THE PREVIOUS WEEK HAD BEEN EXHAUSTING, what with Lockhart’s Cornish Pixies, Mrs Weasley’s aggressive Howler (though that did give you some comedic relief), and now, Oliver Wood and his early, Saturday morning Quidditch practice.
It was the weekend, for Merlin’s sake. You would bloody well believe a strapping young lad such as himself would have anything better to do on a fine Saturday morning, but no. His life, love, and days revolved around Quidditch, and as his teammates, that sentiment extended upon the lot of you as well.
Even on an early, bloody, Saturday morning.
And, placing heavy emphasis, was it made loud and clear that it was a Saturday?
You could understand his dedication to an extent. Gryffindor had been so close to winning the Inter-House Quidditch Tournament the previous year, but, it was regrettable that with both yourself and Harry incapable of playing — due to injuries sustained from your encounter with the Dark Lord — Gryffindor was forced to forfeit, withdrawing on the account of an incomplete team.
It was the crack of dawn when your team captain, Oliver Wood, shook you and Bowie — who was almost forced off your head — awake. A groggy Angelina Johnson and Katie Bell lingering, dazed, by the door.
“How’dyougetinhere?” you’d all but groaned, attempting a chance at sleep when he ignored your query, casually opening your curtains and casting pink-and-gold daylight into your sight.
Skimming over your (and your Bowtruckle’s) dramatics, you were eventually led — broom in hand — outside, and into the changing room.
Harry entered soon after, with Colin Creevey at his tail. Wood was the only person who looked truly awake. Fred and George Weasley were sitting, puffy-eyed and tousle-haired, next to you, who happened to be nodding off against a wall and dreaming of a talking lion. The sight of you awakened the team Seeker by the slightest bit, as he chuckled amusedly to himself. Meanwhile, your fellow Chasers, Katie Bell and Angelina Johnson were yawning side by side on the bench parallel to you.
You hadn’t known then just what awaited you later that day, but for now, you were content with conversing with this strange lion on the topic of ice and the fearsome beauty it beholds.
In another location entirely, was a red train leaving four children along Coombe Halt station, a small stop in the middle of the countryside, surrounded only by grassy terrain, green trees that swayed lightly, and dirt paths untouched by concrete. The air was damp and smelling of soot. They were rather put-off by the environment. Whilst they had their expectations set, they hadn't exactly pictured a complete lack of civilization — the lone hint of it manifesting through the small station at which they were dropped off.
Where was their guardian? Someone was meant to welcome them upon their arrival, “a family friend of your father's!” their mother had said. But where was this mystery friend? In fact, where was this mystery friend staying? Inquiries began filling the siblings’ minds as they silently attempted to quiet their worries.
At the familiar sound of an approaching engine, the siblings perked up, rushing toward its source — only for a motorcar to flash past them in a dusty blur, spraying gravel and leaving nothing but a cloud of dust and the smell of exhaust.
“Where's dad's friend?” Lucy Pevensie expressed her worry, clutching her stuffed puppy close to her chest. She hadn't wished to be separated from her parents in the first place. She simply wasn't used to the thought. Well, not being separated from her mother, at least. She and her siblings were quite used to their father's constant disappearances — always some business to take care of at work, or something of the like. Nonetheless, Susan attempted to reassure the young girl, voice sure, yet laced with disappointment, “The Professor knew we were coming.”
“Perhaps we got off at the wrong station?” Edmund suggested. He kicked a loose stone, watching it skitter across the deserted platform. He looked around the desolate, grass-fringed platform. The air here didn’t smell like London smoke; it smelled of wet earth and manure. Not necessarily a bad thing.
But just as he spoke, the distinct clatter of horse hooves echoed from the same direction the car had sped away. Rounding the bend was a modest carriage. Holding the reins was a woman who looked as though she had been carved out of granite — Mrs Macready. She sat ramrod straight, her knuckles white where she gripped a riding whip. Her expression was entirely unreadable.
“Mrs Macready?” Peter spoke hesitantly, sharing a bewildered glance with Susan.
“I'm afraid so,” the elder woman replied in a flat, motone voice devoid of welcome.
