A/N: Thank you to @alrightginger @women-inthe-sequel @magic-girl-in-a-muggle-world @jamesandthedog @blitheringmcgonagall @all-perks-of-not-being-me @erase-grace @beaubcxton for supporting such a silly idea. I hope you like this at least a fraction of how much I like your writing and personality
Pairing: Jily
Summary: If I wrote a summary, I’d ruin the surprise.
***
When Mrs. potter walked in the living room of the Potter Mansion, she felt that something was wrong. Her skin prickled, and her Mom senses were alert for the first time since two weeks ago, when the Hogwarts express had left in direction of Scotland.
Her eyes scanned the place: Mimsy—their cat—didn’t seem to have broken anything for once, nor had it scratched any of her favorite pillows; the fireplace harbored no fire, so the house couldn’t be burning down—from there , at least; and her husband was lazily going through the Daily Prophet, seated on his armchair.
Really, everything seemed to be quite alright-
-until she noticed the little badly wrapped parcel on one of the glass tables.
That had no business in her living room.
“Fleamont?” she called, creasing her brow. “What is that ?”
The man raised his cheerful eyes from the newspaper, and peeped at her for a few seconds with his most innocent look. When her severe expression made it clear that he couldn’t get easily out of this one, he tried to hide his sheepish smile behind the publication.
“Something for James. I’m waiting for the owl to come back to send it over,” he muttered, hoping that she would be satisfied with this answer.
Of course, she wasn’t.
“Fleamont,” Mrs. Potter took a step toward the brown wrapping, and lifted it in the air to inspect it. “I swear to Merlin, if you get my son into detention once more -”
Mr. Potter clicked his tongue on his palate, and dropped the Daily Prophet on his lap, half-purposefully slapping the Minister of Magic’s squeamish face, “May I remind you, darling, that this was an accident. Minerva oughtn’t to punish her students because-”
“Somebody’s hair has turned into sheep fur? No, surely not,” Mrs. Potter burst, trying to decipher the letters that labelled the bottle—for it was a bottle, in the parcel—through the thick paper. “Mind you, maybe when one or two students get such a relooking, one could think of a mistake in the shampoo brewing. But when half the staff walks around the castle with a fleece on their head for an entire week, with not charm to solve it-” When she looked down from the little package, her husband had found cover once more behind an outraged Minister of Magic. “ Fleamont .”
“Fine,” Mr. Potter said, sending the newspaper flying to the other end of the room. “I might have sent James some Mutton Mixture for testing last time, but this is a completely safe product.” He stood up, and gently took the parcel from his wife’s hand. “Which I am going to send right now, with a public owl, so there will be peace again under this roof.”
Mr. Potter left a little peck on his wife’s cheek, took his hat from the coat rail, and opened the door.
“Fleamont,” Mrs. Potter called again, “What is it for?”
She just heard the words “impress” and “girl” before she was alone for good in the house.
***
James’ feet-tapping had become so irksome that Sirius couldn’t get himself to gulp down any food anymore.
“Alright. What is it, Prongs?”
For an answer, James only beamed—and Sirius very much felt like throwing him the rest of his porridge square in the face. Hadn’t it been for Remus-
“What Pads is trying to say, Prongs,” the lanky boy articulated between two mouthfuls of tart, “Is that you’re fucking annoying, beating some dumb rhythm and looking like you’ve been told that Snivellus got bitten by a Blast-ended Skrewt.”
“Has he?” Peter shrilled. His eager expression faded when Sirius muttered that no, but he wished.
Ignoring this, James leaned toward the pumpkin juice carafe, placed between their four plates.
“I have a plan,” he whispered, and his eyes immediately darted to the redheaded girl that was sitting at the far end of the bench.
Sirius dropped his head, and Remus and Peter groaned, but the three boys listened nonetheless.
***
Everything was clear in James’ head.
Ever since Lily had come back from summer vacations, she hadn’t stopped going on about this Muggle spy movie. She loved the actor, she loved the story, she loved the character, and she couldn’t stop gushing about it all.
Of course, this annoyed James very much.
It’s not like him and Lily were good friends—or were friends at all, to be honest—but they were on fairly good terms, and James was working his way to become her hero—it is a truth universally acknowledged that girls fall in love with their heroes. So the fact that a fictional bloke was standing in his way was clearly the worst of all things.
To bypass the whole my-crush-of-forever-keeps-swooning-over-a-fictional-dude-and-thus-does-not-notice-me-as-she-should situation, James had first brooded quite a lot. But as he was not too much of the emo type—it made him too similar to a certain slimehead he found absolutely repulsive—, he had tried to get Marlene and Dorcas to talk Lily out of her fangirling. Which would have worked, had he not gotten not too politely rebuked for apparently acting like a creep.
James had considered every other solution, but had come out with none that would work: dueling, arranging a date with another girl, and pranking would of course be pointless, as the guy was fictional, for Merlin’s sake; throwing a tantrum or threatening to fling himself from the astronomy tower seemed to be a bit dramatic, and he doubted that McGonagall would ever forgive him if he wrote “Hey Lily, I am here,” on any wall of the castle. She still hadn’t forgiven him for the last time he’d done it.
So, at this point, James had found himself in quite a dead end, and Lily kept talking about that cold-blooded, heart-stealing spy with flushed cheeks.
Yet, one day-
One day, James heard the name of the character, and something clicked in his head.
He had a plan.
***
“Do we tell him or-?”
Remus slapped Sirius round the head, “Come on Pads, James is our best friend. Between having a good laugh, or telling him the truth, we shouldn’t even hesitate.”
As they watched the bespectacled boy climbing the stairs to the common room, parcel at hand, the three-fourth of the Marauders grinned, loyal to their rebellious teenager natures.
“‘Course we ain’t telling him,” Peter concluded.
***
As James got out of the bathroom, an electric silence fell in the sixth year Gryffindors’ room.
“So?” he asked, wiping the mist away from his glasses with the fabric of his t-shirt.
The three other young men thanked Merlin that he couldn’t see shit without those, because it let them enough time to regain their composure.
“Mate,” Sirius said, when his best friend's hazel eyes finally put his face into focus.
He whistled, and that seemed to be enough to James. He looked at his friends with expectancy,
“Are you coming to witness my triumph?”
A little silence followed, and Remus considered throwing himself out of the window to avoid chuckling. But this would mean missing the next scene, so not thank you.
“‘Course,” Sirius said, his face professionally solemn.
“Wouldn’t want to miss that,” Remus added, skillfully turning his snort into a cough.
James sought Peter’s answer, but the boy just nodded. (Fact is, he had a part to add too, but he was chewing the inside of his cheeks really hard, and didn’t trust himself to contain his laughter otherwise.)
James beamed, and turned around, riding one of his hands in his messy hair. (That hadn’t changed.)
As the boys followed him toward the common room, Sirius let out his umpteenth groan, and Peter nearly suffocated.
***
“Oi, Evans!”
At the sound of James’ voice, Lily prepared herself to execute the most massive eye-roll in history of eye-rolls. What did he want, now? Couldn’t she study in peace on a Sunday morning? Considering the looks she spotted on her friends’ faces, their inner voices were shouting the same.
Still, when Lily turned around, a salty remark already on the tip of her tongue, all the air was knocked out of her lungs, and her jaw dropped somewhere near the floor.
For a second, she considered that the sunlight coming through the window might be playing her some wicked trick.
“James-” she whispered in shock, struggling for words that didn’t want to line up in her mind. “You’re- you’re-”
“You’re blond!” Marlene squeaked, raising a hand to her mouth, only to let it drop soon after.
To her cry, all the students in the room looked up from their books, essays, or games of exploding snaps. Some of them gasped, while the other half choked on their saliva.
“Yes,” James said, puffing his chest up with a smug smile. “Like that Muggle spy you always talk about, Evans.”
He wriggled his eyebrows at Lily, in that ridiculous way that he surely believed was charming.
Some sort of noise escaped Lily’s throat—similar to the squeaks that Peter made when somebody told him it was exams day—and said boy had to take one of the cushions from the couch to muffle his wave of giggles.
From the floor, Mary and Dorcas were still staring with open mouths, and the former braced herself, blushing for James, hoping that Lily wouldn’t be too hard on him: it was a cute thought, after all.
“What,” James asked, when the awkwardness in the room became so palpable that even he could sense it. “Have I grown a horn or-”
“See, Prongs,” Remus finally said, torn between a smile of pure amusement, or one of slight guilt. “The fact is that-”
“You look like him,” Lily cut across the lanky boy, springing from the floor. “You exactly look like James Blond.”
Sirius’ expression went from I’m-on-the-verge-of-dying-from-laughter to excuse-me-but-what-the-fuck??
“It’s-” her voice came out a bit strangled, laughter threatening to burst from her throat at the realization of his misinterpretation, but she checked herself, and swallowed.
She couldn’t entirely bite back her smile, though, but made it as gentle as she could. There was even a slight hint of red on her cheeks.
“It was kind of stupid of you, Potter-”
She was close enough to him now for his nose to face her forehead. One of her hands rose, as if to touch the pseudo-sunburned streaks of his hair, but she seemed to ditch the idea. Instead, she propped herself on the point of her toes, and left a swift kiss on his cheek.
“But it’s a nice surprise.”
When she left towards the dormitory, holding a hand to her mouth, the Marauders were so surprised that Sirius forgot to whistle.
***
It turned out that Mr. Potter had been quite mistaken about his affirmation: they dying lotion wasn’t as safe as he’d believed. Just like it had happened with the Mutton Mixture, the Blonde Brew lasted one week before starting to fade away.
Now, I could leave to you the task of imagining how these seven days went by, but something tells me that, maybe, you’d like to hear it from me.
The first to notice, apart from the Gryffindor students, was a very confused Filch. During his morning stroll, before which he had maybe drank a cup too much, it caused him a shock to see a blonde replica of James Potter—for his first thought was that it was a clone of his worst nightmare wandering around, you see. Filch ran to Mrs. Pomfrey in panic, and swore to never drink a drop of firewhiskey again, or it’d cause him a stroke, sooner or later. He instead moved on to vibringvodka.
When Professor McGonagall and a couple of other teachers came across James, in the hallways, they blinked furiously for a couple of seconds, but did not even try to understand. There was some relief in their countenance, as if they were just glad their own hair hadn’t been turned into something else, this time.
Professor Dumbledore eyed James’ mane very intently during dinners, and envied him this dazzling color for a while, while Professor Slughorn got quite distracted by the change, and blew some cauldrons during lessons.
As for the core of the Hogwarts student, anyone who even thought about telling James about his little mistake ended up jinxed, spluttering slugs instead of words. Said students never knew how it happened to them, but when they turned around to race toward the Hospital Wing, they’d always bypass a redhead, her rosy cheeks stretched in a fond smile.
Somehow, James had become something close to being Lily’s hero.
I really (don’t) want to marry you. James x Lily (Part 1)
The next part is better, I promise. This is a birthday gift for @araniaexumae (Aug18) and @petalsandfishes (Sept 1)
Thank you to my amazing and talented beta readers @frustratedpoet1979 @blitheringmcgonagall I love you all. Enjoy this 5.7kish mess
Here’s a theory. Hating someone is a lot like loving them. They’re like two sides of the same coin. You constantly experience heart palpitations, the urge to engage them in conversation and you think about them a lot. The same feeling settles in your stomach, a positive emotion, one that resembles satisfaction, and you always end up feeling high after an interaction.
Not that James Potter would have admitted to knowing anything about this, because it would have been ridiculous if he fell for Lily Evans, the poisonous witch who was his boss.
No, no, definitely not.
But James was always one for shenanigans and diving head first into unpredictable waters.
Xxx
His phone dings and with a furtive glance at it, the message inducing a groan, he sends out a quick message to the office group.
8:45 from James Potter to ‘OfficeGang’: IT is on her way.
Instantly, there’s a cacophony of rings around the office and several people, lazing around the coffee machine almost trip over in their haste to return back to their seats. People start logging onto their computers, or stacking a couple of files on the desk and assuming looks of deep concentration. And, in a matter of seconds, the sound of the elevator sliding open announces the she-demon’s arrival. Her sunglasses are still resting on the tip of her nose.
Lily Evans, Editor of the Hogwarts Co peers at her phone. She's got dainty shoulders, though her personality suggests nothing breakable or weak. They say you can tell a lot about someone based on their attire. Maybe so. Her bob of red hair is immaculately neat. Not a strand of hair is out of place and damn, adorning her shoulders is a nice crisp jacket with a white blouse that reveals only the blossom of something more. (James didn't notice that, though.) It's the first time James sees her in a skirt and she's got legs that go on for miles, tanned things with an abundance of beautiful freckles. She looks like a tiger. James clears his throat as she raises a perfectly done eyebrow at him from the lift.
The company was her pride and joy, something she had worked her way up to. It was her dream to work for a company like this since she was a child. And now, she was Editor. Fifteen-year-old Lily would have danced. Fifteen-year-old Lily would also like the power she wielded. It wasn’t like she enjoyed being strict (well, maybe a little) but a boss could never be a friend. It gave employees the freedom to do as they wished and the apology, ‘Forgive me, mate?’
She doesn’t spare a glance at her employees, instead choosing to keep her head held high but then, she stops at a desk. The whole office holds their breath.
She cocks her head at the boy sitting on her left and fuck, he’s not wearing a tie. Making it worse, there aren’t any files decorating his desk, never mind that he has no business with paperwork.
“Meet me at my office at ten.” She draws out the words softly before she grabs the coffee cup James is holding for her and enters her office. It's really too bad her personality isn’t as radiant as her looks.
Taking a sip as she drops on the chair, James says, “Your immigration officer called, something about-”
Lily cuts air with her hands as if she doesn’t want to be bothered with the issue. “What about the staff meeting?”
“It’s in fifteen and-”
“Uh,” Lily interrupts again, snapping her fingers as she tries to recall something, “Is that girl from Finance coming? What’s her name? You know, Ugly Hands?”
“Marlene? She’s coming.”
James pronounces her name, and internally withdraws in disgust at her nickname. Marlene was a complete darling and he looked at her as a sister. She was always so kind to people, occasionally bringing breakfast and sweets just because.
“Anything else I should know about?” Lily pushes the cup upwards, inhaling the coffee before she takes another sip.
“You have that project to look at for Albus.”
Lily nods. “Already done that.”
James tries to hide his surprise. Witch she may be, but she is nothing short of remarkable.
“Nice work.”
Lily Evans stands, cup still balancing on her hand. The black suit she wears today looks exceptionally fine on her and brings out the smattering of freckles on her face. She looks almost beautiful.
He sees a hint of a smile.
“If I wanted a compliment, I’d have asked for it.”
“Right. You’re supposed to meet with Albus today, as well.” James runs a hand through his hair and makes to depart.
“James?”
The tone sets him on edge and he winces.
“Yes?”
“Why has the barista, Cathleen, written her number on the cup?”
Fuck! Shutting his eyes, he turns back and stammers, “I-uh, that was my cup.”
Lily nods like she was expecting his incompetence and takes another sip from the cup before she drops it in the trash.
“You’re a caramel macchiato sort of guy,” She observes, disinterestedly. “Dismissed.”
XXXX
One minute before the meeting, he shoots a quick text to the office group, “Witch is on her broom.”
The clock strikes nine and he jumps up and reaches her door just as she opens it. Leading him, she brings him to Pettigrew’s office.
“What are we doing here?” He mutters.
Not bothering to reply, she lets herself in. The man inside, rather short and plump with hair that looks like it’s stuck by fevicol, starts to sweat profusely as he takes in his guests.
“Ms. Evans.” He breathes, reaching out a hand but letting it fall short when she doesn’t take it.
“Peter,” Lily begins and it’s that tone, that use of someone’s first name, a no-no in professionalism, that presages what’s about to happen.
“I’ve done the reports,” Peter interrupts and winces.
Rule #1 of working under Lily Evans was not to interrupt her under any circumstances. He’s made it worse.
“That’s nice,” Lily says bluntly, “but I’m afraid I’ll have to let you go. You’re just a prop here.”
“What?”
“You’re fired. We’ve found someone better, someone, who listens to instructions.”
