âyou were undeflected. you were gold-jacketed, solid silver, nickel-tipped. trajectory perfect as through ether.â {t.h} xander lee. gryffindor. sixth.
It was a lot to take in, he was sure. A fortress in ancient garb. Robust but not intimidating so much, Haneul thought something about Greek architecture always felt very secure, they were building that truly looked like they were meant to last, their strength and structure not hidden away, they wore their armour beautifully. âI know,â He agreed with a smile. Sometimes there was little else to be said. He watched his friend excitedly place himself before the building, something childish in his step that brought a soft laugh from Haneul, it put him at ease to see someone so carefree after what had been a rough couple of days for the entire school. As requested he took several photos for each pose the other came up with, having to bite his lip in the end to stop himself from giggling at the display, it was perhaps one of the loveliest but funniest things heâd ever seen, and only because everything about the pictures he took reminded him of the photos his friends sent him from home, ones that often took up his home and lock screen as reminders of what he always had waiting for him back in Korea. He needed that sometimes, to have something solid from home to hold onto, preventing him from the occasion urge he felt to stay within in the UK. With his friend returning Haneul flicked through each picture slowly, smiling fondly at what were decent shots considering he was no photographer. âWe can take some together, eomma would like it.â He could only imagine how worried she was after his outburst on the phone, it would be good for her to see him alright. âI can get them printed onto proper photo sheets and everything, there are many places you can go to get it done, and I think you might have to pay but not too much.â Han raised a brow when his friend touched the screen, clearly not too used to phones either, but simply laughed and clicked back onto the pictures for one final look. The peace sign one was particularly good, he thought, releasing a satisfied sigh before Han tilted his head and brought a hand up to pinch playfully at the boyâs cheek, voice teasing as he cooed, âAh, Daewang. Nae jal saeng-gin chingu.â Before slipping his phone away for safe keeping, deciding not to turn it off as heâd likely take photos of the exhibits as they walked around.
The Great Court- as he recalled it was named- was, truly, a sharp contrast to the outside and rest of the building. There was so much space, only made to seem bigger by the brightness of the room, and though modern it was really no less impressive and beautiful than the architecture elsewhere. It was beautiful even when it wasnât new to Han but he could see the wonder on his friendâs face, could almost sense the excitement as if it poured off the boy and straight onto him. He was glad heâd worn a hat to mostly cover his hair because he could feel it on the verge of changing, it hadnât been doing so much at all since Valentineâs Day but until now heâd not really had anything to be happy about, he was glad he was here and he was glad heâd brought the Gryffindor along with him. âYou donât have to thank me,â He dismissed quietly, tugging his friend along at the mention of maps, there were stacks of them all over so Haneul grabbed two, one for each of them, and flipped through the different floors briefly. Honestly, although Haneul always grabbed a map he had rarely got use out of them, he ended up wanting to see everything so he and his parents just wandered through, taking things a floor at a time, and perhaps that was best to do now considering even Haneul wanted to see most of the exhibits. âWe can use these as a rough guide but, if you want to see everything, I suggest we just circle, you can walk through most exhibits straight into another. Maybe we start at one and move clockwise, taking the North stairs up or down when we get to them? That way we should cover just about everything.â Once again he felt like his father, taking over the trip and planning everything ahead of time, which he supposed was fine except the friend on his arm wasnât his child, they were equals- in fact, the boy was technically his hyung- and he found himself growing slightly flustered as he added, âDo you think? Or we could do things differently, I donât mind, you can choose.â
If Xander had any doubts about whether he would leave Hogwarts with any friends, they were finally put to rest that day. Xander loved Han, it was that simple; the boy had slipped into his life so seamlessly that it was almost amazing he hadnât been there all along. It wasnât just the Korean, though that did touch a part of Xander that he hadnât thought of much before, nor was it just that Han gave his time so freely to Xander. It was a combination of a lot of things - Hanâs generosity, his drive toward what he loved, the fact that he knew so many things about the world that Xander didnât (photo printing, working the London underground). Xander was grateful and warm in all the ways he never thought heâd be. The gift of a (free) map made Xander gasp, and he immediately yanked it open, looking at the different levels and labelled exhibits, heart in his throat. Learning was the thing that kept him waking up every morning and working through the night - learning about specific things, yes, but learning general was good too. Listening eagerly, Xander nodded. âIâm happy to circle,â he said, eyes darting to the map and back up to Han. âI trust you. Iâm kind of really lost and if it was me deciding, weâd be running back and forth all over the museum to see different things, so your way works best, hyung. Iâm glad itâs you taking me, that way we can see everything important.â He squeezed Hanâs arm and tugged him forward, following the crowd of people that seemed to flow in one direction. According to the map, they were heading for the Enlightenment Room, which Xander vaguely recognised as a period in muggle history, but didnât know much more than that.
His eyes scanned the map until they snagged on something. âLook!â he almost shouted, tugging at Hanâs arm. âThereâs an Alexander the Great display!â His heart was leaping, and he smiled at Han. âMight see a carved relief of me in there, you know. Reincarnated now as a Korean boy, obviously,â he added with a smile. They moved into the Enligtenment Room, and Xanderâs smile froze and slipped away as breathless excitement took over. There were a fair amount of people, but there were also a fair amount of things to see - not to mention the room stretched for quite a distance. âMerlin,â he whispered to Han, eyes wide, not sure where to start. âIsnât it strange that muggles have been doing so much all this time and there are places like this dedicated to that?â he continued, voice low, not wanting any of the muggles to overhear him talking about them. The first things they saw were old artifacts about religion - Xander recognised the iconography of God (which confused him greatly), but there were also little placards telling him about religion and the rituals that people had performed over the centuries. How thinking changed, and how this reflected in their practice. Squeezing between people to get a better look, Xander leaned over glass displays and eagerly read each of the item cards, occasionally squeezing Hanâs hand to get his attention. As it turned out, the Enlightenment Room seemed to be a bit of everything - Xander gasping every time he recognised hieroglyphics on an object, or when there was something distinctly Roman about an object. âCan we play a game?â Xander asked as they walked, his head swimming. âIn every room and display we go to, we each have to pick an item - and only one - that weâd save if there was a fire. So it might not be your favourite, it could be something you think is really important, too.â He smiled at Han, hoping he was having a good time - that it was distracting enough. âSee anything you like in this room, hyung?â
Haneul had always preferred being on familiar ground, he wanted to see new things and he wanted to meet new people, but he liked having a plan or having some sort of control over situations. His whole life had been plans, pre-determined and thatâs what Haneul liked, once heâd set an idea in his head then it wasnât so easy to divert. It was that drive that had taken him all the way from Korea to being a student at Hogwarts and it was that drive that gave him confidence to navigate muggle London and take the lead. âItâs not so bad,â Han smiled a little. There were simple rules that Han had had to learn quickly, things like walking on the left side and standing on the right, things like offering up your seat to people more in need, they were just common courtesies really and even using the tube wasnât too complicated with practise. London was familiar and so was this, having the boy clinging onto him wherever they went, so used to spending so much of his time within physical reach of someone else and often finding he longed for such contact when it didnât exist. He tried to cast a look over his shoulder when his friend pressed against him, doing his best to sound assuring as he spoke, âI think there are plans in place for that, space enough for people to get out and walk along to the next station, I think weâre definitely safe.â He wasnât actually sure what the procedure would be if they got stuck but he was sure thereâd be some safety measure put in place to make sure people didnât get hurt, or worse, though it was just like Han to put his faith in the system and not stop to question anything. He didnât see the point in worrying about things he couldnât control, if they happened to break down then theyâd figure it out, either way he played no part in what would or wouldnât happen in a crisis like that.
