Sirius had woken up cold.
It happened, sometimes. Charlie had been told many times in his life that he was obnoxiously warm to sleep next to, but Sirius had never complained about it — and sometimes, like that morning, Charlie woke up with the dark-haired wizard wrapped around him like an octopus, plastered to his chest as if he was trying to suck every scrap of warmth from Charlie's body.
When he felt the tiny shivers wracking Sirius' body, Charlie knew it was going to be a rough day. Still, he did what he always did on Cold mornings; rolled them over until Sirius was securely cocooned beneath his broad form, and pulled the duvet up to his neck, wrapping it around both of them. Never mind that it was summer, and already boiling in their room.
There was the smallest relaxation of Sirius' shoulders. Charlie's heart clenched. He tilted his head down, pressing the most gentle of kisses to Sirius' temple. "Good morning, sweetheart," he said quietly, trying carefully not to let his full weight rest on the man, else he go from cuddling to crushing. Sirius liked being weighed down, but when he was mentally in Azkaban Charlie always worried he'd smother him.
He waited, occasionally dropping another kiss on his partner's face. Little by little, Sirius stopped shivering. Then, finally, the ex-convict let out a long breath. "Fuck," he muttered, and Charlie hummed against his cheek.
"Want to have breakfast in bed this morning?" he asked. He felt Sirius wavering. "It's a Saturday. We've nowhere to be."
More than once, Sirius had tried to hide his own depression while Charlie got ready for work, so he wouldn't feel obligated to stay at home and care for him. Like any part of that was an obligation. Charlie hated the demons in his boyfriend's brain, the way they made him hate himself.
Fucking Azkaban.
But luckily Sirius was fine with falling apart on a weekend, so he gave a small nod — and as if she'd been waiting for the signal, Ceri popped silently into the room, levitating a lap tray. Charlie slowly manoeuvred them both into a sort-of sitting position, Sirius still tucked securely against his side. He took the tray from Ceri with a grateful smile, and the elf bobbed her head. Before she left, she clicked her fingers, and the fire in the grate jumped to life.
Sirius had chosen this bedroom for a reason.
The room was warm enough already, but it was clear the dog animagus couldn't feel it, his whole body strung tight against Charlie. But he showed at least a little interest in the food Ceri had brought them, and with a little encouragement he was eating.
"Was it your dreams, or just… one of those days?" Charlie asked, and Sirius shrugged.
"Dreams, I think. Dunno. Just… cold. Empty."
Charlie knew the word wasn't referring to his surroundings, but himself. His heart squeezed tighter.
"It's going to be gorgeous out today. We could read outside for a while, by the fire pit?"
"I promised the boys I'd help them with apparition training today," Sirius rasped in protest.
"Let Moony do it," Charlie urged. "You know his only plans for the day were sitting in Snape's lab and trying to flirt him into bollocksing up a potion."
That got a tiny huff of laughter out of the dark-haired man, and Charlie's whole chest filled with pride. Small steps.
They stayed in their warm nest of a room until Charlie was sure the sun would be up, and then they slowly got dressed — soft, well-worn jeans, long-sleeved t-shirt, Charlie's old Gryffindor quidditch hoodie that Sirius had claimed when they'd moved in together. Comfortable clothes, clothes that wouldn't remind him of Azkaban.
Outside it was already warm, but leaving their room had Sirius shivering again.
The fire in the fire pit built quickly with a wave of Charlie's wand, and another wave had one of the benches transfigured into a comfy divan, just wide enough for both of them. Charlie laid down and pulled Sirius to lie between his legs, head on his chest. A thin layer of sweat had already formed on Charlie's skin.
Sirius' hands were still like ice.
The animagus turned his face up to the sun with the most genuine smile Charlie had seen from him all day, and the redhead stroked a hand down Sirius' side, sliding it beneath the hoodie and shirt to touch bare skin. Physical contact helped — often, Sirius couldn't decide between wearing a hundred layers to stave off the cold, or going entirely naked to get as much skin pressed against him as possible. But Charlie's hands on his stomach seemed to be enough, and inch by inch he relaxed into the embrace. When Charlie finally felt him loosen fully against him, having drifted into a light doze, a spark of relief and triumph tingled in his body.
It was the worst day Sirius had had since he and Charlie had got together, and for a moment Charlie had worried he wouldn't be able to bring him out of it.
Warmth, sun and human contact; three things Sirius had been denied in Azkaban. With a combination like that, and a little patience, he could drag Sirius back from even the darkest corners of his own mind. Charlie glanced up at the sky with a small quirk of his lips, mentally thanking the weather for cooperating. He wasn't sure what he'd have done if it were raining.
They were out there for hours, Sirius waking up occasionally with a full-body jerk, but Charlie soothed him every time. At one point, Charlie summoned the book he'd been reading about the migration habits of various European dragon breeds, propping it up on a conjured bookstand to read while Sirius stared up at the cloudless sky with that chilling, vacant gaze.
Ceri brought lunch out to them. Ripe, juicy berries, and toasted sandwiches cut into bite-size squares. Packed with flavour — another thing to distance Sirius from the prison in his mind.
Sirius didn't talk, but Charlie didn't expect him to. Later, when they were back to reading and staring respectively, Harry appeared from the direction of the house. He approached cautiously, and Charlie offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile. The teen's eyes were sympathetic as they flickered down to his godfather, who didn't react at his presence.
"Draco and I were thinking about swimming for a bit," the green-eyed Gryffindor started, "but Moony said we should check with you first. Don't want to disturb."
"We're fine," Charlie assured, running a hand through Sirius' hair. "Just relaxing out in the sun. Bit of laughter in the background won't harm anyone. Just don't drown," he teased. Harry brightened up — then, cautiously, he stepped closer, leaning in to hug Sirius around the shoulders.
"Love you, Padfoot."
Sirius reflexively hugged him back. "Love you, too, kid. Have fun swimming."
And inside, Charlie cheered, because that meant Sirius was present enough to have registered the conversation. Finally, the shadows were lifting.
But it was slow going. When the sun began to set, the breeze picking up a slight chill, the pair of them went inside — back up to their bedroom. The fire was still going, the room swelteringly hot, and Sirius sprawled on the bed with a heavy sigh.
Charlie settled in beside him, still touching but not as close — if Sirius was ready to come out of his own head, he didn't want to overwhelm him. He ran his fingers through Sirius' long hair, blunt nails scratching across the man's scalp in a way that made him smile faintly.
At last, Sirius rolled over, making eye contact. For the first time all day, there were no shadows in those stormy grey eyes. "Hey."
Charlie smiled. "Hey, you."
"I'm sorry."
That made Charlie frown. "What? What for?"
Sirius scoffed, one arm gesturing to the room at large. "This. Making you baby me all day, deal with my fucked-up head."
"Okay, first of all, you didn't make me do anything," Charlie pointed out. "Second, as far as I'm concerned I've had an excellent lazy Saturday, reading a book in the sunshine all cuddled up with my gorgeous partner. Pretty sure that's the definition of bliss in some circles."
Sirius narrowed his eyes at him. "With the fire roaring on a twenty-eight degree day?"
A flicker of a smirk across Charlie's face. "I play with dragons, sweetheart. A little heat never bothered me much." Indeed, Sirius on a Cold day was very much like dealing with dragons; no sudden movements, no expectations, just warmth and steady companionship until they came to you.
"Still," Sirius muttered, frowning. "I shouldn't be having days like this, still. I've been out for three years."
"And you were in for twelve," Charlie reminded, shuddering at the very prospect of twelve years surrounded by dementors. "Don't beat yourself up, love. Sometimes there are days when your brain just doesn't cooperate. Not your fault." He wriggled closer, watching for any sign that he might not be welcome, but Sirius melted into him without hesitation. Charlie kissed him, long and languid.
"You shouldn't have to take care of me all the time," Sirius sighed against his lips, and Charlie's heart ached for the man.
"I'm gonna spend my whole fucking life convincing you that spending time with you is never an obligation," he decided, "even on your bad days. Taking care of each other is what couples do." He grinned playfully. "Wait til I get burned from shoulder to knee by some dragon and I'm asking you to put ointment on my arse three times a day."
Sirius snorted. "I still feel like I'm wasting your time," he said in a heartbreaking whisper. Charlie kissed him again.