Edmund frowned at her tone. She sounded much like the irritable librarian from his school, always shushing and scolding him for something as stupid as stepping on a loose, creaky floorboard. In fact, she had always had it out for him, accusing him of endless faults he was never even guilty for (well, perhaps he did scribble his initials on the dedications page of his favorite novel, Treasure Island. . . But he'll never admit to actually going in there to read).
She even had the same, narrow glasses, he scowled, as she adjusted it by the rim, surveying the meager collection of trunks and canvas luggage they had set down. “Is this all? Haven't you brought anything else?
“No, ma'am. It's just us,” Peter confirmed, gripping the handle of his suitcase a little tighter.
“Small favors,” she nodded curtly toward the carriage, the gesture an undeniable command. Quickly, the children climbed aboard, the wooden bench surprisingly sturdy as it hardly groaned at their weight.
The children flinched as Mrs Macready suddenly gave the horse a sharp flick with the whip, lurching forward as the horse neighed and the carriage staggered into motion, rattling off down the winding lane. The ride to the house was silent. Eventually, the dirt paths stretched into a long driveway, and when the manor finally loomed into view, the siblings gaped. The manor was a huge, rambling affair of grey stone, looking like it had grown out of the earth itself. It had rows upon rows of windows staring down like unblinking eyes, suggesting miles of corridors and hundreds of spare bedrooms awaiting them inside. Vines climbed up its walls, wrapping it in dark green ivy and moss, dwarfing the entirety of the property.
Their father was friends with someone of this calibre? How had they not heard of this place, nor of this Professor Kirke until now?
They wordlessly followed the older woman up the grand, sweeping staircase, their footsteps echoing on the marble.
“Professor Kirke is not accustomed to having children in this house,” she said without turning, her voice echoing in the vast, still space of the stairwell.
“And, as such, there are a few rules that must be strictly observed,” she continued, finally turning to face them at the first landing, her shadow stretching long over the siblings.
“There will be no shouting! No running! And no improper use of the dumbwaiter! Her demands were sharp and unwavering as her gaze, flicking over each of the Pevensie siblings in warning.
Despite their caretaker's frightening monologue, Susan found herself distracted by the utter beauty of the manor's architecture. From the columns of pillars that stretched all the way up to the high ceiling, to the chipped marble bust that rested upon a dark pedestal. Her fingers tentatively reached out to examine its utter—
“NO touching of historical artifacts!” The shout cracked through the air like a whip. Susan flinched back violently. Behind her, Peter and Edmund pressed their lips together to suppress a snicker.
Mrs Macready leaned in, lowering her voice to a whisper that was somehow louder and more pronounced than her shout. “And above all, there shall be no disturbing of the Professor.”
At that, the siblings shared a quick, meaningful glance. This was not some warm, vacation house where they could simply relax and let loose while their parents journeyed for a momentary business trip. In fact, it seemed to be that this was no place for kids at all. There was no room for their wonder, their yearn for adventure, and least of all, their curiosity.
Obediently, they fall into a straight line behind the woman.
Whilst the Pevensie siblings spent the next morning navigating the cold rules of the manor, the grounds of Hogwarts were waking up to a misty, humid morning.
The Gryffindor Quidditch team was marching across the dew-soaked grass of the Quidditch Pitch. As he had so consistently been the previous mornings, Oliver Wood was manic with energy. He led the team onto the pitch, clutching a large diagram in hand. “Now, I know I've expressed this before, but let me reiterate it for those of you who had dozed off.”
Fred and George rolled their eyes and huffed as they fought the urge to drop dead and give in to sleep then and there. You were no better, stumbling on your feet in an attempt to catch up with your energized captain.
Meanwhile, the bowtruckle hidden in one of your hidden pockets chittered, echoing your frustration as he too, had lost hours of sleep over Wood's incessant need to practice.
“I spent the summer devising a whole new Quidditch program. As we had been the past few days, we're going to make it a routine to train earlier, harder, and longer!”