James turns his head while his eyes amplify. Scratching his neck and fidgeting, he watches as Peter stammers and turns a deep red. Awkward, awkward, awkward thinks James, cringing silently. Not that he’s very fond of Peter. Peter is lazy and painful and only got the job initially because of family connections. When Peter doesn’t say anything, Lily tilts her head, smiles at him and starts to walk out. James leaves the door open.
“Do not come out, Peter. Do the right thing for once.” She’s murmuring but then, loud footsteps sound behind her and the call, “You bitch!”
Letting out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, Lily turns and purses her lips as if she’s containing a smile.
“You can’t fire me! I-You’d be useless without me! You’re just a cold-hearted and poisonous bitch!”
This time, Lily Evans smiles and it is colder than fucking Antarctica.
“Albus has already done the interview, Peter. You want to know why you’re being fired? It’s because you’re a lousy employee, an incompetent and lazy arse who cheats on his wife more than he works. And, if you continue to make this scene, I’ll save the camera recordings and send them to every interview you go on. So, make your choice Peter.”
Silence envelopes the room. Everyone’s eyes flicker between a disgruntled and angry Peter and a cool and suave Lily before the former’s shoulder sag and he walks over to his office, slamming the door behind him. The camera on the ceiling watches innocently.
Gossip spreads fast and as the room is thrown into a ruckus of discussion. Many of them are delighted to see Peter leave, sick of covering for his incompetence. Both of them, editor and assistant, ignore it as they go back to her room.
“What happened to the meeting?” James looks down at her.
“Postponed till Saturday.”
James stops for a second. “I have an obligation that day.”
Lily glances at him and shrugs. “Guess you’ll have to delay it.” She feels rather bad if she’s being honest, and she did approve his leave. James always worked so hard, not one to take a vacation. But there wasn’t an alternative. She needed him.
“It’s my Grandmother’s 90th birthday.”
Lily Evans bites her lip. She sees James looking at her with surprise and then quickly shrugs again, and like the cold-hearted woman she needs him to think she is, walks away. “Get me another coffee.”
Xxx
Her shadow looms over him as he’s talking to his mother.
“No, Ma. I can’t. She needs me-No, I. I can’t. Tell Grammy I’m sorry, alright?” He disconnects and swerves his chair to look at her, his mother’s (Euphemia) angry muttering abruptly put to a halt.
“Telling you to quit?” No hint of surprise.
Resigned, he nods. “Every day.”
“Shame. I’d miss you around.”
He raises his brow in disbelief. The phone rings as she slides away from view, conveniently moving away just as he’s registered what she’s said.
“Yes, hello? This is Ms. Evans office. No, she’s not here.”
The person on the other end keeps insisting, jabbering on about how the magazine could be ruined unless he talks to Lily immediately.
“Look,” James bites, frustration creeping into his tone, “you can talk to her later, alright? When she’s not in a-”
He’s holding back a swear when he says, “Fine!” and jumps from the chair, loosening his tie as he walks to Albus’ door.
He can see Lily’s tense profile as she talks to the head of the department. Her arms are raised and she looks like she’s about to have a heart attack. He really doesn't want to interrupt this.
Knocking once, then twice, he opens the door and starts babbling, “Dorcas called, Lily.”
She spares him an annoyed look.
“Tell her I'll call back.”
“She says it’s urgent.”
“Mr. Potter, we’re in a meeting.”
Suddenly, she gets this look in her eye and her hands still, suspended in air, and she’s looking at James like he’s her savior and fuck, that can’t be good, and he really wants to leave.
“What?” He asks, shooting Albus a look.
“Come here.” She mouths, though it looks like gibberish to James.
“What?”
“Come here” Lily repeats before she does it herself. She does more than that, actually. Curling into him and putting one arm around his waist and the other against his bicep which has become strained, she nuzzles into him and smiles at Albus.
“There’s something I haven’t been telling you, Albus Dear. James and I, well, we’re in a relationship.”
James’s mouth opens, then closes as if he can’t quite decide what the function of a jaw is anymore.
But then, she says something else and his heart literally drops down to his stomach and his legs feel wobbly all at once and really, what the fuck is happening?
She says, “We’re getting married.”
“Isn’t he your secretary?” Albus asks. “I mean, this is great. I’d love if you could stay here. Goodness knows, Peter would be a terrible replacement.”
“Assistant.” James corrects, faintly.
All the air in his body has left him and he’s sure he’s going to faint right here, in front of his boss and the Head and they’ll call the ambulance and then diagnose him with fucking surprise.
Continuing with the ‘what the fuck’ turn of events, Lily wraps her arms around him and lays her head on his chest.
“Can’t fight a love like ours.” She says lightly, concluding the statement with a wide smile and a chuckle.
“No, no.” James’s forehead creases but he doesn’t pull away from Lily. She smells of watermelons.
“We’re happy.” Lily keeps nodding and discreetly pinches his side when she hugs him. “We wanted to keep it a secret but-”
Albus’s eyes twinkle at them under his moon rimmed spectacles. He’s always known things he shouldn’t know and when he grins at them, it’s almost like he’s encouraging them, even if what they’re planning to do is illegal.
“I’m very glad to hear that.” He plucks out another sweet and the wrapper crinkles as he opens it and pops it in his mouth. “Now go on, then. Have a wedding to plan, don’t you?”
Immediately, she pulls away from him as soon as they are out the office, she clicks the door shut, marching ahead and leaving him behind. His colleagues are giving him weird looks and Andrew, a friend of his shakes his head as if he’s disgusted.
“For real? Her?”
James just stares at him, mouth still hanging slightly open and observes everyone as he follows Lily. They’re all smirking, and some of them are even calling him a betrayer. A lost cause.
He shuts her door after them and blinks as she recommences her work.
“Lily.”
“Yes?”
“Lily, look at me.” James sucks his lips in. “What just happened? I don’t understand.”
Lily raises an eyebrow. “We’re getting married.”
How could she be so nonchalant?
“I am not going to marry you,” he says firmly.
“Of course, you are,” she replied lightly.
“Elaborate,” James says, his mouth dry. She wouldn’t threaten him.
James starts to pace and she (finally) drops her pen down.
“I’ll get deported if you don’t marry me and I can’t work for the company because it’s American. If I lose my job, Peter becomes editor and he’ll fire you because he wouldn’t trust you. All the work you’ve done, the everyday coffees, the pick up this book and that, the late nights, it’d all go to waste. What? Were you hoping to get married to someone you loved?”
“Yeah, rather strange that I want to marry for love, isn’t it?” James trails off, still staring at her.
He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t considering it. Still, did he want Lily Evans to become Lily Potter, to be his fucking wife? This, this woman who kept eating his brains?
Lily rolls her eyes again and she sounds almost sorry when she tries to assure him, “Look, we’ll get a quickie divorce, alright?”
The phone’s ring startles him and she throws him out, carelessly and casually. She already knows what his answer is going to be.
XXXXX
“I do not see this ending well.”
Lily doesn’t even spare him a glance, absorbed with admiring her nails. She was acting like nothing was happening out of the ordinary. James supposes nothing is. They were just doing something illegal, everyday activities, you know.
Ha! Teenage James was probably mocking him. In his youth, James was a mischievous bugger. His friends and he had wrecked a lot of havoc, vandalized school property, and charmed girls with their roguish grins. They had done a lot of frowned upon things, also called illegal things. That was in the past, though. Back when Remus and Marlene were alive. Ever since they died in that car crash on their way to work, Sirius had been inconsolable and they (James and him) had eventually lost touch. While Sirius took comfort in alcohol and drugs, James threw himself into his work.
Peeking at the woman on his left, he can’t help but feel nauseous. They’re seated in an interrogation room. Severus Snape, the immigration officer has yet to arrive but James is already sweating his ass off and it’s only partly because the ventilation in the room is utter bollocks.
Foreseeing that a panic attack would not bode well now, he instructs himself to keep breathing. Adding onto helpful measure, he loosens his tie. Behind him, the door creaks as it’s opened and his heart jumps to his throat as a man sits in front of him.
He’s ugly. That’s the first thing that comes to James’s mind and he dwells on it as the hook-nosed officer analyzes him. With greasy black hair that’s parted in a vain attempt to look good and a scent that reminded the visitors of rotten eggs, James could only come to the conclusion that they were screwed.
“You must be James Potter and Lily Evans.”
Lily smiles brightly. “That we are.”
“You seemed adamant that we meet up today. May I ask why?”
“We want to well, get married...”
Snape makes a noncommittal sound of understanding. He seems halfway decent with the small smile he sends their way. Maybe, this would go well.
“I hope you know that if you both are committing fraud at Hogwarts.Co, you will be facing permanent deportation, Miss Evans and you, Mr. Potter will be committing a felony and will have to pay 20,000 Dollars up front while you rest in prison. For five years.” The immigration officer smiles. “So, we can make this your last chance, Mr. Potter, will you tell us the truth?”
Lily interrupts, silently cursing her luck. “Where did you even get that idea?”
Staring at her long and hard, Snape licks his lips and turns to James. “I got a call.”
“It wouldn’t have been from Peter Pettigrew, would it?”
And it’s that second, lingering look that Snape throws Lily when James almost gags in disgust. What an asshole. If they weren’t surrounded by cops, he’d have taken a swing at this pervert. James coughs and Snape snaps his eyes towards the intruder of his (disgusting) thoughts. “Yes, it’d be him.”
“He has a vendetta against us. Ever since the committee planned on firing him.”
Snape raises his eyebrows. “Oh? It still doesn’t change the observations. So I ask you again, Mr. Potter. Will you tell us the truth? Or be arrested?”
“The truth is Lily and me, we’re-” A thousand ideas bounce in his head and he’s about to say, “It’s all a lie, I’m sorry” but then he takes a glance at Lily who’s smiling at him though he can sense the tense curve of it. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t seen someone who is usually so sure of herself, so cool and confident, looking weary, because he looks at the officer and nods twice. “We’re in love,” He lies smoothly. “Two people who fell in love.”
The officer’s eyebrows raise and he leans forward on his desk, crinkling a couple of pages as he does. “Is that so?”
“I was getting promoted to editor so we didn’t want to tell anyone.”
Take that, Evans.
Lily seems surprised but shakes it off quickly.
“That’s right.”
“And-” Snape pauses and diverts his attention to Lily. “Do your parents know about this... ‘romance’?” He adds, sneering.
The tone heavily implies he’s buying no part of this mockery so James takes it a step forward and drops a hand, almost casually on Lily’s knee and squeezes it. Her muscles tighten and tense. Not one used to physical displays or really, any affection, Lily was automatically seized by panic which evolves into embarrassment and understanding. The look she sends her ‘fiancé’ is one showcasing deep gratitude.
James barely manages to control himself from scoffing when Lily says, ‘No, no, they’re dead’ and Snape smiles lightly. What a creep.
“So, when are you planning to tell them, your parents?” Snape’s upper lip twists in disgust as he asks James.
“This weekend!” Lily quickly chimes.
James snaps his head towards her. What? Marrying her was one thing but he did not want to get his family involved. He taps her thigh with his finger. What the fuck do you think you’re doing? the movement implies.
She laces their fingers together. Go with it, the effort replies. “We’re going to meet his family and all that. It’s very exciting. I can’t wait.”
I can. James thinks and watched despondently as Snape’s eyes lit up.
“Well, that’s great because we’ll be interviewing the parents too.”
James stills and his hand drops from Lily’s. Snape catches sight of it and grins like a predator.
“Unless-”, He drawls, “you’d like to tell me something, Mr. Potter?”
“Yeah, I would.” James smiles brightly.
Distantly, Lily’s eyes widen proportionately and already, a smug face is blooming on this wanker and James doesn’t know why but he wants to rip out Snape’s throat for looking at Lily like he was; malicious and lustful.
“Do you know any good restaurants in the vicinity? I’d like to take my fiancée out.”
“I don’t deal with that level of expertise, Mr. Potter. Where is this wedding?”
Lily winces. She should have asked James about his family life. Screw professional ethics. Snape’s eyebrows are carefully raised. A flicker of irritation ignites with his confident portrayal. He looked like a twat.
“Why am I doing all the talking?” Lily laughs. “Why don't you tell them, darling?”
James doesn’t know whether to laugh or screw his ears shut at the nickname. Guess the Ice Queen becomes the Warm Queen.
“We’re going to Sitka.”
“Sitka.” Lily agrees, nodding and almost choking when James continues, “In Alaska.” The look he sends her is teasing like: Oh, you didn't know? How sad.
Snape shakes his head and Lily has the urge to hold her breath at his pungent and foul smell.
“Good luck and my condolences for your future break up.”
James smirks and drops a kiss on Lily’s cheek and turns before he can see her become as red as her hair.
“Congratulations, rather, are in order.”
XXXXX
They both walk out and James’s frustration comes back in full force as Lily starts rambling about their dining options.
“I wouldn’t mind something vegan. Maybe from that new joint by the corner? Trish got well, food poisoning from there but second time's the charm, right?”
James spins around and his gaze locks her in place. Her eyes pop up when she takes in the wild and dark look in his eyes paired with the clenched jaw. “What’s wrong?”
“Were you not in that fucking room, Lily?”
Lily purses her lips and then drags her tongue across them. His eyes follow the action.
“I was, yeah, and it seemed like everything’s going fine-”
James tugs his hair. “Arr! You’ve screwed up, Lily! My family is brought into this mess now, are you serious? Arh!”
Lily rolls her eyes at his outburst. “Hell, keep your panties on.” She pulls him along as she walks. “Nice addition with the editor thing.”
He pulls her to a stop. “I wasn’t kidding.”
Her laugh sounds almost practiced.
“Right.”
To cut the conversation short, he bites, “You either accept me for Editor right now or I’m walking my ass away. Face it, Lily. You need me.”
A second passes and then a sigh is heard, somehow amongst New York’s ruckus of the grind of tires and ‘oi lady! You looking nice! It was a miracle that they heard each other at all.
“Fine, alright?”
“Wait, one more-”
“Of course, there is.”
James grins at her toothily and her heart lurches. Call her shallow but one of the reasons she had immediately thought of James as a suitable candidate for groom was because of his devilish good looks. He had a lean and muscular body, thank you football while his hair fell over his forehead in beautiful brown wavy locks. Under the sun, it looked like he was an angel with his glittering golden hair. And, she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t getting flustered at his devoted attention. She could always blame the glare of the heat.
“20,000 copies of my manuscript.”
“10,000.” She bargains, instinctively but goes back to his original offer when he doesn’t say anything except tick his watch.
“And another thing-”
Oh my God, Lily thinks. It’s the least she can do, she admonishes herself. He’s getting married to her. She can pull out a few favors.
“Ask me nicely...”
“What?”
“Ask me nicely to marry you.”
The bugger is smirking at her and stuffing his hands in his pockets. He’s relishing the feeling of ordering Lily around. It was usually the opposite. He’d be damned if he wasted this opportunity. Raising his eyebrows as she begins with,
“Alright. Will you-What?”
“I want you to get on your knees, right now and propose to me like you mean it.”
Lily whines.
James guffaws. Still grinning wide as Lily awkwardly shuffles before she drops on her knees. He can see people stopping and plucking out their phones and point it in their direction. Lily’s back is so rigid that James compares it to a desk. She’d have to go on romantic now with media glaring at them.
“James-”
“Like you mean it, Lily.” He teases, softly with a chuckle.
Huffing, she begins with more emphasis, “James, I knew from the moment I saw you that you were incompetent...at trying to impress me so I took matters in my own hands and you’re so cute, you know that? I thought why not hire you? But here we are and I’m hopeless in love with you so will you make me, Lily Evans, citizen of America, the happiest woman in the tri state area? Please?”
He’d been transported at ‘I am hopelessly in love with you.’ He wasn’t foolish enough to imagine a marriage with his boss though his traitorous thoughts had drifted there on instinct. Would their divorce be messy? He wanted to marry for love but he was marrying for his career.
“I accept your proposal.”
Lily stretches out a hand for aid and he quickly pulls her up, their hands lacing together for a split second before he pulls away and manages to toss her a shaky grin, walking away, leaving her there.
XXXX
They’re in the plane, cramped together. They’re not sharing with anyone which is a plus for their privacy. James took the window seat and Lily had let him, scoffing about how it was unfair. He didn’t seem to pick up on her fear of flights. Right now, with a cheeky smile on his face, he’s handing her an enormous binder.