"I'm exactly where I want to be, sweetheart." It might not be what he'd expected for his life, back when he was eighteen, but he couldn't imagine being happier with anyone than he was with Sirius. "Now, how about we round off this day with a long, hot bath?" He let his grin turn sultry, blue eyes dancing. "Little bit of warm, wet and naked sounds like a perfect evening to me. Maybe work on some other definitions of bliss," he added with a wink, hoping he wasn't pushing too far. Sirius didn't always want sex on Cold days, but sometimes…
Sirius' eyes lit up, and he arched up against Charlie's side. "Perfect," he agreed, hand coming up to cradle Charlie's jaw, bringing him down into a kiss. "So fucking perfect."
It was, Charlie thought. It really, really was.
.-.-.-.
Draco's shoulders ached, but his jaw was clenched indignantly as he dragged himself up off the floor.
Severus had beaten him, again.
"Better," his godfather said curtly, and Draco glared at him.
"I barely lasted two minutes."
"When Harry started, he lasted half that time," Severus returned instantly. That didn't make Draco feel better.
"When Harry started, he was thirteen," he grumbled. He should be better than this — he should be able to hold his own in a fight against a Death Eater! If even fucking Longbottom could do it—
No, that wasn't fair. Neville had improved enormously since getting a new wand. And likely the Death Eaters they faced at the Ministry weren't as exacting and punishing as Severus Snape in training mode.
But Draco should still be doing better.
"Take a break," Severus instructed. "I need to put Harry through his paces."
Across the room, Harry groaned, but Draco could see the light dancing in his boyfriend's eyes. He enjoyed this, the weirdo. He loved getting to duel, even if Severus still handed him his arse nine times out of ten. He could last a lot longer than Draco did.
It was hard, training with someone like Harry. Years ago, Draco might have gotten unbearably jealous — the Gryffindor had power pouring off him, seeping from his every pore, eager to jump to life in a fight. He was light on his feet and quick to learn and surprisingly innovative when panicking.
But Draco couldn't be jealous, not really, not when he knew where those instincts had been born.
But it was frustrating. He had insisted on joining Harry's training so he could protect his boyfriend — now he just felt like he was holding him back.
Knowing how explosive the duels between his godfather and his boyfriend could get, Draco decided to step out into the corridor for a minute. To his surprise, as he did so his mother was walking past. She took one look at him and frowned. "What's the matter, darling?"
"I'm fine," he said, immediately hating how petulant he sounded. His shoulders slumped. "I— it's nothing. I'm just… not taking to it as quickly as I anticipated."
"You've only been here a fortnight," Narcissa reminded him. "It takes time, Dragon. Especially with Severus — you know he'll be pushing you to your limits."
"That's the damned problem," Draco muttered, "my limits are lower than they should be!"
"Only compared to Harry. Any other person your age wouldn't last ten seconds against Severus Snape. Hell, I barely last a minute against him, when he's truly trying." Narcissa moved closer, patting him on the cheek. "You know he's proud of you. And you are improving."
"It's not about making him proud of me!" That was part of it, yes, he couldn't deny that — he'd sought his godfather's approval more than his father's, growing up, because from Severus it felt like it truly meant something. With Severus he had to earn it.
But that wasn't what had him upset now. "I need to be better at this, for Harry," he insisted. "If I'm going to fight by his side I need to be able to stay by his side." Right now he felt like he'd be cut down in the first five minutes of any proper battle, and that was no use to anyone, least of all his boyfriend who was training to go up against the fucking Dark Lord.
He hated the way his mother's face softened in something that looked an awful lot like pity. "Oh, darling," she sighed. "Harry Potter is both a law and a standard unto himself." Her voice was fond, and Draco's lips twitched reluctantly. Truer words had never been spoken. "I have every confidence that, when the time comes, you will protect each other. You think I would be half as willing to let you throw yourself into battle if I didn't think he'd keep you alive through it?"
"He shouldn't have to, though! He's got enough to worry about as it is!" Anger flared deep in Draco's chest. "What if he's so busy protecting me he doesn't look after himself?" He had nightmares about it; the pair of them in battle, Harry turning to block a spell from hitting Draco and taking a killing curse straight to the back for it.
"You'd never let harm come to him," his mother told him. Draco wished he could have her confidence.
He let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. "I just— I can't fail him," he whispered, voice cracking. "Malfoys don't fail."
"But Blacks do." Draco blinked, staring at his mother incredulously. "Blacks fail. All the time. We're rather good at it, actually." Her lips curved wryly. "But we get back up and we learn from our mistakes and we become better." When her grey eyes met his, they were intent; challenging. "We make it so that we do not fail when it matters." Both her hands came to his shoulders, holding him firmly. "You will not fail Harry when it matters. Trust me on that." She patted his cheek once more. "You have far too much love for the boy to do that. So get back in there, face your godfather, and fail a thousand more times at his wand now, so you will not fail at someone else's later."
"I—" Draco swallowed thickly. "What if it's still not enough?" What if even his best couldn't keep Harry safe?
"Then that is the way the world must be," Narcissa replied without hesitation. "We cannot control everything, my darling. We can only control ourselves. And you certainly can't control Harry Potter." She smirked at him. "Your father only taught you that Malfoys don't fail because he never dared try anything he couldn't immediately succeed at. You're a Black, darling; you're better than that."
Then she kissed him on the cheek, and stepped back. "Do you see, now?"
A pause, and then Draco nodded. "I do. Thank you."
His mother smiled, nudging him back towards the door, and went on her way. Draco reached for the handle, determination burning through his blood.
He would be better.
.-.-.-.-.
Longbottom manor was huge.
Ginny's hands clenched anxiously around the handles of her bag as she stood in the elaborate entrance hall, staring at the grand curving staircase in front of her. "Ginny! You made it!"
She turned, unable to help the smile that flooded her face at the sight of her boyfriend. He was a little windswept, a faint smudge of dirt on his cheek — he'd been out with his plants again, most likely. "Sorry, I lost track of time," he admitted sheepishly, leaning down to kiss her. Ginny relaxed into the kiss, then tensed, pulling back.
"Where's your gran?" she asked in alarm, eyes darting around as if the woman would pop out of nowhere, vulture hat and all. Neville just laughed.
"She's off playing cards with your Aunt Muriel," he explained. "She'll be back for dinner, don't worry. Oh." He glanced down. "Posy!" A house elf appeared suddenly, wearing a pretty pale blue dress. "Posy, this is Ginny. Would you take her bag to her room for me, please?"
"Of course, Master Neville!" the elf chirped happily, and Ginny awkwardly set the bag down for the elf to take.
She'd never visited anyone who had a house elf, before. Sometimes she forgot just how old-money pureblood Neville was.
The elf vanished with her bag, and Neville beamed at her, holding out a hand. "Come on, I'll show you around."
It was just Neville, she reminded herself. Even as he led her around a house that was bigger and grander than anything she'd seen before in her life.
Just Neville — her shy, sweet, slightly clumsy but utterly endearing boyfriend. So what if his family was rich as hell? She was best friends with Harry Potter, she should be used to it by now.
"I thought Susan and her aunt were staying here, too?" she asked curiously as Neville showed her down a corridor that was nothing but guest bedrooms. They hadn't seen a single soul yet.
"Oh, they are. Amelia's at work, and Susan is… around, somewhere." Neville's face turned mischievous. "Theo's visiting today."
Ginny smirked. "Ohh." They probably wouldn't see either of them until dinner, then.
They went up one more flight of stairs to see a beautifully decorating drawing room, and then Neville shrugged. "Honestly, that's about everything interesting inside. Would you, uh— do you want to see the gardens? I can show you my greenhouses?"
His face lit up so earnestly, Ginny swallowed the crack she'd been about to make about showing her his bedroom. "I'd love to."
They went outside, and finally Ginny's nerves began to fade — this was the Neville she knew, the boy she had fallen for. Chatting a mile a minute about plants, delight in his eyes as he showed her into one of the greenhouses; which was clearly under some hefty expansion charms, because it stretched on seemingly forever. "I've got some cobra lilies growing over there," he told her, gesturing broadly. "And the other week I managed to find some wild deadnettle seeds, but I've never worked with any of those before — they're really rare — so I'm not completely sure if they'll thrive in this section, but the books said they like drier climates, so if it doesn't work out I'll move them further along, and—"
Ginny kissed him, cutting him off mid-sentence, and after a startled moment he kissed back, his hand coming up to cup her cheek. Warmth flooded Ginny's body, and it finally began to sink in — she was staying at her boyfriend's house for a whole week.