You, Angelina, and Katie exchanged an exhausted groan when you suddenly bumped into Oliver's back, alarmed. He had stopped dead, squinting through the haze. Only then did you, too, take notice of the green robes that stood out against the grey sky. The Slytherin team was walking onto the pitch from the other side, where, despite the distance, you could make out their smug expressions; the irksome looks forced out a flash of red from your tied hair.
“I don't believe it!” Wood hissed in outrage. “Where do you think you're going, Flint?”
“Quidditch practice,” Marcus Flint replied, his voice a low, throaty sneer, showing off his jagged teeth.
“I booked the pitch for Gryffindor today!” Wood shouted, spit flying.
“Easy, Wood. I’ve got a note.”
On the bleachers, Ron and Hermione exchanged a look of dread. You saw Ron’s jaw tighten when he caught sight of your hair. “Uh oh,” he muttered, “I smell trouble.”
They scrambled down the stands, the wet grass slick beneath their boots. The tension radiating between the two teams was hot and prickly.
Wood read the note, his voice trembling with rage. "'I, Professor Severus Snape, do hereby give the Slytherin team permission to practice today, owing to the need to train their new Seeker.'"
"You've got a new Seeker?" Wood looked up. "Who?"
The hulking Slytherin beater stepped aside like curtains, revealing a smaller, smirking—
Oh, good Godric, no.
“Malfoy?” Harry stepped up, disbelief coloring his tone.
"That's right," Draco Malfoy said, stepping into the light. "And that's not all that's new this year."
As one, the Slytherin team pivoted their broomsticks. The morning sun caught the sleek, black polish of the handles, the gold lettering gleaming cruelly.
"Those are Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones," Ron breathed, his face slack with awe. "How did you get those?"
"A gift from Draco's father," Flint bragged, smoothing his robes.
You hate to admit it, but even you were astounded by the sight. Those Nimbus brooms had only just come out, and even then, only a select number of them were manufactured and released for purchase. For the whole Slytherin team to have one is dumbfounding — but then again, not all that surprising either.
After all, your cousin was among the most influential families in the British Wizarding community. Blasted little bugger.
Malfoy’s grey eyes snapped to the Weasleys, cold and hard as flint. "You see, Weasley? Unlike some, my father can afford the best."
"At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in," Hermione quickly cut in, leaving the twins and Ron no time to retort. Her voice was sharp, slicing through the male posturing. "They got in on pure talent."
Malfoy’s smirk vanished while yours sharpened in pride. That’s my girl, you thought, bumping your shoulder against hers. Suddenly, Draco stepped close to her, looming. The air seemed to freeze. He ignored the glare that pierced into the side of his face.
"No one asked your opinion," he spat, his face twisting into something ugly. "You filthy little Mudblood."
The word hung in the air, heavy and poisonous.
A collective gasp rippled through the Gryffindors. You felt the blood rush to your ears, a hot, thumping roar of protective anger washing over your entirety.
"You'll pay for that one, Malfoy!" Ron roared. He impulsively plunged his hand into his robes, ripping out his taped-up wand. "Eat slugs!"
A loud, booming noise echoed through the pitch, a jet of green light flashing. But it didn’t hit Malfoy — it exploded backwards, rebounding from the broken wand and hitting Ron in the stomach with the force of a cannonball. He was lifted off his feet and thrown backward, landing on the wet grass with a sickening thud.
“Wait, Ron, No!” You remembered his malfunctioning wand a moment too late, reaching out to stop him whilst Bowie sniggered silently.
"Ron!" Hermione screamed.
You dropped to your knees beside him. Ron was pale, his skin taking on a clammy, greenish hue. He opened his mouth to speak, but instead, a deep, wet belch shook his frame.
A large, brown, glistening slug fell from his mouth and landed on his robes. The sight sent tremors of disgust through your entirety.
The Slytherins erupted into boisterous, cruel laughter. Malfoy was doubled over, slapping his thigh.
"Ew! Yuck!" Colin Creevey appeared, lowered his camera, face scrunching. "Can you turn him around, Harry?"
"No, Colin! Get out of the way!" Harry shoved past him, grabbing Ron's arm. "Let's take him to Hagrid's."