“Get on it, then. I had four years to study everything about you and you have-” He exaggerates looking at his watch, “-you have, four hours. Good luck.”
Lily scoffs and shakes her numb feet, inconspicuously, under the seat. “There is no way you know all of this. About me.”
James leans forward, his shoulder and hers interlocking as he says, “Don’t I?”
What the fuck is he doing? Lily shifts and swallows. Her heart is beating uncomfortably fast and she doesn't know why. He doesn’t seem to take offense by her distance though she feels like she’s hyper-aware of him now. Are they playing a game she wasn’t a part of?
“What am I allergic-” She begins, trying to shake whatever’s landed between them. It’s a tangible weird energy that’s prickling her skin but James doesn’t seem to be affected as he rolls with her answers.
“Nut.” James pops a peanut in his mouth as he says it. Bugger. “Peanuts and the whole spectrum of the human population.”
Lily rolls her eyes but the truth stings her more than she cares to admit.
“And, I’m pretty sure you have a tattoo somewhere.”
The glare she sends him is frigid.
“I do not.”
“Lily, Lily-”
The woman in question groans. She preferred it when he had just started on the job and used to call her, ‘Miss Evans?’ but once, she had slipped up and called him ‘James’ and he’d been like an insufferable seven-year-old.
“Lily, a laser technician called once but you never called him back which means you still have that tattoo somewhere on you. Where is it?”
Genuine interest paired with the teasing flicker in his eye result in her becoming a rosy color. She takes a look outside and while her heart climbs to her throat, being appreciative of the view comes naturally.
“Oh look, we’re here.”
Alaska is gorgeous in a barren kind of way. Mountains tower up, their peaks reaching out to touch the cloudy blue sky. Lakes shimmer under the white glare of the sun, lapping occasionally as a boat drifts by. Here, up in the sky, Lily felt like she’s intruding the serenity of this fantasy magical world with its radial colors of apple green and navy blue.
It’s no New York.
Lily never thought that could be used as a compliment.
Xxxxx
“It’s really good to see you, Lily. I wish we could say James has told us so much about you but well,” Grammy Potter is saying cheerfully.
Sitting in the car alongside James, Lily hadn’t truly realized what a mess her plan was becoming. Events like this never end well in movies or fanfiction (not that she read fanfiction) It would slowly unravel and collapse while you just stood there dazed.
That’s how @fangirl990dj described it, anyway. (Not that she would know)
She chooses an ‘aww, yes’ kind of laugh and Euphemia turns slightly from the driver’s seat.
“We can get to know you this weekend. Just us, girls. Don’t worry about it, dear.”
Panic seized her. What if they asked her how they met while they interrogated James?
“I-uh, would love that.”
Miraculously, James isn’t participating in the conversation but staring out, wistfully. It’s obvious that he misses his hometown but something in his expression sends a pang to her heart. She turns away from him and stares out at the lush surroundings. The hues of green were so vibrant, a palette for sore eyes. Despite being bundled up in multiple sweaters and socks, yes, she wears multiple pairs of socks at once, sue her, the cold seeps into her bones, sending her teeth chattering. She scoots closer to James.
Trees blur together, prominent flowers catch her eye and the breeze is untainted by pollution but smells distinctly of something earthly and clean. Few shops were open at this hour.
Only one in fact. Lily squints. All the wind is knocked out of her. Sliding her vision to James and the shop, no, shops again, she whispers, “James.”
He doesn’t seem to hear.
“James,” She murmurs furiously, louder.
Punching his arm and smirking as a high pitched squeal left him, she asks, “You didn’t tell me you were rich.”
“Don’t do that.” He whines, rubbing his arm and looking at her. “I’m not. My parents are.”
Lily scoffs. “That’s what all rich people say.”
“Well, at least I know you aren’t marrying me for my money.”
Lily sticks out a tongue at him and James rolls his eyes, getting out of the car.
“Real mature.”
His back looks fine. How had she not noticed it before?
She glances outside, interlocking her fingers together under their Winnie the Pooh mittens. And immediately, double takes.
“Oh my gosh.” She murmurs, awed at the fucking castle she was seeing.
It was perched on a hill, its muddled charcoal walls, welcoming and historic. Despite the distance, Lily could make out the brilliant courtyard in front of the house. Whoever lived there must be some Duchess. She felt like she was back in Scotland, another realm that did not exist on Earth.
“Oh.” James peeks at the monument too and then, at her. He smells of something musky and cookies. Did he eat some on the plane? Lily couldn't recall.
He was distracting her with the close proximity.
“That's the house.”
Lily stills. But then, she processes and just says, “What?” She’d later advise her daughter to take Humanities. Makes you rather eloquent, it does.
“How do we get there?” She wants to wipe that smirk off his face.
And maybe, lick it. Ugh, her PMS is making her sound like a creep.
“Boat.”
“What?” She repeats, faintly.
She almost doesn't get out of the car. There must be some maturity involved, right? James looks like he’s having a fucking ball of a time, snickering as she struggles with the luggage.
“Go help her out, Jamey.” Euphemia is admonishing.
They're waiting down at the pier, staring up at James and her. She looks down. And shuts her eyes. Climb down a ladder, alright. But when said ladder could be toppled, moved gently with the breeze so she could lose her balance and fall headfirst into the lake? That proposed a problem.
“She's one of those Satan incarnates,” James is telling them.
Lily throws him a glare and if looks could hurt, he’d be ten feet under. She'd have to pull out the Jamey card soon enough.
“One of those feminists. She doesn't want me to help.”
Grammy Potter starts murmuring and shoots a look to her daughter like: she, this woman was going to marry our darling and oh, so wonderful James?
Spurred by her reaction, Lily begins her descent, bags swaying her. She drops them, carefully and smiles when they land on James with an oof.
Her foot dangles down, suspended in air. Lily screwed her eyes shut willing herself to move.
C’mon Lily, you’re an Evans.
Another step.
James huffs.
Another step.
Almost there, Lily.
Another step
Euphemia’s chattering reaches her ears. They think they're being quiet. Screw them.
Two steps and her feet search for footing and once found, she squeals and drops on the ground.
“I did it!” She states, brightly to James.
He’s hardly encouraging. Rolling his eyes, he plops onto the boat and gives her a helping hand to do the same.
“Congratulations! I’m an old man now.”
xxx
What did she carry? Lily’s sure she’s about to get a muscle catch with all this weight.
“-you serious?” James is saying to his mother in front of them, anger edging his tone and making it clipped.
Lily groans as she drags her luggage along, questions trailing off as the sight of dozens, dozens, of cars appear.
“Surprise!”
James throws his shoulder over hers. “Fuck me.” He breathes, shutting his eyes.
“Maybe later, James.” Lily manages to say. They were so so screwed. “We have a party to get to.”
xxxxx
For @hermione-who from @wizardingworldwaitforme and @beaubcxton
Hermione can’t believe what she’s seeing.
Maybe it’s because of the shock of her tights colliding with the freezing floor, or the strength the cry provoked by her surprise.
She shakes the white plastic stick. Once. Twice. Thrice. Observes. It’s unchanged.
She rests her back against the wall and stretches her legs forward, until their extension is blocked by the base of the washbasin. The last time such a huge turn in her life had happened, it had been in a similar room, and she remembers it as if it were yesterday…
There was music. A sweet music. Somebody was tickling the tiles of a piano. A huge one.
“Are you ready?”
She looked up at Ginny.
She’s just able to hear the knock on the door, and a deep voice asking if she’s all right, before the whiteness of the bathroom gives place to the pitch blackness of her closed eyelids.
***
There Is music. A sweet music. Somebody is tickling the tiles of a piano. A huge one.
Harry straightens his green tie, anxiety coiling around the pit in his stomach like a vicious snake.
“Alright, mate?”
The groom nods. “Just a little bit nervous s'all.”
Ron claps him on the shoulder. “You’ve got nothing to be nervous of mate. She loves you. You love her. You both make fondue, I become a godfather-”
The word fondue stirs an unforgotten memory from the Burrow in Harry’s brain, and he’s forced to recollect as thoughts about their sixth Christmas together flood him.
A hoarse cough had disrupted his occasional good sleep.
He groaned at first, throwing the comforter over his ears.
The residue of his nightmare burned his scar, and breathing heavily, he tried to shove the screams of his friends away. Cold sweat welcomed him as he opened his eyes, the worst suppositions attacking him from all parts.
When he managed to get a bit more lucid, he recognized the sound of Ron’s rambunctious snoring, which drived any suspicion of horror away, and, with a sigh, Harry cautiously got up.
It was dark enough that the atmosphere felt stifling. He walked ahead as if in a trance, following the beaker of faint light spilling ahead. As his steps got closed to the source of clarity, the sound of a retch disrupted the silence and he willed his heart to still.
Somebody was being very sick in there.
Rapping once on the bathroom door, he called out, “You okay?” and immediately berated himself for asking such a ridiculous question.
The victim of his horrible choice of words didn’t seem to think much of it, and Harry oddly wondered how serious their cause of ailment was for they called out a weak, “Yeah.” Here, they interrupted and contradicted their previous statement by moaning.
Shortly after, the flush of a toilet stained the air. “I’m fine.”
True to his perceptive nature, he recognised that she was Hermione Granger, and she was most definitely not alright.
“Mione? Can I come in?”
“You don't need to.”
A beat of tangible silence, then, “Please?”
The door weakly swung open, creaking as it did so preceded by something clicking and Harry was faced by a very sick crush.
Even with a ghostly pale face, blue-ish lips, and damp hair, he could not recall a time when he hadn’t thought she looked more beautiful.
Against his better judgment, he tucked a stray curl of hair behind her ear, and his heart stumbled when he saw red color her skin.
Offering her a glass of tap water, he leaned against the bathroom floor with her, shutting the door.
“What’s happened?” His voice echoed in the room, and he winced at the modulation.
“It’s those damned fondue rolls that Ronald seemed to like.”
She said ‘Ronald’ with such a tone of severity as to make Harry cast a silent wish to spare his friend from his fate.
Interrupted in his thoughts by another retch, he padded over to Hermione, pushing away the hand she hung between them and petted her back.
“Get it all out, Mione.”
Her answer came out weak, “Thanks Harry. You’re the best friend a girl could ask for.”
A smile carved its way onto his face. “Anything for-”
His romantic proclamation was cut short by another moan, and was altered into a chuckle when she uttered, “I’m going to kill him.”
They sat like this till the early hours of morning, until a very worried Mrs. Weasley accosted them for not waking her up, and shooed him away.
They breezed by the hours. Harry lending a pun here and there and Hermione scoffing at it, stating that he was mad though there was no longer an absence of good humor by the time dawn brushed their eyelids.
It was enough time for Harry to realise, at the moment when he was holding her hair and whispering words of comfort, that he’d had been loving her for an epiphany, that he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, and that, if that meant that all his days were going to be vomit scented, then so be it. As long as he had her.
And suddenly, there was this burning feeling in his chest, the type of impulse that one cannot hold, so he just said it, plainly and simply, as if he was making a remark about the weather, “I love you, Mione.”
She didn’t falter for a beat, just smiled weakly at him and, with an assurance that the fondue rendered quite hard, returned the sentiments.
She didn't realise how deep the ardor ran. To her, the feelings she had for Harry were strictly platonic and she was definite it was the same case for him too. They were best friends, of course she loved him too.
This was no occasion for a kiss, Harry thought, to prove that his feelings were much more different than what she understood. So instead, he silently promised himself that, someday, if she’d have him, they’d get married, and love each other until the embers of the past finally fade past.
For now, her friendship was a gift, golden and pure, sent from the Olympians before, and he silently vowed never to make the mistake of being Icarus.
“-did not raise you so you could use fondue as an inappropriate word! And to corrupt poor Harry as well. Why, I never-”
Harry coughs, interrupting the reproach from Mrs.Weasley, a woman almost as dear and symbolic to him as his own dead mother. She’d nourished him with love, care, and affection. And now, here she is, as kind and lovely as she had been decades earlier, when he’d asked her where the platform was. The only change Harry can notice is a new set of wrinkles, but they add to her grandmother look.
Ron, the same as always, silently assures Harry to go on, his right ear still bearing the flush of his mother’s shouts.
“They’re ready for you, Harry.”
***
“Are you ready?”
The knocking on the door intensifies, and Hermione shudders.
How long has she been lying here? Not so long, if the person on the door hasn’t stopped making noise already. It’s starting to annoy her. Her head is throbbing.
“Mione, love, it’s late. We have to be there in fifteen minutes. Ron says we should leave-”
“Ron said we should leave.”
“Really? He doesn’t want to come?”
“He said he’ll catch up on us. Plus, he seems a bit afraid of getting closer than ten feet to you. I reckon he said something about damaging a book...”
Hermione shrugged, and Harry smiled to himself. Ron hadn’t told him anything about any book, or anything at all. He was not even aware that they were going to Hogsmeade together, since Lavender got the most of his attention lately. But Hermione didn’t know that.
Her hands deep in her pockets, she engaged another conversation, and soon the topic that Harry dreaded, the question of why they were going alone, was far away from their minds.
The sky was calm, but the cruel cold was cutting into their skin, and Hermione caught herself longing for a hug.
, she wondered what was wrong with her lately. Why did she keep liking Harry’s company better than Ron’s? Why did she desperately want to sit next to him in every class? Why did she crave the same food he did? But she promptly found rational answers: Ron was being something of a jerk, the classrooms were crammed, and the mashed potatoes were the best dish on the table.
So why was she wishing for a hug now?
Shaking her head slightly, she reassured herself: she just wanted a best friends hug. Nothing more.
Ugh… She’d convince herself of it much more if she listened to what he was saying.
“So Trelawney came in, and I didn’t know she was going to be so angry-”
Harry ruffled his hair more than it already was, and Hermione had to bite the inside of her cheek to avoid smiling too obviously.
Exasperated at herself, she decided to look elsewhere.
“But you know, she’s always predicting my death, and one day she’ll be the cause of it. I mean, people die from boredom, don’t t-”
“Oh look Harry!” Hermione interrupted him, excitement tangible in her voice. She pointed at Zonko’s, at an object that had caught her interest. “I heard about this new illusion potion they released. Let’s have a look at it!”
Glancing at his expression, she understood that it was not in her friend’s plan to pay a visit to the joke shop, and was ready to resign, but he grabbed her arm and started walking toward the place she had indicated.
“What is it about?” he asked kindly.
Glad that he had accepted her suggestion, she explained, “It imitates the first effects of amortentia, but instead of making you smell odors, it makes you see images related to the person you love.”
Harry, who was opening the door, stumbled slightly at her last word, and she felt her own cheeks light up.
After thinking about it, why did she want to see that potion?
But again, the rational part of her brain protected her: it was an amazing bit of magic. There was no other curiosity in her intentions apart from the scientifical one.
After she cleared that detail, she didn’t feel afraid to approximate herself to one of the purple-colored bottles, and hold it up.
“I wonder what my parents would think about this. They’d laugh a lot, for sure. Oh, I could buy them one, what do you think Harry?” As he didn’t answer, she turned around, but didn’t find him next to her. “Harry?”
Her eyes scanned the colorful crowd, but her friend was nowhere to be seen.
“Come on, we’re not going to play hide and seek,” she mumbled to herself.
It struck her that she wouldn’t mind playing hide and seek with him, but she pushed the thought away.
He was not near the noisy hats, nor next to the nosy books, and the corner of the quivering quills eas empty. She looked over the heads of the third years, and between the bodies of the seventh years, and even checked on-
“Boo!”
Hermione started, and instinctively swung round with her hand ready to slap. Thankfully, Harry was not close enough to be reached.
“Harry James Potter!” she cried, listening to the thumping polka of her heart. “Do not dare to frighten me like this ever again!”
Grinning sheepishly, the boy excused himself, and after a bit of scolding, the incident was quickly closed.
They exited the shop immediately after reconciling, regretting its warmness, and after a simple look of understanding, mutually agreed to head for one of the pubs. As Hermione headed for the Three Broomsticks, Harry stopped her with a call. He first answered to her raised eyebrows with a difficult gulp, but then explained that the weather was so bitter that it made him daydream of hot chocolate.
“But they don’t have hot chocolate at the Three Broomsticks,” Hermione remarked.
She blushed furiously under her scarf when he pointed out that Madam Puddifoot’s were the best.