Thankfully, they didnât break down and Han was actually glad to be back on the main streets again too, although less because of the tube itself and more because it meant they were close and he was excited to see the museum again. âIt wonât be a very long walk, Iâm afraid.â Less than ten minutes probably, depending on how fast they walked and which way they went, but considering he only knew one exact way that seemed like the only option. Taking the otherâs hand securely in his once more he set off along Tottenham Court Road itself, heading North only until they hit Great Russell Street, which he followed for a little while and simultaneously listed off a few of the exhibits he had good memory of from his last visit- Korea, Africa, the Roman Empire etc. etc.- and then turned them up another street, shortly followed by another- it was something of a windy path to the Museum- until they were walking along the black fence to find the entrance gate. The building was set a little in the distance and even through the fence it was impressive, beautiful in fact, columns lining the front of the building making it look like a place picked from Ancient Greece and set to nest in the heart of London by mistake. He pulled his friend through the entrance gate, their view no longer obstructed and although he found it impressive himself he looked to the other boy instead, curious to see what he thought, wondering what it must be like to see it for the first time all over again. It was hard not to be impressed by the place, whether you liked museums or not, because it was architecturally beautiful, but Han had always felt the building was very safe too. Solid, carved stone, robust and grand, it was less of a building and more of a fortified temple, keeping safe all the treasures and pieces of history housed inside. âDo you want me to take a picture?â He asked after a moment, free hand fishing into his inside jacket pocket to retrieve the phone that had seen a lot more use since he was away from Hogwarts. Releasing the boyâs hand he nodded ahead of them and grinned, âStand over there, ok? Iâll try and get the whole building.â
The fresh air in Xanderâs lungs shook the claustrophobia away - he wasnât looking forward to going back in the tube again later, but maybe his head would be too full of the Museumâs ancient wonders to think about it too much. Xander was once more thankful that Han was his friend; the otherâs hand held his as they walked, the anxiety easing as they walked down unfamiliar, windy streets that Han seemed to be intimately familiar with. Listening with rapt attention as his eyes took in the streets of shops and cars and people, Xander perked up when he heard some familiar countries with exhibits at the museum. âIâd love to see Egypt,â said Xander, excitedly. âThatâs where my brother works, did you know? Heâs probably in a tomb right now, so itâd be nice to see one up close too.â The first sign that they were reaching the museum was the black fence - and Xanderâs eyes chased it along the road, winding up and up until he found the museum itself: grand, overwhelming, and undoubtedly modeled off Ancient Greece, the British Museum was easily one of the most impressive things Xander had ever seen. âOh Merlin,â he whispered, feet unknowingly slowing a bit as he took in the entire museum, eyes trying to take it all in at once. He felt dwarfed, but not scared - heâd been to Greece and see what remained of the temples there, and this was much the same: a good aura surrounded the building, if only because of what lay inside. Haneul grabbed Xanderâs attention away from the museum, asking if he wanted a photo before a muggle mobile phone was produced. Xander nodded, wondering if he could have it printed - how? he didnât know - and sent to his mother. He could write her a long letter of all the things he saw and attach the photo; she would love it. Xander bounced away from Han, quickly running a hand through his hair to make sure it was up off his forehead, he turned around and smiled at Hanâs phone. âCan you take a few? I donât want to look silly,â and he threw out a few poses - classic peace sign, another with his arms spread wide as though he were embracing the museum, another where he smiled as though all his birthdays had come at once.
âWe should take a photo together today at some point,â Xander said, back at Hanâs side and peering over his shoulder to see how the photos came out. âWe donât have any, and wizarding cameras are hard to take selfies on. Can we print these?â he asked, tapping Hanâs phone and accidentally opening something. He pulled his finger away from the touch screen. âDo you pay? Where do you print them? Can we take a picture together and have a copy, like from a photobooth?â he had a lot of questions and they hadnât even entered the museum yet. But his curiosity was getting the better of him, so he took Hanâs hand and tugged him toward the entrance, eager to see what the inside was like - and he wasnât disappointed. Once they got through the door - and no one stopped to ask them to make them pay - Xanderâs breath was stolen by how white and modern it was. The roof caught his attention first; curved and crossed with lines, it looked like something from a muggle spaceship or labratory. But in fact, the entire room seemed to curve, pulling them and everyone else backward, deeper into the museum. The sides of the room had maintained the Greek temple facade, but the middle structure looked brand new in blinding white, steps curving up and away, people already in stages of ascending or descending. Xander realised heâd stopped breathing and took a deep lungful, squeezing Hanâs arm tight. âitâs so pretty,â he whispered, blinking away the tears that had formed from holding his eyes open for so long. âMaps?â he remembered, looking around. âCan we get a map? This is so beautiful, Han,â he said again, squeezing Hanâs arm. âThank you for bringing me.â
Worn was perhaps an understatement, he wasnât sure heâd ever felt so tired in all his life, not even after the eleven hour flight to or from Korea had he felt so exhausted. Though perhaps not for the right reasons, he almost felt guilty that the death of a professor was near the bottom of the list of things that had upset him over the last few days. Maybe it was his own fault for being stupidly trusting, or maybe it was growing up in a sheltered life where everyone around him was a friend and no one would try and take advantage of him, either way he felt like an idiot for the whole âlemonade incidentâ. Drinking, losing that control over himself, that wasnât who Haneul was or who he wanted to be, and he hadnât felt entirely like himself since. He hadnât felt the same about Hogwarts since. âMaps are free,â Han was quick to assure, laughing a little. He knew the exhibit would make him miss home but he was used to missing home, he felt the twang whenever he received a letter or a date came and went that would mean something to someone back there. It was best he got used to missing things. At the otherâs curiosity he shrugged a shoulder, he felt like itâd be pointless to admit heâd spent the very early hours of the morning on the phone to his mother, begging to do just that. He didnât want the boy to think he wasnât glad to be doing this, that he wouldnât miss this if he was home instead. Still, Han saw no point in lying about it so he admitted, âAppa is flying over, maybe tomorrow. Hopefully. I donât know if heâll take me home.â He doubted it but a part of him hoped.
At home, even though he grew up with his family and around magical folk, it wasnât unusual for the family to be involved in muggle society too. London was also not new to Han, especially the muggle side of things, heâd been coming with his parents for trips for years, it was the only time they went away all three of them- to the theatre, to tour galleries and museums- and so not only did Han know his way around but he was comfortable here. He was comfortable getting the tube, leading the way, helping the Gryffindor figure out how to swipe his card properly and explaining theyâd have to do that again when they exited at their stop. âWe donât need a time table, we just wait at the right station and every tube that stops will take us to the same stops. Weâre on the Northern line, going North. Weâll get on the first one that shows up, they come regularly.â It felt nice to talk about something simple, something he could actually understand, there was a sense of control in linking his arm though the otherâs and leading him through the right tunnels and down the right escalators until they were stood on the right platform. He felt grounded, stood on familiar territory, and it took a moment for him to realise he felt like his father. Or he felt like he knew him. His father would have been his age when he was in London alone, away from his family, navigating his way through a place grown familiar to him. He must have missed his family too. Maybe his parents could have navigated a life here together had he not come along and taken up that time from them.