As they dragged the retching boy away, you lingered. The sound of Malfoy’s laughter grated on your nerves like sandpaper.
You turned. Flint caught your eye.
"What's the matter, Lupin?" he taunted. It was only ever them that disregarded your proper surname. Apparently, you weren’t worthy to hold such relations to the Blacks. "Want a jagged wand to match your friend's?"
You didn't speak. You just let the cold anger focus your magic. It was a swift movement when you raised your wand. They had no time to react when you recited an incantation.
"Rictusempra!"
A ribbon of silver light slammed into Flint. His mocking laugh instantly warped into a high-pitched, terrifying wheeze. He collapsed, clutching his ribs, tears streaming down his face as the Tickling Charm agonized him. Your cousin cast you a fearful glance before retreating behind his teammates, terrified of the look in your eyes.
You caught his gaze and gave him a sharp nod — a silent promise of more if they continued — and turned on your heel, sprinting toward the pumpkin patch.
You burst into Hagrid's hut. The air inside was thick and warm, smelling of woodsmoke, damp dog, and treacle toffee. The latter reminded you that you had yet to eat for the day, but you brushed the hunger off as your concern for your friends took over.
Ron sat in the oversized armchair, clutching a copper basin.
"Better out than in," Hagrid said cheerfully, handing Ron a rag. "Who was he tryin' to curse, anyway?"
"Malfoy," Harry said, his voice quiet. "He called Hermione a— Well, I don't know exactly what it means."
Hermione sat on the edge of the scrubbed wooden table. She wasn't crying, but her eyes were glassy, her posture rigid.
"He called me a Mudblood," she whispered into the window as she stared off at the large pumpkins.
Hagrid dropped the teapot he was holding. It shattered, ceramic shards skittering across the floor. "He did not!" he roared, his beard bristling with fury.
"What's a Mudblood?" Harry asked. His query was so casual and innocent, contrasting with the harsh flinches and recoils of his companions.
"It means 'dirty blood'," Hermione explained. Her voice trembled, cracking under the weight of the definition. "Mudblood’s a really foul name for someone who is Muggle-born. Someone with non-magic parents. Someone like me."
She looked down at her hands. "It’s not a term one usually hears in a civilized conversation."
You moved to her side, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. You could feel her shaking as she melted in your hold.
"It's disgusting," Hagrid growled. "See, Harry, there's some wizards—like the Malfoys—who think they're better'n everyone else because they're Pure-bloods."
"That's horrible!" Harry exclaimed.
Ron gave a wet gurgle and spat another slug into the bucket. "It's mad," he croaked, wiping slime from his chin. "Most wizards these days are half-blood anyway. If we hadn't married Muggles, we'd've died out."
You felt a sudden, crushing weight in your chest. The talk of blood status, of superiority — it hit too close to the secret you carried about your father and the scorched tapestry at Grimmauld Place. Well, perhaps it wasn’t much of a secret. Nonetheless, the weight of your father’s tale, of the thick, pure blood that runs through you felt heavy, especially as your friend was discriminated over it just now.
“Hey,” Harry quietly approached you, eyes raking over your tense expression, “Are you okay?”
You forced a smile. It felt brittle. "Yeah. Just. . . the heat. I need some air."
You slipped out the door before they could stop you. The cool air hit your flushed cheeks, but it didn't wash away the memories. You began to walk, aimlessly, letting your feet carry you toward back to the castle.
The rain in the country was different from London rain. It was relentless. It hammered against the manor windows in thick, grey sheets, turning the world outside into a blurred watercolor painting.
The four Pevensies were trapped in the parlor, forced to seek out ways to keep themselves busy as their caretakers busied themselves over some thing or another. The ticking of the grandfather clock was the only sound competing with the rain.
Susan sat on the stiff sofa, a dictionary in her lap as she flipped through its pages, before stopping at the G’s. "Gastrovascular."
Peter, lying flat on his back on the rug, groaned. "Is it Latin?"
"Yes."
"Is it Latin for 'worst game ever invented'?"
Edmund was curled in a high-backed armchair, his nose buried in The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. He flipped a page aggressively. "It sounds like a disease," he sneered without looking up.