She got Neville to herself — mostly — for seven full days.
When they broke the kiss, her arms were around his neck, and his hazel eyes were bright, his cheeks a little flushed. "What was that for?" he asked, smiling. Ginny grinned back.
"Just happy to see you, is all."
His smile grew wider, and he tucked a lock of bright red hair behind her ear. "I'm happy to see you, too." He kissed her again, more chastely. "I'm really glad your parents agreed to let you come stay."
"I'm pretty sure Mum was worried I might murder Ron and Hermione if I didn't get a break," Ginny joked, making Neville snicker. Hermione had only been at the Burrow for about a week, but already the pair were doing Ginny's head in; between their awkward not-flirting, their intense bickering, and Hermione's determination to be friends with Ginny again — in a thinly veiled attempt to get back in Harry's good graces — Ginny would have run away to Longbottom Manor even if her parents had said no.
"Well, while I can't officially condone murder, I'll encourage anything that lets me see you more," Neville said, and it could have been a joke but his voice was so incredibly fond it made Ginny's breath catch. "There's not much to do here, honestly — we've got space for quidditch, but neither Susan nor I fly — but I'll try not to make you spend all week in the greenhouse."
"I don't mind," Ginny insisted. She wasn't brilliant at Herbology — constantly got confused with all the specific needs and variations of magical plants — but she'd been helping her mum with the family vegetable garden since Charlie started Hogwarts, in some capacity or another; the two of them were the only Weasley siblings with enough patience for it. Percy had patience, too, but he got upset at the feel of wet dirt on his skin. "Still, I don't want to bore you."
"It's not boring." Ginny smiled at him. "I like watching you with your plants; they make you happy. Besides," she added, gaze dancing with mischief, "it's sexy when you get all knowledgable and competent like that." Her hand rested lightly on his chest, and she could feel his pulse pick up as he blushed.
"Oh." His smile turned a little goofy. "I— really?"
"Very sexy," Ginny confirmed, stepping in closer. "Not that I came here to spend a week perving on you while you garden, or anything. But, y'know. If the opportunity's there." She winked, giggling when he blushed even brighter. Merlin, it was fun riling him up.
"I wouldn't mind," he said, stuttering ever so slightly. "If— if you did want to perv on me, I mean."
Not the smoothest of lines, but Ginny would take it — Neville was still pretty new to flirting, bless him. Like with most things, he lost his nerve as soon as he started overthinking it; he could be smooth as anything when he wasn't even trying, sometimes knocking the breath right from Ginny with his words.
But right now, even with the fumbling attempt, Ginny could feel her blood rushing through her. It hit her then that they were entirely alone in the greenhouses — the only other two people in the house were occupied with each other, and the adult supervision wouldn't be back for hours.
Even at Hogwarts, sneaking around in alcoves and abandoned classrooms, they were never truly that alone.
A thrill ran down her spine, her hand trailing down Neville's chest. "Seems a bit unfair if I'm the one doing all the perving," she drawled lightly. "And it'd be a shame to waste time just looking."
Her fingers slipped beneath the hem of his t-shirt, sliding up the swell of his stomach, and he sucked in a sharp breath.
They hadn't gone very far, in the few weeks they'd been together at Hogwarts. Between exams and everything else, there hadn't been much time for it — and Neville had never so much as kissed a girl before her, was nervous and tentative and so very proper. It took a week for her to get him to stop asking permission every time he kissed her. But the few times he had slipped a hand beneath her school shirt, or trailed kisses down her neck, it lit her up in a way that anything she'd done with Michael had never even come close to. "Is there a bench here, or anything?" she asked, suddenly feeling a little weak in the knees. Neville's large hand settled on the curve of her waist, directing her over to a simple wooden bench nearby. He sat down, and Ginny sat beside him, legs pressed close together as sparks pulsed deep in her belly. She happily went back to kissing him, her hand sneaking under his shirt once more to slide up his broad back.
Neville was one of those kids that had puberty hit them like the Hogwarts Express; he'd come a very long way from the round-faced, slightly buck-toothed boy she remembered from her earlier Hogwarts years. Even in the few weeks since she'd seen him last, he'd grown an inch or so and lost more of the baby fat from his cheeks. And his time working with his plants had built some muscle across his shoulders, helped by his work with the HA in the last year. There was still more softness to his body than she knew he was comfortable with, at his waist and thighs and chest, but Ginny liked that about him. Knew she'd like it a lot more, if she ever got him brave enough to take his shirt off in front of her.
He was turning into a handsome man, and Ginny knew she'd have some jealousy to deal with once they got back to Hogwarts.
But inside, he was still the shy, earnest, clumsy boy who had been so very sweet to her at the Yule Ball, and stolen her heart without either of them realising.
Slowly, tentatively, his hand moved from her waist, down to her knee. Ginny's breath hitched, and he froze. "No, keep going," she urged, lips moving to his jaw.
His hand moved again, sliding under the hem of her skirt, strong fingers wrapping ever so tenderly around her thigh. His touch was like lightning straight to her core, and Ginny hummed in encouragement, gripping at his shoulder beneath his shirt. "You can keep going," she breathed, pulling back a little to meet his wide-eyed gaze.
"I— out here? Are you sure?"
"Who's going to find us?" Ginny pointed out, voice growing husky with lust.
"O-okay."
"Only if you want to," Ginny said — she didn't want to push him, didn't want to make him uncomfortable, but Merlin if she didn't get some kind of touch down there soon she might explode. "I didn't actually mean to jump you as soon as I got here," she added, a little sheepish. Neville huffed out a laugh, his eyes darkened.
"If you hadn't, I would have," he said boldly. "Merlin, Ginny… can I—"
He didn't finish his sentence, but the next thing Ginny knew she was being lifted onto his lap, straddling him with her knees on the bench. A gasp ripped from her throat at the action; the bulge in his trousers was pressing right up against her damp underwear. "Fuck," she breathed, eyes fluttering shut.
"Good?"
"So good." Ginny rocked down against him, and both of them moaned.
"Oh, God," Neville yelped softly, his hands fisting tight in the fabric of her skirt. "I want…"
"Yes." Whatever it was, Ginny wanted it too. One of her hands cupped the back of his head, and as his tongue curled around hers, his fingers moved back to her thigh, finally moving higher.
"Tell me if— I don't want to hurt you," he breathed, but Ginny could hardly comprehend the words as his fingers slipped beneath her underwear and brushed against her most sensitive parts, sinking into the wetness he found there. She gasped in pleasure, pressing down into the touch.
"I— oh, Nev, I— little higher, yes, there." His touch was tentative at first, but her words seemed to spur him on, and he took direction like a champ, fingers wringing pleasure from her, adjusting speed and angle as she aided him along the way. Ginny tried to reciprocate, her hand moving towards the hardness in his jeans, but he batted it away. "Let me focus on you," he said breathlessly, and how could she say no to that?
Her orgasm hit hard — harder than she'd ever had before, a loud moan pouring from her throat as pleasure shuddered white-hot through her body. Neville froze, holding her through it, and when she slumped against him he let out a long, ragged breath. "Merlin," he murmured, awed, as he slid his fingers out of her, hand resting on her thigh once more. "Did I— did I do it right?"
A tiny giggle bubbled from Ginny's lips, and she yanked him down into a deep, messy kiss. "You did it very, very right," she assured him, still riding the high of her orgasm. "Fuck. Wasn't expecting that." She'd thought it would take all week to persuade Neville to touch her like that.
"I— me neither." Neville laughed quietly, looking amazed at himself. "I've been thinking about that for ages."
"Me too." But good Godric, that had been better than her imagination. She could hardly envision how good it might be with a bit of practice, once they really got to know each other. "I— I'm on the potion," she blurted, and then immediately flushed as red as her hair. Way to sound like a sex-fiend! "Not that I'm expecting anything. We don't have to, y'know, do anything. I just — Fred brews it for Angelina and he started doing a double batch last year for me too—" She realised where that was leading and swerved abruptly, not wanting to mention her ex-boyfriend, not now she finally had Neville in her arms, "—but he taught me how to brew it, so there's no pressure for this week or anything, I honestly wasn't expecting—" He cut her off with a kiss, and when he pulled back he was smiling.
