiChen to Jiang Cheng’s car. “You... have a suspect?” Nie MingJue asked. Jiang Cheng gave him a questioning look before turning to Lan XiChen, who looked between them expectantly. “You keep him safe. Don’t let anyone, even that one night stand of his come close to him. A bunch of fucken leeches nowadays.” “I do not have a suspect at the moment. But I’ll keep you inform if I find something of concern. As for his personal life, that’s on him. I do not manage what came before my contract.” Jiang Cheng said as he bows to Nie MingJue before getting into his car. They drove away in silence, Lan XiChen not bothering to ask what they had discussed about. “There’s still time before your studio appointment, is there a place you want to go to?” Lan XiChen looked taken aback by the sudden question, he looked at Jiang Cheng, then to the road ahead of him, and then back to Jiang Cheng again. “Where do you go to clear your head?” Lan XiChen asked. Jiang Cheng was silent for a while before he takes a turn down an unexpected road. They continued to drive in silence. “Where are we going?” Lan XiChen asked as he looks around the area, not recognizing where they had driven too. Eventually the car came to a stop atop a hill over looking the city. “This is where I go.” Jiang Cheng said as he stares across the city, where high-rises are the norm. They both sat in the car, watching the golden hue of the setting sun bouncing off of the skyscrapers. “No one bothers you here. You can shout your worries if you want to. You can cry if you want to.” He continues. “I am sorry that you overheard that today. Da-ge is quiet protective of his friends and families.” Lan XiChen said after awhile. Jiang Cheng kept quiet, afraid to disturb the calm that they currently have with misplaced words. “Wanyin, you didn’t force me. I wanted it. I wanted you... that hasn’t changed.” Jiang Cheng lets out a sigh, turning to Lan XiChen who was looking at him with an expression that reminds him of... hope? What could he be hoping for? That he wasn’t mad? That would be silly. He was on the job, there’s nothing to be upset about. “Mr. Lan, the matter of your private life should remain as private.” Jiang Cheng said turning away from Lan XiChen. He then furrowed his brows at him before a forlorn look appeared on his face. “But it concerns you, Wanyin.” It was like Lan XiChen was doing it on purpose. Purposefully using the name he had told him, to remind him of their shared night. There were no strings attached then, so why is he trying to grab on to something now? “Mr. Lan, I am working right now. Please be courteous of that.” Jiang Cheng said as he starts the car back up. “We should had back now otherwise we’ll hit traffic.” Out of the corner of his eyes, Jiang Cheng could see that Lan XiChen was upset. Upset that he would not talk to him. “I’m sorry... Huan.” Jiang Cheng whispered softly. He could feel the other’s eyes on him but neither one said anything else. The drive to the studio was just as quiet as the drive to the TV station. Jiang Cheng could feel that there were questions lingering in the air between them. He swallow his own questions down as they park. Unlike at the TV station, Lan XiChen did not put on his face mask. This was a place he felt safe at... —- “Who’s this handsome man?” A spunky woman who appears to be in her mid 20s ask as her eyes travel over Jiang Cheng’s body, taking in his well sculptured body hidden under fitted clothing. Lan XiChen shook his head at her comment before dropping his coat onto the couch. “C’mon XiChen-ge, introduce me. Are you single, handsome?” She says while nudging Lan XiChen with her elbow. “You’re here to work not flirt, Mian Mian.” A young man in his 30s said as he enters the room. His eyes lingering on Lan XiChen before landing on Jiang Cheng. For a moment, Jiang Cheng thought he felt an intensity in the man’s gaze that was not typical of a first meeting with a stranger. “But Mian Mian is right, who is this Zewu-Jun?” “This is Jiang Cheng, he’s my bodyguard. Jiang Cheng this is Luo Qingyang, and Su She.” Lan XiChen said as he gestures towards the two. Luo Qingyang looks from him to Lan XiChen expectantly. “Well? Are you? Single that is.” Luo Qingyang said with a giggle. “I believe your superior is glaring at you Ms. Luo.” Jiang Cheng as he nods towards Su She, refusing to answer her question. Next to him, a look of envy flashes across Lan XiChen’s face, quickly replaced by a look of irritation. Su She shook his head in disgust before taking a seat in front of the sound board. “Don’t mind him, he’s a stick in the mud. Su She, you’ll never find a partner if you don’t fix that face of yours. Scowling is not hot unless your face is already hot.” Luo Qingyang teased as she took a seat next to Su She. Meanwhile, Lan XiChen walks quietly to the sound recording room, ignoring them all, where a stool was placed in the middle of the room, along with a music stand and a case of water bottles on the floor. Jiang Cheng takes out his phone and quickly send a text to Wen Ning. Jiang Cheng: Send me everything you dug up for Su She Wen Ning: Are you not able to talk? Jiang Cheng: He’s here in the studio. Wen Ning: Sent. Though they had cleared the staffers at the recording studio, he did not receive the file for review. There was something about this Su She fellow that did not sit right with Jiang Cheng. His eyes had lingered on Lan XiChen far too long to be of a normal colleague. It almost resembles like ... hunger... hunger for his attention. Jiang Cheng turns his full attention to Lan XiChen who was busy flipping through pages of music sheets, marking down notes as they discuss about the song’s arrangement. Jiang Cheng knew nothing about music outside of being the listener. So when he hears Lan XiChen’s singing for the first time, it was ... different. Deep... melodic... sorrowful... so full of anguish... It was hours later that Lan XiChen finally step out of the sound room, having finished his recordings for the day. Jiang Cheng had stood waiting for him, never moving from his spot. Jiang Cheng could see it on Lan XiChen’s face. He was tired. Exhausted really. From what he had gathered from the meeting with Nie MingJue earlier, Lan XiChen’s lack of sleep is probably finally catching up to him. “Let’s go.” Jiang Cheng said as he hands Lan XiChen his coat. They bid farewell to Luo Qingyang and Su She before leaving. The latter’s eyes narrowing at the close proximity that Lan XiChen had stood by him, but he immediately went back to work when he saw Jiang Cheng looking at him suspiciously. Jiang Cheng playing with his suspicion, places a hand on the small of Lan XiChen’s back, an intimate gesture that he normally would not do, as he guides Lan XiChen out the door. He smirks when he felt an ominous aura from behind him, which heighten when he feels Lan XiChen leaning into him slightly. As the door close, he glanced back into the room to see Su She’s eyes were fixated on them. He was furious. “Sorry about that.” Jiang Cheng said softly, as he removes his hand from Lan XiChen’s back once they were out of view. The other looked startled for a moment, and then the look of abandonment crossed his face before he turns away. He then quicken his pace and walked ahead of him, slamming the car door shut once he was inside. Fuck. He’s upset. They drove back to Jiang Cheng’s apartment in silence, the awkward silence no longer there, now it’s been replaced by a tense atmosphere that Jiang Cheng knew full well he created. When they got back to the apartment, Lan XiChen went to his room without saying anything, leaving Jiang Cheng to want to bang his head against the wall. He paced around the living room for a few minutes before he approached Lan XiChen’s room. This was going to be even more awkward than before. Fuck. Why did they have to meet before this assignment. Fuck. He knocks on the door. No answer. He knocks again. Still no answer. Jiang Cheng knits his brows together before he opens the door. “Fuck. Sorry.” Jiang Cheng said as he quickly shuts the door again. He had not anticipated to see Lan XiChen in the middle of changing. But that glimpse of that perfectly toned body... the door opens up a few minutes later with an irritated looking Lan XiChen. “Mr. Lan, I am sorry about that just now.” “Stop it.” Lan XiChen said as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Stop what?” Jiang Cheng was confused. “The Mr. Lan this, Mr. Lan that. Mr. Lan is my uncle. That’s not me... that’s not me...” Lan XiChen said as he rubs his face furiously. “Would sir be better?” Jiang Cheng asked cautiously. This Lan XiChen looked like he has had enough. He has reached his limit whether it was from the stalkers, the distance that Jiang Cheng had put between them, or all of it. He wanted to desperately cling on to his sanity, or at least an inkling of control of his life... or even just be recognize that he’s more than this Zewu-Jun that his fans worship, more than just Lan XiChen... “No!” Lan XiChen shouted as took a step back into his room and slams the door. “No...” Jiang Cheng could hear him say from the other side, his voice breaking. He could hear the uneven breathing that comes with tears, the way the other tried to keep his cries noiseless. Jiang Cheng lets out a sigh as he removes the earwig and loosen his tie. He will regret this. He already can feel it. “Lan XiChen, open the door.” Jiang Cheng said. “No! Go away!” The other said from the other side. Jiang Cheng closes his eyes as he leans his head against the door. No. Don’t cross that line. “Huan... let me in... please.” Jiang Cheng said gently after a long while. It felt like hours had gone by before the door opened as a tears stained face appeared before him. Jiang Cheng reaches a hand out to wipe the remaining tears away as Lan XiChen leaned into his touch. Jiang Cheng saw it then... the despair in his eyes as if he was pleading to be seen, pleading for help... pleading to be loved... for him... “W-Wanyin.” Jiang Cheng... in his 27 years of life... was truly, and utterly fucked.

The anticipated day had finally arrived! It was the day of the entrance exams and both Izuku and Shino were excited beyond belief. They woke up at the first ring of their alarm and quickly got themselves ready. The two actually managed to beat Emi in waking up early, and she still had to drop Satsu off at school and get to her school’s entrance exam!    Emi offered to drive them to UA, but they declined, not wanting their mother to be later than she already was. They instead decided to take the train to UA. Throughout their journey to the school, they were practically vibrating with excitement. While being in UA for training was fun and they were desensitised to being there, actually being enrolled in the school filled them with so much excitement that they couldn’t calm down.   When they arrived at UA, people were already filing into the main building. They really hoped they would be able to sit next to each other. When they arrived at the testing auditorium, they were thankful to see that the seating arrangement was decided by which school the examinees went to, meaning Izuku and Shino were able to sit next to each other.   After a few more minutes, the last of the examinees arrived and the written test got started. The proctor for the written part of the test was Aizawa, who fixed the entire auditorium with a bored glare.   “Welcome to UA’s written entrance exam. My name is of no concern to you, so I won’t bother with introducing myself. Your written tests will be passed out to you. When you get them, start them. Turn them in to me when you finish them and move on to Auditorium Three for the practical exam.” Aizawa explained boredly.   As soon as Aizawa was finished, multiple people in suits passed out papers to the examinees sitting in the auditorium. When Izuku and Shino got their papers, they started right away.    _________________________________________   Unsurprisingly, they were two of the first people to finish their tests and move on to the practical exam. When they went to the practical exam auditorium, they went to the seats labelled for them and looked ahead to the front and saw Present Mic was there. When Present Mic saw them, he smiled and waved, the two waving back in response.   Eventually, more people filed in until the auditorium was filled once more and the practical was underway, starting with a rather loud greeting by Present Mic.   “HEEEEYYYY LITTLE LISTENERS! WELCOME TO THE PRACTICAL PORTION OF THIS TEST! CAN I GET A HEEEEEEYYYYYY!?” Present Mic shouted. Izuku and Shino, needing no real prompt, shouted back with equal energy.   “HEEEEYYYY!!!” They shouted.   Present Mic laughed, wiping a tear from his eye at how proud he was of them.   “AWESOME, LITTLE LISTENERS! NOW WITH THAT OUT OF THE WAY, LET’S GET STARTED!”   Present Mic pressed a button and a screen lit up beside him, showing the picture of a robot.   “IF YOU OPEN UP YOUR PAMPHLETS, YOU WILL SEE DIFFERENT ROBOTS MARKED WITH DIFFERENT POINT VALUES! THESE ARE MOCK VILLAINS YOU WILL BE FIGHTING! THIS FIRST ONE IS CALLED A ONE POINTER! AND YOU GUESS IT, IT GIVES YOU ONE POINT!” Present Mic shouted with his usual energetic voice.   The hero then pressed a button and the picture switched to the Two Pointer Robot that was in the pamphlet as well. Present Mic explained it and moved on to the Three Pointer. He then went on a tangent, interrupting his explanation of the fourth robot.   “NOW YOU MAY BE WONDERING WHY I’M TELLING YOU ABOUT THESE ROBOTS! WELL IT’S SIMPLE! YOUR GOAL IN FIGHTING THESE IS TO GET THE MOST POINTS POSSIBLE IN THE SPAN OF FIFTEEN MINUTES! NOW AS I WAS SAYING-”   “Excuse me!” A blue haired examinee with glasses interrupted the hero.   Izuku and Shino glanced to look at the boy while Present Mic stopped speaking. The boy had his hand raised and his other hand moving robotically as he continued.   “You have only mentioned to us three robots, when this pamphlet clearly has four types! If this is a typo, then this is highly unbecoming of-”   “THANK YOU, LITTLE LISTENER! BUT I WAS JUST ABOUT TO GET TO THAT!” Present Mic said, interrupting the boy’s rant.   The hero pressed a button, revealing a hulking fourth robot.   “THIS ROBOT IS THE FOURTH VILLAIN ROBOT! AND THIS ONE IS WORTH… ZERO POINTS! IT IS DESIGNED TO MAINLY BE AN OBSTACLE! JUST AVOID IT!” Present Mic declared. “NOW IF YOU LOOK ON THE BACK OF YOUR PAMPHLETS, YOU WILL SEE THE FIELD YOU ARE ASSIGNED! WITH THAT! GOOD LUCK TO ALL YOU EXAMINEES!” Present Mic shouted.   Izuku and Shino looked on the back of their pamphlets. Izuku was assigned Field F and the same was said for her.   “This seems somewhat convenient…” Shino commented.   “I’m wondering if Nezu had anything to do with it…” Izuku said in thought.   “I wouldn’t be surprised if he did.” Shino replied.   “Well, c’mon. Let’s go.” Izuku said.   “Right.” Shino replied.   _________________________________________   After the two reached their assigned field, they prepared themselves.   “You sure you can handle it without my help?” Izuku asked.   “I don’t know. Those robots looked pretty dangerous.” Shino replied.   Izuku looked to be in thought before an idea struck him, smiling cleverly.   “Nezu said I couldn’t help you, but he never said anything about me giving you some tools to help.” Izuku said.   “Exploiting loopholes in rules? Has Nezu been teaching you without me knowing it?” Shino asked teasingly.   Izuku chuckled before using his quirk. He pulled out a lightsaber hilt and handed it to her. Shino took it with a smile.   “Thanks. Can I have an energy sword as well? Those make a bit less noise so it'll be easier for me to sneak up on any unsuspecting robots.” Shino said.   “That makes sense.” Izuku said with a nod, taking out an energy sword as well and handing it to her.   “Thanks, Izuku.” Shino said, kissing his cheek.   “You’re very welcome.” Izuku replied, pulling her into a lip-locking kiss.   Shino placed the energy sword hilt onto her own belt. Growing curious about what type of lightsaber she was given, she points it away from the students and ignites it, enjoying the familiar sounds of the saber activating. She then noticed that the lightsaber was red, and she gave a small pout.   “Are you calling me evil?” Shino said with a curve to her lips, and a raised eyebrow.   “Only a crazy person like you would dare to steal my heart!” Izuku said as he pulled Shino into a tight hug.   The two of them pulled back with a loving smile. It was then that they heard the doors open. They turned to the open doors and heard Present Mic shout “START!”.   “That’s our cue!” Izuku said, running in.   “That’s right. Good luck!” Shino replied, running in and splitting off from him.   This was gonna be a really interesting exam…   _________________________________________   Izuku spotted his first robot a few seconds in, and without a second of thought, he summoned a magnum from Halo. The robot noticed him, and Izuku quickly pulled the trigger twice. The robot wasn’t designed to take military grade bullets, so it fell easily. Izuku noticed that it was a 1-pointer and sighed.   He then continued his journey through the mock city, the next robot he stumbled upon was two 3-pointers. Quickly whipping out a Halo sniper, he lined the shot up so it would tear through the two robots and hit a wall. The robots also had ranged options, so when they spotted him lining up a shot, they fired a dozen small missiles at him. Izuku then pulled the trigger before throwing the sniper into the missiles, adding onto his quick thinking, he summoned a small metal piece and quickly activated it on his forearm.   A massive clear barrier formed out of the piece, and soaked up all of the rockets. As he continued his search, he spotted a cluster of various robots making their way behind a group of test takers. Smiling in glee, he whipped out a Covenant Fuel Rod Gun, and launched it directly at the group of robots, exploding them instantly.   Knowing how easy it was to take out the robots, he started jogging forward in search of more.   _________________________________________   Shino knew that Izuku was smart enough to easily gain tons of points, and that he no doubt had countless weapons he planned on using. Of course, she knew that her own exam would be easy, assuming Izuku didn’t accidentally unsummon her own gear. She quickly hopped over a three pointer, and swung her saber straight across the body of the robot, watching it fall in two pieces.   She then spotted a two pointer closing in on a green haired girl that was tossing robots with her long tongue. Quickly hilting the lightsaber, she started dashing as quietly as possible to the robot and igniting her energy sword. Right before the robot could hit the girl, Shino swung the sword at the hand of the robot, causing some sparks to fly out from the clash of the robots fist on the sword. Of course, the robot’s arm couldn’t tank the extreme heat of the plasma in the sword, and ended up just swinging through the blade, causing the arm to split in two.   Hearing the noise behind her, the girl turned to see what was going on, only to witness the girl tackle the robot to the ground, and then pull a weird crystal blue sword out of it’s chest. Deciding to ask about the weapon, she spoke up.   “Thanks for protecting me, kero. What weapon is that?” The girl questioned with a tilt to her head.   “Oh this? It’s called an Energy Sword, my boyfriend gave it to me to help me with beating the exam. I gotta say, I'm pretty interested in learning more about your quirk after the exam, I'm sure my boyfriend would enjoy learning about it.” Shino explained with a smile, before jogging off to find more robots.   _________________________________________   Izuku was having so much fun, but he was starting to feel the signs that he is closing in on his limit. He had already used a needle rifle, needler, shotgun, gravity hammer, pulse bomb, plasma grenade, his own green lightsaber, assault rifle, a Star Wars blaster, and many more. He currently guessed his points were somewhere around sixty based off of his mental count.   As he searched the streets for a robot to add to his collection, he suddenly felt the ground shake as if an earthquake was happening. Quickly sprinting to where he could guess the source was, he spotted a gigantic robot looming over everyone on the street. Realizing it was the 0-pointer, he quickly glanced around and spotted Shino, they quickly met up.   “That must be the zero pointer.” Izuku said to her as he studied the robot.   “We should wait to see if we can help anyone who trips or something.” Shino said as she waited to rush in to help anyone needing it.   However, to the shock of everyone present, suddenly the large arm swept into the building nearest to it, sending rubble and debris everywhere. None of it was big enough to seriously hurt anyone, but they were there to cause distractions and to trip them up. Sure enough, several students ended up panicking and falling onto the ground and getting pinned down by the debris.   “Oh crap. Shino, you help everyone pinned by the rubble, I’ll see if I can stop it!” Izuku said as they both immediately began bolting into the disaster the zero pointer caused.   Izuku knew that Shino could do her task pretty easily, so he started brainstorming different theories on how to put a stop to the giant robot. Knowing that he would need to slow the robot down to ensure he can put an end to it without too much danger to the others, he pushed past his own limit and summoned a wraith.    Quickly climbing inside, he quickly looked around and felt happy that visualizing the Wraith with labelled controls made it easier to figure out how to properly use it. Looking through the visual display, he aimed the Wraith’s plasma launcher directly at the leg joints of the robot. Everyone was shocked at the sudden and loud materialization of a vehicle mid exam, and they were even more surprised to see it fire blasts that crippled the zero pointer.   As sudden as the vehicle appeared, it vanished. Izuku immediately sprinted at the zero pointer, he knew the best place to disable it, would likely be at the back of the neck. The first immediate issue Izuku thought of, was getting to the neck, but then he figured out the perfect way to get up there. Once he got close enough, he quickly tied a jetpack to his back and threw a small plate onto the ground.    The plate immediately gained a blue glow around its edges, and Izuku sprinted and jumped right onto the plate, which launched him twenty feet into the air. Not wasting the momentum, he activated his jetpack based off of Halo Reach’s armour ability. Just as he felt the upwards momentum slow, he reached the shoulders of the giant robot. Quickly taking away his jetpack and the jump pad, he summoned an energy sword as he felt extremely exhausted.   He quickly sprinted right at the neck of the robot, and started to cut open a hole into the neck armour. As soon as he tore a chunk into the robot, he began to smile, grab a bunch of the wires, and recite a line he remembers fondly.   “You have been quite disastrous, and so you must be silenced.” Izuku said as he sliced the energy sword through the robot’s wires, causing it to twitch, before it collapsed from lack of a connection.    Izuku realized he was running on empty and decided to try to slide off of the zero pointer like an idiot. Shino saw him sliding down the robot with the energy sword tearing through it. She saw his expression and recognized it as the ‘seconds away from collapsing’ expression, and immediately dashed under him so she could catch him once his quirk gave way. Sure enough, his energy sword vanished and he fell down.   Luckily, he was low enough that his body didn’t accelerate too much, which allowed her to safely catch him before he hit the ground. As soon as she caught him, she set him down against a chunk of concrete. Right after she did that, the buzzer rang out, signalling the end of the exam.   “THAT’S ALL LITTLE LISTENERS! WE’LL BE SENDING OUT YOUR RESULTS IN A WEEK! HAVE A GOOD DAY!” Present Mic shouted through the intercom.   “Is there anyone injured?” Shino heard the elderly voice of Recovery Girl ask.   She looked back to see Recovery Girl with a bunch of medical robots carrying stretchers. She waved towards the heroine.   “Recovery Girl, Izuku’s unconscious. Can you bring him to your office?” Shino called.   “Of course, dearie! Are you hurt?” Recovery Girl asked as she came over.   “I’m fine. Just could use some rest.” Shino replied.   Recovery Girl ordered a couple robots to bring Izuku to her office on a stretcher. Shino followed the robots to the heroine’s office, leaving Recovery Girl to assess the rest of the students and any of their possible injuries.   _________________________________________   At the same time as Izuku being taken to the Recovery Girl’s office, Snipe was looking over both his son’s score and Shino’s score. He smiled at the results.   “Good job, you two.”

Kara Danvers had never been too adventurous. She liked to play it safe when it came to most things. She was the kind of person who layered a public toilet seat with mounds of toilet paper, the woman who never failed to use her turn signal, the girl whose life was boring because she was always too afraid to take risks. So, driving out to the lakefront to meet up with a girl she'd met on Tinder a few days prior was extremely out of character for her. Which may have been why she was shaking with nerves the whole time she was traveling to her destination. It wasn't the meet up that was out of character, though. She'd used dating apps for years and had been on countless dates. The last several women she'd dated she'd met on dating apps. That wasn't anything new. It was the purpose of this meet up that was different, and that was what was causing the excessive nervousness she felt compared to other first dates. The girl, Lena, was great. From the moment they started messaging, conversation came easy to Kara. Which was saying something, because while she had no problem carrying on a conversation normally, when it came to women, she just couldn't. It was like a fog entered her brain and caused every possible thought to drift away into the void. But that wasn't happening with Lena. She was able to hold conversation, keep it going, and she felt like Lena was actually interested in the things she was telling her. But that was all over Tinder messaging and then text once Kara was bold enough to ask Lena for her number. She was worried about what would happen once they were face-to-face. They'd had a date planned that Saturday, and it was just supposed to be a normal date. Kara had planned to take Lena out in the city for a nice meal and dancing. The idea of bringing Lena back home with her never crossed her mind as a possibility. But then, seemingly out of the blue, Lena asked her if she had ever taken the BDSM test. Kara hadn't, especially considering she'd never even heard of it. But she did, and she and Lena exchanged their results. Apparently, Kara was dominant, though she didn't need a test to tell her that. She was also an experimentalist, which did make sense. She was willing to try almost anything once. Lena, on the other hand, was submissive, as well as an experimentalist. The conversation then turned to sex, Kara and Lena opening a dialogue about their likes and sexual preferences. It then escalated to provocative SnapChats, and Kara thought her head was about to explode. She kept getting a nagging feeling that Lena had to be a Catfish. Because there was no way a woman this beautiful could be this into her, this needy for her. It was unfathomable. But Lena sent her various SnapChats throughout her day, obviously in the process of doing something or going somewhere. And the provocative Snaps weren't from a camera roll. They were snaps sent in the moment, photos taken just for her. They made her mouth water and an ache start between her legs. And apparently, she wasn't alone, because by Wednesday Lena was positively taunting her with Snaps. By noon she had to change her underwear just because she'd ruined the pair she'd woken up in. It was distracting, to say the least. And it sucked because she didn't have anywhere to take Lena where they could be alone. Kara was just a month shy of moving into her own place, something she was immensely excited about. But that move hadn't happened yet, and she was currently still sharing a place with her sister, Alex. Normally when she brought a girl over it wasn't a problem, because Alex just went to her girlfriend Kelly's for the night then. And soon enough it wouldn't be an issue, because Alex was moving in with Kelly, and Kara would live by herself. But once again, that move had not yet taken place. And even though Alex was usually understanding about this kind of thing, Kara was hesitant to ask that of her. For a girl she'd been dating for a while, sure, but not someone she'd never met in person. Any time she met someone for the first time she always did it at a public place, and she made sure they were okay before bringing them home. That was a huge part of it. Until she lived on her own, she didn't feel right bringing a stranger into the home she shared with her sister. Not to mention, Alex would have normally gone to Kelly's, but Kelly wasn't even in town at the moment. She'd gone on a two-week motorcycling trip with her brother through Europe, and Alex hadn't been able to get out of work long enough to go with them. So, she'd been sitting at home moping and missing Kelly terribly. She was supposed to get back late Friday night, which was two days too far. They couldn't be alone at Lena's either, because Lena lived with her parents. She'd just gotten back from a semester abroad in France and hadn't gotten around to finding a place yet. On top of that she'd graduated immediately upon returning and had only just found a job. She was saving up for a place of her own but wasn't ready to make that move yet. So, there was nowhere for them to escape. Kara considered getting a hotel room just for the night or a few hours, but considering she had a move of her own coming up and had just used a bit of her savings for the deposit on her apartment, she didn't feel comfortable spending the money just then. But the teasing Snaps from Lena didn't stop, and Kara ended up pacing back and forth through her house just to work off some of the nerves they caused. Eventually Lena made a passing comment about them just meeting up somewhere and having sex in the car. Kara informed her that she had an SUV with seats that folded down in the back, so it was entirely plausible. But did Lena really want her to fuck her in her car? Apparently, the answer was a solid yes, because Lena told her to empty out her car, and Kara obeyed without thinking twice. Then she put down the seats and loaded the back with pillows and blankets for comfort. The last thing she put in the car was a gym bag she'd filled with various sex toys from her nightstand—just so she was prepared. Once that was done, she went inside to shower and start getting ready. By the time Alex came home from work, Kara's blonde hair was nearly dry, forming delicate curls over her shoulders, and Kara was clad in jean shorts and a blue tank top. She'd even done her makeup and put in her contacts for a change. Alex had taken one look at her and asked her where she was going. But Kara just shrugged nonchalantly and said she was going for a drive before heading out the door. She knew that she could have told Alex exactly what she was doing, but something in her didn't want to. Something about the sneaking around made it all the more exciting. And all the more terrifying. The thought crossed her mind that if something happened to her, no one would know where she went, or who she'd been with. She'd seen enough Unsolved Mysteries to know this could end very badly. And she'd also seen every episode of Catfish, to top it off. So, honestly, when she got to the lakefront, she expected to get a text from Lena saying she suddenly couldn't meet up. She was just waiting for that text, for the stupidity she would feel for getting her hopes up. But then a text came in from Lena saying that she had parked and was sitting on a bench near the walking trail. Kara's heart leaped into her throat, and her hands became shaky as she pulled over her SUV to park behind a green Toyota. When she glanced to her right, she could see someone sitting on a bench facing the lake. Though her back was to Kara, the young woman sitting on the bench had a similar body shape to Lena—as far as she could tell based on the pictures she'd seen, at least. She also had long, dark hair flowing down her back like Lena was supposed to. Kara really hoped it was her. Kara took a deep breath to collect herself before turning off her SUV and slowly climbing out of the car with wobbly legs. At the sound of a car door closing, the woman on the bench turned in her seat to look over her shoulder. And when she did, Kara stopped dead in her tracks. Holy shit, it's actually her. Lena smiled when she recognized the blonde and stood from the bench to start walking towards Kara. That seemed to restart her brain, because then Kara's feet were moving again, and a moment later she was standing right in front of the woman who'd been capturing her every thought for the past few days. She couldn't believe that she was real, flesh and blood that she could reach out and touch. Photos did Lena no justice. While she'd originally been drawn to her smile and green eyes from the photos, seeing them in person being directed at her made her go weak in the knees for a moment. "Hi," Lena said, eyes scanning over Kara for a moment, then snapping back to her face. "You're real." "You're real," Kara said, disbelievingly. "I told you." Lena smirked then stepped closer to Kara, instantly pulling her into a hug. "Thanks for meeting me." "Of course," Kara said, closing her eyes for a second to enjoy the butterflies that sprang to life in her stomach. When they pulled away, she smiled hesitantly. "So, what do you want to do? Do you want to go for a drive or something?" "Do you want to go for a walk?" the brunette asked, nodding her head towards the walking path. "Sure." They set off, walking side by side as they made idle chit chat. They talked about their families, their siblings, Kara learning Lena had an older brother, and the blonde in turn telling the other woman about her older sister. Then the topic moved to where they'd gone to college, then work, and then once the basics were covered, they moved onto their interests. There wasn't an uncomfortable lull at any point, and every time Kara glanced over at Lena, she was momentarily caught off-guard by how beautiful she was. Eventually a biker came up behind them on the path, and Lena took hold of Kara's hand to tug her off to the side so he could pass. Kara's heart soared at the action, and practically sang when Lena didn't pull her hand away afterwards. She'd been wanting to hold Lena's hand the whole walk, but the brunette was wearing a sweatshirt and up until that moment had kept her hands buried in the front pocket. But once Kara had it, she didn't plan on letting go of it any time soon. After a while they doubled back, and it was then that Lena asked Kara, "So, what's the craziest thing you've ever done?" Kara thought about it for a moment, chewing her lip. "Honestly? Probably this." "Really?" Lena asked, green eyes going wide. "Well, now I feel like I have to do something crazy to solidify that," she said, smirking. "No," Kara said with a laugh, squeezing Lena's hand. "Wait, let me think about it…" She paused, mulling it over. It was the longest they'd been silent since entering each other's presence, but Lena waited patiently as the blonde searched deep into the recesses of her mind to come up with something to top meeting up with someone she hardly knew for something that could get her arrested for public indecency. "Uh, I guess the time I went to L.A. by myself. My friend was getting married there, and I'd never been, so I decided to just go. No one could go with me, so I just went alone. Spent a couple of days there and had a blast. Then met up with everyone that weekend when they came in for the wedding." She shrugged. "So, probably that. What about you?" Lena thought about it, a cute, small frown on her face. "During my freshman year of college I told my parents I was staying at school to study for upcoming finals, but I really traveled with my then-girlfriend to Washington and spent the week with her in her parents' house while they were in Mexico on vacation. Neither of our parents had any idea, especially not mine." "Would they have been mad?" Kara questioned. "Oh yeah," Lena said, giving a long sigh. "They mean well, they're just overbearing. It's hard to live with them again after being on my own for the past few years, even if I get along with them for the most part." The brunette shrugged, glancing over at Kara with a small smile. "I just miss having my own space mostly." "Yeah, I hear you," Kara said. "I love my sister and everything, but I think I'll love her a lot more once we don't live together anymore, you know?" "Same with my parents," Lena said with a chuckle. "I think a little distance could do our relationship some good. I had to lie to them and tell them I was going out driving just to get out of the house." "Are you not out to your parents?" Kara asked, stepping carefully over a crack in the sidewalk so she didn't stumble. Lord knew all she needed was to trip and face-plant in front of Lena, or worse—injure herself so they had to cut their rendezvous short. "I am, they're just over-protective," Lena said, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder. "If I would have told them I was meeting someone I met on Tinder, I would have had about a thousand questions, and I just didn't feel like dealing with it." She gave another sigh, this one deeper. "What about you? Does your family know?" "Yes," Kara said with a nod. "But my older sister's gay, too, so she warmed them up for me," she added with a playful grin. Lena laughed at that. "Thank god for older siblings paving the way for us." By the time they had reached Kara's SUV again, it was starting to get dark. The majority of the cars that had been parked at the lakefront were now gone, just a few a safe enough distance away. It didn't seem there was any reason to worry about being disturbed, and with that realization, Kara suddenly felt all her nerves rush back. She'd been so caught up in their conversation, for a moment she'd forgotten why they'd met up in the first place. But when Lena stopped at Kara's car and turned to face the blonde, Kara's stomach did a cartwheel. "Ready?" Lena asked, nodding her head towards the vehicle. Kara simply swallowed and nodded as well. Then Lena stepped forward, her face inches from Kara's. "Can I have a kiss?" Kara smiled before pressing her lips to Lena's, and a moment later the other woman's hands were in her hair. Kara placed her hands on Lena's hips and pulled her closer as the kiss got deeper. Lena's tongue traced across her bottom lip, and Kara parted them to grant her entrance. Then there was a hot tongue rolling over her own, sending shivers down her spine. By the time they pulled away, Lena dragging out Kara's bottom lip with her teeth, the blonde was practically shaking. They retreated into the car after that, Kara turning it on but leaving the lights off and setting up her phone to play music through the speakers. Then they climbed into the back and settled onto the pillows and blankets. They turned to look at each other, Kara's cheeks going a soft shade of pink as intense green eyes bore into her blue ones. "So," Kara said, trying to sound nonchalant. "What do you wanna do?" she asked and quirked a grin. Lena pretended to think about it for a moment as she leaned her face closer to Kara's. "I did have something in mind," she muttered against the blonde's lips. Kara responded by capturing her lips with her own, and that was all the invitation Lena needed to crawl on top of Kara. The blonde rested her hands on Lena's back, dragging them down slowly to the hem of Lena's sweatshirt. Her hands then ventured under the shirt, running up her back again until she got to where Lena's bra would have been—had she been wearing one. This observation caused the stirring inside Kara to deepen, and then she needed the sweatshirt to go—immediately. Lena seemed to agree, because a few seconds later she broke the kiss to sit up a little bit, reaching down to pull off the garment. But while the backseat of Kara's SUV was somewhat spacious with the seats down, there wasn't enough headroom. "This is normally much sexier," Lena said from within her sweatshirt as it got caught going over her head. Kara laughed. "No, you're fine," she said, helping Lena to get it off the rest of the way. Then she was gazing up Lena, somewhat amazed as the sweatshirt was thrown to the side. "Holy shit," Kara muttered, eyes raking over Lena's bare chest and settling on the tattoo of a dagger Lena had right in the middle of her boobs. She had a few other tattoos, but that was the one that caught Kara's attention, the one it was hard to look away from. "I think you should start getting undressed, too," Lena said, smirking down at the blonde who still lay there gaping at her. Kara shook her head as if to clear it of fog, trying to regain her senses. "Yes, that might help." She sat up a little, lifting her tank top over her head and tossing it to the side. Then she pulled Lena down to her once more, kissing her forcefully before flipping them over so she was on top. She settled herself between Lena's legs, grabbing one and wrapping it around her body. Lena dragged her nails down Kara's back, causing pleasant tingles to travel across her spine. Kara sat up again to remove her bra, thankful when she got it off easily and didn't fumble with the clasp. She tossed it to the side as Lena kicked off her slip-ons, letting them fall into the darkness between the seats. Then she was on top of Lena again, kissing her as she brought a hand up between them to massage one of Lena's breasts. The brunette moaned into her mouth at the action, instantly prodding in afterwards with her tongue. But the moment Kara let her in, she was withdrawing, and Kara chased Lena's tongue with her own until they were intertwined again. Then Kara shifted a little so she was lying beside her, breaking the kiss to instead dip her head lower and place her mouth over the nipple that wasn't in her hand. The moans and sighs of pleasure she got from Lena in response were incredibly encouraging, and when Kara moved her mouth to right above Lena's left breast and bit down, Lena was squirming beneath her. She pulled the skin between her lips, suckling gently. "Fuck," Lena muttered, lifting her hand to tangle in Kara's hair. The blonde didn't stop until she was sure she'd left at least a small love bite, and then she leaned in to kiss Lena once more. Her hand trailed from Lena's breast down to her stomach, instantly searching for the button of Lena's jean shorts. After some fumbling she was able to undo it, and then she was sliding the shorts down Lena's hips to help her out of them. Lena was wearing a black, lacy thong underneath, and she turned over so Kara could appreciate the view. "I know they're about to come off, but do you like my underwear?" Lena asked, sending Kara a flirty smile. "Yeah," Kara said, slipping a finger into the elastic of the thong. "But I'd like them a lot better off." Lena bit her lip briefly. "I figured." Kara smirked as she began to slide them down, discarding them somewhere in the void with the rest of their clothes. Then she kissed Lena again—fiercely—and allowed her hand to roam lower again, towards the warmth between Lena's legs. She swiped the pads of her fingers over Lena's clit, provoking a moan for the brunette beneath her. She applied more pressure and rubbed in small, circular motions. Lena let out tiny whimpers that sounded like music to Kara's ears, and then she dipped her fingers lower. She ran her index finger along Lena's folds, feeling her wetness even before she entered her. But then she slowly slid one finger inside, and Lena broke the kiss to let out a long, deep sigh at the pressure. Kara instead moved to kiss Lena's neck as she slowly moved her finger in and out, Lena's wetness allowing her to glide in with ease. Then she added a second finger, and she felt Lena buck herself into her hand. Kara kept a slow pace at first, allowing Lena to stretch around her fingers as her hand started to become slick with arousal. Then she picked up her speed slightly, curling her fingers inside Lena as the brunette sighed in time with each thrust from her partner. Kara stopped kissing Lena's neck to pick up her head and look at Lena, enjoying the way her head dipped back with pleasure. "Harder," Lena gasped. Kara obliged, increasing the speed of her fingers and applying more pressure as Lena began to move her hips in time with Kara's hand. She could feel the brunette tensing beneath her, could hear the slight rise in the pitch of Lena's moans. It was dark in the car, the only light coming from a nearby streetlight and the occasional gleam of headlights as cars passed by. But Kara could see clearly the way Lena's chest rose and fell with every breath, the way her lips tensed slightly before she let out a particularly loud moan. Then Lena's hips began to twitch, and Kara could feel her walls beginning to contract around her fingers. Next a scream left Lena's lips, drowning out the sound of the music blasting from Kara's car stereo. "Fuck, yes, fuck!" Lena cried out as she came into Kara's hand, shamelessly grinding her center into her palm. Kara let her ride it out until the screams subsided and were replaced again with soft moans and quick gasps, and she slowed her fingers until finally removing them. She looked to Lena, a huge smile on her face. Lena didn't even wait to catch her breath, just took Kara's face in her hands and pulled her down to kiss her again. When she withdrew, the brunette stated, "I believe it's your turn now." "I guess I have some more undressing to do, then," Kara returned. She pecked Lena on the lips briefly before sitting up to take off her shoes, throwing them into the front seat so she could find them later. She undid her jean shorts next and slid out of them, pausing to show off her own boxer briefs. "What about my underwear?" she asked, gesturing to the shark designs printed across them. "Do you like them?" "Very cute," Lena muttered. "But they're in the way." Kara was thankful for the darkness, because she could feel her face heating up with a blush as she slid off the underwear, kicking them away when they got to her ankles. She then lay back again while Lena crawled toward the front of the car so she could position herself between Kara's legs. She lifted them, placing them over her shoulders as she tried to find a comfortable spot on the folded-out seats. The blonde took in a deep breath as Lena kissed the insides of her thighs, nipping gently with her teeth. Then the brunette licked her lips before pressing her tongue to Kara's clit. Kara closed her eyes as the first wave of pleasure hit her, resting her head back on the pillows as Lena circled her tongue around her bundle of nerves. She instantly brought her hand down and placed it on top of Lena's head, holding her there. The other reached out and took hold of one of Lena's hands, tangling their fingers together. Then Lena brought her mouth lower and gave Kara's entrance a teasing swipe with her tongue. Kara responded by biting down on her bottom lip and grunting at the action, her eyes screwing shut even tighter as Lena plunged in a moment later. "Shit," Kara hissed when the lips found her clit again. Lena then slid a finger into Kara, eliciting a moan from her partner. Kara squeezed Lena's hand to urge her continue, and a second later, she was adding another finger. She eased in and out gently at first, gradually increasing her speed as Kara shuddered beneath her. Kara peeked open her eyes and looked down to watch Lena at work, seeing the brunette going down on her only making the experience that more enjoyable. Every time a car passed Lena's face illuminated just for a second from the headlights, and Kara still couldn't believe this beautiful woman was with her, much less inside her. And there was something about being out in the open like they were that sent a thrill through her. At any moment someone could come walking by and see them or catch a glimpse of something as they were driving along minding their own business. That just made it all hotter, the possibility of getting caught at any moment. Kara had never been to jail, but if she got arrested for public indecency, at that moment she really didn't care—it was worth it. Lena found the right rhythm with her fingers, curling them in the most delicious way. Kara rocked her hips forward slightly, grinding herself into Lena's mouth. Then Lena did this one particular motion with her tongue, and Kara lost it. She threw her head back as she screamed out, "Oh, fuck!" Her vision swam so she closed her eyes as a pleasant tingling started at her core, then built to a peak before exploding across her body. She felt herself shaking, and she couldn't stop the string of curses that flew from her mouth as she came apart around Lena's fingers. The brunette didn't slow her efforts until her partner stilled beneath her, lifting her head and removing her sticky fingers from the blonde's center before putting them in her mouth and licking them clean. "You taste good," Lena said once she was done, smirking down at the still fast-breathing woman beneath her. "Thank you," Kara said, wanting to kick herself a moment later. Really? Thank you? That was the best pillow talk she could come up with? "But I want to taste you, now." Alright, that was slightly better. She didn't wait for Lena to respond, instead tugged on her hand and urged her closer. When Lena lay atop her again, Kara kissed her, tasting herself on her tongue. She shifted her hips, rolling them over so she was on top again. Then she moved her lips to Lena's jawline, kissing down to her neck first, then along the rest of her body. Lena parted her legs for Kara, allowing the blonde to maneuver her body in the cramped space until she settled between them. Kara placed butterfly kissing along the inside of each of Lena's thighs, enjoying the sighs from Lena that made their way to her ears. Then she lowered her mouth, closing her lips around Lena's clit. The young woman shuddered at the touch, and she twitched involuntarily when Kara began to swipe her tongue back and forth across the nerve. Then Kara went lower, letting her tongue glide gently over Lena's folds before pushing it into Lena's pussy. The brunette moaned, immediately reaching down to grab onto Kara's wild curls. Lena tasted amazing, the delicate saltiness of her arousal driving Kara crazy. Then Kara's mouth went back to Lena's clit, instead sliding a finger inside, earning a few curses from Lena in response. She wound her lips around Lena's clit tightly and sucked, pressing her tongue into the nerve as Lena pushed her head down, urging her not to move. As she added a second finger, she felt Lena began to squirm, her hips twitching slightly. A few moments later she was thrusting herself into Kara's mouth, and the blonde responded by quickening the pace with her fingers. "Yes," Lena moaned out. "Just like that." Kara enjoyed the neediness in her voice, the way her vagina began to constrict around her fingers right before Lena came. And then a scream filled the car, starting deep in the back of Lena's throat before escaping from her mouth as she pressed her head into the pillow. Kara felt her fingers flooding with wetness, and she didn't stop her movements until the pulsing of Lena's walls stopped. When she finally came up for air, Lena pulled her to her, kissing her lips clean. "Your turn again," she said once she was done, looking up at the blonde with lust-filled eyes. "What would you like?" "Well, I have a bag with some toys," Kara said, glancing around the car in search of it. "Somewhere." They both felt around in the darkness, Kara instantly regretting packing the toys in a black bag considering the fact that it was dark, and her car interior was also black, so it blended in. But after about a minute of searching, Lena discovered it shoved off to the side under a blanket. She held it up proudly before handing it to the blonde, who took it and pulled open the zipper. "Damn, it's a whole bag," Lena said, peeking inside and raising her eyebrows, slightly impressed. "This is too big, though, I'm afraid," she said, picking up a dual harness and inspecting it. "I'm tight," she admitted, and even in the dark, Kara could swear she saw her blush. "Sorry." "Don't be," Kara said, shaking her head quickly. "I didn't realize how big it was when I bought it." She took it from her, putting it back in the bag and instead pulling out a vibrator. It had a handle and a suction head at the end, and the speed adjusted based on user preference. It was one of Kara's favorite things to use when she didn't have a partner to take care of those all-important urges. She could only imagine how much better it would be using it with someone else. "Is this what you want?" Lena asked, and Kara nodded. "Okay, turn it on for me, please." Kara did, adjusting the speed setting to the one she usually used. Then she lowered her hand and placed it over her own clit, holding the handle so that it was facing towards her stomach. With her other hand she grabbed Lena's and started to guide it towards her center. The brunette sent her a questioning look, but didn't pull her hand away. "I want you inside me, too," Kara said. Lena smiled at that, and she granted Kara's request, sliding her fingers underneath the head of the vibrator and into Kara's pussy. Kara let out a long moan as those fingers moved in and out of her, the vibrating on her clit adding to the quick-building pressure inside her. While the toy was great to use by herself, nothing could compare to the way adding Lena's fingers to the mix made her feel. It was a different, more complete pleasure, being stimulated in more than one way at a time—like every itch she had was being scratched all in one go. In almost no time she was tipping over the edge, letting the rolls of pleasure ride through her body. She lifted a hand and pressed it to the widow of her car's hatchback as she screamed out, coating Lena's fingers as her orgasm rocked through her body. Just when she thought it was about to finish, a final wave hit her, causing her entire being to shake with ecstasy. Once that eventually subsided, she removed the toy from her clit, turning it off and throwing it to the side. Lena withdrew her hand from Kara's pussy, once again licking it clean before settling beside Kara again. "What time is it?" Lena asked, dropping her head to the blonde's shoulder. Kara squinted at the clock on the radio. "Just after eight." "Oh, we still have plenty of time," Lena said, lifting her head again with a bright smile. "What else do you want to do?" she asked, her eyes mischievous. Kara reached for the bag that still had a few other toys. "Hmm. I'm sure we can come up with something," she said with a playful grin. When Lena finally got around to checking her phone nearly an hour later, she had several missed calls from her mother. By the time she called her back, it was hard to make any more excuses as to why Lena wasn't home. Therefore, once she ended the call, they were fumbling around in the dark to try to find their clothes. Once they were dressed Lena tried to apologize for having to take off and answer to her parents, but Kara just silenced her with a kiss. The brunette allowed it, placing her hand on the back of Kara's neck and keeping her there for a moment. Kara sucked her bottom lip between her own, then pulled away slowly. Green eyes flashed open, regarding her for a moment. "I like you," Lena muttered, tracing a finger down Kara's cheek. "The feeling is mutual," Kara told her. Lena gave a small smile before placing a quick, chaste kiss on Kara's lips. "Bye," she said, reaching for the door handle. "Let me know when you get home." "You too," Kara said as she watched her leave, smiling as she went even though she was sad to see her go. She saw Lena climb into the green car she'd parked behind earlier, and as Kara climbed into the front seat of her own car, Lena started up hers. While she put her shoes on, Lena drove off, and even after Kara slipped the shoes onto her feet, she didn't take her car out of park until she saw Lena's taillights disappear around a corner. "Where the hell have you been?" was the first thing Alex asked Kara nearly twenty minutes later when the blonde walked in the house. "I thought you were just going for a drive, but you were gone for over two hours." Her sister was sitting on the couch watching a cooking show, a glass of wine in her hand. She'd obviously just gotten out of the shower because her red hair was still wet, and she was now dressed in her comfiest pair of pajamas. It wasn't even ten yet. Alex looked just about ready to go to bed, while Kara was just slinking home. The blonde smiled at the irony, remembering the days before Kelly when the roles had been reversed and Kara was the one waiting on the couch for Alex to come home from a date. But they'd always told each other about dates before. Kara considered not even telling her now, just to keep adding to the fun of it all. But at the same time, she was way too proud of herself and wanted to brag. "I drove to the lakefront and met up with a girl I met on Tinder to have sex with her in my car," she said, smirking the whole time. Alex stared at her for a few moments over the rim of her wine glass as she took a long sip. "Yeah right," she said when she was done, licking her lips. "No, seriously, Alex," Kara said, now positively beaming. Her sister regarded her, narrowing her eyes with suspicion. But she took in the dopey look on Kara's face, the way her smile took up its entirety, the fact that she was practically bouncing as she walked over to sit beside her on the couch. "Holy shit, you actually did!" Alex shoved her sister's shoulder. "Why the fuck didn't you tell me that's where you were going?" "I didn't want you to try to stop me," Kara said with a shrug. Alex ogled at her. "Why would I have stopped you? Are you kidding? I'm your number one supporter in you getting laid." She shook her head. "Hell, you didn't have to do it in your car. She could have come over here." "I didn't want you to be here when it was happening, Alex," Kara told her, looking at her sister liked she'd grown a second head. "I could have gone to Kelly's," Alex told her, rolling her eyes. "She's not even there," Kara pointed out. "I have a key, you idiot!" She flicked Kara in the middle of the forehead. "Ow!" Kara whined, rubbing her forehead and pouting at her older sister. "I wasn't thinking clearly, okay? Lena was sending me teasing Snaps, and she suggested fucking in the car, so I just went with it." "Oh, so she instigated it," Alex said, raising her eyebrows as she took a quick sip of wine before setting it on the coffee table. "So, did you guys do anything first? Go to dinner or something?" she asked, tucking her legs beneath her and turning to face her sister. "Not really," Kara said, shaking her head. "We met at the lake, then went for a short walk. After that we just got in my car and started having sex." Alex narrowed her eyes. "You were gone for over two hours, though." "Yup." The older Danvers stared at her for a moment, then exclaimed, "Two hours?!" Her jaw hung open slightly and her eyes went wide with shock. "You had sex for two hours?" "Give or take about twenty minutes, but yeah," Kara said with a shrug, feeling pride swell in her chest at Alex's obvious amazement. "Okay, who the hell are you, and what have you done with my sister?" Alex asked jokingly, causing the blonde to laugh. "So, are you going to see her again?" "I hope so," Kara said, glancing down at her feet. "Sleeping with her was great, but I actually really like her. We're supposed to have an actual date Saturday. I hope she wants to see me again and doesn't end up ghosting me." And as if Lena was able to read her mind, Kara's phone vibrated in her pocket, and she pulled it out to see a text from the woman she still tasted on her lips. She smiled as she opened it, reading that Lena had made it home safe. She responded saying that she was as well before locking the device and sliding it into her pocket again. "Was that her?" Alex asked, and when Kara looked up, her sister was smiling knowingly. "Yes," Kara said with a wide grin. "Well, if she's texting you already, then that's a good sign." "Yeah," Kara agreed, nodding before standing up and announcing, "I'm going take a shower." "Yes, and please wash your hands," Alex said with a smirk, picking up her glass of wine again. Kara stuck her tongue out at the red head as she left the room, smiling once more as she felt her phone vibrating in her pocket again. When she pulled it out, her heart fluttered to see the sender was Lena. Lena: Thanks for tonight. I really needed that. Can't wait to see you again. Kara blushed, stopping as she got to the bathroom and typing out a response before starting the shower. Kara: Same! And me either.

A cry ran through the house, causing Mickey to groan. Yevgeny never cried this much, the kid was almost too quiet normally. He didn’t even know that was a thing to worry about, but it apparently was. Nothing wrong with him, just didn’t like to talk unless he had to. He’d proven already he was plenty fucking smart, occasionally switching between Russian and English when he did talk. The wail became louder. Yet, here he was. Crying as if he wasn’t spoiled all the time. Mickey reached for his pillow, throwing it over his head. He yelled, “Svetlana! Kid!” A sleepy voice replied, clearly muffled by it’s own pillow. “Svet’s not here,“ a big yawn interrupted. “‘Ou’re at my place, Mick.” Mickey let out a frustrated noise, remembering he was in Ian’s bed. Oh yeah, Debbie’s kid, Franny. She was always crying, probably upset she was named after the dead beat of a father named Frank. He’d cry too if someone tried to name him Terry Junior. He was actually surprised, he realized, that Terry hadn’t thought of naming a kid after himself. He pried his eyes open, squinting at the harsh sunlight coming in. Arms were loosely wrapped around him, a sign of where he was that he’d missed earlier in his groggily sleepy induced state. Even back when Svet and him shared a bed, before Ian came back after the wedding, they never willingly touched. He nestled back into Ian, who tightened his hold instinctively. He pushed his hips back, feeling Ian’s- The screams continued suddenly, causing Mickey to throw his pillow off his head, landing on Ian with a sleepy but startled, “Eh, watch it!” He threw back the covers in frustration, momentarily getting caught in them as he flailed his legs. He heard Ian make an amused noise from behind him. Fucker. Once freed, he rolled out of bed and stomped towards Debbie’s room. When he got there he tore the door open, only to be met with Debbie’s surprised face. “Hand me the kid,” he grinded out through his teeth. Debbie’s eyes flashed with anger before she softened her hold on Franny and passed her to Mickey. He bounced her like he did to calm Yev down, his own anger from lack of sleep settling down as he peered at Franny. Kid was fucking cute, red hair already noticeable on her head. She looked just like Debbie and Ian, not holding an ounce of the kid Debbie had been seeing. Honestly though, Mickey didn’t even know who Debbie's baby daddy was since Ian dumped him before she got herself knocked up. Dirk? Maybe or maybe she’d already moved on, most of the Gallaghers seem to jump to the next body without giving themselves even time to process a breakup. Franny’s damn lungs were going to collapse at the rate she was going. Mickey hollered over her, “You making enough damn milk? Svetlana mentioned that.” Debbie glared at him. “I know what I’m doing!” “Clearly fucking not, Pippi Longstockings, or she’d have shut her hole by now,” he bit back. He liked Debbie, always liked how sassy she was, though it was slowly transforming to full blown anger. Anger directed at him currently, which he wasn’t going to put up with if she kept it up. She may have some redheaded Gallagher charm but she was no Ian Gallagher. Finally the combined powers of the two of them got Franny to quiet down, that or she just cried herself to sleep. Either way, she wasn’t making a fucking peep. Debbie threw her head back on the mattress, eyes filled with tears. He stared, unsure what to do before muttering, “Don’t worry. Yev’s made it this far with a prostitute ma and a drug dealing pops, she’ll be fine off. There’s like a hundred of you fucker’s to help, a whole damn village from your siblings alone.” Debbie’s exhausted look morphed into one of disgust. “Yeah, well a certain sibling of mine wanted me to kill her so clearly not.” Mickey absolutely did not fucking want to be dealing with this, especially at the asscrack of dawn. “Look, kid, that was before Franny had a face or name. It’s not like Fiona is going to punt her into traffic. You could be a whole lot worse off.” For example. She could be a closeted gay kid forced to marry a woman and raise a baby he thought he hated. Even he wasn’t going to say that though, Debbie was a kid. A kind of stupid kid sometimes, but she still made dramatic kid choices and pushing Fiona away after getting herself pregnant was one of them. Debbie didn’t reply, probably realizing that arguing with Mickey wasn’t going to get her anywhere. He wasn’t exactly known for being a pushover. He laid a sleeping Franny down on the bed beside Debbie before remarking, “Look, I gotta go. Ian’s big day. Gonna pack him lunch. If you decide all the Gallaghers combined isn’t enough, see what Svetlana can do. She likes pissing Fiona off anyway, think she’s jealous of V and her.” Debbie cracked a smile, whispering to avoid bothering her daughter. “Thanks, Mick. Glad you’re back.” ~~ Despite his excitement, he had struggled to get out of bed. Mickey had disappeared first, before he suddenly heard Franny calm down. After their first go at not so nuclear family with Svet and Yev, Ian was proud to see that Mickey had really been forced to step up even more during his absence. He hated to think of their time apart, but at least it had led to some good for each of them. He wondered if it was almost meant to be, as if each of them being separated just made them both step up. He snuggled back in bed, enjoying the last few minutes of peace and quiet before he had to begin the day. He’d probably need it after his first day on the job. His alarm eventually went off, forcing him out of bed. He bounced down the stairs, ready to tackle the day. He felt refreshed, partially due to the job and partially due to Mickey spending the night. It had taken a bit of time to officially start his EMT job, since he needed to still apply and wait to hear from them. After his diagnosis he never thought this would happen. He turned the corner to spot Lip, Fiona, Sean, and Mickey in the kitchen. They all were scurrying around, just beginning their day. He heard Lip comment, “Glad I moved back home. Wouldn’t want to miss this.” Lip grabbed the milk from the fridge as Fiona walked past him and remarked, “Sounds like a hunger cry. Debs might not be producing enough milk. She might need to supplement with formula. Someone should tell her.”   Sean poured coffee in Fiona’s mug as Ian planted a kiss on the side of Mickey’s head. Mickey grinned big as he continued to throw together a couple of sandwiches. He heard Sean say to Fiona, “Not you?” “It’s none of my business. She’s made that abundantly clear.” Mickey took a bite of one of the sandwiches he made, before answering, “Already told her. Even volunteered Svet to help.” Fiona’s nose turned up at the mention of Svetlana. “She’s not sleeping, eating, showering. Svetlana going to help with that?” Mickey bit back, “I don’t know why she couldn’t. Already watching Yev. Watches the Ball babies all the time too. Wasn’t Little Orphan Annie up there watching a whole daycare of kids when she was practically their age? Svetlana’s at least a whole ass adult.” Ian piped up, “Mick and I could even help. As long as Debs is okay with it. I was Team Franny from the start so she may listen, with some extra nudging from me. Didn’t realize how busy I’ve been lately, should have already offered some help.” Fiona turned to Lip and Ian, defeat in her voice. “You’ve been busy with Svetlana’s issues going on. I wish she’d just let one of you hold the baby.” Lip walked back towards the fridge, milk judge in hand. “Maybe she’s got that postpartum thing. You know, when girls go feral in corners and gouge anyone’s eyes out who get too close.” Fiona picked up her wedding book and coffee, deciding she was done with the Debbie talk. “What are those little things called, that guys wear at weddings? The flower things?” She was in last minute wedding planning mode, as Sean and her picked a date that wasn't too far off. Still gave her way more time to prepare than the last. Ian almost felt like he couldn’t keep up with his siblings' lives, feeling confused each day by new changes. He wasn’t surprised to hear Fiona was getting divorced, but the engagement at the divorcement really threw him for a loop. She walked out of the room, while Sean followed. Mickey walked up to him, coffee cup in hand, as Ian sat down at the table. “So, nervous for your big day?” Lip shoved a spoonful of cereal in his mouth as he sleepily watched their interaction. Ian grinned as Mickey put the cup in front of Ian, before walking back to the counter. Ian replied, “ No, no. Excited mostly. Figured I’d be a janitor the rest of my life.” Lip chimed in, “Still gonna be cleaning up vomit and dumping garbage. Just in a fancy fucking uniform.” Ian bit back, still salty from their last fight over his job, “Better pay, too.” A new tin lunchbox with The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles on the front of it thudded down on the table in front of Ian. “Check it out. Turkey sandwich, chips, an apple, and a treat. Swiped the lunchbox from Yev. Now go save lives.” Ian stood up and leaned down towards Mickey, He grabbed his face and landed a quick peck on his lips. Mickey smiled into the quick kiss that ended too quickly as Ian pulled away. He walked towards the sink to throw his coffee mug into it, before throwing a quick goodbye as he left for his job, a smile beaming from his face. ~~ The last two months or so had been an interesting time. All was fucking great in Mickey’s love life, since Ian and him had once again rekindled their relationship. The last break had felt permanent and yet they had fought through hell and made it out together. Mickey figured at a point the universe was going to have to stop fucking with them, and he was hoping that point was now. He had spent the night at The Hotel Gallagher last night, but that was a rare and clearly fucking unpleasant occasion. Usually Svet kept them at the Milkovich house, determined to be a ball and chain. She’d relaxed her hold on the leash a bit as immigration stepped back. They had almost no case to build against Svet, besides her entering the country in a damn shipping crate. Didn’t mean everything had gone without a damn hitch though. Their marriage had lasted over two years already, and they had a kid together. Immigration basically said if they were faking it, which they were, it was a really dedicated attempt. Of course, her entering the country illegally was still a huge fucking issue that almost got her sent back until more damn paperwork was completed. The weepy tears from Yevgeny and her combined helped get that waived though. She did get taken in to immigration holding for a bit, leaving a completely unprepared Mickey and Ian to watch Yevgeny by themselves. Mickey was plenty used to having to watch the kid when he was pawned off on him, but being his sole guardian was not a fucking walk through the park. The first few nights Yevgeny had basically pulled a fucking Franny and whimpered through the night. They had taken turns helping him fall back asleep. After the first night he had crawled into bed between the two men and tapped Mickey on the leg. “Strashnyy son.” Mickey groaned and rolled away from the noise until another tiny, and yet fucking irritating tap touched his leg again. He heard a soft childlike voice in the dark. “Nightmare.” About that time, Ian and his giant teddy bear demeanor lazily scooped Yev into his arms and hugged him to his chest. No matter what had gone down, he knew Ian had missed the hell out of that kid. He watched Yev snuggle close, already reacquainted with the man after not knowing how to react to him when he first showed back up. Thankfully they survived, with the help of both Sandy and Mandy, and Svetlana was released. Yevgeny shrieked at the sight of his mother and came barreling through the living room to be scooped up into her arms. Mickey let himself soak up the view of his son enjoying a moment in his childhood, remembering how rare those were during his own. Thanks to fucking Terry a scene between Mickey’s mom and him like that was completely fucking alien, since nobody wanted to risk his wrath over something as small as a hug. The scene and memory combined did something to his heart, pulling some kind of fucking cord. Pulling open the front door, he pushed the memories back. He had walked home to make sure there was no surprise visit still, since Ian was at work anyway. They seemed to basically give up on that front, finding the house to be very obviously lived in. Their stuff was everywhere, making it easy to see how they coexisted there together, especially considering it appeared they slept together. This was probably the only good thing about how fucking beat down and cluttered the Milkovich house was. The real current living arrangements were Svetlana in one room, while Mickey and Ian split another that more or less held clutter from other Milkoviches. Sandy crashed on the couch, though she had slinked off somewhere for the night. Iggy and Colin were still shacked up elsewhere. At least for now. Mickey opened the bedroom door to see Svetlana’s lazy ass was still in bed with Yevgeny curled up next to her with his thumb in his mouth. Since she had been back Yevgeny had basically refused to part from her, scared that his mom was going to disappear again. Little old to be sucking his thumb too, but eh, he wasn’t going to beat it out of him like his old man did. Though he knew Svet really didn’t sleep in much, he still picked up a pillow from the floor and hit her in the face with it. “Yo, Black Widow, get up. I got a favor to ask.” Svetlana practically darted up, glaring at Mickey. Her hair was messy and wild, pieces of it hanging in her eyes while others stuck up. Her accent was thick with sleep. “Absent husband, you are back. I do not appreciate the wake up though.” She practically growled the sentence, but her yawn afterwards made her seem more tired than willing to fight. “Yeah well, I haven’t appreciated most of the time I’ve known you so.” She threw the covers back, settling Yevgeny in a more comfortable position before following Mickey out. Before she could ask what he needed, they both noticed Sandy and a strange man standing in the living room. Sandy nodded towards him. “Um, this is Lester from USCIS. I don’t know what that, uh, means but he insisted he was coming in.” Well, he thought they had given up, but guess not. Svetlana opened her mouth to reply but Mickey cut her off. “It’s immigration, Milk.” Lester began to walk around the house, introducing himself to Mickey. “Agent Lester Hibbert. Just a routine mandatory check to see if the living situation is as reported. We haven’t done a routine unannounced check yet.” Svetlana stepped aside. “Quiet, baby is sleeping, but yes you may walk around home.” “Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Milkovich. I have your permission to look around at your personal belongings?” Mickey rolled his eyes. “Just get to it, we have nothing to fucking hide.” After about ten annoying fucking minutes of Lester walking around the house, poking at all their belongings, he finally sat down in the living room to ask the pair questions. They had answered these same fucking questions in the past, but clearly they were trying to find a hole in their story. Lester whipped out a notepad, before immediately grilling him. “So Mr. Milkovich when did you first realize you were in love with Mrs. Milkovich?” Mickey strained to hold back a frown, instead keeping his face stoic. He wasn’t going to pretend to be a whole new person for this. “She was a friend of my sisters. Was hanging out at home with a friend when she walked into the house. Love at first fucking sight, I guess.” And by that he meant he was getting fucked by Ian when his soon to be prostitute of a wife came in. “Da, glaza na lob vilezli. It’s when your eyes climb onto your head. This happened to me then.” He turned towards Sandy’s direction, who was peeking at the three of them from the kitchen. “You the sister in the situation?” Sandy scoffed. “Nah, just the cousin crashing on the couch.” He sighed, turning his attention back to Svetlana. “And Mrs. Milkovich, when did you realize you were in love with Mr. Milkovich?” She smiled, grabbing Mickey’s hand to hold as she tilted her head to gaze longingly at him. “First time I saw him. We met that day but he was in Alibi bar beforehand. Saw him across the room. When we first talk at home I forget English, I say ‘u tyebya krasivyye glaza’ because his eyes distract me so much.” Lester continued writing. “And when did you decide to get married and have a family?” Svetlana leaned against Mickey, who reluctantly put his hand around her waist, before she responded, “Like I said, love at first sight. We marry a couple of months later, young and in love. Married for a few years, have son. Yevgeny. Blessing.” Lester shut his notebook. “Well, your individual interview answers lineup for the most part. And your joint interview has been credible. I’ve been at the job eight years, never seen a set-up quite like this.” Mickey practically growled. “Okay, so we passed?” “‘I’ll review your documents, follow through with family and friends. Few more follow-up visits-“ “A few more? We have a fucking kid together, for Christ’s sake. Didn’t pop him to play pretend house,” Mickey cut him off. Lester stood up. “It’s all part of protocol. No worries, you have nothing suspicious on record. Just a bitchy wife,” He reached his hand out to Mickey. “Lovely meeting you, Mr. Milkovich. Mrs. Milkovich.” Mickey shook his hand, watching Lester read the words on his fingers. ~~ Ian ducked under the garage door, following Rita as she showed him around his new job. “People are pretty swell around here. I don’t hire assholes,” they passed a sleeping man. “Except for this guy.” She beat on the metal lockers behind him, startling him awake. The once sleeping man jumped from his perch, following the pair before warning Ian. “Don’t let her near your lunch. She goes apeshit over salty snacks.” Rita shouted suddenly, addressing the whole room. “Listen up, crew! This is Ian Gallagher, our new trainee. The only person besides me to get a perfect score on both the written and the practical. Act civilized so he’ll stick around.” His new coworkers all reacted differently, one girl waved her hands and another exclaimed in a half joking half happy way, but overall they all seemed excited to have Ian there, helping his slight nerves settle. Rita continued, walking towards the lockers. “Uh.. label and date your food, please,” She stopped in front of a locker, motioning towards it. “This is your locker. Uniform’s inside. If it doesn’t fit, let me know. Napping cots are around back, and we’ll hit the wagon in about twenty for rig check. Don’t be late.” Ian beamed, turning towards his locker. He never thought the same scrap of metal that he had in high school would bring him so much happiness. His own locker, which had his name and ‘trainee’ written underneath it. He opened it to peer in, immediately digging the only object out of his bag he needed to christen it as his own. His hand pulled out a photo of Mickey and him, which he taped inside. There, perfect. After the twenty minute wait, which Ian spent introducing himself to his new coworkers, he showed back up for the rig check. Rita immediately put Ian to work as she sat outside the ambulance, directing him. He spoke, carefully checking each part of the emergency vehicle. “Oxygen tanks are full, defib has fresh batteries, gas is at ninety percent.” Rita checked off her list, “Linens?” He knocked on the part of the vehicle that held the linens. “Right there.” “Restraints?” “Are in the gurney.” “What’s left?” Ian paused, standing up from his crouched position in the ambulance. “I can’t think of anything. Uhm, jeez, what’d I miss?” She pointed towards a switch, which Ian flipped causing the sirens to go off. Both of their faces transformed into childlike grins. She chuckled. “That’s a kick, huh? I remember my first time flipping that switch. My heart skipped, I was like,” she took a deep breath. “I’m here. You know?” Ian continued to grin at her, though it had changed to a more content smile. She pointed at him, maintaining her instructions. “You make it a habit and you make it quick. One of the top five rookie errors is taking too long with rig checks.” Ian moved towards the opened doors where Rita was to exit, pausing to ask, “What’re the other four?” “Being too detailed in your reports, using a bag vale mask improperly, not learning the names of your patients, and not going out to drinks with the crew after your first shift. You will be counting on these people. You gotta build trust.” Suddenly his radio buzzed in. “Station fourteen, Car twenty-eight. Stroke. Patient is non-responsive. Can you copy?” Rita nodded towards Ian. “Go ahead.” Ian clicked the button, feeling satisfaction swell in his body, before lifting it and leaning his head down towards it to say. “Station fourteen copy. Standing by for ten-twenty.” He exited the vehicle then, following Sue as she informed him. “It’s a nursing home call. We get about five per day,” She slammed the back doors closed. “Meet you later for drinks, and bring your girlfriend.” Ian hesitated. “Boyfriend, I’m gay.” Rita turned around right before the locker room. “Well, bring your boyfriend then. No one gives a shit. Have fun with the grannies.” Everyone rushed to action around him, his sleeping coworker whose name he still didn’t know threw Ian his jacket while the same girl from earlier jogged past him, brushing his shoulder. He tossed on his jacket, flexing his shoulders, and jogged towards the ambulance. He was ready. ~~ Being at the Gallagher house without Ian was fucking weird. He wanted to see him after his first day though, but Ian didn’t get off until at least fucking three am. Franny’s crying kept him awake though, preventing even a cat nap while he waited. He was definitely going to have to get Svetlana over here to figure this the fuck out. The rest of the Gallaghers would agree, as they were all shoved together in the living room at three a.m. They were all equally sleep deprived, talking amongst themselves with heavy eyes as Mickey practically melted into the recliner. He had them tuned out, mostly because he could barely keep his head up and yet couldn’t fucking go to sleep from the wails if he tried, until he heard Fiona address him. “Mickey, god. I hate to say it, but please get Svetlana over here to figure out how to get more food into that baby.” He looked up, eyes passing over Lip smoking a cigarette before landing on Fiona. She had bags under her eyes. He nodded, not wasting any energy on words. Fiona sat her beer down. “Has she let anyone hold her yet?” Lip and Mickey nodded as Frank responded, “Yeah.” Her mouth dropped, as she gasped. “All three of you?” Sean walked downstairs at that time, stopping to address the group. “Gang’s all here. Must be infant-fucked-us-o’clock.” Lip passed another cigarette to Mickey, who lifted it and replied, “Yeah, three o’ fucking clock to be exact.” He zoned out as Frank and Sean started arguing, trying to blink the sleep away. What was up with the Gallagher banging people their parent’s age? I mean, sure Frank and Monica together probably caused a lot of daddy and mommy issues but so did Terry and he wasn’t fucking ancient men. His mind drifted to the time he beat the shit out of Ned before smirking. Completely had it coming. The front door opened, revealing Ian who was sporting an adorable beanie as he exclaimed, “Hey-yo!” Mickey raised his head, hoping Ian would come to him so he didn’t have to move. Ian’s siblings all excitedly greeted their brother as Ian hugged and clasped hands with them. He sat down on the edge of Mickey’s seat as Frank passed him a blunt. He inhaled and leaned down to ruffle Mickey’s hair, who scowled but leaned his head against Ian’s side, muttering, “How was your first day, big shot?”   He spoke around the blunt. “A little hectic, but I did good,” he looked at Mickey as he pulled the blunt from his own lips and pressed it against Mickey’s, causing him to smile. “Rita and the crew wanna meet you for drinks tomorrow.” Debbie appeared in the kitchen, carrying a silent Franny. If the rest of the clan looked tired, Debbie looked near death. She sleepily grinned at the sight of her favorite brother, a feeling Mickey understood well. He knew he had to get out of there, before he crashed on their couch for the night, he pulled Ian into a hug. “Come over tonight. When you’re done here. Love you.”   Ian rested his chin on Mickey’s shoulder, before leaning his head against him while he hugged him back. “Alright, meet you there.” Ian snuck in a quick peck to the lips, causing Mickey to dreamily smile. Something he’d deny if Lip used it for bait later. He snuck out the door as the Gallaghers surrounded Franny, pausing to watch Ian scoop the baby out of Debbie’s arms. Ian was definitely dad material. ~~ Debbie sat at the counter, nursing Franny while she tried to do her schoolwork. Her eyes felt heavy. Franny was a nightmare to get to sleep at night, waking up both Debbie and the whole house last night. She kept blinking, trying to stay awake, as she mumbled out loud, “Ventures into the region of wonder,” she flipped a couple of pages. “Gets challenged.” She felt her eyes close, blinking them awake before they completely shut and she dozed off. ...Only to be shaken awake. She opened her eyes to see Svetlana, holding Franny. Debbie blinked down as she still expected to see her daughter resting in her arms. The sleep deprivation caused her to not quite understand why Svetlana was standing there with her baby. Was it a dream? “She is okay now, but you drop small baby.” Debbie gasped, tears forming at her eyes. “I’m a terrible mother. I dropped my baby. I can’t stop her from crying, I can’t even feed her enough.” Svetlana motioned towards Franny, who Debbie only just then noticed was latched onto a bottle that Svetlana was holding. “No milk, you supplement. Things you must learn. You care, that is the start of a good mother. She felt a hand on her forehead. “Fever in your head. Breast tender, yes?” Debbie nodded so Svetlana confirmed her suspensions. “Clogged duct.” She continued to stare at Svetlana, who might as well be her hero. She didn’t want Fiona’s help, not wanting to feel like a failure. “Um. What do I do?” “Warm compress, ibuprofen. Milk will come. Now, you go to bed. Sleep. I will babysit the small carrot girl.” Debbie stood up. “What about your kid?” Svetlana motioned behind her, where Yevgeny sat on the couch. “I can watch two at once. No problem. I will warm up wet towel, you lay down. Will bring it to you with medicine. Sleep then you can be mother. No female can be good mother without any sleep.” Debbie walked up the stairs, before holding back. “How do you do it? Aren’t you a single mom too?” Svetlana smirked. “Yes and no. Husband help, now. He even help you. His family help, Ian, Sandy, Mandy, even Iggy sometimes. Family is good to rely on. Sleep now.” She turned back around, rushing up the steps. ~~ “Okay, wait, so you don’t cut the jacket for an IV access?” His sleeping coworker from earlier, Woody, answered, “No, not if it’s leather or down. Leather’s too hard to cut down. You’ll be putting feathers out of the rig for months.” “Got it.” Woody clasped his hand on his back before replying, “Nap time! I'll see you in twenty, okay?” “Yeah,” Ian answered as he walked towards the locker room. Ian opened his locker, pulling out the lunchbox that Mickey had once again packed. Who knew he was going to turn into such a housewife? Ian grinned as he surveyed his meal for tonight, seeing another sandwich. This time on a croissant. He had a feeling Svetlana may have grocery shopped last. Mickey always just bought the cheapest shit and moved on. Suddenly, Rita’s voice was behind him. He turned towards her, face still smiling from the lunch. “The results from your background check came in,” He lost the smile quickly. “You voluntarily committed yourself to the Cook County Psych Ward?” Her voice was full of accusations. He turned towards her, both pleading and stating. “I’m on medication now.” He stood up, wanting to meet her eyes. She asked, voice stone cold compared to earlier, “For?” “Bipolar.” “You lied on your application?” Ian countered. “I got perfect scores on my exams.” Rita stood there, looking him dead on in a way that Ian knew wasn’t forgiving. “Did you lie on your certification, too?” He ignored that. She knew full well he couldn’t have lied about that, but she was obviously mad. “Well, you wouldn’t have hired me if I’d told you the truth.” She walked in a circle before crossing her arms, head down and not looking at Ian, he recognized the body language, practically having the same when he cut off Mickey at that time. “You’re firing me.” “I can’t have someone on my team I don’t trust.” He ran his hand through his hair, before ducking down to lock eyes with Rita. “Shit. It’s paperwork, all right? That shit is meaningless.” “We don’t allow people with a documented history of mental illness to work here for a reason,” This time she stared him down, voice raised as she stressed that she clearly believed he was crazy. Ian’s voice rose to meet her level, knowing it looked more insane coming from him, but he couldn’t help it. “I’m good at my job because of my illness. I can stop a bipolar kid from jumping through a window on a fucking twenty six call.” Rita walked away from Ian, refusing to look at him. He could feel the prying eyes of his coworkers.

All Natasha had wanted was a cup of coffee, and an hour to herself. Bucky and Clint and Sam had been driving her crazy all day, starting when she had woken up and gone downstairs only to find dregs in the coffee pot and Clint’s dirty underwear on the kitchen counter.  The morning went downhill from there. She loved her adopted brother and the two dumb idiots they lived with, but sometimes the three of them could get on her last nerve. This was one of those times. So after narrowly avoiding getting shot in the foot with an arrow (long story) she had grabbed a book and headed for the coffee shop on the corner for some peace and quiet.  And for about fifteen minutes, she’d had it.  Which, of course, was when Smarmy Assholes 1 and 2 had walked in.  Natasha read people. She couldn’t help it; it was just something she did. So as soon as they passed through the door, she couldn’t help cataloguing them. And when they snagged a table near her, she couldn’t help eyeing them over the top of her book, keeping an ear out for what they had to say. It was somehow even grosser than she’d expected.  “It’s not like I want to,” the taller guy was saying. “But he’s Tony Stark . I get in with him and I’ll have business connections for the next few decades -- not that I’d even have to work, with all the money I’d be getting out of him. I just have to suck it up for a bit, turn on the charm, make him fall in love with me. It’s not like it will be hard.” “Still,” his friend said. “You’ve seen him, Ty. All quiet and shy and… Weird. Seems all needy, too. I’ve heard he’s only got like, one friend, and he’s off with the Navy or something. He’ll be following you around like a lost puppy.”  “Can't be worse than you, Justin,” Ty retorted, making Justin flush and look away. “Anyway,” he continued. “Needy can be good.” He smirked then, a look that Nat knew entirely too well, and her fists clenched as she fought the urge to punch him in the face. “It’ll be so easy to talk him into anything I want. And he’ll be so busy falling over himself trying to please me, he probably won’t even care who else I’m screwing on the side.” Justin was smirking too now. “Get some good blackmail pics and you’ve got him for good.” Natasha quietly seethed. These two chucklefucks were practically twirling moustaches they were so gross. It was a little ridiculous, like they’d gone to the same school of cartoon villainy, but she was having none of it. She was just considering the best way the traumatize them for life when the bell over the door rang, catching her attention. She looked over to see a slight man walk in, about twenty years old. His hair was a mess of dark curls that he kept pushing out of his face, and he was just a little too dressed up for a cafe -- fitted pants offset with a Van Halen tee and a sports jacket. There was a streak of grease or engine oil on his forearm that he apparently hadn’t noticed, and he was looking around for someone, a little nervous but mostly looking pleased and hopeful in a way that made Natasha’s heart clench.  A quick glance over showed that Justin and Ty were still plotting to kick puppies or whatever, and, making a split second decision, Nat hopped to her feet and headed for the door.  “Tony?” she asked, carefully aligning herself to block him from their view. When he turned at the sound of her voice, she gave him a bright, disarming smile. “Hi! I’m Tasha. I think you’re here to meet me?” “T-Tasha?” he repeated, looking confused for a minute. “I... But Obie said... I thought...” He stammered a minute, looking flustered, and Natasha waited patiently.  “Is everything okay?” He seemed to get a hold of himself again, giving her a bright smile, hopeful like before. “Yes, sorry. I think I got your... name wrong. I was a bit distracted when Obie was telling me about you.” He held out his hand. “I’m Tony... but then, I guess you already know that.” He laughed a little, a self deprecating note in it as his cheeks flushed a little. “It’s nice to meet you.” Natasha adored him already.  “You too,” she told him, returning his handshake and then shifting to give him a kiss on the cheek. His blush deepened and he gave her a shy look from under ridiculously thick eyelashes. “Come on,” she told him. “I’ve got a table by the window.” Nat wasn’t a tall woman, but even in her heeled boots Tony was barely a couple inches taller than her. She put her arm around him, steering him towards her table and carefully keeping him out of sight of Ty and Justin as she did.  Tony winced as he pulled his chair without a loud screech, giving a nervous little laugh.. “Sorry,” he mumbled, casting a quick glance around to see if anyone had noticed.  Natasha just shrugged and grinned at him. “Happens to me all the time,” she assured him, lying through her teeth. He gave her a dry look. “Somehow I doubt that,” he said, catching her eye with a wry grin. “You look like you’ve never been embarrassed a day in your life.”  Natasha straightened a little. He had spark; she liked that.  They made small talk for a few minutes, Tony getting himself a black coffee and sighing happily at his first sip. He made vague mentions of the project he was working on without giving any real details. The way he spoke suggested that Ty already knew what he did for a living, and so Tasha played along, smiling encouragingly when he went off on a tangent.  “Sorry,” he flushed when he realized he had been talking about robotics for ten minutes, chewing at his lip as he looked at her with soft eyes.  “It’s alright,” Natasha told him genuinely. “I mean, I only understood about half of what you said, but you obviously love it. Your entire face lit up. It’s a good look on you.”  Tony grinned wide, flushing again. “Thanks,” he mumbled, ducking his head toward the table. “And, um. Thanks for doing this.” He looked up at her again from under his eyelashes, scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck. “I don’t really do this a lot,” he admitted. “I was really, uh. I was glad, when Obie said you wanted to meet me. This is... I’ve been having a fun time.”  Natasha arched an eyebrow at him. “Come on,” she teased. “You’re gorgeous. I don’t believe you don’t have all the boys and girls lining up around the block to take you out.”  Tony rolled his eyes, fighting back the pleased smile creeping over his face. “Well. I‘m also a giant nerd with the unfortunate habit of talking about engineering and math for way too long.” He bit his lip as he gave her a grin. “Most kids go through the awkward dating stage at fourteen, but I guess I gotta do it now, since I was kind of busy studying at MIT then.”  “Fourteen?” Natasha repeated, incredulous, and realized her mistake when Tony frowned, like he’d expected her to know that. “Sorry,” she said quickly. “I just... didn’t realize it was quite that young.”  “Oh. Yeah.” Tony flushed again, dropping his gaze to the table and picking at his napkin for a moment. “That’s not a problem, is it?” he asked making eye contact for a brief moment before his gaze skittered over to the corner. “Sometimes it freaks people out,” he added in a mumble, and Natasha felt like punching something at the hurt in his voice. “Not a problem at all,” she assured him, curling her hand over his on the table. Tony positively beamed, his entire face lighting up, and it was at that moment that Nat noticed Ty out of the corner of her eye, frowning at them speculatively. “Shit,” she muttered under her breath, watching as he leaned over and said something to Justin, who turned to face them too.  Tony’s smile flickered. “Is something wrong?” “No, I just...” Natasha trailed off, weighing her options.  Ty was absolutely the type to make a scene, and if he embarrassed Tony in front of the entire cafe, she would definitely kick his ass. But ideally, she would get Tony out of here before it had the chance to get that far. Which left her with two options: She could give him a sweet brush off, let him think it was her — but she’d known Tony for less than an hour, and already knew he would blame himself for it — or she could confess.  Hoping she wasn’t making a mistake, she drew in a slow breath. “I need to tell you something.”  Mirroring her body language, Tony leaned in close over the table. “Okay,” he told her. “Is everything alright? Is there something I can help with?”  “No,” she admitted. “The thing is, you didn’t have my name wrong. I’m not actually your date.”  Tony’s eyebrows drew into a confused frown, head tilting to the side. “I don’t understand.” Natasha made a face. “You were expecting to meet a dude, right? Named Ty?” At Tony’s slow nod, she tilted her chin to the far corner. “He’s over there — don’t look!” she added sharply.  “I don’t understand,” Tony repeated. “Is this like... Did he send you here to make sure I was legit or something? Because... I mean, he knows Obie. Ty is the one who asked to go out with me?”  “No, I know. Tony... Ty is a complete dillweed, and you can do so much better. I overheard him talking about you before you got here. He’s an asshole. He just wants to use you, and...” She watched as Tony sank back in his seat, eyes shuttering. “When you came in, I put it together that you were his date and so I intervened before he could see you,” she finished softly.  “Oh,” Tony said softly. He wasn’t looking at her at all now, focusing intently on the coffee menu over Nat’s shoulder. There was a red tinge to his cheeks, and Natasha saw his jaw working as he clenched his teeth before chewing on the skin around his thumb. “Okay,” he said, and she could hear the hitch in his voice. He offered a weak smile, still not looking at her. “I guess I should have known. Cute guy wanting to go out with me? Probably should have been suspicious when he hadn’t even met me yet.”  “Tony...” He met her eyes for a minute, his own shimmering slightly. “Anyway, I should go,” he mumbled, moving to collect his wallet.  “No, you don’t have to,” Natasha told him quickly, curling her hand over his wrist again. “Or well, we should probably leave before he comes over, but... you don’t have to go. We can hang out somewhere else.”  Tony yanked his hand away from her. “Thanks for looking out for me, or whatever,  but I don’t need your pity date,” he told her, and it sounded harsh but she could still hear the hurt in his voice.  Natasha arched an eyebrow at him, leaning back and folding her arms across her chest. “Do I look like a woman who does pity?” she asked dryly, and Tony stopped at that because, well... No, she didn’t. “Yes, okay, I wanted to rescue you from the worst first date ever. But I wouldn’t have stayed if i didn’t genuinely enjoy talking to you, Tony. You’re hilarious, and brilliant, and adorable to boot. And believe me, if I wasn’t a fully committed lesbian, I’d probably be trying to lure you to my bed as I speak.”  Tony snorted despite himself at that. “Lesbian, huh?” he asked, finally meeting her eyes again.  “Yup,” Natasha drawled. “But don’t worry, it’s not you, it’s me.”  Tony rolled his eyes at that, a hint of a smile curling across his face.  “Look, it’s about time I head home anyway, before someone burns down the house. Why don’t you come home with me? You can meet all my friends... They’re gonna love you, I know it.”  “Home with you?” Tony repeated. He arched an eyebrow. “That sounds... unsavory. Thought you were supposed to be a lesbian.”  He was tempted though, Nat could see it, and she grinned. “I am. But don’t worry, if you wanna be unsavored, I’ve got a brother, and you’re just his type.” Tony giggled at that, and Nat grinned back at him, easy and bright.  “Come on, Tony. I’m sorry about Ty, but he’s an absolute asshole, and you’re much better off without him. Come meet some real friends.”  He scrubbed at the back of his neck. “Yeah, alright,” he agreed, giving her a soft smile. “Why not? I’d like to meet your friends.”  Natasha’s smile grew. “Outstanding,” she declared. “Do you want to grab a coffee to - oh, for fuck’s sake.”  “What?” Tony asked. “What’s-?” He cut himself off as two men approached the table, and the look on Nat’s face made it pretty obvious who they were.  “Tony?” Ty demanded.  “Uh, yeah?”  Ty looked back and forth between Tony and Natasha, his eyes narrowing. “It’s me. Ty.”  Tony caught Natasha’s eye and then blinked up at Ty blankly. “Ty who?”  Ty looked like he was seething now. “Ty Stone.” He gave Natasha a dirty look. “Your date.”  Tony just gave him a bland smile. “Sorry, never heard of you,” he said, before turning back to Natasha.  “What do you mean, you’ve never heard of me? Our fathers worked together! Obadiah Stane set up this date.”  There was a heavy sigh from Tony, who didn’t bother looking back up at Ty. “Darling,” he said to Natasha, and oh boy he was laying it on thick but Ty didn’t seem to have noticed. “Shall we go?”  Natasha beamed back at him, taking the hand he held out to her and letting him help her to her feet. “Of course,” she agreed, moving around the table. “Excuse me,” she added, when Ty blocked her path.  “Where do you think you’re going?” Ty asked. “There’s clearly been some kind of misunderstanding”  “No misunderstanding,” Tony told him. “Obviously you’ve made some kind of mistake.” He made a show of looking Ty up and down. “But I’m definitely not here to see you,” he added, and Nat could have applauded.  Ty looked like he wasn’t giving up though, and so there was nothing else for Natasha to do except to pretend to trip against him and gracefully slam her fist into his stomach.  “Darling,” she said to Tony, letting him take her arm and lead her out the door while Ty was still trying to recover his breath.  They made it around the corner before Tony burst out laughing, almost doubling up with the force of it. “Okay, that was kind of fun,” he admitted, and Nat grinned back at him. “What was that you were saying about having no social skills?” she teased. “You can bullshit with the best of them, so you’re already halfway there. And that means you’re going to fit in with us wonderfully. Now come on, before he decides to follow us.”  Tony hesitated a minute. “You don’t, I mean... this more than made up for the shitty first date I would have had. You don’t actually have to make all your friends meet me. I’m kind of a lot for most people.”  Natasha just rolled her eyes, grabbing his wrist in a surprisingly strong grip and pulling him down the street behind her. “You haven’t met ‘a lot’ until you’ve met these assholes,” she told him. “They’re going to love you, I promise. Besides,” she added over her shoulder. “I wasn’t kidding about my brother. James would never forgive me if I told him about you and didn’t bring you home for him to meet.”  Tony flushed pink at that, but didn’t argue further. It started to rain when they were almost there, a sudden surprise downpour, and they ran the last block to Nat’s house. Tony was laughing, apparently not bothered, which was good because they weren’t fast enough to avoid getting completely soaked.  “Hey, assholes!” Natasha hollered loudly as they passed through the front door, making a face as she peeled off her drenched jacket. “I’m home! And I brought a friend!”  Tony grinned to himself at that, flushing a little when he caught Nat’s eye. “Um. I’m kind of dripping on your floor,” he pointed out, holding his leather jacket open to reveal his now-transparent white t-shirt. Natasha just shrugged.  “They’ve seen worse,” she promised him. “But we’ll find you something dry to wear. Hello? Anybody home?” “Jesus Tasha,” as masculine voice answered. “You get lost on your way to the kitchen? What the hell are you screaming… for...”  Tony had been distracted by his t-shirt, pulling it away with his chest with a wet squelching sound, and looked up as the voice trailed off. He blinked at the man coming out of a room a few feet down the hall, all sharp blue eyes and broad chest and thighs. He was quite possibly the hottest person Tony had ever seen, and Tony gave him a tentative wave and a smile. “Hi,” he offered.  “Hey,” the newcomer replied, still staring at Tony before he promptly walked into a wall.  “Oh shit!” Tony cried, instinctively moving toward him while Natasha snorted with laughter. “Are you alright?”  “Yeah, yeah.” The stranger waved him off gruffly. “I’m fine.”  “Tony,” Natasha interrupted, giggling from the stairs. “This is my brother, James.”  “Oh,” Tony said, and then clued in to what she had said and his eyes widened. “ Oh !” He rubbed at the back of his neck, shy and adorable. “Um, hi James. I’m Tony.”  He offered his hand out tentatively, and James took it with a quirk to his lips, and a grip that made Tony a little weak in the knees.  “Bucky,” he told him. “Everyone calls me Bucky, it’s just Tasha who refuses to.”  “Because it’s a stupid nickname,” Natasha replied easily. It sounded like an argument they’d had a million times over, and Tony grinned as he listened to their easy banter, missing Rhodey like crazy for a minute.  Before he could get too bummed out, there were footsteps clomping down the stairs, and a blond man with ridiculously large arms (seriously, Tony was going to start getting a complex if he stayed here too long) slid past Natasha. He arched an eyebrow at Tony.  “Oh hey!” he said, his voice just a little too loud. “Another puppy!”  Without waiting for a response, he headed down the hall to the kitchen while Tony blinked at him. “I”m not a puppy,” he protested, getting a laugh from Bucky. The newcomer ignored him, and Tony frowned a little, because that seemed unnecessarily rude.  “Ignore him,” Bucky told him warmly. “He’s deaf. He’s…” He grabbed a tennis ball off the side table and launched it down the hall, hitting Blondie square in the back.  “Ow!” he hollered, turning to stare at them. "What the fuck?”  “Hey asshole!” Bucky retorted, enunciating a little more clearly so he could read his lips. “Where are your hearing aids?”  Blondie made a face. “They broke again. Cheap Hammertech.”  Tony looked horrified. “HammerTech? No wonder they're broken.” Bucky snorted at that, and Tony gave him a quick smile before following his lead and turning back to the other man so he could read his lips. “Let me see them? I bet I can make them better.”  “What?” He looked at Tony like he was nuts. “I’m not giving you my aids to play with, no way. You’ll break them, and they’re my only pair.”  He moved off down the hall toward the kitchen, leaving Tony spluttering after him. “I wouldn’t break them!” he protested. “And they’re already broken!!”  “Ignore him,” a new voice said, repeating Bucky’s instructions. “Clint’s just pissed I beat him at MarioKart.”  Tony turned to face the newcomer who smiled at him warmly, and actually moved to shake Tony’s hand. “I’m Sam, nice to meet you.”  “Tony,” he answered, beaming wide. Sam grinned back, and then looked over at Natasha.  “New puppy, huh?” he asked.  Tony stared at him and, although he probably wasn’t aware of it, actually pouted, folding his arms across his chest. “I’m not a puppy!” He glared at Natasha. “I thought you said your friends were nice.”  “I said they’d like you, not that they were nice,” Natasha offered with a smirk.  “Don’t take it personal,” Sam assured him, patting him on the shoulder.  “Tasha’s always bringing home strays,” Clint added from the kitchen doorway, his hearing aids apparently working again. “Starting with Bucky and including all of us.” He frowned then, poking at his left ear. “Aww, hearing aids,” he whined, pulling them out again.  “Okay, seriously.” Tony set off down the hall after him, apparently over his shyness in the face of potential engineering. “Give them to me. I can fix them, I promise.”  Natasha, Bucky, and Sam all watched him go. “Where’d you find him?” Sam asked when they’d disappeared, grinning as they heard the echoes of Tony trying to convince Clint to let him fix his hearing aids.  “At the coffee shop,” Natasha offered primly. “What?” she added, at the look Sam and Bucky shared. “I can’t make friends?” She rolled her eyes at them. “He was heading into the worst date ever, so I rescued him. Don’t look at me like that.”  They all looked down the hall as they heard Tony’s voice raise again, Clint’s following suit, and Bucky grinned. “I like him,” he declared, before narrowing his eyes at the smirk on Natasha’s face.  “Yeah,” she said dryly. “Thought you might.” She and Sam waggled their eyebrows at him ridiculously, and Bucky huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.  “And I hate you. Both of you,” he informed them, stomping off down the hall.  Sam snorted as he watched him go, glancing over at Nat. “You are a menace.”  “I do my best,” she told him with a wink, dashing up the stairs to change into some dry clothes. When she returned to the kitchen, it was to find that Tony had, in fact talked Clint into letting him tinker with the hearing aids in question. He was sitting at their rickety kitchen table poking at them with a screwdriver that he'd apparently pulled from his pocket. Tony was completely focused on the machinery in his hands, tongue poking out between his teeth as he concentrated while Clint sat across from him, staring with a critical eye. Sam was watching the whole scene with amusement, and Bucky had pulled some bread from the fridge and was making toast, pretending not to be sneaking little glances at Tony every three seconds. “Hey, Tony,” she said, snapping him out of his stupor. “You must be frozen, huh?”  “Oh.” Tony glanced down at his arms and blinked, apparently just now noticing the goosebumps on his arms. “Uh, yeah. I guess.”  Natasha beamed and moved over to Bucky, bumping her hip against his and raising her eyebrows. “Hey James, why don’t you lend Tony some clothes, hmm? Then we can pop his clothes in the dryer. Don’t want him catching cold.”  Bucky’s eyes widened and he glanced over at Tony, since Natasha wasn’t even trying to be subtle, but the other man had already delved back into working on the hearing aids. “I hate you,” he muttered, abandoning his toast and stomping off to get Tony some clothes. Natasha caught Sam’s eye over the table and shared a grin with him. He returned just as Tony was sliding the hearing aids back across the table to Clint, looking all pleased and fidgeting in expectation. “Go on. Try them!” Still looking suspicious, Clint positioned them in his ears. “Okay, what’s the big--” He cut himself off at the sound of his own voice. “Holy shit. What the…” He pointed wildly at Sam, across the room. “Say something!”  Sam raised his hands helplessly. “What do you want me to say?”  “Holy shit!” Clint said again. He stared at Tony incredulously. “How did you… These aren’t just fixed, they’re like ten times better than they were.”  Tony beamed, looking absolutely delighted. “It’s just kind of… What I do.” Then he yelped as Clint hauled him out of his seat, physically lifting him off the ground and wrapping him in a back-cracking bear hug.  “Thank you,” he told him sincerely, and Tony flushed as he planted a kiss square on his cheek. Then he was depositing him on the ground and heading off down the hall.  “Hey,” Bucky yelped as Clint practically shoved him into the shower in his haste. “Where the hell are you going?”  “Outside!” Clint hollered back over his shoulder. “Gonna go listen to some birds!” Bucky shook his head. “Weirdo,” he muttered affectionately, catching Tony’s eye and getting a grin out of him.  “Cute and useful,” Sam teased, “We should keep him, huh Buck? Wanna do our microwave next? Hasn’t been the same since Bucky and Clint got drunk and tried to make s’mores in it.”  “Jesus,” Bucky muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Okay, I don’t think Tony is here to fix our shit.”  “Aww,” Natasha teased, voice dry. “Look at you, coming to his rescue.”  “I don’t mind,” Tony added, looking back and forth between them with eyes that were just a little too sharp. “Seriously, I love this shit. And it’s a microwave, it’s not like it’s hard.”  Bucky stared at him, a little awed; he’d always been a sucker for intelligent men. “Still,” he muttered. Shifting when he realized he was still staring, Bucky held out the t-shirt and sweatpants he’d wrangled. “Here,” he offered. “If you wanna change.”  Tony’s lips twitched, as he took the clothes in question, giving Bucky a quick once over. “I don’t know how well they’re going to fit, but thanks.” When Tony had disappeared down the hall to the bathroom to change, Bucky whirled on Nat and Sam. “Stop,” he hissed, cautious of his voice carrying. “You two are about as subtle as a freight train. You’re gonna freak him out.”  Nat and Sam shared another look, and gave him identical grins, which was just creepy.  “No idea what you’re talking about,” Natasha told him sweetly, sliding past him to the sink. “Coffee, anyone?”  “I mean it, Tasha! Stop trying to meddle in my love life.”  “Oh ho ho.” This was Sam, arms folded across his chest as he waggled his eyebrows at Bucky. “So you admit there is some romance happening here.” “I didn’t say that!” Bucky insisted. “Also, stop doing that with your eyebrows, you look fucking stupid.” Sam didn’t stop, and Bucky groaned, slumping down in a chair at the table. “I’m moving out.”  “Why would you want to move out?” Tony asked suddenly from behind him. “This place is awesome.”  Bucky turned around to say… something, but his brain shorted out at the sight of Tony in his clothes. They were a little loose on him but fit better than expected, and he looked adorable as shit, especially with one wayward curl ignoring all his attempts to brush it out of his eye.  “Ignore him,” Sam told him, smirking at Bucky knowingly. “He threatens to move out every other day, and yet we’re still stuck with him, so I wouldn’t take him seriously.” He kicked out the chair opposite to Bucky. “Now come sit down, have some coffee, tell us about yourself. What’s your favourite colour, favourite food… favourite movie?”  Tony looked amused as he settled into the offered seat, grinning wide when Natasha slid a fresh mug of coffee across the table to him. “Uhh. Red, cheeseburgers, and.. Right now, probably Repo Man?”  “No shit,” Sam drawled, sharing another look with Nat when Tony closed his eyes in delight at the first sip of his coffee. “That’s Buck’s favourite movie too. Won’t shut up about it. Watches it every week.” “I…” Bucky sent him a murderous glare. “I don’t watch it every week,” he protested in a mutter. “It’s just…” “Ridiculous, right?” Tony offered, “But also like you can’t look away from it?”  Bucky grinned at him. “You know, Fox Harris couldn’t drive a car, and the first day of filming he drove into a bridge?”  Tony’s eyes lit up at this factoid, and then they were sharing weird facts about the movie, and then sci fi movies in general. Neither of them noticed Sam and Nat slipping out of the room, Sam setting some strategic lighting on his way out. The longer they talked the more Tony seemed to loosen up, alternating between leaning back in his chair and then shifting forward again, unconsciously moving into Bucky’s space. He was a mouthy little shit too, once he got going, dry and sarcastic, and pointing triumphantly to accentuate his point. His whole face lit up when he got started on something, and Bucky kind of couldn’t stop staring at him.  Their coffee was almost gone before Bucky looked up, frowning when he took in the empty kitchen. “Where did Sam and Nat go?”  Tony blinked, following his gaze, and then they met each other’s eyes, coming to a realization at the same time.  “Is this…” Tony ducked his head a little, momentarily slipping back into shyness and giving Bucky a soft little smile. Bucky’s heart skipped a beat. “Did they set us up on a coffee date?” Bucky glanced down at the almost empty mug. “Guess so,” he admitted. “I’m gonna kill them,” he added without any real heat, grinning ruefully. Tony shrugged. “I don’t know,” he told. He drew in a deep breath, cheeks flushing a little. “As first dates go, it wasn’t so bad. Beat my last one, definitely.”  “Yeah?” Bucky caught his eye, watched the way Tony swallowed at the heated look he was giving him. Bucky couldn’t stop himself from leaning, curling his hands around Tony’s neck. Tony blinked up at him, eyes wide, and Bucky closed the distance between them, kissing him gently.  For all his shyness, Tony was a good kisser and though it stayed relatively chaste, there was a soft brush of Tony’s tongue against his lips that sent little shivers of heat up Bucky’s spine. He pulled back, stroking his thumb over the thrum of Tony’s pulse in his neck, and Tony grinned back at him, open and wide and happy.  “Then how would you feel about getting out of here and having a real date, where those assholes can’t spy on us?” Tony laughed at that, eyes sparking in delight. “Can we make out a little more?”  “Absolutely. Whatever you want, sweetheart.”  “Then what the hell are we waiting for?”