The door made a loud ringing noise when the boy opened it, and Hermione threw it a dark look. There were about ten people inside, and as soon as she had crossed the entrance, ten smirking mouths had started whispering.
We are here as friends, she wanted to shout at them. Instead, she swallowed, and took a sit.
“Look,” Harry told her, when he noticed she was too uncomfortable. From the inside of his winter cloak, he pulled out a bright red plastic bag, and fidgeted with whatever was inside for a bit.
Under Hermione’s surprised gaze, he laid a little flask on the pastel table.
“The illusion potion!” She cried. He had apparently bought it while she was occupied looking for him.
He winked at her. “Fancy a vision?”
Two drops in each cup were enough, and they drank the steaming beverage promptly, eager to know what its effect would be.
Harry looked at a wall, blinked, colored a bit, but shrugged and smiled, as if he had seen what he had expected to see.
Hermione, however, turned a deep shade of red, and gaped at a window for several seconds. When Harry mocked her for looking like a fish out of water, she frowned.
“I’m disappointed,” she said sternly. “It didn’t work.”
She was sure that the boy would have retorted something, but he limited himself to hum enigmatically and finish his drink.
“Mione?” He said after putting his cup down. She noticed that his cheeks were vividly pink, but implied it must be due to the inside temperature. “What would you call this?” He moved his hands in strange gestures, first pointing at her and himself, and then at their surroundings.
“Oh,” she muttered shyly. “What do you mean?”
Harry looked like he was preparing himself to climb a mountain without shoes.
“Do you consider this a date?”
His question was so abrupt that Hermione didn’t even think about her answer. “Yes, I reckon it’s one.” But when the sense of what she had said reached her conscious, she promptly added, “A friends date, of course.”
Harry’s smile trembled just a bit, and he responded with assurance, “Yeah, of course, because we’re just friends, nothing more.” In the same spirits, he glanced at 13-years-old girl that had been looking at them with great interest since they had stepped in. “We’re just friends.”
Hermione laughed heartily at the kid’s wide eyes, and finished her own chocolate.
“I like our friends’ date,” Harry breathed, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
She looked at him, her mind still a bit clouded by the potion’s vision, and grinned. “I like it too.”
***
“I like this, mommy.”
The little girl in front of Harry points to the twinkling stars of the ceiling, and Harry smiles.
He’s getting married.
By tonight, as he will hold Hermione in his arms and trail a line of beautiful kisses below her nose, he shall breathe, “You are mine and I am yours, Hermione Potter.”
The mother kisses her child, and the kid bounces on her parent’s knee.
Very few people cannot complain about their first kiss, and most of them laugh off it as awkward while they stumbled in the dark, wishing they could erase the past. However, some people find beauty in the weirdness, like how their noses bumped against each other and how their glasses bore in the other’s face. And among these people shine Harry and Hermione.
They had a wonderful and legendary first kiss. It was the first time they felt like they were kissing the stars.
It took place at the dusk of frost. It was warm enough for the ice to be melting, but cold enough for them to walk close to each other, inches barely separating them.
It had been an exceptionally cold winter, physically and mentally speaking. So many subtle and burning moments.
Until this moment, if Harry had to choose a word to fit their relationship, he’d like to call it unrequited pining, while Hermione would classify it as an unfortunate series of events.
For what else could she call these feelings eating her and consuming her blood? Everytime she caught herself catching glimpses of his messy hair and green eyes, that reminded her of the tree in backyard that she pleased to admire during class, she berated herself. Didn't he know that she stilled everytime their fingers brushed when they were sitting together?
But nothing about it was unlucky. Not really.
Harry certainly didn’t seem to think so. Why would her hand in his, pulling him forward against the throng of students, against time and war, be called unfortunate? Certainly, he was fortunate to have a bushy haired girl in his life, and idly wondered how people lived without somebody like her. If he had to pine, if every carefully planned look between them drove him flexing-his-fingers-mad, then so be it.
She pulled him outside, laughing and singing her joy, and everything was well. Like it was any other day when she’d make him feel angels were having a party in his head. But suddenly, the perfection left. She left. She released his hand. Before Harry could protest, something cold hit his face, which he instinctively shut, and he spluttered.
“Come on, Harry! Not afraid of the snow, are you?”
Still coughing, he threw a reproachful look toward the sweet voice, though the corners of his lips twitched
. “Imagine that!” Her voice was teasing and light, and Harry could tell by the playful look in her eyes, the love of his life had finally got bizarre. This is why you shouldn't read, he suddenly thought. “The Boy Who Lived scared of the snow!”
Before she could throw another ball, he summoned a fistful of snow and magicked it to shove her. The whiteness paused her rant, and he bit his lip for a second. Had he gone too far? Did it hurt?
His worries were for naught, for, the very next second, a loud laugh tinkled through the air,and he only caught a glimpse of a pink and cute nose before another shovel of snow was pushed into his mouth.
“Not great at this, Harry?” Another laugh. Another mocking tone. Another shovel of snow thrown at her.
She expected it this time, and their childish game soon turned into a frightening and tactical battle, involving several mates from different houses. Thankfully, Hermione was on his side, and he got the lucky opportunity to sit close to her as they traded rumours about who was going to strike next.
“I think McKinley is going to strike from that side,” Hermione said, with a finger to the inclined direction.
Harry just nodded, head spinning partly from the planning but mainly due to the female’s intoxicating smell next to him.
“WAR!!”
The battle cry echoed close to them and on instinct, Harry pulled Hermione up.
“We’ve got to run.”
They smothered their giggles as they run. There’s a thud then and Hermione stumbled as a snowball hits her. Harry caught her, his hands clasping her arm but he loses his balance by doing so and then they’re falling, falling, falling.
And it's so so cold but also so warm.
“Hey,” Harry said, his breath tickling Hermione’s eyelashes but she doesn’t pull away. Not yet.
“Hey.” She swallows and shuts her eyes.
And he wants to hold her so bad and tuck her lips in his. Choosing another dangerous path, he slowly, so slowly brushed something off her cheek and shivers but its not due to the cold.
“You’ve got a bit-” His voice failed him. “Bit of snow.”
Words weren't necessary. Hermione’s eyes pore into Harry’s and his heart squeezed at the chocolate brown doe eyed look. All senses of caution and rationality were thrown out of the window and buried when she slowly, so very slowly leans in. Their lips gently ghosted each other before they collided and their bodies crumble against the weight of a millenia aged love.
Flushed against each other, she weaves a story in his hair and his hands cup her neck.Their breaths are searing scorching hot against each other and their hearts melt lava.
“Finally.” Harry murmured, his gaze locked on Hermione’s soft and shy one, their shared panting only registering in their bliss minds.
***
Bliss… It’s all she feels… There is no coherence…
What she’s doing on the floor, she doesn’t know…
What happened?
Her mind only processes happiness. A drunk happiness.
There is another moment of unsteadiness. And a sense of urge.
Something distressed her, a vague sense of urge.
From outside, Hermione witnessed how the rain pounded down heavily on their tent.
She shivered as a strong gust of wind stung her chest despite the heavy clothing, and tried to calm her nerves by taking a deep and rattling breath.
A quick glance at the sky comforted her: it was time to go back inside. And so, she did.
Immediately, she knew something was wrong, like the times when your throat is hurting the night before you wake up with a fever and surrounded by tissues. Wand in hand, she called out, “Harry?”
She covered her mouth instantly, and blamed herself: raising her voice was stupid. What if she had alerted any intruders about a secondary presence? But surely, there couldn’t be anybody else under the magical roof, right? They had taken precautions.
Her uneasiness nudged her into calling again. And again. And when she was certain that he wouldn’t call back, she hoped against hope that he was in such a deep sleep as to not hear her. The hairs of her neck standing straight, she crept towards the bunk beds.
Once there, her heart stopped: the bed was nicely empty, lacking the body she’d grown accustomed to seeing.
Head pounding, she dropped on the mattress, and tried to analyze the facts rationally, as she had always taught herself to, even though her chest was slowly crumbling like ash.
Had somebody managed to apparate inside? But she had checked the protection spells earlier, and they were perfectly efficient.
She hadn’t seen him getting out. She had guarded the camp. Always, without falling asleep, without leaving the tent from view. Except…
Except when a suspect noise had attracted her farther into the woods. She knew it would have been crazy to leave her place, but she needed to be sure that no threat would have assailed them when leaving tomorrow morning.
And then, during her minute of absence, perhaps, snatchers had gagged him and casted an invisibility shield over him as they snuck out? Even amid her panic, she dismissed the idea, snatchers were often rather unskilled at magic. And probably very stupid.
But she was the stupid one now! She was the one who left Harry unguarded. She was the one who did not didn’t know where he wandless boyfriend was.
But most of all, she was the one who hadn’t told him how she was sure she felt about them. And now she may never have the chance to.
“Harry,” she implored.
Her throat tightened, and worry clouded her mind and vision, making it impossible for her to think about anything, except one word.
Gone.
Gone.
Gone.
“Harry!” She cried to the top of her lungs.
Clenching her jaw, she summoned her Gryffindor recklessness and stormed out of the tent, feeling mad in her sorrow. She kept screaming under the buckets of rain, she ran as far as it was safe to run, she splattered herself with mud and wet leaves.
Nowhere, she thought as she pulled the roots of her hair, he’s nowhere.
Her tears and the sky’s were one, her laments and the wind’s were the same, her desperation and the forest’s united.
Feeling like a lion in a cage, broken inside, wrecked outside, her stomach assailed by a wave of nausea, she headed back to their shelter, but hadn’t took two steps before her knees buckled and her hands hit the floor.
The cold that her skin felt was nothing compared to the cold that attacked her heart, and she resigned to remain on the spot where she was, waiting for what had taken Harry away from her to come and finish her off.
She couldn’t live without him.
In her despair, she thought about his smile, his smart remarks, his clumsy gestures, his deep voice… She even seemed to hear him calling her name. If the grey wall of water in front of her hadn’t been so thick, she would have imagined she could see him running toward her.
Her vision was so realistic… Like the one she had had after drinking the illusion potion. The green eyes, the ruffled hair, the messy clothes. Why had she denied the truth back then? They could have had much more time! She could have told him…
She could have told him what she felt…
“Harry!” She shouted to the mirage. “Harry!”
Her mind trickled her in the most cruel of the ways. It made her imagine he was shouting back. It made her feel he was getting closer.
And she must have gone crazy for real, because she felt a collision with a body, two strong arms wrapping her, lips melting with hers, and the world stopped spinning.
“Mione,” His voice reached her ears despite the rain’s chaos. “Mione, I was so afraid! I wanted to check on you, but you were gone! You didn’t answer my calls! I thought they had gotten you!”
“Harry,” she breathed, “You’re not- not a vision? You’re real?”
Through sobs, he kissed her once more, pouring all his feelings in the act. “Does that answer your question?”
She nodded, conscious that he couldn’t see her, but just to feel the relief of acknowledging his presence herself. And she remembered…
She still had something to say properly.
“Harry,” She fought the pandemonium of the weather, to be sure he would hear her every single word. “I never want to leave you, ever in my existence. I was ready to let myself go! You’re the only thing that makes this life worth it! I love you!”
She didn’t know if she was crying or laughing anymore. Maybe it was both. But Hermione was sure of one thing: saying it was much better that keeping it to herself.
She loved him.
***
He loves her.
But now, people are staring.
Lacing his hands together, Harry chews his lower lip. He is wary. The clock strikes ten, as if it too wants to taunt him.
He shuts his eyes. Is she having second thoughts? Does she not want to marry him anymore? And the worse path, has she ran away?
“Harry?”
The groom snaps his eyes open and looks at his best mate. Barely repressing a groan as he grasped the besiege in the other’s eyes.
“Harry, Something’s wrong with Hermione.”
“Fuc-.” Harry swears. “What is it?” and then more firmly, he asks shaking Ron’s shoulders. “Where is she?”
“Bathroom.”
Harry takes off, barely noticing the worried glances thrown his way by the guests. He can only focus on the morose tone delivered to him. Pressure beats on his long and its not long before his throat is clogged.
A horrible assumption screams its way into his brain, like a deadly wraith before he shrugs it off with much effort.
Running to Hermione, he can only think, you promised until the very end.
Harry sighed as he walked up the stairs of the apartment. Truth be told, sometimes, he regretted his choice to become an auror and wondered what life would have become if he had accept McGonagall’s offer. He’d have been called Professor Potter by now.
Instead, he was forced to raise his arm and follow the tiring cycle of stun or kill and capture. Perhaps, it wasn't the wisest choice someone with PTSD could make.
Coping with the screams and the blood usually wasn’t exceptionally hard except for days like this. Days when he was forced to watch as envy and anger flashed before the emotions were squashed and replaced by blankness. Sometimes, triumph shone in those dark eyes and he worried for the posterity.
Shuddering at the memory of the cold hugging him, he looked up as rapid footsteps sounded.
“Harry!” The man in question caught sight of Ron’s face and immediately stills for there was no sign of humor or lightheartedness discernible in those features.
Marching forward, he shook Ron by the shoulders, instant worry weighing down upon him and he oddly wonders how Atlas held the world for such a long time. “What’s wrong? Is Mione okay?”
A twisted expression forms its way on Ron’s face. “Harry-”
“Merlin, what is it, Ron?”
The man sighed and his face scrunched up once again. He looked like he wished he was anywhere else. There’s a brief pause which felt like years to Harry and then, “Hermione left, mate.”
“What?” His voice was faint, almost non-believing. “You’re joking.”
“Bloody hell.” Ron cursed. “She said you guys wanted different things that other people were willing to provide and I’m sorry mate.”
Harry had a sudden urge to sink to the floor and melt. Tears already sparkled in his eye and he seized something to blame; his job, someone else, him. “Different things?”
It’s not really a question. Amending: “Where is she?”
“I dont know.”
The world has become hazy and he can't see straight; everything is a blur. It’s almost like Hermione’s absence has caused the colors from his life to vanish for he walks in the grey stillness of life. He had to make this up to her for her reasoning was flawed; the useless ring bouncing in his pocket lays claim to this fact. Where had she decided to stay? Would a visit to her parents at this time be considered ill mannered? Deciding he doesn't give a shit about manners and only about Hermione, he straightened, a plan taking shape in his mind.
As if reading his thoughts, Ron flexed his fingers together. “I think she left you a note, mate. She asked you not to look for her.”
Harry slumped, shut his eyes and when he speaks, the voice was almost a croak. “Thanks, mate.” The walls were closing in.
The reply was almost strangled and pained. “Anytime, mate. She might have explained why in the note.”
The heartbroken victim nodded but didn’t move, offering a pained smile. Someone once told him that the worst kind of pain is when you smile to stop the tears from slipping out. And, with that prompt, the tears finally spill and he’s drowning in this grief. He should have noticed she was unhappy, noticed he was being a workaholic. This was all his fault.
Ron urges. “Go check it out, mate.”
“I’ll do it when I want to!” Harry sighed. “I’m sorry.”
Each step he took to his apartment, he felt like his whole body slowly disintegrating from the unexpected anguish. Hoping the headache away, he unlocks the door and freezes.
The room is encompassed by a halo of warm light and the scent of candles sting his nostrils. He notices a row of flowers, similar to an aisle and in the middle of this enchanting scene is a woman. His goddess, Hermione. The sight of her is so surprising, he cannot utter a single word but only feel such devastating and sweeping relief, his knees almost buckle.
“You said you wanted it to be a surprise” Hermione says, tears already shining in her eyes like twinkling city lights. And to bewilder him even more, she goes on her knees.
Slowly walking towards her and joining hands, he kneels next to her and kisses her palm, enjoying the sensation of gravity that flows through him.
He doesn't ask her how she knew he was proposing. Why she wasn't with Victor Krum right now? It doesn't matter. She’s with him. Chose him. And that realization ignites the fondness he only reserved for her in his heart.
“Harry,-” Hermione said, her voice already breaking on a sob. “My mom always told me soulmates were real. And I never believed them because I was a seven year old cynic. Perhaps, it was when I entered your compartment that September 1st when I saw you that the prospect of a fated partner didn't sound so frightening. You were there for me when no one was. And I hope, I wish that I can be here for you whenever you need me.”