Susan slammed the book shut with a heavy thud. "We’re lucky to be here at all, you know."
She was grateful for their the Professor’s hospitality. And while she is perhaps missing a few days of school for this, it was such a rare opportunity to travel to the countryside — a manor much less, and simply take in the fresh, soot-free air.
Lucy, kneeling on the window seat, traced a raindrop down the glass. She turned, her eyes wide. "We could play hide-and-seek?"
"But we’re already having so much fun," Peter said, sarcasm dripping from his voice as he sat up.
"Come on, Peter! Please?" Lucy pleaded, bounding over to her brother’s side.
Edmund rolled his eyes. "But that’s a kids' game."
Let’s forget the fact they are kids.
Peter looked at Lucy’s hopeful face. He never could say no to her. He sighed, defeated. "One, two, three. . ."
Suddenly, the room exploded into motion. Lucy bounced off her seat and flew out the door, Edmund — despite groaning and muttering complaints — tossed his book aside and bolted, and Susan grinned, gathering her skirts and ran.
“Five. . . six. . . seven. . .”
Susan found the Green Room, slipping behind heavy emerald curtains that smelled of dust. Edmund found a suit of armor and hid in a large wooden chest nearby, leaving the lid cracked so he could breathe.
But Lucy ran further. She felt left behind. She scrambled through the Blue Room, past the library, and into an empty spare room.
It was silent. There was nothing there but a dead bluebottle fly on the windowsill, buzzing its last, and a massive wardrobe of dark wood standing against the wall.
She approached it. It loomed over her. She turned the key. Click. The door swung open.
You walked blindly, leaving the warmth of Hagrid's hut behind. The cold autumn air bit at your exposed skin, but it felt good — numbing the heat of anger that still flushed your cheeks.
Your feet led you down to the Black Lake. The water was a sheet of dark glass, reflecting the grey, cloudy sky. Your fingers drifted up to the hollow at your throat, finding the cool, smooth metal of the silver locket you always wore, and clicked it open.
There he was. A tiny, moving photograph of your family, once-whole. Your father was laughing at his own, corny joke, head thrown back as your Papa Moony shook his head fondly, gazing at his small family with adoration. Oh, and there you were — in the arms of the man who would eventually leave you to betray his friends, to murder your close friend’s family.
You snapped the locket shut. The sharp click echoed in the silence.
Your mind drifted back to last Christmas — to the hidden room and the towering, golden frame of the Mirror of Erised.
The memory washed over you, vivid and aching. You remembered standing beside Harry, the dust motes dancing in the moonlight.
Harry had seen his parents. But when you looked—
You saw Sirius and Remus. They stood tall and unburdened, their hands resting heavy and reassuring on your shoulders. It was the family you were owed. The family stolen by your father’s greed. You remember the silent tears that slid down your cheeks, the sight of your fathers brushing them away, only to feel nothing in reality. And that stung even more.
But then, the reflection had rippled like disturbed water.
Suddenly, you saw yourself age. Your face matured, losing its childish softness. And beside your older self, a figure stepped out of the mist.
A man. Tall, with dark hair that fell over his eyes. He held your hand, his fingers interlaced with yours — a gesture so intimate it made your real heart stutter in your chest.
You tried to look at his face, but it was blurred, a shimmering smudge of white light. You could only see the curve of a smile — a beautiful, sad smile — and feel the phantom warmth of his presence.
"Erised sluosd natra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi."
I show not your face, but your heart and soul’s desire.
You kicked a pebble into the lake. It swallowed the stone with a plip.
Why did you miss a man you had never met? Why did the thought of that blurred stranger pull at your chest harder than any dalliance or infatuation at Hogwarts? It was a longing for a ghost, a nostalgia for a future that hadn't happened.
The wind picked up, howling across the grounds. It whispered through the trees, sounding like voices.
I need to get away, you thought, the desperation rising in your throat like bile. I need to go somewhere where I don't have to think about blood, or fathers, or wars.
You turned from the lake and ran back toward the castle, taking the stairs two at a time, letting your feet carry you to the seventh floor.