Auntie insisted on driving them to UA the next morning, and for once Katsuki was grateful for her overprotective nature. It would have been damn annoying to navigate the station on crutches, and the fact that both of them had the same leg broken was bound to have attracted stares. Last time they had been lucky because it had been so late that not many people had been on the trains, but this morning would have been during rush hour. Of course, it still took forever to clamber out of the car and say goodbye to Auntie, but she’d let them off early enough that they didn’t run into anyone on campus, at least. Thank fuck Granny was there, though, when they barged into her office. “Oi! Granny! We need these damn casts removed!” Katsuki hopped over to the nearest patient bed, then turned around to pull himself up onto it. “Umm… please, that is. If you have a moment.” Deku offered the woman a sheepish grin, but she just grumbled under her breath. “Go on, go on, Midoriya-kun. Up you go, too. I was expecting you both this morning, and it’s good that you got here early as this will take a few minutes.” Granny apparently had to saw the fucking casts off, but the rush of cool air that hit both of their legs was definitely worth the ten minutes or so of annoying as hell buzzing. Then Granny bent over and kissed Deku’s leg—Katsuki gasped, clutching at his own leg. He stared at it. At the same time as Recovery Girl had kissed Deku’s leg, his had… all the bones in his own leg had healed, the pain slowly fading away. Deku leaned over and poked Katsuki’s leg before he could swat the nerd’s hand away, but there was no pain. It hadn’t even felt tender. “Well.” Granny sighed and hobbled over to her clipboard, making a note on their file. “That answers that question, I suppose. Though I was reasonably sure that it would be the case.” If one of them got hurt, the other one would too, but if the original wound was healed, the other one would be, too? But what if she’d healed Katsuki’s leg first? Would it have halved Deku’s pain? Maybe they should try that next time and see what happened. As Deku thanked the woman, Katsuki hopped off the bed, testing his newly healed leg. Walking normally after four days on the damn crutches felt weird, but it was good to be back to normal. He turned toward his soulmate, “You ready to go, nerd?” “Yup!” Deku’s grin was bright as he jumped down, then stomped his right leg against the ground a few times before looking back at Katsuki. “Let’s go!” Granny sighed. “Well, it’s good to see you two full of energy again. Before you leave, Toshinori-kun wanted me to tell you that he needs to talk to the two of you over lunch today, so wait for him in your classroom.” “Alright!” Deku nodded a couple times, and Katsuki waved his hand in acknowledgement as he slipped out the door. It would be nice to figure out what All Might wanted to discuss about the internships. Deku was probably sad about not being able to eat with his dumbass friends, but it was probably for the best. Katsuki sighed, leaning against the wall and waiting on Deku as the nerd once again thanked the woman profusely. It was still damn weird to be able to see two different rooms at once, so he was grateful when Deku joined him and their vision stabilized into one picture as they both walked down the hallway. “It’s good to be back, huh, Kacchan?” Katsuki grunted, still looking straight ahead as Deku’s hand found his. Then his eye twitched as Deku began to hum and fucking swing their arms. Katsuki jerked his hand away, turning to glare at his soulmate. “What the hell?” “Sorry! I’ve just….” Deku rocked back and forth on his feet a few times, “I’ve got so much energy! I’ve been stuck in my bed since the festival, but it’s just been making me so antsy!” Deku pouted, then tilted his head as he added, “Haven’t you had the same problem? I mean, you’ve been able to move around more, but still.” Katsuki blinked. He definitely felt more energetic than most mornings…. like he’d just had one of Auntie’s hot chocolate monstrosities. Whatever. It was annoying, but he could deal with it. Was this all thanks to the sealing the bond and not having that strain on their bodies? But they also hadn’t been able to go running or anything for a while… “Tch.” Katsuki ran a hand through his hair, annoyed. “Try to hold it in until the afternoon, at least, alright? And no swinging my arm or any shit like that.” “Ok!” And then the nerd was bouncing down the hallway, skipping every few steps. Katsuki groaned. It was like Deku was on a huge sugar rush or some shit like that. Whatever. Katsuki trudged after his soulmate. As long as Deku could restrain himself from acting like a hyper puppy until the afternoon, Aizawa-sensei would probably run them both ragged as they worked on adjusting to this shit. At least Katsuki’s brain wasn’t getting dizzy or shit despite Deku’s speed. That was a good sign. When they reached the classroom, Katsuki wasn’t surprised to see that they were the first ones there. He closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, letting Deku do the seeing for both of them as the nerd looked around everywhere, his fingers drumming nervously on the desk. And then the extras started to arrive. Deku greeted all of them, but Katsuki stayed silent, enjoying the last few minutes before he would have to open his eyes and they’d have two sets of visual information once again. He even tried his best to ignore Deku’s annoying as hell conversation about internships with Brain Fucker, Round Face, Frog Girl, and even fucking Half and Half for a few minutes, but it was damn difficult without music or any shit like that to distract him. Katsuki needed to get better at this, though. He had to. Plus, he really hadn’t wanted it confirmed that the Bastard was planning on interning with his damn father. Then Pinky and Shitty Hair arrived, and Katsuki’s peace was ruined. He could see them approaching through Deku’s vision, and swatted Pinky’s hand away before she could poke his cheek. “Hell no.” He opened his eyes to glare at her,. Pinky shook her fists up and down, excited. “Woah! How’d you know what I was doing?” “Because you’re fucking loud, obviously.” Shitty Hair laughed from behind her shoulder. “Man, it’s good to see you! We tried to get your address from Aizawa-sensei, but he wouldn’t give it to us.” Huh? What the fuck?! But— Round Face frowned, “That’s odd. He gave us th—” Brain Fucker’s elbow jammed into her side and Round Face’s eyes widened— “Zu-kun’s address.” She was turning away from Deku, now, and facing Shitty Hair, and it was fucking weird to be able to see that happen from two different angles. Annoyed, Katsuki shifted so that his back was to the wall and his vision more closely aligned with the nerd’s. “Aww, man. Maybe if only one or two of us had gone, he would’ve given it to us, then. I asked him with Mina-chan, Kaminari-kun, and Sero-kun, though, and he said we were ‘too loud and rambunctious of a group’ and would ‘detract from his healing and not help him.’” Shitty Hair frowned. “We wanted to come visit you, though, man!” Bakugou honestly didn’t know what to do with this information. Who the fuck was Sero? And Aizawa-sensei hadn’t given their address to anyone that asked? Handing out addresses was a pretty normal thing for teachers to do when a student was sick, after all… but it was also definitely more difficult to act normal around a large group of people like this. Though, knowing that these idiots had actually wanted to come visit him was… weird. That had never happened before. Whatever. Katsuki rolled his eyes. “Your texts were damn annoying as it was.” “So you did get them!” Now Pinky was in his face, and Katsuki shoved her back, annoyed. “Back off, damn it!” “Dude, I figured you’d exploded your phone or something like that. I mean, I short-circuit mine all the time, so—” “Did you finish all the homework, Deku-kun?” “Eh?! You short-circuited your phone?!” Huh? Katsuki blinked. Had that been Pinky or Round Face? Fuck. “You asked him that yesterday.” “Yeah! I charge it a lot with my quirk, so—” He couldn’t keep up. “It was nice of you to visit him, ribbit.” “That’s really cool!” “I did?! Oh. I forgot. It’s so good to have you back in the classroom, the last two days—” Breathe. “So how sick were you guys? We heard it was pretty bad.” “Zu-kun?” “Come on, I don’t think he’d want to talk about—” Fuck! Katsuki couldn’t focus on any shit and there was just too much! When it was just one person he could tune them out but when it was this constant jabber and they would sometimes cross over to each other’s conversations and— “Baku-bro, you ok?” Katsuki took a deep breath. He had to pull himself together. They could do this. Before he could respond, though, Brain Fucker spoke up, “You two must still be recovering. We should give you some space.” Katsuki wanted to strangle him. Damn it. He rubbed at his temples, trying to process everything he’d just heard. Ah, whatever. Who the fuck cared. He opened his eyes (Shit, he didn’t even know when he’d closed them); Shitty Hair and the others were all looking at him and Deku with concern. “We’ll be fucking fine.” “Thanks, guys. Sorry we worried you. There was just… too much going on, for a second.” Deku’s voice was strained. Pinky frowned, waving her arms around frantically. “We were just talking, though! Are you sure you two are doing better?!” “Zu-kun, you looked really pale…” “I’m fine! We’re fine. It’s all good.” Deku was giving them his sheepish laugh, now, and Katsuki just glared at every one of them. Like this was any of their fucking business, and how dare they look down on him and assume he couldn’t handle this shit— “Everyone get in your seats.” Eyes widened and every one of them scrambled toward their seats as Aizawa-sensei strode toward the front podium. Thank fuck. If the teacher’s eyes rested on him and Deku a moment longer than on everyone else as he started class, no one commented on it, and Katsuki wasn’t about to bring it up. They could handle this! Lessons would be easier to deal with than all that conversation shit. Only one person would be talking at a time. In the end, Aizawa-sensei only had a few announcements for their homeroom that day, and soon Midnight was coming in for Hero Art History. And then Mic for English. And then Ectoplasm for math. Just this one last class, and it would be lunch. Deku’s pencil had been tapping like crazy all damn morning, and Katsuki’s own leg was twitching with the need to fucking do something. Anything! Just not stay sitting down in this shitty classroom. The second the bell rang, Deku shot up in his seat, and Katsuki wasn’t far behind him, The class stared at them. Deku squeaked. “Uhh… Bathroom.” The nerd fled, and Katsuki ran after him. Who the fuck cared how weird they looked, he needed to move. Their return to the classroom was at a much slower pace, and Katsuki felt calmer after having moved around a little. Shit, was this going to be a normal thing? He hadn’t let his broken leg stop him from moving around, so he hadn’t noticed before, and he’d thought Deku was just being a whiny brat about the bed-confinement, but… damn it, being stuck in that desk had been terrible. When Katsuki slid the classroom door open, all of their classmates were gone, and All Might was pacing behind the teacher’s desk. The hero beamed at them. “Good! You came back! Your classmates told me you’d both gone to use the restroom, but I was worried you’d forgotten and would go to the cafeteria after that, instead of returning here.” Katsuki rolled his eyes, strolling back towards his desk. “Our lunches are still in here.” “And we wouldn’t forget about a meeting with you, All Might!” “Well, you’ve had a busy few days.” The hero’s voice was nervous for some reason, which was annoying. Trying not to think about whatever that meant, Katsuki grabbed his own bento and Deku’s, then turned back around to see that All Might was now standing by the door. “Perhaps we could eat in one of the teacher’s sitting areas where we can have more privacy?” Katsuki shrugged, but the nerd practically bounced up and down at the idea of seeing some new part of campus. The walk was silent, and Yagi-sensei even looked like he was shaking every now and then, but whenever Katsuki made up his mind to call him on it, the hero would shake his head and offer them a smile. What the hell? Why was All Might so fucking nervous? Even after they arrived at the room, an answer didn’t present itself. All Might just started making himself tea and motioned for them to open up their lunches and begin eating. Finally, clutching his tea in both hands, All Might spoke. “How have you two been doing? Aizawa-kun said you were sick, but I got the feeling that there was more to it, he just didn’t want to be the one to tell me.” Katsuki stared at the hero incredulously. That question was not what had been making the man nervous. Damn number one hero was a coward, sometimes. “Oh!” Deku lit up, though, taking the bait because the nerd was happy to have any conversation with All Might. “Kacchan and I sealed the bond!” Katsuki set aside his bewilderment about All Might and snickered as the nerd then turned bright red, suddenly realizing that telling people they’d ‘sealed the bond’ also meant telling people they’d kissed. “Congratulations!” All Might let out a wheezing laugh. “That’s wonderful news. I must admit, I was hoping that was what had happened. Are you happy with the abilities you’ve gained?” Katsuki frowned ad Deku nodded enthusiastically. “They’re fucking weird, but we’ll get the hang of it.” The nerd bounced up and down in his chair. “Kacchan, can we tell him? Do you mind?” Katsuki rolled his eyes and shrugged. “Whatever.” It was All Might; they could trust him. “So anything that affects one of us physically will affect the other person, but halved. It’s really cool! I mean, it’s also hard to deal with because it’s really overwhelming handling two sets of input from seeing and hearing things and such, but it’ll be really helpful on hero missions! The halved injuries bit is, um, really annoying, but we’ll figure something out! And we need to adjust our tag-team fighting style now that we know all of this and—” “That’s wonderful, Midoriya-kun. It sounds like you have a lot to work through.” The hero scratched at his cheek, “And it’s probably for the best that you will be training with Aizawa-kun for the next few days instead of in my class.” “Ummm…” Deku bit his lip, looking cautiously between Katsuki and All Might. “Speaking of Aizawa-sensei. I… um, haven’t even mentioned this to Kacchan, yet, but…” huh? What the hell?! They’d had plenty of time the past few days to talk about any shit Deku’d wanted. The nerd yelped at Katsuki’s glare and his hands started waving around frantically. “I just needed to think through it myself, first! Promise! I wasn’t trying to keep it a secret!” “Whatever, Deku.” The nerd always thought way too much about shit. “Just spit it out.” His soulmate laughed nervously, then turned back to All Might. “I want to tell Aizawa-sensei about One for All.” Katsuki stared at Deku. It… it made sense, and Aizawa-sensei could definitely keep a secret, but… Damn, that was a big decision. “I see.” All Might looked grave. “When I gave you this quirk, I told you that it had to be kept secret, for many reasons. You said you understood that. Why…well, before I agree or disagree with you, why do you want to tell Aizawa-kun?” “Because of our bond! He’s supposed to help Kacchan and me with our bond and our bond affects our quirks, so how can he help us if we can’t tell him everything about our quirks? What if leaving something out when we talk with him means we mess something up with our bond, just because we don’t understand my quirk well enough?! I can’t… I can’t risk that! And at the sports festival something really weird happened and if that affects our bond somehow, then—” “What do you mean, something weird happened?” All Might’s hands tightened around his cup. “What happened?” “Huh?” Deku blinked, his mind back-tracking over what he’d just said. “Oh! I haven’t told you yet! I saw the previous holders of One for All! At least, I assume that’s who they were? There were eight shadowy figures with glowing eyes and one of them had eyes like you and they um, they took control of my body for a second? That’s how I broke out of Toshi-kun’s quirk! He was controlling my mind, but not theirs!” All Might was staring at Deku, the hero’s hands rubbing at both of his arms as the cup sat on the table, forgotten. “That’s scary. Really scary.” “Eh?” Deku scratched at his cheek. “You… you never had something like that happen to you?” The hero frowned, then nodded slowly. “Once. A long time ago, when I was first learning to use the quirk. I think… it must be a sign that the quirk is becoming more of your own.” “That’s… um, that’s good, I guess… but, well, I’m worried. If the previous holders can control my body, and the bond connects my body to Kacchan’s, then…” Fuck. Katsuki swallowed a mouthful of rice. “Then if that shit happens again, my body will also be controlled, at least a little.” That would be really damn annoying. Alright, Katsuki definitely wanted to tell Aizawa-sensei. “Exactly! So… I just, I really think we need to get Aizawa-sensei’s opinion on how One for All’s uniqueness could interact with our bond.” All Might sighed. “I don’t think the previous holders are likely to take control your body unless something happens to prevent you from controlling it, yourself, but… well, I see your point. I know more about soul bonds than many people, but most of what I know would be what you should avoiddoing…” All Might rubbed at his temples, then looked up and nodded. “Very well. Aizawa-kun is trustworthy, and I understand why his insight would be valuable for you two. And in the end, you are the current holder of One for All, Midoriya-kun, and it is your decision to make, not mine, though I appreciate you approaching me about it, first. Would you like me to be there when you tell him?” “That would probably help.” Deku was looking down at his lap, twiddling his thumbs together. “It’s kind of hard to believe unless there’s proof.” Katsuki snorted. “That’s the truth.” “Very well. It would probably be best if you could tell him before you start working with your abilities this afternoon, so…” All Might looked over at the clock on the wall. “Well, I can at least be present for the first bit if I go fetch him now. But first!” The hero swallowed nervously. “I… well, did Young Togata and Young Amajiki deliver my message?” Katsuki nodded. “They said there was someone on our internship list you wanted to talk to us about.” Deku had spent hours looking over the list, too, and hadn’t been able to figure out which hero it might be. Whoever this was, their connection with All Might wasn’t well known. “Right.” All Might nodded. “So… I… ummm—” The hero’s hand shook as he tried to pour himself more tea and instead he spilt it all over the table. “What the hell?” Katsuki reached forward, snatching the kettle. “I’ll pour it, old man. Get your shit together.” All Might laughed nervously, now rubbing at the back of his neck. “Thank you, Young Bakugou.” As Katsuki poured the cup, Deku leaned forward, “What are you so nervous about, All Might?” “Well…” The hero sighed. “Have you two looked at your internship offers?” “Yeah.” Katsuki held out the cup, and Deku went and got a towel from the sink to clean up the hero’s damn mess. When he sat back down, All Might continued. “There’s one name on both of your lists…. I ca-called him and he-he s-said he would be, um, willing to take you; if you want, that is, I know you, well, you both received many offers, it’s just… uh…” All Might paused, taking a deep breath. “It’s like this. He’s my old sensei. He was best friends with the previous holder of One for All and after she died, well, he took on training me and he’s familiar with One for All and an excellent teacher. I think you could both learn a lot from him.” “Your teacher?! What’s his name?!” Deku was practically buzzing beside Katsuki in excitement, but he himself wasn’t so sure. Hell, this geezer must be ridiculously old. But if he had been All Might’s teacher…. They should at least consider the man. “Gran Torino. He didn’t rank high in the charts because that was never really his goal, but he is an excellent hero.” Katsuki frowned. Those two things were fucking contradictory, and even Deku didn’t seem to recognize this bastard’s name. So what if he was friend’s with All Might’s predecessor? If he wasn’t a good hero, they should learn from someone else. Katsuki’s eyes narrowed. He needed more if he was going to convince Deku not to go with Half and Half. “Why should we go with him when we have offers from Endeavor?” Plus, Katsuki may not like Endeavor, but he wanted to learn from the best. If All Might wanted them to go with this old guy, he needed to explain more. “Ah…” All Might’s hand was shaking again. “Because you have too many secrets. Gran Torino already knows about One for All, and he knows Young Midoriya is the next holder. I… well, I wrote to him that I’d found a successor and he put two and two together.” “Damn it. So someone else knows about Deku?!” “I’m sure it’s fine, Kacchan! He’s All Might’s teacher, after all.” “Tch.” Katsuki glared at the hero. He couldn’t claim it was Deku’s secret one second, then reveal that he’d already told someone about Deku the next. That was a shitty move. “I apologize, but I promise, he is trustworthy. Whether you tell him about your bond is up to you, but… Well, while Endeavor is powerful, I know nothing of the man himself, what kind of teacher he would be, or whether you would feel comfortable revealing your secrets. I would like to think that the number two hero is trustworthy, but just because someone is a hero does not mean that you can trust them.” “I don’t think we can trust him.” Deku’s voice was small as he stared at his hands. All Might blinked. “Oh?” “It’s… well… Todoroki-kun isn’t happy at home. I don’t… I don’t know if it’s my place to say anything, but… if you find a chance to talk to him about Endeavor, would you? It’s really important, All Might.” “I… of course.” The hero frowned. “Though if he won’t open up to us, I may come back to you to see if there’s some way we could discreetly help him, if something is as wrong as you seem to think.” Deku nodded nervously, shoveling food into his mouth to keep himself from saying more. Katsuki sighed. Like hell they’d trust that damn abuser with their secrets. But Deku really didn’t want to leave Half and Half alone with his damn father. Damn it. Katsuki could see the advantage of training with someone who they could tell about all their shit, but he doubted Deku would agree with that route. “Well.” All Might stood up and stretched. “Finish your lunches and think about what I’ve said. Ultimately, it’s your decision. I should go and fetch Aizawa-kun now or I won’t have any time to stay and talk with him before the next classes start.” “Ri-right!” Katsuki chewed his food slowly, for once thankful about Auntie’s tendency to give them the same lunch, as it meant the different flavors in their mouths wouldn’t clash, but… Katsuki frowned. Deku was still staring at his bento, refusing to meet Katsuki’s eyes. Damn it. Why was the nerd so wound up about this internship shit and Half and Half? Or was he nervous about Aizawa-sensei’s reaction? Katsuki would just have to fix the nerd’s distracted state. And there was one thing in Katsuki’s bento that was never in Deku’s… Auntie probably hadn’t even thought about their abilities when she’d added it this morning like she always did. Katsuki picked up the spicy konnyaku, then put it directly on his tongue. “Gah!!” Deku’s head shot up and he frantically scrambled for his water. Katsuki rolled the vegetable around his mouth, making sure to get the spicy flavor everywhere. Finally, he swallowed. Deku whimpered. “Kaaachaaan, no more. Please.” He snorted. “Tell me what’s got you so damn nervous, then.” “Huh?” Deku gave him a startled look. “Oh. Um…” As his soulmate’s voice trailed off again, Katsuki picked up another konnyaku. The nerd waved his arms around frantically. “I’ll tell you! I will! Just give me a second!” The nerd bit his lip, then shrugged and took a deep breath before speaking again. “You… um… you heard Todoroki-kun this morning, right?” “Yeah.” The Bastard was being a damn idiot and interning with Endeavor. Though Katsuki supposed he could respect the dumbass’ determination to work with someone strong. “I really don’t think he should be alone. But then there’s also Iida-kun—” The door opened, revealing All Might and a slightly annoyed Aizawa-sensei. Deku jumped and shut his mouth with a click. Fuck. They’d have to finish this shit another time. Aizawa-sensei blinked when he saw the two of them sitting there. “Why am I not surprised you two are involved.” He let out a long sigh. “I wasn’t supposed to deal with you problem children for another fifteen minutes.” Deku laughed nervously while All Might rushed to apologize about intruding on the man’s damn nap. Katsuki rolled his eyes at the two nervous idiots. “Remember at the sports festival when I said Deku was working on some shit with All Might that was secret, and you said fine, but you wanted to know if it affected the damn bond?” Aizawa-sensei nodded, slinking across the room to take a seat across from them. “I assume my presence means that it affects the bond, then.” Deku nodded. “We… well, we think so. We’re not really sure, but… well, better safe than sorry, I guess.” Deku shrugged, and All Might hurried to sit down across from Katsuki. “I think perhaps I should explain first, Aizawa-kun.” Hah. That was the fucking truth. It would be a lot more believable coming from the damn number one hero than from the shitty nerd. Katsuki watched Aizawa-sensei’s face carefully while All Might talked, but the hero gave away nothing about what he thought about all this shit. Finally, when All Might finished, Aizawa-sensei spoke. “So you have a stockpile enhancer quirk that can be passed down, despite the fact that such a thing is supposed to be impossible. Since you can’t do hero work any more, you gave this quirk to Midoriya before he got to UA, meaning that though he was quirkless, he now has an incredibly strong quirk. One that is too strong for his body, and seems to have agency and a mind of its own. And now that agency may affect their bond.” “That’s about it, yes.” All Might nodded nervously. Aizawa-sensei leaned back, rubbing at his eyes with a groan. “And there’s no way to test the quirk’s agency in a controlled environment to see how it affects Bakugou?” “Not that I know of, no. I only saw them the one time.” “Umm…” Deku scratched at his cheek. “We could ask Toshi-kun to use his quirk on me again? The figures might show up again when I try to fight him for control—I never really did that all the times we were training together.” Deku shrugged. “And even if they don’t appear, Toshi-kun’s quirk would give Kacchan some practice with resisting someone who’s controlling my body.” Aizawa-sensei let out a long sigh, then nodded as the bell for the end of lunch rang overhead. “Fine. But I don’t want him to know any of this; it’s too big of a secret. We’ll act like everything is just related to your bond, alright?” “Ok!” Deku nodded eagerly. “That sounds great, actually!” All Might stood up, his hands dusting off his pants and fidgeting. “Well, I need to be going. Aizawa-kun, you should know that Recovery Girl, Nezu, Detective Tsukauchi, Sir Nighteye, and Gran Torino know about my quirk, but they are the only ones. I’d like to keep it that way.” “Of course.” The hero gave them all a stiff wave, then walked toward the door, transforming into All Might right before he stepped outside. Tired eyes evaluated them both for a second, and then Aizawa-sensei stood as well. “Put your bentos up, change into your gym uniforms, and meet me at gym delta.” “Yes, sensei!” The two of them hurried from the room, eager to start practicing with their abilities. When they reached gym delta, Aizawa-sensei was already there, tossing up and down a small metal ball. Katsuki’s eyes narrowed. He knew that ball. It was the same one from the first day of school. “Good. You’re here.” The hero caught the ball, shoving it into his pocket as he turned to face them. “You were both overwhelmed when I came in this morning. Why.” Damn it. Katsuki had hoped the man hadn’t noticed. “It was the first time we’d been around so many people.” Deku frowned, rocking back on his heels. “Absorbing that much information was really difficult, and everyone was talking so quickly we both couldn’t keep up. But we did better the rest of the day! Kacchan using a different notebook really helped and—” “Why did he need a different notebook?” The hero was rubbing at his eyes, now. “If we look at something that’s too similar our brains get, um… confused? Like they’re not sure whether or not to overlap the images. I think it’s getting a little better, but—” “And that’s why some of your homework was done on notebook paper and not the assignments themselves?” “Yeah.” Aizawa-sensei sighed. “Well, as long as you’ve found a solution. Keep me updated on whether that side-effect keeps improving or stagnates. If you’re stuck with that as a weakness, we’ll need to think about ways around it in a fight. Have you had any other problems today?” They both shook their heads, and Aizawa-sensei evaluated them for a couple more seconds, then brought out the ball from earlier and tossed it to Katsuki. The hero waved toward the city, “Throw that, same as on the first day of school. First and foremost, we need to establish a new baseline for you two.” Katsuki shrugged, glad the interrogation about the day was over. Aizawa-sensei moved over next to Deku as Katsuki walked up to the line drawn in the sand and rolled his shoulder a few times to loosen up his muscles. He pulled his arm back and let loose with a huge explosion, letting loose a loud yell as he sent the ball skyrocketing. At the same time, though, an explosion went off behind him, and Deku’s feet left the ground. Katsuki whirled around, “What the fuck?!” He held his hands at his sides, ready to blast forward and catch his airborne soulmate— “Don’t use your quirk any more!” Aizawa-sensei’s voice stopped Katsuki in his tracks as the hero jumped up, his capture weapon already grabbing Deku and pulling him down into the teacher’s arms. Aizawa-sensei set Deku on the ground, and the nerd stared at his right hand in shock. “What… how…my hand… Kacchan’s quirk…” “Fuck.” “Well, that answers one of my questions.” The hero sighed. “It’s not the end of the world, though. Most of the things that affect your bodies are caused externally, and I don’t think you can do anything about sharing those effects. Quirks, though… those are something you yourselves control, so my theory is that you might be able to turn each other’s quirks on and off, just as you can do with your own.” Katsuki frowned. “Wait, so when Kacchan has his quirk set to ‘on’ it doesn’t have to affect my body, but it can?” “In theory, yes. The first step to determining if this theory is true will be figuring out if you two can keep Midoriya’s hands from exploding every time Bakugou releases a blast.” Aizawa-sensei ran a hand through his hair. “In fact, we should probably do that before we continue establishing your baseline skills. Midoriya, you said before that your hands felt warm when Bakugou made smaller explosions, correct?” Deku nodded. “Right.” “Bakugou, how did you first train with activating your quirk?” “I never really struggled with turning it on or any shit like that… but it manifested when I was angry, and anger can help me create bigger blasts.” Katsuki frowned. “Mostly I trained with holding onto the quirk for longer amounts of time.” “Holding onto it?” Katsuki nodded. “Like…” he let out a frustrated growl, holding up his hand and releasing a few small pops. “Pushing something out of my hand, maybe? And holding it in when I don’t want to set shit off.” Deku was nodding fast, now. “Like when you clench your fists.” “Yeah.” “Alright, Bakugou, let off small explosions like the ones you just made for as long as you can, and Midoriya, try to pull back on the warmth until you can’t feel it any more.” They went at it for over an hour. Deku claimed he was having some sporadic success, but eventually Aizawa-sensei sighed and called a halt to it. “If you’re having some success, keep practicing that at home. However, Bakugou don’t make any explosions bigger than that for the time being. Your quirk is very distinctive and the second anyone sees Midoriya release an explosion they’ll connect the dots and realize you two must have a soul bond.” Katsuki nodded. He fucking hated it, but he understood the reasoning. They’d just have to make sure that Deku learned this fucking fast. “Now, Midoriya, what do you do when you use your quirk?” “Eh?” Deku looked down at his hands, flustered. “I… umm… well, I think about protecting something?” The teacher’s eyebrow twitched. “What about when you turn it off?” “I just stop?” That earned him a groan. “Fine. Well, avoid using your quirk at full power. Not only will you injure yourself, you’ll also hurt Bakugou and at that stage he most likely will have lightning around him like you do, meaning that it would also give away your status as soulmates.” Deku looked damn pale as the teacher continued, “For now, we need to see if the quirk visibly manifests around Bakugou when you use it at your normal strength. Though… if Bakugou is hit with half of the percentage you can manage, will he be injured?” Deku shook his head as Katsuki growled in annoyance. “Of course I fucking won’t be!” He always made sure his body was in good shape, and he could lift just as much as Deku could when the nerd wasn’t cheating with his quirk. Aizawa-sensei rubbed at the back of his head, “That’s good, at least.” He nodded absently and looked around the gym. “Both of you, run to the closest building and back. Midoriya, use as much of your quirk as you safely can.” Oh fuck. Katsuki swallowed as he remembered all of the times Deku had face planted on the beach. But Deku would be the one keeping the force of the quirk steady, right? So all Katsuki should have to do was run, though at a much faster speed than he was used to. But he was used to flying at that speed, so… “Go!” Katsuki shot forward on reflex, immediately stumbling at the strength pouring through his legs. Fuck! This shit felt weird. Focus. Don’t trip, keep running, keep going, steady your weight—Deku was at the building, now, and turning around; it was a bit easier, he could do this, he was at the building he just needed to turn and— Katsuki slammed into the ground, one foot tripping over the other. “Damn it. Fucking hell.” He pushed himself back up, kicked off the ground and started running again, his legs still pulsing with energy. It took every ounce of focus to keep himself from falling over as his legs raced down the path. The force behind each step was unreal, and he kept expecting to have to put his feet down far more often than he actually had to. When he reached Aizawa-sensei again, Katsuki stumbled to a stop, Deku’s hand grabbing Katsuki to steady him before he shot forward or, worse, face-planted once again. The teacher sighed. “Well, that wasn’t as bad as when Bakugou used his quirk, at least. And he seems to be using it at such a low power the lights aren’t appearing.” Aizawa-sensei ran a hand through his hair, staring at them both. “Bakugou, you might be able to cover up for the abnormal speed if you use your explosions, but the most important task is to learn how to shut it off. You won’t always want that extra boost, and I’m sure there will be times when it would be downright inconvenient. Were you able to get a feel for the quirk while you were running?” Katsuki frowned, remembering the pulsing sensation and the light buzzing at the back of his head. “Yeah. It feels… off. Like the quirk knows it should be there, but it doesn’t want me to use it.” “Huh?” Deku stared at him. “Yours felt warm to me, and comforting.” Aizawa-sensei hummed in thought. “I wonder if this is another sign that the quirk has some kind of agency. It doesn’t recognize Bakugou as the rightful inheritor, so it’s resisting him.” “Shouldn’t that make it easier for me to turn off, then?” “Theoretically.” The hero sighed. “We’ll spend the last hour or so of class time practicing with Bakugou turning off Midoriya’s quirk, or however long it takes until I’m satisfied that you two can safely work on that at home.” “Umm… Sensei?” Aizawa-sensei turned toward Deku, and the nerd shifted back and forth where he was standing, rubbing at one of his arms. “I was just wondering, do you think we should do our internships together or separately? Mirio-senpai and Tamaki-senpai mentioned advantages to both ways, and—” “Unless you two can convince me that you won’t reveal your status as soulmates the second you work for someone else, you will both be spending the internship practicing your abilities with myself and Mic.” “What the fuck?!” Katsuki glared at the man, small explosions erupting from his palms, but then Eraserhead’s eyes were red and his scarf was lifting up, and— “Do you want other people to know? Especially while you’re still both this weak?” “Tch.” Katsuki clenched his hands into fists, cutting off the explosions. “Hell no.” “But isn’t there a way we could still do an actual internship?! We’ll be so behind if—“ “You can turn in the forms for whomever you want to go with, but unless you meet my standards by next Friday, I’ll tell the agency or agencies that you haven’t recovered enough from your sickness, and you’ll be stuck here with me.” Katsuki’s jaw hurt from how tightly his teeth were clenched together. “Fucking hell.” He wanted to scream, to blow shit up, but he couldn’t even let loose right now without Deku releasing explosions as well and FUCK! Katsuki spun around, kicking at the wall next to them. “We just have to be able to hide our abilities, right? We don’t have to have them mastered or anything like that?” Katsuki turned back around to see Deku looking at Aizawa-sensei, his eyes shining with determination. “Correct.” “Then we’ll do that! We’ll practice nonstop! So since we will be going on the internships, would you suggest we do one together, or separately?” Aizawa-sensei sighed. “Stubborn brats.” The man rubbed at the back of his neck, his hair falling back down around his shoulders as he deactivated his quirk. “Separately. You already have good teamwork, but you need to learn different skill sets so that you can be even stronger when you fight on your own. You’ll also have to separate at some time, and this is the least dangerous internship we offer, so it’s the best time to try something that will weaken you like this.” “Weaken us?” A slow blink. “You two have never been apart your whole lives. You’ve always had the other person to guard your back, except in class exercises, and then the other is never far away. Because of this, you both tend to fight recklessly, with the knowledge that if something goes wrong, your partner is there to cover you.” He paused, then added, “You’ll also just be distracted in general.” “Tch.” Katsuki glared at the man. Sure, Deku fought recklessly, but Katsuki didn’t, damn it! He’d always fought alone against Deku’s bullies! “You don’t know jackshit.” The hero shrugged. “Prove me wrong, then. But you’ll have to get your abilities under control before you can even get the chance.” Damn it. He was going to master this shit, and so was Deku. “Turn on your fucking quirk, Deku. I’ll figure this out faster than you can.” “Eh?!” Deku frowned, but green lightning still began to flicker around his whole body, and Katsuki’s eyes widened as he felt the power course through him. “Kacchan, that’s not fair! If we’re making this a contest, we each get the same amount of time to try before we switch!” “Fine, but you pay attention to the time, then. I’m focusing.” Katsuki took a deep breath. He couldn’t close his eyes to center himself, not now that he’d just see whatever Deku was seeing, so he’d just have to rely on breathing exercises. Push the power back. Push, damn it! The quirk didn’t even want to be here, it should be easy to push out! But no, the pulsing sensation stayed there—that same give and take of pulling itself away and then flooding back. What if he pushed with every exhale and tried to time it to the pulses? He took a deep breath, holding it, then releasing and—nothing. Well, not enough. Again. And again. Fuck! No, that wasn’t working. He could push it back a little, but it would spring back in place with every inhale. Maybe he didn’t need to push at all, but… Katsuki frowned. If it didn’t want to stay, then why was it staying? There had to be some reason… “Bakugou.” Katsuki blinked, the world coming back into focus. Aizawa-sensei was staring at him. “The bell just rang. It’s the end of the day, so you two are free to go. Keep practicing that and don’t use your quirks for any other reason until you have my approval.” It… it had been that long already? Katsuki nodded, frowning in thought as the teacher turned around and walked off. Absently, Katsuki walked with Deku to the changing rooms, slipping on a tank top and the ripped up jeans. They’d barely moved, but he still felt tired from the training, and he would probably have to ask Auntie for some lotion for his palms if it took Deku too much longer to master this shit. Katsuki shoved his hands into his pockets, trying to figure out the trick to turning off Deku’s quirk. Pushing wasn’t working, so that couldn’t be it. There had to be some other way. Was it emotion based? “Kacchan?” The nerd tugged on his arm. Katsuki blinked, turning to see Deku biting his lower lip, “Can we keep talking about the internship? We need to fill out the forms before tomorrow.” Katsuki sighed, looking around them at the crowded train. “Wait until we get home, Deku. We’ll need to be able to talk freely.” “O-ok.” Deku’s hand slid down Katsuki’s arm and grabbed his hand, squeezing it. The nerd still looked fucking nervous. Damn it. Katsuki may hate what Deku wanted to do, but he hated seeing the nerd like this even more. With a frustrated growl, Katsuki pulled the nerd closer, wrapping his free arm around Deku’s shoulders and glaring at anyone that gave them a weird look. Deku let out a small hum of contentment, resting his head on Katsuki’s shoulder. “Thanks, Kacchan.” “Whatever.” That earned him a small huffy laugh, but Deku didn’t move, instead wrapping his own free arm around Katsuki’s waist. It felt… nice, though Katsuki would destroy anyone that wanted him to fucking admit that. When they reached their stop, the two of them parted reluctantly, still holding hands as they walked down the sidewalk toward their home. “Kacchan, I…” “When we’re home, Deku.” The nerd let out a frustrated growl, but Katsuki just rolled his eyes at the attempt. The second they closed the front door, Deku was dragging him upstairs, barely giving Katsuki enough time to kick off his shoes. “Slow the fuck down, Deku!” Katsuki wrenched his arm free, then climbed the stairs at a normal speed and followed Deku into the nerd’s room. The nerd was standing there, facing the doorway, his expression determined. “I want to intern with Endeavor.” Katsuki growled in annoyance. Fucking knew it. “What about the guy All Might wants us to intern with? Gran Torino?” “One of us could go with him and the other one could go with Endeavor…” “Hell no. It makes more sense for you to go with the man that knows about One for All and All Might’s predecessor, and I’m not spending my internship watching out for Half and Half Bastard!” “Kaaacchaaan…” Deku pouted. “It’s your quirk, now, too. Kind of.” “Hah. Tell that to the quirk. It sure doesn’t think so.” “I think it’s resisting you because it knows you aren’t ready. You said that it felt like it knew it should be there! It’s just pulling back because you don’t know how to use it at will, yet.” “What the fuck?” Deku shrugged. “I mean, it could also be because you’re not the person that actually inherited the quirk, but… well, it’s just a feeling, I guess, but when I was looking at the predecessors…” The nerd tapped his chin, “I think the quirk is smart. Smarter than we’re giving it credit for. I don’t think it’s just instinctually rejecting you.” “Whatever. It still makes more sense for you to go to All Might’s sensei since it’s your quirk. And if I go intern with Endeavor, I’m not going to babysit the Bastard.” “Now you’re just being unreasonable. You’d literally be right there, anyway, if you do the Endeavor internship. And it’s not like I could do both!” “He doesn’t need someone to hold his damn hand! He can make his own decisions and man up and deal with them!” “No one should be alone in that situation, Kacchan! If my dad was like that, you’d never leave me alone!” “Fuck no, I wouldn’t, because you’re my damn soulmate! He’s not!” “Kacchan! Heroes save people, and Todoroki-kun needs help!” “He wants to be a damn hero, too! So stop fucking babying him and let him figure his shit out on his own!” “It’s not babying him! It’s supporting him and helping him!” Deku was glaring at him, actually fucking glaring. Katsuki stood there, both of them breathing heavily as they stared each other down. He spun around and kicked the damn wall in frustration. Damn it all! Deku would never fucking give up when he was like this! They didn’t have time for weeks of arguing, the papers were due tomorrow! Fucking hell. “I thought we always came first for each other, Deku.” “We do.” Deku’s voice was tight. “Always. But that doesn’t mean we can’t help others, too. Our goal is to be the best heroes, after all.” “Fucking hell.” Katsuki turned back around to glare at Deku again. “Right now we need to do whatever is best for the bond and developing our strength. Not whatever’s the best way to help our shitty classmates.” Deku frowned, his own hands clenching tight in frustration. “There’s no reason we can’t do both! Aizawa-sensei even said it would be better if we went to separate internships!” Katsuki cursed again, then took a deep breath. In. Out. Don’t explode shit. Not right now. “You go to Gran Torino. I’ll go with Endeavor, alright? He’s the damn number two hero, and I’m not going to let Half and Half Bastard keep me from learning from him. But I’m not going to watch Half and Half’s ass. I can’t stand him; not when he pulled that shit at the festival." He looked down at the ground, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "If his father’s an idiot, though, it’s not like I could just stand by and let shit happen.” Deku’s shoulders relaxed a bit. “I, umm… appreciate that. A lot. But…” He started fiddling with his fingers, then took a deep breath, “Kacchan, I think that at this point you need more work with my quirk than I do. I mean… I can’t ever use your quirk, but you heard Aizawa-sensei. There are probably ways that you could use mine and disguise it with explosions. And I’d trust Gran Torino enough to tell him about the bond and have him help you with One for All’s weird reaction to you. I don’t trust Endeavor with that. And I think that is what we need to work the most on, right now. I still need to build up more strength before I can use more of One for All.” Fuck, Katsuki did not like where this was going. “There could be a faster way to master the quirk.” Deku rolled his eyes. “Then you learn it and teach it to me.” “Tch.” Katsuki looked away from Deku, frowning. “I still hate the idea of you with Endeavor.” Well, really with Half and Half. “He’s the number two hero, Kacchan. We should do whatever it took to be the best, right? Isn’t interning with the number two hero the best option? Even if I’m doing it to help Todoroki-kun, it’s still the best move.” Katsuki hissed in annoyance. “Fine.” He took a deep breath. “Go with Endeavor for all I care. But just… remember that you come first. Not Half and Half. Always.” Deku was definitely pouting, now. “Kaaachaaan, I know, ok? And it’s not like we’ll get into any big fights or anything. You heard Aizawa-sensei. These are the least dangerous internships we’ll go on.” “Whatever. You’ll find a way. You always do. Or do you not remember the entrance exam?” Katsuki tilted his head back, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Damn it. I hate the idea of us separating, to be honest.” “But—” “I fucking know!” Deep breaths. “I know, it’s the best option, logically. But I still fucking hate it.” Arms wrapped around his torso, and Katsuki looked down to see Deku giving him a small smile. “I hate it, too. But we’ll have to do it sometime. It might as well be now. Rip the band-aid off, right?” “Fuck.” Katsuki leaned his forehead against Deku’s, both of them closing their eyes. “I never want to leave you, Deku. Every time I leave, you always get hurt, damn it, and—” “That won’t happen. Not this time, I promise. And I’ll be with Endeavor and Todoroki-kun, alright? You may hate him, but they’re both really strong.” Katsuki growled, his eyebrows drawing tight in annoyance as he looked at his soulmate again. “But we’ll be stronger.” Deku’s answering laugh was light, but there was a spark of determination in his eyes as he stared back at Katsuki. “Of course, Kacchan. Together.” And then Deku was leaning forward, angling Katsuki’s head down, pushing his lips against Katsuki’s. His eyes slid shut as he pulled Deku closer, relishing the chance to be close to his soulmate like this. Deku was his, and Katsuki would do whatever it took to make sure they both stood on top. Together.

The roar of the crowd filled with guests, reporters, fans, and staff was almost deafening as Alastor checked his watch. The charity event had just begun and already he was ready for the night to be over so he could process whatever last task Vox had for him to finally be free and move on with life... with Charlie. He sighed contently as a genuine smile appeared on his lips. Was this a dream come true? He was brought out of his musing as his assistance cleared her throat, “Ready when you are. Big crowds with hoity toity rich folk make me sick.” The young girl sneered, dressed in a black feminine pants suit with red Converse on. Her eye makeup was thick, and almost gothic like with heavy eyeliner, dark eye shadow and maroon-colored lips. Her platinum blonde hair was styled with a mohawk mullet, the tips dyed red. Around her neck was a studded color. “I can’t believe Travis dipped out last second, but once he heard his old flame was coming, he decided to go home and clean up more. If he loves dick so much, why can’t he just divorce his wife then?” She rolled her eyes. Alastor chuckled as he straightened his bow tie, “Now, now Crymini. You should feel honored you were tasked with this, considering your internship just started a few weeks ago. We’ll make the most of what we can as fast as possible so the both of us can enjoy our night. Travis aside, and the predicament he placed us both in, it could be worse, I suppose. I have a list of some prospects before the big reveal tonight. Let’s see here.” He reached into his inner breast pocket of his burgundy with red pinstriped suit jacket, pulling out a small note card as he pushed his glasses back on the brim of his nose, “We just need to try and catch Cherri Bomb, Ms. Mayday, three up and coming pop stars named... C.H.E.R.U.B.S.... Interesting name, and the secret singer. Lilith will be no problem.” “Lilith...?” Crymini said in awe, “Like... Lilith Magne  from Morningstar Records? One of the most talented singers in like the last... two decades? How is that not a problem? She’s bigger than fucking Beyonce,’ Gaga, and Verosika combined. Madonna can’t even touch her level of cool and timeless hotness. And just trying to get an interview is damn near impossible lately. What do you mean ‘not a problem’?” The radio host patted her head, “Yes, the one and only. I’m to meet with her and her husband regardless at some point for some personal matters, but she has been by the studio before, so we have made acquaintances. Now, try to keep a level head dear. The quicker we get this done, the better so you can just focus on filming.” Alastor bit his inner cheeks, ‘Of all years...’ he thought woefully, ‘I need to tread lightly as I walk into the wolf’s den. Too many eyes and too many of Vox’s silent partners lurking, no doubt looking for my services.’ He felt a chill run up his spine. Crymini merely gawked at him, “Lu-Lucifer too! He’s the biggest financial and medical attorney in the city, maybe inthe state or the country! His law firms represent some of the biggest names and companies around. How... Why?” The young women looked like a fish out of water. Her child like awe was accentuated by the freckles that dotted her face, a feature she chose to highlight rather than hide behind makeup. “You needn’t concern yourself with the details, my dear. Ah! Our first victim to talk entertainment with. Pick your chin off the ground and let’s see if we can get their attention. Come along, darling. This was your idea to do these live interviews for the studio and I’m sure our listeners and online viewers are dying to know what all the hullabaloo about tonight’s headliner. Professionalism is key, so do your best to stay silent and make sure the camera and mic are paired correctly.” “Yea, yea…” she hoisted up a decent size camera, “I think we would have been fine with a phone, but nothing beats the sound quality of one of these bad boys.” She tapped the side of it as she rested it on her dainty shoulder. “Well, let’s get this show on the road.” Alastor chuckled as he grabbed the microphone from his back pocket and flipped it in the air, catching it in his other hand, “Don’t forget to smile.” Turning his attention back toward the crowd, and putting the mic toward his mouth, Alastor took a deep breath and snapped his head toward the camera, “Welcome ladies and gentlemen to this live feed of the annual Children’s Hospital fundraiser, brought to you by Five Point Broadcasting! Tonight’s theme is Music of the Ages, guests from all genres of many decades come to wine and dine, collaborate, participate in the silent auctions, donate to this glorious cause, and of course, find out who this mysterious performer is that’s been this week’s hot topic! So many speculations, but who is worthy of such secrecy? You know me folks, I just love a good source of entertainment! Filming live on site, I’m your host Alastor La Chapelle-Gallow, with my lovely assistant and camera girl Crymini Sinclair, we welcome you all tuning in! At the end of the event, perhaps we may even get a chance to interview the buzz of the town mystery performer. Any idea who it could be, my dear?” Alastor turned his mic toward Crymini who responded with a soft ‘No.’ “Ho ho oh, I have a few ideas myself, but none seem worthy enough to warrant such hype. Ms. Sinclair will be updating you all with the latest tweets, clips, and photos once we’reinside, folks. You can see it all on our studios’ twitter page or by checking out our website. First on our list…” Alastor made an exaggerated gesture to survey the crowd, one hand over his brow to block out the late afternoon sun as he squinted, “Ho, ho! What do we have here? Why it’s Verosika Mayday! Oh, Verosika darling!” The tanned platinum blond-haired woman dressed in a short crystal embellished mini dress that almost looked like snakeskin from the distance glanced over her shoulder and lowered her sunglasses, a smirk gracing her plump red lips, “Well, if it isn’t Alastor.” She ignored the catcalls and other reporters as she made her way gracefully toward him, stopping to pose long enough for a photo or two for the magazines. As soon as she reached him, she tilted her head to the side so he could plant a gentle kiss on her cheek, “It’s been a while.” Looking up at him, her normally hardened eyes softened with a strange sympathetic look. She adjusted her fur coat on her shoulders and stood up straighter, her bosoms straining against the confines of her dress. Crymini’s eyes bugged at their familiarity. Who didn’t he know in the industry? Perhaps the internship wasn’t so bad despite the subpar pay. At least it was enough to get by and get her foot in the door. Plus, Alastor wasn’t all that bad to work with, despite his cynicism and crappy dad jokes. ‘Ah, yes... Mimzy gave her singing lessons, didn’t she?’ Alastor thought to himself as he shook his head, “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes, my dear? Tell me, Verosika, and our viewers and listeners, how are you this fine evening? Any news when you plan on touring again now that you’ve finished recording your latest album?” Verosika spoke with a soft, sensual voice that normally would turn any man, or woman for that matter, into putty, but Alastor was different and was one of the reasons she got along decently with him. “The EP for my latest single drops next week. Afterwards, we should be announcing touring dates. Still finalizing some venues, however we are taking into consideration crowd control this time around. We’re mostly waiting on Lilith to announce her Mother Succubus tour. We had some... security... issues last time our tours overlapped in the same areas. Granted, I’ve changed Head of Security. He is much more competent and reliable.” “I hear you’ll be hosting a meet n greet sign opportunity for the locals when the EP drops. Where at, my dear?” “Oh Al,” she chuckled, her voice husky, “I can’t disclose that just yet, but...” she leaned in closer to him and lazy dragged her long well-manicured finger from his sternum to his navel, “I’ll be sure to text you if you wanna come by before and grab a drink.” She leaned up and whispered in his ear, “Break ups can be messy. Trust me, I know.” Alastor chuckled as he took a half step backwards, “I’ll wait for the announcement like everyone else, dear. Do feel free to come by the stu-” “VEROSIKA!” Everyone turned to see a petite blonde man with thick bottle cap glasses. “Can I get an interview? Or an autograph?” He waved a picture of the singer in scantily clad lingerie. “Is it true you were in rehab for six months for alcohol abuse?” Verosika’s demeanor changed. “Vortex.” She said as she gnashed her teeth. A tall, dark skinned burly man with a scar across his left eye appeared out of thin air and stood in front of his boss. “Who are you, Little Man?” His voice rumbled like thunder. “Ah... I uh...” “Whelp! Looks like that’s all the time we have for now Verosika. The invitation still stands to come by the studio.” Alastor turned back to the camera, “There you have it folks. A nice little drop in with a fan favorite. Let’s see who else we can catch as the guests roll in! This event is sure to be bigger than the Met Gala!” “Tom! Get your ass back here!” “Katie...” ——— Charlie sighed as she leaned her head against the window of the limousine, listening to her mother and father flirt with one another across from her. Her mother sipped delicately at the glass of champagne set out for the four of them, complimentary from their host for tonight. Their attire was the prime example of wealth, power, and elegance. Her father wore a custom white suit tailored by renowned designer Tom Ford with black alligator wing tip brogue dress shoes, and her mother in a Chiara Boni fishtail gown, the slit on the left side higher than normal to accentuate her long elegant legs. Her makeup was minimal, only smokey eyes and red lipstick. Angel, in black slacks with a white dress shirt with billowing sleeves and a black under bust corset in place of a cummerbund, reclined on the side seats with his heads propped up by his arms folded behind his head. He too wore a bit of makeup to highlight his feminine features. Charlie felt underdressed, wearing a red and black off the shoulder with a sweetheart neckline outlined in black lace and ruby rhinestones, the black chiffon pleated skirt stopping just above her knees. Taking out her phone from her hidden pocket, she looked at the last text Alastor sent her and smiled. -Can’t wait to see you tonight and meet your parents. It’ll be nice to see your mother in a less professional setting. I love you, sweetheart. My coworker decided to not show up so I must work the event, but I’ll do my best to wrap things up as early as possible so we can have the night to ourselves. - She would have messaged him back but knew he would be busy. They had agreed though that once the main performance began and if they hadn’t run into each other by then, she would call him. No doubt Vox and his associates would want to talk to her about her proposal. If Vox seemed opened to discuss it, perhaps the others would back up the proposal as well. “What’s up, toots?” Angel yawned as he sat up, feeling the car begin to slow down as it approached the venue and enter the queue to drop them off at the front. “Somethin’s on yer mind.” Charlie smiled as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, “Just a bit nervous about tonight. Alastor meeting my parents, a meeting with Vox, and.... S-Sev...” Angel reached over to hold her hand, “I won’t let him get you alone. I can’t guarantee he won’t get near ya, but if Al ain’t gonna be by ya all night, you best believe I’mma be watching from somewheres, got it” Charlie visibly relaxed as she rested her free hand on his. “Thank you.” She took a deep breath, “It’s been years and I haven’t needed therapy in a while. Vaggie did teach me some self-defense and believe it or not, I know the Von Eldritch wouldn’t let him do something stupid during tonight. I just hope I don’t run into him after this. Aside from you and my parents, no one knows I moved in with Al. No doubt they’ll meet strictly because of work, however, I just hope nothing happens.” Angel sat beside her and draped an arm around her shoulders, tucking her in underneath his chin, “Yea, I get ya. It’slike I don’t want anythin to do with Val or Vox, but I can stomach tonight’s meeting and finally put all this behind me. They can have what's left of the Ragno name, and I don’t mind takin’ yer place in the biz since I really ain’t much else goin’ for me.” Lucifer looked up at them from across the seating area, “Angel, our offer still stands to send you to school if you wish. No need to force yourself, though we do appreciate you keeping our legacy going.” Lilith sat back in her seat, straightening her posture, “We’re not going anywhere anytime soon, so there’s still some time to explore your options. We don’t want you to feel trapped, dear. With your father and brother gone, letting themtake what’s left is in your best interest and really helps you start off new. Build a new name for yourself.” “Thanks. I ain’t made fer school. I know where my talents are, and I don’t mean in the sack or bein’ a drug mule. I'm do something to honor my Ma and Molly. I’m just glad ya were able to keep the house. There might be a lot of bad vibes, but I definitely have a lot more with Molls and Ma.” Charlie smiled, “And thank you for letting me renovate it to be a halfway home and actually have a physical location to start my project.” Lucifer pursed his lips, “Are you sure you want to discuss that tonight?” His daughter nodded, “I do. I won’t have another opportunity like this any time soon, and I rather put this on the table when the new business negotiations take place. It’s perfect, dad. What could go wrong?” -------------- Vox let out an angry breath, smashing the knub of his cigar into the ash tray as he looked down at the documents on his lap as they sat in their own limo, “Can you believe this shit?” He looked up angrily at his business partner, Valentino, “Fucking prick.” Val shrugged as he took a sip from his glass of whisky, “I’m just as surprised. Mav plans on giving his position to Seviathan instead of Helsa when he retires in a few years is out of left field. Kid’s a liability.” “Fuck...” Vox breathed, “What’s Maverick’s angle with this? Helsa is clearly more capable of expanding the business than that dipshit.” He leaned forward, lacing his fingers together as he rested his chin on them as he propped his arms on his knees. An idea popped in his head as he smirked. “Uh-oh... I know that look. You got something up your sleeve.” Valentino twirled a large diamond ring on his right ring finger, sensing his partner’s shift in mood. He peered at Vox from behind his rose gold rimmed heart shaped glasses, his eyes barely visible through the red lenses.  Vox chuckled darkly, “I think I know a solution, and a fun one at that. It’ll make some other parties happy in the long wrong and really only screw one guy over if he decides to piss me off.” “Oh?” “I just gotta convince Mav that Sev should train in the art… discreet disposal, at least for now. Might be a little difficult with his celebrity status, but it’s better than us risking him tanking or running off with our investments. If he really does want to join us, he’s gonna have to prove himself and show he means business this time, a be willing to do as we say. Al wants out. I know Lu wants nothing more than to see Sev dead. Helsa takes over either way without any setbacks because I know Sev would much rather be out there then stuck behind a desk, so he’ll forfeit his claim to his family’s spot on our council. Everything belongs to me in the end, like I want it to.” He looks back out the window as he straightens himself, a sinister smile gracing his lips. The limo pulled into an underground parking structure appointedfor the venue’s special guests. Val finished his drink and set the glass down, “You want Alastor to train Seviathan... to be a hitman? Kid is unstable. I get that he’ll probably enjoy it for a bit, but what if he goes rogue?” “Accidents happen.” “Mav’s gonna wring your neck if something happens to him.” “And he’ll get a name if Alastor doesn’t do it just right to get himself off the hook. Like I said, accidents happen. If the kid gets offed by a job gone wrong, then that’s not my problem anymore.” “Heh, you’re mean.” “No... I just like things done my way.” ----------------------- Alastor cleared his throat as he waited for a barkeep to give him a glass of water. All the interviews, minus the main attraction, were done in record time. Crymini sipped on a Shirley Temple as she surveyed the crowd, having fun playing a game of ‘Guess Who’ by herself. “See anything noteworthy?” He said, throwing a few singles into the tip jar as his beverage came. “Nope, just a bunch of rich people. Some celebrities, but a lot of these people look like they come from old money.” Alastor raised a brow, “How can you tell?” Crymini shrugged, “You don’t really see their faces on the news. Some I recognize as heirs to hotel chains, maybe a restaurant or two, but aside from those that have fame and fortune, I don’t recognize the others. This event was five-grand a ticket, so I highly doubt your average American would come. If it wasn’t for the studio being invited to broadcast because our mother company is Five Points, I wouldn’t be enjoying tonight’s spread. I can’t wait for dinner to roll out.” The radio host chuckled, “While I get to enjoy a fine buffet, my dear, I’m afraid you’ll just be getting some leftovers and whatever the kitchen staff can whip up for you if they decide to be nice enough. Should have brought your own meal if you didn’t eat before.” His cohort snorted, “Damn. Well, at least I can still eat all the bomb ass quiche available.” She looked back at him, “Why would wanna come to this anyway and not just donate directly? I’ve noticed you don’t like talking to many outside work and keep a low profile despite your popularity.” Normally Alastor would brush off the question, but just thinking of Charlie made him sentimental, “It’s a pivotal night for myself and my lady.” “No way... you actually have an interest in sex?” He stared at her wide eyes, a bit taken aback, “I beg your pardon? This is not a conversation I wish to have with anyone. My personal life is just that... personal.” She shook her head, “Sorry, you’re just so aloof and I’ve seen the way some of the girls at work hit on you and you don’t bat an eye, nor ever acknowledge the fans that do come by or leave you gifts. Same with the gay receptionist who works the morning shift. I thought you were... I don’t know... not interested in that stuff.” He chuckled, “That’s none of your concern, but you’re right, I don’t fancy women like the ones we work with or throw themselves at me. They’re nice girls, but not my cup of tea, so to speak. I like women with a bit more...” his eyes caught sight of someone. His face lit up in a genuine smile, “There she is. Excuse me, dear. I’ll text you just before the main performance. For now, I think we’re good on interviews.” He set his glass down and left. “Rodger than, captain.” She watched as he made a bee line for the Magnes. It was easy to recognize Lilith anywhere, and she rarely went out without her husband in tow. Trailing behind them were two younger adults. The male looked like he could possibly be related to them, maybe a nephew, but Crymini knew they only had one child. A daughter rarely spoken about who had done an expectational job staying out of the limelight. “No way... How in the hell did he meet her? She’s cute.” ---------- Angel was adjusting the blazer on his shoulders as he chatted with Charlie, “So, I was thinkin’ maybe we dip on over to the bar and you play wingwoman for me until you and your boytoy meet up. Got some mighty fine prospects who might be looking for a Sugar Baby, or at least a good time tonight.” Charlie giggled, “You know this is supposed to be a charity event, right? Not a mixer.” “Could have fooled me. Mmm, look at all these specimens.” “Charlie, darling!” Charlie looked around, hearing someone call her name through the crowd's murmurs. Spotting Alastor as he waved his hand above him several people away, she quickly turned to Angel, “Sorry. I see Al. Mom, dad?” Her parents stopped and turned to look at her. She beckoned Alastor to come closer, reaching her hand out to him, “I’d like for you to meet...” “Alastor. Alastor La Chapelle-Gallow.” He finished as he delicately held her hand. He extended his free hand toward Lucifer, “A pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Magne. Charlie speaks highly of you.” He firmly gripped the older man’s hand, aware the Magne Patriarch's iron like grip. Lucifer glared at him, turning his head to the side to examine his profile. He seemed... familiar. Chocking it up to him being a mini celebrity and having seen a few articles with his pictures, his wife having interviewed with him,  and the handful of pictures his daughter had, perhaps it was just déjà vu. “Nice to meet you as well. I wish we could have met in a more… intimate setting.” “As would I, but our schedules seem to not want to agree, especially with the studio gearing up for tonight’s event. This was the best Charlie and I could do, sir. Perhaps after tonight I can make myself more available. I would to treat you and the missus to dinner Do let me know when you’re ready.” “Very well. Perhaps we could invite you over as well.” Nodding, Alastor turned to Lilith, grabbing her hand to bestow a kiss on her knuckles, “Ah, Mrs. Magne, so wonderful to see you out of the office. Looking radiant as always.” She giggled as he released her hand, “Alastor, long time no see. Please, call me Lilith. We’ve talked long enough on air that I think we can be on a first name basis. How interesting you and our daughter found one another.” “Al,” Charlie said as she turned to Angel, “You remember Angel? You’ve met in passing?” Alastor eyed the effeminate fellow warily, “Yes, how do you do?” He reached over and shook his hand, “We never had a chance to exchange pleasantries, have we?” Angel whistled as he shook his hand, “You’re really easy on the eye up close. If you weren’t attached to sissy here, I’d get you into a broom closet and have my way with you.” Alastor flinched ever so slightly as his eyes widened a fraction. “Ha, ha.... no.” Lucifer, try as he might, snickered, which turned into a boisterous, deep belly laugh, catching the attention of several people around them. Lilith raised a delicate brow at him while Charlie sucked in her lips as she shook from her giggle fit. “Cla-classic Angel.” Lucifer wheezed, “Oh goodness, the look on your face. Ha.” He wiped away a tear, sighing contently, “Well, I’ll leave the four of you for now. I have some business to take care of before we’re seated for dinner and the show. I look forward to getting to know you, Alastor.” He leaned up and kissed his wife, “Text me if you need anything, my love.” “Need me to go with you?” She raised a hand to his cheek and stroked it lovingly, “I will if you need it.” Lucifer shook his head, “I’ll be alright. Just need to greet some silent partners and tend to some matters before the meeting later. You know how it is.” “They never let you enjoy anything in peace, do they? We’re supposed to get to know Charlotte’s new beau. Very well then, go.” Alastor gulped. He felt like he was walking on eggshells already and as a precaution had packed a different outfit and hat to hopefully ensure Lucifer wouldn’t recognize him when he joined the meeting later. Vox was kind enough to let him enjoy time to himself until after the performance. “You ok? You seem nervous.” Charlie said, breaking him out of his musing. He hadn’t realized Lilith and Angel had gone upstairs where the ball room was set up for tonight’s entertainment. He shook his head then leaned down to brush his lips against her’s, “I’m alright. I just hope I made a good impression on your parents, is all. Shall we follow suit?” Charlie looped her arms in his, “Yes! I’m starving. Foods upstairs too, isn’t it?” He chuckled as he lead her through the crowd, “Of course, darling. By the way, you’re looking marvelous. Your beauty knows no limit, mon cher.” Charlie blushed as she rested her head on his arm, a small smile on her face. “Will you stay with me all night? Or do you still need to work?” She looked up at him hopefully. Alastor felt guilty, knowing she was nervous that her ex was back in town, let alone in the same building by now. He place a hand on the one holding him, “I wish I could say yes, but I promise I’ll try to not waste too much time getting back to you, alight? Stay close to your mother and your friend in the meantime, but I promise…” he stopped and turned to her, tucking a loch of hair behind her ear, “I won’t let anything bad happen to you. Not now, not ever.” She smiled up at him, but it never reached her eyes. “Ok…” Neither noticed the set of emerald eyes glaring at them from within the crowd.

Sara moaned and opened her eyes, her head pounding with a sharp pain just behind her left ear. What had happened? Her vision was blurred as she blinked owlishly at her surroundings. What on earth was wrong with her. None of it made any sense. All she remembered was opening a door and seeing a pan flying at her head. That's right, the door! The random door in a cave. She tried to sit up, but the sudden movement sent her head spinning. Her stomach threatened to rebel. Leaning forward she put her head between her knees trying to regain control. "Who are you?" squeaked a voice to the left. She jumped and then moaned at the sharp pain in her head. That was the voice she had heard earlier. Before she could turn to look her attacker slid around to face her. Sara grimaced as she took in the face of her would-be captor. His cheeks were round and framed by dark honey-colored hair that fell in loose rings and waves just past his pointed ear tips. Wide brown eyes scowled down at her as the little man hefted his frying pan aloft, poised to strike if need be. "Who are you and what were you doing in my pantry?" She opened her mouth to reply but nothing came out as she looked him over in confusion. He was short about the height of a child, although his size suggested that he had more of an appetite than any child she had ever known. He was not fat, but pleasantly plump. He wore short-cut brown trousers that were suspended over a bright yellow shirt and a green button up vest. His overlarge feet were bare and covered in thick curly hair that appeared to be well-groomed. Sara gaped at him. "Well?" prompted the small man again, raising his frying pan higher still. "Who are you and what rights do you have being in my pantry?" Sara braced her hands on the floor and pushed herself to her knees pulling her arms out of her backpack straps. The little fellow took a step or two back, still brandishing his pan. She groaned and felt the lump behind her ear. It was going to be one doozy of a headache. "I'll be asking you just once more er I let my pan fly," he warned. "What are you doing in my house?" Sara held up a hand trying to gather her thoughts as she looked up at the pan wielder. Lights were popping in and out of the edge of her vision. That was one sturdy frying pan. "Sara" she croaked out. "What did you say?" he asked, startled that she had finally answered. "Sara," she said again, her voice growing stronger. "My name is Sara Miller and I would appreciate it if you did not whack me with that particular frying pan. I am seeing enough stars as it is." The little man let the pan drop an inch or two. "I'm sorry to have intruded. I was lost and hoping you could give me directions. As to how I wound up in... your panty did you call it... I haven't the foggiest idea. Last thing I knew, I was lost in a cave trying to find my way out and I heard your voice. I opened the door hoping to find help, only your frying pan found me first." "What nonsense are you spouting?" asked the man suspiciously. "What cave?" "The cave I was lost in when I found the door to your panty?" His eyebrows rose. "Who lives deep in a cave anyway?" She asked defensively. The little fellow looked slightly affronted by this. "This is not a cave. Caves are nasty wet places full of dark and unpleasant things. This is my smial, and while it is set quite cozily into a small hill, I can assure you I don't live in a cave. No respectable person would. The nearest mountain with caves is quite a long holiday away from here and most likely inhabited by orcs or some other fosl creature. So I will thank you not to insult my home again." He let the pan drop even more at the confused look on her face. "What are you talking about? I was five hours into that cave in Kentucky. Of course you live in a cave. I'm not crazy." Looking worried that his intruder was not altogether right in the head but still offended the little man puffed out his chest. "I do not live in a cave. Come, I will prove it to you." He stepped back and gestured for her to follow, still keeping a tight grip on the pan. Sara got slowly to her feet and followed the little man down a hallway and into a cheery kitchen. The sun shone brightly through a little round window set over the sink. She paused her mind not quite sure what to do with this new turn of events. The man waved her forward to take a look. Hesitantly she stepped up to the window and peered outside. It was definitely not a cave. Well-tended flowers swayed gently in a breeze just outside the window and green hills dotted with trees rolled away into the distance. It was a trick. It had to be. She rushed from the kitchen and back into the hallway in search of a door leading outside. "Hey! Where are you going?" cried the man, huffing irritably as he chased after her. "Where is it?" she asked frantically, trying a door but getting a closet. "Where is what?" "The door outside?" But no sooner had she asked than she spotted what looked like a little entryway. Rushing past the man she wrenched the round door open only to be greeted with the same unfamiliar green countryside. No this was not possible! She ran down the little stone walkway and out onto the dusty dirt road, looking for anything familiar; anything to tell her where she was. Nothing. This was not Kentucky. The stinging panic was clawing its way up her throat and threatening to send tears spilling from her burning eyes. Nothing. Nothing looked familiar. Further down the road a small cart was being drawn by a pony. The little man came down his walkway watching her warily. She could see more little people like him, short and round, but there were no cars or telephone poles. Not even cement. She glanced to the sky hoping to spot the white tail of a jet plane, but the blue sky was clear of all but a few fluffy clouds and birds warbling out their merry songs. She fumbled for her phone but dropped it. Snatching it up she looked for a signal... nothing. She opened Google Maps hoping it would show her location but something was wrong with the app. This was all wrong! Where was she? Who were these people? Her heart hammered in her chest and her head throbbed as she sank into a crouch. She raked her fingers through her hair, catching her headlamp and pulling it off. What was going on? Large hairy feet appeared before her in the dirt. "Are you alright?" "Where am I?" she asked, quickly swiping at her eyes before he could see. He crouched down in front of her, peering into her face. She looked away. Tutting he dug a handkerchief from his breast pocket and held it out to her. "Here," he said when she didn't immediately take it. "I don't know what's happened to you, but clearly it's been quite a shock." "Mr. Baggins, is that you?" called a voice from behind the round hill this man called home. "I have those flower bulbs you asked for yesterday." The little man looked over her shoulder, startled, and then glanced back at her. He hastily stuffed the handkerchief back in his pocket before looking her up and down in a panic. "Quickly, back inside before he sees you. I'll take care of Mr. Gamgee. We'll get this all sorted out soon, but if someone were to see you crying on the road there will be no stopping the rumors of a strange woman staying at Bag End." Gripping her elbow with surprising strength he helped her stand, shooing her back toward the open front door before disappearing around the corner and into the garden. Sara rushed back inside. She had to get out of here. Quickly she found her way back to the pantry and snatched up her backpack. She gripped the pantry door and holding her breath opened it. It was the pantry. Close, open. Still the pantry. She slipped inside the small room. Hoping against hope she once again closed the door shutting herself in. She stood in the dark, counting her heartbeats in the silence. She opened the door. Hallway. No! She slammed the door closed. Open.... closed... open... closed... open. Thud... Thud... Thud... Thud. Where was the cave? She sank to the floor in the dark room, banging her already pounding head on the door. Tears slipped in earnest down her cheeks now. Vaguely she registered the sound of the front door closing and feet padding softly through the house before coming to stop outside the door. "Ms. Miller?" She didn't answer. The door creaked open, spilling light into the pantry. It was silent for a few moments. Once again he crouched down in front of her. "Are you hungry?" he asked at length. She looked up at him surprised by the concern in the sudden question. His stomach gave an indignant little gurgle. "I was about to make afternoon tea when you arrived. Would you like to join me? We could discuss what has happened to you at length. Something tells me it's quite a strange story." Wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand she nodded stood following him back to the kitchen. He seated her at a small nook table and went to the sink, pumping water to wet his handkerchief, before offering it to her once again. "For your face," he said as she took it. "It would be a shame to hide all those freckles behind the dirt and tear marks." Gratefully she pressed the cool cloth to her face, the damp soothing her burning eyes before she rubbed at her cheeks and forehead. The coth came away pink with the dust of the road she had smeared across her face. "Thank you." He took it, washed it, and then offered it to her again. "You're quite welcome," he said, watching her curiously. "What?" she asked when he continued to look at her, his eyes darting to and fro over her figure. "Did I miss a spot?" "No," he said, puffing out a little breath. "Forgive me for being blunt, but you look very strange to me. Your hair is the color of the turquoise gem in my grandmother's ring. I have never seen it's like before. Your clothes are odd as well and your boots left the most peculiar prints behind in the dirt." She glanced down at her clothes. Nothing too crazy. Tan cargo pants tucked into high-top hiking boots, green gravity falls cartoon t-shirt, and her marron college hoodie tied around her waist. The hair she could kind of see as odd, but it's not like you couldn't get a box of hair dye at almost any grocery store, though it didn't look like there was a Walmart to be found for miles. She got the feeling this man had never seen a Walmart in his life. He had to pump water at the sink, there was no paved road outside, and not a single electrical outlet to be seen. "They're just my clothes," she hedged. "Nothing special." "Hmm," he hummed, a frown on his lips as his brows pulled close together. He turned around and poked at the little fire inside the stove, before pulling bread from a box and a large red tomato from the counter. After retrieving his frying pan from the other room he began to slice both the bread and tomato and put them in the now buttered pan. While he worked Sara dug through her pack and found her Tylenol, swallowing two pills with a gulp from her water bottle. Stuffing everything back into the bag she kept her car keys in her hands, idly playing with the laser pointer on the key ring as her mind tried to process the situation. She traced the tiny red dot around the edge of the little table. Finished, the man turned to regard her. "Are you a type of wizard then?" he asked. She looked up at him, coming back from her train of thought. "Am I a what?" "A wizard" he repeated. "That dot you made appear on my table, is it magic? " He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. She frowned at him. "No, of course not," she said. "Haven't you ever seen a laser pointer before?" "I've never seen anything like that, and I would wager good money no one else in these parts has either." He turned to flip the bread and tomatoes in the pan. "What exactly are these parts?" she asked cautiously. "Hobbiton of the Shire. My home is called Bag End. How do you take your eggs Ms. Miller?" he asked, scooping the pan empty and reaching into a woven basket full of eggs. "Fried thanks," she said, slipping the keys into her pocket and picking at the handkerchief on the table. There were two red capital B's embroidered in a corner of the cloth. Hobbiton... Shire... Bag End? And that voice outside had called the man in front of her Mr. Baggins. Why did all those things sound so familiar to her? "Hobbiton?" She asked, wanting to be certain. He nodded the affirmative, now cracking eggs into the pan. She didn't think she had ever heard of a place like this; but why did it remind her of something she felt she had forgotten. She ran her fingers over the embroidered letters again, her mind spinning. Then it all fell into place. It had been years since her grandmother had read the books to her or they had watched the movies. Still, they were not easily forgotten. No way, this had to be some elaborate joke, that or this person was some crazy Tolkien fan. "I suppose," she said carefully, "If this is Hobbiton as you say, and this is Bag End, then that would make you Bilbo Baggins." She looked up at the sound of an egg smashing on the floor. The little man stood frozen, his back turned to her. There was a slight quaver in his voice as he spoke. "How... how did you know my name?" Slowly he turned to face her. "Oh come on," she said, frustration rising in her. She just wanted to get home. "I will admit that it's been a crazy day, but I'm not about to be suckered into believing that I'm actually in the Shire and Bag End of all places. I'm not that big of an idiot. Sorry, try tricking the next sorry sap who stumbles into your pantry." But as she spoke, there was an edge of panic gnawing at her. More and more began to come together in her mind. "If you want me to believe that you are the one and only Bilbo Baggins, you're going to have to try a bit harder short stuff." He puffed out his chest indignantly and set a plate of food in front of her with a loud thump. "It just so happens, Ms. Miller, that my name is Bilbo Baggins and this is Bag End in Hobbiton of the Shire. Wherever else in Middle-earth should we be?" "Middle-Earth?" "Yes Middle-Earth," he said angrily. "And dip me and fry me in butter if ever I tried to hoodwink anyone. I am considered quite a respectable hobbit, thank you very much." With this he sat and took a rather large bite of his sandwich, chewing and swallowing altogether too quickly. He looked up at her, his eyes reproachfully, if not a bit watery. "Also, I'll have you know I'm considered quite tall, for a hobbit anyway. Three foot eleven is a perfectly respectable height for our kind and I don't take kindly to being called short." There was heavy silence at the little table for a while, as the two sat quietly. Sara picked at her food, her appetite flagging. "Really truly? You are Bilbo Baggins the hobbit?" she asked meekly. "Realy, truly." He reached into a jar on the table and pulled out a cookie, offering it to her. She took it, turning it over and over in her hand before giving it an experimental nibble. "Now," said Bilbo. "Tell me, Miss Miller, if you don't mind, just where do you expect to be if not in Hobbiton or the Shire?" He sat back in his chair munching his own cookie watching her. "If you are telling the truth," she said quietly. "Then I am an offly long way from home. I don't think we are from the same world." Bilbo's hand paused on its way to his mouth. "I was lost somewhere in a cave in Kentucky." "Where is Kentucky?" he asked, returning to his cookie. "And what were you doing mucking around in a cave in the first place? Seems quite silly to go poking around in the dark wet places." "It's a long story, and not important," she replied. "Kentucky is in the United States of America. We call our planet Earth as well just not Middle-earth. I was on a camping trip to explore a cave. It was supposed to be for fun over the weekend, but I got lost. I have no idea how, but the next thing I know I wind up in your kitchen with a bump the size of a goose egg on the back of my head." She looked up at him ruefully, rubbing the back of her head. "I do apologize," he said, rising. "I have something that may ease the pain and stave off any headache." He set to work preparing some tea. "Truly I am sorry. We hobbits are usually quite peaceable, but we can be rather obstinate when defending our food or home." Sara took a bite of the cookie. "I'll survive," she assured. "So where is Frodo?" "Who?" "You know, Frodo. Your sort of nephew," she said. "I have no family by that name," said Bilbo, looking confused. "Oh," said Sara, pondering this a while. Had she been confused? Bilbo placed some tea in front of her, keeping a cup for himself. "Here, drink this, it should help." She sipped idly. No Frodo? Not at all, or just not yet? Come to think of it, this Bilbo didn't look as old as he ought to. She tried to remember the Fellowship of the Ring. At the beginning of the book, Bilbo was celebrating his eleventy-first birthday and Frodo his thirty third. Certainly, her Bilbo was nowhere near that old. So the quest to save Middle-Earth had not yet happened. Thinking of the ring prompted her next question. "Have you gone on your adventure yet?" "Adventure? I should say not! Hobbits don't go on adventures. Nasty disturbing uncomfortable things. Make you late for dinner. I should hope no one would ever catch me on one." He stopped when he caught her smirking at him. "What?" "Nothing," she said, waving her hand dismissively. She may not have read The Hobbit, but she could not have read and watched the Lord of the Rings trilogy without knowing that its story was predicated on the events of Bilbo's little adventure. "You know it's odd," said Bilbo with a frown. "You are the second person in as many days to talk of adventures." "Who was the other?" queried Sara. "You know it was Gandalf the wandering wizard." This was a name Sara also recognized. "Gandalf was here yesterday?" she asked, her mind racing ahead. Gandalf might know what to do to get her back home. "He was. Said he was looking for someone to share in an adventure of all things," continued Bilbo, not noticing her agitation. "I told him he would be hard put to find a willing soul to accompany him on an adventure in all the Shire. What's more, he seemed to think I would go with him." Bilbo gave a slight shudder. "Gave me quite a turn I must admit, but I suppose that's the nature of a wizard, popping up and..." "Did he say where he was going?" asked Sara, reaching for her backpack, already half standing. "No," said Bilbo, confused by her sudden interruption. "Why should he tell me that? He is a wizard after all. Goes and comes...." Bilbo paused, his face blanching. "Oh no!" he gasped, turning to stare at the little clock over the sink. "Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear!" Frantically he began to tidy the small kitchen. "What's wrong?" asked Sara, pausing as she slipped her backpack on. "I just remembered, oh bother my poor memory!" he said, now scrubbing vigorously at the dishes. "I invited Gandalf to dinner this evening. It was an invitation I made in passing, he had me so flustered with all his talk of adventures and all that it just sort of slipped out. But he is an old friend of my mother's and I would not be at all surprised if he turns up for dinner this evening." "Wait," said Sara. "Gandalf will be coming here for dinner?" "Very likely," bemoaned the hobbit. "And I am not at all prepared to receive guests, and dinner is no more than an hour and a half away." He was wringing his hands, quite agitated. "Well, what can I do to help?" Sara offered. "What needs to be done?" "Oh no, I couldn't," said Bilbo reluctantly. "You are a guest." "An unexpected one," she pointed out. "Besides, I want to meet Gandalf. He could help me get home." Bilbo brightened. "That is true, if anyone can help you, I bet it would be him." "So, what needs to be done. Put me to work." Bilbo began to list off things that needed to be done. Finally, it was decided that Sara would start in the kitchen while Bilbo saw to some of the other chores, as she was not familiar with the rest of the house. She finished the kitchen quickly, tidying, sweeping, and cleaning, her many odd jobs bussing tables coming in quite handy. As she was setting the finishing touches on the table she glanced into the cookie jar and saw it to be empty. She picked up her pack and set out to find Bilbo. "Mr. Baggins?" she called, looking down the long hallway only to see him pop his head out of a door. "Where should I put my pack?" "Second guest bedroom; fourth door on the left" he called, returning to the task at hand. Sara found the room, deposited the pack on the bed, and came back to Bilbo who was finishing up in one of the three bathrooms. "Mr. Baggins, the cookie jar on the table is empty. Would you like me to fill it?" she asked. He stopped and frowned. "Oh bother," he said. "Those were the last of them and I haven't had time to go to the bakery to get more. They are some of the best in the Shire but I'm afraid the old baker guards his recipe quite jealously." He looked a little downtrodden. "I could make some if you like," offered Sara. The hobbit perked up that. "Oh, you know how to bake?" "Well, no, not really. Normally it's all I can do to make a cup of instant noodles or microwave a dinner. I only know how to make these particular cookies because I used to make them with my grandmother all the time. Let's just say I've perfected this one particular recipe." He regarded her carefully. "I don't know what instant noodles are. Are you sure you can handle it?" "Positive," she replied. "I saw all the ingredients needed while I was tidying up." "If you are certain, then yes that would be quite helpful," he agreed. She returned to the kitchen and soon had the dough mixed. She turned to the oven. That might be a problem. How did one bake in a stone oven with a real fire? Well, first she needed a fire. She asked Bilbo where to find wood and soon she had an armful of wood. She was coming back around the corner of the hobbit hole on the well-worn stone path when she spotted something odd on the front door. She put the wood down and ran her fingers over the scratches in the green paint, a frown on her face. She returned to the kitchen and started a fire in the oven before she called for Bilbo, asking him how to adjust the temperature for baking. "Mr. Bilbo, did you see the scratches on your front door?" she asked as he turned to leave the kitchen once again, feather duster in hand. "What? Scratches on my front door? No can't be. I painted it just last week." She shrugged. "There are scratches on it now." He followed her back to the door in question and his agitation grew. "Confounded it all! One more thing to do and Gandalf set to arrive at any moment." He ran his fingers through his hair setting it on end making him look positively mad. There was a moment of silence as Bilbo stared at his feather duster dejectedly. "Do you have any extra paint?" asked Sara. "I can paint over it for you while the fire burns down in the oven if you like." He looked up at her, the gratitude clear on his face. "Yes, of course, thank you, Ms. Miller. Follow me, I think I put the extra paint in the storage closet by the master bedroom." He rummaged around and produced a brush and a small can of paint. They were headed back down the hall when they heard a loud knocking at the door. Bilbo gave a defeated little sigh, pressing the paint and brush into her hands. He tidied himself as best he could and went to let the wizard in. Sara took the paint into the sitting room and tucked it safely out of the way on a shelf for later. She dusted the flour off her shirt and pants, trying to look presentable. She was a bit nervous to meet the wizard. Bilbo was right, wizards could be downright capricious at times, no matter where they were from. She heard a deep voice conversing quietly in the kitchen with Bilbo. Taking a steadying breath she steeled her nerves ready to meet the wizard. 

“I’ve got the situation under control sir,” Natasha gritted out, gently placing an unconscious, and thankfully not green Bruce onto the only functioning chair in the lab. Several lab techs scurried out from various hiding places, looking more peeved than traumatized. It was as if seeing their colleague turn into a green rage monster was more of an inconvenience than a life threatening experience. Natasha shook her head. Scientists. “Control? You call that control?” Fury yelled from the other line. Really, Natasha didn’t understand what all the fuss was about. “Speaking of control—” Natasha said, finding a semi-soft object to prop Bruce’s head with. He was going to be extremely sore when he woke up. “What are you going to do about Stark?” Fury sighed heavily from the other end. Natasha only felt slightly sorry for him. “I’ve got my hands tied right now, agent. All resources are currently heading toward London.” Nat raised an eyebrow, “Stark might need backup.” “If the papers are anything to believe—Stark’s too dead to need backup.” Natasha rolled her eyes, lightly stepping over some smashed erlenmyers and out of the R&D labs.  “You don’t honestly believe Stark’s dead.” There was a silence on the other end before Fury spoke, “If you believe he needs backup, then why don’t you go?” Natasha sauntered down the hall and towards the elevators. “Stark will try to kill me if I abandon this mission.” “Stark? Kill you?” Natasha pressed the button for the lobby and leaned against the wall as the elevator made it’s descent, “I said ‘try’, sir. In any event—have you been working on my favor?” “There hasn’t been any progress.” “Tech like that doesn’t just disappear,” she said, frowning. She shifted the cellphone to her other ear, “The facial masking tech she’s using is SHIELD tech. And I’m certain that she’s not one of our agents—” Fury snorted on the other line, “If that bad acting, completely obvious, wanna-be honey pot was a SHIELD agent, she would have been demoted to janitor duty.” Natasha shook her head in amusement as Fury continued, “I’ll keep looking into it.  From what I know, Agent 33 was the last agent to be assigned that technology. The fact that our tech is popping up tells me that there must be a mole. And you know how I feel about moles.” “Pests to obliterate?” “Exactly.” --- The thing about real life is that it never stayed in one genre. One minute, she thought she was in a secret agent movie, and the next thing she knew, she was in horror. In the deep, logical recesses of her addled mind, she knew that her plan wouldn’t work. But she had been hanging out with superheroes more on a fairly regular basis. The mindless hope that they carried must have rubbed off on her. Essentially, she got caught. And she was paying for it dearly. “I’ll ask one last time,” shouted henchman 5, spittle spraying over her bruised face. It was a miracle in itself that she could see anything past her swollen eyelids, but she supposed the serum had something to do with it. “Who did you contact?” She kept her lips sealed, afraid of letting anything slip out. For the first hour of this interrogation, she had talked back as much as she could, sending a sarcastic quip here and there for chuckles. Tony taught her this, but unlike him, she had a limit to how much pain she could tolerate before she cracked. She was weak. This was only a quarter of what Tony had to endure during his capture. She had been having a wonderful and lax kidnapping season until now. It was funny—she thought tiredly—how much she took her safety for granted these last few weeks. The danger was always there, she knew, but despite the initial body modification she endured, her stay had been quite lackluster. There wasn’t any torture sessions. No bodily harm. No pain. She had all three this time. The room spun whenever she blinked, and she swallowed the bile rising up her throat. The henchman grabbed a fist full of hair and pulled, causing her to choke in pain. “You’re choosing to stay silent,” he hissed, lips dangerous close to her ear. His voice caused a sick shiver to roll down her body. “But don’t you know that we can easily find out?” She chose this opportune time to spit the bile back at her guard’s face. You’re being melodramatic, my dear. “No one asked you,” she murmured. “You—BITCH,” the guard shouted, “Why don’t you stop talking to the air and answer my damn question.” “Clearly, he’s the melodramatic one,” she said instead, eyes flickering towards the darkness. For once, I agree. “Fucking crazy,” the guard said, pushing her to the ground, looking disgusted. She automatically braced her fall with her wrists, except her bones couldn’t handle the force in which she fell. She cried out in pain as her scaphoid cracked, the sound echoing loudly in her cell. The last sound she heard was a loud clunk of a heavy door closing before she lost her balance, tipping headfirst into the floor. --- Ellen Brandt was having a terrific day. For starters, her boss finally gave the ok for her to shed this stupid persona she had been wearing for the past several months. Killian wanted her at headquarters ASAP, stating that the initial attack at Malibu was a failure. He needed her, he said, causing a vicious joy to rise into her chest. The rest of his team were imbicles, having failed to kill Stark, and she was the only one capable of bringing Stark to him. It was a good thing that Ellen convinced Stark that “she” needed to take a small trip to New York without him. Surprisingly, Stark had agreed without much fuss, and Ellen took care to make sure that she was seen around the Tower by several witness. She wanted everyone to know that she wasn’t anywhere near Malibu when the attacks occurred. , Several people already said that she was lucky that she wasn’t in the house. She must be devastated. Even Stark’s friend, that show pony James Rhodes, called her that morning. “Don’t worry kid. He’s going to be fine. You’ll see.” Ellen almost laughed at his face when he tried to console her, but she managed to turn it into a sob at the last minute. It was hard work being Stark’s girlfriend but really, it was easy for her. The chit had such a boring personality that a rock could easily impersonate her. Well Ellen could finally get rid of the mask now. All she had to do was exit the Tower and slip into the getaway car parked just outside. She couldn’t wait to see boss again. As soon as she stepped into the lobby, she signed in annoyance at the large crowd forming at the entrance. Most were journalists, which made the young preteen fighting to get to the front of the crowd easily spotable. “Hey! I’m trying to see the Widow. It’s important!” the kid yelled at the security guard. He clutched his backpack towards his chest like a shield as the guard manhandled him. “She’s right there! Just let me—hey Ms. Widow! Ms. Widow!” Ugh. Fan boys. Ellen took a step back, trying to figure out if she could take the back entrance when she felt her cell phone ring. “Hello?” “Brandt, you need to get out of there.” The grip on Ellen’s phone tightened as she simultaneously heard the kid shouting. “Ms. Widow! Ms. Widow! This is about Auntie! She sent me a message—she’s been kidnapped and I know where she is right no—” “Fuck, are you listening to me? You’ve been compromised!” Several things happened once. Ellen’s hand twitched, pulling out the handgun strapped to her belt, as she took several quick steps toward the boy. At the sight of the gun, the crowd scattered away, leaving a straight route for her bullet to fly as soon as she lifted her finger. The boy’s eyes widened, looking like a deer caught in headlights, and Ellen’s lips curled back in a snarl. The sudden anger at this little toddler’s interference in her plan caused the fire to escape her tightly controlled core. She swiped at the kid, pulling him toward her grasp and placing her gun to his temple. Just as she felt a flash of victory, there was a sudden click of a loaded gun near her, and a rough voice said, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” A cold shiver trickled down her spine but Ellen kept her gun steady. “Listen to that sweetie,” she cooed at the boy, causing him to squirm against her hold. She needed to buy some time. There was no way she could win against the Black Widow in a fair fight. But Ellen was never fair.  The Black Widow took a step forward, but Ellen backed away, screwing the gun further into the boy’s temple. “Ah ah ah. Take another step and this boy’s adolescent brain will be splattered across the god damn floor!” Ellen pivoted, placing the boy between herself and the Black Widow. “So tell me sweetie, what’s your name?” “P—” “Don’t answer her,” The Black Widow sharply interrupted, causing a small ‘eep’ to escape the boy’s mouth. Ellen rolled her eyes, taking another step back towards the entrance. She could see a black van waiting at the corner of her eye. She just needed to find a way to get out of this mess. “A-auntie? What? What’s going on?” P-something said, trembling in her arms. “Sorry pancake, I’m afraid Auntie has better things to do—“Ellen said, keeping her eyes firmly on the agent. “I suggest you put the gun down, Black Widow. It would be quite a shame if all of these people witnessed Stark’s girlfriend kill an innocent young man!” Unfortunately, the Black Widow’s aim did not waver, “Who do you work for?” “That’s a secret~”  she sang, before coldly ordering, “Put the gun down and I’ll let this kid free.” Before the agent could say anything, the boy in her arms shouted, “No-don’t! Ms. Widow, Auntie—the real one—needs your help! You can’t!—” the boy choked as Ellen squeezed his body further. The Black Widow sighed, eyes glaring into Ellen’s soul, as she reached down slowly to place the gun in her hand onto the ground. Ellen watched carefully, looking for any sudden tricks that the agent might pull. Ellen was so distracted on the Black Widow that she didn’t notice her grip on the boy had loosened. The boy suddenly acted, stomping his foot on Ellen’s leg and slamming his elbow against her ribs. Shocked at the sudden attack, Ellen let go of the boy, causing the Black Widow to jump towards her in a sneak attack. Suddenly on the defense, Ellen fired up her arms and swiped, causing flames to fly towards the agent. The Black Widow dodged away, giving Ellen enough time to sprint towards the exit of the Tower. Weaving away from a bullet, Ellen headed straight towards the black van. The car door opened, and two arms pulled her in just as another bullet smacked against the car door. “Fu—book it! Drive now!” Ellen yelled, trying to cool down. The tires screeched against the concrete driveway, the sound mixed in with the yelling going on inside the car. “Killian is not going to be happy about this—” Ellen shot him a glare, burning a hole through the upholstery, “No one asked for your opinion Jenkins. Where’s my next assignment?” “Well-it’s in T—" --- Rose Hill, Tennessee –I just stole a poncho from a wooden Indian. I hope, wherever you are, you’re keeping yourself warmer than me.