"You ramble worse than I do, sometimes," he teased playfully. "I— I know what you mean. There's no rush. We'll just go at our own pace, do what feels right. But… it's good to know that— that if things do get there, we're prepared. For whenever we want to take that step."
"Right." Ginny was glad he didn't take it the wrong way — she hadn't even meant it like that, not really, but Fred had made sure when she started seeing Michael to explain that there were always risks even if you thought you were doing something in a way that wouldn't lead to pregnancy, and it was better to be safe than sorry. So even though she and Michael had never actually had sex, she was in the habit of taking the potion every month, just in case.
She shifted a little in his lap, and he let out a choked-off gasp as she brushed up against his still-hard length. A pulse of renewed interest sparked within her, surprising her with its force; she hadn't expected to be ready to go again so soon.
She should have, really. It was Neville; she'd never get enough of him.
With all her Gryffindor courage, she kissed him hard, leaving him dazed. "It's my turn, now," she whispered, tracing the line of his jaw with her tongue, sucking a kiss against his throat. "Let me show you what else I've been thinking about."
She slid languidly from his lap, body humming with arousal, down onto her knees on the paving stones. Neville's spine went rigid, and she saw his cock twitch in his trousers.
"Are you sure?" he asked, and she grinned, carefully unzipping his fly.
"I want to," she insisted, adjusting his underwear to reveal his cock — while her other hand moved beneath her own skirt, where the aftershocks were turning just the right side of pleasurable. She leaned forward, taking him in her mouth, stroking herself as his hips bucked tightly.
They had a whole week together, Ginny knew; there was no need to rush things. But there was also no reason they couldn't start out strong. .-.-.-.
Cassius loved the mornings when Ollie didn't have early quidditch practice.
Mostly because his boyfriend woke up early anyway, and the two of them could have slow, lazy sex, bodies still lax and warm from sleep. It was even better on weekends, when Cassius didn't have to go to work either.
Those were the days that felt like a dream, like a fulfilment of every fantasy Cassius had dared let himself have at Hogwarts — him and Oliver, living together and done with school, their time spent fucking and laughing and bickering about whose turn it was to do the dishes, reading together on the sofa, a hundred other little domestic things that Cassius didn't think he'd ever truly get to have. But he did — he owned this flat, and Oliver was here, and even though it was a secret from his family and almost everyone in his life, it was more than he'd ever hoped for.
Oliver's hand trailed down to his backside, still a little sticky with lube, both of them too sated and lazy to do a Cleaning charm. "Good morning, gorgeous," he drawled, that thick Scottish burr rumbling in his chest. "It's going to be a good day."
"Is it, now?" Cassius asked, rolling over to look up at his partner, raising one dark eyebrow. "What makes you say that?"
"Well it started fabulously," Oliver reasoned in a husky whisper, sea-green eyes darkening. "And I'm in the mood to cook a proper breakfast. Then I thought we could go back to bed."
"Hmm, interesting suggestion," Cassius murmured, tingles running down his spine as Oliver leaned over him, those broad shoulders blocking out the light from the window above them. "I could be persuaded, I suppose." He arched up, biting lightly at one of Ollie's nipples in a way that made the older man gasp; a sound that quickly turned into a moan as Cassius' tongue soothed the sensitive flesh.
"Mm, Cass," Ollie groaned. "Food first. Then more sex."
Cassius gave an exaggerated huff, but lay back against the pillows, letting Oliver sit up properly. "By all means, go start cooking," he insisted lazily. He drew one leg up, setting his foot flat on the mattress, giving Oliver a perfect view as he reached down to stroke his own cock. "I'll be here. Entertaining myself."
"Fucking insatiable," Oliver growled, eyes lighting up as he crowded Cassius against the bed, pinning him down. Cassius smirked in triumph, leaning up to nip his lover's pouting lip.
And then a hand pounded on the door, and both of them froze.
Cassius' arousal died quickly, replaced by overwhelming fear — who the fuck would be knocking for them so early in the morning?
Knocking for him, rather. Only a handful of people even knew Oliver lived there.
"Fuck," he whispered vehemently, scrambling to his feet, almost knocking Ollie off the bed in the process. "Hide!"
As he summoned some clothes, he looked around the flat, frantically trying to figure out if there was anything that might give them away. Some quidditch pads in the corner — Cassius could claim those were his, his uncle wouldn't know the difference — a book on the coffee table about Puddlemere, a pair of jeans that were definitely too big to be Cassius' on the floor. He kicked them hastily under the bed, pulling on a t-shirt and some trousers, and when he turned around Oliver was under a Disillusionment charm, nowhere to be seen. Cassius hoped he'd moved somewhere out of the way — it was a studio flat, there weren't many places to hide if spells started flinging.
The knock on the door sounded again, and Cassius hurried to answer it.
It wasn't his uncle. "Hi. Cassius Warrington?" He nodded blankly, staring at the purple-haired auror on his doorstep. "Right. I'm Auror Tonks." He tensed, wondering what sort of trouble he'd been accused of. "I'm a friend of Harry's." That made him blink, and he pushed past his panic to really take a look at her — she didn't look like she was expecting a fight.
She looked like she was about to deliver bad news, actually. The same sort of face his brother had worn when he'd told Cassius their parents were dead.
Dread sank like a stone in his gut. "Oh. Do you— do you want to come in?"
The auror nodded, and he stepped back, letting her enter the flat. "Is— is something wrong with Harry?" Fear gripped him tight once more— had the idiot Gryffindor done something foolish? He shouldn't have, not with Draco there to stop him being daft; but even he knew that Potter was a tricky little bastard when he thought there was something he needed to do.
"Oh, no, Harry's fine," Tonks assured quickly, offering a hesitant smile. "I'm here about something else. I— do you want to sit down?"
"I'd rather stand, actually." Cassius folded his arms over his chest, his right hand ready to draw his wand. He had no idea what this was about — it didn't seem like this auror meant trouble, but she could be lying about knowing Harry.
Then again, how would she know to say that, unless she knew the truth?
"It's about your family," Tonks began. Cassius' shoulders tensed. Had he been accused of something? "There was a Death Eater raid on a couple of muggleborn families last night. I… there's no easy way to say this, Mr Warrington. Thaddeus and Corvus Warrington have been arrested as Death Eaters, and Titus Yaxley was killed in the fight."
Cassius stared.
He felt like he was underwater, the auror's words distorted as they echoed around his brain. His uncle and cousin had been arrested. His other cousin was… dead.
"Oh," he said lamely, struggling to find any other words. How was he supposed to react? Should he look sad? Angry? All he felt was… hollow.
"I know this is a bit of a shock, Mr Warrington—"
Cassius snorted. "Hardly," he muttered, bitterness colouring his tone, "I always told them they'd end up in Azkaban one of these days." He'd always said it like a joke, but he'd meant it in his heart, hoped that some day they might get caught and he would be free.
That day had arrived, it seemed.
What the hell did he do now?
"It's expected that both your uncle and cousin will serve life in Azkaban for their crimes," Auror Tonks explained, her words even and professional, though her grey eyes were sympathetic. Cassius remembered her, now — she was the daughter of the disowned Black sister. Recently re-instated, if he recalled correctly.
She probably was a friend of Harry's then.
"Do I need to do anything? Testify, or… claim the body?" His voice cracked, just a little. Tonks shook her head.
"No; Mr Yaxley's father is being notified as we speak, and we expect him to deal with those affairs. And… testimony isn't needed, not after what they were caught doing." There was a look of disgust in the auror's eyes, and Cassius grimaced. He didn't want to know. "I'm just here to inform you; you're Lord Warrington's heir, according to our records… Minister Scrimgeour wants a quick trial — I'm afraid there won't be time for you to see your uncle or cousin before they're sentenced and transferred. It'll all be done by Monday." Her gaze grew pointed. "So if there's any family business you need to attend to, once that happens…"
She trailed off, and Cassius' chest tightened.
Family business. Heir.
As soon as his uncle was sentenced, he could become Lord Warrington.
"I— thank you, Auror Tonks, for letting me know." He cleared his throat, trying to regain some kind of composure, even as the gathering swell of emotion inside him clawed its way up his chest. "I don't want to see them. Or give them a message. Or— or anything." He could tell them to rot in hell, but that was hardly polite to pass through a member of law enforcement.