“I want to give this a go too since I planned it.” Harry started with a watery chuckle. “You make me happier than I ever thought I could be. And if you let me, I will spend the rest of my life trying to make you feel the same way. I never thought I would be so lucky to fall in love with my best friend but I have and I don't ever want to let that go. If you’ll have me, I shall be a husband, a partner and an equal to you. I will be yours. Until the very end.” And trying to add some humor, he chuckles. “If we get married, I’ll buy you a thousand books.”
“Sure know how to make a girl say heck yes!”
Harry surged forward and claimed his girlfriend’s, now fiancee lips with his own.
They were going to do it, finally.
***
They were going.
Yes, this is it. They should be headed somewhere. She just got distracted for a second.
Oh Merlin, yes, she got distracted, and by what! Now how to tell him-
“Mione! Why aren’t you answering? Are you okay? Open the door!”
The voice… The man…
Her split second of clarity is gone.
Through the thick fog of her daydream, she sees him… On that spring night…
“Open the door!”
His voice was playful, almost teasing, as if he knew she’d fail to unblock the lock.
“I am trying to, stop pushing me!”
It was dark, very dark, and the flickering light of the naked lightbulb was not helping much.
“Mione,” She managed to make his words out only by miracle: the hard breeze was pushing them away as soon as they were out of his mouth. “It’s freezing here, I’m shaking like Ron’s bedroom in September!”
A smile took over her lips. They had been in Ron’s room enough times now to know its rocking feeling provoked by the fall wind. Living on the last floor of the Burrow reserved many more surprises than just the neighbor above.
“I can’t get the key in the hole!” Was her feeble defense. She was too occupied in succeeding in her mission to look for a smart answer.
“Of course you can’t, you look just like Minnie when we told her that I was Teddy’s Godfather!” Sure, her hands were trembling, though not for the same kind of nervousness. Minnie had been quite stressed, Hermione was just over excited. “Give it to me, won’t you?”
She laughed, and handed the key over.
Harry grabbed it with the assurance of a man full of happiness and, in less than it took him to boast about it, the door was open, and his wife was dragged inside.
With a flicker of his wand, Harry lit up the inside of the place, and when Hermione finally stopped blowing warm air in the palms of her hands and rose her gaze, her exclamation was as quiet as she was breathless.
They were standing in the middle of a cozy entrance hall, with the smell of new wood and fresh paint invading their nostrils. The walls looked at them warmly, their coat of creamy white already covered in pictures and paintings. Under Harry’s eager attention, Hermione stepped closer to them, and what she saw brought tears to her eyes.
In a corner, she recognized Professor Sprout holding a mandrake, and Neville, in black robes and pointed hat, fainting. Next to him, a short-haired Ginny was holding a cup, in the exact way she had done during the engagement party, the sparkles in her eyes glowing like real ones. Farther to the left, between an ashen-faced Seamus and a couple of thestrals, stood Sirius, his smile wider than ever, the words “I am proud of you” readable on his still lips. He was intensely fixing a point on the opposite side of the room, so Hermione turned around.
She saw a tiny Mrs. Weasley winking at her, and a Mr. Weasley, of the same size, holding a rubber duck with great interest, apparently immersed in deep conversation with her own parents. They were surrounded by a Romanian Horntail, a cauldron of polyjuice potion, and a delicate reproduction of Hedwig. Under the bird’s wing, seven people in Quidditch robes, who turned out to be the original Gryffindor team of their first year, looked at a giant ginger cat, who was pursuing a rat.
“Wormtail,” Hermione whispered, as she traced the fine lines with her fingers.
“And here are the others,” Harry reached out for her hand, and directed it to a spot above this one. A werewolf was standing straight, its face illuminated by a silvery moon, and could have appeared to be dancing with a tall black dog. On their left were the faces of two handsome people, James and Lily Potter, framed by a rectangle of miniature diaries, lockets, rings, diadems, and golden cups. Near them, an elevator of the Ministry of Magic carried a mount of books and a white-bearded old man, with a crooked nose and golden spectacles. He was beaming at a stern McGonagall, and offering her a lemon drop.
“He did like them indeed,” Hermione breathed, emotions all over her voice.
Placing two fingers under her chin, Harry made her look up. The ceiling was covered in stars and clouds, and hippogriffs and motorcycles. There were people mounting broomsticks, a castle covered by fog, birds chasing a golden snitch, candles and flying pumpkins. Colin Creevey was holding his camera, Hagrid was caressing the giant squid, and Dean was kicking a black and white football.
“This is- wonderful Harry,” was the only think she managed to repeat, and he grinned and nodded.
“Luna did the entire house, and each one of our friend brought an idea, or a picture.”
Their snowy boots were forming puddles on the wooden floor, but their attention was elsewhere.
Hermione’s thoughts were about the lovely surprise her boyfriend had granted her, and how lucky she was to share her life with this amazing being, her loved one, and her focus was on every detail that her eyes could absorb of the scene.
Harry’s thoughts were about how much better the cottage looked now that he had at last brought her to it, and his focus was on her face, admiring how the corners of her mouth raised in grins he longed to kiss again and again.
Her lips were moving, murmuring words his fascination did not let him grasp, and the only understanding he got was when she let her body talk for her mind, and hugged him with such passion that, had he had to die right then and right there, he would have done it as an overjoyed soul.
As he covered her face in fond pecks, and she cried tears of deep affection, nothing in the world would have seemed more perfect to them, had it not be for a sudden growl that echoed among their adorable confusion.
Her eyes puffy and her nose red -- she appeared more beautiful than ever to Harry -- Hermione raised her face from the crook of his neck, and smirked, “You’re never on break when it comes to this, are you?”
Scratching the back of his neck, which was growing as red as his cheeks, the man shrugged, “I need energy to keep being the best husband in the world.”
To their eyes, her sudden chuckling was matched in faultlessness only by his sheepish smile, and perfection was back, until another cavernous sound rose, this time from Hermione’s stomach.
“Seems like a good plate of pasta would suit you too, darling.” His raised eyebrow was not mocking, but sympathetic, so for once, she didn’t scowl at it.
“Only if we cook it together,” was her answer.
“First dinner in our own house,” sighed Harry, “We ought to cook it together.”
She smiled, and took a deep breath.
***
He takes a deep breath.
Ginny’s in front of the door. Of course, she’d never leave her best friend.
“Is she-?”
The redhead smiles at him. “She’s never been better, Harry.”
He sighs. “Good.”
Ginny approaches him and fixes his tie. “Go back to your place, will you? I’ll take her out of here in no time.”
Harry nods, and the woman bangs on the door.
***
Now, there is banging.
Whoever is waiting for her response tries to open the door, but only struggles with the secured lock.
More people join the panic on the other side of the wall. There is swearing, and the mention of a wand. Concern, also.
“I swear,” cries a desperate voice, “If in three seconds I don’t get an answer-”
“Calm down, mate-”
“What if she hurt herself? Didn’t you hear her c-”
“Harry?” Her croaky voice silences all the others. “Stop hitting the door please.”
The muteness continues, and an irrational fear makes her wonder if she scared the voices away.
“Sweetheart, are you okay?” She’s relieved: at least, Harry’s is still here.
She wipes her forehead with a shaky hand, and slowly, very slowly, starts recovering her spirits.
“Yeah- Yeah, I am.”
“What was the cry about, then? Are you hurt? Do you need help?”
Instinctively, she flashes a reassuring smile. Then, she remembers he can’t see her. “No, I’m perfectly fine. I just need a moment.”
She can hear whisper, and another man’s voice, Ron’s she reckons, hissing above the others,
“She’s not okay. Even if we said we’d be leaving now-”
Yes… Yes, indeed, they were about to leave. That’s what she said.
It was late...
“We’re leaving, Harry,” she giggled. “Hannah must want some sleep.”
He did not hear her, or faked not to.
Her hand on the entrance’s doorknob, Hermione chatted some more minutes with her friend, discussing the latest Ministry business or the upcoming wedding of another of their mutual friendships, hoping that her husband would finally listen to reason. But the peeping and laughing didn’t falter even the slightest bit.
“You’d think we’d be the most excited,” Hannah smiled, gesturing toward the hallway.
At these words, Fox, the dog of the house, came to rest his tired body at the feet of his mistress, and both women were sure that, if he could have talked, his speech would have been short and concise: “I come from a place of real madness.”
“You had enough of it for nine months,” Hermione remarked, alluding to her friend’s dark shadows under the eyes with a compassionate expression.
They both nodded and let the sweet atmosphere wrap them gently into oblivion.
Somehow, it felt so comforting to have the chance to listen to a baby’s chirping. It meant the war was over, really over. That they would not have to go through any more serious anguish, nor be in letal peril each time they crossed a door. It meant that they could try to forget the obscure times.
Hermione still remembers -- how not to -- how she had grown used to carry a ball of lead in her stomach, the concentration of guilt, horror, and worry that followed her everywhere. It was the barrier between her and happiness, between her present and a prospect of some desired future. It kept her in the dark, strengthened her afflictions.
Slowly, after everything was done, the heavy ball had turned into a soft bubble, one of brightness, healing, and hope. It still followed her everywhere, and made her life so much more easy. It was a reminder that she could breath in liberty, inhale the permanent scent of love and laughter. It was an invitation to live life.
A wave of squealing and giggling reached the spot where the two friends were standing, and they both reintroduced themselves to the world.
“Maybe,” Hannah yawned, “We should remind the guys that the baby needs some sleep.”
Laughing heartily in agreement, Hermione dropped her coat on the floor, a habit that had been encouraged by the host since her first visit, and followed the stream of cheerfulness that floated in the air.
To her, Dylan was somebody very important. He was the first newborn in their circle of friends and acquaintances with nothing related to the war. He was born on a sunny August day, one year after the fatidical second of May, and received a name that didn’t connect him to anybody they had lost.
He was the first flower in the spring of their new life.
With every step they took toward their destination, the room where Mr. Longbottom junior was supposed to be taken care of by his father and friend, the intensity of delight increased considerably, until the air was so full of it that it became highly contagious.
“Darling,” Hermione called, leaning on the doorframe, with tears on the corners of her eyes. “It’s time for us to leave.”
With a childish disappointment in his eyes, the interpelled agreed to follow his wife toward the exit, but solemnly asked for the pleasure of being accompanied by his fellow men. Smiling motherly, Hannah nodded her consent, and they were all off toward the front of the house.
Congratulations flew back and forth for at least ten more minutes, and Neville, Dylan, and Harry were still laughing when the door of number 28, Begonia Street, closed for the night. The Potters were accompanied to the gate of the garden by Fox, and reluctantly parted from him with a few caresses and biscuits.
When finally alone outside, the lovers hugged each other as they walked, sharing their warmness in silence, until Harry finally spoke,
“Mione?” Her hummed answer was distracted: she still thought about the bubble. “What do you think if- well, if we had one too?”
With some airiness, a characteristic she had recently learnt from Luna, Hermione answered,
“Oh Harry, it would be wonderful. He is so adorable and quiet. It’s true that it would be a little hard to take care of him, with our full schedules and what not, but I guess that if we adopt one that is not too big, he could be friends with Crookshanks.”
But a single glance to her partner let her understand that they did not mean the same thing. She was talking about a dog, while Harry…
“You’re not serious, are you?”
***
“Oh Mione, you can’t be serious.”
Her reflection in the mirror makes her grimace.
With a face pale like this, and a mane of knots that could be declared the biggest nest in the world, she surely doesn’t look like someone who received the best news ever.
Her eyelids descend slowly, and with a clunk, she turns on the tap. The cool and fresh water against her burning skin is welcomed with a sigh.
Grabbing a towel, she lays her back against the door.
“Harry?”
An expecting voice answers from the floor. He must have sat while waiting for her,“Mione?”
He never did leave her, she thinks.
The wooden panel quivers, and now the voice repeats from its habitual height, “Mione?”
“Step back,” she warns him. “I’m going to open the door.” His relief is so strong that she feels it vibrating from the inside of the bathroom. “But be warned, love, I’m horrible to see.”
She hears his disbelief, even if he doesn’t say a word about it.
The lock clicks, the hinges creak, the barrier between them vanishes, and she’s engulfed in a suffocating embrace.
“You scared me so much. Are you sure you’re okay? Why did you scream? What’s- Love, you’re crying!”
She giggles in the crook of his neck at his surprise and he, convinced that she hit her head and went momentaneously crazy, takes her chin in his hands. “Ok listen now, Mione. What happened? Why are you all weird?”
“Your eyes, Harry.”
“Er- what about them?”
“I hope he or she gets them.”
“He or sh?-”
And with shaking hands, she looks up at him and blinds him with her bright grin. “I’m pregnant.”
Several seconds pass but Hermione doesn’t worry. She can see the awe slowly rising in his face, similar to the sun peaking in the countryside.
“I think I’m dreaming.”
Laughing now, she forgets her fainting spell as she pinches him playfully. “I’m convinced you’re just a dolt.”
He doesn’t retort at her attempt of humor. “You’re pregnant?” He whispers, his green eyes so close to her brown ones, his breath ghosting over her lips and she forgets for a second that its her wedding day. Harry always made her feel like the vulnerable teenager that she once was.
And she can't try to diffuse the emotion in his words, so she plays along, her heart beating strongly.
Hearts.
“I am.”
It is another excruciating long moment of silence and then he laughs, the joy on the melody so evident and rare, she almost stumbles back.
And then, they’re kissing. Hands tugging at each other’s hair, arms circling the other’s waist and sigh worthy kissing.
Someone wolf whistles and they break apart.
“I’m so happy, Mione. Thank you.”
She suppresses the expected tears. “I love you.”
“I love you too. And our baby.”
“Your what?” Ginny’s cries, startled. She’s leaning against the doorframe, Fred and George flanking her sides. The trio have the typical stunned expression: wide eyes, parted lips and the overall what’s happening look.
Harry winces and mutters out a quick sorry but she doesn’t care that they’ve found out.
Merlin, she’s happy. She never was one to keep secrets.
“I’m pregnant!”
And then, she’s aware of the Weasleys pouncing upon her and Harry’s hearty chuckles as he shoos them away.
“I've got to get dressed.”
“You could just wear this.” Harry smirks. “Or rather, something else.”
“Harry!”
Kissing her again, he pulls away from her, still laughing.
“Got any more secrets to tell me, Mione? Or can I waltz back? I think our guests are getting bored at Ron’s terrible singing.”
“We better save them, then.”
Harry pulls her close to his chest once more and kisses the crown of her head. There will be plenty of time to discuss their child. When she’d suspected and how lucky they were. All these conversation starters stirred in his mind as he swept away from her. “See you out there!”
She didn't hear him, too overcome by the flurry of motion surrounding her.
“Where’s the bloody makeup, Ginny?” Harry heard as he shut the door.
*
Harry tugs at his hair and smiles sheepishly when he noticed Hermione’s lips twitch. She always said he messed up his hair way too much. He supposed he rather did. Maybe it was a Potter thing. And maybe, their child would inherit it too.
Their child.
Resisting the urge to laugh jubilianty, he marvels at the thought that their child was attending their wedding. How weird and amazing!
He shakes his head, warding off the daze and gazes at his bride.
A blush stains Hermione’s cheeky and despite the beautiful gown, he can only focus on how beautiful her nose looks like.
Many colleagues had advised him that he might feel like bolting as his soon to be wife walked down the aisle. Harry thought they were barking mad. Watching her awkwardly smile at the guest and fidget with the flowers draped around her wrist, he felt like they were on one of those dates.
The ring on her hand flashes and he starts to tear up. She is his. And he is hers. After all they’ve been through-fighting and studying -- Harry thought the former was easier --, the lights that twinkle around them make him realise that this would be the happiest moment of his life.
It would be rivaled by the birth of his children a year later, but he still doesn’t know that.
Harry had never felt so jocular in his life as he does as Hermione reaches him. Gently, holding her hand and helping her step up, he tugs her veil down and smiles.
Pure affection radiates in her eyes and tears already glisten their way down her cheeks.
Kissing a one drop away, he ignores the crowd as they aww.
“Hey.”
A smile splits her face as she remembers how it had all started. “Hey, yourself.”
The priest coughs. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are-”
Harry blanks out, the touch of Hermione’s fingers on his skin rendering him illiterate.
“Harry, HARRY, MR POTTER!”
Shook from his reverie, Harry hears Ron’s snort before he sees Hermione hide a giggle.