"Hotaru dearie, are you sure you eating enough?” Dabi turned away from the display of various slices of meat to look at the old woman. Placing the last of her groceries inside the bag. "I have some fresh beef stew upstairs,” the older woman spoke placing her cheek on an open palm. The very picture of a concerned parent. “It wouldn't take me a moment to go upstairs and get some for you." "No, thank you,” Dabi smiled underneath her shirt shaking her head. “I've got leftover curry waiting for me at home." "Such a nice meal, curry, perfect for sharing with your family," the woman hummed, looking down to where the baby rested underneath Dabi's coat before her eyes flicked back up. "You know my grandson loves curry. Perhaps I could introduce you sometime." Dabi coughed, trying to disguise the barking laughter that escaped her. If only the old woman knew who she was talking to. Setting the villain up with her grandson would probably be the furthest thing from her mind. "I wouldn't want to impose. With the baby, all my time is spent working or making sure they're healthy." The woman frowned deeply and clicked her tongue in disapproval. “Shame on that man for leaving you alone. A sweet young girl like you should be relaxing instead of having to work all the time.” "I'm not really the relaxing type, ma'am," Dabi said, giving the woman one last wave and collecting her things from the counter. "Have a wonderful night." The old woman, however, wanted the last word, it seems. "If you're into girls, I have a granddaughter too." Dabi felt flush with embarrassment as the people on the streets turned and looked at her. Pretending not to hear the woman, Dabi quickly moved away from the butcher shop. Heading down the path to her favourite bakery, intent on getting some delicious strawberry daifuku before they closed. The cremation user was so caught up in her thoughts of delicious strawberries that she didn’t notice someone come up behind her until a gun was pressed firmly into her back. "Don't move." The voice hissed quickly, steering Dabi towards the opening of a side street between the shops. Thinking this was just a simple robbery, Dabi complied, not wanting to risk getting shot by a nervous mugger. "Listen, if you want my wallet -" "Shut up," the man said, pulling his hat up slightly so Dabi could see the face below. "Remember me?" Dabi looked at the face below the hat and tried to place the face beneath it. But nothing came to mind, the cremation user had managed to piss off an impressive number of people in her life. Dabi couldn’t be expected to remember all their faces. “Can’t say I do.” Hari's face hardened, gripping the gun he was holding tighter, tempted to shoot the arrogant woman. "I'm sure you remember Overhaul, though." Dabi felt her blood freeze and knew she was in trouble. Here she could not use her quirk because of the risk it carried. One of Overhaul's old flunkies wanted to chat with her, and she doubted that it would be a friendly one. "Looks like you do," Hari spoke, putting one of his arms around Dabi's waist. The one holding the gun unknowingly hovered over Dabi's pregnant belly. "Here's what going to happen. You and I are going to go somewhere nice and private to talk. Understand." Dabi tried not to let her nervousness show. “And if I don’t?” "Then I'm going to kill you," Hari said, pulling his hat down again to try and hide his face from a couple out for some late-night shopping. "The choice is yours." “Go right ahead,” Dabi bluffed. "That is, if you don’t mind spending the rest of your short, miserable life running from the League.” Hari laughed and looked at Dabi with cold dark grey eyes. "How stupid do you think I am, Dabi. I've been watching you for weeks, and I know you're on your own." Weeks? Dabi's mind screamed, having never once in the past few weeks noticed someone was following her. After all these years of working for Giran, taking the bloodiest jobs, and dealing with the most depraved people, her instincts should have told her when someone was watching her like they always had. As the saying went. You weren’t paranoid if someone really was out to get you. Reality slowly started to set in as they walked. Dabi couldn't help but feel that this was the undeniable proof she had been searching for in whether or not to keep her baby. It was a bitter pill to swallow. But Dabi knew that in her years as a villain, working for Giran. And, even more recently, the enemies she had made many working with the League. What was stopping one of them from simply coming back and using her child to get back at Dabi herself for what she had done to them in the past? Taking a shaky breath, Dabi decided to deal with one crisis at a time. "Alright, I'll go with you." "Smart move," Hari said, pulling his hostage towards the vacant lot he had parked in. "I have a van close by." Dabi walked silently, letting Hari lead her and tried to think of a way out of this mess. There was that spring-loaded knife from Himiko had given her hidden on Dabi’s arm. Still, the groceries the cremation user was holding made using it impossible. In the few seconds it would take her to drop the groceries and activate the release, the man could get off a couple of shots and kill her son. But maybe if Dabi … Gritting her teeth, a plan started to form in the cremation user's head. Walking with a newfound determination, Dabi waited for her chance. Eventually, it paid off when they reached the van, and Hari opened the sliding door ordering her inside. Putting her groceries down carefully, Dabi started climbing in using her hand press on the metal floor to activate the spring, releasing the blade. Even after being out of the game for so long, muscle memory took over as Dabi spun around and aimed the knife at the man's throat. Only to have grey hair in the shape of arrows burst out from underneath his hat, knocking the knife away and stabbing her in the shoulder and hand. After that, everything seemed to slow down as Dabi watched helplessly as the gun was aimed at her temple and could do nothing to stop the darkness that followed next.   ~*~*~*~*Two Weeks Later*~*~*~*~   Giran pounded on the door of Dabi's apartment, chomping on his unlit cigar. "Open up, brat. It's me." Listening carefully, the information broker noted no noise from behind the door. No curse of vengeance from the other side for whoever had woken Dabi up, no lock undoing itself. Just silence. The kind of silence that made Giran’s stomach clench uncomfortably. Grabbing the spare key from his pocket and his gun Giran slowly opened the door and was immediately hit with the smell of something rotting. Fearing the worst, the broker slammed the door open the rest of the way, weapon at the ready for whatever he found. Thankfully there was no evidence of anything out of the ordinary in the main room. Giran also saw they were completely normal, moving towards the bathroom and balcony. Now heading into the small kitchen, Giran found the source of the smell coming. A pot that had been left on the stovetop to rot. Starting to get worried now, Giran tried to think back. Folken had called him last week and said Dabi had missed her session, but he had just waved it off, saying that she had run into some 'old friends and was probably hiding out in her apartment. Then the therapist had called not an hour ago and said that Dabi had missed another, and he was becoming even more concerned. Dabi, the therapist, claimed she would always break into his apartment. To leave him a box of sweets as an apology when she couldn't make their weekly meetings to let him know she was alive. But in these last two weeks, Folken had found nothing upon arriving home and reached out to Giran again with greater urgency. Heading towards Dabi's desk, Giran picked up the calendar and saw that the date hadn't been changed in a little over two weeks and knew something had definitely happened. Pulling out his phone, he punched in a number and didn't have to wait long for an answer. “Hello.” An annoyed voice answered. "Get Himiko and Kurogiri and warp to Dabi's apartment now," Giran ordered. Opening the top drawer and desk to hit the hidden mechanism inside. “What?” "Now, Tomura!" Giran roared, pushing the button and hearing the sweet sound of the secret panel opening up. Moving the desk, the broker felt his heart clench at the small plastic case. Inside the case were five USB drives, each for a different member of the Todoroki family, minus Endeavor. Giran had never asked about the ones for Dabi's family, knowing that whatever the woman had to say to her family was none of his business. The last drive was for the principal of the U.A. For some reason, Dabi trusted the sadist and had practically begged the broker to send it to him if anything ever happened to her before she could kill Endeavor. There was also one of Dabi's external hard drives inside the container containing information that could hurt the Hero Commission. Dabi had hard drives like this set up all over the country, each for a different news station, blogger or journalist that contained proof of the commission's shady dealings. Dabi's little side project contained every piece of solid evidence she could get her hands on. Everything from bribes to straight-out assassinations. Dabi dug up everything she could to severely cripple the organization several times over. It was Dabi's way of making sure that another Endeavor could again made its way to the top one of the top positions of power within the country. While also flipping off the whole hero community in one strike. The broker had to wonder if the Hero Commission knew more about the situation in the Todoroki household than most and how it benefited them to keep the flame hero's abuse quiet. Grabbing the case, Giran slipped it into his pocket just as the warp gate opened in the centre of the room, and three people stepped through it. "This better be - oh dear sweet Sensei in Tartarus" Shigaraki gagged, holding his sleeve in front of his nose. "What's that smell?" Kurogiri gave no outward appearance of disgust. The bartender just quickly moved and opened the balcony door, unable to stand the rotting aroma. Meanwhile, Himiko looked around for Dabi fear written clearly across her face. "Dabi?" the girl called out, opening the bathroom door, not finding her sister inside before looking back at Giran. "Where is she? Where's Dabi?" Giran shook his head. "I don't know. Have you heard from her?" "Wait, this is where you put her up," Tomura said, looking around the apartment, surprised by how normal it was. There was even a bag with what looked like yarn next to the bed. "I thought you said Dabi was helping you clean the house, not playing it." "This is serious, Tomura." Giran hissed, eyes narrowing as the man sat on Dabi's bed. "Why? Because she wandered off on you this time," the decay user smirked, grabbing the pillows on the bed and decaying them without a second thought. "Relax, Dabi's like an overgrown cat. She'll return when she gets bored with whatever mouse has her attention." "She's pregnant, you moron!" Giran yelled, trying not to think of all the horrible things that could be happening to Dabi or her baby. "What?!" Shigaraki yelped, jumping up from the bed like he was on fire. The young leader of the League of Villains looked shocked and disgusted for a moment before it quickly morphed into anger and his eyes hardened. "You knew. That's why you took Dabi away from us." "We all knew Tomura." Himiko sniffled, bending down so she could pull out the dark purple blanket Dabi had started to knit for the baby hugging it tightly. “But who the hell would she - oh fuck it’s - it's his baby, isn't it?" Shigaraki growled, hands starting to scratch at his neck, hissing the hero's name with the same hate he usually saved for All Might. "Hawks." Kurogiri shook his head. “If the heroes had gotten Dabi, they would most assuredly announce it." "Then who has her?" Shigaraki snarled, looking at Giran. "I don't know," the man said, feeling the weight of the case in his pocket increase tenfold. "But I'm going to use every contact and favour I have to look for her. I suggest you start doing the same and tear through every person you can come across until you find something." As much as Shigaraki hated being given orders unless they were from Sensei, he had to agree that Dabi needed to be found as quickly as possible. Their only concern now was figuring out whether the kidnapper had killed Dabi quickly or was keeping her alive somewhere. "And when we find them?" Himiko asked, looking determined. Giran looked solemnly at the villains. “We make them pay.”

Bucky had experienced a weird year, to say the least   Going from The Winter Soldier to suddenly living back in Brooklyn was a huge change for him. With the Accords resolved and Bucky being on (somewhat) speaking terms with Tony Stark and the rest of the Avengers, he was finally getting the chance to move on with this life. He was lost when it came to technology, and obviously, Steve was little to no help when it came to that department.    He felt lost, in terms of being a real member of the team. He had been on a few missions with the team, but it took time to earn the trust of everyone, which he understood. Things with Tony and Colonel Rhodes had been tense for a while, but eventually, Steve was able to talk them into letting him train with the team and accompany them on missions. With a lot of the team, it was strictly work business, except for one person.   The person was Peter Parker. The Spider-kid, as he called him. A teenager.    His friendship with Peter was… strange, to say the least. When he first reconciled with Tony, he had been told to "stay away from his kid." So that's what he did. Until the kid started coming to him.    It started out simple. Peter would join him and Sam in training, where Peter never failed to bring up how he was able to stop Bucky's metal arm in Germany. Sometimes the chattering from the teenager got to be a little too much, but most of the time, he really enjoyed it. The kid kept him on his toes and kept him laughing.    The first time Tony caught Peter training with them, he was not happy. Bucky remembered Tony calling Peter out of the room and speaking with him in the hallway. He could hear them arguing over something, and the argument ended in Peter coming back into the training room, continuing as if nothing had even happened.    After that, Tony was more accepting. Bucky could tell that he would get agitated when he would catch the kid hanging out with him, whether they were just sparring or watching a movie. Over a few months, Tony had even started initiating conversations with Bucky, and he was pretty sure that he had Peter to thank for that.    Peter had been trying to get Bucky "cultured in today's society," as he called it, which led them to do several activities. They ranged from watching certain movies and TV shows, learning about meme culture (which, he had to admit, was pretty funny), and learning all the new dances from an app called Tik Tok that Peter and his friends were obsessed with. Today, though, they were just hanging out at the tower and playing the Wii, which Bucky very much enjoyed.    The pair were in the middle of an intense race of Mario Cart when Tony walked out of the elevator and into the common room.    "What's up Peter, Bucky? Another round of Mario Cart?"   Peter, intently focused on the screen, shook his head. "Not now Mister Stark, I have a race to win!"    Tony shook his head and looked at Bucky. "Mind letting him know that I talked to May, and he's going to eat dinner here tonight? Don't want to disturb that concentration," Tony said in a condescending tone.   "I heard that," Peter mumbled while turning his attention back to the screen.    Bucky nodded. "Yeah, I'll tell him."    "Great. Maybe try to beat him in a race? It'll hurt his ego and humble him a bit. Everyone needs that once in a while." Tony chuckled, looking over at the teenager and then back at Bucky. "I'll be down in the lab working on something with Bruce if you both need anything."    "Thanks, Tony." He watched the man walk towards the private elevator that goes to his lab and went back to playing the game with Peter. They continued the game for about twenty minutes before they both decide to take a break and put on a movie. Bucky began thinking about how things had changed so much over the past few months with not only the team but with Tony as well. His curiosity got the best of him, and he finally got the nerve to ask him what he wanted to know.    "Hey, Peter. Can I ask you a question?"   Peter leaned back on the couch. "Yeah, of course."    "What changed? With Tony, I mean. I know you weren't supposed to be hanging out with me, but you did. And then you got yelled at, but somehow after that, you were still able to hang out with me and got the rest of the team to do so too. Tony's whole attitude changed when it came to me."   "Are you asking if I had anything to do with it?" Peter asked.    "I mean… Yeah, I guess." Bucky shrugged.    Peter sighed, looking at Bucky. "Mr. Stark is… really stubborn. And trust me, I get why he was mad. But I just needed him to understand." He paused for a moment.    "Understand what?"   "That it wasn't your fault. Like they said, you were brainwashed. And still, he was upset. Then I asked him how bad he would feel if he were in your shoes. How he would feel if he did that to my parents or May and Ben, and how badly it would feel. And how I wouldn't hold it against him because I know that it isn't him. It would be HYDRA. And that's how it is with you. You understand what I'm saying?"    Bucky smiled. "Yeah, kid. But you didn't have to do that for me, you know."    "I did, though. Bucky, you're part of the team. You deserved to be treated as such. And, not to mention, you are a really great friend. I just helped Mister Stark see that more clearly." He paused, looking at Bucky once more. "You belong here, Bucky."    "Thanks, Peter. You're a great friend too."    Bucky would try to put his past behind him because the team needed him. Peter needed him. And for the first time in a long time, Bucky felt like he belonged. 

The wood turtle is a semi-aquatic reptile that likes wet places but also spends a good amount of time on land. They camouflage well in their surroundings, being a dark pebble color over their shell and scales. By living both on land and in the water, they benefit from existing in a wider food web. But a remarkable behavior observed in these turtles is their “foot tapping.” They tap the ground in a way that mimics rain. It drives the earthworms from beneath to pop out onto the surface, where the turtles can eat them.  Perhaps this is an example of taking fate into your own hands.     “I still can’t believe the gofundme worked,” he said, shaking his head, though his chest swelled with delight. “But I’m so proud of you, you know.” Peri folded her arms around herself, wearing a purple puffy coat with the faux fur-lined hood over her head. Her eyes were on the hawk in the air. Greg held out his gloved hand with the mouse tucked between his fingers, and clicked for Artemis to land.  “I knew it would work,” she said, her chin tipped to the sky. “We have a ton of followers, and I know Nana and Pop shared it with their coworkers, too. You and Mom, too.” “Of course. I’m so glad we signed you up, though I am going to miss you, kiddo.”  Peri stuck her tongue out at him. “So, I know you’re turning sixteen and getting your learner’s permit and all that, but do we need to start driving lessons this year if you’re going to be in France for the fall school semester?”  “Dad. ” He chortled. Artemis landed lightly on the glove, and squeaked while eating her treat. “I’m just sayin’. There’s no rush.” “I want to learn how to drive.” “Okay, okay. Fine.” He snapped the leash onto Artemis’ jesses. “I’ll be happy to help teach you.” “Mom and Marcus are going to help me, too,” she said. “Good. The more practice, the better.” He ran a finger over the crest of Artemis’ beak, and then down to her keel. “So, listen. Nothing’s for sure yet, but this summer, you may have to say goodbye to Artemis.” Her eyes whipped to his. “I thought you were keeping her for as long as you could?” “Yeah, but -” “I mean, you were so upset when you had to let Spirit go.” “He was a good bird,” Greg said. Spirit had been his very first falconry bird. A young red-tailed hawk with a skittish personality, but Greg had adored him anyway. The law said you had to release your first bird from your apprenticeship, and trap new birds once you had your general license. “And she’s a good bird. But, I might be leaving. So…” Peri eyes widened. “Leaving?” “Yeah.”     Greg fingered the packet in his hand. He stood in the long hallway on the second floor of the nature center. Wide windows opened up onto a view of the pollinator gardens, and then further out to a small meadow, and beyond that, the Connecticut forest. Turkey vultures circled in the air. A white-tailed deer foraged at the edge of the meadow. Spring was approaching in all her fine greenery, but the ground was still cold, and bits of ice and snow could still be seen in the shadows of trees and shrubs.  He turned from the windows and knocked on the open doorway of Henric’s office. Henric looked up from his computer and smiled.  “You got a minute?” Greg closed the door behind him.     Received Happy Birthday Uncle Greg! I drew this picture:   Greg grinned to see an illustration of Artemis with a coffee mug in one talon.  Sent Thank you! That’s really good!   Received Thank you! I wish I could go to ur party! I’m going to mail the pic to u   Sent That would be wonderful! I wish you could be here, too. Don’t worry, we’ll figure something out.   Then there was a message from Nate:   Received Happy Birthday!   Sent Thanks Nate!   Received I don’t have Evie’s drawing skills.  I did help her decide what to draw, tho   Sent Don’t worry about it. This text is enough.   Received I was thinking maybe I’d drive Evie  down to visit u and Peri.   Sent Okay. Let me talk to your dad  about that,   Received Yeah ok.  If I can’t bring Evie Ill just come   Greg’s chest tightened.    Sent I want you to visit, but I don’t want  to start anything with your dad. Let’s  try to play it smart.   Received OK   Nothing came from Dan or from his mom. He knew not to expect it, but his heart pinched when he thought of it. It didn’t make him happy. So, he focused on what would. Jo, Marcus, and Peri arrived to help him set up.  “Marcus, you’re on salad duty. Peri, make the cornbread. I’ll do deviled eggs.” Jo barked out instructions and turned to Greg with a hard cider in hand. “You get to sit down and put your feet up since it’s your birthday. Don’t get used to it.” She winked. “Okay, but I did make my own chili, so just remember that I was helpful on my own birthday.” “Big man, now, everyone watch out.” Jo began unpacking ingredients. Peri synced her phone with the house speakers, and soon enough everyone was moving to the tunes of Alabama Shakes while making food. Scratch watched the proceedings with an air of suspicion. After Marcus was done chopping things for salads, Greg approached him. “Hey, I don’t think I’ve ever introduced you to Artemis.” “Uh, yeah. I don’t think so.” “Go see her Marcus. She’s gorgeous,” Peri said as she flipped the oven light on and peered at the cornbread.  “Yeah, come on.” Greg led him out the side door and toward the aviary. Artemis sat on an outdoor branch in the sun. Her citrine yellow eyes fixed on them as they approached. “Listen. I wanted to tell you, about that day we talked in the den at Laurence and Odette’s...that you were right.” Marcus paused and glanced at him. “But I still think you’re kind of a prick.” Marcus stared at him. And then he laughed, his teeth dazzling in the sun. “Okay, that’s fair, man.” Greg grinned. Artemis shuffled on her perch. “Anyway, I relied too heavily on Jo to help manage my crisis. And my other crisis. All the crisises. Crisis? Crisisees? No idea. Doesn’t matter. What matters is that while I didn’t appreciate what you were saying at the time, I got it later. And just so you know, I’m not a threat to your relationship with Jo. But I will always be in her life, and in our daughter’s life. We’ve been best friends for a long time - best friends raising a kid. And that’s not going to change.” Marcus leveled him with a pensive gaze. “Okay. Fair enough. But I’m the number one man in her life.” “It’s not about us being men,” Greg snorted. “It’s about our relationships with her. I’m the best friend and the coparent. You’re gonna be her husband. We have different roles. There’s no actual competition between us, because Jo loves us for different reasons.” Marcus frowned. But then he nodded. “Okay. But that doesn’t mean we have to be friends.” “God, no. But we can at least try to live with one another, the best that we can.” Marcus gave a decisive nod. “Okay. Deal.” “Deal.” Marcus looked at Artemis. She stared back at him, steadily.  “Peri’s right, she is gorgeous,” he said. “You know, you have a pretty cool job.” Greg bit his lower lip and nodded. “Yeah. I do.”     “Are we connected yet?” Jo said as she held up her phone.  Damien’s voice crackled. “I don’t see you.” “Jesus, the wifi is terrible at your house,” Jo said. “Maybe it’s your phone,” Greg shot back. “I have the latest phone, and the software is up to date. Get off your high birthday boy horse.” Irene handed him a drink. “Looks like you need another one.” “Thanks.” Peri sat on the back of the sofa watching everyone with excited eyes. Sammy sat next to her. She’d been telling him all about her upcoming semester abroad. Everyone who was at the New Year’s party was present - Molly, Henric, and Lisa in the kitchen. Marcus in the armchair. Jo standing next to him trying to FaceTime Damien and Mario. Irene and Kate standing near the punch. Everyone with drinks in hand, music up loud, chili passed out in bowls. The sun had set outside, and the inside was cozy, warm, and the atmosphere jubilant.  I am a lucky man. “Hey! Finally!” The video on Jo’s phone came alive with Damien’s smug face. A chorus of hellos greeted him. “Knew the problem was on your end,” he said. “I know. Greg’s wifi is terrible!” Jo said. Mario popped up beside Damien. “ Feliz Cumpleaños, Greg!” “Gracias, Mario.” “Oh yeah, happy birthday,” Damien said with a smirk. “Thanks, asshole.” “Okay, okay,” Jo said. “Molly, you got the cake?” The lights went off as Molly entered holding a sheet cake with chocolate frosting and two candles in the shape of the numbers 4 and 1. “Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday dear Gre-heg, Happy Birthday to you.”  Greg blew out the candles as he snickered at the slightly off-key but enthusiastic rendition of Happy Birthday . “Did you make a wish?” Kate asked. “Uh, I forgot?” Greg said. “I have everything I need, anyway,” he said with a laugh. He looked at their smiling faces. Molly walked back into the kitchen with Jo on her heels. Greg cleared his throat, knowing the moment had come. Heat flushed behind his ears as he said, “Jo, Molly, get back in here and leave the cake. There’s something I want to tell you everyone first.” The lights went back on. “Oh god, are you going to make another soppy announcement?” Damien snarked. Marcus now held Jo’s phone.  “Shut it,” Greg said in good humor. He and Damien had had more phone calls with each other. Damien was in deep with Mario, and though they weren’t wide open about their feelings in general, their friendship had deepened and strengthened. Greg couldn’t be prouder of how far they’d come.  Even if Damien’s default was to be a bit of a dick all the time. He looked at Jo, who gave him a reassuring nod, and then to Henric, who smiled at him from behind his bottle of brew. “I’ve accepted a seasonal job offer,” he said. Everyone looked at each other, and then to Henric, who kept his eyes on Greg with an encouraging smile on his face. “I’m not finished with High Point. Just...taking a sabbatical,” he said. “Well, god, Greg, what are you doing?” Molly said in a high pitch. “I’ve accepted a position with EcoVillage Tours & Adventure in Costa Rica. I leave in the beginning of August for training for two weeks, and then I’m going to lead tourists on ecotours in the Cloud Forest by Volcano Arenal.” “What?” Excited and dismayed voices echoed all around him. “It’s seasonal?” Sammy asked. “Yeah. They’re looking for people with environmental backgrounds to lead visitors. And the pay is practically nothing, but I get free room and board, and I get to educate people on ecology - a different kind of ecology, but I’ll learn. And then we take them out on trail walks, boat tours, and ziplining.” “Ziplining?” Molly squealed. More excited voices raised. Greg could hear Irene’s “oh my god, Greg is leaving the nest!” He laughed, his pleasure no doubt glowing in his face.  “How long will you be gone?” Molly asked, her brow pinched. “From August to New Year’s. I might have the option of staying another semester.” He looked at Peri. “But I’m coming back.” Molly looked from Peri to him, and then to Jo. “So, the same time that Peri is in France?” “Pretty much,” Greg said. “Congrats, man,” Damien said from the phone. “Costa Rica?” Mario said. “I’ll teach you a lot of Spanish before you go Greg. Call me every day. And get Duolingo.” “You bet!” He grinned. “I’d love it if you could help me with the language.” “Yeah I can’t believe the guy, finally starting to understand French and Creole, and he decides to go to a Spanish-speaking country for this,” Jo said. She was beaming, though.  Everyone hugged him. Everyone expressed their excitement for him.  Again, that little ache inside of him, that had lain there since Mycroft left, became more bearable. Practically unnoticeable. Greg was buoyant. And the sharpness of his mother’s words were dulled. And Greg knew he was doing it right with his one, precious and wild life.     Greg attached the hose to the spigot, silently celebrating that the weather had warmed enough to be able to use it for watering the birds. The crows cawed at him from their mews and when he didn’t react, mimicked other bird sounds - the cooing of the mourning dove, and the hoot of a great horned owl. He smiled as he listened to them go through their repertoire.  The air was chilly, but the sun was bright. The gravel beneath his feet crunched with every step. He wrapped the hose into place on the wooden arm nailed to the building’s side. “Greg.” Sherlock had snuck up on him. “Yeah?” Greg said. “I wish to speak with you. In private.” Greg looked around them. The birds were mostly calm, aside from the general chaos of the crow mews. “Okay. Want to go for a walk on the trails?” “Yes.” “Can I ask what it’s about?” His body fizzled with the thought of Mycroft. Is it Mycroft? What else can it be? “Yes, it’s about Mycroft.” The nervous fizzling in his body didn’t stop. He drew a breath deep into his lungs, and tried to quell the queasy knot that tied itself in his stomach. “Okay. Let’s talk.”

Angel was genuinely curious about what Alastor had meant by 'not exactly friends'. He presumed they were acquaintances or maybe even enemies. However, the more he thought about it...lovers would have made sense too. Alastor had been leaning his arm against the window of the car, fingers tapping a silent tune lightly against the glass. He paused though when Angel suddenly spoke up, asking a question that Alastor had most definitely not been expecting, nor had prepared for. Knowing that Angel wouldn't settle without an answer, Alastor simply went over what he'd told the spider once before. Because hey, at least it was something. Besides, he didn't see how his past with Lucifer had anything to do with what was happening right now. "You are correct. We weren't exactly friends." The demon spoke curtly and quickly, not quite sure what Angel wanted to hear and why he wanted to hear it other than to pry. "And like I said before, it was a long time ago." At the rather lacklustre reply, Angel huffed, glancing back over at Alastor with a shake of his head. "Hey hey hey, that answer ain't flyin' with me this time, buddy." "If I'm gunna be helpin' ya I wanna know a few more details- including this. I told ya some of my past so I wanna know some of yours. It's only fair." And oh was Angel not going to give up so easily. He figured this was a fair trade. It wasn't like he was going to go telling anyone anyways. Alastors eyes narrowed a little more, brows furrowing in the slightest as he heard Angels response. Of course he would say that. He wasn't necessarily happy about this, but he supposed that Angel did have a point. An eye for an eye- information in exchange for more information. "Alright, my dear, but just this once..." Leaning away from the window, Alastor sat back a little more in the seat, tracing his wandering gaze across the now dark horizon, the scenery flying by. "When I first manifested down in Hell, I possessed a raw power that had never been seen before by a mortal soul, as I'm sure you know." He began, starting with the basic information seen as Angel had been so unknowledgeable when they first met.  Angel adjusted in his seat, ready to listen as he continued their drive. He made sure not to speak as Alastor explained his reasoning and past with Lucifer. He was a bit surprised at first, but the more Alastor explained the more it all made sense. The pieces seemed to fit with his personality seamlessly. "Needless to say, from the moment that I challenged even some of the oldest overlords down there and broadcast a few of my victories, word of my presence began to spread like a dangerous wildfire." Alastor spoke very highly of himself, for sure, but every word he spoke was true. He had an ego for a reason, of course. "There was one. One demon who, for centuries had not been challenged. No one dared to. And as you can probably guess, that demon was the Devil himself. After learning of my sudden power in taking down overlords, it seemed that Lucifer was suddenly interested in me. He knew that I would not hold back and for that reason, he saw me as a threat." And this was, Alastor supposed, where things got interesting. "After making my acquaintance one day, seemingly by chance, we became close. Very close. Of course, at the time I had my own ulterior motives for doing so. Because, my dear, I am not an uncivilised man. If I do something, it is with reason! And those reasons were simple. I wanted to know more about the Devil himself. Things that not even his closest allies could tell me. His fears, hopes and thoughts...weaknesses." Clearing his throat a moment, Alastor closed his eyes, remembering all of this well. "From what I could see, it seemed as if Lucifer had the exact same plans regarding myself. Threats to Satan directly didn't come about often. It was almost like a silent game between us, however no end goal or even rules were ever spoken of. We knew what we each wanted,  and we would both do whatever it took to grab and shoot for those goals. After spending a great deal of time together, as you can imagine, after a while things between us became...intimate. They had to. One spills the worlds secrets while under an unknown false sense of security." Angels brows raised merely at thought of Alastor getting intimate with literally anyone. It was a bit hard to imagine, but still a hot and steamy thought. Of course, after that, Angel's mind started to immediately wander to whether Alastor was the top or the bottom? How would he have even acted when doing the Devils Tango with the Devil himself? Alastor remembered it all so well- however they were a collection of past memories he'd rather not think about. "For a long while, the game continued and I soon realised I was getting nowhere with him, and he was getting nowhere with me. It all turned so mundane and dull. Hardly a thrill at all, and that was such a shame. It truly was. I was growing bored with him, and that's when I first had the idea. The idea that started all of this-" Raising and waving his hand, Alastor gestured to the both of them, referring to his plans, the reason they were up here on Earth in the first place. "At first, I thought myself crazy just to be even thinking about the possibility of killing Lucifer. My intentions had always been to gain information that could simply be used as a deterrent of sorts. The most I had even thought to do, was challenge him. But then, such entertaining thoughts of bringing Hell into chaos began to flood my brain. If I could rid those disgusting, filthy demons of their God- deprive them of their Satan and take his place in the process! Steal his throne and throw the crown right back in his face! Then that would be the purest kind of entertainment..." By this point, Alastors face had twisted up into an unnatural, almost painful looking smile. With those human features, it looked disproportionate in every way possible. A shiver ran down Angels spine as he watched Alastor from the corner of his eye, still keeping his gaze on the road. He quickly was brought out of his thoughts, gripping the wheel tightly before letting out a shaky breath. "Geez. Not exactly what I was expecting. I was thinking you two were enemies or somethin'." He admitted, reeling back from his previous thoughts completely. There was a moment of silence after Alastor finished up, his eyes opening to trail back upon the darkened outside again. "Haha, I suppose your thoughts are somewhat correct." He snickered a laugh, pushing up his glasses. "Not too long after the game started to lack passion, Lucifer made his first mistake. He tried to erase me. And, my dear, as I'm sure you know. So far that hasn't worked for anyone." Feeling his ego inflate even as he thought about that, Alastor simply chuckled. "It was a mutual agreement between the two of us to never speak of the events between us- let alone challenge each other like that again. Two devils clashed and had proved to be too much for each other. But now I'm bored once more. Oh Angel, Hell has become so dull. And my promise to Lucifer? Well, as far as I'm concerned, truces can't last forever, no matter who the promise was made to..." With a small shrug and a nod, Angel pressed his lips together, glancing down to the GPS. They had almost arrived at the place Alastor had supposedly called home. "Well, glad I could play a part in your master plan then...even if it is a small role. I know I ain't got much to offer, so bein' useful to someone without havin' to strip down is a nice change, I will say." Angel wasn't really sure what to say at this point, so he just said what came to mind. Alastor just nodded, keeping quiet as he silently reminisced the memories that had involuntarily resurfaced. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, his attention was then at the screen once again, a small red dot appearing on the map not too far away. It was almost pitch black outside, so Alastor couldn't see where they were. He could only make out the silhouette of many tall trees around them. That made sense though, since his home was located in a wooded area- perfect for hunting as was done a lot back in the day. "I suppose we're almost here." Angel gave a nod, glancing at the screen once again. There was a moments silence before the blonde dared to speak. "Hey, Alastor...?" Pulling up on the side of the road supposedly outside their destination, Angel turned to Alastor. "Thanks for telling me. It ain't easy, I know. But the shit ya tell me won't be told to anyone else. Ain't anyone's business." And with that said, he cut the engine, looking out the window. Once the car stopped, all was silence except for Angels voice. "I know." Alastor just replied in his usual tone, pushing open the car door and stepping out onto the grassy, dirt floor. His eyes closed for a brief moment as he faced away from the car, knowing that Angel couldn't see him he took a step forward. And for a moment, Alastor simply took in the scent around him. The trees and the nature. Everything. It had been too long. "Alright, lets get this show on the road, my dear!" Abruptly clapping his hands together, seemingly having perked up a bit, Alastor made his way over to the other, grabbing him and pointing to a less dense area of trees just a little further in. "Just up ahead, if I'm not mistaken!" Angel looked around as he stepped out of the car, his eyes not being the same as a spiders anymore. It was almost scary how the dark was through a humans eyes. It was quiet. The gentle wind running through the trees and crickets could just about be heard though. He jumped a bit when he was grabbed, barely being able to see Alastor. "Hang on a moment. I wanna see if this idiot has anything." Moving over to the trunk of the car and popping it open, Angel grinned, finding exactly what he was looking for. A flashlight. He turned it on and kept it shining on the ground as he followed Alastor, shining the light at the house briefly. It was old and looked like it hadn't been lived in for a really really long time. Standing back as Angel searched the trunk, Alastor was mildly surprised there was actually anything useful inside. Nonetheless, he was grateful. As they walked towards the rugged looking home though, Alastor noticed something in the torchlight, shining ahead of them. Their shadows loomed like monsters. In fact, worse than monsters. Their shadows still took the forms of their demons. A nice touch though, Alastor would admit. Eventually, they came to what looked to be the entrance of the home. Shrubbery, roof tiles and vines covered the outside walls and all the glass from the windows had been broken most likely from weather conditions over the decades. It was an abandoned wreck, yet, the air around it felt so ominous. So cold. It made you want to hold your breath in wait for...something. Angel didn't notice the detail of the shadows, having been so used to seeing them like that everyday anyways. He followed close behind the taller man, looking around into the darkness that surrounded them as well as taking in the details of Alastor's previous home. "Looks like it was a nice place back in the day." He stated under his breath. In this distance, as if to match the eerie atmosphere, a low and almost inaudible rumble sounded out, the trees surrounding them swishing louder in the sudden breeze that picked up. A storm was approaching. Whether it would hit or just pass over though couldn't be determined just yet. Alastor stopped once he came to what had once been a front entrance. There was a door, but it wasn't the original, and was half hanging off it's hinges. Nails and panels of cheap wood were holding it up, clearing having been initially used to block it from being entered. "Yes...it was." He replied quietly in response to Angels statement, focus clearly elsewhere then any questions that could be thrown his way. Stepping back from the door a moment, Alastor scanned the right side of the house, eventually concluding that their best bet would be in through the clear window. The door hadn't been used in a while, and could cause problems if it was suddenly pushed open. Presuming that Angel was following behind, Alastor walked over to the window, stepping out the way of a few bushes, shoving them aside before he was able to easily climb in, there being a ledge for him to climb onto inside- a kitchen countertop. Angel stayed silent after that, noticing that Alastor was focused on something else. He kept the light where he figured Alastor would need it, following him wherever he decided to go. He didn't bother asking questions- verbally or in his mind. Angel knew there was always a reason Alastor did something. The blonde watched quietly as Alastor climbed in through the window, keeping the light where he needed it. Once he was in, Angel put the flashlight in his mouth so he could use both hands to climb in. Being shorter than Alastor it wasn't quite as easy but he managed. Brushing some of the broken glass out the way so Angel didn't catch himself on it, Alastor jumped down onto the floor, amazed that some of the floorboards were still intact, although mossy and green. "Oh it's such a shame no one bothered to maintain this place. Or at least live in it." Alastor suddenly sighed, hearing the fluttering of wings and a hoot of a pigeon most likely living in the eroded ceiling beams. Once Angel was in, Alastor let him shine the light ahead so that they didn't fall into any holes in the floor or anything. "My belongings were hidden. I made sure of that the first time I returned here after my death, years ago." He explained, leading Angel throughout the house. "Anything that I didn't have time to bring back down to Hell, was left here. I can only hope that nothing has been damaged by the damp." Angel crawled in through the window and sat on the counter, taking the flashlight out of his mouth and starting to shine it around the kitchen. It looked as if it had been a really nice place to live and seemed to be a shame that it had gone to waste. Hopping off of the counter, the floor was damp and cold on his feet, sending a shiver through Angels body like a tidal wave with an audible shudder. Stepping lightly as a result of the cold floor, he continued to follow behind Alastor, looking around. "Is there a reason no one's touched it in so long?" Angel asked, figuring there'd at least be a reason behind it. Homes like this weren't just abandoned for no reason. Alastor walked around and into what used to be the longe, laughing under his breath at what he saw. Pictures still up in their frames. It really had been completely abandoned, and Alastor figured he had some sort of idea why. "Perhaps..." he began, slowly striding over to the picture frames. The glass on some of them were cracked, some of the frames blank, but for the most part, they were completely untouched. "During my time, especially here, many of the people were awfully superstitious. Heavily religious folk if I do say so myself." He started, picking up one of the pictures and staring at it a moment before passing it over to Angel. It was a family portrait from when Alastor was very young, early teens at most. "People knew that I kept myself to myself, which apparently was odd enough. Not to mention the librarian, awful fellow, used to run his mouth to the entire town, ranting about the 'awful' books I used to take out. He thought I didn't notice, but only an idiot wouldn't have been able to hear his insufferably loud voice." Taking a moment to scoff, rolling his eyes, Alastor quickly returned to what he was saying. "Needless to say, when I died and some parts of the bodies were unearthed, I'd say that the people around here at the time were immediately terrified. And if my theories are correct...I'd say they labelled this house as being cursed. No one has touched it since, being far too superstitious and terrified, and rightly so." Angel took the framed photo and shone the light on it so he could see the full image, then at the other frames, then back to Alastor. He stayed silent, taking in all of the information and pieces the hints together. "Religious as in... cult stuff?" Alastor just laughed a little, dusting his hands off. "Not necessarily, my dear. Catholicism was heavily integrated within the society here. So I suppose when people began to notice my interest in books relating to voodoo and Satanism, well, haha you can imagine what they thought of me!" When he was alive, of course no one knew he was a serial murderer. The bodies, like he said, weren't found until after he was dead. Angel just gave a nervous laugh, setting the frame down carefully. "Eh heh... yeah. I guess it would make sense. Back then that stuff was some scary shit to mess around with. Even now, I guess." He shrugged a bit, getting a better look at the other photos that were still on the wall. He really shouldn't have been surprised by any of this. Stuff like that during life would definitely earn you a comfy spot in the higher ranks of Hell. There was obviously more that Alastor wasn't saying but that was fine. Angel had a damn good idea of the kinds of things Alastor did to get to where he was now. Glancing at the pictures once again, Alastor couldn't help but grin at one more. Again, it was of him as a young man, however he stood inside what looked to be a recording room of some sorts. It was back when he got a job as a radio show host in the city- truly the prime of his life. "Well, we must press on, my dear. What I need will be down in the basement. Let's hope it's still accessible." Angel gave a nod, looking at the picture Alastor was focused on in that moment. It made sense. "Lead the way, hot stuff." Angel said with barely a moment to finish his sentence before another low rumble from the sky erupted, much more present and apparent from the first barely noticeable roll of thunder. There was yet to be any lightning, but it still almost unsettled Angel. Scared him. He had never liked storms or any sort of sudden noises for that matter. And unfortunately for him, the storm sounded like it was approaching quickly. That much he could sense for sure. It took everything within him to keep a calm exterior. Letting the comment slide, Alastor continued through the house, and this time he did hear the low rumble from the sky. "How ominous." Alastor pointed out, not one to care about storms. In fact, he liked them. "It's here..." Just by the foot of the inaccessible stairs leading up, there was a small cellar type of door in the floor. The handles were metal, therefore hadn't eroded and the wood around the door didn't seem to be too damp either. Reaching down, Alastor pulled upon the handles, dust and dirt flying up into the air as he opened it with slight difficulty, an old and unpleasant musky smell drifting up from the basement once it was open. "Shine the torch down for me, Angel. The stairs should be okay to use." He coughed a little, dusting off his hands. Angel did as he was told, holding the light in a way that would allow Alastor to see even as he made his way down. "Let's hurry this up.. I don't wanna have to hang around when the storm to happens.." Angel said quickly, scratching his arm as he looked out of one of the boarded windows. "I suppose you're not keen on storms, hm?" Alastor asked as he began to walk down the stairs, treading lightly so that if the wooden stairs were weak, they wouldn't collapse. The basement was a simple square shape, low ceilings and no natural light. One of the side walls was damp, but aside from that, the brickwork of the rest of the structure was absolutely fine. Inside, there were a few bookshelves and at the back, a long table- one large enough to lay on. Around the table were a few stacks of cabinets, mainly empty. Making it to the bottom of the stairs in no time, he waited until Angel was beside him, shining the light on everything that was down here. Glancing across the room, Alastors eyes soon settled on something of use. Walking over to it, he picked it up and held it in the air. A gas lamp. Of course, it wouldn't have worked normally anymore, but Alastor had a few tricks up his sleeve. It was with a snap of his fingers that the lamp came to life, a fire burning in the middle. He hoped that something as simple as creating a flame wouldn't put them in danger of being found. "I find storms rather fascinating." Alastor hummed, moving over to the dusty old bookshelves, searching with focus for the one thing he needed and any other items that would be of use. The room became a little clearer now with two sources of light, books lining shelves as well as many newspaper clippings and letters hanging with string on one of the walls. If you read them and Alastors notes carefully, then the whole thing would absolutely scream serial murderer no doubt. "Storms? Not really... dunno what it is about 'em. Just don't like 'em.." With the two sources of light now, Angel figured he was free to roam a bit. He made sure to be careful with where he stepped just in case there were things he could trip or step on. It was only now that he was starting to have second thoughts about leaving his shoes behind, but it didn't matter too much, he supposed. It was too late for to go back for them and they weren't sticking around for much longer anyways. "Hey, uh, Al? After this, if there's time... I was wondering if we'd be able to do something before we go back.." It didn't take Alastor long to find the book, including the page, that he needed. He remembered the placement of all the books here, and like the rest of the house, nothing had been touched since he'd died. "Perfect..." he muttered, finger trailing over the words of the book before he shut it loudly, dust flying up into the air again. He was about to move away from the remaining useless books when something caught his eye. So much so, that he almost didn't hear Angels question. Glancing over his shoulder at the other, Alastor nodded. "Why, I should think so. This has fortunately taken as little time as possible." Angel stayed just off to the side of Alastor, looking at some of the other things from that distance. He started humming to himself quietly to try to stay calm. The low rumbling from outside was growing more frequent. He could tell Alastor found what he was looking for in terms of the book or whatever it was he needed. However, he could also tell by the slight delay and tone in his voice that he'd found something else that seemed to be of interest. Something that perhaps could help them with their plan? "Whatcha find?" He asked with a raised brow, hands settling across his chest. Alastor would have asked Angel what the thing was that he wanted to do after this, but alas, his attention had been grabbed by a small set of books laying neatly on the shelf. The Radio Demons expression showed slight fondness for a brief moment as he took one of the small dark blue, leather covered books in hand, opening it to the first page. No, it wasn't anything that could be of use to them currently, but it did make Alastor wonder why he hadn't taken them back a while ago. "Just something I thought I'd brought back with me a while ago. Sentimental valuables if you will." Pushing his glasses up his nose, Alastor read through the front page. In neat cursive writing, was written: 'The journals belonging to Edward Alastor Bouchère' Angel's interest piqued, taking a few steps closer so he was just behind Alastor, peering over his shoulder at the book. "What is it?" In that moment, a loud clap of thunder sounded, seemingly shaking the structure above them. Angel immediately jumped out of his skin, having to bite his tongue to keep himself from shrieking. "Y'know what- grab it and let's go, c'mon! We can reminisce later!" Alastor would have laughed at Angels sudden fear of the lightning, however he was more annoyed over the fact that the other had interrupted him. Although he was right. Who knew what could happen to his already falling apart building if a storm were to hit it now. "Fine. We shall head to the car." Alastor nodded, scooping up the books and carrying them back up the basement stairs with haste. Angel quickly but carefully made his way up the stairs, not wasting any time. If there wasn't a storm, he would have wanted to explore the place a bit more. But now that Alastor had everything, he wanted out. He didn't even get a chance to read any of the writing in the book Alastor was holding. He might have looked stupid, but he could have cared less. Jogging on the spot, waiting for Alastor at the top of the stairs, Angel found himself muttering 'c'mon' quickly over and over. He didn't want to go out by himself, ending up alone because Alastor had found something else to look at. Once at the top of the stairs, Alastor lead the way out towards the window in the kitchen they'd come in from. Now that he knew there was still some stuff here he wanted to bring back, Alastor decided there was definitely going to be another time he came back. But for now? They were leaving. Hoisting himself out the window, Alastor tutted in annoyance at the rain he suddenly felt upon him, the raindrops sticking to his clothing. Making sure the books were carefully hidden and covered on the inside of his jacket, Alastor turned to make sure Angel was out. Angel practically threw himself out the window, flying out of the house as he tumbled to the wet ground. Laying on the floor, his clothes quickly became muddy and wet, now clinging grossly to his skin. Regardless, the now smaller blonde male scrambled to his feet and started running back to the car. It wouldn't make him feel any safer but it was better than being in the rain, lightning now flashing through the sky with only a few seconds before the roar of thunder followed. He grabbed the keys from his pocket and launched himself towards the car. Of course there had to be a fucking storm the one day they visited Earth. Alastor watched in amusement as Angel made a run for the car, the Radio Demon simply laughing as he slowly made his way over to the car, getting in the passenger side and closing the door behind him. "Where did you want to go." He slowly hummed in question, taking the books out his jacket and placing them on the dashboard, making sure they weren't wet at all. Looking across to Angel, Alastor raised a brow in curiosity at the expression of fear that encased his fair features. "My my, you do look terrified. Yes indeed!" Angel jumped into the car, now a shaking mess and tears threatening his eyes. He shut the flashlight off and tossed it in the backseat. "T-Two things actually. One being really f-far fetched and the o-other unlikely because of t-this..." Still managing to answer Alastor, he gestured to the storm, hugging himself as he shook in the seat. "If we can't it's f-fine." Alastor sat in silence as he continued to look over the other, the sounds of the slowly worsening storm outside clearly not helping Angels distressed state. "Well, I won't know until you tell me, my dear!" He exclaimed, a little quieter now. There was another moments silence before Alastor spoke up once again, thinking over his words. He never did this, but the thought of Angel crying pathetically over a storm, it made Alastor certainly feel something. Most probably annoyance. Probably. "Listen, Angel. We have what we initially came here for, so everything else we do won't matter. Our goal has already been achieved." He began slowly, trying to make eye contact with the blonde. "It is still risky, but it won't matter if we do get 'found out'. So, if this storm is really bothering you so much so that you can't even focus, then I don't think it is a good idea for us to be here anymore. I can teleport us elsewhere." Angel did his best to steady his breathing, looking over at Alastor for a moment. "I-I was wondering if m-maybe we could go to N-New York.. it's probably a fucking stupid i-idea because there's definitely gunna be snow b-but that's really all I want. See t-time square again. My other request, I know you wouldn't have been f-fond of anyways." He started rambling again as a way of distracting himself. A flash of lighting made him curl up a bit in anticipation of thunder, the tears finally streaming down his muddy face. The thunder that did come was only a small, low rumble that took about 20 seconds to sound, the storm seeming to be moving away. The rain was still very much there, tapping against the car's exterior. Pursing his lips together, Alastor reached out, awkwardly patting Angels shoulder. Even if the storm did pass, Angel was in no fit state to drive. His clothes were all dirty and wet, clinging to his skin, not to mention he didn't have his shoes after his decision to leave them back where they'd come up from Hell. Quickly pulling his hand away, Alastor sighed. "We shall go to New York then. I must admit, it had always been an ambition of mine to go there. I suspect it's changed quite drastically over the years." But now that Angel had brought it up, Alastor was curious. "And what exactly might have been your other request?"

Yang frowned at her scroll, eyes narrowing at the time. 12:30 pm. Blake was overwhelmingly late. Yang knew that she barely knew the woman but after nearly two weeks, Blake’s work habits were beginning to become familiar to her. Clock in at 8:30 am. Work until 12:30 and go for her lunch break, come back and work until 5:00 pm and head back to the motel. Take very few breaks throughout the day. Yang had taken to purposely interrupting Blake with a coffee or tea to sit down with her and engage in conversation lest Blake not take any other breaks. The woman had one hell of a work ethic, Yang had to admit. It was as she debating calling the motel that Yang jumped, startled, as a rather dishevelled, distressed looking Blake ran through the doors, long hair ruffled, button up shirt carelessly thrown on. “Oh my God! Yang, I am so sorry!” Blake skidded to a halt, chest heaving. Her amber eyes were wide with panic, gaze averted as she stared at the floor. Her right hand was doing its anxious little tic again, tightly gripping her left bicep. “I swear I didn’t mean to delay coming in! I-“ “Blake?” Yang interrupted gently, smiling softly at her, her chest clenching when Blake ever so slightly flinched when Yang raised her hand placatingly. Yang bit her cheek and inhaled deeply before speaking in gentle tones. “You’re fine. Okay? Deep breaths, there you go.” Yang calmly walked to the little kitchenette in the back of the building and returned with a bottle of water, making sure to keep her movements predictable. “You’ve been coming in at 8:30 on the dot each day for two weeks, Blake. I figured something came up.” “I- um… you see-“   “I’m not going to ask what’s wrong. That’s your business, not mine. But I’ll tell you what…” Yang gave Blake a friendly smile. “It’s nearly 1:00… I’m due for my lunch break. How about you join me? You can catch your breath and relax a little. You look like you just ran a marathon.” “Not a marathon.” Blake muttered, her hands moving to comb through her hair, ears pinning in embarrassment. “Just from the motel.” “In jeans, heels and a button down.” Yang said, quirking an eyebrow as Blake crossed her arms and huffed. “Blake, I do not want you breaking your back to get here. If you’re late, you’re late. It’s fine. Remember? I value my employee’s health. Just shoot me a message next time, yeah?” “I would have… but my damn scroll didn’t charge.” Blake sighed, finally looking up at Yang. Yang bit back a sympathetic wince. Poor Blake had large bags under her eyes and it was obvious that she hadn’t slept well the night before. No wonder she was in such a state. “I’d rather get to wor-“ “Not on an empty stomach you’re not… unless you’ve already eaten?” Yang smirked when Blake snorted indignantly. “Great. Head to the bathroom and tidy yourself up a bit. I’m taking you to the best place to get ramen.” “And if I refuse?” “Then I’ll respect that and let you get on with it.” Yang shrugged, her heartstrings tugging at the surprised look on Blake’s face. “You free to decide whatever, Blake. But I’m heading to lunch and I could do with some wonderful company?” “I’m not hung-“ Blake was interrupted by her stomach loudly protesting its hunger, causing her cheeks to flush brilliantly. “… give me five minutes.” Blake then huffed, turning sharply and heading to the restroom, the door swinging shit behind her. Sure enough, five minutes later, they were heading to Yang’s car. ///////////////////////////////// “Your car is literally brighter than my future.” Yang looked up at Blake from across the table and snorted in amusement. Blake was staring out at the bright yellow Heavy Duty truck sat at the front of the small ramen café that they were at, sunlight glinting off of the paint. “I’m serious. That shade of yellow is just… almost painfully bright.” Blake drawled, stirring her glass of Sunflower Pop. Her ears were more relaxed now, a small smile on her face. Apparently, teasing Yang was a sure fire way to cheer her up. Yang couldn’t say that she minded. “At least it’s not a basic black.” Yang smirked back, draping an arm over the back of her seat and chewing on a straw. “Hey, it matches my heart and soul, thank you very much.” Blake said dryly, rolling her eyes. “Your car is black, not the shade of a cinnamon roll.” “Excuse me?!” Yang giggled at the utterly offended expression on Blake’s face, her ears pinning back as she stared at Yang in outrage. “I am not a cinnamon roll!” Blake huffed, crossing her arms defiantly and looking out of the window. “I’m a pretty good judge of character.” Yang grinned, winking playfully. “You can act as tough as you want, Miss Belladonna… underneath, is a complete and utter sweetie.” “I’m sure that you’ll be disappointed.” Blake sighed, resting her chin in one hand and narrowing her eyes at Yang. “You know… you’re a much nicer employer than those I’ve had in the past. Not many would be so… understanding about a late show. And none of them would have taken said late show out to lunch.” “Eh, corporate sucks. I refuse to be like ‘em.” Yang snorted, pointing at Blake. “You know the statistics of employees developing anxiety and depression because of being held with their noses to the grind stone is stupidly high right? What the hell does that accomplish? You get a lot more from an employee if you treat them like a person and give them respect and compassion instead of treating them like a robot. Shit happens. People have bad days and nights. That’s not going to change just because they have a job. If you can understand that, you can work with them to create an environment that they want to come into and form a rapport with them so that they feel comfortable talking to you when things get overwhelming.” Yang leaned forward on the table and smile at Blake kindly. “You may be my employee… but before that, you’re a person. That means that I’m going to give you the respect and compassion that any person deserves.” “Um… okay… wow.” Blake blinked in surprise, staring at Yang for a moment before shaking her head. “Huh. I guess I’m lucky, then. But as somebody who’s worked in corporate businesses before, I’m inclined to agree.” Blake inhaled deeply and gave Yang a long suffering look. “They fucking suck.” Yang let out a laugh and snorted, covering her mouth as a waitress with rich, red hair came over with a smile. “Here you are, ladies. One regular ramen and one seafood special. Enjoy.” “Thanks, Pyrrha! And do me a favour and tell that man of yours-“ “Yes, yes, I know. You’re going to stick those break pad up his, uh, backside if he brings his car in again for that particular issue.” Pyrrha huffed, mildly amused at Yang’s empty threats. “You say the same thing every month and nothing happens, Xiao Long. Either make good on your threats or-“ “Or what? You gonna throw one of your high school javelins at me?” “Yes.” Pyrrha smirked before walking away, leaving Yang staring after her until an amused giggle caught her attention. “So… it looks like I’m not the only soft one around here.” “So you admit it! You are a cinnamon roll!” “I said nothing of the sort!” “You totally did, though.” Yang grinned when Blake chuckled and shook her head, already seeming to be in better spirits than when she had shown up at the workshop that afternoon. Yang smiled gently and turned to her own meal, both women content to eat in companionable silence for the moment. By the time they returned to work, Blake’s spirits seemed higher and she jumped straight into work, albeit with a last, teasing remark to Yang about her choice in music. Not that Yang minded in the slightest.

Cullen counted to ten for about fifth time this morning. It was Sunday and he already burned his breakfast, spilled coffee all over the floor and realized he had to go grocery shopping soon, since he just wasted his last eggs on an inedible omelette. When he loaded the game, Altus was already online along with Eve and judging from both of their locations in the guild log, they were playing together. Not that it was wrong. Hell no, it was probably the best thing – he was her friend, right? Who crashed at her place as well. Who was spending time there, with her, alone. Who knew her personally. It wasn’t wrong and Cullen had no right to feel pissy about it. Yet he stared at the guild log like an obsessed idiot and his own bitterness made him disgusted. He would probably understand if he was really involved with this girl – but they were just talking and playing together, nothing else. He had no idea how she looked like, she had no idea how he looked like, where they lived or what was the last name. They just talked. Against all these simple facts Cullen just couldn’t help himself. [Whisper][Rosecult]: Hi! You’re up early :) [Whisper][Lion_Commander]: Hey, yeah, couldn’t really sleep. Because he kept on thinking about her. Before Altus came along, Cullen was fine, right? Like, content. The fact he didn’t know how she looked like or that they weren’t actually meeting or anything wasn’t such a big deal, because he felt great even with the little they shared. Not even thinking of anything more than writing to her, getting replies, the usual, relaxing flow. But suddenly the simple statement somebody from the same game knew her so closely, so long, so personally, was like a punch to the gut. Like it woke up all the possibilities he had missed, like just talking over chat suddenly wasn’t enough, and he hated himself for that. Two and half a month, a record probably for him to start getting restless and needy over somebody he never saw before. [Whisper][Rosecult]: Aww, how come? Bad dreams again? It was another thing. She knew so much about him – like telling her was always easy. His bad dreams, his moods, his eating habits or favourite movies. They talked about these things without borders. He knew she liked red colour. She usually fell asleep after an hour of staring into the wall. That music helped her to relax when she couldn’t catch a shut eye during a restless night. That one thing she loved about the new city she moved in was the rain, since in her previous homeland it was raining only rarely. He knew a lot. Yet it wasn’t enough. [Whisper][Lion_Commander]: Kind of, yeah. [Whisper][Rosecult]: :( Is there anything I can do for you? [Whisper][Lion_Commander]: Probably not, but thank you for the offer. Cutting her off like this was wrong. [Whisper][Rosecult]: Okay. But definitely tell me if there would be anything I can do. I hate to see you this down. Perceptive as ever. He smiled fondly at the screen and it felt a little stupid when he tried to picture her having a worried face. There wasn’t anything to go by – he had no idea what colour would be her hair or her skin, so only the picture of her game red haired and fair skinned toon was in his mind and that stopped being enough. Was she based on her real appearance? Or was it only a random combination she used? Rosecult was a petite character with a small ponytail (he knew that the lack of long hair option bothered her, so maybe she had long hair in real life then?) and blue eyes, and her favourite armour type was a close-fitting one with short jacket and a scarf, so maybe there was something to go by when trying to visualise her. Asking for a picture seemed wrong though, so he shook the idea off. Especially now when her friend was over. Did he know about them? Well, them. There was no them. There was only this – online friendship. Nothing special about it, right? Sure, they flirted sometimes. He wasn’t that bad at picking it up. But she never gave out any kind of signal of wanting more or hinting anything, so he never made a move either. [Whisper][Lion_Commander]: Thank you, Eve. It was a weird thing – the sudden inability to write smileys, even though it wasn’t anything he needed to show on his face. But it was like the emoticon at the end of the sentence was connected to his mood and he couldn’t bring himself to write it no matter how hard he tried, it simply felt wrong. [Whisper][Rosecult]: <3 “I need a break,” he took a deep breath and logged off the game. He seriously needed some fresh air – maybe the blasted grocery shopping would be the best thing to do right now, to clear his head. *** The trip lasted for three hours and Cullen felt spent when he arrived back home, sweaty and tired and aching. The grocery shopping as he planned got side tracked when he met Samson on the way, and as much as he had few unresolved issues with the man, he still had to admit Samson could reshape the anger into a challenge. So Cullen accepted it and they spent the time with running and workouts they used to do together in the past, before Samson let himself go. He got better now, Cullen had to admit. He even looked healthier, although quite scruffy. He worked hard on getting out of all the drug addictions and alcohol loving – he reached the bottom and that must have motivated him to scramble back to the higher position. Or maybe it was the simple fact he managed to drive off all his friends. Hell, even Cullen, and they used to be good mates before it all started to go to hell. But as much as people were trying to help, he just lashed out on all of them, until nobody remained. It was good to see him back on the line, but the barrier between them stayed. Cullen still had a respect for him, at least for what he was doing now, and liked it or not it helped him to clear his head a lot. When Samson offered to go grab something to eat, he politely declined though and went straight home. It didn’t look like it made Samson surprised, since he just waved him off with a small smile and disappeared in the crowd on the city square. Cullen spent another twenty minutes under the shower, washing off the sweat and the ache in his legs. It was fairly long since he actually worked out like this, and his body felt the strain immediately. But with good enough repetition he was sure the ache would disappear completely and he probably should have started with it already. When he stopped at the mirror, staring at the reflection for a while, it made him sigh in defeat. Yeah, he definitely lost too much weight over the time from the fire. His sister was right, as much as he liked to oppose. His ribs were starting to show and he felt smaller and definitely weaker. An insistent beep of his phone returned him back from the self-pity (as Mia would call it) and he realized he left the device home. It took him a moment before he found it, but another beep helped him to locate it faster once he reached his bedroom. There was one missed call from Cassandra. One text from her, saying something about a pub time tonight – apparently Varric’s idea, since she added a very disinterested looking emoticon to it, and he had to laugh. He replied immediately with an apology for not picking up her call and sorry for not coming to the party. Cassandra – 12:11 – Thought so. “Of course you did,” Cullen sat on the bed while opening another unread message, where his heart skipped a beat. Evelyn. Evelyn – 9:01 – Did something happen? You logged off so abruptly. Evelyn – 9:20 – Cullen? Evelyn – 11:24 – Oh god, please respond. Did something happen? Are you alright? Evelyn – 12:04 – Or are you angry? Evelyn – 12:08 – Okay, um. Radio silence then. Sorry for being so insistent, just… please let me know you’re okay at least? “God fucking dammit!” He held the phone in his hand like just staring at it could help him erase the whole thread – and probably time as well – to not let her worry so much over his own stupidity. He left without thinking and this was the result, exactly what he didn’t want to happen. Cullen – 12:14 – Damn, sorry. I’ve left my phone at home and went out. I’m so sorry to make you this worried. Evelyn – 12:14 – Oh thank god, I really thought… >.< Cullen – 12:15 – I’m terribly sorry. Evelyn – 12:16 – No, it’s really fine, please don’t worry about it. I was just worried because you were in a bed mood in the morning and then you disappeared and didn’t answer. Evelyn – 12:17 – OMFG, *bad* mood, asldjfdlfjdlf, please ignore the previous text for the sake of my dignity. He almost choked when he re-read the text and he couldn’t even reply for how much he was laughing. Cullen – 12:20 – *Bed* mood sounds like something I’m in now, tbh, but a good one :) Evelyn – 12:21 – Welp. Evelyn – 12:21 – I can’t believe I’ve written it. It’s almost as bad as *abou tit*. Cullen – 12:23 – I tend to write that one too, but usually catch myself in time. Hard to explain :) Evelyn – 12:24 – Very much so :D Evelyn – 12:25 – So how come you’re in a *bed* mood? So early today too. Evelyn – 12:26 – Unless you meant it the dirty way :o Cullen – 12:27 – I meant it in a tired, sleepy way. Surprisingly :P Evelyn – 12:28 – Suuuuuuuuuure. Cullen – 12:30 – Lol. You said it, not me :P Evelyn – 12:31 – Or maybe you’re actually thinking of something lewd right now, while imagining a hot actress with you there :o Cullen – 12:32 – Excuse me. I’m an independent person; I alone am hot enough for a fulfilling fantasy. He snorted out loud, almost dropping the phone. He could maybe scare people off with his present visage, especially when he saw himself in the mirror, the thin, blond nothing with stubble. Evelyn – 12:33 – What! Evelyn – 12:34 – Prove it! He stared at the phone for a while, wondering how to reply to that. It would be bold to send his own photo – very bold and definitely unwelcomed. He considered googling a Val Royeaux noble with a ridiculous mask for a moment and sending it to her, but since she knew he was not from Orlais, it would lose the fun of it. He contemplated it for a while, and then snapped a picture of his feet in the bed, sending it as an attachment with a snicker. Cullen – 12:37 – - 1 Attachment – Cullen – 12:38 – These are definitely in a *bed* mood, hurting as hell. And ofc hot enough. It took only a short moment before his phone was beeping with a received photo as well, which made him unreasonably giddy. She was probably sending him a picture of flipping him off or something. Evelyn – 12:40 – - 1 Attachment - Evelyn – 12:41 – Mine are rested and ready to kick :P He almost choked again when the photo included apparently her own feet, resting peacefully on purple and white sheets, her nails painted brightly red. She seemed to be really pale and thin and just… soft. The first thing Cullen thought was small. He wondered if she was ticklish? Cullen – 12:43 – Are you ticklish? Evelyn – 12:44 – Trade secret ;) Cullen – 12:45 – For what? Evelyn – 12:46 – Are YOU ticklish? Cullen – 12:47 – I asked first :P But no, I’m not. Evelyn – 12:48 – Hmmm…. Not sure if I trust you. I should probably check :P Cullen – 12:49 – You probably should :P He stopped right after he hit send and took a deep breath. He was getting too out of hand. He needed to stop himself before he would ask her for a meeting and freak her out. He could feel he was close to it – as always losing borders when talking to her. It wasn’t weird for them to talk about such topics, or sending photos of their feet – albeit it probably should have. But no, it was exactly their style and he felt like losing himself in it again. Cullen – 12:50 – Are you still in-game? Evelyn – 12:50 – Yeah. Wanna play for a bit? :) Cullen – 12:51 – No strength, maybe later. Was just wondering. Evelyn – 12:52 – Alright. Feel free to hit me up if you’d change your mind :) Cullen – 12:53 – Will do :) Evelyn – 12:54 – Also. Cullen – 12:55 – Hm? Evelyn – 12:56 – I’m not ticklish either. But I may be lying.   She had no mercy on him.

Steve opened his eyes blearily. It was pitch black outside, only the dim glow of the street lights out side lit up the night. Steve sat up, surprised by the blanket and his Bucky bear. He turned his head to Bucky’s door and smiled softly. Bucky tucked him in. Steve laughed softly, looking down at the little brown bear in his hands. He closed his eyes and sighed. He could feel a tugging on his heart, the urge to go find Bucky and cuddle him. He shook his head. Nope, not happening. Not that he didn’t want to, but Bucky needed to focus on recovering. Steve smiled down at the Bucky bear in his hands. Well, at least he had this as an alternative. He hugged the little bear close, sighing heavily. Jesus, this was just sad. He looked into the little black eyes of the bear and closed his eyes picturing them as the familiar blue grey eyes of his best friend. Steve gently pressed his lips on the little red nose of the bear and sighed heavily. “God I’m pathetic.” He groaned. “Really Rogers?” He set the bear down beside him and ran his hands through his hair before picking up his phone and looking at the time. 1:58 am. Steve rolled his shoulders and stood up, pocketing his phone. Well, he didn’t feel tired anymore. No point in trying to get some more sleep. He quietly crept over to Bucky’s bedroom door, opening it slowly before peering in. He could make out Bucky, fast asleep in his bed, hugging his Captain Ameribear close. He saw that Bucky was smiling softly. Steve closed the door quietly and felt a small smile tug his lips. Well, at least Bucky was sleeping peacefully. He walked back into the living room and grabbed his sketchbook, turning on the table lamp on the end table. He opened the sketchbook, looking at some of the drawings he had done. He smiled softly at one drawing of Bucky fast asleep on the couch. His hair was partially in his face, partially on the cushion. His mouth was slightly open and he was drooling. Sure it seemed silly, but Steve felt himself fall a little more in love with his best friend, gazing at the peaceful drawing. He continued further on and came to a drawing of Bucky sitting on the floor, cross-legged, scrawling something in his notebook. His hair was tied back with a rubber band. Steve smiled again. ‘He looks pretty good with long hair.’ Steve thought. He started thinking about running his hand through the long, chocolate brown tresses, pulling it… wait, no, no bad Steve. Steve shook his head and turned to the next page. This time, it was a page of animal drawings… and a sketch of Bucky’s eyes in the top right hand corner. Steve screamed internally. There was one of these on every page, wasn’t there? He turned the page again. It was a page full of familiar faces. A drawing of his mother, a drawing of Peggy, a couple of the howling commandos, a few of Sam, one of Natasha and… the rest Bucky. “Okay, this is starting to get ridiculous.” Steve muttered. He turned the page again and low and behold… Bucky. Bucky sleeping, eating, signing. Drawings of his eyes, his face, his mouth, his hands, his metal arm. Steve was starting to get concerned. “Jesus I was blind.” He muttered. “How’d I not notice till now?” Steve decided enough was enough and closed the sketchbook. He looked at his phone, checking the time. 2:11 am. Steve groaned softly. He was partially tempted to text Sam, but he decided that that was a pretty shit idea. Steve sat on the couch, staring at the ceiling for a while. He wasn’t sure how much time was passing by until his phone lit up and started vibrating. Who the fuck was calling him at, he checked the time, 2:37 in the morning? He looked at the ID and groaned. Tony. Why was Tony calling him? Steve answered the call. “Rogers, I didn’t wake you did I?” “Tony it’s 2:37am, you’re lucky I was already awake.” “Nightmare?” Tony asked. “No, I just woke up at around two and couldn’t fall back asleep.” “Ah, alright. That’s good to know.” “Tony, why are you calling me? Shouldn’t you be asleep?” Steve said, exasperated. “Well, normally I would be asleep, but something came up.” “Tony, what did you do?” “I’m hurt Steve. I really hurt that that’s your first reaction.” “What happened?” “I found a rather large Hydra cell in Barcelona, and it’s active. I thought you might like to know.” “You want me to go, don’t you?” Steve said, ready to say no. “They may have information on what they did to Bucky. If we know more about what they did, we can figure out ways to help him.” Steve froze. That… that was a good point. He… he could get Bucky the help he needed if he knew what they did to him. At the same time, he was scared of what he’d find. He knew a bit about what happened thanks to the file Natasha gave him. But that was only the tip of the iceberg. Steve took a deep breath. “I… when were you planning?” “The sooner, the better. When’s the earliest you can leave?” Steve looked over to Bucky’s door. “I… tomorrow afternoon? I need time to prepare.” “Alright.” “Who else is coming?” “Natasha’s coming, same with Sam. I think Clint’s coming too. You’re going, I’m going. Bruce isn’t.” “Can Bruce come here and stay with Bucky?” “Why, you don’t trust him?” “I do. It’s just… I don’t want him alone. He get’s really bad nightmares sometimes and I’d feel better with leaving if he’s got someone with him while I’m gone.” “I’ll send him over. I’m sure he won’t mind.” Steve rolled his eyes. “See you in a few hours then.” “See ya Steve.” … Steve was busy packing spare clothing into his mission pack. It was five in the morning. He heard his bedroom door open and he turned to see Bucky looking at Steve confused. “What are you doing?” Steve took a deep breath. It was now or never. “You remember Tony? He came over to fix your arm a couple of months ago?” Bucky nodded, still looking confused. “He called me last night. He found an active hydra base and wants me to come in to take it out. I’ll be gone a few days, maybe a week or two, I’m not sure.” Bucky’s expression went from confused to distressed. “So… you’re leaving me here?” Bucky asked, looking scared. “Bruce, he came with Tony when he came to fix your arm, he’s coming to stay with you while I’m gone. You’re not gonna be here alone.” Bucky still looked distressed. Steve took Bucky’s shoulders and smiled. “Buck, I trust Bruce. He’s a good man. You’ll be fine.” “But what about you?” Oh… Bucky was worried about him. Really, he should’ve seen this coming. “I’ll be fine. I’ll probably come home banged up and all, but I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.” Bucky calmed down a little. “I’m going out in a couple hours to get you a phone. I’ll help you set it up so you can communicate with me while I’m gone.” Bucky calmed down a little bit more. “Okay.” He said, smiling softly. … It was 8:37am. Steve was set to leave at three pm. He had just got the phone and he was running up the stairs to his apartment. He ran up to his door and fished out his keys, trying to unlock it in a hurry. He opened the door and rushed in, closing it behind him. He noticed Bucky sitting on the couch, hugging Captain Ameribear. “Hey Bucky.” Steve said, smiling softly. He walked up to the couch and pulled out the box containing the phone. “Shall we set this up?” Bucky looked at Steve and smiled softly. He nodded and Steve sat down next to him. For the next two hours or so, Steve helped Bucky set up his new phone, putting in his number, showing him how it worked. Bucky had a hard time at first, but once he got the gist of it, he took to it like a fish to water. He sent Steve a text and smiled, proud of himself. Steve smiled, proud of his best friend. He tried to avoid staring at his face. “Alright. I think you’re all set up.” Steve said, handing Bucky the charger. “Just remember to charge it whenever the battery gets low, otherwise it’ll die and you can’t use it.” Bucky looked at Steve with a smirk. “You did that, didn’t you?” He said, laughing softly. Steve sighed and put his head in his hands. “In my defence, I was fresh out of the ice. I had only been out for two weeks and I still wasn’t use to the fact that pretty much everyone has a phone these days.” Bucky’s shoulders started to shake and the now familiar wheezing started. Steve groaned inwardly. Great, he was laughing at him. All the same, Steve couldn’t help but smiling at the sound of Bucky’s laughter. “Yes, yes, it’s hilarious.” He muttered. “You’re not letting me live that down, are you?” Bucky shook his head, still wheezing softly. Steve resisted the urge to pull him in and kiss him. ‘No Rogers. Don’t be selfish.’ God did he want to be selfish though. He wanted to know what it was like to kiss his best friend. What it was like to cradle his face in his hands and… goddamn it really? He need to stop doing that.   Steve and Bucky spent the last few remaining hours together. Bucky was practically glued to Steve’s side, either silent of talking quietly. Steve didn’t mind though. He didn’t know exactly when he’d be back, and it was nice to spend time with Bucky anyway. Bruce ended up arriving around two o’clock. Steve was to leave in an hour. Bruce was a bit awkward at first, standing in front of the door with a duffle bag in his hands. Bucky watch him for a moment before going up to him and smiling. “Hi Bruce.” He said, hoping that he’d relax. Bruce stared at Bucky for a moment before smiling. “Hi Bucky.” He said. “Nice to see that you’re speaking now.” Steve smiled from the hall before going to his room to make sure he had everything. He grabbed the suit that Tony ended up making for him. It still had the stripes of his old uniform, but they were much duller and less eye catching. Steve began suiting up, preferring to be ready ahead of time. He didn’t notice Bucky watching him from the doorway. Bucky wasn’t there long. Steve already had the suit mostly on by the time he got there. Bucky ended up seeing Steve’s bare shoulders though. Damn those are some broad shoulders. ‘Why does he have to be so attractive?’ Bucky thought. To piss us off. Steve didn’t notice Bucky until he had put on his gloves. “Oh, hey Buck.” He said, wondering how long Bucky had been standing there. “You need anything?” Bucky shook his head. “I... I just wanted to… I don’t know.” Bucky finished lamely. What was he going to say? That he wanted to just stare at Steve while he was suiting up? Who the fuck even does that? Us. ‘Shut up Barnes.’ Steve smiled and nodded. Bucky couldn’t help but notice the faint blush on Steve’s face. ‘Even his blush is attractive!’ Everything about him is attractive! Barnes yelled. He’s just an attractive person! Bucky sighed inwardly. He noticed Steve checking the time out of the corner of his eye. “I’m gonna have to get going soon Buck.” Steve said. Bucky couldn’t help but want Steve to stay. He didn’t want him to go, even if it was to take out an active hydra cell. He wanted him to stay. “Okay.” Bucky said, his voice strangled. Steve smiled apologetically and opened his arms in an invitation to hug. Bucky took him up on the offer and focused on memorizing the feeling of Steve holding him. He wouldn’t get to hug him for a while, so he had to make sure he remembered what it felt like when Steve squeezed him tight, gently rubbing his back ever so slightly. They stood in Steve’s bedroom, hugging for nearly three minutes. A good, long while, but nowhere near long enough for Bucky. “You can sleep in my room if you’d like Bucky.” Steve said. “If it helps.” Bucky nodded, still holding Steve’s sleeve. He didn’t want to let go. He was scared to let go. He was scared that if he did… Steve might not come back. “I’ll be back in a week or so. Two weeks’ tops.” Steve said, smiling. “I’ll be back before you know it.” Bucky smiled weakly, nodding his head. Ya, he wouldn’t count on that. Steve smiled, rubbing Bucky’s shoulder softly. “Don’t do anything stupid till I get back.” Steve said. Bucky knew what to say automatically. The memory of the last time he saw Steve when he was still tiny blossoming in his mind. “How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.” Steve laughed softly and Bucky felt a wave of pleasant warmth wash over him. “True. Take care of yourself, alright Buck?” Bucky nodded before putting his hand on Steve’s shoulder. “You have to take care of yourself too.” He said, feeling scared. “I don’t wanna have Sam telling me that you got your stupid ass hurt because you weren’t paying attention.” Steve laughed and nodded. He reached down and picked up his bag and shield. “I will. I’ll see you in a week or so.” Bucky nodded. They walked to the front door, Bruce and Bucky both seeing Steve off. Steve thanked Bruce for coming over to keep Bucky company and bade the two of them goodbye. He left and the door closed with a click. Bucky wrapped his arms around himself, feeling scared. He’d come back… right?

Tobirama’s animal guide was a cat, a lazy good for nothing smug little shit that lounged on the furniture and watched him with eyes that always seemed to mock him for something he could never figure out. It was pretty to look at, he wouldn’t deny that, all white and gold and almost translucent. Beauty did not make up for the annoyance of that mocking stare, though. Hashirama laughed and told him he deserved it. Tobirama left spiders under his pillow again. Resisting the urge to follow his spirit animal wasn’t a problem for him like it was for others since his stupid cat never actually tried to go anywhere. No matter how many times Touka explained that it probably meant his other half was supposed to find him Tobirama remained certain that his cat was just lazy. How could he, of all people, be meant to sit and wait? That wasn’t his style at all. If he had a question he had always been the sort of person to ask questions or go find the answer himself. Waiting was boring. It was boredom that chased him out of the house and in to the forest when he was ten years old, irritation that made him flop down on the bank of the Naka River to scowl at his dumb spirit guide. The cat only yawned and licked its chops without care. Only when a massive glowing snow leopard burst from the trees did his guide finally move, leaping to its feet just in time for the two beasts to crash together in a glittering explosion of light fragments. For a few moments during which he stood in shocked silence Tobirama could only think that of course he finally got to see the damn thing move quickly only to have it disappear for good. Then his brain finally caught up with him and he realized why, precisely, the thing must have disappeared. Tobirama hated that stupid cat even more when he found out that his soulmate was an Uchiha, a loud-mouthed brat barely older than himself and only half as mature. It was hate at first sight and he felt absolutely no remorse for dunking the idiot in to fast moving currents before dashing off towards home. He could hardly believe his own bad luck to have matched with such a crappy soulmate. Not that it stopped him from quietly checking the riverbank every chance he had thereafter. - It took a week before Hashirama suddenly looked around the room with the expression of one who’d had a revelation. “How come I haven’t seen any of your stuff knocked off the walls in a while? Is your guide okay?” he asked. Tobirama eyed the spot where that damn glowing cat, visible only to himself, had spent most of its time lounging. “Gone,” he grunted. “Wha–!? But then – so you’ve met your soulmate! Who is it?” Tobirama scowled and ducked his chin down to concentrate on the blades he was supposed to be cleaning. “Doesn’t matter. Can’t be together anyway.” Matching with an enemy wasn’t exactly unheard of and his brother may have been an idiot but he wasn’t stupid. Hashirama was quick to connect the dots, face drooping in to a sympathetic pout. Tobirama ignored him. He didn’t need a soulmate to be happy. In fact, he didn’t need anything that he didn’t already have. He would be perfectly happy spending his life in support of his elder brother. And yet, when the moon rose high and Hashirama had fallen asleep across the foot of his bed, Tobirama snuck out of his room and ran to the river, his heart hoping for something that his head told him would never be possible. He spent the night alone. - He was fifteen when they met again, dangling his toes in the water and trying to decide how he felt about the news his father had given them. Most shinobi died in battle. Not many lived long enough to gather their children and coldly explain the sickness raging through the body. Cancer, he had called it. Tobirama wasn’t sure what to think about the whole thing. Was he supposed to mourn the impending loss of a man he’d never truly loved? The sound of a snapping limb caught his attention just in time for him to hear an indignant yelp and witness his errant soulmate plunge out an overhanging tree in to the river. When Madara resurfaced Tobirama was howling with laughter, clutching his stomach as he rolled on the ground. “It isn’t funny! Aren’t you supposed to be a sensor? You suck! I got so close to you because you suck!” On and on he railed but all Tobirama did was continue to laugh. The fool looked like nothing so much as a damsel in distress with all that hair plastered to him and a lily pad clinging just behind one ear. It was an unexpected brightness in a day he expected to be filled with nothing more than morose introspection. “Aren’t you a sensor too? You know I have to be infusing chakra to feel anything.” Tobirama tilted his head to admire the disaster in front of him from a better angle. Madara screeched but didn’t deny it and that small triumph would have been enough on its own to lift his mood. Riding the waves of that uplifting win, Tobirama spent the next hour dodging verbal barbs and lounging much like his cat used to, comfortable where he was sprawled out across the rocks yet unwilling to question why he was so relaxed in the presence of someone he should have been trying to kill. He also chose not to wonder why Madara was not attacking in turn. If Hashirama was allowed to go through life with his head in the clouds then Tobirama should be allowed one day of letting things slide. When they parted that day he swore to himself that something like this could not happen again. He’d had his fill of whatever it was his stupid heart was looking for but it had to stop now. Half a week later he found himself fishing a broken tree branch out of the Naka River while Madara sulked that the evidence of his own stupidity hadn’t vanished on the current. Once more he told himself that it could not happen again and once more he knew he was lying. - Butsuma was dying. It was a cold fact, terrifying for all that he did not love the man. His father’s death meant change; it meant Hashirama taking over the clan before he was truly ready, before they were certain that the council of elders was ready to support him without thinking they could somehow control him. The politics of the situation promised to be a nightmare in the coming year. And yet Tobirama had found a silver lining no one else in his quietly panicking clan was privy to. In the summer sunshine Madara’s smile was a sweet thing, hard earned and beautiful in the quicksilver moments when they weren’t bickering over something. He did enjoy their frequent battles of wit but there was a different feeling to knowing that Madara was smiling for him, happy to be there with him, amused at something he had said. Long since given up on denying himself, Tobirama wondered if everyone else fell in love with their soulmates this quickly. Barely more than a year had passed since they began meeting regularly and already it felt as though he had known Madara for a lifetime.   Surrender and selfishness, he had discovered, tasted like freedom. Dangerous and addictive. Time with Madara was stolen from things he should have been doing like training or helping Hashirama read through the clan records in search of some useless nugget of information to back up some unimportant argument. He did do the important things still, of course. Madara couldn’t be his whole life. Yet for all the hours he spent acting the perfect Senju son, at least half of them were abuzz with thoughts of how long Madara’s hair was getting and how much he wanted to braid it through with flowers just to mock him for looking like a girl. Softness between them was always offset with something else, afraid of facing the truth hidden in their words. Although it was possible that reason was only on his part. Tobirama watched Madara from the corner of his eye, listening to him ramble on about something annoying Izuna had done and the sweet revenge of dunking him in the koi pond. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know if Madara felt the same longing that he did. They could never truly be together, after all. What would be the point? - Autumn had covered the riverbank with a dewy blanket of colorful leaves the evening they first kissed. Tobirama choked on the lecture he’d been giving his soulmate on why it was stupid not to wear armor in battle, fingers tightening on the bandages they were tying around a bloodied arm. They broke apart when the action caused Madara to flinch. “Oi! Careful of the goods!” he admonished. Tobirama blinked at him. “You kissed me.” “And you tried to take my arm off for it! See if I do it again!” Tobirama flailed internally – and maybe a little bit externally as well. “What!? I never asked you to kiss me!” “Good! I’m not gonna anymore!” Madara scrunched up his nose in a jeer and Tobirama felt his blood boiling, though it was hard to tell if he was angry or excited or some other strange emotion in between. “Well – well – take this!” Jerking forward before the other had a chance to dodge him, Tobirama crushed their mouths together again and poured everything he had in to a kiss that rather quickly turned much steamier than he had intended. All he’d been trying to do was make a point. What kind of point he had no idea as it was lost from his mind immediately when Madara’s teeth nipped at his lower lip. Sixteen years old, feeling like he had stolen a bit of happiness just for his own, Tobirama held tight to the sleeve of Madara’s robes and promised himself that the world would have to make him let go.   - “You’re not sad at all?” Madara asked for the eighth time. The very concept of not loving one’s own father seemed to baffle him, for all that he wasn’t exactly close to his own. Tobirama shrugged. “No, we knew this day was coming. He was sick and now he’s dead. Hashirama will take his place and I will support him. There’s nothing to be sad about, really.” Uninterested in the conversation, Tobirama rather pointedly leaned over against his companion’s shoulder. Perhaps if he smiled the way Madara liked he might earn himself another kiss. But no, instead his statement was met with a heavily exasperated sigh and a hand pushing him away. Tobirama narrowed his eyes. Separation simply wouldn’t do, not when he had spent the better part of an hour figuring out a distraction to keep Hashirama occupied so he could slip out to this meeting. After all that effort he deserved all the attention and contact he wanted. Or at least that was his opinion and, since he wasn’t often given to caring for other people’s opinion, his was the one that mattered the most. Ignoring the protesting squawks from beside him, Tobirama dodged underneath the shoving arms and fell sideways until his upper body was cradled in Madara’s lap. He allowed himself a smug chuckle when he was not immediately flung across the clearing. Very few people could claim this level of familiarity with the boy underneath him and even fewer could get away with this unharmed. Other than himself there was probably only one other person who wouldn’t be risking death and that was only because Izuna was the last surviving sibling. “Talk about something that isn’t boring,” he demanded. “I’m sick to death of talking about Butsuma.” “Alright, how about we talk about your brother?” Madara huffed down at him. “Ugh.” “Why haven’t you told him about us? I understood when it was your father in charge but Hashirama would understand. You know damn well the first official thing he’s going to do is pitch the idea of a peace treaty.” Running fingers absently through Tobirama’s hair, Madara glared down at him, his expression in direct contrast with the gentleness of his touch. Tobirama chewed on his lower lip. “But what’s the point of having one side behind us and not the other? You could never leave your clan – and I would never ask you to. So if there’s no chance that your father will see reason…” “Hn. I see your point.” Slowly sitting up again, Tobirama carefully balanced himself on one knee to throw the other one over his partner’s lap. When he had settled himself he leaned forward to wrap both arms around Madara’s neck and bury his face against the smooth skin there. Seventeen wasn’t very old in civilian terms but in shinobi years he was already approaching his prime. In this world they both understood that there were no guarantees that either of them would live to see tomorrow and yet what scared him the most was not the idea of dying, it was the idea of waiting out the rest of his life without Madara by his side. When Madara began petting his hair again he hummed and burrowed deeper in protest of whatever the other was about to say. “So…it’s going to be tough. And I can’t believe I’m about to say this but…my father won’t live forever either, you know?” Those words froze him in place but a hand cupping the back of his head kept his still as Madara went on. “If there’s no other options left then we play the long game. Some way, somehow, it might take years, but we’ll get to be together. Properly, I mean. When I’m clan Head we’ll make peace and we’ll build that village and then you and I? We’re gonna take the world by storm.” Tobirama slowly opened his eyes, looking out at the world around them through the curtain of Madara’s wild hair, listening to the blood thunder in his ears. “Sounds nice,” he admitted quietly. “You’ll wait with me, right?” “Forever,” Tobirama whispered. “For as long as it takes.” Madara held him tighter and said nothing; they had already said everything they needed to. What they had was forbidden, it had gone from unwanted to the most precious part of their lives, and it was the biggest secret they had never told. It was something neither of them asked for but it was theirs and it was time they admitted they were willing to fight for it. Some battles were fought with blood and steel. Others were fought with time and patience. Tobirama smiled to himself as he felt the tension draining out of his shoulders. If that was all it took then he was ready. He could be very patient.

“I think they said something about a circle… or it could have been seaweed.” “Well which is it blondie?!” “I don’t know!  I don’t have the translation guide in front of me and it was made by guys I didn’t entirely trust to begin with!” “Well then what’s the use of you?!” That’s the argument Blaine woke up to.  He heard the voices first before he actually groaned and opened his eyes, drawing the attention of the owners of the voices. “Blaine!” He blinked a few times, focusing in on Jeff’s face in front of him, then turned his head to see Sam there too.  Behind them, and he had to blink to make sure he wasn’t seeing things, was Santana as well as the whole flock of missing members of the community. “What?  Where am I?  We?”  He asked, looking from face to face and recognizing them all, allowing Azimio to help him up with a pull of the hand. “The Others have us munchkin.”  Santana snapped, still as irritable as ever.  She didn’t look any worse for wear despite being missing for two months. “Explain.” In turn, each group rattled off their stories, each one with the same pattern of events.  They had reached a certain point in their travels where they lost all control of their horses and bodies, and woke up here - which they had yet to determine the exact coordinates of.  Each one of them had been scanned by odd Other devices, looked up and down, yelled at in the foreign language of the Others, and then put into this odd, white and glowing holding cell.  Apparently every time they got more prisoners, the cell expanded with a life of its own.  Food was somehow teleported into the room as well, and waste matter transported away.  Santana spoke about how she had tried a hunger strike, only to be plucked by the room with Other magic and force fed courtesy of their ability to make her body do as they wanted.  She decided then she wouldn’t allow herself to be puppeteered by them again, and ate, making sure everyone else did as well. “How’s Brittany?” was Santana’s next question, looking pointedly at Blaine for the answer, eyes rounded with more than just curiosity, but worry too. “She…”  He looked from Sam, to Karofsky, to members of the other groups, trying to mentally ascertain what they had said.  In the end, he went with honesty since none of them seemed particularly readable. “She needs you Santana.  We need to get you out of here.” Santana sighed, wringing her hands together in front of her.  “Tell me something I don’t know.  If there’s a way to get out of here, we haven’t found it… at least not yet.  What about the baby?” “Eugene.  He’s good.  Kurt has been taking good care of him.” Santana nodded, looking a little more relieved to hear that and tilting her head up to let the light glow of the ceiling force tears back into her eyes.  Blaine noticed then that while she still looked healthy and fed, she was clearly exhausted and stressed.  Dark circles below her dried out looking eyes - telltale signs of crying hard and long.  She had bite marks from her top teeth on her lower lip, and her nails were chewed down as far as was possible and then some.  It was like her sadness was a mirror of Brittany’s when Blaine had left.   “They’ll be here for you soon Blaine… did you happen to study any Other translation guides in your time with the Warblers too?” Blaine blinked and looked over to Jeff who explained, “We got that translation guide the year Blaine was in the community along with Trent.” “Translation guide?” Jeff nodded, “Nick and I traded a Renegade some creamed corn in a can for a copy of it.  Words they figure they knew from the Other language.  We studied it like crazy… Never figured we might actually need to know it… just got it for the sake of curiosity.” “So you can speak it?” Jeff shook his head, “If my interrogation was any indication then no… I definitely can’t.  I think they asked about a circle and power and maybe something about candy - but I’m not convinced on that last part.  They have all sorts of weird intonations and the same sound can mean different things depending on the pitch they use to say it.” Blaine shook his head, “Well it would help to be able to speak what they do…  Why haven’t they killed us?” A chorus of shrugs went up through the room.  So helpful. “How long was I out?” Blaine asked then, turning to Sam. “Azimio and I were out for a full day according to them…”  Sam said with a nod towards the community group in there, “... and Jeff woke up about a half day later… and now you… so I’d guess about two days for you.” Blaine shook his head, setting a hand on his stomach which growled to confirm that length of time passing.  “That’s insane…” “That’s insane?  Try spending two fucking months trapped in a glowing room that’s probably being watched by those creepy long legged bastards as you squat to pee because there’s no possible way you can hold out for a toilet any longer!”  Santana snapped at him. Blaine cringed, face contorting as he tried to give her a sympathetic look even though he was sure he just looked disgusted.  Granted, she had been trapped in here for a couple months.  Going a little stir-crazy had to be expected. Blaine was asked if he knew anything more about how relatives and friends were doing in the community by those that had been here for awhile, telling them what they needed to know, and, on occasion, leaving out the fact that their family and friends might have been so depressed that he had seen them in the clinic and treated them for problems arising out of that. “So… how have you even been sleeping in here…?”  Blaine asked as he looked around the unfurnished room. “Uncomfortably.”  was Santana’s grunt of a reply where she had sat herself down on the floor. “And to pass the time?” “We piss one another off.” “Great…”  Blaine drawled out with a sigh, stepping around in place.  Most people were sitting down, or laying down on the ground now.  Azimio was speaking softly with Karofsky, nodding every now and then, while Jeff tried to get comfortable on the floor, tossing every which way and irritating the people around him.   “We can’t just accept this…”  Sam whispered to Blaine, standing quietly aside him still as they looked over the group. “What can we do though?  You heard Santana… they’ve been here two months… they’re not stupid people.  If there was a way out you think they’d have found it by now….” Blaine whispered back with a small shrug. “I am not accepting this as my fate.  I need to get back to my girls.” Blaine nodded, sighing once more as he thought of Kurt.  God… Kurt was going to be so pissed off.  Blaine should have told him… or asked his permission… or… anything. Why had he been so stupid? As he thought about how he would explain himself to Kurt, if he was ever given the opportunity, a hum filled his ears and he felt a tingle go up through his core.  In one instant he was still in the white room, and when he blinked, he was in another - darker, filled with what looked like screens but projected three dimensional images instead of flat ones.  He tried to move, but found his limbs useless once again.  He could only look, and try to inwardly talk his heart down from the rapid beating it had taken up inside him.  He knew this was coming, but it didn’t make it any less terrifying.   Blaine had only ever seen Others from afar, Halflings as dead bodies… and now… to know he was going to be interrogated by them was scary to say the least.  These were the creatures that had turned the world upside down, that likely killed his family, that pushed humanity onto the endangered species list. One of them stepped into his view.  They were all tall, but this one seemed like a giant, and unlike the ones he’d seen before, he was hairy.  Chest exposed with tribal like tattooing only breaking for the dark fur lining his olive toned body.  His face looked like something out of one of those old muscle magazines Blaine used to masterbate to when he was still a young teenager - all chiseled and rectangular and meaty.  Then of course, there were the pointed ears, also rimmed with fur at the top.  This one, this one was one of those shapeshifting ones.  Blaine was sure of it. The creature in front of Blaine made a series of pitched noises that sounded vaguely like latin opera and made Blaine cringe in place.  It wasn’t a pleasant language to listen to, especially when it seemed so angry sounding all the time.  He remembered people joking about how Arabic or German always sounded angry no matter what was being said, but those two language had nothing on the words the Others spoke. The Other huffed as he got no response out of Blaine and stepped away, another taking his place.  This one wasn’t as tall, but was infinitely more frightening.  The skin was pale to the point of being grey, no hair to speak of on the head, and probably none under the dark cloaking it wore.  What was truly scary about it was the way it lacked any discernible pupils and only had whiteness looking towards Blaine which was set against hollowed cheeks and an all too sharp jawline. Again he was spoken at, and again Blaine couldn’t respond.  Did they really expect him to understand what they were saying? The pale one rattled something off to the hairy one and then went to the counter behind them, grabbing a small, coin shaped and sized bronze object off the counter and then holding it front of Blaine. “Slaap’ka!” Blaine’s brow furrowed, looking at the coin-thing and then back to the white eyed Other.  What did they want? “Hurr…” The coin-thing was set back on the counter then and a couple foreign looking devices were grabbed, one by each of the Others present, who waved them up and down over his body as he mentally chanted ‘Please don’t probe me’ inside his head. One of the devices started making a lot of sharp, static noises, making both of the Others there perk up and start speaking to one another fluidly before they scanned him over with it again, eliciting the same response.   Whatever that thing had picked up on him, couldn’t be good.  He knew that much just by watching how excited their reactions were. They both yelled at him now, and he winced and just let them - because, really, what else could he do?  He was fixed in that position and had no way of being able to communicate with them.  He was trying to figure out what they were saying, but like Jeff had said, they used the same sound at different pitches all over the place.  It was damn near impossible to keep track of. Then, his body went tingling again, and he heard the hum once more as he found himself whisked back into the white room, body back in his control. “Well?” Santana perked up, looking at him like it was no big deal that he had just been teleported by magic.   “I uh….  I have no idea what just happened…”  Blaine said, looking around to make sure he was actually back. “Of course you don’t.”  She sighed and flung her arms up into the air, “None of us do.” “Did you guys have the same ones?  A shapeshifter and one of those creepy white-eyed ones?”  Blaine asked, looking over to Jeff. Jeff nodded, but everyone else seemed a little more confused.  Blaine realized he had only ever given them the quick notes on identifying subtypes of Others.  “Shapeshifters take on features of what they can change into… there was a super tall, hairy one… wouldn’t be surprised if he changed into a bear or wolf or something…” A small chorus of ‘oh’s came up and then everyone was nodding, talking about the weird tattoos all over that one’s body or how that one could have dominated professional wrestling back in the human world. “What about the white eyed one?”  Santana asked then, breaking the conversations up as everyone looked back to Blaine and Jeff. “Well… ah…. from what we know they’re not really fighters… they have more magic than most Others we think…. A renegade we ran into once describes them as the mad scientists of the Other world.”  Jeff offered. “Oh good… well then… all we have to worry about is explosions and bear attacks.”  Santana grumbled, arms folding over her chest as she leaned back against the wall with a huff. “Remember that Other you guys saw the year I was first in the community Santana?  That was a shapeshifter too… only a bird one… You should be afraid of a bear one though… it would be all the power of a bear, but with the mind of an Other… mauling would be easy….”  Blaine murmured, shuddering at the thought. “Well he hasn’t killed me yet so colour me unconcerned.” That was the end of the discussion, everyone returning to their doing of nothing and Blaine sighing as he sat himself down in the place he had been standing, looking the room over, hoping that miraculously he’d find some kind of hole or crawlspace he already knew wasn’t there.  He needed to fix this. Except that the more he looked around, the more he realized he couldn’t figure a way out of this.  All his time on the road with the Warblers hadn’t prepared him for being caught by the Others any more than his time in the community had.  How did you fight back against magic when you didn’t have any or understand it?   So Blaine slept, hoping that sleep would give him some inspiration for escape, leaned up against Sam and Sam leaned up against him as they both dozed awkwardly and uncomfortably - just as Santana had warned them.  No dreams surfaced, as least not long enough for him to remember, especially since every so often he’d wake just long enough to remember the unfortunate state of his affairs and reposition himself to try and be more comfortable as he fell back asleep. Sleep didn’t bring inspiration though.  It only brought about muscle aches and a feeling of more exhaustion than he had when he initially tried to doze off.  How had they occupied their time up until now, Blaine wondered, glancing around at the equally drained and soul absent shells of humans around him.  People weren’t even talking.  It was like they had given up and accepted their fate - whatever it was. “We need to do something…”  he uttered, looking over to Sam for affirmation and finding the blonde man dozing against his shoulder, a trail of drool down his cheek and almost at Blaine’s jacket.  “... Sam!  Hey!” “Huh!  Wha?”  Sam snapped his head up and looked around before looking back to Blaine and rubbing his cheek off, “What?” “We need to do something.  Everyone here has already given up.” “Maybe because there is no hope man… I mean… have you seen where we’re being held?” Blaine scanned the room over once again.  Plain white room, that glowed incessantly, making it impossible to get a decent sleep without covering up your eyes… Uncomfortable surroundings made it hard to sleep at all.  Nothing to stimulate the mind around, and Blaine was sure there was a small buzz of white noise. “This whole place is designed to keep us too worn out to fight… always on the edge of sleepiness but never rested..”  Blaine mused quietly back to Sam. Sam eyes the place over and nodded in agreement, “Yeah… but what good does knowing that do us?  Humans have caged each other in shitholes for centuries before the Others came along when they wanted a psychological advantage. How did people get around it then?” “Not sure… never took that much history before the Tides happened…” They both sighed together and nodded in unison, trying to wrack their frazzled brains for an answer. “You figure the room’s organic?” Sam peered sidelong at Blaine, “You mean like… alive?” Blaine nodded.  “They said it grows out every time someone new comes in.” Sam looked it over, as they had again and again, “Hard to tell… the way everything glows makes it hard to see the details in the walls… you have to squint… it could just as easily be them opening up a new section by opening a wall or something…” Blaine sighed, “You think anyone has tried feeling the edges of the walls yet?” “They’d have been stupid to not to.” “Want to feel it with me anyhow?” “Nothing else on my schedule man.” They scooted to the closest wall and began feeling around the connection from the wall to the floor, each moving in a separate direction.  Aside from the fact that it stung to look at, what with the bright light in their eyes, it still felt as any wall did connected to the floor.   “We’ve tried kicking them down, punching them….”  Santana mumbled as she watched them lazily, “They don’t budge.  You’re wasting your time.” “We have time to waste.”  Blaine grunted, eyes looking upward.  “What about the ceiling?” “It’s too high to reach.  It’s made for their monstrous height.” Blaine looked over at Sam, “Hey.  You think you can hold my weight?” Sam nodded, and the pair came back together, working together to figure out how Sam could lift Blaine up on his shoulders and getting Karofsky and Azimio over as well to help. Even with Blaine crouching on Sam’s shoulders, he could still only just reach the ceiling, but it was enough, and he stretched himself out to feel along the ceiling.  For the most part it felt like any other flat ceiling he’d touched before, but once they reached a corner, his finger was able to push past something foamy feeling, drawing the attention of everyone in the room as they all held their breath. Then there was a buzz, and a jolt went through Blaine, knocking him clean off Sam’s shoulders and onto the floor where he gasped for breath as electrical jabs stabbed him with tiny little knives all throughout his body.  He didn’t know pain could be THAT painful. “Blaine?!  Blaine?!”  Sam’s head hovered over his own as Blaine worked on remembering the dynamics of breathing. “Oh my god that hurt.”   Above him, Sam breathed in relief, as did the collection of bodies around them, and helped Blaine sit up.   “I think we either found something electrical - which means the room isn’t alive, or they’ve been watching us and didn’t like what we were finding and zapped me.”  Blaine groaned, reaching up to rub his hair and finding it extra poofy courtesy of the electrical shock.  “God… Kurt hates it when my hair gets this terrible…” His heart ached as he thought about his man and he stopped talking once he caught himself doing it.  If he wanted to get back to Kurt, he had to think past this, move past this.  A little zap - no problem.  Just a bump in the road to freedom. He hoped. Not a moment later there was a deep purple glow in front of him and Sam, and the hairy Other was in the center of the room, spitting out something in that terrible language of theirs at Blaine.  Was he giving him a scolding?  Telling him something?  Asking a question?  DId these creatures not realize just how useless it was to talk to humans that didn’t understand them at all? “Something about moving… and something about circles again…” Jeff offered.  Like knowing things about moving circles made the whole exchange less confusing.   Another purple glow formed beside the Other in the room, and a new Other was there.  A woman, shorter than the Others they had been interrogated by but still taller than even Karofsky, ears pointed, but not as extreme as a pure Other. “A halfling…”  Jeff breathed out, and then caught his breath in his mouth.  Blaine kept looking the girl over.  White hair, bound in a long braid that fell down to the middle of her back, and dressed in black, metallic armor.  He’d only seen the child halflings… but it was true she didn’t look quite enough like all the Others Blaine had seen before. “Yes.  That’s your word for us.”  She spoke in flawless english, looking over the group with clear disappointment.  “Go Bruno.  I’ll be fine.” The hairy Other grunted beside her, but faded out in another shimmer of purple, leaving her here, alone, among so many humans and clearly not worried for her own safety.  It told Blaine she was more dangerous than she looked. Left by herself, she directed her gaze to Blaine.  “Do not toy with this structure.  It is designed to collapse if broken and kill you all in its wake.” Blaine wrinkled up his nose at her, pushing himself up to stand despite the ache that still resonated through his body.  “Sounds like something someone would say because they’re worried that we found a way out and they’re trying to scare us into not pushing further.” “I have no interest in keeping you.”  She said plainly.  “They do.  That’s why they spoke to you first and not me.” “Why witch?  Why talk to us now then?” Santana spat, coming up aside Blaine. Blaine noticed then the violet eyes set in the Halfling’s face as she looked over to regard Santana with equal disinterest.  “The Ilu asked me to.  The white-eyed one.” “So… you can speak English… but they they only now asked you talk to us.  Brilliant.  How was it that your race took over the world again witch?”  Santana growled, Blaine having to set a hand on her back to warn her to stay with him.  She seemed dangerously close to rushing the Halfling and Blaine was pretty sure that Santana would find herself outmatched. The Halfling ignored Santana’s spiteful rant and looked back to Blaine.  “What is the source of power you came from?” Blaine shook his head while Jeff murmured at his other side, “I was right.  They were talking about power!” “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “There’s a circle of protection we can not enter.  All of you left it and that is why we were able to capture you.  They want to know what the source is.” Blaine blinked a few times, digging through his mind to try and figure it out and looking over to the rest of the community for help.  All of them shaking their heads, shrugging, or both.  “I don’t think we know what you’re looking for…” “Then you’re all useless to us and they should have let me kill you.” The Halfling huffed. Mouths snapped shut and looks were exchanged.  Santana was the one who dared say anything. “You?  Just you?  You’re a Halfing… doesn’t that mean you’re only half as strong?!” Blaine and Jeff were the ones who winced as she said it, knowing, if only from the rumours, how wrong she was.  There was a flash beside Blaine then, and a gasp.  Heads turned to look at the wall where the Halfling woman had Santana pinned by her throat with one of the long, silver fingered, hands of the woman.  “Halflings are the reason there is power at all… witch.” Santana was released then, slumping down to the floor and gasping for her own breath as her hands went to feel her neck.  A couple of the members of the community went to her aid while the Halfling woman spun in place with a flourish and looked the rest of them over.  “You are all on borrowed time.  As soon as they realize how useless you are to them, you’ll be dead.  Make your peace now.” Purple swarmed over the woman, overtaking her, and teleporting her out of sight once again, leaving in her wake, Santana’s choked breathes, and a silence that only the dead could appreciate. “Lift me up again Sam.”  Blaine said finally, looking over at his friend.  “We either get out or die trying because it seems the alternative is just waiting for her to come back.” Sam nodded, and soon there were several community members feeling around at holes in the ceiling, trying to push into those corners until they were electrocuted off - but each time, they got back up, and went at it again. They had nothing to lose.