"Good to know." Auror Tonks nodded decisively. "I'll leave you to your weekend, then, Mr Warrington. I'm sorry for disturbing you." She headed for the door, and paused on the threshold, concern colouring her gaze. "I— you should contact someone. If you can. And stay safe." She frowned slightly. "You-Know-Who won't like losing that kind of power. Be careful. You know where you can go, if you need help?"
Cassius gave a jerky nod. "Harry has it covered." He didn't care if he was giving away too much — this auror was practically Harry's cousin, and she certainly didn't seem surprised to hear it.
"Good." She nodded again. "I'll see myself out."
She did, and as soon as the door shut behind her, there was a flicker of magic and Oliver appeared at Cassius' side, his face wary. "Cass, love?" he broached tentatively, one hand coming to rest on Cassius' back. "Are you… okay?"
Cassius sucked in a deep breath. And then another. And another. "I—" He shook his head, and suddenly he was laughing. Laughing and crying all at once, and then he was swept up in Oliver's wonderful, muscular arms, cradled against his big chest, and Cassius wept.
He wasn't sure why. He wasn't sad about Titus' death, or the fates of his uncle and Corvus. They deserved everything they got and more, as far as he was concerned. They weren't tears of sadness — they were tears of relief.
As soon as they were sentenced, that would be it. All political standing, all titles and boons, everything would be stripped away, including Uncle Thaddeus' position as Lord Warrington. Cassius could walk into the Wizengamot and claim his rightful seat, and no onewould be able to stop him. The Dark Lord could come after him, could try and get him to accept the Mark, but Cassius no longer had to risk being disinherited — there was only his brother and his Uncle Atticus left, and neither of them had the Warrington family magic in them; there was nothing they could do. He might have to run, yes — he had not technically pledged to the Dark Lord, but he had been to enough meetings that he wouldn't be allowed to just leave — but Harry had offered sanctuary, and even if he ran he would still have access to his family magics and vaults. He was free.
"I've got you, love," Oliver murmured, shuffling them over to the bed, still rumpled from their earlier activities — it felt like a lifetime ago, now. "Let it out, there you go. I've got you. You're alright. They can't hurt you any more, my love. Not now."
The Scotsman's words were a balm to Cassius' soul, his heart swelling with love. For the first time in his life, Cassius could look ahead, could imagine a future that didn't make him want to slit his own wrists in despair. A future where he and Oliver could stay together, could go public, could be happy.
"Marry me," he rasped, red-rimmed eyes meeting bewildered green. "Marry me, Oliver Wood."
A heartbeat, then a grin crept across Ollie's face, blinding in its intensity. Merlin, Cassius wanted to see him smile like that forever. "You're on, Warrington," the Gryffindor agreed, knocking him flat to the mattress in a bear hug. "Yes, I'll fucking marry you. I've only been asking for months!"
Cassius laughed, heart soaring. "But you never gave me a ring," he teased, and Oliver narrowed his gaze.
"Neither have you."
"Give me a second." Cassius unholstered his wand, and summoned the little box from where he'd hidden it far under the bed. It zoomed into his hand, and Cassius flicked it open, revealing the gold Celtic knot band nestled on a little velvet cushion. Oliver's jaw dropped.
"Oh, you crafty wee bastard," he breathed, and Cassius laughed as he slipped the ring onto Oliver's finger with trembling hands. Oliver kissed him hard, smiling against Cassius' mouth. "I love you."
Cassius' chest hurt from the force of his joy, his love for the man in front of him, and he kissed him again, fingers tingling from how fucking happy he was right at that moment.
Oliver was right. It was going to be an excellent day.
.-.-.-.
Her shoulders slumped the moment she stepped through the floo, her fingers going to the buttons at the collar of her robe. The fire whooshed behind her as Kingsley stepped out, his dark eyes knowing. "Come here," he urged, opening his arms. Tonks sighed, tucking herself against his chest, burying her face in his grey auror robe. "Proudfoot is a prick."
"I hate him so much," she agreed in frustration, arms winding around Kingsley's hips. "I can't believe Scrimgeour gave the auror office to him."
The job should have been Kingsley's, and they all knew it. Proudfoot might not be Marked but he was a Death Eater in every other aspect, and it amazed and horrified her that Scrimgeour had named him the new Head Auror. Could the man not see the kind of person he was promoting?
She knew the answer to that — no, he couldn't, because Scrimgeour and Proudfoot had been friends for years, and as long as Proudfoot kept his blood supremacist bullshit just on the right side of socially acceptable, and continued to bring in results, Scrimgeour would forgive just about anything else.
"I just hate the way he talks to me! Condescending twat." She scowled, looking up into Kingsley's sympathetic gaze. "I swear, if he calls me Miss Tonks one more time, I'm cursing his dick off. I'm an auror, damn it!" She sighed, the fight draining from her, just replaced with the ever-familiar exhaustion of fighting a fight she knew she wouldn't win. "Half the reason I joined the aurors was so people would stop calling me 'Miss'." Auror was a gender-neutral title, and she had fucking earned it, and she hated how dismissive Proudfoot was but more than that she hated how that word made her skin crawl like there were ants in her veins.
"Do you need to change?" Kingsley asked, but Tonks shook her head. More than once, she'd come home from work and immediately taken masculine form like her female body was going to burst into flames if she didn't shed it soon. But it wasn't one of those days. She was fine how she was — it was the way other people perceived her that made her mad, but she knew that would take a damned long time to change.
Still, she undid the buttons of her robe and stripped it off, letting it drop to the floor. Then she reached behind her back, underneath her shirt, and unhooked her bra, letting out a sigh of relief as she wriggled her way out of the hellish contraption. Kingsley shed his own robe much more gracefully, picking up hers and sending them both into the bedroom with a flick of his wand. "Are you hungry?"
"Not yet." She was too angry to be hungry, too ready to claw off her own skin. Kingsley seemed to recognise the look in her eyes, and with another spell the record player was on, the Weird Sisters filling their flat; her favourite song.
"Dance it out," he told her, smiling fondly. "I'm going to make sandwiches."
He disappeared into the kitchen, and Tonks turned the volume up, belting out the lyrics as she danced around the living room, waving her arms and shaking her hips. Her hair cycled through a dozen colours as she purged the negative emotions, kicking off the tight auror-regulation trousers and ripping open the front of her button-up. She kept dancing through the first song, and the second, and by the third she felt somewhat human again. When she spun around at the end of it, she saw Kingsley leaning in the doorway, watching her with two plates in his hands and so much love in his eyes it hit like a punch to the gut. "You're beautiful," he told her, as she stood there in her pants and socks and an open shirt, her skin flushed and hair in disarray from her dancing. There was total honesty in his voice — and Tonks knew that he'd say that no matter what shape she morphed her body into. "Feel better?"
He approached, offering one of the plates with a sandwich on it, and she took it gratefully. "Much. Thanks." A wave of her hand had the volume of the record turned down to a much more reasonable level. They collapsed together on the sofa, Kingsley's feet propped up on the coffee table while Tonks tucked her legs underneath her. He was still in his full uniform minus the robe; the only concession to comfort he'd made was undoing the top button of his shirt, and rolling his sleeves to his elbows. Tonks trailed her fingers over the corded muscle of his forearm, tracing the line of the tattoo half-hidden against his dark skin.
The sandwich was delicious, and once her belly was full Tonks could finally let go of that last little bit of anger simmering inside her. "At least we'll only have to deal with Proudfoot for a year or so."
Kingsley raised an amused eyebrow. "So convinced he'll be too incompetent to keep the position?"
"Convinced Harry won't let Scrimgeour stay Minister that long," she corrected. "Soon as he offs You-Know-Who, we'll get someone competent instead. Someone who understands that the Head Auror position has had your name on it for years."
His lips twitched. "If I become Head Auror, our relationship will be even more against the rules than it is now," he pointed out, and Tonks just smirked.
"Rules, schmules," she said, waving a hand dismissively.
"That's not the correct attitude for an officer of the law, Auror Tonks," he said, his voice serious even when his eyes were laughing, though Tonks doubted many people would notice it. They always thought he was so severe, so stern; they couldn't see his wicked sense of humour. It just made it all the more precious, to Tonks.
"The auror department knew what I was like when they hired me," she teased, "and if you gave a fuck about those rules you'd never have agreed to go on a date with me."
"You're surprisingly persuasive," he remarked, and she laughed.
"Persistent, more like." She'd spent at least eight months making a fool of herself trying to make him laugh before she'd gathered the courage to ask him out.