And that was when the wall began to rumble.
A deep rumbling shook the floor. Stone ground against stone. A magnificent pair of wooden doors appeared where there had been none.
You pushed them open.
The Room of Requirement had become a cathedral of forgotten things. Towers of broken furniture, thousands of books, and mountains of discarded artifacts stretched up to the shadowy ceiling.
You walked down an aisle of junk, your wand tip glowing. You felt a pull — a magnetic tug in your gut — leading you to a dark corner.
There, shrouded in a dusty sheet, was a tall, rectangular shape. It seemed to whisper at you, pleading with you to make a move, and so, you pulled the sheet away.
A wardrobe. Made of dark applewood, carved with trees and fruits.
You opened the door.
The smell hit you instantly. Not the smell of the castle, but the pungent, nostalgic scent of mothballs and heavy fur coats.
You don’t understand what it was that led you to this — but somehow, you felt the need for further shelter. Still weighed down by the day’s events and the plaguing thoughts of the mirror, you seeked the wardrobe’s comfort, stepping inside.
The coats brushed against your face, soft and heavy like animal pelts. You pushed deeper, wanting to sit in the dark at the back of the wardrobe.
You took another step. Then another.
This was one enormous wardrobe, you thought, blindly feeling around for the end of it.
Suddenly, something cold touched your cheek. Not soft fur, but something prickly and wet. You looked down. Your boots were no longer on wood. They were sinking into soft, powdery, freezing white snow—
Wait. . . Snow?
CELINE’s ANNOTATIONS !
fun fact: you might be able to see a sudden shift in writing style between bits of this chapter, given that the very first part was written almost a year ago, while the rest of it was done last night haha
extra fun fact: bowie was chittering in your pocket as you stupidly (in his opinion) went into some dusty wardrobe. absolutely daft, he thought, jumping up and down in your school robes to try and get you to turn away, only to no avail. sorry bowie, no backing out now 😹
bonus headcanon: an eventual love language between the mc and edmund will be the art of annotating books and lending it to the other person!
as they both enjoy scribbling onto the margins of their copies (evident even in the library reads of edmund lol) they simply came to that — writing little notes, thoughts, and messages into the margins of their books, then lending it to one another to read.
for mc, her annotations are usually open for all to borrow and read, save for particular books or copies that she owns (let's keep it secret for now!).
meanwhile, edmund's annotations are special. for your eyes only! he doesn't let just anyone read his thoughts, especially not when they're as vulnerable and free-flowing as when he reads. even his siblings have yet to be given access to his books 😋
Leave a reply if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters :)
Summary: Edmund had been going to the library by his house for ages, and slowly developed a crush on the librarian around his age working there. So he finally decided to ask her out with flowers and a book she’s been wanting to read
Pairing: Edmund Pevensie x f!Librarian!Reader
Word: 1k
a/n: Sorry about the delay, my laptop completely stopped functioning so I did this on my phone instead
It had been months since Edmund and his siblings had returned to England, and his adjustment had been… rocky, to say the least. But if there was one thing he’d picked up in his past life, it was that routine always helps. While Edmund himself hadn’t always been too keen on reading, he’d always had a certain crave for knowledge.
So, he decided that, while it was a bit less exciting than he was used to, he would make a habit of going to the library down the block from his house. And boy was he glad to have made that decision. For if he didn’t, he never would have met you. You and your cheerful demeanor, loveable smile, and willingness to help.
He had developed the crush slowly, and boy was he oblivious to it. When he came back from school, he’d always comb his hair through. And when he saw you up at the checkout counter, he felt butterflies in his stomach. For Aslan’s sake, he would walk through rain just so you would ask him if he was ok from the cold!
After a lot of poking fun from his siblings and a few too many dreams about you, he decided he was finally going to ask you out. But there was a slight problem with that, he was terrified. Which, in itself, was stupid. Edmund had used to be a King, he fought in wars, he could totally ask someone out… hopefully.
Pushing open the door, he looked over at the reception desk where you usually sat. But you weren’t there? Wandering around, he weaved through the rows of shelves. Eventually he spotted your coworker Melody, an old lady that had been working there since well before even his parents were born.