Raquel can remember bits and pieces of the weeks and days and hours leading up to her wedding ceremony to Alberto. Until the abuse had clouded so much of their relationship, she supposes that at the beginning, when it started, there was a possibility that she felt happiness.    They had met at the Academy - both careers skyrocketing places amongst the elite police and forensics forces in Spain, both of them deeply patriotic and eager to serve their countries, finding that connection with each other. Their competitive natures had lit a spark between them, at first. They were both so young, so naive, Raquel would add bitterly, when she let herself think of it all and how she’d royally fucked up not only her life, but the life of their - her - daughter. Still his daughter in a sense, she guesses, but how much? Every once in a while, Paula does something that so clearly mirrors a mannerism of her father and it makes Raquel catch her breath, having to walk out of the room with no explanation, wishing her feelings away . . . What does she owe Paula when it comes to all of this? How will she ever be ever to truly explain the decision she made? Raquel and Alberto had dated a few years, seeing each other once a week, then twice a week, making time when they could during the academy and training and then he had proposed. Over an Italian dinner. The ring in a box next to gelato. Raquel vaguely remembered Alberto saying his knees were aching from racquetball, but everyone was looking, perhaps she could say yes and put on the ring. Raquel, not ever considering there were options, had said yes. He hadn’t even looked at her, simply smirked knowingly at the waitress, ‘I knew it, of course she’d say yes,’ practically painted across his face. There were many afternoons, meeting with caterers, the priest, the planners, the florists, and the humiliating amount of times she’d lied for Alberto, claiming falsely he’d been called away to an important meeting, a delay. In truth, her career had suffered in those months leading up to the wedding, as he’d been allowed to shrug the matrimony commitments off, for the sake of his job, but she hadn’t. She’d felt the sting when it had come to promotions, talks about her level of commitment, being filed away as a woman with “appointments” and such things that called her away from the seriousness of being involved in the line of the duty and it was all such fucking bullshit but she went with it at the time, because she felt she had to. Alberto wanted a big wedding, the whole splash and ceremony and pomp and circumstance of it all. He wanted all the pics of his “sexy wife and this expensive wedding you’re forcing me into,” which she would always force a laugh about. And he insisted that she wanted it too, whenever she voiced a complaint about the burden of the planning falling on her.  Then there had been the dress fittings, the tears from her sister, her mother, the small handful of friends she had as she’d walked out of the dressing room to showcase the gown that was deemed ‘the one.’ Raquel had been called “beautiful,” “stunning,” “radiant,” and any manner of flattering adjectives, more than she could remember in the collective of her life. She’d picked up the tulle and lace and layers and spun around to the clerk. “How much, exactly?” she had asked, before bargaining a monthly plan against her lowly detective salary, thinking Alberto would love it, would call her “beautiful,” and it would be worth it. If she had to tuck aside what she might actually have wanted to wear for the moment, so be it. Raquel can remember bringing Alberto home to her parents’ house, sitting down for family dinner, and a few awkward exchanges between Alberto and her father, sensing some strange tension between Alberto and her sister, and the loving yet somehow already unfocused gaze her mother had set upon the pair of them. With startling clarity, Raquel can remember Marta getting drunk out of her mind at her bachelorette party and ruining it for Raquel. Despite the fact that the evening was meant to be about her, Raquel had spent it all stone-cold sober, tending after her younger sister, who had been meant to organize the whole evening, then had showed up drunk, mumbled incoherent things about sibling rivalries and show-downs from years before, reaching back well into their childhood. The planned course of events had quickly been tossed aside, as neither maid-of-honor or the bride tending to her could be counted on to participate. As the dawn had risen, Marta curled up in Raquel’s bed, a bowl beside the nightstand and some Advil and Gatorade on stand-by, Raquel had called Alberto, hoping to share an understanding laugh about the turn of events. Alas, he had been at his stag-do, and hadn’t returned her call for three days, claiming “last days of bachelorhood privileges,” and calling in sick to work while he was at it. She hadn’t seen him for five days straight. He’d never told her what he’d been up to, where they’d been, glossing over all details and just focusing on how tired and out of it she had looked when they did actually meet up again for the first time in those five days, over lunch, to finalize plans for their parents on the day of the actual ceremony.  “Can’t you just figure it out? Isn’t this a wife’s job, after all?” he’d thrown at her, trying to unburden the handling of his own parents on his future wife, who had only met them a handful of times. “No, Alberto, not yet,” she’d said through gritted teeth, willing herself to be calm and unanxious. “They are your parents, you know them best. Perhaps, one day, I will feel comfortable doing this,” she tried to assuage him. “I know it will mean more if you arrange things for them and have the details ready, as they will surely be calling you in the event of any emergency or mishap.”   And then the actual day of, getting ready with her sister as her one bridesmaid, her mother flitting in and out of the room, butterflies nervously flapping around under her ribcage, unable to eat or drink and finally being coaxed into one glass of cava to try and help calm her nerves before her father came into the small side room at the back of the church to escort her down the aisle. “Last chance to run out of here!” her father had whispered, joking, and she’d paused just for a moment before clearing her head with a shake and pressing forward. But fuck, she wishes she’d taken him up on it. The rest of the day is one big blur - vows, the first dance, cutting the cake, speeches. She can remember dancing with her father, him not saying a word. She remembers Alberto pawing at her on the dance floor, then stalking away when she asked him to stop through gritted teeth. She remembered his groomsmens, mostly colleagues from the academy, apparently in a race to see who could dry up the open bar.    She’d looked at the wedding album a few times with Paula, a few times with Alberto, in desperation at times, when they were still trying to work things out, trying to look back and remember, to fight for what they thought might have been. She’s not sure now what exactly had convinced her that he was the one, what made her say “yes” that fateful day when he asked her on a date, and “yes” again when he said they should move in together, and “yes” again to transfer to his station, “yes” again to proposal, to a child when she wasn’t sure, to another move, to the millions of things he commanded of her along the way.    With Sergio, it’s such a different story. They’d been together so briefly, chatted so casually and yet seriously, made love twice, their relationship started on lies and power plays, then confessions of love at gunpoint and the betrayal of a career and a country while hanging from chains. How could possibly be the foundation for a true, lasting love? And yet, a year later, once she’d figured out the postcards, they’d come together and been inseparable ever since.  Sergio had gotten a dressing down for leaving such a stupid, easy to track clue for the police had they confiscated the cards. “And if I’d never looked at them again, Sergio, what then?” she’d asked, their naked bodies wrapped around each other that first night in Palawan. “If I had just shredded them and thrown them out with the trash as I meant to so many times because sometimes the thought of it all made me so fucking angry - what then?” “I would have come for you - somehow and soon, Raquel. You were - as I told you - the only flaw, the only crack in an otherwise perfect plan. All I needed my whole life was to pull off this plan and then you - then you - Raquel, I was nearly at my breaking point when I finally got the word from my team that you’d booked flights to the Philippines and I can’t tell you how happy I felt when I knew - “ “Show me.” She’d cut him off then. He’d frowned in confusion and then she’d reached for him, stroking softly, feeling him respond immediately to her touch. “Show me, make me feel as happy as you felt then, Sergio .” Her saying his real name, only the second time, was an incredible aphrodisiac to him then. It still is now.  Raquel and Sergio. Choosing the other over themselves, over and over. Trading their lives for each other. Fighting and fucking and fighting some more but somehow electrifying each other with a deeper understanding of love and trust than either had ever known.   There was a joint heist between them and behind them, their small gang of misfits gathered for their pending nuptials, a member of the team rescued (but absent from the current celebrations), and the entire world was after them but they have the money and most importantly, the collective smarts to outrun the danger. Yet Raquel marveled that it was still often just a heated glance from him that took her breath away and made her forget all the pain and trial it had taken to get them here. And it was in his fingers skating down her shoulders as he came up from behind her, always gentle, always easing his presence into her space until he fit her small frame into his that made her feel safe and understood. She felt the depth of his honor and character in his intelligence, his insatiable curiosity for the things of the world, his patience to explain it all to their daughter, his desire to solve any problem he could. And their whispered conversations at night, sharing pillow talk about everything and nothing, the ability to share responsibility for Paula and her mother, for the day to day decisions which could drain a single parent and caretaker, and the absolute trust she had in him to take care of them all even at the cost of his own life warmed her from the inside out.    She loves that the first thing she sees this morning, like most mornings, is him brewing her a cup of coffee in the kitchen wearing nothing but loose pants and messy hair and a sleepy smile. It gives her a secret thrill to know that she’s the only woman who’s ever seen him like this - unguarded, open, not in a suit . A man that arm-wrestled a country to its knees to save his friends but still blushes when she flirts with him. (“I came to get you , Raquel,” he always says, shaking his head, “if nothing else, to be able to say -” and that’s when she shushes him with a kiss, not able to bear the thought of what the alternative to making it out of the Mint alive would have been.) “Hi,” he whispered, a bit shyly, his voice gravely with the hours of the previous day’s drinking, tinged with embarrassment. “I tried to make a leaf in the milk, but there is no such thing as ‘unskilled labor,’ is there,” he quipped as he held out a mug of coffee towards her, tinged with frothed milk and what she supposed was a leaf outline. “I hope it’s nice,” he added, lifting his own cup to his lips. “Why, thank you, I’m impressed,” she pressed a hand to his chest, scratching the hair there in appreciation before taking a sip. “Are you feeling okay? I’m surprised you were up before me.” She eyed him with sympathy and ran her fingers through his beard and then his curls. They both could use a haircut but, eh.  He nodded down at his cup. “I don’t feel great, but I knew it was best to get up and get moving. I juiced some kale and cucumbers and ginger, got the coffee started, made some toast, and already feel a bit better. I’m just hoping I didn’t say anything too . . . ?” he trailed off and looked at Raquel, waiting for her to fill in any blanks, but she only smiled, biting back the urge to tease him a little bit since he looked so sheepish. “No, my love, you were fine. I think you needed that time with the boys, with Palermo.” “You're right. I did,” he nodded. “It’s nice to know someone else on the planet misses Andres as much as I do, although in very different ways, of course. But it was nice to remember the good times, the plans we made, some of my brother’s more colorful moments and choices, but also all the times he was there for - for anyone who really needed him.” Raquel walked slowly into his chest, nestled her head against him, kissing the side of his neck. She knew that she could never talk as easily about Andres as Sergio might have wanted, based on their interactions in the MInt and what she knew about Andres and Ariadne. She appreciated that Palermo was there with good stories to tell about Sergio’s brother to ease that part of his heart she could never really step into. “I missed you,” he said softly, sipping his coffee quickly, almost like he didn't want her to hear it unless she was really listening, and she smiled against his skin. “It was one day apart,” she chuckled, pressing another kiss to his neck. “But you know what I mean.” “I do.” “Mmm, I like the sound of that.” His arm slipped around her as his chin came to rest upon her head, holding her small frame against him. They relaxed into each other even more. “And how was your day with the ladies? Did everyone have a good time?” Raquel shifted around so her back was to his front and rocked side to side with him. “We had a lovely time. My toenails are now bright blue, courtesy of our daughter, so I hope you find that sexy. Paula took lots of pictures when she was with us and then was squirrelled away in her room working on ‘something’ I know I will love. Mama was in a pretty good mood for most of it. I think Manila had the best time - just being one of the girls.” Sergio breathed in her hair for a moment, rocking with her. “I love bright blue,” was all he said before placing his coffee cup on the counter and then taking hers from her hand and placing it next to his. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close to him as they synchronized their breathing for a moment.  In. Out. In. Out. Together. Always. “So. Today we have to . . . “ he started. “Just a few things to organize,” Raquel began, turning to face him. She placed her palms on his chest and looked up at him tenderly. After all this time with the whole group and then the events of yesterday, she was sure that Sergio needed some down time to decompress and process all that had happened. He never spent this much time with other people. “It’s mostly just food things with my mother, which we’ve settled already but she will want or need to hear confirmation a few dozen times. It might be best for you to stay out of the way for a while, in order to preserve your relationship with my mother and therefore our future marriage. Maybe you can catch up on things in your study, if that’s okay with you. I’ll come find you later.” He leaned down briefly so their foreheads touched, taking a deep breath.  “I’ve never loved you more,” he whispered, nuzzling into her neck as her arms reached up to wrap around him. “Me, too - wait! No! No!” she giggled. “Remember? Helsinki sang that song last night and we agreed it was our new thing to say about how we felt.” “Huh? I don’t remember - ” Sergio shook his head and leaned back to look her in the eyes. “Wait - sing it to me.” Raquel paused for a moment, remembering, humming a few bars, remembering the big bear of a man that was Helsinki belting out the big band lyrics of the 70s song, until she got there . . . “Every day's a new day in love with you. With each day comes a new way of loving you,” Sergio grinned at her, starting to hum along. “Every time I kiss your lip my mind starts to - “  “Wander - “ he supplied, helping her remember, and now they sang together - “If all my dreams come true, I'll be spending time with you!” She giggled sweetly and leaned her forehead into his chest, her hand absent-mindedly coming up to clasp his and they began to dance in place against the kitchen counter, singing to each other softly: “Oh, I love you more today than yesterday But not as much as tomorrow I love you more today than yesterday But, darling, not as much as tomorrow.” “Not nearly as much,” he smiled against her hair. “Because tomorrow -” he squeezed her tighter against him - “tomorrow you’re really -” She tilted her head back and smiled straight into his eyes and they both stood completely still. Raquel could feel her own chin quiver, and the emotions running through his body as well.  “Really, really,” she supplied, grinning. A door slammed in the background and Tokyo’s voice could be heard whining something about shower time while a fist pounded on a door. Spell broken, they both chuckled and fell into each other for a hug. Raquel pulled back first. “Off to your study, then. I can hold down the fort for a while.” “I trust no one else,” he promised, sealing it with a kiss that spoke of promising moments to come.  

Caleb clasps Fjord’s hand in his own, the cut in his palm stinging as his blood drips into the altar below. The feeling of fire roaring in his veins is an old but familiar one, back from when magic was exciting, when the hunger to learn consumed him day and night. With a steady half-smile, Fjord meets his eyes, dark hair half-falling in his eyes and the red glow of the runes illuminating his face. As the blood reaches the rim of the bowl, the final runes light, and a deep subharmonic boom sounds distantly through the water. Caleb holds his breath, hand still firmly gripped in Fjord’s. “Was that it?” Fjord whispers. “Did we do it?” “We did something,” says Caleb, looking around. The chamber seems unchanged. But a minute passes, two, and nothing happens apart from the runes slowly, gradually dimming. “Maybe it’s outside,” says Fjord, finally letting go. Caleb relinquishes his hand with a momentary flicker of regret, oddly dissatisfied at the lack of results. What a let-down, after all of that. “Maybe.” They make their way back through the tunnels, avoiding the seaweed. As they come out onto the open ocean floor, Fjord turns his head up towards the surface of the water, brow furrowed. “Sun’s risin’,” he says, and Caleb realizes the water above them is tinted midnight instead of inky black. The graveyard of sunken vessels surrounds them, masts rising like denuded trees, and the pieces click together one by one in Caleb’s mind. “Fjord…” he says slowly, “ do you know why this region is so dangerous to ships?” Rubbing the back of his neck, Fjord says, “Lot of unpredictable storms here, even when it ain’t storm season. And you know, monsters an’ all that, but mostly storms…” He trails off, meeting Caleb’s eyes. “Storms that happen for no reason. Seemingly. Out of nowhere.” For the first time in hours, Caleb’s chest feels heavy and airless. “Almost as if summoned.” Horror dawns on Fjord’s face. “Yeah.” “We need to get back, fast.” Caleb digs in his spell pouch, careful not to damage the delicate little moth’s cocoon. “Fjord, do you trust me?” “Yeah,” says Fjord immediately, “but why –” Crushing the papery white cocoon in his hand, Caleb smacks the fragments onto Fjord’s chest, focusing his mind on the form of a dolphin and letting power flow through him. Fjord’s body lengthens, thickening with muscle, his legs fusing together and arms shortening and broadening into fins. His snout elongates, filled with pointed teeth, and Fjord tries to speak to Caleb, but instead a series of clicks and squeaks come of the dark grey-green dolphin, a scar down one side of its face just like Fjord’s. Caleb climbs onto his back, straddling Fjord and hanging onto his fin, Fjord flexing his new muscles under him. “Up to the surface,” says Caleb, making sure Frumpkin is wrapped firmly around his neck. “Fast as you can. Ja?” The words barely leave his mouth before Fjord darts off, shooting through the water. Fingers knotted tightly together around Fjord’s fin, Caleb hangs tight, gripping with his thighs. The water rushes past them with enough force it threatens to dislodge him, more and more light gradually seeping around them until the water becomes deep blue-gray and they burst up through the surface to rolling waves – Caleb gasps, thick rain plastering his already-wet hair and clothes to his face. He looks in the direction of where the Tide’s Breath and Squall-Eater were and is relieved to see two patches of off-white sails in the distance. Heavy gray clouds rapidly build and roil above them, deepening to purple in the heart of the storm. “That way!” yells Caleb over the rain and the wind. He snaps his fingers to send Frumpkin back to the Feywild, to be retrieved later when he can make him back into a cat. Snorting mist out of his blowhole, Fjord turns and swims that direction, fighting the swells. Caleb is absurdly thankful that his water-breathing still lasts, with the waves and the rain. They chase the ships, the storm on their heels, and Caleb isn’t sure whether his heart pounds with fear for the destruction of the Tide’s Breath, or awe at the power of the storm he and Fjord summoned. With the wind in their sails and a head start, the two ships are faster than Fjord, and they disappear over the horizon. Fjord slows his pace, cutting through the glass-green waves; they’re on the fringes of the storm now, and the swells are lower, the rain steady but gentle. “How are you doing, are you all right?” says Caleb, patting Fjord’s leathery hide. Fjord whistles cheerfully underneath him, which Caleb imagines is a positive statement. “Well, at least we did not kill everyone,” sighs Caleb. “Onwards.” They continue in the direction of the ships, Caleb firmly trying not to think about what happens if they never regain sight of them. Gradually they pass out of the range of the storm, the sky still overcast but with the lemon glow of a rising sun to their left. Good to have directions, at least, thinks Caleb. And then they crest a swell, waves splashing Caleb in the face as Fjord arcs through it, and when he can see again he catches a glimpse of white sails ahead of them. “There they are!” Caleb shouts, relieved, and Fjord swims forward with renewed energy. Just in time, too, because as they draw near the two ships, Caleb can feel his hold on the polymorph spell just beginning to slip. The Tide’s Breath and the Squall-Eater are anchored within gangplank distance of each other, a board thrown across between the two decks, and from this vantage point in the waves their hulls loom large and imposing over Caleb. With a tired sigh Caleb releases the spell on Fjord, his form turning back to half-orc, and Caleb lets go of him, drifting in the water. “Now what?” he says, eyeing the portholes and slats towering above them. “Do we climb up?” “HEY!” bellows Fjord, treading water. “MAN OVERBOARD!” He glances over as Caleb swims up to the side of the ship, hoping to hang onto it for support. “Careful there, the barnacles’ll cut you to ribbons.” Caleb regards the hull of the ship with newfound suspicion. “Ah.” Waves keep lapping into his mouth, filling it with salt. “MAN OVERBOARD!” Fjord roars up at the Tide’s Breath. “Throw a ladder down!” Treading water, Caleb stares up at the railing, waiting for the large figure of Ingvas to appear and roll down a ladder. He doesn’t, but after a few minutes, a knotted rope tumbles over the side. “Finally,” Fjord mutters. “What’s taken’ them so damn long, discipline on this ship is goin’ to the fuckin’ dogs –” Caleb climbs up the rope, finding his footing on each knot, the rough hemp scraping his palms, water dripping off of his sodden clothes. As he reaches the rail, big hands reach down to help him up, gripping the scruff of his shirt. “Thank you,” says Caleb, gaining his footing, and then looks up and realizes it wasn’t Ingvas who helped him up, but a female ogre from Avantika’s crew. “Wh–” says Caleb and a meaty palm slaps over his mouth, stinking of sweat, and the ogre grabs him and swings him around in a bear hug and there’s blood on the deck, there’s bodies on the deck, and Caleb sinks his teeth into her hand so hard he tastes copper, and she grunts but doesn’t drop him. Ingvas lies feet away, eyes half-closed and throat cut open, a pool of red surrounding him and soaking into his blond locks. Most of the other bodies are Vandran’s crew, the few left alive kneeling on the deck with their hands behind their heads – the cat-eyed master gunner, the halfing ship’s surgeon – and Avantika’s crew stand with weapons drawn and dripping blood, including Molly and Yasha. Caleb tries to choke out a warning to Fjord but the hand muffles his voice – Fjord climbs over the rail to be met by the swords of two of Avantika’s crew. He pales, hand going to his knife but not daring to grasp it, and his panicked gaze flicks from Caleb to where Avantika stands on the quarter deck, one hand not only grasping Vandran by the front of his shirt but lifting him in the air, and her eyes as golden and slit-pupiled as the Uk’atoa orb. She holds a strange sword at her side, broad and with a curved blade that drips water, barnacles and algae crusting it near the hilt. Renewed terror twists Vandran’s face as he shouts, “Fjord –” Avantika slits his throat. Blood sprays, Vandran gurgling helplessly as Avantika drops him like a sack of potatoes. “NO!” roars Fjord, lunging past the crew and drawing his own knife, straight at her. But Yasha steps in between, catches his upraised arm, and with the other drives her sword straight into Fjord’s abdomen. His desperate cry smothered, Caleb struggles fruitlessly, trying to kick the solid brick wall of the ogre holding him. “Why?” gasps Fjord, hanging onto Yasha to keep standing, sweat beading on his forehead. A single tear rolls through the gore spattered on her cheek. “I’m sorry.” Caleb can’t talk to cast a spell and he can’t reach his spell pouch and he can’t do anything while Fjord slides off Yasha’s sword and crumples to the deck, bleeding, and Caleb screams into the hand over his mouth as some forgotten shard of residuum under his skin flares to life, igniting his veins. All he has to do is will it and a fireball screams through the air, straight at Avantika. But she swipes her bloody hand through the air and ocean water surges up and over the deck, dousing Caleb’s fireball in an explosion of steam. Cold metal wraps around Caleb’s neck, and color bleeds out of the air and his hands go numb at the touch of lead, all his magic draining away. “No,” gasps Caleb against the chain pulled tightly to his throat, clawing at the large arm of the ogre holding him. She lifts him, Caleb’s feet dangling above the bloody boards of the deck, and Caleb chokes, black spots swimming in his vision. Avantika approaches and looks Caleb over, the hardness of her gaze belied only by the faint trembling of her hand. For a brief, brief second, Caleb thinks he sees pain and regret behind her golden eyes, and then flames rise up inside him and he screams again, hoarse with anger and pain. The trembling of her hand steadies, disappears. “Take him below,” says Avantika. “Lock him in the brig.” -- They clasp lead around Caleb’s neck and wrists again and throw him in one of the four iron-barred cells below the deck of the Tide’s Breath and leave him there, lit only by the chinks of daylight coming through gaps in the boards above, and Caleb shouts curses at them and kicks impotently at the bars and tries to will fire into existence again so hard he ends up lying on the floor, gasping and with tears in his eyes, but not even a wisp of smoke lights the straw he sprawls  in. Gradually Caleb comes to stillness, trying to assess his chances of survival. Ships always need a mage. He’s too valuable to kill. Maybe they will sell him off to another, less murderous ship. But it’s not himself Caleb howls silently for, for the first time in years, and Caleb lies in the dirty, damp straw, his hands bound behind his back, and stares at the tarred floorboards below him with a tear dangling from the edge of his nose as his brain spins in useless, panicked circles. He can’t think of where to go from here. He can’t think of where to go next. He can’t think. He can’t think. He can’t think – The hatch creaks open, sunlight flooding in, and booted footsteps come heavily down the stairs. Caleb scrambles to sit up as Yasha descends into the brig, Fjord flung over her shoulder. As she unlocks the cell next to Caleb and sets Fjord down within, his head lolling, Caleb rises to his knees, heart pounding unsteadily. Surely she wouldn’t bother, she would just throw him overboard, unless – “He’s alive?” gasps Caleb. “Yeah.” Yasha kneels over Fjord, rolling him onto his back, and places one pale hand over the bloody wound in his stomach. “Why?” growls Caleb, echoing Fjord’s plea earlier. “Why did you do it, Yasha, why?” She looks down at Fjord sadly, a soft light flaring around her hand. The wound closes slightly, blood no longer flowing freely. “Someday I will tell you,” she says softly. “Maybe you will understand.” “No, I don’t think I will,” Caleb snarls, he doesn’t want to understand, he wants to be angry, he wants to set this entire damn ship on fire – Yasha rises to her feet, brushing straw off her knees, and locks the door to Fjord’s cell. As she leaves, Caleb watches, not daring to turn his back on her, but the second the hatch door shuts behind her he drops back down, pressing himself into the bars between himself and Fjord. “Fjord,” he says, watching desperately for any sign of life. His face does not move, eyes closed, mouth open slightly, the front of his clothes dark and slick with blood. But the skin of his throat flutters faintly with a visible pulse. Caleb spends a long time there, longer than he’d like to admit, watching Fjord. For all the time he spent learning how to kill others, he never studied how to do it by the sword. He doesn’t know what sort of blow leaves a man alive but unconscious. He doesn’t know how quickly or slowly someone might succumb to such a wound. He doesn’t know at what point fever sets in, raging through the bloodstream. He knows a hundred spells that can kill a man, but not one that can save him. At some point during the day – Caleb does not bother to keep track – two of Avantika’s crew come down, a ragged elf and a reasonably dirty human. They cuff Caleb’s hands in front of him instead of behind, so he can piss if he needs to, and leave him a hunk of bread and a half-full pail of water. As soon as they leave Caleb scrambles back up against the bars, the chains linking his wrists to each other and to his neck clinking as he tries to work his hands through and reach for Fjord. But he can’t make it, the chains pulling taught and his cuffs clinking against the bars as Caleb’s fingers strain inches from Fjord’s shoulder where his damp shirt clings to his green skin. After several moments of futile attempts, Caleb leans back against the planks of the hull and sighs. The slice in his palm stings, and Caleb spends time untying the bandages around his arm and meticulously wrapping and retying them to cover the wound as well, each inch of fabric carefully placed. They never did search him, he realizes. He still has his spell pouch, and his amulet, and – His books. Cold sweat breaks out over Caleb as he remembers where his books are, locked in the chest in Fjord’s quarters. They’ve surely been ransacked by now, grubby fingers smearing all over his pages, some illiterate brigand leering down at arcane equations he can’t possibly understand. Caleb’s stomach curls, nauseous. Without his books he is nothing, just a grubby hobo locked in a pirate’s brig on the whim of a mutinous madwoman… Well. Technically it’s not mutiny, since Avantika was never under Vandran. Treason, maybe? Do pirates have treason? Caleb heard Fjord mention a code once or twice, but he doesn’t know if he meant an established pirate code or just his own personal ethics. Hair and clothes crusty with drying seawater, Caleb looks over at Fjord. He lies motionless, salt dusting his eyelashes, moisture beading his forehead. “Fjord,” says Caleb hoarsely, without much hope. “Can you hear me?” No response. The rise and fall of his chest with his breath is sharp, stilted. The lead collar heavy around his neck, Caleb curls in around himself and resigns himself to wait. -- Caleb dozes in fits and starts through the night, the ship creaking and rocking around him. Close to three in the morning, he wakes with a start to Fjord murmuring in the cell beside him. “Fjord!” he says, scrambling back over to the bars. Barely any light filters down below decks and Caleb reaches for his spell pouch when the chains stop him short, jangling. He can just barely make out Fjord still lying where Yasha left him, another indistinct murmur escaping his lips. Working his hand through the bars, Caleb reaches for him again, and though he still can’t reach Fjord, he can feel the heat radiating off of him. Swearing quietly under his breath, Caleb presses his forehead against the cold iron, staring down at the dark shape of Fjord lying in the straw. “Wake up,” he mutters to himself, ashamed of the childish words as soon as they leave his lips. It shouldn’t matter, Caleb reminds himself. He doesn’t need Fjord. He survived long enough without him, and he can survive this too. He repeats the words to himself as the night wanes. Gradually, light begins to creep back in, first gray and then pink, and now Caleb can see Fjord. Sweat dampens his hair and shirt, his eyelids flicker restlessly, and the ashy tint of his skin curls Caleb’s stomach with worry. He could call for help, sure, but it’s just as likely that they’ll toss Fjord overboard to save the hassle as heal him. More likely, maybe, thinks Caleb, remembering Ingvas bleeding out on the deck. The only healer Avantika has is Yasha, and… Speak of the devil. Yasha descends the stairs slowly, her brow furrowed as she looks over Caleb and Fjord. She carries another pail of water and what looks like another piece of bread; Caleb watches her from his seat at the back of the cell, head leaned against the wall and hands dangling off his knees. “Hello,” she says, and unlocks Caleb’s door to set down the food and water inside. “Oh. He doesn’t look good.” And whose fault is that, Caleb thinks, glowering at her. She enters Fjord’s cell and kneels down by him again, once again laying a glowing white hand on his abdomen. When the glow fades, Fjord’s labored breathing seems eased slightly, his complexion faintly healthier. Sighing, Yasha sits back on her heels, circles under her eyes. “Where are we going?” asks Caleb. “Darktow,” murmurs Yasha. “Should be there by tonight if the winds stay fair.” “And then what?” Yasha looks down at her hand, rubbing a bit of dried blood off her thumb. “And then what?” growls Caleb. Rising to her feet, Yasha turns and leaves, and the trap door closing behind her leaves Caleb back in darkness.

Stiles blamed Scott entirely for this. It’ll be fun, he says, we’ll finally get laid, he says, Stiles mocks in his head as he desperately ducks behind a display of 50 to 80 proof vodka. Well how’s this for fun, Scotty? “’Tilesy-baby!” a slurred voice sounds from—oh god right beside him. Stiles skids to a stop as he sees that he’s cornered at the edge of the bar. Shit. “’Tilesy! Shweet cheeks! C’mere ‘n lemme kiss ‘ou! You look like ‘ou go’ some soooffff’ lips,” croons a very drunk, middle-aged, balding with a pot-belly man. He haphazardly smacks a wet (and gross, so very gross) kiss on the hand that Stiles manages to fling up before his lips can land on Stiles’ cheek. “Oh god,” Stiles mutters as he tries in vain to push his way around the man. “Why can’t you take a hint?!” “A hin’? ‘Tiles, ‘ou came up ‘o me! Said ‘lemme kiss’!” the man says happily as he continues his attempts at kissing Stiles. “I’m going to fucking kill Scott,” Stiles says viciously under his breath as he finally manages to slide around the lunatic and makes a dash for it only to run into a wall. A…very warm, muscular wall attached to a damn sexy head that was scowling at Stiles. Now why couldn’t Stiles have picked him to proposition? When Scott had dared him to go into the club and kiss a random stranger, Stiles had picked the first fit looking guy he’d seen—unfortunately, while the back of the lunatic currently stalking him had seemed to belong to a good person to play tonsil hockey with, it was a very deceiving back. And now he was stuck between a hard place (because the Sexiest Wall Stiles Had Every Seen Or Run Into didn’t seem like he was moving anytime soon) and a truly disgusting place. “Uh, excuse me?” Stiles started tentatively. Sexy Wall had lots of muscles, wouldn’t do to anger him. “Would you mind—“ “’Tilessss,” lunatic had managed to turn around without toppling it seemed, “’ou waited for meee!” If Sexy Wall had seemed unimpressed before, he looked downright disapproving right then. “Oh god,” Stiles groaned, “Quick! Move move move! Let me by dammit he’s going to catch up with me!” It appeared that Sexy Wall’s eyebrows were masters of eloquence and communicated to Stiles how very confused and disapproving they were of Stiles’ actions. “He’s going to try and kiss me and that’s a very very very bad touch because ew I did not think he would turn out to be a gross pot-bellied middle aged lunatic with stalker-like tendencies and if Scott hadn’t told me to kiss a random stranger I wouldn’t have even had the chance to mistaken the crazy for a normal guy so it’s all Scott’s fault really, and would you please—mmph!” Stiles’ rambling monologue was cut off when Sexy Wall covered Stiles’ lips with his own. Stiles could vaguely hear the lunatic exclaim “’Tiles! Whoa—“ And was that sadness that Stiles heard? “‘Tiles, ‘ou didn’ wai’ for me, ‘ou ‘tarted wi’ou’ me…” A few seconds passed before he heard the man shuffle off to probably terrorize some other poor bloke. Stiles expected Mr. Sexy Wall to immediately stop kissing him (he’d obviously done it to be nice) but instead, Stiles found himself being crowded back towards the bar. Without stopping for air, Mr. Sexy Wall easily lifted Stiles onto the barstool and somehow pushed him back so that Stiles was pressed against the counter edge. Pulling away from Stiles, Mr. Sexy Wall growled out a “Derek, my name is Derek,” barely giving Stiles enough time to gasp out “Stiles” and then he was slamming his mouth back onto Stiles’. His hands scrabbled at Derek’s shoulders—god they were some broad shoulders—and whimpered as Derek bit at his lip. His brain wasn’t processing much besides the slick battle of their tongues and Derek’s large, warm hands wrapped possessively around Stiles’ hips. His own hands had moved on from Derek’s shoulders and were sliding down Derek’s chest only to wiggle them under his shirt—black, Stiles noted somewhere in the back of his mind—and luxuriate in the rock-hard abs. Derek’s breath, hot and heavy trailed down Stiles’ jawline, nipping and licking as he went causing Stiles’ breath to stutter going out. Dimly, Stiles recognized that they were leaned against a bar, but since it was in a dark corner, Stiles doubted anyone would notice much. Soon though, Stiles’ brain wasn’t processing anything but how absolutely amazing Derek felt pressed against him. An accidental twist has Stiles’ erection pressed firmly against Derek’s hard, muscular thigh (god, was any part of him not muscular?) and oh that felt so good. Derek was rutting against him at this point so he didn’t see any harm in thrusting his hips against Derek in return to feel some of that sweet, sweet friction on his crotch. “Derek—fuck I don’t, public,” Stiles panted, Derek’s lips simply hovering above his now, their rhythm too erratic to continue kissing. Instead, they’re simply sharing their breaths, and occasionally, their mouths slide roughly against each other. “Shut up,” Derek rumbled as he gripped Stiles’ waist tightly and tugged Stiles’ hips against him, other arm coming up to wrap around Stiles’ back to press them together as close as possible. Stiles is perched precariously on the edge of the bar stool at this point and Derek slides a thigh between his legs—which Stiles shamelessly humps. His hands are tangled in Derek’s spiky black hair, mussing up what was surely a carefully done style. “Can’t—fucking—gonna come, fuck, Derek,” Stiles chokes out as another rough thrust breaks him and he can see stars as he feels the warmth spread across the crotch of his jeans. Derek grunts once and then Stiles can feel him tense as his release sweeps across him. Derek’s teeth capture Stiles’ bottom lip once again as he licks slowly into Stiles’ mouth. For some reason, it feels dirtier and sexier than their frottage just moments before. Stiles moans in his blissed out state, vaguely aware that his boneless body is melting into Derek’s arms. Somehow, Derek’s managed to stay upright throughout the whole thing. “Fuck, Stiles,” Derek groans, pulling Stiles up and off the stool. Stiles whimpers a protest as his jelly legs struggle to hold his weight. With an exasperated huff (that Stiles resents), Derek swings Stiles up and over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold—and fuck that shouldn’t be as hot as it was. “Where we goin’?” Stiles slurs out, still hazy with pleasure. “Somewhere private so I can fuck you.” “Oh, ok then,” Stiles murmurs happily, reaching a hand down to get a hold of Derek’s bum and squeezing. “You’ve got a nice ass,” he states matter-of-factly. Derek chuffs out a laugh and Stiles can feel him shaking his head against his side. “I can’t believe I was attracted to you.” “You were? Whoa dude, where were you when Scott dared me to kiss a stranger?” Stiles asks indignantly. “Not in the right place I guess,” Derek replies, sounding amused. "Yeah!" Stiles agreed readily, feeling slightly ridiculous as he  said it. He was finally back on the ground from his spiral of pleasure and was a bit disconcerted by his current position--although Derek did indeed have a fine ass. "Uh so about this fucking, d'you have anything?" Sober as he was, he wasn't about to have sex with a complete stranger without proper protection. "I have lube...and I think I have a condom in my wallet," Derek replied rather calmly. Maybe he did this often, Stiles was a bit disturbed to feel a twinge of jealousy at the thought of Derek picking up other guys at the club. They had arrived in the doorway to the mens' room (Stiles cringed internally at how very much like a porno his life was becoming) and Derek dropped Stiles back to the ground. "Are you, uh," Derek started awkwardly, "You okay with this?" Stiles stared blankly at Derek. "Uh, were you not there when I was rubbing against you and then the subsequent orgasm?" "Oh, yeah." But the worried puppy expression stayed. "Oh my god, how is it fair that you're so sexy looking and can still pout like that?" Stiles complained, surely the universe hated him. "Yes, Derek, I want you to fuck me, ok? Is that enough for permiss--" For the second time that night, Stiles was interrupted when Derek kissed him, this time moving directly onto the filthy exchange of licking and sucking on Stiles' tongue. Stiles moaned as Derek slammed him against the wall, forcing Stiles' legs to splay apart to accommodate for Derek. One last hard kiss later, Derek backed up a bit to spin Stiles around so his hands were placed flat against the wall in a mockery of the hands up position Stiles' dad told criminals to do--and nope Stiles was not allowed to think about his dad during sex with a hot stranger. "Fuck," Derek muttered behind him. "What?" asked Stiles, twisting his head around to look questioningly at Derek. He was staring at his wallet as if t had betrayed him. "I don't have any condoms, only lube." "Fuck." Derek gazed pensively at Stiles, who probably looked positively debauched. He could feel how kiss swollen his lips were and his position just screamed 'take me, take me hard'. Stiles was more than a little frustrated by this new turn of events. Derek was so fucking hot and goddamit Stiles wanted Derek in him so badly--he was already hard despite having gotten off a couple minutes ago. "You could..." Stiles brightened as he thought of something, "You could finger fuck me." A sort of choking whine came from Derek at Stiles' offer and suddenly Stiles found himself covered by a delicious heat and weight as Derek draped himself up against Stiles' back. His face was twisted further until Stiles found himself kissing Derek again--god he could do that forever. It was sloppy from the awkward angle but then Stiles' jeans were being yanked down and Stiles could only pant against Derek's mouth as Derek's lubed up finger slid into his ass. "Fuck," he hissed at the slight burn. Derek wiggled it around before sticking another finger in without warning. Scissoring his fingers and then curling them, Derek soon drove Stiles insane with the sensations that Stiles felt. By the time Derek thrust a third into his hole, Stiles was writhing against the all and desperately trying to fuck himself back against Derek's magical fingers. "Fuck, Derek, god I need more," Stiles whimpered, "I--are you, fuck, are you clean?!" Derek sucked in a breath at what Stiles was implying and breathed out a fervernt "Yes." "Then fuck me, god, fuck me I need--" He didn't get to finish his sentence before he whined at the loss of Derek's fingers when Derek pulled them out with a pop. Barely a moment later though, Stiles could feel the thick head of Derek's cock demanding entrance. Without giving himself any time to regret his decision he pushed back against it and was rewarded with a choked gasp from Derek as his cock breached him. "You're so fucking tight," growled Derek, placing his hands around Stiles' hips. He ignored Stiles' breathy pleas as he forced Stiles to stay still until he finally pulled back and snapped his hips back into Stiles. Stiles cursed as Derek's cock rubbed against his insides and felt so fucking full. Only a few strokes later, Stiles could feel his balls tightening, already on edge from the previous fingering session. And then Derek hit his prostate after he adjusted his grip on Stiles--another thrust there and Stiles was gone. Derek groaned as Stiles' ass muscles clenched down on his cock, hot and tight wrapping perfectly around him. One, two more thrusts later, he found himself shooting his load deep into Stiles, grinding into Stiles' ass. Stiles was riding his aftershocks as Derek pumped into him and shuddered as he felt Derek's warm come paint his insides. He could feel bruises forming where Derek's hands were cleches tightly around his hips and anticipated future jerking sessions in the shower for the next few weeks where he pressed his own fingers on them to remember how it felt. Finally, Derek's softened cock slid out of Stiles and the two paused a second to catch their breath before silently pulling up their pants (both their jeans had been shoved down to their ankles) and straightening up a little. "I.." Stiles was for once, at loss for words. "Let me have your phone," Derek said abruptly, looking rather vulnerable for someone who had just fucked Stiles hard enough that Stiles was gonna feel it for days. Stiles wordlessly handed it to Derek and watched as he punched in his number. "So, uh, we should get together at one point," Derek tentatively said. A smile spread on Stiles' face, "Yeah, yeah we should." Derek grinned happily at him and waved at him before sort of stumbling his way out the bathroom leaving Stiles to grin stupidly at the door for a long moment. Stiles felt pretty warm towards Scott at the moment. -- Stiles was pissed at Scott. "What do you mean it doesn't count?!" Scott grimaced a bit at Stiles' shout, "Technically, The guy kissed you and not the other way around. The dare was for you to kiss a random stranger." "Oh my god you have to be fucking kidding me." It was the day after the night of the dare and Stiles was annoyed to hear Scott's claim that Stiles hadn't really done the dare. "I'm just saying, Stiles, you didn't--" Scott's jaw hit the floor as a stubbled, darkly handsome, muscular guy slid into the booth next to Stiles and grabbed his chin swinging his head around to plant an open mouthed kiss onto Stiles' lips. "Hmmm, hi, Derek," breathed Stiles when Tall, Dark, and Handsome broke the kiss. "Stiles," said Derek in a husky voice before turning to look at Scott--who looked like he'd just seen his mom making out with Sheriff Stilinski (it had happened before). "You must be Scott, thanks for giving Stiles the dare. I wouldn't have met him if it hadn't been for you." So saying, he reached a hand out to shake Scott's hand. Scott did so numbly. "Didn't you guys just meet last night?" Scott asked, a bit disturbed at the weird closeness between his best friend and the man who looked like he could be a serial killer. "Yeah, dude, we exchanged numbers and we've been texting each other all night and this morning. He has all the Lord of the Rings movies and we're gonna marathon Supernatural at his place today!" Stiles said happily, ignorant of how sickened Scott was at their cuteness. "Oh god," Scott said faintly. "Yup, it'll be fun, won't it, Derek?" "Yeah. Especially the breaks between the episodes." Here, Scott whimpered a bit, horrified to see Derek winking at Stiles. "Ehehe...yeah," Stiles croaked out. And then Scott had to quickly avert his eyes as Stiles launched himself at Derek and they went back to sucking face. "Oh my god, Stiles! I need to go--right now, have fu--no! I mean, uh, be safe and suit and oh my god PDA GUYS PDA!" Scott scurried out the door of the coffee store, leaving Stiles and Derek happily making out until the waitress came over to coo at them. After which they went to Derek's place and marathon watched the first few seasons of Supernatural--well, it was playing in the background as they had marathon sex. Derek especially liked the way the intense music fit well with all the different sounds he could get Stiles to make. Eventually he even got Stiles to scream.

 Tom would begrudgingly admit that inviting Harrison to live with him may have been a little hasty. It wasn’t that they weren’t getting on exactly, it was just that they perhaps hadn't been quite prepared. Tom and Harrison were used to negotiating their relationship under the gaze of others: they woke up in a room filled with their dorm-mates, they ate surrounded by others, their moments alone were stolen snatches of privacy. Living together was very different. They literally had no choice in spending time with one another, and sometimes there were moments, sitting together in silence, conversation exhausted, that Tom wondered whether their relationship would really last. Whether their morals were too different, or their tempers too easily ignited. The flat had two bedrooms, luckily, because Merlin knew what would have happened had Harrison and Tom not had their own space. But sometimes Tom could feel the discomfort sizzling in the air. What were they supposed to do? Neither of them had been privy to particularly functional relationships early on. Should they snog, talk, fight? It was especially apparent when they prepared their dinners separately: Tom was picky, and whilst it had gone unnoticed at the Hogwarts banquets, Harrison had soon gotten frustrated at preparing a meal only to be told there was ‘too much garlic’. They adopted a tricky choreography in the rather cramped kitchen, swapping use of the sideboard and the stove, but there were moments, squeezing past one another, that they would stop, exchange a look, and be instantly guiltily aware that this was something they should be doing as one. Tom wasn’t sure what could be done to mend the discomfort; if it would heal with time or needed to be addressed. He wasn’t even sure if Harrison had properly noticed. They hadn’t even had sex, which Tom knew in his heart wasn’t a huge issue- they had barely been dating six months and some couples waited years, but they were two young men in a flat all of their own. Wasn’t that what they were supposed to be doing? They hardly lacked for passion, but it somehow felt like crossing an unbreachable line. Tom’s placement both soothed and exacerbated the issue. Because the education centre was situated near the Ministry, Harrison would sometimes walk with Tom to his introductory sessions. They might stop off for coffee or wander through Hyde’s Park for a bit, and in those moments, everything was fine. Perfect, even. Tom would adjust Harrison’s tie and Harrison would bemoan that the blasted things were ever invented, before they parted with a fond kiss. But that was only on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and sometimes they went days without seeing one another. Tom didn’t want to be clingy - indeed, he enjoyed his personal space as much as the next man - but he was left with the unsettling feeling that Harrison was regretting his choice. Tom disliked being a regret. His placement itself also wasn’t living up to expectation. Tom hadn’t been sure what he’d be doing at the ministry: Slughorn and the job description had been very vague, but it turned out he was mostly fetching coffee and sending memos. He was assured on his first day that he’d get to do more and more ‘as his skills developed’ but he was fairly sure that he was capable of more than reminding Mary Lauper to book a hair appointment. He’d gotten all O’s in his NEWTs, for Mordred’s sake. Tom had started in the Magical Department of Games and Sports, which also accounted for much of his (lack of) excitement. If there was anything Tom hated more than fetching coffee, it was Quidditch. He and Harrison had gotten into countless fights about how ridiculous the sport was. And he felt just as much excitement about the whole affair (read: none at all) when Mr Thomas rushed through the door, brandishing a letter. “We’ve got ‘em, boys!” Those in the office rose to their feet. Someone - Tom didn’t know who - called out, “What are you going on about, Curtis?” “The Committee!” Mr Thomas dramatically opened the letter, clearing his throat. “In order to thank Britain for its part in ending the dreadful recent conflict, blah blah blah, Dumbledore, blah blah, very grateful, blah- listen here: The International Confederation of Wizards Quidditch Committee has taken the decision to allow Britain to host the 1948 Quidditch World Cup!” “You mean-” “Our bid got through. They fell for it!” The department erupted into cheers. Streamers were sent hurtling into the air and sparkling balloons popped into existence. The cry went up to “get out the good stuff” and all work seemed forgotten. Tom leaned over to Mr Perkins, who he frequently found was the only other sensible person in the department. “Surely we can’t afford this,” Tom said, hardly having to lower his voice for it to be covered by the noise of the party. “Constructing the stadium alone- and we’re coming out of a war-” “Oh, it’ll pay back everything it costs and more,” Mr Perkins said wisely. “The tourism will be unbelievable. And we’ll flog the tickets for ten-times what they’re worth. Quidditch fans are nuts.” Mr Perkins, Tom knew, was more of a Gobstones man. He obviously wrongly interpreted Tom’s expression, because he gave him a friendly nudge. “Don’t worry. You’ll get your tickets at a considerable discount; they practically give them away to the department. Probably so we don’t go blabbing about the mark-up everyone else has to pay, eh?” “Wonderful,” Tom said. He leaned back, his mind whirring. “Just what I was hoping for.”   Harry thought he might have taken on too much with this TOADS business. Harry knew he wasn’t meant for academia- he could be clever, on occasion, but he wasn’t good at focusing or organising his thoughts. He was more reactive, inventive. And he tended towards selective obsession, which didn’t lend itself to a curriculum. Today was the day he was scheduled to meet with his supervisor, and Harry would admit he was a little nervous. Tom had assured him he would be fine - “you’re three-thousand times more intelligent than most of the nitwits who take up room on this planet”- but Harry struggled to take his words entirely to heart. He’d glanced through some of the prescribed textbooks in the past week and they were dense. Impossible to understand. Harry could barely define most of the words, even. He didn’t think his supervisor would be very impressed by him. Harry shuffled down the grandiose corridor of the education centre, making his way towards reception. Merlin, his palms were sweaty. “Er, hi,” he mumbled. “Harrison Peters? I’m meeting my supervisor.” The witch flicked her wand and squinted down at the quill which scrawled out Harry’s fate. “Room 32d,” she said, giving him an encouraging smile. “Are you alright, dear? You look pale.” “I’m fine,” Harry lied, and stumbled away to meet his fate. Room 32d was deceptively unobtrusive. It was located up a secretive stairwell, and the door was a warm cherry wood, engraved with pretty little flowers. It was almost welcoming. He knocked on the door, his hand trembling before his eyes. “Come in!” He pushed open the door, expecting some distortion of Merrythought to be sat behind the desk, some titanic, intimidating figure who he’d always be slightly frightened of. But he was wrong. She was young, maybe in her late twenties, slightly chubby and with a round, kind face. Her dark hair fell in a cloud of frizz around her face, and under the candlelight it took on a rich glow. She was wearing possibly the most hideous cardigan Harry had ever seen: some lime green and knobbly mistake. She was effortlessly maternal, and as she turned a soft smile upon him, he felt utterly safe. “Mr Peters,” she beamed. “You’re very punctual.” “I-I-” Harry swallowed. “Yes.” “Don’t look so scared! We’re just going to have a nice chat.” She stretched out a welcoming arm. “Come and sit down.” Harry moved as if in a dream, padding towards an armchair that had no business looking that comfy. The room was nice too, full of soft furnishings and eclectic ornaments. It was, if he was honest, a little like Umbridge’s office, but much less sickly and psychopathic. His supervisor moved with him to the fireplace-side seating. “I suppose I should start by introducing myself,” she said, settling herself into an armchair as well. “My name is Dorea Potter, but do call me Dorea. I don’t hold with any of this ‘Mrs. Potter’ nonsense.” Harry barely heard the rest of what she said, his mind catching on that little word: Potter. His grandmother. His grandmother. He examined her anew with greedy fascination. The smile lines etched deeply into her face, the wand tucked absentmindedly behind her ear, the erratic way she tapped her foot, like she had too much energy for her body to contain; all took on deeper meaning. Here was a woman he shared blood with: proper, loving blood. Blood that had cared for him, nurtured him, he was sure of it. A woman who would love him unconditionally. A link to his past and assurance of the future. She would give birth to his father. “-I know you might be concerned by my young age and gender, but I assure you, I have years of experience supervising the TOADS courses. My wider work is focused around the Department of Magical Education, and especially the concerning isolation of muggleborn children-” “I trust you,” Harry said. “Oh.” Dorea looked surprised for a moment. She flushed with pleasure. “Well. That’s refreshing.” “You used to be engaged to Orion, didn’t you?” Harry remembered. “My cousin?” “He’s my best friend.” “Oh.” Dorea’s smile was thoughtful. “I always liked Orion. He’s a good sort. But far too young, of course. I used to babysit him when he was still in nappies.” She looked rueful. “Thank Morgana I escaped my family’s rather medieval customs. And met Charlus, of course. I heard Orion wasn’t so lucky,” Dorea tutted. “Engaged to Walburga Black. She’s a lovely girl, but we all know what she gets up to. Not that I hold it against her, but hardly good tidings for their marriage, is it? Not to Orion, anyway.” Harry startled. “Teenagers think they’re so subtle,” Dorea said wryly. “How did you meet your husband?” Harry asked suddenly. “It was at work,” Dorea mused, settling back into her armchair. “I was petitioning the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for check-ups on muggleborn children prior to their Hogwarts admissions, and Charlus was head of the Administrative Registration Department at the time. The petition fell through, but Charlus and I had gotten talking about our political views and such, and soon enough the conversation turned to how much we both liked the James Sisters- you know their song: ‘Auror of the Skies’?- and then we were talking about our favourite restaurants and we had so much in common… and before you know it, I was telling Melania ‘no thanks’, and getting hitched.” Dorea shrugged slightly bashfully, but she had a quiet confidence about her. His grandparents loved each other, Harry realised, and he hadn’t anticipated quite how much relief that would bring. He supposed it was quite the miracle considering current Pureblood culture. Dorea must have been strong, to turn her back on her family like that. Still, he had to wonder: “Not to be offensive,” he began cautiously, “but the Black family isn’t exactly known for their… love and acceptance. How did you… I suppose what I want to say is-” “I know what you mean,” Dorea said, and Harry blushed a little. “I happened to take Arithmancy during my time at Hogwarts and fell in with a group of Hufflepuff girls. They were nearly all muggleborn, and when they would talk to me about going home and never so much as seeing magic for weeks on end; the stress that their parents went through trying to control a baby who could walk through walls without understanding why… well, it opened my eyes. And my mind.” She was wonderful, Harry decided. Everything he could have hoped for. Dorea smiled sheepishly and summoned a paper file from her desk. “Pardon me, I do have a tendency to ramble. Back onto your TOADS, which is why we're both here. You're taking Defence and Magical Theory, correct?” Harry nodded automatically. “Well, in addition to your seminars and lectures, you’ll be undergoing a year long project for Magical Theory resulting in a dissertation of 6,000 words. Most students choose to undergo an examination of some kind of magical artefact or theory; it keeps the project focused. Do you have anything in mind?” "Er, not really?" "Nothing that you're interested in and want to explore further? Or even something you've seen that sparked your interest?" Harry bit his tongue. The obvious thing to say would be 'time turner'. But he already knew the Unspeakables didn't have the technology to send him home- they didn't even have it in the future. Harry would have to invent it. And so it was probably a little ambitious to charge straight in with the world-changing research. This was a research essay, after all. A mysterious artefact he wanted to know more about. Sirius tumbled backwards through the veil, a roguish smile frozen on his lips. He looked gently shocked, like Harry had just revealed a surprisingly good mark in an essay or like he’d won ten galleons in the lottery. He looked like he’d hardly noticed that he’d been struck by a curse that was sending him hurtling backwards into oblivion and, as he fell, he stretched out a beckoning arm. He was calling Harry home. “I was reading about this veil the other day,” Harry began, and the lie spilled from his tongue easily. “It, um, whispered when you went close to it. Dead loved ones, I think. It struck a chord with me. Do you know it?” “The Veil of Death,” Dorea said, raising an eyebrow. “The Unspeakables have only just started publishing research on it.” “Ominous name.” Harry smiled uneasily. It sent a shiver down his spine, but perhaps if he learned more about it, he could learn what happened to Sirius. Perhaps Sirius wasn’t dead. Perhaps he was just… waiting. “The Unspeakables are notoriously cagey about their research,” Dorea spoke slowly. “Are you sure you can’t think of anything else?” Harry sat back, disappointment racing through him. He could think of nothing but Sirius’ face, covering by a hazy shadow. That absent grin fading away. But before Harry could be too disappointed, Dorea spoke again. “However, if this is what you really want…?” “It is,” Harry said eagerly. “I do believe I could do something about it. I have an in, you see.” Dorea tapped the side of her nose conspiratorially. “Of course, you’d have to swear an oath not to speak of what you saw, and they’d vet your paper…” “That’s fine.” “Very well. Give me some time, and I’ll get back to you.” Dorea positively glowed at the prospect of helping him, her cheeks rosy and plump. “Now onto your timetable, you have two to three lectures a week…”   “Tom!” Harry called out, throwing his bag onto a chair as he walked into the flat. He shucked off his coat too, dramatically flinging it over the back of the same chair. If there was one thing he loved about the 1940s, it was the dramatic coats. And Tom. “Tom, are you here?” “You’re home.” Tom emerged from his bedroom, half-dressed in a t-shirt and trousers. Harry grinned. “I like the look.” “Do you?” “Mmm,” Harry hummed. “So much arm. But that’s not what I wanted to talk about.” He busied himself with making two cups of tea, setting the kettle to boil with a jab of his wand. “I had my first meeting with my supervisor.” “And?” Tom asked indulgently, leaning against the doorway. Harry tried to ignore what an attractive picture he painted. “She’s wonderful. She’s helping me with this dissertation thing I have to do, and she’s said she has contacts in the Department of Ministry - I want to do it on this death veil thing - and she’s Dorea Potter!” “The one Orion was engaged to?” Harry dropped a tea bag into each mug, pouring in the water. “She married Charlus P-Potter." His tongue slipped over the familiar surname. "It’s quite comforting, you know, to think that people can love that much. Enough to go against anyone that says they shouldn’t.” “Perhaps you should push her in Orion’s direction. She could give him some tips.” “Orion would never.” Harry stirred in milk and heaped sugar into his own tea. “He cares too much for his family. Not that she didn’t, I’m sure, but-” “I know you worry about him,” Tom said, finally pushing away from the door frame and slinking into the kitchen. Harry’s breathing became just a little harder. “For some reason.” “Of course I worry,” Harry said, shoving a mug into Tom’s hand. “He’s my friend. But he’s not a child and he can make his own decisions. Even if it’s the wrong one.” “People sometimes need a little direction.” “I’ve given Orion all the direction I can, short of tying him to a leash.” “Now there’s an idea.” Harry choked mid-sip, banging a fist against his chest. “I wish you’d warn me before you say stuff like that,” he wheezed, eyes watering. “I was merely agreeing with you,” Tom said teasingly. “You get worked up over such petty things.” “You haven’t seen me get worked up yet,” Harry warned, but the threat was probably lessened by the tea dribbling from his nose. “I have an announcement of my own,” Tom said, abruptly turning back towards the sofa. “But I’ll let you finish your tea before you choke yourself to death.” “You have news?” Harry abandoned his tea to the kitchen counter. “Tell me!” He managed to refrain from repeating himself like an eager puppy, but the way he bounced onto the sofa must have been similar enough, because Tom took a sip of his drink and murmured, “Down, boy.” “Tom, I will literally kill you if you don’t tell me right now,” Harry said, very seriously. “I suppose if my life is in the balance…” Tom drawled faux-reluctantly, but he was clearly eager to share. He hid his obvious smile behind the rim of his mug. “I happened to learn today that a certain tournament may be visiting our shores, come 1948, and despite my own ambivalence I think you’ll be quite excited.” Harry racked his brain. “But you don’t mean.” “I probably do.” “The Quidditch world cup!” “No, the Gobstones championship.” “Oh.” Harry deflated. “I mean, Gobstones are fun-“ “Of course, I mean the Quidditch world cup. You’re so gullible.” “Tom!” Harry protested, shoving him. “You’re such a bastard!” He took a moment to realise what he’d said. “Oh shit, Tom, I didn’t mean- I forgot-” “It’s quite alright.” It was usually at this moment that Rupert would jump in with a funny remark or Atticus would complain about muggles, but there was nothing but silence in the flat. Harry shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. “No, it’s not.” “It is. I know you were simply alluding to how deeply despicable I am. As you should.” Tom tapped a finger to Harry’s nose, and Harry knew he must have made the most ridiculous cross-eyed expression trying to follow it. His ridiculousness seemed to amuse Tom. “Besides, I’ve been informed that they sell tickets to members of the department piss-cheap to cover up the sticky fingers of corporate greed, so we’ll be going to see some of this pointless broomstick posturing in person.” Harry laughed and threw himself onto Tom, enfolding him in a rare, tight hug. “But you don’t even like Quidditch.” “I’ll bring a book.” “You can’t bring a book to the Quidditch World Cup!” “Watch me.” Harry was about to launch into explaining the millions of reasons why Tom could not read during the Quidditch World Cup, when there was a knock at the door. “I’ll get it,” Harry said, heaving himself off the sofa. As he did, Tom caught his sleeve and, although his grip was loose, Harry froze like it was binding. “Leave it,” Tom said softly. “There’s someone at the door-” “They’ll go.” Harry kept Tom’s gaze and there was something so suddenly vulnerable there. He just didn’t understand why. “There’s someone at the door,” Harry repeated, and Tom’s hand fell away. His chin dipped in defeat. Harry didn’t understand, and he was caught, hesitating on a precipice. “There’s someone at the door,” Tom reminded him dryly, and the spell was broken. Harry hurried away to answer the insistent knocks. “Orion,” Harry exclaimed as he opened the door, seeing his friend standing in their doorway. It was strange: they had been talking about him only moments ago. “It’s late.” “I know,” Orion fretted, fiddling with the brim of his hat. “It’s just- could I speak to Tom?” “Tom?” Call Harry arrogant, but he had rather assumed his best friend was there to see him, not his boyfriend. “I had my supervision today.” Harry felt suddenly rather bad. He’d completely forgotten Orion had his too. “How did it go?” “Fine, I think, but I need to do a dissertation for my Ancient Runes TOADS- like, can I just talk to Tom?” “Yeah- er, yeah.” Harry stepped back and allowed Orion to push past him into the flat. He glanced around the landing, frowning at the loud music coming from 43b. Neighbours. And then he closed the door and went in to see what all the fuss was about. Orion was mid-pitch to Tom. “-and we have to do this dissertation, see?” “Harrison was telling me.” “-And my supervisor asked me what I wanted to do mine on, and all I could think about was your idea. About the phoenix as the seventh runic number? I can’t even remember when you came up with it-” “I do.” Tom caught Harry’s eye. “Harrison’s nose was enlarged.” “Atticus hexed me,” Harry said. “It wasn’t a personal style choice. Besides, you fixed it.” “That I did.” “-And the idea hasn’t stopped running through my head,” Orion continued, looking rather manic. “It’s inspired. And I mentioned it to my supervisor and he was unbelievably excited- I explained it was your idea, of course, and if I wrote my paper on it, I’d obviously credit you, but I could prove and test it- would you let me? Write my dissertation on your theory?” To Orion’s eyes, it must have seemed like Tom was in deep contemplation as he sunk back into the sofa, his eyebrow drawn together and his lips pressed tight. But Harry could see the mischief twinkling in his eyes, could spy the slight uptick to the corner of his mouth. “You’re playing with him,” Harry said disapprovingly. “Just put him out of his misery.” “Please?” Orion added, his eyes wide and glistening with hope. “Fine,” Tom sighed. “But I demand full credit. And you’re not getting a Christmas present.” “Thank you!” Orion squealed, and for a moment it looked like he would try to hug Tom. Obviously deciding that was a bad idea (quite rightly, too), he instead flung himself upon Harry. “How did your supervision go, by the way. I forgot to ask,” Orion fussed, drawing back and straightening out the collar of Harry’s jumper. “All right. I’m being supervised by Dorea Potter.” “Dorea! She’s lovely. She’s let herself go a bit, but she’s lovely. I just sent her an invitation- oh! That reminds me. I am having a bit of a shindig this Saturday. Well, it’s more my mother’s shindig, but-” Orion sighed, putting his thoughts together. “It’s my engagement party.” “Shouldn’t that have happened ages ago? You and Walburga have been engaged for over a year.” “Officially, she’s been in a period of mourning. It’s only just been made official. Last week, actually, so…” Orion managed a weak grin. “Yay us. Anyway, practically my entire family is invited, and it would be a hundred times more bearable if you would come. Please. And Tom too,” he added, as if only just remembering that Harry and Tom came as a package deal now. “I dunno, Orion,” Harry winced. “I’m not sure I belong in a room full of purebloods.” Truly, he couldn’t imagine anything worse. “Nonsense.” Tom swept to his feet and wrapped an arm around Harry’s waist. “You can entertain Orion with whatever inane dribble you two usually come up with and I,” he breathed, bending his head so it drew close to Harry’s ear, “will network.” “You just want to convince sometimes to sponsor you so that you can get out of the Magical Games Department,” Harry said accusingly, and Tom shrugged. “The world doesn’t often offer opportunities.” “The world isn’t offering anything: Orion is.” “So you’ll both come?” Orion said cheerily, apparently ignoring everything he’d just heard. “Wonderful. I’ll send you an official invitation. Quick warning: the owls are a bit scary, but just offer them some raw meat and they should leave you alone.” A bloodthirsty owl. That, Harry couldn’t help but feel, was an omen. And Tom could at least try to look a little less smug.   Merlin, Harry hated Grimmauld Place. There was just something about it that marked it out as a place of misery. It had been true when he’d first seen it, and it was just as true in the 1940s. Harry didn’t know exactly what made it so completely awful. Perhaps it was the hatred with which Melania Black greeted her guests, or the painful-looking grip Walburga had on Orion’s arm, but Harry’s skin crawled. The engaged pair look deeply uncomfortable, and as he watched their dead eyes and forced smiles, Harry just wanted to take them away and sit them down in front of a milkshake. Harry and Tom had decided that Tom would be introducing himself merely as ‘Orion’s friend’ and leaving out the ‘Harry’s boyfriend’ part. Although the wizarding world didn’t usually care, at least if it was men involved, they didn’t think the Black family would be the ideal test subjects. And Tom wanted to remain as uncontroversial as possible, to aid whatever buttering-up and shoe-licking he had prepared for the evening. And so, as Harry and Tom entered the lavishly-decorated drawing room - which had been magically expanded and cleared away to form a kind of ballroom - they split apart. Tom set off to talk to Merlin knew who, and Orion swooped in to grab Harry’s arm. “Thank Morgana you’re here,” he muttered. “Mother’s being unbearable and Lucretia’s in a mood.” “When isn’t she?” “Mother was dolling Meissa up and Lucretia- she objected, and they had an awful argument. They’re sequestered somewhere upstairs.” “Joy abound in the Black household,” Harry said drily. As he spoke, Lucretia descended the staircase. She looked beautiful, barely a hair out of place to suggest she’d ever argued with anyone, wearing a white, flimsy gown that made her look rather like a forest nymph. Her expression was stony, like she was just daring someone to try and talk to her. She was holding Meissa by the hand and, whilst Meissa’s dress was also quite lovely, her face was splotchy and red, traces of dark makeup lingering around her eyes. Lucretia ignored the admiring glances and marched up to Orion and Harry, dragging Meissa alongside her. “You look nice, ‘Cretia,” Orion said diplomatically. “I know.” Lucretia barely spared Harry a glance. “Where’s Mother?” “Greeting guests.” “Of course she is. Did she say anything to you?” “She’s barely said a word except to demand I arrange this whole thing.” Lucretia’s gaze softened for a moment, and she placed a hand on Orion’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. You know if I could stop it…” “I know.” Orion shrugged. “It’s not that bad. Do you really need to talk to Mother again? I’d rather there wasn’t another fight.” “She’s trying to stop my sexualisation in its inevitable tracks,” Meissa said, and then she smiled sweetly at Harry. “Hello, Harrison.” “Just keep it down,” Orion requested, and Lucretia inclined her head before sweeping off towards Melania. Harry and Orion watched as Melania caught sight of Meissa and started gesturing pointedly. Lucretia didn’t appear to respond well to that. They definitely weren’t keeping it down. “Ah well,” Orion sighed. “It was a distant hope.” As Melania got more and more het up, Harry watched her lift her hand to pull at her choker and he thought he saw something odd on her neck. A scar. “She insisted on this party, you know,” Orion said. “Father was happy to keep it more understated, in respect for Apus, but Mother said an engagement party was absolutely necessary. This morning, I had to drag her out of bed and dress her myself.” Harry knew Orion would never say anything bad about anyone, especially not his family, but Harry suspected he was on the verge. “She’s depressed,” Harry said. He remembered days, especially in the summer, when he could barely stagger to his feet in order to open a window. Orion didn’t respond, except to wince as Lucretia marched away and Melania stormed towards the kitchen, leaving Meissa to greet the guests. “Father’s started taking sleeping potions. She sobs through the night.” “Is she seeing anyone? A mind healer?” Orion drew back his shoulders and straightened up, and it was very clear that he was speaking someone else’s words. “Blacks don’t see mind healers. We don’t need it.” “She's crying in the kitchen.” Orion didn’t appear to have an answer for that. Harry thought something ought to be done about Melania, she clearly wasn’t getting any better, but he could hardly just shove the Black matriarch into St Mungo’s psychiatric ward, could he? Still, he couldn’t see this ending well. As an unfamiliar witch grabbed Orion to congratulate him on his engagement, this seemed to send out some kind of signal to the other partygoers, who had previously been focusing their well-wishes upon Walburga or watching the Lucretia-Melania conflict with fascination. Harry hovered uncomfortably at his side, painfully aware that some of these people must have been aware that Harry was wearing Orion’s second-hand robes, lent to him for the evening. He certainly didn’t match up to his best friend: who was clothed in only the best custom fit; Harry was hardly Tom, who could make anything look like it cost a thousand galleons. Harry and Orion must look like the prince and the pauper, and that was how he expected it would go until they both shuffled into their graves. And Harry would probably have Orion's second-hand burial shroud, just to top it off. At last, someone came along that he recognised. “Dorea,” Harry said happily, waving her over. “Harrison!” Dorea smiled back. She was in another terrible outfit: a bright blue dress with feathers all over it. “I’m glad to see you could make it.” “I hope you’re enjoying yourself,” Orion said, the ‘someone needs to’ going unsaid. “I am! But I can feel Arcturus growing more and more enraged with every second that I encroach on his noble house, so we'll see how long that enjoyment lasts, eh?” Dorea beamed. “I’ve gotten to know Cedrella, here.” She gestured to a girl who Harry hadn’t yet noticed, who was standing slightly behind her shoulder. She was pretty in an unassuming way: her clothing just loose enough to conceal her shape but not obviously hideous. Cedrella smiled shyly. “Septimus told me about you, Harrison.” “You’re the girlfriend!” Harry realised. “We met whilst you were saving the school,” she laughed slightly. “You’d be surprised at how many times I’ve been told that," Harry muttered- slightly bitterly, it must be said. “What’s this about you saving the school?” Dorea asked, and for some reason, Harry blushed. It felt a little like he’d always imagined it would feel if his parents had been around to question his Hogwarts antics. He scratched his leg with the toe of his shoe. “Er, nothing. It was nothing.” Orion, of course, wouldn’t let that stand. “Grindelwald’s men attacked Hogsmeade,” he said eagerly, “and Harry started fighting back! He's very powerful, you know. And then Tom joined in- and no one got hurt, not properly, thanks to them.” “I lost a finger,” Harry pointed out. Dorea cooed and grabbed Harry’s hand, fussing over his stump. “Oh, you poor thing. And such a hero too.” Harry’s blush deepened, and he snatched his hand back. He mumbled something along the lines of “it was nothing” and “focus on Orion, he’s the engaged one”. Harry backed away, leaving the three to their conversation, but the further he moved away from Orion, the more and more aware he became of how much he hated nearly everyone in the room. These people who were cheerily chatting away whilst Orion’s death sentence was sealed. His eyes automatically sought out Arcturus: chuckling at a no doubt humourless joke. It was Arcturus who Harry truly despised. Melania had at least put up a few token protests, and Harry struggled to properly hate a woman who was quite obviously coming apart at the seams. But Arcturus had ruined his son’s life with a smile and was now making eyes at some cousin or other whilst Orion silently drowned. Harry’s fingers twitched, and his magic hummed within him. He couldn’t kill Orion’s father, he reminded himself. He certainly couldn’t kill Orion’s father in a crowded room at an engagement party. Harry felt suddenly starved of oxygen and he stumbled back like a wounded animal. Escape. He had to escape. He flew out of the room, heading down an inconspicuous corridor that he knew led to the garden. His heart pounded in his chest and he was so unspeakably frustrated. What was it with this family? As Harry lurched into the gardens, he was so angry he could barely see. He let out a strangled roar to the skies and collapsed onto a bench. His head dropped into his hands and he contemplated how he could possibly be considering letting this affair go ahead. It was different from last summer. It was happening now. “Harrison?” Harry’s head shot up. Walburga peered down at him with a look of polite concern on her face, an emerald shawl pulled around her shoulders. Harry froze. “Hello.” “Hullo.” “How much of that did you…?” “Enough.” Walburga frowned. “Nice… yell. It was very dramatic.” “Well, I was quite, er, emotional.” “I could tell.” There was a silence between them, and Harry realised it was his turn to continue the conversation. He opened his mouth, planning to ask her how her evening was going, but instead what slipped out was: “Have you spoken to Druella?” Walburga's expression iced over. “Not recently, no.” But Harry's tongue wouldn't stop moving. “She’s teaching Quidditch at Hogwarts now, you know.” “Mm.” “She was telling me that, part of the reason she’s taken on the job… it’s so she can have a salary that would support two people.” “Well, I can’t imagine her husband will appreciate that.” Harry gritted his teeth. The facade of this whole affair was getting to him. “People know, you know. I was speaking to Dorea Potter-“ “Don’t.” “Why do you care about what people think? Druella doesn’t.” Walburga turned away, her body taut. “You have no idea what Druella wants.” “I know better than you.” Harry rose, following her down the garden path. “You’re such a hypocrite,” she spat. “I ‘care about what people think?’ I heard Tom introduce himself to people, you know. ‘Orion’s friend’ my arse.” “That’s different. That was Tom’s choice.” Walburga spun on her heel, fire blazing in her eyes. “And this is my choice. This is how I choose to live my life, Harrison Peters. Don’t you dare judge that.” She slumped, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Haven’t we already had this argument?” “The last time we argued, it was about your startlingly bigoted views on muggleborns.” “And I stand by that. They’re dangerous.” “We’re all dangerous.” “You think I don't know that?" Walburga watched Harry closely. "You have an awful lot of influence over Orion, Harrison. Be careful how you use it.” “I’m trying to be.” She smiled humourlessly and turned away, trekking back up towards the house. “It’s a wonderful party!” Harry called after her. “It’s a funeral!” she called back. Well, at least she was self-aware. Harry watched her walk back up to the house, striking a determined silhouette against the glow of Grimmauld Place. Harry wrapped his arms around himself. Fuck, it was cold. “That was a fascinating conversation.” Harry jumped, despite immediately recognising the timbre of the voice. “Jesus, Tom! Can no one initiate a conversation like a normal person?” Tom wrapped his scarf around Harry’s neck and coupled it with a warming charm. “Perhaps you just have terrible awareness of your surroundings.” “It would explain a lot.” Harry took a moment to calm himself down, and Tom seemed content to stand there with him. “How did you know where to find me?” “I saw you leave. Glaring at everyone intently and storming out isn’t as subtle as you seem to think it is.” Harry rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t everyone. Orion’s father, mostly.” Tom hummed doubtfully. “Walburga seemed cheerful.” “She’s on a self-destructive spiral.” Harry gestured helplessly. “I honestly want to know: is there a Black gene or something that demands you make the worst choices possible for your own happiness?” “It’s called having familial expectations to live up to.” “You’re such a misery guts.” Harry smiled reluctantly. “Did you get what you wanted?” “I certainly did. Did you know that Arcturus Black is friends with the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister?” “No, but it wouldn’t surprise me.” “Well, he is. He’s quite the unpleasant specimen, but I made my case to him and he seemed amenable. Part of the reason I’m stuck in Magical Sports for now is because my application was so late; most of the successful applicants got to pick their departments. But Mr Roberts told me he can do some tinkering. Within six months, I should be working within the Minister’s office. Perhaps even as an assistant.” “That’s great news,” Harry said. He had difficulty conjuring up the appropriate level of enthusiasm considering the generally depressing atmosphere, but he took Tom’s hand and squeezed it tightly. “Can we go and say goodbye to Orion then? I think I’ve had enough.” “Certainly. And we can even sneak out the back.”

Layla Dahamrai has just begun her second year at university. She's acing every class and is one of the department's best students in her cohort. However, she's not getting along with her professor in her East Asian Regimes & Empires class, not that it's really her fault. It doesn't help that she's hot for her teacher either. Sebastian Henderson expects the best out of his students, given he's teaching at one of the most prestigious universities in London. He's had enough of Layla stumbling into his class late at the beginning of the semester. In the six years he's been teaching in academia, he has never desired a student until now. Layla and Sebastian will soon come to realise they have more in common during, and definitely out of, office hours. The light filters into the room, yawning, I stretch my arms. It has been days since Professor Henderson and I began our . I don't know what else I'm supposed to call it. We haven't had sex since we were in his office, or had one of those video calls since that night, however, we have been messaging each other. It's all mostly sexual. Sebastian has been sending me nudes of himself, I have gladly returned them, having mostly initiated those sorts of messages. There are so many promises yet we haven't had spoken about anything logistical. It isn't like our pillow talk the night we masturbated for each other. I sit up in my bed and stare out of the window recalling our conversation. ---------- ---------- I pick up my phone from the side table and begin taking nudes. After several shots, I choose the one of me laying in bed with the sheets between my legs, covering my hands over my breasts. It doesn't take long for him to respond to the message. I giggle at his response. I get up out of bed and begin getting ready for the day. However, I receive another message from Sebastian. I still haven't decided on what I am going to wear tonight. I can't think about that now. I need to get ready for German History which begins in just over an hour. ---------- I check my hair with my compact and adjust my trench coat as I walk to the restaurant. I'm wearing a low-cut, square-neck emerald dress with a thigh slit, not the best choice considering the fact it's mid-October in London, but I'm shivering more from excitement than I am from the cold weather. My four-inch heeled sandals are not faring better thanks to the walk from Green Park station. As I fiddle with my clutch and round the corner, I spot Sebastian leaning against a car, which I can only assume is his. "Hi," I try to say it confidently but I'm nervous with anticipation. "Hi," he leans forward to kiss me on both cheeks, "you look wonderful." I raise a dubious eyebrow at him. "You haven't seen what's underneath the coat yet." He laughs at my playful mood and whispers in my ear. "I have seen what's underneath it and I'm an avid fan of it. Perhaps, if I'm lucky, I'll find that you're not wearing anything underneath it." I fake a little gasp and nudge him in the stomach with my clutch. "Well, it seems like you aren't that lucky, but you may be lucky enough to find some lingerie under it." Sebastian takes my hand into the crook of his elbow. "I guess I'll have to work hard enough to see some of it," and with that, he leads me into the dimly lit restaurant. ---------- He sits me in the booth next to him. The restaurant is bustling, bursting at the seams with people, it feels exhilarating, seductive and sensual all at the same time. Sebastian quickly orders all of the most expensive drinks and food on the menu. He studies me as I look around at the restaurant. "You don't seem shocked by tonight?" I turn and look back at him. "Why because all your other students are scandalised by your wealth?" He laughs. "I truly hope you're the only student I will ever be in this predicament with otherwise I have been neglecting quite a few girls in my seminar groups." I bring my elbow up and gently nudge him in the ribs. "I'm sorry, I meant all of the other women who aren't your students. I'm referring specifically to the ones you date, seduce, then fuck." "Professors, don't make much, you know. I figure I should warn you before you take that leap into academia. I say it for your own good." "It wasn't that hard to predict. You're wearing a rare Patek Philippe tonight. You actually have a different watch every week and I know you're paying a pretty penny for the name and the rarity of it. Let's not get into that briefcase you hold. You don't think anyone notices, I however have, and it made me think you had some form of sanity thanks to your good taste in clothes and accessories. Then there's all the stuff you told me about your upbringing which is quite similar to my own considering which jobs our parents had. You didn't struggle to raise your sister, so there wasn't a particular financial strain there, either. You greeted me outside in front of a luxury car which I know is yours since the valet and the doorman didn't tell you to pry yourself off of it." Sebastian blinks at me in surprise. "I knew you were astute..." He doesn't know how to respond. "It's okay, not everyone is out here nitpicking you. I just hated you so much that I had to find a flaw." "And what did you find in the end?" "Nothing, I always got distracted and started thinking about all the ways you could be fucking me." "Are you going to share one of those fantasies with me?" "Besides the one where I kill you in bed after a rough fucking and take all your riches which effectively doubles my own? Hmm... Perhaps some other time." Sebastian pinches my waist after my teasing. I giggle and we just stare at each other waiting for our drinks and food to arrive. We spent the meal discussing what I'd be interested in sexually, safewords, hard limits. Sebastian spoke about the obedience he expected from me and in return, I told him about how disobedient he should actually expect me to be. The negotiations were getting me all hot and bothered. "What about exclusivity?" I ask him as I sip on the red wine. "This is mutually exclusive. I'm yours. You're mine." Sebastian wraps his arm around my shoulder. "Glad to hear it." I continue drinking my wine in approval. "I would like to ask though... Whether you would be open to the idea of me allowing other men to please you from time to time?" I pause. "Um... would you be there with me the entire time? We'd still be... exclusive?" He chuckled darkly. "Yes and yes." "I'd be interested in that. I mean, not any time soon, but yes I'd like to try that out. What about other women?For myself? I told my housemates I was taking a break from all of for a few weeks. Are they completely off-limits without you there?" "I've thought about it. How about this? If we invite other people into the mix, we both have to be there, and we both have to agree to it." "The girls will be disappointed, but I'm okay with that. It's just I can tell them about us. I'm sure the men you're bringing into the mix can be discreet, but I can't since they're all students at the university as well. I don't want to put them in that position." "Okay." Sebastian takes a sip of his wine, too. I reach out and cup his cock. He reaches out and rubs my thigh. We spend the rest of our time taking, negotiating and teasing each other. Professor Henderson was going to take me on a wild ride and I was ready to go on it with him. ---------- Sebastian opens the door to the backseat, I look at him in surprise, and realise there's a driver at the front of the long car. I settle into the seat and wait for him to enter the other side. He's up to something. I can sense it. Sebastian quickly enters and we take off. As we're en route to his home, he undoes his seatbelt and scoots closer to me, but I look at the driver in the mirror instead. He wouldn't. He couldn't. I slowly turn my head to look at Sebastian to find him smirking. He whispers in my ear, "I could so easily slip my hand into your panties and take a peek of that lingerie for myself," my response is to look at the driver instead. Without thinking, I spread my legs slightly, inviting his hand to fondle whatever he wants. "Just as I thought. You'd do it." He places his hand on the inside of my thigh. His fingers trace little circles on the top of my stockings. I agreed with his assessment of me. "I would. For you. For me." I could feel him smiling next to my ear. "That's what I like to hear." He leans forward, presses a button, and a partition rises between us and the driver. "You're such a tease," I say as I turn to face him. Our faces are close together. His fingers begin stroking the outline of my panties. "That's coming from a girl taunting me with the prospect of her lingerie all night." Sebastian smiles as he touches the damp spot on them. I slouch in the seat to grant him better access. "You already wet?" My gaze slips to the bulge in his trousers. "I'm not sure. You're going to have to see for yourself." I reach out to cup his cock, but he deftly captures my wrist and stops me. "You aren't going to tell me you don't want my hands on your cock, right?" He smirks at me again. "Of course, it's where they belong. However, this right here is all about you." He slips his hands into my panties and seeks out my wetness. The contact has me throwing my head back and purring into his ear. "Have you found what you're looking for yet?" My tongue traces the outline of his ear and I bite into it. "Why don't you spread your legs a little more then we'll find out?" I immediately comply and he pushes one finger into my dripping, wet cunt. "Ah! Oh!" I gasp out from the sudden invasion of his finger. He begins kissing and sucking my neck. Sebastian pulls his hand out of my panties. "Why, Miss Dahamrai, you are very wet indeed." He begins to unwrap the belt holding my trench coat together. He starts to rub my nipples that are now making their presence known through my dress. "I don't know what to do about it. Maybe you could help me? Since you're already down there? Please?" I bat my lashes and pout at him. Sebastian winked at me. "I'm at your service." He bends down to kiss me. Sebastian starts off slow and works his tongue. It traces the outline of my lips. He then bites my lip and pulls it, just as I did to his, and it spurs me on. Sebastian moves to my ear. He's sucking on my earlobe. "Oh! Fuck!" It feels so good. He pushes his finger back inside and adds another alongside it. Sebastian doesn't push them in deep. I raise my hips to make sure they are deep inside me. I begin fucking myself on his fingers. "Yes just like that, ride my fingers, sweetheart." I am soon gasping for breath. Why isn't he touching my clit? Does he need me to beg him? "Rub my clit, Professor. Please." Sebastian lightly grazes his thumb over my clit. I just need him to rub it a few more times to get off. He moves his finger around it slowly, tracing it, teasing it. "Mm, just like that, Sir." "Are you ready to cum?" I nod my head aggressively. This is just what I needed. A night with Sebastian. "Oh my God! Yes! I'm about to cum." I'm ready to be pushed over the edge. That is until he withdraws his hand from my underwear. I stare at him wondering why he wouldn't let me cum. Waiting for him to make some sort of attempt to finish me off. "We're almost at my home." I blink and look out of the window. We're in Chelsea. Sebastian cups my jaw in his hand and inserts his wet fingers into my mouth. I suck on them and imagine it's his cock I'll be sucking on soon. My arousal tastes good. Sebastian looks at me with approval. I continue licking at his fingers. "How do you taste, darling?" I bite the tips of his fingers as such an audacious question. Sebastian groans in response. "It's sweet and salty. I like it. I think you'd like it even more." "I'll get my dessert in bed tonight." ---------- Sebastian supports me as we walk into his townhouse. By the time we were in the foyer all I could think about was jumping his bones. As he finishes locking the door behind him, I turn him around and grab him for a kiss. He grins at my impatience. "Is my slut eager?" I groan at his teasing. "She's always eager when it comes to getting her cunt stuffed. You've only done it to her once. Do it again!" He grabs me by the waist and I hook my leg around his. Sebastian lifts me and sits me on the table in the foyer. "Ah! Yes!" "I'll need to spank you after this." I giggle at his threats. "Fine. If you really have to. Just make me cum, Professor." Sebastian rides up the hem of my dress. Again, he suddenly pulls away, and I'm left dishevelled on the table. "You really want to leave me like this again? Who knows what I'll do if you carry on denying me an orgasm." I sigh as I lean back on the table. Sebastian takes me by the hand and leads me to the staircase. "Come on. Once you get a thorough spanking then you can finally get what you want." "Don't act like you don't want it, too." "And if I don't?" "Then you wouldn't be taking me up to your room to give me a spanking where you could then fuck me." Sebastian stops me on the staircase and looks down at me. "I can fuck you wherever I want, whenever I want, that's the agreement, honey." I pull my hand out of his wrist and climb around him up the stairs. "And I will still disobey you wherever I want, whenever I want, and that's what makes this so exciting darling." I carry on walking up the stairs. I want him to have the best view of what he's about to start spanking. He doesn't follow me, he just stares at me. As I reach the top of the staircase, I remove both heels and drop them on the floor, it pushes him to take a step forward. "You giving me another striptease, love?" "Not exactly..." I looked to my left and right, unsure of where to walk next, waiting for his indication. He didn't give me any. Sebastian walked forward, slowly, seductively. It was as if I were his prey, something for him to capture, then devour. I grab the hem of my dress and begin to walk backwards as he corners me into his bedroom. "Layla, you can't be teasing me every time I deny you an orgasm." "Oh, yes I will. I'm used to getting what I want when I want. If you want to tame me, make me submissive, you're going to need to put in more work than a few mere spankings." I throw my dress onto the floor. He turns on the lights and he finally sees my lingerie in its full glory: a lime green mesh set. "Well, if orgasm denial won't keep you in place, I might have to resort to orgasm excess. All you'll be able to think about is the next wave of euphoria." I give him a dramatic fake pout, walking backwards, as far from him as possible. He laughs at my disagreement with the idea, "Well, if you don't like negative punishments or positive punishments, how do you suggest I punish you?" I stumble into the window and have nowhere else to run. "Maybe I don't want you to punish me at all." I smile at him. I couldn't lie about that even if I wanted to. I did want to know what it would be like to have him give me a spanking. "Now, now, Layla. We both know that isn't quite true." Sebastian places both hands on either side of my head. He pulls me forward and closes the curtains. "If you didn't want a punishment you would have run out of the door by now. Or used your safeword. I can chase you if you want but you must know I will catch you." I didn't make any attempt to run or even move. "Promise to be gentle the first time?" One final tease for you Professor Henderson. "Of course, I wouldn't want you to think of me as a brute. I must say that this lingerie looks exquisite against your skin. I know it'll look especially great against it when I redden that arse of yours." He gives me another one of those long kisses that leave me breathless. "Perfect," I say dreamily. Sebastian leads me over to his bed and bends me over the edge. He unhooks the garters and strips my underwear off. "Step out of it." He sniffs my arousal then slips them into his pocket. "It looks like you can do the bare minimum. Finally behaving like a good girl." I snorted. "For now. I want those panties back by the way. They were expensive." "It's okay, I'll replace them for you. I better buy lots of new pairs that you won't be attached to soon. I'll be ripping them off of you next time." I moaned and stretched out my arms. "Ooh, I can't wait." "How many spankings do you think you've earned tonight?" "None." He laughs but still gives me a rightful smack on the arse for that. "Ouch!" "Cheeky minx." Sebastian rubs me and soothes my skin. "Let's see. You have been teasing me days on end with those artistic nudes of yours." "Hey, you asked me to send those!" "No interrupting. Then you couldn't help but try to give me a handjob under the table. After that, you failed to follow rather simple instructions. Carried on teasing me. Demanding rather than obeying. I must say you've racked up quite a few spankings. However, since it's your first spanking with me, I'll try to be gentle." "You really are a brute!" I exclaim dramatically and turn to stick my tongue out at him. "And no moving from your position, Layla." I turn back around. "Yes, Professor Henderson," I say as I curl my toes on the marble floors. "I say you deserve at least twenty spankings. I should really give you fifty. Although, I don't want you bruising just because it's your first time. I'm going to use my hands, sweetheart." "Yes, Sir." "What are the safewords you need to remember?" "Green, Yellow, Red." "Good. You ready my little slut? You're doing the counting this time." "Your fucktoy has been waiting for almost a week, Professor Henderson. I think she's more than ready." Sebastian hits me with the same force I hit myself with the paddle brush on Monday night. I yelp in response. "Have you forgotten something my slut?" Great, I have already forgotten that I need to count. "No, sir. One. Ah! Two. Oh! Three. Four. Five. Mm! Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten." My breathing becomes increasingly shallow as he spanks me more. Sebastian rubs my bottom, soothing me between spanks, he hits harder every time he brings his hand down. He gently pushes his fingers into my cunt. "My oh my. You have gotten even wetter since we were in the car. Layla, we really need to do something about that." Sebastian uses his thumb to gently caress my clit. It's not enough to get me off this time. "You could use a little more pressure there. Or you could just fuck me?" He quickly withdraws his thumb and fingers. "Fuck!" "Language! You're insatiable, Layla. First, we finish your punishment, then I'll consider it." Consider it! I'm about to bend over and spank if he doesn't fuck me soon. He swings his hand down again. "Ouch! Eleven. Uh! Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fuck! Fifteen." I am practically panting at this point. "Maybe I should add some spankings every time you swear." "No!" As much as I was enjoying his spankings, I wanted his cock in me sooner rather than later. "But your arse is such a beautiful shade of red, darling. It's not even your decision to make." "Then why ask me, Professor Henderson?" I grunt at him in frustration. Sebastian wraps my hair around his hand pulls. "Ooh! Ah!" "Because teasing you is so much fun," he whispers against my ear, "and teasing a disobedient girl makes it all the better." Sebastian brings his hand back down and it's starting to become too much. "Shit! Sixteen. Mm! Seventeen. Ah! Eighteen. Ouch! Nineteen. Oh God! Twenty." The last number was uttered breathlessly. I was struggling to get some air. It was intense. It was surreal. It was bloody fantastic. "What do you say after your spanking?" "Fuck you, Professor Henderson." Sebastian hits me one more time. "Ooh! Ouch!" "Are you sure about that?" "Thank you for the spanking, Professor Henderson." Sebastian releases my hair, turns me over by the waist, and pushes me up onto the bed. He finally removes his coat, suit and tie. I watch him unbuckle his belt and he doesn't break eye contact with me as he strips. The silence makes me feel as if we are suspended in time. I lean up to watch his bulge spring free from his underwear. It looks more magnificent every time I see it. I lick my lips in anticipation to which he grins in response. He climbs onto the bed, over me, and try to move further back to no avail. Sebastian pins down my arms and begins to kiss me. Then he turns to grab a pillow to rest it beneath my hips. I wonder what he is about to do, I am unsure of what to do next, so I just lay there waiting for him. He brings his face back to mine and starts to kiss me again. Our tongues are dancing once more. His tongue starts to trail down my body. Sebastian kisses, sucks and bites my neck as he pinches my nipples. He lazily moves downwards to my stomach and arrives at his final destination. All I can do is slide my hands into his hair, grabbing onto the long locks, surrendering to everything his wicked tongue does to my body. I can feel myself trembling with anticipation and could think of no way to steady my hands. It feels like my skin is on fire. His face is now a few centimetres away from my cunt. "I'd like to shave you one day." I bring my hands to my face, a little embarrassed by his second confession of his desire to shave me. He finally drops his mouth to my cunt and begins licking me gently. "Ooh!" My mind is empty once more. Gosh, that tongue is both sharp and wicked beyond words. My hands cling to his bedsheets as he spreads my legs further apart and dips his head deeper into my pussy. My hips are already raised, but I can't help it, I raise them further and begin grinding them against that wonderful mouth of his. Sebastian's beard feels so good against my sensitive labia. I can't contain my pleasure. He responds to it by moving his tongue faster over my clit. He grips my thigh with one hand and fingers me with crooked fingers vigorously. "Yes, yes, yes!" It feels so good! I bring my hands back to his hair and hold on tight. I start pushing his head down to the point I am fucking my own cunt on his face. "Just like that, Professor! Right there!" All he does is moan against my clit. "Ooh! Ooh! Aah! Oh my God! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! I'm cumming, Professor. I'm cumming. Oh God! I'm cumming!" My hips jump off the bed and the rest of my body seizes. I am helpless, riding out the deep waves of pleasure, unable to do anything but grab Sebastian's hair and yell all sorts of profanities. The tremors of my pleasure begin to subside ever so slightly and he lifts his head from my cunt. I release him from my hold. "Thank you, Professor Henderson." "You're most welcome, my little slut." Sebastian climbs over me again. I take his length in my hand and begin to stroke. He grunts with satisfaction at my light touch. "I'm ready for you. Please. It's the only thing I've been craving all week." Sebastian kisses me and I taste my essence all over his beard. "I want this. I need this. Please." I have been begging all week. I need relief. "You can have whatever you want from me, Layla." Sebastian stares down at me. I am still flushed from my climax. "Guide me in." He pushes my legs back so my knees touch my shoulders. I struggle to reach for his cock but manage to guide him into my dripping, wet pussy. Sebastian looked into my eyes as I guided him into my wet heat. "Mm, yes, oh yes, Professor that feels so fucking good." "Fuck," he hissed as he slid into me, "Your cunt is a tight wet glove made for my cock." I giggled, "God. Why don't you just call me your cock sleeve?" "Ah, such wit. Layla, that's a wonderful suggestion, I'll remember to use it next time." Sebastian smiles and leans forward to kiss me. He presses into my mouth and I don't protest. I love the way his tongue strokes mine and the way his cock strokes the inside of my cunt. I begin flexing around his cock. I throw my arms around his neck. "Professor, I need it deeper, and harder!" Sebastian swiftly removes his cock from my cunt. "Wait! What are you doing?" He doesn't say anything and just flips me over. Sebastian thrusts that fuck cock back into my wet warmth. "Ah! Ooh fuck! That's right, fuck me just like that, just like the slut I am!" Sebastian pauses to pull my hips up as I bury my head in the pillow he laid out under me earlier. My moaning becomes muffled while he starts becoming louder. "The best fucktoy a man could ask for! Ah yes, your pussy is so tight." He was driving his cock so hard and deep I could hardly think. He places both hands on my hips and fucks me into the mattress. "Yes, Professor. Ooh, yes, right there. Yes! Yes! Oh God, yes!" Sebastian stops thrusting into me wildly. "Fuck yourself on my cock, now." I need no more convincing and begin grinding my hips against his cock. Meanwhile, he takes his fingers and starts rubbing my clit, it doesn't take long for him to begin pinching it. "Professor, you can't do that! I'm going to come again!" "That's the point!" I am beginning to tighten up as his fat cock ploughs its way into my small pussy. I carry on moaning, lift my face from the pillow, and cry out far too loudly even for such a large house. "Ooh! God! Sebastian!" Sebastian pulls me up by the waist and wraps one around my waist with the other clasped around the front of my neck. I don't know how long he fucks me like this but I feel another orgasm begin to rise deep in my stomach. He's about to cum, too. The man is fucking me wildly from behind. "Ah! Fuck! Layla!" He marks me and shoots his pleasure into me. "I'm cumming again! Ah!" I could hardly hear his grunts and moans as he reached his own orgasm over my cries. Sebastian pulls out and collapses down over me. He wraps his arms around mine while I relish the feeling of his cum dripping out of my cunt. I can't think. I'm too high up in the clouds to form any coherent thoughts. God, does he know how to fuck. ---------- "How are you feeling?" Sebastian asks as I lay on top of his chest. I pause the small circles I was tracing on his pectoral. When I look at his expression, I find him looking at me earnestly, hoping for a positive response. "I'm satisfied, it all felt so good, I can hardly think." I'm taken aback when he kisses my temple. Sebastian brushes my hair away from my face. All he does is stroke my hair and stare at me. I need to get back home, otherwise the girls are going to have questions, questions I'm not prepared to answer. "Where are you going?" "I need to head back home. The girls saw me walking out in that dress and I lied to them by saying I was going on a date with some random guy. It's bad enough I have to create an entirely fake story as to who was so important that I skipped out on clubbing with them. I have to be back in my bed and wait for the interrogation in the morning." Sebastian sits up alongside me. "They're going to be back at," he turns to look at his watch, "just before one in the morning?" "Ha! They won't be back home until six in the morning at the earliest. Then they'll be hungover all day and repeat the entire process tomorrow night. It'll just be with me in tow." "Alright, how about we go for a few more rounds? I'll promise to get you back home by five at the latest." He asks as he wraps his arms around my waist and rests his head on my shoulder. "I think I could be persuaded." "I have just the thing to get you to stick around longer." Professor Henderson certainly did.