"Some rules are worth breaking," he declared, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Happiness fizzed in her belly, and she leaned against him, setting aside her empty plate. Her shirt opened wider, and Tonks didn't miss the way Kingsley's eyes trailed over her pale stomach, up the line of her sternum.
"If Proudfoot ends up with frogspawn in his desk drawers tomorrow, you'll give me an alibi, right?" she asked, fluttering her eyelashes hopefully. He chuckled, the low baritone rumble sending electricity down Tonks' spine.
"You're good enough not to need an alibi," he told her. "But if he comes after you, I'll back you up." He slung an arm around her, hand resting at the bottom of her ribs. "You're not the only one who hates him, after all."
That was true; the only aurors who didn't hate Proudfoot were the ones who were also Death Eaters. "Maybe the twins will give me something good to get him with," she mused, mentally going over what she knew of the shop's stock. There was bound to be something Proudfoot wouldn't immediately pin on her. Something with a time delay… Fred and George wouldn't disappoint.
"You can go over and see them on Tuesday. Just don't spend the whole day." Kingsley's eyes darkened, and Tonks' skin prickled. "It's rare we both have the same day off. We should make the most of it."
Arousal chased through her veins, but on top of that was a sliver of guilt. "I… I promised Harry I'd go over to the house on Tuesday, actually. He wants to test his skills against an auror, see how he does."
The playful light in Kingsley's eyes dimmed, and the guilt grew bigger. "That'll be good for him," the senior auror remarked. "Though after watching the lad at the Ministry I'd say you better watch your step."
Tonks snorted; that was an understatement. Watching Harry duel Lucius Malfoy had been a real eye-opener. "I keep telling him I'm not the auror he needs to be testing himself against," she agreed. Then she bit her lip, anxiety curling tight. "I… I want to bring you, to the house," she confessed, like it was some sort of deep, dark secret. "I just… the way that Mum talks about it, you have to understand… it's the family summer home." It sounded silly, put like that. But it was one of the two Black properties that wasn't even on the Gringotts property register; as far as the world was concerned, it didn't exist. Only those who were of the Black family, or as good as, were invited there. Sirius was pushing it a little having Remus there, but those two were brothers in everything but blood.
He was certainly pushing it moving Charlie in, but she knew her best friend; he'd been waiting half his life for someone to get domestic with, and from what Remus had told her Sirius was exactly the same, for all his teenage tom-catting around. Now they'd found each other, she was certain there would be wedding bells somewhere down the line.
That was what it meant, to invite someone to the family summer home. It was an agreement that they were welcome in the Black family — and an expectation that they would always be welcome in the Black family, would never betray those secrets.
"I know, Tonks," Kingsley assured her; he didn't seem remotely offended, and somehow that was worse, like he didn't expect her to want him there.
"No, it's not that," she said, though he hadn't even said anything, really. She groaned quietly as she tried to figure out how to articulate herself properly — but the only way to really do that was to just throw her entire heart on the line.
She looked up at Kingsley's patient, gorgeous face, and suddenly it seemed daft to even think about being worried. He had never batted an eyelash at anything else she'd emotionally-vomited at him in their relationship. Why would this be any different?
"Letting you come to the summer home, it's… even I didn't know about it until last Christmas — Mum didn't tell me because even after she was disowned from the Black family, it was still a Black family secret. She didn't consider her own child part of the Black family enough to tell me. It's the most secure place we have in the entire world, precisely because the only people who know how to find it are people who would rather die than give up its location — than betray the Black family like that. Inviting anyone who isn't blood… it's practically declaring intent to marry, in the eyes of the rest of my family. It's a big deal. And I don't want to put that kind of pressure on you just because my family is ancient and weird and secretive." It all blurted out in one rushed mess, but she could see Kingsley taking in every word, thinking it over with that ever-present patience, that eternal steadiness that Tonks loved so much. Her heart pounded furiously in her chest as she waited for some kind of a response. Eventually, he took her hand, bringing it up to his lips. "That kind of commitment doesn't scare me, Tonks."
She stilled. "I— really?"
His deep brown eyes met hers, unflinching. "Amelia has promised me her job heading the DMLE, if she makes Minister after the war," he said, and she blinked, perplexed — what did that have to do with anything? "If I take that job, I'll no longer be your superior; not in any chain-of-command way that matters." His lips curved in a tiny, bashful smile. "I had hoped, once it was no longer putting either of our jobs at risk… well, let's just say that declaring intent to marry is not a problem for me. Not with you."
"Oh." Tonks was wide-eyed, turning to face him properly. She felt ridiculous, sat there in her shirt and pants while he was fully dressed, and he'd basically just proposed. "But— but I'm a mess," she blurted. "I'm clumsy and I talk too much and I have too many opinions about muggle music and I can't even stick to one bloody gender and you're—" He was Lord Kingsley Shacklebolt, accomplished and proud and capable in every situation he faced; never stuttering, never tripping over his own feet, never hasty or quick-tempered or anything less than incredible; the kind of man who deserved a wife just as capable and calm and able to be an actual wife, not like Tonks.
"I'm…?" Kingsley raised an eyebrow expectantly, kissing her hand again. "If the end of that sentence is anything other than 'completely in love with you', it's irrelevant. Your clumsiness is endearing, and I love listening to you talk because I spend far too much in my own head, and yes you might have questionable muggle music taste but my own is equally suspect. And if I cared for even one second about gender I'd be dating someone else." He frowned all of a sudden, looking concerned. "Have I ever made you feel like your gender is a problem for me?"
"What? No, I—" Tonks stopped herself, because that was the thing, the thing she'd entirely missed — she was so used to her partners assuming she would grow out of it and settle down one way or the other that she'd just expected Kingsley felt the same, deep down, just like everyone else in the world. Except he didn't, he hadn't, not ever. From the very first time she'd admitted to him that on some days she felt like being female was like drowning, that she hated the way the rest of the world looked at her, he had been supportive. He had told her to be however she felt comfortable, he had switched pronouns when she asked without a second of hesitation, he had touched her male body with the same level of care and reverence and passion that he touched her female body with, and her body on all the days in-between when she wasn't sure what she wanted to be called but she knew what felt wrong, what made her skin itch and her brain feel like someone was drilling a hole in her skull with every continued use of Miss and Nymphadora and woman.
And Kingsley was sat there, now, waiting as patiently as always for her to figure out something that had been right in front of her face the whole bloody time. He didn't even have the grace to look smug about it.
"You really just get it, don't you?" she breathed in wonder, and he shrugged.
"As much as I can, I hope, when I'm not in your head myself." That was fair; half the time, Tonks wasn't even sure she properly 'got it', not in a way that seemed to make sense to the rest of the world. "And if you ever decide you're comfortable presenting as anything other than female outside of your safe spaces, I'll be right with you." He smirked, eyes lighting up. "Especially if I'm in a position to fire pricks like Proudfoot for the way they treat you."
Tonks had never thought she'd be that brave, make those kinds of waves, but with Kingsley at her side she might just manage it.
"So… do you want to come to the summer house with me on Tuesday?" she asked hopefully, and Kingsley cracked a wide, genuine smile, brighter than probably anyone but Tonks had ever seen.
"I would love to," he confirmed, and the weight of their words seemed so much more, now they both knew for sure what it truly meant. "I would also," he continued, dropping his voice, brown eyes hot as they met Tonks', "very much love to take you into our bedroom, right now, and have you fuck me." He spoke so plainly, as always, and arousal pulsed through Tonks just at that low, sexy rumble. "Your shirt has been open for the last ten minutes and I've been very good in not touching you but I only have so much restraint left in me." Tonks looked down, and sure enough, her unbuttoned shirt was completely wide, her breasts bared and her nipples tight and perked with lust. Kingsley's hand came up, cupping one of them, and Tonks groaned softly into the touch. "Bedroom," she agreed. He stood, carrying her with him, and there was a question in his eyes as he did because some days that just made her feel so dainty and she hated it but right now all she cared about was getting Kingsley on a bed and underneath her; he could pick her up all he wanted, with those strong auror arms of his, but soon she was going to be the one pinning him down and making him scream, unravelling him from the inside out, and he would love every second of it. So she wrapped her legs around his waist, making an impatient noise, all the while wondering if Harry would hurry the fuck up a bit and kill a Dark Lord so she could get her Happily Ever After with this man. And a smaller part of her wondered how he could even be real, so perfect for her, so endlessly fucking incredible—
Then he kicked the bedroom door open, and Tonks had much more important things on her mind than the war.