The priest is anything but amused. “Your vows, Mr. Potter. See to it that you don’t dream while you read them.”
The couple roll their eyes and simultaneously grin at each other.
“I didn’t miss your vows, did I?”
Chuckling faintly, “No. I’d kill you if you did.”
Another grin. “Where do I start, Hermione? Everyone says weddings are stuffy and boring. I don’t want to make you cry in this vow, Mione. Rather not start the rest of our lives together by you crying by something I said. Reserve the tears for after the ceremony. Ow- don't hit me. True love is the most inconvenient kind.” Harry admits, adding a touch of seriousness to his tone. “I vow, Mione to protect and serve you. To make you breakfast in bed. To lull you to sleep with my warmth if you desire it and to wake you up by a trail of kisses but most importantly, I vow to always be there for you.”
“Wow, Harry. Its like, you want me to cry.” Hermione laughs, though it sounds more like a sob. “You’ve said most of it, I think but...Love to me isn't jumping off a plane to prove your undying devotion. It isn't about two broken pieces joining to be one. You and me, Harry, we’ve gone through a lot of shit but we’re not broken. We just look better together. It’s about wanting to live your life with someone, not needing. And my soul wants to co exist with yours throughout the rest of eternity. Love is the only sane and satisfactory answer to the problem of human existence by Erich Fromm.”
The crowd giggles while the bride flushes.
Of course, she had to quote someone.
It was her intelligence that drove his heart wild, really.
“And now,” she continues, “I’m going to stop even though I want to go on and on about how this was unexpected and read my 18inch essay about the comparison between life and love but you probably know all about that and I might cry any second so-”
The priest smiles faintly, which quickly fades in a flash of light.
“Rings.”
Ron steps forward and Harry takes one, the finest, and places it on her delicate finger, his touch almost caressing. Hermione sniffles as Ginny places the ring on her palm. Barely breathing, she pushes it on him. The crowd is silent and the priest happily asks,
“Do you Harry Potter take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife? Through sickness and through health?”
Harry swallows. “I do.”
“And do you Hermione Jean Granger take this mean to be your lawfully wedded husband? Through sickness and through health?”
“I do.” Hermione whispers and locks her gaze with Harry’s. In this moment, it is only them. Only their breaths and their soft and fond gazes.
“Then, by the power vested in me, I now proclaim you husband and wife. You may-”
Harry doesn't wait. He leans forward and cups his wife’s -Merlin, his wife- face and presses her lips against his.
As he pulls back and rests his forehead against hers, he’s indifferent to the cheers and clapping from the guests. Only Hermione as she says, “May I cry now?”
They laugh.
Looking at their rings, they can hardly believe what they’re seeing.
A/N: For my gem wife, @beaubcxton. Darling, this is my idea of that special date they never got to have. I hope you like it, tho it’ll never be as good as anything you write, but the angel that is @hermione-who fixed it with her magic. @reggieblck calling you too, sweetie <3.
Pairing: Jily
***
A Potter never accepts a defeat.
He had kept trying, trying, trying.
He was on the right path.
***
The trees’ naked branches were perfectly still, the castles’ cavities as silent as the approaching Christmas holiday allowed. There was no wind, and thank Merlin, because James Potter was about to ice on spot, even inside the dormitory.
His eyes scanned the grounds, the earth muffled under the thick layer of last night’s frozen rain, and he smiled a goofy smile. He tore his gaze from the window, and swung around to get his muffles before sprinting down the wooden stairs. His hand grabbed the last newel post, almost ripping it from its place, to facilitate his change in direction as he zoomed toward the exit.
The common room was warm from the crackling fire in the chimney, the regular murmured conversations and ocasional laughs formed a pleasant buzzing. James thought that the place had never been this wonderful. But today, everything was.
“Where are you running to?”
Peter’s sarcastic question hung in the air, but it did not matter. Everybody knew the answer.
Caught in his excitement, James didn’t notice Marlene’s sideways smile as she shouted at him to right his glasses, nor did he hear Kingsley's imprecations as they nearly collided before the Fat Lady’s portrait. He didn’t laugh at Remus’ hot chocolate mug almost ending up on the floor as he suddenly appeared in the hallway, nor did he take time to stuck his tongue out to a very flustered Filch -- “No running in the corridors, you duke of limbs!”
In less time than it would have costed Sirius to enrage Professor McGonagall, James’ boots were drowned in the outside snow, his eyes frantic behind his glasses in search of a spot of color among the whiteness. A red spot, to be precise.
“Good morning Potter.”
She was to his right, a foot behind him, grinning like a four year old who’d just won a game of hide and seek.
His heart skipped a bit.
“‘morning Evans.” His tongue was as numb as the rest of his body.
The clarity around made her cheeks look like a rose’s petals, and James sucked in a deep breath at the sight of her red lips.
Her smile widened as she stepped forward. “You almost look decent today.”
He wanted to answer. Really. Something witty maybe. But he could have opened and closed his mouth a thousand times, nothing was going to come out of it.
Merlin, she was gorgeous.
Lily gently tilted her head, amused by the boy’s lack of his usual readiness. “Are we going to stay here for long? I’m becoming an ice cube.”
James shook his head, and premorously offered her his arm, making her laugh.
They began their stroll in silence, her looking at the sky in innocent distraction, him holding her as close as he could without being awkward. The way was empty, except for a couple of squirrels that seemed eager to follow them while rolling in the snow.
The temperature was not as low anymore, and the boy assumed it was because the sun was on its way to the roof of the sky. Or was it because of the growing heat on his face?
If she had been there to watch the scene -- which seemed to come right out of a Peynett drawing -- Euphemia Potter would have told her husband that ‘They look very much in love.’ After an amused look from Fleamont, she would have added ‘The squirrels, of course,’ and then hid her malicious smile -- the one Sirius had taught her -- behind her handkerchief.
But the Potter parents were not here.
It was just the two of them, on a date, finally.
James and Lily.
And the squirrels, of course.
“So, Potter...” He glanced sideways at her perfect profile. Her words, when out of her mouth, turned into graceful clouds. “Justify yourself for making me skip my saturday morning visit to the library when it’s below zero outside.”
The first draught of the day sent chills running down his spine. Or maybe it was her grip, tightening delicately.
James cleared his throat.
“Reading too much isn’t good for your eyesight, you know.” She couldn’t hold back a snort, one of those she used to offer him when he widely flirted with her, but she was ready to decline. Except this time she hadn’t. “It’s true! Plus, it’s not good for your mood, breathing book dust all day long. You’d turn into a red headed Moony. We don’t want you to wear unmatching sox and become addicted to chocolate, do we?”
Her laugh was a bubbly hint of spring in this early stage of winter. James could have sworn she sounded like flowers blooming.
“So what should I become addicted to, Potter?”
The mischievous glint in the green of her eyes was something that had only very recently appeared, in the last months.
He was going to fall back into muteness, embarrassed by what this question could mean. After all, he assumed that it was what she wanted: to have the last word.
But a Potter never accepts a defeat.
“Learned to be tricky, didn’t you?”
“Yes. From a real expert.” Hadn’t she been so close, James could have thought he’d daydreamed about her wink. “So?”
What could he do but smile?
“So you talk too much, Evans. I say you should make your feet work more and your tongue rest.” Lily raised her eyebrows, and her look followed the direction in which he was pointing. “See the bridge? Shouldn’t be more than thirty meters away. The last to get there is a-”
But she had already sprinted forward, ready as she always was to win a competition, the two squirrels trailing behind her with happy squeaking.
It took James a good fraction of second to stop gazing at the flames of her hair against the white landscape, and to move from his position. She had gained some advance, but he could make it before her easily.
A Potter never accepts a defeat.
He felt the air burn in his lungs, his muscles awakening after a week without Quidditch practice, and the adrenaline shooting him forward like one of Dumbledore’s spells. He heard her broken breathing, some meters before him, and pushed harder on the ground, his boots making the snow creak like broken shell nuts.
He was not more than three meters away from her…
Her inhaling waves were stressed.
A Potter never accepts a defeat.
Two meters…
She glanced behind her shoulder, and let out a high-pitched cry of surprise.
A Potter never accepts a defeat.
One meter…
Anybody else would have surrendered, preferring to let their heart recover a normal beat instead of winning a stupid race.
A Potter never accepts a defeat.
When they were just a few bounces away from the river, James gave one last effort.
But, right when he could have bypassed her, his legs slowed down, and a moment later she was perched on the first of the three stone stairs that started the bridge.
A Potter never accepts a defeat.
But a Potter knows to choose the right victory.
Holding her ribs, bent in two, struggling to inhale any air in between her chuckling, she was the best view James had ever had the chance to see.
“Nice run, Evans.” He was quicker than her to stabilize his breath, obviously. His hair was ruffled, he pushed his glasses up with a finger that would have been all sweaty, in another season. “Let’s see if you can do it again, shall we?”
“Shut up, Potter.” She muttered. “You talk too much.”
He bursted in a loud laughter, and stepped forward to offer her his help.
Had the squirrels not been there, maybe nothing special would have happened that morning. But the little animals found themselves right on the spot where James’ feet was set to land, and he lost his balance in an attempt to avoid them at the last moment.
He was going to fall sideways, but Lily was fast in catching his arms, pulling him near her. They found each other nose to nose, close enough to inhale the same air.
James’ heartbeat had climbed up to his ears.
“Look.” Lily whispered with a shy smirk. “I’m taller than you.”
Her eyes were magnets that attracted his.
“Only because you’re on a step, Evans.”
This was his very breathless attempt to cool his nerves down.
There was a pause. They didn’t notice the icy wind anymore.
“I’ve dreamt of this for quite some time, you know.”
“What? Being taller than me?”
“No.” She leaned forward, and James’ mouth became incredibly itchy. “This.”
Her lips were as soft at the snowflakes that were falling from the sky, sprinkling their hair with Nature’s pureness. The skin of her face brushed against his, her hands getting lost in his hair.
He had dreamt about it countless times, inflicted his wild imaginations to his friends for years, depicted the most hopeful scenarios, but nothing of what he had pictured was worthy of being compared to this moment.
Eyes closed, James kissed her back, circling her waist with his hands, tenderly pressing her body to his. A cherubs’ choir had set up a grandiose show in his mind.
On the border of the path, the two squirrels had stopped chasing each other. Their little eyes were fixed on the young couple, their muzzles shaking, as if in approval. One of them even seemed to sketch a malicious smile.
James felt Lily’s cold wrists on the back of his neck, her smile against his.
It was evident that the snow was falling, now, that they should probably head back to the castle if they didn’t want to be buried.
But before that...
“What do you think about this, Evans? Want to withdraw your affirmation?”
He was referring to the time she had told him he was probably awful at kissing.
A lost sun ray reflected in her white teeth.
“I guess you’re an ok kisser, Potter.”
“I know r- What? No. No way. I am an outstanding kisser. You were just too amazed to realize it.”
Her hum of indecision got a smile out of him.
“I’m really not sure, Potter. I think you’re just average.”
“And I’m telling you, you’re wrong.”
“Oh, really. Then what? It’s my word against yours.” Lily whispered.
She was teasing him, and it turned his inside into a big knot.
He could have shrugged, rolled his eyes.
But a Potter never accepts a defeat.
“I say have the right to a second round, to prove you wrong.”
The squirrels turned their back on the river and sped toward their tree, leaving the place entirely still. The mass of clouds above them separated, letting the sun bath this white parcel of the world, the wind sat down, waiting to see.
As James’ mouth found Lily’s again, the winter seemed to hold its breath.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Teddy Lupin/Victoire Weasley
Characters: Teddy Lupin, Victoire Weasley, James Potter, Lily Evans, Andromeda Black, Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, OCs
Additional Tags: Fluff, Romance, figure skating
Summary:
“So, you’ll dance with me?”
Her stare did not leave room for hesitation.
“Sure.”
Victoire’s smile looked like it could power up the City of Lights. She wrapped Teddy in a hug and murmured out her gratitude in his shoulder, before she ran back to the house, a satisfied feeling bubbling in her stomach.
“Mum!” She cried almost immediately. “Teddy and I are going to win the Olympics!”
Happy HAPPY birthday to one of the best people in this world (@women-inthe-sequel). Thank you for being our friend and we love you so so much. We hope that you had the best day of your life and it was filled with the kindness, love and chocolate that you deserve. We don't know what we'd do without you? You're such a positive and kind person and you make everyone feel better in a matter of seconds. LOVE YOU
Also note: @writingwitchly did most of the work as I was (unfortunately) super busy so send her love everyone!
Another note: @beaubcxton likes denying it, but I assure you, she made everything. She just seemingly does not like the spotlight.
@weasleyprotectionsquad June event → LGBTQ+: Ginny Weasley x Luna Lovegood
Word count: 1,5k
A/N: Feels like it was one hundred years ago when I last wrote over 1k words. This is basically a drabble, with absolutely no plot, and a veeery lame attempt to humor. Hope you guys will enjoy!
***
“Pfff… Such a drag.”
Ginny ran her stained hand across her sweaty forehead, managing only to leave there a long stretch of yellow, which started to slide toward her eyes in little drops. No need to say this annoyed her even more.
She turned over, toward the window, hoping that the street would have become magically empty in the last five minutes, so she could draw her wand from her pocket to finish this mess. But the Muggle kids who were playing and running seemed to have multiplied, coming from all the places, and had been joined by their mothers, who were gossiping happily on the sidewalk. The sunshine rays of late afternoon made the scene look like a painting extracted from Ginny’s favorite Muggle tales.
If only they could have thought about buying curtains before the extra beds, they wouldn’t have found themselves exposed to sight -- and with no more budget for house items to spend this month.
Ginny knew that if she kept eyeing the rolling balls and the turning loops, she would be overwhelmed by the will to join the kids outside, so she swung round, facing the wall.
“And some idiotic purebloods think Muggles are just witless slugs. You need to have some kind of strength of character to live without magic.”
Merlin, I sound like dad.
With her sleeve, Ginny erased the fresh paint from her face -- thankfully, Christmas was not too far, and she’d get a new sweater -- and crouched to grab another pot of the thick liquid.
“Out of all the places in the world, we had to choose the one where there are more Muggles swarming around than books in Hermione’s shelves,” Ginny grumbled, but an amused smile raised one corner of her mouth. “At least, we’re safe from the nargles here.”
With a sigh, she was back to her chore.
***
Half-an-hour later, feeling the muscles in her neck and arms contracting in protest, Ginny had already given up in favor of yet another break. As she contemplated the work she still had to do, a door slammed. The best moment of the day had arrived, and Ginny was glad to drop her brush in the paint, not caring about staining the wooden floor.
As she did so, light steps carried a voice with them in the house,
“For Merlin’s swimsuit, I still can’t get used to the draught in the entrance. I will need to pin a word under the bell to rem- This is not the right way to the kitchen,” The voice stopped, as if its owner was taking some decision, but it resumed promptly, “This house is so big, seems like a labyrinth. Would be funny if I get lost in the corridors. Actually, it would be interesting. I could write a paper about- This isn’t the right door either,” Another pause, but still, the steps didn’t give up. “These doors, all the same. We should think about painting them too, the same color as the opposite room, so it’ll be easier to find them. Ah, there it is. No? I thought I remembered from this morning. Ginny? Are you here?”
“Right here, honey! I’m coming!”
After a few more missed tries -- the house was big --, the young women managed to reunite in the living room, and, following their usual warm greetings, they both slumped on the just-bought-smelling couch, Ginny rubbing Luna’s bare feet.
“We will need to draw a map,” the blonde sighted, extracting a single pin from her bun and letting her hair cascade down in curls. “You’d think that after a couple of days, we would have gotten used to the multiple corridors. I wonder if the blibbering humdingers are confusing us. Didn’t check for their presence.”
“Bad thing about wanting a big house to host family is that it’s big,” Ginny laughed. “Let’s make a mental note to warn Ron and Hermione about it. How was your day?” she asked eagerly, hoping to get some distraction from her boredom. With Luna’s anecdotes, she never failed to.
“Quite normal,” the other girl answered, and Ginny’s lips stretched: she was going to discover once more how far her girlfriend pushed the limits of the word ‘normal’. “Seamus and I went to interview Neville on this new discovery he made, the one about the singing cacti, and we could witness how poor Seamus hasn’t lost his ability to set things ablaze. Neville wasn’t too cooperative after this, and I kept asking questions only to distract him. Lucky I managed to take pictures of the plants before. Wonderful discovery, it was.”