The train pulled in and Han was pulled from his thoughts, quick to tighten his hold on his friend as they stepped over the small gap and Han found them a spot to stand close to the door- it was much easier than trying to find seats and considering it wouldnât be a long journey he saw no point in making a fuss. He held tight onto the nearest bar and kept a tight hold on the Gryffindor as they began to move, swaying slightly with the sudden start but smiling a little all the same. âNot long now, then itâs a little walk but once there itâs free to look around and everything.â
If Xanderâs mother knew that he was traipsing around in the London underground network, there would be hell to pay. She wasnât anti-muggle, per se, but she wouldnât have condoned use of muggle transport like this - she wouldnât trust the metal cars hurtling along the tracks, not when apparition existed. But Xander had always been curious - his mind lively and willing to experience new things; in fact, he needed new experiences to keep himself from going crazy. He would try anything once, and today, it was navigating muggle London with Han by his side. Xander was particularly thankful that Han seemed to know the way - not only that, but how the system worked, rattling off lines and invisible rules that Xander didnât quite know how Han knew, but just seemed to know. âGoing North, right,â Xander repeated, head swimming as he watched the people streaming past them, the lot of them also all understanding the invisible rules. âThis is very confusing,â he whispered to Han as he let his arm be taken, falling into step beside the other boy, keeping close to Han like a security blanket. They worked their way to a platform, and though Xander wasnât scared, he also didnât have any experience to fall back on, so he huddled close against the Hufflepuff, chin on Hanâs shoulder and eyes widely watching everything until the train pulled in, squealing and bringing with it a gust of wind. He watched everyone surge forward, clinging to Han as he did the same - it felt very strange to be part of such a large mass, Xander decided; it was like they were all on a production line, being squeezed into a can.Â
Xander wasnât claustrophobic, but with so many people, he wondered if theyâd all fit. But it thinned out a little as people went to find seats, and Xander was truthfully glad they remained standing, Han still holding onto Xander as tight as Xander was holding on Han. âNot long,â he repeated weakly, placing himself between the door and Han. âMuggle things are so loud,â he whispered, not caring what people thought of them as he held onto Han. Maybe theyâd think they were boyfriends; maybe theyâd think they were Korean tourists experiencing the tube for the first time. Xander ignored them. âCan you imagine how far below the street we are?â he continued, glancing out the door at the dark tunnel whizzing by. âImagine if we broke down... would there be any air down here?â Xander pressed his forehead to Hanâs back, not wanting to look anymore. Instead he just thought about other things - the rain and chill of outside, the exhibits that were waiting for them at this museum, how happy Han would look when they found the Korean one. It wasnât a long journey, in the end; Tottenham Court Road was announced and Xander breathed a sigh, holding onto Han as they moved off the tube, onto the platform, and then up out of there. Once theyâd tapped their Oyster cards again, fresh air reached Xanderâs lungs, and now he was almost the one dragging Han outside - which opened out onto a busy road and an intersection just to their right. âThank Merlin,â Xander said, relaxing his body and looking at Han. âWhere to now, tour guide? Iâm definitely up for a walk.â
Han was in desperate need of a distraction, he couldnât spend another day lying in bed, unable to feel much of anything but upset. Death was not something he had much experience with and, though he didnât know the professor well, the idea of something so horrible happening so close to home- for lack of a better word- terrified him. The only reason he was glad to be in the Sleeping Dragon was he could be away from Hogwarts and yet he didnât feel safe there either, in fact he didnât feel safe being kept within a magical community where things always seemed slightly off, nothing was ever quite right and he was tired of being a part of it. He wanted to go home. If there was no hope for that he would have likely spent today, too, in bed with the covers pulled over his face in an attempt to hide himself away from everything but there was hope, after a sobbed conversation over the phone his father was coming to get him and that⌠that was a wonderful thought. One good enough that Han knew in the meantime, while he waited, he could muster the strength to pull it together and not spend another day in bed.
It felt nice to change clothes, since he hadnât since Valentineâs day. Though he was on little sleep he had still managed to get up and shower, washing thoroughly from his hair to the tips of his toes, it made him feel slightly better. He dressed comfortably but nicely, as always, clothes that hung off him well with added layers he could easily removed- cold as it was outside Han knew that the Museum would be warm, something he wondered if he should have mentioned. Washed and changed, he felt a lot better, he even managed to adjust a charm and hide the forming bags under his eyes, the only thing he failed to change was the hair. Pale blue and staying that way, not much of a choice when out and about in muggle society, whether he liked it or not heâd have to keep it from changing once they were outside. Sighing, he pulled on a hat- that didnât quite cover the blue locks- and headed down from the room he hoped he wouldnât need to stay in much longer.
He double-checked he had everything; money, oyster card etc. etc.; on the way down to the lobby and when he caught sight of the Gryffindor smiled a little. Han was not entirely surprised by the many questions thrown his way when he reached the boy, used to the otherâs curious nature by now, and quick to reply, âI have been before, they have maps available and the Korean exhibit.â He thought the last part was perhaps slightly obvious, it just always made him feel very grounded to find information on his home history nestled in the heart of London. Letting the boy pull him along, Han gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, realising that perhaps he was the more experienced one when it came to this particular activity. âItâs not too far, we can get the tube though, Northern or Central line should take us to Tottenham Court Road and itâs not far from there to walk.â He would suggest apparation, they were both old enough, but it would likely be busy and he wasnât sure risking exposure was the way to go when he was comfortable with muggle travel anyway.
In Xanderâs haste to count up all the ways he was alone at the Sleeping Dragon, heâd forgotten the one constant in the form of Han. The other was such a given that sometimes Xander forgot - he just expected Han to be there. The other boy looked a little worn, maybe - like he hadnât been sleeping well, or at all, since theyâd arrived. The usual enthusiasm that made Han almost dance and float above the ground was a little dimmed, and the colour of his hair only served to emphasise that fact. Still, if there was anything Xander could do well, it was talk around the issue for hours - maybe, given enough time, heâd be able to distract Han from the problem that was weighing him down. The word maps made Xander very excited for this museum; he loved a good pamphlet, anything with information and organisation and legends full of symbols made him very satisfied indeed. âIâm getting a map, even if it costs all my money,â Xander said happily, squeezing Hanâs hand before picking up on the fact that there was a Korean exhibit - something that Han clearly thought highly of. âIt might make you miss home though,â Xander said, raising his eyebrows and tugging Han out the door and onto the street, glad to be holding the otherâs hand when the cold kicked in, biting at his cheeks and fingertips. âWhy arenât you home?â he inquired, letting Han lead them to the tube station that he mentioned, not really sure where he was or how the tube even really worked. âI mean,â he continued, âwith the baby, I thought maybe-- you know, you might go home and spend as much time with your mum as possible. Before she or he comes, I mean.â
Xander suspected that it may be the same reason he wasnât going home either - it was a long way and a lot of effort to go overseas, and there was no knowing whether their time in London was going to be a day or a week long. Han could get home, only for Hogwarts to call him back. Xander held Hanâs hand all the way down into the tube station, but was forced to let go when he saw everyone else scanning their cards in order to get through the gates. Whatever they were using, Xander knew he didnât have one, but heâd caught the train a few times in Sweden enough to know that he needed to get one. A machine offered him day-trip âOysterâ cards, the name of which made him laugh. âIâm a big fan of seafood,â Xander mused as he awkwardly fumbled with the muggle money heâd swapped over from wizarding, shoving a few pounds into the slot and hoping it was enough. It spat back out his change and a card, and he collected them before turning to Han. âBut I guess today weâre having Oyster,â he smiled. They tapped their cards and were admitted through, and Xander turned helplessly to Han. âWhat now? Do they have timetables here? How do we get to-- uhm, Totting Court-- Square?â he said, trying to remember the name Han had said, and smiling when he knew heâd butchered it.
Fitz had spent all of twenty four hours at the Vauxhall estate when he decided it was time to leave. It was easy to disappear into Muggle London, as his grandmother had never bothered to understand the non-magical side of the city in which she grew up, and his father was too medicated to be of any use. Besides, it wasnât the first time Fitz had felt driven to such feats. He rented out the Royal Suite at the Savoy, and as soon as he dumped his bags on the couch in the foyer, he felt lighter, less weighed down by the events of the past few days. Cracking the window as he lit himself a cigarette, he grabbed a piece of parchment and a pen, scribbling a message before he could lose his nerve. He had been waiting for Xander before the untimely attack that took Professor Vectorâs life, and as wrong as it felt to be thinking about romance at a time like this, Fitz couldnât help himself. Xander had a way of bringing out the best sides of him, and he needed that warmth and positivity right now. He needed Xander to pull him out of his thoughts.
Fitzâs letter was brief â If youâre not busy tonight, then perhaps we could have a do over. Iâll pick you up from the Sleeping Dragon at 8:00. Bring a coat. As an afterthought, he plucked a tulip from the vase at the end of the master bed and attached it to the letter before he could second guess himself. After several hours of chain smoking and messing around with his hair, Fitz finally settled on an outfit â black shirt, black jeans, black boots, and a crimson scarf for a touch of color. Appraising himself in the mirror, he couldnât help but think that he looked just as withdrawn and detached as he felt. Something about his own reflection made him feel like a stranger, like he was looking back at someone he didnât recognize, and he was in half a mind to change, but he didnât have the time. Fitz Vauxhall was many things, but late was not one of them. Exhaling a heavy sigh, he raked a hand through his hair, grabbed his wallet, his wand, and his keys, and left the suite.