An entire week passed before Dan made an appearance for the third time. This time Phil was fully prepared for it. He was sitting on the sofa when he heard the noise. It didn't startle him like before. He simply rose to his feet and coolly stalked to his room, letting out a deep, suffering sigh of exasperation. As expected, Dan was standing near the window sheepishly, covered in bruises and his mouth sealed shut. Phil rolled his eyes and beckoned him closer. He stayed silent and quietly cleaned his wounds. He bandaged Dan's injuries and refrained from asking unwarranted questions. After telling Dan to take a shower, he ambled to his kitchen and made him food. Dan wolfed it down later without protest. They watched another movie, and Phil let him sleep in the spare bedroom. He disappeared by the time Phil woke up the next day. Phil thought it would stop there. Dan would stop coming over after the third time, but it just slowly became more frequent. Over the course of the next few weeks, it almost became a routine. Dan would show up uninvited in his bedroom late at night, dirty and covered in mud and bruises. Phil would make him food and let him sleep. He usually vanished before Phil woke up. Despite the danger that undeniably lay ahead, Phil couldn't bring himself to turn him away. He would simply watch Dan as he ate the food Phil made for him, sympathy coiling around his heart. Sometimes, Phil tried to ask questions, to find out what was going on, but Dan was always quiet, keeping his mouth shut and his eyes lowered. Usually, Dan made an appearance every four or five days, but Dan hadn't shown up in over a week, and Phil was starting to worry. He was beginning to enjoy Dan's presence in his home, and he missed Dan's silliness just a tiny bit. Phil had stayed up the previous night, wondering where Dan had gone. He had had a little too much to drink, and inevitably, he had passed out on his bedroom floor. “Phil?” Phil exhaled softly and turned on his side, his mind drowsy from sleepiness. He wasn't sure what time it was, but it had to be the early hours of the morning. Groaning quietly, he curled into a ball and drifted off to sleep again. “Phil.” Someone was poking his arm, and Phil's sleep-addled brain couldn't quite figure out who it was. “Phil, wake up.” Someone continued to poke him, and he frowned. “Phil.” “Phil!” Louise? Anthony? Was it PJ? Phil let out a soft groan and rolled away, his arms and limbs aching from sleeping on the cold floor all night. Even though his mind was in a trance-like state, he was conscious enough to know that none of his friends would visit him this early in the morning. There was no one that- Phil's eyes flew open, realization breaking through the sleepy haze in his mind. He blinked repeatedly against the sunlight and groaned loudly, grumbling incomprehensibly as he sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Fuck.” “Phil,” Dan whispered with wide eyes. “What are you doing here?” Phil groaned tiredly. “Again?” He stretched his arms and let out a satisfied moan. “Ah, that feels good,” he murmured, opening his eyes slowly. He turned to Dan and blinked in surprise. “Hmm? Why are you crying?” he asked in utter confusion. Dan sniffed. “I thought you died.” “What?” Phil snorted in disbelief. “Why would I die?” “You were unconscious on the floor,” he frowned. “You're weird.” Phil sighed and his gaze softened. “Don't worry. I won't die that easily.” Dan nodded. “I'm hungry,” he whispered in a quiet voice, wiping his eyes. “Mm.” Phil scratched his head absently and yawned. “Wait a bit. I'll make something for breakfast.” Phil stilled abruptly and blinked in realization, his gaze drifting to the sunlight pouring in through the window. “You're here in the morning. You're stuck here for the whole day.” Dan nodded guiltily, fidgeting with his sleeves. “Sorry.” Phil stared at him pensively for a few quiet moments and sat upright, crossing his legs. “I know you don't want to tell me but–” He bit his lip and hesitated. He already knew he wouldn't get an answer. “–it's been almost three months since I first saw you in the alley down the street. I don't mind helping you, but you keep coming back with bruises all over your body.” Dan lowered his brown eyes, staring at his hands. Phil watched him fidget with his sleeves quietly, and he recognized Dan's common habit. He fidgeted whenever he was nervous. “Hey,” Phil said in a calm voice, placing a hand on Dan's knees. “I'm asking because I'm worried about you. What's going on, Dan?” Dan chewed on his bottom lip, staring at the floor, and Phil pressed, “Can you tell me?” Dan swallowed and turned away. “Sorry, I should leave,” he whispered before leaping to his feet and stepping towards the window. Phil blinked incredulously and leaned forward, grasping Dan's wrist in shock. “Wait, no!” he exclaimed quickly, “I won't ask!” Dan pursed his lips and stiffened, remaining quiet. “I won't ask, okay?” Phil affirmed cautiously and sighed. “It's fine. You don't have to leave.” Dan stared at his feet in silence. “I'm sorry,” he mumbled in a guilty tone. “I can't tell you.” Phil let go of his hand, rising to his feet swiftly. He gazed at Dan's rigid, remorseful demeanour, and he didn't know what to think. Something was wrong with Dan. He was hiding something, something important. Dan was, without a doubt, involved in something dangerous and risky. Phil was about to be involuntarily dragged into it, and there was nothing he could do. Phil couldn't let him go, but he couldn't let him stay either. He was stuck in an impossible predicament. ~*~ The kitchen was quiet in the morning, a cold silence hanging in the air as Phil worked quietly, his heart beating at a steady, calm pace. Sighing softly to himself, Phil cracked two eggs into the bowl and whisked it into a smooth batter. There were small, thudding noises of footsteps behind him, and he turned around just in time to notice Dan shuffling into the kitchen in clean clothes. “Hey,” Phil greeted cheerfully, proceeding to pour Dan some tea. Dan nodded and dropped into a chair, blinking up at Phil. His hair was wet and sticking up in all different directions. Phil had to fight back an amused laugh that threatened to break out of his mouth. He added three teaspoons of sugar into Dan's tea and stirred it quietly, placing it down in front of Dan. Dan grinned brightly, and Phil stared at him silently. Dan wrapped his fingers around the mug. His lips were pink and stretched into a smile, his eyes a vivid brown. His wings glistened, wet with little silvery beads of water. He looked like a beautiful angel, and Phil's eyes drifted down Dan's face to his pale neck and sharp collar bones, eyes unwavering as he watched. Dan took a long sip and sighed in satisfaction. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, and he gave Phil a bright, blinding grin. “Thank you,” he said cheerfully. Phil blinked and turned away. “You don't have to thank me for every little thing,” Phil expressed with a sigh, placing a plate of chocolate biscuits on the table. “Biscuits?” he asked with a smile. Dan nodded, snatching a biscuit off the plate and popping it into his mouth. “You really love sweet stuff, don't you?” Phil smiled fondly, his heart warm. Dan nodded with enthusiasm, devouring another biscuit and giving Phil a bright grin. Phil smiled genuinely and something like affection flooded his chest. He turned back with a silent huff, placing the pan on top of the stove. Dan remained quiet as Phil worked, drinking his tea in silence. Sighing softly, Phil poured the batter on the pan and waited for it to cook, glancing back at Dan to find him staring at the pan curiously. Phil smiled and turned back, flipping the pancake with a spatula. Dan padded over to him curiously, staring at the half-cooked pancake. “What are you doing?” he inquired eagerly. Phil flipped it again and answered softly. “Making pancakes for us to eat.” He transferred it to a plate and looked up at a wide-eyed Dan with raised eyebrows. “What?” “Can I–Can I try?” Dan asked earnestly, his eyes wide and excited. “Yeah, sure.” Phil shrugged and watched as Dan picked up the ladle excitedly and poured the batter haphazardly onto the pan. He looked back to Phil for approval, and Phil blinked. “Er, good. It looks great!” Dan beamed and nodded, almost bouncing on his feet with excitement. His wings lifted behind his back and fluttered noisily as he stared at it in astonishment and pride. “What do I do now?” he asked excitedly, eyes bright. Phil sighed, a small smile spreading on his face as he gazed at Dan, noticing his messy curls and the wild look of excitement in his eyes. “Flip it,” he explained, handing him the spatula. “Slide it under . . . like this, and flip, okay?” Dan nodded in determination. “Okay,” he murmured, squinting his eyes as he focused on his task. Phil shook his head in exasperation and watched Dan's terrible attempt at flipping a pancake affectionately. Dan's eyebrows were furrowed in concentration, and his tongue poked out of his mouth as he stared unblinkingly at the pan. He raised the spatula in a haste and flipped it so strongly that the pancake hit the ceiling and came tumbling to Phil's head. Phil blinked, and there was a moment of utter silence where they just stared at each other. Phil remained still and quiet, staring at Dan's horror-filled face with a pancake on his head. “Oh no,” Dan whispered with wide eyes. Phil's resolve cracked, and he burst out laughing, clutching his stomach and chortling so hard that his belly ached and his chest filled with warmth. He couldn't remember the last time he had laughed this hard. The pancake slid down his head and toppled to the floor. Dan pouted. “It's not funny. I was trying my best,” he mumbled irritably. Dan's expression made him laugh harder, and he melted to the floor, almost heaving with mirthful laughter. “You're so stupid.” Dan pouted, grabbing the ladle and hitting Phil's shoulder absently. A scoopful of batter flew out of the ladle and landed on Phil's face, halting his laughter immediately. Dan blinked and stepped back guiltily. “I'm sorry!” “Are you serious?” Phil stared at Dan blankly, and the pasty liquid dripped from his expressionless face. Dan bit his bottom lip hard, looking like he was suppressing a laugh, but soon his mouth slowly spread into a bright, blinding grin. He tried to suppress his laugh again, but a few giggles left his mouth, and he immediately clamped a hand on his mouth. Phil rolled his eyes and grabbed the ladle, raising it to pour on Dan's head. Dan's eyes widened, and he backed away, hobbling around the table to get away from Phil. “Where are you going?” Phil asked with a frown, following Dan with the ladle. “Come here.” Dan blinked and hurried to get away. Phil dashed after him, tripping over his own feet and dropping to his knees. Dan grinned brightly and let out a small laugh. Phil huffed, “Shut up.” Dan stood a safe distance away and grinned. “You're clumsy,” he announced, “Humans are clumsy weirdos.” “No, we're not,” Phil protested weakly. Dan snickered happily. “Yes, you are.” “No, we're not,” Phil huffed and without thinking, swung the ladle to prove himself. The thick liquid splatted against Dan's wings. Dan's giggles came to an abrupt halt, and he stared at Phil dumbly in absolute disbelief. He blinked repeatedly and touched his wings, his eyes widening in horror. “My wings!” he cried out in shock. “I just . . . I just cleaned . . .” He stopped and glared at Phil in fury. Phil laughed at the look on his face. “Come on, Dan. Don't be a baby.” “I'm not a baby.” Dan glared daggers at him. “You confuse me.” Phil shrugged, moving towards the sink to clean his face. “Yes, you are,” he declared haughtily. “I don't deliberately confuse you. You're just a little dim-witted.” “I'm not dim-witted!” Phil waved absently, turning the tap on. “Really?” “Yes!” Dan huffed in anger and launched forward, dipping his hands into the bowl and throwing some of the mixture on Phil's back. “You're just a confusing person!” It hit Phil unexpectedly, and he stilled in his tracks, completely dumbstruck. He turned and noticed Dan grin in triumph. Phil clenched his jaw and raised his eyebrows in challenge, rolling his sleeves. “Yeah? You really want to do this?” Dan tilted his head in confusion, and Phil grabbed the bowl in anger. Dan's eyes widened, and he sprinted out of the room in panic. Phil dashed after him, chasing him around the living room. Dan's large wings crashed into furniture and knocked random items to the floor as he ran. Phil snubbed his toe against a wall and tripped over the carpet. Dan snickered. “Clumsy.” Phil was infuriated and angry, but he had never laughed as much as he did at that moment. Dan finally surrendered when Phil caught his wrist in the hallway, grinning widely, eyes bright and sparkling. “No!” Dan struggled to get out of his grip, covering his head. “Not my hair! Not my hair, please!” Phil grinned a cruel grin and poured it directly on Dan's curly head, laughing when Dan yelped. “My hair,” Dan panted sadly, sliding to the floor and moving his fingers through his dirty hair. “You ruined it. It's all sticky.” Phil heaved and took deep breaths. His chest felt heavy, and he sprawled on the floor tiredly, panting harshly. “My hair . . .” he murmured again, wiping his sticky hands on his T-shirt. “Just take a shower, you idiot,” Phil suggested with a huff. “It's not a big deal.” “Don't call me an idiot,” Dan grumbled and pouted. Phil took a deep breath and stared up at the ceiling. Dan frowned at him but lay down on the floor next to him, copying him and staring up at the ceiling quietly. Minutes of peaceful silence passed, and Phil's lips stretched into a small smile. He turned his head and met Dan's eyes to see a strange expression on his face. “What?” he murmured silently. Dan pointed to his hair. “You look weird.” Phil smirked. “So do you.” Dan shrugged wordlessly and turned away. Phil watched him quietly for a few minutes and disclosed, “You're different than I imagined.” Dan furrowed his eyebrows. “How so?” “I don't know,” Phil frowned thoughtfully. “Aren't winged men supposed to be violent and cruel? You're not really cruel.” Phil gave him a smile. “You're actually nice.” Dan stared at him with wide eyes, his cheeks pink. “Nice?” “Yeah,” he confirmed honestly, “You're cute, polite and fun to be around. I quite like you actually. You're nice.” “Cute?” Dan murmured quietly with wide eyes. “Fun? You like me?” Phil scooted towards the wall and sat up, pushing back his glasses. “Yeah,” he answered absently, standing up slowly. He looked down at Dan and opened his mouth to suggest a shower. He was interrupted by loud knocks on his front door. The sound of the doorbell made him clench his jaw shut, and he blinked in surprise. The noise of harsh bangs on the door echoed throughout the empty hallway, and Phil's eyes widened as he looked at Dan. “Get up!” Phil hissed quickly, hands shooting out to help Dan back to his feet. Dan stumbled forward with wide eyes, and Phil grabbed his shoulder and forced him into the nearest room, shoving him inside. “Stay here. Hide! Don't make any sound and don't come out until I tell you to,” Phil relayed urgently, hands shaking and breaths panting in anxiety. “Why? What's–” Phil slammed the door shut and stepped away, stopping dead in his tracks. He breathed deeply and told himself to calm down. He felt a stab of sympathy for Dan, and he halted in his path. Swallowing with difficulty, he opened the door and marched back to Dan. Dan looked anxious and worried, biting his lip as he stared at Phil with huge, frightened brown eyes. Phil swallowed and grabbed his hands, squeezing them reassuringly. “Listen, don't be scared. It's alright. Whoever it is, I won't let them come inside. I'll handle it,” Phil explained softly, hiding how flustered he was. “Just wait here, okay? Can you do that for me?” Dan chewed on his bottom lip but nodded. “Okay,” he whispered slowly and hesitated for a split second before adding, “I trust you.” Phil blinked in surprise but then a rush of warmth spread through his chest. He nodded in determination, closing the door and trudging into his living room. He wracked his brains for an acceptable excuse, his thoughts running a thousand miles a minute. It was most definitely either Anthony or PJ, and they wouldn't listen to him at all. They usually barged in without notice, and there was no way Phil could hide anything from them. Chewing nervously on his bottom lip, he took off his T-shirt hastily and wiped his face and hair with it. A brilliant idea formed in his mind, and he mussed up his hair deliberately, rubbing his cheeks vigorously to turn them red. Taking deep breaths and pretending to be flustered, Phil opened the door a little bit, acting like he was embarrassed. He blinked awkwardly at PJ when he saw him standing akimbo in front of his door. “PJ,” he breathed shakily, standing half-naked. “Hey.” “Why is your door locked? You never lock–” PJ stilled and furrowed his eyebrows, staring at his messy hair and naked torso, crinkling his nose in disgust. Phil pretended to be embarrassed and mumbled, “Sorry, I'm a bit busy. Can we talk later?” “Oh god, sorry,” PJ apologized quickly, “Chris was right then. You have a new boyfriend?” Phil scratched his head. “Er . . .” He bit his lip and pretended to look back anxiously. PJ huffed. “Don't worry. I'm leaving. I just wanted to borrow your charger,” he explained exasperatedly, “I can't find mine.” His gaze turned sharp, and he folded his arms across his chest. “You've been very secretive lately. Chris told me you haven't been replying to his texts or calls.” “Sorry, I, uh–” Phil racked his brain for a believable excuse. “I'm . . . I'm busy.” PJ snorted. He looked Phil up and down and raised a graceful eyebrow. “I can see that.” Phil bit his lip and gave him a flustered grin, rubbing his neck awkwardly. “Wait here. I'll get the charger.” Phil turned without waiting for an answer and ran back to the living room. He quickly grabbed the charger and returned, taking a deep breath. “Here,” Phil huffed, handing him the charger. PJ sighed exasperatedly. “What's going on, Phil? Are you dating a celebrity or something?” “Celebrity, my ass,” Phil muttered in resignation, closing the door. “Go away. I'm busy.” “Asshole,” PJ shot back, kicking the door. Phil snorted and locked the door, standing there in silence for a few minutes. He breathed deeply and exhaled in absolute relief. He felt lucky. PJ was usually persistent. He sighed and distantly wondered how long he could hide Dan in his home. ~*~ The rest of the tedious day went by in a blur, and Phil spent the day scribbling his novel as usual. Dan had returned back to his room and fallen asleep on the bed, seemingly exhausted from their undignified tussle. He remained unconscious for the rest of the day, only coming outside late in the evening. He looked sleepy and bored, and Phil determined that Dan needed some entertainment. Phil spent the rest of the evening with Dan snuggled up near him on the sofa, cocooned inside a blanket and eyes fixed on the screen. When the movie ended and the credits started to play, Phil turned it off and strolled into his kitchen, followed by a weepy Dan who spewed out a million questions into the air, impatiently bouncing on his feet, waiting for Phil's answer. Phil explained the zombie movie as calmly as possible until Dan was satisfied. “More sugar,” Dan mumbled when Phil concluded his explanation, eyebrows furrowed in thought as he pushed his tea away. “No,” Phil huffed exasperatedly, folding the cuffs of his shirt and scrubbing the dishes in the sink. “You eat too much sugar.” “This tastes like vomit,” Dan frowned sulkily. “Then don't drink it,” Phil shrugged. “I want sugar,” Dan huffed quietly. “Please?” “No.” Dan pouted sadly, and Phil focused his attention back on the plate in his hand, scrubbing it clean and rinsing it under the water. He placed the plate in the dish rack and turned just in time to see Dan sneakily adding an unfathomable amount of sugar into his tea. As he soon as he noticed Phil, he grinned brightly and Phil rolled his eyes with a fond smile. Dan was . . . Dan was cute sometimes. Dan's eyes were bright as he happily sipped his tea, padding over to Phil when he was done. “What are you doing?” “Can't you see?” Phil questioned quietly, rinsing another bowl under the water. Dan blinked and stared at Phil's hands for a long while, focusing on the way Phil was cleaning the bowls and spoons. “Can I help?” he asked at last. Phil nodded. “Just help me dry it . . .” he explained, pointing at the towel. Dan nodded eagerly and took the plate from Phil's hands, wiping it with the towel. When he was done, he showed the shining plate to Phil and grinned brightly. Phil smiled, and his eyes involuntarily slipped down to Dan's neck. He was wearing a loose T-shirt which was hanging down his shoulder, revealing his soft skin. It was unbelievably pale . . . Phil turned away and grabbed another bowl, clearing his mind. They slipped into a comfortable silence, working quietly. It was late at night. The sound of the water and the small hum of the refrigerator were the only sounds in the kitchen. The moment was pure and peaceful, and Phil's heart was calm. His lips stretched into a smile, and he felt a strange warmth in his stomach. “Can I . . . um . . .” Dan mumbled in a very quiet voice, sounding dejected. “Hmm?” Phil looked up. “What? Did you say something?” “Um, can I ask a question?” Dan muttered shyly, avoiding Phil's eyes. Phil furrowed his eyebrows and smiled confusedly. “Yeah. Of course.” Dan nodded timidly. “That–that guy in the morning,” he whispered silently, wiping a bowl. “Who?” Phil asked, eyes on the pan he was scrubbing. “PJ?” “Yeah,” Dan mumbled, and Phil furrowed his eyebrows at his nervous tone of voice. “Who was he?” “He's my friend,” Phil emphasized confusedly. “Friend?” Phil frowned. “Yeah.” “Okay.” Dan nodded, and he immediately brightened, his cheeks turning bright pink. “Good.” Phil tilted his head in suspicion and peered over Dan's shoulder to look at his fluttering wings. “You're weird,” he declared, shaking his head. Dan shrugged and smiled a secretive smile, placing the bowl in the dish rack. Phil rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to his job. A few minutes went by in silence before Dan spoke up again in a small, vulnerable voice, “Can I ask another question?” Phil sighed exasperatedly. “You can ask as many questions as you'd like.” Dan smiled and nodded, hands stilling and gaze avoiding Phil. He chewed on his bottom lip and murmured nervously, “Am I . . . am I your friend?” Phil blinked, lowering his hands slowly and turning to Dan. “Do you want to be?” Dan deliberately avoided his eyes, staring at his feet and fidgeting restlessly with his fingers. Phil's heart filled with warmth. He wasn't expecting the question, but he knew the answer. “Yeah, you are,” Phil replied softly with a smile. Dan looked up immediately, eyes a vivid brown and cheeks flushed with joy as he beamed widely. Phil huffed with an exasperated smile. He shook his head and focused back on his task. Dan scooted closer to him and their elbows touched as they worked in silence. Phil's mind was calm, and he felt completely at ease. He was beginning to truly enjoy being with Dan, and he was also beginning to realize that it was not a good thing. “I should go,” Dan announced after they were done with the dishes. Phil looked up. “Already? “Yeah,” Dan murmured quietly. Phil blinked, and he felt a little bit sad for some strange reason. “Okay.”  

Layla Dahamrai has just begun her second year at university. She's acing every class and is one of the department's best students in her cohort. However, she's not getting along with her professor in her East Asian Regimes & Empires class, not that it's really her fault. It doesn't help that she's hot for her teacher either. Sebastian Henderson expects the best out of his students, given he's teaching at one of the most prestigious universities in London. He's had enough of Layla stumbling into his class late at the beginning of the semester. In the six years he's been teaching in academia, he has never desired a student until now. Layla and Sebastian will soon come to realise they have more in common during, and definitely out of, office hours. Sitting in a room Sebastian booked out for his research, we work silently together on our respective projects. As he enters the room, he grins at me, holding more archival material in his hands. I continue writing on of my final assignments this year. It's already April, all that is left is exam season in May, then it'll just be him and I all summer long (not counting who we decide to invite to our trysts). I'm smiling as I focus on the task in front of me, although I cannot help but be distracted by Sebastian's intense and sexy focus as he conducts his own research for a journal article. Sebastian places a post-it note next to my laptop asking me to collect specific books, articles and pieces from the archives. I sigh and take a break from my work. As I walk out of the room, I play with the pearls wrapped around my neck, tucked between the collar of my white shirt and thick seasonal jumper. I walk around with a stack of books and periodicals then sigh as I realise the last thing he requires is on the top shelf. I'm wearing the world's shortest navy skirt with a thong and knee high socks. I put everything down on the table next to the rows of speeches and official documentation. The ladder isn't exactly budging, patting my skirt down, I climb up the ladder and try my hardest to reach the documentation I need to pick up. "Woah!" I lose my footing on the ladder as I pull the document off the shelf. I cling onto the ladder and wince as the material hits the ground. "Shit!" I clumsily lose my footing once more and fumble to stay on the ladder when someone reaches out and grabs my waist. "Ah!" I turn my head and find a man below me looking up at me. "Are you okay?" The man offers me a glittering smile but all I offer is a meek one in return. I sheepishly climb down the ladder once I release the indecent position I'm in. I hastily retrieve the document from the ground and look the man in the eye. "Yeah, I'm good. I guess I should thank you for coming to my aid," I whisper. I begin to inspect him. This man had the most beautiful blonde hair a person could wish for. I might even have to ask what conditioner he's using. He reminds me of a gorgeous, chiselled, Nordic god. His clothes are much like my own with the shirt, jumper and the straight-leg trousers. When I look up at him, I realise how much taller he is than me, and take a few steps back. "It's not a problem. I mean, I didn't really do anything to help you from also hitting the ground there. I'm Ben," he offers his free hand to me. I place my palm in his, "I'm Layla." Ben takes a step back to inspect me after he shakes my hand. "Do I know you from somewhere?" I shake my head. I mean, he could easily be mistaken for Arthur, but I don't recall this man from anywhere. "No," I begin to retreat and start gathering my stack. When he tells me he's a post-grad student in the same department at my university I swallow at the pain in my throat. My shit luck strikes again when Sebastian rounds the corner and finds me. He's concerned about my whereabouts and he's surprised to find Ben standing there. "Oh hey, Ben. How are you?" They smile and discuss their respective topics. "Thanks for picking these up for me," he turns and says to me. "I'm teaching Layla how to use archives since she's doing her undergraduate dissertation next year." Ben smiles at me. "Ah, we've all been there. Just remember to move the ladder next time so you don't end up almost falling off trying to reach for stuff." Sebastian's smile vanishes. I offer a quick explanation of how the ladder was stuck. Ben tests my story by pushing and pulling on the ladder gently and nods his head. Sebastian admonishes me, "If you can't reach for it you should really just ask someone else to do it, okay?" I nod my head. "Do you need any other materials?" I pick up the books and start to walk away but Ben stops me once more. "That's where I know you from!" I spin around and wait for him to speak. "You're friends with my little brother Arthur, he does Medicine with that girl Aurelia, right?" Our backs tense up at his mentioning of Aurelia. "Yeah, she's my housemate. As much as I'd love to talk, I need to get some of this stuff scanned. I have other assignments to complete for the modules I'm actually taking this semester," I laugh and walk away. I don't know how to explain it but something's off about him. He doesn't come across with that same genuine sincerity as his younger brother. Ben's smile is too flashy for it to be genuine. He didn't even bat an eyelid when he saw right up my skirt. I shake my head and walk back into the room and I'm soon followed by Sebastian. He walks in with the other half of the stack I put together then locks the door behind him. We don't address what just unfolded in between the stacks of shelves in the archives and just continue working throughout the day. I'm not sure if I'll bring up the encounter to Aurelia. She probably doesn't remember him, so there is probably no need. I stretch out my arms and check my latest grade. "Yes! I got a first!" I jump in my chair and show my laptop screen to Sebastian. He's propped himself on his elbow and was already watching me intently. I blush as he smiles at me with pride. "Congratulations, my love." I shut my laptop when I notice that he's finished with his work for the day. "If you want to carry on working you can." I shake my head. I think I can call it quits at eight hours of solid research and writing today. "Who's Arthur?" I frown at the unexpected question. "Arthur does Medicine with Aurelia. They were in the same residential hall in our first year. One night we had a massive flat party and it got out of hand. I think over two hundred students showed up and Aurelia brought Arthur and a few other medics in the middle of the night. That's how we all became friends. It was one crazy night until security shut it down. Then we went bouncing around campus with bottles of liquor. I think you can guess how that night ended," I sigh as I remember how sick I felt with my hangover the next morning. Sebastian nods his head. "Right," he bites his bottom lip before he speaks again. "So, you're just friends with Arthur, right?" I stiffen my back at his line of questioning. "Nobody knows about this, but Arthur was the first person I had sex with. We did it just the one time, but we didn't tell anyone about it because it wasn't very good," I say. He's hunching over in fear of my response. "Look, I won't lie to you here... Arthur and I have made out a couple of times in private at parties and club events. It was all rather meaningless. If there wasn't anyone else around we'd sort of just grind up against each other and make out. It never went further than that, I normally just had sex with one of the girls. But I haven't done any of that since I've been with you." I wait for him to respond. Sebastian breathes out a sigh, whether it's filled with relief or something else I have no idea. "Ben is interested in you." I frown at his words once more. What on earth is he going on about? I laugh at the idea of it. I think Sebastian is just feeling a little jealous. "Ben just stopped me from falling off of a ladder, Sebastian." This doesn't shake that feeling away for him, he shakes his head, Sebastian seems to think there is something wrong. I sigh. I just have to let him realise it on his own. "Layla, I know how other men are. Ben was giving you that look. It was the same one that reappeared on his face when he was talking about Aurelia. Why is he so interested in the girls his little brother is friends with?" I shrug my shoulders. "Arthur may just talk about us or Ben could have just seen us with him on a night out. Those two are quite close from what Arthur tells me. I should have been paying more attention when he talks," I rub Sebastian's thigh to reassure him. "Come on, it was just a weird interaction in a dark, cold and very dusty archive." "Uh huh," Sebastian kisses my temple possessively. "Keep your eyes peeled on the next night out if Ben shows up alongside his brother." I keep my similar suspicions regarding Ben to myself. I don't want to blow this out of proportion if I've gotten the wrong impression of Arthur's charming but creepy older brother. I roll my eyes then shake my head. "Wait, if you were already done you should have told me. I guess your stamina is wearing out at your old age," I stick my tongue out at him. This finally gets Sebastian's mind on a different topic of conversation. Sebastian pinches my waist and I giggle. He puts a finger to his lips urging me to quiet down. "I'm only ten years older than you, cheeky minx. We might be in what's basically a locked basement vault but people can hear on the other side of those doors," he says as he leans in towards me again. I still and take shorter breaths. What's he up to now? He takes a finger and hooks them into my pearls. "Well, I want to thank you helping me with my essay in the first place. It's great having a teacher who helps out students who aren't on any of his modules anymore." I reach out and squeeze his thigh. Sebastian hums as he bends down to press his lips against mine. The kiss is feverish and we moan against each other's lips, tasting each other, savouring one another. I shift my weight on the chair and lean further into his arms. "Mm," he moans as I suck his tongue, spurring me on. There is hardly an air left for us to breathe that we have to force ourselves apart. I didn't even notice him undoing the pearl necklace I was wearing today. "If you wanted a pearl necklace, Professor Henderson, then you could have just asked. I would have gotten you a beautiful one," I tease him. Sebastian laughs at my joke and plays with the pearls in his hands. "Layla, you've been distracting me the entire day," I scoff at his words. "I've done no such thing." I press my finger against his temple, "You've been troubling yourself with all sorts of odd thoughts." Sebastian playfully sticks his tongue out at me and smiles. "Nonetheless, I still have to punish you, my love," he purrs against my ear. I bite my lip and look away from the darkness in his eyes. It makes my cheeks flush with excitement. Sebastian gently grazes his finger over my thigh. "Are you going to take that skirt off, baby?" "That's a new nickname you've got for me, darling. I don't feel like taking it off, Professor Henderson," I smile as he flashes me a dubious smile. "I'm sorry. Did I address that as a question? I meant you're going to take off your skirt and you're going to do it now. All for me. I say when, I say how, Layla." I smirk at the truth in his words. Pulling, my jumper over my head, I lift my shirt up enough for me to unzip and slip my skirt off. I'm standing in front of him in my panties, an oversized white, button-up shirt and my knee high socks with my shoes. Sebastian remains seated and pulls my panties off. I shiver, not from the coldness of the room, but from the way he sniffs my arousal and stuffs the panties in his back pocket. I'm not going to get those panties back today. I start unbuttoning my shirt and drop it to the floor as he stares at me. Sebastian takes my hand and tugs me closer to him for inspection. His fingers gently rub against my bald pussy then the move up against my hip-dips to trace the faint stretch mark lines on them. "Layla, you're not just an angel, you're my goddess divine," he says as he looks up at me. I look away once more and unclasp my bra then drop it on the floor. When Sebastian stands up he takes my nipple in his mouth. I gasp as he sucks on the piercing. Jesus, I feel it in my crotch. His thumb brushes against the other one and I moan out at the touch. Sebastian brings both hands around my waist and rubs his erection against my front. I writhe against the aggressive grinding then wrap my arms around his neck as I get up on my tiptoes. "Ouch!" I yelp as Sebastian digs his fingers into the curve of my buttocks. Sebastian takes advantage of that moment to dangle the pearls over my mouth and slowly drop them in my mouth. "Suck on them, Layla," his voice is raspy at the very idea of it. I manage to fit them all in my mouth and he tugs each pearl out one by one and marvels at how each one glistens with my saliva. Sebastian pushes them back inside and leaves a few outside. "Keep them in there, Layla." I nod my head at the order. Sebastian pushes me against the desk, sits me on top of it and eases me backwards to lay down over it between the stacks of books. I lean my head up a little bit to watch him unfasten his trousers and release his throbbing hard-on. Sebastian pulls the pearls out of my mouth, trails them down my body, and leaves them on my abdomen. He starts stroking his cock at the sight of me on the table. "What should I do to you, Layla?" It's not really up to me but I answer him anyways. "Put your dick in me." It earns me two sharp slaps on my thighs. "Ah!" I throw my hand over my mouth to stifle the sound. Sebastian primitively groans at me as he walks around the table. I throw my head back and smile as he lines his cock up against my mouth. The primal nature of his stance makes me shudder on the table. I open my mouth as he leans over me, instead of putting his cock in my mouth, he picks up the pearls on my abdomen. I watch him wrap the pearls around the base of his cock and guides himself into my mouth. "Those pretty lips are going to go wherever these pearls are, darling." Sebastian growls as I struggle at first to take his cock deep in my throat. When I manage to make it to the base, I choke, and Sebastian pulls out. My saliva drips between us and stretches across my face. Neither of us clean my face up. "You're such a good student," I smile at his words. "Professor Henderson, you're the one who promised to make me your fucktoy," I wink at him. Sebastian chuckles and pushes himself back in. My lips touch the pearls. Sebastian groans in satisfaction. He starts driving his cock in and out of my mouth. I stare at him as he unashamedly fucks my mouth on the table. "Yes," he quietly hisses out. His grip on the pearls loosens and he brings them down to his balls. Sebastian pulls out of my mouth once more and bends down over my face. I take his balls into mouth and begin massaging them with my lips, following the pearls wherever he puts them. "Fuck, Layla." I writhe agains the table as his continues to praise my oral skills. Sebastian places the pearls on my neck. He slowly moves away from me and trails the pearls down my body. He dangles them and teases my pierced nipples. My hips wiggle on the table and he just chuckles at my impatient need to be fucked by him. I whimper at his touch. When he spreads my legs apart, I hiss at the coldness of the air, it's far too cold for me to spread out naked in here. I don't care though. Sebastian leans over me and sucks me nipples. His teeth gently graze against the piercings and he softly bites down on them. I spread myself further apart as he stands between my legs. He isn't quick to push himself inside me. I whimper at the lack of contact. My pussy is aching to be filled with his large cock. I push my head back further against the table and gasp as his hand brushes softly between my folds. Sebastian doesn't touch my clit. Instead his hand grazes against the tight rosebud and I shudder against the table. I pull my feet on the edge of the table and grab the edge of the desk by my head. I'm spread out obscenely for him. If only I could be filmed every time I was with him. I want to see what he does to me every time we have sex. His eyes never leave mine. I start pouting at the lack of contact. "Please, Sebastian..." I say breathlessly. Sebastian smirks at my need to be teased, touched and filled. He reaches for the pearls with one hand and spreads my pussylips apart with the other. Before I can question his next move, he presses his lips against mine, he leaves me breathless with a passionate kiss once more. I am no longer able to think, just feel, all I can focus on is how his tongue is tracing my body from neck straight to my clit. He slowly laps his tongue over my clit with gentle flicks. I'm ready to cum. Sebastian just chuckles and kisses my cunt. "No!" I hiss as he looks up at me. If he denies me this orgasm I will throttle him. His light laugh returns when I scowl at him. "Alright," he says as presses his mouth against my pussy once. It doesn't take long for me to reach the edge once more. I hold tighter onto the edge and explode as he sucks on my clit. I bite my lip as I try to hold back the loud moan that erupted from my throat. I shake against the table as he doesn't relent. I stare down at him as I come back down from my high. His tongue is still against my slit, his mouth still at work sucking on it, and his eyes are on me. The table is beginning to creak. "Up you get. I need to finish your punishment," I frown at his words. Sebastian laughs at me. "Professor Henderson. I'm not sure an orgasm is a punishment," I whisper. "It is when you're given too many in a very short space of time," I swallow at the lump in my throat. My legs are still shaking from the first orgasm. "I want your back against the wall." I shiver as my skin touches the cold wall. Sebastian kneels in front of me. "Just what are you up to, Professor Henderson?" "A professor never reveals his sinister plans." Sebastian pulls one leg over his shoulder and inserts his index finger to test my wetness. It's not enough for me. I need his dick. I try to hold his finger inside me but he quickly withdraws. His fingers spread my cuntlips, I look away when he looks at me with pride. I'm swollen, wet and ready for him and painfully so. I gasp when my pearls touch my clit. Sebastian moves them along and I whimper at the feeling. My hips move back and forth against the pearls. "Jesus," I hiss out as he moves the pearls against my clit. "I want to buy you all the jewels in the world. I'll have you covered in rubies, sapphires and emeralds. Throw in a little bit of topaz and amethyst. You look exquisite with pearls on your pussy," Sebastian hums against my pussy. "I love you," I whisper. "I love you, more." Sebastian pulls the pearls away from my pussy and licks them. "Fuck, you're so sweet." They're not gone for long as he brings them against my clit once more. The tension is building up. I grab his hair and tug hard. "Yes.... Oooh... Just like that, honey... Right there... Mm..." I bite my lip once more and explode under his expert touch. I throw my head back then keel over him slightly. I thrust my hips against the pearls and rub out my orgasm. I slide down against the wall and fall to the floor. "That's a good girl," he ruffles my hair. I reach out and take his erection out from his trousers but he slaps my hand away. "No, no, no. You haven't completed your punishment yet." I gasp. Maybe I should have asked for orgasm denial rather than orgasm excess. "Lift yourself up. Squat. Open those legs of yours." I hastily move into position and tremble. I don't think I can handle another orgasm. "Please, Professor Henderson, I need you inside me." I steady myself by throwing my arms on his shoulders. "Miss Dahamrai you're beginning to sound more like my fucktoy than my girlfriend." I lightly laugh at his words. "I'm both of those things. No one ever said they were mutually exclusive." I gasp when he pushes the pearls inside my cunt. He doesn't let them go and my eyes widen at the sight of my necklace hanging out of cunt. "My student is such a slut. It's a good thing you've got me as your boyfriend." I roll my eyes at his words. With a smirk, he smacks my clit, causing me to hold him tighter. "Ouch!" His fingers quickly descend on my swollen clit as he rubs me lazily. Sebastian brings his mouth to my nipples and starts sucking on one of them. I don't know what pleasure I should be paying attention to. Should I be focusing on his tongue pulling at my nipple piercing? Should I be thinking about the way his fingers are stimulating my clit? Should I be thinking about how great it feels to have my pearls in my pussy? "We'll have to do another photoshoot of you naked when you change these studs," he whispers against my nipple. My cunt tightens around the pearls when I hear people walk past the room. I know the door is locked and they can't see inside the room but the fact that they're just outside arouses me even more. Except they aren't just walking past the room. We can hear them talking outside about the latest updates on their research. I look back at Sebastian. His evil smile is back. Sebastian tugs on my clit and I lean forward to bite into his deltoid. I orgasm silently against him. It's almost violent. My feet give out and Sebastian yanks the pearls out at the same time. I'm drowning in pleasure. The waves continue to crash over me. By the time I reach back to the surface, the people outside are gone, and Sebastian lifts me up. My arms are still wrapped around his neck. With his hand, he urges me to wrap my legs around his waist, and with the other he wipes the saliva from my cheek from when I bit into him. Sebastian lines his cock up against my cunt and guides himself into my pussy. "Ah..." I moan as he bounces me up and down over his rigid length. I have never wanted his dick inside me so badly. "Is this what you needed so badly?" He whispers against my ear. I nod my head. I can no longer speak. It's nothing but pleasure for me. I tighten around him. I want him to fuck me harder, pound into me faster, lose all control inside me. I arch my back and grind my hips against his. "You're so fucking wanton. Stop moving so much!" Sebastian grunts against my ear. His fingers are digging tightly against the skin of my arse. I press my cheek against the crook of his shoulder. I'm becoming lifeless. His thrusts are ruthless. He races to cum. Sebastian's grunts only serve to make me wetter. "Yes... Ugh... Fuck..." Sebastian sinks his teeth into shoulder. I know it's going to leave a bite mark for at least a week. The idea of being marked by him in the throes of his own pleasure has me on the edge once more. Sebastian slams into me a final time, moans, and releases the hot spurts of his cum deep inside me. I pry his teeth away from my shoulder and kiss him. I stroke my tongue against his as he releases me and puts me down on the floor. Sebastian puts two fingers inside my cunt and draws out his cum and my arousal to my clit. He masturbates me for a final time and forces me to cum once more. I tremble and convulse in his arms again. "I love you so much," he whispers against my temple. "I love you, too." ---------- As we leave the train station together we're laughing at one of Sebastian's jokes. However, something stops him in his tracks, I turn to see what he's looking at. "Camille..." he whispers breathlessly. The woman he's looking at is the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on. She's almost as tall as Sebastian with short, wavy brown hair and brown eyes. It was as if she were made to be Sebastian's counterpart. There's a pit in my stomach. Camille looks up from her phone and notices our presence. Her face transforms and she gives Sebastian a beaming smile. "Bash! I've been trying to get ahold of you!" Camille leaps into his arms and he smiles down at her fondly. I straighten my back and assess her further. She's definitely of a similar breeding to Sebastian, there's nothing out of place about her, from her all-black outfit down to her pristine manicure. "You've hardly been answering my messages this week. How have you been?" I'm about to retreat slowly but Sebastian snaps himself back into focus. "Camille, I apologise for that. I'm neck-deep in research at the moment," he finally turns back to look at me. "This is Layla Dahamrai, she's the poor student that I asked to help with my research at the archives this week." Camille turns and gives me a friendly smile. She tangles her arm with Sebastian's and holds him close. "Oh, that's not a fun task! Sebastian you should treat the girl for her hard work since I assume no one is paying her for work experience." I shake my head and wryly smile at her. "It's alright. I have to get my foot in the door somehow." I press my hand into the back of my neck and try to massage the tension that has knotted there away. There's a gnawing feeling in my gut that I can't shake. Perhaps it's because Camille is cooing over him and rubbing him. "Camille doesn't mean to be intrusive. She's just moved back from Hamburg," Sebastian winces at me. That sinking feeling deepens. God, he's ashamed to be found with me. How does he know her? Why am I getting jealous? This isn't me. "I'm taking you out to dinner," she turns and says to Sebastian. "Layla, you're coming with us so he can't say no to that. Let's go!" I follow behind them as they walk through Sloane Square arm in arm. As we walk to the restaurant, they're chatting away as if I'm not walking with them. It's clear to see that they're old friends and there is some connection between the two. We finally settle into the restaurant after what seems to be the longest walk of my life. I am practically an outsider on this date Sebastian is having with another woman. They sit together while I sit across from him. He takes his sleeves and tugs on them nervously then gives me a wry smile. All they spoke of was their relationship with each other and all the wonderful memories they could recall. It was like taking a knife to the gut. They were not only in a relationship, but they were also engaged at one point. "We met each other while studying at Cambridge," she reaches out and rubs his thigh affectionately. "It was a whirlwind romance. I was hanging out with a mate of ours in his room and we found a ring in his room. I thought it was for me, but alas it was a birthday gift for his little sister Persephone. Then I thought to myself, if I want to lock Sebastian down, I need to have the guts to do it myself, soon after I'm the one proposing to him!" Camille giggles and takes a sip of her wine. Is she eyeing me over the rim of her glass? Is she baiting me? Is this all conjecture? "What happened?" I ask nonchalantly. Camille sighs. "Bash was rather aloof back in the day and he didn't want to move to Stuttgart with me. It's okay though. I married another fabulously wealthy stud and had an equally fabulous divorce. I got tired of Germany though. Now, I've decided to give London a try since it's Bash's favourite place in the world." I laugh nervously. Camille's more forthcoming than I expected her to be. I grip my wine glass tighter against my chest as she adjusts his long, wavy hair and coos over him. Sebastian doesn't pull away or reject her touches. The man just excuses himself to visit the loo. Nice one, Professor Henderson. That's right, just leave me with the viper, there's nothing that could go wrong here. "So, how have you been finding London so far?" I ask her nonchalantly. She hums as she swirls the wine in her glass on the table. "It's okay, I guess. It's not necessarily comparable to Western Europe, but it'll do for the time being." "Do you teach in academia, too? You mentioned that you did History of Art earlier," she laughs at me as if it is a ridiculous thought to have. I shuffle at her condescending tone. "Oh God no! I just do some art dealings here and there, otherwise I spend my time living life the way it is meant to be lived," she flips her hair and leans back in her chair. Camille assesses me, giving me the full look up and down. She raises a brow and smirks, whether she has found some fatal flaw or something rather impressive, I have no idea. I cut straight to the point, "You still love, Sebastian." I lean for ward in my seat and trace my finger across the rim of the glass. I can't look her in the eye because I know what her answer will be. "Bash," she says heavily to point out how she can call him by his nickname, "is hard to resist. I should not have walked away from marrying him." I nod my head at her words. Camille has come back for him. She doesn't give me a chance to speak, "I'm grateful to you for keeping him company. I know he has a habit of having his students keep him company, bright boys and girls just like you. I mean, judging by his laughter outside the station, you're a good student for him, aren't you? I'll admit I did contemplate walking away when I saw the two of you. I can take him off your hands now. He's always so focused on his students, but don't you worry, I'll distract him from now on." My eyes widen at her words. I swallow the wine slowly and choose my words carefully. "Camille, I don't know Sebastian in the way that you know him. It is obvious you are baiting me. Look... Sebastian is all yours, please try your best to keep me out of his personal life, please. Thank you," I set down my glass and head to the restroom as Sebastian comes back. I ignore him on the way there and keep my head down as I walk back. When I come back, I round the corner only to overhear them talking. I stop walking when Camille mentions my name, I duck behind the pillar away from where they can see me. "Bash," she coos and rubs his shoulder, but he doesn't move away or even flinch at her touch. "I'm sure Layla is a wonderful girl but she's just... a girl. She's also your student. I think you need to nip that little crush of hers in the bud. I know how you enjoy your students fawning over you, girls and boys alike, but you know what you need to do." "Camille... I think you've gotten the wrong idea here. Layla, alongside my other students, just want to further their own academic careers." She presses her breasts against his arm. "Christ, Bash, I was only checking. I know how women get when they're around you. Even men can't resist you." Sebastian chuckles lightly and pushes a lock of her hair behind her ear. No. I'm tapping out. Before he can respond to her his eyes widen as he sees me approach the table. I throw my coat on and swing my bag over my shoulder. I take a crumpled tenner from my coat pocket and slam it down on the table. Sebastian stands up from his chair and stammers, "Layla, I--." "No. It was a pleasure meeting you Camille. I'm going to head back to my house. They're making dinner for me and I don't want to intrude on your reconciliation." I practically run out of the door and quickly leg it to the bus stop. I just board the bus after the last passenger and it closes its doors behind me. I have no idea where it's going but I slide my phone out of my coat pocket and turn it off. I'm not ready to hear from him. ---------- It's been a week and I've managed to avoid Sebastian on campus for the majority of it. There was that one awkward run-in this afternoon when I visited another professor's office for her office hours. I just smiled at him and walked through the door before he could talk to me. By the time I left, I ran out of the building, just hoping he would be stuck with another student or teacher in his own office. On cue, Sebastian sends me another message, which I'm tempted to ignore. I reluctantly pull my phone out of my pocket and read what he has to say. -- Can we talk now? I want to say no. I don't know how to react in this uncharted territory. It's just been me and Sebastian for over half a year. Now, we've got Camille, Arthur and Ben pushing into the periphery and the latter is a person I hardly know. I sigh and finally respond to his messages. -- Yeah, I'll meet you at your place tonight. ---------- "Hey, I--" Sebastian hardly has the chance to finish talking as I press my lips against his when I walk into his home. "Wait, what's going on?" I start pulling his cardigan off his shoulders and unbutton his shirt. "We're going to have passionate sex." Sebastian stops moving and contemplates my words. Of course, he's hesitating, I would also if I were in his position. "Or I can just head home and fly solo..." That's enough to get him moving again. "I'm in the mood for a little punishment, Professor Henderson," I say to him as I lead him up the stairs. "What do you want me to punish you with, Layla?" Sebastian is ignoring the conversation we need to have as well. Good. "Are you in need of a crop? Perhaps a flogger? Maybe you want my hand? Or something else?" "Such as?" I giggle as he pushes me into the room. "The bite of a belt. The snap of a whip. The sting of wood. It's your choice, Layla." I bite my lip and consider the options. "I want the wood. Both -- yours and the paddle." Sebastian pushes me on the bed and tugs my clothes off. "I'll be right back." I sit up on the bed and cross my legs as I wait for him to return. I know deep down in my gut we need to talk. I also know that I'm not ready to. I, more importantly, know that what I'm doing is wrong. I shouldn't be avoiding this. I shake my head from my introspective thoughts when he returns with the paddle in his hand. Sebastian stands against one of the walls. "Come over here, my love." I tiptoe over to him and wait for him to instruct me. His eyes were fixated on the way my breasts bounced as I walked over and how they move with every breath I take. Sebastian reaches out to touch my skin. "I want you to lean against the wall and place your hands over your head," I nod and move into position. Sebastian tucks the paddle under his arm and places his hands on my hips. He readjusts me so my feet are slightly behind the rest of my body. Sebastian moves behind me and inspects my position. He doesn't say a word. The paddle is swatted between my legs and I spread them further apart. He presses the paddle against my ass. I brace myself for the first swat, but it doesn't come when I expect it. Sebastian takes a deep breath, releases it, then lifts the paddle to smack my ass. A moan escapes my throat when I feel that familiar sting and curl my toes as the arousal hits me. Sebastian raises the paddle again and whips my ass once more. I gasp and he uses the paddle to soothe my bottom. I know the paddle is stinging me more than it is causing any real harm but I still feel vulnerable. I throw my head back as he continues to paddle me. Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack. I can't help but whimper at the way it feels. My ass is burning up for him and I know I'm beginning to redden for him nicely. Sebastian uses the thin side of the paddle against my clit. He slides it back and forth to assess my wetness. "You're such a good girl," he groans at the sight of my arousal on his paddle. Sebastian continues to rub the paddle back and forth against my clit for a little while. "Ah!" I gasp when he pulls the paddle away and smacks my bottom again. "You like that?" I nod my head. Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack. My back curves slightly at the sound of the latest hit. Sebastian uses his hand to massage the skin. I lift myself against his hand. It's not long before the paddle descends on my bottom again. I hiss out. Smack. Smack. Smack. "Can my girl take any more?" I turn my head at his words. "I'm not sure..." I honestly don't know if I can handle any of this, Sebastian. Was I biting off more than I could chew when we began? Was I being naïve by giving into passion over reason? Was I about to make a bad decision by not making one at all? Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack. I shudder at the final hit. Sebastian drops to paddle and wraps his hand around my waist. I bend over against the wall and spread my legs further apart as he brings my hips in line with his. "Ugh!" I cry out as he slams himself into me without any restraint. "Are you okay, Layla?" I nod my head. The tears trickle down my cheeks, not from pleasure, but pain. The emotional pain of our current rift was affecting more than I thought it would. I'm not behaving like myself and Sebastian isn't entirely in control of this situation. We are both scattered. We know we are. We still give ourselves into this moment though. He brings one hand around to my clit and rubs my swollen bud with his forefinger. Sebastian remains still so I push back against hm. I fuck his cock back and forth, building up the pressure I need for my own release. "Huh! Ugh! Ah! Yes!" I grind against him without a care in the world. Sebastian wraps his hands around my hips even tighter than before and starts pounding into my cunt on his own. His balls are slapping my clit each time he drives his dick inside. I can feel myself on the edge. I just need a little more. However, he pulls himself out and I cry at the sudden emptiness. "Hey, it'll be okay," he whispers in an attempt to soothe me. Sebastian pushes me fully against the wall. I hiss out at the feeling of the coldness against my nipples. He pulls my hair away from my face and kisses my cheek as he stands over me. I stand on my tiptoes as he pushes his erection back into my tight pussy. His arm is wrapped tightly around my waist as he anchors me against the wall. With his other hand he reaches over to pick up the tube of lubricant. I hear him unscrew the cap and shiver as the cool jelly hits my skin. He presses it into my rosebud and squeezes some over his erection. I shudder, again not from arousal, but from knowing that I'm giving him more of myself than I want to right now. Sebastian pulls himself out of my cunt and slides his cock into my ass gently. "Oh, God..." I hear him groan behind me. "You feel so hot and wonderful around me," he whispers against my ear. I squeeze my eyes shut and give myself over to the feeling of him inside me. "Fuck", I huff out a breath of air. Sebastian's so deep inside me. He begins fucking me harder by shifting his weight forward. I'm pressed against the wall as he slams his pelvis into my bottom. Sebastian's hand snakes around to my front where he rubs my clit again. "Give yourself to me, darling," and to be honest, it doesn't take much for me to do that. I climax with my cheek pressed against the wall. I wipe the tears away from my wet cheek and stand still on my toes as he continues to pound into me to find his own release. He grunts against my ear and finishes inside my ass. I roll over onto my back and lean against the wall silently. I don't know what else there is to do. I don't want to bring the topic of his past into our bed. The only thing I can say is, "Let's go take a shower." Sebastian nods and leads me to the bathroom. ---------- "There's no reason for you to be concerned about Camille," Sebastian says before he sips his tea. I sit on the sofa with my feet resting on his lap and I just continue to stare at the fire in front of me. He doesn't make any attempt to look at me either. "I'm here with you. That should be enough. You need to trust me." I shake my head. "How can I do that?" I sip my tea and contemplate my words. "Camille saw us walking out of the station together. She's not stupid. Neither are you. Sebastian, you can't be that obtuse that you don't realise she's still in love with you. For God's sake, you two were engaged!" I blink at the tears brimming in my eyes. "I never loved her. Surely you know that. Camille and I were very young when that all went down. Besides, she doesn't love me. When she found out I was bisexual, she flipped on me, and flipped back just as quickly. Camille is still in love with the idea of me, the person I created for her, the wealthy man who got everything from his dead parents. Fuck -- I thought if I couldn't find someone to love, at least, there's someone who admires me." My back stiffens at his words. "Sebastian -- you and Camille were the same age as me when you got engaged. Am I too young? Am I not able to fully comprehend what's going on here? I know there's a huge difference between twenty and thirty and I still have a lot to learn in life, but... You spent more time on her arm, warming up to her and giving her the smiles and affection you usually reserve for me." "I love you, Layla. Camille doesn't understand what she was saying. She was worried about returning to London after such a long stint in Hamburg," Sebastian reaches out to touch my hand. I take a deep breath. I can't bring myself to tell him what she said to me, those words we exchanged in private, the comments she made about our relationship. I place the tea on the coffee table and stand up. "I'm going to head back home. I need some space." Sebastian's eyes widen. "Layla, you can't just give up the moment there's a bump in the road." "I'm not giving up. I just need... space. I'm confused." I tighten the knot on the robe and fold my arms in a protective stance. "What about? Camille? Our relationship?" Sebastian scowls at me when I don't respond. "Hey, don't look at me like that. Sebastian, you don't get to be angry in this situation." "I'm sorry. The woman I love is telling me she's confused about our relationship. I'm allowed to be upset with that fact." His words make me shift further back and all I want to do is create more distance between us. "I don't know how to explain it to you," I shrug my shoulders in defeat. "Maybe you need another man, or rather a boy, since they're at your disposal. You have a university packed full of them. Ben is up for grabs, if that's what you're into. Gosh, you even have a mutual connection with your friend Arthur. Since you lost that pesky little hymen of yours to him, I guess he's available, too." I step back. It's as if he's slapped me across the face. "Why are you being so cruel?" Sebastian snickers then scowls at me. "I think I'm being pretty understanding for a conversation that's rather unexpected." I continue to retreat from the conversation and the room, "I didn't intend to hurt you." I walk away and Sebastian utters the words that destroy me. "I guess we already need a break. Let me know once you've cleared up your confusion with Ben, or Arthur, maybe Digby and Lucas can help you at the same time. I think I may even help Camille out with her confusion in the meantime." "Wow," I wipe at my tears. "Professor Henderson... You wanted to cut deep? I think you may have killed us."

Layla Dahamrai has just begun her second year at university. She's acing every class and is one of the department's best students in her cohort. However, she's not getting along with her professor in her East Asian Regimes & Empires class, not that it's really her fault. It doesn't help that she's hot for her teacher either. Sebastian Henderson expects the best out of his students, given he's teaching at one of the most prestigious universities in London. He's had enough of Layla stumbling into his class late at the beginning of the semester. In the six years he's been teaching in academia, he has never desired a student until now. Layla and Sebastian will soon come to realise they have more in common during, and definitely out of, office hours. "Come on! Let's get more shots!" Delilah drags me to the bar. It's the final Sports Night before exams start in two weeks. It's coming to the end of April and it's almost been a month of Sebastian and I sending these little messages checking in on each other. I haven't seen him in person. I've just been focused on finishing my final assessments of the semester and revising for my exams. We've spoken more about the weather than we have about anything else. I huff a sigh and look down at my clothes to check they're still okay. I'm wearing a flimsy, blue, backless satin mini dress with long slits on the sides. It looks like a napkin on me with the way my breasts are bursting over the edge and being unable to bend over if I don't want to flash my arse to everyone. My black boots have been trashed from all the liquor and the sticky floors. Delilah tugs on my arm and brings my attention to the student bartender. "What can I get you?" he yells over the music and the other students yelling at him across the bar. "We need four shots of vodka and four shots of tequila," he looks at me dubiously, but doesn't question the order and pours the drinks for us. "Layla, I said one of each!" Delilah looks alarmed when she sees the shots being poured out. "Perfect! That means there are two for you and six for me," I quickly pay for them and start throwing back the tequila and vodka in front of me. I was already tipsy by the time I made it to the event but now I was ready to get blackout drunk. The balance between Sebastian and I was extremely off. We are both at fault. I walked in unwilling to talk to him, instead, I pushed him away, and effectively shut him up by fucking him. Sebastian panicked, said things he would never say, but kept his space knowing I wasn't ready to listen to him again. I sigh and walk away from the bar to find Florence, Alice, Aurelia, and Lola. I wrap my arms around Florence's waist and snatch her drink out of her hand. "Hey!" I ignore her as I down the whiskey and coke. I wink and insert myself between Lucas and Digby. Before I can start grinding against them, Aurelia tugs my hand, moving me between her and Alice. I frown at their concerned faces. Lola links her arm with mine and guides me away from the group. "I need to pee!" she yells at me. Alice and Aurelia stay with the boys while Florence and Lola join us. I stumble into the brightly-lit restroom and fall into a cubicle. I walk back out and giggle at the state of my face. My mascara and eyeliner are smudged beneath my eyes and I look wildly aroused. I mean, it's been a month without Sebastian, I might be losing my mind without his cock in my pussy all the time. God, what has he turned me into? I attempt to salvage my makeup as Delilah, Florence, and Lola join me by the mirrors. "Bad Layla is finally making an appearance! We haven't seen her since the end of our first year," Delilah cheers next to me. Florence giggles, "She just needs to slow down on the alcohol". I stick my tongue out at both of them as they wash their hands and fix their makeup. I take out my phone and read the last message Sebastian sent me. Christ, we went from sending nudes to each other every day alongside our romantic messages to ones about the weather and wishing each other good days. I may as well be another student! I want to know what he's been up to without me around? Where has he been, with Camille, with his friends? Does he miss me? It makes my heart sink knowing he hasn't said it once. I haven't even said it. I want him. I miss him. I love him. The vodka, tequila and who knows how much whiskey begins to take over and starts making the decisions I was too afraid to make while I was sober. Lola holds my hand and leads me out to the dance floor. When we can't find anyone we walk into the frigid smoking area. I shudder when I reach Alice and Aurelia in the crowd. Aurelia is in the middle of chastising Henry, George and Lucas about their excessive smoking while Lucas watches in horror as Alice sticks her tongue down a stranger's throat. Florence and Delilah laugh at how sloppy it is. My phone vibrates and I'm taken aback by how quickly Sebastian has responded. I shove my phone back into my purse and smile at Alice's horrid make-out session with some random guy. "If she sticks her tongue in there any longer she might not get it back," Henry and George laugh at my comment and I walk back inside. I head over to the bar and squeeze through to the front. A hand comes around my waist. Ugh, it's another aggressive rugby lad. The blonde stranger presses his mouth to my ear. "Can I get you a drink, babe?" I wince inwardly at the overfamiliarity of his words. I take his hand off my waist and scowl at him. "I'm good thanks. I can get my own drink," I lean over the bar and motion my hand at the bartender that had served me and Delilah a little while ago. The guy nods at me as he finishes his current order. "Hey, don't be a bitch. I'm doing something nice for a fat slag like you," my hand twitches on the counter. I'm ready to slap him across the face when Arthur stands between the two of us. I step backwards and bump into a girl behind me. "Watch it!" The girl screams at me. I turn and mumble a weak apology. When I turn back around, I look up at the lanky guy's face, I realise it's not Arthur but his older brother Ben. He's smiling down at me in that eery way he did last time I met him. Fuck. "What can I get you?" I turn to the bartender and look at Ben. "I'll take two Vodka Red Bulls and two Jägerbombs for me and my friend here," the guy nods and starts pouring the drinks. I hastily pay for the drinks and raise one of the shot glosses towards Ben. I keep one protective hand over the Vodka Red Bull as we throwback our shots. "Thanks for that," Ben says as we walk away from the bar. I can barely walk straight at this point. "Thanks for stopping me from punching that guy," I say as I hastily down the contents of my cup. I put down the empty cup on the table next to the pillar we are leaning against. Ben lazily sips on his drink and folds his arms as he checks me out from head to toe. "Consider me your knight in shining armour," I nervously laugh at his arrogant words. "Right... Are you looking for Arthur?" Ben shrugs while he continues staring at me intensely. "I was but then I ran into an incredibly beautiful woman," he says as he unfolds his arms to stroke my arm. "Ben--" I jump when my friends rush over to bring me towards their little circle on the dance floor. "Layla, this is our song!" Florence takes my hand and starts dancing behind me. I dance with the group and realise that Aurelia is not behaving like her usual self again. I release myself from Florence's hold and move over to take Aurelia's hand. "Are you okay, honey?" I say against her ear. I follow her gaze when she ignores me. She's staring at Arthur and Ben who are chugging down pitchers of beer with the football team. In my drunken haze, it hits me, that night in our first year when she came crying to me. It was either Ben or Arthur. "Who hurt you? Was it Ben or Arthur?" Aurelia's eyes widen and her mouth opens in shock. "How do you know Ben?" Her body begins shuddering in fear. The girl is about to cry. I stumble through the crowd and take us towards the cloakroom. "So, it was him," I say as I wrap her coat around her waist. "We're going to go home," I threw my coat on. As I pull my hair out from under my coat, Lola approaches us with her hand on her head. "If you're leaving, I'm coming home, too! There's no way I can keep up with Alice, Florence or Delilah tonight. I can already to tell you that they will end up dead on the floor in our house tomorrow morning with the boys!" The two of us wait for Lola to get her coat. I notice the latest message from Sebastian. I put my phone away. Aurelia looks at me and presses her mouth against my ear. "Can you please just leave this alone until everyone is out of the house next week?" "Are you sure?" "Yes, I think I'm going to head to my parent's country house for the weekend. I need a break from the city and my parents are going to be there with my little brother anyways." I nod my head at her words. "Okay. I'll be checking in on you though. If I don't hear from you then I'm coming up down for a visit." Aurelia offers me a weak, but reassuring smile and nods. Lola reappears and shrugs her coat on. "Ready to go?" I ask her. Gosh, have I been slurring this entire time? "Let's go!" The three of us walk to the bus stop and wait five minutes for it to arrive. We huddle together on the row of seats at the back. Lola and Aurelia lean on each other as they review each other's Instagram stories for the night. I just continue to stare at Sebastian's message. I can hardly read the words since I've consumed too much alcohol. That doesn't stop me from taking a deep breath for the courage to respond to him. I look away from my phone for five seconds to approve Lola's Snapchat story while Aurelia giggles at my Instagram story before she moves on to the next one on the list. Sebastian has already responded by the time I look back at my phone. I ignore Lola and Aurelia as we walk into the house. Sitting in the living room, I continue drinking from a left-over bottle of rum from when we were pre-drinking earlier in the night, it aids me as I scowl at the words on my screen. I know I've become a drunken, petulant, bratty girlfriend. That little bit of self-awareness doesn't stop me from my need to argue with him over the phone. If I text Oliver, Christopher, or Charles, will they come over? I know they're with you right now but I can tell they won't refuse me. My fingers swipe across the screen to order a taxi to his place. I storm down the staircase and shove my feet into my boots as the taxi pulls up outside the front door. The rage I feel is pure, unadulterated and has been stewing for the past month. Okay. If that's what you'd like to think, Sebastian. I grunt in the backseat as I stare at my phone. The liquor is going to carry me through this disaster of a night. My blood is boiling, I'm seething with anger, and Sebastian is going to get the verbal bashing of his life! ---------- Forcefully shutting the front door behind me, I storm into Sebastian's living room. I'm in a blinding rage from our messages. I glare at Chuck, Ollie and Kit when I find them sitting there on the sofas all drinking cognac. Freddie and Hugo enter the room holding the cue stick in loungewear after, what I can assume, were long days at work. "Where is he?" I hiss at the five of them. They never get the chance to respond as Sebastian emerges from the other room with a cue stick in one hand and a glass of cognac in the other. The anger is pouring out of him as well. "Um... We're going to leave," Fred announces to the room. Sebastian throws back the whiskey in his hand. I stop Freddie before he can leave with the others. "Hold on, Fredster," I yank him towards me and force my lips onto his. I wrap my arms around his neck until Sebastian grabs me by the hips and yanks me away from him. The rest don't make any form of contact with me and quickly dismiss themselves with Freddie following out soon after. Good. This ass-kicking needs to be done in private. "Now you're ready to talk to me?" Sebastian hisses at me. "I thought you wouldn't get upset. I'm more interested in your friends it seems," I hiss back at him. "You're drunk, Layla." "You're an asshole, Sebastian." "I've given you everything you've asked for!" "Sebastian, you didn't even miss me!" "Is that what you think?" "What else am I supposed to think?" "I have missed you every fucking day. I have been trying my hardest not to barge into your house to beg you to take me back. I have been waiting to bend down in front of you and beg for your forgiveness for what I said that night," his words stun me into silence. "I love you so bloody much. I just want you to be happy. I thought giving you that space would achieve that. I didn't want to suffocate you." "Oh," my head is spinning. "Gosh, I really have been behaving like a teenager." I put a hand over my mouth and my stomach. I finally blackout. ---------- My head feels like a pile of bricks when I lift my head from the pillow. "Ow," I wince as the light filters into the room. Turning to my side, my body collides into Sebastian's, who was still sleeping peacefully next to me. I feel the arousal in my stomach when his eyes flutter open. "Good morning, my love," Sebastian reaches out to teach my cheek and kisses my temple. "How's your tummy feeling?" I look at him in confusion. "I predicted that you wouldn't remember. At the end of our little screaming match, you decided to leg it to the kitchen sink and began chundering. Then you decided to go for a few more rounds of crying, screaming and chundering until I got you into our bed. However, you decided you didn't like that bed and came into the guest bedroom with me. When I thought you were asleep you then crawled back into our bed and demanded we have sex. Now, you're awake and in a straight jacket made out of my shirts." "I've really hit rock bottom," I groan into the pillow. Sebastian pulls me onto his chest and rests his chin on my head. I nuzzle my face against his chest and purr as his fingers stroke through my hair. "We made a right mess of things. We didn't handle any of this correctly," I whisper against his chest. I look up at him as he plays with my hair. "I was angry but that doesn't justify my actions. I promised to always have your best interests at heart and I let my emotions get the better of me when I should not have. I'm truly, deeply, sorry. I hurt you badly and I don't expect you to forgive me immediately." "I already forgave you. What you did... It was unlike you. I threw a curveball then I went on one." "I can't believe we wasted a month together on this." "I know -- just because we're in academia it doesn't make us that smart." "Layla, you're an angel," he kisses my temple. "So, how do we move forward?" "I need to have a little more faith in you when it comes to Camille," I whisper. "I need to have a little more faith in you when it comes to all of your friends," I giggle when he reluctantly admits it. "Layla, you were right though, if the roles were reversed I would have been furious." "Okay," I free my hand from underneath the shirts he's trapped my arms with. I extend my pinky finger to him. "This is what we're going to promise each other from now on. There'll be no more running when things get rough. I also promise to love you, even when I am angry with you, and we never go to bed angry whether we're apart of together. I'll always be yours and you'll always be mine." Sebastian smiles and wraps his pinky finger around mine. "I can agree to those terms". "Now, we must seal the deal..." "Mm... How shall we do that?" "With a kiss and nothing more. I want us to get back on track the right way." "Hm... As much as I hate the idea of that, I know you're right." Sebastian reaches around to place his hand on my back, pulling me tighter against him. He stops to gaze at me then kisses me deeply. I had been aching for this, I was so hungry for his lips, I savour every part of him I can taste in that moment. The pit in my stomach has disappeared and things feel right once again. ---------- I skip into Sebastian's office in his home. I welcome the coolness of the room thanks to the air-conditioning. It was only the beginning of May and the weather was already becoming alarmingly hot. "How did the exam go?" Sebastian asks me, I roll my eyes and sigh. "I just spent three hours of my life talking about three different periods of Western European Architecture. I'd rather not relive it by talking about," I say as I sit on his lap. Sebastian chuckles at my reaction. "Hey, it's not my fault we were all stuffed into what is basically a conservatory where the sunlight hits us from the back. It was a sauna! Then we're asked to talk about random points of architecture? It wasn't ideal, to say the least." Sebastian tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. "Aw, it's okay. At least you've finished your second year." I pout at the thought of it. The past two years have flown by and I only have one more left until I graduate. The thought isn't exactly comforting. "But we don't need to talk about that fact either," Sebastian interjects and pulls me from my thoughts. I shake my head. "No, we don't. I think we should talk about how we're going to celebrate the end of my exam season," I say against his ear before I bite his earlobe. Sebastian groans at my touch. "Mm... And how does my student want to be rewarded?" One of Sebastian's hands trails up my thigh while the other goes over my breasts. He uses the pad of his thumb to feel the hardness of my nipples through my yellow cotton dress. After we reconciled Sebastian and I steered clear of anything remotely kinky. It all became vanilla. We were reconnecting on an intimate level we never really did on the regular. It was just about me and him and nothing in between. It's better than it was before though. We've been more in synch with each other. Of course, it hasn't stopped either of us from feeling those slight pangs of jealousy, but we've put more faith in each other than we had before. "I'm not sure about the how though I know how I want it to end." "How do you want it to end, sweetheart?" "With your cock deep inside me and me having another killer orgasm around it." "I think we can do something about that." "Actually, I do know what I want... I want you to be rough with me, again." Sebastian doesn't say anything, he just looks down at the piece of paper on his desk, playing with the corner of it. "Is something wrong?" I shift myself on his lap and pull his face to look up at mine. Sebastian winces. "No, it's not that. It's just... I let my anger get the better of me when we argued that night and--" "Sebastian, there's a difference between saying things in anger and saying things to verbally taunt me, hurt me or abuse me. Is that why you haven't...?" Sebastian nods his head. "I know this is my only relationship to take advice from, but... All couples argue at some point. They all say something so stupid beyond belief it hurts to even think they were capable of saying it. Besides, we were doing so well for months, the universe had to throw us a curveball just to balance everything out. Sebastian, you need to tell me these things." He sighs at my words. "I know." "I'm ready if you're ready." "I'm ready." ---------- The moment I enter the room, Sebastian locates a blindfold and wraps it over my eyes. His hands graze my stomach as he moves around to stand behind me. I lean my head back against his chest and push my face upwards so he can access my mouth. Sebastian pulls on my hair, locking his lips covering mine, kissing me with that deepness and passion I struggle to resist. It's as if he's pulling me closer to him when we cannot possibly become any closer to each other physically. The kiss is frantic, wildly erotic, and I can feel his smile on my lips as I moan into his mouth. Sebastian pulls up for air first. He combs his fingers through my hair, picking up stray strands of long hair, then he twists it into a bun and clips it in place. I wiggle my hips against his in anticipation. His fingers dig into my hips to keep me still. Sebastian pulls down the thing spaghetti straps of my cotton dress and pushes it down to the floor. His lips touch my neck and he starts kissing, sucking and biting the sensitive skin. "Ah..." I moan softly. Sebastian unhooks my bra and drops it to the floor then bends to pull off my cotton panties. I wore a rather sensible outfit for the hot, humid, spring day outside. Sebastian leaves a trail of kisses down one leg as he pulls them down and a trail of kisses up the other as he slowly stands up and helps me stand out of them. His hand cups mine, I hold it, with that he leads me over to another part of the room. I walk slowly behind him as he leads me blindfolded. "I don't think I've ever loved something as much as I love you, Layla," he whispers against my temple. I tilt my head upwards, revelling in the way his hands feel against my cheek. "I love you, too, Sebastian." His mouth covers mine again and he coaxes my lips to part for his tongue. I wrap my arms around his neck while his arms come around my waist to pull me closer to him. Our kiss deepens. We're consuming each other more than we're kissing each other. The both of us come up for a breath and press our noses together, we're gasping for air, we need to decide whether we want to breathe more or kiss more. Sebastian's teeth nip at my lip before he moves to the ceiling restraints. I hear the metal shackles move against the ceiling rack that he installed when we first got together. I offer my hands to Sebastian, he chuckles at my obedience and thanks me. My wrists are placed into two cuffs that descend from a chain attached to the rack. The length of the chain is short and it almost brings me up to my tiptoes. I am fully stretched and at Sebastian's mercy once again. I've missed this feeling. The hush tones of classical music begin playing in the background. There are draws opening and closing all around the room as Sebastian picks and choose what he wants to use on me today. I wiggle my toes against the cool floor as I wait for him in anticipation. I hear the table being wheeled closer to us and I know he's back in front of me. Sebastian's ready to begin. However, I get it wrong, he's not in front of me. I'm aware of his presence behind me when a flogger hits my back suddenly. "Ah!" I hiss out at the unexpected touch. "Do you like that, honey?" I nod my head. The sting isn't unbearable, it burns me in all the right ways, I want more. Sebastian lifts up the flogger and starts paddling me wit it. I jump each time it hits my skin and curl my toes into the floor every time I hear it swish in the air. It hits me harshly and I hiss out at the sensation. The thin leather strands linger against my shoulder. Sebastian teases me by tickling me with them. I shy away from the gentle caress of the leather against my back. It doesn't stop him. Sebastian moves to my front and uses the strands to lightly tickle my skin. "Mm!" I groan as he paddles my left my breast then my right. The strands hit the gold studs in my nipples when he brings the flogger down on both of my breasts again. "Ooh!" Gosh, that feels so good. I lean my head back as he lewdly squeezes my breasts. My breathing deepens and I push my breasts deeper into his palms. "Huh..." I breathe out as he gives my nipples a squeeze then I hear his titter. I feel the heat rush to my cheeks. Fuck me. I'm behaving like a wanton again. Sebastian lifts the flogger and paddles my stomach. The pace at which he paddles me has me gasping for breath. I sense him moving around to my back once more. The hits become more intense and I can't complain because I want more. I whimper when he stops. Sebastian pulls my leg up slightly to test my arousal. "Perfect. Layla, you're wetter than usual," he whispers against my ear. I whimper once more. The flogging starts again and he's quick with his sharp and fast hits. Sebastian rounds back to my stomach and moves down to hit my thighs. I widen my stance and finally pull myself onto my tiptoes. "Fuck!" I hiss out when he begins paddling my pussy with the flogger. "Watching your brown skin redden up for me is delightful, Layla," I press my face into my right arm as I listen to him compliment the evidence of my masochism and his sadism. Sebastian is relentless in spanking my pussy and I cry out when he suddenly stops again. "Don't do that! Please make me cum, Professor Henderson!" I moan and tug on the cuffs that were holding me up from the ceiling. I hear him put the flogger down on the table then shudder when he wraps an arm around my waist. My skin is sensitive to contact. Sebastian takes the cuffs off my hands and pushes the rack back into its original place. I gasp when he uses his other arm to scoop me up in his arms. I huddle into a ball as he carries me over to the cool table. I deftly stretch my arms in arousal and hit the shackles in each of the corners. I hear him chuckle over me then he presses a kiss to my temple. His fingers capture one wrist and he places it in one of the corner shackles, then makes quick work of my other wrist and my ankles. I'm spread out for him on the table unable to move my arms or legs since he has me so stretched out. My hips jump from the table slightly when a cool gel hits my pussy. Sebastian's adding more lube to my very wet pussy. Oh boy, that means he's going to have me riding a huge toy. I'm not fazed when I hear him squirt more lube onto whatever is in his hands. "Ooh..." Sebastian peels back my pussylips with one hand and uses the other to push in the rabbit vibrator he's holding in the other. I'm so wet, I can feel my arousal leaking around my lips, down to my perineum. Despite being blindfolded I know I'm a delicious sight for Sebastian. "Mm... Yes..." I bite out as he pushes the vibrator deep into my cunt. My hips jump off the table again when he rabbit ears start wiggling over my clitoris. "Do you like that, honey?" Sebastian laughs at my desperate reaction. I struggle to get any air in my lungs. "Oh my... Yes! Yes!" Sebastian pulls the vibrator out and pushes it back in. My cunt is desperately clinging onto the vibrator. I try to move my hands to touch him but the chains keep me in place. "Yes... Yes, Yes, Yes... Yes... Please, oh please, please... Please, Professor Henderson," I moan. I start pumping my hips and start riding the rabbit vibrator more than Sebastian is fucking me with it. Sebastian slaps both of my thighs. I shudder and force myself to stop gyrating my hips. It's so bloody hard. "I'm the one fucking you, remember?" Sebastian growls at me. After adjusting his grip on the vibrator, he drives it deeper into my cunt. I groan at how deep it goes inside me. "I want to cum. I need to cum. Professor, make me cum," I beg him again. Sebastian tightens his hold on the toy and starts pumping it in and out of my pussy quickly and roughly. "Oh... Oh my... Oh my God!" There it is. The edge. I feel myself falling over it. Sebastian slams the toy into my pussy and angles it so the rabbit ear wiggle harder against my clitoris. "Fuck! Sebastian! I'm cumming!" I scream. My hips shake against the table. "That's right, cum for me, darling. You're so beautiful," he mutters over me. Sebastian uses one hand to keep the vibrator inside me and the other to stroke my nipple. It draws out my climax. My head lulls to the side as I come down from the heights of ecstasy. Sebastian pulls the vibrator out and gives me a chance to catch my breath. I hear him leave the room for a few minutes and wait for him. He returns to release me from the shackles. When I sit upon the table he gets me to hold onto some coarse rope for him. Sebastian lifts me up and sits me on the floor in another area of the room. He begins wrapping the rope around with my wrists behind my back, around my breasts, over my stomach and loops more rope around my thighs and calves so I'm spread open for him. Sebastian sits behind me and settles me back against his spread legs. The blindfold is removed and I blink at the sudden flooding of bright light into the room. My skin has red welts and my cheeks are still flushed from the intensity of the orgasm I had on the table. When I look I realise he's sat us in front of the mirror. My arousal and the lube has spilt between my thighs. He wraps his fingers around my chin and makes me look up at my face again. There are stray strands of hair and sweat on the edges of my face. "This is the most beautiful sight in the world. You're my goddess, Layla." I shyly smile at him in the mirror. I feel his erection pressing into my back. Sebastian smiles and touches my nipples. I gasp at how sensitive they are and frown as he fiddles with the piercing. "What are you doing?" I ask as he removes them. There's a box beside me that he picks up and brings to my view. He opens it up and tears brim in my eyes when I see what's inside. There are these gorgeous two gold hoops, each with diamonds dangling from them. "They're wonderful, Sebastian," I whisper. I look down as he places the hoops in both holes and clasps them shut. "How do you like them?" I smile up at him. They look even more erotic than the barbell style studs did. It makes it even more special that he chose my nipple jewellery for me. "They look amazing. Thank you," I say as he pets my hair and kisses my temple. Sebastian places my former studs in the box and puts it on the tray next to us. I widen my eyes when I see what's on it. There are nipple clamps, wireless vibrating eggs, lube, and anal beads. Sebastian picks up one of the vibrating eggs and places it against my left nipple. I close my eyes and moan at the feeling of it slowly teasing my nipple. I whimper when he pulls it away. "Never look away. I want you to look in the mirror. Understand what your pleasure looks like." I nod my head and cry out as he brings the egg back down around my nipple. His other hand reaches forward to spread my pussylips. I blush at my arousal leaking out and glistening for the two of us to see and admire. "This is who you are, Layla," he whispers above me. He dips his middle finger into my pussy and I cry out at his touch. That's not where he wants to be though. Instead, he uses my wetness to lubricate his finger, and he trails it down from my cunt to my perineum down to my asshole. Sebastian rims his finger around the edge and slowly pushes in. "Christ, Layla, it's like you don't want my finger to leave that tight asshole of yours." "I don't... Mm!" I can't help but be mesmerised by the way Sebastian finger fucks my asshole. The egg in his hand is pushed into my cunt and my hips jump at the feeling of the egg inside me. Sebastian chuckles and brings his hand up to pinch my nipple and play with the ring. "I'm going to cum. Fuck! Sebastian, I'm going to cum again. Ha!" I scream as he drives his roughly into my asshole and moves his hand down to pinch my clit. "No! Oh, God! Fuck!" I cry out as I push the egg and watch it rattle on the floor in front of us. Sebastian's arms are wrapped around my waist as he waits for me to come back to reality. He uses his left hand to spread me wide and show me my arousal once more. "I should have you painted like this," he says against the crown of my head. I shudder at the thought of being spread out in front of an artist like this. He turns off the egg and pushes me on my front. I lean my cheek against the floor and listen to him open the cap of lubricant again. I wiggle my arse as he puts a dollop over my hole and massages it inside me and out. I then listen to him spread it over the anal beads. Sebastian pushes the first bead against my asshole and it stretches me open. I breathe with it and push back against it so it can enter my asshole. The first three beads were small and the fourth one was much larger. The pattern continues twice more until he reaches the end of the beads and a small box hits my backside. Sebastian carefully pulls them back one by one and then repeats the process of putting them back inside me. "Ooh... Fuck..." I try not to wiggle and stay still. "Is it too much?" "No, keep going, I need more." Sebastian pulls them out one more time and pushes them all back in. He uses his thumb to gently stroke over my clit. I cry out as he pinches my clit and places a clamp over it. There's a little bell attached that jingles each time I move my hips. Sebastian stands up and finally removes all of his clothing. He cups his length in his hand and rubs himself. He kneels behind me and lines himself against my pussy. Yes. Sebastian drives his cock into my cunt and I breathlessly gasp at the feeling while he groans. There's little space for him inside me. The anal beads are so large that they take up the majority of the space. It isn't an easy fit but it feels so fucking great. I whimper when he pulls back out. He just caresses my bottom and pushes inside me again. Sebastian is only teasing me though. He removes his cock and turns on the vibrator attached to the base of the anal beads. I start shaking wildly on the floor and feel my orgasm spreading slowly through my body. Sebastian smiles and flicks the bell attached to the clit clamp as it jingles furiously with the movement of my hips. It sends me over the edge and I climax, spread out deliciously for him, in an almost violent way. The anal beads are removed from my asshole and it draws out my orgasm. When he turns off the vibrator all that can be heard is the bell jingling back and forth as I try to come down from my climax. I hear Sebastian grunt behind me. He lifts me up from the floor, faces me away from the mirror and lays me down. Sebastian picks up my hips so all my weight is on my wrist and shoulders. He flicks the bell on the clit clamp. He tests out my asshole by fucking it with his middle finger once more. "You're ready, my love," he groans as he lines his lubricated cock against my asshole. "Fuck," he growls at me when he drives his dick into my tight hole. "Oh dear God..." Sebastian pulls out only to push himself harder. "It's too much, Sebastian!" "It's never too much! Ugh, yes!" Sebastian winces as he looks down at me. The bell continues to jingle as he pounds into my asshole. He fucks me roughly as if I'm the only thing he needs in the world as if it's the only way for him to cum. Sebastian removes the clit clamp and throws it on the tray. "Layla, I'm close," he says as he presses his thumb against my clit. Sebastian is thrusting harder and faster, he was no longer savouring the feel of my around him but was racing towards his need to cum. I roll my eyes back at the feeling of his hips smacking against my arse and pushing my body closer to the mirror. "Oh, God! Yes! Ah! Fuck! Layla! I'm cumming," he grunts over me. He drives his cock into my asshole once more and pinches my clit. I feel him cum deep inside me and I begin sobbing as another climax rolls through my body. "Oh no... I- I- I'm cumming again..." I whisper breathlessly. ---------- I wince as I feel the light hit my face in bed when I wake up the next morning. Sebastian is still asleep next to me. I'm already aroused and I need to take the edge off. My mood brightens when I remember that I hid a dildo and a clitoral suction vibrator in the nightstand next to the bed. I bend over and open the bottom drawer and find the beloved toys that I took from our little love dungeon and placed in here. These should wake him up. I press the button on the vibrator and smile to find there's still enough battery in there. I turn it off, pick up the dildo and push the white linen sheets off of me and onto Sebastian. He's still dead asleep. My asshole is still sore from yesterday's antics, however, my pussy still needed to be filled. Oh well, if Sebastian isn't awake to do it, I'll have to do it myself. I press my index finger into my pussy and smile when I find myself very wet. "Perfect," I whisper. I lay back and line the pink silicon dildo against the entrance of my cunt. I slowly push it in and gasp at how large it is. Fuck me, but Sebastian gets the biggest dildos I've ever used, surely because I need to cram him inside me by the end of our exploits. With my other hand, I reach for the clitoral suction vibrator and trace it over my body before I bring it down to my clit. "Ah!" I yell when it's snatched out of my hand. Sebastian holds it up in the air as he leans on his side and watches me. I reach for it with both hands as the dildo hangs out of my cunt. "Hey! Give it back!" I growl at him. "I finally found them. So, this is where you hid these toys. Cheeky little minx," he chuckles as he looks at the clitoral vibrator. "If you want me to make you cum, all you have to do is wake me up, Layla." Sebastian rolls over to me and places his arm around my neck and strokes my hair. "Fuck yourself with the dildo, my love." I hold onto the dildo tightly and carry on fucking myself with it. "Ooh, yes!" I squeal as Sebastian places the suction vibrator over my clit. My body starts rolling and I feel the orgasm approaching. I push the dildo in and out of my pussy at a furious pace while Sebastian reaches down to nibble on my earlobe. "I'm cumming, I'm cumming, oh my, I'm cumming!" I shudder against him on the bed as my climax rips through me. Now that's what I call a proper good morning. ---------- "The idea of you in that harness is making me hard," Sebastian whispers against my ear. I giggle and quickly brush my hand against it. He elbows my waist and growls, "When we get home I'm going to redden that bottom of yours." "Ha! No, you're not. I have to head back to my house otherwise my mates are going to have questions. I will undress later on and send you naughty pictures of me in the harness," Sebastian frowns at my words then his eyes widen. "Wait, you're wearing it right now?" I nod my head and pull down the strap of my black dress. "I thought that was your bra," I shrug my shoulders and focus on the task in front of me. Our little impromptu date found us in Ladbroke Grove painting pottery in an air-conditioned studio. "You're amazing," he sighs in wonder. "I'm glad that we're back on track," I smile as I paint the pottery in my hand. Sebastian picks up his phone when a message comes through. I smile and frown at him as he looks back at the front door nervously. "What's wrong?" Sebastian looks at his phone and blanches at the screen once more. "I don't want you to freak out but my sister is about to walk through that door any moment," my face pales at the thought. This could go very well or very badly. I wipe the paint off my fingers and adjust my hair. "Boo!" Sebastian and I jump at the sound and turn to find his younger sister standing over us. "Aha! I scared the both of you! Mm... This is the girlfriend?" I frown at Sebastian. Wait, she knows about me? "Yes. Persie, this is Layla Dahamrai, my girlfriend. Layla, this is Persephone, my baby sister." Persephone nudges her elbow into his side and he winces at how rough she is. I giggle at his reaction. "I'm your younger sister, not your baby sister!" "If you're younger than me by more than three years, you are a baby in comparison to me," she ignores him and throws herself over me. I am shocked by how familiar she is with me when she embraces me. "I have heard so much about you!" "You have? Sebastian talks about you all the time to me." She beams with joy at her brother's pride over her. "Let me get a pot or something to paint and we can get to know each other without Sebastian keeping us apart." I blush and sit in my seat next to Sebastian and opposite Persephone. "By the way, you must call me Persie or Sephie because Persephone is far too pretentious for my tastes." "How are things going with you, Persie?" Sebastian asks and she sighs as she takes her seat. "The company is asking for more jewellery designs from me for their latest collection, so that's going well. I met this guy a few months back, but nothing really came of it." "That's good to hear, Persie," Sebastian smiles fondly at her. "I was asking more about your wellbeing, too. You have enough of everything, right?" She sighs again. "Yes, Bash! I have plenty of money thanks to mama and papa, I pay for my mortgage on time and still eat three meals a day." Persie rolls her eyes and winks at me to tease her doting brother. "Alight, alright!" Sebastian picks up his brush and continues to paint. I take a deep breath and smile. It's a wonderful date. His sister is an absolute delight. Of course, she doesn't know that I was his student, I carry on with Sebastian's fib and tell her I study at a different university in the city. It feels like Sebastian and I are finally back on track. "I had dinner with Camille a few days ago. I figured I should taker her up on her invitation since we're finally both back in the city at the same time for once," I keep my head down while Sebastian's back stiffens at the mentioning of his former fiancée. "How is she?" he asks her quietly. "Bash, you should take her calls, I'm sorry to bring her up Layla. I'm sure you know about his engagement from a million years ago. It's not as if she has anything pernicious intended for you. Blimey, she told me she was worried about you because she thought you were genuinely dating a student from one of your classes." I drop my brush on the palette and widen my eyes at Persie. Sebastian wraps his hand around my wrist in an attempt to calm me down. Persie's face drops when she realises our tension. "Look, Persie, Camille doesn't have the best intentions here." "No, no, no. My big brother wouldn't do something so stupid! Layla I'm sure you're a lovely girl, but you can't do this. It's a foolish and dangerous thing to do. I understand there are no rules against it, but think of what it will do to both of your reputations, your careers, your futures!" "Persie! Let it go!" Sebastian hisses at her. "You don't realise how you're holding her back and ruining her life," she says as if I weren't there making my own decisions. "There is no future in this, Bash." I drop my head and pick up my paint brush and continue working on the piece in front of me. "If you care about each other, you'll put an end to this now." "Persie, I need you to leave this alone," she shakes her head and sighs. "You're my brother, I love you," she says to Bash. Turning to me, she gives me those pleading eyes, "Layla I know you know this isn't right." "Yeah, I know," I say looking up at her. "Ignore her, Layla," Sebastian waves off the conversation with one motion. The rest of the date was filled with awkwardness and unsaid words. Just when I thought we were back on track, outsiders have found another way to derail us once more.