He walked up to her and let out a warning cough. Melody turned around, a little startled, but brightened up when she saw it was Edmund. “Oh, hello deary. Can I help you with anything.” She looked down at his hands and noticed the bouquet of flowers in his hand. She almost immediately knew they were for you, she’d been watching you two interact with each other for months and had seen your little romance bloom.
“She’s around the corner.” Edmund thanked her and headed off in the direction she pointed. Turning around the corner, Edmund stopped at the entrance to the secluded corner of the children’s section. In the middle of the room, there were a group of kids sitting patiently in front of you, entranced in whatever story you were reading aloud.
Edmund leaned his left side on one of the bookshelves' walls, waiting for the story to end. “…They all laid a hand on the tall light pole, and with a flash of light, our heroes were back to their childhood selves once again, sitting in the wardrobe once again.” You finished, closing the book.
Well, that’s a familiar ending.
As the children dispersed, you spotted Edmund waiting over by the section's entrance, and flash him a smile. One of the children noticed and called out, “Miss, is that your boyfriend?” Your eyes go wide at the comment and Edmund loses his balance, but quickly regains it.
“Uh- No, Ester, go find your mother.” You instruct the kid, getting up out of the absurdly small and clearly made for a child sized chair you’d been sitting in and rushed over to Edmund. “Hello Ed,” you say with a smile that made Edmund a bit giddy. He’d always loved it whenever you called him that.
“Hi, sorry for disturbing your reading circle.” You shook your head in disagreement. “It’s really fine, we were just finishing up.”
“Yes, uh- well. I have something for you.” He said, with much more of a stutter than he had intended. Pulling out the flowers from behind his back, he presented them to you. You could feel butterflies erupt in your stomach as your heart started to beat faster. You knew where this was going, you’d heard enough of your dating friend’s stories.
Edmund took a deep breath. “You are one of the most interesting and kind women I have ever met. On top of that, you’re absolutely gorgeous. If my brother and sisters weren’t such a tease I know for a fact I would have done this sooner. But, I guess this is just how it happens now… Would you like to go on a date with me?”
Edmund held his breath. Aslan, he hasn’t been this stressed for a response in decades. Gently taking the bouquet from his cold hands, your fingers brush. You look up at him, right in his pretty chocolate eyes.
“Of course I will Ed.” You reach up on your tippy toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek, making him red all over. A voice from behind interrupts the moment. “Well, it took you long enough.” Whipping his head around, Edmund comes face to face with his siblings. Peter with a teasing smirk, Susan dangling Ed’s satchel from her finger, and Lucy whispering ‘ooooh’ from behind the two.
Edmund’s face went from blushing to burning within seconds. Giggling a little, you walk out of the little group they had made, brushing your hand along Edmund’s as you walk back to the counter. “It’s about time, where did you get those flowers anyway?” Susan asked, handing him the brown satchel. “How’s that any of your business?” He mumbled, tucking the bag under his arm.
“Edmunds got a girlfriend! Edmunds got a girlfriend!” Lucy chanted, quietly of course, she still respected the library. Ed just glared, not at her of course. Why did his siblings have to be everywhere he didn’t want them to be?
His eyes drifted over to you, spotting as you proudly displayed the bouquet on the front desk. Edmund’s heart warmed, falling sideways onto the bookshelves wall, unintentionally letting out a dreamy sigh. He barely even noticed his siblings snickering, to entrance in your existence.
summary: mornings before the high king and his queen have to deal with Narnia they have their own time.
word count: 800-1k
warnings: set during Golden Age (when they stayed in Narnia before they left), pet names (dear, darling, sweetheart), arranged marriage that worked out, kissing, reader mentioned to have dark hair.
genre: fantasy, romance, fluff
The rays of sunshine started to hit the Cair Paravel, all the servants were starting to wake up, the animals awoke, and so did the royals. Edmund was out on a political trip out west, Lucy was tending to the animals of the forest, and Susan was getting ready for the day. While their High King and High Queen. Well…
Peter was waking up, the rays of sunshine hitting his eyes in a calm, gentle way, and he looked down to see the beauty he woke up to everyday on his chest. He smiled and pressed a kiss to her head, the dark hair that he got to see every morning, that he was enamored with. The smell of the lilacs in her hair, its shininess like the glass painting the palace has, and the softness of it like furs on a bed. And due to the tiny kiss she moved a little, which gained another smile on his lips.