Apparating to the Sleeping Dragon was simple enough, and sparing himself the walk gave him time for a cigarette before Xander came outside. He was halfway finished when he saw the familiar line of Xanderâs figure heading towards the hotel doors. He tried to keep his expression neutral, but a smile spread across his face despite himself. Around Xander, he didnât have to be Fitzwilliam Vauxhall, with centuries of history behind his name. He could just be Fitz, young and shy and very much smitten. He tossed his cigarette to the ground, stomping it out with his boot, and nodded his head in lieu of greeting as the younger boy approached. âYou ready?â he asked, hands shoved deep in his pockets so as Xander wouldnât see how much they were shaking. It was alarming that a simple date could get Fitz this nervous, considering that heâd dined with dignitaries and made nice with the Minister without losing any sleep. âYou look nice,â he added quietly, cheeks flushing light pink as he ducked his head.
It had become obvious rather quickly that someone like Fitz Vauxhall would not be staying at the Sleeping Dragon - Xander didnât know why he thought the boy would, given the amount of money he had and close family within England. After asking around, heâd learned that Fitz had gone home - disappointment had flooded through Xander, realising that if Fitz and Smith were gone, he had no friends with him. Heâd come to rely on himself most in recent years, especially given how unpleasant heâd found Hogwarts, but the taste of friendship that Fitz had given him made Xander reconsider sometimes. He wanted to spend time with the other Gryffindor boy - he wanted to be around him, pestering him for attention and conversation. Which was why the letter - and flower - made Xander smile, surprised and pleased and a little flustered at the romance of it all. Heâd sent back a message immediately - You can have as many chances as you want. Iâll be waiting. - before placing the tulip in a mug of water that he found in the cupboard and filled from the bathroom. And if Xander had been nervous for the first Valentineâs Day, he was even more so for the repeat - there was pressure now, especially since they had the whole of London at their feet. Xander dressed carefully, wanting to look nice, and falling back on the clothes he thought looked best. A button up shirt that he left open at the neck, dark jeans, his heavy black coat that had gotten him through winters at Durmstrang, and a long navy scarf that he let hang loose, wanting the option to bundle up if Fitz was planning to keep them both out in the weather.
Xander headed down to the lobby, double checking his pockets for his wand and hotel keycard and some money, and saw Fitz smoking outside, the glow of the lit tip illuminating his features and making Xanderâs insides tighten in anticipation. He jogged outside, too eager to walk, and almost arrived breathless with a, âHey,â unable to hide his smile at being reunited with Fitz. It had been strange not to see Fitz at breakfast or in the halls - Xander had gotten used to it, and seeing Fitz now brought home the fact that he loved the consistency of having Fitz there. He wanted him there. The compliment made Xander flush, watching Fitzâs own reaction to it. âThanks,â he beamed, wrapping his arm around one of Fitzâs. âSo do you. Nice scarf - feeling nostalgic for Hogwarts already?â he teased, tugging on the end of the crimson-coloured scarf, and smiling up at Fitz. Xander started to walk them away from the Sleeping Dragon, not sure which direction Fitz wanted them to go but figuring they could apparate if they ever got lost. âSo, I know that our first Valentineâs didnât get off to a very good start,â Xander said as they walked, his breath coming out into little puffs of steam at the cold, and his dug his cold fingers deeper into the material of Fitzâs coat, âbut Iâm glad we can try again, and that you werenât, like, put off by it. Felt a bit karmic, didnât it? A sign or whatever,â Xander said shrugging.
He didnât want to particularly talk about what happened at Hogwarts, so he quickly changed the topic. âAnyway, I just-- meant. Thank you.â Xander laughed and ducked his head, cheeks feeling warm beneath the cold. âHopefully no one dies tonight and we can just... have this. Feels a bit like weâre doing everything in reverse, doesnât it?â he mused, looking back up. âWe kind of... got the big stuff out of the way first, which was good, but backward, and now weâre doing this with tulips and evening strolls.â Xander felt so pleased that his face was starting to hurt from smiling. âI think youâre a secret romantic.â
For the first time in Xanderâs life, he had a Valentine.
The mere thought had him smiling into his pillow, grin absurdly large and taking up three quarters of his face. If he was honest with himself â and that was something that Xander always tried to be â he wasnât big on romance. The sappy things, the stuff that muggle movies were full of, didnât interest Xander; he wasnât looking for roses or chocolates or grand displays of love that turned heads. Xanderâs was a quiet want, the stuff that happened behind closed doors and eyes. He wanted to look at someone and know what they were thinking â or, conversely, look at them and not know, but feel excited enough to find out. Xander wanted to lay in bed, talking until four in the morning about stars and God and what happened after they would die, and whether things like fate and love and karma were real. Xander needed someone who could hand him the keys to their mind and, in the same gesture, be willing to take a set from Xander for his own.
Xander didnât know if Fitz Vauxhall was that person, but he was eager to find out.
With a clean shirt and his best jacket, Xander tapped down the stairs toward Hufflepuff house, thinking only of the fact that he was probably late and that Fitz would be wearing that unimpressed look. Theyâd known each other long enough â not that long, really, when he thought about it, but long enough â for Xander to be able to read the one facial expression that Fitz wore most: disinterest. Sometimes it swung to annoyed disinterest or sarcastic disinterest, but it was usually the same set of features with which he viewed the world.
Once upon a time, when Xander had been a new student, heâd sought to break through that mask, not quite knowing that heâd almost created a Xander-shaped hole through which he could slip in and out as he wanted. Knowing that there was a Fitz underneath that was warm and kind and funny and felt things made Xander feel as though heâd broken open a tomb, just like his parents did for a living. Maybe whatever Fitz was shielding has been locked away for a long time, and Xander suspected that there were booby traps and hexes set up on the path to getting to the very centre of Fitz, but he wouldnât be his parentsâ son if he wasnât willing to try.
When it came to Fitz, Xander realised that he wanted â just. Wanted. It wasnât necessarily about the sex, though that had been nice, nor was it about the victory of cracking Fitz open a little, though that was definitely something to be happy about. It was a bodied want in Xander that had his step picking up the closer he got to Hufflepuff, eager to see the other boy.
He slipped through the house door, which had been propped open by a barrel for easy access to party-goers, and immediately began scanning the crowd for a familiar face. He wasnât hard to miss: Fitz was taller than everyone, bar one or two giraffes who grazed the same lofty heights. But Fitz wore that expression â a complicated mixture of disinterest â up until Xander approached, and then it changed.
Xander broke out into a smile, feeling his heart leap all the way into his throat as they met eyes. Fitz was his Valentine. He actually laughed out loud, a bubble of excitement sweeping him up and carrying him closer, Fitz waiting for him â and if it were a movie, time wouldâve slowed and music would swell, and Xander hated that it felt so romantic when he knew it didnât have to be. Maybe, perhaps, it wasnât such a bad thing if it was.
And then the screaming started.
Feet faltering, Xander was only a few metres from Fitz before his head whipped around, heart stuttering for a completely different reason altogether. The music was cut as students burst in, some crying, others babbling hysterically, and then the crowd was pouring out of the Hufflepuff house.
Swept up into the crowd, Xander lost sight of Fitz and decided to see what was going on before attempting to locate the other boy again. Everyone was half-running, Xanderâs own curiosity making his step quicker slipping between people to get to the front, or as close to it as he could. And when he got there, finding a human barricade made up of some older students who looked pale in the face, Xander knew that something was wrong. The whispers â the gasps and cries and bursts of emotion â gave it away; something very wrong had happened.
Ducking down underneath a seventh yearâs arm, Xander stumbled past the line of people blocking the way and finding himself right there, in front of her â Professor Vector. Her eyes were wide, open, unseeing things that stared at Xander as he stared at her.
Heâd never seen a dead body before. Heâd seen blood â of which there was plenty on her â but not an actual corpse. There was no feeling of disgust or repulsion in Xander â no scream of shock or horror that slipped past his lips; only curiosity, interest, and maybe a thrill of fascination.