.-.-.-.
Two blonde girls walked through the woods; one with her hands in her skirt pockets and an indulgent smile on her face as she watched the second, who drifted between the trees like her feet barely even touched the ground.
"Finding anything good, honey?" Daphne asked, watching Luna peer up into the branches of a tall oak tree. Luna hummed, then huffed, the tiniest pout of frustration on her face. Daphne resisted the urge to kiss it away.
"There's too many wrackspurts," Luna declared in annoyance, shaking her head, making her dangling silver earrings jingle. "Even if I could find anything here, I wouldn't see it through this cloud."
Daphne had been with Luna long enough now to understand most of the things she said; at least when it came to her various creatures. Wrackspurts were the annoying little buggers that clouded her Sight, filling her brain with useless buzzing when the path ahead was unclear. It wasn't a surprise — the current state of the wizarding world could definitely be described as path unclear — but she hated when Luna had that look on her face.
"How can I make them go away?"
Luna gave her a bright smile that made Daphne's heart flutter, and danced closer, kissing her on the cheek. "Things will clear up soon," she assured. "It's just difficult, right now. But maybe the blibbering humdingers will make it easier. Come on."
That was a new one to Daphne, but she didn't protest when Luna grabbed her by the hand and pulled her along, leading her into a small clearing. Daphne had been staying with Luna and her father for four days now, and most of that time had been spent in the woods behind the house. Luna always said her head was clearer when she could feel nature's magic.
The clearing they stopped in was pretty; just a circle of soft grass, about fifteen feet across, but even Daphne could feel the buzz of natural magic as soon as she stepped in. Perhaps it had once been a fairy circle, or it was a ley line crossing. She wouldn't put it past Luna to find such things.
Luna let go of her hand and strode forward happily, lifting her dress over her head without a second of hesitation and tossing it aside, dropping down to lie on the grass in nothing more than a pair of pale yellow knickers printed with tiny smiling suns. Daphne's eyes drank in the sight eagerly, though it wasn't too unusual these days, either; Luna often went skyclad in the woods, or close to it, wanting that better connection to nature. Daphne wasn't going to argue — Luna knew natural magic far better than she did.
Regardless, she would never complain about her girlfriend getting naked in front of her.
"May I sit with you?" she asked, waiting at the edge of the grass circle. Luna blinked up at her, nodding.
"Please do. The humdingers won't harm you — they're just helping me find out what the wrackspurts are trying to hide."
Daphne approached, settling down cross-legged at Luna's side. "May I touch you?"
Luna reached out, taking one hand and lacing their fingers together. Daphne took that as silent permission, and let her other hand trace runes on Luna's skin; runes of protection, of clarity, of insight. Luna purred, arching her back like a cat in a patch of sunlight. "Oh, that feels nice."
Daphne smiled, brushing Luna's hair gently off her shoulders, the near-silver strands fanning out over the lush green grass. "This is a nice little clearing," she said quietly, gentle fingers running over Luna's brow and nose. The Ravenclaw's chest rose and fell steadily with her breath, her eyes falling shut.
"It's my favourite place in the whole forest," Luna told her. "But I can't come here too often, or the magic will change."
"Then I'm honoured you're sharing it with me," Daphne murmured. Luna cracked one eye open, affection dancing in her gaze.
"Of course, silly. My favourite person belongs in my favourite place."
Daphne couldn't help but lean down to kiss her, then; just a chaste peck, for the words she couldn't articulate. She didn't want to distract Luna from her thoughts, after all; not if she was trying to See something important.
She could feel the magic swirling around them both, pulsing gently in time with Luna's breath. Daphne almost forgot to breathe herself, so awed by the whole thing. Luna was… truly unlike any other person she'd ever met. Daphne still didn't know what had possessed her to say yes when the strange blonde asked her to Hogsmeade for Valentine's Day, but she hadn't regretted the decision — Luna might be odd, but she had a way of viewing the world that was so very jarring to Daphne's persistent cynicism, and Daphne liked that about her. Luna never expected her to change; she just offered up her own thoughts and let Daphne figure out the rest.
Luna made Daphne a better person. And she kissed like she was imparting the very secrets of the universe to Daphne's eager lips; so many people assumed that her child-like optimism made her childish in other ways, too, but Daphne could attest to that being entirely untrue. Luna felt all her emotions strongly — including passion.
Passion that nudged at Daphne now, stirring inside her, watching her girlfriend lie there on the grass like some kind of fae temptation. Daphne's hand, still drifting over Luna's skin, swooped down to stroke across her stomach. Her hand holding Daphne's tightened ever so slightly, and Daphne smirked, watching two rosebud pink nipples swell at her touch. Luna's hips canted ever so slightly, and she blinked her eyes open. "I don't think the wrackspurts are going to let me see what they're hiding," she sighed. "There are too many possibilities right now." A brief, worried frown flickered across her lips. "I hope it's not to do with Harry."
If it was regarding the uncertainty of the future, it probably was at least somewhat to do with Harry Potter. Everything else was. "They'll show you if there's something you can warn him about," Daphne assured confidently. "Best not to worry about it too much."
"I won't." Luna smiled, letting go of Daphne's hand and lifting her arms above her head, stretching out languidly, pushing up against Daphne's other hand still on her stomach. Daphne swallowed tightly. "The magic here is so warm, do you feel it? It tickles my skin." The Ravenclaw looked up at Daphne, a flirtatious tilt to her chin. "You should feel it on your skin properly, too."
Daphne laughed softly, hand sliding up to cup Luna's breast, flicking her fingers over the nipple. "Are you giving up on Seeing, for now, then?" she asked, like she didn't already know the answer. "Because you know what'll happen if we're both naked."
Luna smiled impishly. "There's only one thing I'm interested in seeing right now," she purred, squirming in the soft grass, the flush spreading down her chest all the way to her stomach. Merlin, she was beautiful.
Daphne could look at her like this for hours — but touching was far better. She pulled her blouse over her head, feeling Luna's gaze on her, feeling the magic dance across her skin as clearly as if her girlfriend was touching her. The sensation made her gasp, and Luna giggled. "I told you," she sing-songed, as Daphne unclasped her bra, gooseflesh prickling across her arms. The Slytherin smirked, leaving her skirt on and turning her attention back to her entirely too-smug girlfriend, peeling the sunshine-print knickers down her hips, exposing the thatch of soft, pale blonde hair. "Oh, that's not fair."
Daphne settled in between Luna's knees, skirt rucked up around her, teasing fingers sliding into Luna's wet heat. "Slytherins don't play fair, honey," she drawled, crooking her fingers and making Luna gasp. As she did, the magic around them flared, and both girls jerked at the sensation.
Luna's favourite place in the forest might not have helped with her Sight, but it wouldn't be a wasted trip.
.-.-.-.-.
They had finally chased out their last customers, and Blaise flipped the sign on the door to show that Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was closed for the night. As he did, hands rested on his hips, and lips pressed to his neck. "Come on, we're all locked up down here. Angie's gone to get dinner from the little place down the street."
Blaise leaned back against George, humming quietly. "Sounds good." He let the redhead nudge him towards the back room, where the stairs up to the flat were hidden. He took one last look around the quiet shop, smiling to himself; it always looked a little strange, empty like this, the displays deactivated. The whole shop sleeping, ready to burst to life in the morning once more. They passed Fred at the till, sorting the ledgers and counting up, and the twins had an entire conversation with just looks and eyebrows before George carried on upstairs, Blaise close behind.
The flat wasn't as chaotic as one might expect from Fred and George Weasley; with the shop downstairs and the workshop in the attic, they had plenty of other avenues for their chaos. The flat was a prank-free zone, as much as it could be with those two red-headed devils. Blaise went over to pour water for both of them, while George flopped onto the sofa. "Mm, thanks, babe," the redhead murmured, accepting the drink and shuffling over so Blaise could get comfortable beside him. George wrapped an arm around him, pulling him close. "Do you have to leave tomorrow?"