The simple image of a steaming Seamus and an appalled Neville being assaulted with questions by a comforting Luna made it impossible for Ginny to suppress a snort, which she skillfully turned into a sneeze.
“Bless you, love. So, because of the explosion, we couldn’t come back by apparition, Seamus was too groggy, and we had Hagrid dropping us. He doesn’t often go to London, you know, so he kind of confused St Thomas Street with St James’, and he quickly flew away, tears in his eyes because of the name of the place. I was very sad for him, so I didn’t think it was the case to call him back and tell him it was the wrong side of the city.”
“So how did you-?”
“Oh, it was easy. Don’t you know what Muggles do to move from one place to another?” Ginny thought about the black Muggle cars, or the strange, underground metallic snake she was still not used to, and asked herself how on Earth her girlfriend had managed to orientate herself in middle of the thronging street, with a smoky Seamus to carry. “They walk of course!” Luna piped, oblivious of her lover’s groan. “It was very distracting, and it seemed to wake Seamus up because, after the first half-hour, he said he would prefer to be splinched rather than to walk a step more. He still didn’t look alright, mind you, but- ”
“So you apparated?”
“Yes, and we made it safely.”
A sigh of relief escaped Ginny’s throat. “Good. I wouldn’t have wanted to face an angry Dean.”
“Oh, we could have faced a lot more than an angry Dean. When we made it back to the Quibbler, there was the president of the D. A. F. T. who pretended he had some news-”
“The what?” Ginny asked, a bad presentment running down her spine.
“Defensive Association For Trolls,” Luna precised airily. “And he wanted to show us one of his latest pets-”
“Some nutty brought a troll in center London? He brought it to you?”
Ginny felt her fists ball on their own accord, but she agreed with them: whoever had put her girlfriend in danger was-
“Ginny!” Luna’s waving hand brought her back to the moment. “Calm down! It was not a troll, and even if it had been one, it would have been very amusing to study it. Mr. Foolsh wanted to show us his cat! He claimed it could play the piano better than anybody.”
“Oh.” The ginger’s shoulders relaxed, and she started massaging Luna’s ankles again, ignoring the allusion to how ‘amusing’ studying a 600 pounds heavy creature seemed to her. “Could it?”
“If Mr. Foolsh pressed the play button on his recorder, yes,” Luna explained, grinning happily as Ginny threw her head back in laughter. “I thought about friendly sending the cat and the man back to their home, but fortunately Ernie reached me before I could. He said Seamus was utterly sorry, but all the documents we had gathered at Neville’s were- still at Neville’s.”
“Seamus forgot the documents?”
“We can’t blame him, after the blow…”
“Did you get them back?” Luna’s eyes clearly communicated that getting ashes back was quite complicated. “So tomorrow’s Surprise Article is going to be a surprise for you too?”
“Oh no, not really. You see, that cat had some grace in its movements…”
Ginny shook her head and giggled: her girlfriend was full of original resources.
They sat there, discussing the rest of Luna’s day -- which seemed to have been endless and, in Ginny’s opinion, not normal at all -- until the Sun bid them goodbye and the stars winked at them, bringing along the night’s usual chill air.
“How are you doing with the painting of our first guest room?” Luna asked after Ginny came back with some coverts. She had chosen the paint’s color, which she knew was Bill and Fleur’s favorite.
“Fancy a hot chocolate?” Ginny replied, wanting one herself before having to confess: she hadn’t been able to finish what they had planned the day before.
“Of course!” the other young woman said excitedly. She raised as well, stood on her tiptoes, and left a delicate kiss on the spread-with-freckles cheek. “Yours are the best.” Then, their lips quickly found each others.
Ginny blushed a dark pink, like she had done the very first time Luna had kissed her, and all the times after that. She might not be able to use magic in the day, nor find her way in her own house, but she wouldn’t be anywhere with anybody else right now.
Her heart belonged to her, to the blonde woman with wide blues eyes and a golden soul, the one with the strangest ideas and the cutest reflections. It belonged to the girl who was half-a-foot shorter than her, and who was afraid of nargles but not trolls.
For @wizardingworldwaitforme from @hermione-who and @@beaubcxton We love you and surprise!
“Just bloody ask her mate!”
“I can't. You know that!”
“Why not? Stop being a wuss!”
“What if she says no, Ron?”
“What if she says yes?” The boy, Ron counters back, frustration seeping into his tone. Some would call it a privilege, attending to Harry Potter, but his best friend thought it was a right nuisance.
Especially, when the said boy was pining after a girl.
Harry Potter was many things. A fighter, the Gryffindors would call him after he’d ward off the dementors. The hufflepuffs would chime in with a “He’s selfless!” after he gave his life up once more. The Ravenclaws and the Slytherins wouldn’t say much, too immersed in their work but if pestered, they’d retort that he was a rather resilient fellow who should pick up a book once in a while.
If asked, the professors would smile fondly and say he was a smart student and then share caring sentiments regarding him. They’d follow the statement by saying that their parents were rather bright students as well. And like most people, they’d soon wander off in their blissful thoughts.
Harry Potter was many things.
But charmspeaker, he was not.
Perhaps, one might consider it bizarre that the boy could fight soul reapers, death eaters and even corpses but couldn’t even stomach the idea of asking a girl out.
Particularly when that girl was Luna Lovegood. Caring, kind of oblivious and wouldn’t hurt a fly, Luna. Goddess Number 1, Apple of his eye, light in his darkness and wackspurt to his nargle. He’d been pining after her for ages, perhaps ever since she brushed her hand against his when he had asked for a pencil.
Harry groans. He was pathetic.
A girl like Luna deserved to see the whole world on a date. Taste italian pizza and drink American Iced Tea. He doubted she would like that much, however. Luna seemed like the person who find contentment in standing still.
Weather (and his mother) forbade him from taking her to a beach.
“You’ll catch a cold, Har!” Lily had scolded him earlier that morning, her hands dusty with flour as she set a plate of cookies on the table, cookies she’d made for his father.
Harry had stuffed one in his mouth and proclaimed, “Its for a girl, Mum!”
“And she can say yes to other sensible and safe events or she’s not the right girl for you.”
Harry supposed there was some truth in her words but to his love riddled brain, it was the worst of betrayals. And he had sighed, mournfully and clambered up the stairs, plate hidden and a grinning mother at the end of it.
“Mate,” Ron sighs and sits next to the boy. “I’m sure she’ll say yes.”
Harry smiles abashed and runs a hand through his hair. “You think?.”
Barely managing to suppress a thankful sigh, Ron claps his friend on the shoulder. “I’m positive.”
When the other boy doesn’t respond, he quickly walks out the door, happy that his best-friend duty could be considered fulfilled.
“Mate!!”
The call sounds at lunch time and Ron looks up as he stuffs a leg of chicken in his mouth. It was perhaps the third time his eating had been interrupted that very day, Ron thought morosely. Truly a travesty.
“She said yes!”
The other boy gives a thumbs up and widens his eyes proportionally to add effect. “Conhuhasdu”
“Where should I take her?”
Not again. How was he supposed to know about girls? Harry should have been asking Hermione these questions. Or his own parents. James and Lily Potter were married. They obviously had some experience in the whole dating thing.
Swallowing” “Take her to a carnival, mate. Girls dig that.”
Harry bites his lip. “Yeah? You’d think she like that?”
Ron hums for good measure. For a moment, Harry looks transfixed and Ron can hardly believe his luck but then: “Why though? Why not the beach?”
Oh for Merlin’s sake.
“Harry.” Ron said very rationally. The food that spewed from his mouth is a testimony of the level of nonchalance the boy exhibits. “If you want to go to a beach, go.”
“Mom’s not allowing me to go.”
“So?”
“So? So, I can't go. Girl or no girl, I can't worry Mom like that. Not after what she’s been through.”
For a brief second, Ron wonders if this is the same boy who flew a car with him and took out a whole unit of villains but then he nods. After what Lily had been through, indeed.
“Luna’s a pureblood, right?”
A sound of assent.
“She’d love how weird carnivals are.”
Harry’s eyes lit up. “Yeah! And we’d go on all those rides and I could get- Wait, you’re a pureblood.”
“Bloody hell! Will you look at that? I am!”
“Oh sod off. How do you know about muggle fairs?”
“Hermione took me once.” Ron says shortly. “Fairs?”
And after all the help he had offered, Harry has the gall not to answer his question as he bounces off and shoves his coat on, knocking the lamp post while he’s at it. “Thanks, Ron. You’re the best.”
Only after Harry strides out of the room does Ron allow himself to bite into his cheese burger with a blissful moan.
“Car- nee-val” Harry teaches as they walk under the entrance arc. Dozens of kids run around with painted faces. Luna giggles as she notices one boy sporting the face of a dragon. The scent of fried food wafts through the air and the pair hear their stomachs grumbling mournfully.
The feeling of happiness was rich in the air and the laughter of the children near them who asked for balloons was contagious.
Tugging her along, Harry was content as they breezed past several booths, hardly noticing anything besides the presence next to him.
Luna gently touched his hand once to get his attention. “What’s that?”
Following the direction of her hand, he answers, “It’s sand art.”
“Its beautiful.” Luna murmurs in awe.
Indeed it was. The palette was a sight for sore eyes. Purple, green and blue sand occupied the space of several containers.
“Want to play?”
“What do you do?”
Harry scrunches up his nose trying to remember. “You choose a container, I think and place one funnel at the top. And then you’d uh, put the sand in the bottle till it’s filled to the brim. Its kinda cool if you’re into ah, designing.”
Luna inspects the booth for several seconds, “Maybe later.”
And so, they go on. Several times, Luna would stop and ask him a question and Harry would explain how crazy hats worked and they're not actually popping butterflies but rather butterfly like balloons.
At first, it was tiresome. Question thrown after question but then he’d looked at Luna and all his misery drowned away.
He had never seen her so excited. So full of childish glee.
Wisdom always shone like tears in those blue eyes and he’d never have the opportunity to see anything different but now, he found he rather loved the new look and with a bounce in his step, apprehended her.
McGonagall once asked him why circumstances revolved around him and he’d chirped I don't go looking for trouble. Trouble usually finds me. It seemed like the statement still applied, even if he didn’t go to Hogwarts anymore.
For several people cast them weird looks and they scoffed about Luna’s attire.
He thought she looked gorgeous. A normally sized chunk of radish hung from her left earlobe and a small carrot dangled from the right. She was wearing a knee-length colorful dress with an enormous butterfly design on her back. Her shoes were multicolored but Harry failed to understand why people seemed to think it was their business.
When the third person to call her out that night laughed with his friends, Harry took a glance at Luna and was speechless to notice she still wore that airy and bright smile. Was she not affected at all by the taunts? This was probably the fourth time they teased her in his presence. And he hoped it’d be the last time.
As if answering his question, she shakes her head slightly when Harry steps forward, adamant to teach someone a lesson.
“Leave it be, Har.”
He protests. “They have no right-”
“And so they don't. They’re misguided. Hecates are to be blamed.”
Disgruntled, he listens.
A wide smile splits Luna’s face. “You’re cute when you’re worried.”
And all thoughts of shoving a wand in someone’s ear turned to dust with that coy admission.
Harry had never noticed how loud carnivals could be, and how dim they got, so dim you could barely see when you accidently trod on someone's toe, but now he did.
Now he was conscious of everything, stealing what he hoped were secret glances at Luna every so often, hoping she was enjoying herself.
The bright smile she had on her face as she drank in the scene comforted him, but then he hastily reminded himself that Luna Lovegood was always smiling.
He loved that about her, he realised with a jolt.
That no matter how dark and crowded the carnival, or even the world, got, she still somehow managed to find the light, and just smile.
It’s infectious, her energy.
He really, really loved that about her.
They can hardly hear each other over the noise when Harry pulls Luna over to a wooden stall, standing on the outskirts of the crowd.
“Want anything?!”
Luna tilts her head to show she hasn’t understood.
Harry makes a point of pointing at the pink candy wound over sticks, shouting even louder.
“WOULD YOU LIKE SOME?”
Luna blinks, her smile slightly faltering as she follows his gesture. Her blue eyes flicker over the stall, taking in the impatient stall-owner, who is also pointing to the candy in a similar fashion, and she nods.
“THE CANDY LOOKS NICE, SHOULD WE GET SOME?”
The scene is so ridiculous that Harry can’t help but laugh as he proceeds to pick the largest treat on the stall.
Luna seems hesitant as she receives the gift from Harry’s hands, which worries him.
Had he mis-heard her, did she not want any? Had he already made a fool himself, not even an hour into his date?
She tentatively reached out, grasping a small piece between her fingers, and pulling. She let out a soft gasp as the candy tears clean off, and Harry realises something.
Of course, candyfloss was a muggle thing, Luna’d probably never seen the cloud-like sweet, and while incredibly wise, Luna was fascinated by littlest of things.
He leans in closer, just so she can hear him better, and desperately tries to ignore the warmth rushing to his ears.
“Try some.”
Luna, ever-trusting, lifts her gaze from the pink, and keeps her eyes locked on his, as she lifts the candy up, and deposits it in her mouth.
Harry watches as her eyes widen slightly, and her smile returns, brighter than ever. He stepped back then, the urge to pull her close being too strong.
“Muggle’s come up with the most amazing things.”
She breaths, and Harry was glad to see she went in for more. And more, and more.
At least now he knew what to get her for christmas.
When it’s finished, and believe me it didn’t take long, the pair seem to be drawn to the ride that towered above them all. The wheel spun, every cart occupied by some sort of couple. It seemed like the go-to place for letting people know you were on a date.
And maybe that’s why Harry suggested they ride the ferris wheel. He wanted make sure Luna knew how he felt.
And when she excitedly squeezed his hand, commenting on how he’d “read her mind” and explained something to do with “Nargles and their fear of heights”, he was glad he’d asked.
They were an odd couple, that was for sure.
What, with Luna’s special even for a wizard wardrobe, and Harry’s dug up old muggle clothes that he hardly wore, they didn’t exactly look like a couple you’d run into on the street.
Normally, maybe, they might have cared about the indiscreet stares they still received, as they paid for their tickets, and the scoff a woman sent their way when Luna smiled at her, but together? So high up that even the noise didn’t bother them anymore, and the stars winked at them from above, perfecting an already perfect day? All they noticed was each other.
The ride came to it’s usual standstill, Harry and Luna at the very top. It was mesmerizing for him, watching her shut her eyes and take in the cool breeze, fingers stroking the air as if she could feel something no-one else could.
To Harry, Luna was a whole world. She lived it, breathed it, floating between reality and just plain fantasy.
It was the best way to live.
“Look.”
She was pointing at something far in the distance, something Harry couldn’t even see from where he sat.
She giggled slightly as he struggled to find it, pulling him closer.
“There.”
This time her lips were right by his ear, and she whispered her next words.
“Aren’t they beautiful, the lights?”
And Harry saw. He had to agree, the city lights of Muggle london did glow rather brightly, and on any other day he’d have admired them for longer. But, at the word beautiful his eyes twitched back towards Luna, who’d been watching him.
“Yes,” He agreed, whispering for no apparent reason, “beautiful.”
Twelve times. Twelve more times they rode that ferris wheel. And each time they stopped high enough for Luna to spot something else to be fascinated by. By about ride five her hand was in his, Harry somehow also finding the courage to move close enough that their shoulders touched.
He was trying really hard not to sweat.
Her fingers were soft and slender, and he revelled in her touch. He loved the feel of her skin on his, and at sometime, he didn’t know when, maybe the sixth ride? His thumb was stroking her palm, the feeling regular, like he’d done it a million times.
When they spoke, their conversation flowing from each topic, Harry always wondered why he hadn’t seen this side to Luna before.
The incredibly thoughtful, grounded, funny Luna. That was just it. She was so, ridiculously funny that by ride seven he was sure he had tears in his eyes from all the laughter.
“You know, Harry, you surprised me.”
This kind of brought the laughing to a stop, just as ride 11 ended and 12 began.
“I did?” Harry cleared his throat, wondering what he’d done.
“Well...with everything you’ve been through. I’d have thought things like fairs and carnivals would be a breeze.”
“But I can feel your nervousness.”