A hand on Xanderâs shoulder pulling him backward ripped his attention from the professor.
âWhatâre you doing? Get back,â said one of the seventh years who considered themselves in charge, but Xander shrugged them off, stumbling back one or two steps while trying to understand what had killed Vector.
Her heart was in her own hand, that much was plain. A torn hole in her chest was the method of extraction. Xander found it hard to note much about the wounds to her chest, given the lack of light and the dark blood that she was covered in, but it looked violent. It looked as though it hard hurt.
He was given a few more seconds to look â continuously drawn back to her unseeing eyes â before the professors arrived, Raleigh and Markle immediately drawing students back, telling them to go to their dorms or the Great Hall. The shock was evident in their voices; no one had expected this to happen, least of all tonight.
Xander left, numb feet carrying him to the Great Hall, where he slid onto a bench and started thinking. Every time he blinked, he saw Vectorâs pale face staring back at him, and a shiver raced down his spine. This was no normal murder â it wasnât a hex gone wrong or a duel thatâd ended badly. It wasnât a suicide, given the damage and placement of the body. Xanderâs hands itched for his notebook to start jotting down his ideas, observations, and theories â but his attention was fractured when the Hall began filling up and Headmaster Vauxhall came in.
The announcement was short, confirming what Xander already knew â Professor Vector was dead, but the consequence was new: they were going home. Xanderâs heart leapt at the prospect before he remembered what a hassle it was getting back to Sweden â he knew heâd be better off staying in London until this was cleared up.
He frowned all the way back up to Gryffindor tower, turning over facts while also thinking about how much he wouldâve liked to have gone home. Hogwarts was, and always would be, a consolation prize to Xander â a half-way house between his real home and the future where he needed to receive a formal education. He preferred Durmstrang; wouldâve preferred to have been there right now where things like this â deaths, werewolves â didnât happen. There was ice and boys with machine gun smiles, but not this.
Packing on autopilot, slinging his backpack on his back with his important notebooks, and shutting the lid on his trunk, Xander was ready to get out of dodge for a while. Archimedes, his pet owl, was sitting quietly in his cage, wide eyes steadily watching Xander as heâd packed.
âReady for a change of scenery?â he mused to the owl, who was just about as well travelled as Xander was. Even when heâd switched schools and came all the way to England, it was Archimedes whoâd done it all with him.
The train ride home gave Xander enough time to scrawl a quick letter to his mother, informing her of what was going on, and he sent it by fire message, wanting to spare Archimedes a trip. He spent the rest of the time in a compartment with people he didnât really know, scrawling in his notebook. Xander wrote down everything heâd seen, everything heâd initially thought, and everything that could possibly relate to the Professorâs death.
It wasnât the murder itself that he wanted to solve â Xander knew that the aurors would do their job well enough and find the culprit. But there was a feeling in Xanderâs gut, a tugging sensation right behind his navel, that told him this wasnât man-made; no human had done it. Xander had looked at photos of werewolves, their physiology, and the results of their attacks since he was thirteen years old and created a fake alias within the French Ministry to get files from the British (the alias was a middle man, no more than a paper pusher, who claimed to be requesting files for someone higher up. Xander had stolen a name from the Departments, someone who sounded important, and the files were sent in a flash. Easy.)
And if something involved a supernatural creature like a werewolf or a vampire, then Xander was there with bells on.
When the train arrived at Kingâs Cross and everyone piled off, Xander kept his head down and followed, tugging his trunk and cage behind him, still lost in thought. He hadnât received a message back from his mother, meaning that heâd have to go to the Sleeping Dragon until he heard from her, but that wasnât a problem, not really. Xander wanted a few more hours to think about this â the howâs and whyâs of his theories; there probably wouldnât be much sleep had that night, not when his head was this full.
He consciously realised that he hadnât seen anyone he knew following the crowd into the hotel â Fitz was missing, though given that he had the option to go home, Xander figured that he mustâve taken it. And Smith â he mightâve gone home too, Xander realised belatedly, deflating a little. Of course Smith would want to go home; his grandfather would be running things all on his own these days, and Smith would want to help out where possible.
Xanderâs room was plain and had the bare essentials, and he set Archimedesâ cage down and popped open his trunk, grabbing a change of clothes and a fresh bottle of ink. The candles were already burning, and Xander got comfortable against the pillows, pulling his notebook back onto his lap to begin another session of intense brainstorming when a puff of smoke appeared in front of him. Grabbing from the little cloud of ash a piece of charred parchment, Xander read his motherâs noteâ
Xander,
Did you arrive in London safely? I would send Roman to you, but heâs busy in Egypt with a new case. Do you want me to come there? It might take a while â you know what international customs are like. Where are you staying?
Let me know.
Love,
Your mother.
Smiling, Xander hastily scribbled a reply, telling her he was fine and she should stay in Sweden â thereâs no know if this will be a day or a week, he wrote to her, sending his love and promises to write again later in the day.
When the message was gone and Xander was alone, quill poised above his notebook paper, he realised that it wasnât Valentineâs Day anymore. Heâd officially had his first date for Valentineâs, only to have it go completely wrong; he hadnât touched Fitz once, let alone speak to him. Xander sighed and ran a hand through his hair, deciding heâd nap before finding out from Zoe Blackthorn which room Fitz was staying in. Maybe they could make up for Valentineâs Day, even if it was a day late and marred with the blood of a murdered professor.
ancient wonders of the muggle world | xander & haneul
Distractions, Xander found, were usually ways of trying to ignore a problem. They were methods used by people who couldnât cope with reality, and instead used to continue building their fantasy world where everything was perfect and nothing was wrong. Xander preferred the bluntness of truth and reality over distractions - he didnât want to forget that he had thoughts and that these were important to process fully. And yet -- Xander found himself agreeing to go to the British Museum with Han anyway. Whether Haneul was looking for a distraction or simply something to feel good about, Xander didnât know; he supposed it could be both, and maybe Han just wanted to not be cooped up in the Sleeping Dragon like everyone else. Xander hadnât minded so much - he had food and his notes and all of his research, so after only a night at the hotel. Xander could say he wasnât missing Hogwarts in the least. But going out and seeing the city was perhaps a good idea: exposing himself to other stimuli might provoke thoughts in other directions, he supposed.
Xander dressed in warm clothes, noticing that everyone else on the street was rugged up as though it were practically snowing. He stowed his wand and notebook in his thick coat pockets before grabbing his coin purse and tucking that in too, not knowing if the Museum charged or if there might be something in the gift shop he would like. As he rode the elevator down to the lobby and sat in one of the armchairs, waiting for Han, he couldnât deny he was quite excited to see the Museum - learning could be fun, even if it was muggle history, and Xander hadnât seen nearly enough of London before. When he saw Han approach, Xander perked up, rolling onto his feet excitedly, giving the other boy a smile. âHave you been to the museum before, hyung?â he asked, foregoing a hello. âWill they have a floorplan? Whatâs your favourite exhibit?â he rattled off, taking Hans hand and pulling him toward the doors, eager to get started. âIs it very far?â
Though Xander had promised that everything Fitz wanted was his, he hadnât known what he was offering. He hadnât known that this side to Fitz existed; that he could be eager and undone and almost instinctual in this kind of way, moving after Xander like heâd wanted this for a while. As Fitzâs mouth closed around his cock, mouth and throat opening for the length of him, Xander didnât want to think about how many times Fitz had done this in order to be that good at it. He didnât want to think about how many people either of them had been with; how it compared; how it could go. Xander wanted to be in the moment, thinking about Fitz, and he told his mind to let go - to stop thinking for a moment, just one. Xanderâs lungs heaved as his head tipped back, eyes closed as he chased the feeling of Fitzâs mouth, wet around his cock and tongue against the head. Xanderâs fingers curled in Fitzâs hair, tugging slightly before he smoothed his hand out, firm against the crown of his head. He hesitated for a second, caught between doing as he liked (as usual) or asking permission, and when Xander opened his eyes, he saw that Fitz was already looking at him. A shaky, flustered laugh bubbled out of Xander, fading as quickly as itâd come. âIt feels so good,â he said, corners of his mouth turning up as he looked down at Fitz, sinking down on his cock. The whole thing had a dream-like quality to it, especially as Xander used the hand on Fitzâs head to press down a little harder, watching Fitzâs face carefully, not wanting to overstep but also enjoying the feeling of being in control. Fitz was older, smarter, more in control than Xander would ever be - but he wanted to take a little back from him; to give Fitz a part of himself that they hadnât shared, and to take a little, too. âFuck,â Xander whispered, canting his hips up as his hand still held Fitzâs head. âFuck, Fitz.â
The nightly sky felt different and the moon felt different, as if the world had shifted and turned while they werenât looking, too busy drinking up blood, and now a foreign set of stars watched them quietly, from where familiar constellations used to stand. Everything felt new and undiscovered, like they were but newborns in a strange land: the smell of the woods, Xanderâs shaky breathing, his taste on Solomonâs mouth. Heâd expected it to taste bitter and coppery like all blood did - and Solomon had been punched enough times in the face to know it by heart -, but to his intoxicated mind, it felt rich and sweet, swirling around his tongue like a promise, like something heâd ought to have tasted long ago. He hummed in response, feeling an electric arousal sizzling under his skin - that dangerous, familiar feeling of dangling from the edge of the abyss, staring into it, in hopes it would swallow them both.