The second Harry's eyes locked on Draco Malfoy a sense of defeat washed over him. The world really was against him. He straightened his back, raising his chin and refusing to let Malfoy see how much he really just wanted to be left alone. His head hurt, his eyes hurt, his legs hurt, but most of all his pride hurt. He was tired of people calling him a liar. Especially crazy ministry officials who claimed he was lying and gave him a detention while everyone else told him to just shut his mouth. "What do you want, Malfoy?" he asked. Malfoy’s lips twisted as if he was the one that was being bothersome. "I was simply walking by, Potter," Malfoy answered, one pale eyebrow raised. "Why must I want anything?" "Because you're you.” "Really, Potter," Malfoy said, his smirk entirely too self-satisfied. "If anything, you should be the one explaining yourself to me. I’m the prefect after all." "And…?" "And do you have a reason for wondering around the halls or are you trying to worry your precious fan group, so you can garner more attention for yourself." He paused delicately while Harry tried to resist the urge to punch him. "Perhaps you’re pretending to be kidnapped so they’ll believe you when you proclaim that another Dark Lord has risen, Hmm?" “I’m not lying,” Harry snapped, distantly away of his hands wrapping around the front of Malfoy’s robes through the haze of red. "You know, Potter," Malfoy answered back, raising one eyebrow like he was threatened on a daily basis. "People who have to keep saying that over and over, usually are." "Shut up," Harry said, slamming Malfoy back against the wall. He didn’t even wince, just kept smirking into Harry’s face as if he hadn’t insulted him in the worst way. "Just shut up." "Hit a nerve, have I?" "You and your father are just the same, Malfoy," Harry said, and Malfoy’s smirk dropped. "You don't know anything about me or my father, Potter," Malfoy responded, his voice lilting in a façade of calm, and Harry knew he was about to cross a line. He should stop before he said something he would regret but the anger from Malfoy's previous words, from his situation in general was bubbling up around him. He wanted to hurt Malfoy. He wanted Malfoy to be hurt in return. "You probably stay up late at night plotting ways to ruin people's lives," Harry said, his voice low and hoarse and entirely too close to Malfoy. "You probably think in your head 'what would daddy do' as you stand around torturing people." He expected the punch. He did not, however, expect it to hurt as much as it did. Malfoy let out a husky shout as his knuckles collided with Harry's jaw, sending them both stumbling across the corridor. He took a single step forward and punched him again. Harry had no idea where Malfoy's wand was, didn't really know why he hadn't drawn it. Though he got the feeling that, like him, Malfoy wanted to hurt, wanted to be hurt. It was sick. They were sick. For the first time since he'd seen Cedric die, he didn't feel like he was dying inside. He saw Malfoy's muscle's tense but before he could do anything, Harry lunged forward and tackled him. Malfoy let out a weak yelp at his body collided with the ground, but then he kicked back at Harry. They rolled over each other, exchanging punches between them. Somehow, Malfoy ended up on top, straddling Harry's waist with legs held down by ankles and feet. He had his slim fingers wrapped around Harry's wrists held firmly above his head and his forehead was pressed to Harry's chest, breathing heavily. "Fuck," he said, his breath ghosting across Harry’s torso and making his shiver. "Fuck, that was good." Harry shifted but Malfoy had him pinned. Malfoy slowly raised his silvery grey eyes and their gazes locked. Harry gasped as something hot shot down his stomach and lodged into his groin. Malfoy's smirk widened, his gaze dropping to a very private region. "No," Harry said. "You don't even know what I was thinking," Malfoy answered, dropping his weight completely on top of Harry. Harry groaned as their groins lined up. He was surprised to discover that Malfoy was hard. Harder than him. And that definitely didn't help his libido. "You might like it," Malfoy continued, lowing his mouth to Harry's ear. Harry shook his head as Malfoy's tongue traced his ear shell. "No? So, you don't want me to wrap my warm, wet mouth around you." Harry bit his lip to hold in the whimper, clamping his eyes shut as if that would stop the images. "Hmm. Pity." Malfoy sighed and started to move away. Harry's eyes shot open. Was he really going to leave Harry here? Like this? Malfoy's smirk grew even wider. He pressed down hard on Harry's wrists, muttering something under his breath and then taking his hands away. Harry went to move his hands but found his wrists still bound to the floor. His eyes widened in alarm, but Malfoy just quirked his lips in an almost smile. And he found himself relaxing. The tiny part of himself that was still sane was asking him what he thought he was doing. He didn't have any idea. Maybe he really was crazy like the prophet claimed. Judging by the fact that he was painfully hard now, he wasn't rejecting the idea. Malfoy reached for his robes, carefully undoing them. Harry watched with wide eyes as Malfoy carelessly flicked the button of his trousers and then with one twist of his wrist had them and his pants down past his hips. He smirked down at Harry, inviting him to look at his admittedly impressive length. Harry gulped, feeling his cheeks grow warm. "I would let you touch it, but you’ve made it very clear you don’t want to," Malfoy said. He was almost sweet, leaning over Harry and letting his breath dance along the edges of Harry’s face. Harry thought he might pass out as Malfoy started to wank himself. It was beyond arousing. It was the hottest thing he'd ever seen. If he thought Cho was pretty, he had to redefine his whole conception of beauty because Malfoy was the embodiment of it. Malfoy let out a loud moan, throwing his head back and letting his blond hair shimmer in the dim candle light. His other hand dropped down to Harry as if for balance—right above Harry's crotch. Harry let out a breathy whimper and arched his back, pulling at his wrists and trying to make Malfoy's hand move just a little bit lower. He was so hard. Painfully hard. He wanted—no, he needed released. He needed Malfoy to touched him. He couldn't keep watching Malfoy like that and not have him touch him. Malfoy looked down at Harry, his lips parted as he panted and then his lips twisted, and he smirked, eyes dancing with amusement. A pang went through Harry's chest. He knew Malfoy was only using him to get off. To feel a sense of triumph over The Boy Who Lived. This would probably be all over school tomorrow. But right now, Harry couldn't think about anything besides that hand right above his aching member and Malfoy’s other hand wrapped tightly around Malfoy himself. "Do you want me to touch you now?" Malfoy asked. Harry bit his lip against the moan at the idea of Malfoy touching him. He nodded. "Out loud, Harry." Malfoy said. He did moan at the sound of his given name on Malfoy's tongue. "Yes." "Yes, what?" Malfoy answered, his hand drawing a damning circle along Harry's stomach. "Yes, I want you to touch me," Harry whimpered, and Malfoy smiled. Open and tender and sweet, and Harry almost came without ever even being touched. Malfoy's hand gently slid inside Harry's robes. He skillfully undid the button and plunged his hand into Harry's pants. Harry gasped loudly at the feeling of Malfoy's hand around him. "Oh, bloody hell!" he cried out. "Tell me, Harry," Malfoy said, his voice just as tender as his smile. "Tell me how you want it." "I want…" he trailed off as Malfoy's thumb stroked along his head, smearing precum along the shaft. "Yes, lover?" Malfoy's soft voice made Harry shiver from the bottom of his feet to the tips of his bound arms. "I want your…your mo-mouth around me, li-like you said," Harry whispered, his face heating up. "Anything for you, lover," Malfoy smiled against his ear and Harry shivered again. Draco slinked down Harry's body until he was aligned with his open groin. Harry groaned when he nuzzled it and felt Draco’s smile. He carefully pulled Harry's pants down to expose his erect penis. And then he just looked at it. Harry gulped, irrational panic shooting through him. What if Malfoy was so disgusted, he leaves? Then Draco looked up at him and smiled pleasantly. He licked a clean stripe up Harry's length, making Harry shudder as his silver-grey eyes never left Harry’s. "Beautiful," he murmured, and Harry shuddered for a completely different reason. Draco smiled again as he lowered his mouth to suck on Harry’s head, swirling his tongue around. Harry groaned, his hands clenching against the invisible bonds. "Dr-draco!" Harry arched his back as Draco took him completely in his mouth, sucking so hard his cheeks caved. "Draco, I w-want t-to touch…." Harry whimpered. He was sure he wasn't coherent at the end, but Draco seemed to understand. He reached behind him, grabbing his wand in one hand and with a practiced swish, Harry's arms were released. He immediately dropped them down and laced his fingers through Draco's gleaming blond locks. They were surprising soft. Harry didn't know why he was surprised. Of course, Malfoy would never let his hair be anything but perfectly cared for and perfectly soft, but it was one thing to think that and another thing to know it. Harry arched his back again as Draco's tongue swiped the whole length of him. He could feel the smirk on Draco's face. He moaned when he felt one of Draco's hands reach down and fondle his balls. Draco tugged, and he cried out. He felt Draco's silver-grey eyes on his face, and he had to work to make himself look down to meet his gaze. His orgasm took him almost completely by surprise. One minute he was balanced precariously on the edge and the next he was looking into the silver-grey eyes of Draco Malfoy, who had his mouth wrapped around his cock, his hand down his pants, and was calling him lover. It was all too much. Harry's body tightened, and he cried out, cum shooting down Draco's throat without warning. Luckily, Draco didn't seem too surprised. He just swallowed calmly, before sitting up and looking down at Harry with an unreadable expression. Harry came down from his orgasmic high to Malfoy buttoning up his trousers and redoing his robes. Draco's were already done up and his groin was noticeable softer than when they started. Harry wondered vaguely when he'd come but he could tell by the look in Malfoy's eyes that he wasn't allowed to ask. "Next time maybe warn me when you're about to come," Malfoy said, his voice cold, calculating, leaving Harry with an empty feeling inside his chest. Draco stood, brushing invisible dust off his robes before turning, his footsteps echoing down the corridor as he walked away. "Next time?" Harry whispered. Draco hated Care of Magical Creatures. Not because of any true dislike of the subject but because he was obligated to hate it due to the oaf that taught it most days. Besides, it was one of the classes he'd always shared with Potter, so it was always a class he was required to be foul in. He'd watched Potter eat his breakfast before following Granger and Weasley out and to their morning classes. All the while Pansy was talking his ear off about this or that and about how they had this class and she wished they had that and how she'd rather be doing this. He'd felt like smacking her upside the head, but he just nodded along and pretended to be amused by her. After all, she did that to him when he was feeling especially dramatic. It was only fair. He watched Potter, Granger, and Weasley walk down the path with the other Gryffindors, stopping in front of Professor Grubbly-Plank. She was the Professor hired to replace Hagrid while he was off failing at his Order business. Of course, that didn't make Draco like the subject anymore, it just made it less claw-his-eyes-out-painful. He kept his eyes firmly locked on Harry, so he didn't miss it when the other boy's eyes flicked to his and stayed there. Heat bubbled in Draco's stomach even as he sneered. Potter flushed, scowled back at him, and then turned away. Shame should not have been Draco’s first reaction. He should have been able to laugh and mock the Golden Gryffindor. The whole school should have known what had happened yesterday and yet— He had no excuse for his silence. It wasn’t like Potter was remotely the first person he'd had sex with. Not even the first boy. He just didn’t like the idea of ruining the fragile moment of peace he’d found, resting his head against Harry’s chest with his muscles aching. He hadn’t thought of his father or Voldemort or— But no, he was just confused. He'd get over this—this infatuation in a day or two. He sighed as Professor Grubbly-Plank asked a question and Granger answered in five seconds. Besides, even if he was besotted—which he wasn't—it wasn't as if he could do anything about it. His father would have his head in five seconds flat—faster than Granger could answer a teacher's question, he thought with amusement as she did it again. Suddenly, all the students started to toward the table up front. Draco eyed them warily, wondering vaguely what he’d missed. "Oh, really, Draco," Pansy said airily. “They're not going to bite you." Then she strolled along after everyone else who was crowding around the table. Draco, who didn't even know what they were, much less what they were supposed to be doing, was not inclined to follow. Instead he surveyed the open area, studying everyone else. His eyes landed on Potter, who was completely focused on Professor Grubbly-Plank. Draco cocked his head to the side as Potter said something, the word Hagrid just loud enough for him to catch. So, the Golden Boy was concerned about his giant friend, was he? Draco took a step forward. "Never you mind," Grubbly-Plank answered, before moving away from them. Draco smirked, taking her place beside Harry to scoop up whatever ridiculous thing they were supposed to be studying. "Maybe the great oafs got himself badly injured,” he said, tilting his chin to let the sun shine through his hair. "Why are you acting like an arsehole?" Potter asked, and Draco drew up short. Potter sounded genuinely curious, bordering on annoyed. He didn’t sound anything like the hotheaded Gryffindor that always lunged when Draco taunted. "I was merely passing along some information," he said, shrugging and hoping Potter couldn’t see how forced the movement felt. "How is you insulting Hagrid passing along information?" "I was merely suggesting that maybe he's been messing with stuff that's too big for him, if you get my drift." He sneered, but Potter just blinked at him, his glasses reflecting the sunlight unnervingly. "What do you mean?" Potter asked. Draco blinked at him; he wasn’t serious. He couldn’t be. There was no way Harry Potter didn’t know where his useless giant friend was. "What do you know, Draco?" he asked the question softly, with absolutely none of the malice Draco expected to hear from him, and Draco didn’t know how to respond to that tone. "Just what my father’s told me," Draco answered. his voice horribly soft. He played with the little creature in his hand, finding Potter's eyes suddenly very hard to meet. He didn’t know what he was doing. He should have walked away. He shouldn’t have said anything. His father would murder him if he found out Draco was spilling secrets. "Which is?" "Why do you want to know so bad?" Draco asked, looking up at Potter through narrowed eyes. "Why don't you just ask all your friends in your precious order." "You know about the Order?" Potter asked, his eyes almost comically wide. “Like it's some big secret?" Draco answered, and Potter blinked, blushed, and dropped his eyes. "They didn't even tell me until this summer." “You’re lying. Why wouldn’t they tell you?” he said and immediately knew he'd struck a nerve. Potter's eyes flashed, and he opened his mouth. "Harry?" Granger interrupted, suddenly right there. "Everything all right?" She placed a hand on his shoulder, and Harry jerked away from her. "Fine, Hermione," he answered, casting an annoyed look over his shoulder before turning and stomping away from them both. Draco raised an eyebrow after his retreating form. "I don't know what you said to him—" Granger started. "You're very much mistaken," Draco interrupted, sneering. "I very much doubt it was me he was angry with." Draco was walking down the corridor, thinking instead of watching where he was going. Which was maybe his first mistake. His second was expecting people to avoid him because of who he was. Because seriously, who wouldn't be afraid of Draco fucking Malfoy. Obviously, someone, Draco thought as a solid body collided with his, sending them both sprawling to the ground in a tangled mess. Draco let out a string of curses and shoved the other person, standing and brushing himself off. He was about to let out a hex too when he caught sight of the emerald eyes watching him warily. His body immediately relaxed, and his hand dropped. Both without his permission. "Potter." He smiled, tilting his head. "Couldn't wait to see—" then he caught sight of Potter's hands. Harry had his right hand circled around his left wrist, holding his hand close to his body as if it was hurt. There were cuts carved into the skin of the hand, making blood ooze out and onto the sleeve of his robes. "What happened to your hand?" Draco murmured, reaching for him. "Nothing, I'm fine." Harry promptly pulled away from him, moving to hide his hand from view. Draco rolled his eyes, as if that was going to work. His hand snapped out and snatched Harry's wrist, bringing the back of his hand up to Draco's face for inspection. "Malfoy, stop." Draco refused to acknowledge Potter as examined Harry’s hand. There were words carved into the back of Harry's hand. I must not tell lies. It was some type of dark magic, the feel of the magic seeping into Draco's skin. Harry winced and tried to pull his hand away and hot anger flashed through Draco. How dare anyone mark Potter like this. As if Harry was lying about the Dark Lord. "Umbridge did this to you," Draco said finally. "How did you—" Potter's eyes widened. "As if anyone else would," Draco interrupted. "How?" "Some type of quill." Potter shrugged and looked away, his cheeks faintly flushed. "Blood quill, I can probably heal it." "You can?" Potter asked, his gaze somewhere between shocked and suspicious, and Draco couldn’t blame him. "….Yes," Draco answered, dropping Potter’s hand. Of course, Potter was suspicious. They weren’t friends. They were enemies, and Draco was offering to help him as if they— “I almost don’t want to,” Potter said, his voice so quiet Draco almost missed the words. “What?” “It almost feels wrong to just heal it,” Potter answered, looking down at his scarred hand. “As if I’m forgetting what the ministry is capable of.” “Don’t be absurd,” Draco snapped, grabbing Potter by the arm and dragging him down the corridor and into an abandoned classroom. Potter followed him easily, stumbling only once at Draco’s tight grip on his arm. Draco stopping in the middle of the classroom, letting go of Potter’s arm and holding his hand out impatiently. "Let me see then," Draco said. "You can at least say please, you know.” "I'm aware. Now, give me your hand,” he said. Potter looked at him for a long time before sighing and holding his hand out. “I don’t understand you,” Potter said. “I don’t understand why you’re helping me.” Draco studied his hand, pulling his wand out and beginning to cast. He decided that Potter’s comment was rhetorical—and not because he didn’t know the answer himself. Potter gasped as his skin began to knit back together seamlessly. There was a beat, and Draco reluctantly let go of Potter’s hand. He wasn’t about to be the one to break that silence. “What if Umbridge notices?” Potter asked. “Do you have another detention?” “No.” “Well, see that it stays that way,” Draco said. More silence. Longer this time. Draco shifted and then stepped back. “I should get going. Places to be.” He was just turning on his heel when Potter’s voice stopped him. “Last time—” he hesitated. “Last time, you said…” “I said…?” Draco answered, looking over his shoulder. Potter was flushed, his bright green eyes full of an emotion that no one had ever looked at Draco with before. “You said there would be a next time,” Harry said, and Draco stiffened. He didn’t understand. Potter acted as if he was the confusing one, but how could he not see just how strange he himself was? "Do you want there to be a next time?" Draco asked. "I…" Harry trailed off, his face flushing even more. "I have a choice?"  "Why wouldn’t you have a choice?” Draco answered, turning and stepping up closer to Harry. He was close enough that Harry had to tilt his head up to look Draco in the face. "If I agree…" Harry started, and Draco raised an eyebrow. "I just—what do you expect of me?" "What do you mean?” “I…” Harry flushed again, his eyes darting away and then back again. Draco’s eyes were locked on his face, and he wanted to feel. He wanted that peace he had felt before. He wanted to touch and kiss and suck and feel and be felt. "What do you want, Harry?" "I… I want—" Harry tried again but couldn’t seem to get the words out. "Tell me," Draco murmured, pitching his voice low and seductive. He put his hand on Harry's chest and shoved him into the wall. Harry collided with a loud 'oomph' that went straight to Draco’s cock. "Tell me, Harry, do you want people to know that I had your cock in my mouth? Do you want to walk around with my marks on your body and my hands on you?" "I… I don’t..." Harry answered. Draco pulled back, disappointment, sharp and hard shooting through him. It was ridiculous to even entertain the notion. Sex was one thing but walking around like they weren’t enemies was something they shouldn’t even be talking about. Much less disappointed. “Well,” Draco said, stepping back. Potter reached for him, but he took hold of his wrists and gently set them aside. “It’s up to you. I’ve no opinion.” "If you don’t care, why do it at all?" Potter scowled, standing straight. "Because it feels good. Does there have to be another reason?" Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "So, if I wanted a girlfriend, you wouldn't care," Potter snapped irritably. "No." He didn't even hesitate. He didn’t hesitate because there could be no other answer. "And if you can't handle me being with other people, then I suggest you say no." He was in that zone. The zone his father had taught him. The one where he heard how cold his voice could be, how harsh. Without mercy. He could hear it, but he could do nothing to stop it. "So, you can really have sex with no emotions?" Potter asked. He sounded hurt, his green eyes refusing to look over at Draco as he spoke. And Draco could only raise an eyebrow at Potter. “Yes.” “Well,” Potter answered. “I’d better be off,” Draco said, stepping away. “Wait,” Potter called. Draco hesitated, almost biting his lip as Potter’s hand reached out and then fell back down. "I…" “What?” "What do you know about Hagrid?" Harry answered, and the disappointment was sharper this time. "Why do you want to know so badly?" Draco raised an eyebrow. "Because I'm tired of never knowing anything," Harry answered. "No one ever tells me anything, they just keep me in the dark for my own protect but that's not protection, that's prison!" His voice had risen to a yell by the end. "You really don't know where he is?" Draco asked. It was so absurd. Why would they keep Potter in the dark? Why would they refuse to tell him things when he was smack in the middle of a war, his enemies chasing him from inside Hogwarts. And alright, Draco wasn’t going to kill Harry, but he wasn’t safe, no matter how much Dumbledore wanted to pretend he was. "No." Harry grinded his teeth. “Then, I….” he paused, the words pushing against his throat. He had never considered himself stupid before. He cleared his throat. “I suppose I’ll tell you.” Harry’s eyes widened, his jaw loosening in shock. “Why?” “What do you mean?” “You said…” Harry said, still staring at him with those wide green eyes. "I said we should enjoy ourselves even if it'll never come to anything." "But—" "There’s nothing better to do,” he shrugged, and Harry shook his head, not looking in the least like he believed him. “Right,” Harry answered, and he was leaning forward, his lips parted and his breath warm, and panic shot through Draco. Two second ago, Harry hadn’t even wanted him and now… and now Draco didn’t know what he wanted and how could he be expected to— Draco turned his head to the side a second before their lips touched and Harry's soft, sweet lips collided with his cheek. Potter jerked away, his face turning beat red in humiliation. "I-I'm so-sorry." Potter stuttered. Draco just smiled, it wasn't Potter's fault kissing Harry might just break him. "You said you wanted to know about your giant friend?" Draco asked, raising an eyebrow. Harry nodded slowly, seeming relieved that Draco was moving the conversation along. Ron was made Gryffindor Keeper. Harry didn't even know Ron was trying out, what with a combination of Umbridge's detentions, Ron's own secrecy, and his own obsession with Malfoy. Harry tried to be excited for Ron, he really did, but when he stumbled into the Gryffindor common room after Umbridge's detention, all he could think about was Draco. Hermione kept glancing at him out of the corner of her eyes, her twelfth sense probably telling her something was off, but he couldn't really find it in him to care. He just wanted to be alone, preferable somewhere where he could wank to the memory of nimble fingers around his wrist and blond hair illuminated by candlelight. Harry sighed, made his excuses, and headed up to bed. The next morning Harry crept out of bed at a ridiculously early hour, threw on clothes and shoes—being careful not to wake anyone else in his dorm—and snuck out of Gryffindor tower. Malfoy had said that if Harry was even one minute late, he would leave, and Harry really didn't put it past him to do just that. He paused outside the classroom, unsure. What if Malfoy changed his mind? Then he jumped when he heard footsteps from behind him. He turned and came face to face with Cho Chang. He blinked at her and then blushed. "Hey," he said automatically, his hand half raising in an awkward wave. "Oh…. Hey," she answered, sounding embarrassed. She opened her mouth but the classroom in front of Harry opened. Malfoy stepped out, casting Harry an impatient look. With the two of them standing across from each other, it was impossible for Harry not to make comparisons. Cho's long black hair shimmered in the candlelight in a completely different way than Draco's did. It was more feminine and looked less like the sun had fallen out of the sky and was trying to blind him. Her eyes were warmer too, less sharp than Draco's, who always seemed to be able to pin Harry with one look of his silver-grey stare. Cho was pretty, petite, and the idea of talking to her scared Harry, while Draco made Harry want to throw something hard and breakable. Draco was a fallen angel, all white blond hair, shimmering eyes, high cheekbones, and sharp delicate angles that were somehow just as masculine as any other boy. He radiated beauty and Harry knew he had the power to break him with just a few words. "Just how long are you going to stand outside, Potter.” "Oh, um—I…." Harry trailed off, unsure where to go from there. What was one supposed to say to one's secret… whatever Draco and him were—when asked about one's crush? He blushed harder. Malfoy narrowed his eyes at Harry's lack of eloquence. "Malfoy," Cho said, and Malfoy's head whipped around to stare at her. "Chang," he answered, his blank mask falling back into place. It was strange to watch, how Harry could actually see Draco’s silver-grey eyes clear of emotion and his lips curve into a sneer. "Were you waiting for Harry?" Cho frowned as if she found this unlikely. Malfoy's eyes flicked to Harry before they moved back to Cho. "No, of course not," he answered with a flawless sneer that would have made Harry flinch if Cho hadn't been right there. If he didn’t know that he’d asked Malfoy to keep up appearances. "He's all yours, Chang." Then he turned on his heel and left without a backward glance. "Not very pleasant, is he?" Cho raised an eyebrow. "No," Harry sighed, watching Draco's retreating back. "No, sometimes he's really not." Cho cast him an odd look. "Well, I have to go send a letter, see you, Harry." "See you," he answered. And he was left with the problem of being awake at an ungodly hour on a Saturday with several hours until breakfast and no Malfoy to entertain him. He sighed and headed back up to the Gryffindor tower. Might as well do some homework. Needless to say, Hermione was shocked to wake up and find Harry doing homework. He just shrugged and said he couldn't sleep. She narrowed her eyes, suspicious practically leaking out of her but didn’t say anything. Ron came down the stairs a few minutes later, and they all headed down to breakfast together. Malfoy never looked at him, and every time Harry looked up to find Malfoy nodding along to something Parkinson said, his mood got lower and lower. When Ron asked him for help practicing before their team Quidditch practice, Harry jumped on the opportunity. He needed a distraction. Any distraction. Hermione looked at him sharply. "Don’t you think you should do some homework?” she asked. "No," Harry answered, maybe a little too quickly. They both looked at him. "I mean, we can work on it later, right, Ron?" "Yeah," Ron said, his face lighting up. "We'll have plenty of time, Hermione." She sniffed as they got up from the table. Harry threw Malfoy one last look and something hot and ugly coiled itself in his gut when he found Malfoy’s eyes still firmly locked on Parkinson. Ron was good. Not great but good. He blocked most of the goals Harry threw at him and seemed to do a pretty good job handling the Quaffle. After practicing for a while, they headed to lunch, ignoring Hermione's pointed looks of disapproval. Harry found his gaze hesitantly locked on the Slytherin table. Malfoy's eyes were already on him, fixed in a tight eyed glare. Harry blinked, looking away quickly. Was it just one of Malfoy's facades or was he genuinely angry about something? "Harry, mate," Ron nudged him, breaking Harry out of his thoughts. "Time to head down." Harry nodded, and they made their way to the quidditch pitch for practice with the rest of the team. Everyone else was bustling around, preparing for the practice while the twins were making fun of Ron, but Harry was in a daze, his mind back on the dining hall and Malfoy’s dark eyed glare. When they stepped out onto the pitch, he stopped wondering what had made Malfoy angry and started concentrating on not dismounting his broom and kicking the pompous twat in his soft spot. Malfoy, Parkinson, Crabb, and Goyle were waiting in the stands for them and as soon as they stepped out onto the pitch, they started to cat-call and goad. "Hey, Potter," Malfoy's voice broke through the noise, "are you sure you're not feeling faint? Sick? Need a break? I'm sure everyone here would be willing to listen to any tale you're willing to tell." Harry gridded his teeth and ignored him. It wasn’t even worse than his previous comments, but it seemed sharper after Malfoy had had his cock in his mouth. "Alright," Angelina, their captain called, "we're going to start with some passes to warm up." She passed the Quaffle to Harry and he passed it straight to the next person. "Then again," Malfoy continued as the Quaffle was passed around in the circle. "We might not be so inclined to believe you. After all, who would want—" The rest was lost in the laughter of his friends as Ron fumbled and then dropped the Quaffle. Malfoy broke off, hesitating for a long minute before joining the jeering. Harry ducked his head to hide the clenching of his teeth. He didn't care what kind of relationship he had with Malfoy, he had no right to…. He blinked back the stinging behind his eyes. Harry stalked along the stands. He knew Malfoy was here. He'd watched Parkinson leave with Crabb and Goyle and a disgruntled expression. The bastard was hiding. As well he should be, Harry thought mercilessly, when I get my hands on him, I'll- Suddenly, something solid connected with Harry's back, sending him balanced precariously on a stand seat with something heavy pinning him down by his hips and hands on his wrists. His glasses had gone skew, but he would recognize that blob of white blond and those two grey blurs anywhere. He flinched as warm breath wafted across his face and then gasped as a wet tongue ran along his cheek. "Malfoy!" he snapped, trying to wiggle out of his grasp. "What are you doing!? Get off me!" "Hmm, I don't think I want to, Potter." Malfoy leaned down, his face inches away from Harry's. "And I think I'm going to have to teach you a lesson about remembering to respect me." Harry froze, his cock twitching against his will. He saw Malfoy's lips twitch as he rocked his hips down hard against Harry's growing erection. "Malfoy, stop," Harry moaned, almost whimpering against the pressure of Malfoy’s groin against his own. "Please, stop." Malfoy immediately stopped moving, his body heavy against Harry’s. It was excruciatingly hard to think with his entire body pressed against Malfoy's and his hands held above his head and just beginning to realize that he liked it when Malfoy was being forceful. He was so sick. "You really want me to leave?" Malfoy asked softly, and Harry whined as Malfoy’s breath ghosted across his face. "Why did you say those things to me?" Harry whispered. There was a beat and then: "Don't be daft, Potter. I did it because I felt like it,” Draco answered, and Harry flinched. "Now, I feel like doing this." He rammed his hips down and Harry moaned loudly as their groins connected again. "Are you going to stop me again?" Harry shook his head weakly. "Good." Malfoy rocked his hips back and then forward again, his fingernails scrapping along the skin of Harry's wrists, and Harry cried out in half-pain, half-pleasure. And it felt so good. So good to let go and know someone else would catch him. To let go and just feel. "Do I need to restrain you again or will you keep them there?" Malfoy asked, pressing down on his wrists and making the bench they were balanced on creak. Harry opened his mouth to argue but Malfoy chose that moment to jab down with his hips and all that came out was a loud guttural moan. "Potter?" Malfoy asked innocently, "you'll keep your arms right there till I tell you it's ok to move, won't you?" Harry nodded helplessly. "Good boy." Malfoy smirked, his head dropping down to nuzzle Harry's neck. "I'm not a dog." Harry answered. He wasn’t sure how he even got it out, but apparently Malfoy was none too happy about it either. He immediately ground down with his hips, and Harry gasped, eyes flying wide as they rocked and almost fell to the side. Draco immediately planted his feet on either side of Harry, bringing Harry’s knees up around his waist and never loosing contact with their groins. "Draco," he whined as Draco jabbed down again. Draco smiled against his skin a second before he bit down on Harry's neck. Harry cried out brokenly as Draco sucked in time with their thrusts and his other hand gently alternating between playing and pulling in his hair. It hurt. The hand in his hair, the teeth on his neck, the hips against his own, the hard metal on his back and yet he had never received so much pleasure. Harry's hands curled into fists above his head, wishing he could touch, feel. He would have asked—no, he would have begged Draco if he thought he could get a word out. Draco gave one last suck against Harry's neck before soothing the skin with his tongue and pulling away, never stopping his hips or his hands. Harry moaned, knowing he would have a love bite there and liking the idea. "Draco," Harry almost sobbed, as Draco continued to roll his hips against his, "I-I'm gonna—" his body tensed and then he was coming in his pants. Half a second later, he felt Draco tense above him and was sure the Ice Prince of Slytherin had followed him in his orgasm. Then, suddenly Malfoy's warm body was up and away from him. Harry opened his eyes to find Malfoy waving his wand to cast a cleaning charm on the both of them. He kept his eyes firmly away from Harry's as he straightened his robes and then walked away without a backward glance. Harry curled his knees up to his chest and put his head in his hands. He was not going to cry. He was not going to feel sorry for himself. He'd gotten himself into this. He knew, he knew he didn't mean anything to Malfoy. That he was just a sexual release, an easy shag, a toy…. That didn't mean it didn't hurt to be reminded. The next day brought a change to the way Hogwarts was run. Umbridge was made the high inquisitor. Harry shook his head, letting his fringe fall into his eyes as he wondered what exactly that meant. Obviously, she had more power and she would be inspecting classes and such, but he didn't exactly understand what it would mean for the school in general. and he wasn't in the mood to ask Hermione and have her mother him. He sighed, looking down the hall. He'd skipped breakfast, unable to take another morning of Malfoy adamantly pretending he didn’t exist just to flirt with Parkinson. He wished he could just wave Draco off the way Malfoy waved him off. Forget all about him except when he was horny and immediately in front of him. He tugged self-consciously on the collar of his shirt, the bruise Malfoy had left on his neck was thankfully right below the collar of his robes. It still felt insanely visible to everyone walking by. "Mr. Potter," that shrill girly voice snapped him back to the present. He turned to find himself facing Umbridge. Her frog face was set in lines of glee as if she couldn’t be happier to have an accuse to stop him. "What are you doing wandering the halls?" she asked. "I was just heading to my first class, Professor," Harry answered. "At this hour?" she squawked, her eyes narrowing. "Shouldn't you be eating breakfast with the rest of your classmates?" "I wasn't hungry," he answered, and he should really stop grinding his teeth together because they were beginning to hurt. "Well, Mr. Potter." She looked down at him. "Walking around the halls while everyone else is at breakfast, anyone would think you’re up to no good." He opened his mouth, anger beating against the back of his mind. "I'm not—" he started, his voice dangerously close to a hiss. "Ah, Potter," another voice interrupted, and Harry stiffened in surprise. The universe really did hate him. "There you are." Malfoy came to a graceful stop next to Umbridge, flashing Harry his teeth in a rather intimidating leer. "Mr. Malfoy," Umbridge turned to him, her eyes flashing with suspicion. "What do you mean? You were looking for Mr. Potter?" "I was." Malfoy answered, waving his hand arrogantly, "You see, Professor, Potter is pants at potions." He flashed her a conspiratorial smile. "And the first class we have this morning is potions, where Potter is in fact my partner. Well, since I fancy a passing grade, I usually demand Potter comes early so we have plenty of time, even with his colossal screw ups inbound." He looked Umbridge in the eye throughout, never wavering or seeming ill at ease even though he was lying through his teeth. Until Harry looked down. Draco was tapping his forefinger against his leg. A steady, comforting rhythm against his thigh as he smirked up at Umbridge. Harry blinked, averting his gaze. Umbridge hesitated and the pace of the tapping increased. "Well," Umbridge said finally. "I see." Though Harry got the feeling she really didn't. "Off you both go, then." She waved them off and Malfoy immediately snatched Harry's elbow and dragged him in the general direction of the dungeons. As soon as Umbridge was out of sight, Malfoy ducked to the left, shoving Harry into an empty classroom and spelling the door closed behind them. Harry found himself pressed against the wall with Malfoy's hands on either side of his head, Malfoy's leg in between his own. He knew he could have gotten away is he wanted—Malfoy wasn't even really touching him—but when Draco turned his shining silver-grey eyes on him, he found he couldn't move. "How stupid can you get, Potter?" Malfoy asked, his voice low and angry and Harry should not have felt heat pool low in his stomach. "What are you talking about, Malfoy?" Harry answered. "You go around egging the woman on and you don't even know the consequences?" One of Draco's hands raised to pinch the bridge of his nose. Harry was fascinated by the motion, he'd never seen Malfoy do that before. He frowned, he’d really never seen Malfoy anything but scornful or blank. It was strangely appealing. "I still don't know what you're talking about," Harry answered, pulling his eyes away from Malfoy’s face. Malfoy sighed and shifted, and Harry tried not to think about how good Malfoy's body would feel against his. How much he wanted to give in, push up on toes and press his lips to Draco's. But he knew Malfoy would probably hit him; he'd been clear he didn't want to kiss. And besides, Harry himself was hurt. No matter how much he didn't want to admit it. "Things are about to get a lot worse with Umbridge." Malfoy said, and Harry could feel him gritting his teeth in frustration. "What do you mean?" "I mean that you can't go blasting your temper off every time she insults you." A muscle in his jaw clenched. "She could really hurt you. The ministry just gave her the power to really hurt you." His voice was tense, a strange lilt to it that Harry didn’t understand. He wondered what Draco’s eyes would look like. Was it worth being disappointed if he looked? "I'm just supposed to stand around while she insults me? While she spreads lies and—" Harry started, his voice rising. "Have you ever considered," Malfoy cut across his words smoothly. He leaned in, his breath ghosting across Harry's face. Harry shivered, "the idea that maybe people would stop treating you like a child if you stopped acting like one?" Harry gaped, not knowing whether to be offended or not. "Maybe if you stopped rising to the bait, people would stop baiting you." "I can't just not defend myself." He whispered, struggling to keep his thoughts coherent. "Do you remember what I said to you about liars?" Draco answered. Harry frowned, thinking back to Draco’s words: People who have to say they're not lying over and over, usually are. "But I'm not lying," Harry said, and Malfoy raised an eyebrow, completely unimpressed. "I can't just—" "My, my," Draco smiled slowly, real annoyance coloring his tone, "your pride is more important than your life," his eyes flicked to Harry's hand, "than your health, your happiness. You're starting to sound like a Slytherin, Harry." "You know," Harry answered. "I was almost sorted into Slytherin." Draco raised an impressed eyebrow before quickly scowling, pressing his thigh against Harry warningly. Harry bit his lip against the whimper that build in the back of his throat, his hands curling against Draco’s robes. "Don't try to distract me," he answered. "Besides, if you were Slytherin, you wouldn't have a problem hiding your true feelings." "It just seems wrong." “You sound like such a Gryffindor,” Draco muttered. "Why does it have to be black and white. Right and wrong." Draco answered. "It's not like anyone is asking you to switch sides or anything, Harry, I'm just asking you to take care of yourself. You’re being reckless. I don't think you realize how much Umbridge could really hurt you." "It's not just about me, Draco," Harry said. "How would that look to everyone else if I just suddenly seem like I'm giving in?" "Who cares about everyone else,” Draco said, and Harry’s eyes snapped up. Draco’s eyes were hard, silver-grey in the low light. He looked so determined like he just knew he was right, but Harry couldn’t agree with him. "The whole world is not your responsibility, Harry. You deserve to be happy. You. And if that means shutting your mouth and letting your pride take a few hits for a few hours of peace, isn't it worth it?" "I just—" "What about me, Harry?" Draco asked, shattering Harry's thought process. "Your hand is completely cleared. What if Umbridge finds out I did that? Do you know what my father would do to me?" Harry scowled, feeling shamed. Manipulated. "You're trying to manipulate me,” he snapped. "I thought—" "You're right," Draco agreed easily, his hand moving from beside Harry's head to cup his cheek, his touch horribly gentle. "I am." His eyes were still relentless, digging into Harry. "But only because you don't seem to know what's good for you." He sighed, his thumb caressing Harry's cheekbone before dropping to his chest. It was so hard to focus past both his eyes and his hands. How could he be both so gentle and so ruthless. "Look, it's your choice,” Draco said, another nail in the manipulation coffin. “But if you choose to be an idiot at least realize the consequences of your actions first." His hand dropped even further, massaging Harry's now half-hard groin. Harry immediately groaned, pushing into the sensation. Draco chuckled, lowing his mouth to Harry's jawline. He was just a toy to Malfoy. He hadn’t forgotten, but it was so hard to pull away from Draco when he was touching him like that. It wasn’t just the physical sensations. It had much more to do with the pain and the pleasure and the lack of control filling up the spot inside himself that he’d gotten so tired of feeling. Draco shoved Harry’s robes to the side, lowering his mouth to suck on the already formed love-bite on Harry’s neck. And Harry’s heart didn't hurt. It didn't. Draco found himself sulking. Which was unacceptable. Malfoy's didn't sulk. Especially over something as foolish as Harry fucking Potter. Why did he even care? Just because they'd rutted on top of the Quidditch stand? It didn't mean anything. He bit his lip. He'd never remotely cared about any of his other lovers. And Potter was his enemy for fucks sake. They were supposed to loathe each other. He wasn't supposed to warn Harry about Umbridge and get him out of trouble. He wasn't supposed to ditch his house-mates, so he could lay across his bed and think about Harry in peace. He covered his mouth to stifle a humorless chuckle. Peace, ha. Like there was any peace in his life with his father breathing down his neck and the Dark Lord watching his family and his parent's expectations weighing him down and no one caring about him, only ever what he could give them. He sighed, turning on his side to face away from the doorway. He knew the rest of his dorm-mates would be coming up soon but there was only person he really wanted to see. He pressed his cheek into his pillow, thinking of horribly unruly raven hair and glittering emerald eyes. No one had the right to look so ridiculous. So desirable. And the worst part—almost a crime—was that Harry didn't even seem to realize how he looked under his baggy clothes. Draco's hand reached down under his pants, grasping himself. He pictured Harry with his emerald eyes fixed on him, eyes glazed and filled with lust and need. An expression he was sure no one else had ever seen. And no one else ever will.   He jerked, his hand pausing in its stroking. He was just letting his lust make him irrational. Too possessive. Too protective. He didn’t care who Harry talked to. Why would Harry even want to talk to her instead of Draco? He continued to stroke himself, imagining Harry’s hand around him, imaging himself wrapping inside Harry's tight heat and he came with a muffled groan. He cast a cleaning charm, yanked his blanket up around him and closed his eyes. It was just lust. He would get over it soon. The next few weeks passed in a dull haze. Umbridge continued her examination and as far as Draco could tell, Potter kept his head down. Unfortunately, that also made it hard to get together with Potter. He'd tried to corner Potter several times, but every time he got close Umbridge was mysteriously there. He was getting frustrated, sexually and otherwise, and he was beginning to feel as if Potter was avoiding him. Not that Draco cared. "Ooh," Pansy said, clinging to Draco's arm. "Look at that!" She pointed to a pretty necklace in one of the Hogsmeade shops that he had to admit would match her eyes nicely. "Yes," he answered, and her hand tightened on his arm expectantly. "You should get it." She obviously expected him to offer to get it for her. Just as she was expecting him to treat this like a date. He stepped away from her, disentangling his arm from her sweaty grip. "Well, I don't know…" she started and then continued to prattle on about how she wasn't sure whether she should get the necklace or not. But Draco wasn't listening anymore. His eyes had caught a familiar head of unruly hair being escorted by Weasley and Granger. As if sensing eyes on him, Potter turned and locked eyes with Draco. His emerald eyes widened and then softened. Draco raised an eyebrow at him and he blushed, dropping him chin and flicking his gaze to look up through his eyelashes. If he was anyone else, Draco would have said Harry was purposely being coy, but he knew Harry didn't have a bashful bone in his body. "Draco," Pansy whined and much to his annoyance, wrapped her fingers around his arm again. "Are you even listening?" She blinked up at him, trying to look entirely too innocent, and even if Draco was attracted to her, it would have been off putting. "Excuse me, Pansy," Draco pulled his arm away from her. Potter was already turning away, his jaw set and a dark expression settling across his face. "I need to go to the bathroom. I'll be back." She started to say something, but he was already walking away. He knew she'd have words with him for just leaving, but he didn't much care about that right now. He wanted to know what Potter was doing. It was easy to follow them. Even if Draco didn’t have more than enough practice watching Potter, Weasley’s hair would have been enough. He raised an eyebrow when they ducked into the Hog’s Head but curiosity made him follow. Potter saw him first, but he just dropped him eyes to the trio's table and played with his butterbeer glass. Weasley saw him next. He jumped up from the table, turning to face Draco with his fists clenched. "Malfoy," he said, eyes narrowed defensively. "What are you doing here?" "Someone isn't up to any good," Draco answered, letting the mocking tone echo between them, and Potter raised his head, finally looking at him. "Why did you follow us, Malfoy?" he asked. Draco tilted his head, refusing to acknowledge the satisfaction that shot through his chest at Harry’s recognition. He didn’t like to be ignored. "Curiosity." He shrugged. Weasley opened his mouth, his face flushing hit and angry, but Harry’s eyes were still on him, speculative and brooding, and Draco didn’t have the patience to think about Weasley.   "You can't tell anyone," he said. "Especially Umbridge." "Harry—" Granger started. "I can keep a secret," Draco interrupted, and Harry must have caught his meaning, because he blushed, glaring across the table and refusing to drop his gaze. It wasn’t attractive. "Harry, we can't just—" Weasley was saying, not that anyone was in the habit of listening to him. "Just let it, Ron," Harry interrupted. He shifted uncomfortably, both Granger and Weasley staring at him as if he’d lost his mind. Draco rounded the table, sliding around Weasley and into the booth next to Harry. He was almost surprised. He didn’t think the Golden Gryffindor kept anything for his posse, but if he needed any proof that they didn’t know about Harry and him, he was looking at it. "Hey, that's my—" Weasley started. "Not anymore," Draco interrupted and then turned his gaze on Harry expectantly. "I'm not getting you a drink." Harry answered immediately, and Draco pouted at him. Granger looked up at Weasley, and he sighed, sitting down next to her after some silent exchange Draco couldn’t read. "So," Draco said. “Why are you here?" "We're starting a defense group," Harry said, his face firmly turned toward the table. Funny, Draco hadn’t heard the table ask what was going on. Not that Draco would know because he didn't speak wood. Draco scowled but didn't say anything about Harry's lack of manners. "So?” Draco asked. “Umbridge wouldn’t like it but could she really stop you? Why the secrecy?” "We're going learn spells," Harry answered. "Harry," Granger hissed. "Ah," Draco answered ignoring her. "Very Slytherin of you, Harry." Harry's eyes flicked up from the table, catching Draco's gaze with some surprise. "We're nothing like you," Weasley snapped. Harry ignored him, green eyes locked on Draco "I don't know if that's a complement or not, Draco," Harry said. Wary. Hopeful. Draco shouldn’t have been so eager to reassure him. He didn’t even know what he was reassuring him of. “I’m full of complements,” he answered, and Harry laughed, barely an exhale of a chuckle but it was still there. He was so different when he smiled, his whole face brightening. Weasley choked, eyes flicking between them with something close to disbelief. He opened his mouth to say something that was probably horribly profound but the door to the Hog's Head opened before he could. There was an inrush of people, most of them Gryffindor's though there were a few Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. Draco could pick out Thomas, Longbottom, the Patil twins—his lip curled—Chang, the three other Weasley's, Lee Jordon, and an assortment of other people. Most of their eyes widened at the sight of Draco sitting not even a foot away from Harry Potter but no one really said anything. "A couple of people?" Harry hissed at Granger as Twin Weasley 1 ordered butterbeers for everyone. She flushed and muttered something about more interest than she expected. Eventually, the rest of the group settled around them in twos and threes. Chang pursed her lips, looking mistrustfully at Draco. He sneered at her, moving so his thigh was touching Harry's. Harry's eyes flicked to Draco then Chang, blushed and fixed his gaze on the table. Draco wondered belated what the wood was telling him now. "Er—" Granger started. "What is he doing there?" Twin Weasley 2 asked, jerking his chin at Draco. "What are you doing here, Weasley?" Draco returned with a sneer. "You can trust him," Harry said. All eyes turned back to him, some speculative, some outraged, others just confused. Harry gave Granger a meaningful look, and Draco pressed his thigh harder against Harry’s. "Right," she said. "Well, um. We're here to learn defense. And not what Umbridge has been teaching but real spells and how to use them. I want to know how to defend myself because…. Because." She took a deep breath as if steeling herself. "because Lord Voldemort's back." Draco flinched, his hands curling into fists in his lap. Harry's eyes flicked over to him, but Draco just turned his face away. "Where's the proof You-Know-Who's back?" a blond boy asked. Smith maybe? Anyone who asked such a stupid question didn't deserve for Draco to be sure of their name. Draco immediately covered his mouth to conceal a snort. Everyone's eyes shifted again, this time to Draco. He felt uneasiness squeeze the pit of his stomach, but he shoved it down. Malfoys were never nervous. He tapped his finger against his thigh, focusing on the familiar pattern while he eyes Smith scornfully. "Really, have you been living under a rock the past year," Draco said, allowing himself one more undignified snort. "I mean, I know the Profit isn't always reliable but even you must have noticed the mass breakout at Azkaban." He raised an eyebrow as Smith turned red with a mixture of embarrassment and indignation. "The random murders? Or maybe you're as stupid as you look, and you believe the Ministry at their word that nothing suspicious is going on?" "I just think—" he started angrily. "Pardon me if I'm mistaken," Draco interrupted, turning his gaze on Harry casually. "But is this meeting supposed to be a debate about whether or not the Dark Lord has returned or not, is it?" Harry's lips twitched as he met Draco's eyes. "It's not," Harry answered. "Well, then," Draco said. "I think you'll find that no one particularly cares what you think." "That goes for anyone else." Harry added, his hand falling on Draco's thigh and squeezing. "If that's what you're here for, you can clear out." Harry eyed the group, his expression level. Confident. His hand steady on Draco’s thigh, and the burst of want that ran through Draco took him by surprise. He liked this confident, collected version of Harry. He liked this version that wasn't insulting Draco. It was… "Is it true," asked a new girl, drawing Harry's gaze, "that you can produce a Patronus?" Draco sat back as the group began to talk about Harry's achievements while he grew more and more uncomfortable looking. Draco inspected his fingernails, for the most part not taking part in the conversation until— "The point is, are we all agreed we want to take lessons from Harry?" Granger asked the group. Draco blinked, looking at Harry through his lashes. "You're going to be teaching it?" Draco asked quietly. The rest of the group ignored them, now talking about where they should meet and how often. "Yes…" Harry answered, dropping his eyes to the table. Then he seemed to realize what he was doing and raised them to look at Draco defiantly. "What about it?" "I'm just surprised,” he said, hesitating before adding. "You'll do a good job, Harry." Harry blinked, blushed, and dropped his eyes again. Draco's hand twitched, wanting so badly to reach out and brush the fringe out of Harry's face. Draco's eyes dropped to Harry's lips; he wanted— He sat back in the seat, trying to tune back into the conversation. What was wrong with him? Harry had already turned his attention back to the conversation, apparently not noticing Draco’s internal conflict. Granger was now having everyone sign a piece of parchment. Smith put up a slight argument but eventually signed. Then she turned to Draco, who held his hand out with a bored expression. He signed with a flourish and then pushed the parchment toward Harry, who signed and then Weasley and finally Granger. There was an awkward moment were everyone just kind of looked at each other. "Well, time's ticking," Twin Weasley 1 said, and everyone left in twos and threes. Draco thought Chang took an absurdly long time getting her bag together, using her hair to cover her face. Finally, she stood to leave, waving at Harry from the doorway. Draco sneered at her, and she dropped her hand. "Well, that was interesting," Granger said, casting Draco a speculative look. He curled his lip, ready to insult her and her bloodline and her hair, but Harry's hand on his thigh had turned dangerously tight, and he stopped himself. "Please don't insult my friends," Harry said quietly, and Draco pursed his lips, turning his face away. "Hermione, Ron, could you give us a minute?" "Are you sure, Harry?" Granger asked. Draco opened, but Harry squeezed his leg again and he winced. He wondered if he was going to have bruises later on. "Yes, Hermione," he said, and she nodded, waving Weasley out before her. "Malfoy—" "Why have you been avoiding me?" Draco interrupted. He wasn’t about to let Harry have control of this conversation. He had some explaining to do. "I haven't—" Harry said immediately though why Harry thought Draco couldn't tell a lie when he heard one, he had no idea. "You have." Draco interrupted. "Look, Harry, if you don't want this anymore than just tell me." "No!" Harry's emerald eyes went wide. "No, that's not it at all." "Then what is it?" "I just—" he sighed, cutting himself off. He bit his lip, his hand slipping off Draco’s thigh. "I don't really know what we are, Draco." "What's to know?" Draco answered. He dug his nails into his palm, his skin cold where Harry’s hand had been. "I want you—" "But not enough to actually date me—" Harry snapped, and Draco reeled. "Is that what this is about?” he asked. “You want to be my boyfriend?" Had he missed Harry sending him a sign he wanted more? He usually avoided the whole dating thing. It made sleeping together complicated, but Harry was… Harry was… It wouldn’t be that bad to date Harry. His father wouldn’t approve, but if Harry wanted— "No,” Harry answered, his eyes wide and surprised as if he hadn’t even considered the idea. Of course not. “That’s not what I—" Not that Draco cared. "No, I suppose you want Chang for that, yes?" Draco interrupted "Look, Potter." Potter blinked, recoiling at Draco’s tone, but Draco ignored him. Potter wanted him to back off, Draco would oblige. "I'll be here whenever you feel like a quick shag. Otherwise, I'll stay out of your personal business as much as I can, deal?" "That's not—" Potter started, he held his hand out as if he would touch Draco, but Draco stood, backing away from him. He didn't want Potter touching him. He didn’t want that feeling of release that only Potter gave him. Not right now. "See you around." Draco stood abruptly and started walking toward the door. "Draco!" Harry called, and he hesitated, his hand trembling on the door, his pulse hammering in his throat. Then he snatched the handle and stormed into the cold. He wiped his eyes to get rid of the moisture. His damn allergies were acting up again. He couldn’t believe that Potter had basically rejected him. Him. Draco Malfoy. His eyes burned; there was obviously something in the air. Potter was an idiot. Draco was perfect, and Potter was stupid for choosing to pass up on Draco's amazingness. Draco covered his mouth to stifle the hiccup; it had been a while since he'd had water. He was sure it was just a sugar imbalance. He was not hurt that Harry didn't want him. It wasn't even that Potter didn't want him, it was just that he didn't want to date him. As if the only thing Draco was good for was sex. Draco bit his lip as pain laced through his chest again. Now he was getting heart burn. This whole thing was good anyway. Draco had already decided there was nothing between them. So, why was he upse—thinking about whether or not Harry liked him or not? Was he that narcissistic that he needed everyone to have a crush on him, even if he didn't care about them? He hated how Pansy fawned over him. Potter should be no different. He would be no different. Well, there was really only one solution. He would just have to stay away from Potter. He didn't care about Potter, and Potter didn't care about him. Because when Draco got into moods like this, he did stupid things like disrupting Gryffindor Quidditch practices and then— He sighed, veering into a nearby shop to buy himself something nice. He was sure that would make him forget all about Potter. The next morning saw Draco summoned to Umbridge's office, sitting uncomfortable in front of her desk and trying not to squirm. She was fiddling with her teapot, pouring tea into two cups and Draco was trying to think of a polite way to say no without making her suspicious. If he’d learned one thing from his father, it was to never accept drinks when you couldn’t see what potions someone had poured in them. "Mr. Malfoy," she said companionably. "How was your trip to Hogsmeade yesterday?" "It was good, Professor." "Very good," she answered. "Do you take sugar in your tea?" "Oh, Professor, I really couldn't." "Nonsense," she said. "Now, sugar or no?" "No, thank you," he answered. She hummed before coming back over and setting the tea in front of him. He murmured a thank you, picking up the teacup and lifting it to his lips. He pressed the tea to his lips and tipped it back, making sure none of the liquid got into his mouth. Umbridge watched him with too satisfied an expression for there not to be anything in the tea. What had so mixed in it? If he didn’t act the right way, she would know her potion hadn’t worked. "Are you in a relationship with Harry Potter?" Umbridge asked immediately, leaning forward eagerly. Ah, Veritaserum then. "No," Draco answered, his voice was as soft and expressionless as someone under Veritaserum's would be. Umbridge frowned, looking disappointed. "Were you at The Hog's Head yesterday with him?" she asked, and Draco made an effort not to frown. So that's what this was about. She must have had some spy in The Hog's Head or something. Harry really should have known better than to meet there. If she had spies, he couldn’t really lie about being there. "Yes." "So, you're aware they're starting a group to undermine me?" She asked. He hesitated. He could lie, but where would that get him? Umbridge already knew what was going on, lying about it wouldn’t make her any less suspicious. It would just exclude him from her plans. But he couldn’t exactly tell the truth and condemn Harry either. "I'm aware of the trouble Potter could cause," Draco answered quietly. Umbridge nodded, seeming satisfied. "Then why join this group?" "I was under the impression I could spy on them and report back to the Ministry." "Why would you want to turn in your classmates?" Umbridge asked, leaning her pudgy face forward. Draco resisted the temptation to lean away from her, disgust boiling in his belly. "I hate Harry Potter," Draco said, and it was only as he was saying the words that he realized how much of a lie they really were. "I want nothing more than to see him expelled or something of the like." "Very good, Mr. Malfoy, Very good," she said, smiling slowly at him.  Draco forced himself to keep his face blank. He would have to find some way to warn Potter. He felt a little like screaming. So much for staying away from Potter. By Order of The High Inquisitor of Hogwarts: All student Organizations, Societies, Teams, Groups, and clubs are henceforth disbanded. An Organization, Society, Team, Group, or Club is hereby defined as a regular meeting of three or more students. Permission to re-form may be sought from the High Inquisitor (Professor Umbridge). No student Organization, Society, Teams, Group, or Club may exist without the knowledge and approval of the High Inquisitor. Any student found to have formed, or belong to, an Organization, Society, Team, Group or Club that has not been approved by the High Inquisitor will be expelled. The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-four. Signed: Dolores Jane Umbridge High Inquisitor "I knew we shouldn't have trusted him!" Ron said. His face was about as red as Harry had ever seen it, his eyes narrowed and his hand clenched tight around his wand. It was about as mad as Harry had ever seen him, and he didn’t understand why the sign had caused such a reaction. "Ron—" Harry started, but Ron was already stomping away, making his way toward the common room entrance. "Where are you going?" Harry scrambled after him, slipping out of the portrait behind Ron and struggling to keep up. "I'm going to find Malfoy," Ron answered, and Harry was pretty sure his knuckles were starting to turn white on his wand.   "Ron—" "Don't defend him, Harry,” Ron snapped. He didn’t even stop walking, glaring ahead like he had no idea how confused Harry was. “Someone told Umbridge and I'm just as inclined to believe it was Malfoy than anyone else." Harry opened his mouth and then closed it again. He hadn’t even considered the idea. It wasn’t possible. But Malfoy had been mad when he left The Hog's Head yesterday. But he hadn’t been that mad. Had he? Even if he was, would he really go tattle on them to Umbridge. He hated her. He hated her, and he’d told Harry he approved. "I don't think—" Harry tried again. "Look, I saw the way you two were yesterday," Ron interrupted. He stopped walking abruptly, turning so fast, Harry almost ran into him. “And he's using you. You might care about him, but he obviously didn't give a damn about you.” Ron’s lips twisted as he turned away again. “You can’t trust a Slytherin.” Harry drifted after him, feeling somewhere between hurt and confused. He should have just agreed with Ron and moved on. It wasn’t like manipulation was beneath Malfoy. He’d made it very clear that he didn’t share Harry’s feelings. That it was only sex to him. But he just couldn’t shake the feeling that Draco, as cold as he sometimes acted, just wouldn’t look him betray him after looking him straight in the eyes and saying he wouldn’t. Ron found Malfoy walking briskly toward the Great Hall. He was coming from the wrong direction of the Slytherin commons, from the direction of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, which apparently equaled guilty to Ron if the way he grasped Malfoy by the front of his robes and slammed him into the wall was anything to go by. Draco wheezed as he was slammed against the wall, surprise twisting across his face. "Ron!" Harry said, lunging forward to pull Ron away. "You bloody ferret!" Ron said as Harry yanked Ron off and away. "I knew we couldn't trust you." "What exactly are you talking about?” Malfoy answered, his voice colored with anger. He shoved himself off the wall, straightening out his robes. "Don't act innocent!" Ron said, fumbling for his wand, and Harry immediately yanked it from his grasp, ignoring Ron’s betrayed scowl. He really didn’t want this to turn into a duel. "We know you told Umbridge about our meeting yesterday,” Ron said. “Did I?” Draco asked, disdain dripping from his voice. “And exactly what lead you to this fascinating development?” "Like you haven't seen the signs," Ron said, struggling against Harry's hold of his robes again. A first year Ravenclaw stopped on her way to the great hall to gawk at them before one of her friends pulled her away, whispering something about Gryffindors and Slytherins not so quietly. "You probably helped to make them!" "Really?" Draco asked, cocking an eyebrow. He looked about an inch from drawing his own wand, his face twisted up in a sneer of resentful rage. "There are signs that say, 'Draco Malfoy is a traitor?'” Ron's face turned as red as his hair, and Harry had to tighten his grip on Ron’s robes as he lunged forward again. He shoved Ron back, and Malfoy curled his lip. Harry couldn’t tell if it was supposed to be directed at Ron or him.  "They say all groups have to be disbanded until Umbridge gives them permission to reform," Harry told him, his voice sounding unusually quiet after all the yelling. "And naturally this means I’m to blame?" Draco asked, and this time he was looking straight at Harry. Harry turned his face away. He didn’t know. It was suspicious. "I see,” Draco said, softer, sometimes vulnerable running alongside his scorn.  "We know you—" Ron started. "Harry! Ron!" Hermione's voice interrupted him. They turned to see her come running up to them, her hair flying behind her. "He didn't do it. It wasn’t him." "But—" Ron started. "I put a jinx on the paper we all signed," she said. "If he had run off to Umbridge, we'd all know." Ron blinked at her while Harry kept his eyes on the ground. Draco hadn't betrayed his trust. He flicked his eyes up, but Draco’s head was turned away from him, the line of his jaw hard. Harry could just see the icy fury reflected in his eyes. "But the signs…?" Ron said slowly as if trying to wrap his mind around the new information. "Yes, well," Malfoy interrupted. "When Umbridge summoned me to her office this morning to interrogate me with a mixture of sweet-talk, tea, and Veritaserum, she did seem to know all about your little meeting." "She tried to use Veritaserum on you?" Hermione asked. "Yes, and now, she believes I’m a good Slytherin who hates all of you,” Draco said. "Now, if you'll excuse me. Unlike the three of you, I do have better things to be doing. Let me know when—" "Harry!" this time it was Neville's voice that interrupted them. Draco cast a distasteful look down the hallway but watched as Neville approached. As he drew closer, Harry saw that he was cradling a white bundle in his arms, his face scrunched up anxiously. "Harry," he said, panting, "the mail came and—" "Hedwig?" Harry asked. The bundle Neville had was, in fact, Hedwig. And not only that but she was obviously wounded. "Neville, what happened?" He moved to take Hedwig and she hopped gratefully onto his waiting wrist, fluffing her ruffled feathers. He noticed she was holding one of her wings oddly and hoped it wasn't broken. "We don't know," Neville answered, biting his lip nervously. "She just turned up like that. I came looking for you as soon as I saw her." "She has a note for you, Potter," Draco said, leaning forward. He had that look on his face, that look of singular focus in silvery-grey eyes that sent a pang of want through Harry. It was so easy to get caught up in him. Draco pulled the letter from Hedwig’s leg, his eyes flicking across the parchment. “Hey!” Ron said, but Draco ignored him, eyebrows raising as he read Harry's mail. "Mind telling me who Snuffles is, Potter?" Draco asked, and Harry immediate snatched the letter from his hand. 11:00, you know where. -Snuffles "Snuffles?!" Hermione said. "Harry, why is si—" Her eyes flicked to Draco, whose eyes narrowed dangerously far. "Why is he writing you?" "I don't know," Harry answered. He passed her the note, which she promptly showed Ron. "He," Draco said, putting an absurd amount of emphasis on the word. "Just how many boys are you meeting in the middle of the night, Potter?” “What?” Harry answered, feeling a little flummoxed. “Do you accuse all of us of betrayal?” Draco asked, his eyes glittering vindictively. “Or am I special?” “Um, I should get to Potions,” Neville said. Hermione and Ron looked just as thrown, eyes wide and full of shock and confusion. He figured they were all trying to decide whether Draco was just being a twat or if he was serious. Harry glared over at Malfoy and received a narrowed silvery look of challenge. He’d had done it on purpose. Harry saw red. He was angry at himself for not trusting Draco before. He was angry at Ron and Hermione for being surprised. He was angry at Draco for trying to hurt and embarrass him. For succeeding even when he wasn't trying. He wanted to hurt Draco in return. To make him understand how Harry felt. "How many do you make run after you, Draco?” he snapped out, his fingers closing into fists. "Enough to make daddy proud of your conquests?" Draco’s eyes widened, hurt flashing across his face, and Harry almost apologized. It was too far, and it shouldn’t have felt so good to snap back at him, but he couldn’t help feeling like he deserved it. He just wanted Draco to understand. Draco swallowed, his face twisting into his usually sneer, and the hurt was swept away in Malfoy’s usual mask of irritation and superiority. It made Harry wonder how he’d ever managed to penetrate it in the first place. "Fuck you, Potter,” he said, voice low and cold, and then he was gone, back stiff and heel clicking against the stone ground. The rest of the day was terrible. Draco didn't look at him once. He'd dropped Hedwig off with Professor Grubbly-Plank and received an ominous warning from McGonagall about the castle's communication being watched. By the time, he found Hermione and Ron, however, he was too caught up in thoughts about Malfoy to remember what exactly she had said. Honestly, was it really his fault that his potion had exploded all over himself and Malfoy. Malfoy had certainly believed it had been. He’d lectured and accused and indignantly pointed enough while keeping his eyes firmly away from Harry that Snape hadn’t even felt the need to yell at Harry afterward. Grumbling, Harry entered the common room, where he swiftly learned from Angelina that the Gryffindor Quidditch team was disbanded until further notice. And he still had to look forward to the conversation with Sirius, who was in fact Snuffles. Harry snorted, the very idea that Snuffles was somehow his lover was absurd. Why would anyone really be interested in Harry? Harry blushed at the thought of Draco licking his cock and telling him he was beautiful. He didn't understand why Draco was acting like a jilted lover. Draco himself had been the one to insist there would be no exclusivity between them, much less jealously. So, why was he suddenly acting like he wanted to change his mind? And not just with 'Snuffles' but with Cho too. The whole scene he had caused in the Hog's Head with Cho had screamed jealous lover, but Draco couldn't possibly be that. Could he? It seemed too good to be true. Harry cast a mournful look at the fireplace, wishing Sirius wouldn't show up. He had a feeling this conversation was going to go terribly. He had known as soon as he'd seen the note what Sirius had meant. After all, he'd talked to Harry through the Floo last year. Suddenly, Sirius' messy dark head was sitting inside the fire. "Hello," Sirius said breezily, his eyes locking on Harry with a wary intensity that made him want to sigh. "Hello," Hermione and Ron said. Harry stayed silent, mentally preparing himself for the tongue lashing his godfather was going to give him for associating with the likes of Draco Malfoy. "How are you?" "Not good," Harry answered and watched for Sirius' reaction. "Really?" Sirius' eyebrow rose, "starting secret defense groups with known Death Eater's sons not exciting enough for you?" Harry repressed his sigh. "I take it you knew the same way Umbridge did,” he asked. "And how does she know?" Sirius' eyebrow rose further. "We don't know, Draco said—" "Draco, hmm?" "He's been like this," Ron said, his face turning bright red. "We think he's been—" "Ron," Hermione interrupted. "It's none of our business what Harry does in his free time." "It is if it puts him in danger," Sirius answered. "Draco wouldn't hurt me," Harry muttered. "Oh yeah?" Ron snapped. "He seemed pretty inclined when we were talking this morning." “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry answered, cheeks flushing. It was true, Draco had hurt him, had purposely embarrassed him in front of his friends and then the potions classroom. But the thing Ron didn't understand was that Harry had hurt Draco worse. Oh, he didn't understand why Draco had such a sore spot for his father, but he did. And Harry had used it. Besides, that wasn’t the kind of hurt they were talking about. "Harry," Sirius said slowly, in the kind of voice you might use on an injured animal. "Have you considered the possibility that he's only using you?" Harry's jaw clamped. He was so tired of this argument. Like he somehow couldn’t decide for himself. "Just because he hasn't betrayed you yet doesn't mean he's not waiting for the right moment. Harry, you need to consider—" "I don't need to do anything," Harry interrupted. Sirius opened his mouth to say something else but then closed it again with a snap. His face went pale and when Harry blinked, his head was gone from the flames. In its place was a hand reaching around in the flames. "Holy Merlin," Ron cried. They scrambled away from the fire and away from Umbridge's hand groping around in it. Draco rarely allowed himself to become annoyed to the point of doing something stupid. Well, except that he seemed to be doing that very thing too many times when Harry Potter was involved. Honestly, the list was getting a bit embarrassing. Getting annoyed enough to blow Potter in the middle of the corridor, allowing himself to become irritated that Harry ditched him to talk to Chang. Like he cared. Potter talking to Chang had had nothing to do with humping each other in broad daylight on the Quidditch stands. Salazar, it really was a wonder no one had seen them yet. Then, Draco Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy line, had had to sit in Umbridge's muggy office and listen to how she had almost caught Draco's—sort of, almost—lover fire calling someone he may or may not be involved with. Seriously, if he was already with someone, he shouldn't act so attached to Draco. You're the one acting attached. He sighed, willing that annoying little thought to go away. It was like spending time with Potter had forced him to develop a conscience. Draco shivered at that terrifying idea. And now he felt like doing something stupid again. The same way he had when he'd pinned Potter down on top of the stands. He wanted to punish Harry for paying attention to someone who wasn't him. Whether it was Chang or that Snuffles bloke. He sighed, he sounded like a jealous boyfriend. Which was something he absolutely wasn't. Malfoy’s didn’t do jealous. "Malfoy," his voice made Draco's head snap up. Potter’s hair was tousled, looking somewhere between just-rolled-out-of-bed and just-got-shagged-silly, his eyes bright green behind his glasses, and Draco used to be able to control himself around him. "Potter," Draco scowled and side-stepped, waiting for Potter to go around. Harry chewed his lip—in that horribly attractive way that made Draco want to take the offending lip between his teeth and bite it for him—as if he was trying to decide something before stepping forward, standing entirely too close, and Draco could smell ash and ink clinging to his robes. "I was talking to Hermione this morning—" "Don't you have somewhere to be," Draco interrupted. He really didn't need another person to be jeal- concerned about. "Malfoy—" Harry answered, his face scrunching up. "Just leave me alone, Potter," he snapped. He stepped to the side, trying to inch his way around. "I have better things to do." He was pretty sure he used to be a better liar too. "Draco, please, I'm—" Harry's hand closed around Draco's elbow, and before Draco even realized what he was doing, he'd turned them both around, slamming Harry into the wall. Harry cut off with a pained gasp. They stared at each other, chests pressed together and eyes wide. Draco could feel Harry's heartbeat through the material of their robes, pattering along to match his own. Harry’s eyes were wide, his lips slightly parted, begging to be— Footsteps sounded down the corridor and Draco snapped away from Harry, panting in a way that was hardly appropriate. Harry glanced in the direction of the footsteps and then grabbed Draco by his wrist and dragged him across the hallway and into an abandon classroom, slamming the door behind them. "Harry," Draco said, his voice low with warning. He tried to step away; he didn’t know what he was doing. He had stepping into this thinking it would be easy to keep his emotion out of it, but he had been wrong. And now Harry was standing in front of him, looking at him with wide green eyes and opening his mouth for something that Draco just knew he wasn’t ready to give. "Draco, I—" and suddenly Harry cried out, his hands coming up to clasp down onto his forehead. "Harry," Draco pulled away, his hands snapping down on Harry's shoulders and resisting the temptation to shake. "Harry, what's wrong?" It seemed like it lasted forever; Harry curled into himself, shaking and crying out and Draco could do nothing but stand there and stare. Eventually, it stopped. Harry's body gradually relaxing as he pulled his hands away from his face, his eyes hazy with residual pain. "What happened?" Draco asked. "My scar…" "Is that… normal?" "No, I…" Harry hesitated. "It hurt because…. He's… angry." "He—" Draco blinked. He didn’t know that he wanted to know the answer. There was really only one answer to know, wasn’t there? "What do you mean?" "He wants something done, and it's not happening fast enough." Harry covered his eyes with the palms of his hands, wincing as he pressed down. "Harry," Draco said, grabbing his wrists and pulling his hands away. "Have you told anyone about this?" "I…” Harry hesitated, and Draco squeezed his wrist. “I told Dumbledore about it last year," Harry answered eventually. "And…?" "It was no big deal." He tried to pull his hands away, but Draco kept his grip firm. "I'm just reading his mood or whatever and—" "This is not no big deal, Harry," Draco said. He felt like shaking Harry until he saw sense. How could he not know how much danger he was in? Draco knew, and he was sure he barely understood what was going through Harry’s mind. "If you can reach into the Dark Lord's mind then he can reach into yours. That's the way Legilimency works," he hesitated. "Have you been having weird dreams?" The way Harry froze told it all, and Draco suddenly felt like screaming. "You have to close your mind, Harry, this is dangerous." "I'm fine," Harry answered. "You're not fine," Draco said, hands tightening to a painful degree around Harry’s wrists. "Harry, listen to me—" "Malfoy," Harry answered, yanking his hands away and this time Draco couldn’t keep his grip. "I have to get to Quidditch, I'm already late." Then he practically ran from the classroom. Draco let him go, his hands dropping into his lap. Teach him to try and help someone. Draco was studying alone in the library when Granger ambushed him. He heard her approaching, flicked his eyes up to see her frizzy hair, sighed, and then looked down again. "Malfoy," she said, stopping in front of his table. "Granger," he answered, not bothering to look up from his potions essay. "Missing a couple appendages there, are we?" "Oh, shut it, Malfoy," she said. "You know Ron, Harry, and I aren’t attached at the hip." "And how would I know that?" "Whatever," she said, sounding entirely too put upon. "Harry wanted me to tell you we have a place to practice for the DA." "How fascinating," Draco answered. "Run along to Potter and tell him I am no longer interested." Instead of leaving, Granger stepped closer and slipped into the seat across from him. "That seat's taken," he said. She, of course, ignored him. "You know, Ron and Sir-Snuffles," she said, and Draco's lips tightened, "both think you're using Harry." "Is this going somewhere?" Draco asked. He sighed heavily, closing his book with a snap. "Harry won't believe them. He says you won't hurt him, that he can trust you. I've no idea what you've done to convince him but Harry's usually a pretty good judge of character," she said, and Draco snorted, covering his mouth from the undignified response. Granger just raised an eyebrow and continued. "I don't know why you two are fighting but—" "Who says we're fighting?" "But," she continued, ignoring him. At this point he was pretty sure she was just having a conversation with herself. "You should know that Harry cares about you for whatever reason." "And if I don't care about him?" "That wasn't the impression I got when you followed us to the Hog's Head," Granger answered, "but hey, maybe Ron is right for once in his life." Draco rolled his eyes and Granger's lips twitched. "Now,” she said, standing and looking down at him expectantly. “Are you coming?” She asked it like a question, but there was something in the way she gestured Draco to follow her that made it seem more like a command. He sighed and packed his bags as slowly as he could. He took pleasure in the way Granger cast him impatient looks and tried to stop herself from tapping her foot. Only because he needed to keep up his spying appearances for Umbridge. Eventually, they started walking out of the library and down the corridors. Granger led him up the stairs, stopping at the 7th floor, leading him down an ill-used corridor. Draco stopped when he saw a door that hadn't been there the last time he'd been here. Granger knocked on the door without hesitation and it opened to reveal Harry. Harry’s eyes slid past Hermione to lock with Draco's and then he blushed and turned abruptly away. "Come in," he said, his back to them. "You're the last ones." "What is this place?" Draco asked. The room around them was large, filled with dark detectors, practice dummies, and bookshelves lining the walls. The rest of the group was already there, milling around and looking impatient. "Um." Harry rubbed the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable. "It's called the room of requirement. It'll change itself to be anything you want." "And you learned about it how?" "Um," Harry mutter, shifted his feet uncomfortably. "Dobby." "I'm sorry,” Draco answered. “My old house elf Dobby? The one you freed?" "Yeah, he started working at Hogwarts. Dumbledore is paying him," Harry said. Draco blinked and decided it was best to just not comment. There was enough weird going on without. "So, anyway," Harry said, clearing his throat. "I was thinking, the first thing we should do is expelliarmus." Smith opened his mouth to say something, but Draco's glare silenced him. Harry ordered them all into pairs, leaving Neville and Draco standing in the middle of the room. Draco's upper lip curled, but Harry spoke before he could. "Let me see, Neville, Malfoy." Harry opened his mouth to presumably start counting but Draco wasn't waiting for that. "Expelliarmus." Draco flicked his wand, sending Longbottom's spinning out of his hand and into Draco's outstretched one. Harry blinked once, his eyes flicking from Neville’s hand to Draco’s before he scowled. "You could at least give him a chance, Draco." "Why don't you go bother someone else, Potter?" Draco answered, curling his lips into a sneer. Harry sighed but left, letting Draco turn back to Longbottom. "Well, why are you standing there?" He tossed Longbottom's wand back to him, rolling his eyes when he fumbled it. Longbottom raised his wand, his hand shaking, and Draco felt a surge of secondhand embarrassment. How did Longbottom get anything done? "Expelliarmus." Longbottom said, and Draco's wand wiggled in his hand and then went still. Draco sighed as Longbottom bit his lip and tried again. This time, his own wand went flying out of his hand. Draco twirled his wand between his fingers and snuck a glance around to room, looking for Harry. Maybe he would straighten Longbottom out because it certainly wasn't Draco's job. His eyes narrowed when he saw him locked in animated conversation with Chang. She laughed, flipping her hair behind her flirtatiously. Draco clenched his teeth, stopping himself from marching over there and punching the bint in the nose. Draco's wand went flying out of his hand, landing somewhere in the room. He turned his eyes on Longbottom, glaring. Longbottom flinched from his stare, his enthusiasm leaking out. Draco felt like face palming, you just couldn't win with these people. He paced across the room to get his wand, ducking under some misplaced spell that was most certainly not an Expelliarmus. A few people watched him out of the corner of their eyes, but he ignored them. Harry continued to talk to Chang. He didn't even seem to notice that Draco was staring at him, even after he returned to Longbottom. Which in itself was an insult; Draco was far too important to be unnoticeable. "Hey, Harry," Hermione called. The entire room turned to her, but Granger's eyes were firmly locked on Draco. Her head was tilted to the side, watching him with a curious look in her eyes. He sneered, and she turned her gaze to Harry. "Have you checked the time?" Harry immediately began to bustle around, checking a piece of parchment that looked suspiciously like a map and then sending people out in threes and fours. Eventually, it was only Draco, Granger, Weasley, and Harry left alone in the room. "Ron and I will go ahead, Harry," Granger said. "What?" Weasley answered, "But—" Granger just grabbed him by the arm and dragged him from the room. Harry glanced at him, blushed and then looked away. "You're welcome to leave," Draco said, checking his nails carelessly. "I don't—" Harry answered, blinking like an idiot. "If you don't want to be here—" "Why wouldn't I want to be here?" Harry interrupted, the blush on his face suddenly replaced by an angry drawl of his eyebrows. "Well, it seems like you always have somewhere better to be." "Me?!" "Yes, you!" Draco snapped. "You ditched me for Chang, for whoever the fuck snuffles is, for Quidditch—like I didn't see right through that." "What are you talking about, Malfoy?" Harry asked, his green eyes flashing dangerously behind his glasses. "You want me to believe you had Quidditch practice at that exact moment when you needed an excuse and had no Quidditch gear on?" "Believe whatever you want, Malfoy." "Oh, obviously," Draco answered, rolling his eyes scornfully. "Why would you want to be with me when you could run off with Cho Chang." "What is wrong with you?" Harry snapped, his fists clenching, "You were the one who told me it didn't mean anything." Draco opened his mouth, and then closed it again. He wanted to yell at Harry, to tell him off, but Harry was right. He didn’t have a real reason. He swallowed. "That was before…" he trailed off. He didn't even know what he was saying. Before what? He sounded like an absolute idiot. "Before what?" Harry asked, so coldly his voice was unrecognizable. "Before you got bored of Pansy and decided you needed a better arm decoration?" Draco stared at him. Pansy? He thought Draco was shagging Pansy? Draco took a step back, turning away from Harry. Harry had thought he was shagging someone else the entire time and he hadn't cared. Not one jealous word or look. He guessed that answered his question about how Harry really felt about him if anything did. "Well," Draco said, smiling thinly. He really was an absolute idiot. "I think I'd rather be anywhere else." "Wait!" Harry said, stepped toward him, but Draco backed away. "Draco, I didn’t mean—" "Actually, Potter," Draco called behind him, already opening the door. "I think I have quidditch practice.” Draco returned to his dorm with eyes stinging and his chest tight. Add another thing to the list: crying because of Potter. Because the truth was he’d been the one who’d gotten attached. Maybe he’d been attached from the beginning, and he’d been stupid enough to think Potter would consider giving a fuck about a Death Eater’s son. He opened the Slytherin dorm, hoping everyone would just leave him alone. "Draco, darling," Pansy called. He sighed, of course, he was never so lucky. "Why were you out so late?" "I’m a busy person, Pansy," he answered, turning back to his dorm. "Oh, Draco, wait,” she said, he hesitated just to be polite. “You know the first Quidditch match is coming up soon." "So?" "Well, I thought maybe you'd want some way to torment Potter and his Weasel." The next couple weeks passed slowly for Draco. He avoided looking at Potter, avoided him in classes, avoided him in the halls, and didn't go to the DA meetings. Though that didn't stop Granger from slipping him a galleon that the group was using to communicate with. He was dreading the coming Quidditch match. As much as he wanted to hurt Potter for hurting him, even he didn't want to go this far. He also knew once Pansy started something, she was going to finish it. Better not to cross her. Pansy had smirked at him, pinning the badge to his chest. 'Weasley is our King,' she'd mouthed. He'd skipped breakfast. He already knew today was going to be bad, no need to add insult to injury. He strapped on his Quidditch gear, checking the time twice before heading down. "Almost late, Malfoy." His captain, Montague, threw him a dirty look before leading the team out and onto the pitch. Of course, the Gryffindors came out a moment later, facing off against the Slytherin with a mixture of angry and annoyed looks. Weasley looked pale and sickly, as if he was about to pass out on the quidditch pitch. Draco smirked, he supposed that was a little satisfying. When he turned his eyes on Potter, his satisfaction died. Potter was glaring at him, his emerald eyes dark and furious. Draco just looked away. The whistle blew, sending everyone up. Draco shot off in the air, as far from Potter as he could get. He felt the stands get quiet as the Slytherin's song began to rise and people stopped talking to listen to the lyrics. Weasley cannot save a thing,He cannot block a single ring,That's why Slytherins all sing;Weasley is our King. He winced, searching the stands for the snitch and keeping an eye on Potter to make sure he didn't try to head toward Draco in a blaze of glory takeout. Weasley is our King,Weasley is our King,He always lets the Quaffle in,Weasley is our King. Potter completely abandoned his search for the snitch and turned his broom toward Weasley, his face a mask of horror as he watched Weasley let a goal in. Weasley cannot save a thing,He cannot block a single ring… He winced; they’d written the lyrics when he’d been beyond upset with Potter. Listening to them now, they were childish. He probably could have done better with a clear head. WEASLEY IS BORN IN A BIN,HE ALWAYS LETS THE QUAFFLE IN… Draco suddenly realized he had given up his search for the snitch and dived back into his seeker duties. He wanted this match over. WEASLEY WILL MAKE SURE WE WIN,WEASLEY IS OUR KING… Someone on the Gryffindor team yell at Potter, and he suddenly veered back into action, tearing his eyes away from Weasley. Draco searched frantically, where, where? WEASLEY IS OUR KING,WEASLEY IS OUR KING…. Suddenly Draco caught sight of the golden ball, letting out a loud exclamation, he dived toward the snitch. He saw Potter veer toward him, coming up on his broom tails. WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN… Draco was just a few feet away, he ducked down further on the broom, putting on a burst of speed but somehow Potter was still gaining on him, growing even with Draco now. No, no, no. WEASLEY CANNOT SAVE A THING…. They were even now, their shoulders almost touching, their faces inches apart. And then their eyes locked. Dazzling emeralds distracting Draco. THAT'S WHY SLYTHERIN'S ALL SING:WEASLEY IS OUR KING. Potter snatched the snitch from air, so fast Draco almost didn't see his hand fly out. Anger flashed through him. He'd distracted him on purpose. "You arsehole." he hissed. WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN,HE ALWAYS LET'S THE QUAFFLE IN,WEASLEY WILL MAKE SURE WE WIN. "I'm the arsehole!?" Potter answered, eyes flashing in that way that made heat coil in Draco’s stomach. Draco was never sure who tackled who. He wasn't sure it really mattered. Somehow, they ended up falling down, down, shouting obscenities at each other and punching and trying to hurt each other. And it hurt, it hurt so bad. And it felt so good. It felt so good to be able to just let go and to feel and to know that someone understood. Because if Harry didn't, then no one would. When he looked past Harry to see the ground hurtling closer and closer, he really debated just letting them collide with it. Then he thought of Harry splattered against the Quidditch pitch, never to breathe again and couldn’t help himself. Draco's hand closed around his broom, the other curling around Harry's wrist. They stopped three feet from the ground, wrenching both of their shoulders painfully. Harry looked down at the ground and then up at Draco with wide terrified eyes. Draco lowered them slowly, dropping Harry gently to the ground, where he stayed still staring and hanging onto Draco by the hand he’d used to save him. "You saved my life," Harry said. Draco blinked, and it was just them. Just them sitting there staring at each other with bruises and fluttering eyes and parted lips and Draco wanted nothing more than Harry. Suddenly he was leaning forward, with no idea what he was going to do next but that didn’t seem to matter, and Harry’s lips were parted, and he was leaning forward too and— The shouting and frantic footsteps brought him back to reality. "Yes, well." Draco said, wrenching himself away. "Don't cling, Potter. We wouldn't want to ruin your precious reputation, would we?" He stood unsteadily and wobbled away, suddenly uncaring about the snitch still clasped in Potter's hand. Harry paced in front of the Slytherin dorm. It was the middle of the night, and he was under his invisibility cloak, but he still felt like he was taking some horrible leap forward. He knew Draco was inside, he even knew which room. He'd only checked the Maurader's map a hundred times on his way down here. But he couldn’t strike up the courage to go in. He didn't even know why he kept coming down here. He just knew he wanted to talk—to see Draco. The most contact they'd had over the past three weeks had been an airborne fist fight that ended with Draco saving his life. Which Umbridge had apparently believed was all his fault and banned him from Quidditch for the rest of his life. Of course, Draco had also taken an active part of the fighting, but she hadn't seen that.  Then Hagrid had returned the next day. Draco had been right, he'd been sent on a mission to try and get the giants to help the Order defeat Voldemort, but Harry wasn't quite ready to tell his friends that he already known where Hagrid had gone. He did, however, want to talk to Draco about everything he had learned. He also wanted to ask him why he'd been avoiding him. And he just wanted to see him—even if he wasn't allowed to touch him. Harry sighed, looked at the Slytherin common room door one last time and then began pacing again. The DA members left the last meeting before Christmas break in twos and threes, leaving Hermione, Ron, Harry, Cho, and her friend in the room. December had arrived with little improvement in Harry's mood. He couldn't even look forward to the DA meetings without feeling a twinge of emptiness that Draco no longer came. "You want us to go ahead, Harry?" Hermione asked, glancing over at Cho, who was now waving her friend ahead. Harry shrugged, he supposed it wouldn't hurt to talk to Cho now that there was no Draco in his life. Hermione pursed her lips, seemingly unconvinced. "Come on, Hermione," Ron grabbed her arm, always eager to leave Harry alone with someone who wasn't Draco. She gave Harry one last concerned look but let Ron pull her out. Harry looked over at Cho. She was standing in the middle of the room, making little sniffling sounds, and he realized suddenly she was crying. "Um, Cho? Are you….?" he started and then trialed off. What was one supposed to say to a crying girl who was just standing in the middle of the room? "I'm sorry," she hiccupped, wiping her eyes, "I just—" "It's fine," he cut her off. He couldn’t help thinking of Draco, the way he’d seemed so sincere when he’d said that Harry deserved to be happy and who cared about anyone else? Harry didn’t have to listen to Cho talk about Cedric if he didn’t want to. He started moving toward the door. "I understand, Cho, really." "No, wait!" she called. "Don't go. I'm sorry to get all upset… I don't mean to…" He didn't have any argument to that. He didn't mean to do a lot of stupid things that he ended up doing anyway. Granted most of them involved Draco but still… He supposed crying could be the same thing. He thought about what Draco would say if he saw Harry in the position he was in right now. He would probably tell him he was an idiot for not leaving when he had the chance. He laughed lightly, and Cho smiled, probably thinking he was laughing at whatever she had said. He felt a moment of panic, she was leaning toward him now, her soft lips curved in a smile and tear tracks still visible down her face. Her dark eyes were pretty, and he supposed the freckles on her nose were attractive when the light hit them like that. "I really like you, Harry," she murmured, her lips maybe an inch away from his. And he thought, maybe-just maybe-he could fall in love with her if he really tried. She was pretty and smart and talented and good at Quidditch— He realized a second too late that hers were not the lips he wanted to be kissing. Harry returned to the common room feeling lost. His head hurt, his heart hurt, his soul hurt. The only person he wanted to see didn't want anything to do with him. He went into the common room to find Hermione and Ron seated by the fire and most everyone else already gone up to bed. Harry tried to sneak up to his bed behind them, but Hermione's sharp voice called him over. "Harry? What took you so long?" she asked. "Did you talk to Cho?" "A little," he said, sighing as he made his way over to them. She gave him a speculative glance, pushing her work to the side in favor of studying him. "Are you ok?" "I'm fine, Hermione." "You don't seem fine," she answered. "In fact, you haven't seemed fine since Malfoy stopped talking to you." He glared at her and she sighed, changing the subject. "Fine, then what happened with Cho?" "Well," he said, shifting his back against the couch. "She was crying and wanted to talk—" "Why was she crying?" Ron interrupted. "Did she kiss you?" Hermione ignored him. Harry was 90% sure he preferred Ron's question. "Yeah…" he answered. "HA!" Ron exclaimed, and Hermione glared at him. "What?" He turned back to Harry with a grin, "Well, was it good?" "No." "No?" Ron asked, blinking. "But…" "It was like she really didn't want to be kissing me in the first place," Harry twirled his thumbs together thoughtfully. "Then when she stopped, she just started sobbing on me and…" "And…?" Hermione prompted. "And," Harry hesitated and then changed his mind. He just wasn't ready to admit that he'd rather be kissing Draco Malfoy. Not to Hermione and Ron. "Nothing," he muttered, "it's nothing." He sighed. "I should really be going to bed." He stood and headed to his dorm. "That was bizarre," Ron said, watching his best friend mount the stairs. Hermione threw a quill at him. "Really, Ron, you have the emotional range of a wart. How can you not tell what's going on between Harry, Cho, and Malfoy?" "Malfoy?" Ron said, his voice raising embarrassingly high. "What's Malfoy got to do with anything?" "Oh, honestly," she said, beginning to pack up her school things. "How you're his best friend, I'll never know." Harry was kissing Cho. He could feel her tears slide across her cheeks and down onto her lips. He could taste her tears. It wasn't unpleasant, but there was still something wrong with the kiss. Her lips weren't the right shape. They were too soft. They were too curved. Her top lip was too big. Harry opened his eyes to look past Cho and locked eyes with Draco. He was watched the two of them with shaded silver-gray eyes. He blinked and suddenly it was Draco he was kissing, backed up against a wall, his hands pinned above his head, his mouth being ravaged. He knew Cho was watching and he didn't care. He just didn't want Draco to stop.  Then he was standing in front of Ron, who was babbling about how Draco was using him. "You'll be better off without him!" Ron kept insisting. And Hermione stood off to Harry's other side and kept point at a giant hole in Harry's chest yelling, "Does he look better off, Ron!?" And Harry turned his head and caught sight of Cho, with her head in her hands, crying off to the side. "Why didn't you choose me?" she asked. "Why is he better than me? He doesn't even care about you?" Then it was Draco, holding his hand out to Harry, an affectionate smile on his lips. "Come to me, Harry," he whispered. Harry took a step forward, still unsure of whether he'd accept the hand or not... Then, the dream changed…. His body felt smooth, powerful, and flexible. He was gliding between shining metal bars, across dark, cold stone…. He was flat against the floor, sliding along on his belly… It was dark, yet he could see objects around him shimmering in strange, vibrant colors…..He was turning his head… At first glance, the corridor was drooping onto his chest, his outline gleaming in the dark… Harry put out his tongue…He tasted the man's scent on the air…He was alive but drowsing…sitting in front of the door at the end of the corridor….Harry longed to bite the man…but he must master the impulse…. He had more important work to do…. But the man was stirring… a silvery cloak fell from his legs as he jumped to his feet; and Harry saw his vibrant, blurred outline towering above him, saw a wand withdrawn from a belt… He had no choice… He reared up high from the floor and struck once, twice, three times, plunging his fangs deeply into the man's flesh, feeling his ribs splinter beneath his jaws, feeling the warm gush of blood… The man was yelling in pain… then he fell silent… He slumped against the wall… Blood splattered the floor… The screaming woke him up. Someone yelling his name so loudly he wrenched upright and then clenched his hands over his scar. It was burn, throbbing, it hurt so bad he thought his head might burst. "HARRY!" someone screamed his name again, he only had a second to register that it was Ron's voice before he leaned over the side of his bed and vomited. When he sat back up the pain in his head had diminished but it was still blindingly painful. "I'm going for help!" another, different voice, yelled. Footsteps running from the room, but Harry couldn’t focus past what he’d just seen. "Ron," he croaked. "Ron, you're dad…” "What?" "Your dad's been attacked." "Harry, you were dreaming." "No!" Harry said. He needed them to understand. It wasn't just a dream, it was real. He threw the covers off him. "Harry!" Ron said, trying to grab him. But Harry just stumbled out of bed, he could only think of one person who would believe him, who would just take him at him word. He stumbled down the stairs, tripping twice and clamping his hands over his face to try and stop the feeling of hot coals being burned against his forehead. "Harry, stop!" Ron was yelling after him, but Harry wasn’t about to be stopped. Harry ignored him, turning out into the corridor and stumbling in the direction of the Slytherin commons. Ron tried to grab him again, but Harry dodged his hands. About halfway to the dungeons, he managed to find his feet and about 3/4th of the way there, the pain in his scar turned into a dull throbbing. He spoke the Slytherin password and the portrait swung open with a disgruntled hiss. "How did you know….?" Ron gapped and then scrambled in the hole after him. Harry continued to ignore him, heading straight for Draco's room. "Harry," Ron said, his voice a hushed whisper in the deathly quiet of the common room. "Harry, have you lost your mind?" Harry pushed open Draco's dorm room door, grasped his shoulders, and shook him, hard. "Draco," Harry called frantically, "Draco, wake up!" Draco jerked awake, flinging himself away from Harry and bring his hands up to smack Harry across the face and chest. "Let me go!" Draco yelled, still struggling against Harry’s hold on him. "Let me go!" "Draco," Harry answered, hands tight on Draco’s shoulders. "Draco, it's me." Draco seemed to relax at the sound of his voice and then he slowly opened his eyes, fixing his silver-gray eyes on Harry. "What the fuck, Harry?" he said, now all but limp. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against Harry’s shoulder. "Are you trying to kill me?" "I had a dream,” Harry answered. He was shocked; he’d never seen Draco like this. Never even considered that he could scare him this badly. "So?" Draco pulled back, eyebrows drawing together as he looked up at Harry. Then he glanced around; the other students were beginning to stir, a couple pulling back their curtains to look over at them, and Draco sprang out of his bed, yanking Harry after him by his wrist. "Why are you in my bedroom with the Weasel, Potter?” he said after the dorm door had closed behind them. He continued pulling them out of the Slytherin Commons. “I swear if you—" "I had a dream about Voldemort, Draco." Harry whispered. Draco froze, his hand tightening painfully on Harry’s wrist for one second, two before he let go and smacked Harry on the arm. Rather hard. "I told you." Draco said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I told you, you needed to close your mind! But did you listen? No, you fucking stupid little twat of a—" "Draco!" Harry interrupted. "Ron's dad is really hurt. He needs help." "Why didn't you go to the headmaster?" Draco asked. "Why come to me?" Harry blinked, and then blushed. The idea hadn’t even occurred to him. "No one will believe me," he said finally. "I sound crazy." Draco snorted in answer. "Please, Draco, I need your help." "Whatever, Potter," Draco sighed, rolling his eyes in a show of how put upon he was, "let's just go." To Draco's credit he didn't make them wait for him to get dressed or anything, he just grabbed Harry's wrist again and led him straight out of the Slytherin commons and toward the Headmaster's rooms. "Go find a teacher, Weasley," he said. "I'm sure they're all looking for Potter at this point." Ron opened his mouth to argue, but Draco just send him a deadly glare and Ron was gone. "Draco—" Harry tried. He didn't know what he was going to say, just that he needed to say something to get rid of the horrible tension between them. He had run to Draco without a second thought and now almost found himself regretting the impulse. He still wanted Draco with him, he just wished he knew what to say to him. "You need to control your mind, Harry," Draco interrupted. "If you keep letting The Dark Lord in like that, you might just lose it." "Why do you call him the Dark Lord?" Harry asked. "Are you scared to say Voldemort?" "Yes," Draco answered, his voice so soft Harry almost missed it. "But—" "Potter!" McGonagall's voice interrupted them. She appeared out of the gloom of the corridor, Ron right on her heels. "Malfoy?" She faltered. "What's going on? What's happened?" "We need to speak to the Headmaster, Professor,” Draco said, his hand tight around Harry’s wrist. McGonagall blinked at him, but she must have heard the urgency in his voice because she didn’t argue as she gestured the three of them to follow. "Fizzing Whizbee," she said, and the stone gargoyle jumped out of the way, allowing them to climb up the stair and enter Dumbledore's office. Dumbledore was already at his desk, dressed casually in a night shirt with a dressing gown on top. He looked curiously at Draco and then smiled warmly at the rest of them. "Ah, Professor McGonagall-," he started. "Headmaster," Draco cut through his words in that smooth aristocratic way that only Draco could. "Potter has had a dream. He believes Mr. Weasley to be badly injured, you need to send people to the Department of Mysteries immediately." Harry blinked at him. The Department of Mysteries… What was Draco talking about? Ron seemed equal confused, but McGonagall and Dumbledore were staring at Draco with something close to alarm. "Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore said after a moment, "you seem... well informed." "Yes,” Draco answered. “My father sends me letters.” Dumbledore stood from behind his desk, his stary robes shimmering as he moved. Draco glared across the room from him, if he hadn’t been holding onto Harry, Harry would have missed the tension in his shoulders. Finally, Dumbledore turned away and began to issue orders about retrieving Mr. Weasley to the portraits around the room. "How did you know he was at the Department of Mysteries?" Harry asked, and Draco narrowed his eyes, his look entirely too speculative. "I'll explain it all to you later." "Explain what?" Ron asked. He looked over at them, his eyes just a touch too wide. Harry wondered if he was going to go into shock. "Worry about your father, Weasley," Draco answered. His voice was soft, almost kind and it maybe surprise Harry more than it should have. "Harry?" Dumbledore suddenly called, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the now empty portraits. "In your dream, what position did you see everything happening from?" Harry felt like cold water had been dumped on him. It was like Dumbledore know. Fingers intwined with his, squeezing his hand in a way that shot warmth through his arm. Draco’s gaze were still focused on Dumbledore, his silver-grey eyes almost challenging, and Harry realized they did know. Both of them. "I was the snake," Harry whispered. "Headmaster," Draco said, and Dumbledore turned toward him. Harry felt anger surge through him, why wouldn't he look at him? "Harry needs Occlumency lessons. He can't keep going the way he is." Before Dumbledore could answer one of the portraits returned, panting against his frame. "I yelled until someone came," he said. "They carried him up a few minutes later. He doesn't look too good, all covered in blood…" The man trialed off as Harry shivered. Draco's fingers tightened on his. "Good," Dumbledore answered. "Minerva, I need you to go and wake the other Weasley children." He then turned back to Ron and still kept his eyes away from Harry. "You'll be spending the holiday with Sirius—" "Sirius Black?" Draco interrupted. "I thought he was dead." Harry's lips twitched, finally something Draco didn't know. "No, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore answered, scribbling something down on a piece of paper. "Now, I want you to memorize this." He handed the paper to Draco. "What? Why?" "Because you will be accompanying the Weasley's for the holidays." "What?" Draco answered. “Absolutely not!” "Mr. Malfoy, you are entirely correct that Harry needs an Occlumency teacher and he seems to trust you—" "You want me to teach him Occlumency?" "Well, perhaps not you alone, but you are very skilled at the art," Dumbledore answered, "you've resisted all my attempts to open your mind since you've walked into the room. In addition, you seem to know a great deal." "So, I'll be a prisoner," Draco said, his face tight. "No, think of it as us helping you, Mr. Malfoy." "Helping me," Draco responded flatly. "Yes," Dumbledore smiled. "After all, I think I'm correct in assuming you're not happy with the direction your life is heading down, are you?" Draco blinked slowly at him, his face never changing. "I'll make all the arrangement with your family." Draco blinked at him again. Dumbledore seemed to take this as acknowledgement and turned away. Before Harry could really decide how he felt about spending the entire Christmas holidays locked up with not only the Weasleys but Draco as well—the rest of the Weasleys came in. "Great," Draco muttered, almost too low for Harry to catch. "Just great." "Harry—what's going on?" Ginny asked. "Professor McGonagall says you saw Dad hurt—" Thankfully Dumbledore started talking before he had to. He gestured everyone around his desk and told them to take hold of a blacken kettle saying they would be traveling by portkey. "One," he counted, "two," his eyes flipped up, meeting Harry's for the first time that night. Immediately, Harry's scar burned white hot, filling him with an intense hatred so powerful he wanted to leap across the small space and pierce Dumbledore with his fangs. To make him bleed. To make him hurt, to suffer. "Three." Harry felt a sickening pull around his navel and then was launched through space and banged onto the ground. He tumbled to the ground with the rest of the Weasley's. The only one who was able to remain standing was Draco, who cast a disgusted look around him before looking back down at Harry. His face softened slightly, and he extended a hand. Harry accepted it gratefully, letting Draco pull him to his feet. Neither of them let go when Harry was standing. "Are you alright?" Draco asked softly, his thumb skimming across Harry's knuckles. "Fine," Harry answered. Draco raised one pale eyebrow at him, and Harry suddenly felt like collapsing on his shoulder and sobbing just like Cho had done to him. "The dreams don't make you a bad person, Harry," Draco said. Harry's eyes widened, and he looked around to make sure no one had heard. "You saw?" "I saw." Harry was shaking. Not the good kind of shaking that would have made Draco ready to jump him but the kind of shaking that signaled a nervous breakdown. "OUT," a voice roared, sending the house elf that had been muttering and hovering around them out of the room reluctantly. In its place an unshaven man came in, and Draco had to wrinkle his nose. The man had long black hair that fell into his face and his eyes had that same unstable glint that matched his aunt Bellatrix's. "What's going on?" the man asked, reaching out to help the youngest Weasley up off the floor. Draco felt his lip curl. Seriously, what pure-blood couldn't land a port-key. It was simply disgraceful. "Ask Harry," Twin Weasley 1 said. "Yeah," Twin Weasley 2 answered. The look of pure panic in Harry's eyes sent a spike of anger through Draco. Did the Weasley's not have a speck of sympathy in them? Could they not see how close to shitting his pants he was? Everyone was staring straight at Harry, waiting. Draco sighed, evidently, he was the only sane one here. He couldn’t say he was particularly surprised. "Harry might very well have saved your worthless father," he said. "A strange way to thank him." "Draco—" Harry started. "I need you to show me my room, Potter." Draco ignored him, his tone as imperious as he could make it. "I’m tired." Harry hesitated but eventually followed, leaving the Weasleys and Sirius Black staring after them. He led Draco down several hallways and up a flight of stairs, finally stopping in front of a dark wood door. "My room is right across the hall," Harry said, shifting his feet and rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. "You won't be sharing with me?" Draco answered, only half joking. The idea of letting the idiot out of sight sounding mildly distressing at the moment. "I'm not sure that's a good idea," Harry muttered, immediately blushing crimson. "Of course, not," Draco answered, turning his face away. "I— what?" Harry blinked, and Draco tapped his thigh. He thought he’d been doing well, ignoring Harry, ejecting him from his life, and then he turned around and Harry was in his bedroom, his hair a disaster and needing Draco’s help and what else was he supposed to do. It scared how much he’d cared that Harry had come to him. It scared him that he couldn’t just tell Harry to leave him alone. "Nothing, Potter," Draco said. "Oh," Harry answered, still standing awkwardly outside of Draco's door. "Yes, oh," Draco said, making no move to leave either. "Um…" Harry said and then trailed off. Draco felt like running down the hall screaming while at the same time having no desire to move. Harry needed him. He needed someone to hear what he had to say. And for some reason what Harry needed was more important than what Draco needed, right now. "Draco, I…." he said, his startling green eyes flicking up, "I feel like it's my fault." His eyes were wet, his glasses magnifying the tears clinging to his eyelashes. "Why do I feel so guilty?" Harry asked, his voice soft. "I feel like I was the one who attacked him in the first place!" Draco reached out, but Harry just shook his hand off. "And Dumbledore! What happened with Dumbledore? What if V-vol—" for the first time since Draco had known him, Harry couldn't seem to get the Dark Lord's name out of his mouth. He choked and then gave up, moving on with his hysteria. “What if he’s using me and I— What if I’m just like him?” he asked it so seriously, staring up at Draco as if he really believed he was somehow comparable to the Dark Lord. "You're bloody insane, you know that?" Draco said, and Harry blinked at him. Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. He still couldn’t figure out how he’d gotten into this mess. It would be so much easier if he could just stop caring about Harry bloody Potter. "You just saved someone's life after having a probably terrifying nightmare about them not only dying, but you attacking them, and you have the gal to feel guilty?" Draco asked, dropping his hand from his face. Harry was crying now, his cheeks wet. “You have no idea, do you?” Draco asked. “You have no idea how good you are, Harry Potter.” At the sound of his name, Harry put his head in his hands and let himself cry. Draco hesitated as he reached out for him and this time Harry let Draco touch him. It felt blissful to have Draco put his hands on him, even if it was only temporary. The tears began to come harder, compressing against his chest and making it hard to breathe. "Sh," Draco whispered, pulling him flush against his body. Harry pressed his face against Draco’s chest, blurring out the tears as best he could. "Let it out." "Dr-dr-dra—" Harry said, his voice breaking. He didn't even know what he was going to say, just that he needed to say it. He couldn't let Draco just pull away and leave him again. This just felt so right. "It's alright," Draco murmured into his ear. "B-bu—" A sob ripped through Harry chest. It wasn't enough. He knew this kind, considerate Draco would be gone in the morning, replaced by the perfect and sarcastic Malfoy whom he loathed for the sole fact that he wasn't Harry's Draco. "I'm not going anywhere, you greedy little git," Draco sighed, his breath hot against Harry’s ear. "Not until you order me away." Harry shook his head and clung to him. I'll always want you, Harry thought, though the words wouldn't leave his mouth. Draco led Harry into his room, closing the door behind them while Harry clung to him, still crying softly into his shoulder as Draco brought them across the room and laid down on the bed, still cradling Harry in his arms. It only took a few minutes for Harry to fall asleep against him, leaving drying tear tracks running down his face and his hands still clutching fistfuls of Draco's pajamas. Draco sighed, unsure of where he was supposed to go from here. He knew he would keep his promise. Hell, he’d known before he’d even bothered to make the bloody promise. He wished he had any idea how to be what Harry needed. Harry slept the rest of the morning though Draco didn't. Partly because he was afraid of what he would see in his dreams and partly because he couldn't bring himself to drag his eyes from Harry's blissfully peaceful face. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Harry look truly relaxed, much less happy. It had probably been in 2nd or 3rd year. Draco tensed when he heard banging start from below. Harry began stirring restlessly against him and he glared at the door, stupid Weasleys. After a couple minutes of putting up with the infernal banging, he decided he better go put a stop to it before it woke Harry completely. Merlin knew he needed the sleep. Draco wiggled out of Harry's grip, taking care to unclasp Harry's fists and gently placing a pillow under his head. He wasted about a minute looking down at Harry’s face before sighing and leaving the room. He followed the sounds down the stairs and through the hallways until he reached a dining area and kitchen that the Weasley's and Sirius Black were occupying loudly. At the sound of Draco's footsteps, Sirius Black turned around and blinked at Draco as if he couldn't quite believe he was still here. "There you are," he said, his voice low and only slightly hostile. It was almost impressive. "Do you—" "Shut up," Draco interrupted. "Potter is sleeping." "Harry was with you all night?" Black asked, and Draco only barely settled for glaring at him. He doubted Potter would appreciate him murdering Sirius Black. "Well, he certainly wasn't with you," he answered, crossing the kitchen to look down at the plate of bacon and eggs and wrinkling his nose with distaste. "Do you have to be such a git, Malfoy?" Weasley glared. "You think I want to be here, Weasley?" Draco answered. "I think—" Weasley started but was interrupted by the opening of the front room. Draco sent him a mocking look and watched in satisfaction as Weasley’s face turned bright red. "Wotcher!" a woman with bright pink hair called. Her eyes turned to Draco and immediately shifted to grey in an imitation of his own. "Heya, Cousin!" She smiled at him, warm and bright in the way Nymphadora had somehow managed to keep despite their family. "Finally decided to convert?" "Something like that.” "Yeah," Nymphadora said, her smile widening. "Good for you." "Tonks?" Sirius Black almost chocked on her nickname and Draco almost—almost. He tried, really he did—stopped his eyeroll. "You…" "Where's Potter?" a large, scarred man with a ridiculous bowler hat covering a magical eye asked. Draco instantly recognized him as Mad-Eyed Moody. Draco's finger began tapping against his thigh, pushing the memories of being turned into a ferret and bounced to the back of his mind. It hadn't even actually been Moody. "Ask him?" Sirius Black scowled, jerking his chin at Draco like a petulant child. Eyes turned to him and the tapping increased. "He—" Draco cleared his throat and tried again. "He's still asleep." "Well," Moody answered, "better get him up, we need to be heading to St. Mungo's if we're going." "St. Mungo's?" Harry's voice asked. He was standing in the doorway, his hair a mess and his eyes still slightly red and puffy from crying. Draco turned his head away lest he abruptly give into the temptation and begin snogging him breathlessly. "Eat something, Harry," Sirius Black told him. "Then you'll head out to St. Mungo's to see Arthur." "I'm off to shower," Draco said, though he doubted anyone cared. He stepped around Sirius Black, heading out of the room, but Harry grabbed his wrist before he crossed the threshold, stopping him in his tracks. "Aren't you coming with us?" He asked, eyes wide and vulnerable, but there were just some things Draco wouldn't do. "I think I’ll skip the Weasels family reunion, Potter?" he asked. Harry grimaced but nodded, dropping his wrist. He took the stairs two at a time, feeling like he was running away and telling himself that was crazy. Malfoys simply didn’t run away. He stepped out of his clothes, folding them neatly and placing them on the bed. If he'd been at home, he would of just thrown them on the floor but for some reason he just didn't trust Sirius Black's pathetic excuse of a house elf to take care of his clothes. Draco then crossed to the bathroom and stepped into the shower. It felt blissful against his tense muscles and sleep deprived mind. It brought him much needed clarity and distance. When he emerged from his room—feeling clean and refreshed after his clothes had undergone a powerful scourgify—the only one left in the house was Sirius Black. Draco had wandered the house for a while, looking for anything remotely entertaining. Finally, he had arrived in what appeared to be a library—only to realize Sirius Black was already there. He looked up at Draco, his eyes immediately darkening, and Draco prepared himself for the incoming confrontation. "My Godson—" he started. “Potter can take care of himself," Draco interrupted. He hadn’t even known Sirius Black was Harry’s Godfather. Good to know, he guessed. "That doesn’t change the fact that you’d better not be manipulating him," Sirius Black answered, which was somehow both insulting and refreshing. It was nice that he thought Draco such a mastermind and sort of horrible that he thought so little of Harry. "If I was manipulating him, I wouldn’t be here,” Draco said, turning away. “Which means?” “Amor vincit omnia,” Draco muttered, pushing the door closed behind him. Love conquers all. Draco heard Harry and the others return later that day but didn't leave his room. He was a bit hurt that Harry didn't come looking for him. It wasn't like Draco was in an unexpected place, but he wasn't surprised. Of course, Harry would rather be with his Weasleys now that his moral issue had been solved. He just laid across his bed, refusing to look for Harry and being pathetically attached and unwanted. If Harry wanted him. He'd come find him. That was until he heard the yelling coming from across the hall. At first, he was determined to ignore it. Until he realized it was Harry's voice yelling. Then it wasn't really an active choice to get up and head across the hall but somehow Draco was opening his door and staring as Harry yelled. "Fine, go then," Harry was yelling at an empty portrait. "And tell Dumbledore thanks for nothing!" "What are you doing?" Draco asked, feeling slightly concerned. He really hoped there had been someone in that portrait a second ago. Harry jumped like a startled cat, turning to Draco with wide eyes. He cast a guilty look toward his bed, where a half-packed suitcase lay, as if he'd been interrupted in the middle of running away. "Running away without me?" Draco asked, simply raising an eyebrow and ignoring the hurt feeling boiling inside him. "You— You're not mad?" Harry asked, sounding a second away from getting defensive if Draco answered in the affirmative. "Mad!" Draco asked, sniffing haughtily. "You were going to leave me to deal with Twin Weasley’s pranks without your protection. I could have been turned purple." Draco contemplated that horrifying thought and shuddered delicately. Harry laughed as Draco glared. "Purple Potter. I can assure you, I would not look good turned purple. And it would be all your fault." "I'm sorry, Draco," he said, his smile falling. He sat heavily on the end of his bed. Draco waved his hand dismissively and sat opposite him. "So?" "So…" "So," Draco rolled his eyes. "Why were we running away, Potter?" "I…" Harry hesitated, studying his hands and carefully avoiding Draco’s eyes. "I heard something at the hospital." "Heard what?" "Moody said he thought Voldemort was—" Harry stopped, swallowing hard. "Come now, Potter," Draco said. "It can't be that bad." Harry's eyes flicked up to glare at him as if he very much disagreed. "He thinks Voldemort is possessing me," Harry said. Draco blinked. Possession? That was like step ten when they were hovering at step four. Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. What idiot would even say something like that were Harry would overhear? "It's possible right?" Harry picked up in a rush. "I was the snake! Voldemort could have…. And then with Dumbledore…. And what if I hurt someone and…. It's better if I just go, right? Before it happens again and… Even you said—" "It's possible," Draco interrupted, dropping his hand. Harry’s eyes were shining, somewhere between desperate and pleading, and Draco wished he could just tell him everything would be perfectly fine. "But it hasn't happened yet." "But how do you know?" "I just—" Draco stopped himself. I just know seemed like a bad answer right now. He took a deep breath. "Right now, there's a connection between your minds but that's all this is." "But what if it turns into more? I can't…." Harry shivered. "Draco, I just…" "This is what I warned you about," Draco answered, trying to control the snap in his voice and just barely succeeding. "This is why you need to close your mind, Harry!" Suddenly, Harry's eyes locked on him clear and determined. Draco balked; he knew that look. "You can teach me," Harry said. "Dumbledore said you could." "What?" Draco squawked. No, he asked. Malfoys didn't squawk. "No, I— just, no.” "Please, Draco?" Harry said, his green eyes in full pleading mode now, leading Draco down, down, down and to his doom. He knew he wouldn't say no in the end, no matter how hard he tried to resist. "I need to know how to close my mind. I don't want him to be able to— Or-or… Draco, please.” "I—” Draco said, flicking his eyes to the wall. This was going to end so badly. Harry shifted on the bed across from him, sniffing pathetically, and Draco sighed. “Fine. That's why I'm here anyway, right?" "Thank you," Harry said, looking entirely too relieved as he stood.  “So, what do I do?” "You want to start now?" Draco asked. Harry nodded, and Draco sighed again, wondered one more time what had he gotten himself into. Draco stared at him, blinked and then continued to stare at him. Harry really didn't understand what the problem was. Didn’t Draco want to deal with this too? There was only the slight possibility that Harry was possessed and evil. Finally, finally, Draco sighed, casting the ceiling a 'why me?' look before turning back to Harry, his silver-grey eyes unnervingly fixated on Harry’s. “First rule,” Draco said. “Never look a Legitimist in the eyes. If I was any good at Legilimency, I’d be so far in your mind right now, you’d never stop me.” “Okay…” "Also, your emotions are too obvious,” Draco continued, talking almost before Harry had finished. “You need to close yourself off if you want to be able to hold off the Dark Lord.” "I can't just not feel," Harry answered. He couldn’t help thinking of the way Draco seemed as if he truly didn't have any emotions when he wanted. It was like he could flip a switch and seem cold and unyielding without ever having felt anything in the first place. He couldn’t help thinking of the fear that Draco would suddenly be gone behind his emotionless mask that always seemed to be just two steps away. "Don't be daft, Potter," Draco answered, rolling his eyes. "Turning off your emotions is impossible. The trick is hiding them." "How do I do that?" "Occlumency and Ligitimency is a mix of strength, control and cunning. You have to be able to confuse your opponent, show them what they want to see so they don't suspect you of anything. You have to have the self-control to keep your emotions from affecting not only your actions but also your thoughts. You also need the strength to keep anyone out of the places of your mind that you don't want them to see." Harry's eyebrows crinkled. He supposed that all made sense, but he didn't see how it helped him with his particular problem. It also opened a whole slew of questions about Draco himself, like how much he used those strategies and just why he needed to know them so well. "I don't understand how this helps me," Harry said, and Draco cast him a slightly disgruntled look. "Occlumency helps everyone, even people who aren't struggling with having someone else inside their heads." "But Voldemort isn't trying to read my thoughts, he—" Harry started to protest. "Harry, the first step of possession is understanding the person," Draco interrupted. "If you stop him from getting inside, then he'll never understand you, and if he never understands you then he'll never be able to control you. You'll be safe in at least one place." "But I don't want to pretend to be someone I'm not," Harry said, and he had to bite his tongue to stop himself from adding like you. Draco seemed to understand anyway. "You don't have to," he answered, turning his head away. His throat was a pale line as he swallowed, his face shadowed by the low light of the room. "The only one you have to fool is The Dark Lord. Give him what he wants on the outside but never let him see what you're thinking on the inside. That’s the trick. You asked what to do, and it’s hardly my fault if you don’t like the answer.” That night when Harry had his usual dream of that strange hallway and door, he tried to remember Draco's advice. He tried to keep his innermost thoughts hidden, but it was impossible when conflicted against his overwhelming desire to see, to know what was beyond the door. Eventually, he woke to the pounding of Ron's feet on the stairs and the sounds of voices in the kitchen below. He sighed into his pillows, wishing he felt a speck better than he did yesterday. No one but Draco had strung two words together for him and unsurprisingly he wasn't any good at the Occlumency that Draco had tried to teach him. Harry promptly rolled over and ignored Mrs. Weasley's summons to come down. No one bothered him until about 6 o'clock. When a loud knocking on his door made him start and sit up from bed. "Harry," Draco's voice called from the door, followed by another loud knock. "You've been moping all day. It's time to get up." Harry sighed loudly and shuffled his way to the door, opening it to reveal not only Draco standing in the doorway but Hermione standing behind him, her arms crossed as she cast him a disapproving look at his pajamas. "Hermione?" Harry asked, blinking first at her and then at Draco. Draco clenched his jaws, his silvery-grey eyes shadowed. He was obviously employing the techniques he'd explained to Harry yesterday, though what he thought Harry could do to him, Harry didn't understand in the slightest. "What's going on?" Harry asked. "Ask her," Draco said, lips curling into a slight sneer. "She was babbling some nonsense about taking the night bus and wanting to talk to you and having to wait for Dumbledore to give her permission to come." "Oh," Hermione interrupted, casting Draco a sideways look that Harry didn't understand. "That's hardly important. Let's go below and talk. Mrs. Weasley set up a fire and some sandwiches." "Oh, how wonderful," Draco said, his lip curling up even further, and Hermione elbowed him. "Be nice," she said. She led the way downstairs, still talking and expecting Harry and Draco to be following behind her. "It was really Draco who was worried about you." Harry's eyes cut to Draco, who sniffed and turned his nose up like that was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. "He sent me a letter the night you disappeared almost begging me to come and then another today about how you'd hidden yourself away because of what Moody had said,” Hermione said. “He really sounded quite frantic." This was news to Harry. Draco didn't even seem barely concerned when Harry was talking to him, much less frantic enough to beg Hermione to come spend the holidays with them. "Granger," Draco snapped. "Malfoys are never frantic." Though Harry noticed he didn't contradict anything else she had said. "Mm-hmm," Hermione said. She pushed open a door and ushered Harry and Draco through. Ron and Ginny were waiting for them, sitting on the bed with a plate of sandwiches between them. "Well," Draco said. He was still standing in the doorway, looking into the room with a mixture of scorn and—Harry could only just tell by the way his hand trembled on his thigh—nervousness. "I think I'll leave the therapy to you lot." He started to turn on his heel, but Hermione stepped in front of him before he could leave. "Not so fast," she said, making a shooing gesturing that had him backing up into the room. He flopped gracefully onto the bed and scowled over at her before turning cold eyes on Ginny and Ron. They frowned but didn't say anything. Hermione gave Harry an expectant look and he sighed, deciding it wasn't worth the fight to go against them. He sat down on the bed next to Draco and across from Ron and Ginny. Hermione scooted a chair between the two beds and looked at the four of them expectantly. "So?" she asked. "I don't know why you suddenly all want to talk to me," Harry said. "Oh, stop feeling all misunderstood," Hermione said. "Look, Draco told me what you overheard and—" "So, even Draco's concerned about me being possessed now?" Harry asked, his voice a nasty snap. Not that he could really blame Draco. Not after Harry's spectacular failure with Occlumency. "What?" Draco asked, his back straightening. He turned his face away, his jaw clenching. “Don’t be denser than you can manage, Potter.” "You talked to him before you talked to us?" Ginny said, her hands clenching on the sheets of the bed. "None of you would even look at me!" Harry answered. "Harry," Draco said, so quietly he almost missed his words. "That's not true. You've been avoiding everyone. You just shut yourself up in your room after you had trouble with Occlumency." Draco reached out, setting his hand firmly on Harry's knee. He flinched in surprise and Draco’s hand immediately snapped back, folding on his lap with careful precision. Harry cursed himself; he wished he would put his hand back, but he knew Draco well enough to know he wasn’t going to touch him again. "I didn't want anyone to talk to me," Harry whispered, suddenly feeling ashamed in a way that only Draco's softly spoken words seemed to pull out of him. "Well, that was stupid," Ginny snapped. "Seeing as I know what it's like to be possessed." Harry's guilt suddenly increased tenfold. Of course, Ginny would understand, and he had just shoved her aside. "I could have told you—" "Don’t even try to make him feel guiltier than he already does," Draco interrupted. He stood abruptly, glaring across the room at her with an intensity that made Harry shiver. “You have no idea. You were an obsessed little girl writing your heart out in a journal with no thought to the consequences, and Harry has the Dark Lord invading his mind while the lot of you demand answers he doesn’t have and do nothing to alleviate guilt he shouldn’t feel.” Draco wrinkled his nose, turning his back as he headed toward the door. “It disgusts me.” The door slammed behind him angrily. Harry blinked, battling between his confusion and his desire to chase after Draco. Even if he did find him, he had no idea what he would say. Somehow thank you just didn’t seem appropriate. "I told you he was frantic," Hermione said finally. "Harry," Ginny said. She clasped her hands together, looking at him through wide eyes. "I didn't mean to—" "It's fine, Ginny," Harry answered. "Draco's overreacting." "Like Hell he is," Hermione said, scooting her chair closer and taking one of Harry's hands in both of hers. "Look, Draco's right, Harry. You have no reason to feel guilty. No one blames you and no one really believes you've been possessed, right Ron?" "Yeah," Ron answered, nodding. "We're really just concerned about you, mate." "And that includes Draco," Hermione said, squeezing his hand. "He may be an arshole but he does care about you, Harry. At least enough to write me frantic letters." Ron snorted but said nothing to contradict Hermione's words. Harry wasn't entirely sure whether his talk with Ron, Ginny, and Hermione had achieved anything or not but at least they were looking at and speaking to each other without it feeling awkward. Draco, however, had locked himself in his room and was only coming out long enough to eat the occasional meal before slipping back into his self-imposed isolation. As the days passed, Harry grew more and more worried. Had he said something wrong? Did Draco no longer want to see him? Did he just want privacy? Harry wondered bitterly how it was ok for Draco to do that but not him. "You could just go talk to him, you know?" Hermione had said, seating herself next to Harry and giving him an annoyed look. "What?" "You're thinking about Draco again, I can tell." "How can you….?" Harry had said, shaking his head. "Since when has he become 'Draco' to you?" "Since he started caring about you," She'd answered, shrugging. "He doesn't—" Harry had stopped himself from saying that depressing thought out loud. But it remained in his head. Draco had made it clear that he didn't really want anything to do with Harry. He’d probably sent Hermione a note so she could take the responsibility away from him, and Hermione had just gotten the wrong idea. "So, what are you getting him for Christmas?" "I—" Harry blinked. The question had been bothering for a while. He wondered if he should even get him anything. It wasn't like they were friends or boyfriends. Besides, the fact that he had absolutely no idea what Draco would even like. "I don't even know if I should get him anything." "Don't be daft, Harry," she answered, rolling her eyes. "Just get him something simple that he'll like. Really, it can't be that hard." He had eventually settled on some new potion textbooks and a Muggle Mystery novel that he thought was pushing it, but when he saw it, he had thought only of Draco. So, on Christmas morning he was almost too nervous to go over to his pile of presents and start poking around them. What if Draco hadn't gotten him a present? Would he think Harry was crazy for getting him something when he didn't think Harry was worth getting something in return? Ron smiled at him over his own large pile of presents and then turned back to unwrapping eagerly. Harry reluctantly headed over to his pile and started unwrapping. Sirius and Lupin had given Harry a set of Defense books; Hagrid had given him a fanged wallet; Hermione a planner, Mrs. Weasley a hand-made jumper with a large H on it. There was only one present left, one addressed to Harry in a swirling fancy script that could only belong to one person. Harry's heart soared as he picked up the small square package, wondering what could be inside. He jumped at the loud pop as Fred and George Apparated into the room, hiding the present from Draco behind his back. "Merry Christmas," George said. "Don't go downstairs for—" "Excuse me," Harry said abruptly, slipping around Fred and sneaking into the bathroom. He closed and locked the door behind him and then sat down on the toilet to examine his present. It was a small cube like box that didn't make any noise when Harry shook it next to his ear. With a shrug, Harry carefully unwrapped the cube, revealing a velvet ring box that fit inside the palm of his hand. Biting his lip, he pulled back the lid. Sitting in the box was an intricate silver ring carved in the shape of a coiling snake. The snake's eyes were glittering emeralds that were cut to reflect the light and matched the color of Harry's eyes almost exactly. The ring was obviously very expensive with real emeralds and silver twining and fitting itself around Harry's finger when he put it on. He suddenly felt like his gifts had been inadequate. Draco had spent a lot of money on him and time thinking of what Harry would like, as well as taking a risk that Harry would want something like this. Harry examined the ring for another few seconds, smiling slightly. And he did like it. Harry blinked, suddenly thinking of something. "Hello," Harry whispered in Parsletongue to the ring. Immediately, the snake head reared up, looking Harry in the face and hissing back its own greeting. His smile widened. He loved the ring. Eventually, Harry headed downstairs. Almost everyone was settled down for breakfast, chatting happily. "Good morning, Harry," Hermione said, smiling at him. "You're down awful late this morning." "Am I?" "No later than me," his voice made Harry jump, whirling around on his toes. Draco raised an eyebrow at Harry before his eyes flicked down to the ring on Harry's hand. His expression softened fractionally before he turned away. "Thank you for the books," Draco said, his voice quiet and his face turned toward the table. Harry felt himself blush in spite of himself. "They were surprisingly good for someone who neither reads nor has any real knowledge of potions." Harry chuckled, seating himself next to Draco and taking no offence. The faint twitch of Draco's lips had given him away after all. Draco woke up on Christmas morning with no real enthusiasm or expectation. His parents only ever gave him presents if they believed he had done something particularly worthwhile. And that did not include sneaking to an order safe house under their and Umbridge's noses. Not that he really thought this was his fault, but he doubted they saw it that way. At least if the three howlers demanding he come home at once were anything to go by. Draco had ignored them all; his father would give him hell for that when he got home, but Draco was of the firm belief that a summer beating was inevitable no matter what he put in his school letters. So, when he woke up on Christmas morning, he was a little surprised to have received anything that wasn't from Severus. He carefully opened the new package of dress robes, silver and black, without the fancy embroidery that his parents always prefer he wear and then tore off the wrapping for new potion and transfiguration textbooks. Potions because it was Severus and transfiguration because he had heard Draco complaining enough about it that this was his way of helping without helping. Draco smiled thinly at the books before turning back to the two wrapped presents in front of him. They weren't addressed in Severus' careful scrawl. Instead, they were written in an untidy and careless hand that he knew immediately belonged to Harry. Draco sat for a minute in front of the presents, blinking. He’d never thought Harry would get him something. Sure, he'd gotten Harry a present, but he didn't expect the sentiment to even be fully appreciated, much less returned. He reached for the presents with trembling fingers, unwrapping several expensive potion textbooks. Draco sat back on his heels and just stared at them. One was full of high-level potions, some dangerous enough that not even Severus would let him make them unsupervised. He wondered if Harry knew that and believed in him enough not to hurt himself or had just bought a potions book. He knew which he preferred to believe. Another was just a simple potions textbook, like one they'd see in school, but it was more advanced and expensive from a more well-known author. He turned it over in his hands. Harry couldn't have just picked it off a shelf somewhere, he would have had to talked to someone. The third book was full of potions theory, some stuffy and boring with some debate between pages, snippets of conversations between the greats. He had the urge to sit down and read some of the theory behind the most complex potions, to understand things that even Severus didn't know. Eventually, Draco set aside the three potion books and picked up the last present Harry had wrapped for him. It was obviously another book, but for some reason he had seemed inclined to wrap it separately. As soon as Draco got the wrappings off, he understood why. It was a Muggle Mystery novel. He made a face and almost tossed the book aside but then hesitated. He did like a good mystery and Harry had given it to him for a reason. Well, probably anyway. He thumbed through the pages. There was obviously romance, some action, drama, sword fights. He hesitantly set the book next to his new supply of potion books. He supposed it wouldn't hurt him to read a little Muggle Mystery. He smiled. No one had to know after all. Severus stopped by the house later that day. Everyone but Sirius Black was at the hospital cooing over Mr. Weasley and Draco figured he had timed his visit on purpose. He was sitting in the library, reading one of the new potion books that Harry had given him when Severus came in, his mouth tight in that way that Draco knew meant trouble. "Draco," he said, his voice dangerously close to a snap. "Severus," Draco answered, immediately sitting up straight in his chair and putting his book away. He wasn't about to be scolded for something stupid like posture or not paying attention just because Severus was so obviously agitated about something. "Your parents aren't happy about your disappearance," Severus told him, and Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes and say 'duh'. "I've done my best to smooth over their suspicions but if you continue on your current course, you won't be able to stay with them." "I haven't even done anything for the order yet!" Draco answered. "Being anything but enemies with Potter is enough. You know this, Draco, you know your parent's expectations of your behavior." Severus said. "You need to decide what side you want to be on." "What do you want from me," Draco answered. "You've never wanted me to become involved with the Dark Lord. You were the one who talked me out of believing in all that blood purity nonsense." "I also thought you never had any love for Potter," Severus said. "Yet you seem more than enamored with him now. Have you truly thought out your decision to switch sides?” "He doesn't even care about me," Draco muttered, slouching back against the couch. "No? And you, Draco? Do you care about him?" Severus' eyes flicked to the book next to Draco and then back. Draco resisted the urge to shift it behind his back. There was no way Severus could know the book was from Harry. "If Potter is the only real reason you've switched sides then perhaps you've not made the right choice after all?" "He's not!" Draco answered, sitting up again. "And why are you acting like Harry's evil anyway; you don't hate Harry either.” "Potter has a tendency to break everything he touches. You fall for him and it might just be the last thing you end up doing,” Severus said, and Draco opened his mouth to protest but found he couldn’t. He didn’t know how to argue with something he’d already warned himself of.  "Besides," Severus said, "this isn't about Potter, this is about you, Draco. You need to make your own choices and you need to think about the consequences." "I don't care about him," Draco snapped, glaring fiercely. "Is that what you want to hear?" Severus raised an eyebrow but before he could say anything the door opened. Sirius Black stepped in with Harry close behind him. Sirius Black’s face was set in a defiant mask, his eyebrows pinched together as he scowled. Harry just looked curious, uncomfortable, shuffling over to Draco as if he didn’t quite know what to do with himself. "I requested to speak with Potter alone," Severus said, leveling his dark gaze at Sirius Black. "I'm his Godfather," he answered. "And I don't see you ushering Malfoy out of the room." "Because Mr. Malfoy is part of what I need to tell Potter." "What?" Draco blinked. Severus ignored him. "The headmaster sent me to tell you that you will be spending one day a week studying Occlumency with Draco and me this term." "Oh," Harry answered. He sat next to Draco, his arm brushing against Draco’s as he shifted. "Why can't Dumbledore teach Harry?" Sirius Black said. "Why you two?" "We're more than capable," Draco answered. "Indeed," Severus said. "Now, I expect you both every Monday at 6 o'clock in my office. If anyone asks Potter is taking Remedial Potions and Mr. Malfoy is assisting him with them." Severus didn’t wait before he swept from the room, his cloak snapping behind him. "Wait a moment," Sirius Black called, scurrying after his Godfather in a rather undignified method. Harry looked like he had been given the shock of his life time. He sat rigidly beside Draco, his shoulders tense as he looked at the far wall unblinkingly. "You don't have to look so nervous," Draco said. "Severus won't eat you, you know." "Says you," Harry said, green eyes wide. "He hates me." "Severus hates everyone," Draco answered, rolling his eyes. "You just have to know how to deal with him, is all." "But—" Harry started, but a loud crash from the hallway interrupted him. Harry and Draco exchanged a nervous look before bolting to the door. Sirius Black had his wand drawn on Severus, roaring something about being a coward while Severus stood there, calm as night and looking at him as if he had lost his mind. "Sirius!" Harry shouted, "Sirius, NO!" He promptly stepped between the two men, putting himself in the path of any hostile spells that might be cast. "Get out of the way, Harry," Sirius gave him a shove, but Harry wouldn't budge. Draco took three long strides and planted himself in front of his Godfather. "This is how you plan to win the war?" he asked. "By acting out old childhood grudges?" Severus sneered at him before turning on his heel and wheeling out of the house, slamming the door solidly behind him. Draco sighed deeply but knew Severus would be fine by tomorrow. He always ran away when he knew he was in the wrong. When Severus thought he was right, he would stick around and tell you about your faults even if he knew he would never win. The rest of the holiday was uneventful, except for when Mr. Weasley was released from hospital. Draco spent most of that day locked in his room. He didn't need to be included in a celebration he had no real part of. Eventually, the day came that had them packing into the Night Bus and transporting across London and straight into Hogsmeade. Which Draco found especially paranoid, but he wasn't about to complain about not having to ride the train. Finally, he was down in the dungeons with the whole of Slytherin treating him as if he had scrawled the word traitor across his forehead. He sighed, wanting to kick himself. Or Harry. Whoever he saw first. Like he could just disappeared with a bunch of Gryffindors and expect no consequences.  "So," Pansy asked, stepping up to him and effectively blocking Draco's way to the stairs. "What have you been up to Draco? No one's seen you all break." "Oh, you know," he answered, checking his nails and buffing a particularly immaculate spot. "I've been busy." "Funny," Theodore Nott said. He was leaning over a chess game, barely looking up at Draco. "You seem to have become busy the same time that Potter and the Weasleys all disappeared." "Really?" Draco answered. "What a coincidence. I’ll have to look into that." He tried to step up the stairs, but Pansy angled herself, so she was still in his way. "Now, Draco," she said, fluttering her eyelids. "You didn't expect us to believe that, did you?" "I think hanging out with Gryffindorks is lowering your intelligence!" Blaise Zabini smirked, shifting around Nott to smirk at him. "Oh, very clever," Draco said, sneering. "As if I would ever waste my time chumming around with Gryffindors. Now, if you'll excuse me." He almost shoved Pansy out of the way and headed up to his room. He could tell he hadn't satisfied his housemates, the problem was he just wasn't ready to side infinitely either way. Severus was right; he had to make the decision about switching sides based on what he wanted, not based on his strange hormonal attraction to Harry Potter of all people. On the other hand, he really didn't think he could go back to living the lie he'd been living before Harry had waltzed in and disrupted his life. The next day when 6 o'clock rolled around, Draco found himself sitting in Severus' private rooms, perched on a desk and waiting for Harry to show up. He sighed to himself, these days he always seemed to be waiting for Harry. "You're late," Severus snapped as soon as the door began to swing open. Harry skittered nervously, his eyes flickering between Severus and Draco. "I lost track of time." "20 points from Gryffindor," Severus said, his lip curling. "And I expect you to show more care with your studies in the future, do you understand?" "Yes." "You will address me as 'sir' or 'professor,' Potter." "Yes…. Sir." Harry answered, gritting his teeth against his frustration. Draco sighed, resisting the temptation to put his face in his hands and give up now. Severus was already riling Harry up and Harry was already rising to the bait and they hadn't even started yet. "Now, Occlumency—" Severus began his lecture, but Draco cleared his throat and Severus turned his dark eyed glare on him instead of Harry. "Yes, Mr. Malfoy?" "I think we all understand the basics of Occlumency and Legilimecy, isn't that correct, Potter?" Draco asked, ignoring Severus completely. Harry nodded and then hesitated, obviously conflicted on whether he should ask his question of not. "Just ask Potter," Draco said, resisting the urge to sigh. "I don't understand how Voldemort—" "Don't say his name!" Severus snapped. Draco flinched, his hands tensing on his knees. There was a tense silence in which Draco was able to hear every beat of his heart. Severus was most of the reason why Draco himself was terrified to say the Dark Lord's name aloud. Something about it had scared Severus badly enough that he always reacted this way and whatever was enough to scare Severus that bad wasn't something Draco felt he was qualified to deal with. Harry, however, set his teeth and glared at Severus, unwilling to back down. "Professor Dumbledore says his name," Harry said and Severus' jaw seemed to tighten even more, as if Harry had mortally offended him by uttering the words. "Dumbledore is an extremely powerful wizard," Severus said. He opened his mouth to say more but Draco felt it was time to interrupt their staring contest. That was, most probably what he was here for after all. "What were you going to ask, Potter?" Draco asked, ignoring the way Severus turned his head around and locked his dark eyed glare on him. "How can Voldemort," Draco felt his Godfather flinch when Harry said the name, though he refused to give something so insubstantial power over him. "Use Ligilimency on me when he's so far away? I thought you said it required eye-contact?" "A good question," Draco answered, and then turned his eyes to Severus because frankly, he had no idea of the answer. "It appears that instead of killing you, the curse that the Dark Lord cast when you were a baby has forged a kind of bond between the two of you." Severus' lips curled as he began to pace. Draco wasn't sure how he moved, he could barely breathe past the very idea of the Dark Lord crawling around inside Harry's mind and— "We believe the connection is strongest when you are your most relaxed and vulnerable, such as asleep. And as such, you are able to share the Dark Lord's thoughts and emotions." Severus ceased his pacing. "I am sure you appreciate why this must stop." "If he tries to take control of the connection and I don't know how to defend myself…" Harry let the thought trail off. It didn't need to be said. Draco swallowed harshly. He wanted to cross the space between them and crush Harry to his chest and tell him nothing would ever hurt him. But the words would be hollow, because the Dark Lord could hurt Harry. No, he could do more than hurt Harry. And keeping Harry safe was more important that indulging Draco's silly desires. Besides, Draco shifted, clasping his hands on his thighs to hide the shaking, it wasn't like Harry would welcome his protection anyway. Only weak needed to be comforted. "Now," Severus said. "Stand in the center of the room and prepare yourself, Potter. Mr. Malfoy remain where you are." Harry and Severus positioned themselves, so they were standing opposite each other in the center of the room. Severus raised his wand, the tip pointing right between Harry's eyebrows. Harry tensed, and Draco felt the urge to jump between them, even though he knew Severus wouldn't hurt Harry. "You may use your wand to attempt to disarm me, or to defend yourself in any other way you can think of." Severus flicked his eyes toward Draco. "You will observe and comment when we have finished each time, but you will not help, do you understand?" Draco nodded, tapping his forefinger against his thigh. "What are you going to do?" Harry asked, eyeing Severus' wand. "I am going to attempt to break your mind. Draco will also enter your mind and watch all we achieve but he will not interfere. He is only here to give you guide points on what you could do better and assess your mental stability after each attempt," there was a minute shift in the way Severus held his wand that left Draco with just enough time to prepare himself. "Now, prepare yourself…. Legilimens!" Draco threw his mind away from his body, dancing after Severus and into Harry's mind. He sighed at the complete lack of defenses around Harry's mind. It was a wonder the Dark Lord hadn't already possessed him. He saw a 5-year-old Harry, with the same unruly hair and large spectacles slipping off his face. Draco's heart beat with affection and he forced himself to focus. He saw how the Harry’s face was twisted with jealousy. The 5-year-old Harry was watching a fat muggle boy ride a shining red bicycle, laughing and point at Harry as if…. Suddenly Harry was nine, still gangly and skinny and looking as if he was running for his life from a large pit bull that was chasing him half up a tree. Draco's heart swelled with sympathy as he saw a group a very fat muggles watching and laughing and knew instinctively that they were supposed to be Harry's family…. Then Harry was 11, shoving away Draco's hand with something close to disgust, as he silently thought of how Draco's superior attitude had reminded him of his horrible, hateful cousin. Draco shivered, no wonder Harry had rejected him… Then Harry was in the hospital ward, sitting beside Hermione, holding her hand as they waited for the failed cat Polyjuice to wear off and Draco blinked at the strange rose tint that invaded that memory. There was nothing particularly special about it, except that Harry was content simply because he was with a friend. And for the first time, Draco realized that maybe Harry knew something about happiness and love that he didn't…. Harry was standing on the edge of a lake, the only defense between a hundred dementors and his Godfather. No concern for his own safety. Harry only wanted to protect Sirius Black, even though he had wanted the man dead not 12 hours ago. And Draco's heart throbbed as he realized that Harry definitely knew something about love that he didn't…. Harry was standing under a mistletoe, staring at Cho. She was half smiling, half crying as tears ran down the already established tear tracks on her face. She left the impression of beauty stamped on Harry's mind as their lips touched. And Draco's heart broke as he suddenly remembered that Harry's definition of love didn't include him. No, Harry's voice echoes through their three connected minds. You're not watching that, you're not watching it, it's private. Draco felt his ears pop as they returned to Severus' office. Harry was on the ground, holding one knee as if he had hit it on something. It was entirely possible he had. Severus was rubbing a welt on his wrist that could only have been caused by a stinging hex. And Draco… Draco hadn't moved physically but he felt like shards of broken glass had taken up residence in his chest making it horribly impossible to breathe. Draco closed his eyes, bringing his feet up and underneath himself as Severus began to tell Potter that it hadn't been that bad for a first attempt, and Potter picked himself up off the floor. "Clear your mind, Potter,” Severus said. “Let go of your emotions—" "But Draco said—" Potter interrupted. "There are many ways to practice Occlumency," Severus said. "The way Mr. Malfoy employs Occlumency is indeed the most effective but also takes the most time to master. You, however, do not have the self-discipline or the cunning to use such a technique. You will need to rely on brute Gryffindor strength alone." "But—" Potter looked at Draco, silently asking him for support. Draco just turned his face away, his heart beating wildly in his chest. He didn’t want to dive inside his mind again. He didn’t even want to look at him. "We will try again," Severus said, raising his wand. "Legilimens." Harry was standing in front of the dragon for the Triwizard's tournament, wishing he was anywhere else and trying desperately not to be afraid…. He was in front of an enchanted mirror, two people waving at him. There was such hope shinning on his face that they could only be his parents…. He was laying atop Cedric Diggory, looking into blank dead eyes and trying so hard not to feel guilty. "NOOOOOO!" Harry was yelling. He was on his knees this time, his face buried in his hands and about in inch away from sobbing his lungs out. "Get up!" Severus snapped. He reached for Harry, about to yank him off the floor, but Draco slapped his hand away. He didn’t even remember getting off the desk. It was just too much. Watching Harry in pain—feeling him in pain and— "I'm trying," Harry said, turning his head to bury his face in Draco’s chest, and it felt so horrible and so right. The image of Harry’s parents and Cho and Cedric burned into his mind. "I know," Draco answered, his voice strangely hollow. "No one masters Occlumency in a day." "Do not baby him, Draco," Severus said. "If he insists on wearing his heart on his sleeve like the fool he is, then the Dark Lord will destroy him." "Give him a minute, Severus," Draco snapped back, whirling around to face his Godfather. He planted his feet in front of Harry, feeling how Harry's trembling hands clamped down on his robes. "You know no one can just take their mind being invaded without rest." "Your sympathy will be his doom," Severus answered, raising his wand. "Get out of the way now." "Just give him a minute, damn you!" "I'm fine," Harry said, releasing Draco's robes. He stepped around Draco, looking straight over at Severus, his chin raised and eyes defiant. "I want to go again." "Legilimens." Severus immediately ground out. Harry was 11, standing at the front door of a stuffy and perfectly normal muggle front door watching a very fat man hammer a small slit in the door shut. Draco almost nodded approvingly, better to get rid of crazy holes in the door before they became a problem… He was running down a windowless passage with Mr. Weasley right next to him…. Suddenly the memories warped, and Harry was drawing nearer and nearer to a plain black door, expecting, wanting to go through it, but then Mr. Weasley dragged him off the wrong way and— "I KNOW! I KNOW!" Harry exclaimed, slamming the three of them back into their respective bodies. Potter was on all fours, looking up at Severus with a triumphant expression. But Draco could tell Severus had released the spell, Potter hadn't pushed them out. "I've just realized…" Potter whispered, almost as if he were talking to himself. Draco exchange a nervous look with Severus, hopping he hadn't just broken Harry Potter's mind. "Potter—" Draco stepped forward. "What's in the Department of Mysteries?" Potter asked suddenly. "What did you say?" Severus wheeled. "I've been dreaming of that corridor for months and—” Potter answered, watching Severus' face with satisfaction. "You what!?" Draco would have howled, except Malfoy’s did not howl. "You've been letting The Dark Lord into your mind for months and you're just now telling us?" "I…" Potter's face visibly paled as he seemed to realize the implication behind Draco's words. "I didn't think." His hand reached up, his fingers fumbling and then beginning to rub his scar as if it was paining him. "Potter," Severus told him, his voice severe. "You need not concern yourself with The Department of Mysteries, do you understand?" "But Draco knows," Potter answered. “And I’m sure Draco knows many things you don’t need to.” “But he said he would tell me.” "Did he now?" Severus asked, his eyes deathly cold. "He deserved to know," Draco answered, refusing to drop his gaze. "That is not for you to decide," Severus said, gridding his teeth. "Dumbledore—" Harry's sudden cry of pain interrupted his words. He was bent over himself, holding his hands over his scar and blinking rapidly as if he were no longer in room with them. "Potter?" Severus called, taking a step closer. Then Harry straightened, focusing his bright green eyes on Severus with a mixture of pain and fear. Draco noticed his hands were trembling as he slowly lowered them back to his side. "What happened?" Draco asked, taking a step forward before he could stop himself. "He's happy. He's really happy." "I think that's all for today," Severus said, clearing his throat. Draco didn't miss the way he shivered when Potter spoke. "He deserves to know," Draco repeated when Potter was gone. "You can't keep him in the dark, sooner or later, he's going to do something stupid and—" "If you tell him what's hidden in The Department of Mysteries he'll run after it that much sooner," Severus said, scowling. "No one can resist the temptation to know their own fate." "But—" "You're letting your emotions for Potter blind you, Draco," Severus snapped. "If he is to succeed, he needs to be strong enough to do so. Not coddled to the point of fearing danger." Draco scowled, refusing to say anything to confirm Severus but also not knowing how to negate him. Harry waited outside Severus’ door, and Draco must not have been expecting him because when he made his appearance, he dropped his eyes to the ground, leaning his forehead against Severus’ now closed classroom door. “Draco,” Harry said, and Draco flinched, turning around with wide startled eyes. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “Why didn’t you go to bed?” “I just…” Harry trailed off, unsure how to answer. He remembered Draco's presence in his mind like a ghost fluttering between the branches of a tree. There but not there. He wasn't exactly sure what Draco had seen, and he was terrified to ask. There were so many things he didn’t want Draco to know about him. He remembered Draco turning his face away when Snape insulted him, refusing to even look at him. Harry twisted the silver and emerald ring around his finger, feeling the familiar twist of his heart. He had no idea how to get rid of that closed off look on his face. “What am I supposed to do?” he asked. "It just takes time, Potter," Draco answered, his face turned resolutely away. "Don't get impatient." “But Severus—” "Severus is doing what he's supposed to," Draco interrupted. "Don't be lazy, Potter. Control yourself." Harry stepped away from him, feeling wrongfooted. Draco had defended him not two minutes ago; he had stood in front of him and let him take a breath when Severus had refused to, and now he was… “What’s wrong with you?” “Nothing is wrong with me,” Draco snapped. He started to step away, and anger shot through Harry. “I just want you to leave me alone.” "Why are you even helping me?" Harry called, anger and hurt vibrating through his chest. He was so tired of Draco being hot and then cold. "You obviously don't want to." Draco hesitated, his robes swishing on the floor. "I made you a promise that I wouldn't leave until you ordered me away,” Draco answered, his voice so soft Harry almost didn’t hear him. It was so frustrating. “You’re such a bloody twat,” Harry said. “If you don’t want to be here, leave. No one’s making you be here. Stop pretending to care if you don’t.” Draco finally turned to look at him, his silver-grey eyes wide with shock and something close to hurt. “Pretending?” he asked, his voice breaking. “Is that what you think?” He stepped forward, less than a foot away from Harry, and his eyes were so open and angry and full of desire, and Harry couldn’t—wouldn’t look away now. “Why else do you act like this?” Harry breathed. “You are such a fucking idiot, Harry Potter,” Draco answered. Harry opened his mouth to protest or maybe insult him back or maybe just ask what the fuck he meant, but suddenly Draco was right there. Draco’s mouth was hard against Harry’s, his hand soft against his cheekbone. He gasped, opening his mouth and throwing his arms around Draco's neck to pull him deeper. Draco obliged, plunging his tongue into his mouth to taste every bit of him that he possibly could. And then somehow, they were on the ground, Draco’s mouth covering Harry’s and his tongue licking and sucking, and Harry thought he heard a whine and couldn’t be bothered to figure out which of them if came from. He clutched at Draco’s robes, twining his tongue around Draco's with an almost savage desperation. Then it was over. The door to Severus’ door opening with bang and Draco was scrambling away, his silver-grey eyes wide, his hair askew, and his lips swollen. He flicked his gaze to the door before turning on his heel and almost sprinting away from Harry. “What are you still doing here?” Severus snapped at Harry, of course not seeing Draco’s fleeing body. Harry just sighed. Harry sat at breakfast the next morning, listening to Hermione read the Prophet and telling them about the mass breakout from Azkaban, as if his life could get any worse. At least that answered his question about why Voldemort had been so happy last night. "You're on probation!" Ron suddenly hissed. Harry flinched, looking up at his friend. Somewhere in his haze of not paying attention, Hagrid had arrived beside them and Hermione was gone. "What?" Harry asked. "Umbridge put you on probation?" Hagrid shrugged, mumbling something about rubbing chili powder on salamanders and stumbled off. Harry blinked, turning his head in a slow circle and wondering what he'd missed. "Where's Hermione?" "Said something about sending a letter." Ron waved a hand dismissively and turned back to his bacon. Harry sighed, poking at his own breakfast and wishing he had an appetite. His eyes flicked up to the Slytherin table where Draco was firmly ignoring him, keeping his eyes on Pansy and then his food and then Pansy. His silver-grey eyes didn't so much as flicker in Harry's direction. Though as Harry watched, Draco cleared his plate and stood from his table, heading for the doors of the Great Hall with a brisk pace. "Hey, Ron," Harry said, "I'll meet you at class." He stood before Ron could answered, almost jogging after Draco. He spotted the pale hair heading down a corridor and started down that direction. He was only about 5 feet away when Draco turned over his shoulder and locked eyes with Harry, his silver-grey eyes unreadable. He hesitated, flicked his gaze around and then stopped, half-turning his body as if waiting. Harry sped up his steps. "Hi, Harry," a voice said from behind him. He jumped, whirling around to find Cho. "Oh, hey, Cho," Harry answered, craning his neck back around and seeing no sign of Draco anymore "Had a good Christmas?" Cho asked, moving around so he was facing her again. "What?" he asked, blinking looking down at her for a minute before registering what she'd asked. "Oh, yeah, it was ok. How was yours?" "Quiet," she said. He looked over her shoulder again, trying to spot that reflective pale hair. Draco couldn't have gotten too far, maybe he had just turned a corner and was waiting for Harry there. Harry started to take a step and then realized Cho was talking again. "...for the Hogsmeade trip this month?" "Hogsmeade trip?" he asked. He glanced down another hallway, sure he was just missing Draco somewhere. "No?" "Yeah," she chuckled, sounding nervous. He turned to her in defeat, wherever Draco had gone, Harry doubted he’d talk to Harry again. "...day." Cho finished. "Cool," he answered, unsure what she had been talking about. They looked at each other for a moment, Cho looking as if she was expecting something from him though he couldn't for the life of him understand what. "So, I was wondering if you," she said, blushing intensely, "maybe you wanted to go with me?" He stared. Go with her where? But she was looking at him expectantly and he really didn’t want to make her cry again. "Sure," he said, forcing a smile. "I'd love to." "Oooh, Great!" she said, her smile wide and giggly in that girly way that he used to find attractive. "I'll see you on Valentine's day then." She bounded off, leaving Harry blinking after her about as confused as he ever was. "Valentine's day?" he muttered. Harry's scar hurt all the time now. He would get impressions of emotions that weren't his own and the dreams were now occurring every night. It was almost as if the lessons were doing more harm than good. He wanted to tell someone, but he didn't trust Snape, and Draco was thoroughly avoiding him now. Hermione and Ron weren't helpful. Ron wanted to blame everything on Snape and Draco, but Harry knew it wasn't their fault. He could tell they were just as worried about Voldemort having access to his mind as he was, they just didn't know how to help him more than they already were. Eventually February rolled around, leaving the mess that was January behind alarmingly fast for Harry's taste. He still had no idea how to get Draco to talk to him, or how to succeed at Occlumency or how to convince Cho that he wasn't interested in her, especially after he'd agreed to go out with her to Hogsmeade on Valentine's day. "Finally," Hermione said, clutching a letter in her hands. She turned to Harry with an expectant grin. "I know you'll be busy pretending to not look at Draco all day, but can you meet me at the Three Broomstick's around midday?" "Well, actually," Harry answered. "I'm going out with Cho today." "What?" Ron asked, choking on his bacon. "I thought you weren't interested in her anymore?" Hermione asked, her smile sweet and deadly. "Or have I missed something important?" "I, uh, well, she asked and I…" "Ah," Hermione's said, her smile widening, and Harry was beginning to wonder if he should be watching her wand. "So, you're not only leading her on but sending Draco mixed signals." "Draco?" Harry answered, slapping Ron on the back as he continued to make gagging noises. "What does this have to do with Draco?" "What doesn't Draco have to do with this?" "Seriously, mate," Ron said, finally managing to swallow his bacon. "You need to decide who you want." "What is that supposed to mean?" Harry snapped, narrowing his eyes and deciding he much preferred it when Ron was choking. "It's just, we thought you liked Draco," Hermione said. "Did something else happen?" "You mean besides him not returning my feelings?" Harry asked, scowled at his own bacon. "Oh, Harry, please," Hermione answered, rolling her eyes. "You don't really believe that nonsense, do you?" Harry just glared at her. "Even Ron has to admit that Draco cares about you if no one else," Ron picked at his bacon, and Hermione elbowed him. "Right, yeah,” he said, jerking. "You know, I think I just remembered, we have a Quidditch practice all day. I can't even go to Hogsmeade. Blimey, better not be late." He waved and hurried to the door. Hermione scowled after him for a minute before turning back to Harry. "So, what's the real problem?" "I just…" He shook his head to clear it. He didn't want to think about Draco, there wasn't a point. "It's nothing. Don't worry about it." He stood from the table. "I'll see you around midday." He hurried after Ron, trying to get away from Hermione’s eyes boring into his back as fast as possible. Draco was sitting in the back of the library with his feet propped up and pretending to read a book. He was actually looking out the window and watching people leave. He caught sight of Potter's unruly hair as he passed the Great Doors immediately. Of course, Cho Chang was right by his side, standing so close she could have been holding his hand. He turned his face away as he saw Chang start laughing at something Potter had said. Draco had no desire to be harassed by Pansy all day at Hogsmeade, nor did he have the desire to spend the whole day watching for Potter and Chang out of the corner of his eye when it was obvious Potter didn't give him a second thought. He raised a hand to his lips before dropping them back down again; he just wished it didn’t hurt so bloody much. The sound of approaching footsteps brought him out of his own mind. He quickly turned away from the window, making a show of immersing himself in his book. That was until Granger yanked it out of his hand and slammed it shut. "Really," he said. "That was just rude." "Why are you and Harry always fighting?" she asked, ignoring him completely. He really needed to look into what he’d done to be so accosted by Gryffindor’s. "I would have to know what you’re talking about to answer you, Granger.” "You know he's on a date with Cho today even though he doesn't much like her?" she said. She sat across from him, shoving his feet off the table like it was a normal thing for her. "Mind telling me why he's so convinced he has no chance with you?" "He doesn't have a chance with me,” Draco answered, reaching for his book. Granger let him take it, only scowling at him marginally. "But you like him." "And I'm apparently shagging Pansy," Draco answered, flipping random pages in his book. It was horrifying. "You're shagging Pansy," she asked, covering her mouth as if the idea appalled her as much as it did him. "Of course not," he answered, wrinkling his nose. "I have much better taste than that. Potter just thinks I am." He paused. He didn’t even know why he bothered to tell her. He was just so tired of being angry at Potter and the git blaming him for it. He just wanted someone to understand, and Granger was… willing to listen. "Notice how he doesn't seem to care that I might be sleeping with someone else." "And this is why you two don't have a chance?" she asked, raising an eyebrow, "because Harry thinks you're shagging Pansy." "No," Draco said, flipping another random page. "Potter doesn't have a chance because he didn't care that I was shagging Pansy while simultaneously jumping him in hallways." "Um." Granger coughed loudly, holding her hand up as if to hide a smile. "You two have some serious problems." "Thank you," Draco said, snapping the book closed. "I didn't know that." "Some serious communication problems." Granger let her laugh out, loud and obnoxious, and Draco glared at her, feeling cheated. This conversation had gone nowhere he’d thought it should have. Wasn’t she supposed to be comforting him for something? "Aren't you supposed to be smart or something?" he asked. Cho had led Harry through a couple different shops, down the streets of Hogsmeade, and into a tea shop that was decorated with little hearts and had couples sitting at tables everywhere. They had pretty much spent the whole day staring at each other and trying to think of something to say. Harry was intensely uncomfortable, wishing he had never agreed to go out with her. "So, um," Harry said, shifting nervously. "I have to meet Hermione at the Three Broomsticks today." "You're meeting Hermione Granger today?" "Yeah, well…" he trailed off. That sat in silence for another few minutes, Cho staring at a couple off to their left who were kissing over their sugar bowl. "I came here last year with Cedric, you know," she said. Harry repressed his urge to groan, why did she always want to talk about Cedric. He was beginning to wonder if she even cared about him or if she just cared about his connection to Cedric. "Look, Cho," he said, pulling several galleons out of his pockets, "I really have to meet Hermione." He put them on the table, moving to stand. "It was nice hanging out with you, I'll see you later." "But—" she stood with him, her eyes going wide. He looked into them, wondering how he had ever thought they were beautiful when he could be looking into the grey that was Draco Malfoy. "You're ditching me for Hermione Granger?" "Yeah, well…" His voice trailed off. "I'll see you later," he repeated lamely, rushing to get out of the coffee shop. Harry headed in the direction of the Three Broomsticks and stopped short when he stepped inside. Hermione was sitting in a booth with Rita Skeeter. He took a deep breath and headed toward them, hoping he hadn't just traded one torture for another. They were heading back to Hogwarts in silence, the last few hours of being interviewed by Rita Skeeter for an article in the Quibbler intensely exhausting. Harry could tell Hermione wanted to ask him questions, but she was restraining herself. He was glad, it was hard enough to talk about the night Cedric had died without also being questioned about his love life. But he also supposed he wanted to talk to someone about it. "It was horrible," he told her. "My date with Cho." "Yeah?" Hermione asked. "We don't have anything in common." He laughed weakly. "I don't even know why I ever liked her." There was a beat before she answered. "I noticed you didn't tell Skeeter you saw Lucius Malfoy the night Voldemort rose," she said, and Harry shrugged. He didn't really have an answer to that except he didn't want to hurt Draco by getting his father thrown in jail. He didn't know if Draco would forgive him that, and he couldn’t find it in himself to chance it. "You know, he's not shagging Pansy," Hermione said suddenly. Harry stared at her, so shocked he stopped walking. "Really, Harry." she rolled her eyes. "I can't believe you thought he was." "But…" he trailed off. "But she's always hanging off him…and… He didn't deny it…." "I talked to him after you left this morning." "You…" Harry felt a little like someone had tipped his world on the wrong side and asked him to finish an Arithmetic problem. The idea of Hermione and Draco having a civil conversation seemed so foreign to him, so horribly out of his reach. "He talked to you? About feelings?” “Yes, Harry. Draco Malfoy talked to me,” Hermione answered in an exaggerated fashion, rolling her eyes again. Then her gaze turned thoughtful. “You know, he’s really not so bad once you look past his prickliness. Like when you know he’s not actually trying to hurt you, he’s actually rather… I don’t know, not charming exactly but…” she hesitated, thinking as Harry just stare at her somewhere between shock, jealous, and wonder. Hermione’s gaze snapped back to him and she blushed. “Well, I suppose that’s not important. Draco said, he was upset with you because you didn't seem to care that he was shagging both you and Pansy." "But you just said—" "Then," Hermione continued in a matter a fact voice, "he was quick to inform me that he was in fact not shagging Pansy. The only person he was ‘jumping in the corridors’ was you," she finished, eyes shining with mirth. "It's not funny, Hermione!" Harry said. "Of course, it is!" she answered. "Do you know how stupid you've both been? Being mad because of such a stupid misunderstanding." "But—" "Don't you understand, Harry? Go talk to Draco. Tell him the truth. That you do care. That you were just pretending not to. That you just went out with Cho because you thought he didn't care about you." Harry looked at her a long moment before frowning and moving forward, his thoughts racing as they continued on their way. Potter had been trying to get Draco alone for the entire week after his escapade with that horrible, completely unattractive bint Chang. Seriously, Draco couldn't imagine what anyone would see in her, much less someone who had Draco Malfoy's attention. Not, Draco told himself firmly, that Potter had his attention.  However, the Monday after Potter's date, Draco was forced to accept the possibility that Potter just couldn’t make smart decisions, whether he was around Draco or not. It started in the middle of breakfast with an owl swooping down in front of a very confused Harry Potter. It was strange enough that Potter had got a letter, but the fact that he was confused caused everyone else to stop what they were doing to watch him. Draco sighed, drawing the attention of Pansy, but he just jerked his chin at Potter, sneering and she turned away with a skeptical look. Finally, Potter opened his letter, reading through the article with shining eyes. Draco shoved down the jealous feelings beginning to bubble up in his chest. Who was writing Harry that he looked like that? Potter looked up, his eyes somehow finding Draco’s through the crowd. Draco raised an eyebrow before he could help himself, and Potter held up an edition of… The Quibbler...? And Draco forced the groan back. There was simply no way this was good. "Mr. Potter," Umbridge said, having finally arrived at the scene. She began to question him, though most of his words were lost to Draco. He held out the paper to her and Draco's eyes widened, sensing an incoming disaster. He flicked his wand under the table as the entire great hall fell silent in anticipation of the incoming argument. "Are you trying to make me seem like a fool, Mr. Potter?" Umbridge snapped. "This is blank. There is no interview here." "What?" Potter asked, blinking idiotically behind his glasses. "But—" "Professor Umbridge?" Draco sprang up. Umbridge turned toward him in surprise, followed by every other eye in the room. And the confusion cleared from Harry’s face, replaced by a rueful twitch of his lips. "I had a question about the reading assignment you gave us and was wondering if you could help me?" She blinked once, twice, three times before she was able to recover herself. "I— of course, Mr. Malfoy,” she said. “If you'll follow me." She set off toward the doors of the great hall at a brisk pace, leaving Draco to follow behind her. Though he did stop at the door to throw Potter a sharp glare. Potter just smiled, his smile entirely too satisfied for how close he’d gotten. It took Draco longer than he thought possible to get away from Umbridge. She talked about Defense of Dark Arts and how it should be taught. She talked about the change she wanted in the Ministry. She talked about Draco's father. She complained about Potter. Finally, Draco managed to slip away, snatching her confiscated Quibbler off her desk and fleeing out the door before she could think to say anything else to him. He flicked his wand, reversing his spell and blinking at the page. HARRY POTTER SPEAKS OUT AT LAST:THE TRUTH ABOUT HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMEDAND THE NIGHT I SAW HIM RETURN Draco groaned, resisting the temptation to find Potter and smack him upside the head with the paper. On one hand, what he had done was incredibly brave. It couldn't have been easy to talk about what had happened to him. On the other, why had he had to? It wasn't like he owed it to anyone. Besides, the fact that he was just in deeper shite now with Umbridge because of his stupid morals. Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. He refused to bang his head against the wall. He shouldn’t even care about stupid Potter and his stupid decisions anymore. It was as if he was trying to drive himself insane. Potter was even worse than usual that night in Occlumency. His mind was unfocused, even when Severus broke through it was just a haze of images leading down a spiral path that made little to no sense. The only reoccurring image was the door in the Department of Mysteries. Draco could sense Harry's desire to see what was on the other side and he knew Severus was just as frustrated as Draco was. "You're not even trying," Severus snapped, his limited patience finally breaking. Draco winced, wishing Severus had a different teaching technique than yelling. Not that he strictly blamed him; he was tired. What with pretending to be the Dark Lord's lapdog, appeasing Draco's parents, dealing with the Order, teaching potions, and trying to help Potter in his free time. Draco wondered just how long it would take Severus to snap. "I am," Harry answered, though the words were hollow, and Draco knew he was tired too. They all were. They had been at this for months with no results. If anything, it almost seemed the lessons was just making Harry's mind more open. "Professor," Draco interrupted. "I think we should be done for tonight." "Draco," Severus said, immediately turning his impatient fury on Draco. "Severus," Draco said. "We're getting nowhere. We need sleep and a different approach." Severus' shoulders tensed for three heartbeats before he nodded stiffly. He turned on his heel, his robes flapping behind him as he went to sit behind his desk with a controlled air that Draco knew masked his real exhaustion. "Then get out," he said. Potter hesitated, for a heartbeat he seemed convinced Severus would change his mind. Then he turned to Draco, his green eyes bright and filled with something too close to hope. And Draco was lost. He wanted to talk to Harry. He wanted to hold him and taste his lips and feel his muscles move under him. And he had the right, didn't he? They had never officially ended their trysts. He turned his face away. The problem wasn't physical, it was the feelings behind it. "Let's go, Potter,” he said, and Potter’s steps behind him were light as they left. He shut the door to Severus' classroom, leaving him alone in the hallway with Potter and the electric current that always seemed to accompany them when they were alone. "Well," Draco said, turning toward the Slytherin commons. "See you next Monday, Potter." "Draco, wait," Potter called, his hand closing around Draco's elbow and making it so hard to walk away. Draco forced himself to stay turned away, trying desperately to ignore the spark of heat that Harry's hand on his arm was doing to his libido. "Yes?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. He was almost impressed at his own ability to keep his voice level and empty. "I…" Harry trailed off, his voice low and uncertain. "I just…" His hand tightened, and Draco squeezed his eyes shut. "I just wanted to say goodnight," Potter said finally, dropping his arm, and Draco blinked. He just wanted to say goodnight? He whirled around, and Potter flinched, his eyes widening, but if he had something to say he could very well be a bloody Gryffindor and say it. If he was going to end things with Draco, he should just do it. "Rest assured, I will,” Draco said, his voice feral between them. “Very good without you." Potter went pale, his eyes flicking away from Draco’s face. He looked nauseous. "I—" he started and then he collapsed. Draco rushed forward, catching him a second before his head hit the ground. "Harry!?" Draco said, shifting Harry against his chest. His eyes flittered as if he were having some kind of dream or vision but otherwise, he was limp, unresponsive. "Harry?" Draco tried again, shaking his shoulders this time as pure horror rooted itself in his chest. This wasn't allowed to happen. It wasn't. "Wake up! You have to wake up!" They had tried so hard to make sure this didn't happen. Harry gasped, wrenching his eyes open to reveal not the alluring green that stunned Draco every time he saw them but the red snake eyes of the Dark Lord himself. Draco cried out, clutching Harry, his Harry, and blinking back the wetness lingering on his eyelashes. He would not cry. He wouldn’t. "No, no, no," Draco chanted. He reached down, Harry's scar was blazing against Draco's fingertips. "Harry, you have to snap out of it!" Draco shook him again. "Come on, come back to me!" Harry's body convulsed but otherwise didn't move. He clutched Harry closer to him. "No," he howled, "no, you can't have him!" Harry couldn't be gone, he couldn't. Draco couldn't... He didn't know how to breathe without him, much less… "Harry..." Draco whispered, pressing his face into Harry's feathery soft black hair. Even now it was a disaster, tangled against Draco’s cheek, and Merlin what if he never got to— "NOOOOO!" Harry yelled, sitting up so fast he knocked into Draco and sent them both sprawling against the floor with limbs tangled together. Harry had his face pressed into Draco's neck and his arms wrapped around him, shivering as if he had just been ducked in ice water. There were three beats of silence before Draco worked up the courage to ask the question he didn't want the answer to. "Harry?" he asked, his voice shaking almost as violently as Harry's body was. "Harry, are you—?" "He made a mistake," Harry whispered, his lips brushing against Draco's throat. "He was given the wrong information but he's back on the right track now." "Harry—" "I was Voldemort, Draco," Harry said, shivering against him. "Draco, I can't control myself. I can't do Occlumency. I just can't. I am trying, I am but he's just getting in my head more often than not and—" "You're right," Draco answered, closing his arms around Harry's shoulders and drawing his body closer. "The Occlumency lessons aren't working. I'm going to talk to Severus about canceling them. I'll try and think of another way you can protect yourself, but him breaking into your mind once a week is just making your defenses weaker." "What?" Harry asked. He removed his head from the crook of Draco's neck, his green eyes wet and so, so beautiful. Draco lunged forward, grabbing the back of Harry’s neck and dragging him down. Harry gasped, opening his mouth for Draco's tongue to begin devouring. He licked Harry's teeth, his gums, and then stroked that place in his mouth that had been sensitive to Draco's ministrations the last time they had kissed. On cue, Harry arched, his hands reaching to lock in Draco's hair and pull him closer than physically possible. Harry's own tongue rose to respond to Draco, stroking along Draco's and making him suppress his shudder of appreciation. Draco reached into his robes, fumbling for his wand. He flicked it once, leaving Harry naked on the cold tile of the corridor. Harry yelped, his green eyes wide and startled and yet never breaking their kiss. Draco smiled and ran his tongue delicately against Harry's as a reward. Now was most probably not the best time, but he might never get a better chance. So, fuck the consequences. He was sure his heart would be fine. Eventually. Harry shuddered violently, his hands tensing harshly in Draco's hair when he grasped his cock. Draco continued to kiss him, sure he was bruising both their mouths as he lowered his other hand down Harry trembling stomach, bypassing his cock to fondle his balls. Harry gasped, finally wrenching his mouth away from Draco's to draw in a long-shuddering breath. "Dr-draco!" he cried, as Draco latched his lips onto Harry's neck, refusing to allow his mouth away from Harry's skin. Harry's hands tightened in Draco's hair, pulling him away. A stab of annoyance passed through him, but he shoved it down as best he could, only glaring at Harry mildly. "What?" he asked, looking up at Harry. "Why…" Harry shivered as Draco began to stroke along his length. "Why are you st-still dressed?" "You don't like me ravaging you?" Draco asked, beginning to lower his mouth again. Harry turned his face away, avoiding Draco's lips and Draco wrenched his face away. "I would like it more if you wouldn't treat me like your toy," Harry answered, and he sounded so sincere, so hurt. Like he really had no idea what this meant to Draco. Like he really thought this was all some game. It was horrible, and it hurt, and it made him to want to hurt Harry as he’d been hurt, dig around in his chest and make him understand how painful it was just to kiss him. Draco grasped his wand again and with a single flick found himself naked alongside Harry. He wanted Harry to understand. Their cocks brushed along each other and they groaned simultaneously. He wanted Harry to hurt him as only Harry could. As no one else had been able to reach inside of him and pull the pain out. Harry's hands clamped down in Draco's hair, bringing his face down and crushing their lips together. Harry was in control of the kiss this time, his tongue tangling with Draco's and then finally entering Draco's mouth. He caught Draco’s lips between his own and then bit down hard. Draco cried out, grinding his hips against Harry in a mixture of pain and pleasure and it felt so good. It felt too good. He shoved Harry’s shoulders, but Harry continued to push, putting his hands up and around Draco's shoulders and pulling him down so their bodies were as close as physically possible. Draco groaned, his hands falling on either side of Harry's head to support himself as Harry's hips rose and fell in time with Draco. Harry’s hands were in his hair again, pulling and tugging and Draco could hear himself moaning which should have been concerning. He wasn’t usually vocal during sex. Hell, he usually didn’t even let people touch him during sex, but somehow it was all happening, and he could—no, he didn’t want to—stop it. He was so beyond pleasure. Naked in the corridor with Harry Potter under him and no Dark Lord or father to impress. It was only them and he should never—never—have worried about what Harry wanted from him. "Harry," Draco panted against Harry's skin. "Y-yes, Merlin, D-Draco," Harry said, his bright green eyes turning up to focus on Draco. He jerked, looking down at Harry for a long moment. And then his muscles were tensing and he threw his head back and cried out as he came, thick white liquid shooting across Harry's stomach. Harry didn't move as Draco rode his orgasm out. He was shocked at himself. Never, never had he lost control of himself like that. Once, Draco came down from his orgasmic high, he locked eyes with Harry and realized that he was looking up at him with wide surprised eyes. Draco made an effort to close his eyes. He was such an idiot. What was he doing? But Harry was still hard against his stomach, and he couldn’t just leave without bringing him off. Draco lowered his hands along Harry's sides, gripping Harry's hard cock in his hand. Harry immediately arched at his touch, rutting against the feeling. Draco ducked his head, lowering it down and wrapping his lips around Harry’s head. He was trembling, his fingers still tight against Draco’s scalp and that should not have felt good. It didn’t take long for Harry to come, Draco swallowing his cum and licking along the underside of his shaft as he lapped up the extra fluid. He didn’t know why he did it; the stuff always tasted disgusting, but it was different with Harry. It felt different. Good. He pulled off Harry, his gaze flicking up to lock on his wide sated green eyes. "I- um," Draco said, clearing his throat. Harry looked up at him expectantly, and he turned his face away. Draco didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what he wanted. He fumbled for his wand, casting a cleaning charm. He hesitated to move, though, to pull out of Harry’s grip and leave as if nothing had happened between them. To go back to pretending that this meant nothing. “Draco,” Harry said, his voice soft and thoughtful, and Draco’s gaze snapped to him so fast he thought he might suffer from whiplash. “I’m sorry I thought you were shagging Pansy,” he said, and Draco suddenly felt very cold, naked in the middle of the corridor where anyone could walk by. “I—” Harry swallowed. “I was jealous.” “You…” Draco trailed off. Harry’s hands slid out of his hair, running down to grip his shoulders like he was afraid Draco would run away. He felt like running away. “Cho was a mistake,” Harry said. “I thought you didn’t… I just—” he broke off, his face turning bright red. “She cornered me and I just didn’t see a reason to tell her no if you didn’t care about me.” “I…” Draco stared at him. It was like being stabbed, his heart beating wildly. Harry said it as if it didn’t upheave everything Draco believed about him. And he just— he just couldn’t. He couldn’t deal with this. He lurched to his feet, grabbing his clothes and fumbling to put his robes on as he paced toward the Slytherin Commons. “Draco!” Harry’s voice called, and he hesitated. “Just give me time to think, Potter,” he said, and he didn’t know if he wanted Harry to hear him or not. "There's no point in continuing," Draco said, glaring at Severus with all the anger he could muster. "There is no point on stopping," Severus answered, meeting Draco's look levelly. "Potter is refusing to control his mind, giving up his Occlumency lessons will do nothing but encourage his reckless behavior." "You didn't see him last night," Draco snapped. "We can't keep opening his mind like we are." "And you can't keep babying him," Severus snapped back. "Potter must learn to control his mind." "He's trying," Draco answered. "No. He is not trying, and you know it." "Why would Harry—" "Draco," Severus hissed, and Draco flinched. "If you cannot even control your emotions, how can you expect Potter to learn from you?" he asked, his voice coiling around Draco's mind and making him want to shiver. Draco shook Severus' mind off with a quick flick of his thoughts and met his eyes with cold anger. "You're pushing him too hard," Draco insisted. "And the only thing you're succeeding at is opening his mind wider for the Dark Lord." "Draco—" "Severus," Draco interrupted. "Severus, please. I can't," his voice cracked. "I can't watch that again. I can't." He put his head in his hands and let the shame wash through him. He knew it was weak of him. He knew; he was just reaching the point of being beyond caring. "And you think stopping his lessons will help him?" "I think something has to change," he answered, shaking his head in his hands. "You didn't see him—" "Draco," Severus said, his voice sounding like it was right above his head. Draco looked up to meet his dark thoughtful eyes. "Have you told Potter how you feel?" “I…” "Don't you think he would want to know?" Severus raised an eyebrow and Draco looked away, refusing to confess all. What was he supposed to say, ‘oh yes, Harry pretty much confessed to me last night but I’m too much of a coward to take him up on it?’ Somehow, he just didn’t see Severus understanding that. "Very well, Draco," Severus said. "Then what do you suggest we do?" "Well," Draco answered, lifting himself up and straightening his back. "If you really think he's not trying to close his mind—" "He's not." "—then we need to actually find out why. Nothing is ever going to change if Ha-Potter doesn't change the way he thinks about Occlumency." "And…?" Severus raised an eyebrow and Draco knew his Godfather was testing him, waiting for him to say the right thing, regardless of his emotional attachment. "And I think we should focus less on repelling your attacks and more on stopping them from happening all together." "Potter will never have the discipline—" Severus started to protest. "You don't know that," Draco answered. "And it's better than bumbling around hoping he figures it out, which in case I need to point out, he hasn't." "Very well," Severus said, sighing heavily. "We will try your way. After all, the only thing we have to lose is the world." Draco rolled his eyes, refusing to rise to the bait. "And Severus," Draco said. "There's one more thing." Severus raised an eyebrow, silently asking for Draco to continue. "I want to join the Order of The Pheonix." He was almost proud that his voice didn't shake. Harry was walking with Ron and Hermione when Draco stepping in front of them, effectively cutting off their forward motion. Harry blinked, getting ready for whatever he had done wrong this time. Hermione cut off her monologue mid-sentence and Ron's shoulders tensed like he was getting ready for a fight. "What do you want, Malfoy?" Ron asked, and Harry rolled his eyes. Ron still refused to trust Draco, believing he was going to eat Harry or something equally grotesque though Hermione and Harry had both tried to convince him otherwise. "Ever so pleasant, Weasley," Draco said, eyes never leaving Harry's. "I need to speak with you." Ron opened his mouth to deliver another scathing comment. "Harry," Hermione interrupted, taking hold of Ron's arm. "I just remembered this project I had forgotten about." She tugged against Ron, pulling him a step back. "So, Ron and I'll just be going down to the library. You'll be ok, yes?" She cast him a meaningful look, and he turned his face away, refusing to meet either her knowing eyes or Draco's questioning ones. "The library?" Ron whined. "But why?" "Oh, come on, Ron," she snapped, dragging him down the hall and away from Harry and Draco. "Well," Draco said, raising an eyebrow after their retreating forms. "That was subtle." Harry coughed out a surprised laugh, and Draco’s mouth twitched in a half smile that left Harry with painful knots lining his stomach. "Um." Harry shifted, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. "I, uh, you needed to speak to me?" "Oh, yes," Draco answered. His cheeks colored as his eyes skirted Harry’s. He gestured for Harry to follow, heading down the hall to stop outside an empty classroom. Harry tried to keep his face neutral. When they'd been together last night, and Draco had lost it on top of him, it had felt so right. It had felt like they’d finally clicked. He had expected Draco to run away; it was inevitable. It was also impossible to stop himself from hoping Draco would change his mind, that he would come find Harry and tell him he felt the same way. Draco glanced down the hallway as if to make sure no one was watching before slipping into the classroom. Harry went in after him, passing so close he felt Draco's fingertips brush his waist. He sucked in a breath, stumbling closer to Draco, in desperate need of that touch against his skin. Their eyes locked and all rational thought flew out of Harry's head. "Harry," Draco whispered, his voice hoarse and full of answering lust. Harry's eyes widened, and it was suddenly so hard to breathe as his eyes met Draco’s silver-grey. And then Draco's lips were against his, hot and wet and moving with that passion that was unequal to any other feeling. He reached for Draco, wanting— Draco jerked away, gasping for air and looking for all the world as if he had just committed some unforgivable crime. "Draco?" Harry asked. He heard the venerability in his voice and knew just how close he was to breaking. He needed Draco to close the gap between them. To say he cared just as much, that Harry wasn't just a toy to him. That it had never been just sex. "I—" Draco stopped, clearing his throat and when he started again, his voice was its normal lilting timbre. As if nothing had every happened. "I just brought you here to tell you we're changing the way you study Occlumency." "What?" Harry asked, his voice hoarse. "Severus and I believe that we should take on a less hands-on approach." Draco answered, taking a step away and out of the reach of Harry's hands. His head was turned away, looking anywhere but at Harry. "We're going to focus more on your mental defenses." "My mental defenses?" Harry asked, his mind feeling unnaturally foggy. "Yes, Severus won't be breaking into your mind anymore." Draco said. "We'll just be working on the barriers around your mind." And then he understood. Draco hadn't brought him here because he'd wanted him. He'd brought him here because he'd needed to tell him about Occlumency. Harry flushed in humiliation, dropping his eyes to the ground and refusing to look up. "Oh, ok. That sounds… good, I guess." "Yeah," Draco answered, his voice still that normal emotionless tone as if he didn't care about the havoc he was causing to Harry's heart. "I should…" Harry murmured, his eyes flicking up to Draco's face and then away again. "I should go." Harry crossed toward the door, moving away from Draco with steps so fast he could have been running. He felt like running. "Harry!" Draco called when his hand touched the door handle. Harry hesitated, his eyes still locked on the handle of the door, the metal cold in his palm. He just wanted to leave. "Harry, I want—" Draco started, and Harry couldn't. He knew what Draco was going to say and he just couldn't hear his apologies for not returning Harry's feelings. He couldn't hear how sorry Draco was for ever hurting him. "I'll see you on Monday, Malfoy," Harry interrupted. And then he ran. It didn’t even hurt anymore. It was just numb. He had really thought…. Just for a moment, he had really thought he meant as much to Draco as Draco meant to him. The rest of the week was torture. Hermione asked what Malfoy wanted and then was puzzled when Harry told her. "That's all he wanted?" she'd asked. "Yes," he'd answered. "Why are you so surprised?" After that, she hadn't said anything else about it, though he was sure he’d seen her corner Malfoy in the library later that day. She never told him what he’d said, and he was grateful; he didn’t need her to confirm what he already knew. Ron was ecstatic that Harry seemed to have cut off all contact with Malfoy. He'd said one 'good riddance' and then hadn't made another comment about Malfoy’s complete disappearance from their conversations and lives. Harry, for his part, tried not to think about Malfoy. After all, what good would it do to pine after him? But Draco just kept looking at him, his eyes silver-grey and horribly intense, and Harry didn’t know how to ignore how right that felt. And when he wasn't there, Harry felt lost. His scar still burnt, he was still having dreams, and the only person he wanted to talk to was Draco. So no, he wasn't anywhere near moving on. Especially when he'd remember that little tidbit Hermione gave him about Parkinson and Malfoy not shagging, and Harry would replay all the possibilities in his head over and over again. If only he hadn't made that stupid comment to Draco all those months ago, would things be different now? Harry sighed gustily, shoving open the door to the potions classroom and then stopping. Malfoy's head immediately rose out of the funneling cloud that billowed from the potion set positioned in front of him. "Um," Harry said, shifting his feet uncertainly. "It is 6:00 o'clock, right?" Malfoy stared at him, an eyebrow rising with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. "You did listen to me when I said we'd be changing your training, right?" "And that includes brewing potions?" Harry asked, groaning and resisting the temptation to bang his head against the wall. He had failed enough at both potions and Occlumency, no need to combine the two. "This is a Polyanima potion, Potter." Malfoy rolled his eyes. "It allows the drinker access to people's conscious minds." "Ok," Harry answered, wary now. Malfoy didn't plan to use that on him, did he? Because Harry was pretty sure Draco had enough blackmail material without reading just how much Harry liked him. "You and I are going to enter my mind." Malfoy told him, leaning over the table and pulling two goblets closer to him. "You're going to look at the defenses around my mind, understand how they work, why they're necessary, and what you would need to do to build your own." "We're going inside your mind?" Harry asked, resisting the urge to bolt from the room. He wasn't sure this was a good idea, especially since he really didn't want to know exactly what Malfoy had thought about him. "Don't worry," Malfoy answered, pouring two large scoops into the goblets in front of him before turning to Harry with serious eyes. "You won't see anything that I don't want you to." Harry bit his lip, not exactly feeling reassured. But he just nodded and closed his hand around the offered goblet. Draco kept his grey eyes firmly locked on Harry's as he raised his own goblet to his lips. It wasn't until the potion was halfway down his throat that Harry realized Draco's right forefinger was tapping frantically against his thigh. Harry blinked as Draco's eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed. If Draco was being brave then certainly Harry could swallow a potion and look into the mind of his… whatever they were. He picked up the second goblet and downed the contents, almost retching at the taste. The first thing Harry noticed was the feeling of something pulling on his mind and his body. The pain came a second later. He felt as if he was being ripped in half—his mind being wrench out and away from his body. He cried out, trying desperately to hold himself together. Let go, Malfoy's voice sounded inside his mind, bouncing and echoing along the walls. Harry started, and the force used his distraction to pull his mind out. Then he was floating, feeling as if he was being pushed along by an invisible current. With a rush, he was grounded again, his body materializing around him as he was anchored inside a pale blue landscape that left Harry with the feeling he was walking on an alien planet. That's a normal feeling, Malfoy's voice echoed around him. "What is?" Harry asked, his voice bouncing around him. "Feeling as if you're somewhere alien," Draco answered, and Harry whirled around to face him. "You're somewhere completely unfamiliar, somewhere you'll likely never be again." Draco tilted his head, studying Harry with his silver-grey eyes narrowed. "And most people can never begin to understand another person's conscious mind, just as they can't understand an alien planet." "Wait," Harry whispered, turning in a circle to reevaluate the blue landscape. "You mean..." "This is my mind," Draco said. The landscape was done up in shades of blue and white, the air shimmering with blue flecked crystals that burned along Harry's skin like ice. There was low cut grass across the ground that itched Harry's feet and far off in the distance there stood a single towering building that could have been anything and was too far away to truly make out. It was completely breathtakingly beautiful, but the more Harry looked, the colder it seemed, the more dangerous it seemed. As it you could be lured in by the beauty and then frozen by the hidden ice within. "That's not going to happen," Draco murmured. "What?" "There's no hidden ice." "I didn't—" Harry blushed, beginning to backtrack. Then he stopped himself, he hadn't spoken aloud, had he? Come to think of it, how had Draco known he had been thinking of alien planets, as well? "You're reading my thoughts?" "No," Draco said. "You're shouting your thoughts at me." Draco snorted and then covered his mouth as if he hadn't meant to make the sound. The blue crystals danced in the air around his head and Draco uncovered his mouth to shoo them away. "How do I stop?" "Guard your thoughts." "But—" Harry started to protest that he obviously didn't know how to do that. "Look into my eyes, Harry," Draco said, and when he shifted forward, the whole blue landscape behind him shimmered in time to his movements, leaving Harry dazzled by the beauty of it all. "Feel the pattern of my thoughts." Draco whispered, coming even closer. And Harry shivered as the blue crystals swirled in the air, brushing against his skin to leave a frozen trail, just as cold and unforgiving as Draco himself. Draco’s eyes tightened, and Harry’s wondered if he was still hearing Harry’s thoughts. "Look and feel how to control your mind." Harry turned his face, locking eyes with Draco and looking. He could see the shift of thoughts in the back of his eyes, but he couldn't understand the meaning of them. There was a dense wall between Harry and Draco's thoughts, blocking him from getting any closer. "I don't understand," Harry said. "Then look closer," Draco answered, shifting even closer. Harry shivered as the blue crystals pressed down even harder against him, urging Harry to look, to understand. Harry blinked. Were the crystals a cognitive part of Draco's mind? He flicked his eyes over, focusing on a blue crystal that was hovering about a foot from his face. Immediately, the wall around Draco's thoughts shifted. It closed around the blue crystals, locking Harry out and snapping the flow of emotions off. Harry blinked, turning to Draco in surprise. "How did you do that?" "Look closer, Harry," Draco answered. "Stop trying to get around it and start trying to understand it." Harry bit his lip, turning back to the wall in front of him and taking a step closer. The wall was shifting with his eye, molding itself to what Harry was expecting to see and strengthening itself where Harry was expecting weakness. "I still don't understand," Harry said. "Yes, you do." Draco answered, and a single blue crystal brushed against Harry's face, feeling as soft and sweet as satin. "But how do you keep it intuitive if you don't know what the person's thinking?" he asked, keeping his eyes on the wall. "And how do you keep focused on it even while you're talking?" "Intuition. The better you are at reading someone, the better the defenses will be. Also, the better you know someone, the easier it is to keep them out of your mind because you can predict their movements," Draco said, the wall shifting and the blue crystals pressing even as he spoke. "And keeping it up is just a matter of practice and necessity." "I could never do that," Harry answered, reaching out on impulse. "You thinking that is half the reason you can't." Draco said. Harry's hand hesitated a second before it touched the wall in front of him and then his knuckles brushed against the smooth blue surface. Draco gasped, making Harry turn toward him, his hand half raised. Their eyes locked, and Harry restrained the gasp at the emotion he found in Draco's gaze. It wasn't just surprise, it was something close to adoration. His cheeks flushed as he stared at Harry with eyes so wide, Harry could see every inch of his silver-grey iris'. The blue crystals began to beat around them at a frantic pace, pushing against Harry. Though they were no longer cold and rough but soft and warm, inviting and wanting instead of demanding and urging. "Do that again," Draco said, voice barely above a whisper. "What?" Harry blinked, beginning to drop his hand against the on slot of new sensations. Draco made an impatient sound in the back of his throat and crossed in front of Harry with three long strides, taking his hand in both of his. Harry just let his hand hang limply in Draco's grip, feeling as if he was missing something important. Draco didn't act like this, and he certainly didn't look at Harry like that. "Do this," Draco whispered, bringing Harry's hand up to his face and pressing it to his cheek. "I don't—" Harry started. "I can feel you," Draco murmured, pressing Harry's hand harder against his cheek. "I can feel your mind." "But couldn't you already-," "No, reading memories, even thoughts is different. This is..." Draco trailed off, focusing on Harry. He blinked and then seemed to realize what exactly he was doing. He tensed, beginning to pull away, his silver-grey eyes narrowing and turning away until Harry couldn't read them anymore. But his walls weren't quite up quick enough for Harry this time. "My apologies," he said. "I shouldn't have—" This time Harry understood why Draco insisted on yanking away from him when it would have been so easy to admit he cared. He finally understood why Draco pulled away as if he had been burnt. It had nothing to do with Harry and everything to do with Draco not trusting himself. He wondered how many times Draco had been told never to let his emotions go, to never let anyone see that side of himself. "Wait," Harry whispered, moving his hand along Draco's cheek and clutching at the back of his neck. "Just... Wait," he could hear the pleading edge to his voice, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He just didn't want Draco to turn away from him again. Not when he knew the truth. "Harry." Draco bit his lip, his voice rough. He was completely stiff under Harry's fingers, refusing to move as Harry brought his other hand up and placed it firmly against Draco's cheek. Harry leaning closer, his fingers smoothing along Draco's cheekbones, determined to get a reaction. "Harry, stop," Draco said, grasping his wrists and stopping him in his tracks. "Draco, you stop," Harry said, tugging against Draco’s hands. "What?" Draco's eyes widened. He looked startled, confused, hurt, hopeful. "Stop trying so hard to control yourself," Harry said, and Draco’s hands tightened around his wrist to a painful degree. "That's not—" Draco started to shake his head, the blue crystals beginning to swirl frantically around them. They were freezing around the hands that held Harry's wrist, and though Draco maintained his grip, they grew painfully warm in the space between their bodies as if urging them to close the space. "Why aren't we allowed to be happy, Draco?" Harry asked, looking into conflicted silver-grey eyes and knowing he'd been wrong about Draco the entire time. Draco had always wanted him. He had always cared about him. Now, Draco himself just needed to accept that Harry wanted him back. "You can't join the Order if it's for Potter," Severus had said. "It's not just for Potter," Draco had answered. "It's because I'm so tired of everything horrible happening around me and not feeling like I'm doing anything about it." "Everything horrible… you mean the horrible things happening to Potter?" Draco could still feel the skeptical look in Severus had thrown him, the narrowing of his eyes, the unconvinced purse of his lips. "No!" he'd hesitated, because it had been because of what happened to Harry. But it also hadn't been. Draco had been against the Dark Lord longer than he had cared what Harry's first name was, he just hadn't had the courage to admit it until he'd seen Harry writhing on the floor with the glowing red eyes of Lord Voldemort. "This isn't about him, Severus. This is about me." Severus had pursed his lips and nodded, though Draco could tell he didn't like it. But he had trusted him. Severus had trusted him, and Draco was terrified of disappointing him the way he’d always disappointed his father. And now Harry was staring at him, waiting for an answer to an impossible question and Draco didn’t know what to do. He felt like running very far away. He felt like collapsing into Harry’s arms and telling him how very in love with him he was. He wondered whose forgiveness he would have to ask for if he did something like that. "Why aren't we allowed to be happy, Draco?" Harry had asked, and right then, in that moment, Draco didn't know. He did deserve to be happy. They both did. Harry had paid for his happiness in blood and pain and loneliness and Draco could see how much it cost him every day to pretend not to break. And Draco had paid for it by pretending he was his father's son. That he actually cared what the Dark Lord said, and they were still paying for it for every day. But that didn't mean being together was the answer. So, then why did he want to? Why was it so hard to follow the logic when Harry was looking at him and those damn crystals were still buzzing in his ears and he didn't know, he didn't know what he should do but he sure as fuck knew what he wanted... "Harry…." Draco started, unsure what was about to come out of his mouth, but sure it wasn't going to do him any good. Fortunately, the potion wore off before he said anything else, slamming into their active minds and giving Draco whiplashing. Harry was sent to the ground in a sprawled mess at his feet and he would have laughed at the ridiculous expression on Harry's face, if reality hadn't smacked him in the face as soon as his feet touched the ground. Harry turned to him, his eyes wary, hopefully, desperate, loving. It was so much, and not enough, and Draco wanted him. "Draco," he said, reaching out his hand and Draco froze, all reasonable thoughts flooding from his head. "Harry," Draco said again, his voice sounding oddly old and croaky. "Draco, being with you would make me happy," Harry said, his hand landing on the side of Draco's face and stroking along his cheekbone. Draco shivered, his mind knew it was ridiculous. Harry had touched him in more private places than his cheek but this felt... It felt personal, intimate. And his body reacted—not with the overwhelming lust of sex and desire but with a hot glow around his face that spread slowly down his neck and burrowed like molted lava in his chest. He felt like he was on fire, his nerve ends about to give out because of the sheer intensity of one damn touch. And mentally, he knew he should pull away. He should run screaming from the room. He should laugh and proclaim Harry was a fool who would get his heart broken. But looking into those clear emerald eyes with that fire burning through his heart and down into his limbs, he couldn't for the life of him remember why he should do anything of the sort. Draco opened his mouth and for once he knew, he knew what he was going to say. He knew what would make him happy. Would it truly be so horrible to reach for it? “Harry, I—” and he was interrupted by a woman's scream. They jerked away from each other, listening as the screaming continued from somewhere above them. "What the bloody hell?" Draco said, storming across the room to throw open the door. He took the stairs two at a time, feeling as if Hogwarts itself was leading him towards his destination. Harry was right behind him, matching him step for step as they approached the sound of the screaming. It was in the entrance hall, where a large group of students had formed a ring, looking confused and frightened. Draco stepped back, ducking his head to get away from the mass of students. He knew what was happening. Umbridge had been bragging about her newest plans for days. "Draco?" Harry said, reaching out for his arm. "What's going on?" "What?" he answered, jerking away before Harry could touch him. His hand dropped, hurt flashing across his face. "How would I know?" "You c-can't sack me!" Professor Trelawney's voice suddenly became recognizable from the middle of the circle. "I've b-been here for sixteen years! H-hogwarts is m-my h-home!" "It was your home," Umbridge's voice said, sounding smug and full of enjoyment at another person's pain. Trelawney howled as if someone had just kicked her. "She can do this?" Harry hissed, taking a step forward as if to start pushing through the crowd. "Why is no one doing anything?" "Don't get involved, Harry," Draco said, catching his arm to pull him back. "What?" he answered, twirling around to glare. "Someone has to do something! Umbridge can't just—" "She won't," Draco said. "Dumbledore is coming." "What? How do you know?” As if on que, Dumbledore's deep voice broke through Umbridge's annoying monologue of threats. "As high inquisitor," he said, his voice light though without a question of being followed. "You have the right to dismiss my teachers. You do not, however, have the authority to send them away from the castle. I am afraid that the power to do that still remains with the headmaster and it is my wish that Professor Trelawney continue to live at Hogwarts." Harry turned to him with eyes wide and full of surprise. Draco resisted the temptation to feel annoyed. "How did you...?" Harry asked, turning his gaze back on Draco. He bit his lip, unsure how much he was supposed to say. Then he felt completely hypocritical, advocating to Severus about Harry's right to information and then keeping it from him when he had a choice. "I told—" he started, then there was a loud gasp from the students followed by silence. "This is Firenze," Dumbledore's voice rang into the entrance hall. "I think you'll find him acceptable." Then the students exploded in noise, people pushing their way forward to try and see, others just asking what was going on, others protesting, others exclaiming in excitement. And Harry had his mouth half open in shock as if he already knew what was going on. "Come on," Draco said, snatching his arm and dragging him away from the crowd of students before he could do something stupid. "But Firenze is a centaur." Harry said as he let Draco pull him away from the commotion below. "Will Dumbledore be able to get away with employing him?" They stopped in a small alcove just up the stairs, and Draco peeked out to make sure no one was looking before turning to Harry with a martyred expression. "Dumbledore's smart, he's been going behind Umbridge's back for weeks to get this approved." Draco sighed. "And how did you know Firenze is a centaur?" "Do you remember the detention we went to the forest to help Hagrid and I almost died?" Harry asked. "That time I ran away and left you to die?" Draco asked, pinching the bridge of his nose as if that would make him feel better. "Firenze saved my life," Harry said, ignoring him, and Draco let his hand drop to stare. "But I don't understand," Harry insisted. "How did you know what was going on? You knew what Umbridge was doing before I even heard anything." "Because she told me what she was going to do." "What? Why?" He blinked. "I told you, after we met at the Hog's Head, I got her to trust me. I've been in her inner circle ever since. It was a simple thing to tell Dumbledore about her plans to throw Trelawney out after that." "But..." Harry trailed off, shaking his head like the information didn’t quite sit right. "You knew about Firenze too. Did Dumbledore tell you that?" "Yes," he said, and hesitated before adding: "I'm in The Order, Harry." There were three heartbeats of complete silence and he was convinced Harry was about to go into shock. Then when he started breathing again, his eyes so angry, Draco was sure they'd start glowing in about three seconds. "They let you in?" he said, and Draco flinched at the way his voice twisted on the you. As if it was so appalling that Draco was considered trustworthy to someone. "But they can't even tell me what's going on ever! And why didn't you tell me what was going on?" he snapped, flinging his hands in the air with such fury that Draco took a step away. "Why didn't you even tell me you were part of The Order? When did this even happen? All that bollocks about me deserving to know shite and you keep this from me?" His chest rose and fell heavily, his black hair tangled and waving into his face, his eyes flashing with accusation. Draco jerked his chin up haughtily, taking the time to calm himself before he said something he would regret. "Why didn't I tell you I was part of the Order of The Phoenix?" Draco asked, speaking slowly as if he were explaining something to a child. Maybe because I joined last week. Maybe because looking at you drives me crazy. Maybe because you’ve been avoiding me since I told you about the change in your Occlumency practice. "Maybe because I knew you'd act like a spoiled child," Draco said, and Harry flinched, opening his mouth to protest, but Draco talked over him. "Mourning wrongs done to you instead of saying 'congratulations, Draco, on not becoming evil like your parents.' Which by the way, is the only reason they let someone like me in. To spy for them because I'm expendable.” His voice twisted over the word. Over how very true it was. “So, instead of acting like a brat, you should be thankful that someone cares about you enough to say 'no, we'd better keep him safe instead of throwing him to the Deatheaters and hope they don't find out he's a spy.'" Draco sneered, hoping Harry stayed awake and thought about that the next time he went around asking why they couldn’t just be happy. "I—" Harry tried, reaching out, and Draco smacked his hand away. He felt childish, unreasonable and so beyond caring. He was so tired of trying so hard to be an adult. "And second,” he continued. “Maybe I didn't tell you because it had nothing to do with you. It's my life, Potter, mine. Not yours. So, don't you dare accuse me of not telling you things because if it was up to them, I wouldn't even show you the bathroom.” "I didn't mean—" Harry said, his green eyes wide. Well, it was too little, too late and Draco wasn't about to be persuaded by those eyes. Not this time. Not when he could feel the bitterness and disappointment and hurt bubbling up in him. He had been so close. So close to giving in and giving Harry everything, but he’d been right to hesitate. He’d been right not to trust his heart. Even Harry Potter, perfect Potter, who was supposed to understand him and stand with him, didn’t even believe in him. And if Harry couldn’t, then he supposed no one could. Draco had been fooling himself. He had been fooling himself from the beginning. "Now." Draco straightened his back. "I trust you got everything you needed from the lesson today?" "Draco—" Harry started. "Then I'll see you next Monday," he said, turning on his heel. "Don't forget what you learned, Potter." "Draco, wait!" Harry called but he was already walking away. He didn't feel bad for always being the first to leave. It wasn't like anything would ever happen between them. It wouldn't. It couldn’t. He wouldn’t let it. It was better to never trust anyone with anything. The week passed horribly for Harry. He was in a constant state of either wanting to be alone or wanting anyone to distract him from the total mess his life had become. Not that any of his lessons helped. They all continued on as if nothing had happened. As if Umbridge wasn't biting at everyone's heels and she hadn't just tried to throw Trelawney out. The only exception was Divination. Firenze's lessons were much different from Trelawney's. For Firenze almost nothing was certain. He had them watching the stars and burning sage, though he insisted it could take almost ten years to be certain of what they were seeing. And every time Harry stepped into Firenze's classroom, he felt just a little bit more confused. Of course, his lessons with Draco continued. Though Snape almost never made an appearance anymore. Harry wondered why, but he just didn't have the courage to ask Draco why they were having one on one lessons. With the way Draco'd been treating him, he'd just be ignored anyway. Frankly, the number of times Draco had ignored him, Harry was beginning to actually be concerned with his hearing. He supposed he didn't have anything to truly complain about, Draco was never anything but polite and helpful; and Harry was making progress with closing the barriers around his mind. But that was exactly the problem. He didn't like Draco acting civil when Harry knew he wanted to punch Harry in the nose. He’d hurt Draco, and Draco was acting like he didn't even care. Ron and Hermione were no help. Ron would just say 'good riddance' and then tune out of the conversation. While Hermione insisted that he just needed to communicate with Draco. As if that would work. What was he supposed to say that he hadn't already said? "How about you're sorry?" Hermione had answered with a roll of her eyes. The problem was, he already had, and Draco had just narrowed his eyes, looking at Harry like he was a particularly annoying piece of gum on his shoe before walking away. "Then say it again," she'd insisted. He was beginning to believe her advice wasn't as sound as he'd always believed it was. His only escape was the DA. Even that was tainted with his memories of Draco. He could remember the feel of Draco's leg against his when he'd stood up to Zacharias Smith for him, the pain when he'd accused Draco of shagging Pansy after practice—why had he done that? He’d ruined everything when he’d done that—and the look in Draco’s eyes as he told Harry he would be a good teacher. And Harry was good at it. Though he couldn't help thinking he would still prefer it if Draco himself came to the meetings. "Ugh!" Pavati snapped, flicking her wand impatiently when nothing happened. "I still can't do this." "Relax," Harry answered. "Make sure—ouch!" He squeaked, reaching into his pocket. He pulled the smoking Galleon out of his pocket, dropping it quickly to the ground before it could burn him. All around him, there were mirrored rounds of pain as people threw their own Galleons to the floor. He looked around, focusing on the Galleon's scattered across the floor. They were the Galleons Hermione had created as a way to communicate the time and place of a meeting. "What the bloody hell?" Ron said, rubbing his raw hand. "Did the magic wear off or something?" "Wait!" Hermione said, leaning down to look at her own coin. "It says something." There was absolute quiet as Hermione began to decipher the smoking message burned into the coin. "Umbridge," she said finally. "Run." "What?" Harry blinked. "That's what it says," she answered, looking up at him with wide brown eyes. "Umbridge. Run." There were two heartbeats of silence before everyone began screaming. "GO!" Harry shouted, fighting to be heard over the chaos. "GO, GET OUT OF HERE!" Which was rather unnecessary considering everyone was already sprinting for the exit. He took a step forward and was swept into the crowd, being jostled toward the exit and away from Ron and Hermione. "Harry!" Hermione called, standing a few feet away and completely unable to cross the mass of people to reach him. He shook his head and continued to push toward the exit. "Harry!" she called again. As soon as he was out in the corridor, he began to run, ignoring the throngs of students heading off in different directions. He knew Hermione would be looking for him, but he hoped she would take care of herself first. Then suddenly, something had hold of him. He cried out, trying to yank his arm away but whatever it was had him in a vice-like grip. "Calm down, Harry Potter," Dobby's voice said. Harry started, turning to face the elf in shock. "I is helping." He tugged once on Harry's arm and this time he let Dobby drag him down the corridor and into an empty room, spelling the room locked a moment later. "What are you doing here?" Harry asked. "How did you know I was in trouble?" "Draco Malfoy sent me, sir," Dobby answered, puffing out his chest proudly. "He says he didn't trust no one else to find you and brings you here. No one else, he says!" "Draco?" Harry blinked, trying to wrap his head around the fact that Draco had asked Dobby, of all people, to help Harry, when he'd thought Draco was barely refusing to acknowledge his existence—much less trying to help him. "Draco asked you to…" "Oh, yes!" Dobby nodded his head vigorously. "Draco Malfoy was always kind to Dobby, unlike…" His eyes widened, and he looked around as if searched for something to punish himself with. "But where is Draco now?" Harry asked quickly. "I's not be knowing," Dobby answered, shaking his head with wide eyes. "He spends too much time with her." "Her?" Harry asked, and Dobby shook his head frantically. "Umbridge?" He nodded, then seized a nearby desk and banged his head against it once, twice— "Dobby, stop!" Harry said, pulling him away from the desk. "Is he with Umbridge now? What are they doing?" "Draco Malfoy says I not to be telling Harry Potter," Dobby said, trying to grab hold of the desk again. "What? Why?" "He says Harry Potter will be wanting to get involved if I be telling him and then Harry Potter will be in danger again." "Dobby," Harry said, trying to keep his voice calm despite the rising anger. How dare Draco shove him to the side while everyone else was in danger? As if it was his decision to make. "Tell me where Draco is right now." Dobby shook his head, forcefully wrenching out of Harry's grip to smack his head against the wall. "Dobby, Draco may be in danger right now." Harry said. "I need to find him and help him." "But Draco Malfoy said—" "Yes, and now I'm saying he may need my help," he answered. Dobby trembled as he thought about it. Then finally: "He be with her rounding up the other students." "Thank you, Dobby," Harry said. "Now go to the kitchen and don't punish yourself, that's an order." "Oh." His eyes filled with tears as he looked at Harry. "Thank you, Harry Potter, thank you!" Harry nodded once and then ran to the door and sprinted down the hallway. Most everyone else had to be either caught or had got to safety by now. Besides, he couldn't worry about them right now. But he could worry about Draco. He didn't want to know what Umbridge would do to him when she found out he was a spy for Dumbledore. After all, he had signed his name on the list and it wasn't like he'd just go around catching people and handing them over to Umbridge. Besides, Harry owed Draco a punch in the nose for— "Aha!" someone shouted behind him. "Stop right there, Potter!" He froze, holding his wand loosely as he waited for the person behind him to make the first move. "Very good, now drop your wand," she—it was definitely a girl—said. Harry hesitated before twisting around and casting at the girl. "Expelliarmus," he shouted. Parkinson shrieked, her wand flying from her hand and landing squarely in Harry's. "Potter, how dare you!" she yelled, narrowing her eyes on him. He hesitated, that wasn't exactly the response he was expecting. "Give that back to me at once!" It's a trap, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Draco's sounded in his mind and Harry only had time to raise his wand before pain rocketed through his body, sending him to the ground. "Ouch," Parkinson muttered, bending to yank hers and Harry's wands out of his hand. "That looked like it hurt." "Modified cruciatus curse," a new voice said, and Theodore Nott stepped around Harry's head, twirling his wand proudly. "My father taught me." "Hmm." Parkinson smirked widely, looking down at Harry with an expression that didn't make him look forward to what was coming next. "Think Draco would mind if we played with him a little?" He shivered, trying to rise to his feet. "Not so fast, Potter," Nott said, pointing his wand. Another burst of pain shot through him and he clamped his teeth shut to hold down the curse. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction. Then Nott flicked his wand and it was over, leaving Harry gasping against the floor and glaring up at Nott. "Awe," Nott said, sneering down at him. "Not so high and mighty now, are you?" "Frankly," Parkinson said. "I don't understand what Draco sees in him at all. He's not—" "What I see in whom?" The voice was like cold water over Harry's senses, waking him up from what he was sure was just a bad dream. His silver-grey eyes flicked over Nott and Parkinson, locking on Harry and flashing with quickly subdued anger. Draco would walk in with his sneer and his drawl and he would fix everything. Harry started to sit up, his body automatically reaching for Draco before his mind fully caught up with the situation they were in. Unfortunately, Draco just sneered and turned toward Parkinson—as if Harry were nothing to him. "What are you doing?" Draco asked. "If you found Potter fleeing from the meeting you should have brought him to Umbridge immediately." Nott and Parkinson exchanged a look, neither of them looking particularly chagrined. "He was giving us trouble," Parkinson said finally, fluttering her eyelids in a way that was supposed to be flirtatious. Though Harry just wanted to vomit up his dinner, preferably on her. "We were just getting him under control." "Well, why don't you go get someone else under control now?" Draco answered. "Fine, fine." Nott held his hands up. "Goodness, Draco. He's all yours." Nott winked and turned to leave. "Wait," Draco said. "His wand, Pansy." He held out his hand and Parkinson reluctantly placed Harry's wand into his hand. "Want anything else from me, Draco dear?" she asked, leaning closer to him. Harry shifted, stifling the sickening feeling of possessive anger that gnawed at his stomach.   "No," Draco answered, his voice a hairs breath from a snap. He jerked his chin up, looking down his nose at Parkinson as if daring her to try anything. Eventually, she sighed and sauntered after Nott down the corridor. Harry watched as Draco's eyes followed them down the hallway. He wasn't sure how he'd ever thought Draco had cared about Parkinson. Now that he knew Draco, it was so obvious that the girl annoyed him. Draco watched the corridor until they couldn't hear the sounds of footsteps anymore, then he turned and studied Harry with cold eyes that made Harry shiver and look away. He reached out, his hands impossibly gentle on Harry’s shoulders as he lifted him to his feet. “Are you hurt?” he asked. Harry's whole body hurt. Nott's modified cruciatus curses had done its work on him, but he didn’t feel like telling Draco anything except the most desperate. “No,” Harry answered, and Draco sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "For Merlin’s sake, Potter," he said. "You couldn't just stay hidden. You had to get involved." "What?" Harry answered. "How could I just sit in a classroom and wait while yo— everyone else might need help?" "Bloody Hell, Harry!" Draco answered, and Harry flinched. "It's not your job to save the world! Why can't you just let other people take care of it? Take care of you?" "I…" Harry blinked, wishing he had an answer that would satisfy Draco and knowing he would never accept whatever he said. "Never mind." Draco ran a hand through his hair, messing up his styling. "Let's just go fix this." "What do you mean?" "Well," he said, letting out a strangled laugh. "I mean that now, we have to go talk our way out of this mess with Umbridge." Draco wasn't good company on their way up to the headmaster's office. He wouldn't string three words together for Harry and every time Harry looked at him, he promptly turned his face away. Eventually, they did reach the headmaster's rooms and to Harry's surprise Draco spoke the password with no hesitation. "How did you know that?" Harry asked, trying not to sound annoyed. He didn't need to give Draco another reason to be upset with him. "Both Umbridge and Dumbledore have made a point of making sure I know it," he answered casually. Then he flicked his eyes toward Harry, understanding seeming to dawn on him. "Dumbledore's never told you his password?" he asked. Harry just looked away, refusing to admit that Dumbledore obviously trusted Draco more than him. “There’s something absurdly wrong with that,” Draco said, and Harry’s head snapped around to stare at him, but he was already climbing the stairs, not even turning his head to make sure Harry was behind him. "Haven't we got a counterjinx for this?" Fudge was saying. "So, she can speak freely?" "What's going on?" Harry whispered. "Chang's friend told Umbridge about the meeting," Draco whispered back. "I barely had enough time to warn you." His lips tightened, and he fixed Harry with a pointed stare. "Not that it did any good apparently." Harry blinked and then realized what he was talking about. "That coin!" he said, his voice echoing down the hall. "That was you?" "Keep it down, will you?" Draco answered. "It was just a jinx on the coins. They were already connected, I just needed them to say something different then they normally would have." "That was—" Harry started, determined to tell Draco how he'd saved the lot of them. Then Umbridge's voice sounded, echoing down the hall and easily cutting across Harry's words. "I have evidence that Potter has been involve in…" Umbridge voice was saying. "I think that's our que," Draco said, reaching past him to open the door. His chest brushed against Harry's back and Harry sucked in a startled breath, turning halfway to look Draco in the eyes. "Wait—" "Don't ask me things you don't mean, Potter," Draco whispered, his breath ghosting across the back of Harry's neck. "But—" he was cut of abruptly as Draco shoved him roughly into the room. He stumbled before catching himself and looking around, taking in the scene before him. Umbridge was breathless, standing right in the center, Marietta in front of her. Written across Marietta's face in bright red pimples was the word SNEAK. Harry spared only a moment of appreciation for Hermione's charm work before turning back to the room. Dumbledore was behind his desk, though he wasn't looking as Harry at all, instead his eyes were focused on Draco's as if they were having a silent conversation. Professor McGonagall, Fudge, Percy Weasley, and several Aurors were also present. "Aha!" Umbridge exclaimed as if she had planned their entrance. "You see, he's been caught in the act!" "I'm still confused as to what he's been accused of?" McGonagall interrupted. "I've already said!" Umbridge said impatiently. "Marietta told me—" "But she never actually said Harry Potter was involved, did she?" "I—Well." Umbridge’s face crinkled up for a long moment before she seemed to regain her composure. She turned to Draco, a wicked gleam in her eye. "Well, Draco. You're the one who brought Potter here. Was he involved?" The gleam grew in her eyes. "You're also the one who was spying on him since the beginning, are you telling me, there haven't been any secret meetings for the past six months in which Potter was the leader of?" Draco tensed behind him. This is it, Harry thought. This is where he betrays her. He'll say I've not been involved and— "There have, in fact—" Draco said. "What?" Harry exclaimed, trying to turn to face him. "How could—" Draco's hands closed around his arms, squeezing so tightly Harry cut himself off with a breathless squeak of pain. "You are correct about the duration of the meetings," he said carefully. "Oh, very good, very good," Fudge said, stepping forward immediately. "Weasley are you getting this?" "Every word, Minister!" Percy answered, his pen scribbling across the page rapidly. "You see!" Umbridge said, pointing at Harry. "I move for immediate expulsion and—" "But professor," Draco interrupted, and all eyes turned back on him. "It's not exactly like you thought." "What? What do you mean? What isn't like I thought?" "Potter wasn't the leader," Draco said, his hands squeezing even harder on Harry arms. Harry resisted the urge to wince. What was Draco doing? "He was just a pawn." "Mr. Malfoy," Fudge said, shaking his head. "I'm not sure I understand what you're saying." "Well, Minister. I found this on Potter's person." Draco pulled out a piece of paper and passed it to Umbridge. "See how it says Dumbledore's Army? As near as I can figure, Dumbledore ordered Potter to recruit students and get them battle ready. Potter was never in charge; he was just doing as he was told." Harry blinked once, twice, and then he realized just what Draco was trying to say, how Draco was lying so he wouldn’t take the blame. "NO!" he shouted. "NO, that's not true! Professor Dumbledore didn't—" "Be quiet, Harry," Dumbledore murmured, looking intently as Draco. "Or I am afraid you will have to leave my office." All eyes were on Dumbledore now, waiting for his next move. Waiting to see whether he would dispute Draco's charges or be forced to admit to them. "But—" Harry tried again, but Draco's hands squeezed harder, and he cut himself with a hiss of pain. He was sure he'd have bruises later. "Well?" Umbridge said finally. "What are you waiting for? Arrest him!" There was a loud bang as two of the Aurors surged forward. Then Draco was suddenly there, pushing him down hard. His body was heavy as he pinned Harry to the ground, hexes flying above them. Fawkes screeched, and a large cloud of black dust filled the air. Harry coughed, his nose hitting Draco's chest as sound of breaking glass filled the room and then—silence. Harry shoved Draco roughly away from him, moving to his feet and wobbling. Draco grabbed his arms, steading him before he could fall, and Harry shoved him away again. He didn’t want Draco to touch him. He didn’t want Draco to help him or protect him or… McGonagall was dragging Marietta to her feet next to him. The Aurors, Fudge, and Umbridge were unconscious. He stumbled toward Dumbledore’s desk, Draco close at his back. Dumbledore was gone, and Harry felt confused, betrayed. "That overgrown cow," Granger ranted, almost shouting in the middle of the hall. Draco sighed, at the moment, it was hard to believe she was the smartest Witch in their class. Her and Weasley stood in front of Umbridge's new proclamation, the one that declared her the new Headmistress of Hogwarts as if they were completely oblivious to the consequences of insulting Umbridge so openly. "I expect she was just waiting for a chance to be sitting up in the Headmaster's office, lording it over all the other teachers, the stupid puffed-up, power-crazy old—!" "Careful how loud you say that," Draco interrupted her. "Never know who's listening." Granger jumped, whirling around to face him with her brown eyes the size of saucers. "Yeah," Weasley snapped, narrowing his eyes angrily. "Like you! Weren't you the one who sold Dumbledore out in the first place?" "Yes, Weasel, I was." Draco sneered, the words bitter on his tongue. "Now, if you'll be so kind as to follow me, I was sent for you. The new headmistress wants to see you both.” "What?" Granger said. "Why?" "Come along, Granger." Draco waved imperiously, turning on his heel and hoping they would just follow him. They’d already caused enough of a scene. "And don't even think of not coming or rest assured Headmistress Umbridge will hear of it." Granger and Weasley exchanged a look but followed him none the less. He turned a corner and led them past several classrooms, finally stopping in the middle of an abandoned hallway. "What are you doing?" Weasley asked. “I thought you were taking us to Umbridge.” Granger just stayed silent, her eyes following him as he shoved open an empty classroom to his right and ushered them both inside. Weasley was still glaring at him as Draco closed the door, accusation clear in his eyes, but Draco refused to be intimidated by their judgement. He refused to care if they thought him guilty. “What happened?” Granger asked. She sounded more curious than angry, her eyes never leaving Draco’s face. "I didn't betray Dumbledore,” he said. "I only gave Umbridge the list because he told me to.” "Dumbledore wouldn't—" Weasley started. "It makes sense," Granger interrupted. She had her thinking face on, eyes thoughtful and a crease forming between her brows as she concentrated. "Dumbledore would rather take the blame himself than risk Harry getting expelled." And wasn’t that the truth. Dumbledore’s plan did effectively take the blame off Harry, but it also made Harry want nothing to do with Draco. He couldn’t even be frustrated. Being a double agent was what he’d signed up for after all. At least, he knew he could still do something instead of just sitting around waiting for the other shoe to drop. "But—" Weasley started. "Lay off, Ron," Granger interrupted. "How do you know he’s not just trying to manipulate us?" Weasley said, pointing at Draco as if they didn't know where he was standing. "I didn't bring you here to explain myself to you,” Draco answered. “I brought you here to tell you what was going on." Granger raised an eyebrow. "Umbridge's in complete control. She's started this student led group called the Inquisition Squad. We're allowed to take points, assign detentions, pretty much anything." "What?" Granger blinked, her eyes flicking around the room as she thought. "But— that would completely disrupt the Prefects and the teachers." "That's the point," Draco answered, feeling like he should start speaking in baby words sometime soon. "The only people she wants with power are the people who are loyal to her and for the most part that doesn't include the teachers or the prefects. So, watch what you say and when you say it." He gave Granger a hard look. She blushed and dropped her eyes. "And also, the other teachers won't be able to help you. Actually, she's planning on sacking Hagrid next week." "What?" Granger answered. "She can't do that!" Weasley said. "She can and she's going to," Draco answered. "The only reason she's holding off is because she wants to know if she can get him sent to Azkaban on some trumped-up charge of knowing where Dumbledore is." "But that's— that's so…" Granger struggled for a moment before Draco decided to take pity on her. "Fucked up? Welcome to the world we live in." "Why are you telling us this?" Weasley asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "What do you expect us to do?" "Do?" Draco answered. "I don't want you to do anything. This is the worst possible time to do your whole heroic save the world shite. Just keep your heads down." He hesitated. "And make Potter do the same." "So, that's what this is about?" Granger said, her smile slow and far too knowing. "I don’t know what you’re talking about?" Draco's scowl deepened. "You want us to take care of Harry for you." "What?" Weasley blinked. "Why can't he just do that himself?" "I'm… busy," Draco said, deciding to ignore the fact that Weasley was now talking about him as if he wasn't there. "I have more important things to do than watch people who don't want my help." He sniffed as if he had really been offended. "Right." Granger rolled her eyes. "And what's the truth?" "I…" He hesitated, biting down hard on his lip. He tasted blood on the tip of his tongue and immediately stopped. Malfoy's did not engage in such behavior. Granger was still watching him expectantly, and he supposed it would only encourage her to trust him if he explained. Not that he owed her an explanation. "Umbridge tolerated my behavior toward Harry because she thought I had manipulated him for information and now that I've gotten all the information…" "She'll expect you to be horrible to him again?" Granger finished for him. "And I expect Potter won't want anything to do with me either." Draco nodded, straightening his back with a humorless chuckle. "Not that I could blame him." "So, what?" Weasley asked, scowling. "You want us to watch him for you? Harry's his own person." "I'm fully aware of that, thank you." He rolled his eyes, suddenly wishing he'd only pulled Granger aside. It just didn't seem as if Weasley was capable of intelligent conversation. "But I also know Potter has a tendency to get into situations he shouldn't. I'm just asking you to make sure that doesn't happen." "You make it sound so easy," Granger answered. "He's late," Draco said, pacing back and forth across the small space. "Yes," Severus answered. "I never would have figured that out." "Maybe he's not coming," Draco said. He felt a little like screaming or cursing something. He probably would have if Severus wouldn’t have cursed him back for casting spells in his classroom. "I have been truly horrible this week." "You have," Severus answered, not even looking up from the papers strewn across his desks, and Draco whirled on him. "That doesn't help." "Neither does your pacing." "But what if he doesn't come?” he asked. “You know he needs these lessons, Severus." "Yes, and so does Potter," Severus said, scribbling a D across the top of a paper before moving to another. "Hopefully, the boy if not so stupid as to let his emotions get in the way of what's good for him." "Severus, Really," Draco said, beginning to pace again. "Are we talking about the same Potter, right now?" "Draco, would you cease that infernal pacing," Severus snapped, now harshly scribbling out several lines of a student's paper and scrawling a T across the top. "Did that paper deserve that?" Draco asked, raising an eyebrow. "Just be lucky I don't have your paper in front of me," Severus answered, narrowing his eyes at the paper in front of him dangerously. Draco was opening his mouth to respond but the door was opening before he got the chance. Harry stepped into the room, closing the door behind him and looking between Draco and Severus with annoyance permeating the air around him. "I didn't realize Draco let you arrive any time you wanted to," Severus said, standing from behind his desk. "I don't," Draco said. "I just…" Harry trailed off, his eyes flicking around the room as if he couldn’t decide where to look. "You just what?" Draco asked. "What happened?" Severus scowled, throwing him a disapproving look that he promptly ignored. "I had a row with Cho about her friend, Marietta." "That was Chang's friend?" Draco asked, raising a hand to cover his smile. "What a shock." "What is that supposed to mean?" Harry answered. "Cho's not that bad." "Oh, no." Draco sneered, dropping his hand. "She's just wonderful." "Funny isn't it," Harry said, tilting his head and letting his blazing emerald eyes match Draco's glare. "You're jealous of Cho, Cho's jealous of Hermione, Hermione says we should just all talk to each other, but when I try, you just sneer at me." "Hysterical." Draco answered, ignoring the twist of his heart when Harry just shook his head and refused to look at him. "Well," Severus said, with all his usual tact. "Shall we get started." He'd already placed his memories into the Pensieve off to the side and was standing with his wand drawn, looking at Harry expectantly. "We're going to spend this lesson with Professor Snape trying to pierce your mind," Draco said. "Now, if you've been practicing all the techniques we've been working on, it should go well." He paused. "Have you had any dreams recently?" Harry bit his lip, and Draco checked his sigh of frustration. It's true, they were making some progress, but it was also true that they weren't making near enough. Severus was right, deep down Harry wanted to keep having the dreams. Probably because of his hero complex, as long as he knew what was going on in the Dark Lord's mind, he could save people, even if that meant losing his own mind in the process. "On the count of three, Potter," Severus said, raising his wand. "One… Two…" The door suddenly banged open, making Harry and Draco jump while Severus just looked calmly over as if him pointing his wand as Harry Potter while Draco Malfoy stood watching was normal in everyday circles. "Professor Snape, sir…." Theodore Nott trailed off, looking between the three of them with some confusion. "Sorry to interrupt, sir." "Not at all," Severus said, lowering his wand. "Potter's just doing a little remedial potions, is all." "Remedial Potions?" Theodore raised a skeptical eyebrow. Draco suppressed his wince, wanting desperately to smack Severus. It didn’t look like they were doing anything like Remedial Potions. "Yes," Severus answered curtly. "Now, why are you here?" "Oh, Professor Umbridge needs you," he said, his eyes flicking with such triumphant glee that Draco was half convinced he had just been caught in the middle of an orgie. "They've found Montague. He's turned up jammed inside a toilet on the fourth floor." "And how did he get there?" "No idea." Theodore shrugged, looking entirely unconcerned. "Ah, very well," Severus said. "Potter, we'll continue this tomorrow afternoon. I expect you to be ready to tutor then as well, Mr. Malfoy." "Oh, uh, Umbridge was looking for Draco as well," Theodore said, smirking widely. "Not that I was, uh, expecting to find him here." "Of course." Severus scowled and swept out of the room. "Come along, Mr. Malfoy." Draco hesitated and then followed, refusing to allow himself a backward glance at Harry. Theodore smirked at him as if he could guess Draco's thoughts but just sauntered out after them. Severus led the way up the stairs, setting a brisk pace that made both boys almost jog to keep up. He led them along the corridor, pausing only for a second before pushing open the door to Umbridge's office. She was waiting for them, with Montague seated in front of her and a look of the utmost distaste on her face. "Ah, Professor Snape," she said, looking up when her door opened. "Very good, Mr. Nott. Oh, and Mr. Malfoy too, Very good, very good." "What happened, Professor?" Draco asked, moving forward to get a better look at Montague. The former Quidditch Captain was looking around in a daze, gazing at the floor with furrowed eyebrows as if he didn't recognize what he was looking at. "That'll be all, Mr. Nott," Umbridge said. "Thank you." "Oh, of course, professor." He pursed his lips, looking annoyed for only a moment before ducking out of her office. "Has he been like this?" Draco asked, waving a hand in front of Montague's face and getting no reaction. "Oh, he's better now," Umbridge said, waving her hand indifferently. "For a few minutes, he wouldn't even sit up straight, drooling all over my chair as it were." She reached over her desk and took hold of her tea cup. "Now, Professor Snape, I'm very curious to know what you make of this whole situation." "Madame?" he answered, raising one cool eyebrow. "Well, how could he have ended up in the toilet?" "I assure you, I haven't the faintest idea," Severus answered, staring at her with his dark eyes narrowed. Of course, Draco knew he was lying though he was never sure if Umbridge's intelligence was quite high enough such things in other people. Then again, if the Dark Lord didn't know when Severus was truly lying or not, how could Umbridge stand a chance. "Well," Umbridge sniffed. "I'm convinced it was those pestilent Weasleys. They've done nothing but cause trouble." "I'm sure you are correct, Madame," Severus said, blinking slowly at her as if emphasizing how little he thought of her opinion. "Now, may I take Mr. Montague up to the infirmary or shall we continue to discuss possible ways he ended up in the toilet?" "Hmmph." She sniffed again, taking a long drink of tea before answering. "Take him if you think it's best." "Of course, Madame." Severus bowed slightly, grabbed Montague by the arm and gently pulled him out of the room. "Strange man, Professor Snape," Umbridge said once the door closed behind him. "You trust him, Draco?" "You know I don't trust anyone, Headmistress," Draco answered, immediately. "Of course, I had forgotten," she answered, letting lose her annoyingly girlish giggle. He suppressed his wince. After the third time he'd heard it, he'd decided it had to be fake, well, everything about her had to be fake. Not including her enjoyment of other people's pain. "Do you need me for anything else, Headmistress?" "No, no," she said, watching him over the rim of her tea. "Run along, Draco." He bowed slightly to her and then turned to leave. He should have known she wouldn't have let him go so easily. "Do you miss being friends with him?" Umbridge called. Draco stopped, his hand about an inch from the door handle. "Being friends with whom?" he asked, turning his head just enough to catch the way she grinned into her cup. "Harry Potter, of course. He seems quite devastated that you betrayed him." She let out another girlish giggle. "I was simply wondering if you were equally affected." "Of course not," Draco said, throwing scorn into his voice and ignoring the twinge of guilt when he thought of the way Harry had looked at him all week, the way Harry had turned his head away every time Draco had insulted him. "I never cared about him. I'm just glad he’s not following me around like a lost dog anymore." "Yes, I'm sure you are." Umbridge giggled again, her pitch somehow raising higher. "You know, Draco. You really are your father's son. He would be proud." "Thank you, Headmistress," he answered, trying desperately to suppress the shiver that wracked through his body at those words. He let his hand fall on the door handle and push it open, slipping into the hallway and closing the door behind him. Then he let himself start to shiver. He could remember a time that he wanted to be like his father. He could remember when he looked up to his father. When he thought his father was tall and proud and could save him from the world. Draco didn't believe any of those things anymore. He could still remember the first time Severus had heard him use the word Mudblood. The look he'd given him. The long talk he'd given Draco about right and wrong and why blood shouldn't and didn't matter. It had taken Draco a long time to understand just what Severus was saying but when he did, it had crumbled his whole view of his father, of his life. How was he supposed to look up to a man that believed in blood purity when blood purity was all shite? How was he supposed to look up to a man who would scrape his knees to the floor for a monster when he claimed to be proud? Draco didn't know the answers to those questions anymore. He hadn't for a long time. And it made him shiver every time he had to pretend that he did. Because if there was anything in this world Draco didn't want to be, it was his father's son. He hesitated in front of Severus' door. He knew, Severus would be a while longer with Montague, but he also wanted to know what Severus knew. No, he just wanted to talk to Severus in general, stupid, insensitive, brisk Severus. He had overreacted when he’d yelled at Harry after the whole Trelawney thing; he’d known he had. He’d never wanted to be untrusting and cold, but it was hard when everything he already believed about himself was shoved back into his face. It was even harder to forgive. He’d tried. He really had, but every time he saw Harry looking at him with regret or guilt or something of the sort, the anger and hurt just came rushing back. So, he was civil because he knew he was being petty, but somehow that had only seemed to make Harry angry. And now he couldn’t even pretend to be civil in public anymore, and the anger felt so far away now that he couldn’t apologize. Draco sighed, pushing open the door to Severus’ rooms. There was no harm in waiting for him. He stopped short, eyes locking on the Pensieve in the corner of the room. He groaned, crossing the room in three long strides, he grabbed Harry by the arm and yanked him out of Severus' memories. Harry gasped, his green eyes unclouding and focusing on Draco after a moment or so of blinking. "Seriously?" Draco asked, shaking him hard enough that his glasses slipped down his nose. "Do you have any idea what Severus would have done to you if he'd found you?" "I-I—" Harry was shaking, looking up at Draco with wide green eyes full of horror. "Harry?" Draco asked, and Harry grabbed his robes, his hands clamping down on the material like he was afraid Draco was going to disappear on him, and Draco didn’t know how to pretend to hate him when he was shaking and upset, and Draco wanted—needed—to do something about it. He was so tired of pretending, of being angry. “What happened?” he asked. He raised a hand to Harry’s face, his thumb brushing along his cheekbone, and Harry shuddered, his eyes widening at the touch, but he didn’t pull away. “My father, he…” Harry shook his head, swallowing hard. "Why would… Why would they do that?" "What? What did—?" Draco started, but footsteps down the hallway interrupted him, and Draco turned his head toward the door and cursed. "Come on," he said, trying to step away, but Harry refused to let his robes go. "Severus can't know you got into his memories." "But—" "Just trust me, Harry," Draco said, holding his hand out. Harry hesitated, locking eyes with Draco for one heartbeat, two… Draco's heart was beating out of his chest as he waited. "Okay," he said, letting go of Draco’s robes and putting his hand in Draco's. Draco dragged Harry down the dungeon corridor, narrowly avoiding Severus before they ducked into a classroom and out of sight. "Harry," Draco said. "Tell me what you saw." "I…" His emerald eyes flicked up, locking on Draco with a fragile light. "I saw my father. He and Sirius were—they were tormenting Snape." He shook his head, closing his eyes as if remembering was causing him physical pain. "They were acting like a couple of bullies. People I would have hated if I was in school with them." Draco shifted his feet. He had no idea what to say. Barely knew how to react. "And my father was playing with a snitch,” Harry continued. “Ruffling up his hair and trying to make it messy like he liked all the attention on himself." Harry sighed, picking at his school robes distractedly. "People always say I look just like my father but suddenly that doesn't seem like such a good thing anymore." "They were just kids.” "So are we!" Harry answered. "So was my mother and she wasn't acting like a couple of bullies on a playground." He made a frustrated sound in the back of his throat, running a hand through his hair as if to smooth it flat. It struck Draco that his father must have been doing the opposite of that in Severus' memories. "I just… I feel like I suddenly understand why Snape holds such a grudge, is all." "Severus is good at holding grudges," Draco answered, trying to hold back his eye roll. "I wouldn't place all your cards on that table." "I just never thought I'd feel sorry for him," Harry answered, looking unconvinced. For someone who had such a long-standing bad relationship with Severus, Harry sure was convinced to take his side. "Oh, Merlin, don't let him hear you say that." Draco said, and Harry eyed him warily as if he couldn’t begin to understand what Draco meant. "Look, Severus is a complicated person. He's made a lot of wrong choices and brought a lot of bad that's on himself. But he's also a good man. A good man that's done a lot of good in his life." "I didn’t think you were that close to him," Harry said, green eyes locking on Draco with an uncomfortable intensity. "He practically raised me," Draco answered. "But your father—" "Anyway," Draco interrupted. "I'm just saying that you can't judge anyone by what you saw in that memory. That was only one piece of everything that happened." "But what my father did—" His expression darkened. "People change, Harry," Draco insisted. "Your mother married your father for a reason, and I'm sure it wasn't because he was an arsehole." "I just wish I knew what that reason was." Harry murmured. Draco sighed, but he really didn't have anything else to say to that. Harry would come to terms with his father or he wouldn’t. The most exciting thing that happened over the next couple of weeks was the so called 'flight to freedom' of the Weasley Twins. Umbridge had been furious about their departure while the rest of the student body was just completely overwhelmed with glee that someone had gotten away from her tyranny. The East wing of the Fifth floor was completely covered in the swamp left behind by the twins and no one was able to actually cross it. Of course, if the hidden smiles behind a couple of teacher's hands were anything to go by they knew exactly how to end it, but he didn't feel the need to tell Umbridge that. Eventually, the corridor was just roped off and students were expected to make their way around as best as they could. He was only seeing Harry on their Monday night Occlumency practice. He hadn't let Severus anywhere near Harry, partly because he knew Harry wasn't ready and partly because he didn't want Severus to find out Harry had seen his memories. Merlin knew what Severus would do then. Mostly he avoided Harry during the day, knowing he'd be expected to say something foul. Though he did catch himself looking over one too many times when he should have been looking anywhere else. It didn't help that Harry was almost always looking back at him. "Do you think we should sing 'Weasley is our King' again?" Pansy asked, probably for the fourth time that week. Draco didn't know why she kept asking; she would do whatever she wanted to do, no matter what he said. "I don't care," he answered, wrenching his eyes away from the messy raven head bobbing along in front of him. "You're no fun anymore, Draco." She sighed, latching an arm around his. He immediately sighed and tried to shake her off, but she refused to budge. It was as if she wanted him to hex her until she couldn’t use her hands again. They climbed up into the stands, watching as the quidditch players stood on the field below, getting ready for the game to start. It was the last game of the season, Gryffindor vs. Ravenclaw. And Draco could just spot Harry and Granger two rows down from him, on the very end as if they were expecting trouble and needed to be able to get away fast. "And he's off," Lee Jorden started narrating, "He's going straight for the goal! He's going to shoot—and—and—" Lee swore very loudly. "And he's scored." Of course, that meant Pansy immediately stood from her seat and began bellowing, followed closely by the rest of the Slytherin house: Weasley cannot save a thing,He cannot block a single ring… Harry turned his head, looking up and meeting Draco's eyes with those green eyes. Draco immediately looked away; he didn't need to see the judgement there. It wasn't like he could drop two rows and sit where he really wanted to. Pansy continued to pelt out the song beside him, laughing as the Slytherin's around her continued the chorus. Draco's eyes flicked down to Harry before he could stop them and—Harry was gone. Draco blinked once, twice, craning his neck. Granger was gone too; their spots empty as if no one had been sitting there in the first place. Draco stood abruptly, almost sending Pansy toppling back from him. "Draco, what?" she asked, stopping her song mid-word. "I need to go to the restroom," he said, resisting the urge to wince at such a terrible lie. She blinked but he didn't wait for her answer before pushing around her and hopping out of the stands. He took the stairs two at a time, his eyes still flitting around and searching for any sign of Harry. He couldn't have gotten far; Draco had taken his eyes off him for three seconds. Three seconds. Nothing could have happened, right? No one was stupid enough to take on Harry and Granger. Merlin, Draco felt his face drain, unless Umbridge… His feet sped up, sending him barreling down the stands and around the side, wrenching himself around so fast he wasn't sure how he'd spot Harry even if he was right in front of him. Surely Umbridge would have told him if she was planning something to do with Harry. Unless she didn’t trust him anymore or— Then, Draco saw him. He was walking—no, almost running toward the forest. Granger was right beside him. Draco immediately took off in that direction, cursing Umbridge for all he was worth. What the bloody fuck was she going to do to them that involved taking them to the forest. Had he been too obvious? Did she suspect him now? "Hey!" he yelled when he was about ten feet away. "Hey, stop right there!" They turned, Harry's eyes going wide when he realized who was following them. Granger shifted just a little to the side and Draco stopped in his tracks. "Hagrid?" he asked, looking up at the towering figure that he couldn’t believe he’d mistake as Umbridge before. "I, uh, hello th're Malfoy," Hagrid answered, shifted uncomfortably. "We were just goin' for a walk." "Into the forest?" Draco raised an eyebrow suspiciously. He took a step forward, reaching in his pocket and wrapping a hand around his wand. Just because Hagrid was supposedly in the order didn’t mean Draco would be opposed to hitting him with a good stupefy. "Draco," Harry said, his voice low in warning. "Harry, I think you better come back with me, now," Draco said, extending a hand for him. "I think I'm fine where I am, thanks," Harry answered. Draco tried to hide his flinch, but he knew he didn't fully hide the hurt that flashed across his face. "Draco." Harry immediately stepped toward him, reaching out, his eyes wide and repentant. "I didn't mean…" "No, no," Draco answered, jerking his chin up and wrenching himself away from Harry's reach. "I suppose I am a little curious where in the forest could be worth a good walk." He sneered over the word, wrapping his hand tighter around his wand. "Why not risk our lives for it, eh?" He directed his eyes at Hagrid, letting the ice set in. "I sure hope you're exactly who you say you are." "An' w'at is that suppos' ter mean?" Hagrid asked. "Only that anyone can Polyjuice into a half-giant, even if imperious is a little bit harder." Draco deepened his sneer, gesturing imperiously for Hagrid to lead the way deeper into the forest. The half-giant led them deep. It was clear by the way the shadows descended upon them and the sun was blotted out that they were far deeper in the forest than Draco had ever wanted to go. Draco was suddenly struck with the urge to run screaming away and never come back. He shivered, looking down at the twisting vines underneath his feet and forced himself to place one foot in front of the other. Eventually, Hagrid halted, throwing an arm out to stop them. He kept his eyes forward, approaching slowly. "He's sleepin'," he said after a minute. It took Draco a moment to fully process what he was looking at, and when he did, he realized how stupid he'd been to go along with coming into the depths of the forest with a crazy half-giant who was determined to get them all killed. He should have drug Harry back up to the castle kicking and screaming. "Are you insane?" he snapped, grasping Harry by the wrist and yanking him around and behind him. "Draco!" Harry protested, leaning around Draco's shoulder and frowning as if he didn't understand what all the fuss was about. "Hagrid, you told us," Granger said, her voice small as if she was just as scared as Draco—not that Draco was scared. “You told us none of them wanted to come!" "Why would they?” Draco answered. “This is no place for one of them?" "I don't…" Harry whispered, then he paused and became board stiff as if looking at the giant in front of them with new eyes. He released a little gasp of horror, his hand suddenly clasping around Draco's. "He didn't." "Oh, he most certainly did," Draco answered, narrowing his eyes at the half-giant in front of them. "You don' und'rstand," Hagrid said. "I couldn' leave him. See—he's my brother!" Silence. Draco felt like laughing at the pure hysterics of it all. He couldn't believe he'd let himself get dragged into all of this. "I jus', I jus' need someone to look after him once I'm gone." "Okay, that's it," Draco said, turning to leave. His hand was still firmly tangled with Harry’s, and he wasn’t about to let go. "We're done. I'm not listening to another minute." "Draco," Harry said, using his hand to pull Draco to a stop. His green eyes were looking up into Draco's with that pleading gleam, his eyebrows pressed together and his hand tight around Draco’s fingers. It was ridiculous how Draco hesitated. "Do you have any idea how dangerous giants are, Harry?" Draco asked, feeling as if he could be banging his head against a wall for all good it was going to do. "You could get seriously injured." "I know but… I can't just…" Harry trailed off, exchanging a look with Granger. Draco sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in a way that was becoming far too familiar. "You can never leave well enough alone, can you?” "Yeh'll do it, then?" Hagrid asked. "I… well." Harry said, looking conflicted. "We'll try." "I knew I could count on yeh, Harry." Hagrid beamed in a way that made Draco want to vomit up his lunch. "I'll just wake him up, then—introduce you—" "Are you insane!?" Draco screeched, tumbling a step away as if that would stop the stupid oaf. Unfortunately, it actually succeeded in waking the giant faster. He lifted his head with a great roar, rising off the ground and towering over the four of them easily. "This is Harry, Grawp! Harry Potter," Hagrid was saying. "And this is Draco Malfoy. And—" But the giant had already fixated on Granger, raising his hand as if he was about to grab her. Granger tried to scamper away, but it soon became clear that she wouldn't make it in time. Draco raised his wand but the giant was already wrapping his hand around Granger, lifting her up and up, and he wasn’t sure he could aim well enough to miss her. Fortunately, she seemed to have the situation under control. Granger ordered the giant to put her down, her voice surprisingly steady and the giant surprisingly listened. After she was back on the ground the giant shifted himself around, so he was facing a tree, apparently losing interest in them. Granger let out a breath, shaking faintly, and Draco couldn’t help envying her. He probably would have just screamed. By some strange turn of luck, the Gryffindors had won the cup, turning Pansy into some kind of annoyed monster that snapped at anyone who came too near to her. At least, that gave Draco an excuse to avoid her. He wasn't complaining. He needed all the time he could get to study for his OWLS. They were right around the corner. Draco steadily ignored his parent's reminders that if he didn't do well, he'd be in serious trouble. He knew he'd do well, and it wouldn't be because of them. Of course, that wasn't the only reason he avoided writing to them. But he just didn't know how to tell them he was in the Order or if he was even supposed to. "Have you heard the news?" Blaise Zabini said, coming up behind him. Draco raised an eyebrow. He was heading for his last exam, History of Magic. "Umbridge went after Hagrid early this morning." "Hmm." Draco answered, not surprised. He'd known Umbridge was planning something of the sort. "The whole Practical Astrology exam saw it happen." "What?" Draco asked, stopping in his tracks. "Yeah, apparently, she was trying to be stealthy, but it didn't really work out for her, did it?" Blaise smirked, his eyes flicking over Draco's face as if he could read his mind. Draco shook himself and kept walking. "They even managed to get McGonagall in the crossfire." "McGonagall?" Draco asked. "Will she be alright?" "Who can say? Umbridge really crossed a line this time, if you ask me," Blaise laughed, and Draco just managed to keep himself from staring. "Anyway, better get to History of Magic, no?" Draco nodded, keeping one eye on Blaise as they walked briskly toward the Great Hall. He was one of the few Slytherin's who had refused to join the Inquisitorial Squad. He usually spoke openly about his dislike of Umbridge but this still seemed a little too dangerous to Draco. The 5th years filed in, taking their time to be seated as the examiners passed out their tests and answer sheets. Eventually, they started. Draco filled out the answers carefully, making sure his paragraphs made sense and answered every question completely. His eyes flicked up to find Harry's messy dark head, slumped over his table, eyes closed as if he'd fallen asleep. Draco sighed, lowering his head back down to his paper. And then he heard the scream. He wrenched his head up and just managed to see Harry collide with the ground, still yelling and holding his forehead as if his scar was causing him innumerable pain. Somehow, he managed to stop himself from going over and clutching at Harry as if he was the one that was in pain. "I'm finished, Professor, really." Draco insisted, trying to hand his paper in. The Professor just looked at him wearily; Draco supposed he didn’t blame him. After dealing with Harry Potter handing in his paper early and unfinished, he wouldn’t want to deal with another unfinished exam either. "Mr. Malfoy, are you su—" "Yes, now may I leave?" Draco interrupted. The Professor sighed heavily but nodded as he took Draco's examination paper. He immediately sprinted from the great hall, just catching a flash of green eyes and black hair. "Harry!" he yelled. Harry froze, turning to look at him with wide eyes. Draco immediately crossed to him, stopping just in front of him. "Draco? Wha-?" Harry started. "What happened in there?" Draco whispered, looking around to make sure they were alone. "I saw—" Harry swallowed harshly. "Voldemort has Sirius." "You saw this?" Draco asked, his defenses immediately on high alert. "Yes!" Harry said. "I need to find Dumbledore, I need to—" "Dumbledore's gone." Draco answered. "Then McGonagall—" "McGonagall's in the infirmary. We need to go to Severus." "What? But—" "No buts Harry," Draco said, grabbing Harry's wrist and beginning to drag Harry behind him. "Now." Draco pulled Harry down the stairs and toward the dungeons, his mind in a haze of confused thoughts and emotions. He couldn't believe this was happening. He'd known it was always a possibility but the fact that it was already happening was almost too terrifying to contemplate. Draco wrenched open Severus' classroom door, yanking Harry along behind him. Severus stood from behind his desk, eyeing the two of them warily. "Harry believes the Dark Lord has Sirius Black in the Department of Mysteries," Draco told him, his voice low and sinister sounding in the dark room. "Is that so?" Severus said, raising one skeptical eyebrow. "You need to go now!" Harry answered, his voice echoing across the stone floors. "He's torturing him. He's going to kill—" "No need to become hysterical, Potter," Severus interrupted, standing from behind his desk. "I will go immediately. Draco, if you will watch over Potter while I'm away." Severus cast him a meaningful look, before sweeping out of the room. "Draco—" Harry started. "It'll be fine," he interrupted. He pulled Harry over to a desk, sitting him down gently. "Harry, I need you to be prepared if Severus doesn't find anything." "I…" Harry blinked at him. "What do you mean?" "The Dark Lord could just be messing with your mind." "No," Harry said firmly. "No, I saw it. I…" "Harry," Draco said, reaching over to grasp his free hand. "Just promise me whatever happens you won't do anything stupid." Harry's bright green eyes met his, so full of worry. "I promise." Harry answered, squeezing Draco's hand. It took Severus longer to return than Draco thought it would. And when he came back it was with an annoyed scowl that almost guaranteed good news. Harry stood as soon as Severus crossed the threshold, moving in front of him and waiting expectantly. "He was safe and sound at home," Severus said. "Nowhere near the Department of Mysteries." "But—" Harry started to protest. "Get some sleep, Potter," Draco said. "We're going to start working on your Occlumency daily." Harry barely had time to nod before Severus shooed them out of his classroom. Harry brushed his hand against Draco's as they passed, sending a tingle through him that lasted all the way to his room. He didn’t run into anyone on his way to his room, and the Slytherin commons was empty which was odd at this hour. Everyone should have been studying for their remaining OWLS. He opened the door to his room, feeling drained. "Hello, Draco," a voice said. Draco flinched, turning on instinct and taking in the sight of his father. He was standing, masked in shadows, his long blonde hair pulled back with his silver cane clasped elegantly in both hands as if it wasn't illegal for him to be here. "Father," Draco said, tilting his head in acknowledgment. "I hadn't realized just how close you were to the Potter boy," his father said, taking a single step forward into the light and angling himself between Draco and the door. "My Lord was most annoyed when his trap didn't work this evening. Your fault, I take it." "I'm not afraid of you." "I'm not the one you should be afraid of, my son." "I won't help you," Draco insisted, one hand already reaching into his pocket and wrapping around the handle of his wand. "You misunderstand me," Lucius said. "You don't have to do anything but watch Potter fall." "That'll never happen," he said. He pulled his wand and aimed it at his father, but Lucius was quicker. He had his wand out in a second and with one swift flick, Draco's wand was across the room and clasped in his father's hand. He blinked and lunged for the door, screaming and hoping anyone might hear him. Lucius just stepped out of the way and laughed as Draco wrenched uselessly at the handle, finding it impossibly locked. "It doesn't matter what you do to me," Draco said, dropping his hands away from the door. "Harry will never do what you want." "We'll see, my son." Lucius answered, leveling his wand at Draco's face. “We’ll see.” And this time, he could do nothing but watch as his father cast. Harry had a hard time sleeping that night. He couldn't shake the itch that something was horribly wrong. Even though Snape had said Sirius was fine, he just couldn't believe it. He rolled over in his bed again, trying to ignore the pain radiating from his scar. He knew what he would see if he went to sleep right then. And maybe Draco was right, maybe Voldemort really was just screwing with him, but that didn't stop him from wanting to run straight to the Department of Mysteries and demanding to know where Sirius was. He glanced over at Ron, making sure he was well and truly asleep before throwing his covers off and placing his feet gently against the floor. He carefully slipped his invisibility cloak on before heading down the stairs into the common room and climbing out into the corridor. If he could just talk to Draco again, he would feel better. He'd probably tell Harry how stupid he was being and say some other cynical comment and that would be that. Harry sighed as he headed down to the dungeons. Truth be told, he had no idea where he and Draco stood. In public, they were enemies. In private, it seemed as if Draco truly cared about him, but if Harry pushed it too far Draco would close off so fast Harry couldn't even whisper the word oops. It was infuriating. He stopped in front of the Slytherin dorm, murmuring the password quietly before stepping inside. Being careful to keep his feet concealed, he headed up the stairs and to Draco's Prefect room. Harry knocked quietly, waiting for a moment before frowning at the door. Draco was an extremely light sleeper, he always came to the door when Harry knocked. He pushed on the door, only to find it locked tight. That too was strange, Draco almost never used locking spells to lock his room. Harry pulled out his wand, pointing it at the door and then stopped himself. He couldn't find it in himself to believe that Draco would like it if he found out Harry had broken into his room in the middle of the night. He was probably out getting coffee… at 3 in the morning. Yes, definitely. What else could he possibly be doing that put him out of his dorm in the middle of the night? Nothing unseemly. Harry's chest throbbed as he turned away and slipped back down the stairs. Of course, Draco was just tired or something. It wasn't like he was locking Harry out or anything. He slipped his wand back into his pocket and almost ran back to Gryffindor tower. He didn’t sleep at all after that. He pretending to get up at the same time that Ron did, making a show of yawning and stretching his arms above his head, ignoring Ron’s raised eyebrow and just sauntered to the bathroom without a word. Harry took this as a sign and decided to get dressed himself. They headed down to breakfast with Hermione at their usual time. Most of the Gryffindors were messing around with each other, joking about the end of the year and talking about their exams. There was an easy spirit what with the end of year and the end of OWLS but Harry just felt disconnected from it all. He could tell Hermione and Ron were looking at him sideways, trying to tell what was off, but he didn't know how to tell them about this. Harry's eyes flicked to the Slytherin table without his permission, seeking out that white-blonde hair and those silver-grey eyes that he knew would only hurt him. To find—nothing. "Is Draco not at breakfast?" Hermione asked, following his gaze. "How should I know?" he answered, savagely stabbing a piece of turkey onto his plate. She eyed him warily but didn't say anything else. His eyes flicked over to Pansy Parkinson, who was whispering frantically to the boy next to her. In fact, the whole Slytherin table was a mass of whispering bodies, all hunched over each other as if there was some great secret. Harry rolled his eyes and turned to his breakfast, it was just like Draco to cause some great splash like this. Harry didn't see Draco anywhere during the day. He was never in the library, he was never in the corridors, he was never by the lake, and he was never with the rest of the Slytherins. Whoever he's with, Harry thought bitterly, they must be pretty special. He was sulking alone in the library before he really considered the possibility that something was horribly wrong. A tall, dark-haired boy sat across from him, dropping into the seat and staring at Harry without an ounce of shame. He was a Slytherin, his robes silver and green. Harry tried to ignore it, flipping the page of his book that he hadn't really been reading in the first place. "You Gryffindors really are dense, aren't you?" Blaise Zabini said after a minute of this. "What?" Harry started, surprised the boy had actually spoken. "I've been sitting here for almost 5 minutes and you've not said anything to me." Blaise smirked, still staring. “Aren’t at least going to ask me what I want?” "I'm reading." Harry frowned. "No, you're not," he said, snatching the book out of Harry's hands and tossing it casually across the table and out of reach. "See, not a problem anymore." "Hey—" "Look, I'll clue you in." "Clue me in…" "Yes," Zabini said, rolling his eyes as if he couldn’t believe how dense Harry was. "I'm going to clue you into the fact that Draco Malfoy is missing." "What? But—" "It's true," he said. "He never came out of his dorm last night. And when we went to check, the whole room was a mess, completely covered in dark magic." "No." Harry shook his head, feeling as if the world was spinning out from under him. "If that's true, why aren't the Malfoy's here? Why isn't the Ministry here?" "Our esteemed Headmistress Umbridge is keeping it hush-hush. She doesn't want anyone to know," Zabini said, his face dark. "Wouldn't want anyone to think she wasn't fit to rule." "Why are you telling me this?" Harry asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "Now, that's a good question." Zabini raised an eyebrow and then winked. "I think I'll leave it up to you to figure out." He stood, turning away from Harry. "Oh, and one more thing.” He stopped and turned his face toward Harry. "Umbridge is looking for you, some nonsense about you being in on the crime." He smirked and shook his head as if he'd never heard anything so ridiculous. "So, if you're going to do something, I'd do it fast." Then he turned and was gone. Harry watched him go for probably a second too long, trying desperately to process what just couldn't be true. He'd been at Draco's room only last night and— and Draco hadn't been there. He felt like smacking himself. How could he have been such an idiot? Draco was probably being tortured by Voldemort right now and he'd been sulking because he had thought... He scrambled up from his chair and hurried out of the library. He needed to find Hermione and Ron. Hermione would know what to do, he was sure of it. As it turned out, Hermione did know what to do. Not believe Blaise. "I just don't understand why you've decided to believe him," she insisted. "He could just be lying for Umbridge. There's no proof that anything has happened to Draco." "But Zabini said—" "He could have been lying!" Hermione answered. "And even if he's not, where would Draco even be? You'd just be chasing a dead end." "There's only one place he could be,” Harry answered. “The place I've been dreaming about for months. The place Voldemort tried to lure me to last night." "What?" Hermione answered. "Vol-Voldemort already tried to lure you out! Harry, don't you see what's happening? You can't—" "Hermione, I won't let—" "There's an easy way to find out if Malfoy's really gone or not," Ron said, putting a hand on Harry shoulder as if he was worried they were about to jump each other. "What?" Hermione asked. "How do you mean?" "I mean, we should sneak into the Slytherin commons and have a look at Malfoy's room. If it's all messed up like Zabini says then that's a point in his favor, right?" "But Zabini said we need to go now," Harry answered. "What if Draco—" "Harry," Hermione said. "Please don't just go barging off. Let's just check before we do anything rash." "Draco could be being tortured now and we're just going to waste precious time moseying around the castle as if his life isn't worth anything?" Harry asked, his voice rising to a shout with every word. "That's not—" she stopped when the door to the classroom they'd been hiding in opened. All three of them immediately paled, focusing on the door with wide frightened eyes. Instead, Ginny and Luna came in, looking at them curiously. "We heard Harry's voice," Luna said, her voice drifting dreamily. "What're you yelling about, Harry?" Ginny asked, tilting her head as she stared at him. "Apparently, nothing," he said savagely, directing his glare at Hermione. "Harry, maybe they can help," she said. "We can check Draco's room, but we'll have Luna and Ginny set up look-outs around Umbridge and the other Slytherins so there's no way we can get caught." "Draco Malfoy's room?" Ginny asked, sounding disgusted. Harry glared, and she cleared her throat, leveling her voice for her next question. "Why do you need to get into there?" "Okay," Harry answered, ignoring Ginny completely. "Okay, as long as we do this quickly. Otherwise, I'm going to the Department of Mysteries right now." "The Department of Mysteries?" Luna asked, her voice lilting dreamily. “Why would you go there?” "Right," Hermione said. "Ok." She began to pace before them, obviously thinking hard. "So, someone needs to go to Umbridge and distract her, keep her in her office no matter what. "I'll do it," Ron said, smirking evilly. "There are a million questions I could think to ask her." "Good, okay. Then we need someone else to keep students away from the Slytherin commons while Harry and I sneak in and have a look around." "Luna and I can stand on either side of the corridor and warn people not to go down there because someone's let off a load of Garroting Gas," Ginny said immediately, and Hermione blinked at her. "Fred and George were planning to do it before they left." "Okay, so that just leaves Harry and I to go check out Draco's room ourselves." "Good, I'll meet you by the Slytherin common room," Harry said. "I need to get my dad's invisibility cloak." "What? Now?" Hermione said, blinking. "Yes, now!" he answered, feeling like hitting her upside the head. But she just sighed and then nodded, and he dashed out of the room, heading up to Gryffindor tower and fetching his invisibility cloak before sprinting back down to the dungeons. He found Hermione, Ginny, and Luna waiting for him. The corridor was mostly clear with several kids milling around, looking annoyed about the gas Ginny was telling them about. Harry pulled Hermione to the side and they slipped under the cloak, disappearing from sight. "Let's go," Hermione whispered, leading him toward the Slytherin common room. He quietly whispered the password before they stepped inside. It was disserted because of the 'gas attack' with half eaten food and books strewn across the floor. Harry pulled the cloak off, folding it over his arm and stepping away from Hermione. "This way," Harry said, heading up the stairs and toward Draco's room. Unlike last night, the door was wide open, revealing the room beyond. The room itself was a disaster with the bedside table overturned and the light knocked over. There was glass strewn across the floor with dried blood sprayed atop it, and Harry had to fight his nausea just looking at it. If all of that belonged to Draco... He stopped that line of thought. But the worst part was the lingering feeling of dark magic in the air. It left a crawling, itching feeling across Harry's skin and made him want to take a shower as fast as he could. He stepped back and out of the room, needing to get away. "Harry?" Hermione said, following him out of the room. "I was here last night," he whispered, feeling like he was about to vomit. "I could have- I should have done something." "You didn't know," she said, reaching out as if to touch him. Suddenly the door to her right opened, revealing Pansy Parkinson. Parkinson paused, her eyes widening as she realized just who was standing in front of her. Her hair was dripping wet, obviously just out of the shower, with a towel pulled tight around her chest and she was opening her mouth as if… She screamed. Not the 'I'm scared to death,’ scream, but the ‘come arrest these people, scream.' Harry grabbed Hermione's hand and yanked, dragging her behind him as they ran away from Parkinson, trying to get out of the Slytherin commons before anyone else showed up. Of course, they could never be so lucky. They had barely stepped out of the portrait when two large shadows descended on them. A two meaty hand closed around his arms and Hermione's hand was wrenched out of his. He kicked out but Goyle just grunted and tightened his hold to a painful degree. "Take their wands!" Theodore Nott said, coming running up from behind, eyes sparkling with dark excitement. Behind him was Ginny, Luna, and Neville? All had been gagged and were held securely by one big brute in Slytherin or another. Nott's smile widened as Goyle dug around in Harry's pocket and then handed over his wand. "Follow me, Professor Umbridge wouldn't want to be kept waiting." He said, waving Crabbe and Goyle behind him as he marched them away. Nott lead them up the stairs and straight toward Umbridge's office. Goyle manhandled him inside, keeping Harry firmly immobilized as they entered the office. Ron was already inside, bound similarly to Ginny, Luna, and Neville, though Harry and Hermione's mouths were still free. "We got all of them," Nott said. "That one," he poked Neville viciously, "tried to stop me from taking her so I brought him along too." "Very good, Nott." Umbridge said, nodded in satisfaction. Then she turned her beady eyes on Harry, focusing on him with a disturbing intensity. "So," she said. "You thought you could trick me, did you? Sending people to keep me occupied, as if I don't see right through the tricks of a Weasley! And then that mess with the Slytherin commons, thanks to Miss Parkinson it was only to easy to catch one and all of you." She laughed heartily. "Yet, I'm curious, Mr. Potter, what exactly were you doing in the Slytherin common room? Clearly, it was important that you got inside but for what purpose? What do you know about Mr. Malfoy's disappearance? How is it connected to Dumbledore? Did he make Mr. Malfoy disappear to make it look like He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was active and back again inside Hogwarts? What do you know?" He blinked, trying to keep the incredulousness of his face. She really was crazy. "Nothing that's your business," he answered. "Very well," Umbridge said, her voice sickly sweet. "Very well, Mr. Potter… I have offered you a chance to tell me freely. You refused. I have no alternative but to force you. Theodore—fetch Professor Snape." Nott smiled wickedly before stashing the wands in his hands and sauntering out of the room. Harry suddenly wanted to smack himself. How had he been such a fool as to not think of Snape? Draco had trusted Snape enough to go to him yesterday. Of course, now Draco himself was missing…. After a moment or two, Nott reentered the room, closely followed by Snape. "You wanted to see me, Headmistress?" Snape asked, taking in the scene before him without so much as blinking an eye. "Ah, Professor Snape," Umbridge answered, her smile widening to a grotesque degree. "Yes, I would like another bottle of Veritaserum, as quick as you can please." "I do not have any more," Snape answered, leveling his dark gaze on her. "I have already told you that you took my last bottle." "You don't understand," Umbridge said, her girlish façade quivering slightly. "Potter has broken into the Slytherin common rooms. I must interrogate him." "Really?" Snape said, turning to Harry with mild interest. "The Slytherin common rooms? Does this not seem like something that should have been brought to my attention first?" Harry met Snape's eyes head on, franticly trying to convey the message that Draco was gone. That Voldemort had him. That Snape had to do something about it. "No," Umbridge answered. "I am handling this." "As you wish," Snape said. "I shall take my leave then, Headmistress." With that, he turned as if to sweep out of the room. "They've got my teacher at the place where it's hidden!" he called seconds before Snape's hand touched the door handle. Snape turned his face toward him, raising a single bewildered eyebrow. "His teacher?" Umbridge said. "Is that Dumbledore? Where what is hidden? What's he going on about, Snape?" "I have no idea," Snape answered, still looking at Harry with his cold dark eyes. Snape turned away, closing the door behind him with a severe snap. And he didn't know why he had ever thought this man would help him. THERE WAS A TIME SKIP. READ ABOVE NOTES FOR DETAILS. "Bloody Hell," Harry cursed, looking up and down the aisles of the Department of Mysteries frantically. "Where is he? Where is he?!" "Are you sure this is where they'd even take him?" Ginny asked, moving along beside him. "Yes," Harry answered. "Harry," Hermione said from a little bit behind them. "Maybe it wasn't Voldemort. Maybe it was just…" She trailed off as she caught sight of his face. "Just what, Hermione?" he asked. "Just someone else keen on kidnapping? He has to be here!" "But Harry—" "Just keep looking!" "Harry?" Ron called suddenly. "What?" he answered, heart beating out of his chest as he went to go find Ron. He almost didn't want to find him. Didn't want to see the evidence of what had Ron sounding so strange. Surely Draco wasn't… "Have you seen this?" he asked, pointing up at one of the glowing white spheres above their heads. "It's—it's got your name on it." "My name?" Harry frowned, stepping closer to where Ron was pointing. The sphere was covered in dust and it looked as if it had been shelved and then forgotten but somehow underneath all that was a clearly visible tag that read: S.P.T. to A.P.W.B.D. Dark Lord and (?) Harry Potter He blinked again and then just stared. What was his name doing down here? He reached out, his fingers instinctively outstretched for the glowing sphere. "Harry?" Hermione said. "What are you doing? Don't touch it!" He knew he should listen. He knew what Draco would say if he saw him now, reaching for something when he had no idea what it did, but he couldn’t stop himself. He felt in a trance, the sphere calling to him. "It has my name on it," he answered, his hand closing around the sphere with a strange click of finality. It was warm under his fingers, slightly buzzing as if answering his touch. Nothing happened, there was no mass explosion or people coming to arrest him by dropping from the ceiling. Instead, his friends pushed closer toward him, trying to get a closer look at the sphere he held between his hands. "Very good," a voice said from behind them. Harry jumped, whirling around. "Very good, Potter. Now give that to me." And then suddenly there were Death Eaters all around, outnumbering them. They circled around, blocking them in as if they'd been standing there the whole time. Harry realized by the smirk on Malfoy’s face that this was exactly what was happening. Lucius Malfoy was in full Death Eater robes except his face. And at his feet was his son, Draco. Malfoy had his hand clenched in Draco's hair, his wand pointing directly into his scalp in a clear warning. Draco himself looked horrible. His left eye was black with blood running down his face from a cut right above it, and he was sitting at a strange angle, as it he couldn't quite move his right foot. "What did you do to him?" Harry snarled, anger flashing through him at the sight. "Nothing really," Malfoy answered with a casual shrug followed by a slow smile. "Now, if you please," he released Draco's hair and held his hand out to Harry, palm up. "Let him go," he said. "Now, Potter. I don't think you're in any position to be making demands. Give me the prophecy." "Don’t," Draco whisper, his voice a strangled croak. "Crucio," Malfoy twisted his wand into Draco's scalp. Draco screamed. A horrible pain filled sound that Harry never thought he would hear from him. He watched Draco try and wrench himself away from his father and come away completely unsuccessful. Harry cried out, trying to move closer, to do something—anything. He knew Hermione and Ron were holding him back, keeping him from flinging himself into the ranks of Death Eaters and doing who knew what. Probably getting himself killed. But he didn't care. He had to make Malfoy stop because he simply couldn’t stand to watch Draco curl in on himself for a second more. And if he had to give up some stupid prophecy for that, he would do it. "Now," Malfoy said, releasing the spell with a flick of his wand. Draco slumped, held up only by the hair in his father's hands. "Care to cooperate, Potter?" Harry immediately held out the prophecy, his hand visibly trembling. "Harry!" Hermione said. Malfoy smiled, reaching forward to close his hand around the glowing sphere in Harry's hands. Suddenly, Harry pulled his hand back a second before it touched Malfoy’s hand. "Potter," Malfoy said, his voice a low warning. "You have to give me Draco." "Harry, don't," Draco said. "It's not worth it." "I need your word," he insisted. The fool was really going to do it. He was really going to sacrifice the world just for Draco. Now, Draco wasn't going to lie, it was kind of nice. In a horribly stupid what the fucking hell do you think you're doing kind of way, but still, didn't Harry realize the kind of position that put Draco in. Seriously, how could he be so selfish? Now, Draco was going to have to fix Harry's stupidity again. And this time he was supposed to do it while he was half-dead. Thanks a bunch, Potter, he thought, really hoping Harry would somehow get the message. He shifted his weight, trying to maneuver his broken ankle out from under himself. Pain spiked through his body, making him black spots cloud his vision, but he managed to stay upright, watching as his father considered Harry. He would never give him to Harry, but he would lie to get the prophecy. "Very well," Lucius said. "Draco in return for the prophecy." Harry, the bloody fool, reached his hand out, ready to just sign their death warrant off to the Dark Lord. Draco leaned forward as far as he was able and flung his hand out, sending the prophecy tumbling out of Harry's hand and colliding with the floor. It shattered across the ground, breaking into a thousand tiny fragments on the floor. Everyone stared, not seeming to know what to do with this new development. Draco felt like rolling his eyes except his head was already hurting enough, thank you very much. Hermione Granger, thank Merlin someone could use their brains, immediately drew her wand, pointing is at the shelf above the Death Eaters and shouted "Reducto!" The shelf wobbled once and then began to collapse. Harry shook his head, blinking twice and then widening his eyes with a look of horror plastered across his face. Suddenly he reached forward, yanking Draco away from Lucius and toward him with a single pull. Draco collided with his chest, letting out a cry of pain that echoed in the space around them. "Get them!" his father screamed, causing the shudders already wracking Draco's body to suddenly intensify. "Let's go!" Girl Weasley said, beginning to run down the aisle. Draco took a single step, winced and couldn't stop his broken ankle from collapsing on itself. "Here," Granger said, pointing her wand and casting a feather-light charm on him. "Harry, carry Draco, we need to go." Harry gave him one awkward look before turning and offering his back for a pigging back ride. "How romantic," Draco muttered. "What?" Harry asked, turning his head back. Draco just shook his head and climbed on board. Every step was agony in his bones. It started in his ankle and moved up through every muscle, ending somewhere in the mess that was supposed to be his head. He didn't even remember the number of times his father had crucioed him; he didn't want to remember. But he knew his body was certainly not in any shape to be running around and fighting. "There!" Granger called, pointing to a door that stood ajar before them. They slipped through the door behind Longbottom, and Harry slammed it, watching as Granger magically sealing the door. Draco felt like pulling his hair, why the fuck had he waited for Granger to do it for him? "Granger," Draco said, slipping off Harry back with a wince. "Give me your wand." "What?" She hesitated, and he sighed, turning to Harry and holding out his hand. Harry immediately placed his wand into Draco's outstretched palm, and he faced the door, muttering a complicated locking spell that Severus had taught him. A spell that he knew his father didn't know how to counter. "Hold on," Harry said. "Where are the others?" "They must have gone the wrong way!" Granger answered, heading toward the door as if she would leave. "What are you doing?" Draco said. "You're not going out there." "We can't just leave them," Longbottom answered. "Us going out there will only put them in more danger," he said, feeling exasperated. Was he the only one here with common sense? No wonder Harry was completely determined to get himself killed. Suddenly, there was a loud bang on the door, making all of them flinch. The nob turned, stopped, and then tried to turn again before going still. "Draco, I know you're in there." Lucius' voice called out. "You're the only one of these brats who could possibly know this spell." A pause. "I have some of your friends out here, the pretty blonde-haired one. You don't want me to hurt her, do you?" "No!" Harry said, stepping closer to the door. "It's a bluff," Draco said, his hands beginning to tremble. His father couldn't have... "Come now," Lucius' voice was acid. The same tone he’d used to scold Draco, the one he’d used when he wanted Draco to cry if only to punish him for his weakness. "I know what you're thinking, but I can and did catch one of your friends." A pause. Draco stepped toward the door and then away again. It was just a trick. He couldn’t let Lucius get in his head. "Draco are you willing to take the chance that it's a bluff? Just come out and no one needs get hurt. Especially, not your precious, Potter." Draco flinched. There was a long pause and he could almost hear the satisfaction in his father's voice when he spoke again. "If not… Crucio." There was a loud scream outside the room, and Draco was moving before he could stop himself, shoving the door open and coming face-to-face with his father. Lucius smirked cruelly, pulling his wand away from the Death Eater who was picking himself up and brushing his robes off. He stepped back; he'd been fooled, so easily. "You always were too sensitive, Draco." Lucius smirked. "I was, wasn't I?" He sneered. "Well, at least, I know I didn't get that from you. STUPIFY!" Harry's wand responded beautifully to him, knocking his father off his feet and making him drift into a hopefully restless unconsciousness. Longbottom and Granger were right behind him, stunning Death Eaters as if they'd been training to do it. And suddenly he was extremely glad that Harry had been breaking the rules the whole school year. Unfortunately, they weren't completely successful. "No!" Harry yelled. Draco whirled around to find Longbottom standing in front of Dolohov while Harry leaned over a very unconscious Granger. "PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!" Draco yelled, making Dolohov's limbs snap together and then sending him to the ground. He immediately moved toward Harry was leaning over Granger. Longbottom followed him over, kneeling down beside them and taking Granger’s wrist between his fingers. "Are you alright?" Draco asked, touching Harry’s cheek with his fingertips. "I'm fine, but Hermione…" "She has a pulse," Longbottom said. Draco wondered vaguely what he was doing, but decided it was better not to ask. "Your wand, I shouldn't have taken it," Draco said, reaching to hand his wand back, but Harry just shook his head. "Keep it. I'll use Hermione's." His lips twitched slightly though his eyes were still focused on Granger. "It suits you." Draco stared at him for a long moment before he retracted his hand. "What did they even want?" Longbottom asked, his voice pitching with a combination of fear and anger. "The Prophecy is broken, we can't give them anything else." "Revenge," Draco muttered. "You've no idea what the Dark Lord will do to them now that they've failed. The least they can do is destroy us along with the prophecy." "But—” Harry started, frowning over at Draco. "Harry," Longbottom said, shifting uncomfortably. "We need to go before they come back." "What?" Draco answered. "No, we need to hide. Eventually, they'll give up and leave." "What about the others?" Harry answered, his green eyes blazing with that heroic fury that Draco hated. "It's not our responsibility to save them," Draco said, standing and desperately trying to hide his wince. "We can't just leave them behind!" Harry said, standing to get in his face. "It's not your responsibility to save everyone, Potter!" Draco snapped, releasing all of his pent-up frustration and hoping Harry would see just how foolish he was being. He blinked, stepping away from Draco as if just realizing how angry he truly was. "I don't… I don't understand." "I know you don't," Draco answered, pinching the bridge of his nose. Now wasn't the time to lose his temper. "Look, there has to be a way to get help. It does us no good to run in blindly." "Right you are, Cuz," a voice said, echoing around them. They turned, coming face-to-face with Nymphadora, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and… "Harry!" Sirius Black exclaimed, surging forward to clasp Harry to his chest. "We were worried about you, Draco," Nymphadora said. "Couldn't agree where to look though until Snape told us what Harry said to him." "What? What did you tell Severus?" Draco whirled on Harry. "I…" Harry answered, turning away from Sirius Black. "I told him you were here but he… he didn't believe me, he said…" "You were with Umbridge, of course Snape couldn't let on he knew what you were talking about." Kingsley answered, looking at them with slight annoyance if concern. "Why didn't you just wait for the Order?" "Why indeed?" Draco said, his teeth clenching almost painfully. Which wasn't helping the pain that pulsed through his head. But, bloody hell, why couldn't Potter ever do the sensible thing instead of running around asking for death. "It doesn't matter now," Sirius Black interrupted. "Well take it from here, you four get to safety." "But what about the others?" Longbottom asked. "There are others down here too?" Kingsley asked, looking slightly horror struck. "Ron, Ginny, and Luna," Harry answered. "Just get to safety," Nymphadora said. "We'll make sure to get them." "But—" "Now, Harry," Draco said, grabbing his sleeve and yanking. Harry stumbled, and Draco lost his balance with him, his broken ankle colliding painfully with the ground. Draco let out a strangle yell before collapsing onto his butt. He glared up at Harry, hoping his indignation was showing quite clearly. "What? What's happened?" Nymphadora asked, leaning over him with a motherly air. "I'm fine," he answered, his voice barely coming out as a strangled hiss. "Just go do something useful." She made a face but did what he told her. Sirius Black gave Harry one last wink before leaving them behind to go chase after Nymphadora and Kingsley. "Let's go," Draco said, rising to his feet with a suppressed wince. "You can't walk," Harry answered quietly. "I'll carry Hermione, and you carry him," Longbottom said, already reaching down to clasp his hands under Granger's ribcage and lifting her up and over his shoulder. Harry hesitated and then nodded, offering his back as a piggyback for Draco again. Draco climbed back up and they took off in the opposite direction that his father had used to drag him in. This time felt longer than the first. He knew Harry wasn't trying to hurt him, but he wasn't exactly doing a great job at not hurting him either. It was funny, even with the pain lacing through him, Draco really thought they would make it out. They were right at the exit to the Ministry of Magic before the Dark Lord showed up, standing right in the middle of the corridor as if he didn't have a care in the world. His black hood was pushed down, revealing his snakelike face and red eyes that almost glowed as he glared malevolently at them. And Draco suddenly felt like crying. The back of his eyes stung as he slid off Harry’s back, trying to stand as best as he could. He couldn't believe this was happening, they had been so close only to die at the very exit. It was almost too cruel. "Ah, Harry, Draco," the Dark Lord said, his voice echoing around them and completely ignoring both Longbottom and Granger "We don't have the prophecy." Harry said. Draco looked at him out of the corner if his eye, feeling awe for the boy beside him. While he could only think of cowering before the man, the man that wasn't even human before them—Harry was standing there like he wasn't even afraid, his chin held high and his voice steady. It was really no wonder he had enthralled Draco. "Yes," The Dark Lord answered, his red snake eyes turning toward Draco. "I know of Lucius' failure." His lip curled on the word, voice twisting with disgust. His wand hand twitched, raising ever so slightly and Draco reacted before he really knew what he was doing. "AVADA KEDAVRA!" he yelled, sending the ball of green energy hurling through the air toward the Dark Lord. Who was no longer there. Harry stared at him, eyes wide and full of horror but he simply couldn't bring himself to regret his actions, no matter what Harry might think of him. "Crucio." He heard, about an inch from his ear. He flinched, preparing for the inevitable pain that was going to assault his body but instead Longbottom was the one who screamed, dropping to the floor with Granger on top of him. "Dear Draco, did you really think that would work?" the Dark Lord asked, stepping around. Longbottom gasped as the Dark Lord released his spell, shaking his head and cradling Granger's unconscious body close to him. "Bastard!" Harry growled, stepping forward and raising his wand with a snarled Expelliarmus. The Dark Lord raised his wand, easily summoning a shield and blocking Harry's spell and then Draco's. He was dancing around them as if it was nothing to him. Finally, he slashed his wand toward Draco, knocking his feet out from under him. Draco let out a strangled scream as his ankle twisted. His wrist hit the ground with a snap and Harry's wand rolling across the ground, out of his reach. "Draco!" Harry called, stepping toward him and losing his focus. The Dark Lord struck before Harry even had a chance, pointing his wand and muttering a spell that filled Draco with dread. "NO!" he yelled, scrambling over and catching Harry before his head could hit the floor. The dust rose up around them, encasing them in a sheath of debris but all Draco could think about was the boy with the dazzling green eyes in his arms. The boy who he was about to lose. "Harry, don't leave," he said, clutched his hands around Harry's shirt and refusing to let go. Though he knew it was too little, too late. He'd felt Harry's mind, he would never be able to stop the Dark Lord once he got it in his mind. "You can't leave. You… Yo-you can't." He realized he was crying. Not just crying, sniveling with sobs wracking through his body. "Harry Potter can't die, that's just not how it's supposed to happen." He bent his head low over Harry's, whispering the words as if to speak louder would somehow break the little cocoon of time that held them. "You're supposed to do stupid things and—and be hurt," he hiccuped, burying his next sob in Harry's chest. "Even terribly hurt. But never die. Never that. And you're supposed to grow old with some—some woman you love." His hands tightened, fingernails clawing into skin in a way that had to hurt but he just couldn't bring himself to stop. "And have twenty perfect children and never think of me again... But that's o-o-ok because at least you'll be..." He couldn't say it. Saying it would make it true. And it simply couldn't be true. "And I know I'm horrible, but I'm supposed to be. I'm not supposed to cry over you. I'm not supposed to feel like I'm dying because you..." He clenched his eyes shut. "I'm not supposed to love you, Harry Potter. But fuck you, I do, and I don't know how to keep going if you let yourself be taken over by him." He felt Har- his eyes flutter against his skin. Draco clenched his eyes closed tighter, burying his head in his chest. He simply couldn't see Voldemort's eyes in Harry's face. Harry's mind felt like it was on fire. His scar had split open and he was dying on the floor. He had to be. The pain was surely ripping him open and sending him spiraling. He could feel his mind losing its grip on reality. He could feel himself losing his grip on his identity. And he didn't even care, not so long as the pain ended soon. "Harry, don't leave," a strangely familiar voice echoed suddenly through his mind. Unfortunately, it only distracted him for a second before he was drawn back down again, drowning, drowning, unsure which way was even up anymore. He just wanted it to end, he would do anything to make it end…. "You can't leave. You… Yo-you can't." Something cold and wet dropped onto the place where his face was supposed to be. He flinched. Was he crying? No... That didn't feel right... And then the pain rippled through his scar with unimaginable force, making his curiosity die down again. "Harry Potter can't die," the voice said. Was that his name? Harry Potter. It sounded right, bouncing around in his skull with a meaning. "That's just not how it's supposed to happen. You're supposed to do stupid things and- and be hurt," the voice broke, sending a different kind of pain lacing through his chest. He didn't want the voice to hurt, whatever it was. "Even terribly hurt. But never die. Never that. And you're supposed to grow old with some- some woman you love." Hands tightened against his skin, sending a fresh wave of pain through him. He tried to withdraw but the voice was talking again before he could. "And have twenty perfect children and never think of me again..." He suddenly wanted to pull away from the voice. What it was saying certainly didn't sound right anymore. "But that's o-o-ok because at least you'll be..." The voice stuttered off as if it couldn't say whatever it was trying to. "And I know I'm horrible, but I'm supposed to be. I'm not supposed to cry over you. I'm not supposed to feel like I'm dying because you... I'm not supposed to love you, Harry Potter." He felt himself wrench, the pain in his mind diminishing almost completely. "But fuck you, I do, and I don't know how to keep going if you let yourself be taken over by him." And suddenly, his mind clicked back into place, shoving aside the pain as if it was nothing next the voice permeating through him. He knew exactly who and where he was. He was Harry Potter and he was horribly in love with Draco Malfoy, who—the bloody git—actually loved him back. He felt Voldemort shift uncomfortably in the back of his mind and Harry gave one last shove, thinking of all the things he had to live for, of all the people he loved and had come to love him. And then the pressure in his mind was gone. He felt Draco on his chest, the front of his shirt soaked as if Draco had been crying. Harry opened his eyes and tried to look down at him, but Draco just curled his hands tighter, fisting the material like he was afraid Harry was going to up and run away. "Draco," Harry whispered, reaching out to touch him. Draco immediately jumped up, flinching away from his touch with such fear in his eyes that Harry couldn't help but feel stung. "Draco, it's me," Harry whispered softly. "Are you alright, Harry?" Dumbledore's voice said. Harry started, just realizing Dumbledore was even there. And not just Dumbledore but the Atrium was full of people, bursting one at a time through the fireplaces along the walls. Neville shifted just behind Dumbledore, still cradling Hermione in his arms. "He was there!" someone was suddenly saying and then Cornelius Fudge was stepping through the crowd. "I saw him, it was You-Know-Who, I swear, he grabbed a woman and Disapparated!" "Draco," Dumbledore murmured, pulling something small and golden out of his pocket. "I need you to get Harry, Neville, and Hermione out of here immediately. I will be joining you in my office in about 30 minutes. Do you understand?" He pointed his wand at the golden thing in his hand and muttered: "portus," watching as it glowed blue before tossing it to Draco and turning to face Fudge. Draco immediately came over to Harry, keeping his eyes pointedly away from him. "It's a portkey," Draco said, holding it out for Harry to take hold of. "Grab hold." Harry hesitated before reaching out and wrapping his fingers around the little golden hand watch in Draco's hand. Neville clutched Hermione tighter to him before reaching out to grab hold of the object in Draco's hand too. Almost immediately, he felt the familiar tugging sensation below his navel as they were launched through space. They landed with a bang, Harry's feet colliding painfully with the ground. Draco cried out beside him, his knees buckling as his broken ankle gave out under him. Harry grabbed hold of him, clutching at his robes and cradling Draco close to his body. He cursed himself for forgetting Draco’s injuries, for forgetting what had happened to him. "We need to get you help!" he said, looking around for some way to ease Draco's pain. Harry turned, only to realize where he actually was. Dumbledore had sent them straight to his office, looking like it had been completely untouched since he'd left it in a blaze of glory. "I'm fine," Draco answered. "Right," Harry cursed. "I—right." "Really," Draco sighed, his breath ghosting across Harry's neck as he winced again. "Potter, stop panicking and set me down, will you?" Strangely enough, it was the sound of Draco scolding him that gave Harry the ability to calm down and focus. He turned Draco around, dragging them across the room and setting him gently down into one of the chairs across from Dumbledore's desk. Draco winced as Harry bumped his ankle again. Neville followed his example with Hermione, placing her carefully in the chair next to Draco. They milled around the office for a long time, no one saying anything before the fireplace lit up into emerald flames and Dumbledore stepped out, followed immediately by Sirius. Dumbledore ignored him at first, choosing to walk toward his desk and place a featherless Fawkes down on his perch. Sirius, however, came right over to Harry. He hovered, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder and looking down at him with a slight frown marring his features. "Sirius," Dumbledore said. "Please take Neville and Hermione to the infirmary while I speak with Draco and Harry." "But—" Sirius started to protest. "Please, Sirius." Dumbledore raised a hand. "Hermione is in need of medical attention." Sirius grumbled but helped haul Hermione up before leading Neville to the door and out of the room. It was silent for several minutes before Dumbledore spoke again, fixing his eyes on Harry with a sad sort of smile. "Well, Harry. You will be pleased to hear that no one is going to suffer lasting damage from the night's events." "Except maybe Draco," Harry couldn't help but mutter. Dumbledore just looked at him, his smile dropping to be replaced by something like sadness. "Harry," Draco said, shifting in his chair, and wincing quietly. "I knew what I was signing up for." "Really?" he asked. "You knew your own father would torture you to get to me?" "I know how you're feeling, Harry," Dumbledore said, his hands flat against the desk in front of him. And Harry's anger swelled. All he could see was Draco kneeling in front of his father, the wand pointed toward him, hearing his screaming, and wondering how many times that had happened before he'd arrived. He would wonder that for the rest of his life. And Dumbledore had the audacity to sit there and say he understood how Harry was feeling? "You don't know anything!" Harry said, his fists clenching so hard that his fingernails bit into the skin of his palms. "Harry, enough!" Draco answered. Harry flinch, turning to face him reluctantly. "You're behaving like a child." Draco scolded, but this time it wasn't enough to calm him down. Not when he saw how Draco's body was visibly trembling as he tried to keep himself upright. Not when he saw how Draco had to clutch at the arms of his chair to keep himself from falling out of it. "I don't CARE!" Harry said, knowing he wasn't really mad at Draco but not being able to stop himself from yelling anyway. "I don't care if I'm acting like a child! It's his fault." He turned suddenly to Dumbledore. "This is your fault. YOURS. You're the one that left him out to dry when he—he needed help. When he—" "You're correct." Dumbledore said, easily breaking through Harry's torrent of accusations. "This was my fault." "What?" Harry flinched, reeling back. "If I had been open with you, Harry, as I should have been, you would have known a long time ago that you should never go to the Department of Mysteries. You would have known a long time ago what exactly was waiting for you there," he said, and Harry blinked, his mouth bobbing as he tried to comprehend what Dumbledore was saying. "Now, please, sit down, Harry." He blinked, hesitating before he took a step back and did what he was told. "That's not—" he tried, but Dumbledore was talking again before he could finish what he was saying. "And you, Draco," Dumbledore said, turning to him. Draco looked back, shifting warily in his seat as if he half expected Dumbledore to attack him. "I owe you a much more severe apology. I should never have let my guard down enough that Lucius was able to get his hands on you. I should have foreseen that Lord Voldemort would see and use your connection with Harry. I am truly sorry for what you've suffered." Draco turned his face away and cleared his throat before speaking as if no one had ever apologized to him. After seeing the horrible way that his father treated him, Harry could just believe it. "It was nothing," he said. "I'll be fine." "And yet," Dumbledore said, his face solemn. "I must apologize again and ask that you repeat this nothing for us." "What?" Harry said. "But he—" "My father was waiting for me in my room." Draco interrupted, his voice flowing smoothly as if the words meant absolutely nothing to him. Though Harry could tell it wasn’t true by the way he kept his face turned away from them. "He told me he knew what I'd been doing. How he knew, I've no idea. He never said. Probably the only smart thing he's ever done. He—" Draco swallowed harshly, and Harry reached out, clasping his hand around Draco’s wrist and squeezing. Draco's head whipped around, looking at Harry with eyes wide and for a full second, it was easy to see the pain and surprise. Then Draco’s mask was back, and he turned his head away again though his fingers curled back around Harry’s, squeezing tight. "How did he get in?" Dumbledore asked gently. "Umbridge," he answered. "He told Umbridge how I was fooling her, said he was picking me up to discipline me." He let out a bitter chuckle. "There was something about using my disappearance to blame Harry and you.” Draco shrugged. “I was preoccupied." "And then what happened?" "I—" His hand twitched, his voice never faltering. "I don't remember much of it. I remember my father bringing me to the Department of Mysteries, the Death Eater's testing out their crucioes." Draco shivered violently, his whole body wracking as if it were remembering the pain he was trying to suppress. "I almost got away once, that was when my father broke my ankle. Other than that…" He shrugged. "They were mostly just waiting for Harry to show up." "Draco…" Harry tried, leaning toward him. "Don't," Draco answered, turning his face away. "It doesn't matter." But it did. It mattered more than Harry could ever express. "Thank you, Draco," Dumbledore said. "Now, I think you should be heading down to the infirmary. I'll call up Severus—" "No." "Draco," Dumbledore answered. "You need your rest. You cannot continue on in this condition for much longer." "No," Draco answered. "I want to stay." "Draco, I assure you—" "That's not good enough." He narrowed his eyes, his hand clenching almost painfully around Harry's. "I'm staying." "Very well." Dumbledore sighed heavily, and Harry reluctantly look away from Draco. Draco wasn't about to return his gaze anyway. "Now, Harry. I owe you an explanation as you have no doubt surmised." Harry remained silent. "I guessed, fifteen years ago, when I saw the scar upon your forehead, what it might mean. I guessed that it might be a sign of a connection forged between you and Voldemort. And this ability of yours has become more and more pronounced since Voldemort returned to his own body." Harry opened his mouth to object, he couldn't for the life of him understand why Dumbledore was telling him things he already knew. "After you saw Weasley being attacked, we were worried about the possibility of possession," Draco said, interrupting what Harry was about to say. "I remember," Harry answered. "Indeed, our fear was well founded," Dumbledore said. "Many times, your trust in Draco was of overwhelming use in keeping you safe." "Wait!" Harry said, pulling his hand out of Draco’s. “Are you saying you only got close to me, so you could spy for the Order?" "What?" Draco blinked once, his eyes widening with something that could have been disgust, but it was gone in the next second, his expression closing off with an audible snap. "You've got that all backwards, Potter." He sneered, his lips twisting cruelly. "I joined the Order because I cared about you. But, well." He shrugged, turning his face resolutely away. “It's always nice to know what people actually think of me." "In any case, Draco was not spying on you," Dumbledore said. He looked tired, his eyes flicking between them with something like sadness. "In every situation, he advocated for your complete privacy. He believe you should be told the truth from the very beginning." "What truth?" Harry answered. "You still haven't told me." "Five years ago," Dumbledore began. "You arrived at Hogwarts, Harry, safe and whole—" Draco snorted, his body trembling visibly as the sound traveled through him. "Yes, Draco's skepticism is warranted." Dumbledore sighed. "And you might as well ask why you couldn't have been sent to a wizarding family who would have treasured you and raised you as their own and the answer is that my priority was to keep you alive. When your mother died, she gave you a lingering protect, a protection that flows in your veins to this day." "I don't understand—" "It's a blood ward," Draco said, rolling his eyes. "When she died, your mother cast a blood ward on you and being under the roof of your blood relatives keeps you safe as long as you're with them." "But why?" Harry asked. "Why did Voldemort try to kill me in the first place?" "Voldemort tried to kill you when you were a child because of a prophecy made shortly before your birth. However, he did not hear the full prophecy and since his return he has been seeking assiduously for just that." Dumbledore said, and Harry blinked once, twice, three times. Trying to get his head around the idea that Voldemort had been trying to kill him—his parents had died—for a prophecy. So much for bad luck, so much for letting others fight his battles as Draco so desperately wanted. "I have the prophecy, if you would like to hear it," Dumbledore's soft voice said, breaking Harry out of his trance. "What? But it's smashed, Draco broke it so Lucius' wouldn't get it." "No, that was merely the record kept by the Department of Mysteries," Dumbledore said, standing and walking across the room. "The person who heard it has the means to recall it perfectly." "And who heard it?" Draco asked. "I did," Dumbledore answered, pulling out a draw and lifting out a rune carved basin. A Pensieve. He walked back over to his desk set it down. Then he waved his wand around his temple, withdrawing a silvery, gossamer-fine strands of thought and placed them into the Pensieve. Harry stared at it, entranced, watching as the shawl draped figure of Sibyll Trelawney spoke. The one with the power to vanquish The Dark Lord approaches… Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… and The Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power The Dark Lord knows not… and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives… the one with the power to vanquish The Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies… Trelawney slowly sank back down into the swirling silver mass, leaving the room in a deafening silence. Harry leaned back in his chair; he really felt like he couldn't breathe. It was bad enough that he felt so overwhelmed; he needed to take time to not make a sound and process, but when everyone else in the room did it too, he knew it was bad. "It can't be true," Draco said. Harry turned to him. Draco's face had gone deathly pale, his breathing unsteady and Harry was beginning to be really concerned about him. "Trelawney is a fraud. Everyone knows that!" Draco stood abruptly, wobbling where he was and shouting at Dumbledore. "It's not true!" "I assure you, it's quite true," Dumbledore answered, and Draco sat down heavily next to him, burying his face in his hands. "It’s—” Harry said, his voice sounding rough in his own ears. “It’s talking about me, isn’t it?” "Why?" Draco asked suddenly, not bothering to lift his face from between his hands. "Why couldn't the Dark Lord just leave it alone? Why attack a baby?" "Draco," Dumbledore said heavily, looking over his speckles. "You already know the answer to that." "Yes," Draco answered, looking up to glare. "And it worked out so well for him, didn't it?" "Yes, well. Voldemort didn't know you." He turned to Harry. "would possess the 'power the Dark Lord knows not'—" "What power?" Harry asked, feeling the sudden urge to run screaming from the room. He couldn't do this. He wasn't special or particularly talented. How was he supposed to face Lord Voldemort and win? "I don't have any power?" "Ah, but you do," Dumbledore said quietly. "You have your heart. Why do you think Voldemort fled from your mind when he was attempting to possess you?" Harry let out a breath, not sure if that was near enough to appease him but at the same time, completely unsure of what he was supposed to say against it. In fact, he wasn’t sure of what he was supposed to do about any of this. "And what about the rest of it?" Draco asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "The…. the 'neither can live while…" Draco made a strangled sound and looked helplessly up at Dumbledore. Harry felt the sudden urge to say something, but he didn't know what. He didn't even know what to say to comfort himself. "Does that mean…. that one of us has got to… kill the other…. in the end?" Harry asked. "Yes," Dumbledore answered, and Harry had to ignore the stifled sound Draco made in the back of his throat. Draco spent about a week in the infirmary with Snape watching his every move and forcing potions down his throat. Harry tried to talk to him several times but when he showed up, Draco was either asleep or Severus was with him. On the other hand, as Dumbledore had said, everyone else Harry had dragged with him into the Department of Mysteries seemed to be doing fine. He learned Ginny had broken her ankle, but Madame Pomfrey flicked her wand, and she was up and walking within the hour. Ron had been cursed with some kind of confundus charm, but he too was an easy fix. The only other real problem was Hermione, however, even she was out of the infirmary in a matter of days. Harry learned that the Ministry was officially dropping the charges against Sirius, spouting some nonsense about having known all along he wasn't to blame. They'd also officially accepted the idea that Voldemort had indeed returned, going back to praising Harry as the Boy Who Lived and naming him once again as their savior. Harry, however, couldn't care less about any of that. He honestly just wanted to talk to Draco. It had been a week and he still hadn't been able to ask the other boy about what he'd heard when Voldemort was possessing him. He didn't even know if he'd really heard it or if his mind was just creating things when he thought he was going to die. His chest hurt at that very idea. And when Draco was finally released, he didn't know what he expected. Maybe Draco to at least come and find him. But he didn't. So, Harry found himself trudging up to the infirmary like he did every day, but this time when he walked in, Draco's bed was empty. He stopped dead, staring at it and feeling panic shoot through him. "He's been released," Madame Pomfrey said, looking up from the bed she was making to cast Harry a quizzical look. "Didn't he tell you?" "I…" Harry trailed off, still staring at Draco's now empty bed. "Of course, I just forgot." Then he turned and left, feeling tears prick at the back of his eyes. What had he done so wrong? Would it have been so hard for Draco to just talk to him, for even a minute? His feet unconsciously carried him up the stairs and toward Gryffindor tower. Only when he stood in front of the portrait did he realize where he was and how much he truly didn't want to be around anyone else. He turned on his heel and continued to sprint up the stairs, letting his feet lead him up to the very top of the tower. Though he stopped dead when he saw a tall pale figure sitting at the edge, his feet draped over the side and his back to Harry. He took one step back, intent on running before Draco could see him and then he realized that he didn't want to run. He wanted to get in Draco’s face, to prove that he felt as much as Harry did, to hurt and claw and bite and be hurt the way only they could with each other. "What are you doing here?" Harry asked, his voice sharp. Draco flinched, turning to find Harry standing half in the doorway. For a long second Harry really thought he would say something, his mouth parted and his eyes flicking over Harry’s face. Then, he turned away, his face profiled against the bright background. "I wanted to be alone," Draco muttered, his voice so low it was almost carried off by the wind, and Harry stepped forward. Draco’s gaze flicked over to him, his grey eyes flickering with an emotion that passed so quickly Harry didn't have time to identify it. "Why do you do that?" Harry asked, taking another step forward. "What?" Draco answered. "Why do you hide your emotions from me?" "I hide my emotions from everyone," Draco said, his lips curving into a kind of bitter half-smile. "It's not personal." He stood, moving past Harry like he would leave. "Well, it feels pretty personal to me," Harry answered, his voice low and harsh, pulling out of his throat with the sound like a guttural growl. Draco paused, his face completely devoid of emotions. And Harry couldn't stand it anymore. He simply couldn't. He had to know what he meant to Draco. He had to know if he was just a toy or if he was—even could be—something more. And if he couldn't, then he needed to walk away right now because he didn't know if he could have his heart broken again by those silver-grey eyes that made him feel like he was on fire. Harry reached out, his hands closing around Draco's shoulders and shoving him harshly against the wall. Draco grunted at the impact, his eyes flying wide, mouth parted in shock. Harry took the invitation to plunge his tongue straight into Draco's mouth, curling around Draco's and digging his fingernails into the skin of his shoulders. Draco made a strangled sound and tried to turn his head away, but Harry refused to let him, moving one hand from his shoulder to caress his neck and up to lock his head in place. All the while, Harry kept his tongue in play, kissing the way Draco himself had taught him, using tongue and teeth and lips to make Draco pay attention to him. He was not going to be ignored this time. This time, it was going to be personal for Draco the way it had always been for Harry. And Draco did pay attention. With a strangled moan, he gave in to Harry. He took control of the kiss easily, thrusting his tongue into Harry's mouth and immediately beginning to lick along his gums. Harry shivered, relishing at the feel of Draco's tongue in his mouth. He gasped as his back connected with the wall, and Draco’s knee was on his groin, and it had been too long since last he'd felt this. Too long since the desire to kiss until he couldn't breathe last overcame him. Harry was panting so hard he couldn’t breathe, hard enough he had to pull his mouth away, his hands tangled in Draco’s hair. Unfortunately, this seemed to break Draco out of his trance. He gasped, his pupils were blown wide with lust, eyes wide and full of desperate fear as if he had just done something horrible wrong. "Harry… I—" He tried to step away, but Harry just clutched at him, refusing to be pushed aside so easily. "What are you so afraid of, Draco?" Harry asked. "Why can't you just trust me? I'm not going to hurt you. I almost died for you, Draco!" "Exactly!" Draco answered, and Harry blinked. This time, Draco took advantage of his confusion to shove him off, stepping back and away, and leaving Harry leaning against the wall and staring. "That doesn't make sense," Harry said. "Of course, it doesn't make sense to you!" Draco answered. "You see danger and you run into. But I'm not like that. I don't like being hurt. I don't like fighting for my life. I don't like watching you almost…." his voice broke, and he turned his face away. "You think I like almost dying every year?" Harry asked, feeling appalled and hurt. He'd have thought that if anyone could understand, Draco would. "No, I don't think that," he answered, his voice still sounding strangled. "Then why…?" Harry stepped forward, crossing back over to him, his hand outstretched as if to touch him. Draco flinched away, his eyes glassy; Harry's eyes widened, realizing just how close to breaking Draco truly was. "I think you can't help yourself from saving people. And I think." Draco swallowed harshly. "I think that I can't watch you die." "Draco—" Harry tried to touch him again, but Draco was already backing away from him, looking around for an escape as if he was a cornered animal. "No," he said, his voice just barely trembling. "I'm not you, Harry. I know I'm not. I'm selfish, and I'm a coward and this is one thing I won't do." He backed up, heading straight for the entrance. Harry watched him walk away with wide eyes, knowing there was only one way he could think to stop him. It was low, but he didn't think he could watch Draco walk away from him. Draco thought Harry was brave, but he was wrong. "But I'm in love with you," Harry called, his voice thin and desperate even to his own ears. Draco jerked to a stop, half turning his head to look back at him. And Harry just caught sight of the tear that trickled from the corner of his eye, catching the sunlight before dropping off his chin and landing with a splat onto the stone floor.