And there it was, the marker screaming that the whole date had been a disaster. She could tell he was anxious. He was obviously acting weird, putting her off. Was he sweating?
I mean, it was practically freezing, but he still felt the heat of sahara with her so close.
“That’s okay though. I’m nervous too.”
And she says this with such a comfortable air about her, that Harry can’t help but think she is saying this to make him feel better. But then, the thought of Luna lying at all was even more crazy.
It was funny, how things had changed in the space of 12 rotations. It was like a clock on fast-forward, each ride symbolising a stage in their relationship. Discomfort, tentativeness, touch, closeness, realisation and learning and perhaps even loving, it was way too far to tell Harry scolded himself when his thoughts strayed, all thrown into one.
In a way, Harry was grateful, for when he took Luna’s hand, and led her from the beginning of their “us”, it felt like he’d been holding her forever. He told himself it didn’t make sense, how right Luna felt, that he was surely dizzy from the perfectly slow ferris wheel, but he lacked the enthusiasm to make it believable.
It was quite a funny story, how Harry came to be holding a fish in his hands. Even he didn’t quite understand it.
I mean, it was normal, right? Buying goldfish at fairs, people did that, Harry was sure.
Only, the funny part was the stall-owner’s face when Luna had pointed past all the giant teddy-bears and the array of colourful balloons, after Harry had finally managed to land his arrow in the target and win, following many, many tries.
He’d asked her what she wanted, for he’d played for her, and wasn’t really surprised when she singled out the small orange sea creature, as it swam in reply.
“Are you sure?” the stall-owner seemed genuinely surprised, like he’d given up on the thought of selling that fish long ago, but, Harry thought with a smile as he handed his date her fish, (a thing he’d never really had to do before), the stall-owner hadn’t known Luna was coming.
And so he held the fish with pride, as Luna cooed through the bag, talking to the creature like an old friend.
“What shall we name you?”
Luna mulled it over, then straightened, lips tugging into a smile.
“Denis.”
Harry blinked, “Denis?”
Luna waved his question away, like her answer was obvious.
“All the cutest people are called Denis.”
He wondered idly if she was possibly referring to an old boyfriend, but this quickly diminished when she bent down again, peering at the fish with such a look a person would give their pet, “you’re so adorable, aren’t you little denis?”
He doesn’t really decide to tell her then, the words just kinda spill from his mouth. He lets them though, figures he needs to voice how much he likes Luna in some way other than blushing.
“Reminds me of the first time I knew that I, uh… you know.” He’s obviously not very good at the whole actually talking to your date thing yet.
“That you?” Luna regarded him with a kindly curious look, genuinely interested.
Fascinated by the littlest of things.
“Reminds me of the first time I knew i liked you.”
When he finished, her smile grew wider, how was that even possible, and she looked even prettier, again how?
Harry kept talking, hoping he could always make her smile like that.
“We were still in school back then..”
He didn’t get it, not at all.
She wasn’t angry.
Hanging up posters for her stolen possessions with such a carefree attitude, like it all didn’t matter. Like it was all just ‘good fun’.
Well, he certainly didn't find it funny.
Humor was not one emotion he’d feel. Rage and bitterness though? Definitely.
Why bully someone as lovely as Luna? He didn’t get it at all.
“I’m sorry about your godfather, Harry.”
The words froze him in his tracks, and he waited for the rush of pain, the choking feeling in his throat that usually arose whenever he thought of Sirius.
But it never came.
He looked down to see she had grasped his shaking hand, and her touch healed it. Blocked him, even if it was just for a moment, from the sea of prodigious grief.
Somehow, just Luna’s timid smile, managed to convince him that ‘everything was going to be okay.’
“Are you sure you don’t want help looking for your stuff?”
She pulled away, and he felt the inexplicable urge to stop her, but instead took a half-step back, clenching his fist in an attempt to shake off the feeling of her fingers touching his.
Merlin, what was she doing to him?
“That’s alright. Anyway, my mum always said, the things we lose always have a way of coming back to us in the end.”
Harry didn’t get Luna at all.
Maybe that’s what made her so special.
“Looking back, I probably should’ve asked you out right there and then.” The hand that wasn’t holding the fish went to the back of his neck, rubbing the blush away.
She nodded, seriously considering his statement. Then, her eyes slowly drifted over the carnival.
“D’you think the nice man has any flossing candy left?”
“Wanna sneak out?”
Luna considers and then, nods her head thoughtfully.
If asked, many people would say the greatest love story to exist was Aristotle and Dante. In a world which is blatantly homophobic, perhaps the pair bring a promise of a greater future. A hope.
I’d like to believe they fell in love with Ari’s fierce and protective love and Dante’s open and deep soul.
Among the many who believed, one lover sought to live.
They creep forward like spies. The atmosphere is amusing enough that they both have smiles tugging at their lips as they slide in the truck.
Harry assumes the role of driver and shifts the gear and pushes forward. In a matter of seconds, they pretend they are no longer strangers and zoom against the inky black darkness.
Luna laughs and her date thinks it's a beautiful sound. It was a mixture between a snort and a bell and he decided that it was a melody he’d listen to forever if he could.
Rolling past, the figure of trees blur into the night sky and soon, they’re leaving the city, leaving civilization and entering the void.
Taking a quick glimpse to see if Luna was okay with the proceedings, Harry is assured as she smiles fondly.
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder proved true. Hair flying with the breeze and lips parted in happiness, Harry could think of no painting that could rival the image he was gazing at.
Switching his attention to the road, he leans back and they drive, crickets chirping as the car ground.
Luna falls asleep. Blaming it on the crunelo, she says with rather too much enthusiasm, “They’re not very fond of civilization. Makes them all jittery. Did you see one? We’re so lucky to be in their presence.”
Harry quirks an eyebrow at her rambling though it goes unnoticed “We’re here.”
Let me paint a picture of their surroundings: From their vantage point in the truck, enormous mountains rose, their dark peaks nearly imperceptible. Fireflies hummed in the sky, their light offering a golden glow to the soothing darkness. Stars trailed the night sky and Luna knew that they were blinking down at her, silently promising that they saw.
The stars had always meant something special to Luna. Her mother often used to say, “The stars are our ancestors, love. Whenever you seek comfort, look upon the stars and wish and hope for the posterity.”
The world was etched in charcoal, the once vibrant colors of dawn now, a long forgotten memory. It was only them in this fantasy world where no plague of politics or racism existed. Time stood still as Harry led them to the back of the truck. Luna hadn’t noticed it before but there were pillows littering the space accompanied by a blanket. A lone basket stood at the base and Harry burrowed in it before he magicked a sandwich.
“I figured we wouldn’t be happy with the carnival food.” He grinned at the precipitous enlargement of Luna’s eyes. “I brought you s’mores for dessert because I remember hearing you say it was your favorite.”
Luna whispers, surprise, and awe seeping into her tone. “I knew I liked you for a reason.”
And it’s ridiculous really, how happy the sentence, the fact made him. The events leading up to now were considered as a date but right now, he felt something more tangible in the air. Make or break, after all, and by the end of the night, he’d understood where he stood with the fairy next to him. For better or for worse.
“I could do this forever,” Luna exclaims softly, staring so intently at her food, mesmerized.
Harry chuckled, “Yeah, these s’mores are pretty marvelous.”
She looks up, and lets out such a melodious sound Harry’s taken aback. She’s laughing.
He would never get used to it.
It was probably the trick of the light or lack thereof, but Harry was sure Luna’s eyes glowed in that moment. Brighter than bright, as her laughter died down and she lowered her s’more.
“You’ve got…”
Her words dwindle into nothing, and Harry was sure the thing that happened next was no trick. His heart constricting, he could feel it, and it felt like the right side of his face was melting. A very good, painless fire in the form of Luna’s fingers lay on his cheek.
Her finger trailed his lip, taking the chocolate with it.
“Chocolate on your face.”
She was whispering, why was she whispering?
Maybe it was because he was moving closer, and she was leaning in.
Or maybe it was because he’d dropped his s’more to cup her cheek, and was gazing into her eyes like he’d never seen anything so beautiful.
Or maybe it was because she had closed the distance between them, and her lips were on his, and everything was black and blue and black again as colors and thoughts whizzed around Harry’s mind, settling on perfect.
He was still reeling when the kiss ended, and he watched as Luna blushed, pulling back to bite her lip.
If things were up in the air before, now they were definitely firmly on the ground, spelling it out simply.
They liked each other.
A lot.
“Do you want to know when I started liking you?”
Sighing in relief, he nods. He wanted to ask her ever since he murmured the story about how he fell for the pixie. His pixie, hopefully. Assuming she’d tell him her story in return, he was left rather disappointed as she changed the topic and bounced off for more cotton candy.
“I didn’t realize, Harry.” She murmurs, her gaze as soft as his own mother’s and he embarrassingly tries to hide the tears that now shine in his eyes. It constantly baffled him that people felt affection to his persona. “I think I always knew and whenever you’d smile at me while you ate or whenever you defended me, you’d feed the burrow of feeling that I wore on my sleeve.”
Harry smiled at her and offered her his hand. Nestling in his warmth, she goes on, “If I had to choose a memory-“
Luna was the last to leave class, concluding that she couldn’t get bullied if no one else was left to tease her about her earrings or her name.
Walking out of class with extreme foreboding and caution, it’s unsurprising when a loud and cruel laugh cuts the silence preceding the contents of her bag spilling out.
“Loonie LOVE-good!” They chanted. “Who’d love you?!”
Never fight back with swords, Luna, but rather with silence and wit.
And so, she had taken the wise words of her father to heart and never tried to include herself in their pointless arguing. Luna was in the midst of collecting of her things when footsteps sound near. Glancing up, her heart stills as it takes in a very livid Harry Potter.
The anger is not directed at her. Merlin, no. It never will be but rather at the students behind her who now shuffled under the might glare of the boy who lived.
“Luna? Are you okay?”
His voice is laced with compassion and drowned with sweetness. Quite contradictory as his face looked like it was made of stone. However, Luna noticed worry lines creasing its way on his forehead so she nods and smiles at him for good measure. “I’m fine, Harry. just dropped my things.”
A silent plead not to hurt them which reluctantly, Harry listens to for he drops his wand back and clenches his jaw, as the bullies slump with obvious relief.
“Do you know who she is?”
Luna winces. She probably should have asked him to drop the whole issue altogether. Harry’s bark was worse than his bite and she shuddered to wonder what rumors would fly around.
Probably, ‘Star-Crossed Lovers.’ They certainly did make a weird pair. Would, would make a weird pair.
Laying a hand on his arm, she says, “Harry, you don’t need to-“
“No, Luna. They’ve got to know that they’re cowards-“ He throws the pale boys a glare. “I doubt they’ve fought death eaters and survived to tell the tale but you have. And you’ve remained as kind as ever whereas-“
“Harry.” She says again and perhaps, it's the unexpected whisper that surprises him, for he breaks the scrutiny of annoyance and tears his eyes towards her. The boys seize the chance and hurry away. Sighing, Harry lets them after Luna prompts a quick, “it’s okay.”
Harry sighs and helps her. “I don’t know why you let them be so rude.”
“You can’t change everyone.”
“I suppose that’s true.” Harry says grimly. Standing up, he moved rather awkwardly and shuffled his feet.
“Thank you for helping me. You’ve always been kind.”
The boy flushes and coughs. “S’alright. Just take care, yeah?”
“And then you ran away.”
Harry splutters. “I did not run. And why did you like me, then? I acted like a tosser.”
Luna yawned and snuggled closer to Harry. “I don’t know. I suppose you were the first person to care for me besides Ginny.”
The world didn't deserve Luna but perhaps, his feelings for her would offer some consolation.
“This is my favorite part of our date.”
Luna grins at him. “I can’t relate. I rather liked the cotton candy.”
Kissing her palm quickly, he drapes the blanket over them as the darkness winnows over them, cocooning them in some hazy dream. The stars fade as he blinks.
Harry supposed that Ron was wrong. You don’t need fireworks and adrenaline electrifying your marrow to feel happy.
Maybe you just needed that someone.
And maybe a fish too, he thought with a chuckle back to Denis, who sat comfortably in the backseat of his truck, a shiny new bowl as his home.
He wouldn’t trade the world for today but he concluded grande gestures weren’t always necessary. Not that today was grande but he had already planned the second date and since Sirius planned it, it was hella posh. Sometimes, you just need the quiet, the feeling of someone’s hand on yours. Them lending you their love and the trust that you wouldn’t abuse it.
The feeling of Luna nuzzling in the crook of his neck would never be forgotten. Decades later as he bounces his children on his knees, he will call their mother a flower.
Tranquility can bring happiness too, Harry concluded as he traced Luna’s soft features with his eyes.
A/N: This was supposed to belong to a Sirius x reader fic, but it didn’t fit in well so instead of dumping it… Enjoy!
***
As more and more heads turned toward her, the general idea had been shaped. This woman, apparently leader of a rather awkward family, could be described as… a terrifying masterpiece. Her ladylike figure was a natural attraction for the eye of everyone, most of all among such a noisy crowd, because her appearance was so different from that of those who surrounded her.
She looked as if an artist had collected features to make up a most beautiful creature, assembled them, and polished the whole in a strange way. The artisan had colored her straight hair with a lustrous ebony black color, and added some gray sparkles to the green eyes, without managing to make them kind, but turning them instead harsh and piercing, like those of a fox about to jump on its prey. This made her irritated gaze and hardness in judgment much more intense, and most of the children that crossed path with her kept their attention to the floor, their usual and typical curiosity giving place to an intuitive prudence.
In the painter’s mind, it must have been decided that the woman would look aristocratic, for her nose was straighter than ever seen, and her cheeks paler than snow, but the combination still looked handsome on the perfect oval that was the face to which they belonged. A face most always deformed by scolding and disapproval.
In order to sharpen the image of her, two or three layers of etiquette were added, covered by prejudice and discrimination, and highlighted with several strokes of illusion of superiority mixed to a natural arrogance, the total making her look haughty with a certain cruel grace.
It was no wonder, thus, that, as she walked in the sea of humans that filled the train station, the woman wore an expression of self-sufficiency and disgust which, enhanced by her midnight black dress, was bound to attract looks -- mostly intimidated and fearful.
However, she was not the only one of her party to arouse interest, and, after being captivated enough by her person, many people dared to move their eyes to her companions, and instantly felt some weight being lifted from their chest.
On the woman’s right, a severe-looking man, short and round, whose characteristics were not handsome enough to deserve a wider description, kept her pace with easiness, focusing his attention only on a portion of wall several yards in front of him. He carried in his jacket pocket an old watch, a family heirloom that didn’t belong to the present era but, as the rest of his outfit was of an outdated refinery as well, would have gone unnoticed if he didn’t take it out from its hiding constantly, only as part of a mannerism.
On the woman’s left half-runned a little boy, who seemed to be no more than eight or nine years old, but whose striking resemblance to her in composure and features would have made him look older, had his height allowed it. His costume was made of a thick greenish fabric, a lighter imitation of his father’s -- for the round man was in fact the woman’s husband -- and made his emerald eyes glow like two peas under the sun. The child’s tongue was far from being as flexible as that of his fellow kids’, but was tied and shut in his mouth following his family’s strict expectancy. At the sight of this grave boy, any mother would have shuddered to the thought of how impossible it must have been to raise him so quiet.
A the rear of the peculiar family strolled the oldest of the sons, a 4’9’’ tall boy, whose virile pride made him wish everybody would just call him an “ol’ lad” already. His face was as beautiful as his mother’s, though in a very different, and genuinely kind, way, and his body was straight and elegant. He didn’t wear the same ridiculous and outdated uniform as his father and brother, and had opted for more classic and recent clothes, but his effort hadn’t managed to make him less interesting to London’s population, mostly for two reasons. First, the heavy trolley he was pushing supported an owl in a cage, an animal scarcely kept as a pet, and whose hooting and shrieking would have raised a dead from its eternal sleep. And second, the child called out, to whomever had an ear to listen, that he was going to Hogwarts -- wherever Hogwarts was --, and added, but with extreme care to conceal his words to his parents, that he surely belonged to Gryffindor -- whatever Gryffindor was.
Such is, exactly as the passersby remember it, the picture of the Black family, as they walked between King’s Cross Station’s platforms nine and ten, on the morning of September 1st, 1971.