And swallow Solomon did, hungrily taking the gush of warm liquid, pressing his tongue against the open wound like an open mouthed kiss. Xander begged him, and he didnât need to ask what for - they both knew, felt in their bones that they needed more. It felt strangely liberating, like Solomon hadnât known madness until then - there was freedom in this complete lack of restraint, this secret suicidal drive to keep going, keep going, untilâÂ
Until what?Â
He asked himself briefly - how far was too far? He couldnât have possibly have drank enough, feeling some deep seated thirst burn in his throat like he was a parched man, lost in the desert for days. He didnât want to to stop, too caught in the feral feeling of teeth ripping skin, too seduced by the tastes and smells and everything that made Xander, Xander - beautiful and pale, muscles spasming under the moonlight, half-lidded dark eyes lost somewhere in their unfamiliar sky.Â
And then Solomon saw it - the thing, hiding in the dark, watching them through pine trees, eyes gleaming in the night.Â
The werewolf.
âOh,â he muttered, blood dripping down his chin. âIs that aââ He didnât need to say it - the word hung on the air, heavy and loaded. It was a beautiful creature up close - powerful, strong, muscles shifting under dark, thick fur; a flash of white teeth showing as it smelled the air carefully. Had he been sober, he might have been smarter, he might have decided it was a good moment to run for his life. Under the drug, however, it seemed like a mirage, out of his dreams and into a chilly night in the Forbidden Forest. âLook,â he whispered to Xander, and watched it watch him, fascinated. He never knew it was possible to feel so paralyzed in wonder by a living thing - arrested in the moment like they were stuck in a dream. And then, as quick as it came, it was gone, disappearing into the woods again, and Solomon stood alone with Xander in the forest once more, awestruck and heavy breathing. âTell me Iâm not dreaming this.â He always did hear that you shouldnât stray from the path in the forest, or else you might meet a wolf: what big teeth you have, granny! The better to eat you with, my dear!
What they never told him was that heâd be the one doing the biting.
It seemed as though Xanderâs body was willing to give Solomon everything it had - he wouldâve bled out and not blinked an eye. It wasnât that he wasnât to die; he very much wanted to stay alive and learn things, but he couldnât find the will within him to change the course of action. It felt amazing to have Solo at his neck, tongue against his skin; it felt like everything flowed between them as he drank from Xander, and though the loss of blood made Xander feel a little light headed, he couldnât quite distinguish it from the effects of the vampire blood. But as high as he was, he felt a distinct loss of something when Solo pulled away. It felt like Xander had been plugged into pure electricity and energy and life, and Solo had yanked him away. He slumped, shaken, into the dirt, turning his head to find Solo staring ahead somewhere in the forest. Xanderâs eye was drawn to the blood that stained Soloâs face and clothes; the thick redness of it, almost black in the dark night. He reached up to touch it - knowing vaguely that it was his own blood that coated Soloâs face - but was distracted when the boy spoke, mouth moving. Is that a... A what? Xanderâs brain asked, his sluggish brain perking up at the unanswered question as he turned around on his stomach and looked in the direction that Solo was.
âOh my god,â Xander whispered, heart skidding against his ribs as he took in the werewolf. It was a werewolf, he was sure - heâd looked at pictures long enough to know. Everything from the pointed ears to the eyes, right down to the paws and fur. Xander had studied diagrams and sketches of people who were werewolves, who lived with werewolves, who studied them as a science. He couldâve drawn an anatomically correct werewolf with his eyes closed. Hungrily, heart pounding, he tried to take in every detail, from his snout to the colouring of his fur. Xander wanted a camera or at the very least, a quill to be able to record his observations, but the vampire blood was twisting his senses. He almost thought he could hear the werewolf breathing; smell the warmth of its fur. âPlease,â Xander said, struggling up to his hands and knees, forgetting instantly about his bleeding neck. The werewolf was watching them both, and Xander knew that they had no control of themselves in their beast form, and therefore the werewolf could kill them instantly, but he couldnât let the moment slide. But just as Xanderâs sense of balance righted itself, the werewolf was gone, turning and disappearing back itno the darkness. âNo!â Xander shouted, the word caught in his throat. âNo, please,â he said, gripping onto Solo to stand up and launch himself after the werewolf, stumbling more than he was walking, tripping over his own feet and legs feeling like jelly. The werewolf was completely gone, as though it had never happened, as though it were a dream, just like Solo had said. âPlease come back,â he called, gripping onto a tree at the edge of the clearing, right near where the werewolf had stood. âPlease!â he yelled, frantic, eyes searching the forest and seeing nothing.
He knew that the werewolf was gone for good, and his brain jumped from gone to why. He knew why - he whirled around and saw Solomon standing there, looking dumbfounded and covered in blood, and all Xander could process was that Solo had scared it off by speaking. Xander could only jump from thought to thought, some completely unconnected, brain short-circuiting as he realised Solomon had ruined the only chance that Xander would probably ever have to see a werewolf in person. Heâd dreamt of it since he was a little boy and his mother would tell him stories, and it was Solomonâs fault. Xander didnât hesitate as he ran at Solo, tackling him to the ground with his arms around the otherâs middle. âHow could you do that?!â he yelled, punching Solo across the jaw so the otherâs head turned to the side and Xanderâs knuckles came away with his own blood on them. âFuck you,â he spat, using one hand in the front of Soloâs shirt to lift him up, only to hit him again with his other fist. âThat was my only chance,â he yelled, hot tears burning his cheeks as he hit Solo again, his own heartbeat the only sound in his head, repeating the same thing - never again, never again, never again.