Blaise had been living with the twins for three whole weeks now, and it had been wonderful, but he had to spend at least a little time with his mother. "Sadly, I do," he sighed, kissing George's freckled cheek. "But I'll come back for Harry's birthday. And I'm taking you back to Italy when I do." They had worked it all out; Fred and Angelina would handle the shop for four days while George came to Blaise's house in Italy, met his mother and spent some time with him there. Blaise was very much looking forward to it, even if George's fair skin would need a hundred Sunblock charms a day when they went to the beach.
And at Blaise's house, there was enough privacy that they didn't have to worry about forgetting their Silencing charms, or being walked in on at inopportune moments. Not like they did with all four of them squeezed into the two-bed flat above the shop.
The door opened, and Fred and Angelina walked in, Angelina holding a brown paper bag that smelled deliciously of curry. "Fortescue's is closed up," she reported, frowning slightly. "Windows have been boarded up and everything. Looks like he's gone for the foreseeable."
Blaise and George shared an uneasy look; it wasn't the first shop in Diagon Alley to abandon ship, since the attack on the Ministry. "That'll be a blow," George murmured. "Plenty of people thought old Fortescue could weather anything."
"The more shops that close, the more customers we'll have to entertain ourselves," Fred said with false bravado — Blaise could see the worry in his eyes.
He'd gotten better at reading his boyfriend's twin, in the last three weeks. At school, it had been so hard to get time with George he had so very rarely spent time with the pair of them together, unless it was in a group situation, and then they were too busy being the Infamous Weasley Twins for Blaise to properly get to know Fred. Now, after living together, he'd seen how they were without an audience, and had plenty of conversations with just Fred while George was elsewhere. Angelina, too; he had hardly said two sentences to her before this summer.
Blaise hoped he passed muster, by now. George wouldn't keep him around for long if he didn't.
Angelina handed him a bowl of fragrant lamb curry and rice, and he grinned in thanks, sitting up a little so both he and George could have their bowls on their laps without making a mess. Fred and Angelina claimed the other sofa; the common positions the four of them found themselves in of an evening, after a long day of running the shop.
As they ate, the twins chatted about their products; what they needed to make more of, what they were considering introducing. Blaise mostly listened, quietly in awe of the things that came out of their brains. At one point, he glanced over to Angelina, raising an eyebrow pointedly. She made a face of agreement, and shook her head fondly.
"Oh, Merlin, they've got their own secret language, now, too!" Fred exclaimed, pointing at the pair of them and grinning. Angelina stuck her tongue out.
"It comes from putting up with you two," she teased.
"But you both do it so well," George said, winking at her and bumping his knee against Blaise's. "A little too well, honestly; not sure how I'm going to cope without you," he added to Blaise, pouting for extra effect.
"I'm sure you'll manage, tesoro," Blaise drawled, amused. "You will have to learn; I have two more years of school left."
"Ugh don't remind me," George groaned. "Sure I can't convince you to leave? It worked out pretty well for us."
"It is not me you have to convince, but my mother," Blaise replied, watching as a glimmer of fear flickered in those brown eyes. "Besides, not all of us can be genius inventors."
George preened at the compliment. "You can be a genius something else, though," he suggested. "Or just let me shower you with my joke shop riches so you'll never have to work a day."
Blaise laughed, shaking his head. "Caro, I have my own riches; I'll never have to work a day regardless."
"Exactly! All the more reason to ditch school." George grinned, and Blaise kissed him.
"I would be far too bored, and we both know it."
"I'd keep you plenty occupied," George drawled.
"Oi, boundaries," Fred protested with a glare. "Remember the rules."
With both couples living in the same space, the twins had developed rules about where and when innuendo was acceptable. Of course, the rules went largely ignored on both sides, but that didn't stop them sniping at each other about it.
"It's tempting, but I'm afraid I'll have to pass," Blaise mock-sighed. "You'll just have to wait until I'm graduated."
"That sounds terrible," George sighed. "Merlin only knows how Ollie and Cass handled it."
"I'm sure you and Oliver can commiserate over it all you like," Angelina placated. "Though be prepared for him to get pissy about how at least your relationship is public."
Blaise winced; from what he understood, it was a bit of a sore subject for the ex-Gryffindor keeper. Not that he blamed Cassius for it — it was just a difficult situation all around. Knowing Cassius' family, Blaise couldn't blame them for keeping things under wraps.
"I'll see you every Hogsmeade weekend," Blaise reminded, running a hand through George's fiery hair. "And we'll work out holidays." They hadn't exactly figured out things such as Yule, because George's mother currently refused to acknowledge any of the relationships her children were in, thanks to her grudge against Sirius Black. But it was a while away, so perhaps things would change.
"Maybe, but you've spoiled me after having you here for three whole weeks."
Blaise had to admit that he too wasn't looking forward to it — going back to Italy without George, or going back to Hogwarts. But they were necessary. Their relationship would survive the separation.
There was a sudden thud from upstairs, and the twins shared a slightly alarmed look. "We're… gonna go check on that," Fred declared, jumping up from the sofa and running to the stairs. George kissed Blaise quickly and followed after his twin, the pair of them disappearing into the workshop. After a beat of silence, Angelina giggled.
"Those two," she sighed in fond exasperation. Then she sobered. "I'm worried about them, Blaise. Keeping the shop open, some of the things they're making… they're the biggest target in this bloody alley."
"I know," he murmured, running a hand over his hair. "But would we love them if they were any less?" That bold, unbearably attractive Gryffindor quality of doing exactly what they wanted and not giving a fuck what might come of it. That belief that they could do anything with enough nerve and determination, and no one could stand in their way. Not even the Dark Lord themselves. "Bill's done the wards, they're as safe as can be," he reminded; having a Gringotts curse-breaker for a brother certainly had its perks.
"I know, but I still worry." She twirled one of her braids around her fingers.
"I'd worry more about what they're getting up to in that workshop than what's going on in the rest of the alley," Blaise said dryly, as another quiet explosion noise sounded. Angelina snorted.
"You're not wrong there," she agreed. "That sort of mess, I can handle. I've been dealing with that since we were first years."
Part of Blaise was a little jealous, that she'd known the twins for so long, shared so many experiences with them through their Hogwarts years while Blaise had really only just discovered how wonderful George Weasley was in the last few months of his time at school. But mostly he was glad, knowing the twins wouldn't be entirely at their own devices while he was gone; they had a tendency to get caught up in their inventions and forget things like sleep, and food.
"You'll just have to look after both our troublemakers while I'm gone," he mused.
"And on that note, I'm breaking out the wine," she said with a laugh, summoning a bottle of red and two glasses. "But I suppose it's nothing I haven't done before. Even if George will be unbearable when he starts pining for you," she teased. "The two of us have to stick together, after all." She poured, and Blaise clinked his glass against hers.
"Cheers to that." He and Angelina had developed a sort of kinship over the last few weeks, bonding over their shared love of those redheaded menaces. "At least I should be able to write this year. And like I said, there will be Hogsmeade weekends." He knew the twins had ways of sneaking in and out of the school from Hogsmeade; they would work it out.
"You'll be gone twenty minutes and he'll start pining," Angelina told him with a smirk. "Hell, when you went to see Daphne the other week he acted like he was going to waste away without you."
Blaise shook his head in despair, even as the smile threatened to take over; he'd only gone to have lunch with Daphne and Luna, for two hours at the most. "Then I'm sorry in advance, and I'll make it up to you."
Angelina's face lit up deviously. "Tell you what," she declared. "When things are quieter, we'll get Lee and Alicia to watch the shop for a week, you can take us all to Italy." She grinned at him. "Or we can leave the twins to the shop and go anyway."
Blaise laughed. "It's a deal."
"What are you two plotting down here?" It was George, returning from the workshop with Fred at his heel, both of them surprisingly unscathed.
"We're running away to Italy together without you, tesoro," Blaise told him mock-apologetically. George gave a theatrical gasp, falling over the back of the sofa and into Blaise's lap.
"You heartbreakers," he declared mutinously, kissing Blaise. He hummed, then pulled back, and stole the glass of wine from the Slytherin's hand. "Good wine, that."
Blaise rolled his eyes, reclaiming his wine but letting George stay sprawled over his legs and chest, stroking his hair with his free hand as they settled in for the evening.
Going back to school without George would be hard, but it wouldn't last forever. And for someone usually quite cautious, Blaise was surprised to find that there was not a single ounce of doubt in his mind that the pair of them would still be together by that time, as long as they were both alive.
If they could survive Umbridge together, and survive a war together, he was certain they could survive anything else life may throw at them.