“Darling, time to wake up.” He whispers softly, and she moves to sit up. Her golden night gown fixing itself from her slumber. She looked at him and smiled.
“Morning, dear.” She says as she leaned in for a kiss, which he gave in return. Her lips were warm like the summer breeze. Her hands went up to cup his face, fingertips soft like a pile of feathers. As they pulled away her lips were shaped like a heart, red like roses, and they formed that smile that anyone would go into war for. (he would.)
She ended up going back to sitting up to stretch. “You are beautiful,” Peter says as she stretches. The queen chuckles, “You say that everyday, Peter, and I adore you for that.”
“Yeah, I know, but- as the days go on you look even more beautiful each day.”
“Such a romantic you are.” She booped his nose with her finger as she smiled. He liked that about him, his romantic side that he only shows with her.
At first this was a political marriage, his council had told him that having a queen would gain alliances, so for the sake of Narnia, also for the sake of not needing to hear his advisors continue to talk about it. He agreed. His siblings wanted to make sure he was fully aware of what he was doing, which he did, and he knew they were looking out for him.
“Are you sure about this?” Susan asked with her brow raised, as she continued to ask about the pair council assigned.
“Let’s hope you guys become good friends if it doesn’t work out!” Lucy’s words didn’t help out as much with his nervousness due to the day coming.
“You are brave enough to fight a witch in a world you know nothing of, but terrified to meet your future wife? You are a nincompoop.” Edmund teased him about it so much, that it gained him so many annoyed looks.
All the siblings knew though, as soon as he started to show some a little discomfort, the arrangement would be over. Thankfully when he first saw her that wasn’t needed.
Not just her beauty was what attracted him, the grace she had when she walked, their first conversation was what got him even more hooked. Then after the wedding day he knew, that she was perfect for him.
Peter held her hand and brought to his lips for a kiss, looking up at her as he did. She ruffled his messy blond hair, laid beside him as they cuddled again. “We’ve got things to do today…” They both groaned in unison. “Don’t even remind me, I can’t go through another council meeting without earning a migraine each time.” Peter says as he buries his head in her neck, his beard began to poke her neck and she chuckled.
“Your beard is tickling me, dear.”
“I can shave it off you want?”
“NO. Peter, don’t ever let those words leave you mouth again.”
He chuckles as he puts his arms up to gain peace, then stole a peck from her lips. She rolled her eyes at him with a smile on her face. “Sneaky. You’re lucky I love you.” Everytime those words left her lips his eyes would grow. He just looked at the ones he loved with so much, admiration, and love in his eyes. “I love you too, sweetheart.” He says as their forehead unite with one another.
“But, we should really start getting up soon.”
Peter groaned dramatically and buried his face against her shoulder.
“No.”
She laughed.
“We have responsibilities.”
“I am the High King.”
“Exactly.”
“Then I decree five more minutes.”
“I don’t believe that’s how ruling works.”
“It should.”
Her laughter filled the room, and Peter decided then and there that it was his favorite sound in all of Narnia.
A knock suddenly echoed from the door. “Your majesties, breakfast is being prepared.” Peter closed his eyes. He didn’t want this perfect moment to end. His wife patted his cheek sympathetically. “The kingdom calls, sweetie.” He rolled his eyes in annoyance as she got up, “Well the kingdom is terribly inconsiderate.”
She stood and offered him a hand. “Come, Your Majesty.” His calloused hand from all the fighting holding her gentle hand with no hesitation. Besides, he would follow his queen anywhere she went .
hii guys i really hope that you guys enjoyed this. this is my first fanfic so please don’t hate on it, if you don’t like it don’t read my content anymore. otherwise for thoses who did like it i’ll come up with more ideas and id love to hear about recommendations!