Han had been very eager to make friends when he first came to Hogwarts, perhaps a little too eager, not everyone had appreciated his attempts to hold their hand to class or snuggle up close and try to find common ground. Heâd had to learn and learn quickly that the physical intimacy he had at home wasnât the way to make friends at Hogwarts, not only that but affectionate names for one another were not so common either, it was a whole other situation and it had taken a while to get used to. But then Alexander the Great- which he was, really- came wandering, or climbing, into his life and even though things werenât quite like they were back home they were more familiar to him than anything else ever had been. It was a comfort to him that the boy didnât mind holding his hand or linking his arm and it was a comfort to him that he used âhyungâ, a name that somehow held so much importance even if not entirely accurately used. âWe do have a word for great! Though actually when talking about Alexander the Great itâs a different term, slightly. Alexander daewang would literally translate as something like âAlexander great kingâ but it still suits you, I think.â There was something quite regal about the boy, he thought, perhaps just because he was wise and kind and all good kings should be those things. Han trusted him, he trusted him with thoughts he hadnât really told anyone else, and perhaps it was because there was a familiarity in the touch of his hands and the way in which he listened as though he really cared. Han wasnât quiet about telling people what he did and what he wanted to do but so often it felt like information that just came with him now, a label that was read but never really understood, where it felt like the Gryffindor saw more than just the dream but all the weight and importance behind it- the sacrifices that Han didnât dwell on but almost wished more people saw. âI donât know. I think Iâll be proud, I think my family will be proud, everything Iâve worked for will finally mean something.â But happy? On some level he was always happy when he was performing but a decade from now, if he never took the time to connect with someone, if there were years of not letting himself want anything from anyone, would he be happy? But there wasnât a good alternative. It wasnât fair to find someone and expect them to wait around while he travelled all the time, while he focused more on work than them, putting things on hold constantly so he could achieve his dreams. He had to be selfish to get what he wanted but that didnât mean he had to drag someone else into that. He released a long sigh before laughing, shaking his head and turning his head to press his face against the boyâs shoulder. âYou ask very deep questions. I donât know if Iâll be happy in ten years, no one does.â
The thing about Han was that he made Xander forget that he wasnât where he wanted to be for the moments they were together - he made Xander feel as though Hogwarts was home. Part of it was just being friends, but another part was how Han made everyone around him feel instantly at ease - the terms of endearment certainly helped. Xander liked being the only one to call Han âhyung,â and the prospect of having his own name made him smile. âAlexander daewang,â mused Xander, nodding with his lips pouted in thought. âI like that, I think. Daewang sounds very regal - can I still call you hyung? Will you be an older brother to a great king?â Xander knew that his Korean ancestors were probably shaking their heads at him in the afterlife, but he rather enjoyed twisting the language that Han knew to make their own.Â
If he was honest, Xander was worried about Han. His dream of dancing and acting was a noble one - one that required a dreamerâs heart but the body of someone willing to put in the hours to get there. Xander was familiar with ambition and want - he knew what it meant to sacrifice, albeit in a different way than Han. But the worry stemmed more from the fact that for someone who seemed to thrive when around others, Han was closing himself off in the future. The stage was rather far from the audience: Han would always be separated from the people who loved him, and Xander couldnât think of a worse fate for his friend. âDoesnât what youâre working for mean something now though, hyung?â Xander asked, holding Hanâs hand tight. âWhen does it stop being practice and training and start âmeaning somethingâ? I feel like Iâm asking existential questions,â he said, laughing at himself, watching as Han pressed his head against Xanderâs shoulder. âSorry. Forgive me. I donât mean to sound like Iâm doubting what you love, I promise. Youâre a brilliant dancer, from what Iâve been able to peek at. I still need to come watch you practice properly,â he reminded Han gently, smiling down at him. âBut you are very right, the future is a mystery. Ten years especially so.â Xander thought quietly for a moment, wondering if perhaps he should stop asking so many questions - it was a particularly bad habit he had, poking at peopleâs unsure spots. It also tended to be why Xander didnât have a wealth of friends like Han did. âI like hearing your thoughts, though - even if they arenât completely sure,â Xander added, sounding hesitant. âDoes that bother you? We can stop. Itâs probably better suited to a sleepover, though since weâre in different houses, thatâll probably never happen... Hogwarts is very divided, upon reflection. You get nice roommates, and Iâm stuck with James. Very unfair.â
Dani realized something was wrong when they stopped moving, and knew quite suddenly she was caught, trying to slip back off the roof she felt hands grab her. âGet the fuck offââ She began to kick, but as quickly as they came they moved, quick enough for her eyes to water. Then she was on the ground, kicking and punching back at the vampire. Oh, this was not what she had planned for the day, not at all. She stopped for a second and narrowed her eyes at the vampire, âOh, youâre a man.â she thought it was a woman, âsorry for the mental misgendering.â she offered a quick smile before going back to trying to struggle into a better position, though between the two giants there was no-way she was going to get out of here soon. She heard her name and flashed a grin at Xander, ââlo there, did I just fall into a shitty YA Fantasy Novel?â the ban of her existance, it was like muggle girls kept eating up poorly constructed sexy novels about âsupernaturalâ creatures. When in real-life they were much stronger, and faster than theyâd ever believe, and it was far more com;icated to be around them. She wondered faintly when her life turned into a bad arc from a Buffy season, and why she didnât seem to mind at all. At least it was interesting, and being caught watching a vampire snack on their Durmstrang boyfriend was far more interesting than watching heartbreakers and fourth years humping at Honeydukes, much better use of her time. She tilted her head to the side as the Vampire released her, Xander imploring for him to do so. Was that another language. She watched the vampire leave and smiled, âNice meeting you!â she decided to call at the now missing creature, âThat was fun.â
She looked up at Xander and immediately pulled away from him, running her fingers over her robes, dusting away the light layer of snow and reaching for her camera. âOh I dunno, you were all suspicious, walking around Hogsmeade, rushing around towards the areas we students donât normally lurk about. I was bored watching all the kids trying to figure out how to kiss and decided to follow you. Didnât really expect to see what I saw, here I was thinking you were buying some sort of Wizarding drug, which I am still convinced exists by the way.â she lifted her hands, making a face as if she say she didnât mean it. Honestly, she didnâ mean to catch him as he did, but then again she thought it was only something basic, a little rule breaking, not lawbreaking. Though it didnât make it any less interesting. âYou really are an interesting guy Xander, and rather beautiful.â she smiled and lifted her camera, spinning through the photographs. âThough Iâve never cared much for my personal safety, though dying at the hands of a vampire really wouldnât be the worst, and not the first time someone has tried to kill me. So yeah, I know how dangerous it was, but I still donât really care.â she offered him a bright smile. Honestly the thrill of the chase, of catching the act, of capturing beautiful moments on film, that was what she lived for, unearthing the secrets little by little of everyone in the castle. Nosing through lies, and seeing what once was half-truths became full on tales. She couldnât ask for anything more. âNow you gonna explain all this Bella Swan or oblivate me?â
Fat drops of rain began to fall, making Xanderâs hair stick to his forehead as he stared at Dani, wondering what he was going to do. She didnât seemed to understand the gravity of the situation - she wasnât comprehending the fact that sheâd been one flick of Elishaâs wrist away from dying. âYou should care,â Xander said, frowning at her. âWhy would you try so hard to capture life if you donât care? You see a good photograph or a good opportunity, and you take the photo. You live for those moments, and if you didnât care if you died, you wouldnât capture them.â Scowling at Dani, Xander pulled his hand away from his neck, seeing that the blood was still very much running freely. He sighed and put his hand back to his neck, adding more pressure, before narrowing his eyes at the girl. âWhoâs Bella Swan? I didnât get that reference,â he said, frustration increasing - English speakers seemed to come with a whole host of references that Xander would never understand - first Disney (he still wasnât sure what that was) and now this Bella girl, who may or may not have been a swan. âI havenât decided if Iâll obliviate you or not yet,â Xander said after a moment, looking down at the girl truthfully. âYou have one hour to convince me otherwise, and if Iâm not satisfied, then your memories will be gone and the photos erased. Itâll be like this never happened, and Iâll walk away without an ounce of guilt. Your nosiness might be charming at times, but I have a suspicion itâs going to get you killed one day, too.â
Xander sighed and gestured down the alley. âCome on, my feet are sore and I want to heal myself before anyone else with a lens decides this is a good photo op. You have to come with me until Iâve decided, and if you try to run, remember that I know where you sleep and have unfiltered access to a large store of potion supplies. It could be quick, you know,â Xander said, raising his eyebrows, âthis death you care so little about. Very quick indeed.â He started walking, not sure where to go - the Three Broomsticks was the worst possible choice, which might almost make it the best - no one would be expecting someone to enter there with a veritable hostage, would they? âOut of curiosity,â Xander said as they walked, turning to look at Dani with his fingers under his coat and warm with blood. âWere the photos good? How did I look? If I hadâve known I was being photographed, I mightâve chosen a better angle or facial expression. I canât imagine it was very flattering.â His cheeks felt pink, though he suspected his pallor had dulled a bit with the blood loss. âHow much did you see?â he continued, looking at her as they walked. âAll of it? Start to finish? Did you get any of his face?â
Dani escaped Hogwarts the first moment she got, Hogsmeade in her mind was so quaint, so lovely compared to the winding streets of London and itâs dark alleys. She was used to loud streets and bustling people. Hogwarts and Hogsmeade were a culture shock, Hogwarts was such a large castle, with so many unused rooms and grounds, was her personal playground, she could catch it in itâs most world weary moments and the Slytherin could swear that the Castle was a living object, revealing secrets only when it pleased. Itâs what she loved about itâs walls, but what she loved about Hogsmeade was how everyone forgot what rules were, without the professors, the prefects, the prying eyes, they got lost in the Wizarding Village. It wasnât large by any standards, but it was ancient, and loving in itâs own way. You could hide and retreat so far away from the world within itâs alleyways, between the cottages and among the piles of snow, open stores and open air. She followed them, her schoolmates, snapping photos of envious glares of the newest person in the newest robes, the frightened first dates and the argument that stemmed from cheating between lovers. She watched them steal, she watched them run, she watched them plot and caught each moment on camera.Â
Which was why she was following Xander, heâd⌠intrigued her to say the least. It took alot to make her take a vested interest in someone and heâd caught her eye when she saw him, sitting up on the ledge of a shop, snapping photos. He moved like a man possessed through the snowy streets, between connecting alleyways and streets, shabbled cobblestone glaring between bright white snow. She bewitched her shoes, soundless spells and carried her camera tightly, moving after him. Where was he off to? She narrowed her eyes and stayed far behind him, getting a chill up her spine. The morals of stalking never bothered her, but something was⌠off. Was he meeting a lovers? Maybe an adult or someone with a boyfriend or girlfriend already? Wizarding drugs might have been an interesting choice. She kept moving, then realized that in this dark alleyway that she wouldnât be able to track him without being seen. Catching her fingers on the lip of another building she began to haul herself up, slipping her hands and fingers in dips and curves of the wall, like travessing the spine of a beast and finding herself on the head. She walked along the top, an eye on his figure until he⌠what? She knelt down, as he was pulled into an alcove and then laid on her stomach, snow falling on her strewn out form as she saw. She blinked and raise her camera. The woman was beautiful, dangerous, she looked every inch like she belonged in the freezing shadows of the alleyway, and she watched with great interest as he was pulled and torn into. Teeth sinking into pale sink, blood seeping down his collar. A fit of passion, she lifted her camera and began to snap photos, there was such great pleasure on their faces, erotic, sensual. She felt goosebumps for more than one reason and leaned forward even more, and realized that the snow had fallen off the edge of the roof. Shit. She snapped a few more photos, and realized this new side to Xander and found she was quite enthralled with the secret.Â
Time passed slowly to Xander, who could feel his eyes grow heavy and body sluggish from the loss of blood. Elisha was practiced at it, and Xander knew that the other man wouldnât take too much - he trusted Elisha with his life. A part of Xander almost hoped that one day Elisha would go too far and have to turn Xander in order to save him. But today was not that day, especially when he felt Elishaâs fangs retract and his tongue traced a line of blood down Xanderâs neck. âWeâre being watched,â whispered Elisha, his voice deep and raw - the sound of someone who had fed after months of near starvation. âOn the roof,â he continued, and Xanderâs breathing evened out as he realised when Elisha was saying - someone had seen them. In hindsight, Xander knew that they hadnât been very careful - Xander had been too eager for it, and Elisha too hungry to think about the consequences. But this was Hogsmeade - eyes were probably everywhere. âWhat do we do?â Xander asked him, hands tight on Elishaâs coat, neck throbbing, unhealed. âI can kill them before anyone else sees,â Elisha said, and when Xander opened his eyes, he saw that Elisha was serious. âIâm not going to any prison today,â continued the vampire, keeping his head close to Xanderâs neck so that the person watching them wouldnât realise. âAnd neither are you,â he continued, looking at Xander seriously. âIâll take care of the body.â That made Xander wake up a little more, realising that Elisha was actually going to kill someone -- and he shook his head slightly. âCanât we just-- see who it is? I can erase their memories, maybe.â
He could tell that Elisha didnât like the idea - didnât want there to be a liability in the form of a person out in the world who knew that he was drinking blood. But Xander wasnât sure he could cope with having a dead body on his conscience - not unless there was no other way. âIâll get them, and we can see if youâre still so sure you want to save them,â Elisha said, pulling away from Xander. He was gone in a flash - one moment there, the next he was up on the roof and grabbing someone small, a tiny burst of snow scattering the only sign that anything had happened at all. Whoever it was, Xander knew that theyâd probably seen too much - theyâd had the perfect view of everything he and Elisha had done. Pressing one hand to his neck to stop the bleeding, Xander watched Elisha struggle with a small girl - upon second glance, he realised he knew the person. âDani?â he said, shocked that she was half-hanging from Elishaâs hand, the tall man towering over her. No one ever asks the vampire what they want, Xander could remember Dani saying once, back at Halloween - he knew that she couldnât die today, not like this. âItâs alright,â Xander said, putting hishand on Elishaâs wrist until he let go of Dani. âi know her - Iâll take care of it.â There was wariness in Elishaâs eyes, his mouth stained red, and there was reluctance to let it go. âIâll owl you,â Xander promised, eager to get rid of his friend. âTrust me?â he asked, voice low, and when Elisha looked away from Dani to Xander, he could see that the other man did. âAt the cost of my life, Alexander,â said Elisha, and he glanced once more at Dani, memorising her face, before departing in a flash. When he was gone, Xander turned to the Slytherin girl, frowning hard at her, feeling annoyed and angry. âWhat the fuck were you thinking? You do realise how dangerous that was, donât you?â
The rain was turning heavy with unformed snow as Xander ducked his head and walked into Hogsmeade. It was the best part of being at Hogwarts, heâd decided - the professors were so lax with their students that they let them go straight into a nearby town to blow off steam. What was to stop anyone from leaving? From doing something illegal? The thought made Xander smile into the lining of this coat - speak of the devil, and the devil will appear, he thought. Glancing up, Xander scanned the shop fronts, looking for a familiar face among the windows and candlelit interiors. Elisha had told him to come this weekend, wanting to meet, but the vampire would be conspicuous if seen out in the open. There was something unearthly and distinctly inhuman-like about a vampire in the flesh: a chill down your spill, goosebumps across your arms. Xander loved the rush, but it would raise suspicions of others, so he slipped from the main street to the rows of back alleys. It was quieter here - most students come this far back, mostly because their business laid in the sweet and joke shops that drew them in with bright colours like moths to flame.
But the darkness drew Xander, an irresistible tug that had him glancing up and down the alley that was littered with barrels and boxes and hollow doorways, filled with excitement. As he walked, he was suddenly caught around the wrist by a pale hand and pulled into an alcove. His initial surprise was quickly replaced by joy - Elisha had found him. âYou didnât say where to meet,â Xander said, feeling a little breathless as he stared up at the vampire. âNext time we should plan these things.â Elisha wore a faintly amused expression. âNext time?â he said, an eyebrow raised. âYou wouldnât have come all this way if you could get blood anywhere else,â Xander explained, noticing how translucent Elishaâs skin looked - he probably hadnât fed since Xander left for school. âObservant,â Elisha said coolly. Xander beamed at the praise, but his adrenaline was too high for him to truly absorb it. âPlease,â he said, eyes darting to Elishaâs lips then back to his dark, hungry eyes. âI know you want it, so just-- do it.â Once the consent had been given, Elisha paused for only a moment before he turned Xander around and pushed him against the brick wall of the alcove, using his cold fingers to push back the shoulder of Xanderâs coat, exposing his throat. Xanderâs heart was racing, probably audible to Elisha as he waited - there was the faint ghost of a breath against his skin and Xander closed his eyes as Elisha kissed the skin just once before his fangs bit in.  It was always a shock when it happened, as though his mind had downplayed it in his memories - the pain, the pleasure, the fire that raced through him. Xander could never get enough, and his hands fisted in the front of Elishaâs coat as he let himself get drained, blood running down his neck and marring his skin red.
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